#shattering ivory keys

[late-to-the-party-99]

Shattering Ivory Keys: A Masterpost

Hephaestus never wanted to force Aphrodite into marriage with him. But now that he has, he'll make things right and find a way to break it off.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏ��� ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 0 - Prologue

[Lament of the Fallen]

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"I have lost everything."

The relentless battle against the Honkai beasts rages on, your katana slicing through their monstrous forms with a desperate fury. Explosions erupt around you, the searing heat mixing with the blood and sweat that drips down your temples. The ground is littered with the fallen, comrades who once fought beside you now lifeless amidst the swarming beasts summoned by the Herrschers.

"My family..."

The horrifying sight of humans, transformed into mindless Honkai zombies, fills you with dread. Your grip on the handle of your Divine Key falters as you witness your little sister and brother among them, feasting on the remains of fallen soldiers. Tears blur your vision as you dash towards them, the agony of what you must do tearing at your soul. With a heart-wrenching cry, you end their suffering, beheading the only family you had left. You had promised to protect them, to create a peaceful world for them.

"My dear comrades..."

A wall of flames engulfs the encroaching monsters, giving you a momentary respite. Kalpas, your grey-haired, masked comrade, stands before you, his power saving you once more. Exhaustion is etched on his face, but he urges you to keep moving. Before you can respond, a piercing laser beam shoots through his chest, and he crumples to the ground. One by one, your friends fall, their bodies lifeless on the battlefield. The bonds forged in blood and battle, severed in an instant.

"My world..."

The battlefield is a graveyard of Honkai beasts and fallen soldiers, their bodies buried beneath layers of ash. The sky above is a mournful grey, reflecting the lifeless desolation around you. You stand alone, the sole survivor amidst the ruins. Have you won the war, or merely survived its horrors? The answer eludes you.

"And..."

In your hand, you clutch your new Divine Key, forged from the shattered remains of 70,033 blades and the essence of twelve Herrschers. You gaze up at the bleak, grey sky, the weight of your existence pressing down on you.

"I realize now..." You unsheathe your Divine Key, Nihility, unleashing your Active Honkai Reaction. Golden cracks spread from your right hand, blossoming into ethereal flowers. Your hair turns snow-white, your skin pale as ivory. Golden horns sprout from your head, and your eye color turns into gold.

"I've lost myself."

"...That the ultimate fate of this world is nothingness, and therefore, worthless... or even the whole universe?"

With a final, devastating swing of your Divine Key, you begin to unravel the very fabric of this world, reducing it to void, to nothingness. The ground beneath you crumbles, the sky shatters, and everything you fought for dissolves into oblivion. As the world collapses around you, you raise your katana high.

"Yet... I still want to stay..."

With a heavy heart, you turn the blade upon yourself, splitting your soul in half, and embracing the void.

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Snowflakes drift gently from the dull, grey sky, their delicate forms hitting softly against your window. You stare blankly at the wintry landscape, your mind lost in the endless dance of the snow. Your right hand, adorned with claw-like metallic finger guards, rests against the cold glass. As you blink, the serene snowflakes transform into ashen rain, and the snowy ground becomes a graveyard, littered with swords and corpses.

Startled, you stumble back, your heart pounding in your chest. The haunting vision fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving you standing in the quiet room. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a cold line down your cheek. You wipe it away, confusion mingling with the sorrow etched on your face.

"... A forgotten memory?" you whisper, your breath fogging the glass.

Before you can ponder the vision further, a knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn away from the window, your expression hardening. "Come in," you command, your voice firm yet distant.

The door creaks open, and a Fatui Skirmisher steps in, bowing deeply. He holds a letter in his trembling hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Lord Innamorati," he begins, his voice wavering with fear. "A letter from Her Royal Highness."

'Her Highness?' The title feels foreign, a distant echo in your mind. You frown, trying to grasp the fleeting memory.

"Can you remind me of her name?" you ask, your tone soft yet icy, sending a shiver through the skirmisher despite his thick winter coat.

"H-Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, the name stirring something within you. A fleeting sense of purpose, lost in the haze of your fragmented memories. "Thank you," you say, your voice carrying a trace of melancholy. "My memory... it often fails me."

The skirmisher quickly hands you the letter and exits the room, his relief palpable. You turn to your desk, the weight of the message heavy in your hand. If the Cryo Archon herself has written to you, it must be of grave importance. Did something terrible happen? Or have you forgotten another mission?

You break the seal and unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the contents. With a sigh, you crumple it and toss it into the trash. Your hand instinctively moves to the scabbard where your Divine Key, Nihility, rests.

"A funeral..., huh?" The words hang in the air, heavy with sorrow and resignation.

You move to the window once more, the snowy landscape a stark contrast to the inner turmoil you feel. The snow outside is pure and untouched, but in your mind, the vision of the dead and the desolate ground lingers. You know that each snowflake, each fleeting memory, is a piece of the past that you can never fully grasp.

In the quiet of your room, you can't shake the feeling that you're losing more than just memories. You're losing yourself, piece by piece, like the snow melting away under the weight of the ashes.

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Reblog if you like this story

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: After getting dumped before your wedding you decide to take your best friend on your honeymoon instead and end up having a whirlwind romance. Warnings: 18+only, NSFW, smut, oral, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

The memories of last night ran through your mind like a montage that was powered by a strobe light, disconnected images and snapshots that blinded you and left your head aching. You blinked against the bright sunlight flooding the bedroom you didn’t recognise and tried to suppress the groan of pain that came with the hangover you rightfully deserved.

You had drunk far too much but you deserved to let go and have fun. Getting dumped right before you were meant to be married definitely gave you a free pass to go wild so you kept the booking for your honeymoon in Monaco and took your best friend instead.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you spotted your iPhone on the bedside table and found the battery dead. 

A soft snore had you freeze and you slowly turned to the sound with a racing heart as another memory resurfaced. The back of a head full of lush, thick dark hair rested on the pillow beside you and your eyes trailed down his spine to the curve of his ass that was obscured by the sheet hanging over his hip. 

Angry red lines marked the otherwise smooth skin of his back and you remembered the pleasure of that moment. It had been the first time in a long time that you hadn’t needed to fake the orgasm that rippled through you. You had forgotten the feeling until you had collapsed light headed among the fluffiest pillows you had ever laid your head upon and fallen into the deepest sleep in weeks.

You slipped quietly from the bed and tiptoed across the carpet, collecting your bra and panties along the way until you found your dress in the living room. You bit your lip as you skirted around a broken vase, remembering how - shit, what was his name? - how he had picked you up with surprising ease and sat you on the side table between the desperate kiss you were locked in. The shattering of the glass hadn’t even fazed him when your ass had knocked it off. 

You looked around the apartment as you crept to the front door, hoping to find some indication of a name, but the high end place must have been an AirBnB because there was nothing personal anywhere. The only notable item at all was a beautiful Steinway Grand Piano that you were envious of, wishing you had a few minutes to run your fingers across the ivory keys. 

The thought of playing the piano drew the whispers of a memory that you couldn’t quite clutch.

Arthur? The name rang a bell but you shook your head as you unbolted the door and grabbed your clutch that was waiting beside it. There had been an Arthur at the bar but you didn’t think it was him in the bed. There were a lot of guys there last night, a lot of names to remember, hopefully Bea could fill in the blanks when you found her. 

Your cheeks burned as you walked through the heart of Monaco, trying to figure out where your hotel was in the maze that was the city. You stuck out like a sore thumb among the men and women out enjoying a sunny Saturday morning and you swore some of them even pointed your way as you passed by. 

This took the walk of shame to a whole new level. 

Finally you reached the hotel and as a bonus you found the keycard had survived the night and was tucked inside your clutch along with your lipstick. Your luck seemed to be turning around as you took the elevator to the honeymoon suite and pointedly ignored the tv screen set to welcome Mr and Mrs Wallace.

The shower was running so you went straight into the bathroom, not even knocking since there was no need for privacy among best friends. “Bea, I just had the best sex of my life and I don’t even know his name.”

The water shut off and the steamed shower door swung open to reveal someone who was definitely not your friend. “Oh my god,” you gasped as you spun away. “Who are you?”

Bea stepped sleepily into the bathroom rubbing her eyes with a groan, “Shhh, my head is killing me babe.”

“Bea,” you whispered as you grabbed her shoulders and kept your eyes above them since she wore absolutely nothing. “There’s a naked man behind me.”

Her eyes darted over to the man who had at least wrapped a towel around his hips. “Oh, yeah, isn’t Monaco great?” 

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend again?” the man asked with a charming smile.

“Again?” you asked with a frown.

“We met briefly last night.”

“At the bar,” Bea explained, though it didn’t really help considering there were a lot of bars. “Y/N, this is…Pe…ter?”

You were a terrible friend for feeling relieved that she wasn’t sure of his name either and you exclaimed, “Thank god, I’m not the only one. What the hell happened last night? I half expected to find a tiger in the bathroom.”

“And instead you found a lion,” the stranger winked. “It’s Pierre by the way.”

“Stallion more like it.” Bea dragged her eyes over his body before holding her hands up in front of your face, her palms about 9 inches apart and nodding. “Seriously.”

Your jaw dropped and your eyes drifted down her body before you could stop them. “Where did you put that thing?” 

“Where didn’t I,” she fired back with a husky laugh before dragging you from the bathroom and jumping back into the only bed in the suite. “Tell me everything.”

“I only remember little bits, well, and one not so little, definitely not that big though,” you pointed out as you nodded your head to the man collecting his clothes from around the room. “Please fill in the blanks.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Bea laughed as she snuggled back into the blankets, tugging them all the way up to her chin. “We met Pierre and his friends at Casablanca.”

“Casablanca?” you couldn’t remember the name.

“Yeah, they had an open mic night.” You screwed your eyes shut knowing what was surely to come as Bea continued. “I signed us up and we fucking killed it, babe.”

You fell back into the pillow that held a masculine scent it hadn’t the night before and groaned at the new information. 

“You were really good,” Pierre complimented as he pulled his shirt on and pulled his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, turning to Bea. “Can I get your number?”

“Why?” she asked with a laugh. “We’re only here for a few more days, you don’t have to try to let me down gently. I won’t cry into my pillow because you didn’t call.”

He seemed a little shocked at the rejection and you thought maybe he actually had wanted to keep in touch but he recovered with a smile and pulled his shoes on. “In that case, I’ll let you ladies enjoy your afternoon. Bea, it was a pleasure.”

“That it was,” she said with a whimsical smile that told you it was an understatement. Her eyes trailed after him and she didn’t snap out of it until the front door clicked shut. “I think I love it here.”

“You just love hot guys,” you corrected.

“And this city is drowning in them, and they are probably all stinking rich too.” 

Bea reached for her phone on the nightstand and you remembered that yours was dead so you plugged it to charge in before scooting closer to her. You figured you could watch a few mindless Tik Tok clips with her  before dealing with the day ahead.

A few clips turned to dozens and you were in fits of laughter at a compilation of fails when Bea swiped up and you heard a familiar voice. Bea screamed and shoved the phone on your face, her finger pointing to the likes. “Holy shit!”

You grabbed her phone as the short video started again and saw the camera was mostly focused on the man who was playing the piano beside you. “It’s him,” you gasped as you showed Bea. “That’s who I went home with last night.”

“Woah, nice! He’s a stunner. I always told you, piano players and gamers are the best in bed. Something about those fingers…”

“Shhh, you horn dog. I need a minute of quiet.” You rubbed your temples as you were flooded with freshly recovered memories.

—

You side eyed Bea when you heard your name called out and the MC shielded his eyes from the stage lights as he searched the crowd.

“She’s right here!” Bea shouted and pushed you forward, the heels unsteady under your feet after all the shots you had taken. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me, now let’s go.”

Bea took her place at the upright piano while you grabbed an acoustic guitar that had seen better days from the stand and adjusted the height of the microphone stand. You were acutely aware of the crowd as you checked it was in tune and turned to Bea to see if she had a song chosen. 

She leaned towards the mic set up on a boom above the keys and gave you a wink that instantly made you suspicious. “I wouldn’t be your best friend if we didn’t dedicate this song to that piece of shit ex.” 

You grinned at the idea of slating him and heard a few cheers from the crowd that told you you weren’t alone in having a shitty ex or maybe they were fans of Olivia Rodrigo. “I guess that means we’re playing Traitor.”

Your fingers strummed the opening notes and the self consciousness faded away as you fell into the meaning of the song, letting all the hurt and anger fill your words. 

The bar emptied as the crowd shifted away from alcohol and filled the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm. Suddenly their voices joined yours as the chorus came to an end. “Guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.”

Your eyes lingered on a group of guys that seemed centered around one who stared back at you, his eyes swimming with emotions you knew intimately. His eyes held yours as he raised his bottle in the air, saluting with the camaraderie that came with the shared pain and you couldn’t help smiling back through the heartache.

The song had ended but when you made your way off the stage the MC had blocked it and asked the crowd if they wanted to hear another. The screams had reverberated the stage floor and Bea had already said yes, going so far as to ask the crowd for a song request. 

“The angstier the better,” she said. Quite a few shouts for Adele came up and she pointed at a young woman. “I love Someone Like You, but unfortunately I don’t know how to play it.”

“Arthur does!” One of the guys in the group said as he pushed his friend forward. 

“No I don’t, Charles plays all the sad songs,” Arthur said as he elbowed the man next to him, the man who you hadn’t been able to look away from since he raised his drink to you. 

—

“Charles,” you murmured as you remembered moaning the name, your fingers laced in his hair when he went down on you. 

“What was that?”

“His name is Charles,” you repeated as you pointed to the handsome man playing the piano, his eyes remaining focused on you the entire time. 

“Oh yeah, it’s all through the comments. He’s some racer or something, I dunno, never heard of him.” She shrugged and swiped off to the next video. “So are we going to lounge around here all day or hit the bars?”

Your stomach protested the thought of more alcohol and you shook your head. “Is there a third option?”

“How about the beach?”

“I can manage that, I’m just going to shower while my phone charges.”

“Good, you reek of hot sex and I’m lowkey upset you haven’t given me any juicy details.”

“The audacity,” you gasped as you thumped her with your pillow. “This whole apartment reeks of sex and my pillow smells like a french Chad. See, sniff it.”

“I’ll take that,” she said with a smirk before burying her face on the pillow and inhaling dramatically. “You have lived vicariously through my sexual adventures, sexventures if  you will, now it is my turn. So, spill the tea.”

You groaned as you covered your face but she wasn’t going to let you off that easily and she pulled them away. “He was amazing, and I’m not saying that because I was drunk because I remember everything after we got to his apartment.”

“I already gathered that much, I need details.”

“Okay, well, he ate pussy like a champ, honestly, I didn’t even have to ask - he just wanted to, and I actually came.”

Bea snorted and buried her face in the pillow to scream before looking up. “Babe, that’s what real men do, he who must not be named was just a lazy asshole who never took care of you like he should’ve.”

“Jesus, I didn’t realise this was what I was missing out on all those years.” You shook your head ruefully and sighed. 

“Forget him, you’re moving onto better things, fitter guys, and plenty more orgasms where that came from.” She leaned forward and pushed you almost off the bed. “Go on, my little whore, go shower so we can get out of here. You’ve made us girls proud.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” you said with a shake of your head as you made your way to the bathroom. 

“Normal is overrated!”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @alwaysclassyeagle

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Truth of fallen god

Self-Aware! Chuuya Nakahara x GN! Reader

Description: Howard Philips Lovecraft is driving people mad. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald is destroying economy. Chuuya Nakahara is talking with a dying god.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Mentions of cannibalism. Some swearing. Chuuya destroyed Chasm off screen. Chuuya cuddles in the end.

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"Teyvat are on a verge of crisis... Crisis of faith. Shouldn't you... Be more concerned? Bend rules for a bit?" Echo of Creator's powers stepped from one leg to another. The bleak copy of First One took few steps towards the edge of a platform, looking down at Teyvat. At The First One's Land. Echo turned their head towards Sustainer.

"I... I can pose as Legitimate Reincarnation. Remind people of Teyvat, who's laws they should follow. What they allowed to do and what lines not allowed to cross."

Echo were now standing before Sustainer. And from the darkness, dozens of Celestials observed. Sustainer's siblings and comrades. Most of them fight together with The First One, witnessing the birth of Teyvat. Echo looked Sustainer in the eyes.

"Pose as my familiars. Let me take The Ivory Throne."

The Silence of Celestial, home and cradle of The First One was shattered.

"Preposterous!"

"Never!"

"Impossible!"

"Sustainer, let us throw that worm from the edge!"

Sustainer raised her hand, silencing her siblings. She looked directly in Echo's eyes. They didn't flinch. They already act, like Legitimate Reincarnation.

There was something strange with that Echo. Sustainer could feel a sickly sweet scent, coming from Echo. Their movements were careful and calculated.

Were Echo sick? Were they trying to live, what remains of their lifespan the best, they can? Is that what mortals do?

The First One was the best among them in understanding mortals. But, Sustainer, while not the best, was still good at reading people.

Sustainer's voice flows. And Echo knew, that they have no right to interrupt her. If Echo dared to break The First One's protocol, they won't live for another moment.

"Why you came here only now, Echo? Why not came here earlier? Why you didn't stop Fontaine's Prophecy? Why you didn't release Dendro Archon? Why you didn't stop Electro Archon? Why didn't protect people of Liyue from Osial and Beisht? Why didn't calm Dvalin's pain?"

Sustainer's nose was almost pressed against Echo's.

"Why didn't you stop Cryo Archon?"

Echo's voice was firm.

"I only got here. And immediately came to you."

Sustainer raise her head, looking at Echo from above.

"Or, perhaps, you were too scared to do something dangerous. You did nothing to earn the right to be on the Ivory Throne."

Echo yelled.

"I am also a reincarnation of Creator! And I won't be the first Echo on the throne!"

Immediately, air was knocked down from them. Echo was laying on the marble floor of Celestia. Guardian, Sustainer's brother, was holding Echo down. Sustainer towered above Echo behind his back.

"They helped people during dark times, before asking for a throne! You just want praises, that came with The Ivory Throne. Leave Teyvat, mortal. Leave, and never return."

Echo's gaze darkened.

"So, that's what you choose..."

Guardian yelled.

And he fell.

A dagger with white handle was sticking from the middle of his chest.

Dirty, blasphemous power raised from Echo... From the Demon.

"It was a good thing, I didn't eat all the bones of Previous Ones I could find. Aren't the knife from their bones great for slaying gods?"

Demon raised from the ground. Black, sticky tendrils came from the tips of their fingers, curling around Celestia.

A bone dagger flew through crowd. Attacking, killing, destroying.

"I can fool them. Their prayers will come to me. But, I can't let your prayers came to The Second Reincarnation."

Demon showed their teeth.

"Can't wait for their arrival. I will finally get fresh meat."

Celestia shook.

The Cradle of The First One was sullen.

It crumbled.

And gods fell down, while demon stayed above.

___________

Chuuya Nakahara was quiet. The broken god sat before him.

He supposed to simply look around Sumeru, to explore some parts of the region, they weren't familiar with.

Instead, he found a dying god. Or, more likely, dying god has fond him.

She called him the new familiar of The First One. And told him a story. Story, that happened year ago.

Sustainer focused her eyes on Chuuya.

"I saw it. I can feel it. Last pure remains of The First One's power. They... True Reincarnation are safe, right? You are their new familiar, right?"

Sustainer coughed, a bloody drop appeared in the corner of her mouth. She swallowed the blood.

"Or a guardian?"

Chuuya finally found his voice.

"Their friend... [Y/N]'s friend."

Sustainer's dull eyes shined.

"[Y/N]... Their name? How perfect. It's perfect. Truly divine..."

Sustainer forgot about Chuuya and start repeating your name over and over again.

A child-like smile appeared on her face. Sustainer of Heavenly Principles was happy, because she likes the name of Real Reincarnation.

Chuuya interrupted her.

"What happened to you? After the Fall of Celestia?"

Sustainer coughed again.

"Demon got me. When I was falling. Was dying ever since."

She looked at Chuuya.

"Death of divine can take centuries. We will exist as long as memories and knowledge about us lives. And will slowly die as long as memories and knowledge about us lives."

Sustainer's body trembled.

"But I can go now. They are safe. New familiars are near them. Take it. Use all of it. Protect them. Protect them, because I can't."

Sustainer grabbed the golden ornament on her chest. Tendrils of her power flow into it.

Sustainer disappeared in a golden dust.

And a golden ornament with her power remains.

__________

Chuuya never used his ability to make something, so, it takes multiple attempts, before he can make a somewhat of an urn from a boulder.

Sustainer deserved to have a grave.

The golden ornament was safely tucked in his pocket.

And his rage was boiling in his soul.

Chuuya thought, that the Truth was next.

Crazy knock-off bitch wanted to kill you.

The real truth was much worse.

Crazy knock-off bitch wanted to eat you!

Earth crumbled beneath Chuuya's feet.

If only he could walk straight to that thing and made it a bloody splat on the Dragonspine...

But he needs to stay calm.

They can't drop too much attention to them.

Can't let people knew about the plan. About their unity.

Lovecraft can pass as another monster from ancient history, Jouno, after Mondstadt, was keeping low, Fitzgerald's attacks were only aimed at Ningguang and Pantalone, Mark's and John's bank robbery can be passed as treasure horders' doings, same with Blue Mackerel's and Ango's scum. And it's not like Anemiac Freak and Sigma force people to go to their casino.

But the assassination attempt on Creator will be impossible to pin on someone else.

In Teyvat's people's eyes, only an Imposter can wish to harm Creator.

His rage was still boiling.

But, for now, Chuuya Nakahara will hold his desire to kill that thing under control.

But he wanted to do something. Anything.

Piano Man's voice echoed in his mind.

"Start with the mines..."

Chuuya stopped. He and Flags hold a little discussion few days ago. About Archon's and their powers. Topic of Mora and fallen Celestia came up. Mora supposed to came from Celestial powers. But, with Celestia out...

"...metal for counterfeit money has to come from somewhere... No one would question, that new Mora looked different. It still be money, that came from Creator..."

Chuuya might take a little detour and visit The Chasm.

________

Chuuya ignored Fitzgerald's gaze, getting on the boat, sitting near the blonde man.

Lovecraft's tentacles hold the boat firmly on his back.

For an octopus-like creature, Lovecraft was extremely fast.

Lovecraft, swimming underwater, keeping a boat with Chuuya and Fitzgerald above, will reach the island with a porta in an hour.

Fitzgerald finally spoke.

"That earthquake..."

Chuuya didn't let him finish.

"Existence of a Chasm got on my nerves. I dealt with it."

_____________________

He left a stone urn with golden dust in their secret cave. When everything will be over, he will spread it over the remains of Celestia.

The knock on the door made you flinch. You liked your lips and answered.

_____________________

It was almost time to go to bed. You silently lay under the blanket. You were afraid of going to sleep. You didn't want to see another nightmare.

"Who is it?"

Door slightly open and a familiar redhead looked inside.

"Hey, Dear Symphony, want some company?"

You nodded slowly.

Chuuya walked into your room. And you finally saw his attire. A familiar red-toned pajamas.

He was holding his phone in one hand.

"Hey, [Y/N], do you want to cuddle tonight?"

You froze. You used to love cuddles.

But, after Teyvat...

The last "normal" cuddles you get were with Dazai and Fyodor. Few weeks ago.

You stopped cuddling, because of your nightmares. Because your screams already woke up others.

You didn't want to wake up a person, who will lie next to you.

BSD Cast respect your decision.

Despite your decision, you didn't want to be alone at night.

You didn't realize, that you were crying, until Chuuya brushed your tears from your cheeks. He smiled softly, looking at you.

"You need some 'me time', Dear Symphony. To recharge. Let me cuddle with you, while you're listening to music."

You didn't speak. You nodded, leaning to Chuuya's touch.

_________

Sounds of music filled the room.

Chuuya was laying behind you. With his arm around you, his chest was pressed against your back. Your bodies were pressed tightly against each other. Your head was laying on Chuuya's outstretched left arm. He was holding your hand in his left hand. His nose was right next to your ear. His breath tickled your hair. Chuuya felt the rise and fall of your chest grow steady with sleep.

Good. You seem calm.

Chuuya moved his head to plant a little kiss on your temple. You smiled in your sleep.

Chuuya blinked away happy tears. He put his head back, nuzzling your hair.

Tonight, only you and him exist. Tonight, only your comfort matters.

Tomorrow, he will say to others, what he has learned today. Tomorrow, fury and rage will boil.

And after that will come new plans, new actions.

And even more love and care for you.

____________

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu

Chuuya in red-toned pajamas

[thisblogisaboutabook]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Azriel x Reader - Fluff - One Shot

While getting over a breakup, a performer in a Velaris tavern catches the attention of a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied hook-up

The notes flowed effortlessly through my fingers onto the ivory keys of the tavern’s antique piano. I’d played the song more times than I cared to admit over the past several months yet the angst of it had yet to be lost on me.

