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slowd1ving · 3 months ago

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✦ III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE

'It was an accident. “I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?” Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end. The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above.' • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is) wc: 11.9k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

‘If man’s hour were to come, no one could escape it: not the brave, nor the cowardly. In the case of the city-state of Metis—referred to by romantics as the ‘Eroded Kingdom’—its collapse was widely regarded as inevitable. Frankly, as al-Ghazali pointed out in his ‘Fall of Empires’, Metis was inherently doomed to fail from its intrinsic characteristics: military hubris (relying on the susceptible and corrupt polemarch Aetos in the final decade of the kingdom’s existence); economic failure (due to the recessions Aha created and failed to mitigate); the subsequent loss of capital, and perhaps, most poignantly, its alienation of alchemists and increasingly alarming anti-heretical laws which provoked regional rebellions that soon spiralled into the so-called ‘Scholar’s March’ of 786 of the Attican Calendar, or year 352 of the Amber Age¹.

Who could’ve predicted that the citizens could grow so united in the face of such tyranny? For years the Metisians had endured the brutal taxation, the reforms in education, and the yokes of the cult-like Elation—the catalyst could only be the mass executions and disappearances that occurred the year prior the March. Of course, scholars like Ignis the Argumentative would insist it was the sudden disappearance of capable officials that set the cataclysm into motion—but further examination by other contemporaries reproached this interpretation as there was no real policy difference between the lawmakers in terms of addressing both long- and short-term triggers that led to the fall of Old Metis, as Antiquus the Elder points out in his ‘Treatises of the Archipelago’².

Now, a millennium later, New Metis continues to repeat its historical mistakes from a bygone age—continuing legislation to heavily restrict and outright ban certain schools of thought. For most of the New Metis citizens, this isn’t an issue; but this begs the question, when will it be a problem? Tyranny has not been redefined—it’s still hiding in New Metis today, under the smiling masks of your politicians! Wake up, New Metis!’

— Inana, P. (1433 2AA). Civilisation: Modeling Metis as a continuation of a failed empire. Journal Politik, 47 (3), 101-110

. 　⁺ ✦

Like all days, the pills were particularly hard to swallow. Chalky, bitter—a tepid medley of medicine that neither made you more energetic nor erased the hangover of the liquor still remaining in your system. It was an unfortunate cocktail: vitamins and painkillers tossed from a drugstore shelf with no regard for its expiry date but rather the price and time you were running out of.

It was a tepid day, that day was. Humid streams of vapour clung to the asphalt as you stumbled out of the store with a plastic, rustling bag slung onto your wrist hurriedly—reusable coffee cup grasped tight in one hand, the dose of tablets clutched painstakingly in the other. It felt like a rush to work, and perhaps it was; this day was like all others, in hindsight. For others, the routine mundanity of your life might’ve been hellish; for you, however, the brimstone and fire had long faded into a tired cliché, where all the impact of your suffering trickled into a steady background hum.

There was a sort of beauty in the aches and pains of your life—not in the pretentious way, not in the nihilistic way—but rather in the sense that one might feel a brow raise at the sight of a pattern embroidered delicately into cloth. If you were to give a less quixotic analogy, it would be the satisfaction of a computer programme doing its job: lines upon lines of code melding seamlessly into a never ending loop with no errors.

Yes. Comfort came in the shape of these grey roads, these monochromatic buildings, and the stink of pollution on your way to your monotonous job. Comfort came in the ritualistic bread (drugstore painkillers) and wine (bitter, cheap coffee) that you partook in each morning after Friday. Comfort came in the perfunctory, solid thump of sole against pavement; the cat you’d passed by for the past month; and the worn earbuds that were slowly reaching the limits with their tinny quality and exposed wire.

It was a painful life. It was a painless life.

Tragedy seeped in through the sterile nitrile of your gloves. Tragedy ghosted its fingers over your polyester lab coat, and tapped on the clear plastic of your goggles. Tragedy weaved through the tired yawns as you spun on your stool and waited for the centrifuge to settle to a halt. Maybe if you crossed your fingers enough, the seconds would pass by quicker, and maybe there’d be something decent in the cafeteria. Well. It was never worth the money, but then again, there was nothing to save for. No occasions to buy nice clothes for. No particular want or need for holidays.

No one to treat, either, not even the nice old lady in the apartment next to yours. Not anymore, at least.

You sighed, and the matter in the Petri dish sighed with you.

And thus, a sense of purpose continued eluding you—but so did any profound pain. This was ordinary, as an achromatic existence like this didn’t stand out in the grand machine, and you didn’t think it ever would. That was fine. That was expected. In fact, it was downright comforting that you wouldn’t particularly matter in the long run.

(Is it truly an anodyne, like you make it seem? Where is the solace, when your teeth worry at your lips as you gaze at human connexion?)

You lied. You lied, but who would persecute you for your sin, when the sin was merely doubt about your reality?

Like all other days, it began with a healthy dosage of denial, and perhaps that is what led to the events that transpired.

. 　⁺ ✦

In retrospect, it was practically expected that your tired life would beget yet another tired cliché.

There was something completely unoriginal in the series of misfortunes that befell the proletariat salaryman (read: you). In novels, movies, and the occasional game, the most ordinary of souls stumbled across a situation that chose them. For once, someone in their weary lives had need of them; not as a pushover, nor a lackey, but someone courageous and brave who became a hero. Forums and comments oft scorned these overused plotlines—and you agreed, of course—but it was an interesting premise to think about.

“There’s a survivor on the third floor—”

Still, no matter how intriguing the promise of escape from the mundane was, it was pointless. It wouldn’t happen.

“Hey— can you get up? Blink if you can hear me, alright?

The accident in the lab was almost poetic. Of course, when a protagonist encountered an explosion in their place of work, there was always an accompanying montage that indicated something was wrong. Whether it be the change in key in the background chords, or a close up of cracking machinery, the audience got some sort of closure as to why. Was it fate? Was it the cruel machinations of man? Was it just an unfortunate accident?

“We need oxygen here—he’s going into shock! Help—you—get a gurney immediately!”

But actually, there was none of that fanfare for you. Just a sluggish warmth that crawled from your limbs and back into your heart, from limbs far too cold to move. No, not cold. You simply couldn’t feel them—much like when a body part suddenly fell asleep on you.

If you scrunched your face a bit, you could smell the acrid wisps of rubble: paint chips and stone all congealing into an antiquated scent. You couldn’t exactly see, but maybe that was for the better.

“What’s happen—” Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth: heavy and contorted as you awkwardly sounded out your question. An explosion? A gas leak? A mine that somehow went off? There was something wet dribbling from your mouth; tasting like white hot iron, seeping past your aching lips. A hero would know. A hero would have that information playing out panel by panel while they bled out, farewells and anguish for their loved ones already melding into the fabric of existence.

Ow.

“Shh, don’t talk, okay? We’ll get you out of here, alright?” There weren’t any reassurances for your state. No ‘you’ll be okay’, no ‘stay with me, alright?’. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, but it was in that moment when you wished you were—dropping out before doing your degree and doctorate, keeping far from the lab, and holding on to your life with blissful ignorance on your side.

You opened your mouth.

“No, you don’t need to say anything, alright?” The voice was kind, you noted drowsily. If not a little clumsy, swaddling you in a foil blanket like some overgrown child. Well. You couldn’t see it, and neither could you feel its texture, but you could feel your limbs lolling this way and that way at the movements—like some grotesque, decommissioned marionette.

At least it didn’t hurt.

“Thank you,” you whispered. There was nothing outrageous about your last words. Like the rest of your life, the syllables were as ordinary as they came. A quiet beginning. A quiet end. There was nobody to say goodbye to, nobody to wait for past the veil.

It was an accident.

“I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?”

Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end.

The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above.

. 　⁺ ✦

“Hey, wake up.”

Death came in the gentle touch of a rolling breeze; riding on its coattails was the disembodied laughter of a child, alongside the kiss of three words that stirred your sleep-crusted lashes. Death seeped into the loamy scent of petrichor: soaked past the balmy fragrance of wildflowers and grass, against the clean soap of freshly-laundered linen. Death trailed its sepulchral fingers past the damp ground cradling your slumbering body—rustling and tugging at the jewel-toned robe draping your limbs that rose and fell with your chest.

“How peaceful,” you murmured, and the mouthfeel of the words was as crisp as water straight from a burbling brook. Copper no longer defiled your lips, and neither did the burning heat of your dying syllables. Rather, cool air replaced the oily blood that slid across your tongue mere moments ago.

Had you trespassed the veil warding life from death?

Peeking at the haze hanging over your head, something had clearly gone wrong with your passage to the afterlife. No, was it even an afterlife? Clumsily, like a foal stumbling on its hooves for the first time, you sat up shakily—to find your limbs sprightly and healthy, with none of the gelid quality you’d felt before you woke up. In fact, your head was clearer than ever: not a hint of any throbbing in your temples.

Even the very breeze felt different: fuller, yet decidedly more empty.

In hindsight, it was likely shock that delayed your registration of the very obvious problem at hand. Rolling, verdant fields aside, the firmament stretching from horizon to horizon shone bright with two heavenly bodies. Were you seeing double?

“Two suns,” you muttered, squinting at the brilliant sky. Brilliant, though it wasn’t blue like you’d expected—but a more melancholy array of hues, even with the twin bodies illuminating the vast canvas. Two suns, an unfamiliar sky, and alien constellations littering it. “Where the fuck am I?”

Great. Wonderful. A new headache had presented itself, because clearly you were no longer on Earth—which now begged the question, where were you?

Or, more poignantly, who were you?

The first law of thermodynamics proposed energy was neither created nor destroyed, simply transferred from one form to another. In turn, perhaps it was less surprising that you’d reawakened in another form—rather, the puzzling element was how this new vessel came to be. Its movements were familiar, its shape and flow of limbs, too, was an exact replica of your Earthbound form, but far less bone-weary than you had been.

You died. This you accepted.

You… reawoke. Passed on? Ended up in a coma? Got stuck in limbo? That was something far more difficult to fathom: flung into a world far removed from your own, it was hard to suppress the epistemic needs of a human.

Would it have been easier, being reborn into this otherworldly place, without any memories of before your death? Was it… normal, continuing existence like this? Were there any precedents?

What the hell was going on?

It was perhaps on a whim that you finally looked down, gazing at the lush field and your vivid clothes. Staring at the garb that adorned you, you neither recognised the cut of the material nor the rich dye that stained it—but you supposed that was par for the course when not even the sky looked familiar to you. That was expected.

The translucent, almost glass-like window that popped up over in your line of vision was decidedly not. Immediately, your focus snapped from the delicate embroidery right on to the rolling script appearing; a series of whorls and lines that somehow resonated with your tired brain.

“Rida mis vizenia,” you murmured as the syllables made themselves known to you, something you didn’t even need to translate manually. Your breath caught in your throat when the mechanical pronunciation loosened your fumbling tongue—like speaking your mother tongue after decades of disuse.

You squinted at the block of text, alongside the tiny mannequin depicting what you wore.

[Robes of Ambiguity (◼◼◼◼◼ Robes): a style of clothing popular among New Metis officials wishing to keep their exact station unknown. Neither this colourful palette nor this traditional embroidery belongs to any particular rank nor department, ◼◼ning those wishing to stay obscure typically favour these well-made garments; ◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼ ◼◼◼. There’s more to the wearer than meets the eye, you know? ◼◼◼◼ limited to those of high rank, thus regular civilians also enjoy wearing these for more special occasions.]

What was this, a game? An exasperated groan left your mouth at the new possibility—furious due to that, but also the lack of any helpful information given by these garments. No clue about your identity, only that these clothes were from New Metis. New Metis. There was nothing—no sudden recognition, no extra-heavy thump of your heart, and certainly not any memories from this new body that could point you in any direction.

The only thing that was truly helpful was the appearance of this floating, rectangular entity: two valuable clues had sprung from it, after all.

One: this interface could be the light that would guide you, providing its information was reliable. Game or not, it could very well be that this apparent saviour was some sick ploy, for whatever reason. It was a welcome sight regardless; you’d seen it countless times in various media, whether it be in novels or video games.

Still, you eyed the screen sceptically. Who was behind it, anyway?

Two: it appeared there was still information you weren’t privy to, judging by the error marks against the azure window. Or maybe this information was never intended for you in the first place; the screen blurred and glitched like it couldn’t wait to escape your view. Like cotton candy, its shape dissolved and formed just as capriciously in the rolling breeze: melting and undulating with virtual strands of data.

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as ◼◼◼◼◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

“That’s it?” you muttered incredulously. That was your face displayed on the pixelated screen, your name that kept ebbing and flowing from existence like an evasive childhood song. Even the damn clothing you donned had a more detailed log of information—and the important part was erased from existence.

It was the latter part that intrigued you most, unknown occupation aside. Common tongue. It felt right when describing the syllables leaving your mouth, even if you hadn’t realised you’d been talking to yourself in it for the past however many minutes.

With a long-winded sigh, you unfocused your gaze and it seemed the window sighed with relief too: fading out with nary a blip. If this was a game, clearly you weren’t the protagonist; no cutscene greeted you, not even an introduction to the error-laden system it seemed to have anomalously assigned you.

Honey tongue.

Tongue of thought.

They were important enough to mention, important enough that they were present in your profile without regard for anything else. But in a way, the lack of expectations was nice. A simple blank resumé, waiting to develop into a ‘you’. ‘You’ weren’t assuming someone else’s identity. ‘You’ were freshly dumped anew, without the ties to burden you to an overused plot and allegiance.

But that wasn’t a tangent to mull over at the moment. There were far more pressing matters to contend with.

Think. You were in the vast open country, with neither food, water, nor a map. Neither horizon boasted any traces of civilisation, which made your situation slightly more dire. No landmarks. No forests. No creatures either, but the abundance of flora called for pollination, right? Unless, of course, the rules of biology and physics have all been messed up… what’s the gravitational field strength on this planet…. is this even the same universe as Earth… does this follow video game mechanics or is it its own world… what does an atom look like….

Needless to say, the post-rebirth clarity hit you hard.

“Useless,” you muttered in common tongue—turned to a long string of foreign-yet-familiar profanity as you tried to switch back to your mother tongue. It was only after a tense concentration that the word ‘fuck’ breached your stumbling lips; though, by the reverence and relief in your voice, nobody would ever think you were letting loose imprecations in this serene landscape.

But that begged the question: to what were you saying useless to?

As it turned out, the hand rummaging through the luxurious fabric draped across you came back barren—utterly empty as you stared at the flesh, haggard.

There was no map, and you could forget about a compass.

There was no sustenance.

There wasn’t even a fly to pitifully leave your vacuous pocket.

Instead, the pulling and tugging of these sumptuous clothes revealed elaborate lines inking your roughened skin—colours melded into labyrinthine formulae you instinctively understood. Somehow, the intricate tattoos that wove against your dermis and shimmered expectantly—just like the window that faded in and out of view capriciously—resembled the long strings of formulae you’d derived and memorised for your degree and doctorate, to the point where blood dribbled from your nose each night. Metallic letters, meaningless without the painstaking effort behind them.

But…

Your brows furrowed. Inked upon your arms and torso, and likely extending to your very legs, were shifting chromatic designs that visually could not be the same formulae you knew. That was what anyone from Earth would say, but something in your gut told you to decipher and understand these complex designs on you—like the most delicate of embroideries on a magnificent tapestry, your body was covered in the most exquisite of patterns.

On your wrist, the characters grew incandescent as you clumsily sounded out the tongue of thought. This was neither the familiar shape of Earth languages, nor was it the common tongue you’d grown accustomed to—but something far more ancient, something far more unconstrained. It was guttural, it was refined: it was everything in between and outside of it as you mouthed the patterns on you aloud.

“◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼.” Equivalent exchange, you finally read out—and something rose within as collateral. It was neither your soul nor your life, but a warm, pulsing energy: enough to make you drowsy with its absence.

A prayer fluttered in the wind, just like the slow blink of your lashes as they fought to keep awake—heavy as they were from the price offered for your request.

“Want… answers,” you slurred, unintelligible to all but the concentric circles forming beneath you and seeping into your flesh. “Humans.”

And the world whispered back, hearing your supplication.

. 　⁺ ✦

It was with a dazed (though quite refreshed, you had to say) sort of stupor that you woke to the sound of light footsteps. Senses that had somehow been honed to a fine, sharp point now served you well as you stirred at the slightest tremors in the ground. In fact, the smallest of changes in air flow had already put you on high alert—but something was telling you to wait it out.

People.

Your plea had altered a predestined course.

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an a◼che◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

A◼che◼◼.

Change was good. Change would free you from stagnancy, even if you weren’t aware of its shift.

. 　⁺ ✦

She gave a sweeping bow: complete with the elegant curl of her hand and not a strand of fiery hair out of place. It was perfect in all its points—though you didn’t quite know why it registered as such. A perfunctory standard greeting… complete with, but not limited to, the hand gesture that typically denotes merchants or nomadic ones… The thoughts whirled incoherently alongside the fragmented cerulean window that intermittently, though no information of the woman before you appeared.

“Himeko, of house Murata, greets thee.” She spoke with the polite dialect of common tongue—the specific intonation in her words carried a query in return for her civility: who are you? Why are you here? Behind her was a sizable procession of wagons—or at least, what you thought were wagons. Their elegant shape was utterly unlike any of the crude wooden ones you’d seen; rather, colourful cars of various forms were interlinked. Almost like a train, if a train was pulled by beasts the size of a small hut: complete with a steely carapace and long, floppy ears that were scarily like a rabbit’s.

You swallowed. No longer could Earth be considered your point of reference.

This was not Earth. This was not Earth, so you gave the most basic of bows back—a hand placed gently on your chest sincerely, eyes fluttering closed—and hoped she didn’t take affront. This was not Earth, thus you didn’t quite know whether the abrupt guffaw she gave at your awkward greeting was positive or not. This was not Earth, therefore her continued introduction of being a caravan master meant little to you. Navigator and caravan master of the Blazing Trail, she’d summarised, though you were distracted by the glitching window that appeared promptly in the moment she spoke.

[Himeko Mura◼◼a. Navigator and caravan master of the Blazing Trail, a renowned nomadic force known for its astute inter- and intra-continental diplomacy. Its ◼◼◼ makes it almost like a private army, though none can ◼◼ hire it. ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼ she is utterly astute and a brilliant engineer.]

It was a name you didn’t recognise. Maybe if you looked through your games library on your old laptop, or pulled up each and every novel you’d read, maybe there’d be something similar—but at the moment, none of the information resembled anything you knew.

The caravan master was kind, if not a little eccentric. Her kindness came in the form of a seat round the elegant burner—the two suns had long since winked past the horizon, after all, and in their place shone a lonely moon.

It’s warm, you thought.

Her kindness also came in the round shape of a bowl of stew: handed unceremoniously into your fumbling hands by a hare-like creature who seemed all too accustomed to Miss Himeko bringing along strange things with her. The stares you received were curious, but not hostile—though one dark-haired man with frigid irises seemed to gaze at you as if saying ‘another one?’. And as unreliable as your system was, there were no introductions afforded to the other few nomads.

“Could you tell me about New Metis?” The meat was salty and gamey as you chewed and swallowed, accompanied by the flatbread that needed no ingredients save coarse flour and a clear liquid that was likely this planet’s form of water. In fact, the bread’s unexpected soft texture distracted you enough that you almost didn’t see Miss Himeko’s eyes pause right on your clothes.

Her blood-hued lips opened and closed, quite incredulously at that. From the cut of clearly Metisian garb, to the Metisian style of greeting, would you not have been the better authority than a nomad who flitted from place to place?

“Don’t get me wrong,” you continued in a more informal dialect, as did she after she invited you to sit with her round the small, contained fire. It flickered green in the engraved metal bowl, then a blazing azure. “I woke up and couldn’t remember anything, except my name and the name New Metis.”

Without an ounce of shame, it was far better to simply confess your shortcomings, rather than masquerade as something you were not.

“Better off than me,” the girl with cotton candy-pink hair sighed in solidarity. The tips of your fingers burned at the sudden acknowledgement—unused to any attention on you for prolonged lengths of time. “I didn’t remember anything after I awoke and Himeko found me, not even my name. I got called March 7th after the day I was dislodged from ice—funny how life works, huh?”

Does she make a habit of picking up amnesiacs or something? The fire crackled with your silent query. But before that, there was something in the girl’s words that gave you pause: lodged glaringly in her very name.

March 7th. March 7th. Spoken with the common tongue accent, but undeniably the same system of dates as Earth—why? Unless this place shared ties to your former planet, it was nigh impossible for the calendar to be the exact same.

Unless this really is a game. That would make more sense if this world was a creation of your past one; if small details were to match up with what you knew from Earth, then the evidence would no doubt point to this world being present in Earthen media.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t take this place lightly, even if it wasn’t real. After all, there were books that took place on Earth—and that alone didn’t make the planet fictional.

Nothing was out of the question anymore.

“March 7th?” you muttered, half to yourself, half-probing. “What does the calendar currently look like?”

The cost of figuring out whether Earth played a part in the formation of this place was a mere question and a few scraps of your dignity.

“Worldwide, the Amber Calendar is currently used—twelve months, three hundred and sixty five and a quarter days,” the man with those frigid eyes answered in a clipped, but not unfriendly tone. It was as if he was used to patiently explaining information to people, over and over—and for that he immediately became more useful than the stupid system windows.

Thank you, March 8th, you replied, silently.

“Split into twelve months? January, February and so forth?” you probed. The month names felt awkward to insert into the smooth flow of the common tongue, but there were no looks of confusion thrown your way. Well, shit.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he affirmed quietly—gaze turning slightly less guarded in the face of what appeared to be an idiot. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

Three hundred and sixty five days and a quarter. What an oddly specific number to assign, even arbitrarily. It seemed the developers had unconsciously used Earth as a point of reference, once more. Or maybe this world used the same metric to assign ‘years’, with the exact same length of time it took to orbit the binary pair in the sky. In that case, it would truly be an amazing coincidence, would it not, that the angular frequency of orbit and the distance travelled by this new planet was exactly the same?

“How long is a day?” It was your final question, one so earnest he had to scrap the thought of you purposefully asking stupid questions. In actuality, the passion in your voice was a very final verification.

“Twenty-four hours, with an hour being sixty minutes and a minute being sixty seconds.” Prompt and curt, in that melodious voice.

