#ravine bench

[literaryvein-reblogs]

some words for worldbuilding (pt. 1)

Air

billow, breath, bubble, draft, effervescence, fumes, puff, vapor

Arena

aquarium, bazaar, coliseum, field, hall, mecca, stage

Building

abbey, architecture, armory, asylum, bakery, bar, booth, cathedral, club, construction, court, department store, dock, edifice, emergency room, factory, food court, fort/fortress, framework, garrison, greasy spoon, hacienda, hangout, headquarters, hotel, inn, institute/institution, jetty, laboratory, mansion, mental hospital, monastery, mosque, museum, nursing home, office, pavilion, penitentiary, plant, prison, rampart, repository, ruins, sanctuary, shrine, skyscraper, stockade, storeroom, structure, temple, theater/theatre, treasury, warehouse, wharf

City

capital, metropolis, town, village

Furniture

altar, banister, bench, booth, bunk, cabinet, chair, couch, crib, davenport, dresser, furnishings, futon, jetty, lectern, partition, perch, platform, pulpit, rail/railing, screen, secretary, stand, wardrobe

Geographic division

area, county, desert, dynasty, kingdom, outskirts, quarter, sector, suburb, territory, tract, zone

Habitat

abode, ecosystem, environmentalist, habitat/habitation, harbor, home, land, nest, paradise, premises, refuge, settlement, tent

Habitat, human: accommodations, apartment, barracks, cabin, castle, condominium, convent, domesticity, dungeon, element, encampment, estate, grange, hacienda, home, house, housing, hut, jail, lodging, madhouse, monastery, neighborhood, old country, palace, prison, reservation, resort, sanctuary, shanty, suite, vacancy, villa

Habitat, rural: barn, burrow, conservatory, desert, farm, forest, grange, jungle, sanctuary, wilderness/wilds, wood/woods

Land

abyss, avalanche, bank, bay, bed, bluff, campus, cape, cavern, cliff, compost, cove, crevice/crevasse, dirt, downgrade, dune, elevation, estuary, expanse, field, fossil, garden, glacier, gorge, green, ground, gulf, harbor, hillock, inlet, knoll, landscape, lawn, lot, marshy, menagerie, mine, moat, mound, mountainous, nature, outlook, park, patio, pit, plateau, plaza, porch, prairie, projection, property, quagmire, ravine, ridge, savanna, shelf, soil, stack, table, trench, tundra, valley, well, wood/woods, yard

Nation

country, home, land, nationality, soil, state

Personal item

adornment, amulet, beads, best-seller, briefcase, cache, cargo, charm, contraceptive, disguise, effects, equipment, favorite, gem, glasses, handbag, jewelry, knickknack, luggage, marionette, memorabilia, necklace, novelty, object d’art, odds-on-favorite, paraphernalia, pledge, possession, pride, puppet, purse, resources, ring, souvenir, stuff, supplies, sustenance, thing/things, trappings, trifle, valuable

Planet

cosmos, Earth, galaxy, moon, planet, sphere, world

Region

capital, commonwealth, quarter, region, settlement, suburb

Room

alcove, attic, bath, bedroom, boutique, cellar, den, enclosure, foyer, gin mill, hall, lavatory, loft, outhouse, parlor, restaurant, saloon, shop, stage, store, tenement, theater/theatre, vestibule

Shape

angular, beaten, billowy, checkered, concave, conical/conic, crescent, curly, deformed, elliptical, flat, gnarled, kinky, misshapen, obtuse, round, shapeless, spiral, straight

Vehicle

camper, conveyance, motorcade, transport

Vehicle, air: aircraft, armada, blimp, dirigible, helicopter, shuttle, UFO

Vehicle, land: ambulance, bicycle, car, cherry-picker, dolly, excavator, model, traffic, truck

Vehicle, water: armada, boat, craft, fleet, sailboat, yacht

Water

abyss, aqueduct, basin, beach, blackball, brook, cape, channel, condensation, creek, deep, estuary, fountain, gulf, heading, inlet, lake, oasis, pond, promontory, reservoir, sea, spray, strait, tide, wash, wave, whirlpool

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[sixosix]

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.” 

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space? 

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of. 

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up. 

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

[swamp-chicken]

wl ethubs ficlet, 348 words

“Take it.” Etho shoves the chestplate into Bdubs’ hands.

“I don’t need it!” Bdubs squawks, pushing the armor back at Etho. It falls to the ground with a clatter. Bdubs has been whining and crying about needing armor but apparently this is a step too far. He’s always been strange about taking from people, especially if he feels that he’s leaving them without.

Unless, apparently, it’s Etho’s horse.

Etho takes a deep breath and resists the urge to snap at Bdubs, to smooth back the stubborn lick of hair standing straight off his head.

Bdubs is already backing up, hands behind his back so Etho can’t shove more things into them. “You see me survivin’? I’m fine!” There’s that cocky grin, wavering in the torchlight.

Etho rolls his eyes. He can’t help but smile too. “You’ve never died on me,” he finally relents, and flinches. There’s a cold pit opening in his stomach, something close to nausea, something close to falling.

“Never, never,” Bdubs agrees, but the strangeness lingers in the air.

Bdubs cocks his head and Etho blinks but no, it’s true. Bdubs usually survives to the end of these types of games, stubbornly and against all odds. Most recently he’d almost won Demise. And past worlds? Bdubs had almost always been there too, at the end. Hadn’t he—?

“I worry about you sometimes,” Etho admits. It’s easy to say, he just has to pretend to pretend to mean it.

Bdubs scoffs, already trotting deeper into the caves. “I’m fine!” he calls over his shoulder. He’s pretending to pretend to be brave.

Etho starts packing up his furnace and crafting bench. This cave feels familiar— all that heavy earth pressing down on him, as quiet as a tomb.

Etho pauses. He remembers an underground ravine, trailing behind a quiet group of people. They had kept their torches dim, their voices hushed. They were being hunted. Where was Bdubs then? It was so long ago, Etho can barely remember.

“Diamonds!” Tango squawks, and Etho snaps out of it. Bdubs is running far ahead of him, tripping over himself in his hurry. Something in Etho’s chest twists at the sight.

Etho steels himself. He straps on the chestplate and follows. It’s not safe to think too much, he knows. Especially not this early in the game.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xxi

⟶ Chapter summary | Mysteries continue to unfold as you carry on with your solo adventures, not realising that every piece of the past that you have uncovered in your journeys traces back in time, aligning themselves with what has been written for you by the will of fate.   

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy!AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 11,872 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include magic terms, classism, depiction of fantasy ritual act, mention of fantasy religion/beliefs, mention of war, violence, weapons, sword fighting, blood, injuries. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

⟶ Author’s note | After a long wait, we finally have a new chapter out. I’m sorry for keeping you from this update for so long. It was a hard journey to get this one done, since some personal stuff kept getting in the way. The chapter ‘ Serendipity’ has grown significantly during the writing process, so I had to split the chapter into three separate parts, and then even smaller parts on Wattpad for better reading experience. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this chapter!

chapter xxi. serendipity-1

A temple. 

The relief you felt for not finding yourself plunging into the rough sea or crashing down onto the sharp rocks on the shoreline was quickly replaced by bafflement when you saw where you had ended up in instead. 

Once your shock subsides, unease settles in. You aren’t quite sure why. This place doesn’t even look like the disintegrating temple you saw in your dream the previous night. 

This place reminds you more of E’l Alora; the mountains where giant dragons were flying around the human town built against the cliff’s wall, with its massive ravine and the castle on the rocks. 

Realisation dawns on you once you get to look at the little details of the temple a bit closer. Not a grand structure standing atop a hill, but a structure built within a mountain. As if a part of a mountain or a hill had sunken into the earth, forming a cave hidden within, surrounded by what was left of the mountain, and the temple was carved out of the rocky materials that had once been the core of the alp. 

Looking up, your eyes are met with the streaks of sunlight penetrating through the opening above your head. The sunlight here is quite murky—dull and grey as if the sun is hiding somewhere else instead of hanging up high in the sky, causing the colours around you to seem muted and washed out—yet it is still enough to illuminate the dark temple, giving you a clear sight of everything that is present right before your eyes. 

The door that you had just emerged from lies at the back of the room, facing directly towards the temple’s center where you can have a clear view of the dais spread along the length of the temple walls. A platform at the center rises slightly higher, made up of dark grey stone slabs that seem to have emerged from the ground rather than been carved by human hands. 

Meanwhile, a part of the ground at the center of the temple sinks deeper, creating a small crater in the middle of the main praying hall which is now filled with water. The nave area for the worshippers, filled with rows of benches made out of stone, was built around the pond instead of going around the dais, making it seem like the pool itself is the main focus point of the temple. 

The humming magic coming out of the portal feels like cold breeze brushing against your back. Looking over your shoulder, you see a line of small alcoves covered in draperies in place of doors—banners filled with symbols of a chalice and crescent moon drawn on dark blue backgrounds, with two arches of ivy drawn on the top and bottom as frames. One of the draperies is flicking gently behind you as if a breeze is flowing from within, only that magic hums from it and sparks light up as it brushes against your skin. 

The door. This will be my exit. 

Suppressing a shiver running down your spine, you turn away from it and carefully walk across the vacant temple, following the ray of lights from above to find your exit while taking everything in. 

Standing right at the heart of the main hall, the old, seemingly abandoned temple feels grand and noble at the same time, yet solemn in its stillness. The way the temple itself seems to have been crafted by nature makes it even more otherworldly. 

It makes you feel small. Insignificant among the nature that has formed this place a long time ago. 

The rocky walls around you stand three stories high, each level marked by small open corridors framed with stone bannisters. Rows and rows of small alcoves were carved into the rocky surface the same way the doors behind you are made, only without any banners hanging as covers. The sight reminds you of the hundreds of doors lining up the floors of Stargrave Castle, and also of E’l Alora—how its human town was built against the rocky walls of the ravine. Only that these alcoves appear dark and lifeless, housing nothing more but shadows. 

You wonder if these alcoves had once served significant purposes for the ceremonies that were held in this place. 

If only you had a way to get higher, would you be able to see marks of chairs between the alcoves for the royals who came to join or witness the rites? Perhaps there would be small altars up there where they put the statues of the Ancients that they were praying to in this place and they were set up as private praying chambers instead? 

Turning away from the walls, you look up to the dais on the ground floor and make your way towards it. Eyes on the platform standing at the center, you try to imagine this place coming alive with a rite—you picture the leaders of ceremonies taking their places atop the platform, the nave filling up with their devotees and disciples. 

If only you know the significance of the pool of water that is glimmering under the dim sunlight in front of you. From up close, you notice that the pool is glowing in the shade of jade—as if jade stones were laid at the bottom of the pond—but the surface of the water is clear like crystals, and you can see your face reflected perfectly on it when you look down. 

Curious, wondering if you can find any clue, you take a closer look at the raised dais.

There is no such altar just like what you’ve seen at the temples you visited back in Smotia, nor there are seats or couches like what you had seen in the royal churches. But mantles are built against the walls, lined up with burnt candles. You can also see those candles lined up perfectly on the low platform in front of the dais. Some of them are burnt halfway, others are burnt completely to the bottom. You reach out, waving your palm above the burnt wicks and are caught by surprise when you still feel some warmth there. Showing you that at least a couple of them were recently burned. 

So not completely abandoned, then. 

You pull your hand away with a flinch once you look a bit closer, seeing a couple of silver goblets which have been placed between the burnt candles. At one glance, they seem to be empty. Yet as you bend down over the one closest to you, you can see a drop of liquid pooling at the bottom. 

Wine. Still partially wet, as if it had just only been used recently. 

So this place is still used. But where are the people now? 

You strain your ears, eyes, and your other senses, trying to feel out any presence of a person, any figure that might be lurking in the dark temple, and feel nothing. Turning away from the abandoned offerings and burnt candles, you look past the pool of water, across the main hall, to see another source of light. An open stone archway stands at the other side of the hall, where lights are filtering through into the main hall.

The main entrance door. 

From this distance, you cannot see too clearly what is waiting on the other side of the opening. But then a draft comes flowing through the temple, followed by a low, resonant whistling noise that almost sounds like a soft howl of an animal echoing through the open archway. At the same time, the light that you see coming from the opening begins to flicker, shifting between the dim golden light of burning torches or candles and the grey of sunlight that appears far duller than the sky above. 

A tunnel, you realise with a grim smile. There is a tunnel beyond the archway leading you towards the exit, and you can only hope that no other surprises are waiting there. 

Slowly, you make your way across the dark temple. You try to be careful with your steps, doing your best to keep away from the slippery part of the stone floor around the pool. And yet your soft footsteps cannot stop the sound of your boots from echoing through the temple. The sound keeps bouncing against the walls as you walk on, sounding far too loud against the silence, making you feel even more hyperaware of your surroundings. 

Wrapping your palm around the hilt of your short sword, you walk through the stone archway, finding yourself in a short span of a tunnel. The stream of sunlight coming through the tunnel keeps the darkness at bay, in addition to the flickering torches that are hung along the length of the cavern, causing shadows to dance around you on the cold stone walls. 

You continue walking, your grip remaining firm on the hilt of your sheathed sword and your eyes ready, and then you carefully step into the light—or, in this case, lack thereof. 

Out here, beyond the grim darkness of the temple, the world is looking just as ghastly. From the threshold of the temple lies a spread of grove half the size of the temple’s main hall. Filled with thin trees, the grove expands toward the descending plain and ends at what seems to be the edge of a city. 

Carrying the same caution, you tread through the grove, still with your hand ready on the hilt of your sword. Walking under the sparse line of trees in the grove doesn’t leave you feeling much of being under their protection. 

The trees here remind you an awful lot of the trees you saw in E’l Alora. With barks and branches that glimmer in similar shades of pale and rotten grey yet darker to almost black at the bottom half to the roots below, only thinner and longer, twisted in odd angles as if they were frozen in the middle of dancing with the cold wind or in their fight to avoid whatever terror came into this land. The leaves are also painted in similar shades of teal and dark grey, only that they appear sharper and thinner, so much so that they look like needles pointing up to the sky and do nothing to shield you from the sky. 

The ground beneath the grove appears dark, as if covered in a thick layer of soot with not a sight of grass or undergrowth. As if the earth itself has been drained dry by the withering trees. In some parts, the dark soot is blanketed by a thin layer of dust and ash, as if the grove had once caught on fire leaving trails of its destruction undisturbed even as the trees began growing once more. 

You walk a bit deeper into the grove, taking a few steps further until you reach the part where the ground begins to descend. Until you can have a better glimpse of what lies on the other side of these trees, and you finally come to a halt. 

Because what you see on the other side only puts cold shivers down your spine. 

Beyond the last line of trees, there is nothing but the ruins of an old city. 

Crumbling structures stand before you, remnants of forgotten temples and a ghost of a majestic city that had once been vibrant and full of life. A grand skeleton of stone structures stands at the far end of the city, nearly floating above the river that seems darker than the jade-coloured pool you saw in the temple. The broken-down gates spreading around it become the only indication that you are looking at what used to be a palace—one that had once stood strong above the city, overlooking the land, the forest, and the mountain behind you. Beyond the remains of the fallen palace lies a vast terrain of rocky peaks, rising high like towers made of nature. 

The vast plain of the city and the fractured roads have been overgrown with weeds, their insidious tendrils creeping over the withering foundations of the city to grasp whatever life remains. Tendrils of ivy and layers of moss cover most of the structures that are left standing, coating all the pale and bright-coloured stones with various shades of green. Any visible part of the ground not covered by weeds and broken stones has mostly formed into puddles of muddy water, leaving you to wonder if this place has truly been deserted, left behind and abandoned in its demise. 

What happened here? 

What happened to the people? 

And what about the temple, the traces left behind to show that life still exists here? 

Under the dim grey sunlight, the fallen city before you seems as if engulfed in a permanent shadow, leaving all the tone of colours to appear washed out—just as lifeless as the city itself. 

You are suddenly reminded of your dream. The eerie sight of a kingdom dissolving into ruins that has been haunting your nights seems to have been manifested right before your eyes. Had it been a sign, a premonition of a once-existing place that you needed to find? 

Captivated and enthralled by the sight of the fallen city before you, you lose focus on your own safety, on the ground you are standing on. And the next step you take ends with a misstep. Sending you straight into a puddle. 

“Oh, fates,” you murmur to yourself as you lift your soaked boots out of the puddle of muddy water. 

You whisper another curse under your breath as you shake off the mud from your booths, but having your attention drawn away from the daunting sight only draws your focus back to the dark grove around you. 

It brings back your sense of awareness, enough to help you notice that the air around you has shifted. You are no longer alone. 

A rustling sound reaches you from somewhere between the eerie-looking trees. A movement that is felt but left unseen. Spine stiffens, your hand returns to the hilt of your sword, and with a soft, indiscernible exhale of breath, you let silence fall so you can have a better listen to any changes happening all around you. 

