#rather quiet except for the birdsong

[1roentgen]

.

[thebadgerclan]

Pall Mall

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x reader x Kate Sharma

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Your first trip to Aubrey Hall...

A/N: My masterlist will be updated on FRIDAY this week because I’m on vacation all mext week!

Anthony had finally found a gap in his schedule wide enough to take you and Kate to Aubrey Hall.  Violet was wrapped up in preparations for Eloise’s debut, and the rest of the Bridgerton siblings were otherwise occupied, leaving the country estate unoccupied except for the three of you and the staff.  All of the servants who were employed at Aubrey Hall knew of your relationship with the Viscount and Viscountess, and knew to keep quiet about what they saw.

It was a well-deserved and much needed respite from the bustle of city life; waking to the sound of birdsong rather than hoofbeats, having your lovers able to dote on you rather than attend to their various duties.  As he had every morning, Anthony woke you by pressing kisses to your face.  “I have an idea, dearest.”  You stretched, brushing against Kate’s bare skin, the woman still asleep.  “And what might that be?”

“I believe it is high time we introduce you to Pall Mall, sweetest.”  Kate had stirred, groaning a bit as she stretched.  “Do not play dirty, Anthony,” she said, rubbing her eyes.  “Poor thing does not yet know the rules.”  You laughed, cocking your head.  “Is it not a spin on croquet?” you asked, and Anthony smiled, kissing you soundly.  “Oh my love,” he chuckled, a warm, dark sound.   “You are in for a surprise.”

***

Pall Mall, as it turned out, had very few real rules.  Sabotage and subterfuge were perfectly acceptable, and were in fact encouraged.  You thought that Anthony would go easy on you, as it was your first time playing, but his first move had been to hit your ball as far away from the wicket as possible.  “Anthony!” you cried, making him laugh.  “How was that fair?”  “It was not, my love,” he responded, shaking his head as Kate hit his ball further from the wicket.  “But that is how the game is played.”

Kate, at least, was on your side.  She guarded your ball from Anthony’s attacks and whispered bits of strategy into your ear.  When you landed a perfect hit–your ball sailing through the wicket while simultaneously sending Anthony’s ball into the trees–she whooped with delight, lifting you into her arms and kissing you.  Anthony chuckles as he retrieved his ball.  “Clever girl,” he said, trudging out of the wooded area with mud on his boots.  “But do not think I’ll go easier on you.”

After nearly another hour of play, the three of you were in a standoff at the last wicket.  “I propose a wager,” you said, catching both of your lovers’ attention.  “Oh?” Kate replied.  “And what might that be, darling?”  Anthony was watching you with interest, and you pressed on.  “Whoever gets their ball through the wicket first will have the other two at their beck and call for the rest of the evening.  In whatever regard they wish.”

Your implication was clear, and Anthony was immediately interested.  “And what of the other two, hmm?”  You smirked, leaning on your mallet slightly.  “They shall happily obey the victor, of course.”  The Viscount smirked, moving to press a kiss to yours, then Kate’s foreheads.  “Well then, my loves, I hope you’re not sore losers.  For I plan to make this a rather swift victory.”

Before he could strike, you raised your mallet and swung, sending Anthony’s ball flying 20 feet from the wicket.  “I do not plan on making it easy for you, Anthony,” you replied, and his grin could have lit up an entire ballroom.  Unseen to either of you, Kate took her shot, her ball flying straight through the wicket.  “Well,” she said, her voice perfectly prim and composed.  “I do hope the two of you got a good night’s sleep last night.  Because I do not plan on letting you rest much tonight.”  And she sauntered away with a wink, leaving you and Anthony helpless to do anything but follow in her wake.

[ethernetmeep]

inevitably, tomorrow will have a cascade of fireworks boom & whirr in the air. afterwards, throughout the entire summer, i will continue to hear these fireworks. somewhere. simply waiting. they come and go in random influxes, miscellaneous moments.

if it isn’t apparent already, i won’t be celebrating— why would i? what is there to celebrate about this flawed, fucked up country? i can remember when i used to, though. one year in particular pops up rather vividly

cannot remember the exact time frame, but i was young. six? six or seven. visited an aunt, drove all the way up there. remember getting stung by a horsefly, exclaiming i quote, “didn’t want this portuguese blood anymore!” with portuguese being exclaimed as port-ee-gee. mother says it this way, sometimes. i now realize its more so favorable blood types than exact nationalities… regardless, a memory that my mother finds humorous.

in retrospect, even then i was.. odd. off. although my mother exclaimed the other kids were simply jerks, it felt a bit more than that. recall diving in a pool to then have everyone, yes, everyone, leave afterwards. this cycle continued, never-ending, nobody wanting to be even remotely around me. i don’t take it personally now, but at the time i was immensely emotionally upset over it. remember her yellow swings & those crackling items which i can’t recall the name of. snappers? something similar. recall sticks you’d snap to get the fluorescent light really glowing. bubbles. cold.

i don’t miss her, i don’t think. i don’t really think about anyone from that day, only see them as humanoid blobs with their features crossed out. i was never close to them, never connected. a black sheep before i knew what it was.

its interesting, this feels as if it will be similar to new years although i am unsure how. the same solitude, i believe. with new years, it was (at the very least) a drunken stupor— better, at that. although fantasy, at least i was happy in my delusions. all temporary.

now, i will be alone, no unnecessary items at my disposal. i would say vices, but it was never a vice— never enjoyed alcohol, merely let myself be apart of it. i will be left with my thoughts is a better way to put it. many of my friends will be busy; if not, family activities which celebrate. a nauseating array of bold red whites & blues. barbecues… all that. i don’t wish to be apart of it

what i want, i think, is this— and i will describe it rather vividly to showcase what it is i truly desire

the set ‘golden hour’ of the day begins anew. mosquitos are flying about, yet the body itself is simply.. sitting. laying? could be doing both. sitting in a front lawn & looking at the possible clouds above. basking in the ambient noise of birdsong & wind. no other acquaintances, except for if there is. if there is, which is now leading into fantasy, i will act the same as i do in solitude. i will be quiet. we will sit & watch the clouds or sit & look at bugs. i will pluck a weed & offer it silently, or i will pluck a small flower from a hydrangea plant in our yard & offer it. it is not an act of romance; it never would be. an act of compassion despite the worlds’ cruelty. we will be silent, simply existing. in a perfect world, the yard would be adorned with dandelions & i could make my guest a flower crown. i don’t know how to do that, so i won’t. i won’t do much of anything. i will offer to sit & watch birds fly at bird feeders & try to showcase the beauty there is to see in the world. if i do speak, it will be something small— a simple “thank you for spending time with me” is enough.

of course, mere delusion. like i said, most friends will be busy, some not but being simply unable to be apart of this. i love some of my friends to death, but they cannot be silent like this for the life of them. my childhood friend, appreciate him dearly, cannot participate in this. he will presumably be bored & want to talk or spend most of the time showing me funny me-mes (spelt that way specifically). the beauty will be clouded by a rift which i dislike admitting. this is fine, but it simply shows we are different people. different at different times, more so. it is simply unlikely to occur, is all im saying

despite its uncommon chances, i do hope it can happen. someday.

for now, i can only presume the day will be like any other— i won’t even see it as a holiday. its funny, i didn’t even know fathers day was fathers day— nor easter, or whatever it is thats celebrated. i don’t pay attention to most holidays.

ah, i can only wish my friends & acquaintances alike well. you too, dear reader. stay safe, you all.

[cookies-over-yonder]

Quiet, Calm, Still

CO-WRITTEN BY @silverlistenstothings

Hermie catches Taylor zoning out.

Part 21 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

[title from Birds from Ultimate Storytime]

ao3

If there’s one thing Hermie has learned about living with Taylor, it’s that a quiet Taylor is always a bad sign. It’s not unusual for him to sleep in on the weekends, but when the time ticks past noon and there’s not a sound from Taylor’s room, they know there’s a problem.

 

They try to play it off for as long as they can—Taylor’s fine, it’s none of Hermie’s business, they probably won’t be able to help anyway, maybe he’s out with his friends—but eventually they figure that they don’t really have anything better to do than check on him. 

 

They wander out into the hallway, and knock their knuckles gently against the door. There’s no response. Maybe Taylor is still asleep? 

 

"Taylor?" they whisper-shout, leaning in close to the door. Still nothing. They twist the knob, slowly opening the door. 

 

Taylor is sitting on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest, staring off at nothing, and his breathing is a little unsteady.

 

He doesn't acknowledge them at all. Hermie waits there for a while, before moving cautiously over to the bed.

 

“Hey, Taylor?” they say, softer this time. Still no response. 

 

The vacant stare, the wide eyes, the unsteady breathing, the complete lack of acknowledgment… it’s a familiar sight, if not necessarily from this side of things. They've never seen Taylor like this before, though it doesn't come as a surprise, all things considered.

 

They sit down beside Taylor, and bump their shoulders together. They need to ground him, and Hermie’s typical solution for their own dissociation—tearing at their skin until it feels like their own again—isn’t really something they want to pass on to Taylor. Luckily, he usually seems to respond well to a far more gentle form of physical contact. A bit of contact and some idle rambling about their surroundings should bring Taylor back to himself. 

 

“I wonder if I could program my lights to change colours the way yours do,” Hermie says softly, as if it’d been anything more than a passing thought. 

 

They were perfectly happy with the consistent shade of chartreuse they’d chosen for their fairy lights, but it was the first thing to come to mind as they looked around Taylor’s room and spotted the LED strips around the baseboards. 

 

“I never noticed that that poster is signed,” Hermie continues, gesturing vaguely at one of the posters across the room. “I guess it’s harder for you to get things signed by people who worked on your favourite stuff than it would be for me, considering they’re mostly in Japan, probably.”

 

God, this is harder than they thought. Still, it seems to be working as Taylor finally moves, his tail coiling around one of Hermie’s wrists. Now that the contact is properly reciprocated, Hermie throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to their side. 

 

“The birds seem to be a lot more active since the sky cleared,” Hermie says, glancing at Taylor’s open window. “I wonder if they knew, or if Code Purple glossed over their memories like it did for people.”

 

Taylor shifts against Hermie, and even if it's just an idle movement rather than a sign of discomfort, Hermie changes the line of conversation anyways.

 

“I think that’s a spotted towhee. They kind of look like robins, except for, you know, the spots, and they sound different obviously.” Usually, Hermie would take a long winded ramble about birds to the grave, but they are just talking for the sake of talking at the moment. “They’re a type of sparrow, actually, just big ones. They’re fun to watch, they just bounce along the ground and throw leaf litter around. It’s cute.” 

 

Taylor shifts, cuddling closer to Hermie’s side. Hermie hums softly along with the trill of the birdsong outside the window. 

 

“There’s two different families of sparrows, actually, there’s New World sparrows and Old World sparrows and then there’s like—Java sparrows, which aren’t actually sparrows at all. A lot of bird families are divided into New World vs Old World species, mostly just based on where they’re found. So. That’s… birds…” 

 

Hermie trails off, glancing over to Taylor. Taylor's head tilts, and he's finally looking at Hermie directly, without the glazed over look from earlier. 

 

"Hey," Hermie says, still soft but audibly relieved. 

 

"Hi,” Taylor replies weakly. Hermie waits for more, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

 

"You wanna watch something…?" Hermie offers, because that tends to be a safe bet with Taylor. 

 

Taylor nods, and Hermie moves to pick up his laptop. As soon as they shift away from Taylor, a pair of arms wrap around them, and a face is buried in their side. 

 

"Mmm!" he grumbles, completely incomprehensible beyond the disgruntled tone. 

 

"What do you want?” Hermie says, more indulgently than they’re used to hearing from their own voice, “I need to get your laptop if you want to watch somethi—"

 

Taylor continues whining and mumbling nonsense into Hermie's side, holding them tighter. 

 

“I suppose I’m stuck here forever, then,” Hermie sighs, exaggeratedly put-upon. “Such is my life, to fulfil the same role as a pillow or perhaps a plush.”

 

Taylor simply hums an agreement and hugs Hermie tighter, entirely unrepentant. 

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

The Next Morning

Thorns & Jasmine

In which Caldyn decides to accept a friendly offer.

Warnings: None

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The next time Caldyn awoke — truly awoke — it was to the quiet melody of birdsong. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. What he was feeling didn’t make sense. His left hand was stuck between a cool, hard surface and the body of his little friend, moving ever so slightly with each breath it took. He was lying on familiar bedding of dried moss and leaves, but his body hurt; not the pain of fresh injuries, but the dull ache of old ones, except for his left arm, which was burning slightly. His right hand was touching something soft, not natural, like a blanket, and he dug his fingers into it.

His memories were all muddled, too. He remembered waking up, just enough to recall the horror of a dream, not enough to leave it behind. But he also remembered a comforting touch, a quiet voice calming him.

“Breannan?” he asked, knowing that it was wrong, even while still speaking his name.

“No. It’s me, Marian,” a different voice replied, soft and without meaning behind the words.

It wasn’t what Caldyn had expected, but the moment he heard it, he remembered. One of the humans had found him. The one who had always been nice to him, always greeted him when he came to visit, with joy in her voice, even if there was no meaning behind it. He liked her. He trusted her.

He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed that she had seen him like this, not when the last thing he remembered was being so cold and thirsty and alone, and now he wasn’t alone.

“Caldyn? Can you hear me?”

At her words, something warm touched his hands, wrapping around his fingers. He flinched, but quickly held on to it. The human’s touch was curious, warm skin on cool bark, but also strangely familiar. Way too late he realized her words, and he opened his mouth, half expecting the pain in his throat to come back as he tried to speak.

“Yes, I— how long— is it… is it evening?”

“It’s morning,” Marian replied. “The sun is rising. The fog is finally gone.”

Morning. But it must have been late morning already when he had collapsed, and it must have taken Marian a while to find him. He didn’t even know how it was possible she had found him at all, a small tug at the back of his mind telling him that the answer was so close. Another question was more important, though.

“You’ve stayed all night?” he asked, slowly gaining his voice back.

“Yes.”

As so often, Caldyn wished human words would carry meaning, then perhaps he wouldn’t have to ask, “Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

Had he? He couldn’t remember. He tried to, but there was nothing but broken fragments of nightmares he’d rather not recall.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He knew humans liked their houses and beds and fireplaces even more than his kind, and he had… well he had a barren cave. It must have been a horrible night for her.

