#the one time I had to climb a spiral staircase I panicked the entire time

[shiveringsoldier]

I don’t expect many people to vote that they’re afraid of spiral staircases since I’m the only person I know with that fear but I felt like including it anyway

[localswordlesbian]

Something There That Wasn’t There Before

Read chapter 1 on ao3

The morning Martin wakes up and realizes his mother has wandered off, he knows he's in trouble. He just never expected this sort of trouble. Never expected a secluded castle beyond the woods, a friendly group of Archival Assistants trapped by an evil curse – a curse saying that if their boss, the reclusive Archivist Jonathan Sims doesn't have someone fall in love with him, he'll remain a monster subservient to the Beholding, and they'll all be trapped forever. Martin never bargained for curse-breaking, but he's never been a quitter.

When Martin woke up to find his mother gone, he knew he was in trouble.

He silently cursed himself as he ran through the house, shouting for her as he checked every room he could possibly think of, even creaking open the door to the attic despite knowing perfectly well his mother couldn’t climb those stairs if she tried.

Not that she ever did, of course. But that wasn’t relevant. What was relevant was that she was gone, and Martin hadn’t the slightest clue of where to find her.

He stopped in the kitchen, pushing his hands through his unruly hair, willing his racing heart to calm down. Just think, Martin. Where would she have gone?

Staring out the window as the town whisked by on their way to run their errands for a typical Saturday morning, Martin grabbed his coat and ran outside. Of course, you daft fool, he chastised himself. She must have just gotten hungry and gone to get bread. Nothing to worry about.

Walking through the town, dodging chickens and waving hello to familiar faces, Martin kept an eye out for the small, familiar form of his mother. Instead, he spotted a man taping a sign to an old, wooden building. Martin smiled as the man turned, waving a friendly hello.

“Blackwood!” the man shouted jovially, sauntering over from his previous perch by the door of the town’s old library. “In the mood for a new adventure? We got a couple donations from a library over in the city. Some Leitner fellow? Didn’t get a look at the books, but I thought you might want to be the first to check them out.”

Martin smiled his first real smile all day. “Thanks, Phil, but I’m in a bit of a hurry at the moment. Have you seen Mum today?”

Phil frowned thoughtfully, rubbing his scruffy beard, stark white against his dark skin. “I think I did, now that you mention ‘er. Saw her walking down the road, towards the bakery. Probably went to get bread? You need to keep a better eye on that woman, my boy. She won’t be able to remember the way home for much longer.”

Martin nodded. “I know. Slipped my mind this morning.”

Phil placed a friendly hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize, young man. These things happen.”

“Thanks. Sorry about the books – I’m sure I’ll be back soon to check them out.”

“No rush – they probably aren’t going anywhere. Now go fetch your mum before she falls into that darned well.”

Waving goodbye, Martin set off down the road toward the bakery. Some people gave Martin a friendly nod or a wave, some gave him a wide berth in the streets. Martin, for his part, mostly kept his eyes ahead of him, until he felt something ram into his legs and wrap around his middle, nearly causing him to take a tumble into the dust.

“Jack, you’ve got to be more careful,” Martin scolded the little boy who was now latched on to Martin’s waist. “I could’ve fallen!”

The little boy, Jack, only giggled in response. “Mr. Martin, did you hear that Mr. Phil got new books in the library? Could you read them to me? Please? Please please please pleasepleaseplease –“

“Yes, Jack, I promise I’ll read them to you,” Martin said with a smile, prying the boy’s small, calloused hands from behind his back. “How about tomorrow morning? I’m a little busy today, but I promise I’ll read to you tomorrow.”

Jack pouted, his freckled face puffing up in annoyance. “Promise?”

“I promise. I’ll be at the well at noon.”

Seeming satisfied, Jack poked Martin’s nose with his finger before sprinting off in the other direction. Martin smiled to himself as he stood and continued down the road – he loved reading to the kids in the town, teaching them the joys that words could bring to the world. They were all a little young for poetry, which was Martin’s personal guilty pleasure read, but he enjoyed reading them children’s books and fairy tales all the same.

Arriving at the bakery, Martin nudged past the line outside, earning him grunts of protest and annoyed glares as he made his way to the window.

“Get in line, boy!” the baker shouted as he sold a loaf to an old woman in a dark cardigan and skirt.

“Sorry, Charles, I was just wondering if you’d seen Mum today?” Martin wrung his hands nervously, the eyes of the annoyed patrons feeling as though they were burning holes in his back.

Charles, the baker, narrowed his eyes. “I did, I saw her head towards the far end of town, towards the woods.”

Martin’s stomach plummeted as he hurriedly thanked Charles and began to walk quickly, up the road once again, a walk that turned into a run as his heart thundered in his chest. Why was she leaving town? What could possibly be in the woods? Where was she intending on going?

Martin sprinted beyond the buildings, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his legs carried him beyond the town and out into the woods. After what felt like an eternity and a second at the same time, Martin slowed, wheezing to catch his breath, as he beheld the looming, foggy forest before him.

Shit.

Martin was oh so hopelessly lost.

After hours of trudging through the woods, twigs breaking under his heavy footfalls as he shouted for his mum until his voice was hoarse and his throat felt like it was splintering, Martin was beginning to lose hope of ever finding his mum or returning to town. He didn’t even know which way the town was anymore, with the looming figures of the trees seeming to make the paths shift right before his eyes. As he stopped in a clearing, his feet aching and his throat begging for water, Martin surveyed what was before him.

Fog seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see in all directions. Behind Martin was a steep cliff that he couldn’t hope to scale if he tried, to his left was trees and fog, same as behind him. To his right, he noticed, was a winding trail that led downwards, leading off to who-knew-where.

Breathing a sigh of defeat, Martin made his way down that path, hoping beyond all hope to either find his mother, the path back to town, or somewhere he could take shelter for the night. The creeping darkness paired with the fog meant he could hardly see in front of him, and the night chill was piercing through his coat and jumper. He shivered as he walked, trying not to let his mind spiral with thoughts of what could have happened to his mum, focusing instead on how his teeth chattered and his feet hurt and his shoulders ached from slumping in on himself in an attempt to stay warm. At the bottom of the path, before him stood tall iron gates, gates which had swung open, seeming to mockingly invite Martin inside.

Had Martin been in his right of mind, he would have immediately turned around and walked away. Though he couldn’t see through the fog, he knew there could be nothing good on the other side of the wicked looking gates.

But Martin was not in his right of mind – he was cold, he was in pain, and he was panicking. So, without a moment’s hesitation, Martin marched through the gates and emerged in what appeared to be a beautiful garden.

For a moment, Martin was awestruck, and he could feel lines from a poem he might write tickling the back of his mind. The stone path he walked on was made up of hundreds of pieces of what appeared to be ceramics and broken glass, forming a twisting pattern that looking at nearly made Martin dizzy. In the middle of the path was a tree, growing along a gnarled trunk and sprouting the most beautiful white, black, and red roses he’d ever seen. All across the property grew different types of flowers: rosebushes and peonies and lilies and lilacs guided Martin towards the massive structure looming before him: a massive gothic castle, dark in comparison to the beauty of the garden, with colossal wooden doors, dark bricks piling higher than Martin could see even when he tilted his head, with spires reaching for the sky and a massive clock: it read that it was half past midnight.

Shaking off a shiver that wasn't quite from the chill of night, Martin marched forward and pushed at the doors. They gave with surprisingly little resistance, and Martin walked into the castle foyer.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected – for the place to be abandoned, perhaps. Certainly not for the blood-red carpet underfoot to feel soft and to cushion Martin’s footfalls, nor for the dark wood of the interior to look as polished as it did. The foyer was brightly illuminated by a massive chandelier hanging above a grand staircase, which first went upwards before splitting off into left and right. There appeared to be old paintings on the walls, and cabinets lined one side of the front hall.

Beside the door was an ancient-looking wooden coat hanger, so Martin shucked off his coat and hung it up, standing by the door in his favourite yellow wooly jumper and jeans. He walked in slowly, wondering who could possibly be living here.

“Hello?” he called, then cringed as his voice echoed back at him in the vast, empty space. “Mum? Hello? Is anyone here?”

He got no reply, so he dared enter further. To one side he saw an archway that led to a room decorated with an intricate carpet and a comfy-looking sofa, with a roaring fireplace in front of it. The heat hit Martin’s face as he walked towards it, then paused as he noticed a second staircase behind the grand one.

This one was much smaller, leading downwards into what appeared to be a dimly-lit circular stone staircase. The spookiness of it sent shivers down Martin’s spine, and as he debated which direction to go first, he heard the sound of something moving.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice behind him drawled, and Martin yelped as he turned and saw a man standing in front of the couch, the fire behind him accenting his silhouette. As the man approached, Martin could make out more features: pale skin with sunken-in eyes, a lanky figure with long, poorly-dyed black hair and eyeliner accenting his gray eyes. Silver piercings glinted from his eyebrow, nose, and ears, and his nails were painted black that matched his outfit. “You looking for your mum? I heard you shouting.” The man smirked, placing his weight on one foot and crossing his arms in front of him. He seemed friendly, though, if a little intimidating.

“I–yeah,” Martin stammered. “She wandered off this morning? She’s, ah, not exactly in the rightest of minds, so, yeah. Have you seen her?” A hint of hope creeped into his voice.

The man shook his head. “Probably would’ve heard from the boss if she was in the house. Though, the boss can’t see into the basement – Michael and Helen make sure of that.” At Martin’s confused look, the man waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a long story, one that won’t be relevant once you get your mum and get out of here.”

“I–right,” Martin fidgeted with his jumper. He felt like a tele tubby next to this man, and curse Martin’s face for turning red, and he tried to convince himself that it was from the fire and not because he was anxiously facing a sort of cute guy who had just told him he needed to go into a creepy basement to retrieve his mum. “Didn’t you say not to go down there, though?”

The man shrugged. “I hate it down there. You’ll definitely get lost. But if Michael and Helen like you, they should let you go once you’ve found your mum.”

Martin nodded dumbly and tried to muster as much courage as he could, releasing his jumper and willing his hands to be still. “Uh, thanks?”

The man nodded. “No problem. Don’t die.” With that, he walked back towards the couch, vaulted his slim body over it, and settled down. No wonder Martin hadn’t noticed him before – he blended right in.

Taking a deep breath, Martin turned towards the staircase, and before he could talk himself out of it he started the descent.

The staircase was dimly lit by what looked like oil lamps, and Martin felt cramped in the narrow passageway. He felt humidity hanging thick in the air, and soon his ginger curls were plastered to his forehead and his shirt under his jumper was soaked through with sweat. Just as Martin questioned whether the stairs would ever end, his feet hit solid ground and a hallway stretched before him. A hallway lined with cells.

Martin stared at the sight before him, at the ancient looking dungeon that Martin didn’t want to think about why was there. As he stepped forward, he noticed that every cell he passed was empty, which gave him a small amount of relief. Whatever this was, it hadn’t been used in a long time. As he walked, he thought back to the man upstairs’ words.

The boss can’t see into the basement. If Michael and Helen like you, they should let you go once you’ve found your mum. Don’t die.

Who was the boss? How could they see everything in a castle this big? Who were Michael and Helen? Martin picked up his pace, thoroughly spooked and wishing he were back home.

Eventually, he turned around, and nearly stumbled from shock. Behind him was a wall, where there certainly hadn’t been one before. Panic rising in his throat, Martin turned back around and saw with a start that there were now several branching hallways when before it had been a straight path ahead of him. His heart pounding and breath quickening, Martin grabbed the moist wall, wincing at the gross texture but forcing himself to hold on and ground himself. Now is not the time to panic.

Once the panic had become manageable, Martin looked up and saw with a start that there was a figure ahead of him. Familiar dark hair piled on top of the person’s head, and they were dressed in a nightgown and coat.

“Mum?” he called, and the familiar face of his mother looked up at him. As he walked over, her frown deepened into a scowl.

“Where have you been all day?” she demanded.

Martin winced. “I’m sorry. I was looking for you. You went really far, Mum.”

Martin’s mum glowered at him. “Useless. Just like your father.” Martin suppressed a wince, not wanting to let on how wounded he felt at her words. He’d gotten lost and tore his feet up for her, and all she could do was insult him.

Bitterness rose in his throat, and he crushed it down. She’s ill. Let her be. he chided himself. “Come on, Mum. Let’s get you home.”

“Yes, let’s,” drawled a voice that was not his mother’s from behind him. Martin’s shout echoed off the walls, and he heard his mother shush him sharply as he turned and saw a figure leaning on the wall. Behind him, the passage was as it was the first time Martin had looked at it – straight ahead toward the stairs. “I have no problem with letting her go. A nasty piece of work you’ve got there, boy.”

Martin sputtered as he beheld the man – his long, curling blond hair fell past his hips, acting as a cape for his lithe frame. He was dressed in a suit of colours so bright and patterns so disorienting it gave Martin a headache just looking at it. But what was most notable about the man, aside from his high-pitched drawling voice, was his fingers – long and spindly, as though there were several extra joints extending them to inhuman lengths. The man leaned one shoulder against the wall, his long fingers dangling at his sides. “I don’t-“

“What do you think, Helen?” the man addressed someone over Martin’s head – despite how tall Martin was, this man was significantly taller. Craning his neck, he saw another figure similar to the first one: a woman this time, with dark curling hair that stood straight up before falling to her waist, a spiralling colourful dress, a manic grin, and the same long fingers as the man. “The woman gets on my nerves, but the boy is quite cute.”

The woman, Helen, gave Martin a slow once-over. Martin felt like his skin was crawling, as though the woman was trying to see into his soul. “He is. Wonder if he’d be the boss’ type.”

“Woah!” Martin exclaimed indignantly. “I am not just a piece of meat, I’ll have you know! I don’t know what your boss is running here, but I’m not interested!”

The woman – Helen – chuckled. “Ooh, a feisty one. I like him, Michael.”

So these two were Michael and Helen. “Look, I just came to get my mum and head home. I’d appreciate if you let me do that.”

Michael clucked his tongue. “Shame. Though I suppose we aren’t in the business of taking prisoners, so alright. You can go.” With a click of his tongue, a door appeared to Martin’s left. The door was warped, yellow, and did not look trustful at all. “Go ahead, it’ll take you home.”

“How did you–“

“You should stay behind.”

Martin stared as his mother cut off his question of how Michael knew where he and his mother lived to gape at her. “I–what?”

His mother glared at him. “I’d really forgotten how dense you are, boy. Stay here. I can return home without you. I think I’ll be better off.”

Martin found he could barely form a single word. “Wh–I–Who will take care of you?”

His mother sniffed and made her way for the door. “I’ll find someone. Do not follow me. Perhaps you’ll mope less here.” And with that, his mother stepped through the door and was gone.

[conceptstage]

Come Bearing Books

Part Two

Nott blinked up at Caleb, her eyes wide in surprise as his words processed in her mind. “Sa-Say that again?”

Caleb frowned and tiled his head in confusion. “Shadowhand Essik is coming over today.” He waved the letter in his hand awkwardly. “He says he wants to teach me another spell.”

Nott and Jester exchanged panicked looks. “We don’t have time!” Jester exclaimed.

Nott nodded. “We can do it, we just need to start right now and recruit the others.”

“What exactly is going on?” Caleb asked, worry rising in his voice as his friends seemed more and more frantic. “Is something wrong with Essik?”

“They’re on a first name basis! This is farther along than we suspected. You get Caleb dressed and I’ll round up Beau and Fjord and then we’ll switch off.”

Jester nodded and rushed passed Caleb and down the hallway. Caleb looked between the open door and Nott’s face. “Liebling, what-”

Jester suddenly ran back inside and started pulling him out of the room. “I forget to bring him with me!” Jester called, pulling him swiftly along to his room through the library. She threw open his closet and pulled out a very nice, clean outfit that he had never seen in his life.

“How long has that been there?”

“Get undressed. Put this on.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time, this is an emergency!”

Caleb groaned but started getting undressed, gently laying his books on the bed. He was removing his pants as Jester started forcing the new shirt over his arms. “Wah- Hey! Careful!” It was a very lovely blue cotton shirt and then she wrestled him into a brown vest with red stripes on the silk lining. “Where did you get this? This is too expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She pulled his pants down and off in one swift movement, knocking off his feet and onto the bed. He shivered from the cold but took the new, black trousers that she handed him.

“Why am I getting so dressed up?” he asked.

