#the dance 1856

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

William Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825-1905) La Danse, 1856 Musée d'Orsay

[lionofchaeronea]

The Dance, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1856

[classicalcanvas]

Title: The dance of the nymphs

Artist: Édouard Bisson

Date: 1856 - 1939

Genre: Mythological Painting

[thehmn]

I made a post some time ago (LINK) about how trolls are more nuanced creatures in Scandinavian folklore than in modern English speaking pop culture and are often used as sympathetic allegories for people who just can’t fit in with mainstream society, be it because of their disability, gender or sexuality.

I realized I forgot about the Danish 1856 ballet A Folk Tale (you can watch it on YouTube here LINK) despite it being an excellent example because in modern times it has been reinterpreted to fit this new view of trolls. (Because it’s an older ballet it has less dancing and more miming and acting than you’re probably expecting)

The story to help you better understand the ballet: The human girl Hilda and the troll girl Birthe are swapped as infants.

Many years later during a picnic Birthe is flirting with the nobleman Sir Mogens even though her fiancé Junker Ove is present. She enjoys toying with both of them, much to Ove’s dismay and Mogens’ delight. It all ends in Ove and Birthe having a fight resulting in Birthe leaving with Mogens and Ove staying in the forest past sundown to collect his thoughts.

Suddenly a nearby hill opens and reveals the troll sorceress Muri and her adopted daughter Hilda. Muri tells Hilda to lure Ove closer and get him to drink from an enchanted cup but he refuses, spills the drink and won’t give the cup back. As revenge Muri summons the elves who dance him into madness and leave him scared, confused and half naked in the dark forest (if you only know fantasy elves this is a perfect example of what the original elves are like in Scandinavian folklore)

In the underworld we learn that Hilda has been told she’s an elf girl but she senses something is off. Both of Muri’s sons, Diderik and Viderik, are in love with her but Muri has decided that Diderik should marry her because he’s the oldest. During the engagement party Hilda and Viderik get the guests drunk and run away.

They end up near a sacred spring where they see a priest feed the healing water to sick people. They try to cheer the sick and poor people up with music and dance but suddenly Ove shows up. He still has the elf madness and scares everyone. Mogens happens to walk by and thinks Ove is attacking people so he runs to get help, secretly plotting to get Ove out of the way so he can marry Birthe. Meanwhile Hilda feeds some of the sacred spring water to Ove and dance him back to sanity. Mogens returns with soldiers, hunters and farmers and trap Ove. Viderik helps him escape using his magic music and sends Mogens and his men on a wild goose chase.

Back at the mansion Birthe is terrorizing her servants and even goes as far as to threaten to throw her mother out of the house. Hilda who had been running from Mogens’ men makes her way into the mansion where she is recognized as the true heir to the estate. Because of her horrible treatment of the household Birthe is immediately thrown out onto the street and runs to Mogens for help only to find him under a troll spell. Instead of being horrified she’s delighted. Viderik realize she’s his real sister and while they talk it out other supernatural creatures come out and trap Mogens. Muri and Diderik have been looking for Hilda and Viderik and arrive just as Birthe is starting to come around to the idea that she might be a troll. Muri sees an opportunity and asks Mogens if he wants to marry her daughter Birthe. He’s too terrified and refuses until Muri offer him treasure. When Birthe realizes her troll family is even richer than her human family she immediately accepts that she’s a troll and together Birthe and Mogens follow the trolls into the underworld.

Back at the mansion Hilda and Ove have been reunited and are celebrating their wedding. Mogens and Birthe arrives which at first scares people but they’ve come in peace and to show their good will they’ve bought a dance troupe and preform for the newly weds. The ballet ends on a freeze frame of Hilda and Ove standing in the light, looking towards the human world, and Birthe and Mogens in the dark, raising their arms towards the supernatural world, both couples getting their happiest possible ending.

Now, the original version took place during the renaissance and had a strong Christian theme. Hilda wanted to return to the human world because she longed for Christian values and Ove was like a beacon of purity for her to follow. At the end all trolls left Denmark, symbolizing Christianity finally taking hold of the country.

The updated version takes place in the time it was written and the Christian themes have been severely downplayed. Trolls and all supernatural creatures are still very much present, even watching the wedding from a distance. It is now a personal story about people feeling misplaced and longing for a community that understands and accepts them.

Birthe is aggressive, even cruel at times, but this version also implies her behavior is part nature and part nurture. She is described as spoiled meaning her parents had a huge hand in how she turned out, unable or perhaps unwilling to handle her condition and now her mother despise what she has become. This is evident in how Birthe behaves around her mother. She LOVES her wet nurse who took on the emotional parenting role but recoils at her mother’s touch. She also directs most of her abuse at the housekeeper because she most openly mocks Birthe’s clumsiness and inability to act refined. There’s a heartbreaking scene where Birthe gets so frustrated with her inability to dance and fit in that she screams at her own reflection until the wet nurse calms her down.

Only two people are able to calm Birthe down, her wet nurse who cuddles her when she gets upset and Mogens who is seen directing Birthe’s attention to himself which softens her demeanor because she likes him and doesn’t want to cause him more harm than he can handle.

Both her and Mogens are also more queer coded in this version. Birthe wants to be a dancer and gets very up and close with the female dancers. In the first scene Mogens can be seen flirting with the female staff and in the last scene he feels comfortable openly flirting with the male dancers. It’s worth noting neither acts jealous when they see their partner flirt, again shining a light on their alternative relationship.

And who could forget when Birthe tricks Mogens into kissing Ove. In the taped version he kiss Ove’s hand but in the version I watched live they kissed on the mouth which better explained why Mogens grabs Ove’s face later as if to mockingly say “You think I’m disgusting? Look at what you’ve become”

And you’d think Mogens had more reason to be mad than Ove but no, he’s flustered but gets over it almost immediately while Ove is so angry he rips his jacket off like the good pure boy he is.

And something that really stands out is Mogens’ worship of Birthe. The first time Birthe appears all the other characters run to the opposite end of the stage but Mogens doesn’t even flinch. He just bathes in her presence. When she asks him to push her on the swing he unprompted gets her whip.

In a later scene she’s seen using a bell to bully her servants and the final thing that makes her realize she has lost all power is when they ignore it, which makes it very symbolic that Mogens gives her the bell back in the final scene and holds her up high while she rings it. Boy loves his Dom GF so very very much.

It also says something about Mogens that he randomly appears in the bad part of town. He’s very good at playing the upper class game and seems to be quite respected but also seeks escape in the outskirts of society. When Birthe really gets going you can see Mogens acting shocked followed by pure joy at such a free and wild woman. The Danish translation of Shakespeare’s Taming of The Shrew is Troll can be Tamed and this ballet almost feels like a response to that. Trolls/wild women should not be tamed! They should be free around people who love them for their wildness!

Their behavior is perfectly in line with what we see in the underworld. Muri is played by a male dancer to give her the proper imposing height and it’s left up for interpretation if older female trolls are just bigger than the males or if she’s a trans mommy. The engagement party is risqué from the start and quickly turns into a drunken sex orgy (Good luck to Mogens when he is engaged to Birthe. All I’m saying is as a human he’s going to be very popular with the other creatures) It might seem like an evil world but this version of the ballet really tries to make it clear that this is normal and expected behavior in the underworld. They act like that because they like it and are all happy with the way their society works. Even the more gentle troll Viderik prefer the underworld to the human world. It’s not bad just different.

Birthe and Mongens almost come of as lower level money-happy Disney villains, deserving of a fitting punishment for their treatment of the people around them, but certainly not death and the story is overall sympathetic to them as people who have been mangled by a society that mistreated and punished them for something that was out of their control which is why they get a happy ending. Definitely worth a watch.

[sparklingchan]

Echoes|| Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Hyunjin

Word count : 5.8K+

Warnings : Blood, death, weapons, fire.

Genre : Romance, time-travel AU, royal AU, suggestive, mentions of death

Description: One day, you’re a college student, barely making it through your finals. And the next, you wake up in a palace, married to the most beautiful man on earth. What the hell is happening?!

A/N : HELLO MY TUMBLR FAM! I know its been way toooo long. And I’ll be honest, I missed everyone and I missed writing more than anything. I’ll try to post regularly and I hope my stories reach out to you as much as they did before.

Also, in other news, if this story gets a good response then imma write a mini series of royal stories for the other members as well(the stories will not be interrelated tho)

I hope y’all like this! I put my heart and soul into it!

You're not sure if you're awake anymore or just a frozen sack of meat staring at a painting like your life depended on it.

"See? I told you, y/n! She looks like you." Your friend, Lia squeals excitedly. You wish you could share even half of her enthusiasm.

You knew this trip to the museum was a bad idea the moment you got on the bus. This entire trip has just not been clicking with you the way you'd expected it to.

You were always a history lover, though. You'd read pages and pages about kings and queens and ancient politics and everything along those lines. This trip was supposed to be equally enlightening but you'd spent the entire day trying shake off an odd, eerie feeling that seems to have latched on to your back.

"Yeah.." you mutter to Lia.

Your eyes run along every single stroke of the painter's brush. The red hues of the curtains, the golden shine of the crowns, the green frills on the Prince's overcoat and the brown contour of the Princess's face.

The face that somehow mirrored yours.

"Maybe she's a far, far ancestor of yours?" Lia suggests, "Who knows, y/n!"

There's no way a Princess from the 1800s could be your ancestor; you'd know if you had even a bit of royal blood coursing through your veins.

And in that one possibility out a million, even if you did have a royal ancestor, there's no way she'd look exactly like you. No way.

"Or it could be your past life, y/n." Lia's voice goes into a whisper, her eyes widening behind her square rimmed glasses, "Maybe you were the princess."

You only sigh in response.

You walk closer to read the placard placed near the foot of the painting.

Hwang Yeji

Painter, 1795-1856.

Portrait of His Royal Highness Prince Hwang Hyunjin and the Royal consort

1827

Oil on canvas

Her Royal Highness princess Hwang Yeji was born in 1795 to His majesty King Chung and the royal consort Her Majesty Queen Sayuu of the then kingdom of Clé. She also has a twin brother, Prince Hwang Hyunjin who is believed to be older than her by a few minutes.

