#no borders and nobody that could ever stop them from reuniting

[sterekotypes]

Okay excellent points.

I like to think that it’s not even uncommon in the wolf world either. Derek grew up with the “you might not catch disease, but you could catch a baby, so practice safe sex” or something. Derek always used to roll his eyes because that happens to people like Josh from Satomi’s pack, not him.

He’s better than that, he thinks. And, of course, years later, he’s so eager to finally have something -anything- of Stiles that he’s not even paying attention when the condom breaks. All he can do is hope that he is not preg, and give a fake little laugh when Stiles says “Good thing you can’t get pregnant, huh?” as Stiles is walking out of the door.

Because being pregnant? That would be so amazing awful, and how would he even tell Stiles, huh?

He couldn’t possibly ruin Stiles’s life like that. Not when it’s just started. Not when he’s already taken Stiles’s teen years from him with all those supernatural crises.

Derek does what Derek does best. He clams up about it. Disappears from Beacon Hills for months 5-9, and comes back with baby Eli. He just stares at anyone who asks who Eli’s mother is, and eventually everyone just knows not to ask.

So, Derek relaxes into the silver fox we saw in the movie. It helps that Sheriff Stilinski takes it upon himself to help Derek. And if the Sheriff is helping because all he can see is himself trying to raise Stiles after Claudia died? Well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

And Derek is grateful because not only does he have help, but Eli can get to know his granddad and know what a loving pack feels like.

And, yeah, when Stiles comes to visit his dad it’s awkward. Unbeknownst to Derek, Stiles is heartbroken that Derek ran off and had a baby so close to when they slept together. Stiles thought maybe there could be more, but obviously Derek was not into him like that.

And the awkward is too much to handle, so Stiles comes by less and less. Until it’s been 10 years since Stiles had been home, only keeping up with his dad through FaceTimes, voice calls, and texts. His dad offering info about Derek without Stiles having to ask.

And that’s how they go on. Getting little bits of information from the Sheriff about each other.

And when Derek dies? Stiles tries to go home for the funeral, but he has a panic attack as he’s boarding the plane. The flight attendants won’t let him on the plane until he calms down. He does but he misses his flight. Meaning he misses the funeral. He didn’t want to go anyway. He didn’t want to see Derek lowered into the dirt. Not the way his mom was. The way Allison was.

But Allison came back, somehow. That’s what Stiles does on the plane ride back to LA, think about the “somehows” that would allow Derek to come back. And on the car ride to Beacon Hills, he starts to cement his plans. His eyes are burning with exhaustion from the drive, the plane, the tears. So, when he sees Eli for the first time in 10 years, he’s sure he’s hallucinating.

And when Eli gets a sniff of Stiles, he rushes to hug Stiles because he smells like pack. The kind of pack he didn’t have since his dad died, and he had to move in with Scott and Allison.

Stiles tries his best to keep Eli out his plan to revive Derek, but the kid just won’t mind his own business. And Stiles has a flash of being so grateful to his father for his boundless patience when Stiles was constantly getting into something.

And the more time Stiles spends with Eli the more he realizes just how similar he and Eli are. Stiles wants to feel flattered that Derek raised a boy who was just like Stiles, but all Stiles feels is scorned. Because here is living proof that Derek didn’t hate Stiles for his personality, and the more he thinks about it - the more confused he gets.

He stops being confused and starts being suspicious when he visits his third wolf pack and see three same sex couples with a pregnant partner.

Eventually it’s well over a year later. Eli and Stiles have been disappointed time and time again, but neither one wants to call it quits. So, they don’t. They push harder. Stiles is barely sleeping, hardly eating, and the Sheriff is getting more worried every day.

Scott, for his part, has been telling Stiles to just give it up. Move on. He’s been saying that from the beginning. At least Sheriff Stilinski and he lived and he should be glad that no one in his family died. Yikes.

That conversation did not go well. It started with Stiles ripping Scott a new one and ended with Eli living with the Sheriff and Stiles.

Eli nearly dies twice, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. Stiles tries but fails to ban Eli from the effort to revive Derek because Eli refuses to listen and sneaks in anyway. And Stiles can’t have his son going off and doing something dangerous on his own. He won’t lose two Hales to the Hale Martyr Complex.

One day, while Stiles is sitting on the stump of the Nemeton, something just clicks. Stiles presses his hands into the stump until they phase through. Until Stiles falls into the between, Bardo. And there is Derek Hale, smiling, waiting for Stiles to bring him back. Because Derek knew if anyone would, it would be Stiles.

This time when Derek Hale is resurrected, Stiles makes him swear he won’t die again. Derek, for his part, swore that when he got out of there. When he saw Stiles again, he would be honest. About everything.

So he is. He stumbles over his words. Can barely look Stiles in the eyes as he confesses his love for him and Eli’s parentage. His palms are sweating as he talks, but he muscles through. And when he’s done, Stiles kisses him. Hard. And when they pull away Stiles says “We will talk about this later. First, we need to go see our son.”

And Derek’s heart just cracks open and oozes over 15 years worth of love for Stiles that has been building up. Derek tosses his head to the sky and howls - long and loud. He gives Stiles a brilliant grin when Eli’s howl answers and just takes off through the woods towards Eli.

The wind and Stiles laughter whips through his ears as he rushes to his son.

And that’s what happened before and after the movie :)

Everyone on here talking about Stiles mpreg but let's think this through. What makes more sense, that Stiles carried Derek's baby to term and left forever? Or that Stiles knocked Derek up unknowingly on their single hookup where they both got so awkward afterward not able to express their feelings that he left for 15 years to avoid it and Derek was too self sacrificing to tell Stiles and became a single dad? And Derek, Mr. Strange werewolf biology who aside from general werewolf shit like aging differently and shifting, can also fully turn his body into an actual wolf. Now who is more likely to have this baby? A seemingly cis male human like Stiles? Or Werewolf Derek with his already strange werewolf biology?

[detectiveriley]

Guard Dog: A RinchFest Fic

Rinch Fest 2021, Day Three: Established Relationship

Archive Link @rinchfest

Tags: Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Protectiveness, Protective Boyfriend

Summary:  John's nickname/persona of "Guard Dog" is something Harold has, up to this point, taken lightly. It's his job, his duty, to protect the numbers they've sworn to keep safe. But when John and Harold enter a partnership of a more intimate kind, John approaches anyone that threatens his precious Harold with his teeth bared.

If Harold thought John was overly protective before, he was unprepared for the shift that occurred after they'd officially become an item. John became something possessive, and fierce. He always placed himself between Harold and any perceived threat.

Part of it was left over from John's military and CIA training, but Harold knew there was more to it. John always had to be touching Harold in some way- a hand on his shoulder or his knee, ankles brushing under restaurant tables. When they were apart on a mission, John would collapse into Harold's arms when they were reunited. It caught Harold off guard, how affectionate John became when Harold gave him permission.

It was far from unwanted- Harold hadn't had any intimacy with anyone in quite some time, and it felt... wonderful, if slightly strange. He couldn't help but feel a flutter now, when John placed a hand on the small of his back, or a soft kiss to his temple. It was a frequent reminder to Harold, that John was his partner in more ways than one.

The point was really driven home when Harold was in the field. Well, "in the field" was a friendly way of saying being held at gunpoint," but Harold viewed it as a necessary evil, in order to rescue the Machine's designated number, who, as far as Harold knew, was in a safe house with John, while Harold was negotiating.

"I assure you, all of  your demands will be met, in exchange for Miss O'Brien's safety," Harold said, his soft voice echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse.

The mobster sneered. "Well, maybe I ain't done making demands yet."

Harold swallowed. He'd come prepared for the initial agreement and not much else. He was massively outnumbered. If the mob overestimated how deep his pockets were, he'd really be in trouble.

All at once, there was a pop, and the mobster in question fell to the ground with a shout. Two more pops brought two more mobsters to their knees.

"Was this your idea?!" one of the gunmen yelled, swinging his rifle around and aiming at Harold's head. "I swear to god I'll-"

The gunmen was dead before he could finish his sentence, collapsing at Harold's feet. Harold staggered backwards. All of the criminals had been easily dispatched, to Harold's surprise and great confusion.

From the top of a shipping container, John descended with his rifle in hand. He stormed forward with long strides, his eyes glaring and his expression dark. Dramatic shadows from the overhead lights cast harsh lines across his brow and cheekbones. And Harold knew why people looked so afraid when they spoke of "The Man in the Suit."

As John reached Harold, his demeanor changed completely. He slung his gun over his back and reached out to touch Harold, checking him over for wounds and bruises. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently, "Did they hurt you?"

Harold blinked, amazed to see John before him. "You came for me," he murmured.

John didn't seem fazed by this. "Of course I did," he said, not breaking his concentration, "You're my partner." He missed the softening of Harold's eyes when he turned, looking for approaching threats. "Let's get out of here," John added, guiding Harold with an arm around his waist, "I'll drive."

They were in the car before Harold found his voice to speak again. "I can't believe you came for me," he echoed as the warehouse disappeared in the rear view mirror.

"Before you chew me out," John started, "I left Miss O'Brien with Fusco. You can't expect me not to protect you, now that we're... you know, official."

"No, that's not it," Harold replied, "As much as I might not approve of you prioritizing my safety." John titled his head, and Harold sighed. "I spent a long time making myself invisible. In that time, I made sure that nobody cared about me, so that nobody else would get hurt."

John glanced at his partner. He knew Harold was thinking of Grace, and the life he left behind. He place his hand on Harold's thigh in a show of sympathy. Harold covered John's hand with his own before he continued.

"I did it to protect anyone I might come into contact with, but I also did it out of fear. I thought I was being selfless, but coming back from the dead was the hardest thing I've ever done." Taking a deep breath, he finished, "What I'm trying to say is that it's nice to be cared about again."

John smiled. He knew what Harold was talking about- letting someone close to him was terrifying, but being care for was worth it.

"I do care about you," John inserted, "and I won't let anything happen to you."

Harold pursed his lips. "Relationship status aside, you know that's not why I hired you."

"I'm not protecting you because it's my job, Harold. I'm doing it because I love you."

Harold gasped softly. His eyes glistened in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. "I love you, too, John," he replied. It was the first time the sentiment had been exchanged aloud, though they had both known for quite some time.

The car slowed to a stop at a red light, and John and Harold looked at each other. After a long moment, John cleared his throat. "Protecting people is what I do," he began, quietly, carefully, "If I can't keep the people that I love safe..." He swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. "If I can't do that... then what do I have to offer, to show them how much I love them?"

"Oh, John," Harold whispered, fighting back tears. Harold had always known that the impact of Jessica's death stemmed from John's unconditional love. Being on the receiving end of such ardent and unadulterated devotion was... powerful, bordering on overwhelming.

Bringing John's hand to his lips, Harold pressed a tender kiss to John's calloused knuckled, before pressing John's palm against his cheek. "You have so much more to offer," he said, his words feeling fragile in the heavy stillness, "but you are worthy of love regardless of what other stand to gain. Do you understand?"

John swallowed again, nodding silently. Harold had been quite generous with affection and they'd crossed the threshold, but John was unprepared to hear that he didn't have to earn it.

Clearing his throat, Harold untangled himself, pointing out, "Light's green." He kept a hold of John's hand as they crossed the intersection. "Let's go home," he said, "and I'll show you just how much love you deserve."

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: They Are Cryin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Fuck."

It wasn't a painful awakening; she actually felt damn good. Clearer, like the tiny neurons in her brain fired without a jolt of pain. The sweet moment of clarity after the removal of an infected tooth. Bliss. If only a familiar face could loom over her, a happy embrace of the one she loved. A blissful reunion.

The aging woman who looked over her with a sour expression erasing her gratitude and any field of butterflies illusion. Along with the confusion of waking up in unfamiliar territory.

Right, she was dying just a moment before.

"Where am I?"

This sloppily white-painted interior was not part of the shopping center she recognized. The medical machine that counted out her vitals was also out of place, but that was a minute detail. Jane had woken up from the dead once already, just not inside of a shipping crate. Make that one low she had not yet met.

"Just outside of London," the woman's scowl relaxed, "you're with the Special Operations Biotic Company. Luckily for you, I understand you had a rattled implant."

Her hand was grabbed before she felt her spirits utterly bottom out, the woman's dark brown eyes peering out at her from behind black and white streaked hair. A moment of shared pain passed between them before Jane could not manage to keep up the contact, "how about the LT? My home?"

"The latter is in one piece. I'm not familiar with the person you speak of," the lady spoke gently, "you were rushed here after an injury. But let me introduce you to the person that saved your life, Doctor Balcan."

Jane's gaze shifted to the person arriving on the other side of her bed, the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. Dark brown hair and eyes loomed over her; the soft smile set upon full brown lips looked perfectly primped without a touch of makeup. The simple doctor's smock hung perfectly on her body, the garment unable to smear an ounce of the poise this woman possessed. As the female nodded in greeting and her long lashes crested her cheeks, Jane was infected with jealousy.

"Thank you, Helen," even her voice was sweet, not in an artificial way, but in the vein of the sweetness of a ripe strawberry, "I think I can handle Jane for the moment if you wouldn't mind grabbing her meal."

The woman waited for Helen to leave before speaking again, "how long have your biotic powers been misfunctioning?"

"Since the Reapers fell," time was a funny thing to Jane anymore.

"Just shy of seven months," the minuscule movement of her eyebrow hardly seemed surprised, "though, I wasn't expecting to be fixing an L5n implant."

"Who else would be stupid enough to bullrush a krogan," any vanguard worth their salt knew how other biotics could view them. Rash. Stupid. Bullheaded.

"I think your stupid luck is what saved your life. You should have had severe seizures attacks, if not died from them, months ago."

Jane continued with a snarl, "but the mall. How... did everyone make it?"

"It was unkind of us not to tell you immediately, but only one civilian casualty," the doctor proffered a soft smile, "the Special Ops group got to your compound in time to repel the brunt of the attack. We had heard there was a pocket trying to rebuild; we just weren't sure if you were friendly, so the entire team did not come along. They had to rush you back here. The equipment is too fragile to move quickly."

She was even nice, gross.

"I was asked to pass on the message that you keep your ass down," at least the swear word brought her down from the utterly ethereal.

Jane's smile cracked, slightly painful against the cybernetic scars that littered her cheek.

"Your body is a curious piece of work; the sheer amount of upgrades and scarring at a microscopic level is fascinating," the woman pulled out her datapad, scrolling down what Jane assumed was a list of medical notes, "synthetic weaving to reinforce bones, microfibres in your muscles, synthetic skin fibres as well. I can't imagine the cost of that modified biotic amp."

Jane looked at her blankly, "you certainly poked around."

"Somebody wanted you alive," strawberry remarked, undeterred, "I'd think you're some sort of mad scientist experiment -that's a foolish notion. But I have my bets on Special Ops... N7."

Jane's eyes snapped into a glare, setting her jaw hard. Teeth grinding into her following biting statement, "don't attempt to bite off more than you can chew."

The woman returned the statement with tempered pity, lips tucked into a frown. The kickback from her calloused words came back twofold as a sharp pain seared across her orbital bone, requiring a hand to staunch the heat before it ended out in a cry. Jane should be thankful, instead, she was pissed. Most of the angst directed inward, some at the patheticness of the situation, little at the well-meaning doctor.

"Can I go?"

"I'll need you here for a couple more weeks minimum."

Fucking perfect.

The doctor continued before Jane's snarl turned into an attack, "you know you need to keep your biotics offline for a while. During that time, we can prepare to merge our groups as one. We'd like your help in escorting us back."

The last line was a platitude, but the LT's message made more sense. The guilt of their previous encounter started to trickle into her psyche before she squelched it away with a flinch, "any more orders, doc?"

"As you are The Commander, I think I should be deferring to you."

"Come again?"

The female laughed behind her hand, "it's obvious who you are. You may fool everyone else with the fancy scars, wilted demeanor, and blonde hair -which by the way, looks fabulous- but your unique physiology and enhancements give it away. I struggled with the thought briefly because how could the savior of the galaxy be here? You charged in with the strike team that went to activate the Crucible. But by God's grace, you're here."

"You can't be-"

Strawberry waved away the protest with her hand, "I'm more than some yokel surgeon. I don't get to be a spec ops field doctor without further training. You won't fool me."

"You bitch."

"Language, miss!"

The sharp crack of the older's woman's words snuffed the faint glow Jane had unconsciously started to accumulate. But it did not dim her glower, blue eyes pinned on the female tapping something into a datapad. Jane was still, frozen in the moment until the second snap of warmth from a small body clambering into her bed shook her from a blind stupor. The little hands and the mound of mousy hair looking at her with barely disguised disdain.

"But I already know those words," Evelyn murmured, only to increase the scrutiny Helen placed on her patient.

"Why are you-" the room immediately thickened with another aura, a solemn shake from the salt and pepper haired woman stopped her question, "are you here because Pater sent you?"

"It is my job," the girl declared bravely, "Pater said that I was to stop you from fighting with anymore krogan. Or just fighting."

"It was my fault, Evelyn...Helen," Strawberry squeaked, "I poked Mar- sorry, I meant Jane without telling her."

Jane's attention returned to the Doctor, pupils narrowing. That was no longer her name.

"I'll excuse it this time, Rahna," Helen's voice returned to a gentle timbre. Handing over the plate of rations, prepared in a manner that was meant to be appeasing. Simple rations that Jane was not thrilled to consume, "eat up. Biotics need energy. I've seen you guys crash before. I don't want you accidentally breaking something expensive."

Rahna.

Rahna...

Rahna.

The woman raised an eyebrow in her direction, plump lips playing into a smirk. Jane was had. Jealousy sunk deeper into her guts, bordering on hatred. How could Kaidan call her beautiful after seeing this divine creature? Beautiful on the Citadel. Beautiful after the first night they had bunked together. Beautiful every time they fucked after. Beautiful in the small moments. Beautiful in the big and the in-between. Had he meant Rahna all along?

"Two weeks."

"What now?" Jane snapped away from the grip of her thoughts.

Rahna crossed her arms, Evelyn giggled, and Helen spoke, "biotics."

"All of this commotion is probably a little too much for her, right now," Rahna cautioned to a sulking child, "let Jane eat in peace while I run a few more tests."

"Yup, super hungry," Jane murmured under her breath.

The patient's gaze did not stray from the Doctor, laser-focused on the slightest movement she made. Waiting for her to do something rash, her temper barely holding behind her tongue. Violent thoughts collided in her head, the desire to do something impetuous a string she had yet to completely cut. It was the easier way, the brutish way- but it was not the way Shepard did it. Shepard would resist, The Commander famously turned the other cheek. Chose kindness. Some of her could still seep through.

Even if it was in the form of stony silence.

"Why hide who you are? You are the one person who could reunite everyone."

A bloody icon. Hero. Butcher. Madwoman. Lover. Terrorist. Murderer. Savior. Pathetic.

"There's nothing to explain," a surly statement only dampened by a flinch, "I don't owe you anything."

"So, it wouldn't matter if I told everyone?"

Jane's silence was the answer.

"This is Major Alenko's squad, I'm sure everyone would be interested," Strawberry continued, placing her first foot away from the bedside, "Let alone you being Shepard, the Major's fling is a very juicy topic. I'm sure meeting the woman would be a top priority."

Rahna took several steps away, gliding out of the retrofitted container. Someone pulled her back, Jane regretted the breeze against her exposed backside. Luckily nobody seemed to pay them much mind in the moment.

"No," her eyes lit with tears, "don't. I can't."

Kaidan knew it was the end; Mary couldn't bring herself into accepting that. Luck. Stupidity. Credits. Spite. They had all stopped her death, had prevented her from reaching a low she could not climb out of. The brutal murder of her parents. Losing her unit on Akuze. Hell, even the deaths of friends during her campaign against the Reapers. They hurt like hell, but it never brought her to her knees. Now... in this moment. In the reality of losing Kaidan, she crashed. Tears, sobbing, railing against the ground. It was pathetic.

Was it the loss of her entire family aboard the Normandy, or just one man?

Dark brown eyes met her on her level, gentle the hint of moisture in her deep eyes, "everyone here mourns him."

"Fuck you."

Rahna laughed, offering out her hand and pulling the woman up to her feet, "I won't tell your secret, but I think you should talk to someone. We have-"

"No, nobody else."

"You know the risks of PTSD; you can't push through it."

"I'm fine."

Jane's stare hardened the emotions out-drying the tears riveting down her scarred cheeks.

"Or how about a deal, my silence for a few talks? Nothing official, just friendship."

She considered for several long moments, biting back each bitter comment that fought to come out. It wasn't the time for resistance. Talking wouldn't hurt, especially if it meant Rahna kept silent. What was she supposed to do for the next two weeks? Stare at the wall? Teach a child to swear? Avoid Kaidan's squad as much as humanly possible?

"Friendship may be pushing it."

[prairiesongserial]

The path of the circus caravan hadn’t made much sense to John; there didn’t appear to be much rhyme or reason to it. They’d been heading vaguely northwest since the incident in Kill Devil Hills, but this morning the lead truck had suddenly turned from the main road in order to cut due west. This new road was in bad shape, bad enough that John was surprised the circus had taken this route. The trucks were fine going over the wide cracks and potholes, but the caravan cars hitched to them clattered like fragile toys in a rough hand. 

John could hear each pothole coming by the series of discordant noises from the trucks ahead - of crates knocking against each other, but mainly of windchimes. Each caravan car was strung up with multiple chimes of all different sizes, and what was already an annoying sound on a normal day was now painfully loud, and nearly constant.

“Wish it was dark,” came a muttered voice right next to John’s ear.

John winced and jerked his head away. Johannes was sitting next to John, in his armchair tied down among the boxes. Johannes had slumped down in his chair in a way that John considered dramatic, which was why his voice had been so close.

Johannes was clearly baiting John into asking why; John decided not to give him the satisfaction. He wedged himself deeper into the corner. He could see Ezra, who was driving, in the side mirror. Cody was up front with him, but on the other side. John couldn’t see him.

John was trying not to worry about it. He wasn’t used to worrying anymore, which made the gnawing feeling in his stomach sharper. Weeks with the circus had made John feel easier about his and Cody’s place here. He liked learning about how the trucks worked and what those machines needed to sustain themselves, and so he nearly always spent part of the day as Enis’s assistant, while Cody did other things. Like cows set out to graze, the two of them wandered where they would, knowing they were in familiar pastures.

This morning, in the bustle of getting ready to depart camp, Ezra had picked Cody to sit up front, at least until the circus breaked for lunch. The reason was probably something innocent; maybe Ezra worried the circus would devolve into mayhem if left to choose among themselves who would sit in the relatively comfortable cab of the truck. Still, the exchange didn’t sit well with John. He didn’t like when he couldn’t reunite himself with Cody by the power of his own feet. Even if the distance was as small as that between the bed and cab of the same truck.

Next to him, Johannes sighed. There were plenty of other people in the truck bed who could ask him what was wrong - Val included. John was surprised he didn’t. Val often found a reason to be nearby the ringmaster. They were friends, John supposed. One afternoon in Kill Devil Hills had sealed it. 

Instead, Val was sitting on a bag of sugar, staring into the distance, not paying attention to anything. John watched as Val winced, suddenly, rubbing his eyes. A second later, he did it again.

“Ow,” he hissed. “What is that?”

John saw Johannes shift from despondent melodramatics to full attention. He looked first at Val, then sprang up from his armchair, nearly toppling out of the truck entirely as the wheel took a pothole at full speed. Johannes stared down the road, hands gripping the ledge. He was practically on top of John.

“This works better when it’s dark,” he hollered.

He got a response this time - from Ezra in the driver’s seat.

“Good, you saw,” Ezra yelled over the wind. “I thought you might have been asleep back there.”

Johannes tsked. He left off leaning over the side of the truck, nudging crates and circus members alike out of his way as he made room for himself where John had been sitting seconds ago. Once there, he pulled a red paper carton out of his pants pocket. This first carton was one of several - of varying sizes and colors, but all tightly creased into an interesting pyramid shape - that Johannes laid out on the truck bed in front of him. 

John followed Johannes’s line of sight, interested now. Johannes craned his neck to watch the road in front of them. No, not the road, John realized. He saw now what Val must have seen a few seconds ago: a series of flashes of reflected sunlight in the driver’s side mirror of one of the trucks ahead.

Johannes chuckled to himself as soon as the flashing stopped.

“That is not good,” he said, still laughing.

“What’s not good?” said Val. He no longer sat on his bag of sugar, but hunched low - following the lead of the circus members in the truck with them.

“Don’t worry yourself, ketsele,” Johannes said. He smiled crookedly, and John noted the change in Johannes’s tone and body language. The shift from Johannes the person to Johannes the performer was subtle, and John was never sure which was which: only that Johannes could fluidly move between the two, and the truth of the man was obscured more often than not.

Suddenly their truck passed out of the open air and into shade, as the hills turned all at once into forest.

The trees weren’t dense, but left gaps, allowing John to see some distance through them. Despite that, John wasn’t sure what he was seeing. There was a strange movement, not like an animal disturbing the underbrush, but like the ground itself was shifting, the earth rising and falling like hurried breathing. The trucks ahead had slowed to a crawl, and by necessity, so did the one John rode in. The windchimes fell quiet. In the absence of that sound, John could hear the landscape. It sounded like torrential rain, despite the sunny sky.

John heard the strike of a match amid the sound of the nonexistent downpour, then his attention was pulled away to the windchimes. A circus member he didn’t know leaned way out of the truck bed, even as the truck kept moving, with a balance that John found uncanny. She swung wildly with a baton, bashing it against the wind chime that hung on the caravan hitched behind them. Judging by the way the sound seemed to echo twenty times over, the other trucks were doing the same.

