#fic is. demanding most of the very limited Productive Words

[blorb-el]

lil snippet [376 words] of tooth rotting established relationship superbat fluff set in the purring au [kryptonians purr, that’s basically all you need to know] sometime after tacere and sometime before unnamed and still unplotted sequel. its pillow talk but g rated

"Bruce," Clark murmurs. "If you don't stop doing that I'm going to start purring on you."

Bruce smiles lazily and continues to card his fingers through Clark's hair, enjoying the loose-limbed weight of his partner resting across his chest, satisfied and warm. Clark makes a muffled nmrgh sound and presses his face a little more into Bruce's body. God, he's getting nuzzled. Maybe Clark wasn't-

Oh. No, he wasn't joking. Bruce feels it before he hears it, a low, slow vibration against his torso. He continues to stroke his fingers through Clark's hair, and a slow dawn of happiness rises in his body. Clark feels so safe with him that he lets himself purr. Bruce watches Clark's shoulders relax even further after a few moments. He hadn’t even thought that was possible. The man’s practically liquid. Nothing short of the world ending could stop him continuing to be here, continuing to tease Clark’s soft hair between his fingers as Clark’s heart-warm body rumbles with contentment draped over his own. God, Bruce wishes he could purr back.

After a few minutes, Clark turns his head, resting his chin on Bruce’s chest, looking up to him languidly. The mate markings on his cheeks and forehead are glowing faintly, and a smile traces the corners of his mouth and eyes as the rumbling purr continues. Bruce diverts his hand for a moment to stroke Clark’s cheekbone with his thumb, feeling the line of greater warmth on the marking, and Clark closes his eyes. Bruce tries not to compare it to petting a dog or a cat. It’s Clark. He’s better. Although…

“Hey,” Bruce murmurs, and watches the sweep of Clark’s thick eyelashes as those unearthly blue eyes open. He slowly blinks at Clark, feeling a little like an idiot and a lot in love. Clark looks puzzled for a moment but then, his eyes brighten and he snorts, his stupid smothered laugh he doesn’t do around anyone else.

“You dorrrk,” he says. The effect is completely ruined by his sappy smile and the slight flip on the r, persisting from his rumbly purr. Bruce, unnatural contentedness lightening his whole being, grins at Clark, and Clark rolls his eyes and then slow blinks back at Bruce. “I love you too.”

[darks-ink]

Fog - Ectoberweek 2020

Another year, another fic writing anniversary. Might be a little rough because I am rusty, yikes.

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Supernatural Words: 3,176 Relationships: - Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Seer Valerie Gray, Supernatural elements, Developing friendships

[AO3] [FFN]

---

The first time Valerie had asked her dad why it was always so foggy in Amity Park, he’d laughed kindly, and explained to her how fog worked. She had accepted the explanation, worked through it a while—as children were wont to do—and then realized it didn’t actually explain anything.

The second time she asked, he frowned at her, telling her it wasn’t foggy at all. She had looked at the green mist seeping from between the tiles of the sidewalk, pouring out of the dirt between the roots of trees and grass, and resolved not to ask again.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from asking Star. Star, after all, was her best friend, and surely she would understand what Valerie meant. Right?

But Star hadn’t understood either. Claimed that she didn’t see the fog that seemed impossible to miss. And worse still, Paulina overheard. Overheard, and spread rumors all around the school. Before Valerie knew, everyone in the school thought she was crazy, that she saw things that weren’t real.

Valerie had looked at the coalescing mist, watched it thicken and coil into the shape of a cat, and decided that she would just have to figure it out herself.

And, honestly? She had. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but she thought she had done fairly well for herself. Not that she could ever tell anyone what she knew, what she could see. She just had to take one look at the Fentons, at how far their children had been cast out for the crime of being related to people so sure of the existence of ghosts.

She herself had clawed her back way to mildly reputable, over time. Valerie Gray had no plans to go back to that pit of nonexistence.

So, yes. She could see ghosts. Or, maybe not ghosts proper. Spirits seemed to be a closer description. The natural presence of ectoplasm in the very atmosphere of Amity Park, seeping into their reality from another dimension.

Loathe as she was to say it, she was pretty sure the Fentons were at least somewhat right about ghosts. They lived primarily in a different dimension, sustained by its ectoplasm. In places where the boundary between their own dimension and the so-called Ghost Zone grew thin, this ectoplasm could seep through.

It was the ectoplasm in the air which supported lingering spirits, however briefly. Never long enough for them to develop into a proper ghost—which apparently could be seen by anyone—but enough for Valerie to see them. The recently diseased remained incorporeal, soft and foggy like the green mist they were made out of.

It was… Well, not okay, certainly, but… normal? For her, at least. There was no danger to it, not really. The lingering spirits were short-lived, couldn’t touch, and didn’t make sounds. Often, they didn’t even realize she could see them. And why would they, when no one else could?

So by age fourteen, in her first year of high school, Valerie had quite settled into this pattern of existence. Yes, she could see ghosts, and no, she didn’t plan on doing anything with that skill. What could she do with it? Become an ecto-scientist like the Fentons, dismissed for the rest of her life? Please. No, she was perfectly satisfied with living an ordinary life, without ever acknowledging her ability to see ghosts and spirits.

Until, one perfectly ordinary day, not too long after the school year had started… Danny Fenton changed.

Now, Valerie didn’t know him all that well. She had fought too hard to become a respectable kid to throw it away on outcasts like him, pity or no. And pity him, she did, because she knew what it felt like. To be pushed away just because they were different.

But, unlike her, Danny Fenton had friends. He might’ve wanted better, but he wasn’t alone. He would make do. It wasn’t her problem, so she didn’t bother with him.

Seeing him walk into Lancer’s classroom absolutely wreathed in ecto-green smoke made her reconsider her previous conclusion. Because that? That wasn’t normal. She had, quite frankly, never seen anything like that before.

It took considerable effort to keep her eyes off of Fenton. The fog continued to pour out of him, thicker than most spirits could manage. Something must’ve happened at his home, with his parents’ inventions. Something which caused him to emit ectoplasm in such high amounts.

Well, maybe it was just his body expelling it? That would explain it, yeah? It would stop eventually, once all ectoplasm was gone, and then everything would be fine again.

Besides, it didn’t seem like he injured or dying or whatever else could cause it. So. Nothing to worry about.

Except it didn’t go away. Not entirely. Over time, the fog seemed to… change. No longer did it seep out of Danny like it poured out of the ground, but now it seemed to coil around him. Like it had settled in his flesh, a perfect mimic of his body except in the soft mist of ectoplasm. It was almost like the few times she had seen spirits pass through physical objects, but not… not quite.

Quietly, Valerie resolved to continue to ignore it. It wasn’t her problem. Just because she could see spirits and ectoplasm and what-not didn’t mean she had to be responsible for it, did it? Danny’s own parents were ghost experts. If something was wrong with him, surely they would know?

So she turned a blind eye, unwilling to get involved with any kind of ghostly business.

The first ghost she saw, therefore, wasn’t in real life. It was on the television.

Of course, no one seemed to realize it was a ghost. A massive lumbering heap of flesh—meat products, apparently—which had lumbered around near the school briefly before disappearing. All kinds of explanations popped up, but none quite rung true—and none could deny the shaky video footage.

Shaky video footage, on which Valerie could clearly see the dense green fog in the meat, binding it together with some kind of ectoplasmic force.

The footage didn’t last long enough to see the thing disappear, but witnesses said that it suddenly fell apart, showering the parking lot with seemingly mundane meat products. The clean-up had been a huge mess, or so they said.

It left Valerie feeling… off-balance. For years, she’d learned about her ability, figured out what was what. It seemed stable, certain. There were limits, things that were always the same. Ectoplasm, and spirits. And now, for the second time within a month, she saw something she didn’t know.

So she gritted her teeth, and decided to check out the leftovers of… whatever it was that had lumbered around her school.

Looking back, she wasn’t sure why she had expected to learn anything useful from the leftover meat. A little ectoplasm clung to it still, when she found some that the clean-up had missed, but it was rapidly evaporating away. Nothing worth noting.

The whole event became a turning point, anyway. Within weeks, ghosts became an undeniable reality in Amity Park.

If nothing else, it at least gave her an excuse to learn more about her ability. Ghosts didn’t look much like spirits, she found out. Their bodies were made out of dense ectoplasm, clearly corporeal, and perfectly visible to everyone. They did, however, emit ectoplasmic mist—apparently they just constantly leaked the stuff when they weren’t in the Zone.

Which led her back to Danny Fenton. The way he smoked was certainly similar to how proper ghosts emitted ectoplasm, but it wasn’t quite the same. Nor was it quite the same as when ghosts overshadowed humans, or when ghosts possessed or otherwise controlled objects.

No, Danny Fenton remained unique in his condition. And honestly? It kind of pissed Valerie off. Yes, the introduction of proper ghosts to Amity Park had forced her to learn more about her ability, and yes, she still refused to acknowledge its existence to anyone but herself. But she still wanted to know, to understand.

And Valerie Gray is no coward. She wanted to know, so she would know, damn it all. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, no? And she’d spent several months trying to satisfy this bit of curiosity. Now all she had to do was corner Danny Fenton and demand the truth from him.

---

Okay, so cornering Fenton was easier said than done, Valerie discovered. He was, apparently, incredibly slippery. Multiple times, she had followed him into a dead end, just to find no one else present. At this point, she was fairly certain that his ghostly infection had come with ghost powers.

Which would just figure, wouldn’t it? Count on the universe to give her the ability to see ectoplasm constantly, while someone like Fenton gets something cool like intangibility? And now that she had a running theory, she needed actual confirmation, too!

She rattled her fingers on the desk she was sitting behind, staring at Lancer but not taking in any of the words he was saying. Well, shit. She’d totally zoned out in the middle of class. That would probably come back to bite her in the ass.

A few seats closer to the front, Fenton jerked in his seat, blowing out a denser cloud of foggy ectoplasm. Usually this was promptly followed by him trying to excuse himself out of class. And, well. That was a good opportunity, wasn’t it?

Quickly, faster than Danny could, she put up her hand. Lancer paused, frowning, but called on her anyway.

“Can I go to the toilet?”

Lancer heaved a weary sigh but nodded nonetheless, and Valerie sped out of the classroom, steadily ignoring Danny’s frustrated look. She waited outside the classroom, not wanting anyone to see her lingering but not willing to risk missing Danny altogether.

Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, Danny Fenton stormed through the classroom door, clearly in a rush.

Valerie stuck out her leg, intending to trip him up, or at least slow him down.

Instead, Fenton’s leg became soft and fuzzy in an awfully familiar way, and went straight through hers.

“Uh,” he said, immediately pausing to stare at her. “You didn’t see that.”

She snorted, despite herself. “It was hard to miss, Fenton.”

“Yeah, well…” He paused, seemingly lost for words. “Forget you saw it?”

“Definitely not.” She pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, anyway.”

Danny swallowed, eyes darting side to side. “About what, exactly?”

“Something’s up with you.” She looked around the hallway as well, making sure to keep him in her peripherals. “But we can talk somewhere a little more desolate, if you want.”

“I kind of… need to get going?” he tried, feebly. “Seriously, Valerie, I can’t…”

He definitely looked like he might start running any minute. Well, no time for the subtle approach then. Just as well, she supposed. She wasn’t very good at subtle. “I can see ectoplasm.”

Danny… stopped. Froze in his tracks. “I’m-- what? Sorry, what?”

“I can see ectoplasm,” she repeated, turning around to face him properly. “And spirits, when they’re around. I would’ve said ghosts, but everyone can see ghosts, now that they’re actually around.”

“But isn’t ectoplasm…” he gestured vaguely, catching up to her again. “Kind of everywhere?”

“It’s constantly seeping out of the ground, yeah.” She grinned. “And ghosts evaporate the stuff. So do you, but it’s not quite the same. And you kept disappearing after I cornered you into dead ends, so I figured it was something ghost-related.”

He made a face. “I’m bad at this. I also seriously need to get going, Val, I wasn’t kidding about that.”

“What, because you put out a burst of extra ectoplasm?” She frowned at him. “You gonna pass out because you expelled too much, or something?”

“You saw that? Ugh.” He shook his head, visibly refocusing. “Anyway, no. That was my ghost sense, which tells me that there’s a ghost nearby. Which is probably gonna attack any minute now, so…”

“So?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Call your parents, or whatever you wanted to do. I finally got my opportunity to get these questions answered, I’m not letting you slip away that easy.”

Fenton shot her a look that was caught somewhere between exhausted and frustrated. “If anything happens, I’m blaming you.”

“What, were you gonna beat it up?” She snorted, then sobered at his blank look. “Oh, well. Don’t let me stop you, I’d love to see that.”

“Shut up.” He stopped next to his locker, turning away from her to unlock it. “What did you want, anyway?”

“To satisfy my curiosity.” She shrugged at the incredulous look he threw at her. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve lived with this ability for years, I knew every aspect of it. Even now with the ghosts around, I’ve figured out almost all the bits. Your ectoplasmic contamination is the only thing that I don’t understand.”

“And you were hoping I would explain?” His locker clicked open, and Danny reached inside to take out a shiny thermos, styled with ecto-green like every other Fenton product. “There’s nothing, Valerie. Don’t worry about it.”

She scoffed. “I’m not worried, I’m curious. What’s the harm in telling me, anyway? I already know you can go intangible like a ghost, and it’s not like I’ll tell.”

“Sure you won’t.” He rolled his eyes, closing his locker once more. Apparently the thermos was all he wanted from it. “And I’m supposed to just, what, rely on your ability and desire to keep a secret?”

“Please. Last time I tried to tell anyone about my own abilities, I was kicked down to the bottom of the popularity ladder. I have no plans to go back.” Her eyes trailed away from him, catching on the increase of ectoplasm on the other end of the hallway. “The only thing that’ll happen if I try to tell anyone is that they’ll think I’m crazy. Again.”

“Yeah, or my parents hear and think I’m a ghost again.” He looked up from the thermos in his hands, frowning at her. “What’re you looking at?”

The ectoplasm pulled together, coalescing into something dense enough to be a ghost, even if it lacked the color. It clearly wasn’t a spirit, not nearly life-like enough for it, despite it’s vaguely humanoid shape.

“You ever seen a ghost look like a bulking robot before?” she asked, faux casual, turning to look at Fenton. “Big plane-like wings, some kinda mohawk?”

“Shit,” he muttered, peering into the direction where the ghost was. “You can really see him?”

“Well, I was trying not to let him know that, because he doesn’t look very nice.” She rolled her eyes. “You know him, then?”

“Skulker.” Danny shook his head, hands wringing around the thermos. “Fuck, and there’s no way I can catch him unaware with the Thermos. I’ll have to fight him.”

“What, you?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, don’t let me stop you, I guess.”

Danny straightened up properly. “Don’t tell anyone about this.” Then he paused, looked down at the thermos in his hands, and shoved it at her. “Use this when he gets distracted.”

“Uh, okay?” she replied, taking the thing in her hands. It didn’t seem like a weapon to her, but it would be just like Jack Fenton to disguise a ghost hunting weapon as a thermos, of all things. “What do you plan on doing?”

“Not dying, hopefully,” Danny grumbled, and then he— changed. The ectoplasm that steamed off of him suddenly thickened, until Danny was hidden in dense fog. Light flashed within it, like a thunderstorm.

When the ectoplasm reduced back to normal amounts, a ghost stood where Danny had been.

“Shit,” he muttered, combing a hand through his unnaturally white hair, “I still can’t see him.”

“You’re an idiot.” She sighed, turning to look back at the hulking mohawk ghost. “At the end of the hallway, can’t miss him.”

“Thanks, Val.” The ghost-that-had-been-Danny kicked off of the ground, zipping towards the first one.

What had the world come to?

Lucky for her, she didn’t need to play seeing-eye person much longer, because the robot ghost dropped his invisibility when Danny came close enough.

Instead she stood there, watching the two ghosts fight. With a thermos-shaped Fenton invention of unknown purpose in her hands. Great.

It wasn’t even a good fight. The robot ghost relied almost entirely on guns which shot ectoplasm-based lasers, while Danny kept trying to get in close and punch the thing. Not even some kind of martial arts, no, just teenage-level brawling. Ugh.

He was flung into the wall next to her, slumping down with a groan. She clicked her tongue at him. “Not very impressive.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled back, pushing himself to his feet. His voice, even through the warbling echo that all ghosts possessed, was clearly frustrated. “Could you do better?”

“Well, I am a trained black belt,” she pointed out, before holding out the thermos. “What does this do, anyway?”

“Catches ghosts.” He rose into the air, but his flight was shaky. “Please don’t point it at me.”

“Well, duh.” She stepped back, allowing him a straight shot at the robot ghost. “Go distract him, will you?”

“Since when are you in charge?” Danny grumbled, but he flew off anyway, darting around the other ghost and drawing him back in her direction.

Valerie shook her head, wondering vaguely how she’d gotten into this situation. How many years had she sworn not to get involved into anything related to her ability to see ghosts? And now here she was.

“Here, Skulker Skulker Skulker,” Danny jeered, pitching his voice like he was calling to a runaway dog. “Here, Skulkie Skulkie Skulkie!”

The other ghost snarled, lunging forward at Danny.

Valerie stepped forward, uncapping the thermos in the same movement, and pressed it against the side of the ghost. It swore, but was unable to escape the coiling vortex of the device, sucked into it in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” She blinked, automatically capping the Thermos again. “That worked better than expected.”

“Yeah, sometimes my parents can get it right.” Danny touched down next to her, soundlessly. “Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

Again, the ectoplasm pouring off of him thickened, clouding him for a brief moment as light flashed. When it fogged away, it left a regular looking Danny Fenton.

Valerie glanced down to make sure the device was locked, then turned to Danny. “You can have it back in return for more answers.”

He snorted, shaking his head with a wry smile on his face. “Should’ve figured as much. Guess I can’t get out of it, huh?”

“What’s the point in hiding if you’ve already shown me… whatever that was supposed to be?”

“Eh, fair point.” He shrugged, almost fatalistically. “Let’s get early lunch and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, deal?”

She considered him for a moment. “Deal.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Darkmist (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash​ as part of the  Deadly Intentions collaboration with @underthejoon​​ @lamourche​ @floralseokjin​ @prolixitae​ @btssmutgalore​ and @taetaetrashhh​ 

Creative Contributor: @taetaetrashhh for organizing the collab and this wonderful moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader (third person)

Genre: Hellhound!Yoongi / Magical!Reader / High Fantasy

Word Count: 30,868

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for mature themes and sexual content. Character death depicted (not main). Violence depicted in both fight scenes and flashbacks. Unprotected sex. 

Summary:  Y/N has always known she was different. A ward in a city where all know their name. A girl apprenticed to a blacksmith. And a shadow-singer –  a magical being who controls the night and sees all within. Even those who would prefer not to be seen.

A/N: There is some Welsh mythology referenced to within the fic, but it is by no means canon.  [ CROSS-POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE ]

In the lone dark of night, a rooster crows to the dawn.

Y/N stirs, warm beneath bedcovers in the tiniest room of Tywll’s only tavern. Her mattress sinks under her weight, holding her equally captive as her dreams. Fingers curling into blankets, she burrows even deeper to feign sleep.

The darkness wraps around her lovingly, as one would a friend. For a moment, she nearly sinks back into sleep, but no – her eyes open.

The rooster does not crow a second time. If Y/N does not wake now, she will miss opening the forge for the day. Gritting her teeth, Y/N swings first one leg, then the other from bed. The floor beneath her feet is freezing, the last dregs of summer but a vague, distant memory.

As she fumbles about for a match, Y/N’s eyes grow accustomed to the dimness. This happens easily for her, just as it is unusually difficult for her to light her lamp. When it finally works, catching beneath her, Y/N exhales in triumph.

Stretching both arms overhead, she walks to her wardrobe and examines her the clothing. Few are suitable for work in the forge. As a fifth-year apprentice of Owen, the town’s blacksmith, Y/N is well-accustomed to the demands of her job. She is also accustomed to returning with singed hair and burnt clothing, which makes her options somewhat limited out of necessity.

Not that her belongings are much to speak of, regardless. As the orphaned ward of Mervin and Rian Talog, Y/N lives a simple life in their tavern. In the morning, she wakes and travels to the forge. In the evening, she returns home to assist as a barmaid. Her life is straightforward, if somewhat unconventional.

At least, it is unconventional in the eyes of the town. For Y/N to be a girl, unmarried and sweating away in a man’s field – well, some see it as close to near sanctimonious. Luckily, Mervin and Rian have never been of that mindset and are not much for gossip.

Still, Y/N cannot deny her time is running out. As soon as her apprenticeship finishes and Owen declares her his successor, she intends to leave and open her own shop. The thought makes her feel somewhat empty though, as if there should be more, but Y/N usually pushes such emotions aside.

Her kind often feel empty.

Straightening, Y/N surveys herself in the mirror. Her leather work apron stays at the forge every night, so for now she dresses in a plain tunic and leather pants borrowed from Mervin. There is no seamstress in town willing to make them for women. Turning swiftly, Y/N grabs her cloak from her chair and blows out the lamp.

The night is not as dark as before.

It is not yet day, though – the sun still hesitates below the horizon. At the edge of earth, the sky lightens a touch, but there is still a half-hour before the sun comes into view.

Exiting her rooms, Y/N stares at the night before climbing downstairs. Her bedroom is the only one at the top of the tavern. When she was younger, she liked to pretend her rooms were a tower – the most luxurious in the town, envied by all. As she grew older though, Y/N ceased in her thinking and saw her rooms for what they were.

Four flights of stairs, and quarters which nobody wants.

Still, the room holds a certain magic to her still. Hand skimming over the banister as she descends, Y/N fastens her cloak upon entering the kitchen.

Mervin sits at the worn wooden table, bent over a pile of books with his spectacles. Rian is behind him, bent over the heat of the fire. Pushing hair back from her face, she frowns at the flames and critiques its temperature.

Y/N nearly smiles, recognizing this stance from the forge. One might not imagine cooking and metalwork to be similar but oddly enough, they involve the same concepts.

When she enters, Mervin looks up. “Morning,” he greets, smiling faintly.

Y/N nods, glancing at Rian. “Morning,” she says, smiling back.

Rian waves a spatula, then continues to stir. “Should I add sage?” She cranes her neck to look at them both. “Or would that be too savory?”

“Never.” Mervin drops a wink at Y/N. “Hard to imagine your cooking could take a wrong turn.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” protests Mervin.

Rian gives him a look. “And lies will send you to the wrong part of Annwn.”

Annwn – or, the Otherworld. It is the duty of all in their town, their province, their world to live a full, productive life and pass on in peace. The summation of decisions a person makes in their life will determine where one goes in the next – when they arrive in Annwn.

Mervin chuckles and returns to his ledger. “Why ask my opinion at all? Add salt instead.”

Rian nods, already reaching out for the canister. Y/N smiles, gripping her cloak tighter as she moves towards the door. The tavern is already busy – she can hear guests through the door, chatting and laughing. Y/N has no desire to see them this morning though, so she purposefully leaves out the back door.

When Y/N was twelve, she was already at work in the evenings. She helped when she could, clearing dishes from tables and washing them inside the kitchen. It was not unusual for those her age to work, but most had jobs which did not involve the town drinking.

People say many things when they are drunk; things they otherwise would not say to one’s face. One night in particular stands out in Y/N’s memory – the night she learned what the town thought of her situation. Or, most of them, anyways.

The town drunk – Trevor – brought this to her attention. To be fair, he did not know she was standing there. Did not bother to look over his shoulder and check if she could hear; he merely guffawed at a joke and barreled on with his story.

“Poor Mervin didn’t know what to do with himself, eh?” he roared, slamming beer down on the table.

Y/N flinched when ale flew over the top. She would be the one cleaning it up later.

“It was a late October morning – misty as Annwn, mind you! Mervin goes out early-like.” Trevor leaned in, cheeks ruddy with ale. “He goes to set out the milk bottles and there – on the doorstep! – was a baby. A baby!” he said to uproarious laughter. “Imagine, Mervin with his spectacles an’ whatnot, finding a child!”

Y/N did not see what was so funny about the matter.

She was twelve at the time, not stupid. She saw how the other villagers treated her, how they treated her family. Y/N knew they were different. Most of the men in Tywll were loud, boisterous creatures who frequented their inn – or, they frequented their tavern, at least. From what Y/N could see, they spoke much, complained often and solved very little.

Whereas, Mervin was magic. Not true magic – not the magic which makes villagers light pitchforks, chase down demons and witches at night. No, Mervin was magic in that he could change things. Armed with books and his numbers – admittedly, these seemed like magic to most – he created wealth for the town in the oddest of ways.

This made people regard him warily though, which Y/N did not understand.

On the night in question, Trevor was in an uproar. “Rian did the convincing,” he said, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Mervin took ‘er in, wanted to find a home but Rian put her foot down. Said it would stay with them.”

Hearing this information, Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that true?” she asked, over the din of the crowd.

Before that night, Y/N had always thought Rian did not like her much. Y/N mistook her gruffness for anger, when in reality Rian was simply not prone to fits of emotion. She did not love magic or fairytales, but she did love Y/N.

Trevor’s back stiffened, hearing her voice. The rest of his table saw Y/N standing there and were suitably embarrassed by the turn of events – except for Trevor himself, who slowly turned in his seat.

“Go on,” he insisted, gaze clouded with drink. “Out with you, now! This place isn’t fit for a child.”

Y/N’s lower lip trembled and she turned around to flee, moving as fast as her legs would allow. It was Rian who found her later on in the pantry; she was the one who knew all her hiding spots. She did not say a word about the incident but gave Y/N a warm cup of tea and for the next month, Trevor was banned from the inn.

When he could return, Rian warned Y/N not to listen to nonsense. This was something Rian said often, and something she said even more to Y/N. Do not listen to nonsense, do not believe in fairytales. Do not search for saviors, magic, or destiny. Do not place faith in the books by her bed, since faith belongs to the gods alone.

Y/N would nod and pretend she understood – until Mervin would sneak in at bedtime to read another story. Their lives worked in this manner. Their family worked in this way, happy in the most unconventional of ways.

Waving at them, Y/N slips out the door. As it falls shut behind her, she looks up at the sky.

The first rays of dawn are slipping over the horizon – not enough to banish the mist, but enough for her to see by. Setting off down the lane, Y/N hums to herself. Tywll is a small town, tiny enough that there is only one road. Still, travelers come often from all parts of the province – it fuels their economy and makes them rarely want for anything.

Y/N’s shadow is cast as she walks, scrunching and stretching over muddied dips in the road. It rained all last night, making Y/N’s feet sink as she walks. Unfortunate, since she has only one pair of work boots.

It took Y/N a month to convince Owen to be his apprentice. It took longer to raise the necessary money for a leather apron and boots. Y/N is rather old to still be an apprentice; nearly twenty and still, she is in her fifth year. At least she is close to finishing, though. Y/N is a fast learner and, given a few more months, she hopes to be able to produce a piece to Owen’s satisfaction.

Luckily, Owen is not one of the many in town who refuse Y/N due to her gender. The main reason he balked was due to the cost of having an apprentice. The effort of slowing down to teach is enormous – although Y/N hopes she has more than made up for this cost over the years.

Ducking her head, Y/N continues on down the lane. She is lucky to have so many sources of happiness. Mervin and Rian care for her as their own. Owen, a blacksmith, is willing to teach her his craft. Truly, it is more than any one woman can hope for – which is why Y/N feels guilty to admit she is lonely.

Outside of the aforementioned people, not many in Tywll enjoy Y/N’s presence. Oh, they tolerate her. Most of them purchase her wares as a blacksmith, accept her ale in the tavern, but Y/N has always been considered an outsider.

She was not born here and so, will never belong.

Of the few who are kind, the only one nearing her age is Gwen – Owen’s daughter. He is a single father, if a doting one and Y/N has never cared to ask for the details. Anytime Gwen’s mother is mentioned, Gwen hastily interrupts with her skilled art of small talk.

Nearing a bend in the road, Y/N adjusts her cloak to glance over her shoulder. The mist in this part is thicker than normal, never fully dissipating even when the sun is high overhead. Tearing her gaze from the shadows, she looks ahead – and freezes.

A pair of red, glowing eyes stare back from the darkness.

There is no one else in the square.

Or, this is what Y/N thought when she entered – the pair of glowing, red eyes seems in direct contradiction to this. Darkness writhes around them, attempting to solidify but before this can happen, Y/N spins around on her heel. Grasping her cloak, she rushes out of the road.

Heart pounding, she darts down the alley which leads to the forge. Not daring to glance over her shoulder, Y/N listens for footsteps which follow, but hears none.

If Y/N has learned anything from her fairytales, it is nothing good comes from a Grim. Grims are hound-like demons who lurk in the shadows, warning of nothing but death and despair. Sometimes, their meaning is even more sinister. Sometimes, Grims are the Cŵn Annwn themselves – the feared hellhounds of Annwn who answer to none but Lord Arawn, ruler of the Otherworld.

The Cŵn Annwn have one job. Find souls which belong in the Otherworld and bring them to their desired location – often painfully, and in the basest way possible.

Fighting a shiver, Y/N continues her journey. As she walks, she almost manages to convince herself it was nothing. It was likely only a dog in the shadows. The red glow probably came from the sunrise. Rian is right – Y/N’s imagination is far too active, drawing conclusions which make zero sense.

Except – she has this feeling in her blood, a singing in her bones. Heat stirs within her, as though seeking an unanswered call.

Ignoring all this, Y/N steps into the yard of the forge. Determinedly, she closes the gate behind her. Gwen looks up at the sound, ceasing her sweeping to give Y/N a wave. Switching her broom to one hand, she fixes her hair clip with the other – a silver and jade pendent Owen bought her last Yuletide.

Seeing her there, Y/N slowly relaxes. Nothing bad can happen in the presence of someone like Gwen. Lovely, serene and admired by all, Gwen is the pride and joy of Tywll. Y/N cannot even dislike her for this, though – Gwen is every bit as kind as she is beautiful.

“Hello, Y/N!” she calls out, smiling brightly. “Lovely weather compared to yesterday, no?”

Y/N shields her face as she walks, blocking the sun which breaks over the horizon. Elongated shadows stretch towards her, the longest they will be until the sun sets again. Y/N smiles, moving to answer when a dissonant crack sounds from above.

Both Y/N and Gwen look up, startled when a branch breaks loose from the tree.

Gwen’s lips part, about to scream but before she can, Y/N jumps into action. She moves without thought, throwing herself forward and wrenching power within. The branch veers off-course, smashing into the window – narrowly avoiding the door where Gwen stands.

Staggering backwards, Gwen drops the broom she was holding.

The window lies in shattered pieces, all over the lawn and the branch sticks grotesquely out of the house. Gwen stares for a moment before whimpering, tremblingly pressing a hand to her mouth – the window could have easily been her.  

Owen appears then, hurtling head-long around the side of the building. He must have been in the forge, since he still wears his apron, only one of his work gloves discarded.

Skidding to a stop, he sees the chaos before him. “What happened?” he blurts. Gwen still has not moved, standing before the doorway. “What happened – are you hurt, Gwen?”

Gwen shakes her head, hair escaping her clip.

She points – finger passing briefly over Y/N – to land on the tree overhead. “It was the branch!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It broke off from the tree and hit the window right next to me!”

Rushing forward, Owen barely notices the glass crunching beneath his feet. Y/N sags, relieved by their distraction but neither one of them notices, too consumed by their relief.

“Gods,” Owen gasps, coming to a stop. He removes his hat, making a hurried gesture over his heart. “To think you were standing there. It must have been the storm,” he adds, glancing up. “Lightning must have struck last night, and rain loosened it further.”

Gwen nods, a bit dazed. “It must’ve been.”

Stepping forward, Owen wraps his daughter tightly in a hug. Y/N looks away, lowering her gaze to the ground. He mumbles into her neck – a prayer, or a thanks of some sort – which does not seem like something she should intrude upon.

Folding her hands behind her back, Y/N closes her eyes. Her heart races, as though she has run a far distance and her hands are badly shaking, which is why she conceals them. It has been a long time since she allowed herself a reaction.

It has been even longer since she opened that part of herself.

At last, Owen breaks free. “Y/N!” he calls, noticing her there. “I’m so sorry to scare you like that.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N says. Crossing the yard, she feigns concern scanning the bright shards of glass. “I’m glad no one was hurt. You’re sure you’re not?” she asks of Gwen, searching her frame

Smiling kindly, Gwen bends for the broom. “Quite certain. Thank you for your concern.”

Y/N nods. “Can I help in any way? Pick up the glass, or…?”

“Oh, yes.” Owen blinks, seeming to notice the mess. “Y/N, could you get pail from the forge? We can gather these larger pieces while Gwen sweeps up the rest.”

She nods in acknowledgement, gathering her cloak to hasten away.

As soon as Y/N turns the corner, she stops and sags against the side of the house. Breathing in deeply, her legs barely hold as they waver beneath her. Head spinning, Y/N chastises herself for such an obvious slip. The last time she lost control in this way, she must have been a child.

It cannot happen again.

Blankly, Y/N stares at the grey wood before her. Her vision blurs, threatening her happiness at having helped in some way. Because even if what she did was dangerous, at least Gwen is safe. At least Owen is happy, and their family remains intact.

It is hard to chastise herself for a result like that. Slowly pulling herself upright, Y/N regathers her bearings and goes to fetch the pail. If she is gone for too long, Owen will be suspicious.

Still, an inkling of worry lingers the rest of the day. Red eyes continue to haunt from the shadows, causing Y/N to wonder if she did the right thing. Each time she looks over her shoulder, there is nothing to see.

The morning passes by in a never-ending list of things to be done. Owen is the only blacksmith in Tywll – a fact not unusual for a town of their size, but due to a steady stream of travelers means he is constantly in demand. He is expected to know a variety of crafts, all of which can be daunting. Locksmith, silversmith, armory – Owen knows them all. It means Y/N, by extension, is expected to know them as well.