“Thank you.” And there was a smile on your face this time, so mellow and warm that he couldn’t help but duck his head back to his bowl at your sincerity. “Looks like I won’t have to relearn as much as I thought.”

“Ah— right,” he murmured, but the crack in his voice went unnoticed by all but his dinner. That, and the countless stars dotting the ever-changing sky.

“But New Metis still eludes me,” you sighed, dipping the spoon back into the broth. The utensil was weirder than the ones on earth—deeper and more cone-like in the centre, like a miniature ladle. It made savouring the complex flavours far easier; both piquante broth and the salty game were eagerly wolfed down by your hungry mouth.

“We’re pretty close to it now, actually, only around ten ro away.” The set of Himeko’s mouth was thoughtful as she unstoppered the carafe at her side, taking a large swig from it. Then, from an ornate tube hanging from her belt, she slid out a scroll of what appeared to be expensive parchment—revealing an intricate map of what appeared to be the side of a continent alongside a large archipelago. “New Metis is located—here, on that central island—and past the straits, the mountains on the continent signal the Borderlands. Well, it would be more accurate to say that these islands are all technically part of Metis—but the capital, New Metis, is located on the central one specifically. We’re currently on the northern isles.”

“I see.” You used the remaining carb to mop up the last of the stew in your bowl, scooping up what appeared to be aromatics—onion-equivalents, maybe?—and the last of the umami broth. “I think I’ll get more answers if I go there myself. Is there anything I should be wary of while I’m there?”

Ding! Something chimed, but you paid it no heed.

“Well, if you’re not a scholar, then regulations are a bit more lax. Uh, new legislation was passed quite recently, but it’s mostly just caution for nomads and merchants. If you’re completely new to the city—that is, if your memories of New Metis are completely gone, then the anti-heretical laws are pretty tough,” the man with inky curls rambled, causing your eyes to snap from Miss Himeko to his face in slight incredulity at his sudden talkativeness.

Ding! Ding!

“Anti-heretical?” you questioned, already feeling a headache form at the sudden onslaught of religion. “Could you expand on that?”

Ding!

“Ah, yes,” he cleared his throat, setting his bowl down by his side with an awkward clunk. “Um, strictly speaking, they’re colloquially dubbed anti-heresy—since the legislation condemns it based on more fraudulent grounds than religious, but everyone who’s ever stepped foot in New Metis—”

Ding! You subconsciously swatted the window away as you stared right at him.

“Dan Heng, get to the point before he falls asleep,” March 7th interrupted: looking at the man completely askance, as if asking ‘can you believe this guy?’.

“Uh, sorry,” he said sheepishly, with a self-conscious smile. Dan Heng. Dan Heng. The name was no more familiar than any other, but it was pleasant to sound out. “They’ve banned most magical arts in the city and the wider span of islands for several centuries now, actually—”

Ding!

Irritatedly, you glanced at your hand, only to find an updated profile shining against the back of your wrist. What—you squinted, feeling a tad bit more sleepy, before the rolling script faded into focus.

“—Heng, don’t just say magical arts without explaining what those entail.”

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an a◼che◼◼. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

But… the section in the middle was glitching particularly furiously, as though it were urgently trying to tell you something. You furrowed your brow. What?

Ding!

“Stuff like subverting from typical paths and orthodox elements—instead gaining power through sorcery, witchcraft and—”

Ding! Ding!

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an alchemist. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought.]

“—alchemy.”

You paused. You stared. The headache you’d been anticipating finally had its advent.

(Equivalent exchange.)

“I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about,” March 7th smiled reassuringly, but her beaming face felt more like a threat. “Do you remember what your job was?”

“I’m a sculptor,” you deadpanned, working your jaw. It was said on a whim, but who knew the wavering between an art or a chemistry doctorate would finally come in handy today?

Ding!

What… did that mean?

“Life price,” you murmured in concentration. Was that related to your death? Not only that, the sudden influx of knowledge made you dizzy. It seemed you’d go undetected as an alchemist for the foreseeable future, but what were the limits?

“Sorry, did you say something?” Himeko glanced to her left, but you only shook your head in defeat.

Was that what you did earlier? Summoned help by offering your energy as collateral? Was it also your life that you were offering in exchange? More importantly, what did it mean by life price? Did your meaningless death coalesce into boundless regrets?

Your heart throbbed.

“Here.” An elegant silver chalice nudged the delicate patterns on the back of your hands, and you startled—all with what you could only assume was a very stupid expression on your face. Dan Heng looked equally taken aback, fumbling a hurried apology on his lips in his lilting common tongue (“Ack, sorry—you just looked out of it so I thought you needed something to slake your thirst.”). A crescent smile formed briefly on your face as you stared at his honest face; far less world-weary than yours, far more eager. You accepted the goblet, running your fingers across its intricate engravings.

“Thank you,” you replied warmly, taking a sip of the sweet liquid within—some saccharine nectar that had a similar tartness to cherry. “It’s delicious.”

His fingers touched yours as he settled on your other side by the flames. He’s shivering slightly, you noted—a slight trembling that was out of character on this warm night. Well, you washed down the observation with drink thoughtfully, you always did run on the hotter side.

To business—you instead prioritised, which was to figure out what game you’d landed in exactly.

“Um,” you turned to Dan Heng as you munched on the fresh fruit set out, juice dripping down your fingers. Its flesh was orange and tender, seeping sweet across your skin as you tore into its fragrant body. Yum. Licking your fingers clean, it was perhaps for the best that you didn’t witness the rosy flush that spread across his face. After all, you were preoccupied with the equations that now heated the inside of your mouth—squiggling formulae now taking root on your tongue, all warm and fuzzy. “Have there been any heroes lately?”

“Hmm?” he started, fingers fidgeting against his own, well-crafted robes. “You’d… uh… need to be more specific than that.”

“People we look up to? People who’ve contributed to developing their nations? People who’ve made leaps and progressions in their industries?” Himeko interjected, and the three questions made you realise that this wasn’t a two-dimensional pixelated world, but a real one. Numbskull, you criticised yourself—of course something as ambiguous as ‘hero’ was wholly open to interpretation.

“Like…” you paused. How the fuck would you describe it? A protagonist? Someone who saved the world? This looked like an open-world RPG, so maybe— “...a travelling hero who took care of threats to the world? Alongside companions? Defeated evil entities? Was extremely well-known globally?”

Your questions were as unsure as Himeko’s face was.

“That’s not my expertise,” she answered hesitantly. “There are quite a few who fit the description, but perhaps you’re thinking of Akivili, the late founder of the Blazing Trail?”

Akivili. That name didn’t ring a bell either, but it couldn’t hurt to probe. “When… was the Blazing Trail established?”

“Ah… about a millennium ago,” she replied, somewhat abashed. Your brows furrowed—of course, transmigrating into a game didn’t necessarily mean you’d get into the same timeline as the hero, but a thousand years…

“Any prophesied heroes?” you questioned desperately.

“Hold on,” Dan Heng murmured beside you thoughtfully—tapping his fingers against his knee. “There’s a more recent one that makes more sense.”

“How recent is recent?” you deadpanned.

“Three hundred years ago, this time,” he furrowed his brows. Okay, but there was still hope if this still wasn’t the protagonist. “This ‘hero’ got rid of the Stellarons, the countless seeds of destruction from which spawned countless monsters, with his companions. Then, after his glory, he abruptly disappeared.”

It sounded like a classic conclusion—a hero returning back to their homeworld after the game reached its end. Of course, had you not died back on Earth, maybe you would have despaired more; this protagonist might’ve held the key to allowing you to go back home. But as it stood, his existence would only serve to inform you exactly where you were stuck.

“And this hero’s name?” you prompted. A slight foreboding trickled down your spine as you waited.

“Odysseus.”

Odysseus. Odysseus. Odysseus. It sounded unpleasantly familiar, not just because it was the name of a classical hero, but also—

“What’s the name of this planet, again?” You prayed it wasn’t so. With a head bowed in supplication, and fingers ardently crossed, you were the picture of devout want.

“Ouroboros,” he concluded, and it was then that a tear slipped down your face.

. 　⁺ ✦

Lament of Ouroboros. As the title suggested, the indie, open-world RPG narrated the woes of the planet and the hero come to save it—a format popular among most, if not all, adventure-themed video games. It was on a whim you downloaded it: clicking on the surprisingly well-drawn icon and quickly skimming the synopsis to escape your boring life for a bit. On forums it was well-known enough to be frequently discussed, but it didn’t have the widespread recognition to garner severe criticisms.

With a large mug of tea and an abandoned pack of sweets, you’d booted up that game one August afternoon—worn keys clacking smoothly against your fingers as you tapped out your name. It was a nice interface, you acknowledged while erasing all traces of ‘Odysseus’. The graphics may have been the standard open world fields, but there was something charming about the two cheery suns and pretty backdrop of the sky.

Your mouse selected the specialisation generator randomly, though you hadn’t paid attention enough to the animation apart from noting what appeared to be a sword, then a staff at one frame in particular. A warrior, and a mage, you observed in slight interest, but ultimately it didn’t matter what it picked.

Although, neither warrior nor mage appeared as your final selection: rather, a pair of ornate scales floated into view from the tranquil lake.

{Alchemist (S-Class) (hidden).]

“Cool,” you’d said at the time, clicking past the opening animation and into the story. Your brief fascination was just that—brief. The story was somewhat engaging, yet the plotline was saturated with tropes you’d seen time and time again in various games. A protagonist chosen to save the world, a home to return to, and companions that were pushy at best, and completely irritating at worst.

Maybe if you hadn’t played through and seen countless media like this, the plotline might’ve been more engaging—but for your tired, exhausted mind, this clichéd game was not unlike your clichéd, boring life.

It took the span of one afternoon for you to promptly delete Lament from your laptop, staring at the dregs of your tea in defeat. In any case, only the hero’s name and the actual title was retained in your disinterested memory: no lore, no plotline apart from what you could easily piece together based on context, and absolutely zero clue of the ending of the story.

“Are you alright?” March 7th’s shoulder bumped yours on the large landbeast. The carapace was surprisingly comfortable to ride on, if you ignored the large tusks coming from that furry thing’s mouth, and the perpetual death stare in its red eyes. “I know it’s hard waking up and not knowing anything.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, resisting the urge to bash your head in. “It is hard.”

Seriously, what the hell did you do to reincarnate into this shitty RPG?

. 　⁺ ✦

“Do you think he’s grateful for the new opportunity?” In HER deft palms, the distaff continued to spin as the maiden began the conversation. Everything started with HER—the youngest, the most rash, but also the most creative. As it were, the threads SHE spun were of highest quality; mixed with the most tragic emotions and the most joyful, but humans would never appreciate the work SHE did for them. “His life was rather miserable, was it not?”

“He should be,” the matron scorned. HER own fingers unravelled the spool, pressing HER rod to measure adequate life spans fairly—for SHE was nothing if not just. “He’ll never grasp just how much probability we had to sacrifice to tamper with his string of fate.”

“You know mortals. They’re never grateful, Lachesis.” The hag’s shears didn’t hesitate to cut the string where marked—HER blinded eyes needed not to see in order to precisely locate where the matron had allotted an end. After all, THEIR habits were known to each other from the very beginning of time, when the universe was still in its cradle.

“I was against this from the start, you hear?” Lachesis complained. SHE was the most cynical out of the three, or as SHE liked to describe: the most pragmatic.

“Yes, yes, yet you were the one who opened up communications to find a suitable vessel for his rebirth,” the maiden scoffed. HER words were callous and sharp, but they parsed directly into the heart of the matter: the Moirai were far more soft-hearted than they appeared,

“If I hadn’t, then I would’ve missed the opportunity for Atropos to owe me a favour,” Lachesis returned, turning back to HER ruler. Those who knew HER saw the abashedness in her bowed head and clenched fists.

“Ha. As if you weren’t also rooting for the prince still entrapped in stone,” Atropos cackled. HER gnarled hands were the only ones that paused in their duties as SHE wheezed with laughter; even as tears ran down HER wrinkled cheeks.

“He’s paid too much already. Who else will settle the balance of fate if not us?” Lachesis rationalised, waving HER rod against the cosmos in frustration. “I do not pity mortals.”

THEY were quiet, for once. Only the sound of thread against thread, the whish of a rod, and the snip of scissors seeped into the silence.

“This one too. He has also paid the life-price. He is entitled to lesser sacrifices to fulfil his whims,” the youngest commented for the final time, for Clotho enjoyed making the balance too. Both the beginning and end were HERS for this conversation.

The three watched on.

. 　⁺ ✦

In accordance with your propensity to live a quiet life, there were three things you came to accept: one, it was impossible to get your old life back, not just because of your death, but Odysseus and his irritating cast were long gone; two, venturing into the city of New Metis for anything prolonged was probably the stupidest move you could do, even if your status as an alchemist wasn’t obvious at all; and three, to live a new quiet life as a sculptor, your new priority was finding a place to live.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” the caravan master worried, golden eyes surveying you up and down. Her arms crossed over her loose white robes, sharpened nails tapping right against her skin—a dead giveaway for her thoughts that clearly questioned your capacity to fend for yourself. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her; finding someone fast asleep in the middle of nowhere was sure to cast doubt into their capability to stay safe. “There’s always open spots if you wish to travel with us.”

A quiet life. Awkwardly, you scratched the side of your neck, and the chromatic patterns on your fingers pressed warmly into your flesh. A quiet life, unlike the suffering of your past one. There was no debt to pay off this time, no shitty apartment nor landlord, and nothing to tie you to one place any longer. A quiet life, more idealistic and stable than the previous one. It was far past time to take a rest—in a peaceful paradise that you’d create.

A truly serene life. Were you to tread on the fiery path they did, you would not find the future you wanted. This you deduced not from the unreliable system, but the careful observations you’d made over the past day.

A quiet beginning, and a quiet end. You’d accept that. Thus, you bade the woman who’d rescued you a sincere goodbye filled with well wishes.

“Stay safe.” It was Dan Heng who spoke to you last, pressing a talisman with his cool fingers against your own, heated palm. The spherical, intricately carved bauble resembled glassy jade—a soft green just like his robes. Corded through the middle was a length of twine that formed a loop, one that you slid over your head. Coldly, it lay against the dip of your chest, peeking out from your exquisite garb and shining right against the almost-incandescent equations etched into your body.

The immediate acceptance of his gift made him flush—as did the evident trust you held in him. “I— this contains around ten minae, or about a thousand drachma. Breaking it down further, it’s around six-thousand obols, enough to get you board and food in New Metis for around two months if you’re frugal. Here—”

His thumb pressed into a specific etching on the jade: a snake that appeared to wriggle somewhat in invitation as you stared at it. Just like that, a shadow around a handspan wide appeared in front of you, then vanished just as quickly when he pressed it once more. This close, you couldn’t help but stare wonderingly at his face as he explained how to reach in and grab the exact sum of Metisian currency, how six obols were one drachma, a hundred drachma were one mina, six hundred minae were one talent, how a loaf of bread cost only one obol and so forth. He smelled faintly of mint.

“—and that’s how it works. You can store other objects in there as well. If you get in trouble or change your mind, go to the local bank and let them guide you to the designated vault when you show them this key; there’s a way to contact us from there…” he rambled, trailing off when you clasped his hand in yours.

“Thank you.” Perfunctorily, you performed the appropriate gesture of profound gratefulness—a kiss on a merchant’s index knuckle for his generosity—and watched his composed face melt into a stupid little smile.

A wolf whistle pierced the air from where a certain pink-haired nomad sat. “The rich young master’s got moves!” she cackled gleefully, and you laughed for the first time in months: so bright it was hard to imagine it came from you.

Your own face donned a drowsy grin—offering energy as a collateral once more. There were no flowers by the docks, after all, thus the bloom in your hands seemed to have been conjured from thin air. “One last thanks, Dan Heng.”

Thus, there was only one thing you left behind on the isle of Thasos: a flower, pinned against a robe fluttering wildly in the salty breeze.

. 　⁺ ✦

New Metis was cold, in the same way your parents were cold—one buried and frigid, the other gone with only debts left behind.

Objectively, the city was stunning. Ancient architecture entwined itself with more modern innovation, blending into captivating citadels that held the essence of the past and the painstaking strides towards the future. Everywhere you looked, massive structures housed scholars and extensive collections of books, while the public buildings and amphitheatres were bursting with symposia and teeming discussions.

This really is the scholar capital, you thought. Though, as you bit into the soft sesame ring you’d purchased at the toss of an obol, it seemed… stagnant. In comparison to the warm bread in your mouth, the metropolis could not be considered friendly.

“No wonder, if what Dan Heng said was true.” You licked the remainder of the sesame from your lips, washing them down with an orange-like sort of juice that had the rich sweetness of honey and the sharpness of carbonation. If the city truly was as restrictive as claimed, there was little surprise as to why the scholars and every other citizen seemed a bit standoffish. Though, you couldn’t deny that the students that you observed in their element seemed to be in the throes of joy (and pain) as they buried themselves in their work and studying—the quality of teaching in Metis clearly was a cut above the rest, even with the restrictions in place. “Corruption really is everywhere, huh.”

In the places of reading, the students crammed on tables with books piled as tall as them reminded you sorely of your own days of youth. Your degrees were displayed proudly in your tiny apartment, alongside a small plaque you’d bought on a whim that simply read doctor’s office.

The sudden thought made your heart ache. Where were those certificates now?

There was nobody you were close enough to, nobody to carefully place your belongings into a cardboard box—then stow it away in some corner of their hearts. Nobody would miss you, not even your estranged mother.

With a sombre expression, you thumbed through the tomes on the dark shelves. Synthetic methods and reaction mechanisms. Industrial and environmental chemistry. Inorganic and organometallic molecules. How far was this a creation of another? How far had the humans here developed on their own, outside the limits of a game?

Bitterly, you left the library and walked back out into the stifling streets: past the agora, past the bustling market stalls, past a scholar earnestly discussing philosophy with passersby. The streets were paved with achromatic stones that appeared to have centuries-worth of wear on them, yet still seemed as pristine as if they’d just been laid yesterday—thus your shoes remained clean and unscuffed, though your heart certainly wasn’t.

You… couldn’t stay in this city. Even if you put up a front and became an artisan, even if you assimilated into New Metis with your local clothing and perfectly accented common tongue, even if you decided to take back your chemistry certification in this world too, the sheer crowds and constant reminders that this was not Earth made you sick to your stomach.

Bile spilled over your tongue and tainted the honey-sweet remainders of your drink.

More accurately, it was the stares you garnered with the intricate formulae marking your skin. Though you wore their garb and spoke their dialect with native fluency, there was something clearly ‘other’ about you—enough that you didn’t even bother checking into a hotel, but asked around for an estate agent instead. Master of houses, etched carefully into the marble-like stone, was a welcome sight in comparison to the looks you’d received throughout the day. They weren’t overtly hostile. They weren’t, but the inherently elitist atmosphere and cold you’d felt in this arid climate answered for you.

Would you like to see the rooms in the synoikia near the plaza? A firm diagonal slant of your hand signalled no: the quick, but also local way of traders and merchants communicating in busy environments. How about a townhouse? In the end, you flatly asked the housemaster if there were any remote houses for sale—to which a hologram from a recording stone showed a house nestled right in the Borderlands, surrounded by forests with mountains cradling the structure. House was too modest; the architecture, like all the buildings here, was practically a work of art in itself.

Tense location at the Borderlands… remote location… universities located on the central island and concentrated in New Metis…

You suppressed the devilish smile on your face as you smelled a bargain. It was a triad of real estate woes: poor location, low demand, and even more poor location.

“Four hundred drachma is the asking price,” he offered with a tentative smile—less than half the market price for a box apartment in the metropolis. After even more haggling (in between maintaining a look of disinterest), the property was sold with twelve percent shaved off the already-bargain.

Score for the penny-pinchers.

In the end, you made one final purchase from New Metis. Two technically, bought for only one drachma and one obol.

The first was a set of chisels and a hammer. The second was a small wooden piece of wood. It was not a plank, nor an offcut, but had the perfect size for a plaque. A new doctor’s office, to carve in with painstaking effort and calloused hands.

It was crude, and somewhat ugly—etched first in English, then below in the curling script of the common tongue (which was wholly unsuitable for this type of woodwork)—but looking at it made your bleeding heart ache slightly less.

After all, it was your last piece of Earth.

. 　⁺ ✦

Retrospectively, it would’ve been wiser to spend several nights in the city and send necessities to your new home by courier. More pragmatic, if you would—easing into your life in a new world rather than jumping headlong into it. But unfortunately, it seemed you’d become more lax as you crossed the boundaries between lives: electing instead to take the high-speed rail right across the sea and into the Borderlands, with nothing but the clothes on your back, a money dimension pocket, and a crudely made plaque. And your hammer and chisels, naturally, as well as some Metisian street food that vanished far too quickly.

In fact, it was downright foolish to come to the Borderlands on your first day. Even the conductor stared at you in disbelief—though your clothing and your accent was purposefully as Metisian as they came—so you got the gist that it was even more fucking stupid to go as a complete newcomer.

Borderlands, remnants of monsters from the Stellarons, highly volatile region, most travellers typically make the journey in groups, you nodded as you pieced together the rough state of the area whilst watching the sea and land speed by. Was it recklessness that endowed you with the guts to arm yourself with only a map and your wits? Were you perhaps… turning into an imbecile?

Actually, it was neither. The combination of brimming energy (from the street foods you gorged yourself on) and the updated character profile had ignited a chilling sort of passion for experimentation that was hard to extinguish, even as you crossed into this life.

[Name: ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼, working currently as an alchemist. One of unknown origin, fluent in common tongue, honey tongue, and the ancient tongue of thought. Although practising alchemists typically require various apparatuses to perform transmutation and practise the law of equivalent exchange, ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼ is a bit unique in that his body is the medium for the price instead—rather than formulae in common tongue on paper, the tattoos he’s earned in the tongue of thought are far more effective. After all, he is the only alchemist to have survived the life ‘price’. The law of equivalent exchange for ◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼◼ specifically calls for energy, in return granting a ‘wish’. The larger the desire, the more energy will be depleted; but the most efficient ‘wishes’ involve transmuting one type of energy into another. Of course, a longer incantation—a more accurate incantation—will make the conversion less burdensome as well.]

So, quite literally, as long as you stayed fed and watered, you could transfer that chemical energy into explosive kinetic energy, or imbue weapons with heat or charge with the right ‘equation’. The Borderlands were yours for lab rat exploitation, essentially.

But the question remained—what were the limits?