John’s ears rang as a shriek cut through the air. The scream didn’t stop. It wasn’t an animal sound, nor mutie. It continued for minutes, without needing breath. John covered his ears.

He gained some idea of what was happening, as Johannes lit the paper wick on the end of one of the paper pyramids and lobbed it into the trees. The scream had a sister, now, even as the first firecracker petered out.

“You can’t even see them,” Johannes complained loudly.

All the same, the firecrackers seemed to be working. The shifting ground in the near distance was not, after all, the hills moving like waves in a lake. It was bodies, thousands of them moving in the trees. The oppressive, torrential sound was their running and talking, in whatever mutie tongue they used.

John had not imagined that there could be this many muties in the world. In the truck bed next to him, Val looked pale, his eyes unfocused.

Johannes lit another one of the screaming firecrackers. This one was bigger than the others, and looked heavier in his palm. When it exploded, it was so loud it shook the nearest trees.

John gripped a fistful of the sleeve of Val’s shirt. He wasn’t sure when he’d done that. In the moments following that booming sound, John couldn’t hear anything, although he could see the baton continuing to strike the wind chime. 

“Alright, they’re heading off,” Johannes said. “They’ve got some nerve, lately.”

John kept his eyes fixed on the swarm of muties. It was hard to track their movement, in the shadows of the trees, and even harder when they packed so closely together that he couldn’t tell mutie from the ground they walked on.

The truck started to speed up. John lost track of what was said, although everyone in the truck bed was talking at once. Once his ears stopped ringing, he began to grasp part of the conversation.

“They push farther west every year,” the woman who had dangled herself out of the truck to beat the wind chime complained. “Have they ever been this close to the mountains?”

Johannes answered with an exaggerated shrug. “Whatever they do, it’s fine by me so long as they keep falling for the same shtick.”

“What are you talking about?” said Val.

Johannes was returning the remaining firecrackers to various pockets on his person.

“We’re skirting the southern border of Virginia, have been for the past day,” Johannes said, as if that was explanation enough.

“They’re not from the east coast. Guess they wouldn’t have reason to know,” said the woman. She had deep violet hair, so purple it was almost black, and an extra finger on her left hand. John would probably hear her name eventually. “Virginia is almost all mutie waste. You can’t travel straight through. You have to hug the borders, ‘til you get far enough north.”

“Indeed, you do,” Johannes said with another dramatic sigh. “And it is terribly inconvenient, trying not to be eaten alive.”

“You don’t know that they’d...” Val started, pouting.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care to find out,” Johannes said. “As far as I’m concerned, this is their land, and I’m going to stay out of their way.”

Val cocked an eyebrow at him. It was an unusual thing to say.

“The firecrackers are all for show,” Johannes said, waving his hand dismissively. “They show us their numbers, I show them loud noises, we mutually decide not to make tsuris, and we go on our way.”

“You trick them,” John said. He hadn’t intended to join the conversation, but now Johannes’s eyes slid from Val to him.

“I guess I do,” Johannes said easily.

Johannes reclaimed his seat on the armchair. There were no more muties in the woods, not that John could see.

“A couple dozen of us, a few hundred of them...not good odds, all things being equal,” Johannes continued. “The way to get by is to bluff and cross your fingers.”

He held John’s gaze, daring him to disagree. John wasn’t interested in the contest, and looked away. The trees whipped by on either side of the truck.

“Nobody gets hurt,” Val muttered, though maybe only loudly enough for John to hear. If Johannes heard him, he didn’t respond.

The caravan continued for a little more than an hour before the lead truck called a halt. John wondered who was making these decisions, when Johannes and Ezra were both back here, in the middle of the caravan train. He soon found out, when Abernathy, the red-haired burlesque dancer with the eye-patch, trotted back to talk to Ezra through the driver’s window. Enis was a few paces behind her, hands plunged in his pockets. He gave John a friendly wink.

“Fair enough,” Ezra replied to a question John hadn’t heard. “We’ll break for lunch and Johannes will drive the lead.”

Johannes stood up from his chair, suddenly full of energy. He stretched, bracing his leg against the cab of the truck and bending forward so his forehead touched his knee. Slowly, he released the position and stretched his other leg the same way.

Lunch was black bread that tasted like it had molasses in it, soft cheese that smelled like chives, and a tin of anchovies to be shared between two people. Cody left the cab to eat with John in the back of the truck.

“I don’t think I like this,” Cody said, wrinkling his nose as he forced one of the little fish down.

John grimaced at him, making Cody laugh.

Friday hadn’t come to find them yet, John noticed. She had decided to ride with some of the burlesque performers. Her not being here forced Val to share his lunch with someone else, and Johannes had eagerly volunteered himself, despite Val insisting that he really didn’t need any canned fish.

“We should get a move on,” Ezra said, sitting above them on the ledge of the truck bed.

“That’s our cue,” Johannes said. He stuffed the rest of his bread in his mouth. “You coming, Val?”

“I’m taking the passenger’s side,” Ezra said, before Val could answer. He took a big bite of bread. “To discuss business.”

“Dershtikt zolstu veren,” Johannes said, glaring, before Ezra cut him off.

“Gey strashe di gens,” Ezra said with a cold smile. “Come on, let’s go.”

Johannes hopped down over the side of the truck bed, landing hard.

“Kelev,” he said, though with less anger in his voice.

“Ketsele,” Ezra returned.

John wondered at the change on Johannes’s face. Ezra’s expression remained cool as he hopped down to join Johannes.

“You okay?” said Cody.

Gradually, John’s attention returned to him. Cody was licking cheese off his fingers, his eyes big and intent on John. He seemed to know that John’s attention was split, each sound dragging him away from one conversation and onto the next, never getting the full experience of any of them. His ears still didn’t feel right after the firecrackers.

“I’m okay.” He said. He paused. Ahead, truck engines were roaring to life. “I want you to sit with me.”

Cody scooted closer, his shoulder roughly colliding with John’s as he joined him in leaning against the ledge. He settled close, hip to hip, his head naturally falling into the crook of John’s neck.

“And?” Cody said.

“Talk to me,” John replied, more quietly, his face feeling hot.

“About what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

John stopped worrying, for the time being, as Cody began to recount every detail of the conversation he’d had with Ezra, conversation that had ranged from technical talk about music to stories about places the circus had gone, strange towns almost beyond believing.

epilogue 12 || 13.2

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

The mirror

(Hayffie ❤️. Exploring Effie in this one. Writing this really touched me.)

***

Iridescent euphoria enveloped her like the bubbles she blew as a child with soapy hands, a wand, and her face turned toward the sun. She touched his forehead, tracing each line that time and worry had etched into his skin.

“I met a palm reader years ago at a party. She said every line on my body tells a story of my life.”

He slung his arm over her hip and slid a fingertip along her tailbone. “Hmm... Every line?”

Effie rolled her eyes. “She didn’t specifically mention my ass.”

“Maybe that’s because your ass didn’t show up in her crystal ball.”

“Haymitch! Stop teasing.”

He got quiet and continued to caress the base of her spine. “...So, what did Miss Palm Reader tell you about your future?”

Effie glanced from his eyes to his chest. His body was weathered there too, tanned by late summer and peppered with scars left long ago by staying alive. She touched him with intention. “She said my love line is long and unbroken...”

Love was a subject Haymitch didn’t like to linger on, regardless of the intensity of his feelings for her.

“...She said I was going to love one person my whole life.”

“It’s good she didn’t give you a voodoo doll of the poor guy and a sack of pins to stab him with.”

She stroked his forehead with the backs of her nails. “...Who says she didn’t?”

Her grin lit him up. “What do the lines on me tell you about my future?”

She kissed along each one, pressing her lips to the deep furrow between his eyebrows. “These tell about your past, honey.”

The lines dug in deeper as his memories dreged up pain.

She touched the circles below his eyes and stroked his jaw. “If I could wave a wand and take away that pain, I would... though I wouldn’t change a single thing about this face.”

Haymitch was unnerved to love her like this. He pulled her against him and let his body express the feelings that stuck in his throat.

***

When Effie was a child, an oval-shaped makeup mirror had been the most irresistible aspect of her great-grandmother’s vanity table. The frame was glittering bronze, standing on four legs and decorated with cherubs. The mirror pivoted between a regular view and a magnified one.

“Effie dear, did you wash those bubbles from your hands?”

“Of course, Nana.” Effie treated the mirror with reverence, pivoting it with care for her great-grandmother as the old woman applied makeup to her crinkled face and styled her silver hair.

When the tasks were finished, Effie climbed into her lap and gazed into the mirror at her own sun kissed cheeks beside her great-grandmother’s painted ones. “Nana, there’s nobody as colorful as you.”

“Oh, Baby Doll, you’re so dear. When gifted with beauty, you must remember that every mirror has two faces.”

“Your face and mine??”

Nana chuckled and hugged her tight, “Yours and mine for now, but look deeper into yourself.”

Effie squinted and peered in the mirror as hard as she could.

Her great-grandmother continued, “In every mirror there is the face looking in and the face looking out. A person can be beautiful on the outside but ugly on the inside. Or there may be moments when you think you’re ugly on the outside, but you always have the capacity for a beautiful heart. What do you see about yourself, and does it reflect what you believe?”

“I see a girl. And when I grow up, I want my outside face and my inside face to be as pretty as yours are.”

“Ah, they are, dear one. They already are.”

A few years later Effie had inherited the bronze mirror, and it sat henceforth on the table of her own modern vanity bordered in bright lights. She’d looked into that mirror nearly every day of her life. Including the day she accepted the job of escort. Including the day Snow announced the third Quarter Quell and her veils began to fall.

In the mirror she’d caught glimpses of what was happening in the depths of her heart, and she started to question the nature of beauty and ugliness. She’d watched the incipient unraveling of her entire world.

When she was reunited with the mirror after the revolution, the face looking in and the face looking out were both altered — unadorned with facades, and vacant. She’d squinted and peered then as hard as she could to find herself. But self-discovery can take a long time — forever even — because just when you think you know yourself, you change again.

***

By the time the mirror moved with her to District 12, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, which used to appear only when she smiled, deepened and stayed. Despite a lifetime of foundation with sunscreen, parasols, wide brimmed hats, topical serums to encourage cellular repair, gentle exfoliating cleansers, moisturizers, and antioxidants, her skin had betrayed her. In her efforts to achieve beauty, she hadn’t accounted for the wear and tear of years of exaggerated and false smiles. After a night of poor sleep, Effie saw in her reflection unmistakable wrinkles. Makeup refused to conceal them. Another betrayal. Her heart sank.

She lingered upstairs awhile in mourning, trying to decide what to do. She needed coffee, but she didn’t want to be seen looking like this. She packed a bag for a trip to the Capitol and put on a fashionable hat with black netting which covered her eyes.

When she showed up downstairs, Haymitch was discomfited by her appearance. The bag and the hat felt ominous. “What are you doing?”

She set the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. “A train departs at 10. I’m getting on it.”

“Why? ...What is this?”

Mortified, she refused to look at him. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His stomach churned, and he took a deep breath to keep from throwing up his breakfast of coffee and bourbon. “Are you leaving me?”

“What?! Goodness, no! Of course not.” She glanced at him then moved toward the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. She needed an excuse to look away again.

“Then what’s going on?” He thought more about her hat and wondered if somebody died. “Is it your family?”

She could hear anxiousness in his voice. It wasn’t fair of her to say nothing, but embarrassment kept her silent. She didn’t want to be evasive or make up an excuse. Their connection had been good lately, really good, and she wanted to keep them good.

“My family is fine.” She sat with him at the table, keeping her eyes on the mug in her hands. “I’m going to see a... specialist.”

He was growing agitated, imagining alarming scenarios, and he was pissed that she was being vague. “What kind of specialist?”

She didn’t answer.

“Effie, you can’t just pack a suitcase, tell me you’re going 2000 miles away to see some kind of specialist, and then just leave!”

She knew if the situation were reversed, she wouldn’t allow that to stand either. She’d be terrified. She looked up at him. His face was pale. Perhaps she’d terrified him too, which only added to her shame about it all.

She confessed in defeat, “A plastic surgeon.”

Confused, he glanced at her chest.

“What for?” He didn’t like where this was going. Her body was familiar — how she looked, the way she felt. He didn’t want her to be cut into or changed.

She hesitated before answering. “My eyes.”

“Your eyes?! What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re wrinkled! My skin around them is cavernous!”

“Cavernous?! No, it’s not. What’s wrong with some wrinkles? Stay alive long enough, and everybody’s got ‘em.” Relief washed over him, and the color returned to his face. “All this over a handful of wrinkles? Shit, Effie, someday your drama is gonna be the death of me.”

“This matters to me! I look dreadful.”

Dreadful? He stared at her in incredulity then reached for her wrist. “Leave your coffee. I need to show you something.”

“But the train...”

“Don’t worry about it. Just come here.” He stood up, and his grip on her wrist was persistent.

Being touched eased some of the turmoil she’d been feeling, as if she wasn’t so alone with this. She let him hold on as tight as he wanted, and she followed him back upstairs.

In their bedroom he sat on the stool in front of her vanity. The tension within her melted further at the sight of him on the pink velvet cushion. She almost smiled, then remembered that would only accentuate the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. He pulled her into his lap and swiveled to face the bronze mirror.

“Haymitch, I’ve already looked. I don’t need to see this.”

“I want to see this.” He pulled the pin that held her hat in place, took the hat off, and set it on the vanity table.

She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“Look.”

She looked, and focused on his reflection instead of hers.

“What do you see?” His words stired up memories that were inside her even before he was.

Her tone was wistful. “I see two faces. Yours and mine.”

“What else?”

Old grief welled up in her. Sun kissed and painted cheeks... belief... beauty... unraveling... fear... self-discovery... “Our hearts,” she said.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I heard somewhere that every line on your body tells a story.”

“I think I’ve heard that too.” She couldn’t help but smile, regardless of the consequences.

“Tell me the story, sweetheart. The story of these lines.” He brushed his fingertips along the corners of her eyes. Her skin there was damp now from grief spilled over.

“I smiled. For probably 25 years straight through. I hardly ever stopped. I couldn’t stop. Because if I did, then what would have become of me?”

What we do to stay alive is unique for each person. Forcing a smile through pain can cut as deeply as a knife.

“If I could take away that pain, I would,” he said, “Though I wouldn’t change a single thing about your face.”

She shifted in his lap and laced her fingers behind his neck. “That sounds familiar.”

“I heard it from a girl. The longer I know her, the more beautiful she gets. She’s the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s getting older.”

“That’s what staying alive means, honey. ...I want your stories, even the ones that’ll be the death of me.”

Her story with him was certainly long and unbroken. She’d expected that much. She’d expected pleasure in agitation, in kisses laced with bourbon and coffee, in bubbles popping along her skin and leaving her a mess.

God knows she’d expected to love him with madness. She just hadn’t expected him to feel it too. In such a mess, she hadn’t expected to experience this kind of beauty.

[spotsuns]

redemption poem

when you get down on the ground the first thing you do is turn to your brother and smile. this isn’t a victory for you, and you have so much left to pay, but at least he is safe. you’ve always done it all for him; this is just the final act.

this is the part where the audience claps because you were brave, because you sacrificed yourself for his happiness. nobody will remember that you were your own child. nobody will remember what you lost.

they’ll see it as a victory; that at least one of you is not rotten. it’s a fair trade in the eyes of the people. you’re disposable.

the handcuffs they put on you feel like redemption and you don’t know why. you could have sworn you never did anything wrong to end up here—so why, then?

the water is all muddy. it’s all started to blend together. you’re just tired. you just want it to be over, that’s it. you’ve betrayed yourself. go directly to jail. do not pass go. do not collect two-hundred dollars.

you stare at your brother from the back of the police car until he’s too far away to see anymore. you become sharply aware of the fact that this is how it will be from now on. you try not to think about waking up to him in your arms in the forest; in your grandparents guest bed; in a tent in california; on a cliff; watching the arizona sunrise—

he’s shaking you awake, telling you to look at it, that it’s beautiful, and all you can do is agree. yeah. good call.

when you look out the window at it now it just hurts your one good eye. you better take it in for all it’s worth, though. who knows when you’ll see it next like this? whole, and not sliced up into slivers by the bars of your jail cell, spreading none of its warmth across your skin.

you feel like you’ve lost more than you had when you were walking in the scorching nevada desert with blisters on your skin. and it’s true. at least you had hope left, then.

this isn’t such a big story, one where there’s a light at the end, where you come out victorious and make it to the magicland. this one has you willingly heading into the dark cave and knowing it will be a long time before you find your way back home.

you’ll be in the sequel, maybe, where you’ll be reunited with all the old characters that helped you along the way. they’ll be older and wiser and they’ll have moved on without you, because that was a part of the story you weren’t in.

you hope your sacrifice helped people, at least. that maybe your absence did more good than harm. that you were the hero, somehow. it hurts too much to stomach if you weren’t.

fifteen years is what you get. they tell you you’re lucky that it’s ‘only’ fifteen years.

you just turned seventeen. you’ll have lived almost your entire lifetime over by the time you’re free again, you’ll be a fully-grown man, and so will daniel.

so will daniel.

suddenly, it hits you. you’re going to miss everything.

those talks between the glass won’t ever be enough. you are going to miss your brother growing up, and that hurts even worse than missing out on your own growing up, because that’s what all of this was for.

you threw your childhood away the second you took off with him in your arms. you expected to get to hang onto it. you didn’t. there’s no getting it back.

you don’t want to look back at him when the officers lead you away in handcuffs. it feels too painfully familiar, too much like the time you looked out the police car window as you were pulled away from him the first time.

you didn’t want to admit it, but you were a little hopeful then. not anymore, no, that was crushed flat under the gavel. you pretend you don’t hear daniel wailing when the door shuts.

fifteen years is a long time.

in your first fifteen years of life you were born to two parents, you met lyla, you got a little brother, your mother left, you went to school, you went to work, you went to parties, to concerts, on trips with your family—it all went by pretty damn fast.

that’s childhood though, right? or is it? you can’t remember what being a child is like anymore, not these days. the last time was maybe in humboldt county, smoking weed around a campfire with a bunch of kids who had forgotten, too.

it’s funny, really. you got so caught up in the turmoil of losing your childhood that you didn’t even consider the idea that they’d take your adulthood from you, too. you’ll spend all of your twenties in a prison cell, get out at thirty-two, and then what? you’ll still be a child, chewed up and spit out by the system and thrown into the world a shell of who you once were to figure it out.

fifteen years is a long time, but time starts to not matter so much after the first few years. you think about those eight months on the road every single day that they get farther away. it seemed so awful then, and it was, but you can’t help but think you’d do it all over again over this.

that’s a selfish thought, though. you realize this when daniel visits you—his cheeks fuller, his clothes new and clean and no bags under his eyes. he tells you about school and his new dog and what his friends have been up to lately. every once in a while, he whispers to you about somebody he helped recently, or a school bus he stopped from going off a cliff. you remember this is why you’re here.

the only thing that keeps you somewhat sane when daniel’s not visiting is art. you’re allowed to have paper and anything that’s not too sharp to draw with, and you make the best of it.

you can’t do studies anymore, not in here. that’d be awfully depressing, so you draw what keeps your head up. you draw for daniel, mostly. comics of superwolf, showcasing all of his acts of heroism. it’s the best way you can show him that you’re proud.

he cries almost every time you pull out a new piece of paper for him; holds it in his hands so carefully, as if he’s convinced it’ll crumble to dust like a dead leaf in his palm if he grips it too hard.

he’s lost too much. so have you. it’s not over yet.

you notice karen visiting less than she did at first. you wonder if it’s just inconvenient for her to come or if it’s guilt, but then you remember she’s not ever been too good at feeling guilty about anything. it still sucks to admit, but you can kind of get it now.

when she does come she updates you on daniel and all her friends in away. she tells you that arthur and stanley finally got married, even after years of saying it didn’t really matter to them if it was official or not. you think about finn. you wonder if maybe, in another life, one where you had gone to mexico and called his number on that letter—

you hope he’s doing well.

you start avoiding reflective surfaces altogether. not that there’s many spare mirrors sitting around in prison, but even the water in the mop buckets makes you turn your head. you wonder how your beard looks, sometimes. you wonder how you look with the glass eye they fitted you with. you wonder how much you look like your father, or don’t. you wonder if he’d even recognize you now.

years and years go by and the only way you know this for certain is that daniel’s a lot taller, karen’s got wrinkles, and your grandparents aren’t able to visit you anymore. you’re sure you’ve aged like shit, but you can’t know for sure. your beard’s gotten fuller than your father’s ever was, and you know you probably look older at thirty than he did when he died at forty-five.

you don’t feel any relief when they remind you that you’re about to be released. fifteen years ago this day was all that kept you going, and now that it’s here, you feel sick. you don’t know what it’s like out there anymore. how much will have changed? how will the world look at you? how will you ever adapt after everything?

you’re still seventeen. you’re a thirty-two year old child. you’re still staring at the mexico border from the wheel of the car wondering if you’re making the right choice. you still wonder if you did.

they give you the few belongings you had in a duffle bag. you slip on the eyepatch right away, you aren’t ready to see the glass eye yet. you look for one thing in particular; an old sketchbook, a birthday gift from your father. ‘sean diaz, do not open.’, it read on the front.

the whole thing was read out loud in court for the trial, the entirety of your journey with daniel, your therapy. it’s not here. of course they kept it. add that to the list of things you’re never getting back.

you feel so incredibly small stepping out into the sun when they let you free, like an ant under a magnifying glass being lit aflame.

daniel’s there, of course, tall and bearded and a twenty-five year old man. that’s never going to stop hurting. karen’s next to him, looking so much older than you remember her looking the last time she came. you don’t remember when that was. she’s wearing a familiar rainbow windbreaker vest. joan must have passed away at some point. you wonder when that was.

you’re so overwhelmed that you don’t even notice a third person at first, you weren’t expecting anyone else, but she’s the only one who looks the same as you remember.

when she runs into your arms and crushes you in a hug you feel like a child again for the first time in nearly twenty years. you’ll never regret calling her, even when it was a stupid idea. best freaking fighters, forever.

adjusting is as hard as you imagined it would be, but not exactly in the way you imagined it would be. nobody gives you weird looks in public, but you can’t remember how to pump gas, because now the pumps look like alien software, and you cry in the car when daniel tells you that he’ll just do it instead.

you do look older than your father, but more than that, you look like a stranger to yourself. the only thing you recognize is your right eye, but everything else belongs to somebody else, a version of you you’ve never met.

it feels like greeting a family member you haven’t seen since you were little, and they look so different from what you remember in your head that you wonder if you ever met them at all.

somehow, that’s better than seeing yourself again. you remember the first time you looked in the mirror after losing your eye, how you had looked then with the cuts all over your face and your hair buzzed to the scalp.

it’s the same thing all over again, except now you have a beard, and instead of an empty socket you now have a solid white marble sitting in place of it. you look eerily like brody. something about that feels good, you’d love to be like brody.

you decide to keep the beard.

you feel guilty. even sitting in daniel’s apartment surrounded by your friends and family, a free man at last, you don’t feel happy. looking at him, you feel good. you’re proud, you’re incredibly proud, and he’s lived a good life, but now that you’ve paid your dues you have nothing of you left. it feels like you were a resource that’s all dried up and spent out. you’re in the sequel, and you still feel like you’re stuck in the cave.

after sixteen years of waiting you finally visit your father’s grave. you’re grateful that daniel’s taken good care of it, there’s already a bouquet of fresh flowers laid at his headstone when you go to place yours. you run your fingers along the words engraved into the hunk of marble and feel your wrist freeze when you get to ~2016.