She does the menial tasks while he labors – pumping the bellows, replacing coal in the furnace and changing the anvil when Owen begins a new task. She is happy to do this, since it means she is that much closer to owning her own shop.

Around sundown, the work finally slows, and Y/N allows herself a moment of rest. Coming to a stop, Y/N wipes sweat from her brow and pushes hair behind her ear. The forge is sweltering even on the coldest of days, let alone midway through autumn. Still, Y/N has always preferred this to the chill.

Owen finished work nearly an hour ago – now he stands at the counter, wrapping an axe up in fabric. Although their town is too small to have a Lord or a Knight, they have several merchants wealthy enough to imagine themselves both. Cadoc is one of said merchants – a finicky man whose family has lived in Tywll for centuries.

He commissioned an axe from Owen last month, which was notable because Cadoc usually purchases his goods from Dowais –a larger town several kilometers away from Tywll. He rarely buys local, but for Owen, he seems to make an exception.

Wrapping the blade against harm, Owen looks at Y/N. “You’ll be fine closing the shop on your own?” he asks, already grabbing his coat.

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first time closing. Go on – Cadoc is not the type to be kept waiting.”

Owen chuckles beneath his breath. The statement is true – a fact they both know and yet, few would dare say.

“Alright,” he says, firmly grasping the axe. Pausing on the threshold, he glances over his shoulder. “If you leave before I’m back, take those extra nails home to Mervin. Alright?”

Y/N nods, busy scrubbing the soot from the metal. Once he is gone, she continues to clean. The forge stays open past sundown, but customers rarely stop by so late in the day. It is little risk to Owen if Y/N is here alone.

Glancing around, Y/N sets down her cloth and realizes the shadows are longer than she thought. Already, the day grows to a close and soon enough, winter will be upon them. Listlessly, Y/N wonders how many more seasons she will face in this town. Day in and day out, the same trials and tribulations. Why, it is almost enough for –

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the new voice, Y/N whirls and nearly trips over her water.

A stranger stands in the doorway, hat removed from his head. Y/N notices his hands first. They are large yet delicate, clasped around the brim of his hat.

She next notices his face as he steps into the lamplight. The man is beautiful – there are no other words to describe him. With pale skin and midnight-black hair, he might well be a painting. Indeed, Y/N wonders briefly if this is the case.

Then he blinks, shattering the image.

“We’re about to close.” Y/N drops her rag in the bucket. It seems uncomely to hold suds in his presence. “The master smith recently stepped out for a delivery. He will not return for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he says, glancing around. “I’m in no rush.”

Arching a brow, Y/N surveys his face. The man’s accent is not from around here; there is a formal drawl to it, vowels elongated in a way which speaks of nobility. Curiously, Y/N lowers her gaze to his coat. Finely made.

“Do you have a message I can give him?”

The man’s gaze lifts. “Perhaps,” he allows, laying a hand on the counter. “Might I ask who you are?”

“An apprentice.”

His eyes gleam, since this is not what he asked. “How intriguing.”

“Because I’m a woman?

His brows shoot upwards, withdrawing his hand. “Of course not.”

“Then, why?” she asks pleasantly.

“Actually, I did not come to inquire after your services.” He abruptly changes the subject. “But to offer you mine.”

“And what services are those?”

Rather than answer, the man glances over his shoulder. Through the windows of the forge, Owen’s main door is visible. Most of the glass has been cleared, but evidence of the accident remains.

The stranger’s lip curls. “Odd weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

The way he says this makes Y/N’s heart almost stop. It takes her a moment to re-start, a moment to recover and during this time, he looks at her over his shoulder.

“The rain has been unusually strong,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

The stranger says nothing else and there is no trace of humor to the inky black of his gaze. The rest of his clothing is also well-made, Y/N realizes – again, unusual for Tywll. This coupled with his accent has her hackles raised in alarm. This man is clearly an outsider.

Lifting her chin, Y/N attempts to look down her nose. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ll confess – I came because I’m curious.”

“About?”

When he leans in, Y/N catches a whiff of a scent not unlike burnt wood. “I arrived in the village early this morning,” he says.

“A lovely time of the day.”

“Incredibly so,” he says, expression inscrutable. “Dawn is the most honest time of day, I have found.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“Is it? The nighttime can mislead things. Darkness often conceals that which is best left alone.”

“Or,” Y/N offers. “It allows the freedom of no one else seeing.”

The man does not respond, silence growing between them until Y/N realizes she may have said too much. Schooling her face to neutrality, she offers a smile. “As I said. Are you sure there is nothing you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, no. Merely my services. I was traveling this morning and saw the branch in your window – you see, I’m a tradesman of sorts.” He pauses, flashing a smile. “I replace wayward things.”

“Replace?” Y/N’s brow furrows, glancing outside. “Like the window?”

“Amongst other things,” the strange man allows. “Odd, though, for the branch to have fallen that way. Based on the tree above, seems like it would have hit the front door.”

Y/N freezes, glancing up and in that moment, realizes her mistake. 

The man’s smile sharpens – a razor in disguise.

Withdrawing, she shakes her head. “The oddest of incidents. Your concern is noted and appreciated, of course.” Heart racing, she turns to regather her things. “I’m afraid there are others in town who can help, though.”

He chuckles. “None like me, I can assure you.”

“Be that as it may, we have no need of your… services.”

“Of course,” he says, smile widening. “I must respect your wishes on the matter.”

Bowing low, he replaces the hat on his head. Y/N is somewhat surprised to find him giving in so easily. From what she knows of traveling merchants, they rarely take no for an answer. As he begins to leave the shop, the man pauses on the threshold and examines an object. Seeing what he looks at, Y/N stops with one hand in the rags.

“This…” He tilts his head to one side. “Is lovely, whatever it is.”

Y/N tries not to scowl.

She does not think he means this as an insult, but the man’s tone and mannerisms are so strange, she cannot help but react. The object in question is one she made late at night in the forge. It began as a lone ball of metal, but under Y/N’s careful manipulation became molten tendrils of fire which seem to dance in the lamplight.

It is useless, per Owen’s criticism, but still – he did not throw it out.

The stranger considers it a moment, then turns back to Y/N. “Did you make this?”

Y/N straightens. “Yes.”

He returns to the object, surprised. “It is quite good.”

“Truly?” Y/N attempts not to look interested but cannot deny that she is. She finds herself wanting to know more about what this mysterious stranger thinks. The thought catches her off guard.

Hiding a smile, he turns in her direction. “It is,” he insists, offering her his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, apprentice blacksmith of Tywll.”

“Y/N,” she says, holding out her hand in turn.

The moment their fingers touch, a fire blazes through her.

Immediately, Y/N releases him, as if burned. It is too late. She stares open-mouthed at her palm, unable to see any visible damage. Yet her skin feels oddly scalded, her bones ringing with strangeness only magic can forge.

Terrified, she glances up – and finds him staring back.

Darkness swirls in the bottomless depths of his gaze. “Who are you?” he growls, taking a hasty step forward.

“Is there something I can help with?”

Owen appears on the threshold.

The stranger halts, emotions clearly at war on his face. Slowly, logic seems to win out, and he reluctantly turns. Owen continues to stare, clearly unimpressed by his manner of speaking. Y/N assumes he did not hear much, but the little he did could not have been good.

“I apologize.” Genteelly, the stranger bows. “I was merely offering my services to your apprentice, should you need to replace your window. Terrible storm last night.”

Owen does not look away. “I prefer my customers wait outside until I arrive.”

“Of course. My apologies, for any offense.”

“None taken.” Owen watches him go. “You are a tradesman, then?”

The man comes to a stop at the door. “Of a sort.”

“Quite a good one, I’d imagine to be able to afford clothes like those.”

“I do well enough.”

“I see.” Owen still does not move. “Well, then. I would hate to keep you from it.”

The man pauses before nodding, reaching into his coat. “Here,” he says, turning to hand Owen a card. “I will be in town a few days longer. Should you have need, you’ll know who to ask for.”

Accepting this, Owen places it beside him on the counter. “Thank you.”

The man nods again before leaving. He hovers on the threshold, half in and out of the shadows before he enters the night. Owen watches him disappear, waiting until he is gone before turning around. Y/N does this as well, still clutching her hands as if burned.

Owen looks sharply at her. “Did he say anything to you?”

“What? No, nothing.”

“Then – touch?” Owen asks, and Y/N realizes he saw the man take his step forward. “Did he touch you?”

“N-no,” she stammers quickly, uncertain why she defends him. “Nothing of the sort.”

Owen surveys her a moment, then nods and walks past. “No good travelers,” he mutters, shutting the door – he is not looking at Y/N and does not see how the name sends a chill down her spine. “Always thinking they own the towns they stay in, huh?”

Ignoring the calling card on the table, Owen strides towards the furnace. Y/N watches him stoke the flames, oddly embarrassed by the whole interaction. It is not as though the stranger did anything untoward. He was odd, yes, but that hardly constitutes condemnation.

Besides, there is the small manner of his skin, like flames when they touched.

This is not something she can say to Owen, though and so, Y/N shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be angry about, I’m certain.”

Owen pauses, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Alright,” he sighs. Hovering a moment, he turns to meet her gaze. “Why don’t I finish the rest? You can head to the inn, come back in the morning.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, yes.” Owen waves a hand. “Go and help Mervin and Rian. Nice night like this, I’m sure the tavern is bustling. I’ll be fine.”

Y/N hesitates, before nodding and undoing the strings of her apron. The garment is covered in soot, but this cannot be helped in the forge. Y/N does her best to wash it with water before hanging to dry in the pantry.

As she exits the forge, she spots the calling card on the table.

Glancing upwards, she sees Owen’s back is now turned. Before she can think, she plucks the card from the table and slides this into her pocket.

Immediately, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the night. The temperature drops several degrees and she stops, wiping sweat from her forehead. Realizing the stranger saw her in such a condition, Y/N frowns as she sets off down the road.

Humming as she walks, Y/N pointedly ignores the events of today. A feat which proves to be impossible when she reaches the inn, coming to a stop in the coolness of its shadows. Fighting a battle within, Y/N slowly reaches into her cloak to pull out the card.

The card is plain – white, with silver filigree letters. The calligraphy is almost too delicate to be real, thin swirls of writing which transcribe only a name.

Min Yoongi.

Y/N flips the card over, expecting to see more, but it is empty. Frowning, she slips the card again in her pocket and resumes her path to the inn. Try as she might, Y/N cannot shake the man’s face from her mind.

The blood in her veins heats, nearly combustive at the thought.

Y/N enters through the back door to change into her clothing. Work in the tavern requires a dress, not pants and her hair up on her head. The new apron is stained with spilled food, not soot but the effect is largely the same.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Y/N grabs a tray by the door. “Where do those plates go to?” she asks Rumilda, their cook.

Rumilda is not of Tywll either, but has worked for the Talog’s since before Y/N was born. Even so, she is still considered an outsider as well. 

“Table under the window,” she instructs with a wave. “The traveling couple with the newborn.”

Nodding, Y/N pushes open the door with her hip. As she enters the front room, she winces at the noise. Owen was correct – the inn is, indeed, busy tonight. Edging around a table of men playing cards, Y/N reaches the window and sets her plates down.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling brightly. The couple voices their thanks, the father gently bouncing a child on his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, no,” says the woman, waving her off. “Thank you.”

Y/N nods, turning around with her tray to exit the room. Rian is at the bar, a large oaken structure which has stood the test of time. Rian always is the one pouring the drinks – she is best suited as gatekeeper, determining when men should be cut off.  Mervin always stands at the front door. He greets guests when they arrive, tallying their bills and determining the price.

On a night as full as this one, Y/N imagines the rooms to be costly. Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N returns to the kitchen and sets down her tray.

“Lord, the inn is busy,” she remarks, already grabbing a plate. “Lots of strangers, too.”

Rumilda nods, ladling stew into a bowl. “Quite a few coming through town on their way to the autumnal festival in Dowais. Rian mentioned five alone this morning, though she expects there to be more.”

Nodding, Y/N picks back up the tray. “Where is this one going?”

“Table to the right of the fireplace,” Rumilda says. “One of the travelers from this morning, just off the road. Well-off, too, so take care not to spill.”

“Alright.” Y/N is mid-way to the door before her feet falter. “A solo traveler you said?” Wary, she glances over her shoulder. “You’re certain?”

Rumilda continues to stir. “Yes, yes, of course. Mervin gave him the best rooms in the inn. Why – Y/N?” Looking up, she squints through the steam. “You seem as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dazedly, Y/N pulls herself from her thoughts. “It’s nothing,” she says, continuing on. “Nothing at all. The table by the fireplace?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Hurry, now – someone that wealthy won’t be kept waiting long.”

Nodding again, Y/N pushes open the door. It swings shut, the noise of the tavern enveloping her smoothly. A solo traveler this morning and wearing finely-made clothes – Y/N cannot help but think of Min Yoongi.

He did say he would be staying in town, and theirs is the only inn in Tywll.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Y/N tries to ignore the pounding beat of her heart. The man asked too many questions about her. Good questions, intelligent questions – ones which gave Y/N pause. Men like that are not to be trusted.

And then, there is the matter of the heat when they touched.

Skirting around the final table, the fireplace comes into view – and Y/N exhales in relief, not recognizing its occupant.

The man is not Yoongi; that much is certain. 

He is taller, with lighter hair and a thoughtful expression. Rumilda was right, though – he is dressed immaculately, clearly in possession of wealth. His cloak is a deep shade of scarlet and he wears gloves on both hands; ones of fine leather Y/N could never wear in the forge.

Y/N stares for a moment before realizing her place and hurrying forward. The man is also quite handsome – this fact cannot be denied.

“Hello,” she greets, setting his stew on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man looks up, meeting her gaze.

Y/N blinks, the room slowing around her. His gaze is ice blue, almost impossibly so – it is unnerving, how beautiful his eyes are.

“How kind of you to ask,” he says, smiling easily.

“It’s only my job.” Y/N forces herself to respond. “I work in the tavern.”

“Ah, I see. Then, it appears I am in your debt this evening.”

Ducking her head, Y/N cannot help but be charmed. There is something about him which she finds calming – perhaps the lilt to his voice, or the easy smile to his lips.

“Not at all,” she insists, looking up. “This is my family’s inn. Our job is to make you comfortable. After all, you’ve paid for it.”

The man’s smile widens, leaning back in his seat. “Ah, I see. You make a good point. And what did you say your name was, again?”

“I didn’t.” She pauses. “But it’s Y/N, all the same.”

“Y/N,” he says slowly, rolling the word. His gaze brightens. “A lovely name. Your parents have exquisite taste.”

The man glances up at the bar – to Rian – as if in deference, but Y/N does not correct him. Rian did not name her, neither did Mervin, but that hardly seems prudent to discuss at the moment. The stranger will learn soon enough of her past from the locals, if he decides to stay.

“Thank you.” Y/N manages to keep her voice level. “Now – truly, is there anything else I can bring?”

Smiling back, he lowers both hands to the tablecloth. Most of his clothing is simple, if well-made, except for the bright silver ring on his hand. There is a sigil upon it which Y/N finds oddly familiar. When the man sees her gaze lingering, he pointedly removes his hand from the table.

Y/N’s cheeks heat, gaze lifting to his.

The lines around his mouth seem somehow less genial. “Perhaps more wine? What vintage is known in these parts?”

“None, I’m afraid.” Shaking her head, Y/N tries not to dissect his reaction. Some people are merely private about their belongings, after all. “More ale than wine, unfortunately.”

“I see.” Just as abruptly, pleasantry returns to his face. “In that case, what would you recommend?”

The man’s hand is still hidden, Y/N cannot help but notice.

She hesitates before speaking, finding the entire interaction to be odd. Perhaps she is being too critical. Perhaps she is reading too much into his mannerisms – likely so. After seeing a grim in the shadows, the incident with the branch and meeting Min Yoongi, Y/N is certainly on edge.

“Oh, many things,” she says lightly. “Rian can make anything you like.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I do apologize – I’m being rude, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Alvah. I arrived to Tywll this morning and am thoroughly taken with your town.”

“Are you?” Y/N arches a brow. “You’ll have to explain to me why.”

Alvah pauses, as though uncertain whether she is joking before he bursts into laughter. 

Y/N smiles reassuringly. “About that ale,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alvah murmurs his thanks as she leaves, but Y/N is already gone, plunging into the crowd. Tywll receives a lot of travelers, especially this close to the autumnal festival. It is not unusual for one or two to stay longer than intended, infatuated by the charms of ‘village life.’

They all leave eventually, though. Only the townspeople ever stay in Tywll.

Stopping at the bar, Y/N lowers her tray to the counter. “One ale,” she says, glancing at Rian. Alvah is hidden within the crowd, so she does not bother to look. “The table over by the fireplace.”

Rian nods, grabbing a glass. “I’ll have the new serving girl take this over to them,” she says, sliding a different cup towards Y/N. “Her other tables are in that area, anyways. I need you to take this wine upstairs. Room seven.”

Y/N blinks, seeing the fine vintage before her. She did lie a bit, telling Alvah they had none of renown. Rian and Mervin save a bottle or two for their most important guests. Rather uneasily, Y/N glances at the stairs.

“Oh,” she says, reluctantly taking the glass. Swiftly, she squashes the disappointment this brings. Alvah was kind, and not bad to talk to. “Room seven, you said?”

“Another solo traveler,” Rian nods. “Although he hasn’t come down yet. Paid a pretty penny though, so make sure he’s comfortable.”

Turning away, Y/N takes the glass from the counter.

Making her way towards the stairs, Y/N nearly spills several times. She is almost glad for the task, as it places her firmly out of reach of loud men and fast hands. The stairwell is a respite, a moment of quiet in the otherwise chaos.

As she climbs, Y/N begins cataloguing all she must do before closing. Help Rumilda scrub the pans, assist the new serving girl in calculating the bills – usher out drunkards before Rian catches wind. When she reaches the door to room seven, Y/N barely hesitates before knocking.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she is almost ready to put the wine down and leave when it suddenly opens.

“Thank you,” says a male voice, “but I – you!”

The inhabitant sounds familiar, if somewhat surprised and Y/N swiftly turns back around. Eyes widening, she nearly drops her wine when she comes face to face with a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

Min Yoongi stares. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Y/N blinks, recovering her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying at the inn.” Leaning a shoulder to the wall, Yoongi crosses his arms. “Or, are there other places in town to stay?”

“Well, no.”

“Well, then.”

Y/N glances past him, into his room. A flickering fire casts shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but a black steamer trunk – and Yoongi, who is looking at Y/N as though she might be a stalker. 

Incensed by this idea, Y/N straightens. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she clarifies, glaring back.

Yoongi tilts his head. He is dressed more casually than before, in only a plain tunic and trousers. His boots lie abandoned at the foot of his bed – it is strangely intimate, to see him in socked feet.

Yoongi’s gaze moves to her hand. “Is that wine for me?”

“I’m sorry?” Y/N blinks.

“That wine.” He nods to the cup. “Did you bring that here for me, or are you merely doing a mandatory room check?”

“It’s for you,” Y/N blurts, unable to think of a response.

Shrugging, Yoongi turns around and leaves the door open. He pads to the fireplace, removing the iron to stoke the flames higher. Y/N steps into his room, hovering at the edge and wondering what she should do. The shadows seem to leap out, stretching for her – unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Yoongi does not seem untrained.

Warily, she takes a step backwards.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “Come in,” he says, replacing the fire iron. “Don’t just stand there.”

Teeth gritted, Y/N closes the door. When it was opened, she was too shocked by Yoongi’s appearance to think of questions to ask. Now, though, she can think of many things – and most do not require an audience.

“Why are you the one bringing me this?” Yoongi asks, watching Y/N walk closer. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Y/N glowers, handing over the wine. She is careful not to touch his skin in the process – oddly enough, Yoongi exhibits similar restraint.

“The owner of the inn asked me to.” Y/N hesitates. “They – I work for them in the evenings.”

Yoongi gives the wine a dubious swirl. “You work for them.”

“That’s what I said.”

Lips quirking, he lifts the glass to his mouth. Taking a slow sip, Yoongi does not look away and, apparently finding it to his satisfaction, turns to set this on the windowsill. The moonlight casts a pall over his features, making him seem otherworldly.

Glancing at the door, Y/N wonders how much longer to stay. There are still a million things to do before sleep – but still, she has questions for him. Who he is, why he is here, why his skin seems to burn and affect her so dearly.

Yoongi pointedly clears his throat.

Glancing over, Y/N is startled to find his gaze on hers. Strangely enough, she sees just as many questions within for her, as she has for him.

“I wonder,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. While Yoongi stares, his gaze hardens to something like ice. “Do your employers know you’re a shadow-singer?”

Y/N freezes in place, feet rooted to the floor.

She cannot think beyond the pulse in her veins, the thud of her heart and the singular thought in her mind.

Run.

Run, she does.

Barely does she make it two steps before Yoongi appears, materializing easily between her and the door. His cup of wine is still held in one hand – setting this down, he wipes a hand on his trousers.

“You can try to run,” he starts, but Y/N is no longer listening.

Shuddering to a halt, she whips her head sideways. Rushing towards the window, she stops short when history repeats itself.

“Let me save you some time,” says Yoongi, stepping out of mid-air. “Any time you run; I will appear.”

Seething, Y/N pauses to consider her options. Simply put, there are none. None which involve keeping the world as it is, that is. Already, Yoongi knows what she is. It is only a matter of time before he tells the town, so the only thing left is her final defense.

Magic.

Swallowing hard, Y/N resigns herself to a fate long avoided. If her secret is out, she has nothing to lose.

Inverting her gaze, she reaches within. It has been such a long time since she allowed herself to descend. The sensation is akin to stumbling around in the dark, seeking out something which may or may not appear. Eyes clenched shut, Y/N empties her mind to push onward. There is a door always within, pulsing with power and beckoning her near.

It never leaves, calling out to her even when she refuses.

At last, fingers brushing wood, Y/N slowly unlocks it.

For a moment, nothing happens. For a moment, she stands there, body quivering with anticipation – and then.

Shadows burst forth, searing her veins like a drug.

The sensation is akin to fire, to bliss as greedily, Y/N inhales and savors the power. She shudders, overwhelmed by the magic after so long without. Darkness floods her body, searching for weakness, but finding nothing of note. Yanking this back, Y/N reigns in her thoughts and does not relent. Wrestling for control, she demands the darkness obey her, forces it to twist and bend to her will.

Take me away, she demands, teeth gritted.

When she opens her eyes, Y/N finds herself in the Shadow realm.

Unfortunately, so is Yoongi. Teeth bared like a dog, his eyes seem to glow red in the darkness.

The Shadow realm is not one to linger in. It exists, by definition, in between worlds. To her right, Y/N can see the sharpened edge of Yoongi’s bed, the cold black of his steamer trunk. It all wavers though, as if seen from underwater.

On the other side of her is pure darkness.

Growling, Yoongi clenches his fists and strides forward. “Idiot,” he seethes, gripping her elbow.

Y/N inhales, glancing at where their skin touches. Rather than burn, his touch now seems to enhance. Shadows twist around them both, emboldened by the strength of their combined power. 

Yoongi’s eyes widen, staring at this in shock.

Shaking his head, he grips her even tighter and the real world appears.

Stumbling forward, Y/N feels drained by the abrupt lack of shadows – the abrupt lack of power to feed on. The real world feels too harsh, too cold and she longs for the sweetness of night. 

Hissing under her breath, Y/N whirls to face Yoongi.

He stands across the room, picking a shadow from his tunic to fling into the fireplace. It hits a rogue flame with a sizzling sound. “Idiot,” Min Yoongi mutters, under his breath. Accusatorially, he looks at her over his shoulder. “What were you thinking, entering the Shadow realm like that?”

His gaze is intense, stalking forward but Y/N does not allow herself to be crowed. Holding her ground, she pokes his chest with a finger.

“Me?” she demands, stopping him in his tracks. “What were you thinking, coming after me? What… even are you?”

The question tapers off, losing steam at the end. He knows what she is – Yoongi knows Y/N is a shadow-singer, one of the feared brands of magic which thrives in the night. There are many kinds of magic, but shadow-singers are feared above all. Y/N is a human who can travel the Shadow realm, one who can bend the darkness to her will. That is what she did earlier, saving Gwen from the tree branch. The shadows knocked it aside.

Yes, Y/N is a shadow-singer and Yoongi knows it. And still, she does not know what he is.

Hesitancy enters his gaze. Some of his mask has disappeared from the first time they met. As though scrubbed away in the Shadow realm, he no longer seems entirely human. His eyes still glow faintly red, as they did in the shadows.

“Please, Y/N.” Yoongi twists his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short. You already know what I am. You have since you saw me this morning.”

“This – this morning?” Y/N repeats, mind reeling.

Yoongi came into the forge during the evening. If what he says is true, then it was not the first time they met. But Y/N met no other strangers during the day – unless. Slowly, her eyes widen with realization. 

Yoongi is correct. She knows what he is.

“We met in the square,” Yoongi says smoothly, twisting a hand over his chest. Still looking at her, his eyes seem to gleam. “I am Min Yoongi, of the Cŵn Annwn.”

Y/N could not move if she wanted to.

It is so obvious now, in hindsight. Of course, Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – no other beings travel the Shadow realm so easily. No one else is granted that type of dark magic. The Cŵn Annwn are the final enforcers of the Otherworld, sent to the Real world to resolve the worst kinds of incidents. Namely, those which involve magic.

Seeing her face, Yoongi takes a step forward. “I see you know what I am.”

“I – I know you.” Y/N takes a hasty step backwards. Her back nearly collides with the wall. “I don’t understand why you’re here, though.”

“Don’t you?” Yoongi tilts his head. “You saved someone who was not supposed to be saved, Y/N. Lord Arawn is without a soul, and you are its cause.”

“Am I…” Y/N stares at him, mouth gone suddenly dry. “What... what does that mean? Am I to die in her place?”

Yoongi pauses a moment longer than necessary. “I don’t know.” 

“How... how can you not know?”

“It has yet to be decided.”

“How convenient.” Y/N hesitates. “When will you know?”

Something like amusement crosses his face. “When Arawn decides, I imagine.”

“And when will that be?”

“Uncertain,” Yoongi says. “Until then, I am to keep an eye on the human – and on you, shadow-singer.”

Y/N flinches back from the name. “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It’s what you are.”

“Not anymore,” Y/N mutters, turning away. She probably should not turn her back on one of the Cŵn Annwn, but she cannot help it. Continuing to look at Yoongi now that she knows what he is seems impossible.

Every time she looks at him, she remembers the Shadow realm. She remembers Gwen, her power and with that power comes memories best left forgotten. She remembers a small village in the woods, the rending of screams in the night, a singed smell of flesh.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/N balls her hands into fists. Counting slowly down from ten, she waits until the screams fade from memory. Hastily, she locks the door in her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, Yoongi stands before her.

“Ah!” she yelps, stumbling backwards. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi recoils as well. “I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been silent for several minutes. Why are you trying to suppress your magic, witch?” he asks, seeming curious.

“Don’t call me a witch!” Y/N scowls, striding past him again.

Yoongi stares after her in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Someone could hear!” Y/N snaps. Coming to a stop at the table, she hesitantly drops a hand to its wood. “Don’t you know what those in the Real world do to magic?”

When she looks over her shoulder, he is looking at her.

“I… do know.”

Yoongi sounds almost remorseful and Y/N hesitates, thrown by his answer. “Then...” She pauses, shaking her head. “You know why I can’t admit what I am.”

“I do – to others. However, why can’t you admit it to yourself?”

Y/N stares back, unsure of the answer. There is something in his expression which gives her pause. Something about the way he said I do know, which makes her think he truly does. There are legends about the Cŵn Annwn which say they once were human – although how a human becomes Cŵn Annwn at all is a story not told.

Quietly, Yoongi clears his throat. “I take it your employers do not know what you are, then?”

“No, they don’t. And they are not only my employers – I’m their ward.”

Yoongi looks up in surprise. “You live here? At the inn?”

“Yes.”

He glances past her to the door. “Interesting.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Y/N interjects, walking until they stand nose to nose. “Which brings us back to you. What do you want?”

Yoongi arches a brow. “I told you. The Otherworld needs a soul.”

“Yes, but which soul? You’re being horribly cryptic.”

His upper lip twitches, unable to help himself. “As though magic could be any other way.”

Y/N’s teeth grit, about to give him a piece of her mind – when a singular thought occurs to her. “How did you know what I was?”

“A shadow-singer?”

“Yes,” she says. “How did you know I have magic?”

Yoongi looks at her a second, then stretches out a palm. “Touch me.”

Y/N’s lips part in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Skin to skin contact.” Gently, he wraps his hand around hers. The center of her palm tingles. “I can tell when someone has magic by brushing their skin.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, choosing to ignore the feel of his skin on hers. “I see,” she says, glancing down to look at their hands intertwined. Abruptly, she pulls hers away. “So, you knew what I was at the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?” 

Yoongi exhales. “I – the master smith returned,” he mutters, brow furrowed – as if he does not understand it himself. “Like you said, humans do not react kindly to magic. The instructions I had were to identify the witch, keep an eye on you both – and await further instruction.”

“But what further instructions?” she asks, aware she is toeing a dangerous line. “Why wouldn’t Arawn simply take Gwen’s soul to restore the balance? For that matter, does Arawn come chasing after every soul who is saved?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw ticks. “It is not my place to ask questions,” he says at last. “I know no more than you do.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room.

“Liar.”

His feet falter, coming to a stop. “What?”

“I said, liar,” Y/N repeats, calmly – too calmly. She knows she should not be saying these things, but she is tired. Tired of lying, tired of hiding and tired of feeling as though she has no control.

“Whose soul are you really here for?” she asks.

Yoongi turns slowly, disbelief in his gaze. “What do you want me to say?” 

There is a growl to his words as he speaks, a trace of Cŵn Annwn within. Before, Y/N had almost forgotten to whom she was speaking.

“Do you want me to say your soul is more valuable to Arawn than hers?” Yoongi asks silkily. “Is that it?”

Y/N’s gaze widens as Yoongi comes closer.

“Do you want me to tell you he often does that?” he asks, gaze flashing with night. “Switches out one soul for another – one he deems more valuable?”

“Valuable?” Y/N’s voice is nearly a whisper. “For... what?”

Darkness crosses his expression. “It does not matter,” Yoongi says stiffly. “You already know too much. We all die eventually, Y/N. Annwn is without a soul now and someone must fill it. The possessiveness of Arawn might seem like a bad thing to humans, but it is necessary for reason to hold.”

“What good is magic if I cannot use it to save anymore?”

“What good, indeed?” Yoongi bites. “When you do not use it anyways?”

Y/N falters, having no response to this. He is right – before today, she had not used her magic in nearly fifteen years.

“That’s what I thought.” Yoongi turns, walking away to stare at the moon. “Perhaps we should leave things here for tonight. I think our intentions are known enough, yes?”

“Intentions?” Y/N nearly laughs. “What – that you’re a hellhound, I’m a shadow-singer and only one of us is in control of their soul?”

Yoongi’s mouth twists, looking up at the moon. “Neither one of us are in control of our souls, Y/N.”

Y/N stares at him for a moment. Whatever Yoongi thinks, he does not elaborate and eventually, she decides he is right. There is nothing more to be said – not tonight, anyways. Not with her soul hanging in the balance and Arawn on the horizon.

Turning on her heel, Y/N walks towards the door. “I’ll be going, then,” she says, one hand on the handle.

Yoongi does not respond.

Giving him one last look, Y/N pushes open the door and enters the hall. She pauses on his threshold, a thought occurring to her which needs to be said. Perhaps it is idiotic, but she needs to try.

“What if I offer myself?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

Yoongi stiffens, looking at her. “You would do that?” he asks, his expression unreadable. “You would willingly give up your soul up for a human?”

“Not any human. Gwen.” Her jaw tightens. “Would it work?”

“It would be… unlikely.”

Resigned to the answer, Y/N nods. At least she asked – which is the best she can do. Turning away, she again grips the doorknob.

“Out of curiosity.”

Y/N stops, her exit halted again. “Yes?”

“It has been a long time since I met a shadow-singer.” 

There is a note of longing to his words Y/N does not understand. It also is not a question.

“And?”

“It just is odd,” he exhales. When Y/N turns to look at him, he reaches out for the wine. “Odd, for humans to continually hide the things about themselves which are beautiful.”

For a moment, she stares and does not respond. Yoongi does not look at her though, says nothing more and at last, Y/N retreats to the hall. Shutting the door in between them, she stands for a moment before heading downstairs.

The shadows drift beside her in the darkness, begging to be seen.

Y/N does not look.

She rarely does.

“The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle.”

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N’s eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N’s power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych’s leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day’s work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N’s young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

“It is not their fault,” her father murmured to her mother. “Not really.”

Her mother’s hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. “No?” she exhaled, brow furrowed.

Y/N’s father’s lip twitched. “Humans know we can do incredible things,” he said softly, unheard by the others over the fire. “They watch us perform remarkable feats. So, when we can’t always help…” He shrugged, trailing off. “In their grief, humans often lash out.”

“And what of our grief?” Y/N’s mother glared at the Travelers. She was never very good at hiding her facial expressions. “What of our pain?”

“People are afraid of the unknown,” he said quietly. “They do not understand our magic and so, they do not understand us.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps.” Wrapping an arm around her mother, he squeezed gently. “But so are we.”

Y/N’s mother glanced at him, expression softening. It was clear she did not trust the humans, but she did trust Y/N’s father. Even now, many years later, their relationship has always been a paradigm for Y/N of love.

For the rest of the evening, her mother was silent, although her tight-lipped expression was evidence enough of her displeasure.

Y/N stopped listening to the storyteller at some point, too tired to remain awake. As she dozed against her father, she caught snippets of conversation around the flames. The Travelers mingled easily with the citizens of Crymych, pouring them wine and drinking with abandon. They toasted to their magic, to power and insisted it was something to be celebrated, even revered.

Remarkably, they were not lying – the Travelers did revere magic.

