#ashe hates dirt so he has his house with his cats

[lazylittledragon]

nomad boyfriend comes back for a visit

obviously there are some extras for the patr0ns <3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

[insomniamamma]

Dragon: Boba Fett X Reader

A/N: this started as what would happen if the reader had a nightmare and was comforted by Boba. It mutated some. Sorry. Self indulgent because I have terrible nightmares, and Boba would make the best weighted blanket ever.

Warnings: Language. Implied sexual harassment. Cannon typical violence. angst hurt/comfort. Soft!Boba. No beta. I tried to make this GN! but don’t know if I caught everything. let me know and I will edit.

"It's a funny feeling being taken under the wing of a dragon. It's warmer than you'd think." --Amsterdam Vallon "Gangs of New York"

          "Get up," Sassak kicks at your bedroll, "Big day for you." You hated Sassak, but he owned your contract and that meant doing what he said, wether that meant cutting down the hulks that littered the dunes for scrap, fixing whatever ships limped into port, or whatever grimy deed he'd lined up for you. You sit up, glaring at him through gritty eyes.           "Got a buyer on the rest of your contract," he leers,"We meet them at the cantina and then you're someone else's problem."

          You get up and dress. You are numb. Sassak's owned your contract for three years. One year indenture at going rate was the initial deal. Sassak offered to teach you the mechanics trade. Your wages would square up the cost of room and board and education for a year. At the time it had seemed like a good deal. Only deals have a way of getting altered. There was always some excuse. Hard times love, got to cut your hourly rate, imperial traffic ain't what it was, you're lucky I don't just cut you loose to starve. Then there's times when Sassak came back after blowing credits he swore he didn't have at the cantina, reeking of spotchka, shoving you against the mud-daubed walls and grinding his bony hips against yours, hey, pretty thing, I knock a thousand cred off your debt if you fuck me like you love me, and luckily, he's always drunk enough that you can fight him off. Sometimes you have to hold him while he cries about his misfortune at being stuck in this backwater with the likes of you.          So now, someone else will own your debt. And Sassak is viciously happy about it. Maker only knows what this means. You worry the steel cuff welded around your wrist, tight to your skin with your contract number stamped on it as the two of you walk to the cantina.           The contact is not what you expected, a slight woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder and bright red thread woven through her hair. Her face is impassive as she haggles with Sassak over your worth. You keep your eyes down and sip at your spotchka, never quite got a taste for the stuff, but, as the object of negotiations, you at least get a drink out of it. Sassak laughs and seems satisfied, passes the contact his data pad, and she keys in her name, Fennec Shand.           "All yours," says Sassak and, mock bows, "Have fun."           You ride behind Fennec on her speeder, arms gripped around her middle, watching the only place you've ever known blur by. The ship is old, a make you have not seen in some time. Fennec leads you up the ramp.          "Time to meet your new boss," she says, and you are confused.          "I thought you--"          "No," says Fennec. "We both serve the same master." The cowling's been removed from the hyperdrive housing. A stream of yellow sparks spills down.          "Boba!" She calls,"I've got you some competent help." A Mandalorian clambers down out of the ship’s infrastructure and you shrink back. You've never met one but you've heard the stories, all blood and thunder and brutality, planets turned to ash. He looks at you, but you can read nothing from that look, just the dark of his visor, the stillness of his body.          "We're getting power drain from the hyperdrive," he says, "The reactor is stable, so I'm not sure where the problem lies."          "Give me a light and boost me up," you say, "I'll see what I can do."

          Fennec cuts the cuff off your wrist at Boba's orders.            "But my debt--"          "We've paid your debt," says Fennec, "You're crew now. You get pay."          "But what if I just take off? What if I run away?"          "What if you do?" She says, "We're not slavers." Fennec smiles. Her smile is small and controlled but warm. "No one will make you stay."

          And for a time things are quiet. You do maintenance on Slave I. She's old, and you can't always find the right parts, but mostly you make due. You man the galley, bringing Fennec and Boba their meals on the bridge and then retreating to your bunk belowdecks. Things are quiet. But then Tython happens. The light cruiser happens. And you find yourself contending with one more crew member. He is Mandalorian, like Boba, but he never gives a name. He is just Mando, and silence spins out from him like the arms of a galaxy. He is always polite, even though he does not need to be. You are junior-most crew after all. Now there are four of you. Enough to sustain a proper two-shift crew rotation. Boba insists on cross-training which means that Mando and Fennec are together for main shift, and you and Boba are together for the alter shift. He teaches you the weapons systems. You teach him emergency shortcuts for when the boards fry out. There is little conversation between you. Working the same shift means you sleep the same shift. Sleep has a hard time finding you most times. Boba can drop off in an instant, you are not so lucky. After Tython the nightmares started. Sometimes it's Slave I that gets hit and turns to ash. Sometimes you see Fennec and Boba in the dirt choking on their own blood, sometimes, Maker damn him, you see Sassak in Imperial dress, mocking you as if the present and the past have gotten tangled together. But there is one nightmare worse than all the others, in which the man with the darksaber cuts your friends down, melts through their beskar armor like ice under a hot blade, and you are left naked and without defense, waiting for the last cut.          You wake up screaming in your bunk in the belly of Slave I, the last of your nightmare dissipating even as your body still protests that every bit of it was real, so real this time, the spattered blood, the blaster cooked flesh, the smell, and you sob, trying to remind yourself that you're safe, that the hull's intact and them you care about are safe inside.          "You're crying," Boba's voice comes raspy through the dark. He flips a switch and dim reddish lighting fills the crew quarters. You rub at your eyes.         "Bad dream," You say, "It's nothing. I'm sorry."         "You're crying," he repeats, his dark eyes peer at you, unreadable. He slides himself towards the inside of his bunk, and pats the thin mattress, "Come here."  And you do so, the deck plating cold beneath your bare feet. Boba grabs you and pulls you into the bunk with him, gripping the back of your neck and settling you against his chest. You tense, expecting violence, but there is none. Just the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his broad palm cupping the back of your head. He makes no other move. Slowly, you relax against him. Your hands unfist. Your arm creeps around him and Boba makes a low sound like a contented cat. 

      "Sleep, burc’ika." He says, and you drift off in the safe cage of his arms.

[fragileizywriting]

dirt

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chat Noir just attracts dirt.

They’ve argued about it before on many occasions— he sticks to being in his cat form and letting her carry him whenever they’re out and about in the town because of it. He hitchhikes rides on her shoulders, instead of actually walking around town, if he can afford to do it. He doesn’t wear shoes normally, he doesn’t like the way it restricts his feet, so any dirt he manages to catch between his paw pads usually ends up making it into their cottage the moment he steps in, and she hates it.

It’s obnoxious, it’s so obnoxious, but no matter how many spells she casts on him, he’s a magnet to debris. Marinette is helpless but to just sweep it out of the house with a broom or some magic. The moment he steps into their home behind her, she knows without even bothering to look that somehow— somehow, there’s now a sneezing of leaves and dirt surrounding the entryway. It’s inevitable.

Chat Noir just attracts dirt somehow.

She’s set on pulling on the strings of her apron, shivering harshly under the damp and still air inside the cottage. It’s warmer inside than it is out, with a good sheet of rain already starting to beat down against the tiles of their house, but the setting is almost… kind. Comforting, even. The late afternoons where the sun starts to set behind thunderous clouds, resulting in them lighting the candles earlier in the day makes it all the too obvious that she and Chat truly do live alone on the outskirts of town, and the thought fills her with a vague little happiness that she can’t really explain.

She feels more at ease here with him. She feels more at ease sleeping during the night, knowing that with Chat Noir’s strength and skill, they would be able to stop anything that wanted to hurt her like they used to in the past— like aggressive and religious zealots who believe that she’s the reason why the world will catch on fire in three years, resulting in her coming home to see it burn down into ashes. She wouldn’t be helpless to just sit and watch, if it ever happened again, and it would be all because of the strength he gives her to stand up for herself.

It helps that everyone is terrified of him, too.

They’re fortunate that they made it back inside on time simply because the rain would’ve been too much to handle for Chat’s demonic ears, and she counts her blessings everywhere and anywhere she can. She turns to him, the tall and giant demon who stands at the entryway, who is in the middle of trying to wipe off his broad shoulders free from leaves, scattering some with the updraft of his arms as he moves.

“I’m not going to move until I’ve wiped down my paws,” He ticks his mouth into a smile. It’s not one of his stereotypical grins, the one that shows just how massive and just how plentiful his incisors and canines are, but she can see little hints and peeks of it poking out. There’s a certain glow in his diamond green eyes as he looks at her, something that she doesn’t know how to read. “The last thing we need is for you to get mad at me because of the mess. You’re far too cold to be focusing on that instead of your bath, Princess.”

“I’ll be okay. It’s warmer in here,” She murmurs, pulling off her soaked aprons. She bundles the fabric in her arms, settling the ball of clothes onto a stool. It lands on the surface with a wet slap, sounding exactly like a drenched rag used to clean their dishes. She tries not to wince. “I’m feeling better. Maybe I was getting rain hysteria.”

He cocks his head naively. “That’s a thing?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never experienced it,” She finds herself smiling, teasing him, unlacing her boots. They thud heavy on the wooden floor when she pulls them off, pulling a clean rag from underneath one of the cupboards in their little brewing area. “Everything is worse when it’s raining.”

He laughs. “You don’t have to convince my on that one.”

She pads over to him— him, the demon who could snap her in two with a twitch of a finger— the demon who surfaced from a portal when she’d mistakenly drawn the wrong runes in a rush and a hurry in order to save her burning childhood home— the demon who has never looked at her with hunger, but instead awe and admiration.

There’s a seal on his chest to prove it— a seal that proves that they’ll be together until the bitter end.

It’s hidden by the white poet shirt he has loosely tied on his body, but she can catch just bits and pieces of the emerald green seal showing through from how his shirt is soaked. It glows warm underneath her palm as she presses her hand against it in order to stabilize herself as she wipes him down starting from the shoulders down, standing up on her tip toes to reach, but there isn’t any reason for her to touch him. There’s no need to. She doesn’t need to hold onto him while she wipes him down with one of her hands, but she does it anyway.

She hopes he doesn’t ask.

Still, she wipes down his shoulders, down his arms— takes a giant paw-like hand into hers and wipes gently at his blackened fingertips. He’s filled with callouses from battles and work that she will never know. His skin is a war map of its own, with scars that range from hairline to actual raised and puckered skin, each from the years he’s been the world’s Chat Noir.

But for a little while, while their contract seals are permanent on their skin and burn and ache whenever they’re away from each other, they are each other’s.

She doesn’t know how to feel about it. She doesn’t know how to feel, knowing that Chat Noir’s eyes are never violent when they look at her. That his claws are never drawn in her direction. That his teeth never threaten to sink into her rib cage. He is many things— destruction, chaos, hell’s prodigious son— but he is also her companion.

Her familiar.

Her friend.

So all she does is continue to wipe down his hands. Finger by finger, making sure to soak up as much water with her little rag. It’s not much she can do— his poet shirt and trousers cling to his body like wet parchment from all the rain, but it’s at least to get him more comfortable. He’ll sit himself by the fire of their cottage in his cat form while she bathes, fighting off the urge to sleep as his fur slowly dries, so she wants to at least give him a bit of reprieve and get the rubbish off of him. As much as Chat complains about the rain, she knows that what he minds the most is the smell— he bathes often and for long periods of time for someone who claims he doesn’t enjoy it.

She cleans down his legs, too. He can do it by himself, it’s obvious, but he always ends up missing dirt between the fur-like texture on his legs or on his paws, and ends up leaving pawprints on the floor. She’s resigned in kneeling down and scrubbing with the cloth, since she’s so used to this that it isn’t necessarily weird, always chiding him for being careless.

The quietness is odd, though.

Chat Noir is a chatter box. It’s a miracle to have moments of quietness whenever he’s around, although she doesn’t actually mind the noise, because she would be an absolute wreck in the silence. He’s talkative, sociable— always scrounging up a friend or two without meaning to. It’s how they’ve met Luka, and Alix, and even Alya— her cat demon has a knack of talking people’s ears off and they sometimes come back for more. Sometimes it’s in a rivalry way, like for Luka and Alix, who stop at nothing to get under the cat demon’s skin just to see what the line is and how to tip toe around it. Sometimes its just because it’s fun to hear Chat Noir talk.

“Marinette?”

He’s clean from dirt. He has been for a while, but he hasn’t told her to stop rubbing at his legs with the cloth. She all but squeaks as she steps away, trying not to blush, catching herself staring off into the distance in her thoughts. “Sorry! Sorry I didn’t mean to zone out. Sorry. Was that weird?”

“It wasn’t that weird,” His mouth twitches. “It’s fine.”

���D-do you want me to, uh,” She tries clearing her throat. “Do you want me to save you some hot water?”

“What?”

“For the bath?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” His eyes are swirls of emerald green as he blinks at her. “Uhm. Yeah. That’d be great, actually. Thank you.”

The rag lands on the ball of aprons she’s made with a dull little slap. “You can walk around now. You’re clean of dirt.”

She prays to the goddess above for good luck as he continues to smile at her, keeping his hands up and away to look as nonthreatening as possible from this weird little awkward interaction that makes her want to scream into the mattress from embarrassment. “I’m going to, uhm. Go over there and dry off my shirt. I’ll keep the fire going.”

“Great,” She nods, watching him pull off his poet shirt with wide eyes before squeaking and turning around to face the entryway again. “I’m going to go bathe now.”

“You know— uhm— where to find me. I guess.”

“Right— uhm.” She makes her way over to her brewing area, pulling out a lacquered box from underneath a cabinet to peruse the contents. There’s neat little rows of bottles with small corks, each bottle a different color. She’s attempted to color coordinate them, but given that scents don’t have much of a color to her, she’s done the best she can. “Is there a soap preference you want for the water?”

“Something that doesn’t make me sneeze?” She hears him sit on the rug that is a little ways away from the fire, but close enough to be warm for sure.

“Peppermint sounds good?”

He hums. “I think peppermint gives me rashes.”

She puts the bottle back and picks out another one. “Lavender?”

“That definitely gives me rashes.”

“Are you really a cat?” Marinette struggles not to laugh, even though her face is burning, and she wants nothing more than to get swallowed into a portal and die from embarrassment.

“Work with me here, Princess,” He huffs, giving a laugh of his own. “Okay, fine. What about lemon? That’s always a nice smell. You always smell great when there’s lemons involved.”

She takes it as a compliment, and tries not to kick herself as her whole body blushes for an entirely new reason. It was just a compliment. It doesn’t mean anything more. It doesn’t— it doesn’t mean anything. He’s just talking about his nose hurts from strong scents.

Right?

After all, it’s not as if he’s interested in her. Not in that way.

She hazards a guess that the yellow bottle is the one she’s looking for, and pops open the cork to waft up the smell to her nose. “Okay. L-lemon it is, I guess.”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 30- Shadow Fox

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Doc, Zed, and Scar have made their way to the city of Foresta, deep in the forests where animals are going missing and the nightmares grow worse daily. Meeting with a local shepherd, they find allies in the most unusual ways.

____________________________________

“Oh, yeah, watch it with the Zhenniao, their spit burns like mad.” Zedaph crows as he 

pets the soft white feathers of a Caladrius, the two having a conversation about their favorite seeds. 

“Uh… is this thing supposed to have three legs?” Scar leaps back, narrowly avoiding the corvid. He laughs though, and preens the beast’s wing. 

“Yep! Yatagarasu are born with two legs, but the third one grows when they learn to fly!” Zed sets the Caladrius back. As much as he loved the insightful debate he held with the bird, it’s not the kind of help they need. Besides, it would bring as much attention as an alicanto. “What about it, you three legged birdy? Want to join our team? Phoebe can teach you all the best ways to get letters to us- and the best places to peck at the hermits to get them to wake up.” 

“I swear to god I don’t want to have to build another eye.” Doc sets the acid spitting bird down, and waits for Zedaph to respond. But the blond hermit was always having a thousand different conversations at once. On their way here, he had a whole horde of forest creatures following him. 

The city of Foresta was open, patches of grass and trees older than the kingdom sprouting between houses and wide streets. Between the throngs of people, creatures of all shapes and sizes wandered down the dirt paths. Satori swing from the horns of a chimaera, leaping over the massive bodies that create the baku. Birds of all shapes, sizes, and different heads fly through the high canopy, fluttering to stop on the stone tower of the postal office. It’s here where the hermits are searching for another carrier bird. Poor Phoebe can’t do all the work herself, especially with so many hermits off hunting down reports.

And that was the other reason they were in the city of Flora and Fauna. Sent here to discover the whereabouts of missing familiars and family beasts. Carrier birds, farm beasts, even a family’s own cerberus have gone missing in the past few months. While Doc had his suspicions of their fate, Scar and Zedaph wanted to confirm his beliefs. 

“Alright, so that’s two more feathery friends added to the family.” The Zhenniao jumps from Zed’s shoulder, pulling on a tassel of Scar’s outfit. 

“I’m sure Grian will make fast friends with them, he already has Phoebe wrapped around his finger.” Scar chuckles, holding the bird close. “But what about the missing familiars? Did you get any information on who we could speak to?” 

“Actually, yes. A very talkative pegasus told me that a few streets down is where a whole herd of shleep went berserk a few days back.” 

Doc doesn’t waste another second. Marching down the street, eyes set on the direction Zedaph pointed. His gaze so intimidating, even a brigade of baccas part to stay out of his way. With one bird holding onto Zed’s hair, and another clasping Scar’s elongated ear, the other two give chase, Zed yelling turns to the marching beast that is Doc. He only halts in his tracks when he hears Zed yell “Stop! We’re here!” 

Screeching to a halt, Doc is left standing in an open field, sunlight blazing on the bright grass. Dotted with white patches of flowers, the pasture is empty. Unlike the busy city, even the parks in Foresta, this moorland was empty. 

Mostly empty. A young boy, laying beside a three headed sheepdog, is weaving dandelions into a flower crown. One for each head of his friend, and one for his own. Doc trains his mismatched eyes on the boy, and makes his presence known. 

Unfortunately for Doc, his presence is impending at best, downright terrifying at worst. The boy opens his eyes, and squeaks like a mouse at the sight of the hermit. He curls up, hands raised. “Please, just take my money I don’t got anything else!” 

“I’m not here to rob you.” Doc growls, rolling his eyes. Years of being a hardened criminal never really fades off his face. “Are you the shepherd?” 

“I’m sorry the shleep have been acting up lately! I don’t know how to make the nightmares stop, they’re still alarmed from the attack the other night.” The cerberus nuzzles one head beneath the boy’s arms, while the other two growl at the intruders. 

Until Zed steps up, a smile and a soft cooing voice turning one head from foe to friend. All it takes is one scratch of the ear, and he’s got the sheepdog wrapped around his finger. “That’s actually why we’re here. We came to help.” 

The boy lifts his head, looking at the unusual troupe. Two innocent, smiling faces surround the hardlined scowl of the hybrid hermit. Scar nudges Doc in the stomach, and the puppeteer sits to his knees. Looking much less impending when he’s not towering over the shepherd. “We heard that some unusual things have been happening in Foresta. Familiars going missing, pets getting lost left and right. Do you know anything of what’s causing that?” 

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Scar chuckles, plopping down next to the shepherd and beginning to weave his own flower crown. 

“I-Isaac.” He twists a blade of grass in between his fingers. “I...yeah, yeah I’ve seen a lot of it happen. When you’re a shleep herder, you see all manner of things happen in the night. But no one believes the boy who cries chupacabra. Or bakunawa, or ‘oh gods the neighbor’s cactus cat is suddenly an ash monster’!” 

“We’ll believe you. We came here just to hear those stories.” Scar chuckles. He looks over, and sees Doc’s expression start to soften, and the puppeteer reaches out to help Isaac finish the knot of his flower crown. Doc hates to admit it, but they all know he’s very good with kids. When he’s not being a hardass. “What have you seen?” 

“I...I’ve seen these critters, sneaking through the streets at night. All kinds of critters, actually, but...different from the normal. They look like they’re falling apart, like a cherry tree’s bark.” He runs his hands over his arms, attempting to find flakes of his own skin as proof. “They scare the shleep every night, and disappear into the city. And then I see more, and more. They drag other critters out of their homes and barns, and turn them into more flake monsters.” 

“Husks.” Doc whispers, his suspicions confirmed. Dark magic has even made it into the depths of the Evernight forest. But Isaac is hardly listening. Like any child, he has more story to tell. 

“The other night, those flake critters went after my herd. A chupacabra. But...I thought they never went after shleep! Shleep aren’t tasty- I don’t think so, at least. They’re all cosmic wool and gristle.” 

“Husks aren’t exactly looking for a tasty meal.” Zed whispers, “They’re looking for magic, and shleep are full of them.” He would know, he was once a shleep farmer when he was young. It’s how he honed his magic. 

“They come every night, stealing more critters. Soon, all that will be left is shleep causing nightmares and those husky things.” Isaac shakes his head. “Foresta won’t be much fun without all the critters here.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Us hermits are here to stop it.” Scar announces, grinning and tossing his short brown locks of hair over his shoulder. Trying to look as heroic as he sounds. 

The shepherd giggles. “Hermits? But you aren’t alone, you can’t be a hermit!” 

“Ask Hypno why we’re named that.” Doc laughs as well, even though he knows the story full well, it’s still funny every time someone points it out. “Don’t worry, kid. By the time we’re done here, you’ll all be having sweet dreams again.” 

“You’re the coolest bad guy ever.” Isaac whispers, and places the flower crown on Doc’s tangled mess of hair. 

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

He refuses to take it off. Even as the sun falls and the city goes quiet, only nocturnal creatures lurking among the streets, he keeps his flower crown secure on his head. All three hermits watch the ruminants bleat and make their way around the town, cosmic wool spinning with stars and galaxies, entire worlds for their fur promising night rest. Wisps of the shleep’s fleece dance into the damp, warm air of Foresta. But it’s dancing in the air that the soft mist turns to harsh dust, slipping through open windows and under closed doors. Delivering nightmares to the people. 

In the distance, Scar frowns at the sound of someone crying. Waking up from the bad dream. It’s not the poor shleep’s fault, they can’t control their own magic. They’re just sleep sheep, it’s the husks that have them all bothered. If the hermits can stop the husks, the shleep can be happy again and the entire city can finally get a good night’s rest. 

Doc waves to Isaac, walking out with the last shleep from the pasture. Zedaph opens his eyes, blinking away the embers of magic. Oddly enough he feels the desire to chew grass now. The shleep are scared. Scared of the creatures that lurk in the dark, bodies lacking souls or even life. Just corpses- husks- forced to move by dark magic. One ram told Zed they were never afraid of the creatures of the night, their fellow nocturnal beasts, until that chupacabra turned on them. 

Doc and Zed share a quiet conversation about the information they’ve gathered, and Scar lays back in the grass. Watching leaves shadow the sky above him, stars twinkling in the same way they glimmered on the shleep’s coat. The distant titter of dyads among the trees, the soft hoots from various birds in the post office sound like music to Scar’s ears, and he closes his eyes to bask in the quiet night. Hunting dark magic isn’t that bad, if it leads to quiet, serene moments as well as exciting action. He feels himself dozing off, figuring that Doc or Zed will keep an eye out for some creepy dark beast. 

He’s alone. Sitting up in a dark alleyway, the sound of yelling echoing from his parents’ silk shop. Something warm pools on his cheek, burning along his very namesake, mixing with saltwater. Scar raises a hand to try  and staunch the blood, and discovers his hand is covered in mud, adorned with gemstone rings of gold. 

“You’re not a farm boy, Forest.” The words spit out in his father’s voice, but the lips that speak them are none other than the Magistrate’s. “Stop playing in dirt, this magic of yours is a disgrace as it is. You’re going to ruin the family image. And you’re clothes.” 

“But I like my magic.” Scar whispers, turning his hand over. The mud changes color, dripping through his fingers into pools of blood. 

“You should have let your magic wither away, or better yet- give it to me.” Dolios grabs Scar’s wrist, dragging him into darkness.

Dragging him from his nightmare. But while Dolios was a dream, something tugging on his wrist was very real. Scar leaps to his feet, retreating from the creature that is pulling his bag from his clutches. “Hey, no that’s my stuff! My snacks!” 

Scar stumbles to his feet, kicking Doc on the way up. “What the hell Scar?” 

He doesn’t look back, chasing after the black furred monster. As dark as a husk, with white glowing eyes and all. He can’t see the creature’s form, just the illumination of white light from it’s eyes, Scar’s purple bag swinging from it’s mouth. He needs to catch up, get his stuff back. Rather than scooting around a fallen tree, he makes the ground rise from beneath him, flinging him over with a much less graceful landing. “Get back here you little cretin!” 

Behind Scar, Doc and Zedaph stumble through the forest. Tripping over roots and twisting their ankles in holes, they lose sight of the terraformer as moonlight is engulfed by the trees of the Evernight forest. The only light is the soft glow of bioluminescent mushrooms, moss, and leaves. At the interface between Foresta and the Evernight, the glow was indistinguishable. But Zed knows the deeper they go, the brighter the bioluminescence should get. 

But it never brightens. He continues to get caught in roots, eyes never finding enough light to see where he’s going. A stone halts Zed’s forward momentum, and he tumbles to the ground. “How can Scar keep up such a pace?” 

“Because he’s Scar, how does he do half the things he does?” Doc sighs, collapsing to his ass and looking around. The darkness of the forest is endless, leaves stitched together to be a roof that blocks out all light from the sky. He toes a mushroom, watching the fungi glow weakly. Shouldn’t it be brighter this far in? 

“Oh, Doc, look!” Zed slaps Doc on the shoulder, harder than he realizes, pointing in the direction opposite of where Scar went running.

“What, I can’t see shit.” Doc growls. 

“Perytons!” Zed crawls forward, light appearing under one arm. “They can help us, we just have to make friends with them! They’re very skittish cre-” 

In one swift motion, Doc casts his magic. In one blink, he’s watching Zedaph crawl through the mossy floor, the next he’s grazing on a nearby tree branch. The Peryton gave almost no resistance, and now Doc can control the beast. See through it’s night-adjusted eyes. Lo and behold, Zedaph looks stupid no matter what eyes are watching him. Zedaph sits up, pouting. “Well that’s no fun.” 

Doc can’t answer him, not while he’s in control of the Peryton. Stepping his hooved feet over Zedaph and fluttering iridescent green wings, he takes care of his own body standing still as a stone. One eye remains glassy, as if looking through a lens, but the red oculus of his other eye has disappeared completely. He can see the glow in the metal of his arm emanating from the deer creature, as he picks up his body with his rack of antlers and places it on his feathery back. 

By the time Doc has cared for his vulnerable physical form, Zedaph has cast his own spell. Such similar results, but completely different magic. Zedaph shepherded the mind of the creature into helping him- Doc just took full control. Either way, the two are able to follow the direction that Scar disappeared. Deeper into the forest, away from the city. 

Zedaph notices that the bioluminescent of the Evernight Forest is missing, no matter how deep they go. The darkness remains, clinging to the branches and bark like a tapestry slung across the forest. He’s not even sure where Scar could be at this point- this wilderness expands on for thousands of hectares. 

Until he hears the spluttering mix of a laugh and a whimper, the noise so uniquely Scar that both Doc and Zed turn in the direction it arose from. Even through the eyes of the Peryton, it becomes almost impossible to see around them, darkness consuming everything around them. 

Because that’s what it is. Returning to his own body, Doc stumbles to his feet and rushes to light up a torch. A few paces ahead of him, Sca has trapped himself in a bramble bush, a tiny shadow fox dangling his bag just barely out of his reach. “Come on little guy, I’m sorry I mistook you for a husk. You’re cute, I promise! It’s just with your eyes and coat, you looked like a darkness monster.” 

“Need some help, or have you learned from Zed?” Doc snickers, pulling Scar from his thorny trap by the collar. The shadow fox chirps, ears turning to the side in joyful mischief. It approaches the hermits, dropping Scar’s bag at his feet. Glowing eyes, bright as sunshine, cast the shadow that creates the fox’s body. Zedaph can’t help but reach down to pet the shadow creature either way. 

“She guided us here. To...this.” Scar whispers, feeling the tension on his body already. The weight in his lungs, watching the light from the fox’s eyes and Doc’s torch be consumed by the black cluster of crystal. 

“This is what’s making the husks in Foresta. Just like in Gildara, it’s draining the forest.” All of the light, Limal’s creation with the goddess of death, vanishing as Dolios’s thirst for power drains the forest of life. Doc shakes his head. “We can’t let it continue. Scar, why don’t you…” 

Scar is gone again. Disappeared from between Zed and Doc, though not as far gone as before. Just a short distance away. Being attacked by another creature. This one, however, isn’t aiming for Scar’s bag like the thieving fox. 

It’s aiming for his throat, naked tail and matted fur thrashing and foam snarling from scraggly teeth. But unlike the shadow fox, the monster’s body is flaking and breaking apart with each movement, tufts of fur turning to smoke and ash. Zedaph sighs, more tired than before. “Great, now we got a ROUS to deal with as well as a creepy crystal.” 

“Massive rat first, please!” Scar cries, snapping his boots up and digging the spurs into the massive beast’s stomach. He rolls away, gnarled roots and dirt barricading him and the ROUS. 

Doc and Zed look at each other, then the ROUS before them, the darkness-crazed animal clawing through the barrier. It has a taste of Scar’s flesh, and he tastes sweet. Alive. Neither of their magic can work. There’s no soul to shepherd. Dark magic is already controlling the ROUS. They have to resort to another method. 

A much more combative, cutthroat method. One that Doc knows well. Grabbing the bone handle of his knife, dark metal and nicked, toothed edges of kaber blade pulling free of old leather. “Scar, can you try to pin it down?” 

“I'll add it to the list.” A startled squeak harmonizes with the viscous growl. The muzzle of the ROUS reels back, spittle glistening and falling from ivory white blades, and snaps. Scar rolls out of the way and slams his hands down on the ground once he’s been freed. The dirt erodes into sand and water, a pit of quicksand opening it’s maw beneath their feet. Scar scrabbles backwards, the mud water attempting to pull him in as well, gasping for air. With another wave of his hand, the ground resolidifies. The naked hands and feet of the enormous rodent are trapped in solid ground. 

Doc wastes no time. Freeing the body of the ROUS from the claws of darkness, his blade cuts through the empty body like he’s cutting fabric. The darkened for withers away into dust, and Zedaph kicks it away from the pile for good measure. 

The three boys sit on the silent, blighted forest floor. Ignoring the angry crystal, or the darkness consuming around them. Scar is panting like he ran a mile, Zedaph petting the soft shade ears of the fox that led them there, and Doc twirling his own knife. They just need a moment, a second to recollect themselves. Doc looks at his blade, forged in False’s fires. No matter what, no matter how strong a mage can be, sometimes they have to resort to the same tools as every other person. “Alright, enough sitting down. Let's put this crystal to ruin and let Isaac and his shleep finally get some peace.”

[slashhack]

Leatherface (Thomas Hewitt) X Reader: Spring Break

anonymous: May I get a Thomas Brown Hewitt first meeting reader who doesn’t see him as dumb or scary and shows him kindness in small ways. (Perhaps she is on a road trip and gets stranded?)

(Note: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait! Hope this lives up to your expectations! And sorry about the word count... I just couldn’t stop writing, lol.)

“Are we almost there?”

Ash tightens her grip on the wheel, gritting her teeth. “We’re about twenty minutes closer since the last time you asked, but no, Damien, we are not ‘almost there.’”

“God, we’ve been driving forever!” Damien says, sighing heavily. His on again-off again (currently on again) girlfriend, Katelyn, nods emphatically in agreement.

“When are we gonna stop? I’m hungry, and I have to pee,” Katelyn whines.

Ash’s eye twitches. Next to her, in the passenger’s seat, Frankie fiddles with the road map. She seems unaware of the fact that Ash is contemplating driving into a tree to shut Katelyn and Damien up (in a way that doesn’t involve them subjecting the rest of you to gross make-out noises).

“Do we have any water?” You ask. Unfortunately, rather than diffuse the mounting tension, all your question does is shift Ash’s ire to you.

“No, we don’t,” Ash replies tightly. “Which wouldn’t be the case if someone had stocked up before we started, like they were supposed to.”

You sink a little lower in your seat.

Frankie reaches out to place a soothing hand on Ash’s knee. “Deep breaths, babe. There’s gotta be a gas station or a rest stop or something somewhere around here. We can stop in, grab some stuff, and get right back on the road.”

“Wouldn’t have to if everyone had just done their part in the first fucking place,” Ash mutters.

Damien snorts, barely attempting to disguise it as a cough. Katelyn outright laughs.

Needless to say, your spring break road trip with your dorm-mates is not going well. The past few hours have seen growing friction between all of you, and you’re almost certain that - despite the fact that one of the goals you’d made for this trip was to form positive relationships with the others - the rest of the group may or may not be planning on stranding you in the middle of nowhere.

(Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, they may not seem to like you all that much, but they're not evil. They wouldn't leave you out in the middle of Texas with no way to get home.

...Right?)

At the first rest stop you find, you volunteer to get out and get coffee and breakfast bars for everyone (except Katelyn, who hates coffee). When you’re handing Ash hers, you lose your footing, and about a quarter of the fresh-brewed coffee sloshes onto her lap. Ash swears a blue streak, insulting you in pretty much every possible way. Frankie gives you a sympathetic look as she mops up the spill and consoles her girlfriend, but doesn’t say anything.

When Damien busts out his radio and asks what music everybody wants to hear, you tentatively offer a suggestion, and he ignores you. You repeat yourself, thinking that it’s possible he just didn’t hear you, and he rolls his eyes.

“I heard you, I just don’t wanna listen to some dumb bullshit.” He grins. “My radio, my right to veto garbage tunes, dude.”

Katelyn laughs. “Ooh, put on K-OKLA!”

Damien smiles crookedly and extends the antenna. “Anything for my girl.”

You decide to take a nap.

(At this point, anything is better than this.)

A good while later, after the stash of granola bars and beef jerky has dwindled down to nothing, you finally reach what appears to be a tiny general store in Travis County. You once again volunteer to go on a supply run. (You’re only mildly disappointed when nobody offers to come with you, or even to help you pay.)

The wooden door creaks as you enter, and when you cross the threshold you aren’t surprised to find a homey interior, complete with photographs and a taxidermied buck’s head mounted on the wall. There’s a woman with cat eye glasses smoking at the counter, so you approach with a shy smile.

“Um, do you have anything that comes in wrappers or is resealable?”

The woman takes a thoughtful drag from her cigarette before saying, “I got some jerky I can wrap up for ya.”

You nod, digging out the remainder of the money you had allotted to the trip. “That would be great. How much is that?”

Praying that what you’ve purchased is enough and having nearly depleted your funds, you step outside, plastic bag in hand. “Hey guys, I got some-”

The bag of jerky slips out of your hand.

The van is gone. In its place, you find your suitcase, laying in the dirt. Dumbstruck, you walk toward it.

You can't believe they ditched you. You thought they were better than that. You thought…

You aren't sure what you thought.

They're probably long gone, and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. You don’t have a car, you have barely any money, and you certainly don’t have any idea what the hell you’re supposed to do.

Behind you, the door to the shop creaks open.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” It’s the woman from the shop.

Blinking hard, you say, “My friends left me.”

A gentle hand is placed on your back. “They left ya?” There’s a pause. Perhaps the woman sees your suitcase, because she says, softly, “Oh.”

You take a shuddering breath, and then bend down to pick up the bag. You turn to the woman.

“Is there anywhere I could stay in town?” Remembering the alarmingly small amount of money in your possession, you add, “...For really, really cheap?”

The woman shakes her head. “Ain’t much around for miles.” She hesitates. “But…”

Your breath catches. “But what?”

“Well…” The woman puts a hand on her hip, and with the other hand she adjusts her glasses. “I s’pose you’re welcome to stay with my family and me for the night. Just for the night, now,” she says pointedly. “Then tomorrow we can have the sheriff drive you to the next town over.”

You feel a fresh wave of emotion crash over you, and almost collapse under the weight of your relief.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say. Then you laugh. “Gosh, I don’t even know your name, and you’re being so kind to me…”

The woman smiles gently at you - the first time you can recall her smiling. “My name’s Luda Mae, dear.”

You offer your name in return, thanking Luda Mae again for her kindness.

Against all odds, it appears that your horrid luck is taking a turn for the better.

Luda Mae has two sons. She tells you about them as you help her close up shop and on the trip to her home - first about her eldest son, who sounds curmudgeonly and abrasive, but well-meaning when it comes down to it, and then about her younger son, Thomas. From the second she begins speaking about him, it’s obvious that she adores Thomas; you tell her so, and she nods.

“I love my boy with all my heart,” she says firmly. “Thomas has seen so much pain, all his life… Lord knows my Thomas has earned a little love.”

Luda Mae also tells you about her brother, Monty. She doesn’t have much to say about him, other than that he’s in a wheelchair and that you aren’t to let him bother you.

“You’re a guest, and we treat our guests with respect. If he starts actin’ up, you just let me know,” she gives you a little pat on the arm.

You smile bashfully. “I will.”

When you finally make it to Luda Mae’s family home, you’re curious, but not shocked; you’re a big believer in not judging people based on their appearances, after all. Why would a little old lady, running a mom-and-pop general store, living in a plantation style manor with her family throw you for a loop?

Entering the house, you immediately see an old man in a wheelchair - Monty, you presume - sitting in the living room watching television. He looks up at the sound of the opening door, doing a double-take when he spots you.

“Who the hell’re you? What’re you doin’ in here?” He makes to wheel himself around.

“Now, Monty, don’t you start none,” Luda Mae says. “This here’s a guest of ours. Stayin’ with us for the night, that’s all.”

“What for?”

Luda Mae looks at you, nodding as though to give you encouragement. Taking that as a cue, you say, “My dorm-mates - we were on a road trip, and I got out to buy some food for everyone. By the time I left the store, they were gone. I found my suitcase laying on the ground outside.”

Monty is silent for a moment, as though he’s mulling over your situation. Finally, he shakes his head and turns back to the television, muttering, “Hoyt ain’t gon’ like it…”

Luda Mae scoffs, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t matter none what Hoyt likes, this is my house, and he ain’t too old yet to listen to his mama.”

Monty doesn’t have a response to that.

You feel your respect for Luda Mae growing more and more by the second.

Luda Mae gives you a brief tour of the house after showing you the guest room, in which you’ll be staying for the night. She walks you through the kitchen, points out a couple of different bathrooms, and tells you where her room is - “just in case of you findin’ yourself needin’ somethin’.” She also, strangely, makes a point to tell you to avoid the basement. You’re curious, but you don’t want to be rude, so you don’t ask why. You do ask if her sons live with her.

“They do. Hoyt’s the sheriff, so he ain’t gonna be home for a while, but Thomas is probably down in the basement. Doin’ what, I couldn’t tell ya, but he just about lives down there.”

Well, that answers your unspoken question, then.

“Don’t you worry,” She continues, “you’ll be meetin’ Thomas and Hoyt. Wanna make sure they know you’re a guest - ‘specially Thomas. He’s a little bit protective.”

Once again not wanting to risk seeming rude, you nod as though you understand. (In truth, you’ve got even more questions now, but you’re not going to interrogate this nice woman in her own home. After all, if there was really a problem with you staying, you’re pretty sure she wouldn’t have invited you.)

Luda Mae is in the middle of asking how you feel about stew when you hear what sounds like a sliding metal door being opened. She gets a slightly nervous look on her face; she lifts a hand to her mouth and says, “Oh, that’ll be Thomas.” She glances at you for a moment before calling, “Thomas! C’mere a second, I got somebody for ya to meet!”

You hear footsteps coming towards you from the direction of the basement. They’re fairly heavy - Thomas must be a sizeable man.

After a brief pause, a figure - a very tall figure - comes to loom in the doorway.

Luda Mae clicks her tongue, putting a hand on her hip. “Don’t be shy, now. C’mon in here.”

Thomas’ shoulders rise and sink slowly in what you suspect to be an inaudible sigh, but he obeys, stepping further into the room. Now, you have a clear view of him.

He’s easily around six and a half feet tall, with long, wavy dark hair that reaches his shoulders. Curiously, he’s also wearing a strange leather muzzle-like contraption that encompasses much of his face; it shows his eyes and mouth, but covers his nose, ears, and most of his skin, and the straps come up over his ears, meeting over the top of his head.

Smiling and giving a little wave, you say, “Hello,” and tell him your name.

You think he gives a short incline of his head, but he doesn’t reply. He looks you over, and you can feel yourself starting to shrink under his silent gaze.

Luda Mae puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry none. Thomas just ain’t a talker; don’t take it personal,” she gives you a reassuring little pat, and you relax again.

Luda Mae’s attention drifts to the clock on the wall, and she does a double-take. “Good gracious me, is that the time? I best get supper goin’. Stew is all right, you said?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am!” You say, nodding. “Stew is more than all right with me.”

“Good, good,” Luda Mae turns to Thomas and says, “Sweetheart, you mind keepin’ our guest company ‘til Hoyt gets back? Don’t want him to think we got trespassers.”

Thomas gives a single, slow incline of his head.

Luda Mae seems pleased. As she goes to leave, she pats you on the shoulder and says, “I’ll leave y’all be, then. Don’t you worry; you’re in good hands.”

As his mother rushes off to the kitchen, Thomas gives you an unreadable look, surveying you once again. Apparently satisfied with whatever he sees, he turns around and begins to walk off. You assume that you’re supposed to follow him, so you do.

Thomas leads you outside, and the two of you walk for a bit, toward a small garage which stands separate from the house. When he reaches the entrance, Thomas stops, looking back at you over his shoulder for a moment.

It dawns on you, after a moment, what he wants.

“You want me to wait here?”

Thomas nods.

You smile. “All right, then.”

Thomas goes into the garage. You hear the sounds of metal scraping and what you presume to be things getting moved around. You’re beyond curious as to what’s going on, but you resist the urge to crane your neck and try to see. Thomas asked you to stay back for a reason, after all.

After a few minutes, the sounds stop, and Thomas returns, a sack hefted over his shoulder. He gestures with his head for you to resume following him, and you do so without argument.

“Where are we going?” You ask without thinking. Thomas gives you a look out the corner of his eye, and you feel warmth rise in your cheeks. “Sorry.”

You’ve never encountered someone who can’t speak before. You wonder what it must be like, not being able to verbally communicate. You imagine it must be very difficult.

The two of you walk for a good while longer before reaching a fence that you assume marks the edge of the Hewitts’ property. Thomas grunts, swinging the bag off his shoulder and opening it.

He walks a couple of feet along the fence before pulling out - to your surprise - a bear trap, which he places on the ground, kneeling down to set it.

“Is there… Is there any way I could help?” You ask, startling yourself. Thomas seems to be nearly as caught off guard as you; he glances at you, his brows furrowed. After a moment (during which you consider rescinding the offer, just out of embarrassment), Thomas nods shortly. He picks up the burlap sack and holds it out to you. You accept it, surprised when its weight nearly topples you; Thomas had been carrying it so effortlessly, you hadn’t realised how heavy it must be.