“No, don’t say that.” Her tone changed, even to Caldyn’s ears, but he couldn’t guess why. “I’m glad I did. I hope it helped, a bit. Did it? Help, I mean.”

Caldyn concentrated on the feeling of her warm fingers around his, and remembered how it had been there all through the night, every time he had been half awake.

“Yes.”

He wanted to thank her for it, but his voice failed him. It had been so, so long since anyone had been there when he awoke, anyone other than Aska, that was. Thinking of the dog made him finally try and lift his left arm, wincing as the scraped bark scratched over the rough wall. He took his right hand back from Marian to feel for the wound.

“Did something happen?” she asked, and this time he didn’t need meaning to recognize the worry behind her words.

“No. There is nothing you need to worry about,” he assured her.

He only wished he could interpret the quiet noise she made in reply to his words. But she said nothing to elaborate, and Caldyn was still too exhausted to spend too much energy thinking about it.

He’d better spend it trying to sit up, he decided. When he flexed his fingers, he found that they were no longer stiff and numb, which was a good thing. The pain in his legs was mostly gone, too, which was almost a good thing. As he slowly sat up, the dog woke up, jumping out from between Caldyn and the wall. As soon as he was sitting, it came back, placing its paws on his shoulders, sniffing his face, whining quietly.

“Little friend,” he whispered, leaning forward to allow the dog to lick his face. The soft tongue was so familiar, so comforting, Caldyn felt how the last bit of tension left him. “You got help, didn’t you?”

The dog didn’t answer, but Marian did, another quiet human noise that conveyed affirmation.

“Thank you,” Caldyn whispered, wrapping his arms around the dog, holding it close. “Thank you,” he repeated, raising his head, facing Marian.

There was a bit of silence, and Caldyn heard the rustling of fabric, feeling a slight breeze on his leaves. He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, perhaps folding the blankets or something. It was nice to listen to it. He wondered if he would manage to walk all the way to the settlement today, if he should, to find a spot somewhere and just listen to the people, going about their day. Even if he wasn’t truly a part of them, it made him feel less alone.

“Do you want some water?” Marian asked.

When Caldyn nodded, she put something into his hands. Expecting the hollow pumpkin, he was confused to feel soft leather.

“It’s a waterskin,” Marian explained while Caldyn searched for the opening. “I saw your empty bottle, and I don’t know how much water your kind needs, so I brought more.”

Caldyn tipped it carefully, until he could taste the water and start drinking.

“Does your kind need a lot of water?” Marian asked.

“I don’t know. What’s a lot? How much water do humans need?”

There was a low human noise, then the waterskin vibrated under a quiet tapping noise. “At least one of those each day. More if it’s hot or we move much. We’d die after two or three days without.”

Caldyn paused, lowering the waterskin. “Really? We can survive two weeks without. Less if we’re injured, more if there’s no sun, or we don’t have many leaves. But it’s not very pleasant to be thirsty,” he added quietly. His body would draw water from leaves and hair to keep him alive, and he hated how it felt; hated the memory of splintering branches and wounds that didn’t close any longer.

When Marian didn’t say anything else, he continued drinking, until the waterskin was empty. He placed it on his bed next to him, before leaning back against the wall, petting the dog who had curled up on his lap.

“I should probably go back. I’m sure Cecelia will be worried,” Marian eventually said.

Caldyn nodded quickly. At least this time he wouldn’t be totally alone, even if the dog’s company wasn’t quite a match for that of someone he could actually have a conversation with.

“Do you want to come with me? I understand if you want to be alone, but if you don’t…” Marian’s voice faltered, and Caldyn found himself wondering what the right answer would be.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You don’t. I’d be glad to have you over, and I’m sure Cecelia will be thrilled. You know how she is.”

Marian’s words made Caldyn smile; a weak smile, but a smile.

“If you’re sure?” When she made another one of those quiet, affirming noises, Caldyn sighed. “I’d rather not be alone,” he admitted quietly, while he gently put the dog back on the ground. “But I’m not sure if I can walk that far, or if I’ll manage to carry Aska across the river.”

And he wouldn’t leave the dog behind; not today.

“We’ll take it slow. And don’t worry about Aska, I can carry it across,” Marian said. “Do you need help getting up?”

Caldyn moved his legs, shifting so he could lean against the wall when getting up. As long as he put no weight on his left knee, it should work… hopefully.

“No,” he said, knowing that Breannan would have noticed the uncertainty in the meaning behind his word, and would have stayed close anyway.

But Marian didn’t, and as she took a few steps away, Caldyn slowly struggled to his feet. It worked better than he had expected. He hobbled to the entrance of the cave, daring to put a bit more weight on his left leg with every step. His left hand found familiar patterns in the rock, and then his staff, still exactly where he had put it.

“Oh… I don’t know how you climb down, but I… I changed the rock a bit. Had to get up somehow. There’s four little ledges now. Only two fingers wide, but be careful.”

Caldyn inclined his head, curious. Changed the rock? He had never realized that Marian was a mage, too. He nodded, taking one last step towards the edge, feeling it under his bare toes.

“Where are they?” he asked, turning his head towards Marian.

“On your right side.”

With another nod, Caldyn moved to the left side of the entrance, lowering himself until he sat, legs hanging down. As much as he liked the protection the cave offered him, he hated the part where he had to drop his staff to the ground, hoping it wouldn’t roll too far, and then jump down.

Knowing that his knee would make that less than enjoyable today, he turned around, trying to hold on to the edge of the cave for as long as he could, while lowering himself towards the ground. When he finally had to let go, to drop the rest of the way, he even managed to keep standing; he didn’t quite manage to keep the pained groan from escaping his lips, hoping that Marian hadn’t noticed it.

“What about As—”

The tapping of little feet and a soft thud next to him told Caldyn that the dog had answered the question, before Marian had even managed to fully ask it.

“It can get down on its own,” he said, followed by a quiet laugh, despite the pain.

While Marian climbed down, he leaned against the wall, keeping the weight off his left leg. There was a sudden breeze as she must have jumped down as well, then her voice sounded next to him, as usual from slightly below.

“They’re here, I can show you.”

Caldyn nodded and took a step towards her, offering her his left hand. Marian took it, guiding him to the four little ledges she had formed, in quite equal distances to each other, almost resembling a ladder.

“You’re an earth mage, then?” Caldyn asked, tracing the last of the ledges, which was at the height of his head.

“Yes,” Marian confirmed. “I’m more of a sand person than a rock person.” She laughed. “It does make my research easier, though. Here’s your staff.”

Caldyn held out his hand and she handed it to him. He was glad he didn’t have to bow down, to search for it; one less thing that would put unnecessary strain on his legs.

“Can you show me the shortest way to the river?” Marian then asked. “I can’t remember which way Aska led me, and I stayed close to the cliff until I found my way back, but I think that’s quite the detour.  

“Yes.”

Staff firmly in hand, Caldyn took a step forwards, then another. He didn’t quite trust his knee. On those few days when the pain was back, having a second cane to lean upon would have made things easier, but on all other days, it would have made travel an even bigger hassle.

After two steps, Marian was at his side.

“You can put your arm on my shoulders, if you want,” she offered.

Caldyn didn’t pause yet, continuing to walk, slowly finding his way towards the first of the trees he was looking for. When he had found it, he searched on its bark until he found a little smooth spot with a carved triangle. Today he needed them; he was too tired to try and use the aether to find his way, and he had only ever asked Aska to find the way back to the cave, not somewhere else.

“Then I can’t find the marks,” he said, turning towards Marian, who had followed him. “Can you see them?”

When she confirmed, he raised his left arm towards her, and she moved under it, helping him to find a good grip.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, noticing with relief that the next step was easier, even if he didn’t put much of his weight on Marian. “I know the general direction, but if you could tell me when you see them? To make sure we don’t get lost.”

Together, they walked on. Caldyn took the lead, slowly finding the trees along his path, and Marian told him every time she saw one of the marks.

“This one is different. There’s three little scratches above the triangle,” she said after a while.

Caldyn nodded, tilting his head to the side. “There’s a thorny thicket ahead, then. We need to turn right.”

It also meant they were almost at the river. After a few more minutes he could already hear the sound of water, and a short time later they were standing at the shore, rough sand littered with polished pebbles under their feet.

“There’s a mark somewhere here to show me where I can cross, but perhaps you can see it. There’s a large rock in the water.”

“Oh, that… it’s over here,” she said, leading him into the right direction, a few steps to the left. “I added two more rocks, I didn’t want to get all wet while crossing.”

“I thought you said you’re more of a sand person?” he asked.

“Hey, don’t underestimate how little I enjoy getting my underwear wet.”

Caldyn couldn’t help himself, he laughed quietly, the pain in his leg forgotten for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure what underwear was, but it was probably some kind of clothing humans wore. He could understand her dislike for getting clothes wet; he wasn’t a huge fan of wet leaves either, but they dried much faster than fabric did, some of which kept the moisture for hours.

“Now, how do we get the two of you across,” she mused. “Can you walk through the river? The water shouldn’t reach higher than your hip, and I can help you.”

Caldyn nodded. That was how he crossed the river every time.

“Let’s do that, then. Once you’re on the other side, I’ll go back and get Aska.”

When she stepped forwards, Caldyn followed, feeling the water up to his ankles, then up to his shins with the next step. It was cold and he shivered, but the unhappy whine of the dog behind him distracted him.

Wait, he sent Aska a command with a quiet hum. The dog whined once more, but sat down with a huff.

“I’ll walk over the rocks,” Marian announced next to him, and he slipped his arm from her shoulders, linking arms with her instead. As he walked, he felt for the outlines of the rocks with his staff, taking a note of their position. Perhaps, in the future, he’d be able to walk over them as well.

They arrived at the other shore quickly, and Marian let go of him to return and fetch Aska. Caldyn didn’t pay much attention to her, letting his thoughts drift for a moment. It was tempting to try and dry his leaves by shaking his legs, but he rather kept both feet firmly on the ground. Instead, he stroked over his leaves, shaking them a bit, until Marian’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Come on, you can trust me.”

Her words were followed by a quiet whine.

“Come,” Caldyn called, adding meaning behind his word. “I’m sorry, I told it to wait,” he explained. The dog must have refused to come with Marian. He smiled at the loyalty of this little creature.

His command must have been all Aska needed to trust Marian, for a short time later she arrived next to him and set the dog back on the ground. Caldyn put his arm around her shoulders once more, and they followed the way to the settlement in silence.

When Caldyn heard the first, faint sounds of voices calling and tools being used, he paused.

“Wait,” he pleaded, standing up straight and taking his arm back.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I just… I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” he admitted quietly, hoping he wouldn’t offend her with his words.

Marian was his friend, but the others were strangers; strangers of a different kind, on top of that. He knew not everyone trusted him, and he was glad he was all confidence and smiles when he healed someone. Less so when he was sitting somewhere, feeling the sun on his leaves and hearing whispered voices that probably weren’t meant to reach his ears, talking about how strange this plant person was.

He didn’t want questions. He didn’t want doubts about how good of a healer he could be, when he obviously couldn’t even heal himself. If he was honest, he didn’t want to talk to anyone today, and he hoped he’d make it to Marian’s house unnoticed.

“I understand,” she said, giving his hand a small, reassuring squeeze before taking half a step back. “I’ll be at your side.”

Caldyn smiled gratefully, and together they walked towards the settlement.

[ID: The top image is a banner showing red, glowy plants. Across it   is written the title of the story, Thorns & Jasmine, in a bright to dark green gradient. The letters are slightly thorny looking. All other  images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​​​​​​ @whump-cravings​​​​​​​

[paradisoperdita]

Hello! My request has nothing to do with your prompt, but I hope you can consider it hehe. May I request a Barbatos fic with a gn MC spending their day at a themed park because you know, give this man a break (also I am curious on how would Barbs reacts to rides). Congratulations on your 200+ followers and thank you so much in advance!💖

Thank you for the request, lovely! 💜 I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I had fun writing it! I hope you enjoy!

Gn!MC X Barbatos

Genre: Pure fluff

Barbatos and MC Go to a Theme Park

You have no idea how you ended up in this situation. Outside the door was a deafening cacophony of wailing children, the urgent cries of security guards, and a saccharine sing-song voice playing out on the crackling Tannoy system. Barbatos stood beside you. His forehead and gloved hands were pressed against the door. Even with his face hidden from view, it was abundantly clear that he was mortified. This was supposed to be the perfect date, so how did it all go so horribly wrong?

"I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of visiting a themed-park in the human world.” Barbatos recounted as you finally made your way through the entrance. “Last I remember, many of these Amusement Fairs ran on steam prior to the widespread adoption of the, then newly discovered, phenomenon we know as electricity.”

You slid your hand into his as you swept your way through the crowd. An old-timey tune played on the ageing speaker system, just quiet enough for it to accompany the sweet sound of birdsong, and the rustling of a summer breeze through manicured flowerbeds. Stretched out above you was the purest aquamarine sky, the kind you only saw in summer childhood memories painted in rosy nostalgia. Barbatos’s hair shone a vibrant emerald in the sunlight, a sight you could only see here in the Human World. He caught you staring out of the corner of his squinted eye, not yet used to the bright surroundings, as his lips twitched into a gentle smile. In one smooth motion, he leaned down and kissed your temple. He burbled a chuckle to see the delight spread across your face.

“Where shall we go first, my dear?”

You pondered for a moment. You had pictured this day for weeks and had meticulously planned the perfect theme-park date for your beloved overworked demon. One ride in particular called out to you.

“Follow me!” You said as you playfully pulled Barbatos in the direction of the carousel.

Nearly all of the rides at Ridsneyland were modern roller-coasters, but this carousel was an exceptional exception. A relic from an abandoned mid-20th Century amusement park. It had been lovingly restored. It was completely hand-painted as it had been in its glory days; its entire surface embellished with a variety of miniature masterpieces. Barbatos ran a finger along the chipped gold leaf on the saddle. The seat etched with the memories of all the riders before him. Gracefully, he seated himself on the wooden steed.

There was enough room for two. He offered you his hand and supported you as you mounted the carousel horse. You plonked yourself between the spiralled metal pole and Barbatos. The butler perched on the horse’s haunches, drew in his knees, and wrapped his arms around you as he held onto the reins. Your back rested against his chest, the energetic scene of childlike excitement settled into a serene sanctuary. With you in his arms, there was nowhere in all three realms that Barbatos would rather be than in this exact time and place.

