#i bet we all collectively either gasped or cackled when he pulled those out

[kithtaehyung]

I AM ????? DEAD???? RYEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MAIA YOURE HERE OMFG I MISSED YOU. but also………. REAL💀💀

[chanluster]

strike! | {c} ; {f}

imagine | 1.2k words

“ Because your best friend would do anything to win. ”

back to masterlist

YOU LET THE BALL LEAVE YOUR FINGERS.

It lifts itself in the air for a mere few seconds before it drops upon the smooth wooden alley, rolling along with moderate speed. You watch with anticipation, as it reaches the final pin, a smile reaching your lips when the ball easily takes down the fragile object.

S P A R E !

The verdict is shown, and you looked over your shoulder to a less smug boy, pouting as he crossed his arms, slumping deeper in the plastic seating of the alley.

“You cheated,” he mumbled, pulling his beanie a little further to hide his growing curls.

“You only say that because I’m going to beat your ass,” you retort, smile growing wider. “One more spare and I win this whole round.”

Hyunjin glanced at the tables, pout souring to a frown as he saw his results compared to yours. You didn’t really know what he was complaining about; both of you were neck-to-neck, each one gaining a point over the other until this time, you took the lead by a near landslide with two strikes in a row.

“Awww, sore loser is a cute look on you,” you mused, walking over to him. “Maybe this time you’ll bother to pay whenever we go out.”

He only watched you drown yourself in pride, lower lip slightly jutting out over the other in thought. You knew this look of your best friend’s all too well.

He was planning something. Something you were either going to despise, or absolutely adore.

“The only way you can win now is get three strikes in a row,” you carried on, certain with your little victory. “I’d like to see you try and do that.��

His brows raised in incredulity.

“Wanna bet?”

You prop your hands on your hips, studying him. What is going on inside that head of yours?

“What do I get if you lose, giant?”

“Hey! Not my fault you’re fucking tiny,” he remarked. “Thumbelina‘s been real quiet since you’ve decided to stop growing.”

“Shut up.” You nearly whack him on the head. “Now what do I get if you lose?”

“Hmm...” he wonders for a bit, and glances back at the reception. “I’ll actually pay for the bowling rounds.”

“And the food.”

A hardened pause. “Fine.” He uncrossed his legs, spreading them apart as he propped his elbows on his thighs. The action alone had you widening his eyes at his sudden interest in you. “But what if I get the strikes?”

You scoffed. “You won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

A cackle escaping you, you stupidly declare, “Whatever you want. You decide.”

Just then, there was something in Hyunjin’s gaze that made your hair stand at the back of your neck. His eyes almost danced, darkening in amusement.

As if he had already won your bet before starting it.

“I’ll keep it a surprise then.”

You groan, walking away from your best friend to grab a bowling ball. “Be that annoying bitch then.” With both hands, you push the object into him. “It won’t matter when I win, though.”

Silence was your answer, when you watched in surprise Hyunjin’s demeanour harden as he takes control of the ball. All fun and games was over, it seemed.

It was time for Hyunjin to win.

“I hope you break your neck while serving!” You exclaimed after him, earning yourself a middle finger from yours truly. You stand on his right, watching his face distort in precision, focusing on the fresh set of pins set before him on a runway of his victory.

He swung his arm back, and threw the ball with all his might.

It stuttered upon the smooth surface, rolling with frightening speed as it destroyed the lines of the pins, taking them all down with one go.

S T R I K E !

Your eyes nearly flew out of your sockets.

Hyunjin stole a glance at your face, and smirked.

“Strike one.”

The pins were collected and reset, picking up a grey ball of similar weight and size. His sharp focus was back on the targets, and once again, analysed his technique, grinned, and swung his arm back once more.

The ball glided this time, effortlessly as it obliterated the nine pins again, the board flashing his second strike.

D O U B L E !

He looked at you once more.

“Strike two.”

With the final ball, you felt your palms get clammy with each second he spent looking over the third set, a strange sensation rising in your gut. It was almost like you wanted him to win.

With the last swinging of the arm, Hyunjin screeched out his frustration as he let the ball go and watched, stumbling after it as the object sputtered onto the alley and sped up, faster and faster.

You gasped.

The ball rolled right into the dead ends of the alley, hitting not a single pin as it fell into the pit without a victim to carry down with it.

Hyunjin’s mouth dropped to the floor.

“Oh, what?!”

As the score announced the final results, your name flashed brightly on the screen, victory gifted to you through a lot of high-pitched music. You were about to fist bump the air when you saw the pure devastation in Hyunjin’s features.

“Loser!” You called him, laughing at his angered reaction. However, it didn’t settle well in your stomach, knowing your best friend wasn’t being amused, but rather even more hurt.

“Hey,” you said as you strolled to him, grabbing onto his shoulders, “It’s just a game.”

“Hoe, I was this close to winning!” He whined, trying to pry your hands off of him. You stayed rigid, however, refusing to let him baby like this.

“You lost, still, so pay up!” You demanded, your shit-eating grin back up once more.

The disappointed boy nodded, hanging his head in what looked like shame. He sighed over-dramatically, provoking a question from you.

“Okay fine!” You caved in. “What were you gonna make me do?”

He finally glanced back up, locking your eyes within his. There was slight hesitation when he parted his mouth, ready to declare his dare but shut his lips.

“What?” You crossed your arms, irritated. “Tell me.”

There was a slight pause, the boy looking away again as he knitted his eyebrows in frustration.

“Ugh, I might as well,” you heard him mutter, and felt slender hands slide up to cup your face, leaning further into you. “It’s better if I show you, ______.”

You felt your soul leave your body when your best friend closed the distance between you two, enveloping his soft, plump lips within yours. The kiss was tender, a hesitation, almost a request as he moved, ever so slowly, upon your mouth.

With much shock, you found yourself kissing him back.

Your hands slide up his jacket, grabbing the lapels and clinging to them as you move in sync to his mouth, showing him that his reluctance was not necessary. The more he kissed you, the more you wished he had done so sooner.

With a small heave he parted from your lips, glistening due to your own melting in his. “Oh my God,” he whispered, the very action sending chills down your spine.

You watched him, head tilted back, grinning. “Now I wish you’d won.”

The moment those words left your mouth, his eyes disappeared within their smile. He revealed a toothy grin, gathering you in his arms.

“Trust me, _____.” His intense stare made your cheeks flush, but you reflected his smile.

“I’m definitely the winner today.”

[inkribbon796]

Radioactive Ch. 1: Unthinkable

Summary: Science marches on as magic and science mix in the most dangerous way.

A/N: Title comes from “Unthinkable” by Cloudy June and Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive”. This was supposed to be the season finale but there’s still shorts I want to do with this arc so the season finale will be at the end of September with the wedding, where I assure you nothing unfortunate will happen. Absolutely nothing.

In other news, this is my 200th short, and that makes me very happy. Hope you all enjoy this mid-arc short.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

A thunderstorm started in the city, slowly rolling its way towards the north. Time was of the essence. Hours of testing, born from months of planning now culminated in a single moment.

In a bunker in the middle of the woods, two young men were conducting the first test. It was dark out and the city was in a frenzy, but that didn’t matter out here.

Barely anything mattered out here.

Tubbo and Jack Manifold stood in a well shielded bunker in the middle of the woods to the north east of Egoton. They were hundreds of miles into the cursed woods. They wore lab coats over their clothes.

“You know,” Jack Manifold chuckled to Tubbo as they got in place at the computer, a screen in front of them that overlooked the top of the forest. “It would be hilarious if all this thing did was smoke, shake, an’[1] then catch fire.”

Tubbo made an amused chuckle. “Then I guess I got arrested fer nothin’.”[2]

The two of them descended into a fit of laughter before Tubbo sobered up. “Goggles down.”

“Check,” Jack made sure his goggles were securely over his eyes.

“Safety shields one through ten?” Tubbo called next, his eyes and hands already moving to the array of sensors.

“Safety shields one through ten are all stable, an’[1] showin’[3] a steady magical signature,” Jack responded.

“Forest clear?” Tubbo grabbed the microphone and flipped the switch on that sent a signal to dozens of speakers and cameras that the two of them had set up and hidden in the “kill” and “cancer” zones weeks prior. “Attention! Attention! This is a serious warnin’ fer radiation if you are in the vicinity ‘a hearin’ this you must make yourself known so we can safely clear the woods. If you do not, you will die or become severely injured an’ get sick.”[4]

The two of them waited for a couple minutes, flipping through cameras to double check no one was going to get hurt. There was a malfunction from one of the cameras where an audio error was happening but nothing was on the camera and Tubbo sent one of his bee familiars to check it out and it came back with nothing.

Tubbo sent the message again and after nothing, he declared, “Forest clear.”

“Payload in place?” Jack was already checking the sensor.

“Check,” Tubbo double checked it.

“Reason fer[5] use ‘a[6] launch code?” Jack was looking down the button for any sign that something was out of order or going to malfunction.

“Testing payload in a safe environment before storage,” Tubbo answered.

Tubbo took a deep breath. “Here we are.”

Jack nervously swallowed.

The young teen took out a key card with a radioactive symbol and a bee on it. The number 1 marking it. “Ready?”

Smiling, Jack pulled out his own match card with a radioactive symbol and a skull, the number 2 marked on it. “Ready.”

Tubbo hit the sirens as they blared out, a final warning as Jack looked at Tubbo and saw the nervous anticipation.

“Inserting keycards for launch on my mark,” Tubbo announced. “I will count to three, an’[1] then I will say: “go” they are not ta[7] be inserted sooner or later.”

“Understood,” Jack called out, readying to insert the keycard. “Ready.”

“On my mark,” Tubbo called out, copying him. The room was deathly silent as the thunderstorm got closer. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Go! Go!”

The keycards went in and a signal raced along the current until they hit a panel far off into the distance. The pause was a fraction, of a fraction, of a second but it hit the payload and lacked it over the tree line until it struck a random tree on its starting descent.

The two young men had been expecting a small explosion, or no explosion, but the opposite happened. The earth shook the entire town for a couple brief seconds as a pulse of magic mixed with a deadly radioactive payload made a mushroom cloud that rose over the treeline and left a crater in its wake.

Tubbo and Jack screamed in horror and surprise as the tremors quickly subsided and Jack was so frozen in terror and surprise that he thought that it was his tinnitus making that sound.

