#or else they’re running at the opposite refinement from what I need

[ffxiiiapologist]

Ooh the Resurgences continue to be so nice to me, I already have one part for Chroma Prime and two for Zephyr from rando squadmates’ relics

[thisaintascenereviews]

Capstan - The Mosaic

Seeing a band grow before your eyes, let alone a relatively young one, is such a cool feeling. I don’t mean that in the “I knew who this band was before they got big” kind of way, but in a way to say that you witnessed an evolution of an artist or band. I feel this way with the Florida band Capstan, especially hearing their first two albums. I loved their last album, Separate, from 2021, but I didn’t listen to it until 2022. They started off as a generic post-hardcore band, only to move into a progressive rock, pop-punk, post-hardcore, and math-rock band. Separate was an album that had a lot of sounds running through it, but it shared a few common threads to tie it all together. Albums with a smorgasbord of sounds tend to become an overwhelming mess, let alone a slog to sit through for how unfocused they can be. That album was only 37 minutes, too, so it was a very quick listen but it was also a unique listen.

That’s why it pains me to say that the follow-up, The Mosaic, is the opposite. Capstan is still a very unique band, but this new album is very long, bloated, messy, and just plain overwhelming at times. I had no idea this album was even coming out until I saw it this past Friday, but I figured I’d check it out, just because there wasn’t much else coming out. I’ve listened to this thing a few times, and I wish I liked this a lot more, because there are a lot of things to really enjoy, but this album is more frustrating than anything at all. There are things that are great about it, but also things that I don’t like at least, ultimately pushing me back from enjoying this. This album is so messy when it comes to its sound, it’s almost a complete turnoff. This band has a unique sound, even more so now, but they throw out so many things, and nothing flows that well, or feels like it fits, versus just seeing what sticks. I can appreciate that to an extent, but this album is over an hour long.

I also just don’t quite think every song, as well as every sound, these guys employ here works extremely well. You have the standard progressive pop-punk thing they were mainly doing on the last album with some metalcore and mathcore riffs, but they try their hand at nu-metal, 80s pop (one of the couple songs has Broadside’s Ollie Baxxter on it, and he sounds great), folk-pop, and some other strange detours that don’t add anything to it. There’s a point where they utilize trap-metal, and I’ll be frank — it sounds bad. I think this is a case of doing whatever ideas they had, and ultimately seeing what they could do with them, because this thing feels self-indulgent beyond belief.

I applaud the creativity, but Separate was such a cool album because it stuck to a unique sound and didn’t try to be so much at once, let alone some of those ideas not sticking the landing. I think part of that is vocalist Anthony DeMario doesn’t have that great of a voice, at least for certain styles of music. When they operate the lane of pop-punk, and metalcore, his work is solid and it’s quite good, but when he tries to go for a more impressive range or style that requires more of a range, such as pop or folk, it just doesn’t sound good. His screams, if he is the one screaming, aren’t that great, either. They’re fine, but even on their last album, I thought the harsher moments were the least interesting stuff.

I wish I liked this more, because there is a lot to like, and there is a good album in here that’s focused, shorter, and more interesting, but some of these ideas needed to stay in their heads. I guess it’s cool that fellow progressive pop-punk and metalcore band Belmont appears on a track, and they dropped a new album a couple months back, but I didn’t care for that one, either, kind of opposite reasons. That album was too boring, because they were doing the same thing they did on their last album, just in a more refined way, whereas this is a more expansive version of what Capstan did on their last album. It’s worth a listen, especially if you’re a fan, but this is truly a mixed bag that I ultimately respect more than I like. I like parts of it, but as a whole, this album kind of ain’t it, Chief.

[notebooknonbinary]

All the Time in the World Chapter 2 is Out!

Mike and Will finally get to have their talk.

Thank you thank you to @buck-yyyy and @evil-ontheinside for reading this chapter and helping me refine it!!

Chapter under the cut for non-Ao3 people!!

It’s after everything is settled—Will and Mike are both finally out of the hospital. Mike will probably have to use a crutch for the foreseeable future, and Will gets painful, dizzying head rushes if he stands for more than twenty minutes, but they’re healthy enough to leave.

Healthy enough to be alone, in Will’s room, with the door shut. Healthy enough to finally have the conversation they’ve both been wanting to have for two whole months. 

The Byers’ new house is a sprawling single story place, with enough rooms for everyone to have their own space. Will knows Mom picked it specifically to make it easier to access, since half of the Party now needs help getting up stairs. He also knows they wouldn’t have been able to afford it without the government footing most of the bill.

(Like how they’re paying for the hospital bills, and the medications. Like how they will be paying El’s tuition if she goes to college. Will knows this is half hush-money, and half apology for how badly the Lab fucked them over—at this point, Will doesn’t even care. It’s not like anyone outside of their motley crew would believe them.)

Mike makes himself comfortable on Will’s bed, propping his casted leg up on a pillow they snitched from the living room. Will has the fleeting thought that Mike looks good like this—even though this is far from the first time Mike’s sat on his bed—like he belongs in Will’s space. He keeps the thought to himself. As much as Will loves their new connection, he’s very glad that he has the option to keep things to himself. He considers himself a private person, even around the people he loves. But having the option to send Mike thoughts is its own kind of privacy. And Will likes that too. It’s romantic, and safe . The exact opposite of how it felt to be connected to the Mind Flayer and Henry. 

He gives Mike a smile as he joins him.

“So are we boyfriends now?” Mike asks, as soon as Will’s sat down beside him.

Immediately, Will feels his face flush at the blunt and earnest question. Even though they’ve been mentally sending each other, what amounts to, pure love through their connection—to hear the word boyfriends out loud makes a swarm of butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“I would like to be, yes,” Will tells him, doing his best to look at Mike like his heart isn’t beating out of his chest. He knows that Mike can tell.

Mike grins—that big, dopey, sunshine grin that Will decided a long time ago (fifth grade, to be exact) was his favorite of Mike’s smiles. “I’d like that too.”

“I’m glad. I love you, Mike.” Will takes Mike’s hand, intertwining their fingers. He runs a thumb over a healed burn scar. “And it’s okay if you can’t always say that back—I can see and feel that you love me and I know that…well…that it might be hard to say it out loud sometimes.”

It’s Mike’s turn to look flustered. He uses his free hand to briefly hide his red face. “I do, l-love you. You’re right, though. I might not always say it, but—”

“—but you don’t have to.”

They smile at each other. Not for the first time, Will thinks about how pretty Mike is. He’s always thought that Mike is beautiful, with his freckles and his smiles and his lovely eyes. But these past couple years, Mike’s begun to settle into his looks with what Will sees as a clumsy sort of grace. The elegant line of his nose, the stretch of his hands, the curve of his lips—all of it, wonderful and lovely. The ever present itch to draw him is intense, but there is something else Will wants a little bit more.

“Can we kiss again?” he blurts. “Because, I really would like to kiss you again. Especially since you’re my boyfriend now.”

Mike beams. “I’d love to!”

This kiss is the polar opposite of their first one. Where the first had been borne of relief and desperation, filled with adrenaline and tears, and dirty (in the literal sense); this kiss is soft, just the dry, shy press of lips on each other. Mike’s mouth is still chapped, but Will doesn’t mind that. All he cares about is this new connection, and the press of Mike’s warm, lovely hand against the side of Will’s neck. Mike smells good—clean skin, the familiar apple scent (because he’s had the same body wash since they were eleven), and the cinnamon of his toothpaste. He must have brushed his teeth just before he came over here. The combination has always made him think of apple pies.

Will doesn’t have any idea what constitutes a good kiss. He’s heard El and Max gossip about whether Mike is a good kisser. The jury seems to be out. For his part, he thinks Mike is. He hopes Mike thinks Will’s doing an okay job too.

For a while, they exchange these soft kisses. Each one sends a bright spark from his lips down to his toes. Eventually, though, Will starts to get dizzy in the not-good kind of way. So they switch to cuddling on the bed and talking. They curl together like two parentheses, facing each other. Mike is warm against him.

Will finds he likes this just as much as the kissing.

“Are we telling anyone?” Mike wonders, petting at the soft peach fuzz on Will’s face. “I know it’s not safe to, like, go to school holding hands—but…”

Will wishes it were safe enough for that. The idea of it sends a thrill of fear down his spine, but also a sad dip of longing. It would make having to go back to school next week infinitely more bearable, if he were allowed to seek the comfort of Mike’s hand when he needed it. To be able to sneak a brief kiss in between classes like he’s seen the straight couples at school do. 

But it’s Hawkins, it’s not safe.

What is safe is Will’s family. Despite the gut twisting fear he’s had about it, despite his anxiety being an asshole—he knows they love him no matter what. 

“I’d like to tell El first, if that’s okay?” he broaches. “Because she’s my sister, and our friend, and I want to keep her in the loop.” Mike nods immediately. “Absolutely! She already kind of figured out I have a crush on you, so she’ll be okay with us.”

“And she wasn’t mad about it?”

“Of course not, she said it actually made much more sense than her and me.”

Will can’t help the pleased grin that takes over his face. “I think so too.” 

Mike laughs. “So are we good with telling El? It can be like a practice round.”

“Yeah. If you’re okay with it, El’ll be home in a hour and we could tell her then?”

Mike agrees, beaming, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. The casualness of the gesture makes Will flustered, and he presses his face to Mike’s neck. They sit in comfortable silence, cuddling and enjoying each other’s presence.

“At some point, I’d like to tell Jonathan and probably my mom,” Will says finally, pulling back a little to look at Mike. “Jon already basically told me he’d be okay with me being g-gay without actually saying those words.” He stutters on the word—it’s the first time he’s said it aloud to another person. Even though Mike’s his boyfriend now (!!!), it's still a little scary to name himself. But Mike only smiles warmly, cuddling closer.

Then he says, “Actually, I think Jonathan may have given me his blessing to date you?”

Mike explains about the brief conversation he had with Jonathan at the hospital. Will beams, blushing. “That was absolutely him giving his blessing!”

It makes him warm, to know that not only is Jonathan okay with Will liking boys, but okay with Will liking Mike specifically. Although it wouldn’t change anything if Jonathan didn’t think they should be together, Will wants Jonathan’s approval. 

“And you feel comfortable telling your mom?” Mike confirms.

Will nods immediately. “She always defended me, whenever Lonnie would call me a…” He pauses, grimaces. “Well, you know, and stuff, and she’s never tried to make me feel bad about how different I am.” He smiles tentatively. “She always does her best to make me feel safe.”

Mike smiles back, but after a moment it falters. “The only person in my family I think I feel safe telling is Nancy.”

The bright mood dims a little bit. It will likely never be safe to be boyfriends around Mike’s parents. There is something deeply sad about that.

“Once she’s older, we can tell Holly,” Will provides, trying to brighten the mood. “She’s a good, smart kid, she’ll understand.”

Mike’s eyes soften, just like Will hoped they would. “That’s true.”

He cuddles closer to Will. Will presses a kiss to Mike’s forehead and gives into the urge to pet his hair. The contented noise Mike makes is adorable and Will has to swallow down the urge to giggle at it.

It’s been rare that Will’s gotten to touch Mike’s hair, but it’s soft and curly and feels nice under Will’s hands. Mike reaches up after a moment to reciprocate, threading his fingers into Will’s hair. It feels even lovelier than Will’s imagined it would. He’s so distracted by the sensation, he almost jumps when Mike speaks again. 

“I wanna…maybe wait on anyone else, for now. As much as I care about our friends, and know that they’d probably be okay with us, I don’t think I’m ready for them to know.”

“Totally fair!” Will agrees.

Mike smiles in relief, then buries his face under Will’s chin. The mental connection of their thoughts and the physical connection of the hug are both warm and loving. They end up falling asleep for a little while, safe and wrapped around each other.

-

When El returns home, Mike and Will join her in her room. She’s been spending a lot of time at the library (finally repaired after last summer), scouring the place for any books written in braille. For Max. She’s only found a few so far, but she shows them to Mike and Will excitedly. 

“I’m going to try and learn with Max and Lucas,” she tells them. “Hopefully it will make it more fun for Max.”

She doesn’t offer an invitation to join, however. It makes sense, honestly. She’s gotten a lot closer to Lucas in the past couple months, with all the time spent in Max’s hospital room. And obviously, Max is her favorite person. Mike’s happy to see them happier. 

Her hair is finally long enough for braiding again. Mike, having two sisters, has learned over the years (originally unwillingly) how to braid. El thinks it looks pretty, and he likes doing it. So he sets out putting double French braids in El’s hair, while Will lounges on her bed, sketching.

It’s comfortable. One of the things Mike’s missed about not being in a relationship with El, is no longer getting to play with her hair. He secretly really likes making things look nice—pretty. Thankfully, they’ve reached the point in their friendship where it doesn’t feel out of line to do this again.

“You should teach Will how to braid,” El tells him, humming. She’s flipping through a teen magazine, folding down corners of articles she thinks Max might enjoy hearing about. 

Mike grins. “So you can have another hairdresser?”

She shrugs unapologetically. “Yes, but also, you would look pretty with braids too.”

“She’s not wrong,” Will teases gently. 

Mike’s face is hot. “Maybe some other time,” he mumbles, trying not to think about how much he’d like that—Will’s hands twisting his hair together, Will making Mike pretty . He finishes off the second braid and takes a breath. 

They came in here with a purpose. He looks up at Will, making sure to catch his eye before glancing at El. You wanna tell her, or should I?

I will. Will takes a deep breath and the noise makes El look up.

“Something wrong?”

“We wanted to tell you first, El,” he says. “We, um…” He looks about half a second from hiding his face in his hands. Though whether that’s from shyness or anxiety, Mike can’t tell.

Either way, he doesn’t get a chance to continue.

El’s face lights up and she swings around to look at Mike. “Did you tell him?!”

Mike feels his face erupt in a blush. Apparently he’s too predictable to her. “Yeah, El. We’re dating now!”

She cheers, springing up to hug first her brother, then Mike. When she unhands him from her excited squeezing, she’s grinning widely. “I knew you two would be good together!”

Will is beaming, though he’s wringing his hands a little bit. “Thank you El.” He pauses. “And…you’re not mad?”

El tilts her head, looking honestly confused. “Why would I be mad? Two of my favorite not-Max people are making each other happy.”

Mike snorts and she kicks his leg softly. 

Will fidget. “Well, it’s kind of considered shitty for someone to take their friend’s ex, doubly so if it’s a sibling’s ex.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

Mike’s heard of the rule before, but he has to agree with El. As long as there weren’t hurt feelings in the break up (and Mike and El had both left their relationship happier than when they were in it), then why does it matter?

Unless…

“Will, even if you didn’t like me back, me and El wouldn’t get back together,” he clarifies. “You know that, right?”

“Oh.” A bit of tension goes out of Will’s shoulders. He slumps a little against Mike, who automatically reaches up to put an arm around him.

“We weren’t right for each other,” El agrees, smiling again. “I am not Will-shaped enough, and--” She pauses. Considers them both with her big, wise eyes. “--And although Mike is pretty, he is not pretty enough for me.”

Will sits up. Between his and Mike’s minds, there is a feedback of shock. Positive shock, but shock nonetheless. “Wait, are you saying…?”

“I’ve been thinking lately, and girls are much prettier and nicer and cooler than boys,” El tells them, proudly. “Unless their name is Angela, in which case boys are preferable.”

It���s Will’s turn to spring up and wrap his sister in a hug. “Holy shit El, thank you for telling us.”

Mike is grinning. “That’s super cool, El. Is it just girls in general, or is there a certain girl you’ve got an eye on?”

El gives him the stink eye when she pulls back from Will’s hug. It’s not a serious glare, though, and she smiles after a moment, a small, shy thing. “Maybe there is a girl that I like.” And she won’t say anything more on the matter, though neither of the boys push her especially hard.

Talk turns to other things. El has been studying so that she’s not terribly behind them when the school year starts--Dustin has been helping. Though, El says, he doesn’t always know how to explain things in ways that make sense. Will offers to help translate Dustin-speak after these tutoring sessions, which El gratefully accepts. She fidgets restlessly. 

“School in Lenora was hard,” she says, frowning at her socked feet. “The teachers there didn’t care that I was behind, except for how it affected them.”

“One teacher yelled at her in front of everyone.” Will frowns, brows furrowing in residual anger. “Told her to stop making him look bad ‘on purpose’.”

“Will got a detention for telling him to ‘shut up, dickbag’.” That part of the memory, at least, makes El smile. Will shushes her.

“It only made things harder on you,” he says.

“But it was funny. He turned the color of a tomato.”

Pretty cool, Will. Mike gives him an impressed grin and Will blushes.

“She’s my sister, I couldn't let that asshole bully her.”

It takes a long moment for them to realize their mistake. They turn to look at El, who is observing them with a disconcertingly knowing look in her eyes. “Are you finally going to tell me what has been going on?”

Mike shares a look with Will. Busted .

“When did you know something was up?” Will asks her, guilty.

El smiles, a little smugly. “After the two of you came back from the Upside Down, you were acting weird . At first I thought that Mike confessed, finally. But you did not start to act like a proper couple--but you started to stare at each other more. Like you were talking, but without words.”

“I mean,” Will murmurs. “Mike did confess then. But, we also discovered I could find him with my mind and things progressed from there. I could talk to him in my head and he could talk back.”

“That’s bitchin’,” El says seriously. “Although, why did you not get together then, if Mike confessed? Was Will not sure if he liked you back?”

Will lets out an involuntary sounding laugh. “It wasn’t that. I definitely already liked him back.” Mentally he tells Mike, don’t tell her how long I’ve liked you, it’ll make her sad, probably.

Mike nods. She might feel guilty. Neither of them want that. “It just wasn’t the right time to get together.” They’d both made that decision. It’d made them sad. But, well, they’d waited years to get together in the first place--a few more weeks was nothing in comparison. And, in the meantime, they’d had the privacy of silent conversations and the comfort of warm feelings. And, in the end, it made their getting together feel all the more sweeter now.

Speaking of their mind powers…

Mike asks something he’s been half-thinking about since he and Will discovered their mental link. “So, do you think our connection technically means I’ve got powers too?”

El shrugs, looking thoughtful. “I never saw anything like it in the lab. But that doesn’t mean much.”

“Henry never saw it either—and he was actively searching out powers.” Will fidgets and Mike immediately scoots nearer to him. He knows that Will dislikes how much insight he got into Vecna’s mind.

“I just…You and Will have that magic twin thing, and me and him have our whole—” Mike pauses, trying and failing to come up with a word that isn’t soulmate connection , because that’s entirely too sappy to say out loud—especially to his ex-girlfriend. 

“—soulbond?” Will tries. It’s not all that different of a word, but it’s a little better. Something in Mike’s mind settles at it. 