The antiquated crankshaft groaned into life. Hundreds of tiny lightbulbs twinkled to the beat of the jaunty pipe-organ ditty. The two of you peaked and dipped on your ride to the tune nearly lost to time. Barbatos squeezed in closer to you. He caught glimpses of the innocent wonder that graced your features as you passed the mirrors on the central column. In amongst the beautifully crafted scenes painted by nameless artists, your smile was the greatest artwork of them all.

After that, you dragged Barbatos onto every high-octane roller coaster you could manage. The queues were long, but the pleasant company made the wait whizz by. In broad daylight, you surreptitiously flirted amongst the company of strangers. There was a peculiar fondness in his voice as he spoke of the elation he felt to be surrounded by a symphony of human terror. It was nostalgic for him. You decided not to ask what he meant by that.

Nothing seemed to alarm him. Every jolt, swing, and loop-de-loop brought out no more reaction from him than the carousel had done. Determined to spook Barbatos, you entered the haunted house experience.

It was pitch-black, although to a demon who had known a moonless Devildom night, this darkness was nothing. To a human, it was difficult to see further than the end of your nose; at least, that is what he had supposed given how often you bumped into him at every flashing light and blaring screech. Barbatos could sense the adrenaline coursing through your veins. He knew that you secretly enjoyed the sensation of being frightened, but the desire to protect you was irrepressible. His hand rested on the small of your back as he leaned to whisper in your ear.

“Do not worry, my love, there is nothing here that is more terrifying than me.” He spoke through a softened smile. His words appeared to have their intended effect. You eased yourself into his side as you meandered through the cobwebbed halls.

There was something quite endearing about humanity’s propensity for irrational fears. A demon would never succumb to an imaginary threat in the same way.

The day had been perfect. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that this had all the makings of an unmitigated disaster. Neither of you had foreseen the tragedy that was about to unfold.

A crowd had gathered to watch the mascots’ parade. Float after float toddled by with an enchanting array of colourful characters and magical music. You stood at the front with Barbatos, utterly captivated by the sight before you.

Then you felt the butler freeze.

Heading directly towards you was Ridsneyland’s icon himself: Rickey Rat. As Barbatos stared into the black eyes of the not-copyright-infringing rodent, an icy chill seized his limbs. This was the first time you had seen genuine fear in Barbatos’s eyes. His heart pounded in his ears. His fists clenched against his side. The joyful music a vicious assault against his senses.

Perhaps demons can have irrational fears too.

Rickey Rat silently reached for you. Barbatos’s body moved without thought. One swift uppercut, too fast for the eye to see. The oversized head flew through the air and landed at the feet of an unsuspecting child. Rickey Rat stood headless.

An almighty cry of heartbroken children signalled that it was time to get out of there. You grabbed Barbatos’s hand and sprinted away from the crowd. He pulled you into a room labelled ‘Private’ and pressed an ear against the door to ensure you weren’t being pursued.

Outside the door was a deafening cacophony of wailing children, the urgent cries of security guards, and a saccharine sing-song voice played out on the crackling Tannoy system. Barbatos stood beside you. His forehead and gloved hands were pressed against the door. Even with his face hidden from view, it was abundantly clear that he was mortified.

You rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, and murmured soothing sentiments to calm his nerves.

“I...” Barbatos croaked. “am so inconsolably ashamed. Do I still have the right to show my face before my Young Lord after this devastating blow against my pristine reputation?”

“Hey, it’s ok Barb...you were only trying to protect me, right? I probably should have warned you about the R-A-T...” You massaged small circles along his back. He deigned to look at you.

“Forgive me, my love. I fear I act most irrationally when it is your safety in jeopardy. Will you allow me to rectify my grievous mistake?” You coaxed him into your embrace and felt the tension in his arms melt away. In the midst of all the chaos, you were his beloved constant. The sanctuary to which he could always return.

“Of course, Barbatos. And I promise I’ll avoid any rat-themed dates in future.”

Barbatos chuckled against your ear and tightened his embrace. “I would appreciate that.”

[maple-writes]

WHG 17: The Big Day

whg tag list (I think this is everyone from the discord who asked but if i missed anyone let me know) @concealeddarkness13 @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing @knmartinshouldbewriting

---

It was quiet in the cramped little bunkhouse and still dark outside as the first hints of dawn barely came through the tiny windows. Usually the children here would have to be waking up now. Dragging themselves out of bed at the first sign of light. Not this morning. Though Moraine knew from experience they didn’t see the trade of a day sleeping in for the reaping as a fair deal at all.

He sat on the floor tucked into the back corner of the room with a little girl sleeping leaned against his side. Assuming his old form, a skinny, dark-eyed near twenty-year-old, no one except his old friends would know who he really was. Not that it mattered. He was young, he didn’t know what he was doing as a god, but he knew how hard reaping day was for them. If he could offer them a little comfort, a little more of a sense of safety, then that was what he would do.

The sun rose on and slowly the world outside began to wake. Faint birdsong drifted through the distance and the sound of people traveling came too. Inside though all was still quiet besides the occasional laboured breath or cough of a child who’s lungs had been long filled with sawdust.

The younger children woke first, which quickly roused the older. No one felt the need to talk much as they got dressed for the day. Everyone’s name was in that draw far too many times, but what else were they supposed to do? Starve? The girl by Moraine’s side got up and he did too. He leaned against the back wall as the children who still had parents left first to spend the morning together while the others stayed behind.

A boy sat on the edge of a bunk looked up at him. “Mica, are you coming today?”

Without thinking he nodded. “Of course.” He cracked a sideways smile and reached out to mess up his hair. “Do you think I’d rather hang around here until you get back? I’d be bored out of my mind.”

“Hey!” The boy pushed Moraine’s hand away, but he smiled too.

Good. Even if he smiled for only a few seconds it was the least he could do. He offered a hand and the boy took it as they made their way out of the building. Others were already waiting outside, older children and teenagers trying their best to make things light for the younger. Still, there wasn’t much they could do. He leaned against the side of the building, taking the weight off of his right leg still stiff from sitting down all night in his human body. Years ago a log fell the wrong way and he hadn’t reacted fast enough. He was lucky it only caught his leg.

Everyone knew what could happen in just a few hours but this year was different. Moraine was no longer mortal. They all knew he was a god now, but word of his existence hadn’t spread much farther than those he’d known and loved and those who’d buried him. He wouldn’t let any of them come to harm this year. If Day had anything to say about him going in then so be it.

[rilumine]

How their kisses taste

Characters: Ganyu, Tartaglia Pairings: Genshin Impact x gn!Reader A/N: Requested by yours truly! Just a little smth to start this blog off. (also not proofread, whoops)

Ganyu's kisses taste like the morning dew of the glaze lilies.

Most know the qilin secretary as an ostensibly hard worker, so none among the Liyue Qixing could've foreseen that she already had a very lovely partner of her own. But for most, the shock soon dissipates into kind regards. After all, the secretary has worked centuries for the sake of Liyue, has she not? So surely she deserves some happiness of her own.

As Ganyu's loved one, you are privy to a side of her that very few get to see.  

Just as few are witness to the morninglight shining through the dewdrop of the precious flower she holds so dear to her heart, only you are witness to dishevelled azure hair, drool residue on puffy cheeks, sleepy violet eyes just barely awake.

On her rare days off from work, the two of you spend the morning curled up together in bed. No obligation for either of you to wake. An unfamiliar serenity, a scarce relief for the two of you. You, a hard working adventurer, and her, the diligent emissary.

She rouses, only to place a soft kiss on your lips. To which, you pull her in deeper.  

Ganyu's kisses are no less pure than the whole grain and spring water she consumes, no less sweet than the nectar of the Qingxin

Tender and light, the ever-gentle touch of her finger running along your cheek. Her kisses are tender, yet adeptal side treating you so fragile as if you could burst like a dewdrop at anytime.

But your (e/c) eyes, laced with an adoring affection, compels her just melt into your touch.

She's really touchstarved, please treat this bby well;;

A soft warmth emanates from her lips, leaving you breathless each time you pull back. And you can't help but notice a slight twinge of pink dusting her cheeks.  

The bedroom was silent, save for the birdsong of finches out in the streets, except for the quiet whisper your girlfriend let out.

"我想拥有你的全部，永远，你和我，每时每刻, (y/n)。”

Tartaglia's kisses taste like the rays of dawn on Dragonspine.

Many have warned you against associating with the Fatui, a dangerous organisation, infamous for their dirty debt collection methods. However, by some humorous twist of fate, you ended up making a boyfriend out of the 11th Fatui Harbinger. Funny how fate works sometimes.

As such, you have been the target of many a suspicious look from other locals, walking down the street hand in hand with the harbinger. It doesn’t bother you too much though. And if it does, Tartaglia is more than happy to shut them up.

Childe pls no-

He doesn't shy away from giving or receiving public affection, rather he revels in it. Any chance to showcase your relationship is a chance he consistently takes. Nothing too dirty though. Just the occasional peck on the cheek or lips, a simple ruffle of the hair, that's all.

But he absolutely adores your surprised, flustered expressions. After all, it's not his fault you look so cute.

However, in private is a whole other matter.

In private, he becomes hungry for your affection. His kisses are deep, desperate, carnivorous even. Seeking to encapsulate every part of your sweet lips, leaving you with no time to gasp for air. His tongue delves deep into your mouth, your knees giving out at this point. It's messy, it's sloppy, it's every bit the blood-thirsty warrior he is.

However...

There are times when his kisses are oh so tender.

He will cradle your body gently in his arms, lips slowly melding into each other. No words are spoken during these times, no words are needed. Your bodies don't part, and neither of you want to let go. Tartaglia would give anything if just to freeze this moment in time.

Truly, you are his moon, his starlight, his sun. No one else could ever melt the heart of the icy warrior like this.

"Я готов на все ради тебя, (y/n)"

[natthebattygeologist]

A Brush with a Cursed Lily

Royal Court AU

King’s Advisor!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

A/N: So here it is, a second part to A Kiss From a Rose. I’m sorry for the wait however I got very busy with work and my university projects. I do so hope you enjoy this. It’s written slightly differently to part 1 as this is all from the Reader’s POV.

I just want to thank @cockslut-padalecki for allowing me to write part 1 as part of the #notmyninth writing challenge and I hope that this angsty follow up does A Kiss From a Rose proud.

Word Count: 2208

Warnings: Angst, angst, more angst, some light fluff, swearing, implied smut, grief, mentions of loss.

Reader’s POV

I ran around chasing after the little squirt who was currently avoiding his bath-time before tripping up and landing square on my backside in a patch of tall Calla Lilies. They were a stunning shade of deep violet and brought back the memories of 6 summers ago. The day I was married off to my best-friend, Steve Rogers, Lord of Rosebury-upon-Sale. I chuckled to myself as my husband rounded the corner of the orangery with our son, covered in mud head to toe, a huge smile plastered on his face. The last few years had been trying at times, and unbearable in others but somehow, we managed to make it through.

“Frolicking in the flowers are we, my petal?” A deep laugh resonated from Steve’s chest as he took in the sight of me, dishevelled and dirtied from my tumble.

“Yes, it’s a rather delightful hobby I have found. Quite the thrilling end to chasing our little gremlin child. Now if you would be so inclined as to help your pregnant wife out of the flower bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Come now love, you know I love to see you in a fluster, but I suppose it would do the baby no good leaving you there.”

I took the hand he so graciously offered me and took our muddied little boy from his father’s hold.

“Now honestly Charlie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Prince as muddy and dirty as you are right now, you little rascal. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, then maybe we can go and visit Uncle James before bedtime.”

----------------- 4 Years Earlier----------------

The King summoned us back to court, and what was meant to be a joyous visit quickly became a permanent stay. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a bleary-eyed Prince and an equally as troubled Princess. The King was dying and had called upon his advisor to help prepare for Bucky’s transition into power. To anyone else nothing would’ve seemed amiss, except it was.

When James’ back was turned, I had witnessed Princess Maia acting rather strangely, gathering bouquets of foxglove and trimmings of deadly nightshade. I was almost certain of her intentions but feared my own safety and so kept it to myself, until one night where I couldn’t bear the burden this knowledge held over me any longer.

“Steve, my love, I have something troubling my mind.” My voice came out a hushed and broken whisper.

“What worries you so my petal? I know it hasn’t been easy for you being back, and having to pretend to like Maia, I assure you that I am always here to listen to you and love you.”

“Well, you see, I think I know why the King is sick. On several occasions I have witnessed the Princess with my own eyes gathering bouquets of foxglove and cuttings from the nightshade bush down by the lily patch. I worry that she is poisoning the King, taking advantage of both his and James’ compromised states to hold a sway over decisions that will likely see our kingdom lost to that of her own father.”

I spoke confidently now, having been an integral part of the court for all my childhood. Steve knew better than to question my knowledge of how things ran. He also knew that I would be one of the first to notice if anything was awry, be that with the account books or even the numbers of armed men stationed at each watchtower. After the death of his wife the King only had James as an heir, and so, he vowed that in case any ill befall him I would also be trained, so that if required, I could become a successful Queen someday.

“Steve, I do believe wholeheartedly that this is all a set-up and that we have been blindly infiltrated by our enemy. Things aren’t adding up. The number of guards stationed at The Keep has been halved in sized since the King has fallen ill. It leaves the West of the kingdom in a precarious position. One where an attack could easily happen and be kept quiet. I don’t like the look of it, any of it, and something needs to be done before we are conquered, you are killed, and me resigned to a life of slavery and servitude at the hands of the despicable Wyvern family.” My voice broke and a sob tore through me at the thought of losing everything I have left to the family that has already taken so much from me, starting with my mother shortly after I was born.

“Hush my petal. Tears will do nothing to fix this. The King is aware of the situation, however in our absence the Prince has changed, and he has become blinded by his love for ‘his lily’, though I daresay snake would be the better term for that venomous bitch.” A scoff escaped Steve’s lips before he continued. “The reason the King summoned us is because he has seen what fate has befallen James. He has made his bed, albeit a rather uncomfortable bed, and now he will have to lie in it. The King wishes for you to become Queen after his passing. He wants to stop the plans of Maia’s family before their tendrils of poison can run further into our kingdom than they already have. You my love can bring all this to an end, and I believe you would be able to unite the Kingdoms in a peaceful treaty that could last.”