She grinned but didn’t respond. While he buttoned up his trousers she forced clean white socks and a pair of black shoes onto his feet. The door opened and Nott rushed in.

“Good, he’s dressed. The Shadowhand arrived, Beau and Fjord are distracting him but he’s asking for Caleb.”

“This is about Essik?” Caleb asked, his voice getting high in confusion.

Nott ignored him. “Go get Caduceus and start on the drinks, I’ll do the hair.”

Jester nodded and finished tying his shoe and a hard yank before running out of the room. Nott climbed up onto the bed behind him and started running a brush through his hair, tugging hard on the knots and brushing away the dandruff.

“Ow- Ow! Hey, what- Ow!”

She pulled the brush through his hair several times until she could pull it through with no resistance, and then she pulled it all back into a low bun near the nape of his neck. She walked around to stand on his legs and gave his face an appreciative look. “It’s a good thing you’ve been keeping up on shaving. You don’t want me to to that super quick too.”

“You are not coming near me with a razor.”

Nott licked her palm and then reached up to push his loose hair back out of his face so that they fall around the sides instead. “So handsome,” she praised, grinning at him.

“Will you tell me what’s going on now?”

“No time. Up, up. Up to the garden.” She pulled him up to his feet and started shoving at the back of his knees to push him out of the room. “Essik is in the garden!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He walked down the hall alone, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He walked up the spiral staircase. He climbed up the ladder and pushed the hatch open enough to climb up.

There was only one person up there, admiring the lights in the tree with a tea cup in his hand. Essik turned to look at him and stared at him silently for a moment, revealing nothing on his face.

“Caleb,” he said, finally smiling. “You look… lovely.”

“I- Thanks.”

Essik chuckled and waved his hand to the small, round table beside him and the single matching tea cup. “This is yours, I believe.” He sighed and looked out over the side of the tower and muttered under his breath. “I’m two hundred years old, I should not be set up like this so easily…”

Caleb cleared his throat and started over to stand next to him, picking up the tea cup. He took a sip and nearly spit it back out, coughing into his fist while Essik chuckled. “There’s booze in this,” he said, obviously.

“There is. The tea cups are a bit deceptive, I’ll admit.” He cleared his throat as well and downed the entire cup. “Was this your idea?” he asked, gesturing to Caleb’s clothes and then to the tea cups.

Caleb blinked at him and looked down at his own body. “Was what my idea?”

Essik watched him closely and then sighed. “You have no clue, do you? That should not be as endearing as it is.”

“I have no idea to what you’re referring.”

Essik chuckled and nodded. “I know.” He glanced back to the hatch in the floor when he heard a subtle squeak and spotted two large, yellow eyes peeking out at him. He gave the snooping goblin a little wave and she quickly shut the hatch, leaving the two men alone by the light of the sun jars.

[stranded-warriors]

 The greatest of their worries were done and over, but the stairway to the city proposed a new challenge: getting Kaz to climb them.. One foot after the other Kaz would slowly climb one fight, round the corner, and then see another flight waiting for time. By time the two of them had reached the fourth corner in the long spiral of doom, Kaz decided he's had enough. Gripping on the stair's railing in a death vice, he slowly leveled himself onto the nearest stair huffing and puffing a storm.

 “These steps are thrice the size for any ordinary man, and how long have we been climbing? I swear there's no end to this!” Kaz sighed “Care to give your friend a moment to catch his breath?”

 Feraligatr took watch in the turn, their back against the closest wall. There was no foul in giving the man some time to rest, but if they were going by Kaz's plan to keep as much attention away from them as possible, it didn't make sense to stand out on a staircase like a couple out-of-place strays, not to mention the dock workers along with whoever else were climbing had no problem getting upstairs. Maybe Kaz was just weak, maybe comparing a man who spent their lives study to a person who's clearly fought in wars was entirely unfair, but to tell the truth there wasn't too much harm in letting him take a break.

 Out of habit Feraligatr reached around to pull something out from the imaginary backpack, alas they still had nothing other than the armor they rode in here on. They even checked around their waist where they would occasionally stow rations in pouches, yet all they found were a few scraps of lint stuck to their armor like tiny burdock. Kaz was quick to catch on.

 “Ah, did you forget something?”

 Feraligatr shook their head, and breathed a sigh of defeat.

 “Whatever great force is responsible for putting us in our strange predicament, they were graceful enough to let me keep the few things I had. All it had decided to take from me were a couple scrolls, and a few odd tokens for the record. As if anyone was going to believe me in the first place.” Kaz chuckled as if what he said was remotely funny, “That said...”

 Kaz reached into his robes, pulling out a small black journal emblazoned with a symbol of a great serpent over its cover. Its crammed pages were somehow held together by a golden buckle and a leather strap. Just as quickly as he was to flash his prized possession he was swift to put it back where it belonged.

 “I would be more lost than I am without this.”

 They would've loved the chance to ask what it was all about when instantly the marching of many armored footsteps put Feraligatr on alert. Much to Kaz's disdain he was lifted up by Feraligatr, and made to begin walking  up the stairs alongside them. Kaz who was in the middle of being dragging their tired legs up the steep incline took a moment to see what had gotten his friend so riled, and whereas he only stopped to breathe earlier, they should really look at what was coming.

 Three dragon-types in varying degrees of armor – a sort who really seemed as though they were in charge – collectively hauled someone on a canvas stretcher. This poor somebody was adrift between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness, thrashing about like they were living out the last moments of their lives on repeat. They were fighting something more horrifying than all the things Kaz could imagine, and between their frothing growls and close swipes at their captors, Kaz caught a few words from the dragons muttering among themselves.

 “You think after the third one they'd stop going after foreigners?”

 “Who cares? We'll lock him up like the others.”

 As their chatter would suggest, this person clearly didn't belong to New Palkia. Their stark black fur and the occasional bouts of electricity which sparked during their panicked fits, meant they could only be one pokemon and one all too common where Feraligatr hailed from. Not only that, but most worrying of all about the Luxray was the ornate, charcoal-colored armor whom his captors have yet to strip from him. One look at the Luxary's helmet-less face, then back at the feraligatr who had decided to see the commotion for themselves, and something clicked.

 The guards would leave soon after, leaving the two pokemon to stir in an empty corridor.. The thoughts they had were each troubling. It seemed all too coincidental, and the painful sting of worry lingered in Kaz's chest. The guards had mentioned this had only happened to foreigners, and who were they but strangers in a strange land? Whatever was happening to these people, it seemed likely they would come into it's cross-hairs. Their safety couldn't be guaranteed until they got as far from New Palkia as possible, however they are supposed to leave this realm out in the abyss. As for Feraligatr, they clearly thought differently. They stared long and hard at the Luxray being hauled off to their imprisonment, honing their eyes into a glare sharp enough to cut the three who had taken their comrade away.

 “I hurts me too, but now is not our time.” he didn't need to look to see Feraligatr stare daggers at him, “It would be wise for us to find a roof over our head-”

 Feraligatr dismissed any notions about subtlety then and there as they left Kaz to march up the stairs. Kaz paniced, scrambling as fast as they could up around the bend only to see they hadn't beaten three fully armored beasts to a pulp, but his Friend stopped to behold something great, and bright. Each painstaking step would clear up the vast swathe of light Kaz could only see as a blur from below, eventually he would begin to see shapes: outlines of tall, rectangular structures; crystalline growth which defied all plausible explanation, twisted and transformed into chaotic shapes; the forms of dragon-types lugging their bodies through tight marble streets; above all was a great crystal palace held high in the stary skies by unfathomably large growths of quartz.

 It would be hard to mistake the palace as anything other than the home of this city's leader, so too did they know they've reached the thick of it: the city known as New Palkia. Whatever they will come to make of this place along with its denizens, the road out of here will be hard fought. Before they would ever think their way out of this they would need somewhere to speak quietly, preferably with a roof overhead.

[herokamijoutouma]

Kamijou Touma once more climbed to the top of the transparent spiral staircase.

He had reached the summit of the mountain.

A vast space awaited him. There was no concept of a floor or stairs here. Everything was transparent. After taking just one step into it, he was unsure where the stairs he had climbed were. No, perhaps the exit really had disappeared once he arrived.

And now that he had climbed the heavenly staircase, he was in outer space.

He had no idea how the dimensions were distorted inside and out, but the giant blue planet spread out endlessly below his feet.

“It is simple.”

For the first time, he heard a physical voice instead of a staticky fake.

Kamijou Touma was not about to let any absurdity or unreasonableness surprise him now. That “human” stood in the center of that space which had nowhere to hide. He had ankle-length silver hair and wore a green surgical gown. He looked like both a man and a woman, like both an adult and a child, and like both a saint and a sinner. And he spoke as if he had been standing here for an entire century.

“A field ruled by the ley lines running through the ground. The directionality and intensity of the various forces arriving from the cardinal directions and from other heavenly bodies… The magic born on earth is bound to earth. And unfortunately, humans will fill in seas and shave down mountains to achieve their goals. Yes, the very same people who are affected by the many sparks. So I thought I might be able to achieve a ceremony worthy of my goal if I escaped the limited possibilities of the earth. I will admit I panicked somewhat when that space elevator got there ahead of me.”

That was the purpose of the powerful walls, fully-enclosed environment, and rocket boosters.

And it did not matter if those conditions needed to escape the earth were destroyed. He had ignored Euclidean geometry to extend space, raise his tower in another dimension, and free himself from the bonds of the heavens.

“…Is your battle still not over?”

“It may never end. I used the life support system to prevent any traces of my life force from escaping into the outside world, but I also gave myself the difficult task of providing myself 1700 years of extra time. In other words, it is all part of the plan. No matter how many failures, defeats, losses, and setbacks I face, I can redo it all.”

“Can I say something kind of mean that tramples over all that?”

“Such as?”

“…Lilith may have died before she could learn to speak, but I doubt it was this look on your face that she loved.”

There was nothing more than that.

Kamijou never thought this was someone who could be stopped with words. He knew Aleister had invited him deep into the Windowless Building for some reason. Besides, this was Academy City, where everything was set up to be resolved with a fist. So clenching his right fist here was not leaving the rails prepared by the Board Chairman even by a millimeter.

But he did not care.

In the end, this was all Kamijou Touma had.

No matter how much he might have wished for it, he could not become a shogi player or cook in this instant. So he had to master the path he did have. Instead of worrying about the details and slamming on the brakes, he had to floor it, throw out the plans of this schemer, and grasp the results for himself. That was the only way he could accomplish anything.

“Let’s do this.”

“No words are necessary. We know each other better than that.”

Oddly, that turn of phrase brought a smile to Kamijou’s lips.

This was truly his first time meeting this “human”.

And yet Aleister’s strange statement seemed so very appropriate.

They must have been linked before he was born and they must have been enemies from the moment he was born.

No matter what explanation they gave each other, their relationship was an inseparable one.

So.

This time, words truly were not necessary.

The two of them kicked off the ground and ran forward.

[daddypoett]

The Prince and His Knight

Chapter 1: They Meet

Once upon a time in the faraway Kingdom of Elysium a king and queen give birth to a beautiful baby boy named Lucas. The boy grew up strong, handsome, kind, charming, and all the markings of a truly phenomenal leader. He caught the attention of women from all the nearby kingdoms with his short brown hair groomed to perfection each morning along with his beard being kept short, his milky, amber eyes coupled with his lean muscular body and tall build. The prince, despite his near perfection, does have one tragic difficulty unknown to many casted down on him by the wicked witches of the east. He was cursed with the inability to feel romantic love which would turn permanent and rid him of all his emotions if he could not find his true love by midnight on his eighteenth birthday. Not to mention, the Prince also has difficulty feeling any emotions unless they are intense and completely true. Despite his court’s best attempts the Prince has found himself depressed and lonely for most of his life. Unimpressed by the things that were given to attempt to distract and delight him.

Prince Lucas’ seventeenth birthday rolls around and his court and family are frantic to find him a suitor before he becomes dark and emotionless. His parents have become so desperate and divided on the matter that they decided to each try their own plan to save Prince Lucas.

King Ivan decided he’d train an army to locate and force the wicked witches into lifting the curse. Queen Mary decided she’d have fair maidens lineup from kingdoms near and far to attempt to win over her baby boy’s heart. Day after day the prince would sit for twelve hours talking to princesses and royalty from all over but alas only found them uninteresting with the same uneventful tales of palace or castle life. The prince didn’t have much hope for either plan yet played along to give his family the hope they undoubtedly needed. He often didn’t sleep and would spend his nights in the mirror practicing the emotions he had trouble feeling. One of those included joy which came easy because he felt it some years ago training and going on missions with the recruits for the King’s army. Fighting for himself during the day and singing with his mates at night around a fire brought light into young prince’s eyes. In addition to the freedom he also thoroughly enjoyed getting away from the king and queen for days not having to uphold their standards. Alas, those days are now over. He is a month into his mother’s plan and women still flood the castle gates every morning despite his wishes that they wouldn’t.

The only upside to the separate plans is that King Ivan wasn’t there to have his any of his outbursts. He was too busy taking it out on whatever poor group of knights he got to agree to hunt witches with him. He was barely ever around the castle anymore, instead he is usually out barking orders at his men while dishing out harsh punishments to those who couldn’t keep up with his drills or help him locate the witches.

Today marks the 35th day Queen Mary has tried to force a wife onto the prince yet has failed once again. Per usual, the prince’s overall disdain for these women coupled with his bluntness left a girl in shambles crying at his feet, as he leaned down to apologize he was yanked down by his red and gold robe nearly knocking off his shimmering crown. The woman began begging for him to wed her. Before she could finish her plea the guards came to attempt to drag her away but the six foot tall muscular, tenacious princess put up a fight the guards would not soon forget causing such a commotion Queen Mary rushes to call for more guards to escort the persevering princess out of the castle. Our prince seized this opportunity to step down from his throne and tries to sneak out of the opposite end of the throne hall to escape the posh, panicking princess pile up of doom.

He gets around to the other side of the hall before his name is called out by his mother silencing the chaos as everyone turns to see Lucas sprinting away. He darts left and slides down the spiral staircase, makes another left into the kitchen running into the maids and cooks preparing supper. The maidens gawk at the young man as he takes off his robe and crown handing them to the nearest servant, then bolting out the backdoor in his linen shirt and baggy pants.

He inhales the crisp fresh air, feels the wind blow through his hair, finally away from all the “fair” princesses desperately trying to save him with their misplaced love. He begins running to the training quarters feeling his feet beat against the the dirt path as his heart quickly makes its own beat picking up pace like battle drums leading him to his safe place.

Lucas reaches the sparing area outside and ducks behind some nearby shrubbery to watch a few matches. The winner of the match takes on the next opponent until they lose.

For the entire morning a knight by the name of Connor has gone undefeated, quickly outsmarting his opponents, often leaving them on their back with his wooden sword to their neck. Connor was an orphan boy now seventeen that impressed the king four years ago when he reportedly disarmed and embarrassed several officers attempting to arrest him for theft in the market. He was then giving the choice of life in prison or his pledging unwavering loyalty to protect the kingdom, especially the king and his family. He subjected Connor to harsher training than the rest claiming him as the kingdom’s champion as he vanquished countless foes over the years leaving other rulers petrified of Elysium’s champion.

Connor isn’t short but he certainly isn’t the tallest and despite having a nice build isn’t the biggest either. His mocha brown skin shined with sweat facing his last opponent, even his short, scruffy beard dripped droplets of sweat, he tied back his long wavy hair as his adversary stepped forward. They took their ready positions as Connor felt his blood begin to boil and his heart beginning to thump like wings quickly flapping leading him to push his challenger with a level of sureness he had never felt before.

Prince Lucas can no longer sit by and watch as his heart is still pounding like the stomping of children running down stairs to receive a treat. He wants to feel the rush a of a challenging rival. He dips away at the beginning of the final match to fetch a knight’s helmet and comes back as they begin cheering for their champion. Lucas grabs a loose training sword, pushes past the swarm of sweaty simpletons to stand before Connor. He doesn’t speak, only gestures for him to pick up his sword and gets into fighting position. Connor doesn’t speak as well, just picks up his sword and enters ready position.

Their hearts racing like its their first time in combat. They gravitate toward each other lunging at the same time banging their sword together. After a series of impressive blows from both ends Lucas flings Connor’s sword away. Confident, perhaps too soon, Lucas steps forward expecting surrender yet to his surprise Connor tackles him to the ground pinning Lucas’ hands under his knees leaving him what he thinks is powerless. He goes to remove the helmet of his reticent rival when Lucas kicks his knee up into the back of Connor’s head losing his grip enough on the hand without the sword. Lucas goes to strike Connors face but he catches it and puts it behind Lucas’ head and bends down to be sure of no more surprise knees from behind.

