#the revered mother laughs. it’s an inside joke between the three of them at this point

[herearedragons]

Okay, but… what if Secret Hawke wasn’t a mage.

What if her attention-drawing, humorous attitude was not a way to cope with the stressful reality of being an apostate, but a distraction tactic. That’s right, look at me, listen to me, laugh with me. Keep looking at me.

Don’t look at my sister.

[letterstotheflre]

my drug is my baby

summary: sirius is glad he was patient enough with you and takes part of what he has been craving most

warnings: daddy kink, a smidge of religious references, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering and oral sex (fem receiver), innocence/corruption kink

word count: 3.2k

a/n: i kinda hate this now but i think it’s because i read it too many times, idk || i think it's a universal experience to not being able to cum from your own fingers... right?? and we all know that sirius has a crying kink... also i think it’s so hot when they make you thank them for letting you cum, sue me!!

Sirius Black liked to believe he was a patient man when he needed to be.

He was known for being reckless, always jumping into the next adventure without much thought, ready to follow James wherever he went. Most of the time he spoke without thinking, especially if he knew his comments would make his parents red with rage. Sometimes he didn’t even mean what he said, he just spewed whatever progressive or controversial opinion he had in hopes of making his mother’s heart stop beating.

He revelled in making rash decisions, somehow always ending up being benefited by them. He never gave much thought to anything: always doing his homework last minute yet somehow still getting top marks, taking some jokes too far, never taking into consideration other people’s safety unless they were close friends.

Some may call him selfish, but he liked not having to put too much thought into every single action. He spent most of his childhood walking on eggshells, afraid of saying the wrong thing and being punished or worse, Regulus taking the beating for him. But now that he finally escaped the Black family, he enjoyed the freedom that came with leaving Grimmauld Place.

He enjoyed breaking rules and creating chaos. It made him feel mighty, knowing he had the power to make all of those choices, still coming out on top, and see how they affected certain people. Most applauded him, revered him for being so spontaneous and adventurous; others couldn’t stand him, complaining about his mean jabs and sometimes harmful pranks.

Yet he knew how to wait for the things he deemed important or worthy. He knew that it was best to wait for Euphemia’s cherry pie to cool down before eating it, to wait for three days after the full moon to make a werewolf joke to Remus, to wait a few hours after James lost a Quidditch match to suggest a quick trip to The Three Broomsticks. And he knew it was best to wait for you.

Good things come to those who wait, that was his mantra. Of course, most of his restraint when it came to you was because he cared deeply about you and your comfort, but his conscience also drove him to keep his hands to himself. Every time his hands were about to go under your skirt, every time he heard your breathy moans when he kissed your neck, every time you looked at him with pouty lips begging for a kiss and his fingers craved to squeeze your neck, he took a step back. He felt so guilty for tainting something that in his mind was so pure, so he just held you close and peppered your face with kisses until you giggled.

But the thought of you being so untouched and how bashful you looked when he teased you or someone made a sexual comment made him want to ruin your innocence. Something inside him craved to see you tainted, to have you writhing under him as he rolled his hips against yours while you clutched his shoulders. He wanted to take that holiness you had and turn it into something so sinful that there was no way for you to ask for redemption.

And when you opened the door and took the first step, who was he to deny you?

He dragged everything out. Since the day when he taught you how to touch yourself, he wanted to make you wait for every sexual act that followed. He wanted to see how long it would take for you to beg him for some relief.

So today during a lecture when you looked at him with glazed over eyes and begged him to help you relieve the strange ache you felt in your stomach since you woke, he decided to be benevolent and give you some relief. He swiftly moved his hand under your skirt (thanking God that most of your closet consisted of that particular piece of clothing and dresses) and pushed aside your underwear before his fingers made way between your dripping folds. He didn’t enter you, just played with your clit until you had to bite the back of your hand to muffle your moans.

But when you whispered a small “thank you, daddy” and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, the only thing he wanted to do was take you back to his room and press you to the bed until your legs shook and tears ran down your cheeks. His eyes quickly scanned the classroom to make sure no one saw or heard anything, shoulders tense because of your words. All he could see were students with their own glassy eyes as they listened to whatever the professor was talking about. Fucking tease, Sirius thought.

And now, as he watched you on your knees and clutching his leg, lips pouty and cheek nuzzling his jean covered thigh, he was thankful for being patient enough.

“Please, Sirius, they’re back,” you said. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but played dumb as one hand petted your hair. “What’s back, baby?”

“The tingles,” you explained.

“And you need me to fix it, hm?” A small taunt was evident in his tone. “Your hands aren’t enough anymore, right bunny?”

Your cheeks warmed up at the implication, nevertheless, you shook your head. You still managed to make yourself cum, but the way Sirius could play with your clit like an experienced musician and how his big hands moved your hips along his jean covered leg would never compare to your dainty digits. The thought of his big fingers inside of you was enough to increase the tingles, and your hands pressed down on your stomach trying to soothe the pain.

“Please, Sirius, it hurts so bad,” you whimpered.

“Use your words, angel. Be good,” he said. You looked up at him with watery eyes, your mind already slipping and not letting you form too many coherent thoughts. “Please, daddy,” you sniffled.

He kept petting your head. “What do you want, angel?” He asked, looking almost bored with the situation as he listened to your pleads. “Anything,” you whined.

He shook his head, mocking disappointment. “You know you have to ask for what you want, puppy.” Even though he wasn’t angry, honestly a little amused at your desperation, his voice was stern, trying to engrave his rules in your fuzzy brain.

Your hands squeezed his leg, “I need you… down there.”

“You need to be clearer.''

You closed your eyes. You hated being so crass, but Sirius certainly had no qualms about it. “I need you… in my pussy,” you got out. But it wasn’t enough, not for Sirius who longed to ruin every aspect of your innocence. “What do you want, baby? D’ya want my fingers or my tongue?”

“Both,” you whined. Bingo, he thought with a dark smirk that would’ve sent shivers down your spine if you weren’t absolutely drenching and desperate for his touch. “Up you get, puppy,” he said, “lay on the bed f’me.”

You got on the bed right next to him, your head laying on one of your fluffy pillows. Your dress rode up a bit with your movements, but it didn’t really matter, and you pressed your legs together trying to relieve some of the tension while you waited for Sirius to do something. He simply watched you, taking in the image of you wriggling in place and toying with the rings he bought you for your birthday.

You felt a soft touch on your calves, and it gave you a fluttering feeling in your stomach. Sirius’s hands were moving slowly up your legs, nudging them apart without needing much force since you complied immediately. You were about to burst, ready to scream at him to just get on with it, but decided to keep quiet.

One of his hands made its way to the edge of your dress, swiftly going under it and his fingers slightly grazing your clothed pussy. Your hips bucked at the soft touch, but then just as quickly as it came it was gone. “No, come back!” you implored, reaching for Sirius’s wrist but being too slow.

Sirius arched one eyebrow, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried out, “M’sorry, I just need you so bad. It hurts.” But Sirius remained where he was, arms now crossed over his chest as he looked at you. His eyes were full of disappointment and you wanted to cry, “What’s gotten into you today? You were so demanding in class before, so bratty, I don’t think you deserve it at all.” He was stretching the truth, you were by far the least bratty person he had ever been with, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw how much his words affected you.

A few tears fell at his words, “No, no, m’not bratty. I’m a good girl, daddy. I promise I’ll be so so good, your best girl! I won’t ask for anything more, m’sorry.'' You were saying anything you could to convince him that you were still his good girl, his angel.

Your lips were quivering and your chest was heaving with sobs you tried to keep inside; babbling apologies and trying to convince him that you would never act like this again, and he finally took pity on you. His hands gripped your ankles and opened your legs so he could lay comfortably between them. He could see a dark patch on your lavender underwear, and he huffed out a laugh with a slightly amused shake of his head. “I forgive you, bunny, but you’ll have to take everything that I give you. D’you think you can do that f’me?”

You nodded eagerly, choking a small ‘thank you’ as you tried to control your breath. He grabbed the ends of your dress and bunched it up over your waist, not bothering to take it off. He licked a strip over your underwear and the combination of his warm tongue with the friction of the cotton cloth was enough to make you mewl.

Sirius could not deny that he had been craving to taste you once more after he licked your fingers clean that day, and now only getting a smidge of your taste from what seeped through your underwear drove him insane. He needed to taste you completely, so he quickly pulled them off and pocketed them in the back of his jeans.

He used his fingers to spread your folds wide open, staring hungrily at all the slick that had gathered. “Oh puppy, look at the mess you’ve already made,” he crooned. “Y’re dripping, d’ya really need me this bad?”

“Yes, so so bad. Please, daddy.” He was so close, his warm breath hitting your wet folds and making you tremble in anticipation.

You watched, using your elbows to raise yourself a little, as he slowly started to take his rings off. “Hold ‘em for me, bunny, don’t want them to get dirty,” he said as he slid his chunky rings into your fingers. The metal dangled a little because of the size difference, so you closed your hands to keep them from falling.

Finally, his tongue made contact with your clit and you sighed in relief. It was followed by a moan when he started to suck on it, making sure to swirl his tongue all around before slurping. He looked like a starved man that finally came into contact with some sweet fruit, moving his head around your pussy to have you gushing on him. The ache in your tummy was slowly decreasing, now replaced with a nice fluttering feeling.

Your whines and moans echoed through his ears, resembling the most beautiful angel choir he had ever heard. He pulled away for a moment, “I’ve been waiting to taste you for days, puppy. S’better than I remembered.”

The more he pushed his tongue inside you, the more your legs shook. You involuntarily closed them, your pillowy thighs acting as earmuffs around Sirius’s head. He let them rest there for a few seconds before pushing them open once more, adding more fervour to his movements, eager to drink your sweet ambrosia.

Your closed fists went to his head, and you opened them a little to grip his hair, trying to ground yourself. “Gonna cum, daddy, can I?” You breathed out. Sirius just hummed, sending vibrations that were enough to make you let go. You tried to close your legs once more, but his shoulders prevented you from doing so. You felt like you were floating, your brain shutting off for a few seconds before returning to earth.

But Sirius didn’t stop moving his tongue, one of his fingers circling your hole before entering you slowly. Just one of his fingers felt like two of yours, even though you knew it wasn’t an accurate comparison. The stretch this time burned more than when you touched yourself, and you whined while shaking your head. “Too much, s’too much.”

Sirius paused for a moment so he could press your legs to your chest with one hand while the other kept moving in and out of you. The sudden switch in position made you gasp, but not as much as when Sirius thrust his fingers hard. “Are you dumb? I told you you had to take everything I gave you. D’you want to make me mad again?”

More tears fell when he curled his fingers, expertly finding that spongy spot inside you that pumped white heat through your veins. The way they twisted resembled a musician fiddling with a harp, your needy whines accompanying them like the main act. “No no, I can take it” you gasped, drowning in bliss as his fingers kept hitting the perfect spots.

You were already so close, Sirius giving you no respite as he quickly pushed his fingers. Your hand gripped his arm, fingertips digging the ink-covered skin. “C-close,” you whined, eyes rolling back and mouth open as you felt the tension ready to break.

“Going to make more of a mess, angel?” he grumbled, and you tried to nod as much as you could in your constricted position. Sirius chuckled, “Dirty little thing. Go on, I’ve got you.”

You whimpered brokenly as he pulled another orgasm from you. It felt like his fingertips were scrapping your insides to drag it out, and your feet dangled in the air as you swung them while trying to grab his wrist to stop him from moving.

Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes from you, with your pretty tears dripping down your cheeks and your chest heaving with small sobs from how good you felt. For him, all for him and only ever for him, because no one had ever touched you like he has and no one else ever would. “You look so pretty like this,” he cooed. “God I love your tears, baby, look how hard you make me.”

Your eyes moved down his body—when had he taken off his shirt? His tattoos splayed over his toned muscles made you clench around his fingers. You adored the small drawings that covered most of his body, they looked so beautiful on him and you just wanted to cry even more at how pretty your boyfriend was. When your eyes moved lower, following his previous instruction, you could see there was already a bulge in his pants that you knew was his cock, and your mouth watered at the thought of it just resting against his stomach like it did the first time you sucked him.

“I wanna feel you,” you cried while stretching your hands to touch him. He let you, your soft palms going over his chest and grabbing his shoulders so you could pull him down. “Kissie,” you breathed, letting his lips hover over yours for a second before kissing you hard and messily. His tongue played with yours and it only added more fuel to the fire inside you.

A moan broke you apart when his fingers resumed their pace, “P-please, no more” you babbled, the stimulation too much to bear.

“How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t take my fingers, hm?” He asked and you whined, his fingers burying themselves up to his knuckles and making your eyes roll back once more. Your mouth was dry from being constantly open, whimpers and moans constantly escaping from the open cavity. “Come on, one more, I know you have it in you. My good girl aren’t you?”

The squelching sounds were so dirty and they rang through your ears,  yet even through your fuzzy mind you could discern the important words, “Y-your good girl,” you managed to get out with a smile, glad to be praised by him.

His other hand pressed down on your legs even more, and now you could see the way the digits moved in and out of you, a slight sheen coating the skin every time they came out. “God, you were right, bunny, you are tight,” he grunted, “I don’t think I’ll ever fit, m’gonna break you.”

At that, your eyes widened. “No no, you’ll fit, daddy!” But he just chuckled at your desperation, “M’gonna break you in half, angel. Do you want that? Do you want me to split you open?”