They simply considered humans too debased to use it.

That was the night Y/N awoke to a blood-curdling scream. She was old enough by then to sleep in her own room and she nearly fell on the floor in her haste to wake up. Kneeling on her mattress, she pressed her nose to the window – and jerked back in fear when crimson splattered the glass.

Y/N squinted, not understanding – but then saw the crumpled shape on the ground. 

She saw the unseeing eyes of Emrys staring back at her.

Y/N screamed. 

Hearing the sound, Emrys’ murderer whipped around, silver knife held aloft. Seeing her face, he snarled and raced for the door. Y/N did not stop to think, throwing herself off the bed and sprinting fast down the hall.

The front door rattled as she ran, shoulder slamming into it from the other side. At the end of the hall, Y/N skidded to a stop and threw open her parents’ bedroom door.

Her mother’s head snapped up, eyes red-rimmed as she clutched at her father. He was unconscious, held limp in Y/N’s mother’s arms while she roughly shook his frame.

“Y/N.” Dropping her father, Y/N’s mother stumbled from bed. She glances past Y/N to the hall, hearing the disturbance at the front door. “Get out of here. Now. Hide!”

Her father lay on bed, head lolled to one side. A five-year-old Y/N stared helplessly on, not understanding why he did not move. Then, she realized something important. Her mother had not drunk the wine that night. Her father had. Horrified by this realization, her legs froze in place – and the front door flew open, shattering against the wall.

“Hide!” Y/N’s mother yelled, rushing past.

Shadows swirled at her fingertips, yanked from the ground as her mother met him head-on. The intruder screamed, shadow shoved down his throat. Whirling around, Y/N rushed to her father and tugged on his hand. He did not move, drugged and unconscious.

“Wake up, daddy,” she gasped, vision blurring. Her mother screamed, dark shadows rushing through the entrance to the room. “You have to wake up.”

Y/N’s mother stumbled into the room, clutching her shoulder. Blood dripped through her fingers and, seeing Y/N, her eyes widened. “Hide!” she hissed, gathering a thick ball of shadow. “RUN!”

Shocked into motion, Y/N finally obeyed. While her mother gathered the darkness before her, Y/N darted past and into the hall. Their front door stood open, ajar to the night but as soon as Y/N reached it, she shuddered to a halt.

Her town was lit by fire.

Several homes were already ablaze, doused with kerosene and sent up in flames. They stood as terrible lampposts, lighting the carnage within. Blood pooled on the ground in dark puddles, multiple bodies lying limp and twisted between them. Dark shapes darted from the shadows, cackling with laughter and calling out to each other.

Slowly, Y/N took a step backwards.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the hallway behind her was clear. Her mother’s shadows were no longer there, which could only mean one thing – turning around, Y/N ran back inside.

Her feet pounded floorboards beneath her, hallway growing longer with each step she ran. When she finally reached the bedroom, Y/N realized in horror her father was dead. His throat had been slit ear to ear, blood ruby-red on the sheets. As for her mother, Y/N arrived just in time to see her gutted through with the knife.

Her mother choked, hands twitching around the steel in her gut.

Someone nearby screamed – in a far-off part of her mind, Y/N realized it was her.

Dropping her mother to the floor, the man slowly turned. Blood dripped from his knife to the ground – his black gloves were stained with it, his silver ring tarnished with crimson.

As he took a menacing step forward, Y/N came to her senses.

She ran.

Sprinting down the long hall, the world seemed to blur. Shadows stretched out to her eagerly, wrapping her body and calling her home. Closing her eyes, Y/N begged for safety – and when she opened them, she had entered the Shadow realm.

No one found her there.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N tears herself from the dream to sit upright in bed.

The only sound in the room is her breath, which is deafening. Hands fisted in sheets, Y/N clenches her eyes shut and wills her heartbeat to slow. Chest rising and falling, Y/N reminds herself over and over where she is.

Tywll, not Crymych.

A tavern, not her parents’ home.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

Staring at the wall, Y/N’s cannot help but remember. For so long, she has tried to forget. To forget what she was – what she is – and how she became who she is now.

Haltingly, Y/N tugs back her covers to stand from the bed. Padding to her washbasin, she splashes cold water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, Y/N grips the bowl.

A stranger stares back at her.

Well – not a stranger, but Yoongi is correct. She is not a shadow-singer. She is not the person her parents raised her to be – but then again, the person her parents raised her to be is someone who cannot exist. The world will not permit her to.

Y/N does not know if anyone else survived Crymych’s massacre. In theory, they might have. Only the adults drank the wine, but Y/N cannot imagine anyone else lived through that carnage. If her mother and Emrys died, two of the strongest in their generation, it is unlikely anyone lived.

It is an accident Y/N is alive at all. She certainly did not intend to travel to the Shadow realm that night. It took her three days to make it back to the Real world and once she did, the Travelers were gone.

Her parents were gone too, but in a different way.

Swallowing, Y/N tears her gaze from the mirror. It has been a long time since she had that nightmare. She cannot help but blame Yoongi for it. If he had not shown up the way he did, asking about her past and forcing her to relive it, she would not have fallen down this hole once again.

And yet – glancing over her shoulder, Y/N ensures she is alone. No one watches her from the shadows, no one waits in the hall.

Closing her eyes, she reaches slowly inside to unlock the door. It does not take as long as before for her power to flow. Exhaling, Y/N sags in relief as her magic floods through her. 

It has been so long, she almost forgot what a blessing it is.

The shadows twist around her ankles, climbing her arms to slip up her neck. Y/N relishes in it, tipping her head back to better enjoy the burn. The darkness has always been a comfort to her – it has always offered her protection, rather than fear.

Exhaling slowly, tears prick her eyes. Y/N wipes these away. It has been so long since she allowed herself to use magic. So long since she allowed herself to be real, to be true and to embrace what she is. The experience hurts.

It also feels right.

Once sated, Y/N releases her hold on the shadows. They do not flee from her this time. Instead, they seem to hover. She looks at them wistfully – until finally, Y/N leaves the door open and returns to bed.

Slipping under her covers, she draws them up to her chin. Her insides are aflame, but no longer does she find the sensation unpleasant.

Uncertain, she turns her head on the pillow. That spark, the feverish sensation – she realizes it was not Yoongi, exactly, but her magic. 

Like calls to like.

Shivering, Y/N sinks lower and pulls the sheet overhead. Curling in on herself, she wonders if he even needs to sleep. She wonders if Yoongi felt anything at all when they touched. Then, Y/N wonders why she bothers thinking of him at all.

Pushing all this away, she allows the warmth of sleep to pull her under.

For the next week, Y/N distances herself from the inn.

It is not so difficult – claiming increased work at the forge, Y/N simply slips out early each morning and returns in the evening. When she does, she washes dishes with Rumilda and stays far from the tavern. In the morning, she helps Rian in the kitchen until it is time to go.

In this way, she avoids Yoongi.

Y/N knows this to be a hopeless endeavor. Yoongi is Cŵn Annwn – it is impossible to hide if he truly wishes to find her. He can enter the Shadow realm, which is something Y/N finds intriguing, despite her feigned disinterest. She has never met anyone else who could. Y/N, herself has only traveled there twice.

Once, on the night of the Travelers and again, the night Yoongi found her.

Since he does not find her, Y/N assumes he has no need. This also interests her, along with the idea that Lord Arawn plays favorites. Not much is known about the dark King of Annwn, aside from his power and aura of mystery. Equally little is known about the Cŵn Annwn and yet, here Y/N is with one sleeping at her doorstep.

Closing the door to the inn, Y/N pulls her cloak close and sets off down the lane. She is later than she meant to be, due to Rumilda taking ill late last night. As Y/N darts around the tavern, her cloak catches on the edge of a barrel.

“Ah!” she yelps, swiftly jerked backwards. Her hand is already reaching for the clasp when a voice interrupts.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Glancing up, Y/N is stunned to see Alvah before her. She had almost forgotten his existence. His fingers work nimbly at her cloak and, once free, Alvah takes a step back. 

Smiling at her, light brown hair falls into his gaze.

“I – thank you,” Y/N stammers.

“Not a problem,” Alvah says, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

He really is attractive. Y/N noticed it the other night in the tavern but now, in the clear light of day, the fact is infinitely more apparent. Tugging her cloak around her neck, Y/N nods and sets off down the road.

Alvah falls into step alongside her.

Y/N looks up, surprised.

Seeing her face, Alvah’s lip quirks. “I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m following you. Aren’t you?”

“Well.” She pauses. “Now, I am.”

He laughs easily. “Rest assured I’m not. I merely have business in town.”

“Business?” They continue to walk, turning down the next lane. “Most of our guests move on from Tywll in a few days. Isn’t the autumnal festival next week?”

“Ah,” Alvah says, as though he understands the confusion. “I’m not most guests, though.”

“Apparently not,” Y/N says, upper lip twitching.

They continue to walk on in silence, Alvah’s gloved hands are clasped behind his back. He glances sideways at her. “I’ll confess, I can’t leave until I accomplish something of worth.”

“Something of worth?” Unable to help herself, Y/N teases a little. “Can it be anything, or does it have to be something specific? Does a long walk constitute ‘something of worth?’ Does sowing a field? Planting a harvest?”

Alvah laughs and tips back his head. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Oh? What?”

“The merchant, Cadoc,” Alvah admits, faltering somewhat. “I need him to offer my father a trade deal. If I can convince him of this, I’ll be granted our land as its heir.”

“Oh.” Something akin to disappointment settles within Y/N’s stomach. The son of a landowner is far above her station. “That is something of worth, indeed.”

“I hope so. If I manage this, I hope I can advance in other aspects of my life.”

“In what way?” 

Absently, Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind an ear. Her skirts drag through the mud and she is woefully aware she walks to the forge. Whomever Alvah’s future wife is, Y/N is certain she will not have hands dirty with soot and steel.

“In marriage, for one,” he says quietly.

It is at this very moment Y/N steps in a puddle and nearly face-plants in the mud. Alvah’s hand quickly steadies her, grasping her elbow before she can fall. Glancing upwards, Y/N’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

Yanking her arm free of his, she clutches her cloak. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, looking back at the puddle. “I, um – I just don’t often speak about…”

“Marriage?” Alvah prompts with a smile.

Silently nodding, she turns down the street to the forge.

“Why not?” 

Alvah follows. 

Now, Y/N knows he is following her. There is nothing else this way but the forge and she glances his way, oddly pleased by the realization. “I would think that’s obvious, no?”

“Not to me,” Alvah says pleasantly.

Although it is still early, the town has begun to wake. Several townspeople throw open their shutters, sweeping their stoops in anticipation of a day’s work. Y/N glances their way, feeling the thrum of life in the air – and yet, none glance in her direction.

“I’m not exactly the sweetheart of this village,” she says, under her breath.

“I don’t know that’s a bad thing.”

Despite the thrill his words give her, they turn the next corner and come into view of the forge. 

Alvah continues to walk, glancing her way. “Was that too forward?” he murmurs. “I apologize, if it was.”

“I – no. I only am not sure I agree.”

“No?”

Y/N sighs. “My current status limits my options.”

“Status?”

Coming to a stop at the gate of the forge, she gestures limply at its doors. “There are not many who wish to marry a woman apprentice.”

Alvah’s gaze brightens, realizing what she is saying. “You work... here?”

Y/N nods, lips tight.

“But that’s wonderful. Why, I – oh. What happened?” Alvah frowns, seeing the boarded-up window.

“Oh, nothing much.” Y/N shrugs, pushing open the gate. “There was a storm the other night. A branch fell.”

Alvah frowns, examining closer. “A storm? I – oh, I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Most townspeople would’ve already formed their own conclusions.”

“I don’t wish to be seen as most people to you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters, though she does her best to temper the response. It would not do to be attracted to Alvah. As much as he wishes to believe they could work, Y/N knows they would not. He is the wealthy son of a land-owning man and Y/N is, well, Y/N.

“A branch crashed through the window,” she explains, returning to his original question. “Narrowly missed the smith’s daughter, Gwen.”

“You don’t say.” Alvah resumes staring at the window. “What a lucky break it missed her.”

“Yes. Lucky.”

Alvah pauses, then looks at her cryptically. “This daughter – was she injured?”

Y/N is surprised to find him so interested. “I don’t think so,” she admits, startled into the truth.

Alvah’s expression turns sheepish. “I’m afraid I must apologize again. You’ve now seen me for what I truly am.”

“Which is?”

“Insatiably curious,” he laughs, offering a smile. “I ask far too many questions when I’m nervous.”

“Oh?” Y/N glances at the forge. “What would you have to be nervous of?”

Rather than answer this, Alvah gently takes hold of her hand. Y/N looks down in surprise, thrown when he lifts this to his lips. Brushing a kiss to her fingers, he slowly releases his hold.

Y/N stares at him in shock.

“You tell me,” Alvah says, low and direct.

When her lips part, but nothing comes out, he turns back up the road.

Y/N watches him leave, uncertain how she should feel. She rubs the back of her hand with one thumb, attempting to commit the gesture to memory. As nice as his touch was, it was only that. Nice.

It did nothing to spark the life in her veins.

It did nothing to stir the magic in her blood.

Turning around on her heel, Y/N enters the forge.

At the end of her day, Y/N is thoroughly exhausted.

She stands in the middle of the forge, bellows held in one hand while she strokes the flames higher. Owen left a half-hour prior to make another delivery, directing Y/N to finish up today’s metalwork. It was a large step towards her independence, being left alone in the forge.

Feeling prideful of this, Y/N sets the bellows aside and picks up a large piece of metal. She needs to create several more horseshoes, since the recent crowd of travelers has bled their stock dry. Holding the metal over the fire, Y/N slowly melts it in each direction. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she ensures no one watches and tempers the edges with darkness.

Yoongi chuckles and steps from the shadows. “Does Owen know you do that?” he asks.

Y/N yelps, nearly dropping the horseshoe in the flames.

Yoongi’s smile widens, walking closer. “What are you doing?”

Scowling, Y/N retracts the horseshoe to dunk in the water. “Creating something,” she mutters, staring into the bucket. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Yoongi comes to a stop at her shoulder, peering over. “Creating something with magic?”

Y/N’s gaze flies upwards. “Will you please be quiet?” she hisses. “Someone could hear.”

“Someone like Gwen?”

Swiftly, Y/N removes the horseshoe and stomps to the shelf. Satisfied by its shape, she places this down and whirls to face Yoongi. “Touch her,” she blurts. “And I’ll have something to say about it.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring his mirth, Y/N strides past him to undo her apron. The leather is heavy, sticking to her chest in a way she pointedly ignores. It is not as though Yoongi would ever look at her like that. However – when she glances his way, she sees Yoongi look hastily up.

Almost guiltily, he avoids her gaze.

Y/N pauses, uncertain what just occurred. Deciding she is imagining things, she resumes hanging her apron. “Leave Gwen out of this, alright?”

Disappearing from where he stands, Yoongi reappears beside her. “You know I can’t promise that,” he says, low. “Just like you can’t promise not to use magic. It’s not what we are.”

Enraged by his casual use of magic, Y/N lifts her chin. “Since you seem so intent upon continuing this conversation,” she hisses. “Let’s do it outside of my workplace.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabs her cloak to push open the door. Exiting the forge, Y/N sends a dark wave of magic behind her to clean its surface. Ignoring Yoongi’s smirk, Y/N strides down the road.

“So.” He catches up to her easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we continue our conversation now?”

“What conversation?” Y/N pulls her cloak tighter. “You broke into my place of work and now are stalking me home.”

“To the inn,” Yoongi corrects. “Where I also rent a room.”

“And the breaking and entering part?”

“Doors are... confusing for Cŵn Annwn.”

Scowling, Y/N lowers her voice. “Doesn’t excuse your impropriety.”

Yoongi shrugs.

He becomes uncharacteristically silent as they walk through the town. The town’s lamplighters are almost done for the evening, the contained flames of the lamps casting shadows over the ground. Y/N stares at it all, feeling their tug in her soul.

It seems now she has let magic back in, it will not be denied. If the time should ever come when Y/N must part from it a second time, she is not sure she will be able to do so.

Yoongi exhales at her side. “Actually,” he says, sounding hesitant. “I came by to ask you something.”

“Oh? How bold to ask more, when you already barter my soul.”

He scowls, looking her way. “I’m not bartering your soul, Y/N. You tangled with fate by saving that girl. That kind of thing has consequences.”

“What type of consequences?”

Yoongi pauses, only to chuckle. “Oh, no,” he mutters. “Only the dead and dying know that. You know, for a human, you have a worryingly low sense of self-preservation.”

“Perhaps if you were more forthcoming.”

“Oh, yes. Ask the night to tell you its secrets.”

The corner of Y/N’s lips lift despite herself. It is funny, in a way. The questions she asks Yoongi, the frustration she holds for him – they are in many ways similar to the frustration humans have with witches. She cannot understand him and his rules and so, she thinks him against her.

Subtly, she glances sideways.

Yoongi is already looking back.

Hastily, Y/N jerks her head forward. “What did you wish to ask me?”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi sounds disappointed, which causes Y/N’s heartbeat to race. She tempers it quickly, scolding herself for being so silly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve seen anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Y/N nearly smiles. “More unusual than a shadow-singer walking with Cŵn Annwn through the town square?”

Yoongi laughs, a deep rumble. “Yes, more unusual than that. I only ask because, well – before my arrival, did you have any difficulty accessing your magic?”

Y/N pauses at the next street corner. The lamplight does not reach this far, giving them space to remain unseen.

“No,” she says, squinting upwards. “Or – I don’t know. I never really tried.”

Yoongi comes to a stop. “Never?”

“It was out of necessity.”

“I know, but…” Yoongi stares at her incredulously. “Damnation, Y/N. How long have you refrained?”

“Fifteen years, give or take.”

“Fifteen… fifteen years?”

“Yes, well.” Y/N exhales and resumes walking. “We all do what we must in order to survive.”

Seeming troubled, Yoongi falls into step alongside her. “The reason I ask, is many of my messengers have been odd since I came here. Reluctant to travel. One even mentioned this area being cursed against magic. Is that so?”

“I don’t really know.”

“He said a great massacre of witches and warlocks took place some fifteen years ago.”

Hearing her history said so casually aloud, Y/N’s feet falter beneath her. She comes to an accidental stop, staring blankly at his back. Vision blurring, her hands ball into fists.

Yoongi continues several paces before realizing she does not follow. “Y/N?” He turns, gaze widening when he sees her expression. “I – oh.”

He seems to do the math in his head. Fifteen years since she last used her magic. Fifteen years since witches and warlocks were murdered. The reality of her situation dawns on him, but before they can speak further, a door bangs open and drunk men tumble out. Yoongi unthinkingly moves closer, glaring at them as they pass. 

Y/N shivers, rubbing her arms to regain control. “It’s fine,” she mutters, shaking it off. “Let’s just go.”

Yoongi looks at her dubiously but nods, following suit.

As they enter the main part of town, the moon breaks through the clouds. Silvery light casts the square in an otherworldly sheen, seeming to exist half-in and out of reality. Smoke curls over the roofs, grey against the inky black of the night. Tywll is quieter after dark, but only barely.

Across the street, a mother lingers in the door to her household. She chats with the milkman, a toddler clinging to her ankles while another one darts into the street. He does not pay attention, swinging around a lamppost and nearly hitting his head on a carriage.

As gently as she can, Y/N uses her shadows to urge the child back to its mother. When she turns around, she sees Yoongi watching.

“What?” she demands, walking faster. He says nothing, merely following suit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” Yoongi seems genuinely puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, that’s all.”

“Me?”

“You hid your magic for fifteen years.” Lowering his voice, Yoongi glances around. Apparently, her apprehension is catching. “You say it was out of necessity, because these people would have killed you otherwise. And yet – whenever you do use magic, it’s to their benefit. You saved Gwen from harm. You pushed that toddler to safety.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat. “And?”

“And,” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s odd, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“That you would choose to help those who would kill you without hesitation.”

Her eyes widen, feet faltering, but she keeps walking down the road.

Seeing her reaction, Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?” he asks. “Was it something I said?”

“You just…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “Treat life so cavalierly. That’s all.”

Yoongi seems mildly offended. “I assure you, I do not.”

“But you do.” Y/N finally comes to a stop. “You’re an enforcer. You only deal with the dead, with souls who have already been weighed and found wanting. Souls without an option for redemption. I live here, though.”

“And where is here?” 

“I live amongst the living,” she says. “In my eyes, there is always room for redemption.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickers with something undefined. “There are some who would call you naïve.” 

“I imagine so,” Y/N says, shrugging to walk past. “I’ve never much cared what people thought about me, though.”

After a moment, Yoongi gives in and follows. As they wind their way through the town, the lamps become more and more sparse. The pools of light lessen between them. Rather than be unnerved by this fact, Y/N welcomes it, embracing the night.

When they finally reach the inn, Yoongi stops.

“Well.” Y/N glances sideways, tugging again on her cloak. “Will you be in Tywll awhile longer?”

Yoongi cranes his neck up to examine the roof. “I imagine so.”

“I see. Are you coming in?”

Yoongi looks at her. “In a bit. I need to meet a messenger outside of town.”

His lips part, a question within but before he can ask it, Y/N places a hand on the doorknob. “Well, goodnight,” she says, pushing inside – until her hand is caught in his.

Startled, she looks down.

Yoongi’s hand has slipped easily through her fingers. He holds her gently, steadily, as though she is something to be treasured. When she looks up, she finds his gaze darker than night.

“I don’t wish to harm you,” he says, low and sincere.

This is what Y/N wanted from Alvah’s touch. This heat racing through her veins, this unbearable lightness of her heart – this is what she wanted from Alvah but instead, feels with Yoongi.

Swiftly, she tugs her hand from his grasp. Y/N cannot afford to forget their situation, not for a moment. Yoongi is here for her soul and at any point in time, may be forced to take her to Annwn.

Steeling her spine, Y/N pushes open the door. “Then don’t,” she says, walking inside.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Yoongi out in the cold.

Y/N leaves early the next morning.

Because of this, Alvah is not waiting to greet her. She did not expect him to be – based on their previous conversation, Y/N holds little hope for a relationship between them. Alvah was nice to talk to, but there is not much more she can ask.

Unlike Yoongi – Y/N’s teeth grit – who somehow manages to get under her skin every time.

Walking fast down the lane, her cloak brushes the ground. The moon has sunk below the horizon, which means the rising of dawn cannot be far off. Rubbing her arms, Y/N fights to keep herself warm.

At the next bend in the road, her feet falter beneath her. 

Something is wrong.

The door to Owen’s home is ajar, left standing open to his front yard. Slowly, Y/N resumes walking and glances side to side. No one else on this street is awake yet, so no one else has noticed the disturbance.

As Y/N draws near, she becomes certain in her assessment. The front gate is unlocked, as though forgotten, or disregarded. Gently, Y/N pushes this open.

“Hello?” she calls, peering into the mist.

No one answers and Y/N is just considering leaving when Owen emerges from around the house. His appearance is off – apron half-tied and hair all askew. He looks past Y/N for a moment, before zeroing in on her face.

“Y/N.” Jerking to life, he rushes across the yard.

“Own?” Y/N frowns and pushes open the gate. “What’s wrong?”

“I – Gwen,” he pants, coming to a stop. “I can’t find Gwen.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N glances around, as though Gwen might pop up any moment. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” says Owen, frantically wringing his hands. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in her bed, nor the kitchen, nor the forge. I – I looked everywhere I can think of, Y/N.”

“Alright.” Y/N steps forward. “Alright, we’ll find her. Perhaps she went out this morning? Did you need bread, or water?”

Owen simply looks at her, dazed. “No, no. Gwen never leaves before I start work.”

Y/N does not know how to respond. The best-case scenario is Gwen did leave on her own – otherwise, the possibilities take a darker turn. “Let me help you look,” she insists. “Maybe you missed her.”

Slowly, Owen nods and follows meekly behind when Y/N enters the yard.

The two search the house from top to bottom, the yard from back to front, but find nothing. Owen is correct – Gwen is gone and what is worse; her bed remains unmade. It does not seem she slept here last night. This has Owen beside himself, not understanding how he misplaced her.

Y/N assures him this is not his fault – perhaps Gwen left to meet friends. It would not be kind of Gwen to do so, to make her father worry like this. Indeed, it would not be like Gwen at all, but at least in this scenario, she would be safe.

Returning to the front yard, Y/N glances up at the house. “There weren’t signs of a break-in.” 

Owen nods slowly. “A good thing.”

In a way. It means Gwen knew the intruder – it does not mean she is safe. 

“We’ll find her,” Y/N exhales. “Maybe she went to the next village. Or, a friend’s house? Is there any place she might have stayed the night?”

Owen’s gaze sharpens. The implication in her question is clear – Gwen is young, beautiful and has many admirers. She might have run away on purpose.

“Possibly,” Owen says. His shoulders sag. “There was someone she was interested in lately, I know. Very recent. Gwen is a good girl, she really is, but… well, she can be romantic.”

For a girl of their age to be called romantic is hardly a compliment. Often, it means they lose their head when in love.

“Well, then.” Y/N sighs. “Perhaps we keep this quiet as long as we can.”

Owen hesitates because, on the one hand, if Gwen is in danger people should know right away. On the other hand – if she did run off with a man, it would cause irreparable damage to her reputation.

“We’ll give her until the end of the day,” Owen determines, reaching behind him to re-tie his apron. “If she is not home by then…”

Y/N nods, understanding the implication. If Gwen is not home by nightfall, the consequences cannot be stopped.

The day drags on longer than usual. Although much work is done in the forge, it seems to take twice as long. Owen keeps glancing out the window, as though he expects Gwen to return home any minute. 

As the day wears on, the sun rises and falls, she does not appear.

Finally, Owen shoves his tongs in the water. “I’m heading into town,” he announces, undoing his apron.

Y/N looks up, wiping her brow. “You’re what?”

“Going into town,” Owen repeats, hanging his garment up on a hook. “I’ll see the sheriff and tell him what’s happened. Either Gwen is in danger, or she has run away. Either way.” He sets his jaw. “I’m bringing her home.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N does not wish to dissuade Owen, but she does feel a certain duty to point out the risk. “If she’s run off, perhaps…”

Owen stares out the window. A shadow crosses his expression, considering the unthinkable. 

“And if she hasn’t?”

Were it anyone else, Y/N would consider running off the more likely option. Tywll is so small, it is rare someone steals a loaf of bread, let alone a woman. However, Gwen is not just anyone. She loves Owen dearer than anything else in this world – and Y/N knows she would not leave without saying goodbye. There is something very wrong with this picture.

Slowly, she nods.

Owen takes a few minutes longer before slipping out the door. Y/N begins cleaning the forge, but her head is not in the process. She is too distracted by thoughts of Gwen – where she might be, who she is with and what Owen will do, if she never comes home. 

When she leaves for the night, Owen still has not returned.

Gwen does not come home that night either, nor the one following.

Rumors spread like wildfire through the village – malicious ones, dismissive ones. Ones which have Y/N waking from nightmares again, but this time they are not her own. At some point, Rian bans talk of Gwen in the tavern, but this does not prevent them from discussing in hushed tones.

Y/N overhears as she waits on the tables, replacing their ale and trying hard not to listen. At first, the town suspects Alvah, then Yoongi. They quickly move on when neither one leaves, nor their rooms contain Gwen.

It would not make sense to stick around after committing a crime.

And so, the town turns to other culprits. There have been many travelers in Tywll, traveling through for Dowais’ autumnal festival – it is hard to remember all, but the town tries. Y/N stops listening after a while, only caring about Owen and the safety of Gwen.

At the end of the second day with no sign of Gwen, Y/N begins to grow restless. Yoongi has not been seen much since Gwen’s disappearance. To be fair, Y/N has not seen him at all since they walked home from the forge, but his absence the past few days has been noticeable. As though he does not wish to speak and is avoiding her questions.

It would only be natural for her to suspect Yoongi and indeed, Y/N does for a time. Looking at things objectively, Yoongi is the obvious culprit. He was sent to watch over their souls and he warned Y/N that at any moment, he could drag them away.

And yet – if this is so, and Yoongi has taken Gwen’s soul, why is he still here?

For he is here, even if he is often absent. His steamer trunk is still in his room – Y/N checked this once, against her better judgement – and she has even seen him disappear out the front door. Yoongi is still IN Tywll, which makes Y/N wonder what he knows. 

She decides to find out the very next night. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Y/N waits until Rian looks away before slipping upstairs.

The noise of the tavern muffles on the second floor. Y/N walks down the hall, taking purposeful care not to make too much sound. Room seven is at the end, its number in gold peeling letters upon the front door. When no one answers, Y/N tentatively pushes this open.

Yoongi is not here.

A candle sits on the front table, gathering dust. This does not surprise Y/N – if Yoongi is anything like her, he probably prefers the dark. Stepping further inside, she pulls the door shut behind her.

The trunk lies at the foot of his bed, a dark jumble of clothing within. This sight nearly makes her smile, since it seems so horribly human. The Cŵn Annwn should have clothing of shadow, or some otherworldly substance which does not exist in this world.

Speaking of which – shadows curl at Y/N’s ankles as she walks. This seems to happen more and more lately. Darkness spreads wherever she touches and each place she does, Y/N gleans a sense of the object.

Yoongi has not been here for hours.

Paused at the foot of his bed, Y/N looks around. Gwen is not here, that much is obvious – from what Y/N can tell, she never was. This means Yoongi must be equally perturbed Gwen has disappeared. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, after all.

Darkness pulses in the corners, beckoning her near. Y/N stiffens, realizing where Yoongi must be. If he is not here in Tywll, if she can find no trace of him in this world – he must be in another.

As soon as Y/N thinks this, the world wavers around her. Y/N forces this back and tries not to travel, but then wonders why. Yoongi told her not to enter the Shadow realm but then, he is not here.

Yoongi does not tell her what to do.

Inhaling gently, Y/N closes her eyes.

This time, she feels the world shift and when she opens her eyes, she is expecting the nightmarish landscape.

Still, the Shadow realm seems different today. Its edges are blackened, crumbled apart at the seams. Somewhere in the distance, Y/N hears a scream. Whirling, she faces the same way she came but sees nothing. The Real world wavers just beyond reach and all that exists here is shadow.

“Hello?” Y/N calls.

Her voice does not seem to echo. This makes sense – there is nothing here to produce the vibrations.

Slowly walking forward, Y/N peers into darkness. Her magic exists here, but less. Or – perhaps it is more. Her magic is stronger, but this place is made out of shadows. Being surrounded by so much makes her somehow feel small.

When Y/N takes another step forward, a shape stirs in the darkness.

“Hello?” she says, coming to a stop. “Who’s there?”

The shape stirs once more, beginning to solidify into something huge, something massive. Y/N’s eyes widen, head tipping back to see the end of it. She trembles, about to scream when –

Yoongi appears, dropping from the dark sky before her.

He snarls, gaze red and teeth bared – canines as sharp as hellfire itself. Yoongi does not glance at Y/N, only having eyes for the monster before them. He growls a second time in warning, one hand splayed to the ground.

The thing rears back, twitching grotesquely before it freezes in recognition. Yoongi stares at it silently, daring it to strike and slowly, the thing reneges and melts into twilight.

Yoongi remains frozen until he is sure it has gone.

His head snaps sideways to Y/N. “What were you thinking?” he growls, pushing himself up from the ground.

As he strides forward, he adopts a more human appearance. The red of his eyes dims, canines shortening but there is still something wolfish to his gaze.

Y/N stares over his shoulder, searching wildly for the thing in the shadows. “I – what was that?” she gasps.

Yoongi comes to a stop. “There are more things which travel the Shadow realm than just you and I, Y/N,” he says grimly.

“You!” she blurts, remembering why she came. “I was looking for you, Min Yoongi. We need to talk about Gwen.”

“Not here,” Yoongi mutters, gripping her wrist.

Before Y/N can protest, they melt away and reappear in his room.

Flinging her hand away, Yoongi strides across his floor. He comes to a stop at his bedside, grabbing a decanter and removing its top. Tipping the bottle sideways, amber liquid pours out.

As the daughter of an innkeeper, Y/N recognizes the sharp tang of alcohol. “What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkled.

“I’m drinking,” Yoongi says calmly, replacing the stopper. Turning around, he drinks the glass in one gulp. “I occasionally drink when others test my patience.”

“Your patience?”

“Yes, my patience,” he snaps. “You may be able to enter the Shadow realm, Y/N, but you are woefully unprepared for what you will find there.”

“Why? Because I’m human?”

“I – no.” Yoongi seems bewildered. “Because you haven’t used your magic in fifteen years, Y/N! You’re a child, learning to walk. If that Gwyllion had managed to touch you…” He pauses, refilling the glass without touching the bottle. “Your soul would’ve separated from your body and you would’ve wandered the Shadow realm for eternity. Is that what you wanted?”

A chill travels Y/N’s spine. A Gwyllion. 

She has heard stories about the famed demons of twilight ever since she was little. Gwyllions lurk in the shadows, dwell in the places between realms and rip souls from their bodies. She never once imagined one could hurt her, though – her, a shadow-singer.

Shaking his head, Yoongi surveys her reaction.

“No,” Y/N blurts, trying to remain in control. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He glares at her again before tipping his second drink back.

“I…” Y/N’s brow furrows. “If you can re-fill that with magic, why bother by hand?”

“Why, indeed?” Yoongi mutters. “Maybe because I – unlike you – don’t draw attention to myself in idiotic ways. I finish the tasks I am assigned and when I seek information from others, I don’t take unnecessary risks!”

Y/N pauses, zeroing in on the last part of his sentence. “What information are you seeking?”

Yoongi takes a step closer. Smoothly, he waves a hand to make the glass disappear. “Gwen,” he mutters. “Your friend. The soul I was assigned to watch has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment. “You think I took her.”

“No.”

He blinks, surprised. “No?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “If you had taken her, you would’ve already left. Since you’re still here, I can only assume it was someone else.”