Speaking into the silent silver face Connor says through the chanting of his fellow brethren, “How about a truce?”

“I don’t lose; feel free to get off of me so I can end this.”, Lucas replies through the grates of his metal mask.

“It’s not losing we’re just agreeing to call it even since you have no way out of this but I have no way of striking a final blow, so we are at a stalemate and might as well call it a truce. You’re a great fighter and worthy adversary but this’ll never end.”

“Fine, get off of me.”

He stands up offering the weird warrior his hand, which Lucas ignores standing up and immediately turning and darting away into a nearby forest. He took the long way home, grinning the entire walk back thinking about the way him and Connor fought so passionately with so much fire behind their blows. He removed his helmet when he was close to the castle, once there he snuck in through the kitchen to avoid Queen Mary. The prince then went into his chamber and locked the door. His heart rate had finally simmered down yet it still felt loud like battle drums.

Connor went back to other drills with the men, besting everyone in other skill sets such as archery. He started wishing the secretive soldier would come back to challenge him in other drills. Now Connor is back in his quarters, separate from the rest of the men since he is the kingdom’s champion. He can’t stop thinking about who could’ve matched him so well. He can’t even sleep as he is plagued with questions, wondering where he could’ve came, or if he’s a threat. His heart is calmer now yet is still restless.

Prince Lucas lies awake yearning to feel his heartbeat like it had earlier, so he decided to go look for adventure in the forest and be back in time to face his mother for more potential bride meetings. He got dressed, put on his helmet, and climbed down from his bedroom window. As soon as his feet hit the ground he was off running trying keep up with his heartbeat leading him into the unknown deep in the forest.

Connor decides to go for a walk to attempt to clear his head and as soon as his feet connect with the ground his heartbeat picks up moving his feet for him leading him deep into the forest.

-Poet

[errantknightess]

Truth in the mirror

Pairing: Lavi/Allen

Word count: 10,624

Summary: Lavi has to break a curse before it breaks his heart.

A/N: Requested by a dear anon who asked for a curious Lavi stumbling upon a cursed mirror and had to wait entirely too long to see their idea realized - I’m really really sorry about that! Hopefully the final product will be worth the wait ;;

[Read on AO3]

The light of the oil lamp danced on the broken book spines, worn-out gilded letters glistening faintly in the glow. Lavi walked slowly along the aisle, sliding his finger over the dusty leather covers and breathing in the moldy smell of old paper as he brought his face closer to decipher the faded titles. Every now and then, he stopped to pull a thick tome halfway from the shelf, only to glance at it and cram it back in with disappointment. The palace library housed thousands of volumes, all of them perfectly organized – and yet, he still couldn’t find what he came here for.

“Hey, Miranda?” he called in a hushed voice that rolled clear through the dead silence. “Where are all the archival almanacs from two centuries ago? I don’t see any of them here.”

The librarian slinked out of the darkness, a quiet shadow in a black dress and a state of constant trepidation. Lavi has never once seen her anywhere else around the palace. Nervous and timid as she was, she rarely left the peaceful seclusion of the library.

“They should be here, right?” Lavi asked, waving his hand towards the shelf in front of them. Miranda followed the gesture with a concerned look. For a moment, her eyes darted over the books, and then stilled, staring off into space as she pressed her hand to her mouth in a sudden realization.

“Oh,” she whimpered, fingers trembling against her chin. “Oh, my.”

“What’s the matter?” Lavi raised his eyebrow, shifting his gaze between Miranda and the shelf. “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal if you misplaced them. I can help you look. I need them, after all.”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Miranda said quickly, a panicked look flashing through her face. “I didn’t— I didn’t touch them! If they’re not here… If they’re not here, they must be up in the observatory.” Her voice cracked, and she paused, wide-eyed, wringing her hands anxiously.

There was something more than her usual unrest in the way she tensed up – a cold, pale fear that unsettled even Lavi as he watched her. As much as he needed those books, he really couldn’t ask her to retrieve them now. The poor woman looked as if she were about to fall apart where she stood.

Lavi sighed, scratching at his temple as he weighed his options.

There weren’t many.

“Well, then.” He forced a smile and turned to the door, the light of the lamp wavering with the movement. “I guess I’ll better go look for them.”

Miranda stammered, and in the quivering shadows it was hard to judge if she was more relieved or worried at his decision.

Honestly, Lavi couldn’t blame her. He had heard the stories many times even in those few months he has spent at the court so far. The abandoned tower in the east wing had a grim reputation among the servants. Some nights, when the wind flickered the fire in the hearth and the low rumble of thunder heralded a brewing storm, they would skulk and whisper about the strange things they had seen and heard there. They spoke of knocks and thuds echoing through the corridors, of lights appearing suddenly in the empty room, and of pale specters standing silent in the dark doorway.

Lavi recalled it all as he walked down the hall, his footsteps unbearably loud in the stillness of the night. The sky outside the tall arched windows was sprinkled with stars, the treetops down in the garden silvery blue in the pale light. He hadn’t even noticed when the sun set while he was busy in the library.

After a few minutes of meandering through the empty corridors, he finally found the narrow staircase leading to the observatory tower. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he set his foot on the first step: just a draft, he insisted. Shaking himself off, he took one last look over his shoulder and started climbing the tall, spiraling stairs. The stone slabs were slippery and uneven, making him stumble and grasp at the walls to keep his balance. When he reached the top, stopping in front of a sturdy looking door, his hands were clammy and sweaty; he wiped them on his shirt and slowly reached for the handle. It moved heavily, hesitantly, but at last – with screeching of hinges and moaning of the warped wood – the door opened.

The room was dark, rimmed with deep shadows that made everything look as if it was cut out of paper. The floor was a mess – unsurprising, but still unsettling. Lavi made a few uncertain steps forward, shuffling his feet so he wouldn’t stumble over the clutter. As his eye got used to the dark, he made out a long telescope by the window, the outlines of shelves filled with some odd instruments on the walls, and a tattered map of the sky on a stand in the corner. Just opposite the door stood a tall mirror, reaching from the floor nearly up to the ceiling. Lavi turned his head as he passed it, wincing when he caught a glimpse of his own shadow in the reflection. There was something disturbing  about mirrors in the dark, something that made him uneasy no matter how he reasoned with himself.

Trying his best to ignore that feeling, he crossed the room to the huge table in the middle. It looked like a good place to start, strewn with papers, rolls of parchment and crudely bound notebooks. Lavi started to sift through all of that, picking up every thicker volume he found and peering at it in the scarce light – but if the almanacs really were there, he couldn’t see them anywhere underneath all this chaos.

THUD

Lavi flinched, looking around nervously. Did he knock something over in the dark? It was hard to tell, but he hoped whatever it was didn’t break. All those tools scattered around looked delicate and complicated, and despite how uneasy this place was making him feel, he was already itching to come back here later when he could take a better look at them.

THUD

This time, it was louder – and now he was sure where it came from. Lavi whipped around on instinct, coming face to face with his dark reflection. The sight froze the blood in his veins, but this time, it was not just his own shadow.

In the mirror, there was someone standing right behind him.

Lavi stumbled away from the table, wasting no time to look back. He shot out of the door, slamming his shoulder hard against the opposite wall, and ran blindly, taking two steps at once and nearly tumbling down the stairs. Outside the dark staircase, the dim light of sconces was blinding. The lamps blurred in the corner of his eye as he raced along the corridor, at this point pushed more by the momentum than shock. He didn’t stop until he reached the library door again, frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears like an echo of his heavy footsteps.

“Are you all right?” Miranda’s voice barely broke through to him as he closed the door behind him, leaning back against the rough wood. “Why are you shaking? Did—did something happen?”

“I’m fine.” Lavi managed, still a bit breathless after his desperate dash. “Just… cold. It was really cold up there, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, trying his best to look unfazed under Miranda’s worried gaze. Maybe he has been spending too much time with her – surely he hadn’t been this jumpy before.

“I can’t believe you really went there, and in the middle of the night.” Miranda shook her head with a sigh. “Let’s hope the ghosts didn’t get angry with you. Make sure to wash your hands with thyme before bed, just to be safe. Did you find the almanacs?”

“No.” Lavi couldn’t quite find it in himself now to argue that ghosts didn’t exist. “I didn’t look too well, though. There’s still a few places I haven’t checked. I’ll go again tomorrow. Surely the ghosts will be asleep then,” he added quickly to appease her. Sooner or later, he knew he would find himself coming back there no matter what.

Even under the haze of dread, unanswered questions continued to gnaw at him all through the night.

 ***

Though restless as it was, sleep helped him clear his head a little. In the light of the morning, the fears from earlier felt embarrassingly irrational. Yes, he did see something last night – of that he was sure; just as sure as he was now that there had to be a logical explanation for whatever it was. And Lavi needed to find it, or he wouldn’t have a peaceful night again.

He had barely swallowed his breakfast before curiosity led him to the foot of the spiral staircase once more. His heart quivered as he mounted the narrow steps, but this time Lavi was not afraid anymore – just excited.

The room looked just the same as he left it. With the sun pouring in through the latticed window, it was easier to see exactly how ruined it was. Everywhere in sight lay broken pieces of ceramic, upturned chairs and drawers pulled out onto the floor, spilling their contents like the innards of a mauled animal. Lavi carefully stepped over a tangled heap of dark fabric and made his way to the table. Now that he could see properly, the task of digging through the piles of papers wasn’t as daunting as he thought it would be. The only obstacle left was distraction.

Surrounded with such an immense amount of books and notes, Lavi couldn’t help but look over them closely as he set them aside stack after stack. There were charts and tables, thick tomes of theories and treatises, and hundreds of loose sheets and parchment scrolls filled with dense, careless writing. The same letters swirled on the few bound notebooks laying around, scribbled over the rough covers in red ink: Allen Walker. Lavi had heard it before, repeated in hushed tones around the dying fire in the palace kitchens. A former royal astrologist, a strange young man who disappeared one day just as mysteriously as he had arrived. Lavi’s fingers tingled as he ran them over the dusty notes. What could have happened to him? Where did he go? Why did he leave all of this work here? It’s such a waste, he thought bitterly, thumbing through another volume and wincing as the pages fluttered with a parade of anatomical diagrams. Astrology, medicine, even alchemy – the room was brimming with orphaned knowledge, and Lavi wished he could soak it all up right from the dusty air.

This was not all he came here for, though. Even as he burrowed himself in the documents, the faint glint of glass across the room kept stealing his attention time and again. Whenever he looked up, Lavi would catch his own wary eye staring back at him from the murky reflection, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Leaving the table, he crossed the floor in a few firm strides that wouldn’t give him enough time to change his mind. From up close, the mirror didn’t look remarkable at all, the smooth surface flecked with dust and stains of old age. Lavi inspected it closely, carefully running his fingers along the simple frame carved in jade. There had to be something more to it than it seemed. Whatever he saw last night, it was probably some trick of the light, a crafty illusion, and he just had to figure out how this thing worked. He peeked around the frame, but all he found there was just more dust. No hollowed out niches, no secret mechanisms. Nothing that could explain seeing things that weren’t there. Puzzled, Lavi pulled back to face his reflection again – and barely bit down a scream of shock.

The apparition was there again, white and shining and looking straight at him with wide silver eyes. Lavi blinked, staring back at it with cold sweat running down his spine. Slowly, he took a step back, boots crunching on the clutter on the floor. The figure in the mirror didn’t move, still piercing him with those eyes – intense, bright, glistening.

Pleading.

Even if Lavi wanted to run, his legs felt like stone pillars mounted firmly in the ground. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he had half-expected to see it again, but even so, it still took him by surprise – too sudden, too close, and much too real. And yet this time, looking into the fair face of the boy that stood in place of his own reflection, Lavi realized he was not afraid at all.

The boy’s shoulders drooped in what looked like relief, a deep sigh fogging around his lips for a few seconds. Lavi watched as he raised his hand and knocked on the glass. The mirror shook with a dull clang, the image rippling like waves on a lake. Nothing more happened, though, and after a tense moment of hesitation Lavi decided to step closer again. The silver eyes widened, trained on him as the ghostly boy suddenly opened his mouth. No sound followed, but his lips shaped a single desperate word that Lavi recognized immediately:

Help.

Taking a final step towards the mirror, Lavi carefully reached out and put his fingers to the dusty surface. It felt cold, smooth and firm like a block of ice. His skin started to tingle against the touch, and he pulled it back immediately, hissing at the itch still wriggling right through his bones. Most peculiar. There was some magic at work there, no doubt about it.

Lavi had never had much experience with spells and sorcery. His master made sure he stayed as far away from it as he could in his line of work. Nothing good ever came from getting involved with magic – especially of this kind. Lavi chewed at his lip, the gears in his mind spinning under the imploring gaze from the mirror. Returning freedom to those sealed away was burdened with consequences. A powerful jinn or a mischievous dytko could cause a lot of trouble if they were let out by reckless actions. He should be cautious – he had to know exactly what he was dealing with.

Taut with anticipation, Lavi leveled his eye at the figure, steel needles of static dancing in the air between them.

“Who are you?" he whispered.

The boy didn’t reply, just leaned against the mirror with his hands splayed on the glass.

“Can you hear me?” Lavi dared to raise his voice just a little, but he could already see it wouldn’t make any difference. The boy in the mirror stared back at him with sad eyes, his lips fluttering again with soundless words.

“Hold on,” Lavi muttered, raising his finger in a gesture he could only hope would get it across. In a blink, he was back at the table, sifting through the notes until he found some blank scraps of parchment and a shabby quill stuck in an inkwell. The ink had gone dry a long time ago, but mixing it with some spit was more than good enough for him at the moment. Lavi dropped his findings in front of the mirror and hastily wrote his question, holding the parchment up for the boy to see:

Can you read?

The boy’s face lit up in an instant. He answered with a vehement nod, and Lavi didn’t waste time, dipping the quill back in the ink so quickly he almost spilled it.

Do you have a name?

His stomach light with thrill, Lavi watched as the boy opened his mouth again – but instead of speaking, he misted the glass with his breath and quickly started to scribble in the vapor with his finger. The mirrored letters were pale and wobbly, vanishing almost immediately:

Allen.

It felt like a pebble falling into its place in a confusing, half-finished mosaic. Lavi’s eye darted back to the table, back to the notebooks signed with the same name in the same sloppy handwriting. He tried to recall everything he had heard about this tower, about the hauntings and the missing astrologist, but there wasn’t much he could hold on to in those fanciful stories. Was this some kind of a trick after all? Or could the figure in the mirror really be…

But before Lavi could string his confusion and excitement into a coherent sentence, Allen started to write something again, fingers gliding over the glass and leaving a trail of lines as ghostly as himself:

Who are you?

Lavi hesitated, watching the mist fade away to reveal a pale face brimming with anticipation. Could he really trust this person? He still didn’t know for sure what he was facing – but would he ever get any closer to the truth if he backed away now?

He could divulge at least this much, he decided, his heart crawling up to his throat when he wrote the next sentence: I’m Lavi, the chronicler at the court. Knowing this shell of a name wouldn’t give anyone any power over him, and either way he would discard it as soon as the palace gates close behind him for the last time.

Allen tilted his head, staring at him with a thoughtful frown. A moment later, his face was a blur again, hasty strokes cutting through the screen of mist, but whatever he was trying to say faded away before Lavi could read it. Somehow, this helped to put his doubts at ease. As much as he yearned for this mysterious stranger to explain everything, he felt safer knowing that he was more in control of this conversation. It was his turn now, anyway – and so he quickly scrawled his next questions, smudging the letters with a shaky hand:

Are you the missing astrologist? Why are you here?

Allen’s face lit up with a surprised smile. He nodded eagerly, strands of silver- white hair flying over his eyes. His gaze was piercing, glimmering with unasked questions. It almost hurt to look – but Lavi wanted his own questions answered first. Restlessly, he tapped the second line with his quill, urging him on.

The smile fell. Allen bit his lip, turning those bright eyes away. For a moment, Lavi feared that was it, but then he started writing in his breath again, this time just a single, grim word: curse.