“Yeah, soulbond works. It just would kind of make sense if part of the reason for it came from both of us having powers.”

“Then we test it out,” El says. She gets off the floor and sits cross-legged on the bed with them. “If you have other powers, perhaps they are also like Will’s.”

Will, Mike knows, is still getting used to his powers. Parts of it are similar to El’s, of course--access to the void, a limited ability to move things with his mind that is weaker than hers. (He has yet to be able to repeat the feat he’d made against Vecna when he’d rescued Mike.) However, Will has easiest access to electrical currents, which is how he’d communicated so freely with Joyce when he went missing four years ago.

Will does his best to demonstrate, carefully flicking out his hand and making El’s lamp switch on. He sniffs a little as blood begins to trickle out of his nose, ignoring it and switching the lap back off. 

El hands him a tissue.

Even though Will’s mind had been open to Mike for the demonstration, Mike still doesn’t really understand. He bites his lip.

“Just focus on the thought of the electricity,” Will murmurs, catching his worry. “Think of the currents running through the lamp.”

Mike stares hard at the light, trying to picture it how Will suggested. Then he holds out his arm like El and Will do and just, thinks about the light turning on. Urging it to.

The light remains shut off.

“Maybe you have regular telekinesis,” Will suggests after a few failed tries. He’s smiling optimistically. El nods and fishes an apple out of her bag.

“Why do you have that?” Will asks.

“In case I get hungry?” The implied duh makes Mike snort. El rolls her eyes and puts the apple on the nightstand. “Try to move it.”

Mike stares at the apple, hand stretching out again.

…

Nothing happens.

It’s not like he really expects it to, but there’s still the smallest pang of disappointment. He doesn’t actually want any other powers--from what he’s seen of Will and El’s powers, it takes a lot of mental energy that Mike wouldn’t have to spare.

“Maybe it needs some kind of trigger?” Will wonders hesitantly. Mike immediately shakes his head.

“If it was scary experiences, I’d have developed powers right along with you.” He hunches his shoulders self consciously. “All that time spent losing you, Will—thinking you were dead, watching you be in pain. If there had been anything in my power to stop that, I would have found it.”

Will laces their hands together and brings Mike’s up to press a kiss to his knuckles. Then he seems to realize he’s done this in front of his sister and goes bright red. He doesn’t drop Mike’s hand, though.

El beams at them. “You’re so sweet together.”

“ Anyway , I’m not upset that I don’t have powers,” Mike says, ducking to hide his own blush. “Really, I’m perfectly happy having my only bit of magic being a two-way radio between me and Will.”

“Cheeseball,” Will murmurs, though he’s smiling in a pleased way.

“Says the one who came up with soulbond .”

“You know what —?”

There’s a honk from outside, interrupting the banter. 

“That must be Lucas’s mother!” El smiles brightly. “She is going to take him and me to the hospital to visit Max.” She springs gracefully to her feet and quickly gathers the books and magazines she’s taking with her. Mike and Will watch her flit about and then leave with a cheerful wave. They share a look.

“You don’t think,” Will murmurs. Max is the girl…?

Mike hums. “It’d make sense.”

There’s a brief second of silence.

We shouldn’t speculate, they think at the same time.

“She’ll come to us if she wants to talk.” Will gets up and holds out a hand to Mike. “Want me to kick your ass at Sky Diver?”

Mike accepts the topic change without a word. “Talk is cheap, William.” He smirks, trying his best to put a flirty edge to the grin. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Will’s cheeks go a cute pink, but he grins back. “You’re on.” He’s on his feet in an instant. “Race you to the living room.”

“Unfair!! I still have a broken leg!” But Mike still smiles as he follows Will out of the room.

[sunder-soul]

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy  💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

[thatwritingnerd]

3 for elliott/sebastian 🥺 @gendercraft

Summary: Sebastian has steadily fallen in love with the resident novelist from the moment he saves him but he would never dare confess such a thing as feelings. He wouldn't want to ruin their new relationship but he doesn't think he can silently pine for Elliott any longer.

Warnings: minor embarrassment, mentions of depression

For the prompt: I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Word count: 2k

-------------------------------------------

It wasn’t as if Sebastian wanted to make more friends, he already had two and that was enough, right? He would curse his inability to stay away from the beach on the rainiest of days, legs tucked under himself as he sat at the end of the pier, the rain cool in the humid summer day giving some relief to the uncomfortable heat. Curse his incessant need to dwell in his own suffering and despair – and, no, he’s not dramatic, thank you. And, you know what, curse Elliott too.

Elliott and his worrisome nature, his concern and fretting if Sebastian is alright. He’s not. He wasn’t. Wet through, undoubtedly getting a cold, amid a depressive episode. And Elliott, soft, sweet Elliott, holding an umbrella over him, his own long hair dampening and coat soaking from where the wind blows the rain. And Sebastian couldn’t find it in him to deny the man his company, and that’s how he found himself in Elliott’s small and rustic yet homely, warm cabin. Then how he found his friendship starting with the older man.

He had somewhat awkwardly sat there, on the other’s bed, blanket around his bare shoulders, dressed in a pair of sweatpants that he would never have guessed that Elliott would have owned, a cup of green tea in his hands, listening to Elliott hum something whilst his clothing dried and the storm settled.

Maybe, Sebastian thinks, that was the moment he first started to fall in love with Elliott.

And he didn’t stop falling for some time.

Elliott had seemingly integrated himself into his life, at first it was the occasional ‘hello’ at the saloon on a Friday, which sparked questions from Sam and Abigail, or the brief passing conversation at a festival when they were both alone and drawn to the other. Then a meeting which turned into a conversation on the bridge to the beach on a late evening, around the side of the community centre, but the docks were still their favoured place for a chance meeting. Not that Sebastian would tell himself that he went there less to be alone now and more so for a chance at seeing the other man.

Sebastian could not lie to himself, Elliott is an attractive man, and he knows it, that is for sure, he has eyes. But he could not tell a soul. Elliott is refined, put together, well kept, gentlemanly, he is everything Sebastian is not – and Sebastian feels inadequate enough merely from their friendship alone. He is nothing, he’s a loner, a shut in, a fucking nerd who has depressive breakdowns in the rain and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

Rationally, he knows that Elliott and himself couldn’t be like that. Elliott’s standards were probably too high, and for good reason, not to mention their age gap, in a town like this the gossip would spread quicker than wildfire. But that didn’t stop him, it could not stop him, falling in love with Elliott.

He fell in love with his passionate nature, his love for the sea and the sand, the way the side of his hand was always stained with ink, the way his eyes crinkled then shut when he laughed, the way he actually listened to Sebastian, or the way he did all the talking when it was clear that Sebastian did not want to talk, the way it took him almost an hour to get ready on a morning, the way he would always greet anyone with a pleasant smile, the way he made Sebastian feel like he mattered, like he actually mattered to the world, and to Elliott.

Sebastian did not just fall in love with him. Sebastian was in love with him.

The damage had been done. But that did not mean that Elliott had to know, or perhaps he had already figured it out. Sebastian hopes not, as intelligent as Elliott is he himself is more stubborn and emotionally cut-off. He is tempted to shut himself off from the world, from Elliott, physically, it would be so easy to just not leave his room ever again, never step foot on the beach.

He could have. Yet he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Even in the heat of summer, the sand scorching hot and blinding, the sun shining blinding off the turquoise sea, all too hot in his all black ensemble. Just to see him. Sebastian became familiar with the creaking floorboards, the wind against the old windows, the constant smell of sea salt and green tea, the scratch of pen against paper, the keys of the old piano, and the soft, gentleness of Elliott’s voice.

Although he didn’t feel quite at home, on Elliott’s bed with a borrowed, old book in his hands, he felt comfortable despite the nervous thrum of anxiety running through his veins constantly. Every time Elliott dared to look in his direction, to speak to him, to listen to him, it made him nervous, made him blush like a little schoolboy with a crush.

It wasn’t until he truly let Elliott in, pushed down his barriers, that his mind supplied that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one with these sorts of feelings. Maybe they weren’t one sided, and maybe he wasn’t confined to pathetic pining for the rest of his stupid days in this valley.

When he let Elliott talk to him, not merely at him, to him, about things that mattered, about Elliott’s past in the city, about Sebastian’s want to escape but maybe how he may be changing his mind as of late, about Elliott’s fear of failure, about Sebastian’s fear of humiliation. When he let, no, encouraged Elliott to touch him – not like that. But a passing touch on his arm that lingered, a hand on his shoulder as he caressed the keys of Elliott’s piano, the gentle rest of Elliott’s chin against his shoulder as they shared a book, and the friendly hugs that seemed only to lengthen in time over time until Sebastian had no second thoughts of cuddling with the other man.

It was then, once the sun was setting, soft glows of orange and red skimming through the windowpane’s and onto the older man, skin soft and hair aflame under the light. Elliott’s eyes closed, breathing shallow, and Sebastian is unsure if he is still awake, lying next to him, their legs intertwined together, Elliott’s latest literary recommendation laying open against Sebastian’s chest. He doesn’t even think, some innate part of him acting without his own attention, before he brushes smooth strands of hair out of Elliott’s face, fingers stroking over the softness of his cheek.

“You have no idea,” Sebastian whispers, barely a breath being released, “no idea how much you’ve come to mean to me, how much I like you.”

He sighs, letting his hand fall away, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, guilty about touching him, telling him something so… important? Private? Something he maybe should have said to a more conscious Elliott in truth?

“Sebastian?”

Well, fuck.

“I, uh, don’t- yeah.”

He dares to look back at Elliott, eyes bleary and unfocused, attempting to push himself to sit upright but settle for leaning back on an arm behind himself, clearly having been attempting at sleeping at least. And Sebastian, despite himself, thinks that Elliott looks even better like this, mussed and lax, prettier than when he is all dressed up and trying too hard.

“What did you just say?” Elliott asks, voice low and quiet, as if Sebastian will spook if he speaks any louder and, honestly, he might.

“Never mind, forget it.”

Elliott looks hurt, sad and frustrated all at once, and Sebastian feels guilty all over again, flushing out of embarrassment and humiliation, not only at his admission now but at hurting Elliott. Maybe he had been completely wrong, and maybe he had ruined this for himself, for the both of them.

“No, don’t, please,” Elliott mutters out, hesitant and slow in his movement but he reaches out to take the book from Sebastian’s chest, laying it down on his side table, before taking Sebastian’s cool hand in his own, “don’t shut down again, please, let me hear you, don’t get stuck in that head of yours, please, for me, Sebastian.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t twist on Sebastian’s emotions like nothing else, it hurts and makes him feel sick but giddy at the same time. Who knew emotions were so confusing?

“I- I can’t, not-” he stutters, defensive in his attempts to at least recover what little friendship he may have left with Elliott, but looking at him now, eyes sad and expectant. He sighs, defeated.

“I like you, Elliott, maybe too much, and I didn’t think I could like someone like this, I’ve never… you’re special. You’re just as weird as me, you listen to me, you go out of your way to talk to me. And I like it when you go on your little rants, when you tell me something reminded you of me, every book you recommend I read but not because they’re particularly interesting but because it was you that told me to. You saved me that day on the docks, not just that day but every day, you made me open up more, and I like that, I like who I’m becoming because of you, because I like you.”

It seems to rush out of him mostly as nonsense to himself but by the way Elliott looks at him, intense and enraptured, he is sure he’s making some sort of sense to him. Maybe that’s a bad thing.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Elliott says, thumb running over the backs of his knuckles gently, “how long have you kept this inside of you?”

Sebastian adverts his gaze, glancing down at their hands now intertwined, and he pulls himself up more so to sit crossed legged opposite him.

“Too long.”

“You poor thing, if I had any inclination that you felt the same, I would have told you right away but I… I didn’t want to scare you away, not after I had earned your trust, I could not forgive myself if I lost you over something so silly as my own feelings,” Elliott explains, his own gaze now embarrassed and downward turned.

And Sebastian reminds himself to actively close his mouth from gaping, “wait, you…”

Elliott laughs, a soft, nervous thing.

“Yes, Sebastian, I like you a little too much too.”

Sebastian has half the mind to swat at his upper arm for that, reiterating his previous words.

“Since when?”

Elliott smiles at him, meeting his gaze finally, thumb never ceasing over the pale skin of Sebastian’s hand, “too long.”

Sebastian laughs this time, nervousness dissipating, and maybe it isn’t exactly a dreamy love confession that he thought about in the darkness of night alone, but it’s real and enough for him.

“I think it was that day, on the docks, you helped me, and I think I started to fall for you then.”

Elliott’s smile is nothing short of beautiful, ethereal.

“Then, when you were in my cabin for the first time, wrapped in my blankets, on my bed, you looked so at home. I couldn’t help but invite you back, keep you in my life, after I saw you there, vulnerable, something other than your rough exterior, I wanted more of you.”

And Sebastian can do nothing but smile back.

Things don’t change much. Sebastian makes his way to the docks as usual, rain spitting around him, and Elliott is there, waiting, with an umbrella. He meets him with a chaste, gentle kiss, earning him a warm arm wrapped around his waist and he leans into the touch eagerly.

“Good evening, dearest, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, fondly yet teasing.

He ducks his head to Elliott’s chest, he is warm and feels like home, “missed you, is all.”

Elliott kisses his forehead, “I missed you too, dear.”

[awanderingdeal]

Never too late - 8

An eternity later and it is here! Part 8 of 'Never too Late'. How much of this is me projecting? You'll never know.

CW: Food, alcohol, feelings of queer exclusion at prom, coming out, [very minor and it is shut down] compulsory sexuality.

Please message me if you feel I missed anything out.

Just a note, that due to the POV of this fic, there is a lot of linking between relationships and romance to prom. I just want to reiterate that prom absolutely does not have to be a romantic event if you do not want it to. The beef is more that queer kids do not always have the choice to go with their partners safely, and the stress of not knowing whether it would have been okay or not.

I hope that all of you that wanted to were able to have the prom you wanted and if you weren't able to, please know it is just ONE day. Throw your own if you want to. Don't if you don't want to. I know for myself, I have a lot of feelings about it, so please don't read this if it going to upset you.

Rating: T

Previous and future chapters can be found on my masterlist.

All credit for Sweater Weather and these characters go to @lumosinlove

8. Go to a dance. Kiss your first love. Well, at least you think they are anyway. But remember kids, consent always.

Leo was excited, to say the least. Sprawled on his bed, laptop in front of him and his cell to the right, he knew it was getting late, but he wanted to research a little longer. He had a venue and a catering team locked down; the latter he had done reluctantly, after yet another person had told him that he absolutely could not cater the event himself.

His phone buzzed insistently, and Leo grunted. Why would anybody call when you could just text? He grunted again when he read the caller id.

Regulus. What a traitor.

“Hello?” Leo answered, rolling onto his back. He felt a tightness in his lumbar region, and made a mental note to mention it to Hestia in the morning if the sensation was still there when he woke up.

“Go to sleep.”

“ I will soon,” Leo hummed. “Did you look at my text?”

“Leo. It’s 2am.”

“Yes, I worked very hard to learn to tell the time, thank you.” In truth, the last time Leo remembered checking the time, it had still been the previous day. Logan had a popped his head around the door to tell Leo that he and Finn were going to crash in one of the other rooms, and that Leo should get some sleep soon. Leo had nodded and assured Logan he wouldn’t be too long.

Regulus’ sigh on the other end of the phone interrupted his memory.

“And you’re getting cranky,” Regulus said. Leo could imagine the smooth raised eyebrow that accompanied the words. “If I tell you which theme I like, will you go to sleep?”

Leo shifted, pushing himself up against the stack of pillows. He nodded eagerly, before remembering Regulus couldn’t see him. “Yes. I promise.”

“I like both -”

“That is not helpful!”

“Wait a second. Merde. You should combine them.”

“That’s,” Leo wrinkled his nose, contemplating the idea. “That’s actually kind of genius.”

“You can thank me later,” Regulus offered smugly. “After you’ve got some sleep.”

***

“So Reg, who’s the lucky person who gets to be your date to this thing?” Finn asked, plucking a brownie from the plate in the middle of the table, before settling into the seat opposite Leo.

“It’s not a thing!” Leo protested.

“Sorry, babe. This prom,” Finn grinned.

Regulus worried his lip between his teeth, looking first at Leo and then turning his gaze back to Finn. “Do I have to go with someone?”

“Yes,” Finn said resolutely, at the same time as Leo shook his head, giving the opposite answer.

“No,” Leo repeated, narrowing his eyes at Finn. “People go to prom with friends all the time.”

“Okay, yeah, fine. You don’t have to,” Finn agreed, giving a placating smile. Leo hated that it worked. If he were being honest, they should probably utilise the O’Hara smile in diplomatic relations. “But don’t you want to have the quintessential prom kiss?”

“Finn -”

“I was actually thinking I could borrow Leo,” Regulus rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Apparently Finn didn't catch it though. His face contorted into a thousand different expressions in the space of a second. Conflicted. Contemplative. Accepting. “Well...I guess I’d be okay with it, if Leo is, but Lo-”

“That was a joke, Finn,” Regulus laughed.

“Oh, right,” Finn laughed as well, the tips of his cheeks tinged pink. “Well. Yeah. Prom kisses are nice. I had sex for the first time on my prom. Although, she did cheat on my two months later, so maybe I’m not the best example to follow,” he rambled.

“That was a lot to learn about somebody in a very short amount of time," Regulus commented, clutching his mug between his hands.

Finn shrugged, leaning forward to grab another brownie, seemingly uncaring about the wealth of information he had just offered.

***

“Hey, Le?”

Leo looked up from his phone, finding Regulus hovering next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He cocked his head slightly in question.

“Can we talk?”

Leo frowned, setting his phone down on the coffee table and patted the seat next to him on the sofa. “You don’t usually ask,” he smirked.

Regulus’ smile back seemed strained, but Leo didn’t comment on it. “Earlier,” Regulus started as he took a seat, playing with the tips of his fingers before he stopped abruptly, placing them in his lap. “In the kitchen? What Finn said?”

Leo sighed gently, “Ignore him. Finn’s mouth and his feet are well acquainted. You know Finn. He just doesn't always think before he speaks. I’m sorry if he upset you.”

“You shouldn’t apologise for your boyfriend. If I wanted an apology I would have gone to him.” ” Regulus chided. His expression softened, his next intake of breath larger than usual. “Can you just listen?”

“Sorry,” Leo turned to look at Regulus properly. “You were saying?”

Regulus gave a small nod. “I don’t think I want that.”

Leo opened his mouth to speak, remembered Regulus’ request and snapped it shut again.

“Not the kisses. Not the sex. None of it. I think I’m asexual” The words came out in a single, hurried burst, but Regulus seemed to stumble over the last one, as if it was unfamiliar to him, unpractised. Leo could picture his friend frantically asking google questions, refining each search as he learned new information. He’d been there himself once.

