#if i just lived a TINY bit further north i could be helping people get polar vivillon which is much rarer.... ah well. 😔

[ironfloret]

man i love pokego even if just for the postcard feature alone. i've got them pinned from indonesia, the phillippines, the UAE, japan, mexico, england, ireland, west, central, and east US, cyprus, germany, i'm sure some others i'm forgetting..... it's just like daft punk said. around the world..... around the world.........

[triptuckers]

Two Homes (part 7/7) - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: no Pairing:  Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary: after realising you can have two homes, you rush back to ravka Warnings: none Word count:  3.5K A/N: aaa the last part!! if you’ve read all of the parts I just want to say thank you so much for reading my work, it really means a lot to me! enjoy reading :) PREVIOUS PART  TAG LIST (two homes and/or all grishaverse fics): @godsofwriting@im-constantly-fangirling @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15@dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy (if your name is in bold it means I couldn't tag you) add yourself to my tag lists here 

The trip back to Ravka seems to take longer than the trip to Ketterdam. You kept taking out the tiny watch you kept in your pocket, only to find out no more than a few minutes had gone by. Saints, couldn’t this boat go any faster?

While it is in the middle of the night, you can’t sleep. There’s too much energy in your body. 

On the ship, only a handful of crew members are awake, needed to make sure you were still heading toward Ravka. The rest of the people on the ship are below decks, probably fast asleep.

You’re pacing the ship, your mind running at an alarmingly speed. You think about the crows, and Ketterdam. And Nikolai and the palace. Would he be angry you left in such a hurry? Would he not accept your apology? Or worse; would he send you away? 

Technically, he could. He’s the king after all. You didn’t think he would do it, but if he wanted to, he could make sure you never set foot in the palace again. What if you traveled back to Os Alta, only to be banned from the city?

You’re so lost in thought, pacing around, you don’t see one of the crew members looking at you. Only when he speaks up, you stop pacing to look at him.

‘Hey! You!’

He’s sweating as he’s pulling on the ropes, to keep the sail in place and making sure you sail toward Os Kervo and don’t end up somewhere in Fjerda.

‘If all you’re gonna do is walk around, you might as well help. Get over here.’ he says.

Without even thinking about it, you walk over to where he’s standing. After all, he was right. You might as well help. And it might take your mind off of everything that’s going on. 

You roll up your sleeves, but keep your hood down to hide your face.

‘Grab this rope.’ he says, extending one of two ropes he’s holding to you. You firmly grip it with two hands. ‘And make sure to pull hard. Can you do that?’ he says. You nod and pull harder. 

Immediately, you feel the pull of the wind, and you plant your feet firmly on the wooden deck. For the rest of the night, you make sure the rope doesn't slip out of your hands. 

You get to talking with the other crew member who asked for your help and when you see the first rays of light and the city of Os Kervo in the distance, you realise you haven’t thought of Ketterdam or Os Alta for hours. 

The crew member tells you you can let go of the rope and once you do, you feel your muscles relax. You hand him back the rope and walk over to the edge of the ship, to look at the city slowly creeping closer.

Despite the early hour, it’s already busy on the docks. Fishermen are walking around, loading and unloading their ships. People are waiting for your ship to arrive, probably welcoming home loved ones. 

‘You ever been to Os Kervo?’

You look to your side and see the crew member. He looks young, about your age. 

‘Once.’ you truthfully say. ‘But only passing through.’

‘And today?’ he says.

‘Also passing through.’ you say.

‘Traveling to?’ he asks.

‘North.’ you say. You didn’t need him to know exactly where you’re going. 

‘Ah.’ he says. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Nina.’ you say, blurting out the first name that comes to mind.

He holds out his hand to you. ‘Nice to meet you, Nina. I hope we see each other again.’ he says.

You shake his hand. ‘Likewise.’ you say, but in your head you hope you never see him again. If he would recognise you, and the story would get out that the queen of Ravka illegally passed the True Sea, it would not be very pretty.

Thankfully, you’ve arrived at the docks and can get off the ship, quickly leaving the crew member behind. 

You walk around the city, trying to find some kind of transport so you could get to Os Alta. Normally you’d hitch a ride on a carriage, but it seems too risky. So instead, you head for the small cottages and farms on the edge of the city.

At the oldest, shabbiest looking farmhouse, you stop. You walk around the property, and spot a horse. 

You walk back to the front door and knock. It takes a while for someone to open. An old lady opens the door to you. 

You smile at her. ‘Good morning, ma’am, sorry to wake you at this hour, but I was wondering if your horse is for sale?’ you ask her. 

‘He’s not.’ she says.

‘That’s a shame.’ you say. ‘Your house looks very old. Couple of broken windows, wood rot. You could fix that with a generous amount of money, get someone from the city to help you out.’

‘I don’t have that kind of money.’ says the old lady, already moving to shut the door, but you plant your foot in front of it.

‘I can pay handsomely for the horse.’ you say. ‘I don’t think you ride anymore, do you?’

‘No, I don’t.’ she says.

You pull out a bag and shake it, making the coins inside clash against each other. 

‘You get this, I get the horse.’ you say. ‘It’s enough to fix your house.’

She eyes you suspiciously. ‘Why would you give me this much money?’ she says.

‘Because I’m in a hurry. And I need a horse.’ you say. 

‘Alright, then.’ she says. ‘Give me that money and you can fetch the horse.’

You hand the bag to her and thank her, heading around the farmhouse to the horse. He looks like a strong, healthy horse. You would be able to ride fast, cover a lot of distance. You thank the lady again, and mount the horse.

Without another look at Os Kervo, you start your journey to the palace. You ride for hours without stopping, constantly ushering your horse to go faster. Luckily, he’s a young one, and he can indeed go very fast. 

But eventually, you have to stop. Not only to give the horse some rest, but also because your stomach had been growling loudly for the past hour. And now that the sun is up, it’s getting hotter and hotter. You can feel it burning in your neck. 

You roll up your sleeves and take off your hood. When you’re riding in the fields, you could allow yourself to be a little less afraid someone might recognise you. And after all, you’re in Ravka now, not Ketterdam. You could only hope word of your absence hadn’t spread too fast throughout the country. 

You leave your horse just outside a small village. After finding a bakery, you buy some bread and water with the money you have left. The village is old and charming. Once you finish your bread, you walk back to your horse. You drink half of your water and give the other half to the horse. You then mount the horse again and take off. 

The sun is still hot in your neck but you don’t slow down. You needed to get to Os Alta as fast as you could. Sweat drips from your forehead to your neck. You still had a long way to go.

Hours later, you finally see the city of Os Alta appearing in the distance. It had since gotten colder, and it’s late in the evening. At the outskirts of the city, you leave your horse and find a place to wash up.

After washing off most of the sweat, you run your fingers through your hair and roll your sleeves down. You pull your hood further down and resume your way on foot. 

Most of Os Alta’s inhabitants had retired to pubs or their homes. A few people still walked the streets, on their way home or loudly singing songs, smelling strongly of alcohol. 

You feel relieved when you see the palace’s gates in the distance. As you approach the guard who is stationed in front of the closed gates, you lower your hood.

The cool air feels more than good after you’d kept your hood on for the biggest part of your journey. You smile as you walk up to the guard.

‘Hi.’ you say. 

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. This makes you frown.

‘Are you going to let me in?’ you say.

Now, he does look at you. It feels a bit weird to have him look you up and down and scan your face. 

‘No, ma’am.’ he eventually says.

‘No?’ you say. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean no, I am not going to let you in.’ he says.

‘Do you know who I am?’ you say, thinking he was new on the job and you hadn’t been introduced to him yet.

‘No, ma’am.’ he says.

‘I’m Y/N.’ you say. ‘Y/N Lantsov, I live at the palace.’

He raises a single eyebrow at your words. ‘And I’m the king.’ he says.

‘You don’t believe me?’ you say. ‘Go and get Nikolai or someone else to confirm it’s me.’

‘King Nikolai isn’t present at the palace at the moment.’ says the guard. ‘And how do I know you’ve not been tailored to look like the queen?’

Your mouth falls open in surprise. You knew Nikolai made sure the guard are well trained, but this seemed like he’d done too good a job at it. 

‘Saints, this is going tot take forever.’ you mumble to yourself.

‘Problem?’ says a familiar voice suddenly behind you.

You turn around and see Nikolai on his horse, accompanied by Zoya, Tamar and Tolya.

‘Nikolai.’ you say gratefully as you walk up to him. 

He smiles at you and holds out his hand for you to take, but Zoya speaks up.

‘Wait.’ she says. ‘How do we know you’re really Y/N? She left in a hurry. You could be anyone pretending to be her.’

You look at her. Zoya did have a point. You turn back to Nikolai, who is still smiling at you.

‘When was our first kiss?’ asks Nikolai.

You feel yourself blushing. Of course he would have to ask a personal question to confirm it really is you. But this felt a little too personal for your taste. 

‘Right before our wedding.’ you say softly. ‘Because I was nervous.’ 

When you look up at Nikolai he’s still smiling down at you. ‘It’s her.’ he confirms. You finally take his hand and mount his horse, sitting behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

The guard finally opens the gates, and you enter the palace grounds. Nikolai is silent as he heads to the stables. He doesn’t even say anything as the two of you get off his horse. 

Even during the entire walk to your shared rooms, Nikolai is quiet. You want to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s okay with you being here, but a part of you tells you he needs this walk to clear his mind. 

Once you get to your rooms and you shut the door behind you, you barely have time to turn around before Nikolai pulls you in his arms. 

You’re a bit taken back by his actions, but are quick to embrace him. You feel how Nikolai drops his head to your shoulder and shuffles even closer to you. You smile as you hold on to Nikolai.

The two of you stand like that for a while. Just holding each other, glad to be reunited. 

When Nikolai pulls back he smiles at you, and finally speaks up. ‘You came back.’ he says.

‘I did.’ you say. ‘Kaz talked some sense into me.’ 

Nikolai blinks in surprise. ‘Kaz Brekker was the one to talk sense into you?’ he says.

‘Yes. He made me realise I can have to homes.’ you say. ‘And we need to talk about that.’

‘Okay.’ says Nikolai, taking your hand and walking you back to the bed to sit down. ‘What exactly do we need to talk about? Because I can think of a few things, but I want to hear you out first.’ 

‘I thought I’d be happy once I got back to Ketterdam.’ you say. ‘And I was, for a while. It felt so good to see all of them again. And, uh, help them out every now and then.’

If Nikolai knew what you had really been doing during your life in Ketterdam, he didn’t show it. He didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

‘It really felt good to be home in Ketterdam. But the more time passed, the less happy I got. I missed the palace, the life I built here, but most of all I missed you, Nikolai. Kaz was the one to tell me I can have two homes.’ you say.

Nikolai smiles at you after you finish talking. He brings your intertwined hands up and kisses your knuckles.

‘I missed you.’ he says. ‘I thought you weren’t happy here, so when you said you wanted to go to Ketterdam, I felt like I had no choice but to let you go. So I did. But I really am glad you’re back, Y/N. The palace felt a lot bigger without you in it.’

‘How boring were the meetings without me?’ you ask him.

Nikolai sighs deeply. ‘Very.’ he says. ‘I didn’t have to make sure you stayed awake, so I had no choice but to listen to every little detail they said.’ he says.

You chuckle, thinking back to the countless of times Nikolai had to keep you awake during the meetings. 

As you look at him, it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again. You let your eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail. You had really missed him.

‘Nikolai?’ you say softly.

‘Yes, sweetheart?’ he says.

‘While I was in Ketterdam, I realised something else.’ you say.

‘That the food here is better?’ says Nikolai.

‘They don’t have Ketterdam waffles here.’ you point out. ‘But no.’ 

You look at him, taking your time once more to take in his face.

‘I realised that over time, all those days we spent together, I’ve grown to love you. I don’t want to leave you like I did ever again.’ you say.

You watch as Nikolai’s face breaks into a huge grin. ‘You love me?’ he says.

‘I do.’ you say. You hold up your hand, showing him the ring. ‘This should be a pretty good reminder of it.’

Nikolai grabs your face with both of his hands, pulls it towards his and smashes his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s still smiling. And when he pulls away, there’s indeed still a big and proud smile on his face.

‘I love you.’ he says. ‘I should have never let you go like that. I should have gone with you, or made sure you had reason to stay. I won’t let you leave again, Y/N, you’re my queen, and I love you.’ 

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to both of his cheeks.

‘We can make this marriage work, Nikolai. I want to make it work. On one condition, though.’ you say.

‘Name it.’ says Nikolai.

‘I promised I would visit Ketterdam every summer.’ you say. ‘To see all of my friends and spend time with them.

‘That seems like a fair deal.’ says Nikolai. ‘Then I’ve got a condition as well.’

‘Anything.’ you say.

‘You have to accompany me on every boring meeting, otherwise I will fall asleep during every single one of them. And we go for a walk through the gardens every evening.’ he says.

‘Deal.’ you say. 

Nikolai smiles and rises from the bed, offering his hand to you. ‘Shall we go on a walk then?’ he says.

You smile and gladly accept his hand and get up. The two of you walk the familiar route to the gardens, and you can’t help but to sneak glances at him. It was already dark outside, but somehow there was still a twinkle in his eyes, and his blonde hair seemed to glow. 

‘Are you trying to remember every detail of my face by looking at me so many times, love?’ he says after a while. ‘I’m flattered, honestly. But you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, you can spend plenty of time looking at me.’

‘I know.’ you say. ‘But I missed a few days, I’m catching up on lost time.’

Nikolai chuckles and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. ‘You’re truly adorable.’ he says, making you blush.

You reach the gardens and automatically walk to your favorite spot. When you sit down on the bench, you look at the familiar bush in front of you.

‘I’m on time.’ you say.

Nikolai looks at the bush as well and nods. ‘You are. David says Summers Week will most likely bloom next week.’ he says. ‘And when it does, I’ll get you a new flower, to keep with the one I got you last year.’

You turn to smile at him. ‘I can start collecting them.’ you say. ‘One for each year.’

‘One for each year.’ Nikolai repeats. ‘I really am glad you’re back, Y/N. It felt weird, not having you around. I felt like some part of me was missing. Maybe because it was.’

‘Well, I’m here now.’ you say. ‘And I don’t plan on leaving soon.’

‘Except for your summer trip to Ketterdam.’ says Nikolai.

‘Except for that trip. You should come with me, I bet they’d love to meet you some day.’ you say. 

Nikolai smiles. ‘Some of them have met me.’ he says.

You frown. ‘They have? They didn’t mention it when I was there.’ you say.

‘That’s probably because they didn’t know it was me.’ he says. ‘They also met Genya and Zoya. They were accompanying me but I wasn’t, well, me.’

‘I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.’ you say, suppressing a yawn.

‘Oh, darling, I’m not. One day I’ll tell you the story of Sturmhond.’ he says.

‘Sturmhond?’ you say and Nikolai nods. ‘Why not tell me now?’

‘Because you have been trying to hide your yawning since we came here, and I think it’s time you went to bed.’ says Nikolai with a chuckle.

‘You’re right, I should. It’s been a long day.’ you say. ‘I left in the middle of the night and only stopped once when I got to Ravka.’

‘You only stopped once? Saints, Y/N, how come you didn’t collapse on a bed once you got here?’ says Nikolai.

‘Because I wanted to talk to you and spend some time with you first.’ you say.

Nikolai’s features soften and he smiles at you. ‘I appreciate that. But now please let me take you back to our room before you fall asleep in the gardens.’ he says.

You get up and intertwine your fingers with his once more, and you start walking back to the palace. When you walk the halls, you run into Genya.

She looks surprised but happy to see you, as she shoots you a warm smile. You briefly let go of Nikolai’s hand to hug her. She must have noticed your tired state, because she tells you that you’d catch up tomorrow morning. 

You’re grateful when you get to your room. After taking a quick bath to scrub the sweat and dirt off of your body, you change into a comfortable night dress. When you get back to the bedroom, you see Nikolai is fidgeting with a piece of rope.

He shows you the small boat he made when you approach the bed. You smile and take it from him, placing it on your nightstand. 

The second you lay down under the covers, you feel your body already dozing off. You close your eyes and feel how Nikolai lays down on his side of the bed. You knew the bed was big enough to keep your distance, but you didn’t have to anymore.

You move closer to Nikolai, cuddling to his side. He wraps an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. Nikolai softly traces shapes on your bare arm. 

He moves his head to kiss your forehead and mumble a very soft “goodnight, love”.

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep, a very faint smile on your lips. It feels good to be home right next to Nikolai. And you’re glad that you have two homes now. Ketterdam, with your crows. And Os Alta, with your king.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[athenasbloodyspear]

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed. 

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee. 

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them. 

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out. 

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends. 

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge. 

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12. 

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie. 

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove. 

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked. 

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.” 

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed. 

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter. 

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug. 

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back. 

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited. 

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee. 

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up. 

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically. 

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter. 

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures,  with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy. 

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.” 

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it. 

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store. 

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it. 

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists. 

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. 

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts.  There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.” 

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up. 

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs. 

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed. 

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.” 

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.” 

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door. 

                                                           ~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years. 

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars. 

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast. 

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked. 

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?” 

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.” 

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.  

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.” 

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.” 

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.  

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.” 

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?” 

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.” 

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.” 

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said. 

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.” 

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister. 

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters. 

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.” 

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.” 

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately. 

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop. 

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door. 

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk. 

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?” 

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces. 

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door. 

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?” 

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started. 

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.” 

“Wicked.” Maven calls back. 

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley. 

                                                        ~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi. 

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN. 

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.” 

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked. 

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage. 

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks. 

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands. 

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe. 

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.” 

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly. 

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured. 

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack. 

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio. 

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.” 

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.” 

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.” 

“Sure.” Levi replied. 

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote. 

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked. 

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.” 

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?” 

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded. 

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.” 

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.” 

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.  

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly. 

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio. 

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back. 

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.” 

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.” 

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.” 

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?” 

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased. 

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled. 

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”  

                                                        ~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect. 

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today. 

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states. 

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago. 

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between  her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?” 

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her. 

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again. 

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off. 

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad. 

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something? 

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open. 

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder. 

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly. 

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain. 

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point. 

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak? 

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way. 

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side. 

“Oh hey Maven-” 

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door. 

“Maven wait-” 

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space. 

“Sorry.” Jake muttered. 

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed. 

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?” 

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.” 

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere. 

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter. 

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped. 

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake. 

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.” 

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.  

                                                     ~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player. 

However, none of these things were easing her mind. 

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake. 

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this. 

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray. 

                                                        ~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name. 

“It’s Maven.” He said. 

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. 

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked. 

All four boys leaned in to read the screen. 

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS. 

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 13

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: talks of former slavery, time skips and it’s a bit fast forwarded, Jorah’s death, lots of angst I think, let me know if I missed anything, stay safe out there ya’ll!)

High Valyrian is in cursive

And Dothraki in bold

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You kept your head down as you rode on your horse, a fairly new experience for you, but it was similar to riding Rhaegal, just smaller, less scaly and less windy, you had reigns to hold onto, and a saddle to sit in. You were broken out of your train of thought as you heard your name called, turning your head to see none other than Jon Snow, giving you a nervous glance “hello” he said awkwardly, making you look ahead, spotting Daenerys talking with Missandei, before turning back to him “Lord Snow, can I help you with something?” he grimaced a bit, but still gave you a smile “if it’s alright, I would prefer if you didn’t call me Lord” you nodded “forgive me, I don’t know what to call you then. All these… customs are new to me, I have only lived with them for a few years now” Jon frowned at your words “how long then?” you shrugged as you looked ahead again “around five, I was ten when our Queen Daenerys found me” you smiled at the memory, glancing at Jon who only gave you a look that silently asked you to explain further.

“You see, I was a slave, in Mereen,” Jon immediately frowned “but you were a child?” he sounded disturbed, and it brought a tiny sense of envy, envy that he didn’t grow up with such horrible things “yes, though that didn’t concern my former master. I remember the day that Daenerys liberated Mereen, I remember seeing her silver hair in the street as she walked with the freed children, but I was still a slave. My master had let his other slaves go but not me, he kept me locked up in his small pyramid… Daenerys saw me watching her in the window, so she waved at me. I remember being so scared of my master that I looked over my shoulder before I waved back, I was so scared of how many beatings I would get if he caught me, but he didn’t, anyway, I must have leaned over the edge of the window, because she saw my collar. I remember how angry she looked as she walked into the house, she immediately had my master thrown in the cells, and then she saw me, on the steps, watching her again” you smiled warmly at the fond memory, a few tears building up in your eyes, but as you looked back at Jon, he seemed horrified and confused, looking away from you as he thought over your words, as if he didn’t know what to say “it’s alright, Jon Snow, I wouldn’t want your sympathy” he looked at you with confusion, something that made you smile ever so slightly, he didn’t know why you didn’t want sympathy.

“I don’t want sympathy because that is not why Daenerys took me in as her own, at least I’d like to believe it wasn’t. Yes, she felt bad for me, but I remember seeing those purple eyes of hers… I remember how safe I felt. It was only later that I learnt of Rhaego. Perhaps she saw in me what she had lost, or maybe it really was just sympathy, whatever it was, I no longer wear a collar, my body no longer bears bruises except for those I earned in training. Daenerys may not have carried me, but she is my mother. That is why I do not want sympathy, Jon Snow, because I no longer need it, I am no longer in a position where it keeps me alive” you finished, speeding up your horse to join Daenerys and Missandei, leaving behind a sympathetic, but understanding Jon Snow.

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Your lips slightly parted in awe as you neared Winterfell, you felt as though the only grounding force that told you it wasn’t a dream was Rhaegal and Drogon above you, their roars and the sound of their wings let you know you were wide awake, and you finally turned to Ezzo, smiling amazed at him before looking back to Winterfell. You had read about it in Mereen, and you remembered how out of all of the cities, you wanted to see Winterfell the most, and here you were, approaching it slowly as people of the north watched you ride by. You felt Ezzo’s hand gently nudge your knee, making you look at him as he gave you a smile “what?” you asked as he just looked at you, he shrugged and just kept smiling “just wanted to look at you” you blushed at his words, the colour of you (Y/S/C) cheeks flushing red, and you looked away, much to Ezzo’s dismay, he thought it looked beautiful with your (Y/E/C) eyes. You shook your head, almost as if you tried to shake off the blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t shake off the smile that graced your lips “I’ve read a lot about Winterfell, it was built so long ago, it’s said to be built over there natural hot springs, so even though it’s snowing, the castle is much warmer than it looks” you looked back to Ezzo, only to find him already looking at you, and you refrained from saying anything, just enjoying the soft look he gave you as you looked back to Winterfell.

You marvelled at how big it actually was, and Daenerys, upon seeing your face, couldn’t help the smile that found it’s way to her lips.

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You sat tense by Daenerys’ side, something she had noticed long ago. You were cold, colder than before. When you read about the hot springs under Winterfell, you had hoped it would have given more of an impact, but here you were, willing yourself to stop shaking, while your mother sat quite comfortably, since she was a Targaryen. Your eyes scanned the crowd as a way to distract yourself, and you noticed how everyone seemed to love Jon, everyone knew him, adored him, admired him, and you could see, out the corner of your eyes, Daenerys’ smile wavering, she noticed as well. Daenerys was so used to being loved back in Essos, in Essos she was the Breaker of Chains, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, she brought wonder and awe to people’s lives as she entered them, but here, here she was the foreign queen who their king had knelt to, the daughter of a madman, leader of an army of savages, and you imagined how much it must hurt her, so turning to her you gently nudged her, giving you her attention, and you knew the smile she put on her lips were fake, it was forced and stretched, like a piece of leather being forced over shapes it wasn’t meant to embrace.

You got up, pulled your new arakh out from behind your back and sat back down, your whole body facing her as you showed it to her “Ezzo gave it to me” you let her hold it and study it, watching her smile fade as realization struck her “your name day…” your own smile fell, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, she was busy, it was a time of war, you understood how she could forget it, so you quickly shook your head “Mhysa I-... I didn’t mean it like that I just… wanted to show you… he carved the handle himself and-”

“I’m so sorry, Little Dragon” she looked heartbroken and you quickly shook your head again, reaching out for her hands “no, no Mhysa, please don’t be, we’re at war, I nearly forgot it myself, as have Missandei, please don’t feel bad. We’re all busy, you most of all, and after Viserion-” you stopped yourself there, knowing you’d get nowhere with her, and mentioning Viserion would only bring the both of you pain, you could already feel the tears building up in your eyes “I will do my best to correct this, I swear, (Y/N)” you sighed, taking back you anakh, putting it on the table, leaning over and hugging her “you don’t have to, just be happy” you whispered the last bit, feeling her arms finally wrap around you to embrace you as well. Once you parted you saw how sad she still was, which made you feel a guilty, you hadn’t meant to force it upon her, you heard her give a short sigh, turning back to look at the different people, studying them and how they loved Jon Snow, you followed her gaze, and you couldn’t help moving your hand down to gently grasp hers, she was so warm compared to you, her Targaryen blood had fire running through her veins “you are so cold, are you freezing?” you turned to look at her concerned expression, making you smile slightly “no, no I’m just cold. Mhysa, you’re a Targaryen, you have fire in your veins” you giggled slightly, and she joined you, briefly, before looking back over the the northerners “they’ll love you, you know, they’re just scared, perhaps even a bit betrayed, they trusted their king to never kneel again and then he did it, they’re just angry, but I don't blame them, who wouldn’t be in this cold?” you whispered the last bit to her, making her grin and do her best to hold in a laugh that you knew wanted to tear it’s way out of her and make itself known to everyone in the room, a thought that kept you warmer than the fires your brother’s breathed.

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You frowned as you stared at her in disbelief, taking in her words, each time you tried to decipher it a new frown appeared on your forehead “but-...” you leaned back in your chair, your gaze off to the side, not looking at anything in particular. You finally looked back at Daenerys, seeing her being torn between worlds as well. You leaned forward, gently grasping her hand in yours “who knows, Mhysa?” she swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking up “his brother, Bran, Samwell Tarly, and he’s going to tell his sisters” you frowned at her last statement “but I thought he loved you?” at yours words Daenerys finally let a tear roll down her cheek, all her life she had believed she was the true heir to Westeros, and now, now all of the sudden she wasn’t, the goal she had worked her way towards her whole life was gone, snuffed out, like a candle in a storm. You sighed heavily and got up “and he says he doesn’t want the throne?” you looked out a window before back to Daenerys, seeing her nod briefly and weakly, making you sigh again “then that’s that, Mhysa, he doesn’t want it, you are the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, you are the Queen of Westeros, there is nothing else to it” you kneeled down in front of her, you knew how much this meant to her.

She gently shook her head “it doesn’t matter what he wants… he’s the rightful heir and the people-”

“No! Mhysa… you’ve worked towards this your entire life! He doesn’t want the throne, they can’t force him upon it, can they? I-... I know you love him… I know you haven’t said so but, the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you, he loves you as well, I’m not-... experienced in love but, you have to at least trust that, right?” Daenerys sighed and looked at you, raising a hand to gently hold your cheek, you leaned into her touch and she smiled at the gesture “my sweet little dragon” she whispered, leaning over and placing a kiss on your forehead, her eyes closed as yet another tear fell from them.

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You glared at your mother as she looked at you with a pleading look “I am not going into the crypt, I want to fight!” Daenerys sighed, you two had been at it for almost an hour now “(Y/N) there is nothing to discuss, please, my little dragon, do as I say. You have a responsibility, you’re the heir to the throne, my ONLY heir, please, I can’t let anything happen to you” you sighed as she used your nickname in Valyrian, mulling over her words before finally giving a weak nod, making Daenerys close her eyes in pure relief. You sighed heavily as you walked down the steps, mumbling annoyed, making Sansa frown as she studied you, looking down at Tyrion, who sighed “she wants to fight, a Dothraki has been teaching her for months now. I think she’s scared,” he whispered the last part, making Sansa lean in as he continued “I think she’s scared of losing yet another brother, or perhaps even her mother, she thinks that somehow if she fights with her, she could prevent it” Sansa frowned even more “but the dragons are not her brothers” Tyrion shrugged “she has grown up around them for the last five years, whenever she was sad and Missandei or Daenerys wasn’t around, the dragons comforted her, I’ve heard stories of how they flew up on her balcony and came close to her, let her lay up against them and cry. When they were locked in the pyramid, she visited them every day, Rhaegal was her dragon, and now Jon Snow is riding him, she may not be a Targaryen, but she understands those dragons, almost as well as their mother, so try to tell her, once a little girl, lost and afraid of the world, protected and cared for by these dragons and their mother, that they are not her family. She already lost one brother, forgive me, Lady Stark, but I do believe you can understand how she feels” Tyrion ended, looking back at you as Missandei sat down next to you, talking with you quietly.

Sansa watched you with sympathy now, she understood what it was like to lose family, and while she couldn’t see how you saw dragons as family, she could understand the bond and the grief you must have felt when Viserion died, especially now that it was known that he had joined the Night King as an undead dragon, no longer the brother you knew.

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You stared at the piles upon piles of dead bodies, blood covering your face, your akanh in your hand, a cut on your hand and leg, still bleeding, your eyes widening as you saw a white figure in the distance leaning over someone, crying. It was nearly dawn, the Night King was dead and so was his army. Your feet took off before you even knew it, you barely felt the wound on your leg as you ran across the body littered field, you fell to your knees, you arakh long forgotten as you stared at the body in Daenerys’ arms. You breathed heavily as you just stared at his pale skin, the blood splattered across his face and armor, and the small drops of tears from your mother’s eyes. You gently shook your head as you held your breath, at any moment he would wake up, right? He would wake up, let you know that he was alright, he was okay, he was wounded but alive, right? You let out a whimper as none of that happened, he stayed still and pale, and you leaned over his breastplate, resting your head on it, not caring about the blood smearing onto your forehead. You let a sob escape your lips, only one, you told yourself, but it was followed by another, and another, and another, and before you knew it you were sobbing against the cold, hard metal covering his chest.

You looked up at Daenerys to see her crying as well, holding Joarh close and you couldn’t help but lean down and hug his stiff form, your arms around his neck as you sobbed against his throat, silently begging him to wake up, and when that didn’t work you tried verbally “wake up, please Ser Jorah, please, please wake up, please no, no, no, no! Wake up!” you hadn’t even noticed how you had begun to speak Valyrian, it was your native tongue after all, even though Jorah never understood it. You shook him as hard as you could, tears streaming down your face as you shook your head once more, you could barely breathe, Jorah had been the one to cut off your collar, he had been the one you had talked the most with, even though none of you understood each other back then. You leaned against Daenerys’ shoulder as you both cried, tears streaming down your faces as you continued to hold the old knight.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, clinging to his corpse and Daenerys’ side as you cried over his body, praying that somehow he would wake up, somehow his eyes would open, or he would cough, say something, anything. But nothing happened, and nothing ever would, he was dead, cold and stiff, buried in metal as he laid in the cold snow, blood surrounding him, some of it his own, some of it not, that thought chilled you to the bone more than any wind ever could, he was bathed in blood, some not his own, it made you sick, and you felt the urge to throw up, leaning away quickly and throwing up over the side, making sure none of it touched Jorah or your mother. Afterwards you groaned, tears still streaming down your face as you glanced at Ser Jorah, another sob forcing it’s way through your body and out your mouth as you yet again fell to Daenerys’ side, holding Jorah. You felt Daenerys’ hand slowly place itself on your back as you sobbed, her own cries still spilling from her lips as you both just held him, not caring who watched or who was nearby.

[newathens]

in honor of everything that happened on aug 18th the good and the bad here is a scene from secrets that has been collecting dust for a year and may never get its moment but it is where luke castellan gets a chance to speak and it deserves to b seen at least once

LUKE:

     Fresh donuts sat up on the counter, the sweet smell of frosting wafting through the space. The place was warm; their air conditioner busted. It was a random Wednesday at eleven in the morning so there weren’t many bystanders, though the few that were around kept stealing glances towards me. A mother lost in thought touched her cheek and when she caught me looking back, ducked her head. I kept tapping the tabletop with my knuckles, wondering how hard I’d have to whine to get the waitress to give me a chocolate glaze. She’d already passed by three times out of worry.

     The shining, silver bell shook and rang as the diner door opened. 

     He stood in the entryway for a long moment, taking in the length of the diner. It took him two tries to notice me, but when he did, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a deep frown. He approached the booth slowly and held my gaze all the while.

    “Not funny,” Hermes said. I smiled with all the gusto of a fourteen-year-old.

    “Sorry,” I said, voice dropping several octaves as I aged ten years. “I couldn’t help myself. Too soon?” He took a seat without another word. Blonde hair, blue eyes—nothing much had changed; in fact, there wasn’t a trace of greying hair to be found. He seemed fit, youthful. “I thought we’d leave some mark on your complexions.” He gave a tight smile and said nothing, but in the silence I noticed it. An airy presence, circling around me much like the scent of the pastries. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, like a snake amongst the forest floor.

     He was checking me.

     I did the same to him and watched, rather gleefully, as his eyes widened in recognition. It felt strange, kind of annoying. Is this how gods’ felt? Striped raw, bodies vibrating like giant batteries next to one another?

       His search turned up short, but mine didn’t.

      “Jean pocket, out with it.”

      He sighed and placed a gold iPhone in the middle of the table. The caduceus shimmered on its back. 

     Oh, look who it is! Martha said.

     “Nice to see you,” I said.

     I didn’t say this was nice!

      “And you too, George.”

     Hey, Luke, he said, if you take over his position, will you get to keep us?

     “I’d hope so, you two are a riot.”

     “Comical,” Hermes said. “Both of you keep quiet.” We looked at each other again, ready to speak but unsure how to start. The waitress beat us to it.

     “How can I—oh!” She nearly snapped her pencil in half. Her eyes were wide on me, then on the next booth over, then to the other side of the diner. “Wasn’t there, I mean, there was a child—”

       “Can I have three of those delicious looking donuts, miss?” I asked. The waitress bit her lip absentmindedly.

        “Sure thing,” she said, “And you?”

        “Nothing,” Hermes said, then his eyes glowed. “Thank you, and apologies.” The waitress stared blankly, then walked off without another word. The donuts from the counter disappeared and reappeared at our table. 

      “Thanks,” I said.

      He let out a tired breath, “Lukas—”

      “Yes, father?”

     His expression soured, wind rattled the windows, but then it softened, his eyes shut. I stared at the caduceus, quiet now. He sat back in his seat, placed a steady hand on the wood, and stared out towards the street. Towards the shops and sidewalks familiar to us both.

     “We’re here to talk, correct?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then explain.”

.

     Hermes had the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, eyes closed. As the silence stretched on, the conversation played over in my head. Again and again and again. The whole time he barely said a word, not unlike him. . .but not all that comforting. The diner was empty now, though I hadn’t realized when it happened. No weapons, those were the terms, but it would be a lie to say that my palm wasn’t itching to call Backbiter to it. Martha and George slithered around the staff mimicking some sort of animated phone case.

     I should run.

     He stood without warning. I followed.

    “Let’s go for a walk,” he turned and left. Again, I followed.

     Late summer heat wrapped around us like a blanket as we exited into midday. The area was lively, busy shoppers and cyclists, joggers and freshly-washed cars. Sun shone down heavy on their exteriors and I squinted against the glint. It was way too bright—

     “There’s no one here,” he said. I turned. He was waiting on the sidewalk, body facing north, towards the path that would take you further inland. Away from the main strip, closer to the suburbs. “Just you and me.”

     “Right,” I said and shoved both hands deep into their pockets. I knew where we were going.

     Higher up the heat wasn’t as oppressive. Hot winds blew now and then, rustling dry leaves and pushing the scent of saltwater up from the bay. I breathed deeply out of reflex. We walked in silence. I kept our strides in rhythm. That was until I saw it.

     The beat-up white house with green hinges that had fallen into disrepair from neglect and misfortune was almost unrecognizable. A new coat of paint covered the siding, the chipping front door had been replaced, and curtains blew out of wide open windows. A lush, green lawn surrounded the property, split in half by a clean walkway bracketed with a rainbow of flowers. There wasn’t a single discolored, mildewed, decaying stuffed monster to be found. I jogged forward in spite of myself.

     “What did you. . .” I turned back. Hermes had slowed, taking in the scene much the same as I. He looked at me. “What did you do?”

     “Luke, this isn’t,” he stared at the house and his face twisted, “I haven’t done anything.”

     I swallowed a dry mouth and ran up the walkway, all caution lost to the innate yet unearned fear for a loved one. The door rattled under my fist as I knocked repeatedly, frantically. Hermes took his place on the tiny porch beside me.

     “Hello,” I shouted. “Hello, is anyone home? Hello!”

     “Coming! Just a moment,” a gentle voice rose from the depths of the house and a few moments later, a woman opened the door. Blonde hair, not frizzed, interrupted by streaks of gray. Green eyes; forest green, not neon. Healthy skin, not sickly. A warm smile that only grew wider as she took us in.

     “Mom.”

     “Luke,” she said and pulled me in to press a kiss to my forehead. I went as rigid as ice; she didn’t notice. “And look at you,” she said to Hermes, who hid his shock well. He had a smile on, pressed a kiss to her cheek, but I could tell somehow, that he was as clueless as I.

     The spell.

     “Come on you two,” she ushered inside. “I’m baking.”

     “Cookies?” I guessed. It was the wrong thing to say. She stopped midstep, hand on the doorknob, and stared at me. Both eyes open, mouth in a frown. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked and shook her head, as if pushing away a stupor. 

     “No, pie. Do you like cookies?” She led us into the house. It was quiet, a television played low in the front room. Varied, jewel hues covered the walls, hiding the dirty eggshell they used to be. Tarps covered some furniture, though they were clearly being used. The wood floors shined from a polishing. The entire space smelled of pastry. Hermes followed faster than I. “Luke,” she called. She was leaning out the kitchen archway. “Lemonade?”

      “Sure,” I said but couldn’t move. Then Hermes called my name and I scoffed. 

      The kitchen was different too. All the grime had disappeared. All the appliances updated. The old, retro table had been replaced with a long wooden piece, and on top of it, were strawberries. Buckets and buckets of strawberries, contained in plastic, straw, wicker; anything that would hold them. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering here. My mom held out a full glass and brought my hand to it to make sure it didn’t drop.

     “Strawberries?” I asked.

     She looked at the table, “Oh! Yes, I’ve grown quite an affinity for them,” she shrugged. “Not sure why but. . . they’re pretty aren’t they?” A beep sounded.

     “May,” Hermes said as she pulled a tray from the oven. She looked over her shoulder. 

     “Yes?” 

     “May, are you alright?”

     My mother smiled—with a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Not possible, her teeth had yellowed and rotted years ago. “Of course, I am. It’s a beautiful day and I have two of my favorite people right in front of me.”