You’re not sure how long you spend following Thomas around the property, setting new traps, checking old traps, and sometimes just stopping to look out over the vast space, but you do know that by the time the bag is empty, your feet are starting to hurt. After the bag is empty and you’ve covered every square inch of the Hewitts’ land, Thomas leads you back to the garage, once more indicating for you to wait outside as he takes the sack from you and goes in.

As you wait for Thomas to return, a sheriff’s car pulls up to the house. A man in a sheriff’s uniform, with bushy eyebrows and light, silvery stubble, gets out. When he sees you leaning up against the outside of the garage, he immediately starts toward you. Taking a moment to recall what you know about Luda Mae’s eldest son, Hoyt, you realise that this must be him.

You smile, waving a bit. To your confusion (and discomfort), this seems to cause Hoyt’s expression to sour considerably. He’s yelling as soon as he’s within earshot of you: “What the hell’re you doin’ on my property?”

You shrink back against the wall, your eyes widening. “I-I…”

“Get the hell outta here,” Hoyt shouts, advancing on you quickly. “You’re trespassin’ on private property! You don’t get outta here right now, I got a right to shoot ya!”

“P-Please, no! I’m not- I swear I’m not trespassing, I, I-”

Hoyt makes a grab for your forearm with one hand, the other lifting up, and you stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut, preparing yourself for a blow.

Only it never comes.

Opening your eyes, you suddenly find something - or rather, someone - obscuring your field of vision. Thomas.

“Tommy? What the hell’s goin’ on here,” Hoyt growls. “We got trespassers?”

Thomas shakes his head firmly. He reaches back and tugs you forward to stand next to him, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

You can see, now, that Hoyt looks bewildered.

Thomas nudges you, and you realise now is your chance to explain yourself.

“I-I,” you pause, take a deep breath, and then continue with as much conviction as you can muster. “I’m not a trespasser, I’m a guest. L-Luda Mae invited me to stay for the night after my… my dorm-mates abandoned me.”

Hoyt doesn’t seem convinced, but just as he opens his mouth, Luda Mae’s voice floats across the yard from the backdoor: “Supper’s ready! Y’all come on!”

“Comin’, Mama!” Hoyt calls back reluctantly. To you, he says, “We’ll just see about that, won’t we, now?” With that, he stalks off toward the house.

You watch him go until the door closes behind him. When it does, you let loose a shaky breath, lifting a hand to your mouth.

Thomas is still standing next to you. His hand is still resting on your shoulder, the strangely familiar weight helping you stay grounded.

“Thank you, Thomas,” you say softly, almost timidly. “Thank you for protecting me. That was…” You sigh. “...That was really scary.”

Thomas seems unsure how to respond. He nods, his eyes avoiding your face.

He doesn’t remove the hand from you shoulder. You find that you don’t really mind.

You reach up hesitantly, placing your hand on top of his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go inside,” you say.

Thomas nods again, and the two of you set off for the house.

You almost swear that you see the faintest hint of a blush on what little you can see of his face.

[readyplayerhobi]

A Court Of Curses

; Vampire Prince!Hoseok x Witch Queen!Reader

; Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

; Warnings: Fingering, oral sex (receiving), choking kink, unprotected sex, biting (vampiric), blood play, creampie, dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, dirty talk, mentions and talk of miscarriage

; Word Count: 29.3k

; Synopsis: For millennia, the vampires and witches have hated one another and war has raged between the two. When tensions flare up once more and spill into neutral land, peace is forced upon the two by the faeries. The price of peace sees the Witch Queen married to the Vampire Prince. One hundred years later, how have things changed?

; A/N: So... I hope people like this. I know it’s super long but I’m hoping people will enjoy. Please let me know what you all think to our delightful vampire prince and please, if you enjoy then reblog and comment! It will help this story reach more people given the issues Tumblr is having!

-

The relations between vampires and witches have always been tense and strenuous. For thousands of years, your people and the vampires have fought in anger and other negative emotions with diplomacy almost non-existent. Retaliation after retaliation, until the original cause of the rift between both races has long been forgotten by the general population.

But you knew how it all began. Your father, the Witch King, had made sure the history of both races was taught to you as you’d grown up within the walls of the seat of power in Hekatalia. That included learning the horrifying knowledge that would fracture your society if they remembered, and would likely incite refusals to acknowledge what had happened. For your people were not the victims, no matter how much they tried to plead it after various vampire attacks.

Amongst your kind, there were various forms of magic that witches performed. Most remained firmly in the white category, with their magic innocent and pure. Some gravitated towards grey, with hexes being cast in anger or annoyance but never crossing an unseen line.

Dark witches though, revelled in the more sinister aspect of magic. Shunned by the normal population, dark magic was performed with especially negative emotions that thirsted for power, driven solely by desire. Sacrifice was common, and torture had been heard of. While deemed repellant by witch society at large, the wicked magic performed by dark witches was often considered required, for you could not have light without dark.

Long ago however, millennia ago in fact, dark witches had thirsted for power just as much as they did now. A certain sect of dark witches however, the Vampirius Sect, had become infamous for their experimentations with their magic beyond the usual sacrifices. These despicable witches had experimented with blood and death and a magic so dark that even the demons shied away from it.

The result had destroyed the sect itself, but it had left the survivors of their experiment forever changed in a way that rocked the world. These people had once been human in some form, simple peasants from the witch kingdom that had been kidnapped from their homes and farms as they worked and slept.

But afterwards, they were maddened creatures that had been ravaged by the dark magic that had crept into their bodies and changed themselves physically, their innate magic being twisted until it no longer resembled anything a witch would call magic. Their vision had been enhanced to that of a cat’s, able to see further and in the night, while their speed and strength had been increased astronomically also.

A farmer who had once struggled to load up his wagon now had the strength to throw said wagon.

And their hunger. Oh, they had hungered for something they did not understand. Food and drink could not sustain them for long, and their mouths watered for something they could not understand until one day, they had snapped. And attacked.

Fangs, sharp as knives, had elongated in their mouths and they had discovered something that satiated the desperate thirst they had. Blood.

Over time the vampire race, so named after the sect that had produced them, had gained their senses and intelligence again. Learning how to use their abilities to increase their standing in the world, they worked hard until they had gained enough land to create a kingdom of their own. They used a combination of slick diplomacy and hard fought battles until they commanded respect from the other races.

All, except the witches. Whom they loathed with a vile passion for what your race had done to theirs. And so war raged between the two. The witches assaulting vampiric lands with spells and magic, burning their crops and razing their lands with spells that left the ground barren.

The vampires responded by destroying witch villages, draining the inhabitants of blood and burning down whole buildings with people inside.

Both sides had committed crimes that were eye-opening and horrific, but you considered your side to have done the most wrong. After all, it was your people who had tortured and experimented on their own kind until the vampires were born.

Over the millennia, the original reasoning for your conflict had become forgotten. It had simply become expected for the witches and vampires to hate each other. And they had. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had been slaughtered through witchcraft or exsanguination over the years.

Until the neighbouring kingdom’s of the faeries and werewolves had had enough of the war spilling over into their lands.

You had been but a princess when the Great Demonic War had happened. The war had originally begun when a break-away clan of vampires had attacked the witch town of Craysus. Every witch had been slaughtered, with blood soaking into the rich dirt while their houses burnt to ash.

Your own father had tried for diplomacy at first, reaching out to the vampire kingdom of Sanguinus and asking for them to try the murderers. It was futile, as diplomacy had never been officially maintained between the kingdoms.

They had refused however, claiming that the vampires had nothing to do with their kingdom as the accused had renounced their allegiance to the Kingdom of Sanguinus. And so the villages and towns on the border of your kingdom, Hekatalia, had waged their own war. It had been like dominoes falling one by one, until both sides were enraged and war had begun again.

Only this time, people on both sides had fought on land that was not their own. When a faerie prince was killed by accident, the grief-stricken Faerie Queen had united with the Wolf King to end the damned feud between their neighbours once and for all.

A demon bargain had been struck between them, and the Gates of Hell had been opened onto your lands and the vampiric lands. The demons had rained destruction and disaster on both sides, laughing in the face of pleas and scoffing at threats, until finally both beleaguered kingdoms were pleading for mercy.

Your own father had been killed in a battle with a demon to protect you once the fighting had reached the castle, leaving you the next Queen of the Witches. The Vampire King had grudgingly met with you to iron out details of a peace treaty, unheard of between witches and vampires. Unfortunately for both races though, the faeries were not forgiving creatures and the punishment was severe.

A union between vampire and witch was demanded, a marriage between the monarchies. As the Vampire King was already married, his only son had been chosen instead. You had agreed to marry him with bitterness, the knowledge that this would save your kingdom from ruin and death the sole thing that had made you acquiesce.

Your wedding day, a day that should have been bright and happy, had been quiet and subdued. A delegation of the vampires had taken their place in the Oak Grove, the traditional place for marriages in Hekatalia, while a small contingent of witches from your Court had stood on the other, both sides glaring at the other.

The Ancient Oak had stood above you, with its wide trunk wizened with age while grand branches arched overhead. A soft breeze had rustled the leaves gently, which were spelled to never die, and you had wondered for a moment how many marriages this tree had overlooked. How many declarations of love it had observed.

Your dress had been customary for the witches. An emerald green made of the richest silk that swooped and hung elegantly over your curves to represent the earth, while a navy blue sash had been tied to your waist, twined through tiny silver hoops, to symbolise water and rings with rich rubies to represent fire adorning your fingers. The white silk ribbon threaded through your hair represented the very air you breathe, and your feet were bare to connect you to nature and the source of magic.

It probably all seemed very primitive and bizarre to the vampires, with their elegance and love for fashion. Not that your people were not interested in fashion, but they also needed a connection to the very nature whom they relied on to provide their magic.

Tiny white flowers, symbolic of marriage and happiness, had been threaded through your hair along with the ribbon while an elegant diadem intertwined with diamonds and silver leaves rested on your forehead.

Your fiancée had worn a suit of darkness, from his black breeches that clung to toned legs to the ebony, fitted jacket with subtle gold trim that sat on his slim frame. A deep, sultry red shirt of the highest quality silk took its place underneath a black waistcoat, while knee high boots laced up along the front had completed his look.

Despite the animosity between your races, and the fact that you were being forced to marry him to end a war, you would have been a complete fool to deny the handsomeness of him. The vampires were known for their beauty, often breeding purposefully to engineer aesthetically pleasing offspring.

Jung Hoseok was the product of centuries of careful marriages, and it showed in the stiff manner in which he held himself, exuding a confidence and strength that would have made you shiver under normal circumstances. His body was trim and toned, yet there was enough muscle to let you know that he could likely more than hold his own in a fight. He’d been in the vampiric army apparently, serving as a captain during the war.

But his face, his face would never let anyone think he was anything other than royalty. A strong jawline caught the eye first, and anyone looking at his profile would get a perfect view of his arrestingly beautiful nose, sloping straight before turning up at the end ever so slightly.

Hoseok had, and still has, a face made for portraits. Paintings to be looked upon and admired for centuries to come. You had no doubt that artist’s hands twitched for a brush to try and do him justice on a canvas.

High cheekbones led to soft, plush lips with dimples that softened him when he let them appear. And yet it was his eyes that had made you swallow involuntarily at the time. Dark with loathing and hatred for not only you and your kind but the faeries who had brutally hammered an end to the war that had shattered both your lives.

But even then, the shape of them had betrayed his inner personality. Because despite how hard your future husband tried to show his distaste, he had kind eyes.

Still, neither of you had wanted this marriage. And yet you had to, for the only other option was the annihilation of your peoples.

The ceremony had been subdued, a blend of both witch and vampire customs. He’d taken your wrist to his mouth, biting down on the vulnerable flesh there with just enough pressure for his sharpened fangs to cut through the surface. One swallow and he’d let go, before biting at his own wrist and presenting it to you.

It had been distasteful, and you’d wanted to gag at the very thought. But it was required as per their custom. It was how vampires married, my blood to your blood. And so you had swallowed the bitter, metallic liquid with gritted teeth before the exchange of silver rings had occured.

The handfasting had occured next, both holding each others hand as little as possible as the priestess wrapped the rope around your wrists and hands tightly while speaking the marriage vows that you had both repeated.

And then had come the parts that was not traditional to either of you.

The Faerie Queen had stood by and watched as this all happened, before moving forth and placing a dainty hand on your entwined hands. With a slightly smirking smile, she had bestowed the Faerie Curse that had ended the damnable war, finally.

Jung Hoseok and you were wedded, and your kingdoms were at peace. The terms of the curse were simple. For six months of the year, you were required to be together otherwise suffer excruciating pain. If you were not together, then the curse would spread to your people slowly like a disease until both races eventually died out.

To provide some respite, the final six months of the year allowed you to separate. To prevent attempts to be cruel to each other, or try and kill each other when you weren’t required to be near, then any attempts to see each other would result in equal amounts of pain for yourself and your peoples.

If one of you were to die, then that race would die also.

Which meant that you were both bestowed with immortality, even beyond the long lived natures of both races. The perfect way to stop a war, and for one hundred years it has been a great success. The crown jewel in the history of diplomatic relations of your continent.

For the first time in millennia, the vampires and witches are at a full peace. Neither side plots against the other while fringe movements that seek to destabilise the tranquility are struck down quickly with an iron fist to keep the peace.

And all it required, was for the Witch Queen and the Vampire Prince to lose their own chance at happiness.

-

“The carriage has been seen, Your Majesty.” The words come from an attendant who takes your empty plate from you quickly, bowing low so as not to see your expression of distaste. Sighing deeply, you look down at your now barren table and take a deep drink of the rich red wine in your glass.

Six months of quiet is about to be interrupted by the arrival of your husband, and it only takes a lazy glance around the expansive dining room to see the quick movements of servants as they clean.

You’re not sure why they bother, as he has lived in this castle for fifty of the last one hundred years, but you presume it is just a force of habit. Any guest arriving saw the castle being cleaned from top to toe. At least he couldn’t complain about a dirty residence.

Standing, you smile graciously as another attendant takes your empty glass before they scurry off through a side door to the kitchen. You have no doubt that the kitchen staff are cleaning up for the evening, perhaps even making their own meals to either eat in the warm room or to take home to their families.

You had long ago decreed that the servants of the castle were free to eat in the kitchen and any leftover food should be eaten instead of thrown. It would truly be a travesty for your chef’s food to go to waste. Jin did not train his skills in three kingdom’s just to have that thrown away.

Walking out of the overly large dining room, you move slowly through the empty hallways and look them over with a critical eye. The stone walls are clean, with not even a cobweb in sight and your lips purse as you note the crystal clear glass of the windows. Even the paintings that hang along the walls are in the best condition possible, each one with their colours vibrant and vivid as they portray important moments in witch history or one of Hekatalia’s many monarchs.

Your own portrait is not in this hallway, but you never like looking at it anyway. The artist, Kim Taehyung, was phenomenal but you simply found it vain to stare at yourself. There was a second portrait of you with your husband in another hallway and you sometimes felt like you could feel his disdain coming from within the coloured oils.

Moving towards the main hallway, you take a pause to look up at the grand and cavernous room. The ornate chandelier, with its thousands of exquisitely cut diamonds, is shining brightly as the spelled candles burn forevermore within, casting dancing shadows around the room in the evening light while the glare of the crystals causes pretty patterns to appear.

The sweeping staircase on either side of the entranceway is made of the finest marble, and you ponder for a moment the many kings and queens who have used these stairs to retire for the evening. There are plenty of staircases in the castle of course, but as the main entryway this was designed to shock and awe visitors.

Which it did, but your husband did not arrive using the main entrance. Not after one hundred years anyway.

Instead, you continue on down one of the smaller corridors that is usually used by the servants of the castle. Years spent as a child in these halls mean that you know the castle like the back of your hand, and as such you know the quickest way to the servant’s entrance around the rear of the castle.

Nodding to the attendants who wait with blank faces, you head out of the door and stand with perfect poise. Your timing was ideal, as the aristocratic black and red carriage enters into the small courtyard as you place your hands togetehr. The four Sanguinus steeds breathe heavily, their dark sides heaving from the effort of pulling the carriage and you watch as servants from your own stables move forward to provide water and feed for the animals.

Vampire coachmen alight from the carriage and you recognise one of them as Kim Namjoon, a long serving attendant of your husband’s who has accompanied him on the extensive journey from his kingdom to yours over the many years. Luggage is pulled from the back of carriage and piled high before the door opens and you finally get a glimpse of the man you will spend the next six months with.

He’s tall and elegant as always, with a stiff and straight posture that belies his regal upbringing. Taking a moment to observe the tall, white walls of the castle, you hear him let out a little sigh before he rolls his head slowly, stretching his shoulders out. The journey is long from Sanguinus to Hekatalia, and you have no doubt that he is tired and in need of rest.

Finally, his gaze moves to you and you watch as those dark eyes turn onto you firmly. Even after one hundred years, it is still an awkward meeting of the two kingdoms. Perhaps one day, it will not feel like this.

“Wife.” Hoseok greets coldly, his expression barely moving except for the slightest twitch of his dark brow. Equally dark eyes remained focused on you, and you noted the tiniest pout to his lips.

Still immature, even after one hundred years of marriage.

“Husband.” You responded, making sure your tone matched his own. His attendants shuffled awkwardly around you both, the glacial attitude you both had to each other causing a strong tension in the room that you simply couldn't see.

“My prince, we will take our leave now and return in six months for you,” Namjoon next to him whispered, a hand on your husband’s arm that stood out from the black material while is own icy blonde hair swayed in the soft breeze. “We wish you well.”

Hoseok didn't even look at the man as he nodded his acknowledgement. Your husband was not rude to his attendants, but you had noticed over the years that the vampires were certainly a little more brusque when it came to ruling. They often thought the witches were soft in that area, but you just reasoned that it was natural to care more when you had such a strong link to nature.

Without any further words, you watched carefully as they alighted into the carriage before the horses pulled away at a frantic canter. Amusement tugged at your lips as you watched them speed off, still fascinated at how many of your races could still hate each other after one hundred long years of peace.

And one hundred years of your curse.

There's silence for a moment, the sound deafening between you both and you're sure it's louder for your husband. He has hearing beyond your comprehension, something that has been a source of annoyance over the years.

Without a word, he moves closer in a stride that gives away his confidence that you will not push him away. There are no attendants of your own here, for it has long become established that you greet your husband in private.

As he stands close enough that you can feel his warm breath brush the flyaway strands of your hair, you can't help the tiny smile that appears

Reaching forward, your hands slip under the black jacket he has on, sliding along his dark waistcoat before they rejoin around his back. Looking up at his elegant face, you note the darkness in his eyes has softened slightly, deep black strands of hair falling into his gaze.

He says nothing for a moment, before he cups your face in strong hands that are ever so slightly cooler than your own. Leaning close, you take in the magnificent sight of your husband as your noses touch gently.

“I have missed you wife.” Hoseok practically breathes out, the longing and want of six months that he has kept hidden threading through each soft word.

You can't help the smile, nor the warmth of satisfaction and the buzz of happiness that burrows its way into your body at his tender words, his hands tender in their touch on your face. “I have missed you too husband. Desperately.”

He smiles at that, statuesque face breaking into a heart stoppingly beautiful grin that lightens not only him but you. Not a word is said further as he presses his lips to yours in a soft, but much needed kiss, your lips naturally fitting to each other after years of experience.

Despite the chaste nature to the kiss, he doesn’t move away to shorten the kiss and neither do you. Instead, your hands move to grip at the firmness of his slim waist while his own slowly move down your body, causing a wave of sensation that has you burning from the inside. Each touch is electrifying, setting your skin ablaze and you curse the fact it has been six months since you have touched him like this.

Since he has touched you like this.

Pulling away from him slowly, you give him a smile that is far more shy than it should be for a queen. But how could you not? He fills you with a happiness that vanishes with him for six months of the year, stowed away with him in the carriage he takes back to his kingdom.

“Come, I will have a bath drawn for you. You no doubt want to clean yourself.” You whisper, the sounds barely heard as they breath against his lips but he smiles all the same. A slow nod sends the dark strands of his hair into his face as he acknowledges, before you are both separating and heading through the plain wooden door.

Inside are four of your attendants, and you direct two of them to pick up his luggage and place it inside his rooms while the final two are directed to run him a warming bath. They pause for a moment, eyeing the handsome visage of the vampire prince next you before bowing their heads and scurrying out of the room.

Over recent years, the reactions to your husband have thawed in your kingdom. No longer is he treated with outright resentment, but more of a bored annoyance that simply seems to stem from an inherited idea that he is something wrong. Perhaps it is because he is always courteous, polite and kind whilst here.

Either way, the servants of the castle no longer sneer in his presence. They are certainly not comfortable with him, but you have noted the younger servants seem to be more at ease in his company.

It is eye opening to think that there are witches who will grow up only ever knowing peace with the vampires, and it gives you hope that one day you will be able to love him openly.

The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, neither looking at the other given the eyes that could be staring. You wish, desperately, that you could love your husband like any other wife. That you could watch him with an expression that says he put the stars in the sky for you and give him sly, coded smiles to make him flush and go shy like he does in private.

But you can’t. Because your marriage is not a marriage of love and kindness. It is a marriage of curses and pain. And that is what everyone expects to see.

Despondency settles itself firmly in your chest, gripping your throat tightly with a grim hand and it feels hard to breathe suddenly. You just want to love your husband. That’s all.

You’re jerked out of your despairing thoughts by the softest brush against your hand. It’s so featherlight that you almost think it’s a insect of some kind, scuttering along your skin and you jerk until you look down and see his hand there, brushing yours in a motion that would go unnoticed by anyone watching. Lowering your hand back down, you let the back of his hand brush against yours as you lead him to his usual rooms, a smile hidden deep inside at his comforting touch.

The two of you had learnt well how to hide your feelings for each other over the years. Despite the thawing emotions in your kingdom, there were many who still looked at him with disgust. Particularly those who did not live or work in the castle. Disgust for what he is, and fear for what his people have historically done.

You wish that you could show them that your people had done terrible things too. It would be wise for your population to remember that it was because of witches that vampires had even been created.

Shaking your head slightly, you let out the tiniest sigh as you acknowledged how futile that would be. In all honesty, you were just thankful that your people had chosen to accept the treaty. Both the witches and vampires were proud races, and it had been a bitter pill of humiliation to swallow to accept the terms offered to them.

Though, in reality they had no choice. The royal lineage ended with you and you were the metaphorical lightning rod of all magic for witchkind. It was through you that nature pushed its magic into, and it filtered out from you to the rest of the population. Millennia of breeding may have made Hoseok beautiful, but it had made you the perfect receptacle for the sheer amount of power you hosted.

Without you, the magic would run rampant and wild, killing witches who simply could not cope with that level of magic. A simple spell to wash a bowl could erupt into the equivalent of a magical bomb.

It meant that your people had to accept the treaty. The choice had been a slow death of madness with magic overloading people’s senses, a slow death of the curse spreading out in a wave or their lives in tact while their Queen remained shackled to a vampire.

It was easy to see why they had acquiesced.

Only, no one could have predicted that in only one hundred years, you would see the Faerie Curse as a half blessing. Half because it had given you your beloved, but half because it took him away for part of the year.

The prying eyes of servants who had not been spelled to keep your secrecy meant that you left Hoseok at his door, a meaningful glance from him telling you more in only a few seconds than any words could have ever hoped to say.

Your husband and you had become masters of conversations with only a glance, words with a touch and emotions with simply a subtle gesture.

Bowing your head to him regally, you turn and force one foot in front of the other as you hear his door close quietly. Your own rooms are next to his, the traditional suite of the monarchy and as you enter them, you rue the silence of the large expanse.

It had been your parents room before their demise, and you had changed it subtly over the century. A four poster bed took up most of the space, elegant curtains of pale silver and ruby red ready to make a private area just for yourself to sleep in while fluffy pillows littered the upper half of the mattress.

You wondered sometimes if any of the servants who were not in your, very small, inner circle had figured out the subtle meaning of them. Silver was the traditional colour of witches, while red was the symbolic colour of the vampires. Combining them together was a subtle gesture you had made long ago to let people know that this was your marriage bed, despite his separate rooms.

Sitting down on the soft, downy covers, you run a hand along the silk slowly and let out a slow, shaking sigh. Movement to your left causes you to look up, spying your most trusted assistant as she bows her head in respect as she enters the room.

Soyeon is young, but her family have served yours now for three generations. She had discovered your secret feelings for your husband when she had accidentally intruded one morning years ago, finding the two of you in the throes of passion.

Both of you had been terrified, worried about what people would think when they discovered the intimate relations the two of you shared. They had accepted the peace treaty, and begrudgingly accepted the marriage of monarchies, but resentment and anger still lingered strongly. It was one thing to consider the vampire prince courteous, but you were not sure how people would feel about finding out he shared your bed.

Instead, she had shyly smiled at you and told you that she was happy that you had found happiness in your marriage. It had confused you at first, the fact that a witch was not afraid or angry of her queen being in love with a vampire but she had been supportive ever since. She even liked Hoseok. A lot.

Hoseok was always kind to her when he was here, and it reflected in how she had accepted the relationship you had. He liked to joke around with her and you were pretty positive he considered her a little sister.

It had been the first time someone had voluntarily undertaken the spell that would not allow her to insinuate anything that could give away your love for each other, and she had become closer to you than anyone you had known previously.

“The prince is looking handsome today.” She says, her tone soft yet with just a tiny hint of teasing. Your lips quirk slightly, happy that you have at least one person who will tease you like a friend would. It was hard to maintain true friendships when you were the leader of a country, particularly a leader with a spouse that was despised.

“He is always handsome Soyeon, whatever do you mean?” You joke back, standing when she gestures and turning around to give her access to the delicate ribbons holding your dress together. Breathing out with relief as the tight bodice slackens, you watch out of the window over the darkening skies.

“You’re right, Your Majesty. He is always handsome. Are you happy he is here?” Her voice is sweet, full of curiosity towards both him and you while her deft fingers work at the dress quickly and efficiently. Watching the sky that is painted in oranges, pinks and yellows, you let a smile brighten your face.

“So happy. I have six months of happiness with him. Even if it is beyond closed doors, in empty gardens or secluded areas.” A hint of wistfulness enters your voice, the pining you have to just be with him normally appearing without your consent and Soyeon lets out a soft sigh of her own as she helps you out of the dress.

As you slip on your white nightgown, so plain compared to the delicate finery you normally don in the day, you watch her closely in the mirror as she begins to tidy up your room. “I’m sorry Your Majesty. I can try to make it so that you have more time alone with him this year?”

You smile at her appreciatively, nodding your head in acknowledgement while she begins to wipe away the makeup she had applied so carefully to your face this morning. “I would appreciate that Soyeon. Still, I’m happy because he is here at least. I can see him and hear him. My loneliness has disappeared now my happiness has arrived.”

A beautiful smile spreads over her face, lighting up her tan skin and revealing the sweet face you often admired. Soyeon would make a wonderful wife one day if she so chose, with her kind and caring nature combined with the beauty she had been bestowed at birth.

“I’m glad. You’re finished for the night Your Majesty,” She pauses slightly as she reaches the door, hands clasped together tightly. “I will ensure that no servants are to bother you tonight, or tomorrow morning. Nor your husband.” A secretive look flits over her face and you nod in thanks.

Soyeon is truly a gift.

The young assistant leaves your rooms and you walk over to the door, locking it carefully before turning to the door that connects your room to your husbands. Long ago, it was common for monarch’s to sleep separately from their spouses. That had changed over the centuries, but the rooms were still designed like this and were still connected.

When you had first married, you had lived in fear and concern for your life at the fact Hoseok had been placed in the rooms next to yours. It was the only thing you could do as a sign of respect for his royal standing in Sanguinus, but the knowledge of him being there had been nerve wracking. You had been as prejudiced towards vampires as your fellow subjects.

Now, however, it was a benefit that you often thanked yourself for doing. Because it was the only time that you could be sure you would have time with him alone.

Heading over to the mahogany door, you tap lightly on the intricate engravings that portray an ancient forest. A quiet acknowledgement comes from the other side and you enter, closing the door almost silently behind you as you take in the sight before you.

Hoseok’s rooms are a mirror of yours, with his bed covered in blood-red silken sheets that look luscious and inviting. His luggage, the griffin symbol of the vampire monarchy engraved on the dark leather front, sits on the floor nearby, waiting to be stored away in the numerous dark wood wardrobes, drawers and chests that are situated around the room.

And the elegant, marble tub that had been brought into the centre of the room took pride of place amongst everything else. It was currently sat atop the intricate rug that Hoseok had bought four years ago, the red and silver strands weaving together in a beautiful and nonsensical design.

It feels delightfully soft and fluffy as you walk upon it, stopping next to the bath’s edge. Inside, is your husband. And he looks magnificent as he lays back, the water up to his chest and steaming from the heat while a layer of frothy bubbles hides anything else from your curious view.

His eyes are closed as his head tips back against the edge, the black strands of his hair sticking to his forehead in the sweat that glistens all over the skin you can see. The lit candles around the room make his golden skin almost glow and you have to physically bite your lip to keep the moan you want to let out in.

“Enjoying your bath, husband?” You ask quietly, kneeling down and placing an elbow on the cool marble. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, but you note the twitch of his lips as he tries to keep his lips firm.

Reaching forward, you let your fingers trail along the velvety skin of his lips and laugh softly with amusement as they open up immediately for you. Hoseok makes no comment as you push your index finger between those open buds until you feel the firm enamel of his fang. His reaction is immediate and you watch with a raised brow as his hands grip the sides of the bath firmly, toned muscles in his arms suddenly appearing at the movement.

Something you had discovered over the many years, was that vampires had a little bit of an oral fixation. And their teeth were a little more sensitive than yours.

His head jerks away from your prying fingers and he glares at you through narrowed eyes. “I was, until my wife decided to intrude upon my quiet relaxation. What does it take for a man to bathe in peace around here?”

His grumbling is light though, the tone of his voice almost airy and your stomach clenches at the sound. Anymore teasing that you might give him is gone suddenly as your hand moves along his face, thumb stroking at the silky skin of his cheek while your other hand traces along the prominent veins on the back of his hand.

“Well...it has been six months since your wife saw you. Maybe she just missed you?” You don’t mean for the words to sound so full of emotion, your throat constricting while a sheen of tears suddenly fills your eyes.

Almost immediately he’s frowning, sitting up in the water and causing it to slosh along the sides loudly. Some of it even falls over the edge, dropping into your lap and causing a damp spot to stick the thin fabric of your gown to your knees.

“Darling, I did not mean to upset you. I have missed you dreadfully too,” His own hand cups your cheek now, damp from the water and you lean into it desperately. The pressing of his forehead to your own causes you to open your eyes to him, noting those chocolate irises so close to yours. “I swear, it gets harder every year to pretend to hate coming here. One year, I will jump with joy when the carriage arrives for me.”

You huff out a laugh at that, knowing that it is likely going to be a long time before Hoseok does such a thing. Relations between your races are no longer fiery and hot, but have instead turned glacial and cold with both sides understanding that they have to grudgingly get along.

People are likely not ready to accept the fact that their queen and prince are in fact, in love.

One day though, you will both tell the world to go to hell and finally embrace your own happiness. And why shouldn’t you? You had been forced into this marriage one hundred years ago, why should they expect you to both remain unhappy in it forever?

Moving away, you take hold of his hands and thread your fingers through with his. For someone who was in the military during the war, and even now remained active when he was back there, his hands were long fingered and elegant. Pianist hands.

He could play the piano as well, and he often liked to for you when he was here. Songs filled with love and emotion that only you could decode and understand.

Taking the cleaning rag that had been left over the side, you dip it into the water and slowly begin to drag it over his skin. He watches you lazily, appreciation in his eyes as you clean along his chest and arms slowly.

“How have you been?” You ask quietly, stroking along the delicate yet firm flesh reverently while your eyes flicker across his face, taking in every bit of him to see if anything had changed. Vampires were long lived, even longer than witches and they healed faster too.

But still, sometimes things happened that could leave permanent scarring.

He smiles for a moment, the look making his eyes crease and look even kinder than they had the day you had married him. That is, until you note the sly look in them.

Before you can even say anything about that, his hands move to your waist where he grips firmly and the next thing you know, you’re landing in the tub on top of him in a supreme show of vampiric strength. Water immediately bursts over the side, the bubbles slipping over the edge and you let out a shriek of combined laughter and indignation as your nightgown clamps to your skin.

The water is almost scalding hot and there really is no room for two people in here, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain as he holds you closely to his chest while your legs dangle off the edge.

“I have been fine my darling. Bored even. There’s nothing interesting happening there. I’ve simply been leading military maneuvers and listening to my father as he holds meetings. I hear that we have finally managed to secure a trade deal with Hekatalia? Apparently the leader was a real witch to work with.” He muses, tilting his head back as he scans the ceiling in faux surprise while his hand rubs at him chin.

You poke at his chest lightly before leaning forward and nipping gently at his jawbone. “Hush you. Be glad you weren’t present for those meetings. That, is the epitome of boredom. You know what I really don’t care about? The tax ratings on cheese. Great goddess, I thought negotiating taxes on Sanguine steeds was bad enough.”

Hoseok watches you fondly as you continue to complain about taxes, noting that there’s a reason you hire advisors who specialise solely in tax work. The entire time he watches you, his fingers slowly trace along your exposed thigh in a decidedly non-sexual manner. Instead, it feels soothing and comforting.

“Well...our cheese truly is delicious though. Do you not remember when I brought you some ten years ago?” He states and the memory slowly filters its way back into your mind. Eyes widening as your cheeks flush, your head tilts down as you lick at your lips.

“I do. It was delicious, I will concede to you on that.” You say slowly, eyes flickering back up to look into his. He’s silent for a moment, and you’ve known him long enough to know that he is calculating behind those pretty eyes of his.

“I do like it when you concede to me.” He whispers and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you at the slight darkness to his voice. Your husband has sexual preferences that are probably considered brow raising to many, and disgusting to many of your race in particular.

“Still, I’m glad I don’t have to do those kinds of meetings yet. Despite the years of training, I’m really not sure if I’m cut out for this king business. In fact, I’m hoping my father lives a lot longer or he just gives the throne to one of my sisters. Then I can just let my wife take all the prestige.” One of his hands move around to your waist, stroking along the wet fabric there slowly while a smile spreads on his face.

You snort out a decidedly un-ladylike laugh as you let your own hand rest against his damp shoulder. Hoseok is not your equal in your kingdom, nor will he ever be. In the world you live in at large, men rule most of it. But Hekatalia is a kingdom that run by the women more often than not, your father had been the first Witch King in over 1000 years.

As such, Hoseok will never be king here, in fact he will always be your Prince Consort. But in his kingdom, you will be his Queen Consort, of an equal ranking to him. He doesn’t care about this, and he’s made it clear on more than one occasion that he doesn’t care. You like that about him, that he isn’t interested in the power that will be bestowed to him.

“You will make a good king Hoseok, despite your concerns. You are kind and caring. Yet strong and not afraid to bring down justice when needed. I could not be prouder to call you husband.” You grin at him and watch as his already reddened cheeks from the heat flush even further.

His pink tongue flicks out to wetten his lips before a hand pushes at the wet strands of his hair, moving it backwards until his entire forehead is on show. You murmur approvingly before looking back into his eyes, noting the deep brown that has a slightly reddish tinge to it now.

Hoseok says nothing further, but instead leans forward until he captures your lips in a kiss between his own. The kiss earlier had been innocent and full of longing, but this has a decidedly different tone to it.

Hot and needy, with the passion of six months celibacy sparking between the two of you. Each movement of his lips is perfect, with just enough pressure to make you want more and you can’t stop the soft moan as your lips open up to his.

His response is immediate, with his tongue dipping into your mouth and dancing with your own in a sensual game that you had both begun decades before. The dance is familiar and yet tinged with anticipation and need, each stroke of the wet muscle against your sensitive mouth pulling a corresponding convulsion of your inner muscles between your thighs.

You respond to his movement, shifting your body until your legs slip under the hot water, moving so that your knees rest against the tight space on either side of his body while your arms wrap around his neck. His sharp incisors, elongated from his heightened emotions, accidentally nick your tongue. The pain is fleeting and an unfortunate price to pay for kissing a vampire but you can’t it in yourself to care.

Not when the growl he releases sounds like it has been ripped from the bottom of his chest, guttural and vibrating against your tongue as he sucks it into his mouth at the small taste of your blood. It may not be the prettiest kiss to witness, but it is pure attraction and desire between the two of you as you moan and pant, grinding your hips against his groin.

The wet nightgown sticks to you above the water, but below it floats aimlessly while your panties are almost tantalising in the friction they’re producing against your clit. Hoseok’s hardness is pressing firmly against you in the water and you can’t stop the way you press against him, hips moving forwards and backwards with desperation as your stomach tightens.

Pulling away from you with an almost audible noise, Hoseok breathes heavily as he looks up at you with ruby red eyes. “Wife...you taste so good.” He gasps out, his fangs lenghtened to their full length and you can’t help the shiver of fear that runs down your spine. Even after all these years, the instinct that has been bred into you tells you to run.

It just makes the sex better.

“Have you fed?” You whisper, pressing needy kisses to whatever skin you can reach on his face and he lets out a low groan that’s bordering on a whine as you grind your scalding heat against his thickness. His head shakes a negative and you bite your lip in response, reaching down to tug off your nightgown and throwing it over the side where it lands in a wet heap.

“Feed then husband. What kind of wife would I be if I did not make sure my husband was cared for?” You whisper into his ear, kissing along the exposed skin there and delighting in the salty taste of his sweat. He practically purrs in response, his hands moving up from your waist to cup your breasts while his thumbs play with your hardened nipples.

“I have missed this, wife.” Hoseok grins, looking up at you with eyes that should terrify. Instead, you lean down and press a quick kiss to his mouth before moving along his jawline, sucking open mouthed kisses there while pushing at his head.

He doesn’t bite though, and instead one hand drops below the water without you realising. Instead, you feel the sudden pressure of his fingers against the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs, the pads swirling around the bud in a pleasing manner that has your hips jerking and a cry leaving your mouth.

“Oh Hoseok, goddess yes.” You breathe out, head tilting back as he plays with your clit slowly. Hoseok doesn’t move fast, instead letting his fingertips press against you in firm and measured movements that makes sparks of pleasure zip through your body with each rotation.

Moving his head, Hoseok presses his lips to your collarbone and sucks hard at the skin, leaving rosettes of bruises that will have to be covered up tomorrow no doubt. You find it hard to care though when he slips a long finger inside of you, your inner muscles contracting greedily around him as he strokes along your insides in a slow and steady pace, exploring a place he knows well yet hasn’t been acquainted with in so long.

“More.” You whine, high pitched with need and he acquiesces with a dark chuckle, tongue laving attention to a particular spot on your neck. A second finger enters you, scissoring for a moment to stretch you in a way that you gasping and gripping his shoulders firmly before he’s twisting the long digits in a pleasing manner.

As he moves his hand, water slaps against the side of the tub from your insistent hips that angle and move to try and get the most pleasure you can, while his arm moving causes its own ripples corresponding ripples. Carding your fingers through his damp hair, you press his head further against you.

It’s as his fingers press firmly against the roughened bunch of nerves on your inner wall, the sensation causing fireworks of sparkling pleasure to erupt in your body as you clench around him, that he bites. The combination of his talented fingers, his thumb working insistently on your swollen clit and the pinch of pain from your throat sends you clean over the edge.

Body jerking wildly, you cry out in the throes of pleasure as you contract around his fingers with a vice like grip. With your hips gyrating wildly from the force of your pleasure, Hoseok has to work hard to stay in control as he continues to stroke you through your orgasm until you’re whining with tears from the over stimulation.

The whole time, he’s sucking at the twin marks he’s made in your neck as he feeds. Quiet groans of delight leave him as his throat works, swallowing your blood while he finally stills those talented fingers inside you.

Hoseok had to feed at least once a week, and you used to have a servant agree to do it. Over the last few decades however, you just claimed to have a servant do it when in fact, you fed him. No one had ever caught on, as no servant ever wanted to admit to being fed on by a vampire.

It was only with you that he used sex though, and he admitted that it wasn’t only for his own sexual needs. Pleasure, apparently, saturated the blood with a rich flavouring that made it even more delightful and pleasing than normal. He’d compared it to soaking a fine joint of meat in an aged wine.

Licking at the bite marks he’d caused, Hoseok remains with his mouth against your neck for a moment as you both breathe heavily, catching your breath. Running your fingers through his hair, you tug lightly until he looks at you with a lazy gaze, eyes glossed over with the satisfaction of a good feed.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask, moving against his thick length as you wince from the overwhelming sensation. He’s silent for a moment before shaking his head, giving you a smile that reveals normally white teeth stained red while his lips are cherry red.

“No. I’m okay. That was good enough for me.” Hoseok slurs, tongue licking along his teeth and removing some of the blood. You chuckle lightly, your own limbs feeling heavy from his feeding as you rest your cheek against his shoulder.

Feeding Hoseok often left you tired, a result of the loss of blood, and it often left Hoseok blood drunk. He said it was because of the pleasure, which was not only more flavourful but also acted in a similar fashion to alcohol and left him in a slightly inebriated mind.

His own cheek rests against your head lightly, the both of you too tired from your activities in the cooling water. “We should move.” Hoseok murmurs, the sound quiet and filled with sleepiness. Smiling, you heave yourself out of the water and encourage him out too.

He’s wobbly on his legs, but you both manage to get to the large bed where you slump under the covers, the thick comforters hiding you both from the world and making a small cocoon of warmth and love. Hoseok does nothing for a moment before he’s rolling onto his side, tugging you over to him and pressing your back to his front.

Smiling softly, you feel him press a firm kiss to your hair before you slip into a comfortable sleep in the arms of your husband.

-

The first week of reunion with Hoseok passes by quickly, and as usual it is a stressful yet pleasurable time. Six months of celibacy and longing often combine in explosive results in the bedroom, a spell to mute noise often necessary to hide the moans and groans of desire and need that seep into the walls.

It meant that it was often hard to focus on your work, particularly when you had the knowledge that your husband was right there. Meals were often strained and awkward, filled with a tension that your servants assumed to be irritation when in fact it was clenched thighs, whispered spells of touches and glares that promised retribution when you returned to your rooms.

But still, life would not stop with the arrival of your husband and you were forced to continue on with your daily activities. Tuesday’s were for meeting your advisors and discussing the general issues that were causing a problem amongst the citizens of your kingdom.

Wednesday’s were spent receiving updates about the neighbouring kingdoms and those further afield, learning the newest information that filtered through from both natural channels and those more secretive ones.

Thursday’s were the day that your subjects were allowed to seek an audience with you, proposing solutions to problems or presenting conflicts that they wanted you to resolve. It was often tedious, and some days you just wanted to stay in bed or go to your garden and be done with it all.

But that was not what a monarch did.