But that was laughter. Tubbo was letting out a mad cackling laugh. The shields had protected them from the explosion, protecting the city. But Tubbo was so charged with energy, and in their surprise no one had yet to notice that Tubbo’s bad right eye had changed. It had been initially blinded and scarred, along with his hearing in one ear, in a close range explosion a couple years ago. Tubbo had designed a replacement and then grew out his hair to hide it. Now it was scarred again, a permanent radioactive symbol etched into the iris. Forever branding Tubbo for his bastardization of magic and science.

Jack looked over at Tubbo, watching him laugh and fight to collect his composure again with a new wash of horror.

“Tubster,” Jack tried to reach out to what he thought was a young man in desperate need of comfort. “It’s okay, it was just a test.”

“We have two more,” Tubbo said in a giddy tone of voice that terrified Jack.

“Wh-What?” Jack saw something briefly glowing underneath the fridge of Tubbo’s hair.

“We’re more powerful than Techno,” Tubbo smiled before remembering something. “But how’s . . .”

Jack found himself unable to speak as Tubbo reached for a RV control and operated his bee drone to head for the site after getting it ready to collect radioactive samples.

What he got brought the smile back to his face. “Cept fer the larger explosion, this looks better than I could have e’er imagined. The magic is helpin’ ta neutralize the radiation. By tomorrow it’ll be clean.”[8]

Jack leaned in to look at the camera, “Oh my—”

Tubbo’s eyes widened as Jack went slack jawed at the video image of the crater. There was a deep hole where the explosion had dissipated most of its force.

The echoes of another mad laugh bubbled in Tubbo’s chest, but he reigned it in. “I think it’s time ta[7] pack up, don’t you?”

“Ye-Yeah,” Jack said uneasily as Tubbo secured the other two payload cores into a leak-proof led box and made them vanish into his coat with his aura. Then Tubbo grabbed their books. Jack’s keycard was burning a hole in his pocket.

Then, once everything incriminating was cleaned up and stored on either Tubbo or Jack’s person.

When Tubbo double checked the area they set up a portal grid that charged with foaming purple aura. Tubbo felt a comfortable release of tension at the bits of Ranboo’s aura that came from the grid. As familiar as Tubbo’s own aura, and it felt like a refreshing breeze when he passed through the portal and into a nightclub that had three different layers to it. A dinning, dancing area. The VIP room was up a flight of curved stairs, and up at the top was a fighting area with cameras that projected the combatants all over the club.

Dream’s Server, where he was judge, jury, king, and executioner. Frequently Dream stayed in the VIP room unless Techno walked in and wanted a fight, or he had to leave to tend to some business.

Tonight everyone was down on the main floor, a match clearly interrupted and when Tubbo and Jack walked in everyone was staring at them, and anyone looked at Tubbo. Staring at him as if he was covered in human entrails.

“What did you fuckers do?” Sapnap spat.

“Language!” Bad gasped from where he was standing amongst the crowd.

“Nothin’,”[9] Tubbo braced his hands on his hips.

“Quit with those muffin-filled lies,” Bad yelled over several other people who were trying to call Tubbo out on his bullshit. “Where were you, young man?”

“Since when does anyone care what I do?” Tubbo scoffed. “I’m not a captain anymore.”

“How about when we feel a fucking explosion,” Quackity spat.

Bad let out another gasp.

“Skeppy, get him out of here,” Quackity turned to glare at Bad. “Bad, I love you, but I can’t deal with your language issues right now.”

“But,” Bad pouted sadly.

“Come on, buddy,” Skeppy patted Bad’s arm and started to walk back up to the arena. Bad glancing between Skeppy and the group before rushing to catch up to his friend.

“You guys felt somethin’[10]?” Jack asked in confusion.

“Of course we did, you guys were nearby doing weird shit and didn’t expect us to notice?” Quackity snapped.

“We weren’t in town, we were north ‘a[6] Egoton,” Tubbo felt a slow smile creep along his face. “Didn’t think it’d shake the whole town.”

“Did it work?” Dream asked, his mask staring at Tubbo.

Everyone, even Jack, stared at Dream.

Tubbo smiled, “Better than I imagined.”

“Alright,” Dream clapped, a smile in his tone. “I have nothing more to talk to you about, you’re free to go. You need any help sorting out the police?”

“Dream, you can’t just leave it at that,” Quackity snapped as Tubbo shook his head.

“We gotta at least know what they did,” Puffy reprimanded. “Cause[11] if they were anywhere near where they said they were and we felt, you can bet Dark felt it. Him and every other demon in this damn town.”

“Fair, fair,” Dream relented. “Tubbo, you wanna share some notes with the others?”

“I just became the strongest glitch in this fuckin’[12] town,” Tubbo proclaimed. “I put myself on the map. An’[1] Jack was there ta[7] help.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted to take any kind of blame and correct Tubbo. Honestly if Tubbo was planning on using or even threatening his “nukes” against demons Jack knew he was already in too deep, and he needed to bail as quickly as possible.

“I’m gonna[13] go lie down,” Jack told everyone. “I’ve used a lotta magic an’ I need ta clear my head.”[14]

“Wait, you two fuckers are just going to walk off?” Quackity demanded, pissed.

“Quackity’s right, your aura’s will have to be tracked for the next little while,” Dream agreed, an air of disinterest.

“Sure, whate’er,[15]” Tubbo shrugged. “Going ta[7] the lab.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” Quackity followed the young man out to a hallway. “I am trying to run a business and you know what drives business away? Fear. I can’t have fear near my fucking casino. Loneliness and hunger gets people to indulge, and when they indulge they spend money. Fear makes people do crazy things.”

Tubbo stopped and just watched Quackity rant at him before leaning in, looking every bit like a mischievous teen that Quackity often forgot he was. He even had his hands folded behind his back and leaned up on his tiptoes. “Can I tell you a secret, Big Q?”

Disarmed a little bit, but not nearly as much as he used to, Quackity sighed, “Depends.”

“You e’er play Civ 5, Big Q?”[16] Tubbo took another step and Quackity watched mischief turn into malice, that smile never fading.

“Yeah,” Quackity answered hesitantly.

“I just became Gandhi,” Tubbo confessed, leaning in. Then he spun away on his heels. “I think I’ve said e’erythin’[17] I needed to say.”

“Hey, what did you just say to me!” Quackity became furious. “You little bastard, what did you do?”

“Go back ta[7] your card tables, Caesar,” Tubbo waved his fingers back at Quackity who looked so outraged he was shaking. In Tubbo’s glee his eye was glowing a sickly yellow. “Rome won’t build itself.”

Quackity watched the young man go, kicking himself for letting his guard down again. When Tubbo turned into a room and left. “Fuck you, Tubbo,” Quackity sneered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. and

2. Then I guess I got arrested for nothing.

3. showing

4. Attention! Attention! This is a serious warning for radiation if you are in the vicinity of hearing this you must make yourself known so we can safely clear the woods. If you do not, you will die or become severely injured and get sick.

5. for

6. of

7. to

8. Except for the larger explosion, this looks better than I could have ever imagined. The magic is helping to neutralize the radiation. By tomorrow it’ll be clean.

9. Nothing

10. something

11. Because

12. fucking

13. going to

14. I’ve used a lot of magic and I need to clear my head.

15. whatever

16. You ever play Civilization 5, Big Q?

17. everything

[inactiive-shit]

Of Love And Knives

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: crude language, weird Remus things

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety

Words: 2,996

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Remus had a plan. It's just...a work a in progress.

I wrote Dukexiety because there is not enough of it and I love them. Happy Valentine’s Day everybody! Also, there is French in this, but I don’t speak French and had to use Google Translate for it. I am so sorry for any inaccuracies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A box of chocolates was simply far too plain. Something as expected and unoriginal as a hollow fake-heart shaped box filled with chocolate did not do his creepy crawly death dealer justice. It had no flair, no pizzaz, nothing special that would let Virgil know exactly how much he meant to Remus.

He could always take Virgil to a movie, but the only thing in theaters at the moment were preposterous rom-coms that would not do on this favored holiday. Remus had been hoping for a horror movie to be out, something worthy of taking Virgil to so that he would really feel loved and appreciated, but it just seemed like horror movies seemed to be skipping the theaters these days.

Remus’ next plan was to go out and watch a thunderstorm. They both liked being in the rain, and the lightning made sexy times that much more exciting. The possibility of being struck by lightning or of being found by someone while fucking in the rain was truly the kind of Valentine’s Day experience that Remus wanted to give to Virgil. But it wasn’t thunderstorming out—it wasn’t even raining!

(And Virgil tended to worry about how clean that really was, but they hadn’t died yet.)

All of this together meant that Remus was being relegated to getting his boyfriend a box of chocolate like every other panicked sap in the area who forgot to get their dates something.

Except, Remus hadn’t forgotten. All his plans had just...fallen through.

Maybe he should have taken up his brother’s offer of a fancy restaurant double date with him and his husband Dee.

But Remus wanted it to be special! And their friends always got annoyed when Remus and Virgil got too into each other for their tastes. Though Virgil did look ravishing in a suit...

Remus sighed and drudged toward the giant shelf of sickeningly commercialized sweets and tried to pick the one that would make Virgil laugh the most. If they couldn’t watch somebody get gutted on the big screen, the least Remus could do was make sure everything that did happen was funny enough that Virgil would still enjoy it.

Just as his hand descended toward an overpriced box of chocolate, Remus noticed a left-over bag of spider chocolates from Halloween. A thought hit Remus like a brick to the head. He smiled, running that same hand through his tangled hair, and felt the excitement spread through him like a wildfire. Yes, that plan would work. Virgil would like it, Remus could enjoy it, and he could set it up quickly enough that he wouldn’t have to be late for their dinner.

Rushing out of the store to his car and feeling almost maniacal, Remus dialled Logan’s number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, Scarebear!” Remus sang, flinging himself into their apartment and setting a box down. The door bounced off the wall and shut itself, but Remus didn’t notice all that, too busy beelining for Virgil. He lurked in the small area between their kitchen and living room, where they had placed a table and declared it to be their dining room.

It was a small, two bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much space for things like tables. Or eating. Remus didn’t mind all that, though. There was plenty of room for other things, such as snuggling and sleeping and smoking and fucking.