Yoongi stares at her at moment and Y/N wonders if this is the first time someone did not assume the worst of him. 

“Well, you’re correct.” Turning around on his heel, Yoongi walks towards his trunk. “I didn’t take her. That’s why I was in the Shadow realm at all – I was visiting another of the Cŵn Annwn to request information.”

“Did they have any?”

“No,” Yoongi mutters. “She’s gone.”

“I know that. Honestly, Yoongi, what have you even been doing these past –”

With a snarl, Yoongi disappears to reappear before her.

Stumbling backwards a bit, Y/N recovers quickly to glare. “One of these days, that shock factor is going to wear off,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand,” Yoongi insists. “When I say gone, I mean gone. I can’t find Gwen in the Real world. Nor in the Shadow realm. She’s not in the Otherworld. Gwen is gone.”

As Y/N freezes, comprehension dawning, Yoongi deflates.

“There’s something else going on here,” he says finally. “Some kind of magic I’m not taking into consideration. It doesn’t help most of my informants refuse to meet me in Tywll because of the Travelers.”

Y/N responds to this, automatic. “The Travelers haven’t been in these parts for years.”

“No, Y/N.” He looks at her gently. “They were quiet for a while. Recently though, they have been killing witches and warlocks up and down the north coast.”

Suddenly speechless, Y/N stares at him in horror.

“The last they were sighted was near here,” he adds, quiet. “If it helps, it is not as bad as the last time. Most speculate it’s only a few humans, not as many as before.”

Y/N cannot breathe. All this time, she should she was safe. She thought she could just wait out the storm and then, everything would be fine. It would seem the Travelers will not die, though and fleetingly, Y/N wonders if she will ever truly live.

Swallowing, Y/N moves towards the door. “Fine.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi exhales, clearly not believing her. 

She turns back around. “What does this have to do with Gwen?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He seems to be at a loss. The trunk behind him is still open, as though it might suddenly contain answers. Y/N stares at this and wonders how Yoongi came to be Cŵn Annwn. There are times when he seems almost human and then other time, woefully not.

Like the Yoongi she saw in the Shadow realm, eyes red and snarling with warning.

“Take me with,” she says suddenly.

Yoongi blinks, startled. “I – what?”

“When you go to find more information.” Y/N looks up, taking a step closer. “The next time you go to the Shadow realm, take me with.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Yoongi looks at her, incredulous. “After everything I just said? You’re a liability, Y/N.”

“A liability you’re in charge of,” she reminds him. “You’re in charge of my soul, too, Yoongi. How would it look if I disappeared, too?”

Jaw snapping shut, Yoongi glowers at her. 

Sensing she has hit a nerve, Y/N continues. “Besides,” she says, pressing on. “I can help. I know this town, I know its people. I can help you. Just – let me. Please,” she adds, voice breaking on the word. “Gwen was my friend. I need… I have to do something.”

Yoongi stares at her for a moment, uncertain. Finally, he exhales and turns. “Alright. When I have another lead, I’ll come get you. Satisfied?”

“No.” Y/N watches him walk towards the window. “I want to go now.”

“Too bad.”

Y/N nearly smiles, but catches herself. There is no condemnation to his tone and Y/N knows he does not mean to be rude. He is only stating the facts – straightening her spine, Y/N wonders when she began reading Yoongi so well.

She wonders when she began trusting him.

Because she does – or, she trusts him more than most in her life. With this realization comes a modicum of guilt because Y/N has now gotten what she came for. She has more information, along with a promise and so, she should leave.

Before anything else can be given. 

“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the knob.

Hovering there, she considers turning around. The room waits expectantly behind her, as though Yoongi also holds his breath. Steeling her spine, Y/N forces such nonsense aside and steps into the hall.

As the door falls shut behind her, Y/N hears him exhale. The sound is ragged, meaningful but is cut off before she can dissect any further. Hurrying away, Y/N tries not to replay the sound in her mind.

Y/N is not woken the next morning by the rooster.

Instead, it is Mervin’s hand on her shoulder which rouses her from her sleep. He holds a candle above her, the flickering flame illuminating his frame. Seeing him like this, Y/N blearily focuses on his face above hers.

“What is it?” she murmurs, pushing herself upwards.

Mervin’s expression is grave, his features drawn.

Recognizing this, Y/N tenses. “Mervin?”

“It’s… it’s Gwen.”

He does not need to say more – the rest is clear. If this were good news, he would be smiling. If this were good news, Mervin would not be waking Y/N in the middle of the night.

Fingers trembling, Y/N reaches out for her dressing gown. “What is it?”

Taking a step back, Mervin places the candle beside her. “They found her an hour ago,” he says, hollow. “She was in the river.”

Y/N freezes, fingers clutching the fabric.

Mervin does not stay long, leaving soon after to give her a few moments of peace. Changing in a daze, Y/N walks downstairs and realizes halfway she forgot several steps in her routine. Her hair is rumpled, buttons mismatched, but no one in the tavern seems to notice. Much of the town has gathered before Rian’s fire, huddled in groups and speaking in whispers.

When Y/N enters, she sees Rian by the fire. The bread is forgotten behind her, half-risen on top of the counter. Mervin clasps her hand, talking gently into the side of her hair. The sight is so unusual, Y/N comes to a stop.

Looking up, Rian hastily wipes a tear from her cheek. “Owen came by,” she announces, briskly standing to return to the bread. “The forge will be closed for the foreseeable future, so there’s no work today.”

“Alright,” Y/N exhales, having expected as much.

She stares at the kitchen, amazed to find it much the same as before. It seems almost offensive, to continue feeding the town and housing their guests when Gwen no longer exists. It seems their life should also come to a stop, out of respect for hers.

Mervin spared her the details of Gwen’s death out of consideration but as Y/N walks through the tavern, she catches the highlights, regardless.

Gwen was found in the river. She was drowned, with nary a mark on her body. No signs of struggle. No signs of injury – self-inflicted or otherwise. Gwen was merely found dead, eyes glassy and wide as she stared from the river.

Already, there are whispers of magic.

Throughout the morning, Y/N continues to overhear conversations. It was unnatural, the way she died and so, magic is the obvious conclusion. A tragedy of such magnitude has never occurred here before. People have died, yes but not like Gwen.

It seems impossible for her to be gone and so, people look for impossible answers.

For the rest of the week, Y/N throws herself into work. It helps to keep her moving, to stay distracted from the idea of Gwen being pulled from the river. She does not see Owen, though she would like to. He is firmly embroiled in a nightmare of his own and Y/N knows his life will take time to heal. Instead, she busies herself with the tavern, the inn and does not think about Gwen.

Or, she tries. 

This proves to be impossible when her death is the only subject Tywll is willing to talk about. Waiting tables each evening, Y/N hears gossip despite herself. The men all discuss the physical aspects of the death. How her lips were blue – cold, from the water – how her limbs were stiff, to the point where she could not be moved.

The women discuss what it means for their town. Gwen was a sweet girl; a good girl and it cannot be ignored she went voluntarily. There were no signs of struggle at the house. Whomever killed her remains at large and if they are near, everyone else is in danger.

Y/N continues to glance at the staircase, wondering when Yoongi will find her. Arawn cannot be pleased by Gwen’s early demise. Despite the ominousness of his presence, the Cŵn Annwn are never dispatched to intervene – only to bring humans to Annwn for judgement.

Although it may be foolish, Y/N finds herself believing him. This was not Yoongi’s plan, she can feel certain of that much. Yoongi might be many things, but he is not cruel – and the way they found Gwen was cruel.

Squeezing her body in between tables, Y/N comes to a stop at a large group of townspeople. The most important men are all gathered, Cadoc amongst them, and – to Y/N’s surprise – Alvah beside him. He speaks quietly with the older man and Y/N wonders absent-mindedly if he remains at work on his deal.

It would be highly insensitive if he were. As Y/N removes his glass though, she realizes they do not discuss business at all – but Gwen.

“I’m telling you,” Cadoc says under his breath. “You’re wrong. None of the men in this town would’ve laid a finger on her.”

Stiffening, Y/N places the glass on her tray.

“Of course not,” Alvah says, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to imply they would. Only, it’s difficult to know anyone’s true intentions these days.”

Trevor grunts, from the other side of the table. “Man’s right. Would be madness to rule out the townsfolk, simply because blaming a traveler is easier.”

“Exactly.” Alvah glances over his shoulder. “Although…”

Cadoc squints over his cup. “Although, what? Spit it out, man.”

Shaking his head, Alvah wraps a gloved hand around his glass. The silver ring on his hand gleams in the firelight. “No, never mind. It is a silly thought.”

“What is?”

The rest of the table looks on, waiting for more. Looking up, Alvah realizes they hang on his every word. Y/N lingers too, motions slowed to ensure she hears what he has to say.

Alvah leans in. “Are there any in town who have… magic?”

“What are you implying?” Cadoc says sharply.

“Nothing,” Alvah says – quickly, as though embarrassed. “It is only… I have traveled much, my friends.”

The rest of the men grumble and glance at one another. Y/N finds it strange to see these men trust an outsider so quickly. Alvah has only been in Tywll a matter of weeks and, under any other circumstances, he would be a suspect of the murder.

“And?” Trevor demands, narrowing his gaze.

“And she died with no marks on her body,” finishes Cadoc, glancing at Alvah. “Is that what you’re getting at, boy?”

Alvah nods in relief. “Doesn’t it seem odd?”

“It does.” Cadoc inclines his head, hand tapping the table. “Still. It is rash to assume magic so fast.”

Y/N is surprised to hear Cadoc the voice of reason in this scenario. She has never much liked the merchant – he usually gives Owen impossible deadlines, and then even shorter ones follow when he manages to meet those.

“Obviously,” Alvah nods. “Likely, there is no magic involved. It is only strange, that’s all.”

“It is,” jumps in Trevor, gaze scanning the tavern.

Y/N turns before he can spot her. Reaching the next table, she purposefully remains within earshot. For the most part, they seem to have moved on – but then Alvah leans forward, whispering something to Cadoc. The first part is inaudible but the second, Y/N hears.

“… odd, he hasn’t come downstairs since they found her.”

Y/N’s blood chills when they look towards the stairs.

Glancing upwards, she sees Yoongi descending. He is dressed in his usual black, sparing no glance for the townsfolk before exiting the building. Multiple heads follow him, Y/N notices with alarm.

She is not sure how she missed this before. Of course, now that Gwen has been found, the town searches harder for her killer. It would seem they do not suspect Alvah, but they do Yoongi.

The wrongness of this twists deep in her chest. Yoongi did not kill Gwen; Y/N is certain. She may not know who did, but she is determined to find out. Which means it is even more imperative Yoongi take her to the Shadow realm. They need to find answers, and fast.

Before her expression can give her away, Y/N hurries into the kitchen. She stays there the rest of the night, helping Rumilda and washing the dishes. She cannot face the town now, unable to stomach their deliberate ignorance. It reminds her too much of Crymych, of her people screaming in fright and the horrible certainty those Travelers had when they killed.

Magic is evil and so, must be extinguished.

Scrubbing a pot harder, Y/N’s brows furrow. She cannot help but think yes, sometimes magic is evil – but in many ways, humans can be worse.

The evening is long. People do not want to leave the safety of the inn and its fire. Eventually, Rian is forced to shoo them all out with a rag, telling them to come back when they open tomorrow. Once they are gone, Y/N brings their dishes into the kitchen. She rolls up her sleeves, ready to work but Mervin reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Go and sleep.”

Y/N pauses, glancing at Rian but she also says nothing, scrubbing away at the sink. When Mervin arches a brow, Y/N sags in relief.

“Alright,” she says, untying her apron. “But if you need any help, I’m –”

Cutting her off, Mervin shakes his head. “We’ll be fine. Go.”

Despite her protestation, Y/N is glad for their intervention. While work kept her going at first, it now feels a drag on her senses. She misses the forge – the hot yield of iron, the simmering heat of the furnace. She misses creating something. She misses Owen’s quiet humor and eating with Gwen during supper.

It was a haven once to her, but it no longer exists. The weight of this falls upon Y/N’s shoulders with each step she climbs. Once in her room, she slowly undresses. Each layer she sheds gives no relief to her burden. Turning around, Y/N cannot help but think it should have been her.

She is the magical one, she should have stopped this from happening. She should have been smarter, should have seen the signs earlier and done something to stop it. For sure, she should have kept a closer eye on Gwen after the accident.

Their souls were linked, after all.

“Y/N.”

Whirling at the sound of the familiar voice, Y/N clasps a hand to her throat. “Yoongi,” she chastises, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yoongi winces and steps out of thin air. “I’m sorry,” he says, cloak swishing around him as he walks. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Does this mean you’ve found something?”

“Or nothing,” Yoongi exhales, coming to a stop right before her.

“You found something? Or, nothing?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re being purposefully confusing.”

“Not purposefully,” says Yoongi. He shoves a hand through his hair. “I have a lead on information. Someone who may know what happened to Gwen – but I’m not sure. Hence the something, or nothing.”

“I see.” Forgetting about undressing, Y/N grabs for her cloak. “When do we leave?”

Yoongi does not respond, so she glances over her shoulder. She finds him staring back at her, gaze oddly pleading.

Slowly, she straightens. “You promised,” she reminds him.

“I know I did.” Yoongi inhales. “I know, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”

“I do.” Y/N narrows her eyes.

“You don’t,” Yoongi insists, stepping forward. His hands find her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Wherever his skin touches, a delicious heat thrums through her veins.

“Say that I don’t,” Y/N says, through gritted teeth. It takes everything in her not to be distracted. “I still want to come. You promised to take me.”

His brow lowers in frustration. “Even though your life will be in danger?”

“My life is always in danger,” Y/N says, breaking off. “It always is and I’m used to that fact but Gwen is the one who died. And I…” Exhaling roughly, she swallows.  “It should have been… I could have…”

Understanding dawns on his features. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She looks at him helplessly. “No?” 

“No,” he says sternly.

Y/N looks at him for so long, she nearly forgets what she wants. “All the same,” she says quietly. “I want to come.”

Yoongi returns her gaze, weighing the consequences. Whatever he sees in her expression must convince him because he finally takes a step backwards, holding out a hand.

“Fine,” he exhales, entwining their fingers. “Do not speak once we arrive, though. Let me do the talking.”

Y/N glances at him in surprise. Contrary to most men in this village, Yoongi has always listened to her when she spoke. He has never once tried to quiet her. Knowing he would not offer these boundaries without reason, she slowly nods. 

“Fine.”

Yoongi nods, setting his jaw as they disappear.

They reappear on a damp riverbank.

Letting go of her hand, Yoongi swiftly steps forward. He peers into the shadows as Y/N crosses both arms. Their location is unfamiliar. Y/N does not recognize the place, nor their surroundings. They are not in the Shadow realm – but neither are they anywhere she has been in the real world.

Willowy moss drips overhead, creeping down tree trunks to blanket the ground. Glancing at Yoongi, Y/N wonders why he let go of her hand. Opening her mouth to ask, she remembers his warning and slowly closes her lips.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the edge of the river. “Hoseok?” he calls. There is no answer. “Hoseok, I know you’re here.”

Mist rises gently from the water. This is a wild place, Y/N realizes. She can feel this in her bones and no longer, is she certain they are outside of the Shadow realm. Perhaps this is simply an unexplored part, an unfamiliar part. Rubbing her arms, Y/N glances around and wonders if she has been foolish.

Perhaps she should have asked Yoongi where they were going before leaving – definitely, she should have asked something before blindly following.

A shape solidifies before them, stepping from darkness.

The man wears a dark cloak, like Yoongi, but the similarities end there. He is taller, with a narrower face and distrusting eyes. Inhaling sharply, the man’s nostrils flare and Y/N gets the distinct impression he is scenting them.

Yoongi watches lazily while he does this. “Are you done, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s head snaps down with a smirk. “Nearly.”

Exhaling deeply, Yoongi folds both arms over his chest. It is the oddest thing – although Hoseok searches the darkness behind him, he does not seem to see Y/N. It is as though she were not present at all, or somehow invisible.

“You stink like a human,” Hoseok says, eyes glowing red. “You’ve spent too much time with the mortals, I fear. Losing your touch?”

Yoongi does not react. “I have a job to do. Unlike you, I follow my orders.”

Hoseok’s gaze tightens. “Were your orders to get that village girl killed?” 

“Someone else interfered,” Yoongi growls.

“Obviously.”

“Enough,” Yoongi drawls, waving a hand. “You know why I’m here. You said you have information. Get on with it.”

Hoseok calmly examines the back of his hand. “I did say that, yes.”

“So, do you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If I tell you, then what will you give me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. “How about I won’t report you to Arawn for interfering with the investigation of another Cŵn Annwn?”

When Hoseok rolls his eyes, Y/N stiffens. Of course – Hoseok is also Cŵn Annwn. Looking closer, Y/N can see the truth of the matter. Hoseok’s red glowing eyes and the way he stepped from the shadows – obviously, he is Cŵn Annwn.

Still, Y/N cannot shake the feeling they are not the same.

“So predictable,” Hoseok mutters, glaring at Yoongi. “Always threatening to run and tell daddy.”

“The information?” Yoongi repeats, sounding bored.

Hoseok sighs. With a wave of his hand, a shadow appears in his palm. While Yoongi and Y/N watch, the darkness swirls and solidifies into a hair clip, lined with silver and jade.

Y/N nearly gasps, recognizing it to be Gwen’s. It is the one Owen bought her for Yuletide last year, the one she rarely removed because of how much she loved it. Remembering her promise to Yoongi in time, Y/N clasps a hand over her mouth. The noise remains stillborn.

Hoseok tilts his head. “Is this answer enough?”

Yoongi takes a casual step forward. “Did you get this from the girl?” he asks, examining the object. “Because I’ll be honest, Hoseok – pulling strange things from shadows has never impressed me.”

“It’s hers,” Hoseok mutters, lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was the one who escorted her to the Otherworld. She drowned, yes?”

“Mm.” Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m afraid I need more than that.”

Y/N glances between them, hardly able to believe the callous way they discuss this; as though Gwen were an object, not a person. As though this were mere currency and she, a transaction. In a way, Y/N supposes this to be true.

“Blonde hair, rosy cheeks.” Hoseok arches a brow. “Rather attractive, for a human. Kept speaking of her father. Owen? Said she wanted to see him one last time – a predictable final request.”

“Alright.” Yoongi cuts him off, his distaste for the other Cŵn Annwn obvious. “I believe you. Now – the information?”

“Ah,” Hoseok pauses. “That.”

Twirling a hand, Hoseok conjures a soft plume of shadow. It snakes around his wrist, undulating gently with each twist of his fingers.

“I still don’t know what’s in this for me.” Hoseok smiles. “Until then, I’m afraid I simply don’t recall what Gwen said.”

Yoongi’s lips pull back. “Hoseok, you distasteful piece of –”

“Language,” Hoseok interrupts, holding up a hand. “And don’t try to threaten me with Arawn again. We both know he’s as displeased with you, as with me right now.”

Yoongi glares at him heatedly, clearly displeased by the way things are going. His eyes glow faintly red – not as noticeable as Hoseok’s, but the implication is there.

“I’ll relinquish the next hunt to you,” Yoongi says at last. He spits out the words, laying them at Hoseok’s feet. “The next time Arawn pits us against each other for a soul, I’ll let you win. Does that satisfy your request?”

Hoseok’s eyes gleam with interest. “It does.” He pauses, then laughs and twists the shadows before him. “I plucked this from the girl’s memory before transporting her to the Otherworld. It’s the last thing she saw before she died.”

Y/N watches a gloved fist appear from the shadows. The hand slowly flexes and unflexes, as though clenching life from a body. The hand wears a glove, finely made and on one finger rests a strange, silver ring.

Staring at this, the river seems to fade in her peripheral. 

“Alvah,” Y/N breathes.

Yoongi goes utterly still.

Abruptly, Hoseok straightens and the glove disappears. Glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze widens – as though seeing Y/N for the first time. Taking a slow step from the shadows, Hoseok begins to walk forward.

“And who is this?” he asks, focusing in on Y/N.

Y/N swallows, meeting his gaze. Unlike Yoongi, there is no mercy to his expression. She gets the distinct impression this man enjoys what he does, who he is.

Hoseok comes to a stop, letting out a low laugh. “Yoongi,” he purrs, incredulous. “Are you up to your old tricks again? Bending the light. You devilish creature. And yet – also foolish,” he murmurs. “Bringing a human to neutral ground. Free for anyone to take.”

“She’s not yours,” Yoongi snarls, crouching reflexively in between them. “She’s mine.”

Hoseok’s upper lip curls. “Not here, she isn’t.”

Before Y/N can scream, Hoseok lunges in her direction. Yoongi is faster, his hand grabbing Y/N’s wrist to pull into night. Y/N gasps, vision unraveling as the world disappears. The riverbank slackens, Hoseok’s red eyes vanishing as they reappear somewhere else – only to disappear again.

They do this several times, visiting worlds Y/N does not know the names of. She sees an endless sea of metal, the tips of smoke curling from rooftops. This is replaced with a gaping, red maw in the ground. This vanishes too, and she sees Hoseok’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Then he is gone, and they stand on a riverbank, covered with mist – and then they are back in Tywll, stumbling against the inn.

Y/N lets out a noise as her back hits the wall.

Yoongi drops into a defensive crouch. In one hand, he brandishes a strange, silver knife – his other is thrown out, keeping Y/N back.

She blinks, not having seen him when he pulled this. Her back is pressed to the wall, heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing happens for one beat, then two. Hoseok does not appear from the darkness. They stay like that for a moment, breath coming in pants.

Finally, Yoongi straightens. He stares into the darkness, as though waiting for something and then turns around. 

“You,” he blurts, the noise strangled.

Y/N stares back, struggling to comprehend what she just saw.

Yoongi slides his knife into his belt. “Explain,” he breathes, stalking forward. “Explain why you spoke back there, why you revealed yourself! Why you nearly go yourself killed.”

“I– Alvah,” she exhales, barely audible. Out of everything tonight, that vision remains clear. “The ring on the memory’s hand. I... I know it. It belongs to Alvah.”

Yoongi comes a halt inches away from her face. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” Y/N sags against the inn. Her knees buckle beneath her, barely keeping her upright. “Alvah has one just like it.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

He glances over his shoulder at the town. It lies silent, draped in moonlight while Yoongi considers. “Well, then.” He returns to Y/N. “Alvah is not who he says he is.”

She releases a breath, slowly closing her eyes. “Obviously.”

Y/N expects Yoongi to chuckle, or give some sort of admonishment, so when he does neither, she opens her eyes.

Yoongi stares back at her, inches away from her face.

“Yoongi?” she asks, self-consciously licking her lips.

“I… Y/N.”

He sounds oddly hesitant, standing before her in moonlight. Gaze darkening, his gaze roams the planes of her face. Y/N can feel this heat of this in her body, still pressed to the wall.

“Yoongi,” she breathes in.

Clenching his jaw, Yoongi closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Your name?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he repeats, barely audible. Eyes opening, he lifts a hand to slowly place on her cheek. “Don’t say my name like you wish there was more.”

“And what if I do?” she asks, made bold by the dark.

Yoongi’s gaze drops to her lips, unbidden. As though in a trance, he takes a step forward. The hand which was once on her cheek slips to her waist.

“If you do,” he exhales. “I may do something I’ll regret.”

“Do it.”

This is all the coercion he needs to kiss her.

Y/N inhales, breath stolen by the press of his lips against hers. She has been kissed before, but never like this – never with teeth and fire and meaning between them. Her arms twine around his neck before she can stop them, pulling him forward as her spine hits the wall.

Yoongi’s lips bruise her, thrill her and a thousand other contradictions. His tongue is greedy, seeking whatever purchase he can find at the seam of her lips. One hand cups her face, large fingers splayed until he pushes a piece of hair back. Y/N arches against him, assisting in letting him take what he wants. Her hands are equally needy, thoughts a blurred line between logic and sanity.

Suddenly, he gasps and pulls back. 

Yoongi stares at her in shock, reaching tremblingly up for his lips.

Y/N stares in this direction as well.

“I – Y/N,” Yoongi breathes. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looks at her helplessly. “You know why.”

She does know, although she is loath to admit it. Y/N has always been a rational being. Logically, she knows this is the last person for her to fall in love with. Yoongi is not even a person anymore – not really. 

And yet – her heart, the traitorous fool, beats solely for him.

Swallowing, Yoongi does not move. “Please,” he breathes, dragging his thumb down her jaw. His hand cups her chin, his body curved over hers. “You are not yet safe. Please, just… wait until I can ensure that you are.”

“Alright,” Y/N says, finally nodding. Softly, she places her hand over his. “But promise to return.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi bends for another kiss but before their lips can touch, vanishes away into darkness.

Y/N exhales, collapsing against the wall. In all honestly, she understands why he did this. Had he kissed her again, she would not have let him leave.

Slowly pushing herself upright, Y/N enters the house and returns to her bedroom. Slipping inside and up the stairs, she undresses swiftly and slides into bed. After a long moment, she gets up and locks both window and door.

Once satisfied, she crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling. Her mind refuses to turn off, dissecting each hour with unwavering precision. Each breath of wind against the side of the house makes her turn, certain Hoseok has found her. Y/N begins counting down the seconds until Yoongi returns – or, until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.

At some point, she must doze off because the next time she wakes, it is to black cloth over her nose. Inhaling sharply, no oxygen enters and Y/N flails, jerking against her intruder.

“Hello, Y/N.” Alvah’s smile is calm, cutting through the darkness.

That is the last thing Y/N sees before the drug takes hold and she falls back on the bed.

Head lolling onto her chest, Y/N jerks into consciousness.

Her arms are pulled tight behind her back, rope cutting into her wrists and holding her hostage. Firelight flickers in the corner of her vision as blearily, Y/N squints.

She cannot remember where she is, why she is here.

A roaring fire dances before her. Light from the flames leap over her skin, forming cruel patterns. Cringing away from this, Y/N realizes she rests on her knees. Wobbling, she nearly falls forward but the rope binds her in time, stopping the motion. Exhaling lowly, hair falls in her face.

Across the fire, someone chuckles.

Suddenly remembering the events of tonight, Y/N’s head lifts.

Alvah smiles from the other side of the flames, sharpening a knife in one hand. He is dressed entirely in black – tunic, waistcoat, overcoat and trousers. If Y/N did not know any better, she might think him on his way to a party.

Slowly, he stands. The silver of his knife gleams as he walks closer. “You left me no choice, you know,” he says sadly, stopping before her.

Y/N does not respond, twisting again in her ropes. Reaching out for her magic – she inhales. Nothing happens. The shadows refuse to come, her darkness lies vacant and still. The door remains stubbornly locked in her mind. Panic shoots through her, making her tremble. Each pulse of her blood feels sluggish and slow; Y/N can only assume this is because of whatever drug runs in her veins.

Alvah crouches before her. “Kissing a hellhound in the open like that.” Gently, he tuts and presses the knife to her chin. “Why, anyone could have seen you – and I did,” he says, gripping her hair and yanking back her head. “I saw you, Y/N and truly, I must thank you. Without that, I would’ve kept searching in all the wrong places.”

His hands are still gloved, identical to the mirage Hoseok showed. That strange, silver ring still rests on his finger. The sigil seems so familiar to Y/N and yet, she cannot quite place it.

“What?” Alvah laughs. “Are you choosing now to be quiet? A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t stop giving me information. Couldn’t stop telling me about the town. It’s people. All the… strange happenings going on.”

Y/N’s stomach sinks swiftly. Remembering their walk through the town, she now sees it from a different perspective. Alvah was trying to gather information from her. This entire time, he has been searching for magic.

“Ah.” His lips twitch. “You understand.”

“You,” she whispers, the word scratching her throat. “You thought… Gwen had magic.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I was most displeased when I couldn’t convince her to show it to me. Her death was an accident, you know. I merely thought she needed proper… incentive to perform. I was wrong.”

Y/N’s head spins, realizing what he means. 

He tortured her. Alvah tortured Gwen seeking a confession, but never received one – because she was not magical. He tortured Gwen because he thought she was Y/N and eventually, Gwen died.

“You… monster.”

Alvah’s expression darkens. “Not a monster,” he hisses. “I am merely doing what’s necessary to rid this world of monsters. Of those who hoard their power and refuse help to humans.”

Y/N stares at him fearfully. “What are you?”

Mirthlessly, he laughs and releases her hair. Y/N’s head droops forward. 

“Your worst nightmare, witch. I’m a Traveler,” Alvah breathes. “I was created to take the night from creatures like you.”

Imagines flash before her eyes, unbidden. Her parents’ bodies on the floor, Crymych awash in fire and blood. Her father’s throat slit, a knife plunged into her mother’s gut – and the human who did it, slowly turning around. She remembers him wiping blood from his knife, silver ring on one hand.

Y/N’s gaze flies to Alvah’s fingers.

Seeing where she looks, his lips curl upwards. “You recognize this?”

“Yes.” Y/N stares at the sigil, her knees pressed into dirt.  “I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen it?” Alvah’s brow furrows. “In person?”

Y/N nods. “At Crymych.”

Alvah stares at her for a long moment. “Liar.”

Y/N stares at him, confused by his expression. Alvah looks back at her, as though she is the impossible one. But – the longer she thinks about it, the more it makes no sense. The Travelers who visited Crymych were adults – they were her parents age and older, but Alvah is her age. It is impossible for him to have memories of Crymych.

Unless.

“You killed Gwen,” Y/N says slowly, piecing it together. “But… she was killed by magic. Drowned, by a water-shifter.”

Alvah stares at her a moment before smiling. There is no mirth to the gesture. He starts chuckling, rocking back on his heels and swiping angry tears from his gaze.

Ruthlessly, he whips out his knife to point at her chest. “You,” he exhales, with something like relief. “I’ve found you at last.”

Y/N stares at him, wide-eyed. “Me?”

Alvah nods, frantic. “The child shadow-singer of Crymych. I heard all about you growing up.”

Recoiling, Y/N stares at his long, silver blade. She again reaches for magic, finding none, except – there. Barely anything at all, but something faint stirs in her veins.

Alvah snarls at her expression. “Surprised I remember? No? Ah, I see – you tried to use magic, and found that you can’t.”

When Y/N scowls, jerking forward, he laughs.

“Your magic will return when the drug wears off,” Alvah assures. “But that won’t be for a while. Not until after I kill you. Unless…”

Y/N stops struggling. “Unless, what?”

She needs him to keep talking. She needs Alvah to continue his monologue until her magic returns, or Yoongi discovers her missing. Glancing over Alvah’s shoulder, Y/N stares into the darkness at the edge of the campfire. Alvah must be the threat Yoongi’s contacts were afraid of. It is he who has been ruthlessly carving a path of blood up the coast.

“Come with me.”

Startled, Y/N’s gaze snaps upwards. “What?”

“Come with me,” he breathes, pushing himself upwards to stand.

Reaching behind her, Alvah swiftly cuts her ropes. Before she can fall, his hands grasp her shoulders to lift her to her feet. Y/N stares at him in shock, too confused to run.

“Yes,” Alvah breathes, his grip vice-like on hers. “I see it now. You were spared, just as I was. You were sent to Tywll to live amongst humans and see the good in humanity. You were a child, too – of course you were spared.”

“Spared?” Y/N stares in horror. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Withdrawing his hands, Alvah retreats to stalk around the fire. Once on the other side, he whirls to face Y/N. “I’m a water-shifter, like you said,” he exhales, pulling off his glove.

Flexing his fingers, he stares down at his palm. Brow lowered in concentration, he waits until a pale, spinning orb appears above his fingers. The water dances and glimmers, catching the light.

Y/N stares at this in horror. Gwen was drowned with that water.

“I’m also from Crymych,” Alvah breathes.

It makes sense, in a way. Y/N always wondered if others survived. If anyone did manage to escape the burning houses of Crymych, it would be a water-shifter.

When Y/N says nothing, Alvah closes his fingers. The water splashes over his fist to the ground.

“The Travelers spared me,” he explains. “They took me with them, taught me what a curse my magic was. They explained I would be saved if I joined them. If I used my magic for good, instead of my inherent evil.”

“By… killing those who have magic.”

“Yes.” Alvah steps forward, ecstatic she understands. “Exactly.”

“But how could that possibly be good?” Her words halt him in his tracks, leave him staring at her. “You were in Crymych, Alvah. You saw what the Travelers did. They slaughtered your family… your friends…”

His face hardens. “They did that for the greater good, Y/N. Our friends and family were corrupt, they were evil. They holed themselves up in the forest and refused to help. Y/N,” he sighs, walking back around the fire. “I know it’s difficult to understand. It was hard for me, too. But now I see,” he whispers, stopping before her. “And you can, too.”

He waits, looking at her expectantly and Y/N’s heart breaks a little for the boy he once was.

“Alvah,” she whispers, so pityingly she nearly breaks apart.

She cannot imagine what hell his life must have been. To see his own family butchered, then be taken by his would-be murderers and raised as their savior. A dark messiah turned against his own kind.

Slowly, Alvah pushes up the sleeve of his tunic. He reveals angry, red welts on his arm. “This is what the Travelers saved me from,” he insists. “A fire-starter was drunk that night and lost control. Y/N – you didn’t see what you thought you saw. The Travelers managed to pull me out of the flames. They were only fighting in self-defense, Y/N.”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, Alvah – no. It wasn’t self-defense. I saw them. I watched them murder my parents, I saw them put our elders to sleep. They laced the wine they gave them with drugs, like you did to me.”

Alvah’s gaze flicks towards the handkerchief on the ground. For a moment, doubt crosses his face, but this is banished as easily as it came.

“I – no,” he breathes, re-gripping his knife. “You cannot tempt me with lies. I know my purpose. I will remain true.”

Y/N stares at him, helpless. In her mind, the door is almost open – she wonders if this is Alvah’s first time drugging an actual witch. Either that, or he spoke longer than he meant to when he realized who she was. Perhaps he genuinely does think this is fate, that they are meant to be together.