“It is said that the Crown Prince and Princess have had quite a tragic story, and Princess Yeji had gathered strentgh to complete this painting a long time after her brother and sister in law were tragically killed.” Lia reads out the rest of the sentences.

"I'm taking a picture, oh God! This is so fucking awesome." Lia fishes out her phone and starts clicking pictures of the painting, muttering how the similarity between these you and the Royal Consort is giving her goosebumps, "Should I make a video too?"

Her voice drains out into the background as a throbbing pain spreads across your head and eyes and you see odd flashes like the scenes of a movie playing without any particular order; castles, ball dances, a crown colored in blood and a boy wounded in your arms.

An unexplainable force pushes you closer to the painting and the moment your fingers touch the rough wooden frame, your headache stops.

"Y/n, you're not allowed to touch the pai-"

Lia's voice gets quieter and quieter till your vision goes black and your body goes limp.

*

When your eyes flutter open after god knows how long, you find yourself in a rather unexpected place.

The room is bright. Too bright for your liking. Yet the sparkling white marble of the walls and floor look beautiful against the dark brown vintage furniture of the room.

You stir against the feather soft mattress of the bed when a concerned voice calls you from across the room.

"Oh my darling! You're awake!" The voice is gentle, "We were so worried about you, y/n."

Your vision is still hazy but you see the figure of a lady walking toward you.

"Um, where am I?" You ask, rubbing your temples.

Until a while ago, there was unbearable pain but now you feel fine.

"Oh dear," the lady sits at the foot of your bed, "You're home. Do you not remember?"

Home? Since when did home go from a 3 BHK apartment in the heart of the city to this huge, fancy room?

"There..there has been some kind of mistake, ma'am."

When you try to sit up, she pushes you back down. Gentle but insistent.

"Dear, you need to rest. The physician will be here in the evening and I am to stay here with you until Hyunjin arrives, okay?"

She smiles at you and finally, you are able to take a closer look at the woman. Her hair is graying but long, a silver crown rests on her head gracefully and she wears the most beautiful silk gown you'd ever seen. Her face is wrinkled yet when she smiles, one can tell that she must have been quite a beauty back in the day.

"W-who might you be, ma'am?" You ask, nervous, heartbeat in your throat.

You were excited when you saw the fancy room earlier but now it's getting real creepy. Why is this random woman talking to you as if she knows you?

"Oh, dear, y/n," She places a hand on your forehead, and you flinch, "I'm your mother in law. Queen Sayyu. Do you really not remember?"

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Queen Sayyu. You'd heard that name before. That painting in that museum you were in. Lia was right beside you. What the fuck happened after that?

"I think you're mistaken, ma'am. I am a student. I cannot be married." You mutter, "Did you find my phone when I was brought here? I could call my friend. She must be around." Because there's no way Lia would leave you alone with this creepy old lady with some serious personal issues, right?

But then again, Queen Sayyu was a real person. And for all you know, her daughter in law did resemble you.

Did you perhaps travel back in time? Or was it just your brain making you see weird things?

"Phone? What's that?" She asks.

You sigh, and tap your thighs where your pant pockets once resided but now, your fingers slide across the softest silk.

"Where are my clothes?" You jump out of the bed, getting worried by the second.

Why were you dressed in a blue silk gown? You don't even remember ever buying one.

Panic seizes you when Sayyu tries to touch you, "Ma'am, would you please tell me what’s going on? I'm genuinely confused!"

"I am telling you the truth! You, y/n Princess of The Northern Kingdom was married off to my son Hwang Hyunjin a few months back. " she sucks in a deep breath, "Did you perhaps lose your memories after the accident? Did you hit your head too hard?"

You are about to open your mouth to reply when you hear a gentle knock on the door.

"Y/n, it's Hyunjin. "

Sayyu passes you a worried look before she rushes off to let her son in.

"It's worse than I thought, " you hear her whisper as the front door opens, "She has amnesia!"

You sit on the edge of the bed, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

As if the mother wasn't enough, the son is here too. Brilliant.

"Please talk to her. She is saying peculiar things like some thing called phones and some girl called Lia and she kept asking who I was!" Sayyu continues whispering to Hyunjin, with no active reaction from the latter.

You wonder if Sayyu was really stupid enough to think you couldn't hear her.

"I'll talk to her." A male voice finally replies, "You should rest, mother. You've been here all day."

For some reason, you cannot bring yourself to have a look at your supposed husband.

You have a fleeting memory of the painting you'd seen back at the museum but you weren't sure if the Prince really did look as attractive in real life.

You hear the front door open and close, and then heavy footsteps approach you.

"Is this some new plan of yours? Trying to get attention again?"

Wow. What the actual hell!

You snap your head to look at him, "Excuse me?"

But oh, boy was he beautiful. Long blonde hair, golden eyes and blue silk robes, he carried it all so elegantly.

"Y/n, please. I know you didn't actually lose your memories. So stop pretending and tell me why you are doing it."

For a second, you almost feel bad for yourself.

Well not you you but the princess you.

It must have been hard marrying someone like this. But then again, good looks hardly ever guarantee good behavior.

"I am not pretending. I genuinely do not remember anything, Hyunjin! Why do you have to be so mean?"

"If you really do not remember anything then why are fighting with me like you do always! See, I was right. You are lying."

You clench your jaw, frustrated, " I am fighting because whether I remember you or not, you're still a piece of shit!"

Hyunjin's eyes widen in shock. Of course he never expected his graceful wife to ever use such profanities. He looks betrayed.

"Now get the hell out of my room."

You climb back into the bed, cover your head with the quilt and shut your eyes.

Before you know it, you are sleeping soundly with no idea that your poor husband is spending the night on the sofa in your room

*

The next morning, you are woken up by your maids followed by the most delicious breakfast ever.

They prepare a bath for you, chose a gorgeous gown from the closet, and even style your hair. You do not even have to lift a finger to get these things done.

And all of a sudden, your odd reality doesn't feel as horrible anymore.

You remember the placard placed near that painting, and all your fears vanish. It was written that Prince Hyunjin and his wife would be killed in a few years and you are positive that when you die in this world, you will wake up in your original world.

Yes, the dying part is scary but might as well enjoy the luxury that comes with the fear.

In the afternoon, you find yourself sipping tea and breathing the fresh air of the rose garden behind your palace quarters.

"So you are...Nabi. My lady in waiting?"

Nabi is a cheerful, smiley young woman. She also seems to be closer to the princess version of yourself than most other maids.

"Yes, your Highness, " she sighs sadly, "It breaks my heart to see you like this. Do you really not remember anything?"

"Um, I remember some things. Like the king's and queen's name and princess Yeji. I also know that I am from the Northern Kingdom."

You also know that you'd die in around two years and Hyunjin's sister will make a painting to let the world know what a tragic story you had, but you decide to not say that.

Nabi pouts, "I'm sorry, your Highness. I wish I were there when you fainted. Maybe I could have helped you."

You tap your fingers against the porcelain cup in your hand, "Could you tell me exactly what had happened that day? Did I fall down? Or something else happened?"

"Oh, you didn't fall, no," she chuckles, "All the women of the Royal family were invited to this art gallery. While looking through some paintings, you suddenly fainted. We brought you back immediately."

"The physician check you and confirmed that you weren't pregnant, much to the Queen's dismay. She was looking forward to becoming a grandmother."

You almost spit the tea out, "What! Where did that even come from?"

Nabi smiles, "Well, why else would a newlywed bride faint? Anyway, I knew you weren't pregnant. You'd told me the prince and you haven't done that, you know."

Wow. The princess 'you' really told this girl way more than needed.

"And why exactly did I say we hadn't fu- I mean done that yet?" And now you were asking more than necessary.

"Because he's cold to you." She says, "But you know, even when you told me that, I knew he loved you and only you. He has never been involved with another and I saw him keep a portrait of yours in his private study room."

You are at a loss of words. How does one even react to this kind of information? Should you be happy for the princess 'you' or should you be jealous of her?

You force a smile, "How exactly did you find out about the portrait?"

"What portrait?" A male voice says from somewhere behind you.

Nabi and the other maids quickly get on their feet and greet their prince as this ethereal man walks out from behind the tall bushes.

"Hm? What are you guys talking about?" He asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

Oh so now he smiles?

"Just palace gossip." Nabi says, her gaze low.

"Is it true, my princess?" Hyunjin walks toward you and takes your hand in his, pressing his lips gently to your fingers.

You hate the way your cheeks heat up at the contact.

"Y-yeah. Obviously." You say.

He smiles widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Could you ladies please excuse us?"

When Nabi and the maids leave, you find yourself alone with the prince again and you're not sure how you feel about that.

Last night, he was so mean to you and now he's acting like a lovestruck man? What is the meaning of this?

You push him away, "What?"

He sighs.

Today, his blonde hair is tied half way up, and he wears a diamond crown. He looks more sophisticated from last night. More prince-like.

"What?" You demand again.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, okay? I'm still not convinced that you've lost your memories but can we put this behind us for a while?" He says, "Can you come with me to the study room? I have to show you something."

You follow him without question.

The palace complex is still a maze to you and other than your living quarters, you don't know much about the rest of the palace.

He leads you through a staircase to a huge room on the top floor of one of the buildings. Or was it the main palace where the king and queen resided? You weren't sure anymore.

"Yeji was very worried to hear about your amnesia, by the way." Hyunjin mutters as he lights the candles in the room, "She'll be back by next summer."

"Where has she gone?" You say, mindlessly staring at the huge collections of books in this place. A huge chandelier hangs from the center of the room and as the Hyunjin continues to light numerous candles and lanterns around the room, your eyes finally take in the whole picture of the room. For a second, you almost felt like you were watching a Renaissance period drama.

Hyunjin stops in his tracks, "y/n, do you really not know?"

He turns around and looks at you strangely, as if expecting your eyes to give away the truth of this supposed amnesia.

And when he sighs, you know that he didn't find what he desired.

"She's training under a really famous dance academy. If she's lucky, she might be able to clear her final year dance exams this year." He says.

You want to ask him if art doesn't interest her but that might make him doubt you again. You cannot afford to do that when Hyunjin is the only person here who you trust even slightly.

Nabi is honest and Sayyu is kind but you find it hard to match their energy.

"So what did you want to sho-" You stop mid sentence when your eyes fall on a huge painting behind Hyunjin's study table.