This was precisely the reason that Hoseok always had to make the journey to Hekatalia, for the vampire prince was not needed in his kingdom to the degree that you were. You, however, were most definitely needed to keep order. Not to mention that you couldn’t stray too far from the Ancient Oak for too long, which served not only as a site of marriage but also as a natural connection to the source of magic.

As such, the first week was filled with sex of all kinds until you had both gotten it out of your systems before you both settled into the comfortable, yet confined, life you had both adjusted to over the years.

Your time with Hoseok was often limited to behind the doors of your bedroom, and you so desperately wished for more with him. As a queen, you never expected to have a normal relationship. But you certainly expected to at least be able to touch him in public.

Your hope that your relationship would be accepted increased every year with the gradual acceptance of your husband. He wasn’t welcome in discussions with your advisors, but he had slowly begun to take on more a role expected of a Prince Consort and to your delight, he was not being pushed away.

But you were still unsure as to public displays of affection.

Which is why if you hadn’t favoured Soyeon before, then you most certainly did when she informed you that she had managed to secure you an entire afternoon and evening free of obligations after two months had passed. A whole half of a day that could be spent with Hoseok alone, which was more time in one go than you’d experienced in ten years.

Excitement had bubbled in your stomach as the both of you had mounted your horses. You had decided to take him on a ride to get him out of the castle, to go somewhere where you truly would not be bothered by prying eyes. As such, a black cloak was wrapped around your shoulders while the hood covered head and a dark green scarf was raised over your lower face.

Hoseok had frowned at the regalia as he’d donned his own cloak and scarlet red scarf, the colour making his beauty even more apparent even if you could only see his eyes, but you’d reassured him it was fine. This was the standard attire of travellers in Hekatalia, and no one would raise a brow at the sight of you both.

He’d bowed his head in acknowledgement, acquiescing to you and your knowledge before a click of his tongue and a tap of his heels encouraged his tall, steel grey steed into a brisk walk, hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestones. Nodding towards Soyeon, you reached out and clasped her hand tightly while you thanked her and promised that you would both be back by nightfall.

She smiled at you, bowing her head down and returning to the castle as you encouraged your own dark bay mare after your husband. You liked to ride when you had time, and the prospect of riding with your husband had an almost childish feeling bubbling your stomach. Trotting to catch up, you noted with pleasure the exquisite picture he drew as he rode with a confidence that told of years of riding experience.

Black breeches clung to his toned legs, muscles that had been gained from years upon years of exercise while his familiar knee high leather boots rested against the horse’s side. He sat straight as an arrow, his riding posture textbook perfect as the leather reins sat in his hands lightly.

Perhaps no one would give you a second glance given your attire, but they might give a second glance given his posture. There was no doubt that Hoseok was a man who had been trained extensively on how to ride a horse, his breeding showing despite the hood that covers him.

It was unbelievably sexy for some reason though, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip breathlessly as you finally caught up to him. Your husband often managed to turn you in ways that you hadn’t thought were even turn ons until he appeared in your life. Even before you’d confessed your feelings to each other fifty years ago.

He looks over with a dark brow raised in question at your expression and you stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his chocolate half-moon eyes that soften as he watches you in turn. Without a word, he reaches over and clasps a hand with one of yours, squeezing tightly before letting go.

Smiling to yourself beneath the scarf, your shoulders straighten as you feel a weight being lifted off them. Taking the lead, you keep on riding until you finally direct Hoseok to the Oak Grove that holds the Ancient Oak your race reveres so much.

Due to being a vampire, Hoseok was often confined to the castle even more than you were when he was here. Though he had no actual restrictions on him, it your people were not very likely to accept him walking around freely, and so he voluntarily chose to stay within the castle walls.

It surely had to drive him mad to not do the activities he was so used to,  but he simply shrugged and pointed out that he had no choice, so there was no point in whining. Though you had noted in recent years that he had slowly begun to venture further in the grounds, and he had even gone to the village at the foot of the castle last month.

There had been no screaming or fear from your subjects, and it had warmed you to hope that perhaps they may be accepting him finally. Stil, his lack of knowledge outside of the castle walls meant that he had no idea where anything was and so he willingly followed you with trust.

Turning, you watch as he catches sight of the giant tree that takes up most of the clearing, his eyes widening as he takes it in. The surrounding forest is even taller, forming a perfect circle of protection around the tree that provided your people with life sustaining magic.

The pillowy soft grass blew softly in the gentle breeze, bringing with it the scent of flowers and rain. It hadn’t rained in days, yet you knew the magic of the Oak Grove meant that strange things happened sometimes.

“Isn’t that…” He trails off, slowing his horse down with a gentle tug on the reins until his stallion stops, head shaking in annoyance and jangling the metal bit in his mouth. You watch for a moment before smiling, tugging down your scarf and nodding.

“It is. This is where we got married. It’s a sacred place to witches, and we shall find peace and quiet here tonight.” You grin at him, swinging a leg over your mares rump and landing in the grass with a soft thud. Bringing her over to a branch of a nearby tree that was often used to hitch horses, you watch as Hoseok does the same while looking around the grove in fascination.

“But...won’t people be coming here to get married?” Hoseok asks in confusion, brows creasing and his lips moving into a pout as he lowers his own scarf. Moving over to him, you slide your hands under his cloak and jacket until you’re hugging him tightly, resting your chin against his chest with a sweet smile.

“Nope. All marriages have to be approved by the Witch Court and overseen by a priestess, and there are none scheduled for today. Soyeon checked and double checked. The Ancient Oak is sacred to my people and is one of the major source points for our magic, so it is strictly prohibited to be here when there is no marriage taking place.”

He looks around for a moment, mahogany eyes taking in the impressive sight. You love to come here when he’s back in Sanguinus, the area quiet and peaceful. The magic here tingles on your skin, like tiny kisses of appreciation from nature and you look around, trying to see it how he does.

The tall forest that surrounds you cuts off a large portion of light, sunbeams drifting down lazily through the canopy. There’s enough light here to see easily though, but the Oak Grove needs no sun to look beautiful. The very magic that sustains your race causes the Ancient Oak to emit an ethereal glow, the wood almost tinged in a blue-white light while the leaves are dotted with tiny sparks of light that twinkle at all times of day.

A small smile tugs at Hoseok’s lips before he looks back down at you with a sardonic expression. “Except for the queen I’m guessing?”

You laugh lightly at his words, pulling away before taking his hand and twining your fingers together firmly. Hoseok immediately grips it tighter and you can’t help but feel happiness and contentment bubble in your veins at being able to do this out in the open.

What must it feel like? To love him freely?

“Of course. I am connected to this tree as the medium of magic for witchkind, so therefore I am allowed here whenever I so feel like,” Turning around, you walk backwards with a small hop of joy as you give him the brightest smile of glee that produces a responding expression from him almost involuntarily. “And I wanted to bring my husband here. I don’t get to give you anything in the castle...but I can bring you to one of the most important and sacred places to me here.”

Sitting down amongst the roots of the solid tree, dragging your fingers through the rich soil with reverance, you watch as he stands with hands on his hips and looks up at the arching branches with a soft smile.

“I hated this place when I first came here, perhaps unsurprisingly. This tree was the representation of everything I should despise as a vampire. The source of your magic and the source of my pain being wedded to you. Vampires for centuries have plotted how to destroy this you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment, reaching out and placing a hand on the wizened trunk, stroking along the bark slowly. Biting your lip, you look from his neutral face to his hand. “And now?”

He says nothing before letting out a quiet snort of laughter, kneeling down in the fragrant blades of grass to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “Now? I see its beauty; the strength in its age and the sensation of sheer power it gives. It’s truly a physical representation of you. And I love it, because you love it and I love you. And even though I was angry that day, this tree oversaw the most important day of my life.”

Hoseok sits next to you, resting his back against the old trunk and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. For minutes, neither of you speak in the comfortable silence that falls between the two of you. You focus simply on the soothing sensation of his fingers as they trace invisible words against your arm while the forest sings a gentle song for you both.

“Show me some magic, wife.” He whispers into your ear, his cool nose pressing against your temple momentarily before warm lips replace it. You didn’t perform magic very often, which was probably a surprise to the other kingdoms. But you simply didn’t feel a need, and it was rude to use it unnecessarily. Which meant Hoseok hadn’t witnessed many spells from you over the years.

But you feel like pleasing him today, wanting to impress him with something pretty that wouldn’t pull too much energy. Whispering a quiet request to the Ancient Oak you’re pressed against, you breathe a simple spell under your breath.

Immediately, tiny balls of light drift down from the leaves above you to form the impression of two people, standing together in a handfasting ceremony. You don’t need to explain to him who it is a representation of, and instead you both watch quietly as the couple lean forward and kiss.

“I wish I had kissed you back then, though it would have seemed strange. I wish I could kiss you now, in public.” Hoseok sighs, sadness weaving its way in and you resolve to make him smile. Shifting around, you playfully bite at his neck with your blunt incisors, the sensation probably just a tickle to him compared to his sharp teeth.

Sure enough, he lets out a giggle that’s far too cute for a man as regal as him before wrapping his arms tightly around shoulders and chest, trapping you between his thighs as he shifts. His hands move down to your sides, insistent fingers tickling along the sensitive areas and causing you to almost shriek with laughter.

The sounds of glee and happiness echo around the quiet grove, and you feel a shift in the magic around you. It’s fond and filled with a sense of joy at the love between yourself and your husband. Your stomach twists with cheer at the knowledge that nature approves.

After a few minutes of laughter and play, you lean against him as you both take a breather. He presses a kiss to your neck softly before letting his fangs run over your skin, the sharpness almost a scratch over the delicate flesh.

“You’re adorable, with your little baby fangs. In fact, they’re not even baby fangs. Vampire children have sharper teeth than that.” He teases, letting his lips press against the soft skin there. You smile and click your fingers, causing him to yelp as a zing of magic zaps his ass.

“Mean,” He mutters before kissing your neck once more, his hands stroking along your stomach lowly. “I wonder what our children’s teeth would look like.” The words are quiet, almost as if he spoke them out loud without thinking.

The way you both freeze suddenly let you think that is likely exactly what happens before he’s squeezing tight, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Children remained a sore point between the two of you. It was something neither of you had ever truly considered when you had first wedded, the thought of sleeping with him abhorrent. It had remained a non-thought for thirty years once you finally got together, until twenty years ago when you had both decided to try.

A pregnancy had occurred almost immediately, pleasing the both of you while simultaneously terrifying you. It was understood between you both that Hoseok would only see his child half of the year, but the two of you had wanted so badly to have a family. Upon learning of your pregnancy, the two of you had agreed to announce it, and your feelings, to both kingdoms at the halfway stage.

There was little chance of miscarriage at that point, and it had been an exciting prospect. A child would surely unify both races, or at least be a good starting point to true reconciliation.

And so at the three month mark, Hoseok had left back to Sanguinus in his carriage and you had watched from your window, a hand resting on your flat stomach. The knowledge that he would likely be back in time for the birth had been a consolation, even if he was sad to not experience the joys of watching you grow fat and heavy with his child.

And then the curse had kicked in.

It had been a heavy heart, and heavier tears, that you had written to your husband. The note had been simple, coded in case anyone read it due to the rarity of correspondence between you both.

‘Dear Husband,

The little bird did not make it. No spell could combat the curse that took it.

I am sorry.’

Neither of you had considered the curse in terms of children. Not until it was too late. Not until you were no longer pregnant.

The curse demanded that you spend six months apart, causing physical pain to ensure it was obeyed. As his child, the babe in your stomach was half him and the curse could not distinguish between this. The pain had not been as strong as it was with Hoseok himself, but it had been too much for the tiny life you’d carried.

You had mourned for six months, until he had arrived and then you had mourned with him in private. There had never been another attempt, and there likely never would be. Your dreams of a family had died that day.

Resting a hand on his arm, you cuddle further into him before taking a deep breath. You have not spoken of children in twenty years. “I think they would be heart wrenchingly adorable, with tiny fangs and little spells that would pop and crack.”

As you speak, the lights spin in a dizzying dance before forming two small children. The both of you watch in a despondent silence as they bound along the meadow sweet grass, a simple and sweet dream that cannot ever be.

Hoseok doesn't say anything for a few long minutes, only swallowing thickly. “You would have made a wonderful mother. I still regret asking you to do it, the pain you suffered while I was not there. It wasn't worth it.”

Shaking your head, you shift in his arms until you can see his arresting profile. His eyes are a low, dull red that glisten in the evening sun that peeks through the trunks of the forest.

“No, don't say that. It hurt, but we were happy in that moment. Let's not resent the young one we were forced to lose.” Resting a hand against his chest, you press your forehead to the warm skin of his neck and inhale the soothing scent.

You both simply rest there after that, neither feeling in the mood to interrupt the sad stillness in the air with another topic. The unfortunate fact, is that no matter how much you love each other, your story will always be one of sadness and heartache, tinged with loneliness.

“Would you like to dance?” Hoseok speaks suddenly, the question hovering in the air. Looking up, you note his gaze focused firmly on the light children while a sombre expression is painted on his beautiful face.

Biting your lip, your own gaze tracks around the quiet clearing. “Are you sure? I mean...if you are too upset...and we have no music.”

Your husband laughs darkly before nuzzling your hair affectionately. “This is supposed to be a place of happiness. Let's not sour your sacred tree with sad thoughts. And fear not my queen, we have never had anything but each other. We shall make our own music.”

He stands at that, hands dusting off his breeches before he reaches out one hand to you, pose elegant even when he doesn't intend it to. Looking into his eyes, softened by your mutual sad memories, you nod once before letting him pull you up.

The two of you move into a ballroom dance position with the ease of decades of training, but when you dance it's with the slow passion of lovers. He doesn’t swing you into a complicated waltz or anything, but simply rocks you in a slow circle, his hand running along the laces of your dress at the small of your back reassuringly while his cheek rests on your head.

“I love you. I don't feel that I tell you that often enough. I don't get the chance to tell you that often enough. But I do. I love you fiercely, and if I could find a way to end the curse I would.” Hoseok's voice is quiet, yet strained with emotion he can't possibly vocalise.

Emotion that resonates in your chest almost painfully nonetheless.

“I know. I know Hoseok. I love you just as strongly. It is so hard, to not ask how you are when dealing with your delegation. To find out if you are sad or happy. I wish we could end the curse too, but you know as well as I do that it would just result in more war.” The words are hushed and you cannot help the silent tears that track down your face.

Hoseok holds you even tighter as the light children skip by you, his gaze focused firmly on them and when he speaks, his voice cracks. “I want a life with you so badly. I want to raise a family with you. Neither of us started the war, so why must we be punished even though we have fallen in love? Isn't that the ultimate unification? I wish I could find the Faerie Queen and request an audience, plead our case to her and beg for her to let us love each other openly and permanently.”

You sniffle at his words, bringing your hand up to wipe at your tears pitifully before reaching up to pull his head down till he's resting on your shoulder. The dampness of your dress let's you know he's crying too and you curse anyone you can think of for causing him pain.

What good is being the Witch Queen if you can't even solve your husbands sadness?

“She would never do that Hoseok. It's a punishment, remember? She’d probably laugh with delight at our pain.” He says nothing, acknowledging your words with his silence.

Placing your hands on his slim waist, you begin to hum a witch children's nursery rhyme to him while rocking him in slow and steady motions. He doesn't move at first, but eventually gives in and let's you dance with him in the quiet clearing.

“Let’s not cry anymore husband. You said so yourself, this is a happy place. Dance with me freely, while we have the chance to just be ourselves.” You plead softly, kissing his temple and letting your lips remain there until he lifts himself up with a nod.

Hoseok doesn't say anything further, simply dances with you slowly in the shadow of the Ancient Oak while the tiny children of light dance around your legs playfully.

If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine it was perfect, and you vowed to find a way to dance with him in the way you both wanted.

-

Something that had been at the forefront of your mind for a while, had been been the fact that this year marked your 100th anniversary with Hoseok. Neither of you had celebrated a single anniversary in the past, mainly because the day Hoseok arrived was always the day the curse activated and so you both were more concerned with getting him rest.

But this year, you’d wanted to celebrate it in some way at least. It was an important milestone, not only in your relationship with each other but also in the relations between both kingdoms. Your anniversary had marked one hundred years of peace between the vampires and witches, and you had decided before he had even arrived to finally celebrate this.

Not only this, but his sadness in the Oak Grove had spurred you on to do something to make him happy, to bring a smile to his face and show him that you loved him and cared for him. It was hard to do that most of the time, with public displays of affection almost impossible.

The time there had inspired you though, and as such you had arranged for an event to occur in the final week of Hoseok’s time here. He had been made completely unaware of it through a lot of subtle subterfuge and instead you had worked behind the scenes with your advisors and event organisers.

The result had culminated in today. You were pleased beyond words that Hoseok hadn’t clicked onto what was happening, instead just presuming that your event meetings were something to do with governance. The peril of having a wife who was a ruler perhaps.

Still, he’d likely just been expecting another day of wandering the castle at his leisure or something. Apparently, he’d made friends with the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and was on the verge of being allowed to participate in military drills on the castle grounds.

It was almost sweet how excited he’d got when telling you, and your heart had overflowed with warmth for him at the fact he seemed to have finally made a friend of some sort here after so long. As your Captain, you were well acquainted with Jungkook, and knew him to be young but well trained and with a good soul and heart.

His father had been the Captain for your own, finally retiring ten years ago to spend more time with his aging family. Jungkook, already heavily involved in the Hekatalian Army, had simply slotted into place with ease. He’d practically been bred for it, with incredibly strong battle magic to boot.

As such, you had grown to know him well when discussing your military and regimental training for the soldiers who resided here in the castle. He was a sweet guy beneath the regalia, and you knew that he was exceptionally easy to get on with which made you feel comfortable in the knowledge that he’d taken Hoseok under his wing.

Hoseok had actually woken you up today though with soft kisses that brushed along your shoulder lightly, the sensation almost tickling. You’d thought for a moment that perhaps he was just feeling amorous, he often was in the morning, but instead he’d kept his touches innocent and sweet.

Once he’d been sure you’d fully woken, a content hum leaving your throat as you cuddled closer into his warmth, he’d laid his head back down on the pillow and ran his hand along your exposed stomach. “There’s a lot of activity in this castle this morning wife.”

You make a faux surprised sound, recognising from his tone that he knows somethings up. While your castle is always busy, you have no doubt that there are even more servants hurrying around today than normal. They had a ballroom to decorate and exquisite meals to cook for the guests who would be arriving later today. Given his enhanced senses, he could probably hear all the hustle and bustle around the place.

Rolling in his arms, you gaze at him wide eyed with an innocence he is evidently not falling for given his narrowed eyes. “I don’t know husband. Why is there more activity than normal?” You ponder playfully, tapping your lips before grinning as he begins to tickle you mercilessly.

“Wife. What is happening?” He laughs out, kissing your cheek when you both finish. You simply watch him for a moment, giving him adoring eyes as you note the flyaway strands of his hair from where it has fallen after his sleep.

Tugging him back down, you face him quietly for a moment as you slide a leg between his own. He shivers slightly at your cold feet, giving you a slight glare but says nothing further as he waits for you to speak.

“We are hosting a ball today. A masquerade ball.” You smile at him, watching as those strong brows come together in confusion. If you looked hard enough, you could probably see his brain working behind those pretty eyes of his.

“Why? It’s just a Saturday, unless there’s some special event I’m not aware of?” After one hundred years of living in Hekatalia for half a year at at time, Hoseok had long grown used to the cultural holidays and events that witches celebrated. He particularly enjoyed Summer Solstice, and often lamented on the fact he could never experience a Winter Solstice with you.

“Well...I don’t know if you remember but this year marks one hundred since the curse was activated. A hundred years of peace between the races and kingdoms. And one hundred years since we married. So I organised a masquerade ball to celebrate this and have invited members from all kingdoms to join us. We have werewolves, faeries and representatives from Sanguinus here too.” He looks at you with eyes that are wide with shock.

“Really? And they’re all coming here? Wow, you’re being brave hoping no one will fight.” He chuckles, the corner of his lips turning up in amusement as he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Well...that’s why it’s a masquerade ball. So no one can tell who is what. Instead, it will just be a joining of peoples to celebrate a monumental achievement,” You pause for a moment before leaning over to press a sweet kiss to his shoulder. “And it also means that we can dance in public. With a legitimate excuse. No one will complain about the queen and her prince consort dancing at a ball to celebrate one hundred years of marriage.”

He looks at you slowly, and you can see the flurry of emotions painting across his face. It’s something that you’ve both wanted to do for so long and your stomach flutters at the prospect of being able to show him of like you have always wanted, even if no one realises that there is true love hidden beneath the faux smiles.

“I can dance with you? When others can see?” The soft and hesitant tone to his voice breaks your heart, causing you to lift yourself until your lips are pressed together in a kiss that is chaste but full of love.

“Yes my love. For a night, we can pretend.” He gives a bright smile then, his entire face lighting up with a sense of joy and merriment that makes you feel content with life. There’s something particularly satisfying about making him smile, and you’re sure that one day you will figure out what that is. But for now, you just enjoy making him happy when you can.

Climbing out of bed, you head towards the door that separates your rooms before turning and giving him a mysterious smile that has a brow rising as he sits up. There’s a pause as you simply admire the stunningly beautiful sight your husband makes on the bed, the red silk sheets giving him a sultry look.

“Attendants will be coming to get a suit and mask sorted for you for the ball. I have meetings to attend unfortunately as the kingdom waits for no ball, but I shall meet you at the staircase tonight. I apologise that we cannot eat together, but there will be food being served at the ball we can partake,” You let your eyes drag over his body slowly, sucking your lip between your teeth and letting it out slowly to let him see how he affects you. “I expect you to be looking particularly handsome tonight.”

He gives a wicked grin, fangs lengthening before your eyes while his eyes spark with a crimson flash. “I will make sure to put extra effort into my appearance. We wouldn’t want it to look like the witch queen has a poor husband now.”

You simply laugh as he wiggles his brows before exiting to your room, excitement for the evening bubbling in your stomach.

-

Your day passes slowly as a result of your enthusiasm, and you can tell that your advisors are amused at your unusually happy demeanour. You’re normally far more careful to maintain a queenly expression when dealing with kingdom matters, even if you spend more time with these people than you do your own husband.

But the elation you feel at finally being able to celebrate your relationship with your husband in public, even if people think it only fake, is too much. To the point that you find yourself not concentrating on your duties and instead decide to postpone your meeting, allowing your advisors an early day to spend with their families or alternatively prepare for the festivities tonight.

Instead, you head towards the ballroom and take in the preparations for yourself. All around you, witches spell decorations to fly into place, sticking to the wall or hovering in the air perfectly. It’s been a long time since you had hosted any sort of event, and it all fills your veins with fizzing excitement at it all.

“Your Majesty, the preparations are almost complete. Will you accompany me back to your rooms and we can have you fitted into your outfit while we make sure your hair and makeup is perfect.” Soyeon smiles at your demurely, bowing slightly as she walks up to you where you stood in the middle of the hall.

Looking down at her, you give a nod of your head and smile back as you follow, hurrying your pace until you are walking abreast with your beloved servant. “Did you follow my advice?” You ask quietly, keeping your voice low so that others waking past.

Soyeon glances to you out of the corner of her eye and you spy the smile of glee that she fights to hold in. Almost immediately, responding excitement bubbles in your stomach and you can’t help but grab at her arm lightly as you giggle.

“Oh, I hope your dress is beautiful. You will look phenomenal Soyeon, truly. What if you find a man tonight? Or a woman? Don’t forget about me when you’re all loved up!” You pout at her playfully, causing her to roll her eyes while a flush of red brushes her cheeks prettily.

“I doubt that will happen Your Majesty. The dress is adequate and I will just enjoy my time there. Thank you for letting me have the night to myself, and for inviting me to the ball. I can never tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.” She whispers fervently, eyes flicking around the hallway to see if there is anyone who could see your affection.

There would likely be people who became jealous and bitter at how you favoured Soyeon, but you were reaching the point where you were beyond caring what others thought. When you were going to live as long as you were, surely there came a point when others opinions would matter little?

Entering your rooms, you pause to glance at the closed wooden door that separated your rooms and bit your lips with a sigh. Soyeon waits for a moment before pressing a hand to your lower back, encouraging you into the room where she begins to undress you quickly.

“I’m sure he will look beautiful, Your Majesty. Prince Hoseok is a handsome man, and you are an incredibly lucky woman.” She murmurs as she carefully folds your dress, ready for it to back into your closet.

Standing before her in simply your underwear, you watch as she takes a new corset out of your wardrobe and wraps it around your waist, tugging at the laces tightly until you are grunting out from the force. Idle talk is made between you both as she continues on, piecing together a dress of sumptuous ruby red that had been outlined in subtle, shimmering silver.

It’s only once your dress is finally complete, giving her a final spin to get the nod of approval, that you sit and allow her to arrange your hair to perfection. Tiny silver flowers get dotted throughout before she sits an exquisite diadem on your forehead, resting the ends in your hair.

The final touch is your makeup, and once she has finished painting a masterpiece on your face, you stand and admire her work in the mirror after she places the mask on you. It’s red, with silver glittering through in elegant lines and covers the portion of your face from your nose to just above your eyebrows. Giving her a huge grin, you turn slowly and admire everything she has put together.

“Perfect Soyeon, you have a true eye for fashion and makeup. Now go, you must get ready yourself. I can make my way to the staircase, he should be waiting by now.” You peer at the clock on the mantlepiece, noting the time is past when you had asked him to wait.

A quick glance out of the window lets you see carriages slowly filtering through the courtyard and guests dressed in the finest dresses and suits entering the castle. Smiling to yourself, you rest a hand on your chest as you watch for a few moments before looking yourself over in the mirror once more.

The dress is cinched in at the waist, your curves emphasised by the corset while your breasts are more prominent than they would normally be due to cut of the material. Silk is smooth and cool to your touch as you run your fingers along the material that rests at your stomach, noting with pleasure the way the dress flatters your figure.

Tonight, there will be no brows raised at your choice to wear silver and red. For it would be expected to wear the colours of both kingdoms, given that this is a celebration of peace between the two.

Making your way through the hallways, you tilt your head when you begin to hear the soft sounds of a string quartet filtering through the quietness and you can’t help the sway of your hips to the sounds. As you near, the music gets louder along with raucous laughter and constant talking between your guests.

Reaching the top of the elegant marble staircase that takes up the grand entrance, you pause for a moment to rest a hand on the marble edging and look over the room. The crystal chandelier is glowing with a beautiful luminance, casting shadows that are thrown around the room beautifully while more candles light up every corner below.

The center of the room has now been taken up with an elegant ice sculpture, a replica of the Ancient Oak that inhabits the Oak Grove. A few guests entering through the doors notice you above them and you spy as they immediately begin to gossip amongst themselves while giving you a courteous bow of the head.

But your attention is caught immediately by the lone figure at the bottom of the stairs to your right, his figure straight and regal. His outfit matches yours perfectly, with black trousers clinging to his legs and black leather boots winding their way up his calves, silver buckles and lining matching the deep red laces.

His waistcoat is charcoal while his shirt looks to be black silk, an equally dark tie around his neck that fits perfectly. A deep, velvet crimson jacket sits on his shoulders and you smile at the silver and black patterns that run through it subtly. Hoseok’s own mask is a perfectly replica of your own, and you feel pride at the knowledge that no one would ever mistake you both as being anything other than the couple of importance tonight.

Ignoring the guests as they arrive, you keep your gaze firmly on him as he rolls his head on his shoulders to relieve some tension before he lets out a sigh you could probably hear if you had his senses. But then he pauses, and you can tell he’s spotted you.

Almost immediately, a bright smile takes over the only part of his face that is visible and your stomach twists pleasantly at the sight. Ideally, he shouldn’t look too happy to see you but you find yourself uncaring as you slowly make your way down the stairs, one hand holding your skirts to keep them from trailing while the other glides along the bannister.

Hoseok moves to greet you immediately, bowing low until you reach him upon which he reaches out for your hand. Placing it within his, you give him a simple smile that tells him so much and he grins in response as he wraps your arm around his.

“You look beautiful wife.” He whispers, his voice as low as he can make it while still ensuring that you win. As he speaks, he glances around for any other vampires but it’s futile with the masks that cover everyone’s faces.

“And so do you husband. I’m glad that you followed my request.” You tease lightly, voice bubbly with glee and he lets out a low laugh as his head nods forward, his perfectly styled hair swept off his forehead.

“Of course. Shall we enter our ball Your Majesty?” He states loudly, drawing attention from those who are entering the castle for the first time. Smiling demurely at the crowd, you nod your head and move with him to the doors of the ballroom.

Inside, the room from earlier is ablaze with life and you pause to take it in. Thousands of candles hover high in the air, their wicks burning brightly in the final rays of evening sun that shines through the stained glass windows while their corresponding partners dot the room at various points.

All along the edges are tables and chairs, allowing guests the chance to sit and relax while the left side is taken up with one long table that is currently piled high with exquisite food. Almost instantly your mouth starts to water at the sight and you desperately want to pull Hoseok over there to eat, but you know that you must greet your guests first.

Decades of royalty training has imprinted wel upon Hoseok and you as you make your way around the room, talking to guests all of all walks of life and all races. The vampires are a little cold towards you but you are surprised by how genial they are overall, leaving you to wonder if perhaps the relations were always a little colder on your side than his.

Their conversations with you are geared more towards their surprise at exploring your kingdom, and you wonder how strange it must be to some of them. Travellers from Sanguinus and Hekatalia did not visit each others lands very often, and it was a tiny hope of yours that once relations warmed up between the two there could be the opportunity for more travelling.

Hoseok had told you many wonderful tales of the land Sanguinus held, from the rolling desert planes of the west to the rocky, snow topped mountains of the east. Hekatalia was not as diverse in its geography, and instead was simply covered in either forests or fields. Nature was simple here and had always been cultivated into magic used by its inhabitants.

Land like Hoseok’s was wilder, with the magic going haywire and causing vast differences in land and temperature. The way he talked about his home, and the wistfulness in his voice made you long to visit them so much. But you knew that was definitely impossible.

A queen simply did not take holidays in land that was not her own.

Your own subjects were polite towards Hoseok thankfully, giving him a regal bow and affording him the same respect they give you which pleases you. They don’t make for the most mentally stimulating conversations however. Unfortunately, most Hekatalian citizens are far too polite to spend too long talking to their queen.

If they spent too long with you, then it could look like you favour them over others which could generate a whole host of issues neither you nor they want.

It was the visitors from neither kingdom that are the nicest however, and you find yourself smiling truthfully when a group of werewolf guests compliment your home while also congratulating you both on a long marriage.

A rather upfront werewolf asks for a dance with you later and you cannot help the soft snort of laughter at his boldness. You don’t even need to look at your husband to see that he is bristling, metaphorical fur on edge as he gives the most polite and yet rudest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

He’s the perfect husband of a monarch however and says nothing that could be a diplomatic incident. Though you won’t lie, he probably didn’t endear himself either but the tenseness that you can feel in his arm lets you know it’s probably the best you’re going to be able to get with him.

The Master of Ceremonies officially announces the beginning to the ball and you watch from the side as couples from all over the room began to line up on the dance floor. Glancing to Hoseok, you noted the way his eyes focused firmly on the people dancing to the smooth beat of the music and give a small smile before nudging him gently.

“Would you like to dance husband?” You ask softly, your voice barely heard over the soaring music of the string quartet and the excitable chatter of the guests. He jerks at the sound of your voice, looking to you and you marvel for a moment at how astonishingly beautiful he looks. Even with half his face covered.

If anything, the mask makes the exquisite line of his jaw even more prominent and you swallow thickly at the sight of him in the golden glow of the nearby candles. His tongue flicks out, wetting those plush lips before his mouth kicks up into a tiny smile as he nods.

“I would be honoured, wife.” At that, he takes the lead and moves into the centre of the ballroom. Almost immediately, you feel the people surrounding you shift as awareness of who has entered their midst seeps in, but you can’t focus on anything other than Hoseok.

His spine is straight, and he almost towers above you in a manner that would be frightening if you didn’t know him. But the warm, tender way he rests his hand against your lower back and holds your other, with a touch more sensual than he perhaps should, has you feeling safe and protected by him.

You have no doubt that if anyone tried to hurt you right now, he would fight to his final breath to save you even if he is in the knowledge that you are more than capable yourself. A desperate urge rises within you suddenly, so deep and strong that you have to bite your lip to stop it, to rest your head against his enticing chest.

Instead, he leads you in a dance that is centuries old, his feet moving in perfect succession around the floor as you follow him with trained steps. You have no idea the spectacle you both make, and you don’t even notice the way people look between themselves with speculative brows raised.

You don’t know, because your gaze is firmly trapped in his like a moth to a flame. The ballroom almost goes hazy as you dance, bodies moving together as one until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. His own breath is coming a little faster from the exertion, but also from the sheer feelings you both portray with a simple gaze.

It would shock you both to see how you were dancing, as if no one else in the room even existed and with touches that spoke of an intimacy learnt over decades.

You both dance through endless songs, the hunger in your stomach battling with the need in your veins to take him away and let him savour you in a much more intimate way than the light affection he looks at you with now. In fact, it’s only when a passing dancer accidentally bumps into your back that the two of you are broken out of your reverie, blinking rapidly before looking away from each other with heated cheeks.

Pulling away, Hoseok quietly directs you to table of food that lines the side of the hall. Smiling at him shyly, you wonder if this is how lovers who court openly feel.

It’s at the table that you both fall back into your usual roles of cold politeness, the both of you separating to forage for food in an attempt to dispel any notions that your guests may have. From the furtive glances between you both, you worry for a moment that perhaps you may have a problem on your hand with gossip.

Gossip tended to twist things into negativity, and most stories became wildly obscure compared to their origins. There was every chance that after tonight, you could have five secret love children with him if you were not careful.

Though positive reception to that would perhaps precipitate being open about your relationship.

In an effort to deflect any attention, you spend the next hour moving from one group of people to the next on your own, giving genial smiles and accepting compliments about your home, your kingdom, the ball and your husband with a grace that has been trained into you since birth.

It is tiring however, and you forgot how intensive events such as balls are. A quick glance at the grand clock that hangs on the centre wall lets you know that you have been here for three hours already and the soreness of your feet tell you that it has been a very long three hours. You have the biggest urge to simply throw your heels away and go barefoot, but that would most definitely raise brows amongst the aristocracy who dance and chat around you.

“You look tired Your Majesty,” Comes a deep voice from next to you, and you look across with a carefully blank expression. It’s the wolf from before, the only giveaway to his identity being the extravagant black and white mask that only covers half of his face. You presume him to be handsome underneath the mask, given the beautiful jawline you can see at the moment. “But would it be remiss of me to request that dance I asked for earlier?”

He holds out a hand and you pause, eyes flickering around to find Hoseok only to fail in finding the black, silver and red outfit anywhere. Bowing your head regally, you place your hand in his own and allow him to lead you out to the dance floor.

The song now is slower, more suited to intimate couples you note as you look around you and you feel a pang in your stomach for your husband. You would love to be able to slow dance with him around the hall, but figure that you have danced enough with him for the moment.

It certainly would not take a genius to note the difference in your dance with this stranger, given the stiffness of your posture and the large gap you make sure to maintain between you both. Giving him a stiff smile, you decide to be polite and make small conversation.

“Forgive me, I don’t know your name.” Pausing, you leave him plenty of space to fill the opening and he takes it with ease, a sweet, gummy smile on his face.

“Min Yoongi, of the Lunatus Pack. And you need no introduction, my beautiful witch queen.” His tone is playful and you can’t help but smile at his infectious happiness, letting him twirl you around in an overly extravagant manner.

“Lunatus Pack? The ruling class of the Lupine nation. How interesting, I was told that no one high up in our werewolf brethen was able to make it tonight.” You ponder idly, eyes glancing around the room to try and find a red mask.

Yoongi hums lowly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder that you can’t see and if you’d been paying attention, you would note the way his lips kick up in an amused smirk. “I’m not high up in the Pack, that is likely why. But how could I resist a chance to visit Hekatalia and see the infamous Witch Queen and her Vampire Prince?”

Leaning away, you raise a brow at him sardonically. “Are we a tourist attraction now or something? Interesting, most people in my kingdom seem patently uninterested in my husband.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, before spinning you suddenly, his hands much lower than you were comfortable with. Lifting them, you give him a firm look that has him tittering with bemusement. “An attraction? No. But you are famous. And does that mean they are as uninterested in him as you are in each other? Because if so, he must be exceptionally popular here.”

You say nothing for a few beats of music, letting an awkward silence fill the gap until you finally question what he means by that. Another laugh leaves him, and you find yourself feeling slightly uncomfortable, even though he is perfectly nice.

“I had been told that the Witch Queen hated her Vampire Prince husband, and that the feelings were mutual. And yet...the way you danced with each other tonight. That was with an intimacy borne of lovers, and the way you looked at each other reminded me of how my parents look at each other,” He stalled for a moment, hands tightening in their place on you. “I do not believe you hate each other as much as you wish everyone to believe. Nor do I think others believe that anymore, and nor do I think it’s such a terrible thing.”

Panic stirs in your stomach at his words and you look for Hoseok with anxiety flitting in your veins. That is, until his words sink into your skin and you look at him in a new light. “What do you mean? We were married under duress, and our peoples would never accept a love between two races.”

The words sound weak even to you, causing him to snort. “Oh sure. Maybe a hundred years ago that would have been true. But there have been one hundred, long, years of peace between your peoples. I’m sure there will be people unhappy...but you seem to be a beloved queen. I doubt your people would begrudge you finding happiness and love in the marriage you were forced into, with the man you will spend an eternity with.”

You can’t find the words to respond to that, emotion choking your throat tightly and you blink rapidly at the ceiling to hold back tears. Was he right? Would people accept Hoseok for you? Could you love openly and freely?

“And it would be a truly, stupid man to not want to love a woman as beautiful and kind as you.” He speaks these words louder for some reason and you frown, until you suddenly feel a warmth against your back that is familiar and comforting.

“Hello Min Yoongi. Strange to see a Lunatus Prince here. I’ve been talking to the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and apparently no one from Lunatus responded that they would be joining us today.” Hoseok’s voice is freezingly polite, each syllable bitten out and you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s not normally this rude, but you note with amusement the way his eyes glow a soft red under his mask while his kissable lips are pressed into a straight line. Yoongi lets go of you with a smile, bowing at his waist to press a kiss to your hand in thanks.

“Apologies Your Majesty. Our dance has been cut short, and please forgive me for concealing my identity. I’m sure you can understand the need to simply be free sometimes,” He gives you a warm smile that you find yourself responding with but he nods to your husband. “Remember my advice. I wish you both well for now and the future.”

At that, he turns and departs, winding his way through the crowd. You watch him go quietly before turning to Hoseok, giggling inside at the sight of the glare on his face. It pained you to not be able to tease him so openly, but if you were correct in your belief, then Hoseok was jealous. Something he never had to consider normally, as even with the disdain for your husband the people of Hekatalia still respected your marriage vows.

“Is there a problem husband?” You ask, voice airy with just a hint of playfulness that causes his eyes to narrow at you. The sight of his jaw clenching and the cherry in his eyes has your thighs squeezing in response, breath hitching every so slightly.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth, noting the way your lips part before they drag to your eyes, no doubt blown out at the blatant display of possessiveness your husband is portraying. Almost instantly, his own jaw clenches and you almost moan out at the sight of the muscles working beneath smooth skin.

“I believe I am ready to retire for the night wife. Are you ready to retire?” He asks, his tone perfectly polite and neutral without a hint of the blatant lust in his eyes. Nodding in a daze, you give an affirmative and begin to follow him out of the ballroom.

It’s infuriating how slow you get through the crowd, continuously accepting praise for the event along with gracious goodbyes and wishes of well being to you both until finally you are free. Soyeon is stood in the corner of the entranceway, laughing beautifully with a young woman in a dress of emerald green and you watch them both momentarily before moving on.

The both of you ascend the staircase with far more grace and poise than you are feeling, and you are thankful that it is common for the host of the ball to leave early. Fashionably late to arrive and fashionably early to leave. It would continue on for hours in the ballroom, but you find yourself uncaring.

Not when you are watching the way your husband strides down the hallway, his long legs eating up the ground while his shoulders sway in an unconscious swagger. The vampires are always an elegant race, but your husband moves with the predatory hunger of a tiger shifter.

It makes your legs quiver with anticipation while a slick wetness dampens the silk between your legs already, breathing a little harder than normal. You know he can hear it, and it turns you on even more to know that he’s likely enjoying the sounds of your need.

Reaching your quarters, you watch with hungry eyes as Hoseok pauses outside of his door before opening it slowly and turning to face you. His mask is still pressed to his face, and you have the strongest urge to take it off him to let you see the captivating beauty that had stolen your heart long ago.

Instead, you enter his room quietly, your demeanour meek in the way that he so loves and you hear the slow hiss of breath from behind you as he stays where he is, a quiet hitting sound letting you know he’s let his head flop back against the wooden door until you hear the soft click of it closing.

There’s no sounds now, the faint whisper of music that had drifted from the ballroom disappearing once the door closes and you whisper a spell of silence to keep the rooms quiet. A silencing spell is normally placed around them anyway, but you have a feeling that tonight is going to be particularly special and you shiver with anticipation.

Turning slowly, you watch as your husband rests against the door with his gaze firmly focused on you. Taking the initiative to keep quiet for him, you run your eyes over his slim body and can’t help the automatic flex of your hands as they itch to touch him.

You don’t even need to see him well to know that his sensitive eyes caught that tiny movement, not when the corner of his lips turn up in a smirk that speaks of sex and desire.

“Did you enjoy your little dance with Min Yoongi, wife?” He asks, tone carefully neutral and you watch him vigilantly to try and detect his tiny tells. Your husband has always been phenomenal at hiding his emotions, and with the extravagant mask covering his face you find yourself at a loss.

“It was acceptable. He asked earlier and I finally accepted. It would have been rude not to.” You could dissuade his jealousy easily by simply explaining your conversation with the werewolf prince, but you find yourself unwilling. Because it is so rare to see him possessive like this, and you desperately want him to ravage you the way he obviously wants to.

Your words do nothing to appease him and you watch with pleasure as he bares his teeth, jaw working and you can tell he can’t figure out what to do for a moment. It’s pleasing, working him like this in tiny nudges until he will give you what you want. In your kingdom, Hoseok was practically powerless while you had the strain of unlimited power.

It was with great pleasure and excitement that you readily handed the reins of power to Hoseok in the bedroom, succumbing to his desires and wants with a submission that you could never reveal in your daily life. Which is why when he begins to stalk towards you, his eyes a dark crimson, that you shudder with need.

“Very well wife. I would be an unsuitable husband if I dictate who you could speak to, and I have no interest in hobbling you in that manner. It would be unseemly of me to undercut you like that. But I find myself with a desperate need to show you that you are mine, no matter what anyone else in that damnable ballroom believes.” He growls, voice low in his throat until each word is almost rasping out of his throat.