“Hey, babe. What have you been up to?” Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil from behind and Virgil nestled back into the touch. Remus pushed his head onto Virgil’s shoulder to press a wet kiss on his neck before watching how steadily Virgil’s hands moved the food around their table.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Remus shrugged. Virgil wiped the spit off his neck with one hoodie sleeve and then bapped him in the face with it. “So how’s our lovely meal coming along?”

“Great,” Virgil said dryly. “We have the veggie fried rice, Quorn chicken nuggets to add to the rice since you’re trying to go vegetarian, fortune cookies, and also whatever this thing is.” He held up something dark green and slimy.

“What is it?”

“Not a clue, but I saw it at the store and it made me think of you. I figure we could try it and if it turns out bad, throw it at people on the sidewalk.”

“You know me so well!” Remus exclaimed, jumping with Virgil in his arms. Virgil laughed lowly, and that voice made Remus think absolutely lewd things that would probably get him arrested. Things he would love to do both to and with Virgil

Some of those thoughts could be acted on later, but not right now. As much as it pained Remus to admit, there were more important things to attend to.

“The couch?” Virgil asked.

“The couch,” Remus said, picking up some of the food and moving it to the couch. Virgil followed him with the rest of it.

“Oh, and one more thing before we eat,” Virgil said. He went to the kitchen and took something out of the freezer. He brought it back to Remus and offered it to him.

“A lemon!”

“That’s cut into a heart because I love you,” Virgil said. He kissed Remus as he sat down and then Remus took a bite out of the frozen lemon. He grinned at Virgil, cackling as he winced.

“I love you too, Virge,” he said. “Now, how do you suppose this fake chicken will taste with the rice?”

“One way to find out.” Virgil rested his legs across Remus’ lap as they relaxed and started eating. Remus tore into the rice like a starving man and Virgil laughed while threatening him with a vacuum cleaner. It made an alarmingly cute scene.

Remus didn’t think he was made for cute, but this sure did make him wonder if it would really be so bad.

Once their meal was finished and they had shoved all the dishes into either the trash or the sink to deal with the next day, with the exception of the mystery item that they placed on the table to give a few more minutes before trying, Remus grabbed Virgil’s hand. “What’s the plan, Duke?”

“You know how I always tell all of the truth?” He waited for Virgil’s curious nod before continuing. “Well, I’m using all the squishy stuff up here,” he tapped his temple, “to not explode the potatoes before the microwave gets too hot. But if you keep asking I’ll just go ahead and tell you anyway.”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil laughed, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I’ll wait patiently.”

“Thank you,” Remus sang, kissing Virgil’s lips and then kissing his cheek and then moving on to his neck before Virgil finally pushed him off.

“It’s time for presents. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.” Virgil sent a chilling grin to Remus. He almost ripped Virgil’s clothes off without any further prodding, but then Virgil pouted at him instead. “It’s your turn to go first.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” Remus ushered Virgil to sit back on the couch and then collected the box from where he had left it by the door. He carried it over to Virgil and solemnly said, “This is the first part of your gifts.”

“The first part?” Virgil asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There are three parts. But you can’t have the third one until tomorrow because it’s living with Roman and Dee right now. At least, it should be. I hope Dee’s snakes haven’t eaten it.”

“Remus, what did you get?”

“Something just as terrifying and fluffy as you, ma rose,” he said, rugging on a lock of Virgil’s hair.

“A kitten?” Virgil asked, hesitant smile crawling over his face. “Remus, did you buy me a kitten?”

“Stop asking or it won’t be a surprise when we go to pick it up tomorrow,” he whined. Virgil beamed at him, smile so bright that Remus could go without the sun and have no complaints.

“Okay, okay, but if you got me a fluffy black kitten, I am going to kiss you, we are naming them Asura, and we are going to fuck.”

“I like the way you think,” Remus said. “But maybe you’ll be kind enough to still bestow the same gift upon me tonight even though the mystery creature isn’t here?” He offered Virgil the box.

Virgil, still smiling, carefully picked apart the tape holding the flaps closed and opened the box. Inside was a second box, but this one made of plastic. He discarded the cardboard box and began inspecting the clear one. “What…” he said, and then his eyes widened with a gasp. “Is that a tarantula?”

“Yep.” Remus stuck a hand on his hip, watching Virgil. “Perfectly safe to hold. Well, mostly. She’ll flick the hairs off at you if she feels threatened, but it’s mostly just going to irritate the skin they hit. Unless they go in your eyes. Then you might go blind.”

Virgil wastes no time in sticking his hand in the box to get her out. “Her name is Tengu,” Virgil said, bringing her right up to his face to get a good look. “She is beautiful. Look at those legs.” Virgil spent the next few minutes admiring his arachnid and spewing off random tarantula facts. “This is a smaller species than the goliath bird eaters, obviously, but I bet she can still live twenty years or so. Some can be multicolored but I’ve always liked the plain ones more.”

Eventually, Virgil put Tengu back in the little box. “She’ll need a bigger home than that.”

“I’ve got all the supplies out in the car. I just didn’t want to bring them in and ruin the surprise.” Virgil jumped forward and crushed himself to Remus in a heated, passionate kiss. Remus growled into Virgil’s mouth, pulling him even closer.

“You are the best boyfriend in the world,” Virgil said, breathless.

“It’s the shock factor.” Remus kissed Virgil again, but then he was pulling away.

“I have something for you, too. Let me go get it before we get too caught up in,” he motioned to Remus’ partially undone shirt, “this.”

Remus threw himself onto the couch as Virgil left and took the tarantula with him. He was happy and excited and wanted to bounce off the walls like a super bounce bouncy ball. Still, he tried to wait as patiently as he could for whatever Virgil would bring out. It was easier said than done.

Virgil reappeared and thrust something at Remus. “Here you go. I wrapped it like that because I know you love Valentine’s stuff.” He refused to make eye contact with Remus. The package was rectangular and wrapped in bright red paper with silver hearts all over it. Remus smiled at it and ripped the paper off the same way he would later be ripping off Virgil’s clothes. Inside was a collection of all Remus’ favorite horror movies, ranging from classics like Chucky to newer ones like IT. All in all there were ten movies, with an additional five that he hadn’t seen yet.

Remus launched himself off the couch at Virgil, knocking them both onto the floor. “Virgil! Scarebear! Creepy crawly! I love you so much!” He plastered Virgil’s face in kisses that left Virgil gasping for breath around laughing so hard. Then he started tickling at Virgil’s sides, and it was another few minutes before both of them could breathe.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Virgil said. Remus nuzzled his head against Virgil’s chest and Virgil ran a hand through Remus’ longer hair, gently working out the tangles.

“Ooh, I have one more thing for you, and then we can play a sexy game.” Remus shoved himself off the ground and swung Virgil up into his arms. Virgil didn’t even yelp at the sudden move, just grabbed the suspicious green thing and looped one arm loosely over Remus’ neck, allowing Remus to carry him to the roof of their apartment building.

Before coming in, Remus had set up the telescope that he had snatched from Logan’s house. It was pointed up at the night sky, though not at any stars in particular. He didn’t know anything about constellations, but Virgil did, and he was more than happy to let Virgil go to work with the telescope.

“Holy shit, did you steal Logan’s telescope?”

“I asked first,” Remus said, playing at offended. Virgil’s hand absently worked at the button’s on his shirt, and Remus doubted Virgil was even aware he was doing it. He didn’t mention it, though. He liked Virgil’s little subconscious habits.

“So Logan’s isn’t going to come over tomorrow, fuming, demanding that you give his telescope back?”

“I didn’t say all that. I never even said he said yes,” Remus argued, placing Virgil on his feet. Virgil snorted, immediately adjusting the placement and settings on it.

“It’s a clear night,” he muttered, carefully swerving the telescope around.

“Yeah! That’s how I thought of it. I was hoping for thunderstorms, but that didn’t happen and I was mad about the sky being clear, and then I realized that meant we could steal-”

“Borrow.”

“-Logan’s telescope for the night and have a little fun with it.”

“You’re pretty damn smart. Ya know, for someone who tried to snort Pixie Stix.” Virgil laughed when Remus smacked at him and lit up a cigarette.

“Ah, but is that not better than my brother trying to snort Smarties? He didn’t even crush them up first.”

“I will be the last person to get in the middle of a contest between you and Roman,” Virgil said, blowing out some smoke.

“I thought you were going to quit all that,” Remus said, batting at Virgil’s cigarette. Virgil moved it away without looking, still inspecting the night sky.

“Finish the pack?” he suggested.

“I could eat them for you, if that would help.”

“It would not, but I appreciate the offer. Come here.” Virgil stepped back from the telescope, blowing smoke away from Remus’ face. “Look right here. Don’t move it.” Virgil placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders as though to help guide him where he’s supposed to look. “That one up there is Cancer. That’s your star sign.”

“Which of the stars is it?” Remus asked.

Virgil stepped back. “It looks kind of like a dick.”

“Oh, I see it!” Remus crowed. “Isn’t that perfectly fitting? Wow, I’m really beginning to think those Western zodiacs you keep talking about might have something to them, Virge.” Remus pulled away from the telescope to look at Virgil and crack another dick joke, and then he noticed Virgil kneeling next to him.

“Scarebear? You okay?”

“Remus,” Virgil said, “I have something to tell you. We’ve known each other for twelve years and we’ve been dating for half that time. I have loved you and been in love with you for closer to ten. You have made my life so much more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be, and I cannot wait to see where else it takes us. And I am so, so hoping that you’ll come along for it all.” Virgil paused, pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath. Remus was holding his own, had been since the first word. “Remus Duke, will you marry me?”

“Oui oui oui, bien sûr que je le ferai. Oh mon dieu, c'est incroyable, tu es incroyable, bien sûr je t'épouserai,” he exclaimed, throwing himself at Virgil again and kissing him senseless. Virgil laughed into his mouth, their kiss disjointed and filled with happiness.

“Here,” Virgil said when Remus finally had to stop to breathe. “I know we’re not ring people, and I figured this would be way more fitting.” He let Remus carefully extract the knife from the box. The handle was deep green and fit into Remus’ hand perfectly. The sheath was plain and sturdy, dyed green. He unsheathed it and caught his breath at the sight. The knife gleamed in the dim light on the roof and the sharp side was sharp enough to cut someone and they wouldn’t even notice.

However, along the ridge in the middle of the blade, there was an engraving. Our love is sharper than any blade, carved deeper than any words, shines more brightly than any star. Remus flipped it over. The other side said the same thing, but in french.

