#it would be sick if a fifth member was added

[sikoazayn]

WAR GAMESSSS

[letsgetrowdy43]

Honey’s Tattoo Tour—

Au Masterlist!!

I was thinking a little bit about Honey, and I was like imagine how sick it would be if she just had all these cute tattoos littered all over her skin!!

So here’s a little tattoo tour for her!!

For the most part, her tattoos all have important meanings to her, it started as just a little fun and cute thing, but the more she worked with artists in the Vancouver area the more she realized the sort of art behind it!!

A little added piece of information is that Quinn normally has a strong dislike for tattoos, but the look of Honey with tattoos has his knees weak! They are all just so pretty, and a little sexy, that he has no choice but to love them, plus some of them hold such importance in their relationship and he just adores them!

Her first ever tattoo was the lyric “Honey, there is no right way” from Hozier's song ‘Someone New’ that she got in her senior year of high school on the inside of her right arm just a few days before she graduated. The song is a reflection on the complexity of love and the human desire for connection, which at the time was something Honey was just out of reach of. It highlights the need to find a love that brings meaning to one's life and at this specific time in her life, she deeply resonated with wanting to find that one.

She didn't get her second tattoo until her final year of university, during a break with Quinn. The tattoo is a black and white depiction of Sir John Millais' "Ophelia." Being the angst teenager she was, she felt a deep connection with the character Ophelia from William Shakespeare's play "Hamlet". Ophelia's emotional vulnerability and her descent into madness felt very personal to Honey when she was at the ripe age of 16 (dramatic as shit... but she is so me), the character embodies the fear of losing oneself in the face of overwhelming emotions such as love and anger all the while dealing with external pressures. It was definitely an ode to her younger self but also resonated with the 20-year-old version of herself who was trying to navigate the break with the love of her life. aren't we all just a deeply disturbed teenage girl at heart :)  

Her third tattoo happened a few weeks into the summer of 2021, just after her University graduation. She had just gotten back together with Quinn and moved her entire life to Canada to be with him, and now she was beginning to build her media marketing portfolio by taking some shots for a tattoo and piercing shop in downtown Vancouver. The artist she had been doing shoots with and helping to manage their websites offered to do a tattoo for her at a discounted price if she ever wanted. She ended up getting leaves on her hip bones, it was her first really impulsive tattoo and one of the most painful, but she was obsessed with the outcome. They don't hold any significant meaning to her, but they really boosted her confidence and Quinn was absolutely obsessed with them when she surprised him with them, so she really loves them.

Her fourth tattoo was the big piece on her back, she reached out to an artist who specializes in floral and colour tattoos and commissioned a piece that was in homage to paintings her mother made when she was a child. Her mother used to paint these intricate floral pieces to hang up around the house, and eventually, every extended family member in her family had a signature piece in their home. Honey was gifted the one that hung in her grandmother's lake house just after she passed, and she hung it up in hers and Quinn's room at the Michigan Lake house. She got it tattooed on her back a year later (around Warren's first birthday) so she could always have a piece of her grandma and her mother at her at all times!

Her fifth tattoo was one she got during All-Star week a few years after both Hayden and Warren were born. It was the first time they were kid-free in a long while, and while he and the other all-stars were doing media for Bauer and other league activities, the girls went out for the day. One of the other wives suggested getting tattoos. Initially, she got a simple "43" on her sternum, following the trend of other wives and girlfriends getting their partner's numbers. However, she ended up really liking the artist's line work and asked if she could get a full piece done before flying back to Vancouver. The artist had availability the next day and managed to fit Honey into her schedule before the skills competition. She ended up getting a lunar moth just beneath the "43," starting on her sternum and dipping down to span her abdomen. The tattoo was an homage to their first summer as a married couple, a summer where everywhere they seemed to go lunar moths followed them. Quinn finds it incredibly sexy, thinking it makes her boobs look even more perfect (which he didn't know was humanly possible), and he couldn't stop kissing it once it healed.

Her final tattoo was one she got when Maeve was around 3, Hayden was 8, and Warren was 10. It was a collaborative piece by all her kids: Maeve drew the basic shapes of the flowers, Hayden added the details, and Warren contributed the fine lines. This tattoo is a little piece of her babies and their childhood, etched onto her forever. It's probably her favourite piece because it means the most to her.

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[honeysuckleharringtons]

Part One: "Double Shot" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: (Then) In the small town of Hawkins, Indiana lies the Byers family, a family of four who might just be gaining a fifth member of the family. — (Now) Brew and Me, known for its punny motto and delicious coffee, might soon be known for bringing people together in unexpected ways.

Pairing: Nurse!Steve Harrington x Fem!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 1,808

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, small mention of abortion, vomit/morning sickness talk, mild swearing, mentions of food, mentions of medical-related things (not detailed, just mentioned), lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: thank you to @dungeons-are-too-cold and @heartshapedhargrove for constantly listening to me talk about this series, i love y'all sm

Originally Written: 10/16/2023

honeysuckleharringtons' masterlist can be found here!

'brew and me' series masterlist can be found here!

[ Then, June of 1987 ]

Hawkins was a quaint little town, just about an hour and a half outside of Indianapolis. Hop on the interstate and drive northwest for a while, and soon enough, you'd be met with luscious sugar maples and winding back roads into a small town filled with big families. That's where you'd find the Byers', a family of four who lived near the outskirts. But for the four of them, things were about to change in a very big way.

"It's okay," you whispered to yourself, a gentle reminder that, quite frankly, you were having a hard time believing. "It's just a little pregnancy test. It can't hurt you."

The test itself might not have been capable of inflicting pain on you, but whatever results it bore to you a half hour later might. The visionary knife in your gut twisted at the thought of the test lighting up with a positive. You willed yourself not to think of it, afraid of somehow speaking it into existence despite the words not leaving your mouth.

A knock rapped against the bathroom door, startling you from your current train of thought. "Honey," Joyce called on the other side, "dinner's almost finished."

"Yeah, Mom," you managed to stutter out, attempting to mask the anxiety coursing through you. "I'm just gonna shower and then I'll be out."

You felt slightly bad that you'd be wasting all the available hot water for the next half hour, but you couldn't risk someone coming in and finding the test. The distraction a shower would bring you would be an added bonus.

As soon as your mother’s footsteps receded down the hardwood hallway, you got to work. After looking over the instructions at least five times and then managing to open the wrapper with trembling fingers, you finished the test. A couple nervous breaths exited your lips as you placed the stick on the counter, then promptly hopped in the shower. Attempting to wash away all the messiness of the day—but not the messiness of your thoughts—you let the water cascade down your body, the warmth of it lacking its usual sense of comfort.

As your fingers combed shampoo through your hair, thoughts ran rampant through your mind. Y/N Byers, a mother. Even if the title made you a bit hesitant, at least it would finally give your boyfriend a reason to grow the hell up, right? You loved him, truly, but that boy certainly needed a reality check.

You forced yourself to look at the upside of things. For one, you'd had plenty of training. Between your younger brother and babysitting throughout your teen years, you definitely knew enough to at least get by. Your current gig as a day-camp counselor at The Peony, the local country club, was just the cherry on top. For two… were there any more positives of this?

While you wanted to see a good side to the situation, you couldn't help but consider the possibilities of getting kicked out of the house, being forced to break up with your boyfriend, and the decision of even keeping the baby or not. Your stomach twisted at the thought of being homeless and your baby being fatherless. A wave of nausea hit you so hard you were nearly puking in the shower, a pain so horrid that morning sickness could surely never compare.

You rushed out of the shower, not even bothering to grab a towel before emptying what little was left in your stomach into the toilet. Your eyes glared up at the test on the counter as you wiped off your chin with a piece of toilet paper. It was almost funny, you thought, that a tiny white stick could be holding the answer to your future.

Forcing yourself up from the cold tiles under your knees, you managed to reach the shower and finish the rest of your nightly routine. Your hands shook as you gripped the nob, wondering if this would be the last shower you took before your final step into womanhood.

You had to remind yourself how to breathe as you reached for the test, giving yourself one last look in the mirror. Your skin was some shade of pale green, nausea coursing through you as naturally as the blood in your veins. Here goes nothing.

Blue. The test lit up the brightest shade of blue. It might as well have been screaming, "You're pregnant, dumbass!"

The test fell from your hands and into the sink, the device practically staring at you. Another wave of nausea hit you, forcing you to sit down on the cold and wet edge of the tub. As your exhausted hand ran through your hair, you sifted through the millions of thoughts fighting for your attention.

Another soft knock sounded against the door, one of your brothers reminding you that dinner was finished. Maybe you answered, "I'll be out in a minute," or maybe you didn't manage to say anything at all. You really weren't sure because all the blood in your body rushed straight to your ears to the point where you couldn't even hear yourself breathing anymore. Maybe you'd passed out and this was all a strange fever dream. You really, truly, didn't know.

In fact, in the midst of your internal battle, there was really only one thing you were positive about: you had no idea what the hell you were going to do.

[ Now, November of 1991 ]

"Welcome to Brew and Me, where our motto is- Oh, it's you." You sighed heavily as you registered who was standing on the other side of the counter.

Steve just stared at you with his eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with your motto. Can you remind me again, miss?"

Your eyes nearly rolled out onto the counter. "The usual?" you asked reluctantly, hands on your hips as you all but challenged his request.

He pushed his wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, a hand landing on his hip in rebuttal. You'd never seen another human being as joyful as Steve was when he got the opportunity to mock you. "That's not the motto," he reminded you in a sing-song tone.

All interest in fighting left your body, finally giving in to his wish. "It's always a brew-tiful day for coffee," you forced out.

His lips turned downward into the cutest pout, and your heart swooned at the sight. "You should really work on how you express-o yourself. That was just sad."

Steve knew his slip of the tongue would make your blood boil, and his pout quickly turned to a smirk as he watched annoyance wash over your face. "The word is espresso, and I'll have you know that I have been considered one of the happiest coworkers here so take that."

He snickered at your sad attempt at a fight. "I find that incredibly hard to believe," he countered. "To answer your previous question, yes, I'd like my usual. Double shot tonight."

A flash of sympathy appeared on your face. You knew all too well what he was in for. "Long night?"

"Exam in the morning, clinical tonight."

You gave him a sympathetic smile before turning to your coworker to bark out his order. "Hazelnut Americano with double shots for John Lennon!"

"Someday," he said, his eyes narrowing in on you as you struggled to hold in your laugh, "you're gonna realize that these glasses are one of my best features. And then, you will finally agree to that date with me."

You just shook your head, waving him off toward his favorite table in the house. A small smile crept its way to your lips, but you did your best to hide it. Your heart went aflutter at even the simplest of actions from him.

Steve Harrington could be described as the most attractive man alive, but just as easily be described as the most stubborn one in the same breath. Sure, he had beautiful, tousled brown hair and hazel eyes that you could get lost in if he'd allow it. Add in the way he looked in his uniform slate-gray scrubs and you were done for. But on the opposite hand, Steve also didn't know how to take no for an answer. Still, you found it quite endearing that three months in, he was still very interested in that date he brought up every time he came into your little coffee shop.

The devil on your shoulder practically begged you to say yes—yes to Steve, yes to the whole nine yards that came along with dating him, all of it. But the idea of actually saying it? Well, to be frank, it scared you more than anything in the whole world. Still, you couldn't help but wonder what it might be like if you ever did accept. His hair fixed up the right way, scrubs traded in for slacks and a nice sweater… your heart flipped at the thought.

That was when that devil sitting on your shoulder decided to do the most devious thing. You didn't really believe in 'out of body' experiences, but it was the only logical explanation to why your feet had carried you over to his table all on their own.

You'd never have the courage to say what was coming out of your mouth, but your little demon friend surely did. "Tell you what, doc?" you started, leaning down and narrowing your eyes at him. "When you successfully guess my favorite thing on the whole menu—without help from any of my coworkers, classmates, or professors—then we'll talk."

Steve just stared at you, mouth agape, for the remainder of the time it took one of your fellow baristas to whip up his coffee. Some mix of shock and fear of disappointment sat on his face for so long that you headed back to the counter, grabbing his coffee and a sympathy cookie from the display while you waited for him to come back to life. When he still didn't respond, you did the only thing left—say the motto and continue on with your work.

"Have a brew-tiful day, friend," you said, much more enthusiastically than earlier. You glanced down at your watch, noticing it was almost time for your break. You were tempted to sit at his table just to see how long it would take him to form another coherent sentence.

Finally, he spoke again, slowly coming out of his dazed state. "You…" he hesitated, possibly trying to think up an intelligible string of words from that dictionary he always carried with him for no apparent reason. "You said yes…"

"I did," you confirmed. "And I hate to rush off, but I have to take my break."

"You said yes," he repeated, pure shock coming over him. "Huh. I guess it really is a brew-tiful day."

AAAHHH, MY BABY IS OUT INTO THE WORLD 🥹

I don't think anyone understands how happy I am for you guys to finally get this series. Like, I have been shaking in my boots, waiting to post this for you guys and now you have it!!! 🥹

Thank you so very much to Georgia (tagged in the extra notes at the top) for listening to me talk about this series sm and for helping me brainstorm so many lil things for this series. I love you so very much, my bestie 💞

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed and I can't wait to see you guys back here for part three next weekend! 🫶🏻

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

[gyorklady]

So, I did a thing...

This was inspired by the finale of Candela Obscura: Crimson Mirror as well as the references to Tide and Bone made during the chapter courtesy of Mr. Liam "Heartbreak Prince" "Little Shit" O'Brien. Credit also needs to go to my fellow Grimm family/Tide and Bone stan @inconmess and the many conversations we had brainstorming ideas and connections between the members of Crimson Mirror and Tide and Bone.

There may be a second part to this, there may not.

Cosmo Grimm did not like Fourth Pharos. 

He wasn’t alone; there weren’t many Candela agents that could say they liked spending time in Candela’s vault for dangerous magickal items and phenomena, and most tried to avoid going there when they could.  Cosmo was no exception.  Whenever one of his Circles came across an artifact that needed to be locked up or studied, he would leave it to their Lightkeeper or another Circle member to deliver it to the vault.  And he always took care not to risk significant exposure to Bleed, lest he end up in one of Pharos’ isolation rooms.  It wasn’t because of the artifacts or phenomena that Candela kept locked in their vault (though some of those did unnerve Cosmo, truth be told).  It wasn’t even his fear of Oscar being imprisoned in the vault someday. 

It was the gods-be-damned hallway. 

Cosmo stopped for what seemed like the fourth or fifth time as he slowly made his way down the hall, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, waiting for his head to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning.  He had never been motion sick as a child, but since he’d joined Candela the hallway of Fourth Pharos always affected him like this.  The fact that he was one of a handful of Candela agents who were similarly affected was small consolation, as was the fact that their scientists were “looking into” ways of alleviating it.  If it hadn’t been for the summons from Lightkeeper Zora Manning, telling him that the matter was urgent, Cosmo wouldn’t have come at all.   

Taking a deep breath, Cosmo sat back up, only to feel his chair jolt slightly as someone took the handles and began pushing him forward. “It’s only me, Cosmo,” he heard Zora’s voice from behind him. “I’m sorry; my meeting with the council ran late, otherwise I would have been there to meet you.” 

“It’s all right, Zora,” Cosmo assured her, keeping his eyes shut.  The hallway was easier for him to manage if he couldn’t see it.  With a weak chuckle he added, “I do think I’m getting better; I didn’t need to stop as often as I had to the last time I was here.” 

“I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have sent for you if I didn’t think you were needed,” she apologized. 

Dread pooled in Cosmo’s stomach now, instead of nausea.  In all his time with Candela, nothing good had ever followed those words.  He grabbed the wheels of his chair to stop it and, when Zora let go in surprise, turned around to face her. “What happened?” he asked. 

Zora’s face crumpled, as though she was going to burst into tears, but then she took a deep breath to compose herself. “The Circle of the Wyrm perished during their excavation of Calinus’ vault in the ruins of Oldfaire. The Circle of the Crimson Mirror was assigned to check on them after we lost communication; they neutralized the threat that killed Wyrm, but at the cost of two of their own,” she told him. 

“Oh, no.  Oh, Zora, I am so sorry, child.” Cosmo closed his eyes and bowed his head out of grief for the Circle and the Candela agents that were lost.  Looking back up at Zora he asked, “Who survived?” 

“Leo Amicus, and Grimoria,” Zora answered as she resumed pushing Cosmo down the hall, “which is why I called you here.  Leo’s wounds require him to remain in Pharos for a while longer, but Grimoria has been cleared to be released.  I’d rather she not be alone during this time, so I was hoping that you would agree to let her stay at your chapter house for a few days.  At least until Leo is well enough to leave.” 

Cosmo looked up, over his shoulder, at Zora. “What about her guardians?” he asked.  As a Candela agent and a dealer in antiquities himself, Cosmo was not a fan of Oliver and Cynthia Fogg.  He knew that the couple had claimed guardianship over Grimoria after she was orphaned just so that they could exploit her gifts.  There had been many times, before she joined to Crimson Mirror, that Grimoria had sought refuge at the Antiquarian when the Foggs’ treatment became too much. Unfortunately, Grimoria’s misplaced sense of loyalty to them made it difficult for her friends to convince her to move out and find lodging elsewhere. 

“They are…otherwise occupied at the moment,” the Lightkeeper replied, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a smile. “When Grimoria hadn’t returned home after several days, the Foggs had no choice but to file a missing person's report with the Periphery.  Unfortunately for them, the officer that came to take their statement happened to be there when a dissatisfied customer showed up, accusing the Foggs of selling counterfeit goods – a customer with ties to the Primacy.  Cynthia and Oliver were taken to the nearest Periphery Station for questioning, and the last I heard they were occupying separate cells while their business was being investigated.” 

“Oh, dear.  What a shame,” Cosmo said without an ounce of sincerity.  There was a stifled chuckle from Zora as she continued to push him along.  Finally, they stopped at one of the many doors that lined the hallway.  Zora reached out and put her hand on the knob, flexed her fingers for a second, waited for another two, then opened the door. 

It was one of Pharos’ standard hospital rooms rather than an isolation room, so there was no antechamber to separate them from the patient inside.  Grimoria sat on the edge of the single bed in the room, her gaze focused on her folded hands in her lap.  Zora knocked on the door as she opened it to announce herself. “Grimoria?” she called. 

Hearing her name, the young medium looked up. “Hello, Zora,” she greeted her Lightkeeper with a wan smile. “How’s Leo doing today?” 

“I’ve been assured that Leo’s recovery is progressing nicely, but Dr. Aguilar isn’t ready to release him yet,” Zora answered. “You, on the other hand, are being released today.  Unfortunately, your guardians have been…detained by the Periphery for the foreseeable future, so you won’t be able to return to them.” 

“Oh.” Grimoria blinked in surprise. “Well, Leo did say that I could stay with him for as long as I wanted to.  I guess I can go back to his apartment.” 

“Yes, well… Be that as it may, I’d rather you not be alone during this time,” said Zora. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at another chapter house, at least until Leo is back on his feet.” 

“Where?” 

Recognizing his cue, Cosmo wheeled himself into the room. “At the Antiquarian, with Oscar and I,” he said.  Grimoria’s eyes widened imperceptibly when she saw him. “Ms. Manning told me a little bit of what happened to your Circle, child, and the loss of Mr. Trills and Dr. Lycoris.  I am so terribly sorry.” Grimoria sniffled, then suddenly the girl flung herself at Cosmo, wrapping her arms around his neck before bursting into tears.  Zora moved to pry her off, but Cosmo held up a hand to stop her. 

Yes, Cosmo Grimm hated Fourth Pharos.  But, for now, he had a reason to stay. 

[re-bee-key]

Story idea

Tumblr has added locked posts that you need a key to enter. Nobody really likes the feature at first until someone realizes you can essentially write anything in the question and answer box. ANYTHING

The first big meme is math literacy. 1+2=4. Harder equations. (OP doesnt know any math equations for examples.) But it becomes hilariously clear that the majority of tumblr is bad at math. And there is a huge debate on PEMDAS. A few math memes become very popular, perhaps teaching tumblr at least a small bit of math. But quickly falls out of fashion.

Soon, the game evolves into references. A snippet of a meme where the punchline is the answer. Tried and tru tumblr memes stand out, but many new ones sweep the landscape.

And finally, where we start our tale. Is when the side of tumblr that loves roleplaying wizards and dnd got access to Locked Posts.

It started out as riddles. Famous ones were used first, of course. "A man" people would write in cockily. And so the riddles became harder and harder in scope. Until Tumblr was a frenzy of research and literacy never before seen. (At least it was that way in small parts of tumblr, some.. most people didnt care of course.)

At this point, the Locked Posts had become something special. If you could answer the riddle, you were greeted with unique art, selfies, poetry, cat pictures, lots of random wonderful stuff. But after one person decided to put actual money behind the riddle, (a code for a steam game paid by them), it became a race and a treasure hunt all at once.

Tons of awesome prizes were to be won. People were rabid to claim them.

And then came, THE ONE

A very eccentric and very very rich older woman makes a post. Stating that she is sick and dying.