     “May,” Hermes said a third time, this one pained. I realized where I felt confusion, he felt hurt. My mother noticed. Her smile dropped and her eyes along with it. “May, the last time I saw you. . .it didn’t look like this.”

     She placed the tray on the stove and took a heavy seat at the table. The towering strawberries seemed to suffocate her figure. “I was very different, wasn’t I? But I don’t like to think about it. Why not have some pie and then you can go? I don’t expect you to stay very long.” She looked at both of us. “You never can.”

    Hermes huffed in misery. He came to sit by her side. I felt like I was watching a television show. This couldn’t be mine, this couldn’t be my parents. 

    He took her hand, “I don’t mean to put you through pain but I’m a little shocked. Your condition. . . wasn’t exactly fixable. I’d like to know what happened.”

    “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “About a year ago, I woke up. . .at least it felt like that. The presence of that thing disappeared, mostly. I could think straight again. I started cleaning up, there wasn’t anything else to do. The calendar on the wall was from the nineties. Found out someone had been paying the bills all this time,” she touched Hermes cheek and he smiled. “One morning I started working on the lawn. . .” she gave a sad, little laugh. “Apparently, I’d gained a reputation. The neighbors were so worried they tried to take the shears out of my hands, but once they realized. . .they helped me. People helped me fix up the house, gave me food, took me to the dentist, taught me how to use these new phones. They were so kind,” she sniffled. “I really didn’t deserve that much kindness.”

     “Of course you do,” Hermes said but she lifted her head towards me.

     “I don’t remember much. I get glimpses, pains even. But what I can recall, none of it is good. The memories. . .and the visions. Luke, honey, I’m so sorry.” The air was so thick I could’ve cut through it with Backbiter. I scuffed my boot against the linoleum. Silence snaked its way through the kitchen, like Martha and Geroge slithered on that phone.

    “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mom,” I said finally.

     “But there is,” she tried. “All that happened, the things I did, and then I just let you—”

     “There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” I said and the air shifted from thick to frigid. Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his gaze from my mother. Whatever. “So did you chuck all my old stuff? Not that it matters, I’m a little too old for Power Ranger pajamas.”

      My mother wiped at her eyes, “Oh no, I haven’t touched your room. Go take a look, it’s all there.”

.

     The tiny, off-white carpeted room with one square window was exactly how I’d left it a long, long time ago. The bureau had one drawer open. Angry crayon marks covered a low corner of the wall. The small, twin bed was made, but wrinkled. I walked up to it and ran a hand across the blanket. 

     I had the sudden urge to stay.

    It hit me like a brick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from my lungs. Anger followed soon after. What are you thinking? I thought to myself.

    You could go to college.

    You lost your right to a future.

    You don’t get to leave, Annabeth’s voice echoed.

    Through the window I could see the road; children playing across the street; a man starting up a lawn mower. It felt surreal, freakishly abnormal.

    Maybe this was a type of punishment.

    “What are you thinking?” Hermes asked. I hadn’t heard him enter.

    “I’m thinking I’m too big for this bed,” I said and turned towards him, hands in pockets. His cadecaus was out now. The snakes slithered the length of it, restless. “Not that it matters.”

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 19

((Warning for violence and POV char major injury at the end, but I promise everyone we care about is still alive))

Erich wakes abruptly, hand going immediately to his pistol, and listens—

“Morning, sir,” Degurechaff greets him as she stalks closer, her spiritual presence prickly with exhaustion-annoyance-exasperation as she comes to a stop a bare foot from his head. “I have the troops breaking camp already after a cold breakfast. Here’s yours. Major Schwarz will be along in a moment with theirs.”

Erich grunts and forces himself up, shaking off both Alexis’ and Urahara’s arms in the process and pointedly not thinking about… about anything related to how he was being held. By a Shinigami.

(Not now.)

(Not yet.)

He fumbles for his glasses with one hand while scrubbing the grit from his eyes with the other, then accepts the two mugs from Degurechaff and squints into them. “Trying to poison me, Degurechaff?” he asks dryly as he takes a drink of the lukewarm not-coffee that she’s presented to him, then blinks and frowns into the mug. “I still have no idea how Serebryakov does it, but this isn’t half bad.”

Degurechaff shrugs and says, “I’ve given up trying to figure it out and just enjoy the result.” She takes a step back and settles, arms behind her back and her gaze drifting between the three of them for a moment before she finally seems to make a decision. “Last night was peaceful,” she starts to report. “Watchmen say they didn’t hear or see anything of note, and the couple of scouts I sent out this morning haven’t found any tracks beyond what little of our own were missed in the dark. I sent a team out to erase what evidence they could, and to follow us to continue doing so as we move.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Erich says, mind already turning over plans for the day as he downs the barely appetizing food in the second mug and washes it down with the better-than-usual ersatz coffee.

(Real food is definitely on the list of things he’s looking forward to.)

Schwarz nods a greeting as he approaches them, four mugs held carefully in his hands, and passes them over to both Alexis and Urahara. “Sorry about the food,” he apologizes as Alexis gives the mugs a dubious look. “Not really much I can do about it, ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug, then quickly downs what he gave her, grimacing at the taste. “Not much you can honestly do about it out here.”

Urahara just wrinkles his nose and stares at the food in disbelief, then casts a sidelong look at Erich and asks, “You’ve been living on this?”

“What other choice do I have?” Erich asks in amusement, then nods at the forest around them and says, “Armies make animals run. We do what we have to.”

Degurechaff makes a slightly amused sound and adds, “Can you imagine any of us trying to hunt for our own food? That lot wouldn’t survive a day if that was a requirement.” She watches him a moment longer, waiting for Urahara to make a move, before huffing in exasperation and saying, “You’ll get used to it after a while. Now eat your food so we can all get moving again.”

Urahara gives her a flat stare at that, then reluctantly lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip, face scrunching up in disgust. “This is terrible,” he mutters, before tipping it back and quickly swallowing the whole thing. “Yuck,” he declares in Imperial as he hands the mug back to Schwarz, much to the man’s clear amusement.

“Going to drink your coffee?” Erich asks with a tiny smirk, indicating the second mug that Urahara had been handed.

“No,” Urahara declares after giving it a sniff, then offers it to Erich. “You have.”

“You can have it,” Erich repeats absently as he accepts the mug with a shrug. “Thanks.”

“I don’t blame him in the slightest,” Alexis grumbles as she finishes off hers, hands it back, then rises to her feet and begins to pack away the bedroll she’d been using. “I haven’t had real coffee in forever, but this stuff is positively vile.”

Erich snorts and mumbles, “This is better than usual,” before he drains Urahara’s mug without a second’s hesitation; it might not actually have the benefits of real coffee, but he can usually manage to trick himself into thinking it does if he downs enough of it.

(Sometimes, that’s the only thing keeping him going.)

(That and pure stubbornness.)

With a sigh he pushes himself to his feet, hands the mugs back to Schwarz, and sets about helping Alexis clear their little campsite up. There’s no way they can hide that a large group camped in the area, but the more they can muddle the signs the better.

“Let’s get moving,” Erich orders as soon as the area is put back to rights. He pulls on his pack, shoulders his rifle, settles Benihime at his waist, and steps over to Degurechaff as he waits for Alexis and Urahara to finish getting ready as well. “You will let me help you,” he says to Urahara as the man gets closer.

Urahara huffs but nods slightly. “So long as it doesn’t stress you.”

Degurechaff looks between them with narrowed eyes, then scowls when Erich gives a small shake of his head; still, she at least stops looking like she wants to question both of them. “Ready to go, sir?”

“Yes. Let’s get moving before we burn any more daylight,” Erich says, glancing up at the thick canopy overhead; there’s only barely enough light to see by at the moment, but it’s getting lighter with every minute that passes.

Time is wasting.

***

They set out, marching through the forest at a steady, ground-eating pace for the second day in a row.

(This time, he won’t let Urahara exhaust himself.)

(This time he’ll actually pay attention.)

(He swears it.)

For as tiring as the march is, it’s also boring, especially the longer they go without any indication of pursuit. There’s nothing but trees all around them, gigantic trunks rising up into a vast canopy that shades them from the sky, with only the occasional beam of sunlight to indicate that the sun is still out. And the more they march, the more it all stays the same: trees and trees and yet more trees, occasionally broken by rocky areas they need to circle around.

Each time they stop to rest, Erich settles beside Alexis and Urahara and uses the chance to center himself and help Urahara refill his reserves; it’s obvious that even with his help the man is beginning to flag — truthfully, even Alexis is beginning to flag — and that’s… he can’t do anything about that, no matter how much he might wish to.

(Marching is not a skill that anyone but an army needs.)

(And these two have never needed those skills before.)

(It’s only because of their inner strength that they’ve kept up so far.)

There’s little he needs to personally see to in the middle of a march — Degurechaff and Schwarz are some of the best officers a General could wish for — which unfortunately means that he has plenty of time to stew in his worries.

With every kilometer they cross, they come closer to Rerugen lands — to Quincy lands — and to the confrontation that he just knows is going to happen. The border guards won’t dare to confront them, not an entire Living World army marching directly at them, but they will send word ahead. Word that will mean that there will be a ‘welcoming’ party waiting for them. Word that will mean everyone on high alert.

(Word that will mean a confrontation as soon as they spot Urahara.)

(He’s leading danger right to their doorstep.)

(Not just the Republic’s army, but a Reaper as well—!)

A stir in the line drags Erich’s thoughts from their circling, and he quickly brings a hand up to signal a halt.

(Have they been spotted?)

(Have they been caught?!)

Degurechaff leaves her men and hurries to his side, her gaze hard as she glances back. “This doesn’t bode well,” she murmurs as soon as she draws even with him.

“Everything was going a bit too well, wasn’t it?” Erich can’t help but ask, before wincing internally at how exhausted he sounds.

Degurechaff huffs in agreement, and Erich fights back a grimace at the way Alexis and Urahara give them concerned looks and then exchange worried glances; while it’s nice that his two soulmates are agreeing on something, he really wishes it was anything but concern for him.

(He’s fine.)

(He doesn’t need their concern.)

(He just… he just needs some time to rest is all.)

A scout hurries towards them with Schwarz at his side, his mouth a thin slash and his presence bleeding concern-worry-despair into the air. “There’s a hamlet burning just to the north of us,” he reports as soon as he reaches Erich and Degurechaff. “My team didn’t spot whoever did it, but it looks recent.”

Degurechaff grimaces and looks up at him. “We should check it out, sir. If it’s the Republic…”

“Then they’re closer than we anticipated,” Erich agrees, then casts a glance at his exhausted men. He’d prefer to do anything but confront the Republic so close to Rerugen lands — so close to safety — but they can’t just leave it to chance. There’s also the possibility that it’s a feint meant to draw his men out into the open, but…

He can’t just leave it be.

“Colonel Degurechaff, gather a squad of your men and meet me back here in ten. We’re going to investigate,” Erich decides, then fixes Schwarz with a look when the man stiffens in realization. “Get me a small squad that’s up for a swift sweep of the area.”

“Sir,” Schwarz grits out, a wealth of meaning in the single word.

“You and Major Weiss will be in command here,” Erich says before Schawrz can protest further. “Be ready to get the men moving, but don’t waste your time trying for a rescue if things go wrong and we’re outnumbered.”

Schwarz’s lips thin, but he nods and turns away, striding down the line with his shoulders straight and his back stiff.

“Erich—”

Erich holds up a hand, cutting off Alexis’ attempt to speak, and says, “No. I need to see to this. If something happens, get the men settled in Rerugen lands and then send some of our people out—”

“I’m going with you,” Urahara declares firmly, something dark-stubborn-vicious about him that sends a shiver down Erich’s spine. “You are not my superior,” Urahara adds before Erich can try to reason with him. “And I don’t have anything else to do. You and Degurechaff-san are the only two who speak my language.” He pauses, hesitates a moment, then bows his head and whispers, “Please, I just found you. Don’t… don’t make me stand aside while you throw yourself into danger.”

Erich swallows, mind whirling as he tries to come up with something, anything, to get Urahara to stay behind, but— but he can’t. Not in the face of Urahara’s obvious distress. Not when he knows how capable Urahara is—

“You will stay at his side at all times,” Degurechaff orders, making Erich twitch at the suddenness of her arrival. “If you come with us, you will do everything in your power to keep General Rerugen safe. Understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Urahara answers as he straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to him, I swear.”

Erich grits his teeth and spits, “I do not need watching,” before turns away and takes a breath, trying to pull his fury under control; he knows what Degurechaff is doing and he even understands it — if it was one of his superiors declaring they were going into a hostile situation with only a small squad, he’d leverage their soulmate’s presence as well — but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

(He doesn’t need to be babysat!)

Luckily, he can see Schwarz returning with the squad he requested, which means he can just… ignore the whole thing — especially Urahara’s watchful-wary-uncertain expression — and move on.

(Urahara will follow him no matter what.)

(Better to just save his energy for a fight he can win.)

Erich shrugs off his pack and hands it to Schwarz as the man reaches them, then hesitates, hand over Benihime’s hilt, and slowly forces himself to release the blade from his side. “Since I can’t make you stay behind,” Erich murmurs as he offers the blade back to Urahara.

“Thank you,” Urahara whispers, voice choked with something that Erich doesn’t want to understand, doesn’t want to face, because— because no one should be so damn thankful to be handed back their own weapon before heading into danger.

So instead of acknowledging it, he turns away. Shoves his tangled sorrow-frustration-fury deep into his soul and buries it beneath his mission mindset.

(If he ever meets the people who engraved such lessons into his soulmate’s mind—)

(Well, it certainly won’t be a very polite meeting.)

“Lead the way,” Erich orders the scout as he gestures sharply for Degurechaff and the others to fall in.

“Yes, sir,” the scout replies with a quick, sloppy salute, then turns and heads off into the forest.

Erich follows the scout through the trees, trying to place exactly where they are on his mental map; it is a bit further into Imperial territory than he expected the Republic to have already ventured, but if it’s a squad of mages…

(No.)

(Don’t assume.)

Urahara stays at Erich’s side as they hurry on, the connection between them humming with resolve-focus-determination as they fall into harmony, both of them preparing for a fight at the end of the march.

(Maybe this wasn’t a mistake.)

(Maybe they’ll be able to win.)

The scout waves them to a stop and gestures Erich forward: they’ve reached a small break in the trees, leading down into a shallow valley, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke.

Erich scans the area with a frown, disturbed by the lack of visible enemies, though there does seem to be some movement down in the hamlet itself. “Anything?” he asks Degurechaff as she joins him.

“Nothing,” she confirms with a scowl. “I don’t sense any magic emanation, either. If the Republic is here, they’re hiding in the village itself.”

“I don’t like this,” Urahara murmurs as he steps a bit closer to Erich’s side, body loose and prepared for combat. “It’s sloppy,” he adds as he tips his chin towards one edge of the village, where only a few scattered houses are on fire. “I’ve seen how your people work, and if your enemies act similarly, this seems…”

“This is someone looting,” Degurechaff breathes in horrified realization, then spins back towards their squads and barks, “Senses sharp and weapons up! This isn’t the Republic, this is—”

Degurechaff yelps as Urahara darts in and shoves, sending her toppling to the ground, and Erich stiffens. Draws his pistol and turns—

Bark explodes from the tree behind Degurechaff. A gunshot cracks. Voices rise from the trees to their left, figures in familiar uniform darting towards them—

“Shit,” Degurechaff spits, scrambling to her feet. “Go, go, go! Ignore their uniforms and fight!”

Urahara launches himself forward, blade drawn and expression grim, and takes out a fake Imperial soldier with a single blow.

Erich ducks behind a tree. Levels his pistol and cracks off a shot. Switches aim to another. Fires again. Switches. Fires. Again. Again. Ducks away to another tree, mind blank and hands steady and aim focused. Cracks off another shot. Another. Reloads and darts a look—

The enemy is charging them. Knives and bayonets and blades and everything but guns but that makes no sense, why would they charge, why not keep firing, why give up their advantage—

His soldiers are good. Degurechaff is good. Urahara is good. Charging makes no sense—

“Bastard!” a voice to his left spits. “Officer over here! Take him down!”

Erich jerks his attention towards the newcomer. Swings himself around, pistol firing, but it’s too late, the man is too close, face contorted in fury and knife poised and Erich twists aside, praying it’s enough, praying he can escape—

Pain!

He stumbles, pistol falling from nerveless hands as the man staggers against his side and then collapses, the knife skittering across his ribs and then down, a line of vicious ice that ends when it jars against his hip and tumbles free.

He staggers back. Presses a hand to his side. Swallows a cry as ice becomes fire, wild-furious-consuming, and tries to think, tries to gather himself—

Strong-warm-steady hands grasp him. Tug him against a broad chest. Words in his ear that he can’t parse, should be able to, can’t—

Power crashes down, hate-rage-fury, and it’s like drowning, air stripped from his lungs and body unresponsive and darkness with no light, no direction, no hope— he scrabbles for air, for freedom, claws at whatever has him, every motion like wading through magma but he needs to escape, needs to get away, to get safe—

More words in his ear. A hand against his chest. Power sinking beneath his skin.

It’s cold. Cold enough to burn, cold enough to freeze, except it feels good. Feels safe. Feels like trust-home-loyalty.

Feels like a promise.

Erich slumps. Gasps for breath.

Surrenders.

[killherfreakout]

half of who i am isn’t all my fault

a series about hands and where they touch.

part two: your hand under my chin

[a/n: bipolar disorder, mixed state of mania and depression.]

* * *

The world is ending.

At least, to a twenty-something artist in Paris named Eliott Demaury, it feels like it is. And he can’t decide if he wants to sit there and watch or throw caution to the wind and go down with it.

It’s another quiet weeknight in the city, late enough that the partygoers are on their way home but early enough that people aren’t up for work. So the world is continuing as normal, and yet, it feels like Eliott is on the edge of it and about to fall off. 

And there’s no one to blame but himself; no one to blame but his chemically imbalanced and traitorous brain, on the brink of consuming every last semblance of control he has left, in the middle of a sleepless night. Eliott knows this feeling too well, and no matter who much he tries to fight it, his attempts are futile. 

Eliott finds himself sitting on the edge of their bed, and he watches as Lucas’ parted lips huff out soft breaths in his sleep. He looks ethereal, like some kind of angel sent to watch over Eliott when he wants to give up on himself, always there when he doesn’t know he needs him. Lucas is some kind of perfect dream, in between real and imaginary, as he lays there like he has no idea the sight he makes.

Lucas said once, after Eliott made him try his special omelettes, I’m glad you have one flaw, otherwise you’re just too perfect to be real. And Eliott knows the way people look at him, like he’s an entity only good for his beauty — although, if he has anything to say about it, he would argue he’s the furthest from that — and not a person with real human emotion underneath it all. The thought makes a cruel, humorless laugh bubble up inside his throat.

And he doesn’t want to be the asshole who’s ungrateful for his conventionally attractive features, but every time it comes up, it just— it feels like it’s the universe’s twisted way of overcompensating for the ugliness that hides beneath the shiny surface. It makes this shame and guilt swirl inside of him, and there’s this voice mocking him, saying, if only they knew. If only they knew how flawed this body is, how close it is to breaking. 

His boyfriend’s peaceful state somehow magnifies Eliott’s awakeness, and his body feels heavy but his mind and heart feel like they’re going fast enough to run a marathon. Like he has all this energy he needs to burn but he’s stuck inside the small apartment as the world ends inside it, and seems to keep going outside of it.

Inevitably he finds his cigarettes on the ledge of the living room window, and goes through one before he even realizes he’s smoking it; he goes to light another but gets annoyed at the busted lighter, deciding to raid the fridge for something to wash down the nicotine.

A gust of wind outside reminds him of the outside world, his body somehow not big enough for everything he feels inside, like he belongs out there. But he can feel himself coming down, feeling like he fits inside his body again the more he breathes, and he tries with all his might to stay afloat before he crashes.

Eliott lays on the cold floor of their bedroom, his head against the wall under the window and legs bent at the knee with his feet against the foot of the bed. It’s not quite comfortable but the position allows him to see some of the sky over the tops of the buildings outside, including a few stars that shine through the darkness.

He lays there for a while, just looking at the tiny shining stars and melting into the cold floor, trying to focus on the sound of Lucas’ tiny breaths from the bed.

There’s a star that peeks through a small cloud as it passes by, and Eliott can’t tell which one it is or which constellation it belongs to, but he knows that it’s one that moves around the North Star, like all the others do. Then a thought comes to him: he’s like one of those stars. He’s always changing and going in circles, sometimes hidden behind clouds in his mind, not visible to anyone. The thought could be dreamy and romantic, comparing himself to the stars, but with the current state he’s in it feels like a curse. Like the pole his life revolves around is his bipolar disorder, where he has no choice but to let it decide his course.

It makes him feel so small and so alone, always at war with his mind and with himself. The stars seem so far away, and he’s just left lying on the cold floor in his own apocalypse that no one can see.

His eyes wander across the ceiling, unfocused and frenzied as these thoughts keep swirling around his head, hands clenching at his sides.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the room where Lucas tosses in the bed, groaning before calling, “Baby?”

Eliott registers the sounds but can’t break his focus from the ceiling of his mind and the room.

“Eli, where are you?”

Lucas calls his name a few more times, the sound getting further and further away as the younger one searches the other rooms of the apartment. Eliott wants to scream for help, wants to tell Lucas, I’m here, I’m here, but he can’t. 

Somehow, though, he seems to beckon him back.

There’s footsteps and then a source of light, and Lucas almost trips over Eliott’s legs where he still rests on the floor by their bed. Lucas sighs when he realizes he’s found him, sleepy features illuminated by the blue light of his phone. His eyes are squinty from the light and his hair is a perfect mess all over his head, a few strands falling down to his eyes. He still looks like an angel - and here he is, to save Eliott from himself like he knew he would.

“There you are,” Lucas kneels on the floor by Eliott’s side. Eliott finally focuses on his voice and his presence, his angel. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Eliott doesn’t move, can’t move. Lead has settled into his bones trapping him to the floor, and every nerve screams to get up, to go back to bed with Lucas, but there he lies, paralyzed.

“Oh, Eliott,” Lucas’ smile disappears, thumbing away the tears that Eliott didn’t even know were flowing. His voice is soft and loving just like he is. “What’s going on?”

His eyes close to the words, no doubt causing more wetness from his eyes. The thumb wipes it away again, so gently, it’s like magic.

Subconsciously Eliott registers Lucas’ concern and the way he asked, noticing how he asked what’s going on? instead of what’s wrong? — because something doesn’t necessarily have to be wrong to make Eliott feel like this, because what Eliott feels right now is something that happens sometimes. They’ve had plenty of experience with this exact moment, when Eliott is close to losing himself and Lucas makes sure to keep him from going too far. 

“Lucas…” His voice is weak, his throat closing and breath stuck somewhere that can’t get out. Eliott can feel the touch again, this time firmer, more real. Lucas leans down to be closer to him, and keeps up that brushing on his face, but it’s overwhelming all of a sudden, and there’s no simple answer to his question and—

Eliott finds some strength, or just a fighting response, to turn over and away from the touch and warmth of Lucas. He misses it as soon as it’s gone but stays in his new position with his back turned to the other boy. Lucas doesn’t reach out again, just leaves him be. Eliott is glad his boyfriend is respecting his space but can’t help the guilt setting in that he pushed him away. Eliott lays there quietly, though his mind is anything but. He doesn’t know if Lucas is still there when he finally finds his voice again.

“I was doing so well, I thought I might have finally had some control over this. But it just came out of nowhere and—”

Sudden panic washes over him, because it never really comes out of nowhere, and if it does, there are signs he can recognize so he’s at least a bit prepared.

Eliott thinks of the fact that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and how tired he doesn’t feel until right at this moment. But he was so focused on his art projects and so excited with how they were coming together, the time seemed to fly by. That happens sometimes, just getting swept up in inspiration and letting it take him away - without triggering an episode. Because he prides himself in his passion and creativity, and how he uses art to sort through his feelings and express his truest self. The thought of his recent works being the product of his mania rather than his own intention makes him so angry and upset that he was born with a brain that always ends up letting him down. 

But now in hindsight he doesn’t know what to think, or what exactly triggered these feelings, or how he got here, or what will come next. Eliott had been diligent with taking his meds and going to his weekly sessions, but now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember if he took them yesterday and—

Eliott lays with his back on the floor again. “I should have seen this coming. I knew I was doing too well that something was going to happen, and it’s always the same shit.” He tilts his head back to look at the stars again, and imagines himself as one of them. “No matter how hard I try, it's like nothing I do is ever up to me. And I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life.”

It’s silent again and Eliott has a moment of terror that he’s completely alone, like he’s the last person on Earth and shouting into an endless, dark void.

“Hey,” the sound is like a beam of light breaking through the dark void, like another lost soul is greeting him, saying, I’m here, I’m here.

Lucas hasn’t left from his place next to him; he’s laying on his side facing Eliott on the hard floor. Eliott doesn’t look at him, though; he doesn’t want to see him look at how much of a mess he is. He knows Lucas doesn’t pity him, and he’s so glad for that, but the way Lucas has so much love and care in his eyes makes Eliott only feel more undeserving of it. So he stays on his back and glances from the ceiling to the endless sky.

“Hey,” Lucas says again, in a soft whisper, but firm this time. “Eli, can you look at me?”

Eliott doesn’t want to be like the stars and revolve around his bipolar. Maybe he can find a new way to navigate, by following a new star, a new pole that is a fixed point in his life. Like the one in front of him now, made of stardust and blue eyes and love.

He swallows thickly, his breath finding a way out as he catches sight of Lucas. Eliott was right, there’s so much love in his beautiful, still sleepy eyes. Even though Eliott is turned on his side to face him, he tucks his head down to his chest. 

Lucas comes a little closer, and slowly reaches a hand out to Eliott as not to scare him. He runs his hand over the fabric of Eliott’s chest where his heart beats fast underneath, and gently uses it to lift his chin so that Lucas can see him.

Eliott lets him, lets Lucas position his face to open up to him, lets himself be seen. But he’s stubborn when he gets like this, so he still looks down and away from Lucas who still has Eliott’s chin in his hand.

“Breathe,” Lucas says calmly, looking into his eyes. Eliott keeps their gaze this time; Lucas’ is more direct and practical now, communicating more than his voice. Eliott lets out an excuse for a breath, more like a quiet sob, and then Lucas says again, “Breathe, in and out.” 

Lucas watches as Eliott tries again, but it’s still impossible. He wants to look away again but the hand under his chin won’t let him, the fingers there softly tracing the frown on his face as if to smooth it away. 

“Listen to mine and try to breathe with me.” 

It’s then that Eliott decides that Lucas is his North Star, even if just for tonight. His mania and his depression and his anxiety and his sleepless nights will always be there, but right here and right now, he uses every last ounce of control he has to listen as Lucas’ chest rises and fills with air and slowly deflates. 

Eliott tunes into the sound of every breath, and soon he somehow finds that he’s breathing in time with them. 

“There you go, keep breathing,” Lucas reassures, his hand moving from Eliott’s chin to his shoulder and slowly down his arm to where his hands lay in front of him on the floor. 

After some time, Eliott’s heart rate is slow again, and he’s exhausted. He’s about to fall, into real sleep for the first time in days, and Lucas is right there with him.

Lucas’ voice sounds like it’s on the other side of that void, far away but extremely close at the same time. “I’m sorry you feel like that, and I wish I could say the right thing to make you feel better, but all I can say is that you’re right, it sucks. I mean, I’ll never know exactly how you feel, but I’m acknowledging that it must feel awful. But I do know that you’re so much stronger than you think, and I know that you are so much more than your weakest moments, and that I’m right here with you through anything.” 

Eliott’s eyes are heavy and his mind is starting to drift, but the words make him hold on just a little bit longer. He flutters his eyes open to see Lucas staring back at him, the smallest sleepy smile on his lips. Eliott does his best to return it, even if it’s a lazy slant of his mouth. 

“I'm sure it must feel really lonely sometimes, but I’ll keep reminding you that you’re not alone.” Lucas’ hand is tickling down his forearm, and he intertwines their fingers to bring them to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses across his knuckles. “And I can’t wait to deal with you for the rest of my life.”

My angel. It’s the last thing Eliott thinks before he surrenders to sleep, his hand still in Lucas’ where they lay on the hardwood floor.

When Eliott wakes it’s to the sun shining at a low angle into the room, and he tosses in the bed to shy away from it, bumping into a hard body on his side. Lucas is sitting against the headboard smiling down at him, greeting him with a good afternoon, my love.

After a few long moments of waking up, still coming to and vaguely remembering his state the previous night, Eliott swallows though his throat is dry and regards his boyfriend looking all awake and beautiful.

“Did you carry me to bed?” Eliott asks half in awe and half in confusion. He’s done the same for Lucas countless times, but he doesn’t think his boyfriend ever has.

Lucas scoffs but he has the widest, most beautiful smile on his face. The kind that is contagious even when Eliott is not feeling up to smiling.

He gets him to drink some water and take his meds, and Eliott is too tired to fight it. 

“Remember when I said you were stronger than you think? Well, so am I.” Lucas smirks with a quick raise of his brows, and Eliott goes to bury his face into Lucas’ neck and shoulder, his absolute favorite place in the universe.

“I love you,” is all Eliott has the energy to say, before he rolls over and goes to sleep a few hours more. Lucas laughs that soft and adorable laugh of his, and joins him under the covers. My love, my light, my angel, my star.

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect• 

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

  The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

  Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

 Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

  You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

  Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

  Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

  Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

   Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

  Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years.  Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

 The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

 The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

 Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

    Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

 Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

 Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

  Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

  Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

 The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

  The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

  Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be,  so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

 "Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

 His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

 Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

 I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

 Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"

[antoni-anxiety]

Tommy is babey, literally tho

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Run. Run. Run was all that could go through his mind right now. Dream was chasing Tommy. Tommy just wanted to get away from there. Dream blew up Logstedshire; Tommy had nothing to lose, apart from his life apparently, which was what he was running for right now. After about 15 minutes of a very close chase between Tommy and Dream, Tommy seemed to outrun the elder, which he was ever so thankful for.

After running so far, Tommy was exhausted and rightfully so; he almost just died. He was so, so cold, he was stuck, surrounded by snow. The boy decided to walk north for a bit further, in hopes that he would find rescue, and just as he hoped, he did. In the distance, he saw a small spruce cottage, with smoke erupting from the chimney, signaling that someone lived there; whoever it was, Tommy prayed that it wasn’t Dream. Uh oh. His vision became dotted and he could barely see, that probably wasn’t good. Right as he reached the front door and was about to knock, his legs collapsed and his mind went blank. He had passed out.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Technoblade finally had some time to himself. He’s been busy breeding the hounds and organising all day and he hadn’t had much time to relax in a while, and therefore he was now all cozy next to his fireplace, reading some books on greek mythology. He was pretty relaxed, well, until he heard a thud at his front door that is. He contemplated leaving it however his curiosity got the better of him. As he opened his door, he saw someone laying on the front step, ‘There’s no way that they’re older than 16.’ he thought to himself. Now, Techno is a ‘lone wolf’ as some might call it but he wasn’t gonna let some malnourished kid freeze to death on his front step. The man maneuvered the boy from outside onto his small couch; now that he got a better look at the boy, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

This frail, skinny boy was his younger brother. Worry filled Techno’s eyes, even though he pretended that the younger annoyed him ever so much, he had a soft spot for him, the kid could brighten anyone’s day by just saying hello. He had no idea what happened but that kid who was a ray of sunshine suddenly looked as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks and if anyone were to merely touch him, he’d crumble right then and there on the spot. Techno didn’t really know what to do except make Tommy comfortable until he woke up, and once he did, he’d ask him about everything. Techno couldn’t help but wonder what Tommy had gone through before he was there, ofcourse, he knew about Tommy’s exile but if it was like when he was exiled for the first time, Tommy wouldn’t be like this. Techno scoured his mind for what he knew of Tommy’s latest exile; Dream was to look after him, well clearly he wasn’t doing a good job. Oh fuck. Dream must have been abusing his little brother. With that thought, Techno stood up in rage. He was gonna kill that green bastard. That was until he heard stirring and a small whine from the couch. Whipping his head around, he saw Tommy try to sit up and ran over to him. The second that Tommy saw him he immediately started panicking. Techno being the awkward man he is, hugged Tommy in attempt to calm him down. This was gonna be a long night.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TOMMY

Tommy opened his eyes to be in an unfamiliar place, so of course, his first instinct was to panic. He sat up as quickly as he could and looked around, he saw his older brother approach him. Still in his tired state, his mind was all over the place and all that was going through his mind was ‘POSSIBLE DANGER. RUN’. Before he could process what to do and where to go, Techno had seemingly sensed his anxiety and hugged him tightly. The physical affection seemed to do its job and calm the younger down but it also made him feel loved, something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. The overwhelming emotions made the boy burst into tears, something in his mind seemed to shift, it made him feel younger. However, that was utterly absurd, it must’ve been the stress getting to him. Oh no. Tommy realised what was happening, he almost forgot that he used to do this to cope during all the wars. Of course, nobody knew about it, he’d be caught dead before he let anyone know he regresses; however, his mind was too foggy right now to tell what was happening and therefore reciprocated the hug. Techno was surprisingly a good hugger, and when he finally let go after 5 minutes of a silent hug, only filled with Tommy’s little sniffles, the younger slightly whined at the loss of the calming touch. When Techno looked at Tommy’s eyes, something about them was.. different. They were filled with a somewhat childish innocence which made Techno suddenly feel so protective of him. Tommy seemed to come to his senses and tried to get out of headspace, which he somewhat succeeded at, and immediately apologised to his big brother. ‘I’m s-so sorry Techno- fuck- Imma go, imma go now,’’, Techno was now worried for his baby brother so he couldn’t let him get off the hook so easily. ‘Hey, Toms you’re not going anywhere, you’re clearly ill and I’m worried, tell me what’s going on, hm? You usually wouldn’t burst into tears just like that..’ Techno stated with clear worry in his voice. Tommy was contemplating just lying to Techno but he knew that it wouldn’t work. For someone who barely socialises, Techno is really good at reading people just like open books, so Tommy decided to, reluctantly, tell him about his regression above all of his other issues, seeing as he was already on the verge of regressing again. ‘Uh so about the crying thing.. have you ever heard of fuckin.. Age regression or little space of some sort?’ Tommy just hoped that this wouldn’t go badly. Techno of course, read a lot, so he had the general grasp of what Tommy was talking about, he guessed that his little brother regressed, and he couldn’t lie, just the thought of it was utterly adorable. The piglin hybrid noticed that he hadn’t actually answered Tommy’s question and nodded, ‘So.. you regress? I know a little bit about this stuff, do you wanna be little?’. If he was being completely honest, Tommy had no idea that Techno would be acting this accepting and.. caring? He subconsciously made the choice that Techno was friendly and it was okay to regress around him, and he gave a small nod, on the edge of completely slipping.

3RD PERSON POV- WITH TECHNO

Techno sat himself comfortably next to the younger boy, looking at him in awe; the boy was only 16 and he’d gone through multiple wars and several betrayals, he was so very strong, Techno couldn’t even begin to describe how proud he was. ‘Hey buddy how old are you feeling?’, Techno got a reply of Tommy shying away into his hands and raising 3 fingers. ‘Very small then hm? We should get you into something into a bit more warm, you look quite chilly buddy.’, Tommy made grabby hands at Techno and how could he deny such an adorable request? Techno lifted the skinny boy and brought him to his bedroom, placing him on his bed. Techno once again couldn’t help but get upset once again that his former friend hurt his baby brother; Tommy could have gotten frostbite or hypothermia with the tattered, thin clothes he had been wearing in such a cold biome. Techno finally fished out some joggers and a red hoodie he hadn’t worn in a long time. When he turned back from his closet to his bed, the sight he was met with nearly gave him a heart attack with how pure and adorable it was. Tommy was sat on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and played with his fingers softly, a tiny smile painted on his face. Sadly, this is the happiest Techno had seen Tommy in months, or years even. Techno sat on the bed, next to his younger brother, and helped him get dressed, slowly and carefully, making sure that he didn’t startle the baby. Techno picked Tommy back up and placed him back on the sofa; the two were just cuddling, that is until they heard the front door open. Tommy curled himself into a ball, while Techno protectively placed himself in front of him. The older was slightly relieved to see Phil in the doorframe, however he didn’t know how their father would react to Tommy’s regression, or whether Tommy would even want him to know: Techno could tell that Tommy was very shy and secretive about it. ‘Hey Techno, mate, who’s that?’ Phil asked, clueless about the stress that his sons were in because of his presence. Techno was almost physically sweating with the pressure being put on him, he awkwardly replied ‘Oh uh, hey Phil,’ Techno looked to Tommy who looked terrified. ‘Hey Toms? It’s just Phil, you’re okay..’ Techno whispered to the boy in attempt to calm him down; it seemed to work quite a bit. Unfortunately for the boys, Phil heard what Techno said and jumped at the opportunity to talk to his youngest son, ‘Did you say Tommy? Hello Toms, what’s up?’. Tommy froze and slowly looked up at his dad, tears gathering up in his eyes, Techno noticed and went to comfort his little brother. Phil was beyond confused, and did what anyone would do, ask what was going on. Techno looked to Tommy for approval before telling their dad, to which the boy nodded. With the knowledge Techno had gathered, he tried his best to answer Phil’s question; Phil is a nice guy, he helps anyone who needs it, and so he knew of quite a few coping mechanisms, and this was one of them. The eldest seemed to grasp onto the idea surprisingly quickly, and was immediately helping Techno coddle the younger. Neither of them could deny, the baby was adorable, babbling to himself and chewing on his fingers, which wasn’t exactly sanitary but adorable nonetheless. With the three being fully aware that Ghostbur wouldn’t mind this version of Tommy, and would have fun taking care of Tommy, Techno and Phil couldn’t help but hope that their family could grow close once again. Philza was sure to never let his baby boys go again, they would all rekindle their relationship with each other day by day, and soon were a fully functioning family once again.

[notyourdayrdream]

Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Thirty-one, Side A: Ostentatious

A/N: the final chapter :( i wanted to thank everyone who read either one chapter or all of them, it means so much. especially when i didn’t update for days at a time lol. i always knew what i wanted to do for the last chapter. this is a sequel to “for as long as you’re with me (or until my mama picks me up)” which takes place ten years after the original story ends. i’m posting it here and separately as an addition to the series. hope you enjoy :)

read it here on AO3

When Kurt was thirty-two, he pulled into a lake house in North Carolina.

Victoria was asleep in the backseat, her tiny three year old body propped up in her car seat. Blaine was asleep next to him, his head resting between the window and his shoulder. Kurt shook his arm lightly without taking his eyes off the gravel road. “Blaine, we’re here. Wake up.”

Blaine rose out of sleep slowly, stretching as much as he could in the confines of the rental car. He sat up and turned to Kurt. There was a reddened print from the seat belt adorably marking his face. “Where are my glasses?”

“Glove compartment,” Kurt said. He made a sharp turn right, which took them a bit closer to the water, where their rental house was.