You briefly close your eyes, just in time for the noise to return. It is subtle, but you can sense the sound coming from your right. Yet when you rise and turn towards it, a loud shrill of a hawk echoes through the trees on your left. A flurry of movement catches your eyes when you swiftly turn towards the other side, before a shiny sword glares at you as it swings down towards you in a sudden attack. 

“Fates,” you curse out as you pull out your sword to protect yourself, swiping it upwards to fend off the attack. 

The force of the swords clashing on each other takes away the breath that you barely managed to take. You can feel your arms trembling as you take the brunt of the attack, but you keep your grip firm, steadying your weapon while you regain enough strength to return the blow. Your sword clinks against the unidentified assailant’s sword as you push him back, throwing him off of you before you step away. 

With a swift, yet slightly clumsy motion—your boots nearly slipping, again, on the muddy ground—and your grip tightening on your sword, you adjust your stance to face your assailant. 

The shrill of the hawk echoes through the air once again. This time, the animal appears at the corner of your eyes instead of hiding away, diving from the sky at a rapid speed to strike the face of a second assailant that you failed to notice and was just about to land a surprise strike at you with his sword. His attack fails, and now he is busy fending himself against the beast—a black-winged hawk twice, almost three times, the size of a normal adult man’s head. 

The hawk is ferocious. The animal’s shrill continues to echo through the woods as it fights against the man in the tattered uniform and rusted armour, attacking his head, face, hands, and any part of his body that is not shielded by armour or the rapid swing of his sword. 

Distracted by the other fight, you almost miss it when your first opponent regains his composure and makes his move. He lunges, taking the opportunity that was presented to him in your distraction, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision, aiming straight to your left shoulder—or your throat, coming from the left, you cannot be too sure. 

Yet you manage to deflect with just a small struggle, your blade clashing against his with a resounding clang. You twist your wrist as you rush forward, pressing on him and redirecting the force of the impact with a swift swipe aimed at his exposed side. He staggers back as your sword hits right beneath his armour, at the soft spot of his waist that is unprotected with nothing more but the belt holding up his sheath. 

Pointing your sword at his face, you snap at him, “Who are you?” 

A grunt escapes his lips as he finds his balance, while you use this chance to get a good look at him. His long and straggly raven hair is pulled to the back, leaving only a few loose and messy strands framing his sharp and defined face. There is a scar crossing his left eye, starting from right above the eyebrow to an inch below his bottom lashes. The shadows from the grove give him the perfect veil over his tanned skin and dark armour, yet you can still see the scars lining up his exposed arm, indicating that he isn’t one to be messed with.  

His narrowed eyes flicker towards his companion who has failed to join the fight, the black-winged hawk keeps getting in the way of him trying to get closer. “We’re the ones who are supposed to be asking,” the scarred swordsman snaps at you. “You’re trespassing on private property. This place is forbidden to enter.” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks to try and rein in your emotions and think of how to respond. You doubt that he will be so understanding if you try to tell him how you managed to arrive at this place. 

“Then you must forgive me. I suppose I must’ve missed the sign,” you choose to say, realising that any form of logic would never work to defend yourself. “That still didn’t give you the right to swing your sword at people without a warning.” 

Your opponent raises his sword back up and adjusts his stance to ready himself for another strike. “The only one who hasn’t got the right to be here is you.” 

Scowling, while stealing a glance towards the other fight that is slowly dying down—the hawk already lessening its attacks when your second assailant is growing weak and tired—you try to calm yourself down and reason with him. “Listen, I’m just passing through. I mean no harm, and I have no means to cause any trouble.” Lifting your free hand up, you show him your open palm to support your claim. “Please, just let me pass.” 

The scarred swordsman refuses to back down and sneers at you. “I find that hard to believe. Not many can find this place, much less to pass the borders, especially by mere coincidence.”

Pressing your lips together, you try to push down the shivers running through you at his words. You have no idea why you keep ending up in these places ever since you began travelling through the portals again. 

Forbidden lands. Closed-off borders. Places where your protection spell suddenly becomes null. 

A sacred land. 

You have been keeping your eyes on your opponent while you are trying to process this, only to fail to notice that the other man has somehow found his bearings. The second assailant, now freed from the ominous hawk, seizes the opportunity and advances towards you with a flurry of rapid strikes. As if he is trying to express his anger over his wounds and his defeat against the wild animal by inflicting the same harm on you. 

Yet he isn’t aware of how high your adrenaline is at the moment—both from the sparring you did with the royal guard earlier and the fight you just had with his companion. Your body may be spent, your mind is still reeling over what the first armoured man said to you about this place, yet your senses are still on high alert.

Your reflex is quick, and you weave and dodge his attack with barely seconds to spare. Your sword meets his blade in a series of sparks. In his anger, his movements are out of order and reckless, which will be dangerous for you to continue engaging as they are too unpredictable. Unable to read and to deflect easily. 

Heart pounding, you spin to evade his final attack and snap the hilt of your sword against his bruising temple before delivering a sharp kick to his chest. The attack sends him stumbling backwards just as your first opponent returns to strike you from the other side. You sidestep from his swinging sword and retaliate, striking him from his right. Your sword finds its mark, cutting through his armour and drawing blood. 

A pained cry leaves his lips as he falls back, giving a chance for his partner who has somehow recovered quickly to take over the fight. 

The continuous assaults are beginning to drain you. Your body not only trembles as your second attacker returns with a strike, but you can almost feel sure you are seeing stars the moment your swords collide with each other. Your breath is heavy and ragged, your heart is pounding so hard it becomes the only thing you can hear, and both your muscles and bones are aching. As you stagger back, you realise that these men are trying to push you deeper into the grove, away from the temple and the city altogether. 

Keeping your eyes on them as they prowl closer, you wonder if there is something hidden in the grove. But your mind is too preoccupied with focusing on how to survive this fight to even try and figure out what is hidden in the shadows. 

Your upward swipe draws blood from your second attacker as your blade scraps his unprotected hips and your side kick brings him to his knee. You duck under a high swing and thrust your sword upward once again when his companion returns, catching him off guard when his surprise attack fails. He falters, clearly just as exhausted and spent as you are while bleeding profusely from the side of his waist. So you take the chance to disarm him with one strike, sending his sword skittering across the muddy ground. 

Enraged, he makes a sound from deep inside his throat—which sounds like a growl—and pulls out a dagger from his back to retaliate. Cursing under your breath, you press down your shaking legs to the soot-covered ground beneath you and ready yourself to counter his attack when a voice sharply bellows from behind you, echoing through the grove. 

“That’s enough!” 

At the ominous voice, everything stills. The men that you have been fighting with, the wind, and even the will for you to move. Keeping your sword pointed at your opponent, you turn to look over your shoulder to see the intruder. 

Pressure clamps down in your chest as the figure slips out of the shadow, worrying that you are about to face yet another threat. One should have been enough, two were already too many. And if you are going to have to deal with three—

Turning sideways to get a better look at your intruder without losing sight of your assailants, you bring the short sword forward to prepare yourself for an attack. The sound of their footsteps grows nearer, and you prepare to swing your hand down at them, only to immediately stop once the cloaked figure steps out into the limited streaks of sunlight filtering into the grove. 

“You can put that thing away, child. I mean no harm,” the figure speaks in a gentle, yet firm tone of voice. 

Thin, veiny hands are raised, gently lowering the hood of her cloak to reveal the sight of an old woman. The ageing lines on her face are visible even without any adequate light, and they soften when she smiles. Her hazel-brown eyes glint brightly under the dim lights falling on her as she takes you in. So bright, it looks almost golden. Her silver grey hair is pulled back to a thick braid, a striking difference to her rich golden-brown skin. 

She stands there in silence after revealing herself to you, clasping her hands together over her torso as she waits until you put the weapon away, sheathing it back to the left side of your hip. But your grip remains on the hilt of your sheathed sword, holding steady, even if it’s only for the sake of finding any semblance of strength while preparing yourself in case the situation suddenly changes again. 

The woman’s gaze follows your hand, taking account of the way your grip is tightening on your weapon. She makes no remark on it, however, as she looks up with a smile to regard the three of you, including the poor man still kneeling on the dirt, who—now that everything has calmed down—you are finally getting a good look on for the first time. 

Unlike his companion, the wounded swordsman looks a bit younger, with dirty blond hair and a mesh of curls on top of a boyish round face that is now marred with streaks of blood—the work of the massive hawk earlier. His bright blue eyes are wide, which seems as if they are perpetually filled with fear. His hands have fallen to his sides, slightly trembling, seen through the sword that he is still carrying, and it pleases you to know that you weren’t the one having a tough time during the fight. 

“Now, there really is no need for all this violence, is there?” the woman says, which only draws a scowl to your face upon hearing it. 

“They attacked me first,” you point out with a scoff.

A rueful smile comes to her face. “I apologise for their rudeness, my dear. They’re not exactly used to welcoming surprise guests coming to our home,” she says, tilting her head down with more respect than an elder would normally give to a younger stranger. “But it is nice to see someone visiting our homeland again after so long. It might be too late to say this, but you are welcome here.” 

The scarred man, who is clearly unhappy with this situation, snaps out of it and shouts, “High Priestess Gaia! What are you saying? She came in here without permission.” 

He is soon joined by his wounded companion who suddenly finds his missing bravado to reason, “This place has been abandoned and forgotten for a long time. For someone to be able to come here means—” 

“It means that they might have gotten their hands on a special key, or that fate has led her way here, just in time for the Full Moon Rite,” the woman—High Priestess Gaia—cuts off their rambling calmly, almost sounding like a mother chastising her rude boys. She gives them a pointed look as she adds, “Or the poor soul could have been lost. I’ve lived much longer in this realm than you have been, child. I don’t need you to lecture me about how things work in this place.” 

Sensing no danger coming from her, you loosen your guard a little—shoulders sagging in quick relief and your hands falling away from your sheathed sword. 

“So tell me. Are you lost, child?” 

Feeling unsure, you glance back and forth between the Priestess and the swordsmen before answering. “I, uh—” You take a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard to think of the right words to say. “I was just passing by,” you finally manage to speak. Sighing, you try to shake off the tension still rolling in your body and tilt your head down, greeting the Priestess as formally as you can. “Forgive me for trespassing. I had no idea if this place was forbidden to enter.” 

“It’s not,” High Priestess Gaia says without missing a beat—before any of the swordsmen can get a word in. “Just like the boy said. This place has been lost in time with no one coming to visit for a long time. Be it out of fear, or because this place has been written off from the maps of the realm.” 

You can sense the movement from one of the swordsmen as he shifts on his feet, as if trying to dispute the high priestess’ words. Gaia, noticing the same thing, releases a deep sigh and looks over at them. 

“Go back to the Keep. It’s almost time for the rite. I’m sure you will be more useful for the priests there,” she firmly says, and then turns to the wounded man still sitting on the ground to add, “And you’ll want to look at those wounds and have them tended.” 

The scarred swordsman—the one still standing—grits his teeth, as if he is about to deny the order given to him. But then his companion lets out a deep grunt in his effort to rise to his feet, and he finally gives in. Nodding his head, the scarred swordsman swallows his displeasure and bends down to retrieve his sword. He glares at you as he sheaths his sword, before turning to help his friend to his feet. 

“I’ll take him to the healer,” he says, bowing slightly at the priestess. Facing you again, his glare returns, as sharp as the tip of his sword as he swears, “Fates be damned, but if you even think about leaving a scratch on Gaia’s skin or posing a threat to her, I will come back here and end you myself.”

You return his glare with a stubborn tilt of your chin. “And as I have repeatedly said, I never meant any harm. I can promise you that there will be no harm committed to your priestess.” 

Keeping your gaze locked on the scarred guard, you can see it when he finally backs down, the defiant look in his eyes wavering before he acknowledges you with a short nod. Wrapping the younger one’s arm around his shoulder so he can support him, he says nothing else and simply bows to the high priestess before finally walking away.

You watch them go, wobbling through the trees before they disappear in the shadows as they search for a healer. 

“Go back to the Keep.” 

So you were right, after all. There is something beyond this grove. You wonder if there are other swordsmen like them stationed in the Keep—guards who are responsible of watching over the temple and the ruined city—and were planning to hold you hostage there. Shaking your head, you choose not to dwell in the thought and turn to face the high priestess again.

She still has her eyes following the swordsmen, watching over them like a mother would to her sons. 

Glancing over her shoulder, you realise that she is standing on the path which leads you back to the temple. It makes you wonder if that was where she had come from. 

Has she been in the temple all along? 

“I wasn’t aware that there was someone in the temple when I was in there.” 

The wise, old woman turns her gaze towards you and smiles. “Strictly speaking, I was not. I was praying in my chamber. I only came down here because I felt something calling for me at the temple. Thought it was her, but I guess I was wrong,” she says with a deep, almost bitter chuckle. Her words and the look in her eyes are hollow when she mutters almost to herself, “I should’ve known better. It’s been too long since she came to visit this place.” 

‘Her’? 

The way she is speaking in riddles while looking as if she is lost in her own thoughts—memories—draws an icy, uneasy chill through your body. Her eyes appear haunted, as if lost somewhere in the past. That look lasts merely a moment longer before it fades, warmth fills her almost-golden eyes when she regards you again. But then the uneasiness returns when you are made to feel as if she is looking straight into your soul, unravelling your secrets without so much of a spell. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

“Not really,” you reluctantly admit. Unlike E’l Alora, which you were able to identify before ever stepping foot into their human town, this place doesn’t remind you at all of anything that you have ever read in your book of Ancients and Magic. “In a way, you were right, I got lost and stranded here for some reason.” 

A light sound of laughter leaves you, only that it comes out a bit shaky with nerves. 

“Forgive me if I sound rude, but,” you glance around the grove, shuddering under the shadows that have grown thicker now that the sun has lowered from the sky. “May I know what exactly is this place?” 

The old woman looks at you with a knowing smile. “Come. It would be better if we find someplace more comfortable for us to talk,” she says to you as she turns, ready to head back to the direction where she came from. She might have sensed your hesitation, because she glances down at your forearm and gently points out, “Maybe we can also do something about that wound.”

You follow her gaze and look down, surprised to see a tear on your sleeve. From the torn fabric, you can see a long slash on the skin of your forearm, fresh blood still leaking out. A wound that came from the fight without you realising it. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise,” you murmur with a flinch. You recall feeling a sting on your forearm at one point during the fight, yet you ignored it, focusing more on deflecting their swords and pushing back. Now that you finally notice the wound, your brain begins to register the pain. 

Pressing your palm against the wound, you look at the high priestess with narrowed eyes. “You could’ve sent me off with your men to have this looked at.” 

Gaia merely scoffs, as if the thought of allowing you to join the guards would have been unfathomable. “And risk them disobeying me once I’m not looking?” she asks, “I hope you’ll excuse those boys. They have taken their duty to guard this place to heart—perhaps a bit too much. Though I can’t excuse them for their rash behaviour. They should’ve reported to me first or any of the high priests before taking actions.” 

You quickly shake your head. “I should be the one apologising for causing trouble.” 

“There is no need,” she says. You can almost hear her smile when she turns away from you. “Now, come, before that wound gets worse. And you also fought quite hard, so who knows if there’s any other we’re not seeing.” 

Lowering your arms to your side, you begin to follow the high priestess. But just as you are about to leave the fighting ground, Gaia lifts her hood and looks up to the trees. 

“You might want to alert your friend and tell him that you’re doing fine with me. That might stop him from worrying too much,” she suddenly says, pointing up towards the black-winged hawk that had joined the fight earlier, now perched on one of the thin, twisted branches hanging above your head. 

At the height of the fight, you have forgotten about it. 

When you first saw it, you had simply thought that the hawk only appeared because you had intruded on its home. But Gaia’s comment only puts a confused frown on your face. 

“What? But I thought the hawk is with you,” you question her, thinking that the animal is a part of the land, therefore, related to Gaia and the temple. But your question only draws another soft chuckle coming from her.

“Oh, no, dear. That handsome hawk came in together with you,” she says as she looks over her shoulder with a knowing smile, leaving you to wonder where the beast had come from, and why it had involved itself in your fight. 

You were quite right for assuming that the high priestess had come from the mountain temple.

Well, you were partially right. 

After your quick chat at the grove, Gaia led you back towards the mountain temple. But the moment you entered the entrance tunnel leading back into the main temple, she made a sharp turn and entered through an aperture in the stone wall that you had missed on your way out. It was dark, yet the moment she walked past the wall, torches lit up with flames that burned without any heat, illuminating the corridor and the set of stone steps leading upwards. 

You followed her until she entered a simple stone room above the tunnel. The chamber was narrow and high-ceilinged, with candlelights flickering on the stone walls and the small wooden altar set on the end of the chamber. You saw no sight of a statue or drawings of any known Ancients around the altar, yet the wooden top was filled with scriptures, rolled and drawn open, with an opened book laid on the center. 

Aside from the altar, the chamber was limitedly furnished. Nothing but one dark rug made up of animal skin covering the front of the altar, a shelf in the corner of the room which was filled with herbs and mixing bowls and even more books, and a single divan covered in silk—that was where you settled down soon after you entered the chamber.  