A small chant of ’yes’ and ‘please’ echoed through the room. You could feel another wave coming, ready to wash over you as your toes curled in anticipation. It was like you were dangling on the edge, your hands holding on for dear life as you tried to hold on, and your moans grew louder and louder with every thrust Sirius gave.

Your clenching walls around his digits were warning enough for him, and he kept his eyes on your form as you struggled to keep it at bay, waiting for his permission. He watched as your ring clad fingers scrambled to the sheets, gripping them tightly as your head moved from side to side. “That’s it, bunny, let go f’me” and with one harsh thrust, you slackened the hold you had on your release and finally let go.

If you felt like you were still on your body you would’ve screamed. A white heat engulfed you as your vision grew hazy, your hips raising of their own accord and aiding Sirius in dragging your orgasm out. You looked so beautiful like this, a sweaty sheen on your skin and now tangled up hair sticking to your forehead. Sirius leant down, tongue cleaning the fallen tears before they dried, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

He grabbed your face, squishing your spit covered cheeks. “What do you say, angel?”

With a shuddering breath, you looked into his stormy eyes as he cleaned your release from his fingers with his tongue. “Thank you, daddy.”

You tried to lower your legs, but Sirius kept them in place. You stared at him, confused, yet he was staring at your puffy cunt, all shiny and stretched out for him. A smirk covered his lips as he finally looked at you, “I think y’re finally ready for m’cock, angel.”

TAGLIST: @ildm4ev @capsmischief @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @remusjlupinisdead @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour @emmaev @gxtitobxby @sam-hollandsgirl —if you want to be tagged tap here

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”

[ofhouseadama]

Thoughts don't come to completion in my brain very well, but maybe when Lorraine first finds out she's pregnant? How happy but also scared she is (cause you know she's gotta be) and then her telling ed and how happy and scared he is as well? 😅😅

Like I said idk how to form complete thoughts about a lot of things 😅😅

In hindsight, she knew the moment she conceived. Laying there in the darkness, she felt the moment a piece of Ed joined with a piece of her. It wasn’t even that she didn’t recognize it for what it was, but that she couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. In the eight years they have been married, her cycle had never been so much as a day late, arriving like clockwork every twenty-eight days. Textbook, really.

When it didn’t come, she held her breath. After eight years, she’s become a master at refusing to get her hopes up. She remembers the ambivalence she felt, the morning she realized she had gotten her monthly courses after their honeymoon and she was back at her parents’ house and Ed, back on a ship in the Pacific. She’d been relieved then.

In the years that followed, after buying a four bedroom home they’d hoped to fill up with babies, relief had turned to confusion, then to frustration, then to grief. And it became tolerable, with time and prayer and faith, but oh how she yearned, and yearned, and yearned.

And learned to fill up the space that she wanted to fill with her and Ed’s children with ghosts.

Lorraine Warren finds herself bouncing her leg on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s office on her lunch break, two weeks after the first missed period of her life. And she knows, some heady mixture of mother’s intuition and all her other gifts from God. She knows with a painful kind of clarity that she carries a life inside her. She wonders if Ed’s noticed that she never drew her little red dots on the calendar, hasn’t complained about cramps and bloating, hasn’t brought home a box of Motrin and menstrual products. He rarely misses anything about her, but it’s just been Christmas and they’ve just had a case, a real one. The kind that drives him to distraction.

She pees in a cup and the nurse, in her starch white uniform and impeccably clean shoes, tells her that the results will take at least three days and possibly up to a week to come back, that it will depend on how busy the lab is. The nurse smiles conspiratorially, like she’s gotten a tidbit of insider trade knowledge, and tells her that she thinks she’ll know by New Year’s Eve whether or not she’s going to be a mother.

Lorraine vomits in a bush on her way back to her car.

---

New Year's Eve is a Sunday, in 1961, and Lorraine’s last day of work before the holiday is that Friday, when the nurse from the doctor’s office calls her desk. It is almost, exactly to the hour, four days since her appointment.

Somewhere between, “Congratulations, Mrs. Warren,” and “we’ll need to schedule you for a follow-up appointment in the next four to six weeks,” her vision blurs, and her legs drop out from under her. Clumsily, she manages to catch herself on the edge of her desk, lowering herself gently down onto her chair.

“Yes, yes, I can make the week of January 29th work,” she says, furiously wiping away tears as she flips through her planner, frantically reaching for a pencil. “Yes. One in the afternoon is fine. Thank you.”

Slowly, she hangs up the phone.

Lorraine makes it another twenty minutes at her desk, thumbing through the Diocese of Bridgeport finances, mindlessly sorting purchase orders and invoices. Before slowly, then all at once, it hits her. Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, she swallows down a sob.

They’re going to be parents.

---

They had just given up. Because of course they had.

But God had other plans.

---

She drives home in a daze, glad that it’s the middle of the afternoon. She’s not sure how she would have made it from Bridgeport to Monroe if she had waited until five o’clock. It feels as though she’s experiencing the world from underwater, from the inside of an upturned snowglobe.

You’re expecting, Mrs. Warren. The test came back positive.

How is she going to tell Ed? She never thought this far. Not since they were newlyweds and she was dreaming of the little clothes she had sewn for her trousseau. She had plans back then, of cooking him dinner and sitting him down over candlelight and a nice meal, and telling him with a silver rattle tucked into tissue paper in a box, or with a silver spoon, a baby’s hair brush. Now she has half a mind to just drive straight for where she knows he’s teaching art classes at the VA, march inside, and drag him into his office like a madwoman and tell him straightaway.

Damn ceremony, they’ve waited long enough.

Pulling into the driveway, she turns off the engine and sits there for a long moment, fighting back tears. She’s going to walk into their home, and she’s going to know which room they’re going to clear out to turn into a nursery.

She’s known which room they were going to turn into a nursery since the first time they walked into the house with the realtor.

After a moment, the tears win.

---

In the end, it goes like this:

Lorraine makes lasagna, because it’s hard to screw up and she’s having trouble concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She knows how to make sauce, cook noodles, and assemble layers. Ed likes lasagna. Ed does not like lasagna so much that he will be immediately suspicious when he comes home to find her making lasagna. She’s usually home before him anyway on Thursdays, the only day of the week he has a four o’clock class.

Ed comes home a little before six, his forearms speckled with paint.

He talks enough for the both of them, and if he notices anything’s off about her, he’s kind enough to wait until after dinner to bring it up. Kissing her cheek sweetly, he loops his arms around her waist and pulls her close.

“I missed you today.”

Then he’s pulling away again, taking down plates and cups from the cabinet and pulling out silverware to lay the table.

Then, despite all the ways she’s been practicing all afternoon, Lorraine turns from the stove to look at him folding napkins at the kitchen table and feels such a warm burst of affection in her chest that she can’t not say it.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, holding onto the counter for support. “The doctor’s office confirmed it today. I’m -- I’m pregnant. Like really, really pregnant. And I’m a little terrified, because it doesn’t feel real, but it apparently is real.”

The red napkin he’s been folding into a triangle falls from his fingertips, face freezing with shock.

“Wait--”

“We’re having a baby,” she says, realizing that she’s rambling, but unable to stop herself.

His brow furrows, confused. “Lorraine? Are you telling me--”

Biting her lip, she nods. “Yes.”

“Really?”

Crossing the room to her, she can see comprehension dawning on his features. This isn’t a dream. They’re both awake. It’s not a joke. Lorraine wonders if she should have driven by the doctor’s office to get a physical copy of the test results. Ed’s always liked being able to see things on paper.

“Really,” she says, as a smile splits his face and he reaches her, sweeping her up into his arms and lifting her off her feet, spinning her. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

She’s so happy, she’s lightheaded.

And she wants to kiss him, so she does, framing his dear face with her hands.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

---

With a look of reverence on his face that drives her back to tears, Ed drops to his knees right there in the kitchen, pushing up the hem of her blouse.

“Hi,” he says, pressing his lips to her stomach. “Hi baby.”

Wiping the tears from Ed’s face, Lorraine thinks she might never stop laughing, might never stop crying.

---

In the end, they eat their lasagna on the kitchen floor, right out of the pan. She’s half in his lap, and there’s not a candle in sight.

It’s perfect.

[sweet-by-and-by]

Exit, Pursued by Consequences

Summary: John knows he's not supposed to bring anything else back to camp, but when he finds it all alone in the wilderness he knows has no choice. Hosea and Dutch be damned. A/N: Aka 1500 words of fluffy bs to soothe my poor Chapter 6 soul 💔 Apparently I'm actually writing again, so I've started using my AO3! I'll be posting over there, so check it out if you want to follow my fics! This one is heavily inspired by me STILL dragging my heels in chapter 6 of my replay, and needing something fluffy because everything is sad. No pairings, but some young!Van Der Linde gang family dynamics to soothe the aching heart.

AO3

“Arthur.”

“John.”

“Arthur.”

The two boys stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to break the tension and make the first move.

After a few more beats, John finally caved. “I see you’ve met our new friend here.” He started, trying to hold himself back from rambling in an attempt to explain himself.

“I suppose that I have.” Arthur hesitated, staring at the creature that stood before him as he tried to make sense of what could possibly have made John bring this beast home.

Arthur had been coming into camp after a day out hunting, a couple of deer and a few rabbits strapped proudly to his saddle. They were in between jobs while Dutch and Hosea laid groundwork on their latest tip, and the food supply had been looking a little low. After a day spent tracking, foraging, and admittedly a bit of drawing and snoozing propped against a tree, Arthur had loaded up his hard work and led his horse to turn everything over to Susan. He was proud and excited to show the others, trying harder to earn his place now that he had turned twenty three.

Until he ran into John, rope in hand and frozen mid-stride as he locked eyes with Arthur. Still frozen in place.

“I thought Dutch and Hosea told you already-” Arthur started into a lecture, but was quickly interrupted.

“I know they said I wasn’t allowed to keep bringing things back, but I couldn’t just leave him there all alone!” John pleaded, panic lacing his voice. Arthur’s eyes shifted to the mass of fur behind John, still trying to pinpoint the moment the entire camp had let John get away with so much that he thought he could bring a bear home without consequences.

A bear. A living, breathing bear cub — with a rope around its neck like a lead. Mewling at John as it paced happily behind him.

“John-” Arthur tried, but was cut off again by the bullheaded thirteen year old.

“I think some hunters got to his mother. I found him curled up beside her crying.” John said, shrinking as his gaze lowered to the ground and his voice grew somber. “They didn’t even take the pelt, I think they just shot her for fun.”

Arthur blinked at the bear cub again, watching as it rolled around and pawed playfully at the rope that hung from John’s hand. It paused at Arthur’s stare, blinking back and letting out an adorable roar.

Arthur looked back to John, his small frame shrinking even further at the threat of being in trouble. John looked up at Arthur, his eyes as wide as saucers and his bottom lip threatening to quiver.

“Oh, enough with the puppy dog eyes.” Arthur groaned, “Take it up with Dutch and Hosea.”

John shot straight up, his face splitting into a huge grin at Arthur’s words.

“I swear I’ll take good care of him!” John rushed, giving the rope a slight pull to get his new friend’s attention. The cub rolled over, flinging its paws to the ground and springing upright. It bound towards John, bumping into his legs and knocking itself down again.

Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes and cursing himself for giving in so easy. “I swear, if that thing bites me, I’ll make the tiniest rug you’ve ever seen.” He warned, his words lacking any real promise.

John ignored his empty threats and took off towards camp, his furry little shadow following close behind.

--

Arthur held a peppermint in the flat of his hand, thanking his horse once he had offloaded his haul back at camp. Susan had been so shaken by the sight of John tugging a bear cub into Hosea and Dutch’s tent that she hardly had the mind to notice Arthur’s day’s work.

He hadn’t really done it for the praise though, and he knew Hosea would pick up on their overflow of provisions once things had calmed down.

Arthur glanced towards the large tent that stood tall in the middle of camp as his horse happily slobbered the last of the peppermint out of his hand. Giving one final scritch behind the ears and a grateful pat on the neck, Arthur turned his attention to the voices that carried.

The tiny cub had been tied to one of Dutch’s tent stakes, though Arthur was certain it could pull the peg out of the ground without much thought. Behind canvas walls, Dutch and Hosea’s voices could be heard, their back and forth muffled through the fabric of the tent.

Arthur lit a cigarette and leaned against a nearby wagon, waiting to see what the verdict on John’s latest stray would be. After a few minutes of murmurs with the occasional increase in volume, the tent flaps flew open as John shot through them. He threw himself to the ground in front of the cub, delighted as he pet the bear.

“So I guess we have our answer then.” Dutch chuckled, emerging from the tent with Hosea close behind him. He crossed his arms and puffed his cigar, hovering in the doorway as Hosea leaned against the support post between them.

“You need to stop letting him get away with this,” Hosea chided, shaking his head as both men watched the gentle petting turn into playful wrestling as John rolled in the dirt with the cub.

“Come now Hosea, he’s just a boy. Life will have plenty of boredom for him as he grows, let him have his fun.” Dutch remarked, a charming sparkle in his eye as waved his cigar.

Hosea’s face softened and he chuckled, still shaking his head. “Yes, I’m sure boredom will often be his problem in life.” He mused. Hosea looked to Arthur, catching his gaze beneath the brim of his ever-present hat. “Arthur, what do you think of our newest addition?” He asked, nodding towards the dying out wrestling match.