Hoseok is upon you now, moving so close that there is nary a centimetre between you both, forcing you to have to crane your head back on your neck to see him. He doesn’t let up, barely lowering his head and you almost whine with need for him.

“Am I going to get my good girl tonight? Or am I going to have punish you for being naughty?” You’ve never understood how vampires can do that strange hissing sound that they make, but the way it winds through his words and deep into the primal fear you have has your eyelashes fluttering shut while you let out the tiniest moan.

“I’ll be a good girl for you. I swear.” Mostly.

He says nothing for a moment, simply watching you with eyes that speak of a great need that only you can satisfy. You almost whine at him petulantly as he smirks down at you, fully aware that he has you exactly where he wants you.

“Good. Now, let’s see what is only for my eyes.” He stands back suddenly, leaving you cold and desperate for his touch on your skin. You’re momentarily confused until you follow his eyes down to your dress, noting the way your breasts are pushed together enticingly in the beautiful fabric.

Chewing on your lip while giving him big doe eyes, you reach behind yourself and tug on the ribbons that keep your dress in place. It’s hard to undress yourself, but Soyeon has always made it so that it is possible if you try hard enough.

Only, the position must set off something deep within your husband because he darts forward faster than your eyes can track and there’s a sudden, loud rip of fabric that echoes in the room. Pausing, you look down with widened eyes to see the beautiful dress torn open, silk hanging in tatters to leave your breasts exposed under his watchful gaze.

The tight corset that holds your waist in tightly prevents him from seeing the full expanse of your chest and he bares his teeth in annoyance at the sight. That doesn’t stop him from lowering his head though, trailing his tongue along your collarbones in a molten trail of lust that has your knees quaking as you grasp onto his jacket.

Your husband has always known how to use his mouth to turn you into a wreck under him, like a god of desire whose sole purpose is to simultaneously torture and send you into another plane of existence with pleasure.

That talented mouth is currently sucking a deep bruise into the flesh above your breasts, his hands cupping the fleshy mounds while his thumbs circle the hardened nubs of your nipples, the feeling almost painful until you groan at him, tugging at his hair in a motion that can’t decide whether you want him to move away or get closer.

A dark laugh leaves him, his breath brushing against the wet trails of your skin and causing you to shiver from the cold. At the movement, he abandons his oral assault on you to simply track his mouth back north, the sharpened points of his fangs scratching against your skin in a tantalising way.

In a brutal show of the strength his race is so famed for, Hoseok bends down and lifts you up until your breasts are level with his wandering mouth. A squeal of laughter leaves you as you grasp the strands of his silky hair tightly for balance while he focuses his attention on laving his cravings on your breasts, hot mouth licking and sucking any inch of skin he can reach until finally he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth, the sheer heat of his wet mouth causing your head to drop back as you gasp out.

The movement has you wobbling and he grunts, moving with a speed that still shocks you until you’re landing on the soft covers, the silk embracing your body in a cold that contrasts deeply with the heat of his mouth. Hoseok isn’t bothered by the change in position though and instead focuses again on the hardened bud, tongue flicking out to play with it but his lips wrap around it to suck deeply.

It’s almost as if your breasts are directly connected to your vagina as each pull of his mouth has a corresponding throb of your inner muscles until you whine softly, wanting to push at his head but knowing full well that he will punish you if you try and make him do what he doesn’t want to. And yet, the thought of the punishment has even more wetness trickling between your legs under your dress.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your skin and you want to cry in relief as he sits up, legs straddling your waist in a sight so sexy it makes you delirious with want. Hoseok smirks as your breath hitches before reaching forward and playing with the destroyed threads of your dress.

It’s with barely a flinch of effort on his face that he rips the dress from you in sections, tugging the ruined material out from under you to throw it in the corner. You pout lightly as he grasps the edge of the corset, playfulness taking the edge of his emotions in his eyes as he rips that too.

“They have laces for a reason husband.” You admonish lightly, raising a brow as you lay before him with nothing but a pair of damp silk panties on and your mask. He snorts in response, shrugging as he throws the corset away and looks upon your body like it’s a feast and he’s a starving man.

“You have assistants for a reason wife.” His words are quiet and unfocused, causing you to tut at him lightly. Hoseok’s eyes flicker to you at that, causing you to bite your lip in an innocent expression.

“So fucking beautiful. And mine.” He practically vibrates with possessiveness as he leans forward, using just a finger to snap your panties from you and leave you exposed to him completely. He doesn’t do anything to you for a moment though, instead just lets you feel the tantalising light touch of his breath against your centre and you wiggle slightly with unrestrained need.

Petal soft lips press to your inner thigh in response and you watch as he noses along the vulnerable flesh there, eyes flicking back to you to check your response before he lets the very tip of his tongue trail along a specific area. You don’t need him to tell you what he’s doing, and you groan softly at the knowledge that he’s licking along your artery.

He can likely hear the pounding of blood that echoes in your head, rushing through your body with your heightened emotions and it’s beyond exhilarating to know that he’s instinctively attracted to that spot. It should be frightening, but Hoseok has long since shown you that pain can be pleasurable when done right.

Which is why there’s a slight disappointment that dips your stomach when he abandons your thigh, nosing along the fine hair of your pubic bone until his tongue plays in the very spot you’ve been craving him this whole time. A low groan leaves him as he presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, dragging it up slowly before swirling the tip around the swollen bud in slow and steady circles.

Moaning deeply, you grasp at the sheets tightly as his tongue leads an assault of pleasure on your body that has your defences falling like dominoes with zero resistance. Each flick of his tongue, whether it’s the kitten light licks that have your hips jerking in repeated, short bursts of motion or the deep passes of his tongue that dip into your entrance with every movement.

He stops for a moment to press sticky kisses to your thigh once more, heated tongue licking along the sensitive flesh until you feel the tiniest prick that causes your leg to twitch in response. Lifting your head, you look down to see that he’s bitten down lightly, enough to cause a bead of blood to slowly trickle down your skin but not enough to be anything worrying.

Hoseok watches the dark liquid move with eyes that burn a bright crimson, the unfettered hunger in them making your inner muscles quiver with a need you vocalise with a broken call of his name. The sound breaks the trance he’d fallen into and he moves forward in an almost snake like movement to catch the drop on his tongue, following it back up at a languid pace until he wraps his mouth around the bite mark that is already healing.

With closed eyes, he tugs his mouth off to reveal the mesmeric profile that you love so dearly and your heart kicks at the sight as he nuzzles your skin almost affectionately. The softness vanishes though as he moves back to your centre, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with an almost brutal level of strength until your mewling and babbling out phrases that you don’t even properly understand.

A long, elegant finger dips into your channel slowly, coating in the sticky fluid that leaks from you with each glide of his tongue before slipping into you with ease. The intrusion is pleasant, but you gasp for even more, needing to feel the burning stretch of him.

He lets out a laugh against you, pressing a kiss to the bud of pleasure that throbs with need before sliding a second finger into you. Each move of his hand has him twisting slightly, searching for that special spot inside you until his fingers rub against the bundle of nerves that rest on your inner walls.

Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, hips pushing up to encourage him further and he lets out a primal growl as he presses a hand firmly down on your stomach, keeping you firmly in place.

“Hoseok please, please. I’ll be a good girl, please just...I need you.” You pant out needily, fingers reaching for him desperately and clenching with frustration when he darts out of the way with a smirk. His lower face is shining with your desire and he simply licks at his lips, taking in the unique taste of you as his fingers move in you slowly.

“Why should I? You seemed happy enough to flirt with another man earlier.” If you were being honest, you’d completely forgotten that Min Yoongi existed when you had Hoseok taking you to a whole new dimension in his bed right now, and you decided that you’d had enough playing games.

“I wasn’t. I would never. You’re the only man I want, I swear. Please Hoseok, husband. Please.” You beg, pleading with him to give him and just fuck you into tomorrow. He watches you closely, eyes back to being his usual brown but there’s no softness in them tonight.

Tonight, he looks every inch the regal vampire prince he is.

Baring his teeth, you whimper at the sight of his sharpened incisors and pout as he pulls his hand from you. Lifting it up, he looks at the strands of sticky liquid that stretch enticingly when he pulls his fingers apart.

Watching you closely, your inner muscles clench desperately around nothing as he slots them into his mouth and sucks them out slowly, eyes remaining focused on you the whole time. “You taste good wife. Will you let me taste more?”

The question is surprisingly civil given how annoyed he’d been earlier, but you note the way his eyes focus firmly on the elegant column of your throat and recognise his real question. Despite his earlier bite, Hoseok always made sure to have your permission before biting your neck. It was a visible area, and took a degree of trust to allow a vampire that close to somewhere so vulnerable.

Your response was simply to run a finger along the expanse of skin enticingly, letting it trail along the curve of your breast and stroking down your stomach before reaching the wetness of your clit. As your fingers begin to play with yourself, a rumbling growl vibrates from his chest and you grin at him in challenge.

“Wench.” He hisses out, tugging his jacket off before pulling his tie off and undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Once the delicious view of his tan, toned chest is given to you, he simply undos the laces of his trousers and pushes them down his shapely thighs, unwilling to spend the time required to take off those intricate boots.

The sight of his cock bobbing in the air makes your mouth water while your inner muscles squeeze, craving the thick intrusion of him already. He smirks at the sight of your blatant want and strokes himself playfully, lips pouting at you mockingly as he tugs at his turgid length with long and practiced strokes.

A bead of pearlescent pre-cum at his tip is swiped along his thumb before he’s leaning forward, pressing it into your mouth and letting you suck the salty bitterness off his skin with a swirl of your tongue. He moans out quietly before leaning down and capturing your mouth in the first kiss of the night, his lips pressing against your firmly in a sign to not fight his dominance.

You grant him entrance to your mouth eagerly, opening up and sighing into him as his tongue slides along yours in a sensual dance. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him closer and moan as he takes a thigh and wraps it around his waist, cock resting against your pubic bone as you grind against him in an attempt to gain some friction.

It takes only the slightest movement of Hoseok’s hips until his blunt head is pressing against your entrance and you break away from him to look down, the sight of him slowly pushing into you arousing beyond belief. You can’t help the way you clench down at the sight combined with the astonishingly pleasurable feeling of him stretching you.

He really shouldn’t feel like this every time you have sex, and yet he does.

“Oh...Hoseok.” You gasp out, your head falling back into the pillow as your body strains under him, tensing up as he bottoms out in you. Hoseok lets out a corresponding moan, soft and light as his head drops into your neck to get used to the sensation.

“Stop squeezing.” He snaps, nipping at your collarbone lightly and you shudder around him at the sensation, causing an immediate whine from him. Lifting his head, he glares at you with ruby eyes that promise retribution and you shiver with excited anticipation.

“Oh, is it going to be like that then?” Hoseok murmurs, eyes flickering over your face and before you can even respond, he pulls out until only the very tip of him remains in you before slamming back in with so much force, he almost shunts you up the bed to the headboard. Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, the force of his movement pressing his hips into your clit with each thrust and sending sparks of desire that fizz through your veins before adding to the bubbling pit that’s building in your stomach.

Once he’s started, he doesn’t let up and each slap of Hoseok's hips against yours was so hard, so forceful that it felt almost bruising. Your body jerked upwards with each movement until you were almost positive he was going to fuck you through the headboard.

His breath, hot against the sweat of your neck, has you shivering while the primal sound of his low, guttural groans makes you clench even tighter around his cock. The sensation has him gripping your hips just as hard, fingers that are normally gentle squeezing with a force to leave pretty bruises in the shape of those hands you love.

It’s a good job no one but him and Soyeon will ever see the bruises on your hips, and the thought turns you on even more, more wetness making letting his cock slide in you even easier.

“Oh, you're being so good for me wife. So good,” He whispers darkly against the tendons of your neck, lips fluttering against your skin with butterfly soft movements that only heighten the sensation of touch you're craving from him. “My beautiful wife. Can you moan for me? Can you scream?’

Hoseok bites down then when you’re not focused on his mouth, his perfect white teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck with ease and you sob out a cry of pleasure at the sting. The pinpricks of pain his fangs cause vanish as his tongue laves attention to the wounds before he presses his lips to them, suctioning hard and you pant as you hear his throat gulp greedily at the thick red liquid you bleed for him.

The overwhelming sensation of both pleasure and pain has you writhing under him, throbs of desire causing you to clench around him rhythmically until he's hissing his displeasure at you once more.

Swiping his tongue along your skin to catch any leaking trails he had missed, he pulls away and you watch him through heavy lidded eyes as his lips pull back in a silent snarl. Once white teeth are now stained, while two impossibly sharp fangs are prominent in his mouth. He’s fed messily tonight, his lust causing him to be a little less careful and his chin is smeared with red.

“Bad girl.” Hoseok whispers lowly, his dominant hand coming up to wrap around your throat with a gentleness that belies the ruby in his eyes. His fingers avoid the sore marks he’s made though. Leaning down, his refined nose brushes along the bone of your jawline slowly, nudging at you in a way that's almost affectionate in spite of his words.

Rolling his hips into yours at an almost glacial pace suddenly, you can't stop the whine as his hips press against you enticingly; just enough pressure to make it feel nice but not enough to go anywhere.

“Say my name darling. Let everyone know who's fucking you good.” He whispers into your ear, voice low and sensual like a devil coaxing you out of your home. Hoseok is obviously not quite over his jealous flare earlier, and if it wasn’t for the sheer gratification he was giving you then you’d coo at him.

His words are accompanied though by another sharp snap of his hips, cock spearing you and pressing against that thick bundle of nerves on your inner wall until you're panting out his name, desperately, clinging to his shoulders with fingers that dig deep.

“Hoseok, please.” You gasp out, high pitched whines threading through every sound. Hoseok chuckles darkly, nipping at your jawline before pressing even harder against your throat till you can barely breathe.

“Say my name. Scream my name, wife. Who do you belong to?” He bites out, teeth gritted together while the tendons of his own neck appear enticingly from his efforts.

Wheezing under his grip, you tap at his arm until he's releasing just enough that you can have a breathe. The pressure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, your pussy feeling like it's about to break from the pace he's going at and you can't stop the long, elongated moan that you let out as you finally reach your release.

Squeezing around him like a vice, your fingernails drag down his back deeply while your eyes roll into the back of your head.

A small part of your mind remembers his demand as he continues to thrust, causing micro explosions of aftershocks that ricochet your body. “Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. I belong to Jung Hoseok.”

Eyes opening you watch as Hoseok’s eyes slowly bleed from ruby to black in satisfaction, the smirk on his lips having a touch of smugness in your orgasm clouded mind.

“Good girl. Always such a good girl.” He grunts before his eyes close, expression almost pained as he presses himself firmly into you. His grip on your throat tightens once more while the other on your hip feels like he'll break something.

Hoseok's soft, bloodstained lips fall open as his brow creases from the force of his orgasm and you can feel his cock twitch as he cums, emptying himself inside you. “Good girl.” He whispers once more, eyes opening as his chest moves rapidly in an attempt to get his breath.

Rolling off you, you both face the ceiling and gasp desperately while your body feels boneless with a lack of energy. It’s like he’s sucked all the energy out of you with his bite and the orgasm, but it feels so pleasant that you can’t find it in you to care.

You don’t even realise that you’ve started to drift until you jerk into awareness when he lazily moves onto his side, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer to him. A soft kiss is pressed to your throat and when you look at him, Hoseok has an expression that almost looks like he’s asking for forgiveness.

“I’m yours too. You know that right?” He whispers out, and you can feel the sudden vulnerability in it. Smiling, you nod your head and kiss his forehead gently and simply tell him to sleep. You’ll always be his, just as he will always be yours. No matter what others think.

-

The final day, as always, is bittersweet. It begins with you awakening slowly, consciousness crawling its way into being at a pace that would make the snails in the gardens seem fast. Everything feels warm and the quiet solitude of the room is comforting for once instead of oppressive.

You don't want to wake up though, and you fight it as much as you can. Because waking up means facing the reality that he is leaving. That you have only scant hours with him before he climbs into his carriage and departs to his kingdom, unseen and unheard of for a further six months.

It makes your limbs feel heavy, the weight of your sadness like chains around your chest that squeeze tight until it is too hard to breathe. You had tried communicating one year, sending messages to each other as secretly as possible until you realised the futility.

One simply did not send messages from Hekatalia to Sanguinus, particularly not to the Crown Prince from the Witch Queen. Especially not when you were supposed to despise each other.

It was lovely while he was here though, while he was home. You weren’t even entirely sure where he called home anymore, but a tiny part of you hoped that he considered it here in your arms. Even if his time here was spent metaphorically shackled to the castle, you had the comfort of simply knowing that he was here.

For yet another moment, like the hundreds of times before, you cursed the Faerie Queen for giving you such a cruel curse.

Despite the knowledge that he was leaving though, your beloved husband was also the reason that you were waking right now.

He was already awake underneath you, his heart slow but steady under the warm skin of his chest as your head lay on him. Hoseok hadn't said a word to you, nor had he tried to coax you from slumber.

Instead, his fingers simply trailed along the length of your exposed back in slow, yet steady and assured movements. It was featherlight, and you would have shivered if he hadn't been doing it for long enough to desensitise your skin.

You're not sure why he hasn't tried to wake you, but he seems to be deep in thought. Though if you'd thought he wasn't paying attention then you were reminded of his vampiric senses when his hand glides up your back to rub at the sensitive skin at the bottom of your neck.

“Good morning wife.” His voice is low, gravelly with sleep and you revel in the deep tone with happiness. Nuzzling your nose into his neck, you refuse to open your eyes and ruin the moment.

Instead, you let your hand wander to rest against the velvet skin of his chest, the muscles firm under your hand. But it's the steady beating of his heart beneath your palm that calms you more than anything.

There's a misconception amongst your kind that vampires are undead and therefore have no heartbeat. It's wrong, obviously, and borne of fear and terror throughout the years. A way to demonize their enemy and strip them of the things that makes them relatable.

It is easy to slaughter innocents after all, if you believe that they are not alive in the first place.

Though it is a stupid belief that they have, given vampires quite clearly procreate. And dead people are not prone to giving life.

Still, you can't help the gut deep sense of satisfaction that you have at feeling that strong beat beneath your fingertips. The beat that tells you that he's alive and well.

“We have to get up wife.” Hoseok speaks, the words dancing from his lips into the quiet air like the tiny dust motes that you can see gliding lazily in the morning sun. Pressing yourself firmly against his side, you shake your head into his neck petulantly.

“No. I don't want to. I'm queen, I can do what I want.” You don't even have to see your husbands face to know he's probably smiling at that, his rounded cheeks pulled high while his eyes crease in happiness. It makes your heart hurt.

“Yes you are the queen. A very good queen, who does not abandon her subjects or her work to laze in bed with her husband that she should not love.” He admonishes, the hand stroking affection into your back making the words softer than they should be.

Sighing quietly, you simply inhale the soothing and comforting scent of him. “Maybe so. But I do love him. And my subjects will be here tomorrow, whereas he will not.”

His hand pauses and there's nothing further said, his very breathe still in his chest before he let's it out in a deep exhale that speaks of so many emotions. With a burst of movement, Hoseok rolls to his side and lays his arm over your waist while resting his head close to yours.

Neither of you say anything, gazes simply tracking over each others faces to keep every pore and line fresh in your memories. He looks beautiful, if a little paler than when he arrived due to his lack of spending time outdoors.

One year, you will declare him able to go where he pleases whether the population likes it or not. You know he likely won't go far, and he’s actually been the one confining himself half the time, but you would like him to at least try to experience some freedom.

His eyes are soft and unbelievably kind today, the colour rich as dark chocolate while his inky hair splays across the pillow and his forehead in a haphazard manner that is adorably sweet. The effects of sleep are still present on him as well, with a crease from his pillow in the round softness of his cheek while the puffiness under his eyes belies his tiredness.

It's the imperfections that make him truly perfect.

“I don't want you to go.” You croak out, voice cracking and hoarse with both sleep and emotion that you don't have to explain but that he feels all the same.

Hoseok says nothing for a moment and simply gives you a heart wrenching, bittersweet smile. “I know. I don't want to go. But you know I have to. Six months, and I'll be back. You know that I will love you fiercely, even when I am gone.”

Your eyes fall from his gaze and the pure honesty you see there. It must hurt him so, to constantly be uprooting his life like this. Yet he has not complained since the night he shyly confessed his love for you, fully braced for hatred and rejection so many years ago.

His thumb makes slow and comforting stroking motions on your side before he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead before letting them remain there for a moment.

“My father has a meeting in the Faerie Kingdom soon. I think I may ask to go with him.” You understand what he means instantly and shake your head.

“Hoseok...no. You know the faeries hate us. She will never undo this curse. And I don't blame her. I don't want her to. This curse keeps us apart, yes. But without it, we would have never found love in each other. Only hate. And our people will kill each other again.” You whisper, resting a hand against his chest as you make your case.

As painful as it is to plead with him to accept the status quo, you know that it must be done.

He makes a strained noise of complaint before hugging you closer. “I hate it though. I have to at least try. For our kingdom's, so they can see that we truly can get on with each other and love. For us, to no longer live half lives. For...the babe we lost through our hubris and the children we can never have. Please...let me at least try. How can I tell you that I love you, how can everyone accept that I love you if I can't even fight for you? You can't ask because of diplomacy, but I am not a king yet. I'm just a prince, with not as much to lose as you.”

You don’t know what to say to him, as denying his request would likely hurt him even more. He’d follow your demands if you told him not to go, you knew that, but you wondered what it would cost in your relationship. It had always been harder on him, the constant shuffling from one home to another and unable to make any concrete plans for his future.

Was this to be his life? You at least had your kingdom to run, but Hoseok’s father was not likely to give up the throne anytime soon. Hoseok spent his life either learning under his father in his kingdom and not doing a whole lot, or just plain not doing a whole lot in your kingdom.

You knew that he craved more in his life, and it pained you that he was likely unhappy in many areas because of the curse. He’d taken losing the baby badly, very badly, and you knew that he craved a family for you both. Maybe it was because he truly wanted a family, or maybe it was because he wanted something to do and a child would allow him to focus his efforts somewhere.

One hundred years was a long time, and the fact that there was a distinct possibility of never bearing children in the future was painful for you both. How could you deny him to at least try? To at least ask and try to fight for your right to happiness with each other. You wanted it as much as he did, and you did not want him to be facing an eternity of unhappiness.

“Just...don’t get too hurt if she denies it. Please. Even if she says no, at least we get half the year with each other. We will figure this out, even if we have to just declare our love to each other. What can they do anyway? The curse means we have to spend six months together, and they cannot kill us. But...try.” It doesn’t seem like much, and he huffs out a breathe in annoyance. Chuckling in his arms, you press a soft kiss to his neck and enjoy the way he shivers slightly.

“You know, if anyone could see you behind closed doors then their ideas of bloodthirsty and scary vampires would be gone completely.” You tease, pushing against him until he finally lets his arms relax and you slip from him.

Exiting the bed, you stretch with a deep groan before turning around and talking in the sight of him. Hoseok is leaning up on his elbow now, the silk sheets draped around his hips and revealing the delicious expanse of golden, toned stomach and chest. The image is slightly ruined by his sleep puffy face, but it just makes you smile as your heart swells with affection for him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful wife?” He grins, fangs slightly longer than they had been as his gaze tracks along the expanse of your naked body. Cheeks heating as your husband is evidently feeling different emotions to you, you shrug as nonchalantly as you can before walking to the wash basin in the corner of his room. Taking the towel, you dip it into the fresh water and give yourself a quick clean over before heading back to him.

Crawling onto the tall bed, you bounce towards him and laugh at the way his eyes focus on your breasts immediately. Leaning over, you catch his lips in yours in a sweet kiss before sitting back with a mischievous smile.

“Come husband. We must get ready.” He growls at your mocking tone, eyes deeping to crimson as he sits up and captures your lips in a bruising kiss, one hand twining in your hair while the other presses your chest to his.

His mouth leaves yours and moves down your throat hungrily, sucking in a needy motion against the column of your neck with a deep purr. “Impudent woman. Maybe I should have a last feed...for the road you know.” He hisses, the words tickling the sensitive skin and you moan quietly, your smile unseen by him.

Gripping his black hair tightly, you press his head to your throat in an encouraging manner while your other hand reaches his body down to grip him firmly, shifting your body into position. “Please do. A good wife needs to make sure her husband is taken care of.”

He lets out a strained groan as you sink onto him before pulling back and giving you a narrow eyed gaze, his amusement strong despite the red in his eyes. “Wench.” Is all he says before he focuses on the matters at hand, providing you both with the final pleasures of his visit.

Duties soon call however and within no time at all, you find yourself sat with your advisors as they discuss the recently updated terms of a trade agreement with a far away kingdom. You should be paying more attention than you are, and part of you admonishes yourself for being such a terrible ruler, but a larger part of you is focused on the welcome soreness between your legs and the ache at your throat.

Soyeon had to wrap a beautiful scarf around your throat, turning it into an endearing fashion statement to hide the redness of Hoseok’s bite. There was a burning desire to just throw the scarf away and wear his mark proudly, but you knew the shock it would likely cause.

One day, you would simply throw your caution to the wind and kiss your husband in front of everyone the way he deserved. If you had a coin for every time you thought something like this, then you would likely have enough money to rival the royal vault.

But there is another part of your mind that is firmly in your quarters with him still, and you wonder what he is doing right now. A quick glance at the clock tells you that the carriage is due anytime, and your stomach twists with unhappiness at the prospect.

Shaking your head, you engage back with your advisors and discuss the terms that you find acceptable along with the ones that you do not, requesting they go back and re-negotiate better for your subjects. They acknowledge the requests, writing down notes furiously that you have no doubt will be discussed with the corresponding partners in the foreign kingdom.

A sudden knock at the door has your heart racing while your stomach turns, causing nausea. Soyeon’s head appears behind the heavy wooden door and you feel the strongest urge to suddenly cry.

“Apologies Your Majesty, but your husband’s carriage has arrived.” Standing, you brush at invisible dirt on your skirts before nodding your head to your advisors who bow. Making your own apologies, you excuse yourself from the meeting and begin to follow Soyeon along the quiet and empty hallways.

“Is he ready?” You ask quietly, your tone strained as your hands play with themselves nervously. Soyeon gives you a sympathetic look, resting a hand against your arm for a moment before nodding her head.

“He is Your Majesty. Waiting for you just before the doors.” She didn’t even need to say that final sentence as you turn a corner and he’s there, looking magnificently beautiful. His dark hair has been styled elegantly, lifted off his forehead while most of his body is hidden behind a long, fitted black coat, the ends brushing his knees and meeting the top of his boots. The silver lining is a subtle sign that only you would understand and you bite your lip suddenly to stop a burst of emotion.

“You have only a few minutes before they will be expecting him. His luggage is already being stowed.” She whispers, bowing her head to you both before heading out of the door. Neither of you move for a moment, and you watch painfully as Hoseok swallows.

“They’re here.” He says, tone empty as he states a pointless fact that you both already know. Pressing your hands to your mouth, you nod your head as tears fill your eyes while a gnawing desperation fills every ounce of your body.

Upon seeing it, Hoseok’s brave face falls and his own eyes shine with unshed tears as well. Striding over briskly, you marvel at the extraordinary sight he makes with his coat billowing behind him before he’s suddenly there, taking you into his arms and holding you so tightly.

“Do not cry my love. Please. It will make it much harder to leave you and impossible to not give away my feelings.” He begs, words soft and light as a feather as he pleads with you desperately. Sniffling, you bring a hand to wipe away a stray tear and he gently thumbs away the liner that has slipped from your eyes.

“You look phenomenal. Like a king.” You whisper and he laughs quietly, his face light with happiness despite the sad situation.

“I will never be your king, remember?” He breathes out, the teasing in his voice a welcome break to the brevity of what is to happen and you cling harder to him. Hoseok lets you, and makes no motion to try and move you away from him. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in tighter.

“You’re the king of my heart.” His laugh is loud at that, the sound happy despite the situation and you can literally feel it vibrate out of his chest as he lets his hands wander along the laces that keep your dress tied together.

“Wow. I don’t even know how to respond to that without making a sarcastic comment.” Pulling away, he looks down at you with so much affection and love that you grip the lapels of his jacket even tighter.

“Then don’t. Just...come back to me in six months happy. That’s all I ask. I love you.” You focus on his chest, flattening out his jacket and rubbing at imaginary wrinkles while your lip quivers threateningly. It’s probably not very queen-like but you’re beyond caring about that right now. Hoseok doesn’t respond, simply letting his own hands rub your arms in long and gentle motions before he presses his lips to your forehead.

“I will. I promise. And all I ask is that I come back to you being happy as well. I love you too.” His voice is thick and it cracks on the final part of the sentence, causing you to swallow thickly.

“I will miss you, husband.” You whisper and he gives a weak smile, tight lipped before he dips down to catch your lips between his own in a kiss so fierce and full of emotion. It’s six months worth of kisses in one go and it leaves you breathless, panting against him when he steps back.

“I will miss you too, wife.” Blinking rapidly, he looks up at the ceiling before taking a few fortifying breathes while he rolls his shoulders in preparation. Turning to the door, he looks back at you and gives a final smile before he’s gone and you’re left alone once more.

Staring at the closed door, you will him to re-appear and take you in his arms once more but he doesn’t. Because he can’t. You both know that the curse is vicious and cruel, the pain almost unbearable.

Not waiting for Soyeon, you move quickly through the deathly silent halls before reaching your quarters once more. Slowly moving to the window, you tentatively peer out and watch as the black carriage slowly disappears out of the courtyard of the castle, dust rising as it heads on the long road back to Sanguinus.

Facing your empty room, you look around it despondently and find him in every corner. The bed, where you’d made love many times and cuddled long into the night. Only last week you had lay on your stomach across it, Hoseok sitting on the floor in front of you while he read aloud from a book. Every page he read got him a kiss on the head, until he was giggling with how fast he was trying to read.

The nightstand, when he’d taken over the job of Soyeon to carefully remove your makeup as a simple excuse to be close to you. A few months ago, he had tried to put your makeup on for you, the results causing you to gasp in horror at the mirror until you both burst out laughing, holding your stomachs in glee.

The exquisite rug where you had both laid many times, hand in hand while discussing hypothetical futures. The desk in which you had both sat at, discussing treaties and agreements that he likely shouldn’t have been involved with, yet you’d been unable to not ask him to be involved.

And yet, while each memory hurt, it was filled with so much love and affection that your heart twisted painfully.

Moving into his rooms, you inhale shakily as you take in the wonderful scent of him. Moving over and sitting on the silk sheets of his bed, you run a hand along the soft material with a tiny smile. Only hours ago, you’d made love to him here for the final time.

Laying down in the place he always slept, you pressed his pillow to your nose and breathed him in. His scent would disappear soon enough, and you’d be left cold and empty of him. What would it be like, to never have to curl into his sheets and pillow and hoard every trace of him when he’d gone?

Tears fall in a slow trickle down your face to dampen the silk of his pillow in the quiet sadness of his room, and you lament the loss of your husband once more. Your quiet breakdown is almost peaceful, with Soyeon keeping staff away from your rooms to give you the privacy you so need. They wouldn’t understand why you mourn him.

You don’t know that in a carriage along a road at the same time, your husband is crying silently, his face stoic while his fingers clench tightly so as not to make any noise to alert his travelling companions. One day, he vows. One day he will never have to leave your side.

-

Epilogue

Thursday’s were simultaneously your least favourite and favourite day of the week. It was the day that your subjects were able to seek court with you, asking their monarch for favours or to resolve disputes, perhaps even suggest new laws and so forth.

You loved them because it gave you a chance to meet the very people you ruled over, and as an immortal queen you had plenty of time on your hands to get to know these people. It was likely that you would be overseeing the disputes of their grandchildren in the years to come.

They also often gave good advice that you would sometimes adopt into your own worldview, or suggested laws that were then debated amongst the lawmakers of your country. It was the perfect way to give the smaller people a voice in a society that perhaps didn’t listen as often as it should.

You knew that Hoseok was forever impressed with the format and thought it could perhaps work in Sanguinus, and when he was here then he would often sit in the accompanying throne and simply listen. In recent years, he’d even begun to quietly speak up and offer his own advice.

Perhaps the most surprising result of that was the your people didn’t hiss or spit at him. In fact, some had even taken his wisdom to heed. It filled you with a warm pleasure, resting in your chest to see the ever so subtle changes towards him over the years.

Of course, it wasn’t the outright acceptance you wanted but a hundred years was a long time. It meant your people had grown accustomed to his presence over the fifty years that he had resided in your kingdom, and you tentatively hoped that they would not consider him to be a threat to them.

He was, after all, their co-ruler.

Today had passed like all other days, with peasants, the middle class and even some of the lords and ladies of the Court coming to for you advice or to vent their anger. You were currently having to deal with two ancient families with a blood feud who were currently arguing over who owned a certain area of land.

Perhaps you would have been more forgiving with them, given that they were important families in your Court, but this was the ninth time that they had come to you in only a year and your patience with their incessant complaining had grown thin with their tiresome ways.

Sitting with your chin in your palm as you watched the two matriarch's of the family become increasingly loud in tone as they argued, you pondered if your posture was even remotely ladylike, nevermind befitting of a queen. And yet, you found yourself uncaring.

If Hoseok had been here, he would have sighed heavily at their pettiness and their constant threats of spells and hexes before leaving. Your husband had a short temper when it came to things like these people, and you found that your normally extended patience had shortened dramatically with them.

“Lady Elabaria, Lady Winania. May I interrupt for a moment?” You say, the question more of a statement that dared either of them to talk back or argue with their queen. A small, childish, part of you wanted them to try.

It would give you the perfect excuse to ban them from the castle for a whole year. Then you would have a whole year to no longer listen to them.

Unfortunately however, they are well-trained Court members and immediately cease their whining and threats to face you with bowed heads. Sighing heavily, you sit straighter and look over the two with a critical eye.

“I understand your concerns, but I must admit that I am becoming weary of hearing the complaints from both sides. This issue has gone on too long and frankly, you are taking up valuable time that could be given to other loyal subjects. I apologise for the harshness of this, but I have given both of your families ample amounts of time to resolve this issue and yet I find both families bickering like children once more. As such, I feel the only way to resolve this issue is for the Crown to seize the lands in question until the two families come to an agreement. Once an agreement is realised, the Crown will relinquish the land to the accepted owner. Now please. Leave.” You wave a hand as you speak the words and the air around you shimmers for a moment, the magical binding of your words sealing in a golden glow.

The two matriarch’s stare at you with eyes wide in shock before they narrow in unhappiness. For a moment, you ponder if perhaps they might turn on you and you prepare to tell them why this would be a silly decision on their behalf. It’s pointless however, as they instead turn to each other and begin to argue once more as they exit the throne room.

Watching them go, you look over at the advisors who sit at a panel along the side of the expansive room with an exasperated glance. Park Jimin, the Keeper of Words in your Court, gives a silent laugh as he shakes his head at their antics.

The peasants of your kingdom are far easier to deal with. They also don’t come with the arrogance or sense of self-entitlement that the upper classes come with.

“This is the last one Your Majesty.” Soyeon whispers from your side and you turn to look at her. She’s wearing an elegant dress of purple and silver today, her highest quality dress to make sure she gives the best impression to the subjects of your kingdom. You’d already complimented her on it and how it worked wonderfully with her hair, which had caused a sweet flush to grace her cheeks.

Nodding to her, you give her a tired smile. “Good. I’m looking forward to whatever culinary delights Jin has made tonight.” At the very thought of the food your chef makes, your stomach rumbles in hunger causing you to sigh. He’d made a most delightful stew yesterday, and you were hoping for something equally as filling for the cold winter day.

Turning back to the final person, you sigh in gratitude that your long day is almost over. As much as you enjoyed these days, they also left you feeling stiff and awkward from having to sit on the uncomfortable throne for as long as you did. Not to mention the heavy tiara that rested on your hair, a symbol of your ultimate power in the kingdom.

Perhaps you complain too much though, you reason to yourself. There are many in your kingdom who do far more work than you without complaint.

The final visitor is a sole traveller, their head covered in the hood of their tattered robe and you eye them over. The robe brushes the floor with each movement and you note the dust that dirties the hem, lightening the dark colour and wonder if they’re from one of the far reaches of your kingdom.

Normally, people dress up better to greet their queen. You say nothing though, and instead gesture with an elegant hand to them. “Speak your mind loyal subject. Your queen will listen.”

There’s a moment of quiet in the vast throne room and you shift in your seat, brows creasing in confusion as they do not speak immediately. Normally, people are excited to have the ear of their queen. You do not push them though, as you have discovered over the many years that some people are nervous about their request.

“Your Majesty. I come today to request your assistance. You see, I have a wife, and I love her very much. But our circumstances are awkward. People do not approve of us being together, for our families have fought for many generations. But I love her fiercely. And I’ve finally found a way for us to be together. I just need your permission to love her openly.” The sheer longing and love in the stranger’s deep voice makes your heart ache with a need to hold Hoseok.

His story sounds so similar to your own, and you find yourself pressing a hand to your stomach without meaning to in an attempt to ease the pain. You weren’t entirely sure why your permission was needed, but if the queen’s word could help to ease the path of love for this stranger and his wife then you would be loathe to hold it back.

You could at least help one relationship to be happy.

“Forgive me, stranger. I do not know if my words will bring you comfort or bring ease into your life with your wife. But you have my full blessing to love openly and honestly. Hold her tight, and always let her know how much you love her, for yours is a love that you have fought hard for.” Your words are perhaps a little more filled with emotion than would normally emerge from you, and you can see the confused frown that Jimin is giving you as the words you speak magically appear on the scroll he is holding.

There’s nothing for a few seconds, and you wonder if perhaps the stranger has more to say. But then he laughs and you freeze in confusion, brows coming together as your heart races with anticipation while your mind pauses in hesitation.

“Thank you for your blessing, my queen. I have waited a long time for this day.” Staring at him in disbelief, you can tell that Soyeon and your advisors are looking between your stunned face and the stranger with confusion.

“No...it’s not possible.” You whisper softly before rising from your throne a hand to your chest while your other grasps your skirts, lifting almost subconsciously as you make your way down the steps. Shaky steps are made towards him and your breath is coming faster than normal, your senses firmly attuned to the man in front of you.

He lets out a breathy laugh, hood moving as he shakes his head underneath it. “Hello, wife.” At that, he lowers the hood and reveals the bright smile of your husband. Your husband who should not be here, for it has only been three months since his departure.

The shocked gasps of everyone in the room let you know that you’re not imagining his astonishingly handsome presence and your eyes track over him quickly. Hair that has been flattened underneath his hood is still a sumptuous black while his golden cheeks glow with a healthy tan.

“Hoseok...how?” You gasp out, a shaking hand moving in front of you until it’s pressed to his very real, firm chest. He’s just as warm as always underneath the rough material of his robe and your trembling fingers untie it quickly, letting it drop to the floor and revealing the exquisite figure of your husband in an black riding outfit.

His hand comes to grasp your own tightly, thumb stroking along the soft skin of the back of your hand before he presses it to his lips in a sweet kiss. “I saw the Faerie Queen, like I said I would. I pleaded our case to her, in fact I spent three days begging her. She refused at first, not understanding that I was being truthful. I told her of our love, stories of us being together and even of our dream of a family and the babe we lost. I offered her anything I could give except you. My crown, whatever she wanted as long as we could be together.” He pauses, his eyes scanning the hall and noting the surprisingly neutral looks on your advisors as they watch him embrace you.

“I didn’t have to beg too much surprisingly though. Apparently, our dance at the masquerade seems to have given us away to the observant ones and she already knew. She didn’t take anything from me and though she is still angry over what happened, she understands that is is not our fault specifically. We are still cursed therefore but she modified it for us, to make it easier to live with. We have no time limit anymore. Our time, is ours. She apologises for the miscarriage also. She didn’t think that would ever happen as it never entered her mind that we might fall in love, and she knows well enough the pain of losing a child.”

The words are soft and only for your ears, but you don’t even care. You can’t find it in yourself to care. Because he is here when he shouldn’t be, and there is no pain or hurt. Only love and excitement.

“No six months?” You ask warily, resting your other hand on his chest while he holds your other with a firm grip. A beautiful grin lights up his face as he shakes his head slowly.

“We can be together as long, or as little as we want. Still cursed, but free to love as we want.” He whispers and you can’t stop the choked sob that leaves your mouth as tears fall. Over fifty years of wanting this, fifty years of desperation to have him like everyone has has their partner. And now, now you have him.

“I love you, you stubborn, beautiful, wonderful man.” You gasp, wiping at your tears. He doesn’t even get chance to respond before you push up onto the very tips of your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly and pulling him down in a kiss so deep, so full of emotion.

The sight is probably shocking for everyone, to see their queen’s vampire husband here when he shouldn’t be. But what is perhaps less shocking to your most trusted people is the desperate kiss you give him while embracing him as tightly as you can. You don’t know it, but the people closest to you have long since guessed your feelings.

You may be cursed still, and you will be for the rest of your eternally long life, but you cannot think of anyone you would rather spend the rest of that long life cursed with.

[carbonitekisses]

I love you, I promise.

Summary: 

"We are the last Targaryens." She takes his face into her hands. "Stand by my side. And we will purge the world of all the evil, corruption, and pain that infests it. We will break the wheel. Together."

The air is thick with ash. Thick with death. Thick with hurt.

She bring her lips to his in a binding kiss.

In another world Jon Snow would have ended the kiss with steel and blood.

In this world he ends the kiss with an oath. It has become routine. Repetition makes it easier to believe. Easier to hide. "You are my queen now and always."

His lips burn in protest. 

They remember a promise he made to a woman kissed by fire...

"I'll protect you, I promise."

//

Tyrion is interrupted before he can convince Jon to kill Daenerys. What happens then? Sansa is summoned to King's Landing under threat of dragon fire for treason against the new queen of the seven kingdoms. Will Jon remember who he is and who he loves before it’s too late?

Also on AO3

(thanks to @tragedyofromance​ for looking it over!) This fits in @jonsa-week​ prompt for King’s Landing!

Valar morghulis...

The thin edge of Valyrian steel cuts through the charred flesh with ease. Bloody and gargled relief seeps down from the gash across the woman's throat. 

...but not like this. 

Arya dutifully closes the woman's murky eyes. Everlasting darkness is a solace compared to the hell that surrounds them. She digs her heels into the ground, pushes herself upright, and swipes the catspaw on her sleeve. It is of little use. The sleeve is more blood than fabric, now; a trail of mercy and corpses lengthens behind her with each step she takes towards the Red Keep.

Arya had detested Kings Landing from the moment she first passed its gates with her father and Sansa. The only joy she had found here had been with the brave Syrio Forel, water-dancing and chasing cats, exploring dungeons and little nooks and crannies. Yes, she despised the foul-smelling capital but she finds no joy in the destruction and bloodshed that has fallen upon the city and its people.

It is quiet. It is unnatural. Occasionally the silence is broken by cries or whimpers, human voices begging for help. She knows she cannot help everyone in her path. 