And now the chamber is filled with the scent of herbs, a concoction that she made to help heal your wound. It feels cold on your skin, and it leaves an obvious stain which requires you to roll up your sleeve to avoid it getting soiled—even though you still worried about explaining the tear and the blood stain once you would have to hand it over to the palace maid. 

“Seeing the way you are looking at this place, it seems that you’ve been to another sacred land before,” Gaia says, stating a fact rather than questioning, as she gently wraps a bandage around your wounded forearm, sealing the medicinal herbs while stopping your bleeding. 

Nodding, you choose to explain it the best you can without giving too many details about your ‘trips,’ and without revealing that it had been merely a day before when you first encountered another sacred land. “I’ve travelled to different places, oftentimes finding myself stranded in strange places,” you share with a chuckle, “Such as this one.” 

Gaia smiles and finishes her work. “Our homeland, this city of mountains, is called Arselon,” she says as she gathers the bowl of mixed herbs and bandages and starts putting them away. “The mountain temple has always been known as the temple of Arselon, even though it used to have its own name. Many used to travel far to come to our rites, specifically the nights of the full moon. Just like what’s happening tonight.” 

You have so many questions. Much about this place, and more about the people that had once resided here. Gaia, as if she can read your mind, turns to light up fresh candles to replace the ones that have burned out while she was gone, and continues to tell you more about this place. “Back then, the Ancients—our ancestors—built these temples to worship their Gods and Goddesses, to pray for the sanctity of the realm and to pass down their wisdom. Unlike the humans in the mortal realm, the residents of the Far Far Away Land today no longer hold the same rites, and only a small few still worship the sources of their powers, while only using these temples to pray and wish for blessings from their ancestors. It has been that way since the Ancients who built this realm were long gone.”

Gaia returns to your side with a glass of wine—for healing, she had explained earlier when she first pointed out the decanter resting on the wooden shelf. “This place used to be where the Priests and Priestess would hold lectures and sermons to the people, spreading the knowledge about our Ancients and magic, and the history behind the creation of the realm.” 

Gaia’s eyes turn towards the flickering candles, and then the small altar. “We still keep most of the scriptures that recounted the story of the Ancients, the history behind the realm, and the secrets of magic. Yet we no longer have as many as we used to. All that we have left are preserved in small chambers such as this one, hidden libraries and storages in various parts of this mountain temple.” 

Your eyes follow her gaze to the scriptures on the altar, the chests lying beneath, and the shelf which is lined up with old books. You refuse to believe that this is all that was left of all the documented history that this place has to preserve, but before you can say anything, Gaia confirms it with sadness written in her gaze. 

“Once, this land was seen and regarded as a sacred place, a holy land, yet this is all that was left behind over time.” A resigned sigh escapes her lips before she smiles grimly. “Now you understand why our young guards were uncompromising when it came to protecting this place.” 

The smile that you give her feels just as grim. Your mouth feels bitter from her grievance, from the dark history shadowing this place, so you raise your glass to wash it all down. Your chest aches to think about what was lost. Recalling what you have learned after your visit to E’l Alora, you take a deep breath and question her, “Was it the war, that came to this land?” 

Gaia grimly nods. “The Great Siege.”

Once the sun has set, and nightfall comes, Gaia invites you to witness the rite. 

It is an offer that you cannot possibly refuse. 

You follow Gaia through a different corridor—one that was yet again hidden in the stone wall—on the other side of her private chamber, emerging on one of the alcoves on the upper tier which you saw earlier. From here, you have the perfect view of the rite from above, the entire part of the temple is visible for you to experience the ceremony while remaining hidden from sight. 

The temple has already fascinated you before, regardless of its vacancy and forlorn facade that you witnessed when you first entered the place. 

Seeing the temple coming alive with the rite fascinates you even more; with worshippers and believers making use of this dark place. They arrive soon after dusk in various shades of cloaks and robes, candlelights flickering to eliminate the shadows and melodic chants of prayers bouncing against the dark stone walls.

Standing at the center of the raised dais is a priest in a white robe, with a few others standing on either side of him, all carrying candles in their hands while leading the prayers. The guards, including the two that you met earlier in the grove, are wearing dark robes over their armours as they line up below the dais, watching over the rite and helping out those who have arrived with offerings to place around the dais. 

You watch with keen eyes as the rite continues. The people move like a steady current, in motion with the rhythm of the chanting prayers echoing through the temple. You watch in awe as they move in a practised gesture—the way they walk up in line to light up the candles around the dais before moving back to the nave, where they follow the motion by passing and exchanging candles between each other. 

The way the flickering flames seem to be weaving through the people becomes such a captivating sight. The lights and flames spread across the temple until the entire hall comes alight—a symbol of life surviving in the dark, of the people who survived the darkness, and the story that has been written of their past, present, and future. 

“Once, in the past, this holy land burned with life. Candles were lit up to celebrate life, to honour our blessings, and to pray for the Ancients that were watching over us from above,” Gaia speaks from beside you, her voice gentle and soft, almost as melodic as the prayers echoing down below. But then her voice turns grim as she speaks of the past, “And then they came, bringing in their deathly flames, and this city burned into ashes.” 

You turn to look at Gaia as she suddenly laughs. A pained and bitter laugh that pierces through your chest.  

“Well, most of them,” she adds with a wry smile, “This temple and the ruins you saw outside are what was left of this place. Decades, centuries worth of a civilization reduced to nothing more but skeletons of our homes, schools, temples, and everything that our elders had built for the sake of preserving the treasure of knowledge and faith left behind by the Ancients. The only thing that those flames failed to diminish was the spirit of our people.” 

As she continues to speak, Gaia’s eyes light up. Her grief is soon replaced by hope. “These people,” she says, as she watches the people below, ”They may have lost their homes, the lands that they had spent generations cultivating for the benefit of our homeland, yet they continue to thrive through the pain of our dark past, surviving the best they can with all that we have left, even if it means that we all have to remain hidden in the shadows.”

“But where do these people live?” you ask, as you have been wondering ever since the first time you stepped foot in this place, “Where do you all live, when the city is no longer safe?” 

“In places that our own homeland provides for us, just like how this temple came to be,” Gaia explains. “There are people who live within and in the heart of the mountains, in homes that were built in the stone walls, and even under the dry, rocky peaks spread across the land. It may not be much, compared to what we used to have just decades ago, yet we have found our solitude in enclosed spaces such as this temple that protects us all.” 

Down below, the rite continues. The movement of the candles has gone slower, and so are the chants recited by the priests and priestesses leading the ceremony. There are only a small amount of offerings laid on the dais, but there are so many candles to make up for what is lacking. 

“After the war, the only times that our candles were lit were to hold vigils and prayers for the Ancients to liberate us from our suffering,” Gaia continues as you watch the priests and priestesses leaving the raised dais, slowly making their way to the center of the temple where the pool of water is present. “Now, we light our candles to reflect, to pay homage to those who sacrificed their lives to protect what now remains of our home, and to remember our dark history so we can replace our pain with new hope.” 

The movements within the temple shift. This time, the guards in their dark robes are the ones to make their move, weaving through the believers with the silver chalices filled with wine in their hands. Carefully, the guards pass the chalices to the people, who then each take a drink from them before passing them over to the next in line. 

Gaia gently explains that the drinking of wine symbolises living for the future, to drink for the dead and the forgotten ancestors while celebrating the old life that they have lost. 

Your eyes move to the pool of water, realising only now that the full moon—which appears through the opening above the temple—is reflected perfectly on the surface of the water. 

The leaders of the ceremony move to stand around the pool to sing their prayers, joined in by their followers who are lining behind them in the nave. At the end of the rite, the priests and priestesses retreat to the back of the temple, while the worshippers step forward to take their place. 

One by one, the people come down to their knees to pray to the moon’s reflection in the water, before finally releasing the small candles that they have been holding into the pool, allowing them to float around the image of the bright moon. 

“To the sky, we pray for the future. To the land, we pray for the dead. To the water, we pass our wishes to the moon, hoping that it will one day pass down to us its blessings, the same way it once did to the Ancients who walked on this realm.” 

You continue to watch as this ritual continues, allowing every single worshipper to do their part of the ceremony until they dwindle into small groups of people praying beyond the dais. You have become so enthralled by the scene that you barely notice that Gaia has left your side until she returns. 

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to go home?” she asks, snapping you out of your daze. As you turn to her, Gaia hands you a folded cloth—a dark robe—something which she says may help you blend in with the remaining groups of people below so you can safely slip away from the temple. 

You are still in such a daze after witnessing the rite—something that feels so divine and sacred that it gives you a sense of peace and grief at the same time—that it doesn’t register to you the fact that the priestess seems to have knowledge of your time limit until much later. You simply listen to her instructions on how to reach the ground level—back to where your exit is located—as you put on the robe, covering your appearance as much as you can to avoid gaining unwanted attention. 

“Our home is open to travellers like yourself, should you ever decide to return and find some interest to learn more about us,” Gaia adds right before you go. “Regardless of what Gen and Edmund said earlier, this place isn’t as closed off or forbidden as it was made to be. We have closed our borders, but some of us believe that it would only be right to maintain the faith that our elders once had about opening our doors to other believers.” 

In her gaze, the same hope you saw lights up the same way the candlelights below are still burning brightly. “The longer we are hidden from the world, the more we will be forgotten. And the knowledge of the past that we have spent centuries protecting will one day be lost in time, exactly what our enemies had once aimed towards when they brought their flames to our home.”  

Just as Gaia is about to send you off down the stone steps, she reaches out to grab your hands, holding them gently in hers. “Promise me that you’ll return one day. That you’ll never forget about us,” she calmly asks while holding her pleading gaze on yours. Your body stiffens when you feel her passing something into your palm, and you instinctively wrap your palm around it firmly to keep it from falling. 

“I promise. I’ll return one day, hopefully in better circumstances than the present,” you promise her with a smile, not bothering to say something as you accept the small token that she has given you and slip it into your pocket without looking. You keep your gaze steady on hers as you whisper, “Thank you.”

As you slip through the worshippers who are still deep in their prayers, making your way to the back of the dais to find the hidden portal door, you suddenly feel the heat of a gaze following your movement. Cautiously, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see the familiar glare from the guard that you fought previously tracking your escape. 

But what is looking back at you isn’t at all human. 

Perched atop the bannister on the upper floor, you see the magnificent-looking black-winged hawk that had appeared during your fight earlier. With its wings pulled back, its eyes are wide open, glaring at you attentively as if it is keeping watch at your departure. Staring back at it, the animal’s gaze feels menacing and comforting at the same time, yet something deep inside is telling you that the hawk is there without any malicious intent. It is simply there to watch you, to see you go, and it remains in its position when you turn away, slipping under the banner and into the magic portal to return home. 

As the wave of magic taking you away from the sacred land ripples through the space around you, the hawk flaps its wings and rises from its perch, making its own way back home to where it came from.

Emburn Empire has come alive tonight. 

The full moon looks bright in the night sky, casting a divine glow into the land. 

The imperial palace and its Moon Temple look radiant under the night sky, the white walls and pillars made up of Clayntine Stone reflecting the moonlight glow so perfectly that they glimmer like magic crystals. 

Within the walls of the Moon Temple of Aone, candlelights flicker and burn, casting a golden glow across the praying hall. Both inside and on the outer grounds of the moon temple, the people of Emburn have come and gathered to witness the rite. From above, the candlelights appear like an ocean of living inferno—the ocean of hope, as the Royal Priests would call it. 

Ever since he was a young boy, Yoongi has always enjoyed the Runea Luna Eve, the night of the full moon, when the rite is held to celebrate and pay homage to the Ancients who had built the land of Emburn. Tonight, however, he is too restless to enjoy the celebration, feeling too disconnected to even pay attention to the ceremony unfolding right in front of him.  

The Moon Temple of Aone is full tonight; the commoners are taking up the space below, while the nobles and royals claim the seats on the upper tiers and the mezzanine floors. Many carry their own candles in their hands as a symbol of their hope, but all have their eyes set on the front of the raised dais at the head of the temple, where the Royal High Priest is giving his sermon and leading the prayers. 

Two identical thrones sit on the center of the raised dais. The Empress of Emburn, Empress Ariane, sits on one of them, while the one beside her is left empty in the absence of the ailing Emperor. Behind her, two rows of long benches are set to accommodate the members of the Royal Priesthood on one side, while the Royal Aides who are present to show support for the Empress fill the other side. 

The Crown Prince sits on the balcony on the top left of the dais, together with the highest nobles and the royal guests who were invited to witness the ceremony. Including the royal guests that Yoongi is currently—and quite reluctantly—hosting in place of the Empress; Byron Koshar, the new Emperor of the Neo Empire of Kosha, and his second daughter, Princess Celestyna.

“You’ll have to keep the Princess company during the rite tonight. Treat her well, be polite about it, and make her feel welcome,” was the warning that Empress Ariane had given Yoongi earlier today during the preparation for the rite. “You need to build a positive relationship with the Kosha Empire to gain support for your future.” 

“Must I take up the responsibility for your guests, Mother? There are tons of nobles here that would be more suitable and willing to be their hosts.” 

At Yoongi’s complaint, the Empress turned and glared. Obviously displeased that her son is unwilling to do her bidding. “Those nobles aren’t the ones who are going to take the throne now, are they?” she scolded him then with a sharp tone of voice that made him wince. “Do this for the Empire, for the Emperor, and for your position on the throne.” 

Yoongi had chosen not to argue, realising that there was no way he could win against Empress Ariane once she made the decree. 

He isn’t even sure why it would be necessary for him to gain support from Kosha Empire. It’s not like there will be anyone to contest his position for the throne once the time comes. And it’s not like he’s eager to take the crown so prematurely, with the Emperor still living and breathing and capable enough to continue ruling, and while he is still in the process of courting his future Empress. 

Even if there are parties of nobles or royal blood who would dare to challenge his position on the throne, Yoongi cannot possibly see how being ‘good friends’ with the second Princess would give him the advantage to refute the challenge. He feels bitter to think that the Empress may have any intention of arranging some forming of an alliance by matching them together. 

Marriage arrangements made to gain favour from a strong ally are not unheard of, but it isn’t something that Yoongi would be willing to partake in. Not even at the risk of losing his position on the throne. 

And he cannot possibly agree with such an arrangement when he already has someone who was chosen for him since the day he was born. 

Yoongi holds back an exasperated groan and looks up at the exposed dome ceiling above. Through the see-through ceiling made up of Shadow Crystal, the full moon is clearly visible, illuminating the temple’s hall with its glow. 

Keeping his eyes on the moon helps him detach himself from the present. His restless mind is so quick to wander, filled with the thoughts of you. He wonders where you might be spending your evening, and if you are looking up at the moon the way he is doing now. He also wonders if you are safe, wherever you are. 

“…as we send our gratitude to the moon, tonight, we remember our great ancestor, the Fairy King Aone, the Ancient Hunter who had borrowed the magic from the moon to build Emburn from the ashes and has continued to bring prosperity to the people…” 

The Royal High Priest’s voice echoes through the grand hall, pulling Yoongi’s attention back to the ceremony that is slowly coming to an end. 

Back in the past, the sermons and praises for the Ancient Hunter would have been followed by a sacrament which lasted for the entire night, beginning from nightfall to the coming of dawn, filled with chantings of prayers for the ancestors, the Ancients, and the moon. 

In the present time, the ritual will be followed with festivities. A night of celebration where the people will pour into the streets to sing and dance and drink as much wine as their minds and bodies would allow until the dawn comes. 

Once Yoongi has his attention on the raised dais, his eyes flickering towards the altar and the statue of the Ancient Hunter standing in the center, he feels something pulling at him. A pulse. A shot of magic calling for his attention, and it seems to be coming from the ground floor of the temple.

Yoongi looks across the grand hall as a dark figure slips out from behind one of the white pillars, wearing a black robe with its hood raised over his head, hiding his face and features from prying eyes. 

Sensing Yoongi’s eyes on him, the person lifts his head, meeting Yoongi’s gaze with his own from the distance, revealing himself to be none other than Yoongi’s best friend and right-hand man.

Yijeong. 

Upon meeting Yoongi’s gaze, Yijeong nods once. A subtle gesture that the busy worshippers around him will surely miss. But the one gesture is enough for the Crown Prince. The message has been delivered and received.

She’s home safe. 

With a gesture that is just as subtle, Yoongi responds with a slight tilt of his head and then leans back into his seat. The anxiety which has been weighing on him since the moment he felt the ripple of magic—the omen signifying that a portal has been opened—is soon lifted. 

His job done, Yijeong steps back into the shadow, drifting out of the crowd of people and out of the moon temple just as the Royal High Priest ends his sermon. The air immediately shifts as the Royal Priests step away from the altar. One by one, the people begin to disperse—some making time to walk up to the altar and the dais to leave their candles and bow to the Empress, while others walk out towards the nearest stream to release their candles and let them drift along with the flowing water, hoping that they would bring their wishes back to the land that they are worshipping or wherever the stream of Marble Falls and the Armere River will take them. 