Arthur took a drag from his cigarette, pushing himself off of the wagon and throwing his butt to the ground. “I think you two have gone soft.” He ribbed, a smirk settling across his face. “I thought there were no more chances for little Johnny, you were putting your foot down next time he brought some sad critter home.”

“Well,” Hosea frowned, but his eyes still shone playfully “You’ll have to take that one up with ol’ Dutch. I was quickly outvoted.”

“I guess we know where John gets his habit of bringing home strays.” Arthur joked, settling his hands comfortably on his belt buckle as he moved to stand closer to the two older men.

“I believe we have all benefited from my propensity to bringing home strays,” Dutch rebutted, his voice dropping low and reverent.

Neither had any sarcasm to meet his response, so they watched in silence as John finally conceded his loss and threw himself onto his back. He flopped his arms out wide and panted heavily, his chest heaving. A huge smile stole his face, his grin stretching ear to ear. Arthur quickly looked to the ground and adjusted his hat for something to do, using the action to hide his own smile.

Hosea looked away knowingly, his gaze returning to the happy thirteen year old laying in the dirt.

“So son,” Hosea said, catching John’s attention, “I believe your friend here needs a name.”

John propped himself onto his elbows and moved to sit up, his face turning serious as he wracked his brain for ideas.

“I dunno,” John said thoughtfully, “I’ve never named a bear before.”

“I can’t imagine it’s all that different than naming a turkey.” Dutch said, recalling all of the other times John had wandered back into camp with some New Addition.

“Or a muskrat.” Arthur supplied sarcastically. “Oh, and remember the coyote?”

“Alright, alright.” Hosea chided, dismissing Arthur with a wave. “Let’s think now. What’s a good name for a bear?”

“How about Ursa?” Dutch offered, “Like the mighty constellation.”

“Nah, this one’s a boy.” John said, still deep in thought.

“Well there’s always Arthur.” Hosea teased, laughing as Arthur narrowed his eyes and scowled.

“Har-har.” He sneered, bringing his hand to his face and stroking his chin pensively. “How about ‘Oberon’?”

“Ahh, ol’ Shakespeare!” Dutch clapped Arthur on the shoulder and smiled. “So some of our lessons did stick with you after all!”

Hosea smiled too, pride in his eyes. “What do you think, John? is he an Oberon?”

John turned the name over in his head. “Oberon.” He tested, trying the name on his tongue. The bear poked its head up, mewling at John and rolling on top of his chest.

John laughed and reached down to rub the cub’s belly. “I think he might be.”

Everyone laughed as John picked himself up off the ground, untying the leash from the stake and taking the rope in his hand. Oberon followed him closely as they made their way towards the chuckwagon, looking for something to eat for both parties.

“Hey!” Arthur shouted, a thought suddenly crossing his mind. “You better find somewhere for that thing to sleep, it ain’t staying in our tent!”

Hosea and Dutch snickered to themselves as Arthur chased after them, ducking back inside to return to their planning.

[jungcity]

love, eternal. | viii

genre: reincarnation!au, fallen angel!au

[supernatural!au-ish, angst, use of blunts and intoxicants, extra asshole jaehyun, smut, vulgar words]

pairing: jung jaehyun x reader

words: 9k

note: listen to arcade by duncan lawrence while reading this chapter!! (thanks to @cherr-e for introducing me to the song) chapter unedited

“do i still taste of war?

can you still feel the battles on my skin

stitched across my back

am i still rebuilding

bone by fragile bone?”

— what does forgiveness taste like (r.n.)

Jaehyun feels as if he’s going mad. The ashen look of your face and the continuous froth coming out of your mouth sent an unfathomable type of ire inside him. He was certain of it; he was certain that he would bring you home safe and sound— without a trace of scratch in your body. But as you lay unconscious into one of the many chambers in Doyoung’s mansion— your knee displaying a long gash of wound, your face drained out of color, your hair disoriented and frizzing— all that Jaehyun wanted to do was burn the world to soot.

He wanted to find and punish the creature who did this to you; he wanted to wrap his hand around that cretin’s neck and squeeze the air out of its lungs. It’s been less than one hour since you started to convulse underneath Jaehyun’s touch, but he felt as if you were insentient for eternity now. It didn’t help that the memory of Aurora dying currently flashes in his mind, reminding him that he is a stone throw’s away in experiencing that kind of world-shattering moment again.

A commotion from outside broke Jaehyun’s reverie, he decided to let go of your hand; so cold against his. Before he could finally stand up and find out whose voice echoes down the floor, the door swung open and revealed Sicheng; a vampire like Taeyong.

“Her sister,” He nudged his head behind him, and he was pushed aside by a girl as he said the words.

The girl let out a strangled cry before kneeling on the floor beside you. She was mewling and hugging the frail body laid lethargic on the bed; praying for you to wake up. The sight was like burst of sunlight in Jaehyun’s eyes— it stings and he never wanted to witness an innocent girl begging for God to wake her sister ever again. So he departed the room, leaving your sister to have a lone time with you.

Jaehyun looked out at the view from above the stairs, Taeyong was tending for the wounded Ten. He was shot by a cross bolt at his right leg. Jaehyun decided to descend the stairs to look out for his comrades who bravely assisted him in rescuing you. At least, he needed to commend their stoutness.

“How is she?” Johnny quickly stood up from his seat when he saw Jaehyun. The man blames himself for what happened to you, but Jaehyun told him he’s done more than enough. Plans aren’t always executed perfectly. Yet Jaehyun could not deny that you, poisoned, was not what he’d expected as a loophole.

“Benumbed, still. But Doyoung assured me that the poison has slowed down already.” Jaehyun explained. Doyoung, and the other warlocks have been awake all night to check up on you. They slowed down the poison, that’s why it hasn’t reached your heart yet. But they warned Jaehyun how grave your situation is, despite the poison being just a nightshade. It is one of the most common poison in Netherworld; easily cured, but still could kill someone if used in high dosage. Doyoung suspected that a dosage of ten drops were commixed into the liquid that you drank; whoever poisoned you wanted you dead instantly.

“I— forgive me, Jaehyun. I was too occupied in protecting her against the guards that I’d missed the danger behind me.” Johnny said the same apology for three times already, yet the remorse in his eyes never lessened. Jaehyun clapped his friend on his back, telling him the same ‘it’s alright, don’t blame yourself’ sentence. Before Johnny departed the living room, he nodded at Jaehyun with reverence. In times like this Jaehyun wished he wasn’t respected as someone who is above netherworlders.

“Are you alright?” He asked Ten, who’s currently laid on the sofa, with Taeyong bandaging his wound.

“Of course. Ant’s bite.” He answered, but then he screamed when Taeyong accidentally touched the wound. Jaehyun shook his head and moved on to the other person beside him, Lucas.

He was not with them in Fairie lands, for Jaehyun appointed him to guard your sister in your apartment. Chaelin had gone with him, since she believed that it would freak your sister out once she saw a man outside the door. The purple patch of bruise beside Lucas’ lips proved Chaelin’s prediction.

Jaehyun need not to ask the young man about what happened. Lucas simply shook his head and said, “I politely knocked yet she welcomed me with a punch instead,”

“She was able to reach your face with her height?” Jaehyun raised a brow, the young man threw a pillow his way, “You need a thorough practice,” With that, Lucas buried his own face into the pillows. Jaehyun let out a toneless chuckle before Chaelin called him from up the stairs. Her thumb pointing to your room.

A surge of electricity bolted inside Jaehyun’s body as he thought of the million reasons for Chaelin’s calling. He stood up and ascended the stairs two steps at a time. When he finally reached your room, his shoulders slumped from seeing your enfeebled body again. You have not moved a finger.

“What- what’s gonna happen to her now? Is she gonna… die?” Your sister, Yuqi, asked as she sniffed with tears still falling down her cheeks. The last word was a shot of arrow in Jaehyun’s heart. He knew your sister felt the same for the word left her wincing, her crying inconsolable.

Chaelin softly held her close to her, as if afraid to rattle the girl. They sat on the nearest couch, Jaehyun across from them. “No, she’s not going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

“What happened to her? Where has she gone to?” Yuqi asked in between her sobs, her eyes fixed on your unmoving body.

Jaehyun sighed, just thinking about how would he explain the Fairie lands to a human gave him a headache that would last for a day. He leaned, his elbow propped on his hips. “It’s… complicated. I don’t think you would believe it.”

Yuqi wiped her nose, her eyes turning to Jaehyun with a fire that told him she would not back down until she’s known the truth. “I deserve to know since you refused to bring her to the hospital. What happened to my sister?”

It’s true. Jaehyun indeed refused for a medical aid reserved for mortals. The medicines and apparatuses they have won’t do anything for your current state. In fact, the doctors would have pronounced you brain dead already. So he sighed, and told your sister about Yuta, his mother, their plan, your being trapped in Fairie lands. After a lot of talking that left Jaehyun’s mouth dry, he expected your sister to scoff and tell him he’s mad. But she only fisted her palms in annoyance, her next words bewildering Jaehyun.

“That Yuta hasn’t done anything other than hurt my sister. I knew it. Behind those white hair of his lay secrets that are not of this world.” She stated with enough contempt, “Sometimes, when they were still together, he would talk as if he’s an ancient god from hundreds of thousands of years ago. Now I understand why. Never really trusted that guy.” She has stopped crying now, but her eyes are still red. “But… how did you rescue her? Without any magic, I doubt you could enter the Fairie lands.”

Jaehyun and Chaelin exchanged a look, both of them reluctant to answer your sister’s question. “I think you’ve heard enough of complicated things tonight, you should rest.” Chaelin told her with a smile. Your sister was quick to get the hint and did not force them for any answers anymore.

“I want to sleep here, beside my sister.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible. Our friends has to check up on her later, and what they’ll be doing would just cause you headaches.” Chaelin explained, “It’s best for you to stay in the room we’ve prepared for your accommodation. I promise you’ll be the first one to know whatever happens to her,”

Yuqi’s brows were knitted as if she would complain and insist. But she only looked at Jaehyun’s way. “Does she trust you?” She asked, holding Jaehyun’s eyes with enough intensity that he saw the warning inside your sister’s orbs. Do you trust Jaehyun? After all that he has done to you? But he could not afford to burden your sister— the only family you have left— any further. So he nodded with a private uncertainty.

“Alright, then. I won’t insist. If she trusts you, then I trust you. But don’t make me regret it. I would kill you myself if something bad happens to her,” Yuqi warned. In ordinary times, Jaehyun would have laughed. The thought of a mortal threatening him was a joke to his perspective. But he understood your sister’s feelings; she is afraid, so afraid to face the possibility of you dying.

“I promise, nothing bad would befell your sister as long as I live.” Jaehyun’s words sparked the ember of feelings he has towards you. The words are like tattoos, permanent now in his heart. And he only hoped that he could hold up to that promise.

Chaelin led your sister to her own room, leaving Jaehyun with you. He stared at your face, his hands holding a towel to wipe the froth coming out of your mouth. Your chest, barely rising. He swallowed the fear as he pushed back the hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry,” He’s lost count of the times he said the words against your ears while holding your hand tightly with his. “I am so sorry,” He kissed the back of your hand, your palm, your wrist. A slight twitch of your finger sent Jaehyun’s nerves into frenzy; he’s certain he wasn’t imagining things.

“Y/N… chérie, are you awake?” He whispered, holding your hand more tightly now, waiting for any sign of life. Your finger twitched for the second time, Jaehyun let out a sigh of relief and leaned closer to you, waiting for your eyes to pop open.

But something is not right. The froth coming out of your mouth is thickening, your body starting to convulse again. It started from your hands, then the spasm worked its way to your whole body. Jaehyun shouted for Doyoung, for anyone. Every beat of his heart frantic from watching you.

“What’s happening to her?” He demanded as Doyoung reached the room. He was followed by Taeil, Jaemin, Renjun, and Yangyang. They circled you, all of them laying their two fingers on your wrist, feeling your heart. Then they exchanged glances. Jaehyun wished he doesn’t know what those looks meant. But he does.

Doyoung looked up at him, “This is bad.”

He tried to calm down, his fist on the sides of his body, “How bad?”

“Too bad,” Doyoung answered, his voice gravelly.

“Her pulse. I couldn’t feel it.” Yangyang stated from beside Doyoung.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, then the small body of your sister was suddenly inside the room; her sobs filling the whole space. “What’s happening to her?” She cried and pushed the warlocks away from you, her tears falling on your body. Chaelin pulled her away and hugged her as she continued to sob.

“Jaehyun, her pulse. We couldn’t feel it.” Taeil once again stated.

Jaehyun was locked in his place, the chaos of the room rocking his system; the sobs of your sister, the shushing of Chaelin, the chants of the warlocks and the silent stares of his comrades seems to be all too overwhelming for him. Then all went silent. Your body stopped convulsing. It would have relieved Jaehyun— but the stillness of your chest was like a nuclear bomb in his body.

“No,” He whispered. “No!” He could feel his pupils dilate, his blood flowing in his veins frenetically. Then he shoved away the warlocks to get to you. No. No. No.

“Y/N. Wake up.” He tightened his jaw to stop himself from shouting. Nothing. “Chérie, I don’t like this game.” He said with gritted teeth. “Wake up, Y/N.” He cupped your cheeks, his eyes stinging with his teeth aching from gritting it together too much. “Wake up!” But you didn’t. He wanted to shake your body until you open your eyes, but his hands felt leaden as he held you, lifeless and cold.