Tumblr has been a safe refuge for her for many years. And she was always filled with so much joy seeing peoples art and memes. Routinely comissioning artists for all manner of things. But usually something the artist already wanted to make, and she usually remained anonymous. She donated to charity drives and personal help requests. It felt good for her to give back. Gave her purpose.

Her death was getting closer and she was at a loss of what to do with her massive fortune. She of course was going to donate large sums to various charities. But a mischievous side of her had always wanted to be the mysterious benefactor that left behind their wealth to be won by someone worthy. Like from her books.

She spends a few months on the project. In which time, the Locked Posts meme had started to run its course. She gets with her an executor, some lawyers, and her remaining family as witnesses and makes her final will.

And then makes THAT ONE locked post.

But it isnt until her death that it is discovered.

After her death and funeral, during the reading of her will, the various family members that were not close to her were shocked at discovering besides a few petty sums the majority of her estate and weath were locked away to be won through a treasure hunt.

The details of the hunt were given, as was a link to her tumblr account. Where the locked post had sat relatively untouched for weeks. (A few comments in the replies of the post called it unwinnable.)

News and rumors spread fast. Most of the family members and guests had no idea about tumblr or memes or locked posts or riddles. And needed assistance. This lead to a leak at the local news which soon spiraled into national and then international news as more and more people heard about the treasure hunt.

Thousands and millions of new users joined tumblr to try their hand. But tumblr natives had the advantages.

It took a week, but eventually with research and theories and teamwork. One group solved the locked post.

Only to reveal that it was just to reveal the first clue. A link to the second locked post. Which went to a third. And fourth. The fifth splitting off into a collection of posts that all split off again. Each link sending you down a rabbit hole of new and stranger questions.

Each locked post was the only post on its blog. The woman must have been crazy and made thousands. If only so that you had to actually solve the question to progress.

Weeks went by and still no victor. Lots of people gave up at this point. And a conversation between friends, that was quickly leaked, spilled the beans that someone on the tumblr staff was using the network to have a list of all locked posts ever made. Hoping that they could just skim through and find the final locked post and win the game.

Tumblr was NOT happy. And the site retaliated by making thousands upon thousands of locked posts. To bog the system down.

It almost worked. But ultimately didnt matter. The staff employee found the last post but they found it a few hours after one dedicated user had found it first. (The traditional "first" was etched into the top of the replies section.)

It didnt matter, however, as the last locked post read as follows

"You did it! You passed my tests. A juggernaut of wit and knowledge, if you made it this far then surely you must be worthy of my fortune. But! My experts have informed me there are various ways to cheat and get to this point. So, for the fairness of the game, there is more challenges ahead you must face, if worthy you truely be.

And as Im always reading, online people really need to go out and touch some grass. So the second leg of your journey will be one out there, out in the world.

Remember Geocatches? Well, better read up. Because across the nation and maybe even the world? Hmm? Lies clues and riddles and all sorts of fun things to challenge you along the way.

There are possibly some dangers. I wouldnt be an essentric old biddy if there wasnt. But at the end, after you have faced the toughest challenge. No more games, you will find the prize.

Good luck!"

A link to the first riddle coordinates and thats it.

The user who found it first shares the post to her main page, and sets out on her adventure.

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If you like this story idea, please let me know! I think itd be fun to write a part 2 or even an official story for ao3. But like, i might need positive reinforcement if Im gonna put in that work. Lol

[hetbigbang]

Date Claims and Final Check-In (Mandatory)

(Date Claiming will open on Saturday, October 1st at 12PM (Noon) (Pacific Time/UTC-6). This post is up early, to give everyone a chance to read the instructions beforehand. The DreamWidth post is the only one that will be unlocked for comments; the LiveJournal post will be updated with claims for reference only, but it will not be unlocked for comments to avoid confusion.) Countdown to Date Claims Opening Timezone Converter Hello, everyone! This is it, HetBang 2022 is nearing the end! You all have been doing so awesome and we’re really excited to see what everyone has been working on! This post has both the final check-in survey AND the Date Claims. (Check-In is open early.) Final Check-In Information and Survey This is the fifth and final check-in for HetBang 2022! This is a mandatory check-in, for both authors and fanworkers! If you do not check-in, you will be considered dropped from HetBang 2022, and there could be consequences if you were paired with an author (both 5k Little Bang and 10k Big Bang) or fanworker through the claiming process! If you need to drop out, please let us know ASAP! The survey will be open through Saturday, October 15th, and will be closed Sunday morning, October 16th. If you are a Solo Author or a Tandem Author/Fanworker, there are no consequences for dropping out. If you are an author (both 5k Little Bang and 10k Big Bang) or fanworker that has been paired up via claims, we're past the safe drop out point and dropping out can result in a ban from the next round of HetBang. However, if something major happens (sickness, injury, accident, etc.) please just let us know and there will be no consequences for dropping out. Anyone that doesn't contact us will be banned, as we won't know about a situation unless we're told. The most important thing when filling out the survey is to make sure you use the same email address that was used in your sign-up, so that we can check you off. If you do not remember which email you used to sign-up, a copy of the Google Survey should have been sent to you when you signed up. If you still cannot find it, please contact us and we will check on our end! Fanworkers, if you claimed more than one story, please follow the instructions in the form to indicate your progress per author, so that we can mark your progress to the correct author! Check-In #5 Survey Survey open through October 15th. Date Claiming Instructions:

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[quaranmine]

but we made the best of what we had, you know?

“Why are all the worlds we’re in doomed?”

Grian and Pearl fall through the void with the rest of Boatem, and reminiscence on a string of very bad luck with servers. What do you do when your home is gone?

No romantic relationships. Content warning for what could probably be read as a panic attack. Hurt/comfort, Grian and Pearl centric. Title is from Glory by Bastille.

Words: 1930

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why are all the worlds we’re in doomed?”

They were all together, falling through the void. Floating, perhaps? It felt different than falling through air—thicker, more viscous. Like you were being held by something all-encompassing, pressing in on all sides around and above you, a thick honey that would smother you if given the chance, but with the distinct gut-dropping feeling of falling. It made Pearl feel a little sick, to be honest.

Visibility was low in the void, like a thick fog that blurred out the edges of your vision. The Boatem members had tethered themselves together, scared of drifting off and getting lost. It was beautiful, though, filled with thousands of glittering jewels of purple and teal that seemed to follow your gaze. Almost hypnotic.

The void held you as you fell; they could stand or sit or walk within it, but their trajectory was unknown. Just down. It had been a few hours best she could tell, and the other Boatem members were sleeping, huddled more or less in a pile due to the length of the tether. All Mooner-isms had been abandoned. Pearl couldn’t sleep, though, despite her exhaustion. Grian had volunteered to stay awake, staring far away into the void like he was seeing something Pearl couldn’t.

“Hm?” he said, Pearl’s question seemingly snapping him back to reality.

“Why are all the worlds we’re in doomed?” she repeated. “Like with Evo . . . it didn’t end well.” Not for you. The rest of us fled and I had to leave you behind. “And Last Life.” We all died. “And now Hermitcraft, too.” The moon crashed.

Leaving it that simple felt like such an understatement. The moon crashed. But before it crashed we lived in confusion and fear and we thought we could fix it but nothing we did helped in the end. She thought of Nugget, and shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. It painfully pricked her, the uncertainty of it all. He’s okay. The nether is unaffected by the moon.

“I don’t know,” said Grian with a dark chuckle. “Maybe the universe just hates us or something. Maybe we’re cursed.”

“I hope not,” Pearl said. “What did we ever do to make the universe hate us?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve probably angered a few gods doing something stupid before.” He furrowed his brow. “No, I’ve definitely done that. Maybe it’s my karmic punishment. Not fair of them to rope you in, though.”

“I think you underestimate me,” Pearl joked. “If you’ve angered a god, so have I.”

“Does it even matter if you’re a god too?” Grian winked. He thought for a moment before adding: “There’s a reason we get along, I think.”

“I’m not a god,” Pearl said with a smile, “and neither are you.”

“I’m wounded you don’t think my building is god-like enough,” Grian said, fake-pouting. “Now, maybe if I was on your level–”

“Oh, shush,” she said and gave him a playful shove. It moved him more than it should have in the strange floaty not-gravity of the void, but she reeled him back in with the tether. They’d had plenty of practice navigating floaty misbehaving gravity back at home . . . home that didn’t exist anymore, Pearl realized for probably the fifth time.

They sat in silence for a moment. Pearl could feel the void tugging at her suit, a gentle but unsettlingly steady tension on the fabric. It wasn’t even a proper flight suit, but it must’ve been enough since they were all still alive long past the normal point of no return. Maybe Scar had applied some magic–Pearl was never quite sure how much the man actually knew about magic, given that half his schemes turned out to be scams. He had a way about him sometimes, though, like he knew more than he let on and he liked it that way. The void lapped at the edges of her, eager to pull her into eternal darkness for a final goodnight.

“What are you looking at, out there?” Pearl asked. Grian had been staring for a while. Since they got here, actually. She suspected he’d zoned out a little, looking at all of the swirling particles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grian replied, still looking past Pearl instead of at her.

“Now that just makes me worried about it.”

He sighed. “No it’s–it really is nothing. For now. I just feel . . . uneasy. We’re not really supposed to be here this far into the void, and I think that the universe is letting me know that. It feels like we’re being watched.”

Pearl’s heart dropped. “Is it them?” she whispered.

“There are more who watch than just the Watchers,” Grian replied ominously, which didn’t really comfort her very much. “Don’t worry, Pearl. I would know if they were around,” he soothed quickly, probably seeing Pearl’s face. He paused. “I . . . I don’t know what I could do if they were here, because I’m not very powerful on my own. But I could sense them and give us notice to come up with something, at least. They don’t really monitor the void very often. They have . . . better things to do with their time,” he finished, disdain dripping from his words.

“Like monitor servers.” Like Evo. Like . . .Last Life, even. She hadn’t realized the Watchers had been involved at the time, only after they had all gotten out.

“Monitor servers, bother players, play mind games, write stupid little rhymes, worry about updates, and ‘keep the universe’ in balance and all that,” Grian said. “They’ll probably be too busy with 1.18 to pay attention to us falling through the void.”

“That’s good,” Pearl said. “How long will we have to wait here?”

“I don’t know,” Grian said. “I think we need to wait on the other hermits, to see what they’re doing. I think I can get us out of here, but I need a destination to meet back at and we never set one.”

Well. That might’ve been a smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? But the final meeting had been filled with panicking people, and panicking people didn’t always make sound decisions.

Unbidden, her thoughts wound back around to Hermitcraft again. Even as she tried to not think about it, it was the only thing on her mind. When she closed her eyes, it was there, lit in her mind by the reflected light of a far-too-big moon.

It had crept up on them, it really had. Pearl was realizing that it was already too late by the time they’d realized the moon was big. The moon had been on a crash-course for their world for a long time, building up in the background while none of them were even aware. Was it always going to happen? Was the world doomed before they even arrived on it?

She remembered a story she’d been told, once, about a frog and a boiling pot of water. If the frog was thrown in the pot while it boiled, it would immediately feel the pain and hop out. If the frog was placed in the water first and then the water was heated, it would stay there until it boiled alive. The gradual changes in the temperature weren’t noticeable until it was too late.

They’d been like that frog. They could see the changes happening, but they didn’t notice until it already had become obvious. And when it got worse, they tried to move on with their lives. It was weird, yes, but weird things happen on Hermitcraft don’t they? Someone else would fix it, right? She remembered stepping out of her castle and seeing the blocks flying off and not coming back down again, and the sinking feeling of panic. She remembered dodging holes on her way to the Boatem hole, and hearing Grian’s panicked voice asking if they could please leave now.

She looked at her friends next to her. At least, unlike the frog, they’d gotten out with their lives. Not much else, though. But there was a little what-if in her mind, constantly reminding her of what could have been.

What if they hadn’t made it out alive?

What if they’d made their decision to leave too late?

What if Scar hadn’t finished the rocket and the suits in time?

What if the suits had failed?

What if they’d died in the void?

If they died in the void, where would they respawn?

If no spawnable blocks existed anymore?

What if her pets hadn’t been safe in the nether?

What if the other hermits hadn’t gotten out, hadn’t had a plan like they did?

What if, what if, what if, what if-

Her imagination was playing tricks against her, showing her what might have been for each scenario that crossed her mind. She felt heat from the moon’s impact, feeling it singe her hair despite the cold of the void. She felt the breath being taken from her, as if the helmets hadn’t existed and the void had stolen her breath like it so desperately wanted to. She could picture the injuries of everyone who could have died, including herself. Blood on the ground, then the ground not existing.

Involuntarily, she flinched.

There was suddenly a hand on her shoulder and a voice in her ear. “Shh,” she heard Grian whisper. “It’s okay, Pearl.”

“Grian,” she said, but couldn’t form any other words. That’s okay, he would know what she meant. She could feel her cheeks were wet, but infuriatingly she couldn’t wipe them due to the helmet. She tried hard to focus on that feeling, and–oh. Grian was speaking to her, wasn’t he?

“I’m right here,” he said. “All of Boatem is. They’re asleep, but they’re right there. We’re in the void, but suits are working. We’re okay right now.”

“We might not be,” she said. “It isn’t over yet.”

“Let’s take it one at a time,” he suggested. “Small steps. One minute at a time. We’re okay for this minute, and the next as well. Don’t think about anything else beyond that. I know there’s a lot we can’t control about this situation, but the smaller it is, the more manageable it is, right? So take it just a minute at a time.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, and he drew her into a hug.

“I’m so sorry about Hermitcraft,” he said into her hair. “I wouldn’t have helped you get on the server this season if I’d known. Hermitcraft is supposed to be safe. Nothing like this has happened, not while I was there. And I’m sorry about Last Life, and Evo, and everything else. This was supposed to be safe, this time.” He repeated it like he was trying to speak to himself just as much as her, and through her swirling thoughts she remembered how the hermits had been a sanctuary to him after Evo and . . . whatever came after Evo, that he didn’t talk about a lot. He seemed a little shell-shocked about the moon, too.

“It’s okay,” she said, pulling away and looking into his eyes. The red glass tinted and obscured his face, but she thought his eyes looked shiny with unshed tears. “We’ve just had a string of bad luck.”

“Really, really bad luck,” he said with a strangled chuckle. “That’s a bit of an understatement, Pearl.”

“It’ll be better next time?”

“Yeah,” Grian said. “It’ll be better next time. I’ll make sure of it.”

She didn’t ask him how he could possibly know that. It was beyond his control, but just knowing there was someone else trying for them was good enough.

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 5 / End

Now, we return to the scene at the beginning of the story.

A little regretfully, Fred left for his work as the “Crime Consultant’s” point of contact, and Louis was alone in the hall once again.

However, the situation was completely different from before. He was no longer watching helplessly as the fish grew weaker — instead, he’d found a ray of hope for its recovery.

Standing before the aquarium, Louis was now gambling on both the medicine’s efficacy and the fish’s own willpower.

“Please, help him……”

Fervently, he prayed for the angelfish’s recovery.

And as the so-called king of the aquarium swam about its tank, the image of his brother surfaced in his mind.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Five days after that, the time had finally come for the tropical fish to be transported to Stapleton’s residence.

It was early in the morning, and the sky was perfectly clear. Several horse-drawn carts lay parked on the street outside their mansion. For ease of transport, the fish had been transferred to suitably-sized bottles; and as the members of the Moriarty household carried the bottles, tanks and other aquarium equipment onto the carts, Louis stood at the mansion entrance, quietly watching over the scene.

Although he’d nearly collapsed after those consecutive days of exertion, by the time the fish were set to be moved out, Louis had been able to recover his full strength. That haggard complexion of his was now restored to its healthy glow, and behind those spectacle lenses, his eyes shone with the sparkle of success.

At first, Louis had wanted to move the items onto the carts all by himself, saying that the entire enterprise down to the fishes’ transport was his responsibility. However, knowing he had contributed the most this time around, the rest of the Moriarty household insisted that he not work any longer. As a result, though dissatisfied, Louis had hence been relegated to a spectating role.

Occasionally, as they moved past him while carrying the fish in their bottles, the glint in Louis’s eyes would tremble ever so slightly. And when that happened, he would pretend to adjust his spectacles in order to hide the tremors in his heart.

“Feeling emotional, Louis?”

Seeing his younger brother readjust his perfectly-positioned spectacles for the fifth time, William walked up beside him.

Embarrassed, Louis gave a small cough, then straightened his back.

“I would never——”

He stopped. Then, looking at the carts, his voice grew soft.

“No, you’re right. I didn’t want to acknowledge it — but for once, I’m feeling rather sentimental.”

Hearing Louis reveal his true feelings, William gave him a fond look.

Before the two men, the bottles containing the pufferfish and guppies were being loaded onto the carts. Ever since the tiny fish had been given names, Louis’s tropical fish-keeping endeavour had taken a strange turn.

Recalling the reason that a spanner had been thrown in the works of this enterprise, Louis turned solemn, and dipped his head.

“Nii-san. I am truly sorry for what happened before. I went overboard, and ended up causing everyone unnecessary worry. I was immature, and I shall reflect gravely on that.”

Not only did he grow fanatical over the angelfish named after his brother, he even made the aquarium layout needlessly extravagant, and recreated a South American habitat through and through. To top it off, in caring for the sick fish, he had nearly destroyed his own health. Looking back on it all with a cool eye, he had really been quite reckless.

As Louis reflected on his actions in earnest, right then, Moran and Fred walked past bearing pots of tropical plants: the by-products of his over-enthusiasm. They would now become a surprise gift for Stapleton.

Without taking his gaze off the trees, Louis burned those symbols of his inadequacy firmly into his eyes.

Watching his brother ruminate on the subject so gravely, after a beat of silence, William spoke.

“You may be right. If the situation had persisted, and you’d collapsed, the care of the other fish may’ve been impacted. Although you took care not to let that happen, I do wish you had taken the worst-case scenario into account and talked with me more.”

“…………”

Louis knew that. But still, to have his faults pointed out by someone he respected — those words had pierced through his chest.

Naturally, the sense of achievement that’d grown within Louis now began to wilt; though his face once bore a proud expression, he now favoured looking down instead.

“But you know, that’s just one part of the story.”

“Eh?”

Out of the blue, William had added that in a gentle voice, and Louis was startled.

He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that remark. Then, William narrated his own thoughts.

“Louis, you went overboard for a single fish, so much so you neglected your own body — I don’t think you should’ve done that, since there were in fact two other angelfish which could act as substitutes. But in a way, to go so far in order to ensure that not even a single life is wasted: that could be seen as an expression of your sincerity.”

Sincerity.

Louis knew he’d been driven by an impulse akin to selfishness. But strangely, he did not resist as that word seeped into his heart.

“Certainly, I had said that it’s possible to replace the fish if they die. But I think it’s wrong to take that at face value, and put one’s faith in how there’ll be replacements, or second chances.”

William moved on to talk about the attitude Louis had taken towards his work.

“Such naive thinking can undermine one’s focus on the task at hand. For example, if you were to think ‘There’s two more of them, anyway’, and approach the enterprise with that optimistic mindset, it wouldn’t be a surprise if all the fish ended up dying right away. In other words, Louis: from that point of view, I would say your earnestness towards that one fish was exceptionally appropriate.”

“……Nii-san.”

William’s tone had contained no more emotion than what his words conveyed, and in no way had he defended Louis’s actions. He was simply assessing them from an objective standpoint.

And that, was precisely why Louis was glad.

He’d thought his actions were nothing more than a mistake born from his own foolishness. But William had shown him that they could in fact be seen as the complete opposite. Taken another way, his persistence towards that one fish was proof of his ardour for his work — that, was what his older brother was telling him.

For now, William fell silent. And right then, the two brothers caught sight of Moran carrying an aquarium tank toward the carts. He hadn’t faltered at all since the start: with his physical strength, it seemed no load was too heavy for him to bear.

It looked like there were only a few things left to move; Fred, who’d also been hard at work loading the items, now put in a last burst of energy. Incidentally, Albert had already moved his share of the items onto the carts earlier, and left for his work at the universal trading company.

Taking his gaze off Moran, Louis now stared at the empty tanks lined up on the carts.

Then, the sight of the three angelfish swimming in close formation sprang to mind.

“…………”

In truth, before their departure from the mansion, he had wanted to return ‘William’ to the tank with the other two angelfish. He’d thought it would be nice to see them swimming harmoniously together once more.

But that wish had not been fulfilled. For Louis, who was in charge of this endeavour, it was truly a pity.

Then, following behind Moran, Fred stepped out the doorway of the mansion. In his arms was a bottle that held a certain fish.

Louis stood before the entrance. Fred studied his expression, and asked him a question.

“This’s the last one…… Is it really alright to load it up?”

“……Yes, please do.”

His reply bore a faint sense of loneliness. Hearing that, Fred nodded solemnly, and proceeded towards the carts.

For one last time, Louis looked at the bottle Fred was holding.

Swimming within it, was the angelfish that’d been ill up to a few days ago.

Earlier, as Fred spoke to him, Louis had noticed it swimming languidly yet powerfully through the water. The rays of the morning sun, just risen, gleamed off its silver scales — their lustre was simply beautiful.