1452 lewis avenue. tacky halloween decorations. lyla the love witch. daniel playing zombie in the front yard.

the front yard.

daniel lies with you in his arms on top of your father’s grave while you sob until you throw up in the grass and you’re so ashamed of yourself that you ride in the back seat when you leave. you don’t know what will ever make this better.

you want to get your life together, if there’s any point. you tell yourself there will be, you just have to find it. you pass your driver’s test and finally get your license, and daniel surprises you with a gift that rips your heart out in a way you didn’t think was possible anymore. the car that dad was fixing up for your graduation. the one you never got the chance to drive.

he’s saying something about how he’s made sure everything’s running and he’s had all the old parts replaced but you feel like you’re underwater and he sounds so far away.

you open the door and slide into the driver’s seat. there’s a faded old sticky-note on the dash with scribbled ink on it. ‘hope you have fun on all your hot dates, seanie-boy! don’t drink and drive. always call me if you need me. love, papito.’

i love you too, dad.

daniel helps you look for jobs, but every time you get an interview, you cancel. it doesn’t feel right. you don’t know why but you don’t feel ready, like there’s something you need to do first and you don’t know what it is.

daniel’s patient as ever, and you know he doesn’t mind, but sleeping on his couch feels a little worse every day you wake up on it. you almost feel like you owe karen an apology, you keep glancing at the door.

what do you need, then? what is going to fill this hole in your chest? think back, and think hard. when did you last feel most alive? was it living at home, going to school and working retail, worrying about college and being an adult? you know it wasn’t.

it was eight months on the open road. it was when you were traveling between state lines, meeting new people every day, living like wolves up in the woods. as horrible as it was, as much hell as you went through, you remember how much you loved the good parts, and how you’d pretend it was just a road trip when you could to make it bearable. you want to do it again, and do it right this time.

you bring it up to daniel. you ask him if he’d like to come, to be the wolf brothers together again—but he’s not like you anymore. he’s got a job, a home, a community—he’s got a place in this world. he can’t do it and that hurts. it’s why you threw away fifteen years of your life, though. you don’t know what else you expected.

he proposes an idea that makes your chest ache just to think about, but it sounds good. it sounds like it might be what you need, and that’s all you want, is to know what you need.

you pack up a small suitcase of everything you want to take with you; nothing heavy. you remember words from an old friend, a long time ago.

that’s how shit starts, you know? when you start havin’ things of your own… things you ought to defend. property, land, family. what do you think you’re missin’ out on now?

you don’t know.

you want to find out.

you follow daniel all the way back up to washington. even from the car, it’s all flooding back. you walked this exact road on foot for miles and miles in the opposite direction. you know now that you may as well have turned back then, but you know all things considered, it was worth the journey. the best and worst time of your whole life.

you park on the edge of the road, right where you first walked into the woods so many years ago. daniel didn’t even know his father was dead yet back then; just a couple of kids playing with sticks and skipping stones on the water, and you swallowing your grief down like shards of glass.

nostalgia eats you alive like a coyote tearing right into your throat. so much is the same; the trail, the markers on the trees, daniel excitedly walking ahead of you, and you’re trailing behind, feeling like the only thing that’s changed.

it’s funny. you were so worried about the world out there being different when you got out, but it’s just you. who is sean diaz anymore? you wish you could ask the boy who carried his brother into these woods in full confidence that he’d be able to outrun his fate sixteen years ago. in all his terror, he probably knows the answer better than you do. oh, how you envy him.

you replicate your first night in these woods down to every last detail by building a fire under the same rock den you did back then. daniel’s so much older, so much bigger than he was then, but he’s still daniel.

it hits you fully, finally. there’s no getting back what you’ve lost. not your own childhood, and not daniel’s either. you’re both grown up and there is no way to redeem yourself that will gift you the ability to go back in time.

it’s always going to be this; stories that you can try your best to imagine like you were there, but everybody will always know where you really were. they won’t say it, like it’s a dirty word, but it’s a part of you now. there’s no sean diaz without those ugly fifteen years stamped onto your life like a passport.

daniel’s in the middle of telling you about his first kiss with a boy when you remember yours. it was with chris, no less. they’re engaged now. you try not to be heartbroken that you missed that, too. at least they held off the wedding.

you think about finn again. you think about arthur and stanley. you think about the fact that you’re thirty-two and haven’t had a kiss since, and the fact that you could have fallen in love, but that was taken from you, too.

you feel so selfish and ridiculous for bursting into tears. you feel like such a fucking child when daniel has to rock you in his arms to calm you back down and keeps apologizing for bringing it up.

sorry, I forgot. you told me back then, remember? I should’ve known better.

none of it’s fair. you deserve to have the capacity to be happy and be happy for daniel. you feel too numb for your own comfort. this isn’t who you are.

you’re surprised when you wake up the next morning and feel… clarity? the sense that something better is coming, maybe. oh, right. there’s a name for that.

hope.

it feels right when you’re walking out of the woods and back to your car with daniel, like you’re getting ready to meet yourself somewhere, as soon as you find him.

this is a choice, a see you later. we’ll talk as soon as i get somewhere with wifi. promise, i’ll call. i love you. get home safe.

you get into the car that your dad wanted you to grow up in, and after much too long, you’re finally about to. you drive away first, watching daniel in the rearview mirror as he waves excitedly. he’s almost out of view when you see him cup his hands around his mouth, tilting his head back. you can’t hear him, but you know well enough.

you howl as loud as you can, even though all the windows are rolled up and daniel’s over the hill already. maybe a lot has changed, and you have too, but there’s one thing that never will. the tale of the two wolf brothers.

it’s time for you to write your own story, big brother.

[wernerherzogs]

there it is, finally! the list of my favourite hl fics of All Time.

disclaimer: some of these i have read only once and forever ago, but i’ve got them saved in a folder, and i vaguely remember them Meaning something to me when i read them, but basically -- if you read something from this list and end up not enjoying it, sorry not sorry! i operate on nostalgia sometimes, it’s possible i wouldn’t be that into some of them now, too, but whatevs!

i made myself stick to one work per author, otherwise this would be endless, but if an author’s nickname is bolded, it means i’ve had the time to read all of their works, and recommend them all.

i’m fairly certain i’m forgetting stuff (especially those stories that i’ve never saved/bookmarked), so i’ll try to keep this updated fairly regularly -- whenever i remember an old fave, or fall in love with something new. i’ll make sure to reblog this post then.

the order is completely random. this is a list where every work carries equal significance, even if not always for the same reasons. it was supposed to be alphabetical, but turns out i’m far too lazy for that. (shocker.) i took the liberty of shortening some of the original summaries, because this post is going to be Too Long anyway. rip.

enjoy! hopefully.

***

blackjacks running down my back | sequel by dangerbears (+ lj) (~10,000) 

AU. university stuff. best friend stuff. music stuff. sappy stuff.

try to not remember (rather than forget) by hereforlou (59,602)

He hadn’t left, but that’s what it had felt like most of the time. Just as if one day Harry had up and left him.

(Or, the one where Harry wakes up.)

Like Real People Do by moodlighting (58,469)

Harry is Louis' soulmate but Louis isn't Harry's - it takes Harry a while to figure it all out.

a prayer for which no words exist by Eliane (34,313)

Louis is a few seconds away from blowing up a rather important section of the New York subway when he sees Harry for the first time.

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (requires an ao3 account) (95,697)

“People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”

hold on to your stars before they fade by adelagia (31,740)

The first time they meet, it is sunrise, and Harry is naked.

(Or, the one where Harry is a lost fairy, and Louis takes him in.)

Lambing Season by HelloAmHere (24,544)

“Shut up,” Louis says, an involuntary grin tugging at his mouth. It’s not every boy who will stand in the middle of a cold barn in a suit and play musician trivia. “I’m Louis.”

//lambing season brings sleep deprivation, noisy alarms, cold barns, demanding animals, and warm strangers.

Wild And Unruly by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews (123,655)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy (149,570)

A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

the dead things we carry by MediaWhore (25,316)

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

i believe him when he tells of loving me by bitterlee (28,894)

louis doesn't remember harry. harry takes him home.

Come Along With Me by darkofthenights (28,032) (requires an ao3 account)

An AU where Harry is a magician and Louis doesn't believe in such a thing.

Dust Off My Wings by eravain (19,882) (+ download)

AU where the boys are cottage neighbours, Louis develops an obsession with the mysterious boy next door, and the end of summer is really just the start of everything else.

Boys of Summer by sharktoothedfawnskinned (49,545)

What he wants is for this to be a forever thing, not someplace Harry spent the summer once.  What he wants is for this to be more than a memory.

(New Jersey beach town AU.)

ever ever after by hattalove (22,645)

“Happily ever after, huh?” he can’t help asking, in a voice that’s softer than he’d like. Harry seems to sense the fragility of the moment. He settles down, containing the excited flailing of his hands, and mirrors Louis’s position. “Of course,” he says. “Don’t you have those here?” Louis bites his lip. “M’ afraid not. It doesn’t really work out that way for most people.”

or, an enchanted AU. sort of.

heroes of the orange skies by queenmcgonagall (30,656)

Louis likes bathroom walls and Sharpies, Harry likes metal, Zayn likes Liam and Liam likes Zayn, Niall is wise, and they all go to the zoo.

Empty Skies by green_feelings (134,048)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream -- making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.

Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He's still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

nocturne in silver and blue by tinyweirdloves (97,594)

louis is a fallen star and harry brings him home. told over the course of fourteen years.

life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday by bottomlinsons (4568)

Louis and Harry are Knights of the Round Table and Camelot has a dragon problem. (Arthurian AU)

In This Light by exhilarated (99,234)

Harry is a wardrobe stylist who likes to live in the moment, and Louis is a popstar who looks dreamy in double breasted jackets. Harry never stood a chance.

our little corner of the world by brownheadedstranger (29,913)

AU. Louis is stuck in his mom's diner for the summer. Harry is the line cook with a pickup truck.

Every Arrow That I Aim Is True by estrella30 (24,890)

Louis doesn’t say anything again so Harry whispers, “Just stay here with me for a while, yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

Louis is quiet. He never picks his head up, but Harry can see the pillow move from where he’s nodding and his fingers tighten around Harry’s. “Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah, all right.”

i'm not calling you a liar (just don't lie to me) by hazmesentir (33625) (requires an ao3 account)

Louis can't stop lying. Harry runs a farm. Somehow, he squeezes the truth out of him.

An Eternal Enigma by goldenquill (67,478) (+ download)

Louis is a reluctant king with a head full of fairy tales, and Harry is an emotionally challenged musical prodigy. Zayn is a hopelessly romantic painter, Liam is the castle’s resident ghost with sporadic amnesia, and Niall is the accidental head of the kingdom’s most prevalent spy ring. Very loosely based on the lives of Ludwig II of Bavaria and Richard Wagner.

all my love was down in a frozen ground by navigator (16,033)

Louis goes to the woods.

AU very loosely inspired by the creation of Bon Iver's first record.

walk my days on a wire by sunshiner (38,586)

“We’re here because we have inventive managers,” Louis says, giving Harry’s leg a little nudge with his knee, but all that’s going around in his head is, I think I'd be in the same spot in every possible universe.

or, when actor Louis Tomlinson used to daydream about dating Harry Styles, this is not what he had in mind.

take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots (45,623)

"I – yeah. Hi," Louis finally answers, slowly, awkwardly. "I um. Sorry. I heard about your accident. You're alright?"

Or, the one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

These Inconvenient Fireworks by wontsitstill (190,000) (+ download)

Future AU in which nobody tries out for X Factor but the boys end up finding one another eventually anyway. Louis is a jaded bastard who owns a cat named Duchess and teaches drama to teenagers, Harry is an idealistic aspiring photographer/part-time footy coach, Zayn teaches English lit and wears leather jackets, Liam saves people from burning buildings, and Niall is Niall.

things have gotten closer to the sun by starseas (49,276)

when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

Harry Styles Cooks... by sunsetmog (ongoing)

In which Louis Tomlinson can’t cook, there’s a very special shower curtain, and Harry Styles used to be a baker.

Or: Louis owns all of Harry Styles’ cookbooks, and he never intends to cook a single thing out of any of them.

101 Uses For Dragon Eggs by colazitron (42,249)

Louis just got back from a three week assignment yesterday and today was only supposed to be paperwork he needs to do to finish that up, before he was going to leave early and enjoy the weekend. And then Zayn, the traitor, emailed him about a bloke who was rumoured to have found a dragon egg and apparently live tweeting the whole thing.

Don't Want Shelter by FullOnLarrie (ongoing)

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

Escapade by dolce_piccante (requires an ao3 account) (146,241) (+ download)

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

Whether Clouds or Clear Skies by onewasturning (25,861)

“Harry,” Louis says, “last night I had an experience bordering on profound.”

“You’re making it sound like you did something sexual with my muffin,” Harry says.

Or, Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather.

the dead of july by whimsicule (117,446)

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

In the Clear by aclosetlarryshipper (80,751)

After Princess Gemma and her fiance Niall are captured by the witch from across the land, Harry and Louis are forced on a journey together to save them.

Featuring Lumberjack Liam, Magical Zayn, unsolicited tattoos, and untangling the past.

Also known as The Larrietale.

a house built out of stone by robpatFF (22,486)

Louis has a used bookshop and Harry has a habit of claiming things that don't belong to him.

out of the blue corner by fallingaway (85,422)

Louis is a boxer banned because of doping. Harry is a journalist following the story.

with your love we could breathe underwater by luminescents (28,542)

Harry’s brow furrows, a look of confusion spreading over his face. “But I am real. I exist, see,” he says, raising a hand out of the water and wiggling his fingers at Louis.

AU where Harry is a mermaid, Louis is a human, and they both discover a lot more than they anticipated.

dancing in the dark by clairdeloune (74,709)

Harry comes out and it brings more than he's expected.

Untangle Me by suicxne (103,000) (requires an ao3 account)

Or the one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.

California Sold by isthatyoularry (123,536)

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface (57,180)

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

like cabbages and kings by you_explode (60,875)

When Louis was a kid, he had a series of very vivid dreams about a place called Wonderland.

Loyal Knight and True by rainbowninja167 (51,569)

Oh, Harry thinks, mouth open on a silent gasp. This is how it happens.

In contemporary Oxford, Harry Styles and Niall Horan run a magical bookshop, unbowed by an entire academic establishment that insists magic doesn't even exist.

for now (and forever) by orphan_account (sadly can’t remember the actual author) (83,283)

"Listen to yourself," Harry laughs, shaking Louis' shoulders. "Don't you think it's a bit weird to con the country you're supposed to be serving?"

Louis is going into the Army, Harry is going nowhere, and there's nothing like a little identity fraud between friends.

Say You'll Remember by whisperdlullaby (93,521)

au. louis and harry are best mates that are only half aware that they're also soulmates. alternatively, louis goes to university and harry travels the world, and they always manage to find their way back to each other.

takes place over nine years, in which they love and hurt, make mistakes and learn, and above all, grow.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor (46,173)

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Battle Cry by Velvetoscar (21,377)

Harry's got a heart, a soul, and a band. And with that, obviously, comes a future paved in great success, right? So all he has to do is win the Battle of the Bands, right? Simple.

What's not so simple is the fact that Louis Tomlinson is his biggest competition. And also happens to be made of everything that Harry's ever wanted.

Take Me Where I Cannot Stand by LoadedGunn (13,988)

Harry can agree that being husbands in space presents some challenges. Sometimes they have to escape mindless cannibals, sometimes they're being held hostage, sometimes Louis doesn't want Harry to get pregnant, and sometimes someone slips on a banana peel. But that's all part of the fun, isn't it? They could have been juggling geese.

(Firefly AU where Harry and Louis are co-pilots in life.)

Just Me, You, And This Box of Matches by tomlinsunshine (87,020) (requires an ao3 account)

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

you're an egg if im an egg by giraffesaretall (1252)

au where one direction are eggs.

[morkmywords]

Not Really a Cinderella Story | Royalty au | Exo | Sehun | Part 13

Masterlist | Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 [FINAL] Royal Palace of Oclaria, Iyle

Royalty!AU

Length: 6.7k

Note:my last final is tomorrow which means hopefully more parts coming soon

Warnings: nothing really

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Genre: Fluff/angst

Summary: When a strange string of not so great events somehow and you with a job at the palace punching the wrong people can be not so great.

We travelled through the city during the night with the stars above us. The ship that would take us to the mainland was leaving from the port on the other side of the island which held Oclaria’s capital city at dawn and not a moment later. You, Cha, and his small entourage of two guards and a couple of citizens from Iyle which had come with him to visit family would be travelling down the coast of Oclaria which was the majority of the east coast of the continent. Iyle took up all of the southernmost coast of Oclaria and most of the islands in the surrounding area along with part of the eastern coast. Edesea owned the other half of the southern coast of the continent which meant all the trade coming from the other continents went through Edeasea or Iyle. Now it was theorized that ships could travel up the coasts without ever coming in contact with the two countries but the tropical storms which were rampant off the coast of Edesea and Medezia stopped all ships up the west. On the east coast the small islands provided to tight of a space for the large trade ships to navigate, forcing all trade to go through the port cities on the southern coast.

Nobody asked questions and you were grateful because you could still feel the sting of tears freshly. By the time the boat was ready to board at dawn, your tears had dried. It wasn’t the first time you had been on the ship from the mainland to the capital, after all, when you first arrived you had to get to the capital somehow. But you had only been to the northern part closest to Arye, never had you seen the southern lands that stretched down the coast. The sun shone between the clouds, breaking through in bright beams which seemed to descend straight from the heavens. The briny sea air filled your lungs and seemed to travel through your spine, into your lungs and all the way down to your toes, wrapping you in its salty embrace. You let it flush you of all the anxiety and sadness trapping your heart like a cage and stood with your eyes closed, fingers curling around the railing of the deck until the bellowing horn blew. The ship was docking on the mainland and as you rejoined the rest of the travellers and smiled as you stepped off the ship and onto the land.

New horses were already waiting for you on the dock, prepared to take you through the bustling port city and down the coast on your journey to Iyle. You took one last look at the castle in the distance and left your heart locked away inside it with the king as it disappeared behind the tall ships and building as you set off down the road.

Every night we would stop at a town and stay the night at an Inn. Your nights were usually spent over a warm meal in the pub downstairs, listening to the stories of weary travellers and sometimes even telling some of your own. It always felt warm during those times, not just because of the roaring fireplace but because of boisterous laughter and open smiles as people talked freely like they were old friends instead of strangers who had just met.

Oclaria was never as developed as countries like Vraetis. Of course, they still had the latest technologies but buildings were never rebuilt, only patched up to keep them standing, roads were made with cobblestones from years ago but more commonly dirt. Yet the outdated country had a sort of haunting beauty to it, crumbling castles and roads which were more akin to beaten paths made through the wear of years.

On one side the road you travelled sharp cliffs dropped into crashing waves, gulls cried overheads before diving below the surface. Somedays you could feel the salt spray on your face while others the sun shone brightly on the rolling hills to your right. Tall grasses danced in the wind small flowers beginning to bloom as spring was right around the corner.

It was five days later when you first crossed the border into Iyle. The town was bustling, they called it ‘the gateway to Iyle’ as it was the town every traveller stopped in before heading into the territory. Market stalls lined every street, selling anything you could imagine as your horses waded through the sea of people who stopped and waved when they recognized Lord Cha. Some people began waving to me as well and I did my best to smile and wave back, as we moved further down the street people began cheering, children ran up beside us and stuck flowers in our saddle bags. By the time we reached the Inn we would be staying at my cheeks were sore from smiling so much and everyone in our party was decorated with blossoms from head to toe and chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

You wandered into the dining room which was oddly empty and sat down across from Lord Cha. In all the Inns you had been to before this were packed with travellers but this one was extraordinarily quiet.

“I see you’re pretty popular,” You teased as you grabbed a bread roll out of the bread basket in front of him, “Kissing babies left and right.” He smiled as you tore off a piece of the loaf and stuffed it into your mouth.

“I could say the same for you, I don’t think I’ve seen a genuine smile from you since we left the capital,” He reached over and grabbed a stray flower petal that was still left in your hair.

You ducked your head and stared at the half-eaten bread in your hands. You cleared your throat and looked back up at him, “What’s with the flowers anyways, and why is it so quiet here?” You asked trying to quickly change the subject.

He let out a chuckle, “Well my dear, the reason for the flowers and the lack of people is the same. On the last day of spring, the people of Iyle have a celebration we call the final blossom, It’s a time to gather with your family and give thanks for everything the year has brought as well as pray for the coming harvest. We celebrate by giving each other flowers and fresh produce and everyone travels to stay with their families for the weeks leading up to it. The festival itself lasts for three days with village feasts and games for families to play, flower wreaths and garlands are hung from every place imaginable. It’s easily the largest holiday in all of Iyle.”

“I never knew about it,” You sighed taking another chunk of bread and chewing idly. If a holiday was so big why wasn’t it talked about all over?

“Most of the other countries have a similar festival around this time of the year but nowhere places such an importance on it as Iyle,” Lord Cha explained when he saw the confusion on your face, “At the time of the actual festival we’ll be in the capital.”

That night you stayed up for hours talking to Lord Cha and some of the others about the traditions of Iyle until finally the day of riding caught up with you and you retired to your room for a well-needed bath. In the warm water, foaming with the scent of lavender you floated through dreams of dancing and singing, laughing between flowers with your parents who were soon joined by many of your new friends. As soon as his face danced into your mind, surrounded by familiar blossoms, of yellow and white, it was as if the bath water had turned cold and you climbed out. Drying off and crawling into bed where he crept back into your thoughts and the familiar warmth wrapped around you and the two of you danced into your dreams.

In the morning the town sent you off with more flowers and baskets of fresh peaches in the morning, wishing you all a safe trip and happy last blossom. Your group continued to grow smaller as members broke off to head to their hometowns and reunite with their families for the holidays. It took another four days of travelling down the coast, each town filled with flowers before you finally reached the port town where you would board a ship that would take you to Iyle’s capital. The capital was, in fact, one of the smallest towns in Iyle, the largest cities lay along the southern coast, always filled with people but the capital was nestled among the many islands dotted around the eastern coast. It was only a small village nestled around the castle, a few farms to provide food, nowhere near as large as the royal palace and the city surrounding it. You could see it in the distance as you hung over the railing of the ferry boat. The sun was just beginning to rise as you let the ocean spray blow across your face, gulls chirped overhead as the small ship navigated between the maze of islands but you could see the spire of the castle in the distance. The planks of the deck creaked behind you as Lord Cha came to rest his forearms over the railing beside you.

   “No matter how many times I leave or how many places I go, coming back home is always the best part,” he sighed, taking a deep breath and letting the smell of ocean spray and salt fill his nostrils, “The smell of the sea never gets old.”

    “I always seemed to think the adventure was the best part,” you sighed, slumping down farther. You gaze followed a gull soaring across the sky and diving to the sea.

    He let out another deep chuckle next to you, “Not when you live here.”

    “And why’s that?”

   “You’ll see,” was all he said before pushing back up and heading to the front of the ship, “We’ll be there in a few moments!” He called, “You should come up to the front for your first time seeing the magnificent capital.”

    You took one more deep breath and closed your eyes, letting the sunlight wash over your face before pushing yourself up and following him and the rest of the passengers over to the bow of the ship. It was like something straight out of a romance novel as the ship turned around the last island, revealing the castle and city below just as the sun broke over the horizon. People chittered excitedly beside you as the boat pulled into the dock, though it was only just dawn people waved happily as the crowds departed from the ship. You watched as families reunited with a smile and even though you weren’t running into someone's arms and being held so tight it felt like you couldn’t breathe you felt at home. You followed Lord Cha through the cobbled streets of the village, as you passed by people were only just beginning to wake up and the waved sleepily as you passed by and headed towards the magnificent castle. You could just glimpse the fields stretching out behind the edge of the town before you passed through the gates and entered the castle’s courtyard. The staff bowed as you passed, still following behind Lord Cha, you could hear them whispering excitedly behind their baskets of flowers once you had passed but it didn’t seem ill-intended.

   “I’m sure you’re exhausted from the journey,” Lord Cha said as he showed you down winding corridors and to a grand room, “You can have the rest of this day to relax and do whatever you wish. I will call upon you tomorrow since we have some very important things to discuss,” he explained with sudden seriousness.

   You nodded and followed him into the room, sighing at its beauty and how soft and inviting the grand canopy bed looked.

    “Meals are served in the kitchen but you can ring for someone if you need-”

    “I’m sure I will find it,” you assured him before not so gently pushing him towards the door, “Just go relax,” you told him with a wave before shutting the door and turning back around to admire the room once more. The room itself was the grandest thing you had ever seen, it was nowhere near as luxurious as Jiyoon’s quarters but it was almost twice the size. The bed itself must have been large enough to fit ten people comfortably with a sheer canopy surrounding it to give it a sense of elegance while still leaving some privacy. There was a sitting room, dining room, vanity, and work space all in one large open space and after some exploring, you found out there were two separate empty rooms, a separate bathing room, dressing room, and across the hall was a balcony. You laid on the cloudlike bed for a total of five minutes before you got up and began to explore again. You found a cloak in the wardrobe and threw it on as you decided to go out and explore the town.

    You pulled the hood over your head as you slipped out the front gates. Everyone you passed offered you a friendly smile which you easily returned as they passed with their carts and baskets, the majority heading towards the castle, no doubt to prepare for the festival based on the sheer number of flowers they all carried with them.  You followed the stream of people and eventually ended up at the market place by the docks where you had first arrived from, though now it was filled with people and merchants shouting out their wares. Brightly painted signs advertised ‘Flowers and Fruits! Perfect for a loved one this Festival!’ or fishermen shouting out the prices of the seafood just brought in from their ships. There were even a few traders from the south selling fabrics and cooking utensils. Soon enough your stomach was rumbling and you followed your nose to a little bakery tucked into one of the alleys. You were immediately drawn to a deliciously frosted bun sitting right in front of the display case.

   “What can I get for you?” the man who you were assuming was the baker asked with a large smile.

   “One of whatever that is,” you said, pointing to the bun in the display case.

   “Good choice,” he said with a chuckle, “Made them fresh this morning, one of the town favourites,” he told you as he grabbed a small plate and placed a purple frosted one onto it.

You admired the quaintness of the little bakery, the table cloths were slightly mismatched and seemed to be handsewn which gave it a very familiar sense. The floral edgings and patterns were very familiar to the ones your mother had made when she was still alive.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the baker asked as he put your pastry on the counter.

You stopped and looked at the menu, half of the things you had never heard of before, ‘What do you recommend?”

“We just got a specialty tea from Medazia made from hibiscus flowers and other fruits, it goes really well with pastries,” the baker told you.

“I’ll have one of those,” You continued to chat with him as he prepared the tea.

“Are you new in town?” he asked, pulling down a teacup, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Something like that,” you hummed as you sat down at a nearby table, you don’t know why but you decided to make up and excuse, “Just came in to visit some family for the festival.”

“Ahh yes, there’s always an influx of people during the festival season even if they don’t have family, the capital is always the most beautifully decorated town and the feast I the castle is open to everyone,” he stated proudly, “When did you arrive?”

“Just this morning, on the first ship from the mainland.”

He let out a long whistle, “You came in with Lord Cha then?”

You nodded.

“You must’ve heard the rumours then, people are saying somebody that came back with Lord Cha is the lost heir of Iyle,” You gave him a confused look as he put the scone and teacup on your table, “It’s just a rumour though,” he assured you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you.”