Blaine smiled to himself and adjusted his frames. “Thank you. Oh, it’s so gorgeous.”

And it was. As they pulled into the gravel driveway, the house and the lake came into view. The sun shone down on the dark blue water and made it glisten. The brick pathway turned into a wooden one the closer it got to the lake, complete with a covered pier. The cottage itself was enclosed by trees and flowers. It seemed big from the outside, far too big for their family of three. There was a deck that swept over an entire side of the house, complete with two rocking chairs. An American flag lapped against the wind by the front door.

Kurt turned the key and practically ran out of the car, walking a bit to stretch his legs and cringing at the loud pops of his bones. God, he was getting old.

He watched from a distance as his husband pulled Victoria from the car, her sleeping body limp against his chest. Blaine seemed to speak softly to her, pointing at the lake and a small swing set. She gave a small nod, and her head lolled back onto his shoulder.

“Should I grab some bags?” Kurt called from his spot. He took a deep breath, and his nose tingled from the husky scent of the wood and water and smoke. Someone was grilling something.

“Let’s just check the place out first!” Blaine whisper-yelled back. “Then we can put this one down for a nap.”

The cottage was a high open concept, so big it shouldn’t even be considered a cottage. Blaine went to lay their daughter down while Kurt wandered aimlessly throughout the house. It was all wood, the same color top to bottom. It was honestly super ugly, but they were only staying a few days. Victoria’s first vacation that wasn’t in New York or to her grandparent’s house.

He was looking out across the water from the deck when he heard the sliding door creak open. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He asked without turning around.

Blaine hummed in agreement from behind him. “Tori’s gonna be out for a while. You wanna go on a walk?” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Kurt’s middle. When he spoke again, his chin pressed against his shoulder. “Or we could stay inside and do other stuff.”

Kurt turned around so they would be facing each other,

looking at Blaine with a small smirk. “Other stuff?”

“Like sex stuff.” Blaine fumbled with the buttons of Kurt’s open cardigan, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kurt’s laugh turned into a soft sigh when Blaine began sucking on the skin just below his jawline. After nearly a decade of being together, Blaine knew just how much that spot drove him crazy.

“Like what?” Blaine asked innocently, taking small kitten licks at his neck. His hands started moving down to Kurt’s jeans, teasing around his belt.

Kurt pulled him in for a kiss, sweet and slow. Blaine completely curved into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. They pressed into each other, Kurt’s back against the wooden railing.

They pulled away, foreheads resting together. When Blaine smiled, Kurt felt his lips curve up against his.

“You should go on a walk,” Kurt whispered practically into his mouth. “I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”

His husband looked up at him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” When Blaine hesitated, Kurt laughed and pushed him gently forward. “Go ahead.”

Kurt watched him leave and walk down the pebble path that trailed around the entire lake. Far off in the water, a group of teens splashed around in the water, a few of them laying on inflatable tubes. The sun was in the midpoint between setting and bright.

While Blaine was gone, Kurt decided to bring all of their bags into the house. He put their clothes away (it was too hot to wear the few sweaters and pairs of cabin socks Blaine had brought) and slid the suitcases into the closet. Victoria woke up from her nap not much later, full of energy. They swung on the swing set for a while and Kurt looked across the lake for any sight of Blaine.

“You wanna help Daddy with dinner?” Kurt asked, stopping the swing. Victoria whipped her head around, curly brown hair swishing behind her and falling over her shoulder.

“Yes!” She squealed, hopping off the screen and racing back towards the house, completely forgetting about the swing. Kurt chased after her, too concerned that she may fall. The girl was a total handful, and he was already dreading how she would be when she grew up.

Victoria did more dancing and singing than cooking. She and Kurt sang along to eighties hits on the TV, turning the volume up so high it could be heard from outside the house. He was wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron he had found in one of the drawers. It was absolutely hideous and stained but Kurt couldn’t help but put it on.

He was spooning broccoli onto a plate when the front door opened and shut, Blaine setting his set of keys in the kitchen counter. He said something, but it wasn’t loud enough to cut through the sound of the Thompson Twins harmonizing.

“Tori!” Kurt yelled. “Turn that off please!” He switched off the gas stove and moved to take off the apron, when Blaine swatted his hand away and wrapped his arms around Kurt’s neck.

“Stop that, it’s cute,” he said, swaying them back and forth.

Kurt rolled his eyes yet smiled. “It’s gross.” He spun Blaine around during the instrumental section of “Hold Me Now” like it was their wedding night. They laughed, hearty and loud.

Blaine leaned forward and kissed him, short and sweet. “Well I like the instructions it gives.” He looked up at Kurt, tracing the words with his finger.

“You’re such a dork,” he shook his head and smiled. And Blaine was giving him that look, the one that made arousal unfurl in his stomach and the blood rush to his face.

And Blaine knew it. He gave him that look all throughout dinner, even sucking the sauce off his finger in a way that was dirty and deliberate. They washed dishes as a family like they usually did, even if it dissolved into a soap war when Victoria splashed Kurt with soapy water.

Blaine cleaned the floors and Kurt gave their daughter a bath quickly. When he closed the door to her room for the week behind him, the lights were off in the living room and kitchen, replaced by various candles that mixed scents in the room. His husband sat on the black leather couch and turned to him, his hair washed from his gel and curled.

“What’s this?” Kurt sat on the couch and tucked his feet under him, accepting the glass of wine Blaine had poured. The gas fireplace sat aglow.

Blaine shrugged. “I just love you is all.” And even after all this time, the three words still made Kurt’s heart swell.

“I love you too,” he murmured, setting his and Blaine’s glasses down and crowding his space, kissing him silent.

Blaine threw himself back onto the couch and pulled Kurt on top of him, opening his mouth so he could lick into the heat of it. It was constant, the rocking of Blaine’s hips under him and the helpless whine that made Kurt’s lips buzz.

He slid his hand under Blaine’s shirt to feel the taut skin underneath, flicking his nipples swiftly and reveling in the moan that followed.

“Kurt…” Blaine’s hands roamed to the curve of his ass, pushing him forward so their erections pressed together in a dirty suggestion of what they could be doing. “Fuck me.”

Kurt groaned and pushed him further into the couch cushions, rocking forward and cupping his cheek with his free hand. The softness of the moment cooled them down, and Blaine curled into the touch. It was only when Kurt heard the sound of his belt being undone that he sat up. The look on Blaine’s face was nearly comical, eyes going wide with confusion.

“I’m not having sex on a leather couch, especially one that isn’t ours.” He laughed. When he led Blaine back to the master bedroom, his back peeled off the couch with a sound like velcro. They’d have to pick up their clothes from the hallway later.

They laid in the hammock after peeling themselves out of bed, laying half on top of each other in their briefs and a thin blanket. The moon shone against the water and the stars twinkled in the black sky.

“The people next door have a Lambo,” Blaine hummed into Kurt’s bare chest. “They parked it right in the front yard.”

“How ostentatious,” he said, chuckling softly. They listened to the quiet sounds of the nature around them; the crickets and frogs in the trees and wind rustling the oak leaves above them. It was still hot, not as much as it had been in the afternoon. Kurt swung them back and forth with his foot digging into the dirt below them.

“Do you have any regrets?” Blaine asked suddenly, causing Kurt’s heart to stop. “I mean, if you could, would you go back and do anything differently.”

Kurt could barely form the question. “What’s this about?” His mind was racing to every possible bad situation; Blaine wanted a divorce, he had a secret lover, he had killed someone. A few of them seemed worse than the others.

“My dad called.”

“Oh,” Kurt felt the fear slip out of his body. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to see Victoria, he said he missed me,” Blaine explained in a quiet voice, edged with apprehension.

“He can see her on Instagram.” Kurt couldn’t help the venom that dripped from the sentence. Mr. Anderson had been nothing but rude to not only Kurt for as long as he could remember, but his own son too. He remembered having to console Blaine the day after his wedding when his dad hadn’t shown up. For all he cared,

Mr. Anderson didn’t deserve to see his granddaughter.

Blaine sighed and sat up a bit further on Kurt’s chest. “That’s not really the point, honey.” His voice sounded thick, and Kurt intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand.

“He missed me. And, I don’t know, shouldn’t I give him a second chance?”

“But the things he’s said to you Blaine. The things he’s said to me.”

There was a pregnant silence after that.

After they went public with their relationship in their early twenties, David Anderson became even more cold and harsh that he was when they were teens. They didn’t talk about it often, but Blaine would mention how hard it was to live with him. The screaming, the fights, the insults dripping with homophobia. It was a unanimous decision between them and the Hummels to not engage with Mr. Anderson unless it was necessary. Blaine had agreed, but Kurt knew it had to hurt.

“Some people don’t deserve a second chance,” Kurt grumbled after a while.

“He’s my father, Kurt!”

Blaine threw his arms out at that, the force of it tipping the hammock and sending the two of them sprawling onto the hard dirt ground.

“Oh my God, Blaine!” Kurt sat up immediately, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his side. “Honey, are you okay?”

Blaine was laying still on his side, unmoving. Kurt’s blood ran cold. They had fallen pretty hard from a solidly high distance. Kurt crawled over to his husband, tears threatening to spill from his eyes when he still didn’t move.

“Blaine, please get up,” Kurt cried. It was too late to go for help, and holy shit, he had just killed his husband…

And then he heard laughter, and Blaine moved as if he were shivering.

Blaine sat up, tears spilling from his eyes as he laughed. He touched his head gingerly and winced. “Ow,” he groaned. Kurt could’ve passed out. But he started crying instead.

“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine pulled him closer, holding him in his arms.

In hindsight, Kurt felt a bit embarrassed about crying over a three foot fall. But it was the first time in a long time that he thought he had actually lost Blaine. And the emptiness from it terrified it just as much as it did the first time.

“Shh, Kurt. I’m okay,” Blaine said through a chuckle, kissing him on the forehead. Kurt gripped his shirt like it was the only thing holding him to the earth. “We’re okay.”

Blaine and Kurt went inside shortly after that, with the latter demanding Blaine should hold a bag of frozen peaches to his head. They fell asleep at nearly one in the morning after checking on Victoria and dusting dirt off their pajamas.

Kurt awoke with a jolt, sitting up to find the other side of the bed empty. The sun was just beginning to peek out from the horizon, a soft yellow glow in the window.

He slipped on a pair of slides and dragged a blanket with him outside onto the deck, stretching his arms over his head. Most of the lights in the other lake houses were off, and the only other person he saw was a woman walking a small dog. Until he caught his husband’s eye down at the dock.

It sometimes hit Kurt like a wave how handsome Blaine was, even from far away. His hair wasn’t his usual morning bird’s nest, combed down and contained just enough for Kurt to know he had brushed it. His muscles popped out of the thin long sleeve shirt he slept in, and when he smiled, his brown eyes crinkled.

“Awwh, Blaine!” Kurt gasped, looking down at the scene in front of him.

“Okay, okay,” Blaine stepped in front of him and adjusted his glasses. “Remember when we went out on our first date as boyfriends?”

“You mean when we got breakfast after I jumped you in your own apartment? Yes I do,” he grinned, already knowing where this was going.

Blaine nodded. “Right, and we went to that crappy diner and when I got steak and eggs you got—”

“Cheesecake,” Kurt pointed at the New York Style cheesecake sitting on a checkered blanket, raspberries and mint leaf sitting perfectly on top. “You made me cheesecake?”

Blaine’s smile faltered only slightly. “Um. Well about that. I tried to, I had the recipe and everything. And then I forgot the cheesecake dish at home.” Ah, so that was why Blaine seemed so freaked out when he looked through the bag of food after they left. “So I ordered one.”

“It’s perfect,” Kurt whispered and sat down at the edge of the dock, legs swinging over the edge.

“You’re my family, Kurt. You and Tori,” Blaine said as he sat down next to him. “I don’t need anything else. I just need you two.” He pulled a bottle of champagne and two glasses from behind him, pouring way too much.

Kurt opened his arms and wrapped them both in his blanket, cheesecake forgotten. For now. “Here’s to ten years of us.”

“More like twenty-five, if you include those years of pining,” Kurt interjected, much to Blaine’s chagrin.

“Fine, ten years of marriage,” he knocked against Kurt’s shoulder. “And to ten more.”

He looked down, feigning shock. “Only ten?”

Blaine just rocked forward and kissed Kurt’s cheek. “Happy anniversary, Kurt.” he smiled and took a sip of champagne, curling into his side and looking out across the water. There was nothing. more to say, not for now. They had everything they needed.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 11)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey all! I am so excited to share this chapter for a number of reasons, one of them being that we get a new POV that is not Emma or Killian. That’s right, today I am including Elsa as one of our storytellers too. But don’t worry, as much as we’ll be learning about Elsa and Anna’s past and Elsa and Liam’s attraction to each other, there will still be some CS cuteness. Because it is me, there is also a LOT of fluff and feels abounding. It’s hard to say much more without spoiling, so, without further ado, I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and thank you so much for the support and good vibes!

Wandering through the woods at the far reach of the Institute, Elsa did her best to stave off the worry that had clung to her heart all night. She hardly slept, tossing and turning, gripped with agitation, and all because today, at long last, the truth would come out.

It wasn’t that she enjoyed lying all this time, or that Elsa was desirous to keep her story hidden any longer. This was simply reflex. For years she and her sister had guarded their real origins from nearly everyone they met. Only a select few people in the world knew anything of Elsa and Anna’s past, and those secret keepers had not been chosen by her or her sister. They were thrust into this situation as children, but today they would take a leap of faith and share the truth with a new, but genuine friend.

Emma is deserving of our trust, Elsa reasoned to herself, continuing an argument she’d had internally for weeks. She and Anna had both agreed Emma was someone they could confide in and they believed in her goodness and her ability to keep a secret. They had both yearned for the chance to share this truth with someone – anyone - and now they had it. But it had gotten so much more complicated at the same time, and all thanks to the royal visit that happened yesterday.

When she and Anna moved to Montenarro and began working at the Institute, they both knew the slight risk that existed of their being found out. Public curiosity had long ago waned about their family, enough so that they felt capable of using their real first names in applying for the job, but members of the aristocracy were different. They memorized lineages, and studied other families of note, across country lines. The royal family of Montennaro may not come to the Center often, but they did sponsor and fund this charity. As such, there may come a time when they encountered the royals. This was, theoretically, not a huge issue, at least not in Anna’s eyes. After all, Anna had never actually met any member of the royal family, and so had no chance of being recognized. She assumed that Elsa was in the same boat, and that would make sense, for the sisters had done nearly everything together their whole lives.

Selfishly, Elsa allowed her sister’s assumption of their past run ins with the royals to stand, even though it was not accurate. She omitted the truth, about a moment in time that felt light years away and yet so cherished even now, because she wanted to stay here in Montennaro. It was her and Anna’s dream to do good works, to make use of all their many years of study back in France, and to leave the world a little brighter than how they had found it. After everything they had been through, Elsa so dearly wished to give back to children in need alongside her sister. There were no other opportunities like this one, no Centers that provided as much for their pupils, and no other place that felt like a home, not since the passing of their Grandmere. So Elsa had bit her tongue, and enjoyed the years of obscurity they found here with the children, always praying that her secret from her sister would never come to light.

Things obviously changed when Killian arrived, and when it was announced that the youngest son of the royal line would be here, working alongside them, almost every day. The panic Elsa carried with her was profound, but after hesitation in the beginning, Elsa realized there was nothing to fear from the Prince. Prince Killian had no connection to her, and he was instantly consumed by his attraction to Emma. There was no fear of him discovering who she and Anna were, not when he was distracted and totally besotted by her friend.

Only when she and Anna spoke with Killian after the parade did Elsa begin to worry again, not because she thought her friend would lose out on the clearly true love she’d found with Killian, but because it was clear as day that Emma and the prince would one day be married. That was a wonderful thing, but it would make a friendship between Elsa and Anna and Emma so much harder. Guarding this secret would become even more difficult if they regularly saw people who held so many breadcrumbs from the past. Elsa had grown more and more worried about it, but it was ultimately Anna who made the decision.

“There’s only one thing to do,” Anna said the night of Killian and Emma’s reconciliation. “We have to tell Emma the truth. I think the danger for us has long since passed, but even so, it’s best to tell her what we’ve been through. Just in case. That way, when they marry, as we both know they will, we can sidestep the whole awkward RSVP thing. It’ll be a shame to miss it, but it can’t be risked. Not if we want to keep hiding.”

Elsa was simultaneously relieved at Anna’s idea, and guilty at the fact that she still wasn’t being totally honest. In truth, it was eating her up inside, and she just didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

Not much longer now. You’ll tell them both everything today. As soon as Emma gets here.

At that moment, Elsa came to the part of a wooded clearing where green grass met the bank of a bubbling stream. The clear spring water flowed across rocks and moss, gurgling along in a measured, soothing melody. It was nothing like the mighty river they’d grown up on, which was loud and thunderous and strong, but still, a lullaby from her childhood filtered through Elsa’s mind, and a memory of their mother singing to her and Anna transported her back to the life they used to have…

“Sing it again, Mama, please?” Anna pleaded, snuggling into bed and holding Elsa close as she did. The two of them had their own beds, and their own rooms, but every night Anna made her way here, insisting that she and Elsa needed to be together. Elsa never tried to fight it. She loved Anna, and she always slept better with her sister beside her.

“Anna, darling, it’s late. Far too late for my two little princesses to still be awake. How will you ever rise with the sun if you never go to sleep?”

Their mother’s green eyes shone with mischief, but also so much love. She was pretending to deny them, but she could never say no to Anna. It was only a matter of time before she repeated the lullaby again, and Elsa couldn’t wait. She loved her mother’s voice. It was like warm honey in her father’s favorite tea. A splash of simple sweetness that made all the difference in the world.

“I promise to go right to bed. Look, I’ll even close my eyes,” Anna said eagerly, shutting her eyes so tight her face scrunched with the effort. Elsa shook with silent laughter and watched her mother do the same. Then their mother sighed and yielded to the request.

“Oh, all right. Now let’s see here. How does it start again…?”

Anna’s eyes popped open as she fed her the line. “Where the north wind meets the sea!” she exclaimed, and their mother shook her head even as she smiled.

“Ah, ah, ah. Eyes closed remember?”

Anna nodded and closed her eyes again before whispering. “You help her, Elsa. You and Mama sing. I love it when you sing.”

“Ok, Anna,” she agreed, taking her sisters hand and squeezing it gently. Then she and her mother looked at each other and started the song together.

“Where the north wind meets the sea There’s a river full of memory Sleep, my darling, safe and sound For in this river all is found

In her waters, deep and true Lay the answers and a path for you Dive down deep into her sound But not too far or you’ll be drowned

Yes, she will sing to those who’ll hear And in her song, all magic flows But can you brave what you most fear? Can you face what the river knows?

Where the north wind meets the sea There’s a mother full of memory Come, my darling, homeward bound When all is lost, then all is found”

In the short time they sang the song, Elsa felt Anna’s hold on her soften, but she wasn’t quite asleep yet. Elsa held a finger up to her mother, a signal that they should sing it through once more, and by the time that was done, Anna’s breathing had evened out and she was already dreaming. She was nearly impossible to wake once sleeping, so Elsa felt free to speak to her mother in a quiet tone.

“Anna still thinks if we search hard enough by the riverside, we’ll find the magic in the song.”

“But you don’t?” Her mother asked and Elsa shook her head.

“No. I think magic like that is just in stories.”

“Perhaps, but I like to think our magic – real magic – is just a little bit different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you’re right, the lullaby goes hand in hand with our old folk stories, the legends of Arendelle shared for hundreds of years. In those stories people had abilities that no ordinary human should have.”

“Like superheroes,” Elsa offered, and her mother smiled.

“Exactly. But just because we can’t wield water or ice or flames doesn’t mean we can’t make a difference. And you know how you make the biggest difference?” Elsa shook her head. “With love and with kindness. The way you love your sister, the way you love your father and I, the way you love everyone here in the manor, that is your greatest gift, my dear. And someday you will change the lives of so many people all by showing them great love and compassion.”

“You really think that’s magical?” Elsa asked, letting the idea wash over her. She always tried her best to do right and to be good to other people. That was what her parents had taught her. She liked the idea that by being good she was using a superpower, and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Everyone did seem so much happier when she was kind and patient, and at the end of the day, that was the greatest gift – to be happy.

“Oh yes. It’s an old magic, one that is so much more powerful than people give it credit for. But once you know of it, it’s your job to keep it strong. You must never give up hope, and you must always follow your heart and do the next right thing.”

“The next right thing,” Elsa agreed, not thinking too much of it as sleep was beginning to creep near. The hour was late, and she was tired too, but she wanted to stay awake and enjoy this time with her mother. She and Anna often had to share their time with their parents, and it always made Elsa feel special to be with her one on one. As if she could read Elsa’s mind, her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead and made a promise.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, my darling. Now, get some sleep.”

Elsa had no idea that that night with her mother would be the last, and that everything she took for granted as the pillars of her world would be stolen in an instant. They’d gone from peace and contentment to total upheaval in the blink of an eye, and she and Anna were whisked away immediately, saved by little more than luck and the will of fate herself. The pain of that day would be etched in her soul forever, and so would the grief of losing the only home she’d ever known. But now, after decades of wishing things were different, Elsa could look back and be grateful, not for the troubles that had come, but for the sacred moments they did have with their parents before they were gone. It was hard to look back, but it was also a blessing. To have been so deeply loved that death could not sever the tie, that was something that had kept Elsa strong, and what she would cling to today especially.

Unwillingly, Elsa’s mind wandered at just the thought of love, to a man who bewildered her and drew her in all at once. He was always meant to be a beautiful memory, a boy she knew one summer’s day who showed her kindness and kissed her senseless. She could never confess how much she’d thought of him that summer. It was a girlhood infatuation that rivaled any other. Truth be told, he never was fully forgotten. He was always there in the back of her mind, until they’d moved here and she’d seen a random tabloid in the corner store. On the cover was a picture of a beautiful man – the King of Montenarro – and staring back at her were the same blue eyes from her girlhood dreams, if a little colder than she remembered.

That night she’d poured over the gossip rag and scoured the internet, waiting only until Anna went to bed before falling into a sinkhole of information. She read all about what he’d done since they had met, and how he’d stepped up to rule in a country that needed more than a little bit of hope. He was fair and wise and just, and passionate about making this country prosperous for all. Most recently he’d been working on his initiative to give all people in the country more say in government, and she thought that was admirable and knew how hard a task it must be. For years she’d watched and read the headlines, tracking his progress, while trying to avoid the speculation on things like his future and his love life. There was always talk about who the King would one day marry, and though Elsa knew she would be nothing but a forgotten blip in his past, it still hurt her to think of the boy who’d touched her heart belonging to another.

“Touched my heart,” she said aloud, scoffing with the foolishness of the thought. “As if I haven’t been secretly giving it to him for years. God, what a mess this all is.”

At confessing her feelings, which had mostly developed from afar, Elsa’s hands began to shake. Even if she’d thought of him often, it never in a million years occurred to her that they would ever reunite. But yesterday they had, and it was even more intense than she remembered. All day she felt his eyes on her, watching her every move. At all stages of the visit she could feel his presence, and it spun her whole world upside down. Never mind seeing him with the children, and watching him come out of his shell to offer them genuine affection. That had truly done her in, and almost made her forget herself. A few times they’d managed to speak, but Elsa always found an opportunity to run or to distract. She longed for that closeness, but was scared to death of letting someone – especially him – behind her many walls.

By the time she made her way back to her and Anna’s home, it was nearly time for Emma’s arrival and Elsa was nowhere closer to composure. She tried to breathe deeply, using some mindfulness to clear her thoughts, but her pulse was racing and her hands still shook. No matter – it was too late to run now. She had to face this head on. There was simply no other way.

A minute later she opened up the door, and within seconds, Anna was on her, enveloping her in a huge bear hug and prompting an emotional reaction in Elsa. Her sister was scared too, but Elsa could tell that underneath it all Anna was excited. She didn’t even need to see her face to know that there was relief in sharing their story. Anna had never liked living a lie, and the burden of it weighed on her always. Knowing that, Elsa hugged her back and whispered words of encouragement.

“It’s going to be all right, Anna. Remember what Mama used to say.”

“All you can do is the next right thing,” Anna replied shakily before nodding. “This is the right thing.”

Elsa had just enough time to agree before a knock sounded at the front door. “Are you ready?” Elsa asked and Anna nodded.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay, then let’s do this.”

………….

Sitting in the kitchen of Elsa and Anna’s small but charming house, Emma could practically taste the anxiety in the air. Whatever was going on with her friends was electric, and the room crackled with unsaid words Emma was increasingly eager to hear. Despite that, she could tell her friends needed a bit of an ice breaker, and she used one of her surest tactics to provide one.

“I’m sorry I’m a little later than we planned. Henry was on another level this morning. I love him more than anything, but he’s just so…”

“Helpful?” Anna offered.

“Curious?” Elsa countered.

“I was going more for something like ‘verbose.’ I swear he’s always got a dozen stories he can tell and today was no different. Actually, it was worse, because Killian was there last night, and you know how he gets with Killian.”

“He loves him,” Elsa said automatically, prompting Emma to smile warmly.

“He told Killian last night. It was so easy for him. He didn’t think twice, he just said exactly how he feels.”

“Oh, Emma,” Anna said, happily taking her hand after putting a tray of pastries on the counter. “That’s wonderful. What did Killian say?”

“That he loves him too.”

“I knew I liked that man for a reason,” Anna replied glibly. “Though, to be fair, it’s impossible not to love Henry. He’s the cutest, even if he hates me saying it.”

“Killian said something else too,” Emma said, waiting for Elsa to sit down with their tea. She watched her friends slightly shaky hands pour each of them a cup before spilling the beans. “He told me he sees a future, for us, the three of us. He said… well he said he loves me, and that no matter what he wants to be with me. Forever.”

The sounds of secondhand joy that came from both her friends made Emma even happier, though it also prompted a blush she’d been trying pretty hard to fend off.

“And what did you say?!”

“That I love him too.”

“Forever?”

“Definitely.”

“Oh my God, this is exactly what I needed today,” Anna said happily. “You don’t even know.” Belatedly it seemed to dawn on her – that was actually why Emma was here in the first place.

“I really don’t want to push, but it sounded yesterday like the two of you had something you really want to tell me. I promise whatever is said here, it’s between us. I’m still kind of new to the whole having good friends thing, but I can keep a secret.”

There was only a moment of silence between them before Elsa replied. She centered herself with a deep breath in to start and then let it out and looked directly at Emma. “You have to understand that all of her hesitation has nothing to do with you. We trust you. We do. It’s just been years of training ourselves to hide this part of our past, and keep the story in check so no one ever questions it.”

“Years?” Anna barked out hollowly. “More like our whole lives. Honestly, I barely remember a time without the secrets. It’s like they’ve always been here.”

“You’re right,” Elsa acknowledged, squeezing Anna’s hand gently. “This has been our burden to carry for as long as we can remember, and though time has passed, and we believe the physical threat is long behind us, old habits die hard.”

“Actually, in our case they don’t really seem to die at all,” Anna quipped. “You’re the first person we’ve ever told, and we can’t even seem to do that right. God, this is so hard. Why is this so hard?”

“Probably because there’s no easy way to say this,” Elsa admitted. Emma reached out for her hand in a show of comfort and Elsa looked up at her immediately. Emma wanted to assure her she was here to help, never to judge, and if they needed more time to make peace with their decision to share, that was fine too.

“Just tell me what you can. Start wherever you need to.”

Over the next hour, Emma patiently listened as they unfurled a truth that had been wrapped up tight for twenty years. They told her about their parents, two young Europeans who had met on foreign holiday. They were neither of them in their country of birth, and both eager to avoid the shackles of their real worlds, at least for a little while. Together they’d succeeded in doing this, and they had spent a week falling hopelessly in love with each other. From the way Elsa and Anna described it, Iduna and Agnar (yes, those were apparently their real names) had woven their strings together so tightly, the braid could not be broken.

The ‘problem’ stemmed from their father, for though he loved their mother endlessly, he had obligations – royal obligations. It turned out that Agnar was a Prince, of a nearby European principality that Emma had actually heard of. Arendelle was a small place, but it had undergone a revolution when she was a child, and even in the States there was endless conversation about it for a while. At first Emma was shocked, how was it possible that their Dad was a prince? But it took only a few moments for the surprise to dissipate. It explained why Elsa and Anna had always been so jumpy and yet very knowledgeable at multiple instances. It also explained why they were so hell-bent on keeping a secret, since the things Emma had heard about this country had hardly been positive.

According to Elsa and Anna, at the same time that Prince Agnar miraculously found love with their mother, his father, Runeard, had grown ill and passed away, leaving him as the heir apparent of the kingdom of Arendelle. Their father was eager for that role, and had been preparing for it all his life, until he was confronted with a truth that destroyed every plan he’d ever had. He could not remain the ruler of his country and pursue a life with the woman that he loved. He was bound as King to marry someone from a royal bloodline, and so he’d made a choice, to relinquish his crown and to hand it over to his younger brother. Their Uncle was a good man, and so they believed he would be a good King, but after a peaceful transition of power, and ten years of quiet where Elsa and Anna’s parents married, had children, and made a quiet country life for them all, something happened. Their Uncle had begun trusting the wrong people, and a coup had taken place. The palace was overrun, the royal family was imprisoned, and the country was thrust into darkness.

In the thick of that fighting, Elsa and Anna’s parents had also been targeted. They knew it was coming, as no coup could allow for anyone of the royal bloodline to live, but they didn’t have the time to all get out safely. Instead, their parents stayed behind as Elsa and Anna were taken with their father’s one-time nanny. She had lived with them all their lives, caring for them as if she were their own relation, and she brought them to France, through untraceable means, to the only other living relative they had left. Technically the older woman who became their lifeline was their father’s Aunt, but to them, she was forever Grandmere.

“It was a few weeks with Grandmere before we had confirmation that mother and father were gone,” Elsa said, sadness, even all these years, later taking hold of her quivering voice. Emma ached for her friend, and she couldn’t comprehend that kind of loss. She had never had parents at all, and that had been so painful in so many ways, but in some respects this was an even worse fate. “They were strong, and they protected us until the very end, but some battles simply can’t be won. Some heartbreaks cannot be avoided.”

“I’m so sorry, for both of you,” Emma said softly. “I cannot imagine the pain at knowing your parents and their goodness and then losing it like that.”

“It was difficult,” Anna agreed, “Especially being in a new country and having to hide who we were and basically stay at Grandmere’s estate all the time. But even when they passed, our parents were never truly gone. They’ve always been with us. Their love lives on in us, right Elsa?”

“Right,” Elsa agreed, offering a smile to her sister. “We stayed in France with Grandmere for years, and even though we were hurting, it was still a happy time. Grandmere adored us and spoiled us like any grandmother should. She gave us all the love and attention a person could stand, but she also took her role as our protector very seriously. As Anna said, we never really left the manor. It was a great estate, but for all intents and purposes we were under house arrest for years. We had private tutors for our schooling and no nanny except for Grandmere. The household staff were either sworn to secrecy or told an unassuming story about how we were two distant cousins who had fallen on hard times. The core of the story was true, of course. We had been orphaned through a series of tragic circumstances, but everything else was an illusion, including our names.”

Emma’s look of surprise had Anna clarifying quickly. “Our full names are Elisandra and Annadella, but our parents always called us Elsa and Anna. Those other names were family heirlooms, but these names were our truth. That’s what Mama used to say. Still those nicknames were a luxury we couldn’t afford when at our Grandmere’s. So we chose new ones. Selene for Elsa, and Soleil for me.”

“Totally different,” Emma said casually.

“They were,” Elsa agreed, “But they kept an important part of our story intact. My father called me his ‘little Luna’ since the night I was born, under a full blue moon. An ice-solstice, as it’s referred to in Arendellian tradition. It’s supposedly a sign of great fortune for babies born to be born on those rare nights. Meanwhile Anna was born at high noon on the sunniest, most beautiful day of the year. The kind of day that was a gift, as Papa would say. From that day forward, Anna became his ‘sunshine.”

“So let me guess, Selene means moon and Soliel means sun.”

“Yes. It was hard to get used to, but Grandmere helped us every step of the way. She was devoted to us completely, and in truth, I think she loved us as much as any mother could. She had no children of her own, but she had us, and thank God we had her.”

“But you never went out, you never left your home?”

“Not for a long time. Eventually we were allowed small indulgences. We went to Grandmere’s house in Paris every Christmas season for the shopping and the sights. We visited her sister, Aunt Josephina, on the Spanish coast in August, when the weather was hottest and the beach was pure bliss,” Anna acquiesced. “But we never went to school or sports or that kind of thing. All we really had was each other, until I made a dear friend in our next-door neighbor, Aurora. She didn’t know the truth about our past, but Grandmere fully trusted her parents. They were diplomats, and always had ample security. A few summers I was allowed to go for a week or two to their summer home. Elsa was always invited, but she preferred the quiet for a change, deciding to get lost in her reading instead of adventuring with me.”

Emma noticed that Elsa flinched slightly at the words, but it escaped Anna’s notice. Emma looked at her curiously, wondering if Elsa would comment on the claim, but when no words came from Elsa, she decided to ask some more directed questions. Emma wondered about what had happened to Arendelle and how they came to be in Montenarro. Arendelle, luckily, was much recovered from the tumult of the past. The heinous coup had been righted by the people, and a new democratic government instilled. Unfortunately, their Uncle had not made it through that dark time unscathed. He grew very ill while in confinement and died some years later. The country was now transitioning to a fully democratic state, but there was, at least reportedly, great respect amongst the public for the royals that were. Their parents and Uncle were highly regarded, with a memorial service each year held in honor of their bravery and dedication to the country. Whispers about whatever happened to Elsa and Anna, or if they had even existed remained, but it had been a long time since any real attention was paid to their fates.

Despite those changing tides, Elsa and Anna’s grandmother had always been hesitant in exposing the truth. She believed it wise not to open the door to a grand reveal. Why tempt fate when they could instead pursue, simpler, less complicated lives? Elsa and Anna had waivered at first, but ultimately decided that the best way to honor their parents was to do as they’d instructed – share their love and their abilities to make the lives of people who needed it better. Their personal experiences sparked their interest in working with orphaned children, and they both went to school to study in Paris, staying at their Grandmere’s home all the while. It was only after the unexpected death of their dear Grandmere that they’d decided on a change. The jobs here in Montenarro had been discovered, and the rest was history. Anna and Elsa had chosen their simple, balanced life, and they’d been keeping the secret all the while.

“So, I guess keeping the truth from the rest of the world now is less about any danger to your life, and more about your privacy. I can only imagine how it would go – the press discovering two long lost princesses who lived through that kind of turmoil. It would be…” Emma trailed off and Anna filled in.

“A nightmare.”

Now there was no denying the reaction from Elsa, and in truth, it looked like her friend had been struck by something. She was suddenly pale, and clearly agitated, and Emma suspected it was all to do with a certain King who’d paid her extra mind upon his visit to the Center yesterday.

“Elsa, are you all right?” Anna asked, pulling Elsa in from her own wandering thoughts. Still she looked almost haunted, and was unable to convince either Anna or Emma that she was well.

“I’m fine,” she said, but the whispered words were hardly reaffirming.

“You are definitely not fine. Elsa, you’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m always pale, you know that,” Elsa tried to joke but it was a pitiful attempt at humor.

“Elsa, seriously. What’s wrong?” Anna asked, looking, for the first time all day, actually afraid. That distress in her sister’s eyes prompted Elsa to hug Anna fiercely, and admit an unexpected truth for both Anna and Emma.

“I have to tell you something. Something I never told you.”

“Okay,” Anna agreed quickly, with nothing like anger in her expression. “You know you can tell me anything. Anything at all.”

This time the revelations shared were questioned mostly by Anna, though Emma had questions as well. Who wouldn’t, given the surprise twist in an already surprising tale?

It turned out that in one of those times where Anna was traveling with her friend, Elsa had gone with their Grandmere back to Paris. One afternoon they received an invitation from their grandmother’s oldest friend for a garden party. With Elsa now 16, it was their grandmother’s belief that she was ready for such an event. Elsa promised to keep to her story and mind her manners, but when she arrived, she was so nervous about doing or saying the wrong thing that she wandered off, away from the party all together. Deep within the hedgerow she’d met a young man who was also hiding. The bond of shared discomfort and an instant attraction made for a magical day where young love had a chance to bloom. At the time Elsa knew him only as Liam, and while she had planned to ask her Grandmere for more information on him, the old woman was in a state of panic when they finally reunited. It turned out more people were there than she ever realized, including some who could have discovered the secret. Elsa saw how much relief her Grandmere felt when she fibbed and said she’d been alone out in the gardens, she hadn’t the heart to tell her the truth. The lie was typical, especially for a teenager, but it was clear it still ate away at Elsa.

“I felt awful keeping it from her. I kept trying to get up the courage to confess, but then you came home early after Aurora broke her ankle on her horse, and the summer ended, and nothing ever came of it,” Elsa said, looking to Anna. “Eventually I came to believe that even if he seemed remarkable to me, he was just a boy. Our secret was still safe, and I had had my day in the sun.”

“So you didn’t realize who he was?” Emma asked and Elsa shook her head.

“It never came up,” Elsa asserted. “He only referred to himself as Liam. He told me he was seventeen and that his mother knew our hostess and that was it. I didn’t ask questions. Well, not about those kinds of things. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing. I didn’t have the time for basic details.”

The feeling was familiar to Emma. When she first met Killian, she felt the same way. They were so busy connecting with each other, so busy feeling the spark between them, that the words almost seemed to matter less. Knowing that Elsa had experienced that explained every part of her reaction yesterday, from the barely veiled interest to the severe trepidation every time she was within touching distance of the King.

“But when did you know the truth of who he was, Elsa? Please, please tell me it wasn’t just yesterday,” Anna begged, surprising both Elsa and Emma with her acceptance of the story and genuine want for Elsa to not have been blind-sided.

“It wasn’t,” Elsa admitted. “I found out when we first came to interview here. I saw a picture in the paper and I knew. I should have told you then, Anna, I know I should have, but we both felt it, our calling to this place. I swear it was like Mama and Papa brought us here. There were all those signs, and that feeling we just hadn’t had since we were kids. I thought that if I shared the truth we’d have to leave, and I couldn’t do that, to you or to me.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Emma admitted. “Perhaps that makes me selfish, but I know for a fact how much staying has meant not just for me but for the kids. This place is like one big family, and it’s thanks to you two. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I comforted myself with that thought for years. We were making a difference, we were using the magic Mama taught me about. But that doesn’t mean what I did was right. I shouldn’t have kept it from Anna, and now we may have no choice but to run.”

“No choice but to run?” Anna parroted, astounded at the idea. “Elsa, what are you talking about? We are not running. You are definitely not running!”

“We’re not?”