“Fuck,” Remus said. “Virgil, this is fucking amazing.” He glanced up at Virgil, teary-eyed, and paused. “There is one condition, though?”

“Oh?” Virgil said.

“No more of these.” Remus tapped the cigarette in Virgil’s hand. Virgil looked down at it, dropped it, and stepped on it.

“Deal,” he said.

“We’re engaged!” Remus yelled, picking up Virgil and spinning them in a circle. “We’re going to be married!” He set Virgil back on the ground roughly, too excited for much else. “Je t’aime, ma rose! Je t’aime!”

“I love you too, Remus.” Virgil cupped Remus’ face, staring into his eyes, and Remus shattered the distance between them, diving for Virgil and kissing kissing kissing until there was nothing else. They were a mess of tongues and teeth, clashing parts that only meant the best things.

“Fuck,” Remus said again once they finally parted. Virgil dropped his head to rest on Remus’ shoulder. “I’m thinking a July wedding. Nudist beach. Ocean spray. Dicks out.” Virgil shook against Remus, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a noise. Remus hugged him closer, still awed.

“Sounds perfect,” Virgil finally said. “God, I love you.”

“Je t’aime, ma rose,” Remus murmured. “And I also love fucking you. Which is what I think we should go do now.”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“To the bedroom?”

“Why wait that long?” Virgil asked, and then there were teeth and tongues and lips and biting and grabbing and clothing ripped free from bodies. Remus can not imagine Valentine’s Day having gone any better.

[kakooshi]

Would You Like Some Tea In Your Cauldron?

Read on Ao3

Warning: Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Levi hated losing bets. He rarely ever lost courtesy of his dear uncle, but this year, all it took was his misplaced faith in a racehorse named “Jean” during the Qatar Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe for him to end up being at the mercy of the scheming, shitty, four-eyed freak known as Hange Zoe.

There had been a raffle draw, and Levi’s dare was to decorate his house for the Halloween season and give out some sweets to the trick-or-treaters.

It was better than what Erwin had done on Valentine’s a few years back, when he had to sniff the armpit of every man in the pub just because he revealed his hand too early (It was a historical event) to Mike. Hange still had photos of the event saved in their so-called “family album.”

The problem was that Levi wasn’t too keen on giving out the only sweets he had. Candy didn’t exactly come at a cheap price, and he definitely wasn’t going to spend his entire salary buying new ones to cater to some brats’ sugar rush.

There were tea-flavored candies sent to him as gifts from his Grandfather Ackerman, who had worked as an employee in a candy factory and had later run several teahouses in the country during his younger days.

While Levi was fond of tea, he wasn’t a fan of it being used as a candy flavour. Its taste was very faint and unusual to begin with; sweet but not exactly the ideal type of treat that the little ones would gobble down wholeheartedly and come back for greedily in the next spooky years to come.

The night of Halloween was relatively uneventful for the man as per usual. Even as a kid, he never experienced the thrill of egging some poor hag’s house, or screaming his throat raw in one of those badly decorated third-rate horror booths, or even carving pumpkins and snatching wet apples with his mouth just for the hell of it.

Most importantly, he never had the luxury of preparing a costume…even until now. Hange encouragingly told him that he didn’t have to; he was already scary-looking enough.

“Ow!” Hange held their stomped foot, jumping up and down while Levi scoffed and took the basket of candy from them to place it on the breakfast nook.

The first few trick-or-treaters that came to Levi’s house were tame considering that they were under adult supervision. On the other hand, Levi secretly found it annoying how some parents, teachers, nannies, and even older siblings would apologize to him for the children they accompanied thinking that he looked like a serial killer from a textbook slasher. Was his appearance really that unsettling?

When he opened the door, basket in hand, a little girl in a pink, fairy costume quailed in fright and went down the porch steps to hide behind her mother.

Guess there was no need for a well-thought out prank; his “pinch-me-and-I’ll-punch-you” expression already came in handy.

It was almost 9:00 pm, and the hoots of the owls could be heard in the distance. Levi was ready to remove all the decorations much to his chagrin, but just when he was about to store the remaining candy back in the cellar, something caught his ear.

“Eren, it’s almost late,” said a little girl’s voice. “Mom’s going to get really worried, you know.”

“Just one more house left!” someone replied doggedly. Yep. It was definitely a brat.

“If I recall, your father said not to trick-or-treat at 10 or more houses. You still have an appointment with him after all,” Not bratty. Also, the kid sounded smart for his age.

“One more bag of candy won’t hurt, Armin.” The footsteps got louder.

With a sigh, Levi turned away from the cellar with the candy still in his arms to meet his last trick-or-treaters for the night outside. Upon opening the door, the first thing he saw was a boy who looked to be about 7 or 8 years old. He was dressed as a dog…no, a werewolf, what with the puffy ears, fangs, and paws he wore for feet. The ruffled fur of his top matched the color of his hair.

On either side of him were a raven-haired girl and a blonde boy. The girl was dressed as a huntsman, a plastic axe by her side, and the boy a warlock. Together, they seemed to be quite the fairly strong bunch.

As if a flip had been switched, the wolf boy immediately perked up at Levi and flashed a wide grin, “Trick-or-treat!”

He was the first kid not to show signs of fear in front of him. How interesting.

The other two weren’t as enthusiastic. The girl stayed silent, though Levi could tell she was a little wary of him. Meanwhile, the blonde muttered the greeting with a nervous stutter, twiddling with the pouch he held while huddling up to the girl. Levi couldn’t blame him; his sunken eyes spoke for themselves.  

“You brats better be thankful I still haven’t cleared the Jack-o-Lanterns off my lawn,” Levi said tonelessly, stepping down the stairs while grabbing for a pack of candy.

“Our apologies, sir!” the blonde stammered. “If you’d like, we can leav—”

“Eren just wants some more candy, that’s all.” the girl interrupted.

“Guys!” shouted the wolf boy. Shaking his head in embarrassment, he looked back up to Levi again, holding up his cauldron treat bucket in a silent plea. “I just need one more for my secret stash, sir.”

“Your secret stash?”

“Yes,” The boy blushed before continuing, “My father’s a dentist so it’s not often that I get to eat lots of candy.”

The sourness from Levi’s expression dissolved and was replaced by sympathy.

“Well, I wouldn’t want your long journey to go to waste, would I? Here…”

Levi poured several pieces of candy into Eren’s bucket. He felt something twitch in his chest at the sight of the boy’s wide, green eyes gleaming in happiness. If he had a tail, Levi was sure it would be wagging by now.

“These are from Teas’ Time, aren’t they?” the wolf boy, Eren, asked excitedly.

He didn’t bother to wait for his answer and picked out a piece, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth with an alarming vigor. Levi raised a brow and made a confused face at the other two kids waiting patiently for their sugar-deprived friend.

“He always eats the candy after receiving it. That way, he’ll know which ones will become his favorites,” the blonde explained, as if reporting a scientific experiment.

“Tch,” Levi kneeled down to Eren’s level, “So, how does it taste?”

To his slight amazement, Eren seemed to be enjoying the candy judging from the pleased expression he wore; he hummed in answer: ‘It’s good!’

No, it’s not, really. Levi tried the candy for himself; it was certainly healthier than most sweets but it didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Kitkats, Snickers, or Twix candy bars. Hell, even that candy corn crap tasted better than the hard, circular disks currently making Eren’s eyes glaze over.

Then again, it was better than not having any at all.

“Huh,” Levi regarded him in kind, “The ones in your possession are Citrus green tea, by the way. You still have more flavors to try.”

Eren’s face fell, “Thank you, sir, but my Dad won’t let me have any more. They’ll ruin my teeth,” he pulled off his fangs to show Levi a crooked but clean set of them; no cavities in sight.

Well, that’s understandable. Levi stood up to bid the boy and his friends goodbye but the former stopped him with an exasperated “Wait!” before he could.

“Are you going to give out some more next Halloween?”

Levi weighed his choices. No, he didn’t want to do this again. God forbid his house get wrecked; he was already lucky not to have done much cleaning the first time save for the removal of decorations.

But one look at Eren’s puppy dog eyes compelled him to think differently. Yes, there was absolutely nothing unusual about inviting a child to trick-or-treat at his place when he was opposed to the very idea hours ago. Not at all.

“Shit’s expensive so one flavor for every year. Be sure to collect them all before you don’t have the balls to go trick-or-treating anymore,” He offered, ignoring the surprised gasps from the other two.

Eren looked about ready to bounce off the floorboards, fangs bared, “Thank you, Sir! I can’t wait!”

In a flash, the boy was down the front steps joining his friends, both relieved that the night was over. They all waved at Levi, departing into the streets with the autumn breeze ruffling their clothes. Eren in particular gave one last smile at him before digging in his pack to wolf down—excuse the pun—more of the sweets from his grabby little fingers.

For the first time that night, Levi’s lips quirked up a centimeter. Perhaps he ought to treat Hange out to see that science fiction horror film they were so crazy about.

For the next three years, Levi would leave some candy waiting in a mini black cauldron by the porch for little Eren to find. Since they were of premium quality (or so his grandfather claimed), each year promised a different flavor, and with every bite, Eren’s adoration for the maddeningly expensive stuff only grew.

Citrus green tea, green tea latte, classic iced tea, black tea…Levi could only go for so long until hearing his tea-obsessed relative sob happily from the other side of the phone at the news of someone genuinely enjoying his brand of candy.

His friends were just as happy at the news.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a faithful follower, Levi.” Erwin said one night over brandy.

“He’s just happy because he finally figured out a way to clear out his pantry,” Hange cackled. This earned them another well-placed stomp on the foot.

Levi had learned quite a lot about Eren too—like how his ears would turn red every time Levi asked him about his intake of sweets, or how passionate he was in his ramblings about anything other than the different candies he collected from the other houses. Levi’s favorite was the one where he and his two friends from before, Mikasa and Armin, reported some guys shoving their dicks inside carved pumpkins as part of some sick, twisted dare to the police and were given ten times the candy they had that day because of it.

“Levi, why have you never gone trick-or-treating?” a 12-year old Eren asked. He was perched on top of the red loveseat in his living room, Hogwarts robe pooling over the edges and glasses falling askew from the upside-down position he was in.