In other words—— the angelfish had thoroughly regained its former elegance.

The day after he used the treatment William provided, the fish had gradually recovered, and fully regained its strength just the day before. However, as Louis was hesitant to stop the treatment immediately after it had recuperated, he had no choice but to abandon the thought of letting it rejoin its former tank mates. Instead, it spent its remaining days in the mansion confined to the small aquarium.

At the very least, he’d wanted to see the “three brothers” together once more.

However, as Fred loaded the bottle onto the cart, Louis quietly closed his eyes, and put that thought away.

——They are but three fish; they’re not the same as us, by any means.

That cold line was directed at himself.

After caring for them so wholeheartedly, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of them in the slightest.

Moreover, if he had asked his brother seriously, it might have been possible to leave just the three angelfish behind in the mansion. In any case, there were many other varieties of tropical fish: they didn’t necessarily have to part with those three.

However, Louis did not do that.

As Fred had brought up, the one who’d asserted that the fish were nothing more than tools — was none other than himself.

He had no intention of retracting his words now. Furthermore, he was afraid that when the next mission came around, he might just let his emotions get the better of him, and end up causing irreversible damage.

When all was said and done, those stunning tropical fish were simply tools — a means to an end.

There were some things that could only be obtained by pushing aside sentimentality, disciplining oneself, and devoting one’s heart to their work, just as he had done.

And he was sure that his brother understood those feelings of his.

Even as he felt a pang of regret, Louis banished those thoughts, and met his brother’s gaze beside him.

William smiled back. “Well then, we’ve had a rather long chat, if I do say so myself,” he said. “But all that was just waffle. There’s only one thing I want to tell you, Louis.”

He knew what Louis truly wanted to hear right now. Then, he spoke in a warm and gentle voice — not as the leader of a criminal organisation that lurked in the darkness, but as an older brother.

“You didn’t let a single life go to waste: you did a great job, Louis.”

“……Yes!”

Louis replied with vigour. Then, dropping his guard, he nearly broke into a grin — and tried to suppress it in a panic. But he barely managed to stop himself from cracking a smile; emotion welled up from the depths of his heart, and his eyes misted over: it seemed that such sentiment could not be suppressed, even by a cool-headed man like himself. Through a mist of tears, he could vaguely make out the figure of his brother standing before him.

To become his brother’s strength. To fulfil his brother’s wishes. And, if possible, even if it was only for a little bit: to receive his brother’s praise.

Right after receiving that task from William, he had inadvertently obtained what he’d desired — and Louis was trembling with emotion.

William adjusted his tie. “Well then, it seems everything has been loaded up,” he murmured. “I think it’s time for me to get ready to leave as well.”

Then, he softly placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Leave the rest to me, Louis. I’ll make sure your work wasn’t in vain.”

“I know, nii-san.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Louis was certain of it. ——That his brother, would never let his own efforts go to waste.

Hearing that, William smiled; then, his expression immediately reverted to that of the “Crime Consultant”, and he went back into the mansion.

After seeing his brother off, Louis glanced at the carts full of glass tanks, and murmured to himself.

“……It’ll be time to make breakfast soon.”

Once he’d ascertained that the transport preparations were complete, the memories of his arduous days spent with the fish then morphed into a record of observations. In his mind, his thoughts switched back to their usual subjects: those of managing the mansion and their estate.

However, deep in his heart, that gorgeous silver light remained as an unfading memory.

Louis had taken on the challenge of maintaining aquaria, and completed his mission since. Surrounding him was a refined atmosphere, and the air of a man who’d finally brought an enterprise to fruition.

T/N: omg I have so many thoughts about this one — much longer than the usual one-liner at the end of each story — so they’re in a separate section below if you’re interested :3

Translator’s thoughts (haha)

Louis’s growth

I think this story in particular is the previously-untold link in Louis’s character development! As seen in the Baskervilles arc and the start of this story, Louis initially had this worldview that he needed to be a cold-blooded machine to fulfil William’s wishes. To him, everything else was unnecessary if they did not serve his brother’s goals.

But in the course of caring for the angelfish, Louis was forced to confront the fact that he was actually fond of the angelfish — even though this contradicted his existing worldview, since emotion is unnecessary in rearing mere tools. And upon reflecting on how he handled the whole debacle, he finally realised that although the way in which he acted on that affection was not entirely right — showering the fish with too much love, which might’ve led to its falling ill, and sacrificing his own health and potentially the entire endeavour to save just one fish — the very presence of that affection was not a bad thing; and as William affirmed, he should continue to value every single life.

So I think this was the turning point from which Louis started to let go of that obsession toward his brother, and act on his own emotions and wishes: what he thinks is right, as opposed to merely what William wants. And this culminated in him seeking Sherlock’s help to save his brother, even as William himself did not want to be saved.

So in short, I really think this story is a key point in Louis’s character development, connecting the Louis of the Baskervilles arc with the Louis we see in the Final Problem arc — a missing link in the narrative, if you will!

Some random thoughts:

I’d think that sometime after the events of this story, Louis would properly apologise to Fred over what happened in the Baskerville mission

William told Louis he was right to not let even a single life go to waste — I think those words would’ve echoed in Louis’s mind when he sought Sherlock’s help together with Fred

Parallels to the Final Problem arc

Furthermore, some aspects of this story do parallel what happened in the Final Problem arc:

‘William’ being the one to fall ill

Louis trying very hard to save him

Louis praying for someone to help his brother

Help coming from a friend, rather than Louis himself

‘William’ remaining separate from the other two angelfish for a time

I wonder if it’s intentional, in the same vein as that past illustration by Hikaru-sensei where William covered his left eye with a rose… It could be possible: this book was published alongside the Phantom arc (Volume 7), so it’s conceivable that the Final Problem arc had already been planned out by that point.

Wow this has been a long one — thank you for reading this far! And onward to the next story ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

[restlessfandoming]

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 10) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9]

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link] // [Main AO3]

the president and the troublemaker (part 10)

Lumine should have known the instant she saw those blue highlights and mischievous grin that the new student was going to be trouble. Not as much as a certain ginger, but trouble nonetheless.  

He was playing his ukulele and singing about himself as his introduction, and the teacher wasn’t even stopping him. It didn’t help that their classmates were encouraging him with their words of praise and loud cheers. 

Lumine stood from her seat. “Great introduction—Venti, was it?” she said, keeping her voice as cordial as possible. “But we don’t allow personal instruments during class time. You can put it away in your locker later.” 

Venti’s face scrunched up sheepishly. “Ehe, sorry.” He tilted his head at her. “Wait, who are you?”

Lumine gave a polite smile. “I’m your student council president.” 

Venti shrugged. “Oh, okay,” he said. He turned to the rest of the class. “Sorry, looks like I’ll just have to play for you guys later.” 

There were utterances of disappointment as the new student sat in his seat, and Lumine sighed. “Rules are rules,” Lumine said to the class. 

Within the next few hours, as she led him through a tour of the school, she realized that everyone who met him, instantly liked him. Lumine had no idea what it was. Perhaps it was his cheerful and carefree disposition, kind with some sass—and of course his constant playing of his instrument as they roamed the halls. 

“Could you stop playing your ukulele, Venti? I’m afraid it’s a bit distracting to the other students who are in class,” Lumine said. It was the fifth time she had asked.

“I think we would all be better off with some light music in our lives, don’t you think, Madame President?” Venti replied with a light giggle. 

A tiny group of students had gathered around the two of them, and Venti happily played for the crowd. Lumine sighed, as it meant they would have to stop their tour again. 

“Oh, hi, Lumine!” Xiangling said, approaching from the crowd. “What’s going on?”

Lumine leaned against the wall. “New student causing a scene. He keeps playing his little ukulele, even though I’ve told him to put it away. Many times.”

Xiangling closed her eyes and listened for a second. “Wow, he’s pretty good!” 

“Not helping,” Lumine said as she rubbed her forehead.

“Where’s he from?” the chef asked. 

“Not sure,” the blonde answered. She turned to the new student, in attempts to stop him from playing, and asked, “Where did you say you were from again, Venti?” 

Miraculously, the bard stopped his music. “From the outskirts of Mondstadt! The countryside,” he answered with a smile.

“Ooo,” Xiangling uttered excitedly. “Why’d you decide to come here, to the city?” 

An even brighter smile. “Well, I actually lived here a long, long time ago, but I had to leave because a family member of mine got really sick. He passed away recently.” 

The whole hallway stilled, the mood expectantly dampened as Venti shared his past. 

However, his expression never changed; he kept smiling, blue highlights glowing in the sunlight. “And now, I’m back here to find my first love!” 

Everyone blinked at Venti for a second. Then, the crowd erupted into swoons and whoops as questions upon questions were thrown at him: What’s her name? How did you two meet? Where is she now? Is she cute?

“She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen!” Venti gushed. “She was always so kind to me, even when others bullied me. Oh, and she always made me the most delicious grape juice ever!” He perked up. “She knew I really loved grape juice.” 

“How romantic!” Xiangling squealed. (Well, of course; her love language is food, Lumine thought.) “But how do you know if she’s still here or not?” 

“Right,” Lumine agreed. How could he be so tiringly optimistic? “What if she moved away while you were gone?” 

Venti thought for a second, before shaking his head. An endearing fondness washed over his face. “Then I’ll just keep searching.” 

His teal eyes met Lumine’s. He gave her a smile, one not as cheeky as before—softer, more bashful. “After all,” he said, “I promised Lumine I’d always come back for her.” 

…

???

LUMINE?!

Lumine. 

As in me?!

She felt like she had been tasered right in the chest, her whole body locking up as eyes shifted towards her, whispers breaking out in the crowd—“But isn’t that…?” 

Venti, his head in a world of its own, nearly skipped down the hallway, humming to himself, oblivious of the reactions around him. 

“I wonder if she’ll hear me if I sing loud enough?” he wondered aloud as everyone saw him head outside. The gathering of students all followed him out the door.

Xiangling looked at the president, still frozen, with wide eyes. “Uhm, Lumi? Are you okay?” 

Lumine nodded stiffly, her head reeling as she searched her memories for anyone who looked like Venti. 

“Is that true?” her blue-haired friend asked. “What Venti said? About you...being his first love?”

Then it hit her. 

Lumine and Aether did play with a kid named Venti all the time as children. They played pretend as princesses and knights and dragons; the twins would giggle and laugh at Venti’s silly songs all the time; and Lumine would peel grapes and mash them up with sugar for everyone at the end of a long day of running around. It was a child’s simple recipe for “grape juice,” but Venti genuinely thought it was the greatest drink in the world. 

She would even scare off his (and Aether’s) bullies. Venti’s family wasn’t around much, so she took it upon herself to look after him: making sure he did his work, tending to his injuries, cheering him up when he cried. 

It felt like an eternity ago, those memories of happier, more innocent times. 

Lumine’s hand flew to her head, slowly pushing back her blonde bangs as the realization dawned on her. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Tone-deaf bard,” she said, her old nickname for him ghosting off her lips. “I-I knew him. Me and Aether, we used to play with him all the time.”

Xiangling’s eyes grew wider, if possible. “It’s true,” she whisper-yelled. “You are his first love!” she yelled, louder. 

The two stopped their conversation as they heard loud singing coming through the window. They peered outside, where Venti had climbed the tallest tree in the courtyard, and was serenading out to the entire school. 

Lumine’s jaw dropped, and she quickly ran out the door as well, Xiangling hot on her tail. “That idiot! He’s going to fall!” 

She made it to the foot of the tree, where she now clearly heard Venti shouting, “LuLu~! Where are you~?” 

LuLu…

That was definitely him. Venti was the only one who ever called her that nickname. 

“Venti! Get down here right now before you fall!” Lumine shouted up at him. 

He stuck his tongue out at her, and strummed his ukulele. 

As he started singing, drowning out Lumine’s demands for him to come down, Lumine felt the familiar irritation she felt so long ago, when she had to care take of him, despite all the stupid decisions he made. 

She grit her teeth. “Get down here right now, you tone-deaf bard!”

Venti stopped strumming, his head snapping to where Lumine stood. 

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, he jumped down. 

Lumine felt all the air rush out of her lungs as she gasped in shock, her feet carrying her to catch him before her brain could even think about it.

But as he fell, Venti tucked and rolled, gracefully landing on the ground, standing up straight in front of Lumine. 

“You,” he said, his tone the most serious it had been all day. “What’s your name?”

“Lumine,” she answered. She quickly added, “But I’m really different now; I’m not like I was back then—”

Venti leapt on her, arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. His ukulele was even forgotten, dropped on the floor nearby. 

“LuLu!” he cheered breathlessly. He spun her around, breaking into giggles. “I’m finally home!” 

As the students around them broke into outbursts of shocked gasps and encouraging cheers, Lumine glanced at them, awkwardly patting Venti on the back. The bard was oblivious to her stiffness, ignorant of the craze he had just caused, the consequences that would follow his little public confession. 

Lumine could only imagine it now, all the gossip and questioning that would surround her within days, hours even. 

Please let this blow over quickly. 

* * *

“Venti…,” Childe muttered. At least he had a name for the little twerp. 

His posture slouched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, dark eyes watching the scene unravel below with Lumine and the new kid. It was his first day, and yet, he was already causing a wave of news around the school. 

From the open window he stood by, Childe had heard everything. Venti was a childhood friend from Lumine’s past, and he had returned to her because she was his first love. 

To everyone else, this new student was an immediate favorite. Childe, on the other hand, felt acid pulse through his veins as Venti called out Lumine’s name, and he nearly jumped out the window when the two were embracing. 

Venti definitely wasn’t a fighter, right? It would be so easy to dispose of him—

Childe let out a sharp sigh, running a hand through his hair. 

What was this? Why was he feeling threatened by this new kid?

“Wouldn’t it be much easier for you to make it official?” someone said next to Childe. Looking to his right, his eyes met Albedo’s.

“You and the President, I mean,” Albedo continued, his piercing blue eyes trailing down to the courtyard. 

“Astute observations as always, Albedo,” Childe said. “What do you know about me and the Pres?” 

“I know that what the President told me was a lie,” the scientist answered. “There is definitely a sort of romantic chemistry between the two of you.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

Albedo loosely crossed his arms. “I specialize in observations. Stolen glances, affirmative body language, rising body temperatures—habits indicative of romantic interest. For the two of you, it’s mutual.” He paused. “I don’t plan on telling anyone. I’ve kept it to myself, if you were wondering.” 

“Don’t scientists share their findings with the world?”

“I’m more interested...personally. I’d like to see how it plays out.” His blonde head tilted slightly. “Though, why you two haven’t started dating baffles me.” 

A tiny scoff escaped Childe’s lips. “Why’s that?” 

Albedo put his hand to his chin, thinking. “It would surely benefit the both of you. You would stop receiving those weekly confessions from every girl in school, and the President wouldn’t have to continue her tiring charade of acting like she doesn’t know you. It looks painful for you both.” Below, there were cheers from the students surrounding Lumine and Venti. “And you wouldn’t have to be silently fuming from up here while the President is being reintroduced to, quite possibly, her first love as well,” he added. 

Childe clenched his jaw. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. 

He started walking to the stairs without a second thought. 

“Interesting observations, Albedo,” he said as he walked away. “Do me a favor and use those skills of yours to find out anything about Venti for me.” 

He left the scientist mulling over his request while he headed straight to the courtyard. 

* * *

Lumine had managed to shoo the gathering of students back into their classrooms without too much of a fuss; Venti was a lot harder to get rid of, however, as he was currently glued to her side, his arm linked with hers. 

“Okay, Venti, it was nice catching up, but you have to go to class now,” Lumine said as they walked down the hallway. 

“Just like old times! You’re still trying to get me to be more responsible.” 

“And just like old times, it doesn’t work.” She unhooked her arm from his, putting her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Venti. You need to go to class. I’m not saying this as your friend; I am saying this as your student council President.”

“Aw, I forgot how scary you could be, LuLu,” he responded sheepishly. “Hey, what do you say we go to that old café by your house? Do you still live there?” 

Lumine rubbed at her temples as she rounded the corner. Thankfully, Venti’s classroom is closeby.

She stopped in her tracks when she looked up and saw Childe there, leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting there for her. 

“Ah, so you are alive, Pres,” Childe said. “I was beginning to think you were dead. Or were you just ignoring me?” 

Lumine gnawed on the side of her cheek. Of course he would show up right now.

“It’s a busy time for the student council. We’re planning our class trip,” she replied curtly. 

“LuLu, is this one of your friends?” Venti asked, teal eyes lighting up. He held out his hand. “I’m Venti! How do you do?”

“This is Childe,” Lumine interjected, gently pushing the bard’s extended hand down. “He’s a delinquent. Don’t associate with him.” 

The delinquent in question gave her a strained smile. “Ouch. I’d say my ways are quite reformed now, don’t you think?” He peeled off the wall, coming a bit closer—completely ignoring Venti. He continued, “In fact, I’ve saved you a few times, haven’t I?” He flashed a grin of faux-innocence. 

What was he doing? Was he really about to reveal all their secrets in front of Venti? 

“Venti, go to your class. I’ve got to deal with Childe,” Lumine said, desperate to get her old friend out of there. When Venti started to protest, she clenched her teeth. “Now.”

Venti let out a shaky laugh, his eyes shifting from Childe and Lumine, then disappeared into a nearby classroom. Childe’s eyes seemed aflame as he tracked Venti leaving. 

Lumine let out a heavy sigh. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you want the entire school to know about us?!”

A smirk. “There’s an ‘us?’”

Now Lumine’s face completely burned. “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been coming to training, but I really have been busy with the student council.” 

Childe didn’t respond, and just stared at her. “Who is he to you?” 

“...Who? Venti?” She pursed her lips. “He’s a childhood friend. We used to be close, I guess. But I haven’t talked to him in years.” 

“Did you ever love him?” 

“Wh-What kind of question is that?” Lumine sputtered. 

Childe pressed in closer. “Just answer the question, Lumine.” 

She took a step back. We’re at school, idiot! If a student decided to walk out of a classroom at that very moment, their secret would be out. 

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I honestly can’t remember that much right now.” 

Childe’s lips tilted into a frown. “That just won’t do, Pres.” His voice had lowered. “Aren’t you going to save me?” 

Lumine’s heart rate sped up as she recalled the two of them, on the beach, whispering promises to save one another. 

“Save you from what? Be serious, Childe,” she said, annoyed. 

“Loneliness.” He flashed a quick smile. “Let’s go on a date.” 

Lumine stumbled back from Childe as if she had been electrocuted. “I-I don’t have time for this right now.” She turned on her heel, stomping away. “Go back to class!” 

She finally relaxed when she found an empty classroom to clear her head. Thankfully, Childe hadn’t followed her. 

He liked her. She liked him. So why am I still being like this?

Even with her limited knowledge of romance, she knew the next logical step would be for them to start dating, right? 

The prospect made her antsy. 

It was a complete unknown. There were too many ways it could go wrong, too many ways it could end in pain and ruin everything. To chalk it up, she was scared. 

She and her family had been absolutely heartbroken when her father had left. She witnessed firsthand what a broken relationship could cause, the damage it did to everyone involved. 

And yet, knowing all this, having all her fears festering within, she still insisted on seeing him. Childe. 

He made her feel normal, even with her secrets. He made her feel welcomed and safe. So she didn’t push him away. She wanted to stay with him. 

DING!

Lumine jolted from her thoughts, and pulled out her phone to check. It was the student council group chat, all wondering where she was, needing her to be present for another meeting about the upcoming class trip to Liyue. 

She sighed, pocketing the phone, quickly making her way to the council room.

I don’t have time to think about that stuff right now, she thought with a frown. 

Just get through the class trip, and then I can worry about that later.

Lumine glanced outside the window. Gray clouds had gathered in the sky. A storm was brewing. 

She stopped, and prayed for a smooth trip to Liyue.

* * *

[part 11]

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I feel a sort of reverence in going over these scenes in this most beautiful country, which I am proud to call my own, where there was such devoted loyalty to the family of my ancestors – for Stuart blood is in my veins.

- Queen Victoria on Scotland

For a British monarch, Queen Victoria was extremely quick off the mark in making her first visit to Scotland in 1842, only five years after her coronation as Queen. Hooked on the stories of Sir Walter Scott, Queen Victoria toured the country with Prince Albert, spending several days in the capital at Edinburgh.

Then in September 1844 she returned to Scotland with Prince Albert and her young daughter Vicky at her side. This time she visited Blair Castle in Perthshire. They all enjoyed not only Scottish oatmeal porridge but its spectacular fresh landscapes, especially the Highlands, which captivated them both and inspired a rich new adoption of ideas. Later, they took on Highland life in the fullness of its tastes and traditions, something which was recorded in a wealth of artwork, not least in the Queen’s watercolours.

Victoria and Albert loved Scotland so much they inspired a trend for tartan and tweed across the kingdom. They returned over and over again, and after taking possession of Balmoral in 1848 they actually built a castle of their own.

Queen Victoria was a keen diarist and kept detailed records of her stays in Scotland, writing exhaustively about what happened each day: whether Albert’s hunting trips had been successful, who they dined with, her thoughts on the landscape, Highland pony riding, plans for scenes to sketch, details of the people she met, whether she liked them or not.