Somebody put a hand on his shoulder, “Jaehyun, let it go.” It was Taeyong. Jaehyun could not hear anything, the world seems to fade away. No, Y/N. He shuts his eyes, your unconscious body in his arms. This is not happening, again.

He laid you slowly on the bed, then he whirled on his comrades. Their heads are bent down, not daring to see the view unraveling in front of them. Yuqi continues to cry, but Jaehyun could not hear her sobs against the mayhem in his mind.

“Doyoung, do it again.” His voice was almost a whisper, even he could not hear himself despite the moving of his lips. Doyoung exchanged glances with Taeil and they both walked towards you, fingers sparking up magic. Jaemin came back with potions in his hand, Jaehyun did not even notice when he departed the room. He set the potions beside Doyoung, both of them exchanging silent stares as Jaemin started to mix up the vials of liquid.

Jaehyun did not know what to do. His hands are on his waist, his feet pacing the room back and forth. He is Lucifer, he could do something. But if he truly could, Aurora would have been alive until now.

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung called out, the sadness in his eyes sending Jaehyun’s insides to mayhem again. Then the warlock slowly shook his head. It was a boulder of rock to Jaehyun’s chest, the feeling was like a push on his last bit of sanity.

“No!” He shouted. In his peripheral, he saw your sister flinched at the loud scream. He wasted no time to stand face to face with Doyoung, his eyes searching for something; a little hope, just a little hope. “Do it again.” He commanded, but Doyoung shook his head.

“I couldn’t. We couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

When he grabbed Doyoung’s collar, the men behind him quickly ran to pull him away from the warlock. But his grip was tight and nobody in the room has the same strength as his.

“Do it again. You are not a warlock for eight hundred years for nothing.” He seethed while fighting the yanking being done by Johnny and Lucas to his body.

“If we push her body any further, her system won’t be able to take all the magic, Jaehyun. Remember, she is a mortal.”

Mortal. Jaehyun could not take it anymore. He ran, far from the blackhole that is your death in Doyoung’s mansion. He ran for his car. He exactly knows where to go.

The road was empty, with the moon providing the light in the path. The eerie shadows of trees painted the asphalt road a gray and black colors as Jaehyun rode through the night. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight he was afraid it’d break. But his mind screams and his heart is shattering to care about anything one bit. Why is it crueler this time? He’s thinking about his punishment. How the Almighty seems to take away his source of happiness from him again. Not so soon. He begged, and he never once begged.

He watched Aurora die, helpless as he was in the corner of her room. He watched as her last breath was a release of the body she once had in the Earth. And he did not do anything, then. Aurora died without him giving a fight. She died, and he let her die. Now you lay dead on the bed, Jaehyun didn’t even see your eyes for the last time. You died helpless, too. You died without seeing your sister. You died as if you did not deserve to say goodbye to your loved ones.

The tires screeched, a signal that Jaehyun has reached his destination. He breathed. Without a second thought, he departed the car and the church’s façade loomed over him. Every step he took towards the structure was a dagger at his heart. How many years has it been since he last visited a church? He couldn’t remember. But now he is here, ready to face his Creator— for you.

The iron door of the church was locked, with a flick of a finger it opened for Jaehyun. Moonlight infiltrated the whole interior of the church, the white rays of it touching the floor and the rows of long chairs. The altar stood proudly at the end, the image of Jesus Christ staring at him in wonder.

His feet halted at the very base of the stairs leading up to the altar. “Bring her back,” He sounded so pathetically hopeless that the tone of his voice was enough to make him want to strangle himself. He swallowed despite the shame that he felt, “Father, bring her back to me.”

It was embarrassing of him to wish something like this to his Creator. He was a traitor, a betrayer. He does not deserve mercy. But he would try, he would do it, just to see your smile again.

Jaehyun heard nothing, the whole atmosphere was silent. He would feel it if the Almighty deemed him worthy of a conversation, but there’s nothing divine in the air.

“Bring her back to me!” He’s lost it, he screamed— voice echoing everywhere. Jaehyun does not even realize that he’s crying. The droplets of his hopelessness shines on the floor. His breathing was ragged, his sight blurry. But he won’t stop until someone talked to him. Your face flashed in his mind, how the brightness of it turned to ashen, how your body felt cold in his hands. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Jaehyun knelt.

He knelt while crying, his heart full of thorns. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible amidst the silence.

“Have I not suffered enough, Father?”

Stillness. Silence. Jaehyun could not accept that it went in vain. That he would comeback and see your cold body on the bed. That you would start to decay and leave the world as if you were just a leaf in a tree in fall.

Mortals. It baffles him still how your lifetime seems to be just a minute compared to his. And right there he wished that you were one of the faces. Right there, he wished that you were like Aurora. Would you call him heartless for wishing that?

A blaze of white light suddenly filled the church. Jaehyun looked up to see what it was with tear-stained cheeks. He could not make up the figure because of the brightness, but when it landed in front of him, he could not stop himself from smiling in astonishment.

“Michael,” He breathed. The figure was the Archangel Michael; clad in his armor with his sword strapped in his waist and wings tucked in his back. He’s looking at Jaehyun without emotions in his eyes.

“Brother,” The Archangel said. Jaehyun’s heart warmed from it. How he longed for his brother to call him that again. How he longed to return and be with the soldiers of God a second time. “Rise, Lucifer.”

He did what he was told. He rose from his feet, and now standing face to face with the Archangel.

“He hearkened to your wishes; our Father.” Archangel Michael stated with calmed down voice. Jaehyun could not answer. He wanted to stare at his brother, because he knew that this could be the very last time they would see each other.

“Did He… bring her back?”

A ghost of a smile past the Archangel’s lips. “Fear not, brother. The girl is safe.”

Jaehyun felt his knees wobble because of that. A relief surges through his body like a bolt of lightning. He looked up at the Archangel again. “Thank you,” He breathed and the words felt so foreign in his tongue.

Archangel Michael nodded at him, “It warms my heart to see you again, Lucifer.” The baritone of the angel’s voice was not of this world. It carries the tone fit for a warrior in heaven.

Jaehyun nodded, “I feel the same, brother. I feel the same.” Then he wasted no time, he ascended the stairs and gave the Archangel a hug. He expected to wrap his arms on a phantom wind, but what he boxed inside his arms was the stout body of the Archangel. A low laugh escaped from their lips.

“I hope to have you beside me in Heaven once more, Lucifer.” Then the Archangel surged up like a star blazing towards the heavens. He hopes for that, too— more than anything. For a moment, Jaehyun envied the glory the Archangel has as he flew; he once had the same majesty when he served as a soldier of God. But Jaehyun could not stay in that envies knowing that he could see you again, alive. So he ran for his car, and rode again into the night. Back to the house and back to you.

—

“Am I dead?” You asked as you opened your eyes. The sun is bright, all its rays absorbed by the lake in front of you. The water gleams gold underneath the blue sky. Butterflies flies everywhere, wildflowers circles the lake. Is this heaven? But the lake seems oddly familiar, you’ve seen it once in your dream.

“You are not,” Her familiar voice captured you. Aurora. The crunch of her feet against the dried leaves mixing with the chirping of birds were behind you. She was on her usual white dress; her black hair shining, her eyes an ethereal blue.

“I was poisoned, right? Why am I here again?” Even in your own ears, you sounded tired. Tired of all the things that’s happened to you. Tired of reaching out to know your true identity just to know nothing.

“This is the last time I’m visiting you,” Aurora sat beside you, her voice toneless. You saw her bare feet as she sat, slipping out the hem of her dress.

“Why is that?” You asked, not sure if you really want to know her answers.

“Y/N,” The syllables of your name sounds strange in her voice, like it came from the other part of the world, “I will not force you your destiny. I had accepted it wholeheartedly when I was still alive—”

You couldn’t help but interrupt her, “So you’re really dead?”

She nodded at you, sadness swirling in her pupils. “I accepted it wholeheartedly that I had lost my body in the process.” She sighed, “But you, you are stronger than I was, Y/N. Braver, even.” She reached for your hand, held it tightly with hers. “Do as you like, but be sure that whatever it is you want, it would make you happy.”

“Thank you,” Even though you do not know what it is that would make you happy, your heart feels euphoric for what she said. “But I do need to know… who really are you?”

“I am Aurora. I’d lived my life in France. One hundred years ago. What you see is just a phantom of who I was. Behind this projection, I am nothing but dust.” She smiled dolefully at you. You supposed it should perplex you to know that Aurora is dead, and that she was one hundred years older than you. But you felt nothing, your mind seems to have anticipated the information already.

“Is Jaehyun your past lover? I saw him crying in the corner of your room in one of my dreams,”

“Jaehyun? That must be his cognomen right now.” She chuckled, “But yes. He was. And now yours,”

With that, you chuckled. “No. He is not my lover. He does not want me because he is a coward,” Then you scoffed. It’s funny to think that Jaehyun could make you feel this way.

“But you love him,” There wasn’t a hint of disdain in Aurora’s voice, only curiosity and juvenile happiness.

“Would it be awkward to admit it?”

“No, not at all.” Aurora shook her head, “But he does love you. He’s loved your soul for eternity now. And the truth is, you’ve loved him one hundred years ago through me. I wish you do not stop now.”

You’ve loved him one hundred years ago through me. What does that mean? You have no idea. But right now, you feel the nearest to the answers to your questions more than ever. Yet it does not calm your nerves, your agitation intensifying as you understand what Aurora tries to tell you.

“Why… how—” You don’t even know what to ask her, or how to ask her the things that’s spiraling in your head. “Are you saying that I am you one hundred years ago? Your… your reincarnation?”

“Thou shall bear a love for one soul, remember?” Aurora stood up and faced the lake, her hair billowing against the wind. “We are one, Y/N. Our soul is one.” You guessed she’s trying to console your disconcertment by giving you her warmest smile. “And we are tied to him, forever.” Then she was gone.

—

The tires screeched again. Jaehyun jumped out of his car, heart thudding in his chest. It’s eleven p.m., but the house was still alive. The huge mansion of Doyoung providing the shadows in the grass. Jaehyun’s shoes crunched into the soppy grass and dried leaves. When he entered the house, he saw Mark and Jeno propped into the living room, the two wolves bolted up from their seat as they saw him. Jaehyun just gave them a look before he ascended the stairs.

He saw Doyoung cleaning your face as he entered the room. Your sister, Yuqi, baffled beside you as she stared at your chest moving at last. Jaehyun sighed in relief, it was real. You’re alive. He ran a hand through his fog-sodden hair before sauntering up towards you.

“She’s alive. She woke up earlier and vomited all over the floors. But she’s too dazed to talk so I’ve put her to sleep to regain her strength,” Doyoung explained.

“What about the poison?” Jaehyun asked, his eyes never leaving your body.

“There’s still some left in her body. But she’s out of danger now. I don’t know what happened— it’s a miracle, Jaehyun.” Doyoung breathed, astonished beyond reckoning. Jaehyun thinks it’s the first time the warlock has seen something like this in his eight hundred years of living.

“No, it’s God.” Jaehyun stated, because it was indeed the work of God. You are alive because of Him. Doyoung stared at Jaehyun in disbelief, but he did not ask anything. Jaehyun isn’t ready to talk about it either, so the warlock nodded and laid the towel back on the basin. Then he departed the room, leaving Jaehyun with you and your sister.

“What happened? Where did you go?” She asked while sniffing.

Jaehyun sat on the nearest chair beside you, “I… did what I had to do to bring her back.” Explaining the whole thing would only leave your sister’s mind in chaos. Not that Jaehyun thinks she could not understand, but he doesn’t want to burden your sister with the knowledge of the unknown.

“I guess you wouldn’t explain it again,” Yuqi said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “But I am still thankful for what you’ve done.” She looked at Jaehyun with red-rimmed eyes, “Whatever it is. Thank you.”

Jaehyun nodded, “I’d do anything for her.”

—

Sunlight burst into the interior of Doyoung’s mansion, the briny tang of seawater from the distant ocean filling the atmosphere. The chirping of birds and the colorful wings of the butterflies sending hopes of a great day ahead for the netherworlders. Some of them still slumbered on their beds, some having breakfast, and some exercising in Doyoung’s yard.

In the silence of your room, Jaehyun slept with his arms propped on the side of your bed. He never left you, he never let go of your hand as you slumbered for he wanted to be the first one you’ll see once you open your eyes. He’s sure he’s dreamt of you waking up, with him peppering your face with kisses. In his dreams he was the happiest with you.

“Jaehyun,” It was Chaelin, nudging him to wake up. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting at his surroundings. The first thing he saw was your unconscious body on the bed. Despite that, the slow rising and falling of your chest was enough to make his day a little bit brighter and better. At least, the color of your face has returned, no matter how frail you might look like.

“Clean yourself. You stink, dumbass.”  

“Good morning to you too, Chaelin.” He greeted sarcastically. But he does know that he needs to take a shower. “How about Y/N? What if she wakes up and I am not here—”

Chaelin shushed him, “I will call you once she wakes up. Trust me, you wouldn’t want your current state as the first thing she sees once she opens her eyes,”

Jaehyun sighed and departed the room without another word to shower. Chaelin was right; his disheveled hair, the moons under his eyes, and the untended slash of wound on his cheek greeted him as he stared at his reflection on the mirror. He looked devastated.