“My uncle never made me go. Juvenile delinquents used to put weed in candy bars back in the day, so he didn’t want to be responsible for my getting wasted,” Levi said as if commenting about the weather.

Eren’s flipped over in shock, “You can put drugs in candy?!”

“Yes, which is why you should be extra careful when receiving treats from strangers; even the most benign things can become the most dangerous when placed in the wrong hands.”

Levi found what he was looking for in the fridge—Chai tea. Eren’s favorite.

The boy in question nodded slowly in understanding, “No wonder Dad only let me trick-or-treat at my relatives’ place.”

“Hm.”

Eren’s eyes were fixated on Levi for quite a while. He propped his elbows on the sofa, chin resting above them as he sent the man a soft smile, his glasses sliding a little onto his nose to reveal bright green, mirthful and genuine.

“I trust you, though.”

Levi returned one of his own; he threw the candy at Eren, “Up until now, I’m still baffled by the fact that you didn’t piss yourself seeing my face for the first time.”

Eren laughed while unwrapping the foil. Popping the candy into his mouth, he gave a pleased hum, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

“Oh, I was pretty scared alright,” he spoke while he ate, “I thought you were going to whip out a scythe or whatever; complements the murderous look on your face and everything.”

“This coming from the kid who said he trusts me.”

Eren simply flicked his wand as if to ward him off, sticking his tongue out.

Eren didn’t come to Levi’s house the following year.

At first, Levi supposed it was because Eren had indeed grown up and was definitely too old to ever trick-or-treat again. Surely, his friends and family found it pretty strange for someone as adventurous and fun as him to spend the last few minutes of Halloween with an almost broke college student, and a grumpy one nonetheless.

But Levi knew Eren wasn’t the type to ditch friendships like that, although to be quite honest, Levi wasn’t exactly sure when he started considering Eren as his friend. Maybe the boy was just that likeable despite his tendency to be a little shit.

Eren had messaged him online 7 hours after Halloween Night ended. Suffice to say, Levi didn’t know whether to congratulate or pity the boy with the news he’d been given:

Brat: I got braces :/

Levi pondered a bit before typing out his message and pressing the send button.

Levi: Mashed potatoes and gravy, then?

The notification came faster than he could blink:

Brat: :D

Halloween couldn’t possibly be more hectic this time around. Levi’s dorm mates had invited him to participate in the new “Zombie Run” sponsored by his very own university; his fingers were still sore from when he punched the Walking Dead who had tried to cop a feel chasing him.

He was just about to nurse his knuckles with some ice packs when he heard the clicking of boots on his porch steps.

Levi was at the door in an instant; ice packs forgotten on the floor; he pulled it open to see tousled brown hair and vibrant green eyes.

It was Eren, now a teen, who had come to trick-or-treat at his doorstep for the first time in three years. And oh—

The boy’s getup was certainly….riveting. He wore a red button-up underneath a black military jacket with side seams that went below the waist, matching gloves and high-knee combat boots, and white pants accentuating his shapely legs…

Levi mentally smacked himself before taking in all of Eren’s costume. Speaking of legs, they were fitted with belt straps…no…Eren was actually wearing a harness, its unique pattern contrasting nicely with the red shirt and white pants. There was even a small leather skirt that Levi didn’t notice until later.

And shit, Levi now had to look up at his face because of how tall he’d gotten. It was kind of annoying.

Gone was the scruffy, werewolf boy from 7 years ago. Before him stood a sharply dressed cadet, an air of confidence and integrity about him. Tonight, Eren was a soldier…ready to fight on the frontlines; it was the best costume Levi had ever seen him in.

“Trick-or-treat,” Eren greeted. His voice was lower now, and his braces were gone too; there was only a set of perfectly straight and white teeth.

Eren whirled around, the long end of the jacket flowing behind him. Levi caught a glimpse of the insignia on his back, a white wing overlapping a blue one, “Do you like it?” he asked in a way more akin to a princess flaunting her ball gown.

Levi did a mock bow, “Why yes, Your Highness.”

The boy smirked before quickly pulling out dual blades from his sides (Where the fuck did they come from?). They looked pretty fucking sharp.

The older male raised his arms, whistling lowly, “At ease, soldier.”

Eren put the swords back in their hilts, “They’re ultrahard steel. Good for cutting flesh.”

The look Levi gave him was nothing short of incredulous.

Eren laughed, “Just kidding, these aren’t really made of metal, but they do make a good slashing sound!” He emphasized this with a wave, as if to cut Levi in half.

He didn’t want to know the rest of the details, “Aren’t you a little too old for trick-or-treating?”

“Levi, it’s 2017. If you’ve noticed, there are a lot of teenagers going from house to house for treats and no tricks, hopefully. All my friends are wearing the same costume I’m in.”

Levi wondered how many there were. He held back a snort at the idea of a bunch of High-School students in weird military attire (He still didn’t know the significance of the harness), marching along the streets and chanting roll-calls begging for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Laffy Taffys.

Not wanting to waste the evening out in the windy cold, Levi turned to fetch what Eren had arrived for in the first place, “Citrus green or…”

Eren’s gloved hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.

“This is the last time I’m ever going trick-or-treating,” he paused, tightening his grip, “and I want you to come along this time.”

Levi looked over his shoulder, admittedly shocked despite his cool gaze.

“I don’t have a scythe and robe with me,” he still found within himself to joke.

There it was again, that life-expanding laugh. There was a glint in Eren’s eyes that Levi couldn’t place, and he felt a prickling sensation spread through his body from where Eren touched him.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s still a kid after all, but you know you’re willing to buy him all the treats he could ever want in the world,’ said the nagging voice in his head.

“I’m also too old,” he added.

“Pshh, you don’t look that old to me,” Eren gestured to Levi’s height. Levi scowled and punched him in the arm, making him release a pained chuckle.

“Oh, and another thing…” Eren reached inside his jacket and pulled out a parcel; unwrapping it.

Inside was a jumbo pack of Matcha-Green Tea Kitkats.

“I bought them myself,” Eren said proudly, holding it up for Levi to see, “earned cash and all. I can guarantee that you won’t find any suspicious substances in them.”

Levi snickered. On the other hand, he couldn’t recall ever feeling such a strong surge of admiration.

“Thanks, kid.” He offered Eren one of his rare smiles.

Eren wasn’t finished with his surprises just yet. “Say, if I offer you this….” he flaunted the Kitkats in Levi’s face with one hand while the other went into his jacket again (God, how many stuff was he hiding in there?), bringing out a larger parcel. It was slightly open, but Levi’s eyes widened upon seeing the belt straps inside.

Levi reached out with careful fingers to pull the folds apart, revealing the costume—the same one Eren was wearing.

“…will you be our Captain for Halloween, Levi?”

Levi didn’t even realize he had nodded until he felt a pair of strong arms around him. This close, he could make out the faint smell of citrus; just like years ago. His cheeks were beginning to warm up so he gave a few awkward pats to Eren’s back and eventually pulled away from him.

“There’s only one problem to deal with, I guess.”

Eren’s body went stiff, “What is it?”

Levi grabbed the harness and the rest of the belt straps, holding them up in distaste.

“How the fuck do you put these on?”

[valamerys]

Through Dangers Untold ch 2 (Elucien Labyrinth AU)

Elain has made a grave mistake and wished her sisters away to the dangerous realm of the goblins. To get them back, she’ll have to navigate a maddening labyrinth—and go toe-to-toe with its powerful, enigmatic ruler. Elain finds herself drawn to the red-haired Goblin King, but is he the tragic, lovesick prince from her mother’s stories, or a wicked faerie who’s only toying with her?

AO3

Elain expects the Labyrinth to be difficult, but she does not expect getting into the Labyrinth to be quite so hard.

She spends at least twenty minutes walking around the great outer wall. The thing is three stories tall, built out of ancient blackish bricks and crumbling suspiciously in places, but impenetrable and moreover, doorless. She tries walking away from it too, to gain perspective from which to see a theoretical door in the distance, but in some frustrating bit of magic, somehow she remains no more than fifty feet from it no matter how long she walks. Perhaps she could climb it, if she were braver, but the stone is topped with such wicked-looking iron spikes that Elain does not have the nerve to try, so there seems to be no choice but to follow it like a river in hopes of an opening appearing. The ground around it is a strange mixture of broken stone flooring and dusty grass, interrupted by stunted tree limbs and the fluttering of large insects that collect around them.

Elain halts at last, directing a very peeved sigh in the wall’s direction. “Is there a door anywhere in you?” She asks it. “Or is this the great joke, that I can’t beat the labyrinth if I can’t even get into it?”

Unsurprisingly, the wall does not answer.

Elain huffs, crosses her arms. “I bet your king thinks this is very funny.”

A high-pitched giggle answers her.

Elain whirls around. “Who’s there?”

There’s no-one but moths fluttering in the trees above her. Another giggle, and another— whatever’s there, there’s more than one of them.

“Hello?”

One of the moths darts by Elain’s face, and she bats at it on instinct—and then stops.

The moth has a distinctly human shaped body.

Elain turns to stare directly at the swarm of them, and the giggles increase. One comes to hover in front of Elain, and sure enough, it’s no moth at all, but a tiny, brown-skinned, human-shaped creature, no more than three and a half inches tall and dressed in gauzy rags.

The thing snickers, wings beating so fast they nearly blur. “You’re quite ugly for a human.”

“I--I beg your pardon,” Elain stammers.

Laughter peals from the thing’s throat, echoed by the pack that now flutters around them. The faerie—because that’s what it is, Elain realizes numbly, a faerie— is beautiful, in an otherworldly kind of way, tiny moon-white teeth and the most exquisite miniature features.

“Well, I don’t think she’s ugly,” a faerie ventures from somewhere above Elain’s head.

“She’s hideous,” says another, from behind her. The voices are light but have a clear quality to them like ringing church bells; it’s a little dizzying to listen to multiple at once. “Got all those dots on her face.”

“Those are freckles, Snowdrop.”

“Could any of you tell me, please,” Elain ventures, remembering herself, “How to get into the Labyrinth? I can’t seem to find a door. And by the way, I’m not ugly.”

Elain feels something tug at her mess of a bun, a faint weight on her shoulder. “Can I braid her hair?” A faerie asks.

“Ew, Marigold, don’t get your hands all filthy with human hair.”