And more importantly, how were the limits of these ‘wishes’ enforced?

You didn’t actually have to wait all that long to test out your abilities as an alchemist, though perhaps not in the way you’d expected. The journey to the house—with its own garden and goddamn pillars and stunning architecture—was far more uneventful than you’d anticipated (read: hoped), thus in a last ditch attempt, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

It really wasn’t on a whim, though. Seeing the sparse rooms, as well as a profound lack of a bed to sleep on—the binary suns had begun their slumber too, after all—it was perhaps pragmatic rather than foolish that you built up the long chant in the tongue of thought. More accurate, more accurate, you sweated, tracing the length of the equations up your arms and on your chest by using the small looking-glass attached to your belt.

“◼◼◼◼◼◼ ◼◼◼◼,” you finished the incantation, feeling warmth seep from your limbs as the payment. “Refurbish.”

It wasn’t the wisest move, not at all. But who could blame you, when the materialised gauzy fabrics against stone walls, as well as the jewel-hued rugs, looked so darn nice?

Well, before you collapsed, of course—with a dopey grin on your face nonetheless. Those two things were all you could appreciate before you got totally knocked out.

Thus, the limits were deduced to be large-scale summonings, enforced by a good night's sleep—noted cheerfully by the alchemist who peeled his face off a brand new ornate rug in the morning, rather than the bed he’d sacrificed his consciousness for.

. 　⁺ ✦

When you unstuck yourself off the fastidiously complex rug (skin imprinted with its thread patterns, since you slept corpse-like in a single position), you almost didn’t recognise the once sparse house. To be more accurate, the intricate tapestries and glitzy trinkets, vases and decorations were familiar to what you pictured; but placed in conjunction with the stone walls, delicately carved pillars, and spacious, airy rooms took them to a completely new level.

The wish was thorough, you had to admit. With your feel pattering against the almost-glassy, colourful tiles, you took in the area where you woke up: the kitchen. Dried bundles of herbs hung from copper-hued rafters, perfuming the air with aromatic fragrances and balsamic scents. Past sage cupboards were conjured utensils that gleamed with a disused sort of enthusiasm that made your brows raise. I didn’t even think of these, you noted, flinging open the cupboards by the elegant cooker to reveal stacks upon stacks of charming ceramics and everything else you might possibly need to exist in the kitchen. Even the icebox, a large storeroom imbued with enchantments above its doorway (the Metisian equivalent of a modern refrigerator) was packed with meats and vegetables that looked visually dissimilar to Earth’s, but were somehow familiar to your mind.

It raised a question—if you ate food you conjured, would it not just be an endless loop of energy?

More importantly, would you even need the money still stored in the jade bead around your neck?

On the other side of the open-plan ground floor was the living area, strewn with various oddities and memorabilia. Two bookshelves stood proudly in a rich walnut colour, creaking under the weight of various books you’d skimmed in those reading-places back in the city. There were also titles you’d never come across before, but were sure to read on the plushy couches strewn with soft, patterned blankets and jewel-toned cushions. It was cosier than anything you might’ve desired, especially with the dim amber lamps perched on the dark-stained low table and the vibrant, low-hanging mosaic ceiling lights that looked like delicate baubles dropping from the heavens.

You ignored the stairs that spiralled to the top floor—to where there were a few rooms still detailed on the floor plan—since they were likely to contain the same levels of decoration both the kitchen and salon had. Rather, you tiptoed through the sunny corridor leading to the eastern part of the sprawling home: gauzy, rich-hued curtains brushing lightly past your skin. There, past the stunning mahogany door was a bright, vast studio—complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the extensive gardens and the distant mountains, as well as all the tools you could possibly need for sculpting, alongside the hammer and chisels you’d purchased just yesterday.

For a while you simply stared at the scenic landscape—nothing you’d ever seen on Earth, not when every day consisted of grey asphalt and ash-coloured buildings. There was a damn pond in your backyard, with a delicately wrought table and chair set at the edge. Had you imagined this too?

In any case, it was in a slight daze that you finally checked out the rooms upstairs; two guest rooms with large beds, desks and wardrobes; a large bathroom with picturesque views of the distant horizon and forests, as well as a massive tub; and finally, your room.

How did you know it was your room?

It looked lived in. Just like downstairs, a massive bookshelf lined the wall adjacent to the large windows: gauzy curtains fluttered over the tomes and let in the cool, fresh breeze. A large rug decorated the panels on the floor and slipped beneath your bed: a massive, round thing that looked like a jewel-bright, appetising cloud to simply dive into. And past the bed, an imposing armoire was stuffed to its seams in outfits both similar to the ones you were wearing (intricate, soft garments with detailed embroidery and vibrant palettes) as well as simpler, yet extraordinarily well-crafted, garments.

In essence, you were set for life. This space was an ideal, permanent vacation home: even if it were in no-man’s territory, with monsters sullying its landscape. You intended to sequester yourself until you died once more—with a book laid on your chest, a mug of tea still on the table, and a fat bee bumbling past as you closed your eyes in peaceful, eternal slumber. That was the ignorant bliss you would afford yourself: the you who got a break in this idyllic game after you passed on.

Perhaps this form of living would’ve been considered lamentable back on Earth. You, with the laurels of being a doctor in your profession, now spent the afternoon languidly draped over a soft couch simply reading. There were no samples to analyse, no reports to check, no research to work on. In fact, it was only a week later that you finally ventured out the sprawling gardens and into the forests. It wasn’t to check out the academic fruits of the bustling metropolis, nor was it to analyse the chemical makeup of the soil and flora—the most you’d done for that was conjuring some compost to make your new vegetable garden more acidic.

No, setting out into the forest was more to idly take inspiration from these pulchritudinous sights, and maybe fight a few monsters to learn how real combat worked in this open-world, combat-based RPG.

Maybe you’d get lucky and find some clay to practise sculpting before you found stone to work on. It was a forgiving medium, after all—soft and supple under your hands, rather than cold and flawless. Any mistakes could be worked away, any blunders would fade in the face of the cool, wet earth, and if you polished your rusty skills, you could make it into a job—it was a solid cover to disguise your use of alchemy.

As the grass with no apparent paths was trodden on (for the first time in perhaps decades), the loamy scent of petrichor and foliage quickly filled your senses; it was so tranquil, in fact, that your hold on your metal pail grew more absent-minded as you swept a large stick this way and that to brush longer plants aside. If you unfurled the slightly-outdated map you’d paid a sesame ring for, there was… a river nearby, right?

You squinted at the parchment, still unheeding of the warnings you’d received about this forest. With a full belly and over twelve hours of sleep, there was a dormant energy that was somewhat overshadowed by a bumbling drowsiness: only dispelling when you heard the sound of running water.

Clay—your eyes lit up like beacons, and the formulae on your body seemed to glow as you rolled the sleeves of your loose cream shirt up, as well as the soft material of your navy trousers. It was casual, to the point of being somewhat scandalous—nothing like the classy drapes of fabric that constituted every day in New Metis.

Well, you thought with a smug sort of vehemence. This is the Borderlands. Thus, there was an unseemly sort of flippancy to your gait as you trod in the direction of what you hoped was the river, pail and stick in hand as your shield and sword.

It was, perhaps, far too easy to find the softer clay deposits on the bank of the river; prying into the earth above to reveal the slick medium beneath and depositing it into your bucket. In fact, life had been going so smoothly in the past few days that you were lulled into a sense of false security.

Had you forgotten how your life was prior to your death?

You’d gotten complacent as you dusted yourself off—shirt and pants plastered with a gorgeous mauve, though you paid it little mind. It would be hell to clean out, unless you simply dubbed these the ‘work clothes’. In any case, your biggest worry currently was the staining of your conjured clothes—a far cry from the life and death you’d experienced.

It couldn’t simply be attributed to accustomising yourself to mundanity—no, maybe you were a bit of a reckless idiot as you strolled along the banks, sunning yourself with the binary stars in the heavens. There was not a care in the world as you closed your eyes to the Borderlands in favour of merely existing. Listening to the clear sounds of water cascading over riverstones. Feeling the clean breeze wash over your bare forearms and wet legs. Tasting the powdery, thick scent of clay after practically burying your face in it as you dug the mauve medium up.

But like all good things, they eventually had to end.

You weren’t foolish enough to keep turning a blind eye when you sensed danger.

The leaves stirred. The waters vacillated—equilibrium was no longer an option. The forest, like a stricken pulse, seemed to constrict around you; the very wind took shallow breaths against your skin.

Please, the Borderlands seemed to whisper. Get out while you can.

Your stick tapped a rhythm against the soft mud—partly passively sinking, partly actively getting dragged into what was quickly becoming quicksand.

For a brief moment, everything stilled—before you heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming right your way. Mentally, you began the long chant… tongue of thought for strengthening…. equation for charge… Coulomb’s law….

From the water too, came a sudden rush of volume flung to the skies—though the fleeting steps reached you first. A flash of blond. Your eyes met widened, almost-neon coloured irises. The stench of blood, too, filled the banks—before he crashed right into you, barrelling you against the rough bark of a tree whilst desperately clasping a hand over your mouth.

“Niedra; ćhiho tu, albo ka arakhel,” he breathed, panic so thick in each syllable that you could only stare. It wasn’t the common tongue, but you instinctively got the message from his hushed cadence. No, wait.

Don’t panic, the words had ghosted over your dampened flesh. Quiet, or it’ll find us.

In a language so smooth that it sounded like song, like an intricate tapestry woven from gossamer, he’d conveyed to you panic, fear, and a camaraderie so primal that this partnership was instinctual.

“Don’t speak, and hold your breath,” he then urgently translated into common tongue, when you merely looked at him, unblinking. “The Borderlands are very dangerous.”

The sudden switch allowed you to figure out why exactly you could parse together the clear meaning in his silvery syllables.

“Xatarav,” you murmured. ‘I understand’, for it was not in a language you didn’t know. The language that had not seen use—the tongue of honey—had finally encountered one of its own.

But the surprise in his face—the questions imbibed on insatiable lips—went unnoticed by you, for ‘it’ had finally found you.

Water splashed against the tree where the two of you were pressed against—soaking into the bark, and seeping cold into the fabric of your shirt. You couldn’t see ‘it’ from your position, but you could see the behemoth reflected in those captivating eyes—towering in his sclera as the leviathan uncoiled from the depths of the now-raging river. It shook its mane out—webbed tendrils fanning out angrily as it swung its massive head this way and that.

A frigid sort of fear washed over you, leeching any sort of warmth that had remained in your limbs.

Well over forty-metres high, it was only its poor eyesight that prevented it from slithering round this tree and snapping the two of you up in its deadly snapping jaws—reminding you acutely of the thrumming iron that pumped deep in your veins, and just how easy it was to spill.

You were painfully aware of the fact your only emergency ally was covered in gashes and wounds, bleeding into the already-purple mess of your clothes. His breathing was unsteady and his pulse was arrhythmic, but his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that seemed to ask ‘what will you do?’.

Would you run? Would you sling his arm over your shoulders and somehow evade the lightning-quick serpent? Would you leave him behind?

Your grip tightened around the stick—interrupted equations leaving it with a slight prickly sensation, rather than the full extent of charge. He noticed the muscles of your arm clench in response to your urgent grasp, and he frantically slanted his hand diagonally in an abject ‘no’.

“Na ka umire,” you muttered, making sure he understood exactly what you were saying in his mother tongue. ‘I won’t die.’

And you wouldn’t.

Not today, not tomorrow.

You wouldn’t die in vain a second time.

. 　⁺ ✦

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sushirrrry · 6 months ago

Text

CELESTIAL | II. NEWTON'S THIRD LAW OF MOTION

7.1k words - on-going story

chapter one here

Chapter One. Fundamentals of Statistics.

I write a few problems down, a few definitions that seem to be a bit more of a challenge. My handwriting flies across the page as I write in a few calculations that would be helpful for the exam tomorrow. I'm not an expert on statistics, but I can problem-solve easily when it comes to mathematics equations.

Everything I look at makes perfect, logical sense when it comes in the form of equation and number sequence. That was the way I liked it.

And if there was one thing that I was good at, it was creating study sheets. While I didn't necessarily need it, I thought that there may be a time tonight during studying that someone does need it.

The possibility of that felt oddly exciting, but I tried not to think too hard into it.

I had made my way home after my two classes this morning. Grabbing lunch at the dining hall, I decided to bring it back to my apartment—just a salad, really—and watched a few episodes of The Twilight Zone on the sofa while I ate. I particularly liked the episode about the bank clerk that enjoys reading, but never has the time– it keeps my attention even though I know what happens in the end.

Chase had chosen to have his classes in the afternoon, I had classes in the mornings on Thursday's. We missed each other, usually, and then were home in the midafternoon together. On Thursday nights, it kind of depended on his schedule, we would normally order in some food and just kind of hang out together.

Lately, though, Thursday afternoons had started to turn into his night to go out with friends. I knew that he had class in the morning and had seemed to overlook this part of his schedule. He leaned more towards getting drunk with friends nowadays than what we had normally scheduled, especially last year.

But that was okay—it was fine. I was fine to study Thursday nights, and I wanted him to be able to have fun, if that's what he wanted.

My only problem was when Chase brought his friends around the apartment. This was the only part of our relationship that slightly bugged me, but of course, he shared the space. I just didn't enjoy this because his friends were horrid, and I would have just rather that they weren't involved at all.

Of course, I tried not to be too much trouble. I sat back and let Chase do what he needed to do—if that meant having friends over, I wanted him to do that. I wanted him to have the experiences that he wanted, and I knew that he would be courteous to me, as well.

But that didn't keep his friends from being major blow heads.

After I ate, I had finished watching some of my show, and decided to get a start on creating some questions to go over for the statistics course. I figured that at least getting the basics down for the exam would be good—even if it wasn't going to get her the A, I still wanted her to have a clear understanding of what was being asked so she could at least have a solid effort.

I'm sat at the small table in our dining and living space; it's not much, but we're able to use it for studying or having a meal together. I decided to sit outside of my bedroom to start, the light from the living room brightened it up – it was nice, quiet.

Until Chase and his friends have arrived over to our place. I have my headphones in, eyes averting to the three men as they walk in laughing, their voices loud now.

I notice that they have started to unpack a few bags from their trip to the store. There's some food, some drinks—by some, I mean, quite a few. I hadn't asked any questions about the plans for the evening, mostly because I wasn't really interested in whatever they were.

But I did keep looking up occasionally, seeing the cases of beer, the handle of liquor, and bags of crisps that were starting to grace our small kitchen.

Again, no questions asked—that was usually the best policy when it came to things like this. I decided to keep to myself, working on categorical sequences that would be used to study patterns.

Through my headphones, I can hear a bit of banter from the three of them—I don't know if they're trying to be quiet at all, but I can hear them clearly through the Mozart No. 23 in A Major.

"So’s he, like," The tall blonde one, with the very noticeable Liverpool accent, scoffs, "Gonna stay there all night?"

I can hear them beside me, but I'm just pretending that the headphones are blocking out all the sound. They aren't, but I pretend that they are for my own sake. Maybe focusing on the work in front of me will keep me distracted.

"That guy's totally brings the vibe down— we like never see him out or anything." The other guy says. His voice is quiet, but not quiet enough. "How do you sleep here with him? He's weird, bro. Like never talks."

I look up from the computer screen just a bit, just enough to see that Chase notices that I've heard what they're saying. Chase and I make eye contact for a moment; he shakes his head.

He noticed that I heard them, and that I'm able to continue to hear them. I scoot out from my chair—the one that I pay rent to sit in—before I move up towards the fridge to grab something to drink.

They're staring at me now that I've moved, almost like it's an anomaly to them.

That's the thing—Chase has been my roommate since last year. We were paired together randomly; I didn't care who I roomed with because I felt like I could get along with anyone if it really came to it. I wasn't really an issue, I didn't think. I was quiet, kept to myself. I didn't think that I was necessarily a problem.

Chase was extremely kind– he was a bit unsure of himself, maybe testing out the waters of who he wanted to be. We got along fine, he was a bit shy when he first arrived, too. That's how we became pretty good friends. Maybe we didn't have all of the same interests, but I knew that we looked out for one another.

But then things changed when he started to meet people who wanted to go out every night, and who were drinking to get drunk. And do other things, I guess.

Chase never brought anyone home or anything, which was good– well, for me. Maybe not him, I wasn't sure. We didn't talk about that.

His friends, the drinking, the going out– it didn't stop Chase and I from being friends. It just made me a bit uneasy when he's brought his friends to our apartment that we shared.

His friends weren't my friends.

His friends were on the football team and went out to pubs to find pretty girls. That just wasn't where I was, and it wasn't what I was directly focused on in school. Girls weren't interested in astrophysics, I seemed to find.

Chase's stare on me doesn't go unnoticed as I look back from grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge. I make my way back to the small table, starting to pack up the papers I had spread around it.

"Harry, you remember Hayden and Shawn, right?" Chase looks at his friends and I can tell he's trying to mitigate like always. He looks back at me with a bit of sadness reigning in his face, "We'll leave you alone, H, you can stay and study."

I shut my laptop, knowing it's much easier to find a more comfortable spot elsewhere.

I had to be at the library soon, anyways.

"No, it's fine," I say, a bit quiet as I watch his friends grumble under their breaths "I'm meeting someone anyways."

The tall blonde with a middle part and a denim jacket scoffs out a laugh before I feel a rush of anxiety flood my upper chest as I can feel the judgement and overwhelming sense of unease. I clear my throat, grabbing my laptop and loose papers before heading towards my bedroom.

"Wait," I hear Chase following me, but I just make my way to my room in a few strides anyways. I start to pack up a bag of my belongings, eyes looking up at my friend. "Why don't you stay here and drink with us? You don't even have to drink, really. It'll be fun. Maybe they can, I don't know, get to know you."

"I'd rather not get to know them," I tell him honestly. My lip pulls into my mouth, his exterior shows a bit of defeat as he stands inside the doorframe. "They're pricks, Chase."

Chase looks over his shoulders at his friends who have started to make themselves at home. They've started to take already opened liquor out of our cabinets, putting them on the counter space around the unopened ones. They take bowls out and plates and other things that are also mine but it's easier to stay quiet.

"Just keep everyone out of my room, please." I tell my friend before I pick my bag up from the floor. I grab all of the statistics papers from the desk, placing them in their own folder.

Chase stands at the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, keeping conversation. "You meeting with Niall, then?"

Niall was one of my closest friends in uni. He was majoring in engineering, but we had a few math classes together which had made us grow close. We had the same type of love for our education; wanting it to be the best we could be.

We were competitive with grades, in a fun way. We liked knowing how everything worked and figuring out problems together.

Niall and I had gone to a few parties and events together in the past– we had both understood that wasn't our scene very quickly.

And that's why we were friends.

"No," I shake my head. "He's busy tonight. I think has some sort of club fundraiser. Don't really know."

Chase's face changes a bit. I look up to him when he squints at me, his lips quivering a bit into a smile. It's a bit unnerving when he does so, and it's just a bit confusing at first.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, grabbing my shoes that sit over by the closet to put on my shoes.

"Is it someone I know? The person you're meeting?" Chase doesn't attend back to his friends, and only seems to be entertained by what I'm doing. I blink a few times at him, wondering his angle.

"Uh," I think a few times over at how Chase could have possibly known Stella, "How would I know? Maybe. It's just a girl from my statistics class. Needs some tutoring for our exam tomorrow." I throw my bag over my shoulder before I'm standing in front of him.

We're standing in front of each other, but he's not backing down from his way in the door. Chase's smile flips up and he stares at me for a moment.

"Chase." I say, pushing my glasses up, "I have to get to the library."

"Tutoring is kind of sexy, huh?" He teases, my eyes roll at his stupid comment.

"It's not like that." I tell him quickly, shaking his head.

"Surely, she asked you to study with her. Not the other way around." He questions, putting his arms across the doorframe so that I couldn't leave. I stand in front of him, trying my best to dodge the questions and seemingly meaningless accusations.

"Does that matter?" I ask, a bit confused by his statement.

I watch as Chase smirks, his eyes lighting up at my words, "Hope you won't end up in 414.”

Pushing my glasses up my face, I shake my head a few times as I stare at him, completely unsure of what he was talking about. I don't even want to ask, but I can see that he's pushing me to, so I shrug my shoulders at him. I've given up that he's going to let me go.

"I don't know what that means." I say to him before I watch his eyes get bigger.

"You don't know about 414? Damn, you do live under a rock."

I roll my eyes, pushing at his shoulder to try to move past him before he pushes me back and laughs a little.

"414 is a room on the top level of the library where no one ever goes—it's like, completely hidden. There's a journal for it across from the room where people like, write in time slots to go and fuck because it's a completely soundproof study room that you can lock. For all those freaky kids. You'd probably be into that, honestly."

I lick over my lips as I push into him again, but he's not budging. I look at him, trying to get him to wipe the smug smile from his face before he raises his brows at me.

I click my tongue, "I'm going to completely ignore this conversation, if you don't mind. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Chase rolls his eyes, letting me finally go by removing one arm from the doorframe.

I knew I've made a mistake saying anything at all, as I push past him to try to make my way out of the apartment in one piece without thinking anymore into what kind of information he's just given me.

I walk into the kitchen; it's not much, so it feels a bit cramped with the four of us now inhabiting the space. Chase's friends are standing around and suddenly quiet when I approach the room. I unscrew my water bottle at the sink, filling it up in the silence of the room.

“What's up, Einstein?" The other friend with very dark hair smirks at me, both lingering as Chase approaches too. "Why don't you take a break from studying and hang tonight with the boys? Or are we too much for you?"

I ignore it– pulling my lips into my mouth as I bite my tongue. I screw the lid back on before I turn and see Chase looking at me.

"We're just having a few people over tonight, nothing big. Then we're going to happy hour at Lou's." Chase assures before I nod at him. I clear my throat before pulling at the straps of my backpack.

"That's– okay, yeah, that's fine." I assure him. "I'll be back later."

With another nod, I go to the front door where a small dish holds all our keys. I grab my lanyard that holds my car key and my apartment key before I start to head towards the stairs. A few sets of those, and I'm on the main floor as I move out towards the library which is only a short walk.

Just my thoughts and I again.

It had thankfully stopped raining a few hours ago, which just left everything quite damp and wet. I trudged through a few puddles on my way there, looking across campus.

There weren't a lot of people walking around, probably because it was also a bit on the cool side. I had been wearing the same black hoodie from the morning, so I wasn't cold on my walk over there.