In the absence of the Royal Priests’ sermons and prayers, the sound of music begins, carrying on with the evening breeze like a draft, a sign for the festivities celebrating the full moon and the birth of the Ancient Hunter to begin. 

Yoongi looks over to the throne as Empress Ariane rises from her seat, throwing a barely-there glance towards the balcony, straight where the Crown Prince and his guest—his date for the night, if that is what the Empress has in mind—are sitting in. 

The bitterness that he felt earlier returns when he meets the Empress’ gaze. He knows that she isn’t turning to see if the Crown Prince—her son—is having a blast during the ceremony. He knows that the Empress is simply checking to see if he is doing his duty as the perfect host for the people that he wants absolutely nothing to do with. 

Yoongi keeps his eyes on his mother until she steps away, leaving the temple through the rear exit which leads towards the royal drawing room, the priests and priestesses and her royal aides trailing right behind. Yoongi nearly shoves himself out of his seat as he rises, ready—perhaps too eager—to end his night and return to the palace. 

Just as Yoongi is about to turn and bid his farewell to the Emperor of Kosha—who has been busy chatting with a noble from the city called Mosshaven, the city of merchants at the south end of Emburn—and the other nobles who have been there with him, Princess Celestyna speaks first. 

“Leaving so soon, Your Highness? Must you really leave now?” she asks. Her tone is gentle and polite, yet it demands attention, the kind that would have put young men to their knees, bending over backwards to please her. “The festivities are only beginning. Wouldn’t the people look forward to having their Crown Prince be a part of it?” 

Yoongi forces a smile. For the past few days, Yoongi has been confined in the palace under the Empress’ orders to host the royal guests. Primarily, the second princess. And for the past few days, he was forced to ignore the ripples of magic calling for him, beckoning him to see you, all due to the princess always getting in the way, always inquiring for his company at the same exact time he wished to rush to your side instead.

Always with mundane things that Yoongi would have preferred to avoid, to rather deal with important matters instead of wasting it with an afternoon stroll through the royal gardens, or have tea and biscuits by the Emerald Lake, or have him escorting her through the various estates in the Imperial Palace’s territory and help her learn about the arts and culture of Emburn.  

The fact is, he has grown tired of it. He has wasted too much precious time which he could have spent with you.  

Even looking at the Princess makes him feel exhausted and weary. At least, tonight, he can use the festivities as an excuse to find some semblance of freedom. To untangle himself from the responsibility that has been forced on him. 

“I’m sure the people will be able to have fun without me being there,” Yoongi smoothly says, “There are other members of the royal family who will be joining the festivities and would no doubt feel honoured to keep you company. I’m sure they’ll be better party companions than I would.” 

Princess Celestyna’s face pinches with displeasure—a look which reminds Yoongi too much of his mother which, undeniably, the only reminder that the Empress is indeed distantly related to the royal family of Kosha—yet she is quick to conceal it with a thin smile. The same practised smile that she has been wearing each time she was in the company of the Empress, Yoongi took notice. 

“Well, I was expecting that we could perhaps share the first dance during the celebration. This is my first time joining such a grand event, after all, and I heard a member of the royal family has always been the one to start the dancing,” she says with a deliberate tone that is meant to seduce, to allure, while she leans slightly forward to get closer to Yoongi. 

Close enough for Yoongi to smell the scent of the perfume that she had pasted around her collarbone and between her breasts. A strong, sultry scent of orchid with a hint of spiciness to it. Yoongi prefers something sweet, subtle and fresh. Something that reminds him of you. 

There is also something about the gesture and the way she speaks which seems off to him. Unconvincing and completely unfitting to be something that a person of her character would do. It feels too deliberate. Too hollow and viscous. As if she had practised this act one too many times before she was made to face Yoongi.   

A shiver runs through him. The unsettling kind which takes an effort for him to hide.

Pressing his lips, Yoongi tries to reel his annoyance from surfacing. This isn’t the first time that Princess Celestyna has brought up her request to have Yoongi stay by her side for the evening’s events and share a dance with her. The only problem with this offer would be the fact that if Yoongi ever plans on attending the festival, as per tradition, having her as his dance partner and showing her to his people would make everyone think that she is the one he is courting to be the future consort or the next Empress of Emburn.

There is no possible way that he would risk something like this. Not when he already has someone else in mind to introduce to his people. 

“Unfortunately, I do have other business to attend to, and I promise that I wouldn’t be able to act as the perfect company or host for Your Highness the Princess tonight if I am to have my focus wandering towards other matters and not be present,” Yoongi reasons with the Princess, using the same words that he used the previous times Princess Celestyna kept trying to convince Yoongi to spend the evening with her. 

Yoongi is quite sure that his refusal will no doubt reach the Empress, and there might be chances for him to receive the brunt of the Empress’ ire once he comes face to face with his mother again. Princess Celestyna should know this too, judging from the way her gaze sharpens, and how she is quick to make him another offer before Yoongi can slip away. 

“Then you must make it up by sparing your time with me in the afternoon tomorrow,” she urgently asks him with one of her dainty hands placed on Yoongi’s arm, merely inches above his elbow. “Perhaps we can have tea in the Royal Garden once you are done with your duties?” 

Yoongi bites back the words of refusal that nearly slip out the moment she speaks. It is an offer that is not quite an open invitation. More like a challenge, a subtle threat, as Yoongi can sense a finality in her words. He can almost hear the words unspoken from her gaze—give me this, or I’ll go to the Empress and make things harder for you. 

A resigned sigh slips out of him as Yoongi realises that he has no choice but to play along. At least for now. Only until he can find the chance or an excuse to escape from the second Princess. 

His nod is stiff when Yoongi reluctantly accepts her deal. “One of my attendants will come for you in the afternoon once I have tea prepared in the gardens.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Princess Celestyna says with a smile on her face, mirth dancing in her eyes as she finally gets her wish. “I shall be waiting for the good news.” 

Bowing towards the Princess, and then to her silent father, the Emperor of Kosha, Yoongi bids his farewell for the night and quickly turns to walk away before any word can be thrown to trample his escape. The long tail of his black coat flares behind him as he walks out of the balcony seats in rapid footsteps. 

His hand finds its way to his upper arm as he walks down the stairs, making his exit through the vacant service hall in the back of the temple. He keeps rubbing the skin from over the thick sleeve of his coat to brush away the lingering feeling of the Princess’ hand, wishing it to be your touch instead. 

As he makes his way out of the Moon Temple of Aone, Yoongi silently makes up his mind, promising himself that at the next full moon ceremony, he will make sure that he only has you standing by his side. 

For your hand to be the only one he would ask for the first dance the next time he joins the Runea Luna Eve. 

That day will come, he tells himself. A promise. Soon. 

⟶ Author’s note | thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this one, please leave a like/kudo and help reblog the fic to share it with others to enjoy. Any form of feedback is welcome!

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Sloth | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | CW: MCD | POV: Gareth | Pairing: None | Tags: Gareth, Jeff, Matt (Freak), Angst, Horror, ambiguous ending, because it's Halloween!

Gareth wakes up in the early hours of March 28, 1986 to find half his town missing and a shadow in his left eye.

All in all they’ve been pretty lucky as a family, they haven’t lost much and they’re all safe and well. The phones are down so it’s not until late that afternoon that Jeff and Matt find him; they’re safe and other than Matt’s mom’s car being at the bottom of a ravine and Jeff’s garage crumbling to dust, they didn’t lose too much. Gareth crumples with relief. He can’t bear the loss of more friends right now. 

There’ve been no sightings of Eddie. 

The three of them help out at the shelter at the school, handing out food, helping with collections. He watches every day as Eddie’s uncle takes down a defaced poster and replaces it with a fresh one. He’ll be back tomorrow to do it again. Gareth watches that board all day long and hasn’t caught the fucker doing it yet, but he will.

He’s folding clothes with Matt a couple of days later as he watches Wayne repeat his daily ritual, and then watches as Dustin Henderson disturbs it. He nudges Matt and the two of them watch on as Dustin limps closer to Wayne with his hand out.

“Holy shit,” Matt whispers.

“What?”

“That’s Eddie’s necklace.”

Gareth can’t make it out, the stupid dark spot in his vision obscuring it. As he turns his head from side to side trying to get a better look, Wayne drops onto a cot and even hidden behind the shadow in his eye he can tell Wayne’s crying.

“Shit.”

Matt sniffs hard. “I’m going to talk to Henderson.”

The shadow in his eye feels like it’s moving. 

Matt confirms it later that day: Eddie is dead. 

Gareth feels like he’s been punched in the chest. The hows and whys are sketchy as fuck. They’d all like to know why Dustin was with him when he died, and why Steve Harrington seems to know so much about it. But they feel like questions that are too big for the answers they can give them today, so Jeff goes to the fridge and comes back with three bottles of his dad’s beer.

“To Eddie.”

Gareth feels like a child as he bursts into tears.

He misses his alarm and is late for school. He sits at the back of the class for every lesson, books open, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, ignoring the looks from other students. When he finally makes his way to the cafeteria he can see Matty, Jeff and Dustin having a stand up argument with Andy and some other jock fuckhead. He should help. 

There’s an empty seat there that will never be filled again.

Gareth turns around and heads to Eddie’s bench in the woods. At least he can sleep there.

Reading in class is getting harder so his mom takes him to the ophthalmologist. They make him read some charts and they look in his eye with a light, but his vision is fine. It’s probably just all the stress, they tell him.

The shadow flickers.

The blackness changes, wisps of red and green swirl in his vision. And it’s spreading, the blindspot growing increasingly larger. He’s desperately trying not to panic, but somehow that’s making it worse.

“I’m scared I’m going blind, man,” he says to Jeff one night. 

Jeff shakes his head, huffing a small laugh. “You’re not going blind, idiot. And if you do, Matt will be your seeing eye dog.”

“Fuck off, Jeffrey!”

They’re laughing, but Gareth doesn’t find it that funny.

Gareth stands in front of his bathroom mirror, trying to gauge how bad it’s getting. He closes his right eye and his breath catches as he realises half of his vision in his left eye is taken up with the swirling cloud. He swaps, closing his left eye instead.

The shadow jumps to his right.

“Jesus Christ!” he screeches, stumbling back from the mirror. 

He should tell his mom. Tell the doctor.

They’ll lock you up.

He climbs into bed, his heart still hammering in his chest. His eyelids close almost instantly. 

“He’s lazy, Gwen. When was the last time he did his chores? Or cleaned his room? It’s a pigsty up there. He’s going to end up like that friend of his.”

“I think he’s sick.”

“Sick of hard work. He’s bone idle.”

Gareth lays in bed staring at the ceiling. His bedroom is right above the kitchen, his parents know he can hear everything they say because he’s done it before, feeding back tidbits of information not meant for his ears.

He hears the thud of footsteps on the stairs, and then his door is flung open.

“Gareth! Get up, it’s after noon for Christ’s sake.”

His dad rips the curtains back and the light blinds him momentarily, and for just a second he thinks he can see the outline of a figure in his bad eye. It disappears just as quickly.

He can barely lift his head off his pillow, so he falls asleep with the noon sun shining through the thin skin of his eyelids and a cloud dancing in his eye.

His mother takes him to a specialist in Indy. They run test after test, the constant stab of needles and the chill of the x-rays machines drive him mad. The doctors tell his mom that they can’t find anything wrong with him, that the exhaustion is likely caused from the stress of the earthquake and schoolwork, the loss of his friend. He needs time off school to recover. So she takes him home and sets him up on the couch with the remote, his walkman and a couple of magazines. He’s asleep in minutes.

Jeff and Matt visit but he can’t lift his head off the sofa. It’s like he has a weight on him, pushing him into the cushions; he feels like he could sink to the bottom of the couch, fall through it to the basement, through the earth all the way to hell. 

They ask how he’s feeling, tell him they’ve missed him. He nods occasionally, answers the odd question. They’re leaving for college soon. He should care deeply about that, about being left behind and on his own, but he just wants them to leave so he can close his eyes.

He feels trapped in his body, boneless, muscles made of mush; lifting his arms, his head, it’s all so hard now. He needs help to eat, help to bathe, help to take a piss. And that fucking thing in his eye is worse, almost solid now, bloody and white and green and black and he keeps thinking he knows what it is but it escapes him every time.

“Mom?” he whispers one night.

“Yes baby?” It sounds awful the way she says it, coated in worry and fear.

“What’s wrong with me?”

His eyes slip closed. But that’s ok because he doesn’t think he can bare to watch her crying again.

Gareth wakes up in the hospital. He struggles to turn his head to the right. His dad is holding his hand. There are cards and flowers. It’s nice. 

Gareth tries to tell him he’s scared but he can’t make the words.

Jeff and Matt are shoulder to shoulder by the window. 

When he turns to his left he sees his mom. She gives him a watery smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

The shadow is gone.

He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again it’s dark. His mom is asleep, his dad is crying.

Eddie is standing next to his bed.

“You did so good, Gareth,” he says, gently, a smile pulling at the deep scar on his cheek. “So good.”

This time when he closes his eyes, it feels like flying.

@the-unforgivenn (I'm sorry!)

Ok, I know these have all been a bit dark, but it's Halloween! I'll try and slip something funny in, I promise! 🎃

[hopepetal]

Masterlist

Read on AO3!

Part Seven!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

The sound of several horses’ hooves clip-clopping against the ground broke the natural quiet ambience of the canyon where Cub resided. There was no doubt that Cub could hear them approaching from quite some distance away, given the amount of noise four horses made, and he opened the door as the knights were dismounting. He did a quick headcount, gaze darting between each knight, before frowning. 

“There's only four of you. What happened?” 

Grian winced, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I think you might want to sit down for this. It's a bit of a long story.”

Cub raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he stood aside and beckoned the knights into his home. He put a hand out to stop Pearl before she could follow the other three in, gesturing to her wing. “Are you grounded?” he asked, a thousand other questions lingering in his gaze. 

Pearl pressed her lips together, nodding tersely. “I'll tell you more when we're explaining,” she promised. “It'll heal eventually,” she added at the end.

“That's a relief to hear.” Cub stepped aside to allow Pearl in, closing the door behind them. “Take a seat where you can find one, all of you. I'll get us all some tea while you're getting settled.” 

Grian sat down on the small bench near the window next to Pearl, gently bumping his shoulder against hers. “How are you doing?” he murmured, glancing at her wing. “Stitches holding up well? Any pain?” 

Pearl gave him a tired smile that didn't quite match the anxious look in her eyes. “I haven't given myself enough time to think about it,” she answered vaguely, and Grian frowned. “I'll be fine, Griba. I promise.”

Grian's gaze darkened, and he clenched his hands into fists, staring down at his lap. “About earlier, when–”

“I don't want to talk about that,” Pearl bit out, leftover panic from the memory of that close call seeping into her voice. “It's too soon. And there are more important things to focus on right now. Impulse's well-being and whereabouts, for example.”

Grian sighed softly, but didn't press the matter. He simply wrapped a wing around Pearl, as a comfort to the both of them. He could've lost her forever. If he had been any slower, if they'd arrived a second later, if he hadn't been strong enough to catch her and fly back up…

If Pearl had died, Grian wasn't sure what he would've done. Would grief have overwhelmed him? Would he have hovered, numb, unable to process what had just happened? Would anger have swept through him like the river swept through that ravine? 

Would he have killed Impulse in a blind rage? 

Grian swallowed, finding that he was suddenly fighting back tears. Now that there was a moment to sit and reflect, the fear from earlier and the overwhelming grief from even the possibility he could've lost his sister crashed into him at full force. 

It was stupid. He wasn't even the one who could've died. Pearl was fine, she was sitting right next to him and she was breathing and she was injured but she was alive, and Grian let out a soft trill. 

He felt Pearl place one of her hands over his and lightly flutter her wings. “I'm here, Griba,” she whispered, and squeezed his hand gently. 

“Thank the void for that,” Grian responded, “I don't know what I would do…” Without you. 

Pearl shrugged. “Well, for one, you'd make an absolute mess of the storage system,” she joked, and Grian fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I can't trust any of you around those chests.”

Though she joked, Pearl's mind was still weighed down by what had occured just hours earlier. She could've died. Of course, it wasn't like she had never had a near death experience before– everyone had near death experiences at least once, it was a part of life!– but none by falling. 

Would she ever truly feel safe flying again?

Pearl knew some avians who had fallen while flying. Most didn't survive. Many considered those who did to be the unlucky ones. Avians who fell and lived to tell the tale lost faith in their wings. The first rule of flight is trust, and falling shatters that trust completely. Unable to trust their wings to carry them and hold them in the air, the unfortunate few that Pearl had known developed an unnatural fear of heights. The connection they had with the sky snapped like a rubber band stretched too far, and they began to prefer the ground and even the water. Avians who fell often never flew again, and a grounded avian…

There had been screaming. Screaming, and blood, and feathers. And she hadn't been strong enough to pull them up. And they had refused to fly. They wouldn't. They couldn't. 

They had said they'd run. And… 

Well. Evolution had gifted them wings for a reason. 

Pearl tried not to think about it too hard. She was fine. She would fly again, when her wound healed. Besides, she was more than proficient enough to defend herself while she was stuck on the ground. She would be fine. 