One of the most common urband legends of Victoria’s time in Scotland is that she and Albert got lost in the Highlands and sought shelter and hospitality in a poor family’s cottage.

Queen Victoria certainly never mentioned getting lost in the forest alone with Prince Albert on horseback, as depicted in the recent British drama series Victoria.

Queen Victoria never mentioned being forced to seek shelter with a kindly poor couple who cooked delicious trout over an open fire and let them stay the night, and there’s no record of her hiding her identity as Queen and learning to darn a sock like a “normal” person.

Still – you can see where this fanciful storyline came from. What we do see in her journal is that, for her, the wild Scottish Highlands were an escape from reality.

“After the constant trying publicity we are accustomed to, it is so pleasant & refreshing, to be able, amidst such beautiful surrounding, to enjoying such complete privacy & such a simple life,” she wrote in her diary.

And while and Albert avoided getting lost, they did have an idyllic pony ride accompanied by only one servant – as close to privacy as the monarch could really get.

“When I awoke the sun was shining brightly & it lit up the mountains so beautifully,” she wrote. “At 9, we set off, both, on ponies, attended only by Lord Glenlyon’s excellent servant, Sandy McAra, in his Highland dress, to go up one of the hills.

“We went through a ford, Sandy leading my pony, and Albert following closely, and then went up the hill of Tulloch straight over a very steep cabbage field, afterwards going round zigzag to the very top, the ponies scrambling up over stones & heather, & never once making a false step. The view all round was splendid & so beautifully lit up. From the top it was quite like a panorama.

“We could see the Falls of Bruar, the Pass of Killiecrankie, Ben y Gloe, and the whole range of hills behind, in the direction of Tay mouth. The house itself & the houses in the village looked like toys, from the height at which we were. It was very wonderful. We got off once or twice, & walked about. There was not a house or creature near us, only pretty Highland, black faced sheep.”

She added: “It was the most delightful, and most romantic ride and walk, I had ever had.”

Another time they cut it fine on a pony ride, with the Queen suddenly becoming worried about nightfall – “Got alarmed at seeing the sun sinking, for fear of our being benighted, & we called anxiously for Sandy to give a signal to Albert to come back. At length we got on the move, skirting the hill & the ponies went as safely & securely as possible.”

But they made it home just in time: “A long day indeed, but one which I shall not easily forget.”

And as for visiting a couple of unsuspecting-yet-kindly Highlanders at their cottage?

The only mentions of a “cottage” make clear this is no poor man’s house: “We got out at the Cottage, which is pretty & beautifully situated. There are some good Landseers in the room we went into.” With paintings by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer on the walls this is not exactly a poor man’s hut…

As she prepared to leave at the end of September, Victoria reflected on her time in Scotland: “I am so sad at thinking of leaving this charming place, & the quiet, liberty, & the pure air we have enjoyed. The action life we have been leading, peculiar in its way, has been so delightful.”

Having already lost her beloved husband Albert, Victoria found solace in Scotland and its people. John Brown was famously associated with Queen Victoria.

The Queen first mentioned Brown in her Journal on 11 September 1849, and from 1851 John Brown, at Albert's suggestion, took on the role of leading Queen Victoria's pony. In 1858, Brown became the personal ghillie (shooting guide and gun-loader) of Prince Albert.

After Prince Albert died in 1861, Queen Victoria went into deep mourning, becoming almost a recluse. In 1864, her daughter, Princess Alice, noted that the Queen had always been happy at Balmoral, especially when taking a ride in her pony cart. Why couldn't pony cart rides be made available at Windsor and at Osborne (the Queen's home on the Isle of Wight), with the Queen in the care of the man who so effectively led her pony at Balmoral? The Queen agreed and in December 1864 John Brown became a full-time servant. He was, as Queen Victoria put it in her journal, "indefatigable in his attendance and care".

By 1866 gossip about the relationship between the Queen and her extremely informal servant had started. Brown was the only person around Victoria prepared to "tell it like it was", and he often proved abrasive with members of the Royal Household: even, it is said, on at least one occasion giving the Prince of Wales the rough edge of his tongue. Rumours soon spread more widely, and Brown was featured in the satirical magazine Punch on 30 June 1866, and Queen Victoria came to be referred to by some members of her household (behind her back) as "Mrs Brown".

Speculation about Queen Victoria's 20 year relationship with Brown, following the early death of her husband Albert in 1861, started in court circles almost as soon as the unlikely friendship itself did when the queen was in her mid-forties.

Victoria's daughters joked about "Mama's lover", and the then Duke of Edinburgh (the queen's second son) claimed he had been evicted from Buckingham Palace because he refused to shake the servant's hand.

The news of 1866 carried a piece in the Gazette de Lausanne, a Swiss paper, that read, “On dit…that with Brown and by him she consoles herself for Prince Albert, and they go even further. They add that she is in an interesting condition, and that if she was not present for the Volunteers Review, and at the inauguration of the monument to Prince Albert, it was only in order to hide her pregnancy. I hasten to add that the Queen has been morganatically married to her attendant for a long time, which diminishes the gravity of the thing.” Most assuredly, no British paper carried such a tale, but once the word spread of the Queen’s supposed affair, there was no reining it back in.

In the United Kingdom it was Alexander Robertson’s pamphlet “John Brown: A Correspondence with the Lord Chancellor, Regarding a Charge of Fraud and Embezzlement Preferred Against His Grace the Duke of Atholl K. T. of 1873” that first openly suggested that Queen Victoria and John Brown had married morganatically - this being related to, or being a marriage between a member of a royal or noble family and a person of inferior rank in which the rank of the inferior partner remains unchanged and the children of the marriage do not succeed to the titles, fiefs, or entailed property of the parent of higher rank.

Citing one Charles Christie, ‘House Servant to the Dowager Duchess of Athole at Dunkeld House,’ Robertson claimed that John Brown was regularly noted as entering Queen Victoria’s bedroom when the rest of the household was asleep. Robert purported that Victoria married Brown at Lausanne, Switzerland, in 1868, with Duchess Anne standing as witness. The Duchess of Atholl vehemently denied Robertson’s allegations. Robertson went on to make other incendiary allegations without any proof including that Brown and Queen Victoria had a love child which as given up for adoption in Vaux, Switzerland.

Meanwhile, in our more recent times  various newspaper revelations went as far as suggesting that the two had actually married based on newly unocvered letters from Victoria’s courtiers. Indeed a film was even made: "Mrs Brown" became the title of a 1997 film about the relationship, starring Dame Judi Dench as Queen Victoria and Billy Connolly as John Brown.

In 1872 John Brown knocked down a would-be assassin in what was the fifth attempt on Victoria's life. John died at Windsor Castle on 27 March 1883, aged 56, by some accounts because he was too devoted to Victoria. It is suggested that had he taken to his sick bed at the first sign of a chill, he would have survived, but his sense of duty was such that he carried on working until it was too late. He was buried at Crathie.

Were Queen Victoria and John Brown married? Historians are divided over this contentious claim. Those that have believe it have based their views on four pieces of information, none of which is in itself conclusive. But they believe that, when taken together, help swing the balance of probability in favour of a wedding having taken place:

After Victoria's death, two sets of mementos were placed in her coffin, at her request. On one side was placed one of Prince Albert's dressing gowns, while on the other was placed a lock of Brown's hair, along with a picture of him and a ring worn by Brown's mother and given to Victoria by Brown.

The published diary of the Liberal MP, the 1st Viscount Harcourt, for 17 February 1885 related a second-hand story told to his father, the then Home Secretary, by a renowned gossip, that on his deathbed in 1872 the Revd Dr Norman Macleod, the chaplain to Queen Victoria,stated that he had conducted a marriage ceremony between John Brown and Queen Victoria.

The Daily Mail on 2 September 2006 reported a similarly second-hand story in which a late senior member of the Royal Family had said that documents confirming a marriage had many years earlier turned up in the Royal archives at Windsor, and been destroyed.

After Victoria's death (a full 18 years after John Brown's own death), Edward VII tried to destroy everything connected with Brown, including busts and photographs. A life-size statue of Brown at Balmoral, commissioned by Queen Victoria after his death, was only saved by being moved to an obscure part of the estate where Edward was unlikely to find it.

My own view is that it’s a much ado about nothing. Although much of the gossip about John Brown and Queen Victoria was seen as ridiculous steps were taken to suppress information, for instance, when Queen Victoria died her daughter Princess Beatrice removed pages from the queen’s journal ‘that might cause pain” in her own words. People have msiread the intent behind such actions. The Royal family down the ages have always doused more petrol on the fire by simply trying to quell any rumours of impropriety that it invites unfounded wilder speculative tittle tattle.

It is clear, despite public gossip, there was nothing immoral in Queen Victoria’s relationship with John Brown. Queen Victoria would never have contemplated sex with a servant. People forget how rigid social roles really were and how seriously people viewed them in Victoria’s age despite the hypocrisy we have come to see them with.

Furthermore, she was never alone to carry out an affair having court ladies always within shouting distance. That was the whole point of having a royal court and doting ladies in waiting about the place.

The significance of Queen Victoria’s attraction to John Brown was that he - at worst - made a career out of her. He never married, had few holidays and devoted his life to the queen, and he was a walking encyclopedia of her like, dislikes, moods and needs. As a downright selfish person this greatly appealed to the queen. She liked him because she needed to be fussed, cosseted and spoiled. He told her the truth, spoke boldly to her and importantly too; unlike her family and senior courtiers, he was not afraid of her. Above all, when Prince Albert died Queen Victoria needed a male friend — she never really made close friendships with women — and someone to lean on. John Brown supplied all that.

Victoria’s visited Balmoral in her beloved Scottish Highlands in the late autumn of 1900. The Queen could not know it, but it was the last time that she would see the new castle which Prince Albert had erected in her words as his ‘own work… as at Osborne’ and which had become a box of intensely personal memories.

So deeply did the Queen feel her first visit to Balmoral after Prince Albert’s death in May 1862 (in pouring rain) that she wrote with painful dread to her eldest daughter, the Crown Princess of Prussia of the strange reality of everything: ‘Oh! Darling child… the stag’s heads – the rooms – blessed, darling Papa’s room – then his coats – his caps – kilts – all, all convulsed my poor shattered frame!’ (cit., Delia Millar, Queen Victoria’s Life in the Scottish Highlands, 101). Even the Queen’s lonely pursuit of spinning wool, which later became synonymous with her early widowhood, had been a vigorously traditional Highland activity (Ibid, 76). Now her widowhood of waiting was drawing to an end, forty years later, with the Queen’s approaching death.

The Queen’s unknowing leave-taking of Scotland took place gradually, over these last days at Balmoral. Touchingly, she was still referring to ‘tea’ – although by now, it consisted only of arrowroot and milk  – drinking it at her secluded Highland retreat of Alt-na-giubhsaich. Queen Victoria’s last day included luncheon in Prince Albert’s rooms with her youngest daughter, Princess Beatrice and her Battenberg children. She left Balmoral fittingly, with the weather ‘wretchedly gloomy & dark’ whilst with her, she had a wreath to take back to Windsor, to place on the tomb of the Prince Consort at Frogmore; possibly it also contained the Balmoral heather she loved so much. Perhaps there may have been a presentiment, within the sentimental.

The Queen’s trusted doctor, Sir James Reid was with her at Osborne when she died, so presumably, the Queen would have had the comfort of a Scottish voice at her side, in between her lingering states of consciousness.

After her death, the Prince of Wales spoke a moving sentence of gratitude for Reid’s devoted service: ‘You are an honest straightforward Scotchman… I shall never forget all you did for the Queen’ (read Christopher Hibbert, Queen Victoria: A Personal History, pg. 494).

Significantly, the Queen instructed amongst the many sentimental items to be put in her coffin ‘some of which none of her family were to see’, a photograph of her devoted Highland servant, John Brown, which she ordered to be placed in her left and, with a lock of his hair. These were both tactfully hidden inside a silken case, the handiwork of the Queen’s late wardrobe maid Annie MacDonald, wrapped in tissue paper.

Afterwards, the Queen’s left hand was covered with Queen Alexandra’s flowers. Also put into the Queen’s coffin was a simple sprig of Balmoral heather, which Sir James Reid covered with a quilted cushion – made especially to fit the coffin – to preserve the Queen’s privacy in death.

Scotland was at her funeral, in the form of her Highland ghillies, as the Queen’s German grandson, Ernst Ludwig, Grand Duke of Hesse, wrote in his private memoirs: ‘[The moment] when her coffin was lowered in the mausoleum at Frogmore, remains unforgettable to me… I remained a moment there alone. When I looked about me, there were kneeling near me all of her ghillies [Highland servants] from Scotland, all strong, sturdy men, who were weeping there uncontrollably like sons for their mother…’ For her funeral, the Funeral March by Handel was substituted as per the Queen’s instructions, for music by Chopin and Beethoven and importantly, Highland dirges.

The sarcophagus or tomb chest was hewn from a flawless block of grey Aberdeen granite from the quarries at Cairngall in Scotland. Three attempts were made before this one was successfully carved out and it is purportedly the largest of its kind ever to have been hewn for such a use.

It was an appropriate Scotch bed for the Queen’s final sleep. Upon this sarcophagus, the effigies of Prince Albert and Queen Victoria lie still, a more sublime rendering of their marriage bed, staring into the beyond. Touchingly though, the head of Queen Victoria’s effigy is half-turned towards that of Prince Albert, as if it somehow suggesting that he died before she did. As in life, she is leaning, straining after the beloved husband that she mourned for half of her life.

The fact that their sarcophagus was quarried in Scotland is an appropriate choice for a royal couple who loved that country so much, becoming a little more Scotch with every visit. Appropriately for the Queen, parts of Eastern Central Scotland still celebrate Victoria Day, the last Monday before or on 24 May, Queen Victoria’s birthday.

Scotland was indeed with them, in the end. And continues to be with the House of Windsor.

[sneezyminniejo]

can I request a ab6ix one where the members dont yet know that Daewhi always sneezes like 4-5 times, so he either has like a cold or allergies, like something thats not a big deal but the members think its serious because of how much he´s sneezing

(ps I really love your writing its my favorite!)

Here it is, hope you enjoy.

Better Get Used To It

There was a nervous energy flitting around the dorm. It was announced that a fifth member would be joining Youngmin, Donghyun, Woojin, and Daehwi in their group. They found out that his name is Woong and that they’d all start living in the same dorm at the end of the day. Donghyun and Youngmin were comfortable living with each other from being in MXM. Woojin and Daehwi were somewhat comfortable living with each other from being in Wanna One. However this would be the first time all four of them would be living together, and a fifth member, who none of them really knew was being added to the group.

However, there hadn’t been anything to be overly concerned about. The energy that Woong brought to the dorm was chaotic in all the right ways and he fit seamlessly in with the others.

It was early March. That time of year when the weather hasn’t yet decided if it wants to warm up or remain cold for a while. It had been fairly cold last week, then it was fairly warm a couple days ago, but now it was back to being cold.

The five members of Ab6ix had only been living together for a couple days. It hadn’t even been a full week yet. The group was in the process of getting ready to leave for the company to start their first day of practice. Youngmin had just barely opened the door when a gasp could be heard from the youngest.

“Heh-iescshhh”

“Ble-” “Hih-tscshhh” “Ble-” “Heh-itscshhh, Heh-sitschhh.”

“Bless you Hwi” Woong was finally able to say. Daehwi blushed in embarrassment as he sniffled lightly. Donghyun offered him some tissues, which he accepted and blew his nose softly. The group then left for their first schedule as a group.

When the group arrived to the studio, they were hit with the fresh scent of cleaner. The dance studio had been recently cleaned. The floors were dry, but there was a fairly strong scent of cleaner still hanging in the air. The scent didn’t bother them, for the most part. However, the group had only been in the room for about five minutes before there was another outburst from the maknae.

“Heh-istshhh.”

Heh-iesctchhh.” “HIh-tschhhhh.”

“Bless y-” “Hihtschhhh” “Bless you Daehwi. Are you feeling okay?” Youngmin asked as he placed a hand on Daehwi’s forehead. Daehwi nodded his head. “I feel fine, hyung.” Out of the corner of his eye, Daehwi could see Woojin rolling his eyes while hiding a smirk.

“Are you sure? You’re sneezing a lot today.” Once again Daehwi nodded. “I’m totally fine. Let’s get started with practice.” Daehwi turned around and began stretching. He was distracted enough that he didn’t see the concerned looks cross three of his hyungs’ faces.

Throughout the first half of dance practice, Daehwi had two more sneezing fits. He had been completely unfazed by them and immediately continued with practice and learning the choreography for their debut album. The dance instructor checked in with the youngest once, but they dropped the subject as Daehwi didn’t actually seem sick or anything.

The group broke for lunch and all five men were sitting on the practice room floor eating takeout. Daehwi had gotten some spicy ramen and the smell of it immediately hit his sinuses. He quickly placed the bowl of ramen back on the floor and turned away from the others.

“HEH-itshhh, hih-IESHHH, heh-stshhh, huh-stieashhhh.” Daewhi sniffled before grabbing a couple napkins and blew his nose. “Bless you,” Said Donghyun. Daehwi thanked him then began eating.

“So, guys, I was thinking of going to the science museum after practice. They opened up a new exhibit, and wanted to know if any of you wanted to join me.” Woojin said. Daehwi animatedly voiced excitement at seeing the new exhibit and quickly agreed to go with his youngest hyung.

“Um, Hwi? Are you sure it’s a good idea to go out after practice? It seems like you’re coming down with something.” Youngmin said, Woong and Donghyun were quick to agree with the leader of the group.

“I told you before hyung, I’m fine. I’m not sick in any definition of the word.” Daehwi clearly sounded a bit irritated, so the others decided to drop the subject in favor of eating their lunch.

The rest of practice had gone similarly to before lunch. Daehwi was sneezing periodically in fits of four or five. Youngmin, Woong, and Donghyun were getting increasingly concerned that the change in the weather had caused the maknae to get sick. Woojin seemed completely unconcerned in the matter and merely helped Daehwi pack up his things at the end of practice before they both left for the museum. The duo promised to be back at the dorm by dinner, then left the room.

The oldest members were at the dorm preparing dinner. “So Daehwi is definitely sick right?” Donghyun asked. Both Youngmin and Woong hummed in confirmation.

“I don’t see how he couldn’t be sick. He’s been sneezing way more than what is normal.” Woong responded.

“Let’s just get dinner made and hope that he’ll admit to being sick soon.” Youngmin said as he chopped up some vegetables.

Just as the trio finished making dinner, the two maknaes entered the dorm. The five of them sat down at the table and they started eating. Daehwi decided that the meal his hyungs had prepared was a little bland, so he grabbed the pepper shaker.

Daehwi made the mistake of having his face too close to the pepper shaker as he seasoning his food. The shaker dropped to the floor with a clatter. Daehwi rapidly turned away from the table and sneezed into his elbow five times, a couple seconds pause in between each sneeze.

When Daehwi finished sneezing, he turned back around and was met with three concerned faces. The only one who didn’t look the slightest bit concerned was Woojin, who was doing his best not to laugh his head off at the table. He was failing spectacularly.

“Woojin, how can you be laughing at Daehwi, who is very clearly sick?!” Youngmin said in a scolding manner. Woojin coughed into his fist in an attempt to stop laughing.

“Except for the fact that he’s not sick. Hyungs, he’s stated multiple times that he isn’t sick.” Daehwi was quick to once again state that he wasn’t sick.

“And why should we believe either of you? Daehwi’s been sneezing a concerning amount all day. How could he not be sick when he’s sneezing so much, allergy season is still a ways away so it can’t be that.” Donghyun said. Woojin and Daehwi exchanged glances before they both guffawed.

“Hyungs, you're forgetting that we lived together for one and a half years when we were with Wanna One. If Daehwi were sick, he’d be coughing up a storm along with the sneezing.”

“So then why have you been sneezing so much Daehwi?” Woong asked

“Well for one, I pretty much always sneeze in fits of four or five. The first fit this morning is something that just happens sometimes. As for the other times, I’m sensitive to strong scents and spices.” Daehwi shrugged as he resumed eating his food. The three older members were a bit stunned at Daehwi and Woojin’s nonchalance, but there wasn’t a lot they could do except continue eating as well.

Once dinner ended, the group gathered in the living room to watch a movie. “So let me get this straight, almost every time you sneeze, you sneeze in clusters of four or five?” Youngmin asked.

Daehwi nodded, “Better get used to it, cause I sneeze a lot.” Woojin scoffed. “That’s an understatement.” Daehwi rolled his eyes before grabbing the remote and starting the movie.

[roberttchase]

Manner minded or double trouble? Both SO matty? Maybe Christie looking after him?

double trouble: [character] is sick and injured.

I will be writing the manner minded one separately :) I hope you enjoy this (somewhat more detailed than I'd originally planned) ficlet.

Send prompts to my inbox.