I curled up into Steve’s side placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He returned it with a hunger and passion before carding his fingers through my hair and tracing them along my jaw.

“Please my petal, let me chase away your worries, after all, if you are to be Queen, we shall need to work on producing some heirs.”

A smirk befell his lips before he ducked his head, nipping at my neck, knowing full well that I would cave to his carnal desires.

--------------- Present Day -------------

After having cleaned up the mucky Prince, Steve and I walked with him through the gardens as evening began to draw in. Fireflies filled the air as we made the trek to the rose garden. As a child it had been mine and Bucky’s favourite place to hide, and on more than one occasion hugs and kisses had been exchanged.

Today this garden holds a whole new meaning as at its centre, beneath a beautiful weeping willow, lay James’ grave.

------------- 3 Years Earlier ------------

Before the King’s passing, he ordered his kings-guard to imprison and execute the Princess for treason against the throne. She was hung at The Keep as a warning to her family that they were next. Their years of planning and scheming had come to an abrupt and distasteful end.

What the Wyverns deemed as an unlawful murder incited a full war between our Kingdoms, it saw both Steve and Bucky fighting on the front lines with me at the helm, as Queen. Soon I had treaties signed with other Kingdoms aligning us for generations to come, until the only one stood against the alliance was the Kingdom of the Serpents. The battle of Roseknappe in the Western borders was the bloodiest battle of all. By this time, I was no longer part of frontline action as I was holed up in the castle under the watchful protection of my elite Queens-guard. When news got out that I was with child the Wyverns stopped at nothing to try and kill me or at the least cause me harm enough for my body to rid itself of the heir I now lovingly grew inside of me. But they needn’t have worried.

When I was around 5 months along tragedy struck our kingdom. The arrival of my husband looking grey in pallor, with sunken eyes and covered in injuries was the first sign that something was very wrong. When the two had left to fight they rode off, side by side, settling any grievances they had over the arranged marriages and uniting to fight to save the Kingdom and keep me on the throne. Steve’s return signalled the end of an era and feelings in my gut that had been dormant for years surfaced in cry of grief so great that it silenced the birdsong for days. Although James was not King, he was still a beloved Prince. My first love and the person who would forever hold a piece of my heart.

In my grief-stricken state I had fallen and managed to land with the sharp riser of the marble stairs squarely in my abdomen. The shock I was in meant that I hadn’t noticed the blood that began pooling nor do I remember what happened over the next few weeks as the doctors and healers frantically worked to keep me alive.

“Steve? Steve? Where’s James? I…. I want to see him. I…” I was interrupted by Steve coming over and pulling me tight to his chest.

“Praise to the Old Gods, my petal, are you okay? Are you in any pain?” worry had seeped into his tone and what looked to be a pang of guilt crossed his normally stoic face. “My love, how much do you remember of the last three weeks?”

A confused expression befell my features before Steve decided to continue.

“Oh, my sweet love, James... James isn’t coming back. The fight at Roseknappe, he saved my life by taking the arrow that was meant to pierce my heart, he sacrificed himself because he wanted me to be able to return to you, so I could love you the way he was never allowed to. So that I could raise a family and keep our Kingdom strong. He died in my arms after begging me to pass you on this letter that he wrote, almost as if he knew he wouldn’t make it back from this war.”

Fresh tears began to fall as Steve handed me the bloodied paper.

My dearest Rose,

How I wish things had been different, and that it was I that got to hold you in my arms at the end of the aisle. I begged my father to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. I will never forgive myself for the horrid things I said to you when father made you queen. I was poisoned by the words of a traitor and knowing now I hurt the one true love of my life is the reason why I will fight so hard to save you.

If you are reading this it means I am gone my sweet girl. I know that you will grieve me but please, for my sake as much as your own, I want you to love Steve as wholly as you once loved me. I beg of you to take care of yourself and to keep me close as you grow through the years. I am sorry I will not be there to see my little nieces and nephews, but I know that you and Steve will be the most wonderful parents.

That day in the rose garden, after your first dance in front of the court, when I kissed you. I wanted to tell you then just how much I loved you, but I couldn’t do it. It’s almost as if in my heart I knew you would never truly be mine.

I love you my Rose and I will see you in the next life,

Your Prince,

Bucky

xx

4 months later after grieving the loss of the Prince, the Kingdom was celebrating, not just a victory of war and a long lasting treaty of peace, but the birth of their future King.

Prince Charlie James Buchanan Rogers, heir to the throne of Rosehall and Duke of Snowblossom Grove.

----------- Present Day ----------

“…… and that is the story of how your brave Uncle James battled the terrifying Wyverns to protect your mummy.”

I could hear Steve talking with Charlie as I sat on the bench staring blankly at the grave, wishing with every ounce of strength that I could, hoping to gain just one more moment with my soulmate.

“Come Charlie, let’s get you into bed, then tomorrow we can go riding and Papa can show you the waterfall where him and Uncle James decided to scare me into thinking that your Papa had drowned. Really, they just wanted mummy to go swimming with them, but they knew I wouldn’t go unless there was an emergency.”

After settling Charlie into bed, I took a stroll around the halls before heading to my shared chambers. Laying on the bed next to Steve he protectively wrapped his arms around me, as if he could shield me from the pain the world would throw at me.

“I love you Steven Grant Rogers. It may have taken me a while but, I have always cared for you, and I vow to you now that I will love you until my dying breath.”

“I know my petal, as I will love you, and Charlie, and this little one that we have yet to meet, until mine.”

Taglist: (My Humble Peeps)

@missyredbean

[worldwidemochiguy]

Moonlight (PJM x Reader)

➵ Your mother has always warned you against entering the forest. Two years ago, your friend Jimin was lost to the trees, with no one brave enough to search after him. But, when you find yourself unable to resist the tug of adventure, you run into Jimin, rumpled, but alive. Can you and Jimin escape the clutches of the forest? And can you discover what- or who- is behind the disappearances that plague your village?

➵ Pairing: Jimin x Reader x ???

➵ Word Count: 3K

➵ Masterlist

Your mother is wrong about a lot of things. 

She was wrong about how many yards of fabric it takes to weave a skirt; the village girls don’t want a skirt that goes all the way down to their ankles, it’ll only trail on the ground and make the hem all muddied. She was wrong about the correct method of planting flowers; you often had to replant them all after she had gone to bed to ensure the roots took hold properly. She was even wrong about your father. In the end, he hadn’t been able to overcome the fever. 

But one thing she was definitely not wrong about is the importance of not getting lost in the woods. 

These woods are home to many folktales. Silly rumours and fancies housewives tell to keep themselves amused, of course, but that doesn’t stop the villagers from drawing their curtains a little tighter at night. Doesn’t explain the two men, four women, and one child who vanished, one by one, moments after venturing into the thicket of trees.

You tug your cloak around you, as if it can protect you from the looming shadows cast by the sun, who’s light can no longer reach you. Blocked by gnarled branches and browned leaves. From the safety of the village outskirts, the forest seemed like a teeming haven of life, brightly coloured flowers you had never seen before bursting from the banks of the grass, swaying lightly in a summer-scented breeze. 

You knew your mother — everyone’s mothers, really — warned people explicitly against wandering into the forest, but the berries growing at the foot of that willow tree were just the perfect shade for the scarf that girl, Jeongyeon, if you’re remembering correctly, had requested. And then, when you crouched down to pick them, you saw a cluster of dandelions more rich in colour than any you had ever seen before, and so you willingly went, step by step, deeper into the forest. 

And now you find the path you took has somehow become overgrown by brambles. 

“Okay,” You whisper to yourself, turning slowly on the spot, trying to catch sight of a clear path to take, “It’s alright, you’re alright, you’ll be back home in time for dinner and mother will be pleased with all the dyes you’ll be able to make.” 

Your words, though soft-spoken, are not exactly comforting. The forest, which had sounded so full of life, the shifting of the breeze and rustling plants and birdsong, is now deadly silent. The air seems to absorb every syllable your mouth forms, hollowing it out and spitting it onto the dead leaves blanketing the forest floor.

You decide to retrace your footsteps, sunken into the dry mud and twigs like an embossment. It’s strange, you could have sworn you had come from the other direction, but you guess that your sense of orientation is less than perfect since you can’t make out the sun and your only surroundings are an army of eerily similar trees. 

As you move further from the heart of the forest, it almost seems to get darker. You worry the sun has begun to set. Mother must be looking for you. The full-basket swings against your legs, the rustle of the plants within as they shift over each other comforting you somewhat. You’d rather be loud, than be reminded of that heart-wrenching silence at the centre of the forest. 

You’re glad you’ve escaped it, certainly. With any luck, you’ll be at home before your mother can use the excuse of anger over your actions to make you scrub the floors of the cottage. Sugar, your grumpy cat, has the unfortunate habit of leaving little presents tucked under rugs and furniture, a not-so-pleasant surprise for whoever’s turn it is to clean. 

A whisper. A laugh. Suddenly, the snap of twigs crushed underfoot is not the only sound you can detect. You wonder excitedly if this means the village is just out of sight, beyond the thick gathering of trees and branches. Maybe you’re overhearing the village children playing? You prepare yourself to scold them for wandering this far out. Hopefully they won’t realise that you’re too far out as well, and therefore in no position to criticise. 

However, as you grow closer, you realise that it isn’t laughter you can hear. It is the sound of someone weeping.

You break into a run without a second thought. What if they’re hurt? What if they’re scared? What if they’re lost, like you? Except you aren’t lost, you remind yourself firmly, you’re making your way out. It’s just… taking a while. 

You stumble into a clearing, which you must have managed to circumvent on your way into the forest, and in the centre… is a boy. A man? You can’t really tell, with the way he’s hunched over himself, strands of dirty blonde hair covering his face. 

His shoulders are shaking with the force of his quiet sobs, he doesn’t seem to notice your presence at all as you inch further into the clearing, towards the ray of light that breaks through the forest canopy, bathing him in an almost ethereal glow. 

Once you are close enough, you reach out a hand to touch him. He stills, but does not look up. 

“Hello,” You say tentatively, brushing over the surprisingly soft fabric of his shirt, “Are you alright?” 

You receive no response, and a curl of sympathy tugs in your gut. This could have been you, if you hadn’t the sense to retrace your steps. 

“What’s your name?” You try again, and the boy murmurs something inaudible. “Sorry?” 

“My name’s Jimin.” He says, and as he finally looks up, you gasp. 

Jimin. The first boy that went missing, almost two years ago; his bride-to-be was inconsolable for months. He used to come to you for dye to treat his hair. Your first crush. 

“And yours?” 

“Huh?” 

Jimin’s insistent gaze pulls you out of your memories, his hand outstretched and open. Expectant. 

“Your name?”

“You don’t remember me?” You reply, slightly hurt, before hurriedly composing yourself and helping him up. His hands grip tightly around yours, warming slightly as you give him your name. You wonder how long it has been since he touched another person. You squeeze his hand back. 

“Remember me?” You try again, “From the village? My mother’s the seamstress?” 

“Oh… yes,” Jimin says, a slight smile of reminiscence curving around his full lips, “I remember you.”  

“I’m glad.” You smile, swinging his hand between yours. “Come on, follow me.”

You tug him through the forest, following the path you are sure leads back to the village. You don’t know how, exactly, but you can just feel it. Your steps are practically taken for you, the grass cushioning your every move and pushing you onwards.

“So… how have you… survived these past few years?” You ask cautiously, at odds with the curiosity burning on the tip of your tongue. Jimin smiles at you, and you smile back encouragingly. 

“It wasn’t very hard, really. The forest is full of things to eat, and natural springs to bathe in. It was… an escape.” He sighs, almost wistful. 

Confusion digs a crevice in between your brows — why was Jimin crying when you found him if he was happy here? And… how could anyone be happy, isolated from everyone they’ve grown up around? 

But, it isn’t your place to judge him, you remind yourself. After nearly two years on his own, it’s remarkable Jimin is still pleasant to look at, let alone talk to. 

“Everyone will be so happy to see you!” You say, to change the subject. “I’m sure you’re glad to know Areum never married anyone else.” 

At the mention of his former fiancée, his face darkens abruptly. He stops, forcing you to halt as well since your hands are still tightly intwined.

“I… My fiancée was actually part of the reason why I left.” 

For perhaps the fifth time in the past few hours, you are shocked. 

“You- You left… voluntarily?”

“I did not wish to marry her.” Jimin replies simply, and you gape at him. 

“So you’d rather live in the wild? Areum is the prettiest girl in the village!” 

“She is not.” Jimin states, looking you dead in the eye, “Besides, I do not want to marry the prettiest girl, or the girl my parents picked out for me so I would give them grandchildren. I wanted…”

Jimin trails off, his dark eyes flashing as the sun catches them. Under the light, they reflect it back as pure snow, the bright shade almost hard to look at. Your gaze drops to the ground. 

“…I want to marry my one true love.” Jimin finishes, quietly but no less fervent. 

“But, if your one true love wasn’t Areum, then who…” 

Jimin simply stares at you, and you blanch. 

“It- it isn’t…it can’t be…” You flounder, but his gaze refuses to waver. “Me?” 

“Who else?” He says, and you splutter. You try to drop his hand, but he merely tightens his grip, and you have to remind yourself that Jimin has been on his own for the past two years, and you should be patient with him.

“I- Jimin. I am sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.” 

Though his expression doesn’t alter, something changes in his eyes. He becomes a little less open, and a little more guarded. The guilt doesn’t waste any time before flooding into you with sadistic relish. 

“Just…let’s just get back to the village, and everything will be okay.” 

“…Okay.” He eventually replies, and you give him a gentle smile. He does not return it.

You can’t tell how much time passes. Neither sunlight nor moonlight can break through the leaves, and with Jimin everything seems to pass by much slower. The guilt you feel over turning him down — god, you’re the first person he sees in two years and almost the first thing you do is reject him — weighs down your every step, until you are almost trudging. 

You don’t even notice the branch leaning down overhead, directly in your path, until Jimin holds it up as you pass beneath with a strength you didn’t know he possessed. You guess living in the forest must have hardened him, even though his cheeks have that familiar, soft curve, and his light hair looks as silky as it always did. 