The one ostensibly named Marigold begins to cry, a pointed sound from such a small body, directly into Elain’s ear. None of the others seem bothered by it, and Elain feels tiny pulls on the edges of her cape and sleeves.

“Do you think we could eat her? She smells nice.”

“No she doesn’t, she smells of human.”

“I think humans smell nice, then.”

“I want to braid her hair TOO!”

Elain is turned this way and that, prodded by tiny hands getting more and more curious. Pinlike fingers prod at hems and hairlines, the fluttering of wings brushing Elain’s cheeks and making her flinch.

“Do you think the king knows she’s here?”

“Marigold, stop wailing, for mercy’s sake.”

“Do you think we should tell him?”

“He’d probably turn you into a frog for having a big mouth, and you’d deserve it.”

The rising din of tinny voices becomes too much, and Elain squirms out of their reach, trying to extricate herself without hurting any of them.

“The king does know I’m here, thank you,” Elain says sharply. Faeries like this were supposed to be sweet, benevolent things, prettily winged storybook illustrations, not mindless little creatures who discussed eating you. “I’m trying to get to the center of the Labyinth to rescue my sisters from him.”

This summons the biggest cascade of laughs yet from the faeries, who flutter and swoop and dip in the air around Elain’s head, heedless.

“Oh, you’ll never get half that far!” The first faerie cackles, completing a lopsided figure eight in the air.

Elain tries and fails to not let the statement deflate her, just a little. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ll be squished or starved or drowned or boiled or burned first!” She says, a maniacal sing-song.

“No human’s ever made it to the castle,” another says gleefully.

Elain feels chill beneath her cloak. Just how many humans have there been? How many people has the Goblin King lured here to die those horrible deaths? “Nevertheless, I’m afraid I have to try,” she says, turning to eye where the wall continues. “Now, if any of you would be so kind to tell me, if I continue on this way, will I find a door or not?”

Silence from the faeries. Not even laughter, or the beat of their wings. Elain turns back to find them vanished, only empty air where they fluttered. Her heart drops into her shoes.

“Hello?” She asks the empty air, looking around uselessly. Her hand goes to worry at the hourglass necklace, as though it might save her from the sudden whims of this place. Perhaps the faeries weren’t real at all, only an illusion—

“I apologize. I might have frightened them away.”

Elain gives a small start in surprise, biting down on a yelp. The voice is nothing like the faeries’, a man’s voice, she thinks. But it comes from nowhere; Elain turns around uselessly trying to find a source. “Who said that?!”

“Here.”

But there’s nothing here, or anywhere, just the crumbling stones and a few scrubby trees and her own shadow, crisply thrown on the wall behind her.

“Where’s here?” Elain asks, trying to sound less alarmed than she is and failing.

“Behind you.”

“But there’s—”

Elain turns, but her shadow does not.

She freezes, staring at it. The shadow raises a hand to give the tiniest wave, and Elain lets out a little squeak and jumps backwards.

“I hope I haven’t frightened you as well,” the shadow says a touch sheepishly, not Elain’s shadow at all but its own entity.

“I—” Elain stammers, trying to recover herself, “I’m a bit started, is all. Shadows don’t talk where I come from.”

“Most of them don’t talk here either. I’m an exception, not the rule.”

On closer inspection, it’s silly that Elain ever thought it her own shadow. He’s taller than her, broad-shouldered, a slightly blurry silhouette of a man as though one were standing in front of the wall with a strong light thrown on him.

“I heard what you said to the faeries,” the shadow goes on, “About rescuing your sisters.”

“Oh. Yes,” Elain says lamely. It’s very strange to converse with a creature with no face, no features or expressions from which to divine personality and intent. Nesta would probably like him, she always found such nuance pointless. The frustration of the faeries dismissal comes surging back up Elain’s throat. “Are you going to tell me it’s a futile endeavor as well?”

“Not at all. I won’t even list the gruesome ways you might die.”

She feels a smile tug at her lips despite herself. “I’m Elain, by the way,” she says, and since you can’t shake a shadow’s hand, she dips a tiny curtsy.

“My name is Azriel,” says the shadow, bowing in return.

“Well, Lord Azriel, I don’t suppose you know where I could find a door into the Labyrinth?”

He laughs, a deep, melodic thing. “I’m not a Lord, my Lady. And I’m afraid there are no doors, not in the sense you mean.”

Elain’s heart sinks to her toes. “Then how in the world do people get inside?”

“Different ways. The faeries fly over. The animals burrow under. Those with magic use that in some capacity.” He pauses. “Of course, not many people go in or out of the Labyrinth at all.”

Elain eyes the wall again, picking over every crack, every missing stone, the patch of flower-studded ivy that grows up it nearby, its blooms tightly closed. “How do you go in and out, then?” She asks Azriel.

He gives a motion she can’t quite make out, inclining his head, perhaps, and moves— not as a human would move, not walking, but as though the nonexistent light source that casts him is thrown to the side. He bleeds across the wall, ephemeral, melting into a shadow cast in the wall’s uneven side, and then into the crack.

Elain moves to peer into it. It’s just large enough to give her a glimpse of whatever lies beyond, and she can see Azriel appear on the opposite wall. He rushes back, then, like a dark wind, appearing from a different break in the wall and coming into focus next to Elain before she’s even stepped back again.

“That’s a very nice trick,” Elain says, blinking faintly. How long will it take in this place until little magics stop alarming her? “But I don’t think I can do that.”

There might be a smile in his voice when he speaks again. “I would imagine not. But that’s no reason to give up hope.” He reaches out a shadow-arm, raises it so that it passes over the clusters of closed flowers that grow from the crumbling wall. They open at the disturbance of their light, one by one, and the unfolding petals don’t revealing pollen-filled centers but eyes, glistening orbs with irises of blues and browns and greens that follow the shadow’s movement. Elain gasps.

The eye-flowers slowly start to close again, sleepily, and Azriel’s arm drops. “Nothing is what it seems, here. Not even walls.”

Elain’s skin prickles at the words. “What do you mean by that?”

“I can’t give you specific instructions to get in. I doubt anyone can. But I’m certain it’s possible, if you find your own way through.”

“Do you have any… suggestions, then?” Elain hedges, very unsure if she likes this turn of events.

The shadow seems to shrug. “Use your strengths.”

He’s sincere, the shadow, not a shred of humor or dismissiveness to his voice. Not that that helps much. Her strengths. What in the world are Elain’s strengths? She can’t be pretty at a wall, she can’t diffuse her family’s bad moods at a wall. She could make an attempt to garden the wall, she supposes, but those eye-flowers certainly aren’t anything she’s planted before.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” Azriel says, and his shadow starts to fade a little. “But I wish you every luck in the world with finding your sisters.”

“Wait!” Elain blurts, panic overtaking her at the thought of the only reasonable person in this wasteland leaving her. He pauses, and Elain immediately feels guilty. She has no good reason to ask him to stay, surely he has… shadowey obligations elsewhere.

She feels as though she should ask him one last question while she has the chance, but nothing comes to her, mind still reeling with new information. “Thank you,” Elain says instead, “for helping me.”

He bows again. “My pleasure, Lady Elain.”

And then he’s gone, bled across the wall and beyond.

The wind whispers faintly in the trees, and Elain examines the wall yet again with a huff. Find your own way through.

“Please let me in?” she asks it.

Nothing happens except the faintest chirp of birds in the distance, and the feeling of ridiculousness that comes over her is swift and mortifying. Elain groans and turns her back to the wall, slumping against it in defeat. This is nonsense. She was harassed by a man in very tight pants, accosted by faeries, and given ambiguous advice about getting through an apparently magic wall by a sentient shadow. What is she doing?

She can’t help but think that her sisters would already be past this point. Feyre would have climbed the damn thing, or known the right way to make the faeries help her. Nesta would have just glared at the wall and it would have parted like curtains for her.

“Use my strengths,” Elain says aloud. “I don’t have any strengths.”

The wall at her back, unsurprisingly, still doesn’t respond.

That’s always been Elain’s place in the family, though. The one who isn’t strong. Necessarily so, since her sisters have nearly more strength between them than a family can handle.

“Feyre keeps our stomachs fed, Nesta our minds sharp. But you, my dear, keep our hearts light,” her father had once said, on a rare occasion it was just the two of them in the cabin, Nesta out selling one of Feyre’s pelts at market and Feyre herself out hunting.

Elain smiled from her spot by the fire, where she picked at a piece of embroidery. “That’s very sweet of you, papa.”

Her thanks was sincere, but the sentiment wasn’t: Elain knows she is useless. It doesn’t truly bother her, not a fraction of the way it bothers Nesta, seethes under her skin, but still—

The firelight danced in his eyes, surprisingly clear that day when they were so often cloudy. “You keep faith for us, Elain. That is no small thing in this world.”

Faith.

Elain tips her head back against the wall.

“I believe that one day things will get better for us,” Elain whispers, “That we won’t be cold and hungry and unkind to each other. And I believe that first, I am going to rescue my sisters from the labyrinth.” She stands, because it’s true: she does believe those things, no matter how hard some days get or how frustrated she is right now.

“And I also believe,” Elain walks about a dozen paces away from the wall and then turns back to face it. “That I will get past this wall.”

She takes a step, and another, and another, slowly but smoothly walking towards the wall, and firmly closes her eyes.

Her hands itch to go out in front of her, feel her way, but that would defeat the purpose: faith that she’ll be let in, that she won’t need her hands to catch her. So blindly she walks. It’s stupid, there’s no way around the fact that this is a stupid idea that by all accounts shouldn’t work, but Elain quashes the thought. She walks and fights back the flinch that comes when her mind tells her she should be about to crash into stone—

But she keeps going, and she doesn’t. Heart in her throat, Elain goes until she is certain, certain, that except by some trick of magic, she should have hit the wall by now, and stops. She opens her eyes.

Before her is a passageway that breaks off into a dozen different paths, and behind her is the wretched wall. The wall that let her pass through it.

Elain lets out a shriek of exultation, one hand going to her mouth and the other to touch the very solid, unyielding stone, to confirm the magic for herself. It worked, it worked, she’s beaten the first test. The surge of relief almost dizzying, and she laughs; She can do this, she can learn to play by the Labyrinth’s rules and win. The paths before her twist in suspiciously, the ground uneven and treacherous, but Elain is not afraid. Nesta, she thinks, Feyre, hold on, I’m coming.