She had to be. For the knights. For everyone who depended on her. She wouldn't fail. Not again. Not ever again.

Mumbo and Scar sat down at the wooden table, Mumbo fidgeting nervously and glancing around the room. Scar couldn't even bring himself to attempt to lighten the mood, weighed down by the situation as he was. He clasped his hands together on the table and stared down at them, lost in his own thoughts. 

Was this his fault? 

He should've known something was wrong. He had known something was wrong. Impulse had come to him, reached out and spoken with him, and Scar had done his best. He had tried his gosh darn hardest to help Impulse. He thought he had been doing pretty well!

Clearly not, though, given he'd somehow missed the literal demon inhabiting Impulse's mind. Sure, he'd known something was off, but he had never expected that. To be fair, neither had any of the other knights, but still. 

“I don't think you could've done much.” Mumbo's voice broke into Scar's thoughts, and he startled slightly in his chair. “Oh– sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

Scar shrugged. “Don't worry about it. You're fine. How'd you know what I was thinkin', anyway?”

Mumbo gave him a nervous smile. “You're pretty easy to read, mate. No offense.”

“None taken.” 

“I just–” Mumbo wrang his hands together, looking away. “I'm thinking the same thing, really. I mean, we knew something– Impulse was struggling, we all saw that, and I just…” He sighed. “I think that whatever is going on with Impulse, we wouldn't have been able to fix. Not with what we knew. I mean, we still barely know what's going on with Impulse. Just that it's not really…”

“Him,” Scar finished, nodding solemnly. 

Mumbo had been thinking. He usually was stuck in his head, lost deep in his thoughts. But this time, it was… different. No longer was his head filled with theories and speculations, or possibilities for new redstone inventions. No, now he was stuck on thinking about himself, and just how weak he was. 

Would he be strong enough to stand against Impulse, should it come down to that?

Not only was Impulse much stronger than him physically, but Mumbo wasn't exactly the strongest in terms of mental fortitude either. He knew that whatever had tried to kill Pearl wasn't Impulse. But it looked like Impulse, and sounded like Impulse, and Mumbo could hardly even bring himself to hurt something that didn't resemble his friends. 

He hoped that he wouldn't end up becoming a burden for the rest of his team. If he lost his place among the knights, Mumbo didn't know what he'd do. He had no home to go back to, after all. He supposed he could just wander. Sell his inventions. Likely die a stupid death because he was too nervous to kill a mob. 

What a lovely thing to think about!

Cub handed out warm cups of tea to the knights, keeping one for himself as he pulled out the chair at his desk and turned it to face the knights, settling down in the chair carefully. “Alright.” He set down his cup of tea on the desk and adjusted his glasses, looking around at the knights. “Who wants to start?”

Scar sat up straighter. “I will. Remember when I told you we thought the whole thing with Impulse had fixed itself? The sleeplessness and everything. It… came back?” He frowned. “Sort of, but not really, I guess.”

Cub nodded. “I see, I see. Can you expand more on that?”

Scar looked down at his tea. “So, he was sleepwalking, and I guess…” he glanced over at Grian. “I don't really know what happened?”

Grian held his cup in his hands, blowing softly on the hot liquid to cool it. “And I… I woke up one night and just felt something so wrong, and dangerous, like someone was trying to kill me. And I may have slightly freaked out.”

“And that's how I got injured,” Pearl continued. “He attacked Impulse and I just…” She shrugged. “It was an accident, but after what happened today, I think things may be a little more connected than we thought.”

Cub frowned. “What happened?”

Pearl took in a deep breath, and Grian noticed how she tensed up ever so slightly. He wrapped his wing a little tighter around her for a moment as a gentle reassurance. “Impulse asked to speak with me alone. I went with him into the forest. For a long time, we just walked in silence. I'm not even sure if he really knew where he was leading me.” She paused. “We got to the ravine, and Impulse and I sat down. That's when he told me he wanted to leave the knights.”

Grian shot her a confused glance, and Mumbo and Scar shared a concerned look. “What? You didn't mention that.” 

“It slipped my mind,” Pearl murmured. “After he told me that, he got really panicky. Totally freaked out, questioning why he led me here. He stood up and began to back away from me.” Her voice trembled. “I thought he was going to fall off the edge and into the ravine. I thought he was going to die.” She took a sip of her tea to calm herself, relaxing as warmth spread through her chest.

Cub hummed softly. “But that didn't happen?” 

Pearl shook her head. “I reached out to him and pulled him back. And…” she laughed softly, in the way that spoke of held back tears. “And he pushed me off, instead. I somehow managed to grab onto the edge, and I saw that his eyes… his eyes were red. When he spoke, he didn't sound like himself either.” She paused for a moment, frowning. “It was his own voice, but there was something else to it. Some deeper undertone, some warped sound– I don't know. But he slammed his foot down on my hands and I fell.” 

Cub's eyes widened slightly as he gasped softly. “Oh, Pearl…” He shook his head sympathetically. “I'm so sorry.”

“I caught her,” Grian added on quickly, “we'd been following them– we knew something was off.”

“I went vex and pinned Impulse down. Cub, man, the moment I went vex I could smell it.” Scar shuddered at the memory. “The magic. It was so wrong. It had to have been the cause of everything that had been happening.” He flexed his hands, glancing down at them. “And whatever it is, it's strong. Cub, I couldn't do anything.”

Cub grabbed a book from the pile on his desk and began leafing through the pages, searching for something in particular. “I getcha, man. I getcha.” He paused on one of the pages and quickly scanned it. “With the information you've all given me, I think I know what we're dealing with.” 

Grian's eyes widened, feathers rustling as he leaned forward slightly. “You do? What is it? How do we beat it?”

“Without doing too much harm to Impulse,” Pearl added on.

“Preferably none!” Mumbo piped up, setting down his tea, “to either party. I mean, that's probably not going to happen, really.”

Cub took a deep breath and started to read from the page. “Blood curse demons are one of the most dangerous types of demons. Taking payment in blood, these demons are incredibly difficult to get rid of without some type of sacrifice, be it the summoner or someone else.” He lifted his gaze momentarily. “That's not all, unfortunately.” 

“That already sounds pretty bad,” Pearl commented, “you're telling me there's something worse?”

Cub nodded, going back to reading. “One blood curse demon in particular made itself notorious in parts of the overworld due to the strength of the demon and frequency of the occurrence. In all recorded cases, it was impossible to remove the demon without death. In my other book, The Art of Summoning - Demons, I discuss this demon and it's curse in more detail, but the most important parts bear repeating.” He paused, flipping the page. “When the demon is in control of the summoner's body, the eyes of the summoner are known to turn red. Those afflicted by the curse are known to sleepwalk, and will always feel exhausted no matter how much they sleep. The afflicted are more prone to acts of violence and sudden bloodlust directed toward those close to them. As the curse progresses, the bloodlust will grow stronger until finally, they attempt to kill someone. If the afflicted is not successful in taking the life of another in a certain amount of time, they will take their own life.

This curse is known as the Boogey curse, and the afflicted have been commonly referred to as the Boogeyman.” 

Silence fell over the room as the information settled heavy on their minds. The knights shared concerned and scared glances, not quite knowing what to say in response to that. 

Mumbo swallowed thickly. “So… you're telling us it's impossible to save Impulse?”

Scar leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “If it truly comes down to it, I would be more than willing to–”

Grian stood up suddenly, fury burning in his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he snapped. “No one is going to be sacrificing themselves. There are other solutions.” He turned to look at Cub, and the anger melted into desperation. “There have to be.”

Cub looked up at Grian with a guilty, pained expression. “With lesser demons, it's possible to force them out by flooding the afflicted's body with magic. The amount of magic required to force this demon out of Impulse would be extraordinary. Even Scar and I, at our best, wouldn't have enough. It's why there are no recorded cases of this particular demon being expelled without casualties.”

“What about the fae?” Scar asked, “if we make a deal with them–”

Cub's gaze turned cold. “And for what, Scar? What would you offer them when they ask you to pay the price?”

Scar went silent. 

Grian and Pearl shared a look, one that spoke of shared secrets yet to be revealed. For a moment, their eyes met, and they made a decision as one. 

Pearl stood. “There's something we need to show you all.” 

Grian slipped out the door in front of her, Pearl gesturing to the rest of the knights and Cub to follow them. Despite their audible confusion, Mumbo and Scar stood and followed Grian. Cub took a moment to bookmark his page and set the book back on the desk before following the rest. They gathered in a semicircle, with Pearl and Grian standing in front of them. 

Grian looked over at Pearl. “Pearlie, can you…?” He gestured vaguely to his back, and Pearl nodded, going behind him to undo the extra buttons Grian always insisted on having on his shirts. 

Scar crossed his arms. “I know I'm one to talk, but this hardly seems like the appropriate time to be taking your clothes off, G.”

Grian's face turned red as Pearl stifled a giggle. “Oh, Scar, that's not–!” He spluttered for a moment. “I'm not taking critique from a man who keeps making me patch up his chest wounds.”

Scar raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Oh, you enjoy looking at my–”

“That's enough, ya goofs,” Pearl interrupted, finishing with the buttons. “I don't want to dampen the mood, but unfortunately this is a bit… serious.” She took her original place beside Grian. “Do you want to explain at all, or…?”

Grian gave her a tired smile. “When have I ever explained anything?”

Magic swirled like wind around the two avians, and dark scales like small shards of the void began to coalesce around the two. Like puzzle pieces coming together to make a picture, the scales formed shapes– limbs, made of sparkling void and magic. 

For Grian, it was wings that extended from the slits in the back of his shirt. Wings that stretched toward the sky, cut out from the infinite void that stretched below the world. The darkness of the void seeped into his colorful feathers, dyeing them pitch black. Once his new pair of wings were complete, the void shattered like glass and faded away, leaving behind black wings that looked exactly like the other pair. Exactly like a normal pair of wings, except for the fact that eyes of different shapes and sizes now decorated his feathers.

For Pearl, it was arms that slipped through the thin slits in the sides of her shirt. Like with Grian's wings, her new limbs looked to be made of void until they were complete– and then the void shattered, leaving behind normal looking arms. The shards of void didn't fade like they had with Grian, though. They went to her eyes, and when she opened them, it was as though they'd been replaced by the void. Her wings and feathery antennae were also dyed black just as Grian's had been.

As the whirlwind of magic ceased, and wings black as the eternal night stretched toward the sky, the other three looked up in fear and awe. For a moment that stretched on for what felt like centuries, there was silence.

“Holy shit.” Cub was the first to speak, eyes shining as he examined the two siblings. “You're–”

“Watchers,” Grian finished, “yes. Please don't freak out.”

“It was his idea,” Pearl murmured, trying to shade her now ink-black eyes from the sun, “I just followed along. I promised I would make sure he wasn't going to get himself killed. You know how it is.”

Scar stepped back, giving both Grian and Pearl a once-over. “Huh. You know, I thought that Watchers would be taller. All that magic, and they couldn't even give you a couple extra inches?”

That seemed to break the tension lingering on the moment, and Pearl giggled, relaxing. Mumbo broke his silence to laugh as well, nodding. “He's right, mate. For a being that's supposed to be a super myth, you're still super short.” 

Grian's jaw dropped. “I am perfectly fine with my height, Scar! Mumbo!” he protested, “and I could still take you out even though I'm shorter!”

Cub's eyes were shining as he took a step forward. “But extra limbs, and eyes? Can you see from those eyes, what's it like? Do they retain the same function? Does the time spent hidden affect them? How–?”

“It's really bright out,” Pearl muttered, looking incredibly uncomfortable with that fact. As a moth hybrid, her eyes normally were more sensitive to light. As a Watcher, they were even more so. 

Grian raised one of his wings to hover over Pearl, shading her from the sun. “Yes, we can see from the eyes. Our eyes are light sensitive. We can use them to see magic, the people around us, pretty much anything nearby. And, uh…” He glanced at Pearl. “I dunno about Pearl, but my wings are fine when I bring them out, they don't get weaker or anything. I haven't really thought about what happens to them when we switch forms.”

“You can't really think too hard about all this super magical stuff,” Pearl added on, “or you're going to give yourself a headache. Trust me. And my arms are the same as Grian's wings. They don't lose any mobility or anything.”

Mumbo tentatively reached out and poked one of Pearl's arms. “Oh, that's fascinating,” he breathed, before looking up at Pearl. “Sorry! Should've asked. My bad.”

Pearl laughed softly, shaking her head. “You're fine, mate.”

Grian gave Mumbo a slight smile, before looking back over at Cub and Scar. “I'm sure you know about the Watchers and their magical capabilities.”

“Of course!” Cub exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Even individually, Watchers were said to have an incredible amount of magical energy– that's the reason for the extra limbs and eyes, right? Your magical energy increases when you transform, so it manifests in more ways. Oh, that's incredible, man!” 

Pearl let out a breathy laugh. “Well, thank you? I'm glad you're not all freaked out about this. It's certainly a little… weird.”

Grian nodded. “You probably have a ton of questions, but we'll have time to answer them later. After we save Impulse. Like Cub said, Pearl and I have a ton of magic in us. If anyone's going to be able to get the demon out of Impulse, it's us.” His eyes were full of steely determination as he spoke, and he could only hope he sounded as confident as he was trying to be. This would work. It had to. 

“Griba and I will be able to find Impulse now that we know what we're looking for,” Pearl explained, “so that makes achieving our goal much easier, since we won't have to worry about tracking him down. The hard part is going to be getting Im– the demon– to stick around long enough for us to finish casting the spell.” 

Grian had always been better at watching than she had. He always found what he was looking for much more easily than Pearl– she had told herself that was why he was able to be so unorganized. But Pearl had always been better at the magical aspect, more in tune with the ebb and flow of the magic around her than Grian was. They were both proficient enough in casting individually, but together? And against another magical force that would be actively fighting against them? Pearl would be lying if she said she didn't have any worries or doubts about this plan. 

But there was too much at stake. If either Grian or Pearl faltered, or if they didn't have enough magic, or if anything went wrong, someone would die. There was no room for self doubt or error when lives hung in the balance. They would likely only get one chance to succeed at this. Pearl tried not to let her hands visibly shake. She couldn't let herself be scared. Not now. 

Scar grinned. “Oh, don't you worry! Me and Mumbo here will help with that. We need to pull our own weight, after all! Can't just let you and Grian do all the hard work!” Despite the confident persona that he so often displayed, there was an unusual darkness in his eyes. Like storm clouds stretching across the sky, casting the lush forest into shadow. 

Mumbo squeaked, turning on his heel to look at Scar. “We– we will? Are you sure about that, mate?” His voice trembled noticeably as he spoke. “How– I can't really do much, you know, I'm potato boy. Not– not much of a fighter.”

Scar slung an arm around Mumbo's shoulders. “Ah, ah, ah! You are still a valuable addition to the team! Besides, you know how to fight! You don't need to win, just keep him busy! I'll be there too, so you won't be fighting alone.”

Mumbo chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I… I guess! I guess that's that, then!” 

Grian nodded. “That sounds like a solid plan. Once I get a pin on Impulse's location, we'll prepare and head out as soon as possible. When we get to him, Scar and Mumbo will keep the demon occupied while Pearl and I cast the spell. And then…”

“We save Impulse,” Pearl finished, taking her brother's hand. “Then we go home. And rest. And talk.” She smiled wearily at Grian. “See? Isn't coming up with a plan much better than just flying away while injured and getting kidnapped?”

Both Grian and Scar winced, though their laughter was reassurance that they weren't really hurt by that comment. “You're never going to let me forget about that, are you?” Grian asked, sighing when Pearl shook her head. “Right. Well, it's going to take me a moment to locate Impulse and everything, so start getting ready to leave.” He pulled his hand away from Pearl's, and closed his mortal eyes. Spreading his wings slightly, other eyes all over the black appendages began to open as Grian began his search. 

Scar and Mumbo's eyes were glued to the sight, wide in awe. “Amayzin',” Scar breathed. 

“It's certainly something,” Mumbo agreed, his voice a hushed whisper.

Cub watched for a moment, in awe, before he turned to Pearl. “I have something for you.” He hurried back into the house, leaving the door slightly open. He came back out just a few moments later, carrying something wrapped in cloth. “For your wing.” 

Pearl took the bundle and unwrapped it, staring at the contents for a moment before looking up at Cub. “You're kidding. You don't actually– Cub, this is so hard to get!” She carefully ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the potion, gazing at the slightly glowing liquid. “This can't actually be…”

Cub smiled slightly. “A regen pot? You bet. It's the real thing– I brewed it myself. Just… I want to be able to help you all more. If I had been able to catch what was going on with Impulse sooner, then…”

Pearl shook her head. “Cub, mate, you've done so much for us. You've helped so much! We'd be lost without you!” Eyes as black and endless as the night sky met light green– like fields of grass in the bright summer sun, compared to the forest green of Scar's eyes. “Cub, really. Thank you so much. I…” She paused. “I don't want to get all teary on you. So, just… thank you. Thank you.” 