So he was right. Lavi eyed the mirror cautiously, nervous tension tingling in his fingertips. It was best to stay out of matters like this – but by now, curiosity had seized him firmly in its chilling grip and he knew it wouldn’t let go so easily. One of the greatest mysteries of the palace was right in front of him, just out of his reach, only a thin pane of glass separating him from the explanation he wanted so badly. He needed to know this story, to learn it straight from the source, to fill in the blanks left in the records. And then – then there was so much more that Allen could tell him…! His notes alone would be enough to quench Lavi’s thirst for learning for months. They were full of obscure science and research, things he’s never heard about, things he couldn’t even read. All this knowledge, and the only person who could share it with him was stuck in a crystal cage like a songless bird.

When he put his pen to paper again, there was no trace of doubt or hesitation left in his racing mind.

If I let you out, Lavi wrote, shooting Allen a determined look, will you promise to teach me?

Allen frowned, his mouth round with surprise: What?

I want to learn all you know. Everything. The tip of the quill flew over the parchment, scraping a thick, resolute line under the word. If I bring you back, you’ll tell me about your work and show me what you do. Sounds fair?

It took a moment for Allen to reply, a tense moment he spent drilling his gaze into Lavi as if he was trying to see something deep inside him. Lavi stared right back at him, studying that pale face for any hint to his thoughts – until finally, the astrologist nodded slowly. One of his hands reached up to the glass, the pads of his fingers pearly white where they met the surface. Lavi pressed his own hand against it, the hairs on his arm rising at the sudden bite of the magic discharge. This was an agreement, then. A simple pact, no more binding than a promise made to a friend, but somehow that gave it even more weight. They’ve only just met, and yet this stranger decided to trust him. Allen’s eyes were so full of hope it made his stomach churn. He knew next to nothing about magic – will he really be able to help?

Hesitant, Lavi tapped his fingers on the mirror’s frame, tracing the white veins in the smooth stone. The easiest way to break any spell was to destroy the enchanted object – but who could tell what would happen to Allen then? For all Lavi knew, he could very well shatter along with the glass prison that held him. They couldn’t risk it. The curse, whatever it was, had to be lifted properly.

Do you know the spell that was used? He wrote, dampening the tip of the quill with his tongue after each word. The dried remains of ink were running low, and Allen couldn’t really say much with his fading words, either, but that at least would be something to get them started. But when he held the parchment up to the mirror, all he got in response was a dejected shake of the head.

Lavi sighed, rubbing his temple to collect his thoughts, but somewhere deep down he could already feel the swelling excitement – a rising wave, ready to sweep him up and toss into a wild frenzy of research. He might be no good with magic, but he was great with books, and that was more than enough for now. This was a puzzle, a trick lock; all he had to do was find the right key.

I’ll start searching for a way to undo it, Lavi scribbled. If you can think of anything that might work, let me know.

Allen nodded behind the screen of fog, his eyes shining though the thin, shaky smudges: Thank you.

Lavi couldn’t help the smile that crept on his lips – but it was faint, and brief, and gone before the mist dissipated.

 ***

The moon was high up in the sky, pale rays breaking on the floor as Lavi pried the age-crusted window open. A mild breeze fluttered the candle flames and stirred the yew seeds scattered inside the charcoal circle at his feet. He carefully made his way back around it and knelt down over the book propped open against a stack of others. The diagram spread on the yellowed pages looked neater than the one he drew on the rough floorboards, but as long as all the sigils and ingredients were placed in the right configuration, the spell should still work.

“Let’s see,” Lavi muttered, picking at his lip as his eye flew over the faded text, checking everything for the last time. This spell was a bit more complicated than everything he had tried so far. Stronger, too. Maybe this time it could finally work.

A soft knock coming from the mirror stole his attention. Lavi looked up, just in time to see Allen’s message fading from the glass: It’s messed up.

“Whoops, sorry!” He followed Allen’s gaze and frantically reached out to sweep up the pile of thistle ash disturbed by the breeze. His hand trailed a faint gray smudge as he wiped it on the front of his shirt, sending Allen a lopsided smile. See, it’s all good now. Everything’s going to be fine.

Allen returned the smile, but his face remained tense. He looked as nervous as Lavi felt, fidgeting behind the cursed screen as he observed the preparations. Lavi couldn’t blame him – after all, his life now lay in the hands of a novice who wasn’t even sure what he was doing.

He turned back to the book, the words melting together in his head from the dozens of times he had read them already. As he pored over the lengthy list of directions, he could almost feel his old master’s disapproving glare boring into the back of his skull. For all the reverence for knowledge inherent to his profession, this was one of the few things he had been explicitly forbidden from studying. And yet here he was, with the bitter, earthy scent of herbs clinging to his hands, troubled less by defying his teachings and more by the disadvantage they put him at.

Never mind that now. With a bit of luck, this will be the last time he goes against them.

Are you ready? He scribbled on a shred of parchment, one of many he’d brought along to make sure he could talk freely. The floor around him was strewn with shreds of earlier conversations, questions and ideas jotted down in hasty, sloppy handwriting. He’d pick them up and burn them when he was done, just to be safe – a relic of his training that he found hard to shake, even though no one seemed to take interest in what he was doing up here.

Allen nodded, eyes trained on him expectantly. It was too hard to meet them. Averting his glance, Lavi stood up and stopped at the edge of the circle, careful not to smear the outline. With a deep, measured breath, he reached down and picked up the small cup he had prepared earlier, the smooth ceramic still warm to the touch.

“Here goes,” he sighed and slowly spilled its contents in the center of the ring. A strong, spicy scent rose into the air as the brew splashed onto the floor. The candlelight flickered in the dark puddle like scattered coins. Lavi put the cup away and crouched down, dipped a shaky finger in the mixture and started to stir, scraping against the wet wood in small, deliberate spirals. Across the circle, Allen drew closer, leaning wide-eyed against the glass pane. Lavi did his best to avoid his gaze, focusing on the warmth coating his fingertips and the almost hypnotic movements of his own hand.

The breeze picked up again, the window rattled against the wall in the sudden surge. The candle flame shot higher, casting long, dancing shadows on the cluttered floor. Lavi held his breath, almost choking on the lungful of heady aromas all around him. The brew bubbled, foamed, steamed – and settled again before he could even think to pull his hand away. The candles went out. The silver streaks of moonlight faded under his scalded fingers, plunging the room in a cold, silky twilight.

Nothing happened.

Lavi sat back on the hard floor, feeling a choking lump of ice slowly dislodge from his throat and drop heavily to the pit of his stomach. Disappointment weighed down on him as he got back his bearings, wrapped in silence and the smell of blown out candles. With a sigh, he shuffled through the ring, paying no mind to the now useless remains of the spell, and turned his oil lamp back up.

If it was hard to look Allen in the eye before, it was impossible now. He sat there still and silent, head bowed low, hugging his knees tight to his chest with a white-knuckled grip. Lavi took one glance at the dejected slump of his shoulders and pointedly busied himself with inspecting the mirror frame, looking for any signs of success that he already knew he wouldn’t find.

I think it looks more cracked than before, he wrote, pressing the scrap against the fizzling glass before turning it around to show Allen. The astrologist just pursed his lips and shook his head with a look that made Lavi ashamed for playing with his hopes like this.

Good work, though, came a misty reply, and for a moment Lavi’s heart felt lighter before crumpling up with defeat once more.

Not good enough if you’re still in there. I’ve got one more, take a look, he wrote back. As soon as he held the paper up, he was already reaching out with the other hand to pull the right book out from the bottom of the stack. Allen tilted his head quizzically, craning his neck to see as Lavi leafed through the abundantly marked pages.

Here. Lavi set the book down at last, tapping his finger on an intricately inked initial. Allen quickly skimmed over the first paragraph and looked back up to give him a resolute nod. His eyes were bright with confidence, shining in the mirror like a twin reflection of the silver moon.

Lavi caught himself staring. He cleared his throat, eye darting away to focus on the open page instead, examining the tiny, densely packed script upside down as if he could read it. It didn’t matter either way; he could recall the instructions word for word ever since the first time he read them. He had never praised his perfect memory as much as he did these days, digging through dozens of books each day and having to keep track of every little snippet that could help him.

I’ll get to it now. The last word drowned in a black splatter as Lavi dropped the quill in his hurry to start working. It took only a moment to brush aside the mess left by the previous attempt, scrub down the lines from the floorboards and discard the half-melted candles. His limbs were heavy with fatigue, but determination lent fire to his body and kept him moving as he went about setting the new spell up, hands trembling under the watchful silver gaze. It was all simple things this time too, herbs he had snuck out from the kitchens and seeds he had bought in the market on his days off. Good, helpful magic did not demand much, it seemed.

And yet, Lavi still came up short.

“Damn it,” he muttered, looking haplessly around the jumble of books and ingredients. He shot Allen an apologetic glance and heaved himself up, wobbling a bit on his stiffened legs. A puzzled look from the mirror followed him all the way as he circled the room, rummaging in the cupboards and drawers.

I forgot to bring a knife, he explained once he plopped back on his spot, rubbing his eye from the dust and the candle smoke and lack of sleep. Hold on, I’ll go get it real quick.

The mirror fogged up before he even made to stand up again.

You need rest. Allen looked at him over the writing, his eyes firm.

It won’t be long, Lavi assured, but Allen’s gaze held him in place even as it disappeared once more behind a screen of mist:

I can wait.

Are you sure? Lavi held the parchment up to cover the traitorous yawn that escaped him just then. Judging by Allen’s face, he still noticed.

Go to sleep. His eyes softened as he smiled, steel melting back into silver, and Lavi couldn’t help but answer with a smile on his own, pale and tired and grateful.

I’ll come back tomorrow, then. He gave Allen a little wave and reached out on a whim to playfully poke his nose with the tip of the quill. Allen winced comically, stumbling back in surprise despite the glass separating them.

Goodnight, Lavi. He punctuated it with a prod towards Lavi’s nose in turn, shaking his head not without amusement.

 ***

The silence of the library wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, filling his ears and brain with cotton numbness. Lavi fidgeted on the hard chair, rhythmically tapping his quill against the desk to stay focused. It was getting late, later than he would usually stay in there recently, but there were still some books he wanted to check before heading up to the tower. He leafed through the yellowed pages, stopping every now and then to jot down a note and mark the spot with a piece of parchment. Even the simplest things, even if it didn’t seem like much – he would grab onto anything that held the faintest ray of promise. There weren’t many of those, though. With a sigh, Lavi set the volume aside and opened the next one, biting down at a smile as his eye fell on the familiar sloppy handwriting on the margin. Scribbling on books was not something he approved of, but Allen’s notes were often more helpful than the text they annotated, so Lavi was willing to forgive him for this awful habit.

That, however, was one of few traces Allen seemed to have left in the royal writings at all. The documents and chronicles Lavi had perused made no mention of his name, and at any rate it was a blind search without knowing how far back he should look. Even with all his love for puzzles, this one was frustrating to no end. Books and records had never let him down in the past – but this time, no matter how hard he looked, it appeared they did not have the answers.

There was but one way left to figure it out.

The night was dark and still when he finally climbed the steep stairs of the tower, weighed down with half a dozen volumes and a sack of spell ingredients. Allen was already waiting for him, the same bright smile as always lighting up his face as soon as Lavi opened the door. His eyes glinted in the gray shadow of the room before they were covered by a veil of vapor: Hello.

“Hi,” Lavi whispered, pressing his open hand to the cold glass. He set down his load and rummaged in the sack for the writing supplies, but before he even uncorked the inkwell, he saw Allen already writing again.

What’s wrong?

Lavi looked away quickly, smoothing out the crinkled shred of parchment in his hands.

Why would anything be wrong?

You look… troubled, Allen replied, hesitating a bit between breaths. His eyes widened, watchful and so full of concern that for a moment Lavi’s resolve wavered. He didn’t want to see them grow dark with the memories of the painful past.

I’m tired. I had a long day, he wrote, playing for time with himself. Allen nodded with understanding as he eyed the stack of books in front of the mirror.

Found it? He asked.

I think so. Lavi pulled up one of the books and cracked it open on the spell that seemed to match what Allen had told him last time. He got it right – and he couldn’t help but smile at the wonky drawing of a happy face he got in answer.

We can try it now, I’ve got everything prepared-- Lavi’s quill hovered in place, heavy drops of ink dripping from the tip and crashing onto the parchment. But first, I wanted to ask you something.

Allen raised his eyebrows, finger fluttering on the glass like a lost butterfly. Ask what?

Lavi studied his face for a moment, smearing the ink over his hands as he twirled the quill nervously before he finally started writing.

How did you end up in there? You’ve never told me what happened.

The shift in Allen’s face was hard to miss even in the dim light – the way his pale cheeks turned even whiter and the shadows under his eyes sharpened. He looked away, down at his fidgeting hands, and when he raised his eyes again, they were filled with leaden unease. His lips trembled as he took a deep breath – then another – and once more – but each time he let them out, their mist would wither away without an answer. Lavi watched him intently, holding still as if the slightest move could ruin the delicate balance and push Allen to withdraw even further – but in the end, it didn’t matter.

Can’t say. Allen shook his head, the shrinking fog taking the words away from under his fingers.

Why not? Lavi pressed, his eye still fixed firm on Allen’s face. What’s wrong with that?

Just can’t.

Can’t or won’t? Lavi swallowed down the disappointment, writing so quickly he nearly tore through the parchment. Is this a part of the curse? Or do you—he paused, ready to cross it out, but the bitterness gnawing at his guts won. Or do you not want to? Don’t you trust me?

It’s not—Allen’s hand trembled, a deep sigh hiding his face in a blur. –not that.

Then why not tell me?

Allen shook his head again, more frantic, leaning against the glass as he misted it up over and over.

I can’t

Not yet

I’m sorry

The letters staggered, breaking under his unsteady finger. The mist crept down, washing them away like a falling tide, but the eyes behind it remained blurred, glassed over with tears that threatened to spill under the white lashes. The guilty look on his face made Lavi’s heart fall, his composure returning in an instant. Now he felt like a fool – there was no reason to lash out like he did.

It’s all right, he backed away lamely, chewing at his lip with frustration. Must be a damn good reason.

No response, just more fidgeting.

You’ll tell me when I get you out. It will be fine then, right?

Allen nodded slowly, solemnly.

Great, Lavi scribbled, hazarding a smile that soon found a reflection in the pale face before him. Then let’s get to it!

 ***

The nights soon started to blur together, sleepless and busy, filled with fruitless tries that Lavi could no longer bother to count. Still, he didn’t mind – it was far from new to him, after all. Sleep was a low price to pay in return for the answers he yearned after, and the thrill of the unknown helped to keep him up at least until the last of the lamps gave out. Between researching the spells and his usual duties, often it wasn’t until midnight that he stumbled up to the tower, laden with books and supplies, hoping that maybe this time one of them would finally do the trick.

And though they never did, the time he spent there did not feel wasted in the least. It was always good to see Allen, to exchange smiles and ideas, to look through the books and notes in his silent company. They could barely talk, but the more they did, the less Lavi could fathom why anyone would want to curse the astrologist. His wit and charm shone through with a strength that even the magic barrier could not stop, and with every quip, every gesture, every concerned look thrown his way from the glass surface, Lavi found himself growing fonder and fonder of him.

He was no longer just a puzzle to be solved – which made solving it all the more frustrating.

Are you sure I’m not doing something wrong? He scrawled, jabbing the quill into the parchment so hard it nearly snapped. What if it’s not working because I’m messing it up?

It’s not you, Allen protested, looking at him over the remains of their last botched attempt. I’d tell you. Don’t worry.

Lavi just shook his head with a grimace and turned back to cleaning, scraping the melted wax sigils off the floor and picking up the needles placed meticulously around the circle. His hands ached, pale lines of scars rippling over his knuckles as he worked. Not all spells were kind. Mistake or failure in the magic art could often hurt the flesh and break the mind of those not careful enough in its handling. Lavi had learnt that early on, and he knew he should count himself lucky for only earning a few burns and scratches so far.

This was the last one I had for tonight, he wrote after sweeping the last of the scattered herbs up in a pile. Unless you have something else?

Allen tapped his chin pensively.

Not much. He gestured to the bowl of brine left on the floor, then up to the cupboards lining the wall. Chamomile, he instructed.

Lavi jumped to his feet, crossing the room with energy he couldn’t find just moments before. By now, he was familiar with Allen’s stash enough to locate the right ingredients immediately. Shriveled flower heads rattled in the jar as he made his way back; he could only guess how long they had been sitting on that dusty shelf – but fortunately, age meant nothing for their magic properties.