Your painting.

"It's me", you gasp, "It's..my portrait."

"Yeah. I just finished it today, actually." He rubs the back of his neck, "I'll hang it in your room once the paint dries."

In the painting, you are sitting on a chair, dressed in the finest white dress you'd ever seen. An elegant tiara sits on the crown of your head, and your lips are stretched into a smile.

"Hyunjin..." you are at a loss of words.

Nabi was right; Hyunjin did have a portrait of you in his study. What she didn't know is that he was the one who made the painting while all this while you were under the impression that Yeji was the artist in the family.

"It's good right?" He asks, unsure.

"Yes. I love it," you reply, "When is this image from?"

Hyunjin frowns at your words, again scanning your eyes as if looking for some hint of lies in your words.

"Y-you don't remember?" He asks.

"What?"

He sighs, looking rather disappointed, "It's from our wedding, y/n."

*

Hyunjin is starting to wonder if you'd actually lost your memories.

The next few days, he tries to subtly engage you in conversations regarding your wedding day and your life before getting married and by the time the week ends, he is sure you'd lost your memories.

He hated to admit it, but he did like the fact that you couldn't remember the times when he was so horrible to you.

Now he can start anew. A clean slate.

"You've been spending suspiciously a lot of time with me, Hyunjin." You had asked him one evening, munching up a cookie, "What's up?"

He chuckles; he's come to enjoy this new side of yours. It's a completely different version of your other self- the one who grew up training to be the lady of a house.

"Nothing," he grabs a cookie for himself, "We're having a ball this evening, by the way. It's mother and father's 30th anniversary."

Your eyes widen with excitement, "Really?! We're having a ball ball. Like we wear dresses and all? And we dance under a huge chandelier?"

Hyunjin is taken aback; you used to hate balls. Or any public gathering for that matter.

"Y-eah, well. Yes." He gulps.

"Oh my god. I need to talk to Nabi. I have so much to prepare, oh my god. Why are you only just telling me," you grab another cookie and sprint towards your room, "Also will there be a fountain where wine flows instead of water? That would be so cool!"

Hyunjin gives you a soft smile; no such fountain was planned for the ball but if it meant he'd see you this excited, he could pull a few strings.

*

The rest of the hours leading upto the ball is a blur; you only remember running from the dressing room to the ball room to your bedroom and back to the dressing room and as for Hyunjin, the day goes slower than ever.

He only got to see flashing glimpses of you running from place to place and somewhere, deep down in his heart, he missed your attention.

It was a jarring realization; him enjoying your company and attention and even craving it at times. He couldn't quite digest this unfamiliar feeling yet, he realised, he wasn't unwelcome to it.

"Are you ready? They're waiting for the Prince and Princess, y/n. We don't want the Royal families of other kingdoms thinking we were out doing something unholy now, would we?"

Hyunjin has this mischievous smile on his, leaning against the door Frame of your dressing room.

Is he flirting? You wonder.

You sigh, "I don't think I look good enough, Hyunjin. I look..weird."

You run a hand over the lustrous material of your ball gown. You feel very foreign in your body all of a sudden.

"I don't think so, my lady," Hyunjin steps into the room, a hand gentle on your waist, "I think you look breathtaking. What would you say, Nabi?"

Nabi hides a blush while you stare at your husband; wide eyed and mouth gaping.

What has gotten into him lately? Is he trying to annoy you or are these words coming from somewhere else?

You shake the latter thought away from your mind. How could this beautiful Prince from centuries before your time find you breathtaking?

Impossible.

You swallow your nervousness and turn on your heels.

"If you say so," you shrug, "Let's go, come on, Hyunjin. "

Chuckling softly to himself, Hyunjin follows suit.

The evening is great but you don't remember much by the time it ends; you somehow end up getting drunk on wine from the wine fountain and Hyunjin has to subtly carry you away from the ball room.

"Hyunjin ~" you slur as he covers your body with a duvet, "Do you ever wonder if a parallel universe exists?"

He lies down beside you, sighing, "Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"I know it exists. I am living proof that it exists, you know," you say, passionately, "I'm not bluffing."

Hyunjin laughs, " Of course, you're not. How could you lie?"

He pushes strands of hair behind your ear.

Your heart thumps against your chest; you love that feeling.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you." You giggle, snuggling into his chest.

Hyunjin freezes for a moment, breath stuck in his throat and eyes not even blinking.

But when he feels you relaxing into him, he let's his shoulders slouch.

"If there was a parallel universe, I hope I end up with you too."

The only reply he gets from you is a snore.

*

The next few months are smooth as the calm sea, pleasant as the spring wind, beautiful like the blooming of roses.

You'd come to adore Hyunjin- that was for sure. You'd come to love his presence and crave it everytime you guys were apart. He had become like the anchor to your ship; and you, his.

"Yeji's coming home tomorrow, by the way. How much do you remember of her?"

"Just her face," and the fact that when you're both killed brutally one day, she'd make a painting of you two, immortalising your love.

The thought causes your stomach to stir; you didn't want to go back to the reality you knew.

All of a sudden, you find yourself wishing you had more time with this man- this man who loved nothing more than lying in your arms, your naked bodies as close as one could get, this man who had made you feel safe when you were suddenly sucked into this unknown world, this man who loved you to death and beyond.

Hyunjin snuggles in closer(as if he could get any closer) and kisses your temple oh so tenderly. Then he moves to your cheek, then nose and then mouth.

His lips are plump and warm and inviting, and before you know it, you both find yourself falling into the wonderful ocean of pleasure. Over and over again.

The next day when Yeji arrives, you are skeptical about approaching her but she was more than happy to see you. Before the day ended, she'd already invited you to a tea party in the gardens, and by the week ended, you guys had become great friends.

She was just so comfortable to talk to and so friendly. She was so curious yet sweet. How could you not be her friend, you often wondered.

It was on one such afternoon picnic that Nabi came running to you.

"His Majesty is injured! He was attacked during his hunt."

You didn't waste a second before storming off towards his room, not caring for your supposed lady etiquette anymore.

No God, please, not yet.

You reach your bedroom, out of breath and sweaty, and Hyunjin was sitting at the edge of the bed, getting his wounds cleaned.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

There is a big gash on his arm; bleeding profusely even though the physicians were trying to stop it. There are blue and purple all over his face and stomach, and a few more smaller cuts on his entire body.

And he looked terrified and pale and sad.

"Hyunjin..." you run to him.

He looks up at you, teary eyed.

"Y/n...I'm okay." Is his first instinct, "Don't cry."

You sit beside him and press a long kiss to his temple, your heart feeling lighter when the physician signals to you that the bleeding has stopped.

"Who was it?" You ask

Yeji stands in front of the two of you; tears streaming down her face.

"Whoever it was, I'll kill them with my own two hands, goddammit!"

"Calm down, guys." Hyunjin sighs, "I didn't see a face. But they were wearing a very familiar perfume. I wonder who it could have been."

You swallow nervously, "Just..just stay safe okay?"

Hyunjin smiles at you, "Of course, my love."

An odd mixture of expressions grace Yeji's face.

*

While Hyunjin recovers, you make sure he does not step out of the palace unaccompanied.

You're getting his food tested, his room sanitized, and every gift that he receives has to go through multiple rounds of security checks. You know what is to come, but some silly, silly part of you wants to prevent it.

"You're being a little too paranoid, I think." Hyunjin tells you as the servants set up the dinner table for him, "I'm gonna be fine, y/n."

"Hyunjin, just," you sigh, reminding yourself to be patient with him, "Just please let me do what I'm doing. It helps me sleep at night."

With a gentle wave of his wrist, Hyunjin dismisses the servants.

He grabs your hand and pulls you in to sit on his lap.

"Y/n, I'm literally right here. I'm stronger than you think. I'm not planning on leaving you any time soon." He presses a kiss to your temple.

A wave of realization washes over you, and you find yourself tearing up, melting into his embrace.

How did you even come to love this man that you'd only ever heard of in history books? Was this even real? If you pinch yourself hard enough, would you wake up to a world where Hyunjin is not yours anymore?

"Just shut up, goddammit, " you say to him, "Hold me, please."

You say it like a request, but really, you were begging him to hold you. To make you feel safe, even if it's for a short while. Because for all you know, the end could be closer than expected.

That night, you and Hyunjin fall asleep in each other's embrace. There was nothing more pure, raw, or beautiful than what you felt with him. In a span of a few months, you'd fallen madly in love with the prince.

It's funny, huh, how you never found love back in the modern world yet here you were, sharing your whole heart with Hyunjin?

Maybe it was always meant to be like that and maybe when this beautiful daydream ends someday, you could look back at it and relish these memories.

"Y/n, get up." You're pulled out of your sleepy thoughts when you feel someone tap you on the shoulder. Urgent.

"Nabi? What time is it?" You whisper back, gently putting Hyunjin's head of the pillow, "What's happened?"

Nabi shakes her head, "The Royal investigators have got some news. A possible group of assassins is heading to the palace as we speak. My lady, we must rush you to safety immediately. The soldiers will escort the Prince."

Your heart hammers against your chest.

"I-I can't leave him. He's not recovered yet. He cannot fight!"

"Your majesty, please. I beg you," Nabi replies, "These are the orders of The Queen. I have to escort you to where the ladies are. "

With a tight throat, you quietly follow Nabi out of the room.

She leads you down through a secret tunnel between Your Palace and The King's, that leads to a dark corridor with a single metal door at the end.

"This way, your majesty. The princess and the queen are inside. I'll bring you news from to time so there's nothing to worry about." Nabi says as she unlocks the door from the outside. She passes the lantern to you.

The moment you step into the dark room inside, you hear a loud bang. You turn around in horror only to find the door closed in your face and Nabi gone.

"N-nabi?" You murmur nervously, "Why did you close the door?"

From inside the room, you hear a faint chuckle.

"She's gone, y/n. Left us to rot in this dungeon forever. "

"Yeji?"

You jog towards the tired, lifeless voice.

And when you reach the princess, what your lantern shows you horrifies you to the core.

"Your majesty!" You fall on your knees, grabbing the lifeless body of a once beautiful Queen who you'd come to adore over the years, "W-what happened?"

You're crying now; watching the princess caress her mother's cold face.