“Thank you,” You murmur, and he laughs quietly behind you. Perhaps because of your voice, which sounds as tired as your muscles feel. 

“It’s my pleasure.” He replies, squeezing your hand a little tighter. You grip it back, happy that he seems to have forgiven you for earlier, or at least forgotten. 

You come across a flight of steps carved into the mud, edged with boards of carved wood. They trail off out of the forest, and you take the opportunity to rest, sitting down on the first step and dangling your legs over the ledge. 

Jimin sits beside you, and you’re too exhausted to stop yourself from leaning against his side. He kindly wraps an arm around you to steady you. You had forgotten how nice Jimin was, before he left. You’re very lucky you found him, you decide, otherwise you really might have gotten lost.

You trail a finger over the whorled design carved into the wood beneath you, trying to decipher what looks like an entirely different alphabet. There are etchings too, small figures dancing and drinking and… procreating — you move your finger away from that panel with a blush — and you are struck with a realisation. 

“These steps… they’re manmade, of course, they have to be. That means… we must be getting close to the edge of the forest!” 

Jimin chuckles as your fatigued, slurring voice gives a weak attempt at excitement, stroking his hand over the curve of your waist. 

“I guess it does. Do you want me to carry you? You must be getting quite tired now.”

“No… ‘m strong,” You insist, but don’t protest as he kneels in front of you, scooping your bent legs and securing them at either side of his thighs, looping your arms around his neck as he stands with you plastered along his back.

“Of course you are, dearest.” He breathes, not winded at all as he begins running down the steps. 

His footfalls are light, you notice, like he’s prancing down the steep incline. You remember he always used to dance at the maypole festival, and how magical, ethereal he appeared to you back then. You had begged your mother for weeks afterwards for dancing lessons, but she had told you there simply wasn’t the money.

Your weight does not seem to be any added burden for him as he practically flies down the steps. Your eyes are drooping closed, but you stubbornly wrench them open each time, wanting to see the outskirts of the village appear once you finally reach the end of the stairs. You don’t remember using them to enter the forest, but- well. This must be a different way out. 

Except, the village does not appear at the end of the steps. Jimin sets you down by the roots of a colossal tree, which you can’t believe you haven’t noticed before. The clean white bark stretches a mile into the sky. The thick roots form a sort of seat around you, and the grass beneath you is soft, comforting. Under the shade, it almost appears blue.

“Jimin, w-why are we stopping? Do you… do you need a rest?”

Jimin laughs, but this time, it sounds more high-pitched. Less controlled. A shiver trips down your spine uncomfortably, rung by rung, like it’s being held back at every step. Like he wants you to remain calm. 

“That’s very considerate of you, my dearest, but I’m alright.” 

“T-then-” You struggle to say, wondering if you’re really this out of shape, that a day’s walk can wind you so much. But, to be honest, you don’t know if it’s been a day. Time seems to trickle by like honey. “Then… why are w-we, uhm… stopping?” 

“Because we’re here.” Jimin smiles unsettlingly. 

“Here?”

“Well,” He deliberates, “We aren’t there yet, but this is where we have to be. As soon as the moonlight comes out, we’ll get there.” 

“J-Jimin, what’s…um, what’s going on?” You ask, feeling an edge of hysteria come into your voice, “When are we going home?” 

His laugh this time feels like a scream. Not his scream. Yours. It warms in your mouth, but before it can spill out, something tugs it back. An invisible hand wraps itself lovingly around your throat, and you realise you can no longer speak. 

“Oh, you’re just as naïve as he was.” 

…what?

Jimin reads the question in your eyes, or does he? Can he hear it rattling around your head? Can he taste the word on your useless, unspeaking lips?

“When he first came to this forest… oh, he was desperate. They say love makes fools of us all, but, it really possessed him mind and soul.” Jimin laughs again. He seems to be much more comfortable now, happy as you lie against the roots of the tree, unmoving. “You don’t understand why that’s funny yet, but don’t worry, dearest, I’ll explain. I love seeing that look in your eye.” 

“Jimin loved you more than I’ve ever seen anyone love anything, but his love didn’t make him strong. It made him into a coward. He could barely look at you before he was running away again. Don’t you wonder why he bought all that dye from you?”

Jimin paces along the ground as he talks, but- 

He isn’t pacing, he’s floating. The air prevents Jimin from crushing the grass under his bare feet, buoyed along the invisible currents of the jasmine-scented breeze wafting around the base of the tree. 

 “He heard talk of the Faeries, and he came to us, begged us to make him strong. He promised to lure in tributes for us, bring us other things to play with, as long as we promised never to harm you.” 

If you had control over your own breath, it would have stopped cold. The other missing boy. The missing women, all regular attendants of Jimin’s dance class. The little girl, who’s mother had cried for weeks after her disappearance. Who had been found dead in her cottage two days after she was told to give up looking. 

“And so, we fulfilled our side of the bargain accordingly. We made him strong, brave, worthy… by making him one of our own.” The thing wearing Jimin’s face smiles, and it’s the ugliest sight you’ve ever seen. “I became him, and he became me. Hello.”

“You… you killed him.” You groan, and Jimin coos. 

He crouches in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke the side of your face. If you had the energy, you would bite him. 

“Don’t worry, my love, he’s still here. You talked to him earlier, actually. As soon as we realised you were lurking on the outside of the forest, he became very excited. Insisted that he should be the one to talk to you first. It’s only after you turned him down that I took over.” 

Jimi- the faerie’s eyes glow white, and you realise that it wasn’t sunlight reflecting in Jimin’s eyes back then. It was madness. 

“After all this time living inside of his head, I have grown rather… fond of you. I love you as he does, and we’ve decided to share you.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you…” You mumble, and Jimin smirks, gathering you in his arms again and standing up. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want anymore, beloved. You’re ours, remember? You gave us your name.”

A bolt of light strikes a leaf. A flash of memory, shoved from his mind to yours. 

“My name’s Jimin. And yours?”

A hand outstretched, expectant, waiting impatiently for an offering. 

A smile as you give him your name. 

Your mother had always told you not to go into the forest, and you had never thought to ask why, blissfully ignorant as you fell headfirst into a faerie’s trap. 

“That’s…not…” You try to struggle, and find that you can’t, “I… I didn’t k-know-”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, my love.” Jimin coos as his stranglehold on your mind tightens, “It’s okay, don’t fuss, it’ll be alright. I’m taking you home.” 

“The… the village?” You ask hopefully, and Jimin snickers, delicate and so heartbreakingly cruel. 

“No, my home. Our new home.” 

The moonlight shatters through the forest canopy like glass, and Jimin pulls you down into the faerie realm, never to return to the warmth of sunlight again. 

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Imagine this: You are at a small party and you get bored with all the mindless chattering and gossip. You say you need some fresh air and head outside. Sighing, you place your wine glass down on a table and take off your heels. "Good evening.", a voice calls out from behind you. Your eyes meet mesmerizing scarlet. You know this man. But does he know you? "May I have this dance, my fellow outcast?" Smiling as you cringe at his words, you take his hand. (1/2)

Holy shit, Anon!

Before I start, I need to tell you that I am obsessed with this ask, and literally started mentally writing this the MINUTE I read through. Please pardon a little creative license; I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy!

Edit 22 Oct. 2021- As a special request, there is another part to this fic, told from Gil’s perspective this time. Thank you for reading!

It isn't as hard to slip away from the festivities as it should be; everyone is already so deep into their drinks that they wouldn't really notice even if you did made an effort to announce your departure.

You take the miracle at face value however, weaving through various groups and couples to the kitchen, topping up your single glass of wine and stealing a few pieces of food.

For a few minutes, all is quiet in your little haven, only the soft lighting from the stove and a jack-o-lantern keeping you company. You finish off a few bites, and just as you're about to grab some more food, a couple stumbles through the doorway, oblivious to everyone and everything.

Deciding you would rather leave than interrupt them, you slip out the back door, closing it softly behind you.

Sunset is painting the sky in vibrant lilac and rose, birdsong still carrying across the yard. The day is still fairly warm, and you slip your shoes off with a sigh, wiggling your toes through the grass as you make your way to a white bistro set.

There are two empty chairs, and you happily take the nearest one, setting your glass on the table, happy to melt into the iron.There is nothing except the beautiful sky and a newfound inner peace. Blessed silence after all the hullabaloo and gossipmongering from the past hour.

"G'evenin'."

Dammit.

You hadn't noticed anyone else slipping outside, or hanging out in the yard. And now you'll have to make small talk again and feign interest in whatever pointless topics come up. Terrific.

Not bothering to even glance at your companion, who is already making himself comfortable in the other chair, you offer a frustrated sigh. "Hi."

"Oof. Little bitterness there."

Whoever he is, he sounds concerned, if not bemused.

Despite your irritation at having your privacy interrupted, you don your manners once more, turning to him with a smile you don't really feel. "Long night, sorry."

He hums. "That I get. More like a long week I think."

The admission and his tone have you breathing out the ghost of a laugh. "You got me there."

He's surprisingly quiet for a few minutes, seemingly just as content as you are to watch the skyscape. You find you're not nearly as uncomfortable with the company as you would have expected.

Subtly, you try to figure out exactly who he is, though the design of his mask makes it absolutely impossible. Really, the only thing you can make out are his eyes, a vibrant red you're sure are contacts.

You can't help but ogle his costume; he's dressed as if he stepped right out of a portrait, and if you didn't know better you would swear that was a genuine sapphire resting against his chest. And then there's his mask-

Scarlet eyes flicker your way, his lips turning up in a grin when he realizes you've been staring. "See something you like?"

You're far too embarrassed, yet somehow- "Jury's still out."

The grin grows even bigger, showing off the fangs that complete his ensemble. 

With how pale he is, you mentally decide, it's the perfect outfit for him.

You had thrown yours together on a whim, using a thrifted evening dress, hand-me-down jewelry, and a fake tiara you had worn a few times during your childhood. Ironically, the only part of your ensemble that was expensive is the mask itself, a custom piece that cost more than the rest of your outfit put together.

Now, sitting next to someone who looks like he stepped out of the 1800s, obnoxiously blue jacket and all, you feel a little underdressed, the feeling passing by as you realize he's discarded his own shoes and socks sometime ago.

There's something familiar about him, his slight slouch teasing at a memory from long ago. 

You would think, considering how few people are actually here, you would recognize him, would be able to figure out who he is.

But his eyes are strangers to you, his voice is... unique.

The not-knowing is more aggitating than his company, enough that it is the sole reason for your next words to him.

"As lovely as this has been, do you mind?"

There's no real expression on his face as he turns to you. "Nope. Do you?"

That was a challenge. You can see it in his eyes, heard the playful hitch in his voice. God help you, he's annoying. 

"Yes, actually." Deciding to press further, because why-the-hell not, you offer your own challenge. "You're interrupting my alone time."

"Pardon the intrusion, milady, but I'm pretty sure this is neutral territory."

"I was here first," you retort, a bit childishly.

He snorts, folding his arms across his chest, falling further into his chair, posture absolutely intended to mock you. "Were you, though?"

Dammit, he had you.

You shoot him a scathing look, one that was frankly just a little on the playful side, before folding your own arms and pretending to scowl at the setting sun.

A few more minutes pass, before you hear his voice again. "So..." he says, dragging out the sound in a pointed attempt at getting you to talk to him.

You ignore him, or you attempt to at least. It's kind of hard to do that when he's standing now, just inside your peripheral, head turned towards the heavens.

Finally realizing that you have no plans of responding, he takes another step, now more-or-less directly in your line of sight. "Why're you alone out here? Party's inside, ya know."

You level an unamused stare at his pointed question, a hint of bemusement coating your reply. "I could ask you the same thing."

He smirks, some quick, passing thing, before he hides it behind a small sip of his beer. "Touché."

Somehow, that brief exchange has revitalized you, and you take another drink from your wine, watching some birds make their final rounds for the evening.

The sky is shifting, darkening with each passing moment. And inside, the party is getting louder, laughter carrying out to you from the still partially open door.

He glances back towards the house, an odd expression on his face. You follow his gaze, almost instinctively, turning back to him curiously when you can't determine the cause of his- Discomfort? Irritation?

"You ever just want to run away?"

His question takes you by surprise, and you feel your heart constrict when his focus once more turns to you, achingly familiar eyes seemingly- haunted.

Whatever annoyance you had held previously is gone, replaced with something you don’t really recognize.

Trying to ignore it, you nearly default to the normal lie that comes with small talk, especially with strangers, but there's something so familiar about him-

You give yourself a minute to actually weigh his question, tasting different answers on your tongue. It teases you, the temporary daydream of just hitting the road, abandoning everything and everyone you know to start a new life elsewhere.

After a few moments- really, it could have been an Infinity or merely seconds- you have your answer.

"I'd be lying if the thought didn't appeal to me sometimes."

He hums, sounding somewhat detached, turning once more to study the treeline. There's a heaviness around him now, an aura that almost hurts to see.

"Something tells me it's been on your mind lately?"

He studies you for some time, and maybe it's the lighting or just the contacts, but you could swear his eyes are almost glowing. Finally he offers a small shrug, all that negativity seeming to disappear into thin air. 

"Eh. Comes and goes. Let's just say my cousin's really pissing me off."

You huff a laugh at the statement, thinking of your own loved ones inside, and how tipsy they were already when you first slipped outside. "Family, am I right?"

He hisses slightly, apparently his own form of laughter, that smile once more teasing the left corner of his mouth.

Silence reclaims the pair of you for a few more moments, and as awkward as it could have been- He's good company. After spending so long having to mindlessly chatter about the weather and ambitions, it was nice to simply breathe.

Your companion- it’s still bothering you that you don’t know his name- seems as at ease as you are, content to lean against the table as if he owns the place.

The sunlight is almost completely gone now, the waxing moon taunting you from behind a few scattered clouds painted in amethyst. The stars are not so shy, several distinct constellations already twinkling above you.

With the coming night, there's a chill creeping closer, a crispness to the air that has you sighing in contentment.

He seems to mistake the sound, eyes flashing with concern as he turns back to you. "Cold?"

Your denial is barely even formed before his jacket is over your shoulders, his lingering warmth already starting to seep into your bones.Your mouth opens in a small protest- Seriously, how dare he just assume!- but seeing how instinctively he had done it, how it almost seemed his second-nature-

Rather than offer up any protests, you sigh out a small thank you, and soon slide your arms into the sleeves, marveling at how warm the damn thing is despite how thin it is.