Elain takes three steps forward, and the ground gives out underneath her with a sickening crumble, darkness coming up to swallow her so quickly there’s not even time to scream.

***

The fall ends abruptly, blackness and rope that burns her skin, and Elain tries to recover the breath stolen from her, legs flailing as she tries to right herself.

“Well, look at that.” A voice snakes over her like a physical presence, rank and low, and Elain pants as she tries to get upright— but she can’t, she’s suspended in some kind of net, gradually illuminated as her eyes adjust to the dim light.

“And what have you brought me to eat?” The voice coos nastily, closer now, and Elain can make out a dark hooded figure approach her. “Such a squirmy one.”

“St-stay back!” She whimpers, but the creature’s clammy, thin hand darts between the ropes and grabs her chin tightly, tilts her head up to examine her.

Elain only fails to scream because there’s suddenly not enough air in her lungs for it. Her captor’s face is not even a monster, but a monster’s corpse, inhuman and shriveled, the greyish remnants of skin clinging to a skull-like form with deep black holes for eyes, and wicked teeth that part to hiss at her.

The creature snatches its hand back from Elain. “Human,” it snarls, “A human in my net.”

“I--yes,” Elain stammers, heart beating furiously as she tries to keep away from the thing. “Yes, I’m a human.”

“There has not been a human in this labyrinth for many years.” It rubs the hand that touched her as though she’s infected it, those dark pits peering at Elain curiously. “Why have you come here?”

“I’m here to rescue my sisters,” Elain gets out, finally balancing herself somewhat upright, holding on to the netting. Directly below her, a dark hole yawns; she tries not to look at it. “From the Goblin king.”

It throws its head back and laughs, a terrible rasping thing, a dying wail. “Oh, precious human child. He’ll never let you win; he never does.”

But Elain is not listening. She is talking in the cavernous space behind the creature, finally. It must be its home; there’s a cot-like surface and a great cauldron in the middle that steams faintly, tools and buckets and random other items strewn about around it. But hung with care on crisscrossing ropes are articles of clothing, perfectly preserved, most of them quite fine: tunics and pants, dresses and cloaks, with no thought to gender or cut. It gives the place the aura of madness; this is not a wardrobe, this is a collection, cultivated and obsessively maintained.

“Best to give up now,” It says, and cackles again. “And die a better death than what awaits you.”

“I know what you are!” Elain yelps, the rush of association alleviating her fear, if only for a moment. “From the stories. You’re the Suriel.”

It tilts its skeletal head at her, doglike, and its voice is more flat than curious when it says, “You know of my kind.”

Elain feverishly hopes that that doesn’t offend it. “Yes, my… my mother told me about you. You’ll answer a question for anyone who manages to catch you, or anyone who—” Elain’s eyes go to the hanging garments. “Leaves you tribute.”

The Suriel chuckles darkly. “Once, yes. It’s been a long time since anyone did that.”

The Suriel, in the stories, possessed a degree of omnipotence, could answer any question put to them, mundane or magical. Who wouldn’t want access to that? Elain scrambles for the clasp of her cloak.

“I will! Here, here’s my cape in exchange for a question.”

The thing howls with laughter a second time, and Elain’s cheeks flame. Of course it wouldn’t want anything of hers— all her clothes are worn thin, dirty and mouse-eaten.

“I’ll make a deal with you, human. Keep your cloak,” It says sharply, amusement lining what passes for its mouth, the shriveled skin clinging to the gums of its teeth. “I am not without charity; I will answer a question for you. But in return, you must guess the answer to a riddle I pose correctly. If you guess correctly, I’ll pull you out of there and let you go.”

Elain has heard all her life of fae trickery, and this sends tremors down her spine, a tingling foreboding that runs all the way to her fingertips. “And if I don’t?”

Its horrible mouth grins, even more rows of gnarled yellow fangs exposed. “Luckily for you, child, I can’t eat humans, so I suppose I’ll let you finish your fall.”

The dark hole looms below her threateningly. Elain’s mouth goes dry. “What’s down there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Elain expected a terrible creature to devour her, or perhaps an acid lake to burn her flesh from her bones. Nothing doesn’t sound bad at all, compared to that.

“Pits of Naught, they’re called; the Labyrinth’s full of them. There’s nothing in them at all, including no way out, and anything that falls into them is soon nothing too.” It gives a little cackle, the sound like logs snapping in a fire. “But if you guess the riddle correctly, you needn’t worry about that. Do we have a bargain?”

Elain doesn’t like something about the way it says the world bargain; like a slimy thing. But there’s little to do but agree. “Yes.”

Something prickles hotly at Elain’s elbow, just strong enough to make her gasp and twist; she shoves up her sleeve to see a tattoo blooming on the skin there.

“Don’t mind that,” the creature says. “One way or the other, it won’t last long.”

But Elain gapes at the mark as it swirls outward like ink dropped into water, symbols that look vaguely like letters encircling her arm in thin bands, one just above her elbow and one just below it.

She shakes her head in confusion. “What—”

“Merely a side effect of faerie bargains. A reminder of promises to be kept.” The thing’s claws click together impatiently. “Ask your question.”

She felt no such thing when she agreed to the Goblin King’s terms, Elain realises coldly. If a magic bargain is the faerie version of a binding agreement— is her quest to rescue Nesta and Feyre not bound by one? Can he, having power she does not, tamper with the terms as he wishes, then? The thought unnerves her, but there is no time to dwell on it.

“Can you tell me how to get to the center of the Labyrinth?” She asks, breathless.

The creature throws its head back and laughs, a choking, ugly thing. When it finishes, it looks straight at her, dead white eyes glinting. “Yes.”

It does not continue, and horror washes over Elain.

“Wait!” she cries, as the thing laughs again, “Wait, that’s not what I meant, I just didn’t phrase it right— I was asking you how to— ”

“It is not my fault you wasted your question, human,” it croons with amusement, “Consider this a lesson in choosing your worlds carefully.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Nothing here is,” it responds, teeth snapping shut with a decisive clack. “Now, listen carefully to the riddle, because I won’t repeat it.

“What is it men love more than life,

Fear more than death or mortal strife?

The poor man has, the rich require,

What is the contented man's desire?

The miser spends, the spendthrift saves,

And all men carry to their graves.”

Panic squeezes Elain’s throat, as she reels from her mistake and half the riddle falls out of her head immediately. “I— what?”

“You heard it, human. What’s the answer?”

“I don’t know!” The burn of tears begins in Elain’s eyes. “Please, give me a moment to think!”

Men fear and adore it, a poor man has it— men carry it to their graves? It must be something abstract. Life? Love? There was something about spending, is it money? Is it just wealth as a concept?

The Suriel’s eye-holes grow wider with glee. “Your time is running out, human.”

“I’m thinking,” Elain blurts frantically.

What would Feyre do? Try to think of something else, something less vague, of—letters in the words, or body parts, or surprising elements. Elain knows enough of riddles to know their answers are the unexpected. But what do the rich need, if not something with wealth? Manners? Moderation? Humility?

“Your time’s up,” the creature says gleefully, running its long, cracked nails across the cave wall. The clacking sound makes Elain’s heart jump. “What is the answer, human?”

“I—” Elain flounders. None of answers she came up with make sense. Nothing makes sense for all the statements, they contradict each other. She blurts one of her answers at random. “Love?”

The terrible grin that splits the creature’s face makes horror bloom in her stomach.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” it cackles. “No surprise.”

“Wait!” Elain cries, as it reaches for the rope that suspends the net, and her in it. “Wait, please, I can figure it out, I’m certain—”

“Goodbye, human,” It says, untying the knot. “It’s a pity you didn’t last long enough to give our king more trouble.”

“Wait—!”

But the rope falls free, and Elain plummets, her plea turning into a scream. The fall isn’t long but her landing is harsh, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending pain radiating through the hip and shoulder that take most of the blow. Elain coughs for air, shoving her way free from the net that ensnares her.

Again the sound of the Suriel laughing, from above now.

“Nothing, human!” It calls down from the circle of dim light far above her now. “The answer to the riddle is nothing .”

What a poor man has, what the content one desires. What’s in this hole. Nothing.

Elain feels so hopelessly bound up by her own stupidity that she's too suffocated to respond, to inept to even summon a reply but the burgeoning tears in her throat. The Suriel laughs a final, terrible time and a cover clangs into place on the opening, leaving Elain totally alone, surrounded by nothing.

Elain’s face crumples and she starts to cry.

***

Lucien’s court carries on around him, tittering and squabbling like they always do. Goblins and fae, faeries and gnomes, creatures with no names or kin, a maddening cacophony of triviality. Lucien lets the chaos run off him like rainwater. His focus is entirely elsewhere, cast far across the labyrinth, in one of the pits of naught.

She should never have made it this far.

He taps his riding crop absently across his boot, posture ostensibly cavalier as he reclines on his throne. If the knuckles of his free right hand grip the armrest so tightly it threatens to snap, it is the only outward sign that something is amiss with the Labyrinth’s lord king.

She wasn’t supposed to make it through the damn wall. She was supposed to run around for a few hours, get harassed by the harmless denizens that roamed that far out, and then summon him, crying, to give up or beg him or—

The armrest cracks under his tense grip. The sound attracts the questioning looks of a few goblins; Lucien fixes them with a glare that has them quickly busying themselves with whatever insipid conversations they were having before. He’s thrown enough insolent courtiers in the swamp over the years that the threat is implicit.

Of course, the threat was apparently not implicit enough to deter the Shadow from helping Elain. But that was easily remedied.

The double doors at the base of the room open just enough, with a great creaking groan of the hinges, to let a little guardgoblin through. He bows low enough that his nose, long and weedy like a carrot, nearly brushes the floor. “Your majesty, the human prisoners, as you requested.”

The energy of the court turns like the sun going behind clouds, suddenly more subdued and more thrilling all at once as creatures murmur and jostle for views of the doors. None of them have seen a human in decades.

Lucien flexes the fingers of his right hand. “It’s about time.”

The double doors open, and the crowd parts for the high fae guards and their quarry. Lucien feels his face carve into a smile as two sets of eyes find him in the chaos, above it all.

Feyre and Nesta Archeron are prodded forward by the rusted spears of their jailers, wrists bound and mouths gagged. Nesta practically vibrates with a trembling fury, eyes locked on Lucien, while Feyre’s eyes dart: to the guards, to the courtiers that whisper and crane their necks at her, to the exits. Brave and clever in turn, not that it will do them a drop of good.