“Absolutely not. And you know why? Because this is love, Elsa. If yesterday is anything to go off of, and if your day together years ago was even half as romantic as you described, it’s full blown, love at first sight, once in a lifetime stuff. And you want to talk about signs? How about the fact that we could have landed anywhere in the world for work – we had no limits and no plan – and we ended up here, in the same place where Liam is King. The chances were so slim, I know that was Mama and Papa’s doing.”

Tears had spilled onto Elsa’s cheeks at Anna’s declaration, but it didn’t stop Anna from continuing on, even though her own eyes were misting over with the emotion of it all. “Our parents would never ever want you to run from love, Elsa, and neither do I. You deserve it, and here it is, back again after years of being parted. You’ve never really connected with anyone else, and I thought it was just a matter of waiting for the right man to come along, but now I know you were waiting for him again.”

“But it’s hopeless, Anna. He is the King.”

“So? You’re a princess.”

“A princess in hiding. A princess who’s story belongs squarely in the past. I can’t ask him to keep the secret, but I also can’t keep it from him. I’m caught up in this web I can’t get out of, and Liam is too honorable. He would never deceive his people like that. I wouldn’t ever ask him to.”

“So we let the secret go,” Anna said adamantly. “It’s simple Elsa. We just tell the truth.”

“You don’t mean that,” Elsa replied earnestly.

“I do.”

“You just said it would be a nightmare.”

“That was before I realized our alternative, and believe me, Elsa, there is no question of which is worse. If giving up obscurity and facing the press is what it takes to get you your love, it will be the easiest decision I ever make.”

“That’s assuming he even wants me,” Elsa said prompting Emma to chime in.

“Oh, he wants you. Believe me, and if you don’t believe me, then believe Killian. He talked about it most of the night, and he knows his brother better than anyone.”

“Maybe he wants me, but he doesn’t know everything, and I have no idea how he’ll take it.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Anna said, standing up and pulling Elsa with her. “You have to tell him.”

“Now?” Elsa squawked, looking at Emma for help and Emma intervened.

“Let me call, Killian. He’s at the palace today. He can help us figure out a time.” No sooner had she said the words than her fingers were making the call. It rang only twice before the sexiest voice she knew picked up.

“Miss me already, Swan?”

“Something like that. Listen, I’m here with Elsa and Anna and I think it would be good if Elsa and Liam talked.”

Emma heard murmuring and then something that sounded like the phone banging on a table. She flinched from the sound, but then heard Killian once more. “Sorry, love. Suffice it to say my brother is enthused by the prospect.”

“When?” Emma asked, and she heard a resounding ‘Now!’ from the background. It was Liam’s voice and it prompted a smile for Emma. Elsa and Anna looked at her curiously as Killian responded.

“The sooner the better it seems.”

“Okay, so in an hour then?”

“Aye.” Again there was fussing on the other line, and it sounded like someone was pacing, until Killian spoke once more. “Might I suggest my place, so they may have some privacy.”

“Perfect,” Emma agreed. “She’ll be there.”

“Brilliant,” Killian quipped, “And Emma?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, hanging up and putting her phone away in her pocket.

“And?” Anna asked.

“He wants to meet at Killian’s in an hour.”

“So soon?!” Elsa asked and Emma laughed.

“By the sounds of thing, an hour may as well be an eternity in Liam’s eyes.”

“He’s not the only one,” Anna agreed drawing Emma and Elsa’s gazes immediately. “What? Oh, come on, Emma, like you aren’t totally excited to see what happens. The suspense is practically killing me.”

“It may actually kill me,” Elsa said, putting her hand to her heart.

“It’s going to be all right,” Emma insisted, prompting Elsa to look up at her with hopeful but still skeptical eyes. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. I can just tell.”

“See!” Anna said excitedly. “And you know Emma’s gut is legendary. She can sense these things.”

“She didn’t sense Killian was a prince,” Elsa replied, not in a mean way, but as a frantic response from someone currently dealing with a lot.

“Touché,” Emma said with a laugh. “But I did know he was it for me. So, let me put it this way: I don’t know exactly how it will happen, but I do know you and Liam are going to work things out. Is that better?”

“Only if you really mean it,” Elsa whispered.

“I do,” Emma said softly.

“Ok,” Elsa agreed after a moment’s pause, straightening her spine in a show of determination. “Ok, I’ll do it.”

And with that the three of them set out to help Elsa get ready, knowing today would be a turning point, and that soon a much-needed conversation would lay it all out there once and for all.

Post-Note: Not going to lie, this chapter took SO long to craft, partially because of my muse being fussy, but mostly because, in the end, I needed two chapters to do this whole bit justice. I know I am leaving you on a bit of a cliff hanger, but I promise that next chapter we get the entirety of the Elsa/Liam story, and some added CS scenes to boot. Anyway, I really do hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and that it brightened your day, even if there were parts that were a bit sad. I love seeing what you all think, and knowing so many of you have enjoyed reading so far. I am still pretty busy with other things at the moment, but I promise to do my best to get an update written soon. Hope to see you next time, until then, hoping you are safe, healthy, and well!

[hiddendreamer67]

Just a Tiny Bit of Crime

Here is my gift for @short-on-main for the G/t secret santa event happening over on @secret-shifters! Hope you enjoy! :D

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Sharon checked and double checked her bag, making sure all of her heist gear was properly sorted before heading into the bank. She was cool as a cucumber as she slipped by security, heading for the women’s restroom. From there Sharon shimmied into the loose ventilation shaft that she had prepped a few days prior. Not a peep was heard as she braced against the metal walls and began descending into the underground vaults. Yes, everything was going fantastic. 

Crime is easy when you’re a few inches tall.

The cat burglar scaled up the vault door, using the paneling on the wall to press herself against the surface and carefully scurrying across to the control panel. Sharon pressed the correct keys from her time spent memorizing her enemy’s every move, careful not to fall as every button sprung back into place and threatened to send her tumbling. 

With a slight whoosh, the airlock released, leaving the vault door open just a crack. Sharon zipped in through the gap, knowing the door would shut automatically in just a few moments. 

“Nailed it.” Sharon grinned, slightly out of breath from the adrenaline of making it inside. This is as far as she was able to plan ahead. Sharon had never been on this side of the vault before; she panted, gazing around the area and keeping a firm grip on her bag. It was dark, so Sharon dared to turn on the headlamp she had crafted out of an abandoned LED bulb. Sharon jogged forwards, careful to keep her wits about her as the lamp only illuminated a few inches surrounding her in a soft blue glow. 

Sharon heard a clinking to the north, adjusting her setting to all but run into a high table. Digging through her bag, Sharon pulled out the suction cups, pressing them into the metal surface. She used her upper body strength to pull herself up further, pressing the other suction cup in. With a satisfying whuck, Sharon uncupped the first to place it higher up, repeating the process to drag her body up onto the table.

“Jackpot.” Sharon scrambled to remove her suction cups, hurrying over to the glowing orbs placed in glass containers on the table. Each orb was larger than she was tall by a good inch or two. Pure Sizytium like this was hard to come by, but a valuable commodity in modern society where people of multiple statures lived in relative peace. After all, Sizytium was known for its size shifting capabilities. If left alone, Sizytium would slowly grow to unfathomable sizes; however, once it came in contact with carbon-based lifeforms, it could shrink in on itself until it was inconceivable to even those with the most powerful microscopes. That’s why the top of these glass containers was lined with a set of algae, to keep the orbs from outgrowing their containers. 

Sharon removed her glove, reaching her bare fingers inside to caress one of the orbs. Upon contact with living matter, the Sizytium shrank until it was more appropriately sized like a marble in her hand. She tossed the ball up into the air, catching it once again in her palm before placing it in her bag and moving onto the next sample. Every so often Sharon would swirl her hand inside her bag just to make sure the fresh Sizytium stayed small enough for all the pieces to fit. Just glancing inside her glowing bag made Sharon ready to squeal with glee, already eager to see what sort of possibilities this amount of riches could bring her.

Most commonly, Sizytium was processed into size shifting coins constructed of alloys, but now that Sizytium was in short supply it was difficult to craft more currency. The amount of Sizytium available in this vault was enough to let her life comfortably for the rest of her days, if she chose to give up a life of crime- but where is the fun in that?

So involved in her glee, Sharon didn’t hear the keypad being punched in until the whoosh of the airlock was once again heard. She cursed under her breath, trying to scan for any sort of suitable hiding spot. Lacking a better option, Sharon dove behind the algae covered tubes. There was no time to search further before the entire room was flooded in fluorescent light. 

In the doorway, a young human security guard scanned the area, his inexperienced fingers fiddling with the gun at his hip as if uncertain he should raise it. “Hello?” He asked the seemingly empty room. “I uh, I heard the door open. Standard procedural search now. Oh, I’m Kyle, the intern.”

They let interns into the Sizytium vault? What is the world coming to these days?

Even worse, a second glance made it clear that Sharon knew this man. Kyle Jacobs, who attended the same high school where Sharon graduated as the only tiny of her class and graduated one year before Sharon. 

Per state law, every tiny citizen attending a public school was assigned a human student as their steward between classes. It was a degrading practice that was only brought about because it was cheaper than properly adjusting the infrastructure to install minute transportation between classrooms. It also shined light on the fact that forcing tiny students to travel from room to room is a bizarre and outdated custom, forcing those students to focus more on sprinting across hallways than actually gaining an education.

But the important point of the matter here is that Kyle was assigned as Sharon’s guardian. He was a straight-A class president who always wanted to help Sharon get on the right path, but even from a young age Sharon was destined for evil; of course, that didn’t mean Sharon didn’t appreciate his misguided efforts. It just made him easier to manipulate.

“Kyle?” Sharon spoke up, pushing herself up over the top of the glass. “Kyle Jacobs? Is that really you?”

Kyle gasped, his attention drawn to the miniature voice on the table. “S-Sharon? Sharon Mare?”

“Who’s to say?” Sharon shrugged, dangling her legs over the edge and ignoring the way the algae made her black catsuit wet. “I can’t exactly go self-incriminating myself, given the circumstances.”

Kyle winced. “So you are stealing, huh.”

Sharon ignored his question. “What’s got you working in a place like this, Kyle?” She tilted her head. “I always thought you were destined for better things.”

“I could say the same of you.” Kyle retorted.

That got a chuckle out of Sharon. “You helped get me out of detention every Saturday for two years. We both knew I was going nowhere.” Sharon glanced to the side, catching his fallen expression out of the corner of her eye. “Speaking of that, I was hoping you’d do the same here.”

“Wait- what?” Kyle took a few steps forward, glancing around hastily. “Sharon, I’m not gonna help you steal!” 

Sharon huffed, balancing carefully on the lid so she could cross her arms and glare up at him. “And why not? Are you planning on turning me in?”

Kyle paused just short of hovering over her, fingers twitching as he bit his lip in that classic sign of hesitation. 

Sharon batted her eyelashes. “You know I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. You understand, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t respond.

“You’ve seen how it is out there.” Sharon wiped a bit of dust off her sleeve. “The world’s just not built for tinies. You’re not gonna throw a gal in a cage for doing what it takes to get by, now would you?” 

After a moment, he let his hands fall to his side. “...no.” He admitted. “But I can’t just leave you here, either. The cams saw me come in. People will ask questions.”

“Then come with me.” Sharon insisted, doing her best to hold her feral grin back in exchange for her innocent damsel in distress. It was far from convincing. “You and me, this much Sizytium, and we can live like kings in the next town over.”

“We’ll have to go farther than that.” Kyle muttered, already distracted calculating their next move as he laid down his palm. 

Sharon grinned, knowing that despite being the one to climb into his palm, Sharon had him wrapped around her little finger.

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Oof! After an eternity incredibly long time I’m finally back to writing! This one will be a three part fic to accompany the Fairy Tale AU one I wrote with Dante x Fem!Reader.

Can you guess which tale I got inspiration for this fic? I won’t include it in the tags for now, but as the story progresses you will start to get the idea of which tale it is.

Warnings: Slight violence against children. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious.

Story under the cut.

IMPORTANT EDIT: I decided to make this a four-part fic rather than a three-part, mostly because I realized that the second part may be a little too long to be included in just one chapter.

Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

............................. 

Part One

"(Y/N)!! Where the fuck is my breakfast?!!"

Your father yelled from his bed chambers in such a loud volume you swore the entire house trembled in fear at his wrath. Letting out a defeated sigh, you hurried up placing all the served plates and the warm teapot on the tray before heading upstairs.

Life hadn't been easy at all for you, especially these recent years. Ever since you had memory, your father has been a cruel man to both you and your poor mother, the only reason she had ended up marrying him was because of an arrangement both their families had agreed upon. He was the sole heir of his family's fortune, but needed to marry a woman in order to keep their status unblemished. Eventually your grandparents passed away and your parents received the inheritance, the only problem they didn't take into account was their son's unmeasurable greed and hedonism. Soon enough, your father had wasted pretty much all your fortune in alcohol, unsuccessful business deals and gambling, reducing all your family's possessions to merely a modest but still pretty chateau in the countryside and a few valuables.

You still cried at the memory of your mother wilting away on her bed due to a most terrible illness, the medicines she needed to recover were far too expensive, not that the price mattered much since your father wouldn’t even bother to pay for them anyways had they been any cheaper. Alcohol and gambling were far more important for the man than his dying wife.

"Finally! I swear you're doing this on purpose." Your father scowled from his bed as you placed the food tray on his bedside table. "Do you wish for your own father to starve to death? Talk about an ungrateful child. Get out of my sight already!"

You only resigned to silently nod before leaving, the harsh words from your father never failed to hurt you deeply, cutting down your heart so much you weren't able to mutter a single word to him.

A few tears threatened to escape, but you forced them down. A new day full of possibilities was right before you, so you wasted no time in collecting some of the many fruits and vegetables you grew by yourself in your own garden. This year had brought an exceptional harvest, your crops would certainly make a great profit at the town's market.

Unlike your father, the townspeople respected you and treated you with utmost kindness. Often would they offer their help knowing your situation, something that you would forever be grateful for. You promised to yourself that one day, shall your economy ever recover that is, you would repay them to the last penny for their unwavering support.

After another successful day at the town market you decided to return home, all your produce sold out and now replaced by a small satchel of silver coins, some of them spent in meat, spices and bread for cooking meals at home.

It was a simple life, but you were happy with what little you had. Now if only your father weren't so cruel and abusive...

.............................

"C'mon V! Let's explore over here!"

You were in the kitchen when a soft giddy voice in the distance caught your attention.

"Wait Nero! I don't think it's a good idea to stray further. What if Father becomes worried?" A second voice answered back.

Peering out the window, you noticed two little children playing not too far from your chateau's front yard. Both had pristine white hair, one of them seemed to carry a black kitten in his arms while a blue bird was perched on his shoulder. It was a rather endearing sight and an odd one too since they weren't familiar to you at all, not many people lived in the countryside area you resided in. Perhaps a family recently moved nearby without you noticing.

"Don't worry V, after all he sent Griffon and Shadow here to look after us. Look brother," One of them pointed at your residence with the small wooden sword in his hands. "I found a tiny castle!"

"Whoa, what a lovely house! Do you think a tiny princess lives there too?" The other brother pointed out. You couldn't help but giggle at their adorable antics as they approached your yard.

Reaching for some of the pastries you had bought earlier, you decided to grab a few to give to the brothers. You were about to reach for the back door when-

"GET OUT OF MY PROPERTY YOU BRATS!!"

As soon as you stepped out, you witnessed your father in a very drunken state harassing the poor children. "I SAID GET LOST NOW!!!"

You watched in absolute horror how he harshly grabbed one of the kids by his arm before throwing him to the ground, prompting his brother to wield his toy sword in an attempt to defend him, but ultimately failing as he was backhanded so roughly he too fell to the ground.

"NO! FATHER STOP!" You immediately sprinted to them, basically throwing yourself over harm's way as you shielded the children, pulling them away from your father's relentless attacks. Even the black cat and the blue bird that accompanied the kids had started attacking him, effectively helping you keeping the man at bay as you hugged the kids protectively.

"Damn animals, GET AWAY FROM ME!" The man struggled and flailed against the bird and the cat, missing every strike as he was too drunk and unfocused for their agility.

"Please father, you're completely inebriated and you will only hurt yourself and others. Just go back to the house, please?" You implored doing, your best to calm him down until he finally relented.

"Fine. Food better be ready soon though or you're sleeping outside tonight." His words came out slurred as he stumbled back inside.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you turned to the young twins in your arms, kneeling down before them to check for any wounds they may have gotten. The poor little ones were crying, a few bruises and cuts on their knees and faces.

"It's okay little ones, the bad man is already gone." Gently wiping their tears away, you comforted them until they calmed down. "Are you alright?"

"I-I think so... How about you V?"

"I... I’m fine. That man was so scary though."

A sigh of relief escaped you as you determined all the wounds were minor and merely superficial, nothing you couldn’t handle quickly.

"I'm truly sorry for what happened. Please come inside, let's get your wounds treated."

.............................

“Much better now, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and disinfecting the boys’ wounds. Luckily yout homemade medicinal balm was already working wonders, their skin already healing considerably.

“Here! A gift for being the bravest boys in the world.” You handed each one the pastries from before. The brothers’ eyes began sparkling at the sweet treats before them, they didn’t hesitate for a second before grabbing them and taking a bite.

“Thank you so much lady (Y/N)! These are so delicious!” they happily ate their pastries, even sharing a bit for their company animals too.

“I’m glad you like them. And you don’t need to call me lady by the way, just (Y/N) is fine. May I know your names too?”

“I’m Nero!” The twin with short hair and blue eyes answered.

“My name is Vitale, or V if you prefer.” The twin with shoulder-length hair and green eyes replied. “Oh! And these are our friends Griffon and Shadow!” V hugged Shadow close to his chest while Griffon perched himself on Nero’s shoulder.

“A pleasure meeting you four! Does your family live nearby by the way?”

Nero nodded as he kept chewing on his pastry. “Our house is just north from here actually, but Papa doesn’t let us go out often.”

Oh?

“And why is that?”

“Well...” V started, looking a bit down. “Father is very protective of us, that’s why he only lets us play outside as long as we stay close to the house. But today we tried convincing him to let us go explore a little bit farther, it was difficult but he finally agreed as long as we promised we would be alright...”

“I really hope he doesn’t get mad at us after he finds out what happened.” Nero added worryingly. Their saddened eyes really plucked at your heartstrings.

You knelt down so you could look at them in the eyes. “Don’t worry my children. How about I write a note to your father explaining the situation? I’m not sure if this would help much, but at least he would know he has my word that no harm will come to you. And if that doesn’t work, I could always go and meet him personally to get to an agreement.”

“You would really do that for us?” They looked at you expectantly, and when you nodded your answer, their faces lit up in so much joy that they unexpectedly enveloped you in a hug. You chuckled before wrapping your arms around them, returning the hug.

.............................

Since the brothers wanted to continue playing, you allowed the children to stay for a few more hours while you finished cooking. You let them keep playing in your garden, a place where you knew your father wouldn’t spot them and risk another scene like the one before.

Politely excusing yourself to your little guests before leaving to deliver your father’s meal. Luckily this time he received his food without saying much of a word, a very welcomed improvement from this morning’s rant.

As you returned to your guests, you noticed they were looking at you in concern.

“(Y/N), is that man really... your father?

“Yes, he is. Why the question?”

The glanced at each other briefly before V continued “Why did he treat you like that? I thought fathers were supposed to love their daughters...”

To say the question took you a bit by surprise would have been a underestimation. You simply sat down at one of the wooden benches, not knowing exactly what to say.

The brothers sat down next to you, each one by your sides.

You fumbled with your words, tears already pricking your eyes before you managed to control them.

“I know he is not exactly a good man, he made many mistakes in the past that cost our family so much… But, despite everything, he is still my father. Maybe I’m wrong, but I want to think he still has a good heart deep inside. That’s why I can’t give up on him. I stay with him in hope that one day he would finally change for the better.”

You forced a smile so you wouldn’t make the children worry anymore about you, and yet they managed to see through your façade. Their little arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you, an attempt to give you some comfort for the pain you were going through daily.

A warmth unlike no other enveloped your entire self, maybe it was cuteness of the situation or the great empathy of this wonderful children felt for you, but it felt so soothing how peace seemed to overtake you at the moment.

It was strange, yet so familiar. Like a distant memory of better days gone by.

.............................

The sun was about to set in a few hours, so you decided it was time for the children to head back home before it became dark.

As you had promised the brothers, you wrote a note for their father apologizing for the incident that happened and gave it to Nero. You also packed a few slices of fruit in a pouch for them to snack on during their trip back home.

“Um (Y/N)... can we come to your house to play again some time?” V asked in a shy voice. Both he and Nero had so much fun playing and staying with you, for them it felt that they had genuinely met a new friend that day.

“Of course little ones. You can come here and play whenever you want, as long as your father agrees to.” You ruffled their pretty little heads, making the brothers giggle.

“We promise to visit as often as we can! Right V?”

The younger one nodded his head enthusiastically.

And so, Nero and V departed. It was odd, how the chateau felt a hundred times emptier without them despite just meeting them earlier.

They were both so sweet and innocent, you just hoped their father wouldn’t get angry after reading your short letter. It would be a shame if the boys got punished for something that wasn’t their fault.

Going back into the kitchen, you cleaned a bit before tending to the plants at your garden, wondering if your new friends would soon brighten your day again with their presence

.............................

At the throne of a majestic palace, an all-seeing orb conjured at his hand, a demon king watched over his two sons.

The day they were born, he vowed to The Creator above that he would always protect them, even if that meant giving up his own life, he would gladly pay the price if it guaranteed they would keep living theirs in peace.

His kingdom may not be a vast one, completely isolated from others, but the land was prosperous and peace reigned over everyone. The king knew his sons would grow safe and sound behind the powerful barrier that surrounded the kingdom, but he couldn’t help a small seed of doubt that gnawed at his chest.

He feared for the day curiosity would awake in the hearts of his twins. They would want to know everything about the outside world, their innocent minds not knowing how cruel and dangerous it could be. The king often taught them of the outside world through the many books and scripts in the royal library, but he was afraid that would not be enough for his children.

So when that morning they had insisted of going beyond the barrier, no matter how much he had prepared himself mentally for this moment, his heart still ached with worry.

But he wouldn’t take their freedom away. Doing so is one of the most horrifying acts one could bestow upon another.

So the king allowed them to venture beyond their home. He had to let them fly, not clip their beautiful wings.

However, as much as he wanted to trust his sons, his concerns were bigger. He tasked two servants to keep them company, knowing that their eyes would keep guard on them. Using his demonic power, he summoned an oracle that would let him watch over them from his throne.

He watched as they approached a small chateau outside the forest, they were happy and playing along the way which brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

That contentment was gone in an instant.

A drunk man stepped out of the house and attacked his sons, scaring them and making them cry.

The king immediately stood from his throne, his fists tightly clenched as his eyes filled with immeasurable wrath and ire. He was about to unsheath his own sword to open a portal and go there, ready to end the miserable man’s life, when another figure ran into the scene. A woman who shielded his sons from the attacking man.

And when he finally managed to look at her face, he froze, almost dropping the sword in his hand.

For she looked exactly like-

… No. It couldn’t be her.

And yet there was a tenderness in the way she treated them. The way her soft hands cleaned the boys’ tears and kindly healed their wounds. The way she offered them a few pastries with a sweet smile in her face and warm light in her eyes. It was rather endearing, how this woman gained his sons’ trust in just a few minutes.

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the king sat down at the throne once again, attentive to what the oracle revealed to his eyes.

Maybe the outside world wasn’t so dangerous after all.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter fifteen

genre: angst

warnings: prison, mentions of solitary confinement, mentions of physical abuse, spoilers for The Good Doctor, spoilers for Lucifer, alcohol, drugging

word count: 7.1k

summary: spencer gets used to life in prison in the worst ways. amelia goes through a rollercoaster of emotions and tries to cope with spencer being out of reach. she tries to stay positive and convince others that she is okay.

i’d like to say once again that having a good understanding of the prison arc is helpful in reading this fic. i don’t explain every single detail (because it’s unnecessary to) and if you’re not familiar w the storyline, it’ll be harder to comprehend.

school is over so i’ll have more time to edit and post!!!! yay!! enjoy the chapter :)

SPENCER

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, yes, it's clear!"

My heart pounds against my chest and that's all I can feel. Absolute fear and absolute helplessness. I can't do anything here. I've accepted that but maybe I've just been lying to myself. How can I ever accept that I can't do anything to protect myself or protect others? I’ve spent my life protecting. I need to protect. I need to. 

The fear and the panic are overwhelming and I'm thrashing around. I can't do anything to stop it. I wish it would stop. The panic is overwhelming. It's consuming. It's eating me alive. It’s too uch. It’s way too much. I need to go and protect. I need to protect.

"Help! Help!"

I jerk awake, drenched in sweat and my hair matted to my forehead. The images of my dead friend are still flashing in my head and as badly as I want to forget, I know I never will. My back and bottom ache from the metal cot I’m on, my limbs stiff in the smaller-than-twin, poor excuse of a mattress.

I twist my body and reach under my pillow, pulling out the journal that my counselor had given me and the pencil, scribbling down my stream of consciousness as quickly as I possibly can. It's barely readable in my chicken scratch writing but who cares enough to read what I have to say anyway? No one. Nobody cares here. Nobody cares about me. I’m nothing.

Getting more and more intense. Got to fall deeper in to beat them. I've lost friends before, but not like this. Not in a box where I have no control. Or do I? Starting to think like them, starting to survive like them. I'm here because I made a choice. What if that means I don't get out alive?

My blood runs cold as I dot the question mark with my trembling hand. I swipe my hand across my dripping forehead and grimace at how wet my hand comes back. I throw my journal onto the floor and lay back down, forcing my eyelids closed.

How could I expect myself to sleep? I'm foolish to think I will. But I keep up the illusion for a while and keep my eyes closed, hoping that sleep will draw me in, but it never does. I just keep replaying the events that plague me every night, and eventually, my eyelids snap open again. The gory images were too much. Then the beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed images became too painful. I scrunch up my eyebrows when I feel a headache forming between them.

My eyes immediately land on the journal, and red hot flames replace my brown orbs. That journal is horrible. It's filled with depressing content and it's falling apart and it's a disgusting brown color. It doesn't have my name in beautiful calligraphy on the front, and perfect drawings of beakers and coffee cups and strawberries and books and records players and decks of cards, and my confessions of love for my girlfriend inside. It doesn't have any of that beauty on the inside. No, this journal contains my deteriorating mind and my disappearing conscience.

Barely having control of my tired muscles, I roll off the bed and land on my hands and knees, holding in my grunts of agony. The cell block is almost silent, aside from the fans blowing around stale, warm air, and I don't intend to piss off anyone by disrupting their sleep. I keep my mouth shut after the initial impact sound. 

I make the bed. I fold the corner of the sheets, so they are absolutely perfect. I fold the blanket and tuck it under the mattress. I smooth my hands over the top of the bed to make it perfect. It has to be perfect. If the bed isn’t perfect, it will get torn apart by the officers. They will rip up my bed and take away my blanket and pillow and humiliate me in front of the whole cell block. I don’t need that to happen again. I experienced that on my first week here and I vowed to never let it happen again. I make the bed and then I make it again, then fix it, then arrange it perfectly one more time. Finally. Perfection. It has to be perfect.

I push my journal against the wall and lay on my back, setting my feet flat against the floor and tucking my hands behind my head. I keep count in my mind as I lift my chin to my knees, ignoring the burn in my abs and the sharp pain in my spine from the concrete I'm rolling my bones against.

Once I've reached my goal number, twenty higher than yesterday’s number, I roll over onto my hands and lift myself up, and start my press ups. I begin a new, higher count in my head as I continuously bring my nose to the concrete, and with each time my biceps flex, the anger flares up. I clench my jaw and my stomach bubbles and my head gets light.

Fuck prison. Fuck it. Fuck the fact that I have to be here. Fuck Frazier and fuck his gang and fuck his shank and fuck the fact that he killed Luis. Fuck this whole situation. This is madness.

I'm becoming them. I am them. I either become them or I die, and I refuse to die in here. I refuse to die without curing Alzheimer's and getting married and having children and spending my life hunting the very people I'm locked in here with. I refuse to die knowing that there's a whole life I could live if I keep fighting. I refuse to break law after law in here like my life doesn't matter in the free world. I refuse to lose the person that I was, even if he's slipping further and further away by the second. Even if every time I try to recall the person I was, the images of my own face get more and more blurry. They’re hard to make out.

And maybe he's already gone and I've already sucked in the traits of the felons around me. Maybe I just refuse to accept who I am now. That's more likely than the lies I feed myself.

I work my muscles until the sun peeks in through the tiny window across from my cell. I'm drenched in sweat, even more than before, and my muscles are aching, but it's easy to forget. And if I can't forget, then it's easy to revel and bask in the intense pain.

The correctional officers bring us to the chow hall and we all collect our disgusting food and eat as quickly as possible. We usually only have three minutes for meals. Three minutes. That's it. It was horrible at first. I had to sit at a table, alone, with my shoulders hunched, shoveling food into my mouth. If you don’t eat at chow, you don’t eat at all. I always used to go back to my cell and curl up in my bed, thinking I was going to throw up. The combination of moldy, rotten food and a three-minute time crunch to eat has horrifying results. But now, three minutes is child's play. Three minutes is eating leisurely. I could eat my entire meal in exactly two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Three minutes, now, is generous.

After breakfast is visitation and, to no one’s surprise, my name is called. I wonder who's on Garcia's list for today. They haven't managed to stick to a set schedule yet, due to cases and traveling, so I have no way of predicting who I'll see. I’m always left to wander into the visitation room and come up with lies on the spot. 

I stick my hands out and allow Wilkins to slap cuffs on me, but I never meet his eyes. I wouldn't dare to. No amount of crunches or push-ups will ever prepare me to take him. I keep my eyes down and, shamefully, let him push me towards the visitation room.

I scan the little tables for a familiar face and smile the tiniest bit when I see Rossi sitting and waiting for me. He hasn't come to visit me yet, and out of the two people I don't want to visit me at all-- my girlfriend and my mom-- I've been waiting to see him. I resist the urge to push the person in front of me to get as much time with Rossi as possible. I wouldn’t dare risk pushing someone. I don't need a fight to send me to solitary confinement. Huh. Actually, solitary confinement doesn't seem too bad right now. I could get away from all these other inmates who want to hurt me. I could relax in solitary.

I sit down and just give Rossi an expecting look, utterly speechless. I've had so many questions to ask him. I've needed so much advice, but now I have nothing to say. My voice is stuck in my throat. His facial hair is longer. The bags under his eyes are a shade darker. Luckily, he speaks first. "You haven't slept." Okay, not what I wanted or needed him to say.

I just shrug nonchalantly. "It's been a while." What else can I say?

Rossi just nods. What else can he do? "I heard about your friend, Delgado. I'm really sorry, Spence," Again, not what I wanted or needed him to say. I don't want to hear or talk about Luis anymore. I'm tired of dwelling on that. I feel guilty enough. I don't need to see his slit throat every time I close my eyes and then open my eyes and talk about him. I don't need that. When I'm unresponsive to this, Rossi continues. "Is there anyone you can talk to?"

I roll my eyes to the back of my head. If my mother were here, she would warn me that if I do that long enough, my eyes would get stuck there. "We have group therapy once a week. The counselor wants me to keep a journal. So I am, but I don't really think it's helping."

Rossi's furrows his eyebrows. "How come?"

A scoff escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Because no one in here is honest. I mean, not a single person can admit that they're terrified," my cuffs rattle as I move my hands as if to hone in what I'm saying. "If we can't agree on that one basic truth, then it doesn't really matter."

"They could just be numb to it all." That's what Rossi offers up. It could help. It would help if I was in the free world.

"Well," my voice softens and even though I know there are gang members around me and people who want to hurt me, I let my guard down, "I'm not. There's," I drop my head the tiniest bit, "there's a helplessness in here that causes people to do things they'd never consider."

Rossi sighs, and this was what I was scared of. I open up and he has nothing to say to me. He has no world-class wisdom to offer. I'm prepared to do what I did to Garcia and practically ignore him for the rest of the visit, but when he reaches into his jacket, my intrigue beats out my disappointment.

I recognize the calligraphy on the front of the envelope as soon as I see it. It's on the front of every single one of my journals that still lay in my desk drawer. It looks as beautiful as ever in black ink, outlined and accented in a yellow pen. There's a lump in my throat that I try to swallow.

"I had to flash my badge just to get it in here so you better read it. I'm not letting you refuse to read this like you refuse to see her," Rossi moves the letter closer to me, directly in my eyesight.

I swallow the thick lump and slowly raise my cuffed hands to grab the envelope. I carefully, without ripping my cursive name, make a slice in the top with my finger and pull out pieces of paper that I recognize to be paper ripped out of Amelia's journal.

"Did you read this?" I ask Rossi as I place the envelope down.

"It was still sealed, wasn't it?"

I nod and stay silent as I drop my head again. I could cry just at the sight of Amelia's handwriting. She touched this paper. This specific piece of paper. This piece of paper was in her hands, in her apartment, and now it’s in my hands. She sat and put pen to paper and wrote this out for me to read. And with one final breath, I finally bring myself to actually start reading it.

To my love dove,

Hi!! How are you? I'm only okay, but there's something I need to tell you can it can't wait any longer.

I started watching this tv show called The Good Doctor a few weeks ago and I've finished the entire series. Honestly, Spencer, it's so amazing. I think you would love it so much.

I know you don't watch that much tv, unless I'm around, so I'll tell you what it's about. The show is about this resident surgeon named Shaun Murphy who is fighting to get a job at a hospital, but the administration of the hospital won't give him a job because he has autism. But then he saves a child's life in an airport or something (I can't remember exactly, it’s been a while) and does a procedure that is really innovative and outside the box and it floors everyone and the hospital hires him.

The show follows him navigating adult life and relationships and his job and him learning how to be less dependent on older people telling him what to do. He gets a girlfriend and loses his virginity and then starts talking about sex at work which is fucking hilarious but also stupidly inappropriate, and he has a friend who's a girl who his girlfriend has a problem with.

And then (I'm sorry, baby, but spoilers are coming!!)  they kill off one of the main characters at the end of the third season! How dumb! Melendez was one of my favorite characters and he was just about to admit to Claire that he's in love with her and then they killed him off for such a stupid reason. The season ends on a cliffhanger! You know how much I hate cliffhangers. And that plot of Claire and Melendez falling in love was teased at for so long and they gave it to us just to take it right away!!!! Cruel!! Do I have grounds to sue for emotional distress? I think there is. I should get on this.

Okay. I've calmed down now.

Fine. You caught me. I haven't. I'll never calm down from my heartbreak over Dr. Melendez. But I can move on for now.

I think you would really like this show and I'd be willing to watch it again with you. I think you'd enjoy it. They talk a lot about medical terms and medical procedures and there’s diagrams and everything. And whether they're accurate and precise or not, I'm sure you'd enjoy picking out mistakes in the procedures or telling me why the procedures are revolutionary. And no matter which option it is, I'm ready to listen and learn.

Before I watched The Good Doctor, I finished watching Lucifer, but I know that you hated that show. But he went back to Hell!!!!!!!!!!! He really did That!!!!! He left Chloe and went to Hell!!!!!! So fucking rude. I screamed out loud when he said he was leaving. Thankfully, there's going to be a season five and maybe I'll make you watch that with me so we can see what happens with Lucifer and Chloe. I debated on watching Star Trek or Doctor Who because you're always talking about how much you love those shows, but I know I won't understand it. I'll need you to explain it to me. I think I'll just wait to watch those with you. Sounds like a good date night to me.

I love you more than words can even express. I miss you more than I will ever be able to say (or in this case, write). I know you're not doing well and I know you don't want to see me but I hope that hearing from me helps you in some way. I don't know how it would but I hope it does.

I love you. I promise, I'll see you so soon.

With all the love in my tiny body,

from your pretty girl,

Amelia <3

ps. idk if you're shaving your face in there but... I'm curious to see what you look like with a mustache and beard... that's a sight I never thought you'd let me see. Hmm. I shouldn't let my mind wander. Sorry. I love you. Kisses.

I read over her letter once, twice, three times. Every time I read it, I notice something new. Every time I read the letter, I notice a teardrop beside a word, of a subtle smudge of a pen, or another hesitation in her pen stroke.

I read it again. And then I read it again. But then I read it one more time. And just when I think I've had enough, I read it another time. I’m on the tenth read before the wheels actually start turning in my head, slower than usual. This letter has distraction written all over it in Amelia’s pretty writing. I don't like medical dramas and I hated Lucifer. She knows that. She acknowledged that in her letter. But this is the kind of thing she would tell me as we're eating dinner when I get home from a case, or as we're laying in bed, or when we're showering, or when we're sitting on the balcony of one of our apartments. This serves that purpose, except this time, it's in letter form. She's distracting me. God, I would give anything to break out of here and drag her to a courthouse and marry her right now.

"Reid?"

My head snaps up when Rossi speaks, and when I force our eyes to meet, he's holding out a pen. I know for a fact that pens aren't allowed. Pens could be considered a weapon in the hands of the wrong inmate. He snuck this in, and I'm not sure how, but I don't want to know how.

I snatch the pen out of his hand and rip the sides of the envelope so there's more room to write, scribbling down my thoughts as fast as possible. I don't want to get caught. If I do, I can't imagine the trouble I'll get in, especially if Wilkins catches me. When I'm pleased with what I've written, I fold up the envelope and hand that and the pen back to Rossi. But I keep the letter, tucking it into the waistband of my pants so it's completely out of sight.

Rossi smiles, putting the envelope back in his jacket pocket and flattening the lapels. "Is there anything you want me to tell her?"

"Tell her--" I'm cut off by a sharp alarm going off, a guard screaming about a lockdown, and for all the inmates to return to their cells. I sigh, rising to my feet. "It's all there. Just give that to her."

///

AMELIA

///

"Hi, Jeannie," My voice is only a mumble as I greet the receptionist. She gives me a pitiful smile, another new tradition that has only formed in the last few weeks, handing over a visitor's pass and watching as I clip it to the pocket of my jacket.

I drag myself to the elevator and hit the up button, drag myself inside, and when it opens on the sixth floor, I drag myself to Penelope's office. My mood is lower than it has been lately. I didn’t really think it could get any lower. But here I am with a heart heart, hunched shoulders, and the inability to smile. I'm not sure why I feel like this on this specific day, as opposed to any other shitty day, but maybe it's because I know that Penelope went to visit Spencer today. All I know is that I barely wanted to drag myself off of Jenna's couch this morning and get dressed and show up here. I could barely pay attention to the new episode of The Good Doctor that Jenna coaxed me into watching with her last night. I could barely get myself to come through the front doors of the building, but I show up to the BAU every single morning like I work here.