Help... Is that what I am doing? Arya grimaces when she sees the young man whose wheezing caught her ear. He is pinned, almost completely covered by a collapsed balcony. His head, the only exposed body part, is partially caved in. There is no hope for him. Arya unsheathes the dagger once more. Surely there must be some mercy in death. There must. 

By the time the Red Keep and Daenerys' forces come into view Arya's right sleeve weighs heavy with blood. She seethes when she hears how the Dothraki cheer, and sees how stoic and unrepentant the Unsullied stand under the overcast sky. I shut one hundred and twenty two eyes today. Her dagger only met skin when there was no chance of survival—and yet.

Brown, blue, green. Some of them she found underneath rubble. Some she found with their intestines out in the open. But most, most of the lives she returns to the Many-Faced God come from bodies with burnt skin and boiling blood.

That could have been my fate.

An elderly man silently cradles the husk of a young boy. A Dothraki man with beautiful hazel eyes kicks the man. The man quiets evermore. The man does not cry. He simply stares. At nothing. There is nothing. 

It might still be my fate.

The beast that flew above the city and rained fire all around her now lies atop a pile of crumbling wall stones. It flaps its black wings and roars in unison with the dragon queen's armies as her speech approaches its end. From where Arya is standing she sees Jon. His head of dark brown stands behind the head of silver. 

He's alive. Arya's left hand shakes and she grips the catspaw pommel even tighter. Jon survived. She sprints to her right with a new goal in mind. The long corridors that run alongside the sides provide sufficient cover. Not that it would matter overmuch; the men are in a frenzy, their faces never straying from their violet-eyed god. She has to squeeze between a collapsed portion of the ceiling and the wall. A particularly pointy slab of stone manages to rip through both fabric and flesh. Arya grunts and pulls her leg free. Just another scar to add to her collection.

She continues onward, only stopping to witness through a window how Tyrion Lannister yanks something—His Hand pin!—from his chest and throws it down the steps before being promptly taken away. A sense of foreboding urges her to move faster, to be by her brother's side. If Tyrion has abandoned Daenerys she cannot think that Jon will stay by his aunt's side for much longer; he will need protecting from the dragon queen. Arya's lungs burn from exertion. The air gains texture and color. She struggles to not cough and purge her lungs of the ash that continues to fall and thickens the closer she gets to Jon. 

The corridor ends and opens to a set of stairs commonly used by servants and those of lesser blood. Arya remembers they lead to a side entrance close to the landing where Jon and the silver queen stand right now. Arya lays a hand on the wall to steady herself. She's tired. So tired. Her tongue darts out to moisten her cracked lips. She laughs. I have no water left in me. The fire rid me of it. I am a dry river.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs the laceration on her leg is pulsing and her throat is scratchy from the wracking coughs she was no longer able to hold in. The darkness of the corridor and side stairs lightens, and she steps into hues of gray and blue.

The ash covered floor muffles her feet well enough as she walks forward. She comes to rest at his side and examines him.

He shows signs of battle though nothing of great concern. A few splatters of blood here and there but no wounds of his own. She is glad of it. Life has taught her to be grateful for small blessings. Arya is standing mere inches away from him and they both watch as Daenerys Targaryen strides into the skeleton of what once was the Red Keep. Jon doesn't seem to notice Arya is there at his side. Unawares, he continues to glumly watch his aunt walk away. Arya hates it. 

"You're lucky." Jon twists around at the sound of her voice. He gasps her name but Arya does not stop speaking. It is time Jon listen for once. "You live. You breathe. No body can say the same of the thousands that died today."

A little bean of a thought sprouts in her mind: perhaps even the House of White and Black would see what happened here as overindulgence. 

Her brother stares at her as if he cannot believe she is there. He grabs her by the shoulders and his eyes search her body for sign of injury just as she did with him. His eyes grow darker with each cut, gash, and blow he sees. His hand slides downward and he retracts it in fear when it comes away bloody. "Your arm—"

"The blood isn't mine." It's the blood of the lives I returned to the Stranger. A small mercy—it is mercy. it is. is it? it is it is it is it is—for the people who your aunt could not do the justice of killing properly. 

He doesn't look any happier by her assurance. "What are you doing here, Arya?" A girl hears the reproach. A sister tries to smother the hurt. 

"The queen was on my list. I came to kill her. Daenerys got to her first."

"You shouldn't have come. What were you thinking?" His hands had returned to her shoulders and he shakes her. Memories tumble round and over and under her skull. Shake me some more, a girl pleas and in the fuzziness she thinks of an older man with eyes of the same grey... No, not the same grey. These are duller. Unknown to the known of the girl whose body I own. Arya Stark emerges once more, He's not father. He doesn't have his eyes. "You could have died. I could have lost you in the fire and not even known it."

He is desperate in his condemnation of me and my actions, Arya dully thinks of how even the imp seemingly denounced the dragon queen, But I am yet to hear him condemn the silver queen. Not even now, after everything. He still stands behind her, an accomplice to this massacre.

"I heard the bells. The city had surrendered. She didn't care; she burned them all." Arya Underfoot whispers, loudly, "She nearly burned me, too. The falling buildings nearly crushed me. It was such a close thing, brother." Pieces, fragments of shameful regret on Jon Snow's face. 

Jon says nothing. His hands, however, speak. A clenching and unclenching of dirty and bloodied fingers. A nervous tick. It began when they were children. Arya remembers how the bastard of Winterfell would push his feelings to the tips of his fingers since his tongue had been tempered to a bastard's silence. Scratch scratch. She can hear his blunt nails dig in hard enough to scratch the dirt off his palm. Scratch scratch scratch. It is a mocking and damning sound.

I should have done it sooner. Arya Stark's stupid dreams and memories of a bastard brother have clawed my eyes out. I was blind. blind. blind.

"You knew," she realizes. "You knew what she was and still you said, and continue to say, nothing against her. I know we haven't seen each other in years but this...I do not recognize this part of you. Sansa," here, his pupils contract, "thought you were playing the game of thrones. That you were afraid, trapped by the reveal of your parentage."

I thought the same. I believed you to be caught in a spiderweb of your own making.

"Because the only other option was that you-you..." had betrayed us. "Seems Sansa had too much faith in you—and so did I."

He doesn’t defend himself.

Arya’s heart shivers and her right arm feels sticky under the congealing blood. The garment is ruined. Sansa will have a fit. No, no she won’t. She’ll cry. Her sister never liked death. Even for Littlefinger Sansa Stark shed tears, venomous tears. I can’t let her see me like this. “You knew and you still tried to make us believe we were wrong in mistrusting her. Tried to make us believe we were paranoid.” The words that follow are quiet and bleeding, “You knew.”

You knew and, still, you cast us and the world into the fire. Just so your lover could satisfy her hunger for power. 

Finally he speaks but the words that follow... "Dany did—she—she freed the city from Cersei. She's the queen of the seven kingdoms now. And the North is part of those seven kingdoms." ...show Arya just how much her brother has changed. 

This is not the brother she knew. This is not her Jon. His hands feel foreign atop her shoulders. Arya pulls his hands off her and puts much needed distance between them. It wasn't Sansa who would end up betraying the family. The prejudice of childhood had blinded her not just to the virtues of a sister but also to the flaws of a brother. I should have played the game of faces with him instead.

"Try telling that to Sansa."

He avoids the obvious implication, instead he orders her to wait for him outside the city gates. Has he forgotten there are no gates to herald her departure? They, too, have fallen. Her stomach churns with worry. She grabs him by the elbow before he can leave. Jon might be acting the lone wolf but he is still her brother, he is still part of the pack. 

"Jon. She knows who you are. As long as you live you will be a threat to her."

"She is my queen," he says again. "I believe in her. Please, just do as I say and wait for me outsi—"

Arya interrupts him with a hug. Physical contact takes many forms. She has tried to learn them, the old (embraces like this) and the new (passion entangled limbs).

That old man was also hugging someone he loved. 

She cannot listen to him any longer. Her arms wind around him painfully, and it is her that is hurting. "I won't wait for you. I can't." She lets him go. "I need to warn Sansa. She needs to know what happened here. I need to be with her. With Bran. Goodbye, Jon."

Jon's mouth tightens slightly at the corners but he makes no move to join her. Arya now understands. He has made his choice. Her brother is a man grown. She cannot force him to leave. Her time is wasted here. There are others she can warn and protect, others who will listen. 

"Take care, Arya."

His whispered goodbye nips at her heels and chases her well after she mounts a white horse and leaves Kings Landing behind.

It is two days of hard riding before she finds a rookery inside a small and modest keep somewhere north of the capital. It is obvious the Dothraki passed through. Hundreds of horse tracks stamp the surrounding fields. Bodies and debris lay strewn under the sun. Inside, everything of value is gone and only lifeless vessels are there to greet her. She picks the keenest raven, and looks it straight in its coal eyes, "Bran, I do not know what you have seen, if you have mastered your powers and already know what happened. I don't even know if you're here. I could just be talking to a stupid bird. If you're here, please, guide this raven's wings and make it fly true."  

It is only luck, Arya thinks as she releases the raven, that they didn't burn the keep down. She watches the bird fly away, a little scrap of white tied to its feet. She waits until she can no longer see it in the darkening sky before she slumps against the stone wall.

It is only now that she allows her tear ducts to wash away the horrors she saw in Kings Landing.

It doesn't work.

She had forgotten she was dry.

Walking corpses, burning flesh, tearless cries, burning blood. 

She relives it all. 

She shuts her eyes, eyelids covering the light.

It makes no difference. The memories have burned themselves into her head.

They won't come out. I have to get them out before they drive me mad. Stinging pain pinpricks her scalp. A reminder, cruel, that she is not invincible. Arya Stark is weak. Exhaustion and hurt have seduced the strength of her muscles and mind. She hadn't noticed she'd been clawing at her head. Out. Out. Out. Out. OUT. OUT.

A sob claws its way out her chest and into the night. The cry is a bitter child, scared and angry at a world it is afraid of because it is so big and the child is so small.  

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Crack. Crack. Arya Stark. The head hurts. The wall does not. A widowed fisherman. Red. This body's blood. This flesh is weak. Lord Frey. The teeth tear easily into it. Faces. Masks. How many? An orphan girl, nameless to the world. Maybe if the mouth bites hard enough, makes the wound wide enough, this body can crawl inside. Devour itself. Seek out an answer inside. There must be an answer. No one. Who am I? What the fuck am I? Kill me. Kill me. Oh, gods. Oh, nothing. Father. Mother. Robb. Help. Help. 

Please.

There is a face she hasn't taken. A corporal being she has not tested her craft on. No One wouldn't wear the face. No One only wants to hide the face. Take its power and stifle it until the world is cleansed. 

I was trying to be good. I was. I was. I swear it. I was, wasn't I? Yes. Yes. No. Never. The world won't let me. 

A tongue, loose and thirsty, licks the blood on the hand.

  Daenerys Targaryen.

 Is it a list if it is only one name?

 // 

"A raven comes, Lady Stark."

"What have you seen? Bran—"

"There are moments I feel like Bran. They are precious, that I know." Eyes turn white. Silence. Eyes of her brother. "And there are moments I wish I didn't remember. 'Tis wicked, that they should come like a plague now when it would hurt most."

"I'm tired, Bran. Just tell me. I don't care. Not knowing how Arya and Jon fare... if you know, spare me nothing."

He speaks. 

She wishes he hadn't.

//

At this point in his life Tyrion thinks it is as good time as any to admit that perhaps he overestimated his cleverness. Here, in a store room of little importance, perhaps he can be honest with himself before he meets the dragon's fire. 

I wanted power. I saw the power in Daenerys and loved her for it, thinking she could make me powerful, too, if only I was at her side as she conquered the world. 

Tywin Lannister's ghost laughs at him from wherever it is souls like his go to rest. "You proved me right, Tyrion. I called you an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low-cunning." Tyrion fists his hair in shame. "But even I am surprised; you exceeded my expectations. With you the great house of Lannister will vanish. Everything I worked for destroyed."

There is no wine or mead in the room. Nothing to dull and drown the voices of those he has killed or pushed into the path of the Stranger. His father is the first but more are to follow. Joanna, his mother. Shae, his lover. Varys, his friend. Cersei and Jaime. Sooner or later, he fears, they, too, will come to remind him of his failures. And none, none, have been as costly as what happened in Kings Landing. 

I wonder if all the people that died today will come and visit me as well? His not so clever mind will have a trouble being host to so many guests. How many died because I thought I could control her worst impulses?

"You were right, Varys," Tyrion says through a cluttered throat. He imagines Varys laughing at his cheap expression of remorse. "But it's a hollow victory, isn't it?"

Time passes. He has spent less than a couple hours in his makeshift cell when he hears the echo of heavy footsteps. They are getting louder and he knows they are coming for him. He tries to settle himself into a position of calm while fighting the instinct to cry and vomit. I am dying today. I am dying. Dying. Dying. Oh! Be calm. Death. Death. Be calm. Be proud. But there is no escape. Be calm. Death. Death.

The door opens and in walks Jon Snow. It isn't death, not yet, and Tyrion swallows his relief. His pride rears its head once more, foolish little man that he is. An Unsullied guard closes the door and leaves them be. Tyrion's eyes flick to Jon's swordless hip. 

"How gracious of you to visit me. I don't suppose you have any wine on you?" Tyrion stands and picks up a chair he had thrown during a particularly useless fit of desperation. He offers it, almost mockingly, a touch bitterly, to his guest. "Sit, Jon Snow. Tell me, has your queen told you when I am to share Varys' fate?"

Jon Snow cautiously steps further into the room but refuses the chair. Everything, from his grinding teeth to the curled toes in his heeled boots, tells Tyrion that the queen's lover does not want to be here. He is a man of contradictions, this Targaryen prince who looks more wolf than dragon. Tyrion is a man starving for—something. He wants to dig and see who this man-of-many-names is underneath it all. A final puzzle to solve, to prove his cunning, before he leaves the land of the living. Aegon Targaryen? Jon Snow? Neither? Both? 

His guest says nothing of his execution, preferring to frown at Tyrion's marked detachment from Daenerys. "She was your queen, too, not so long ago." With very little feeling he says, "I'm sorry it all had to end this way."

"You're 'sorry it all had to end this way'?" If Tyrion Lannister were a taller man there would be nothing stopping him from slapping away the vapid, mournful look that dresses Jon Snow's face. Instead, Tyrion can only stare at the fool standing before him. Bitterness that has been simmering now threatens to boil over and burn all within its reach. Perhaps not burn. There has been enough burning in this city. But he's had enough of the cold, too. What bad luck to not like any of the options laid out before you. This fool—this blind, northern fool—why does he live while Tyrion must die? "Such a delicate, and empty, turn of phrase. I should know, I've used them many a time. You can't even let yourself say out loud what Daenerys did."

"I won't try to defend Daenerys but—"

"A good man, a smart man, once told me that everything before the word 'but' is horse shit. Did you not hear her mention the North as part of her righteous liberation crusade?" Not even I can defend what she is, what she's done. So why are you? Although. Perhaps I'll prove myself wrong, maybe I'll grovel for my life when the time comes. I am no virtuous man.

"—she saw her best friend murdered by Cersei." He speaks over Tyrion, willfully deaf. "She has lost so much ever since she stepped foot on Westeros. Her dragons, her allies. What happened today won't happen again. She'll recover from this. I know she will."

"She destroyed a city after it had surrendered. Tell me: how will the people of Kings Landing recover?" Tyrion doesn't wait for an answer. He lowers his voice and icily says, "They can't because they're dead. How can you—" He clamps his mouth shut in frustration and stands, tilting his head in disbelief. "You were there. You saw it happen."

"Daenerys saved Westeros at great cost to herself. If it weren't for her and her armies we wouldn't be here right now, alive and breathing. The least we can do is stand by her side and help her through this. It's easy to be judge and executioner. Who hasn't done something they regret?"

"Everyone has lost people they cared about. Me. You. The countless and nameless commoners that die by no fault of their own in wars they did not wage. Loss does not absolve cruelty. If it did there would be no crime, only some bastardized imitation of justice."

Grey eyes widen in manic fury. There is little sense in his reaction. Sense was not invited to this tête-à-tête. 

"I thought better of you, Lannister." His family name is spit and anger. "I don't even know why I came here. I didn't want to."

"I noticed."

"You're a hypocrite. Who are you to judge her, to judge me?" Tyrion feels small under the darkness that is the man before him. "You helped her on her quest for the throne. You pushed me towards her. Beckoned me to Dragonstone with false intentions. And yet," Jon leans down. Down some more. Lower. Until he is of a level with Tyrion. The beast has found a wound. It bites. "Jealousy does not become you."

  That hurt. The truth often does.

 "You cannot have her so you betray her. You will not convince me to do the same." Tyrion breathes again once he retreats. Jon says, "I love her. She is my queen, and I love her."

Love. An opening. 

"And what of the love you hold for your family? For the Starks?"

An opening that Lyanna Stark's only child cannot cover or stitch closed, surely.

"Even a northern fool, especially a northern fool, like yourself must know they will not bend." The fur of the northern cape that hugs the fool's shoulders bristle. "They will not kneel."

—:—

"Does she miss me, terribly?"

Frostiness. A lighthearted jape not well received.

"A sham marriage and unconsummated."

—:—

"My birds tell me of an altercation. Jon Snow did not offer a warm welcome to our esteemed ally, Theon Greyjoy. I believe the King in the North said, 'What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you.'"

"Not unusual." They are no Jamie and Cersei. " They are the only wolves left."

"Curious—the only thing that stayed his anger was Sansa Stark. Such a power she holds between two men with betrayal and a dead almost-brother king between them. She might as well be here for how often her name and presence is invoked."

—:—

"They will be loyal to the throne. They have no choice."

Jon Snow is present once more. He looks more man than beast. A chink in his armor. Suddenly, the darkness is not darkness. It constricts and melts and congeals into the purple half-crescents underneath worried eyes. That is the gaze of a man near the edge—and the edge is all around him. 

Yes, the demon monkey can still play the game. His life might not be forfeit, not yet. He can work with the tie between siblings cousins. On every person there are strings that one can pull. Tyrion just needs time to pull them taut enough for Jon to snap, to move where Tyrion wants him. 

To do what his lovesick heart will rage against. 

To save Tyrion. 

To kill Daenerys. 

If Tyrion Lannister were a noble man, a good man, the safety of the realm would be the only motivation needed. Alas, this insignificant little room has reminded how much he values his insignificant little body, ugly though it may be.

"Why do you think Sansa—"

An Unsullied opens the door.

He is interrupted.

The dragon queen's nephew and lover has spent too long with the prisoner.

Interrupted. 

A shadow of Jon Snow gratefully backs out of the room. Escapes.

Interrupted. 

The imp's honeyed words of family, loyalty, and kinslaying are left unheard. 

Interrupted.

The ghosts never left the room. Now that Jon Snow is gone they all clamor for a share of Tyrion's diminishing time. 

Tyrion was interrupted and he knows he is not long for this world. 

He wonders what could have been if he had only had a little bit more time. 

The ground is cold as stone ground is and always will be. He sits on it.  

Interrupted, thwarted, by a common Unsullied guard.

Tyrion Lannister, the demon monkey, the imp, the son of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, laughs.

And the ghosts laugh with him.

[torestoreamends]

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: The Vigil

11k words, G rated

Read it on AO3

Summary: Harry and Albus visit Godric's Hollow on Hallow's Eve, to join the vigil taking place outside the Potter's destroyed house.

A/N:  About a year ago I had the idea that maybe people hold a vigil outside Lily and James's house on Hallow's Eve, as a way of marking the events that took place there. I loved the image and briefly referenced it in a fic. This year, when I was thinking about what to do for my Halloween fic, I thought maybe it was time to explore the idea properly!

*

Albus comes up with the idea on Thursday morning while they’re in Herbology. He’s elbow-deep in soil, sweating having spent half an hour wrestling with the adolescent Venomous Tentacular he’s trying to repot, and for some reason Scorpius is rabbiting on about pumpkins. It’s that that makes Albus think of it.

“They’re getting really big,” Scorpius says. “There’s one that I swear is the size of your shed. It’s huge. And on Sunday night we get to see them all carved.” He gives a happy sigh. “I’m so excited. I missed the feast so much last year. I think this year I’m going to try and drown myself in food. So much food. I hope they have those chocolate hats again, you remember the ones stuffed with whipped cream, and chocolate truffle, and-“

“Do you think McGonagall would let me miss the feast?” Albus asks thoughtfully, pausing in his battle with the Tentacular to wipe the sweat and mud off his forehead. 

Scorpius steps mid-sentence, mouth open, and stares at him. His eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth several times, doing a remarkably accurate impression of a Gulping Plimpie.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Say that again. Because I think I just hallucinated and heard you say that you were thinking of missing the feast.”

“You weren’t hallucinating,” Albus says, slapping at the tentacle-like shoots that have started curling their way up his arm. “I said I was wondering if they’d let me miss it.”

Scorpius stares at him again, apparently at a complete loss for words. Finally he shakes his head. “But... why? All that food, Albus!”

Albus picks his trowel up and starts dumping earth onto the Tentacular’s writhing roots. The plant hisses at him and tries to snap at his fingers, but he slaps it away. “Shut up, for Merlin’s sake. You’ll be happier in the bigger pot.”

“I think it’ll be nice,” Scorpius says, absently stroking one of the tendrils of his Tentacular, so it curls up on the desk, trembling with delight. “People don’t hate us anymore, so it won’t be miserable, and-“

“I was thinking about the pumpkins,” Albus says, glancing across at Scorpius. “The ones that we saw last year. In Godric’s Hollow.” 

Scorpius twirls the tendril of his Tentacular round his finger and it snakes up his wrist. “Oh.” 

“Is it stupid to want to see them again?” He pats the earth down around his Tentacular, then uses a Watering Charm to sprinkle a gentle, rain-like shower over the plant. It shakes its leaves like a dog, splattering both Albus and Scorpius. 

Scorpius wipes the water off his face and frowns. “I don’t think it’s stupid. They were very beautiful... Do you want to go on your own? Because I don’t think that’s sensible. You told me what it was like visiting again over the summer. It’ll be worse on Halloween, won’t it?”

Albus swallows, and dusts some of the earth off his hands. He glances out of the window at the rain-sodden vegetable patch, carefully avoiding Scorpius’s gaze. The rain is pattering on the glass panes of the greenhouse, washing out the view and making it blurry. In the distance he can just make out the Whomping Willow, which is swaying its branches back and forth, but it’s obscured by the raindrops. They hit the glass and trickle down, running in rivers from the top of the roof near the ventilation shaft, right down to the soggy earth at the base of the wall. 

“There’s this... vigil,” he says, still not looking at Scorpius. “Outside the house. Outside the ruins. Dad mentioned it when he wrote to me... I think he’s thinking about going this year. And I think-“ Albus shrugs. “I think I might want to go with him. You know, see the house; the pumpkins; remember last year...”

“Does he know you’re thinking about going?” Scorpius asks.

Albus shakes his head. “I only got the letter this morning. But I might write back and ask if he can talk to McGonagall about it.” He looks at Scorpius. “Would you be lonely without me?”

Scorpius gives a small smile. “I’m always lonely without you.” He untwists his hand from the grip of the Tentacular, which wilts like it’s sad without him. He gives it a consolatory pat, then drapes the tendril into the pot and starts shovelling earth in. “I think it’s a good idea though. It won’t be easy, but you two have been doing well recently, haven’t you?”

Albus nods and flicks a tentacle away, to stop his plant trying to sting his face. “Yeah... I can’t imagine spending Hallow’s Eve away from him now. Is that strange?”

“Not at-“ Scorpius begins, but at that moment his Tentacular realises it’s being buried alive and shoots up out of the mound of earth, spraying dirt all over Scorpius. He splutters as it hits him in the face and quickly wipes it away. “Sorry,” he tells the plant. “Sorry sorry. Didn’t see you there.” The plant coils away from him, looking upset, and he sighs and puts his trowel down, turning to Albus. 

“It’s not strange, Albus. I understand, I-“ He pauses for a moment. “I actually understand perfectly. You should write to your dad about it tonight. And I-“ He turns back to his plant, wielding the trowel. “Should make friends with my Tentacular again. I think it’s having a strop with me.”

While Scorpius communes with his plant, cooing at it and stroking it until it’s back on speaking terms with him again, Albus plans his letter to his dad in his head. And by the time the bell clangs through the Greenhouse, telling them all to pack up and run to the castle for dinner, he thinks he knows what he’s going to say. At the very least, he’s determined that this Halloween will be spent in Godric’s Hollow with his dad. Just the way it should be. 

---

Albus sits cross-legged on his bed in the silent dorm, his dad’s letter smoothed out across his lap. Scorpius is at Gobstones Club, he has no idea where the other boys are, but it’s not too late on this miserable Thursday evening, so they’re probably holed up by a fire somewhere and won’t be back any time soon. The dorm is dark and cosy, and there’s a distinct comforting feeling of being underwater when it’s raining overhead; something special about the light that makes Albus feel very safe, cushioned from the outside world by the blue-green depths of the lake. 

He’s taking advantage of this rare pocket of Scorpius-free time, which he’d normally spend missing Scorpius’s noise and energy, but today has a purpose for. He’s never been very good with words, especially not when it comes to his dad. Finding the right thing to say is a nightmare, and he so often says exactly the wrong thing. But today he wants to get it right. Somehow he needs to explain that coming to the vigil on Sunday is really important to him, and he wants to explain why, but every time he tries to put quill to parchment the words dry up inside him. It’s only getting more frustrating as his free time evaporates. 

He shoves his parchment and quill away and bows his head to read his dad’s letter again. 

Dear Albus, 

I hope you’re doing well, and that James isn’t being too insufferable about the Quidditch standings. I’m sure you’ll catch up to Gryffindor soon enough.

I’ve heard the weather is awful up there. It’s pretty grim here too, but I can’t imagine it’s fun doing Care of Magical Creatures in a torrential downpour. There are some really nice, simple Waterproofing Charms that Fawcett told me about if you need any recommendations, although I’m sure you and Scorpius have it covered between you. 

It’s Hallow’s Eve on Sunday. I bet the preparations for the feast are going well. How big are the pumpkins now? 

I was actually thinking of going to Godric’s Hollow on Sunday. I normally try to avoid it on Hallow’s Eve – too many people about – but this feels like a good year to go, especially after everything that happened last year... 

Do you remember that vigil we saw when we came back to our time, with all the people outside the house? I think I’d like to see it, properly this time, not just from a distance. I’ve been curious about the people who go and remember my parents every year. 

I haven’t run the idea past your mum yet. I’m not even sure if I will – if I went to the vigil I might not have time to come and see you; we’re not Apparating back from the Grindylow job until lunchtime. 

I hope you know that I miss you, especially now Hallow’s Eve is nearly here. I love you very much, and I can’t wait to see you soon. 

Constant vigilance. 

Love, Dad

It should be such an easy response to write: Hi, Dad. You should go to the vigil and I’ll meet you there. I hope the Grindylows go okay. Love, Albus. It really is just that simple. But at the same time it really isn’t that simple. There’s no good way of putting all his thoughts into words. There are some things he just can’t say. 

Sometimes I still think about Grandma tucking you up under the blanket, and how I thought I would die before I got chance to tell you how much she loved you.

Whenever I remember that it’s Halloween on Sunday I remember the ash falling on us all like snow, and I just want to find you and hug you and tell you I’m sorry. 

I wish I could take you back in time again and show you your parents, and your beautiful house, and your cat. I wish you could know them. 

I want to go to Godric’s Hollow with you because it was where we started fixing things, and I’m really glad we did. I’m really happy that you’re my dad. 

The second he phrases any of it out in his head it sounds stupid and childish and ridiculous. It all sounds forced, like that’s what he thinks he’s supposed to say, but it isn’t actually what he means. Why is it so hard to write words down and have them mean what he wants them to mean?

Frustrated, he crumples the bit of parchment he’s been trying to start his letter on into a ball and hurls it at the fireplace. It bounces off the mantelpiece and rolls across the emerald green hearth rug. With an irritable growl, Albus drags himself off the bed and stalks across to the fireplace to snatch up the parchment. This time when he throws it, the ball lands perfectly in the middle of the flames and begins to char and burn as flames curl across it. Albus stares into the heart of the fire, and-

The fire. 

Maybe he’s doing this all wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t try to write everything down. Maybe he should just call his dad and tell him. Wouldn’t that be easier? At least then he’d be forced to say something. It might not be what he wants to say, but it would be better than staring at a blank bit of parchment for the next three hours. 

There’s Floo Powder on top of the mantelpiece, and he takes a pinch and holds it in his hand. Some of it cascades between his fingers, making a mess on the ash-strewn hearth.

For a moment he stands there, indecisive and uncertain, then he throws caution to the winds and tips the Floo Powder into the flames. He kneels down on the rug and sticks his head into the fire. 

“Holly Cottage,” he says, as clearly as he can without getting a mouthful of ash. Immediately his head begins to spin, and he squeezes his eyes shut until the motion stops and he can open them to see his parents’ front room. 

His dad isn’t there, but his mum is. She’s sitting on the sofa by the fire, reading a book, but apparently she hears the little pop as he arrives because she glances into the flames and her eyes widen as she recognises him.

“Albus!” She sets her book aside and rushes to the fireside, kneeling on the rug so she’s at his level. “This is a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were planning to call. Is everything okay?”

Albus nods. “I’m okay, Mum. Everything’s fine.” He opens his mouth to ask to speak to his dad, but then backs out at the last second. “How are you?”

She smiles. “I’m well. It’s been a busy day at work, and the weather is playing havoc with the match schedules. But on the whole it’s not too bad. Has James stopped gloating about Saturday yet?”

Albus rolls his eyes. “James never stops gloating about anything. I’ve been avoiding him.”

“That’s very wise. I’m sure he’ll calm down soon enough.”

“Yeah,” Albus says absently. He shuffles his knees on the floor and thinks about how this time last year he had no idea what the Quidditch scores even were. Panju had tried to drag him to a match in the other world, but he’d refused. And by the time he was back in his own world, Quidditch had been the last thing on his mind. A lot has changed in a year. A lot has changed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His mum asks, and he becomes aware that she’s frowning at him, one hand outstretched to him like she wants to reach for him through the fire. 

He swallows and nods. It’s time to just get on and do this. No more messing around. “I-I’m okay,” he says softly. “I was actually... I was wondering if I can talk to Dad?” 

His mum scrutinises him. He can feel her trying to read him across the miles, and he avoids her gaze, because he still doesn’t know what he wants to say, and he doesn’t want to give her any inkling of what’s going on in his head. After several seconds, she pushes herself onto her knees. 

“He’s just upstairs. I’ll go and get him.”

She disappears from the room and Albus tries to gather himself together. It’s just his dad. It’s just a nice thing to do for Hallow’s Eve. It’s nothing scary or difficult. It shouldn’t even be that hard to propose; it was his dad’s idea first. There’s nothing for him to worry about.

By the time he hears his dad’s footsteps on the stairs his hands are shaking. He doesn’t know how they can shake when they’re planted firmly on the hard stone hearth and they’re all that’s keeping him upright, but they’re managing it. He also feels a little bit sick, but that might be the motion sickness from getting here finally catching up to him, or it might be that he’s swallowed too much ash.  Either way, he hasn’t managed to calm down much. 

His dad is still dressed for work, but he doesn’t look put together. His glasses are askew and there’s a bit of hair on top of his head that’s sticking bolt upright. The rest of it is puffed up and jutting out at odd angles, like he’s raked his hands through it multiple times. Albus guesses he’s been reading papers for the Grindylow mission. Nothing makes his dad look stressed like paperwork. 

His dad strides across the room and throws himself down in front of the fireplace, an expression of deepest concern on his face. Albus panics. 

“I’m fine,” he says, before realising that he hasn’t even managed to greet his dad. Now he just sounds suspicious. He groans. “I really am, I promise. I just wanted to talk.”

“On a Thursday evening while Scorpius is at Gobstones and you’re alone in your dorm,” Harry says, because he isn’t the best Auror in a generation for nothing. Sometimes he works things out. 

Albus sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I got your letter,” he says. “I wanted to talk about it.”

Harry frowns. “Oh yeah?”

Albus nods. “Yeah...” He pauses and there’s a long, expectant silence in which his dad looks at him and waits. Eventually Albus decides he should probably carry on talking. 

“I, um... the vigil you were talking about... Are you still thinking of going?”

Harry sits back on his heels. “Oh!” Apparently that wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m not sure. We’re not expecting the Grindylows to go smoothly so we might be there a bit longer than planned. I don’t want to not visit you if we’re running late. You’re more important.”

Albus feels very warm all of a sudden, and he’s not sure it’s just from the fire. He always feels like this when his dad says something nice to him, like he’s not sure where to go or what to do, confused and trapped but happy all at once. 

He swallows and nods. “Okay...”

“Why do you ask?”

Albus looks at his dad and discovers that his mouth has gone dry and he can’t really speak. He swallows again and takes a breath. When he inhales he gets a mouthful of soot and has to suffer through a brief coughing fit before he can have a second go at talking. 

“I, um-“ he says, voice sounding choked from the ash. “I was thinking that-“ He coughs again, then struggles on. “Maybe we could- maybe it would be nice to- The vigil- I wanted to go too. You know. With you. If you decide to go.” He breaks off and starts coughing again, which is actually welcome because it means he doesn’t have to see his dad’s reaction. When he finally recovers, eyes watering and throat dry, he sees that his dad is offering him a bottle of water using the fire tongs. 

“Drink something,” his dad advises. “It’ll help.”

Albus hesitates for a second, then he opens his mouth and takes a careful drink of water, trying not to let it spill everywhere. 

“Better?” Harry asks.

Albus nods. “Better. Thanks, Dad.”

Harry puts the water bottle and fire tongs down, and looks at Albus. “Do you really want to come with me?”

Albus looks back at him and nods. “Yeah. I-I do. I think it’s- It feels important. And it would mean you can go to the vigil and see me. You wouldn’t have to choose...” He trails off, looking hopefully out of the fire at his dad. 

Harry sits on his heels and looks at the hearth, a tiny crease in his forehead. “I didn’t think you’d want to go. I just assumed- If I’d known I would have invited you.” He looks at Albus. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before. Of course you can come. Of course we can go to the vigil together. I can’t believe you actually- Are you sure you want to do this?”

Albus gives an emphatic nod. “I really am sure. Really really.”

Harry looks at him like he’s a conundrum, then gives his head a little shake and unleashes a bright smile. “Well in that case I’ll have to make doubly sure the Grindylows are finished on time.”

“If we get there early enough we could watch them lighting the pumpkins,” Albus says. “I hope they still do that. It was beautiful. All these rivers of people filling the streets with all these pumpkins... I’d like to show you that.”

Harry’s smile widens and he nods. “Yeah, I’d like to see that too. I’d like to see it with you.”

“I think it could be good,” Albus says. “For the two of us.”

“Definitely,” Harry says, with his most emphatic nod yet. “Definitely. I’ve never been more excited for it to be Hallow’s Eve.”

Albus grins, and he feels as though someone has cast Wingardium Leviosa on him and he’s weightless, floating light as a feather in his delight. This has gone even better than he hoped. 

“So,” he says, deciding to change the subject before he discovers that this is all too good to be true. “What are you doing with the Grindylows?”

Harry launches into a lengthy explanation about a recent flurry of attacks in a town on the edge of a Scottish loch, and how the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had tried to rehouse them but they’d just come back, so now a small team of Aurors is going in to put up protective charms around the harbour and ward off the Grindylows once and for all. 

The conversation stretches on and on, and Albus asks question after question, each one feeling like a little bubble of happiness floating up inside him, because he has his dad’s rapt attention, and he still isn’t entirely used to it yet but it’s wonderful. They must have lost all track of time though, because suddenly Albus hears the door open and Scorpius’s voice saying his name.

Albus glances round at him. “I’m talking to Dad. Is it that late already?”

Scorpius nods. “One hour until curfew. The others might be back soon.” He walks over to the fireplace and crouches down next to Albus, sticking his head into the green flames. “Hi, Harry!”

Harry smiles. “Hello, Scorpius.” He looks at Albus. “I should let you go. Don’t you have homework?”

Albus grins. “Only Defence Against the Dark Arts. It’s easier to just chat to you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Go and do your homework. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Albus sighs. “Fine. Bye, Dad.”

“I love you. Be good.”

Albus’s grin splits his face. “I’ll do my best.” He gives a little wave, then pulls his head out of the fire and falls back onto the hearth rug, the world spinning around him from the disorienting journey back. 

“He’ll see you on Sunday,” Scorpius says. “You’re definitely missing the feast then?”

Albus picks himself up and dusts soot out of his hair. “It looks like it.” He looks at Scorpius. “Will you be lonely?”

Scorpius gives a little smile. “It’ll be weird. Spending Hallow’s Eve without you. Especially after last year. But...” He shrugs. “It’s important for you to spend it with your dad. You should have some time to think about your grandparents, and everything that happened. I’m glad you two get to spend it together.”

Albus picks at the sleeve of his hoodie. “It’s not because I don’t want to spend it with you. You know that, right?” He glances at Scorpius, then away again, out towards the murky green water beyond the window. “If there was anyone in the world I could spend it with, it would be you or dad. I hate choosing between you. I’m sorry.”

Scorpius smiles. “Albus, I know there’s no choice here. If it were a choice between you and my dad I think I’d choose my dad too. That’s just... How it is I suppose. It took us so long to figure things out with them. I think we should take every chance we get. I think you should take every chance you get. And don’t feel guilty about leaving me.” He grins and gives Albus a friendly punch on the arm. “Without you there’ll just be a little bit more food for me to eat.”

Albus nudges him. “You’ll have to save me some sweets. Maybe we can have our own midnight feast when I get back.”

“Do you really think there’ll be leftovers by the time I’m done?” Scorpius asks, eyes alight with mischief. “Uh, nope! I don’t intend on leaving even a scrap on that table.”

“Well in that case I’m glad I’m not going to be here,” Albus says. “I won’t have to deal with you while you’re throwing up.”

Scorpius laughs and flops down onto the hearth rug, so his feet are pointing to the fire. He rubs his stomach and gives a happy sigh. “I can taste it already. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Albus lies down next to him and rolls onto his side, so he can look at Scorpius, who’s practically glowing in the firelight. “You are aware that you’re ridiculous?”

Scorpius opens one eye and grins at him. “Very much so.” 

“Good.” Albus falls onto his front and kicks his feet up in the air, resting his chin on his hands. He stares into the shadowy space under his bed and a wave of nervous excitement creeps through him. “Do you think it’ll be weird?” He asks. “Going back there? I know I went over the summer, but... it’s different if it’s on Hallow’s Eve... It’s more...” He shakes his head, at a loss for the right words. 

“Potent?” Scorpius suggests. “But cathartic.”

Albus gives him a sideways look. “Have you been reading the dictionary again?”

Scorpius bumps their shoulders together. “No. I’m just saying, you’re almost making me wish I was going too. I’d like to take my dad back there sometime...” He trails off, and his gaze becomes opaque as he stares at a spot on the ground just a few feet away, like he’s lost somewhere else, probably Godric’s Hollow one year ago.

“You should go,” Albus murmurs, glancing at him, watching the shadows flicker across his face as the flames dance behind them, bathing him in a warm orange glow. It makes Albus think of the flames from a year ago, the fire of the battle, and Scorpius crouching behind his dad, clinging to his waist, small and scared but strong. Trusting. Somehow knowing, just like Albus had, that they’d be okay as long as their dads were there. 

“You should go and tell him all about the history, and find the spot where he hugged you, and-“

“I’ll think about it,” Scorpius says, and his voice is soft and a little bit broken. He blinks several times, and his eyes sparkle like stars. He sniffs and pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Anyway.” He pushes a bright smile onto his face and reaches across to pat Albus on the shoulder. “Our Defence Against the Dark Arts homework won’t do itself. I need you to tell me everything your dad has ever told you about werewolves.”

Albus sits up and brushes ash and Floo Powder off his pyjama top. “I can do better. James stole all Teddy’s notes and essays on werewolves from fifth year, and I stole them from James. They got full marks. I’m sure we can do something with those.”

“I love your family,” Scorpius says happily, hopping up off the floor and offering Albus a hand up too. “Let’s engage in some creative adaptation.”

---

At mid-afternoon on Sunday, Albus and Scorpius sit side by side on the front steps of the castle, wrapped up in their thick winter cloaks. Albus has a bobble hat stuffed on his head and a scarf wound tight round his neck. Scorpius insisted he was good at handling the cold and didn’t need either. He’s now shivering and huddling against Albus’s side for warmth. Albus isn’t even bothering to gloat. He knows Scorpius has already learned his lesson, even if he’s too proud to admit it right now.

The sky overhead is a very bright blue, and there’s a weak sun shining down on the grounds, making the choppy grey waters of the lake glitter. The Giant Squid is splashing in the shallows, tentacles curling and writhing, and in the distance Albus can see the skeletal shape of one of the Thestrals grazing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He shivers and presses closer to Scorpius, who takes the opportunity to hug his arm for more warmth. 

“How long is your dad going to be?” Scorpius asks, teeth chattering. “I might turn into an ice cube before he gets here.

“You don’t have to wait,” Albus says. “Go inside and keep warm.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. I said I’d sit with you and I’m not backing out now. Anyway look, we can keep an eye on the pumpkins.”

He points to where a couple of the teachers are standing by the pumpkin patch, casting charms to carve intricate and beautiful patterns into the faces of some of the biggest pumpkins Albus has ever seen in his life. 

“Do you think we could do that?” Scorpius asks. 

“You could do that,” Albus says. “I know I’m good at charms but I’m not that good. I’m not very good at artistic stuff anyway, even if I could do the spells.”

“You don’t have to be good to do pumpkin carving,” Scorpius says. “The whole point is to have fun. That’s what Mum used to say anyway. Dad would make it a competitive sport. Dad makes everything competitive.”

Albus smiles. “I actually miss carving pumpkins. We used to sit in the kitchen at home and do it, and Mum would make us spiced hot chocolate. Dad taught us to do it the Muggle way, and James used to hate getting all the pulp on his hands.”

Scorpius pulls a face. “The pulp is the best bit. James has no sense of fun.”

“James is boring,” Albus agrees, throwing a glance up in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. “Maybe next year we should carve pumpkins together. We could do it by magic and call it N.E.W.T. practice.”

Scorpius grins and holds his fist out to Albus. “You’re on.”

Albus taps his knuckles against Scorpius’s and leans comfortably into his side, draping an arm round his back. Scorpius nestles in closer, still shivering, and Albus rubs his shoulder to warm him up. 

As they sit there, Albus gazes off in the direction of the gates and tries not to worry too much about his dad arriving; what he’ll do, what he’ll say. He hasn’t thought this through at all. Why didn’t he consider this before he asked if he could go? He has to spend a whole afternoon with his dad, alone, trapped among all their emotional baggage and history. And with that thought his mouth starts to go dry, and there isn’t quite enough air anymore, and he’s tempted to run and send an owl to his dad to tell him not to come even though it wouldn’t get there on time, and-

“Albus, your dad’s here! I can see him!” Scorpius pops up off the step, using Albus’s shoulder to push off from, which hurts.