    He left you with your thoughts and went back to whatever he was doing in the kitchen. The rumours he talked about didn't really cross your mind as you finished your pastry while peering into the bustling market below. A group of performers started dancing at one point, and it even brought a smile to your face watching everyone play along with the jugglers and other performers. You thanked the baker and left after finishing your tea, it might have been from Meadazia but the fruity tea really reminded you of the lanky prince.

   It was still bright out so you decided to stroll through the fields on your way back to the palace. The sunlight washed over you as you wandered between the dirt roads separating the farmer’s fields and pastures from one another. You waved to a group of workers picking an unfamiliar plant as you walked along the little stream running beside the road. A little way later you found the house of those who the unfamiliar crop belonged to as they were selling it out front in a small handcrafted stand.

    “Would you like to try some?” You flicked you head to where the voice was coming from and your eyes fell on the little boy running the stand, he couldn’t have been older than eleven but he looked at you with a bright smile.

“Sure…” you said taking a few steps closer, “But what exactly is it?”

He giggled like little bells, “I knew you looked new, this is your first time in the capital right?” He asked with a smirk and you nodded, “This is a rose-orange,” he explained, holding up the little round fruit, “It only grows in Iyle and we always eat it for the final blossom festival since this is the only time it’s ready to harvest.”

“Does it taste like oranges?” you asked him, taking the little pink fruit out of his hands and examining it closely. Weren’t oranges usually bigger, and you know, orange? This fruit was only about the size of a plum and pink, not orange.

“Not at all, to be honest, I have no idea why they call them rose oranges,” the boy explained, “They aren’t even a citrus fruit.”

You laughed at the way he scrunched up his nose before following his lead and taking a bite out of the fruit, “This is amazing!” you exclaimed, mouth still full of fruit.

“I knew you’d like it,” he said, laughing at the way juice was dripping down the sides of your mouth and chin, “Why don’t you stay for lunch, I’m sure my mom won’t mind.”

“Really?” You asked as he rounded the corner and flipped the sign over so it said closed. He grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the little farmhouse.

“Really, really,” he said, “the workers are coming in from the fields for break anyways, what's wrong with another mouth to feed? My name’s Kun by the way.”

“My name is Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you too Kun.”

You followed him around the side of the house and back to where an old barn was except it had been cleaned out completely and instead there were a few large tables and benches where people were eating. He pushed you down onto the bench before disappearing to get two plates of food from his mother.

“You’re the girl that was on the road earlier,” The boy sitting across from you exclaimed. He and the other boys around you couldn’t be any older than you were, they were all staring at you like you were an alien.

You cleared your throat, “Uh yeah I’m Y/n.”

“She’s new in the capital,” Kun cut in, setting a plate of food down in front of you, “These guys are, Eizo, Jungwon, Fen, and, Junseo. You’re probably the only female that’s ever paid them any attention so they’re all probably in love with you know.”

You laughed as Kun was met with cries of complaint and food scraps. For a while, you stayed and chatted with the workers and even helped them in the fields for a while before they sent you off with a basket of rose oranges free of charge other than the promise to come back to visit. As you left you heard the boys organizing a bet to see which of them could get you to go on a date with them first. You laughed to yourself as you continued back down the road and towards the castle.  

    The rest of your afternoon was spent exploring the castle itself and when dinner rolled around you made your way down to the kitchen with the rest of the staff and pulled out the chair beside Lord Cha.

   “Did you have a good day exploring?” he asked between bites of chicken, “I saw you coming back with that basket of rose oranges.” He smiled as your cheeks turned pink and you choked on a bit of chicken.

    “I didn’t steal them if that’s what you’re thinking,” you told him with a frown. He shrugged and went back to picking at his food, “I really didn’t!” you exclaimed, “They were a gift after I helped them in the field!”

   “Don’t worry y/n, I know you wouldn’t steal anything,” he assured you, “It’s nice that you’re getting along with the locals, having their trust will be good for the future.”

   You frowned at his comment, “I guess….” You chatted with him for a bit as the two of you finished up your food.

   “Can we meet in my study tomorrow after you’ve finished eating breakfast?” he asked, you nodded and wished him goodnight before you left shortly after and collapsed into the giant bed after changing into one of the nightgowns you found in the wardrobe.

   The next morning you woke to a maid pulling your curtains open and letting the sunlight filter in. You squinted against the brightness, groaning and pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

    “What time is it?” you yawned, collapsing back onto the bed and pulling the quilts back over your head. A moment later it was ripped off you and the bed entirely while the maid was staring down from above you.

    “You’ve already slept through breakfast and you have to meet with Lord Cha in an hour, there is no way you’re going back to sleep,” She ordered, pulling you into a standing position, “I let you have the day to yourself yesterday but you aren’t getting off the hook today,” she grumbled before shoving you into the bathroom with an order to wash yourself up as quickly as possible. When you came out of the washroom the maid was gone and there was a tray of food with a note. Instructions telling you to get ready and dress nicely with the clothes in the wardrobe and meet Lord Cha in his study as soon as possible.

   You knocked once before entering, Lord Cha’s study was almost identical to the one back in the royal palace, even down to the bookshelves lining the walls.

   “You’re right on time,” Lord Cha said, taking his eyeglasses off and coming to meet you at the door.

   “Why did you want to see me?” you asked with a smile.

    He brushed some imaginary dust off his pants before meeting your eyes, “Actually, it’s not me who wants to see you, It’s someone else.” With that, he turned and walked out of the study. You followed him all the way to the east wing of the palace and the old library where someone was waiting for you.

   “She looks just like her father,” the man said as soon as you sat down across from him. His face was wrinkled with age and his gray hairs were going every which way like the glasses which sat crooked on the end of his nose.

   “You knew my father?”

   He cleared his throat, surprised at your immediate response and pushed his glasses back onto his face, “I guess I should introduce myself, my name is Son Hwannim, I was your father’s tutor and I’ve known him from the moment he was born. He was always my favourite student, much brighter than his brothers.”

   “Brothers?,” you asked in confusion, “my father was an only child,” How did this man know your father.

    “I take it there’s still a lot you don't know y/n,” he said, glancing at Lord Cha, “Let me explain it all to you.”

    You looked between the two men before nodding your head silently, confused by the whole situation.

   “I guess I should start by introducing myself in more detail,” he sighed, “I was and still am the private tutor of the last Lord of Iyle’s four sons, your father was the second eldest. He was never favoured by his father, too headstrong and stubborn, not easily enough manipulated like the others. Their father, your grandfather, was like a tyrant, he treated the people of Iyle terribly and your father wanted to change that, in an attempt to control him, your grandfather set up an arranged marriage with the daughter of a neighbouring territory. What your grandfather didn’t know is that your father had already fallen in love with the baker’s daughter, your mother. He tried to refuse the marriage but the other Lord’s daughter was already infatuated with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer, she was a frightening young woman, that one. Your father and mother had no other options so they married in secret and fled to Arye with help from Lord Cha who was your father’s best friend at the time. The Lord’s daughter was so obsessed when she heard the news that they had fled she flew into a rage and disappeared, we didn’t think much of it at the time as the eldest son was taking your grandfather’s place as he got older and eventually died. But only a few years after your grandfather’s death his eldest son passed away without ever marrying and with no heir. With your father gone the role fell onto the shoulders of the two youngest brothers but they had already been married off to royalty from the southern continent. Your father’s youngest brother was the only one he trusted enough to keep in contact with after he left Iyle and the last thing we heard from him was that he had just been blessed with a baby girl. Without an heir Cha took over the governing of Iyle until we could persuade your father to return, he made the changes your father wanted happen and we thought he would surely return but we were met with horrible news. That lord's daughter never disappeared, she was hunting your parents, intent on ruining your lives like they supposedly ruined hers. She was the one who started the fire and when she found out you hadn’t died with them she followed you to the palace and married the king. Cha arrived just after you had left to the capital and followed you to make sure nothing happened to you and eventually he brought you back here.”

    “So you’re saying the dead Queen of Arye was the one who killed my parents?” you asked with tears streaming down your face. They both nodded.

    “She’s been trying to ruin your life since you were born.”

    “You tell me this insane story about my family out of nowhere, so why do I believe you?” you hiccuped as more tears streamed down your face, “Why did they never tell me?”

   “We think your parents also knew what was going on, and they were trying to protect you,” Lord Cha explained, “I know it’s a lot to take in Y/n but you know what this means right? You're the only heir the territory of Iyle.”

    “You don’t have to make any decisions now, we know it’s a lot to take in but we thought you should know,” Lord Cha said, voice full of regret as he took in your bedraggled appearance, “I’ll walk you back to your room and you can come talk to us further whenever your ready.”

   You nodded and stood up to leave, just as you were about to leave you whispered a quick ‘thank you’ directed at the man still sitting at the table before going back to your room.

   You stayed there for a day and a half. Curled up under your blankets crying, but it was different from all the times before, when you cried because of pain, whether it be emotional or physical. There has always been a tightness that wound its way around your heart but now you were crying from relief, all the things you had wondered about and the secrets that tormented you had finally been revealed and by the time your tears had all dried up it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders and you finally felt at peace with your parents passing.

    On the second day, you got dressed and headed to the bakery where you greeted the baker again and bought a box of pastries before heading back to the field where Kun and his friends worked. They gratefully accepted your offer of food and help in the fields as you were given a basket and set to work. As you plucked rose oranges and filled your basket you realized that you may have never wanted to be a queen but there didn’t seem to be any escaping the responsibility of governing and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you had people you trust by your side to support you, after all, don’t those who never want power make the best rulers.

-----

    “I’ll do it!” was the first thing you said as you burst into Lord Cha’s study that evening, “I’ll become the Lady of Iyle.”

   His arms wrapped around you in a tight hug before he pulled away with a huge smile, “I always knew you could do it Y/n,” he told you, “You won’t be alone, Mr. Son and I will be there to help you the whole way through.”

   “It’s what my father would have wanted,” you agreed.

    “I’ll arrange a meeting in the morning, you should go have a bath and go to bed, you look exhausted.”

    You nodded and walked back to your room where the maid from earlier was already waiting.

   “There’s hot water already waiting for you, go take a bath and I’ll make the bed,” she told you, “and I’m happy you finally figured it out our new Lady of Iyle, don’t worry too much, they’ll love you.”

    You thanked her before heading to the bathroom and sinking into the hot water and letting it seep into you like a warm blanket, things would be alright, wouldn't they?

-----

    The news that the heir of Iyle had returned that night and in two days time there would be a banquet to welcome you. People flooded the city with the news, usually, the other Lords and Ladies from the other territories and sometimes the royalty of other countries would come to celebrate but everything was so last minute only a few from surrounding territories who could make it came. Much to your surprise, you were greeted by the people with nothing but warmth, even the other Lords and Ladies congratulated you with smiles. Everything seemed to pass in a rush of your crash courses in governing from Lord Cha and his advisors which were pretty straight forward due to the amount of time you had previously spent with royals who never stopped talking about politics. You were bombarded with letters from every royal, lord, lady, baron, and Duchess on the continent as well as some who weren’t giving you their best regards and wishes for the future. You even saw one marked with the royal seal of Oclaria which you immediately shoved to the back of the drawer. But what really put into perspective of how much of a powerhouse on the continent Iyle was the news Lord Cha gave you in the meeting with your advisors a week after you coronation of sorts.

    “The Prince of Edesea is coming to visit for the Final Blossom festival and he’s arriving this afternoon?!” You exclaimed.

   “Yes,” Lord Cha sighed, “We just received word their delegation crossed the border this morning and they should be here by nightfall.”

    “You mean the Prince of Edesea as in Kim Minseok?” you asked, utterly dumbfounded. You hadn’t seen Minseok in months and now you were going to see him tonight? You had spent the last week helping to finalize the details of the Final Blossom festival in the capital and now you had to quickly organize for a visit from Edesea and one of your closest friends who knew nothing about what happened to you in the last few weeks.

   “Do you know Prince Minseok?” One of your advisors asked.

    You nodded, “I do but he knows nothing about me leaving the capital of Oclaria, much less being the Lady of Iyle.”

    You dismissed the meeting and quickly began planning for their visit and had the maids prepare quarters for the extra guests in the east wing which were supposed to be rooms for the governing family but weren’t in use since it was only you. Before you knew it evening had rolled around and you were standing at the dock with Lord Cha and a handful of guards as the boat carrying Minseok and his staff docked. You shifted from foot to foot as you watched people start to disembark and then you saw him surrounded by guards approaching where you were waiting, his eyes scanning the crowd and he stopped when they landed on you.

    “Y/n? What are you doing here?” He blurted out absolutely puzzled.

   Lord Cha cleared his throat and stepped forward, “Your Highness, this is Lady Y/n, the ruler of Iyle.”

    You stayed silent as his eyes widened with realization and he immediately bowed, “I apologize for my behaviour, It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Y/n,” he said stiffly.

   “Likewise, Your Highness,” you replied as you did your best to curtsy. You saw him purse his lips to suppress a chuckle as you wobbled coming back to a standing position, “It’s an honour to have you visit for one of our most important holidays, the news was a little bit last minute so I hope you find your accommodations suitable, Shall we head to the castle? I’m sure you’re all tired from your journey,” you said with a smile.

   “Lead the way,” he answered with a knowing smile as you stepped into the carriage with him and headed to the palace. Once the door was shut he turned back to you, “You can drop the formalities, we’re friends first and foremost.”

    “I missed you so much Minseok,” you exclaimed, doing your best to hug him in the tight space, “It feels like its been years since I last saw you.”

   “Me too,” he agreed, “And it seems like we have a lot to talk about,” he said, eyes drifting to the dress made in the style of most Iylian summer dresses which had short sleeves and scooping necklines and backs to combat the heat while still keeping your legs and torso covered.

The heat rose to your cheeks as you teasingly punched him, “Shut up, I heard in Edesea the women wear even smaller dresses.”

    “They do,” he chuckled, “But you look good, not just your dress but you look happier Lady Y/n.”

    “I guess I have to explain some things.”

   “It can wait till morning,” he assured you, “I’m sure we’re both exhausted.”

   You bid him goodnight as you entered your room and he entered his own, your maid whose name you learned was Shinhye was waiting to help you get ready for bed. It was always odd to think that just months ago you were in her position, helping Jiyoon get ready for the day and you were always reminded how much you missed your friends back in Arye.

-----

    The next morning you met Minseok in the Library in the east wing and explained everything to him, even what happened with Sehun in the royal palace.

    “I’ll kill him,” he seethed.

   “Please don’t,” you sighed, “It’s just as much my fault as it is his, just don’t tell the others,” You could see that he didn’t believe you one bit but thankfully he dropped it.

    “It actually explains a lot,” he told you before pulling out a stack of envelopes tied together, “A few weeks ago your friends from Arye sent these for you to the capital of Oclaria but Sehun immediately sent them back without any explanation. Junmyeon knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of his brother so when he heard I was going to visit the capitol after I visit IYle he asked me to give these to you, we thought you died or something.”

    Tears pricked your eyes as you saw letters from Jiyoon, Mari, Konu, Seon, and Kosho, “Thank you,” you choked out, doing your best not to ruin the makeup Shinhye had done for you this morning.

   “I’m just happy you’re okay,” Minseok sighed as he squeezed your hand, “Now how about you show me around your hometown?”

    The Final Blossom Festival went off without a hitch. You introduced Minseok to Kun, Junseo, Eizo, Fen, and Jungwon, who were still awestruck that you were the Lady of Iyle and friends with the prince of Edesea. The feast and ball were amazing, filled with laughter and dancing and delicious fruits. The dress you had been given was decorated with wreaths of flowers you were gifted by the attendees, Minseok was especially popular with the ladies, always having a partner to dance with as you indulged the boys in they’re bet and danced with each one, in turn, leaving each with a kiss on the cheek except Kun who declined almost immediately which made you all laugh.

    “Don’t let any of the Lord’s son’s see you kissing those boys or their heads might explode with jealousy, after all its not so often the Lady in charge of the most powerful territory in Oclaria is young, single, and pretty,” Minseok teased and you halfheartedly shoved him away. As much as Lord Cha assured you that you wouldn’t have to marry any time soon, you were familiar with this are of politics, and you knew eventually it might be necessary for you to solidify your standing. You didn’t let it cloud your thoughts because sure enough you were pulled onto the dance floor again. You wanted to live in the bliss of the festival for another few days but sure enough, that wouldn’t be the case as the next morning Lord Cha met you with an urgent letter, decorated with the royal crest.

----

Lady of Iyle,

   I wish to formally invite you to the Royal Palace to celebrate the beginning of summer. As the newly appointed leader of one of the most powerful territories in our country we regret that we were unable to attend the celebration but we hope you will be able to celebrate with us in two weeks time.

    His Majesty, The King of Oclaria, Sehun

----

“Well Minseok,” you sighed sitting down next to him in your dining room where you had been sharing breakfast before you were pulled away, “We won’t be parting ways anytime soon, The king has invited me to the royal palace for the beginning of summer festivities.”

   “Oh Y/n….”

   “I have to face him at some point, I can’t just hide here on this island.”

    “I didn’t tell you earlier…” he said quietly, “But the rumour is that his officials are pushing him to marry and he’s going to announce his engagement during the last day of festivities, during the ball.”

  You bristled and tried to swallow the lump in your throat, “I see, so everyone will be there?” he nodded, “I’m happy for him.”

[imagine-shenanigans]

This one’s for @goth-tiefling​! Sorry for the wait! <3

If you readers like what I do feel free to drop an ask into my inbox, or request over at my Ko-Fi! Here’s the AO3 link!

Selkie Corrin + F!S/O

Male Corrin

If I’m getting the mythos correct - which by all means I may not be! - I believe that there’s at least one myth out there that says male selkies are summoned when the woman they’re after cries seven tears into the ocean! For this however, I’m going to call it “cry seven times” for variety’s sake.

Since the two corrins are PRETTY MUCH THE SAME i’m going to implement my own headcanons for them to differentiate where M! Corrin is a bit more sensitive, and f!corrin is more ruthless. (Which is literally based on nothing than my own heart, and the box art having f!corrin with nohr and m!corrin with hoshido)

Anyway, I imagine that Corrin has been watching your little seaside town for some time, and had noticed you slipping down the beach one night. Climbing up and over the wall of rocks that divided the area with practiced ease, he watched from his place on the rocks farther out. He watched as you slipped further down, until you had neared a small little cave.

He’d seen you before - he knows most of the town’s residents, or at least the ones who come down to the beach regularly. He’s seen you interact with others of his pod before, though he himself had never felt the need to come too terribly close to the shore. They’d always been so tame around you... though really, the only ones who were aggressive were the normal seals. And, well, sometimes the higher up members of his other relations.

The only real time he’d ever come onto the shore while humans were there was when he’d been a child... and it was so long ago he could hardly remember it, but he’d never forgotten the kind little girl who had picked his coat up and dusted the sand off of it for him when he’d dropped it and tripped. She’d bandaged his knee up and helped him calm down.

And... that was really the only extent of his knowledge of humans.

But when he gets the urge to follow you into the cave, he’s so taken aback by what he finds that he can’t process it.

You’re seated in the shallow end of the water, sobbing violently, bordering on wails as you curl in on yourself. He’s never seen a human cry so... horribly out of nowhere. He’s seen humans wail as ships have brought back their dead, or they’ve cast bottles out into the ocean, but to have seen you seemingly fine for a moment, and then so violently sad the next... it scares him.

He gets as close as he dares without alerting you to his presence, and watches for a long moment, before slowly making his way out of the water. He stays in his seal form, and inches closer to you. 

Doing the only thing he can think of... he rolls onto his back, and slaps his stomach with his fins. The absurdity of it makes you laugh, and you eventually stop crying so badly, breaking off into small sniffles laced with laughter.

Eventually, you leave, as does Corrin. 

But he watches the shore the next day, and the day after that... until you’ve appeared again. And five more times, you return to that small cave, sobbing into the waters hopelessly. He soon comes to find that you’re locked into some sort of obligation, though he doesn’t know what. Your village had taken you in, and you’d been working wherever needed help most over the years, ever since your parents had died when you were young. There were no others your age, and so despite the affection most of the villagers had for you, you often felt like an outcast.

He comforts you, going from simply entertaining you with tricks to pressing himself into your arms, letting you sob into him until you’d tired yourself out. Sometimes you spoke of how silly it was, that you’d found your only friend in the form of a seal. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, you tell him, eyes red and puffy from crying as you sigh softly. 

On the seventh night he finds you, you’re shivering and cold as you sob weakly into your hands, the thin nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill. 

You know he’s there, even as your back is turned to the water, and you tell him that you’re to be married in the morning. That you don’t know the man you’re marrying, only that he’s said to be wealthy, and kind, and generous, but the whispers of the elderly women are full of pity as they share tales of his misdeeds and mistreatment of the women he’s sought to woo in the past. 

You trust their wisdom and knowledge more than the men who have sought to marry you off, but you have no idea how to get out of it as the marriage has been arranged for the benefit of the village, and nobody could stop the elders once they’d made their decision. 

Corrin feels tears well in his eyes as he emerges from the water, shaking his coat off of his shoulders as the weight of the decision he’s already made presses into his chest.

He wraps his coat around you, sinking to his knees and hugging you tightly. He backs away and explains who he is... what he is... and that he’s sorry to have been pretending for so long. But you gasp, tears in your eyes, and hug him so tight he nearly topples over with the force of it. 

You remember him, from when you were a child and you had been visiting the town with your parents. You remembered the strange, white-haired boy who cried when he skinned his knee and looked like he would cry harder when you’d picked up his coat for him, as though he expected you to rip it out of his arms and never give it back.

He smiles, and sniffles, and presses a kiss to your lips. His fingers curl tighter around his own coat, wrapping you up tighter than before. He entwines his fingers with yours, and you press your foreheads together, glad to be reunited with your first love. When he speaks, it’s with such hope in his eyes...

“I’m so sorry... please... let me take you away from here. I promise I’ll love you for all of our lives.”

You’ve never been so happy to say yes.

Female Corrin

The first time she had seen you, Corrin had fallen in love.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t love - but she certainly was smitten with you. You were so pretty, and funny, and you’d played with her all day along the beach as a child, on one of the rare days that she and Silas had snuck out and away from their parents and the rest of the pod. Silas had been forced to leave, which left Corrin all alone with nobody to play with. 

Then you’d arrived, and she’d eagerly approached the only other child (or person, for that matter), and found that you were visiting as well. Your grandmother lived on the next island over, and you and your parents were waiting for the boat to arrive, so they’d sent you off to play as they prepared gifts for your grandmother.

She eagerly takes you by the hand, and pulls you towards the shore, where the two of you played for hours until you’d had to leave for your boat. You’d even made her a friendship bracelet, and taught her how to make one for you - something she eagerly treasures even years later when she’s all grown up and swimming along the shore of a new island. You’d promised to meet her again, and she’d kept up the hopes she’d see you along the coast of the area she’d lived in all of her life once more... 

One day, however, she spots a pretty young woman along the shore, helping the sailors load the fish into carts to carry to the market. You’re new to the little village she’s been frequenting, and she’s intrigued. She watches as you return, day after day, bundled in coats too big for you. 

Eventually, she spots you reclined on the beach, in a secluded little area that’s hard to get to, and she can’t help but get closer. Her curiosity gets the better of her as she approaches, giving a short bark as you jolt upwards, staring at the seal approaching.

She butts your knee with her head, and rolls onto her back.

She’s the strangest seal you’ve ever seen, but you laugh, and shake your head as you gently stroke her head.

And so the routine continues for some weeks - you come down and visit the beach at least once a week, and Corrin relaxes with you. 

One day, you’ve just arrived at the beach on a warmer afternoon than usual as of late. She begins approaching, swimming fast through the water with excitement, when she spots the friendship bracelet hanging from your wrist.

She’s out of the water faster than you can process the fact that a scantily clad pretty girl has just thrown herself into your arms, clinging so tight you almost can’t breathe. You definitely can’t breathe for a moment when you collide with the ground, but then the memories come rushing back and the two of you are crying.

Corrin frequents the beach every day after that. The two of you talk for hours upon hours, reconnecting after so long apart.

Corrin takes her coat off one day, and leaves it by the rocks. She’d asked Camilla... who had told her of the test, and lurks nearby in case you fail, even though Corrin had assured her you wouldn’t.

She tells you about the fact that if a human takes her coat and hides it, she’ll have to stay with them until they return it. Sometimes, this results in marriage, but eventually the selkie returns to the sea. 

At the end of the day, she turns to leave, pointedly leaving her coat behind. As she moves to dive into teh water, you call her name, and wrap her coat around her. What would she do if she forgot it, and someone stole it?

She grins, ear-to-ear, and quickly wraps it around you, pressing a kiss to your lips as she envelops you in a hug.

“You’ll have to hold onto it for me then! So nobody else takes it but the one I love.”

[peraltasames]

mountains and valleys (and all that will come in between) - chapter two

Jake, Amy, and four distinct yet painfully similar times the universe pulled them apart and pushed them back together.

read on ao3

part two: florida

Jake doesn’t speak until somewhere around the border of Virginia and North Carolina.

He listens to Marshal Haas, located in the passenger seat, as she briefs them on their new identities. He glances over at Captain Holt, who is listening much more intently than himself and twisting his wedding ring around his finger, likely trying to memorize how it feels before he’s forced to part with it. He looks out the window at the many streets, houses and towns that they pass, dimly lit by the moon and streetlights. He thinks about Amy.

It isn’t until Holt grabs his shoulder and informs him that the marshal just asked if he has any questions that he finally opens his mouth to talk, his voice coming out a little hoarse from lack of recent use.

“How long did you say it’s gonna take to catch Figgis?”

“It’s impossible to say, but we’re predicting somewhere between four months and a year,” Haas says with the same no-nonsense, clear tone that she’s been using since picking Holt and Jake up at the precinct hours ago after a much too short goodbye with the squad.