A silence hung in the air, the two of them staring at one another, with an intensity that was making Leo feel uncomfortable, but he didn't want to be the first to break eye contact.

“Désolé," Regulus blinked. "Say something. Please."

Leo shuffled forward, his arms outstretched. “I’m going to hug you now.” He waited a beat to allow Regulus to protest, before pulling him close. Regulus sat stiffly, taking a moment to relax into the embrace and when he did, Leo squeezed him a little tighter. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I knew you’d be okay with it,” Regulus grumbled. Leo was sure he heard a hint of relief despite the attempt to appear ambivalent. He let Regulus go, putting some space between them again, knowing his friend had more personal space boundaries than Leo was used to dealing with.

“It’s still scary. Even if you’re almost certain it’s going to be alright. And just in case you need to hear it, I love you, you’re valid and even if you decide that’s not the right label for you that’s okay too.”

“What are you? Like, gay Yoda?” Regulus gave a small laugh, but he sniffed wetly. “Thanks.”

“A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defence, never for attack,” Leo made a fist, wrapped his other hand over the top and bowed his head.

“Nerd.”

“Wait, can I ask you a question?” Regulus’ consenting nod was slow and tentative. “Does this mean you’d prefer if I stop sending you half naked photos every other day?” Leo let the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk.

Regulus barked a very uncharacteristic laugh, deep and loud. “While I can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of Chris Evans, yes, I’ve seen enough of that man to last me many lifetimes .” He punched Leo lightly in the knee. Leo raised an eyebrow at the very frat - boy inspired action, and Regulus made a face that suggested he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from either. “I’m sure company is not an issue for you in this household, but don’t worry I’ll still watch The Avengers with you.”

“A real hero,” Leo drawled. “Hey.” He met Regulus’ eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note again. “You know you can tell Finn. And Logan, right? If that’s what you want. Whenever you’re ready. They’ll be cool.”

“Yeah,” Regulus breathed. “I don’t doubt it.”

“And if they’re not. I’ll personally kick them in the balls for you.”

***

Leo fussed with his bowtie in the mirror, tilting his head this way and that, trying to decide if it was straight.

“Stop. You look great. They’re going to die,” Regulus declared, making Leo jump slightly. He’d known the man was in the room, but his best friend had a habit of just appearing beside him unannounced.

Leo took another look in the mirror, running his fingers over the slightly raised texture of his initials monogrammed into the teal suspenders. “Yeah, I guess I’ll do,” he hummed, turning to face Regulus, scanning his eyes over him. Even Leo had been surprised by Regulus’ choice of attire, knowing now why he had kept the outfit such a secret. “Bold choice,” he remarked.

“Too much?”

“No,” Leo shook his head. Maybe it would have been on somebody else, but Regulus wore the mustard yellow three - piece effortlessly. He reached out to touch the blue sapphire that embellished the lapel, a gold chain linking it to the breast pocket. “Not at all. I’m just jealous.”

“Alright boys, are we ready?” Alex asked, clapping his hands together.

“Yeah.”

“As we’ll ever be.”

“Ready!” Kuny boomed, making a show of checking his pocket watch, the gold chain attaching it to his vest was somehow, even more ornate than Regulus’.

The four of them turned to glance at Remus, the only one in the room left to reply. Shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, Remus smiled. “I guess I can’t play with this tie any longer.”

“Alright then. I don’t know a lot about you guys, but I want to see my boyfriend,” Alex rocked on his feet, Leo chuckled, the man pretended he was so much more chill than his younger brother, but excitement seemed to bubble under his skin all the same. Leo didn’t blame Alex though, separating the partners into different rooms had seemed like a good idea earlier in the evening, but now he just wanted to see Finn and Logan, ideally before he exploded with anticipation. He couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for those of them that had to wait for their partners to arrive from the Potter’s house, where the ladies had opted to get ready.

“Yes. I want see Jackson,” Kuny nodded resolutely.

“Lord, help me,” Regulus whined. Leo just laughed, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

***

“Cap! Stop undressing Loops with your eyes, he put a lot of effort into finding that suit.”

“Kuny. Put Nado down. There are people here.”

“Harzy. Are you crying?”

“You can close your mouth now, Leo.” Regulus tapped a finger lightly against Leo’s jaw. He would have tried to defend himself from the accusation, but he couldn’t deny the quiet clink of his teeth snapping back together.

“I’m just going to need a minute,” Leo mumbled, dragging his eyes over Finn and Logan’s bodies.

“Take your time,” Regulus chuckled. “Is-” Regulus leaned forward, squinting slightly. “Does Finn’s jacket match the invites.”

“I think they’re flowers.” Although, from afar, the swirls of blue and silver painted over the jacket did resemble the night sky artwork the two of them had settled on for the invites. Leo had insisted they needed them despite Regulus’ very valid point that saw all of the attendees at least once a week. “I’m going to go and check,” Leo waved a hand towards his boyfriends. He could see Logan’s lips moving, Finn’s grin widening with each word and Leo wanted in on that conversation.

“Sure,” Regulus hummed. “You go and do that.”

Leo stole a glance behind him as he crossed the short distance of their lounge, feeling a pang of guilt about leaving Regulus so easily on what was supposed to be his night. He needn't have worried though, he had barely taken a few paces before Regulus was swarmed by Thomas and James. Leo huffed a laugh at Regulus' disgruntled expression as they fawned at his suit.

***

“Leo. Regulus. Welcome! These must be your guests.” Estella, the only one of fifteen event planners that he and Regulus could agree on, smiled wide. “Is everybody here? I can always have somebody come and meet any stragglers?”

“No, this is all of us,” Leo confirmed. Corralling everybody into the two limos had been a task, but somehow they had all managed to make it to the museum without anybody being left behind.

“Alright then. Follow me. I think you’re going to love what we’ve settled on.” Estella turned on her heel, tight curls bouncing behind her as she led them up the grand staircase. Leo had been to The Natural History museum many times during the day, but the place had a strange sense of awe without the usual bustle of visitors, and he couldn’t wait to see what the events hall had been transformed into.

Estella pushed the ornate double doors open, blocking the entrance with her body. She must have noticed how Leo’s feet itched with anticipation because she gave a small smirk as she stepped aside. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. I’ll be around should you need anything."

Leo looked back at the group behind him; his team, his friends, his family, and felt the pool of anxiety that had been bubbling in his stomach all day, churn again. This evening had started off as being for Regulus, but it had quickly grown beyond that. While prom wasn’t inherently romantic, the traditions that came alongside it were embroiled with ideas that had marginalised so many of them, even if they hadn’t realised it at the time. A part of him hated that a high school event that was truly insignificant in the grand scheme of things could hold so much weight. He wanted to rebel, to not let it be important at all. Another just wanted to be able to give them all the night they had wished for back then.

“What’s the delay?” Natalie’s voice shook Leo from his head, and he glanced to his left at Regulus before moving into the room.

Estella and her team had really come through. They had weaved Leo and Regulus’ ideas on decoration into something spectacular. He had to force himself not to pause again, waiting until he was less of an obstruction to the rest of them, to stop and look up at the ceiling. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny lights strung to look exactly like the night sky. Right in the centre, Leo recognised the pattern to be that of his namesake, one light slightly brighter than all the rest.

“Hey,” Sirius clapped a hand on Regulus’s shoulder. “How come you get to be up there and I don’t.”

“Can’t stand not to be the centre of attention can you, big brother?” Regulus shot back and Sirius just shook his head with a laugh, hurrying after Remus.

***

“This one is for all you loved up folk out there,” the DJ’s voice rang through the room, the music slowly fading from a thuddy beat into the tender piano notes of the next song.

Leo winced as Marlene squealed, tugging Dorcas from her chair, the latter almost tripping over her train in the rush, although she regained her composure quickly. She moved just as swiftly in her heels as Marlene did in her black and white oxfords. He watched the two of them leave, Dorcas’ emerald green dress almost sparkling as it caught the light.

“Go on,” Regulus nudged Leo, tilting his head in the direction of where Finn and Logan had already procured a spot on the dance floor. “Go dance with your boys.”

Leo glanced at Regulus, before turning his gaze to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. He contorted his features into a series of faces that to anybody else probably seemed nonsensical, but they caught on perfectly, answering his silent question with simultaneous nods of their heads.

“Or,” Leo placed his hand, palm upright, on the table. “You could do me the honour?”

“I’m not,” Regulus wrinkled his nose. “You don’t need to -”

“Indulge me, Reggie.”

“Only if you stop calling me that,” Regulus sighed, grasping Leo’s hand. “I’m leading.”

Regulus, it turned out, could dance. Leo was passable. He let himself be led around the floor, laughing with his friend at all the couples that weren’t quite as accomplished, his boyfriend’s included.

The music flowed seamlessly from the deep tones of John Legend into the lighter ones of Taylor Swift.

“Yes! My girl, Tay Tay. Now we’re talking.”

Regulus rolled his eyes playfully, “Calm down, Le. I think your gay is showing.”

“Okay, Karen.”

“I am wounded,” Regulus clutched his hand to chest, placing it back on Leo’s hip without missing a beat. He looked up, smiling at Leo softly. “You should go and dance with them now. I think they could do with your help.”

“Non!” Logan argued, stumbling over Finn’s feet once again. “I know how to dance. It is Finn who is a liability,” he added, as they came to a halt beside Leo and Regulus.

***

Reg! Did you see Kam sent the link for the photos?

I did. You want to look at them together, non?

Oui, Oui! Come over now?

Leo waited to receive the confirmation text, before he hurried into the kitchen to compile a selection of snacks, as well as a jug of lemon water for Finn. On his final trip, he added the ever-present jug of sweet tea from the fridge to the tray, setting it all up on the table in front of the TV in the lounge.

“Baby Black is coming over then?” Logan teased, sprawling onto the sofa next to Leo.

“Sssh,” Leo whined, pressing a finger to Logan’s lips. “Otherwise no doughnuts for you.”

Logan gasped, launching himself at Leo, his hands finding the spot below Leo’s ribs where he was most ticklish. “How dare you threaten me with such things?”

“Stop it,” Leo spluttered between laughs, squirming away from the assault. Thankfully the doorbell rang just as Leo thought he was going to have to tap out, Logan letting him up to go and answer it.

It took a few minutes to get all four of them settled on the couch and the photos casting from his cell to the TV, but eventually they managed it.

Kam, and their assistant, had done a great job of capturing the entire night, from everybody getting ready to a very drunk James and Evgeni snoring softly against the giant moon structure. James was swamped by Evgeni’s checked suit jacket and James’ pinstripe one hung from Evgeni’s arm.

“Did you three plan this?” Regulus laughed as a photo of Sirius, Logan and Pascal appeared on the screen. The three of them had chosen to go with a classic tuxedo, albeit with slight variations.

“We did not. We just all have impeccable taste,” Logan retorted.

“Oh my God!” Finn sat forward, squinting at the screen. “They definitely planned that though.” He waved at the image of Alex and Kasey, their suits the same but in reverse; Alex’s jacket a navy blue with a checked grey vest and Kasey the opposite.

“Finn babe,” Leo frowned, sliding Finn’s glasses onto his face. “How did you go the entire night without noticing that. Aren’t you supposed to be the fashion connoisseur, here?”

“I was distracted!” Finn protested. “By…” he beamed as a photo of him, Leo and Logan replaced the previous image. “That.”

Regulus faked a gag, swiping at the phone to get a new photo. Any argument that was about to ensue was abruptly ended as they all burst into laughter. On the screen, a sheepish looking Pascal was being berated by Estella, her finger pointing to the sign to the left of the vine covered swing that Pascal was sitting on that read, ‘For decorative purposes only’.

They went through hundreds of photos. Some of them were sweet; Natalie with her arms wrapped around Regulus’s waist pressing a kiss to his cheek. Some of them were silly; everybody sat in rows on the dancefloor, their arms out to side. Some of them staged; Regulus and Leo sat on the big arm chairs beneath the origami stars. All of them captured tiny moments that none of them wanted to forget.

Leo tucked his head against Regulus' shoulder, trying to stifle his tears. He wasn't upset, not at all. It was just a lot. Seeing it all again. And then he remembered that all the decorations had been donated. Most of the woodland pieces, including the huge faux tree that had stood in the middle of one of the tables had gone to a local young theatre troupe that were struggling to finance their show, and the starry night pieces had gone to a group that were organising a Queer prom for the region's high schoolers that maybe didn't feel accepted at their own. For Leo, knowing that young kids like himself could take their prom photos with whomever they wanted, could truly decide whether they wanted to go with friends or their partners without fear, was the best part of all. Regulus wrapped his arm around Leo, pulling him closer.

"Thank you, I had the best prom ever."

[baepsaesbae]

Before (Heal Me, Kill Me Prequel)

Pairing— Kim Taehyung x OC named Maggie (thanks @kimtaehyunq)

Genre— SMUT, Angst, Vampire!Tae au, Victorian era au

Warnings— Explicit unprotected sex (but like pretty vanilla and loving), some violence and death

Word Count— 4.8k

Summary— Taehyung was a vampire with nothing but time and boredom on his hands. He’s going on his monthly feeding adventures when he comes across a rather peculiar prey. 

A/N— This was supposed to be a drabble but I got carried away and made a full prequel oops. The Heal Me, Kill Me series will be posting starting in October! The pairing will be Kim Taehyung x reader so it’ll be the usual y/n stuff. Thanks for reading, feedback is always welcome~

It was a dark and stormy night. Ok, well it wasn’t stormy, but at least it was nighttime. The year was 1863. Taehyung made his way down to the sketchy part of town, eager for a meal. Opium was all the rage nowadays, but Taehyung despised it. It tainted people, making them even more unbearable than he thought was possible. He drew the line past alcoholics, though he still wasn’t fond of them. However, people were even easier to persuade with absinthe coursing through their veins. 

“Hey handsome, looking for some fun?” a woman approached him from the shadows, her knockers practically spilling out of her corset. She reeked of all sorts of carcinogenic substances. 

“Away with ye, painted Jezebel,” Taehyung shooed her away, and she instantly stood up straight and walked in the opposite direction with a clouded look in her eyes. 

It was hard to come by a decent meal these days. Unfortunately, sticking to the slums was his best option. No one cared if a poor commoner went missing. At least he only had to partake in such grizzly actions about once a month. Any longer than that and he’d be in big trouble (or more accurately, random people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time would be in big trouble).

Something caught Taehyung’s attention. He lifted his chin and took a deep inhale of a sweet aroma that wafted through the air. It was the scent of something he’d never dream of finding in the slums; an untainted individual. Untainted in the sense of a perfectly pure body, not once given into sinful indulgences. 

Taehyung quickly followed the smell, growing more excited with each step. Through the narrowly winding alleyways and past some rather alarming scenes, Taehyung did not stop. He could barely keep himself from salivating once he arrived at the source. 

There she was. A beacon of light in the dreary depths of a neglected corner of the world. Taehyung curiously observed her as she fluttered from body to body, carefully checking pulses and offering aid. He couldn’t help but scoff at her earnesty. There was no use in saving these people. They were beyond salvation. Yet, he silently watched her work as she hauled around her makeshift med kit. That was a mistake. The more he watched her, the more personal interest he took. 

After devising a plan, Taehyung was ready to make his move. He started at the opposite end of the street, intending to meet up with her somewhere in the middle. He crouched beside each body with an extended hand; random passerbys would see a well dressed man committing charity work out of the goodness of his heart. That was his intention, though he was merely hypnotizing each person into a deep slumber if they weren’t already passed out. 

“Are you looking for someone, sir?” the young woman piped up behind him.

“Not in particular,” Taehyung coolly answered as he stood up to face her.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but may I ask what someone like you is doing in a place like this if you’re not looking for someone in particular?” she crossed her arms with distrust.

“Is it a crime to want to help out the less fortunate? What we’re doing doesn’t seem to be much different. May I ask what a young girl like you is doing out here all alone in the middle of the night? It can be very dangerous,” his deep voice resonated in the air. 

“Oh. You’re helping them too? I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean any harm. People like you just don’t really come down here unless it’s for certain unspeakable acts,” she bowed her head apologetically. 

“Unspeakable? You help the people who partake in such acts,” Taehyung observed keenly, “Why bring them aid?”

“If I don’t, no one else will,” the girl answered solemnly. 

“That simple hm? You seek nothing in return? Or is your vice that of self appointed importance?” Taehyung slowly approached the girl. 

“I help them because they need it. Because they’d die without someone like me,” the girl held her ground.

“How admirable. I’m impressed, young miss. Please don’t think I was insulting you, I’m genuinely fascinated by you. Would you care to accompany me for dinner?” he extended his arm to her ever so slightly. 

“It’s a bit late for dinner isn’t it?” she responded timidly. 

“I suppose calling it a midnight snack would be more fitting. Your answer?” Taehyung asked calmly, concealing his impatience. 

“Forgive my apprehension. I’m sure you’re a fine gentleman, it’s just that this isn’t a place one would normally find fine gentlemen. I’ll gladly join you for breakfast in the morning,” she countered.

Taehyung’s eye twitched with frustration, but luckily it was too dark for the girl to see it. He needed to feed. That night. 

“I’m not keen on breakfast meals. How about tomorrow evening, during normal dinner time hours? Unless you can’t skip a day of helping the helpless,” he suggested. 

“That would be fine,” the girl finally agreed, “Oh, and I never caught your name, sir.”

“Taehyung. Pleasure to meet you,” he bowed elegantly.

“I’m Maggie, the pleasure is all mine,” she curtsied awkwardly.

After hashing out the details. Taehyung reluctantly left her alone. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into her jugular, but something held him back. His curiosity got the better of him, but after living for all these years it was hard for him to find something interesting. He figured it couldn’t hurt. 

Taehyung cursed himself as he tore into an unsuspecting victim who had passed out drunk on the street. He retched at the foul taste, but this is what he has had to resort to. He couldn’t afford to be run out of another country yet again. His more refined taste would have to be put on hold for the time being (oh how he missed the good old days when people feared him enough to bring pristine victims monthly).

Rain lightly tapped against the window that Taehyung gazed out of as he scanned the crowd for Maggie. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, though a single drop of her blood would tell him everything he needed to know. Of course, that wasn’t as entertaining as an old fashioned conversation.  

Maggie finally arrived, and the restaurant host escorted her to the table. Taehyung could tell that she made an effort to look presentable. He reasoned that she was wearing her finest dress, though it had a plain and rather boring look to it. Plus, she wasn’t even wearing a fancy hat, much less a bonnet. 

“Good evening, Mr. Taehyung,” she curtsied before she sat down.

“Good evening, Miss Maggie. Have you been well?” Taehyung asked politely. 