Tonight was particularly lively as the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle made their way into the tavern. One of the nicer pleasure halls in Velaris yet not as alluring as Rita’s, which was closed this week as they install an updated dance floor and modernize the bar’s serving area.

Once word spread of the prestigious guests, a plethora of onlookers flowed in the front doors. It had been a while since the bouncer actually had a line to attend to.

Attendees made requests, many tunes of a more risqué variety in hopes of a sultry dance against THE Morrigan. Who could blame them? She was lovely. Not in a soft and gentle way - but in a powerful, warm, seductive sort of way. Those that didn’t want to be with her, wanted to be her. Males and females alike tried and failed to get close enough for a dance but she stayed close to the remainder of the inner circle on the dance floor, so lost in the music that she hadn’t even noticed the desire flowing around her.

The Shadowsinger had also come out tonight. Though he evaded the dance floor, guarding their corner table diligently. An emotionless, bordering cold stare plastered on his face as he monitored the place. Ever the watchful friend, ensuring nobody stepped out of line. Many patrons gazed from afar, whispering words of encouragement as to who could work up the nerve to approach. The more brazen guests going as far as to take a few steps closer before being put off by his intimidating presence without him even making eye contact with them.

After a recent break up - recent putting it lightly - it had been months but who was counting? I’d taken to spending my weekends in this tavern. One evening, after far too many shots of liquid courage, I began playing on the piano while singing raunchy limericks and catchy tunes I’d picked up over the years during my travels through Prythian. Despite his odious reputation, some of my favorite limericks came from the High Lord of the Spring Court whom I’d never met personally. The poems coming in slurs from drunken participants of the Great Rite many years ago, the Calanmai where I met my former lover.

We’d connected instantly - literally and figuratively - and spent several wonderful years together. Until, damn the cauldron, he found his mate earlier this year. What are years together in the face of fate? Fate having a wicked sense of humor. How lucky for me that his mate dwelled in the city that I had introduced him to, MY city. They’d come into this very tavern shortly after the breakup, kindly leaving just as abruptly they came in. A futile effort of sparing me the heartache. Truthfully, he wasn’t a cruel male. He didn’t know I played here - and I didn’t hate him. But I resented it. All of it.

Which lead me to the song I was currently belting out at this piano. The song I’d written immediately after arriving back to my apartment that night, whiskey in one hand, fountain pen in the other.

“…And you're sitting in front of me at the restaurant, when I was still the one you want

Cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right.

I, I could feel the mascara run. You told me that you met someone, glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross-legged in the dim light

They say, What a sad sight"

Despite the angsty, brooding lyrics, the tone was catchy and very easy to move along to. The more frequent patrons of the establishment had come to know this as a staple in my evening set, belting out the lyrics right along with me.

The song was my closing for the evening as I packed up, ready to head out. One of the attendees brought a glass of my favorite whiskey to me, nodding to the beautiful brooding male at the Inner Circle’s table.

Interesting.

I nodded a thank you with a brief raise of my glass to the Spymaster, as a little shadow swirled around my wrist with a gentle tug in his direction.

Who was I to turn him down? Aside from a steaming bath and smutty novel, I had nothing waiting for me to return home.

I casually strode to his table, giving a little smirk before sitting in front of him. Licking my lip before raising the glass to my mouth, lifting an eyebrow as I locked eyes with him.

“I didn’t realize Spymaster involved sussing out a lady’s drink of choice.”

A cool, bemused expression settled on his face as he took a sip from his own glass. “While my skill set is quite impressive, I asked the attendant for the bartender to send you a glass of your favorite.”

“I see. Well, thank you.” I replied, giving him time to continue the conversation or bid a farewell.

“You wrote that song.” He stated, not a question. Spymaster indeed.

For emphasis, I threw back a large swig of my liquor. “I did. Did you like it?”

He met my gaze with a contemplative glean in those hazel eyes, “Yes, no. Yes, the song was good. No, I did not like the truth behind the words. It felt too… relatable.”

I ran my fingers back through my hair letting it loosely fall back into place, and sighed. “Looks like we’ll both need another drink then.” Turning to the nearby attendee and signaling two fingers.

Two drinks turned to three, and four, by the end of the night we had laughed, one-upped eachother on who was unluckiest in love, and I was practically in his lap as we boisterously toasted a cheeky “Damn, the cauldron!” to which a nearby couple audibly gasped. We both muttered quick “apologies” turning away as we muffled our laughter into each others shoulders. He graciously sent the pair a shot with our next round of drinks.

The place started clearing out as the lights brightened and the keep yelled out a last call. Both of us hesitant to call it a night as we stepped into the brisk cold. “Walk me home, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel. Call me Azriel.” He smiled. “I actually have something better in mind. Join me for a night cap?” He extended a hand.

Holding my hand out to squeeze his reassuringly, I replied, “Y/N. I’d be delighted.”

He eagerly swept me into his arms and darted into the sky, aiming for the House of Wind. The city lights quickly fading into twinkling stars.

Our pulses fluttered with anticipation as I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. When I pulled back to meet his eyes, he gave me a mischevious grin and briskly swooped down then back up. I flicked his nose to which he laughed, tilting his head downward to plant a kiss on my forehead.

I finally left the restaurant…

And my dress on his bedroom floor.

[therealmintedmango]

Cerberus - Part Four

Genre: Werewolf/ Shifter AU; Medieval AU; Strangers-To-Lovers AU; Heavy Angst; Soulmate AU; Eventual Romance/ Smut

Rating: NC 18+, Explicit

Words: 8,746

Pairings: (Eventually) ot7 BTS x Human Female Reader

Warnings: Dark themes; Yandere Vibes; Blood; Death; Gore; Murder/ Killing; Dark Dreams; Non-consensual touching/being touched without consent; Men who pray on women when they are vulnerable

Tag List: (Please notify me if you wish to be added/ no longer want to be apart of the tag list!) @openup-yourmind, @deeepvibes, @xxsunny-side-upxx, @heoniebaby @applelovesposts, (Sorry I've I've missed anyone! It's been awhile!)

Cerberus Playlist — Apple Music (Let me know if you have a good song to add to the playlist and I’ll chuck it in there!)

A frightened yell ripped through the large estate, shattering the peaceful, quiet evening like fragile glass thrown against a wall. The blood-curdling scream stopped all the brothers in their mundane tracks for the evening while they all were sitting in the parlor.

Taehyung flicked his paintbrush down on his wooden easel, flecks of green splattering across his canvas, a deep growl of confusion emitting from his throat. Hoseok snapped the book he was reading about hunting large game animals closed, eyes narrowing at the harrowing sound. An awful sour tone rang out, Yoongi’s long fingers slammed on the ivory keys of the piano as he stood abruptly.

A beat of silence ticked, stretching between the princes’, as realization set in.

“Little bird!” Seokjin yelped as he leapt from the news docket and the glass of brandy he was nursing all evening.

They take off into the house like dogs deep in the thick of the hunt. Their legs pushing into the carpet and marble of the home, scrambling for purchase against the ground. Snarls, whimpers, and growls echoed in the mansion as the brothers seemingly moved as one, thundering through their halls. The wolf-boys arms pushing them faster as their nails rake across wooden walls, shredding banisters in their wake. They feel like time is slowing, the clock is the enemy, pushing them back from the only thing they’ve cared about in what feels like ages.

In reality, they move like a flurry of hungry, wild beasts. The wolf brothers fly through their home with quick, superhuman strength. Worry and fright heighten their senses, a kaleidoscope of emotions changing every few milliseconds. 

They needed to get to her. They needed to race her. They yipped and groaned, pushing, clawing their way to her room. Their wolf blood pulsing and flowing with fear scorching through their human forms. 

Nails grew from deep within their human skin. Lips lifted, exposing their gleaming canines and bright pink gums as her room came into view. The prince’s wolf bodies rippled against the soft flesh of their mortal forms. The feral, wild hounds that they really are were threatening to escape as snarls and low growls toppled from their throats. 

Malice, violence, something benevolent they all think as they enter her room unannounced. They wanted to choke, maim, take pleasure in killing something that would hurt her…Make her scream like that.

Seokjin enters first, throwing the wooden doors open. Normally he would knock but he hasn’t a clear thought, wanting to know what or who could have made their little bird react the way she did. 

It’s eerie and quiet inside the guest living quarters. 

The younger princes’ enter next. They pant, shake and sputter, drinking in the smell of sharp terror that hangs heavy in the air of her lavish room. The fire in the hearth is out, moonlight pools through her windows creating a dim glow to cascade across the room…Their mate is passed out in a cold sweat in her bed…

And their youngest brother was in the corner of their room looking utterly ashamed.

A gust of melancholy October wind hit the house, the fallen leaves rustling on the ground and in the trees outside. The windows rattled, the panes shuttered against the cold breeze howling against the walls of the mansion. Silence coated the room, hanging in the still air was the chill of fear from their mate and the scent of shame wafting from Jungkook.

It took the wolf-boys a beat longer until it finally clicked. 

“What is wrong with you, Jungkook?” Seokjin remarks, lips peeling back, white teeth bared at the youngest brother. Rage flashing across his amber eyes. “Revealing your wolf form to her?”

“She was having a bad dream, hyung.” Jungkook sheepishly responded, shaking his head back and forth. “I wanted to be there for her when she woke up.” He bit his lip as he grabbed his cloak, covering his naked form. “She was terrified, hyung. I could smell it through the walls.” 

“Poor thing.” Hoseok cooed as he placed a cool hand across her blazing forehead. His amber eyes roamed over her still face, drinking in every inch of her flushed flesh.  Her hair pooled around her head on her pillow, wrapping herself in a halo of strands and tresses. Hoseok’s nostrils flared as his eyes reached her slightly parted mouth; her split lip she arrived with was almost completely healed. 

How badly did Hoseok wish to press his lips into hers... 

“What if she died on the spot, Jungkook?” Taehyung asked, standing next to Hoseok, watching her attentively. His voice shook with concern, his thick brows furrowed as he studied her like a beautiful painting. “She looks like she has seen a spirit!”

“I-I used my magic on her to make her forget seeing me and go back to sleep.” Jungkook then admitted in a soft, small voice. 

Seokjin gasped softly. 

Another egregious sin they were not supposed to use upon the poor mortal kind. Using their werewolf powers on a regular human was quite shameful. That was something that the creatures beyond the veil would do, nay, not the brothers that rule Bangtan. 

“Magic?” Seokjin snapped and Hoseok yelped at the same time, sharing a look of anger and dismay, respectfully. 

Yoongi heaved a heavy sigh, collapsing into a purple velvet armchair by the hearth of her fireplace. The second eldest licked the edges of his mouth, running his long fingers through his white hair in a defeated manner. “Jungkook, we cannot shift in the mansion. You know how we all feel about this.”

Jungkook couldn’t meet his older brother's amber glare. “I know, hyung. I just—“

Without even looking at him, Taehyung and Yoongi both emitted low, warning growls, their voices deep and huskiest of the brothers. It was quite a scary duo to witness. Jungkook froze, his amber eyes sliding to the ground in obedience.  

Pack order, as well as family dynamic, was something that was established, but changed from time to time. In this room right now, the order was Yoongi, Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, then Jungkook. When all the princes were together, the order was usually eldest to youngest, though that was challenged by Taehyung and Namjoon often. However, Seokjin never failed to be at the top of the pecking order normally due to his birthright. 

“No ‘hyung’ this or that.” Yoongi snarled, head hanging as he rested his elbows on the tops of his thighs, speaking directly to the cold ground beneath his feet. “You shifted…then got scared when she screamed at the sight of your wolf form, so you made her pass back out with your magic!” He got up then, pounded over to the youngest brother and single handedly picked Jungkook up off the floor by his robes. “Why were you in her room in the first place, huh?” The second eldest’s eyes were ablaze, fury seeping out of his pores as he searched the youngest’s own fearful orbs. 

Yoongi had already reprimanded Namjoon today. Tensions were on high alert today because of that. He was so fond of all his kin, he hated being the villain, the bad part about their day. Seokjin and himself very much had to play parent because theirs have since passed. 

“I’m going utterly insane, hyung…” Was all Jungkook could muster before Yoongi let out another deep sigh, his free hand rifling through his white locks. 

“I know.” Yoongi admitted, releasing him gently. Yoongi agreed, solemnly nodding, the fire extinguishing from his words and his sunset colored eyes.  His gaze traveled to the lovely young lady in their guest room who they worshipped the ground she walked on.  His nostrils flared, “We all are, Jungkook…we all are.” 

———-

Soft, featherlight touches upon my cheek roused me from my slumber.  Though I remember fainting, I cannot recall why that occurred. Blinking slowly, I opened my eyes only to see rich amber-coloured orbs peering down at me in the flickering candlelight. Pushing the sheets away, I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my weary eyes. I wasn’t fully awake nor was I registering who was in my room with me in this present moment. The air around me was thick, laced with anticipation and it smelt of fresh linen and morning dew. I stopped moving at once and drank in the human sitting opposite of myself. 

Prince Jungkook.

My mind started to race with questions. Why was he here?  In my room? What time was it? His eyes widened as I stared at him. “Little bird-“

“Prince Jungkook.” I clutch the sheets to cover my chest, my cheeks flushing a bright red hue. Jungkook looked completely sheepish as an innocent gleam flashing across his amber eyes. “W-What are you doing here?” 

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” He sheepishly looked down and away from me. “One of the hunting dogs became loose in the castle, found its way into your room and gave you quite a scare.… I think.”  The youngest prince runs a hand through his curly, richly-colored locks, sliding his palm down to stroke the side of his neck. “I do not wish to frighten you or have you think ill of me, as I know a young lady should never be unattended without a chaperone…”  Jungkook turns the complete opposite direction of me, looking toward the foot of the bed. “It was my turn to put the hounds away and I utterly failed.” Jungkook solemnly looks out the window, his tone grim. “I’m deeply sorry, Y/N.” 

My heart cracks into little pieces.

Prince Jungkook reminds me of my brother Chan at this moment. So sweet and earnest, never truly meaning to harm anyone, a wash of teasing in his tone. He was all but sass and silliness, but he would never bite--lest not bite me.

My stomach lurches at the memory of my brother.  

I lightly touch Jungkook’s shoulder to steady my spiraling thoughts of my family I left not long ago. I lean into the young prince and whisper, “Do not feel ashamed, Prince Jungkook.” He whips his head back around to look at me with his bright, amber eyes. His lips part while his eyes appear glassy in the soft glow from the morning light flickering through the sheer curtains.   

Prince Jungkook opens and closes his mouth several times, reminiscent of a fish gasping for air once plucked from water. His amber eyes flit from my own eyes to my extended hand on his shoulder. Jungkook suddenly clears his throat and gets up off my bed in a fluid movement. He bows deeply and silently exits my room in the blink of an eye. 

And like the breathing out of a candle, he is gone in an instant. 

I look to the end of the bed, a small shudder skates down my spine, a chill of ice flows through my veins, my teeth chatter. That hound from last night was utterly frightening. Its glowing eyes, its huge body, curled up by my feet…I can still feel its eyes upon me, raking over my flesh as if it was cognizant, searching my features as if it was a real person…

“That’s impossible…” I whisper to myself, pulling the covers up over myself, turning to the other side of the plush bed. “A hound cannot possibly be a person!” A chuckle leaves my lips as I nod into my pillow, rationalizing that magic isn’t real and I should probably see a doctor before someone claims I am mad. “What utter nonsense.” 

-

“You' been having bad dreams, Miss?” Sophia asks me, worry clouding her features as she helps me get ready for the day. Lacy, Sophia’s sister, braids the other side of my hair, twisting and folding my locks to look perfect. This is the trend for young girls my age right now--or so they tell me. 

“A few,” I sheepishly admit, shrugging my shoulders. “Can you tell?”

“Jus’ look like you’ seen a ghost, tis’ all.” Lacy worries her brow as she works on the other side of my locks, preparing me for the day. “Tis’ the time of year for goblins and demons and other creatures from the realm below to run amuck on Earth.” 

A small snort leaves my nostrils. “You two don’t believe that,” I say as I study them in the mirror behind me, “...Do you?” They share a look behind me, adding the finishing touches to my hair with their long, hard working hands. My heart sinks into the pit of my empty stomach. I know that sibling look. 

They know something I do not. 

“You’ feel it right, Miss?” Lacy whispers, stepping back, gathering her skirts as she turns and walks out the door. “This time of the year especially.” 

“There are strange things that happen ere’ every day, Miss.” Sophia nods, doing the same as her sister. “But this time of year…” She trails off, looking at the portrait of the prince’s with amber eyes, “is dangerous…even for people they consider family.” She whips around suddenly, throwing me a cautious, soft smile.“Best keep a watchful gaze in front as well as behind you during this time of year, Miss.”

The door announces it is shut with a small click and I am all alone in this big, wide room. 

I look at the painting she was giving the oddest glance at. Sophia was wistful, yet apprehensive in her stare which was odd for her. Lacy and Sophia were usually very warm(and a little neurotic), but maybe they heard me scream last night and I spooked them with some local superstition or something? I get up from the vanity to study the painting a little closer, moving to stand in front of the hearth, looking at the enormous canvas stretched almost the eternity of the wall. The prince’s golden eyes shine and sparkle under the warm morning glow that hits the painting perfectly. They all look so regal, so handsome and yet, so mysterious at the same time, hanging over the hearth just so. 

Something catches my eye. My gaze narrows, squinting as I see the tiny, orange and black butterfly in the corner of the painting.

I slowly realize as a thought fills my mind, my eyes widening. “...Just like the one I saw in the garden-”

A knock sounds at my door. “Little Bird?” Prince Hoseok’s voice filters through the wood, startling me from my thoughts. 

“Y-Yes?” I stammer, collecting my dress in my fists to move to the door quicker. “Yes, Prince Hoseok?” I ask, opening the wooden frame with a small smile on my lips.

“Good morning, Little Bird.” The cheery, red-headed prince, bowing slightly. He was already dressed to the nines in his gray wool day suit. The princes’ all dressed handsomely, but I do have a thought that Hoseok and Taehyung sport the most trendy and interesting colors and pieces out of all the princes. “I hope I am not disturbing you, but Jungkook informed us of the-” he pauses, looking for the correct word, his amber eyes roaming my face as he does so. “-incident that occurred last evening.” His eyes seem to flash with acute anger for a split second. “We have all come to the conclusion that we would not want you to be unaccompanied today, if that is quite alright with you?”

His hand extends to mine and I take it almost right away, leaving the comfort of my room. 

“Good girl,” Hoseok purrs softly so only I can hear as he loops my arm to intertwine with his. A jolt of lighting rushes to my nether region and I know my eyes expand at the feeling. That has never happened to me before. It excited me,  however, it also made me feel a small speck of terror stewing in my guts. “Right-o! Shall we?” He happily carried on as if I wasn't going through an internal crisis at this very moment. 

“Ye-yes.” I squeak. 

Hoseok began to walk me down to the dinning hall, the smells of breakfast wafting through the mansion. The prince quipped to me about how he wanted to dance with me right away at the ball as it was one of his favorite activities after hunting. 

Once Prince Hoseok and I stepped down onto the main floor from the grand staircase, the large house seemingly exploded with a flurry of hurry and mild panic. Maids and butlers ran to and fro, the service staff were almost fully complete with their ritual of turning the lavish home into one of pure royalty and splendor. One day more and the Harvest Moon Ball shall be hosted in the Bangtan Castle. Everyone has been in such a state of hustle and bustle, it was making me a little dizzy watching them shuffle around the marbled floor! 

The staff look like worker bees, buzzing about the hive, making it the most spectacular ball I have ever laid my eyes upon. Which might not be saying much as my father never threw such parties and gatherings. He hated that sort of frivolity. 

I thought of my beautiful dress Prince Seokjin had carefully crafted for me and sighed. “I am very delighted I can take part in the ball tomorrow.” I said as beautiful flowers from Jimin’s garden came through in huge golden vases by the tens of hundreds. The fragrant, colorful plumages needed two or more gentlemen of the Bangtan kingdom staff to carry them as the ornate containers appeared rather cumbersome to tout around.   

A wolfish grin spread across Hoseok’s face and he watched her with hungry, ravenous eyes while she took in the wealth and glamor that they have worked tirelessly to transform their den into. “We are too, Little Bird…We are too.” 

Breakfast was simple: sweet fruit, perfectly cooked porridge, crispy bacon, and fluffy eggs. The options were less plentiful then when I first arrived, but I imagine the staff very obviously had their hands full and they were busy attending and preparing other facets of the mansion. And rightfully so. A ball seems like it takes weeks, if not months, to prepare for. 

And now I am an extra burden for the brothers to shoulder. 

I must give them my thanks tomorrow. I did not have a lot to give them nor do I believe they are hurting or could ever want anything more. They live a comfortable life, or so it seems. I ponder as I chew my food all the ways that I could thank them as only Hoseok and Seokjin eat beside me. All the other brothers had their hands full with the impending ball happening tomorrow eve. 

I scanned the table as I watched the two princes nourish themselves for the day. Seokjin ate slowly as he read the news docket, his amber eyes roaming row by row, drinking in what he was reading. Hoseok scooped porridge into his mouth quickly and snatched more bacon off his plate, wolfing down his meal as it would be his last. He didn’t eat like a child or like a brute, he just consumed his meal with haste and less tack than his oldest brother. 

It was peaceful. Even with so much movement happening throughout the castle, the dining hall was calm, the demeanor of the room was quite content. I am happy I think to myself, basking in the glow of autumn sun pouring in from the windows. I inhale deeply as I set my teacup down which earns me glances from both princes. 

“Everything alright, Little Bird?” Seokjin simpered, amber eyes gazing at me over the black and white folded paper. 

“Oh, yes, indeed!” I exclaim as the dining staff start clearing away the fine china in front of me. “I was just thinking about how content and happy I am.” I smile at him and Hoseok at the head of the table. “It is the first time I have felt like this in a long while.”

They both smile with warmth and adoration. The prince's grins are genuine, which made my own smile spread across my lips. A thought from this morning crossed my mind and I uttered the question without thinking. “I have a question, if you both don’t mind?” 

They nod in tandem, Hoseok finishing the food on his plate finally. Seokjin folded the docket and set it down on the table beside his teacup. 

“Well, uh-” Nervousness flooded through me, their bright eyes watching me with anticipation made my heart skip a beat. “I was studying the lovely portrait of you all in my room. And I couldn’t help but notice a small butterfly in the corner like a signature an artist gives…” Their faces fell as I continued. “And I saw a monarch butterfly in the garden and wanted to know, I suppose, if your family has a connection to butterflies in some manner?”

“You what?” Hoseok choked, panicked in his query as he coughed and beat his chest with vigor. 

“Are you sure you saw a butterfly?” Seokjin asked me in alarm as he stood from his seat. “An orange and black butterfly?” 

I became puzzled. “Ye-Yes?” I questioned, glancing between the two brothers as they stare at me with shock, worry coloring their handsome features. 

“We do not have butterflies in Bangtan.” Seokjin spoke in a grave manner, approaching me with slow steps. His golden, amber eyes were the size of dinner saucers, looking down at me. I have never seen him behave in such a way. I fear I have said the wrong thing at the wrong time, shattering the peaceful and tranquil morning in the dining hall with my stupid question. 

I spoil everything. 

“They are a bad omen here,” Hoseok stood, walking over to join Seokjin, staring grimly into my orbs. I have rarely seen Hoseok not smile and it was a sight I wished not to see again. His smile was one of my favorite things about him. “Butterflies are the harbingers of death and destruction.” 

An eerie feeling like I was being watched spread across my body, just like in the garden, causing a shiver to climb its way down my spine. I fret I truly made a mistake bringing this up to the princes. My raw questioning and curiosity has gotten the better of me once more. I felt like this was a rabbit hole I did not want to dig around in, lest I fall in.  

BAM!

“Seokjin-hyung! Hobi-hyung!” Jimin cried, flying through the dining hall door, worry and terror clouding his pale face as he puffed, out of breath, “He is here early!”

I whip around behind me to the cause of the noise and see the silver-locked prince shaking. He appeared disheveled in his haste to get to the dining hall as quick as a crack of lightning. Jimin’s always perfect hair was out of place, his breathing labored, and his legs wobbled as he scrambled for purchase, for support on the wooden door. 

A low rumble leaves Hoseok’s throat now as he stands behind me. “How?” He hisses out through gritted teeth, his hot breath tickling the top of my braided locks. 

“Are you certain?” Seokjin asks, all niceties gone from his tone. 

“P-Positive, hyung.” Jimin clamored, knees buckling as he fell to the ground in a heap. Prince Jimin was as still as a statue then. No movement came from his lump of a body on the floor.

I lurch forward, my arms extending in concern toward the silver -haired prince on the ground. I was still, not daring to move as two strong, mighty hands held me back, gripping both shoulders so I could not move. 

“Who is here?” I question in a whisper, not daring to move. The situation was dire it seemed. Jimin needed assistance, a mysterious guest had appeared and butterflies were quite a sore subject in the kingdom of Bangtan. 

My peaceful morning was no more. 