It seems so far away already. It feels like it’s been years, not hours, since he wrapped Amy in a hug in the corner of the briefing room - all the privacy that they were allotted - and kissed her hair repeatedly while she tried to stifle her panicked cries.

“It’s crucial that you follow every one of these rules exactly as I instruct you to,” the marshal continues, “or he’ll find you before we find him.”

“I know.”

She’s only stated this a hundred times since they left New York - follow the rules, follow the rules, follow the rules. He understands that she’s doing her job and trying to keep him alive and he should really be grateful, but he does not think that she understands the complete and utter torture of being apart from Amy Santiago.

He’s done it for the past three weeks, a much shorter length of time than the one they’re facing now and with frequent texts and phone calls and reassurance that she was okay. Still, they were by far the worst three weeks Jake experienced since they started dating last summer.

To make matters so much worse, they had just agreed to move in together. They were just about to take the next step in their relationship, a step that he hoped would be the first of several ensuing advancements towards a lifetime together - because, god, there is no way he’s ever going to find anything better than this. She is absolutely, undeniably, the best thing that has ever and will ever happened to him.

And now that’s on hold - maybe for four months, maybe for a year, any amount of time being too long for him.

Nobody else sees it, but as he turns his head to resume staring out the window, his tired eyes might just shed a tear or two.

-

The first few months, he doesn’t cope well.

The first month consists of cases of cheap beer from the K-Mart around the corner, watching movies he doesn’t like in front of a crappy TV with all the lights turned off and sleeping until two in the afternoon.

The second month is still getting used to calling Holt “Greg” (which feels wrong for a multitude of reasons), eating burritos in the hot tub and rejecting Greg’s pleas that Jake - Larry - take better care of himself.

The third month is his birthday passing and Holt giving him a small nod and smile when they walk outside to retrieve the papers in the morning, not being able to say anything aloud because Larry’s birthday is in October.

The third day of the fourth month, Holt comes over for dinner. He’ll tell the neighbourhood walking group the next day that Larry simply cooked too many burgers and invited his closest neighbour in proximity over for a casual meal to eliminate food waste.

They play loud music - Larry’s favourite band is Nickelback, to Jake’s horror - to allow them to talk somewhat more freely than they do outside while in the confines of the kitchen, though Holt still insists on using their fake personas to help them “stay in character.”

“How are you doing?” Holt asks, taking a sip of his soda. Greg drinks soda. Holt does not.

“I’m fine.”

“I can tell that something’s bothering you, Larry,” he insists, looking Jake in the eye. “Is it…girl trouble?”

Jake deciphers his code immediately, understanding what he’s really trying to ask is do you miss Amy?

He nods. “Yeah. Girl trouble.”

There’s a pause, and he can feel Holt’s eyes on him, analyzing his pained expression.

“Perhaps I can offer some advice,” Holt says with a casual wave of his hand. “One heterosexual man to another.”

Jake turns up the dial on the speaker to drown out his words and speaks softly, barely loud enough for Holt to hear him.

“I miss her so much,” he admits. “And I can’t stand not being able to talk to her or the Nine-Nine or my mom and not - not know if she’s okay-“

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Holt pulls him into a firm hug, steadying him, and his laboured breathing slows marginally.

“She’s okay,” Holt murmurs. “She’ll be okay as long as you stay alive long enough to come home to her.”

They stay like that for a few moments until Holt releases him, finishes his beverage and excuses himself for the night.

Before he retires to his own bungalow next door, Holt pats him on the shoulder in the doorway and offers his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for dinner, Larry,” he says. “And if it’s any consolation, I also miss my…wife.”

It does help, barely, to know that they’re in this horrible situation together. That every night Jake lies awake drinking and fiddling with the thermostat - the house is always way too hot - and thinking about his girlfriend, Captain Holt is a few dozen yards away thinking of his husband.

Mostly, this realization fuels his burning desire to get the two of them home - to Brooklyn, to the precinct, to the people waiting for them.

-

Halfway through month five, he decides to stop waiting for the FBI to figure it out.

He knows they’re professionals and everything, but he’s a damn good detective and he thinks that what he lacks in resources, he may be able to make up for in motivation.

(His motivation, to be precise, is a picture of Amy that he printed at Staples on the wall of a storage unit he rents.)

He doesn’t tell Holt about it - he knows he won’t approve and he’s learned by now that it’s easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. He’s pretty sure the captain will forgive him with ease once Figgis is behind bars.

The late nights and early mornings spent drinking diluted iced coffee from 7-Eleven and combing through files on the internet are difficult, yet so, so much better than doing nothing. He feels like a cop again, he feels like Jake again, and he’s getting a little bit closer to all of that legally being true every single day.

There’s one night, or maybe two, where he hits a dead end and wants to give up, but he doesn’t.

There’s too much at stake.

-

Jimmy Figgis finds them before they find him.

It’s a plan of their own invention, a plan that they only have hours to assemble, and a plan that there is no reason they shouldn’t be able to execute perfectly.

It’s also, unfortunately, a plan that doesn’t account for Coral Palms PD showing up and foiling their operation.

Jake doesn’t realize how royally screwed he is until he feels Figgis’ gun pressed to his head and - at the exact same time - sees Amy.

He sees her in the literal sense that she’s standing right in front of him, gun drawn, her composure steady despite the evident fear in her eyes. For the fourth or fifth time today (and therefore the fourth or fifth time in six months) she is in front of him, in the flesh, and he’s still trying to process that she’s really here in Florida and not just a hallucination.

But, he also sees her in a different way, a way that only a man with a gun pressed to his temple could.

He sees her kissing him victoriously, wrapping her arms around his neck for the first time in half a year; her dark hair hanging down and the silhouette of her body over his as they remember how to move as one; her head against his chest while she drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

He sees them walking up the stairs to her apartment and collapsing on the couch in front of the TV; waking up at eight o’clock in the evening and ordering so much Chinese food that he feels a little sick afterwards; staying up until the early hours of the morning talking and catching up on every little detail of their lives.

He sees her across the desk at work, eyes glued to the computer screen, perfectly unaware of the fact that he’s gazing at her like she’s the sun, the stars, the entire damn universe.

He sees her in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him while their friends and family watch with wide smiles; her with a small bump under her shirt that isn’t part of an undercover disguise to infiltrate a prison; her with streaks of grey in her hair that match his.

He sees an entire future that could slip away if Figgis pulls the trigger.

So he nods at her, and hopes that she understands that it means he wants her to do whatever she has to do to ensure that they get that future.

The next few moments are a blur - the sound of a gunshot, unspeakable pain in his right leg, Amy running after Figgis, sirens in the distance. The minutes that follow are similarly hectic, between watching his worst enemy get cuffed and shoved into the back of a squad car and trying not to curse in pain as first responders treat his bullet wound.

Things don’t slow down at all, really, until Amy kisses him and says she loves him, effectively drowning out all of their surroundings.

-

Two hours, one brief surgery, dozens of stitches, a lot of drugs and too many cups of bad hospital coffee to count later, the Nine-Nine is once again reunited.

They’re all gathered around Jake’s hospital room, and his eyes scan the room like he’s doing a mental roll call:

Peralta, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a cup of blue Jell-O and the other on Amy’s back;

Santiago, curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing occasional kisses to his jaw and cheek;

Diaz, leaning up against the wall with a barely-restrained smile and crossed arms;

Boyle, hovering near Jake and searching for the best photos of his new son Nikolaj on his phone, shoving the screen in Jake’s face every time he finds a good one;

Jeffords, occupying one of the chairs next to his bed, eating a ham sandwich;

Holt, in the chair next to Terry with an ice pack on his injured limb and a new record for the biggest smile Jake’s ever seen on his face after a lengthy phone call with Kevin;

Hitchcock and Scully - well, they were there, but they left in search of the vending machines about fifteen minutes ago and have yet to return;

Finally, Gina, sitting at the foot of the bed and loudly catching him up on the details of her personal life, which Jake tries to follow.

“Wait, so Natasha said she would bring you to the Rihanna concert-”

“She promised.”

“But instead she took her new boyfriend Brad.”

“It’s Ben, Jake,” Gina sighs, shaking her head. “God, keep up, man.”

“Sorry,” Jake says with a small yawn, “it’s been a long day.”

It’s been a long six months, really, but the past few days on the run with Holt and the hours that followed of trying to catch Figgis once and for all haven’t been particularly restful. He’s also still a little lethargic from the anesthesia he was under while a surgeon quickly repaired his leg, and he’s only stayed awake this long because he missed this - all of them together, talking and bickering and laughing - so much.

“We should let Jake and Amy get some rest,” Terry suggests, getting to his feet and tossing the wrapper from his second sandwich of the hour (“post-adrenaline Terry is a hungry Terry!”) into the trash can.

Amy nods gratefully in Terry’s direction before returning her head to Jake’s shoulder. There are some whines of protest - they all come from Charles - but eventually all members of the squad bid the couple goodnight and filter out of the small room.

It’s finally just the two of them, in complete and total silence.

He puts down the Jell-O cup and shifts his body down on the bed to a much more reclined and comfortable position, pulling her along with him.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, rubbing his chest lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Uh, amazing,” he says with complete seriousness. “I’m in bed, on drugs, with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

He looks down just in time to see her cheeks begin to redden before she tucks her head into his neck to hide her face and reconnect her lips with his warm skin.

“I missed you so much,” she says, and her voice trembles, her composure wavering now that they’re alone.

“I know, babe,” he whispers, running a hand through her hair, “I missed you too.”

Jake tilts her chin up to kiss her - he hasn’t had a free moment to kiss her since the ambulance - and her lips respond impatiently. She deepens the kiss right away, and her hand swiftly moves from his chest to the back of his head, pulling him closer and stroking his hair simultaneously.

“Love you,” he mumbles against her lips. She only sighs - a high-pitched, dreamy sigh - in response before sliding her tongue back into his mouth and relaxing all of her weight onto his body.

“Can you believe not one vending machine in this entire hospital has Cheetos?”

Amy jerks away from him, her teeth catching on his lip and making him wince slightly, as Hitchcock and Scully come barging in with arms full of junk food.

“Where did everyone else go?” Scully asks cluelessly, munching on a bag of beef jerky.

Amy sighs with exasperation, and Jake would be a little more mad about the whole situation if she wasn’t so darn cute when she’s annoyed.

“They’re trying to boink, Scully,” Hitchcock chimes in with a smirk.

“I - we are not boinking in a hospital!” Amy exclaims. “I was just kissing my boyfriend who I haven’t seen in six freaking-“

“Oo-kay, Ames,” Jake says slowly in an attempt to calm her down, then turning his head to the two men in the doorway. “You two. Out. Now.”

They respond to Jake’s stern expression by hastily walking back out into the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

“Where were we?” Jake raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Jake,” she narrows her eyes. “You know we’re not boinking in the hospital, right?”

“I mean…one quick boink wouldn’t hurt-and it’s been six months, Ames, you know it’s gonna be quick-“

“As two adults who have had sex with each other many times, we should really stop using the word ‘boink’.”

“Fair point,” Jake concedes, patting her arm. “So should we…um, make love-“

“Oh my god, Jake, no.”

He frowns and settles back into the soft pillows, huffing dramatically.

“Your doctor said in a few days we’ll be able to engage in ‘light to moderate sexual activity’,” she states, sliding her arm around his torso. “But for now, you need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Burying his face in her hair and hugging her closer to himself with both arms, he finds it remarkably easy to fall into a deep, serene sleep.

-

Jake is discharged from the hospital at eight the next morning, and by nine-thirty they’re boarding the first plane back to New York. He doesn’t bother to get any of Larry’s belongings from the house - he really never wants to go back there again, nor does he want to return to Coral Palms or Florida in general. He’s much more concerned with getting back to Jake’s stuff - leather jackets and hoodies and his DVD collection and mixtapes full of Taylor Swift songs.

He sleeps through the flight, because seven hours really wasn’t enough to make up for all the sleep he lost, and wakes up to Amy kissing his forehead and a view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s perfect.

He figured they would go to her apartment - he hasn’t asked, but he assumes his is no longer his after six months away - but, once she hauls their bags into a taxi, helps him into the car with his crutches and slides in beside him, she gives the driver his address.

“Your mom paid your rent while you were gone,” Amy explains, reaching for his hand. She’s kept some form of physical contact with him since he woke up this morning. “I know we said we would move in together, but I thought you should adjust to being back before we worry about that.”

“Thanks, babe.” He squeezes her fingers and thinks about how incredibly lucky he is. “Is my mom-“

“She’s already there, and no, your dad isn’t coming. Karen and I agreed you wouldn’t want to see him quite yet.”

Jake nods and squeezes her hand twice more, interlocking their fingers.

When they pull up outside his apartment building, he takes a moment to breathe in the somewhat gross (Florida stunk too, but way worse) but gloriously familiar smell of his neighbourhood. It’s a hot day, but still cool enough for the airport sweatpants and t-shirt (they both read I Love Florida, which he absolutely does not) that he’s wearing. He’s had enough of shorts and tank tops for a long, long time.

His mom pulls him into a bone-crushing hug the moment they open the front door, making him drop his crutches, which Amy retrieves as she drags the bags past the threshold and begins organizing his stuff.

“Oh, it is so good to have you home, honey,” Karen says loudly, affectionately, as she continues to squeeze her son.

Jake looks over her shoulder at Amy as she moves through his studio apartment, which is decidedly much cleaner than he left it. It’s completely spotless, actually, except for a couple of stray hoodies of his - one on the couch, one on a chair in the kitchen. He wonders how much time she spent here - honestly, if he had the option to wallow in an entire room full of Amy’s belongings and clothes and things that smelled and felt and reminded him of her, he would’ve taken it every chance he got.

“Good to be home, Mom.”

As soon as his mother releases him and helps him hobble to the couch, Amy strides over to give Karen a quick hug and Jake a quick kiss before heading to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds and the pizza place around the corner to pick up an extra-large meat supreme and a salad, because he “really needs to start thinking about his health.”

Man, it is so good to be home.

-

In bed that night, after Karen is gone and Charles comes over to check on Jake again and they eat a lot of pizza, they finally catch up.

Jake tells her about everything - the WITSEC process, the hot tub burritos, his job at the ATV dealership - and, in turn, Amy fills him on everything he missed.

She talks about work, sparing no details from some of her juicier cases, and he listens with eager anticipation and tries to guess how she solved them before she finishes the story.

She tells him about how she got a lot closer with his mom and went over there for dinner a few times to check in on her, which Jake appreciates immensely.

While he holds her and strokes her hair gently, she talks about the nights she spent at Rosa’s watching Nancy Meyers films, eating ice cream and crying because she missed him so much. His heart breaks a little, but he makes a mental note to thank Rosa for taking care of her despite her policy regarding the discussion of feelings.

“Never again,” Jake mumbles against her hair sometime after midnight. “I’m never gonna leave you again.”

In the moment, he really believes it’s true.

[greetingfromthedead]

Gamora - A Great New Realm

Reader gender: Neutral

Summary: You are a cosmic being located inside the Soul Stone where there is a whole other realm, there you greet a new arrival just before your world is dipped into chaos.

Author’s note: this is a fic I wrote a year ago just after I had seen Infinity War, but I never quite finished it and I just kinda left it. So after now seeing Endgame I decided to kinda finish it and post it. This contains NO SPOILERS for Endgame. It was originally intended to be a romantic Bucky fic, but I didn’t feel it anymore so it’s kinda a platonic Gamora fic instead. Hope you still enjoy it!

You walk alone in your pastel world.The only sound is the wind playing with the grass and the waters of the river making their way to the sea. No screams, no pain, no hurt of the agonised souls. A different realm all together. You look at the light pink sky fading to purple as the sun sets over your favourite planet, Earth. So silent is your universe as the cost of entering is too high. Suddenly you feel something you haven’t in a very long time. It flows through you like a ripple on water. You know at once where you need to be so you leave the planet behind. 

You reappear on the other side of your universe, where the border to another realm is the thinnest - Vormir. You look up and see the cliff, you know that after thousands of years, someone has decided to finally pay the price to the Soul Stone and as you look back down you see a young woman lying on the stone. She’s afraid and you go closer.

“Open your eyes, Gamora,” you say without moving your lips. She hears your voice in her head and slowly does as you said. She looks surprised as she sat up. You reach out your hand and help her stand.

She looks up to see the cliff where she had fallen from and then back to you.

“What is this? Who are you? Am I... am I dead?” she asks.

“I am Death,” you tell her, “Your body is broken and your soul is not with it, but you’re not is Hel nor in Paradise or any other realm you might believe in.”

You turn around and start to walk away.

“So where am I?” she follows.

“This is a realm of its own, a realm that only a few inhabit. Some call it The Soul World, others call it Home because that’s where all souls were once created, some call this Purgatory, and some call it a prison. Take your pick,” you walk over the uneven dusty ground, but your steps leave no mark. 

“Did Thanos get the Soul Stone?” she asks with slight panic in her voice.

“Yes,” you don’t stop, “He paid the price of wielding it.”

“No...” she whispers, “We must stop him! If you are Death, you must send me back! He will destroy everything!”

You finally stop and turn to look at her again.

“I cannot send you back because I don’t own you. I rule and guide the dead, but you are neither dead or alive, you belong to the Stone as your soul was a trade,” you talk calmly, “Now, where would you like to go?”

“I want to go back! I have to!” she shouts, “It’s my fault! I have to fix this!”

“Home it is then,” you say as you take her soul with you as you travel to her home planet -  Zen-Whoberi. You stand with her in the midst of a luscious green field and you hear her gasp. The wild nature around you lives and breathes, but doesn’t make a sound. She takes a step forward, she looks around at the undisturbed world.

“I can’t stay, I have to get back,” she remembers again.

“There is no way back unless the Stone sets you free, but so far... it hasn’t yet happened. The Soul Stone has a will of its own, an agenda different from the others.”

She looks at you and you see that she expects to hear more.

“When the Universe was created, it was created on six... pillars: space, time, power, reality, mind, and soul. If even one of them went missing, the world we know would be very different. Space and Power shaped everything, but that would be just a facade. Time and Reality made it fluent, made it so that it would be ever evolving. Finally Mind and Soul created life so the universe wouldn’t be empty. The living beings were created in a different realm inside the Soul Stone and now almost every soul has its place in the circle of life. If it’s a creature’s time to die... I will go and collect its soul to guide them to the world beyond where they will be reunited with their past lives and they will have all the time they need before they can choose to go back and live another life.”

“So you can send me back!”

“No, because you are not dead and it wasn’t your time to go,” you walk through the untouched world, “Souls were created only once and once they all left this realm it was empty. Can you imagine? An almost infinite space, but nobody to inhabit it? The Soul Stone collects souls to keep in this world, but only those who are worthy, only those who are loved.”

“So are you a prisoner too?”

“No, I am a being beyond boundaries, I am no soul at all,” you say, “Shortly after Creation the stones created Keepers to protect and look over everything. I was created by the Soul Stone to guard and guide the souls. I am something hard to describe in such limited ways as is a language.”

You stop and reach out your hand to her which she hesitantly takes and you show her. Your presence is everywhere in the great big Universe. You feel every soul as a burning dot in the great scheme of things. You feel some of them calling for you  as it is their time to go and as you collect them, hundreds and hundreds at every given moment you could feel their pain and sorrow. You can hear the grieving screams of pain and you can feel souls going to their next journey as you assign them a new life and they are born into a new world. All that at once is too much to bare for the soul so she lets go of your hand with a gasp.

“Have I been reborn?” she asks.

“Yes, many thousands of times,” you say.

“Why can’t I remember them?”

“Because you can’t reconnect with them unless I have collected you.”

She seems beaten and looks at the world around you. She looks at the vast green meadows and the overgrown forests. She looks at all the beauty with sorrow and pain.

“This can’t be it, his can’t be the end. I failed everyone, i doomed the universe.” she whispers to herself as she sat down, beaten.

“You did the best you could.”

You leave her there ever feeling her presence in this world. She is one of just a dozen others that have come before her and some of them are just the souls who have decided to stop their circle and return to where they started from, a hard decision, a permanent one. You return to your duties of attending the souls, Earth is a beacon of soul energy, hundreds and thousands calling out for you and suddenly your realm is shaken to its core. One by one burning spots of energy appear in your vacant world until it is filled by about half of the souls who are supposed to still live on. You feel their consciences, confused and afraid  fill the realm just where they had left off. You suddenly realise what the girl Gamora must have been talking about now you were left with a great unbalance and a realm filled with souls who had their life still ahead of them. 

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[dat-town]

we found our destiny

2nd part of the destiny trilogy

Characters: Jeongguk & fairy!you

Setting: Beauty and the Beast au (part of my fairytale collection)

Genre: tale as old as time a.k.a angst with happy end

Summary: Once upon a time there was an arrogant king warning a proud princess that both of their nations would lose this war if they didn’t cooperate. What an irony that after all the mistakes he made, he was right about this. But will anyone be able to save him before the last crimson petal falls?

Warning: violence, body horror (Jungkook looks similar to Kyle in Beastly in his cursed form but with more nature elements e.g. horns, divided tongue)

Words: 9.6k

Loneliness has never killed a soul as harshly as his.

There are rumours, whispers about a castle deep in the woods overgrown by poisonous roses with sharp thorns cutting throats. They say a monster lives there, merciless and brutal, and everybody who had set a foot inside seeking treasures didn’t see daylight anymore. Only one handful of reckless men who attempted to kill the beast returned bruised and beaten, not saying any word ever since about what they saw.

According to history books, that cursed land was once a part of a kingdom lead by the generous and loved Jeon dynasty. However, when the Great War of Three Kingdom, the Kims, the Jeons and Jeju started, their legacy was immediately demolished. The Kims took everything and now they rule over the fields. Only the haunted, horrible castle remains the Jeons’ territory since nobody else dares to claim it.

The fairies of Jeju don’t have it any better. They are on the verge of extinction because of the fairy hunts initiated by the new ruler of the region. The power fairies have is feared and humans are doing what they do the best when it comes to things they are afraid of: they destroy them.

Your family has nothing to do with the war between Jeons and Kims and yet, it doesn’t matter. The fact that you were born as a fairy is apparently enough reason for the hunters to kill you. Your kind barely has any allies left after the pact with the Jeons was broken, so you can’t trust anyone. You’re on your own in this.

You hide under a cape as you cross the forest and you hope nobody will stop you on your way. So close to the border, there’s a huge chance of getting caught and yet, you have to try, you can’t give up. You have to fight till the end for the sake of your family. It’s been a while since you got separated from your sisters and now you’re heading north to the hideout your kind whispered about. It isn’t more than three days of walking with the shortcut you found and you dare to hope that the closeness of that forsaken, sinister castle is enough to keep people away.

You only realize you’re dead wrong when a watch guard from a tree catches sight of you and you barely escape, flee from the hunters strolling under the crown of trees, waiting to take innocent lives from the shadows.

“That’s one there,” one of them shouts, pointing at you from above and you run faster than you had ever before.

You were supposed to pass by the castle, following the border but because of the echoing footsteps behind you, you take a sharp left turn, running out of the forest. In desperation you break through the iron fence of the castle, the ruins and roses with thorns. You’re crawling on all fours until you get past the heavy metal gates of the once beautiful royal household. The shouts and sound of footsteps seem farther and farther away the closer you get to the front door of the marble building standing oh so majestically in the middle of the ruins. Yet, you can’t let yourself marvel at the design as you put pressure on the golden handle. When it gives in, allowing the creaking door to open wide, you don’t hesitate to slip inside and close it behind you as quickly as possible. You don’t want to give hints and clues for the hunters about where to look for you, so you hide from plain sight immediately.

As the adrenaline drains from your blood and your breathing is back to normal, you notice new scratches on your pale skin, cuts from rose thorns and red smudges on your knees. You hiss as you see a few of the cuts still bleeding and even though you know it's too much to hope for, you’d kill for a bath. But this place is abandoned, unkempt, so you doubt there’s still water running. Based on the state of the castle, naively you don’t even worry about meeting any other living soul under the roof.

You’re soon proven wrong.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a deep, hoarse voice roars, the sound of it echoing off the tall, thick walls and a shiver runs down your spine as your head snaps towards the darkness, the source of the voice hidden in the shadows.

“I- I’m sorry. I thought this building is abandoned and I was running away from the hunters, so I had no other choi–” you explain hastily but your mindless, nervous rambling is rudely interrupted as the voice snaps at you again.

“Leave.”

The rough, masculine voice, raspy from disuse, orders but you keep your chin high up. You can’t be afraid of a faceless figure that hides behind the gilded velvet curtains, right? Maybe he’s just like you, a hunted prey too afraid to trust anyone.

“Please don’t make me go out there. They will kill me,” you plea, asking for nothing more than a bit of sympathy and compassion.

There’s a short pause, a silence so defeating you unconsciously hold your breath.

When you finally get an answer, it almost chokes you.

“Aren’t you afraid that I will kill you?”

Something moves, its shadow overtowering yours on the floor. The only light in the room is provided by the moonbeams filtered by the torn curtains but still, you gasp when a figure emerges from the darkness. You slowly lift a hand to cover your mouth in horror as your eyes settle on the horrific sight.

The creature has sturdy body and sickly pale skin covered in motives and passages written in ancient fairy language. The horns on the top of his head peek out of his long, messy, dark locks. He has a huge, ugly scar across his face and the visible, ugly, purple blooded veins are getting thicker around where his heart is. He wears clothes that were expensive and glorious once but now they look worn and used, dirty and bloody like rugs thrown on his body. Some of the creature’s bones stick out unnaturally and the grimace on his mouth indicates that he’s in pain during a few movements. There are rose thorns scattered all over his body and those constantly poking his skin seems like torture. Not to mention that only one of his eyes is fully human while the other is fiery red and filled with tired rage. Just a boy, barely man brutally hurt and broken in this harsh world.