“Welcome,” Lucien says, the world reverberating off the stone walls, “To my court. So few humans ever see the center of the Labyrinth; I hope you feel as honored as you should by my magnanimity.”

Snickers from their spectators. Rage flashes in Nesta’s eyes and the two guards on either side grab her arms, keep her from lurching forward like she’d fight Lucien hands tied together or no. It makes him smirk.

“Please forgive my subjects,” he says, letting his voice drip with false graciousness, “They tend to carry out kidnapping with excessive enthusiasm, but you’re my guests, not my prisoners. The gags won’t be necessary.” He gestures at the guards.

“What have you done with Elain?!” Nesta predictably demands with the first breath she takes. “Where is she?”

Lucien clicks his tongue. “So accusatory. Is this how humans respond to hospitality? No wonder we got rid of you all.”

“Where is she?!” Nesta repeats, a snarl. A guard is forced to wrap his arms around her waist to keep her in place. “If you hurt her—”

“I’ve done nothing to Elain she didn’t ask me to do,” Lucien says with a placid smile, for the specific purpose of watching Nesta turn a whole sunrise’s worth of furious colors. His court titters appropriately.

“Where are we?” Feyre asks, voice dark and quick, before Nesta can curse him into another realm. “What is this place? And who are you?”

If Nesta is barely-contained rage, Feyre is brewing contempt, studying Lucien like prey she intends to bring down silent and quick. Like the sun and moon, these sisters, and so little fear between them; he’ll have to thank Elain at some point for giving him such entertaining collateral. The thought of her anger at it cheers him considerably.

“I told you, Feyre,” he says simply. Pointedly. “This is the center of the Labyrinth. The castle beyond the Goblin City.”

Feyre has gone very still. “You know our names.”

“I know many things.”

Her response is slow to come, carefully worded. “That hardly seems fair, since we don’t know who you are.”

“I’m disappointed the two of you haven’t figured it out yet.” He chuckles, taps the crop against his thigh. “Elain guessed immediately.”

Nesta’s brows knit together in dawning horror, finally. Finally. He never gets tired of this, the realization. Elain’s is still sweet on his tongue, to have two in one day is practically overindulgence.

“You’re him,” Nesta breathes, “From the stories. You’re the Goblin King.”

Lucien beams at her, even as Feyre looks between them both, confused.

“Ruler of the Labyrinth, master of the exiled and forgotten, tormentor of mortals, lord of chaos and rot,” Lucien recites, rising from his throne. He gives Feyre a beatific smile, palming the crop still in his hands. “And yes, King of Goblins. In the flesh.”

Feyre’s throat bobs, her resolve wavering. “Why have you taken us? And what have you done with Elain?”

Lucien tilts his head at her lazily, in ho hurry to answer.

“I took the two of you,” he drawls, as though explaining it to a child, “Because your sweet sister asked me to.”

He desends the dias one slow step at a time, savoring the confusion that dawns on their faces, the disbelief, the—

“What are you talking about,” Nesta says hatefully. “She would never.”

Lucien comes to a stop before them, gives her a patronizing smile. “Oh, but she did.” The guards once again are forced to hold Nesta back as she starts for him in fury. “And it’s just so difficult to say no to that pretty face of hers.”

“Where is she, you monster?!” Nesta all but screams. Lucien throws his head back and laughs at the show she puts on, her gold-brown hair escaping the braided crown atop her head, face bright red as she kicks and writhes, one guard wrapping an arm around her waist in an attempt to hold her.

“You’re lying!” Feyre yells, over the sound of the court mocking her sister.

Lucien’s focus whips to her, hard and cold, and she looks taken aback by the faerie speed of the change. Let her. It’s not his business to make himself more human for the ease of silly little mortals.

“Am I?” He asks, each syllable an arrow to a target. She does not cower, but fear shines in her eyes as he steps toward her, until they are not an arm’s length apart.

“Is it so hard to believe,” he says, so softly it might be mistaken for sweet, but surely Feyre knows better, “That the two of you might have pushed even sweet Elain to the point of wanting a reprieve? Your arguments can be—”

“You’re a monster,” Nesta spits, no longer fighting her guards but shaking, slightly, with the force of her anger. “You’re a sick, twisted creature and if you don’t give Elain back to us right now I swear I’ll burn this whole castle to th—”

Suddenly words stop coming out of Nesta’s mouth. She gapes, lips forming letters that come out as empty air.

“It’s not polite to interrupt, Nesta,” Lucien says with perfect coldness.

She screams soundlessly, clawing at her throat and yelling a thousand profane things at him in perfect silence. It’s terribly satisfying.

“Undo it, please,” Feyre asks, voice trembling. She’s properly afraid now, as Lucien turns back to her, hunter’s stoic strength fled her in the face of magic. “Please, she didn’t mean anything.”

“It’ll wear off,” Lucien says breezily, flashing Feyre a smile. “And if she learns her lesson, I won’t have to do it again.”

Unshed tears shine in Feyre’s eyes. “Lesson?”

“Of course. I can’t have members of my court undermining my authority, it looks terrible to all the other hellscape prison-mazes in Prythian.”

Lucien laughs a little at his own joke— as if there are other places in Prythian like the Labyrinth, as if anyone at all would deign to care about him or what goes on in this parody of a true court— but Feyre doesn’t seem to understand it is one, looking from an increasingly panicked Nesta to him and back.

“Please,” Feyre whispers, “I don’t understand what you want with us, just— just let us see Elain.”

He must look too pleased at this request, because alarm flashes across Feyre’s face.

“Well, of course,” he purrs, “All you had to do was ask nicely.”

He places the tip of the crop beneath her chin and forces her head up.

His timing in requesting to speak with them had not been incidental, and here is the payoff: The entire ceiling becomes vague and foggy, and with the crackle of magic, Elain’s murky image is painted upon it as she is, miles away, in the pit of Naught. Feyre gasps. The gathered court cackles and hoots at this new entertainment

Elain is curled on her side in the empty pit, threadbare cloak drawn tight around her shoulders as she cries softly. Half-dried tears streak her face, eyes red and swollen. It couldn’t be a more perfectly pitiful image.

“Elain!” Feyre yells.

“She can’t hear you,” Lucien says, stepping away from her to better survey the entire image. “We can see her, but she can’t see us.”

“Feyre,” Elain chokes, a sad little prayer, “Nesta, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Another sob claws its way from her chest, the sound swallowed by the uproarious laughter of Lucien’s subjects.

Lucien means to join them, but his laugh sticks in his throat.

The projection shimmers and Elain wipes away a tear clumsily. “I’m coming to save you both,” Elain promises, voice wavering. “I am. I am.”

Such optimism. Such sweetness. In defeat she despairs for her sisters, not herself. He grips the crop in both hands, almost unconsciously.

He means to draw this out, revel in Elain’s suffering and her sisters’ pain, but he’s suddenly tired of the image, restless; he doesn’t want to watch any more. At his whim the vision dissipates like smoke, the goblins and fae jeering their disappointment. Lucien lets them as he returns to his throne.

“Nesta’s right,” Feyre says thickly, her voice gaining power as she speaks. “You’re a monster. You go around twisting people’s wants to torment them, to make them run your faerie gauntlet so you can laugh as your monsters destroy them.”

Lucien hums as he sits. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds quite unflattering.”

“What does she mean she’s going to save us?!”

He sighs, swishes the crop through the air absently. “Because I am not as ungenerous as you make me out to be, I’ve given Elain three days to find her way here and rescue you.” He gives them a condescending smile, but can’t summon any real enthusiasm to back it up— the whole encounter has turned to ash in his mouth, infuriatingly, his glee over tormenting them vanished. “When she fails, the two of you will become a part of my court forever.”

“What?!” Feyre cries, as Nesta’s eyes go wide. He gestures at the guards, and the doors they entered from begin creaking open again.

“If I were you,” he says simply, as Feyre struggles against the guards who are pulling her away, “I would spend that time contemplating what kind of creature you’d like to be turned into. Because if you don’t have one in mind it’ll just be a goblin, and no one really wants that.”

“You can’t do this!” She screams, “Let us go!”

Lucien just tips his head back comfortably, the goblins and lesser fae shoving and jeering at the girls as guards drag them from the dais.

“Oh,” he adds, “And Nesta, you can speak again.”

He laughs as the door closes behind them, and Nesta’s screamed curses are audible even though it.

***

The first thing Nesta does in the cell is rail against the iron door, beating her arms against it and clawing until she bleeds. Her words turn into an incoherent, raw babble of threats and Elain’s name; a mad litany, a curse on this entire wretched castle.

“Nesta,” Feyre says raggedly, although it’s hard to stop her when Nesta looks how Feyre feels, like a raging, terrified mess. “Nesta,” She tries again, and pulls her away from the door by her shoulders. “Stop. You have to stop,” Feyre says, her own voice thick.

Nesta trembles under her hands. “He took her.” She blinks rapidly, face red and the wet tracks of tears smeared across her cheeks. “He took Elain and it’s our fault— ”

She fractures on the word, not into a sob but something worse, a kind of low howl that has her shoulders drawing in and her face crumpling.

“I know, Nesta, I know—” Feyre tries to sooth her, hands tightening on Nesta’s shoulders, but when has Feyre ever been good at soothing? “Listen, I know. But we have to stay calm, alright? This is what he wants. We can’t give him what he wants.”

He. The Goblin King. The title rings the faintest of bells in Feyre’s memory, makes her think of candlelight and voluminous gold skirts. He looks High Fae, as best she can tell, human but not, beautiful except for that gold eye, but he must be something even worse to do this, to toy with them so cruelly. To toy with Elain, sweet and hapless as she is. Feyre’s stomach twists.

“We have to keep it together,” Feyre goes on, although the encouragement feels false and heavy in her own mouth. “For Elain.”

Nesta has gone still, panic and rage subsided, hardened. Feyre does not relinquish her shoulders.

“You’re right,” Nesta says, breathing labored, and Feyre can hear her sister’s iron control creeping back in. “You’re right.”

Nesta lifts her iron-grey gaze to Feyre’s, and with her wild eyes and her hair half unbound, she looks almost as fae as the creatures in that throne room were. “We are going to stay calm. Because we’re going to get out of here and get our sister back, and the Goblin King can go fuck himself.”