Allen didn’t waste time on writing anymore. Lavi followed his gestures closely, plucking out three big flowers and crushing them into the brine as the astrologist walked him through the steps in a graceful pantomime. It was easier this way, quicker, and over time they had gotten quite good at reading each other’s faces and hands. Allen moved like a dancer, sharp and clear, ordering him with broad, confident strokes. Sprinkle. Stir. Swipe. Carefully, Lavi dipped his hand in the bowl and smoothed it over the glass, ignoring the instant tingle that raced through his skin. The water dripped down Allen’s face, rippling and bubbling, until the last drop evaporated with a hiss and the cursed screen smoothed out again, untouched and unmoved.

The bowl clattered against the hard wood, its contents sloshing out in a dark circle as Lavi set it down on the floor. On the other side, Allen slumped to his knees with a sigh, but from the look on his face it was clear he didn’t expect much to begin with. No wonder, Lavi thought bitterly; it was nothing more than a common folk charm. They truly were starting to get desperate, resolving to this kind of thing where even proper spells had proven too weak.

Well. If they were at that point already, surely it wouldn’t hurt to try everything.

Stifling the laugh that bubbled up in him at the thought, Lavi scooted closer and gently tapped his fingers on the mirror. Allen looked up, startled, hair falling softly over his eyes as he tilted his head. Lavi barely curbed the instinct to reach and try to brush them away; for a moment, he hesitated, bracing himself for the pain to come – and then he leaned in to smooch the cursed glass right where Allen’s confused face was.

It hurt more than he expected, the barrier sparking to life with force he hadn’t felt before. Lavi sprang back at once, breaking the connection and grasping for balance in a daze. His face felt numb and the metallic bite of static on his lips tasted like ice. But all that lasted just a few heartbeats, and when he looked up again, the bolt rushed through his body once more, warmer and stronger.

Allen was laughing, holding his sides, shoulders shaking as he leaned his forehead against the glass that was still stubbornly there. The only change to the smooth surface was the wet print of Lavi’s lips over his cheek, fading slowly until no trace remained to be seen.

What— wobbly letters bloomed in its place a moment later, but the astrologist was too wrapped up in his giggling fit to finish writing, hand sliding helplessly down the mirror to clutch at his stomach.

“True love’s kiss”, Lavi explained, scraping the bitter tang of the brine off his tongue. The most basic magic, I know. Don’t look at me like this, it was worth the shot!

Already flushed from all the laughter, Allen’s cheeks coloured an even deeper crimson.

You looked… like a fish, he managed at last, wiping the tears from his eyes with the other hand.

In spite of himself, Lavi felt a smile tugging at his lips at the comment. It was not often that he’d seen Allen this cheerful in the past weeks. There was a small victory in this failed attempt after all, if it managed to make him laugh even for a short moment.

Did I, now? And what do you think you look like, flapping your mouth like that? he teased, pulling a face over the parchment as he held it up.

Not like this, came a quick answer before the sight had Allen curled up again, chuckling soundlessly into his fist.

Next time, Lavi promised himself – next time he will hear that laughter.

 ***

The sky was starting to pale on the horizon, slowly replacing the dying light of the oil lamp with the dusty glow of the dawn. To Lavi’s tired eye, it was not much of a difference. After hours of peering into the papers, he could barely see anything at all. His head was splitting, and the futility of the task wore him down and weighed on his shoulders like a stone. For how vast the palace library was, the materials he had managed to find were dwindling fast. Time passed, and all those books and attempts didn’t bring them any closer to a solution. But there was still a wealth of information he hadn’t sifted through – stashed up in the tower, scattered all around in notebooks and loose pages. Somewhere in the chaos of Allen’s notes could lie the key they were looking for.

Your handwriting is a mess, Lavi noted, setting the page he’s been studying aside and shuffling the rest for another promising trail.

Now it bugs you? Allen smirked.

Really, sometimes I can’t even tell what language it is!

There’s just one. With a shake of his head, the astrologist leaned on his elbow, eyes fixed attentively on the paper in Lavi’s hands. Lavi could almost sense his helplessness and frustration radiating through the glass. He also wished there was a way for Allen to help him sort through those notes.

Drained and disheartened, Lavi threw himself back onto the floor, resting his head on a stack of useless books. His bones and muscles protested sharply after so much time spent crouching in front of the mirror. Stretched out on the hard boards, he let his mind wander, staring at the dark ceiling high above. There were planets and clouds and constellations, painted in faded colours and flaking off with age. Among them, he could just barely make out the outline of a huge snake-like body, etched into the stone with fine golden lines. Lavi followed it absent-mindedly as it coiled all across the room, twisting among the pale pictures. Its hind legs rested against the doorframe, while the head took up most of the opposite wall, glaring at him with a big round eye from between two bookshelves. Lavi peered back at it, frowning. In the soft morning light, a part of the wall seemed to jut out just a bit, circling the dragon’s eye with a thin dark shadow. It was easy to miss at a glance, but the longer he looked, the more obvious it became.

Intrigued, Lavi heaved himself up and came closer to inspect it. His weary sight could deceive him, but when he ran his hand over the stone, he met a shallow yet distinct groove. It was just enough to slip a finger in there and pry. The tile shifted slightly and fell out – and with it a small shower of parchment rolls and loose scraps, pouring from the opening they had been crammed in.

As he bent down to collect them, Lavi felt the blood hammering in his ears. Things kept out of sight were always the most interesting; if someone had gone through the trouble to hide something, it had to be important. Smoothing out the crinkled pages, he crossed the room back to the faint circle of lamp light by the mirror. Allen followed him with tense eyes, but remained still. Did he know about this? Lavi couldn’t waste time for questions, already too engrossed in his findings to discuss them.

Most of it was numbers, equations spanning entire pages, celestial coordinates and dates from over a hundred years back. Other sheets had pictures, schemes and star diagrams he couldn’t read much from. Others yet were filled with densely packed notes. Lavi decided to look at these first, peering at the rows of messy penmanship and trying to decipher the names scribbled in tiny print on top of each page.

It didn’t take him long to realize what he had in his hands – and when he did, he nearly dropped it. Blinking in disbelief, he looked up to meet Allen’s wary gaze and reached for his quill, writing so fast he nearly ripped the parchment with the nib.

Did you make these?

Allen averted his eyes, but nodded slowly, pausing for a moment before he fogged the mirror with a deep sigh: crown counsel.

Lavi suspected as much. The names on the notes were ones he knew well – the names of princes of this land. These, then, must have been readings Allen had made as the royal advisor.

He went on, reading intently through every line of faded ink. There was a host of reasons why submitting a royal horoscope could land the author in trouble, especially in case of a matter as momentous as succession. If he was right, the answer for what happened had to be somewhere here. One by one, page after page, Lavi studied the princes’ fortunes until finally one of them caught his attention.

It was not outright bad – the astrologist had more than enough common sense, after all – but the clever meanders of his words did little to soften the picture they painted. It was a dark and brutal judgement that its recipient certainly did not appreciate. Lavi held the note up for Allen to see, quickly scrawling his question with the other hand.

Is this why you were cursed?

Allen bit his lip. The shame and regret on his face spoke more than his ghostly words could.

The third prince was not impressed with your opinion of him, was he? Lavi wrote carefully, glancing between the paper and the mirror. Did he do this?

He saw but a short nod before Allen’s face blurred behind the screen of fog: Ordered it.

That, Lavi could see. He’d read many records that painted the third prince as a violent and prideful man who held his grudges long and firm. There was no doubt that his nature made him a poor candidate for the crown – and obviously he did not care much for hearing so from the court astrologist. It was unspeakable luck that Allen was still alive when the prince wanted him disposed of.

You can go.

The fading words left Lavi puzzled. What do you mean? he wrote back and watched with a frown as Allen breathed on the mirror again and again.

I’m a traitor. So they say. That’s why – I didn’t tell you. I was scared. If you knew – you wouldn’t help. I’m sorry.

He only stopped when Lavi put his hand to the glass, covering the fog.

Calm down, Allen. I’m not going anywhere. His hasty handwriting was barely legible, but Lavi was too agitated to care. You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve this. Of course I’ll get you out.

That’s treason too. Allen shot him a fearful look. It’s not safe. He’ll get you.

“He…? What?” Lavi mouthed, trying to make sense of the cryptic message – and then his heart caught in his throat as he realized what Allen had in mind and what that meant.

He won’t, he wrote slowly, carefully choosing his words. Don’t worry, I can do this. I promise you I’m not risking anything. There’s no threat for either of us anymore.

Allen bit his lip as he read, staring at the parchment for a long moment before replying with just a single word: How?

Lavi’s hand hovered over the parchment. It did not come easy, and he could only hope that Allen would find at least some relief in these shocking words.

All those people are long gone now. There’s no one here to know about this. You’ll be safe.

He watched Allen’s face fall as his eyes darted over the writing.

How long? The letters appeared slowly as if carved in stone and not vapour.

Over a century. There was no point in hiding the truth any longer – Lavi couldn’t think of anything that could soften a blow like this. What did it have to feel like, to spend decades all alone in a place without time? To suddenly learn that everything you knew was not there anymore?

Allen sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with soundless sobs, roughly, rapidly, then slower, as if there was no strength left in him anymore. When he looked up at Lavi again, his cheeks were stained with tears – but his eyes glinted with something else entirely.

It’s fine, he wrote, trailing tiny droplets after his wet finger. It’s for the better. Thank you, Lavi.

No need to thank me. Lavi shook his head with a pale smile. At least wait until we let you out.

The breath that fogged the mirror next was silent like all – but he knew it had to be a laugh.

I feel free already.

 ***

Knowledge has never weighed down on Lavi’s mind this much. Now that he finally got the answer he so craved for, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. His heart ached for Allen, a dull pain that laced his thinking with a feverish haze as he took on his research more determined than ever. A century of silent solitude was too horrible to even imagine – he couldn’t let Allen have to endure it any longer.

The corner of the page crumbled in his fingers as he turned it. Lavi winced, but quickly shook off the guilt along with the paper dust. No one would notice – no one ever read the books he was looking through. They were kept in the library merely as curiosities for display, their contents too dark and twisted to take in earnest. Miranda would probably faint from fright if she caught him now. Lavi wasn’t sure if she would panic more over him studying these scripts or ruining them. He stole a look over his shoulder just in case, but the librarian was nowhere to be seen. That was a relief; having to explain himself to her was the last thing he wanted.

But it was not Miranda that Lavi should have been concerned with.

What’s this? Allen eyed him suspiciously as he dropped his notes before the mirror a few days later.

Our last resort, Lavi wrote back after spilling the spell supplies from the sack. It took me a while to collect everything, so it’d better be worth the effort. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.

As he started to sort through the packets and jars, Allen craned his neck, peering upside down at the symbols meticulously copied from the dilapidated volume. With the corner of his eye, Lavi saw his frown deepen – and then he looked back up, shaking his head vehemently.

What’s wrong? Lavi turned to him with concern, quill dripping.

Don’t. Allen slashed the fog with firm strokes and pierced him with a stern, steel look.

Why? Did I miss something? Scribbling with one hand, Lavi shuffled through his notes, but Allen’s words bloomed on the glass again, stealing his attention.

It’s hard, Allen wrote quickly, the fuzzy edges of mist already nipping at the letters. Too hard. If it fails— He didn’t finish, letting the message wither away as he fixed his imploring gaze on Lavi. Please, he sighed.

It’s worth the risk, Lavi replied in harsh, thick letters smeared with a piece of coal he had grabbed to outline the spell ring. He went on to it right away, and it wasn’t until he completed the last rune when he finally looked up again.

Stop. Allen’s hand sprang into motion as soon as their eyes met. I can’t allow it.

Lavi gritted his teeth, parchment crumpling under his hand.

This is our best chance right now, he insisted, ink splattering across the page as he tossed the quill aside in his haste to continue the preparations. Three black river stones set in a line pointing North. An iron ring. A crown of sloe thorns around the edge. A pile of sparrow bones in the middle, nested on a handful of earth from the crossroads.

NO.

A loud bang from the mirror gave him a start. Allen stood with his clenched fist against the glass, the angry word fading over his heaving chest. STOP. And right after that, I mean it.

We don’t have much choice. Lavi’s quill dragged on the parchment, digging lines in the rough surface. Don’t you want to get out?

Not like this.

With a sigh, Lavi lay down the quill and inched closer to the mirror. The spell was almost ready – there was no way he would back out now. Smiling softly, he pressed his hand to the sizzling pane and breathed out, his eye never leaving Allen’s face.

It’s fine. The words hovered in the fog between them even as Allen shook his head again.

No. He didn’t bother writing anymore, the soundless protest rounding his lips over and over and over.

“It’s fine, Allen,” Lavi whispered, taking a step back and feeling blindly for the last thing he needed. His fingers clenched nervously around the wooden handle. The candlelight glided over the polished blade. In the mirror, Allen thrashed against the barrier, mouth open in a silent scream.

It took all of Lavi’s strength to tear his eye off him.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, his voice trembling as he rolled up his sleeve and put the knife to the crook of his arm. The cold steel stung so sharply that he almost didn’t feel when it broke the skin. Blood trickled down freely, thin threads of sticky warmth trailed across his body, heavy drops hit the floorboards with deep, booming thumps – or was it his pulse hammering in his ears? – or was it coming from the mirror? Lavi clenched his eye and reached out over the circle, letting the blood fall and splash on the smooth river stones.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

When he looked again, there were tears in Allen’s eyes, trickling down, trailing wet threads across his cheeks, splashing heavily at his feet. He didn’t stop for a moment to wipe them, hands red from pounding on the glass in a frantic rhythm that matched the racing of Lavi’s heart.

“It’s all right. I promise, it will be over soon.” It was hard to hold that hot glare, but Lavi did, looking dead ahead as he drew a deep breath and stepped inside the ring.

He didn’t see it until he felt it, the sudden heat lapping at his legs, the faint glow dusting the charcoal lines, growing stronger with every blink. A low flame slowly crawled around the edge of the circle, flickering gently as if taking a breath – and then roared into life, enveloping Lavi in a whirl of fire.

Allen’s terrified face vanished behind the red veil. Lavi choked on the heated air, his throat and chest burning with each gasp. He held his breath, barely keeping himself from crying out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Something went wrong, again, but this time he was not dealing with benign magic that forgave mistakes easily. Panic rose in his stomach as he watched the flames dancing round and round, licking his arms and swallowing the papers laying on the floor. He had to stop it.

His body moved as if on its own. Before he could think, Lavi braced himself and leaped.

Every inch of his flesh screamed as he flew through the wall of fire. Out of the raging blaze, the cooler air hit his skin like a thousand of needles. Lavi rolled on the ground and scrambled to his feet, looking around in a daze. There. He reached over the clutter and grabbed the torn curtain jumbled on the floor under the window. The thick fabric smoked and charred when he threw it to smother the flames, covering the burnt ring like a burial shroud.

Lavi stared at it, chest heaving as he fought to force his breath through his clenched throat. Through the thinning smoke, he saw Allen pressed up against the mirror, face frozen in a mask of terror and pain. Lavi was before him in a heartbeat, falling to his knees in the ashes of notes and books he couldn’t care less for now.

Lavi. He recognized his name on the pale lips, cried out time after time, lingering on the glass in a mist that ebbed before Allen could put his trembling finger to it.

“I’m here,” Lavi whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold, soothing pane even if just for a moment. “It’s all right, Allen, I’m here, everything is fine.”

It’s not fine, the tearful glare told him. Allen jabbed his finger at the mirror, scribbling frantically, scratching it off and trying again, struggling against the shrinking fog and his shivering body.

“Shhh. Calm down.” Lavi reached up to his face as if he could touch him through the glass and wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. There was nothing he wanted more. Allen’s face was soft and shining in the moonlight, the damp trails on his skin glowing silver. He looked like a porcelain figure – white and delicate and ready to shatter any moment.

Gingerly, Lavi leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead, the charged aura of the barrier tingling between his lips.

It stung. It stung and pricked and hurt, but as Lavi pulled away, he realized it was not the curse biting at his skin. The smooth surface split under his touch, distorting Allen’s shocked features with a jagged line. The crack spread like a spiderweb, tiny specks of glass flew into his face and Lavi barely managed to close his eye and turn away before the entire mirror shattered.

The next moment, there were arms wrapped tight around him, a warm weight in his lap, a wet face pressed into his neck.