“You… you have a fairy curse on you,” you whisper as the realization hits you seeing the signs of one of your sisters putting her hands on him. What kind of horrors could he do to earn the rage of your kind?

Before you could question his state, he moves so fast you barely have time to blink before he rips your hood off revealing your pointy ears and sky blue eyes to him. Suddenly you feel vulnerable under his fierce gaze. And a bit scared as he growls at you.

“And you’re one of them. Ugly, sly creatures. No wonder the Kims want you all dead,” he spits disgusted and you shiver as you catch a sight of the snake tongue in his mouth.

“That’s a very prejudiced thing to say by you,” you say and it’s hard not to sound judgemental but you know that sometimes hurt people say things they don’t actually mean. “You judge all of us based on one fairy you met.”

The man scoffs in disbelief.

“Believe me, I have met more than enough,” he hisses and nostalgic, angry emotions flicker in his human eyes. “Are you saying you’re any different?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I can help you get rid of the curse,” you say hoping that the eye for eye trade would be sufficient enough for this stubborn creature to let you stay. Why is that so hard for him anyway? He made it clear he isn’t afraid of you, so what?

The black, smoky glow around him doesn’t budge or soften and his dark aura doesn't change at all after your offer. The red eye looks at you mocking as if you were laughable for even trying.

“No, you can’t.”

“Every curse has its own aura in our eyes, I could–” detect the source, trace back the origin and find another, powerful fairy to help, you’d like to say in a hurry, clinging onto the last hope but once again you can’t even finish the sentece.

“I know what I would have to do to break the curse but that won’t happen. Stop saying you know better.” The way he says it sounds finale and unchangeable, and you know when to give up your battles. You don’t push the topic further.

“Please,” you plead because you have no ounce of pride left anyway. If you have to beg to a stubborn human – or at least a partly human creature – in order to stay alive, you will. You need to survive if you ever want to reunite with your family.

The young man falters for a second. He looks conflicted now that you didn’t leave even after he openly threatened you, that you didn’t flinch or pulled too far when he approached you. He seems actually surprised that you didn’t run away screaming after seeing his face.

It must be lonely to be doomed to be alone.

“You can stay for the night but I want you gone by the morning,” he tells you in a stern voice, visibly wincing as if kindness hurt him and these are his final words before turning on his heels he disappears back into a shadowy hallway on the western wing of the building.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and move towards the opposite direction careful not to bump into anything on your way. The palace is a remnant of a once glorified, beautiful place that wasn’t taken care of during the last years. Now it looks like a ghost house as you walk down the empty, hollow corridors framed by shabby wall paintings and torn curtains hanging from the huge French windows. Suddenly you’re hit by a wave of cold wind and there’s something itching under your skin, a bad premonition with doubts choking you. You’re not sure anymore if it’s really a good idea to stay but what better you could do? Outside the hunt is waiting for you and Death would welcome you in his loving arms. Compared to that, somehow there’s safety in uncertainty.

You walk around mindlessly, searching for a place for the night where you can lay your head down. It’s pure coincidence that you find that room, the one with shining gold handle at the end of the hallway. Unlike any other part of the castle, this one suite seems so untouched and intact as if nobody stepped over the threshold in years. Dust has settled onto each furniture and piece of clothing but other than that it’s the cleanest part of the place and you fell asleep as soon as you crawl under the blankets and close your eyes. It has been a long day.

It’s already bright outside when you wake up, blinking the sleepiness and faded memories of your dreams out of your mind. Stretching you sit up and look around. In the daylight, the dim rays of rising sun casts light on the marble walls and on the paintings you couldn’t see in the dark earlier yesterday. There’s a huge piece of art right across the baldachin bed that portrays the members of the royal family: a man on the chair, a woman on his right and a child, no older than four years sitting on his knees. They seem like a loving family and you only realize belatedly why this painting is in this room. Oh. It must have been the former King and Queen’s bedchamber.

As you realize this, it feels wrong to stay there any longer. Even though you have always known this is considered as a break-in, you didn’t mean to sleep in the bed of the passed away monarchs of the Jeons. As soon as you leave the room after refreshing yourself a bit in the old-fashioned washroom, the hit of cold touches you again and creeps under your skin. Your head whips towards the window expecting predators on the other side and you aren’t too wrong. You could still sense them, their bad blood and the hatred following them like vultures. The hunters who are reckless enough to dare to come closer to the castle their kind fears so much.

Your steps are light on the floor, echoless as you barely move around in the hallways and yet, a tired, furious voice rings in your ear.

“I told you to leave.”

The stranger reminds you of his order and you turn around, eyes searching for the young man in the ballroom you have merely bypassed. He sits there with his back to you, at the old piano. He hasn’t pressed any key yet otherwise you would have heard it but he’s still there, not even bothering to turn towards you. You don’t blame him for hiding nor not wanting to see one of your kind. But it’s not an excuse for his rude behaviour.

“The hunters are still in the forest,” you tell him, explaining that you only stay because you’re not very keen on dying so soon. However, the young man couldn’t be bothered any less.

“I don’t care. Go away!” he stands up from the piano chair hastily almost tripping over his own legs in the hustle. The snarl on his face is full of disgust and annoyance for whatever reason.

“Not to be rude but who the hell do you think you are to order me around?” you retort unwilling to show the white feather anymore. You aren’t a coward, no fairy is. “As far as I know you could be just another stray who found an empty place to stay.”

For the first time the almighty stranger looks utterly confused and dumbfounded. He looks at you closely, gaze dragging over your figure leaning onto the wall by the threshold. It takes a few long moments for him to speak again.

“You really don’t know?” He blinks, unsure like he doesn’t know how to do introductions. There’s bitterness between his consonants while he does it anyway with a grimace tinting his scarred mouth. “I’m King Jeongguk, last descendant of the Jeon dynasty. The monster people tell stories about.”

“Well then I don’t see a monster, just a spoiled brat,” you’re quick to reply, too reckless for your own good even though you have heard the stories too. But you thought they were just that: stories, fiction. Until the antagonist itself doesn’t roar into your face.

“Are you blind or what?” Jeongguk punches into the doorframe right behind your head and you can’t help but think how his outburst of anger is so unfit for the royal he says himself to be. His heavy breath is fanning your face as he towers over you and his eyes roam over your soft features dubiously. “Aren’t fairies supposed to be unable to lie?”

“We cannot lie. Or at least we cannot speak words we know as untrue,” you confirm, forcing your voice to be calm and steady.

The so-called king hums then smirks, darkness casting over his face dangerously.

“Then tell me: don’t I look horrifying?”

His question is followed by defeating silence. The words freeze onto the tip of your tongue as you are forced to stare into his red eye. It reminds you of the bleeding moon and sacrifices that shouldn’t have been done.

At your speechless state, the boy scoffs like he expected this answer and he takes a step back, his eyes glinting like dark stars as if he won something. But there’s something haunting behind the glitter: the pain of being proved right in a matter he has never wanted to.

“I have seen worse,” you blurt out in the very end and you really have.

You have seen curses that made people so inhumane you couldn’t even recognize them beneath their new exterior and you have seen the dead of wars, tortured, skinned and drawn. On the other hand, Jeongguk looks like he has a weed garden from the inside. Still himself but the rotting nature made home inside of him. You aren’t sure what kind of curse made him like this but you know you could do something.

“If you would just let me help...” You reach out carelessly, not thinking but before you could even just graze the skin of the boy’s cheek, he yells at you.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy creature!” he bats your hand away furiously and wipes the back of his hand that touched your bare skin into his rugs as if he couldn’t bear the ghost memory of you trace on him.

You recoil in shock, taken aback by his arrogance.

“You know what? I don't even want to stay here with you,” you pretty much spit the words at him because you aren’t willing to listen to his hateful words anymore. You were wrong: you still have enough pride left to not let yourself be so looked down on.

The Jeons’ king doesn’t even know you, yet he has already decided to hate you and you don’t need one more human the kingdom that wants to make life a living hell for you. At least the Kims order to kill every fairy on sight but there’s no torture or no hurtful words thrown at you, merely an arrow throw your beating heart.

With hasty movements you don’t even waste any more time. Turning on your heels, you rush out of the door, down the stairs back to the main hall. You grab your hooded cape from the floor where you had left yesterday and slam the huge entrance door behind you with a loud thud scaring the pigeons away from the pit in the ill-kempt garden.

You run without a destination in mind, you have no idea where to but away for sure. Not out of fear, not because you think the snobbish king would follow you but because you don’t need toxic people near you and the overwhelming urge to leave has never felt so inviting. So you follow the melody of your rapid heartbeats until the anger dies down, until the snow melts under your feet, until an arrow pierces through the cape that’s swirling in the air behind you.

You halt, the cloth yanks you back and you’re not quick enough to get rid of it. Three hunters on horseback surround you and look at you in pity. A girl in a thin floral dress under the thick coat and fire in her eyes. Of course, they belittle you, the fools.

“Oh the little witch came back to play,” one of them mocks both you and your magic that’s miles away from the western magic bearers they mention.

Just to show them what you can do, whom they are facing with, you fist your hand like you’re holding something in it. Waiting for the right moment, you don’t move until all of them gets off the horses and starts approaching you tentatively like you were a wild animal. That’s when you let go the power in your grip with a sudden movement and a small avalanche of snow pours to them from the trees above you all. Just in time, while they are busy with the distraction, you hide behind the thick tree trunk struggling with steadying your breath.

Come on, think! You have to get out of here.

“Are you enjoying hide and seek, sweetheart? We were really patient waiting for you to come back,” a man chuckles and the others join him in the laughter. You’re disgusted at how much they enjoy this mass murder that’s going on.

“Come out and play,” another one tries to rile you up but you’re smarter than to walk right into their trap and believe that they would let you go easier if you listened to them and maybe grant them a wish like some claimed your kind could.

Crouching down you try to make yourself as small as you can, so you could pass by them without getting noticed, maybe snatching one of their horses but as a branch of tree hidden by the layer of fresh snow snaps under your boots, you know you got caught.

“There you are,” a strong hand grabs on the back of your dress and tugs you back brutally. You end up falling on your butt in the cold snow staring up the three men circling around you, their prey. Brute, bulky huntsmen. Their laughs is like the cawing of crows.

“Oh, it’s a pretty one. How much do you think we would get if we sold her head?”

“Hm… let me see,” one of them, the tallest one leans closer and taps your chin, so that you have to look him in the eye and when you do, you spit into his face. His smirk only widens as he wipes the saliva away. “A feisty one for sure,” he clicks his tongue and grabs your hair crushing your sensitive ears with his strong hold.

You don’t think twice as you unbind a dagger with feminine hilt from the belt of your dress and slice a part of the air with it drawing a pretty scar on the closest man’s cheek.

“Bitch,” he curses and forces the dagger out of your hand almost breaking your fingers in the process. You yelp as you feel a knife pushed to your throat from the back and flinch at the rough hands tearing at your hair to keep you in place. It’s unfair, three grown up man against one girl but you wouldn’t go down so easily, or at least not alone.

“Animals,” you growl at the hunter in front of you and kick him right in the stomach as hard as you can. It’s not enough but satisfaction still settles in your bones as you watch him fall. He doesn’t find it so funny though.

“I’ll enjoy skinning you,” he flashes a lopsided grin and picks up an arrow out of the quiver fallen on the ground. The sight itself injects fear into your bloodstream.

You know it too well, that the arrow’s head is dipped in poison and it’s deadly as soon as it pierces through your skin and reaches your veins. You squirm in the arms of the hunters struggling to escape while you don’t take your eyes off the weapon.

“Let’s hear you scream, doll.” A stinking breath hits your neck as the man on your right whispers into your ear and you want to puke.

“Let her go.”

Suddenly an angry growl shakes the area and for a moment all the hunters seem to freeze. You follow their gazes towards the voice’s source and your mouth falls open. Jeongguk stands there in a worn jacket with a crossbow in his hands aiming at the men holding you.

“Let. Her. Go,” he repeats and the authority in his tone proves that he was raised to lead people.

Not these hunters though. They don’t move.

“She’s ours.”

“I’m nobody’s,” you hiss and twist your arms in a way that hurts but makes it possible for you to bend down and give enough space for your unexpected saviour to shoot the other men. Blood spills onto the back of your dress and you feel it leak through the soft, white material. You should be disgusted but instead, you feel relief rushing through your veins.

As the hands get loose on you, you pick up your dagger and send it flying straight towards the chest of the man who threatened you earlier. Just as you let comfort flood in your system because each assaulter is on the ground, the man with blood bubbling from his side grabs on your ankle pulling you towards him. The ground slips under your feet and watch in horror the arrow held in his other hand waiting to strike.

Jeongguk comes to your rescue again, to free your leg from the grip but he’s careless, he doesn’t see the attack coming from his left. You realize in fear that he can’t see with his red eye.

“Watch out,” you scream, trying to warm him but it’s too late. Just as he strips the rough fingers from around your ankle and moves to help you up, the half-dead hunter sticks the poisoned arrow into the monster-looking king’s lower back.

Jeongguk whimpers like a hurt animal and kicks into the hunter mercilessly.

“Are you-” you mumble as you stare at him dumbly. Maybe the arrow wasn’t poisoned after all? Or is it the curse that makes the blood in his veins unaffected? You’re confused and watch him in worry.

“I’m fine,” he shushes you away and stands up on unsteady legs.

It doesn’t take a whole minute and he falters. Falling to his knees, he collapses on the cold, harsh ground.

“No-no-no...” your teeth are shattering as you crawl to him.

He just saved your life. He can’t die leaving such a burden for you to bear now that you own him. To your relief, he still has a pulse beating faintly under your fingertips and a shallow breathing dancing on your skin when you lean close enough.

“Fuck,” you swear when you grab him under his armpits and try to lift him off the ground. In the end, you have to use a bit of magic to put him on one of the horses. You plan on guiding the animal back to the castle on foot but your leg hurts too much where the huntsman grabbed you. You take a deep breath and limp to stand in front of the horse and stroke its skin in soothing circles.

“Take us back to the castle, straight on that path down there. Careful, okay?” you whisper looking into the mild creature’s big, warm brown eyes. The horse neighs and you pat its back in encouragement. As soon as you step backwards, it follows your command obediently. You quickly get another horse, tugging on the bridle of the third too as you go after them. It goes simply because when a fairy speaks, the nature listens.

Back in the castle, you lay Jeongguk down on his side and strip him off that ragged shirt and jacket he wears. Under the layers, there’s still so much blood. Breaking off the end of the arrow, you only have to worry about the head that pierced deeply into the king’s skin. It bleeds angry red just like any other human would but for once, the curse works beneficially for him as it doesn’t let the poison get into his bloodstream. Silver drops of the deadly liquid pool on the old cloth you laid on the bed. When you pull out the metal from the flesh, Jeongguk hisses in pain and all his thorns move as his body tenses. You clean his wound with herbs you found on the way back and wrap it up nicely in a bandage.

By the time night falls, Jeongguk gets a vicious fever. You feed him hot soup even though he’s barely conscious and put a cold pack on his forehead. You stay beside him all night in an uncomfortable armchair to watch over his state and just when you’re about to fall asleep and let the dreamland take you in the middle of night, he startles from a fever dream.

“Hey, Jeongguk, it’s alright.” You lean over him and soothe your palms over his tense shoulders as he looks around in panic. You’re a bit worried that he will get the bandage off if he moves around too much, so the sooner you can make him fall asleep again the better. But as soon as his gaze settles on you, his whole body stills and then faster than you’d think he could in his current state, he lunges forward.

“You… you made me this way, ugly witch,” he grumbles as his hands curl around your throat.

You gasp for air as he presses down on your throat-pipe choking you.

“Jeongguk–” you rattle short on breath as you try to pry his fingers off your neck. It’s getting dangerous – the vengeance in his eyes – because you’re sure even wounded he could seriously hurt you.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you blindly take the powder of a rare plant from the table and throw it all in his face. He lets out a painful yelp as it stings getting into his eyes and he quickly covers his itching eyes with both hands. As he lets you go, you immediately jump back waiting until the drug takes effect and knocks him out completely.

Even when he's calmed down, breath even and out to this world, you don’t dare to sleep after that. It's in the late morning when Jeongguk comes back to his senses looking around quite confused like he had no idea what he was doing on one of the sofas with a bandaged wound in his back.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you inquire worried about his wellbeing but still a bit wary about him wanting and trying to kill you… or maybe you only fear his subconscious.

The king blinks at you surprised to find you - or anyone - beside him while being in such a vulnerable state.

“Numb,” he breathes. His voice is still rough and heavy from sleep.

“Yeah that’s because of the painkiller cream I put on your wound,” you hurry to explain and Jeongguk acknowledges it with a short nod. He isn't looking at you, in fact, he's looking everything but you like he haven't seen this room of the castle countless times before! You don't know what to think of it.

The atmosphere becomes quiet, so quiet you can hear the cool breeze move the curtains. It only takes a few more passing minutes of talking without words and you can't bear the awkwardness any further.

“Thank you… for coming to help me,” you whisper into the expanding void between you and finally, Jeongguk graces you with his utmost attention, eyes dark and honest.

He doesn’t say it out loud, that it was wrong of him what he said to you before you left but it’s there in his eyes, at least in the human one.

“Thank you for not leaving me there,” he says instead while chewing on his lower lip anxiously. “And sorry… for that.”

He means the bruises on your neck that weren’t there in his memories. Your right hand comes up to cover the marks out of instinct and you realize that you stupidly forgot to put healing cream on them.

“It’s okay. You weren’t yourself,” you reassure him that you don’t hold grudges against him. It’s funny, isn’t it? How you were so keen on leaving and write him off him as a rude, arrogant person and now your opinion of him changed so quickly. But actions speak louder than words or so they say. Even a judgemental person like Jeongguk needs to know that he isn’t the monster he thinks he is just because he’s said to be one.

“That shouldn't be an excuse,” he mumbles bitterly but you don't want to argue. You have other, most important issues to discuss.

“Do I remind you of her?” you ask faintly, almost not sure if you’re allowed to bring that incident up. You don’t want him to get mad but it has been haunting you ever since he launched himself onto you with that murderous glare of his.

But he doesn't seem to realize at first what you could be talking about. He answers with a question.

“Who?”

“The fairy that cursed you.”

She must have been a powerful one, you guess, close to the Queen’s bloodline to cast a curse like this. A curse that miraculously saved Jeongguk’s life just now. You could never do that.

“In a way every fairy would remind me of her,” the king admits, recalling the cruel smile of the princess which reminds him… “What happened to your kind’s kingdom after mine fell?”

He doesn’t ask: what happened to her, the princess? Because he claims he doesn’t care and he almost believes himself.

“We couldn’t withstand the attack. We might have magic and hundreds of knights but the poisoned arrows came from nowhere with no declaration of war, no warning,” you sigh, awful memories fighting their way up from the hidden corners of your mind. It's been two years but you still remember it all vividly. It's never easy to forget a war. Even so if it’s still going on in a much subtle way then open slaughter. “Fairies are loyal creatures but the Queen told us to spread and hide in other kingdoms because she wasn’t willing to see us all die to protect the Court.”

Jeongguk nods, because he knew this would happen. He had warned the princess but she was so proud, she ruined them both. He should feel satisfaction that he was right but instead, the victory tastes like bitter medicine.

“Were you there?” he casts a glance at you sitting on his bedside. In his eyes, you look so fragile, all gentle lines and smooth skin. Before he could barely imagine you with a sword in your hands and yet, he just saw you fight three men twice your size and you were the one who brought him back here all the way from the snow-covered forest. You were anything but weak and nothing proved it better than the bruises on your neck and the scratches made by tree branches on your face.

“At the war you mean?” you raise a brow not knowing what exactly he meant by that. You have been in a lot of places. Jeongguk nods and his eyes are wide as he has been told an untold tale. “Yes, every fairy is a warrior of some kind.”

The king lets out a non-committal hum and closes his eyes to rest them a bit. But before he realizes, your sweet voice telling him about your traditions and habits lulls him back to buoyant dreams.

You’d never absolve him of his sins because you know very well that he isn’t a saint. But like this, he looks so young, too vulnerable to wear these battle scars.

It reminds you of the stories whispered in the villages close by, the tell-tales about a pretentious prince who has never left the castle he was born into. They say the entire household left him behind because he was so horrendous and the monster he came to be only feeds on the poor souls lost in the forest. Now you know it’s hardly true. Just like most stories.

After Jeongguk recovers and your scars also heal, things shift between the two of you. Something you can't quite put your finger on - trust maybe? - definitely evolves because he doesn’t ask you to leave ever again. Instead he just…

“You’re still here,” he blurts out stopping in his tracks when he sees you at a balcony one fine morning. He’s limping a bit because his back still hurts but the wound heals nicely around your needlework.

“Uh yeah, I sprained my ankle, so I have to wait until it heals,” you turn your back on the scenery you admire. You have come to enjoy spending your quiet mornings outside since the weather is getting less chilly as the winter is saying goodbye. You're watching over the awakening fauna of the forest, making friends with birds but you have to admit, it's lonely. Jeongguk isn't so keen on talking with you and you know better than to push. So you sit out there alone each morning until the lord of this place finds you.

“If you don’t mind…”

“No. You can stay, just… just stay away from the western wing.”

That part, as you realize, is the most trashed, the most broken part of the castle, proof of his rage and grief, a representation of his soul. You can't help wondering what happened to him and you're too nosy for your own good because you want to help him no matter what. You can't bear the thought of leaving him here alone and bitter once you're ready to go.

That’s why one morning when Jeongguk decides to join you on the balcony, you initiate a conversation that's long overdue.

“When you said you know what could lift the curse...”

“It won’t happen. Stop asking.” He doesn't even let you finish. His posture stiffens and his face darkens as he talks about the curse.

“Have you tried getting the marks removed? To pull out the thorns?” you keep on asking, trying to open up his shell, to make him realize you just want to help.

Fairy magic doesn’t work that way, you know that, but it would still worth a try.

“I have consulted every healer and doctor in my kingdom, they couldn’t do anything. The thorns grow back once you break them,” Jungkook objects and he can confidently say this because he’d tried. Multiple times and he failed each attempts. He learnt that it’s better not to hope than to get disappointed. “In a few months, it’s not going to matter anymore anyway.”

“Why...” Why do you think that? You’ve wanted to ask but Jeongguk is too quick to misunderstand you.

“Why was I cursed? Because I’m selfish and arrogant, ugly from the inside. She said that she just made it seen from the outer side,” he laughs dryly. He remembers clearly how he begged to the princess written her countless letters only receiving an answer when it was too late he couldn’t save his kingdom. The princess said the curse punishes him until he learns to see right, speak right and feel right. Whatever that meant.

“You know the more people tell you how good you are, how talented, how handsome… how fucking perfect, the more you believe them and strive to make it true. At some point I lost my good judgement. I was selfish, impulsive and reckless after my parents’ death. I wanted to save the kingdom at any price and look at it now! I’m the one who destroyed it.”

There’s so much sadness in his words that you would like nothing more than to hold him, to brush his hands away from his eyes but you don’t dare to move. You don’t know if you’re allowed to. He snapped at you roughly when you last touched his skin and you wouldn’t like to get on his bed side again. So you just sit there with him listening to his breathing become steady again as you both bath in the warm sunshine.

Jeongguk dreams a dreamless dream that night. There’s nothing but vast darkness and an echo of a painfully familiar, bewitching voice: How does it feel? To admit and say it out loud? How is it to say monstrous things about yourself? Think, young king, think before you speak because words can hurt just as much as nicely carved blades.

Jeongguk wakes up covered in sweat despite the open windows and the chilly night breeze of late winter. He tries to persuade himself that it was nothing more than a dream, one of the nightmares he’s used to but he remembers the fairy princess’ devilish smile all too much.

He reaches for the glass placed on his nightstand table and only when the fresh water touches his mouth, does he feel the difference. It freezes him in place for a minute. He can’t believe it, he’s too afraid to believe it as he slowly, not daring to hope too much, puts his fingers to his lips, chapped as always and then tentatively he darts his tongue out. A normal human tongue instead of the divided tongue of a snake that he had to get used to in the past years. He feels his entire lungs collapse with both relief and panic. What if it’s just a dream?

He’s still ugly as ever but he had never hated anything more that those parts of his new horrendous appearance that constantly reminded him of his disfigured body. Like the tongue, the one-sided blindness, the heavy horns on his head, the thorns digging deep in his skin… and now the hideous tongue is gone. What does it mean?

He isn't foolish enough to believe it's anything good.

“Can you play?” you ask the next time you see him in the ballroom by the grand piano. Curiosity is dripping from your words like honey.

His breath hitches involuntarily when he turns around to look at you. There's a flower crown made of snowdrops on the top of your head complementing the nice fall of your locks.

“I could but now…” it hurts. He doesn’t say but you see the scars on his fingertips, they’re angry red.

“Can I?” you gesture towards the piano and the bench he's sitting on, asking for permission. Jeongguk looks at you for a long time and then nods.

You're careful not to make any sudden movements as you approach him and sit down next to him. It actually surprises you that he doesn’t pull away but stays there by your side watching you play. The instrument hasn’t been used in a long, long time, you can tell and you’re out of practice too, but thanks to the ballrooms acoustics the harmonies are nice. You forget yourself in the music and looking at you, Jeongguk can't help but think that it's magic too.

It happens slowly, gradually like spring takes over the place of winter and fills the fields with flowers. It happens unseen between garden walks, stargazing sessions and library talks. It happens in the littlest things.