There is another round of laughter inside, and someone decides to raise the volume of the speakers.

Some orchestral piece is playing, a haunting melody that you felt befit a Gothic novel, a spellbinding spectrum of emotions carrying past the still opened door.

You see your companion shift, straightening his posture as he turns his attention back to you. Curious, brow raising slightly, you glance over at him, wondering at his next move.

Shockingly, he's bowing, a right, proper bow, before standing upright once more, a soft smile just noticeable. "May I have this dance, my fellow outcast?"

Oh God-

"You are ridiculous," you're laughing out, even as you take his offered hand.

He's grinning again, a playful look that fits him far better than some of the ones he's had on before. "It's all part of my charm!"

You're rolling your eyes, still smiling despite yourself.

It's only when he's guiding your hands to a ballroom position that you feel the first flickers of panic. You had been expecting maybe some swaying or just kind of shuffling, not-

"Relax, would ya?"

You meet his eyes, immediately reassured by the soft expression there, eased from that inexplicable familiarity. He isn't going to pressure you, and somehow you know he will always have your back.

"Just follow my lead; I've got ya."

You believe him. 

Despite not even knowing his name, what a majority of his face looks like, or even what accent that is- 

You believe him, and you decide to trust him.

Letting go is a strange sensation, one you're not entirely sure you dislike. He seems to know you're a novice, goes at a tempo that he can easily guide you through. Despite never having danced like this before, a few moments in you feel as if a part of you has been reawakened, the next steps coming to you before he begins to move into them.

He seems almost proud of your progress, your dance becoming more a partnership with each passing moment.

The song had shifted a long while ago- now some creepy lofi piece with samplings from a children's cartoon- yet your pace remained the same.

"So..." He puts out into the air, a pensive prompt that has you smiling.

"So," you repeat curiously.

There's another weird expression, fading away before you can analyze it. 

"What's your name?"

Maybe it's the thrill of anonymity, or maybe you're too caught up in the giddiness of your newly discovered talent. Instead of giving him a straight answer, you playfully offer: "Someone smarter than Cinderella's Prince Charming." 

Pensive, you offer an extra thought. "I know the power of a name; who knows what you'd do with it."

The comment seems to amuse him, that achingly familiar smile returning as he guides you into a dip. He hovers there for a moment, slightly pensive. "You know, Prince Charming is a lot smarter than you give him credit for." 

He's guiding you back up, his eyes glowing once you're upright again. "He could do more with his beloved's name than she could even begin to imagine."

That last line, a whisper meant just for the two of you, is digging at you, tugging at some memory buried deep, deep in your subconscious. 

There's something there, a name starting to shape on your lips-

But then he's doing that half-shrug again, dismissing the exchange entirely. "No matter. Keep your secrets, princess."

The last word was spoken with such fondness that your heart actually skipped a beat.

He barely gives you a moment to process, pulling you into a different routine that soon has the rest of the world fading away again. You let yourself forget everything else for a while; you exist only in this moment, dancing on the grass with a stranger.

Except, he's not a stranger, is he?

God help you, you know this is the first time you've met him, know that you've never interacted with this man before in your life, but you know him.

With every minute you spend with him, you imagine all kinds of moments with him- 

Laughter as he wipes chocolate cake off his cheek from an impromptu food fight, annoyance at his cousin's lecturing, the soft smile of pride as he listens to his brother's speech.

And dammit, he never even mentioned having a brother.

But the daydreams keep coming.

Holding his hand in some cobblestoned square, racing through the woods, collapsing into a freshly constructed snow fort, lazing in bed running your fingers through his hair while he reads aloud-

They're so vivid that you're starting to wonder if you lived an entire life with him already.

And God, doesn't that make you sound so ridiculous. 

You've only just met this guy, literally know maybe five things about him, and yet you're already imagining a future with him.

Life isn't some fairietale, and despite the tiara you're wearing for the night, you are not a princess. Shit like this isn't real.

But the way he's looking at you, watching you with such vulnerability and longing-

He's pulling you closer, your eyes drifting shut reflexively.

You feel his breath teasing your neck, his hand pulling you closer to him.

You-

A familiar voice is calling your name.

You barely hear it over the sound of your racing heart beat, over his. Your eyes flash open in irritation, though not at him. Never at him.

"It's not midnight yet."

Given the circumstances, the weight of his hand on your back, how tantalizingly close he is, and the inexplicable gravity you've long since stopped denying, his growl actually elicits a laugh, pained as it is.

"Sadly even the most rebellious of us princesses still have curfews."

He groans in frustration, arms wrapping around you in a hug, his forehead dropping against your own. "Don't. I-" His eyes are meeting yours again, darkened by expanded irises and still nearly sparkling for how vibrant the red is. 

"Run away with me."

It's a whisper, a plea. It echoes through your entire heart and soul, that aching a crescendo of longing and adoration.You would give anything to stay with him, would follow him in a heartbeat.

But you have a family, a job, responsibilities. You can't abandon them, even at the risk of never seeing him again.

"I'm sorry," you force out, the agony resounding from every last inch of your soul. 

You never meant the words as much as you mean them now, your own heart breaking in your decision.

You step away from him, shedding his jacket and turning away.You know if you look at him, if you see his face, if you glance at his eyes once more time-

You manage five steps before he's choking out your name. You close your eyes at the pain in his voice, but it's not enough.

He's used your name, and the sound of it from his lips, the weight of it on your spirit, it's too much for you to resist.

You're turning again, once again struck by how devastatingly handsome he is right now, how much sway he already has over you. 

Every one of his approaching steps, each more confident than the last, is increasing the tempo of your heartbeat, filling you to the brim with anticipation.

It's ridiculous, impossible.

Yet you can't lie to yourself. Not about this.

"Please."

He's barely an arm's distance away from you now, hair haloed and features shadowed from the nearby sconces. And those damned eyes-

"N-"

He's murmuring your name again, slowly, hypnotically, shaping it as if he's savoring the flavor, enjoying how it feels. 

You really want to ignore the effect it has on you, but he's whispering it again, not giving you a moment's mercy. 

"Come with me."

You're powerless to resist.

"Yes." 

[c-hristy]

His Fall (Part 2 of 'His Silence') 《Charlastor AU》

His cheeks puffed out as he carefully considered the process in front of him.  

    Alastor grimaced when he saw himself in the mirror for the eighth time that day; it seemed that Heaven was adorned in mirrors. Instead of the prim red he was accustomed to wearing, his outfit had been changed out for a white suit. His nose crinkled; it just didn’t suit him. 

    His ashen skin hadn’t changed; most angels either had the crisp white skin and very few had ashen colored skin. He had been told at one point that it was due to him being redeemed. Not many angels had actually been redeemed during their demonhood and it caused very few to actually be in Heaven. He’d initially thought he’d gravitate toward the ones that had been redeemed, but they tended to be such a stickler for rules.

    Alastor had spent many days sitting idly by, wondering how he had gained this reputation. During his human years, he’d spent his entire short life slaving over the idea of death and murder. In Hell, he hadn’t been much better. His mind had slowly come to the conclusion that over the past several years, since the birth of his eldest, he had slowly been garnering ‘good’ deeds over the ‘bad’ ones. 

    What even was ‘good’ and what was ‘bad’? He was certain that murdering another demon couldn’t compare to cleaning a wound from one of his children, though he couldn’t be sure. It’s not like anyone could answer his questions.

    Anyway.

    He was seated beside a fountain near the house he had been given. It was more like an apartment; everything was built so that it would encourage partnership and accommodating. It sickened him.

    He couldn’t fathom why he was staying. Alastor had lost track of time by this point because there was no day / night cycle in Heaven. It was always daytime, shimmering sun and angels slept when they felt they needed to. It really messed with his inner need to have everything strictly organized; the one thing he had passed onto Margret.

    His grin twitched. Still consistently smiling was his trademark; there were occasions that he had been told his grin was creepy and he should knock it off.

    All the more reason to keep it on.

    Alastor’s eyelids fell as he stared into the water. The sun glittered across the surface and he reached out, placing a finger into the water and swirling his finger around. The little waves that emerged from his movements caused his grin to fade just the slightest bit. 

    A butterfly effect.

    One little thing he could do here could lead to him going home. 

    His eyes shifted from the water up to the clouds and sun that rest above him. His cheeks flushed at the warmth; so unlike the overbearing heat that surrounded each demon in Hell. Here, the heat was crisp and a soft breeze fluttered by. There was birdsong and the soft, hushed sound of angels speaking to each other.

    No screaming, no drug deals, no thievery.

    Alastor was finding this /boring/.

    “Al, sweetheart?”

    A voice interrupted his quickly souring thoughts. He turned slightly, pulling his finger from the water and shaking the droplets off. Behind him stood a sight he had still not gotten himself used to; his mind reeled even though he had seen her everyday for however long he had been here.

    His mother, in all her smiling glory, sat down on the fountain beside him. She wore a simple white dress, her cheeks rosy and pink. For a moment, his chest twanged; her cheeks were the same color as Margret’s.

    There were so many similarities between his mother and his children. He wasn’t sure he had ever even sat down and told her about them; he hadn’t spoken too much since he was sent to Heaven. Alastor found quickly that the things he wanted to speak about weren’t generally allowed and there wasn’t much he was able to do about that except keep his grin sealed.

    “You doing alright today?” Her voice was melodic; like most angel’s voices were. 

    He hummed and nodded, reaching over and taking her hand in his. She looked startled by the contact; he was never one to initiate anything. Alastor’s eyes dropped back to the water, where there were still some ripples moving softly across the surface.

    “You remind me of Margret.” His voice was soft, the grin faded to a close lipped one.

    “Margret?” Her head tilted to the side and he felt his insides fall just the slightest bit. She would never meet his children; had he even mentioned them at all?

    He hummed, clearing his throat. After so long of disuse, his filter was a little bit more rough around the edges, “My daughter.”

    Alastor’s mother’s eyes widened and she leaned forward toward him, gripping his hand just a little bit tighter, “A daughter?”

    He nodded, squeezing her hand and letting his other one reach down into the water, “My eldest. I have two daughters and a son, down in Hell.” Alastor moved his finger along the surface, just enough that he could feel his finger getting wet but not enough to cause too many ripples to surface, “My middle child is my daughter, Beatrice. The youngest is a boy, named Franklin.”

    “You’ve never spoken of them before.”

    “I suppose it’s because it hurt a little too much.” He allowed his finger to create ripples, “I left them down there.”

    “They can’t come up here?” Her voice was soft, hushed. He supposed it was for the best that their conversation remained among them; Angels were such chatty creatures.

    Alastor shook his head slowly, peering over at her. She looked starstruck; not only did she just gain a grandchild, she gained three, “They’re Hellborn! Stuck down there forever.” The filter over his voice crackled with static and he felt a rush of energy, “The poor dears can never be redeemed. No matter how sweet,” His hand tightened on hers, “No matter how much Margret does or works for, she will never reach this end.” There stirred a fire in his chest; something he hadn’t felt since he was in Hell, “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

    “What do you mean -”

    “Maggie’s a sweet little thing. You’d like her, mama. Always doing her best to be strong for everyone. She’s been part of the redeeming process since she was able to walk.” Alastor’s grin twisted; this was the first time he’d actually spoken about his children since being sent to this cursed place, “Bea’s a mischief maker. Always curious, however. A smart one, but only when she’s interested. Franklin is something else - something even I’m not sure. The opposite of an empath - sociopath, I believe is the term. He’s always smiling, though. He finds joy in the oddest of things.” Alastor shrugged a shoulder, “There’s another demon, Sir Pentious, I believe is his name. Franklin is obsessed with the little Egg demons that Pentious keeps around him.”

    His mother stayed quiet, listening to him as he spoke.

    “And Charlie.” His throat tightened, “The mother of my children, my mate.” Alastor chuckled dryly, “The poor doll. I do hope she’s okay. I suppose I’ll know soon enough.”

    Alastor dropped his mother’s hand and stood in a flourish of his white suit. He gazed around the area and felt a weight settle in his chest. She stood beside him and for a moment, she knew exactly what Alastor was planning.   

    “When?” She was quiet; a bare whisper above the heavenly breeze that drifted around them.

    “Now.” 

    It was a warning, if she’d ever heard one. Without a moment’s hesitation, his mother wrapped her arms around him and he reciprocated; squeezing her as if his life depended on it. And at that moment, it did.

    “I love you, mama.” His voice, deep with the Southern accent he’d acquired as a boy. Without static, without filter. Just the pure, small boy he had been once upon a time with his mother at his side.

    “I love you more, Alastor.” She pulled back from him and grabbed his cheeks, “You tell those babies of yours that their grandma loves them very much.”

    He grinned widely then, a spark igniting in his eye. They parted and she turned, leaving him beside the fountain.

    The fun was about to begin.

    There was a gathering a few streets over. The pavement itself glittered as he walked; indented with gold. His eyes shimmered against the light of the gold and the sun and he found himself feeling so much more energy than he had in weeks.   

    For the past several days, he had been avoiding eating. He knew that he was going to need a rather large appetite and as the days sped on and he didn’t consume the food that was at the food halls at the end of every street, the stronger he became. Alastor wondered idly if there was something tainting the food; something suppressing the inner demon of every angel in Heaven. 

    There was music playing from harps and flutes and if Alastor truly enjoyed being in Heaven as much as he’d thought, he might take a moment to listen. However, he was not interested in the music playing and opted to go straight for one of the musicians.

    The angels around weren’t strong ones. He hadn’t been placed in a housing complex with incredibly strong angels; for that he was grateful. The ones he was housed with had died primarily old and sick and had brought on some of that weakness with them into the afterlife. They wouldn’t be able to stop him.

    Alastor heard a rush through his ear drums the moment he grabbed onto the first angel. There were hesitant noises that quickly turned into screams of terror when he violently ripped and snapped the angels neck clean in half; removing the head from the body. A few angels began to speed away but with a body in his hands and a heart in his mouth, Alastor was stronger than he had been in a very long time.

    Blood caked his hands - still red, like humans and demons - as he continued to grab onto another angel that had tried to bolt. He furiously ripped through the chest cavity and ripped the angel’s heart out, feasting upon it. His head swirled and he felt high; this was the life he had left behind so long ago and he wasn’t sure why he had denied this part of him for so long.