Lavi blinked the crystal dust away, gaping in disbelief at the empty jade frame and the boy in his arms, so close and so real. He held him fast, fingers clenched into his shirt, burying his nose in the white hair. Allen’s breath crashed against his skin in a hot wave, and when he finally pulled away, Lavi suddenly felt cold like never before.

It was obvious now – and it should have been obvious to him long ago already. How come he had not seen before how much his feelings had grown over all those sleepless nights and silent conversations?

“Allen…” Lavi stammered, bewilderment clutching his throat. “That was… I think I—“

Gray eyes looked up at him, wide and red-rimmed under the tousled bangs. Lavi reached up to brush it away and let his hand linger, gently tracing the curve of the pale cheek, fingertips ghosting over the corner of the lips. Allen smiled into the touch, cupping Lavi’s hand in his own to hold it there.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and laughed, and his voice rang like silver and glass through the night.

[seriestrash]

Summer Storm

○ ONE SHOT ○

Prompt: This combines a number of summer vacation prompts I’ve been sent. All will be credited at the end of the one shot. 

Summary: The gang (along with Josh) head to the Minkus’ family beach house for a week of fun in the sun. On their last night in town a storm hits.

Pairing: Rucas, ft. light Smarkle + Joshaya 

Word Count: 3390

○ ○ ○

The Minkus family own a holiday home in Malibu and by home, I mean an extravagant mansion right on the beach. The family however, barely use the house despite having owned it for a number of years. 

Although, when Stuart has company business to handle over the summer in Malibu he sees it as an opportunity to use the facilities. Considering he’d be mostly out and occupied with business he urges his son to plan a vacation around it with his friends. 

Eventually all five friends manage to convince their parents to allow them to go on the trip and they were all off on a Malibu adventure in a matter of days. On first arrival at the mansion, everyone - with the exception of Farkle, whom is used to its grandeur - is blown away by the sheer size of it all. 

Riley immediately finds herself spinning in the grand entrance, her eyes dancing around the room as she tries to absorb every beautiful detail of the building. 

“Whoa,” Riley stops her twirling when she catches a glimpse of the lavish chandelier hanging above her head. 

Everyone takes note of Riley’s gasp and each point their gazes in the same direction as hers. More gasps of astonishment follow. Farkle stands by awkwardly as he’s never been a fan of showing off how wealthy his family is. 

“Farkle, why don't you give your friends the grand tour?” Stuart clears his throat.

Excitedly, all Farkle’s friends turn to face him. The genius holds in his sigh and takes everyone around the house. On the first floor the genius shows them the kitchen, the dining room, living space, home theatre and built in bowling alley before taking them out onto the patio where there’s a pool overlooking the sandy beaches and ocean waves.

They all go back inside cooing their amazement at the place with one another and Farkle is burning red with embarrassment at this point. 

“Come on,” He clears his throat, “I can show you guys to the rooms.” 

“Ah yes,” Stuart makes himself known again, an arm around his wife, “All bedrooms are upstairs and I’m under strict instructions that it’s boys with boys and girls with girls.” 

“Mr. Matthews the stiff,” Maya jokes with a scoff. 

“Actually Maya, Shawn was the first one to bring it up,” Mr. Minkus gives her a knowing look. 

Maya giggles at her protective adoptive father and Riley smiles at how happy that makes her friend. 

The group climb the extravagant staircase and all pause at the top of the stairwell. Mr. and Mrs. Minkus’ room is directly adjacent and on either side of their door are a rooms with attached bathrooms. Farkle points the girls in one direction and leads the guys in the other. 

In the girls room, Riley squeals upon entering. She’s sure this room alone is bigger than her entire apartment. The wall on the far side of the room isn’t even a wall at all, it’s completely made up of floor to ceiling glass windows giving them a stunning view of the ocean. 

On one side of the room there is an enormous bed, one that would fit all three girls, three times over and they’d all still sleep comfortably. Adjacent to the bed is a flat screen television mounted on the wall. The room was that large that it even had enough space for a grand lounge setting. 

Next the girls inspect the bathroom and gasps escape them all again. It’s magnificent and light. Grand, just like the rest of the house. Riley’s eyes widen as she sees the large bathtub and a completely separate rainfall shower, double sink basins. Everything about it made Riley feel like she was a celebrity. 

In the boys room the view is much the same with the entire far side being floor to ceiling windows. An enormous bed rests against one wall much like the girls room but they also had the addition of a slightly smaller - but still enormous - bed on the opposite wall. 

After getting over the initial excitement the gang prepare themselves to hit the beach. The wave bye to Farkle’s parents and take the short walk down to the beach. With the weather being warm there are other people on the beach but it’s not overly crowded.

The group set up their belongings on a nice semi-secluded spot adjacent to the beach house. Riley lays out her purple beach towel, removes her summer dress exposing her newly purchased swimsuit and sits herself down on the towel, applying sunscreen. Maya sits by Riley, a very wide brim floppy hat on her head, oversized sunglasses perched on the brim of her nose, distressed denim shorts and an oversized band tee covering her swimsuit. 

“You okay, Peaches?” Riley fights the urge to giggle. 

“No,” Maya whines, “You know I burn easily. I don’t have lovely skin like you or Smackle.” 

Smackle - whom is on Riley’s other side starts spitting some scientific jargon about what actually makes Maya’s skin prone to burning but the two other girls look at her with blank faces so she gives up. 

“Come on, we’re here for a whole week. You have to swim at least once,” Riley waves the sunscreen tube in her hand, “How many times is an amazing vacation like this going to be handed to us for free?” 

“Fine,” Maya sighs as she reaches for the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head. 

Riley helps her friends apply sunscreen because that’s the responsible thing to do and the girls help reach the places on Riley’s back she couldn’t while the boys were already off throwing a football to each other. Well, Zay and Lucas were whilst Farkle stood by looking like he wished he wasn’t. 

“I think maybe you should save Farkle,” Riley nudges Smackle’s arm with a giggle. 

“He doesn’t appear to be in any danger,” Smackle gives her a quizzical look. 

“Danger of dying of boredom maybe.” Maya chuckles. 

Smackle locks eyes with Farkle and waves for him to come over. To which he looks thankful for and is with the girls in a second. They joke about how much fun he’s having and he responds with his usual mocking noises. 

Maya sits with her knees brought close to her chest and Riley sits cross-legged when Zay and Lucas return to them. Lucas holds out his hand to help Riley up. 

“Swim?” He asks simply and Riley bounces up in excitement and the two frolick towards the oceans edge. 

“Swim?” Zay imitates Lucas and holds a hand out for Maya. Maya reluctantly accepts his offer. 

When she’s standing she looks down at her bare stomach. “I’m so white.” Maya groans. 

“Me too,” Zay jokes and he manages to get Maya to crack a smile.

The pair go and join their friends in the surf and the two geniuses aren't too far behind them. The six frolic in the waves together, laughter a constant presence. The always graceful Riley manages to lose her balance almost every time a wave crashes into her but Lucas was always right there to catch her. Although, Riley managed to find herself too far away from the group as she’d been unaware she was drifting out further when a wave dumps her and she’s trapped in its spiral, too panicked to find a way out. Luckily, Lucas spots her in distress and quickly comes to her rescue, helping free Riley from the watery grip of the wave. The Texan helps Riley to a spot where she can find her footing and stand on her own. The brunette coughing as the salt water had pierced her throat. 

“Are you alright?” Maya comes over in a panic. The rest of the friends close behind her, also expressing concern of their own. 

“I’m fine,” Riley says with her heart racing as she tries to catch her breath. “Thanks to Lucas,” she smiles sweetly at him and he tries to act as if that didn’t just completely stroke his hero complex. (I LOVE HIM OKAY, NO HATE Just imagine how cute and proud he’d look after saving her fhgkldgjhk)

Maya pulls Riley in for a tight embrace but tenses completely when a familiar voice calls out to them from the sand. 

“You guys started without me?” He shouts. 

Maya begins to chuckle knowingly and slowly turns around to find Josh standing on the shore line. Lucas jogs over to greet him. 

“Riley,” Maya says to her best friend but doesn’t dare break her stare from the college boy on the beach. 

“Did I forget to mention that my dad asked my Uncle Josh to come along and keep an eye on us?” Riley sways innocently. 

“I think I’d recall anything involving your Uncle Boing,” Maya turns to face her, “Because if you had told me I would have been acting like a complete idiot and your father would have thought that it was a bad idea.. Ohhhh, I see.” 

“You’re welcome.” Riley giggles. 

“Maybe I should pretend to drown.” Maya says seriously. 

“Why?” Zay asks. 

“So Josh can save me.” Maya’s wide grin doesn’t waver. 

“I nearly died, Maya!” Riley shrieks, “This isn’t some game.” 

“I know, I know,” Maya swats the air, “But if I’m lucky I’ll get my first kiss with your Uncle.” 

“Mouth to mouth doesn’t count as a first kiss,” Riley gives her a look. 

“Yeah, be careful,” Zay pats the blondes shoulder, “Smackle is the most qualified here... You might be locking lips with her.” 

“I wouldn’t object,” Farkle states and all three girls look at him in distaste before splashing him. 

Eventually - after Maya regains her cool composure - they all join Riley’s uncle and Lucas on the sand. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Josh side hugs his niece, “I had to tie up a few things back at campus first.” 

“No problem at all,” Riley grins, “Glad you could make it.” 

The rest of the day is spent soaking up the sun and enjoying the wonderful beach atmosphere. That’s how it was for days. The seven teenagers would laze about in the sun on the beach or by the pool and on a few occasions the girls went to check out a few of the shops around. When the weather proved to be too warm for the group they’d spend time inside watching movies in the theatre room or playing a few games of bowling. 

On the day before they’re set to return to New York, a weather warning is issued. With the skies covered in ominous dark clouds the group decide to order pizzas and settle in for a movie night. The theatre room had a large projector screen on one wall and at least a dozen roomy recliner chairs that the group scatter themselves amongst. 

Riley begins on her own seat to the right of Lucas and left of Maya but once they’re two horror movies deep Riley wedges herself into Lucas’ extra space on the chair as she was much too scared on her own. Lucas of course happily welcomes her as he loved feeling like a protector when it comes to Riley. 

After the second scary film wraps up Riley insists they watch a comedy to lighten the mood and her anxious thoughts, it seems to work as she’s drifting off to sleep by the end of it. 

Riley is woken by Lucas as he tries to carefully get out of the seat without disturbing her. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Lucas speaks softly. 

“Is the movie over?” Riley wipes at her tired eyes. 

“Yeah, everyone’s gone to bed.” Lucas says. 

Riley looks around and notices the room is empty. Lucas extends a hand and helps the still sleepy Riley up from the chair. With an arm around her shoulder, Lucas leads Riley out of the theatre room. Riley jumps in fright immediately as a loud thunder clap sounds. Now out of the soundproof theatre room Riley realises that storm warning was now in full effect. The rain was pelting down so loudly Riley wondered if it was really hailing. Lucas steadies Riley and tells her it’s just a storm. 

As the couple are nearing the staircase they spot Maya and Josh sitting on opposite armchairs by the closed patio doors. 

“Whoa.” Riley says with wide eyes as she looks out the glass noticing how dark it was and how heavy the rainfall is. 

“I love watching storms.” Josh says with a grin. 

“It’s kinda pretty, hey Riles?” Maya turns her head back to her friend with a smile.

Another loud thunderclap sounds and burst of lightning illuminates the outside area momentarily, surprising Riley in the process, it causes her to jump in fright again.

“Just beautiful.” Riley grumbles sarcastically with a frown. 

Josh shares a light chuckle over his niece being frightened by storms but Maya gives her a sympathetic smile. 

“I’ll be up there in a second.” Maya says to Riley. 

“No monkey business down here you two.” Lucas jokes with a smirk. 

“Yeah and you say that with an arm around my niece.” Josh glares at the younger but much bigger boy. “Don’t get any ideas,” Josh turns to Maya with a panicked look on his face. The blonde sports her cute monkey imitation causing the college boy to smile. 

Lucas leads Riley upstairs and with every thunder clap that sounds she grips even tighter to his side. They stop outside of Riley’s room, their voices at whispers as they guessed Mr. and Mrs. Minkus were asleep in their own room next door. Another thunder clap and another jumpy reaction from Riley. 

“I hate storms.” Riley huffs quietly. “I can never fall asleep during them.” 

“Did you want me to stay with you?” Lucas asks sheepishly.

“No!” Riley answers embarrassed.

“I just meant I could sit with you if you were scared.” Lucas shrugs. 

“No it’s okay, I mean the girls are in my room, the boys in yours just- no thank you.” Riley blushes. 

“Okay, well you know where to find me if you get too scared.” Lucas gives Riley a kiss on the cheek before heading to his own room. 

Riley enters her suite, Smackle is already sound asleep on the far side of the bed. Riley shimmies under the covers beside her and tries to block out the noisy storm outside. She has no such luck. 

Eventually Maya tip toes into the room and climbs into bed on the other side of Riley. 

“You’re still awake?” Maya whispers once she noticed Riley stir. 

“Yes.” Riley whispers back, nervously gripping the edge of the blanket as she pulls it up around her neck. 

Maya sleepily rolls over, her back to Riley as she whispers, “You’re not thinking about the scary movie are you?” 

“I am now!” Riley whisper panics. 

“It was just a movie.” Maya yawns, “And it’s just a storm, Riles. Try and get some sleep.” 

Easier said than done. Riley sits awake for another hour, her two friends fast asleep on either side of her, every thunder clap and every lightning flash that sneaks through the crack of the curtains makes Riley tense up in fear. Terrifying scenarios of crazed killers waiting out in the storm play through her mind like she’s watching another horror film. 

“Maya?” Riley whispers. No answer. “Smackle?” Again no answer. Finally Riley carefully shimmies her way out of the middle of the bed and tiptoes out of the room, down the hall and all the way into the darkness of the boys suite. 

It’s pitch black and Riley is regretting her decision in coming over here. Then, another lighting flash illumines the room and Riley uses this as a way to work out where everyone was. Josh is asleep on the plush sofa after coming in late that evening after watching the storm with Maya. A crash of thunder sounds and Riley tenses up, she wonders how everyone can be sleeping so peacefully with all this terrifying noise. Another lightning flash and Riley notices Farkle and Zay sleeping on the massive bed against the wall. Then, another flash sees Riley finally finding Lucas asleep on the slightly smaller bed on the opposite side of the room. Riley tiptoes her way over to him. 

“Lucas,” She whispers quietly as she gently nudges his shoulder. 

“Riley?” Lucas asks sleepily and she’s thankful that he’s not a heavy sleeper or otherwise she might have woken up the other guys in the room if she got any louder. 

“I’m scared.” Riley admits and another loud thunder clap sees her jumping in place. 

Lucas wriggles over a bit and pats the space beside him. Riley chews nervously on her bottom lip. 

“What if people see?” Riley asks embarrassed. She’s thankful it’s dark in the room because she knew her cheeks would be burning red. 

“We’re just waiting out the storm.” Lucas can’t help but yawn. “Besides, you said you never fall asleep during a storm, you can just leave before anyone wakes up?” 

Another thunder clap, another jumpy reaction and Riley quickly climbs in beside Lucas on the bed. Awkwardly she lays next to him on her side, no contact between them, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness so she could make out the basic outline of Lucas’ features without needing the lighting flashes to illuminate him. 

Right now Riley was more nervous about sharing a bed with Lucas than she was about the storm but eventually she calms down and lets Lucas comfort her when it came to the storm. His efforts seemed to work as Riley managed to doze off. 

The next morning there’s not a single drop of rain to be seen. It’s as if the monster storm of the night before was a very distant memory. Riley wakes to the sound of someone clearing their throat, beside her Lucas wakes too. Somewhere in the night Riley found herself pinned comfortably under Lucas’ arm and she remains there that morning. 

Riley’s eyes adjust to the light in the room and she sees five faces staring down at her. Lucas releases Riley from his grip in an embarrassed hast as Zay, Maya, Farkle, Isadora and Josh all wear various expressions on their faces, mostly amused but Josh didn’t seem too impressed.

“No monkey business, huh?” Josh asks with folded arms, his gaze directed at Lucas. 

“I hate storms.” Riley groans with embarrassment as she pulls the covers over her face realising she’s been caught. 

“You know, I think I don’t mind them.” Lucas says with a goofy smile on his face.

“Yeah I bet.” Zay says with a smirk and Josh lightly smacks him over the head. 

“Cory doesn’t hear about any of this, okay?” Josh addresses the group looking defeated. 