“As well as I can be, I suppose. Yourself?” Maggie extended the same courtesy. 

“I’m splendid, now that you’re here. Tell me about yourself,” he dove right in. 

“I’m just an average girl. Nothing really special about me,” she shrugged while tugging at a strand of hair, “I never thought I’d be able to eat in a place like this in a million years. You must be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“I disagree. I think you’re the most interesting thing here, apart from me of course,” Taehyung let out a low chuckle, “I gather you come from a poor family? What do they think about your late night escapades?” 

“They’re...gone. Sickness took them. Cholera,” Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “I don’t wanna see anyone else die so I…”

“Ah. That’s your noble cause huh? Admirable,” Taehyung took a long sip from his wine glass.

“And what of you, Mr. Taehyung? You seem rather peculiar yourself. What’s your reason for visiting that ward so late at night?” Maggie deflected the subject away from her.

“You could say I’m a humanitarian of sorts. I visit at least once a month, it’s a necessity for me,” he smiled slyly, “What else do you want to know? I haven’t had a decent conversation in ages.”

“You struck me as rather peculiar. A handsome gentleman like yourself lurking around giving aid to the weak. And then you only gave me one name when we introduced ourselves. I assumed it was your first name, so I gave you my first name in return. Forgive me if I was mistaken,” Maggie took a sip of water. 

“One name is all you need to know, dear. I’m happy we’re on a first name basis. However, I can address you otherwise if you deem it improper,” Taehyung offered.

The rest of the evening went on pleasantly. The meal was delicious, probably the best meal Maggie had ever had. She noticed that Taehyung’s meat was barely cooked, it was practically still raw. She decided not to mention it when she saw him happily gobble it down. Maggie also noticed that his red wine was thicker than what she was accustomed to seeing, but she figured it was a fancy alcohol that rich people drank. She didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking. 

Taehyung’s leg bounced quickly under the table. Maggie’s aroma grew more intense the longer he was with her. Her scent was intoxicating, and it took everything in his power not to take her then and there. He was in a conundrum. He took a liking to this spunky girl. He was torn. He didn’t know when to devour her, if to devour her at all. 

By the end of the night, he had decided. He’d keep her around for as long as he wanted, it wouldn’t be a big deal. He could easily end her life whenever he pleased anyway. The only thing he’d have to worry about was his self control. 

Taehyung and Maggie began to meet regularly. Taehyung would share the finer things in life with her. He’d take her to botanical gardens and fancy museums. In return, Maggie taught him everything she knew about medicine. She detested the use of cocaine as a common remedy, and preferred to make her own medicine. Taehyung accompanied her on her nightly rounds, he enjoyed every second he spent with her. 

It took about a year for Taehyung to officially court Maggie. She accepted, of course, and was now visiting Taehyung’s home for the first time. Home was an understatement. His mansion resided on a massive estate. 

A grand feast awaited Maggie. Her favorite dishes and desserts lined the dinner table, with Taehyung sitting at the opposite end. As Maggie dug into the food, she struggled to hold her tongue. A question had been lingering on her mind for quite some time now.

“Is everything alright, Miss Maggie? Is the food inadequate?” Taehyung asked from across the room. 

“The food is delicious, probably the best I’ve ever had. Your kitchen staff must be very talented,” Maggie shook her head. 

“Ah, I have no staff here. I’m glad you enjoy the food, it was all made by me,” Taehyung said proudly. 

“You take care of this entire property by yourself?” Maggie’s jaw dropped in shock.

“It’s tough sometimes, and lonely. I suppose I could hire one person to help out,” Taehyung lifted his eyebrows at Maggie. 

“M-me? I’m not really a good cook but--”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. As you can see, I have more rooms than I know what to do with. You’re welcome to stay here with me for as long as you like,” Taehyung offered.

“Can you answer one question for me first, Mr. Taehyung?” Maggie asked tentatively. 

“Ask me anything,” Taehyung smiled.

“Are...are you ill?” Maggie looked at him with concern, “Please don’t take any offense. I noticed that we only meet in the evenings or when it’s a cloudy day. And I know that you have a predilection for barely cooked meats, and I’m sure eating raw things isn’t good for you. Also when we first met I thought rich people just had fancy alcohol but I can never see anyone drinking the same concoction as you whenever we eat at restaurants,” she rambled. 

“My my, aren’t you observant,” Taehyung’s lips twisted into an amused smile, “Are you afraid of monsters?”

“Monsters aren’t real,” Maggied quickly answered, annoyed that he deflected her questions. 

“Are you sure about that? Think carefully. I only go out at night or under cloud cover. I prefer my meat raw. I drink a rather strange red liquid that you should be very familiar with since you tend to the drunkards who are bound to get into fights down in the slums,” Taehyung toyed with her. 

“What? Do you expect me to believe that you’re some sort of vile creature that drinks blood?” Maggie laughed nervously.

In an instant, Taehyung’s chair was vacant as he menacingly stood over Maggie, “That is precisely the truth. Have you heard of vampyres?” he licked his lips.

Maggie was too frightened to move. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her? Her eyes narrowed in on the fangs Taehyung bared as he smiled eerily down at her. 

 “I’ve heard of them. The people in the slums are terrified of being sucked dry, claiming that people wandering alone at night have a death wish. I thought they were just delusional,” panic gripped Maggie, “Were you going to eat me the first night we met?” 

“I desperately wanted to. You know the irresistible and mouth watering smell of a bakery in the morning? That’s what you smell like to me, only ten times more alluring and potent,” Taehyung nodded.

“Then why haven’t you yet?” Maggie questioned. 

“Because, my dear Miss Maggie, I am a fool. I have taken a liking to you. As you can imagine, being an immortal being gets lonely. You’ve provided me with more joy and entertainment than I’ve had in a while. At this point, I’d rather have you stay alive,” he sighed. 

“So if I stayed here with you, you’d promise you’d never harm me?” Maggie attempted to calm her breathing.

“Of course, I would not touch a hair on your head. Unless you want me to,” he winked.

“You would make me into a vampyre?” Maggie’s eyes widened.

“I was hinting at a more carnal interaction, but I could do that as well. Do you want an immortal life?” Taehyung’s eyes wandered to her exposed neck. 

“No. Not if it costs others their lives. I must be crazy Mr. Taehyung. You’ve admitted that you’re a monster and yet I still feel safe with you. I would love to move in and keep you company, if you’ll have me,” Maggie smiled fondly. 

“You’re very strange, Miss Maggie. That’s not at all the reaction I thought you’d have, but I’m happy for it. Very well, you may stay here. I can help you bring your belongings tomorrow night,” Taehyung grinned. 

“I’m curious; were you born a vampyre?” Maggie piped up. Taehyung let out a hearty laugh. 

“No, I was a human once like you. I got into a scuffle with a nasty bloke in the 16th century. Rather than killing me, he gave me a far worse end. He turned me. I haven’t seen him to this day, but I’m sure the slimy bastard is still undead somewhere in the world,” Taehyung’s cheery face fell into a scowl. 

“16th century? You’re an old man!” Maggie exclaimed teasingly.

“But I have the physical body of a young man, that must count for something, Taehyung chuckled, ���Come, I can escort you to your room.”

“Am I staying the night?” Maggie tilted her head.

“That was my assumption. You’re free to leave at any time,” Taehyung shrugged. 

“It’s just that...I’ve never left my family home. I’ve been pretty lonely since everyone died. I can’t imagine how you must feel…” she trailed off.

“You’ve helped me with that tremendously. I guess we’ve cured each other’s loneliness, yes?” Taehyung cupped his hands over Maggie’s.

It was the first time he had ever touched her. His fingers were ice cold, resembling the kind of cold only a corpse could possess. Instinctively, she took his hands in hers and attempted to blow warm air onto them. Taehyung knew it would never work, but he appreciated the gesture. He pulled her into a warm embrace. 

“Forgive me if this is inappropriate. You make me feel at ease,” Taehyung whispered. To his surprise, Maggie hugged him back tightly. She didn’t say anything, but her actions were clear enough. 

Taehyung sat in an armchair in his room reading a novel a couple hours after he bid Maggie goodnight. He was pleased with the outcome of the night’s events. He was honestly dreading the thought of having to kill Maggie if she were to run away screaming. He was glad things didn’t come to that. 

There was a knock on the door. With a wave of his hand the door swung open, revealing a sleepy Maggie on the other side. 

“I heard a strange noise and couldn’t fall back to sleep,” Maggie yawned. 

“Don’t lie,” Taehyung chided without looking up from his book. 

“I’ve never slept away from home before and being alone in that big room scares me,” Maggie admitted, her eyes cast down to the floor. 

“That’s what I thought. You’re welcome to use my bed. I’ll stay here while you sleep,” Taehyung finally looked up and kindly gestured to the large bed.

“Where’s your coffin?” Maggie asked as she wiggled into the sheets. 

“That’s a stereotype. Do I look like the type of guy who sleeps in a stuffy wooden coffin? Nonsense. However, there is soil from my hometown beneath the bed,” Taehyung tsked.

“Really?” Maggie’s eyes grew wide. 

“Nope. Go to bed, Miss Maggie,” Taehyung chuckled. 

“Care to join me?” Maggie asked as she stretched. 

“I’m not going to sleep--”

“Then neither am I! I’m practically wide awake now,” Maggie interrupted him. 

Taehyung put his book down and walked to the bed, opting to sit on the end, a respectable distance away from Maggie. They talked the night away. Now that Maggie had some time to process everything, she had a plethora of questions ranging from vampyres to fashion throughout the years. 

“So have you ever been married? Or in love?” Maggie probed. 

“Never been married. Have been in love a few times. As you can imagine they all ended in heartache. Truthfully, I’ve been questioning why I let myself get so attached to you,” Taehyung confessed. 

“I’m glad you did. Because I love you, Mr. Taehyung. I fell in love with your grace and intellect, and of course you’re extremely handsome. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way about me, I just wanted to be candid with you before living together,” Maggie tugged at her hair. 

“Miss Maggie, I foolishly fell in love with you. You’d be one with the dirt by now if I hadn’t been so enthralled by you. Hm, that didn’t come out very romantic,” Taehyung shook his head before continuing, “The feeling is mutual. I know I can’t give you a normal marriage, but I promise to love you until the end.” 

Maggie crawled towards Taehyung and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Taehyung deepened the kiss as he pushed her flat onto the bed. Hands wandered. Giggles filled the air. Clothing fell to the ground. Soon, both beings were stark naked as they gazed into each other’s eyes. 

“Are you sure you want to go any further?” Taehyung asked.

“I want all of you inside me,” Maggie replied as she brought him in for another kiss.

Taehyung guided his dick to her entrance, patiently teasing it as he coated himself in her juices. Once he was drenched, he slowly slid into her, giving her time to adjust to his size. She let out soft moans as he went deeper. 

They laced their fingers together once he began to thrust. He started slowly, making sure she was enjoying herself. He wanted to enjoy all of her delicately, taking careful care not to break her. His prior flings with the whores in the brothels was different. He didn’t care about them, he used them solely for his own pleasure. But this time, he wanted to please Maggie. He was happy to see her eyes shut with pleasure as he picked up the pace. 

Taehyung placed his thumb on a certain little sensitive nub, making Maggie jump. Her eyes were blown out with lust as she arched her back. Taehyung worked her body perfectly, timing his thrusts with the clitoral stimulation. It didn’t take long for Maggie’s entire body to shake. 

“Tae-Taehyung I--”

“Go ahead. Just let it all out, Maggie,” Taehyung demanded. He accidentally let his power of persuasion slip into that statement. Maggie came on the spot, cumming all over his cock as she moaned. It wasn’t long after until Taehyung released his seed inside of her. 

Maggie’s chest heaved as she lay motionless on the bed. That was the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. Taehyung cleaned her up before tucking her back into the bed. Once he cleaned himself up, he joined her side. 

“Don’t worry about getting pregnant. I’m technically dead anyway,” he kissed her forehead before they both dozed off. 

Taehyung woke up the following evening to an empty bed. He searched the house, unable to find Maggie. He began to worry. Did she leave him to get help? Did she abandon him?

“Good morning! Sleep well?” Maggie called out to him as she walked through the front doors.

“Why were you outside?” Taehyung questioned quickly.

“Lemme show you,” Maggie took Taehyung’s hand and led him outside. She proudly showed off a patch of crudely repotted plants. She explained to him that she went into town to get a few. Since she’d save a couple lives here and there, some people felt indebted to her. She called on her favors and managed to wrangle up a couple flowers and herbs.

“I love the botanical garden you always take me to. I figured we can try and make our own here since you have so much space,” Maggie smiled.

“Do you garden often?” Taehyung asked while looking at the half wilted plants.

“Never have, but it can’t be that hard right? Just give them water and love. Just watch, this place will rival that fancy botanical garden,” a flicker of determination lit up in her eyes. 

Several happy years later, Maggie had kept her word. It had been ten wonderful years filled with merriment. Taehyung was not the man he was before. Maggie had softened his heart, and he was thankful for it. He accompanied her when she tended to the people in the slums, learning the art of medicine by her side. She even helped curb his bloodlust. Taehyung only fed on the people who were beyond help, or those who actively sought death. Maggie still didn’t like it, but of course that was out of her control. 

Taehyung’s arms were wrapped around Maggie as they admired their personal garden. It was a struggle at first, but they discovered that Taehyung had a godlike green thumb, and basically resurrected the plants back from the dead. With his guidance, Maggie was able to see her vision come true. 

One night, Taehyung had to leave the mansion for a few hours to meet with his business colleagues (he was a rather savvy businessman, being around for a couple hundred years does that to a person). Taehyung itched to return to Maggie’s side and barely paid attention to the meeting. She always claimed that she would be fine, it was only a couple hours after all. Even so, Taehyung worried about her. 

Finally the meeting was adjourned, and he was free to rush home. He found the front door unlocked upon his arrival. He gave the handle a quizzical look, he was sure that he had locked it. 

“Maggie? Where are you?” he called out. 

“Taehyung! Run away--” Maggie’s muffled scream came from the dining room. 

Two big men stood at either side of a tied up Maggie, who now had a black eye. One of the men held a knife to her throat, close enough to draw out an inkling of blood. 

“‘ello, Mr. Taehyung. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” a third stout man with a thick cockney accent emerged from a corner of the room, “I’ll cut to the chase. You let us kill you, and the little missy gets to live. If you resist, she dies. Simple as that.”

“Who are you people? You’re making a huge mistake. I have connections all over the country that--”

“Spare us the horseshit. We know what you are, filthy vampyre,” the word rolled off the stout man’s tongue like a slur, “The VEC sent us. You know ‘em? Stands for ‘Vampyre Extermination Company’ it does. We’re the best they ‘av, so you might as well surrender now.”

“Oh you already know? Lovely, that saves me time,” Taehyung growled as he seemingly phased from where he stood over to Maggie (but vampyres can’t teleport, they just have super speed and can fly sometimes).

In the blink of an eye, he broke the neck of the man who held the knife and threw the other guy across the room. He quickly released Maggie, and hugged her tightly before returning to attack the intruders. He lifted the stout man by his neck and held him against the wall.

“You sure you’re the best? The VEC must be a pretty unsuccessful organization,” Taehyung taunted. 

“I told yous we should’ve just killed her in the first place and then ambushed him!” the stout man yelled to no one in particular. 

Taehyung sank his fangs into the man’s neck, before ripping out a piece. He was going to enjoy torturing him. It was what he deserved for harming his beloved Maggie. A gunshot went off, stopping Taehyung in the middle of his raging frenzy. 

Taehyung looked back in horror. Maggie held her bleeding stomach, sinking to the floor. The man he had thrown at the wall earlier was wielding a gun with a smirk on his face. Taehyung lost it. He ripped the assailant’s beating heart out from his chest.

He scrambled over to Maggie, cradling her in his arms. 

“That hurt,” she joked weakly.

“Shh, don’t speak. I have to get you to a doctor. I can carry you--”

“It’s too late. This wound is worse than most of what we’ve seen in the slums. I’m just sorry I have to leave you so soon,” a tear rolled down her cheek. 

“No! No please don’t leave me. There’s still time! I can turn you and we can be together forever,” Taehyung wept.

“You know I never wanted that. I’m sorry I’m being so selfish,” Maggie coughed  up blood, “I love you, Mr. Taehyung. Don’t ever forget that,” she said with her final breath. 

Taehyung held her until he saw the light leave her eyes. Anguish and sorrow filled his soul. He held her close and sobbed over her lifeless body. 

“You tricked her into lovin’ ya, eh? There’s no end to the wickedness of you bastards,” the stout man struggled to say as he drowned in his own blood.

Taehyung gently laid Maggie’s body on the floor and walked over to the stout man. He stepped on the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe and adding pressure to his gaping wound. The man’s eyes screamed in pain as Taehyung looked down at him blankly. 

“The VEC huh? I’ll remember that. I’ll see you in hell someday,” Taehyung spat as he trampled the man beneath him.  

Taehyung didn’t leave Maggie’s side for a week straight. He couldn’t bear to do anything; he didn’t want to admit that she was gone. His heart broke every time he saw her, but he couldn’t bring himself to move her. It wasn’t until her corpse was a bloated smelly mess that finally motivated Taehyung to move.

“I’m sorry I let you become this way, Miss Maggie,” Taehyung whispered as he carried the body out to the botanical garden. He buried her there, among her cherished plants. 

Taehyung fled his estate. The crime scene wasn’t discovered until a year later when his business associates came to check on him after he missed several meetings. 

Taehyung swore that he would never love again. Never open up again. And never ever, under any circumstances, interact with the VEC. As much as he wanted to tear the establishment apart, he knew Maggie would be against it. He couldn’t bear disappointing her, even in death.  

He settled down in a small unsuspecting town in a different country. He bought an abandoned property where he swore he’d live out the rest of his days quietly and peacefully. 

Published August 21st, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2019 Baepsaesbae.

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[spooky-activity]

Just a little update on Cassandratopia 2: Electric Boogaloo (Or as it stands in my Google Docs folder rn, A Helping Hand). I’ll put it under the cut cuz it’s kinda long. 

I just wanted to say that I’m still planning on actually doing it, despite all evidence to the contrary lol 

I did Cassandratopia in a haze of graduating from college(where I was studying animation) and just having ended my first dnd campaign as a dungeon master (which went 3 years!). I was fishing around for internships, but since the pandemic had just kicked off I wasn’t having much luck. So I had a lot of creative energy that wasn’t getting channeled anywhere, and a lot of free time when I wasn’t applying to places. Which is how I did 4 pages a day several times per week. Which was insane. 

As it stands, I’m running 2 dnd campaigns(one meets weekly, the other every other week or so), and just scored a full-time internship at a video game company! The campaigns I’m running are a homebrew open world, which, for those of you who aren’t too familiar with dnd, is a metric fuckton of work to prep for each session because I have no idea what my insane friends and siblings are going to try and do every time we play. 