I plug in the code to Penelope's door and push it open, and I’m welcomed to a sight that I didn't think I'd see for a while. Luke is kneeling in front of Penelope, and at first, I think that he's finally confessing his feelings for her. My first intention is to silently back away and let them have their moment. His hands are on her knees and she isn’t insulting him, so nothing about this interaction could be bad, right? But then I notice that she's crying, and my heart drops. I don’t back away. 

My hand slips off the doorknob and it slams shut, making me flinch on impact. The two stare up at me like deer caught in headlights. I see this expression way too much for my liking nowadays. And judging by the sheer fact that there are still tears dripping down Penelope's cheeks, this isn't good. Nothing is ever good anymore.

"What happened?" I don't step closer, I don't grab Penelope's hand, I don't touch Luke's shoulder. My heart is pounding against my chest and my hands are starting to shake.

Luke glances at Penelope before rising to his feet. "Garcia went to see Reid today."

"I know," I snap faster than I intended to. "What happened to him? Is he okay? What--" my voice betrays me and I can't choke out another question.

Luke sucks in a breath, keeping a stony, emotionless face. "He got beat up."

"Beat up?" I regurgitate the disgusting words that have just been spewed at me, backing myself against the wall. "He got--"

Penelope stands up and moves towards me, lacking her normal finesse. "His face had bruises and he seemed agitated but he seemed fine otherwise--"

"He's not fine if he got beat up," My anger, somehow, quickly dissipates and turns to heartache. My heart pounds against my chest at an alarming rate. My eyes flood with tears and my knees start to give out from under me, and I go sliding to the ground, curling into myself. "He's trapped inside with the people who beat him up and there's nothing he can do."

"Listen," Luke kneels in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder, but I can't bring myself to shake it off or even look up at him, "I'm gonna get an extra set of eyes on Reid. He's mentioned something about another inmate that sounds like an ex-FBI agent, and I think I know how I can get him to protect Reid. Amelia, he's gonna be okay. I'm gonna go to the prison right now and figure this all out. You call me if you need anything at all."

Luke stands again and smiles at Penelope, quickly leaving the room. And once he's gone, Penelope takes his place on the floor beside me, sitting with her legs straight out. She's silent, but I'm not sure why. Is she giving me space? Is she waiting for me to speak? Is she figuring out what to say? Is she too scared to say anything? I wouldn't blame her if she was. I'm not the person I was anymore.

I reach into my pocket and pull out Spencer's medallion, passing it between my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper, keeping my gaze on the metal circle. "I haven't exactly been a best friend lately, or a friend at all. I've just been a bitch."

"No, you don't need to apologize," Penelope insists, scooting closer to me. "This is a really hard time for you. It's understandable. I don't expect you to want to be listening to my guy problems or wanting to drink wine. I mean, I don't even want to be doing either of those things. It seems too...cheerful for right now."

My lips quiver and I try to hold back my tears, but no matter how hard I squeeze the medallion, my tears won’t retreat and my pain doesn’t disappear. "I just really miss him, and I'm really worried about him."

"We all are," Penelope sighs, patting my leg. "But we're working as hard as we can to get him out."

"I know you are," I flip the medallion over and stare down at the compass. "I just hope he comes home soon because I don't know how much longer I'll last without him."

///

The snapping of my pencil against paper shakes me back to reality, and my head pops up. I find that I've been jamming my pencil into my sketchbook, creating a hole in the paper that has effectively ruined my drawing and maybe even ruined my entire sketchbook.

A groan leaves my lips and I drop my sketchbook to the floor, my pencil following. I shouldn't be upset. Whatever it was I was drawing was horrible anyway. I haven't drawn anything good since Spencer got arrested. My art revolves around joy and happiness and the good things in my life and if I don't have any of that, how am I expected to make art?

"Hey," Jenna comes and sits beside me, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table. I don't touch it. She never makes it as good as Spencer. She picks up the sketchbook and lets out a sigh. "It's a shame there's a hole in it now. I liked what you were drawing."

"It was bad," I respond, letting my head fall onto her shoulder. "Nothing in there was any good."

"I disagree," Jenna drops the book and slings her arm around my shoulder, drawing me into her embrace. She’s not nearly as warm as Spencer. "Sometimes, our best work comes from dark places. You know, like comedians. A lot of comedians have depression and--"

"Jen, I appreciate it but I'm not in the mood for this," I murmur, eyelids feeling heavy. I rest my head on her lap and stare up at her, resisting the urge to purr as she starts to brush her fingers through my hair, but it's nothing like the way Spencer does it. Spencer, somehow, doesn't let his fingers get caught in my curls and he doesn't tug on knots. His hands are big and veiny and strong and not dainty and tiny like Jenna's.

"I'm sorry," Jenna apologizes with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm sorry," I catch her hand in mine and intertwine our fingers, squeezing tightly. "I've been horrible lately. I've just-- what I'm going through with Spencer is no reason to be acting like a bad friend to you. You've been so generous and so helpful and so--"

"Hey, listen," Jenna cuts me off with her sweet smile, "when everything with Spencer is resolved and he's settled at home with his mom and with you, then you can take me out and throw me a Jenna appreciation party. But for right now, don't worry about me. Just worry about you and staying healthy and trying to stay happy, and focus your energy on your happy memories with Spencer."

"You're the best, have I ever told you that?"

"Hey!" Jenna exclaims. "Save it for the appreciation party."

I smile back up at my best friend, nodding slowly. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. Once I get my shit together, I'll throw you an amazing party."

"And I look forward to it," Jenna quips, and then looks at the time. "Okay, I've gotta get to a meeting but you're welcome to stay here if you want. My apartment is all yours."

"No, I think I'm gonna go home for a bit. Probably shower and then get to the BAU with fresh clothes. I feel all," I sit up, brushing my fingers over my cheeks and grimacing, "greasy and oily."

Jenna returns my ruined sketchbook and ushers me out the door, watching me get into my car to make sure I get there safely. I wave goodbye to her before driving off, not even bothering to turn on the radio. I never do anymore.

Trudging up to my door, I unlock it and toss my keys aside, throwing my bag down on the floor and kneeling down to take off my shoes. I pull out my hair tie and drop it to the floor, then leave a trail of clothes to the kitchen. First my denim jacket, then my socks, then my crop top. I'm left in my bra and sweatpants in the middle of the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for something to eat. It’s nearly empty. Of course it is. I haven’t had the energy to go shopping lately. 

I reach my hand out but I pause and scrunch up my nose at a strong scent. Why does it smell like bubblegum in here? Again. I don’t even like the scent or taste of bubblegum, and I obviously didn’t buy any gum recently. I roll my eyes, wandering over to the window to open it further and let out the smell. I breathe in a bit of the fresh air and sigh, stepping away and going back to my original plan of getting something to eat. Maybe the older woman next door has a bubblegum candle that she likes to light whenever I’m home. 

But the smell is persistent and it's filling my lungs and my brain and my tongue. I start to walk towards the window again but my feet don't let me. It's like there's someone telling me not to go and breath in the fresh air outside, and so, I don't. I stand in the middle of my kitchen like a floundering fish, gripping the island with white knuckles. My head feels fuzzy. My eyes feel like they should be rolling into my skull. It’s that familiar feeling of not having control over myself. That sickly familiar feeling of someone standing right behind me, whispering in my ear and telling me what to do. 

But then I feel the urge to shut the window completely, so I do. I rush over and slam it closed with so much force that I think I might break the glass. But I'm confused. I'm so confused. The bubblegum smell is nauseating so why am I closing the window? What is telling me to close the window? Who is telling me to close the window?

I feel my feet walking over to the couch and I lay down. My eyelids feel heavy and I don't stop myself when I feel an intense need to lay down and close my eyes, to rest. I curl up and drift off comfortably, into the best sleep I've gotten since I had the privilege of sleeping in a bed with Spencer.

When I finally wake again, my head is pounding. I whine out loud, curling my knees into my chest and tossing my arm over my eyes, trying to block out the lights above me. But nothing works so I roll off the couch, falling onto my knees in a pathetic heap. I lift my head, finding an empty bottle of white wine on the coffee table. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. I didn’t drink wine today. The bottle is empty but I didn’t drink. I mean, I feel hungover but I know I didn’t drink. The smell of bubblegum is gone. 

I reach around for my phone, but after groping the couch and the coffee table, I come up empty. I conclude that I've left it in my backpack which I dropped beside the door. I grind my teeth as my muscles pop when I stand and walk over to the foyer, rubbing my eyes and letting out a dramatically loud yawn. When I get to the foyer, I find that my backpack is nowhere in sight. That's odd. I could have sworn that I left it here when I got home from Jenna's apartment, but I guess in my blackout, I moved it.

I turn on my heel to head back to the kitchen, and the first thing I notice is that it's not morning anymore. It's dark out. My head whips towards the clock and I find that it's almost midnight. I must have gotten drunk. I must have finished that whole bottle myself and the alcohol made me forget. I drank the entire day away, somehow. That's not like me. That's never happened before. I drink wine all the time, I know I can hold my wine. How did one single bottle of wine do this to me?

Shaking my head at myself and pushing away my pathetic tears, I move on to my kitchen. Surely enough, the contents of my backpack are strewn across the island and my phone is right there. What I need it for? I'm not sure. But despite the fact that I've just woken up, I'm exhausted. So with my phone in my hand, half dressed, belly button ring falling out, hair tangled, head pounding, and my brain swirling, I drag myself up the stairs and collapse into bed.

The sheets smell like him. They always do. They always will. The pillow he claimed as his own will always be stained with the scent of his cologne, and no matter the amount of times I wash it, it was always smell like him. I roll over and hug his pillow to my chest, and this time, I don't stop the dam from breaking. I let the tears flow down my cheeks relentlessly and I let the sobs rack my body and I let myself succumb to the depression I've barely been fighting off.

But I don't let my mind succumb too much, not to the bad thoughts that are hounding me. I stumble off the bed and into my bedside table, pulling out my journal and holding it in my lap. My pen moves faster than my mind does and before I know it, I'm signing my name at the end. I don't even proofread it. I don't check for spelling or grammar errors or try to dry the tear stains or fix any pen smudges. I just rip out the pages, fold them up, put on some clothes, and jump in my car. 

The doors the the sixth floor open as I fiddle with my visitors pass on my hip. I see Stephen first and he smiles at me, stepping out of the way and gesturing me for me to go past. I thank him softly and go tiptoeing by, pulling open the bullpen door and stepping in. JJ and Tara are talking with Anderson and Kevin by the coffee machine and I send them a wave, but I don't go over to talk. I haven't been in the mood for small talk lately. And besides, it’s midnight. Everyone is here incredibly late to work and small talk would distract them from their obvious mountain of work. They don’t need the extra worry of me showing up hungover and confused. I keep my head down to avoid everyone. 

I pass Emily and get to Dave's door, knocking much softer than I have in the past. He calls for me to enter, and when I do, I give him one of the fake smiles I've become so accustomed to lately. "Hi," I state gently.

"Hi," he gestures for me to sit, and when I do, he closes to door. "Are you okay?"

"I am," I nod quickly, probably way too quickly, and bring my backpack into my lap, digging through the contents. "I saw that--"

"Are you drunk?" He interrupts me, narrowing his eyes at me as he takes a seat again.

I fiend surprise, shaking my head. "No! Of course not! Why would you--"

"Your eyes are bloodshot and you're not speaking properly, you're slurring your words," Dave points out bluntly.

I don't move my gaze from his as my hands finally land on what I was searching for, and I pull it out, holding it to him. "I saw on Garcia's board that you're the next to visit Spencer. Could you bring that to him? It's just a letter."

Dave takes the envelope from my hand and admires the calligraphy on the front, the same I always use to label Spencer's sketchbooks. He nods and tucks it into his jacket pocket. "I'll bring it. The prison checks everything and--"

"If they confiscate it, I don't wanna know," I tell him, standing and putting my backpack on again, heading towards his office door. "Just-- everything I have to say is in that letter. I've gotten it out and even if he doesn't get to read it," I shrug my shoulders up to my ears and laugh pitifully, "whatever. I just hope he's safe now."

I go home. I leave with my head down and tears in my eyes. Dave is going to think I’m a crazy drunk who can’t control herself. The reality is, I don’t even know what happened today. I’m just confused and sad. I’m missing Spencer, I hate the smell of bubblegum, and I can’t do my job anymore. Everything is fucking horrible. Everything has gone to shit.

Like clockwork, I bring myself to the BAU the next morning. Freshly showered and in presentable clothes, looking better than I have in months. An obvious overcompensation for what Dave said to me yesterday. I need to show him somehow that I’m okay. Well, I’m not okay but I don’t need anyone worrying about me. I should have practiced my fake smile in the elevator.

"Hey, you," Penelope smiles softly as I walk into her lair, dropping my backpack on the empty desk. "Feeling okay?"

"Meh," I shrug, sitting down in a free chair and drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm trying to keep my spirits up. It's hard, you know? It keeps getting longer and longer since I've seen him and the longer it gets, the harder it gets. I’m trying to keep it together. It’s hard, P."

"I think I may be able to help with that," Dave's voice at the door makes the both of us jump. Neither of us had even realized he had come in right behind me. But I jump to my feet and smooth down my skirt, adjusting my nose ring so it’s perfect and brushing my straightened hair behind my ears.

"Help with that?" Penelope repeats, glancing between us. "Help with that how?"

Dave reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the envelope for the letter I'd written for Spencer, and my heart drops to my feet. Why was I thinking? What made me think he would be able to bring my letter in? He's in a maximum-security prison. Spencer can barely take a shower without prison guard eyes on him. He's not going to be able to get a letter from a visitor without it being checked and rejected first.

"I told you I didn't wanna know if he could see it," I whisper, looking down at my lap and hating the way my eyes instantly burn with tears. I’ve cried too much lately. "You should've just thrown it out. I don't want it back, just--"

He drops the envelope onto my lap to shut me up, but now, it's unfolded and there's writing on the inside. My body jerks ungracefully when I recognize Spencer's handwriting and I snatch it up to read what he's written for me.

To my pretty girl,

The Good Doctor sounds like a great show, and even though you've basically spoiled the whole show for me, I'd love to rewatch it with you. Medical dramas tend to be incorrect with their facts so I'd like to see how much of the show is accurate. And no, I will not watch Lucifer with you. But I will absolutely watch Star Trek and Doctor Who with you. It would be my pleasure to explain them to you.

I think of you every single day. You are the reason I'm pushing through and you are the reason I'm still alive. You are the reason I get out of bed and you are the reason I'm sane at all. You're still my north. Don't forget that. I’m going to come home to you.

Like you said, words cannot describe how intensely and how badly I miss you. Things are hard right now but I promise that I'll see you soon and I promise that everything will be okay.

Listen to some Brahms or Mozart for me. I love you so much.

With all the love I have left to give,

Your Dove

ps. There are no razors here and I haven't shaved in months. Enjoy.

pps. Thank you for distracting me. It worked wonders. You're truly amazing.

I read his letter over and over and over. I examine every single word on the page and I barely even notice when my tears start to fall on the paper. His writing is messy, it always has been, but it's so beautiful. Maybe I think it's so extraordinarily beautiful because I know he touched this piece of paper and now I'm touching it. It's from his heart. It's from him. It's from my Spencer.

"Penny," I whimper out, and she is at my side in a second, placing her hand on my shoulder. "He—” I sniffle and hiccup, “he promised."

"He promised?" She echoes, her voice sounding hopeful but like she's talking to a child. "What did he promise?"

"He promised that everything is gonna be okay," I clutch the paper in my hand, admiring its beauty and counting the strokes that Spencer made with the pen. "And he told me again that I'm his north and-- that's good, right? He's still there, you know, mentally."

Penelope nods at me, reaching down to wipe my tears. "Yeah, Amelia, that's really good that he said those things."

I drop the letter to the floor and throw my arms around Dave, crying into his shoulder. "Thank you so much. Thank you for doing this for me."

He hugs me back tightly. "Anything to see you and the kid happy. Anything for you two."

TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrrywildflower @penemily @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

A story written by me and my little brother!

THIS TOOK MONTHS! INTERACTIONS, ESPECIALLY REBLOGS, ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

“Now, hold it at an angle… there, that is perfect. You are a natural, Mal gein,” the woman helped her son adjust his hands, so that his dagger was properly positioned on the sharpening stone. She had a sword in her own hand, and used it to further demonstrate the way it was done.

He slowly turned the tiny blade from side to side, his eyes fully trained on it in childish wonder. Sparks flew off the wheel haphazardly and Spear giggled at the flashy sight. His mother, however, looked after him worriedly. She was not surprised when his finger slipped and nicked the blade, quickly snatching a bandage as he began to cry.

She gently shushed him, taking his hand and wrapping it in the cloth. He started apologizing through tears, but she once again quieted him.

“It’s alright, mal kendov, there is no shame in pain. That is why the gods gave us loved ones. To unify us and to lift one another up. Never forget this.”

~*~

Iýa looked the sleeping Daphne over from atop her starry perch with pity. “Struck by lightning at sea, I’m afraid. You were right to bring her here, Leonora. Let me see what I can do…” With this, she held Daphne and ran a glowing hand over her scales. The blistering burn slowly began to melt away, and Daphne’s eyes fluttered open.

Upon recognizing her surroundings, she squirmed in her mother’s arms and began to cry. She didn’t know why she was crying, exactly. Perhaps it was the way her sister had told on her mistake, or the way her mother looked at her regardless.

Either way, Iýa held her through every moment of it, crooning a lullaby in her ear and assuring her she was safe and loved. And whether Daphne believed it or not, it was the truth.

~*~

Trouble had begun to brew in the east, and the envy of the first man blew the growing storm westward. He stole a star from the Fair Folk’s skies, a great blasphemy against them and their Goddess of the sparkling Night.

While Asem was powerful to an egregious degree, the Fae still felt it necessary to push back against the man’s arrogance. This led them to go to their Goddess and make a wish.

But while the crown of Asem began to fracture his family and kingdom, the Fae’s wish had already been set in motion. Stories began to fly of monsters in the woods beyond the Faerie trading ports. Sailors would return, describing massive men as tall as trees, covered with midnight fur.

Those that knew waited with baited breath. Asem’s sin had brought him to justice all on its own, and yet the beasts made to destroy him already existed. The Fae only hoped to now hide these frightful children they had created…

~*~

Daphne sneakily slipped behind a pillar of sandstone, warily watching her back. Out of the corner of her eye, a pale pink fin darted out of view. Caught.

She would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the pressing need to not be detected. But did that poor pallid mergirl think she was being secretive in her attempts to win the match? The princess certainly hoped not, for the girl’s sake. In any case, she tapped her hand against the wall, and an icy open clip appeared around it.

With this, she allowed herself to let slip a quiet giggle and darted away behind another pillar. She coiled herself around it and promptly turned herself into pure water, so that she was effectively invisible.

Just as she had hoped, the pinky girl swam around the pillar, and was disappointed to find the princess wasn’t there. Daphne flicked her wrist, causing the clasp to snap around the girl’s tail, trapping her and making her yelp.

Revealing herself, Daphne resumed her tail, cackled like a witch, a shot ahead to claim the final prize. She snatched the flag, waving it excitedly to show off to her fellow competitors. They swam out from their hiding places, arms crossed and brows furrowed, and threw joking insults her way.

“How do you keep doing it, you wench, you?” One of them, Marina, snipped lightheartedly.

“I guess I’m just better than the lot of you,” Daphne quipped smugly.

With this, they giggled, laughed and talked, as they made their way back to their dwelling place in a cave nearby. When there, Marina and the pink tailed girl pulled Daphne into a private room to talk.

“What’s this about, ladies?” she said with slight apprehension.

“Well, we’ve been thinking. And, we figure you have the most experience with the outside world…”

“We didn’t want to send someone with anything less. And since these ‘Children of the Night’ are so out of control, even now, we thought you ought to-”

“Please, Daphne. You have friends, don’t you? The scholar you lived with in the human’s city, or what about that half-blood you got along with so well?’

Daphne held up a hand. “No, no. Cain and his family are more their targets than anyone else. And goodness knows where Ion is- frankly I don’t think they’d be able to help, anyway. And Leonora, well…”

A tense pause. They were isolated and their friends were scattered, and they knew it. What could they do? They needed the other civilizations to keep theirs afloat; they couldn’t just barricade themselves in.

“I have one last idea. Voyagers of all peoples have been the lead storytellers and information providers through this. People are bound to go to the Fae to find out what’s going on. If I wait there, I can intercept someone, get them on our side.”

And so the plan was set. Daphne gathered her things, set Marina in charge of the people, and set off for the forest shores.

~*~

After two decades of dedicating his life to a Spectrum Kendov (or Warrior), Spear had reached the point of the highest physical strength and endurance as well as elemental power of the Northern Dragon standards. A Spectrum Kendov was the highest honor a Dovah could accomplish, by defeating two God-like beings… Perun, lord of earth and all Hell fire, and Scorpio, whose stars reigned with war and bloodshed of all the other Zodiac beings.

Spear walked into the Champions Arena, the crowd roared with anticipation and excitement, for the supposed Spectrum Kendov, meant to protect them from all great evil had finally come to claim his title. His helm, shaped to match his demon horns, had already been placed upon his head, and his eyes, glistening with power and will, looked at his opponents, with no urge to kill, but to have mercy when they were beaten to the ground.

"Well, isn't this a sight to see!" Perun's deep booming voice shouted, "Another one ready to die just to claim a glorified and honorful title he just can't have!" Perun had always been the one to provoke those who had high egos, yet Spear remained unmoved with his words.

"Ain't that the truth, this little man is nothing but a few twigs tied with some leaves," A lighter, cockier voice came from Scorpio, whom was the one to provoke others who share his personality, "Sure he has a bit of a size… but he ain't average height, that's for sure!" Perun and Scorpio boomed with laughter.

"Gaah! What the fu-?" Scorpio never finished his exclamation before he was thrown into the arena wall after being punctured with a double axe bladed spear, Spear's personal weapon. The fight had begun, and Scorpio had already yielded to Spear, he was in so much shock he forgot how to fight, while Perun sprung into action with his flaming axe bladed chain, grinding the ground around Spear. As Perun made a final smash to where Spear was, a thunderbolt the size of five struck upon him, leaving Spear's weapon in his back.

Spear retrieved his weapon from Perun's back, and showed mercy on him and Scorpio, for they were only trying to find the true Spectrum Kendov. The tribe went wild and shouted, "Spear is our Guardian! All praise whoever's watching us that we have our Guardian!"

Perun spoke to Spear after he was helped up by him, "We stood no chance- your small appearance is really deceiving to your skill in battle and power. Scorpio and I made an agreement that we would be the Spectrum's protectors, because while you may be strong, you are not immortal."

Spear spoke in a gentle yet stern voice, "Indeed, and I would rather have someone by my side fighting with me, than having more power and relying on that to fight."

Perun and Scorpio took Spear to the North Tower, the one place where all you see is South. "The Wind of the Northern Winter lies here, if it finds you worthy of its own power, then you are the Spectrum Kendov, and you know what responsibility comes with that title…" Perun spoke grimly and sorrowfully as he finished his speech.

Spear responded, "I know all too well of the prophecy, but I'd rather know than not if… he… is to come in my lifetime…" The Wind of the Northern Winter flowed through his veins as he entered the tower, no cold came upon him, yet he felt he could never feel too hot. He had been chosen to be the Spectrum Kendov, the Decimator of Alduin as legend goes- but that time had not come, for another challenge for Spear and the Northern Dragons arose down South…

~*~

Nightmares plagued the residents of the trees, no doubt the Interlopers used these horrid dreams to communicate. Below the leaves, the devils hung Fae bodies in shackles, pulling and picking at them until they bled. Those above pleaded to their gods that they and their children would not be next.

The Interlopers held a ravenous, morbid curiosity. It drove them out of the forests, beyond the lands of the Fae. They tormented the remnants of the first city, the servants of the iron god and the blood necromancers of the east. Their cruel hands found their ways into the lives of the Imitites, the Ortothans, and the Dovahs who had ventured South from their home.

Even the sirens below the freezing southern waves and ice were not immune to this. They poked their heads up to find massive beasts afoot in the snow. The ice cracked under their weight, leaving them vulnerable under the sickly yellow eyes of their attackers. They sent ships to the flesh shepherds and wonder makers on land, and even some to their Fae ancestors still in the woods, but none returned.

They looked to their princess, the demigod of the moon, sea, storms, and dreams, to provide them with weapons and armour, food and shelter. She didn’t know what to do- how could she possibly slip past these monsters? They were everywhere! Not trusting the gods of the Fae she was created by, she turned to another. Going to the sea serpent of lost memories, she prayed.

The Northern Dragons reacted differently however. In their attempts to sail across lands and create new colonies, they had run into what seemed to be giant creatures of great physical strength. Those that were exploring had either been missing for a great time, or had come back with their boats and sails barely holding together, while one man handling the boat itself.

The Dovahs had decided that Spear, the Spectrum Kendov, should be the one to seek out what they heard were called Interlopers, and hunt every single one of them down. While they planned his exploration, they had caught wind of creatures called the Fae, who were being hunted by these Interlopers. With all of this information, they had compiled a plan to not only bring the Fae as an ally, but to begin not a war, but a hunt against the Interlopers. So Spear untied his sail, pushed against the boat onto the water, and sailed to what the Dovahs called the Midlands, the land between Northern and Southern lands.

~*~

Sailing across waters long, Spear found himself beached at the Midlands; scanning his surroundings he finds that a forest grows thick ahead. Grabbing his weapon off of his back, he is ready for any battle to come, as he senses danger within the dense woods. He jumps off the boat's prow and lands with grace, while only sand from where he stood moved. He sneakily and quickly veered into the woods, and found that it was vast and compacted with large, kapok trees. Spear took note as he is only used to his native Blackwood trees.

A sound appeared suddenly, Spear silently leapt to the back of the closest tree, and peered upon what looked to be what he was hunting. An interloper, magnificent in size and mass, making an absurd amount of noise through each footstep, looking like a bear on two legs, as it was covered in fur. Spear slowly and expertly aimed his weapons towards the Interlopers head, and threw. After a clash of weight caving down onto a tree, the body of the interloper crumbled into a pile of jade rocks, it was dead. Spear walked over to his weapon, sensing no other large beings around, and picked up his weapon.

Suddenly, a sharp pain dug itself into his shoulder, and he turned to be met with the end of an arrow, made of, was it ice? "Gaah! Shite! What the heck!?" Spear jumped behind a tree with an arrow in his right shoulder. "Alright, who has the bloody galls to face me in combat? I warn you, I am a Dovah!" Spear left the arrow in his arm so as to not cause more bleeding, and switched to his left hand to weild.

"Come on out Interloper! I may have mercy on you if you do!" A feminine voice shouted from beyond Spear’s field of vision.

"The hell do you mean Interloper? Is that pile of rocks not what a dead one looks like?!" Spear shouts, aggravated that he was accused of being something he wasn't.

"Wait...who are you, if not one of them?" The woman’s voice spoke once more, and Spear sensed confusion and fear in her voice. She must’ve shot him thinking she was being hunted by him.

"I'm coming out slowly, I would appreciate it if you would not shoot me again!" Spear tentatively stepped around the tree to see the figure's ice-sculpted weapon out, but not ready to fire. "I am Spear, Guardian of the Northern Dragons….who the Hell are you?"

"Princess Daphne le’Iýa, Faerie demigod of the ocean," Daphne realizes the wounds and puts away her bow while stepping towards Spear. Spear was obviously hesitant and held out his weapons towards her. "Look, I thought you were one of the monsters, and had I known you were not, I certainly wouldn't have shot you. I can fix that wound better than you can. Please, it's the least I could do."

Spear recognized her honesty, while still noticing fear in her voice. He let her come close enough to slit his throat, but she pulled the arrow out of his arm, and immediately started singing in a language the Spear only knows through ancient Faerie scrolls, and his arm healed, leaving only a scar to remember.

"You are skilled in your magic, I'm glad to have met you, even if I met your arrow first,” Spear spoke honestly and jokingly, as he knew that forgiving this supposed Daphne would be the best way to start a bond.

"I am truly sorry about that. Is there anything else I can do?" Daphne didn’t seem to want anyone else after her, and tried her best to apologize to Spear.

"Do not worry, you only shot in defense without fully knowing who you were shooting at, I can understand this," Spear patted her shoulder to assure her. "Maybe we can both benefit from this event of meeting each other… you could find safety and rest back in my homeland, and then you can share what you know about these Interlopers, this way we both are happy with what we get."

"Have you forgotten about my actions so soon? I shot you!" Daphne was dumbfounded by Spear's quick dismissal of what had happened to him. Although he shook his head at her.

"You need not worry of your actions, for they were acted upon through fear and reaction, you were only trying to keep yourself safe. I can help you with that." Daphne tried to oppose and tell him that he should not be so dismissive about the event, but Spear assured her through a side hug, which caught Daphne off guard enough for Spear to walk past her and towards his boat.

“Wait,” Daphne called. Spear turned back to look back. “The last time I crossed the ocean with someone, things ended up, well… not so good.”

“You’ll be quite safe with my people,” Spear said. Daphne shifted a bit, eying him with wary hope. He was exactly what she set out looking for, after all. “And besides. If you find yourself uncomfortable, you can always use your arrows again,” he said with a playful wink.

With this, Daphne giggled slightly and followed behind. Exiting the thick forest, the two climbed onto the boat. Spear set sail to Scandinavia, the land of the Northern Dragons. To which the two made the journey, to the next step in either great failure, or triumphant victory…

~*~

The pair tentatively made their way across the ocean, skirting past the Interlopers ships to find themselves on the icy northern shores. The princess scurried to and fro, fascinated by her new environment and its people. How different they were than the people of the places she had previously resided in…!

They were Children of the Sun, but unlike those in the First City, these people were pale, blonde, and above all, kind. They welcomed the man- Spear- back with open arms, and were more than curious to meet the woman he had brought along with him. They peppered her with questions and gifts and sights to see, until eventually she was taken to a large building made from an upside-down wooden ship, which they called the Companion’s Lodge, a place to plan a hunt of glory and honor.

Suffice to say, she should’ve known that the man she crossed the ocean with would be the leader. She also met his guards, the most different of men but an excellent team nonetheless. Here, the four pulled out books, maps, stories and paintings, pouring over them in hopes that a hint would be found. A sign that the plans they would go on to make were possible.

After much studying and deliberation, they had had enough. What better way to understand these monsters than through personal experience? Better to dive right into cold waters than to waste your time slowly wading. It was a siege they wanted, and it was a siege they would have.

~*~

The battle was ferocious, haunting... yet it yielded knowledge to Spear and Daphne. As Spear took two dozen Dovahs with him, all with different elemental abilities, Daphne trained in her skills with water. During this time she was informed of something from Spear she never expected.

"It is tradition when one makes an ally of another, they would train each other of the other's weapon, so that the bond goes beyond words of trust, it is also trust of possessions." Spear spoke to Daphne in hopes to have created at least a friend with her. "I believe we are trusting of each other, so… what do you say?"

"Uhm…" Daphne was caught a bit off guard. Her bow being one of few things she kept to remind her of the home she came from. "I'm not sure… I mean, I trust you completely… but I don't want to give my bow to anyone really…" She obviously didn't want to hurt him in any way, so she tried her best to tell him in the kindest way.

"Well, maybe we can teach each other of how to use one another's weapons, that way if we do switch weapons, it won't be devastating in battle," Spear was trusting towards Daphne, mainly because he felt a strong connection between them. Even so, Daphne felt guarded towards him, yet she agreed to training each other, as she remembered, ‘iron sharpens iron.’

While Spear was able to pick up her bow and use it with tremendous strength and agility, Daphne had immediate trouble with how to begin using Spear's complicated weapon. Until Spear suggested using it as a spear, not an axe, Daphne then swiftly grew more attuned to the weapon.

While this was happening, the Interlopers stronghold was being populated with readily growling beasts, yielding to tear apart anything that came. Just before the battle began, Daphne and Spear switched weapons, and having learned each other's weapons, they charged in the front line, and made mountains with the piling jade rocks from many fallen and crushed Interlopers.

With their great roar of excitement, the Dovahs roared with them, right into the line of Interlopers. As they crashed through their thick bodies with their hugs weapons, they became berserk and started wailing on them, showing no mercy. They had trained to fight like Hell itself, and they were as demons in this battle, blood soared not spilled, limbs flew not fell, and the morale of the Dovahs only increased. However, even with their great first triumphant starting charge, they started to wear down in numbers, just by virtue of the continuous streaming numbers of Interlopers.

As Daphne was using her water abilities in ways she never imagined using on the frontline, Spear used archery and close combat expertly to the point where he never missed his shots and never came close to getting hit. Even though the two sibling-like fighters were doing well, the Dovahs were still overwhelmed by the increasing numbers.

Many had used fire, metal, nature, and all of them were decimated, while those using lightning were barely holding on as well as wind… however, Daphne noticed something. She peers in close distance to two Dovahs using water abilities, making the Interlopers drown, what was curious however, was that when they were under the water, they couldn't move, therefore they couldn't breath and they died.

Daphne quickly refocused to the battle at hand, and Spear cries out, "Too many have fallen, fall back! Water Dovahs, drown those who follow us!" It seemed as though Spear was also paying attention to his surroundings. As the remaining group of soldiers returned to their outpost, the last two water Dovahs made a wall of water of which the Interlopers could not pass lest they drown and crumble into jade.

Daphne and Spear look at each other in agreement. The battle may have been lost for that day… but knowledge of weakness in their enemies may prove to be the element to winning the war, or as the Northern Dragons call it, the hunt…

~*~

The Companion's Lodge was bathed in a tense argument. They started the siege with the advantage of surprise, but it had quickly descended into mindless violence and death.

“How could this have happened? I thought we had them!” Scorpio shouted in frustration.

“We made sure to bring our best! All different kinds of elemental wielders were there with us, and nearly all of them were slaughtered! What more could we possibly have done?” Perun huffed. Although calmer than the others, his voice still wavered with stress.

“At least we learned their weakness,” Spear started to speak before being cut off.

“Oh, fantastic. Just in time for your people to be killed,” Daphne said icily.

“Our people,” Spear tried an uncertain smile.

Daphne paused and sighed, relieving a tad bit of the tension. “Yes, our people.” She looked around the room, which had largely quieted down. “I’m so sorry. If I had known it would turn out this way…”

“But you couldn’t have. This isn’t any of our faults,” Perun said in a soothing, almost fatherly tone. A somber silence fell over them, each lost in thought, or perhaps simply in grief.

“Daphne could tell us more about why this is happening,” Scorpio spoke quietly.

“I already told you all I know about the Interlo…” she trailed off. That didn’t seem to be the point. “Alright.”

“Well, the Fae goddess- my mother, Iýa. She created me and my… sister, Leonora. But she was made princess and I wasn’t, so I ran away. I didn’t realize why I needed to stay until the Fae had Iýa create the Interlopers we now face.”

A, “But why?” from Perun.

A, “Shush!” from Spear.

Daphne giggled before turning serious again. “The first man- Asem- stole from my people. He took a star and used it for a crown. I was already gone when all this happened, but I’m told the Faeries wished for justice. In return, Iýa gave them the Interlopers. Not that it mattered. Asem’s greed had already torn his family apart. His wives left him, his sons quarreled until they drove each other apart, and his people all left or died in the chaos.”

“And how is it you know so much about him?” Scorpio spoke with a hint of accusation.

She drew in a breath to argue, but Perun spoke as before her, more calmly. “He’s right. Even we didn’t know this, and we live much closer to the first city than you did at the time.”

Daphne huffed and turned away. Spear put a hand on her shoulder, making her tense and then ease up.

“I was there.” Silence. Spear’s hand pulled away. “I know how that must sound. Most people would have you believe I immediately joined the sirens under the ice, but…” She took a deep breath. “There was this boy. I went with him to his city- the first city- and his family. They were nice, but not kind. And I was there to witness this be their downfall. Not that it matters now- and it’s probably for the best, anyway.”

Spear put his arm around Daphne’s shoulder to comfort her, and it worked. She steeled herself again to go on. “Now, as for the Interlopers- in the city was a sorcerer- his name was Noah. I know it sounds like a long shot, but I know him, and I know he could help. I think our next step is to find him.”

~*~

Daphne had hidden herself away under her covers, with a small, glowing gem of ice. Curled up and warm, she sang a lullaby and fiddled with the ginger scarf in her hands. Her sister’s. If only they could’ve just gotten along, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If she had just sought to understand her mother’s wishes for her, or if she had met Asem just a little sooner to convince him not to do what he did...

You’ll never be able to hate yourself enough to rewrite history, that boy’s gentle voice whispered to her. Silently, she nodded. Her heart ached with longing. How she wished she could hold him again. She’d fall to her knees and beg if it meant she could giggle with her sister again, or squirm and cry in her mother’s arms. If this could all go back to normal. But, drawing in a shaky breath, she reminded herself not to dwell on what could have been. She had a new family now, one that truly loved her, and she had to protect them.

Spear meanwhile, took a knife from his shield, which had many, but this one was different. This first knife he had crafted with his mother, the one of few things that actually cut him. He held it in his hands in admiration, as if he had never seen it before. Spear then held the knife to his chest as if trying to hug it, and thought about his mother.

He began singing an old song told by many of the Dovahs, called, My Mother Told Me. He sang it perfectly in three different keys. He then replaced his knife back into his shield, and stood up. He was ready for battle, for exhaustion, even for death… because he was once a boy who cut himself with his own knife… and now is the Spectrum Kendov… he feared not the death of himself, but the death of his newfound sister, therefore he swore that he would protect her, even at the cost of his life...

~*~

"Water is their weakness!" Perun shouted, "Why the Hell can't we just use your powers in every battle and destroy these cursed Interlopers?!" Perun was insistent on being a warlord, making sure everyone had a chance of fighting and getting stronger. Though he didn't realize the bigger picture.

"Every time I used my powers for an extended amount of time, I got tired, that is why we can't continuously use these powers every battle, because it would weaken us to the point where we can't even fight!" Spear spoke angrily at Perun, though he knew Perun's powers worked differently because he was a mythological God, he hated his lack of empathy when others got tired from using them. "Even if we didn't get tired, why should we fight and lose more of our men, when we can wipe them out completely in one big swipe?!"

"What are you talking about…?" Perun's curiosity perked up as he heard this. Daphne opened up a scroll of prophecy, and with her knowledge explained to both Perun and Scorpio more about Noah, a human from the seas, able to control great waves from below ground.

With this knowledge they created a plan, Spear would use his powers that combined into weather to create a huge rainstorm, Daphne would use her powers to raise the waves of the oceans, lakes, and rivers, and finally Noah would use his power to break the ground and gush water from the Earth. Their powers combined should be enough to cover all but the highest parts of the Earth. They trusted that the Interlopers would fall in and sink, while others would either get to the high ground, use boats, or swim in the sea if they were sea creatures. The missing component was Noah himself.

"Where is this Noah?" Scorpio asked urgently, he wanted to rid the Northern Dragons of any threats as soon as possible. Daphne then pulled out a map of the Midlands and pointed out where he could be.