You're sobbing; watching the bloody hands of the daughter who tried to stop her mother from bleeding to death.

"Nabi is..", Yeji swallows, "She's a part of the resistance that wants to overthrow the monarchy. They want a military ruled government. It was her doing. On the day Hyunjin was attacked, I knew it was her."

You cry harder, moaning into your hands.

How could she?

"And I too, am at fault here. I made the mistake of befriending her so so many years ago," Yeji continues, "I paved her way into the palace. I'm as much as of a criminal as her."

You clear your throat, rubbing the tears off your cheeks and neck, another sob bubbling within your chest.

"We do not have time to repent things we had no control over," you say, "The Queen Mother is gone but we can still save your father and Hyunjin. "

"They've taken father to their military fortress. " Yeji says, her tone suggesting she's given up all her hopes. "He's as good as dead. "

"Then we save my husband."

"Y/n, how will we-"

"I saw the key. When Nabi unlocked the door, I saw the key."

"What about it?" Yeji asks, shifting.

"It doesn't have a key. It only has a numerical lock code."

Yeji lifts an eyebrow, as if to ask you "So?"

"It was 0143."

*

Leaving the Queen Mother's body behind, you and Yeji rush out of the door, grabbing every knife, sword, and other sharp object you could find in the dungeon.

"I think she must have taken Hyunjin hostage," Yeji says, rubbing the sweat off her forehead. "But since he cannot fight that well because of his wounds, they're probably interrogating him in your bedroom. "

"Interrogating him for what?"

"The keys to the Royal armory and the king's safe of gold."

Sure enough, you find Hyunjin in your bedroom. Except it wasn't your Hyunjin, it was a replica of

Queen Sayyu. Blood and blood and blood everywhere on his body. His eyes barely open but his hands, they pointed at you as you rushed in.

"Hyunjin!" You cried, kneeling by the bed side floor, "Hyunjin, please, hold on."

The room was empty except for the three of you. The furniture was broken and burnt and cupboards were clearly forced open.

"Did you give them the keys?" Yeji asks him, sobbing, "Mother died to protect those keys."

He coughs and leans into you, "I've alarmed the military. They are on their way."

"The rebels will be coming back too." He coughs again, "The keys are behind the painting in my study. Save them Yeji, run, now."

Yeji steadies herself as she gets up, "Come on, y/n. He said they might come back. "

Oh, but how could you? How could you leave the love of your life to bleed to his death alone while you escaped?

Moreover, this was the tragic end of your daydream, wasn't it? Dying together while Yeji survives and continues to rule the country.

"Go, Yeji, " you tell her, over the noise of the blood coursing through your ears, you hear footsteps, "Now!"

Yeji is a smart girl, you realize. With a hand over her mouth to suppress her sobs, she runs out of the room, without turning back even once.

When she is out of sight, Hyunjin fumbles to find your hand in the darkness. He's cold and stiff.

"If I disappear today, promise me you will find me. Promise me, please y/n." He manages to say.

You kiss his hand softly as the footsteps get closer, tears streaming down your face.

"I will find you. In every universe, in every timeline. I will find you, my love. " you say as you find a metallic taste in your tears and your vision goes black.

*

After what feels like a millennia, the darkness around you is finally replaced by a bright light.

It is too bright, but when you see a familiar face, your discomfort vanishes.

"Lia!" You throw yourself onto your napping friend, "Lia! Oh, I'm so happy to see you."

Lia though surprised at your outburst, returns your embrace with equal enthusiasm.

"I missed you too, y/n." She says, "I didn't know that picture would have such an impact on you. I was so scared when you passed out!"

Picture? What picture?

And suddenly, all the memories play in your mind like an old film. It's hazy, but you know what's going on.

You see blood, a crown, burning curtains, and..a blonde prince.

Hwang Hyunjin.

"Lia..", you sigh, your heart aching terribly, "How long have I been out?"

"Like around 36 hours or so. I don't remember. "She replies.

36 hours in this world and you'd already spent a lifetime in another. How utterly tragic.

"Y/n, what's wrong? You're tearing up." Lia says, offering you a tissue, "Are you in pain?"

You sigh, "Yes. I am in extreme pain, Lia. How could life have been so, so unfair to us?"

Lia gives you a confused nod, not really sure what had exactly led you to believe that life had been unfair to you.

"Y/n, what-"

Lia is cut off by a knock on the door.

"Ah. That must be the doctor." Lia jogs towards the door, "Just a second, Dr. Seo!"

"Um, hello," the doctor greets, "Dr. Seo is in urgent surgery. He sent me in his place to check on the patient. "

When the doctor steps in closer, your breathing gets stuck in your throat.

Of course, you know this man. How could you not?

You'd died with him in another world, in another time, in another life.

You'd loved him.

"I'm Dr. Hwang, Miss Y/n." The doctor says, a familiar expression on his face. He looks rather delighted to see you.

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." He chuckles to himself as he sits on the chair by your hospital bed.

"Yes, me too." These are the only words you manage to say.

[ugh-yoongi]

Congrats on the 1k!!!

Can I request an idol boyfriend Namjoon and y/n drabble? Something like they’re on a museum date and Joon is being his intelligent/passionate about art self, talking all the artwork and whatnot, and y/n just gets so turned on so they end up hooking up in a hidden part of the museum? 👀

namjoon being an enthusiastic art heaux? this is right up @effortandmore's alley. thank you for this request, though. this one was fun.

most of the history on the piece described here is from the met's website, here. it's a really interesting and heartbreaking piece; i encourage everyone to check it out.

(also, this is more "waxes poetic about art" than anything else. smut takes me forever to write and i figured you've waited long enough, so you'll have to headcanon it, i am so sorry. also, something about this piece just screamed namjoon to me and i wanted to write it. hope you enjoy anyway!)

nydia

pairing: namjoon x reader (no pronouns used) genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: can be read as idolverse or not, one mention of suicide (the story behind the sculpture is pretty depressing), light swearing, namjoon being hot and smart, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k

The next gallery you walk into is vast.

Full of windows that cast a mid-afternoon glow on the floor. Stained glass casting colors. In here, everything feels grand. Feels a little overwhelming, reminds you of your place in the world: small, irrelevant, hopeful. You’re standing in a room of giants, both literally and metaphorically.

Namjoon is large on his own, but here it feels endless.

Diana is centered in the room, light dancing across the bronze. As you stare up at her, you wonder if she’s happy with this iteration. If she mourns her original purpose, poised atop one of the city’s most recognizable buildings, now long-gone. Demolished. You wonder if she’s content to be stationary when she used to go the way of the wind.

She’s stunning, even as a replica of her original self, but she’s not what Namjoon came here for.

What Namjoon came here for is also in the center of the room. The marble she’s carved from is more modest than Diana’s glittery bronze, but no less impactful. Her name is Nydia, and Namjoon has been obsessed with her since he’d gotten his hands on a first edition of an old novel, out of place amongst his poetry, but inspired by art and weathered by time and someone else’s devotion to it.

“There she is,” he says, and the room is vast and empty but you could make out the hushed awe in his voice from miles away.

You tuck yourself into his side, feeling just as small next to him as you do next to all of these sculptures. Laugh softly, endlessly endeared, at all the pamphlets he has clutched in his hands. History upon history, always something else to learn, and you could write just as many on the man beside you.

“Tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks down at you. Smiles. Says, “Her name is Nydia,” even though you know that already. “Randolph Rogers sculpted her in 1856. She’s based off of the character from The Last Days of Pompeii.”

You study her. Admire all of her intricacies, all the love that had gone into creating her and telling her story: her closed eyes, the broken Corinthian column lying at her feet, the movement of her dress. You’re vaguely aware of her story, recited to you by Namjoon over the span of three afternoons, one for each volume, so you know enough to know the tragedy, but you’d be able to feel it if you hadn’t.

“In the novel, she was kidnapped and enslaved and rescued by a man named Glaucus. She falls in love with him, but he’s betrothed to Ione.” He sighs, subdued; probably knowing too much about unrequited love. Probably relating too much to the sculpture standing tall before him. “There’s a lot that happens in between, but Vesuvius erupts and Nydia leads Glaucus and Ione to the Bay of Naples, where they’re able to board a ship to safety.”

Namjoon reaches out, careful not to touch, and traces the air along Nydia’s fingertips, her hand that’s raised to her ear. “She’s blind, so she’s used to navigating by sound. Everyone else in Pompeii is unable to see through the ash and rock, but Nydia has never been able to see, so she’s able to get them to the ship by listening to the ocean.”

The two of you share a quiet moment. You wonder what it must’ve been like, living through the chaos of that day. Watching, hearing the world burn down around you, helpless to stop it. Knowing you’re doomed to your fate. You wonder if you would’ve made the same decision as Nydia, if the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return would hurt too much to be selfless. You wonder if it would’ve haunted you.

“What happened to her?”

Namjoon remains quiet. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, but then he answers, just above a whisper: “She decides that death is preferable to the pain of her unrequited love for Glaucus and kills herself. Slips into the sea.”

“Oh.”

The huff of laughter that tumbles out of Namjoon surprises you. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just have to write a strongly-worded letter to Edward Bulwer-Lytton.”

A full-on cackle. “Yeah. Let me know what he says.”

“Probably, ‘Sorry my novel upset you, but I’ve been dead for a hundred and fifty years.’” You sigh, trying to shake off the dregs of sadness. “Tell me about Rogers. Is that less depressing, at least?”

Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing. “Mostly. C’mere.”

You follow him to another sculpture. Ruth Gleaning, it says. “He carved this one, too. It was his first large-scale work, since he’d mostly sculpted busts of tourists after he moved to Italy. Nydia was much more popular, though; a year or two later he was commissioned by the U.S. to do the bronze doors for the Capitol building. He was also commissioned to do a statue of John Adams but it got lost at sea.” Namjoon looks anguished at this. “Fuck, can you imagine? He had to redo the whole thing.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Wow, rude.”

The two of you share another laugh, but you’re struck by all of what Namjoon is. Intelligent, empathetic, eager. Always wants to bring you into what he loves, always wants to share it. Doesn’t deem anything unworthy of knowing, because you wouldn’t have thought Namjoon would know all of this, the history of an American sculptor forgotten behind the likes of Calder, Nevelson, French. But he has assigned spaces for everything, so of course he knows.