But it was getting to be the colder part of the year. England had rainier seasons, and the fall always seemed to have the worst weather. At least snow looked nice—rainy, damp, and dreary were just a bit depressing.

Making my way to the library, I open the large door and smile at the girl who sits behind the desk at the entrance. She's always very friendly, giving me a warm welcome when I walk in. She had short blonde hair, golden brown eyes and is always looks like she's happy to be there.

If she's not, she's putting on a great show.

“Hey, Harry,” She states softly, “How's it going?”

I wish I knew her name– she knows mine, so I feel a bit awkward as I approach the desk. She's never really talked to me before, but I smile at her.

“Uh, it's good,” I nod, rolling a hand through my hair, “I– just have an exam tomorrow. So,” I reference upstairs, feeling that my cheeks are most definitely hot from the way she's hanging in every word.

She’s sitting behind the desk, a book on the table as she seems to have been reading while she sat there. I know I should say something– maybe add a bit of conversation but I don't know what else to say.

I smile and nod a few times, using my hand to scratch at my hair in an uncomfortably awkward way.

“I’ll see–“ I start.

“Would you–“ She says.

When we speak at the same time, we both smile, and I hear her giggle for a moment before she shakes her head.

“I was just saying,” She licks her lips, “If you're ever interested, we have a book club here on Tuesday nights. I-I mean, I’m just saying because you're always here– I don't know if you read for fun or anything,” She clears her throat, “But if you did.”

I look down at the book in her hands, nodding a few times before I speak again. “That– is that the book?”

She notices that I caught sight of what she was reading, looking up me and holding the cover up, “Yes– well, no, actually. It's just a Murakami book– After Dark. This isn't what we read for book club– well, kind of.”

I looked at the cover and back to her, cutting her off as she seems a bit flustered. “I may check it out, yeah,” I swallow before clarifying, “The club. The club and the book.”

The girl bites her lip before she shakes her head, “Um– sorry, I’m Faye, by the way.”

I bite my cheek as I watch her eyes crinkle at the sides when her cheeks turn up in a small smile.

“Faye.” I say quietly before I nod at her, “I’ll see you around.”

She nods back at me in acknowledgement before I start to make my way back towards the steps, so I can make my way to the third floor where I usually have my set up. It's nice because it's always the least busy of the levels. The first floor holds computers, which are the most used for printing and workshopping. The second and fourth floors have more study rooms, and the third floor is mostly aisles of books and free tables.

That's where I prefer to be, close to the window so that I can look out occasionally over all the people who are making their way across campus; heading wherever they need to be on a Thursday evening. It also adds a bit of lighting until the sun heads back on the other side of the world, which is helpful just for a while.

The watch on my wrist reads 6:12pm. I had a while before I was expecting someone else to arrive.

It had started to get a bit darker—mostly because the clouds had started to overcast, which meant that the sun wasn't visible anyways. The days were starting to shorten, and winter was starting to become a bit more of a reality.

As I sat and studied other classes, I had realized that my watch started to move a bit faster every time I looked at it.

Six turned into seven.

Seven turned into eight. And I was still sitting at the table by myself.

Being in the library by myself was lonely– it was the first time that loneliness and being alone were coexisting. Something about being stood up, being left alone was a different level of loneliness. It was an embarrassing loneliness.

I tried to focus on other work at my table, tried to think more about Mach's principle as I read through the textbook. I tried to ignore the time, tried to ignore the feeling in my chest that maybe I had miscommunicated about times or where we were supposed to meet. Maybe I had given her a false impression, or we miscommunicated on time.

There were reasons I didn't put expectations on people– in many ways, they never showed up like they were supposed to. I didn't want to feel disappointment anymore, or that my excitement didn't match others.

Doing good deeds seemingly never panned out in my favor, as it showed. Maybe I read into it too much, maybe she felt bad for me and decided to ask to hang out so I wouldn't feel so shy. Maybe she said yes because so had approached her, now she felt bad.

It worked, I guess. For a bit.

I couldn't focus– I hated that feeling. I never had a problem with it before, and now these ideas of anxiety rushed through my head as I tried to put my nose to the page to forget about the way that this had made me feel. My glasses fell to the bridge of my nose, and I pushed them up to their place.

A heavy sigh fell through my lips as I noticed the time that had simply slipped by.

8:30.

I had been waiting for hours– I told her I'd be here at six, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for an hour. But now it was spelled out perfectly for me, and I didn't really want to read between the lines.

Sitting back in the wooden library chair, I ran a hand through my hair as I finally decide that it's time for me to start heading home.

Hopefully, Chase and his friends have moved onto the bars, and won't be there when I get back. That would just put me in a worse mood. As I push myself up to start packing up my belongings to head home, I hear the door of the staircase open.

I'm the only one up here most nights, so the noise elicits me to jerk my head up. The sound of clicking heels on the tile make my eyebrows knit before I see the culprit of the noise, and the person heading towards me from around the large bookcases.

My eyes gravitate towards the extraordinarily long, bronze legs that melt into tall, brown boots on the ends. A cream skirt that sits short on her thighs but high on her waist, with a knit sweater top that has a few buttons done up in the middle, but the rest of open in a triangular shape on her torso. Also bronze, also tall.

I've never seen anything like that in the library before.

"Oh my god, there you are!" The girl stomps her way over, her voice relatively loud for the space as I feel an unsettled amount of surprise. It is a library, after all, and she's a bit loud.

I'm a bit taken aback; I fall into the chair once again as I'm watching her pull out the chair in front of me.

"Who knew there were so many levels of this place?" She laughs to herself– the glitter on her eyes shines so bright as I notice the crinkles by her eyes. "Don't know if I've—well, I don't think I've ever been in here properly, really."

It's such a difference of what she looked like just hours before. The tear stains are gone, there's a lightness to her now that's different. The makeup coating her face is natural and dewy with such high points of shine, her lips pouty and brown with a glossy finish.

I'm absolutely confused and feeling suddenly warm underneath the black hoodie at the same time.

But there's also a slur to her words as she places her hands and the small bag on the wooden table loudly.

"I'm sorry I'm late," She rolls her eyes dramatically, "I got dragged to this thing– well, I mean, I had to go to it. But I thought that this was a really good excuse to leave." She giggles a little, her smile bright and white.

I watch as her sleek, dark brown hair coats over her shoulders. It's got a bounce of soft curls that are much different than the chaos of curls that had been thrown into a ponytail earlier.

I'm in a bit of shock as I look away from her and back to the papers that have surrounded me just moments before.

"Um– I mean, are you—" I look up at her, watching as her eyes struggle to follow mine. There's a soft smile on her lips as she leans on the table a bit almost like my question is the most exciting thing to her. "Are you drunk?"

Her face falls a bit, as if I just found out her biggest secret. She shakes her head a few times, "No– no, I just had a few—" She shakes her head more, but I can tell that her balance is a bit off as she shakes her head. "I'm totally fine."

In the moment, I see that her body seems to stiffen at recognizing that my energy simply doesn't match hers. She can see that I'm a bit taken back by her suddenness of being here, and I don't really know how to react to her sitting across from me now.

I don't really know how to feel now because I'm not sure I was planning for this situation at all. Especially from the morning that she had. It was different, it wasn't exactly what I had expected from her, and I'm trying to think about how to proceed.

"So," I start, a bit confused, "you're not here to study.”

I watch as her eyes shift over the papers that I am starting to put away, maybe a bit guilty that she had come in the first place. Maybe it would have been better to be stood up than to watch the look on her face.

"Oh, are you, like," She licked over her lips, her eyes batting a few times before she notices that I've started to pick up a few things around me. "Were you getting ready to leave?” The look on my face must register because her eyes drop and she bites her lip, “Oh, fuck—okay, yeah. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid– I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. I just– must've been some miscommunication." I tell her softly, nodding a few times to remind us both that we had just been mistaken.

Stella goes to stand from her spot, pushing herself up from the chair before she pulls the skirt down her legs a bit. I watch as she grabs the small bag that had been sitting on her shoulder when she walked in.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I notice the small earrings that are in the dainty shape of stars settle into her lobes.

I clear my throat.

"You didn't have to—I mean, you didn't have to come, if you were having fun. I just– I mean, I thought you needed help.” I tell her softly, watching as she seems a bit lost about where to go now.

As if this was the only place she was planning on going. Almost like she didn't really see this outcome, or maybe felt like she wasn't wanted here. That wasn't the truth at all, but I didn't know how to express that.

A bit of glitter has fallen from her eyes, landing softly on her cheeks as she stands at the table.

"I knew that I was going to leave the party early," She nods her head softly, "I just didn't—yeah, I messed up and– like, I do need help but I just... Sorry for wasting your time."

There's a moment when she starts to walk off that I stand from my seat, pushing the chair back. A weird, unidentifiable feeling comes over me.

“Stella, wait."

Her head turns back towards me, a bit of a stumble in her step at the high-heeled brown boots that stack up her calves and to her knee. The unsteadiness of her walking seems a bit dangerous to me, and I don't really want to see her fall.

"Can I—I mean, don't feel like you have to say yes but," I push my hands into my jean pockets as I take in a deep breath, "Let me take you back to your friends, or something. I mean, I don't want you to—" I shake my head at my words, knowing that they sound a bit odd as we don't know each other at all. "You shouldn't be walking on campus by yourself at night."

Her eyebrows knit together, like she was trying to process the way that I spoke to her. She stared at me, a familiar stare from earlier in the morning. This time, she looked a bit more vulnerable. It was almost like she was in disbelief that I would even offer in the first place.

"Oh," She turns to me a bit, her arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, sure."

Before there's any more conversation, I start to pack my belongings back in my backpack. All of the papers I had created for her were stuffed back into the folders, hopefully she didn't even notice that I had done that to begin with. My cheeks flush just at the thought of how ridiculous it sounded now.

Once the backpack is full, I throw it over my shoulder and start to move a bit closer to her.

Orange blossom and citrus melt from her skin, which makes me shut my eyes just at the idea of it. We start to head down the steps of the library, her feet almost dragging underneath her.

I'm not entirely sure that she realizes how many drinks she's had, but I let her take the side of the railing so that she can make her way down without tripping.

On the last staircase, her toe gets stuck underneath her foot, which makes her stumble a few times. I reach my hand out, grabbing at her elbow to steady her as she gasps at the way her balance has been thrown off. The immediate touch burns my palm, feeling her skin through the sweater material of her top.

"You okay?" I ask, watching as she nods her head a few times, humming—possibly a bit embarrassed by how off she really is. "Where do we need to get you?"

I watch as her brain starts to turn at the thought of where she needs to get to. I wonder how she got here in the first place, and who let her walk around campus like this on her own. I try to meet her eyes as she rubs at them, a bit of makeup smudging as she does so.

"Um," She shakes her head, "Flats towards 12th West. Don't really know what they're called."

We're standing outside of the library now; I'm facing her as she tries to recall where we need to go. I don't know that I've ever really dealt with a drunk person before like this. Chase was better at taking care of himself, so this was new to me.

I nod a few times, "I'm headed over there, too. Can you call a friend to ask?"

I watch as she hums to herself, agreeing with me and grabbing her cellphone out of her purse. It immediately drops to the ground from the slip of her fingers, landing with a crunch.

"Son of a fucking bitch," She exclaims, moving to squat down to grab it, but I'm already there.

Her reflexes are obviously not what they need to be, as she puts her hand over mine when we both reach for the phone. She doesn't pull away quickly, instead, keeping it there for a moment as I turn the phone around in my palm so that she can grab it.

"Thanks," She says softly, looking at the newly broken screen that leaves a large crack up the middle of her phone. "Fuck."

I watch her go to unlock the device, scrolling through her apps before landing on one and looking at it a bit intensely. The crack seems to not be that big of a deal anymore as she starts to focus harder on the screen.

"This building, here," I see that she's looking at the Find My Device, looking at a device that is right in the general direction of my apartment building. A friends contact pops up, and I try to see where it is.

The closer I look at the device, the more I notice... it is my flat building.

I take in a breath as I look at the girl, wondering if she had partaken in the Jack Daniels that had sat on the counter before I left for the library. I wonder if the scent of orange blossom would linger on my sofa at home.

The odd thought is immediately pushed from my brain as I return to reality. "I live over there, so I'll just walk you back, okay? Tell me if anything looks familiar."

My eyes linger over her body that she is crossing her arms over. The slight chill in the air makes her legs to shift a few times as we stand. I can tell that her discomfort is overwhelming her, and I feel like watching her is hurting me in a way.

"Here," I set my backpack on the ground by my feet for a moment.

Her eyes watch me do so before I pull the black hoodie from my torso, over my head. I knock my glasses on my face a bit so they're on the edge of my nose. The warmth of the cover on my body is now gone, but I watch as she seems a bit uncertain on what I'm doing.

"Take this. It's a bit of a walk." I hand her the black hoodie, her eyes trailing over it for a moment. I can see there's hesitation, which only makes the anxiety settle in my chest at her unwillingness to take the piece of clothing.

This is probably weird, and I regret it immediately.

I watch as she grabs it from my hand to throw over her body, a bit disoriented. When she lifts her arms up, the edges of her top move up around the bottom of her ribs.

I flush immediately, a heat rising up my neck almost disregarding the coolness in the air tonight.

My eyes look away, but seeing her head pop out from the hoodie makes me feel better that at least she can stay warm now.

I can't imagine that someone has allowed her to be out here like this. She walked all this way, alone, without someone to help her. She can barely walk in a straight line as we start down the other towards the apartment.

A bit of wind sweeps through, her legs exposed, and my own arms now just bare with my t-shirt.

I don't know how to firmly create conversation with her– mostly because I know that her mind isn't in the right place. Stella and I do not seem compatible, and every move she makes reminds me of that. I've watched an odd twelve hours of her life, from a huge mess to a complete mess.

But, something about her is intriguing. I’m the curious type.

My hands push into my pockets, the backpack thankfully shielding my back as we walk down the cobblestone pathways. We've walked a bit in silence, and I feel like that's for the best. But I try to give a bit of talking points in case she needs it.

"Anything look familiar?" I say, trying to keep myself warm as I feel her sway a bit against me.

Her eyes move from their site in the path to where we are on campus.

"N-No," Her teeth chatter, and I feel incredibly guilty for not driving over here instead. "B-but this is s-so nice of you." She turns her head, a mess of soft curls in her face as she pushes they out of her eyes. "You must h-have a good m-mum."

I knit my brows together, a bit confused by her logic. I push my hands far in my pocket as I grit my teeth together at how cool out it is. "Why do you say that?"

"Only a g-guy with a nice m-mum would walk a g-girl home in her going-out clothes without l-looking at her ass and just covering her u-up more." Stella chuckles a little bit; it sounds like she's trying to make a joke, but it only aches in my chest as she crosses her arms over her chest tightly.

I didn't really find that funny.

I pull my lips into my mouth as I turn my lips up just enough to acknowledge her humor. "You just need to get home safely."

I hear her sniffle next to me, the coldness getting to her. The bright pink of her nose is noticeable as the coolness hits us.

My apartment building is in sight, her eyes reach up. "This is where the party was." Her hand points directly at my building before I nod a few times.

"I live there, actually," I say, biting my lip. "I think my roommate was throwing the party you went to. His name is Chase."

Stella clears her throat, wiping at her nose, "Oh! Yeah, yeah. I know Chase.” She tells me, biting her lip, “I didn't know you lived there. You're never there when we come over.”

I take a breath in, “I– I probably am there. I just– I just don't really…”

“Not your scene?” She asks, the heel of the boots click across the pavement.

I shrug. “Not really. I– I don't drink or anything. I don't know.”

Stella tucked her hair behind her ear, “You don't have to drink. Maybe you could just hang out. You seem,” I look over at her once she pauses, “You seem really nice.”

I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth before I feel the tinge of a smile. “Thanks. You're pretty nice, too.”

When we reach the door, I open it before she walks inside the lobby. We make our way to the stairs– the elevator is seemingly always broken. I take the lead, going in front of her before we reach the second level.

When we make our way down the hall and to the front door of my flat, Stella doesn't say anything else. She just seems to accept that this is where she needs to be, and she seems to recognize where she is.

The music is over-stimulatingly loud from where we're standing out front, and I’m trying to anticipate walking into it. My hands reach into my pockets as I grab the keys. She looks much smaller wrapped in the black hoodie as it drapes down her front, hiding the remnants of the cream skirt that is gracing her small frame.

I stick the key in the door, pushing it open and hearing the blast of music immediately hit us both.

They hadn't left yet, like they said they would.

When we walk in, I move in first, Stella following behind. I look around, seeing more faces that I didn't know. There are significantly more faces now, and I just let out a sigh.

When I walk towards the kitchen, I can feel Stella behind me before I catch Chase’s eye, but I hear a louder voice first.

"Stella," I hear, "where the fuck did you go?"

I watch the blonde man from earlier approach her immediately disregarding me, a beer in his hand as he gets too close to us. I watch hesitantly as he pulls her closer, as if my existence was purely nonexistent to him.

I drop my keys in the small dish before star making my way through the crowd of people to walk back down the hall and to my bedroom, as if the past hour didn't happen. The noise of the bass is a bit overwhelming; the people don't seem to interest me.

"Needed to go for a walk." I hear her say, "I thought you guys were going to get something to eat?"

"Harry!" My eyes move to the kitchen where Chase seems a little looser than before; his smile undoubtedly bigger as he comes closer to me.

My head turns back, as I feel a grip on my arm before I can make a getaway.

"You found Hayden's girlfriend?" He asks, his eyes moving towards the familiarity of the brunette with amber eyes who had my black hoodie on over her body.

Everyone was way too drunk to miss that part. The black hoodie– I’m sure if someone knew, I'd be in trouble for that.

I stare at her talking to Hayden, her face looking relatively upset from their conversation. His hand reaches to her waist, pulling her in to kiss her.

Immediately, I look away. I feel a racing in my heart that's feels completely unnatural and like anything else I've ever felt before. Maybe the feeling of throwing up is also present, which is also weird to me.

My head turns away from the interaction– I start to pull away from Chase, back to the safer confines of my room. Back where my time and kindness aren't taken for granted.

Back to where something as simple as watching that interaction doesn't add a ridiculous ping of annoyance in the settlement of my chest.

"Yeah, something like that." I say to him, moving away before he can follow me to my room, just like earlier.

"How was your studying?" He asks, pretending like he cares for a moment. I can tell by the look in his eyes he won't remember this conversation tomorrow.

I turn towards him, holding my door in my hand, "Don't know if she's going to remember anything tomorrow for the exam. But I tried."

With a simple shut, the music is still a bit too loud from the other side of the door. But, out of sight, out of mind.

I had a stats exam to finish studying for.

______________

#harry styles #hs #ask #harry fanfic #harry wattpad #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x original character #anon ask #celestial #nerd!harry #shy!harry #ongoing story #series

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writing-intheundercroft · 1 year ago

Text

When We're Older || Rumors

AO3 Link

Word Count: 7,289

Chapter Rating: M (Warning: references to sex)

A/N: Some seventh year shenanigans and an awkward trip for potions ingredients! Thank you as always to my lovely beta reader @happyaccidentsonly <3

September 1892

“Welcome back, seventh years!”

The Slytherin seventh years had all been gathered in the center of the common room. Professor Ronen and Professor Sharp stood before them; Ronen had his usual jovial look, while Sharp looked sour as ever. They had just passed out the seventh years’ schedules, and were now preparing their start of term speech for the house’s eldest students.

Sebastian appraised the group. Ominis was standing with Imelda and Grace, the rest of the girls squeezed into a couch. The other boys in their year were on the couch opposite them, robes already discarded after a long welcoming feast. He felt something tugging at his hand, and his cheeks flushed as he realized Theo was draping his arm around her. He pulled her in tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Ominis, hearing the sloppy wet kiss, pretended to gag as the girls snickered.

It was a far cry from last year’s scene, Sebastian thought to himself. This day last year, Sebastian was sitting by himself, staring at Ominis and Theo opposite him. Things had been so tense, and he was positively desperate to do anything it took to prove his worth to them. But now, seventeen and on the cusp of his last year at Hogwarts, he was draped across the loveseat with his beautiful girlfriend, ready to take on the world.

“This is your final year at Hogwarts, and we are excited to welcome you to what will be your most robust year of learning.” Ronen smiled. “As the leaders of Slytherin house, I must ask each and every one of you to set a good example for your younger Slytherins.”

“With that said, we know you are all of age now, and will enjoy more freedom than your younger counterparts.” Sharp interjected. “And while we understand wanting to enjoy fun, you are here primarily to learn and pass your NEWT exams.”

There were several audible groans and eye rolls to his statement, but Sharp relented. “We implore you all to obey the following rules—all seventh years back in the dormitory by midnight, at the very latest. And in their own beds, I might add. While I have no desire to know your…extracurricular activities, there will be grave punishment if you’re found in the wrong bed.” Sharp’s eyes flitted over to the couple, and Sebastian blushed, having flashbacks of being thrown against the edge of the Prefect’s bathroom pool by Sharp’s well aimed depulso.

“Seventh years will also be allowed to travel further than Hogsmeade, as far as Keenbridge, but on weekends only.” Ronen warned.

Theo coughed while Ominis suppressed a laugh. The three of them had been breaking the rules on the radius restriction since their fifth year. Sebastian had always been allowed to travel to Feldcroft whenever he desired to see Anne, and no teachers dared to discipline Ominis. Theo had been under the protection of Professor Fig her first year, and had spent most of fifth year traversing the entirety of highlands on her own. Even without Fig's excuses, she was given free rein. Most of the staff had witnessed her ancient magic, and they knew she couldn't be controlled.

Ronen and Sharp droned on about more rules, such as no liquor in their dorm rooms (Sebastian knew Violet McDowell had been hiding cases of firewhiskey in her trunk since at least third year) and when they could be out of uniform (as if Theo ever followed the uniform policy—she was always wearing something fashionable and certainly not included in the standard uniform requirements).

Sebastian felt his eyes starting to droop, until Sharp cleared his throat.

“That concludes our meeting, and you may head to your dormitory.” He said, clasping his hands in front of him. “Per the headmaster’s request, there are…necessary supplies in your rooms this year. Should you need replenishment, Nurse Blainey can assist.”