My ears perked at a hearty laugh that suddenly echoed through the halls. All the commotion happening in the halls seemed to die out, like the flame of a candle being snuffed out. Time was slowing, melting around me as if I was trapped in molasses. A cold shiver radiated through my body making me rigid. My back burned but I still dare not move a muscle, still in the confines of the two prince’s grasp. 

A black-gloved hand pushed through the frame of the door Jimin was slumped in front of. The two men behind me inhaled, holding their breath as the easement produced a man in orange and black riding leathers standing before us. The air was tense as this mysterious stranger floated through the door as if he owned the wind he strode through.

“Is this how you treat an esteemed guest?” His voice had an accent to it, definitely not from your kingdom or the one you’ve stumbled into. “And right before the ball too?” He grinned a devilish gleam as he made his way over to the three of you, which you all were as still as statues. 

He flicked a strand of curly, dark brown hair back away from his face, his warm, chocolate gaze was locked onto the men behind you. This man was handsome. The type of man that would make women swoon and make men jealous. He was neither too large nor too short. He was neither too feminine nor too masculine looking. This stranger was a nearly perfect man, seemingly sculpted, handmade from the gods. 

Though, you couldn’t help but think the princes’ would be the ideal personalities you’d like to be courted by...as if that would ever happen to someone like you…but, maybe one day.   

Prince Seokjin and Hoseok were utterly quiet as this man fluidly strode toward the three of you.

“Thank you so much for the snack after the long journey.” The stranger continued, surveying the beautifully ornate dining hall. “Next time could you provide me with a virgin, you know how much I prefer them over--”

“Chris.” Seokjin practically snarled, disdain rolling off his tongue. “Why are you here?”

The man shrugged, his riding leathers crinkling, cracking the tense air around the lot of you. “You didn’t get my RSVP?” This Chris fellow tilted his head, smiling as he did so. “My creature said it found someone in the garden.”

“You. Are. Early.” Prince Seokjin said, ice dripping with every syllable he uttered. The Prince gripping my shoulder tightly glazed over Chris’s question. “Today is not a good day.” 

“And you are uninvited until tomorrow.” Prince Hoseok growled over my other shoulder. 

“Gentlemen, please.” Chris chuckled, plucking a strawberry from the tray of colorful fruit, examining it in his long fingers. “My brothers and I came to spend an evening with you, for old times sake.” His brown orbs glow red in the sunlight hitting his face in the dining hall windows. 

“We do not have time to entertain guests until tomorrow, good sir. I suggest you leave.” I blurt out. I jump with the sound of my voice, startling myself. 

I blush, flushing a crimson color I am sure, and look to the floor immediately. “We” I said...I do not truly live here. I am nothing more than a visitor here. What gives me the right, the gall, to say any of this at all?

“Is this your ward I’ve been hearing about?” Chris said, bending so our eyes could meet. “My, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” His nostrils expanded as he leaned down to stare into my orbs. At this angle they look ravenous, mad with desire or hunger…I cannot tell the difference nor do I wish to dwell upon the thought any longer. “Now, this is the type of snack, nay, meal I’ve been hunting for.” 

My brows furrow as Chris’s devilishly playful grin deepens. 

“Christopher Bangchan.” Prince Namjoon’s deep timbre cuts through the tense air. He helps pull prince Jimin to his feet as he comes-to. The silver-haired prince grabs his face in his hands, groaning like he just woke up from a long, restful slumber. “Let us talk in the parlor or library, perhaps. That way we do not disturb our ward any further.” Namjoon grins, dimples popping out of his cheeks and I swear I think swoon every time he so much as smirks at me. “Now, shall we? We have much to catch up on.” He steadies his younger brother like nothing even happened, righting him upright to his feet with a few pats on the back. 

Jimin stands on his own two feet, however they wobble like a newborn calf. The prince finds the nearest chair and slumps over in it, giving a slight moan of pain as he does so. 

I find Prince Namjoon’s amber-colored orbs and hope he can feel my many words of thanks and cunning praise I am sending him with my gaze. He gives a small wink in my direction, turning his back to the group of us and exits the dining hall. Christopher retreats with a salacious grin upon his face, gliding to follow behind silently.

A chill runs up my spine as his orbs flash red for a split second before he fully vanishes from view. 

Another wash of awkward silence ticks, time seems to come back into focus for me. Birds chirp and chatter outside the windows, the staff chatter amongst themselves as they are hard at work preparing for the ball tomorrow. The world begins to spin again and I feel like I am coming out of a year-long slumber. 

What an odd fellow. I think as I exhale a deep breath I never even realized I was holding. I shall try and stay clear of him tomorrow.

“Y/N…” Hoseok says, spinning me around. A large smile sat upon his face, gazing at me with so much adoration. “You can be quite the powder keg, can’t cha’?”

“My little bird.” Prince Seokjin strokes the side of my cheek with the back of his long, comforting hands. He looks at me with his kind, rich eyes. “Well done.” 

I smile wide, grinning from ear to ear. I don’t know that talking rudely out of turn was deserving of so much praise, but nonetheless, I am happy once more. I am content with these brothers I have come to live with. 

“But, please Little Bird…” Prince Seokjin furrows his brow, his smile slightly falling. “Please do not go anywhere unaccompanied without one of us from now on.” I’m sure I give him quite the puzzled expression as he continues. “The Harvest Moon Ball, while magnificent and splendid as it is, also brings with it some…unsavory characters to the castle. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good.” He claps his hands. “Wonderful, wonderful, yes.” Prince Seokjin nods back to me. “Now, let us go fetch some things I need in town. I believe they should all be finished.” 

“What about Prince Jimin?” I ponder, giving his brother a worrying glance. “Is he quite alright?” 

“I have got him.” Hoseok exclaimed, walking over to the silver-haired prince and ruffled his hair about. “You two make sure the ball will be fantastic for tomorrow. I’ll manage things here.” 

“Marvelous!” Seokjin took my hand in his and led me to the door as footmen rushed and worked to dress the oldest prince in his outside attire. “We have much to do in town, Y/N. Much to do, yes.”

There must have been an accident in the kitchen or maybe with a decoration? Several staff members were mopping and cleaning a giant spot of dark-colored liquid near the door. They always work so hard, I hope the princes give them enough time off. And especially after the Harvest Moon Ball. The substance was both liquid and gooey at the same moment; chunks of possible beef or pork were being scooped up with haste, the castle staff meticulously restoring the ground of the threshold of the grand entrance way. Did one of the staff drop a stew of beef on accident?

 “Shall we wait for Paisley?” Another query finds my lips as we walk outside to the gleaming black carriage that was getting ready to go into town for the day. Two beautiful tawny work horses snorted, stamping their feet onto the ground, their hooves large and heavy in the mid-morning light. I noticed Jongbak was nowhere to be seen on this morning either, which was rather odd. He would do everything in his power to be in the presence of Paisley. 

Seokjin paused, stilling his movements as a footman opened the door for both the prince and I. He was a few steps in front of me and I felt his aura darken with my question. My heart was beating wildly, trapped behind my sternum. I haven’t seen Paisley this morning…or come to think of it, last night Sophia and Lacy have been attending to me. They often rotated in their care of me, but it was not normal to go this long without seeing my friend. 

“I am sorry that I didn’t inform you earlier,” Prince Seokjin walked to the carriage door, spinning on his heel, holding out his hand to assist me into the  carriage. “Paisley is no longer with us.”

A small gasp climbs from my throat, my eyes widening with surprise. “You mean she left? She no longer works in the castle?” I find his gloved hand in mine as I step closer to the carriage door. He helps me climb into the wheeled device, seating on the other side of me as Sophia silently follows, sitting next to me with a grim expression on her face.

Seokjin shakes his head, a sheepish smile springing up upon his pillowy lips. “I’m afraid not, Little Bird…I’m afraid not.” 

“Do you know where she went off to?” I query further. “I will miss her so!” Growing up with brothers was fantastic and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but in recent weeks I have grown close to Paisley, considering her akin to a sister to me. I felt utterly shameful. I didn't know she was planning to leave Bangtan Castle. I would have done everything in my power to make her stay. 

Prince Seokjin shakes his head, his rich locks swaying with him as the carriage begins to move. “She didn’t say anything except I know she went somewhere far, far away.” 

-

Riding into town, it was exceedingly calm and quiet today, which is out of the norm. Usually the village is swimming with life. Everyone outside, the shops full, restaurants buzzing with customers, the park always packed with lovely couples and families playing. The weather was not a deterrent as it was indeed chilly, but altogether sunny. I’d be remiss not to say that it was a beautiful autumn day!

Seokjin visited the butcher, which he told me was no place for a lady, so the Prince had me wait in the coach. Footmen carried crates full of items in glass, storing them above and below the carriage. I wished to know more about what was in the containers, but I held my tongue. 

I had enough outbursts and speaking out of turn for the day, I thought. 

Next, the carriage strode to an apothecary where Prince Seokjin let me pick a delightful, sweet yet mild tea. He said he was very fond of my choice. We received bundles of dried herbs, containers of what looked to be sludge, and colorful powders in vials. The prince paid the apothecary a hefty sum, a sack of coins exchanged for these small items seemed like the shopkeeper was ripping Seokjin off, but, no haggling was made, so I said not a word. 

We stopped for tea and sandwiches in a restaurant which was inside of an enormous green house located in the heart of the town. Fragrant flowers, leafy green vines, and tall tropical plants inhabited the glass dome. The air was warm and the atmosphere was relaxing as we made polite conversation. There were only a small handful of other patrons in the dining hall, making it feel as if I was shouting to the prince sitting across the table from me. 

“Y/N.” Seokjin addressing me by my name made my cheeks flush. I do hope he doesn’t notice, I shall just play it off if he does! The warm air in the greenhouse must be affecting me so! “Are you most excited for tomorrow's event?” Seokjin queried, finishing his meaty sandwich. 

I nod, wiping my mouth with the edge of my napkin. “Indeed.” I smile at him. “I am most looking forward to wearing my sparkling, glittering gown Madam Hwasa has created for me in little-to-no time. My mind wanders away from itself as it thinks of the dressmaker pointing to the middle of my back, to the small, bird wings-like birthmark I’ve carried with me since I came into this world. 

“I do hope you save me a dance, Little Bird.” Prince Seokjin purs, looking at me with a glimmer of desire in his eyes. I am sure my cheeks have only grown more pink by the minute. My fleshy center in between my legs jolts with electricity and I blink rapidly, trying to think about morphing away from my ever changing thoughts. “...Possibly two dances?” 

I melt at his velvety, swoon-worthy words. “Y-Yes, of course.” I stammer. 

“Good.” A wolfish grin spreads across the prince’s face. His amber eyes glint as he lightly touches the top of my hand. “Very good.

-

“Why the fuck are you here early, Chris?” Hoseok thunders, throwing the wooden library doors open. His amber orbs flash red, anger seething out of every pore. “Who invited you in?” 

“The cute little maid with the freckles.” Chris stated, a coy smile on his lips. “She was quite the snack.” Chris smuggly looks over his glass of brandy. The outsider was sitting on the red velvet couch in the library, looking comfortable in his orange and black riding leathers.

“Monster.” Yoongi’s deep timbre growled, baring his pearly canine teeth.  The brothers, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jungkook, all stood facing the man adjacent to them, scowls on their faces, brows knit in frustration. 

“Come now,” Chris chidded as Hoseok strode across the room, standing in the menacing line with his wolf brethren. “We cannot help what we are. You all should understand better than mortals, no?” 

“There is a contract in place. You cannot harm one of our staff during the ball.” Namjoon frankly states. 

“But, it is not quite time for the ball, now--is it?” Chris snickers.

“You never sent a calling card, which is something you are supposed to do as well.” Jungkook folds his arms across his chest, a loathsome attitude souring the merriment of today. 

Chris gives a fake gasp, putting his free hand across his smirking mouth. “I did,” he said, feigning innocence, “my butterfly said someone saw it who lives in the castle.” He shrugs. “I thought you boys knew.” 

“Y/N saw it, but she didn’t know it was one of your…creatures.” Hoseok sneered down at the man sitting down, sipping his brandy casually. 

Yoongi slams his hands on the coffee table, splintering the wood on the cherry-wood table, sending pieces flying. Spittle flies from Yoongi’s peeled back lips, snarls erupting from his throat. “You are not welcome here this evening.” Prince Yoongi decides, the collection of wolf-men nod their heads in agreement. 

“Tell me about your ward.” Chris chuckles, his accent coming out in full force now that he is becoming more comfortable, ignoring the question. “She is awfully pretty.” The wolf-brothers snarl, feral noises emitting from their lips. “Keeping her all to yourselves, huh?”

“Don’t. You. Dare. Think. About. It.” Jungkook riles, enunciating his words with dark, animalistic noises. His wolf form rippling under his human skin, threatening to burst free. 

“Once you finish your drink, you need to leave.” Hoseok snaps. A darkened look glazing across his usually happy-go-lucky features.  

A small snort leaves the stranger’s nostrils. “You haven’t marked your territory very well, boys.” Chris takes a small sip of his brown colored alcohol. “Anyone, or anything, could gobble her right up.”

“I’m going to get my hunting rifle.” Hoseok angrily says as he spins on his heel to retreat out of the library.

“I’ll go with you.” Namjoon agrees, his lip lifted in disgust. 

“Alright, alright.” Chris stands, draining the last drops of the strong drink from his glass. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He stretches, smiling as his fangs poking out from his top lip, smiling at the angry group of wolf-men. He makes his way to the window, climbing through the frame, and disappearing into the daylight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His words echo in the library. 

Hoseok lets out a wild howl, informing the pack what just happened here and who they need to watch out for. 

-

The next day, I was told I should keep to the guest room as the princely brothers were very busy preparing for the ball happening this evening. 

I was rather confused as to why. Did they not wish me at their side all the morrow? Do the princes not deem me fit to be in my company? Do the princes of Bangtan wish me not good enough company? Do they loathe me now for speaking out of turn yesterday?

In these moments, I deeply missed my brothers. I fear I would never be a solitary creature, preferring the company of many over being alone. I craved their smiling faces, their boisterous laughs, the way they teased me so. 

I wondered about why I was in solitary confinement all morning while I ate breakfast of buttered toast, sausage, and eggs. My mind raced as I read through the latest news docket, my eyes scanning other the black and white text, never actually reading anything. I pondered as I was scrubbed from head to toe, being rubbed raw as if I was poultry, going to be prepared to be eaten as the ball later. Thoughts of confusion were all that hovered in my brain all morning and afternoon. 

I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My mind is springing back and forth like a ball on a wire. And to top it  off, my two attendants were no help to my restless mood. 

Sophia and Lacy flit and flounce about the guest room, rushing in and out all day. They brought me breakfast, the news docket, and all other petty gossip that was brought up from downstairs. The women are usually on edge, but I have never seen the sisters in such an anxious state. 

This just added to the tense air of the guest room, making me feel desperate to leave. I felt like a trapped, caged animal in this wide room the princes have provided for me. I felt both ungrateful and agitated with the same thought. I am grateful I have a place to live, a home that has welcomed me even though I am a complete stranger. However, I am rather displeased because they are telling me I need to be shut up in my room all day, never getting to help or see what the ball will look like. I felt as if I was in my role of little sister once more, being told what I can and couldn’t do. I feel like  these thoughts were unfair, but true at the same time.

The only moments I was allowed some respite from my whirling thoughts and oppression room was when I needed to relieve myself. 

Staring at myself in the mirror of a cold, private bathroom on the second floor where the guest room I stay in resides, I wonder why the princes have shut me out this morning. My brow wrinkles and I raise an arm to the ceiling, turning my head to my armpit. No, I don’t suppose I smell, but perhaps one's own smell doesn’t affect themselves?

I look rather odd, I think, clothed in a very casual and modest dress of thin, light blue colored silk. It was chilly this morning and I had chosen to skip wearing socks on my journey to the lavatory. I feel like I have rings under my eyes, sleep torturous from the nightmares of large wolves and dogs that meet me when I shut my eyes.  I shall give my face a good wash before Sohpia and Lacy apply makeup the princes have purchased and wished  for me to wear. It was almost time time for me to step into my beautiful-

Run.

I still, sucking in a breath. I was mid-rinse of my face with cold water, feeling a shiver run down my spine. A dreadful feeling was crawling down my back, making every hair on my body stand at attention. My body is crying out that I am in danger. My heart was beating quickly. I need to flee! 

Water drips down my chin, as I hang over the marbled wash basin. I am too afraid to look up as I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I had not heard anyone come through the door and I was worried that the man from yesterday would be making another unexpected appearance. I gulp. I am alone. Sophia and Lacy are at the opposite end of the hall…Would they hear me if I screamed?

Would I even be able to scream?

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” A smooth, buttery voice wafts from behind me. I jolt, though, still not brave enough to look up at the reflection in the mirror. A man’s voice. This was not the same accent the man, Chris, had from yesterday. This voice was new, more playful, more devious--if that was even possible. “Such a pretty ward.”

I should run. I plead with myself. I think about a few weeks ago, a scowl forming on my moist face. I am not helpless. I remember the red spray from my fathers wrinkly throat. I will not run anymore.

“This room is occupied” I say, not glancing up, my tone cold and not friendly. “Do you have no manners that you do not knock when a door is closed?” 

“Oh-ho!” The man behind chuckles, his fingers lightly brushing across my exposed shoulder blades. I shudder. It felt like this man reached into my body and caressed my soul with a simple stroke of his warm fingertips. “You are a feisty one, aren’t you?” 

“Who are you?” I clench my fist, whipping my head up, my fears dissipating with his jeer.

My eyes blew wide as I stare into the reflection, wildly looking behind me in the mirror. There was no one in this dimly lit, cold room. No, that’s not right. It can’t be. His fingertips trail down my clothed spine, the silk making it easy for him to trail down lower and lower. I have never been touched like this and I have never been touched without permission which makes me feel queasy. 

“What, pet?” The man with the rich baritone was still behind me, taunting me. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Enough of this nonsense! I turn suddenly, punching the man square in the face. He stumbles backward, a loud crack emitting from the middle of his face. “Unhand me, you heathen!” I shout, bellowing as loud as one possibly could, hoping someone would come and assist me with this ruffian in the lavatory. 

“Fuck.” Shiny, bright red rubies drip from his broken nose, falling on the beautiful white marble floor. His eyes flash red with anger as he cradles his bloody face, staring daggers at me. My tight fist throbs, hurting from the force I just used on this stranger. “I’m going to kill you, you filthy human.”

Human? I don’t dwell on his weird descriptor of me. “Try it.” I sneer, adrenaline flowing through me, making me speak before I think clearly. 

This evil man lunges at me, giving a loud shout as I glower at him, my fists coming up defensively to my chest, ready to hit him again. I’ll show you who has killed a man.

“Y/N!”

It happened so fast, I feared if I was blinking too fast, I would miss it. 

In a flash of black and white, Jungkook, who is dressed rather smartly in a posh tuxedo, races into the room, kicking this man in the face. This sends the stranger flying, hitting the hard, marbled walls. A loud thump He lands with an, “oof” sound, his head lulling to his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s amber eyes search mine, sparkling in the dim light. He lightly grips my shoulders, looking me over to see if I’m alright. 

I quake, my body shaking with pent up fear coursing through my veins, adrenaline dying down. But I nod. “Y-Yes.” I manage. “I am fine.” I look at the man slumped over, knocked unconscious. “My fist hurts a little…I suspect I broke his nose.” 

He blinks slowly, jaw dropping down, my words sinking into his skull as he processes what I uttered. “You what?” His sunset-colored orbs expand. The youngest prince stares at me with a mix of admiration and awe. “You what?” He repeats. 

I can’t help but give a small laugh at that, my frown flipping into a small smile. “He touched me inappropriately,” I sighed, “…So, I punched him.” 

Jungkook snaps his jaw back in place, hastily removing his hands from my shoulders. I notice how cold it was without his warmth there. “I was coming up to tell your attendants that the ball was kicking off soon and I heard you yell.” 

“Thank you.” I shiver, looking back at the man as Jungkook guides me out of the room. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“I know today must have been agonizing for you.” The youngest prince ushers me into the hall, closing the large lavatory door behind us. It groaned on the hinges, making a loud thud as it clasped shut. “I am sorry we had you stay in your room all day.” Jungkook nodded to the door, "We didn't want riff-raff like that to find its way to you.”

A thought crossed my mind now that I was more rational, more-level headed. “Prince Jungkook, I didn’t hear him enter.” He blinks at me as I continue. “I had the door shut and locked.” I shake my head, brow furrowing. “He had no reflection in the mirror…” Jungkook continued to blink slowly at me as I finished. “And…he called me a…human? Isn’t that all…rather odd?”

A beat of silence and I feared I was going to be burned at the stake, accused of witchcraft or something akin to that for saying a ridiculous thing. A person with no reflection! What a queer thing to suggest! Maybe I was losing my mind, maybe I was seeing things and needed to be locked away, living away from others until the end of time. 

“Indeed, rather odd.” Jungkook nodded, leaning down to place the back of his hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling poorly, Y/N? I know that man gave you quite the fright. Are you sure you would like to attend the ball this evening?”

A wave of calm fluttered over my body at his touch. I reveled in the feeling of this soft, light sensation traveling through my body. It was a tingling feeling like butter melting on a hot stove or chocolate in one's mouth. I felt my worries float away on a fluffy cloud with his touch. “I feel fine.” I respond, feeling like I’ve been rejuvenated. 

“Wonderful.” He grins, gently guiding me back to my room to be placed in the eager hands of Sophia and Lacy. “One of us will be here to escort you to the ballroom when you have finished getting ready.” He says as he shuts the door softly in my face. 

The youngest prince gives a low snarl, Hoseok and Taehyung stalking upstairs in tandem, scowls painting their handsome faces. Jungkook rolls his shoulders, his wolf form rippling under his human skin as he marches to the lavatory. The brothers growled, throwing open the door as the strange man moaned in pain on the ground. Jungkook snickered as he hoisted the man up by his lapels. “We have vampire trash to take out.”

-

Author's Notes: Wow, has it really been two years since I worked on this story? That's crazy to me! Thank you for sticking around if you have been waiting for this story to continue! I have a portion of the ball written out, so hopefully it won't take me years to complete and upload the next bit! Haha. Anyway, a comment, like, or reblog is always appreciated but not necessary. Love you all and thank you again for reading. 💕

-

Part Three l Part Five

[soulofapatrick]

Piano Lessons - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: Alex gets turned on by your piano skills

Words 1.7K

Warnings: Smut; gay smut; rimming; cockwarming; anal sex; idk what this is anymore

Notes: I promise I'll write some fluff for Alex and Henry next !

Y/N’s POV 

As I sit at the grand piano in Kensington Palace, my fingers gracefully glide across the ivory keys, coaxing a melodic symphony from the instrument. The rich, resonant notes fill the room, dancing in the air like fireflies on a warm summer night. The piano is set against a backdrop of regal red, pristine white and the deep blue hues that embody the spirit of the monarchy past. It’s a symbol of tradition and history, much like my family itself. 

Today, the atmosphere in the room is different, and it’s all because of Alex Claremont-Diaz, the charismatic and intelligent man I’m fortunate enough to call my boyfriend. He’s visiting me here at Kensington Palace, and his presence has added a touch of vibrancy and excitement to the usually stated surroundings. As my fingers continue to play, I can’t help but steal a glance at Alex. He’s seated on a luxurious, plush chair nearby, his russet eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His admiration and affection are palpable, even from across the room. 

The strains of the piano’s music seem to weave a story of their own, a story of love, passion, and the unbreakable bond between two individuals who have defied the odds. Alex and I come from different worlds, but our connection is undeniable. He’s the love of my life, the one who has shattered all expectations and brought colour into my world of duty and responsibility. 

I finish the piece with a flourish, letting the final notes linger in the air for a moment before they fade away. Alex rises gracefully from his seat, his eyes never leaving mine, and his smile could light up the darkest of rooms. He approaches me with that same confident stride that has always captivated me. The way he moves, with an air of self-assuredness, is a testament to the strength of his character and the love that binds us together. 

He doesn't stop in front of me; instead, he reaches out and gently takes my hand, drawing me to my feet. Our eyes lock, and it's as if the world around us disappears, leaving just the two of us in this intimate moment. He moves around to stand behind me, settling on the piano stool. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and pulling me back onto his lap. It draws a surprised gasp from me as there’s something poking me in the ass and fuck, I know exactly what he’s doing. 

I don’t protest, letting myself melt into his embrace, my head falling back against his shoulder, relishing in the comforting and exhilarating feeling of his arms around me. The warmth of his body against mine is a soothing balm to my soul, reminding me that I’m not alone in this world of duty and responsibility. A soft sound escapes my throat when Alex presses a loving kiss to the back of my neck, each one sending shivers down my spine. 

His hands slip from my waist down to the button of my jeans, a gentle kiss pressed to my jawline and I’m fighting against it as Shaan is just outside the door and could walk in any moment. But, Alex’s hand is driving me crazy, palming me through my tight jeans, knowing exactly how to turn me on. 