Cub's gaze softened, and he nodded. “Of course, man. Of course. Take that potion, okay? It might feel a little weird, but I'm sure you know that already.”

Pearl carefully uncorked the potion before quickly downing the liquid, wincing from the bitter taste. “Oh, that does not get better the more you do it–” She cut herself off with a soft hiss, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. “That sure works quick!” 

Cub laughed, taking the now empty potion bottle and cloth back from Pearl. “They're sought-after items for a reason. You should be good to take those bandages off now. And…” His voice became more serious. “...good luck. I'll see you, all five of you, soon.”

Pearl could only nod as she began to remove the bandages from her wing. Suddenly, a thought came to her. “Hey, Cub? Do you know who wrote that book you were reading? The demon one.”

Cub's brow furrowed as he thought back. “I'm not sure… I think he used a pseudonym? M. Saus, I think it was. Not many people know of him because of how little he wrote, and because he only ever wrote about demons. I remember reading something in the author's note at the beginning– something about an unfortunate experience with a demon when he was younger? I dunno. He's probably long dead by now.” He shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

Pearl hummed thoughtfully. “No reason. I was just curious. Thanks, Cub.”

“No problem, man. I'll be right back.” Cub disappeared back into his house, probably to put the empty potion bottle away. 

Not a moment later, the rustling of feathers broke Grian's extended silence. He slowly lowered his wings, letting them rest behind him as he opened his mortal eyes. “Found him,” he announced to the knights. “Get ready. We're leaving now.” 

There was an anxious air hanging around the knights as they quickly readied their horses for the trip. Pearl reverted back to her normal form so as not to spook her horse and to give her sensitive eyes a rest, but Grian decided to stay in his Watcher form for a while longer. Just in case something happened, so he'd be able to sense it. Scar made light idle conversation with Mumbo, knowing how the other knight would get overly anxious if he wasn't distracted. 

Cub stepped back outside, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “You're all heading out, then?” he asked, humming softly when he got confirmation from Scar. “I'll see you all soon, then. And good luck.”

Grian mounted his horse, settling himself in the saddle. “Thanks, Cub. You'll hear from us, one way or another.” 

“I'll keep the side room open if you need. Come here if any of you get seriously injured.” Cub looked between all the knights. “I don't trust any of you– other than Pearl, that is– with looking after yourselves. If I don't hear from any of you in two weeks, I'm assuming the worst.” Despite the light hearted tone he kept in his voice, his eyes were full of concern. 

“Why does everyone always trust Pearl?” Grian complained, mostly to himself. “When I first met her, she had just crash landed. That's not responsible behavior, if you ask me–”

Pearl smacked him with her wing, and Grian nearly fell off his horse. 

Cub locked eyes with Scar. “And you, mister. I want you to promise me you'll come back. That you'll be safe. That you won't do anything unnecessarily dangerous, or sacrificial!”

“Of course I will!” Scar exclaimed. “You have my word. Vex's honor.”

Cub snorted, rolling his eyes. “Vex's honor? I'll hold you to it, man.” His smile dropped slightly. “One more thing. I want you to remember…” He stepped forward, laying a hand on Scar's arm and lowering his voice. “You are in control. Not the vex. You do not need to fear that side of you.” 

Scar's face was unreadable for a moment, before he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Right. Yeah. Of course. No fear. None.” He glanced up at the other knights before looking back down at Cub. “I'll be back. I promise. And I'll bring Impulse with me.”

Cub smiled. “Good.”

The sun began its descent in the sky as the knights rode out, led by Grian. 

–

His head–

Oh, void. 

It hurt. Everything hurt. He was– he was dying, he had to be, his head hurt so much.

Five things, he needed to calm down, five things he could–

He couldn't see

His vision

blurred he couldn't–

Blood.

There was blood 

on his hands, it wasn't, his

He remembered 

A rabbit. 

Thrashing in his hands, and he–

No. No, no no no no

His head. His head hurt. 

He snapped its neck he killed it the demon–

Sleep, little mortal, or insanity will take your mind.

Impulse...

drifted.

[bugflies00]

as promised heres the ctommy sims 4 house pictures :) im gonna walk through them bc i really like how this came out

first the exterior! i took some liberties for example the bench & jukebox is on the right side of the house not the left, and this is because on the sims lot i picked there IS a ravine but on the wrong side so i accommodated to the ravine so if you played with it it would be more like it feels in dsmp. i tried my best to recreate the prime path but its HARD to translate minecraft to sims 4

honestly besides that the exterior is pretty much the only thing that directly looks like his house the rest is pure inspiration

then you go in the little hut and its only one tiny room with his bed, a chimney, an armchair with knitting stuff, and a ladder that goes down to the rest of the house! because ctommy house is a lot of split levels and it was hard to keep going with the hillside hut thing with a building any bigger than that one room

then once you get down you have this little main living space

i put lots of jukebox and music stuff and postal cards and just. many little trinkets because its ctommy and i think he'd have lots of those. also having that shovel rack on the wall was funny to me like minecraft inspired. on the left image you see two doors, the closed one is to the bathroom and the other's the archway to the kitchen . heres the bathroom so crazy :

and finally the kitchen with lots of drying plants and the storage room! that last room is the most minecraft-inspired, i tried to evoke the room full of chests and i put a shelf of ""potions"". also the knight is supposed to be a minecraft armour stand lmao

so yeah thats my ctommy house !! like i said i took a lot of creative liberties to try and make it look good lmao

[waywardsou2]

Whumptober 2024 - Non consensual body modifications

Summary: Bucky promised to follow Steve to the end of the line. And instead he found himself over enemy lines. With no escape in sight

Word Count: 1k+

Tags: non consensual body modification, HYDRA, expanding on a canon scene, blood, graphic depictions, limb loss

Bucky was screaming in pain. Feeling as the air tore through his throat as he did so. The familiar feeling of crying out for help with no response.

He was being taken somewhere. He had been pulled from the debris and snow of the Austrian Alps where he had plunged into the ravine but instead of being whisked away to safety he was taken deeper into the clutches of the enemy. Again.

He had been restrained. He felt himself thrashing around with a sever lack of weight his left side. He didn't stop to figure out why he just fought. Kicked and screamed and clawed and fought until he couldn't. He silently begged for some way out to appear but there wasn't one.

He had been strapped down to a sterile bench when he had awoken whilst being taken from the truck.

He had his ankles locked into a set of medical belts and his right arm had been handcuffed to the hand rail along with his chest and neck. He couldn't move but still he fought.

And he realised after a while that something was wrong. He was light headed. More so than when he had hit the ground.

Finally looking to his left he saw why. His whole left arm was missing, instead all that was left was a bloody and broken stump with bone and blood being all that was left.

That's when the real screaming had begun.

Not caring whether he lived or died only hoping to be free of the scientist he desperately fought against the restraints. But even with whatever experimentation had kept him alive in the fall was still not strong enough for him to break away from this.

One of the doctors ran over and jabbed a needle into his arm and he screamed again. The long thin metal piercing something too deeply in his leg.

"GET OFF ME" he yelled. His voice cracking on the last word as his body began to sink and his mind slipped away.

No.

No no no what had they done to him

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't

And then it all went dark.

When he woke up again. He was drowsy and delirious. He felt like he had been hit by a truck. As he blinked and tried to focus in the stark white light shining in on his face he saw the doctors again. He tried to fight but his body was limp and mostly numb. He felt heavy and he felt restrained. Was it more than before? He didn't know.

But the one thing he did feel was the blinding pain in his arm and the buzzing of a drill in his left ear

"No, what are you doing to me!" he whined softly. His tongue refusing to co operate with him. He felt groggy the same way you did when you woke up from a nap. Except this was 10 times worse and more nightmarish.

"Ah Sargent Barnes" a voice called to him dimly. It echoed strangely from where he was laying. But he could see the face of a man with spectacles and lines in his face.

Bucky regaining some feeling in his body bucked his hips. Trying to release himself one more but it was merely more than a futile attempt. More doctors held him down and he was immobile again. He shook his head back and forth trying to get his neck free. Or to hurt a doctor or something. Anything.

"The procedure has already started"

"No stop it. Get awAY FROM ME" he screamed again his voice even more hoarse than before.

He hears a sigh before another doctor plunged a needle into his flesh again and the world slipped away from him.

He managed a weak 'please no' before he slipped completely.

When he woke up his head was raised. His neck was unstrained and he wasn't in pain. He ached all over but it was better then it had been.

He looked around there were still doctors in the room. But none of them were looking at him.

Having felt the weight return to his arm he held it up.

But how? He didn't have one

And that was true, not made of flesh and blood but metal and mechanics instead.

He looked at it. Curled his fingers into a fist and flexed them. He stared in awestruck fear at the device that looked like his arm.

What in God's name was this technology. This was nothing like he had seen. Not even at the Future Expo

One of the doctors walked over to him and he watched. His eyes still half closed as he came out of whatever chemical induced state he had been in.

The doctor was watching him move his hand, he had a clipboard and pen in his own.

He was smiling.

The bastard was smiling.

Internally praising himself over a job well done.

Bucky would show him. Show him what he could do with this Doctors accomplishment

He took the Doctor by the neck and started squeezing. He tried to sit up but brighter spots and a dark shadow clouded his vision.

He listened to the doctor splutter before he went silent. Bucky dropped him to the ground, the clipboard clustering in the side of his table.

Bucky tried to stand but was forced back into the cold steel of the table. Just as another doctor came at him with a third needle and jammed it into his neck.

He cried out but once more began to slip away.

What had they done to him. Why had he been taken. Why wasn't he dead? He wished he was. He wished he was anywhere but here. Even if that meant hell.

Because that's where he was going right. He had a hand to play in this horrible night mare that had been the past year. There was no way he would grace the gate of heaven.

God couldn't possibly love him now. Instead he would be taken to the warm embrace of hell

If only he would die

I love him so much why do I do this to him

[practically-an-x-man]

Ok... So... If its ok to ask... What's your Minecraft Day 1 strategy?

Ooooh, good question!

Set KeepInventory to true - I'm not here for a challenge, I'm here to have fun, and losing my stuff when I die isn't fun for me.

Chop wood (obviously). I usually grab a tree or two, then make a crafting bench, axe, pickaxe, and grab another half-stack of logs or so

Grab cobblestone, enough to make a furnace, a better axe and pickaxe, and a sword. No need to grab too much extra, I'll get more by nightfall

Run around a bit, look for animals for a quick food supply, and small caves that might have easy coal or iron deposits

While I'm running, I also try to grab seeds if there's grass. Getting a farm set up early is a huge asset, since the crops will take a few days to grow anyway.

Run around until it's close to nightfall, then find a hill or mountain and dig myself a little hobbit-hole. Build that furnace, plop it down, and either start cooking up that food (if I found coal) or whip up some quick charcoal to make torches

Once I've got my hobbit-hole set up, lit up, got things cooking in the furnace, I'll start digging a mine to try and find more resources. On my new survival world with my dad, I actually found this HUGE ravine/cave system with that method, and we've been working on lighting it up and snagging the resources.

If I manage to find sheep/wool on the first day, I will sleep through the night instead of starting a mine, mainly since I want to set my spawnpoint. I also like to make 2 buckets as quickly as possible, so I can create an infinite water source wherever I decide to set up my base. I'll usually set up a small underground farm in my hobbit-hole and use bonemeal to speed up the crops (there's always skeletons in the mines), just to get some early food going.

Once I've got a good starter-amount of coal and iron, and enough food to keep me going, I'll pick up all my things and go exploring until I find a better spot for a full house. When I find the spot, I'll dig myself another little hobbit-hole close-by and use it as temporary housing while I collect more building materials. Then I build my house, usually convert the hobbit-hole into a mine, and start putting together a bigger farm (including luring and breeding some animals if I can help it).

If I'm really intent on exploring the wider world, I'll either build a book and quill or just cheat-give myself one (again, I'm not interested in playing things "pure", I just want to have a good time. I don't give myself a ton of resources, but I'm not above snagging something like a name tag, saddle, or book and quill since those things can be harder to come by). That way I can mark down the coordinates of interesting locations, and I don't end up accidentally losing my house when I go out exploring.

Idk, I'm sure people would critique my method, especially for using cheats to make a few things easier on me, but it's a video game and I want to have fun, and in my eyes it's not fun to have to hard-reset because you lost your inventory or couldn't find the house you spent so long building. I'm more interested in casual exploration and building fun structures. I have beaten the game purely a few times, killed the Ender Dragon and all that, but all the grinding to get up to that point just isn't my thing and I'd rather just explore the world.

I also play minigames on servers a lot, those are fun :D I'm pretty good at Build Battle and Speed Builders and some of the party-games ones

[dotts-inkings]

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Just some bits of my writing that I like. There's transcripts under the cut too

Image 1 is based on an idea by @/rbgheart , where ghostbur finds a way to revive alivebur on his own, after seeing how phil and foolish fail to know what is necessary to bring Wilbur Soot back from the dead.

Image 2: just an exploration into how the dad phil thing and all its popular fanon tropes might lead into how pogtopia wilbur thinks.

Image 3: from the same story as image 1 but I sootburred it (hehehe) so this later turns into a *lovingly gazes into ur stunning eyes without even realizing im attracted* type thing.

Image 4: a vaguely post-prison Tommy time travels to the middle of the L'manburg war era, and confronts Eret as gently as he knows how before shit can ever hit the fan.

Image 1 transcript: [Ghostbur opens his eyes, surprised to see. He thought he was dead. Just dead. But it seems either he failed, or…

Well, he now stands in a long, dark hallway. On two sides are benches, and in the middle is a shallow ravine with tracks laid atop concrete. The walls are covered in paper, plastic, and electric signage, with lights shining down to illuminate in a hard-to-look-at pink.

He supposes this must be the afterlife.

Well, Ghostbur isn’t here to gawk like a tourist, he has a duty. He takes a slow, shuddering breath, letting the memories from previous flow away, and slowly walks (walks! He can't float!) down the hall, searching for his counterpart.

It is silent.

And it is dark.

And the hall is very, very, long.

Eventually, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours later, he finds an aberration in the infinite pattern of benches, lights and posters. A lump of dark fabric lays curled before a massive discoloration on the wall, the paper there ripped away, bricks coated in-

In...

Blood, he supposes.

That’s all. It's the afterlife, blood doesn’t matter as much, he reassures himself. It is all okay.

So he looks closer (and it’s rather hard to see), but under the dim light of a softly glowing advertisement screen, he can see the lump more closely. A shivering figure sits there, hair stained in white and back stained with blood. The figure breathes slow, heavy, crackling breaths. 

Coming closer, he looks to be hunched over on himself. The man has his arms crossed over his knees, with his legs folded beneath him. His head presses into the backs of his hands. He looks nearly dead, which is better than Ghostbur was expecting.

This is Alivebur, he knows it in his very being. And before he]. The image cuts off at the word 'he'.

Image 2 transcript: [And then Phil stepped in the room, his wings dragging across the rough stone. He looked around at the shaky scrawls of the song Wilbur wrote of victory and unity, and then at Wilbur himself in disappointment. And Wilbur felt himself grow colder. The world narrowed, and he looked towards the father that left him alone for years. Suddenly, the dilemma of the button wasn't about his brother's safety or his friends' happiness, but one last thing to throw in his dad's face. Something to show that his abandonment had hurt, had harmed and scarred him, something that would say 'if you just stayed this wouldn't have happened', something like 'I relied on you, I cared for you, and you left for some old friend of yours from a lost empire you used to rule and now look what happened', something that would hurt his shitty old dad as much as his dad hurt him.]

Image 3 transcript: [After some time, Alivebur manages to open his eyes again- well, eye. One of his eyes is bleeding now, hanging torn skin from the socket. Ghostbur doesn’t know how he didn’t see that earlier. The remaining one focuses on his eyes, and just like that he finds himself mesmerized. His counterpart’s eyes, they shouldn't be such a marvel. Ghostbur’s sure he himself had pupils and an iris once, and everyone else around him had proper eyes, so he doesn’t know why he is so fascinated by the reddish-brown shade, the sickly, tired expression. He’s entranced.

Alivebur seems similarly so, one eye unmoving from its place focused on Ghostbur. A feeling comes across Ghostbur, that maybe Alivebur is thinking of the glimpses Ghostbur unknowingly gave him of the living world - glimpses only an unwanted ghost could give, of desolate coasts and a black grid in the sky. He hopes Alivebur remembers him giving images of blue flower fields and sheep too. Kinder memories for a dead man forgotten.]

Image 4 transcript: [Tommy stared into shocked, blank eyes. He held the sunglasses that covered them before, and looked down at the glasses pensively. The man across the medical tent from him was tense, but not fearful, only apprehensive. Tommy supposed he would be too if a fourteen-year-old Tommy walked up and snatched the only shield he had from people seeing the awful emptiness of a herobrine descendant's eyes.

Tommy glanced up at Eret again. “You…” he started. “You aren’t king.” He looked at the man’s head, as if expecting to see some crown or circlet defining her role. Eret reels back, in bafflement, and a bit of pain in their empty eyes. Without the sunglasses, Eret is more expressive than ever.