    Something hidden in him snapped and he felt his hands start to morph; his head began to ache. His legs lengthened and he felt so utterly strong - nothing could stop him. He furiously snapped at the air and grabbed onto another angel; his now lengthened claws made it easier to shred through skin and bone and find the heart. 

    Blood coated his mouth and Alastor let out a static-filled growl, his antlers returning full force to the top of his head. In Heaven, his role as Deer Demon had been revoked and he had reverted much to his normal human self; save for his ashen skin. Brown hair quickly reverted to red, brown eyes to red. His teeth elongated and sharpened and power surged through his entire being. 

    There was a Demon ravaging the streets of Heaven.

    Wherever he went, corpses of dead angels and rivers of blood lie. There were tracks in the blood, left to look nothing like the feet of the once-angel. His maw was coated in drool and red and he was still starving. Another angel’s heart joined the rest in his stomach and the body was discarded - he wasn’t intending on getting full based on just a few. He wanted to capture the hearts of many.

    It didn’t take long for him to be cornered, like prey, by an assortment of the most upper level angels. He had torn through any guardians they had sent after him before; their blood was lighter and so much more refreshing. His eyes glared around wildly and he snapped at the air, blood still feeling his nostrils and driving his inner Wendigo mad.

    There were a few hushed whispers from the Guardians that surrounded him. He could hear each whisper, about how they had let him go unnoticed, how he couldn’t remain in Heaven any longer.

    One angel in particular strode through the commotion, his own feet dyed red in the color of his brethren’s blood. His arm raised and with a few words spoken in Latin, Alastor was falling.

    His grin returned as he fell.

    Soon.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

@supervalcsi + Embry Call

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RÉKA!!! :D I know being in lockdown sucks hardcore, but I hope you still have an amazing day!!! You are such a wonderful human being, I am so, so lucky to be able to call you my friend (my heart goes !!!!!!!!!! whenever I see a message from you!!), and I hope the rest of the year gives you all the happiness you deserve!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LOVELY 💚✨💚✨💚✨💚

Most people saw Forks as a small, damp blot on a map, or a town that vanished in a blink out of a window during a road trip. Even those who grew up in the town didn’t seem to want to stay there. But to you, it was home. Admittedly for the longest time, your feelings toward it were complicated, but when you met Embry that started to change.

You had never thought to look at the world through a wolf’s eyes until one imprinted on you. How still a winter forest was, the pines stark against the patches of snow and frosted-over needles. Every sound was muffled, even the birdsong overhead, echoing in the seemingly endless woods. How you could feel more than hear it when your boyfriend approached, as a human or a wolf, felt his body press against your side and his breath mingle with yours, a white cloud of unspoken words. The summers were always different, occupied solely by rare sunshine, laughter and days at the beach, but you found you enjoyed the winter days just as much with Embry to keep you warm.

Of course the moment Embry imprinted on you, the wolf was out of the bag. Well, rather, Embry bit his tongue so hard it bled during the first few months of your relationship, refusing to force anything on you. The rest of the pack thought he was insane (and let him know, loudly) but his dutiful self-restraint quickly crumbled after you both admitted your feelings for each other, when he could tell you without the crushing guilt. You didn’t believe him at first, like any sensible human being, so he helpfully demonstrated for you.

You almost passed out, you never would have stopped berating yourself if you had, though. It helped that the massive wolf looked at you with the lupine equivalent of a grin and nudged you gently with his muzzle. Still your caring, quiet jokester who took any bet available. (You found out later the pack had many entwining bets over how you would react when he finally told you. Embry didn’t really approve of that.)

The pack welcomed you with open arms. In fact, they were almost too friendly. These people you had never met before treated you like they’d known you for months. Embry had to apologize for not being able to keep things private in his own mind, and tell the others to stop being so weird, but you didn’t really mind; soon, you all knew each other on your own terms. You helped Emily with the cooking and baking (and wrangled some of the boys into helping you, it went… surprisingly well, only several things were damaged, one being your faith in them), played adopted older sister to Seth, who absolutely loved you, and stood up to Paul with more steel than you thought you had. Even Leah warmed to you eventually (after the first Paul incident.)

Once, Forks had felt claustrophobic. Now, the world seemed endless. Whole afternoons were spent in an old car Jacob had insisted on fixing up for his friend. Rain raced along the windscreen, the sound of the wipers as comforting and familiar as a heartbeat. Breaks in the clouds blanketed the car in golden light, shining on the damp road. All the while, Embry’s free hand held yours. You would drive for hours just to wander around another town or city, talking, laughing, sightseeing, eating and enjoying life. Everything felt… lighter with him, his presence easing some of the weight off your shoulders. Even under the never-ending rain, his smile made you feel like the sun was in the sky.

Embry fell into your life so easily, like a puzzle piece sliding into place. So, so easily you began to wonder if imprinting worked both ways; if, on some hidden layer of your subconsciousness, you knew he was the person you were meant to be with. He was your constant, the person who knew when to listen and when to try to cheer you up, who reacted to your thoughts and emotions as if he felt them himself, the person whose smile melted your heart. Sometimes you caught him looking at you with so much love, and pride, and dedication in his eyes it almost brought tears to yours.

You don’t know how exactly you had stumbled into his life, his pack, his family, guarded by wolves and with his smile soft and sweet against your own, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing. Except maybe that Paul didn’t try to accidentally murder your boyfriend on occasion. 

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 22

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Monday

When Malcolm woke the next morning, it was essentially perfect.  Bright sunlight streamed in through the window strong enough to penetrate gaps in the drawn bed curtains, birds chirped outside, and Rose Tyler was sprawled across him, sound asleep.

Not bothering to stop a beaming smile he just relaxed back into the pillows, wrapping one arm around Rose’s back while the other folded behind his head.  He didn’t have to check the clock to know it was early, too early to try to get up.  If he did the staff would drop what they were doing to attend to him, and he hated the thought of pulling them from their routine more than necessary.  It was a fact of life in a house like this that certain things had to be done before the family was up, and he didn’t want to disrupt that.

Besides, he was busy acting as a pillow for Rose.

The birdsong outside combined with her soft breathing into a soothing melody, and before he knew it, his eyes were once again slipping shut, sleep reclaiming him.

No matter; he was on his honeymoon.

A lie-in sounded perfect.

-

He woke from his dozing by Rose tensing suddenly against him, and his eyes flew open to find her staring up at him.

“I think someone’s in here,” she breathed, and he relaxed to know it wasn’t their position that bothered her.

“It’s probably the maid, opening the drapes, lighting the fire and bringing us tea,” he replied in kind, conscious that the girl could probably hear them; the curtains weren’t particularly thick.  “She’ll leave in a minute.”

Sure enough, several quiet moments later, the door shut firmly, louder than necessary; on a normal morning it would’ve been near silent, and he knew she’d done that to let them know she was gone without disturbing them.

“She’s gone,” he said in a normal tone.  “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

Rose yawned, burrowing deeper into his embrace to his delight.  “S’okay.  Good to know, though.  Does she come in at the same time every day?”

“Nine o’clock unless told otherwise,” he confirmed.

“Mhmm, okay.  We’ll have to keep that in mind- don’t want her catching us… in the middle of anything.”  She glanced up at him with a coy little smirk, and he had to swallow twice to even attempt a reply.

“Uh huh.”  Smooth, he cursed himself, tongue-tied; his imagination was running rampant, and at any moment she could shift and feel-

Her small grunt of surprise as she did just that had his cheeks flaming, and he stared up at the ceiling in mortification.

“Um…”

She wriggled around next to him, a weight a moment later on his shoulder telling him she hadn’t run away, had instead moved slightly closer.  “You said we were meeting Jack for breakfast,” she murmured.  “How much time do we have?”

Eyes widening he glanced down at her, surprised to find a barely-banked fire burning in her gaze, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Guh.”

Her expression cleared, a smile growing, and she reached up, patting his cheek.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break you.  Maybe tomorrow morning.”  Sitting up, she bent down and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth; not quite a proper kiss, but far more than a friendly peck.  “D’you mind if I use the loo first?”

And she was gone, padding across the room, leaving him in a befuddled state.

“Okay.”

It was going to be a deliciously unbearable day.

-

They went down to breakfast once again hand in hand, and more than once Rose had to use that connection to keep Malcolm from walking into a wall or door frame.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her, a big, dopey grin permanently etched on his often-severe face.  She wasn’t entirely sure what had him in such a good mood; the previous night was a bit hazy starting mid-dessert, though some things were clear- how he’d cared for her while she was sick, how safe and comfortable he made her feel.  She vaguely remembered being in the library, and a serious conversation, but the details were gone.  She considered telling him that, asking what they had discussed, but was slightly embarrassed about all of it.

Entering the dining room she found serving plates on warmers covered in all the fixings of a full-English- eggs and bangers, beans, blood pudding, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, toast…  The spread covered half the table, smelling and looking incredible, and her stomach rumbled in response.

“Hungry?” Malcolm teased, releasing her hand in favor of putting his own at the small of her back, guiding her forward.  “Dig in.”

“Alright.”  Picking up a warm plate she took a little bit of most things, waiting until Malcolm had filled his own before going towards the other end of the table, where three place settings were arranged.  He took the head of the table and she settled on his right-hand side, and was just taking her first bite when the door opened again and Jack burst in, larger than life.

“Good morning honeymooners!” he boomed, efficiently fixing his own plate before joining them.  “How was your first night in Scotland?” he asked Rose with a wink and a smirk, making Malcolm groan.

“Jack-”

“Absolutely brilliant,” she interrupted, taking a sip of her orange juice and finding that it was, in fact, a mimosa, barely able to refrain from coughing in surprise.  “Bloody hell, is everyone trying to get me drunk?”

Malcolm laughed.  “Sorry, I think they’re just trying to impress you.  Want regular juice?”

She pursed her lips, considering.  “No, it’s fine- I just wasn’t expecting it on a Monday morning.  But, we are on holiday, aren’t we?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack smirked from across from her, “it would take a lot of drinking for someone of your new status to be considered an alcoholic, and even more to raise any eyebrows.  No one’s judging.”

“I highly doubt that, but appreciate the support,” she said dryly.  “Now, where are you taking us on this tour this morning?”

-

“I don’t know about this,” Rose whispered to Malcolm, biting her lower lip in worry.  They were standing a few hundred meters from the back of the house at the stables, a beautiful chestnut horse in front of her, waiting for her to mount it.  “I’ve never been on a horse before.”  A horse groom was holding the beast steady and still, hopefully out of hearing distance.

“You’ll be alright,” Malcolm soothed.  “I promise- Tardis is the sweetest horse in the world, perfect for you.  Just, try to be confident and it’ll be fine.  She’ll sense your fear.”

“That… doesn’t really help.”  Sighing, Rose rolled her shoulders back and nodded.  “Okay, let’s do this.”

“That’s my girl.”

He guided her to the steps, helping her up and onto the horse and making sure she got settled, occasionally pausing to talk to the horse and pat it.  He was clear and concise, and by the end of his impromptu lecture, she was feeling somewhat better about the idea.  “You know, there are easier ways to kill me for my inheritance,” she joked weakly, as he moved across to his own horse and swung himself up easily.  “This seems like a lot of effort.”

Her husband just laughed, the bastard, and trotted his horse over to hers.  “Sit up straight, keep hold of the reins, and stay centered,” he instructed.  “You’ll be brilliant.”  Reaching over he smacked the horse’s rump, and she lurched forward.

“Oh fuck you,” she gasped, holding tightly to the reins, certain she was about to fall to her death as they rushed down the lane at what felt like an unreasonable speed.  “Fuck you, fuck you, fuckfuckfuck- hey!  I’m doing it!”

“That’s it!” he cheered, and she didn’t dare look back, letting the horse go where it liked; a moment later Malcolm appeared out of the corner of her eye, pulling abreast of her.  “Here we go.”

Jack was just ahead, waiting for them at a crossroads, and watched them approach with a grin.  “Ready?”

His eyes widened as she continued on past him, and she called back, “How do I stop this thing?”

Their laughter was utterly unhelpful, and she swore that as soon as she was off the horse, she would kill them both- if she didn’t die first herself.

-

She slid off the horse in an entirely undignified way right into Malcolm’s waiting arms, clinging to him as her legs trembled, fighting to keep her upright.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured in her ear, effortlessly holding her up.  “You did it!  I’m so proud of you.”

Rose just whimpered in response, resting her forehead against his sternum, panting for breath.  It had been terrifying and exhilarating, and while she could see the appeal, she’d rather keep both feet on the ground.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”  He leaned back to see her face, concern etched across his.  “Rose.”

“Please don’t make me do that again,” she whispered, pleading, cutting a nervous glance towards Jack, who was several feet away on the other side of the road with his and Malcolm’s horses, tying the reins to a tree.  “I can’t- please, Malcolm.”

“Okay.”  He didn’t hesitate, nodding.  “No problem.  Let’s have lunch for now, then we can figure out how to get back.”

She nodded in agreement, finally feeling stable enough to let go of him and stand on her own.  “Thank you.”

Malcolm kissed her forehead.  “Of course.”  Taking the reins from her he secured them to a tree as Jack had done, and led her out onto the riverbank towards where his cousin was setting out a picnic blanket.  It was a spectacular spot, with a view of the water and the farmland on the other side, secluded and peaceful.

“So, what did you think of the property?” Jack asked as they approached, looking up from where he unpacked the picnic basket.  “Rose?”

“It’s beautiful,” she enthused, dropping onto the ground and wincing.  “God, my arse is sore.”

“Don’t,” Malcolm cut in when Jack opened his mouth.  “Just- don’t.”

Rose snorted.  “Everything looks well-cared for.  I don’t know much about property management, but from an aesthetic view, it’s incredible.”

“I agree.  You seem to be doing an excellent job, Jack, thank you.  I have one or two concerns- ideas, really- but we can discuss them once we return to the house.  The most important question, though, is- what’s for lunch?”

Jack grinned.  “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

-

They spent a good two hours sitting on the blanket under partially cloudy skies, trading stories and food containers, getting to know each other.  Rose was thrilled to hear about Malcolm in his younger years, but was thankful that Jack avoided the topic of Missy.  Jack’s own stories were barely believable, full of adventures and travel and sexual exploits that had her in near hysterics.