The seventh years dispersed, heading to the stone staircase that led up to their rooms. Sebastian stopped at the foot of the staircase, his hand tentatively resting on the railing. He remembered staring up at the seventh year dormitories when he was eleven, and how the seventh years looked so grown. He’d never been inside, but the students had all regaled about the large, fancy rooms for the older students. And now, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the room was his.

“You okay?” Theo asked, nudging him with her shoulder. He looked down at her; she had her robes draped over her shoulder, the little bow at the neck of her uniform shirt undone. If he looked hard enough, he could see the purple hickey he’d left at the base of her neck when they’d snuck out of the welcoming feast for a quick snog. Mr. Moon had awkwardly cleared his throat when he caught the pair in the entry hall, Sebastian’s lips leaving blooming marks on her skin.

His, he thought. Thoroughly marked.

“Just can’t believe it’s our last year.” Sebastian breathed. “All the hard work…it’s finally paying off.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Ominis huffed, passing them on the steps. “We’ve still got the NEWTs to conquer. Come on Sebastian, we have to make sure we don't get the worst beds.”

Sebastian walked up the steps with Theo; he frowned at the loss of her hand in his as she let go.

“No goodnight kiss?” Sebastian pouted.

Theo rolled her eyes, but gave in, pressing her hands to his chest as she kissed him. Sebastian’s fingers trailed up to her hair, lightly tugging on the locks.

“Get a room!” Imelda bellowed, while Grace and Nerida wolf whistled.

Sebastian laughed against Theo’s lips as she gave the girls a rude hand gesture. She finally pushed him away, grinning as she stepped up the stairs to her dormitory.

“See you in the morning?” she asked.

“Can’t wait.” Sebastian started walking up the opposite stairs, blowing a kiss goodbye.

He walked up to the door, pushing it open to reveal the spacious seventh year dormitory. Eyes scanning the room, he spotted his trunk in front of a bed—always the one next to Ominis’s. Ominis was already pulling pajamas out of his trunk, as their fellow roommates lounged on the settee. It wasn’t that Sebastian didn’t like the other boys in his year, but they’d all grown up in the same pureblood social circle as Ominis in London. He knew they looked down upon him for growing up in the countryside, so they’d maintained a polite but distant acquaintanceship with him.

“I wonder what Sharp meant by supplies,” Cyrus Lestrange hummed. “Any ideas?”

“Wager they’re school supplies? But we already buy our own.” Peter Parkinson shrugged.

“O-ho, look at these.” John Avery said, hands digging through the fruit bowl on the table. He pulled out a tiny vial, purple liquid dancing and splashing within. “Wonder what these are.”

Sebastian immediately flushed, knowing exactly what it was. In fact, he’d learned to brew the very potion himself that summer, spending several painstaking hours to ensure he’d done it just right.

“What is it?” Ominis asked, scooting forward in the bed. He rarely interacted with the other boys outside of a quick greeting, but the silence had him intrigued.

“Some sort of potion,” Avery explained. “But I don’t…I don’t recognize it.”

“Sallow does,” Lestrange said haughtily. “The look on his face says so.”

Parkinson turned his attention to Sebastian. “Well, come off with it Sallow, what are they?”

Sebastian scratched the back of his neck, pursing his lips. “They’re…uh, they’re contraceptive potions.” He confessed.

The three other boys burst into laughter as Sebastian blushed. Avery clapped him on the back, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably at the contact.

“Sallow, you brute.” Parkinson snorted. “You and Caulfield are off to the races then, are you?”

Sebastian felt even more mortified, realizing that he’d not only confirmed his lack of virginity, but outed Theo’s as well.

“I just—just research, y’know.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, pushing Avery’s arms off him. He walked over to his bed, bouncing onto the mattress.

“Bit embarrassing none of you knew what it was,” Ominis huffed. In the moment, Sebastian was forever grateful to his best friend for changing the subject.

“You didn’t either, Gaunt.” Lestrange pointed out.

“Cyrus, I’m blind, if you haven’t noticed.”

The other boys started roaring again at Ominis’s quip; Sebastian, feeling quite queasy, rolled off the bed and started to dig through his trunk. In all his years at Hogwarts, Sebastian rarely felt homesick for the Feldcroft cottage; however, he longed to be there now more than ever. He shucked on his pajamas, sliding into the down feather bed, imagining it was the rickety one in Feldcroft instead. At least there, he could sleep next to Theo.

Ten months, Sebastian thought to himself. In ten months, they’d be done with school. After that, he could take Theo home.

Sebastian woke late for the day; he figured his regimen could be delayed for at least one more day while he acclimated to school. He dressed with a spring in his step, taking great care to shave his stubble. Everything about the day was going to be perfect, he thought. He was going to savor every last moment he had at Hogwarts, with very best friend and very best girl at his side.

“Oh, are you done primping yourself yet?” Ominis complained from his bed. He’d been dressed and ready to go down for breakfast, visibly regretting his decision to wait for Sebastian. “I swear, you take longer with your hair than me these days, and that’s saying something.”

Sebastian laughed, tucking his ancient runes textbook into his bag. “Fine, let’s go.”

The two opened the door, hearing yelling and screeching from the common room.

“What’s going on?” Ominis cocked his head.

Sebastian leaned over the railing, seeing the commotion below. The girls were squabbling; Violet McDowell was being held back by Grace and Nerida, while Imelda wrangled Theo’s arm. Lestrange, red in the face, was seated on the steps, his cheeks bright red.

“I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking,” Violet yelled loudly.

“Go ahead,” Theo roared. “Say it again.”

Sebastian raced down the steps, stepping between the fight.

“What’s going on?” he gasped.

“McDowell and Lestrange here don’t know when to shut up,” Theo snarled, her eyes squeezed shut. Sebastian knew why–whenever her emotions were running high, Isidora’s magic threatened to spill out of her. “Speaking on things they don’t know anything about.”

Violet gave a vicious laugh. “Oh, don’t we all. We were just saying how everyone was so shocked Philippa Bustrode fell with child so quickly–I was only wondering if you and Sallow were up next.”

Sebastian whirled around. “Watch your tongue,” he seethed.

Violet’s head fell back as she laughed again. “As if I haven’t already told everyone how Sebastian Sallow was spotted in a very cheeky section of Flourish and Blotts,” she turned to Cyrus, who was now rubbing his jaw. “Cyrus tells us that you two are intimately aware of the potions Professor Sharp provided.”

Theo wrestled her way out of Imelda’s grasp, pushing Sebastian out of the way. Everyone fell silent as the sound of Theo’s hand slapping against Violet’s cheek rang in the air.

“You little slut ,” Violet screeched, lunging forward. Sebastian himself nearly sprang at her, until he suddenly snapped backwards. Ominis had grabbed the hood of his robes, tugging him away from the fight. Grace and Nerida both grabbed Violet’s arms, while Imelda struggled to push Theo back towards Sebastian.

“Ladies! Separate at once!” a booming voice interjected.

All of the seventh years turned their attention to the door, where Professor Ronen was standing. The man rarely yelled–Sebastian couldn’t think of a time he’d ever seen their charms professor angry, and here he was, standing with his hands on his hips, frowning at the group. Sebastian’s hand flew down to grab Theos, squeezing tightly.

“Just last night I asked all of you to set a good example for your fellow students, and we’ve already had a physical fight in the common room.” Ronen bellowed. “McDowell, Caulfield, follow me. The rest of you, off to breakfast.”

Theo huffed, pulling her hand from Sebastian’s. She opened her eyes, very much back to their normal light brown, and scratched at her collar.

“I’ll see you after breakfast?” she asked breathily.

Sebastian nodded, watching her break away and follow Professor Ronen and Violet McDowell down the steps. The girls maintained a healthy distance from one another, and Theo looked back at him, pouting.

“Your girlfriend packs quite the punch, Sallow.”

Sebastian turned to Lestrange, whose jaw was now sporting a blossoming bruise. “What did you say to her?” he growled, shoving him against the stone railing.

Lestrange laughed, wincing a little as the stone dug into his back. “Just that I wish more of the girls were like her,” he jested. “Free and willing, you know? Asked if she minded the taste .” He wagged his eyebrows, clearly proud of his innuendo.

Sebastian’s fist made easy contact with Lestrange’s nose; luckily, Professor Ronen was already too occupied with disciplining the girls to have noticed.

Sebastian could hardly focus during Ancient Runes. On top of worrying about Theo, he now had to worry about all of the studying he’d neglected over the final weeks of summer. His mind was completely blank as he stared at the translations in his textbook, leaning over quite often to whisper questions into Amit Thakkar’s ear. Amit, always the most pleasant Ravenclaw, obliged, only growing annoyed when Sebastian asked his twentieth question. By the middle of the class period, Sebastian found himself staring at the clock, willing it to move faster so he could get to the lunch table.

As soon as the bells rang and class was dismissed, Sebastian took off, nearly sprinting from the classroom back to the Great Hall. As he burst through the doors, he saw Theo, sitting at the Slytherin table with Ominis, Poppy, and Imelda. Her eyes were glued to her plate, absentmindedly pushing around her lunch.

“Hi,” Sebastian greeted them breathlessly. “How did it go?”

Poppy slid from the bench to allow him room, grimacing. Imelda, who was on the opposite side next to Ominis, mouthed good luck.

“Spent first period being chastised by Ronen, and I had to apologize to McDowell.” Theo said dryly, looking up at Sebastian. She had a grim look on her face. “Detention tonight and tomorrow with Sharp.”

Sebastian tucked into the bench next to her. “Two nights of detention? She was slandering you, that’s not fair.”

Theo sighed, lolling her head. “Apparently, physical retaliation is just as bad. Suits her and Lestrange, they were both being prats.”

“You did the right thing,” Poppy huffed. Despite her small stature, Sebastian knew from Theo’s stories that Poppy wasn’t one to shy away from a fight. The petite brunette turned to Sebastian, folding her hands on the table. “The things she was accusing Philippa Greengrass of–that’s serious. Perhaps she’s just carrying large, that’s all.”

“Bulstrode, now.” Ominis interjected. “I went to the wedding in July. Dreadful affair. Looked like she’d been crying the entire time.”

It took Sebastian a few moments to put the pieces together–he couldn’t understand why it would be scandalous for a married woman to be pregnant. As he pondered, his gaze caught Andrew Larson from across the room. The blond was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, looking rather forlorn. His smug smile was long gone, a lonely look in his eye as he stared at the empty end of the Slytherin table where Philippa used to sit.

Sebastian’s mind immediately flashed back to the last night of term, when he and Theo had caught him with Philippa in the elevator. Ominis, saying she’d been crying over her wedding, and the broken look of Andrew Larson sitting alone. If she’d gotten married in July, she should’ve been early on in her pregnancy, but Poppy had mentioned she was already growing large.

“Oh,” Sebastian gasped.

“Right.” Imelda said dryly, leaning in. “Rumor has it, that’s why Professor Black has asked Sharp to keep a steady stream of contraceptive potions in the dorms. It’s quite the scandal.”

Theo rolled her eyes. “It’s natural,” she huffed. “It can't possibly be the first time they've dealt with this. What I’d like to know is how Cyrus Lestrange came to think I would be an authority on the new supplies in our dorm rooms.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly.

Imelda coughed. “Y’know, I’d like to try sitting over at the Hufflepuff table. Fancy joining me, Pops?”

Poppy nodded quickly, sliding out of the bench. “Coming, Ominis?”

"Change of scenery would be nice," Ominis blurted, abandoning Sebastian for the other table despite his lack of sight.

Their friends vacated the Slytherin table with swiftness; Sebastian stared at Theo, who was glaring down at her plate. She stabbed her fork through a chicken breast, sawing it with her knife aggressively.

“I just want to start off by saying I'm sorry.” Sebastian said, sliding in closer to her.

“What reason would you have to be sorry, my dear?” Theo’s words cut as sharply as her knife. “Do you want to tell me something?”

Sebastian winced. “Some things…came up in conversation last night.”

Theo dropped her silverware, the pieces clattering against her gold plate. She laid her palms on the table, eyes shut as she breathed slowly. “Did you tell your roommates about our intimate experience ?”

Sebastian froze, turning red in the face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“How?” Theo opened her eyes; to his surprise, they were not red, but she was still seething.

“The potions,” he stammered. “Lestrange, Parkinson, and Avery didn’t know what the potion was, and I just blurted it out. I swear, I didn’t say anything–they just assumed.”

“Well, he’s told just about everyone.” Theo snipped. “So, I'm assuming the whole school knows.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian groaned, head falling into his hands. “I didn’t mean to tell them.”

The anger melted off of Theo’s face, and she sighed. “I know. I’m just frustrated. And now I have detention, so I won’t be able to spend time with you for the next two days.”

Sebastian looked up at her. “So you’re not mad at me?”

Theo rolled her eyes. “It’s stupid. People would’ve assumed we were sleeping together anyways, so let them have fun with their rumors.” She eyed him, giving him a pointed smile. “Besides, I think me having detention is more of a punishment for you than me.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly as he felt her hand touch his thigh. “How so?”

Theo raised an eyebrow as her hand inched towards the inside of his leg, closer and closer to his groin. “You’ll have to go two nights without me,” she murmured. “And any extracurricular activities.”

Sebastian’s eyes flitted down to her lips. “Such a shame,” he tutted.

Theo put a finger under his chin, tilting his gaze back up to her eyes. “ Anyways, I heard you got a better shot at Lestrange; Nurse Blainey had to stop the bleeding. My hero,” she chuckled.

Sebastian gulped. “Do you have a free period next?”

Theo nodded. “You haven’t eaten lunch though.”

“I’ll grab something later,” Sebastian muttered into her ear. “But right now, we’re going to the Undercroft.”

“Why?” Theo feigned innocence. “Whatever for?”

“To reward my girlfriend for taking out two enormous prats in one day,” Sebastian grinned, gripping her hand. “Now come on, before Ominis realizes where we’re going.”

Sebastian stood quickly, tugging her up from the bench. Theo laughed, letting her napkin fall to the floor as the majority of the Great Hall stared at them. The two of the giggled as they ran from the Great Hall to the Defense Against the Dark Arts wing, nearly mowing down a herd of first years in the process. Sebastian couldn’t unlock the door fast enough, with Theo prodding him in the back. As soon as the wrought iron gates shut behind them, Sebastian pushed her against the stone wall, making quick work of her shirt.

“Careful now,” Theo teased, wrapping her leg around his waist to pull him closer. “Remember the last time I got naked down here?”

Sebastian growled against her lips. He pressed his growing arousal into her hips, slipping a hand underneath her skirt. It bunched at her waist as she moaned, his fingers making contact with her soaking wet core. Sebastian sucked another mark into her neck, only now in a more visible spot. If the whole school knew they were being intimate, he didn’t care anymore. At least they knew Theo was his.

“Hold on,” Theo gasped, batting him away. Sebastian backed up for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, until he saw her shove her hand into her pocket, pulling two tiny purple vials from her skirt. She handed one to Sebastian, who blushed as he took it.

“Might as well put them to good use,” he observed, downing the vial in one go.

Theo did the same, chucking the vial after she drank it. “Saves us some knuts since we don’t have to buy the ingredients ourselves.” she winked.

Sebastian laughed, pressing his body against her once more.

“So much homework,” Sebastian groaned, dropping his head against his textbook. “Three rolls of parchment for Runes, two for Potions, and four for Defense Against the Dark Arts! It’s inhumane.”

Ominis let out a loud sigh. “It’s just how NEWTs are, Sebastian.”

“Well, NEWTs are going to ruin my life.” Sebastian grumbled.

The boys were sitting at a study table in the common room, nearly everyone else off to bed. They were waiting for Theo to get back from her detention with Professor Sharp, which had been to scrub the cauldrons the first year students had inevitably destroyed during their first ever potions lesson.

“I don’t know how I’m going to balance it all,” Sebastian mused, dribbling ink onto his parchment. “School, grades, working for Sirona again, Theo…” his voice trailed off.

“I’m sure Theo will understand that school and work comes first,” Ominis reminded him.

Sebastian fiddled with the quill in hand. “I told her I want to help her figure out a cure.” he admitted.

Ominis froze, setting his wand down. “You can’t still be going on about Anne, Sebastian.” he snipped. “Haven’t you learned–”

“It’s not for Anne,” Sebastian interjected hastily. “For her .”

Ominis’s eyebrows lifted in confusion. “What does Theo possibly need a cure for?”

“The magic she absorbed,” Sebastian reminded him. “I told you–the red in her eyes, she’s absorbed Isidora’s magic. I want to help her figure out a way to get it out, safely.”

Ominis chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Did she ask you to help her?”

Sebastian hesitated, and that told Ominis everything he needed to know.

“You can’t keep trying to fix people who didn’t ask for help, Sebastian.” Ominis said gently. “We’ve gone down this path before. We know how it ends.” There was a lilt in his voice when he ended the sentence, as if Sebastian of all people could ever forget what had transpired.

“I don’t need a reminder, thanks.” Sebastian said tersely. “She agreed to let me search, so I’m doing it.”

They could hear the doors of the common room open, feet dragging down the spiral staircase. Sebastian turned, seeing a very tired Theo. Her hair was tied up in a knot, and she was rubbing her hands. Sebastian immediately stood, enveloping her in a hug.

“You smell awful,” he wrinkled his nose. “What the hell were the first years brewing?”

“I don’t know,” Theo groaned. “But it was something to do with stinksap. And Sharp made me clean them by hand.”

Despite the smell, Sebastian pressed a kiss to Theo’s sore fingers. “Come on, you need a bath. Let’s go up to the Room of Requirement.” he nudged her knuckles with his nose.

“I can’t possibly,” Theo complained. “I’ve just walked all the way down here, and what if Deek comes in?”

“I can carry you,” Sebastian said softly. “And I’ve paid Deek five galleons to leave us be for the night. He’s a very reasonable little house elf, after all.”

Theo looked up at him, a faint smile on her lips. “You bribed a house elf.”

Sebastian laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I did indeed.”

“And you won’t be bothered if Lestrange and the others say something funny about you not being in bed?” she asked curiously. “What about all the rules?”

“You and I, darling, have never been good with rules.” Sebastian murmured. “And if Lestrange feels fit to say something again, I’m happy to duel him.”

“Can the two of you please decide if you’re leaving?” Ominis rolled his eyes. “I’d like to know if it’s safe to go to bed or not.”

“We’re going, we’re going.” Theo laughed. “Have a good night, Ominis.”

Ominis waved them off; he could pretend to be annoyed all he wanted, but the smile on his mouth said otherwise.

Sebastian yanked Theo up the stone stairs to the exit; she huffed, but he only tugged her hand even more, encouraging her to follow.

“Does a disillusionment charm work if you’re carrying someone?” Theo asked as they neared the top.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Sebastian breathed, lowering himself so Theo could straddle his back. He lifted her up, hands under her knees, shifting her weight further onto him. One of Theo’s arms lifted from his shoulders, uttering the disillusionment charm. The two of them disappeared, like a trick of the light.

It was a long trek from the Slytherin dorms to the Room of Requirement, but Sebastian relished the silence with Theo. They were lucky enough not to encounter any prefects or ghosts on their way to the astronomy tower. Theo tightened her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

“Remember the last time I carried you around the castle?” Sebastian let out a breathy laugh.

Theo snorted. “I don’t–mostly because I was too drunk.”

Sebastian chuckled at the memory of him dragging her down to the dungeons, sopping wet from snow. “You were awfully heavy.”

Theo swatted at his head and Sebastian laughed again.

The last set of stairs up to the Room of Requirement had been excruciating, taking quite a bit of time. Theo had offered to walk them herself, but Sebastian remained steadfast in his insistence that he could carry her the entire way. Once they’d made it to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Sebastian let her fall from his back, concealing his groan as the ornate door flew open.

“Deek has been keeping the place running,” she breathed, walking ahead of him. “I should check the vivariums, start brewing some potions to have on stock…”

“All of that can wait until the morning, love.” Sebastian stood with his arms crossed. “You, bath, now .”

Theo rolled her eyes, letting her hair down from the knot atop her head. “Whatever you say,” she hummed, kicking off her shoes. She walked down to the lower chamber of the room, audibly requesting a bathtub from the room. Sebastian could hear the room adjusting itself, the floor in the other room opening up to reveal a large clawfoot bathtub near the window. He followed at a lazy pace, watching as she stripped her uniform off and kicked it to the side. Leaning to the side of the doorway, he stared as Theo stepped into a steaming bath.

“Happy now?” she mused, splashing water out of the tub. “Are you going to join me?”

Sebastian smiled, shaking his head. “I’m already clean–but I’ll sit here.” he said, pulling a stool up to the tub. “Perhaps the room can conjure me a book.”

“I’d much rather talk to you,” Theo rested her elbows on the edge of the tub. “I might say, you’ve gotten the perfect opportunity to have me naked, yet you’d rather fool around in the Undercroft.”

Sebastian leaned down from the stool, placing a finger under her chin to lift it up. “You’re tired,” he murmured. “And I’d rather you relax. You’ve had quite a taxing day.”

And so, Sebastian watched Theo melt into the bath, the room having conjured her favorite bar of soap. They talked about their first day of school, the homework they’d already been assigned, and any gossip they’d overheard during class. Ominis and Poppy were still painfully shy around one another, Theo had reported. Sebastian eavesdropped on a conversation between Garreth and Leander, the latter already plotting how to brew his spiked potions under Sharp’s watchful eye.

“Is it really true about Philippa Greengrass?” Sebastian asked as Theo stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a robe the room had provided her.

Theo sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know. Probably. I saw her in Diagon Alley when I met up with Grace and Nerida to buy school supplies. She definitely looks further along than two months, I’ll tell you that.” Theo twisted her hair, wringing out the water. “She looked absolutely miserable.”

The room creaked again; this time, a large bed appeared at the other end of the room. Without a word, the two meandered over to the edge. It seemed to know both of their needs–there was a nightlight and a book on the table next to Sebastian’s side, as well as a valet stand for his clothes. Theo’s side was empty, save for a rack that had a simple nightgown draped over it.

“Poor Larson,” Sebastian sighed. He shrugged off his uniform shirt, hanging it on the stand as he sat on the bed to work on his shoes. “I mean, can you imagine? Never knowing if it’s your child?”

“It’s the reality of things,” Theo mused, hanging the robe. “I doubt the Bulstrodes will ever say anything, especially since they went through with the wedding.” She slid the nightgown on, slipping into the bed. “I honestly can’t believe she’s having a baby. A whole baby.”