The water running through his body and into the tiled floor of the shower were mixed with little flakes of dried blood, a proof that Jaehyun hasn’t washed the memories of their battle in Fairie clean off his body yet. No matter how he thought of it, he always comes back in blaming himself of what happened. It was hard not to when the Queen clearly stated she wanted power more than anything, and that power she longed for belongs to Jaehyun.

He touched his cheek, the wound wasn’t painful but it stings. He needed Doyoung to tend him for the blade that slashed his face was an angel blade. It would have been enough to kill Jaehyun, if the fairie guards were only swifter than him. How had the Queen managed to get an angel blade, he does not have the slightest idea.

Jaehyun thought he was going to die when he couldn’t see Taeyong and the others anymore. He would die and he won’t be able to see you again. But the thought of you back in mortal lands, safe and sound, coerced him to accept whatever fate he had in the Fairie lands. It’s better him, than you.

The Queen had the advantage, or so she thought. All that Jaehyun needed to do was shout— shout that he knew the Queen’s true name. It is the bane of every fairie’s existence; someone knowing their true allonym. For when you knew a fairie’s real name, you’d always be one step ahead of them; you can bend them in your own will. The Queen would never put herself at risk, so she ordered her guards to back down. But it was a lie, Jaehyun lied. He does not know the real name of the Queen. It was pure luck and wit. Yet the trump hand was for Jaehyun to take, so he wasted no time to wrap his hand around the Queen’s throat. Her son, Yuta, did not even flinch by the sight. He was dazed, and out of his head by all the chaos that was happening in front of him.

Then your face was in Jaehyun’s mind as he squeezed the life out of the Queen; you would never want him to kill someone for you, no matter how contemptuous the person might be. So he made the Queen promised to give up her throne for her son instead. She was stripped out of all her title and was secluded in the lone island in Fairie— Jaehyun made sure of that.

Now, Yuta hails as the king of the Fairie lands. He could easily be manipulated. Jaehyun could dispatch him if he ever laid his finger on you again. He made the new king sign a treaty that their kingdom would tithe to Jaehyun until the very last moment of the Faes existence for the trouble they’ve caused him and the danger they’ve put you through. Once they failed to send their tithe, Jaehyun would annihilate them without a thought. Yuta agreed to all of that, because what choice does he have left? Nothing. Jaehyun left him with no choice and a broken kingdom.

He changed into new and clean clothes that was provided by Taeyong. The fit was small but he does not have the time to go home and change for there was a commotion brewing in the living room again. Jaehyun walked out of his room to see what the tumult was about. Some of his comrades are in their wolf form; Johnny, Mark, and Jeno. While the vampires are baring their teeth at the figure standing at the entrance; Yuta.

Jaehyun descended the stairs in a dash, grabbing Yuta’s collar so tight as to stop the breathing of the fairie king. “Do you really wish to die?!” He growled.

The fae king only looked at Jaehyun with depthless eyes, “Before you tear me off to shreds, I would like to ask for your forgiveness,”

Jaehyun bared his teeth, “Well fucker, I don’t have any forgiveness to spare you. So get the fuck away from here.”

“Jaehyun, I think we all need to calm down,” Taeyong commented. Jaehyun would have screamed at him to shut up, if not for the voice that spoke behind him.

“Jaehyun, let him go. I want to talk to him.” It was you. He spun around to face you while still holding Yuta by his collar, you were looking so weakened and pale that it’s a wonder how have you managed to get up from the bed. Chaelin and Yuqi were beside you, guiding you as you descended the stairs.

“Outside, Yuta.” You said, voice hoarse. Jaehyun doesn’t want himself to let go of Yuta not until he’s bleeding underneath him. But the look you gave him was enough to loosen his hold of the fairie king. The longing and the wanting to wrap his arms around you, feel your heart beating against his, vanished and was replaced by a sadness you alone could inflict on him. Yet all he could was watched as you both departed the living room, away from the ruckus and away from him.

—

You heard the voices first— voices of two women speaking about you. Your head swam into the familiar pit of nihility, that you couldn’t even make up the faces nor the voices of the women speaking in normal voices. The heaviness of your body was unbearable, you could not even raise a finger. There was something like acid in your stomach, making the bile rise up in your throat. Two seconds, then you retched all over the floor, the gasps of the women filling the quiet room.

The other woman pushed back your hair and patted your back as you continued to retch, the other woman started to clean off the vomit on the floor. A glass of water was pressed in your mouth after heaving all your intestines out, you forced yourself to sip a little of the liquid. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt the water grazed down your throat for what seemed like the first time.

You felt cold sweats on your forehead as you try to refocus your sense of sight, your eyelids heavy as you squint to get a clearer and better view around you.

“Y… Yuqi?” Even the vibration of your voice against your throat was painful. You felt as if you were drained out to the bones. After you succeeded in opening your eyes, the familiar face of your little sister welcomed you, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Y/N!” She hugged you as if she never wanted to let go. Is this real? You asked yourself. It felt surreal, to be able to hug your sister like this again. “How are you? Do you need anything? Are you hungry?” She bombarded. You tried to chuckle, but your mouth feels as if they were glued together— the edges of it were viscous with something you could not name.

“No… I… I need a shower,”

“I’ll ready your bath,” The other woman said from beside you. It took you a moment to recognize her  because of the blurriness of your eyes.

“Chaelin?” You asked. She smiled the same smile that you remember; sultry yet friendly.

“I am glad that you’ve woken up, Y/N.” She stated, eyes glistening. You tried to smile at her while Yuqi wipes your mouth with a wet towel. Then she gave you a kiss on the top of your head before departing the room. But she halted as the three of you heard shouting from below the floor.

“Do you really wish to die?!” The voice was angry, furious. Your ears are still muffled by the longevity of your slumber that you couldn’t make up whose voice it belongs to.

Chaelin gave you a look of concern before dashing out of the room. When she came back, her breathing was ragged and her eyes are widening. “It’s Jaehyun. With… Yuta.”

Yuta. Instantly, the fear of being trapped to Fairie and the darkness of the dungeons came back to you all at once. Yet you know that you have to talk to him, right now. It doesn’t matter how weak your body feels, or how tired your eyes are, you glanced at Yuqi and Chaelin to guide you down the stairs where the commotion is brewing.

“No,” They both said at the same time. You knew it, of course. Nobody in their right minds would let you face the man who literally planned to steal you away to their kingdom and marry you without you even knowing. But you stubbornly want to get rid of Yuta once and for all. So you stood up, but your knees wobbled. Your sister was quick to put her arms around you to steady your slightly shaking body.

“If you don’t want me to crawl my way down there, you better guide me already.” You chuckled, throat tightening from the rhythm of your voice. They exchanged glances before sighing in exasperation and guided you towards the exit and down to the living room.

You sucked up in a breath upon seeing the view down at the living room; three huge wolves are ready to pounce on Yuta at any second, while the other men are baring their fangs towards him. If you were Yuta, you would have run away and never dare to come back. But what snatched your breath totally away was the man holding him like he wanted to kill him on the same spot he’s standing on; Jaehyun.

You would identify him even from miles away and he feels so far away now, despite the four steps separating you both.

“Jaehyun, I think we all need to calm down.” Taeyong softly told Jaehyun. By the state of Jaehyun, you could swear he would scream at Taeyong and maybe punch him right at his jaw.

So you decided to inhale and speak, “Jaehyun, let him go. I want to talk to him.”

You saw him tensed as he heard your voice. How you wanted to wrap your arms around his, to feel his heart beating against yours. But you need to make things right, or at least you need to make yourself understand why Yuta did what he did. As Jaehyun stood now, facing you, you noticed how tired he looked; there were bags under his eyes, his pale skin doesn’t look healthy– he looked so sick. And there was sadness in his eyes as he looked at you take a step towards Yuta, not to him.

“Outside, Yuta.” You said hoarsely. Yuta has an expression of wanting to guide you towards the yard but you let yourself walk ahead of him even though it pains you to do so. Yuta must’ve seen the agony in your every step for he held your arm but you quickly winced and snatched your arm away from his hold.

You both sat on one of the benches in the yard, the insects and butterflies flying all around you. “Sana, what happened to her?” You felt Yuta’s stare boring into you. The question was unexpected, you supposed.

He cleared his throat, “She’s dealt with, Y/N. I am truly sorry for what she has done to you,” At least, he sounded sincere. You nodded, what’s done is done. Even though she almost succeeded in killing you, you could never bring back the time to change your decisions of trusting her.

“Who are you, Yuta? Why did you lie to me?” You asked him that question while looking at the trees at the distant forest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I am Yuta, and that is all I could offer you.” He sounded apologetic, that you did not push him any further. He is one of the Fae, their nature was a labyrinth of mystery to humans and to you.

“My mother judged me as a noddy for loving a mortal woman when I spoke to her about you,” He started, “but I insisted. No matter what she told me. Then you acquainted me with your new lover, Jaehyun.” You have a bad feeling to where this is going, “The night at the bar, I never would have anticipated him to see behind my glamour. But he did. He confronted and told me that I am not human. Right there, I fathomed out that he is Lucifer,”

The trueness of it still perplexes you. Jaehyun, Lucifer. How is that possible? All your life you’ve believed that Lucifer was locked up into the pits of hell. And only when Jesus Christ comes back to Earth would the devil be released. How old Jaehyun must be to be Lucifer? You couldn’t grasp the reality of it. He was an angel, now he is a fallen.

“I had pondered about it for weeks,” Yuta continued, “Then it thwacked me… like a lightning. What if I ask my mother again, but this time it would not be in vain. I could offer her something; I could offer her the world,” You shifted on your seat, readying yourself for whatever Yuta has in his pockets to tell you. “I told her about your attachment to the Fallen. Then we concocted our vicious plan together. That was to make you as a bait, for the Fallen. So mother could have the authority to bend the Fallen to her will. After she has what she wants, she would let me marry you.”

You nodded, heart suddenly heavy by all your realizations. It was my fault. “But why did you let her throw me into the dungeons?” With that, you let yourself look at the man beside you, to search for the answers in his eyes.

“It was foolish of me not to see it coming,” He looked so pained, “But I did not plan for that to happen. With that, I am so sorry, Y/N.”

Perhaps it was a bad idea to talk to him, perhaps all of these is a bad idea. But how long would you continue to run and be blind by all that is happening? Yuta wanted you, yet you showed that you want nothing to do with him by introducing Jaehyun as your lover. No matter how you see it, all that befell you was because of your own doing.

“I have to go, Y/N.” Yuta stood up, “And this is probably the last time we would see each other,”

You couldn’t bring yourself up to speak, so you watched as Yuta turned and walked away from you. It should make you happy and free, but your conversation with him only made you feel tired than you already are.

“Y/N,” It was Yuqi. “Let’s get you inside.”

—

Yuqi helped as you wash your body, and she is now lathering your hair with watermelon-scented shampoo that was given by Chaelin. She hums while you close your eyes, the conversation you had with Yuta repeating in your mind.

Jaehyun was nowhere to be found when you came back inside the house, Doyoung told you he’s gone to the beaches to unwind. Doyoung’s mansion was marvelous, it has too many corridors leading up to different rooms. It seems like it was built to accommodate their whole group. The isolation of it from the buzzing of the city was perfect for your peace of mind, yet you knew that you couldn’t stay any longer. However, Doyoung insisted you stay for one more night, just to regain your strength that you’ll need for the long ride home tomorrow.

Johnny conversed with you earlier, before you decided to take a bath. He apologized for his carelessness that resulted to you being poisoned. You told him it was your fault for being so naïve. It was Fairie lands, yet you let your vulnerability get the best of you and easily trusted someone who showed you a little bit of kindness. No matter what Yuta did to Sana, you still hoped that she’s alive. Or maybe not. Your feelings are mixed with hatred and pity that you don’t even know what you should allow yourself to feel.

You decided to break the silence, “Aren’t you surprised about everything that’s happened, Yu?” Yuqi sighed, her hands massaging your bubble-coated hair. She was the one you’re the most concerned of. Yuqi is a practical girl— the wolves, the vampires, and the warlocks, must’ve been too shocking for her to comprehend.

“I was. I thought I’d lose my mind from thinking of you in danger. Then Lucas and Chaelin told me I needed to go with them. You know me, I was in doubt first. But I saw the sincerity in Chaelin’s eyes. She wanted me safe, so I packed my things and then we drove here,” She explained, still lathering your hair. You supposed it was too grimy and dirty that she needed to wash it again.

“What did you think of them? They aren’t humans,” You told her while popping the big bubbles on the surface of the water.

“I was… shocked. Perplexed. I might sound stupid, but I do think they’re kind. I mean, they won’t rescue you and they won’t protect me if not, right?” Yuqi then grabbed the head of the shower to rinse your hair, the sound of water dripping filled the whole room. “They are werewolves, vampires, and warlocks. Chaelin told me she’s not one of those. What do you think is her true nature?” Yuqi asked. The conversation was too light, like you were just talking about dinner.

“I don’t know… maybe she’s a witch?” You bit your lips as the words rolled out from your mouth, “Oh no, that sounded rude.”

Yuqi laughed, “It does not. I’ve already asked her about that though.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She said she’s just a naughty girl who defied God,”

“What does that mean?” You closed your eyes as the bubbles from your hair ran down your face.