“Scorpius,” Albus groans, brushing his hand off. 

“Sorry!” Scorpius chirps as he skips down the drive in Harry’s direction. 

Albus rubs his shoulder and follows at a more sedate pace, a faint nausea gathering in the pit of his stomach. By the time he catches up, Scorpius is talking at a million miles an hour and Harry is rubbing his forehead and looking slightly bemused, the way he always does when faced with Scorpius.

Albus walks up next to Scorpius and puts a hand on his arm. Scorpius falls quiet immediately and Albus swallows.

“Hi,” he says softly. 

Harry gathers his travelling cloak, the same one he’d been wearing when he came to rescue them last year, tight around himself and gives Albus a small smile. “Hi.”

“How were the Grindylows?” Albus asks, because it’s all he can think of to say.

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. “Better now. Hopefully we’ve managed to ward them off for good. It’s a big loch; they don’t even have to move that far.”

Albus smiles. “I guess you’ll find out soon.” He turns to Scorpius who is now bouncing from foot to foot, and it’s difficult to tell if he’s overexcited or freezing cold. “I hope you have a good feast,” he says.

Scorpius nods. “I’ll see you later.” He steps in and wraps Albus in a tight hug, and Albus can’t stop himself from returning it. He squeezes Scorpius and buries his face in his shoulder. 

“Happy Halloween,” he says, and Scorpius rubs his back. 

“I hope it is.”

“Just don’t get hypothermia and it will be,” Albus advises, pulling back and patting Scorpius on the arm. “Go and thaw out. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Scorpius nods, gives Harry a wave, then disappears back into the castle, leaving Harry and Albus alone on the windswept drive. 

Albus looks up at his dad, and Harry looks back, then he seems to shake himself. 

“Shall we go?” He says. “We can Apparate from outside the gates. We should be there early enough to get hot chocolate or something before it gets dark.”

“Okay,” Albus says, steadying himself. It’s going to be okay. Of course it is. His dad is here.

---

Albus stumbles sideways and gasps in a lungful of frigid afternoon air. His dad squeezes his arm to stop him falling.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks. 

Albus nods and takes another deep breath. “Fine. I don’t really like Apparating.”

“It’s not the nicest thing in the world,” Harry agrees. He reaches across and adjusts Albus’s hood, smoothing it down against his back. 

Albus shuffles his feet, reassuring himself of the hard ground beneath him, and begins to feel a little more safe and grounded. He looks around at where they’ve arrived to, and discovers that they’re outside the back door of the church. There are old flower arranging buckets stuffed with wilting flowers, and chunks of green foam with little holes in. There are candle stubs, and cardboard boxes, and a grit bin standing against one wall.

“People only come out here to throw things away,” Harry says, and Albus doesn’t question how he knows that. 

Beyond the edge of the little concrete square they’re standing on, the grass is growing, long and studded with raindrops – it must have rained here recently, the stone wall of the church looks damp, the cardboard boxes are a bit soggy, and the abandoned buckets are filling up with water. Nestled among the grass are hundreds of gravestones, covered with a patchwork of moss and lichen, in green and gold and white. Albus knows that his grandparents’ grave lies among them, on the other side of the church, ten rows back from the gate and five across. 

“Are we going to-“ Albus says, at the same time as Harry begins: “Do you think we should-“ They both break off and look at each other. Harry gestures over his shoulder, and Albus knows he’s pointing at that point beyond the church. 

“The grave,” he says. “Do you want to go and visit them?”

Albus nods. “I think we should. While we’re here.”

Together they make their way down the gravel path that runs round the front of the church. Albus glances up as they pass, gazing at the stained glass windows that stand tall and proud behind the altar. They must have been repaired over the years, because the panes are much more clean and vibrantly coloured than he remembers. The window burns like fire as the sun sets in a blaze of orange and red and gold behind them. He wants to turn round and go through the back door of the church, to stand and look at the colours that must be flooding the space, to try and find the grate he’d crawled through, the char marks on the floor from the battle, and the room where he’d sat and listened at the door as his dad hissed Parseltongue at Delphi. It all happened so long ago, but really not long ago at all, and it feels so painfully present when he’s here. 

It’s an effort to drag his gaze away from the windows, but he manages it. He has to hurry up to keep pace with his dad, and he follows when Harry leads the way off the path and between the gravestones. Their feet kick up sprays of water as they walk, droplets coating their shoes and the hems of their trousers and cloaks. 

Finally they stop in front of the grave. It’s unmarked by moss or lichen, and it’s unweathered, like no time has passed at all since it was put there. The white marble shines under the golden light of the setting autumn sun, and Albus digs his hands into his pockets in an attempt to resist the urge to reach out and trace the names of his grandparents, which are carved into the stone. 

“I never found out who did this,” Harry says, gesturing to the grave. “Sometimes I wonder if it was Dumbledore, but I‘ll probably never know.”

“Did they enchant it?” Albus asks, glancing at the graves on either side, which are cracked and crumbling and being eaten up by ivy. “To keep it so clean?”

Harry nods. “They must have. I almost wish they hadn’t. It still looks like they could have died yesterday.”

Yesterday. A year ago. Forty years. It almost doesn’t matter when it was if it still hurts, Albus thinks. He reaches across and brushes his fingers against his dad’s arm, wanting to offer him some comfort. His dad glances at him, then wraps an arm round his shoulder and hugs him. 

Albus crumples against his side and hugs him in return, squeezing him round the middle with both arms and clinging to him. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so sad about two people he’s never met properly. It’s not having known them that’s making it worse. 

He thinks about his grandma, tucking the blanket around his dad, pushing the pram down the snowy street, pausing to give him a bemused wave. She’d looked so nice. She’d looked so good, so beautiful, so brave. She’d looked the way a parent should look, like she was gentle and caring and patient, like the love was pouring out of her. 

Albus lifts his head and looks up at his dad, who’s staring at the grave, eyes sparkling like emeralds in the conflagration of the setting sun. 

“Dad,” he murmurs. “You know I love you, right?”

His dad looks at him, and his expression is unreadable, obscured by the shadow and sunlight. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.” He ruffles Albus’s hair, then gathers him in and holds him. Albus buries his face in his dad’s shoulder, twisting his hands into the thick woollen folds of the travelling cloak. 

There are a million things that Albus wants to say at that moment, but it’s easier to just stay quiet and hold tight to his dad’s cloak and enjoy the feeling of the dying sunlight on him. He swallows and shuffles his feet, and eventually they pull away. 

Harry glances down at the grave. “I am still sorry,” he says. “I always will be sorry. About the things I said to you. Making you feel like I didn’t love you; like you weren’t part of the family. It’s not true, and-“

“Dad,” Albus interjects softly. “I know.”

Harry doesn’t stop. “I do love you, with everything I’ve got. You’re my son. Better than that, you’re their grandson. I can see it every time I look at you. I can hear it every time you speak. You’re brilliant, Albus.”

“You can tell you’re their son too,” Albus says, looking at the grave. “I think they’d have been proud of you.”

His dad looks at him, a very long look, soft with surprise and love, and glazed with a thin film of tears. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, so Albus smiles at him, then digs his hands into his pockets and looks around.

“Why do we always have conversations like this while standing in a graveyard?”

Harry gives a slightly squelchy laugh and takes his glasses off while he wipes his face with his handkerchief. “You know what? That’s a very good question.”

Albus thinks about Scorpius. “Maybe that’s just what dead loved ones do to you... They make you more...” He gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure of the right word. 

“They make you appreciate the people you have,” Harry says, looking at Albus. Albus looks back at him and nods. 

They stand in front of the grave for a bit longer while Harry blows his nose and cleans his glasses, and the sun sets in front of them. Once the shadows of the graves have begun to stretch all the way to the stone wall of the graveyard, and darkness is really looming, they make their way back to the little gravel path that runs around the edge of the church, and head for the village square. 

As they walk towards the brightly-lit pub and the dark silhouette of the war memorial that’s actually a statue of Harry and James and Lily, they see doors begin to open along the lane up ahead, spilling out shafts of light. Albus catches hold of his dad’s arm and points.

“Look.”

They both stop dead and watch as people emerge, holding pumpkins under their arms. They leave their houses in twos or threes, chatting to their neighbours and smiling and laughing, and when they get to the lane they leave the pumpkins sitting just outside their gates, so they form a long river of light up the lane and away into the distance. A hundred carved faces, smiling out of the darkness and glowing gold, so the whole village is lit up, bright and friendly and cheerful. A tiny, mundane little village, transformed into the sort of place where evil is defeated and darkness is pushed out of the world. 

Albus looks at Harry, who grins at him, and there’s no real need to say anything when they both know what the other is thinking. This place is special, it’s beautiful, and they’re glad to be here tonight of all nights.

“I think we have time to get some dinner before the vigil,” Harry says, nodding towards the pub. 

“Yes please,” Albus says. It feels like a very long time since lunch, and he can’t quite stop thinking about the feast that’s being prepared at Hogwarts right now, that Scorpius will be sitting down to enjoy soon. 

They eat mostly in silence, listening to the buzz of conversation around them. The pub is busy enough for a Sunday night, full of locals discussing the best pumpkin carvings that they’ve seen so far, complaining about having to go to work in the morning, looking forward to Bonfire Night next weekend. It’s comforting listening to the bustle of ordinary life going on around them, especially when it’s combined with good food and flagons of Butterbeer. 

It’s amazing how normal Godric’s Hollow is, Albus thinks, considering all the extraordinary things that have happened here, and all the people who’ve lived in this place. It doesn’t seem like it should be possible for it to exist like this: as an ordinary village full of normal people living standard, unexciting lives – not when it’s had such a huge impact on the world, and on his family. 

“Are you eating the rest of your chips?” Harry asks, nodding at the abandoned pile at the edge of Albus’s plate.

Albus shakes his head. “No, you can have them.” He glances around at the people sitting near them, at the two men who are talking about gardening, at the group of women complaining about their bosses, at the young family who are making whooshing noises as they spoon food into their baby’s mouth. It’s so surreal, that life still goes on here. 

“Dad,” he says softly, after a minute or two of looking. 

Harry dips a chip into Albus’s leftover ketchup and nods. “Yeah?”

“Did you ever think of coming back here? You know, to live? Did you and Mum ever think of getting a house here or anything?”

Harry munches the chip for a moment, then he wipes his hands on a napkin. “I used to,” he says. “A little bit. But I don’t think I could have done it. I think we’re happier where we are. Why do you ask?”

Albus shrugs and takes one last chip from the pile. “Just wondering. I’m glad we’re in Ottery St Catchpole. It would have been weird being here. It doesn’t seem possible that you could just live here and be normal.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

Together they finish the chips, then they leave the pub and head out into the frigid evening, following the ribbon of candlelight cast by the pumpkins across the square, past the memorial, and up the road. 

As they approach the ruined house they both start to slow down. Albus’s stomach is fluttering with nerves, and his dad is staring up ahead, pale and uncertain-looking.

“Dad,” Albus says softly. “Do you think we should... I don’t know, disguise ourselves...? People will recognise you.”

Harry glances at him and nods. “Maybe that’s a good idea. We can Disillusion ourselves. If we stand at the back we won’t be in anyone’s way.”

“Okay,” Albus agrees. 

Disillusionment is such a strange feeling. Albus shivers at the trickling cold down the back of his neck and lifts his hand, watching as it disappears before his eyes. He reaches out to touch his dad’s arm, just so he knows where he is, and ends up holding onto him as they set off down the street again. He doesn’t want to lose him or bump into him. 

Their approach to the vigil is silent and unseen. There are already a handful of people there when they arrive, all lighting candles and talking quietly. The person nearest the gate keeps glancing over their shoulder at the house, and one of their hands is resting on the mossy garden wall. Albus presses closer to his dad’s side, unsure what to do or what to say. 

Harry touches his side and guides him over to the wall, so they’re well out of the way. “Let’s stand over here.”

Albus leans against the wall and hugs himself. It’s starting to get really cold, almost as cold as it was on this night all those years ago. There’s no snow, but frost is sparkling on the ground in the candlelight, and the moon has a halo of ice crystals around it, making it look misty and diffuse. His breath fogs in the air when he exhales, and he hides his face in his scarf and turns around to look at the ruin of the house behind them. 

Most of it, at least the ground floor, is intact, although it’s overgrown with ivy that’s crept over the windows and door, obscuring them, a mass of greenery – Albus wonders if in summer there might even be climbing flowers that cling to these walls and make them bright and vibrant. The upper floor is half destroyed. The room that was once Harry’s bedroom is on the edge of the house, so the whole corner has been blown away. There’s a ragged hole where the walls should be, and the roof is mostly gone, leaving just bare beams, crumbling brick, and cracked tiles. Albus can see the night sky between the remaining fragments of wood and tiles. The stars are out, and it’s cloudless. 

Albus reaches out and finds his dad’s hand. He squeezes it tight as all the memories of last Hallow’s Eve come flooding back to him. The cold, cruel laughter, Lily and James begging and screaming for his dad’s life, his mum’s grip tight on the back of his jacket, his dad shaking and crying next to him, the ash and rubble falling all around them as they stood in the street. 

“Are you alright?” His dad murmurs. 

Albus doesn’t reply, he just tightens his grip and turns away from the house, not wanting to think about it anymore. 

The crowd gathering around the garden gate has swelled in the last couple of minutes. There are almost twenty people now, with more joining the group all the time, and soft, flickering pinpricks of light are spreading between them as they light their candles. The talk is dying down and there’s an energy in the air, a sort of potent emotion that doesn’t need articulating in words to be understood. 

As the crowd grows, Harry pulls Albus back further from the house, away from the wall, and across to the other side of the road, so they’re standing apart from everyone else. Albus wishes he could see his dad, because he can’t tell what he’s thinking. He can feel his dad’s hand shaking, but he doesn’t know what that means, whether it’s from the cold, or whether he’s nervous or upset. 

“Dad,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, so no one in the gathering crowd notices them. “You’re shaking.”

“All these people,” Harry breathes, voice unsteady. “Here for them.”

Albus hugs him. It takes a second to find exactly where his body is, but then he buries his face in his dad’s shoulder. His dad’s arms fold around him and hold him tight. His fingers brush through Albus’s hair, and Albus feels him press a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Harry says softly. “I’m glad I’m not here on my own.”

“We don’t have to stay,” Albus murmurs. “We don’t have to be here.”

“Do you want to go?” Harry asks, pulling back and holding Albus by the shoulders.

Albus thinks again about standing in this road last year: he thinks about the battle, the heat of the flames and Delphi’s voice shouting the Killing Curse, he thinks about Scorpius grasping his arm to steady him, and he thinks about a distant warm hall full of good food and laughter. But he also thinks about his dad, standing here alone in front of the ruined house. And as much as he wants to walk away and go back to school and find Scorpius, he can’t, because right now the most important thing is to be here with his dad. 

“No,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “I want to stay.”

His dad hugs him again, hard and tight, stroking his hair. They cling to each other for several long minutes, giving each other comfort and love, then Albus pulls back and wipes his nose on his sleeve, glad that it’s dark and that he’s invisible so no one can see the tears on his face.

“I wish Scorpius was here,” he sniffs, mopping at his cheeks. “I wish that...” He trails off as through the blur of his tears, he sees a pair of figures walking down the street from the outskirts at town. The taller one wears black robes; the shorter is wearing jeans, a green jacket, and a green and silver bobble hat. They both have white blond hair that seems to shine in the moonlight. They both look uncertain, pressed close together, footsteps slow and cautious as they approach the ruined house.

“Dad,” Albus says, and now his voice really does break. He swallows hard and nudges his dad’s arm. “Please can you make me visible again?”

His dad shifts next to him, turning around. “Why do you- Oh.”

Albus tugs on his dad’s sleeve, and as he looks down the road at his best friend the tears start to overwhelm him. “Please,” he begs, because if there’s one thing he needs right now then it’s a hug from Scorpius.

“Yes, I- Yes.” 

There’s a brief pause, then Albus feels warmth creep up his spine as the spell dissolves, and he doesn’t hesitate for another second. He sets off running, past the crowd, not caring that people are turning to stare as he flies by seemingly from nowhere. All his focus is on Scorpius, and on getting to him as quickly as he can, and hugging him as tightly as possible. 

“Al-“ Scorpius begins as Albus runs to him, but he doesn’t get to finish the name before Albus is leaping at him and crushing him in a hug. They both stumble back several steps before Scorpius gets his footing. 

“Albus!” He says. “You’re strangling me, you-“

“You should be at the feast,” Albus sobs. “But you’re here, and- You’re here.”

“Yes,” Scorpius says, patting him on the back. “Yes I am here, but if you strangle me to death then I might not be here much longer.” He takes hold of Albus’s arms and picks him off, then studies him. “You’re a mess. Dad, can he have a tissue?”

Draco hesitates, still seeming rather taken aback by Albus’s sudden appearance from thin air, but then he nods and draws his wand, giving it a flick to conjure a tissue, which he hands to Albus. 

“Thanks,” Albus sniffs as he takes it and starts wiping his eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” Scorpius asks. “I mean, I suppose that’s obvious, but- Where’s your dad?”

“I’m here,” Harry says, walking up to them and putting a hand on Albus’s shoulder. Albus glances up and sees that he’s visible too now. He also sees that every single person by the house is looking at them and whispering. 

“Hi, Harry,” Scorpius says. 

“Hello, Scorpius.” Harry releases Albus’s shoulder. “Hello, Draco.”

“Is it alright?” Draco asks immediately. “Us being here? It was Scorpius’s idea, but I wasn’t sure whether- You know how much I hate to intrude on your personal life, Potter.”

Harry does a double take. “Do you? I’ve never noticed before.”

Albus stops wiping his eyes in time to see Draco shuffle his feet and look sheepish. 

“All I’m saying is that we can leave if you’d like. Or I can. I’m sorry we didn’t-“

“You were here,” Harry says, cutting across him. “That night. So you can be here now. And you don’t need to apologise. You’re both welcome.”

Draco pauses before nodding. “Good. We’ll stay then.” There’s another pause, then Draco glances at the staring crowd and puts a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder to shepherd him down the road. “We’re causing a disruption,” he says. “We should go and stand with everyone else. Come on, Scorpius.”

Albus walks beside Scorpius as they join the group, and Harry walks beside Draco. Albus is still wiping his eyes, and he notices Scorpius watching him, with a slightly concerned look. Albus glances at him and smiles. 

“You’re wearing a hat now,” he says, reaching up to tweak Scorpius’s bobble. “I thought you were good at handling the cold?”

“I am good at handling it,” Scorpius says, lifting his chin and making himself look all lofty. “I’m handling it by wearing a hat.”

Albus smiles and nudges him. “You definitely look warmer now.”

“I feel a lot warmer,” Scorpius says, linking arms with Albus. He looks across at him and lowers his voice as they join the back of the crowd. “Are you okay? Has it been alright?”

Albus glances back at his dad and nods. “It’s been good. I just realised that it was weird being here without you.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Scorpius says, giving his arm a squeeze. 

Albus looks at the silver shine of his eyes, the frostbitten blush of his cheeks, the sudden intense seriousness of his expression. “I-I know,” he breathes, voice catching in his throat. “Thank you.” 

For a long moment they look at each other, and Albus doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He almost doesn’t remember how to breathe anymore, and he certainly doesn’t know how to look away and save himself. Fortunately Scorpius looks away first, fracturing whatever it was that was passing between them. He gestures in Harry and Draco’s direction. 

“Do you think we should go and stand with our dads?”

Albus nods and turns away, now feeling very hot, cheeks burning. He hurries to stand by his dad, but he doesn’t miss Scorpius exhaling, cheeks puffed out and very pink, and running a hand through his hair. Maybe he wasn’t alone in feeling – whatever that was.

He doesn’t have long to think about that though, because as he tucks himself against his dad’s side at the back of the crowd, someone comes weaving toward them through all the people, most of whom are still staring. He feels his dad tense up slightly, and Albus understands why. This is the reason they planned to be invisible: people recognising them, picking them out of the crowd, wanting to see and speak to them, to offer condolences.

The woman stops in front of them, clutching a box full of candles. She looks nervous and uncertain, but she smiles. 

“Mr Potter-“

“Harry,” Harry says, and Albus presses a tiny bit closer to him, wanting to try and protect him somehow from whatever’s about to be asked of him. 

“Yes,” the woman says. “Harry, Albus. Um,” she hesitates and looks down at the box in her hands. “Would you both like a candle?”

Albus glances at his dad, who seems slightly taken aback, but after a moment he nods and takes one of the candles from the box, and Albus follows suit. 

“Thank you,” Harry says, and Albus echoes him. 

“You’re welcome,” the woman says. “It’s our pleasure to have you both here.” She gives them a little nod, then moves across to offer the candles to Draco and Scorpius. As she does, Albus notices that the people in the crowd are beginning to turn back around and stop staring, like they’ve realised the impact they were having.

Harry looks down at his candle and picks at the wick, then he draws his wand, lights it, and offers the flame to Albus. Albus lights his candle from Harry’s and watches the wax start to melt, pooling up at the base of the wick and dribbling down the sides. He catches it and lets it set on his finger, then cracks it off and looks around. 

Harry has lit Draco’s candle, and now Draco is lighting Scorpius’s, the tiny flame flickering in the breeze as it passes between them. All the candles are lit now. The road is full of people, maybe 30, maybe more. They stand shoulder to shoulder, heads bowed, silent, candles bathing their faces in pale light. No one speaks but there’s nothing that needs to be said. On this night, in this place, actions have always spoken much louder than words. 

Albus presses against his dad’s side, and Harry slips an arm round his shoulder and holds him close. It’s warm and comforting, and Albus is flooded with a sense of love and family and gratitude. 

This time last year had felt so isolating. Just him and Scorpius, trapped and alone, not even sure how to save themselves, let alone the world. And then when the adults had come it hadn’t felt much better. There had been no one with them, they were just seven small figures in the darkness and the cold, desperately trying to bring some light to the world. 

But now there are all these people here, all these people who have left the safety and warmth of their homes to stand in this street and remember. All these people who want to be with them, who want to be with James and Lily. And the street is glowing with candlelight, from the pumpkins and from the vigil, as they all think about the acts of love and bravery and kindness that continue to keep the darkness at bay.

Albus glances across at Scorpius and sees that Draco is hugging him very tight. He sees Draco plant a kiss onto the top of Scorpius’s head, over the wool of the bobble hat, and he sees Scorpius close his eyes, a small, sad smile on his face. He looks at the strangers in the crowd, old people and young people, people who might have known James and Lily, or who might just have read about them in the history books. All these ordinary people, just like James and Lily and Harry once were. Just another family, living and loving as best as they could. 

The Potters are still just an ordinary family, Albus thinks, in all the ways that matter. Maybe their names and faces are famous, but when they’re at home they’re just like everyone else, goading and fighting and teasing and making up and having fun. They just happen to have this house in their history, where their family has been torn apart and stitched back together over so many years.

Time ticks by, crystal clear and relentless, pulling them further into the future where everything is healed and everything is okay. And as midnight approaches there’s a crackling energy in the air, and the sense of love and gratitude becomes overwhelming. Albus can feel his dad’s tears falling, hot and wet in his hair, and he hugs him tighter, holding him up. 

In the distance, St Jerome’s clock strikes midnight. Twelve chimes that ring through the night, resonating with everyone, right to the heart. And as the last echo fades there’s complete silence and stillness for a moment, a respect for the collective knowledge that right here, in a different time, something momentous has just happened. 

When the moment fades, in complete silence, the villagers of Godric’s Hollow step forward and leave their candles in front of the gate, still burning, still bright, and then they walk away into the night, arms round each other, some pausing to put a hand on Harry’s arm as they pass by, until only Harry and Albus and Draco and Scorpius are left in front of the gate. 

Draco is the first to move. He walks up to the gate and sets his candle down at the base of the stone wall, then he brushes his hand along the top of the splintered gate with its chipped paintwork and bows his head. Scorpius goes over and joins him. He puts his candle next to his dad’s, then glances back at Harry and Albus. 

Albus gives Harry’s arm a gentle nudge. “Come on, Dad,” he whispers, and together he and his dad put their candles among all the rest of them and step back to look at the burning shrine outside the gate. 

“I’m glad we came,” Harry says, and Albus nods. “I’m glad you’re here too,” he says to Draco and Scorpius. 

“It’s not as if we had anywhere better to be,” Draco says, and Scorpius nods. 

“Who needs the feast,” Scorpius says. “When you can have-“ He gestures to the shrine, and the gate, and the house, and to Harry and Albus and his dad, and Albus smiles at him. 

“Maybe we can find some sweets when we get back to school. To make up for it.”

“Speaking of school,” Harry says, taking one final look at the shrine and the house, then shaking himself and looking around at the other three. “It’s late, and you two have lessons tomorrow. I think we should start heading back.”

Scorpius yawns and nods. “I like that idea.”

They all link arms and Apparate from outside the house back to Hogwarts. They walk up the drive together, Albus and Scorpius sticking side by side. They say goodbye to their dads at the castle doors. Albus gives Harry a crushing hug. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” Harry murmurs in his ear. 

“Thank you for letting me,” Albus whispers back. 

“It’s always my pleasure.”

Albus smiles and presses his face into his dad’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry replies, ruffling his hair and releasing him. 

Albus waits until Scorpius has finished hugging his dad goodbye, then they both wave to their dads and set off down into the dungeons.

They pull their pyjamas on and scramble into bed, and Albus digs out a bag of Pepper Imps, but Scorpius shakes his head and says he’s too tired for sugar. 

“I’m going to remember this,” Albus says. 

Scorpius yawns. “And I’m sure you’ll find a chance to blackmail me with it at some point.”

“Definitely.”

Scorpius smiles sleepily and lies back against his pillows. “I’ll look forward to that, but for now-“ He leans over and blows out the candle by his bed. “Goodnight, Albus. Happy Halloween.”

Albus thinks about the candles by the gate, still burning on through the night, he thinks about the warm glow in his heart, and he thinks about Lily tucking his dad in under the blanket, with so much love. He thinks about how glad he is that these days he can feel that love from his dad, that he can feel cared for, that he belongs, that he can feel proud to be a Potter. Then he blows out the candle by the side of his bed and snuggles down under his covers, feeling very content and very full up with love. “Happy Halloween,” he whispers.

[loireramblings]

Meet the chickens

Currently we have three chickens installed in a new, very smart hen house, “Hensington Palace”.They are all three very different characters. The leader of the gang is I think Whitey, guess her colour. Original with their names we are not. She it is that leads the gang to wander far and wide and is the most determined to jump fences, squeeze through gaps and generally try to upset our neighbours by eating their flowers.

They are eager to keep company and  come running and flapping across as soon as they spy you walking up the garden path, or hear your voice, hopeful that you might have some garden waste as a treat for them. If you are digging or weeding they will not leave your side, waiting to pounce on any poor unsuspecting worm or insect they see. Their eyesight is incredible and the eye beak coordination extremely good.The slightest movement in the soil and they are there. I often fear for their lives as I bring the fork or spade down and they, having spied some delicacy, dash their head forward to gobble it up, just as I bring down my implement. I smile to myself when Russell is gardening and I hear the words, “Shoo ( or words to that effect ) will you just get out of the way,’ I know exactly what is happening, they live their lives fearlessly, searching for food. 


One of their favourite treats is walnuts and we have lots of those. When I go up the garden I will gather some of those still lying in the ground, take a brick and smash them open for them to feast on. They anticipate this feast a little too eagerly and their heads reach forward at completely the wrong time. One day it is going to be their head smashed in error, and so I use one hand to try and push them away as I wield the brick with my other.

Grey, go on guess her colour, was the first to start laying. But for some reason she did not see the need to return to the coop and use the nesting box to do this. No, we were sat with friends on our patio enjoying a chat, when she appeared and hopped up onto the table beside our outside oven. She inspected the area and spied the shelf beneath the oven holding old newspapers with which we light it. That she decided was where she wanted to lay her very first egg. She settled down, we lifted her off and took her back to the nesting box. As we settled back down to the serious business of chatting she did not settle back down to the serious business of laying. Instead she reappeared and carried out the same sequence and so did we.  This time she did not reappear but neither did any egg appear in the nesting box.  It was only a few days later when moving the paper to light the oven we discovered a beautiful brown egg. Obviously her determination had won through.

It did not seem to us that underneath our outdoors, wood burning, oven was a good place for a chicken to make her nest. I am not sure she understood why we were so determined this was not to be her favoured spot for settling down to produce eggs but  it seemed just a little hazardous to us.  Before she knew it she was likely to be one singed, if not roasted, chicken. So we set about blocking the gaps in the fence that gave her access to our patio and making sure the gate was always shut. Of course, where she led the other had to investigate too and though they didn’t hop up into the oven our patio got a thorough inspection from them all.

Nacho only takes so much of this invasion of what he considers to be his space and certainly we are his humans, not theirs. One inch to close to his nose as he lays soaking up the sun, or to close to us as we sit doing the same and he leaps up barking at them and they run flapping and squawking.

Anyhow blocked from the patio do you think Grey returned to the nesting box to set about the production of eggs? No of course she didn’t. Instead she found a spot the other side of the patio wall, settled herself down and this became her laying spot. We used to lift her and return her to the nesting box to no avail. In the end, we conceded and this became the egg laying spot. Again where one led the other followed and soon all three were laying here. Not for them the comfort of a straw filled coop where they called all three sit and lay in comfort. Oh no, when I let them out in the morning a race between them down the length of the garden to get prime position on their chosen spot. Much was the cross clucking and jostling for position. In desperation, if the allotted time spot for laying an egg had overrun and one could not wait any longer they would sit on top of each other. I tried putting straw down and enlarging their chosen space a little but it made no difference. This precise area was where they were going to lay and that was that.

Then one day and who knows why, Redie ( yup she’s red) started laying in the official nesting box and the other two followed suit. No more clucking and jostling for space. Egg production now took place in luxury accommodation, sufficient space for all three at the same time and out of view. Who knows why?

In an effort to contain our chicken’s plundering of Odette’s flowers and Nacho’s tendency to take himself off for a walk through the vines, where hares love to wander too, Russell built a fence. He spent days weaving hazel cuttings across the width of our garden. Any chicken sized hole was neatly reduced in size with a little more weaving. Chicken wire was put at the bottom of the laurel hedge. Dogs and chickens were contained in one side of the garden. At least that was the aim.

The chickens of course had other ideas, having got a taste for Odette’s flowers they were not about to be deprived that easily. We were in the garden working when we saw them, led by Whitey, launch themselves at the neatly woven fence. With amazing dexterity they nimbly landed on the decorative arch that Russell had made at the top of the fence. The arches, all the length of the fence, are made from the thinest of hazel cuttings. Still the chickens landed and then used them to hurl themselves across to the other side. Once there, they dived straight under the laurel hedge, which this side has no chicken wire, and there they were again headed straight for Odette’s flowers. At least Nacho showed no inclination to follow suit and he at least was contained.  

We surveyed the situation and decided that the chicken run was large enough, and the fence there is high enough to contain them. They would just have to have their freedom curtailed when the flowers were out. So in the morning no more opening the gate to let them wander free. Except of course Whitey had different ideas. Every day we would find her wandering around outside the run, clucking away at the other two who were inside the fence looking out at her. We popped her back in and watched as she neatly jumped on to a tree stump, launched herself onto one of the fence posts and then to freedom.

Our next move then, in an effort to protect Odette’s flowers was to take the tree stump down to ground level. But  still I would go up the garden and find that Whitey was the wrong side of the fence. It seems if a chicken is determined to be free ranging then no matter what, free ranging is what they will be. Odette is resigned to them launching themselves off fences, pushing their way through laurel hedges, and investigating her garden. They have even taken to following her around as she mows the grass oblivious to any danger from the mower as they scratch through the cuttings. She confesses to us that she talks to them now as they accompany her on her chore. But, she warns, next year is a different matter and we must find a way to stop them coming through.

Now you may or may not know that chickens love dirt baths and ours are no exception. I found a box and kindly filled with a mix of dirt, grit and ash. Supposedly a combination that will make any chicken feel they are in heaven, but ours had other thoughts. Carefully I chose a prime spot to place it  under one of their favourite trees, where they sit out of the heat of the summer sun. Then I  go across to our vegetable garden where our potatoes are showing a healthy amount of leaves and need dirt pulling up around them to protect the potatoes from the sun.

I diligently set about with my hoe pulling the earth up around each plant, a job I have to confess to hating. Of course, no sooner have I got half way down a row that our three nosey chickens arrive to investigate exactly what I am up to. As ever Whitey is leading the little gang as they come over and start to survey my handiwork. Now freshly scratched up soil is a chickens idea of heaven,  an instant dinner served up just for them. So they begin to undo all of my handiwork as the sift through this fresh soil seeking insects and worms. Exasperated I shoo them off and return to scraping the soil back up and continue along the rows. Excited by the idea of even more instant dinner they return to undo my work.

And then having eaten their fill they settle in to digest their dinner down in the dirt between the rows of potatoes. Here they begin the wriggling and rolling that should be happening over in the dust bath that I have so carefully provided. Instead here in our potato patch is where they choose to make their dust bath. As they clean their feathers with their movements they emit a noise that I can only describe as being as close to a cat purring as it is possible for chickens to be. This potato patch, hidden by the rows of leaves, is their idea of heaven. A chicken spa. No amount of persuasion is going to make them use the dirt box I have provided rather than this lovely freshly hoed dirt.

Our three chickens free ranging in our garden - for the moment at least.

Having their wings clipped certainly didn’t seem to stop them leaving home, or turning my potato patch into their spa area. Despite the extra work they cause me I rather enjoy their company when I am gardening.  Ah well we have a year to figure out how to curb their freedom.

[mlek13]

Spring, Year 2: Peasants, pt. 4

I actually took this picture while playing Lisha and Abram’s lot, but it’s pretty typical of Jenee and Byron’s family.  Earnest and Madeline fighting, Jenee looking like she’s so sick of her kids not getting along when really she just wants to sit down and have a quiet moment, and Jeremiah walking away with a smile because he’s the only good kid in the family and the only one who actually gets along with any of his siblings.

When I enter their lot, there’s a foot of snow on the ground which is really startling because all of the other Peasant lots were very spring like.  Let’s just say it’s a late snowstorm.

I had to make Demetrius selectable to see what he was reacting to.  It was the snow.  My thoughts exactly, Demetrius.

The weekend gathering does happen.  A new pizza guy named Ash Lee showed up and stood around with the pizza for ages, not sure what to do with it.  Eventually he set it in the snow and Jeremiah took it inside.  It wasn’t much of a “gathering” because with a family with two hungry adults and three hungry children, there wasn’t going to be enough to share.

After Lisha and Abram’s family adopted their puppy, this family caught puppy/kitten fever.  Jenee and all three of the older kids had wants for a puppy, a kitten, and a puppy or a kitten.  I let the wants sit for awhile.  When Madeline dropped the want for just a kitten, I had them adopt a puppy.  I had to really scrape together the funds to get it.  I sold a lot of unnecessary stuff in their inventories.  Jenee and Byron had both already purchase cat and dog supplies, so fortunately they didn’t need to buy anything extra.

Everyone was too busy to greet the new puppy, CeCe. She met the neighbors first and ended up spending most of her time at Lisha and Abram’s apartment eating from Bolt’s bowl.

I don’t think everyone in the household was happy with my pet choice.  Earnest (and maybe one of the other kids too) kept the want for a kitten.  So maybe that’s the pet he really wanted.

Jenee started to have second thoughts about having a puppy.  Considering you’re going to be struggling to make rent now and you’re severely running out of space on your lot, maybe getting the puppy wasn’t a good idea.  (Byron hasn’t had any pet wants, so I like to think he knew better.)

Then later, she decides maybe she really wants a kitten.  *sigh*  Have you learned nothing?  (If they had the funds, I’d probably fulfill it too.)

Jeremiah grows up.  (Excuse the grid lines.  It was either that or squinting in the dark.)  He wants lots of friends and likes a romantic partner who wears glasses and can clean (the glasses are so that they can see all the dirt, right?)  He doesn’t like sims who are unemployed (that’s too bad because everyone is going to turn you off with that choice.  Maybe he’s thinking of marrying up into a service class.)

I’m not sure where this fits chronologically, but during this round, the baby, Patrick grew up as well.  He has such a cute little round face.  He definitely has Jenee’s nose.  He’s a super neat kid.

Madeline and Earnest are constantly at each other’s throats.

Losing a fight to his little sister in front of the whole neighborhood keeps Earnest awake at night.  Psst, if you want to have an uninterrupted night of sleep, stop fighting with your siblings.

Time for a family fishing trip.  Let’s see if it works wonders for Earnest and Madeline the way that it did for Earnest and Jeremiah.  I was a little worried, because when they arrived the pond was frozen.  It did thaw out so that they could fish, but their needs were kind of low, so they didn’t fish together long.  I think they made a little progress.

Rebeka grows up.  She still has a pointy chin and chubby cheeks.  She’s not particularly pretty, but that might change.

 I had to try to squeeze in another bed.  I did manage to rearrange the house better later, but at this point the crib was occupied and couldn’t be moved and everyone wanted to sleep.

Earnest doesn’t get along with Rebekah either.

He seems like he’s trying to be nice, but failing.  He and Jeremiah have patched things up, but as far as initial relationships with his siblings, he’s 0/3.

He and Madeline were -90/-90, so there’s a little bit of improvement.  I can’t blame just Earnest though.  I didn’t get pictures of it, but Madeline and Rebekah’s relationship with each other is just as bad.  I feel bad for Jenee and Byron.  Imagine having all of these kids and they all hate each other so much.  Jeremiah is the only one who is one good terms with everyone.

Byron takes a teen and three kids to the secret fishing spot while Jenee stays home with the toddler.

It’s partially about learning to get along, partially about catching fish to pay the rent,and partially about filling their needs.  They take full advantage of the toilets, showers, and grill.  The girls are too tired to do much fishing, so they both end up napping on the benches.

Jeremiah:  Dad, please tell me you and mom aren’t planning on having any more babies.

Let’s hope, Jeremiah.  Let’s hope.

I sent Jenee to the fishing hole with Jeremiah and Rebekah.  (I meant to bring Earnest, but picked the wrong name.)  It’s the first time she’s gotten to go in awhile.  Abram and Earnest happened to be on the lot already, so I had her ask them to join the fishing.  (I hope someone was watching Madeline and Patrick.)

Earnest celebrated his teen birthday at the end of his round and his outfit was so appropriate that I haven’t even changed it yet.  I’m still trying to decide if I will or not.  Watch out world because his randomly chosen aspiration is romance.  He likes blondes that wear hats but are not high in their profession.  I don’t think there’s anyone available that meets that description, but you’ll have to take what you can get.

[todokori-kun]

WELCOME BACK, QUEEN!

(Awww I hope you’re feeling ok *hugs* I get how you feel, stuff like that used to happen to me all the time ;-;)

I WISH I HAD MORE FRIENDS TO DRAG INTO HAMILTRASH HELL. (omg how did they react, though????)

LAURENS LEADS A SOLDIER’S CHORUS ON THE OTHER SIDE

MY SON IS ON THE OTHER SIDE

HE’S WITH MY MOTHER ON THE OTHER SIDE

WASHINGTON IS WATCHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE

TEACH ME HOW TO SAY GOODBYE

…Baby Luna still sounds cute to me XD

(True stories about Tiny Evans:

Once, when I was about four years old, mom let me play in the bathroom. She later came in to find the entire bathroom flooded…I hadn’t bothered to turn the water off and just kept playing calmly in the middle of the mess XD she says that when she asked me what happened, I was just like “Mommy, the rain came down from the sky…”

And once mom bought me a tiny Beauty and the Beast doll, with super tiny accessories (I was probably around five years old). I was playing with the doll on the bed. Then I decided to lie down, holding one of the doll’s tiny shoes in my hand….I dropped the shoe and it went straight into my nose 0.0 When we went to the hospital they couldn’t get it out (they gave me a nosebleed trying) and then they said I should have surgery.

Then we went to a different hospital. The doctor took a look, told me to lie down, and then got it out in a few seconds (…)

And I was also super attached to my toys when I was little. I’d refuse to let mom wash my favorite teddy bear because I thought the washing machine would hurt him, and I hated it when people shoved my toys away into a toy box because NO the dollies can’t BREATHE if you do that)

Yeah, I think that most kids have a bratty side to them XD some kids are worse, though. One of my little sister’s friends once kicked another boy because he kept playing with my sister instead of her…like, literally kicked him in the face. The poor kid was just coming down the slide, she was waiting at the bottom and kicked him 0.0

I wouldn’t give you time to cry. If I must suffer, Queen Luna must help me…maybe you could distract them with snacks?

Oh, that’s great! Your mom sounds cool :D

Hmm, I’ll try to find it :)

ok, yeah, I did hear that Fairy Tail’s plot sucks XD (and of course there’s the fanservice ugh.) I was thinking about checking it out just because so many people seem to watch/read it (and hate it) but maybe not lol

Queen. QUEEN. I know I recommended HxH to you but…well. Please google the Legendary HxH Hiatuses before you make a choice you might regret (if you’re brave, you can still dive into the fandom anyway and suffer with me).

BUT ALSO. Levi has an HxH twin. His name is Feitan, and HE’S SHORTER THAN LEVI

(And YES fellow OPM fan!

btw, I just saw a comic with Hisoka meeting Saitama. *Schwing intensifies*)

Can you imagine what would happen if Evans and Kimblee got in a fight, though? (assuming that Kimblee does ‘like’ Evans enough not to kill her.) Because I just realized that if Kimblee got blood on the carpet I’d definitely be mad- I’m an almost Levi Level clean freak in some ways. If the carpet was white not even a Philosopher’s Stone could save him. And if he brought the dust, dirt and ashes from his explosions into the house with him I’d probably feed him to Pride.

(idk what this is but I just made myself kinda angry thinking about Kimblee dripping blood on a white carpet lol)

That would be adorable until Pokemon Pride decided he was hungry.

I’m not sure what that is, sorry ^^;; are you talking about Bertl’s death scene???

Yes. The clean freak in me rejoices every time I look at his new hair. (seriously though it was REALLY greasy in Avengers and The Dark World.)

Idk how I never thought Roma might be the Clown Boss omg. She’s horrible but she’s also amazing.

Nah, I worry for Urie’s health (physical and emotional) but he’s not going to die. I don’t think his character arc is finished yet, and besides, there’s so much he hasn’t done yet, so many promises he has yet to keep (like, oh, I don’t know, the whole thing with Shirazu’s body). Also have you heard the theories about how Shirazu’s probably going to be on the next volume cover?

If Mutsuki kills Yomo I’m really going to start hating TG. (though tbh it feels like he might die here ;-;)

Touka…I don’t like her and I really don’t like all this Touken stuff but I don’t want her to die, because I think that if she did, Kaneki would just go right back into his angsty “I want to die in style and sacrifice myself” mode…and that would be bad.