+ + +

If you were to ask Matt Casey if he thought he was lucky, for the most part he would answer with 'no'. Yes, he's lucky enough to have Sylvie Brett as a girlfriend, lucky to have gone to the fire academy, lucky to have been promoted to a lieutenant and then captain. But he also had an emotionally abusive father as a teenager, a murderer for a mother, his girlfriend of eight years was killed, his wife left him. For every good thing, it feels like there are three bad things in his life.

So he can't even really say it's a surprise when, while on scene helping squad rescue two victims in a car that's balancing precariously close to the frozen Chicago River, Matt loses his balance, slips from the hood of the car, and falls almost twelve feet onto the ice that then suddenly cracks underneath him, submerging him in below forty degree water. Nothing in his life is ever easy. Intense pain radiates from his chest, his body feels like it's on fire, and then nothing.

From there, the scene is absolute chaos. Sylvie and Violet are both off shift, spending the entire week in Joliet helping teach at a conference. The two paramedics that are on scene are instantly calling for backup, while both Severide and Tony frantically suit up in scuba gear for precaution. Boden's yelling orders, but the three other members of truck are all frozen, staring at the large hole in the ice, from which their Captain is currently very much not getting out of.

+ + +

"Christie, you really don't have to do this, Severi-"

"I know what Severide said, but I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed with me." Christie Casey frowns, looking at her younger brother. He's at least four shades paler than he should be, cheeks flushed and eyes dull. Stubble consumes the lower half of his face, and the firefighter looks exhausted. She can't say that she blames him, not with the hell that he's gone through the past thirty six hours.

She'd gotten the call from Stella Kidd yesterday, a kind but shaky voice telling her that Casey, Matt, had fallen into an icy river, and was at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center being treated for two broken ribs and mild hypothermia. Arriving half an hour later, she'd been taken into Matt's room, where they had him on enough pain medication he was basically incoherent. One of the doctors had explained to her that the next few hours were important for any person who'd almost drowned- inhalation of the river water had occurred, and aspiration pneumonia was a large possibility. For a naive moment, Christie was certain that Matt would be fine.

Matt's never that lucky.

It's how she finds herself now, half glaring at her brother, who's been given instructions to stay with someone for the next forty eight hours, while his body wars with itself. The red haired doctor had explained that unless the mans fever reaches over 102, or his breathing deteriorates, he's allowed to stay out of the hospital. Severide's offered to let him stay at the loft, to take next shift off and watch over his best friend, but she tells her brothers best friend no. She needs to be able to watch over her little brother, if his paramedic girlfriend can't.

She's already talked to Sylvie, had called her only an hour after getting the call herself. They'd come to the conclusion that as long as someone was there to watch Matt, she needed to finish up the week for the CFD and CEMS.

"You ready to leave? I'm bringing you back to my place. Violet's got the guest room all ready for you."

Matt blinks and then nods, shoulders curved in slightly, one arm wrapped around his side. He looks a little woozy, though that could be from the pain pills being pumped through his body. That, or the fever he's sporting. April wheels him to the front of the hospital while Christie grabs her car and pulls it up to the curb.

Half an hour later, Matt's being helped into the guest room, where, sure enough, the bed has fresh sheets and a few extra pillows have been added for the man who isn't supposed to lay flat on his back. She gets him under the covers, thankful he's cooperating, and by the time she's back with the meds in a little plastic cup, as well as a glass of water, Matt's asleep.

"Matt, hey, you have to wake up and take your medicine, then you can go back to sleep, okay?" She shakes him as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt his ribs any more than they already are. She must knock something loose though, because not a second later he starts coughing, low and harsh, and his eyes flutter open. Gasping for air, they wait for his chest to stop spasming. His arm is cradling his side and she feels terrible, wishing she could help.

"I just need you to take this medicine, then you can sleep again," she promises, holding the cup out for him. When he nods, the woman lets the small pills tumble onto his open palm, and soon he's swallowing them tiredly.

"C-Can you stay?" The words are quiet and hang in the air as she turns to leave. Pausing, Christie turns back and is struck by just how young Matt looks, laying there with fever flushed cheeks and sallow skin.

Moving slowly, the woman gets into the other side of the bed, carefully shifting to get comfortable.

"Just like old times huh?"

She knows he's referring to their childhood. Christie can't help but smirk a little at the memories.

"Are you talking about when you would come crying to me because you were afraid of the dark?" Her tone is teasing, and instinctively she lets her fingers find his hair, running them through it just like she did when they were young teens and their father had been yelling at them.

A laugh bubbles out of Matt's throat, but it quickly changes to coughing, and it takes a moment for Matt to calm down, sipping water before replying.

"I was actually talking about when I was eight and caught whatever that punk across the street had after he coughed on me. I remember I was out of school for a week, and you stayed with me as much as you could."

She remembers it well.

+ + +

Matt never gets sick, not when he was a baby, and not now. She's always been the one to come down with colds or strep throat, and Matt always manages to avoid germs. He had been sick once when he was a toddler, once, but other than that, she can't remember him ever even getting a runny nose. And then Michael Jeffries goes and coughs all over him on the bus when she's in fifth grade and he's in third, and Matt's record of not getting sick goes down the drain.

It had been on a Monday. That following Thursday afternoon, Christie's waiting for Matt to get on the bus when their bus driver tells her that her brother has apparently gone home early. The whole ride home, the eleven year old is upset, not for her brother, but at the fact she wasn't taken out early either. Why did Matt get to go home and play when she didn't? By the time she's walking into their small home, the blonde is stomping her feet and slamming the door behind her, ready to ask why her stupid brother gets such special treatment.

Instantly though, she realizes something is wrong. Mommy isn't downstairs like she normally is, but instead of being worried, the girl let sher anger build. Running up the stairs, her ponytail swaying behind her, Christie's ready to yell and throw a tantrum, but she freezes when she sees her mom sitting on Matt's small twin bed. She's holding their big blue bowl that she always gets out when Christie's stomach is sick, and Matt is throwing up, coughing and spluttering after, while she rubs his back. Cautiously, Christie walks into the doorway.

"Mommy...what wrong with Matt?"

Nancy and Matt look up, the older woman rubbing her sons back.

"Matt's just not feeling well honey, he'll be alright."

Christie frowns and looks at her brother, whose cheeks are a startling bright pink, his skin pale.

"He looks really sick..." Suddenly she's not mad at all anymore, instead she's worried, no, scared. Matt doesn't get sick. That's his superpower, just like hers is liking vegetables.

Before any more words are spoken, Matt coughs and lets out a strangled little whine. "M-Mommy..."

Christie turns her face away as Matt gets sick this time, not wanting to watch anyone throw up. Instead, she goes and busies herself with finding paper and her crayons. Sitting down on her bedroom floor, the eleven year old goes to town with making her brother a get well soon card, the only thing she knows she can do in this moment.

That night, while she and mommy eat downstairs, Christie can hear Matt crying with Daddy. The second she finishes her food and washes her plate off, the blonde runs upstairs, wanting to make sure the younger boy is okay. She stops in front of his room, but no one's there, the twin sized bed with dark green sheets is empty, even his beloved stuffed bear is gone. Walking further down the hall, she sees the two she's been looking for in her parents king sized bed.

Matt's laying against Daddy, Bear clutched in his hand, his ear against the boys lip. Daddy smiles at her and puts a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Nodding, Christie tiptoes in and peers at them both, before climbing in putting a delicate hand on Matt's shoulder, hoping he'll be ok.

+ + +

Brought back to the present, Christie feels Matt's forehead and sighs. "just try and sleep okay? I'll be here if you need me, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you Matt."

It's as if it's all he's been waiting to hear. It takes him all of two minutes to fall back asleep, head resting against his sisters shoulder. She supposes that this can be the start of all the years she'd missed taking care of him after she'd left for college. He deserves it.

[twisted-tales-of-all]

Jumping Universes

Chapter Five

The fifth installment of the story uses 2.7k words to recount the events that occur to the other two characters (Sage and Wooyoung) after they learned that their friends jumped. Deciding to follow them, they jump into a world where the roles of Sage’s world feel reversed. Sage has to work around suddenly being a famous idol, but they find another member among the chaos - who claims he’s a fan of Sage’s! Be aware of both a forced death (suicide via monoxide poisoning) and unplanned death (via plane crash) in this installment, as well as language warnings, and discussion of deeper topics (homophobia, bullying, family issues, etc.).

“ You’re my fan? But I’m yours! ”

Masterlist

"Now what? We have to follow them, right?" Wooyoung asks as they stand in front of their comatose friends.

"Yeah, we do. At least we know it isn't always death for our bodies in the worlds we jump from. That's helpful info." Sage responds, her eyes stuck on Chantel's body, trying desperately to force her mind to accept that the person she knows is no longer contained within.

"Got a plan? We should do it as soon as possible. Who knows how time translates across worlds."

Snapping back to reality thanks to his words, Sage nods and begins walking to the exit. Wooyoung follows just a step behind, humming to himself due to his nerves. Once they make it outside of the hospital, Sage explains the plan, carefully choosing her words so strangers don't catch wind of a suicide plan. The duo splits to buy different items to help prevent questioning, meeting up with their supplies at Wooyoung's small apartment. As Sage inspects the rooms, she deems the bathroom their best bet.

Sage closes the window tight and seals the door shut with duct tape. During that time, Wooyoung sets up the portable stove, filling it with charcoal. Once everything is in place, they light the stove and wait.

For the first hour, they sit in silence. However, tired of waiting, Sage starts asking Wooyoung questions about his original world.

"It wasn't anything special." He claims, scoffing as he adds, "I was quite happy after finding myself in another world, actually."

Debating with herself over asking her burning question, Sage stays silent longer than planned. Wooyoung sees the internal struggle painted in bold font on her face and answers her unasked question.

"I killed myself. I was sick of the bullying - wanted an escape. Fate gave it to me. I woke up in a much better place."

"Bullying? Can I ask why?"

"A year prior, someone outed me to the school. Heterosexuality is the norm in my world. Homophobia came quickly, and even some people who were close friends turned against me. After a few months, they realized I could plug in my earbuds and tune them out, so the meanest of the bullies turned physical." He speaks nonchalantly as if describing a movie plot rather than his own life. "It was still pretty tolerable up until my parents found out. Good parents would've been concerned for their kid's injuries, but mine cared more about my 'disgusting habits' and added to the bullying. My mother was crying every day, praying to something - anything, really - that her son would come to his senses. My step-father hurled insults relentlessly, cursing me and my dead father. He never stopped blaming my dad's bloodline for my sexuality. I couldn't take it anymore."

Sage doesn't dare ask for the method. She has learned enough to make her stomach turn, and the carbon monoxide in the air only makes her feel worse. She softly apologizes for his terrifying past, offering a hug that he declines.

"It feels fake at this point - like a bad dream. When I woke up as a butler with a baker as a boyfriend, I immediately accepted my new truth. When you and Chantel came, I knew that truth would shatter again. And here I am again, fading out of another reality." His voice softens at the end, joined by his eyes closing.

Sage follows his lead and closes her eyes, too. She feels the brain haze deepen as she does so. The two remain silent from that point, too sick to speak or move. Slowly, they both fade away, feeling as if they're falling asleep after a long, tiring day.

Wooyoung awakens and smiles to himself. Telling someone about his past life feels freeing, so he sits up with a feeling of being lighter. Quickly, he messages Sage with a screen capture of his current location. She responds a few minutes later with a similar picture, pointing out that they live in the same community. She sends another message explaining that her text to Chantel won't deliver.

"Fuck, they're somewhere else," Wooyoung concludes, voicing his thoughts aloud to the empty room.

He replies to the messages with a false claim that he's already on his way to her home. This forces him to get up, get dressed, and leave. However, he only makes it to her street before seeing a group of people sitting on the sidewalks and in the street. With a little inspection, he realizes that some of them hold signs with Sage's name or face on them, so he calls her.

"What's up? You here?"

"Kinda. Have you looked outside? There's a bit of a roadblock in between me and your house."

Wooyoung hears the movement from Sage's end, catching an uproar of screams from the group at the same time as she opens her curtains to look out from the second-floor bedroom.

"What on earth?!" She yells into the speaker, paired with rustling in the background to return the curtain to its original state.

Wooyoung flinches away from the phone due to the volume but laughs as he explains, "Looks like you're an idol now. And here you thought I was."

"I'm gonna try jumping through the backyard. Go to the next street over. I'll meet you there." Sage abruptly hangs up, not even acknowledging the ironic joke Wooyoung made.

Realizing that she'll have to hide if she's famous enough to have a mob outside of her home, she decks herself out in a baggy black outfit, paired with a matching hat, mask, and sunglasses. She curses under her breath as she sees the fence she has to jump to escape through her neighbor's yard but finds a pile of junk in the corner to assist her. Walking outside, she hears a dog past the fence, making matters worse. Due to her fear of the creature, she jumps into the yard diagonally behind hers, running quickly to avoid being caught in a stranger's backyard. As she reaches the sidewalk, she stops to catch her breath.

Wooyoung casually strolls up to her, joking, "The fantastic life of being famous. You must love it."

"Shut up." She barks back, standing upright again to glare at his smiling face.

"Where are we hiding? I'm sure you have fans everywhere."

"Normally, I'd suggest your house, but I'm hungry. Let's find somewhere to eat, yeah?"

Wooyoung searches the internet for food, using his location to narrow the search to nearby restaurants. Finding one that sounds good, he tilts the screen to Sage, who agrees. They follow the GPS to their selection, finding it during one of their slow hours. Only waiting ten minutes to be seated, their luck feels short-lived when Sage hears the servers whispering about her. She had removed her sunglasses once inside but didn't expect to be recognized so easily.

She lowers her head as their server approaches, asking for drink orders. They both order a glass of iced green tea, and they have their food order ready as he returns. Wooyoung orders for both of them, per Sage's request. She explains herself once the server walks away again, but he commends the server on his professionalism if he is her fan. Despite his comment, Sage continues the rest of their time in the restaurant with her head down.

When Sage checks the bill, she finds the server's number scribbled across the top. She scoffs at his confidence but stares at the number for longer than usual. For some reason, she recognizes it, but she can't figure out why. She keeps the receipt out of curiosity, and the duo leaves. They make their way to Wooyoung's house, but the number keeps pricking at Sage's mind. After settling down in the living room, she informs Wooyoung.

"Did you check the list? Maybe it's a number on there." He offers casually, thinking nothing of it.

As she opens her contact list, she finds the number shining at her on the top of the page, "What was our server's name again? I gotta add him to the list."

"Wait, really? I was half-joking. It was Yunho; his name is Yunho."

Sage faceplants into the phone, "Of course it is."

At this point, Sage thinks the universe - or universes, or whatever - is playing with her. First, Wooyoung. Now, Mingi and Yunho too? It's as if she's in some twisted game for TV, a collect-the-members skit to trick the ATEEZ fans. Although she knows that it can't be true, she looks for hidden cameras in the room, just in case. When Wooyoung questions her, she jokes that it feels like she's collecting the members, but he reminds her that nobody had heard of the band outside of her universe.

They wait until the next morning to send Yunho a message, asking whether he'd like to meet up as thanks for him being respectful and letting them eat in peace despite being Sage's fan. Sage sends him an address to a private airport strip, where the idol has a private jet. He graciously accepts and meets the duo at the entrance. Wooyoung can't help but laugh, seeing Yunho dressed up - clearly as an attempt to whoo his idol. Sage doesn't notice the attempt, however, assuming that it's his usual attire.

"Sorry for avoiding talking to you last night. I had overheard you telling a coworker that you're a fan, so I was worried you'd freak out. There are quite a few people who go overboard in the fandom."

Yunho scratches an invisible itch on the back of his head as he nervously answers, "Yeah, I have friends who stake out your house. I can't believe them for it; if you like someone, why would you inconvenience them like that? Plus, I think that celebrities are still normal people, so I don't get the obsession with them. People put these complete strangers on a pedestal for no reason."

"I like the way you think, bud. Heck, Sage isn't even really an idol." Wooyoung chimes in, hinting at their reality to see how he reacts.

Confused and slightly peeved, Yunho asks what he means. Sage insists that they'll explain on the plane. She begins rushing them in as she spots a small group approaching with cameras. As she falls into one of the seats, she sighs deeply, adding that she's glad she wasn't born into this life, which further confuses Yunho. He sits there, mouth open, but the words get jumbled and lost in his mind before he can ask anything.

"We've been jumping dimensions." Wooyoung declares after noticing the lost boy, "It may be hard to believe or comprehend, but this world isn't ours. Sage isn't an idol. In fact, in her world, you and I are, apparently."

Yunho, proving to be the most accepting person either of them has met, unloads a stream of questioning, "How does it happen? How many dimensions have you been through? Is there anyone else who can do it? Is there something to know whether someone else has the ability?"

Sage laughs at his curiosity, enjoying it more than the flat-out denial, like with Mingi, so she answers, "So, we'll save that first question for later, but I'll answer the rest to the best of my abilities. Counting my original world, this is my fifth jump."

"It's my fourth!" Wooyoung jumps in, interrupting her.

After a slight eye roll, she continues, "As far as people, we suspect that there will be ten in total, but we only know of five right now: me, Wooyoung, my best friend Chantel, this guy named Mingi, and you. We figure out when we gather everyone's numbers. You see, our phones automatically change to only nine saved numbers, and there aren't any names. So, we only barely found out that you have the ability as well." Yunho just waits as Sage continues, "Which brings us to your original question. While it all may seem super fun, the way to use the power makes it all questionable. It'd be nice to be able to choose when we switch worlds, but the reality is that we have to face death in order to do so. We can use self-inflicted methods - as Wooyoung and I have used on multiple occasions - or accidental instances, and it seems that those who die together travel to the same world. Mingi and Chantel were hit by a car in the last life, but we didn't find them here when we followed on our own."

Strangely enough, Yunho's excitement doesn't dim after finding that out. In fact, the news may have made him more interested.

"So, we're immortal, too? That sounds so cool! I'm like a superhero! Or- I'm like a low-level god! Not very powerful, but I can't really die."

"Woah, woah. We don't know how long the power lasts. We have no clue if we have a set amount of jumps or if it stops when all the contacts have names or what. Don't just go around dying without thinking about it." Wooyoung warns, calming the boy slightly.

"Yeah, makes sense. Sorry, it's just exciting."

"You have a strange mind." Sage points out, baffled by his overwhelmingly positive reaction.

Yunho just laughs, hearing similar comments throughout his life and growing accustomed to confusing people for simply existing a certain way. Deep down, he knows that people don't mean anything by the comments, but they always sting for a few seconds. Frankly, people confuse him as much as he confuses them, but telling them won't feel the same when they're usually considered normal.

After a few minutes of mindless chatter, the plane starts shaking. A flight attendant announces the turbulence over the intercom and instructs everyone to stay seated with their seatbelts securely fastened. The turbulence lessens after a bit, only to come back even stronger moments later. Sage curses, claiming that she hasn't experienced turbulence this badly before.

Suddenly, the intercom turns on again, with the pilot speaking, "Please, remain calm. We are experiencing issues due to passing through the storm. Brace yourselves for anything that can occur. We're desperately trying to save the aircraft from crash landing, but you're in for a very bumpy ride at best."

Sage worries about the workers, hoping that their jump doesn't also mean the deaths of those around them. Wooyoung works on calming her down, but Yunho's continuous positivity throws him for a loop as well.

"How are you not even nervous?!" He screams at the taller boy in frustration.

"Oh, I am, but I'm not angry. If this is meant to happen, there's no use in freaking out, right? It's the same thing as me serving my idol. Clearly, it was meant to happen, as you needed to find me somehow. Now, we have to face death and switch worlds eventually, right? If it's now, so be it."

Yunho's unusual response calms Sage drastically. Her tensed shoulders droop again, and the fear disappears from her eyes.

"Y'know, you're right. It's not our fault if it happens; we didn't rig the plane or bring forth a storm. If this happens, that means it was already meant to happen anyway. That's such a good way to look at things, Yunho." She smiles at him as she thanks him, both of them looking past a very confused Wooyoung next to them.

After muttering something about the situation under his breath, Wooyoung tries to relax. As he closes his eyes, Yunho points out the ground quickly rising in the window's view. After a few more minutes of rough, lurching air time, a loud screech rumbles under them as the plane's underside scrapes against the concrete, sending a trail of sparks in their wake. The intercom sounds again, but the pilot can't get a word out before the plane catches fire, bits of metal exploding from all around the group. Wooyoung and Yunho both have their eyes closed at this point, with a line of blood streaming down Yunho's face from where something cut him in the chaos. Sage keeps her eyes open until they're forced closed by the smoke, but she's pelted in the stomach by a cold, solid object shortly after, and the noise quiets suddenly once again.

[writerbyaccident]

Not Letting Go (Yandere Bakugou x FemReader)

It was still strange to you, not being with Bakugou.

There was still a part of you that was surprised each time you walked past Bakugou’s table at lunch, each time you didn’t partner with him in class, each time you didn’t wait for him to walk you back to dorms. It went against every instinct that had been ingrained in you, and each time you went against those instincts, even nearly a month after breaking up with Bakugou, it still pierced you through with anxiety. It probably didn’t help that you still saw him all of the time, whether in class, at the dorms, or just around campus. But that, you supposed, was inevitable so long as you both attended UA. And it was, ultimately, something that you would be able to live with.