Anyways all this to say that my storytelling itch is kinda. Sufficiently getting scratched atm and I have a lot less free time. I’m still plucking away at the setting/refining the story of A Helping Hand, but it’s largely on the backburner. Cassandratopia was also, uh, like the first story I’ve ever told in any sort of format besides the give-and-take of dnd, so... I’m not used to having so much control over the narrative. Oddly. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a writer of stories; my main focus is character animation, so someone else is usually writing the stories I’m telling anyways, which is super cool with me. Honestly I’m surprising myself with how much I want to tell this story, which is why I’m still sure I’m doing it. Just. Slower. Than Cassandratopia got done. 

But I’ll share a bit of the lore I’ve been cooking up! Specifically about Zhan Tiri and The Drops. The story will be told in an extremely dnd type setting, because that’s the kind of narrative I’ve told before and am comfortable telling: hard magic rules, neat fights, scary monsters, a dash of eldritch horror, and huge emphasis being put on magical artifacts(kinda like in the show!). Here’s some stuff that’s basically locked-in. 

Zhan Tiri

Zhan Tiri is one of the many Demon Lords of the Abyss. She’s kind of a mashup of two of my favorite Demon Lords, Zuggtmoy, the Lady of Rot and Decay, and Pale Night, the Mother of Demons and Queen of the Night(with just a dash of Hannibal Lecter because who doesn’t like helpful, polite, manipulative-ass bitches lksjflkja;fj). Her domain sits almost exactly between the Sundrop and Moonstone, largely being the new growth that comes from death, and the endless cycle of life and death. Places where her influence is strongest includes the cracks in... Well anywhere really, from society to the planet’s shell, where metaphorical or physical rot could grow; musty, mostly ignored places where something could fester. Iconography related to her would include endless mazes, fungi, grasping skeletal hands, and rotting/blooming corpses. Her spores can animate corpses, which she likes to use as mindless minions when she doesn’t feel like sending one of her Acolytes. She shares a scrap of her power with those few mortals she likes. She appreciates ambition and the desire to Grow to be bigger than what you were to start with, as those are qualities she herself possesses. 

Incredibly intelligent and merciless to those she deems her enemies, her main thing is pulling the strings from the shadows and seeing just how far she can push people to act with as little prompting from her as possible. She does, however, have the power to kinda bulldoze her way through things if she needs to, but she doesn’t like to because where’s the fun in that? 

She first gained interest in the Material Plane when a Wizard with too much hubris from said Material Plane(Named Demanitus) contacted her trying to figure out more information about The Drops and how to control them. After indulging him for a bit, she started preparing to make a summer home on the Material Plane because it’s New and Fun here and Wow These Mortals are Really Fun to Mess With! And some of them she even genuinely liked! Demanitus then realized his mistake and locked her away in Pandemonium for what he hoped was forever, but turned out to be only around 1,000 years, due to the efforts of her followers. Her little stint in Pandemonium magnified the more... Chaotic aspects of her personality, so now she wants to cover the Material Plane in blooming mazes of fungal crops that she can break people with at her leisure. 

The Drops

The drops are two semi-sentient pieces of one original artifact, whose original purpose was to be a tool of creation for the gods. Which, through some great calamity(still deciding that one), got sundered and settled into the two basic aspects of creation: the nearly unlimited well of life-energy which organizes stardust into planets, cabbages, and kings, and the “you gotta crack a few eggs to get an omlette” destructive force which breaks down what the sundrop makes so that it can make more. 

The main goal of the drops is to reunite. I would want to as well if I was ripped in half! This manifests as a... General tug in the direction of the other drop. A desire in the host to Go That Way. It can be resisted, and even ignored for a bit, but it’s always there. Like being hungry if starving wasn’t a danger. Just a bit uncomfortable if you aren’t going That Way, but ignorable. 

Both drops generally try to be as helpful to their wielder as possible, as originally they were a tool of creation to the gods. They are innately obliging. They’re also REALLY UNSAFE FOR MORTALS TO BE MESSING WITH. The Sundrop is a little safer because the most it can do is kinda. Overcharge you into something distinctly not human but still alive, and King Fredrick was lucky he made the Sundrop into soup before giving it to Arianna. But King Edmund got his wholeass arm blasted off for touching the Moonstone. 

The Sundrop

Best I could whittle it down, the Sundrop has power over life energy, like the sun’s light. It also has power over the energy derived from geothermal activities, so deep sea creatures Are Not Immune To The Sundrop, which was a funny thought that crossed my mind that they could be, but that will likely never come up anyways salkdjf;ljsf It is, in its basest form, Growth and Progress. 

It’s a little sentient, but very much entrenches itself into whoever is holding it at the time. Like another mind looking through your eyes and seeing what you see/feeling what you feel while still retaining a bit of individuality from the host. It’s not... Parasitic because it’s in its nature to give, but it’s generally pretty firmly attached to whoever is holding it until they die( which isn’t usually for a WHILE. It ’infects’ a new host when one dies, usually a plant near their grave...) or until a solar eclipse. It wants what they want, but it’s very fussy so they have to ask it for power exactly correctly(like singing an incantation every time you want to heal someone, or doing a Ritual involving lots of very specific ingredients, Celestial Alignments, and Secret Words) or it won’t listen, like an orchid dying if the ph balance is off in the soil by a little bit. But it’s generally pretty intuitive to use, because it wants what you want and (as long as you ask right) is willing to help. 

Anyways basically under the influence of the Sundrop you get a few things: 

Basically limitless energy coursing through your body while you’re in a place with sunlight, which equates to rapid healing, mostly, because every cell in your body is being supercharged with free energy. Never getting exhausted in direct sunlight. (If Rapunzel lived in a place that was sunny 24/7 like near one of the poles she wouldn’t have to sleep like. until it started to get dark in the opposite half of the year. Then she’d have to sleep like a regular human being)

You stay at your prime, or if you are past it, revert to your prime. Someone who is holding the Sundrop, or who has regular access to the Sundrop’s magic can’t die of old age or illness. They have to be hurt beyond the Sundrop’s ability to heal or have it taken away from them. 

The ability to share this rapid healing with others (if you ask right)

The ability to freely draw on the raw, near-limitless energy of the sun to shape into things like cool-looking energy blasts (only if you ask right) 

The Moonstone

The moonstone has powers over varying levels of destruction: from destroying things by ripping them apart/ to Not Letting Things Be Destroyed(also known as protecting) by freezing them in indestructible rock. Like the moon, it can ‘reflect’ a bit of the sundrop’s power, so it can kinda provide energy, albeit a lot less than the sundrop can provide. It’s the inevitable march of The End of All Things, fertilizing the fields of time with the ashes of the old so the new can take root. 

The Moonstone is a bit more in the dark(pun intended hehe) when it comes to bonding with someone, it can only try to figure out what is going on based off the emotions of its wielder, and through anything directly touching the Black Rocks. Because of this it’s... Kinda dumb? It tries to do things to help(Like shooting red fear-rocks to try and scare away whatever must be scaring its wielder so badly) but often fails spectacularly at helping. 

Under the influence of the Moonstone you get: 

Mortals get Neat Body Armor that’s actually just you being turned into a rock! They are very fragile! They need to be protected! The best the Moonstone can do to try and preserve you is to Stop All Destruction by.. Pausing all bodily functions indefinitely. Rocks don’t need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and almost nothing can destroy you if you’re solid Black Rock. The weak reflection of the Sundrop’s energy keeps the host animated, but they’re not exactly alive anymore. Like cryostasis. Wounds (if any) acquired in this state won’t be a problem because they’re not messing anything up, because nothing is technically working in the first place, but they will be a problem when you’re not protected in this way anymore. It’s a cosmic ‘I’ll deal with that later’ button, essentially. 

Like the moon, the Moonstone can reflect the light of the sun. It uses its rock crystals to do so, which can even split the sun’s power into different shades, like a prism. Essentially, different colored rocks can mean new and exciting power sets. 

Blue Lightning! The Moonstone can reflect the Sundrop’s power, so it also has access to pure bursts of energy, even if it is weaker and colder. 

The Moonstone is very helpful, but usually has no idea what you want. ‘Asking’ the Moonstone for more control over its power in the same way you would Ask the Sundrop for more power reminds it of the perfect bond it used to share. The Moonstone’s incantation deepens the bond between wielder and Moonstone in such a way that it actually knows what you want from it, giving you near perfect control of its powers.

*This is kind of just a side note of the Drops: While the Moonstone is weaker than the Sundrop in an head-on fight, it could hold its own if it were on the defensive. Redirecting the power instead of trying to overpower and such.

** Cass made of rocks means I get to draw her skeleton :) not in every picture that would be fucking nuts and way too much work alskjdf;lkjs;fv

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Tea for Two

It’s Tuesday, Neville thinks. Tuesday morning, and I’m walking down the lane, on my way to my favorite cafe instead of double Potions or Transfiguration or out to the greenhouses for Herbology.

He looks at the ordinary English street, filled with Muggles going about their lives. It’s been five years, he thinks. Will I ever get used to not being at Hogwarts?

Probably not.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t actually do much. He studies advanced herbology from home, and has extensive greenhouses of his own. He’s doing research on plants with healing properties, specifically those that may possibly have effects on long-term brain injuries. He’s got a personal stake there, of course, but no one’s arguing with him yet. And he also grows a lot of flowers and vegetables; there’s no magical reason, it’s just soothing to be in the garden. Plus it’s nice to eat the things he grows, and the flowers just make him happy. His parents even seem to like his tomatoes and peppers, even if they don’t quite say as much, and the flowers he brings add a bit of life to their room.

So he’s actually doing rather a lot, he just doesn’t do much that involves other people. Harry and Ron pushed him towards auror training after Hogwarts, but he’d had enough of warfare and fighting. He likes the quiet of his gardens. The thought of being at the Ministry day after day gives him a stomachache.

But today he doesn’t have to think about all that. It’s just an regular Tuesday morning, and he’s just going to have tea at the cafe, because he likes their scones and Katy always smiles and greets him by name, and sometimes they talk about her kids and sometimes they talk about his plants.

Ordinary things for an ordinary day.

* 

“Hi Neville!” Katy smiles at him when he pushes open the cafe door.

He smiles back, pushing aside the somewhat melancholy thoughts of his walk. “Hi Katy,” he says. Nodding behind her he adds, “Looks pretty busy this morning.”

“Every table’s taken!” Her smile falls, just a bit. “Do you mind sharing? Your favorite table, the one by the window, has only one gentleman sitting at it. I don’t think he’d mind; he’s quiet, but he’s a polite sort. I don’t think either of you would be bothered too much. You probably wouldn’t even have to talk with him, he’s reading a book–”

Neville stops her with two raised ‘I surrender’ hands. “It’s alright, Katy. I’ve shared tables before, I’m sure it won’t ruin my morning tea.” He winks. “Just so long as there are still some of Becca’s blueberry scones left. If not, I’m back out the door.” He turns to leave, an exaggerated, slow turn that has Katy laughing again.

“Plenty of scones for both of you,” Katy says. At Neville’s questioning look, Katy says, “They’re his favorite, too.”

She leads him to a table where a young man with white blond hair sits, staring out the window and sipping tea, a book open on the table in front of him. There’s a leaden feeling in Neville’s stomach. It can’t be, Neville thinks. It just can’t. Didn’t he go to Azkaban? But no, that’s not right, Not Azkaban. Something else for this one. Neville can’t remember. But it doesn’t matter, because it can’t be him anyway–

But then the young man turns, and of course it is him, Draco Malfoy, Neville’s one-time tormenter, one-time enemy, and now….

Now. What exactly is Draco Malfoy now?

Katy speaks quietly to Draco, who in turn smiles and nods sympathetically. Neville sees the words of course on his lips, and Katy turns to Neville and ushers him to the empty chair. Neville hesitates, but only for a moment. He can handle this. He’d survived the Carrows. He’d survived Snape. He’d survived the Battle of Hogwarts, all the Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself.

Surely he can survive tea with Draco Malfoy.

And then Draco looks up and sees him, and he feels like running away.

It’s only for a moment, just a fraction of a moment really, but he feels like that little boy learning to fly again, the one afraid of the blond boy who stole his rememberall, the one who fell off his broom and broke his arm.

But it’s only a moment, and then he sees something behind Draco’s confident exterior, something unexpected.

There’s worry in Draco’s eyes, too.

So he sits, and when he speaks he uses the tone he learned from Luna, the one that says I’m your friend even when the words are talking about everything else. “Hello, Draco. It’s been awhile, you look well.”

Startled, Draco says, “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me Draco, Longbottom. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Neville’s taken aback at this. It hadn’t even occurred to him. “We’re not kids anymore, are we? Maybe we’ve grown past all that.” He shrugs, a little like the old Neville after all. “We can try anyway.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. A shuffling noise beside them nearly makes Neville jump; he’d forgotten about Katy. She’s got an odd look on her face, and he can see that she’s wondering about the rest of the story. He’s going to get an earful later, he knows.

“Could you just bring my usual, Katy? Extra scones today, I’m quite peckish.” He tries to make his smile reassuring. He’s not sure if he’s relaxed enough to succeed.

After Katy bustles off to fetch his tea and scones Draco, regarding Neville with his refined eyes, says, “So you come here often then? Often enough to know Katy and to have a regular order?”

“How do you know Katy? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Katy knows everyone who comes in here,” Draco says, as if that explains everything.

Neville can’t help the thread of exasperation that slips into his voice. “I’ve been coming here three or four mornings a week for the past two years. I stopped in once a few days after I moved to town, had one of Becca’s scones, and I’ve been coming back ever since. Once or twice a week I bring Katy flowers for the counter.” He nods at the vase of daisies and roses near the cash register.

“Those are yours?” Draco sounds surprised, and impressed. “I complimented Katy on them once a few months back. Lilacs, I think, and pale pink roses. She told me one of her favorite customers kept her in flowers. Said he fell in love with Becca’s scones and…” He trails off, just looking at Neville. Finally he says, “They’re beautiful. Do you grow them with magic? I’ve never seen flowers so perfect.”

Neville shakes his head, unsure if he should smile or not, unsure how to take the compliment. “No magic. Just a greenhouse for some of the roses in the winter, and a decent knowledge of how to take care of plants.”

“Only some of the roses?”

“I let a third of them rest each winter. Plants get tired too, if you make them bloom all the time. Most of my flowers I keep on their normal cycles, but I can’t help it with the roses. They’re my…” And then he remembers who he’s talking to, and he gets a bit flustered. “Well. I like them, is all. They keep me company in the winter, give me something to do.” He almost adds someone to talk to, but that’s too much like confiding.

“Do you only grow flowers?” Draco sips his tea, watching Neville expectantly for his answer.

It suddenly hits him that he’s having a conversation with Draco Malfoy. About something as ordinary as gardening. And it’s–well, it’s nice. He risks a small smile at Draco.

“Not just flowers. I have vegetables too, in summer. But I spend most of my time on my magical plants. Mostly I just cultivate and sell some things to a shop in Diagon Alley, but I’m also working on– oh, sorry, you don’t care what I’m working on.” His tea and scones have been in front of him for a few minutes now; he absently takes a drink of his tea and barely notices that it’s too hot.

Draco looks surprised. “Of course I do. I asked, didn’t I?” He gestures encouragingly. “Go on then.”

So Neville explains about his healing plants, and his focus on brain injuries. “I don’t know if I’m being useful or just mucking about, but it’s keeping me busy.”

Draco’s giving him a look like he’s never seen him before. “Do you want to be a healer?”

Neville shakes his head. “I want to be what I am, a herbologist. I want to do research and dig in the dirt and make things grow. And possibly help some people along the way.”

“I had no idea you liked herbology.”

Neville laughs, a short bark of a laugh. “Draco, you never knew anything about me.”

Suddenly Draco, always so calm and cool, seems almost flustered. “I’ve no idea how to speak to you, Longbottom. We spent seventeen years on the opposite sides of an uncrossable line. Or seven, at least. And I wasn’t exactly kind. Not to your friends. Not to you.”

Looking Draco directly in the eye, Neville shrugs. Not an ‘it meant nothing’ shrug, but maybe a ‘we can get past it’ shrug. “Are you still a Death Eater?” He doesn’t know where he’s finding his boldness.

Draco actually snorts. And how is it possible to make a snort sound attractive, Neville wonders, but he pushes the thought aside. Or possibly buries it under a rock in a deep, dark wood.

“I’m not allowed a wand,” Draco says, as if it should be obvious. “If I need magic done I need to ask someone to do it for me. Mostly I don’t, though. I live on my own, practically a muggle. Did you know I have the Trace on me again? The Ministry did it up special. They say it’s not forever, but…” His tone tells all; he never expects to do magic of his own again.

Neville feels a pang at this. An actual pang of sympathy for Draco bloody Malfoy. Because he understands what it’s like to have to live without magic. He’d been thought a squib for so long, and even when he’d gotten his wand he’d been so rubbish at magic he mostly avoided doing it. The DA helped with that.

Standing up to Voldemort didn’t hurt either.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco starts to laugh, but when Neville’s expression doesn’t change the laugh stops on a breath. “You– Merlin, Longbottom, you actually mean it, don’t you.” He shakes his head, a short, well-bred shake. “Never thought I’d hear one of your lot apologize to me for anything. You should be laughing in my face. Kicking me when I’m down, that sort of thing.” There’s not a hint of irony, not a drop of self-pity in his voice when he adds, “It’s what I deserve.”

Neville pushes away from the table and storms away in one smooth motion, his chair clattering to the floor in his wake. He ignores the stares of the others in the cafe, doesn’t even acknowledge Katy’s whispered, “You alright, Neville?”

The only sound–besides the whispers–is his own frustrated breathing. No footsteps besides his own stomps.

Draco isn’t coming after him.

He’s a block away before his head starts to clear. He’s still a jumbled up ball of emotions, but at least he can think a little bit about why. Draco had sounded so much like “little Neville” he’d felt an almost physical ache inside. Neville is a different person now, mostly, but he still holds that little boy close. He can’t ever forget what it feels like to be looked down upon, to feel unworthy of everything, and to know that–somehow–it was all his fault. The grown, somewhat wiser Neville knows that’s rubbish, knows no one deserves to be treated that way…

And yet.

Some wounds will never heal, not completely. All it had taken was a few choice words from Draco Malfoy, of all people. And he hadn’t even been talking down on Neville, he’d been talking down on himself.

He walks as he thinks, and without direction his feet take him to his favorite bench in his favorite park; he sits and almost smiles, feeling his burdens lift just a bit to see the small rose garden all in bloom. It’s blurry though; he swipes at his cheeks, surprised to find a few tears have leaked from his eyes. “Good thing Draco didn’t come after me,” he mutters. “That’s all I need, him seeing me crying in the park.” Not that there’s anything wrong with crying. Not that he cares at all what Draco thinks of him.