Either way, the longer she stands here, the more she feels her magic pulse in her veins. Almost enough to fight against his.

“What will you do?” Y/N asks, watching him walk towards her.

“Will you join me?”

Alvah tries to keep his voice even, tries not to seem eager, but Y/N can see his obvious want. His hand flexes on the hilt of his knife and again, her heart slowly breaks.

“No,” she whispers.

His expression breaks, catches and then heals, all in one moment. 

“Then, you must die.”

Alvah whirls, brandishing the knife and Y/N inhales to wrench shadows from darkness. To her immense relief, the darkness obeys. The surge is weaker than usual – she is weaker than usual – but her shadows coalesce before her, knocking his weapon aside.

Alvah curses, spinning and trying again. His knife cuts through darkness, slicing it open and Y/N gasps, stumbling backwards as though she, herself has been hurt.

“You see?” Alvah laughs. His breathing is heavy, light hair askew. “This is no ordinary knife, witch. It cures evil.”

He has returned to calling her witch, a sneer on his face. Y/N falters, grasping frantically for the tree trunk behind her. She glances to the side, searching for a way out because she does not yet have energy to attempt the Shadow realm.

When Alvah lunges, she dodges and stumbles down towards the river. Her feet splash into water, glancing over her shoulder to find him.

His laughter rings out behind her, following suit – albeit at a slower pace. “Ah,” Alvah teases, “you wish to fight on my domain, do you?”

Before Y/N can recognize what this means, the water rises around her. Her eyes widen, the only warning she has before she is dragged under. His water forms claws, grabbing her clothing and keeping her under. Y/N gasps, accidentally inhaling and choking on liquid.

The water enters her lungs, making her cough and in the corner of her eyes, Y/N can see darkness closing in. She wonders dizzily if this is what happened to Gwen – suddenly, her eyes open.

Gwen will not have died in vein.

Reaching deep within her – past the door, past limits she is not even aware of – Y/N tears darkness from the maw of power itself, yanking this to her chest and releasing into her veins. The heat simmers for a moment, unseen – and then she explodes.

Shadows erupts, twisting as they push out the water. Alvah falters at the side of the river, staring at her in shock. Y/N inhales, steam rising from her skin – and she opens her eyes. Her shadows shoot forward, streaming fast towards the bank.

Alvah screams when they wrap around him, binding his limbs and holding him hostage. Slowly, as if in a trance, Y/N walks from the water. Both hands are before her, twisting the shadows in ways she does not understand – she only knows what needs to be done and the shadows obey. It is like something else has hold of her mind, feeding her knowledge she has yet to be taught.

She is furious. And Alvah should pay.

Shadows are shoved down his throat, through his nostrils where they writhe in his lungs. Y/N twists them up, making it hurt and he screams out again. Inhaling sharply, she drags her shadows out to force him to his feet. With another twist of her hand, she scoops his knife from the ground.

Alvah catches this limply.

“Fight me, then!” she yells, tears blurring her vision. “Fight me on even ground!”

Alvah blinks, suddenly lucid as he lurches forward. Y/N dodges his first swipe. Her shadows wrap around his neck, pulling him backwards and she laughs, manic. Spinning, she faces him on even footing. Her darkness coalesces, forming a barrier as something moves in the shadows.

Y/N pays this no mind, too focused on her revenge. Darting forward, she knocks Alvah’s weapon aside. Her darkness is alive, pulsing around her in coils and blades. Whirling, she turns back and – Alvah’s knife sinks into her shoulder.

Blinding clarity bursts through her. Shuddering to a halt, Y/N gasps at the pain.

Teeth bared, Alvah wrenches the knife from her body. He prepares to strike again – until Yoongi appears, shoving between them and flipping his knife.

“Y/N, CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Hastily, she obeys. Blood trickles between fingers, shadows appearing to wrap around the wound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns away from his voice. From beneath her eyelids, she sees the clearing blaze suddenly with light. Y/N winces, lifting her uninjured arm to shield herself from the blow– but even so, it is painful.

Trembling back from whatever Yoongi is doing, Y/N staggers away. Even once the light has faded, the back of her eyelids gone dark, Y/N refuses to look.

Twigs crunch beneath boots, drawing closer.

“You can look now, Y/N.”

Slowly, she lowers her arm. Y/N’s shoulder still bleeds, blood trickling into the sleeve of her tunic. She does not care about this though, staring dazedly at Yoongi. He still holds a silver knife in one hand – when he sees her looking at this, it swiftly disappears.

Alvah is nowhere to be seen.

“W-where is he?” Her teeth chatter, glancing around.

“In Annwn,” Yoongi says simply. “He attacked one of the Cŵn Annwn. His life is forfeit to mine.”

“But…” Y/N stares, still not understanding. “He was attacking me.”

“Not in the version I tell Arawn.”

“Yoongi,” she exhales, an admonishment.

“Not here, Y/N.” Yoongi glances cryptically out at the river. “We must return to Tywll. I’ll need to return to Annwn soon for questioning.”

“Now?”

Yoongi pauses, glancing at her. “No,” he murmurs, stepping forward. Gently, he slides both hands into her hair. “Not now.”

“Then, when?” she asks, head tilting upwards.

Refusing to answer, Yoongi brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Never mind, when. Your soul is still pure,” he murmurs against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, another question on her lips. “What do you mean by–”

Cutting her off, they dissolve into darkness.

They reappear in her bedroom, walls solidifying around them in a turret of grey.

Y/N exhales, sagging forward as his hands keep her steady. She looks up at Yoongi, weary from blood loss. His gaze darts to her shoulder and swiftly, he frowns.

“I-it’s nothing,” she breathes. “Really, I –”

Yoongi closes one hand over her arm, frowning in concentration. Y/N stares at him in wonder when warmth seeps into her skin. Beneath his palm, her muscles knit together, blood flowing again as her skin heals smoothly over.

Once finished, Yoongi exhales and takes a step backwards. He seems paler, slightly drained and yet, satisfied. His hand gently falls to his side.

Y/N stares at him, speechless. “I – how?” she blurts, gaze darting to his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, how did you find me tonight?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Is that all you want to ask?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head, still somewhat dazed. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. I found you by luck. I tried many places before that one.”

“And you’re… a light-bearer.” Y/N frowns, glancing down at her arm. She can still feel where the brunt of Alvah’s knife went in, where her skin broke apart. “Or a life-giver? What are you?”

Yoongi gives her a sad smile. “I was,” he corrects. “I was a light-bearer.”

“Then how did you heal?” Y/N’s head spins. “The last time I saw someone heal was, well... It has been awhile since I knew a life-giver.”

“The Cŵn Annwn are unique,” Yoongi says quietly. “We each retain the powers we die with, but… for each magical soul we transport, we glean their powers as well.”

It dawns on her then, what exactly Yoongi offered Hoseok. A win on the next hunt. He must have meant this. It is the job of the Cŵn Annwn to return magical souls to Annwn. Based on their conversation, it sounded as though Arawn often pits them against each other. 

Which makes sense. The incentive is that whomever returns with the soul keeps the power.

Y/N’s skin begins to crawl. “So, what you’re saying is…”

“I have many powers, Y/N.”

“I see.” She looks at him for a moment, seeing him in a new light. “And what of the other thing you said? About my soul being pure?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Yoongi.”

“You shouldn’t know,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t place that burden on you.”

“Yoongi.”

Swiftly, he turns and walks the length of her bedroom. Y/N’s bed is pushed into a corner, the sheets still mussed from when she was roused from it earlier. Roused is a kind word. Looking at the mattress, Y/N shudders when she remembers Alvah’s hands on her body.

Yoongi comes to a stop at the window. “Have you ever wondered how one becomes Cŵn Annwn?”

“Often,” she says honestly.

For a moment, he simply stares at the town. The moon cuts through the plane, illuminating his face. “You kill someone with magic,” Yoongi admits at last. “And then you die. Instead of going to the Otherworld, you enter Arawn’s possession. It is why Arawn plays these games, you see. When he sees a magical human he wants, occasionally he sets them up to enter his service... later.”

Staring at Yoongi, comprehension begins to dawn – and with it, comes horror. This must have been what happened to him. With a sinking stomach, Y/N realizes how close she came to joining the Cŵn Annwn tonight. She nearly killed Alvah with her magic and if she had, that would have been it.

She would have belonged to Arawn, like he does.

“You see?” Yoongi exhales, searching her face. “I’m telling you things you shouldn’t know. I’m bringing danger into your life you shouldn’t have. I – we…” 

Breaking off, he shakes his head.

“Yoongi.” Y/N walks forward. Coming to a halt before him, she looks up. “You saved my life.” Before he can protest, she adds, “And my soul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not.” His expression falters. “But then – maybe I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand, Y/N?” Frustration enters his tone. “I want you to live. No, need you to live. You deserve more than this half-life, this cursed life – you deserve freedom. Not a half-existence like…”

“Like yours?” 

“Yes. Like mine,” he finishes, somewhat broken.

He does not move away though and so, she places both hands on his arms. Slowly, achingly she slides them around his neck. Her fingers brush the dark hair at the nape of his neck. 

Yoongi swallows. “You deserve more,” he breathes, closing his eyes. 

“And if I don’t want more?”

“You – you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh?” Y/N narrows her gaze. “From what you said, my options are clear. I can die a pure soul and go to the Otherworld – where you are not. Or, I die with blood on my hands and am cursed. But then, I would be with you.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. In contradiction to his words, Yoongi’s hands wrap around her waist. “Don’t act like it would be worth it.”

“Who are you to say it wouldn’t be?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Her thumb lovingly strokes the back of his neck. “I know you’re honest,” she says lowly. “I know you’re the only one who helped when I needed to find Gwen.”

He pauses. “I had other motives.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. There was more to it than that – you saved me tonight when you didn’t have to.”

“Again,” Yoongi exhales, tortured. “Other motives.”

“Not for my soul.” When Yoongi falls silent, Y/N continues. “Ever since you came, you treated me as an equal. More than that – you saw me in ways no one else would. You forced me to see myself that way, too.”

“I hope you do,” he murmurs, suddenly insistent. “I don’t want you to hide, Y/N.”

“You see?” she breathes, tilting her chin. “You say things like that, and then say I don’t know you. I know you’re feared, even amongst the Cŵn Annwn.” Her lips twist in an almost smile. “I know Arawn favors you above the rest.”

Based on Yoongi’s expression, this statement is correct. “It is never a good thing to be loved by the king of hell,” he says.

“Still. Do not pretend my options are clear, Min Yoongi. I know which path is unbearable, and it is the one without you.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, finally breaking. His hands close around her waist, drawing her near. The heat of his breath drifts across her lips.

Y/N’s heart stutters painfully. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her chin. “Please, Yoongi. Kiss m –”

Cutting off the word, he crushes her to him.

Longing leaps through her veins, her gasp eaten by his, swallowed by his kiss. As they collide, hands twining, fists clutching, Y/N loses herself in him.

She forces herself to be still, to not reveal how desperately she wants him. It is hard though, when he is kissing her with abandon, as if they stand at hell’s door. His lips tempt and torture in equal measure, and she is spinning apart.

Forcing himself back, his forehead finds hers. “Y/N,” he growls.

“Yes?”

Yoongi wrenches open his eyes. “Your shadows.”

Startled, Y/N glances down to find tendrils of magic around them. Darkness shifts at her feet, curling and uncurling and slowly, Y/N looks up.

“Is it strange?” she asks, still pressed against him. “I can try and stop it, if –”

Yoongi catches her hand, entwining their fingers together. “No,” he says, earnest. “Never.”

Y/N smiles, relaxing when he walks the two of them back to her bed. Her knees hit the mattress, pausing a moment before he kisses her softly. His mouth teases hers, pressing until her lips part and his tongue slips inside. Her hand moves under his tunic, brushing the skin at his waist.

Yoongi stiffens at this, groan caught in his throat. “Y/N,” he says, biting down on her lip. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” she purrs.

Growling lowly, Yoongi grips her waist and pulls her body to his. Y/N shivers, feeling the firm press of his muscle – Yoongi’s knee parts her legs, watching her lazily as her core aches around him.

“Is that all?” she asks, breath catching.

Yoongi’s gaze turns molten, slowly reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. “I can barely restrain myself as it is,” he confesses, pushing the fabric up her thigh. “If you continue to tease, I’ll stop trying.”

“Stop, then.”

Yoongi’s lips are at her throat before she can finish the words. He kisses her clavicle, working his way upwards and searing her skin. Grasping her jaw with one hand, he turns her head sideways to gently kiss the crux. Inhaling sharply, Y/N tries not to groan when his tongue laves the same spot.

He does not stop there, descending her neck with carnal sensuality. Glancing up at her bosom, Yoongi awaits further instruction. Eyes lidded and heavy, Y/N looks down at him and nods. Yoongi’s hand slowly works upwards, tangling in the laces of her bodice. His fingers and magic work until they pull back, dropping the string to the floor.

Y/N inhales, hands clasping her dress before it can fall.

Without her laces, her hands are the only thing holding fabric between them. Yoongi’s gaze darkens, intent as heat sinks between her legs. She wants him – badly but cannot of think how to ask. It does not escape her then, how many realms he is above her.

Softer than silk, his palm cups her chin. “Will you let me see you?” Yoongi says gently.

Staring back at him, Y/N slowly nods her head.

Yoongi’s hands slip down, interlacing their fingers to pull hers back. The dress drops to the floor and Yoongi inhales, dazed by the view. He stares at her for a moment, transfixed by her bare skin in moonlight. When he looks back up, his gaze seems to glow.

Not a red glow, like in the Shadow realm, but an unearthly silver – that of a light-bearer.

Y/N stifles a smile. “You said you were a light-bearer?” she whispers, shadows snaking his thighs. “Is this a side effect of that?”

Yoongi shivers, then nods. “Yes and no,” he growls, backing her up to the bed. “It is because of my power, but it is happening because I am indescribably happy.”

Before she can respond, his lips are on hers. Yoongi kisses her eagerly, messily as their tongues intertwine. No longer does Y/N deny what she wants of him. It is obvious anyways, in the needy press of her body to his. In the rutting thrust of his breeches against the silk of her core.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps, hands curling into his hair. “Yoongi.”

He swiftly pulls back to undo his belt. Sliding this free from his pants, it drops heavily to the floor. Staring at Y/N, his knees follow suit – one by one, kneeling before her.

“Please.” Yoongi licks his lips, tortured. “Let me taste you.”

Y/N stares at him in shock.

Yoongi mistakes this silence for hesitance. “I’m sorry,” he exhales, sitting back on his heels. His chest rises and falls against the dark of his tunic. “Are you… have you ever…?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, recovering herself. Swiftly, her hands wrap around the bedpost behind her. “I have lain with men. It is only, no one has ever offered me that… so freely.”

His gaze narrows, as though in disbelief. “Well, then,” Yoongi says lowly, sliding a hand up her thigh. “What foolish men, to deny a feast.”

Barely does she have time to comprehend before Yoongi is at her core, spreading her folds to examine her body. Exhaling, she stares at his crown of dark hair.

Yoongi looks up, a sinful smirk on his face. “I thought so,” he purrs, delicately swiping her mound with his thumb. Y/N shivers, trembling above him. “Already wet and wanting. Just begging to be eaten – I bet you taste sweet.”

He moves before she can answer, pressing a virginal kiss to her thigh. His other hand finds her knee, lifting her higher and pressing her ass to the bed. When his lips brush her core, Y/N slowly inhales. He kisses her gently, wet and open against her sex. It feels good, all his licking and teasing – until he comes to a stop.

When Yoongi smirks up at her, Y/N’s heart stops. She realizes he may be her undoing.

Slowly, his tongue drags up her sex. Repeating the gesture, he gathers her juices up with his mouth – sloppy and eager, until she is panting above him. Yoongi’s hand curls under her knee, opening her wider before he finally gives in and drape this over his shoulder.

Letting out a guttural groan, Y/N releases the bedposts to fist in his hair.

If anything, this spurs him on, tongue laving circles around her clit until she is eager and swollen. Y/N gasps out his name, thrusting against his face without meaning to. She is chasing something she does not understand, every inch of her body alive and on fire. At some point, his hand drifts down to her ass – then to her entrance, circling her core.

“Gods.” Still gripping her waist, Yoongi jerks back and wipes his lips with one hand. His mouth is wet, sinful and smeared with evidence of her arousal. “You’re so wet, Y/N. So perfect and needy. I – I need to be inside you.”

Hearing him say this, Y/N clenches around nothing. “Yes,” she breathes, as he stands from the floor. The front of his trousers look unbearably tight. “I want you inside me. Want you to stretch me out.”

Growling, he clutches her body closer. “I can use my fingers first,” Yoongi says sweetly, licking the shell of her ear. Tugging on this with teeth, he elicits a shiver. “Make it easier.”

“No.” Y/N grasps his chin, returning his lips to hers. “No, I want you inside me. Want your cock,” she murmurs hastily, already undoing his trousers.

Yoongi chuckles, letting her do so. “Do you? Where?” he asks, pulling his tunic overhead.

Lowering herself onto the bed, Y/N looks up and stills.

She has not seen him naked before. Only bits and pieces – the sliver of skin at his throat, a flash of underarm when he rolled up his sleeves. Those mouth-watering veins which wrap the length of his fingers. Y/N was right in assuming those veins wrap other things, too. Now though, he is bare, beautiful and entirely hers.

“What?” Yoongi tilts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Reaching up, she pulls him down with her. “I only… I do not wish to be parted after tonight.”

Lowering a knee to the mattress, Yoongi’s hands cup her face. “Nor I,” he allows, giving in and kissing her fully.

Falling backwards, Y/N arches against him. Yoongi’s right knee nudges between hers, rubbing her center to provide the friction she craves. Yoongi releases a moan, feeling her slick on his thigh. Grabbing hold of her hips, he forces her still.

“Not like that,” he murmurs, kissing her gently.

Y/N melts forward, hands cupping to roam his body. Yoongi is equally greedy, exploring her skin with unrivaled attention. It is only when she feels his cock, hard on her stomach that Y/N remembers what she is after.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking down.

His cock is pretty, in a way she could not have anticipated. Wrapping a hand around himself, Yoongi slowly slides up and down on his length. Y/N watches this, lips parted as his red, leaking tip disappears and reappears between fingers.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “Now.”

Yoongi chuckles and releases himself. “Alright. How?”

Slowly, Y/N turns around to rest on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like this. From behind.”

Yoongi stares at her in awe, pupils blown out with lust. “Are you certain,” he murmurs, already moving into position. “It will feel deeper this way.”

“Mm,” Y/N inhales, lowering herself to her elbows. “I – I like that. Like to be stretched.”

“I see,” Yoongi murmurs, bed dipping as he moves into place.

His hand slides up her core and Y/N shivers, ducking her head. Seeing her splayed in the moonlight makes his cock twitch. Her cunt is already dripping – Y/N can feel the arousal smeared on her thighs, dripping down to pool at her clit. Yoongi’s hand slides from her ass, cupping her pussy and feeling her wetness. He holds her like that for a moment, rubbing her clit with his finger.

“You like that?” he murmurs when she groans. Slowly, he slides his fingers apart and begins scissoring her clit. “What about that?”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs, pushing back on his hand. “Please – please.”

Yoongi smirks, rubbing her as she ruts up against him. As he moves forward, her pussy clenches and he presses his tip to her cunt. He inhales for a moment, as though in preparation. Gently gripping her waist, he slowly thrusts inside. Immediately, he is met with resistance. Y/N is wet, that much is obvious – her pussy leaks eagerly around Yoongi’s length, but she is still so tight. Needing to be stretched, like she said.

Y/N moans, arching her back to take him in deeper. Yoongi goes slow, letting her feel every inch. Y/N’s hands fist in the sheets, her mouth open with pleasure. God, it feels so good to have him inside her. Yoongi is only halfway and already, she has never felt this full. Already her body reacts to him in ways she does not understand.

Yoongi lowers a hand to her back, rubbing each side of her ass. “There,” he murmurs, pushing her down to take the last, final inch. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

“Am I?” Breathlessly, Y/N squeezes her walls around Yoongi’s cock. “Doesn’t feel sweet.”

Withdrawing slowly, Yoongi grabs her ass to shove back inside. Y/N moans, lurching forward as his cock grinds mercilessly to her walls. “Maybe not,” he admits, thrusting again. “What’s sweet though, is imagining what you’ll look like full of my cum.”

Whimpering, Y/N pushes backwards again. It is the first time a man has spoken so freely in bed and in response, Y/N feels on fire. Her nipples brush the mattress as Yoongi fucks into her, filling her body with each thrust of his cock.

“Oh – oh – oh!” she gasps, jolted forward.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, hand wrapping around her mouth. “As much as I love your volume, we are not alone in this house.”

His thumb slides down her throat, cock slipping in and out of her body. Spreading her legs, Y/N lets him take it, hard from behind and loses herself to the bliss. His hands are strong and sure on her body – as his hips bruise her ass, his hand cups her breast and roughly pinches a nipple.

When she groans again, louder, Yoongi growls. “Y/N,” he grunts, snapping his hips to her ass. “I meant it – I’ll stop, if you can’t be quiet.”

“Make me,” she gasps.

“Make you?”

“Mhm, make – mmph!” she yelps when Yoongi withdraws, grabbing her waist to flip her on the bed. Hovering above her, he grips her knee, yanks it up and thrusts smoothly back in.

Y/N gasps, lisp parting as she is wantonly split by his cock.

“Make you?” he growls, fucking harder. Y/N gasps, head thrown back when he begins pounding into her body. “With pleasure.”

His lips descend on hers, hot and needy as her arms wrap around him. Yoongi spreads her even wider, pistoning like a madman into the warmth of her pussy. Her walls clench tightly around him as he fucks her wide open. His tongue is in her mouth, hands hot on her body as he pins her to the bed. Y/N cannot think around the blinding, surging pleasure within her.

“Yoongi!” she gasps, head hitting the sheets.

He continues to move, rolling his hips as she shakes underneath him. “That’s it, Y/N,” he murmurs, sliding a hand in between them. “That’s it, darling. Let go.”

His fingers brush over her mound, doing skilled, nimble work as her body clenches around him. Everything in her body is so tight, searing and unbelievably full. Hands clutching his body, Y/N cries out his name as everything breaks apart. A deep, shattering wave arcs through her, eyes rolling back in her head as she loses control.

Fire and magic wrap them both, Yoongi shuddering into her neck as he also comes undone. Sated and blissful, Y/N relaxes against his chest. Softly, her fingers curl into the base of his hair. Yoongi exhales, brushing a kiss to her collarbone and softening inside her.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “I do not wish to be parted.”

Her limbs wrap tighter, preventing him from leaving. “Then, stay.”

“Y/N…” Hesitant, he stares and then finally nods. “I will,” Yoongi murmurs, brushing his lips to hers. “For tonight.”

Waving his hand, he conjures a cloth at their side. Cleaning her off, he disposes of the rag. They lie down together, limbs entwined. Yoongi’s arm slides under her waist, her right hand on his chest as his leg drifts between hers.

“I could stay here for days,” Y/N whispers, eyelids already drooping.

Yoongi smiles, watching her shadows drift lazily up from the floor. “Me, too,” he murmurs, curling around her.

They fall asleep like that, two souls entwined.

When Y/N wakes the next morning, he is gone.

Even before she opens her eyes, she knows. She knows from the heavy feeling in her heart and the frigid space beside her in bed. And still – her stomach sinks when she opens an eye and sees nothing.

Well, not nothing. The blanket has been quietly tucked in, his clothing removed from the floor but a smooth piece of paper is placed on her desk. Seeing this, Y/N pushes her covers slowly aside to sit up. The morning air is cold, biting her skin but she largely ignores this, standing up from her bed.

The note is precise, to the point – much like Yoongi. He does not mince words, which Y/N would normally appreciate, but not now. Not when she is staring at lines on a paper and trying not to be furious.

We will see each other again.

That is all.

Y/N stares at this for a moment before the anger overtakes her and she crumples it into a ball. Breathing heavily, she stares out the window – the moves to toss it away but stops short.

Mechanically, she smooths out the paper. She stares at its lines for a second time, waiting for the hidden meaning. Surely, Yoongi would not leave without a reason. Deep down though, she knows what the reason is. Yoongi was unable to convince Y/N she was better off without him and so, he has removed himself from the picture.

Gritting her teeth, she resigns herself to this truth.

Yoongi is gone.

The sun is starting to rise, grey streaks of dawn beginning to light the sky. Y/N is surprised no one has come to wake her yet, although admittedly, she has nowhere to be. Owen has not yet re-opened the forge. It has only been a week since Gwen was found in the river. 

Remembering this, Y/N closes her eyes.

Last night seems like a dream. It seems ludicrous to think only a matter of hours ago she was stolen from bed, dragged to the river and nearly killed in the same manner Gwen was. She did not die, though. She fought back, Yoongi appeared, and – Y/N stops that thought in her tracks.

He is gone now.

Opening her eyes, Y/N stalks towards her wardrobe. Yanking clothes from the drawers, she dresses hastily before heading downstairs. Emotions churn in her stomach, each one grappling for attention over the other. In a way, this is easier – Y/N can push them all aside, forcing herself not to remember.

She does not think of Alvah, nor the manner in which she was taken. She does not think about Gwen, drowned under the river. She does not even think about Yoongi, the celestial being with stars in his eyes.

When Y/N reaches the kitchen, she pauses with one hand on the door. The images threaten to overwhelm then, rising to block out the day, but Y/N has always been good at compartmentalization. Shoving these behind the door, along with her magic, she arranges her skirts and steps into the room.

Seeing Mervin brings Y/N to a stop. Both Rian and Rumilda are gone, which is an oddity in itself. Mervin sits alone, reading his ledgers, an uneaten apple beside him. Rian will likely be alone in a minute to scold him for forgetting.

“Good morning.” Mervin pauses, scribbling something down in a margin. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Forcing herself to move, Y/N walks to the table. Pulling out the chair beside him, she slowly sits. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Melvin’s lips lift. “That is better than nothing.”

“True.”

He is quiet for a moment, turning the page in his ledger. Y/N stares down at the table, listening to the hum of people outside in the tavern. If feels surreal, sitting here as though nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. Gwen is dead, so is Alvah and Yoongi is – well, it does not matter what Yoongi is. 

Yoongi is gone. The certainty of this sits hollowly in her chest.

“You’re reviewing the books now?” Y/N glances over, attempting to distract herself. “I thought you do that in the evening.”

Mervin nods, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Normally, yes. However, two of our guests departed this morning.”

“Oh?” Y/N fights to keep her voice neutral. “Which ones?”

“Oh, those two wealthy ones. Alvah – well, never caught his last name – and Min Yoongi.”

“I see.” Y/N’s lips tighten, attempting to stay silent – but unable to stop herself. “Did either one say anything before they left?”

“Well, let’s see. Alvah left before dawn,” says Mervin, setting down his quill. “The other stopped by and paid for them both.”

Y/N’s fingers freeze on the table. “He did?”

“Mhm. Said the town was lovely, but his work was calling. He said he would stay if he could, but it was imperative that he leave. Which seemed odd,” Mervin remarks, arching a brow. “I barely remember him leaving his room.”

“That’s true,” Y/N says, turning swiftly away.

She stares into the fireplace, willing herself not to think long on the matter. Yoongi needed to leave, it hardly matters if it was voluntary, or not. He is not here any longer and so, she must move on. They had a wonderful night, but it was only that – a night. He was right to insist they would not work. She is human, a witch and he is – more.

Gently, Mervin lays his hand over hers.

Y/N looks up in surprise.

His gaze is piercing, behind his spectacles. “You know…” Mervin hesitates. “We never expected you to stay here.”

“W-what?” stutters Y/N, dumbfounded.

Mervin smiles sadly. “We took you in, of course – we fed you, clothed you and loved you all these years. But… we never expected you to stay.”

Y/N finds herself at a loss. “You didn’t?”

“Not in a bad way,” he hastens, as though she might misunderstand. “We merely knew you were different; knew you were special.” Mervin pauses, purposefully not saying magic. “This town stifles people like you. Rian and I wanted more for you than that.”

“You both aren’t stifling.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows, smile lilting. “If you’re truly happy here, we would not kick you out. I’m merely letting you know... we understand if you can’t stay.”

“If I… can’t.”

He looks at her meaningfully. “If there’s somewhere else you must be. Or – someone else you must be with.”

Y/N stares back at him, dazed and wonders if Mervin also has magic. Only a mind-seeker could understand as much without her saying a word. Or – perhaps it is only a parent faced with the fate of their child.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers, feeling her vision blur. “Whatever happens – thank you.”

Mervin nods, smiling gently and withdrawing his hand. Picking back up his quill, he returns to the ledgers and Y/N stares at his books. All this time, she assumed because Yoongi was gone, she had been left behind. However – perhaps she is looking at this the wrong way.

Yoongi is gone, meaning there is nothing keeping her here.

All of a sudden, his note takes on a new meaning.

Boughs of the willow trees hang overhead, dripping to brush the grey banks of the river. Aberbwlch is a lonely stream, narrow where it separates the Real world from Shadow. Steam rises from its surface, curling shapelessly before dissipating to night. If there are any stars, they do not shine here.

On the bank of the river, a shadow steps from the darkness.

Her cloak is dark, trimmed with fur against the emerald green of the forest. She does not look at her surroundings, merely stares straight ahead.

“I know you’re here,” Y/N finally says.

A moment passes, maybe two before Hoseok appears.

He is dressed similarly to the first night they met, plain black clothing hewn from darkness itself. Cocking his head to one side, he regards Y/N warily. She is the one who arranged their meeting, after all.

“I was surprised to hear you sought me, human.”

Y/N’s upper lip curls. “Were you?” she asks. “You’re a terrible liar, Hoseok.”

Surprise flits across his face. Only a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs – it is not a pleasant sound. Lowering his chin, he regards her again.

“You are much younger than I thought,” he remarks, beginning to circle around her.

Darkness curls at her fingers, displeased by his movement. Y/N expression remains stoic, as though this whole interaction is merely a social call. In a way, it is. She has seen many things these past months; things she will never forget, and Hoseok’s actions are child’s play compared to those of the Shadow realm.

Slowly, she looks at him. “Is there a problem?”

Hoseok comes to a stop. “No,” he murmurs. “It is just odd. It is not often one of your kind asks for my help.”

“By my kind, you mean human?”

“No.” His smile flashes in darkness. “I mean pure,” he breathes, caressing the word. “There is not blood on your soul.”

Y/N nearly stiffens. “Then, you must know why I’m here.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Hoseok raises a brow. “Musings, if you will.”

“Then you know I am serious.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, gaze sparking with interest. “Or, perhaps I am merely curious of the girl who seeks the Otherworld.” Slowly, Hoseok takes a step forward. “Curious of the human who dares request an audience with Arawn – Lord of all things dead and unseen.”

Y/N stares back. “What would make you curious about that?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. Closing his eyes, Hoseok deeply inhales. Y/N does not move, tries not react while Hoseok scents out her intentions. It does not last long – his brow swiftly furrows, not understanding what he finds.

“It’s true.” Hoseok’s eyes snap open. He stares at her in wonder – and possibly, a touch of fear. “Your soul remains pure and still, you seek an audience with the devil. A meeting with Lord Arawn. Why?”

For the briefest of seconds, Y/N’s façade slips and Hoseok sees the determination beneath. He sees her raw anger, the soul-wrenching longing and nearly recoils in shock.

“Perhaps he has something of mine,” Y/N says quietly. Just as swiftly, her boredom returns. “And perhaps I am determined to get it back – at whatever the cost.”

Her hand clenches around a note in her pocket.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot at this time! I know, I know, I set it up for a sequel. LOL right now though, I plan to leave this open ended. I hope you enjoyed!

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission. 

[phantomato]

How do you find the motivation to keep writing? Like, how do you get out of writer’s block?

Ah, good question! I do have a lot of strategies for this, and I’m happy to share them in case anything helps someone else.

To preface: I don’t consider myself to be someone who usually encounters writer’s block, and I think that’s because of how I define it. For me, writer’s block means I’ve exhausted every possible solution for overcoming it and still I cannot write—I’ve yet to face a situation where I’ve earnestly given every trick a try and none of them have worked. I have faced situations where I don’t want to try anything new and therefore cannot write, but… I consider that to be on me, because I know I have alternatives that I’m refusing.

So, what are these tricks? Trying something new to break whatever unproductive pattern I’ve fallen into.

I think of my available writing techniques as a toolbox. In this toolbox are a whole bunch of possible things I can use to shake up my writing:

POV (1st, 2nd, 3rd)

tense (past, present, future?? [I need to try that, now!])

overarching theme

character perspective

time (skip a chunk of time, flashback, slow down or speed up)

setting

age of characters/era (these are tied for me, but maybe not for you)

supporting cast relationships

There’s more that someone could draw from, but these are the things that I use most often.

Let’s say I get stuck. Depending on where I am in a fic, some of these may be more or less appropriate. Midway through a fic, I might be locked into POV, tense, and perspective, but I might be able to use a timeskip for the same result of jarring me out of my frustration with a story. If a fic hasn’t been published yet, perhaps I can change the tense—and I’ve done that, rewritten something in a new tense when the original choice wasn’t flowing for me. Maybe a particular fic isn’t moving and isn’t flexible on any of these fronts, or I haven’t found the right tool for it yet, but there’s still more I can do! I can write a one-shot using a different tool and give my brain a break from the original, coming back to it when that one-shot is finished.

The point is that ‘stuck,’ for me, often means that I am tired of writing in one pattern and I need to spend time doing something different. And for plenty of people, a break from writing is a way to get over this; if you like that, do it. For me, maintaining a consistent habit of writing is what keeps me productive, so I try to write something new (a chapter, a one-shot, a couple of scenes) every week, whether or not it gets posted. A week is the right unit of time for my life, but yours might be something else. Either way, consistency demands doing the thing, and when writing for an existing project turns daunting, I turn to my toolbox and ask what I could do differently.