“Baby boy,” Alex’s voice is low and resonant, exuding want and love, and it’s breaking down the last of my reservations about what he’s asking, “Need you baby.” 

I rock my hips back once, drawing a deep rumble from Alex’s chest, and it’s all he needs to pop the button on my jeans and tugging lightly. I lift my hips for him, letting him draw my jeans and boxers down far enough to expose me to him. Instead of freeing himself from the confines of his jeans like I expected he’s gripping my hips and pushing me to my feet, pressing a large hand to the base of my spine and bending me over the piano. His hands spread my ass, kneeling the flesh between those fantasy inducing hands and before I can process what’s happening I’m yelping in surprise. 

At the first lick I almost faceplant the top of the piano, never expecting so many nerve-endings where Alex is currently ravishing me. Alex supports my weight, bringing me back against his mouth, and it draws an embarrassing sound from me, a high pitched whine that gets caught in my throat. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I’m gripping the edges of the piano, trying to spread my legs even further to give him more room. Alex wastes no time, tongue flicking and licking broad stripes against my hole, moving every so often to nip at the plump skin. It’s erotic, more than I could have imagined. The two of us with Alex’s lean but muscular body holding me up as he devours me, my dick twitching as he eats me out like I’m his last meal. His hands are massaging my thighs, oh so close to my aching dick, dripping precum onto the keys of the piano, making me arch my back to try and get the warmth closer to my dick. It doesn’t work but instead gives Alex more space and before I can react his tongue is inside me and I’m crying out before slamming my head against the top of the piano trying to muffle my cries. 

“A-Alex please.” My voice comes out broken and hoarse, causing Alex to grin against my skin, “Alex. I need you.” I’m almost crying, feeling embarrassed about begging but I need to feel him inside me properly. 

It’s all it takes it seems. Alex is pulling away, giving me time to steady my breathing while I hear the zipper on his jeans and then, with gentle hands I’m being guided backwards. I’m so glad for Alex’s grip on my hips as my knees are shaking like crazy but that’s soon forgotten when the head of his dick pushes its way past my now relaxed opening. I’m gripping his wrists, taking a deep breath as the stretch still burns but not as much as before, Alex’s spit acting as lube and I can slide further down quicker than before. 

I go to raise my hips again as soon as I’m settled on his lip, the button of his jeans digging into the back of my thigh but his hands still gripping my hips stop me and he’s leaning forwards, warm breath ghosting my ear, “Play.” 

“W-what?” I choke out. 

“Play me something.” His voice is tight and his hips betray him when they thrust up ever so slightly, drawing a sound from both of us but he reiterates his point, “Play for me.” 

I take a deep breath, attempting to focus on playing another piece despite the situation, knowing I’m getting nothing from Alex otherwise. I place my fingers on the keys, trying to muster the concentration needed to produce a coherent melody. But as I begin to play, Alex’s hands find my thighs, massaging them and his lips are coasting teasingly along my neck. His proximity is both a blessing and a challenge, as his hips jerk up again, teasing himself as well as me. 

With each note I strike, I can sense Alex’s playful energy intensifying. He digs his nails into my inner thighs, drawing a sharp sound from me and an off key as my hands jerk. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s clear he intends to draw this teasing out as long as he can. His fingers trace light patterns on my hips, sending delightful shivers down my spine. He whispers sweet, teasing words in my ear, his voice laced with affection and a hint seduction. It’s incredibly difficult to maintain my composure and focus on the music when he’s gently circling my hips in his lap. 

The piece could not end quicker for both of us because as soon as I’ve played my last note Alex’s regains that firm grip on my hips and lifts me until just the head of his dick is indie me before he slams me down, a loud cry of pain and pleasure escaping me. I’m a whimpering mess already, Alex moving a hand to wrap around my aching dick, moving his hand in time with his almost brutal thrusts. I can feel my muscles tightening and thighs shaking as I reach that precipice, but Alex, my sweet, frustrating Alex. He pulls me down so he’s fully sheafed inside me and circles his hips, just missing my prostate and leaving me almost begging for that sweet release. 

“Now now baby,” Alex nips at the back of my neck, “Wait for me.” With that he thrusts as deep as he can, circling his hips every few thrusts until I’m almost crying again, my thighs clenching and stomach rolling over with effort of trying to stave off that sweet release. I’m mumbling stuff, unsure if it’s actual words or gibberish but Alex knows exactly as he reaches around to take my dick in his hand one last time. He doesn’t jerk me off but runs his thumb over the slit that’s leaking precum and before I can stop myself I’m cumming. My body lurches forwards and my whole body shudders with pleasure as ropes of my seed hit the piano and I should be embarrassed but all I can think about is Alex holding me tightly, breath hot against the back of my neck as he pumps me full. His hips jerk a few times more before he’s sinking into the stool, holding me against his chest as we try and catch our breaths. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” I mumble, throat raw and voice cracking. 

Alex chuckles into the crook of his neck before a muffled reply comes from him, “I think everyone heard.” 

“Oh god.” I’m burying my face in my hands, cheeks heating up and not wanting to ever leave this room again. 

“Come on darling, let’s get ourselves sorted out.” He’s easing me off of him, both of us wincing in oversensitivity and I sort myself out the best I can, feeling his seed already leaking down my legs and knowing I need a nice, hot bath now. 

Alex takes my hand and leads me out of the room, past a very red faced Shaan who won’t look our way. He leads me down the hall, towards my room but before we get there we hear a shriek from Philip: 

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO MY PIANO!!!??”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Red White and Royal Blue Masterlist

TAGS: New Tag List Form

TAGS: @clarks-letterman

[hyacinthsanddew]

note scratched into the lid of a piano you forgot to take out of 

the attic

please be aware that this piano requires

maintenance. please be aware that these

keys will shatter if you touch them, like bone

splintering into bone. please be aware that

these keys will sing to you like a father if

you touch them. please be aware that these

keys will sing to you and you will fall asleep;

they remember nothing else. 

please be aware that this piano requires

a gentler touch. please be aware that there

is string stretched from hammer to key, some

sort of tendon that is old and torn and snapping.

please be aware that every severed heart will 

tremble for a year if you pull them. please be 

aware that this string will become a loom, will try

to weave you a fractured story and you will cry;

it remembers nothing else.

please be aware that this piano requires

love, always love. please be aware that

this piano is me or what i think i have been,

ebony teeth and ivory tongue. please be aware

that i was not born in my mother’s arms. please

be aware that i have not been held. please be 

aware that i am a ghost learning how to 

speak again and all i can say is your name;

i remember nothing less.

[reinthechaosdeer]

Chapter one: Melodies of the Heart

In the grand ballroom of Voxley Manor, the air hummed with anticipation as guests arrived, their elegant attire shimmering under the soft glow of chandeliers. Among them stood Vaughn Voxley, the esteemed Duke of Ashbourne, his heart heavy with the weight of recent events that included him cutting ties fully with his longtime lover Valentino Ruiz. Across the room from Vaughn and having just entered the ballroom was Alastor Laufey talking to Roslind (Rosie) Philmont, a dear confidant and friend of the two gentlemen, Alastor exuded an aura of quiet strength, his piercing gaze betraying none of the turmoil within at having seen Vaughn across the room.

Vaughn and Alastor had been inseparable since their youth, their bond forged in the fires of shared laughter and whispered dreams. But as the years unfolded, their paths diverged. Alastor pursued his passion for music, honing his skills until his name became synonymous with brilliance on the grand stage of the world's most prestigious concert halls. Meanwhile, Vaughn ascended to his rightful place as Duke, navigating the intricate web of aristocratic society with grace and poise. During such a time Vaughn met and became close to Valentino Ruiz.

Yet, amidst their individual triumphs, one truth remained unchanged: Vaughn's heart belonged to Alastor, a love that had blossomed silently over the years, its roots deep and unyielding. That love for Alastor had partially caused the rift that would then separate Vaughn from Valentino along with Valentino having become abusive and running off with prostitutes constantly moving from one to another flight of fancy.

As the evening progressed, Vaughn's thoughts were consumed by memories of their shared past and visions of a future he dared not envision without Alastor by his side. Little did he know, fate had orchestrated a twist of destiny that would test the bounds of their friendship and the depths of their hearts.

It was during a lull in the festivities that Alastor materialized, a vision of elegance and grace, his fingers caressing the ivory keys of a grand piano with unparalleled skill. The music flowed from his soul, weaving a spell of enchantment that enraptured the assembled guests, Vaughn included.

Unable to resist the pull of Alastor's melody, Vaughn approached him with a mixture of trepidation and longing, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alastor, it's been too long."

Alastor's fingers faltered momentarily before resuming their dance across the keys, his gaze fixed on the instrument before him. "Indeed, it has, Vaughn," he replied, his tone guarded yet tinged with a hint of soft nostalgia and hidden care. 

As the night wore on and Alastor moved from the pianoforte to allow another to take over, Vaughn found himself glued to Alastor's side, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if no time had passed between them. But beneath the surface, a tempest brewed, threatening to shatter the fragile peace they had forged and the tentative pleasure swirling in the air around them.

It was as Vaughn gained the courage to ask Alastor to dance that Valentino Ruiz, Vaughn's former lover and a man of volatile temperament, made his presence known, his eyes blazing with a mixture of jealousy and possessiveness. Without warning, he lunged at Alastor, his fists clenched in a display of drunken aggression seeing them together.

Vaughn moved to intervene, his heart pounding with fear and desperation. "Valentino, stop! This is madness, We’re over!”

But Valentino was beyond reason, his mind clouded by jealousy and wounded pride. Alastor stood his ground needing to prove that he cared about Vaughn after decades of passively standing aside, his eyes flashing with defiance as he met Valentino's onslaught head-on.

In the chaos that ensued, Vaughn found himself grappling with conflicting emotions, torn between his loyalty to Alastor and the remnants of his past with Valentino. Yet, in the heat of the moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation.

With a strength born of love and determination, Vaughn stepped between them, his voice ringing out with unwavering resolve. "Enough! I will not stand by and watch as you attack Alastor, Valentino, this misguided attempt to win me back ends here and now."

For a moment, the world stood still, the weight of Vaughn's words hanging heavy in the air. And then, as if by some silent accord, Alastor and Valentino lowered their fists, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of understanding.

In that moment of clarity, Vaughn realized the truth that had been waiting patiently in the depths of his heart: his love for Alastor was not simply a fleeting fancy as Valentino had always responded with and nearly convinced Vaughn of, but a bond forged in the fires of shared history and unwavering devotion.

Turning to Alastor, Vaughn reached out a trembling hand, his voice barely a whisper. "Alastor, I have to ask though I fear your answer, please...give us a chance. Let me finally show you how much you mean to me, how much I've always ardently adored and admired you."

And in the gentle curve of Alastor's smile, Vaughn found his answer, a silent affirmation of the love that had endured the test of time.

As the notes of the next melody played beckoning guests to dance away, Vaughn took Alastor’s hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise of a future yet unwritten. And amidst the echoes of their shared past and the whispers of a love being rekindled by those who watched, they left the ballroom to walk in the garden away from others.

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

A gentle breeze swept through the bustling streets of London, carrying with it the promise of a new day. Amidst the throng of shoppers, Vaughn and Alastor strolled arm in arm, their laughter mingling with the rhythm of their footsteps.

It had been a few months since that fateful night at Voxley Manor, and in the wake of their reunion, Vaughn and Alastor had embarked on a journey of rediscovery, exploring the depths of their love with each passing day.

As they meandered through the crowded thoroughfares, their conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to the next, the weight of past grievances replaced by the lightness of newfound joy.

Yet, amidst the bustling activity of the city, a familiar figure emerged from the alley ahead of them, his presence a harbinger of unresolved tensions and lingering regrets. It was Valentino Ruiz, accompanied by his new lover, Anthony Gallo, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of resentment and malicious envy.

"Vaughn," Valentino called out, his voice dripping with disdain as he approached, his gaze fixed squarely on Alastor after running a lascivious glance taking in Vaughn’s body like toxic muck. "I see you're still with the mutt. Tell me, does he dance to your tune like a good little lapdog, happily begging for scraps?"

Vaughn's jaw clenched with restrained fury, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Valentino, this is neither the time nor the place for your pathetic attempts at insulting us. Leave us be."

But Valentino was undeterred, his words laced with venom as he turned his attention back to Alastor. "And what about you, Alastor? Are you content to play second fiddle to Vaughn's whims, forever relegated to the shadows of his affection?"

Alastor's gaze remained steady; his composure unwavering in the face of Valentino's provocation. "I am nobody's second choice, Valentino. Least of all yours."

Valentino's laughter echoed through the streets, a bitter reminder of the wounds that still lingered beneath the surface. "Oh, how noble of you, Alastor. But we both know the truth, don't we? Vaughn will always come crawling back to me, no matter how hard he tries to deny it."

But Vaughn stood tall, his resolve unyielding as he stepped forward, placing himself between Alastor and Valentino. "Valentino, I will not allow you to poison this moment with your petty insecurities. Alastor and I have found something worth fighting for, something that transcends the shadows of our past."

Valentino's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched in a silent display of fury. "You're making a mistake, Vaughn. Mark my words, you'll regret this decision."

But Vaughn remained steadfast, his gaze unwavering as he took Alastor's hand in his own, their fingers entwined in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I have no regrets, Valentino. My heart belongs to Alastor, now and forever."

With a final glance of contemptuous surrender, Valentino turned on his heel, his retreat a testament to the futility of his words. And as the echoes of his footsteps faded into the distance, Vaughn and Alastor were left alone once more, their love a beacon of light as they continued their journey through the streets of London headed toward the opera house, their hearts intertwined in a silent symphony of devotion, Vaughn knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them together.

Chapter 3: Harmony Everlasting

The stage was set, the spotlight casting its luminous glow upon Alastor Laufey as he stood before a sea of adoring fans. His fingers danced across the keys of the grand piano, each note a testament to the passion that burned within his soul.

As the final chords of his latest composition reverberated through the concert hall, a thunderous applause erupted, filling the air with a symphony of appreciation and admiration. But amidst the sea of faces, there was one that shone brighter than the rest, a beacon of unwavering support and unconditional love.

Vaughn stood in the front row, his eyes brimming with pride as he watched Alastor take his final bow. For in that moment, he knew with a certainty that transcended words: Alastor was not only his love, but his destiny.

As the last echoes of applause faded into the night, Vaughn made his way backstage, his heart pounding with anticipation. And there, amidst the whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and well-wishes, he found Alastor, his eyes alight with the glow of creative fulfillment.

"Alastor," Vaughn whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he took Alastor's hand in his own. "You were magnificent tonight. Your music...it moves me in ways I cannot ever begin to describe."

Alastor's smile was radiant, his gaze locking with Vaughn's in a silent exchange of understanding. "Thank you, Vaughn. Your unwavering support means more to me than words can express fully."

And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Vaughn found himself sinking to one knee, his heart laid bare before the man he loved more than life itself. "Alastor Laufey, will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your days by my side? Will you marry me?"

For a moment, time stood still, the world around them fading into insignificance as Alastor's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. And then, with a joyous laugh that echoed through the depths of Vaughn's soul, he threw his arms around Vaughn, his answer a resounding affirmation of their love.

"Yes, Vaughn," Alastor whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed his lips to Vaughn's in a tender kiss. "A thousand times yes."

And amidst the applause of their friends and well-wishers, Vaughn and Alastor embarked on a journey of love and partnership, their hearts united in a harmony that would endure for all eternity.

For in the quiet moments that followed, as they basked in the glow of their shared happiness, Vaughn knew with a certainty that transcended words: theirs was a love that would stand the test of time, a love as timeless and enduring as the melodies of the heart.

Bonus Chapters Vaughn before the Ball: Breaking Free

The weight of silence hung heavy in the air as Vaughn Voxley sat alone in his study, the flickering flames of the hearth casting long shadows across the room. In his hands, he clutched a letter from Valentino "asking him to come back...That he wouldn't cheat again or hit him", its words a damning testament to the lies and deceit that had always plagued his once-glorious romance with Valentino Ruiz.

For years, Vaughn had turned a blind eye to Valentino's indiscretions, his love blinding him to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. But now, as the harsh light of reality pierced the veil of his illusions, he could no longer deny the painful truth: Valentino was not the man he had once believed him to be.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Vaughn penned his response, each word a dagger of truth aimed squarely at the heart of their doomed relationship. And as he affixed his signature to the parchment, a sense of liberation washed over him, the chains of his past finally shattered beneath the weight of his resolve.

It was amidst this tumultuous sea of emotions that Vaughn received word of Alastor's return to town, his heart aflutter with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. For in the depths of his soul, he knew that Alastor's presence heralded the dawn of a new chapter in his life, one filled with promise and possibility.

As the days passed and preparations for Vaughn's upcoming ball reached a fever pitch, whispers of Alastor's return spread like wildfire through the aristocratic circles of London. And though Vaughn tried to quell the rising tide of anticipation that swelled within his breast, he could not deny the flutter of excitement that danced in his heart at the thought of seeing Alastor once more.

And then, on the day of the ball, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars painted the night sky with their celestial glow, Vaughn watched as Alastor arrived with Rosie. 

Bonus Chapters Vaughn leaves Valentino: Shadows Unveiled

The night was shrouded in darkness as Vaughn Voxley made his way through the winding streets of London, his heart heavy with the weight of impending confrontation. For weeks, whispers of Valentino's infidelity had plagued his thoughts, each passing day a cruel reminder of the lies and deceit that had poisoned their once-glorious romance.

And so it was, on this fateful evening, that Vaughn found himself standing outside the elegant townhouse where Valentino had taken refuge, his resolve steeling itself for the inevitable reckoning that lay ahead.

With a trembling hand, Vaughn pushed open the door, the soft click of the latch echoing through the empty foyer. And there, amidst the dimly lit shadows of the parlor, he found Valentino, entwined in the arms of another man, their whispered confessions a damning testament to the depths of his betrayal.

For a moment, time stood still as Vaughn's heart shattered into a million pieces, the sting of betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. And then, with a loud yell of anguish, he lunged forward, his fists clenched in a desperate display of furious hurt.

However Valentino was ready, his movements swift and precise as he struck back with a force born of cruelty and dismissal. Blow after blow rained down upon Vaughn, each one a cruel reminder of the pain that had festered beneath the surface of their doomed romance.

With every ounce of strength remaining, Vaughn fought back, his vision clouded by a haze of pain and rage. But as the darkness closed in around him, he knew that he could not win this battle alone.

Summoning the last vestiges of his resolve in living to see Alastor again, Vaughn broke free from Valentino's grasp, his body battered and bruised as he blindly kicked Valentino in the face and slammed a vase to daze him, then crawled out the window quickly. And there, amidst the cold embrace of the night air, he made his escape, his heart heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and broken promises.

As he fled into the darkness, Vaughn knew that this would not be the end of his story. For in the depths of his soul, he carried with him the ember of hope, a flickering flame that refused to be extinguished by the shadows of his past. And though the road ahead would be fraught with uncertainty and peril, he would face it with courage and determination, his heart guided by the light of a love that had refused to die no matter what.

[averageanonymous]

Summary: In the aftermath of Aziraphale’s return to Heaven, Crowley plays the piano to chase away the silence.

i.e. I chronically have Crowley playing the piano on the brain. Today, that resulted in an angsty drabble.

Words: 642

☆○☆○☆○☆○☆

His apartment is dark, swathed in heavy silence that echoes off the empty caverns in his own soul. It's been too long. Too long with no sound but the trickle of a fountain, no voice but that which resides only in his mind. Now, he begins to feel it. The quiet - always before a numbing, soothing comfort - is beginning to crush him.

He approaches the large mahogany instrument tucked into the corner of his study, runs a hand over its surface, breathes. Years since he last played. Years since he wanted to.

His heart aches.

He doesn't want music.

Not really.

Whatever is broken in him relishes the quiet, the stillness.

No, he doesn't want music. But…he thinks he might need it.

So he slides onto the bench, eases back the fallboard, and lifts his hands. Black and white keys gleam under dim lights. He hesitates. His hands hover, silent, over ivory.

Finally, after what might be hours or only seconds, when the silence beneath his fingers begins to feel like agony, he settles on the keys and releases a single chord. Its sound rings into the emptiness and lingers there like a question. A pause. A breath. Then, gently, softly, slowly, notes like butterflies begin to lift from the keys. A few at first, then more, dozens upon dozens, until something begins to take shape beneath his hands.

He doesn't think about the melody that flows through him. It's nothing he has played before, nothing he has heard or seen. It has a life of its own; as though it has always existed, raw and pure as uncut diamond. The melody and harmony wind and twist through him, singing to his anguish with a beauty so sharp it cuts like a knife.

The music crescendos. He feels his soul lift with it, feels the weight of his misery, his loneliness, begin to slough away with each measure. Not enough to save him. But enough to keep him going. So he does. He plays and plays and plays.

He doesn't know where this ends. Part of him hopes it never does. Now that the music has chased it away, he finds that he dreads the silence waiting for him on the other side. That silence which drowns him and calls it solace. But that's all that is left to him, isn't it. And after all, what is the point anymore? This interminable existence, untethered from any harbor, adrift without anchor. The only thing that made it worth it, made it mean something, is gone from him, gone to a place he cannot follow. He is alone, here, alone-

His muscles quiver with exertion, his breath shallow, his heart racing. He feels himself losing the thread of the melody, feels it unraveling like loose thread from an unfinished tapestry. Something like panic grips him.

Suddenly, he strikes a wrong chord, and it's dissonance shatters what was left of the song, jarring him to his bones. He glares at the keys, breath heaving in his lungs, and with a snarl, drags his hands down the keyboard, a violent spray of discord flung after the ghost of the music that has left him wrung out and defeated on the piano's bench.

After precious few moments, the sound of his anger dissipates as thoroughly as the song, and he is left again in utter silence.

Silence.

He draws closed the fallboard, careful not to let it make a noise.

He slides away from the bench, away from the instrument, out of the room.

He lies down on his couch, the quiet wrapped around him like a cocoon. He lies there for hours (or days or weeks) and it doesn't matter. Eventually, the silence takes him deep enough that even his thoughts grow quiet, and finally, finally, he sleeps.

☆○☆○☆○☆○☆

Thanks for reading!

This sort of thing falls into the category of me just sitting down with a picture in my mind (or maybe a comic strip) and trying to write it in a way that captures the feeling of what I'm seeing. In my brain. I rarely succeed 🙄

[late-to-the-party-99]

Since folks liked my response to the writing prompt dealing with ancient Greek mythology, I’ve decided to indulge an idea of mine: a rewrite of the myth of Aphrodite and Hephaestus’ marriage, as well as its outcome. Enjoy!

——————————— Shattering Ivory Keys, Pt. One

Hephaestus lies awake at night, thinking about the throne holding his mother captive. He thinks about the demand he made of the other gods before leaving: “Unless I receive the hand of Lady Aphrodite in marriage, Lady Hera stays in this chair.”  It was a rash thing to say. The whole plan was rash, if he is honest with himself. He isn’t sure if he wants to be honest with himself. Being honest means admitting the other gods would never fulfill his request. Being honest means admitting he made an impossible request on purpose — that he looked at the bruises blooming on his mother’s arms and thought, Good. Hephaestus opens his bedroom door in the morning with bags under his eyes. He leans on his cane, his leg braces creaking beneath him as he shuffles into the hall. It takes a moment for his bleary mind to register someone else is there.

Hermes hovers a foot off the ground in his fluttering sandals. “We accept your offer,” he says.

Hephaestus stumbles into a chariot several minutes later, his pulse a drumbeat in his skull. Hermes has to pull the reins because Hephaestus doesn’t think this is real, doesn’t understand how this happened, doesn’t know how to keep the bile from creeping up his throat—

And then he is there. He is standing in Olympus again, his hammer in his right hand and his cane in his left hand. His swing is steady and sure. The chains around his mother shatter, splintering on the floor in fine metal shards. The chains around Aphrodite latch with a sharp click.

He knows Aphrodite hears the click too. She has to hear it. She has to see Zeus smiling over the proceedings, his teeth jagged keys out of reach in his velvet gums.

The wedding is the very next day. Hephaestus watches Aphrodite walk down the aisle, her long curls of black hair brushing against the marble floors. She is a plump goddess, the soft curve of her stomach draped by a silvery dress that shimmers against her copper skin. Brown eyes flecked with gold peer through her sheer veil.

They never dart his way. He can’t find it in himself to meet them. 