It’s a little overwhelming, how much you love him.

How much you want to know him the way he knows everything else.

The gallery you’re in is vast, but it’s filled with love. An artist’s love for its subject, your love for Namjoon. They say the same thing.

[mermaidenmystic]

The Dance of the Nymphs (detail) by Edouard Bisson (French painter, 1856-1939) 

[corallapis]

Frederic Leighton, The Dance of the Cymbalists, c.1856 Three of five life-size panels commissioned by Percy and Madeline Wyndham to decorate the staircase of their London home, 44 Belgrave Square.

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Important Russian “Nationalist” composer Modest Mussorgsky (1839 - 1881) is born into a wealthy land-owning Russian family. Mussorgsky began receiving piano lessons from his mother (a trained pianist) at the age of six. He progressed rapidly, and at the age of ten he and his brother were taken to Saint Petersburg to continue their studies (which included music) at an elite school. Mussorgsky's parents had also planned the move to Saint Petersburg so that both their sons would renew a longstanding family tradition of military service, and Mussorgsky was thus duly enrolled in the Cadet School Of The Guards at the age of 13. Unfortunately, this proved to be a brutal environment – indeed, it probably instilled in young Mussorgsky the drinking habits which would ultimately lead him down to the path to terminal alcoholism. (According to another former student, the Head of the Academy at that time "was proud when a cadet returned from leave drunk with champagne.”) Mussorgsky’s considerable skills as a pianist made him popular with his fellow-cadets, however, and he spent many evenings playing popular dances for his new friends. Then, in October 1856, the 17-year-old Mussorgsky met the 22-year-old physician Alexander Borodin (1833 - 1887) while both men were serving at a military hospital. Even more portentous was Mussorgsky’s introduction, just a few months later, to Alexander Dargomyzhsky (1813 - 1869), who was then the most important Russian composer after Mikhail Glinka (1804 - 1857). Dargomyzhsky was so impressed with Mussorgsky's pianism that he invited Mussorgsky to begin attending his soirees, and it was there that Mussorgsky also met Cesar Cui (1835 - 1918) and Mily Balakirev (1837 - 1910), and, through Balakirev, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908). Thus was formed the core constituency of the historically important Russian “Nationalist” school of composers known as “The Mighty Five”… PICTURED: A c. 1920s real photo postcard showing the middle-aged Mussorgsky sporting a very solid mullet.

[moniquehazel]

GHOST UNDER THE MISTLETOE - SHORT STORY

New York City, 1856

Priscilla’s white satin gloves kept slipping down her elbows, and she wanted to scream. The sound sat in her throat, eager and frustrated, as she glanced across the crowded ballroom of Hadfield Hotel. Not even a swallow of spiced pear brandy could push the scream down into her stomach.

Priscilla would gladly be spending her December night anywhere else. The snow swirling outside was particularly preferable to this festive society party where guests danced and drank and gladhanded under the disguise of holiday cheer. However, her parents had persuaded their daughter of nineteen with the promise of more supplies for her taxidermy avocation.

It had seemed like an easy exchange weeks ago. But now, standing in a corseted gown of sapphire blue and curls positioned high with jabbing pins and lashes heavy with kohl, Priscilla realised she had gravely miscalculated. She didn’t feel pretty, she felt foolish.

Satin slipped and she tugged.

Priscilla wanted to scream and bury the gloves deep in the snow. Good riddance if they weren’t found until after Christmas when the white streets began to thaw.

Fragile baubles and burnished bells and wreaths of holly decorated the grand hotel. Not that any of the decorations concealed the notorious fable about Hadfield Hotel. At least not according to Marita, who gossiped at Priscilla’s side between bites of tiny caramel tarts.

Crumbs sprinkled onto a cloth napkin. “Do you know the story?”

“I scarcely know what I did yesterday,” Priscilla said blithely. “And you’re obviously dying to tell me.”

Marita grinned shamelessly as the pair promenaded around the ballroom. She forgot all about the desserts being carried on trays, liking the taste of gossip better on her tongue. “It’s rather a macabre story…”

Priscilla indulged her friend’s baiting as the string band—exclusively playing Christmas carols—began an upbeat rendition of Silent Night. “My favourite kind.”

“Your parents should really get you out of the house more,” Marita insisted, hardly bothering to mask her distaste for Priscilla’s hobby. “Get you away from all those dead animals you like to bring back wrong.”

Priscilla spied her parents by the magnificent Christmas tree. They didn’t like her dead and stuffed creatures either. “Trust me, they earnestly try.” She turned back to her dearest friend. “Tell me the story.”

“The Hadfield used to host the most spectacular parties. The envy of all venues. But then it all just stopped when the owner’s son dropped dead.” Marita snapped her fingers, and Priscilla nearly lost her glass, enchanted by the tale. “Poor Fletcher Hadfield. Apparently, he died right here in the hotel and haunts the place. This is the first party held in the Hadfield in nearly twenty years.”

“How have I not heard this story?”

Martia shrugged. “People would rather forget such grim things.” Her eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers at something across the gilded floor. “Oh! Rupert just stepped under the mistletoe. Do you mind?”

“Go get your Christmas kiss,” Priscilla encouraged, offering up the last dregs of her brandy. Marita downed the drink and made haste through the fanfare of the party before another smitten lady got to Rupert first.

Priscilla didn’t feel lonely in the festooned Hadfield. Not as she lingered on the edge of the ballroom like a moth among butterflies. She was a similar creature but noticeably a little stranger with the rabbit’s foot fastened at her throat on ivory lace.

She did, however, feel the itch of fascination as she glanced at the arched entryway that led to the rest of the hotel. It was the same fascination that allowed her to bind wood and wool into a mannequin and mount skin over it. Brushing fur and cleaning antlers and straightening feathers. To prepare and preserve something lost. After all, taxidermy was the art of remembering.

And somewhere in the Hadfield awaited a forgotten dead son.

No one noticed her absence as she wandered, one glove precariously slipping down her arm. A cheery carol diluted into a whisper as Priscilla crossed the threshold into a smoking parlour. She searched the mahogany wood and upholstered leather and stale shadows.

Priscilla’s stomach flattened like the dust on the shelves. Perhaps this ghost didn’t want to be found when a party he wasn’t invited to tolled down the hall. Try one more room, Priscilla rationalised, turning from the parlour.

Cool fingers tugged at the seam of her satin glove, gently hoisting it back into place. Priscilla whirled, a shriek scratching at her oesophagus.

“Please, don’t scream.”

A handsome young man stood before her in a dishevelled suit a few decades out of fashion. His pupils were white and cloudy, fair hair long enough to touch his blood-stained collar. He looked to be made out of gossamer fabric.

Enthrallment steeled her fear. “I take it you’re Fletcher Hadfield.”

“It’s not every night a pretty girl comes looking for me.”

“I didn’t actually expect to find you. I was merely—”

“Bored? Curious? In urgent need of smelling salts?”

“Fasincated by the macabre.”

Fletcher gave an approving grin. “Ah, my death’s aspiration!”

She studied his body, which showed little signs of rigor mortis. Studied the near-translucent nature of his skin and clothes. “Your skin… does it feel like dead flesh?” she asked, thinking of her beloved dead and mounted animals.

He rolled up a sleeve without hesitation. “Be my guest.”

She brushed her fingertips across his wintry wrist, finding him surprisingly tangible. “How did you die?”

Without looking away from her, he pointed a finger skyward. Pinned over the threshold was a sheaf of mistletoe Priscilla was sure hadn’t been there before. His grin broadened with mischief and possibly sarcasm. “Mistletoe poisoning.”

Fletcher Hadfield leaned closer, eyes sinking to her mouth. Priscilla found little reluctance within herself, curiosity a seductive beast. She splayed a hand across his chest. Hard and cold flesh without a heartbeat. Priscilla fearlessly edged up onto her toes, wondering if her first kiss counted if it was with a ghost.

His eyes softened with loneliness, their lips the width of a bird’s feather from touching. “Will you remember me?”

“Like a taxidermic animal,” Priscilla promised, giving him a Christmas kiss.

[cinematic-phosphenes]

Paintings by Édouard Bisson

The Three Graces (1899) Love's Messengers (c. 1856-1908) The Swing (date unknown) The Dance of the Nymphs (c. 1900)

Source + Source

[cosmic-occurrences]

"Masks On"

this is almost definitely the longest thing I've written for a post here so far. It's 1856 words and proofread so there shouldn't be too many mistakes remaining.

summary: It's your first year going to the annual Halloween party at Hogwarts. When you were about to leave early, a mystery person stops you, and instead, you have the best night of your life. Only thing is, can you find them again in the morning?

reader is a female ravenclaw

"This year's party is going to be great! Don't miss it!" A Slytherin student said, shoving a folded piece of paper into your hand. You know what it must be for, but it's the first time you are invited. You unfold the paper and read it as you finish your walk to class.

"Masks On" is a party that rotates common rooms every year. An older student, usually Head boy/girl, soundproofs the common room while the younger students go straight to their dorms after the Halloween feast. The idea behind the masks is that no one has to know who you are so it's a judgment free place where you can just have fun.

You already have your costume picked but haven't told anyone, you want to be mysterious. The poster reminds you to make sure you find a Slytherin on the organization team to get your name on the list.

❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖

After you have done everything in preparation for the holiday, you had let it slip your mind until two Gryffindor students stood up on their table at breakfast and set off a firework that burst into giant letters, which they echo with yells, "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!"

"FRED! GEORGE! OFF THE TABLE!!" Professor Mcgonagall yelled after them as they ran out of the great hall.

The only thing harder than trying to get any work done the day of Halloween was trying to teach a class. For this reason, most teachers had simply given up and let students talk amongst themselves after little to no work was done. You took this time to get your remaining homework done, blocking out the whispers of excitement around you.

In the common room awaiting the feast, students with more elaborate costumes started to get ready while others hung out with the younger years in the common room. You were among the later group.

The feast was amazing as usual but you forced yourself to stop before you would get sleepy. When the plates and platters cleared of food, you went to change into your costume so you could head down to the party.

You obviously weren't the only person who didn't join the party at the feast’s end, so after putting on your ghost costume, you waited for a group to form in the common room before walking down with them.