What you could not live with, however, were the seemingly infinite ways in which Bakugou had decided to make your life a living hell. Now, the two weeks or so after you broke up with him, Bakugou had left you alone for the most part. Other than, of course, the constant stares that you would find him giving you, stares that at first were smug and self-assured, then turned into confused resentment, and finally into bitterness. It was when that stare appeared that Bakugou seemed to have decided that he had had enough of sitting there silently and letting you get away with leaving him.

His first move was a relatively simple one. Somehow, he convinced each member of your class not to pair up with you for partner work, leaving you with no other choice but him. You, however, simply responded by working alone. Although, you still had to deal with Bakugou breathing down your neck, trying to brush up against you at every opportunity he could find.

Next, no matter how quickly you ran out of class once the school day ended, Bakugou would find a way to be right behind you. The first few days that he did that, he simply walked behind you in silence, as if he was trying to force things back to the days when he escorted you everywhere, insisting that he needed to stay with you to keep you safe. Soon enough though, he realized that you weren’t going to play along, simply ignoring him as if he wasn’t even there. And if there was one thing that Bakugou refused to tolerate, it was being ignored.

He moved then to take your hand as you made your way back to the dorms. Again and again, you pulled your hand out of his grip, Bakugou letting you with no more than a glare. He just had to wear you down, he reassured himself, to remind you of what you really wanted. Patience was never his strong suit though, so on the fifth day of you rejecting his touch, he simply tightened his grip and refused to let you out of it.

“Stop it,” you had hissed, partly in anger and partly in pain. Bakugou only seemed to hear the pain though, loosening his grip ever so slightly and bringing your hand to his lips as if he were about to kiss your pain away. Before he did though, something hardened in his previously soft eyes, Bakugou reminding himself that this was all your own fault.

“How long are you planning to keep up this tantrum?” he growled, his anger enough to have you wincing, even while he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

“As long as it takes,” you had tried to explain to him, “for you to realize that you can’t treat me like you own me, Bakugou.” None of your words seemed to register with him though, that is, except for the last one.

“It’s Katsuki,” he said with a disappointed frown. “You can’t call your boyfriend by his last name.”

Sighing at his single-mindedness, you spotted Iida and Uraraka making their way down the hall, and you slipped your way out of Bakugou’s grip to join the safety of their company. Bakugou stared at you intensely as you walked away, clenching his fists in rage at the way that you still seemed to think that those extras could take care of you like he did, that they cared about you the way that he did. His next move, he realized, would have to be to show you just how wrong you were.

The following day, at the start of lunch, you moved to join Izuku, Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Shoto at the end of their table, as was your new routine. It only took five seconds though before Bakugou had seated himself in front of you.

“Do you need something?” you asked stiffly, fighting the temptation to drop your gaze from the burning red eyes that seemed to only see you.

“Do I have to need something to sit with my classmates?” Bakugou answered with a smirk.

“K—Kacchan,” Izuku pleaded, “she doesn’t feel comfortable with you here. Can’t you go back to your own table?”

“Last I checked,” Bakugou scoffed, “we didn’t have assigned seating during lunch.”

“Be as that may,” Iida said, “if you continue to bother her, I will have no choice but to report you to Aizawa.”

“Report what? That I sat down at a table? That’s a pretty shitty definition of bothering.”

Sensing the full-blown argument that was about to break out around you, you grabbed your lunch with a roll of your eyes and left the table. It only took you a moment to spot where Jiro and Tokoyami and another moment to join them. Unfortunately, it only took Bakugou a moment to follow you. Exchanging a silent glance, your classmates seemed to agree not to get involved, turning their attention back to their food with sheer determination.

“I can do this all day, babe,” Bakugou told you.

“Good thing then that you only have till the end of lunch.”

With that you picked up your lunch again, this time moving to sit with Momo, Hagajure, and Ojiro. But once again, Bakugou was close behind. He was there when you sat down with Aoyama and Koda, and there again when you sat with Shoji and Sato. At each table, he was there, and each table either stayed silent or only protested weakly until they withered under his glare. Your options almost all gone by this point, you turned to the table you had looked forward to sitting with nearly every day for so long but now you weren’t totally sure would side with you.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted them, standing nervously at the edge of their table as Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, and Sero stared at you in confusion. “If I sit with you, will you promise not to let Bakugou sit here?”

“But Bakugou always sits here!” Kaminari said.

“I know, but—”

“Don’t you think that this has gone on long enough?” Mina said with a pout. “I know you two had some fight, but you’re so good together!”

“It wasn’t just some fight,” you sighed, not in the mood to explain it.

“He really misses you,” Kirishima added. “He won’t actually say it, but he does. Can’t you make up with him?”

“I just—whatever. I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

Cursing yourself for thinking they would side with you over Bakugou, you began to drag yourself towards the last table with one of your classmates sitting at it, wondering if you were really that desperate. As you approached Mineta, your doubt only grew, and you wondered if you should just accept defeat and turn around. Even though you didn’t glance back, you could still feel the return of Bakugou’s smug stare digging into your back, utterly sure that you were about to come crawling back to him like you should have done days ago. Still, you forced yourself forward, until you were sitting across from the purple-haired pervert himself.

“Uh, h—hi,” he stammered, already drooling at the fact that you had sat with him of your own free will.

“Hi,” you said bluntly.

“So, uh, what brings you—”

“Scram, you little shit,” came a voice from behind you, one that growled with a possessiveness that was intimately familiar to you. You watched as all of the blood drained from Mineta’s face, an image that you normally would have been thrilled to see, but now only informed you just how furious Bakugou was at your attempts to avoid him. Laying a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it tightly, Bakugou narrowed his crimson eyes at Mineta, threatening him in utter silence.

“S—sorry, Bakugou! I was just leaving, I swear!” Mineta insisted, scooping up his lunch as fast as he could and running to the other end of the cafeteria. Once again you were left with Bakugou, who quickly moved from standing behind you to sitting next to you, though he kept his hand on your shoulder the entire time.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bakugou said, his eyes drinking in the image of you so close before him as if the sight of you alone was all that he needed to live.

“You see me every day,” you reminded him softly, fidgeting under his grip.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Seeing you in class, from a distance, when you won’t talk to me, won’t look at me, that’s not fucking good enough.”

“Well, that’s all you’re going to get,” you answered, about to stand up from the table. When you tried though, Bakugou stopped you, pinning you down with that one hand on your shoulder.

“I’m getting really sick of your attitude, you know,” he snarled. “I tried to be nice, to give you some space like you wanted, but I guess that was a mistake.”

“I didn’t want space,” you huffed. “I broke up with you. That means I’m not coming back.”

“See, that’s where I went wrong,” Bakugou said, his voice softer as he cupped your cheek. “I thought if I just gave you space, that you would remember that we belong together, and you would come back. But you being away from me just ended up making you confused. You need to be reminded that I’m the only one who can love you the way you need. Lucky for you though—”

“Is he bothering you?”

Turning around at the sound of a new voice, you saw one of the last people you expected standing there. It was Monoma from Class 1B. In all honesty, you had always thought he was kind of a jerk. He wasn’t even looking at you, instead staring at Bakugou with his usual self-satisfied smirk. But still, at this moment, it was as if heaven had found the one student at UA who wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by your ex-boyfriend.

“Yes, actually,” you told him. “He is.”

“How about you sit with me and my classmates? We in Class 1B won’t let him harass you. And given his reputation of bullying our class, if he tries to pull anything, I’m sure the teachers will intervene on our behalf,” Monoma practically bragged, holding out his hand for you to take. As you reached for it though, Bakugou pulled you back into his chest, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he ordered. At his tone, so darkly possessive, you faltered, your hand freezing. When you two were dating, that was the same tone he would use when you were in trouble, a tone that told you that something very unpleasant was going to follow. Even now, as you reminded yourself that Bakugou wasn’t your boyfriend any longer, you hesitated to disobey him when he gave you an order like that. So you let your hand fall, watching sadly as Monoma rolled his eyes and walked away. You weren’t able to watch for long though, as Bakugou grasped your chin tightly and moved your eyes back to his. Forced to stare into his eyes, you saw there the gaze that you had once loved so much, the one in which Bakugou looked at you as if you were the only other person who mattered, the only other person in the world.

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[fantasticstoryteller]

Under the Sea

The kelp waved despondently in the current as May clutched it. She turned wide, frightened eyes on her nephew, the last of her blood. She couldn't let him know how frightened she was. “This is—this is a great honor,” she said. The pale silver of her braids wrapped around her head as she tried not to look at him.

“Aunt May,” the calm voice, tinged with humor said, “I’ll be fine.”

May peered through her braids at her nephew. He was simply not built like most of the merfolk. Most of them had thick, muscular tails—well suited for pushing against even the strongest of currents. Peter—did not. His tail was long, yes, but it was also thin. Many had wondered when he was born if he would ever be able to properly swim. Most merfolk had thick, muscular bodies—fit for hunting even the most savage of predators. Peter—did not. Compared to most his body was thin, almost like his tail, and he was pale—too pale. Most of the merfolk were darkly colored and had mottled scales to help them hide in the depths. Peter—did not. The scales of his tail were bright red and blue, his fins were so white they almost glowed.

Peter could also use magic. There were others, of course, who could use magic—but Peter was the best. Peter’s magic allowed him to overcome his physical limitations.

And what else? May ignored the traitorous voice in the back of her mind. The important thing, the only thing, was that Peter was a good tadpole and had a kind heart.

A sob broke through her throat and she reached out for him; her tadpole—her son.

Peter willingly embraced his aunt, and gently smoothed the braids out of her face. “It will be all right,” he told her firmly. His embrace was firm. There was nothing, save the scrawniness of his body, to indicate that he wasn’t as strong as other merfolk.

“You’re my baby!” May wailed.

Peter soothingly ran his tail along hers as he hugged her. “I’ll be fine,” he said with confidence. “Everything will be all right.” She could only shake her head and cry, pearls falling off to clutter the floor of their little house.

***

“Shut up Wilson,” growled the dark haired man. The short, stocky man grimaced as he was hit with yet another ocean spray. “This is annoying enough.”

Wade, with no filter, gamely replied. “Aw, is it too wet out here for you?”

“That’s enough.” The order came from the leader of their little party and Wade automatically turned to look at the younger man. Scott had taken off his glasses, designed to save the people around him from getting blasted by his eyes, and was rubbing his lids. The lids had a dark, almost bruised look to them. Wade kept his mouth shut until the glasses were back on. While Scott couldn't actually kill him (no one could), he could make Wade miss out on this important event.

In an effort to create peace between the kingdoms of the land and the sea (the sea folk kept wrecking ships and the land folk kept hunting them) the sea king was sending five of his people to live on land for a year. The hope (from both sides; both rulers were sick of the bloodshed) was that bonds would be formed between the humans and sea folk. A group of five humans had been picked to meet them on the shore, to take the first steps towards trust and a better relationship.

Well, the others had been picked carefully by their ruler for the first gesture at peace. Wade was, as with most things, along for the ride.

[They should be grateful we’re here.] The long, thin beast sat next to Wade and watched sea with narrowed yellow eyes. Its white coat had taken a dull gray sheen from the surrounding land. [They have no idea how dangerous the merfolk are.]

The other beast ran into the waves only to fall back laughing. {But it’s fun!} The yellow beast rolled and looked at both Wade and the other beast with wonder filled white eyes.

The uninitiated would think that the two beasts were blind. Few knew the truth, knew what they truly were. Those who did know tended to look at Wade like he was a monster—and, maybe, he was.

Another splash interrupted Wade’s thoughts as the sea in front of them literally split in half. Rising from the depths, sea foam dancing around them, were five people. Four of them were tall, obscuring the fifth, muscular, and wider at the top than the bottom. They were covered in what appeared to be thin sheets of kelp. They were going to have trouble moving around on land.

[Don’t underestimate them Wade. They are far more dangerous than they appear.]

{A singer! This one’s a singer!}

Wade looked up in horror as Yellow bounced through the foam to jump up to the fifth one emerging. The fifth one looked surprised, but caught the beast before it fell back to the ground. Then, he smiled. Amazingly, impossibly—he smiled.

“Parker!” snapped the one at the head of the group. The boy flinched.

{I want to kill that one Wade. Can I kill him?} Yellow’s tail thumped gently against the boy’s side as the boy fearlessly held the blood beast.

“Put the beast down,” growled the leader.

Parker, the boy, carefully stepped away from the group, trotted onto dry (well, dry-ish) land, and set the blood beast on the ground. Then he gave a low note that made the water shiver off of Yellow’s coat, leaving the blood beast perfectly dry. In fact, a great deal drier than any of the humans on the shore.

In a flash White was next to Yellow and nuzzled gently at the other beast before purposefully nudging Parker with its nose. Wade watched suspiciously as the other members of the group realized (slowly) that something was going on. “Would you like to be dry too?” White gave a regal nod and the boy emitted that tone once more. Water and dirt flew off the blood beast, leaving a it a pure, pristine white.

[The singer is innocent.]

{We should keep him!}

Wade noticed the staring about the same time as the boy, and the boy stood and tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear and shifted nervously. Scott, Logan, Anna Marie, and Hank stared at the boy—with the two suspiciously docile blood beasts at his feet. The other merfolk were staring as well and looked—annoyed.

“Parker,” growled the one in front.

The ears on both Yellow and White flattened against their heads and, as one, let out a low growl right back at the merfolk. Anna Marie cleared her throat. “Can we, uh, not antagonize the insanely dangerous blood beasts?”

“Welcome to our land!” said Hank, eyes drifting towards Parker and the beasts warily.

Of course he was wary. Wade was the one they were bonded to and he was wary. There was a reason that people avoided blood beasts.

“We’ve prepared places for you to stay,” Hank continued.

{Can we take him home? I want to take him home!}

[I agree. We must make sure the singer is not…tainted.]

By what? Wade wondered. Neither beast (no surprise there) answered him. Everyone knew that blood beasts, bound or not, answered to no one.

***

Peter watched as the person (Hank, he’d introduced himself as envoy of their land king) divided up the merfolk. Peter didn’t want to be separated from them—actually no. No, he could easily stand to be separated from them, but he didn’t want to be alone. Not on dry land. He remembered the stories…

The land beast, with yellow hair, leaned against Peter’s leg and tucked its head against his knee with a low whine. The landfolk stopped and stared for a moment, as though Peter was some kind of terrifying animal that would snap and kill them at a moment’s notice. Peter tried to ignore them as he reached down and gently pet the land animal. The white one nudged his other leg, wanting attention too and Peter was glad to provide it.

Their king hadn’t really given a lot of details as to how this mission was to be accomplished. He wanted to stop the kidnappings of merfolk by humans, and he wanted them to try and build a relationship with the landfolk. Something that Peter had, somehow, already managed to screw up.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by one of the landfolk (a human so bulky he could have been merfolk) slinging an arm around his shoulders. The yellow beast turned and snapped a bite out of the man’s leg. The man didn’t even seem to notice as the beast began to daintily chew the meat. Was that normal?

“Sorry Hank,” said the man. “This one’s coming with me.” The blue human opened his mouth to speak and the man quickly added, “White and Yellow insist.” Landfolk gazes turned to Peter before dropping to the beasts once again.

“And Wade’s home is open to that one. Ah,” the human raised his voice as Flash stalked over to Peter, “I wouldn't—”

Flash reached for Peter, who flinched, but the white beast was suddenly between them releasing a low growl that made the rocks around them tremble.

“So, uh, yeah,” said the man holding Peter, apparently his name was Wade. “See, White and Yellow are a little—unpredictable. And vicious. Very vicious. Not sure why this guy’s still in one piece. So—uh, try not to get too close? If you value your life? Sorry, sorry, not trying to break the alliance all by myself—sorry.”

Before Peter could react the yellow beast lifted its head and swallowed the meat with final gulp before trotting up to stand next to the white beast, tail wagging, tongue lolling. “Shit,” cursed the man as he strode up to the two beasts. He reached down and grabbed at the two necks.

His leg was now whole. There was a hole in the pants, where the beast had bitten through it, but the muscles underneath were once again in one piece and Peter could see the jagged skin through the hole. He stared.

Humans had better recovery powers than merfolk! No wonder their king wanted an alliance with them—perhaps, if they got the authority humans on their side they’d be able to stand a chance against the hunters! And this guy—wasn’t upset by Peter. That was new. That was…nice.

Wade turned to him. “I—I hope you don’t mind,” he said nervously.

It occurred to Peter, for the first time, that the humans were just as nervous as the merfolk. Neither side had had much interaction with the other. For the first time humans and merfolk were coming together. Peter smiled. “I don’t mind,” he said shyly.

The huge human looked at him before looking away. “Sorry,” he muttered. The white beast looked up at the man and he turned, offering a hand to Peter. “Name’s Wade,” he said nervously.

Peter, not entirely certain what the hand was for, reached out for it. “Peter,” he introduced.

The white beast gave a loud, sharp bark and Wade nodded. “These are White and Yellow,” he said pointing to the fascinating creatures.

“Hello White,” Peter said softly, trying not to get too much attention from the others. “Hello Yellow.” The yellow one jumped up and rested two paws on Peter’s chest before absently licking a stripe up the merman’s face.

“I think they like you.”

***

“Are you an idiot?” raged Antonius Stark (also known as Tony, to his friends), king of Vlagard, largest nation of the known world. He glared down at the men in front of him. “Do you have any idea how important this mission is?” he demanded. “Do you?”

The men, understanding their monarch’s anger, stayed silent.

The kingdom Vlagard had one huge strength and one huge weakness. Unfortunately, they were one and the same. The ocean provided food, for the citizens, and travel. It also provided shelter for the merfolk.

Some of the merfolk were harmless. They either wanted to learn more about the humans that looked like them, or they stayed far enough away. Tony was fine with either of those responses. He admired those that wanted to learn more about humans, and respected the ones that wanted to be left alone. That was fine.

What was not fine was the majority of merfolk, who could not tell the difference between a legitimate sailing vessel and a pirate ship, who would mercilessly attack ships and drown everyone on board. He had heard that they had a way of controlling the weather—but he didn’t put much stock in it. No one could control the weather.

He also understood the reaction. The pirates would hunt the merfolk and use them in gory, pain-filled ways that made Tony sick if he thought about it too long. He hated the pirates, would destroy them all if he could. The things they did—made him sick, they really did.

At the same time he had to protect his people—and he didn’t want to go to war with the merfolk. While all Vlagardians praised their navy and believed it to be unbeatable—Tony knew better. He knew that no matter how he enhanced his ships, how many weapons he made for them—they would be vulnerable to attack from below. There was no way around it—and from the bottom was where the merfolk would come from.

Luckily, the king of the sea was just as eager to end the war as Tony was. His reasons were different, of course; from what Tony understood the pirates had discovered the spawning grounds and were attacking there, slaughtering and kidnapping as the whims took them. Right now the pirates could hide amongst the legitimate—but if they could forge an alliance, all that would change. It was even possible that the mer and the humans could work together to destroy the pirates. Possible.

First though, they had to prove they could coexist which was not going to happen if one of the ambassadors got killed!

“Forgive me, My Lord.” Tony shifted in his throne so he could watch the approaching man carefully, warily. Lord Stephen Strange was the only true magician in the kingdom. He could use his magic to manipulate time, energy, and even living things. His living cloak was proof of his power. So far all he had done was in the best interests of the kingdom. “I was held up in divination.”

So far. Tony’s father Howard might have agreed with and held the magician in high esteem, but that didn’t mean Tony did. Tony believed himself to be a man with a practical nature. Sure, they lived in a world saturated by magic—but there was a reason the majority of the populace couldn’t use it.

“You only missed the threat to the treaty that my vassals allowed to happen,” growled Tony as the men in front of him flinched.

“Oh? The Singer is not with the man Bonded to blood beasts?” asked Stephen as he stepped into the room with a frown. “That would be—most unfortunate.”

“Singer?” asked Tony.

“Indeed. Here on land,” the magician theatrically put a hand over his heart, “we have magicians. Under the sea, they are known as Singers. I do believe that your aquatic royal counterpart sent one of them as an ambassador.”

Lady Tasha, unofficially the head of Tony’s entire spy network, stepped out of the shadows. As always, no one had realized that she was there. “Explain,” she ordered. Then, realizing she wasn’t dealing with one of her personal underlings, she explained herself as she rarely did. “Explain why it is important to allow one of our possible allies to live with an unpredictable, immortal man and his two bonded blood beasts.”

Tony shifted at the mention of the creatures. Blood beasts were dangerous, wild, and unpredictable. The two that had bonded with the former soldier were—slightly—more stable than the ones that hadn’t bonded, but that did not mean they were safe. He did not want to risk this mission by entrusting the safety of one of the ambassadors with them.

Stephen met her eyes calmly, living cloak fluttering around him in its own wind. “There are forces conspiring to destroy us, and that child is the keystone. Fortunately, they adore him.”

***

By the time they got to Wade’s home (a crappy little flat in one of the worst parts of the city) he was, understandably, nervous. The flat was small, cramped, and cluttered. It didn’t have any rodents in it—but that was because the two blood beasts were ruthless in hunting them out and killing them. He was certain that it was nothing like—like whatever the mer had under the sea.