“What- of course I’m not a king, Tommy. We’re fighting against a king, after all, aren’t we?”

If he hadn’t known Eret so long, Tommy would have only heard the surface-level confusion, but Tommy has known most of the tics in her deep voice since they initially reconnected over his hotel. The oddly stilted rhythm to Eret’s words betrays how careful he’s speaking. It’s nearly too obvious, but Tommy reminds himself that Eret’s never had to lie to Tommy yet. Not in this life.

Tommy flips the sunglasses in his hands around, side to side, up-ways and down. He is agitated. His tail lashes, and finally, he responds. 

“Listen, man,” He begins in a rush, “I know you know what I’m saying, and we both know you don’t think its worth staying with us in L’man- L’manberg, so you can drop the act.” Eret goes to speak, but Tommy cuts him off before he can lie again. “Seriously, I don’t care, well I do care, but I’m not gonna do anything about it. You can choose whatever you like, cause— cause like, slay queen, but you’re fine— just.”

Tommy scrunches his face.

“You aren’t king yet?” Hopefully.]

[clawbehavior]

hi there you! hope you're doing well over there. i'm finally here with my Qs from writer's ask for you and curious about your answers for 4, 14, 17, 19, 21, 27, 30

hi friend, thank you for these thoughtful questions. i had an amazing time answering them! writer's ask games

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

panting.

it's so visual and versatile! are they panting because they're livid and ranting? horny and breathless with desire? terrified and breathing in quick bursts? running, tired, sweaty, etc. gaon's always panting in my stories but for various reasons.

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

i do not! save for one friend and it's because i love them very much. they ofc returned it in pristine condition. funnily enough, i still have the childhood novel they lent me years ago, so i should ask them these questions. we laugh about it being on my bookshelf every few months. 

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

the final chapter of 'even gods can't change the past' is 80 per cent complete. it just needs to be rewritten. 

in terms of lore, the story is based on my fascination with the idea of gahan meeting when their lives are seemingly full and stable, only to recognize that they were missing each other, and it could only be each other. adding in a kid fic and trauma was a delicious way to enact that scenario. it's a niche idea that doesn't reflect canon, so i feel thrilled whenever people tell me they like it.

in terms of history, i know how gahan meet.

it goes like this: gaon returns to the ministry after being off-site. he's hungry so he checks out the food cart outside and buys a package of their v delicious cookies that are fan favorites. it's balmy, so he goes to sit on a bench to eat his cookies. there's another man there and at first they sit in collegial silence but then the man starts eating gaon's cookies, like reaching into the bag gaon placed on the bench between them and taking a cookie out for every cookie gaon takes out. gaon's like ??? and in the ensuing conversation he learns the following: his companion is intellectually sharp, aggravating, but also intriguing. they argue about the function of the justice system in maintaining law, order, and societal morals. it's an exciting conversation. gaon hasn't felt this intellectually stimulated in a while, hasn't met someone who challenged and could keep up with him. he's so fascinated that when they reach the bottom of the bag and the stranger snaps the final cookie in half and offers half to gaon, gaon smiles and takes it without remarking on it. 

they have meetings to get to so they go inside. while he's rummaging through his bag for his access card, gaon finds....his bag of cookies. unopened. ergo, gaon had been stealing from the stranger's cookies placed between them while the man had said nothing. he's mortified but there's no time to react because gaon's boss finds them outside the elevators and reveals yohan as their newest colleague. a smiling yohan then properly introduces himself.

this scene happens before jishin is born. it's bookended by a scene long after jishin's death when gahan is together for real. gaon wakes up alone, does his morning routine, and goes to sit outside on the porch where he's soon descended upon by yohan and their youngest daughter after the two return from a sunrise romp through the ravine that yohan's backyard opens into. she runs to gaon for a hug and he cuddles her. yohan kisses him good morning then takes up the other end of the love seat, pulling gaon's legs into his lap and stroking gaon's foot. by and by you learn all these details: they have three daughters now adopted through Switzerland and raised in Korea. being a father to jishin taught gaon how to love his other children, and he can see it in how his five year old (modelled after jian in a 'shop for killers') soaks up affection after so many years of neglect. so it's about how loved/in love/loving gaon feels, cuddling his child and playing with her under yohan's tender gaze. 

i don't expect to write these scenes so it's so rewarding to get to share them on Tumblr🥰

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

i wrote ff in middle school when i had more time and lots of creativity. i stopped abruptly and picked it up decades later last year after a harrowing experience led me to want to have a creative, safe, and generative experience. i didn't expect to write more than that story ('lonely for no one') but the TDJ fandom is so engaging and personalized because we're smaller that i kept writing a year later. in the future, i will finish eeaao and work on 'my heart is going back to you'. i also reaaaaaally want to write a political intrigue gahan au, where gaon is more cynical and therefore more dangerous and on yohan's level. idk if that's the idol au idea i had or a new fic where gaon is introduced to yohan at internal meetings where the live court idea is first brought up and gaon is a contender because of his popularity with the public and sharp political acuity. he would be older and instantly wary of yohan but also compelled by him.

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

i don't have any plans to! i love ff writing and the people it connects me to. 

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

the reporter in eeaao. she probes gaon for information under the guise of professional interest, unknowingly revealing info that has gaon clue into yohan's real motivations. the problem was that i couldn't figure out how to turn this critical plot point into dialogue. what does she say that makes gaon cautious but not wary so that he keeps talking and they both get information out of the exchange without the reporter recognizing that's what's happening? lol this small significant detailed has bothered me since August 2023 but we've cleared that hurdle now. 

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

i wish i could say that i dream routinely but i do not. 

[brokenmagxc]

@arthisan called: "i tried to come to you for help and you weren’t there." ( accepting. )

THEY ARE SITTING BUT A FEW INCHES APART on their favorite midnight bench. the air is taut, quiet and cold. the stars are covered by clouds tonight, yet even behind the marble-painted veil, those brilliant jewels will not shine. they are still dying, in the volume of shadow above, burning life so quickly that they glimmer betwixt planetary eons of time. but these men will not see them, for humans are oft too caught up in the vast expanse of space tied close to chest, touching them in the way the quiet breeze draws goosebumps to skin and billows cigarette smoke into air. these men are trapped in their mortality, drawing straws on decision in their life that lead them closer to death. for once, they ignore the beckoning of the divine and cast their unholy gazes upon EACH OTHER in hopes of finding holiness again carved deep into brittle skin.

if they are astronauts, then they have lost all sense of home in the large empty void in which they drift, endlessly, waiting for a calling beyond blank stares and silence. they are untethered and, as the ravine between them grows wider, they uncouple from each other and push off ; spiraling, they fall into the darkness where no light can touch them and no force holds them down. arthur breathes in a timid breath — he is anxious because he knows something is wrong. but it is not until the other speaks that he realizes the GRAVITY of his MISTAKES.

they are drifting apart. he screams, but no sound travels between them. wide brown eyes move to watch the other's face, but a callous expression is hidden behind a layer of smoke and ash. arthur was absent ; disappeared without a trace, unable to be reached until he stumbled back some days ago, all bruises and bloodied lips. a fake smile. a muted apology. he was selfish, for he only arrived when he needed it most, and WAS NOT THERE when the other called in turn.

there was no trust on their ship. they blamed each other for their misgivings and looked the other way as the dented metal burned to the grounds below.

“ i'm sorry. ” is all he can manage. it is hollow, not because he doesn't mean it, but because it comes from such sincerity that it reflects the vacant shell of his heart, threaded carefully upon buttoned-up sleeve. that was all he wanted, was to BE THERE FOR THE OTHER. and yet, they did not call upon each other until it was too late, and their self-destructive vices caused more fires to burn on the pyres of their plights. HE HAS FAILED and he blames himself for it because he cannot extend his hatred to the other man. NO, THIS WAS HIS OWN FAULT, for he had refused to find trust in his heart and happiness in his soul. he could not burden the other with his own shortcomings.

“ can i make it up to you ?? ” there is an unspoken ‘ I WOULD DO ANYTHING ’ that hangs heavy in the atmosphere. he would pull the stars from his teeth, burn his skin with their flamed ire, and hold them still for the other to gaze upon them if it meant FORGIVENESS. of course, the other man must not know what lengths in which he will take, for arthur does not tell him. he wants to suffer alone, and only hopes the other understands why he refuses to sully their time together with TRUTHS. lies were easier to pull from choking lungs. apologies were kinder to speak when he knew they would do nothing but hurt.

[tiny-maus-boots]

Darkest of Nights pt 14

A/N: Just the start of a little bit of Chloe backstory for @lilhan Honestly I couldn't do any of this without the constant support and encouragement from my besties. i love you awesome nerds. @chloes-yellow-cup @kimmania

Aubrey

It had been hours since they had last changed carriages and a whole day since they dropped the bloodless corpse into a dusty ravine far from the road. Aubrey had healed some, enough to be able to move, if somewhat stiffly, but not enough to entirely repair the damage to her head and face. 

Beca had found them a shop that had seemed more like a grand carnival with many lights and strange clown characters dressed most outrageously. Aubrey had stayed hidden in their coach watching with interest while Chloe had gone to gather supplies and another ride.

"Are there many of these markets?"

"Walmart? Yeah. They're kinda everywhere."

She was silent a moment, watching a man place a silvered odd shaped helmet on his head. He patted himself down before applying deep red lipstick in a smear across his lips and black under each eye.

"Do they all have performers?"

Beca looked out the window of Suburban they had switched to and chuckled. She shook her head, unsurprised at the unusual man.

"He isn't a performer, he's just a regular midnight Walmart shopper. There is a whole community dedicated to the weirdos that come here."

"Humans are…weirdos."

Beca's soft laugh at the use of the unfamiliar word pulled her attention from the streams of people wandering from their coaches to the marketplace and back. Aubrey settled back down, both confused and astounded by the world humans had made for themselves. 

It was a quiet companionable moment before Beca sat up quickly and turned her head to peek out of the front window. Aubrey focused on the slow roll of carriages as they parted to reveal Chloe bathed in a halo of light striding toward them, her rolling gait drawing their eyes to her hips. Beca swallowed audibly and sat back with her legs extended along the bench seat.

"She's really…ya know?"

Aubrey's lips twitched in a small smile amused that Beca had sensed Chloe even before she had. It was clear the bond between them was solidifying with each passing moment. It was beautiful to behold but heartbreaking at the same time. She knew tasting Beca's blood would be the catalyst but the bond was not blood magic alone. They cared for each other. More than Beca would perhaps admit.

"Yes. Yes she is. You should have seen her at the Minotaur Maze. She was breathtaking."

Beca turned and looked at her, her eyes dark with curiosity. The unasked questions hung between them until Chloe tapped lightly one the window. Beca rolled it down and eyed the bags hanging from the smiling vampire’s hands.

"Are those Mike and Ikes?" 

"I saw you eyeballing them at the last gas station."

Beca took the bags from Chloe through the lowered window and tore through them to find the treats she craved. Aubrey smiled at the innocent joy in the necromancer's face as she popped a small colored candy in her mouth.

"Bro. I could almost kiss you right now."

Chloe raised a brow and leaned into the window with a predatory smile. Beca's eyes widened and she leaned back.

"I SAID ALMOST!"

Chloe's laugh was light and carried on the air. Aubrey closed her eyes to savor the sound of their banter and the soft reassuring beat of Beca’s heart. A woman could find herself content for all her days with those sounds surrounding her.

"Hey, how did you pay for all this?"

Aubrey opened her eyes in time to catch Chloe's smile turn from sly to brightly amused. 

"Visa!"

"You have a credit card?? Won't that leave like a paper trail or something?"

"I didn't say it was mine, Beca."

There was silence then Beca's aggrieved sigh.

"Damnit, I'm actually kind of impressed."

Chloe preened at the look Beca gave her then turned her attention to Aubrey. The intensity in her blue eyes softened and she reached into the window to caress the unburnt side of her face.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to find you someone to eat? You need to heal my love."

Aubrey leaned into the gentle touch, her eyes closing at the soothing cool of Chloe’s palm. She wanted to feed and badly. It gnawed at her insides, and raced like fire through her veins. It would be unbearable if not for Beca keeping her distracted. It allowed her to remember her vow never to take an innocent life simply because she could. No matter the consequence of not feeding.

"I'm alright…for now. Is it time to change coaches?"

Chloe nodded once and looked around. They were too exposed, and there were too many prying eyes and Aubrey didn't want to be seen in her current state. Though she supposed she would become another of the weirdos.

"You two stay at the car but be ready to go when I come up the row. I'll go find us a new ride."

They slid from the back of the carriage and Beca handed her a short hooded cloak. Aubrey held it up to her chest and looked with uncertainty at Beca. The other woman set the bags down and gently took the cloak from her hands.

"Here, let me help."

"This cloak is very short."

"It's called a hoodie. Full length cloaks went out of fashion when we canceled J.K. Fuckface."

Aubrey didn't understand any of those words. Someone rolled by with a loud cart and she flinched away into what shadow she could. Beca carefully lifted the hood for her and winked reassuringly. 

"Thank you Beca Mitchell."

"Anytime. And hey look, a zipper. Get a load of that action, huh?"

She looked down at the silvered tab and smiled. The vampire tugged it up and down a few times, enjoying the satisfying sound it made.

She was starving and in pain but somehow the simple magic of a zipper made it slightly more bearable. Perhaps too, the soft way Beca kept glancing at her. It made her feel…everything. All at once.

"Can I ask you something?" At Aubrey’s short nod Beca cleared her throat. "You guys love each other, right? Like. Be together literally forever love."

Aubrey held Beca’s gaze as she considered how to answer. She hadn’t known how deeply she still loved Chloe until recently. And in truth she didn't feel as though she was deserving enough to even admit to her feelings let alone expect that Chloe would feel the same. Certainly not now. Not with her bond to Beca blossoming. 

"Is there a question in that statement, Necromancer?"

The other woman looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment. Aubrey guessed she was trying to figure out what she really wanted to ask.

"How come you married someone else…"

Oh. Aubrey dipped her head and leaned back against the steel carriage. Why had she done that? Yes. She had loved Harun from the moment her eyes set upon him but before him there had always been Chloe. Aubrey was slow to answer, slow to dredge up the lifetimes of memories.

"Things were different when we were young. Chloe’s family line is considered diluat. Her mother had been born human, you see. It broke her father's pure blood line and forever marked her place in society."

Beca went wide eyed, her mouth dropping open then closing with a click. 

"That's a lot to unpack. So she's part human?"

"Yes and no. She was born a vampire as I was. As all pure blood vampires are. But her mother was human and already with child when Einar The Lonely came upon her one night. I was told she was a slave brought from another land to serve and pleasure the invading human warriors. By the time Einar crossed paths with the caravan she had massacred her captors."

"Hell yeah. So…he turned her?"

"No. He tried to eat her." Beca's face was awash with horror. Aubrey chuckled and shrugged a shoulder. "She bit his throat out."

"Gross."

"Hm. Perhaps. But he fell in love with her fierce spirit and raised her child as his own. And she grew to love him too. He chose her over his status and that meant much in those days."

"So is that why you didn't pick her?"

Beca's voice was heavy with disappointment and a little hostility. She could read it all in the other woman's disdainful shake of her head and tiny snort of incredulity. Aubrey bit back a snarl as the question and Beca’s assumption that she had chosen politics over Chloe pricked at a long sore spot. One she hadn’t realized held resentment still.

"I cared little about status or bloodlines. I would have…"

A vehicle flashed its lights and rolled to a slow stop in the aisle behind them. Chloe waved to them urgently from behind the wheel. There was no time to finish the thought and she had no desire to speak on it further.

Aubrey tugged Beca's arm before the smaller could dismiss her. The necromancer turned to her with blame naked in her eyes.

"What I would or would not have done then is irrelevant. It was never my choice to make Beca Mitchell. It was Chloe’s and she chose the Bloodguard."

She brushed past the other woman and climbed into the back of their new ride. The interior was fairly open and smelled of gasoline and something earthier and smokey. Short, thick curtains ringed the cabin ensuring their privacy. It was clean and there was enough room for her to stretch out fairly comfortably. It would do. 

"Jesus it smells like a dispensary in here."

Chloe laughed and jerked a chin at the spot Aubrey had just settled onto.

"Yeah. There has to be at least a kilo stashed somewhere back there."

"So not only did you buy me candy but you rolled up in a sweet ass bus filled with secret weed?? I think I might love you a little, Red."

"I can live with that."

Beca looked guiltily over her shoulder at Aubrey but the vampire eased further into her hood and closed her eyes. Hunger that had previously only been a hollow feeling in the back of her thoughts raced forward plaguing her with its unbearable presence. 

There was sadly a savage joy at its return. If she had her hunger to focus on she could not sit and replay the look of accusation in Beca's eyes. And although she hadn’t been the first one to walk away, she felt the weight of guilt on her. Aubrey sighed softly and rolled to her side, arms propped under her head and let the rocking roll of the carriage soothe her into an uneasy sleep.