“Can I cut your hair?” you ask when it’s finally getting warmer but you start to miss the hidden warmth of that brown eye. Jeongguk blinks and stares at you in utter surprise like he's never had his hair cut. Suddenly you feel a bit silly for offering. He could do that himself if he really wanted to, right? “Sorry… I just noticed that you keep brushing away the fringe that's getting in your eyes.”

“Uh... yes. I mean, you can,” he announces just as you turn away.

You arrange Jungkook to be seated on a wooden chair in the kitchen and you circle around him.  You have never cut anyone’s hair before, so you hold his messy locks gently and carefully slid the scissors across the strands letting them fall one by one. It feels strangely intimate. Even so since Jungkook doesn't tear his eyes away whenever you're in front of him.

“This isn’t from the curse, right?” you whisper as your index finger gently follows the line of a scar across his face, starting from his eyebrow up until his jawline.

“No, it’s from those who think I’m a monster,” Jeongguk answers with the corners of his mouth turning down and eyes closed. He thinks they are right, you can tell it from his posture and your own cold heart aches with it. Fairies are supposed to be manipulative creatures, always playing little games in the head but it doesn’t take away your ability for sympathy.

“You’re not,” you tell him because he is no more of a monster than everybody’s their own monster, the worst kind. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. His silence is comforting enough.

By the time you finish, you have a whole mound of hair at your leg and you can’t suppress a smile thinking how much Jeongguk looks less like a caveman with his new haircut. And even though he doesn’t say it out loud, he feels more humane too.

“Done,” you clap proudly at your own handiwork and then start cleaning up the mess you made. The boy of royal blood watches you intently, head bobbing to the rhythm of the silly, lovesick folk song you're humming.

“You’ve never told me your name,” he wonders aloud.

“You never asked,” you shrug nonchalantly with the final brushes of the broom. But secretly it makes you happy that now he cares at all.

“I’m asking now,” he says and you tell him just like that.

He repeats the soft vowels after you, playing with the word, committing it into his memory like someone memorizes a complex painting wanting to remember even the slightest details.

“Pretty,” he mumbles and you have to fight the blush creeping up your neck. Gosh, he was just complimenting your name, why are you acting like this?

You prepare to go back to your room – a smaller one that used to be one of the maids but you tidied it up nicely - just so you can bury yourself in a book stolen from the library to hide your silly smile but then Jeongguk surprises you with a confession.

“You’re nothing like her.”

Your vibrant greenish blue eyes turn to him curious and confused.

“What?”

“You’re nothing like the fairy that cursed me,” he tells you, eyes sincere, voice soothing and your heart throbs.

You remember as clear as daylight what he told you: And you’re one of them. Ugly, sly creatures. So you just smile at him softly and when you finally leave, a warm feeling follows.

The black emptiness welcomes Jeongguk in his dream again. The otherworldly sound echoes in his mind: How does it feel? To see others for who they are and not for what they are? You know that difference better than anyone, don’t you? Remember, young king, remember that we can’t help what we were born but we are who we make ourselves to be.

When Jungkook startles awake at dawn he doesn’t feel the difference at first. The bright bleeding orange of the rising sun is on his right but then, on his left, he catches a glimpse of his reflection and a young man stares back at him with two blown, dark brown eyes. A boy with freshly cut, messy dark hair… without horns. He keeps touching the top of his head because he can't believe it. After the past two years, it's almost too good to be true.

His appearance leaves you astonished too. You’re sitting in the dining room sipping on your herbal tea and when you look up, your cup-holding hand stills in mid-air.

“What… what happened to you?” you gape at Jeongguk dumbfounded because the change is so prominent this time. Of course, you noticed that his snake-like tongue was gone too but you didn't know what to make out of it and you’d rather not ask about something like that. But now with his horns gone too and his human eyes back, he looks a lot less scary. Just like you’ve always known.

“I don’t know.”

He runs a hand through his own hair in awe and stares at you like you could know the answer. There are still thorns, unhealed bruises and ugly scars on his body but he resembles more and more the young king he used to be. The one looking determined and proud on his coronation painting you’ve found torn in the throne room.

“Didn’t you say the curse cannot be broken by any methods you’re willing to try?” you recall his sentiment, not his actual words but Jeongguk doesn’t protest at your imprecision.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” he admits as the fairy princess' words echo in his ears: King Jeongguk, your people who blindly trust you will finally see who you really are. You’re selfish and empty-hearted, so hear my curse. This rose blooms until you turn 21. If the last petal falls and the flower dies, you shall stay in your monstrous form for ever. The only way to break the curse is to find someone who truly loves you, someone who can teach you how to love.

Jeongguk ridiculed love then and told the fairy that it's impossible for royals like them, so the curse was also a test of his beliefs.

Since you don't know any of that, you can only guess it's the kind of fairy curse that has an expiration date. And when that day finally comes, Jeongguk will be a handsome, legitimate king again fighting to get back what he lost. He’ll soon forget about the stubborn fairy staying in his castle a while back. For a reason, it makes you nervous. You keep fidgeting with the hem of your dress, tea long forgotten. You know now is the time.

“Actually I’m really glad that you’re getting… better,” more human? You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Because I… my ankle is fine now and the forest is quiet, so I should... I should go. My family waits for me.”

It’s been days, actually weeks since you don’t feel the sharp pang of pain in your leg whenever you walk. You told yourself you’d wait only to make sure but day after day you kept waiting and it couldn’t get any better anymore. You didn’t want to admit but you stayed for him, because you didn’t want to leave Jeongguk’s side. But your family is in hiding in a small village up North and they will leave with the next shipping ferry at the end of the month. You'd better go if you don't want to miss it. You should have been there a lot earlier to be honest. It's been almost a months since you’re here but the thought of leaving still makes your throat close up and Jeongguk doesn't make it easier either.

His smile falls much like withering leaves in early winter. Of course, what did he expect? Everyone leaves. He was stupid to hope you wouldn’t just because his curse is getting less effective.

“Oh. Sure. You shouldn’t stay out of pity,” is what he says when his heart wishes: please don’t leave.

“That isn’t what I was doing.” You taste something bitter as you protest. It bites into you, sealing your lips, so you can’t plead: ask me to stay.

He doesn't. Even when his eyes bore into yours, he doesn't say anything.

He only has few months until his 21st birthday, that fateful one that will seal his fate. If he can’t break the curse until then, he’ll stay in this form forever. How could he let you leave now? When he’s so sure it’s you who’s helping him get better? But he can’t just lock you up and keep you there. That would be just as bad of him. You deserve better. You should be with your family.

“Then take care,” you say instead of goodbye because you can't bear to stay any longer in this awkward state, not when your heart is threatening to break into pieces so easily like fine china.

There’s no answer and your heart aches.

“Take care,” he whispers once you’re long gone taken all your belongings with you, everything that he could remember you by. There’s nothing but the half-read book left open on the dining table and your scent still lingering in the air.

He cares for you. A lot, he realizes, so what would it say about him if he hadn’t let you go?

That night he can’t sleep but he still hears the enchanting words: How does it feel? To love someone so much to give up something for them? Can you see now, young king, can you see that selfish actions wouldn’t bring any good?  But you shall see the selfless is always rewarded in the end.

You walk without looking back until night falls upon the land. You know that this time Jeongguk won’t follow you yet hope blooms in your chest instead of fear whenever you hear a crack or any strange noise in the forest. It takes long hours to convince yourself that it really won’t happen.

When it’s getting dark, it occurs to you that you could rest on a tree in the forest like you used to do but after your latest encounter with the hunters you’d rather not risk it. So you pay for a night in a small room above a fairy sympathizer inn in a hidden part of the wild area. It’s more hectic than you’d have thought and while you’re having your humble dinner you hear the others talk about rumours that the Kims plan to attack the castle. They say they want to claim the rest of the Jeon territory because the monster that lives there killed their hunters; it’s too dangerous to let it stray. The possibility of the gossips coming true scares you and your grip on the counter tightens with every overheard word.

“Care to join me?” a gentle hand touches yours and looking up you face with the prettiest fairy you’ve ever seen.

“Your Highne–” you gape at her, the princess of your Court smiling down at you brightly.

“Shh, my sister, not here.” She shakes her head slightly and leads you to a private room already filled with several of your kind. The princess offers you a place on the wide sofa alongside with a refreshing drink, the ambrosia of fairies. You’re in awe at her kindness, the gentleness she treats you but you can’t help the anxious knots in your stomach urging you to go back to Jeongguk. “You look dishevelled. Have you just arrived?”

“Yeah, from the forest,” you nod and take another sip of the nectarine.

“Oh such a dangerous place,” she says with a hint of intent and motherly understanding colouring her voice. Her cornflower blue eyes are curious, waiting for you to open up.

With each drop of the energizing liquid tasting like pure sunshine on your tongue, the eagerness to do something builds up in you until it becomes too much to bear.

“I need to go back. I need to warn–”

“Jeongguk. I know,” the princess smiles sweetly and gently brushes a stray lock behind your ear. “He saved you, didn’t he?”

“He did more than that,” you blurt out before you could think about the meaning it holds.

You don’t even realize until you say it out loud and your own confession leaves you astonished. He might have been rude to you at first but with time, you could see more and more of his softer side and the way he cared in the most subtle ways. You already miss him and the quiet mornings spent together on the balcony.

The omniscient eyes of the princess soften. Fairies are loyal creatures and in time of need the Court appreciates every bit of kindness: we protect those who protect us, they say.

“Does your heart pull you back to him?” she asks and you blink hard.

“How…” did you know that?

“Magic, dear,” the princess chuckles like one would be amused at a child’s mistake. Then her face turns serious and the entire room goes quiet at her next words. “Go and tell him that we’ll fight beside him. We won’t let the Kims have the entire land. We’ll fight back.”

Jeongguk is ready to sink back into his self-hatred filled loneliness when the castle begins to feel like the ghost of itself, hollow and empty. He certainly doesn’t expect the repetitive knocks on his bedroom’s door. When he opens it wide, he’s too surprised to be mad at you for showing up in the western wing he specially told you to stay away from. Instead he’s rendered speechless as he’s staring at your blushed cheeks and determined eyes. Not to mention the whole army of fairies behind you.

“Jeongguk, is that you? What happened? Is the curse broken?” you stumble over you words because you’re just as surprised as him. You liked him with horns and thorns and all his flaws by the time you left but at this moment, there’s a gorgeous young man in front of you. Tall and lean, skin smooth in a golden hue and your breath hitches as you look him in the eye. That sad sea of brown is glinting with a hint of hope now.  

“Wha– What are you doing here?” he asks confused, your questions long forgotten. To be honest, he doesn’t even know the answers himself.

“The Kims are preparing an attack. I brought reinforcement,” you tell him and suddenly Jeongguk can’t decide what to feel. There are so many emotions rushing through him as he’s looking over all the pointy ears, bright eyes and proud looks on the dozen strangers in his hallway. And among them there’s one he knows practically very well, one that he asked of the same thing you brought him: her men and women to fight on his side.

“Princess…” he curtly nods as a greeting towards the royal standing on your right.

“I see you have learnt the lesson, Jeon Jeongguk,” she says firmly and that’s only when you realize it has been her all along who cursed the boy. No wonder why she has known where you’d come from. “Now don’t forget and one day, you shall be a great king to be proud of.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk whispers and at first, you think he’s still talking to the princess. But looking up, you find his gaze fixed on you. Daringly, you take his hand in yours, playing with the fingers because you know it won’t hurt him anymore and smile like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have a battle to fight.”

Author’s note: Since the prologue as I like to call it was one of my first stories posted on tumblr and this idea has been bugging me for a while, I decided to write the actual “tale” to celebrate my 2nd anniversary on this blog. I know this is an open ending and there’re quite a few questions left unanswered but it’s totally intentional since I plan to write an epilogue hopefully sooner than the 4th anniversary of the blog. Till then I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading and hit me up if you have anything to tell me about it. ♥

[writingisbae]

The Two Queens

This is the second in a series of short stories / modern fairy tales I wrote  a while ago. Here is the first one (they’re connected but can be read on their own)

Isabelle had been a midwife and servant for the King and Queen of the Kingdom of Summer eight long years until the King chased her away for teaching his son how to paint and sew. As the young woman left the palace, she knew exactly where she was headed. Isabelle was going back to the land where she was born, Nilaratan's Kingdom. The Kingdom was named so because every heir to the throne for as long as anyone could remember had been named Nilaratan. So it also was in this generation. Isabelle had first met Prince Nilaratan when she had begged the King for work as a midwife, when she was only 17. It was then that she also saw Nilaratan's sister, Azurine, for the very first time. From then on Azurine's impossibly dark blue eyes and curly long hair that shimmered like gold never left Isabelle's mind for long. King Nilaratan didn't need a midwife, but he chose to employ her as a cook, a chore she did not enjoy very much. Isabelle still thanked the King for his graciousness, knowing that her family working in the fields could use any piece of gold she could earn, no matter what she had to do. She knew that her mother was expecting yet another child, one of many mouths to feed.

So the young woman had started working in the kitchen. It turned out Princess Azurine, who was only one year older than Isabelle, liked the quiet of the kitchen and enjoyed stealing a little snack here and there. This is how the two girls, timid at first, got to know each other, and became very close. Every evening, after the Princess' chores were done, she would sneak downstairs to be with Isabelle. The two of them would sit together, eat an apple or some other fruit, and talk about this and that. Slowly, Isabelle began to think of Azurine as more than a good friend. She knew that it was silly to fantasize about things that you know are impossible. But she wanted nothing more than to marry Azurine, so they could stay together forever.

It took all of her courage, but finally the peasant girl told the princess how she felt. But before Azurine could even respond, King Nilaratan, who had coincidentally walked by the kitchen at that very moment and overheard what the two were talking about, barged in and immediately banished Isabelle from the entire Kingdom.

That is how Isabelle arrived in the Kingdom of Summer, where she became a servant and the midwife who took care of the little prince.

Now Isabelle was going home, back to Azurine, hoping that the King might have changed his mind and would let them be together. After all, she had heard that King Brutus had changed his mind and let the prince wear a dress, and maybe the wind of change was blowing over to Nilaratan's Kingdom as well.

No guards stood in her way when Isabelle crossed the border between the two Kingdoms. She took this as a good sign. Indeed, very few people could be seen. A lone worker in the fields who reminded the young woman of her father told her that nearly everyone was at the royal palace, attending the funeral. Isabelle could feel her heart drop. Could it be that Azurine had died? She hadn't had any news from home while she was in the Kingdom of Summer, so it was possible. Although it was much more likely that the King had died. With that thought Isabelle tried to calm herself down enough to be able to continue her journey.

As she entered the palace grounds, she saw the massive amount of people who had come to mourn... "Prince Nilaratan, the just.", she overheard an elderly woman tell a middle-aged man, probably her son. The woman's skin was worn-down by age like a majestic rock polished by the massive ocean waves. She was heavily leaning on a brittle walking stick, her arms and legs shaking violently. "He would have made such a wonderful King. Now our poor Princess is the only royal left. Whatever will she do? What will happen to our Kingdom?"

Isabelle left the two to their private conversation and tried to move through the ever thickening crowd. So this was the Prince's funeral. Isabelle had met him a few times, but never really saw any reason to talk to him. If she was being honest, he had intimidated her quite a bit, and seemed to send her a few cruel smirks that led to her avoiding him.

If Azurine was the only royal left, then the King must have died some time ago. Her whole family dead, poor Azurine had to be heartbroken. Isabelle ached to be with the girl, to hold her, to let her know she was not alone. If only she could get to her.

When the young woman finally fought her way through the crowds to a place where she could see the funeral up close, all the air left Isabelle's body at the sight of the woman she had never stopped loving. Azurine looked nearly exactly that same as Isabelle had painted her one lonely night at the palace in the Kingdom of Summer. Her golden locks were flowing in the breeze, all the way down to her waist. And even though she was still too far away to see her face very well, she couldn't stop staring at her. At that moment Isabelle knew that it had all been worth it. Every single heartbroken night that she had spent away had led up to this moment, when they would finally be reunited.

Princess Azurine felt like she had a dark empty hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be. She had lost everyone, and she was all alone. Her lips turned upward for just a moment in a sad smile. The immense crowd that had gathered to pay their respects to her deceased brother did nothing to make her feel better. She still felt like nobody was really there. Azurine knew where that feeling came from. Nobody here truly cared for her. They were present because it was the law, not that Azurine would ever enforce it.

Suddenly her eyes fell on a familiar face in the sea of strangers. The Princess couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Isabelle, the girl her father had banished many years ago out of fear that she would be a bad influence for his daughter. Azurine now thought that her father had been much worse, strict and unrelenting. Her friend, on the other side, had been good to her.

The next day, a prince from a far-off Kingdom came to talk to the Princess about a possible marriage. As she was sitting on her father's throne, which should have soon become her brother's, the young woman listened to the arrogant man brag about his Kingdom's landscape. It soon became clear that he was only willing to marry her and become this land's King because his father's Kingdom was lacking in riches, which Nilaratan's Kingdom had enough of. It also became apparent that this prince, charming as he pretended to be, was not interested in being Azurine's companion. He did not seem interested in anything but gold.

It was as Azurine tried to suppress her third bored yawn, that she heard an unusual commotion outside the throne room. The doors were thrown open, and the guards came into view, holding a screaming woman who the Princess at once recognized as her dear friend Isabelle. "Let her go!", she yelled, maybe a bit too hysterically. She couldn't bare seeing Isabelle like that. As the guards reluctantly dropped the woman to the floor and left, Azurine rushed over to help her up. "What are you doing here?", the Princess asked, unsure how Isabelle even felt about her after all this time. But her friend was beaming at her, fell into her arms, and held on so tightly, Azurine was afraid she might never let go. Behind them, long forgotten, the foreign Prince cleared his throat. He seemed annoyed not to be the center of attention. "You may go", Azurine declared, ushering the man out of her throne room while he stuttered something about gold. When the two women were finally alone, Isabelle informed the Princess of everything that had happened to her. After she was finished, Azurine clarified how her father and brother had died. She didn't want to admit that she was to marry the Prince who had just marched out, but she felt it wasn't good to keep anything from her dear friend.

Isabelle wasn't very surprised. She had already assumed that King Nilaratan had put a law in place that said something along the lines of "In the case that all possible male heirs to the throne are deceased, a marriage for the next Princess in line and a suitable Prince from another Kingdom shall be arranged." But Isabelle wasn't giving up on her Princess.

"I love you, Azurine. I have loved you every day that I was gone, and I never stopped thinking about you. Nothing has changed since the day that I told you that I wanted to marry you. And if this Kingdom doesn't accept two Queens, then we will have to run away and live together somewhere else, somewhere where we are allowed to be ourselves without shame."

The Princess sank down onto her knees in front of the beautiful woman, took her hands and swore that she would go with her wherever they'd have to go. And she knew that as long as they would be together, everything would be alright.

Later that night, Isabelle was wearing one of Princess Azurine's nightgowns, and they were standing on the balcony which was adjoined to the princess' quarters. The night sky showed maybe a million sparkling stars, and the chirping crickets created a very romantic atmosphere. As the two women, soulmates who had found each other at last, kissed for the very first time, they were unaware of the servant outside who was quietly watching them.

The next morning greeted Azurine and Isabelle with a lot of noise. When Azurine rushed to the balcony, she let out a cheerful laugh, beckoning the other woman to join her. Isabelle immediately saw the huge crowd that had gathered on the palace grounds. There seemed to be even more people than yesterday, for the funeral. And they were shouting. "Long live Queen Azurine, long live Queen Isabelle!" The peasants and servants continued chanting for a long time.

Later the two women found out that the servant who had seen them together the night before had rushed to tell everyone he knew that they were going to have two fair queens instead of just one. The news had spread like wildfire, and, contrary to Azurine's and Isabelle's fears, everyone seemed ecstatic at the idea of being ruled by two Queens.

And that is how it happened that for the first time ever, Nilaratan's Kingdom was ruled by two beautiful, kind, and very intelligent Queens who brought nothing but happiness and riches to the land. The two of them wrote many new laws, but there was one that meant more to them than any other change they made:

"No woman in the entire Kingdom shall ever be kept from marrying whoever she chooses, even if the person of her choosing is also a woman. Likewise, no man shall ever be kept from marrying whoever he chooses, even if the person of his choosing is also a man."

So nobody else had to endure the same heartache as Isabelle and Azurine, ever again.

[socialjusticeartshare]

WILL IMMIGRANT KIDS FINALLY REUNITE WITH PARENTS UNDER BIDEN?

Earlier this year it was reported that the parents of 545 migrant children who were separated from their families at the border cannot be found. These families were separated under President Trump’s zero-tolerance policy. Reports of unwanted and unknown hysterectomies in ICE detention centers were also circulating. While these allegations are shocking to the rest of the world, they are not for advocates.

Since the election, a lot of people are wondering what will happen to all of those kids who were separated at the border once President-elect Joe Biden takes office. Will detention centers close? In the first 100 days, Biden planson reversing Trump’s policies that separate parents from their children at the border, end Trump’s asylum policies, and create a plan to protect Dreamers and their families. Biden made history a few weeks ago when he appointed Alejandro Mayorkas, an immigrant and the first Hispanic American, as the new head of the Department of Homeland Security. 

YR Media spoke with Linda Rivas, attorney and the executive director of Las Americas Immigrant Advocacy Center in El Paso, Texas, about the shocking headlines and the reality she’s seeing at the border in her work. 

This interview was edited for clarity and length.

Denise Tejada: What was your initial reaction when you heard the parents of more than 545 children, who were separated from their parents at the border, can’t be found? 

Linda Rivas:  We’ve known this for a long time. And so while it wasn’t shocking to me, I don’t know if it paints the whole story. We did know this was going on. Having a specific number still actually leads to a lot of questions. We don’t know the full scope of the number.And it’s hard to know if we’ll ever truly have an accurate number. And I don’t believe the government has made huge efforts to retrieve that. Maybe they’re just not able because they’re not really ever keeping track.

I’m very glad that the general public has seen that number because the number has been significant and the story has been significant to people who were not working with these folks directly because it makes them realize that the problem never went away. 

It’s important to note that these children were not unaccompanied. They came with their parents and then they were placed into the system that was really never equipped to handle someone who had been separated at the border. 

DT: How do these parents all of the sudden disappear?

LR: I can only speculate here because I don’t know how this number was calculated. My experience between ICE (U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ORR (Office of Refugee Resettlement) is that ICE was an agency that would communicate with ORR but not at length. We sometimes have this notion that the government does this really great job of communicating and I think that that’s very much far from the truth. I think that ICE and ORR never met to say, “Okay, I’m taking the kids and I’m taking the parents and we’re going to communicate with each other so that we don’t lose track of them.” Because when cruelty was the point of separation, why would they ever care enough to do something like that?

Why would they ever care enough to know that ICE was going to potentially rapidly deport a parent? Nobody is documenting where you’re being deported to. It was never kind of neatly packaged and we could put family separation behind us. That is far from the truth. And the problem was a lot deeper and it was a lot crueler than we could have ever imagined. It was meant to deter people. And we know that we’ve had several people in this administration admit that at this point.

We’re dealing with a trauma that we had never even really experienced in advocacy. I witnessed people literally shaking when recalling how they were separated from their children. They are watching their children grow up through WhatsApp, through pictures. At this point, it’s been, you know, two and a half to three years since the separations. Their children look vastly different. ICE knew that many of these parents would not be successful in their claims to remain in the United States. DHS (Department of Homeland Security) knew that a lot of these parents would end up deported while their children were then going to be placed in a whole different court proceeding that could take longer.

DT: How does a judge rule and decide where a kid goes? 

LR: So judges actually have no say in that. ORR is staffed with caseworkers and some social workers. When it is an unaccompanied minor, they typically are coming with a phone number of family members. It was a very rare occurrence, but there was a story that came out where under the ORR system, a few children had been released to people who were potentially involved in trafficking. And it’s the social workers and the caseworkers that will call and make contact with the families. And then background checks ensued. 

But when we’re talking about the 545, the way I understand the news reports around it is these were children who came and were separated from their parents, not the truly unaccompanied minor. But, of course, like I said, when the government started to forcibly separate children from their parents, their parents were proving they were their parents. They had birth certificates with them. There’s also a lot of myths that, “Oh, it’s the traffickers, the coyotes that were bringing them over.” 

DT: What are some issues that you’re seeing in those detention centers that are not being covered by the media? 

LR: Detention conditions are and continue to be extremely horrific. Medical neglect is a really big deal. Sexual assaults in detention centers also happen. The ability to go on with no accountability whatsoever and to victimize people is something that is a horrific problem with ICE. And you see it with DHS in general and you see the profound effects of family separation. This global pandemic we’re in, the United States has decided to weaponize COVID and not allow asylum seekers at all. This includes unaccompanied children.

So for the first time in our history, despite us having this system, ORR and the shelters, they have stopped. Children were being held in these secret locations because they were actually just getting ready to expel them from the country. Which is essentially sending them back to their home country with zero due process, no ability to speak to an attorney, and no ability to reunite with their family. 

There’s a lot of pain. There is more pain and trauma than any other clients that I’ve ever worked with. The memories of family separation are very fresh. They’re very new. There are still open wounds there. We always have to remember that family separation, unfortunately, is not new for our country. Our country has a very horrible history with Black and brown children and so family separation continues in many ways. And we still have a great, great, great need for very robust immigration reform.