Some caveats: I don’t manage more than one chaptered work well. I cannot work on simultaneous long projects, and so I don’t. I know roughly how many words constitute a ‘productive’ writing day for me, I know my upper bound on a stretch day, and I know what I can comfortably reach in about an hour if that’s all the time I have. These types of boundaries/limits are different for everyone and I learned them through trial and error, but knowing them makes it much easier to realistically evaluate my output and determine whether I’m stalled out.

And I write things that excite me. It took time to come around to accepting that what excites me might not get a lot of feedback on AO3, or that I might want to write things that I keep private. It’s much easier to be satisfied with my writing productivity when I don’t worry about how my writing was received.

Finally, productivity might not be your thing at all. It’s how I am with all of my hobbies, and I am able to manage that in a healthy way, so I define my writing goals with things like word counts and completed works. Others might be happier defining their writing by other factors—I still think that, if you’re stuck and want to write but can’t make the words come, trying a new tool and letting go of the expectations you carried with your prior format is a useful construction. The very best way to remain stuck is to keep trying the exact same thing that isn’t working.

[ficsnroses]

Perhaps - Keanu Reeves x Reader

Hi everyone! This fic is a bit different than what I’ve done in the past. Let me know if you like longer fics like this, or if you prefer the shorter and more fluffier ones. I love your feedback! I really hope you guys like this, it felt a bit out of my comfort zone.

Word count : 3884

Warnings : Smut? Kind of? a little? I didn't mean to write smut but I think I accidentally may have...

Requested : No

Summary : After becoming good friends on set, Keanu and Y/N end up in bed together, leaving Y/N scared for which way their relationship may turn when Keanu wakes.

Perhaps your ambitiousness was the quality that got the best of you. Being assertive and head strong were normally auctioned off as rather desirable qualities. Maybe things would be different if you’d slowed down, looked at things from a more sedate, deliberate standpoint. Perhaps, your mother was right on that overcast afternoon back home, the gray undertones of the silver kissed sky promised a good rain. She reluctantly handed you your last bag, the fine lines and wrinkles more prominent in recent times around her shuttered eyes. She had her doubts over your instantaneous move to LA, it killed her to even dream you may have your ambitions broken.

Perhaps, if you slowed down, thought things through, cautiously evaluated the consequences, you would have saved yourself the sorrow. Perhaps you wouldn’t be sitting on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, your chest and lower half covered with nothing but a faint white bed sheet, quietly weeping melancholy tears. The bitter, crisp air engulfing the room pricked at your nude shoulders. It felt almost glacial, or perhaps that was the feeling flooding your uncertain body. You glanced wearily over your shoulder, and saw Keanu still sleeping, his bare chest rising and falling in harmony with his breathing. His raven locks rest upon his face, a few strands cascading over his eyelids, slightly rising and falling each time he breathed out his nose. He looked at peace, for now at least. But perhaps, he would awake soon. And perhaps, peace would be replaced with hesitance. Perhaps. That darn perhaps. Anxiety inducing, dreadful, appalling perhaps. 

Your move to LA had been tough at first and really pushed you to your limits, but you weren’t complaining. Constant determination and effort had landed you a career opportunity of working on the set of John Wick Chapter 2. Yourself and a few other people around your age had earned jobs as assistant directors. It sounded like a big role, a job demanding leadership, however, you thought otherwise most of the time. It almost felt as an internship. The experience would open numerous doors for you however, and it was a hands on way of discovering movie making technique and process. The job consisted of arranging logistics, preparing daily call sheets, checking cast and crew, and maintaining order on the set. Your strong work ethic and natural niche for determination had lead many of the other AD’s to not be so fond of you. You didn’t mind though, Hollywood was competitive and you were here to make a mark.

When you weren’t working on set, you’d often be left alone. You were rather shy and hadn’t made any friends on set yet. You enjoyed your own company, rather fond of indulging in your thoughts, taking a mental break from the demanding reality of the world. At lunch breaks, the cast and crew working on principal photography would gather in the designated rest area, where people would branch off into groups, socializing and enjoying their lunches together. You however, sat alone at whatever table wasn’t occupied. Sometimes you would eat quietly all alone, or sometimes you would set your mind adrift in a book while eating. It all depended on the day and your mood.

Keanu had been noticing you since the first day. He would watch the way you poured your heart and soul into your work. He admired that, he didn’t see it from any of the other ADs. He would see you sitting alone at lunch every day, often walking by you to sit with the people he knew and was familiar with. He would watch the way you would get so invested in your novel, the way you would tuck your long strands of hair that framed your face behind your ears, your brows furrowing. He was quite intrigued by you, almost fascinated. He was drawn to you in an unexplainable way, as if his soul had somehow read yours and wanted a taste of the serenity your aura gave off. After a week of production, he had finally mustered up the courage to brush past your table, finally approaching you one on one for the first time.

       “Remembrance of Things Past, I’m quite fond of that novel myself.” His voice caught you off guard. You’d known exactly who’s voice it was before even looking up, it just surprised you it was filling your ears so close, directed at no one but you.

You glanced up and saw him smiling down, his tray full of food in his large hands, still in his costume from filming. He had a few cuts and gashes on his forehead and cheek from makeup. Had this not been a movie set, it would have been quite concerning.

       “Yeah, it’s a good read. I’m trying to get through them all actually, although its proving to be quite the task.” You chuckled, your soft voice had a very calming effect on him. It was almost as a sweet break from the chaotic environment surrounding.

       “It took me a while, but I got through them. Worth it, trust me.” He smiled back. “Is this seat taken?” he gestured with his free hand to the seat in front of you.

       “No no, it’s not!” you replied quickly, almost not believing the words he had just asked.

       “May I?” he asked politely. “Of course, my pleasure.” You said with just as much politeness, almost being formal. You weren’t sure how to act, Keanu Reeves, the star of the movie had asked to join you for lunch.

      “Y/N, right? I’m Keanu. Nice to meet you.” he held his hand out for you to shake. “I must say, I admire the work you do here on set, we’re really in good hands.” He spoke as you shook hands, smiling at each other, relaxing eventually in each others presence. You noticed the other AD’s and many other crew members turn their heads your way, just as surprised, almost jealous that Keanu had sat with you alone. You chatted and got to know each other a little better that day before returning to set. You were just as surprized when the next day, Keanu ended up asking to sit with you once again. Your company was so refreshing to him, like a breath of fresh air after being inside walls too long.

Keanu and yourself ended up becoming quite good friends from that day forward. You would sit together every single day at lunch breaks, and often chat or hang out on down time between takes. You managed to make each other laugh a whole awful lot. When the set was packed up for the day, Keanu would help you with your stuff, walking you back to your car to make sure you were safe. He would ask you if you needed a ride every time, even though he knew you had transportation home. It was a sweet gesture, it showed you his caring and compassionate side. He was very gentle with you, a complete contrast to the character he was playing on set. He would let you go with a quick hug, and a “get home safe, Y/N.” before waving goodbye and walking back to his car. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a slight flutter in your chest every time he hugged you goodnight, sending you off. But it was best you keep those thoughts at bay, Keanu was just such a gentle, kind, loving personality. It was practically impossible to not feel warmth after just a glance his way.

On Keanu’s walks back to his motorcycle after dropping you off to your car, he would shove his hands in his pockets, reminiscing back on the day’s work. He often found you at the center of his thoughts, the moments you’d share together being a prominent, radiating light out of the sea of everything else. He felt for the first time in a while that he had someone to confide in, someone to relieve the stress of life with. He felt something there. He felt something for sure.

On a Friday afternoon, you and Keanu sat at your regular table as always, chatting away, laughing over Keanu’s slip up during one of his action sequences earlier that day.  The rest of the crew didn’t find it so amusing, but you and Keanu were left gasping for air, giggling away tremendously thereafter. It was almost like you had a mental connection that just made you sync when you were together. To you, it was nice to have a friend. A real, true friend. Your first and only friend in LA actually. He had made the journey so much more bearable, and you couldn’t be more thankful. You knew internally you were longing for something more with him, but you constantly pushed the thoughts away, knowing the bond was too special to you to have anything determine otherwise.

Keanu shoved his spoon into your cup of yogurt, taking a bite into his mouth. You two often shared food. It almost made you feel…closer.

      “Keanu you know that’s my favourite! Leave me some.” You chuckled, playfully shoving his hand away. Keanu had suggested he take you on a bike ride after pack up that night, the lovely California weather, complied with the smell of fresh orange fields and the lavender sunsets were a magical sight he wanted you to experience. You had agreed, it was the weekend and a bike ride sounded like a good way to replenish.

That evening after pack up, Keanu held his arm out for you to take as usual, only this time, he’d be leading you to his bike, taking you with him. He’d dreamt of the scenario often, wishing he could whirl you away to experience the pure bliss of the wind in your hair, and the unexplainable calmness, complete ecstasy a bike ride brought him. He knew how stressful working on set had been for you, and he wanted to help relieve you of some tension.

Sitting behind Keanu with your arms wrapped securely around his waist felt like true security. You eventually found yourself resting your head on his back, your cheek brushed up against his muscles, your eyes closed, just relishing in the moment. He was radiating warm heat, it felt nice to be so close to him, so in touch. It almost left you wanting more.

Keanu felt very protective of you in that moment, as if a fragile doll rest upon him that he had to defend at all costs. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Eventually, he stopped the bike at his favourite spot, a cliff overlooking the beauteous California waters. He often came there to be alone, to take time to himself, to feel grounded. It was special to him to share it with someone else, almost as if he were taking a very vulnerable part of himself and handing it into your hands. He helped you off the bike, holding his hand out for you to take as he walked you to the edge where you could see the divine scenery.

      “Isn’t it breathtaking?” He smiled at you, before glancing down at your hand in his. It was a nice fit, he thought to himself.

      “It’s gorgeous. Thank you for showing me, Keanu.” You replied as you looked off into the distance, smiling to yourself. The sunset had cast a vibrant, golden hue on your face that left it sparkling in all the right places. Keanu couldn’t help but grin as he watched you. You both stood there for a few moments, sulking in a comfortable silence, just over looking the California horizon. A few moments later, you realized your hand was still tucked away tightly in Keanu’s grip. You looked down, and then up at his face. His eyes met yours, glowing. Keanu slightly inched you closer, and without thought, you moved into his touch, resting your head on his arm. You felt real at ease in that moment, a free wave of tranquility flowing through your veins engulfing your body in a tight embrace. Keanu moved his arm around you, pulling you closer, watching the distance. This is what it felt like to have certainty.

You glanced up at Keanu, so intoxicated by the view and his zen like presence. He looked down at you, and your eyes instantly locked. You both smiled, getting lost in each other. His eyes reminded you of two drops of coffee, with clouds of steamed milk surrounding. They gazed into yours, as if he was reading a map to a town he had already roamed in its entirety, as if in that moment, your collective energies gravitated together and ignited a whole universe, and you were the only ones in it. The only ones with a key. You both inched closer, and closer, his head moving down, your moving up to meet him hallway,

And then it happened. Your lips grazed against each other’s, and locked. You shifted, and put a hand on his shoulder, your other hand on his bicep. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, managing to pull you in even closer, while his other hand caressed the back of your head, getting lost in your locks.

The kiss was sweet, passionate, and eventually became demanding. You moved both your arms around his neck, lightly ruffling his hair while indulging in his candied lips. Keanu eventually broke the kiss, pulling back only to rest his forehead against yours, as he looked you in the eyes once again, except now they were filled with need, with lust, with desire.

      “Would you wanna go back to my place? Maybe?” he breathed.

      “Yeah, I would like that.” You grinned, eyes glancing at his lips.

And with that, he took your hand and lead you back to his bike, helping you on, and zooming away, frantically racing home with your body close to his once again. He felt butterflies in his stomach anticipating what was to come next.

As you reached Keanu’s home, you held his arm as he lead you in. Instantly, as the door locked and he turned the lights on, your eyes met once again. You were stood about a foot apart, your arms at your sides. You both smiled, it felt almost as this was something you had both wanted for a while, something you never knew you were craving. After a moment or so, you inched forward, unable to resist any longer. He followed, attaching your bodies once again with a kiss. He bit at your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you cheerfully allowed. And with that, he suddenly picked you up, carrying you up to his bedroom where you both would spend the night, showing your admiration for each other in the closest, most vulnerable, most intimate way you could.

Keanu laid you down on his bed lightly, making sure you were comfortable. The dimly lit room was illuminating your skin perfectly, he thought you looked like an angel sent down from the heavens. He climbed on top of you gently, making sure to position his weight on either side of you so he wouldn’t crush you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, missing his lips on yours. His hands connected to your waist, softly caressing your love handles, running his hands over them smoothly.

Your lips collided again, and Keanu toyed with the hem of your blouse.

      “May I?” his raspy voice spoke in a whisper, tugging on the bottom of your blouse, asking permission to remove it. It was an action that set your heart a flip. He was such a gentleman, no matter the situation. You had made it quite clear you wanted him as much as he wanted you, yet he still made sure you were definitely on the right page. He respected your boundaries, and that may have just made you want him even more.

      “Yeah” you smiled, gently grabbing his hand and helping him move the blouse over your breasts and off your body. He wasted no time in taking his own shirt off, and then moving his hands underneath your resting figure to undo the clasp of your bra. He delicately took it off your shoulders, exposing your bare chest to him. He admired you for a second, before connecting his lips to your neck, kissing each and every inch of the skin. He his wet kisses trailed down your shoulder, over the top of your breasts, dipping between your cleavage and disappearing down your stomach. He made sure he showed you just how grateful he was for you in that moment, how in awe he was with your mind, your body and your soul in that moment. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him back up.

Within the next few moments, his pants were off as were yours, leaving you both skin to skin with each other, no barrier in between. Keanu reached over to his nightstand pulling out protection, and slipped it on himself in a swift motion.

      “Is this okay, Y/N?” he asked, lined up and ready to show you just how much he wanted you, his voice low, showing concern. He didn’t want to do anything you weren’t comfortable with; he wouldn’t dare want to hurt you in the slightest way.

You nodded frantically, ready to feel him in the most intimate, cherished way possible.

And with that, he slipped himself in, lips connecting to your neck leaving love bites. He moved passionately, his hand lacing in yours, your hands on his shoulders, gripping them tight. A few moans escaped your lust filled lips, feeling all of him.

The night was amorous, filled with heartfelt admiration and praise for each other. You both gave each other a part of yourselves that night. A part that perhaps, you would never get back.

It was now morning, and there you were, on the edge of the bed, anxiety ridden, with the evidence of last night sprawled over the floor in forms of your clothing. You had woken up with Keanu’s arm secured around you, snoozing away.

It was a confusing feeling, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you may have made a mistake. Keanu was, after all, your co worker. It was a professional setting you worked in together. But he was also your closest friend here, in this town of a billion lights, but an unexplained solitude. Perhaps last night was just a moment of passion for him, a spur of the moment where he needed you, but perhaps, that was all it was. You couldn’t possibly be dreaming of a future with him, could you? He was a star, he had it all. People like him probably do this all the time when they’re lonely and need someone. Your pessimistic train of thought had got the best of you.

Keanu’s eyes opened, and he felt a dip on the edge of the bed. He instantly smiled to find you still on his bed, wrapped in nothing but his bed sheets, showing an indication of the love you shared the night prior. He reached forward and touched your arm.

      “Hey you…” He smiled. You didn’t reply, nor turn around.

Keanu moved towards you, approaching you from behind, and attached his hands to your waist. He began to leave soft kisses along your nude, exposed shoulder, running his hands up and down your sides, the same love evident in his gestures. That was when he heard you sniff.

      “Woah Y/N, are you okay sweetheart?” he whispered, slightly taken back, immediately moving himself away. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I shouldn’t have, I just thought…. I don’t know.” He spoke moving away, running a hand through his hair, thinking he had made you uncomfortable.

Your tears got heavier at that point. You felt like a fool. You weren’t even sure why you were crying, perhaps you were just scared that this was all only temporary. You felt you had tasted paradise last night, and to have that ripped away from you would have been sheer torment.

      “I’m sorry Y/N. Y/N? Is something wrong? Did I do something? I apologize if I did something wrong, I just thought we…you know…” he trailed off, still extremely concerned, his eyes filled with worry that he had been the cause for your tears. He gave you space, hoping not to further upset you.

      “Y/N can I…. can I touch you?” He asked cautiously.

You nodded in return, you wanted to feel him close. Perhaps it would be the remedy to calm you down.

He scooted over closer, and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head repeatedly, whispering soothing dialogues in your ears.

      “You’ll be okay honey; you’ll be just fine. I’m right here. Talk to me, Y/N.” he whispered. You held onto him tighter, scared to open your mouth. You weren’t even sure what to say. What even was there to be said?

      “Keanu...” you started finally, with your shaky voice.

He looked you in the eyes, full of compassion, encouraging you to go on as he took your hand in his, rubbing it with his thumb.

      “Last night…we uh…it was special. It was really special. I just…” your eyes glanced around the room, unsure of the words to say next. You didn’t want to say more, perhaps this was your defence mechanism. To say it first, before he did. To reject. Before he did.

      “What about it, Y/N?” Keanu quietly questioned, suddenly feeling insecure. Had he not shown you properly what you meant to him? Had he not expressed his love to the best of its ability?

      “Last night was really special to me too, Y/N.” He glanced down at your intertwined hands.

      “Really?” you questioned, looking up at him.

      “Yeah… I felt something, I’ve always felt something here. I feel like there’s something that pulls me to you. I’m really not too good at the whole confessions thing but I uh…I can’t help but feel like this…feels right. Gosh I don’t even know if I’m making sense I just...” he trailed off, before you interrupted.

      “I uh, I agree. I feel something too; I see something in you that I admire. Your eyes connected finally, both feeling the confidence to stop staring away from each other.

      “If you’ll have me, I’m willing to try. You’re special, Y/N. I don’t want to lose that.” Keanu confessed.

You rest your head against his bare chest, pulling the sheet covering your figure higher up. He wrapped his arms around you again, resting his head on top of yours for the second time that morning. You traced the veins on his arms, admiring his figure and everything about him. His cologne from the night before still lingered on his porcelain skin. It felt nice to be close to him again.

      “I’m sorry, where are my manners.” He chuckled. “I’ll let you get dressed Y/N. Perhaps I can make us breakfast, if you’ll spend the morning with me, love?” he smiled down into your hair, breathing in your shampoo.

      “Perhaps.” You smiled up at him, grasping onto his bicep tighter. “Perhaps, I’d like that a lot.”

[enchanted-prose]

Daisy Chains

I can’t contribute anything to the fandom except for writing! Here’s my first contribution for something I’m going to call Fic Friday. I solemnly swear to drop a fic or drabble from 200-6,000 words every Friday! (drop comments because I live for attention?)

Title: Daisy Chains

Word Count: 2,000

Features: Mott, Jaron, Amarinda, Tobias, Roden, and Imogen, as well as a few ocs and an introduction for a larger project I’m working on.

No editing, we die like men.

The day was warm.

Birds chirped, and for the first time in a long time, the trees all bore their leaves. Everything was alive. Buzzing with a lazy energy.

The Roving River moved eerily slowly, slugging through the broken forest just outside of Drylliad castle. It would be years before the forest surrounding the castle healed from the wounds of war. But after two years, the environment was making great effort to return to normalcy.

But normalcy was still years away.

Repercussions from the Avenian War still rattled the government and population of Carthya. In Avenia, the people were struggling to survive. Bymar was facing severe social unrest.

At least Gelyn was still swindling people out of their fortunes, like they always did.

On the bank of the river lay a large, quilted blanket. A basket of food stood in the middle of a group of young people.

And there was laughter.

Smiles despite the haunted look each person tried to hide.

"Still can't believe you managed to drink an entire barrel full of mead," Tobias shook his head. "Roden, there's been an ongoing study about fermented beverages leading to an early death."

Roden Harlowe, the charming captain of Carthya's royal  guard, smirked, "I'm bound to die anyways, may as well die from something I like."

"That's not-"

"Careful Tobias, you might trick people into thinking we're friends."

"Shut up."

A wave of snickers rippled through Tobias, Roden, and the rest of King Jaron's inner circle.

Jaron himself had demanded that he and the inner circle take the afternoon off. They all deserved it. Each one had been working nonstop to ensure domestic peace, and others had been grappling with diplomatic responsibilities.

The rules for the afternoon were simple: Under no circumstances was anybody allowed to bring up anything that had to do with the kingdom.

Or other kingdoms.

Or anything sad at all.

"I feel like you should push Roden to his limits," snipped Amarinda, the princess and ambassador of Bymar. "If he can drain an entire barrel, why not see if he can do two?"

"Now that's a wager I'll get behind," Roden said. He settled on his back, clasping his hands behind his head.

"You'd be sick for days," Tobias argued.

"That won't stop me from doing anything."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

Jaron was laughing, "As much as I approve of pushing boundaries, maybe you should start at one and a half barrels. You still need to patrol the- ah, you still need to be wary on your feet. . . Or Tobias may be able to disarm you in a sparring match."

"Didn't think of that," Roden groaned. "My reputation would be ruined."

"Your reputation is already ruined," Amarinda teased.

"Damaged beyond compare, there's absolutely no chance you can repair it. You'll be churning butter your whole life," Jaron inched his way closer to Imogen, and settled an arm around her. "Maybe you could open a shop."

"I fully intend to vanish, and then train wannabe heroes just like the mentors from the old legends."

"Don't the mentors usually die in the legends?"

"Everyone dies in legends, that's why they're legends."

"I thought we were going to avoid depressing subjects," Imogen chirped. She tugged on the end of her braid.

A moment of silence settled in over everyone.

Avoiding the scars they'd all received would never be an easy task. They were still too fresh despite appearing to be healed.

Each one had different burdens.

Each one bore their own burden in different ways.

For Imogen, she found herself almost always afraid that somebody would materialize out of the dark and put an arrow through her shoulder again.

For Jaron, he couldn't ever seem to sit still, something he struggled with as a child before. If he was constantly moving, there was less of a chance of being caught.

"My cousin, Princess Eline, sent me a letter," Amarinda said. "She's going to be named heir to the throne soon."

"She's going to become queen in her own right?" Jaron's eyes went wide. "That's incredible!"

"She's taking the situation very seriously, especially since she's so young. However, there is much. . . Much to be done to prepare for the ceremony. I hope to attend."

"I hope we all can attend."

Silence once again.

They all knew that they were avoiding a subject very specific to Princess Eline's new title as Crown Princess.

Princess Eline  had the support of the Royalists, but no support from those calling themselves the Tairrogists.

The Tairrogists insisted that they needed a new monarch.

One that would focus on Bymar's affairs before attending to their allies.

And they were gaining an unsettling amount of support from the people of Bymar.

Amarinda wasn't the type to watch her country topple, even if she did have a duty to Carthya and her husband above all.

That was how she kept herself composed.

She busied herself with ways to make life better for everyone, and did her best to involve Tobias. Together, they worked through their concerns.

Their fears were slowly melting away.

Together, they recognized that there was only so much that they could do within their power.

Unlike Roden.

Unlike Captain Roden Harlowe, who silently insisted that he was strong enough to save everyone he could.

The results when he couldn't save everyone were devastating to watch.

So he turned to the company of alcohol. The local tavern had a stool reserved just for him. The local barmaids always did their best to serve him first for the chance to accompany him to his bed.

He kept himself detached and too involved all at once.

And he never slept alone.

"I've always wanted to know how to make a daisy chain," Roden blurted, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

"A daisy chain?" Imogen tilted her head. "I'm quite good at those, have anyone in mind you're going to give it to?"

"Not really, just need something to do while I'm out in the woods on a boring day."

"I think making daisy chains is a brilliant idea. You can use it as a weapon, maybe even a rope," Jaron snickered. "Can't tell you how many times my life has been saved by flowers."

"Ah, see, I can think of one time your life was definitely saved by flowers, your Highness," a smile split across Imogen's face like a ray of sunshine.

"None of you will ever understand how grateful I am for Imogen. If more people were like her, we'd get everything under control."

Nobody could deny that Imogen was certainly the most productive out of them all.

"I know I could use a few notes on remaining focused," Amarinda's gaze flickered to a special area. "Especially when Tobias and I are taking inventory in the physician's chambers."

Another wave of snickers rippled through the circle as Tobias's ears turned beat red, "I, ah, could say the same."

"Dear Saints, I hate being around you all," Roden groaned.

"Right! Daisy chains!" Imogen clapped her hands together, desperately trying to change the subject. "You start by getting-"

"-Daisies of course," Jaron said. He stood, and held out a hand to Imogen, "Care to look for them with me?"

"Don't mind if I do."

By the time they both returned from 'looking for daisies', a newcomer had joined Amarinda, Tobias, and Roden on the blanket. The sunlight glinting off of his shiny, bald head brought safety to both Jron and Imogen.

There was nobody they trusted more than Mott.

"Mott!" Jaron exclaimed, nearly dropping all of the daisies he'd collected. "Ae you sure it's safe for you to be out-"

"I'm not made of glass, Jaron," Mott sighed, but a ghost of a smile lingered on his face.

"I know, but, I do worry."

"I wish you didn't. What have you got there?'

Everyone was far too talented at changing the subject.

"We're going to teach Roden how to make a daisy chain," Imogen said. She sat down on the blanket, and began passing out bundles of daisies.

Mott tried his best to hide his surprise, "Is there somebody he's courting?"

"The day I court somebody, male or female, is the day that I get a sword through my middle," Roden snapped.

"Violent words from a lover," Jaron placed his hand over his heart. "How could you forsake our love, dear captain?"

"Because you're the type of person to steal the blanket in the middle of the night and I get cold."

"You do steal the blanket, Jaron," Imogen noted.

"I am not a blanket stealer!"

He was indeed a blanket stealer.

Quite inconvenient on a snowing night.

"To start with a daisy chain, you need a pair of flowers. One is going to wrap around the other," Imogen held up the daisies, expertly wrapping one stem around its twin. "You sort of repeat this pattern until it's as long as you like. I sometimes tie the ends together with string because they stay longer, but I don't think we have anything. . ."

"I have string!" Tobias said.

"Never leaves home without it," Amarinda grinned. "Always insists that he might need to stitch somebody up."

"Can't help it, I'm friends with Roden."

"Speak to me kindly," Roden frowned.

"Not on your life."

"Prat."

"Idiot."

The first batch of daisy chains from Jaron and Tobias fell apart. Eventually, their daisies became too worn out, and they fell apart. However, Roden seemed to be a natural at first. . . Until about halfway through the chain when he accidentally broke off a daisy, causing the entire thing to fall apart.

Amarinda's crown was finished quickly, and in no time, her crown was resting on Tobias's head while she worked on a second one.

They made sure to speak to each other while they weaved. It helped keep their minds from wandering to dismal places.

Crowns were made and placed on  heads.

Mott's bald head couldn't keep the crown in place until one was made to specifically fit his head, and his alone.

Tobias, at first, bore the most crowns. . .

But the circle made an unspoken pact, wrestled Jaron to the ground, and shoved as many daisy chains as they could onto and over his head.

It had been a long time since they'd all laughed that hard.

Later that evening, as Jaron sat alone in his office reading decrees and letters, he couldn't shake the feeling that the afternoon he'd shared with his friends would be the last truly happy thing to happen for a long time.

And it scared him.

It scared him that things weren't slowing down as he'd hoped. Though Carthya was well on their way to recovering from the Avenian war, Bymar was teetering on the edge of civil war.

As their ally, Carthya had an obligation to assist Bymar.

But what could they offer?

If Jaron sent troops, the Carthyan population would be decimated.

If he didn't. . . He'd be a traitor.

Oh how he wished that he could spend every afternoon simply making daisy chains with his inner circle..

[iamtrashforash]

“Problematic” Fanworks, i.e. Re: Last Reblog

A particularly prolific and highly talented artist-writer duo in the Banana Fish fandom has been getting aggressive messages that toe and occasionally cross the line to harassment, on top of actual hate messages.  The common grievances are that their fanworks often feature “controversial” pairings, e.g. Max/Ash and Foxx/Ash, and are sexually explicit in nature.

@silverquillsideas wrote a lengthy response to an anon ask regarding the matter, which I would highly recommend people to read.  I am mostly interested in the responses to @silverquillsideas post, which I find to echo similar sentiments (or “arguments”) found on Twitter and Tumblr.

[Fiction affects reality.  These fanworks contribute to the normalisation and/or romanticisation of rape, abuse, and pedophilia.  Hence, they are not allowed to exist.]

To “normalise” these things, I argue that the works have to present them in a normalised manner.  However, this is simply not the case.  The fanworks are conscientiously put behind age and NSFW filters (in this case, Privateer) and well-tagged with trigger warnings.  At one point, the artist even made a separate, viewable upon approval account for the more NSFW pieces, so that people who are interested only in the SFW or “sanctioned to be non-problematic” artworks need not be notified of the existence of the “non-sanctioned” artworks.  The experience is highly opt-in, and is by no means normalising.  The multiple filters and warnings highlight the paraphilic, outside-the-norm nature of the artworks.

Personally, I think this normalisation argument is patronising: it underestimates the ability of adults (especially -- let’s be honest here -- female adults) to distinguish between reality and fiction, and between safe, consensual sex and fantasy materials.

[Think about the children!]

This argument is often attached to the normalisation argument.  It is heavily undermined by the presence of the age filters.  Age filters are put up precisely because, in general, younger consumers lack the critical thinking to properly compartmentalise fiction/fantasy from reality.  When you click through an age filter, you are, in effect, declaring that you have the critical thinking and maturity to properly digest whatever awaits beyond.

[Fandom is a safe space!]

And still it remains, as long as we keep up the standards of proper age filters, NSFW filters, and trigger warnings.

[Why would you have these unhealthy fantasies when healthier fantasies exist? What is wrong with you?]

Sometimes, people ship things because they think it looks good.  It appeals to an aesthetic side of them.  Sexual arousal by visual cues is, unsurprisingly, greatly rooted in the aesthetics.  It does not need to go deeper than that.  An anecdote: I am, technically speaking, a Shingeki no Kyojin Eren/Levi shipper. Since I neither read nor watch SnK, for a long, long time, I did not realise Eren’s age and the age gap between the two.  Even after finding out, I could not stop aesthetically liking the ship.  When I ship them, I am not consciously and actively shipping a teenager with a middle-aged man.  I ship them because they appeal to me aesthetically: I like their visuals and the fandom’s depictions of their interactions in doujinshi.  I fancy that, for a lot of people, this compartmentalisation of aesthetics and age of the characters involved happens often.  Some people, however, seem incapable of internalising the idea that other people are capable of this mental separation -- a failure of the imagination.

(A tangent: I mean no harsh judgment on those who fail to separate character age from fantasies, but I think one does have to accept the personal limitations of one’s own tastes.  Personally, I find it hard to separate biology from shipping; hence, A/B/O fanworks are simply Not My Thing.  The common trope of feminising male omega characters tends to make my eye twitch.  But I am not leaving comments of how disturbed I am on A/B/O fanworks for their dissemination of wildly inaccurate biological facts and/or their tendency to reinforce a masculinity-femininity binary in MLM relationships.)

Regarding depictions of rape, assault, abusive relationships, etc., ravishment fantasies are very common; this is a fact.  Sexual arousal, fear, pain, and pleasure are incontrovertibly linked: they all belong to the response pathways of the “primitive brain”, having existed long before our ancestors began developing the cortex of higher thinking.  The arbitrary categorisation of “healthy” and “unhealthy” fantasies means nothing to something as basal as sexual responses.

[Still, these fantasies are disturbing.]

Some of them do disturb me.  However, again, the content creators have done their utmost to make sure the experience is opt-in by nature, with big warning signs attached.  If you think the content will disturb you, please do not engage with it.  Think of it as not buying pickle-flavoured ice cream when you know it won’t be to your taste and/or you are allergic to pickles.  The presence of pickle-flavoured ice cream might weird you out, but you have no obligation to consume it.  In the same way, it is unreasonable for you to demand the ice cream company to withdraw their product because the thought of pickle ice cream disturbs you, or to complain to the convenience store for allowing the pickle ice cream to be stocked on their shelves.  They released the flavour because they believe there is an audience for it out there, and that the release would bring some people delight and/or money.

[I have the right to announce how disturbed I am by these fanworks.]

I agree.  You do not, however, have the right to harass people over them, especially when -- I reiterate -- the creators have made the entire experience highly opt-in.

Also, I implore you to think of the practical consequences of your actions before you decide to send strongly worded messages to content creators:

No real person is harmed in the creation of fanworks.

On the other hand, your strong words may dampen the mood of a real live person who has decided to share their talents with the world.

In consequentialist terms, when you send messages like, “You disgust me,” to a content creator, the net result of your actions is....negative.  In other words, I am asking you, “Aren’t there better things to do with your time?”

[To depict Ash, a sexual abuse survivor, in sexual situations is highly damaging/insensitive/triggerring to CSA survivors.]

I have a very personal, by-no-means objective reaction to this particular extremist view.  Please just skip this entire section if rationality is what you seek.  I will even give you a TL;DR; it reads, “Fuck off.”

I had an entire essay planned on this for my own benefit -- think of it as bloodletting -- but I might as well say it now.  Banana Fish and Ash made me realise that I was the victim of a systematic pedophile, almost twenty years after the fact.  Ash and I had our fateful encounters at roughly the same age, in startlingly similar scenarios.

The realisation came more as a shock than I could ever have expected.  I struggle (note the present tense) with the endowment of the mantle of a victim.  I don’t know why Ash became the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle -- I mean, I had read Lolita cover to cover multiple times -- but I hypothesise that it is because his trauma does not consume most of his identity.  So many stories of abuse survivors are heavily focussed on how their experiences, well, fucked them up, but I -- I was so young that I got out without any visible mental and physical scars; all that is left are grimy fingerprints on a pane of glass, visible only when you breathe on it.  Specific parts of my body are weirdly off-limits in sexual situations, but I managed to ascribe those to “just how my body is” instead of “the parts he touched”.  Stories about trauma are certainly needed, but what my memory needed was representation in the manner of Ash’s.