(Speaking of Touka though:

I read a theory on tumblr that Juuzou might be the one to kill her if she does end up dying. Like, a while back Ishida wrote a poem for Juuzou where he's trying to decide whether to kill a cat or a dog- when he chooses, there’s a line about a ‘rotten womb’, suggesting that the animal he killed was pregnant. The poem ends with Juuzou thinking that it really didn’t matter in the end, because he himself was going to die anyway.

Mutsuki called Touka a cat several times back in the chapter where they fought, so Touka=Cat, the pregnant animal Juuzou killed, and Kaneki=Dog? So Juuzou might have chosen to kill Touka and spare Kaneki, who was once his friend? And Kaneki kills Juuzou to avenge his wife?

I don’t think this is going to be canon and I don’t WANT it to be canon (it would be too much for my feels), but it’s interesting)

And I'm still waiting for the moment Shuu finally decides to confront Kaneki about that night on the L.E building

Yep, I’m going to try to play Waltz’s route soon! I’ll let you know when I do :D (But I refuse to play the Bad Ending because I now know what happens in it and wow. Just wow.)

I’ll try to listen to the music too!

Yeah, it’s pretty easy to tell that Lady Karma and Prince Karma are the same person. For me it’s the eyes…

Wonder what Llama’s like? (Probably Burr-levels of salty and bitter because of his dad’s fondness for weird nicknames)

Maybe I’ll play the bad ending just to torture myself with whatever happens to Varg lol

I seriously wish we could date Delora, Jurien, Parfait and Emelaigne, though. We could trade Rod’s route for one of them? (again, not that I don’t like Rod but I feel like a Delora or Jurien route would probably be WAY more interesting than his)

I can’t even use ‘Evans' in Otome games, that would be really embarrassing…I mean, even with Reader x Character fics, I can’t bring myself to use my own name so I always read the Reader’s name as literally 'YN’ in my head XD

TY Queen Luna. I might be blushing a bit right now. (Please don’t write any more Fritz HCs they’re too amazingly fluffy I’ll die.)

Queen Luna/Karma would be the best though. Karma probably thinks you’re the most beautiful, amazing person in the history of the entire universe.

-He often asks you for book recs, will always give you his honest opinion of them once he’s done reading

-likes reading with you better than that, though. Just cuddling together while he reads over your shoulder or something (idk I feel like Karma would like books)

-does your makeup for you. Not if you don’t want him to, but if you ever have to go to a party or some big event…he’ll insist (and do a great job of it too).

-of course he goes shopping with you and helps you pick out clothes. Then he insists on buying all the outfits that look good on you (though of course, in his opinion, that’s everything you try on)

-he’ll try to help you remember things and keep track of your stuff better, but even if you still forget he usually remembers. Will find whatever it is you lost and hand it to you with a playful smile, teasing you a little bit (he honestly thinks it’s cute)

-he’s immediately interested when he hears you used to learn archery and will ask you to teach him if you can still do it. In exchange he’ll teach you how to use a sword if you want him to (if you say yes he won’t go easy on you, but will always be impressed with your efforts and will be sure to compliment you and tell you how well you’re doing)

-if you two ever have to go to some social event, he’ll quickly notice if you’re feeling overwhelmed and will lead you away into a quiet corner, where you can just have some calm, private(ish) time together, talking about your day and watching the people around you.

-I think Karma likes sweets too (there was that thing with the Chamaeleon cupcake and I think I read another line about him eating cake in the game? not sure about it though) so he’d probably buy a bunch to try with you and would think your obsession with them is adorable

-he teases and flirts with you a bit, and doesn’t mind if you tease him back. However, if you ever flirt back at him, it doesn’t matter if it’s bad or cheesy- he WILL end up blushing. He’ll try to play it cool but the blush is just too obvious

(hope these are ok ^^;;)

Well, the friends weren’t exactly impressed. But hey if I was able to bear them for a week, they can bear 2 hours of good music XD They did find Guns and Ships interesting though, because of the speed of rapping XD

RISE UP, RISE UP, RISE UP

ELIZA

MY LOVE, TAKE YOUR TIME

I’LL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE

RAISE A GLASS TO FREEDOM…

Wow. Just. Wow. I never managed to flood the bathroom, though I did blame my sister for stuff she couldn’t have done anyway XD And the thing about the shoe… couldn’t they’d just taken those thingies you pluck your eyebrows with (but bigger) and gotten it out with them? I mean, i’m no expert, but how did they manage to give you a nosebleed XD

I’m 17 years old. I still value all my toys, especially the plush ones and wouldn’t part with them no matter what you offered to me. Hell, I still can’t sleep without a plush toy XD So I don’t think that was weird at all :P

That’s… a bit aggressive… should the kid get it checked out XD

I’ll distract them, you run :P

Nope, don’t even try with Fairy Tail, unless you’re really into magic and guilds. The tasteless Fanservice and lack of plot make it infuriating. The only reason why I stuck with it was because I wanted to see my OTPs get together (THEY DID  N O T) 

Ah, I’ve heard of those... a bunch of manga I read go on hiatuses all the time as well, so I don’t think I’ll mind ^^ I’m still not sure, tho, since it has 387 chapters and that might take time to catch up (hah, i once read 130 chaps in one day, but that was a special occasion XD)

WHOAH SOMEONE SHORTER THAN LEVI WHAT Tell me everything XD

Hi, yes, I love Genos and Sonic (Saitama as well lol). Metal Bat is fucking awesome, because he is so dedicated to his little sis. Old man Bang (almost called him Old Man Fu XD) is freaking awesome!!! And let’s not forget out  favorite loli, Tatsumaki, aka Terrible Tornado.

I’m not sure I want to imagine that fight... anyway it ends, it’s catastrophic XD

YEP, Bertl’s death (still crying). So the (I think) comic went like this: Armin has eaten Bert, and Reiner was captured and he looks at Armin, obviously realizing what happened to Bert and breaks down crying. Then, in one final act of defiance, Bert’s conscious manages to suppress Armin’s for a second and tells Reiner that he has nothing to apologize for. I cry.

I can’t wait for Ragnarok *^* More Loki, more Thor, more Marvel!!

Just. I honestly have no idea what to think about TG anymore... The things that happened lately have been pretty hard to stomach and so many things have been left unresolved. And all the death flags and the fact that Yomo might lose to Mutsuki, despite being canonically stronger than them. Tbh, I think I might just drop it (again XD)

I seriously can’t wait for you to play Waltz’s route :3c Lol, Waltz’s bad end is the anomaly! ((SPOILER)) The only bad end where the boy character doesn’t die, yet is the worst story-wise ((END SPOILER))

I really want to meet Llama XD I mean, if he’s Karma’s brother, he must be fabulous σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

Technically, Fritz’s bad end isn’t too different from the others, I just like Varg too much XD 

Y’know... we could always write our own routes ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That’s one of the reasons why I’ve adopted the name Luna XD No embarrassment. But I once watched an anime where a character had the same name as me. Not only that, she also looked a LOT like me and we shared a few personality points. It actually made me pretty happy.  And then, later, I found out that a part of the fandom shipped her with my, at the time, favorite character. I could never read fanfiction of the two without getting embarrassed XD A significant portion of the fandom hates her, though, even though she didn’t do anything wrong other than, surprise, ‘interfering’ (???) with a popular yaoi ship. (Since her x the character was implied canon). Long story short: Luna gets embarrassed watching anime. 

Are you suuuure~ I might just write some to embarrass you huehuehue I’ll wait till you finish Waltz, cause I want to see your list of faves ^^

Y’know at this moment I’m incredibly glad I physically don’t blush. Cause I’d be a fucking tomato if I could. φ(ﾟ ωﾟ//）♡ I think that, no matter how much of a shy potato I am, I’d flirt back with Karma just to see him blush huehuehuheuehue And I’d always, always accept sword-fighting lessons from him *^*  

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #219

“Pinwheel sitting, Ashes Flying Lessons”

[gem] -flies next to splenderman's house and knocks on the side of the door-

[Slender] Sighs- Come in

[Gem] -flies in then lands she is holding two stacks of sugar cookies- oh hello I heard Splenderman was sick so I wanted to help cheer him up I didn't know someone else was here

[Slender] - Yes, I am his brother- He's looking Gem over, finding her attributes a bit odd

[Gem] well I brought sugar cookies

[Splender] Groans and rolls over- Nooo...

[Slender] - You may as well put them with the other food which has been brought, in that chest over there

[Gem] -puts them in the chest- will splenderman be ok?

[Slender] - In about a week or so, he doesn't like having to kill humans

[gem] -flies up a little- I understand so are you doing staying on the server must be tough it being so different I would guess

[Slender] - Having to restrict my EMP field is annoying but necessary.  Speaking of I wouldn't get to close to me unless you wish to be affected.  And I'm staying here to help make certain Splender is alright

[Gem] -flies back a little so she further from slender- is restricting it hard?

[Slender] - After some time it does become difficult, but I should be able to do it for the length of time I'll be here

[gem] -is just talking out loud- I just realized I should check on aven and ben later before I go back to building the track system

[Slender] - Ah yes, them and their child

[gem] I live with them but I have recently been busy with building I haven't been home as often

[Slender] - I see, I am curious about how their child is coming along

[gem] oh he is just the cutest he is very healthy too

[Slender] - I know Painter and Angel desire a child, but I'd like more data, preferably a second successful child

[gem] well ben is quiet protective of hyrule to the point of not wanting to give him baths

[Slender] - Of course he wouldn't want to do that, you can always get Jeff and LJ to hold him down, they've gotten very good at that over the years

[gem] I believe they had to do that once already and my guardians also did once

[Slender] - And his mate is still doing well?  There have been no ill effects of having the child?

[gem] no aven has been good

[Slender] - I see...

[Splender] - Brother...

[Slender] - Yes?

[Splender] - Don't let father get us...

[Slender] - I won't, I promise

[gem] what would happen if they did?

[Slender] - It's nothing, he's just dreaming of a memory

[gem] oh well if there is anything you need for me to get splenderman I will gladly help

[Slender] - I will keep it in mind

[gem] well I should be off to check on the couple -starts flying to the door-

[Slender] Lets her leave before pulling a book out of his jacket pocket-

[Deer] Has shifted into her dragon form and is playing with Yaunfen in the water-

[Doc] Does a graceful roll a little farther out and breaches in a gentle arc, using the air to make it higher before plunging back down-

[Deer] Laughs and nudges Yaunfen to swim a bit more-

[Doc] Does some little zigzags under the water near them. Just keeping an eye out for trouble.

[Yaunfen] Paddles about-

[Endrea] Flies past them over head-

[Doc] Looks up- I wonder where the babies are?

[Deer] - Probably with their uncle, I'm more curious as to where she's going

[Doc] The void hole we covered up is in the ravine over there. But that's it. I doubt she wants to hang out with the villagers over the water.

[Deer] - Odd...

[Yaunfen] Paddles towards the shore-

[Doc] I'll check on her and come right back. Will you two be okay?

[Deer] - Absolutely, besides, I think it's time for a nap

[Doc] On the sand, by our sea, in this lovely morning sunshine perhaps?

[Endrea] Heads down into the ravine and starts scrapping up loose rocks-

[Deer] - Oh absolutely

[Doc] Oh good! -Xe leaps out of the water and chases Endrea. On the other side it doesn't take long for hir to sniff out the bigger dragon and peek down into the ravine. - Endrea? Are you doing okay?

[Endrea] - Need to brood...

[Doc] Oh! I guess the kids are with the sitter?

[Endrea] - Yes- she then lays down, huffing a little-

[Doc] Can I get you anything?

[Endrea] - No, I'll be fine- Already the first egg is emerging

[Doc] How long will it take? Just so I can let the others know.

[Endrea] - A few days at the least- She grunts as the egg pops out

[Doc] Okay. I'll leave you too it. Let me know if you need anything, or if anything unusual hatches. Heh.

[Endrea] - It's always the same every time, twelve eggs, for twelve eyes of ender

[Doc] You never know... I've come to believe anything is possible around here. - grins-

[Doc] Takes a little leap off a cliff by the sea and spins out over the water, dragging a foot to make a huge plume of water. Hir other paw wiggles as xe chats to Deerheart - Gotta make one more stop -

[Deer] - Okay

[Doc] Hits the shore running and vaults over Stevie and Alexises house landing a chunk away with a thump in Lie's yard-

-There's a grumpy looking red cat on the bridge-

[Doc] Stops short. - Uh oh. What did you do?

[[Lie] Walks past the bridge- SOMEBODY left HG out in the real world...  With Jeb...

[Doc] Oh for... well. I guess it's better then leaving him at the manor. And he did want to go.

[Lie] - Still...  He made me mad

[CP] Mews at his wife-

[Doc] I hate to say it - shuffles hir claws a bit in the dirt- But I actually think that's pretty funny. I mean, Jeb is terrified of us. I don't think he'll screw up intentionally. I'm sure he knows Cp would punch his dick so hard he couldn't have a second kid.

[Lie] - Pretty sure he threatened to stab Jeb's dick off

[Doc] See? Besides, who else could we even leave him with? Do you want to be out there for at least two weeks? I don't.

[Lie] - You have a point...

[Doc] I mean, he knew he'd be out for a while right? You guys warned him?

[Lie] - CP didn't give me the chance to

[CP] Is looking a bit smug-

[Doc] You told him it would be painful? Yeah?

[Lie] - Again, a certain someone didn't give me the chance

[Doc] Looks a bit skeptical. - I think one or both of you need to check on his house then.

[Lie] - I will after I take care of my animals

[Doc] Good. And for what it's worth. I don't think this should be a lengthy cat-i-fication. He's done way worse. And he might be needed anyway.

[Lie] Sighs- You're right, I just got pissed at him...

[Doc] He has that effect on people, - winks- and he is a really cute little kitty.

[Lie] - That he is

[CP] Hisses-

[Doc] And so are you.

[Lie] - So, why might he be needed?

[Doc] Endrea went off to lay a clutch of ender eggs. And of course, Slender is still here.

[Lie] - Slender's here?

[CP] Tries to look innocent-

[Doc] He came to take care of Splender. Trust me, the whole thing makes me massively uncomfortable, but the server is holding steady with just some tiny errors in the 2-3 pixel range from his skin. And his waves are making any humans in a 6-8 block radius feel ill.

[Lie] - I see...  I think I'll just keep my distance for the time being

[Doc] I don't blame you, he's a downer anyway. But the Steves, Alexes, and even the villagers have been going down there with food and get well gifts all day.

[Lie] - Well of course, they love Splender, it's amazing that the two are related, they're as different as night and day

[Doc] All of them are, it's almost like someone took a whole personality and split it into several parts.

[Lie] - True, maybe they all were originally one person

[Doc] Or one old God...

[CP] Jumps down and rubs against Lies legs- [Lie] - An old god?

[Doc] why not? I think Cp was the one that told me their strongest Allie is some kind of demon.

[Lie] - They've probably been called that themselves

[Doc] Then who knows? Your world makes the one I'm used too look sane and normal most of the time. Irregardless, even if you want to avoid Slender you should at least send him a note or something. There's a trunk on the shore people have been using as a mailbox all day.

[Lie] - Got it, I'll have to think about what I'll want to say though

[Doc] Take your time, he's gonna be laid up for a few days. And you, make sure you check in on Hg.

[CP] Considers it-

[Doc] gives Cp the hairy eyeball- you get to aggravate Jeb....

[CP] Yowls a little-

[Lie] - I'll let Notch know since Jeb will probably call him

[Doc] Thank you Lie. -gives Cp a tiny lick on the ear- behave...

[CP] Attempts to scratch Doc-

[Doc] Withdraws hir forked tongue with a teeny slurp- naughty. See you guys later, my own little family is waiting on me.

[Doc] Canters back home with a spring in hir step-

[Deer] She and Yaunfen are happily curled up by spawn in the sun-

[Doc] Makes a circle around them as if fluffing up the grass with hir claws and lays down as well, hir body a loop with hir beloved and child protected by the kinked coils of hir golden form. Before long, Xe is also asleep.

[Deer] After a few hours she begins to whimper in her sleep some and shift around far more than usual-

[Doc] Opens an eye at hir mates distress and cradles her head - Shhh, I'm here love.

[Deer] Whimpers and curls up a bit more-

[Yaunfen] Wakes as well and looks at Deer with concern-

[Doc] Huddles closer- Wake up love...

[Deer] Slowly wakes up-

[Doc] Were you having a nightmare?

[Deer] - No...  I think... Ugh, there's some interference nearby...

[Doc] Probably Slender.... It looked like the server was distributing his load pretty well considering. But if he's moving around it might be having some issues.

[Deer] - He's close, not with Splender

[Doc] Periscopes like a snake- looking around-

[Slender] Is in the shade of the tree's near the water-

[Doc] Yeah, he's on the next chunk. Should I get Flux?

[Deer] - What for?

[Doc] Well she has experience, and you said she was teaching you a lot of server maintience stuff? I thought it might help?

[Deer] - Oh, right...  Maybe you should, I don't seem able to think straight right now

[Doc] Tapping in the chat already - Flux? Can you please come to the spawn?

[Flux] - Certainly- Within seconds she has arrived, forming near them- What did you call me for?

[Doc] Server issues actually. Slender is here, and even though the server is holding up underfoot it's still making Deerheart feel scattered. Can you give her a hand?

[Flux] - Absolutely, but perhaps you could convince  him to step a ways away?  It would be helpful

[Doc] Okay... -Xe puts hir head down for Yaunfen- Just hop on -

[Yaunfen] Crawls on- Mada!

[Doc] Smiles- Yep, and you're my baby. - Purrs- Lets go see if we can straighten things out a bit. - trots toward Slender.

[Slender] Noticed their approach and turns towards them- Hello Doctor

[Doc] Hey.... um.... not to be a pill, but I need a little favor....

[Slender] - What would that be?

[Doc] I just need you to move. - Looks at the ground and counts - about twelve blocks that way.

[Slender]- Why so specific?

[Doc] It's kinda complicated. Basically my mate is the embodiment of the server. And you're too close to her physical part. She was napping away from our house to stay out of your interference and then you moved closer to her. So I just need you to back up a bit.

[Slender] - Ah I see, she must be very sensitive then since I am repressing my waves as much as I can

[Doc] She can't not be. She's part of everything around you.

[Slender] - I see- He does begin moving away- I would have stayed with my brother, but he requested a bit of time alone

[Doc] That's okay. I don't mind you exploring. Just give the spawn a wide berth. - Indicates with a paw- The little valley down there with the spooky tree and the gravestones.

[Slender] - Very well, you know, you are quite lucky to have ever even met my Splender

[Doc] Yeah. Cp told me about him, I basically insisted on meeting him. I'm damn glad I did, he's an excellent friend.

[Slender] - That is not what I meant.  Had I not brought him and my other brothers into the realm of the humans, then he would not even be alive

[Doc] Everyone is running from something I suppose. I take it your home... dimension? Isn't a safe place to exist?

[Slender] - If one looks like me, then it is fine, but those born with a face are considered a very large disgrace.  Considering how our family is one of the most distinguished, well, it would have been a blow to how our family was viewed

[Doc] Aw. Well he's found the right pack of kindred souls. We're no strangers to discrimination. To most of the NOTCHs we're all just a pack of filthy glitches, no better then rats. Not to mention those who were spat on for being gay or otherwise outside the norms. Poor Gem was pursued and the world she inhabited destroyed just because she was mistaken for a Herobrine.

`[Slender] - I suppose in a way he has...

[Doc] It's why I'm so hellbent on helping the creepypastas too. They're much the same, ejected from human society or worse, and I just feel like... they're not used to anyone being nice to them... at least nice with no ulterior motives.

[Slender] - I try my best, but they do make it difficult

[Doc] I just keep trying. It makes the triumph all sweeter when they finally come around. I - I don't know where I came from, or if I had an original purpose, but fixing things makes me happy.

[Slender] - I've heard Jeff's complaints over it

[Doc] Wilts a little. - Jeff is hard... I thought I knew what he wanted most and tried to give it to him, but....

[Slender] - Oh you did, but his mind is set into thinking that he doesn't deserve it or that it could be given to him

[Yaunfen] Yawns-

[Doc] Go back to sleep little one, Just curl up between my spirals. I'll keep you safe.

[Slender] - I see they have grown bigger...

[Doc] I hope you're right about Jeff and he'll eventually come around. In the meantime at least Liu has a second chance at life and he's making Smile happy too. And yes, they had a growth spurt. My little one is just a bit too big to pick up in my human shape anymore. It's bittersweet. Soon a few words will become sentances and then, that's when the real fun will begin.

[Slender] - Watching others grow up is bittersweet

[jewel] -approaches the three quietly-

[Doc] It's okay. I can't wait to see what they'll have to say....

[Slender] Senses her- Hello Jewel

[Doc] Brushes her gently with hir tail fluff- Nice to see you Jewel.

[jewel] hello doc and hello slender

[Slender] - Are you well Jewel?

[jewel] yes

[Doc] You seem subdued. Is everything okay?

[jewel] I am fine I and just slightly surprised slender is here and this place isn't messing up

[Slender] - It is not my first time in a digital setting Jewel, I have learned a few tricks in my years

[jewel] I understand

[Doc] Plus we buffered the server when Splender was invited in. BEN and Cp worked really hard on it.

[Slender] - Yes, those two were the best at coding, at least amongst my digital pasta's

[Doc] And Dawn gave Splender a charm to tamp his field down as well.

[Slender] - So he keeps telling us and showing off to us

[Doc] chuckles- I get the feeling he hasn't met many witches.

[Slender] - No, most are not very fond of our kind.  Jewel, have you seen Jeff or Jane?

[Jewel] no but they might be some where around

[Slender] - I know most of you probably felt my arrival, so I am surprised they haven't shown themselves yet...

[Doc] They might have just gone exploring. This world is near infinite in scope. Much bigger then earth.

[Slender] Sighs- I'd like for them to at least check in with me...

[jewel] would you like me to go look for them?

[Doc] I can just send out a message in the chat, no need to go running around.

[Slender] - I do not mind when, so long as it happens while I am still here

[Doc] Wiggles hir claws, typing with one paw. Just a general call for the creepypastas to come over by the koi pond to check in with Slender.

[CP] Over chat- Fuck off

[Doc] Mutters, but it's a loud thought too - Not you ding dong, he know's you're okay. -accidently aloud -Unless you're still a cat?

[Slender] - A cat?

[Doc] Weeeellllll....

[jewel] can't cp's wife turn him into a cat?

[Doc] Yeah... He wouldn't stop murdering people when we brought Lie here... it was a way to contain his worst impulses.

[Slender] - An option not available to me

[Doc] You met TLOT right? The brine with the gold armor?

[Slender] - Yes, he and I had quite the talk while within CP's dream

[Doc] He's had a lot of time for quiet contemplation and honing his powers. He can actually grab someone and squash them into a smaller or completely different shape. He helped me make the body I'm wearing. Actually, he made me a Herobrine too.

[Slender] - Is that how your kind creates more?

[Doc] What do you mean? More brines?

[Slender] - For lack of a better word, reproduce, create more of your kind

[Doc] Oh, no. Herobrines spawn naturally in this game. We're not sure why. Every world gets one Steve. Most worlds will have a Steve and an Alex. She's a bit rarer, and only a small percentage will spawn a Herobrine. And when one is detected, the system will automatically create an AI NOTCH to check the brines powers.

[Slender] - Like the one which my brother helped destroy?

[Doc] Yes. They vary a lot. His original father was a decent NOTCH. But the one they helped kill was a monster. Mad, bloodthirsty and relentless. The admin of their world was ready and willing to delete everyone on it if we didn't agree to kill it for him.

[Slender] - Yes he was very enthusiastic about how he helped with that

[Doc] And rightfully so, it was one hell of a battle. The Testificates were certainly impressed. Did he tell you they added him to their pantheon?

[Slender] Sighs heavily- No, he did not, but I'm sure I'll hear about it once he feels better

[Doc] They have a thing for making statues, but they seem to prefer his image carved into walls. I guess it's too tempting to cover the space with curly knots of tentacles.

[Slender] - Has he seen?

[Doc] Not directly, but it will happen. TLOT likes to go check on them periodically. He just needs to tag along on the next trip.

[Slender] - I see... You said something earlier about being made a brine by another, I'm still somewhat confused by that statement since you also said your kind are a natural spawn

[Doc] Oh, that's because I'm a unique case. I'm a digital entity by nature, but I aquired a glitch when I was injured by a rather aggressive Herobrine. I had a mental breakdown because of some... personal issues... I suddenly developed an ability that I couldn't control and TLOT shared his powers with me to save me. The more powerful Herobrines can give of themselves to create life or sustain it. You met Steve right? TLOT made him.

[Slender] - So almost as a vampyr would create another of its kind, how odd

[Doc] That's more right then you know in his case. His own blood is full of life. He likes to make butterflies out of flowers when he's nervous. Him just breathing on them is enough to bring them to life.

[Slender] - I can see why his followers refer to him as a god then

[Doc] Yes. And the more they believe, the more leverage he has to shift the world. His powers here are immense. They grow with the fevor and number of his followers

[Slender] - Has he made any brines other then you?

[Doc] He made Lie. She was in horrible pain as she got closer to becoming fully digital. He gave her of his power and licked out her eyes.

[Slender] - Licked out?

[Doc] A formality almost, he used his tongue to clean the colored pixels in her eyes from the inside of her player skin. It was a kiss that made Cp rather... annoyed. But his husband Steve will certainly sing the praises of TLOT's expertise in that area.

[Slender] - I'm surprised he did not try to attack the golden brine for that...

[Doc] He was rather worn out at the time, I'd just fixed his respawn and cleaned all the junk files out of his system, he'd puked. And right after that I cut off his hand in the process of removing Insanity, he was a bit too weak to do much more then growl.

[Slender] - Ah, yes she was far from happy about that

[Doc] Too bad, as soon as Cps head was cleared of Insanity he and I were in perfect agreement. He likes Lie just how she is. Kind. And becoming a brine has its own attendant special powers as well.

[Slender] - How so?

[Doc] We usually develop special abilities that fit our personalities. Lie can make magick plants, I think because TLOT changed her, she got a bit of his ability to give life.

[Slender] - Is plants all she can create?

[Doc] Heh, you say that like its a small thing. Her greatest work took a house sized bite out of a NOTCH with a gigantic pod full of venomous teeth.

[Slender] - How interesting...  But surely the lack of diversity in her abilities leaves her weak in many other ares

[Doc] She's also psychic and she can teleport. She can turn into a cat as well.  He cuteness level is very persuasive

[Slender] - As can her mate, but there is nothing else unique to her?

[Doc] She carries a cleansing white fire that can burn Insanity out of a person.

[Slender] - Ah yes, I do seem to recall seeing that when she and I met on the witches beach

[Doc] She's young anyway, still learning. She'll probably figure out how to fly at least. Most brines can.

[Slender] - A trick CP uses often to avoid the others since the ceilings in my home are so tall

[Doc] It's handy for that. I cheated my way around it. I determined that the empty space is still enough of a part of the grid that I can use the air blocks. Zero is still a number, after all.

[Slender] - I, do not understand what you mean by that

[Doc] This world is a three dimensional grid and gravity only affects certain types of blocks. So if I do this- places a dirt block and then another on top- and I take this one away- knocks out the underneath one and the top one stays floating-  then this one is fixed and I can jump on it all I want and not fall- presses the block from above and to the side- so if I want to go up, I place my feet where a block would go and just climb up like its solid stairs-

[Slender] - This would certainly explain some of the pranks CP was able to pull off...

[Doc] oh do tell!

[Slender] - He's managed to place tree's that touched the ceiling but not the floor, random blocks just right at head height for the others to run into if they're not paying attention...  He's gotten BEN with walls of water outside of his door many times

[Mix] -in chat- I'm gonna hop out for a bit to check on something if its alright Doc?

[Doc] also chat- Aww. Mix, you don't have to ask permission. But if you want to come over here first I'll send you off with a bit of code so you can contact me if you get in trouble out there.

[Doc] That sounds about right, we are tricksters by nature, and this games strange physics just make it easier. Good example. One plus one is two, correct? Unless it's water, then one plus one can equal infinity. Two buckets of water arranged in the right way can be drawn from indefinitely.

[Slender] - That would also explain why it's sometimes impossible to empty the giant bath...

[Doc] Most likely. The dev team put in a sponge block specifically for cleaning up Griefer-created water messes.

[Slender] His face seems to shift a little as if he is annoyed-

[Doc] Something amiss?

[Slender] - My other brother's, they are near constantly contacting me to check in on Splender

[Doc] Awww, it's nice to know they care. Is Splender the youngest brother?

[Slender] - Yes, he is

[Slender] Rater suddenly and loudly- Offender no!

[Doc] No pants again?

[Slender] Groans- No, he's currently watching Splender's pet and has gotten bored of poking it, so he wants to put it in clothes now...

[Mix] -In chat- I'll stop in a sec, gotta grab my bag

[Doc] Poor Pinwheel. I have the anti venom, if he wants to pass her back here.

[Slender] - I cannot open a way

[Doc] Oh, I might be able too. Where is he specifically? Can you get him to go in the living room? I know that space decently well. And I can use the tv.

[Slender] - If you're certain...

[Doc] She already hates everyone and I don't want to make it any worse a situation. Besides, there's a chance she's spent her venom for the day biting Offender.

[Slender] - Very well, give me a few moments

[Doc] Let me take care of Mix real quick first. - Xe pulls a book from the creative and starts adding a bit of code to it.

[Mix] -Trudges up, eyeing Slender a bit, shes got her bag and her elytra on- Hey! Sorry it took a bit

[Doc] No problem, it gave me a minute to fix this for you- Offers the book. - Just write 'Doc' and then whatever you need to say and it will email me and ping my carrot phone.

[Mix] -Takes it- Just that? Alright -Stuffs it into her bag-

[Doc] Be careful out there and let me know if you need help okay?

[Mix] I will, don't worry! Be back,, soonish? -she gets a thoughtful look before shrugging and turning. She takes a few steps and hops, with a swift glow and snapping sound she's gone from the server. She's out. Bye Felica n' stuff-

- / player Mixminer has left the server /-

[Slender] - Offender is ready

[Doc] Okay, just give me a sec... - Doc would take a running start, but Yaunfen is sleeping soundly on hir shoulders. Hir eyes narrow with concentration and xe suddenly slams hir head forward as if headbutting a wall. The opening is ragged, crackling, and won't hold for long, but it is there.

[Offender] Is standing there buck naked with his hands on his hips and pinwheel in his tendrils over his crotch- TADA!

[Slender] - OFFENDER!

[Offender] Cackles-

[Doc] Please, please tell me you didn't fuck her?! She's only a baby!

[Offender] - Nah, I'd never do that to Splender's pet

[Doc] Thank goodness... Just kinda, set her on the grass please.

[Offender] Puts her down while Slender mutters over his brother's inappropriateness-

[Pinwheel] Slinks back into the server, going back into a lower resolution-

[Doc] She's not really a pet anyway. When she's grown theres a strong chance she'll have human-level intelligence.

[Slender] - Yes well that's how Splender views her currently...

[Pinwheel] Hisses and growls a little-

[Doc] I think it's an issue with her behavior. He'll likely feel different when she's learned a few words. -At Pinwheel- It's okay, you're safe.

[Pinwheel] Snaps at Doc-

[Doc] Scoots back a bit. - How about... some nibbles? I know, maybe a challenge?

[Pinwheel] Curls up a little-

[Offender] - Hey, where's Splender?

[Slender] - He wished to be alone

[Doc] Puts a small circle of half-slabs around them and pulls out a teeny egg before tapping it lightly near Pinwheel. - Want a mouse? - the little creature goes scurrying along the edge of the slabs.

[Pinwheel] Focus' on it immediately-

[Doc] Maybe more then one? Multitask a bit. - Taps out two more and they scrurry around randomly-

[Pinwheel] Stands up a little, eyes dialating-

[Doc] That's more like it. She just needs a bit of playtime. Her strikes are so fast they're a bit hard to follow.

[Pinwheel] Strikes out at one of the mice in a blur-

[Mouse] Pops with a tiny squeak into a morsel.

[Other two mice] scatter in a panicky way.

[Pinwheel] Chases after them-

[Doc] Is just watching with a happy expression.

[Offender] - I think I'll check on Splendy myself!

[Slender] - YOU WILL NOT!  YOU KNOW THAT HAVING TWO OF US HERE IS A DANGER ENOUGH AND I WILL NOT HAVE YOU RUNNING AROUND HERE NUDE!

[Offender] - Oh come on!

[Doc] Yeah, please don't. You guys can, switch out later if need be.

[Slender] - You are more than welcome to close the portal...

[Offender] - Awwww...

[Doc] Anything you want passed on?

[Offender] - Nah, if I think of anything I'll tell bro here

[Doc] Later then! - Closes the portal. - I swear if he didn't have such a messed up idea of consent, him and TLOT would be best friends forever.

[Slender] - In a small way he does, his victims have to accept his rose in order for him to have his way with them.  I imposed that rule a very long time ago

[Doc] Is obviously uncomfortable- I prefer more then that. And TLOT nearly ruined the best thing that ever happened to him by taking advantage of someone sexually without their permission. He still regrets it.

[Slender] - It's the best I could do considering his feeding habits

[Doc] I gathered as much. But apart from that, nothing wrong with being naked. My mate does it quite freqently. She's just comfy that way.

[Slender] - It gets annoying after a few millennia

[Pinwheel] Kills the second mouse-

[Doc] Pfft. I guess it's different when it's someone you like seeing naked too... Aw, not gonna eat the prize at least Pinwheel?

[Pinwheel] Chases after the third-

[Doc] She's gonna so deadly when she's bigger...

[Slender] - Especially with that venom of hers...

[Doc] Curls into a more comfortable loaf and puts hir tail fluff over Yaunfen like a blanket. - I hope she gets big enough to give Splendor rides, I can only imagine how thrilled he'd be.

[Slender] - If she'll let him on her

[Doc] Considering how lovingly he's taken care of her despite her biting him all the time... I'd be suprised if she was unwilling.

[Slender] - Yes, he's been talking about her non-stop

[Doc] It's hard not to get excited. We all did so much travelling in dangerous places to rescue the eggs we brought in. And then I set them up so they could be hatched by being walked in peoples inventories, so that was more time and effort.  And it takes a long time for them to mature to the talking phase too. My little one was the last to hatch.

[Yaunfen] Sleep talking- Burp...

[Doc] Snickers- Such a silly word. But it was their first.

[Slender] - Well, I should return to my brother, would you like me to take Pinwheel?

[Doc] No, it's okay. Unless you think Splender is well enough to watch her; let her have her fun with that last mouse.

[Slender] - Very well, let me know if you need help with her however

[Doc] I will, thanks.

[Gk] Notices that the little dragons are all bloody from stalking the local wildlife. - We should go over to the desert area for a bit, I think. Take a breather. Follow me.

[Ashe] - The desert?  Why?

[Gk] Because I can't wash you little guys.

[Ashe] - Oh...  Uncle GG?  When do I get to learn to fly?

[Gk] Hmm? We can practice that today. The desert is also a good place for that. Sand is nice to land on if you faceplant.

[Ashe] - Okay!- His tail is wagging around in excitement

[willow] -jumps to get on gk's back-

[Gk] Clops down from the narrow cobble road into the warm sand- ahhh, okay, you guys roll around and it'll get some of that blood off. Flap your wings like me- Lays down and fluffs sand everywhere like a sparrow taking a dust bath.

[Ashe] Sneezes from some sand getting in his nose-

[oak] -sneezes and flops on to his back-

[Ashe] Tries wiggling in the sand-

[Gk] Fluffs even more sand since they seem to need help-

[willow] -jumps off of gk's back into the sand and start kick some up to make a hole then jump into stick her head out of it-

[Gk] If nothing it feels good! - Gets up and shakes off. - You ready to strech those wings a bit?

[Ashe] - Yeah!  Yeah!

[Gk] Okay. Since we don't want to leave Willow and Oak alone, you're just gonna stay low to the ground. Copy my movements and then we'll try- makes a show of flexing his wings in the right postures slowly so Ashe can see.

[Ashe] Tries mimicking the motions-

[oak] -tries to squeeze into willow's hole with her-

[Gk] Does it a few more times, correcting Ashe gently and repositioning his little wings.

[Ashe] Flaps a bit-

[Gk] okay, now I wan you to run and flap just like that. Don't strain yourself, just get an idea how the wind moves over and under your wings.

[Ashe] - Okay!  Starts running and flapping-

[Gk] Is keeping an eye on all three babies. At Willow and Oak- Haha, you two comfy in there? Like two silverfish in a block.

[Ashe] Squeaks in surprise as he accidentally gets a bit of lift and tumbles into the sand- Oof!

[willow] -tries to get out from under oak making a little squeak as she pops free-

[Gk] Whoops! Well at least you know you're doing it right kid!

[Ashe] Stands up looking determined- I'm gonna do it!

[Gk] Keep going then! Just don't go up! Try to stay around 5 blocks or lower to the ground. And don't go out over the water either!

[Ashe] - Okay!

[Ashe] Continues running and flapping, but only getting airborne for a few seconds at a time-

[willow] -make a second hole next to the one oak has clamed and settles into it-

[Gk] Stops him for a minute to adjust his movements - Try it like that!

[Ashe] Tries some more, staying up a bit longer- This is hard!

[Gk] It's only because your muscles aren't used to the movement! And when you get up high you can glide, but I don't want you to fall while you're still learning.

[Ashe] - Okay...

[oak and willow] -have another growth spurt and are now to big for there holes only there back feet are in them-

[Ashe] - UNCLE GG LOOK!

[oak] -runs over to ashe and gk with willow close behind-

[Gk] Heeeeey! Check you kids out!

[willow] look I am scary rawr

[Ashe] - Willow!

[Gk] And a full sentance! Your mom is gonna flip!

[oak] -plops his head on top of ashe's- big brother ashe -nuzzles him-

[Ashe] - Yes Oak?

[oak] you are my big brother best big brother

[Gk] Is beaming he's so proud.

[Ashe] - Uncle GG!  Can we go show mama?

[Gk] I guess we could? But we should walk to be safe. The bridge is a long way and over water.

[Ashe] - The scary water bridge?

[willow] yay let see mama

[Gk] Yeah. It's safe. Just no horseplay allowed.

[oak] -is bouncing- yes mama lets go to mama

[Gk] Leads them out of the desert and around the little bay.

[Mb] Is sitting outside the little building he's claimed and watches them go by curiously.

[Celine] Stops playing in the grass to squeak at them-

[Ashe] Excitedly bounces around GK- Mama's gonna be so happy!

[oak] -bounces after ashe-

[Gk] Trots down the hill and stops at the foot of the bridge- Okay, this is it. Stay in the middle of the path and I'll take the rear. - He folds his wings over the little ones so his tendrils brush the raised walls on both sides.

[Testificates] Watch them a bit nervously from the walls of the village that floats below the bridge.

[Ashe] Huddles close to GK- There's so much water...

[willow] -looks at the village- rawr

[Gk] Don't look at it. Just walk straight forward-

[Testificates] Some jump, a little startled-

[oak] -walks slowly down the middle of the bridge-

[Ashe] - Willow come on- He keeps bumping into GK's leg

[Gk] just uses his wings to shelter them and nudge them along.

[willow] -walks quickly down the middle of the bridge-

[Ashe] Spots the small island checkpoint near the end and races for it-

[willow] -tries to race ashe to it-

[Gk] No running!

[Ashe] Huddles in the small building there-

[Gk] It's just a teeny bit farther Ashe.

[Ashe] - Okay...

[willow] I am going to get there first -keeps going over the bridge-

[oak] wait for me willow -follows after-

[Ashe] Cautiously follows-

[Gk] Looks up the hill - We're going up there. It's an easy climb, but again don't run, there's a big gap in the ground with a long fall up there.

[Ashe] - Okay, Willow?  Oak?  Stay close

[willow] ok big brother

[oak] -is right behind ashe- I am close

[Gk] Gets to the summit and looks down at them. -You stay right here, I'm just going to holler down - Creeps over to the edge- Hey Endrea?

[Endrea] Is exhausted having only just finished laying her eggs- GG?

[Gk] I come bearing good news! Can we come down?

[Endrea] - What is it?  And yes, you may- She protectively curls around the twelve jet black eggs she just laid

[Gk] Okay give me a sec. - Turns back to the babies- You guys climb on me, I'll just fly down-

[Ashe] - Okay Uncle GG!

[willow] ride -climbs on to gk-

[oak] -follows after his sister-

[Gk] Wiggles his wing tentacles and floats softly up and then down into the ravine like a gently deflating balloon before landing with a click of hooves on stone.

[Endrea] Gives off a pleased hum at the sight of her children-

[GK] Stoops so they can get down-

[willow] -jumps off and runs to endrea- mama yay we came to see you

[oak] -slowly climbs down and follows- yay mama is here

[Endrea] Perks up a little- You're speaking more, and you grew!

[Ashe] - Mama!  Uncle GG gave me flying lessons!

[Gk] Told ya. Ashe pulled off some gliding in the desert too.

[willow] I am big and scary now rawr

[Endrea] - Yes you are my little one

[oak] I am cute but bigger more cute to love

[Endrea] - Yes indeed, and Ashe, I'm proud of you

[Gk] And they were all so brave, they walked the whole length of the bridge to see you.

[Endrea] - Brave indeed- She sniffs the air a little- I smell clouds...

[willow] I made it to the other side first

[Gk] That's bad... You kids step back. Uncle GG's gonna show off a little bit...

[Endrea] Lifts her wing for her children-

[willow] -runs under endrea's wings-

[oak] -runs under as well-

[Ashe] Joins his siblings-

[Gk] Turns to the nearest wall and sucks in a massive amount of air. He blows it back out with a roar of nearly blue flames, cooking the stone wall and turning it first to magma blocks, then lava, and making a huge dark hole lined with obsidian.

[Ashe] - Cool!

[Endrea] Sniffs at her children- GG...  Why are my children covered in blood and sand?

[Gk] coughs a little- we went hunting... and then took a sand bath. I can't lick the little buggers clean like you. Got too much spit.

[Endrea] Sighs and starts cleaning them-

[Gk] Don't do that now! Let em come in here before it starts raining!

[willow] evil rain

[Endrea] Nudges her children towards the hole- Go on, get in there

[Ashe] Hurries in-

[willow] -hops into the hole- rawr rain fear me and run

[oak] -goes into the hole as well and goes to the back-

[Gk] Also goes in. The walls are nicely warm and he loafs with his wings open in case the kids want to snuggle under them-

[Endrea] Stays with her eggs-

[oak] -flops under gk's wings-

[willow] -keep rawring at the sky and rain-

-It slowly begins to drizzle-

[Gk] Admit it. You don't mind them being close. Even with the new enders due.

[Endrea] Grumbles a little- I'm mostly just exhausted right now, laying twelve eggs is hard

[Gk] I can imagine. I've had plenty of bowel disturbances with all the garbage I ate in my homeless days...

[Endrea] - Well at least you have a home now

[Ashe] - Mama you're getting a bit wet!

[Gk] Yeah. - Looks fondly at the little dragons. - Times got better.