"Are you excited?" a Dementor asks your group as you approach the entrance to the party. They were responded to with a cheer and various positive responses.

Finally in the Slytherin common room, you could definitely tell who must be either muggle-born or in muggle studies by their costumes. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you sit on a sofa near the drinks.

You start to regret coming, you knew stuff like this wasn’t really your scene anyway. But just as you are about to leave, a skeleton comes up to you.

"Hello, lovely! Why aren't you dancing?" They ask, leaning on the arm of the sofa. "I bet you’re better than at least half of these people." They say, nodding to the dance floor set up in the middle of the room.

"Are you... hitting on a ghost?" You say, grinning under your sheet.

"Not quite yet," There's a pause and you somehow know they winked under their mask. They hold out their hand and you take it.

"You know nobody saw that wink, right? It was pointless," You say as they pull you onto the dance floor.

"It would have been pointless if you didn’t pick up on it." You both fall silent, dancing together.

"A ghost and a skeleton, that's a love story I'd read a book about!" Someone comments, dancing nearby.

"The Spirit and the Remains..." the mystery skeleton considers.

"And hope the twist ending isn't that you were once my body." You say, trying to stall the romance theme the conversation was taking. After all, you don't even know who you’re talking to.

The skeleton thinks for a few seconds before shaking their head. "Not possible, I must be possessed by my spirit or I wouldn't have consciousness."

You want to be annoyed, but instead, you’re a bit impressed. "What Tethers our Soul," You say, naming a better title for the suggested story.

"Because my soul is still tethered to my body, yours to earth and ours together... that's very clever."

"More so when you leave it unexplained."

You look at each other, knowing you're both smiling, still swaying to the music surrounding you.

"You should be a writer, write me a love story." Skeleton says, picking up the energy as the song changes.

"I'll be sure to make it out to 'The skeleton that spoke to me once at a party'."

Skeleton moves closer to you, "I was hoping I'd be something more to you by then..." they say softly, "At least, 'The Skeleton boy who inspired this romance and saw the writer in my soul'." They say, voice becoming less seductive after the dramatic pause.

"Skeleton boy?" You say, intrigued to have started learning about this mystery man in front of you.

"... Who inspired this romance and saw the writer in your soul, yes."

"I wouldn't say you inspired a romance novel yet..." You say, looking into Skeleton's eyes.

"Of course not. We're still on the first chapter." He says, taking your hand and spinning you, though it wasn't appropriate for the current song.

You dance until the partygoers have started to clear out. When the room is considerably more empty than it had been when you first found each other, he took one of his gloves off and rolled up his sleeve to check the time. You stare at the ring on his middle finger.

"I really like your ring..." You say, much less smooth than you had been hours before, when you had more energy.

He smiles and takes it off, placing it in your hand. "Then take it with you, as a promise we'll meet again?" He offers. You accept and put it on your thumb, the only place it would fit on your hand.

"You like playing undead Cinderella, Skeleton boy?" You ask as you head out of the common room together.

"I'm not sure yet, you'll be my first Prince Charming." Before you part ways, he winks his light gray eye and you can almost feel him grin as you analyze the only revealed part of his face.

Your heart drops as you head back to your own common room, what if you can't find him tomorrow? What if he thinks you're ugly when you do find him again?

When you flop into bed, your final question before you sleep is why do you care? You don't even know his name!

❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖☾❖☆❖

You wake up late the next day. You fail to tame your messy hair and throw on a sweater and your uniform skirt. When you enter the common room, everyone looks at you and some grin.

"Rough night, y/n?" An older boy teases, looking you up and down.

"Bloody hell- get a life!" You say, leaving for the great hall, hoping you woke up early enough for a breakfast. No such luck. The tables are empty. But you do see someone nearby, a Hufflepuff girl.

"Oh, hey! Ravenclaw!" She calls you.

You walk toward the girl, confused since you don’t really know her.

"Did you just wake up?" She asks.

"Yeah, how can you tell?” You joke, “Was just hoping for some breakfast." You continue.

"Come with me, we'll get you something."

You follow the girl. As she taps around a painting, you think this must be the Hufflepuff common room.

Instead, she takes you through a hall and into a kitchen filled with house elves.

"Hello, could I bother you for breakfast? Just some..." She trails off, looking at you.

"Bacon and eggs, if you don't mind." You say.

A few house elves nod and get to work.

"If you don't want to eat alone, I could let you into the common room." The Hufflepuff girl offers.

"Sure, that'd be nice." You say, smiling at her.

A house elf presents you with a plate. You and the girl thank the elves before leaving.

"You have a nice ring." She points out on the way back down the hall.

"Yeah, a guy gave it to me last night. I have no idea who it was." 

"Hm.. I don't know, but it looks familiar."

You sit down at a table and take in the other people in the room, mainly their eyes. What color were his eyes again…?

While you eat, a tall boy enters the room. Neat brown hair, beautiful light gray eyes and a stunning white smile as he looks at you. Wait, no, he's looking at the girl with you.

"Hey, Cedric!" She smiles. You feel bad for staring and try to look anywhere else. You're looking for someone you were flirting with just last night! You can't look at this kind girl's boyfriend!

"Hello, Hannah. Who's your friend?"

You suddenly grow aware of your super messy hair. He didn't laugh at it... but of course not, he's a Hufflepuff, most would never.

"Y/n, and I was just leaving, so you two can-" You start, standing up.

They both look at you oddly. "...be alone... what? Why are you both looking at me like I spoke parseltongue?!"

"You think we're..?" Hannah trails off, failing to hold back a laugh.

"Don't laugh, Abbott. She couldn’t have known," even while defending you, you could tell he was holding back a chuckle.

"So, the library was no luck?" Hannah asks Cedric after the air of humor dies out.

"No, I'm starting to think I should have asked for their name or something." He sighs.

"Now, that wouldn't be worthy of a romance novel, Diggory. True teenage romance novel status can only come with patience and hard work!" Hannah declares encouragingly.

"Sounds like a lot of guys are searching for their Halloween themed love story." You say.

"What do you mean by that, y/n?" Cedric asks.

"Last night the guy I was talking to was saying I should write him a romance novel." You put on a dramatic voice, "What Tethers our Soul, a love story between a skeleton boy and a ghost girl."

The two Hufflepuffs look at each other, making you feel like you were missing something.

"Diggory, didn't you mention giving your mystery person a ring at the end of the night?" She asks, like a detective on a case.

"I do remember mentioning that…" Cedric recalls, causing Hannah to giggle.

"I think your Cinderella was playing Sleeping Beauty all morning, that's why you couldn't find her." She takes your hand and shows off Cedric's ring on your thumb.

You realize what's going on and take the ring off, holding it out to Cedric. He takes it and your hand, putting the ring back on your thumb, "Have I inspired a romance yet?" he asks.

"Are you flirting with a ghost?" you ask.

"I suppose I am, are you prepared to write a very long romance novel?"

[classicalcanvas]

Title: The Dance

Artist: William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Date: 1856

Style: Neoclassicism

Genre: Allegorical Painting

[writtenonreceipts]

Happy October!! 🎃 Very excited for spooktober, how about some Elorcan sass:

“We only have to make it until sunrise, which is… 7 hours away.”

Happy October nonny! thanks for sending this in!

My sick-adled brain wanted to keep drawing this out into further nonsense but nyquil finally had her say and we're backing away real carefully in the hopes that this is somewhat good...

warnings: none? ~4k words

...

Hauntings and Happenstance

Leaves skittered across the ground as the wind picked its way through the trees.  Huge cedar trees towered overhead and blocked out the inky black sky.  The past few days of rain and fog dominated the weather patterns, and that night was no different.  The clouds barely broke enough to offer a window to the deep crescent of the moon.  Pale silver light attempted to illuminate the forest, but the heavy bulk of the clouds ate whatever light they could.

The subtle scrape of the leaves and cool glow of light were soothing to Elide.  She’d always loved autumn with its changing colors and weather.  Especially when she had an active excuse to continue drinking hot apple cider or hot chocolate all day every day.  Now, however, her hands were empty except for her flashlight.  The stiff chill dug into her fingers making Elide plow one hand into her pocket and the other gripped the light.  It really was a cool night, with the covered sky and promise of more rain.  

Elide walked through the old Terrasen cemetery, she had a giant backpack on one shoulder and an even bigger duffel bag on the other.  A girl needed her snacks and blankets if she were going to stay in a haunted house this close to Halloween.

She’d long had a fascination with the cemetery and had quite honestly jumped at the opportunity to explore it further.  It had been abandoned back in 1856 on account of accidental double burials.  Which had then amounted to a resurgence of omen watching for any and every bad deed.  It also didn’t help that Terrasen had been known for a serial killer too—who supposedly was the caretaker of the cemetery back in ‘56.

Terrasen had far too many skeletons in its closet.

The flashlight she held did a poor job at lighting the narrow trail that curved along the back of the cemetery.  Late autumn fog began to condense before her and shape into the shrubbery that was trying to take over any space it could find.  Elide sipped her cider, which was growing cold.  Maybe she should have brought another blanket.  But her backpack had already been growing full and she thought snacks might be more important than—

The snap of a twig behind her had Elide spinning around.  The beam of her flashlight intercepted a hulking shape coming towards her.  A shape she instantly recognized.

“You asshat!” Elide yelled. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

In two long strides Lorcan Salvaterre leveled up with her, a smirk dancing on his mouth.  He easily took her duffel bag from her despite her glares.

“Isn’t that the idea of this plan?” he asked. “Which by the way has to be the stupidest thing you’ve done.”

She scowled at him and turned around, doing her best to walk quickly.  Lorcan of course kept stride.

“If you think it’s so stupid, why are you here?” she retorted. “Doesn’t Maeve have that party tonight?”

“You think I’d let you do this alone?” Lorcan brushed an errant branch out of his face.  He was so tall that even the recently beaten back shrubs still got in his way.  

She cut him a sharp smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much, Salvaterre.”

The night was quiet around them, save for a few skittering animals in the fallen leaves and other debris on the forest floor.  The silence, of course, made it easier for her mind to wander.  Because first and foremost, Lorcan was here.  She hadn’t even realized he’d known what she was doing tonight.