Zeus stands at the altar, joining Hera as she proclaims the marriage rites. He claps his hands when it’s all over. Ozone crackles in the air, searing the burnt smell of magic into Hephaestus’ nostrils. “This marriage is now recognized by myself, binding until the end of time.”  Hephaestus sprawls on a cot in his forge that night, sweating despite the unlit furnaces. He hopes Aphrodite is comfortable in his bed, unafraid of him insisting on certain rites. There are many more silent days. Hephaestus sees only glimpses of black hair around corners, smelling the faint aroma of roses. He keeps his eyes low. He hesitates, hovering his hand over doorknobs before pulling it away. A bundle of thistles prickle in his chest. Hephaestus sees Aphrodite’s attendants cluster around her wherever she goes. One of them lingers, planting her hands on her hips. She is a lean, muscular woman with warm brown skin. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she says. Her braids of black hair sway as she turns on her heel and strides off, Hephaestus’ words dead and lumped together in his throat.  A week after the wedding, he sighs. He snatches a stylus from a cup on his workbench, hunching over a clay tablet. He carves script into its yielding surface.  The door to his forge flies open. Hephaestus whips his head around as Aphrodite says, “We need to talk.” She stands in the doorway, her hands balled into fists. Hephaestus swallows hard. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She opens, then closes her mouth. She blinks at him.  He tosses the clay tablet onto his workbench. “It was wrong. All of it. I — I never thought they’d actually accept. I didn’t want them to accept.”

“Oh,” she says after a pause. “You wanted Hera…”

“Yes.” Hephaestus’ grip tightens around his cane. “But I should’ve thought about it. Should’ve realized there’d be a chance they’d say yes. Should’ve thought about you.” He glances away, shifting his weight. “So I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Then, Aphrodite unclenches her hands. “I believe you. I don’t forgive you, but I believe you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“I didn’t. I want to fix this, Lady Aphrodite.” Hephaestus runs his thumb over the iron handle of his cane. “It’s not like my creations, though. Those aren’t given Lord Zeus’ binding seal.”

“They aren’t.”

“So I’ll ask you this instead: what do you need? What can I do — or what shouldn’t I do —for you?” 

“You mean, what’s my boundaries?”

He flushes. “Sorry. Could’ve phrased that better.”

“It’s fine.”

Hephaestus knows it’s not fine. It can’t be fine. But he sees her shoulders relax from their tense line, her brow smoothing out. So he can hope for a future where somehow, someday, it will be fine.  “Alright,” Aphrodite says. “I don’t want to be touched anywhere. I want to keep sleeping in separate rooms. I want…” She folds her arms. After a beat, she says, “I want to keep seeing people. To keep seeing Ares.”

Hephaestus’ eyebrows shoot up. “Ares?”

“I love him,” she says, lifting her chin. She pulls her shoulders back, uncrossing her legs to widen her stance. “I—”

“No, no. You don’t have to justify yourself,” Hephaestus blurts, waving his hand. “Keep seeing him. Do what you want. It’s not my place to stop you.”

“…you’re sure? You’re my husband.”

“I don’t think either of us wants our relationship to be like that. And I don’t want to control you. I’ve messed with your life more than enough already.”

Aphrodite looks at him, then sighs, slumping a little. “Alright. Alright. That’s good.” She frowns. “You sounded surprised.”

Hephaestus coughs, rubbing his arm. “Ah, well. I guess. I just didn’t think of Ares as — um—”

To his surprise, Aphrodite laughs. It’s light and tinkling, the chiming of tiny bells stirred by the breeze. “I get that a lot.”

“I don’t mean any offense. I’m sorry.”

“None taken. He didn’t think he was that type either. But we both wanted to give it a try.” A faint smile spreads across her face, her gaze going distant. “It was worth it.”

Before Hephaestus can say anything else, a head pokes through the doorway. It’s the attendant who told him off earlier. She glances between them, her brow furrowing. “Is everything alright, Lady Aphrodite?”

Aphrodite shakes herself back to the present. She brushes her hair over her shoulder, still smiling. “Yes, Aglaia. Lord Hephaestus has apologized and promised not to interfere any further in my life.”

“I swear it on the River Styx,” Hephaestus says.  Aphrodite and Aglaia both whirl around, startled. Hephaestus himself feels startled. But he said those words out loud. He said them and he doesn’t want to take them back. So he rolls his shoulders, thumping his cane on the floor. “I swear on the River Styx to let Lady Aphrodite live her own life. I swear to do everything in my power to do right by her — to help fix this whole mess until both of us are happy again.” 

A long, tense silence ensues. Aphrodite stares at him. Aglaia steps into the forge, her hands fisted in the skirt of her dress.  “I had to say it,” Hephaestus says, his voice soft. “I have to make it right.”

Aphrodite walks towards him. “You’ve already started it.” She holds out a hand, turning her full, rounded face up towards his. “And we can do it together.”

Hephaestus looks at her outstretched hand. He looks at her. At her nod, he takes her hand in his. “Alright. Together, then.”

[litrpgburrito]

Storm Chosen

In the neon-lit sprawl of New Elysium, where corporate skyscrapers pierced the smoggy sky and cybernetic enhancements were as common as vending machines, there existed an unknown author named Elias Voss. His life was a tangle of half-finished manuscripts, empty whiskey bottles, and the relentless ticking of deadlines. Elias had been toiling away for years on his magnum opus—a cyberpunk novel that defied genre conventions, blending magic, technology, and existential dread.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Elias sat hunched over his antique typewriter, the keys clacking like the footsteps of ghosts. The ending eluded him, slipping through his fingers like smoke. His frustration boiled over, and he hurled the half-empty bottle of bourbon across the room. It shattered against the window, rain splattering the shards like liquid diamonds.

And then it happened—the storm. Not an ordinary storm, but an energy tempest, a maelstrom of crackling lightning and swirling colors. Elias stumbled backward, shielding his eyes as the room trembled. The typewriter danced on its legs, and the manuscript pages fluttered like wounded birds. He felt a searing pain, as if his very cells were unraveling.

When the storm subsided, Elias blinked, disoriented. His body felt different—lighter, yet heavier. He glanced down and gasped. His left arm was no longer flesh and bone; it was a sleek metallic limb, wires and circuits weaving through synthetic muscle. His right eye glowed with augmented vision, overlaying reality with data streams and hidden codes. Elias was no longer just a struggling author; he was part machine, part story.

Outside the window, New Elysium had transformed. The cityscape pulsed with neon hues, and hovering drones zipped between skyscrapers like fireflies. Elias recognized the setting—it was the world he’d painstakingly crafted in his novel. But he wasn’t the protagonist; he was a secondary character, a cybernetic companion to the elusive hacker known as Nyx.

Nyx, with her midnight hair and eyes that held secrets darker than the abyss. She stood before him, her leather-clad form illuminated by the glow of her wrist-mounted hacking device. “Welcome to the real New Elysium,” she said, her voice a blend of mischief and danger. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Elias.”

He stuttered, trying to find words. “I… I wrote you. You’re my creation.”

Nyx smirked. “And now I’ve repurposed you. We’re going to topple the corporate clans—the ones who control this city with an iron fist. They’re not just in my story; they’re real, and they bleed greed.”

Elias’s mind raced. He had no combat skills, no martial prowess. But his cybernetic enhancements hummed with potential. “What’s my role?”

“You’re the codebreaker,” Nyx said. “The one who deciphers their encrypted networks. You’ll infiltrate their ivory towers while I lead the resistance. Together, we’ll rewrite this dystopia.”

And so, Elias became the silent observer—the one who saw the world through augmented eyes, who whispered forgotten passwords and manipulated digital defenses. He watched Nyx’s crew—a motley mix of hackers, martial artists, and rebels—forge alliances and defy the status quo. They danced on the edge of chaos, fueled by rage and desperation.

But Elias wondered: Was this his redemption? Had the storm granted him purpose beyond the page? As he interfaced with the city’s neural grid, he glimpsed fragments of forgotten memories—the taste of ink on paper, the scent of rain-soaked streets. Perhaps he was more than a character; perhaps he was the missing link between fiction and reality.

And so, Elias Voss—the struggling author—became a legend. His words bled into the city’s walls, graffiti of defiance and hope. In the heart of the neon labyrinth, he fought alongside Nyx, not as the hero, but as the whisper in her ear, the binary pulse in her veins.

Together, they unraveled the corporate clans, exposing their sins and vulnerabilities. Elias discovered that endings weren’t fixed; they were malleable, like the lines of code he rewrote. And as the city trembled under their assault, he wondered if he’d ever return to his typewriter, to the unfinished novel waiting in the dim apartment.

But for now, he was part of the story—a cybernetic companion, a fusion of ink and electricity. And in the electric nights of New Elysium, Elias Voss found his purpose, one keystroke at a time. 🌃🔍💻

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Eleven

fun fact this was like 18k yesterday. i took out the smut scene (its going into the next chapter) and was left with 15k…. and then i do this…

this chapter is 19,085 mcfreakin words

anyways as usual super insecure about posting this, i'm probably gonna hate it until the reviews come in and give me serotonin so yeah i love you guys thank you for reading im sorry this chapter probably sucks

Word count: 19,085

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

For a while, Vessel merely floats in an expanse of stars, awareness ebbing and flowing with the swirling galaxies around him. He is at peace, and that time is precious to him.

The peace is shattered in time, as the stars start blinking out one by one, a void opening up beneath Vessel. He sinks into it, inch by inch, as it swallows him whole.

Vessel didn't quite understand what was happening, at first. He didn't realize he was dreaming, didn't realize that none of what happened after he closed his eyes wasn't real. This realm felt just as much his reality as the waking world.

One moment he had been staring in horror as the galaxies around him exploded, the stars winking out above as he sunk into the abyss, the next he was blinking tired eyes open in his old apartment he shared with his third partner.

His single pair of eyes take in the dim lighting and the shadows in the corners that Vessel had grown used to being able to see with perfect vision. Where were his other eyes? His hands are holding his notebook open with a pen between pale fingers. The familiar pitch black with golden cracks is replaced with the pale, human skin he had Before. Panic sets in, a tremble shaking the pen pressed to a page of his notebook, smearing navy blue ink.

Vessel looks up again, forcing himself to look around as banging sounds from the kitchen, cabinets slamming shut loudly as he flinches with every harsh noise. The action is familiar. The walls are bare and the yellow paint faded. The dirty floors are chipped and covered in trash no matter how much he cleaned, laminated fake wood long since lost its shine. His panicked, wandering gaze catches on the line of cocaine on the coffee table in front of him. It was a small flat, only one bedroom, one bath. The kitchen and living room were attached, and there was barely any space for furniture. What little space there was, was taken up by her belongings. Vessel's old busted keyboard was in the corner, piled up with clothes that weren't his. It had been broken when his girlfriend had taken a hammer to it as he was playing, barely missing his fingers. There was no warning, no hesitation. Vessel couldn't even blame it on some drunken or drugged stupor. Her mind was perfectly clear when she yelled at him, screamed that his music was taking up all of his attention, that she had saved him and deserved better than this, as she smashed the ivory keys in and broke the buttons.

Vessel remembered sobbing so hard he threw up, dry heaving as he tried desperately to gather all the broken pieces and salvage the instrument. She'd been so pleased with herself, like she hadn't just destroyed the one thing, the only thing left, that made Vessel happy, until she got annoyed with him for crying over it. Not only was he in pain internally, after that, but his cheeks and ribs ached, bruised and battered after she was done with him. Then, she used him afterwards, and it hurt. She'd made sure. The bruises on his jaw and neck had lasted for weeks. There had been no point in hiding them, either. Vessel had no friends, no reason to leave the apartment. The wounds on his body eventually healed but a piece of him was shattered with his piano that day.

It was one of the worst days he'd ever had with her, and there were many bad days. Being with II and III has taught him that much... It was one of the only times she'd ever hurt him so severely, as she preferred ruining him with her words while his first girlfriend preferred her fists.

He tried to kill himself that night, once he was sure she was asleep. He couldn't handle being alive as it was, but for his last hope, his music, to be taken from him? Vessel couldn't remember a time where he had wanted to die more. He needed to erase himself from existence, no matter what it took. He'd limped to the bathroom across the hall and shut the door as quietly as he could. Held his breath deep in his chest as he waited, listened for any signs of movement from the bed. The door wouldn't lock, not after the first time she had pounded on it when he was cutting into his thighs and he couldn't bring himself to open it out of fear. She'd gone to the store the next day and bought a new doorknob, one without a lock. Grabbing the razor he kept on top of the mirror was easy. There was no real point in hiding it, she never cared to take them from him or say anything against his bloody habit. She was only a little shorter than himself, so she could have found it easily, too. Already naked, he had no need to be mindful of any of his clothes, and climbed right into the tub. It was too small for him, forcing him to bend his limbs at awkward angles to fit. Digging the blade into his arm deep enough to sever the vein had been painful but so easy at the same time. He'd slowly gotten colder as time stretched on infinitely, black spots gradually blotting out his vision as he wondered desperately if this was finally the attempt that would end all attempts and set him free. It wasn't.

Vessel had woken up in the tub, spilling out over its side like the blood in his arms, the shadows in the corners seeming to stretch endlessly into an infinite void. Vacant eyes couldn't seem to produce any more tears to shed, numb inside like he wished he was outside. He methodically cleaned up the blood on his arms, barely taking note of the scabbing already forming all along the vertical wound. Next had been wherever blood had slipped down his arms to the rest of his body, then the tub, and finally the floor.

He'd climbed back into bed, shivering from unnatural cold and the pain of his bruised bones as his mind wandered. Vessel vaguely remembered seeking any sort of comfort, pressing up to his girlfriend as she slept. The movement had woken her, then, and she placed a gentle kiss to his brow, barely awake, and then shoved him away to the other side of the bed. Rolling over to face away from him, she took the last bit of comforter he'd been afforded, and Vessel had felt so alone. She didn't question his puffy eyes or blotchy face that next morning, and didn't even care that Vessel had fallen into complete silence. She didn't care how he was or if he was hurt, as long as he was hers. A familiar possessiveness.

It felt nothing like II and III. He wouldn't mind being their possession. He was already Sleep's. When III had bitten him, in return for Vessel doing so when they'd had sex for the first time, they'd said it was to claim Vessel. That they liked the possessiveness it showed, and wanted to be possessive in return. Vessel's soul sang with yearning, and still his fear chained him down. They'd both treated him like he was worth something, loved him, cared for him, made him... made him want, to want, to-

Vessel forces his mind out of the pit its fallen into lest he travel down a road he's not sure he can stomach following. Not now.

He doesn't think II and III would ever destroy his piano because he wasn't paying enough attention to them. Sleep... perhaps if it was something aside from music taking his time, but there would be no need. Sleep could just bring Vessel to his realm on a whim.

Vessel hates this apartment and everything in it, he decides, himself most of all. But why is he back here? Why does everything feel so real? Was... Everything couldn't have been a dream. Vessel could never conjure up II and III on his own. They were too kind, so different from anyone Vessel had ever known that there was no possible way he could have dreamt them up.

"_! Did you break my favorite fucking glass? Are you fucking serious?!" Footsteps stomp towards him, like a death march.

Vessel finds he can't move, either from stiffening fear or something else keeping him in place. She called his name... didn't she? No, that's not his name anymore. Is it? No, no, he is Vessel. He chose it for himself, whatever name she called him isn't him. Not anymore.

Vessel shrinks back into the cracked leather couch, trying to disappear between the cushions at his back. He closes his notebook silently, stuffing it behind him between the cushions so his girlfriend doesn't find it.

She's in front of him between blinks as she screams unintelligible words through the ringing in Vessel's ears. Her face is a blur, the only feature he can see is her mouth, still moving as she speaks to him. There's a bit of white dust on her top lip, trailing down from where her nose would be. Her perfume is cloying, a strong scent that Vessel can't name as she grips Vessel's arm, nails digging into his bicep as she drags him up. He lets her, resistance long beaten out of him by those before her. She's still yelling, right into his ear now, it seems, as she pulls him along to the kitchen. The waste bin has been dumped all over the ground, glass scattered alongside the trash. There isn't much trash in the first place, since he took it out the day before and he'd only broken her mug this morning, but it doesn't matter as she shoves him harshly, weak knees buckling beneath him.

His palms land directly in the shattered remains of the glass he'd accidentally broken. He misses the smile that pulls one side of her lips up when he hisses at the pain, trying to keep the sound quiet.

"You broke my favorite glass and didn't tell me?" She spits, stepping close as she leans down into his face.

Vessel whimpers quietly as she digs her foot into the back of his hand, shoving more glass into his skin.

"I- I was going to get you a new one. They have it at the store all the time." His breaking voice is barely above a whisper, gaze locked on the floor in submission.

She laughs, a rose pink lipstick stain peeking out on her teeth, a well manicured hand coming to grip his jaw, "You? Go to the store? Don't make me laugh, ___. You know you can't go anywhere alone. I always have to go with you or in your stead since you're too pathetic to talk to people, let alone buy groceries on your own. I was going to find out eventually, and still you tried to hide it."

Her nails, the same color as her lipstick, dig into his cheek and jaw painfully. Vessel knows not to utter a sound, even as the sharp points feel like little, dull knives. He remains silent, knowing she won't want an answer.

Everything happening feels familiar. Did he live this before? Is this real? Is he back before Sleep, before II and III? If Vessel could move of his own free will, he'd take one of these glass shards to his neck to test it. He can only let things play out, even as fear makes him tremble. He hates being here. He wants II and III, wants them to hold him, so he feels safe again.

"Pick it up. With your hands, understand?" She orders, and when Vessel does not answer, can't answer when she's practically holding his mouth shut with how tightly she's gripping his face, she shakes his head side to side harshly as if he were nothing more than a doll to be played with until he's no longer wanted, "_, look at me, do you understand?"

Vessel's mind races as he tries to get his body to move, tries to answer her. Whether it was him or her who had broken the glass, she would always make him clean it up with his hands.

He tries to nod but her grip only grows tighter, nails digging harshly until Vessel swears blood is trickling down his jaw. Finally, she shoves him away, releasing his hand from underneath her shoe. He lifts it up, cradling it close as blood dribbles down his wrist.

"Can't even answer a simple fucking question. Clean it, _. I will not say it again."

Blood splatters on the tile as he does as ordered, starting with the biggest pieces that he puts in the trash bin. It had still been knocked over, and Vessel wipes his tears away with a forearm while he sets it upright. His tears do not stain his clothes, completely clear, human. Vessel hates it.

The smaller pieces start getting stuck in his fingers, getting shoved deeper into his skin as he picks up more glass shards. It hurts, but pain is a familiar friend.

Vessel cries anyway, on the verge of sobbing but he does not let a single sound escape his lips. He knows better. The tears fall regardless of his wishes, dripping onto his hands and the floor, blurring his vision so badly he can barely see to continue cleaning.

His girlfriend taps her foot relentlessly, just out of the corner of his eye, and he twitches with every movement, afraid that same foot will soon meet his skin.

"Faster, _. I don't have all day." Vessel tries, he really does, splitting more skin on the sharp pieces in his haste to do as ordered.

Nothing good comes from not doing as told.

Vessel thinks that there are more pieces to clean than before. Did he break more of the cup than he thought when he'd knocked it off the counter? He was almost certain there had only been a couple of large pieces to- Oh. She must have broken more of it when she dumped the trash all over the ground.

"God, fucking worthless, _. Stop fucking crying, its so goddamn annoying! All you ever do is cry, cry, cry. I'm fucking sick of it! Can't even do as told." She shouts, leaning down as sharp nails dig into his face again, "Am I not good enough for you? Is that why you never listen? I love you! Is that not enough?! Is my love not enough for you, _?!"

"If it weren't for me, you'd still be with your ex! I saved you from her, from the pain she caused you. I love you, more than she ever did! I deserve better than you being a whiny, pathetic, miserable man who can't do anything by himself! Who can't clean up his messes or tell the truth!"

With every word, Vessel feels himself slipping away further and further. A fog settling over his mind. Its happened before, not often, but enough for him to be familiar with the lack of memories after he comes back to himself. The shadows around him always seemed darker as he drifted away from his body, the distinct feeling of being watched so easy to brush aside.

His hands continue cleaning on autopilot, the repeated motions allowing his mind to slip away. Things get hazy, here. He doesn't remember finishing cleaning up the mess, and only vague pieces of being left to sit against the cabinets once she finally let him be, flicker through the fog of his mind.

He sits there, the world drifting in and out of focus, static in his ears, fingers tingling as he holds his knees to his chest.

"You know I love you, right, _?"

Vessel looks up and finds his girlfriend standing over him, dressed up in one of her nicer outfits that accentuated her curves. Her smile is kind, lipstick having been reapplied, as she reaches down to cup his jaw. Slowly, he nods with a smile of his own, wilted like his soul, feeling her grip tighten into something more familiar.

"Do you love me, too?" She asks, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, "Of course, you're my everything."

"Good, that's good, _. You'd be all alone if it weren't for me, stuck with that bitch who didn't know how to keep you in line properly. You're so much easier to love when you behave, so don't break any more of my things, okay? Now, clean up all this blood, you've made such a mess again." Her smile remains sweet as she leans down to kiss him.

The kiss sends Vessel reeling, unused to affection like this. Vessel kisses her back, unable to stop himself. He wants to stop. He doesn't want her anywhere near him. He wants to go ho- He wants to be back at the manor, with II and III. He wants to die, right here, right now, permanently, if it means escaping the nausea that churns his stomach. It feels like seconds, or hours, later but she finally detaches her lips from his, patting his bruising cheek, so lovingly Vessel leans into it without a thought, and leaving again. The door to the apartment slams shut after her, and Vessel is left alone.

The silence is all he needs, the breath caught in his chest leaving him in a whoosh of air and taking a broken whimper with it.

Vessel sobs and sobs, silent, hitching breaths as his chest constricts, bloody fingers clawing into his arms as he hugs himself. His heart beats rapidly, a heavy thumping in his ears as he starts to hyperventilate, breaths coming in shorter and shorter pants, then wheezes, all while he whispers three little words desperately. He wishes he could stop saying them, questions their validity, now, as he chokes on the words through his sobbing.

"I love you, I love you, I love you-"

Vessel wakes up, choking on another sob he'd been about to let loose. Beside him, cuddled up into his side, is his plague doctor plushie. Sitting up is an arduous task, a weight pressing him down like a veil had been cast over his head and with every inch towards sitting up properly, its like it slips away. He's too distraught to truly take note of it, though.

He doesn't love her, he doesn't- not anymore. Not anymore.

He shakes with the force of his cries, muffled into the bloody hand he shoves over his mouth. Vessel doesn't trust himself to keep quiet right now, to be able to keep his sobbing as silent as it needs to be. He is shaken, rattled by the nightmare he has just woken up from, and yet his body, his mind is completely in perfect health. If you ignore the wounds he dug himself. If you ignore his panicked mind.

But he is not tired. The realization brings new tears to his eyes, ones of relief. Vessel couldn't remember the last time he wasn't utterly exhausted, even Before. He was always weighed down, but now its like a weight, one of many, has been lifted from his shoulders.

Stomping footsteps run towards him, echoing down the hall, and he turns to the door quickly, wide eyed as his mouth clicks shut. His body is shoved to the corner of the bed, his plushie stuffed half under a pillow and behind him, hidden from view. The blanket is pulled up over his chest as he hides his face between his knees to make himself as small as possible.

The door is slammed open, and Vessel expects to see his ex-girlfriend in the doorway. Instead, it is II, followed closely by III, and Vessel is struggling to get out from under the sheets so he can get to them. They both launch themselves at him before Vessel can manage to escape the covers, an exclamation from II the only warning he receives, "You're awake!"

They're warm against him, solid beneath his touch as he clutches each of their shirts with grey knuckled fingers. He didn't dream them up, he isn't back in that apartment with his ex.

He's safe, here.

"You're... real." Vessel murmurs, and the admission causes II and III to share a concerned glance.

It only makes him cry harder, for his fears to be abated. They have never hurt him like she did, like his other partners. To be shown it so starkly, the difference between the people of Vessel's past and those of his present is apparent... Vessel hates how afraid he was. Always such a fucking coward.

II presses kisses into his hair as Vessel claws at the back of II's shirt like he will disappear if he lets go, soaking II's shirt with his tears. III is silent at his side but holding him just as tightly. Vessel is thankful for the blanket he couldn't get out from under still covering him. He fears any day now that they will realize that he has no heartbeat. It terrifies him almost as much as the notion that they will eventually leave him, no matter how much they love him.

"You were asleep for an entire week, Vessel." II says as he finally pulls away, soft eyes widened in concern.

He keeps some part of his body touching Vessel regardless of the distance he puts between their torso's. III still says nothing, nor do they pull away, still holding tightly to Vessel, who squirms in apprehension despite craving the touch.

"Asleep?" Vessel murmurs, giving in and leaning into III pressed close at Vessel's other side, reassured by III moving away from Vessel's chest area.

"I- I don't have a headache." Vessel's quiet murmur is filled with muted awe.

"What happened to your face?" II asks, apologizing quietly when Vessel flinches back as he brushes a thumb over the bloody and bruised nail indents all along Vessel's cheek and jaw, smearing golden tears, too.

"I... Had a dream. It... It was more of a nightmare. My- My second girlfriend- She'd gripped my face with her acrylic nails as she yelled at me after I broke her cup. These were common, Before." Vessel explains, cupping his own cheek and feeling the indents underneath his fingers. "She made me pick up the broken pieces with my hands when I hid it from her. Did not care that I was going to get her a new one. I- I knew she would be angry with me, and I was afraid."