[willow] rawr rain get away from mama

[Gk] It's okay kiddo's, your mama's tougher then diamonds.

[Endrea] - I'll be fine little ones, when you get all grown up then you can handle some water

[Gk] Good thing too with how much it storms around here...

[willow] but the rain must be scared I will get it to go away. RAWR!

[Endrea] - The rain is to far away to hear you Willow

[Gk] Oh! I'm a dumbasss...!

[willow] how do I get the rain to hear me from here

[Endrea] - What is it GG?

[Ashe] - When you can fly Willow

[Gk] I know how to make it stop raining!

[willow] I want to fly now so I can scared the rain

[Endrea] - You need to be bigger Willow

[willow] aw

[Gk] in chat- Hey Deerheart? Can you turn off the waterworks on the chunk at the end of the bridge near Sunakagure?

[Deer] - Huh?  Oh yes, may I ask why?

[Gk] The baby dragons are hiding from the rain and Endrea's getting drizzled on cause she can't move at the moment.

[Deer] - Oh absolutely!- After a moment the rain stops

[Gk] Looks proud of himself- See Willow, you just gotta have friends in the right places. Important lesson!

[willow] the rain is gone did the friend scare the rain away

[Endrea] Checks on her eggs-

[Ashe] - Mama what are you doing?

[Endrea] - I'm checking on my eggs

[Gk] Close enough. Deerheart made it stop.

[willow] whoa

[oak] -has fallen asleep under gk's wing-

[Ashe] - Eggs like ours?

[Endrea] - No, endermen eggs

[Gk] You know, like Enderbro.

[Ashe] - Oh!  Is that where they come from?

[Endrea] - Well, at least mine do

[Endrea] - You might as well stay here for now, it's safe.  After all, who would attack a nest full of dragons?

[Gk] Fluffs up - And one of them a Herobrine. No one would dare-

[Endrea] Giggles a little before laying down with a huff-

[willow] if anyone attacks I will stop them they will fear me

[Endrea] - You will sleep like your brother, I already know that

[willow] they wouldn't dare try to come near when I sleep because they have no chance because if they wake me up no mercy I will attack them

[Endrea] - Yes yes my little fierce one. now sleep, mama will watch over you

[willow] -walks over to oak and plops down next to him and falls asleep-

[Endrea] Reaches over and nudges Ashe towards them too- You too Ashe

[Gk] Come on, it's nap time. - He wiggles down against the ground and focuses on being warm for them so they'll get sleepy-

[Ashe] Yawns- I'll watch over Oak and Willow

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 6

It was so damn hard to not write Lorcan instead of Lory and vice versa. You know you’re tired when you write cock instead of cook.

“Just like our eyes, our hearts have a way of adjusting to the dark”

Elorcan Werewolf Part 6

Lory didn’t come back. No matter how many times she left raw meat out in the woods or called his name. No one responded to the have-you-seen-this-dog posters she dutifully taped on tree trunks, listing rewards she’d scour from her trust funds. The animal control couldn’t find him, and found no traces of a large-sized dog or wolf in the woods. There was no sighting in the inner cities either.

Lory was gone without a trace, as if he were a ghostly whisper whose secret existence only Elide knew.

Elide mourned him, and even held a funeral for him, placing all his collars in formation around a patch of grass he often frequented, moodily staring into the forest as if cursing the restraints on his body.

Only the pink collar was gone, leaving a foul aftertaste in her mouth: never had before Elain so despised a color, and demonstrated her pettiness by refusing to wear anything of that hue.

On her third night of eating rocky road ice cream and staring blearily at her papers, Manon and Aelin burst through her door without warning. Elide popped off the the chair, hand snaking out to reach for a spare dagger. Seeing it was only her Alpha and Beta, she placed a hand over her heart and managed a glare at them.

The frown had easily been swept away as she took in her friends’ appearances. In Manon’s arms, a grocery bag of chocolate covered strawberries winked at her. In Aelin’s own hands, shopping bags of dresses and short skirts filled the very top to bottom.

“I can’t have my favorite healer down.” Aelin breezed through her living room, pulling aside her curtains and tossing all her tissues into the waste bin. After a heartbeat and cocking her head, she amended, “Well maybe Sorscha as well.”

“We have this day all to ourselves,” added Manon. “The Thirteen are in command for twenty four hours.” She stalked through the threshold, inspecting her cottage, and noting the lack of pictures adorning her tables and walls.

Elide reached for a strawberry, but Manon slapped her wrist and ushered her to her bedroom. Her friends tutted in distaste at the simple designs; Aelin nearly threw a fit when she saw her gray-lined bedroom.

“How can you live like this?” Aelin tugged her fire-gold strands of hair, surveying Elide’s simplistic room. Elide watched as Aelin tear through her dresser, clucking her tongue with an almost revulsion reserved for her utmost disappointment. Manon, however, sniffed the air, and flocked to the window, her spine stiff.

Elide played with the hem of her shirt. She’d also stared out that window, wondering where Lory had gone, and why he decided to not return, to abandon her. She had offered him a steady hearth and affection, pieces of her heart, and glimpses into her past.

Emptiness tugged at the corner of her heart. She didn’t need glamour when she had Lory’s presence. There was a soothing quality to his presence that didn’t need to speak volumes from the human tongue. The mere steady and silent exposure to an animal with no ill intent towards her, in which he’d lick her palm and twitch those ears, stare at her, as if she were the only human in the world—

Aelin flopped onto Elide’s bed in defeat. “The only option I see is getting laid.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Shopping and eating won’t cut it. You need physical contact.”

Elide shook her head, and stood next to Manon. The Beta’s eyes fixed on the path of grass where the collars sat in heart formation, mocking Lory’s absence. She imagined Lory curled up on the grassy plains, his hind legs bent in restlessness, and those dark, dark eyes following her shape as she did her yoga exercises, watching the Sun gallantly spiral into the vast sky.

Her heart warmed as she studied the two females in her room. One herself blazed with fierce mortality and sheer determination, the other a honed icicle and ironstone. They were two sides of the same coin, and if Elide wished, she could flip them into the air at her command.

Manon surreptitiously sniffed the air again. “Dog,” she hissed.

Elide nodded in confirmation. She’d always thought herself a cat lady, but there was something different about Lory other than his moodiness and his steely demeanor that seemed to simply see more than she did. The way his eyes would flicker with deeper intellect, and the powerful muscles rippling across his back as he stalked around her house as if he owned every inch. The way that nose would twitch in aversion when another male neared her, and a deep growl would thunder from the base of his throat—

It was almost as if her were her guardian angel. Her watchdog.

Elide pinched her arm. Dear Hellas, she really was hung over a dog, an animal that most likely found another warm home with another owner who would treat him with care every second—

Why was she so damned jealous?

Aelin joined them at the windowpane, and laid a hand against Manon. “Speak,” she ordered, and Elide recognized the Alpha command, one she rarely used.

“If my senses aren’t deceiving me, just a mere dog wasn’t here.”

“Your senses don’t lie.” Aelin crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“I detect a Lycan. Not a full-blooded one, mind you, but a wisp of a male that has Lycan blood running through his veins.”

Elide’s veins turned to ash. “No,” she said.

Wolf, Nox had said, and she’d dismissed him. What did a human know about dogs and wolves?

“Lory’s just a wolf. Or a large dog,” she blurted, and leaned back as Manon towered over her.

Aelin dragged Elide to her bed as Manon flipped her white-ash hair over a shoulder. “Tell us about this Lory,” she hummed.

Elide decided she did not like the glint in Manon’s eyes.

Lorcan was in deep shit. Deep, unrelenting shit. He had returned to the cadre, his bones cracking in protest, hair tousled and grim coating the exposed inches of skin, and sweat running down his neck in rivulets. He could feel his wolf thrashing inside of him, craving any type of release that didn’t involve a dead body, but utter dominance.

His wolf needed to claim his lovely, sweet, vixen of a mate, and Lorcan had forbade that.

His wolf needed to at least dominate a female, a poor attempt to loosen the edge of feralness that chipped away at him. Only his mate could fully quell him, but his mate did not want anything to do with him. A part of him disagreed, that the rules of nature and raw hand of fate had paired them together, but if his pure mate did not want him, then he would not object.

Because he was bound by blood and the fallen. Could his mate look past the hands that had snapped the necks of even the children? Could his mate accept his dark-woven future and calling for bleak death? Could his mate tolerate his penchant for starkness, the life of a spartan?

Fenrhys let out a low chuckle as Lorcan stalked through the entrance, his body shuddering in pain. His wolf was a monster inside of him, and it took his entire willpower to turn away the demands of intimacy. He would not touch another female unless his mate permitted him.

His wolf cursed Lorcan’s decision, roaring in protest. Both savage and pathetic, every Lycan’s wolf side needed a gentle hand in their life, and over the years, that softness expressed itself in watching submission, and Lycans resorting to casual sex.

It was another reason for his mate to hate him, he supposed. He could sense the innocence radiating from his mate, and while that made him and his wolf beyond ecstatic, a small part of him had wished that mate wouldn’t be so pure—so that he could also have a reason to hate her.

And in the hatred, they could find themselves back to each other, easier. Pain was the easiest emotion to deal with, the easiest feeling to manipulate. Words and the heart intertwined so deeply, all he could do is lie and break a strong psychological mindset.

But disgust had to be earned. Something had to go a little wrong, a little awry. A stone had to be overturned to reveal the dirt underneath rather than the smooth, cool surface. His history was no secret, his path as a warrior, as the cadre’s gamma, or first general. The tales of his executions and interrogations were no sight for his mate, a young girl who delighted in clean, savory truths. His rock had been tossed into the swamps to rot and he had emerged as the victor. Unscathed, but internally scarred.

He was not the male for her, and he cursed the Moon Goddess for this pairing. He had waited eons for the notion of love, and had waited for another broken soul who had wrecked havoc upon others—so they could share this pain in empathy. But the hand of nature had given him someone who could mend him, and that was something Lorcan knew he didn’t deserve. He could break his mate’s neck without so much as a blink, and ruin that soft skin and fill it with scars and blemishes. He could crush her with a single blow, and this precious, delicate creature that was Elide Lochan deserved more in life than a murderer.

Fenrhys laughed under his breath, watching Lorcan make way to his room. “She’s got you more whipped than Maeve.”

Maeve, their past Alpha Queen who had haunted his nightmares still. 

Now the only nightmare consisted of his mate’s rejection.

He could feel the ebbing of his darkness receding with his wolf’s ferality. Soon his own body would fade away into a weak waste of flesh if he and his wolf did not see eye to eye. If a Lycan’s human and wolf side did not live in harmony, the body would fail, and Lorcan had never once imagined himself in this scenario. The things his mate caused him without knowing—Elide Lochan would be his downfall.

He could only snap his teeth at Fenrhys and stagger towards his room, promising to wring the Fenrhy’s neck later.

His wolf called for Elide; to be simply near her would be enough to quell him for a week—months even.

But Lorcan refused to run the risk of claiming her outright. It was the rare case that his wolf overtook his body completely, pouring his intentions and will into every muscle and tendon. And the mere mention of his mate was enough for him cross the line into where the true feral lurked.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. His mate made him more dangerous. He had no control of these matters of pure emotion coursing down him, making each step unbearable. His wolf demanded release and claiming and binding, and Lorcan slammed down on his will just as hard.

He had slaughtered armies. He would not allow the picture of his mate be his undoing. But that was her purpose, perhaps. To bring a Lycan to his knees. It would not be the first time in history such scheme had been done, and with all the misery Lorcan had caused, he wouldn’t expect anything less.

But sweet, sweet Elide—he didn’t believe she could harm a fly. She’d guide the insects that dared to breach her house out. She cooed and soothed. She was his angel. She was soft and gentle. She was everything he wasn’t.

“Lorcan,” Gavriel said.

He realized that he’d been leaning against a marble column, his entire posture tense.

“I’ll call Essar,” was all Gavriel said, before he disappeared down the hallway. A tang of gratitude swept down Lorcan that his friend did not help him limp back towards his room full of darkness.

Even Essar, the doe-eyed female, would not bother him there.

No one would bother a killer in his natural habitat.

His wolf was angered, and Lorcan did not bother to acknowledge the walls that were crumbling around him. He did not want Essar. He did not want a female who believed to see more in him, and wanted to change him. He did not want a casual fuck.

He wanted Elide Lochan.

And he would endure this pain of his body wasting away if it meant he could finally stay true to her. It was his penance, and he supposed he should thank the Moon Goddess for this chance.

“Bullshit.” Manon had walked back to the window, staring at the collars. “Although the scent is there, I refuse to believe that a male who is older than me and has killed more than me and seen more betrayals than me—will wear those pieces willing. And pink, much less.”

Aelin flung a hand over her heart. “You know, the names Lory and Lorcan are too similar too ignore. But the fact that a Lycan would willingly degrade himself for his mate—” Her Alpha let out a bitter, low chuckle.

Elide trembled, wrapping a blanket around herself. “Lory’s not Lorcan, Manon. Aelin, please.” She pleaded with them. “My mate doesn’t love me anymore than those girls he’s touched.”

She refused to believe this. Yet it explained so much, of why she was pining over a creature of the forest. It explained the comfort a four-legged creature could provide more than Aelin and Manon combined could bring her. It explained why she could trust him with stories of Morath, and why she needed to be around him constantly, checking up on him as much as he checked up on her. The way Lory looked at her—no animal would carry such tenderness in those eyes that had usually stared at everything in such solemn misery.

“You know, Rowan really has to pick up his game.” Aelin shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in wolf form, much less having a collar wrapped around that pretty neck. And we’re talking about a male who has probably has Death bowing to him. Pink, Elide? What were you thinking? That’s probably what scared him off.”

Elide bit her lip. “Did I mention that he ran off on a full moon?”

Manon’s head whipped around. She cocked her head in a way that was surely predatory, those eyes calculating. “You did not feel him cheating in anyway?”

She shook her head. “None. The mate bond doesn’t lie, and he’s actually kept...it...to himself.”

Aelin nodded to herself with grim certainty. “I really need to find a new mate.”

Manon clapped her hands. “Great. We have a female who doesn’t trust her male, and a male who’s pining after his female with one foot in the grave.” Her head swiveled towards Aelin. “Would Rowan tell you if Lorcan decided to visit Elide on a whim?”

The Alpha tossed her hands up in the air. “I think males blame females for bipolar syndrome because they displayed the traits in the first place. Who knows? One moment he’s sucking up to me, the next he’s the coldest floating piece of ice in Antarctica.”

Manon crossed over the room, her eyes dark. “Enough. I’ve done with you both fawning over your mates—” she dismissed Aelin with a bold flick of her nails, and turned towards Elide “—another reason we have come here is because we are holding a ball, and I think it would do you well to come. Leave your studies and moping for another day. Live one night, and see who you were before you met your mate.” She briefly glanced at Aelin. “And you as well.”

Aelin let out a harsh laugh and fell onto the bed. “Stars above. What have we come to, Elide?”

Elide cradled her pillow, imagining it as Lory. “Love. It does the worst to us. Doesn’t it?”

Aelin chose to move up the ball’s date by a week, so the Pack House was a flurry of commotion, silk and lace flying through the hallways. Perfumes and delicacies crammed in every corner, bouquets of every kind of flower floating in the breeze and fluttering around the curtains, which had been elegantly thrown open to allow the rays of sun and night pour into the sweeping ballroom. The crystal chandelier had been polished, with gold ornaments and statues gleaming at every facet. Soft streams of music swept away the blinding lights, the pleasantries of kisses and hugs exchanged as servants poured in, arms full of arrays of all kinds.

Aelin had called in every favor, demanding an all-out production. Ancient wine and bottles of drinks beyond Elide’s knowledge were brought out and displayed. Trinkling windpipes and glistening harps of all sizes were situated on pedestals, a grand piano arcing the center. Layers of cakes were seized into the kitchen, and a flurry of cooks flooded the hallways, arms full of batter and butter.

Elide watched, captivated by all the commotion. Until she saw a flower girl and a servant boy exchanging a sloppy, but passionate kiss in the gardens. When they pulled away, still in each other’s embraces, their faces were flushed red, but happy nonetheless.

Elide turned away.

The cadre had been invited. To not would have been a public insult and as good as a declaration of war. Aelin had flourished her arms out, declaring that shit was mostly to go down, and ordered an extra shift of guards to loiter in the hallways, and blend among the shadows. Elide had fled to her old room in anticipation, wondering how she’d confront Lorcan.

Thank you for protecting me as a wolf? Not putting up a fuss for wearing the collars? Watching me dress and shower? Did you get tired of my body—is that why you left?

As the sun set, and the moon rose, Elide couldn’t help the trepidation that pumped through every vein. It didn’t matter if Lorcan showed up with another girl or two notched up in his arms. She just had to see him.

The first trickle of guests streamed in, Aelin and Manon greeting each arrival with a curt nod and quick smile in customary tradition. Elide had smoothed the soft fabric of her skirts down, twirling a strand string of black around her finger.

She wanted Lorcan to know that she wasn’t afraid of death. She was a werewolf, and she also had bled from silver, had been held hostage in the Morath pack. She knew death and death knew her. Elide had often found herself on the brink of death, poison and morphine pumping through every vein of her scrawny body. The scars on her ankle was a reminder of the memories, locked up. The lashes of the whip were no stranger to her, and the stinging had always been her silent friend. The cold loneliness that had swept through her as she had crawled because her ankle had failed her, her Uncle—Alpha—Vernon failing her in worse ways. Morath had taught her that family was not blood. Family was trust, and trust was earned. She had learned that the world was not her oyster.

The world was clever and cruel, but it was also colorful, and if she could chose to live it so that she could be content not any seeking revenge, then she could rise above the pain. She would not Morath break her.

Because one day she would bring Morath down.

Elide didn’t believe that monsters were born. Monsters were cultivated and grown from the vices of humanity, something the Were were not exempt from either. And as Elide looked down at the crowds of entering people, she had an inkling of a feeling that Lorcan would not come. And as the clock chimed away minutes that transformed to hours, she knew her suspicions were right.

She didn’t think one individual, much less a male, could affect her this way. Manon had been wrong when she’d said that mates were a bedtime story. A mate was a thorn in her side, and she cursed the mate bond as a shrapnel of pain digging into her mind, a throbbing that beat louder with each breath. Something was off, and the mate bond flared between her, pulsing in her head. She could feel a gentle caressing down her side, and an almost frenzied despair flashing down.

Aelin was instantly at her side, half-carrying and half-guiding her to the infirmary. She pressed a palm against her forehead, and Elide moaned in pain.

“She’s burning up,” Aelin whispered to someone, who slammed a dagger into the table in frustration. Manon.

“Is he cheating on you?” Manon demanded, her voice near guttural. Her tapping of her nails against the steel table drove Elide further to an edge. There was something wrong—not by fault, but by nature. There was a wedge cleaving between her mate, but not between them. A struggle between man and wolf, a fight that always ended in bloodshed.

The Prince Rowan Whitethorn burst through the door, his face ashen. He further paled as Manon whipped out her favorite blade, Wind Cleaver, that promised death. Aelin merely sat at the foot of the bed in which Elide laid, sweat pouring down her forehead. She tried to bow, but Aelin was having none of it, using her Alpha command to order Elide to sit and rest.

“How dare you,” Aelin snarled, turning to her mate with livid anger. “Have the audacity to not show up, and flaunt yourself in now?”

Rowan shook his head, and slowly lifted his palms into the air. Elide could have sworn his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is beyond me.” His eyes cut to Elide, and Manon loose a low growl. “Your mate is dying. Fading away.”

Elide managed to leap off the bed before her ankle collapsed and gave out on her. Aelin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, Manon pacing around Rowan, shielding her from the first threat that was the Prince of Lycans.

“Explain,” Manon commanded, her voice a thin blade of viciousness.

Rowan sighed, a sound that spoke ancient volumes. “Lorcan’s wolf is not taking Elide’s absence well...and believes she’s rejecting him. The fact that Lorcan refuses to lay with a female even for—” Rowan’s face turned to stare at the wall with shame stitched across his eyes “—a means to satiate his wolf’s side—it’s causing his own wolf to reject him. He won’t survive the night if this keeps up.”

Aelin tucked Elide closer to her chest. “I won’t allow her to go near that monster,” she nearly spat out, and glared daggers at her mate, who lifted a brow. “I won’t put one of my pack members in danger.”

Rowan stared at Aelin, an unfathomable look sketched across his face. Something like cold fury spun in those eyes. “Lycans would rather die than hurt their mate.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart pack looked like she wanted to very much disagree, but surprisingly, it was Manon who said, “I think it’s Elide’s decision.”

Elide thought back to her time with Lory, and how he’d so easily seeped happiness into her life. How he’d press his wet nose against her knees and stare up at her, resting his snout on her lap. The way he had made her laugh and made sure she’d eaten every last bite, and encouraged her to go for runs in the woods. He had made her smile. Made her appreciate life. Made her experience joy.

She thought back to the nights when he’d lick away her tears, and lay closer to her side, snuggling against her.

Elide lifted her head, even as she felt searing pain in her neck, and said, “Take me to my mate.”

“I’m going to hold another ball,” Aelin announced to no one in particular as they piled into a black SUV that screamed wealth. “Maybe a masquerade.”

Manon filled the silence by sharpening her nails.

Rowan pulled the car up to a sprawling mansion with silver gates. As they walked across the pristine, cut lawn, Elide marvelled at the honey droplets of morning dew that still drooped from the leaves, the moonlight illuminating the beauty of the greenery that was contained just in the lawn.

The entrance had no door, and Elide supposed it was fitting when it would be suicide to enter the home of the Lycans. Marbled pillars and glass panels filled her vision.

Rowan stalked down the hallways until he faced a door that was halfway open. The last door in the hallway.

Rowan frowned, slightly sniffing the air. “I think—”

Elide willed herself to hold her head high as she slipped through the door.

She didn’t expect to be engulfed in darkness, save for a burning candle lighting the room into a soft, orange glow. She didn’t think that the room would be immaculate, and no dust nor blood would stain the floor. She somewhat expected the lines of swords and daggers hooked onto the walls.

She didn’t expect the outline of women on top of the large male, sprawled across dark sheets. She didn’t expect the guilt written in the eyes of her mate as his head snapped towards her, and his arm to be wrapped around the other female’s hips. She expected the flicker of surprise in that granite-hewn face. She didn’t expect the tang of arousal that permeated the too-clean room, and the beautiful doe-eyed female on Lorcan’s lap to seem strangely sad, her hair cascading down across Lorcan’s bare chest.

Elide took one look at the embrace of her mate and the other female before she fled the room, her own wolf also turning cold and slamming down a wall not even Aelin or Manon could penetrate.

She ignored the howl that shattered the air as she felt her bones shift and crack. She ignored the image of the other female’s legs locked around her mate’s waist. She ignored the voice telling her to go back, to return to her mate.

She embraced the other voice that told her to seek rejection, revenge. The one that saw that doe-eyed female with soft curves with hands around the corded muscle of the Lycan that should have been hers. 

When white paws hit the ground, Elide Lochan felt herself bolt forward, away from her mate. And she did not look back as a series of howls and tearing pierced the dark night.

[alittleoptimistic]

The Monster On Abington Street

There is a monster that lives on Abington Street. It creeps in dark corners and leaves the smell of burning in its wake. It oozes strange black goo and sometimes, late at night when every eye is shut and the moon flickers behind a cloud, you can hear it crackle a spiteful and melancholy challenge at the sky. People go missing, and they don’t come back, and the next morning the whole street smells burnt. Like burning beans. What sort of creature is this?

I, Benjamin Garrick, am going to find this monster and nothing as absurd as a bedtime is going to stop me.

I set out with the knife I took from Davy’s secret box under his bed, and, slowly, I open my window and let cool air waft into my bedroom. The wind speaks of dew and quiet and just that hint of burnt. The monster is nearby. I am glad Davy was gone this evening because it made it easier to get the knife. I think he’s gone to his girlfriend’s again...

Carefully, I ease my way down, catching the button of my shirt on the window ledge. It tears, and I say one of the bad words Davy says when Mom or isn’t around as the button pops and bounds downward to be swallowed by the yawning night.

I dangle by my fingertips, kicking my feet, and it hurts a bit, but I don’t know if this hurts less than letting go will. But then the wind speaks again and brings that smell, and I clench my jaw. I have a mission. A sacred duty.

I drop, and the fall isn’t nearly as frightening as I thought it would be. Landing as quietly as I can (which isn’t very quiet, to be honest) I scramble to my feet and poke my knife at that thick darkness breathing in slow groans around me. It flinches back at the touch of my blade. Or perhaps it is I who flinched.

The burning, smoky smell grows stronger.

Mom says the smell is the broken sewer pipe. She says Mrs. Nancy is always flushing things down her toilet she ought not to, and eventually, it’s messed up the entire street. This seems like an awful complex explanation when the true answer is fairly obvious. The monster leaves the smell as a warning. But Mom doesn’t see it that way, and Mrs. Nancy won’t admit to sticking rocks and toothbrushes and little stuffed cats toys down the toilet. She’s an old lady who has to be at least five hundred years old with more wrinkles than a face. She clutches her little golden cross necklace and holds it up when Davy walks near. That’s because he wears black and talks too loud and plays loud music and watches bad movies, but I think it still kinda shocks him every time she does that.

Carefully, I ease across our lawn, avoiding the orange street lights. Orange streetlights are gaps where things don’t quite line up correctly and everything becomes plastic, and I need my wits about me. Besides, I do want to bring the monster’s attention to me. Kneading the knife in my hand, I run my fingers along the initials engraved inside. D. G. Dad got it for Davy back when he was around a lot. He used to tell me he’d get me one when I turned ten, but I’m eleven now, and he’s gone. Mrs. Nancy said he wasn’t a good person, but I don’t see how that can be true.

That’s okay, though because when I get the monster, Dad will think that’s pretty cool. And he’ll know I’m old enough to have my own knife. Then I won’t have to take Davy’s. And then Dad will come back.

The smell is getting stronger. As I walk down the street, my shadow stretches before me, and cat ears grow from the top of its head. A tail swishes behind me and my fingers sharpened like claws. The shadow’s head tilts slightly in a confused, wild sort of way. This does not startle me. It is just the monster messing with my mind. Besides, if I could be anything, being a panther would be a good option for my current mission.

I press on until I reach Dr. Orn’s house. Dr. Orn hates everything. He hates the color yellow and he hates lawn clippings, and I think the only thing he doesn’t hate is giving people disgusting medicine. For the most part, the medicines are horribly tasting, and he thinks its funny to watch you squirm. In his defense, though, his medicine does work, and he is quite rich because of it. He is handsome and cheeky and has a car he takes to the car wash every three days because birds seem to love a nice, clear target. That’s another thing he hates. Birds. And I’d like to say he’d not very fond of children either. He used to babysit me and Davy, and every time we went, he’d spend the entire time reading us a list of rules until we passed out from boredom. Mom adores him. She thinks he should start his own radio show and give life advice.

Next to his house, there is an old house with ivy growing up the side and more of a dirt patch along the front than a lawn. The house is pressed into the earth by the many comments made by its neighbor Ms. May, who has garden flamingos and color coordinated flowerbeds. She likes to sit on her front porch with her hands glued to her hips, and she waits until someone walks past. Then, she catches them quickly with her words and makes to you listen to forty minutes of all the awful grievances she has gone through lately and how they all have sprouted, in one way or another, from the owner of the horrible house next door.

Mr. Dunkin, who owns the house with the ivy and the old rusted car and the tree that dips down lifeless limbs to tap at the windows on rainy, cold days, thinks Ms. May is amusing, I imagine. I personally think he lets it get this bad just because it irritates her. There are stories about Mr. Dunkin being mean to kids a long, long time ago. Mom used to always make us walk on the other side of the street when we passed by. Don’t want him getting any ideas, she’d say. Just to be safe.

I don’t know Mr. Dunkin, so I can’t say whether this is a necessary step or not, but many people believe it is. No one’s seen him in a long time and people are starting to talk about selling the house.

After passing his house and Ms. May’s house, I reach the end of the road. Beyond, a large forest stretches into infinity. It has woven branches and beaded eyes and is overall very temperamental. If there is something we all can agree on, it is that it is only a good idea to enter the forest when it invites you.

I don’t think the monster is in the forest this way. The forest smells like dirt and more dew and pine needles. No burning.

I turn and am about to head in a new direction when a flicker catches my eye. I squint at it.

Just between two houses on the left, something scampers. My heart bubbles up into my throat, and my grip tightens on the knife. If I kill this monster, things will be okay. I know they will.

Quiet as a panther, I glide across the lawns and sidewalks, and I press my back against the rough bricks of the house I’d seen the flicker near. Something skids again. It whispers something I cannot hear and shoves cold shivers down my spines. This monster is a thing of shadows and ash. Fire and darkness all at once. Taking a deep breath, I hold up my knife and step around the corner. All is quiet. All is dark.

A burnt darkness.

The air is heavy with smoke, but I still can’t see where the smell is coming from. The monster moves the air around me and propels me forward, and I cannot do anything but follow. Deeper and deeper between the ever narrowing crack between the houses. Soon both houses scrape my shoulders, and then I am turned to the side to continue on. And I cannot go back. I am pressed forward. A trembling sets into my bones like a great cold and I almost drop my knife. But I do not. I push and tug and struggle until finally, I reach the edges of the houses. A great black curtain covers the exit. When it brushes against my face, at first I believe it to be a spider web, but soon my mistake is rectified. I press against the curtain, and it gives. The darkness eases back, and the silence disappears. I am swamped in noise all at once. Drowning in it.

They are familiar voices, talking, laughing, arguing, murmuring, snickering, complaining. They are Abington Street. I push the curtain aside once and for all, and squint at the sudden light. Inside the forest behind the houses, they have set up a circle of flat stones jabbed into the earth. They sit in lawn chairs at picnic tables with red and white checkered table clothes inside the circle and no one appears to notice me. The smell of burning beans, of cooking, is overwhelming, and I realize suddenly, that this is where the smell is coming from. This is the source.

My knife falls to my side. Carefully, I ease forward. A large bonfire in the middle of the stone circle has a very large pot on it, and they are cooking some type of chili.

Their eyes are chilly.

One by one they turn to look at me. They are dead-eyed. Sharks. I see mom and Mrs. Nancy and Ms. May, and Dr. Orn and more, and they all fall quiet. Quiet as the dead.

Hello, little boy, they say. Hello Benjamin. Thought you’d join us early, did you

What’s going on? I ask.

They look at each other. They smile.

A feast.

Something is very, very wrong, and it isn’t until then that the feeling in my gut suddenly becomes something I can see with my eyes. Someone’s black clothes lay on the floor near the fire. I know those clothes. The fire dances screaming shadows twisting in agony across the stone circle. There are names written on the inside sides of the stones.

David Dunkin, says one.

Jason Garrick, says another. That’s my dad.

And many more names. But one stone stands out from the rest. As the crowd slowly eases closer, coiling tighter and tighter around me, my hands tremble and my vision blurs, but I can still make out Davy Garrick on the newest stone. The red paint is still wet.

Mom takes a step toward me and she smiles and it looks very nice. You are the good son, Benjamin. Eat with us.

She holds out the bowl. I take it and am shaking so bad the broth spills over my fingers. And I know, right then, why the street smells like burnt beans the night after someone goes missing.

I’m holding Davy in my hands. I’m holding him.

I won’t, I say. I want to ask why. I want to ask why so desperately. But I can’t. Abington Street exchange glances with each other and shrug. They moved closer until I can’t hold the bowl anymore. It falls to my feet and spills across my shoes, and I cannot move my knife, they are holding me so tight. Like an anaconda.

Like a snake. A monster.

Gulping down a breath, I shut my eyes as they press me into the earth and pull me down with their bodies.

I was so wrong. There is not a monster that lives on Abington Street.

There are monsters.

[pocket-luv101]

Familiar Magic // Chapter 3

Characters: Servamp Kuro, Mahiru Shirota Ship: KuroMahi Summary: Their story started with a simple choice that lead to a whirlwind of complications. Mahiru saved a lion without knowing its true identity and the secrets it had.

Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4  // Ch. 5

When Mahiru invited Misono and Lily to his home, he didn’t expect a parade of animals to join them. An assortment of animals filled his house and Mahiru struggled not to step on one of them. Misono and Lily seemed to be accustom to the animals as they casually drank their tea. Kuro was sitting some distance from them, reading a book alone.

“Kuro, you don’t want to talk to your brother?” Mahiru stood over him and asked. Kuro didn’t look up from the book he was reading. His eyes weren’t focused on the book and Mahiru wondered about Kuro’s behaviour. “What’s so interesting about my spell books that you won’t talk to your brother.”

“I doubt Lily wants to speak to me,” Kuro muttered the answer. He absentmindedly turned the page and said, “I never knew so many spells existed. It must be nice.”

“Do you want me to teach you some of these spells? You’re teaching me how to use my broom so I can pay you back with a few lessons of my own. I’ll teach you after we talk to Misono and your brother, okay?” Mahiru offered with a smile. Kuro didn’t answer and closed the book instead.

“You haven’t told him anything, have you?” Lily, as a butterfly, landed on Kuro’s shoulder. His voice was soft with sympathy as he said, “I know it’s troublesome but you need to explain things to him properly. You see, Mahiru, we guardians have more magic than others but we can only perform one spell that our creator gave us. We’re not like other familiars.”

“I guess that would explain why Kuro only use his shadow spell.” Mahiru mused. “What can you do, Lily?”

“I can make illusions.” Lily lied.

“Yuri, Mari, behave yourself. We’re here for business, not to play.” Misono said when wo bunnies jumped onto the table and almost knocked over the tea set. They happily jumped into his lap. He sighed but petted them. They squeaked at him and Misono seemed to understand them when he created a plate of carrots for them. “Now that they’ve settled down, we need to talk about the person that attacked you.”

“Do you know who he is?” Mahiru asked but Misono shook his head. They looked at the small doll they sealed in a cage. But they didn’t know how long they could keep him trap in that state and were discussing what was best to do with the doll.

“I was hoping that you would be able to tell me who he was, actually. He has been attacking us for a month now and I’m frankly tired of him. We’ve been able to fight him off but I’m just worried since our magic isn’t the best for fighting.” Misono hands tightened around his teacup since he hated to admit any weakness he had. “I specialize as an animal tamer.”

“But that’s a wonderful magic!” Mahiru could hear the bitterness in Misono’s voice. It was obvious that he was a talented animal tamer because the animals around him clearly loved him.

“You wouldn’t understand. I didn’t learn animal taming to use them like pieces in a chess set. I wanted to help them and protect them. Now they’re in danger and I can’t do anything. But, between my animal magic and Lily’s illusions, we simple don’t have enough power. I don’t have time to learn a new magic but I thought of how you can help me.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help!” Mahiru was quick to offer his assistance.

“I want you to break your contract with Kuro and give him to me.” Misono looked up from his tea cup with determined eyes. “A guardian is wasted on a simple witch that uses magic without a purpose. I have a reason to fight but I need power like what a guardian can give me. Give him to me.”

“What?” Mahiru and Kuro exclaimed at the same time. Kuro instinctively gripped the bell hanging around his neck protectively. “Can’t we talk about this? I want to help you. If that magician’s master is a guardian, then it’s dangerous to fight him on your own. I’ll fight with you. I know I’m not a powerful witch but I’ll do what I can. Don’t take Kuro!”

“Don’t worry, no one’s fighting.” Lily came between them and raised his hands. “Misono, Mahiru might be right. It’ll be better to work with him rather than to try to force Kuro to come with us. He seems happy here and I don’t want to take that from him. Imagine if someone tries to take me from you. Wouldn’t you be sad?”

“I would be. But what would you have me do? Just leave them? I’m not like him!” Misono snapped and Lily looked down at the ground, trying to search for an answer. Honestly, Lily never enjoyed fighting but he could understand Misono’s need to protect the animals around him. They were the only ones that kept Misono company and were his friends when his brother left.

“Misono, I don’t want to give you Kuro but I want to help you. We don’t know who this eighth guardian is or what he wants from us but we’ll have a better chance of keeping everyone safe if we work together. This mountain is my home and yours and these animals. Thinking simply, it’s not only your battle but mine as well. So, lets protect everyone together.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” Misono sat down again and Mahiru let out a relieved breath. “What do you want in exchange? I don’t expect you to offer your help without expecting something.”

“Can’t I just want to help you? Seeing that our familiars are brothers, I was hoping that we could become friends.” Mahiru answered and Misono’s eyes widened. “I think you had the right idea. If the eighth guardian is as powerful as the others, we should gather the other guardians. I don’t want to fight but we should find out what he wants. They might be able to help.”

“I can send everyone a message and tell them to come to your cottage if they’re able to.” Lily offered and turned to Kuro. “You should be able to find everyone with your magic. I’ll write the letters so you only need to send them. Its been centuries since we’ve all met.”

“You know gathering everyone will be troublesome. They might not come if I’m the one that sends them.” Kuro said but Lily was already writing the letters. Lily’s eyes were hopeful when he held out four carefully made letters. Kuro sighed and waved his hand over the letters. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his sibling’s life force and link it with the letters. The letters turned into ash and blew away.

“Can I ask you for another favour?” Lily asked and held out another letter. “Can you give this to Doubt Doubt? I know where he is and I would like to give him this personally but it’s kind of hard for me to see him. He doesn’t live too far from here so can you give it to him in my stead? I’ll draw you a map.”

“You’re really going to use a cat as a carrier pigeon?” Kuro took the letter from him.

“I wonder why Lily wanted us to hand Doubt Doubt’s letter in person instead of using magic to send it like the others.” Mahiru wondered as he followed the path Lily drew on the map. It was close enough that Mahiru could walk and he didn’t have to worry about flying.

“It’s complicated. You don’t need to worry about my family.” Kuro told him as they walked. Mahiru thought back to how Kuro and Lily talked. They were somewhat distant and Mahiru wondered if something happened to cause them to be distant. “Mahiru, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you break the contract with me when Misono threatened you? We only made a contract because we were in a bad situation. Lily and Misono are worried about those animals but you don’t have to fight or worry about us guardians.” The question had been playing on Kuro’s mind since they made the contract but he hadn’t been able to ask it out loud.

“I guess it’s the same reason you protected me even before we had a contract. I don’t think you’re a bad person. I can’t think of a reason someone would try to hurt you. If I just let you go, I’d worry about you. I want to help you but I can’t if you don’t let me. So, lets try to get along.” Mahiru wanted Kuro to be more open with him since they were partners now but Kuro only answered with a conflicted expression.

Mahiru’s expression was honest and kind but Kuro knew that it was only a matter of time before he learned the truth. He touched the bell around his neck and wonder how long he would be able to keep it. If his other siblings received their letters and came, Kuro doubted he could keep the truth from Mahiru for long.

“We’re almost at Doubt Doubt’s home. What is he like? You say that your other siblings are high maintenance but Lily seems pretty normal.”

“You haven’t seen him try to strip yet.” Kuro found himself laughing at the memory. “Doubt Doubt is a quiet kid so it’s a little difficult to talk to him. It’ll take a while for him to become comfortable with you but, aside from that, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Actually, I think that’s his house down there—”

“Stop! You’re going to step on Abel!” Vines burst from the ground beneath them. Kuro reacted quickly and pulled Mahiru out of its path. He lifted Mahiru into his arms and jumped back. The vines didn’t attack them but protectively shielded a flower. A man, covered in dirt, ran out of the house and knelt next to the flower. “Are you okay, Abel? They didn’t step on you, did they?”

“Mikuni?” Mahiru recognized him since he would often buy vegetables from him. “You live near here?”

“Oh, it’s just you Mahiru.” Mikuni noticed him and stood. He controlled the plants and returned them to the earth. “Lately, a lot of bad people has been on this mountain and they’ve been making a mess of my beautiful garden! I swear if I find them, I’ll unleash the wrath of Abel upon them. They need to learn that you can’t treat a lady with such disrespect. Isn’t that right, Abel?”

Seeing that they weren’t in danger, Kuro placed Mahiru on his feet. Mahiru had to comment. “… that’s a flower, Mikuni.”

“You’re exactly right, Mahiru. Every lady is a flower so you must treat her with care. I’m so glad that you understand even though you were the one that almost stepped on her. But why are you here? I don’t get many visitors. Wait, did you come to steal Abel?” Mikuni asked.

“I actually came to find someone and give him a letter. Do you know if a familiar spirit named Doubt Doubt lives near here?” Mahiru asked and saw Mikuni’s hand still over the flower. A mixture of emotions crossed his face before it settled on a smile.

“Who’s sending that guy a letter?”

“His brother is.” Mahiru didn’t know if he should tell him about the guardians because Mikuni seemed to be nothing more than a food vendor. So, he tried to keep his answer vague. To his surprise, Mikuni took the letter from him and tucked it into his pocket.

“I’ll give it to him. You probably don’t want to see him right now. He’s working on his bottled ships right now and he can be a grump when anyone interrupts him. I thought there was something strange about your new friend. Who would’ve thought a little witch like you would have a guardian for a familiar. How about I buy him from you?”

“I’m not going to give you, Kuro.” Mahiru stepped in front of Kuro.  “How do you know about Lily and Kuro?”

“Don’t need to be so protective. I know about the guardians of the mountain because I have a one for a familiar spirit as well. My contract is with Doubt Doubt but he goes by JeJe now.” Mikuni explained.  Mikuni started to walk away but stopped, as if a thought suddenly came to him. “I’m guessing it was Lily who sent the letter. The next time you see, remind him that we made a deal and I’ll know if he breaks it.”

“I wish we could’ve met Doubt Doubt in person. I’m sure Lily wanted us to see him so we could tell him if he’s okay.” Mahiru sighed as they walked back to his house. He was surprised that Mikuni had a contract with a guardian and wondered who the other witches were like.

“You can tell Lily’s that he’s fine. I would know if something happens to one of my siblings. I sensed him and he didn’t appear to be hurt or weak.” Kuro told him. He hadn’t spoken with his siblings for a long time and wondered what could’ve lead them to making a contract with such strange witches.

“Kuro, you have a leaf on your cape.” Mahiru’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. Kuro shook his cape but Mahiru chuckled slightly. “It’s on your hood so let me get it for you. Stand still.”

Kuro did as Mahiru instructed and leaned down slightly so Mahiru could reach the leaves on his head. Mahiru hadn’t noticed how tall Kuro was before now. Though he appeared to be lean, Mahiru knew how strong Kuro could be.

“Did you get them?” Kuro looked up and their eyes met. Mahiru realized that his hands had stopped collecting the leaves stuck on Kuro’s cape and he had been staring at him instead.

“Yeah, that should be all of them.” Mahiru stepped away from Kuro. When he did, Kuro found himself disappointed and was surprised with himself. He could feel the warmth of Mahiru’s hand through his hood and he had to admit that it was pleasant. “We should be getting home now.”

“Yeah,” Kuro transformed into a cat and climbed onto Mahiru’s shoulder. “I’m tired so I’m going to sleep here while you walk.”

A/N: I have turned Misono into a witch with the powers of a Disney Princess and I know no guilt XD