"Right in the middle of an Interloper camp?" Spear grunted this, as he did not want anything to go wrong in getting Noah. Daphne nods, her expression was a mix of anger and disappointment, she had the same feelings as Spear. Perun started to notice the bond between Spear and Daphne, and while the two were talking more, Perun pulled Scorpio aside.

"I remember that Noah was taken captive with the Daevite Methuselah, though I don't know what their intentions were," Daphne spoke to Spear, she was annoyed by the fact they had to fight more Interlopers to get one person.

"I have Dovahs around the area, mainly for scouting. They came back long before all of this and told me that there is a camp, and it's only guarded by about 40 beasts, which I would think are Interlopers. It will only be tedious, that's all," Spear spoke to Daphne, trying to lift her spirits at least a little. It worked, and Daphne thanked him for being the one to look at a mug half full. Spear meanwhile thanked Daphne for looking at every possible bad ending, things to avoid.

As Scorpio and Perun come back unnoticed, they begin to pack for the adventure ahead. They thought it would be a walk in the small forest, so they only brought Spear, Daphne, Perun, and Scorpio. A mistake they made to bring so little to a battle they thought would be easy. For there may be small numbers, but the camp is one of the oldest camps the Interlopers made, and since they do not age with time… trouble is amongst those who venture into these parts of the Midlands…

~*~

The travelers numbering four ventured forth into the seemingly haunted woods. As they were traveling Perun started sensing many things in the woods, small animals mostly. He looked everywhere at all times, making sure they were safe. It seemed the right thing to do considering they were going into unknown territory for everyone.

The trees themselves were massive birch trees, usually thought of as peaceful, harmless. However twisted magic had affected these trees over the decades, and created monster-like limbs and branches. Even with these weird formations, no twigs or branches had fallen to be broken, as if nobody had ever ventured into this area.

They managed to find the camp of the Interlopers, and snuck in. All of them were on high alert, especially Perun, as they crouched and sneakily ran in multiple directions.

Daphne left the group and followed the sweet scent of water, a stark contrast against the putrid stank of things rotting in the dark. The brook led her to a horrid sound, red lights serving as a waypoint. It was awful; the closer she got, the more she clung to the bed of the stream for comfort. But alas, her head emerged at the rumbling thud of Interloper footsteps. She immediately gagged.

There, in the middle of a crowd of singing devils, was Iýa, but it was not really her. This was a massive, sickly tree, the size of a large town. It was twisted and warped, with a thousand wriggling bodies strung up in it’s branches. The aberration was screaming and crying an demonic bellow, all the while the Interlopers hummed as though in joy.

What was this thing? This couldn’t be Iýa, it wasn’t possible! Iýa was a glowing mother, a sleeper in the stars, a granter of wishes. She cared for the downtrodden and oppressed, and all those who could not defend themselves. She couldn’t become this, this...

Meanwhile, Spear, Scorpio, and Perun had convened in the main camp. It seemed that only the prisoner's area was inhabited, there they found the supposed Noah. As they started to unchain him, he started grunting. They quickly shushed him and told him they were there to help, he calmed down enough to be unchained, however, they did not quiet him in time.

Suddenly, a loud sound of seemingly screeching giggling and groaning of war had been shouted, despite Perun's attempts to look everywhere, he managed to miss the entire garrison of the Interloper camp. Spear and Daphne, now returned, immediately stood back to back as if they could take on the whole world, while Perun and Scorpio started smashing their weapons onto the Interlopers. Scorpios scythe had pierced many during the battle, while Perun's axe on a chain whirled around and clashed the heads of many. Spear and Daphne, using each other's weapons as always, were always either defending each other or helping the other attack an Interloper, they were synchronized.

The fight continued on like this until Daphne was thrown to a tree, leaving Spear vulnerable to the last remaining Interloper. Spear looked about him as the Interloper charged his weapon at him….although no injury befell him, rather on Scorpio. Spear threw his weapon and the last Interloper was thrown into a tree and broke into jade. Spear slides to Scorpio's side in time for him to speak to Spear for a short time…..

After his dialogue, his body turns bright and, as if he were being sucked into the sky, his body lifted up swiftly, leaving only his necklace for Spear to bear… Scorpio was dead. Spear shouted out in rage and a thunderstorm started to appear, then it stopped. Daphne hugged Spear tightly, and while Spear was caught off guard by this, he embraced her, being thankful that he was still with her at least. Perun had then brought who was seemingly Noah out of hiding, from behind thick berry bushes, and into sight.

After their journey back, and the heartache of Scorpio's death, they explain the whole plan of how to destroy the Interlopers. Noah was quite panicked at first, but after calming down and hearing Perun, Spear, and Daphne, as well as considering they saved him, he agreed to being a part of the plan. So together, they trained, and got ready for The Great Flood of Cleansing Sin. Factions around the world had been sent a message entitling everyone to either get to high ground, build ships to sail on, or dive deep underwater so as to not be destroyed by the coming flood. Who knew what more sacrifices have to be made to create peace, was it even worth it all? The story continued, and the next step was the extinction of a race…

~*~

Spear, Daphne, Noah, and Perun travelled back to the forest of their greatest travesty, and had one last moment of remorse, sorrow, heartache. The rest of the Dovahs were building their ships to sail on the waters to come, and they decided to go to the location after the prophesied flood.

Daphne didn't know Scorpio for long, but she still enjoyed his comedic comments and his radiation of happiness, and she knew everything would be at least a good amount more depressing. Spear knew Scorpio for not much longer than Daphne, but like Daphne, he enjoyed Scorpio's company, as well as their many interesting conversations… including the one where he told Spear he was getting married.

Spear and Perun had to hug his fiancé for over an hour just to comfort her. Perun was Scorpio's brother, they were not blood related, but brothers nonetheless, therefore Perun, for the first time in his entire life, cried a tear from his eye. All Dovahs remorsed of his death, but only those who truly knew and had a relationship with Scorpio needed time, time to be sad. Then anger rose from the sadness, and all of them started preparing for the creation of the flood.

As Spear and Perun walked away, Daphne tailed behind them and slipped into the nearby creek. She did not have the will to enjoy the feeling of her tail returning; the situation at hand was much too grim. Her mother was now an abomination, her heart torn out for those created to be betrayed. And a man who had so quickly become a brother to her was dead. Daphne never had any brothers, why now that she did would one be taken away so carelessly?

Daphne heaved a sigh and began to sob. At first it seemed that the Interlopers were tools, created to do the Fae's dirty work and then be ignored forever. But they weren’t; they were children. Made for violence and cast aside like waste. And festering in the dark for so long, was it any surprise they didn’t know any better? Was it their fault?

She now knew what needed to be done, but hadn’t they already lost enough? A good friend and a mother gone were too much, how could she bring herself to wipe out an entire race, even despite their actions?

She once again thought of Asem’s family, of Cain, and felt an overwhelming pang of guilt. Oh, all the things she could’ve, should’ve, didn’t do to stop this! Clutching at the clockwork bracelet he had given to her, she did the only thing she could think to do; pray. Not to what was left of Iýa, not to any leviathans or sea serpents, but to a simple god with a simple purpose. She only hoped her words could be heard, that things could still be fixed. But the quiet sound of a thousand voices whispered to her, that she already knew what to do.

Touching a hand to the grass, she began to sing. It was her sister’s song, a flowery poem of spring, rebirth and justice. But this was not justice for her, Daphne thought as the flowers around her began to bloom in unison. This isn’t for the Faeries, their queen, or even Leo (though Daphne did hope she was safe). This was not for Asem or the Children of the Sun, or even the countless cultures that had been picked, pulled, and torn at by the devils.

No, the flood may be necessary to wipe out the horror of their acts, but the flowers now blooming across the face of the planet would serve as the Interlopers grave. And she would ensure this day would be remembered.

~*~

The flowers had wilted as the sun set the evening after their blooming. In the night that followed, light rain began to drizzle. This quickly turned to torrents and lightning that could rival that of even the god’s creation. Flash floods cascaded down mountains, turning creeks into rivers and rivers into great lakes. Forests became cold swaps and Interloper camps were reduced to sticks and blankets.

Those devils that were not fastened in place by the waters took the prisoners by their chains to the summits of peaks. Yet still most of the monsters slipped and fell, leaving the humans, Faeries, and Daevas still in their chains to find higher grounds, both together and on their own.

All the while, Daphne and Spear were deep, deep, down, their magic sustaining and growing on itself on their life forces. Low in the halls of Daphne’s first home, in the strip of land connecting the massive continents, they dreamt.

Hers started out pleasant. She was in a field, picking flowers as fast as her sister’s magic grew them. They took turns braiding the blossoms into each other’s hair, until the ground began to shake and the earth was overturned. They were then older, ceaselessly arguing as their mother futilely tried to calm them. Both sisters stormed off, swearing to never speak again.

The doors slammed shut, and there she sat beside the scholar, quietly watching him write. She reached behind him for a pen to mimic his strange symbols with. But as soon as her eyes turned, she was face to face with the starry iron crown of Asem. Across her eyes played scenes of the brutality and deadly force of the Interlopers- their prisoners crying, her mother’s corpse screaming- and the storms and floods created to wash them away.

And then she saw things she didn’t recognize. Simple flashes, almost ideas. Some were light. Her friends, older and stronger. A wedding, two boys that looked half like her. Spear, in command of legions, and Leonora, princess of the Fae. But some were dark. A corrupt king and his four knights, sent to destroy, going back to their kingdom in cursed shambles. The cadaver of her sister, willingly having given her life to end the terrorous reign of the Fae’s ruiners, and the great profanities she created.

And then her mind went blank. Only the rains remained.

While this happened, Spear and Perun quickly started getting ready while Noah and Daphne had already started using their powers. Perun was there to guard them, but just in case anyone slipped by, Spear created spheres of protection to serve as a shield against any attack, and he surrounded Noah, Daphne and himself. While Spear started to control his power, he saw Perun burst into a flaming creature, with black wings that seemed to be infected with white colors. Then, Spear lost himself to his thoughts, his powers activated, and he could only see darkness.

Then, a flash of light, and he could see everything. He saw the bodies of the many fallen Dovahs that died during the hunt against the Interlopers. In the middle of the body littered ground, he saw Scorpio, his heart pierced, and his body lay soulless. Then, his eyes filled with life, and he got up. Spear stood back in shock and terror at this sight, he didn't realize this was only in his spiritual mind. Scorpio plucked the halberd from his chest, and tossed it to the ground, and then gave Spear a brotherly hug.

As Spear was in question, Scorpio calmed him, saying that it was not his soul that died, and that there is hope for him to live. Spear begged him to tell him how, he said he only knew that the coming Alduin must be defeated, before he could return. Spear was still in question, but Scorpio assured him that he would be a guide of what to do, and where to go throughout his life from now on. Scorpio then touched his necklace, which Spear bared on his chest, and Spear filled with increased power. The Blessing of the Zodiacs, only given to those worthy enough to fight by the side of a Star.

As Spear started calming down, his heart filled somewhat with anger, as he still remembered the deaths of the many Dovahs, and Scorpio. Then his heart filled somewhat with love, as his brotherly relationship with Daphne reigned in his heart, he knew he had to defend her. He didn't even think about his family, his friends, or even anyone else he was supposed to save, and he even forgot about the deaths. All he thought of was Daphne, and even the thought of her being injured haunted him… so he protected her.

In the physical realm, Noah was breaking water from the ground, and Daphne was moving water from all bodies of water, just as planned. Interlopers expectantly charged towards them, but then a fiery creature came crashing down, and looked at them. Horns grew a meter long each, body of a demon, with huge hawk-like wings colored charcoal and streaks of pure white, a tail meters long reached around the creature, and at the end, was an axe, all the while the creature was violently flaming, and was hold a huge Greatsword in one hand, and a Battleaxe on a thick chain in the other. It was Perun, in his true Rising Demonic form, filled with rage. Still in the stage of horror, the Interlopers were then crashed into by Perun, while he wailed his axe around and flurried his sword at them, they felt fear. Even in their terrified state, they fought hard against Perun, though they knew they couldn't take him down, they just needed to get past him. Due to Perun's arrogance in attacking them, many Interlopers ran past him and towards the flooding trio.

Though they got close to them they stopped in horror, as they looked at one of the three. Spear was glowing lightning bright, and a hurricane the size of the entire world started. Even Perun looked in confusion, he knew Spear could never use that much power in any given situation, but he did, because of the blessing given by Scorpio's spirit, and Spear's heart filled with the brotherly protection for Daphne. He created the hurricane that not only flailed the opposing Interlopers away, but immediately started filling the earth with the water.

Clans and Kingdoms around the world were taking refuge to hide from the flood. Samurai of the Isles took to the mountains with the Ninjas of Darkness. The Woodlands Weres took refuge in mountains as well, far from the Isles. The Southern Dragons used magic to protect them from the waters, and the Northern Dragons used ships, as they were voyaging Vikings, and loved the challenge of the storm. And the creature of the water took refuge in underwater caves.

The Interlopers were swiftly wiped out, as they couldn't swim or build boats fast enough, they crumbled into jade as they were suffocated by the rising waters. An entire race was wiped out, all except a few remaining Interlopers that managed to get high enough, but they were eventually taken prisoner or driven underground.

Then, when all the destruction was done, Spear and Daphne woke up exhausted in all ways, using that much power greatly diminished their strength. Perun ran to them in a hurry, and tried offering to help them up, but they both refused and just wanted to lay down for a bit. When they somewhat rested they slowly got up, and Spear and Daphne hugged tightly, and then they looked for Noah. When they found him, his body was resting peacefully, a burnt-out husk as he took his final breath using a great amount of power to help them stop the Interlopers.

~*~

And so the floods receded, and life seemed to simply go on. The sparse handful of Interlopers leftover were dragged into hiding, and their prisoners found their way free of their chains and back to their homes.

Daphne's blue eyes looked upon Spear's hazel, and smiled wearily. Then, they hugged tightly. Though they had made it in the end, many had sacrificed their life to help them get this far. Their mission was done, and Noah, Scorpio, and the Interlopers went with it.

They returned to the Dovah home land, where celebrations had burst forth like lightning. For the first time in a long time, they allowed themselves to simply rest and enjoy themselves. They ate, drank, and were merry for seven days and seven nights, but no time limit could contain their joy.

Until the bitter taste had set in. So much was lost, and yet they partied. But they reminded themselves that festivity was not meant to diminish the sacrifices made to allow it. They honored those that had fallen by reveling in the peace and freedom they had brought.

Perhaps the world would never be entirely fixed, but they had learned by now that it didn’t matter. Spear had never forgotten his mother’s words, and chose now to share them with his newfound sister. That is why the gods gave us loved ones. To unify us and to lift one another up.

“So what now?” Daphne asked him at one time. “The world will never be the same. It’s like, their entire existence has just been… swallowed whole.”

“Yes, I suppose that was the point. But we’ve done a great thing, you know.” She smiled at him and nodded. “And now we… carry on?”

She sighed.

“...And now we carry on.”

~*~

And so Spear returns to Scandinavia, and continues to be the Spectrum Kendov, Guardian of the Northern dragons. Not only that, but as he bears the necklace of his fallen brother, Scorpio, he feels his night sky presence, watching over him, as if he was right next to Spear. Perun becomes the general of the entire Northern Dragon Dovahs, and sets up a way of communication for Daphne and Spear, making it so that they can continue being siblings. After all of this Spear trains, what he trains for is only in prophecy. At first he didn't believe it, but as soon as he found a scroll prophesying Noah and the flood, Spear began his training to fight Alduin…

Daphne found herself aimlessly wandering when the Flood had finally left. She met the madman Ion again, and helped them raise their religion. And after a while, her path crossed that of the scholarboy from the first city again. They were married in a temple of the Iron God, and when that church no longer accepted them, they fled to build a family and a city of their own. Every now and again, the princess, now queen, would ride the waves north to see her Dovah brothers, just as they went south to meet her, as well.

The Interlopers fell into legend, the ghost stories that would frighten children at night. All had forgotten them but the Faeries and the Dovahs. They mourned for the losses caused across the world, and for all that they had allowed themselves to do and believe. So when the Apollyons came to conquer the Faeries, they accepted their fate in hopes that justice could be served properly this time.

And Iýa? She tore out her own heart to make the prison the Interlopers requested, where Asem rots to the present day. Her body, similarly, decays in a cavern just below it, as do the few remaining Interlopers and the Apollyon knight who failed to seize her. The Wormwood trees had long since pulled it into an underground cavern, wiping its memory from all those above. All that was left was a scar. Although Dovahs were disconnected from this magic, therefore they could remember all.

Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here. About the envy of Adam, about the failures of the Fae, or maybe about the levity blindly doled out by Iýa herself. Or maybe it's about the teamwork of those who opposed the Interlopers, the love that bound them together, and the relentless courage they wielded. We may never know.

And so, the book closes and another story is shelved.

~*~

Well, dear reader, if you've read this far, I couldn't possibly thank you enough!

And many, many thanks to my little brother, Spear (@jack-spear-eye), for helping me on this!! Scorpio, Perun, and Kendov (Warrior) Spear (his self-insert), and the Dovahs are all his creations; Daphne is mine. We created the plot together, and the worldbuilding in general belongs to djkaktus (based on SCP-6666, 4840, and 4812).

Lil' man, I swear, he was the best partner on this! Every time I hit a roadblock, he had a new idea that got the gears turning again. It was a big commitment, too, I mean, just look at all that text! But we pulled it off, and I'm glad we did!

Fearless and creative optimist you are, I couldn't have done it without you, Spear.

So without further ado, here's the man to talk about it a little, too!

I did this not for my own gain, but to show others a message of unity, as well as to entertain. Normally I would say something in dovahzul (Dragon tongue/language) But pretty much I just want to say thank you all very much for giving me the chance to be a part of this community, and I want to personally thank Andy (@the-siren-and-the-sailor) for giving me the chance to do all of this, and giving me something to look forward to :•)

And last but not least, the TL;DR!

[thelioncourts]

title: into the trees with empty hands fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: not rated words: 22k tags: Witch!Laurent, Witchcraft, Minor Damen/Jokaste, Discussion of Abortion, Don't go into this expecting spoopy, Kingdom Politics, Minor Violence, Kastor/Jokaste

Summary: Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos' betrothed has gone missing. The Northern Steppes call to him with promise. The Witch of Vere calls to him with answers.

_____________________________________________________________

As far as Damianos was aware, everyone across the continent knew of the Witch of Vere. But not everyone agreed on what was truth and what was fiction regarding his existence.

Some would say that the Witch is a kind soul, a wielder of magic who uses his potions to heal and his enchantments to bring luck. Some would say that the Witch was colder than a Kemptian winter, a sorcerer who casts curses with a wicked tongue and communicates with the dead through the act of the seance.

A Veretian woman living in the now-Akielon, and rightfully Akielon, province of Delpha had once told a story of the Witch helping mothers and children after the loss of a husband or father in battle. A Patran warrior relayed a tale of the Witch not only stitching up and preventing infection to a wound, but also teaching how one could further patch themselves up should they not have the time or means to travel to him. An Akielon man from the north told of the Witch charming the lands of poor farmers, leading their farms to provide produce enough to feed their families and other people of the land whilst also making plenty a profit for themselves to guarantee their future.

There were other stories of the Witch of Vere, however. There were stories of the Witch eviscerating men with more than just his spells. There were tales of him cursing entire families, damning their line for all of eternity. There were tales of him creating poisons with his books and knowledge, poisons that killed people, animals, that may have killed an entire village. There were tales of young boys coming into his home and never coming back out.

There were even darker, more whispered tales that the Witch had murdered his own father, mother, brother, and uncle, the only family he had ever had.

The Crown Prince of Akielos found many of these stories, these rumors, to be outlandish. Even if it were all true, no one, not even a witch, would be allowed to continue living undisturbed, unhunted, if they had committed such heinous acts. If anything, Damianos had often found the stories to be a great form of entertainment around a fire. But even he was aware how the stories impacted most, how each story, however small, was enough to incite fear in the hearts of those who listened.

Only two things ever spoken of the Witch remained consistent in every story told. The first was of his beauty, which according to all, was such a sight to behold that he could bring any and all to their knees with a blink of his eyes underneath the fan of his lashes. Some rumors went as far to say that he was so beautiful that his own blood was used to make the most effective love potions the world had ever seen.

Some rumors said that he was so beautiful that it was dangerous to be in his presence as he could tempt one to do anything he wished.

But the second thing, the thing that made Damianos wish to believe that this enigmatic being was as real as people said, was that he was powerful. Damianos could desperately use that right now.

***

Never in his life had Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos intended on pursuing a witch. The hunting of evil and magical creatures had been a fun game to play as a child, subjecting one poor friend to chase all the others in order to turn them all into fellow witches. But it was just that: a child’s game. No one would willingly put themselves at the mercy of a true witch.

But, as fate would have it, Damianos found himself with no other choice.

It had been difficult, at first, finding someone who had supposedly met the Witch of Vere. Good or bad, people were often reluctant to admit to having been in contact with a witch. It was even harder in Akielos as the Witch of Vere was an outsider, already considered evil by many due to his proximity to Vere, let alone his deeds. Eventually people talked, they always did, and after asking in the rural lands of Sicyon and Thrace, Damianos had a place to begin.

As the Crown Prince, sneaking out of the palace took some navigating, but once out, his getting around and across the border proved easier than he could have imagined. As a lone traveler, all he had needed was passageway in a merchant’s cart — something provided with gratitude because of the half pound of gold Damianos put in the man’s hand — and he was in Alier where the mountains gave way to jagged land not two days later.

Briefly he worried of Vaskian mountain raiders, but even they would not see much purpose in attacking a man covered in a ragged cloak and owning nothing but a large bag filled with traveling essentials and the sandals on his feet.

His entire journey along the mountain border was rough. For days and for nights he walked, occasionally stealing away in unsuspecting carts at night, roaming a land that was unforgiving. But he had gone this way for a reason, the reason being that unforgiving meant uninhabited.

Even with the sloped and rocky ground that gave way into frigid and frozen soil, Damianos walked quickly and before he knew it, he was in Lys, then Toutaine, and lastly Varenne. And at long last, a five days’ hike to be exact, the Northern Steppes were laid out before him.

With only minor trepidation, he entered the Great Northern Forest.

[Continue on AO3]

Unlike his arrival in Alier days earlier, Damianos did not immediately begin walking. First he sat his bag on the ground and retrieved a multitude of things he had packed along for the fear of the bitter cold. Not familiar with winter personally, but knowing of it, Damianos had packed a second cloak that had a hood to cover his head and that fell down to the middle of his calves. It was lined with fur, the same kind of fur that made up the inside of his packed gloves and boots. A quick test showed Damen that he had underestimated the winter for this wasn’t enough. But it would have to do. He was so close.

There were creatures in the Steppes that Damianos had never seen before. During the day, as he trekked along, he came across tiny, thick-furred animals. Some of them were so small that they created shelter in packed snow banks or underground in tiny burrows. All the small ones were white, a camouflage to protect them from the bigger, more dangerous beasts. On Damianos’ first night, he felt lucky to not see one of those beasts. Not knowing them, he had no inkling as to how they would appear, but once, when the moon was highest, he heard them, howling and growling in the distance.

The next morning, after ten days total of travel, he at long last came across the cabin.

The first thing he noticed was the fire roaring inside. It was a proof of life, of someone’s existence, but it also brought forth to Damianos a great rush of envy. What he would give to feel his hands and feet again. There were other things he noticed about it afterward, things like how normal it looked on the outside, like the branches with live blooms hanging by the door, the plants magically living in the snow, or like the well-worn pathway leading up to it, or like the lack of movement inside.

For a moment, Damianos contemplated what would be his best move; he could leave now, set up his own camp in a nearby clearing and rest in order to regain some of his strength, or he could attempt to make contact with the Witch now. His eagerness to see if the stories were true in any capacity took over him though, and he shucked his bag to the ground and took a deep breath.

A village woman in Thrace had told Damianos of what to do once he reached the cabin, should he find it. He felt a bit foolish, but he went about it with as much confidence as he could muster, which, in truth, was quite a lot. Determined steps brought him to the door where he knocked four times before immediately retreating back to the stones that marked the path like a gateway. Once there, he waited a beat before announcing loudly into the air, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide.” From there he bent down to fish through his forgotten bag in order to pull out handfuls of gold. “I have brought gold.”

Damianos waited, fully expecting the door of the cabin to open wide, fully expecting to be face-to-face with the Witch of Vere. But nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

For an entire hour, Damianos waited patiently for the Witch to come and greet him. For another hour, Damianos waited less patiently.

Unsure of what was going on, Damianos repeated his earlier actions and walked up to the door to knock four times.

“My name is Damianos,” he said once more after retreating back to the stones. “I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold.”

Nothing.

“I have brought much gold,” Damianos continued. “Enough gold to satisfy any Kyros in Akielos and certainly any council member in Vere.”

Still, nothing.

For one more hour, Damianos waited between the stones. He was half-tempted to go and try to open the door anyway, but instinct told him nothing good would come from that. But three hours of standing in the cold was too much and Damianos was weary from his travels. With one last look at the cabin windows which had shown no movement in the time Damianos had stood, he finally left, finding the clearing he had spotted earlier and beginning to set up a makeshift camp.

His own fire started surprisingly easy, and the tent he had manufactured wasn’t pretty but it did its job, and when night came and went, he awoke without answers and a noticeably dwindled food supply from his nearly two weeks of travel.

So he tried again.

“My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold, and much of it.”

For three more days he repeated this ritual, knocking and retreating and announcing and waiting. By the fifth day of standing outside the Witch’s cabin, Damianos’ patience was nearing its end and he was beginning to think he was quite idiotic for believing in such a fairytale.

“My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought gold, and much of it.”

This time, he said it with clear frustration in his tone, frustration that had him half-heartedly kicking at the stones.

“I have heard your announcement many a time,” a voice sounded out suddenly from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Damianos jumped back from the gate, eyes searching the cabin and the skies, and the voice continued. “Though I find it all quite redundant, I do admire your relentlessness.”

Fumbling, Damianos tossed his bag to the ground and fell to his knees beside it, scrambling inside of it for his gold that he had days earlier quit bringing out. His bare knees were bitten numb by the snow. With his arms outstretched and his eyes still searching, he repeated, “I have brought gold in my request for your assistance.”

“So you have said,” the voice drolled. “I fear, Damianos of Akielos, that you lack understanding of my demands.”

It was easy to get lost listening to the Witch’s voice, honing intently on the clear tone of it, honing intently to its pitch and control.

“You have not made any demands of me,” Damianos said. His arms fell to his sides.

“Do not play a fool. All who find me know of my demands. They are very simple, too: approach, knock four times, return to the gateway, and make an offering of value.”

“I have done all that,” Damianos said after a beat, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I have done all that repeatedly.”

“I know who you are, Damianos. You are no mere Akielon citizen. You are the Prince. Of what value is gold to you?” the voice asked him. It sounded genuinely curious.

“Gold is of value to all.”

“If you can casually give to me as much as you are offering, gold is of little importance to your life. Bring to me something of value.”

Every part of Damianos wanted to argue, but with patience he had demonstrated thus far, he waited to see if the Witch would speak again. When there was no noise beyond the rustling of dead leaves in the trees to accompany Damianos’ loud heartbeat, he made the familiar journey back to his camp to think.

After a restless night of deep contemplation, he had a solution.

It took almost two full days to fashion together his offering. Gold didn’t melt easily and finding something to shape it around proved near impossible. By the time it was completed and cooled with the abundance of snow, Damianos slipped it on.

It wasn’t beautiful, not in any way, but its purpose would be evident.

His seventh day in the forest, Damianos once again approached the unchanged Witch’s cabin. Inside he could see that the very same fire was going strong and it burned within him a necessary conviction. Repeating the ritual for what was hopefully the last time, Damianos walked to the door, knocked four times, went back to the stones, and announced, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I require assistance and answers only he can provide. I have brought, in offering, my freedom.”

Outstretching his arms from the warm cocoon of his cloak, Damianos bared the cuff shackled to his right wrist.

He had not been certain in the last two days if the Witch was familiar with slave practices across the continent, but with his reputation for knowledge Damianos assumed the message would be clear.

The voice laughed, an unkind laugh that felt mocking. “You liken to extremes, do you not, Prince Damianos?”

“I am desperate,” Damianos answered.

When nothing happened, Damianos felt his patience lose its last hold all the way in his fingertips. “Do you accept or not?”

The door to the cabin opened wide.

***

Inside, the cabin was unnervingly dark.

It was the first thing Damianos noticed, though secondly was the stifling heat. The fire, which had been roaring high the entire time Damianos had stood outside was suddenly nothing but smoldering embers, yet the remaining heat was almost painful in its relief on Damianos’ skin, stinging like a burn that seeped all the way into his bones.

Damianos had never given thought to what a witch’s cabin should look like, but if he ever would have he definitely would not have imagined this. The entire room smelt of lavender and cinnamon, and fresh herbs were gathered in clay pots that sat on the sills of the windows, drowning the blue hue of the streaming moonlight in greenery. Rugs lined the rough wooden floors and books of all kinds littered the tables and shelves, the only clutter in an area otherwise so organized.

But the cabin’s almost welcoming appearance didn’t take away that there was something to be fearful of in here. Damianos startled when the cabin door slammed shut from somewhere behind him, done so with no force from another physical person. Then came the unmistakable click of the lock.

“How desperate are you?” the voice of the Witch asked, and it sounded as though it was only inches behind Damianos. Damianos whipped around, eyes searching even though they hadn’t quite adjusted to the dark, but all he found was the blank slate of wood that made the door from which he had entered. “You have offered me yourself. Is the significance of that lost on you? It is near the equivalent of offering the devil your soul.”

“Near the equivalent, but not exact in its likeness,” Damianos said. The voice hummed thoughtfully.

“If it is not exact, then you must have only heard the good things about me.”

“I have heard many things about you,” said Damianos, “but I am to be King one day. To rush into a decision based upon only the words of others could be detrimental. I would much rather make decisions upon my own observances.”

“But if you are here then you must believe the words of someone, yes? After all, my ego is not so large to assume that knowledge of my being has crossed into the barbaric lands of Akielos unscathed.”

Movement caught Damianos’ eye, but it was an animal of some sort, one that scurried underneath a table by the far wall.

“For how long are we to speak in circles?” Damianos asked instead. His finger was tapping incessantly at his thigh.

“However long I wish. You offered me your freedom.”

There was silence, and Damianos took it as opportunity to continue to observe. The animal that he had spotted emerged its head from underneath the table it had disappeared under. It was a white darling cat with brown marbled in its fur. It had large blue eyes.

“Tell me what you have heard of me. Then tell me what you believe. Should your answers be adequate, we will continue on to the answers you seek.”

Damianos turned from where the cat was still sitting, watching him, and faced instead the emptiness of the room.

“I have heard many things about you, Witch of Vere. I have heard praises sung of your good deeds and your kindness. I have also heard awful things. I have heard stories of young boys walking into this very cabin and never leaving it again. I have heard of girls cut open on your dining table, their children taken violently from their wombs. I have heard you were cold enough to murder your own family without regret. I have heard many things about you.”

The words were honest as they tore themselves from Damianos’ throat. When the voice did not speak after a moment though, he continued.

“Only two things have remained consistent in all the accounts I have heard, and those are the two things I choose to believe. The first is that you are beautiful. There are stories, implications, that have followed that, however. Stories that you bathe in the blood of virgins to maintain your youthfulness. But it is the second as to why I am here, for I have heard from all that you are the most powerful witch to have walked the continent since Agnesot of the Artisan Empire nearly four hundred years ago.”

For the first time since entering the cabin, Damianos heard a noise that was not the voice speaking nor the crackling of the embers burning hot in the hearth. He heard the creak of wood from a singular staircase that ascended near the very hearth and he watched with bated breath as a figure approached.

Immaculate boots caught the moonlight with their shine and it was something that took Damianos aback for it was not what he expected from a witch, or anyone this secluded from the rest of society. Up, Damianos took in the fine material of the pants, the intricate laces, winding their way up and down the lean body’s torso and arms, and the collar of the shirt and the length of the sleeves, both of which covered nearly all skin in a shield to protect it from onlookers’ eyes. Finally, facing forward, Damianos set sight on the Witch’s face.

Tales of the Witch’s beauty were true. Damianos felt horribly aware of his own shaky intake of breath, of the slackness of his own mouth, but he was impossible to stop it. The Witch’s skin was a near match to the unblemished porcelain of the snow surrounding them outside. It was accompanied by ice colored eyes that were unreadable in expression, yet framed with curled lashes that brushed the tops of cold-flushed cheeks whenever the Witch blinked. The flush matched the color of the pink fullness of his mouth, and both things were the only contrast to his otherwise cool-toned, sharp features. In fact, those two things softened him into something almost precious. Or perhaps it was the halo of gold surrounding his head, his hair shining like the sun on the waters near Isthima.

Damianos took an involuntary step forward before catching himself.

“Well?” the Witch mused, blue eyes never leaving the Prince’s face.

“You must bathe in the blood of virgins,” Damianos managed to mutter. He swore the Witch’s eyes gleamed at that.

“I am not concerned with one’s number of sexual encounters,” said the Witch. “My concerns lie in other matters, such as the Prince of Akielos’ presence so very far from home.”

“Yes, it has been a long journey,” Damianos agreed, still searching that beautiful face.

“How are you taking to the cold?” the Witch asked. He was speaking as though they were friends, as though there was not a strangeness to this all so present it was palpable in the air surrounding them both.

“The snow is beautiful. I am not sure I enjoy the freezing of my limbs, however.”

The Witch made a noise and he walked toward the cat. “I do suppose the snow is beautiful. I am quite accustomed to it. But it brings with it a peace, does it not? I do not know what I would do if I were to be surrounded by the warmth of sunshine instead.”

“Akielos will be void of sunshine if I do not receive answers soon,” said Damianos. The feeling shifted as the conversation returned to its proper track.

The Witch circled him and Damianos stood very still. Briefly, he thought the Witch was akin to the nameless beasts he heard growling in the forest at night, and Damianos was one of those small white creatures in the vulnerability of an open clearing.

“Void of sunshine? My, what cynicism. Do tell me why. Do tell me how. Such a thing cannot happen in as short a time as the turning of the moon.”

“But it can and it shall,” Damianos started. “My betrothed has gone missing. If she is not found, if she is not returned, I fear Akielos will face terrible hardship. I fear, worst of all, its entire structure could fall apart beneath us.”

“You put quite a value of importance on one woman.”

Damianos interrupted the conversation he had started. “Please allow me to call you something. I cannot address you as the Witch, but it is all I know. What is your name?” He was dizzy with the conversation already, dizzy with the weight of his own tongue in his mouth.

“Unlike you, Prince, I know the power of gifting things away. I am not so quick to make a deal with a devil,” the Witch chastised, but he was smiling. It was a cold smile. It was cruel. “Continue.”

“The wedding has been scheduled since the week of her birth. As it was written and as it was signed, our wedding was to be on the day of Midsummer, when the sun spent longest in the sky, and in the year in which the five planets aligned. That day is in two months. But she is not in Akielos. She is not anywhere. She vanished in the daylight three months ago and her father is ready to begin a war for her.”

“A war against Akielos?” asked the Witch.

“Not as of now. The man is a great noble from Aegina. It is one of our farming provinces. But should he wish to go to war, my father will support him. He has been raging about Vere and the Vaskian tribes for weeks.” Damianos started to pace. The Witch was watching him. He allowed Damianos to continue on. “There are many things that could have happened, but I need to know the truth. I cannot, will not, engage my armies in a war over one woman unless I have absolute proof she has been taken, as some of the nefarious rumors have implied. But should I refuse, I fear something even worse than a war with Vere or Vask; I fear civil war. Her father is popular in the north and if there was ever such an area to begin unrest with the capital...” Damianos looked pointedly at the Witch. “I must figure out the truth or I will have no kingdom to rule.”

“You sound far more invested in the welfare of your kingdom than in your betrothed,” the Witch said. “Is she such a hideous prospect?”

“She is beautiful. But her beauty does not matter. Our betrothal was political and she is political. I once thought…” Damianos trailed again, but he shook himself out of going down that path.

“She is political,” the Witch started curiously, “and you are more a romantic. You wanted to love her, and her love you in turn, when you got married.”

“Yes.”

“Why would you think I have answers about your betrothed?” the Witch then asked with a different kind of curiosity.

“Initially I believed such a thing for there were rumors she came to you. Each was different in its reasoning for why she would come here, but it was something I heard from several of my people,” Damianos admitted. “But upon questioning those people further, and finding more people to question along my journey here, I no longer believe that. There are many that confirm she traveled by the Ellosean Sea. She could not have gotten here traveling in such a way.”

“That’s not true, Prince,” the Witch said. “If she took the sea, she could have landed in the province of Marches in Vere before traveling innocuously along Vere’s border, by the palace in Arles, and into the Great Northern Forest. She very much could have been one of the many virgins I bathed in the blood of.”

“She is no virgin.”

“You said she was political, however. By what do you mean?” the Witch asked.

“She seeks power. It is the only reason I believe she would not abandon our betrothal willingly. To be wed to me, to be the Queen of Akielos, would be too much for her to pass up on. And yet…” Damianos trailed one last time, “I am uncertain of everything.”

“Prince Damianos of Akielos,” the Witch said, his tone indicating to Damianos’ ears that this conversation was coming to a close. “We will begin the process of trying to answer your questions at another time. But until then, I suppose I shall give you menial tasks to complete.”

“Tasks?”

“You are mine, are you not”

***

Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos had worked hard for many years on all things related to battle. But never in his life had he had to do basic chores for a household. The next morning, upon awakening in his campsite in the forest, Damianos had stood outside the Witch’s cabin for some time contemplating if he was to still knock. The Witch answered that query for him, opening the cabin door as he had yesterday to bid Damianos inside. From there he had given the Prince a list to complete; tend to the plants, gather and chop firewood from the forest, feed the cat (which Damianos had deemed to be the devil the Witch kept bringing up in conversation).

While Damianos completed such tasks, the Witch was nowhere in sight. In fact, Damianos was certain the Witch was not in the cabin at all. Still, Damianos worked and when evening came about, the Witch reappeared with two gifts for Damianos.

“You may sleep here,” the Witch told him as he began preparing a hot meal for the two of them. “I know this is not your normal standard of accommodation, but I truly cannot have a future king dying of starvation or frostbite whilst owned by me. It would be dreadful for that to get about.”

Damianos could not tell if he was joking or not, but he was grateful nonetheless.

The sofa near the hearth was surprisingly comfortable, though Damianos wondered if that was due to his weeks of sleeping on the cold forest floor, but when he awoke he was startled by two things. The first was the feeling of waking and not knowing where one was, and it rocketed his heartrate until memory returned. The second was the feeling of weight on his chest, just above his ribcage, that made it difficult to take a deep breath. That was resolved quickly, however, as Damianos opened his eyes and found the cat sitting on him and staring unblinkingly at the subtle expansion of his breaths leaving his open mouth. Damianos jolted awake and the cat meowed as it was forced to move, to jump away and onto the ground.