“I don’t know. But she said her real name’s Lilith,” Yuqi started to rinse your arms, “Do you remember Mama’s story when we were kids? She said Eve isn’t Adam’s original wife, it was Lilith,”

By that, you twirled to Yuqi’s direction. You know the story, but it couldn’t be. “You mean, Chaelin is Lilith? She’s alive and saw Eden?” Your mouth gaped from the realization. Yuqi nodded, a small smile creeping in her lips as she took your surprised expression.

“Yes. And you shouldn’t ask her about it, she really doesn’t wanna talk.” Yuqi then guided you out of the tub to dry your body with the towel. You feel as if you’re a five-year-old girl in her mother’s care. Yet it warms your heart to experience this kind of treatment from your little sister.

“Then how did you squeeze the truth of her identity from her if she doesn’t wanna talk about it?” You raised a brow, Yuqi chortled nervously as she tied the ribbon of the billowy dress behind you. You would have preferred a simple shirt and jeans but Yuqi forgot to bring you clothes, so you ended up wearing the dress bought by Chaelin earlier.

“That’s a secret,” She continued to giggle as she escorted you out of the bathroom and into your room.

After your bath, you came back to your own room to rest and wait for dinner. You offered to help Doyoung and Taeyong but they nicely refused and guided you back to your room instead. Yuqi was nowhere to be found, you supposed she’s with the boy named Lucas, who’s been with her all day while taking care of you.

In the tranquility of the room, you let your mind remember the dream you had with Aurora. Where she told you her true identity. France, one hundred years ago. Jaehyun lived through the pain of losing the love of his life because of time and sickness. You wouldn’t survive that kind of heartache yourself. The idea of it was too complex; how someone would continue to live as the lives of the people around him wink out of existence like a candle blown out by the wind. It was one thing to witness your lover die, but it is another thing to wait for them to reincarnate into another person— without the certainty of when.

Yet the fact that you are Aurora’s reincarnation still makes you uncomfortable and doubtful. Why did she start to show up in your dreams when you began working for Jaehyun? A signal, you thought. Meeting Jaehyun was a signal for your past life to come and crash into your present. Does that mean you’d die, too? You’d die of loving Jaehyun? You’d die because you are tied to him? What a bitter reality. And what a superbly tragic novel it would make.

Would you tell him? Could you burden him with the reality of his lover coming back to life through you? Yet he was your lover one hundred years ago, that Aurora made sure you understand; you shared her life, and she shared yours through your one soul.

“Thou shall bear a love for one soul in a thousand faces, and suffer as the face cease to exist but the soul, perpetually.” You memorized. It was meant for Jaehyun. Because he’s the one who’d love a thousand faces but one soul in his eternity. He would suffer as the face of his lover cease to exist, but her soul would transfer into yet another face— for him to love, for him to cherish, and for him to watch as she wilts away to nothing and back to dust.

You hadn’t realized that you were crying by thinking of all of it; of all the start, and the end, the love, and the lost. Jaehyun was alone. And he would forever be alone. But right now, you’re going to make sure he isn’t. So you wore your slippers, and wrapped yourself in a scarf.

To the shore, you go.

—

It’s been hours. Yet Jaehyun still doesn’t have the energy to come back to the mansion. The moon was a big ball of white hanging in the heavens, yet it was alone, a starless sky. There are bits of sands pressed in Jaehyun’s body, his face tacky from the atmosphere of seawater slapping on it for hours on end. The ocean stretched out in the horizon, its water gleaming silver underneath the moonlight. The only sound accompanying him was the slap of waves into the boulders of rocks. And then there was a rustle.

Jaehyun was on his feet in an instant, the bits of sands flowing back into the shore from his body. The rustle became nearer, then your body emerges from the darkness, looking more paler under the moonlight.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be here.” Jaehyun stated. No matter how happy he was to see you, and to realized that you’d followed him here, he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate because he knew the walk here from the mansion took too much of your energy.

“Would you like me to come back?” You raised a brow, a small smile playing on your lips. No, of course. Jaehyun sighed, and stretched out his hand to you. Your smile spread wider and took his hand, then you both sat on the warm sands.

Silence. The sound of the ocean overwhelmed the whole atmosphere that you shared. Jaehyun still holding your hand as if afraid to let go.

“So… you’re Lucifer.” He heard you chuckle, the sound made his heart jump inside his chest. What an unexpected question. But he nodded.

“I am. Are you scared of me?” Please say no. He wanted to plead before he could hear your answer. The Earth is as old as him, and the mortals branded him as something to disgust, to loath, to contempt. No matter how much he thinks of it, he couldn’t read what would be your reaction to that fact.

“No. Not when you look like that,” He knows it’s a joke. Yet he couldn’t help but make you elaborate.

“Why? What did you expect?”

You searched for his face by leaning closer to him, your eyes searching something with your mouth twisted on the side and your brows knitted together. Jaehyun wanted to kiss you right there and there, but that might ruin the mood.

“I don’t know… maybe red eyes, huge horns, razor-sharp teeth—”

“That’s ridiculous,” A laugh reverberated in Jaehyun’s throat, followed by yours. “But yeah, mortals think that I look like what you just described.”

Jaehyun could feel the tension in your body no matter how you tried to hide it. You were suddenly silent for a moment, your eyes distantly staring at the gleaming waters of the ocean. He looked at you while you looked away. And he’s never seen such beauty before.

“Yuta and I… we’ve talked.” It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But that’s what he needed to know; your conversation with the boy king. You tightened your hold on him before continuing, “It’s my fault Jaehyun,” No. He wanted to protest, and he supposed his face gave away too much of his disagreement for you squeezed his hands tighter, “It is my fault. If I didn’t introduce you as my boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. All of this.” Your eyes gleamed, the tears threatening to come out.

“Do you think Yuta would have thrown away his vicious plan if he’d known about the truth of our relationship? He won’t.” Jaehyun sighed, “Do you know why they captured you?” He asked as he stared right into your irises. He saw in your eyes that you knew why, yet you still believed that all of what transpired was your fault. “Perhaps it’s the bastard fae’s doing, but his mother wouldn’t have agreed of it if she didn’t know about your connection with me,”

“That’s the point, she—”

Even if it pains him, Jaehyun cut you off. “She would think that you were just a mere mortal and she wouldn’t have wasted her time on you,” You were staring at him speechless now, your eyes like a pool of water ready to flow, “But because she knew about the Fallen— about me— she agreed to her son’s plan to lock you up in Fairie.” Jaehyun’s hands were on both of your cheeks now, “The Queen thought she could control me through you. You would have never experienced the trauma and the fear if it wasn’t because of me. You never would have been put through that kind of horror if I didn’t allow myself to love you.”

By his last sentence, your lips quivered, then the silent tears flowed down your cheeks at last. “You…” You breathed, “You love me?” Jaehyun knew then why the sky was starless that night, because the stars and the constellations gathered in your eyes.

Jaehyun nodded, his own lips trembling. “I love you, Y/N. I love you more than life itself,” Jaehyun let his forehead rest against yours while saying the words. And it should make him happy, to be able to hear it from his own lips, to be able to admit it to you. Yet he feels tormented now more than ever, “But… I am not brave enough to face that love, chérie.”

You let out a sob, it was bullet in his heart. Jaehyun feels as if his whole world is in chaos, crumbling before his very eyes.

“Why?” Your voice cracked, then you stood up.

Jaehyun was on his feet too, “If I continue to love you, your life would always be in peril.”

You harshly wiped the tears from your cheeks, and there was hatred in your eyes as you pinned him down with a stare, “Why are you so coward when it comes to me?”

Jaehyun closed his eyes, You’ve fucked up really bad, Jaehyun. “Y/N, you do not understand—” He tried to hold you, but you flinched away from his touch.

“I do, Jaehyun. I understand that you’re not man enough to love me,” Your voice was full of scorn that it made him wince. He never once imagined himself in this position, almost wanting to kneel for your forgiveness. “You did it one hundred years ago, but why can’t you do it now?”

Jaehyun stared at you then, really stare at you. What do you mean? His heart was running a mile as he asked you the question, “What do you mean, Y/N?” Tell me that it isn’t what I think it is. He pleaded with his eyes.

“Thou shall bear a love for one soul in a thousand faces, and suffer as the face cease to exist but the soul, perpetually.” You breathed, “That is your punishment, right. Yuno.” You stated, voice vapid.

How did you know all of that? He wanted to ask you but his throat has gone dry, his voice nowhere to be found. All of his insides are in a frenzy, legs wobbling from the reality of it all. No.

“How… how did you know that name?” Jaehyun was exasperated. He feels as if dying. Yet he clings on to that hope that these are just coincidental. That you don’t really know about his punishment and the name he’d used and spoke only to Aurora one hundred years ago. But when you answered his question, he knew. He knew why God kept you alive. It wasn’t mercy. It’s his punishment after all.

“I know… Because I am Aurora.”

[vinegar-doppio]

A Witch is a Witch [Halloween Special]

☾  Cast out from her coven for deeds which she’s rather not speak of, a young witch comes across an unremarkable cottage in the woods.  ☽

I hope everyone had and is having a good Halloween! 

-----------------------------------

For the three mothers to see her now, she thought, would only draw their pity. Unwanted pity, at that. She was a witch disgraced, jostled away from the traditions and practices that she had grown close to over the years. It was but a single mistake, a step too far beyond the beaten path, that had sent her coven reeling, eager to express her from their ranks.

What was she if not a witch? A coven-less witch, perhaps, but that was a condemnation among her peers – and a blaring, blinking signal for those who chose to hunt her kind. As powerful as she was, more so than her fellows she would argue, a witch out on her own would always be balanced on a precarious ledge. One which she herself teetered upon now.

The dark shape cutting across her skin was an indication of that. With her free hand, the little witch pawed at it, fingertips grazing the lines and whorls that had been etched into her flesh. She’d taken great care to rid herself of the curse that had once festered there, thorns and petals and drawn blood, but even after vanishing the curse had left behind a stain. The mark, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a barbed vine, twisted around her upper forearm, spiraling upwards and disappearing beneath the short-capped sleeves of her shirt.

Pizzazz scowled. How distasteful the impromptu tattoo was, and how utterly unrelated to her talents. There was a way to remove it, sure, but she wanted a solution that didn’t involve cutting her arm off or gouging her skin from the bone. She was more focused on finding somewhere to bunker down for the next little while. If it wasn’t the hunters that were coming for her, it would be another witch.

As if summoned by the thought, a puff of hazy smoke appeared from over the treeline. Green eyes squinting, Pizzazz took another few steps forward before allowing her body to still. Albeit mortal and startlingly human-like, her senses pricked at the back of her mind, silently reminding her that she was far more capable than those who weren’t privy to the abilities she possessed. The smoke wasn’t magical in nature, or at least it didn’t smell like it: the warmth of a hearth, the sharp zing of brewing herbs. Was that oregano she was smelling? Probably.

Normal cottage smells. It posed little risk, then, if she sauntered up to the door and asked whomever was living there if she could stay a night or two. So that’s exactly what Pizzazz planned to do. Fingers curling into her palm, she rapped on the door.

The door, creaking on its hinges, opened and Pizzazz could only take a step back as an elderly woman answered her knock. With a kerchief tied around her head and her skirt hiked up below her ribs, the elder was the perfect image of a kindly grandmother. The woman’s mouth parted in a gentle yet nearly toothless smile.

There was a moment of silence between the two; the distant cry of a raven, the wind whispering through the pines. The witch and the woman stared at each other, one with apprehension and the other recognition.

“Éadaoin,” The name was strange and almost twisted when the old woman pronounced it, warped by her heavy accent. It was vaguely european, lilting and stumbling: Italian, maybe? “That is your name, yes?”

“No,” the words slipped out before Pizzazz could stop them. Unconsciously a hand raised to the front of her shirt, fiddling with the collar. She continued, letting the words spill before she could come to regret it. “… Yes, I suppose my mother gave me that name. That’s not what I go by, though. Not anymore. Call me Pizzazz.”

A thoughtful hum from the old woman, and then she was moving aside, motioning for the witch to enter. Although she hadn’t quite gotten the chance to ask yet, she entered regardless, brushing her feet against the step before setting foot in the cottage proper. Quietly the woman brushed past her, gnarled hands seeking nearby objects for balance. Pizzazz was tempted to help, she really was, but the woman was fast for her age and was well out of arm’s reach before she could ask.

Toeing off her muddied shoes at the threshold, careful not to track in any dirt, Pizzazz followed her into what seemed to be a kitchen. Trinkets of all shapes and sizes decorated the walls, and with some degree of amazement the witch realized that they were objects from all across the world. How had a little old woman such as the one before her have gotten these things? Family, perhaps?

Tearing herself away before she was tempted to admire the knickknacks a little too closely, she promptly seated herself at the kitchen table. The woman was over by the stove now, stirring a large pot. Propping herself up onto her elbows, Pizzazz cleared her throat.

“Thank you for your hospitality; I’ll surely pay you back in full. But I never got your name?”

The stirring of curly, grey hair is the only indication that the old woman gives to make the witch believe that she’s listening. “Il nome mio?” Another twist of her wrist, the wooden spoon clacking against the inside of the pot. Her face crinkles in a silent laugh. “No been asked that in long, long time. You call me Nonna.”

“Nonna?”

“Sì, Nonna. Va bene?”

Pizzazz didn’t understand a lick of Italian, but she got the message anyway. “So, Nonna, what’s for supper?” The question was innocent, more of a joke to steer the conversation away from who she was and why she’d shown up so suddenly on the doorstep. She was surprised when the older woman answered her in earnest. 