He sits up at the thought. Had he wanted Draco to come after him? Yes, he’d been under the impression that they’d been having a nice time, enjoying their tea together, having good conversation. At least at first. But it hadn’t been anything more than that. It’s not like they’d been on a date or anything.

Neville is staring at roses, all red and yellow, pink and white, but all he sees is intense grey eyes.

And he wonders when, exactly, his stomach had started fluttering at the thought of Draco Malfoy focusing that intense gaze on him.

And then he feels it. He doesn’t look round, but he knows absolutely that Draco is there.

Looking at him.

“I wondered if you’d come,” Neville says softly.

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of fabric. Maybe a shrug. “I paid for the tea. And the scones. Katy didn’t want to let me, but I insisted.”

“I have a running tab,” Neville says. He’s still looking down, looking away. Avoiding Draco’s gaze.

More rustling fabric. Another shrug? “Just seemed the right thing to do, after I chased you off like that.” The tone is so self-deprecating it’s almost like a blow.

“You didn’t chase me off, I ran away.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

Neville lets out a breath. He doesn’t want to argue. “I don’t know. Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

Neither of them moves for a minute. Two. Finally Neville says, “It wasn’t uncrossable.”

“It– what?” Draco sounds completely lost.

“The line. It wasn’t uncrossable. You crossed it. You were at the Battle of Hogwarts but you didn’t fight. I saw you there, huddled in a corner with your parents.”

“Oh for– Longbottom, that wasn’t crossing a line. That was staying neutral to save our skin!”

Neville looks up for the first time, lets the corner of his mouth quirk up in an almost smile. “Are you truly going to stand there and argue semantics with me, Malfoy? When I’m clearly giving you an out?”

Draco throws his hands up in the air in an overly dramatic gesture. “Thank Merlin, you’re calling me Malfoy again. Hearing you call me Draco was just too weird.”

Rolling his eyes and fighting back a grin, Neville says, “Sit down, Draco. I do not like looking up at you.”

Draco sits, and rather closer than Neville had been expecting. “Here,” he says, shoving a white bakery bag towards Neville.

It’s heavy with scones, and still warm. He almost reaches in and grabs one then and there. “This is more than I had,” he says slowly.

“Mine are in there too. I thought, maybe...” Draco says, his tongue tripping over the words.

Standing up, Neville says, “Come on, then.”

Draco looks up, unsure.

“I’m not far from here, we can walk. I’ll show you my gardens. We’ll have tea.”

“But didn’t we just–”

“You’re English, Malfoy, there’s always time for tea.”

Draco actually smiles at this. “Alright.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Neville offers his hand. Draco, after a brief hesitation of his own, takes it.

Draco’s hand is warm, and comfortable, and surprisingly calloused. He must actually be working somewhere. They’ll talk about it later.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft, you know. Don’t expect me to start calling you Neville.”

Chuckling softly, Neville squeezes Draco’s hand. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

Draco gives him a curious look. “When did you get taller than me?”

Neville’s laugh bursts out, he can’t help himself. “Somewhere around fourth year. But in case you forgot, I was terrified of you. I generally stayed as far away as possible.” Draco looks embarrassed, like he’s about to apologize, so Neville stops him. “Please don’t. Maybe we can agree to not talk about school? At least for today?” He’s looking at Draco when he says it, and sees understanding flash in his eyes.

“So there might be…” Draco seems unable to finish.

“Tomorrow? Yes. And possibly even another day after that. But let’s just have tea for now, yeah?” Neville doesn’t quite look, but he can see Draco’s soft smile from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, okay.”

 *****

BONUS SCENE:

(Because this was in my head but I couldn’t make it fit anywhere in the story. Enjoy!)

They're sitting on a blanket in the grass in Neville's garden, eating scones. Conversation flows like summer breeze, light and easy.

"You work in a bookshop?" Neville can't hide the surprise in his voice.

Draco grins. "A muggle bookshop."

Neville's eyes widen. "Your parents must hate that."

"Oh, they've got no idea," Draco says. "I tried to tell them I was looking for work and they told me 'A Malfoy does not labor, Draco.'" He gives a derisive snort. "I've no idea what they think I'm doing for money. Maybe they think I found a way around the trace and I'm magicking money somehow? Who knows." He waves dismissively. "We don't see each other much. Our ideals have...shifted."

They just look at each other for a moment. The words are understood, they don't need to be spoken.

"But I like my job. I unload the books and put them on the shelves, and it feels good to do something. And when there's down time I can read whatever I want–don't look at me like that, I actually like to read, though I kept that hidden at school. I had a reputation to uphold." Neville laughs. Draco smiles, actually blushes slightly. "The best part of my job is helping customers find books. It's why the owner lets me read so much of the inventory, so I can connect people with the right books. Maybe what they came in for, maybe something unexpected. Turns out I'm pretty good at it." He shrugs. "At first it was just a job, a way to get money to live. But now..." They both let the silence go for a long moment. Then Draco finishes. "Now, I think I'd miss it. If the Ministry came and gave me my wand back tomorrow, I think I'd still keep working there. I think that's who I am now."

Draco looks away, suddenly very interested in the grass just beyond the edge of their blanket.

Neville reaches across the small space between them, takes Draco's hand in his. He feels the callouses against his palm, calluses earned carrying boxes and shelving book after book.

"I'm glad you found yourself," he says.

And I think I'm glad I found you, too, he thinks to himself.

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Kikuta

Ogata is next. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Kikuta is so serious that it comes off extremely funny. He hasn’t been in a stable relationship for quite a while so getting back in the game gives him headache and upset stomach. For a person that pompous, with a damn jacket made of collected guns, he acts awkwardly sweet and romantic, and he is also a little afraid that it will push his potential partner away. In short, Kikuta is a mess.

Opposite to his own state, Kikuta wants to bring peace to his loved one’s life. He tries to pull off image of ideal man, one that will take off his jacket and cover a puddle with it just for his partner to stay clean. Seeing encouragement makes him more confident, less nervous, and therefore more refined. You’ll be drowning in attention, gifts, praise. Later, Kikuta gets comfortable with his own clumsiness and awkwardness and just laughs it away.

Relaxing together is a must. Impromptu rest in hot springs, not in those controlled by establishments, but in wild ones, is a great example. Reading aloud? Yep. Chilling under the blankets? Yep. Massages and back rubs? Yep. Kikuta manages to make everything wholesome. Thankfully, war couldn’t kill his kindliness.

He voluntarily takes on the role of a guardian angel to protect his loved one from world’s harshness. Kikuta wouldn’t want them to see what he has seen - pain, cruelty, disease - so he made it his goal to improve himself and the world around. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The highest possibility of becoming Kikuta’s friend is either being soldier of 7th division or being nurse that patched him up few times. He is rarely seen out of his missions so chances to get acquainted with him randomly on a street are low.

Kikuta is the friend that bails you out of problems, no matter how serious they are. In a street fight, he will kick any thug’s ass and make them beg for mercy. If you lose the bid while gambling, he will offer his own money and give you a chance to win some back. Overall, you can always rely on him.

Get ready for philosophical conversations over the glass of whiskey. He likes to talk on a variety of topics, especially abstract ones, like life and death, moment and eternity, love and hate. Most of the reasoning comes down to Kikuta’s military experience but can you blame him for it? Many allegories with weapons: “time flies like a bullet”, “life is just being at gunpoint without realizing it”, etc.

Most likely, he will be looking for a person whom he can serve as a father figure. Kikuta needs someone to look after thou he will rather die than admit it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Kikuta has to be in specific mood to initiate cuddles and receive them. If he is busy, he will give his partner a faint smile and ask them to wait a little. Surprise, he doesn’t like spooning since it deprives him of the possibility of seeing their adorable face. Half-spoon sounds good and gives more opportunities like kissing his loved one in the top of their head or ruffling their hair. Honeymoon hug is the all time favorite that he likes to initiate right before falling asleep.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Mediocre in both cooking and cleaning, but, boy, does he want this domestic life? Absolutely. Kikuta dreams about getting away from military, finding a new, maybe, not that exciting, stable job, and settle down with his favorite person and few pups. Hardly anyone knows about it, but thought about a small yard where one can sit and watch the slowly falling leaves in autumn or play in a first snow with his own child in winter makes him so soft. Waking up in the comfort of own bedroom, cooking dinner for the whole family, wandering around his own house… Kikuta can’t wait for it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Comprehensive information about the break-up will be presented at its best in oral or written form. Kikuta addresses everything they are interested in, from reason to the wish to stay friends since his care for their feelings is infinite and he wouldn’t want to leave them without proper closure. After parting ways, Kikuta gives them space to recollect themself, let off the steam, and recover but he plans to come back in their life as a good friend (if they are okay with that, of course).

Kikuta is one of the people that got your back even after bad break-up. You could throw a tantrum, tell how much you hate his guts, and still he will check up on you, protect your name behind the back, and treat you with the same respect as always.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Typical traditional looks on marriage, would want to get married after 1-2 years of relationship. After the appearance of attachment, Kikuta can’t imagine himself with anyone else even if there is a more suitable partner right under his nose. His trust in them is immeasurable: their worst flaws do not don't bother him that much, and when they do, Kikuta tries to gently persuade his loved one into more appropriate behavior. Their past doesn’t matter either unless it is associated with straight-out high treason. Like he doesn’t justify anything but doesn’t seem to emphasize attention on the past wrongs. He is one of the most committed man around, really.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

You have to have Kikuta’s heart set on you for him to show the gentle side. He is polite, it's true, he knows how to court person, but he must force himself to put tenderness in action. Good news: it works like a physical exercise. The more often you do this, the easier it gets. Over time, Kikuta feels comfortable enough to call them pet names like angel or dearest, even in public, without worrying to appear vulnerable.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not the biggest fan of the hugs, but likes to put one arm around loved one’s shoulder. There is no particular reason, Kikuta is just too awkward when someone hugs him. Only his fingertips land on their back or waist, never the whole palm, and he tries to keep some space between them too. The exception to the rule is first meeting after long time apart when Kikuta wants to press them into himself, hold them as close as possible, and live this moment to the fullest.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Hard to say. If Kikuta sees frivolous attitude on their part, if he feels that he is just another pit stop on the road of their love victories, he will keep confession for someone else. Also, Kikuta either chooses the best romantic moment to confess or does it in the most awkward inappropriate time possible, no in between. After this, he is still hesitant to throw sweet words to the left and to the right but he eventually thaws and turns in the softest man, muttering sweet nonsense in his loved one’s ear.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Kikuta can be characterized as selectively jealous with a high threshold of tolerance. He has few people he wouldn’t want see his loved one around and he doesn’t care about everyone else, seeing them as unworthy opponents. One of the chosen people is Usami. Despite belonging to the same division, Kikuta doesn't trust him one iota. Superior private irradiates chaotic energy and aggression that easily can transform into harassment just to annoy Kikuta and bug him. Another one would be Tsurumi, known for the persistent love conquest and violent ways of achieving his goals. The last one would be Tsukishima, simply because he looks like a competitive man in his silent seriousness and devotion.

Poorly tolerates his loved one acting flirtatious, especially with three people listed above. His main coping mechanism is distancing which allows Kikuta to think about the situation and make sure he isn’t overreacting. After that, he decides to discuss the problem since he does want to make this relationship work.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sensual kisser. He starts out as a man who knows what he is doing, skillfully and gently, and grows pretty demanding over the time. Kikuta likes to kiss in a secluded environment where there is no need to worry about anything other than the person in front of him, completely surrendering to growing passion. Yep, lip biting, tongue sucking, everything at the right time and in the right place. Lip kisses are his favorite because Kikuta knows nobody does it better, okay, but he is down for anything else too. He likes to kiss his loved one on the neck as well as plant kisses on both of their hands. And where he likes to be kissed? Lips and, who would expect, clavicles, and chest.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Seeing little kid automatically makes Kikuta nervous since, despite the efforts made, he has difficulties in communicating with them. The only fear Kikuta has is not death, nor prison, it’s crying baby that won’t fall silent after few coos and short cuddle. After several unsuccessful interactions with kids, he wondered if he could become a good father in the future and self-given answer was depressing. If his loved one wants to have children with him in the future, they have to rake the mountain of his doubts.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Chances are you won’t catch Kikuta in the morning because of important business he has to run through the work week. Maybe, you will hear the sound of a slamming door or receding footsteps but nothing more. On the weekends, this man always wakes up earlier than his partner, and almost immediately gets out of bed. Half of the times there will be an easy breakfast waiting for you on the table, and the other half you’ll find Kikuta industriously doing varied housework  Cuddles (or something more intimate) are rare, but Kikuta is more than willing to make up for it during the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Balances time at home and nights out well. Small dinner parties play great role in Kikuta’s life, he loves to invite guests to come over for a cup of tea and small talk or for whole evening of playing hanafuda. Kikuta isn’t the best host but with the help of supportive partner he will be more confident and better one. Spending time alone with the loved one, he likes to talk about the future and about anything at all, play games, or simply cuddle. If we speak about nights put, Kikuta is a big fan of Japanese theater, especially Western-derived shingeki that gained popularity in 1900s, and he insists going there at least once a month.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

First, he needs to get accustomed to the person, to observe their actions towards others so he can build an approximate image of them in the head. After the probationary period, Kikuta begins to gradually open up: his personality is revealed in short conversations over a cup of tea, in talk by the flickering fire, in single phrases like greetings or goodbyes. He often brings up old memories but needs a slight push to go deeper than nostalgic sighs. Never ever has word outburst so you’ll never hear information not meant for your ears.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Scarily cold-blooded when angry, but you have to push to piss Kikuta off, put some effort into it. He is used to deal with all kinds of people. Therefore, there’s already dozen of prepared lines of conduct that can be put to work when somebody is deliberately trying to mess with him. When angered, Kikuta’s first reaction is to shut the person up with one sentence if not a single word. Usually, it works. Sucks that it doesn’t when it comes to broken plate or spilled hellishly hot tea.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Here is the deal: good memorization doesn’t guarantee correct interpretation. Just like the case about the relationship between Ogata and Yuusaku, Kikuta may confuse something and come to the wrong conclusions, so often he chooses too subtly ask a leading question about thing that interests him. He is quite attentive and catches slightest changes in their behavior, listens carefully to the words they speak, but Kikuta can make a fool of himself once in a while. Like he forgot that they have a peach allergy (and he bought like 2 kilos) or they are scarred of big dogs (and he thought they would want to pet that sharp-toothed Kai Ken).

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment would be either proposal or moving in together. Both events mark a new stage in the relationship and keep him on the tiptoes. The day before Kikuta loses his composure: everything falls out of his hands, he cannot eat, cannot drink, cannot sleep because electrifying thoughts don't let him concentrate at all. The limbs seem foreign to him and Kikuta reaches new peak of awkwardness, tripping over his own legs. When the time comes, he is calm again. With the last bit of strength, he puts on a confident face and does his thing. The selected ring fits finger just right as well as his lips land exactly on theirs. After all Kikuta is absolutely sure of his choice and would not want to spend life with someone other than his chosen loved one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

The closer the person gets, the more worried Kikuta becomes. You never know who is friend and who is enemy in the ongoing treasure hunt, who can stab you in the back because of newly devised action plan. To calm the soul, Kikuta may teach them self-defense both barehanded and with the use of firearms. Also, he is always straightforward about people to be careful with and people who can be trusted. For example, he will do his best to hide his loved one’s existence from 1st Lieutenant Tsurumi even if it means Kikuta has to stage their death.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Kikuta is your dream man when it comes to dates, he keeps things classy in the best sense of this word. Outside the military profession, Kikuta has the ability to appeal to the more refined side of himself and share his views with other. He is the one to take his loved one to historical museum or secluded beach at sunset, the one to look for a restaurant that follows Japanese cooking traditions that have been passed down from generation to generation. The only thing that can make him late is the doubts while choosing the best bouquet. On the anniversaries, there’s no tangible difference since he is used to spoil them with attention pretty much every day. Performs home tasks diligently as well.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Kikuta can be stubborn as donkey, godlessly, unapologetically stubborn. On some occasions he agrees with what another person is saying but still does it his own way, without any explanation, just because he thinks his option is better. It is more common in in the professional field but may pop up in domesticity too.

Speaking of work, Kikuta tends to over-work himself when case includes the thing that really interests him. Digging in paperwork brings him a feel of being needed and sense of stability, both of which are not always present in relationships with people. A person can drastically change his mind and words, stab you in the back, leave… but work? Work could never.

Kikuta can be a bore that wants to stay in one place, talk with the same people, speak out the same ideas. Such company will seem dull to over-active, expressive, and extraverted people.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Oooh, you can’t tell it from his face, but Kikuta takes good care of himself. Not a metrosexual, but a type that wants to be presentable at any time. His style is consists of neutral dark colors, smooth lines, as the opposite of his sharp facial features, and even his casual stubble is thought-out accessory. Probably carries his favorite comb in inner pocket to keep his hair smooth.

He has a collection of neckties for all occasions as well as he knows how to tie them in different, often whimsical ways. Kikuta would really like to pass on his knowledge to the son since in his imagination this is excellent example of cool father-son interaction.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Impeccable self-control helps to get though the loss partially. Right after the break Kikuta excuses himself and leaves. He needs fresh air and, maybe, cigarette. Or a drink. Or start his evening routine hours earlier than usual. Crushing awareness comes day later, when he cannot habitually hug his loved one or get an unexpected kiss on a cheek. Heartsore grows harder and goes away for weeks before Kikuta gathers strength to let them go. Restrains himself from relationship for year or two and secretly hopes they will come back.

If they were killed, Kikuta does not pursue the idea of revenge at any cost. He bears the loss steadfastly, self-reflects through long conversations with Ariko, and plunges in overtime work. If Kikuta gets a chance to cross roads with a killer, he will strangle him with them with bare hands, looking straight into the eyes, and watching their life slips away.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Kikuta is a dog person that has never in his life owned a dog. When a stray dog runs up to him on the street, Kikuta always scratches it behind the ear, and asks “who is the best boy”. While in army, he took care of fluffy mongrel that was sneaking around the military base until First Lieutenant Tsurumi ordered to get rid of it. Kikuta still has a dream to adopt few dogs with his loved one so they both can take care of them (and the puppies).

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Eccentric personas. The man is already working with Usami, he is already under tremendous pressure, okay? His psyche can tolerate one freak but no more. Eccentric persona does not mean a common person who has one or a couple of distinctive features. We all have specific oddities. No, we are talking about a walking circus, loud, bright, and defiant. Kikuta tries to avoid this type of people at all cost.