Damianos stumbled as he tried to stand to full attention with dignity, and that’s when he saw something that threw him into a near panic. In the hearth was a pot and in the pot was a ladle that was stirring the pot’s contents all on its own. Damianos turned his head like a dog trying to make sense of a human’s incomprehensible jabbering.

“This trick was not intended to evoke fear,” the Witch said from the table near the window. Damianos turned to give the Witch his attention and found him with a book whose writing was gibberish to Damianos’ eyes and a steaming cup with a spoon doing the same trick as the pot with the ladle.

“I am not afraid,” said Damianos. His voice was gruff.

The Witch gestured to the empty seat across from and it was only with minor hesitancy that Damianos accepted. Then nothing happened.

“Do you suppose your drink will simply appear before you?” the Witch asked, his eyes never leaving his book.

“I thought,” Damianos fumbled, “I thought that —”

“That I would get it for you as you have never had to do such a thing on your own? Oh, my dear brute, you are forgetting your position here already. You may fetch it yourself.”

So Damianos did. And when the Witch tasked him with getting more wood, Damianos did that as well. After another day of doing work, the sun set and the Witch began supper. It was then that Damianos asked, “What of my betrothed?”

“In time,” said the Witch.

The next morning, Damianos’ third day since entering the cabin, began much as the day before. He made it to noon before the lack of communication wore thin each of his fried nerves. He couldn’t stop thinking of Akielos.

“I do not understand you,” Damianos said loudly after having ground up spices for nearly an hour. “I have done all you have asked with no complaint. I have offered you my very self and yet all you have done is require me to clean and fetch us both hot tea. I am beginning to believe your magic does not extend beyond stirring stews and reading in languages others cannot understand.”

The Witch looked at him steadily from where he was rifling through a stack of unrecognizable papers.

Then it started.

It started slowly, crept in like a storm front. He felt it first in the center of his chest. It was the same feeling he had felt when the cat had sat on him that first morning, like a weight preventing a deep breath. Then he felt it in his head, an ache behind his eyeballs. The feeling in his chest swelled, moving until it took over his entire body. Blackness blurred the edges of his vision and it was without fault that he fell to his knees, hands grasping at his throat as if he could pull the blockage from himself, as if he could push air back into his lungs.

He was going to die.

Horrible noises were leaving him, wounded sounds, and he could barely make sense of the Witch’s figure looming over him, his blond hair hanging like the invisible rope tight around Damianos’ neck as he lost his ability to breathe.

Then, like nothing ever happened, the feeling stopped and Damianos fell forward even more, gasping in broken sounds as air returned to his body.

“You would do best not to insult me, Prince,” the Witch spat. The last word left his mouth as though the action was venomous. “Now finish with your tasks.”

The Witch disappeared, exiting the cabin, the electricity of his power still lingering in the air, and it took Damianos several minutes to pull himself up to his feet. When he did, he saw that while proving his power the Witch destroyed several items in his own home. Books and papers were strewn haphazardly, all far from where they had been sitting, and several pots that the plants sat in were shattered, the soil all over the floor and other surfaces on which they rested.

Hours later, when the Witch returned, Damianos’ head was still somewhat fuzzy.

While the Witch had been gone, Damianos had done his best to restore everything back to its place as well as begin on his tasks should the Witch wish to direct his rage once again. But when the Witch came back he barely glanced at the room or at Damianos. He went straight for the table by the window instead and, with a sweep of his hand, pushed everything to the edge where the table met the wall.

“Sit,” he demanded.

Though each part of him screamed to keep distance between himself and the Witch, Damianos listened and sat himself across from the Witch at the table. He reminded himself silently and none-too-gently to hold his tongue. He watched raptly as the Witch gently untied the strings of a black velvet bag. From it he drew out a deck of cards. The cards were blue, the kind of blue Damianos had only ever seen in the meadows of Karthas, or perhaps the very blue of the Witch’s eyes. On the cards’ backs was a symbol, but of what Damianos could not tell. He could only see golden spikes.

With an elegance, the Witch placed the deck of cards on the far left end of the table. Then, with his magic, he spread them out in an arch until the cards were just overlapping at the edges.

The symbol became clear to Damianos in that moment: a starburst.

“What are these?” he asked.

“These are cards,” the Witch answered simply.

Damianos had to bite down on his tongue so as to not reply to that. He left himself with an achingly familiar twitch of annoyance at the Witch’s evasive nonanswers instead. “Yes, I can see that. But what is their significance?”

“These are cards about you.”

Fast as lightning, Damianos’ eyes went to the Witch’s face. For his part, however, the Witch was not paying him any mind. His blue eyes were focused solely on the display of cards, on the closeness of their edges to Damianos’ own fingertips.

“How could you have cards about me?”

“I have cards about all peoples,” the Witch said. “Even myself.”

“And what do your cards say?” Damianos could not resist asking.

“Telling you would mean nothing. Not yet. You do not even know which cards are yours.”

“Then pick them out or let me pick them so you can tell me.” His fingertips that were only inches away from the cards went to snatch at them, but the Witch physically slapped them away. It did not hurt, but it brought on a kind of shock. It was the first time they had touched and Damianos wasn’t surprised the Witch’s hands were cold.

“You cannot just pick the cards,” the Witch said. “They pick you, Prince.”

The two of them stared at once another. Again, Damianos’ chest began to feel tight and he almost began to yell out at the Witch, to ask what he did to warrant a repeat performance, but he realized quickly it was a nervousness and not the Witch at all.

“Now,” the Witch began again, “there are three cards lying here about you and your betrothed. One card is about your past, one about your present, and one about your future. You need to think hard about your betrothed. Think about everything you know about her, think of everything she has done, think of every feeling she has ever evoked from you. Think about everything about her and hold your hands above the cards. Yes, like that. Listen to them. There are three and they will find you.”

At first Damianos felt absurd, both hands floating aimlessly over the blue and gold of the cards, but, suddenly, a sense of calm overtook him, washed over him and unwound the tightness of his chest. Through his palms he could feel something radiating, calling for his touch. With as gentle a hand as he could find, he extracted one card, then another, then one more.

“Listen to them before you hand them to me,” the Witch said, whispered as to not break the magic in the air. “The order matters. The direction matters. The cards will tell you.”

When Damianos finally handed the cards over, the calm rushed away from him in the same way his air had earlier left his lungs, and Damianos held his breath as the Witch flipped the three cards over so that the starbursts were tableside.

Of the three cards, one was upside down, its figure facing the Witch and not Damianos. It was on Damianos’ right and it showed a man on a throne. The graying beard on his face reminded Damianos of his own father and the scepter in his hand gleamed gold in the light. Its text said ‘The Emperor’ in shimmering letters. Next to it, in the middle, was a card with an Ektoryn. In myth, Ektoryns were said to be the speakers of the gods. In the case of this card, the Ektoryn appeared to be Gilead, the one that announced fate with the declaration of a trumpet. The card said ‘Judgement.’ It was the final card, or the first card, though that made Damianos suck in a breath. Typhon, the Devil, could never be a good sign. With horns and fire decorating the intimidating figure, Damianos could not see how.

“Do not fret so heavily over the Devil,” the Witch told him with such ease that Damianos’ shoulders relaxed without his acknowledgement. “He is not what concerns me here.”

“What do they all mean?”

It felt as if these cards suddenly held the entire future of his kingdom and Damianos felt such a horrid feeling that he desperately needed alleviated with the Witch’s words.

“We shall start with the Devil to ease your mind, Prince,” the Witch said, delicate hands pushing the card and its figure closer to Damianos. “The Devil, when facing you, is often there to signify entrapment. You two were betrothed at birth, were you not?” Damianos nodded. “This betrothal, paired with her political motivation and your more romantic inclination, have led the two of you to feel in such a way. The Devil, here to your left, is the past, showing you how the two of you came to be.”

With the same delicate hand, the Witch pulled the Devil back toward himself and pushed forward instead the Ektoryn, Gilead.

“Facing you, the card of Judgement is the signifier of self-reflection. Similarly to the Devil, Judgement shows a changing point you both had at a very recent time in your lives. You trailed off once about how you perhaps thought a romantic attraction was possible with the two of you, but something changed that, didn’t it?” Damianos nodded again. “Something of the same significance must have occurred within her as well.” Then, almost as a warning, the Witch continued. “Make no mistake of the implication of this card. While self-reflection sounds like a good thing, it does not always have to be about bettering oneself. In some cases, it could be a way of finding how to get ahead with what one has.”

Damianos took in the open and simple face of the Ektoryn, and he took in its outstretched hands that were searching for answers. He saw himself in that image and thought, yes, he could see what the Witch meant.

“But this card,” the Witch interrupted his thoughts, pushing the last card to Damianos, “this card brings me great trepidation, Prince.”

Looking at the Witch with concern, Damianos asked, “Why? What does it mean?”

“Upside down like this, the Emperor is tyrannical. With a position in royalty such as your own, Damianos, you can understand the fear of tyranny.”

The two of them fell quiet. Damianos waited for the Witch to continue to explain the Emperor as he had explained the Devil and the Ektoryn, but the Witch was only staring at the cards. His blond brows were furrowed together, his blue eyes scanning, when suddenly he sat up straight with rigid shoulders and shuffled the cards together as though that could hide what he had just realized or seen.

“What is it? What did you find?” Damianos asked quickly. His hands were gripping the edge of the table.

“You will know,” the Witch mumbled. “You will know in time. Probably faster than you’d like.”

Fury filled Damianos’ veins then. In time, in time, he thought bitterly to himself, wanting desperately to lash out, to sweep all the cards onto the floor, but he didn’t. When he finally felt as though he wouldn’t throw a punch in his anger, Damianos looked up only to find the Witch watching him, looking amused.

“You do quite well at reeling in your most volatile of emotions,” the Witch said, and Damianos wanted to hit him all over again. “But there is one more card for you. Think of yourself as this one finds you. Think of yourself and no other creature.”

There was an ache in Damianos’ jaw from clenching it so tight. The muscle was twitching, a striking feeling, and it was then Damianos realized his fingernails were biting half-moons into his palms. He watched with dark eyes as the Witch finished shuffling the deck of cards and once again placed them in a gentle arch for Damianos’ eyes.

“There is one for you,” the Witch repeated, “and only one.”

Concentrating on what lay before him, Damianos focused on his breathing, focused on settling it, focused on the rhythmic boom ba-boom boom of his heart in his ears. Then, like before, he lifted his hands and waited for the card to call to him.

When it found him, he handed the Witch his card and the Witch flipped it over. Damianos laughed acridly and almost expectantly at the image it beheld.

“What does this mean for me? Beyond the obvious, that is.”

“What is the obvious?” the Witch asked him. Damianos had expected the Witch to laugh, had expected that cruel smile he had seen more than once to appear, but the Witch looked at him with a kind of curiosity instead, something entirely new on his face. It made Damianos’ stomach flip.

“The Fool,” Damianos said, gesturing somewhat wildly at it. “What else could it mean but I am unfit for my position? That my journey here was useless and unnecessary?”

“So that is what you believe it to mean? That is not what it means at all.” The Witch held the card between two long fingers an examined it with a light behind his eyes. “People so often become obsessed with the names of these cards that they do not take into consideration the meaning at all. The Devil, as example, emits such a fear that it sends people into a panic before they come to the realization that it is not an inherently evil card. The Fool, facing you as he is now, is a lovely card to draw.”

“What does it mean?” Damianos asked, softer this time.

“The Fool means innocence. It means you are to start on a new journey. Whatever that may be.”

***

After the reading of the cards, the Witch went about making more tea and hot broth for dinner. It was silent in the cabin, at least between Damianos and the Witch, and as the Witch busied himself Damianos petted absently at the cat that liked to nestle into the crook of his elbow.

As he ate, Damianos couldn’t get the images of the cards out of his mind. Like a nightmare, the Devil, the Ektoryn, the Emperor, and the Fool all flashed behind his eyelids like some unstoppable force couldn’t help but replay them over and over again

“You’re aware I realized something whilst looking at your card of the Emperor, yes?” the Witch asked after hours of quiet. The question brought Damianos out of his own head and, just like earlier, he nodded. “I have a confession, Prince.”

Expectantly, Damianos waited, wanting to know what had the Witch so visibly uncomfortable after having read the Emperor. What he said brought on the most conflicting set of feelings Damianos had ever experienced at one time.

“Your initial assumptions of your betrothed’s disappearance were correct for she was here but just over a month ago.”

The confession startled Damianos so much that he almost fell forward, words tearing themselves out of his mouth before he could stop them. But the Witch only talked over him, beckoning him for silence.

“I did not realize it was her, not until I was looking at your cards. She did not offer her place of origin and I did not ask, only assuming by her coloring and conduct that she was Veretian. It appears now, however, that she was Akielon.”

“Start from the beginning,” Damianos said. “Please.”

“Yes, yes. But you need to sit down. I fear you are not prepared for what I am about to say.”

They both sat on the sofa in front of the hearth and momentarily Damianos got lost in how the warm glow of the fire changed the Witch’s appearance so.

“Your betrothed, Jokaste, arrived outside of my cabin early in the day. She was quiet, offering me no extra information and asking none of me. It appeared at first as though this was going to be like any other exchange of services and goods, but it was when the pain settled in that she began to ramble. She damned herself, she said she was not careful enough. After several minutes of going on in such a fashion, she began to shake as she said she was afraid she would lose everything with such a mistake.”

“When the pain settled in?” Damianos repeated, wide-eyed. “Why was she in pain?”

“Some of the stories you have heard of me are true, Prince. When asked, I do rid women of children they cannot bring into this world, whatever their reason. That is why your betrothed was here.”

The ground crumbled underneath Damianos’ feet.

It didn’t literally, of course, but his entire being felt like it was impossibly falling into an abyss of uncertainty. Words escaped him in his fall.

“I came to the understanding that her soon-to-be was powerful, but I never would have jumped to the conclusion that they were a prince. Was the child yours?”

Damianos looked into the fire. “No. My father ordered her out of my bed a year ago, for propriety’s sake. He did not want us siring a bastard, even with the intention of wedding. Best to avoid any kind of scandal.”

“I fear she did not seem to have the same kind of preservation in mind,” the Witch said.

The room grew quiet, Damianos processing and the Witch allowing him to do so. It wasn’t a hurt Damianos was feeling, he concluded quite quickly. Jokaste was beautiful, was intelligent, but the draw of it all was that she was to be his Queen. They had melded together, carnally, in those earliest of days, seeing each other only when the moon was high, and by morning she’d be gone and Damianos would think nothing of it. Yet, this was a betrayal. It wasn’t as though this was the situation of his father and mother, where they were loyal to one another for a decade before it became evident Egeria would not be able to bring to life an heir. Only then did his father begin his relationship with his mistress, resulting in the birth of Kastor. No, this wasn’t that; Jokaste didn’t even give their marriage a chance.

“Do you know where she is now?” Damianos asked after minutes of that quiet.

“I offered for her stay here as she needed to recover. She declined, citing a place she knew she could seek refuge as she rested. I know not where that place is.”

“Can you find out?” Damianos asked.

The Witch sighed. “I can. It will take but an hour. However, I must advise against it.”

“Why?”

“Nothing good ever rises from emotions such as your current own,” the Witch said, sounding almost as though speaking from experience.

“Finding her is not about me. It is about preventing war. If I can bring her back to Akielos, show to her father that her leaving was of her own doing and not of Patras, Vask, Vere, and most definitely anyone in Akielos, he will have no reason to continue his push for violence. I will not have to lose any of my men.”

The Witch stared at Damianos’ face. Up close like this, Damianos could see the reflection of the fire in the Witch’s blue eyes. Damianos could see that the Witch had recently wetted his lips for they shined.

“What will come of her in her return to Akielos?”

“She will probably be exiled. My father will not take her conceiving with another man, not after the signing of our betrothal since birth, lightly.”

The Witch stared a minute more. “Come. This will take some time.”

It was fascinating, watching the Witch prepare to use his power. The first thing he did was gather ingredients. He plucked leaves off of a rowan tree twig and crushed them, the mortor and pestle granites meticulously rasping against one another. From the leaves green leaked and it was only when the leaves were but a mush of wetness that the Witch added a red powder from a jar on the desk. Together the two created a paste, a muck of sorts that the Witch scraped off to one pile in the mortor.

Then, with expert fingers, the Witch snipped off a line of twine from a roll and began a new preparation of leaves and herbs. Damianos didn’t recognize most of them. Some were long, predominantly stems with tiny buds or leaves decorating their length, while others were shorter, fuller plants with large leaves and even some flowers. One flower was gold. If slipped behind an ear, or if tucked into a plait of braids, the flower would blend perfectly with the Witch’s hair.

When the twine was tied, the plants secured, the Witch stood and opened a cabinet above the desk. Inside, Damianos spotted a large stack of papers, so large it nearly touched the top of the cabinet, and stuffed in beside it was a book. Damianos assumed the Witch would reach for the book, but he didn’t; instead he pulled at one of the papers lowest in the pile.

It was a map of the continent.

It was written in Veretian, its Achelos almost startling on the page. The Witch spread it out flat on the table in front of both himself and Damianos. Raptly, Damianos watched as the Witch scooped the paste from the mortor into his hand and began to spread it all around the border of the map. The Witch then grabbed the bundle he had created and stood.

“Descendre.”

The bundle burst into flames. Damianos jumped back, the chair he was sitting in raking loudly on the rough wooden floors. He went to look at the Witch, to ask what was happening, what this would do, but when he looked the Witch’s beautiful blue eyes were entirely black from the pupils to the once-whites. Damianos stayed silent.

Gently and unhurriedly, the Witch placed the fiery bundle at one of the corners of the map. When he did so, the map also began to burn, but it did not burn as paper often does, the flame climbing to consume from the point of first touch. No, instead the map began to burn solely along the border where the paste was smeared.

Lowly, the Witch began to speak in a language both familiar and not. Damianos recognized some of the words and in turn recognized the language. It was the language of the Artisan Empire, a language dead for three hundred years. Yet here, in this cabin, the language was alive, and it brought magic with it. The flames that were controlled to dance the path of the border began to move across the map’s entire surface. But it wasn’t burning it all into ash. It was simply moving toward something.

When the Witch was done speaking and the flames were done crawling, all that was left of the map was a tiny section of the northern part of the province of Ver-Vassel in Vask.

“She is here.”

It made sense. The Vaskian tribes were predominantly women, warriors that would welcome a woman into their midst without much apprehension. It also was one of the most difficult places for Damianos to go to. Still, the certainty, the knowledge of it all had Damianos immediately eager. He wanted to deliver peace to his kingdom and that meant delivering Jokaste to both of their fathers.

“You truly must be descended from the gods,” Damianos said to the Witch. “I do not know how to repay you.”

“You have done all that was asked of you,” the Witch said.

“It does not feel like enough. This solves everything. This prevents war. Will you take coin or gold? Do you need coin or gold?”

“I will not and do not. You offered me your freedom and I took it. Now it is restored to you alongside this knowledge. All I ask of you now is to be wise. Should this take a turn, I fear for the entire continent.”

Damianos’ eagerness faded some at those words, his face taking on an open display of confusion. “Should this take a turn? What do you mean?”

“I mean that I believe you are looking at this too simply. The Emperor. I think there is more to this than what you’re seeing,” the Witch said.

“What else could it be?”

“That, Prince, not even a spell could tell me.”

There wasn’t much to say or do after that. The Witch seemed content to speak in circles and riddles and Damianos was more than ready to trudge out into the snow to begin his second journey, this time across the mountains before going back to Akielos. Though it was dark out, the sun would be rising in a few hours and Damianos didn’t have time to wait. He packed together his bag, donned his warm cloak and boots, and went to the cabin door. Before opening it to the snowy exterior he turned to the Witch and found him watching with a look of contemplation.

“I ask one last thing of you,” Damianos said. The Witch raised one delicate brow.

“It may cost you.”

Damianos couldn’t help but smile. “Since you won’t allow me to thank you with anything tangible, let me thank you personally.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What is your name?” Damianos asked back in response. “If I know it I can then thank you personally.”

The Witch smiled too, not a cruel smile this time, but a smile that did something wonderful to his mouth. But even with that smile, Damianos thought for a moment that the Witch wouldn’t give away that secret still. He was wrong though.

“Laurent.”

***

War had been prevented upon Damianos’ return to Akielos with Jokaste in tow, yet the kingdom had still fallen into shambles.

Theomedes, Damianos’ father, had been furious and his furiousness caused a domino effect of fury across every province of Akielos. As Damianos had expected with a civil war, the south was filled with rage at Jokaste’s infidelity and the north believed the south to be unjust in that rage. That feeling from the north only intensified when Theomedes immediately cancelled the wedding and ordered Jokaste into the cells of the palace of Ios to await trial for her exile.

“There’s not even going to be a trial!” Jokaste’s father had screamed. “Her fate was sealed the moment your son forcibly dragged her to you, crying over his broken heart.”

“Her fate was sealed the moment she spread her legs for another man,” Theomedes said calmly. His hands had clenched the arm rests of the throne.

Tension only had gotten worse when the southern provinces of Kesus and Mellos brought forth the daughters of nobles, vying for a new betrothal contract.

There were other problems beyond the obvious, however, problems Damianos hadn’t anticipated in any regard. The first was his father’s repeated fury aimed at him upon confessing he did not want a betrothed at all. Though the betrothal to Jokaste had been planned, it had never been a topic of conversation among the household of the palace. Damianos had always assumed his father arranged the betrothal because it was what he was expected to do. Yet Damianos’ innocuous profession of “I would like to wait to marry until my time to be king draws nearer,” had been met with near-contempt. The second thing was his father’s illness which had began in the weeks Damianos had been away from home. The King was weak, fatigued and coughing and unable to keep more than bone broth and tea in his stomach for an extended period of time.

“Now is not the time I need your strong head rammed down to defy me,” Theomedes had told him on the second day since his return, just after Damianos had said what he needed to about another betrothal. “Your time as king may be but around the corner, my son. We must prepare for the future now.”

“Let us focus on you, and the you in the present instead of the maybes of the future,” Damianos had pleaded. “You will recover.”

“You are now speaking of maybes.”

As of today, Damianos had now been back in Akielos for over a week and the chaos continued around him at a more settled pace. He decided he was finally ready to face Jokaste.

Their duel journey back to Akielos had been silent. Jokaste hadn’t appeared surprised when he turned up at the outskirts of the Vaskian tribe she had taken refuge with, and she came willingly, hands bound and everything, and not bothering to even ask how he had found her. On the evening of their return, Theomedes had her taken to the cells and she had been there since, left alone except for the guards at the cell’s entrance.

As he descended the steps, Damianos was struck by how little time he had spent in the cells of his own palace. All in all, he guessed that was probably a good thing, but it meant he couldn’t take his eyes off of the damp stone walls and floors, of the slivers of light peering in at odd places, for it was all new. The guards at the entrance bowed deeply at Damianos’ approach before moving out of the way in a soldier’s march.

There, alone on a bench in a cell, was Jokaste.

Her hair was tied up out of her face and her dress was wet at the hem. Still, she looked effortless and she smiled warmly at Damianos’ presence. Then, with an appreciative gaze, she looked him up and down.

“I am quite the damned fool, aren’t I?” she asked.

Instead of bringing to the surface a kind of regret, her words only brought with them a memory of what the Witch — what Laurent — had said: “It appeared at first as though this was going to be like any other exchange of services and goods, but it was when the pain settled in that she began to ramble. She damned herself, she said she was not careful enough. After several minutes of going on in such a fashion, she began to shake as she said she was afraid she would lose everything with such a mistake.”

“Why did you do it?” Damianos asked her. “It’s not like you to be so careless, and especially but months away from the wedding.”

Jokaste kept her smile as she leaned back on the bench, palms flat behind her, legs extended in front of her, and breasts purposefully lifted, making her figure all the more alluring. “You not in my bed made me restless.”

Damianos ran his tongue across his teeth. “I don’t quite believe that. You’ve never had any difficulty entertaining yourself through other pursuits in the past.”

“I don’t think entertainment, or a lack thereof, was the problem, Damianos. Only perhaps that my entertainment got away from me. For what it’s worth, none of this was ever my intent.”

Neither of them had much more to say.

That night, Damianos dreamed of Jokaste’s hands reaching beyond the bars of the cell and grabbing him. He was certain the dream would have continued, would have grown into a nightmare no matter the direction the struggle took, but he was awakened by the feeling of a presence in his room. His eyes opened, immediately looking to find his sword, its blade sheathed and its handle shining, but a voice spoke out, “Don’t think about,” and Damianos turned over in a hurry to peer at the figure.

“Laurent,” he breathed, heart beating fast in his chest. He willed it to slow down. “What are you doing here?”

In a way with which Damianos was somewhat familiar, Laurent stayed silent. He was bathed in the moon from Damianos’ open balcony that overlooked the sea, and its light from behind him shadowed his face. Unlike how the fire of the hearth had made his hair golden, the light from the moon made it appear white, looking much like the enigmatic figure the stories of him made him to be. He was still dressed in the same tight-laced clothes he had worn in the cabin and the salty wind from the ocean made his hair and the ends of his laces dance. For the smallest of moments Damianos wondered if he was still dreaming.

He was going to ask, in the silence, how Laurent had gotten by his guards, but, las though Laurent was reading his mind, he beat him to it. “Your guards are useless.”

Damianos pushed himself to sit up. “What are you doing here?”

“The entire continent has caught news of Akielos’ current predicament. They’re all looking for the weak spot to strike.”

His words and his presence still confused Damianos. “What of it? Akielos is plenty strong to take on the armies of Vere, Vask, or Patras. A war is not ideal, it is why I came to you in the first place, but if it happens, Akielos can handle it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But it’s not just Vere, Vask, and Patras looking. I hadn’t been lying when I said that I believed there was more to this than what you were seeing. Things are not alright in your kingdom, Damianos. Bringing Jokaste back may have only brought the war on faster.”

Laurent turned and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the sea and when nothing else happened Damianos knew he was intended to follow. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and held the sheet tight around his waist as he walked out onto the balcony as well. The night air felt refreshing on his skin, cooling it from its sleep-warmed state. Laurent was waiting for him, sitting on the stone railing. Now Damianos could see his face and he swore the Witch’s cheeks were flushed red. He wondered if it was from the Akielon heat.

“Do as you did the first time and find three cards about you and Jokaste,” Laurent said, getting out a familiar blue and gold starburst deck of cards.

“Would it be any different than it had been weeks ago?”

“It can change always. Now that your past is known, it is time for what’s next. Three cards.”

After a deep breath, Damianos did just as he had last time and, like then, he felt his three cards call out to him, their energy tangible, their powerful intention clear. He plucked them from the pile and handed them to Laurent slowly. The Witch kept his eyes trained on the reflective gold and he himself took in a deep breath before flipping over the first card.

To Damianos’ left he began and the card was achingly familiar for no one could forget the face of Gilead. The second card, the one in the middle, was also achingly familiar. The Emperor kept his tyrannical position on the throne strong. But it was the last card that brought great fear into Damianos’ heart for when the Witch flipped it over he gasped, a quiet and pained sound. The Tower, climbing high into the sky.

“It is as I feared,” Laurent breathed.

“The Tower? Why the Tower?” Damianos asked, impatiently.

With a sweep of magic that made the hairs on Damianos’ arms stand up, Laurent vanished the cards away and turned to face the wine dark waters of the sea.

“What do you know about your brother?” the Witch asked instead of answering Damianos’ question.

It definitely had not been what Damianos had been expecting to be asked.

As far as he knew, the Witch — Laurent — had no reason to truly know anything about Damianos’ brother, Kastor. He may have known Kastor existed, but Kastor hadn’t been brought up once in the days Damianos was at the cabin.

“He’s my brother,” he said simply instead of trying to fake anything else. “What is it you wish to know about him?”

“Has your brother paid visit to Jokaste in her cell since your return?”

“What? No. Of course not. Why would he?” Damianos asked, taken aback. Every question of the Witch’s brought forth more questions on Damianos’ end.

“Ask your guards,” Laurent told him, turning away from the sea. “Ask them how many times he has traveled down the staircase to the cells in the week since Jokaste was sent to be held there.”

“Why?” Damianos asked. He felt like a child constantly repeating the question of ‘Why?’.

“Do you not find it odd that your father’s health is worsening each day?”

Like at the cabin, Damianos was angry and frustrated at Laurent’s speaking in riddles. He voiced those feelings yet again. “Speak plainly, Laurent. I cannot make sense of anything when you answer each of my questions with a question of your own or in an indirect, unspecified way.”

“You wish for me to speak plainly? Fine,” Laurent said, sounding as depleted as Damianos felt and standing up off of the stone balcony to dust off his pants. “Jokaste was pregnant with your brother’s child and the two of them are planning on murdering both you and your father. They have almost succeeded in the latter.”

A physical strike to Damianos’ body would have hurt far less, would have been less jarring in every way.

“Leave.”

Laurent didn’t move.

“Go back to your forest, to your seclusion, to where people can seek you out if they want your opinion. Leave me and my kingdom be, we have more than plenty to deal with right now. No one in Akielos needs your guesses.”

“Are you truly ready to be king so soon? Your father only has weeks to live, Damianos,” Laurent responded.

“Leave,” Damianos repeated, voice hard.

Laurent looked like he wanted to say so much more. His expression almost looked like pity and it angered Damianos even more. They stood, at a stalemate, for moments, but Laurent finally turned toward the room and walked. Just at the threshold of where the moonlight turned into darkness, Laurent turned back and said, “Talk to the guards,” before he vanished, the act of it sending a rush of electricity through Damianos’ being.

Damianos spent the entire rest of the evening tossing and turning in his bed. He didn’t want to dwell on all Laurent had said, but it was impossible not to. Jokaste and Kastor? Murdering his — their — father? No. Jokaste would have been a bit more understandable as an outsider, but even then it seemed impossible; why would she risk execution? But Kastor...no, that couldn’t be true. Kastor wouldn’t betray him, them, in such a way; Kastor wouldn’t kill their father.

And yet…

When the sun was finally over the horizon, Damianos got out of bed. Tiredness had escaped him for he had so much to think on, but he had only gotten three or four hours of sleep.

At this early of an hour, the only people awake in the palace were slaves, guards, and cooks, all preparing for the day in different ways. It was unusual for a prince to be awake at such a time and so many fell to their knees in surprise as Damianos walked by. He paid them no mind. Instead he walked until he was at the staircase that winded down to the cells. The guards there moved with respect, but Damianos stayed put, not yet descending.

“Has my brother been down to these cells to visit the prisoner Jokaste?” Damianos asked, addressing both guards.

“On the first day of her being brought here Prince Kastor did go to the cells, but he was only there for a handful of minutes at most,” the guard on the left said, eyes never looking directly at Damianos.

“And the rest of the week?”

“No, Crown Prince, he did not come back to the cells during the rest of the week.”

The words brought such relief with them that Damianos almost fell over in his sudden exhaustion. The Witch had been wrong. Kastor and Jokaste knew each other as they always had, in passing through interactions related to Damianos and Jokaste’s arranged marriage, and Kastor would never hurt their father, wouldn’t --

The guards were not inconspicuous as they shared worried glances back and forth.

“What is it?” Damianos asked them.

The guard that hadn’t spoken yet swallowed, the act of it audible in his nervousness.

“Well?”

“Prince Kastor came down the first day for only a handful of minutes and was not here the rest of the week,” the second guard said, repeating knowledge already known. “Until yesterday, that is. Yesterday he came down as soon as you had left, Crown Prince, and he was down there for almost an hour. Then he came back. He came back five more times, the last time being just this morning after midnight.”

Impulsivity drove him immediately to Kastor’s chambers.

He should have waited, waited to collect his thoughts, but Kastor’s chambers were nearby and Damianos’ head had been spinning for hours.

He didn’t bother to knock because he was Damianos and Kastor was his brother, and inside Kastor was being dressed by slaves. One was tying and pinning his crisp chiton around both his waist and his shoulders and the other was knelt on the ground, buckling his sandals with precision.

“When you are finished, leave us,” Damianos demanded of the slaves promptly. Their movements hurried and they both prostrated themselves on the ground in front of him before scurrying away.

“Commanding my slaves, brother?” Kastor asked, looking questioningly at him.

“Why have you been paying Jokaste visits in the cells?”

If Kastor was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. Instead he adjusted his chiton where it draped across his chest and said with utmost sincerity in his voice, “I’m trying to understand why she would betray you in such a way. Any good brother would wish to make sense of why their own blood must suffer as she has made you suffer.”

It would have been easy, in that moment, to take Kastor’s words as truth, to walk forward and slap him on the shoulder for an embrace, to go back to his own chambers and get actual rest. But Laurent’s words were ever present in his mind and, like before, he heard in clarity, “I hadn’t been lying when I said that I believed there was more to this than what you were seeing. Things are not alright in your kingdom, Damianos. Bringing Jokaste back may have only brought the war on faster.”

“The guards say you went down once the very first day she was brought there, and that you went down six times not but yesterday. That seems like an excessive amount of times to visit a person for that reason alone.”

Kastor laughed. His laugh was booming like their father’s. “I’m afraid you’ve become paranoid, brother. It’s understandable, of course, given the current situation, but you need not be afraid of me. We are blood, Damianos. Now, I’m off to get breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

“I cannot,” Damianos told him, his stomach still turned despite Kastor’s attempt at comfort. “I did not sleep well last night and —”

“Then go rest. I will see you at dinner.”

There was no time to rest, not when things were getting stranger and stranger and there was something Damianos wasn’t seeing. Kastor was no help, none at all, and that left Damianos with one person. Like she had been for the last seven days, Jokaste was in her cell, smiling warmly once more at Damianos’ entrance

“Again? Do you miss me that much?”

“I know everything,” Damianos said, not sure of anything at all.

“Oh?”

“I know you rid yourself of child. I know that’s why you were gone. We didn’t talk about it, we never have talked much about anything, but I know this to be true.”

“It was not his information to tell you,” Jokaste said, her features changing for the first time in all the days Damianos had seen her.

“The Witch is not obligated to keep your secrets, especially from me.”

“The Witch?” Jokasted asked, blonde hair tumbling forward as she leaned toward him from the bench.

“The Witch told me everything I needed to know when I first found him, but so much is still unclear. You must tell me why my brother has been to see you. I don’t believe the words out of his mouth,” Damianos said.

“Who said your brother has been to visit me? The Witch?” Jokaste asked, almost mocking. Damianos’ jaw clenched.

“Yes.”

“Witch’s can lie, Damianos,” Jokaste said. “How do you know he is not?”

“Because he has been right in every way thus far.”

“Well, if he is telling you truth then my word means nothing. Your decision is already made, after all.”

“So you won’t speak?”

“I won’t.”

Damianos nodded. “Then I will make sure your exile is further away from all civilization than you could ever imagine.”

***

The next two mornings went by uneventfully. Kastor was anywhere but the places Damianos found himself, Jokaste was remaining silent in her cell, Theomedes was bedridden and beginning to cough up blood (the physicians feared consumption but said nothing to the poor stressed princes, not yet), and Damianos was restless. He spent the previous two evenings staring blankly at the high ceiling or out at the balcony, wishing he could summon Laurent back. He had been rash in sending the Witch away, allowing his emotions to consume him in that moment and not thinking rationally. Now he was left with more questions than ever before and no one to answer them.

By the third evening, sleep deprivation won in the battle and, though it was not a peaceful sleep Damianos fell into, he slept. He was terribly groggy when he awoke to the feeling of a presence in his room and as he did all he could to pry open his eyes. He expected Laurent at the balcony once more, silver and blue in the moonlight. But there was no one at the balcony. The presence was at his bedchamber door.

There stood Kastor, his features strong in the torchlight that the group of guards around him were carrying. Damianos pushed himself up onto one elbow, rubbed at his eyes too hard, and asked, “Kastor? What’s going on?”

“Seize him,” Kastor commanded of the guards and they all rushed forward.

Adrenaline spiked in Damianos’ blood immediately at the action and he sprang up as to not get overwhelmed in such vulnerability. The first guard to reach him lunged too early and Damianos dodged the grab before lashing out with a fist in the guard’s left side, no doubt breaking a rib or three. The fall of the guard’s body gave Damianos enough time to reach his sword and unsheath it. The second guard never even saw the blade before it plunged into the open expanse of the inside of his thigh, cutting through an artery that would bleed out in mere minutes. The third guard came from behind and Damianos was skilled enough to twist his sword in his grip and stab it backwards underneath his own arm and into the guard’s chest. But then the fourth and fifth guard were on him at the same time, followed without delay by the seventh, eighth, and ninth guards that eventually all took Damianos down onto his knees and lashed his arms tightly behind his back.

Above him, Kastor stood, intimidating at such an angle.

“Kastor,” Damianos struggled out, a guard’s arm wound around his neck, “what is the meaning of this Kastor?”

“You have committed treason, Damianos,” Kastor began, sounding almost sad. “You have committed treason through your conspiring with the evil Witch of Vere to kill our father and take his crown.”

“What?” Damianos asked. “You know that’s not true.”

“It pains me to do this to you. You are my brother. Yet,” Kastor paused to sigh, “we may lose our father because of your selfishness and greed. Such an act cannot be overlooked. The Akielon people will not be able to stomach it.”

“Kastor, you’re lying,” Damianos yelled.

“Take him to the cells,” Kastor said, ignoring Damianos on his knees. The guards began to drag the Crown Prince away, his skin scraping unkindly on the floor.

“Kastor! Kastor!”

Hours went by in darkness. The fragments of light within the cells seemed even less today, tonight. Damianos had forgone the bench, opting to sit on the dirty floor right by the cell’s entrance. His head rested between his bent knees and his hands were bloodied from his fights. His mind was blank for the first time in days. That’s when he heard footsteps.

There was first the unmistakable click of loose sandals, the kind women wore when they did not have to be working. Damianos looked up to find Jokaste staring at him in a strange turn of events. She had recently bathed for her shampoos and oils that smelled like jasmine blossoms wafted through the cell bars.

“I must thank you for my freedom,” Jokaste said.

“I didn’t free you,” Damianos said back. His voice was hoarse.

“You did though,” she said, beginning to walk the length of the cell door and back. “Without your own indiscretion against your kingdom, I may have never stepped foot outside of these cells again.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You conspired with a witch,” Jokaste said. “You discovered I was pregnant and forced me there with threats. When I didn’t return out of fear for my life, you went to the Witch and bought his assistance with promise of a position of power here in Akielos. You returned with me in tow, guaranteed exile where I couldn’t speak of your heinous acts and your father slowly began to die.”

“None of that is true. And none of it would make sense even if it were true. Why would I force you to the Witch?” Damianos asked, baffled.

“Why, because it was Kastor’s child. He took me in when you began your descent toward all things evil and depraved.”

“My father demanded you out of my bed lest we did end up with you pregnant before the wedding and caused a scandal.”