Spoon now raised from the pot, Nonna took a sip of what appeared to be tomato sauce. “I make a little bit-a pasta tonight.” Seeming satisfied with how it tasted, she set the spoon back down and let it simmer. It was nwo she turned to face Pizzazz, arms clasped against her front. The look she wore was nothing less than kind, a reflection of someone who truly understood what she was going through. By the mothers did it make her squirm in her seat.

“You run. Why?” Pizzazz allowed the question to roll about through her thoughts, wondering if she should answer truthfully or concoct some sort of lie to throw the woman off. Choosing the former, she licked her lips in anxious anticipation, eyes darting towards one of the walls.

“Well,” she began, treading carefully. She doubted that Nonna and the witch hunters were in cahoots, but one must never rule out something as an impossibility. “There are men chasing me. Bad men. Someone sent them after me knowing just what I am--” Pizzazz stopped there, sucking in a quick breath.

Nonna merely raised a hand, the wrinkles along her forehead and the creases of her eyes softening a degree. “I know, figlia mia.” With a swish of her hand and the curl of her fingers, the elderly woman beckoned something from the corner of the room. Everything clicked into place when an object came soaring over Pizzazz’ head, spinning up to the ceiling and descending back down and towards Nonna.

A broom, floating miraculously in midair. 

Oh, everything clicked now. The cottage in the middle of nowhere? A crone, bent with age but welcoming nonetheless? Even the spanning garden outside should have been a sign. Pizzazz had come into the home of a fellow witch, and it made sense that someone as old as this would know her name. To grow to this age where hundreds of years were starting to settle within the body, Nonna must have been a witch of true remark.

She likely still was. But the smile upon her face, the lack of a cruel sneer, was all she needed to know. Nonna wasn’t out to get her, of that must she was sure.

“Come,” Nonna was unfettered by Pizzazz’s astonishment, and leaving the pot to its own devices, she beckoned her fellow witch and began to hobble towards another room. “I show you story.”

She was on her feet faster than she could think, trailing after Nonna and into the living room. The hearth crackled at the corner of the room, embers spewing and harmlessly fizzling out into the air. Pizzazz watched as she bent down and picked up a book from one of the shelves, and squinted to read its cover as Nonna turned it towards her.

“The Legend of Old Befana?” she read aloud, head tilted in concentration. Bright green eyes flickered up towards where Nonna was grinning wider than ever. “Don’t tell me.” Her back straightened, mouth agape. “Nonna. Nonna-- don’t tell me you’re la befana?”

Nonna’s head lolled backwards and Pizzazz could have sworn that her resounding cackle was the most joyous sound she’d ever heard. Instead of giving her a straight answer, Nonna sank slowly down onto the living room couch, perching the book upon her lap. The younger witch moved to sit beside her, posture straight and reverence evident. 

Thoughtful expression crossing her face, Nonna turned to Pizzazz, reaching out to place a hand upon her collarbone. “No worry, no worry. I know you a good girl.” Those black, wizened eyes connected with the harshest of greens. “I teach you. No more bad men come after you, but you listen, capiche?”

“I’ll listen.” Uncharacteristically silent, Pizzazz leaned forward and against la Befana’s touch. “Please,” her voice was hushed. “Teach me. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Removing her hand, Nonna instead thumbed at the cover and flipped the book open to the first page. And Pizzazz watched, enrapt all the while.

[pisang-goreng-ao3]

Coming to America

Beta: @sugarandspace​

Artist: Amanda

---

Chapter 1: Another beautiful day in Edom

 It’s eight in the morning and Raphael makes his way down the hallway, the sun already beaming through the windows. His steps are audible in the empty hallway, briskly moving over the polished marble. Stopping at large wooden doors, ornately with carved flowers, he takes a deep breath, opens them, and steps inside. He taps on a panel in the wall on his left, it opens with a click and he presses some buttons. Looking up, musicians walk in to take their places on the balcony. Once seated, Raphael gives a curt nod to the conductor, silently instructing the string quartet to begin.

 The curtains slowly open as Bach’s Air fills the room. As the sun hits his face and the music reaches his ears, Magnus stirs and considers opening his eyes. Is it morning already? He props himself up on his elbows and, like every morning, finds Raphael flanked by two servants standing in his doorway. 

“Good morning, your Highness,” Raphael says as he bows. 

“Good morning,” Magnus mumbles back. 

“And, of course, happy birthday, Your Highness,” Raphael continues. 

“…Right, it is my birthday,” says Magnus, as a wave of nausea and dread come over him. Well, he couldn’t avoid this forever, could he? He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and is promptly helped into slippers and a robe by a servant. Said servant bows and retreats, so Magnus can follow Raphael into his en suite.

 Magnus is well aware that his bathroom is larger than some people’s homes. The white marble is polished to perfection, the crystal chandelier refracts the light into rainbows and the scent of sandalwood envelops him more with every step. 

Raphael stops and turns, claps his hands twice and two more servants appear. 

“Good morning, Your Highness, and happy birthday!” as they too bow reverently. After their greeting, Raphael turns around and walks out again, disappearing from their view. 

Magnus figures he might as well try. “Good morning, Dorothea, Elliot! Please, would you be so kind and grant me a birthday wish?” 

“Anything for you, Your Highness!” they bow.

Magnus takes a deep breath, finds his most charming smile, and says, “Since it is my 29th birthday, would you be so kind to let me bathe and dress myself? Just this once?”

Dot and Elliot chuckle politely. “Oh, Your Majesty, you have such a great sense of humor! Now, let us get started. We do not want you to start such an important day as today by being late for breakfast.”

 Magnus lets his mind wander as they move around him doing their daily tasks, from brushing his teeth to bathing him and washing his hair. At some point in his life, he was sure he loved this kind of treatment and would never get enough of it. That he had enjoyed being the crown prince of Edom, and the lifestyle that came with it. 

From an early age he had been assured that as the royal he was, there was no need for him to worry about menial tasks such as washing or dressing yourself when there were servants who were honored to do it for you. But the last couple of years it had only added to him feeling useless.

 “Your Highness must be excited about tonight,” says Dot, as she applies a fresh coat of nail polish.  

Oh yes, and there was that. 

“Can’t say that I am, my dear Dorothea. How can a man be excited about being married off to a woman he’s never met?” says Magnus, in between blowing on the drying polish on his other hand.

Dot avoids his eyes. “Oh Your Highness, I am sure it will all be wonderful.”

Magnus takes his hand from the table where Dot was trying to give him a manicure.

“Dot, sweetheart, I know what you’re trying to do. But please, just… At least call me Magnus when you’re trying to reassure me my life won’t be ruined after tonight.” 

Dot visibly forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your nails are almost done, Prince Magnus. Now, let’s finish up here so we can get you over to Elliot to get you dressed.”

Magnus looks at Dot and Elliot as they work on preparing his outfit for the morning. He has known them for years now, and had a front row seat watching them fall in love and finally get married two years ago. 

“I mean, look at you guys. You make marriage look like a dream come true. Because you both wanted to. You look so happy together, you’re basically glowing! Frankly, it’s a bit unfair to rub that in my face on a daily basis,” he jokes.

 They stop fussing with his clothes and whisper something to each other. Finally they turn and look at him with apologetic expressions. “Prince Magnus… We’re sorry. You know we’re not allowed to talk about this. But to be honest, we do feel for you.” Elliot starts. “We care about you. We’ve watched you grow into a man ready to be a king these last few years.”

Dot walks over to him to take Magnus’ hand in hers, and says, “I know you wish this was different, but we believe you’re ready. We know you are. You’re ready to take the throne a few years from now and this wedding is the last step. It is tradition. It’s how your father married your mother – and you must agree that your mother is the most wonderful person, right? Have faith, my Prince. I’m sure they have found you a worthy queen.”

 Magnus sighs. He knows there really is no way out of this no matter how much he wishes there would be. The least he could do was pray Dot and Elliot were right. 

“Thank you both, I’m lucky to have you in my life. Now, let’s get me dressed.”

---

Magnus gently touches the sides of his head, careful not to touch the hair that’s pulled into an impeccable topknot. They shaved his hair at the sides of his head this morning to look sharp for the ceremony, and he loves the feeling against his fingertips. 

Dressed in a burgundy colored linen pants and a loose linen top with ornate golden pattern swirling across, Magnus follows Raphael to the dining room, stopping as he opens the doors for him.

“Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Magnus!” he proclaims. Servants standing on the side of the doors shower Magnus with rose petals.

Magnus shrugs the petals off his shoulders and walks in the room where his parents are already seated at their ridiculously large table. He shrugs off the rose petals that had landed on his shoulders and walks over to his mother to kiss her cheek. “Good morning mother, father,” he says as he takes his place on the far end of the table that could have hosted a soccer team. 

“You are late,” King Asmodeus frowns. “And today is a day where tardiness can not be overlooked.”

Magnus stares at his plate. “Apologies, father. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh Asmodeus, it’s only 15 minutes, no harm done,” his mother says before she turns to Magnus. 

“Happy birthday, my dear boy. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. We are so blessed to witness this day.” Queen Raniya smiles at him, and Magnus returns it. There isn’t a person in this world he loves as much as his mother. “Thank you, mother. You look lovely this morning.” 

 Breakfast is surprisingly uneventful. Servants put a napkin on his lap and fill his plate with the usual, but he doesn’t enjoy his fresh fruits or coffee at all. He mindlessly pokes at his plate, unable to clear his mind. His parents look at him inquisitively.

“Is something troubling you, my son?” Asmodeus asks, sounding more stern than a father probably should. 

“No, father.”

“Son, please. I am more than the magnificent ruler of Edom and all its inhabitants. I am also a concerned dad.” 

Magnus can’t help but laugh a little at that. It’s not that he thinks his father doesn’t love him, but he has never been much of a concerned or involved father figure.

“Well, father…” Magnus starts, putting down his fork, before he wonders how can anyone have a serious conversation with three meters of empty table between them. He stands up, ignoring the confused look on his parents faces -and the panicked ones of the servants- and sits down next to his mother.

 She smiles at him lovingly. “What is it, my boy?” 

Magnus grabs her hand. “Well, first of all, it’s things like this.” 

Queen Raniya doesn’t seem to understand. “Like what?” she asks.

“This!” Magnus wildly gestures with his hands to the servants all around the room, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Being announced to any room. Having rose petals thrown at me. I can’t even sit myself down in a chair!”

“What is the matter, dear? You are the son of a king, why shouldn’t you be showered with the petals of roses?” His mother asks him, looking quite confused.

“But mother, if there were no rose petals, I would still be the son of a king!” Magnus counters. “And it’s not just that, it’s everything! The cooking, the pampering, the dressing, the bathing… I’m 29 years old! For once I’d like to cook for myself, take care of myself, dress myself – and why, why can’t I find my own partner?”

 “Aha!” Asmodeus smirks. “So that’s what this is about. Don’t worry, my boy. We have gone through a great deal of trouble to select a very fine wife for you.”

Magnus takes a deep breath. “But what if I do not love her?”

“It is normal to be a bit nervous before meeting your queen. Your mother and I… We were quite frightened, to be honest with you.” Asmodeus looks at his wife affectionately. 

She smiles back at him, saying, “When I first met your father, I was so nervous, I became nauseous! But… Over the years, I have grown to love your father. Very much.”

“So you see, my son, there is a very fine line between love and nausea,” Asmodeus concludes. Raniya just stares at him. Judging by his mother’s facial expression, that wasn’t the message she had hoped to convey.

 Magnus sighs. He realizes there is no time left for subtlety in this last ditch effort to get through to his father. “I understand,” he begins, “But father… When I marry, I want someone to love me for who I am, not what I am.”

“And who are you?” Asmodeus looks at him with an amused expression.

“I am a man who has never tied his own shoes before!” Magnus exclaims, wondering if he could sound any more desperate than this. 

“Wrong! You are a prince who has never tied his own shoes before,” Asmodeus looks at his coffee, swirling it in his cup. “Besides, believe me. I have tied my own shoes once. It is an overrated experience.”

 “But father, that is not the point -” Magnus begins.

Asmodeus gives him a cold look and raises his voice. “No, Magnus. Let us be clear. The point is that as of today, you are 29 years old. By law you are to be married before the age of 30 in order to remain eligible for the throne. And since your mother and I were not blessed with more children, you are the sole heir to the throne of Edom. We have been more than patient with you as it is. We have humored all of your dalliances, even those male ones, because you were diligent enough with your studies. You have had your time to play and now it is up. A wife has been chosen for you. You will fulfil your duty.”

 Magnus tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone dry. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but somehow it felt like his last sliver of hope just disappeared. This was real. There was no escape. And he feels guilt, because he knows his mother would have loved to have more children, and here she is stuck with one son who is apparently too pathetic to fulfill his only purpose in life.

Suddenly, the door bursts open to reveal a man in green workout gear, sporting a big grin. “Good morning! It’s another beautiful day in Edom!” he belts through the dining room. 

King Asmodeus snaps, “What is it, Ragnor? Why must you interrupt us like this? Have you no manners?” he belts back even louder.

 “I’ve come to take the birthday boy for his daily workout! We can’t have him looking out of shape tonight!” Ragnor says, seemingly unaffected as the smile never leaves his face. 

He turns to Magnus’ mother. “Queen Raniya, you look exceptionally radiant today,” he says smoothly, as he kisses her hand. 