The boy looked around the one-room flat with wide eyes. “There’s so much light,” he said as he looked around.

Light? The flat was just big enough for a bed, clothes chest, and chamber pot and the kid was talking about the light? “Uh, most places have light,” he said.

“Not in the sea,” explained the merman softly. He walked to a window and watched the play of the sunlight over the skin of his hand. “In the sea, only the wealthy have lots of light.”

[The farther down you go, the more the light is filtered by the water and the harder it is to see.] White watched the boy standing, just enjoying the sun for a moment. [Those at the bottom of the hierarchy are at the bottom of the floor, where there is less light.]

Wade stared at the beast. It almost sounded as though White had been there and seen it. But that was impossible—wasn’t it?

{Food Wade!} Yellow insisted as it wagged its tail furiously and panted. {We all need food!}

Yeah, right. Wade remembered what happened the last time he’d taken the two blood beasts with him to get food. “Yeah—no,” he told it.

“What?” asked the boy as he turned, still basking in the sunlight, to look at Wade. The glow of the setting sun softened already soft features and he looked so sweet, so pretty that Wade ached to reach out and touch—

[Peter. The singer said his name is Peter.] White trotted over to the boy who automatically—fearlessly!—reached out and pet it.

“Right. Peter.” Wade watched as the boy gently scratched White behind its pointed, twitching ears. Wade still found the sight freaky as hell. He looked at the boy. “What do you know about bond beasts?” he asked curiously.

Peter frowned and slowly, gracefully dropped to a seat on the floor. “Not much,” he said as Yellow bounded over to fling itself in his now presented lap while it panted excitedly.

Wade was very glad he was wearing loose pants. “You know,” he squeaked. He cleared his voice and tried again. “You know that the world is filled with magic,” he said as he tried not to let inappropriate imagery flow into his brain.

Peter nodded. “Of course,” he said.

Wade was stunned at how he managed to keep the insult out of his tone of voice. He swallowed. “Bond beasts—sometimes,” he said changing track, “a human is in a situation where they—impress a magical beast. The two—bond, hence the name, and they’re forever in each other’s heads after that.”

[And being in your head is quite the trial.]

“So you impressed them?” asked Peter.

White snorted with derision and Yellow convulsed into laughter as it rolled on Peter’s lap. “Well—we reached an agreement, of sorts,” Wade admitted.

{You didn’t die.}

[Not like we didn’t try.]

“And,” Wade said ignoring them with difficulty, “they said they’re hungry. Because they’re—them, I’m not allowed to take them into the general public if I can avoid it, and so I was wondering—would you like to come with me to get them food?”

White glared at him. [You must feed the Singer as well, Wade.]

“And us as well,” Wade added quickly. He thought about his usual place and winced. “There will be—a lot of people,” he said slowly.

Peter’s face, impossibly, brightened. “I’d love to meet more humans!” he said cheerfully. He gently rubbed Yellow’s face, scratching it behind the ears, before gently pushing the beast off his lap. And Yellow—didn’t—attack!

Wade shot the blood beast a look as he steered Peter back towards the door.

{Oh! I want to go! I want to go!}

[No.] White firmly sat on the blood beast’s tail. [If we go we may traumatize the Singer. We do not want him to get corrupted.]

Yeah. Wade was going to need White to explain that. Later. First—food. “Do you eat?” he asked, concerned as his hand spanned almost the entire back. “You look very—thin.”

“You’re sweet,” Peter said sweetly.

***

Francis took a long drag of his cigar as he kept a wary eye out on the clientele of the shady tavern. He knew they wouldn't turn him into the Guards, but there were a few that wouldn't hesitate to distribute what they saw as “justice” on him. He needed to steer clear of them, at least while he was on dry land.

Justice. They were just too weak to see the opportunity that presented itself. The mer were a goldmine. They cried pearls, bled rubies, and some were comely enough to grace noble beds. Ha! He bet King Stark had no idea how many of his court had illegally caught mer locked up as toys.

They’d be harder to get though, if both the Navy and the mer were after him. He just needed one more big haul, something large enough to outfit the ship for a voyage to a new land where no one knew him, no one knew his exploits. As long as it was filled with people he could use, he didn’t much care where he went.

He caught sight of a familiar scarred head and ducked into a shadowed corner as he cursed under his breath. Was he fast enough? This was not the time to be visiting that one…

But he had company. There was something—familiar in the way the young man moved. Almost graceful, even when simply moving around a puddle (piss or vomit; didn’t matter in this hellhole) on the floor. Graceful, flowing. Almost as if he was—underwater?

Francis realized what he was looking at. A mer—in human form! And a comely one! Oh, the prices people would pay for that in their bed…

He just had to figure out how.

***

The light was fading as the two of them walked back to Wade’s home. Peter wasn’t stupid; he could tell that humans prized space over light. Still, he’d lived in the shadows since he was a tadpole, and he’d always longed for the light. It was nice. It was warm.

It was drier than Peter had ever thought he’d be. He’d never been out of the water for so long before and his skin was starting to have an odd, tight feeling to it. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but was strange.

Then there were the people. As they were getting food the man (a thin, scrawny man that intrigued Peter because he’d never have been allowed to live to adulthood if he’d been mer), the man asked what kind of roast Peter wanted and Peter had replied that he didn’t eat meat. The man had simply smirked and said, “Wade must be disappointed to hear that.”

Wade had turned an interesting shade of red (Peter hadn’t known that humans could change their skin color like that) and paid the man before leaving while the other man cackled.

“Sorry,” he said, still red.

“It’s okay,” Peter assured him. “I don’t understand anyway.” For some reason Wade’s skin became such a stark, mottled red around his scars that he almost seemed to glow.

“It’s—yeah,” said Wade as he rubbed his neck. Peter had noticed the human made that gesture a lot, and it showed off the muscles in the man’s chest. He wanted to rub his hands over the lovely textured skin and feel the muscles rippling underneath, but didn’t know how humans felt about that kind of contact. Would his host welcome it, get nervous and explain why it was wrong, or just be so offended that Peter broke a taboo that Peter was booted out of the man’s home and sent to the palace? He just wasn’t sure.

“Well, well, well,” purred a voice as a thin woman with generous curves sauntered up to the two of them. Unlike most of the human women that Peter had met, she wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothing. “I heard you were playing host to one of the exchange mer, but I didn’t believe. The boys let it happen?”

Wade smiled, attitude changing to confident in a moment. Peter watched with fascination. It was as if the human was a rainbow of reactions to people. This person gets one reaction, this one another, and still another for this strange woman.

Mer tended to have two reactions; either they were protective and close, or rejecting and cold. Well, they were also respectful to Steve—but he was their king. Of course they all felt respect and a little awe for him.

“The boys insisted,” Wade told her.

She paused. “What, really?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

“Really.”

She looked at Peter again, wonder and calculation in her gaze. “Wade,” she said without looking away from Peter, “he’s wearing seaweed.”

“To be fair, he was wearing that when—hey!”

The woman linked her arm with Peter’s and began gently towing the mer away. “Humans,” she said firmly, “wear clothes.”

“I’m mer, though,” said Peter, confused. Even more confused when Wade, trailing after them, began laughing.

“You are in human form, in human lands, and you need to dress like a human,” the woman said. She leaned close to him and whispered, “And there are Hunters on these streets. Dressing like a human will help throw them off.”

Peter shuddered. Hunters had gotten his uncle. He went along without protest.

“You going to introduce yourself Ness?” asked Wade

“Vanessa,” said the woman curtly.

“Peter.” The reply was just as curt and quick and he held his hand out like Wade had when the two of them were introduced. The woman shook it before leading him to a room filled with clothes. “Why do most of these have ruffles?” he asked curiously as he poked one item that looked like it was made entirely of ruffled cloth.

“For a different kind of hunting,” Vanessa replied, clearly amused. Behind them, Wade choked.

***

“Please, calm down,” Steve gently ordered the agitated mer in front of him. The elderly mer was twitching in a nervous manner that meant she was torn between attack, flee, and submit. Not many mer got to that part.

“You didn’t tell him the truth,” she accused, her eyes twitching between Steve and his mate.

“I told him the truth,” Steve said calmly. “He is a strong tadpole, with a good heart. I firmly believe that, out of all those we sent, he is the most likely one to bring us peace.” He didn’t add that Peter was the only one, the only mer that he knew, who was capable of looking into the eyes of a creature and seeing that creature’s soul. And that, having seen the soul, could love it no matter how horrific a creature it was.

Steve did not know if this ability was due to the tadpole’s power. A Singer hadn’t been born to the mer in so long that all anyone knew were myths and legends. Legends of great power, of civilizations created and destroyed by whims—they were even rumored to have had the ability to create new life out of nothing more than a song. Because of those legends, the young mer was outcast among his peers, tossed aside by his parents. But his aunt, his uncle—two mer who had so, so desperately wanted a child had taken him in, and raised him as though he was their very own. And the tadpole had responded by growing into a bright, vibrant, and curious mer. True, by mer standards he was not very strong—but he was smart. He was clever. He could use his power to make up for his weaknesses.

In sad truth the hardest part of deciding who to send had come down to who was clamoring for a chance to go that hated the young mer the least. Despite his humble approaches, despite his powers and abilities, he had a shocking power to create resentment and enmity among the mer. Perhaps it would be different among the humans.

“You didn’t tell him about the blood beasts!” the mer shrieked. Fish around them hid and rocks cracked.

“What blood beasts?” asked Steve, honestly confused. He’d thought they’d died out long ago, when they were banished from all the Seas and Oceans.

“I heard it,” whispered the mer. Tears pooling in her eyes had already gained the opalescent sheen of a forming pearl. “I heard his magic touch them.”

Steve’s heart seized. “What else did you hear?” he demanded of her. Had he sent the youngest, most naive of his people to a trap?

She shook her head. “I heard him use his power on not one, but two blood beasts. And—and I have heard nothing since.”

Bucky, cupping the bulge of the egg within him, swum quickly between the two of them and laid his other arm around her shoulders, as comforting as possible given that she’d been barren before her mate had passed and was unlikely to even attempt to get another one. “We didn’t know about the blood beasts,” he told her firmly. “We gave them a communication crystal.”

“You think they’ll let Peter use it?” snarled the mer.

“They will if I order them too,” replied Steve firmly. The mer hesitated, then nodded before swimming away. Bucky leaned back, secure in the knowledge that Steve would be there to catch him. “Do you think he’ll be all right?” Steve asked as he cradled his mate.

“I think he has the greatest chance of surviving an encounter with blood beasts,” Bucky replied firmly.

They both knew it wasn’t an answer.

***

Peter, having lived most of his life in the depths and only going out into the light to gather food, was fascinated by the different colors that the light turned as the sun set. Colors he’d never seen before—or even had words for!

“What is the name of those colors in the sky?” Peter asked Wade as he pointed up. He was currently carrying huge, rough bags of clothes that the woman—Vanessa—had insisted he take with him as he left and was wearing an outfit of loose pants that tied at the waist with a thin, soft rope and a large shirt that hung over one shoulder (he’d been told it was supposed to, and a lot of Vanessa’s friends seemed to wear their shirts like that).

“Which ones?” asked Wade looking up. He was carrying the food they’d gotten. He winced. “White’s right; stupid question. Well Baby Boy, the clouds are a bright pink—shut up furball, I don’t know the name of the shade—the sky behind them is orange, and the sky above them is purple. Or dark blue. Or dark blue-purple—come to think of it; I don’t know what that color is called. Huh.” The man sounded surprisingly pleased to note he didn’t know the color and turned a grin towards Peter.

Peter grinned back, watching the play of the light against the lively face beside him. The human he was with didn’t seem to be like the other humans—more like a mer that happened to have two feet. Peter found him to be endearing. And—best of all—the human didn’t hate or resent him.

He could remember far too many times when he’d been ordered to do impossible things. “Heal this wound.” “Kill that beast.” “Bring back the dead.” And every time he’d said he couldn't, they’d hated him more. After all, the Singers were supposed to be able to. What was wrong with Peter?

What was wrong was that Peter was the only Singer. He knew how to do basic things with his power like clean or find food (only plants though—he couldn't bear the thought of eating another creature). That was all he knew how to do, all he’d figured out how to do. The mer had no centralized place where learning was stored (he’d learned that humans called it a library). There was no one living who had ever even seen a Singer before Peter was born. All that considered—Peter thought he was actually doing really well.

Back at Wade’s room the setting sun made beautiful colors on the walls. More of that orange (which was nothing like the orange Peter was familiar with, nothing like the orange of fish), a little bit of pink, and an odd dark color that was both blue and purple, almost like the depths of the sea where he and his aunt lived. It was wonderful. He loved the way the light played on the walls, on the fur of the two beasts before him, and on Wade’s amazingly textured skin.

Wade calmly handed both beasts their buckets of dinner (mostly blood with entrails mixed in for good measure), and then he and Peter sat against the wall, in the fading light, as they ate their own dinners—which was something in a light brown lump. “What is this?” he asked with fascination.

Wade frowned. “You never seen a pastry? No, stupid, of course you haven’t. Can’t bake in the ocean. Give a bite, you’ll love it. I think it’s mushrooms and kelp or some shit. I got beef.”

Peter did as he was told and nearly vibrated apart at the different tastes and textures on his tongue. In the ocean the only two textures were soft and soggy or rubbery and soggy and everything had a strong overtone of salt in it (of course). But this—this was crisp and soft and chewy and the different pieces actually had more textures to them as he chewed. The flavors were indescribable. He had nothing to compare them to. “’s good!” Peter mumbled around his mouthful.

Wade chuckled. “Of course it is,” he said warmly. “Weasel’s a lot of things—but he’s also a damn good cook.” He laughed at something else, and Peter thought it might be something one of the beasts said to him. He didn’t ask; just basked in the happy sound.

The two of them finished their food in the relative silence (for Peter) of the two beasts guzzling down their buckets. When Wade finished he stood up and Peter stared at the play of light and shadows on his body. “Can I—” he started. He stopped. He didn’t know enough about humans to know if what he was about to ask was okay or if it would cause a diplomatic incident.

“What?” asked Wade, half turning, partially silhouetted in the fading light.

Desire overrode caution and Peter felt himself almost pulled to his feet as he looked at the textured skin before him. “Can I—can I touch?” he asked breathily.

Wade stared at him with wide eyes and Peter flinched back. He didn’t want to upset his host, after all. Wade swallowed hard and said, “Yeah. Yeah, you can touch.”

Hesitantly, Peter rested a hand on Wade’s arm. Fascinated by the different textures—soft, rough, smooth, hard—he rubbed his hand along the skin. He barely noticed as he ripped into Wade’s shirt moving over the muscles, feeling them bunch and tremble beneath his hands.

Suddenly Wade’s hand came up and grabbed both of his wrists—gently. Far more gently than Peter knew he could move. “Peter,” said the man huskily, “if you keep going—you’re going to start something.”

“What?” asked Peter, eyes wide looking up into the shadowed face above him. Wondering what the other man saw.

The man swallowed. “Like—sex things. Mating things, White says.”

Peter thought about it for a moment. He knew that mer and humans could mate each other. It had happened before, although it wasn’t openly spoken of. And he knew that none of the other mer drew him like the human in front of him did. But—mating meant—that. Did he want that with Wade?

Yes, Peter decided quickly as he raised himself up for a kiss. He most certainly did.

Wade kissed him back, tongue (just as textured as his skin) ruthlessly plundering Peter’s mouth as his hands roamed over Peter’s body eliciting warm chills wherever their skin touched. Peter wanted more. He pulled Wade closer to him, grinding their bodies together and broke away to look down, puzzled. How did humans mate? He was in human form, as Vanessa had said, and he thought they should mate like humans—but how to do it?

Wade silently pushed both sets of pants down leaving them standing in the dim room, completely bare to each other. The human stopped, and stared as he breathed heavily. Peter’s hands began to roam again over the plains of the human’s back and Wade pulled him into another kiss as Peter’s hands roamed lower. He brought them forward and hit the expected erection—but there was smooth(ish) skin where he expected to encounter folds. “Huh,” he said.

“What?” asked Wade.

“We’re different,” Peter explained as he brought one of Wade’s hands around to feel the glistening folds under his own erection.

“We need to lie down.” Wade said firmly as he gently led Peter to the bed. “Can I—is it okay if I lick down here?” he asked.

“Sure, but why? Oh!” Peter gasped as the rough tongue probed the delicate folds and reached inwards. It went deep—deeper than anything. It reached and reached, stoking an insane fire in his groin—and stopped as Wade pulled away.

“Peter,” Wade gasped as he looked in the darkness at the form beneath him. Peter wondered how much the human eyes could see. “Can I—can I enter you?”

Peter reached up and pulled the human closer. “Yes,” he said firmly as Wade’s own erection lined up with his folds, trapping Peter’s erection between them as he slammed home. Peter gasped as orgasm forced seed out of him—and seed within him. He felt the merging all mer did when they met their Mate and felt the moment fertility was achieved. And then the two lay, in the darkness, as sleep overtook both of them.

***

[Can you hear me? Singer? I felt your souls mesh.]

{He can hear us? Really? What am I saying?}

Peter opened his eyes to look at the two snouts in his face. His body was tucked up into and partially under Wade’s. “What?” he asked, confused. He’d never heard of this—but then a mer had never mated a human with bond beasts before, either.

[You can hear us. Good. Wake the idiot. We have a lot to talk about and not a lot of time.]

Puzzled Peter reached out. “Wade? Wade, wake up.”

Wade groaned and pressed his head to Peter’s back, mumbling something and making his skin tingle. Peter ignored the shivers running through him and gently shook the human. The human smacked his lips and licked the exposed skin sending shivers through Peter. He hummed and did again.

“Wade!” Peter nearly shrieked. He wasn’t above starting those lovely activities again, but it seemed to him that White needed to talk to them.

“Hmm hmm what?” said Wade finally waking up.

[Finally. You’ve gotten too used to tuning us out.]

{Yes Wade. That’s very very rude. Peter! Pets!} Yellow thrust himself under Peter’s hands and Peter obliged as Wade suddenly sat up.

“What?” said Wade again, staring through the darkness at his beasts. Peter helped him sit up on the bed so they could face White as Yellow whimpered and wordlessly begged for more affection.

[I told the Singer to wake you up. We do not have much time left, and there is much you need to know.]

“What do you mean?” asked Peter.

“You can hear him?” demanded Wade in shock.

[Of course he can hear us, you idiot.] White lifted its lips from its fangs in a silent growl. [When mer mate they share souls. We are bound to your soul, and now to his as well.]

{Good thing, good thing. More pets please.}

Wade watched, stunned, as Peter obliged. Suddenly he swallowed. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to shackle you,” he whispered.

Peter smiled. His poor mate. The human really didn’t understand mer very well, did he? “You didn’t,” he assured Wade, shifting to curl into the human’s side.

[That’s very nice.] White’s voice may have said it was nice, but his tone did not. [But all of that is outside the point. Wade, as mate to the current world’s only Singer, there are things you need to know. Singer, Wade is a brash, outspoken, immature moron, but he is the best you could possibly do out of these humans.]

“I can’t tell if I should be insulted,” grumbled Wade. Peter lifted a hand from Yellow to gently squeeze Wade’s hand as Yellow lifted its head and took a dainty bite from Wade’s side before Peter started petting him again.

White ignored them. [Once, long ago, the world had two clans. There was the Carry Clan and the Power Clan. The Carriers had the ability to allow the power of the world to flow through them, not touching them, but allowing them to see the world in a new way. The Power Clan could use the power, diverting it and changing its shape. All lived in peace—until a great Cataclysm rocked the very foundations of the world.]

Peter could feel Wade frown. “I’ve never heard of a cataclysm,” he protested.

“I have,” Peter said thoughtfully. “But—only in the most distant of legends, mostly forgotten.”

White bowed its head. [It was—a long time ago. But it tore the world into two parts—that of land, and that of water, and the people were not equipped to survive either. The Power Clan did not know which of the two would provide the greatest chance of survival, and so they divided. Half of the Power Clan used their power to turn their half of the people into Humans with the Power Clan with them turning to Mages, while the other half turned theirs into Mer and their Power Clan turning into Singers.]

“So—humans and mer were originally the same species?” Wade asked. “Then why…” His voice trailed off as his gaze dropped towards Peter’s groin.

White sneezed. [I don’t know; maybe it was a fetish. Stop interrupting. The mer moved into the sea—and met the kraken.]

“Kraken,” Peter said solemnly, “are huge beasts. They’re like a cross between a squid and an octopus, and they hunt in the depths.” He’d been ordered to kill a few. He hadn’t been able to—although he had been able to make them leave.

[Yes. And the mer—were not prepared. There had been no predators larger than them before the Cataclysm. The Singers did their best—but all they could do was banish the kraken.]

Peter privately wondered if they’d ever really needed to. He remembered the kraken he’d dealt with, that he’d convinced to leave. Perhaps they were the same?