“Sure thing, Boing.” Maya sways on her feet with a devilish smirk. “And Shawn doesn’t hear about last night either.” 

“Last night?” Riley throws the covers back with urgency. All eyes point to a very smirky Maya and wide eyed Josh. 

“Nothing happened last night!” Josh says defensively.

“But it could have.” Maya teases playfully. 

“No it couldn’t have.” Josh matches her tone but he was a little more frazzled.

 “You’re going to get the poor boy in trouble.” Zay shakes his head. 

Josh wants to talk about literally anything else so he decides to assert his authority. “Okay so we’re leaving in an hour, boys and girls lets get some distance and get to packing, okay?” 

“Okay.” Maya says still wearing a devilish smirk. “See you in an hour.” 

Josh shakes his head and makes his way over to his things and everyone seems to scatter. 

“Morning.” Lucas says to Riley with a slightly sheepish smile. 

“Morning.” Riley laughs at the awkwardness of it all. 

“I thought you couldn’t sleep through storms?” Lucas says. 

“I don’t normally,” Riley shrugs but with a small smile she says, “Then again I don’t normally have you with me.” 

“Have I mentioned lately how much I like storms?” Lucas grins. 

“Once or twice.” Riley crinkles her nose cutely. 

“Riley.” Josh says knowingly from the other side of the room. 

“Okay. Okay.” Riley giggles. “I’m going.” 

“See you in an hour?” Lucas says with a grin. 

Riley risks being reprimanded by giving Lucas a quick kiss. “See you in an hour.” 

○ ○ ○

End note: obvi this isn't the sad one shot i was talking about but I finished this one first so HERE YA GO!! :)

Crediting all my anons bc this was more requested than I thought and I have to give credit where credit is due!! Hopefully my combination of these satisfies you all!! :)

[sassycassie-s-series]

Enchanted Castle 2

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Vine/YouTube/Thomas Sanders feat. danisnotonfire & AmazingPhil

Rating: PG

Notes: (Masterlist) This has taken a long time. Sorry. Life got in the way. ( @welcometoriversworld I might start causing your death again, sorry.)

Chapter 1

^^^^^

The sun was going down by the time Napoleon pulled to a stop. We were approaching an area where snow had already begun to fall.

In June.

The horse neighed and reared up a bit. I barely held on. “Come on, Napoleon!” I exclaimed. “We have to save Papa!”

After blowing a raspberry, Napoleon continued, but this time at a careful trot.

I became exceptionally grateful that I had brought a cloak as the snow accumulated in my hair. It was getting cold—in June.

But the chill went right to the bone when I heard the wolves howl.

Napoleon whinnied—a high-pitched, terrified sound—and took off down the path. I bent low to his neck, feeling his mane whip my face. He ran through the menacing, snowy woods. I watched for the trees to thin, but they didn’t.

However, they stopped abruptly when we reached a fifteen-foot high stone wall.

An ornate wrought iron gate was hanging open. Napoleon slid through it.

I let him guide himself through an elaborate maze made of hedges that somehow remained green under the layer of white frost.

Looming over the hedge and the wall and the garden was a massive castle.

My jaw dropped.

Once upon a time the castle was probably a grand palace—luxurious and beautiful. But as I rode towards it, I could see that hadn’t been the case for some time. It was missing chunks from the walls and some of the gargoyle-like statues were broken. The stone it was made from was worn and stormy grey though looked like once it could have been purer—like maybe it was covered in dirt or soot.

After only a few more minutes, Napoleon pulled to a stop at some stairs.

I leapt off the horse’s saddle and bolted up the stairs, my boot heels clacking on the stone.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

It creaked open.

Gulping, I stepped inside, pulling the strings on my cloak to release the bow so it could hang looser around my shoulders. My heart was pounding so loudly from taking the stairs two at a time and adrenaline from my fear of losing my father that I could hear it in my ears.

“Papa?” I called tentatively. “Are you here? Papa?”

A fire blazed in a hearth wider than I was tall off to my right, giving me enough light to look around at the entrance hall.

It was huge and beautiful, if a bit faded and crumbling. Gold leafing on accents, marble staircase that split in two halfway up to make a circle meeting in a second-floor balcony with doors on either side that presumably led to different wings of the castle, pillars of polished stone that appeared to be marble but I couldn’t quite tell, ornate carvings in the wood of the walls and furniture. It was more magnificent than anything I'd ever seen in my entire life.

But I didn’t have time to admire the beauty of the castle. I had to find my father.

“Look! It’s a girl!”

“Yes, I can see it’s a girl!”

“What if she is the one?”

“The one what?”

“The one who will break the spell!”

The conversation was hissed between two British voices—and given how creepy the seemingly abandoned castle was, it wouldn’t have surprised me if it was all in my head.

But I spun around anyway, my messy hair whipping my eyes.

“Who said that?” I demanded, heart still racing.

There was no one there. Just a mantel clock and a lit candelabra sitting on an end table next to a cushy armchair by the fire.

The candelabra was lit. Someone had to be around to light it. So someone must have been talking.

Slowly I approached the armchair, wondering if one of the voices was sitting in it but I couldn’t see them because the chair was turned towards the fire with its back to me. I was up on tiptoe, making sure the clicking of my boot heels wouldn’t be heard.

There was no one in the armchair.

I heard coughing from somewhere up the stairs.

Gasping—that sounded like the way Papa coughed whenever he caught a cold—I snagged the candelabra from the table and took off after the sound, up the marble staircase and off to the left. I'd return the candelabra to its place on the end table when I was getting my father out of this gigantic, gorgeous, somehow-hidden-from-my-nearby-village-for-years-with-no-one-noticing castle.

I wandered the corridors aimlessly, peering at the paintings and suits of armor as I tried to make my way towards wherever that coughing was coming from.

A door creaked open behind me—I hadn’t even seen it in the relative darkness and the fact that it appeared to be designed to blend in with the wallpaper. I whirled, making the candles’ flames sputter before resuming their pleasant yellow-gold glow.

“Is someone there?” I asked. “Please. I'm just looking for my father. I don’t mean any harm.”

As I spoke, I approached the door and pushed it open properly.

A dark staircase spiraled up one of the towers I'd seen from the outside. My heart rate picked up again in anticipation. I was trying to get control of my fear, but I wasn’t sure it was working.

More coughing came from somewhere up the stairs.

“Papa?” I took the spiral steps two at a time, hitching my skirt up to my knees so I wouldn’t step on it.

In a little alcove of the pillar that made the center of the spiral, a mantel clock just like the one on the end table downstairs sat, not ticking.

Why someone wanted a clock in a spot like this, I'd never know. It seemed weird.

When I got to the top of the stairs, it felt like I'd been climbing for hours. I hadn’t, but I was much more of a reader than an athlete. I didn’t want to admit, but in the moment when my heart was pounding in my legs from the exertion, I was actually a little jealous of Gaston. Panting, with my tangled hair hanging in my face, I looked around.

It was dark, but I could see what looked like a cell against the wall.

“Papa?” I asked again, this one more relieved than panicked.

“Oh, my darling girl! You have to get out of here!” my father exclaimed. I reached through the bars of the cell and took his hand.

“Your hands are freezing! I have to get you out. What are you doing here?”

“No time to explain. You have to leave. I'm here and there’s nothing you can do to change that. But you have to get out before he realizes you’re here!”

“Who?” I hissed, setting the candelabra down to take my father’s hand in both of mine in an attempt to warm it up. My father was shaking his head, terror-stricken and refusing to look at me. His blue gaze was fixed on something over my shoulder.

Slowly, I turned to look.

A giant, hulking shape was lurking in the shadows outside the small circle of light the three candles gave off. “Who are you?” I demanded, voice sounding a lot braver than I felt.

“The master of this castle,” a deep, rumbling voice answered.

“Why have you locked him up?”

“He stole from here.”

“A rose!” my father protested.

I lifted my chin. “I asked him to bring me a rose. Don’t punish him for that. Punish me.” I had no idea where this courage was coming from, but I figured if I didn’t question it too much, it wouldn’t give out on me. Was I still scared? Yes. But my father was getting sick. If he didn’t get to the village physician soon he could get a lot worse. So was I willing to take his place? Absolutely.

“You… you would take his place?” the low voice of the giant figure asked curiously.

“If I did, would you truly let him go?”

“Yes. But you must stay here forever.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, ignoring my father shouting at me not to do it—that he was old and had lived his life and he didn’t want to lose me the way he lost my mother. I rubbed my lips together and cocked one eyebrow. “Come into the light,” I requested.

The figure seemed to shrink away from me as I stooped to grab the candelabra.

I snatched it up and pressed it forward to see who this mysterious man was.

I gasped.

Not a man at all.

Next

[drewthomason-blog]

title: fool me once. characters: mentions of wren and drew’s parents. summary: drew finds himself in a sticky situation with the diamonds. trigger warning: gun violence

He waits for his parents to fall asleep, his mother always the first to drift off into a heavy slumber, followed shortly after by his father. He doesn’t worry about waking either of them as he slips past their bedroom, the door ajar and the warm, yellow light spilling out into the hallway from his father’s bedside lamp. Drew learned long ago that his parents were heavy sleepers, when he was seven years old he sneaked out of his bedroom every weekend to watch horror movies in his fathers office. When he was sixteen years old he swapped sneaking out of his bedroom for horror movies for climbing out of his bedroom window to go to parties with his friends and practice his lock picking skills on the other apartments in his building. Drew didn’t see it as too much of a risk for getting caught, if anybody did catch him lingering around outside of their house in their neighbourhood he knew they wouldn’t think too much about it — nobody would suspect Drew Thomason, the son of two criminal lawyers being a criminal.

He moves through the rest of the house like a ghost, silent footsteps hurrying down the spiral staircase and the sleeping tabby cat on the back of the leather chesterfield sofa, scratching the sleeping feline softly behind his ear on his way out. The young thief feels a rush of adrenaline through his body as his feet pound the sidewalks of Manhattan, searching for a car or building for him to pick the locks of. It’s not for want or needing that’s compelled him to leave the comforts of his bed tonight, but the itch and desire that was burning inside of himself to prove that he was good, no incredible at what he did. His graduation from high school was looming over his head, his parents pushing him to decide on which of the major universities he would be attending in the country, but Drew had another path set out for himself. He was going to meet with Wren Diamond, leader of The Diamonds and earn himself a spot on the man’s payroll. It was the most effort and energy Drew had put into anything in his entire life, he wanted to make sure he was perfect and that his skills were as refined as they could be.

When Drew found the apartment building that he was going to test his skills out on, he wasted no time in finding his way into the building. He made his way quickly through the buildings foyer and found an elevator to ride to the top floor. Drew was born and raised in Manhattan, he knew the best apartments to steal from were always on the top floor. He rode the elevator to the top, his heart beating with the same excitement he always got before pulling a job. When the elevator doors opened, he peered his head around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before stepping out and into the penthouse apartment. Drew retrieved his phone from his back pocket, snapping a quick picture of himself in the penthouse and sending it to Kieran with the following message… LOOKS LIKE I’VE HIT THE JACKPOT !! 😏👏 💵

It took Drew longer than he would have liked to admit to find anything worth stealing, and even longer to find anything he actually wanted to steal. He wanted something with value, but something he wouldn’t have to put a lot of time and energy into fleecing. It took the thief even longer to find any cash lying around the apartment. Drew figured that if whoever lived here could afford the rent, they’d have a safe of some kind lying around somewhere or at least have an envelope of money hidden beneath their mattress. Drew had searched the bedroom first, knowing everybody hid their most valuable items in their bedroom, followed by the kitchen and finally the bathroom. He lifted the lid on the tank of the toilet, frowning some when he wasn’t greeted by drugs or money. Instead he had found a gun taped to the inside of the tank and while he couldn’t fence the weapon for much, he did begin to wonder what type of person lived in the penthouse. He continued searching the rest of the bathroom, reaching up high and down low until he opened the bathroom sink cupboard doors and began rooting through the aftershaves, cleaning products and the folded up towels. He searched the back of the inside of the cupboard with his fingertips, a smirk crossing his lips when he found a loose corner and pulled it open. “So, that’s where you’ve been hiding.” He said in a sing-song voice, staring into a hidden hole in the wall behind the cupboard filled with rolled up stacks of money, several bags of what he guessed to be cocaine and another gun that was similar to the one hidden in the tank behind the toilet. 

- - -

As he stares down the barrel of Wren Diamond’s gun, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face, Drew can’t help but wonder how he could have been so stupid - so reckless. He should have known that the penthouse apartment he had broken into a few days ago belonged to Wren, or at least one of his diamonds. Nobody in Manhattan would have that much cash, drugs and weapons lying around if they weren’t involved in New York’s criminal underground. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid… Drew’s pale, blue eyes search the subway cart frantically, pleading for help from somebody, anybody. Beneath his panicked, rapid breathing though he knows his attempts to look for help are pointless. Wren Diamond is a powerful man, powerful enough to have arranged for this train to only allow access to Drew. It sparks a tiny, flickering flame of excitement burning underneath the fear in his chest. How does he do it? How many people does he have on his payroll? How far does his influence stretch?

“You’re about to learn.” The leader of the Diamond says, as if he was able to read Drew’s thoughts. The young thief frowned some, annoyed with himself for being easier to read than a children’s book. Wren Diamond is a powerful man, but he isn’t powerful enough to trick Drew into believing he can read his mind. Perhaps it’s a look he’s grown used to over the years, the slow realisation on the face of his victims that they really did choose the wrong guy to screw over. “Wait,” Drew demands, having no interest in finding out just how far his influence does stretch. “I can’t give you back what I stole, I don’t have it anymore. I sold the drugs, I spent the earnings even quicker. You don’t need to kill me. Nobody wants to clean up a body on the j-train tonight, yeah?” He half chuckles, flashing the man with the gun pointed at him an almost sincere charming grin. The air shifts around them, crackling like lightning as Drew hears the sound of the safety trigger being flicked off. Drew’s a dead man, he knows it. His parents will mourn him, his mother for longer than his father though he doesn’t doubt that she grieves for the loss of his potential more than for the loss of her own son. For a fleeting moment he considers using his parents as a threat, warning the leader of the Diamonds that both of his parents are criminal lawyers and could ruin him. You might as well put a bullet in their heads yourself. The voice inside of his head is right, he’d be signing their death sentence if he tried to threaten Wren with them, it wasn’t the smart play, it was reckless and a long shot. If Wren had people who could clear a train travelling through Brooklyn, then he knew he’d surely have people whose strings he could pull in a court room.

“Okay.” Wren lowered his gun, much to the surprise of the other Diamond members who stood by either door on the cart. “Nobody dies.” Drew let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping in turn. “Tonight. Nobody dies tonight.“ Wren added as a warning. “You’re in luck, Mr Thomason. It just so happens you’ve caught me in a bind. You see, as luck would have it I’m in need of a thief and she’s dropped you right in my lap — Or should I say my penthouse?” He smirked, which made Drew slightly more uncomfortable than when he had been pointing a gun at him. At least then he knew what the man was thinking. “You’re going to pull some jobs for me where and when I tell you to until you’ve paid off your debt to me and after that if you ever try and steal from me again, we won’t be meeting in such a friendly environment again. Understood?”

Drew nodded, his head was racing with a mixture of sensations — relief, exhilaration, trepidation. Wren had given him a second chance, and a foot in the door into the Diamond’s world. It may not have been the meeting with the leader of the Diamonds that Drew had envisioned, but he was one step closer to becoming a Diamond now.

“When do we get started?”

[elrosiafic]

Facing Doubt

Ron sat slumped in an armchair in the corner of the Gryffindor common room. Arms crossed, oblivious to the chatter and laughter of the students surrounding him, he stared sullenly at the patterns on the rug at his feet. Several loud bangs from a nearby game of Exploding Snap could be heard intermittently, but he hardly seemed to register the sound.

Ron was busy brooding over the argument he had recently had with his younger sister, Ginny. One phrase in particular kept playing and replaying in his mind. Hermione snogged Viktor Krum. Hermione snogged Viktor Krum. Hermione snogged—He huffed out a breath of air and rubbed a hand over his face. It's not like it matters, he thought to himself. If she wants an ugly, duck-footed git who's too old for her and too thick to even pronounce her name properly, then who I am to complain? She can snog whoever she wants. Suddenly his mind was filled with the image of Hermione wrapped in the Bulgarian Seeker's arms, her lips pressed tightly to his. He felt he was going to be sick.