Sebastian hung his pants and socks, dropping his shoes as he hopped into the bed. While the rest of the room had darkened, he flicked on the nightlight, thumbing through the magical theory book the room had produced for him. As Sebastian read, Theo sidled up to him, drawing circles on his chest. There was a pregnant pause between the couple, until Sebastian cleared his throat.

“Would you like to have children someday?” he asked quietly. “I just realized I’ve never asked.”

Theo nuzzled her cheek into him. “I think I would,” she whispered. “With you. When we're older, of course.”

Sebastian’s heart fluttered, shutting the book and setting it down on the nightstand. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll raise them in London then,” he said confidently. “Somewhere they can go to museums, to the theater. We’ll raise the smartest buggers in Hogwarts’s history. And maybe on the weekends and school holidays, we’ll stay in Feldcroft. We'll spend Christmas in Feldcroft,” he trailed off. “That sounds good to me.”

“Planning already? Awfully forward of you.” Theo laughed.

“You know me, always one step ahead.” Sebastian joked. “I’d like to plan my whole life with you, if that’s alright.” His voice softened.

Theo merely hummed in agreement as Sebastian stroked her hair. Her breathing slowed, and he could soon hear her soft snores. There would be time for lovemaking (perhaps in the morning, but he knew both of them wouldn’t wake up early enough) but Theo was tired, and he wanted her to sleep. Sebastian relished the feeling of her sleeping in his arms, rubbing his chin on the top of her head.

Before long, he too drifted off to sleep. His dreams were filled with Theo, carrying his child, at home in Feldcroft.

September 1898

Sebastian opened his eyes, immediately turning his head to the right. As he’d hoped and dreamt, Theo was laying face down next to him, her wild hair splayed on the pillows. She had always been a deep sleeper, barely stirring as he dragged his fingers up and down her spine. She shivered, but then relaxed back into the sheets, snoring lightly.

Perfect, beautiful, Theo. This was always how he’d imagined it, the two of them waking up in bed together.

Sebastian slid out from under the sheets, naked as the day he was born. He padded into Theo’s dressing room, hoping to fix some of the mess they’d made the night before. Florence the owl was hooting angrily in the window, her stand having been knocked over.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian laughed, setting it upright. “Don’t be too angry.”

The owl merely clicked her beak, demanding treats. Sebastian happily obliged the bird, thankful that she’d spent many hours delivering him letters.

Finding his wand under a discarded cloak, he slipped on one of Theo’s fluffy robes and got to work. First casting reparo on the changing screen, the lattice work threaded back together as it went to its intended space. He then started picking up the boxes and papers that had been flung off Theo’s desk in their flurry of lovemaking–stacks of boxes filled with baubles, and then her letters. Most of them were from him (he felt especially smug seeing some of the erotic letters he’d penned her were kept together with a sweet little ribbon) others from Ominis, Leander, and Natty. He organized them on the desk, putting them in neat little piles.

He picked up a letter; the penmanship was eerily close to his, albeit a bit tidier. He swallowed thickly as his eyes poured over the text. Something about a new job, moving into a small flat. How she and Theo needed to find time together, apologizing for going so long without notice.

Love, Anne

Sebastian shut his eyes, imagining Theo sitting with Anne for tea. Were they friends now? Did they see each other often? His heart pattered at the thought of his long lost sister with Theo, waiting for him to come home.

“You’re up early.”

He whirled around, seeing Theo in the doorway. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest, clad in a rumpled nightgown. She gave him a saucy grin, tiptoeing over the mess towards him. “And you look hilarious in my robe.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, putting the letter down on the desk as Theo wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“How did you sleep?” Sebastian asked.

“Deeper than I have in years,” Theo gave a dreamy sigh. “You’ve worn me out.”

Sebastian bit down on his lip. It would take all of his willpower not to stay in bed with her for another day. The thought was tempting though; the sight of her, lips still swollen from a night of lovemaking, was enough to drive him mad. He lifted his hand to her cheek, letting his thumb run over her puffy lips. Looking up at him through her thick lashes, Theo’s lips parted to let his finger slide in.

“You can’t do this to me,” Sebastian strained. “We have to get out of the house.”

She let out a sparkling laugh, pulling back from him. “I know,” she rolled her eyes. “We should get to the apothecary before too many people are out and about.”

Sebastian nodded. They had played it rather risky the night before–while he’d spent the better half of five years imagining Theo’s belly swelling with his child, he’d rather hoped it would be after they had settled down. The matter of his placement was still at hand, and he hadn’t even told Theo about Rothwell’s proposition for him to stay in Cairo yet.

Another time, Sebastian thought.

“Go off, get dressed. I’ll meet you back here when you’re done.” Theo said, sitting down at her vanity. She picked up her brush, trying to tame her locks. “We’ll go to Diagon Alley."

Sebastian nodded, walking over to the mirror to go back to his flat. Before he stepped in, he turned back, watching her at the dressing table. She was humming a song as she pinned up her hair, twirling it into some fashionable updo. “What?” Theo asked, pins in her mouth. She turned; the silver chain was still around her neck, the ring dangling at her decolletage.

Sebastian shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just glad to be home.”

The streets of Diagon Alley were bustling, despite the early hour. Sebastian had put on a nice linen suit, slicking back his hair. Theo’s arm was laced through his; she wore a pretty purple day dress, with one of those terribly impractical hats atop her head.

“I’d forgotten how formal everything is here,” Sebastian mused. He’d wanted nothing more than to throw an arm around her, pressing kisses as they walked through the streets. Instead, they stayed a healthy distance away from one another, walking politely.

“It’s just for now,” Theo reminded him. “Once Ominis and I have figured out a way to end things–”

“I know,” Sebastian grumbled.

“In good time, my love.” Theo murmured, patting his arm.

They walked down to the apothecary; once inside, they went their separate ways. Theo pretended to look at ingredients as Sebastian dealt with the shopkeep.

“I’m looking for a few items,” Sebastian said quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Despite being a grown man, having to ask for the ingredients was still mortifying. He could never forget the way Mr. Pippin had laughed when he bought a surplus of ingredients the summer before seventh year. He’d even given his own advice on how to brew it, leaving Sebastian red in the face.

“What kind, sir?” The old shopkeeper asked innocently.

“Er, tansy, peppermint, and wormwood.” Sebastian pulled at his collar.

The shopkeeper gave him a curious look. “I do have those on hand–and a particular brew pre-made, in case you needed it sooner.” their eyes flew up to Theo, who was still innocently browsing.

“That would be great,” Sebastian rasped.

The shopkeeper nodded, turning to go down into the cellar. As soon as they were out of sight, Theo walked over, laughing.

“I can’t believe you’re still embarrassed.” she snorted. “What are you, a teenage boy again?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “You buy it then,” he demanded.

Theo chuckled, fixing the lapels of his jacket. “I vividly remember you promising that you would buy it. After the third…no, was it the fourth time…”

Sebastian was definitely red in the face. “Have mercy on me,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You weren’t complaining, if I recall correctly.”

Theo bit down on her lower lip, her eyes dropping to his. “No, I wasn’t.”

Sebastian yearned to kiss her, but the bell at the front of the store rang. The two of them jumped several feet apart as customers walked in. A few ladies came into the store, and to Sebastian’s surprise, Violet McDowell. She had her hand on her stomach, clearly pregnant.

“Sebastian!” Violet exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Sebastian gave her a meek smile. “Nice to see you, Violet.”

Violet turned her head to Theo, her nose turned up. “And Theodora, how lovely to see you. You must be so excited that Sebastian is home.”

Theo gave Violet one of her saccharine smiles, one that Sebastian knew was obviously fake. “Vi, so good to see you. How is your husband?”

Violet swung around to Sebastian, showing off a diamond ring. “It’s Violet McLaggen now,” she announced, waggling her fingers. “Married last year. He’s lovely. A junior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself.” she bragged.

“How nice,” Sebastian feigned.

“Due any day now, aren’t you?” Theo interjected. “That must be so exciting.”

“Buzzing with excitement,” Violet rubbed her stomach proudly. “Oh Theo, you really should be settling down soon before you’re too old. I keep telling Grace and Nerida the same. Imelda however, she’s a lost cause,” Violet giggled. “How is Ominis?”

Sebastian hardened his jaw; he could tell Theo was also fighting the urge to set Violet aflame.

“Oh he’s just fine, he’s actually–”

“Your ingredients, sir.” The shopkeeper said loudly. “And I had a few vials of the brew on hand.” They set the purple vials on the counter, out for everyone to see. “So for the tansy, the peppermint, and wormwood it’ll be six galleons. With the potions it’ll be–”

“Here,” Sebastian said hastily, shoving money towards the shopkeeper. Theo kept her eyes glued to Violet as he stuffed the bag into his jacket pocket.

“Well, my, my.” Violet simpered, a smug look on her face. “I see not much has changed.”

Theo rolled her eyes. “Oh Vi, I wouldn’t assume.” she snapped.

Violet held up a gloved hand. “No assumptions from me, Theo.” she grinned. “I’ll let you two go; it was lovely to see you both.”

Theo and Sebastian left the apothecary, both red in the face. Sebastian gripped the bag with the ingredients and potions, feeling more embarrassed than he had in years.

“I would’ve slapped her all over again if she wasn’t pregnant,” Theo grumbled. “I hate her.”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad.” Sebastian said. “I mean, everyone knows not to trust Violet McDowell.”

Theo crossed her arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Word travels fast around here, Sebastian. I wouldn’t be surprised if some rumor was in tomorrow’s Witch Weekly.” She craned her neck, appraising the crowd. “We should tell Ominis.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I hate this,” he muttered. “I hate that we have to pretend.”

“Well, if you had told me you were coming home, I could’ve dealt with it ahead of time.” Theo sighed. “No use being glum about it.”

The pair walked in silence, Theo’s heeled boots clacking against the cobblestone as she tightened her grip on his arm. Sebastian had promised to take her dress shopping to replace the one he’d torn to shreds the night before, but all he really wanted was to be home with her, free to kiss her as he pleased. And as beautiful as the purple gown was, Sebastian imagined it would look far, far better on the floor.

He cleared his throat as they walked down the street. “Did you still want to go dress shopping?” he asked. “Because if not…”

Theo released her grip on his arm, dancing as she turned to face him with a coy smile. “Let’s go another time. I can think of many more fun things to do at home.”

Sebastian grinned broadly, pushing the entire awkward morning out of his mind. He pulled Theo into the closest dark corner, tugging her close as they apparated back to her house.

Keeping their relationship a secret was just an annoyance for now. He’d have to find the right opportunity to snatch the ring around her neck. Once he had it, he could propose again, and then they could truly live the lives they’d planned. A house in London to raise the children, and Feldcroft for Christmas. Perhaps he could convince her to stay in Cairo with him for a few more years before they settled down. Twenty three was still young, after all.

They reappeared in Theo’s dressing room. Theo immediately started taking her hair down, her dark tresses swaying back and forth as she struggled on the buttons of her skirt. Beaming, Sebastian shrugged off his jacket, leaving the bag of potions on the table. Two new dresses couldn’t be that expensive, he thought, helping Theo tug off her skirts. She shrieked with laughter as he walked her into the bedroom, buttons falling to the ground in the corridor.

There would be time to talk–but for now, Sebastian had to make up for lost time.

#sebastian sallow #writing-intheundercroft #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #Sebastian Sallow would dream about being a dad for sure

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maryellencarter · 1 year ago

Text

okay, this may not be terribly coherent, but i think if anyone in the fandom still follows me, it's important for them to know.

earlier this summer, in addition to my wonderful partner of 6 years @camshaft22 , i agreed to date @johnhawkens , my gaming buddy. i knew he'd had some trouble with alcoholism previously, but he swore he was sober now. after losing my job, i moved up here so we could try to get disability and housing together, because arizona was absolutely horrendous for being homeless and i was not doing that a third time. the social services in this state are indeed much better. however, he had a lot of trouble with various applications falling through, crossed communications, and so forth. after three months in a group halfway house, they couldn't keep him any longer but he had nowhere else to go, so he wound up moving back in with his folks, who did not want him there but were prepared to tolerate him if he kept working hard on his housing.

on friday, november 10, i'm trying to be precise in my dates as far as i've been able to figure out, he got like four different pieces of bad news at once. he dug out some stashed liquor he'd hidden in his room about six months previous (before the halfway house or anything), got drunk, hid the bottle, forgot he hid the bottle, woke up and couldn't find it, assumed his folks had rifled through his stuff while he was asleep, and confronted them about hiding the bottle. this did not go well.

(he's always told me his folks are abusive, and i haven't questioned it too hard as mine definitely were, but i really have to wonder how much is... well, for example, do they actually go through his stuff when he's asleep or does he merely get confused and think they did?)

saturday and sunday, the 11th and 12th, were rough. i comforted him as much as i could, offered to drive up and get him, offered to help with his paperwork, talk to his case managers, whatever. on saturday he told me his father was insisting on seeing his paypal in order to find out if he had bought alcohol, and therefore sent me all the money in it to hold while he deleted the entire account to remove the history. he said he didn't want to get scolded for "unnecessary" purchases like games, which, sure, fine, my folks were like that, but it does mean he can't prove to anybody he *didn't* buy alcohol. (he's set it back up with the same email now.)

on sunday night, the 12th, he went radio silent, except for one DM to me about half past one on monday morning, which as far as i could find out was the last anyone had heard from him. i gave it a couple days, poking him on discord, texting him, calling him, and finally on tuesday evening, the 14th, i started messaging everyone i knew who talked to him, asking if they'd heard anything. nobody had.

on wednesday, i was basically assuming he'd killed himself and i'd missed my chance early monday morning to talk him down. i started looking up obituaries. i started talking about memories of him with his friends, at least the ones i'm reasonably close to myself. and i started to find out that his versions of some stories he'd told me were... weirdly different, from the ways the other people in the same stories remembered them. the other people's versions often seemed more in character to everyone i thought i knew.

we also found out that some of the times he'd messaged us for money lined up weirdly with times he'd claimed to have "drug interactions" making him act strange, and times he'd asked me for a lift. furthermore, i'd recently found out that his free phone "through insurance" was actually a lifeline program phone, which is all income-based through the government, so the time he'd told several of us that he needed a one-time payment to be allowed to keep it... did not fit with how i know the lifeline program actually works, especially since his carrier is verizon-owned and i have the entire verizon internal policy page on lifeline right up here in my damn photographic memory. so we sort of found ourselves edging toward "we hate to disbelieve our friend but we're having trouble making the puzzle pieces fit into the shape he wants".

on wednesday night he messaged me to let me know he was alive. hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, had just been existing in a depression spiral. which, okay, yeah, i've been there. we didn't talk much then because it was my bedtime and honestly i crashed hard from the relief of knowing he was alive.

on thursday, i didn't hear from him. in the evening i called him, and he sounded horrible, couldn't put more than two words together at a time. He told me he'd been having "waking nightmares", and at the time, I was like yeah, that happens to me when I'm off my CPAP, I get so sleep deprived I hallucinate and can't actually fall asleep, it's a problem. I told him he had to get to a hospital, preferably the one near me so I could visit, and he agreed to talk to his folks about it in the morning.

In the morning, we coordinated, his mom and I exchanged numbers, and they agreed to drive him down to the hospital. His mom sounded super happy that he had someone as committed as me who'd be able to give him the support he needed. I met them at the hospital that afternoon -- traffic was absolutely horrendous, so they had to head back home immediately, but they were happy to leave John in my hands, and he indicated he'd rather have me handle it than them as well.

John used to be a 911 dispatcher, so he does at least know that you fucking tell the medics what you've been drinking. Which it seems is why he didn't want his folks around for his intake, because that's when he dropped the bombshell that after running out of liquor made for drinking, he'd continued with isopropyl alcohol, better known as rubbing alcohol.

This hospital has a unique setup where if you're at the ER for psych issues, they don't necessarily whole-ass admit you to the psych ward, they have these little overnight "pods" where you can spend the night and they can assess you. So once John was checked in, I spent a few hours cuddling with him and chatting.

I got his meds list (and eventually found out that combining his particular meds with alcohol will cause hallucinations, hence the "waking nightmares"). He told me enough about the disgusting taste of the rubbing alcohol and how difficult it was to choke down enough to get a buzz off it, that I definitely believe he had been drinking it, although his breathalyzer came back zero so probably not as recently as he thought he had. He also told me that at some point, my best guess is Thursday, he got back in touch with @dukeswonderousmenagerie who let him know that AO3's oxfordRoulette had posted a new Jiglup oneshot; John attempted to read the oneshot, found that his reading comprehension was badly impaired, decided *getting drunk would help*, and managed to down enough rubbing alcohol to get a buzz for about 10-30 minutes (his time sense is also utterly fucked but I can't judge anyone for that), after vomiting it up multiple times.

After leaving the hospital so John could get a night's sleep, I talked the matter over with Leia. I told her the hospital would almost certainly only hold him overnight, especially since he'd told them he didn't have a plan to kill himself. ("He doesn't *think* he has a plan, but if he goes back home he will die," I said.) She agreed that I needed to fight with the hospital doctors to refer him to rehab, or however that works. My bunkmate here at the shelter, who used to be a hospice nurse, told me exactly who at the hospital I should make my case to, but warned me it would be a waiting game.

I hoped to get to the hospital on Saturday morning, the 18th, before they discharged him, and go directly to the doctors. I did not manage this; by the time I got there, John was already sitting right by the elevators and had called his folks for pickup. (He insists that he called me first but couldn't get through, and being a cell phone professional I know I can't quite disprove it, but I sure didn't have any missed calls. I had his number set to ring even when my phone is silenced, too.)

I asked John to let me talk to the doctors to refer him to rehab, a sober house, *anything* but going back to a place where he was already depressed enough to drink rubbing alcohol. He flat-out refused. He told me rehab was the worst experience of his life, and I listened closely while he rambled about it and did not manage to communicate any other reason to me except "I couldn't drink". He insisted he absolutely had to be somewhere he could "get out and about". (He also admitted he'd been able to get an Uber order of alcohol while he was at his halfway house, although he insists that was before I was up here and nothing to do with any of the times he asked me for money or -- God forgive me -- the time I ran a fundraiser for him.)

So he went back north with his folks. I talked to Leia about the conversation I'd had with him, and she was like "I know he doesn't want them to know but we have got to tell his folks to dump out the rubbing alcohol, for his own safety", and I was like "I just wish I knew if that was the right choice" and she was like "I'll do it and take full responsibility, blame me". So that's what we did. Leia texted his mom, his mom told him "we cannot be the support you need, get out of here and call 911 or a rehab".

And John called me, demanded I lie and say it was all a misunderstanding, insisted that if he has to go to rehab or any locked-down living situation where he can't get liquor he will just die sooner. I conferenced Leia into the call, following the plan.

Now, you have to know that Leia does not lie. Ever. Ever ever. I don't think she has in her entire adult life, or something like that. It's her one rule of morality. I absolutely expected her to laugh in his face, "fuck no I will not lie for you, listen to yourself, you have to get it together, man".

Instead, she folded. I did not realize she was so traumatized from the last much worse time I was on the streets, back in 2018, that she couldn't make herself be responsible for someone else being put out on the streets.

I told him, "She doesn't lie, man. Ever." He begged and pleaded and wheedled and demanded, and... She agreed to lie for him. She went -- scary, so scary it wasn't even sexy, scarier than Keith Silverstein Lupin at his darkest, she threatened him that if he ever drinks again he will die slowly and painfully, but he didn't take any of it seriously, which is possible even stupider than drinking isopropyl alcohol.

But anyway, she told John's mom it was all a misunderstanding. She's the worst liar ever, she sounded like she was reading a script against her will, but her normal affect is so autistically flat anyway that Mama Hawkens (this is not her real name) bought it. I did make John convince her to put the isopropyl alcohol in his parents' bathroom past a gauntlet of security cameras, anyway, but he's already bragged to me in the past that he knows how to dodge or circumvent security cameras.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but his mom was right to want to throw him out. Me, I'm saying this. But it was her only possible remaining bit of leverage to try to get him to seek help. And it didn't work, because of me, because I wasn't strong enough to tell him no myself, because I put Leia on the spot.

If he had asked for help, if he'd been "my folks are throwing me out and I have no ride, come up here and get me to a rehab", I would have done it, even if it'd taken all night and had lost me my bed at the shelter. But he didn't. He doesn't want help. He wants enabling. He'd rather be somewhere he can drink, even if he's in fear of his life (I don't know any longer how accurately).

It took me some time to figure out how to break up with him. I've never gone through a breakup before. But if he can and will mess with *Leia's* head that severely, he is not a safe man to talk to, for me or anyone. He will make you sympathize and take his side. He will suck all the money out of you that he can and drink it away. And eventually, someday, he will die.

I told Mama Hawkens "I still want to hear about any major developments with him, if you'd be willing to text me." I told John, "Don't kid yourself that this means I'd ever take you back. I want to know when you die, so your remaining friends can be spared the pain of not knowing."

*shrugs* I don't know how to end this post. Feel free to ask me any questions. I may be slow to answer. I... I loved the man I thought he was. We were going to make a life together. I'm still crying, grieving. I've lost both my Jigen buddies in about six months flat. But I can't be with someone who can or will even *think* of demanding that Leia lie for them. I know I can't even talk to him again or he'll get right back under my skin. I'm a mess, but I just want my side of the story out there, for when his next poor deceived enabler starts trying to figure out the truth.

edit: I JUST FOUND OUT HE WAS ALREADY DATING SOMEONE ELSE ONLINE WHEN HE PROPOSITIONED ME

wow i guess i have a whole story about my crazy ex now huh *yikesarooni*

#alcoholism tw #homelessness tw #self harm tw #i don't know how to tag this #johnhawkens #john hawkens

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allbeendonebefore · 2 months ago

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so here's some irony in the research for you and something im sure would get downplayed or not addressed in the write up, but something i am thinking about a lot.

How much Rebar is the spiritual successor to Flashback is up for debate, it did inherit the sound system and record collection and the queer nightlife did follow, but I haven't entirely figured out if the ownership/management had any ties to the previous club.

The whole point of Flashback was in reaction to gay clubs in the 70s being extremely restrictive out of fear of raids - you needed a known community member to vouch that you were gay (or, according to local elders who were there at the time, you'd be asked to "prove it" and they'll cheekily say Don't Ask How). Instead, Flashback would be a club where everyone was welcomed, and the founder opened it for "gay people and their friends".