[The Singer Loki decided mer needed more power, and a place to retreat to, so against the wishes of his king, he altered the mer. Thanks to his efforts every mer born can alter their form to walk on land, should the need arise. However, this led to the Singer being Outcast while with egg. He needed a place to hide. A place to grow the tadpoles forming within him. He needed protection. He created us, and named us Impulse] a nod towards Yellow still on Peter’s lap [and Memory.] White bowed its own head for a moment.

“The Singer could create life?” asked Peter with wonder.

Despite having no pupils or irises, the beast with its glowing eyes gave the impression of rolling them. [No more than any other mer. Or human, for that matter. We were taken from what we were and changed for his needs—and loneliness.]

Peter felt his heart ache for the ancient mer who had died long ago. Mer needed to be around people, to talk and to laugh, to feel the warmth of embrace from those around them. He could only imagine how crippling the loneliness had been.

[While he was holed up in his cave, practicing his arts and preparing for the eggs, the kraken once again attacked. Their greatest warrior, his mate, forsook the kingdom and swam out in search. By the time he found his mate, our Master, he was almost insane from the solitude. The mate’s presence eased the way quite a bit, and soon the four of us watched the eggs as the mate and the two of us took turns hunting to keep Loki fed. When the tadpoles hatched, the six of us were happy.]

[However, the king of the mer was not. He resented Loki for taking their strongest warrior, even though he knew the two were mated, and had exiled Loki in his mate’s absence. He led a raid on the cave, killed Loki’s mate, and slaughtered the tadpoles.]

Peter gasped, eyes wide. How? How had a king dared to hurt the tadpoles? All life was precious! He barely noticed that both Yellow and Wade were growling.

[Loki went insane. He saw the murder of his mate, the murder of his tadpoles, and saw the mer warriors coming for us, the last of his creations. The last of his children. He Sang a change in us, making us crave blood, giving us strength, and the ability to heal. We slaughtered them all—but our Master had changed. He was Corrupted. There was—nothing we could do.]

Wade wrapped an arm around Peter. “Why are you telling us this now?” he asked.

[Peter is the last Singer. The only Singer. There will soon be a time when he must make a decision to remain as he is, to elevate himself, or to be Corrupted. I do not know which you will choose, but I wanted you to know what your decision will mean.]

“But—I don’t know how!” Peter protested, panicking.

[It is instinctual. When it happens, you will know. Do not stress.]

“Thank you, White,” Peter whispered.

Wade wrapped an arm around Peter, his side already healed as Yellow chewed its meat. “Nothing will happen,” he said firmly. “I’m here to protect you.”

Peter grinned and leaned in for a kiss. “I know you are.”

***

Flash stared at the small mer in shock. Like all mer, he could see the binding of a mating. “You—mated a human?” he demanded harshly staring at the tall human behind the mer.

If Peter had to mate a human, Flash really doubted that the young mer could have picked a better one. Tall, broad, and clearly strong the human almost looked like a mer himself. But still.

While they’d still been in the sea, Peter would have ducked his head and swum away at the earliest opportunity. Here, on land and with his mate beside him, the young mer simply took his mate’s hand in his own and met Flash’s eyes squarely and answered without hesitation. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Flash nodded. “Well, Human,” he growled at the strange human, “come. King Steve wishes to speak with Peter through the Crystal, and might as well speak to his mate at the same time.” He got behind the two of them as he watched the human warily.

Humans were tricky, manipulative creatures. They could easily switch from being friendly to being enemies and Flash didn’t know how to gauge them. Mer were simply by comparison—if a mer liked someone they liked someone and none of that pretending. Flash supposed that it was possible for the human to have tricked Peter into mating him somehow—but he didn’t know how that would be.

At least he’d been briefed on the two beasts that were with the two of them. Blood beasts. Rumors still filled tadpoles with night terrors as their older siblings whispered them. Perhaps the rumors were exaggerated—but, given the way the humans gave the two beasts a wide berth, perhaps not. He eyed them warily.

The white one turned its head to look at him without missing a step, and very carefully, very obviously, winked.

Flash stumbled and almost fell. Fortunately, neither the mer nor the human in front of him noticed. He was going to have to reassess the beasts; not once, in any of the tales he’d heard, was it mentioned that they were smart.

Inside the building was a room they’d set the Crystal up in. It was on a stool, with a cushion underneath it to prevent the perfectly round surface from rolling off and breaking. As they approached the image of their King appeared within it. “Ah, Peter,” their monarch said. “I see—you’ve mated?”

Peter nodded, his hands never having let go of his mate. A gentle tug pulled the human forwards. “This is Wade,” he said, voice proud and soft.

Flash blinked. This was a new side of Peter. This wasn’t the young, cowardly mer who refused to hunt even to drive monsters away—this was someone new. Perhaps all Peter had needed to properly settle down to his life was a mate. Shame though; while mer could walk on land, humans could not swim under the sea.

“Well done. Have you—”

An explosion took down most of the building around them knocking the Crystal off the stool and shattering it against the hard floor.

***

Francis grinned. What luck! Most of the mer were ugly, horrid bastards, but the one he’d been tracing was there. And knocked unconscious! He didn’t have to waste any of that medicine. It was expensive. He and his assistant grabbed the mer and hauled it out of t he building as he planned the auction that would land them far across the sea.

***

[Those bastards!]

{Where’s Peter? Where is he?}

[We will kill them.]

“Damn straight,” growled Wade as he sat up. The woman bending over him shrieked and flailed backwards.

“About what?” demanded a voice. Wade and the three blood beasts turned, identical growls in their throats, to see King Stark’s spymaster, Tasha. Instead of her decadent court gown she was wearing the same kind of clothes that sailors wore working long stretches on the ocean.

“We will kill the fuckers,” Wade growled as he worked his way to his feet, “who took Peter.”

“Peter.” She blinked for a moment. “The mer staying with you?” Her eyes tracked to the beasts, who had healed quicker and were shaking themselves free of debris.

{I miss Peter. He could get us clean.}

[We will find him. And we will kill them.]

Wade growled an assent as the beasts cast around for the scent of the Singer. Of Wade’s mate.

Tasha went to stop him when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up into the eyes of the magician. “Let them go,” he advised calmly, eyes searching the air as he performed divination on the dust forming in it. “It is all in their hands now.”

***

Peter’s eyes slowly fluttered as he tried to open them, or to get his body to work, period. “Look at that, Angel,” a voice said. A rough hand gripped his chin and forced his head up, making it pound even as his skin crawled from the sensation. “See? He’s still lively.”

“He’ll fetch a good price,” agreed a second voice, a feminine one. There was something—odd about it. Flat, almost. After a moment Peter realized what was wrong—there was no emotion in her voice.

He squinted to try to see them, eyesight still blurry. “Who—are you?” he asked.

His head was slammed into a hard surface making stars dance behind his eyes. “You don’t get to speak,” the man growled. “At least, not unless your new owners want to hear you beg.”

Owners? Peter—was going to be sold? He tried to force his brain to clear, to force his mind to work.

Peter was one of the ambassadors from the merfolk kingdom. Wade, his mate, worked for the human one. If anything happened to him it would mean war—his people being pit against each other as he had no doubt that his mate would do everything he was asked within the best of his abilities—even if that meant killing merfolk. The war would be bloody—the merfolk warriors were the best of their kind, tempered against the monsters of the deep—but Wade healed impossibly quickly. They would tear each other apart and he knew, knew his mate would be bleeding on the inside, impossible to heal.

No.

[There will soon be a time when he must make a decision to remain as he is, to elevate himself, or to be Corrupted.]

“The Singer could create life?”

[No more than any other mer.]

But—the singer had been able to change life—to alter it to a shape he needed.

White was right. Now that he was faced with it, now that he had an egg and a mate to protect,  Peter knew exactly what to do. He opened his mouth and a single, pure tone rang in the air.

***

The air shivered, dust rising off the ground as people screamed and ran for their lives. “What is this?” demanded Wade as he pressed on, forcing himself through the crowd that seemed to determined to keep him from his mate. From Peter.

[He’s singing!]

{Oh! This is why you didn’t want to corrupt him!} Yellow absently bit a man’s hand off as he ran.

“Dammit Yellow!” growled Wade as he stopped to tie something around the wrist to keep the man from bleeding to death. “I told you to stop that!”

[We are losing time. The Singer is calling!]

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

[You are not.]

“How am I supposed to go faster?”

[Stop. Search yourself for the tie to your mate. Feel it in your soul. And pull.]

Wade, not entirely sure why he obeyed, closed his eyes. He could feel the tie. Now that he was looking for it, he could sense the rage and desperate need to protect swirling through Peter. He reached for it—pulled—

“Wade, look out!” He ducked as wooden club swung through the space where his head had been.

“If it isn’t the scarred one,” growled the man behind the club.

“Francis! Haven’t seen you since you tossed me in that pit and left me to die,” Wade commented as he circled the man. His blood boiled when he saw Peter.

The young mer’s legs had been tied together into a grim approximation of a tail and his arms tied behind his back. His face was bruised, scraped, and bleeding. Wade growled.

“Oh, you don’t like him? Too bad, my customers prefer them this way!” He lunged. Wade, distracted as he was, didn’t catch the blow in time. It sunk into his head. He felt, more than heard the scream.

[Call us! Call for us, Singer!]

Wade watched a single pure tone echoed into the air—for a moment before Francis slammed his club into Peter’s side. “None of that,” ordered the man.

The damage was done. Yellow landed on the man’s back and delivered a paralyzing blow to the back of the neck before proceeding to eat the evil man—feet first. White, quickly behind, growled and killed someone that Wade, still healing, couldn't see. He heard the snapping of teeth, the popping of bindings being snapped, and suddenly he was cradled in the lap of his mate with small, hard things bouncing off his face.

He crinkled his face as soon as he could. “What are you doing?” he asked looking up and seeing—pearls? Falling on him?

“Wade!” Peter pulled him close, moving his entire body, and cried more pearls which rolled off onto the rubble filled floor. “You’re alive!” he said with clear relief.

Wade smiled and reached for his mate. “I’m not that easy to kill, Peter,” he said warmly.

***

Several weeks later the two of them stood on the shore of the beach. “Are you sure?” Peter asked gently before they went into the water.

Wade ignored the way the rocks cut into the bottoms of his feet as he grinned at his mer-mate. “With you? Always,” he said.

{I want to have white spots!}

[Shut up!]

Peter giggled and Sang a change. He caught his mate as the human toppled over on his sudden tail. White and Yellow lost their fur, gained gills and elaborate fins, and were ready to get into the water again for the first time in hundreds of years, if White was to be believed. Peter changed himself and the four dove into the water and he helped Wade learn how to use his thick, powerful tail for swimming before they headed towards the ocean.

It was time for the Laying ceremony as the entire sea watched with bated breath as their King’s mate went to the spawning ground to lay his eggs. As the (only) human mated to an ambassador, Wade had been invited as well, and Peter was the only one who was capable of making sure he could make the trip into the depths without dying.

{Look! SPOTS!} Yellow swam, craning its neck to see the beautiful white spots decorating his fins.

After a few tries, Wade figured out how to speak underwater. “So,” he managed with a pointed look at Peter’s rounding belly, “will you be visiting the spawning ground, or giving birth on land?”

Peter swum around his mate, entwining their tails together as he smiled. “That depends,” he said.

“On?”

“On whether we prefer mating in the sea or on land.”

[beastsars]

praeceptum | louis (beastars) x carnivore!reader

continuous sucker for louis and his carnivore lover. amen. pure mature content again because fuck it guys. just fuck it. amen again.

you’d warned him. specifically sent him a very detailed text about your approved absence for health reasons. and louis had heeded to your explanation. truly. 

except your period of self-care, to put it lightly, was supposed to last three days. and now it was the evening of the fifth. 

to be truthful, his concern had spiked during the fourth day, but he had the patience to wait out an additional twenty-four hours. you likely needed some time to come down from your highs and recover from nature's temporary control over your emotions and instincts. nothing ever went according to plan after all.

but now his worried apprehension was threatening to edge hysteria if he didn’t hear from you soon. 

what if you’d hurt yours? maybe the unbridled passion had become too much for you to handle. 

or worse- what if an alpha had passed by your scent and taken advantage in your vulnerability?

each thought darkened with possibility as louis sped walked down the hallway of the upscale apartment complex. it was his own hideaway in the city that the two of you often frequented during the weekend to escape prying eyes. he felt that it was a fitting honeypot for you to nest in. a comforting place surrounded with nothing but his warmth and scent and the memories the two of you had ingrained in the walls. 

as he neared the door, the deer made a quick account of its integrity, noting the absence of scratches or signs of forced entry. it both settled and nagged him, as it was possible for you to have been lured out. yet as he scented the stale air, he came to terms with the fact that you were also truant without a trail of your departure. 

“this is all just a misunderstanding, louis. she’s probably just too worn out and resting,” he tried to reassure himself to avoid looking like a fool as the lock clicked signaling his entry. 

upon entering the flat, he took note of the glowing emitter still humming softly on the small entry table to the left. he’d purchased it with faith on the internet and it seemed to be doing its job. its primary function was a suppressors, releasing contrasting scents to defer any unwanted guests. louis had preemptively chosen a chamomile scent in hopes of enticing you to sleep through your episode than suffer. 

“sweetheart? it’s me, just coming to check on you.”

as he traveled further into the abode, he came to the starking conclusion that all his distress was for naught. the moment he stepped outside of the emitters area of control, it was like stepping into a thick cloud of smog. except instead of heavy smoke, it was just a vicious blanket of you. 

your scent still heavily dosed in fertile hormones and the influence of your heat. 

hesitating with his next step forward, louis nearly choked at the tangible taste of your fragrance, spicy like cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg. hesitantly, he called out your name again but didn’t receive a response. not a cheerful cry or a growl of warning. if not for your aroma, he wouldn’t have even suspected you were here. 

determined to see through his intent, the deer marched forward with tense trepidation as he neared the bedroom. as not to startle whatever state you were in, he cautiously clicked opened the door, mouth ready to address whatever he saw but stopped short at the sight before him.

the room was in shambles. dressers knocked to the floor, some unable to flee without suffering the brutal strength of your claws. your claws that also seemed to lay claim on the sheets and pillows, strips of linen and faux feathers littering the floor. and then there was you.

gaze starved with lust darted toward the doorway where louis’s tall figure stood. inherently. you’d picked up on the intruder with your daze, but the familiarity had settled the rage before you could act on it. it hadn’t taken long for the concern to vanish, thoughts slathered under the thickness of your slick as your fingers worked furiously at your wet passage. you’d long given up on rearranging your nest to avoid the wet spots, just adding more to the mess under you as you withered in your own release. 

you had one ear keen to the approaching steps, distantly aware of the voice calling to you. but the distraction of fucking yourself on your own digits won the larger part of your mind as a frustrated groan hissed behind your clenched teeth. it was never enough, over a hundred hours of it never being enough. 

not deep enough, not fast enough. not thick enough. 

without proper satisfaction, your heat refused to ebb away, drawing it out like a sick game at your expense. 

and in your final hour, it seemed as though your prayers had been answered. the divine showing you mercy in the form of a bewildered herbivore. 

it calmed a sliver of your consciousness to finally have a fresh taste of his scent. you’d long overpowered it after the first day. and you’d been too weak to travel past the bed room to find other sources of the earthy musk. 

louis, the poor soul, hadn’t moved from his spot. still overwhelmed by the picture you must make. did deers even go into heat? fuck, the answer hardly mattered now. you were the one suffering and you desperately needed him to do something about it. 

you eyes captured his, pleading with a sharp whimper for him to act on this unbearable pain. the creature before you likely would inseminate you properly as nature requested, but it was male with a sizable cock. wet pulses of slick soiled the fingers inside you just at the thought of the power thrusts taking you from behind. 

“lou, please. please please please.”

please fuck me. please mark me. please claim me. 

any and all of the above would do as long as he finally acted instead of just staring. prepared to take point, you crawled, hobbled on your knees, movements jerky with the intrusion of your hand still between your legs. 

ultimately, you removed the soaked appendage, absolutely dripping with your ichor as you reached out to the male. “help me.”

your final plea must have appealed to some baser than his cognition as the deer finally approached the bed, nose flared wide. incompatible or not, the obvious scent of a desirable female before him was enough to dilate his pupils and shoot blood towards his lower half. 

the back of his hand carefully edged the side of your face as if testing. unsure of how to pass it, you settled for nuzzling the first touch that had not been your own in days. your wantonness submerged with a surge as you slithered your tongue along his digits and brought them into your hot aperture. you hoped you looked like every bit of the slut you felt like. 

and by the sudden gesture of his opposite hand connecting with your neck and shoving your face first onto the bed, you assumed you hit the mark. he didn’t kiss you as he lowered his head, too mindful of your feral state and instead licked a wet stripe against the fur of your nape. the way you suckled gently at his fingers, mindful of your teeth, spoke more about your mindset but he wasn’t willing to push it further than that. 

“i’ll take care of you, don't you worry. you should have called me earlier,” he chided.

you tried to apologize, over the weight of his fingers in your mouth and the ones now absent from your neck as they slid up your slick near your cunt and down to the knuckle. this was what you needed. fingers angled just right to reach depths denied to you for days.

mouth still perched at your neck, louis whispered hot words of reassurance as he grinds against his pumping fingers. uncaring of the speech, but very cognitive of the breach, you roll your hips eagerly into the undulation. it did wonders to your libedo to feel the swollen member in his pants, greedily wanting him to give up this futile attempt to prepare you. you’d been ready for his cock for hours and would not be made to wait any longer. 

blindly you reached back, hands dragging trails of your slick against the fabric as you desperately tried to grasp at the labels. hissing at your attempts, louis unceremoniously snatched his hand from your mouth and tackled the fastening with an equally fervent but with more coordination.

his hand parted your folds sloppy to coat his hands before slicking up his cock. acutely aware of your body submissively laid out in presentation, louis wanted to ingrain this memory in his head. that he, a herbivore, would bring you pleasure in such an exposed moment. 

grasping at the met of your backside, he guided his cockhead toward you entrance, sharing your pleased groan as he pushed in. what he was feeling now was nothing like previous bouts of passion he’d shared with you. each one was as adventurous and ambitious as the last. 

but this. this was pure rawness. He had barely bottomed out and your eyes were already rolling back in pleasure, salvia leaking from your open mouth with nothing there to stimulate it. idly, he returned his fingers there, gasping in surprise when your lips immediately sealed around them. 

whether or not his body was truly affected by your spike in arousal, the placebo effect of seeing his lover so kindled drove him to adopt a vigorous tempo. your body trembled under the onslaught, easily overwhelmed from the lack of a proper fucking that you needed it the most. it feed deliciously into his ego as he utterly dominated you with every smack of his hips against the curve of yours.

god, you were wailing. cries so sweet with desperation that it nearly swelled his heart to impact. he’d been waiting for your hands to make their descent on his antlers. the typical slow teasing and glide of your fingers before grasping, traded for a rough capture as he anchored yourself.

a past state of him would have cooed and showed more attentiveness, but the present version knew what you needed and increased the tempo. your brain was completely fogged over with pleasure, unconscious to anything and everything but the cock pistoning inside of you. 

he wondered if you even knew who was giving you this greatest pleasure. the thought of being replaced, even in your mind, surged him to speak. 

“filthy carnivore cockslut- excuse me, herbivore slut,” he barked harshly against her ear, body bowed to follow the curve of your back. his hand dug into the flesh of your buttock, squeezing and kneading .

“your own kind just couldn’t do it for you, so you decided to cross over and play a dangerous game. now look at you, practically hanging off my cock like a lifeline.” blood drummed forcefully through his veins and his muscled clenched through the efforts but his desire to conquer overruled all else. 

his fingers curled into the fur between your ears, tugging none too gently to bring your head up. “tell me. tell them all who’s cock you prefer?”

a high pitched whine preceded your answer but what he wanted eventually left your tongue. 

“fuuuck- you lou. always you. i need you cock. it's everything i want.”

your body bobbled uncontrolled against his mounted thrust as he released your head to hold your hips steady with both hands. he could feel the seeded swelling at the base of his cock and he needed you to break before he did. so he takes you harder, harder than he’s ever did before. promising aches that will linger on your body for days to come. 

it all came together beautifully the moment your orgasm broke up. he watched enthralled as your body seized unlike anything he witnessed before as your cunt fluttered around your release. not far behind, luis transitions to shallower drives as he grinds into your core, sneaking in a sloppy few more thrust before losing himself in his release. 

the walls of your cunt continued to clenched around him as in expectation for something additional he couldn't provide. hazily, he tried to place the absent mechanism but the sight of your relaxed body won over as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. 

a soft pained whimper escaped you, high and keen enough for him to weakly scramble for the source. but you seemed to delegate your own solution, body squirming backwards into his chest, hand gasping at his cock from between your legs to nestle it back home within your cunt. with a final reassuring squeeze around him, you slipped into a hazy sleep, body overcome with exhaustion. 

chuckling tiredly, louis tried not to disrupt the first bout of rest you probably had in days as he tried to use his foot to drag his pants into reach. when they were close enough, he fished out his phone from one of his pockets.

it was hardly dinner time. still a fresh start to the weekend. 

perphas he would call in an impromptu break for the drama club. something told him you would be keeping him occupied for the foreseeable future.