Her crush was stupid, she knew.  Lorcan was older with a brooding sort of attitude.  He was the type of guy who didn’t care what others thought of him and made certain they knew it too.  

Somehow over the last year and a half, Elide and Lorcan had formed a little friendship separate from everyone else.  He’d been held back in high school for skipping so often that Elide had managed to, somehow, get to know him better than anyone else. 

“I’m not going to let you get yourself killed, Elide,” Lorcan said.

Another twig snapped beneath their feet.  Though, it was nearly drowned out by the low growl of thunder overhead.  Hell.  Hopefully that was just a little threat and not a promise of something to come.

“You do realize the house isn’t actually haunted, right?” she asked. “I’m just doing this for extra credit in my cultural anthropology course.”

According to local legend, the old caretaker house had fallen to shambles after a series of mysterious murders swept through the down.  Murders that had been committed by the caretaker himself.  Now, the old house and cemetery were left alone, to disappear into both memory and the once vibrant forest.  For her class, Elide was going to write a paper on how the legend had been mixed and convoluted through the years.

“I know it’s not haunted,” Lorcan scoffed, “but there’s probably some dumbass who thinks it’s funny to play pranks on people like you—”

“Like me?”

“Who walk into situations they don’t belong in.”  Lorcan cast her a dark look at that, only emphasized from the shadows of the night.

Elide let out a laugh and bumped his shoulder.  Her heart thumped just a little faster, which she ignored.

“Are you worried about me now?” she teased. “It’s just a haunted house, Lorcan.”

“You’re impossible,” was all Lorcan said.

“I am impossibly delightful,” she corrected, waving her flashlight in his face.

And then to punctuate her words—it started to rain.  Big, fat drops fells from the sky and startled her out of whatever bit of teasing he’d been about to embark on.  Blinking rapidly, Elide looked up to the sky.  The canopy of trees blocked most of the heavy onslaught of rain, but it would only be a matter of time before they got soaked.

“Son of a—” Lorcan muttered.  He glanced at her, trails of rain already slipping down his face. “Seriously, Lochan?”

Elide grinned. “Scared of a little rain, Salvaterre?”

She adjusted the strap of her backpack and picked up her pace.

In a matter of minutes, they came to a small cobbled path that led through overgrown blackberry bushes and ferns.  The house was slumped to one side, the roof curved with some unknown weight.  Though, Elide imagined that in the light of day she would see heavy strings of moss hanging from the eaves of the house and the molded cross-beams sagging in age.

The porch, missing several sections of wood, wound around the perimeter of the house.  Ivy curled around the railing until it nearly consumed any bit of wood left over.  The rain only added to the ambiance of an abandoned home.

Elide picked her way to the front door, careful of any rotted-out pieces in the flooring.  The front door had been replaced on more than one occasion, as was evidenced by the shiny new padlock and set of chains strapped to the framework.

Shrugging, Elide held her flashlight out to Lorcan who approached from behind.  Despite his large form, he barely disturbed the porch.

“Hold this,” she said.

Lorcan took the light. “You got the key to this place?”

“Uh,” she said, digging around in her backpack.  Elide pulled out the lock and pick Manon had given her for her birthday last year. “Not exactly.”

“Dammit, Lochan,” Lorcan said, “did you get permission to come out here?”

“Where would the fun in that be?”  

Lorcan continued to mutter oaths under his breath, though he kept the flashlight trained on the padlock.  Elide worked in that steady stream of light, sticking the pick and hook in the lock and finding the tumblers.  The police department really needed to up their game if they wanted to keep trespassers out of the old home.  In a matter of minutes, the lock popped open and the chains fell to the floor.

The door creaked open and a puff of stale air saturated with moss and age greeted them.  Elide grinned triumphant.  And Aelin had said she wouldn’t even make it in the front door.

 Ha!

Elide grabbed the flashlight from Lorcan and stepped into the house.  Immediately, the rain ceased and it felt a fraction drier.

Cobwebs draped from the ceiling in thick billows.  Dust hung in the light lazily, only disturbed when Elide walked past.  She swung the light around to every corner noting everything.  The small chandelier overhead hardly seemed like enough to light the house.  Sconces were set up along the walls, though they were long empty of any candlewick.  One doorway led off into a tiny kitchen that held only a wood stove.  The other room was full of old furniture and smelled like mice had taken over.

Elide spun in a slow circle around the living space.  Outside there was the subtle thrum of rain pattering on the roof.  It wasn’t as big a storm as they usually saw this time of year.  As she moved around the cabin, her steps creaked beneath her and an owl gave a hoot from its perch in the trees.

“Is that it?” Lorcan asked.  He hovered near the door. “Can we go now?”

“Are you scared?” Elide raised a brow. “The great Lorcan Salvaterre taken down by a haunted house?”

He rolled his eyes at her, unamused.

In the last two years of knowing him—Elide had become very aware of who Lorcan was.  She’d gotten to know him in detention, because even if he had been held back to repeat senior year, he still preferred getting into trouble.  And then during football games, parties, and random sneak outs—he’d always been there. Somehow, they’d become friends.  And somehow, she’d let her little crush take root in her chest.

All of this was very unhelpful, because they were friends.  At least, she considered him one.  He’d been the only one to express real interest in this plan of hers to explore the old caretaker's house.  They were friends and he didn’t see anything beyond that.

Elide cleared her throat and kept talking.

“Legend says, I have to stay the night if I’m going to have any chance of meeting a spirit,” Elide said.  She gestured to the duffel bag he’d taken from her. “Hence the blankets and snacks.”

Sighing, Lorcan finally entered the house and wedged the door shut behind him.  Without the padlock and chains to keep it in place, the door slanted open near the top.  Lorcan frowned up at it.

Elide blinked at him.  “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m not leaving you in the middle of nowhere alone, Lochan,” he said. “I already said that.  Now, please tell me you have something other than a Ouija board to keep us occupied tonight.”

“You’re impossible,” she said.  She dropped down and pulled her down sleeping bag from the backpack along with a few sealed Tupperware of veggies.  The duffel had the chocolate.

Lorcan scoffed. “I’m not the one who decided to have a slumber party on death row.”

He cast another dark look around the room, stooping to avoid running into a bean that ran across the cabin.  He came to sit beside her in the middle of the floor and offered the duffel up for her.

“Its research thank-you very much,” she replied. “Go ahead and unload that, it’s just got more blankets and water.  Don’t touch my chocolate stash.”

Lorcan did as he was told, pulling out two blankets and the giant two-gallon jug of water.  He stared between her and the contents.

“How did you carry all this up here?”

“What just because I’m a woman?”

“You’re five-foot nothing with even less meat on your bones than a rabbit.”

Elide stared at him. “I’m going to choose not to take offense to that as long as you hand over the chocolate now.”

“I’m just saying,” Lorcan began, holding the grocery sack of candy out, “I wouldn’t have expected you to handle all that.”

“Yeah right,” Elide muttered.  She was grateful for the shadows cast by the flashlight and that hopefully the flush rising in her cheeks was unnoticeable.  She tore into one of the chocolate bars and tossed him the veggies. “There, you can be the healthy one.”

And if she wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn there was a flash of a smile on his lips.

They sat in silence for a few minutes with only the flashlight to illuminate the room.  The poor light was hardly helpful however and against her will, Elide found herself glancing off to the far corners of the cabin.  She knew it was silly.  The house wasn’t drafty and it seemed well enough intact that there shouldn’t be anything sneaking in.  Hopefully.

“What kind of extra credit assignment calls for all this?” Lorcan asked.  He nibbled on a carrot slice un-enthusiastically as he looked around the cabin.

“Anthro exists on a whole other plain,” Elide said. “The professor doesn’t really care what we do as long as we don’t give him any grief.  And no one else seemed interested in this, so I figured why not.”

“Why not indeed,” Lorcan mused. “You just choose chaos at any chance you get.”

Elide threw her half-eaten candy bar at him, which Lorcan caught with ease.  Damn him.  He only grinned and took a bite of the chocolate before leaning back on an elbow to stare up at the darkened ceiling.

“Y’know,” he began, but a soft snuffling cut him off followed by a series of creaks and groans from the porch outside.

Elide sat up straighter and went for her phone.  She’d planned on getting a few recordings or pictures to show for her efforts.  And she knew, of course, that it was probably an animal out there but--

“Let’s go see,” she said.  

“What?” Lorcan snatched out a hand and snagged her wrist. “We are not going to do that.”

“Oh come on,” Elide insisted.  She tried shaking him off, but his grip was tight. “It’s probably a mouse or something.”

The snuffling got louder and the aged wood outside squeaked with the distinct hint of splinters.  Perhaps it was not a mouse.  By now the rain had lightened up a bit, so it wouldn’t be surprising if there were other animals coming out of their hovels.  But she wanted to make this little adventure worthwhile and just catching images of Lorcan—no matter how satisfying—wouldn’t really help her in her search for extra credit.

“Or it could be something not so friendly,” Lorcan said.  He didn’t loosen his hold on her, but his voice was softer than it usually ever was.

Elide scowled. “I could be missing my chance to catch footage of a ghost, you know.”

“Or missing the chance to get rabies.”

Lorcan held her gaze for long enough that the noise outside faded.  Huffing, Elide settled back down and finally managed to pull her arm away from him.

“You never did answer my question,” she said.  She pulled a deck of playing cards from the backpack and began shuffling the deck.  She’d been content to play a one woman round of solitaire, but if he was going to insist on staying they could play poker.  It had been a while since she’d kicked his ass at it.

“What question?” he asked, tucking the now empty candy wrapper in the duffle bag.

“Why you’re here,” Elide said.  “You didn’t have to come.  I just texted the group so you’d stop bothering me about going to Maeve’s party.”

Maeve had been a miserable part of Elide’s life ever since starting college that September.  The older girl was relentlessly inserting herself into situations and inviting Lorcan out on “study dates.”  She used to have her claws latched onto Aelin, until the blonde nearly bit Maeve's head off a few weeks ago.  Unfortunately, the girl did know how to throw a party and given how midterms had sucked the life out of everyone it had seemed like a good idea to go.

But Elide still clung to one thread of sanity to know that being anywhere near Maeve while harboring a crush against Lorcan was the stupidest thing she could do.