Outrageous rudeness makes him tic too. Ill-timed swearing, terrible table manners, inability to behave in society. Small annoying details add up to one big picture that Kikuta physically cannot ignore. He'll definitely try to change that in person.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Kikuta has an evening ritual he performs every day before going to bed. It starts with attentively checking if all the doors are closed, then he puts out the lights everywhere except bedroom and bathroom. While washing his face Kikuta makes plans for tomorrow. He revises them while choosing clean outfit for the next day and putting them next to his bed so in the morning he could instantly jump into his shoes, pull on pants, shirt, and run on important government affairs. Kikuta is mysteriously silent whole time. Attempts to break the silence with small talk result in short dry answers. This routine never changes, even if someone requires an urgent meeting, since repeated actions bring at least some stability to his life.

Calm sleeper until he has to share a bed with another person. Kikuta’s peaceful sleep turns into terrible insomnia, bags under his eyes start to resemble Tsukishima’s, and he feels just awful trying to explain another person that it is not their fault at all. Intensive training, special meditation, counting sheep do not work so he quietly lies on the back and listen’s to another person’s breath.

[collapsedsquid]

MMT rejects the modern consensus that economies should be steered primarily by the raising and lowering of interest rates. MMTers believe that the natural rate of interest in a world of fiat money is zero and that pegging it higher is a giveaway to the investor class. They say tweaking interest rates is ineffectual because businesses make investment decisions based on prospects for growth, not the cost of money.

MMTers argue that economies should be guided by fiscal policy—government spending and taxation. They want a nation’s central bank to do the bidding of its treasury. So when the treasury needs money, the central bank accommodates it with a keystroke—creating base money from thin air by crediting the treasury’s checking account. The new textbook says that today, governments “tend to run unduly restrictive fiscal policy stances so as not to contradict the monetary policy stance.”

MMT says that, contrary to appearances, banks don’t make loans out of deposits. Rather, they make loans based on the demand for borrowing, then the borrowers stash the proceeds in the bank. Anyone they write a check to simply makes a deposit in another bank. The bottom line is that loans create deposits rather than deposits creating loans. This is one aspect of MMT that even some conservative central bankers—including those at Germany’s Bundesbank—agree with.

To stabilize employment, MMT would add a federally funded, locally administered job guarantee. Government would employ more people in slumps than in booms. Pavlina Tcherneva of Bard College’s Levy Economics Institute is refining the plan. Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Democratic Socialist from the Bronx who’s in her first term in Congress, supports the job guarantee and says MMT should be “a larger part of our conversation.”

MMT challenges a core principle of conventional economics, which is that an increase in budget deficits will tend to raise interest rates, all else equal. Just the opposite, it says, sounding a bit like the White Queen from Alice in Wonderland. When the government spends more, the private sector gets the money and puts it in the banking system. With more money in the system and no increase in demand for it, interest rates will tend to fall, not rise, MMT says. That is, unless the government chooses to soak up reserves by selling bonds, which it doesn’t have to do.

The reason the government doesn’t need to sell treasury securities, or levy taxes, to spend money is that the central bank, under the control of the treasury, can pay for everything by conjuring up electronic money. In MMT’s ideal world there would still be taxes, but their main purpose, aside from lessening inequality, would be as “offsets” to keep inflation under control. Taxes would drain just enough money from consumers and businesses so total spending in the economy won’t be excessive.

It’s tempting to view MMT’s conception of fiscal policy as essentially similar to that of the mainstream—“Hey, they believe in taxes, too!”—but that’s not quite right. MMTers hold that inflation isn’t primarily the result of excessively strong growth. They blame much of it on businesses’ excessive pricing power. So before trying to choke off growth to kill inflation, they would try to break up monopolies and stop banks from making too many loans. “The more actively we regulate big business for public purpose, the tighter the full employment we can achieve,” three MMTers wrote in a letter to the Financial Times’ Alphaville column that was published on March 1.

With that formula, it’s no wonder that MMT has loud critics on Wall Street, where it’s sometimes derided as Magic Money Tree. What’s more surprising is how much flak the school of thought is taking from liberal economists who’d appear to be natural allies, such as Larry Summers, the former Treasury secretary and former Harvard president. Summers has been making the case that wealthy nations are suffering from “secular stagnation” and require permanently high levels of stimulative deficit spending by governments to keep them out of recession, which is similar to what MMT argues. Yet in a recent Washington Post op-ed, Summers called MMT “fallacious at multiple levels.”

Summers and others may be worried that MMT will give a bad name to their more conventionally dovish views on deficits. “As long as they’re out there claiming that standard macroeconomics is all wrong, I guess we need to respond,” Paul Krugman, the Nobel laureate who is a professor at City University of New York Graduate Center, wrote on his New York Times blog.

MMT’s critics argue that trying to use fiscal policy to steer the economy is a proven failure because Congress and the president rarely act quickly enough to respond to a downturn. And they say politicians can’t be relied upon to impose pain on the public through higher taxes or lower spending to squelch rising inflation. MMTers respond that they also oppose fine-tuning and instead want to use automatic stabilizers—including the jobs guarantee—to keep the economy on track.

Here is a piece on MMT for @argumate

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 2 - The Blood of a Warrior (con’t)

Tana dismounted Achaeus in the palace garden and handed his reins to a soldier, then, without showing any signs of exhaustion from their trip, eagerly rushed ahead.

She turned around for a moment, said, "Hurry, Eirika!" and offered her hand. Eirika quickly got off Seth's horse and followed after Tana.

Those in the palace had already been informed that Tana made it home safely. The door was wide open, and in the reception room and on the stairs before them stood a servant and a maid, ready to greet them.

"Welcome home," they said, then bowed their heads.

Eirika was embarrassed by her ragged appearance from the fighting and travel, but Tana had no reservations. She rushed into the throne room, still wearing clothes covered in dirt, and said, "We're home, Father!"

The man on the throne stood up.

He was Hayden, the king of Frelia, known for his wisdom and mild manner. His eyes, full of kindness, slowly widened, and he greeted his daughter with open arms. 

"Oh, Tana, I'm so happy you have made it home safe! When I heard the news that you were kidnapped at Mulan Castle, I thought it would crush my heart."

"I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's alright now that you are home safe. But you must never, ever leave the palace without my permission ever again."

"I've come bearing good news, Father! Come this way, quickly!"

Her Father's words went in one ear and out the other as she turned around towards Eirika with an excited look on her face. 

Eirika stepped forward quietly and bowed deeply at King Hayden. "It's good to see you again after such a long time, King Hayden."

"Princess Eirika, you're safe as well! I've been worried ever since I heard of Renais's fall."

"Yes, I escaped before the palace was taken. Father stayed behind…"

The moment she said those words, King Hayden's face darkened. Eirika remembered the bad feeling she'd had before. It made her cut off her words and stare straight at the king.

"...We received a report about that as well. My lifelong friend, King Fado…" King Hayden showed hesitation, but he stared straight back at Eirika, and continued speaking. "He was unable to defend the castle, and perished along with it.”

When the king's words reached her ears, she stopped breathing.

It was the news that she’d feared most. The one message she did not want to hear. Every time she concealed her emotions, she told herself everything would be okay. The thought that she would one day reunite with her father and brother supported her, allowing her to fight this far and keep running. And now, she'd lost that one thing supporting her.

The room around her started to blur. The color drained from her face, and her feet became wobbly. If Tana's thin arm, and one other muscular arm hadn't each supported one side of her, she likely would have collapsed where she stood.

The person who supported her other side was Seth. He'd been standing on guard behind the two princesses, and immediately rushed up to her.

Eirika leaned against his arm and managed to stay standing.

She felt like crying, so she clenched her teeth to hold the tears back. Her father surely would have scolded her for bursting into tears or losing her composure...

King Hayden looked at her with eyes full of deep love and compassion. "My country of Frelia will avenge the loss of my dearest friend. We will not tolerate Grado's acts of violence!"

But even the king's powerful words could not comfort her in that moment. 

She opened her mouth, but what she wanted to say got caught in her throat, and nothing came out.

In her place, Seth asked, "King Hayden, do you know anything about Lord Ephraim's whereabouts?"

"I received a report detailing that Prince Ephraim won the battle at the border, then marched into Grado. Within Grado's territory is a Castle named Renvall. He seems to be fighting near it."

"So, Brother… He's safe?”

"I received this information from Frelia's elite pegasus knights. However, it has already been several days since the report. I know it’s frustrating not to know exactly where he is at this moment, but… that is all I can say for sure.”

"King Hayden!" Eirika managed to say.

She pushed herself up out of Seth’s grip and managed to stand on her own, then lifted her head up with determination on her face.

"I will go to Renvall Castle, then. If Brother is struggling all on his own, I must go help him…"

King Hayden's brow furrowed in pity, and he shook his head. "I know how you feel, Princess Eirika. You're feeling impatient and anxious, but still, there's nothing you can do. I want you to leave this to the Frelian Army. We will do everything we can to aid Prince Ephraim."

"Thank you. But I cannot wait around. I want to go out to the battlefield myself." As she spoke, she felt that someone’s eyes were on her, and looked at Seth.

He was sure to disagree with her. He would agree with King Hayden's words, and try to change her mind.

Or so she thought. However, the opposite of her prediction was what actually happened. Seth did not say anything, rather, he looked back at her, and nodded slightly.

King Hayden still did not give up trying to convince her. "I cannot allow it. If anything were to happen to you, I would never be able to face Fado."

"King Hayden, we're twins. From the moment we were born… no, since even before that… we've always been together. When Brother is in trouble, it feels as if I am experiencing the same pain. Please let me go."

"Father, please listen to her! Have the Frelian Army go with her as her guard to Renvall Castle!” Tana backed her up from the sidelines.

Still, King Hayden's tough expression did not crumble. "But… we do not have enough soldiers for such a purpose right now. My son Innes is currently leading the main force of the army, holding back Grado's invasion of Frelia. I have very few soldiers I could send as your guard…"

"Of course, I do not want to trouble Frelia at all. Just a very small force would be fine. Either way, I will go save my brother."

"It seems it doesn't matter what I say. All of my words will fall on deaf ears." King Hayden frowned and looked past Eirika. "Are you here, Vanessa?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." She responded, cool and calm.

Eirika turned around to see a woman wearing white armor. She had refined features, making her a very beautiful knight. 

'She's probably a pegasus knight too…' Eirika thought.

"Moulder."

"You called, Your Highness?"

The next person the king called responded. He was a middle-aged man with a moustache.

Compared to Vanessa standing next to him, he was short, stout, and very plain-looking. However, if one looked into his eyes, they could see a glimpse into his vast intelligence.

"Gilliam."

The last name the king called was that of the knight who'd marched with Eirika from Mulan Castle to where they currently stood. He'd been standing guard near the door to the throne room, but came forward when he heard his name. He bowed with the same rough expression on his face as always.

"This order is for all three of you. Aid Princess Eirika and save Prince Ephraim, who is fighting at Renvall Castle on the Frelian-Grado Border.”

"Yes, Your Majesty." All three of them bowed their heads. 

King Hayden turned his gaze towards Eirika.

"These three are my most trusted retainers. Vanessa is a pegasus knight, Moulder is a priest, and you should already know of Gilliam's bravery. They will no doubt be of great assistance to you. While I may have only a few soldiers left to spare, in return, I will prepare ample funds and supplies for you."

"Thank you."

For Eirika, who was tired from fighting and running, and had just been hit with the news of her father’s passing, King Hayden's consideration for her calmed her heart more than anything else in the world could. She knew it would fill her broken heart with strength.

Her dream of reuniting with her father could now never be achieved. But she would save her brother, without fail, then, they would free their father of his regrets.

They decided to set out in two days. Eirika needed to rest, Seth had to let his wound heal, and they needed to prepare their equipment, so even doing the bare minimum would take time.

Though they were worried, they stuck with their plan, and spent two nights at the royal palace.

☆

"You're finally going to leave, Eirika!" Tana whispered to Eirika the night before she was to leave Frelia, while walking together down a long hallway in the castle.

"It seems like it’s going to be a long trip! I want you to take me with you if you can, but…"

"I'm really happy to hear you say that, but it's impossible. King Hayden won't allow it."

Tana nodded, but looked disheartened. "Yeah, I know… I will stay here and pray for your safety. Please find a way to bring Ephraim back safely."

"Of course!"

"All three of the guards Father left you with are really reliable! Vanessa is especially talented, even among the pegasus knights, and everyone respects her. She’s so serious that she’s a bit stiff and formal, so you might have a hard time getting to know her at first, but she’s really a kind person. Moulder looks laid back, but he's smarter than you could ever believe! He has the heart of a doctor, so he'll surely be a big help to you. And you already know all about Gilliam."

"Yes, I do. And I have Seth and Franz with me as well"

"That's true! So long as they're all with you, you'll be safe.”

Tana finally smiled. However, her expression quickly darkened.

"Still, I wonder why the Grado Empire is doing such terrible things. I've heard that Emperor Vigarde is a wise, benevolent ruler loved by the people, so even now, I cannot believe it."

"...I can't, either."

"And I feel the same way about Prince Lyon! I've never met him, but he's close to you and Ephraim, right? So why…?"

"I don't know, either." Eirika looked down at her feet and sighed.

Ever since the war had started, she'd been worried about that. She'd been friends with Emperor Vigarde's only son, Prince Lyon, since long ago. He was kinder than anyone else he'd ever met, and always been considerate of others. She thought of him as a very precious friend.

She was concerned about what he thought of this war. She couldn't possibly imagine that he supported it. Everything happening surely must be causing his heart to ache. He might even be blaming himself for not being able to stop his father.

She wanted to meet with him to talk to him. He was the only one who could stop the emperor's tyranny.

When she safely saved Ephraim, then she would tell him what she was thinking. If anyone could talk to Lyon and persuade him, it would be Ephraim.

That night, she couldn't sleep even when she laid down in bed. And when she did doze off, she had a dream about her brother and Lyon, which woke her up completely.

Morning came without her ever properly falling asleep, and she and her army all left together to travel towards Grado territory.

[tranderas]

My email to Failbetter Games

I rarely see a reason to hide my motivations or actions. I don’t have a lot of regrets in life, because as I got older- I’m 34 now- I came to understand that it’s pointless. Try to learn, grieve things like lost friendships and loved ones as best you can, and be the best person your emotional and physical state allows you to be.

Anyway

To that end, I thought I’d air out my grievances to FBG in a rather long email. It was a long time coming as I wasn’t convinced emails would do anything. Elias on the Failbetter Community discord server suggested I at least try, and I spent a week of proofreading to make sure I was as courteous as I could manage to be despite my feelings. I’m angry, angry because this game was so dear for me for so long and it feels like the current team has taken it in a direction so much in the opposite of what I find fun.

That anger is unhealthy, of course. Art evolves. Bands change their sound because they get bored or they want to make money tapping into a new audience. Painters refine and improve their style. Writers improve the range of their vocabulary and change tone. Everything shifts in this world. The healthiest thing to keep in mind is the fact that the thing you loved was there for that point in time and nothing can take that away from you, from your favorite game as a child to your favorite bands in your teenage years, you’ll always have those moments of joy.

I want to hold onto this moment of joy that I experience with Fallen London as long as possible, so I wrote this email in the hope of convincing them to alter their direction so I can enjoy it a little bit longer. Except for the signature that contained my real name at the end- not that it’s hard to find if you care, as my facebook url is /tranderas- the text is unmodified. Hopefully this shines light on what I want. 

What I don’t want is discussion about my needs. This is my place to explain, to vent, to point people to instead of typing everything out every time someone asks. But enough stalling.

___

Hello, I was encouraged in a Twitter interaction to write in and expand on my thoughts on the game so I figured I would do so now. Since I started writing this email before reading the December balance announcement, I'll address that at the bottom. The sparknotes version of what I'd like is as such: More content in London itself (especially socials), more Zee destinations, a profession uptuning, a fundamental rework of the deck that goes beyond favors, and a non-docks favor buff. From most to least important, the things I'd like to see addressed are:

1. The lack of endgame content within London itself is concerning to me for two reasons:

a. I play FL because it is a social electronic game, and I want to stay in zones in which I can continue to do social interactions. This is the reason I stay in London rather than going to Iron Republic and Port Carnelian, my first and second favorite zones respectively. If I wanted a story rich solo game I'd play Sunless Sea; if I wanted an analogue experience I'd play Blades in the Dark or read one of the books that influenced FL's style.

b. I simply don't like the mechanics of lab or parabola or how they gatekeep content. Because of this I haven't had any free content to pursue since the release of the new heists, and for a much longer length of time before that.

2. I'd love to see the remaining tier 3 professions given something they can do at lodgings. In general I prefer buffs instead of nerfs, especially in story games, and think it would be silly to nerf midnighter/correspondent/crooked-cross downward. Instead, give the others roles, perhaps in special options in the 4/5 card lodgings.

3. With the changes to Paramount Presence and the BDR power creep Notability has been significantly de-emphasized. I'd like that changed. To me the notability grind had the best balance of difficulty to cost-benefit analysis to end reward in the game, and while overcapping removed that, I would like something to use it again to make going above 10 worthwhile more often. Recent BDR items should make going even beyond 15 possible for very lategame players.

4. In addition to more endgame content within London, I'd like more midgame content at Zee. Sunless Sea got me especially interested in Frostfound and Irem, and a roleplay point for my OC is that she'd like to quite literally punch Mt. Nomad to death. Please don't feed us to spiders, though. The ones in London cause enough sorrow.

5. I would enjoy more free spouses that are not seasonal, and more ways to interact with player spouses. Again, it's a social game, and it makes sense to reward a desire to be social with the community. On the other hand, the NPC spouses in the game are limiting in their roleplay potential to the point that I've created a character around the Esoteric Accomplice for one of my OCs to get involved with between one roleplay relationship and another. Now allow me to take a deep breath while I discuss the proposed balance pass. The short version here is that I think it's wrong to release a deck refresh nerf without a fundamental change to what cards appear in the deck, and that the nerf to docks favors and yet another nerf to revs favors is misguided.

Here's the long version: I actually support a removal of the deck refresh mechanic. I got in trouble for calling flash lay resets an exploit on a private Fallen London fan server, and refused to use it until the lab convinced me it was a mechanic intended for use by FBG.

The widespread use of deck resets isn't a problem in its own right; rather, it's a symptom of how fundamentally broken the deck is in its current state. You have cards that are so bad that the narrative acknowledges they're awful and the mechanics give you a way to get rid of them at the cost of objectively worse lodgings. You have story signpost cards that clog up space held by desired cards. It can be nearly impossible to get Portly Sommelier (before deck refreshes i was getting one a month playing 60 actions a day) and dream qualities (my PoSI-ready SMEN alt has DbW3 playing every dream card that comes around). And most lodgings have cards that are objectively bad in a way that no new player can know without reading the wiki or asking someone- the exact problem you claim a desire to address in your announcement.