Reading about Ash exploring his sexuality, especially in a healing manner that I will never experience due to my odd lack of apparent trauma, helped me a lot with coming to terms with the realisation.  I was devastated when an author abandoned an R18 fic of Ash reclaiming his sexuality with the help of Eiji, due to people messaging her with the argument above and claiming to speak for all CSA survivors.  Thankfully, the author returned to finish the fic, but the experience overall had been marred, and the author was clearly uncomfortable with having posted the fic at all.  It feels terrible to know that something that has helped me tremendously is regarded as disturbing by its own creator.

In other words, if you have used the above argument to harass content creators, please stop.

CLOSING REMARKS

I have none.  It is currently 02.30 a.m. in Japan.  Please feel free to comment with your own opinions and experiences; I will try to reply after I get some sleep.  I may edit this piece tomorrow, should my morning self violently disagree with my 02.30 a.m. self. 

[draconida]

Shance Fic Recs (Part three)

More Shance! With Kuro and Sven too. 

82- Mysteries Become Reality by FullmetalDude1 [M/M/M/M, Sven and Kuro]

The world is full of mythical creatures that are slowly but surely being integrated and accepted into society, but a couple of hate crimes and BS still happens.

Lance is a human in this world, doing his best to help Mythics out even if he's got a bad history.

Then he meets 4 super hot Mythics in collage and he is gone, but he'll never admit that.

At least, not until he's been held for ransom by a gang of haters.

83- i don't have too much but i know enough by quiddative

Lance shot a panicked look at Keith but the asshole just laid there uselessly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he snorted. “They’re your kids, after all.”

What?

“What?” Lance and Allura yelled.

Allura turned to Kolivan with narrowed eyes. “Explain,” she demanded.

Kolivan looked very much like he wanted a drink. “The two of them appear to be the Red and Black Paladins’ children from the future.”

(Or: Lance and Shiro's children appear from the future and emotions ensue.)

85- Remember Me by boredomsMuse

Back before Kerberos, Lance and Shiro had been close. Boyfriends, type close. Boyfriends who'd meet each other's parents, all of them, type close.

Except, none of the Paladins know that. Not even Shiro.

86- Starlight Starshine by stirlingphoenix

'He’s beautiful', was the only thought Shiro’s mind could process as he watched Lance in person for the very first time. Those two little words repeated themselves on a loop over and over, making sure he’d never forget this moment. He’d always thought Lance to be exceedingly attractive, but seeing him in real life, as opposed to the TV screen or a movie poster nearly blew his mind.

Shiro had every intention of getting out of there before he ended up doing something embarrassing. Nevermind the fact that Lance wouldn’t know who he was, he still wasn’t too keen on potentially making a fool of himself. But just before he could make a beeline for the exit, the sound of his proper last name echoed throughout the air, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Excuse me, Mr. Shirogane?” The nervousness that plagued his caller’s voice hit Shiro’s ears wrong, yet it was still oddly familiar to him, as if he’d heard that same tone over a hundred times before.

As it turned out, he had, just never like this. Turning around, he came face-to-face with the lead of the production, the one and only Lance McClain himself, standing before him with a curious, perhaps even anxious expression covering his face.

87- Hi by Nevermoree

"in a world where you have your soulmates’ first words tattooed in your skin, he, obviously, has… well, that."

88- Te prefiero a ti by Nevermoree [Explicit and only spanish]

Lance has been in love with Shiro since he can remember, so when he have the opportunity to spend the night with Shiro, he have decided not to waste it. It's supposed to be a one-night deal, but things do not always work out the way you plan.

89- How to get a hot, shape-shifting dragon-man to fall in love with you by charlotteXOyates [Explicit]

Discovering a new species is a dream every reptile expert can relate to, so Lance's excitement upon meeting Shiro, a man with scales and a dragon tail, is understandably through the roof. What's less understandable, however, is Lance's sudden desire to help the dragon-man with his rut…

90- Daycare, Toddlers, and a bit of Love by starryrosez

Lance falls in love with the father of a boy he looks after in daycare.

91- Claws by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit and omegaverse] Lance had clawed his way through the Galra military ranks. This was the most important day of his entire existence. He was being assigned to a commander. One of the most ruthless commanders in the Empire. He had to make a good impression.

It would be just his luck that he'd be stricken with the beginnings of a ruthless heat. He knew the suppressants made him sick, but he took them anyway. Anything was better than a fucking stupid heat. He couldn't very well look strong with his heat boring down on his shoulders.

But puking at the feet of your new commander doesn't exactly make you look like a model Galra either… hindsight Lance supposes. 92- Lance's Guide on How to Embarrass Yourself in Front of Your Insurance Adjuster by Eilera

“This is for my mama, Hunk. She was so worried about this whole thing. They just finished renovating. I’m not gonna let her down. If my name isn’t Lance fucking Hernandez Martine-holy fuck he’s gorgeous.”

“Oh no. No. Lance do-“

Lance didn’t even hear him because there was a fucking gorgeous god walking up the path to the front door.

(In which Lance is helping his mama with an insurance claim and he was not prepared for the smoking hot insurance adjuster.)

93- designated drivers anonymous by kalakauuas

"It’s halfway through his sixth attempt at a puppy-filter pic that the bathroom door whooshes open wider than Lance’s mouth trying to prompt the puppy tongue onto the screen. Right when Lance screeches in surprised terror, he takes the picture.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was occupied,” says the person who threw the door open, his hands rushing to cover his eyes quicker than Lance would run from his mom’s chancla.

The good thing is, aside from vaguely humiliating selfie poses, there’s nothing to see here."

Lance and Shiro meet through a shared hobby, if you consider hiding in bathrooms during house parties a hobby.

94- Tris for Guys by quiddative

“Um, my name is Lance McClain-Reyes and I have a personal training session,” Lance said, though it came out as more of a question than a statement.

The girl hummed and typed something on the computer. “Ah, right on time,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been paired up with Shiro. If you’ll just take a seat, he should be out in a few minutes.”

Shiro?, Lance thought as all the gears in his brain suddenly screeched to a halt. I must have heard wrong. There’s no way—

“That’s okay, Pidge, I’m already here,” said a deep and familiar voice just behind Lance.

(Or: What do you do when the guy you've been crushing on turns out to be your personal trainer for the day?)

95- easier to lose by quiddative [Explicit]

Shiro is at the peak of his NHL career. Unfortunately, being famous has its downsides, particularly when it comes to dating. And that’s on top of the fact that he’s still in the closet. However, a chance meeting with college student Lance, who seems to be the only person in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is, gives him hope that maybe he won’t die alone after all. Just as long as he can keep his identity a secret.

96- A Halloween Tail by Cathwren

Lance just wanted to have a fun Halloween night, but when homophobic idiots give him trouble he makes a new friend in the dashing young knight that swoops in to save the day. Secrets are shared and Lance can easily say he got a night to remember...and maybe even a boyfriend.

97- 13 stories for Halloween by liddie [Explicit]

A collection of 13 Shance stories for the month of October featuring (but not limited to): vampires, kitsune, werewolves, demons, cursed scarecrows, ghosts, merpeople, oni and whatever else comes to mind!

98- Head Start by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit]

Werewolves. If there was one scent Lance knew above all else, it was Werewolves. Being born from a werewolf father and a human mother Lance knew werewolves. So when he got to the Galaxy Garrison and smelled werewolf in his class his first thought was to make peace with the other wolf.

Sure, Lance was only a half blood, and the closest to transformation he'd ever gotten was sharpened canines and claws during a full moon, but he was still wolf. As such, wolves should stick together. He left his family pack behind to come to the Garrison, maybe he'd be able to form a new pack here.

99- Forgotten Gods and Scales Like Jewels by keir [Explicit and Dubious Consent]

Lance has spent his entire career searching for the elusive and forgotten god of war and lust, a god made of part man, part snake. The pieces are there, and once Lance puts them together, he and his team discover the long forgotten temple dedicated to the naga god, but more lies in store for Lance than he could have ever dreamed of discovering.

100- Of God's and Fae's by MommaVanillaBear

A fae of the ocean, casted aside and alone made the dangerous trek to the festival of lights, and though the way back should have been easy, his steps become lost and the ocean he searches for is replaced by thick foliage and towering trees. Caught by a creature that claims to be an Earth fae, the one of the ocean must spend a month living in the forest or else the God who watches the forest will become aware of him. And there was no way the ocean fae could fight or hope to escape the wrath of a god.

101- Pornstar Lance by Ryuani [Explicit]

Lance used to work as a pornstar but space kinda stopped that.

102- Take a Chance by nuuuge [Fem!Shance]

Lance really just wants the hot Basketball prodigy to notice her.

103- Yearning Touch by CirqueBordello (CircusTalia) [Explicit and Sven]

Sven volunteers to be part of an experiment. But when that experiment makes a change in his body, Lance is there to support him but also realizes he likes the new Sven.

104- The Shirogane Triplets by MermaidLance [Explicit, Trans Lance and the title]

Three Boys

One Lance

He's in for an adventure.

105- Next Time, Pack Them Separately by Quiddity

“So, uh, you in Detroit on business?” Lance asks. The guy glances at him and for a second Lance thinks that he’s terribly misread his mood and he’s about to be snubbed in the worst way. Then he notices the dark circles under his eyes. The man’s totally exhausted. “No,” the man says, shuffling together his papers and securing them together with a wicked looking alligator clip. “I’m headed to New York.” Lance perks up. “Oh! Me too! I’m headed there to meet up with- uh…” Lance is cut off when his neighbor unbuckles himself, stands, and pushes into the line of passengers with a muttered apology. Lance sits there, dumbfounded as the man opens the overhead compartment and pulls down his- Nope. That’s Lance’s bag he’s strapping over his shoulder. That’s his palm tree name tag, that’s his laptop, that’s his senior film project he’s been working on for the past six months and his external hard drive with only back up of three hundred hours of work just shambling down the aisle and off the plane. Oh no.

106- The Knotty Omega by keir [Explicit, omegaverse and little All/Lance]

Lance never saw himself doing porn, but the opportunity fell in his lap with a wicked smile and the smooth talk of Lotor, a producer. The omega finds himself at the center of attention for many horny alphas as he does the most taboo and engages in heat sex for the camera.

107- Double Trouble by liddie [Explicit, Kuro and Shiro]

When Lance agreed to help out at his grandma's flower shop during summer break, he didn't know that it meant managing the shop singlehandedly for months while she went adventuring off to Europe.

Sure, he needs to practice his magic with living things...and yes, plants are a good way to do that without bodies stacking up if something went wrong. But Lance can't even keep a dandelion alive to save his life, so how the hell is he going to keep the entire stock of his grandma's enchanted flower shop alive and healthy for four months?

The answer is simple. He's going to summon himself some help using the dusty old spell book he found in the attic.

It's too bad Lance's handwriting looks like chicken scratch on a good day…

108- To Drown In You by Val_Creative [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Humans are a fearful race, unable to conjure anything other than simpler, volatile emotions, or so Shiro’s mer-clan has taught him. Lance’s compassion and his openhearted empathy deepens Shiro’s need for more. And he’s only know Lance for the turn of a moon.

109- How Deep is the Love We Think We Know by mizufallsfromkumo [omegaverse]

It had been a considerable while since Shiro nested.

So long in fact he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Until he yanked one of the Castle’s lounge couch cushions out from behind Pidge. No regard for the fact that she was using it. He just knew he needed that one because it was the softest of all the other cushions. Pidge’s surprised squeak as she toppled to the side didn’t even register with him for a moment.

Or at least not till Keith called him out.

110- Repayment by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and omegaverse]

“I need you to do me a favor Coran.”

“Anything for you, son.”

Lance stepped forward, digging his wallet out of his pocket and slamming it down on the desk in front of him. “There is a man here, an alpha named Shiro. He lost his arm in a car accident.”

“Yes, Takashi Shirogane. It’s a shame what happened to him.” Coran looked away sadly.

“I want you to take this credit card and give him everything he needs. The best, top of the line products.” Coran looked down at the credit card pressed between Lance’s hand and his desk then back up at Lance. “Please?”

111- Dream a Little Dream by thinkpink [Explicit]

Shiro is an adult- he knows how feelings work. He definitely knows his own feelings. Right?

112- Telltale Blush by thinkpink [Explicit and Dubious Consent]

“So why don’t we just skip the part where you throw lines at me and I pretend not to be interested, and you can suck my dick instead.”

113- Dress to Impress by thinkpink

How did Shiro even get sweatpants in space? And why are they so god damn thin!

114- A Dragon by liddie [Explicit]

On the day of his wedding, Prince Lance is carried away by a fearsome creature of old. The remote island is a prison and the dragon his keeper, although Lance is not completely alone. A mysterious man named Shiro is also a prisoner of the dragon, but as Lance learns just who he is, he comes to realize there is more to Shiro than he first thought.

115- In Flagrante Delicto by gwendy1

in flagrante delicto (adverb)

Definition of in flagrante delicto: 1 : in the very act of committing a misdeed : red-handed 2 : in the midst of sexual activity

116- Black's Deal by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and little Klance]

I’ll give you what you need to get what you want, but you only get two quintent. Do you agree?

“Yes.”

Or the story of Shiro taking over Keith's body in the time of his disappearance between seasons 2 and 3.

117- The Beast Of Pirate's Bay by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit and Major character death, but don't scary you. Happy ending]

A loud shriek filled the air, causing him to fall back onto the damp metal of the ship floor. “I’m sorry.” He whimpered, covering his ears as the sound continued to ring out.

As instant as the sound came it quickly disappeared, leaving Lance to tentatively uncover his ears. “Please,” he begged, tears escaping his eyes as he looked over the side of the boat again. “I won’t even enter your territory if you just bring me a juniberry flower!”.

118- The Lion, The Witch, and the Cursed Ghost by SuccubustyKisses [Explicit]

When lance goes to Kogane forest in search of the cat he saw plastered all over the news he ends up with a lot more than he bargained for. But he's not complaining.

The ghost floated up, arms crossed as he looked over the trees. “I’ll make you a deal.” Lance’s eyes brightened, he knew his excitement was obvious. But, he didn’t care. “If you can find me in this forest before the sun sets, I’ll take you to see Shiro. If not, you will leave this forest without a fight.” He turned and lowered down to Lance’s level again, holding out his transparent hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Shiro must be the cat.

Lance reached out, taking the hand, surprised when he actually felt contact. “Deal.” Before he could even shake the hand properly it was gone, along with its owner, only the flutter of leaves in the air showing he had even been there. Snatching up one of the leaves, Lance grinned. This ghost vastly underestimated him.

119- That's not a phone by CrypticGabriel [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Lance had a part-time job at the movie theater. During his job, he liked ogling at a frequent flyer named Shiro. But he never expected to catch him doing the unthinkable while watching a movie. And no. It didn't involve a phone.

120- Let's Play A Game by liddie [Explicit]

About to leave for a little vacation time at his grandfather's seaside cottage, Shiro gets a text from Allura asking if he can drop her friend Lance off at the beach on his way. He agrees, but is entirely unprepared for everything that Lance is.

121- How Do I "Casual"? by The_Busy_Beee

Sometimes Lance loves living in the same building as his best friends.

Sometimes he hates it with a passion.

Usually only when Keith's involved, however.

Or:

Lance brings home a guy and isn't sure how to handle the "morning after" situation. Keith is exhausted and thinks Lance has murdered somebody.

122- Spilling Secrets by The_Busy_Beee

Everyone knows the past never stays in the past.

Or:

Shiro finally meets the Blue Lane crew, Lotor is a shit, and Lance really just wants today to go well.

123- Good Girl by strawberrylovely [Explicit and Fem!Lance]

Shiro hears Lance masturbating in the team bathroom. He’s not sure whether to help or run away, so Lance makes the decision for him.

124- Beautiful Breed by Blue_Queen662 [Fem!Lance]

Kept in captivity for years, Lance had not had any contact with others like herself in a long while.

Shiro had been gone from the sea for years. From being separated from his pod for a long time, he had forgotten how it feels to be loved by a mate.

Shiro has been chosen to be Lance’s mate. For his strangth, speed and intellect; it was decided amongst guests at a dinner party that the Champion will mate with Zarkon’s prize pet.

125- my boyfriend's back (and you're gonna be in trouble) by heavenlyrare

The Galra and the Alteans haven't been at each other's throats, thanks to Prince Lance's and Commander Shiro's relationship.

Unfortunately, the rest of the universe doesn't seem to know that.

126- Missing Pieces by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit]

Shiro comes back from two tours overseas a changed man. He has one less arm and a lot more nightmares. His best friend Keith convinces him Yoga is the perfect form of meditation to help with his PTSD and he's skeptical at best....that is until he sees the instructor and is instantly in love.

127- Full Moons and the Mornings After by Impetus

Lance really needs to stop letting stray wolves into his apartment.

128- My Best Friend's Brother? How Cliche by orphan_account

Lance has been pining after Shiro since he was 14, and the last time he saw him before Shiro left to go to veterinary school had been embarrassing as hell. But, things were different now. 3 years had passed, Shiro was back, and Lance was a new and improved version of himself. This time, Lance wasn't afraid to do what he wanted to.

OR that one where Lance hasn't seen Shiro in years but when he goes to drop some food off at Keith's house he walks in on Shiro working out.

129- How To Use a Long Rest by avoidingavoidance [Explicit]

In which the team's game of Monsters and Mana isn't actually a game, and Lance takes good care of Shiro. Several times.

130- Just Take That Breath in Your Lungs by mizufallsfromkumo [Omegaverse]

When Shiro was younger, and freshly presented as an Alpha, he use to think about how things would be when he claimed his mate for himself.

Ideally it would be their wedding night, but it wasn’t a necessity. Shiro was fine with whenever moment arose and felt right. And when his intended mate would find it, Shiro would turn on soft music. They’d maybe dance a little, or speak soft words of love. Then the night would progress in a slow, gentle, and loving path towards claiming.

Because yeah, Shiro was a hopeless romantic at times.

Sue him.

But that was the furthest thing that was happening, Shiro thought as he and Lance flopped into the nest both of them had constructed over two weeks ago.

131- Can You Find the Path that Leads Back to My Heart by mizufallsfromkumo

Lance was just left to sulk in the cockpit. And wonder just where his relationship stood with his mate, who had his soul transferred and fused into a clone's body. A clone Lance had just continued on courting like nothing ever happened, because he didn’t know his mate had even died in the first place.

Lance never thought going to space would be filled with so much drama.

Much less, drama that made his life sound like really bad telenovela plot line.

132- Some Good Shooting by AshesTheTerrible [Explicit and Trans Lance]

Lance and Shiro had been nothing but a hurricane of spats and frustration since the switching of lions. And then quite suddenly...they weren't anymore. Hunk couldn't figure out what had changed between the blue and black paladins but the rest of the team just seemed happy the two were working together. Maybe a little too well in fact.

Unbeknownst to the others, really all it took to change the two paladin's attitudes toward each other was one hard kiss in the hangar doors.

Parts 1 / 2 / 3 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Keep Your Pants On

Summary: Watching the ‘wacky skeleton’ antics is a time-honored tradition for Monsters. There are a few subtle differences now that they are on the surface, but hey, some things never change. 

Notes: I don’t even remember the last time I giggled so hard writing a story. 

Also on AO3

By Any Other Name Masterlist

~~*~~

It was only in the middle of the morning when Edge got an unexpected text from his brother. He picked up his phone curiously, reading the message with a frown.

you might want to come out here

With wary interest, he did. His office was on the third floor which was generally reserved only for those who worked for the Embassy. Jeff would likely never know it, but Edge had been the one who requested special permissions attached to his clearance to allow for him to pass through security, in case of an emergency.

Other Monsters were coming out of their offices, all wearing looks of curiosity. This did not bode well, what had his brother done…

The elevator door opened with a quiet ding and most of the third floor of the Embassy was treated to the sight of Stretch storming off it, dressed only in a long white sheet wrapped around him like a toga.

Ah.

The security guard barely glanced up from his magazine, “Hey, Stretch, nice sheet.”

“fuck off,” he snapped back. All the other Monsters stepped back as he stomped through towards Edge. His eye lights were snapping orange, his cheek bones hectically flushed the same shade. He was visibly livid.

He was gorgeous.

Edge waited patiently while Stretch stalked up to him, tamping down his sudden surge of arousal. That would have to wait.

Stretch stopped in front of him, breathing hard, and snarled out, “where the fuck are all my clothes?”

“Hello, love,” Edge said calmly. “Did you need something?”

“…don’t. don’t you even!” He scrambled to hold out a crumpled piece of paper…where had he even put that? It wasn’t worth considering. Edge took it and skimmed it. Not that he didn’t know what it said, his own neat handwriting on the page.

“Hmm,” Edge considered, “It says here that you’ve lost all your clothing privileges until you can dress like an adult again.”

“i can read, you prick!” Stretch glared at him furiously. His magic was glowing in his joints, snapping at his fingertips, and Edge automatically braced himself. Not that Stretch would hurt him, not on purpose, but it paid to be cautious. “what the fuck are you trying to pull!”

“Perhaps I’m trying to make it so I don’t get stared down on the sidewalk when we’re in public together?” Edge asked archly and Stretch sputtered, seething.

To be fair, Edge had started it although he liked to think he’d been driven to it. It was all because of Stretch‘s fondness of atrocious t-shirts. If it had terrible word play or an advertisement for some absurd, horrible product that no one would ever want, then Stretch needed to own it. Generally, they were covered by his sweatshirt, but this past week had been unseasonably hot and Edge had been treated daily to an endless array of the wretched things.

By the end of the week, he had simply been tired of seeing them and he’d asked Stretch, perhaps a little snarkier than necessary, if he’d signed some kind of contract that only allowed him to wear the ugliest t-shirts possible and if so, he should offer a refund.

He should have known better. Stretch seemed to take it as a personal challenge. Suddenly, he was wearing a different shirt every hour, each one more horrid than the last. When the weather cooled, he wore one of the damn things over his sweatshirt. He knotted them together to wear as a kilt instead of his normal track pants. The final straw had been when Edge had opened the curtain for his morning shower and found one hanging in the stall that had on it a picture of Stretch wearing yet another t-shirt with a picture of himself on it, and again, on to infinity.

It was entirely possible he’d snapped at that point.

“you emptied the entire closet!” Stretch screeched. He had. It had taken most of the night and it had been oh, so worth the effort.

“And you wore one of our Egyptian cotton sheets on the bus,” Edge pointed out, idly, “At least stop dragging it on the ground.”

“you even took the socks! and shoes!” Somehow, his growing indignation only made him more appealing. “i was barefoot on the fucking bus, they almost didn’t let me on!”

“Interesting, I would have thought the sheet would have been more of a deterrent,” Edge mused.

“i am not leaving without pants, i swear to fucking hell, edge, you—”

His ranting took a backseat to a sudden wolf whistle that rang over the office and it was that whistle that made Edge abruptly realize Stretch was gradually losing his tenuous grip on the sheet. It had already slid halfway down his spine at the back. Who the fuck…the smirk dropped off Edge's face like a falling stone and lacking any one person, he glared at the collection of people around them.

All of whom were watching with richly interested expressions as Stretch ranted and gestured with his free hand while the sheet steadily crept lower.

“Don't you people have work to do?" Edge snapped, agitated. A low murmur of denials was all he got for his troubles.

Oh, for…roughly, Edge stripped off his suit jacket and tried to sling it over Stretch’s shoulders, only to have it furiously shrugged away, “don’t, don’t you even—”

“Why don’t we discuss this in my office,” Edge said through gritted teeth. His amusement at the situation had faded the second it had gone from slapstick to burlesque.

Somehow, the sparkling orange in Stretch’s eye lights grew furiously brighter, “listen, asshole, i rode the bus in a fucking sheet, you will get me pants and you will get them now! i am trending on twitter, do you hear me? i have zero fucks left to give! i want pants if you have to peel them off fucking asgore!”

"I will give you my pants if you will just come with me!” Edge snapped, a little desperately because that sheet was growing more precarious by the moment and he was not enjoying the array of eyes lingering on his increasingly naked husband in the slightest.

To his surprise, Stretch stopped and gave him a thin smile, hitching his sheet up a couple of inches. “fine. hand them over.”

Edge blinked, replaying the words in his head, and realization hit. “I meant that I would give them to you in my office.”

Stretch’s smile was reminiscent of one of Red’s, sharp and spiteful, “hand. them. over.”

Well. This little prank had taken a particularly unpleasant turn. At this point, people were coming up from other floors to watch the commotion, so either they followed Stretch on twitter or people were sending texts, which they certainly could because every Monster there seemed to have their cell phone out, likely recording this for later enjoyment. Half of them were calmly sipping coffee, enjoying this unexpected mid-morning show.

For all that strategy was usually Edge’s greatest strength, it was currently failing him. What he did know was that he wasn’t about to take his pants off because he didn’t wear anything beneath his damn pants, something that Stretch knew all too well.

“I am not taking my pants off in this hallway,” Edge gritted out.

“well, i’m not wearing anything under this sheet, so make your choice,” Stretch hissed. He loosened his grip, letting it slide back down and the intrigued murmur that ran through the crowd was making fond thoughts of murder percolate in Edge’s skull.

Edge sighed inwardly. He was going to be paying for this for a very long time, but options were limited, and he made his choice.  

Quickly, he caught up the end of the sheet and wrapped it around Stretch’s upper torso, pinning his arms before he could do more than yelp a protest. Then he ducked down enough to swing him over his shoulder and carried him briskly down the hall. It worked, but the effect that came from it was exactly as he expected.

“put me down!” Stretch howled, squirming against the dual constrictions of the sheet and Edge’s arm around his waist. “put me down, you asshole!”

Since he doubted at this point that he could make things worse, Edge gave Stretch a pointed slap on the pelvis, “Stop squirming, you’re going to make me drop you.”

It was the opposite of helpful as not only did his squirming increase, so did his volume. Edge winced at a particularly violent suggestion for his various orifices. That was certainly…creative.

If this ended up on Youtube he was going to rip out someone’s spine. Probably his own brother’s.

At the end of the hallway, Janice was holding open the door to his office helpfully and Edge muttered a thank you that she couldn’t have heard over Stretch’s angry curses.

Not that her smirk really deserved one.

He kicked the door shut behind him before lowering his squirming bundle to the floor and wincing as a spastic flail caught him across the face. A small price to pay to see Stretch emerging from his cotton prison, as puffed up and angry as a wet cat.

Before he could spit out a word, Edge had already skimmed off his trousers and tossed them into his face. “Pants. As requested.”

His indignation deflated a little with the demanded item in hand, fingering the fine material. Without an audience, his temper was cooling quickly. Stretch never had been able to stay angry for long. “i don’t even want your pants, i wanted my own,” Stretch muttered.

“Well, I didn’t bring them downtown,” Edge said archly. Stretch looked up at him, his eye lights flicking down his body, and Edge stood straight and let him. Yes, he likely looked a bit ridiculous without his trousers in a full suit that included his socks, but it was certainly better than looking like this in front of the entire office.

The anger had faded from Stretch’s eye lights, replaced by disbelief, “are you actually turned on?”

“Yes,” Edge admitted. It wasn’t as if he could deny it without his pants acting as a barrier. Between Stretch’s glorious temper tantrum and his delightful squirming, Edge didn’t have much motive to resist.

“pervert.” But the gleam in Stretch’s eye lights told him he didn’t mind.

Smirking, Edge reached behind him and flicked the lock on the door. They may as well indulge in the very thing that the entire Embassy was likely gossiping they were doing. The pants were tossed aside as Edge pushed Stretch to the ground, and put his foul mouth to better use.

Later, they were both tangled in the sheet when Edge picked up his phone, scrolling through the variety of messages. One from Red caught his attention and he read it silently.

there's bets going on. odds are 2 to 1 that you’re having sex. fifty to one that stretch outright murders you. what are we looking at paying out on?

Edge considered, then typed back, How much if I murdered him?

please. no bet, no one is stupid enough to lose money on you laying a rough finger on him, much less hurting him.

Irrationally pleased, Edge sent back, pay out 2 to 1, and settled back against the sofa arm, resting his cheekbone against the top of Stretch’s skull.  He had meetings in less than an hour, a stack of paperwork to finish, and a secretary who surely knew what was going on behind his closed door.

Eventually, he’d work up the energy to care.

Next to him, Stretch stirred. “whatever you're planning to do to that kid who whistled at me, you can stop right there.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“yeah, right,” Stretch yawned. He sat up, groaning. “don't even try that innocent act, pal, i know you.”

Edge only hummed, trailing his fingers down the spine that had come so close to being on display for most of the Monster contingency in the Embassy. It was not a view he was particularly interested in sharing, for any reason.

Stretch sighed, leaning briefly against the pressure of his hand and then drew away, “not that this wasn’t fun, but i still don’t have any clothes.”

Reluctantly, Edge let him go. “There’s a gym bag in the closet over there, you’re welcome to whatever is in it.”

“that’ll work,” Stretch said and leaned down to peck him sweetly on the cheek bone.

Laying on the sofa, Edge watched in appreciative silence as Stretch dug through the bag and found sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, all that smooth, sleek bone disappearing beneath cotton fabric. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice until Stretch was finished shoving his feet into a pair of tennis shoes that his mouth was curved in a malicious smirk.

Neatly, Stretch plucked up Edge’s trousers from the floor and he could only watch in horror as Stretch called cheerily over his shoulder as he walked out the door, “see you at home!”

“Wait!”

He may as well have saved his breath.

For a long moment, Edge sat beneath the sheet and considered his options. There were plenty of people in the Embassy who would bring him a pair of pants. There wasn’t a single one who wouldn’t make him pay for it.

Edge tipped his head back and laughed helplessly, harder than he had in his entire life, until he was breathless, his chest aching. Then he picked up his phone to scroll through his contacts, weighing the pros and cons of who he was going to beg for help.

-finis

[asupernaturaltreasury]

FAQ

Challenge | Rules | Schedule |  FAQ | Masterlist | Sign Up | Contact 

Last Update: 1 July 2018

Some people believe that Destiel/[other portmanteau] is canon. Why can’t I write it in this challenge?

Technically, you can, it’s just that you’re limited by canon and the rating of the genre.  

In official canon, these ships don’t exist.  The makers of the show categorically deny they’re ships the audience is meant to be receiving.  However, we also know that the Makers are aware of ships, Destiel specifically, and have canonically acknowledged (cough-fuelled-cough) this ship through episodes like S10.E05 Fan Fiction.

So, if you can somehow pull off the same level of double-meaning dialogue, suggestive direction or post-production significant pauses that the SPN makers use and incorporate a non-canon ship through subtext, without pushing the ratings of a children’s book, while fulfilling the rules of this challenge, my friend, you’ve earned it.

We reserve the right to knock back ideas that we feel aren’t genre-appropriate or canon-compliant.  

What do you mean there’s no word count?

Some children’s stories are quite long.  For instance, What do people do all day? is a 64 page folio-sized picture book.  Turning all of it into a Supernatural-verse text is a big task (although you are more than welcome to if you want.)  One image is totally appropriate.

Conversely, the “It’s not my [noun]” books are structured like this: “That’s not my [noun]. It’s [noun] is too [adjective].” x3, then “That’s my [noun]. It’s [noun] is so [adjective].” Literally, four pages and 35 words per book.  We’re not interested in penalising you for having an idea that happens to sit within such a small structure.

Similarly, we’re not about to demand that artists think of text if they haven’t a writer-partner for their idea.

(For both these situations, there may be someone in the future who wants to create the absent accompanying material, and that would be wonderful.)

Our inspiration with this is not about content; it’s about the message.  Use whatever you need to draw out the message that the children of the SPN-world need to know. .

It is the year 2055 and I have just discovered this wonderful challenge. Can I still contribute?

Yes.  And how awesome is it that we’re all still alive and on tumbr!  Blessed be our iCloud overlords!

We scheduled the bang way back when, but if you’re inspired and you want to make your own story/art that would fit within the challenge, please, yes, absolutely go for it.  We’d love to be able to add another submission to the masterlist.  Submit your work, or link, to us and we’ll post and promote it.  More cake is more cake.

I’ve never done a bang before. How does this one work?

The term bang (there are also minibangs, reverse bangs and big bangs) means that all the fics are posted on the same day, pretty much.  Usually, writers have an earlier due date so submit their work so far, and artists choose from those (‘reverse bangs’ are when writers choose from artists work). The pair then collaborate as much as they like and submit on the final due date. These things have check-in dates along the way too.

This is our first bang, and because of the kind of challenge it is, we’re letting artists submit individually, or team up with writers, or whatever they like.

Can’t I just retell most of the story and change the names?

If you literally go through a story and change one character’s name to Sam, or some such, that’s not a challenge, Sweetie.

There are so many things we could say about the SPN characters by using these stories - some of them fun or funny, some quite deep.  The point of this is not just to point out structural parallels between the many, many plot arcs we find in stories. We write fanfic to dive into these characters, and if we think of our childhood tales I’m sure many of us could say “Oh my goodness, yes, they’re like that!” Show us what you see.

Why aren’t you calling the participants ‘authors’ and ‘illustrators’?

They are authors and illustrators, we’re just calling them writers and artists to differentiate from the creators of the original text.

I know a children’s story I’d like to use but it’s not in the prompt list. Can I still use it?

Yes, goodness us, yes please.  Just send an Ask with your idea and we’ll add it to the list and allocate it to you.

If you have an idea and would like to suggest it for others, feel free to send us that too!

I want one of the prompts, but I want to change it a bit. Is that okay?

Generally, yes, it’s very extremely okay and we’re excited about it!  Please send your Ask with what you want to do.

The main reason we generated a prompt list was to give people ideas, but another reason was to help spread responses across the characters.  You’ll see that Charlie, Bobby, Kevin, John, and Jo are all represented in the prompts. So if you have an idea that’s not about TFW, we’d love to hear it!

What do the different dates mean?

The sign-up phase ends on August 15th.  This is when you decide to join in, and send us an ask saying what you want to do.