By the time Rebar opened in 1993, the Vriend case for human rights was already well underway and would reach the Supreme Court in 98. This was a watershed court case to get legal protections so that you wouldn't get thrown out of your apartment, lose your job, etc if you were even suspected of being queer.

And all this is great to read about wistfully like yay queer utopia of dancing and fighting for rights but it also hits differently when Rebar (and other "straight" clubs around the city, don't get me wrong) keeps running into trouble with racial profiling and requiring absurd amounts of ID, searches, etc. for anyone who isn't white (and at the time, it's also absolutely part of nightclub policy to discriminate based on age, which is something that well-meaning 20-somethings defending club policies keep saying is the Real reason these minority uni students are getting carded)

it's just interesting that at the same time this big human rights case is going on that there are also human rights complaints being brought against an establishment that has its roots in not discriminating. You can throw blame around to the liquor control board licensing requirements or management or security or the youth or what have you, but it's both ironic and rather unsurprising.

I am making records of all the relevant articles though and keeping notes so that no one can say I didn't try.

#hapo's workventures #hapo reads queer history #hapo reads canadian history #hapo rambles

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news-trust-india · 3 months ago

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Delhi liquor Policy Case : केजरीवाल ने बताया CBI की कार्रवाई को 'इंश्योरेंस गिरफ्तारी'

Delhi liquor Policy Case : दिल्ली के सीएम अरविंद केजरीवाल की जमानत याचिका पर सुप्रीम कोर्ट में सुनवाई शुरू हो गई है। दिल्ली शराब नीति घोटाले (Delhi liquor Policy Case) में जेल में बंद केजरीवाल ने अपनी गिरफ्तारी को चुनौती देते हुए सुप्रीम कोर्ट में जमानत याचिका दायर की थी। जस्टिस सूर्यकांत और जस्टिस उज्जल भुइयां की पीठ दिल्ली सीएम की जमानत याचिका पर सुनवाई कर रही है। वहीं वरिष्ठ वकील अभिषेक मनु…

#Delhi Liquor Policy Case #hindi news #वरिष्ठ वकील अभिषेक मनु सिंघवी #सीएम अरविंद केजरीवाल

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sabnews24x7 · 2 years ago

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The ED today arrested Amit Arora, a close aide of Delhi Deputy Chief Minister Manish Sisodia, in the Delhi Liquor Policy case.

#delhi liquor policy case #manish sisodia #arvind kejriwal #delhi

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year ago

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"After beverage rooms opened in Ontario in 1934, the Board followed up with the further regulatory conditions concerning dancing and "ladies nights." The "ladies and escorts" sections "typically took up half of the beverage-room area, had their own entrances and washroooms, and were heavily patronized from the beginning."

Even so, the very presence of women within drinking establishments in combination with unmarried men prompted a moral outcry against the potential impropriety inspired by this mixed drinking within the male beverage rooms. In response in 1937 the LCBO drafted beverage regulations requiring licensed establishments to have "two separate and distinct beverage rooms one for men only, and the other solely for women, except where attended by bona fide escorts.” (Globe and Mail, 1937)

This regulation also applied to female servers, who contested their restriction from serving liquor within the "men only" beverage room. In repeated communications the Board stressed its strong opposition against women servers, denying women the right to work within these establishments even if they owned them or were wives of the owners. In 1944 the Board partially yielded on the matter, explaining to authority holders that they could "make use of females as waitresses in the Ladies' and Escorts' beverage room ONLY" (LCBO 1944). LCBO policy required that "authority holders desiring this privilege" within the Ladies and Escorts room to have female servers working "must make application to the Board as well as submit a medical certificate covering the proposed employee and indicating that she is free from disease" (ibid.). Having these women in male beverage rooms apparently "raised fears about prostitution, immorality and venereal disease" within anti-beverage room discourses (Marquis 2004:316; Globe 1934b; Ontario Provincial Council of Women 1944). Male servers, in contrast, were not held to this medical standard. The transfer of principle, then, was based not on exclusion, but instead on inclusionary segmentation of the space in which alcohol circulated. It continued in Ontario until the responsibility of controlling these establishments was shifted away from the LCBO and the opening of mixed "Cocktail Lounges" targeted a more temperate middle-class clientele in 1947 (Marquis 2004: 317).

Women could, of course, drink within their homes. Yet in the Board's early years even there some female drinkers who were the subject of gossip and public criticism, On the LCBO's opening day in 1927 the Globe reported on women purchasers as if they were spectacles for public consumption. Articles were critical of women who "wheeled baby carriages" when making their purchases, or of women who were assertive of their right to drink openly and questioning their ability to both drink and be effective mothers (Globe 1927h). Moreover, discourses surrounding alcoholism and motherhood in the late 1930s expressed fears over a scientifically underdeveloped and fear-based understanding of what would later become known as fetal alcohol syndrome. At a WCTU convention in 1937 a speaker expressed “science claims that alcoholic mothers give to the world either a prostitute or a delinquent, when she does not give an epileptic, an idiot or a lunatic.”

During the Board's early years many women also avoided taking out a permit of their own for fear of being stigmatized - a tendency that again increased the degree to which female gender performances concerning alcohol were mediated by male figures within their lives. When it came to Board policy, the identity of women's husbands or fathers was integrated into the purchase process: the occupations and sometimes names of these men were included on female permits, acting as the lenses through which cases of misspending and overindulgence were viewed.

Unlike men's clubs and legions, which had no trouble obtaining licenses and served as a means by which men could resist Board control over their drinking spaces, women's clubs were denied this privilege…this "issue blew up first in 1935 when the Germaine Club, which had always had a mixed membership, was ordered to stop serving beer to women." The Board held firm to its decision. It disallowed not only women in uniform from drinking but also the gender-exclusive woman's auxiliary equivalents of male clubs."

- Gary Genosko and Scott Thompson, Punched Drunk: Alcohol, Surveillance and the LCBO 1927–1975. Winnipeg and Halifax: Fernwood Press, 2009. p. 152-153

#liquor control board of ontario #lcbo #ladies night #liquor control #interdiction list #government machine #war on alcohol #punched drunk #academic quote #reading 2023 #ontario history #patriarchal authority #unruly women #regulation of morality #controlling women #women's clubs

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vilandel · 7 months ago

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Silver Cats & Black Roses

Chapter 5 – Dinner, Willow & Memories

A/N Bad things in this chapter: A noble that is a pain Good things in this chapter: Our couples are getting closer 💜💙

Ao3 link

♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣

“You’re late.”

“Just by twenty minutes, Prickly Queen.”

Yami knew himself that he was very late, but seeing Charlottes offended face was just worth it. Besides, he did warn her. He was pretty much unable to be on time without Finral and this luckily wasn’t a captains meeting.

But maybe he should have put some efforts and tried more to be on time. Because this talk and this meeting with Charlotte were very important for him. Why? How much? Yami had no idea but it was important to him and that alone mattered. The details were just future Yami’s problem.

Charlotte just sighed in resignation. Probably she wasn’t in the mood to bicker back. Sadly, because Yami really enjoyed bickering with her. But maybe it wasn’t the right time now.

Strange, that would be the first time Yami would feel that way.

“Alright, Yami. Let’s go.”

“’kay.”

The restaurant Charlotte choose was one Yami actually knew. It was the same one she invited him for dinner too, months ago, when he wanted to ask her about her curse while the Black Bulls were investigating devils.

She acted pretty weird that day too, jumping out of a window in her nightgown even before he could ask her about her curse and run through the entire city. Only to invite him for dinner the same day.

What a troublesome woman. Her Ki was very unique, but never did Yami ever had that many difficulties to understand said Ki. Even old Julius was easier to read than Charlotte and that alone means something.

They ordered their meals and got their drinks, tea for Charlotte and of course a good beer for him.

Should Yami have ordered beer, though. After all, he knew very well that Charlotte couldn’t hold her liquor. But it wasn’t like she would take a sip from his beer, although maybe it would have been polite.

Why was he thinking about fricking policy in the first place? He usually never do that!

So, why with Charlotte?

Said woman that awaken some complicated thoughts in him had been awfully quiet since they got in this restaurant. She only raised her voice when it was to order their meals and drinks. But now, Yami was met with silence.

That wasn’t what he came here for in the first place.

But she probably was a bit nervous and unsure as well. She invited him for dinner, despite the fact that she probably couldn’t stand him.

Yami decided to not push her. At least not too much.

Just like that other dinner almost one year ago, she let her hair free, only the tiny braid fell at the side of her face.

Yami liked when she had that hairstyle, even with the braid. He usually didn’t like braids and Nozel just reinforced that fact. But Charlotte, that simple braid in her free falling hair, he liked it. Maybe he should tell her to have her hair more often like that. But given how Charlotte couldn’t stand him, maybe it was better not to. She wouldn’t get that hairstyle anymore if he said that.

“Well, Yami…” Charlotte finally said and Yami felt himself flinch for some reason. Was her opinion of him really that important for him?

Charlotte took a deep breath and finally said, “You should stop thinking that I hate you. It is not the case. I thought you realized that while reading my Ki.”

“Well, to your info, your Ki is very unique and complicated, even for me. And you never miss an occasion to point out how much I got on your nerves.”

“You do, I won’t deny that and I highly doubt that you’ll ever stop. But even though you’re getting on my nerves, it doesn’t mean that I hate you.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! Heavens, what do you need to finally believe it.”

“Just kidding, Prickly Queen. You know how much I love to do that.”

“Of course I do, sadly.”

Charlotte almost looked like she pouted and for some reason, he found that really fricking adorable.

She was a really complicated woman, the most complicated he knew and damn, Yami actually doubted he would ever understand her. But one thing for sure, he didn’t want her out of his life.

“I was sick worried about you and William, when you two got kidnapped by the Dark Triad,” Charlotte continued, twirling her silver spoon in her tea. “Not only because you’re both very valuable and irreplaceable knights for this kingdom, but also for your squads members and because we’re colleagues. Everyone was worried about you, even Nozel was ready to take the Dark Triad to get you and William back. Yami, for the very least you’re respected by us other captains and I… have more than respect for you. You said it yourself, we’ve known each other for years and as captains, we went through a lot, especially those last two years.”

“You can say that out loud.”

“Yes, and… after everything that happened… I don’t want you to continue to think that I hate you. Well, since you couldn’t figure it out with your Ki reading, of course I had to tell you directly, even though you’re stubborn enough to maybe not believe me.”

Why did Yami had the feeling that Charlotte knew him better than many others all of a sudden?

“I’m sorry for every time I hurt your feelings, it wasn’t my intention, it never was. I just think… Well… It’s difficult to say, but… I… I don’t want us to be like it was before the war in Spade. I mean, not entirely… I guess you will never stop getting on my nerves and you will never stop teasing me. I just… well… how can I put it?”

“You want us to be on better terms. Am I right, Prickly Queen?”

“What? Uh, yes. That is one way to put it.”

One way to put it? Yami had no idea what she exactly meant by that. But at least, he got the basis idea of what she wanted to say. Maybe.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be against us to be on better terms. I mean, you’re a troublesome woman and definitely kinda stick up your ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“But you’re also obviously one of the best knights I’ve ever known, including Asta. And you care more about your squad, your girlies and this kingdom than most people I know. I will definitely continue to tease ya and I’ll admit, I kinda enjoy getting on your nerves. But I guess that something colleagues do and friends too. At least, old kid Julius says that.”

Charlotte just looked at him. She seemed kinda surprised and maybe she wanted to say some more things? Yami really couldn’t tell, but well, no surprise here. Charlotte always had been difficult to read, Ki or not.

After a short while, Charlotte sighed. Somehow resigned and defeated, but also determined? Yami had no idea how to feel about it, but he decided that this would be future Yami’s problem.

“So, if that’s what you wanted to tell me, why did you acted so weird? Especially at my wheels wedding, you were really weird back then, y’know. Still waiting for an explanation for that. Ya wanting to be on better terms with dear old me couldn’t be the only thing bothering you. I have a delicate little heart of glass that’s breaking easily, y’know.”

“Delicate little… Whatever. Well, obviously I didn’t had an easy time since we returned from Spade. You were only part of my worries and not all of them are squad related.”

“Oh?”

Yami didn’t had the time to ask more, as the waiter arrived with their ordered meals. A whole roasted chicken with peas and onion rice for Yami and two roasted egg toast with mild cheese on a salad bed for Charlotte.

For a noble restaurant, this one wasn’t really snobbish and fancy over the food, something Yami really appreciated.

They started eating in silence, enjoying the food. But just as Yami was about to ask Charlotte about the worries she mentioned, some noble asshole appeared at their table.

“Lady Charlotte, what a surprise to see you here! And what a delight too, honestly.”

Yami clenched his fists. He knew it would be bad to attack a noble in a public restaurant, he had to hold back. It wasn’t even about him, Yami was used to be practically ignored when it wasn’t insults.

No, what Yami didn’t liked right there was how this stick-ass noble asshole was talking to Charlotte like she was some kind of fancy prize or a delicate princess that needed sickening sweet words to not break in thousands pieces. She was more than that and she was anything but a fragile little princess.

“Lord Reginald, good evening,” Charlotte just replied politely, taking a sip from her tea.

Reginald, then. Such a stupid fancy name, Yami decided. Reggie would it be then, a stupid nickname for a stupid noble asshole. He bright pink hair with some grey strands, his turquoise eyes looked a bit dull – which was a rare thing to manage with such a bright colour – and everything in Reggies appearance screamed that he tried to look younger than he really was. What a loser.

Still, Yami couldn’t help but admire Charlotte. He could tell that she was upset by this intrusion and yet, she kept her cool, was polite but with a cold distance, clearly showing that she didn’t like Reggies presence. Yami would never been able to put up that act and with such a patience.

A troublesome woman maybe, but surely an amazing one.

Reggie seems taken aback by Charlottes distant attitude, but sadly, it wasn’t enough to get him to walk away.

“I would have loved to talk to you during the royal wedding a few days ago, but sadly, there was never an occasion.”

“No wonder, it was a big ceremony and given my family told me, you were quite busy searching for potential spouse candidates for your children, lord Reginald.”

Did Yami just heard some kind of sarcasm in Charlottes voice? Damn, she really didn’t like Reggie. A small proud smile appeared on Yamis lips.

“Ah, yes, I was. You know, a royal wedding is one of the best occasions to find potential betrothed and since you know, I have twelve children.”

Twelve kiddos? Geez, Yami felt pity for Reggies poor wife.

“Isn’t your oldest daughter already married, though?” Charlotte asked, still cold and distant.

“Yes, my dear Ursula married last year. I was actually worried that she would end up as a spinster, given that she was over thirty when she finally married. But thankfully, she married into house Vitrail and there is good hope that she will give her husband an heir soon. But it doesn’t change the fact that I have eleven other children and most of them are in marital age already. Ah, where does the time fly?”

That sounded so fake that Yami had to take a big sip from his beer in order to hide the face he was making. And Charlotte did the same. Geez, would Reggie leave already?

“But you know, I’m also searching for a wife as well. You know, my dearest Franziska passed away last year and well, you might be aware that widowhood never suited me.”

“Indeed, wasn’t the late lady Franziska your fifth wife, lord Reginald?”

Yami hold up a surprised groan. Does that mean that Reggie was married five fucking times and was now even searching for a sixth little wifey to make him more children. That sounded so fucked up, even for standard nobility. Yami already pitied Reggies future wife number six, whoever that might be.

Wait a minute!

Did Reggie have plans to make Prickly Queen said wife number six?

Those sickening sweet words, his complete ignorance of Yamis presence, the uncomfortable glance he gave Charlotte, as if she was a prize for him to win… Not to mention his snobbish, arrogant Ki.

Yami felt himself boiling. The mere thought of Charlotte married to this piece of crap that was Reggie of house Who Cares made him angrier than the whole thing with William and his ties to the Eye of the Midnight Sun.

Who did Reggie think he was? He wasn’t a Magic Knight, just a mere noble with a typical noble attitude, typical noble daily life and typical noble crap. He was just a fly compared to Charlotte. She suffered from a curse and never let said curse getting to be boss over her life. She was one of the best knights and captains Yami ever knew since he came to Clover, she was a strong and independent woman who doesn’t to be told to surpass her limits, she was doing this on her won. She was not only respected but also loved by her girls and even knights from other squads admired her. She was strong and powerful, she wasn’t afraid to train to get better with her magic. The Blue Roses became a strong and fierce knight squad under her leadership.

Not to mention that Charlotte was as clever as she was beautiful, strong on the battlefield as she was sensible when her knights had problem, she was true to her morals unlike other nobles, she knew who to respect and who not, even though she won’t get herself into an unnecessary fight. She said directly what she thought, was loyal to this kingdom, never looked down on people out her circle. She knew how to help herself in a fight and even got new spells during the war in Spade.

Charlotte Roselei was an amazing woman and Reggie didn’t deserve her, even more since she was certainly just a prize in his dull eyes.

Reggie of course didn’t realized the dark Aura around Yami as he continued with his sickening sweet voice, “You know, your aunt Rosamund talked to me recently. And I have to agree with her, we should talk more, lady Charlotte. Since we met on a nice coincidence, would you mind if I join you?”

Reggie already made attempts to sit down at the table. Yami was this close to dimension slash that bastard into hell.

“As much as your company would be… delightful, lord Reginald, I can’t enjoy it this evening. You surely noticed already that I’m not alone and you’ll understand how impolite it would be to let my dinner partner alone.”

What a satisfaction to see Reggie flinch heavily and finally realizing that Prickly Queen wasn’t alone. Yami could barely hold back a snicker.

“Oh, um… Yami Sukehiro, captain of the Black Bulls. I guess… good evening.”

“Yo, lordy, how’s it going?”

The face Reggie was making was priceless, but Yami still hold back his laughter. Not that he mind to get problems with arrogant nobles, that was practically daily business for him. But Yami didn’t want Charlotte to get troubles.

It was still nice to see how she needed to hold back a smile as well.

“Fine, thank you. May I ask what is your business with lady Charlotte?”

Reggie should better don’t act as if Prickly Queen mattered to him. Yami could tell from his Ki the arrogance of this jerk and the insecurity Reggie wasn’t probably even aware of. Great, he really was a loser without even realizing it.

“This is a professional dinner, lord Reginald. You might be aware that both Yami and I are Magic Knight captains. The Wizard King is very entitled to have the squads work more often together, which is beneficial for the safety of the kingdom. So, of course Yami and I are discussing such matters while having dinner.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I almost forgot that you’re a Magic Knight captain too, lady Charlotte?”

What was that supposed to mean? Yami really wanted to throw a powerful Dimension Slash at Reggie for disrespecting Charlotte. What was wrong anyway with her being a captain, she was one of the best in the whole kingdom of Clover!

And why did Yami felt so protective of his Prickly Queen anyway? He knew first hand that she’s able to handle herself!

Wait… why his Prickly Queen?

“Well, in that case I won’t disturb your… professional dinner any longer. Captain Sukehiro. Lady Charlotte, send me a letter the next time you have some free time on your schedule, I would really love to talk to you once in a while.”

Geez, doesn’t Reggie realize how fricking unsubtle he was right now? What a poopy pants.

“Good evening, lord Reginald.”

Charlotte of course was so calm about this whole scenery. She didn’t even looked at Reggie who somehow finally realized the coldness in her voice and finally got his ass out of here. Well, by Yamis books, he shouldn’t have come here in the first place.

“This… is basically another one of my worries from those last three months,” Charlotte sighed after a minute or two of silence.

“What, is Reggie bothering you? Do you want me to do something about that?”

“What? No, it doesn’t have to do with him specifically. It’s just… You did heard that a lot of betrothals happened and weddings are being planned after we returned from the war in Spade?”

“Yeah, Finral and Noelle said something about anyone freaking out to hook up within nobility. But those two always have a tendency to overreact, so I don’t really care.”

“Well, you’re lucky then. As for me, I can’t just ignore it. My whole family became so determined to finally getting me married since I return from Spade. It was more bearable before, when it was just my mother and some of the nicest aunts to deal with it. But now… Well, even relatives from other houses are suggesting some candidates to me. And lord Reginald Évantail is one of them, of course.”

“Crap. Can’t they just leave you alone? I mean, I don’t know how it works with you higher-ups when it comes to marriage and shit like that, but still. Can’t they let you choose?”

“Sadly, even though arranged marriages aren’t so much anymore like golden cages as they were hundred years ago, they’re still too important in my circles. The more scandals a family has to her name, be it like secrets or official, the more they search marital alliances to put stand better in front of other noble houses. And my family, house Roselei… sadly has a lot of scandals bond to the name.”

“Never knew about that. That’s rough, Prickly Queen. So… since your relatives are on your back like that, you’re one of the best marital candidates of your house?”

“I’m surprised you came to that conclusion, but you’re right.”

“Yeah, I’m not as dense as my brats believe I am.”

“Not so sure about that, but well, I’ll give the benefice of doubt. After all, you’re right. Despite my curse, I’m one of the very few Roseleis with no scandals, which makes me one of the best marital candidates for my house. It is really frustrating, because I don’t want to get married against my will. I love some members of my family, but… I feel really alone on that matter.”

“You’re not alone, Prickly Queen. ‘kay, I don’t know how to help you to not get married away, but I know you. You won’t bent that easily, that much I know. Besides, I’m right behind you, your girlies too and others as well. Heck, I’m sure even Braids would help you to not get wed away. Especially not to a poor loser jerk like Reggie. You won’t be his wife number six and you won’t be the wife of someone who doesn’t value you like you should be.”

“I… thank you, Yami.”

Charlotte smiled. A soft smile, but for some reason, it lit a strong fire in his whole body.

Okay, Yami knew that Charlotte didn’t smile often, but still, his reaction to it was too much.

Why would he react like that anyways?

“Besides, I don’t get why you need to more or less pay for the wrongs other members of your family did, probably even years ago.”

“It’s not logical, I know. And despite what my family believes, a marriage won’t erase like that what they did wrong. But they would rather contradict themselves five times in the same sentence than stop ignoring the consequences of their scandals.”

“Don’t be so worked up about them, it’s not your fault, after all. You shouldn’t care about those scandals.”

“I know that, I know that very well even. Most of them, I can put them behind me very easily. But there’s one… It’s been at the back of my mind for years, even though it’s nothing I can do about it. It… involves my own father.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes. I’ve never told this to anyone.”

“You don’t need to, y’know.”

“I know that. But I also know that I can trust you.”

Why did his heart started to beat furiously when she said that?