“Your father will be dead soon. No one will know the truth.”

“You have no proof about any of it,” Damianos said, pushing himself to stand. Jokaste didn’t budge from her close proximity to the cell.

“I don’t need proof.”

***

The trial against Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos was rushed.

The very night of his detention, riders were sent out to all the provinces of Akielos, sending for each Kyros to venture to the kingdom’s capital of Ios to be judges. Quickly the Kyroi began to file into the palace, all at a loss as what to think, all except for Nikandros, the Kyros of Delpha and Damianos’ best childhood friend. Nikandros was vocal from the moment he entered the gate of the city as to what he thought of such a farce, but all the others looked at the palace with its almost-dead King, its Crown Prince in chains, and its other Prince somber and broad shouldered, comforting the visibly upset woman that had once been the crown prince’s betrothed and wondered if this was just as it appeared to be.

Formally, the first day of the trial was spent with each Kyros taking an oath to uphold their kingdom’s wellbeing before all other things, followed by an introduction of those testifying and then the reading of the charges against Crown Prince Damianos.

Damianos felt like a gladiator being told to fight to the death, only he was given no weapons and his hands were tied behind his back; the Kyroi were all seated in the spectator seats of the throne room, their seats elevated so their wide-eyed stares were turned downward to face where Damianos was dragged center on the floor, his shackles clanging behind him with each step. Like a blur the days went by. Jokaste testified first on the second day of the trial, weaving together a weeping tale of Damianos telling her he had grown bored with her, a tale of Damianos threatening her should she run to her father about that. She then told of Kastor listening to her when she felt alone, building safeness for her in a palace so unwelcoming. She talked of falling pregnant with his child, knowing it was wrong due to her betrothal, but how it felt right, and of Damianos finding out and forcing her to the infamous Witch of Vere who could rip from her the would-be grandchild of the King. Kastor testified the next day, Damianos sitting there through it all in shock, as Kastor talked of Jokaste’s fear and of their excitement to be parents. Kastor talked of the terror he had experienced as Jokaste vanished and how that terror worsened as Damianos went after her, but not before their father came down with a sickness. Kastor remained steady, but the emotion was there as he talked of losing his child and of almost losing his love and his father.

It was hard to figure out which was worse, the idea that Damianos’ own brother could lie about him so easily or the fact that the Kyroi seemed to be buying it all. Their belief in these lies only intensified as, on the fourth day, witnesses were brought forth to continue to destroy Damianos’ name and reputation.

“Never have I witnessed such a cruelty,” Adrastus, the Keeper of Slaves, spoke, “as the cruelty that lies within the heart of Prince Damianos.”

“The things Prince Damianos has said about his own brother and his betrothed haunt my sleep each night,” Mykara, one of the royal cooks, said with a hand over her heaving bosom.

“His behavior has had Exalted concerned over the last several months,” Timon, one of his father’s advisors, began. “In fact, Exalted has been so concerned he had been working out a date to meet with the Kyroi about removing Prince Damianos as the next in line purely for the kingdom’s wellbeing.”

“This slave has been at a loss,” said one of the slave attendants that often served at dinners, tears shining in his eyes. “Prince Damianos handed this slave the vial of deadly poison and said to put it in Exalted’s wine over the next few evenings or he would have this slave beaten beyond recognition.”

In that moment, Damianos realized he was hanging by his fingernails to the ledge of the daunting tower.

On the seventh day of the trial, Damianos was to be sentenced. He wasn’t quite certain why they had dragged it out as long as they had, for by day three over half of the Kyroi believed what they were hearing, and by day five all of the rest, all but Nikandros, believed too. Perhaps it was for the humiliation of it all, perhaps it was to make it seem more legitimate when they inevitably had him, the crown prince, executed for treason.

Damianos had no defense. All he could say was the truth which he had no proof of, and even if he had it was his word against the synchronised fabrications of a dozen others.

“Today is a sad day in Akielos,” began the Kyros from Thrace, Ignion. “Never had anyone suspected such evil could live behind these palace walls. To do to your family what Prince Damianos has been accused of is unthinkable. Do you have any words for yourself?” he then asked, turning to where Damianos was still chained in the center of the room.

“None that would change the opinions of this senate,” Damianos said, voice unused for days.

Ignion looked at him sadly. “Then it is time to take a vote. We, the Kyroi of Akielos, stand in this room to —”

“Stop!”

The voice was not a pleading voice, but a commanding one instead. Almost as though they had seen a ghost, everyone in the room stopped, stood completely still as they watched their king, Theomedes, walk into the throne room.

It seemed like an eternity, though it was truly only a minute, before the whispers started and all fell to their knees, all except for Damianos, Kastor, and Jokaste, who each looked as though such a revelation could have them keel over in an instant.

“Father,” Damianos breathed, the sound so quiet he almost didn’t hear it over the beat of his own heart, over the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

Tall, King Theomedes walked toward the front of the room where his still-empty throne sat. He walked head high and eyes straight ahead as though the piercing stares of all in the room didn’t bother him. Watching him, it was hard to think that this was the man that had fallen into coughing fits but three weeks ago, who had gotten worse each passing day, paler and thinner and frailer, all until the blood began to seep into his handkerchiefs, for now he was full of color and life. Yes, he was still a little thinner than he had been in the months past, but that could be amended. He looked like the King he had always been.

Once at his throne, Theomedes turned to address his people. “I am here to speak on my own behalf, for none know the truth. I am here to say that you have shackled to these great floors the wrong son. Damianos is innocent in all that he is accused. It has been Kastor who has tainted the land. It is him who began to poison me.”

All those on their knees began to rise, gasps and wide-eyes taking over their expressions. Across the room, Kastor had long visibly whitened and he stared unblinkingly at their father in fear.

“I will provide proof, something that has been greatly lacking in this mockery of a trial, but I must iterate to you all first, my people, that Kastor did not act alone. The idea was planted into his head by true evil and he believed it because of his own greed. Kastor and the Lady Jokaste are responsible for my near death and the planned death of my son, Damianos.” Theomedes turned his body from facing toward the very ‘all’ he had been speaking directly to so as to now face Kastor, Jokaste, and their flock of witnesses that hadn’t witnessed anything at all. “Kastor, my oldest son, I cannot begin to atone for the deeds you have committed. Such a thing is unthinkable and yet it has happened. Lady Jokaste, why you could not be content with the guaranteed position as future queen is truly a mystery. I regret in all ways the day I signed the betrothal agreement with your father. And the rest of you, I know you did what you did because of threats or promises, and I shall deal accordingly with each of you dependent on such things soon. But other matters are more imperative now.”

“Father, you don’t understand,” Kastor said, trying to move forward but Jokaste’s hand was holding him back by the arm.

“I don’t have anything to hear from you,” Theomedes said coldly. “Now unshackle the Crown Prince of Akielos.”

“Exalted” began the Kyros of Ios, an old man named Stavos, “my heart leaps at your recovery and it aches at your words. I very much want to hear it all, for your wisdom and leadership were beyond missed in this troubled time, but I believe we all have to know, before anything else, how you have recovered in such a manner if Kastor has been poisoning you.”

“The Witch of Vere has healed me.”

If the gasps of surprise had seemed loud when Theomedes had walked in, it was nothing compared to the gasps heard now.

“The Witch of Vere!”

“Exalted!”

“The Witch is real?”

“The Witch is here?”

This time it was Jokaste that visibly whitened.

Damianos, for his part, found himself almost weak at the words, weak as what they truly meant washed over him.

“How did this happen?” asked a Kyros from somewhere in the massed throng of people now on their feet.

“The Witch came to me in disguise,” began Theomedes. “He disguised himself as a slave and began tending to me. It was only when left alone, when he had been tasked with feeding me the broth, that he whispered his truth. At first I was disbelieving for I had no reason to assume different, but when he revealed to me his true form and his power I could not deny. I expected death then, but it never came, and as I went to yell for help, the Witch stopped me and said he only wished to help. He said my kingdom was in great danger and it would only be my survival and my word that could save it. As the days went by, he began to heal me and tell me of the horrible things that had happened.”

“The Witch of Vere has cursed the king!” cried out one of the other Kyros, voice enraged.

“The Witch will control the entirety of Akielos!” cried out yet another.

Uproar.

None of them had truly listened to what the King had to say. They took it as a confession of the Witch’s meddling only. Damianos watched, helpless, as fear overtook the throne room. Like animals sent for slaughter, the Kyroi began to venture forward in a wretched herd of panic, eyes scouring every inch of the palace walls and floors as though waiting for a hellish witch to appear from the cracks in the stone. Then Damianos’ own panic settled when he felt hands on his shackled wrists.

“Hold on,” said Nikandros directly into his ear so he could hear him and Damianos could have cried with relief. He didn’t, of course, and instead kept his eyes on the chaos ensuing. It took a moment and there was a scraping of metal on metal, but Damianos quickly realized Nikandros was using the dagger Damianos had gifted him with in congratulations for being honored the title of Kyros of Delpha to unpick the locks.

Just as Nikandros was helping Damianos step out of the shackles around his feet did Theomedes’ yell reverberate off of the walls, bringing the crowd to yet again another halt.

“Enough! Do you dare call me liar? Do you dare defy my order? I am your King. Has that changed in the weeks since I had fallen ill?” Fire filled Theomedes’ eyes and his voice. Damianos rubbed at his raw wrists.

“You were so quick,” Theomedes started once more, “to believe a story brought to life through endless lies, a story made extraordinary with tears and tales of heroics. But I told you, I have proof.”

“Then bring it forward.”

With a steady hand, Theomedes motioned for someone in the crowd. It was a slave boy, his brown eyes big and dark hair cropped short, but he walked unlike any slave and did not look down out of Theomedes’ stare. Once the boy was at the king’s side, the room fell into a dead kind of silence, the kind so quiet the sound of a pin dropping could be heard like a shout. Then, like magic, the boy transformed.

It was a fast transformation, so fluid in its movement that the intricacies of it could not be kept straight with the human eye. But all anyone in the crowd knew was that at one moment the boy had been a young Akielon slave and now he was tall, blond, and staring at them all with unreadable blue eyes.

“Laurent.”

Damianos had earlier whispered “Father” and it had gone unnoticed for there was so much happening in the room. But now he had whispered a single name and it was heard by all.

The Witch of Vere was standing next to the King of Akielos in the throne room of the palace in Ios and wearing still a traditional slave chiton, one stark white that fell mid-thigh in youthful fashion. Damianos could look nowhere else.

“The Witch has all the proof you will need to see what has happened, to see the injustice that was almost sentenced.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jokaste said, her first words since Theomedes’ unexpected entrance.

“You will be silent or you will spend an eternity in the cells, left to rot into nothing. No death, just permanent incarceration,” Theomedes told her. He didn’t even spare her a glance. “Witch, tell us everything you know.”

***

Hours later, Damianos fell face first into his cushioned bed, wearing still the chiton he had been captured in. The exhaustion he felt was not just physical from the standing he had done during the weeklong trial nor even the result of sleeping restlessly on the cold, damp floor of the cell. No, the exhaustion he felt was bone deep, the conclusion of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion.

Damianos slept for nearly an entire day. In his long sleep he dreamed, flashes of what had occurred but yesterday. He dreamed of his father walking into the throne room, strong and steady as Damianos had always known him. He dreamed of his father’s commanding voice ordering him unshackled. He dreamed of Nikandros’ never-wavering loyalty in him, in Nikandros’ quick work of the locks on his wrists and ankles. He dreamed of Laurent adorned in white, of his skin dropped against a background of white pillars, of his blue eyes that looked once, twice, three times at Damianos with what he would almost call concern or relief or both.

He dreamed of Laurent’s surety as he provided his proof to the Kyroi. He dreamed of the deathly silence that fell over after Jokaste’s father tried to interject, screaming that the Witch hadn’t taken any child, and Laurent said calmly he could show the man the bloody clump of cells if he wished. He dreamed of Laurent’s explanation of Jokaste’s visit that inevitably led to Damianos’ own, of the way in which he realized the doom Akielos would face in the days to come. He dreamed of Laurent bringing forth letters written in both Kastor and Jokaste’s hands, letters that, once put together, told of their plan to rule together. He dreamed of Laurent’s telling of how he had to heal the King slowly for the amount of potion needed to heal him would have put him in a week long sleep of recovery if given at one time. He dreamed mostly of Laurent, the Witch of Vere, standing in the land of Akielos where he was hated and defending it still.

It wasn’t a surprise when he then first woke up to see Laurent sitting on his bed for he thought he was still dreaming. When he realized he wasn’t though, he scrambled up, breathing once again, “Laurent,” and halting altogether at Laurent’s gentle touch to his shoulder.

“Stay still,” Laurent said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Laurent,” Damianos breathed again. “You’re still here.”

“I am.”

Damianos couldn’t take his eyes off of the Witch, even as he went to settle back into the pillows and blankets. “I have so many questions.”

“Then ask. I’m afraid, however, your cards cannot assist this time,” Laurent said. Damianos smiled, a small and sleepy upturn of his mouth.

“Why did you help me?” he began. “You did all I asked in first helping me locate Jokaste. You didn’t have to come to Akielos and stop this, yet you did.”

The Witch trailed a finger down one of the prominent lines of stitching in the blanket as he contemplated his answer. “You remember my cat, yes?” he asked. Damianos nodded. “For witches, animals are not merely animals. They are part of our magic in a way, in tune with the elements. Often they are called familiars. When you were in the cabin, my familiar took quite kindly to you. He slept on your chest, he allowed you to provide him with food, he sought out your pets. When your once-betrothed was paying her visit, my familiar was horribly on edge. He hissed when she walked too close and his hair was always up in defense. It might sound silly, but I trust that judgement greatly. It made me nervous once I realized who she was to you, once I realized the connection between the two of you. I couldn’t not let that go unchecked. You were — you are — good.”

“Why did you stay after I told you to go?”

“Because your father was dying and only he could clear your name. I had to help you, even if you wouldn’t help yourself.”

“But what did this do to benefit you at all? Akielos must be far from your mind.”

“The four kingdoms are currently surviving in harmony. Yes, Vaskian mountain raiders cause problems here and there, and yes, Vere and Akielos continue their feud over the land of Delfeur —”

“Delpha.”

“But there is no war. No war is good for all, even witches living in the Northern Steppes,” Laurent told him. “Believe me when I say this wasn’t purely out of any goodness, but out of necessity.”

“I believe some of it must have been out of goodness though,” Damianos said. “What you did was good, Laurent. You saved not just me and my father, but our entire kingdom.”

If the Witch heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. His blue eyes were focused elsewhere, looking anywhere but at Damianos, and the two of them eventually fell into silence. It was a comfortable silence. The air outside was warm and the breeze was strong, bringing with it the salt of the ocean and a cooling air. Quietly, as not to disrupt the peace more than necessary, Damianos began to speak again.

“I still don’t know why Jokaste went to the lengths she did,” he confessed. “It wasn’t love between us, no, but we got along I believed. We could have made being wed such an easy thing, especially when compared to other arranged marriages I have known of in the past.”

“Jokaste is a kingmaker,” Laurent said as though that explained everything.

“I am to be King,” Damianos said, confused. “I don’t —”

“In her time away from you, following your father’s orders, it began to become evident to her that she may be Queen married to you, but she would never rule. You were proving with each passing day that you would not be controlled and she couldn’t stand by that. Your brother, on the other hand, was easy. All she had to do was whisper praises into his ear, telling him he was better than you, then she would tempt him into her bed, in action which he followed with eagerness. She could marry you, kill you, and be established as Queen and face no opposition when she proposed your brother as her new husband for, though he is a bastard, he would be the last surviving son of the King.”

“Oh. How do you know that?”

“Kastor told all. It was after you left. He was begging for his life.” Laurent paused to let Damianos take that in. “She did make a mistake in falling pregnant with his child though. It was the thing that ruined them both.”

The breeze picked up in strength. Not by much, but enough that it began to play with the golden ends of Laurent’s hair. It moved some of the strands out of his face and bared to Damianos the clearness of the Witch’s eyes, bared to him his flushed cheeks from Akielon heat.

“Akielos has some recovering to do, but we can come out of this stronger than before. I can’t thank you enough,” Damianos said, catching his breath. “You have done more for me than I could ever repay. What can I give you? I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“You do enjoy playing dangerous games,” Laurent told him, looking amused like he often did when Damianos made offerings. “Offering witches your freedom and offering to grant them anything they desire could truly be your downfall.”

“Not with you.”

“You didn’t know that when you offered to me your freedom.”

“No, but I know that now. What can I give you?”

Introspection overtook Laurent’s expression and his mouth opened once and quickly closed again, as though he had thought of something then thought better of it. “Give me one more opportunity to read to you a card,” he said finally. Magically, the cards were sweeping and present and Damianos almost rolled his eyes.

“But —”

“Find your one. Just one. Think of anything you wish and find your card,” the Witch told him. Damianos sighed.

The card came to him quickly. Before it was flipped over, he couldn’t resist saying, “I don’t seem to have great luck with these. What if the card says I am to die tomorrow?”

“Then you die tomorrow,” Laurent said, taking the card from him. “But I doubt that’s the case.”

Gently, Laurent turned the card over in the same direction Damianos had handed it to him. There, in gold and blue, was a pair of people, their hands clasped together, a heart floating above them like a beacon. The Lovers.

“You truly are a romantic.” Laurent started. “It appears, Damianos, your betrothal was not necessary at all. Love is near, a love of balance and unity. Hopefully this time it is with someone who does not try to kill you.”

Damianos couldn’t quit staring at the card. When he finally did manage to tear his gaze away, it immediately found Laurent who was looking back at him with something akin to curiosity.

“Would you like to keep the card?” Laurent asked him after a moment.

“But then your set will be incomplete.”

“Believe me when I say I have plenty of cards at my cabin. Often they are lost or appear in the strangest of places. The Lovers exist elsewhere. Keep it.”

Like Laurent, Damianos grabbed the card with a gentle touch. Then he watched with a feeling like despair as Laurent stood up from his bed. “Finding a card for myself surely can’t be equal repayment for all you’ve done,” Damianos said, moving closer to the side of the bed the Witch had just stood from. “What else can I give you?”

“Let’s not change the tone; one kiss and we’ll call it even,” Laurent said, laughing almost as though he thought he was quite funny, pointedly casting a glance at the card still in Damianos’ hand.

It hadn’t been said seriously because it couldn’t be, which is why Laurent was turned away when Damianos’ hand not holding the card enclosed tenderly around his fine-boned wrist and tugged the Witch back towards him. Immediately Laurent’s knees hit the edge of the bed and his hands found Damianos’ shoulders for balance. Though the breeze was still sifting through from the balcony and the air was cool, the atmosphere around them changed, got heavy with heat.

Laurent’s lips were parted ever so, out of surprise or anticipation or with the death of something to say, and Damianos couldn’t not flick his gaze toward them, couldn’t not lean in until his own lips were but a breath away. “Tell me no,” he whispered, the words warm against Laurent’s mouth, and the longest of seconds passed with nothing said, with not a breath taken. Damianos closed the distance.

Laurent’s lips were warm and his fingers, still resting on Damianos’ shoulders, clenched almost painfully on the skin there as though afraid he would fall. Damianos made no sudden movement, relished in the weight of Laurent now half atop his thighs, relished in the heat of him surrounding all of Damianos’ senses. After a minute, the fingers on his shoulders lessened their grip and, in turn, the rigidness of Laurent’s spine eased away until he was putting all of his weight on Damianos, until one of his hands moved into the curls at the nape of Damianos’ neck.

Only then did Damianos move, his own hands instinctively finding Laurent’s hips, steadying him there until the Witch was straddling his lap, his bare legs on either side of Damianos’ own. Softly Damianos went to deepen the kiss, bringing forth an involuntary gasp from Laurent who tensed ever briefly before melting into it, his mouth opening, his hips shifting.

At the cabin, all those weeks ago now, Laurent had, quite literally, taken the air out of Damianos’ lungs. Now he was doing so again, only this time Damianos would willingly lose it all if it meant Laurent would stay right here forever.

Damianos moved in a miniscule way, just enough away to worry Laurent’s bottom lip between his teeth before soothing it with the gentlest of touch. Laurent shuddered against him, full body movements that ended with them pressed so tightly together it was impossible to tell who began where. A sound escaped Laurent then, so quietly, and Damianos wanted to hear it over and over and over again.

But things end. They always do.

Laurent pulled away, chest heaving against Damianos’. He could feel their individual heartbeats through their skin. Damianos almost didn’t open his eyes, afraid of breaking the magic of the room, but he was grateful when he did for he got to see Laurent’s heavily lidded eyes, he got to see the redness of his mouth, he got to see the haze of his expression as though unable to pull himself out of a spell.

“Goodbye, Prince Damianos,” Laurent said, still breathless. His voice was lower than Damianos had ever heard it before.

“Goodbye, Laurent.”

In an instant, Damianos almost staggered forward off the bed for Laurent disappeared. Somehow, in the fervor of it all, the Lovers had fallen onto the floor in the same direction they had found Damianos.

***

The executions of both Kastor and Jokaste were done quickly in the days following the trial. Their official sentencing had found them guilty of attempted murder of King Theomedes and conspiracy to murder Crown Prince Damianos.

Though it had been hell, the false accusations Damianos had faced from his brother and betrothed, there was still mourning that he had to wade through. All of Akielos was quiet with it, actually, a feeling of disbelief long given way to an unnamable kind of grief.

Weeks went by like this, Damianos wary of almost all that came near him or his father, and his vivid dreams had him sometimes thinking of Kastor’s hand shooting out of the ground to pull him down.

Eventually his father couldn’t keep silent on it all. “I think you need to get out of Ios,” Theomedes told him one day after breakfast. “Go clear your head someplace else.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone again,” Damianos had said back.

Theomedes had smiled indulgently and placed a hand on top of Damianos’ head like his son was a young child once more. “I think we are safe once again in our palace walls. Visit Nikandros in Delpha for a week, for two weeks. Train with the men, strategize, drink. It will do you good.”

After a little more convincing, Damianos finally gave in to his father’s request and prepared for travel to the land of Delpha. He wrote ahead a letter as to not surprise Nikandros too suddenly before he ventured off with a single guard. They rode at a leisurely pace, taking in as much of the fresh air as Damianos wished, and after several days they finally found themselves but another day’s ride away from Delpha’s gate.

It was only when they were strolling through said gate that Damianos realized that this was not at all where he wanted to be. He told Nikandros such a thing that night over a cup of General Makedon’s griva.

“It is not that I am not thrilled to see you, friend,” he said, making a slight face as he swallowed yet another mouthful of the drink. “But I believe I need to get out of Akielos entirely. For only a while.”

Nikandros looked concerned. “Where will you go? Patras would maybe be agreeable, but neither Vask or Vere would be safe for you as the man you are.”

The answer was so simple that Damianos almost laughed at himself, wondering how he was unaware where his body wanted to take him the entire time. He looked at Nikandros, still almost laughing. “You wouldn’t happen to own a cloak and boots meant for snow, would you?”

He left in the dead of night to avoid his guard escort who was still long asleep. Damianos made sure to leave a letter for when his father inevitably panicked and sent people after him in Delpha. No one needed to get in trouble for Damianos’ exigency to get away.

It was easy to take almost the exact same path he had taken the first time. He stowed away in multiple merchants’ carts, sometimes with permission and a gift of gold, and sometimes sneakily whilst the merchants slept in inns. He made it to the Northern Steppes a little faster this time because of it, and when his boots first touched snow he felt invigorated; two more days of travel.

Those two days went by quickly and uneventfully. Then the cabin was in front of him.

There was a fire roaring inside, its flames visible through the window. Nothing had changed in the weeks, months now, since Damianos had first paid visit. He didn’t know why anything would have changed, but there was something comforting at the unchanged appearance. The stones marking the spot for a gateway almost seemed to glitter with Damianos’ arrival.

Damianos walked forward, knocked on the cabin door four times, retreated back to stand between the two stone markers and said, “My name is Damianos. I have traveled here from Akielos seeking the Witch of Vere. I offer to him my undying loyalty.”

The door opened wide.

In the threshold stood Laurent, arms crossed over his chest. He was back to wearing his laced up clothing that covered him neck to foot and Damianos hadn’t ever seen someone look so beautiful and annoyed all at once. A smile fought its way onto his face as he began to walk the pathway again, toward the Witch giving him a stormy look.

“You can’t just show up here each time you have a question you need me to answer,” Laurent said.

“I have no questions that need answered,” Damianos said. He was now inches in front of Laurent, the two of them nearly toe to toe.

“Then why are you here? Need a love potion to pair with your card?” Laurent asked looking up at him.

“I only wish to talk to you,” Damianos said.

“And you just casually offered undying loyalty?” It was impossible to miss Laurent’s delicately raised brow.

“I suppose that wasn’t a good enough offering,” Damianos said after pretending to think about it for a moment. “After all, I can’t offer you something you already had.”

Laurent looked at him. “Are you going to come inside?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

It was blazing hot inside the cabin, just as it had been when Damianos had entered here the first time. The cat, the very same white darling, immediately found Damianos’ feet and curled around his legs, purring and warm where it pressed. Laurent looked down at it helpless.

“What do you want, Damianos?” Laurent asked of him again.

“I told you. I wish to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About you.” Damianos invited himself to sit down at the familiar table and the cat followed, jumping up on the table’s flat surface. “I realized in the days since you left that you left knowing so much about us, about my family and myself, and yet I left knowing only the same things I arrived here knowing.”

“And what were those things?”

“That you are powerful and heartstoppingly beautiful,” Damianos said truthfully. Laurent flushed under his steady gaze. “But I want to know about you.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Laurent said after a beat.

“Oh, was I supposed to send a letter? With what carrier?” Laurent’s flush turned into a glare. Damianos smiled again. “Tell me about you. Tell me anything, tell me everything.”

Laurent’s gaze turned to the ceiling as though it would give him answers. “Why?”

“Because everything you have done has been more than I thought possible in this world. Is it so strange that I would wish to know better the man that did all you have done?”

“It will probably take time,” Laurent said.

“That’s fine,” Damianos said, getting comfortable in the chair. “That is my true offer to you then: time. Take all my time if you like.”

“You’re so —” Laurent began, looking at Damianos as though he had never seen anyone quite like him before. “Fine.”

Laurent’s life hadn’t been what Damianos expected. He hadn’t expected a story of a witch from the northernmost part of Kempt journeying south to the Veretian province of Belloy to retrieve ingredients for a healing spell and whilst there falling for a noble named Aleron who proposed to her, knowing her truth and all within a week. He hadn’t expected a story of the two of them, Aleron and the witch Hennike, to have had two children, the oldest child having no magic in him at all and the youngest being full of it. He hadn’t expected Aleron’s brother to have been a predator that waited impatiently to be left alone with Laurent, who was but the mere age of eleven, and he hadn’t expected Laurent to tell how his magic had protected him, lashing out to hurt his uncle quite severely. He hadn’t expected the tragedy that began to befall then, of Laurent’s brother, Auguste, asking about their uncle’s injury, of Laurent clumsily explaining what their uncle had tried to do. He hadn’t expected Auguste to go after their uncle with intent to kill, hadn’t expected their uncle to come out alive instead, Auguste murdered by his hand. He hadn’t expected Laurent’s powers to flounder out of control with his grief, killing their uncle in turn, and he hadn’t expected the townspeople to go after Hennike and Laurent with such rage that Aleron and Hennike both died trying to protect their son who was run out, forced to survive orphaned in the Northern Steppes, relying on magic to keep him alive those first months.

“Don’t look at me with pity,” Laurent told him after he finished. “I don’t need it.”

“I’m not,” Damianos lied. “But, Laurent —”

“Yes, it was all quite traumatizing. But it is long in the past now.”

“It can’t be that long in the past,” Damianos said. “You have to only be but twenty-one years of age.”

Laurent smiled. “I’m turning twenty come spring.”

“Twenty? Laurent,” Damianos said with a sigh this time.

“Is that all you wanted? I’ve told you about myself. It wasn’t fun so I very much assume you regret your long journey out here just to hear such sadness, but it is my life.”

The wind was howling outside, blowing snow off of the cabin roof, blowing it off of the trees to join the piles already on the ground.

“You must be lonely,” Damianos said, his eyes trained outside.

“I’ve managed.”

“Laurent,” Damianos repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he learned the Witch’s name. “Laurent, why do you stay here?”

“Magic has a bad name everywhere. I know what they say about me, about those like me, across the continent. What should I do? Try to fit in with society only to eventually be outed and ran out once more or, worse, killed?”

“People say what they think they know to be true. If you show them otherwise by —”

“By healing? By performing good deeds? What is it you think I’ve been doing the last odd something years? I’m still hated. I’m still feared.”

“Then come back with me,” Damianos said, leaning forward in the chair. “Come with me to Ios. Be part of Akielos. Live in the palace, I can ensure nothing bad comes of you.”

“Your people will not take kindly to a witch living alongside the King and Prince,” Laurent rebuffed.

“My people will listen to my father and I, the two people you saved. We are indebted to you. Let us, let me, do this for you.”

“Other kingdoms may look at me as a weapon of war,” Laurent said. “That war you’ve worked so desperately to avoid may occur anyway.”

“You will never see a battlefield. We may ask you to heal if you could should we ever go to war, but I would never ask of you to use your power to benefit us unfairly. We Akielons are not like that.”

“What about —”

“Laurent! Please. Selfishly I ask this of you. Come back to Ios. Live in Ios. Live surrounded by people and life and experience once again what it is like to be with those that adore you, not fear you.”

“Damianos,” Laurent said, standing. “This makes no sense. None at all.”

“Why not?”

“I am a witch, a being of misunderstood magic. You are a prince, set on path to be King. Please look at the picture we make. This is silly. This is the unchecked notion of jubilation for I have assisted you and your kingdom. I understand you’re appreciative and I don’t regret what I’ve done. But you must see this doesn’t make sense.”

Damianos stood too, walked to stand behind Laurent who had turned to stare at the dancing flames in the hearth.

“None of your cards have been wrong before. Not for me, and I doubt for anyone else. It was not a coincidence the card of the Lovers was meant to fall into my hands as I found myself falling for you.” He put a hand on the subtle curve of Laurent’s hip, felt him melt a little. “Allow me this. Allow yourself this if you want it. If you don’t, that’s a different story, and tell me now and I’ll —”

Laurent turned into the circle of his arms.

The fire was behind him now and Damianos knew its flames were reflected in his own brown eyes. It was too much and not enough at once, having Laurent so close again, and he found himself in familiar fashion waiting for the right time to breathe.

“If you mean this, I ask one thing of you.” Laurent’s hands were fisted in Damianos’ cloak as though fearful the Prince would disappear at any moment.

“Anything.”

“Actually, two things.”

“Anything.”

“They’re two things you have already given me before.”

“Of course.”

“I need time. Time to figure out what to do with my cabin, time to create a schedule for I will have to return here at times, and time to come up with a plan to escape Ios, Akielos, and the continent if I need to ever.” Damianos opened his mouth, but Laurent cut him off. “I must do this, and you must not know of it. It is the only way I will be comfortable in guaranteeing my own survival. Perhaps one day…” he trailed. “But not now.”

“And the second thing?

“One kiss,” Laurent answered with his own smile.

“Oh,” Damianos said, voice low, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that for you.”

Laurent immediately went to pull back, confusion evident on his face. Damianos held on a little tighter.

“I can’t just give you one kiss. Perhaps a million instead.”

***

Over a year had gone by since the end of the infamous trial in Ios.

Akielos was in the crux of summer, its temperatures high and the sun always blazing. Crown Prince Damianos was dripping in sweat. He’d been out in the always-blazing sun since the early hours of the morning, training with his men. It felt good, truly, the bone deep exhaustion of many days of hard work, and the men were in better shape than ever, their lines steady and their form impeccable.

It was good for the soldiers to have their Prince train with them. It made them feel as though their hard work was not for the sole protection of the royals, but for the kingdom, a place that they all wished to keep safe. Damianos knew this, and had made it a point to train with the men more in the last years. But it wasn’t the main reason he was training today; actually, it wasn’t the main reason he was training at all this week.

Selfishly, the Crown Prince was training to keep his mind from wandering to Laurent who was currently back in the Northern Steppes, collecting ingredients, retrieving more of his books, and escaping the summer heat if only for a while.

Yes, the Witch had become part of Akielos in such a way that it still seemed surreal. The citizens were nervous at first as word that the Witch would be living in the palace got out to them all, but the people of Akielos were not near as hard-set as the Vaskians nor as twisted as the Veretians; when King Theomedes stood before the city of Ios to explain in detail how Laurent had saved them all, they welcomed him into their kingdom with the most open of arms.

Laurent could not walknow around Ios without being stopped by a hundred people. Children ran to him, begging to see magic tricks and delighting as coins vanished and reappeared, as apples turned to butterflies, as his blue eyes changed hue to green to purple to brown and to yellow. Those working booths at the markets asked about potion ingredients, asked if they had anything he would ever need, and made certain he knew to come to him should he ever find himself searching for a particular plant or herb. Some of the older women, who had came quickly to the conclusion Laurent was here alone for he had no family, had taken to mothering the Witch who didn’t quite know what to do with such an outpouring of affection.

Several — and several meant far more than several — men had taken to Laurent as well, trying their best to woo over the striking being now walking their sandy streets. One man, a merchant, had proposed with a cart full of silks and gold-printed fabrics only to be left quite disappointed when Laurent magicked his own silks and gold-printed fabrics of much richer color. Another man, a blacksmith, had made an impressive sapphire-stoned scepter to hone tangible magic through. The man’s gift was welcome and Laurent was polite as he declined, but offered to buy the gift still for it was very beautiful. Yet another man, a drunk, had been less polite in his soliciting and found himself instead dangling over the palace cliffs that overlooked the ocean.

Luckily for the Prince and the Witch, the two of them only had eyes for one another. Since Laurent’s arrival in Ios, they had been near inseparable, taking time apart only for duties the other simply could not attend, such as some of Damianos’ court meetings and Laurent’s witchly activities of incantations, readings, and other still unknown things to Damianos.

Despite their inseparability, the romance did not begin right away. Attraction had clearly been present, had been something Damianos couldn’t help but think about as he thought of the blond but a hallway away at night, but Laurent had initially had a hard enough time accepting that his presence in Akielos wasn’t just a trick to put him in chains or kill him, let alone accepting that he was wanted in ways that extended far beyond that. Damianos was patient, did all he could to show Laurent how much both he and his people wanted him there, to show Laurent how much he wanted him, and Laurent, when finally ready to believe that, crawled into Damianos’ bed and pressed against him to sleep.

Now though, Damianos was impatient in his want. He wanted Laurent in his — it was theirs now, but Laurent hadn’t quite gotten around to calling it that — bed right now, wanted to lie there with the breeze rolling over them, wanted to talk about nothing and everything, wanted to watch Laurent create light from his fingertips and trace the patterns of the constellations right above their heads. But Laurent wasn’t here, wouldn’t be back until sometime late next week, and —

Damianos stopped at the entrance of the palace.

Laurent was leaning on one of the stone pillars, back in a crisp white chiton, all of which lately seemed to be shorter and shorter, and smiling at him with a flushed face.

“It’s getting harder to leave and even harder to stay from here,” Laurent said.

“You weren’t supposed to be back until next week.”

“Am I disrupting your plans?” Laurent asked, eyebrow raised. Damianos grinned, wiped at the sweat spilling down his temple.

“You’re quite lucky I’m a considerate person,” he started, “for in any other moment I would pull you to me in a horribly embarrassing public display. But I need to bathe, so you’re free from such a thing. For now.”

“Bathe? I’ll join you.”

At the baths, Laurent sent away the servants who listened truly with the nod of Damianos’ head. In the summer, the water was kept cool, with a warmer spring off to the side, and Damianos watched, enraptured as Laurent unpinned his chiton before pulling at the string on the side. The white fell to the floor in a puddle, leaving the Witch in nothing. When he felt Damianos’ stare, he walked toward the Prince almost predatorily.

“Do you require assistance?” he asked. His fingers were already toying with the pin at Damianos’ shoulder.

“I was mostly admiring the view.”

Laurent never broke eye contact as he undid Damianos’ chiton in the same fashion he had undone his own. Only when both were on the ground, second thoughts to anything else anymore, did Laurent link their fingers and walk into the water. Immediately Damianos felt some of the heat trapped in his body from the sun’s rays disappear. He wouldn’t be surprised if the water had absorbed it and warmed a degree.

“How was your journey? How was the cabin?” Damianos asked after they had settled.

“It was good. It was all good. Gus loved being back in the snow,” Laurent said, referring to his cat that had, of course, taken over the palace since arriving. Even Theomedes bowed to the cat as he passed it in the halls doing whatever it pleased. “But. It’s lonely there. It is only nice for but a day or so. After that --”

“You miss me?” Damianos teased.

“Yes.”

The confession was so serious and vulnerable that Damianos couldn’t not look down at Laurent’s face, only to find him already looking up.

“I still find it unbelievable to be in this place. To not fear the person that knocks on my door. To feel wanted. In a multitude of ways too.” The flush on his face was still there, but now it was from speaking and not from the heat. “I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for your invitation to bring me here. I also don’t tell you enough how stupid that was because you definitely should not make a habit of inviting witches into your home. But I am grateful. I wake up everyday feeling as though this could vanish at any moment for it’s so perfect, like a dream.”

“Laurent.”

Damianos couldn’t not put both hands on Laurent’s face, couldn’t not brush his blond hair from in front of his eyes, couldn’t not sweep his thumbs underneath the spot where eyelashes fell, couldn’t not press a kiss to his forehead, his nose, ever so gently on his mouth. Laurent’s hands came up to cover Damianos’ own, turning his head to press his own ever so gentle kiss on Damianos’ palm.

“I promise you I came out with the better deal when I met you than the other way around,” Damianos said. Laurent laughed, leaned further into Damianos’ warm touch.

“You’re quite wrong. You have offered to me priceless things since the day we met.”

“Laurent.”

“Damianos.”

“You are the most priceless thing.”

“That’s so mawkish. Beyond mawkish actually.”

“I can top that.”

“Oh, can you?”

“Yeah. Are you ready?”

“Most definitely.”

“I offer to you one last thing in hopes to entice you to stay here forever.”

“If you say your heart, I’m leaving. Going back to the cabin and burying myself in the snow.”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

“Laurent. The Witch of Vere. I offer you everything.”

“Damianos.”

“Yes.”

“Quit talking and finish bathing so you can take me to bed.”

That night, Laurent drew constellations above their heads, his right leg thrown over Damianos’ waist.

Everyone across the continent knew of the Witch of Vere. But not everyone agreed on what was truth and what was fiction regarding his existence. Now though, Damianos didn’t care any longer what was agreed upon for now he knew the truth. He tightened his hold around Laurent just a little more and Laurent, almost as if sensing what Damianos was thinking about, intertwined their fingers.

With his free hand, Laurent, with magic kissing his fingertips, drew above them a heart.