“I didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party either,” Lorcan said.  He was leaning back on his elbows again and the shadows cast from the flashlight illuminated angles of his face she’d never noticed before. 

“You didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party?” Elide asked in disbelief. “Her family owns the country club and has enough fancy booze to keep the entire city sated.  She may be a bitch, but she knows how to have a good time.”

Lorcan barked out a laugh. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly, Lochan.”

Ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks, Elide kept shuffling the cards.  She couldn’t bring herself to deal them out and invite him to play another little game with her.

Games with the likes of Lorcan were easy enough—don’t back down, keep a sharp tongue, and never apologize.  But it was moments like this when she kept making eye contact and kept fighting a blush that she had trouble remembering those little rules.  She wasn’t going to survive the night.

Lorcan held her gaze now, though, firm and steady.  

“I don’t like Maeve,” Elide finally said.  “She’s never bothered to talk to me, so why should I seek out her approval?”

That got her another smile.  

“Makes sense,” he replied, “why waste time on something that’s not worth it in the end?”

“Exactly.”

Outside, a gust of wind howled and rain slanted against the side of the cabin.  Something heavy thudded against the far wall sending a shudder through each of the beams and floor.  

Elide couldn’t help but shudder.  She wasn’t scared, of course, but sometimes she didn’t do too well during storms.

“Did the caretaker murder men or women?” Lorcan asked as dust spun in the glow of the flashlight. “Just so I know if I need to start running yet.”

“There’s no ghost,” Elide told him.

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out.

Indeed, she was.  Elide ignored it and began dealing out the cards to distract herself.  

“Seven card draw,” she said, “jokers are wild.”

“Weird way to play go-fish,” Lorcan muttered as he arranged his card.

“We’re playing poker,” she corrected.

Lorcan stared at her over his card. “Hell no, I’m not stupid enough to play poker against you.  And don’t give me that innocent I don’t know what you’re talking about look, it won’t work.”

He’d pitched his voice an octave in clear mockery of her.  Elide threw another candy bar at him. “I don’t sound like that!”

Lorcan only laughed, letting the candy bar bounce off his chest.

The wind continued.  And with the way Elide and Lorcan played—ruthless with no holding back—go-fish turned into a near bloody battle.  They ultimately called a truce after six rounds, three each.

“Tie-breaker!” Elide ordered, gathering the cards back up.

Lorcan groaned and fell on his back. “You said that last time.  How long are we staying here?”

“We only have to make it until sunrise,” she said and glanced at her watch, “which is seven hours away.”

“Seriously, woman?” Lorcan sat up enough to glare at her and Elide only smirked.

“Worried about missing your beauty sleep?”

“No, I’m worried about what this floor will do to my back.”  He sat up if only to glare at the offending matter.

“C’mon,” she said, “let's spread the blankets out.”

In a matter of seconds, they had the first two blankets spread out as a mat.  It would be a little better than laying on the bare floor.  Another gust of wind from outside, this one managing to ease through the nooks and crannies of the cabin.

Elide shivered. “I forgot how cold it gets out here.”

“You take the sleeping bag,” Lorcan said.

“I’m not letting you freeze to death.”

“Do you suggest we snuggle then?”

“Are you that touch starved that even the thought of snuggling has you sneering?”

They glared at each other from across the stretch of blankets.  Elide broke first and began to fully unzip the sleeping bag so it spread out completely. 

“You get one side, I get the other,” she said, “and remember, you’re the one who decided to join me out here.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes, toeing off his boots. “The ghost killed men and you’re just biding your time, aren’t you?”

“Please, if I wanted to get rid of you, I would have by now.”  The words were out before she could really process them herself, but Lorcan, it seemed, missed the implication hidden behind them.  Good.  She wouldn’t make it through the rest of the night if he started teasing her.

They settled down beneath the sleeping back with a good six inches between them.  There was a draft on Elide’s outer side, but she didn’t want to risk snuggling into Lorcan.  So she kept ramrod straight and clicked off the flashlight.

It was perfectly silent now.  Not even the little gusts of wind outside seemed to register anything in Elide.  She could hear the wood of the cabin settling and the occasional scuttle of a mouse off in one corner.  She tried not to think about that too closely.  Everything had settled into a lull that she almost thought Lorcan had fallen asleep beside her.

“I don’t like Maeve either,” he said into the darkness. “Don’t like that party scene, too.  It’s what got me into a mess in High School and I just managed to get all that behind me.”

Elide knew--mostly--what his high school years had been like.  Too many parties, not enough studying.  He would either flunk tests for not knowing the material or flunk because he was suspended.  For a while, Elide had thought there was nothing more to Lorcan Salvaterre than drunken nights and wasted DNA.

And boy, how she was wrong.

“So coming out to a haunted house behind a cemetery is how you decide to change your ways?” she turned toward him, just enough to catch the shake of his head.

“Well I’d like to think I helped prevent you from doing anything stupid,” he said.

“You failed on that when you let me pick the lock to the front door.”

Lorcan shifted closer to her and Elide could just make out the glint in his eyes.

“You are full of surprises, you know?”

Elide shrugged, finally feeling herself relax a little. “It’s what keeps things interesting.”

“Menace,” Lorcan muttered.

Elide reached out beneath the blanket to poke his side, earning a curse.

…

Somewhere along the way of their scattered conversations—they fell asleep.  Elide would never be able to explain how—considering the wind outside, the surety of mice and spiders crawling on the floor, and the guarantee of haunting of some sort happening—but sleep did fall over them.

And when she woke up to the pale streams of dawn, Elide found that she wasn’t freezing or covered in rodent bites.  Rather, she was tucked against Lorcan’s side, snug against his chest.  One of his arms fell around her waist, the other stretched over head.  She was nestled in so close that she could smell his cologne mingling with his natural scent.  She might have only gotten six hours of sleep, but it was the best damn rest she’d had in a long time.

Not good.  Not good. Not even remotely good.  Elide shifted, ready to roll back to her side of the makeshift bed.  Lorcan’s arm tightened around her keeping her firmly in place.  Which, sure wasn’t the worst thing in the world.  But this was also Lorcan.

She paused for a minute thinking about how her extra credit assignment was going to go if she admitted to a night of snuggling up beside one of her closest friends. 

Oh hell.  Her friend who she had a crush on.

Elide squinted up at Lorcan, his usually harsh face softening in his sleep.  How different he looked like this, more open and relaxed.  Closing her eyes, she let herself drift back off to sleep.  She would let her self worry about the ramifications of this later.

...

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[angrybell]

What we are seeing this past week with the campus takeovers by terror supporters is the fruit of the Left’s obsession with equitable enforcement of the law. The Left has evolved over the years to fundamentally disagree with the idea that the rule of law should enforced evenly. Instead, they choose to enforce the law “equitably”.

How has this manifested itself? Well in San Francisco, former DA Chesa Boudin only wanted to charge certain groups of people with crimes based on an arbitrary and capricious basis. If you were a person of color and committed a violence assault that put a person in the hospital, you could be facing on “restorative” justice, meaning no jail time and lighter penalties. It doesn’t matter that the person put in the hospital was also a person of color, or elderly, if Boudin felt the criminal was oppressed, they got out of trouble with barely a slap on the wrist. Other District Attorneys, like Gascon in Los Angeles and Alvin Bragg in New York, have had similar, arbitrary ways of excusing those from criminal culpability that they deem to be part of right demographic group.

So now we have the campus protests which have morphed into takeovers by groups of terror supporters (don’t pretend they are just “pro Palestinians”). The administrators did nothing. They did nothing when Jewish students started getting attacked. They did nothing when Jewish students were being denied entry to university facilities on the basis of their religion. They did nothing when Jewish students were beaten and sent to the hospital (as happened yesterday at UCLA where five keffiyeh pro-terror protesters decided that the Jewish girl with the flag dancing around posed an existential threat to them. They attacked her, pummeled her to the ground and then continued to kick her, sending her to the hospital with head injuries.)

Did the police intervene? No. Did the administration intervene? No, they capitulated over and over and over again. They set deadlines and then rescinded those deadlines because the terrorists that they had indoctrinated did not go along with their orders.

Back in the 19th century, the city of San Francisco was out of control. This was by design. The city government was incredibly corrupt and refused to do anything that was not in the interests of the corrupt politicians at CIty Hall. So in 1851 and 1856, committees of vigilance were formed. In 1851 they took matters into their own hands executed 4 criminals, forced 28 to leave California (apparently deporting 14 to Australia), and whipping 1 publicly. In 1856, when it was clear that the first go-round had not put enough fear into the corrupt San Francisco government, the committees reformed, and was the driving force to rid San Francisco of Democrats who had been in power.

Fortunately, a group of counter-protesters at UCLA last night decided enough was enough and emulated the old committees of vigilance. I am not sure how it started, but it appears that they broke into the occupation meted out some street justice to the terrorists, who now are complaining they weren’t protected.

When you refuse to administer the laws on the books fairly, evenly, and justly, reasonable people will become unreasonable and turn to vigilantism. It doesn’t seem that the administration or the police or the DA have changed their tune as they continue to make no progress in reasserting control over the situation. If they don’t, hopefully, the vigilantes will return and finish the job.

[piratekenway]

for @codextober day sixteen: fate.

RYAN, NARRATING: Very little is known about Maxwell Roth’s actual origins. What we do know is that he assumed the name “Maxwell Roth” in 1856, and spent the next twelve years building up a reputation around London’s criminal underworld as a gun-for-hire and a dangerously uncontrollable bare-knuckle boxer. It’s said that those who got into the ring with Roth usually didn’t make it out alive. SHANE: Not very sportsmanlike of him. RYAN: He is a gangster, he probably went to fight clubs like, hmm, I’m in the mood to beat a man to death. SHANE: Gonna break his neck in front of this cheering crowd! RYAN: Are you not entertained?! RYAN, NARRATING: In 1864, Roth started a gang known as the Blighters. Initially a group of disparate outsiders from various slums in and around London, the Blighters quickly grew in size and strength, and by 1868, just four years later, they’d become the biggest and most terrifying gang in town, having subsumed all the other gangs into their own. The only holdouts left were the Clinkers of Whitechapel, and they were rapidly losing ground to the Blighters. Enter: our old friends, the Frye twins. SHANE: These guys fuckin’ rock.