III eyes widen minutely, the scenario familiar. It was no wonder Vessel had looked so terrified when he'd broken III's mug. They want to ask for more details, to know what has befallen Vessel so III can't make sure never to repeat it, but his mouth is still shut. Vessel moves on before II can find the words to say, still running a finger over the indents in his cheek, "... This is a consequence of my rest."

'Sleep said something might happen.' III types out on their phone glumly, handed over for II to read out.

Vessel expects to hear III.

Wants to hear them. Needs them to say something. Why aren't they speaking? Vessel's memories are a mess, did he say or do something to anger them?

Vessel is suddenly bombarded with the fuzzy memories of what happened the night he last layed down.

"What did you do?"

III won't meet Vessel's eyes, he doesn't pull away either.

"Three, please, what did you do?" Vessel asks again, eyes wide in growing concern and horror.

III looks over to II, panic blatant over the bond as they silently converse with their eyes alone. II's lips thin in reluctant acceptance before speaking, "Sleep took his voice, temporarily... at least, we think its temporary. We'd- We'd both had enough of seeing you wither away from a lack of sleep, so- Three went to Sleep and demanded He let you rest."

"Demanded?" Vessel squeaks, a sob getting caught in his throat.

III demanded something of Sleep?

"He threw you out of the altar room! He- You- You could have been hurt! He took your voice!" Vessel raises his voice, distressed, pulling away to shove himself back in the corner.

His hands come to scratch at his arms as he holds himself. II looks around quickly, noticing Vessel's plushie right away and moving to grab it, to hand it over to Vessel. He had hoped something else to hold on to would make Vessel let go of his arms.

"Don't-!" Vessel blurts, crying harder, breath hitching in his chest as his throat aches with his fear.

II pauses, confused, but lets Vessel get his words out, "Don't destroy it. I'll- I'll do anything you want, just don't rip it. Don't throw it away."

Vessel digs his nails in harder, but can't force himself to grab his plushie to save it from its fate.

Slowly, II grabs the plushie with the gentlest grasp he can, handing it over to Vessel who takes it with trembling fingers, "I'm not going to hurt it, Ves. Why do you think I would do that?"

Vessel's lips pinch shut as he holds his plushie close to his chest, fingers trailing rhythmically over the plush material of its coat as he continues crying, "She would destroy my things. For loving them more than I loved her, she would say. My keyboard, my lyric notebooks. My 'Alpha Wolf' hoodie... it isn't the original. I had to save up for months to replace it."

III shakes with his anger, reaching out towards Vessel with arms opened invitingly. Vessel reaches back, crawling into III's lap and curling his head up against their stomach, tears never once ceasing. III runs a hand through Vessel's hair, uncaring how dirty it is.

"She should never have done that. She had no right, no reason-" II sucks in a deep breath to calm himself, clenching his fists in his lap.

"I'm sorry. I- I do not think you would do that, I just- That dream felt more like my reality. I thought- I thought I had been dreaming all of this up and that she had never abandoned me... that I was still stuck there where she hurt me, staying because I loved her and terrified to be alone. I realize, now, faced with what she was like... You two could be no more different from anyone else I have ever loved."

"I'm sorry, Vessel. I'm- I'm so sorry-" II isn't sure what to say, can't seem to find the words to express his thoughts.

"Do not apologize. It is not your fault." Vessel tries to reassure, still wiping away tears that are replaced quickly.

III simply holds him as he continues crying, II keeping a hand on his hip. Eventually, Vessel manages to calm down enough to speak again, small hiccups interrupting his words.

"Three... You risked the ire of our God... for me?" Vessel asks, so quietly its as though he thinks anything louder than a whisper will shatter the fragile atmosphere and everything he knows will be lost.

Vessel had never been a happy man, even in love. Not until II and III. They made him happy. Made him want to do better, be better.

His time After is still tainted with a pain of its own, but it is Before that lingers. Vessel... he wants to be rid of the past. He doesn't know how to start.

"You... You did not have to do that. I'm not worth it- Sleep, He took your voice for it, Three. You shouldn't have- I'm not worth it." Vessel's voice sounds defeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks, staining III's pajamas with gold.

"You are worth it! You will always be worth it!" II protests, falling silent with a miserable expression when Vessel shakes his head in silent refusal.

III holds Vessel to himself tightly, face screwed up in agony at the inability to reassure Vessel. III can't handle not being able to see Vessel's face properly, needing some way to communicate while still holding him. III pulls Vessel up by his shoulders, desperately grasping the others clothes before moving their hands to his face to cup it in a tender hold.

Shaking his head, III pleads with their eyes for Vessel to understand that they disagree with what Vessel has said. They have never hated Sleep taking their voice from them more than in that moment, feeling golden tears slip over III's thumbs.

"Do not ever do anything like that again." Vessel demands between his hitching, quiet sobs, hands coming up to hold onto III's, "I- I do not want to lose you. Please, Three, please! Promise me. Promise me, promise, promise-"

III looks to II for help, begging with their eyes for II to understand that III can promise no such thing as they shake their head profusely.

"Three can't promise you that, Vessel. I would do the same for either of you. You would do the same for us. We love you, at the risk of ourselves. We believe you worthy of our love, and so you will have it." II says, always so gentle with Vessel when he does not deserve it, does not feel worthy of it.

"I do not want either of you to get hurt because of me." Vessel whimpers, one hand falling down to clutch at II's on his thigh. "I want to protect you. I need you safe and unharmed, for my own sanity."

Vessel knows he must be a pathetic sight. Still, they do not shove him away. They do not hit him or scold him for his tears.

They love him, and Vessel believes it when they say so, when they press more kisses on whatever part of his body is in reach. No boundaries are crossed, his most closely kept secret remains just that, and Vessel is safe.

Despite knowing this, Vessel is... a little afraid of the next time he inevitably sleeps. Dreaming has brought forth things he had tried his hardest to forget, things Sleep had tried to bury without taking away who he was. Without his pain, Vessel would have been an empty shell.

Perhaps Sleep should have made Vessel forget everything, should not have left his pain, or any bits and pieces of who he was Before. Maybe he wouldn't be so damaged, now. He- He could have been a fresh slate, easier to love, easier to be loved.

This journey would have been so much easier... but would it have been the same...?

::

Once Vessel is fully calmed down, II and III reluctantly leave him to shower and change into different clothes, the tension that had been so high the past week loosening. Thinking nothing of the front door opening and closing, III lets Vessel wander off without his shoes again, peeking their head into the foyer to still see them by the door. III shrugs despite the errant thought that the other had just showered, going back to watering his plants in the house while II took a much needed nap, Elvira weaving between his feet as he wandered around. II didn't manage to sleep very well, worried over Vessel as he had been, so III isn't surprised he's trying to catch up on some much needed rest to try and relieve the pent up stress. They're in the middle of trimming up some damaged stems and leaves on the plants in the upstairs sitting room, unsure how much time has passed since Vessel left, when there is a pulling in III's chest, a tug on the bond he shares with the vessels. At first, they think it is II, since Vessel does not get their attention this way often. II is confused when III finds him up in his room, groggy from where III had woken him from his nap.

III apologizes quickly with a gentle pat to II's head, turning around to leave. They turn back quickly at II's slurred request for a kiss. II has nodded off again before III even reaches the door, and the sight threatens to bring a smile to III's face, though his sealed mouth stops it. III goes to find Vessel next, putting their shoes on at the door as the tugging persists. It does not lead in any particular direction, unlike the bond with Vessel that III can feel leads off faintly into the forest.

Stepping outside, III immediately notices something different, a change that strikes fear into their heart. One of the large trees by the house that lends a decent chunk of shade to the walkway leading to III's garden, has turned red. Its leaves, trunk, and branches are all a startling crimson color, like blood.

III doesn't think it was like this just this morning, but aside from taking care of their garden, neither II or III had left the shelter of the manor while they waited for Vessel to wake.

Vessel's probing, concerned bond leads off into the forest, and III will have to brave seeing so much red if he wants to find him, seeing down their own reassurance to relieve Vessel's worry. First, III needs to finish watering their plants, the task only half completed when he and II had felt the beginnings of Vessel's bond stirring as the other woke up slowly. The warm weather lends to the sweat trailing down III's back, and they know they will need a shower later, regardless of the dirt they're accumulating on their knees and hands while they water their plants.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, that task is done, and its time to find Vessel. Steeling himself, III takes a deep, shaky breath. Walking further into the forest, III tugs questioningly on his bond with Vessel. There is a brief stint of sudden panic from him before its schooled into false calm and Vessel tugs back, leading III towards him. III sends down gentle affection, trying to soothe whatever made Vessel so panicked. Vessel's responding affection, quieter and more gentle than III's overwhelming love (no matter how subdued they had tried to make it) is treasured. They wonder if Vessel has realized it is their love that III sends him so often.

As III goes, he notices small little bits of flora have turned that same crimson as the tree by the house. A mushroom here, a patch of moss there, all red like blood. Any trees, their trunks like stained crimson bone, cast red light into the ground through the leaves. The sun beats down on III from above, but the thick canopies provide ample shade for most of the walk.

Vessel meets III at the edge of what seems a large expanse of red behind even III's enhanced eyesight, an unusual bounce in his step. Small band-aids have been placed over the nail marks torn into Vessel's cheek and jaw, and III is glad Vessel had clearly taken time to bandage them at all, after his shower. Vessel looks full of energy, bouncing on his feet with an eagerness III doesn't usually see from him. The rest has done him well. His demeanor now is such a stark contrast to what it was when he had woken up earlier that is almost sends III reeling.

The tugging in III's chest does not loosen, nor does it tighten, only persists in no particular direction. Following closely behind the First is a white stag, the same that Vessel had described to them. It towers over both of them, remaining a few steps behind Vessel as he walks. III eyes the beautiful, morbid creature warily as Vessel hesitantly reaches out for III's hand, a nervous, hopeful smile making his eyes all scrunch cutely.

"Three! This is the stag I told you about." Vessel says as III nods along, already having guessed it.

His modern English accent is more pronounced with his more energetic movements, as Vessel brings III's hand up to kiss his knuckles, "It will not hurt you, I promise."

III takes out his phone, typing a little slower than usual as he only has one hand available. Vessel waits patiently, a sad sheen overcoming the happiness in his eyes at seeing III.

?¿?: i believe you. whats in there?

"It is... Sleep's realm, here, in its earthly counterpart. I think it is a consequence of my rest. It is potentially dangerous, there are many of Sleep's creatures now residing there alongside this stag." Vessel explains, weary, "Promise me you'll stay away? Please, it is all I ask for." Vessel pleads, desperate for the other to agree.

III wants to protest, wants to assure Vessel that they can protect themself just fine, but Vessel is asking something of him... And III can find no discernible reason to disagree.

?¿?: alright ves, I promise

"Thank you, Three. For listening to me." Vessel smiles in relief, turning back to the stag, "You may go, if you wish. I've kept you from your duty long enough."

The stag snorts, shuffling its hoove in the rust red soil before it moves forward. III tries not to stiffen too noticeably as it moves closer to them, taking in the ghoul fungus littering what of its body that is not bleached bone.

"Steady, love, it will not hurt you." Vessel reassures, moving minutely closer to III's side despite his words.

III trusts Vessel, and so does not allow themself to back away like instinct demanded. It is easily a foot or two taller than III when it comes to stand in front of them, and for just a second, III cannot help the smile that pulls at the threading holding their lips shut at the thought of II beside the creature. He would look absolutely tiny beside it.

The stag leans close, large, sharp, branching antlers coming into startling focus as it bows its head before III. Careful not to startle it, III reaches up and places a hand right above where it's snout would be, fingers meeting only bone as empty eye sockets somehow seem to bore into III's very soul.

"Do you think the lovely creature would make Two look smaller than he already is?" Vessel jokes, and III could cry at the ease in which he does it, how he had voiced III's own thoughts.

If III could laugh, he imagines it would be a wet sound with promise of tears, but instead, all he can manage is a wheeze of air out his nose and his shoulders shaking. III nods eagerly in answer, eyes crinkled at the edges, and Vessel thinks they look beautiful. He wasn't sure the joke would land, perhaps even expected it to be met with irritation. Neither II nor III have ever met his negative expectations. They've exceeded every one of them with kindness and- and love, that Vessel feels he will never deserve.

The stag pushes its head further into III's hand, and while III isn't sure the creature can even feel his touch, he still pets above where it's snout should be anyway. Vessel lays a hand on the stag's side, where a patch of crimson moss has covered some of the vertebrae on its spine.

"It likes you." Vessel chuckles, still a quiet thing, but it surprises III nonetheless.

He's come so far since they'd first met. For him to laugh, as quiet as it was... Fuck, III loves him so much. Could not possibly put into words just how much Vessel means to them, but wants to try.

III can't, not right now, and it hurts.

III presses impossibly closer to Vessel's side as they both continue petting the stag. The creature lets them with no outward signs of displeasure. Displaying any sort of emotion may be difficult, though, with a lack of skin and muscles... and eyes.

Vessel turns his head in the direction of the house, tilting his head just so to the side as his petting ceases, "Sleep is calling for us. For you. He says you are not answering him."

III can't quite recall a time where Sleep had called for him, specifically. He's not sure II had ever been summoned either.

?¿?: is that wht this tugging is? It didnt leadt kn any particluar directon

Vessel squints at the phone for a second to decipher what III has written past the spelling errors, frowning. "Yes. I don't recall him ever calling on you before, so it might be different since you're the Third."

?¿?: ididnt mean to ignroe him

"Its alright, He says he's not upset, just that He merely wishes to speak with you." Vessel says, frowning heavily. "I think He is... regretful over what happened but will not speak to you directly, right now. I do not know why."

III puts his phone back in his pocket, bowing his head to the stag. They back away only slightly to avoid the antlers when the stag bows its head in return to both him and Vessel, before turning and walking back from whence it came.

"Do you wish to go speak with Him?" Vessel asks hesitantly as they, too, start walking back towards the manor hand in hand.

If it weren't for Vessel, III is sure they would have gotten lost trying to make their way back from this deep inside of the forest. Vessel seems quite certain of where he's going, though, so III trusts him.

?¿?: of course i do our god is calling gor me why wouldnt i want to speak witu him

"Because he almost hurt you." Vessel whispers, almost lost in the noises of the forest.

?¿?: i made him angy He could have just obliterated mr on the spto

"That... does not make it right." Vessel falls silent after finishing.

The short conversation peters out as they walk, hand in hand. III starts swinging their hands, curious as to what Sleep wishes to speak with them about. Maybe III will finally get his voice back. And use of his mouth in general, they're really quite hungry.

"I miss your voice." Vessel says suddenly, and III turns their head to look at him, finding Vessel already watching them with sad eyes.

III cannot even smile to reassure him, and they hate it.

"I- I miss hearing you talk to your plants while you water them. I miss hearing you call me by my nickname with that thick accent of yours. I miss hearing you laugh, so heartily it shakes your whole body. I miss hearing you." Tears well up in III's eyes as Vessel speaks, and he pulls both of them to a stop.

?¿?: im not too much?

"Never. You have never been too much, and I assure you, you never will be. Not to me." Vessel states with firm resolve, truly believing in every word he says.

III shoves his phone in his pocket and reaches up, grabbing Vessel's face, fingers threading into the others hair as he kisses him. Vessel lets out a noise of surprise, but does not protest the action. It is more of III pressing his lips to Vessel's than it is an actual kiss, but it will have to do. III swamps the bond with all the gooey, warm affection and adoration flooding his veins in the hopes that Vessel will feel it for what it is.

III pulls away, planting gentle kiss after gentle kiss all over Vessel's face until the other is a blushing mess. He looks so fucking pretty, III feels as if his heart is going to burst right out of his chest.

Vessel's blush lingers long after III pulls them forward once more, trusting Vessel to tell him if they start going the wrong direction.

III takes his shoes off at the front door, following Vessel up the staircase. They both try to keep quiet so as to not wake II, who is still resting. A quick glance see's his door open like III had left it, with Elvira laying in the doorway without a care in the world, sprawled across the floor like a particularly chunky pillow tossed aside carelessly.

The altar room is dark except for the single red candle, already lit. Vessel gets to work on lighting the others while Sleep speaks without preamble.

"You may leave us, my First. I wish to speak to the Third in private." Sleep says as III kneels before the altar, hands clasped in front of them on their knees.

Vessel does not say anything for a moment, nor does he move to leave. He lights the last candle and snuffs out the match, coming to stand beside III. A large hand falls to rest on III's head, slowly stroking over III's hair. If the situation weren't quite so serious, III might not have had to shove down the ardent arousal at Vessel standing over them like that, with such a steadfast expression on his visage.

"Can I... trust you with them, now, after what you did? If it were not for my- the manor's vines, you'd have hurt him." Vessel questions, finally raising his head to stare into the sigil on the wall resolutely, his eyes glowing a faint crimson.

There is a profound sadness in the bond, shared with their God, "I will not hurt them, my First. You have my word."

"Keep it, please. Or you will lose me. You've granted my wish... I implore you not to threaten it."

"I will lo...?" Sleep's voices seem to break into something deeply hurt, "Very well. I will not hurt the Third, nor the Second. Now, leave us, my First. I wish to speak with him."

Frustration and fear cloud His words before it is smoothed over into something ice cold to hide the hurt. III feels surprisingly... sympathetic.

"Are you certain you will be alright?" Vessel turns to III before he leaves, six eyes full of question as they scan his face.

III waves him off nonchalantly while they nod. Vessel stares down at him in scrutiny for a moment longer before slowly patting III's head only once. His footsteps make no sound as he glides out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

"A truly bewitching creature." Sleep muses, affection bleeding into their words as easily as breathing, if the God even breathes.

The golden flame flickers, shining brightly in the room as a fog roils around III's stomach, covering the flooring up so thickly III can't see their own legs. A veil seems to settle over III's head, weighing him down, shoulders hunching forward.

"Now, my Third. Your and the Second's insolence stems from your love for the First." Sleep practically spits, tone startling different from mere seconds ago, before all of their voices seem to sigh, the sound of it mismatched and echoing all around III.

The same tendrils keeping III's mouth shut wrap around their legs to keep them in place.

"I wanted vessels who would love him, who would not hurt him. I suppose I've found just what I was looking for, if you're so willing to anger me on his behalf. I told him your love was true, fleeting as it may prove to be." Sleep gripes, keeping III motionless and silent as their knees begin to ache.

"I- I apologize." Sleep spits out the apology like He'd sucked on a lemon.

III isn't sure why they picture a pinched face when they think of what sort of expression Sleep must be making, but he's sure he's right. Sleep continues, "I do not take kindly to demands. I... do not entirely understand humans and how they function. Much of my knowledge stems from my Firsts' experiences."

'Watch us, and learn, then. We are yours, but you are also ours. Learn from us as we learn from you.' III wants to say aloud, wants to scream until Sleep listens to him, but they settle with speaking with the God over the bond, pulling tightly on it so Sleep will listen, 'I love Vessel dearly, but his life has torn him apart from theinside out. He understands human emotion better than you, but he has only ever experienced a skewed version of love. What he has undergone is not love. Those before II and I, did not love him, not truly. We love him.'

"My First's physical state, self-inflicted injuries aside, has shown remarkable improvement in functionality. I have never seen him quite so... lively. Not since he was a young little thing. I thank you, even if we do not know the extent of the consequences his sleep will bring. Already, my earthly realm is changing, pieces of the realm I reside in bleeding over into the other plane. My First has more control over my realm than I had originally thought... My own doing, no doubt."

Sleep continues, "I... I will take care from now on to watch all three of you. Not just my First. Your voice will be returned to you, my Third. Oh, and take these, for the First and Second. Jewelry to disguise themselves around other humans. Use your own divine gift for the same purpose, Third."

Weight settles in III's hands, the appendages feeling distant from his mind and yet their fingers clasp around the items tightly. "Your voice will be returned to you when awareness flows back into your body. As of now, your mind is in a state of rest, on the cusp of sleeping. I hope it will bring us closer, so that next time I call upon you, Third, you will recognize it as myself doing so."

III nods, the action feeling distant, as though it was performed by someone else. Despite his body not feeling like their own, their mind is clear.

'Thank you, Sleep. Can I risk your rage once more? There is something I need to tell you.'

Apprehension colors Sleep's voices but He allows III to say what he will.

'I am not an idiot, Sleep, despite what my human peers thought. Vessel is your favorite, that is clear. But you chose us, too. We worship you just the same. All three of us are meant to be yours. I feel it in my soul, just as I feel it with II and Vessel. I want to be here with you, with them. Do not... I beg of you not to push us away. Don't make Vessel choose between us, or you.'

Sleep does not say anything further, contemplative in His silence, but their presence is cool against III's back, like a hand has come to rest on the sigil painting their lower back. It tingles under the phantom touch, long after that touch is lifted.

Vessel clings to III when the other comes to, still sat on his legs in worship. They blink in mild confusion, immediately getting an armful of Vessel to III's delight. The fog has lifted, no traces of it lingering on the floor, but III isn't surprised. The veil he had felt over his head seems to have lifted, too. III is too disoriented still to register that Vessel had briefly hugged him, such a quick thing that it didn't feel like much of a hug at all. Still, III cherishes the action dearly.

"I'm alright, Ves. Sleep apologized, and said He would try to do better."

"He returned your voice!" Vessel's face lights up with a smile.

"I did." Sleep's voices sounds through the room, "I have called the Second here, stay."

"Of course, Sleep." Vessel answers, arms wrapping around one of III's own, head coming to linger close to III's as though he wants to lean into them further.

"For you, from Sleep. He says you and II can use these to look human, while I will use my magic." III says, handing Vessel the necklace held tightly in III's fist.

"My necklace? Did He enchant it somehow?" Vessel asks rhetorically, taking the necklace gingerly.

The coin necklace looks just the same as Vessel remembers, having seen it just this morning in his bedside drawer, but he supposes a bit of Sleep's magic now swirls through the chain. Vessel thanks III for the necklace, holding it in hand while he leans his head on III's shoulder. He remains close to III even when II comes in, rubbing tired eyes. Sleep must have woken him from his nap.

Vessel and III remain on the floor, so II simply joins them on III's other side, placing a hand on III's thigh.

"Wait no longer. Tell him of your new manager, Second."

II's tired face scrunches in worry, but does as told, Bristol accent thick with sleep, "Sleep got us a manager for our band. We- We have a meeting with him tomorrow, at the record label he works under. I couldn't push it back any further or he was going to let us go regardless of Sleep's influence. We, uh, need to choose a name before we meet with him."

Straight away, Vessel's bond floods with anxiety. He doesn't say anything for a moment, only nods, trying to hide his face in the space between III's neck and shoulder.

Vessel speaks up quietly, surprising II and III who had expected him to remain silent due to his clear panic, "The band is an offering to Sleep, each song a token of our devotion. Sleep Token."

Vessel's six eyes go a little wide in startled apprehension, pulling away from III to look at both of them properly, "I mean, only if neither of you have any better ideas. I- You both probably do have something better than-"

"It's perfect." II states firmly, and it really is perfect.

II may have his strong opinions on the way Sleep handles Vessel's physical health, but II still cares for the God. He brought II from death, saved him, promised him fame and acknowledgement for his hard work in life. He brought him to Vessel, brought him III.

"Yeah, it's a neat name, Sugar. I was gonna offer up Sleep's Eepies. Or The Sleepies."

"The Vessels." II tacks on with an amused smile, tracing a subconscious pattern into III's thigh with a thumb.

Vessel's own amused smile is slow to lift his lips, lopsided and adorable. "You just wanted to name us after our group chat?"

"Why not?" III shrugs with a wide mirthful grin.

"Are you sure you're ready for all of this, Ves? You've barely been able to sing in front of us even with your mask. I know your voice is good, and we have a decent amount of songs written now, I just- I worry for you." II says, concerned.

"As ready as I will ever be. Circumstances have led us to putting this off for too long. It is time we do as we were made to, worship musically and bring in more worshippers. I need to do this. I can- I can force myself to sing if I must. The mask will help. It will be different, too. A proper ritual. Sleep will likely have more to do with it than He does when we practice."

"Yes, my First. You'll most assuredly feel me more strongly. You will do well, I know it. Do not fret. Hand over the Seconds gift, my Third. The coin necklace is a gift from my earthly realm. It deemed fit to bestow you a token of gratitude, First. I have placed a spell on it, to grant you the ability to take on your previous human appearance." Sleep explains as III hands II the necklace clutched in their hand, "The necklace is a gift to the Second from myself, for the same purpose."

"Is there not risk of danger, for us to be perfectly alive when we've all legally died?" III questions, voicing the thoughts of all the vessels.

"No, my Third. You came to the manor as your human selves. The only danger is potentially meeting those from your past, but my earthly realm is nowhere near any of them. There should be no real danger. Keep your identities hidden from the world except a trusted few, if you find any humans worthy of that trust. Your previous names will be written on any needed documents but a bit of magic will keep anyone from looking into them."

Vessel is silent throughout the conversation, eyeing II's new necklace as he fingers his own. Two drumsticks crossed over each other, with air streaking off of them like they were being spun. It makes the drumsticks look like scythes. A fitting piece of jewelry for II, Vessel thinks.