[mrs-willow]

"Home" Gale Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: I have the utmost respect for the brave men and women who served our country. I'm just in Love with Austin Butler, dressed like he's from the 40s.

Warnings: none yet, future smut, future description of war, death, POW camp, spelling mistakes

Chapter 1

Gale Cleven moved to Sundance, Wyoming, at the age of 5 after a cop had found him sleeping on a bench in the park while his father gambled the family's money away. His mother had left them before Gale had even begun talking, unable to handle her husband's gambling and drinking issues any longer. Gale had spent most of his childhood waiting for his father, either at home or on benches outside race tracks of sports stadiums. When the cop found him lying in the cold, he recognized the little blonde boy from previous encounters. The state finally decided enough was enough, and Gale was sent to live with his uncle two hours west of his home. Richard Cleven was quiet, having spent most of his life alone. He preferred to work in silence, eat in silence, and live in silence. He was kind and enjoyed hearing Gales chatter but was never one always to answer back, usually preferring a simple grunt. Richard was a rancher and had run the same ranch for 40 years. He owned many free-range cattle and supplied most of Sundance and the surrounding towns with beef. Due to the size of his operation, Richard employed ten men to help him run the ranch, most of the work entailing moving a certain number of cattle to different pastures for grazing and then putting them away during the night for safety. The fences must be checked constantly to ensure no holes, and the cattle had to be surveyed to ensure none were sick or injured. In addition to the chores surrounding the cattle, the horses carried out these tasks and required their own set of chores. To say Richard Cleven was a busy man would be an understatement. But when a state worker came to his home to discuss the matter of his nephew, Richard immediately agreed to take the young boy in and started making preparations for his nephew's move. His wife had died long ago, they had never had children of their own, and he hadn’t seen or heard from his brother for nearly 6 years. Truthfully, he was excited to have his blood in the house again, eager to show the child the ranch and give him a better life than poverty and park benches. 

Gale arrived in Sundance on a rainy spring morning in 1927. The train was only a 2-hour ride, spent primarily in silence. The blond child watched the flat, dry lands turn into rolling hills and steep mountains covered in thick forest. Flowers grew on the side of the railroad, and small streams were visible in the ravines below. Gale realized that even though his uncle was mean or the kids at school hated him, at least he was in a beautiful place. He imagined running off in the middle of the night and living in the woods for the rest of his life. Then he wouldn't have to deal with police, parents, or mean kids again. When the train eventually pulled into the station, Gale surveyed the small town. Small farms covered most of the land on the city's edge, followed by quaint homes and small buildings. Once he had finally retrieved his bags, the blonde boy was left alone on the small platform. He went over to the bench and once again waited for someone he wasn’t sure would ever show up. After only a few minutes, however, Gale noticed a red truck sputtering its way down the dirt road. As the vehicle pulled up in front of him, Gale prepared himself for the worst. Would Richard be mad? Would he be annoyed that he now had to care for a small child he had never met? No. A tall man with graying blonde hair stepped out, clad in work boots, jeans, and a brown coat. What was most surprising, though, was the crooked smile adorning the man's face. Richard looked the small boy up and down and said, “Well, get over here and hug your Uncle!”

Surprised, Gale hopped down and embarrassed the man in a half-hug, but Richard was unfazed, wrapping both arms around the small boy. 

“Well, how bout’ you just hope in here and let me grab your things.”

 As Gale climbed into the truck's cab, he was surprised to see the man easily lift his large truck, holding everything the noy owned—something the boy was barely able to drag down the platform from the train. 

As the two drove through town, Gale was again quiet and opted to listen to Richard's ramblings on each of the buildings, where the school was, and who was living in what house. After a short drive, the truck had just reached the edge of town, and Gale noticed a small but cozy home right before the land opened up to beautiful hills covered in tall grass and leafy trees. He heard Richard comment that a new family would be moving into that house around the same time next year. Gale hoped they would have a young boy he could play with since it seemed they would be the closest family to him on the ranch. 

After only another minute of driving, the truck approached a wooden fence stretching to the rolling hills that had risen along each side of the valley. Gale saw that the dirt road led to a set of buildings about a mile more down the road. Gale noticed the herds of cattle decorating the hills and pastures, and it dawned on him how big the property was. Instead of feeling fear or anxiety, he was excited for the first time in a long time. There was so much room for him to explore and so many hidden places he could claim as his own. 

When the pair approached the brown structures, Gale could identify the main house, a dark wooden cabin with two stories and a large porch wrapping around the entire first floor with steps leading up to the platform. Four large barns stood in formation 400 meters away. Willow and birch trees decorated the grass surrounding the hose and the barns, providing shade and perfect climbing branches. 

When the pair had finally made their way inside, Richard provided his nephew with a short tour of the first floor. The front door opened to a small mudroom with shelves for coats and shoes. A staircase led to the second floor directly in front of the door. Old photographs and paintings lined the walls, and through the doorway to the left, Gale could see a kitchen with windows looking towards the barns and a small dining table in the center of the room. To the left was a living room, with a couch and an oversized leather chair facing the front lane leading to the property. Books and newspapers littered the shelves and floor, indicating many years of use. Up the stairs, a long hallway showed four doors and a window at the end, allowing natural light to seep into the otherwise dark interior. The first door on the right showed a small but clean bathroom with a tub and a shower against the far corner. The door to the left was closed, leaving Gale to assume it was Richard's bedroom. Richard led Gale into the room next to the bathroom. A large window covered the expanse of the far wall, giving a nice view of the front of the property. A small wooden desk sat directly beneath it, and a bookcase and a few shelves were perched on the wall to the left. The far right wall hosted a bed adjourned with pillows and a heavy quilt. The wall to the right of the door opened to a small closet with a few items inside. 

As Gale surveyed his new home, Richard set his truck by the closest and clapped his hands together. “I’ll let you get settled in. I took the liberty of getting you some proper boots and cold-weather clothes.” Gale noticed they looked brand new, and he was suddenly overrun with gratitude for his uncle. 

“I also pulled out some old books and toys we had in the attic that I thought you might enjoy-” Richard didn’t get a chance to finish before Gale had run over and enveloped the man in his small gangly arms. 

“Thank you, Uncle Richard,” Gale mumbled into the man's chest when he felt Richard's arms unsurely wrap over his shoulders. 

Richard felt his heart warm, “Of course, my boy, I’ll be down in the kitchen if you need me. Supper will be ready in an hour or so.” And just like that, Gale found himself in a new place that somehow felt like the home he had never had.  

[maxiwaxipads]

Tuxam Who Visits Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom! (2/?)

Asphalt timbers the landscape and people decorate the buildings. The wind roams across the city, and the light illuminates below and above.

Badobarm - “It’s a bit crowded than I thought.”

His eyes—the one in black, dwindled across the back-and-forth people’s ravine as it splurged to life’s motion. Stuck in a little gap called an alleyway, he turned to the person beside his left—letting out his hand.

Tuxam - “Badobarm?”

Badobarm - “The crowd here… It’s a bit... Well,—crowded. I’m worry you’ll get lost.”

Tuxam smiled momentarily, as if to comfort Badobarm.

Tuxam - “I’ll be fine. So I’ll stick closely to void your worries.”

Badobarm—gestured forward as they became joint with the walkers. Sound was visualized and noise becoming one with consumption—colored connected and ill-defined. They walked and walked. Veered to the shoes meeting the ground—the bright cheers of advertisers in proclamation. It smelled of fresh product and the grease of good food.

Badobarm - “Hm… Is there anything you want—Tuxam?” “There’s food—but we already ate. There’s toys. Furniture. Clothes. Anything and I’ll get it for you, since it is your day.”

(Badobarm, who waits for a response) (Soon turns around, to not find him)

Badobarm - “…Tuxam?” “Oi, Tuxam! Don’t tell… (Sigh). I didn’t think I’d lose that guy so easily to a crowd…”

Badobarm - “TUUUXAAMMM!” “…I looked down too… I don’t see a flat-as-a-pancake Tuxam sprawled on the floor…”

His shoulders relaxed, as Badobarm closed his eyes. He finished taking a deep breath. Scrouging himself to look up towards the sky, before clasping his hands into a megaphone—

Badobarm - “TUUUUUXXAAAAMMMM!!!”

Echoing. And echoing. Some glanced with confused looks or continued their very way. He repeated this a few times, before pushing across the crowd to see a blue dot in the corner of his eyes. Focusing. Interacting with a shirt in hand, he gouged it with a pair of sticks. Next to him, were a few stacked shirts and plastic bags full of who-knows and whatevers. Pushing through the crowd, as he came forward to him. Tuxam.

Badobarm - “…There you are!”

(But the person he called towards was too distracted…) (He crouched down… Waving his hand towards his face, but he was too into the groove… Disastrous indeed…!?) (You can hear Tuxam mumbling to himself)

Tuxam - “…Ideally the design should be simplified but still recognizable to Lord Sam’s size and shape…”

Tuxam - “…It must express both his handsomeness and his cuteness… That is a must-have.”

Tuxam - “…I should see if there’s any cheaper fabric and thread here…” “…It would be a waste if I used my own…”

Tuxam - “…I should also prepare photocopies of my lord as well—to an artist, I’m sure a reference would be of help…”

(Looking towards the side of the knight who was strangely fixated on fixing a shirt… No. Multiple shirts.) (Plastic bags full of yarn, thread, and bootleg tuxedo sam merchandise) (Badobarm took a small plushie, and in “immaculate” imitation…)

“Tuxedo Sam” - “Tuxam! Tuxam! Look over here! I turned thiiiisssss small!”

(The knight, who was fixated on knitting a shirt, finally looked up in surprise)

Tuxam - “…My lord!? How could—”

(He noticed it was only a plushie, but managed to finish his sentence.)

Tuxam - “—you turn this small.”

(He finally noticed Badobarm, crouching down to his level while holding a small tuxedo sam plushie to his face)

Tuxam - “It’s not a good idea to impersonate a lord.”

Badobarm - “It wasn’t my intention, but—I had to get your attention somehow. And I did just that, right?”

(Badobarm placed the plushie back onto the bench, before standing up)  (Looking down to the knight, who awaited to see what he would say)

Badobarm - “Now, what are you doing here?”

Tuxam - “There’s nothing more blasphemous than an incorrect depiction of his handsomeness and cuteness, Lord Sam.”

Tuxam - “In my moment of looking around and admiring the architecture, I spotted the likeness of my lord in one of the—no in multiple shops.”

Tuxam - “As his Knight of Fragaria, it is only my right to do this.” “And I took the challenge of creating designs that could honorably express the image of Lordd Sam”

Badobarm - “Uh-huh.”

Badobarm - “Tuxam.”

(Taking off the hat Tuxam wore, Badobarm delivers a karate chip straight towards his head. It didn’t hurt, but the action was certainly noticeable.)

Tuxam - “Eh…!?”

(Tuxam held the top of his head, in surprise as he watched to see what action Badobarm would take.)

Badobarm - “When I called you out, and suddenly you weren’t there—I thought you got squished by the crowd and flatten yourself into a pancake?!”

Badobarm - “So, Tuxam. Make it an effort to tell me if you see something interesting, okay? We’re both together and spending our time together.”

Badobarm - “But after talking…” “Take this.”

(Badobarm forehead flicks Tuxam.)

Badobarm - “…And this! A personification of my anger.”

(He delivers his final blow…!? A forehead flick…!?)

Tuxam - “…My apologies, Badobarm. I didn’t meant to worry you in that way.”

Badobarm - “I didn’t think you’d be in any danger… But it did worry me when you suddenly vanished like that.”

Tuxam - “Sorry…”

Badobarm - “Take it to heart, will you?”

Tuxam - “I will…”

Tuxam - “But Badobarm, my visor, could I have it back?”

(Badobarm looks at the hat within his hands within a moment, before putting it directly back on Tuxam’s head)

Tuxam - “Thank you.”

(Tuxam readjusts to its position) (Badobarm eyes the bench—a few shirts in a distinct blue color are stacked and seemingly differentiated between each other) (Next to it a single plastic bag stuffed to the brim with Tuxedo Sam merchandise as a ball of yarn spills from it, with the end attached to a pair of knitting needles)

Badobarm - “Could I have a look at that?”

Tuxam - “I don’t see why not.”

Tuxam - “As you can observe, I differentiated the two between what I haven’t fixed and the fixed.”

Tuxam - “It is… Technically meant to be a depiction of my lord, Tuxedo Sam.” “Albeit, a bit poor in taste for my liking.”

Tuxam - “That reminds me! Badobarm, could you—”

Badobarm - “Before you finish with what you have to say…”

Badobarm - “I keep a very delicate line between separating work life with my personal life. If you have something to say, I want you to write a letter to me, ‘kay?”

Tuxam - “…Oh! I’ll keep that in mind then.”

Badobarm - “Good.” “But I’ll carry that for you, if you don’t mind.”

Tuxam - “Ah. You don’t have to do that.”

(Tuxam who takes off his hat.) (And like a magician… He takes the items on the bench and stuffs it within the hat.) (Badobarm blinks a few times.) (He blinks another time—and before he knows it, the continents that once lounged on that same bench is gone.) (Tuxam, who already has hit hat fitted onto him before Badobarm knew it.)

Tuxam - “There.”

Tuxam - “I apologies for wasting valuable time.”

Badobarm - “No—No worries. It’s best if we get going, yeah?”

(Tuxam nods in agreement, and the two of them walk together…) (Badobarm recalls the moment when he managed to take Tuxam’s hat… Wonderstruck if there was a bigger void than he had realized.) (Empathize setting and Badobarm getting lost in thoughts) (Things starting to blur and swirl like getting knocked out, the conscience of a thousand pitter patter of footsteps and the sound of the city becoming noise to the incoherent trace of mind) (something something) (Tuxam - “A gentleman should also be prepared to store his belongings.”) (That’s what he imagined.) (The figment of what a Tuxam might had said if he asked.)

Badobarm - “(What else is a gentleman…?)”

(BWAMH! Badobarm stumbles, as he reclaims his footing.) (In front of him, a convenient pole.)

Tuxam - “B—Badobarm!”

Badobarm - “Huh—What…?!”

Tuxam - “…Be a bit more careful with where you’re a walking.”

Badobarm - “Right…!”

Tuxam - “You’re okay? It doesn’t hurt?”

Badobarm - “Yes. I’m fine. Let’s just continue—”

Thus Ends The Story... (so i can brutally battle myself to the death because the reign of writer's block will soon come never...)

To summarize my problem, “I overheated my brain, and my idiocy couldn’t take it!” (And I want to have fun, not have a headache like right now </3)

Story Concepts I Wanted To Explore

The Crownmaker’s Festival revolves around the local folktale about a king who holds a contest to make a crown suitable for his royal-ness. In exchange, the winner will be granted a wish of their choice. Despite all the elaborate crowns presented to the king, a humble flower wreath wins. The person who won asked to become king for a day. 

The flowers that the participant used are known as “Bird’s Wreath." (further notes below)

The idea behind the “Crownmaker’s Festival” is to explore Badobarm’s dream to become king and whatever that entails? I find Badobarm who would rather prove himself than be dependent on a wish to grant him what he wants. (<- and writing this little in a paragraph about this character makes me want to write essays length about what his character could be like)

i remember went to a derail trying to write this...

I tried to write or outline a concrete setting.

So I started with what the atmosphere of Bad Badtz-Maru Kingdom could look like and maybe what Badobarm's house could also be. (I should have written notable landmarks instead, why am I reflecting on this now at this time...!?)

And then I came to the conclusion: "I need to make a map in order to better visualize the setting." And then I got in the process of worldbuilding (nothing complex, more like writing a few good ideas down). And then I made the map. And then I thought it would be cool if the world of Fragaria was strawberry-shaped.

i blanked out during that. i snapped out of it and realized I spent 4 hours doing most of this in this order. time goes really fast...

[bitsnbolts]

finished my farm... although its more of a zen garden in the end. im pretty happy with it :) definitely more for looks than any solid source of food. now to build 5 more areas before i progress in the game at all [image description: two screenshots of the game minecraft, both perspectives of the same build. the first is a birds eye view and the second is a ground view turned to mostly show the right side. it is a area for farms of six different crops, wheat, potatoes, beetroot, carrots, onions, rice, tomatoes, and cabbage. each plot is made up of 3 platforms that resemble a staircase. the outer two are made of stripped oak and birch, a lighter tan colored block while the middle plot is made of darker brown stripped spruce and dark oak. in the center is a small custom tree, surrounded by melon and pumpkin farms in simple rows and decorative blocks. the space between the platforms is paved and there is benches in the corners. it is lit by lanterns. there is a mottled gray horse in diamond armor standing near the gate. end ID] bonus picture of the small bridges and path going to it (that i have yet to connect to my house) under the read more

[image description: a screenshot of the game minecraft, featuring the previous farm in the background. in the foreground are two simple bridges, the first crossing a small ravine and the second crossing a river. the first is made up of spruce logs and dark oak slabs for the bottom, with spruce slabs for the railings. the next bridge is the same but inverted. they are lit by lanterns. end ID]