It was so enjoyable that by the time they packed up she’d almost forgotten any troubles, though they came rushing back as soon as they started towards the road and horses.

Rose stopped dead, tugging Malcolm to a halt, waiting until Jack had gotten some distance between them to whisper, “How are we getting back?”

His mouth tightened as he considered her.  “Is it riding by yourself that’s the problem, or horses in general?” he asked carefully.  “I can have Jack take Tardis back on her own and you can ride with me, or we can have him go back himself and come back for us in the Land Rover.  Or I suppose we could walk, but it’s a good five miles.”

She looked from him to the horses to the sky, weighing her options.  “Riding with you might be okay,” she hedged, “at least, I’m willing to try it.  Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Malcolm agreed immediately.  “We’ll start back, and you just let me know if we need to stop.  Let me just go tell Jack.”

“Okay.”

Wrapping her arms around herself she let him get a headstart, following a minute later.  By the time she arrived it had all been arranged, Jack on his horse holding the reins to Malcolm’s, Malcolm on hers- without the saddle, which she spotted a moment later with Jack.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked, looking up at him, worried.

“Yes.  I mean, it’s not the best idea, but for us, it’s fine.  Like I said, she’s as peaceful as they come.”

“But… there’s no saddle.”

“That’s easier for her, and more comfortable for us.  I promise, it’s okay- just take my hand, and I’ll pull you up.”

It took several tries, but eventually she was seated in front of him, pressed solidly against him.  He had one arm around her waist, anchoring her, the other held the reins.  “Now, it’ll take longer to get back,” Malcolm said, leaning forward slightly to talk into her ear, “but we’ll be going slow.  Even if something happens it’ll be minor.  Okay?”

“I trust you.”  Moving slowly and carefully she half-turned to meet his eye.  “I trust you.  Just… let’s go.”

“Okay.”  And then they started moving, and after several hundred meters, she started to relax back against him.

Though she hadn’t been thrilled at first at the idea it would take a while to return, and her thighs were absolutely killing her when she finally slid off back at the stable, it had been wonderful to spend so long pressed against Malcolm, his chest to her back, breathing together.  In some ways it had felt more intimate than when they’d gone to bed together two nights before, made her feel so much closer to him.

She wanted more of that closeness, but with more privacy and less clothing.

She couldn’t wait to go to bed that night.

[claudelethtangled]

Chapter 4 - A Collision of Worlds // [Ao3 link]

At the edge of the mountains, the forest was thicker than anywhere else in the kingdom. Huge trees that four people couldn’t wrap their arms around towered over streams and overgrown rocks; it was if the trees were trying to merge with the start of the great range. Shafts of light filtered through, pale yellow streaks that illuminated patches of moss. The heavy silence of isolation hung over everything, broken only by the odd chirp of birdsong—and the cacophony of an armoured knight blundering about on foot.

Uncomfortably high up one of the numerous massive trees, Claude listened to Alois crashing around after tethering his horse nearby. The forest was too thick to ride in, and Claude has used the seconds gained by Alois realizing that fact to climb into a cedar and hide. His bright yellow tunic could probably pass for a sunbeam if he kept still, but he kept to the thickest section of branches all the same.

Globs of sap from a cracked section of bark warmed as time passed, turning glossy in the light. Shouts and threats echoed. Alois’s footsteps approached, slowed, and then receded, the noise no longer accompanied by the crack of his axe cutting through the greenery that impeded him. The whickering of his horse was soon the loudest thing, and the sun marched on…even when Alois didn’t.

Standing in a sparse clearing, the captain finally stopped. He stood for a minute, searching the trees, before he sighed so forcefully he appeared to deflate. With his feet dragging and his head down, he turned back.

His polished armour was easy to track within the forest even without the noise of it, and Claude waited until Alois was almost out of sight before easing himself away from the trunk of the tree he was camped in. Cedar bark stuck to his chest like the shedding of a woodsy cat, but he had fortunately avoided most of the sap and was able to brush himself off.

After waiting another couple minutes to be absolutely sure he was alone, he finally selected a sturdy branch and used it to swing to the next tree rather than climbing down. Claude didn’t think it was likely, but there was a chance that the knight-captain had set traps; and Claude wasn’t about to get caught now. He felt a twinge of regret when he remembered the slump of Alois’s shoulders when he’d given up, but it was only a sword and Claude needed it more.

The trees grew so close together that it was relatively easy to travel through them without leaving the canopy, heading deeper into the mountains by way of their branches. Once he made it to higher ground he could get his bearings and start his journey east, hopefully making it out of the kingdom before the king decided to do anything extreme like mobilize the army. Claude had at least a day’s head start, but he needed to use at least part of that lead to rest. His arms were going to fall off soon if he didn’t.

An old oak was bent over a couple trees ahead, its trunk the perfect spot to catch his breath, and Claude flopped down on it with a sigh. What he really needed was an abandoned building, or an inn. Somewhere with a door that would give him a couple seconds warning if someone came after him. But the only inn he knew was over half a day away, and he needed to sleep before then. There was an uncomfortable metallic tang in his mouth from his wild run across the kingdom, and fatigue settling into his thighs.

Claude sighed again, and a stiff breeze rattled the branches around him. The other trees moved with the wind too, waves of green swaying silently apart from the faint whistle of buffeted leaves. He thought it was pretty, the way the branches filtered the light and made it dance.

Until one of them caught him a resounding wallop across the shoulders.

He let out a surprised yelp at the sting in his back, ducking to protect his head from any more arboreal-based beatings. Another branch cracked down near his ankles, and he scrambled from the oak down to the ground. The wind grabbed at his clothes and he barely stifled another yelp when a greenbrier grabbed them too, pricking his skin with its hooked thorns. Claude made an undignified leap followed by an even less dignified crawl through the undergrowth, ducking and swearing until he found shelter behind an old tree that wasn’t surrounded by blood-drawing plant life.

The wind picked up speed as it whipped through the forest, setting everything outside the haven of the broad pine into a violent dance.

Picking brambles from his trousers, Claude scowled as he looked around. He couldn’t see the oak anymore; it, along with his sense of direction, was nowhere to be found. The debris getting into his eyes didn’t help either. He couldn’t return to his original path the way things were, but walking aimlessly wasn’t an option; there was a chance he could end up going back the way he came, or farther from the border. If the wind didn’t die down soon, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

…Except maybe down the path that was right in front of him.

He blinked, staring at the worn dirt road. It was overgrown and definitely unused, but it was just as definitely a road; meaning that it not only was going to lead somewhere, it was most likely going to lead somewhere abandoned. The trees sheltered it from the worst of the wind, and no thorns were in sight.

It was perfect.

To be safe though, Claude pulled the sword from his belt when he stood. He swapped it with his bow—that was thankfully still on his back and unbroken after his fight through the thorns—and settled the hilt near his shoulders. He wasn’t convinced the blade wouldn’t break if he hit it too hard, and he didn’t want to accidentally waste it on an altercation with bandits because it was the first weapon he grabbed. Better to have his bow in hand.

Still, he had faith the sword held a secret of some sort: he just needed to figure out what. And while the Sword of the Creator was too light and dull to be of any use, it did at least make it easy to carry.

Something that Claude was thankful for when the road turned upwards.

Normally, the steep incline would have been nothing for him…but he didn’t normally climb castles, leap ravines, and run from mounted guards beforehand. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to keep himself from panting too obviously, and ignored the shaking in his legs as he kept walking. He just had to put one foot in front of the other, and not get ambushed. Easy. There would be shelter at the end of the road, and he could rest properly then.

As focused as he was on watching where he put his feet, Claude didn’t notice when the trees thinned out. He just kept going, picking his way carefully so he didn’t trip and turn an ankle in his exhausted state; there would be no living down something like having to use the Sword of the Creator as a crutch. Even to himself. It wasn’t until the clouds parted and the light hit him that Claude finally looked up, and when he did his jaw dropped. For a moment he just stood there, mouth open, wondering how what lay before him wasn’t marked on any map he’d seen.

Claude had been hoping to find an inn, maybe a recluse’s hut or a bandit’s abandoned hideaway. He had not expected to find an entire damn castle.

A massive stone wall rose ahead of him, the yellowish stones almost golden in the sunlight. Flat-topped and peak-roofed towers pierced the sky, more of them than he could count at a glance. The main building was set back from the first wall he’d noticed, rising up out of the hills and blurred by hazy wisps. It was a different style than that of the kingdom’s castle: blockier and practical. There were plenty of crenelations and narrow windows, so those in possession of the place could rain arrows down on unwelcome guests.

That last thought snapped Claude out of his reverie at last, and he ducked out of sight from the two towers that flanked the road. There were no guards stationed within view, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there at all.

Picking up a few rocks, Claude crept closer to one of the guard towers as he watched for any sign of life. It was too quiet for people. When the wind blew into his face it brought no smells of smoke or animals, nothing to suggest the place was staffed. Even if it was inhabited by a person or two, they wouldn’t be able to tell if one extra body was camped out in an unused corner.

He just had to make sure he got in unseen.

Climbing halfway up a nearby tree, Claude knotted together a makeshift sling out of a pair of handkerchiefs he kept for that exact reason. Selecting a rock and a target, he slid away from the trunk. It took a moment to find a rhythm that didn’t bring the sling into contact with the branches, his arm working to keep the momentum as he swung the cloth strips above his head. When the rock started to hum, he aimed and let it fly.

His first shot was too high, nearly hitting the battlements. His second was too low. For his third, he carefully selected the biggest and smoothest piece of granite from his handful and fit it into the cloth cradle with utmost care. He took a breath, and then he pitched it at the tower as hard as he could. It sailed through the window and hit somewhere inside, a sharp clack of stone-on-stone echoing in the silence.

There was no cry of alarm from within, or from the wall. No one appeared to check on the errant piece of nature that had just been launched at them. Claude waited on his tree branch for a few minutes longer and, when still nothing changed, made up his mind: he was going to take shelter in the castle, and he was going to get some damn sleep.

That didn’t mean he was going to stroll through the main entrance, though. He climbed over the wall as far from the towers as possible, and set off for the main keep. The continued lack of sound as he approached the second wall reassured him that the place was abandoned. None of the footpaths looked like they’d been used in years, but Claude still picked the most overgrown of all to follow.

Ivy covered the stones in front of him when he came to a stop at last, offering decent handholds to climb the final wall. Claude made sure everything was lashed securely to his person, and started hauling himself up. The mortar was luckily old enough that he could chip footholds out of it with the toes of his boots, since his arms were being very clear about how much he’d already used them that day. He heaved a sigh of relief when he made it to the top, and slung his leg over.

Later, he would blame his exhaustion for not noticing that the garden looked too nice for something that was supposed to be without human influence. As it was, he simply hooked his ever-practical piece of rope over a merlon and slid down the wall into a patch of flowers—at the exact same moment a woman rounded the corner from inside the building.

Claude didn’t even have time to register anything beyond the woman’s pale green hair before she whipped her dagger out of the sheath at her hip, and lunged forward to slam the pommel into the side of his head. Stars exploded in his eyes, and he marvelled at the complete lack of expression is her eyes. With a face that cold, he actually considered himself lucky she hadn’t stabbed him instead.

Then the darkness dropped over his thoughts, and he finally got to take that break.

xxx

Byleth looked between the unconscious stranger sprawled in the garden and the dagger in her hand; all the years spent training on straw-bound dummies had apparently paid off. She hadn’t even thought about what to do about the intruder before she had struck him.

The problem was that she has no idea what to do now.

Rhea or any of the tactical manuals in the bookshelves upstairs would suggest that Byleth kill him. But the thought turned her stomach even as she turned the man over. He was still breathing, his face neither green-tinged nor ashen. It seemed like he was unharmed from the blow to the head, his warm brown skin looking healthier in comparison to her own pallid complexion when she placed her fingers against the pulse in his neck. He even had hair trailing over his jaw, just long enough to be soft—as she discovered when she impulsively touched it. Some of the saints pictured in the monastery books had facial hair, and Byleth found it nicer in person than she had imagined it to be.

She shook herself from her thoughts and sat back on her heels. Her eyes went from his face to his thick tunic, and down to his well-travelled boots. An idea was forming at the back of her mind, and Byleth wasn’t sure if she even wanted to entertain it yet. She was sure that she needed to bind the man so he couldn’t run off before she made that decision, though.

Using the rope hanging over the wall, she secured him to the old wooden chair she kept just inside the archway so she could sit in the garden when the weather permitted. The bow and arrows he had on him were of no interest to her, but the sword on his back gave her pause. There was something about it that felt familiar…like she had seen it before. Puzzled, Byleth sheathed her dagger to hold the odd blade. It felt…right.

Fingers tapping against the hilt of the sword, she pulled the chair out of the sun and stood across from her captive—and waited.

[supersonic-darling]

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1. Would you rather live in a lone lighthouse that’s overlooking the grey-cool sea, a little cottage in the woods far off the beaten tracks or an old mansion at the outskirts of town with an overgrown garden?

A little cottage in the woods definitely, that’s the dream 🏡🌿

2. What kind of marmalade or jam is your favourite?

Cherry jam, although I had an amazing mixture of raspberry and cherry once so maybe that ? 🍒🐻

4. What does your ideal picnic look like? Which food would you pack, where would you go, who would you ask to join you etc…

It would be mainly cheese and charcuterie, maybe with something home baked as well and some fancy glass bottled pear juice - in a quiet park of my fantasy garden 🥖🧀🍯

6. Which pet would you rather have – a lamb, a cat or a hen?

In reality, probably a cat. Although my dream is to live in a little cottage with a cat, a dog, a donkey and a sheep to keep him company 🐈🐕‍🦺🐑🐴

12. The scent of the forest in the morning, the scent of freshly baked bread or the scent of beeswax candles?

The scent of the first in the morning, the moss, the dew 🦥🍃

13. Would not having a connection to the outside world, except for, say, a landline (so no internet, no smartphone etc) be oppressing or liberating to you?

Liberating but I wouldn’t be able to talk to you guys so 😕📖

17. Blue early mornings with dew-glittering grass and birdsong or golden late mornings with buzzing bees and the sun tangled in your curtains?

Golden late mornings 🌅 the sun coming though your curtains as you look out in the morning is just the best 🦔🍂