We will consider sign-ups after this date, but it’s less likely you’ll find a partner to collaborate with after the sign up phase.

The Partner contact deadline is two weeks later (Aug 29).  That’s your period where you can say Hi to the person also working on your story. If you haven’t heard from your partner by that time, we’ll contact them, too, to check everything’s okay.

The Update to admins deadline is a month later (Sept 16).  We’ll be asking everyone to just check in with us and let us know if you’re on track, if you need help, that sort of thing.  Just a g’day how’s it goin thing really.

The submission date is another six weeks later, on October 30th, ready for Halloween. You can post it to your blog and submit the link, or you can have us post the fic as a submission.

I also post on Archive of Our Own (AO3). Do you?

We do. This challenge has a collection there.  When you post your work, type ASupernaturalTreasury into the Collection field and you’re all set!

None of this what you need? Ask your question here!

[lilyvandersteen]

Y'know Marjan, to my mutuals I'm known for asking for ALL THE QUESTIONS on ask games, so all the questions!

Greedy much, Yuè? ;) I’m only going to answer the ones I haven’t done yet, though.

2. Favorite part of writing.

I love writing first meetings. First kisses, too. And I love creating misunderstandings and then sniggering at Klaine for getting it all wrong.

3. Least favorite part of writing.

Writing smut terrifies me. Also, sometimes there are filler chapters you need to get the protagonists where they need to be for the meatier, more eventful parts, and then I get bored, because I want to start writing the exciting parts already.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Oh, too many to count. Thea Beckman, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Roald Dahl, Annie M.G. Schmidt, Henri Van Daele, Agatha Christie, J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Tonke Dragt, Mary Hoffman, Stephenie Meyer, Shannon Hale, Meg Cabot, Shanna Swendson, Marcia Evanick, Loretta Chase, Jennifer Chiaverini, Anthony Horowitz, Jane Austen, Alexandre Dumas, Dianne Wynne Jones, Jan Terlouw, Cynthia Voigt, John Irving and so many others I’m forgetting to mention right now. Seriously, every book I’ve ever read has influenced me.

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Grace, because she’s based on a dear friend of mine who recently passed away. Through Grace, she gets to live on at least a little.

7. Favorite author.

See Question 5. Don’t make me choose please. I couldn’t.

8. Favorite trope to write.

Soulmates. I love writing soulmate fics.

9. Least favorite trope to write.

There are certain tropes I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Hardcore stuff like incest and non-con. Also, I don’t think I could write fics where Kurt or Blaine or one of their children gets cancer or dies.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

Oooh, @hkvoyage​! We’re planning on writing a fake dating Klaine AU one of these days :-) That’s going to be fun!

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

There’s not much of a process, really. I get the idea for a story. It won’t leave me alone, to the point where I even start dreaming about it. I tell the plot bunny that I have several other stories in the works already and need to finish those first. That doesn’t help at all, so after some time, I give in and start writing, planning to make this just a short one-shot. I finish the one-shot and sigh happily. Sometimes, that’s it, and I can bask in my accomplishment for a few days until another idea hits me. Most times, though, the one-shot starts insisting it wants to be a multi-chapter. Very annoying. Won’t leave me alone until I start working on the multi-chapter. And when the multi-chapter is done, rinse and repeat. Sigh. It never stops.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

That was probably for Worth the Wait, and I hope it shows.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

Real life. Tumblr. Things I see. Things I read. Things I happen to think of, giggling that it would be priceless as a Klaine fic.

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

My readers telling me they like a story I’ve written (and why). My first multi-chapter story Weave Your Magic would never have been more than a one-shot if not for the kind and encouraging words of my readers. Feedback is SO important to keep me motivated and happy to write.

Also Bangs, because they give me a time limit to work towards. My beta @hkvoyage will  tell you that I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants and procrastinating kind of writer. I really need a deadline plus a beta who reminds me that the deadline is approaching to kick me into gear.

17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

Not much. On really productive days maybe 1,200 words or so? I’m a slow writer, and a procrastinator, and I have many other demands on my time.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

I’m a nitpicker. Everyone I’ve ever betaed for can attest to that. As such, I’m very hard on myself and my own writing too. Before I send a chapter to my beta, you can rest assured that I’ve been through it with a fine comb about ten times already. Yep, yet another reason why I don’t produce many words a day.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

“Oh, he’sso beautiful,” Mercedes crooned, stroking the downy head and blinking backtears.

(From a Kurtcedes and Unique fic I’m working on for @tacogrande)

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

Kurt’seyes met Blaine’s, and Blaine sent him a smile, which gave Kurt such a burst ofhappy energy that he couldn’t help but grin and then twirl Lieselotte aroundenthusiastically. 

(From the Time-Travelling Kurt fic I’m writing for @thisdoesnotsuck)

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

It’s never done. Every time I re-read one of my stories, I spot things I could have said better. Or worse yet, typos/grammar mistakes. As I said before: nitpicker.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Prose. I love poetry, but I can’t write it.

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

Non-linear, I guess? I tend to start in medias res and work with flashbacks or stories within the story to provide the background.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

I don’t think I’ve ever written a sequel to a story. But I could. One day. If I ever get round to it. So, for now, standalone, I guess.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

See above. Before I share a draft with anyone, I’ve already been over it tons of times.

28. And who do you share them with?

My beta. Sometimes, I post the first chapter here on Tumblr, to see if I get a reaction. Usually, I don’t get much of a reaction, though.

29. Who do you write for?

Myself, first and foremost. I write stories I would like to read. And if anyone else likes them, that’s a wonderful bonus.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Wow, that’s difficult.

Blaine’ssinging washed over Kurt and enveloped him like a hug. Warm and buttery soft,going from a dark caramel lower register to a liquid honey higher register,Blaine’s voice held Kurt as spellbound as any of the fans present.

(From Stop Flirting!)

31. Hardest character to write.

Hmm… Brittany, I would say. It’s harder getting into her mindset than for instance Santana or Kurt.

32. Easiest character to write.

Kurt. Blaine too, but Kurt is the easiest.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

No. I do hum or sing sometimes while writing, though.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

I type everything.

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________.

What story do you want to know this about, Yuè? Same request for clarification for the numbers 36, 38, 46 and 51. I can’t answer those questions without knowing what story you have in mind for them (and don’t say ALL or I won’t ask the question).

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.Life is like a camera… Focus on what is important, capture the good times, develop from the negatives, and if things don’t work out, take another shot.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Lately, I’ve been reading almost exclusively fanfiction, so…

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

As many as I have going on. Right now I have five WIPs, I think.

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

I don’t. I write fanfic, so that’s figured out for me already. The OCs are based on people I know.

43. Are you an avid reader?

Yes, I am!

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

That I needed to stop repeating stuff if I insisted on writing from both POVs.

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I used to have this reader, who called themselves CC, who kept commenting on Weave Your Magic to tell me there wasn’t enough Klaine in the story.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

Plot, I guess, since the characters are not mine, I only borrow them.

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Fluff.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

The middle, definitely.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Blaine as a Dog shapeshifter/professor.

52. How did writing change you?

It made me notice little things a lot more, and see a story in everything.

53. What does writing mean to you?

It’s an outlet and a passion and a hobby. I love it.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Write what you want to read yourself.

[crushing83]

Soooo... @saawek​ sort of tagged me (I saw my name in the post because I was flipping through my newsfeed at just the right time, but the link didn't work or show up in my activity, so I'm assuming I can do this...), and now I'm listing my works-in-progress. I might tag a few people at the bottom because I, too, am a curious kitten and I love hearing about what other people have on the go.  

Writing:  

Fanfic side:  

Tolkien/Fast & Furious >> Thranduil/Owen Shaw >> Bullets and Blades 10... I actually cracked it open this weekend and started picking at what I'd written last. (Oh, and to anyone who started following me after I unintentionally hiatus-ed this one? Yes, you read that pairing right. Thranduil and Owen Shaw. Yep, yep.)  

Tolkien   >> Thranduil/Bard >> Spins and Pirouettes 4 was started a long time ago and then it started to get sad and I didn't like that so I focused on B&B instead. I'll eventually get back to it. There were a lot of mistakes in it---writing mistakes---and having a beta point out things in another story made me realise what I was doing in this one, and it's been hard to go back. I'll get there, eventually. Yes.  

SPN >> mostly gen >> The Winchester Gospel, where a tricksy archangel (who lives, obviously) makes sure his dad's work is discovered as ancient scrolls. Kind of hops all over my timeline right now, because I'm writing it in bits and pieces and not at all chronologically. Follows some faves, follows descendants of faves. Haven't started posting it yet.   >> Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester/Female Reader >> An untitled story that was supposed to be for @mrswhozeewhatsis' April Fools challenge, but got away from me and now I don't know how to end it. The reader's ace!spec, there's some non-sexual kink stuff, Dean and Sam both have squishy feelings for the reader/character (because it's my fantasy), they have a great big hunt in the middle of a werewolf den (it's not what you think)… oh, and Ketch is a scary douche (predictable).   >> Team Free Love-ish/Female Reader >> Forging a Bond. There are two chapters left. I will get there. I promise. They just need editing.   >> Gabriel/Sam Winchester >> Six Months, one of my vape shop AU fics. I've been chipping away at the next chapter recently.   >> Gabriel/Sam Winchester >> An untitled AU story about ace!spec Sam, trying to figure out a way to tell his brother he's ace (or demi). This one's been super hard to write. But, I'm pushing through it.   >> Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Dean/Castiel (eventually) >> A "what if Josie was never possessed and Henry never went to the future" fic. I have one chapter written, and it's basically turning into a husband!spy vs wife!spy sort of showdown between Mary and John with the boys in the middle.  

SPN/Beyond Belief (TAH)   >> Frank Doyle/Sadie Doyle, slight Gabriel/Sam Winchester >> A sequel to When God Comes to Call..., because Gabriel needs to grow up and face the flannel-wearing duo. And because I want Frank and Sadie to meet 'em, too. I'm just... stuck, right now.  

SPN/Criminal Minds   >> Gabriel/Spencer Reid, maybe Gabriel/Spencer Reid/Sam Winchester >> Falling is the Easy Part, my drop-Spencer-into-season-nine-and-see-what-happens fic. Some of it's been posted. It's going to be long. I'm not 100% sure where it's going yet, though. So, I'm taking my time.

SPN/Marvel Cinematic Universe >> An untitled "what if Justin Hammer somehow found out about the supernatural side of the world and tried to harness it for his own gain" fic. I only have about a hundred words written so far, so I'm really not sure what it's gonna be yet. Mostly it's an excuse to have Sam and Dean interact with the Avengers, if/when I get there.  

SPN/Sanctuary >> Helen Magnus/Sam Winchester >> An untitled fic where Helen is tracking down Sam for some MOL information. I only have about 200 words written so far. But I want to see these two be dangerous together and then geek out together.  

Dark Angel >> An untitled fic about what could happen after "Freak Nation." Mostly, it's Alec remembering things, doing things to keep his pack or unit together, and trying not to hold a grudge against Max because she doesn't know any better when it comes to having so many of Manticore's soldiers together. I think I started this after getting sick of watching her tear down Alec. Not that he's a saint. But. It made me cranky, watching her put him down all the time.  

Personal project side:   >> NaNoWriMo 2016 >> This story will never be finished. I hit the word limit. But I need about double that to wrap it up, and I'm really, really stuck. One of the themes is magic is dying. Another theme is the main character's, where she's looking for a place where she (and her ace!spec-ness) fits in. And then it's all mostly set inside a bdsm club. The sequel to the story is already sort of in my head, but I can't get to that point because I'm so stuck and bogged down with the first story.  

Illustration (and animation):  

Fandom side:   Quattro Formaggio   >> Four Cheese comics >> I still have two or three waiting to post... and I want to get to an even 12. So I need to write and render a few more. A couple are thumbnailed.   >> Jailbreak 2016 >> I cut audio from a few clips of the concert, and I have the animatic done... but animation makes my brain seize up. It's like I'm blocked. So... that's on hold for a while.   >> Space Jam Dance >> I really want to animate the cheeses dancing. To a song from Space Jam.  

Saturday Night Salad >> The full line-up >> I'm in the process of turning almost everyone into a 3D vegetable---or fruit. I want to make a big poster with everyone in it. Right now, the ones I've done... I think the next one on my list is... celery, but that'll be one of the last almost-regular SNS-ers. So. Those ones are modelled. And then I have to finish the occasionals. And then go through the texturing and rigging process.  

Team Free Breakfast (or Brunch)   >> The line-up of five >> I'm still rigging Pancake!Cas. Not because it's hard, but because I rig every day at work. And getting psyched up about coming home and doing more rigging? Doesn't happen all that often.  

#Blame The Musk >> The product line-up >> For now, I'm just trying to get the products textured. They're all modelled and sort-of rigged (just single controls on everything so I can move 'em around later). Later, I will be making mock advertisements with all the products.  

Personal project side:   >> Various 3D projects >> I started renovating an old robot project from school, hoping to make it something for a new reel (but it's a mess, because I was a student and scrambling to finish things for project deadlines, so I find the whole thing discouraging). I've also been trying to model a character so I can work on a face rig set-up---but organic modelling is SO NOT MY THING. The only other thing I've been working on is a sort of bdsm dungeon that fits in a shoebox. I haven't looked at it in probably a year. Most of it's modelled, it just needs texturing. The point was to comp it into video footage of an actual shoebox being put on or taken off a shelf.  >> Tattoo design >> So. When I was a wide-eyed and innocent frosh, with the taste of freedom from my very demanding (but lovable) parents fresh in my heart, I ran out and got a tattoo. I designed it, which may have been stupid, but whatever. It's an abstract take on a claddagh ring, just the lines, and with spiky sort of wings instead of hands. It's on my lower back. Which was fine for a couple of years. (Then, the term "tramp stamp" became a thing.) I feel like it's important to say I do not regret getting it. It was freedom. Probably the first I felt ever, really, and I will always love it for that. But. I didn't take care of it as well as I should have. And I gained weight (because college) then lost it, gained it and then some, lost it, and gained more, and so on. So the tattoo is a little fuzzy. And I do feel shame about that. I've been trying to turn this little fuzzy thing into a larger back piece that's like a collage of different style and different elements and imagery. I can't do the finer details because I'm not that good at drawing, but I've been trying to rough something out so I can go to an actual artist (someday lol) and give them the sketches and go from there.  

//  

But getting all of this stuff done is contingent on my shoulders and arms not being sore enough---or just being numb enough---so I can sit and work on this stuff. (Backstory: my work desk is well on its way to killing me, and there's no alternative; we're in those call-centre almost-cubicles and the desks are about three to five inches too tall for me. Shoulder and arm pain for years. Goes to show how artists rate, huh? Can't even get a desk to fit! /rant+whining)   So, I have a bunch of things on the go, and when I feel like I can move without wanting to scream, I tinker on something that matches my mood or snags my interest. Eventually (hopefully), I'll finish something.  

Aaaaaand.  

Now. Who do I want to pester today, hmm? *rubs hands together*

@lacqueluster and @thequeervet... am I allowed to ask what you two are working on? Or what you're thinking about working on? And @evansluke, @piyo-13 @little-red-83, and @ofplanet-earth? How about you guys, toooooo?  

What have you all been up to creatively lately? Any words? Or art? Video? Photography? Body art? Fanmixes? Metalworking? (I don't know if any of you do that. Just throwing it all out there because there are different ways to be creative. I was following the example format I was given, but there are so many more things that can be done.)

Okay. I am so sorry to anyone seeing this because it got very long. Whoops! 

[thewarlocksbitch]

Gay Camp ch3

malec gay camp chapter 3

word count - 4k

thank you to Sen for beta editing!

read my other fics here

hope you like it!!

________

 Magnus supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that, excluding Alec, the other boys at football camp had very limited knowledge of classical literature. He had survived the first week of camp by sheer willpower and by staying close to Alec. Alec was an easy person to become close to, he’d realized. Magnus liked how Alec spoke. He liked how he considered his words so carefully before he chose them, and how he was more emotionally observant than any of the other boys. The week before, Magnus had anticipated at every conversation for Alec to say or do something that would force Magnus to acknowledge a brutal truth; that boys who were pretty and interesting and not straight could never be found at a high school football camp. He was amazed that Alec kept him optimistic. Magnus had fewer complaints about camp than he’d expected. The food narrowly toed the line of being edible. Magnus spent more time drenched in sweat than he did dry and he was outdoors more often than in. The camp-issued blankets were thin, scarcely thicker than a sheet of notebook paper. The most glamorous things Magnus had worn since arriving were black nail polish and black grease – the latter of which he painted across his cheeks daily in the name of visibility and manly spirit. Many other travesties occurred daily, though, and Magnus strived to forget them. But what he hated most of all was the siren that he woke to every morning. But on Saturday, instead of waking up to a blaring siren, Magnus was stirred from sleep by Alec’s finger tapping his shoulder. For the second time that week. Alec really needed to learn that some people just weren’t equipped with the skill-set to socialize immediately upon waking. “Hey, good morning,” Alec said, as Magnus tried his best to appear dignified with bed-hair and half-dead eyes. “We’re free until practice tonight. Want to go to the library?” Alec’s eyes were clear and his hair defiantly messy despite its short length; Magnus swore it’d grown an inch out of spite. Alec wore a customary camp hoodie and this close Magnus could smell the forest on him, the dampness of moss and fog. Magnus slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He stole another glance at Alec, peeking through his fingers, and then slumped back down and buried his face in his hands so Alec couldn’t see him blush. This really was ridiculous. Nothing about ugly hoodies or the inability to maintain inch long hair should have been attractive. Magnus needed to get hold of himself, or kiss Alec. Whichever came first. “Did you go running?” Magnus asked.

“Um. Yeah, we did, with some guys Ryan knows.” Alec said, his voice shy. Magnus dropped his hands to look at him as Alec intently wound the string of his hoodie around his finger. “I thought you would want to sleep in.”

Magnus hoped that extra sleep had at least done something for his appearance. The past week had left him feeling much too productive and busy. He wiped at his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair. “My lazy, inactive self thanks you.”

“Show us some of that appreciation and get up,” Colin said behind Alec. He’d been watching Magnus’s sluggish ascent to consciousness and, by the look on his face, was unimpressed. “We’ve been waiting for you to eat.”

Magnus slipped off his bunk and held a hand to his heart. He tried to ignore that he immediately felt lightheaded and sore. “Aw, you guys. You shouldn’t have!” He said.

“Asshole,” said Ryan, rolling his eyes. He was already dressed, his hood pulled up to almost completely cover his wide-awake eyes. He tossed a hoodie at Magnus without looking where it hit. If Magnus were Colin or maybe even Alec, he would have mimed catching a football and said something lame like, “Touchdown!” Since Magnus was not Colin or Alec, he bent down to pick up the hoodie from where it fell on his socked feet and pulled it on. He lethargically began searching for his sneakers.

The second his laces were tied Colin ran for the door, with Ryan on his heels. Alec was slower to get up, and instead he fell into step beside Magnus. “Colin’s just really excited about the microwaved pancakes,” he said.

 ________

 Colin brandished a steaming bag of pancakes at Magnus and let his tray clatter to the table, knocking over Ryan’s orange juice. Ryan’s indignant grumble was drowned out by Colin shouting, “Twelve hot mini pancakes! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

“Actually, I have. Many times,” Magnus said, while Alec helped Ryan mop up the collateral damage with their napkins. Ryan continued to grumble, his thin lips turned down in annoyance, though his eyes on Alec were grateful. Magnus stirred his oatmeal, then immediately lost interest and propped his chin in his hands, hoping Alec still had some Oreos hidden away. “For example, one time my cat stole my dad’s burrito and I found it under my bed a few months later. That was much better than this.”

Colin ripped open his pancakes, rolled his eyes, and sighed simultaneously, a feat Magnus could only respect. “Whatever, man. Hey, you know where the syrup is?”

Magnus vaguely waved an arm towards the cafeteria line. “Over there.”

“Get me more orange juice while you’re up there!” Ryan shouted after Colin.

There was a moment of silence before Alec scooted closer to Magnus. “So,” Alec prompted, “Achilles and Patroclus.”

“Yes,” Magnus said. He’d been waiting for Alec to bring them up.

“They were lovers, right?” Alec asked, and Magnus didn’t miss the way he cautiously lowered his voice. “I mean, hearing that Patroclus died is what finally stopped Achilles sulking about Briseis. He cared more about avenging Patroclus’s death than his pride.”

Magnus very suddenly did not care that the other boys seemed to know nothing about classical literature. He turned to Alec fully, straddling the bench they were sitting on. “Yes,” he said again. “And don’t forget them putting their ashes together and Achilles ripping his hair out. It’s obvious-”

A voice across from their table spoke up. “That’s pretty gay, dude.”

Ryan looked up from his cereal. “How? It’s art.”

“Well, I don’t know, Ryan, maybe he has a point.” Colin said. He turned to the boy, brow furrowed. Colin was a short guy – taller than Ryan, but still short – that Magnus had come to think of as the token comedy relief friend of their group, naturally excitable and unable to be in any situation without making it better, but for a quick moment, he looked intimidating. Leaning over the table, Colin went on, “Could you please explain, in detail, why one of the most famous literary works in history is gay?”

“Only chicks and gay guys read that crap,” the boy said, glancing at Magnus. He didn’t seem to realize how quickly Magnus was becoming annoyed. “It makes you-”

“Actually,” Magnus spoke up, “If the Iliad reflects the reader’s sexuality, then my copy would be bisexual crap. Not gay crap. The more you know.”

The boy’s mouth slowly closed and his face went blank. Magnus stared at him, waiting for him to say something that ended up with Magnus possibly punching the ignorance out of him, but the boy just shrugged and turned back to his friends. Huh, Magnus thought. Interesting.

“Woah,” Colin said, reverting to his true self. He made a flailing motion that upset Ryan’s bowl of cereal. Ryan pressed both his palms into his eyes and took in a very large, very loud breath. “Woah,” Colin said again. “You’re bi?”

Now Magnus was waiting for his bunkmate to say something offensive. “Yes. Does that make you uncomfortable?” He was hyper-aware of Alec going still beside him.

“Well, heck,” Colin said in a harassed tone as he tore apart a miniature pancake, “you saying it like that makes me uncomfortable. You sound like my mom. Don’t make it weird, dude.”

Magnus grinned and held his fist out, his annoyance effectively dissipated; Colin was good for weathering things out. “You’re a good straight.” he said.

Colin bumped his fist against Magnus’s triumphantly and went back to his pancakes. Magnus cast a quick glance to Alec; he was sitting very still, and his eyes were averted from the boys sitting across from him. Magnus scooted an inch closer to him as he said to Ryan, “What about you?”

Ryan had stopped trying to push his Colin-shaped headache out with his palms and was contemplating the ghastly remains of his cereal. He rolled his eyes at Magnus. “If Colin is a ‘good straight’, then I’m a great one. Are you going to eat your oatmeal?”

Magnus shook his head and pushed his bowl across the table. Ryan gladly accepted it, and his face fell as he got a closer look at the contents inside.

“Anyways,” Magnus said to Alec, pointedly turning to face him again, “the whole thing with Achilles demanding their ashes be placed together.”

Alec didn’t quite meet Magnus’s eyes. “Let’s just talk about it in the library later.”

 ________

 They did not, in fact, go to the library after breakfast, because it had flooded. Along with the football field and half of the dorm rooms.

“Go get your crap and then come back to the cafeteria,” Boune droned, the better part of his pants soaked and the entirety of his expression something Magnus could only describe as pissed off.

The dread in the air was tangible as Magnus walked with his three roommates and the other camper’s downstairs to their dorm hall. A boy at the front opened the door and leaped back as water rushed out to soak his feet.

“Shit!” he shouted. “It’s like The Titanic in here!”

Ha, Magnus thought dryly, and he bent down to take his shoes and socks off and roll up the pants of his sweats. He looked over to Alec just as water began to creep over his toes; Alec was staring down at his own sneakers as they were soaked, his hands limp at his sides. Sensing Magnus’s gaze, he looked up. “It’s kind of cold,” he said.

Magnus lifted his carefully arranged shoes and socks in a what can you do? gesture and Alec shrugged. His shoes – along with the other campers’ – made disturbing squelching noises all the way down the hall. Magnus had half-feared some boys might take the flood as an opportunity to drown the weaker of the group, but everyone was already wet and miserable enough; Magnus made it to his room almost completely dry.

Colin was the first to enter the room, and he immediately let out a shriek of horror at what he saw. He ran to the side of his bed and dropped to his knees, ignoring Ryan’s hissed, “You’ll get soaked, idiot,” and thrust his arms under the waterlogged bottom bunk.

“What’s he doing?” Alec asked, and Magnus slipped past him to gather his things. Alec continued to mumble worry over Colin as Magnus pulled Alec’s blanket from the lower bunk. He turned back to Alec. What he had intended to be a friendly toss turned into him gently settling it over Alec’s shoulders – Magnus may or may not have let his fingers linger over Alec’s neck a few seconds longer than necessary – and Alec cut off mid-sentence and blushed.

“Why don’t they just let us sleep in here?” Magnus picked up for him, trying not to smile; it was childish, really, this joy over rendering Alec nonverbal. “We could just double on the top bunks; I know we’ll suffer either way” – this was a lie, as Magnus could barely contain himself thinking that he might bunk with Alec – “but it’s stupid to cram us all in the cafeteria.”

“Yeah, but think about it from their perspective,” Ryan said slowly, wringing out an athletic shirt he’d found floating in the water; it didn’t look worth saving to Magnus, but he decided to keep his opinion to himself. Ryan set the shirt over his shoulder and bent down to grab another. “Letting us stay in flooded rooms is probably violating a bunch of health codes and what not. Plus, if we get a cold or foot flu from the water we can’t do shit, and then Coach would cry.”

“Boune would cry.” Colin corrected, finally emerging from under the bed. His dark cheeks were flushed and his clothes were clinging to him in a way that should have been distracting to Magnus, but Magnus found he didn’t really care. He tried to remember if he’d ever felt that way solely because his affection was focused on someone else already.

He quickly tired of thinking and stared at Alec’s profile instead.

Colin thrusted the package of Oreo’s he’d grabbed at Ryan, who immediately let them fall to the water. They made a soft plop and threw droplets of water over his already soaked shoes.

“Why did you drop it?” asked Colin in dismay, though he made no move to retrieve the forsaken cookies.

“They’re all wet.” Ryan said. “Did you think there was any chance they’d still be good?”

Colin’s sad eyes followed the cookies as they sluggishly bobbed to the other side of the room. “No…” He looked unbelievably defeated, more somber than Magnus had ever seen him. Ryan let this go on for another heavy second before slapping Colin on the back almost hard enough to knock him down. Colin made a concerning noise, and Ryan smiled cheerily at him, then at Magnus and Alec.

“You guys got all your stuff?” he asked. The default expression on his face told people that he didn't very well understand what was going on at any given time, and that he very much didn't care to understand anything. For a second, though, his smile erased that.

Magnus held up the few possessions he’d deemed necessary for the night and Alec shrugged under his blanket in answer. “We’re all good,” Magnus said. He turned for the door, then caught himself mid-step and looked back to his roommates. “Make sure you grab some dry socks; you’ve got to protect yourself against the foot flu.”

 ________

 Concerts were crowded. Buses were crowded. Schools, parks, and parades were crowded. Parties were crowded; in general, Magnus was crowded – he never seemed to have enough space to stick his arms out and spin. Magnus didn’t mind it. He loved being surrounded by people, no matter what kind of people they happened to be. Whether Magnus liked them or not, every person had the capacity to be entertaining.

But the cafeteria wasn’t just crowded; it was a mess.

Unlike a concert, there was no music to drown out meaningless conversations. Unlike a school or park or parade, there was no event nor objective to distract everyone from each other. And unlike a party, no one was having any fun.

Alec plopped down beside Magnus, expression miserable.

“Report?” Magnus asked. He’d sat in the middle of four laid-out blankets on the floor while Alec had gone to figure out what was going on. Colin and Ryan had gone with him, but Magnus didn’t know where they were now.

Alec plucked at his hoodie string; it was fraying at the end. “They’re not going to get our mattresses for us and we’re not allowed in the flooded areas, so we can’t go get them. But they are bringing in air mattresses and we have our blankets.”

“And about practice?” Magnus asked anxiously. It was the weekend and there hadn’t been an announcement of the day’s schedule yet, but they’d skipped – or at least Magnus had skipped – their morning run and drills, and he didn’t like the thought that their coach might consider this reason enough to turn night practice into more of a nightmare than it already was.

“Oh,” Alec dropped the string and looked up at Magnus. “Yeah. Practice is still on. It’s a health code violation to sleep in a flooded area, but we’re allowed to run around in one. And Coach is probably going to double the practice time.”

Magnus wiped away imaginary tears that may very soon become real. “These people should all be in jail.”

“’These people’ are going to kill us if we don’t go get ready.” Alec said, standing up. He smiled, and Magnus wasn't sure if he'd meant it to be reassuring or disabling. Alec held out a hand. “Come on, Magnus.”

Magnus was dumbfounded for one moment, and then it took another for him to tell his hand to grasp Alec’s and another after that for his hand to obey. Alec pulled him up, his thumb pressing to Magnus’s, the tap of his pulse going against the tap of Magnus’s, and then Alec let go and Magnus had to relearn how to stand on his own: the physical contact Alec had so surely initiated and the way he said Magnus’s name were getting to his head.

The rest of the campers were filing out through the cafeteria’s double doors to the field. As they joined the crowd, Alec said, unnecessarily, “Ryan and Colin will probably just meet us there.”

Magnus grinned. Now that Alec’s hair was short, there wasn’t enough of it for him to hide under, and his flustered expression was bare to Magnus. Magnus asked, “Did Colin get new Oreo’s?”

Alec shook his head and laughed. His laughs were starting to come easier, Magnus noticed. “The cafeteria doesn’t sell them. I still have mine, though.”

Magnus leaned into him and lowered his tone in secrecy, “Are you going to tell them that?”

Alec looked startled to be so close to Magnus, but he didn’t flinch away. Something like happiness filled Magnus’s chest. “Never.” Alec said.

Practice was as long and as hard as Magnus had dared imagine, and Alec was so exhausted afterwards that he barely took any time to shower before throwing his sleep clothes on and passing out against Magnus. After the coaches took turns lecturing and praising them, Magnus hauled himself and Alec to their feet. He grabbed Alec’s bagged clothes for him and patted his flushed cheek, and Alec laid an arm over his shoulder and muttered something about hell being preferable to this.

Magnus had noticed before how much bigger Alec was than he, but he hadn’t the chance until now to fully realize that Alec was actually a giant. Alec’s weight – all lean muscle and sprawling limbs – and his height – he was half a head shorter than Magnus, but all that height was legs and torso – had Magnus almost buckling under him. Magnus did not think that he was particularly weak, but he was definitely the kind of person that faked sickness during gym class and lifted at most however much the fridge door weighed.

“We made it,” Magnus said when they reached their spot on the floor.  Two air mattresses had been laid out where their blankets and things had been. Alec's and Magnus's were on one. Colin and Ryan's were on the other. “You hungry?”

Alec loosened his grip on Magnus’s shoulder and let himself fall in a controlled tumble onto their mattress. “I hate running.” He said. He arranged himself so that his legs were crossed and his bag was in his lap, then looked up at Magnus. “I’m eating Oreos. You want some?”

Magnus plopped down beside him. “You’re going to run out at the rate you’re going,” he said, but happily took an Oreo anyway.

Alec popped one into his mouth. “Live fast, die young, or something.” He said, voice muffled.

“You traitors!” Magnus heard Colin shriek from behind. Magnus whirled, but Colin was already throwing himself onto the empty mattress across from Alec, though for once he was careful not to sling his dinner everywhere. With less energy, Ryan lowered himself to the spot beside Colin and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. Colin shook his head to further assert his unhappiness, spraying the others with droplets from his wet hair.

Colin eyed the box of Oreos in Alec’s lap meaningfully as he took an angry bite of soup. “Never, in a million years,” he huffed, “did I expect this from you, Alec.”

“You can have some,” Alec said innocently, at the same time that Magnus said, “We never said we didn’t have any. We just withheld the fact.”

Colin already had multiple cookies stuffed into his mouth. The smile on his face was wide and disturbingly bulgy. Ryan quietly reached over and took one cookie. “Thanks, Alec,” he said.

“Alec’s my favorite,” Colin said. “No offense to the rest of you.”

“Leave me to scatter flowers and weep,” Magnus said unenthusiastically.

Later, after the Oreo's were gone and the lights were off, Magnus laid beside Alec, not touching but close enough that he could feel his body heat. He'd originally been off put by the fact that he'd be cramped into a cafeteria with the rest of the campers, but sharing a bed with Alec definitely wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to him.

Magnus shifted closer to Alec and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. It was freezing.

Alec's voice, quieter than a whisper, sounded just across from Magnus's face. "Are you awake?"

Magnus opened his eyes. All the lights were off to dissuade the boys from late night shenanigans, but the moonlight flooding in through the few windows was enough for Magnus to make out the lines of Alec's face. He inched closer. "Yeah," he whispered, "I'm awake."

"Ryan stole my blanket," Alec said quietly.

"Ryan did?"

"I think it was sleep-stealing, so I don't blame him."

"Are you cold?"

Alec let out a little huff of breath, the air warming Magnus’s cheeks. “Yeah. A little."

"I can share my blanket," Magnus offered. "I'm not all that cold anyways."

"No, that's okay," Alec said. Magnus could see his eyelids fluttering in the dark.

"Let me see your hands, then," Magnus said. He felt himself flushing. If Alec could see, he was polite enough to not say anything.

Wordlessly, Alec offered his hands.

Magnus found them in the dark and twined their fingers together. His own hands felt like ice, but that couldn't be helped. He pulled them into his chest, and Alec curled a single finger into the collar of his shirt.

"Better?" Magnus asked.

"Better." Alec told him.

Magnus closed his eyes. Maybe he didn’t have much to complain about after all.