“When I was eight or nine years old, my father had an… affair. With a woman from the Common Realm. A child was born from their liaison. That poor woman came one day to the Roselei Villa to speak with my father. I remember what happened that day rather well. Not everything, though, I was so young. My mother wasn’t there, so she never knew. My father probably send her away for that day, for a big shopping trip or something. I don’t recall, but I know that I was supposed to come with her. My father probably counted on it, so that neither or my mother would learn about his mistress and his bastard child.”

“But you didn’t go with your mom.”

“No. I didn’t felt well that day, so my mother went without me. So, I witnessed how my father’s mistress came to the villa and asked to meet my father. She had her baby in her arms and from what I gathered, she begged my father to help her and their child. I think that she was alone, no family to help her out. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t come and ask my father for help. She didn’t even ask him to elope to some far away place with her or to divorce my mother and marry her instead. She just asked him to help her and to take care of their child. But my father refused, telling her that he couldn’t waste his time on a bastard and such horrible things. My father basically throw that poor woman out and her child with her. I remember how she cried as she left our villa. I felt so bad for her and wanted to give her some comfort. But I was afraid. Afraid that she wouldn’t want my comfort, given that I was the legitimate child and not hers. Also, afraid of my father, for what he would do if he ever learned that I knew. I never heard from that poor woman and her baby since then. And well… you can tell that I lost my affection and trust towards my father since that day.”

“That’s brutal. For that woman and for you, to learn something like that so young. Is that the reason why you don’t trust men most of the time?”

“It is one of the reasons, yes.”

Charlotte sighed and looked outside, where the first lights of dusk started to paint the sky in purple, yellow and dark red.

“I often thought about that woman and her baby. I wish I could have searched for them, giving them the help my father refused them. But I have no idea where to start, I don’t know that woman’s name and I have no idea if I have a half-brother or a half-sister. All I know is that they came from the Common Realm. But who knows if they’re still there today or somewhere else entirely. Be it the Forsaken Realm or another country. Maybe even another continent. And… I am an only child, as you know. But somewhere out there, I have a younger sibling, a brother or a sister and I know nothing about him or her. It pains me, because… I would have loved to know my half-sibling.”

Yami didn’t know what to say. But he could relate, probably more than Charlotte realized. After all, he also had a sibling somewhere out there.

Ichika.

It’s been such a long time since he thought about his younger sister. And even much longer since that fateful day… It wasn’t something Yami liked to think about. It hurt too much, especially since he would never see her again. Which was better for her. Ichika started her life again, like he did in Clover. Yami knew that Ryu took care of his sister and he was certain that Ichika became a strong warrior today. This was at least certain and Yami couldn’t ask for more for her.

But while he had this certainty, Charlotte didn’t had that. She didn’t even know if she had a brother or a sister, she never got the chance to be an older sibling. Yami knew that she would be a great sister. The way she takes care of her own squad was enough proof.

He knew he wouldn’t see Ichika again. But Charlotte… there was a slight chance that she would met that mysterious sibling one day and maybe have a bond with that person.

Yami softly put a hand on hers. Charlotte looked at him with surprised and for some reason, she was blushing.

“Prickly Queen, I can tell that this bothers you. Which is fair. Your old man acted like a prick and you deserve to know more about your lil’ bro or lil’ sis. Spade is over, so you can start to try some personal quests. I’ll help ya.”

“You… you would… But… But I told you I have no clues about their identities.”

“Just details, Prickly Queen. Just details. I think we can manage that, even though it won’t be really easy and it might take some time. But we had it worth, with those elves and those shitty devils. Searching for your sibling is a piece of cake compared to that. And well, you wanted us to be on better terms, wouldn’t that be like a perfect occasion?”

“I… I’ll accept your help. Thank you, Yami.”

Charlotte smiled so brightly at him like she never did before. And his stupid heart was beating even faster for no reason.

But who cares? Yami would help her, with her secret half-sibling and those suitors as well.

After all, she was important to him.

♣♣♣

“You see that tree there, Nozel? Just at the pool. This tree is called a willow.”

“A will-o.”

“Almost. It’s a beautiful tree, isn’t it? Willows are like shelters, with those branches that flow around them like a waterfall. And this one is especially like this. It’s one of my favourite places.”

“Favo…?

“You’ll learn that word soon enough, my sweet baby boy.”

Nozel couldn’t tell if his memory was accurate. He had been only two or three years back then, when his mother brought him at the parc of the royal capital for the first time.

But as he saw that willow his mother loved so much, right at the pool full of water lilies, he felt that the memory which just popped into his mind was true.

Why was he even there in the first place?

A matter of circumstances, honestly. Grenadine told his vice-captain that he left work earlier yesterday to go out and Agatha told him she should do that more often, because apparently it did him good.

Nozel would admit that leaving work earlier and allow himself somehow a relaxing evening did him good indeed. Today, he worked calmer like never before since he became captain of the Silver Eagles and he had been less stressed. A foreign feeling for him. Not uncomfortable, he’ll admit, but still unusual. He didn’t know if this would be efficient every time for his duties. But maybe he needed that.

It had been a shock yesterday when Vanessa took him to his mother favourite café. A lot of memories had come back to him. Happy ones, but they still hurt nonetheless. Every one of them hurt and just made him felt more guilty for all of his mistakes. But when Vanessa brought him to this café – what a coincidence she knew the café his mother loved so much – Nozel felt like he couldn’t continue like this anymore. Fleeing those happy and painful memories… in the end, it hadn’t helped.

So, today he took his vice-captains suggestion – much to his knights shock – and left work earlier as well. But instead of going back to the Silva palace, his feet led him to the parc of the royal capital and more precisely, to the willow at the pool with the water lilies.

Another one of his mother’s favourite places. Not to mention that willows were her favourite trees and water lilies her favourite flowers. She was the one who installed a little pool with water lilies in the Silva flower garden, the most beautiful flower garden in the whole kingdom.

Another favourite place of Acier Silva.

How strange. He hadn’t thought about all those places his mother loved for so long and now, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. Thanks to a person that has no bonds whatsoever with his mother at all, how peculiar.

Would Vanessa love to know this place as well? Would she love it?

Why did her opinion somehow mattered so much to Nozel?

It was fair to say that since the return from Spade, some unexpected things happened in his life. Some were welcome and even needed, like his better relationship with Noelle and the fact that Nebra also wanted to mend her bond with their youngest sister. Still a work in progress and he still doubted that he deserved it. But it was nice and it made Noelle so happy. He couldn’t take that away from her.

Then he finally accepted someone as a Silver Eagle who wasn’t a royal or a noble. Which brought him a lot of critics from most royals and nobles, but they always were subtly on his back behind closed doors, he was used to it. Besides, Grenadine was a bastard, so she had noble blood. But still, she wasn’t a royal or a noble and Nozel felt a bit proud to have let go some of his prejudices and chose her as a new recruit.

But those were things he was able to plan his future steps, to get ready for any eventuality. Vanessa barging like that into his life… he had no control over it, no possibility to plan his next steps. It had been so fast in a way. It overwhelmed him, but not in a way of drowning. It felt… nice. To have someone to talk to, who seemed to understand him, who told him things he didn’t even know he needed to hear.

It was thanks to Vanessa somehow that Nozel got a grip on himself and stopped fleeing the happy memories he had of his mother.

Was this how gratitude felt like? He had forgotten the feelings so long ago.

Slowly, Nozel walked down the path to the willow. He still felt this apprehension to come back to this spot. Should he have taken all of his siblings with him or was it too soon to have all four of them peacefully in a place? Should he have taken his sisters? Only Noelle? Only Nebra?

Nozel was so used to make things wrong since his mother died, he wasn’t able to tell anymore if it was really wrong or actually right. Was he still strong or did his maintenance of house Silva, of the legacy his mother left behind and of his controlled, tasteless life starting to have some cracks?

It was so blurry, he couldn’t tell. But he needed to figure it out, one way or another. Maybe starting to finally live a bit more for himself would help, even though he probably didn’t deserve it. But living for impossible expectations… He didn’t want this anymore. He lived like that for over a decade and it never had been enough in the eyes of nobles and most royals.

Nozel quickly shook his head. He didn’t want to torture himself with those kind of thoughts today, he did that every other day already. He wanted to remember his mother, maybe cry a while and learn to calm down his guilt, not completely, but a little bit.

He started to walk slightly faster.

“Oh, lord Nozel, good evening!”

Nozel just stopped, holding back a groan. It wouldn’t have been very royal to do so. But still appropriate, somehow.

“Lord Reginald Évantail.”

And of course, it had to be one of the members of house Évantail, the very same house of Grenadines father. Would he try to subtly complain that Nozel took the bastard daughter of this noble house as a new Silver Eagle? Wouldn’t be the first time and his answers started to come automatically at this point.

“What a surprise to see here, do you have a free evening?”

Yes, and he would highly appreciate to not have it tainted by a snob, thank you very much.

“Yes, it is something I need once in a while.”

“Who would have known, I always thought you were always at work. But I can understand that you need a calm evening from time to time, I know that duties can be so exhausting sometimes.”

Nozel turned away, because he couldn’t fight his urge to roll his eyes. He knew that duties could be exhausting, he followed them every day. Which wasn’t the case for lord Reginald and other nobles like him.

“For example, searching for an appropriate spouse for my children,” lord Reginald continued, with fake casualty. “You know, my oldest daughter married last year. Well, it was time for Ursula, almost to late even, she was this close to become a spinster. But I still have eleven other children and most of them are in marital age. Lady Bianca, my Head of House, is of course a big help, but it is still so difficult to find the best candidates for my poor children.”

Which was worse, complaints about Grenadine becoming a Silver Eagle or nobles trying not very subtly to get someone married into royalty?

Nozel knew that it was his duty to get married one day or another and by doing so, allow his siblings the freedom to choose who they want. A duty he never appreciated and for some reason, he started to hate it more and more. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, but the thought of marrying someone out of duty and conceive an heir – a very touchy subject for the Silvas, since there was only four of them left – became unbearable with each passing day.

Did this also started since he came back from Spade? Maybe even in Spade? Nozel remembered he had mentioned a bit to Vanessa during their talk three months ago.

Vanessa… her again.

As if saying it out loud for the first time and to her made him realize how disgusting this duty was.

Lord Reginald of course continued his speech. How many times did he rehearsed it? “I think I might have mentioned that my second oldest daughter, Prudence, is younger than you and very available. Not to mention that she is prudent, a good quality for a Head’s spouse. And my oldest son, Reginald the second, might have taken some interest in lady Nebra. Oh, and my twins, Victor and Victoria might be interest in lady Noelle or in lord Solid, if it must be. And well, as you know, I’m a widower since last year and I wouldn’t mind to change my name into the one my sixth wife would wear.”

I would myself become a Silva if you let me marry either lady Nebra or lady Noelle. Of course lord Reginald didn’t say that, but it was like he did. This couldn’t be called subtility anymore!

Nozel never liked lord Reginald, like honestly most members of house Évantail. The only one who had a very positive impression on him was Grenadine and she was a bastard daughter.

There was no way Nozel would let that old man who still tried to appear young marry one of his sisters, he was old enough to be their grandfather! And none of his children would be Silvas either. The other Reginald was just a copy of his father, the twins were snobbish devils and Prudence Évantail was maybe calm, but also extremely submissive and arrogant. Not to mention she had been one to always have harsh words speaking of Noelle.

No, none of them would be perfect fits to be Silvas, despite how much lord Reginald and his children thought that they had the key to make house Silva great again. Like all those other nobles who sent him marriage proposals day after day.

Nozel was sick of it.

He would have to choose a spouse one day, for his siblings. But not today and certainly not someone from house Évantail.

“I’m sure you will find potential spouses for your children, lord Reginald. Nobles are always good at such things.”

His voice was calm, cold and distant, hiding the sarcasm and sounding like he was stating a fact. Good. That might do the trick.

Reginald Évantail was taken aback, but sadly he was a stubborn noble.

“I mean, there was no Silva marriage since your late mother with your dear father. And there’s now only four of you, which is almost scandalous. Not to mention one is not a Silver Eagle, but still a Silva.”

“Have you any objections about how I lead my family and my squad, lord Reginald?”

“I wouldn’t dare to say that.”

He just did, but Nozel had no intention to back down.

“This is good, because you are very much aware that it is not your business how I handle house Silva or the Silver Eagles. After all, you aren’t even a Head of House yourself, but your mother, lady Bianca. If she has a complaint that involves both our houses, she can demand for an audience and we’ll see if I have time for her.”

“But didn’t she demanded an audience not so long ago? About that Silver Eagle who is unworthy to wear the robe…”

Nozel knew that lord Reginald talked about Grenadine. But the description didn’t apply to her and Nozel wasn’t stupid, it was the perfect occasion to make this prick shut up for good.

“I’ll admit that I have a lot of concern about Samuel. He is your nephews son, isn’t he? Well, you’re right, he is very unfit to wear the Silver Eagle’s robe, and worse, he has a nasty habit to avoid his duties. Sadly, the safety of the Clover kingdom and it’s citizen is something he doesn’t seem to care about. I know that we have a century-old agreement with house Évantail to take one member of their house as a Silver Eagle, but if we could change Samuel for a member of your house who would make a serious Magic Knight, I will gladly grant lady Bianca that audience.”

The face lord Reginald was priceless. He knew that there was nothing to say without being ridiculous. He quickly nodded as goodbye and walk away quickly.

Nozel smiled. It was just a small victory and he knew house Évantail would come to bother him again, but it really did feel so good. The occasions to shut up disturbing nobles like that were rare, but very sweet.

“What a jerk, really.”

Nozel almost jumped as he recognize that voice.

Vanessa.

Was she popping into his life like that every day now? Not that he mind, on the contrary, he was forced to admit that she was great company. Not to mention that he thought about her more often than he probably should. But he couldn’t help it.

“He clearly wanted to insult you and yet, he still hoped that one of his children would marry you or your siblings, after what he just said? Geez, and then he wanted to insult you and Grenadine, just because she became a knight of the Silver Eagles. You shut him down perfectly, handsome, he deserved that lesson.”

“Did you heard our talk?”

“Welp, I saw you and since I was here too, I wanted to say hi. So yeah, I heard most of your talk. Gosh, shouldn’t that jerk respect you more? You’re royalty and you are more honourable and respectful, he’s nothing of that! Okay, I don’t know him, granted. But still, whether I know him or not, I know disrespect when I see it. And why did he need to give pink such a bad name? A nice hair colour and nice eye colour as well and such a jerk behaviour, those colours are wasted on him!”

Vanessa seemed so genuinely upset and Nozel couldn’t help but find her beautifully adorable.

Wait, did he just thought that? Well, it was true that she was, but why was it so easy for him to see it?

“Is it true?”

“What do you mean?”

“That your squad has an old agreement with this jerk’s family to accept one of their members as a knight for the Silver Eagles.”

“Sadly, it is. It’s a common occurrence for old squads, especially those of royalty. Noble house heads mostly use those kinds of agreements to send their most useless or most scandalous members to the squads, so they won’t have to deal much with them anymore.”

“Oh… So that’s what you meant when you say nobles use your squad as a trash bin.”

“Well… It is crude to say like that, I admit. But it is also pretty much accurate.”

“Hm. So, now that this jerk is finally not bothering you anymore, can you tell me what brought you here?”

She smiled at him. That cheeky, but incredibly gorgeous smile. She was such a beauty…

It took Nozel a few seconds before he realized that he needed to answer her.

“Just a walk… and also memories of this place.”

“Oh, really? What exactly, handsome?”

“You see that willow tree over there? The one at the pool with the water lilies. It was my mother’s favourite place in this parc. I haven’t been there since years…”

“Like with the café.”

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t teasing. Just a soft compassion.

Nozel just nodded.

“It looks like a pretty place to be. Your mother surely knew good spots when she saw one.”

“Shall I show you?”

The words left him before he could even think about him. Which never happened to him before. Except in Vanessas presence, for some mysterious reason.

Vanessa turned towards him, her eyes full of surprise. She didn’t answer immediately and during those seconds, Nozel find himself scared. Scared she would refuse, scared she would feel offended by his offer. He had no idea which one was worse, honestly.

The she smiled again and Nozel felt like a heavy burden fell away from him. Seriously, why was he so worked up when it came to her?

“I’d love to. Come, sugar.”

Will she ever stop giving him flirting nicknames like that? Nozel doubted it.

When they came under the willow, Nozel felt himself getting slowly emotional again. This spot almost didn’t changed. The tree was a bit bigger, of course. But for everything else… the evening sun shining softly through the leaves of the willow, the light reflecting on the water, the green of the tree and the blue, pink, white, orange and other colours of the water lilies, it was just like he remembered it.

Just like his mother always loved it.

“Gosh, no wonder your mom loved it here. It feels like a secured place or a sanctuary,” Vanessa laughed, turning around a bit before she sat down on the grass.

“I think it was somehow for her,” Nozel replied, as he sat down next to her. “She liked to come here, preferably with one or two of her favourite novels. Willows were her favourite trees. And water lilies were her favourite flowers.”

“Those are very beautiful flowers, I have to say. Tell me, captain, since you’re a Silva, can you tell me what they mean in flower language?”

“How do you know that we Silvas get education of flower language?”

“Noelle, of course, silly. She’s even the only Black Bull with that kind of knowledge, which always upsets her. But she is kinda helpful. Finral wanted to offer some kind of dark purple flowers and Noelle said that those were mostly to put on peoples grave, so he got her others instead. I mean, the purple ones looked pretty, but I’ll admit that they had a gloomy touch, especially when Gordon held them.”

“Well… Not even the Kiras and the Vermillions learn flower language, it was always us Silvas. I can’t tell were that tradition came from, it must be centuries old. But we do have a beautiful flower garden, with all sorts of flower varieties.”

“Hm, having a flower garden doesn’t mean you have to learn flower language, but why not? So, back to my question, what do water lilies mean?”

“They have different symbolism, like every flower actually. Most of the time, they are a symbol for enlightenment, given of the conditions they grew from. They’re also a symbol for purity, especially the white ones, and majesty. In some cases, water lilies symbolizes as well rebirth and resurrection.”

His mother particularly loved those last symbolism. Nozel never knew why, but if he had to guess, maybe it was because she lost her younger sister to another royal house and her three older siblings who died young. The two uncles and the aunt Nozel never met…

“Nice symbolism, I’d say. And they’re pretty too. No wonder your mother loved them.”

“Yes, she did. But my mother had the habit to call them by one of their other names.”

“Oh, which one?”

“Nymphaea.”

“Nymphea…?”

“It is a variant of the term, but Nymphaea is the correct one.”

“Meh, sounds similar to me and both sounds pretty. Would also be a good name.”

Nozel couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh my gosh, you can laugh! And such pretty laugh too. What is so funny that you couldn’t hold back that lovely sound?”

Nozel blushed, but still answered, “I just… remembered something. When mother was pregnant with Noelle, she had a hard time to decide between a dozen names. Two were her definite favourites. Noelle of course, but also Nymphea.”

“After her favourite flower… And another N name?”

“My mother had such a weakness for names starting with N. I have no idea why, though, so don’t ask me why. When she was expecting Noelle, all the names she thought about started with that specific letter. It was the same when she was pregnant with Nebra and according to my Vermillion aunt, it was also like this with me. Only Solid was the exception, his name was chosen by our father.”

And that man was someone he would not think about, especially not when he was with Vanessa.

“Nymphea Silva,” Vanessa said thoughtfully. “It does have a very nice ring to it. Noelle is nice too, obviously. So, how did she choose that name in the end?”

“Mother told me she choose Noelle in the end, because… because it was so similar to mine.”

“Really? That’s a weird reason.”

Nozel couldn’t deny that. But maybe his mother hoped he would bond with his new sister and be less lonely, if said sister had a name similar to his.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The only things to be heard were the soft breeze blowing through the branches of the willow, some birds singing, the blurry sounds from the capital, sounding so far away even though they weren’t out of town at all.

It was peaceful, so peaceful. Mother must have knew it too, when she came here to read her favourite novels, when she had some free time.

Why did he stop doing that? Because he still felt like he didn’t deserve it. But Nozel didn’t want to feel like that right now. It was so peaceful and it felt so… right. As if it was meant to be since very long.

One day, Nozel promised himself to bring Nebra, Solid and Noelle here too. I won’t be for soon, of course. But one day, he wanted to bring them here, one of mothers favourite places.

And for that, he needed to move forward and work to mend their broken bonds even more.

Suddenly, Vanessa shifted beside him and Nozel was shocked as she actually lied down, her head on his lap.

Never had someone been this bold with him! Okay, nobles were bold, but this here… This was another kind of boldness. And it didn’t felt disrespectful at all. More like gentle teasing and care.

“You really should go out and relax like this more often, honey. It visibly does you good, you look more handsome than usual when you let go of your burden,” Vanessa smiled, winking at him before closing her eyes, clearly enjoying the moment.

If anyone would see them like that in this very moment, they would… think that Vanessa was his mistress or something like that. Which she wasn’t at all and Nozel hated to connect such an insulting word to Vanessa.

It was one second of panic. Just one second. But looking at Vanessa, lying so relaxed on his lap, eyes closed and smiling, enjoying the moment… It was enough to calm Nozel down.

No, he wouldn’t panic and destroy this moment. No one was at the parc at this hour and even if there was someone, the branch of the willow hid them enough, they wouldn’t be seen. He knew that he would get worried about it later on, of course he would be. But for the first time, Nozel wanted to enjoy the presence.

Nozel couldn’t help but look at Vanessa again. Slowly, very slowly, he moved his right hand, caressing her hair, soft like a touch of a tiny butterfly. Maybe she hasn’t realized it.

Her rosewood locks were soft, almost like silk or satin. She was beautiful, both on the outside and on the inside. Nozel didn’t understand why she became such a part of his life in just three months and he had no idea what role she played in it. It was so strange and he was almost afraid to try to understand. Would it be over if it wasn’t a mystery anymore?

But Nozel didn’t want to have Vanessa out of his life again. He didn’t deserve that kindness, but for once, he hoped to keep it. He also wanted to know more about her, everything.

Maybe she became a bit more than just a friend for him.

#Black Clover #Black Clover Fanfiction #Silver Cats & Black Roses #My Writing ☘️♣️#Nozessa #Yamichar #Yami Sukehiro #Charlotte Roselei #Nozel Silva #Vanessa Enoteca #Nozel x Vanessa #Yami x Charlotte #My Black Clover OC ☘️#Reginald Évantail #He is a pain and that's sums up practically his entire character

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