"You may all leave, if you wish. I will not be calling upon you today, nor tomorrow, my First. There will be much to do once speaking with that human manager of yours."

"Thank you for returning my voice." III says as they all stand.

None of the vessels move apart from each other, remaining close.

"I took it from you in my anger. It is only right I return it at some point." Sleep brushes off the thanks, but III knows, now, that the God appreciates their words.

He's about as attuned to his own emotions as Vessel is. III lets out a little sigh as everyone makes their way down to the main floor of the manor. From what III garnered, Sleep was about as emotionally intelligent as a rock, except about love, apparently.

And that comment Sleep had made about Vessel... He had implied He knew Vessel when he was a child...

How long did Sleep linger around Vessel before choosing him as the First? Or was Vessel always meant to be the First? The conversation certainly gave III some food for thought, but he would much prefer actual food as their stomach growls loudly.

"I'll cook you something, pretty." II says, not bothering to look back as he moves to the kitchen, III and Vessel following hand in hand without a word.

Vessel and II work together to make III something filling, but light. II refuses to let III help cook, having him sit on the counter while he and Vessel worked. It took more time than it would have if II had done it by himself, but Vessel had quietly asked to help, and II wouldn't refuse him much of anything.

It certainly didn't help that III wouldn't stop grabbing one of them by the shoulder when they passed, pulling them into a soft kiss before letting them continue. II and Vessel had no complaints to give.

III inhales their food voraciously, a man starved. The rest of the day is spent in front of the couch, watching Fairy Tail cuddled close with blankets and pillows covering the floor around them for comfort. Snacks galore are piled up on the coffee table, the last of their stash. None of them watched too much of the show itself, despite their best efforts. II and III were far too busy sharing kisses with each other, and stealing them from Vessel.

One thing became abundantly clear to III over the course of that conversation with Sleep, a multitude of little signs piling up until the picture painted is clear to him.

Sleep is in love with Vessel, in some way or another.

::

The next morning, Vessel is getting ready to leave the manor. He dresses in a plain black long sleeve shirt and a pair of tight jeans, leaving his socks and boots for when they head out the door. Tugging his unruly hair into his preferred half up, half down style, Vessel aims for something a bit non-descript in hopes he won't get stared at as much as if he wore his fancier clothes. Vessel slips his magic infused necklace into his back pocket, its weight heavy, and heads out of his room.

"Won't you be hot in that, Ves?" III asks as Vessel passes by them in the hall, their dirt covered hands a familiar sight.

He must have just left an offering for Sleep.

"I do not wish for anyone to stare at my bandages." Vessel says, leaning into it when III pulls Vessel close with an arm around his shoulder so they can steal a quick kiss.

"If anyone says anything rude, I can just punch them." III offers with a bright grin as though he could think of nothing more fun, or deserving.

Vessel laughs quietly, which causes III to grin even bigger, stealing another kiss. "As much as I think you'd enjoy that, we don't need you getting arrested the very day we meet the manager for our band."

"You guys would bail me out with Sleep's money. Besides, if someone did say something rude, it would be a deserved punishment and I wouldn't even mind the jailtime." III shrugs with one shoulder, still not quite letting Vessel go.

They've completely stopped in the hall now, but Vessel doesn't mind, in no true rush to leave. "I need to go finish getting ready, I'll see you in a bit." III says, placing one last chaste kiss to Vessel's cheek before bounding off.

Vessel heads down to the bathroom to reluctantly see himself as a human again. Its something he knows he must do, out of curiosity or a need to see what had made him so unlovable that only a God cared for him once he'd already perished. He fiddles with the coin necklace in front of him as he walks, passing by II who is sat on the last step clutching Elvira close to his chest, cooing at her like she were a babe. Its endearing, and Vessel brushes his hand over II's head as he passes.

He doesn't bother closing the bathroom door, only stares at himself in the mirror for what feels like forever before his head falls to look at the sink, at his mask placed on the porcelain counter to its side. Slowly, he lifts up the necklace and pulls it over his head. The weight of it settles over his chest and Vessel cannot seem to force himself to look up, to see.

Biting his lip harshly, Vessel does manage it.

He takes one glance in the mirror, at the single set of dull blue eyes speckled faintly with lighter blue shades, the rounded, human ears and the lack of Sleep's markings anywhere on his body, and puts his mask on to deter himself from tearing into the supple flesh of his face with his nails. The necklace slips over his head and is stuffed in his pocket again before even ten seconds have passed. He cannot stand the sight of himself from Before.

There is relief in seeing himself as he is, knowing what he looks like now under his mask. This is who he is, all the otherworldly inhuman parts of himself mixed with who he was Before, ugly, unsightly. A face made for radio, his boyfriend had said, the first time Vessel had played a song for him.

He supposes there is beauty too, in the features he shares with Sleep. The only parts of himself he has grown to appreciate to some extent. Only for his God.

Stepping out of the bathroom, II waits for him, leant against the wall. "Are you alright, my love? I felt how upset you were in the bond. Three was going to ask you about it but I encouraged him to finish getting dressed instead." He says, pushing off the wall to step forward and take Vessel's hands.

They tremble in his tender hold, and Vessel crumbles at the softness of II's sky blue eyes. "I do not like being glamoured, nor without my mask. I.. I do not have a face worth looking at."

II's eyed are sad, but his smile is kind as he contemplates what to say. Vessel lets him think, shuffling forward to be just that little bit closer to him.

"When I first saw you, sobbing with two new sets of eyes... I thought you were the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. When I saw you, moments ago, entirely human without any trace of Sleep's marks, I still thought that exact thing. My breath got caught in my chest and I was awestruck. You're beautiful Vessel, glamoured or not. Without your mask, or with it."

Fresh tears well up in Vessel's eyes, overcome with such strong love, such hope and disbelief. He manages to keep them from falling, but his voice cracks and breaks often, "I do not see what you see. I do not feel beautiful. I do not feel worthy of your affection, your kind words. Your love. I want to, though. You and Three... you're both so... so wonderful. I want to feel worth your love."

"You are worth our love, sweetheart, and we're trying to help you realize that." II says gently, bringing his hands, and subsequently Vessel's own hands, up to cup Vessel's cheeks.

Vessel's hands are cold on his face, warmth from II's hands a stark contrast. His eyes flutter at the affection, staring down at II with such blatant adoration that II feels nearly overcome by it.

"I know. You've helped me so much, in my ways than one. Even before Three got here. It means the world to me that you care enough to try when I don't des- Don't feel like I deserve it."

"I'm proud of you for making the distinction between not deserving something and feeling like you don't deserve something. That's important, Ves." II smiles up at him, and Vessel knows he would lay the world to waste if anything ever happened to the shorter man.

Vessel wants to see II as he is, without the glamor keeping him human. His eyes seem dimmer, not so bright of a blue without the black sclera surrounding the irises. Seeing his usual nose ring and eyebrow piercing is reassuring in ways Vessel didn't think it would be, the familiarity a godsend.

Vessel's answering smile is wobbly, but pleased in a muted, unsure sort of way.

Three little words are on the tip of Vessel's tongue. He wants to say them, doesn't want to let the fear that holds his tongue keep him from telling II he loves him, even if II doesn't say it first.

Vessel opens his mouth to speak, to tell II that he loves him-

"Are you boys ready? We need to be there in a few hours and its at least an hour drive. I want to find a sex shop. Oh, and we need to get that mattress for the living room! And groceries!" III calls, cockney accent thick, footsteps heard as they make their way down the staircase.

Vessel's mouth shuts, but his lips remain curled into a lopsided smile. II huffs out a laugh with an eye roll, standing up on his tippy toes to plant a chaste kiss to Vessel's lips. Vessel leans down a little so II doesn't strain himself trying, pressing his own kiss to II's forehead. He lingers there, foreheads touching, before he pulls away.

One day, Vessel will tell them. When he gathers the courage.

::

The further away from the manor they drive, the less of Sleep the vessels can feel. The tether connecting Vessel with Sleep grows thinner with distance, but at least Vessel can still feel him, faint whispers in his ear that he cannot discern. II and III cannot feel Him like Vessel can, only a faint trickle of His presence in the backs of their minds. No words can be shared with the God, the distance from His realm too great.

Finding a sex shop is a quick Google search and a five minute drive deeper into the city when they arrive not more than an hour and a half later. Vessel feels uncomfortable with the necklace on, but knows he can't go without it. III's own magic keeps him well disguised, a surprise to see for Vessel who had been asleep over the week it took III to master changing their features. Despite how easy looking human has become for them, they still struggle to control the spider limbs while II works on overcoming that fear of his.

Vessel is too embarrassed to ask much about the things he was curiously looking over at the sex shop, but II and III don't fault him for his lack of knowledge, nor the embarrassment. They take time to explain what certain things are, like the cock rings and the leather collars.

"Are you the sort of brat into collars?" II asks while they look at the section containing a small wall of different types of collars.

"I've never actually tried it. Are you the sort of dom into collaring your brats, sir?" III replies with a question of their own, smirking down at II with mirth shining in their eyes.

II carefully averts his gaze back to a bright red one with blunt, spiked silver studding, "I think your slender neck would look even prettier with something around it."

"You could just use your hand as a necklace, Doll."

"Such a naughty boy. I'll keep that in mind. How about this one, then?" II says with a playful gleam in his eye, pulling a baby blue collar from the rack that III had been very blatantly staring at.

III flushes red, "Oh, you were serious?"

"Quite. Were you not?" II queries, perceptive as always while Vessel watches their exchange silently.

"I appreciate you taking me so seriously, sir, but I've never been truly interested in having one. Some of these are just really pretty." III admits, uncharacteristically shy, and II nods in understanding.

"Okay, that's fine, then. If you ever want one, I wouldn't be opposed. Vessel, lovely, come here a second." Vessel startles, having been listening quietly as II and III went back and forth, trying to follow the conversation.

He wanders a little closer, right beside II as the smaller man speaks again, "Do you think you'd be interested in trying these out?"

Vessel looks at the rack stock full of collars of different colors and designs, glancing back at II nervously, then over to III. "What are these for?"

"Its a type of possession thing, Ves. Or a sign of devotion. Ownership, too, I think. There's a few different meanings and it can be different for everyone who wants to wear one. They can be used for breathplay, I think? I'm not entirely certain." II explains, waving his hands for emphasis.

"If you want to get me one you can." Vessel says, instead of offering a clear answer.

"It doesn't seem like you actually want one, Ves, so we'll hold off on the collars." II refuses for him, and Vessel cannot help the instant relief he feels. "Actually, its probably best we hold off on any of that until we've all gotten to know each others bodies and tells better."

"You're probably right, Doll." III agrees, also clocking in on just how relieved Vessel was with II's refusal.

Vessel not being ready for it is why III hasn't asked for lewd photos yet, why II has yet to go to Vessel to have sex, choosing instead to wait for him to come to II. III didn't have quite that much patience, and can't bring himself to regret the sex he'd had with Vessel. Perhaps III pushed him too far, too soon, but Vessel has opened up to them more, and is far more willing to talk about sex than he is his other traumas.

"I'm going to go grab some lube, feel free to stay here or look around." II says, patting III on the arm and wandering off.

III takes Vessel's hand, pulling the other to a different rack in the store, not too far from where they were before. Vessel keeps close, eyeing the whips and canes apprehensively. III makes sure to steer them away from the more pain oriented sections, and towards the shelves of butt plugs and dildos. Vessel is leaning into III, their shoulders pressed close, as III hums, idly scanning the small selection of butt plugs.

"Um... What exactly is lube?" Vessel asks quietly, shying away when III levels a blank stare at him.

"You don't know- Uh, lube is short for lubricant. Its to make sex easier. To be more specific for our needs it makes anal sex easier since your ass doesn't uh, create its own lubricant like a vagina? So you would put it on your dick so it slides better. Less pain and discomfort that way." III tries his best to explain but his brain is caught entirely on the fact that Vessel has no clue what lube is.

Its practically a requirement for anal sex, especially with another man and Vessel doesn't- Holy shit, did Vessel's first partner, the one man Vessel said he ever slept with, not use fucking lube?!

"I mean, you can use spit if you need something quick, but lube is just easier and works far better." III continues to try and stop themselves from traveling down that dark road of thought as Vessel slowly nods, a strange expression on his face.

"Did your first partner... not use lube when you had sex?" III asks carefully, trying to reel in the mounting anger they can feel building under their skin.

If they're not careful, a slip up in control caused by high emotions will cause their magic disguise to blink away, and III absolutely cannot let that happen, not in public like this.

II comes back with a couple large bottles of lube in time for the tail end of III's explanation, a concerned expression on his face. "No... Based on your explanation, I take it he was supposed to?"

"Yes, my dear, he was. Unless he has the world's smallest penis, anal sex requires lube or else its painful. Is this what you meant when you said your ex-boyfriend was rough?" II interjects before III can accidentally say something biting, that would cause Vessel to shy away further even if the anger wasn't directed at him but at his ex.

Vessel nods before quietly explaining further, "My whole jaw would ache for days, in the beginning, when I first started giving him blow jobs. It hurt less than the sex, so I couldn't find it in me to mind that much. He got so mad when I threw up that first time, but I still had a gag reflex then. I- I couldn't breathe and- and my throat- It hurt to talk because the back of my throat was so bruised, and my jaw-"

Vessel cuts himself off when he finally looks up and notices the thunderous expressions on II and III's faces. Those looks always seem to appear whenever Vessel speaks about his past. Has he... done something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't have started off with the bit about his first blow job experience, it had nothing to do with what was asked. II probably wasn't even asking about that, but perhaps the act of sex itself?

"You mentioned before that you- That you didn't bleed when we had sex. You were surprised. You don't know what lube is, and you didn't know what prepping was." III is thankful that the shop is pretty empty aside from the borderline asleep clerk at the counter by the door as he struggles to keep his voice low.

Vessel nods along, nervous about the anger in III's voice, stepping away to wrap his arms around himself. III's expression sours further, hand twitching up as though they want to reach out and pull Vessel back to their side. They stop when the skin on their arm flickers, a half-transformed arm flashing into view for a moment. He's grateful when II steps forward, wrapping an arm around Vessel's waist and pulling him close in III's stead.

"Was it... every time? Did you bleed every time? Did it hurt?" III asks, stilted like they don't think they can stomach the answer Vessel will give.

A short nod is the only answer Vessel offers, and III's face screws up into something agonized. II isn't faring much better, but is well versed in remaining composed in stressful situations if its required of him. With III crumbling in front of them and Vessel silent as a grave, it is required of him.

"That man did more than a disservice to you. He- Fuck, Ves- I'll be right back, I need to calm down before I lose my control." III doesn't wait to hear II protest, already leaving the store entirely.

"He- He can't- Its not safe. We shouldn't split up. Its not safe." Vessel tries to keep the terror out of his voice but all he can think about is that bastard straddling III, the fear in III's eyes even after they'd knocked him off, and the bruise that took so long to heal.

"Its okay, love, Three is fine. He's not too distant in the bond which means they didn't wander far." II tries to reassure, but he's sure it falls short in the face of his own discomfort at III not being at their sides out in a public space.

"Did I... Did I do something wrong? Are they upset with me? I- I didn't mean to make him upset. If- If they get hurt its my fault." Vessel whimpers, burying his face into II's hair.

His arms wrap around himself tighter, wishing he could ask II to hug him instead. He won't.

"No, no, Ves, it wouldn't be your fault at all. Three's fine, just- He's upset at what you've experienced, my love. I'm upset too, trust me, but neither of us are upset with you. Lets buy this and get out of here, we have a couple other places to go before we meet our manager. We all need a breather first."

The clerk rings up their items with barely any pleasantries, tired eyes not even glancing at them more than once. II is grateful for it, getting out of the store quickly. III is leaning on their car when he and Vessel leave the shop, visibly calmer even at a distance. One arm is held out it front of them as III observes the appendage for any traces of Sleep's markings or less human features.

They look up when II and Vessel near, standing up proper at the sight of them. III apologizes quietly, wrapping one arm around II in a hug and bringing them both forward to pull Vessel close by the nape of his neck, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Vessel leans into it, craving the affection desperately.

"Better now?" II asks, cupping III's jaw lovingly.

"Yes. Sorry to leave, my markings were returning and I was so angry. I still am. I- I don't know what to say, Ves, except you didn't deserve anything that has happened to you. Not a bit of it, and it makes me so upset that I can't take back all that has been done to you."

Vessel looks at III, gaze assessing both their expression and the bond, finding no lie. III means everything he says. Uncharacteristically, Vessel doesn't wilt in the face of their concern.

"I'm not sorry. Everything that happened led me to Sleep. Led me to you and Two. I wouldn't change anything, not at the risk of losing this." Vessel states, uncomfortable at baring his heart so freely, but he knows now that they're different from his past partners in a way that lets him feel a little less shackled by what has happened to him.

Only a little.

Tears well up in III's pretty blue eyes, and he's pulling away from II to cup Vessel's face, mindful of the band-aids. The kiss they plant on Vessel's lips is full of love and pain, leaving no room for Vessel to deny it.

"I love you."

Unbidden, Vessel's mind flashes to his ex girlfriend, how she had looked when she said those words to him. It sounded nothing like this, felt nothing like this.

She'd hurt him and then used her love as an apology. Loving him didn't make the pain she had caused him hurt any less. It didn't fix the wounds in his hands or on his face... or that she was the cause. What was so wrong with him that made the people who loved him want to hurt him so badly?

"I love you too."

Vessel wants their love for him to last.

III places another kiss to Vessel's lips before pulling away, swiping the keys from II's pocket with a wobbly smile. "Where to next? We still have a couple hours until we need to meet our manager."

Blessedly, III's almost imperceptible sigh of relief follows II taking the words for what they were, a means of moving past the stressful few minutes they'd experienced. He ushers III into the passenger seat, who goes with a strained laugh, fiddling with the radio after II starts the car. III puts on one of Vessel's cd's, a Bullet For My Valentine album from his collection. It makes Vessel smile, which in turn causes III to smile, happy to have brought some light back to Vessel's eyes. III watches in the rear view mirror as Vessel mouths along to the lyrics, attention forced back to II when the other settled a hand on their thigh. III's own hand comes down to rest on the appendage, picking it up to kiss each of II's fingers before pushing it away so II can have both hands on the steering wheel.

After the sex shop, they find a mattress store, buying a large king size mattress for the living room. It weighs Vessel's car down comically, but its still drivable. III had gotten into the car and laughed so hard he cried after they saw the look on the workers faces when II picked up the whole mattress by himself and put it up on the car's roof. Everyone was visibly less tense once III had seemed o have gone back to normal, and the guilt that had infested Vessel's bond ever since the sex shop cleared away.

The tranquility didn't last long once it was finally time to meet their manager. Vessel is so overcome with nerves that he can't stop shaking. The necklace feels heavy around his neck, like a too tight second skin. He knows it only feels that way, and that in reality, there is no way to tell he is glamoured at all. He feels sick with his nerves, mask clenched tightly in his hands as he stares down at it in his lap. II sits in the backseat with him, flush against Vessel's side with II's hand on his thigh. He'd climbed back with Vessel once the other started to breathe too heavily to be normal while they waited for their meeting time to come up.

III is braiding a section of his hair beside his ear with the help of the visor mirror, nervous, too. II is trying to go through all of what he knows about what the meeting will entail, the name of their manager, any info he has to lessen Vessel's anxiety over it. It helps, only a little, but Vessel is thankful anyway. Places his hand over II's on his thigh and squeezes gently, just once, to express his gratitude.

Vessel is thankful they brought their masks in, II having already told their manager over the phone that they would be a masked band, completely anonymous.

Introducing himself to their manager is nerve wracking, stumbling over his chosen name. He is glad when II steps in front of him, just slightly, as though the smaller man could shield Vessel from the odd look their new manager was giving all of them, likely for their names and the divine air around them. Vessel expects questions, expects to be asked to sing so the man, Johnny, can properly gage whether he wants to take them on or not. Sleep's influence over him, however that was done, must make it so Johnny doesn't actually care if they're decent or not.

The meeting itself, after introductions, is tense, but perhaps only to Vessel. II and III handle themselves much better, placing themselves on either of Vessel's sides, like human shields. Knowing Johnny's name beforehand helped, as well as smaller details that II had told him. Vessel will have to thank II later. He was more prepared than he thought he was, and its thanks to II's forethought in regards to Vessel's anxiety. Johnny doesn't argue when II and III lay out some rules, but his odd look remains. No recorded interviews unless the band themselves give explicit permission, no face reveals, their "stage" names will be all that is used at all times. II had fought against Johnny's insistence that their crew would need to see who they were, but ultimately only managed to put in place a contract for their crew. Severe legal action would be taken if any crew or venue leaked any personal information or photos.

The vessels hoped it would be enough to deter people from going against their wishes for privacy. Signing the paperwork is the easiest part, all of their past names being written with muscles memory even if none of them can read them. Johnny doesn't spare the signatures a second glance, and Sleep had already reassured them that no one would look into the names enough to find out that they're all legally dead. A touch of magic was over the paper detailing their terms for anonymity, as though the document was not just legally binding, but magically, too.

When all of the paperwork is done, Johnny tells them that he's got a few guitarists picked out already that are around what they'll need, Sleep's presence sparking in interest in Vessel's chest. Its only a matter of choosing the one they want for touring. Vessel is nervous about this, too, wondering if their Fourth will be there. Just because Sleep said it isn't time, it doesn't mean that they won't meet their Fourth prematurely like what happened with III. Granted, Vessel believes III to have been chosen by that point, and Sleep had merely been waiting for them to die.

Johnny sends them off with a scheduled meeting for their potential guitarists and a wave. They pretend not to notice when the man grumbles upon their exit, disgruntled by the meeting. Vessel disappears to write and play his piano once they're back at the manor, mask fitted over his face. II and III leave him to it, sensing his need for time to himself after the days grueling events.

They're all a little disappointed when none of the guitarists that arrive two days later at the set meeting time seem to be the Fourth, but pick one regardless for the ability to play an eight string and what seems to be a good personality.

His name is Nick, short for Nicholas, but he had insisted on the nickname. He's shorter than III and Vessel but taller than II, with a squared face and bright, honey brown eyes. His smile is kind, and yet Vessel is... unsettled by it.

From the moment he introduced himself, shook Vessel's hand, it was like something had crawled under his skin. II and III didn't seem to sense anything amiss with Nick, not like Vessel.

"What's with the bandages?" Nick asks, looking down at Vessel's bandaged arms and hand with a curious grin.

Vessel shrinks away with a nervous smile, unable to go far while Nick still grips his hand. He wants Nick to let go, hates the feeling of bugs on his skin like when he suffered through his transformation. Vessel tugs his sleeve back down, not even having realized it had ridden up.

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't seem to be any of your business." III grins back, friendly but assertive. "Mind letting his hand go now?"

"Oh, sure. My apologies, uh, Three. Just trying to make conversation." Nick says sheepishly, letting Vessel's hand go finally, only to bring it up and rub the nape of his neck.

It feels performative to Vessel, but III seems to relax. Maybe Vessel is looking into things too far. All of his social interaction has stemmed from II, III, and Sleep for so long now, maybe he is just out of touch. Vessel has never been good with people, even Before. It was a wonder he'd managed to get any partners at all.

Vessel holds his hand close to his chest the rest of the meeting as II and III talk to Nick about his previous gigs for touring bands and when he's available for practice. Vague flashes of his time undergoing his transformation torment him, the icky sludge of the memories coating the bond heavily enough for the others to notice, II stepping close and wrapping an arm around Vessel's waist. The soothing touch helps, as II's presence always does. Vessel leans into it, available hand coming down to rest overtop II's on his side, threading their fingers together. The meeting couldn't pass by fast enough, time seeming to drag on as it was eventually decided that Nick would be coming home with them for their first day of practice, unofficially.

Vessel had felt eyes on him the entire time, and wishes the icky feeling over his skin would go away.

The car ride home was filled with the low sound of Ghost on the radio and the idle chatter III had with Nick with II giving his input occasionally. Blessedly, III insisted Vessel sit up front as he crawled in the back seat behind him. Vessel was too thankful to protest much, remaining silent the entire ride back, holding II's hand on his thigh like a lifeline.

"Two, are you and Vessel close? You're awfully touchy." Nick comments, eyeing the two of them in the front seat.

Vessel shrinks into his seat, holding II's hand tighter. "We're together, romantically. All three of us, actually."

Nick smiles, nodding along, "Oh, alright then. Not a problem at all. I was just curious. Suppose I'll be the odd one out then."

No one says anything in reply to that, and Vessel isn't sure what he would have said if he could move past his anxiety, anyway.

"Are you not worried about what will happen to the band when you break up? Sorry, if."

"There are no plans of us ever breaking off our relationship." III insists just as II opens his mouth to say the same thing.

"Well, that's never set in stone. I'm happy for you though." Nick says, starting up the conversation he'd been having with III again, III's brow furrowed just slightly in consternation.

It smoothes out over time, Nick's charming but forward personality setting III at ease the longer they talk.