It's telling that players will do SMEN- a quest chain ostensibly about how much you're willing to sacrifice to some faceless maybe-god- in order to get rid of bad lodgings. I personally only bought back salon (Notability grind), rooftop shack (3 epa wine option), and bazaar premises (5-card potential plus good certifiable scraps/money option) after Trand got St. Beau's Candle, and JanieS only ever got the bazaar premises, her Remote Lodging, and the Orphanage. Even the other 4-card lodgings are only good under specific circumstances, and the rest of the 3s have worse cards with no endgame benefit.

Tranderas and JanieS both use remote lodgings. Trand is stuck with the Advertisements of a New Venture and Devices and Desires cards in his hand. Advertisements is an Abundant-rarity card. Since I have no intention of doing railroad due to disliking its mechanics the card simply sits in my hand. If I discard it, its rarity means it pops back up quickly. I think a way to opt out of story signpost cards such as aunt and railroad would be good progress toward solving the deck problem. There could be a large action or monetary cost involved with both removing it and reactivating it to balance, but without a way to get rid of these story hooks I need to keep refreshing to draw other cards around them.

As for the favors, I consider that part of the change mostly good. However, the docks favors -> Silk expedition doesn't really compete that well with other endgame grinds at the moment. Further, the Revolutionaries favor turn-in was already reduced dramatically this year, and I don't think it needs further tweaking. Rather than tuning docks and revs down, I would prefer to see the other factions tuned upwards, and the cost of earning favors eliminated from their cards (no 10 rostygold donation to the Church, for example). I'd still like to see the faction cards remain in the deck after they're given storylet sources, but made more rare, with the conflict options getting a boost to remain attractive in line with my proposed buff to payouts as they are good for London from a flavor/narrative perspective. In closing, it feels like the current FBG's team has a vision for the game that doesn't mesh well with how I see it and want to play it. Content has consistently moved away from what I want to do, leaving me with only SMEN and cider as goals to pursue (and as mentioned, I've run two characters- Samia R and Tranderas- through the quest chain to its completion). I obviously care about the game enough to want more things I like or else I wouldn't bother writing and proofreading this post or discussing and debating changes on the community discord, so I hope you'll take these opinions and suggestions into consideration moving forward. Regards,

Tranderas

[lsobelevans]

Couldn’t stop thinking about my victorian artist’s muse AU so... this is for Alex week day 6 + time. 

In which, Michael is convinced that Alex is the missing key to their quest in reforming the arts. He just needs to find someone who will paint him right. 

Michael brings Alex to Rosa Ortecho first. 

Her apartment is, of course, planted in the sketchiest street of London Alex has ever set foot in. Michael stops in front of one narrow building, squeezed between a blacksmith and a butcher. Everything about the place makes Alex nervous, he wants to turn around and run back to the respectable safety of his household, to run away from the ceaseless noises, the nauseating smells… but Michael goes in, mindlessly stepping over the body of a passed-out drunk man that was blocking the entrance and Alex would rather go with him than stay alone outside for a single second. 

He follows Michael up the cramp staircase and they only stop at the end, in front of  the top floor apartment. Alex’s apprehension spikes when he realizes some of the noise, aggressive grunts and muffled impacts, are now louder and coming from inside. Michael, still unfazed, knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an invitation. He rushes in, tailed by Alex, to find Rosa Ortecho in men’s trousers and a loose shirt, hitting a bag of sand hanging from the roof. There’s an alarming brutality in her moves, a crudeness Alex isn’t sure he has ever witnessed before. Michael ignores her, removes a pile of books from a couch and sits there, patting the empty space beside him, inviting Alex to join.

“Could take a while,” he says, spreading his legs on a stool. Then he notices Alex’s wide eyes, that he can’t take away from Rosa, as her blows on the bag become stronger and harsher. He’s known her from reputation, of course, but seeing her in person holds nothing to the muttered gossips that have reached Alex’s ears. 

“She needs to get the energy right. She’s conjuring all the life she can.” Michael explains. Now he is staring at her too with a bit of wonder. He matches her rhythmic blows as the words roll of his tongue. “It’s pure.” Punch. “Unhinged.” Hit. “Soul.”

They watch her like that, in silence. She doesn’t acknowledge their presence for a long time, making Alex wonder if she even noticed they’re here. He’s about to bring it up to Michael when she finally decides the bag has learned its lesson and puts an end to her beating. 

She greets them while taking off the bandages on her hands and she downs a glass of port before offering them one that Michael takes and Alex declines. 

She throws one quick glance at Alex, shrugs and makes him strip off his shirt and take place in front of the window, but not before dropping a fake crown with paper flowers on his head.

Alex expects to be there at least until the sun goes down, something Michael had briefed him about. Turns out after only a few minutes of sitting at the easel while making faces, fidgeting with her tools and chalks and not giving him a single proper instruction, Rosa sighs in defeat before turning around to face Michael. 

“What the fuck do you expect me to do with this, Guerin?”

He looks up from the book he had just picked up, looking genuinely startled for the first time since Alex has crossed his path, days ago in the back of his father’s hat shop. 

The argument explodes so fast and easily it makes Alex think they do this a lot. Michael gets up from the couch, surges in front of Rosa and then there’s yelling, dramatic hands thrown in the air and verbal digs are exchanged back and forth. It reminds Alex of one of those really bad plays his mom used to take him and his brothers to in Coven Garden. 

“I like Alex,” Rosa says, with an apologetic smile in his direction. “He’s pretty. I’m not saying I will never have him sit for me but for this particular work it's just not quite-”

“Pretty?” Michael replies with an outraged, disgusted face. “You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Ortecho. It's excellence, paradise served on a goddamn plate and you're being… picky.” 

Heat rises to Alex's cheeks. Michael keeps talking about him like that, like he's something exceptional, and Alex doesn't know what to make of it. 

Michael's words are met with a snort from Rosa. “Sure, whatever you say. Listen I just need someone with more- less- Guerin, I need someone who doesn't shies. Who knows what they’re doing. I need a damn whore.” 

Michael shakes his head in utter consternation. He even takes a step back. 

“Oh coming from you that is rich.” She points an angry finger at him. “We always paint whores, and you know it.”

“And how well has that worked so far?” Michael asks, this time grabbing a fistful of paper from a counter and shoving them in Rosa’s direction. “Aren’t you weary of always coming up with the same uninspired junk?”

This time, Alex sees her lips thinning and her fist tightening to her sides, body tensed with real anger. Remembering the sandbag, he wonders if Michael is braver or dumber than he first assumed, because the man doesn’t back down even a bit.

She yanks the sketches from Michael’s hand. “It’s worked pretty well, actually. And unlike somebody, I actually have commissions and I can pay my models with something else than-”

“He”, Michael points at Alex, his eyes still fixed on Rosa, “Is exceptionally better than any whore. The point is simplicity. The point is everything that is true and heartfelt…”

“Why don't you paint him then?” She turns around and throws herself on a chair, as it seem her anger has shifted to a deeper lassitude. 

“Oh I will, but as for now he…” Michael’s face falls for a second and he mumbles. “All right. I cannot pay him properly.”

Rosa gives him another snort. “You need a patron, Michael. And he needs experience. But until then, if you really mean to have him painted… I heard DeLuca has a project. Something fancy, Shakespearean, and she couldn’t quite find the right model. Maybe he will actually earn the money that you promised when you made him quit his job and family to follow you into this doomed madness.”

------------

Maria DeLuca is looking at him so intensely that he is sure her gaze is actually piercing into his soul. He wouldn’t be surprised if she knew all of his darkest secrets now, if she was familiar with all of his deepest fears and desires. When he and Michael called, she immediately grabbed his chin, not hard but firmly, and has been examining his face for what feels like an eternity, without saying a word. Not long ago, this would have unsettled Alex, but he is getting used to Michael and his friend’s strange ways. After all, she is less scary than Rosa, she seems less tormented and she hasn’t even punched anything in the time Alex has made her acquaintance. 

There’s something different about her, something closer to what Michael has, that makes Alex want to be her friend, want to please her. 

He throws a quick look at Michael who has been waiting in the corner. He smiles back at him with an encouraging nod, so Alex waits. 

At last, she lets go of his face and turns to the other man. 

“You weren't lying,” she says. “He's perfect. Curious mingle of simplicity and refinement, constantly walking the line like a tightrope walker…” for a moment, she seems lost in her thoughts. She grabs a notebook and scribbles something, eyebrow knitted. 

“Sit for me!” She exclaims, closing the notebook. “I'll pay you, which is more than this imbecile can promise. It won't be easy, but you'll get out of it a richer man in your heart, your mind and your wallet.” 

“It would be an honor.” Alex agrees, earning himself a soft smile.

“Great,” she says. “We will begin now. Michael, help Max fill the bath and light up some candles, will you?” 

To Alex’s surprise, Michael complies. Where Rosa seemed to excite him, Maria seem to have the opposite grounding effect. He wonders how the three of them function as a group, if they undo each other’s excess, if they only find their balance together, where Alex’s place would be in all of this. 

Posing for Maria is hard. 

She makes him wear a flowy robe and has him lay in a bathtub only warmed with candles for hours on end. Unlike Rosa, she explains what she wants from him, in too many words when all he can do is try to keep himself afloat, but she smiles at him, and so does Max, her protégé, so Alex does his best to be good and stay still. Then Michael watches him with proud eyes, and something lights up in Alex’s abdomen, and for the first time in his life, he feels he is right where he belongs.

When the night has finally fallen and the flame of the candles isn’t enough for Maria to keep drawing, they help him out of the tub and provide him with towels. She invites him and Michael to take a look at her work before leaving, and while discovering his own portrait, immersed in the green waters of a mystical lake, he is stunned. 

He can see what Michael sees, the exceptional nature of it, the composition of something new, the beginning of a different era. His features are brought to a different plane of life by Maria’s talented lines, it’s a haunting mirror, so unsettling that he has to look away. And then he can only accept Michael’s whispered words. 

Nothing will ever be the same again.

-----------

During the day Michael’s place is all windows and cream drapes, wild plants and sunlight, like a greenhouse garden, a lung in the suffocation of central London. Alex is in awe every time he walks through the glass doors, as he was the first time Michael brought him in. Surrounded by books and sketches and dirty painting tools, Michel fits there, in the untamed wilderness, the carefree, the unexpected. 

In low evening light, everything glows orange and the light of the torches dances on their cheeks. The mess looks tidier, all the sounds are muffled and the air is calmer. 

“Gonna go find some refreshment,” Michael says, taking off his coat. “to celebrate your first time sitting.” 

He disappears somewhere behind a long hanging sheet, leaving Alex free to look around.

Even in the dim light, Alex peeks at the canvas, then at the sketches scattered on all the surfaces. He runs his fingers on paper, feels its grain, picks one up randomly. It’s a woman, with wild flowers in her hair and a soft, melancholic gaze. Another one, a body, fabric and color. In the night, the figures seem almost otherworldly. He is easily taken by them, transported by the smooth lines, so much that he doesn’t hear Michael coming back behind him. 

“You like those?” he asks, glancing over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex’s breath catches at Michael’s low tone, at his proximity. 

“They’re brilliant.” he replies, barely a murmur. 

Michael sighs and takes a step back, leaving Alex cold and almost disappointed.

“No, they’re not. And they never will be,” he says, looking away as something breaks in his voice. “I’m so close Alex. So close to get it right but I’m just. Stuck and I can’t- unless-”

He looks back at Alex with a glint that reminds him of Rosa, with a sort of urgency that matches her hooks, alive, dangerous.

“You have stricken me.” He declares. It is a simple fact, a statement that doesn’t call for any reply, and yet.

“I will.” Is all Alex can say, with a hard determination that he surprises himself with. “I will sit for you.” 

He’s known, since the first time he laid eyes on Michael, that he would do anything the man asked of him. That he would let himself be stolen away, and that he would never turn back to his dull, nonsensical life. He’s known he would never be small again, and that his hunger for greatness, now that he’s had a taste of it, is going to be insatiable.

Michael laughs a litte. 

“I cannot pay you what you deserve.”

“Teach me then. Help me improve. I want to paint and to write. I have potential, I have things to say. Let me become one of you. Let it be my payment.” 

Michael has gotten closer now, so close in Alex’s space that he can see, even in the dark, the details on his face, his lips, the small reflections, sparkles of light in his eyes. He lays a hand on Alex’s cheek, grazing softly with his thumb and Alex shivers. 

“You’re burning. Are you sure you didn’t catch something at DeLuca’s? This foolish bathtub...”

It has to be Alex who closes the gap between their lips, but it’s Michael’s hands that are suddenly all over him, and he feels awake, alit, as he is clumsily led toward a bed in a corner of the room, trying not to catch himself on piece of fabric or to knock off an easel or a candlelight.   

[yourlazykitkat]

Abandoned WIP

This was supposed to be my Day 6 georgenap/sapnotfound fic that would have come out 2 weeks ago but I really wasn’t feeling it. Still going to write Day 6 but I have a few dreamnotnap ideas to try with the prompt instead. If ya’ll want I can post the outline (AFTERALL A LOT OF REFINING, MY OUTLINES ARE PURE MESS.) for this fic!

1. Gather the crew.

The city is cold. An eerie silence, one unnatural for a city filled with thousands of vigilant eyes, lurks in grimy roads and shattered glass. Ash falls from the sky, soft like the first snow of winter, gentle like the first rains of fall, and coat cement walls and roads of tar in black soot and grey dust. Lamp posts flicker erratically, making the night sky loom over the skyscrapers though the stars are covered by vile smogs and the moon grows ill and weak against it all. This place, it eats itself alive- craving for something more, something else but being only half satisfied every time it tears itself apart.

It’s a lovely city, Dream thinks as he exhales smoke, watching his cigarette dim. He strolls down broken paths, cracked walls and he’s greeted by a scent which reminds him of the dead. Across the street, he hears two mobs scream at each other- the usual show of poor punches and bloody swears. He wonders how many people sleep in their city- how would they? It lingers on everyone’s mind, the likely chance of your home burning up in flames at the hands of some bored teens, your prized possessions being nicked at the middle of the night. He could count on one hand the amount of people he had met who owned their own wallet and not someone else’s. Those people don’t make it that far.

He walks in front of an apartment, not bothering to ring for someone to open the front door. Locks where useless in this city- not when so many could open them up blindfolded. He barges in with a calculated push of his shoulder and waits for the elevator. There’s another person going up the stairs with him, not giving him a second thought as they continued with their paper.

The elevator dings and Dream steps out as metallic doors slide open. To his left, he spots a familiar door and knocks against the wooden plank. He hears a shuffle of feet take too long so he knocks again, more impatiently then the last.

“I’m coming, Sapnap. Relax.” The door swings open and reveals George, in a fine suit, clearly expensive and new. His hair is even gelled back and he wonders why, the shorter man is not one for dressing up so nicely.

“Lookin’ good, Georgie,” The door is slammed in his face as he whistles. He knocks again, slightly confused at his friend’s sudden aggression, “Open up.”

“No, no, no, no-” He can hear the other curse to himself, “I can’t believe we forgot- Go away Dream. I’m not helping you this year.”

“What do you mean?” Dream whined, childishly twisting at the door knob, “It’s tradition.”

“I have plans, you idiot- no Dream, stop trying to break in-”

He’s too late, the taller man already has the door unlocked and he strides into George’s apartment, collapsing on the sofa. The place is tidier than usual, no dirty dishes in the sink and he’s pretty sure the floor was mopped for the first time in years. Frustration is on his friend’s face as he scowls at him.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, I told you I was coming.”

“I did not consent to this. I should call the cops on you.” He grumbled, falling onto the couch in front of Dream.

“Authorities being competent and actually catching the best criminal in this city? That’s funny.” George rolled his eyes.

“Second best right now,” The other reminds him, “Techno’s bounty was raised a few days ago. I think it more than yours now.”

“Short-lived victory.” He smiles and his friend groans, “Polyester?”

“Wool,” His face is sour as his hands brush down invisible creases. Dream pulls out his phone, well someone else’s phone but that doesn’t matter right now, and checks the time. It’s seven and the night is still young but he’s impatient. There’s an excited hum that runs through his skin and his head jumps between his thousands of thoughts. There’s so much they had to get ready, the countdown to New Year’s Eve had already started and they’re just wasting time, sitting around.

He watches George get up again and rummage through his upper kitchen cabinet, taking out a bottle of champagne which he recognizes the brand to be top class and a glass. He pours the delicate bottle, watching rich velvet rise higher than it should and the bubbles popping when it reaches the surface.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” He grins and the other man turns to face him, scowl present and flipping him off.

“Frick off, this is for me,” George grumbles and seats himself opposite to the blond, “I’m going to need more if you’re going to force me into this.”

“You love it,” Dream laughs, blissfully ignoring the glare sent his way. New Year’s Eve is special for the blond, it’s easily the best day of the year and the other knows this. His cigarette dies pathetically and lets it fall to the ground, smothering it with his heel. His friend makes a sound of disapproval but doesn’t try to stop him since he’s busy pouring himself a second glass of wine.

There’s a knock on the front door and Dream looks up to see someone else opening the door mindlessly. He’s wearing a suit as well with a bouquet of brilliant blooms, blues and whites, at hand and the blond almost doesn’t recognise him.

“Sapnap?”

The other freezes immediately, olive eyes reluctantly meeting his, and the other man slowly walks backwards.

“D-dream? H-hey buddy, what are you doing here?” Sapnap grins weakly, wincing when he bumps his head against the door.

“What am I doing here? I texted you to come here, idiot.” Dream frowned, waving his phone in the air, “Why are you late?”

“Yeah Sap, why are you late?” George hasn’t stopped glaring, this time making his target the olive-eyed man who shrinks under both of their scrutiny. The other looks at George, then the bouquet and then Dream and laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Traffic, you know how it can be,” Sapnap is lying, the blond knows him well enough to tell but decides not to push it, “Think I drove past two dead bodies that someone forgot to bury.”

“Well, the important thing is that you’re here now,” He grinned devilishly and hears George groan behind him, “Let’s get started boys. We only have a month and-”

“I-honk no, I’m outta here,” Sapnap’s face is one of horror and the deep regret that one makes once they’ve made a terrible epiphany as he turns to leave. Dream is about to stop him when he’s stopped by a fake cough.

“Listen Swipnip, if I have to suffer,” George speaks with a petty glint and malicious smile, “We all suffer. That’s how things work.”

“But Georgie, you know how he gets-”

“Sit.”

Sapnap growls but obeys, petulantly falling onto the armchair by Dream who clapped his hands excitedly.

“Okay, now listen closely.”