"I need some air," Ron grumbled to himself as he heaved his body out of the armchair he had been inhabiting for the past few hours. As he stepped past the game that was still going on, a couple of fellow Gryffindors called out to him to join them, waving him over. Ron continued on as though he hadn't heard—which, in fact, he hadn't, being too wrapped up in his own gloomy thoughts to take much notice of anything.

"What's his problem?" one of them muttered as he exited through the portrait hole.

Ron shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled down the corridor, making his way towards the Astronomy Tower. As he came to the bottom of the tower, Ron began to climb the steep spiral staircase. Finally reaching the top, he pushed through the heavy wooden door, stepping out onto the roof. He took a deep breath, lungs filling with the crisp night air, and felt some of the weight of his oppressive thoughts lift a little. He walked out towards the edge of the tower, leaning over the low wall as he looked out over the grounds. The night seemed still and quiet.

Ron turned his face up to the starry sky, absently identifying constellations to himself, before realizing what he was doing. Feeling a little surprised at himself for knowing so many, his mind turned to all those evenings he'd spent with Hermione as she pored over his Astronomy homework for him. He hadn't realized he'd been paying so much attention to her instruction. What he mostly remembered was the way her brow furrowed as she studied the pages while chewing her bottom lip, the almost triumphant look in her eyes as she caught his mistakes, and the small satisfied smile that would turn up at the corner of her mouth as she corrected them. He thought of her serious expression as she would lecture him on planets and constellations in her most know-it-all tone of voice.

She really was a know-it-all. But, somehow, Ron didn't seem to mind it. In fact, if he were being completely honest with himself, he rather enjoyed it. There was something about Hermione's cool, passionate gaze and confident tones as she went on about the seemingly endless subjects that interested her that made him want to—he stopped himself. There was no point following that train of thought. She would never see him that way. Why would someone like her want someone like me? he asked himself dispiritedly as self-defeat and doubt began to overtake him yet again.

The night was growing colder and Ron realized dejectedly that fresh air wasn't really helping him to clear his head after all. He sighed and made his way over to the door, throwing one last glance towards the night sky before descending the long staircase to the bottom of the tower. He didn't really feel like returning to the Gryffindor common room just yet and, having nowhere else to go, began to wander aimlessly through the castle.

Without noticing in which direction he was headed, Ron found himself before long standing in front of the tall doorway leading into the Hogwarts library. He hesitated only a moment before shuffling in and looking around. He spotted her before he realized what he was even looking for. Hermione sat by herself at a long table in the corner of the room, a stack of books piled in front of her as she pored over one large tome. Ron stood frozen, indecisive. He just watched her for a few minutes, her head bent over the book in front of her, hair falling forward over her shoulders, half-concealing her face. As she turned a page, she glanced up and spotted him, eyes widening slightly as her mouth formed automatically into a pleased smile before falling uncertainly.

There was nothing for it now. Ron stepped forward towards the table where Hermione sat looking confused. "What are you doing here?" she asked him as he reached the table and took a seat opposite her.

Ron hesitated, frowning. What am I doing here? he thought. "Er...well…" he stammered uncertainly, then said all in a rush, "I wanted to ask you something."

Hermione looked surprised, then wary. "Ok…" she said hesitatingly.

The tips of his ears became tinged with a bright shade of red as Ron sat silent for a moment, before blurting out a little too loudly, "Is it true?"

Hermione flinched and glanced around apprehensively for signs of Madam Pince. "Is what true?" she whispered.

Ron debated with himself momentarily, seriously considering just getting up and running out of there now, but something held him fast to his chair. Stubbornness began to set in as he decided he needed to know. He did not allow himself to think about the reason why he needed to know. Ron continued, speaking in a lower tone this time. "Is it true about you and…did you…were you and…" he faltered, unable to bring himself to speak those words.

Hermione stared at him silently, bewildered.

"You and Krum," Ron grunted, finally.

Surprise lit Hermione's features, swiftly growing into alarm. "What are you talking about?" she asked in a low voice.

Ron's entire face was flushed red now as he asked somewhat accusingly, "Did you snog him?"

Hermione's eyes went wide with shock and her cheeks tinged a faint pink as she replied hotly, "Honestly, Ron! That was ages ago. What does it even matter to you?"

Ron took this response as confirmation. His expression darkened as he said brusquely, "It doesn't." Then he stood up to leave.

Hermione, eyes now beginning to water, stood also. "Ron," she began, but just then Madam Pince swooped out from somewhere amongst the rows of dusty bookshelves, vehemently shushing them and threatening to throw them out if they would not keep silent.

"I was just leaving," said Ron as he turned and stormed out of the library.

Hermione hesitated only a moment before following. She caught up to him as he rounded the corner into the next hallway. Grabbing his arm, she spun him around, demanding angrily, "What is the matter with you?"

Ron glared at her as he growled, "Nothing."

Hermione glared back at him, eyes wet with tears threatening to spill over. She angrily swiped at them as she shouted, "Obviously there's something!"

"Of course you always think there's something wrong with me," Ron replied moodily, "I guess there was nothing wrong with Vicky, was there?"

Hermione huffed in frustration. Clenching her fists, she was sorely tempted to strangle him in this moment, but managed to contain herself. "Ronald, you are being ridiculous. There isn't anything going on with me and Viktor! I haven't even spoken to him in ages and I don't understand why you're dredging up the past now!"

"Yeah, whatever," muttered Ron, staring past Hermione at the wall behind her. He knew why. He couldn't stop thinking about that bastard putting his hands on her—putting his mouth on her! —he recoiled from the thought, his stomach churning, boiling with something like rage.

Hermione covered her face with her hands for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she sighed it out and looked up at him. Ron met her gaze finally as she said helplessly, "I just don't know what you want from me, Ron."

Ron felt all the anger of the previous moment begin to slowly drain from him, to be replaced by something even stronger. It resonated out from the center of his chest, dropping down into the pit of his stomach as it flowed through his veins, setting his nerves buzzing and his skin on fire. He knew what he wanted.

As Ron looked down at Hermione, he forgot for just a moment all his jealousy and self-doubt as he looked into her eyes, so open and vulnerable, seemingly asking him a question. He felt a heat begin to build up inside of him. Ron unconsciously moved closer to her, wetting his lips. Hermione's eyes briefly flickered down to his mouth before darkening as they returned to meet his gaze. Feeling doubt begin to creep back up on him, Ron resolutely shoved it back down as he closed the gap between them. Hermione drew in a breath, waiting.

Ron tentatively reached out a hand and brushed Hermione's hair back from her face. When she didn't flinch, he grew bolder and gently placed a hand against her cheek. Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat and as though this were a signal, Ron swooped his head down as she tilted hers up to meet his. His lips crashed into hers, an electric shockwave traveling from his mouth throughout his entire body. His senses were overtaken and he was aware only of her soft lips pressed against his and her thick curls as his hands tangled themselves in her hair. Ron pulled away after a moment, looking at her dazedly, as though he couldn't quite believe what he had done. Hermione was gazing up at him, breathless, eyes shining.

Ron felt abruptly awkward, unsure of Hermione's reaction. Oh god, what did I do? he thought, panicked. Did I just wreck everything? His mind racing, he began to pull away when Hermione grasped his robes, tugging gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ron's face split suddenly into a grin, and he pulled her to him, capturing her mouth with his once again. Running his tongue across her lips, he deepened the kiss, feeling her respond as she wrapped her arms around his neck and laced her fingers through his hair. He groaned, sliding his hands around her waist, and lifted her up, pressing her body into his. As he heard a small moan escape her lips, he felt his body shudder. "Hermione," he mumbled against her mouth.

It was some time before they broke apart. Looking down at her, Ron took in Hermione's slightly disheveled appearance, eyes roaming from her messy hair and pink cheeks, to her bright eyes and the soft smile playing on her rosy lips. Gods, she's beautiful, he thought to himself.

"Um…that was…" she mumbled.

"Er…yeah…" he said hoarsely, chuckling slightly. She responded with a small giggle and before he knew it they were both enveloped in laughter.

"Erm, well, I suppose that answers my question…" said Hermione when their laughter had finally subsided.

"Yeah," said Ron with a crooked smile as Hermione beamed up at him, "I reckon it does."

Ron then turned and, grasping Hermione's hand, began to make his way back with her to the Gryffindor common room. Glancing over at her as she walked beside him, Ron was filled with a sense of elation. He suddenly felt he could do anything, with Hermione by his side.

[softeningthesound]

Writing #4

Non-binary Sirius! - Sirius entered the common room. They could see comfortable sofas, armchairs and pillows absolutely everywhere, and a main fireplace. There were windows looking out on the grounds, and they could see the grass and flowers still sprinkled on the ground, and the lake they had just come through. Looking back into the room, Sirius observed portraits and books. Then they saw the two staircases. Two. Presumably, they thought, one leading to the girls' dormitories, and one leading to the boys'... "Hey!" a loud voice exclaimed, interrupting their thoughts. Sirius turned around to see James smiling widely and looking around excitedly. "I had no idea it would be this big! Look, there's where we're not going to do our homework, and that's where we'll plan pranks, and here..." James' voice faded as Sirius started to panic. There were TWO staircases. And they were NOT a boy, or even a girl. Shit. Shit shit shit. They had never come out to anyone about who they truly were. What if they had to put on a huge fake smile and just go up the stairs to the boys' dormitories with James? What if the stairs rejected them? Sirius had heard rumors about stairs turning into slides if you weren't the right gender. The staircases to come up here were already hectic, so they were ready to believe anything. Even worse, what if they WERE allowed to go up? Would that mean... that they weren't actually non-binary? Fuck, now Sirius was questioning their entire existence. What if this was what people would think it was: just a phase, or a way to rebel from their parents? No. They weren't a boy. And they weren't a girl. They were... somewhere in between. They still hadn't figured it out yet, but Sirius still cringed when people called them by he/him pronouns. This wasn't the time to think about how much they hated that, though, because James was tugging on their sleeve and leading them to Remus and to the staircase. "James, I- James..." "What is it? Come on, I wanna go see the size of the beds!" "I- I don't..." Sirius was looking around frantically, trying to find an excuse to extend their time in the common room. They were trying to smile as if everything was fine and they had just spotted something cool behind James' shoulder, but James could see how worried Sirius looked. "Hey, man, what is it?" Sirius grinded their teeth. "Um, well... don't you want to go explore the castle first? Right, Remus?" Sirius looked around James at Remus. Remus had seemed the sort of person they could trust, a kind individual who laughed softly and looked at everyone with a certain happiness. "Uhhh... I guess?" "Exactly! Let's go- let's go explore!" "But, Sirius... Didn't the headmaster tell us to go to bed?" "Well, Remus, this'll be our first bit of rule-breaking! Are you guys in?" "Are you okay, Sirius?" James asked, concerned. "You look nervous about something." "Of course! I've just never gotten out after my bed time, is all!" James and Remus exchanged looks. Suddenly, Peter, another person Sirius had met on the train, showed up and planted himself in front of James. "H-hey James! I heard we were in the same dorm! Wanna go see?" "Yeah, let's go see where we're placed, Sirius, then we'll sneak out," James promised, then turned and started up the stairs with Peter. Obviously, the stairs didn't reject them and they went up a bit further before sticking their heads into a doorway and loudly exclaiming. "Wow! You've gotta come see this!" James called. Remus, still downstairs, turned his head to look at Sirius for a second before yelling "We'll be up in a second!" and grabbing Sirius by the bicep. Remus brought Sirius into a darker part of the empty common room and sat down on an armchair. "What's going on, Sirius?" Sirius moved their eyes up from the ground but kept their head down. They rubbed their nose and ran their hand through their hair. "Is it something about not wanting to be in a dorm with us? You can tell me, I won't be offended," Remus said as he took his turn at looking down at the carpet. "No, that's... that's not it at all. I just, uh... I..." They were going to have to tell Remus. With no preparation, no ideas on how how to break it to him, no courage. They had not planned on coming out this way at all. They just couldn't do this, they couldn't tell him about not being a boy or a girl. They were rocking slowly on the sofa cushion now, thinking this over, and a silence established itself. They could tell Remus was going to give them as much time as necessary to tell him what was wrong. But Sirius just couldn't do it! They had only just met Remus and they actually didn't really know what he was like. What if he had grown up in a homophobic and transphobic and everything-phobic family like theirs? What if he had opinionated retorts? What if he completely rejected Sirius? What if he told everyone? Sirius had too many questions and too many doubts. They just couldn't do this. "I'm- I'm sorry. I can't tell you right now." Remus was looking at them strangely. Sirius could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, trying to figure why they wouldn't want to go up the staircase. "Oh. Oh! Is it... I don't know if you'll find it's weird, or offensive, that I thought this could be the reason why you don't want to go up there, but... are you trans?" Taken aback, Sirius looked up surprisingly. Their brows were high on their face. "Um... that's..." "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, oh my gosh. Uh- well- um, I'm sorry-" "No, it's... it's fine... it's just that that's not exactly it..." Remus' naivety had saved them. He must have been brought up in a really positive and accepting family to assume that Sirius wouldn't be at least disgusted by his assumption. Remus definitely hadn't seemed grossed out himself at potentially having a transgender roommate, so wasn't that a good sign? He had just seemed so worried that he had offended Sirius, not that there was anything offensive about being trans. Sirius was smiling now. "No, it's just that I- I'm not trans, I'm... I'm non-binary. I'm... actually not sure what I am, exactly, but I'm just- I'm not a boy. So... I don't- I don't know where to go." Remus was open-mouthed, but his expression disappeared quickly to be replaced by a warm smile. "Oh. Okay, well, I just- I wondered if you were nervous for the same reason as me, because I'm- I'm trans and I'm really scared the stairs won't let me up." They were both grinning nervously now. "That... that problem is still there, though. And James and Peter are expecting us..." Sirius trailed off, and they both started panicking again about where they had to go, or if they even had beds for themselves. Sirius picked at some strings coming out of the armchair they were sitting on. There seemed to be only two options: stay down here and wait for Peter and James to ask them a million questions, or try to go up the stairs. "I don't doubt that you're a real boy, Remus, so you would be able to go up, but I'm... I'm not. There's no staircase for someone that's neither a boy nor a girl." All of a sudden, a voice "tut-tutted" behind Remus. Sirius looked up to see a portrait of a person wearing period clothing and a large hat, waving their finger. "You just have to look for it, Sirius," said the person in the portrait. "I... who are you?" "I'm Sarah. Unfortunately, in my time, I was not allowed to change my name, so people usually treated me as a girl, when I am not one. I was faced with this same problem when I came to Hogwarts, dear. The staircase reveals itself to those who need it, and it will offer you a choice: you can choose a special room, just for you, or you can choose a pathway to friends whom you know will accept you. I chose the staircase to my best friend's room, and he ended up being... not who I thought he was. But Remus here, he's a boy, and you already know he is accepting of any gender. He will be able to go up the boys' stairs, and you will find the special staircase." "I..." Sirius was surprised. They had never heard of non-binary people in olden days. They would have to talk more to this Sarah to learn about their experiences. "Where is the staircase?" "I told you, dear, you'll find it on your own, once Remus has left the common room," Sarah said, and then they turned to Remus. "You'll be able to go join your friends upstairs, sweetie." Sarah smiled warmly and promptly walked out of their portrait. Sirius was still wide-eyed. A portrait had just directly spoken to them and told them what to do. The portraits at home just fired off curses and insults. "So..." Remus smiled. "I'll see you upstairs?" "I... yeah, I... I guess." Remus put a hand on their shoulder and then walked to the boys' stairs. He took a deep breath and climbed the first few steps. Nothing happened. He grinned, looked at Sirius one more time, and disappeared up the steps. Everyone had gone up to bed now, and Sirius was alone. They looked around the room, trying to find a clue, but they didn't have to search long before hearing a "click" between the two normal staircases. They turned around and saw a wall separating, revealing a small set of steps leading up to a source of light. Sirius gathered their courage and made their way to the other side of the room and up the stairs. The wall closed behind them. They were in a small lounge, chairs and couches everywhere, and they could see an open door. Beyond that door was a room containing a few beds and a sink. Everything was decorated lavishly, and everything was clean and non-dusty, although this room didn't seem to be used very often. But what caught their attention was another, spiralling set of stairs, leading up into the ceiling. They guessed that whichever friend they thought of, this staircase would lead them to them. Sirius was ready. They concentrated hard on Remus, with his messy light brown hair and warm, amber eyes, and started up the stairs.