Article Source

[secretshinigami]

just that much is nothing

Author: @acerbicapplecoffee For: @jeevas-exe Pairings/Characters: Amane Misa, Mello (mentioned), one weird OC Rating/Warnings: G Prompt: An AU where Misa is Mello’s younger sister, but when Mello leaves, she doesn’t know how to cope. Author’s notes: The title is honestly stolen from the English translation of bloodthirsty butchers’ “ソレダケ”, which I’ve been listening too much to recently; the epigraph is a jakugo from Zenrin-kushu. Also the whole text is a pure psychological drama of average quality, so beware! :D

One mind lost in the plum; The body, chanting, now utterly frozen — unaware.

Mama, I don’t understand, why don’t you answer, why are you saying nothing, he is your son – have you loved him at all? Don’t be silent, why are you silent; why haven’t you locked the door so he wouldn’t leave, why haven’t you held him back, why have you let him go; mama, why… why couldn’t you do at least something?..

When you hurriedly open up the window of a tiny flat on the fourth floor where you spend night by night, as your friend consented once, and peer into another person who has appeared so familiar somehow, and glare at his features with an anticipation of recognizing, but make a mistake every time – I do not know this person, his hair is shorter and height is much bigger than necessary, and he slouches, too: they do not even look alike, how could I confuse them? – then the uncountable mistakes turn into tears which must not be revealed but must be hidden after you bury your head in the pillow or cover your face behind the sleeve instead, and this is what you never are able to succeed in; when you tensely keep your eyes fixed on the lantern glow and the outlines of the stations which your evening train swiftly passes by and cannot find the person who might have, as if by magic, get to know that you are right here and look for you as desperately as you do look for him – but may it be simpler, without any magic: if only you could catch the very sight of him, at least from afar, under one of those lanterns, and understand clearly where should your steps be turned to – honestly, may it be any way, because the most important is to find and to retrieve, – then the images of the days bygone overshadow your eyes with the mist and force you to fall in an unrestrained and afflictive slumber; when you walk down the streets and feel that if you don’t quicken your step, even a hundred years are not enough for these searches, and who needs the old and ugly you then, and the flows of unknown faces and backs do not ever dry up, and the grey high-rises occlude over your head, and you begin to walk faster and faster, and the walking is becoming the running, and you are running to the aim only you are aware of, and running in an unknown direction, and running in attempts to catch him up, because he’s turned back, he’s turned back and noticed me, why is he running away, I’m his sister, he leaves me again, too fast, I can’t keep pace, then your strength is gone sooner or later, you hardly drag your thin legs and stumble and tear a sole, and fall down on the asphalt and skin your knee, and everybody looks back at your voice, absolutely everybody but the person you pursued so ineptly: he has already disappeared as if he has never showed up here; when you try to hear all the conversations around and to distinguish the voice of each person, because any voice may be the exact one you have been listening to the very childhood and the last words of which unceasingly respond with a scream in your ears, then it all turns out as you are doing something silly again, and therefore, in a minute or two, you refuse this idea in annoyance and anger: you have heard so much that your head is splitting – you have heard so much that have not heard anything at the same time; when you endlessly fly above the clouds, there is always one thing you suddenly recollect and the same second collapse on the ground; and when you look at the sun, it eventually burns out on your eyes as a mark of blindness.

Misa has been looking at the sun for as long as she could remember herself.

And the doors are slammed with a crash again, the house is crying something after her, the bag is hitting her back, a sole has scraped along the pavement, a turn, fingers are clenched into fists, she wants to screw up her eyes and shout, and it does not matter what will come after; she is so small, but the city is so big and has no bounds, is it the day, is it the night, I don’t want to stay here anymore, I’ve been trying so hard but still can’t find you, where are you?..

She was walking for a very long time, as if in a delirium, and did not notice herself walking anywhere: her hair had tousled and blouse had become crumpled, her legs were barely getting off the ground and almost stumbled against each other, she did not understand the road and did not understand that any other people except for her brother and herself still existed, because it did not matter and because she needed nobody of those other people, and all that time Misa dreamed that if she waited a little bit more, around one of the identical buildings’ corner a dear silhouette would finally appear, and Misa would not be mistaken, that would be her brother who had hoped to find her as much as she had, and they would reunite merrily, as if no more than an hour had passed since the moment of parting, and would come back home, and everything would be fine, even better than ever before, they both would burst out laughing, and the things occurred would never be remembered. However, before the one remembers, the one truly forgets at first and does not lie to themselves, – but Misa is lying.

Misa is lying, stop it, why are you saying such things, this is not the lie but the gilding actually, and it is not that important how she is lying – cute girl, shining eyes, embarrassed smile, tilt of her head, a slight one, preferably to the left, so fragile and vulnerable, are you really cold-hearted, won’t you help me just a little? – much more important is who all these words and thoughts and actions are meant for and what exactly do they conceal. Although Misa does not want to guess, she is indifferent about what is happening right now and if only she could stop thinking, she would shut her eyes tight, curl up and fall asleep noiselessly, but something is constantly holding her on this narrow border, something persistent and disturbing; the urge is to wave it away, and Misa would love to do so, but she is warned by the distant awareness: if she does not cling to this disturbing thought like to a saving thread, something terrible will happen, and she will not have to mourn for anybody after that – the one mourned for will be only her.

The truth might have become the deliverance, but dreams are always more precious than the truth, and the long-awaited figure appears for an instant once again and vanishes far in the alley, and Misa can see again, can feel there is nothing but a dead end any further, and brush aside the hesitation, and willfully, inch by inch, move forward.

After seven steps she falls on her hands, twitches in sharp pain, gasps in terror of the ragged wound and, numb in panic, looks out for brother among the doors, passages and signboards, but the light has faded out, eyes are veiled, so cold, she cannot move, cannot hear, cold pierces the bones, she is alone, wants to shed a tear and forgets to, she is horrified, she is being dragged into an abyss inexorably and there is nobody, there is nobody.

I’m calling for you, but you never answer; sometimes it even seems to me that you don’t want to talk to me at all. You are silent a lot, you hide something, I don’t understand why you have to keep any secrets from me, I’m your sister after all, we’ve always been together, when we were children we promised each other – do you remember? – I’m not hiding anything from you, you’re not hiding anything from me, and we share with each other. We’ve even made a pinky promise – “Finger cut-off, ten thousand fist-punchings, whoever lies has to swallow thousand needles…” Don’t you remember? Really… But it’s okay if you don’t remember, we can do it again, come on, don’t turn away, give me your hand…

What… What’s with your hand?.. You… Why are you looking at me like this?..

Windy.

Take one breath. Take another.

So calm and nice.

Something dirty, something unreal was seen, but has dissipated a long before. Maybe, a minute, or maybe, ten years ago. This is not important – it is so still here that even the seconds running cannot be heard.

That was not a dream, because she sensates such an unity with the world which can exist only during the soundless daydreams, and that means the actual dream is happening right now.

So calm and nice here, there is no need to leave. There is no path leading back anyway.

The wind rises.

Her chest is overflown with the presentiment of the infinite flight.

Realization – at the same instant she will open her eyes, and onwards the unshadowed space which never knew any worry, or malice, or hatred, will unfold.

There is no need to hurry.

She is opening her eyes and drowning into the clear azure sky.

Now you’re sitting quiet and listening to me. Don’t go after me, got it? I’m asking – you got it? And don’t look for me, there’s nothing you can do anyway. I’ve warned you for the first and the last time, remember that well. Don’t go after me.

You go – you are killed.

After Misa woke up, the first thing she consciously distinguished from the dream had turned out to be a black-brown wooden ceiling, and then – the same wooden walls on which the oily spots of dim light were quivering; the room was strangely small and rather resembled a box: the ceiling was overhanging too low, and it seemed that the walls were slowly and almost insensibly shifting to each other even closer and closer, a little bit more and it would be impossible to breath naturally; the windows whether were utterly missing or, boarded up tightly, were conflating into the half-light impalpably; exposed, Misa was lying on the greasy futon: blunt pain extended to her arm which appeared to be slovenly and awry bandaged, Misa did not dare to move it; while looking over the place, she tardily turned her head to the side and - with an odd combination of fear and relieving – realized that she was not the only one in the room.

A person was sitting nearby, on his knees, benumbed as a bronze monument, he did not turn back, did not change his posture and did not show by anything that he noticed Misa or, at least, realized her presence; he was rawboned and stooped at the same time, as though inside his body a barely visible confrontation between an enormous aspiration to hone his position to perfection and a weak-willed want to bend over and drop his forehead to tatami, he was so focused on himself that an impression was being created that he was not breathing, he was not alive at all, and through his stillness he seemed an inseparable part of the room: if he had gone, everything else would have disappeared and the unnatural, hypnotic energy of this piece of space, of this stuffy place absorbed into gloom, of this actual whirlpool inside which hundreds of mesmerized people disappear despite all the pleas to beware, would have dissipated. The seconds and minutes were passing, but person remained as motionless as before, and the staying in in uncertainty and the expecting for the worst were harassing Misa more and more, and eventually she chose rather to break the silence: the tension had reached such an extent that it had become impossible to bear it any longer.

“You… Who are you? Where are we? Is that you who brought me here?..”

Silence.

“Who are you?..”

“No name belongs to him.”

“Where am I?”

“No shelter is given to him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He plucked a flower that grew on the roadside. He plucked the flower and admired its petals. So beautiful!”

“What do you want from me?..”

“He plucked the flower, hid it and admired its petals. He plucked the flower and killed it. Beauty is evanescent.”

“Killed it?..”

“He turned upset as he thought he would have been able to stop the inevitable. His hands were shaking and his knees had buckled. He was deceiving himself as he imagined he had been almighty and the only worthy to behold the perfection. But people’s minds are like the winds: the one weakened, the other one grew stronger. He beheld the perfection, and although he had lost it forever, he preferred to forget about his own weakness. He threw away a withered stem, locked the door to the room where he beheld and left after swore on his blood that he would regain that distant moment of bliss and would replace with it all the humble and empty years of his life only about to come.”

The person fell silent, and only his shoulders were shivering from the strain: as though he was lost in attempts to refrain something disgraceful that was desperately bursting out of his body, and was literally obsessed with those attempts which had not made sense any for a casual observer; through the person’s every word sadness and obsession were shown, and with every word pronounced that person appalled Misa, however not only that: perhaps, she did not realize it herself for the reason she was unable to disjoin his aloof speech into meanings and notions, Misa had never done suchlike things after all, but Misa’s soul was responding to that speech, as if reminding of something left far behind, intentionally thrown away, – and Misa would not concede of what exactly, even if she had known.

And the person kept speaking.

“He had to find a new flower, and therefore he left, and very soon he managed to. The flower blossomed among the grey stones and blinded the passers with its elegance. Nobody dared to touch the flower: their hands were filthy. But he plucked it in admiration. That flower was doomed to the same fate, and the next one, and another one. What had taken root in the ground is not able to relinquish it; the fragile elegance must not be soiled with touches. He did not understand and did not want to. The only thing he wanted was a moment of bliss.

He brought many flowers to the room. He lost count of broken stems which were thrown away without remorse. And he was inconsolable, aware of the truth that no flower would replace that miraculous wonder which was found in the remote past and was so unwisely lost. And he lost the urge to sleep, to eat and drink, although was not going to stop his searching. Eventually he had weakened. Now he cannot straighten his shoulders and cannot move without fear anymore. Now he barely managed to carry the flower to the room where he behold…”

Misa was not listening to the last words: she understood clearly, if right the next moment she got up from the futon and went for the fadedly illuminated exit which was seen in the opposite wall, the person simply would not be able to stop her, and in that case if the exit was locked, it would be the easiest thing in the world even for her to knock the person over on the floor and take away the keys; Misa did not like the second option: she was not sure of that completely, even though she wanted to be, her legs were trampled and her hand was bandaged, and from the very beginning Misa never thought of such an outcome, she was pursuing the only purpose – to find her brother, and that seemed an easy task, because he constantly stayed somewhere nearby, disappearing and appearing, like a relentless and vicious wraith, however she had neither enough agility nor acumen to predict where and when would she catch sight of her brother again and to comprehend why did he need to mislead her into the depths of endless Tokyo alleys mockingly, – she refused any thinking, and denied them all with a persistence inconceivable for her past self, and just recklessly followed the path that the blond boy wearing a battered sweater on the bare skin was pointing at.

Misa was obliged to get up, come over the person, open the door and escape – obliged to her brother, to his concern, almost alike a father’s one, to their shared memories, to the years spent side by side, to the entire childhood of hers, and, what is the most important, to that absolutely unthinkable – if only it would not have occurred in reality – moment when she realized with fright that her brother, with years passing, estranged from their little world and eventually abandoned it altogether: he was throwing off bonds knowingly and almost imperceptibly to glance, and even Misa barely had time to detect the last, critical stage of his renunciation; she clung to the subtle threads, which were unifying her brother and herself yet, for as long as it was possible, but the threads were torn from the softest touches, and Misa had achieved nothing: another thing, a distinctly extraneous and therefore repellent one, had grown inwards her brother’s life too firmly, it had replaced all his wishes and had become the only need, it was beckoning and compelling to sacrifice for itself; and Misa felt that the place, which before belonged to her alone, was occupied by that unknown thing to which she could not think of any other description except for that it was reflecting in her brother’s eyes since then and was covering his face with an ashen shadow, and she was only able to watch dazedly – until the very end.

That was the reason why Misa followed her brother when he left home.

That was the reason why Misa had to defeat the person who killed flowers.

That was the reason why Misa, despite trembling knees, despite gnawing pain in her hand and deep fear verging upon disgust, is getting up, imitating a firm tread and reaching after the door, the person is close, the person is shrieking, her leg is grabbed, and the unusual strength appears somehow, she is pushing away the person’s hand with a fury, the door is not locked, how it is not locked, is there freedom really, is she lucky at last, oh god, from behind, from the floor, a strangled wheeze is heard, she is almost flying out to the street, the late evening, so cold, she does not recognize the locality, but also has no time to think it over, she is warily gazing around, seeing the road in the end of the narrow labyrinth of naked buildings and rushing to the light.

When I was little – do you remember? – I was bored all the time, and it was interesting only nearby you, and in the evenings I forced you to go outside, almost dragged you by arm, and asked you to show me the stars. It seemed to me that since I was little, there was just not enough height for me to look at them myself, and you were elder and taller, and that meant you could see much more than I did. So funny, though!.. You were not able to see a single thing: no star is shining above Tokyo, but I just didn’t realize it then. And you were elder and smarter, and you understood everything clearly, but always – every time a new story – were telling me about the galaxies that perhaps never even existed. You were thinking up new fairytales, and I believed them. Even now I do. Such beautiful fairytales…

Misa was walking for a very long time, as if driven out, and did not know where she was walking to: everything remained unfamiliar, the cityscape had coalesced into one monotonous high rippled wall, and only the road was responding with the sound of her footsteps; for all that time she had been wandering, her brother had not appeared – or had not allowed to get any sight of him, – although Misa hoped for that endlessly, looking into the abrupt bends of the alleys with a sinking heart. Misa forefelt that their meeting would still occur, but how and when remained in mystery, and that was ridiculous, because it had not been going that way before: Misa constantly, deeply, almost physically perceived the presence of her brother and for that reason clearly understood where her next path would finish at, and trembled, and with her entire soul aspired to the endpoint, which always turned into the deception, and the path started anew, intertwining with itself; and then Misa plodded through the concrete darkness and did not see the one landmark worth her aspiring: no matter how tough it had been for her to manage those ten days spent without a roof above, Misa had known no sign of an absolute loneliness.

Perhaps, she would reel awkwardly, like a doll, would reach out for the walls feverishly, but they all are heartless, they would recoil and push her far away, and she would fall onto the asphalt, but it would tear asunder, too, and there would come an everlasting fall into nowhere – as much cruel as senseless.

She would not even be allowed to break into shards.

And when he appears, Misa does not believe at first. And then, recognising and realizing, rejoices like a child, despite for one vague inexplicable reason this meeting seems for her to be the last one. And then she runs.

The chasing leads her to a grey two-storey building, brother has gone out of sight. but too little time has passed yet: he would not go too far, he has found the way to get inside instantly; a door marked with paint is locked, but there still is a narrow stairway leading to the upper floor area; after climbing up, Misa somehow notices the worn black sweater and blond locks in the aperture of the farthest window and rushes there in a wink – luckily, the frame is not moved aside, but to that moment when Misa manages to enter, the room is already empty.

Her path is coming to its endpoint, but will not start anew, no, it never will, this is the last frontier and there is nowhere to run from here. Everything that has happened to these seconds is nothing; everything that has gone before as if never existed at all.

Misa – impatiently, excitedly, aflutterly – is going down the cracked stairs, and a quiet screech of her pace is impaling the silence.

An unfinished room: the walls not completely painted over, a loose polypropylene film, a lightbulb on a long wire in the middle of the ceiling, the floor stained with the same paint, a few panels are lost, the abandoned tools, a stool, the carton boxes, the windows and doors tightly boarded up from the inside. There is nobody.

Misa does not believe: she is throwing herself to the windows, running from the first to the second and third, pressing against the door, listening to the outwards, banging on the dark boards, trying to rend them, but she is not able to, she has no strength, she is pounding, clawing with nails, getting splinters in her palms and fingers, yelling, straightening in reed, turning pale and very slowly, a tiny step by the tiny step, retreating, and feeling one more wall behind her back, and shuddering, and falling in, and burying into the floor, and cannot shed a tear, and groaning like no human would, and cannot hear herself.

There was no escape for anybody from here, there was no entry for anybody in here.

Nobody was here.

Once long ago people were happily looking into the sky and were blinding themselves, and when they were asked why had they given away their keen eyes to the sun, they only laughed and shaked their heads; but the sun disappeared behind the blue mountains and never came back, and people decided to pretend as if they still owned their happiness, although every single one of them secretly knew they were looking into the void.

[cover2covermom]

Happy Sunday bookworms!

Did everyone have a good weekend?  I had a lovely weekend full of watching the U.S. Open & football, my kids’ sporting events, bonfires, charity dance events, and pickle ball.  The weather cooled off this week, and things were finally starting to feel like Fall.  Unfortunately summer is going to come back with a vengeance this week with temperatures returning to 90°F.

*Bookish Weekly Wrap-Up is a weekly post where I feature what posts were published on the blog for the past week, any bookish/blog happenings, what I recently finished reading, what I am currently reading, what I will be reading next, noteworthy posts around the bookish blogisphere, and any interesting bookish articles I came across.

Monday 8/26

Mini Book Reviews: August 2019 – Part 2

Sunday 9/1

August 2019 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up + Book Haul

Monday 9/2

September 2019 TBR: “Series September”

Most anticipated books published this past week:

» Butterfly Yellow by Thanhha Lai

Genre: Historical Fiction

Release Date: September 3, 2019

In the final days of the Việt Nam War, Hằng takes her little brother, Linh, to the airport, determined to find a way to safety in America. In a split second, Linh is ripped from her arms—and Hằng is left behind in the war-torn country.

Six years later, Hằng has made the brutal journey from Việt Nam and is now in Texas as a refugee. She doesn’t know how she will find the little brother who was taken from her until she meets LeeRoy, a city boy with big rodeo dreams, who decides to help her.

Hằng is overjoyed when she reunites with Linh. But when she realizes he doesn’t remember her, their family, or Việt Nam, her heart is crushed. Though the distance between them feels greater than ever, Hằng has come so far that she will do anything to bridge the gap.

» Tunnel of Bones (Cassidy Blake #2) by Victoria Schwab

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy > Paranormal

Release date:  September 3, 2019

Trouble is haunting Cassidy Blake . . . even more than usual.

She (plus her ghost best friend, Jacob, of course) are in Paris, where Cass’s parents are filming their TV show about the world’s most haunted cities. Sure, it’s fun eating croissants and seeing the Eiffel Tower, but there’s true ghostly danger lurking beneath Paris, in the creepy underground Catacombs.

When Cass accidentally awakens a frighteningly strong spirit, she must rely on her still-growing skills as a ghosthunter — and turn to friends both old and new to help her unravel a mystery. But time is running out, and the spirit is only growing stronger.

And if Cass fails, the force she’s unleashed could haunt the city forever.

» How to Raise a Reader by Pamela Paul & Maria Russo

Genre: Nonfiction

Release date:  September 3, 2019

An indispensable guide to welcoming children—from babies to teens—to a lifelong love of reading, written by Pamela Paul and Maria Russo, editors of The New York Times Book Review.

Do you remember your first visit to where the wild things are? How about curling up for hours on end to discover the secret of the Sorcerer’s Stone? Combining clear, practical advice with inspiration, wisdom, tips, and curated reading lists, How to Raise a Reader shows you how to instill the joy and time-stopping pleasure of reading.

Divided into four sections, from baby through teen, and each illustrated by a different artist, this book offers something useful on every page, whether it’s how to develop rituals around reading or build a family library, or ways to engage a reluctant reader. A fifth section, “More Books to Love: By Theme and Reading Level,” is chockful of expert recommendations. Throughout, the authors debunk common myths, assuage parental fears, and deliver invaluable lessons in a positive and easy-to-act-on way

Interesting bookish articles:

» How to Start a Book Club

» 6 Modern Books to Help Parents Raising Teen Girls

» 15 best debut novels so far in 2019

» Listen Up! Podcasts for the Whole Family

» Five Ways to Structure Your Book Club Discussion

» Diverse Tween Reads for Your School Library

» The Best Children’s and YA Books of August 2019

» Quiz: What Type of Book Club is Right for You?

» Books Recs Based on Your Favorite Teen TV Shows

» Audiobooks 101: A Beginner’s Guide to Audiobooks

» Diverse Books for Tweens and Teens Written by Own Voices Authors

» 15 Fantastic Middle Grade Books Hitting Shelves in Fall 2019

Recently Finished Reading:

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» Book Girl: A Journey Through the Treasures and Transforming Power of a Reading Life by Sarah Clarkson

*3.5 Stars*

I loved learning about Sarah’s journey & her connection to books.  I think Sarah has excellent reading tastes, and will probably borrow the physical copy from the library to copy down all the reading recommendation lists.  I gave it 3.5 stars because it was too heavily focused on religion & faith for my tastes.

» Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Gods of Jade and Shadow was one of my most anticipated books of 2019, but it came up a bit short for me.  The story felt like a fairy tale filled with Mexican folklore, which I loved, but the book felt very surface level.

» The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah

*4.5 Stars*

Set in the harsh wild of Alaska in the 70s, The Great Alone was an excellent survival type of story – in more ways than one.  While reading I thought Hannah was going to go the cliche route a few times, but she kept on surprising me.

» The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) by R.F. Kuang

The Dragon Republic was an excellent follow up to The Poppy War.   The political intrigue in this book is engrossing.

» The Horse and His Boy (Chronicles of Narnia #5) by C.S. Lewis

This has been my least favorite book in the series thus far, but still a very enjoyable read.  There is something so nostalgic about this series, which doesn’t exactly make sense since it is my first time reading these books…  If I had to rank the series thus far, it would be 1) Chronicles of Narnia, 2) The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, 3) The Silver Chair, 4) Prince Caspian, and 5) The Horse and His Boy.

Currently Reading:

» Nobody Said Not to Go: The Life, Loves, and Adventures of Emily Hahn by Ken Cuthbertson

Status: 25%

I had to put this one on hold while I knock some of my library books out.

» The Queen of Attolia (The Queen’s Thief #2) by Megan Whalen Turner

Status: 58%

» The Smartest Kids in the World: And How They Got That Way by Amanda Ripley

Status: 20%

What Am I Reading Next?:

» Wintersmith (Tiffany Aching #3) by Terry Pratchett

Tiffany Aching is a trainee witch — now working for the seriously scary Miss Treason. But when Tiffany witnesses the Dark Dance — the crossover from summer to winter — she does what no one has ever done before and leaps into the dance. Into the oldest story there ever is. And draws the attention of the Wintersmith himself.

As Tiffany-shaped snowflakes hammer down on the land, can Tiffany deal with the consequences of her actions? Even with the help of Granny Weatherwax and the Nac Mac Feegle — the fightin’, thievin’ pictsies who are prepared to lay down their lives for their “big wee hag.”

Wintersmith is the third title in an exuberant series crackling with energy and humour. It follows The Wee Free Men and Hat Full of Sky.

» Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson

For fans of Tina Fey and David Sedaris—Internet star Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess, makes her literary debut.

Jenny Lawson realized that the most mortifying moments of our lives—the ones we’d like to pretend never happened—are in fact the ones that define us. In the #1 New York Times bestseller, Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, Lawson takes readers on a hilarious journey recalling her bizarre upbringing in rural Texas, her devastatingly awkward high school years, and her relationship with her long-suffering husband, Victor. Chapters include: “Stanley the Magical, Talking Squirrel”; “A Series of Angry Post-It Notes to My Husband”; “My Vagina Is Fine. Thanks for Asking”; “And Then I Snuck a Dead Cuban Alligator on an Airplane.” Pictures with captions (no one would believe these things without proof) accompany the text.

» @The Orangutan Librarian shares a recommendation list ⇒ GATEWAY SCI FI BOOKS

» Marie @Drizzle and Huricane Books talks about adding a little spark to book blog posts ⇒ HOW TO GIVE YOUR BOOK BLOG POSTS THAT EXTRA SPARK

» CW shares recs for books by Asian authors with mental illness rep ⇒ Year of the Asian Reading Challenge – Book Recommendations for September’s Prompt: Mental Illness Awareness!

Have you read any of the books included in this post?  If so, what did you think?

What are you currently reading?

What will you read next?

Have a wonderful week & happy reading

Bookish Weekly Wrap-Up: 8/26 - 9/8/19 #BookBlog #BookBlogger #Bookworm #AmReading #Books #WrapUp Happy Sunday bookworms! Did everyone have a good weekend?  I had a lovely weekend full of watching the U.S.