An unpleasant feeling settles in Vessel's gut when the car passes the boundary line between Sleep's earthly realm and the rest of the world. Sleep's magic thickens, swelling in the car as it settled back into the vessels bones. Nick shivers in his seat, pausing mid-sentence for a moment.

"Did you feel that?" He asks, rubbing his arms to rid them of the goosebumps that had sprouted.

"Felt what, mate?" III asks, an easy smile painted on.

If his canines looked a little sharper, well, Nick was too unsettled to notice them, nor the slight glow to all of their eyes as their God's magic coated their insides again.

"It must have been the air conditioning getting to me. It's cold in here." Nick brushes it off, thankfully, turning in his seat a little to watch out the window as the large trees roll by, view hindered by the mattress on the car.

The feeling was made worse when Nick actually stepped foot into the house.

Elvira, who had come to the foyer as soon as they opened the front door, hisses at Nick when he bends down to pet her. She slaps a clawed paw out, nearly catching Nick's hand with it, who only laughs while II apologizes, horrified.

Vessel watches Elvira bound off, tail raised and fur standing on end, and feels a sense of kinship with the cat.

"So you all live together out in the woods? That's kinda creepy." Nick comments, following II and III in taking his shoes off at the door, "This place is super old too. The outside looks way worse than the inside, though. All those plants climbing the walls, even in here."

Vessel places his boots down beside III's, bristling like the vines Nick next speaks about when he says, "You should probably get the ones inside removed. They're kind of unsightly."

Sleep's displeasure thrums through the bond alongside Vessel's, His presence sweeping into the room and sending shivers down all of their spines. Nick glances around discreetly, as though searching for something, head tilted just so to the side.

"I like them." III interjects before Sleep can do something they couldn't possibly explain to the cops, trying to keep his smile kind even as his eyes glint with steel, "They were here when we arrived and haven't messed up the infrastructure. This place is old, but it is home. I would appreciate any criticism be kept to yourself."

An annoyed expression flashes over Nick's face for only a millisecond before it is smoothed into an apologetic smile. "Alright, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Where do you guys practice? Will I be called Four from now on?"

Vessel barely stifles an angry hiss, turning his head away when II raises a confused eyebrow in his direction. As III drags Nick off to the practice room, II catches Vessel by the hand before the other can follow.

"You don't like him?"

No, Vessel doesn't like him. Not one bit.

Still, Vessel smiles reassuringly. What he says next isn't quite a lie,  "It's not that. I just... I don't like anyone but us here."

II's confused gaze seems to soften in understanding, "I understand, love. You're safe here, and to have someone encroach on your safe space is uncomfortable. You can go unwind in your room, or any of ours, whenever you need to."

"Thank you. Go ahead to the practice room, I'm going to go find Ellie... Maybe stay in your room for a little while."

"Of course, sweetheart, go on ahead. Don't feel pressured to join us this time, but do remember we need to practice all together soon." II replies, getting up on his tippy toes to kiss Vessel's jaw.

Vessel leans down so II can kiss him proper, smiling into it despite the anxiety still clawing at his empty ribcage.

II goes to grab the mattress off the car, bringing it in while Vessel wanders off to find Elvira. He searches every room in the house twice over before finding her curled under Vessel's bed, hissing at him. Her bright eyes seem to glow in the darkness, the only thing visible to his currently human vision.

When Elvira notices its Vessel, she stops hissing but refuses to come out. If Vessel could crawl under there with her, he would, but he's too tall and stuffed far too many books into the space.

Vessel keeps his voice nice and soft, trying to coax her out from hiding, "Please come out Ellie, don't you want to go lay down in Two's room? Take a nap with me surrounded by all of Two's things? It'll be nice, I promise. No Nick to make us uncomfortable."

Elvira inches forward, just close enough for Vessel to grab her and pull her out from under the bed carefully. Vessel holds her to his chest as soon as she's out, nuzzling into her black fur. She licks once or twice at the band-aids on Vessel's cheek before settling into his arms. Taking this as his cue to get up, Vessel grabs his stuffie from his bed and heads down the hall to II's room. Vessel curls up under II's bedsheets, holding his plague doctor close. The smell of II, something distinct that Vessel can't name, wafts into his nostrils, helping to soothe Vessel's frayed nerves. Elvira rubs her head against Vessel's jaw and down over his shoulder, meowing lowly all the while before settling in at his side. He does eventually fall to sleep like that, slowly petting her soft fur, hidden away in II's dark room.

Nick is there for the rest of the day as II and III go over their music with him so he can get a start on familiarizing himself with his parts. Vessel remains sequestered away in II's room, wrapped up in his bedsheets as he tries to get over the tremble in his frame. Elvira purrs from her spot cuddled up to his chest, kneading into his arm as he holds her close. He can feel II's drums faintly reverberating through the floor, somehow comforted by the sound as he is surrounded by the other man's scent. III's bass is thrumming, too, another comfort to his enhanced hearing.

Nick is playing the guitar notes beautifully. He is truly skilled to have already picked up one of Vessel's songs so soon. It sounds faintly like Thread The Needle, a song deeply connected with Vessel meeting Sleep.

It couldn't be any sooner that Nick decides to head out for the day, II collecting Vessel so they can drive him back into the city. Vessel is reluctant to leave Ellie alone on II's bed but allows II to drag him down the staircase to the foyer. No one wants to let any of them leave the house alone. They all pile back into the car to drive Nick back to where they'd met up for the interviews. Vessel bristles again when III puts them all in a group chat so they can schedule things and talk easier.

He feels silly, childish, for immediately not liking a man that II and III seem perfectly fine with. They're able to handle his forward personality far better than Vessel is. That must be the problem, Vessel reasons. He's... He's just not used to anyone other than the vessels so he's.... struggling to adapt?

He sounds like II or III but somehow far less wise, and more petulant.

Nick hops into his own vehicle with a smile and a wave, driving off when everyone waves back. Vessel relaxes immediately once Four is gone, finding himself exhausted by the events of the past few days. All the anxiety from meeting their manager, telling the other vessels more about his past sexual experiences... meeting Nick, bringing him to the manor in a space that usually made Vessel feel a little at ease...

It all left him drained, but with an excuse to take time for himself and think once they get bac to the manor. There is so much to do, an EP to properly record and put out, planning for future shows, deciding what their image will be... Vessel is wrought with anxiety just thinking about it.

"Are you okay, Sugar?" III asks from the drivers seat.

Vessel expects II to get into the passenger seat now that Nick is gone, but he remains in the back with Vessel.

Vessel hums an agreement, immediately slipping his necklace off. Only then can Vessel take in a deep breath, tight chest loosening. He feels like himself again, six eyes focusing as he blinks profusely. II takes this as his cue to remove his own necklace, and Vessel feels relief as II's true form is revealed. II is beautiful no matter what form he takes, but Vessel knows he will always prefer him with all of his Sleep given markings. III keeps his glamor up since he still has to drive home, but lets their eyes go back to normal, black sclera swallowing the white.

"So pretty no matter how you look." II hums, brushing careful, calloused fingers under one pair of Vessel's eyes, following the curve of his cheekbone up the length of his pointed ear.

Those same ears turn pink with Vessel's blush, mumbling incoherently in disagreement as he leans into the kiss II places by one of his eyes. On the drive back to the house, Vessel feels better than he has all day. The icky, oily feeling over his skin while in Nick's presence seems to have slid away and Vessel is grateful for it. Elvira weaves through Vessel's legs once they're home, following him around the house as everyone readies for bed. Its been a long day for them all.

"Coming to bed with us, Ves?" III asks as II clutches their shirt, already half-asleep leaning on them.

His brow is furrowed in puzzlement, expectant eyes following Vessel hopefully.

Vessel feels guilty to refuse them, but he desperately needs some alone time to bleed, to release some of the itch that had made its home under his skin the moment Nick touched him.

"Okay, that's fine, pretty. Are you going to leave me without a goodnight kiss?"

Grabby hands beckon Vessel forward. Once he's in reach, III holds his face featherlight between their large hands and kisses him, effectively stealing away the breaths Vessel doesn't need.

Instinctually, Vessel chases after him when III pulls away, and instead of getting angry with him, III merely gives him another kiss. Vessel smiles into it, like always, and doesn't follow when III pulls away this time. II is tugging insistently at Vessel's shirt, tired eyes begging for a kiss of his own. Vessel leans down so II can do so, smiling into this kiss, too.

It almost makes him want to just follow them to bed instead of separating in the hall, but Vessel needs to bleed. Needs his blood spilling down his skin, staining it such a pretty crimson over the black.

"I'll join you later." Vessel compromises, a little less guilty for it.

"You will?" II mumbles out, kissing Vessel again, leisurely.

"Yes, it will be a little while though. You may be asleep by then."

"That's fine, Sugar. Do you want us to wait up for you?" III says, resting his head on II's as he leans into his back.

His taller frame swamps II's shorter one,  its cute.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion. Why would they want to stay awake until he got there? He shakes his head in refusal and III hums unintelligibly, squishing II down under him as he takes Vessel's jaw in gentle fingers and kisses him again.

All of the tender kisses are leaving Vessel dizzy with swelling affection. Any more of this and he really will just follow them to bed. He steps away to avoid that outcome, but his remaining smile is genuine.

II groans playfully as III continues smothering him under their weight, forcing II to hold him up easily as they waddle back to II's room. It's endearing, hearing them laugh freely after such a long day.

Vessel adores them so.

He waits until they're in II's room, the door cracked open behind them, to head back to his own. The knife hidden under his mattress is pulled out easily, and Vessel's strips himself of his shirt. He eyes Elvira thoughtfully, wondering if he should set her out of the room, but ultimately doesn't care if she sees. The pretty little creature is only a cat, and II and III already know he self harms.

The blade glides across his flesh like a hot knife through butter, parting a golden crack in his skin and bringing forth crimson and black blood, swirling together but never mixing. He sits and watches as cut after cut is dug into his skin, blood dripping down over the side of his arm and onto his thighs. So focused as he was on finally being able to cut himself, he didn't remember taking off his clothes other than his shirt, but its obvious he stripped down to his boxers.

At some point, Vessel stops cutting, physically feeling the icky sensation he'd struggled with all day leaving him with his lifeblood. He merely watches, eyes growing heavy, as blood trickles out of his veins.

He doesn't remember tipping over to lay on the bed, staring at his closed door with vision spotted with black dots. He doesn't remember falling asleep.

Vessel opens his eyes to his first girlfriend above him, the weight of her keeping him pinned down to the bed. He's sure if he tried, he could get out from under her, but there is no fight in him, only acceptance.

She's kissing him, moans spilling out between her lips as she uses his body for her own pleasure. Its what he was good for, after all. A couple of holes to use and a dick to ride. That thought is quickly shoved aside by the more insistent thought that II and III have never used him like this.

They've never hit him relentlessly, ruthlessly, like she has. Never choked him, never made him feel less than.

Vessel's head falls to the side, gasping in desperate breath after breath, blurry vision struggling to focus as his lungs fill with much needed air.

Human eyes wander the room aimlessly, looking anywhere but up at her, and catch on something- Someone unusual.

There was a man in Vessel's nightmare. Someone who Vessel knows for a fact he's never seen before. There was horror on their face, kind eyes wide as Vessel's body jerked with a slap to the cheek, and they leapt forward as if they could stop what was happening. It made Vessel smile, even as his girlfriend gripped his face, long, fake nails digging into his cheek where she had just hit him, pulling him back to look at her.

For a few minutes, Vessel's vision is filled only with her and the curtain her hair has made around them. Her lips are all he can make out of her facial features, unpainted and shaped like a cupids bow. The entire time, his mind drifts from his body, staring up at her through vacant eyes as his brain struggles to get away from what is happening.

Then, she pauses, a long, drawn out moan falling from parted lips. His head falls to the side when she lets his face go, and the man is still there. He still looks afraid, a little green in the face.

A perfect stranger, and yet Vessel realizes that they know this person. Knows who they will become, that is. Something in his soul positively sings at the sight of them, a name on the tip of his tongue.

"Four..."

Vessel's voice is nothing more than a whispered croak, voice grating against his bruising throat, but the man stumbles back as though Vessel had yelled. If II's eyes were like the sky on a clear day, III's a deep, dark, stormy ocean blue, then Four's were beautiful, crystal blue waters, wide in surprise. As he fell, they seemed to shift into different shades in the strange lighting of this realm. In the next second, the man is gone in a wisp of black smoke, still stumbling backwards with Vessel's six eyes boring into his.

The smile doesn't leave Vessel's face, even as scratches are torn into his arms, nail indents make cuts on his bruising cheeks, and Vessel's ears ring with the sound of her breathy moans above him. 

For the first time since Vessel started dreaming, he was able to perform an action all on his own. He never remembered smiling during any of this, nor was there any reason for him to have been able to say the Fourth's name. An anomaly has occurred, and whether it was due to the Fourth's appearance, or something else, the seed has been planted in Vessel's mind. Perhaps he can do more than lay here and be hurt all over again, like he had never left his own personal hell.

Vessel wakes, the moon shining light into his room as he holds his stuffie close, he feels giddy. Elvira purrs loudly at his back, vibrating the bed a bit with the sound. His cheeks ache, iron spilling over his tastebuds as he sits up with a wide grin on his face. His arm aching fiercely brings Vessel's attention to the blood limb, still leaking crimson onto his sheets. He gets up to wrap it quickly, but his mind remains on the Fourth, enraptured by the color of his eyes, of the pale eyelashes framing such startling bright ocean waters. The man is untouched by Sleep, and yet, Vessel knows with every atom in his body that he is their Fourth. There is not an ounce of doubt in Vessel's mind, nor his heart and soul. That is the Fourth, and Sleep has simply not found him yet. Vessel keeps his smile, even as his lip stings, too, having been busted during his dream, spilling red, human blood down his jaw.

Vessel removes the bloody sheets from his bed, tossing them under the frame to deal with later. He has spare bedclothes if he needs them. Cleaning off the dried blood from his skin is a little harder, and takes more time than Vessel would like to admit as the action strains his slow-forming scabbing. Getting dressed in a set of pajamas is marginally easier.

Perhaps Vessel should be embarrassed that the Fourth had seen him in such a compromising position, held down by the weight of his ex as she rode him, a hand around his throat, but he could only feel pure, unadulterated joy at even that small glimpse of the Fourth.

Any worries Vessel had had about Nick being chosen as the Fourth seem to slip away. Sleep would not choose a vessel that Vessel himself did not like, right? Especially not now that he has seen their Fourth with his own eyes.

Suddenly, though, Vessel isn't so sure. If Vessel were to tell the others that he had found the Fourth, would they believe him? He'd only seen him in a dream. Besides, II and III had already taken to Nick- Four (Vessel needs to start calling him by that name. He'd asked Vessel to, and its only right Vessel does as requested), quite well.

He has no right to get in between their budding friendship with Four, so Vessel will keep quiet until he can ask Sleep about the man in his dreams. He's tempted to do so now, but finds that he just wants to go lay with II and III, if they'll welcome him. Vessel gathers up his clean blanket, stuffie, and Elvira in his arms and makes his way out his door. II is awake when Vessel pushes the door to his room open, sitting up on his phone which he sets down upon seeing Vessel.

"Hey, Ves. I felt you having a bad dream when I woke up to use the restroom. I was going to wake you but you calmed before I could." II explains without prompting, scooting over to squish into III's side as the other remains asleep.

Vessel frowns, guilty for worrying II, but smiles when II reaches out for him invitingly. He crawls into II's arms after setting Elvira down at the foot of the bed, laying his head on II's stomach as an arm slings over II's legs to pin his stuffie between them. II thumbs at Vessel's busted lip carefully, looking down at him in concern, "This happen in your dream?"

Vessel nods without responding verbally, soaking in the affection and the warmth of II's arm over his back as his fingers gently scratch Vessel's scalp soothingly.

He wants to tell II about Four, their Four, so badly, but finds the words caught in his throat. Sensing his creeping unease, II picks up his phone again, holding it up on his knee with the arm wrapped around Vessel. There's an app for watching movies open on the screen, something called Lord of The Rings pulled up.

II stares sadly at the fresh bandages around Vessel's arm, at the small splotch of blood seeping through the white. II wants to ask him to stop. Stop hurting himself, and hurting them in turn. But he is afraid of how Vessel would react. Would he grow angry? Would he shut down? Pull away from them entirely? Would he try and listen to what II said, would he try and stop marring his flesh?

II wants to ask him to stop, but he is afraid.

II wants to ask about the busted lip, too, the bruise glancing over his jaw, but Vessel's bond is back to being excited, happy, and II would hate to ruin that with difficult questions.

"Wanna watch this with me? I'm not tired right now." II says, trying to keep his voice from breaking, and Vessel finds himself nodding before he can think better of it, none the wiser to the turmoil slowly brewing in II's mind.

Neither II nor III are any better than Vessel, sometimes, when it comes to hiding away the emotions they don't want the others to know about.

II grins, the expression a little forced, leaning down to press a kiss into Vessel's hair and restarting the movie. They stay like that until the sun starts peeking through the curtains, only halfway through the extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring. Neither of them make to move, quite content to bask in each others presence as III breaths softly from beside them, curled into himself as Elvira stretches out over the length of his torso, balanced precariously on their side.

Idly, Vessel wonders if he died. His body doesn't ache like it would if he had died, so he concludes he must've passed out from the blood loss. Its a wonder he didn't die, to be honest,

Vessel will speak with Sleep another time. For now, he wants nothing more than to be here, with them, where he is safe. Cared for.

Loved.

[pennyblossom-meta]

The Queen is a mute - AO3

Summary: An experimental essay on the foils and grievances of Alicent Hightower, Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms. For a mind heavy with burdens has a withering heart.

--

Note:

HotD S02E05. Seeing Alicent sit at the Small Council, breathing heavily and miserable among the men who finally found a perfect justification to set her aside was a punch in the gut. However, this was the result of many mistakes she made along the way.

Is this not what you wanted, oh Queen?

In wondrous folly of that most false, a dragon indeed — though snake-tongued and bereft of the principles thou embodies in body and soul, through motherhood and magnanimous martyrdom, struggles aplenty and burdens phenomenal; cast upon thee by the Seven and thy sire. Thou art the Mother of the Kingdom, standing high above reproach atop erect flesh of white cloak and Hand, a halo of righteousness shining bright under the scorching sun of this Land of Kings, under the blaze of dragon fire.

Thy son sits on the throne, crowned Aegon the Second of His name. Grief and joy witness the ceremony whilst a shadow clad in sharp teeth and laughter casts its gaze over this descent into misery.

All is light and warm blood, destiny satisfied at last. Hail the King, all rise in applause for Aegon, the true successor to a conqueror’s dream, He who follows the line of glory and war. Such is His fate, thy son whomst thou hast placed on the throne of swords, where thy liege and husband ruled for short decades of peace, striving for the diplomacy of fools. Kindness makes one a marionette to sharper minds, it is a flaw that allows for the strings of fate to pull and push until they snap. Thou hast learnt this lesson in the dawn of childhood and been instructed in its traditions, begrudging others the freedom to be and become whilst thy place remains in the sidelines.

And yet, with all the sacrifices thou hast suffered, thy liege and husband prepares another for reign instead of the true firstborn. Yet another betrayal, this consent to submission of falsehood through gritted teeth. The long shadow of Rhaenyra lingering with her crooked smile and lying tongue.

Could thy liege have known? Of the filth and squalor, of bastards bearing locks of white spread across the city, stumbling in pits and brothels like discarded bones to feed wandering dogs. The fetid smell of drink and whores in Flea Bottom. Dismal, improper and tantamount to the bohemian pleasures thou hast criticized, willingly trapped inside an ivory cage while the key remains in the lock within thy reach. The trappings of Green and deserving virtues become a mantra for the sufferings that require some solace. 

Had thy liege known of the love thou refused to give, always casting a disapproving eye and demanding, thy feelings of resentment towards family and matrimony? How the child grew into adulthood with dreams shattered and forced into the play of those thirsting for power?

Mayhaps. Thou the sanctity of a Queen lies in Her burden. Furthering the line, thy role until death. Thy liege he was — yet love is a feeling that belongs with the dead, scattered to ashes with true wife. Convenience and comfort are small prices to pay for that most rare of treasures: the freedom to assert personal agency. It is expected in this cruel world of Kings and dragons, of war and strife even during tense decades of peace.

A Father gone. Thy liege and husband dead. 

The firstborn lies in a bed of feathers, struggling for breath. Though he was impetuous like a hawk (not a dragon), going in circles without a wing, this twist of fate does not surprise you. The King is a bigger fool than most, an asset to command and to do nothing else.

The second, a murderer and usurper. Bathing in blood and dragon fury with one eye open. 

Thy last child a riddle of prophetic lunacy thou cannot understand.  

Had thou cast thy lot with the one whose heart truly had set on better times, mayhaps this Small Council would not trample over thou. The call of power was too strong to resist, thy righteous resentment too vicious to fight against. Gullible to the machinations of the status quo. Or perhaps resigned to them, furthering what never suited you or those like you. 

“We Light the Way”, as per thy ancient motto. Is this indeed the will of the Gods and of the land, is this the correct way? 

The Queen sits among the men, once again set aside. Dismissed.

The Queen is a mute.

[graff1980]

Falling rain, falling rain, tink, tink, tink, dripping in through the cracks in my skin falling down, falling down, further, and further into the wet ground, pass the mud, deeper still, pass the landfill, where the broken metal body lays rusting away.

Going, going, gone. It’s all so wrong. This isn’t where a broken heart belongs.

The glass breaks. Sharp shards fall, cracking again. They are fragile flesh shattering.

It’s all darkness, all quiet, and in this silence is the violence that grief plays, like the pounding of ivory keys these tragedies make their own sort of sad melody.

I put it on repeat to help me remember things I should be trying let go.

She let the car roll real slow, never left a single chord, or any note.

The music continues as the palm closes. Why did she leave a line of red roses?

Here I am grieving on this wet evening, a storm outside, and salt-water showers in here.

Why did she leave me?

-2023

[dragonologist-phd]

[ surprise ] for piper and arue if it sparks joy!

thank you!! it does, indeed!

[ surprise ] a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard

also on ao3

Piper’s fingers move slowly over the piano keys, feeling out a slow melody which reverberates through the hall, rising and falling with deep, gentle waves. The music carries a strange nostalgia with it- and no wonder, considering how long it’s been since she’s had the chance to sit herself at such a grand piece of art.

Truthfully, pianos have never been Piper’s favored instrument; they’re bulky, heavy, the last thing that would be useful for someone on the move. None of that means she doesn’t know her way around the ivories, of course, nor does it prevent her from recognizing a quality instrument when she sees it.

“It’s beautiful,” Arueshalae murmurs. The succubus sits alongside Piper on the piano bench, her eyes closed and her shoulders softly swaying as she listens to the music.

“I’ll send my regards to the craftsman,” Piper replies, and she fully intends to actually do so. Most of her recent gifts, she’s ignored; people are ever so fond of showering the Worldwound’s destroyer with tokens of gratitude, but she has no intentions of needing more swords or gilded armor in the near future.

But this? This is something she can appreciate.

As Piper continues to play, her fingers eventually move of their own accord, shifting back to an old familiar song. It’s one she learned long ago; from the last time she had access to a piano like this, in fact. Not a time she cares to remember often…but the song comes back as if it were only yesterday, weaving its way from Piper’s memory to her fingertips, to the chords that sing it out into the open.

A melancholy undertone makes itself known in the music- not one that was intended when Piper first composed the piece, but one which seeps into everything from that time of her life regardless of intention. Notes flow and pick up speed with little effort, twisting memories into melody. Stars, but Piper half-expects to lift her eyes and see Eliyen reclined on the other side of the room, pretending not to watch Piper as she plays.

That was what she aways did, wasn’t it? As if she didn’t want anyone else to know.

Piper is startled from her reverie as Arueshalae’s lips brush against the corner of her mouth, catching her off guard. Her fingers stutter and the music stops, and Arueshalae shrinks away, suddenly embarrassed.

“Oh- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Piper is quick to say. “I was lost in thought, is all.”

Arueshalae relaxes at Piper’s reassurance, though some uncertainty remains in her expression. “I didn’t intend to interrupt. You just looked so…sad, for a moment there.”

She gazes so earnestly at Piper, and despite the lingering memories, a warmth spreads through Piper’s chest. The piano bench creaks as Piper leans forward to softly kiss Arueshalae’s lips, her hand reaching up to cradle her love’s face. There is no grand, earth-shattering passion in this moment; the gesture is merely simple and comforting, and they’re both smiling when they pull away.

“Just thinking of old times,” Piper says, her fingers returning to the keys. She plays something new this time, a brighter tune- something hopeful. As the music forms, an idea occurs to her. “Would you like to learn?”

Arueshalae’s eyes go wide with wonder. “Oh- oh, yes, please!”

The two wile away the rest of the afternoon sitting at the piano, Piper’s hands guiding Arueshalae’s up and down the rows of keys. It’s slow going, but note by note and piece by piece they work to make new music together.