“Is that so, Ragnor?” Her amusement is audible. “Say hello to your mother for me, will you? Tell her we must catch up over tea soon.” 

Magnus is grateful for his best friend -who has been hired as his personal servant for a few years now- barging in so he’s able to excuse himself from breakfast. 

“Yes, Ragnor, let’s go get me in shape. Excuse me father, mother…” he mutters as he kisses his mother on her forehead. She squeezes his hand as he turns to leave. Ragnor bows to the royal couple, and leads Magnus out of the dining room. 

---

“Now let’s see if you can defend your lazy arse at the ripe old age of 29.” Ragnor baits, tossing a staff at him. Magnus shoots him a faux annoyed glare, but isn’t too worried. 

Because his father had been dead set on him never leaving the country, Asmodeus had gone through great lengths to bring in people from all over the world for Magnus to socialize with. Ragnor was born and raised in London, where his father worked at the Edomite embassy. The family had moved back when he was 12, and once in Edom, Ragnor was immediately introduced to Magnus. He didn’t know what to think of the boy with the aura of a hundred-year-old, so naturally they had been best friends ever since. 

As adults, they had concocted the plan where Ragnor had become his personal servant, after it hadn’t worked out with previous applicants. Apparently he didn’t have other ambitions in life, Magnus was fairly sure he enjoyed the royal lifestyle. Which he was more than fine with, the life wasn’t nearly as lonely with his best friend by his side at all times.

Magnus taunts him with a simple hand gesture and takes his stance. Center. Right. Right. He focuses on parrying Ragnor’s strikes in the most elaborate way, rather than looking for an opportunity to get a hit with his stick himself. He flips and twirls effortlessly, much to Ragnor’s annoyance.

 “OK twinkle toes, time for a break,” Ragnor pants as he reaches for his bottle of water. “So what you’re saying is… You got confirmation -again- of the fact that your father and half the court have been going through the effort of finding you the perfect wife, and you’re moping about it?” Ragnor summarizes in his own way. Magnus sighs, grabs a towel and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

 “You’re saying that like it’s no big deal at all! How would you like it if you were married off to some stranger? As for perfect, that’s my father’s definition of perfect, not mine,” Magnus took a sip from his water bottle. “I want to marry someone I love. And maybe that someone is a man. But it’s most definitely not someone my father selected for me, that I have never even met before our engagement.”

“No offense, my friend, but maybe this is exactly what you need. You’re 29 and you have not exactly been very successful at finding yourself someone worthwhile.” Something about his English accent made it sound even worse, Magnus thinks. 

“I mean, let’s be completely honest here,” he continues, “George, Etta, Farrokh. Did you even catch their last names? What about that son of the previous Peruvian ambassador, what’s his face…” Ragnor stops his rant to think.

 “…Imasu. Yeah, you’re right. That was a disaster. Looking back, they were all hopeless.” Magnus feels embarrassed having to admit that Ragnor is kind of right. Even during those relationships, he couldn’t fool himself into believing they were marriage material. 

“Can you blame me for hoping they’d eventually see me as more than the crown prince? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am doomed. Maybe after Camille I shouldn’t even try any kind of relationship anymore, renounce my throne and just… I don’t know. Sign myself up for a life as a monk in a monastery somewhere up in the mountains.” Magnus gracefully slides down the wall to sit on the floor. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling, that is frankly way too ornate for a gym.

 Ragnor rolls his eyes in such an exaggerated way Magnus fears they might end up stuck in his skull. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, my friend. We talked about this. Camille is a one-of-a-kind sort of evil, she is gone, and you really shouldn’t let the rest of your life be dictated by that vampire.”

 “Easy for you to say…” Magnus mumbles, moving his torso forward to stretch out his leg muscles. 

He had met Camille at university, in his small class dedicated to teaching the children of the Edom elite. The daughter of a French noblewoman and a high ranking Edomite military official of French descent, she had set her sights on him since day one. And he had let her. She had long wavy hair, a curvy figure, was always dressed to kill and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Magnus had let himself get swept away by this new experience. 

Usually his dates were so impressed by dating the crown prince, that they lost every bit of their own personality. They expected him to take the lead on everything, and he was sure they would bark like dogs if he asked them to. The fact that Camille wasn’t afraid to go against him and ask him to do things, to get her things, all while keeping their relationship a secret... It had made him feel alive again. After a year together, Magnus had to stay behind while Camille moved back to France with her family.

 She had told him they could make it work if he loved her enough, and he believed her - until her social media was full of evidence of the contrary. He had called Camille to ask her how she could do this to him, she only laughed and called him a fool for thinking she wouldn’t do everything to enjoy student life at the Sorbonne. 

Magnus feels like his heart had never really recovered after that particular break up, even though in retrospect he realized how unhealthy their relationship had been.. Again he had been used for his money and royal status, just in a different way from the others.

 “…I think it really just might be me.”

---

Magnus overlooks the lavishly decorated ballroom, filled with Edom high society. Rich tapestries were hung across the walls and crystal chandeliers light the room. The ladies and gentlemen, displaying all their gold and jewels like human Christmas trees, walk around trying to outshine one another. This is the world he grew up in and he never realized it was so incredibly fake. He recognizes some of the faces from work – the prime minister is here, the mayor of Edom City, the chief of police, admirals, generals. Everyone who is someone in Edom’s high society apparently got an invite for this circus.

 On the dais, his father is seated in his large golden throne, wearing his most formal crown that was designed by his great-great-great-grandfather. It’s a sight to behold and could even put the St. Edward’s Crown to shame - clearly his father wasn’t about to be out-decorated by any of his guests in attendance. 

His mother and Magnus himself are sitting on significantly more modest thrones on both his sides. Queen Raniya looks lovely, he thinks, wearing a modest golden tiara on her headscarf that was loosely draped over her head and across her chest. While Raphael had insisted Magnus would wear his military uniform for the night, he had refused. They had apparently felt sorry enough for him to offer an alternative for once. So now he sits here in a traditional Edomite tunic, purple and embroidered with gold with a high collar, and loose black pants. A subtle golden crown is attached to his topknot, because he’s the crown prince, and it’s his engagement party.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling this lonely before. Or nauseous, for that matter; his father’s words about the fine line between love and nausea dancing in his mind. Forcing himself to ignore those words, he lets his gaze roam through the ballroom again.

Finally he finds Ragnor in the crowd, chatting with their American friend Catarina. She was the newest addition to his international entourage: a 25-year-old exchange student from St. John’s University in Queens, studying to be a nurse practitioner. She and Magnus had clicked in a way he hadn’t experienced since meeting Ragnor as a teenager. As for Ragnor... He wouldn’t admit to it, but Magnus was sure he had developed a massive crush on the nursing student since meeting her a few months ago.

He manages to catch their eyes and they both give him an awkward but strangely comforting smile while clutching their glasses of champagne. Magnus takes a deep breath and looks straight ahead again, letting the sounds coming from the ballroom wash over him.

 Minutes, or maybe hours, pass. Suddenly, the sound of a gong makes the chatter of the audience die down immediately. Magnus’s stomach flips in the worst way. The ceremony is about to begin.

A man in an imposing military uniform steps forward. “Your Majesty, King Asmodeus! His Royal Highness and benevolent ruler of all of Edom!” he exclaims and bows deep, then stands up straight in a way that suits his garb. “I am Colonel Belcourt. And today, with your blessing, I offer my daughter to your son.”

 Asmodeus stands up from his throne. “My blessing is granted. Let the courtship commence!”

 The Colonel cleared his throat, “I humbly present my daughter, Miss Imani Belcourt!”

The gong sounds again, and the crowd parts through the middle. Gamelan music begins to play and about 30 dancers in Edom ceremonial dress move into the room. Gracefully the men and women dance in pairs, portraying the courtship rituals and people falling in love. 

Asmodeus turns his head and lays down his hand on Magnus’. He squeezes gently along with a curt but pleased nod. Magnus returns a polite smile and brings his hands to his lap instead. The last thing he wants right now is for his father to give these kinds of comforting gestures he has never given before. 

Magnus forces himself to focus back on the dancers. He loves all forms of dance, but he can’t find it in him to appreciate anything about this performance.

One by one the dancers take a pose, creating a pathway. The music changes into something more delicate as the flutes take the lead melody, and a figure of a woman in a sparkling golden dress appears at the end of the ballroom. She spreads her arms and seems to float between the dancers towards the throne, the click of her heels muffled by the sound of her train rushing along the floor. As his bride-to-be strides down to halfway across the ballroom, she begins to take a familiar, curvy shape.

 Magnus struggles to breathe as he feels his heart pounding. It can’t be, can it? The Belcourts are a military family, surely Imani is a cousin that looks just like her? Right?

 His worst nightmare comes true once Imani -well, Camille- stops in front of the dais next to Colonel Belcourt. Who must be her father (apparently, as they never got to the meet-the-family part of a relationship) and puts her hand in his. She lowers her gaze while curtsying the royal family, and shoots Magnus a wicked grin while looking back up again.

 Magnus feels the bile rising in his throat. He can’t do this. He can’t. He jerkily stands up from his throne and all but storms towards Camille.

 “May I talk to you in private for a moment, please?” Magnus grits out between clenched teeth. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before grabbing her wrist and urges her onto and then to the left side of the dais, through a door that leads to a sitting room. He feels the eyes of everyone in the ballroom burning on his back, but is too overwhelmed to care. After slamming the door shut, he leans his forehead against it and takes a deep grounding breath.

 “What? Am I not all you ever looked for in a woman? I definitely recall you saying so. More than once,” she smirks. Magnus turns to face her, feeling all pain she ever inflicted like it just happened. It rages through him like a tornado.

 “I could not have been more mistaken. And you are no woman, in fact, I’m not sure you’re actually human! Do you even have a soul?” Magnus blurts out as he frantically paces along the room. “You know what? Don’t answer that. And what’s with Imani? Did you give me a false name on purpose, just to mess with me?”

 “Magnus, darling, calm down. Camille is my middle name, and I always liked the sound of it better. And since we didn’t exactly spend a lot of time talking… I knew you would appreciate the surprise.” As if her tone of voice wasn’t infuriating enough, she throws in a wink with her self-satisfied expression.

 He stops pacing, and looks at her. “Why don’t you fuck off back to France? Because I’m sure as hell not marrying you. So get lost.”

 “Yes, you are. I’ve been selected. Come on Magnus, we had so much fun, we can get there again,” Camille purrs, seductively making her way over to Magnus.

 Magnus clenches his hands into fists at his side as Camille ends right in front of him, disregarding his personal space, while smirking. For a second he is afraid she’d grab him by the lapels and kiss him, but instead she stops when her toes touch his own, the same smirk never leaving her face.

 “I will make such a beautiful queen,” she whispers. In that moment, Magnus wishes his glare could literally shoot daggers.

 The door flies open and Asmodeus barges in. “Ah! I see the two of you are getting along!”

 Magnus rolls his eyes. Of course his father chooses to interpret the mere inches between them as a good sign, conveniently ignoring his body language.

 Magnus turns away from Camille and walks to his father, nervously wringing his hands together. “Father, about this wedding…” Magnus begins.

 He is interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat. He looks to the door opening and sees Raphael standing there with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Your Majesty, the guests are waiting.”

 “Let them wait!” Asmodeus barks impatiently. “I am talking to my son.” He turns back towards Magnus. “Come, my son, let’s go for a stroll.”

 Camille curtsies and doesn’t break her eye contact with Magnus. “It was an honor to meet you. I will wait for you, my Prince.” She gracefully moves herself towards the ballroom.

 “Fine girl, isn’t she?” Asmodeus looks pleased. “I told you not to worry. She will give you much pleasure, don’t you think?”

---

Magnus follows his father into the palace gardens. Ever since he was a boy he loved to go on walks here, through the carefully crafted pathways, looking at the flowerbeds that were planted to form intricate designs. Beautiful birds fly from tree to tree while singing their songs, the soft light of the lanterns make it feel like something out of a fairy tale.

 “Time does fly, my son. It feels like yesterday I ordered your first diaper change. And now you’re a man, who’s about to be married,” Asmodeus smiles contently.

 “Father, I won’t marry Camille. I refuse.” 

“Nonsense, Magnus. We’ve gone through a lot of trouble to select this girl for you. She is from a very respectable military family with foreign ties. Prepared and ready to become a queen, and a mother.”

“But I’ll never be ready for her! Father, please! I’m 29 years old, and I have never even left Edom! I have yet to experience what the outside world has to offer, and now my life is over!” Magnus nearly trips over his own tongue, trying to get the words out.

 “So… You want to sow your royal oats?” Asmodeus says with a smirk.

 “No, it’s not that, it’s that Camille isn’t who she-” Magnus starts.

 “You are right!” Asmodeus laughs. “Now listen. This is the last time I will humor you, Magnus. Get out, see the world, enjoy yourself! Fulfill every erotic desire. And in 90 days you will come back and marry this girl.”

 “But father…”

 “It is settled.” Asmodeus pats his schouder roughly behoren making a sharp turn and striding back into the palace.

---

Magnus isn’t sure how he found his way back to a study in the west wing of the palace. He stares at a painting of his great grandfather and feels tears stinging in the corner of his eyes. This possibly couldn’t have gone any worse than it did. Right now, he would give anything to be married off to anyone but Camille

 “What the hell was that? What is she even doing here?!” Ragnor storms in, closely followed by Catarina. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” Catarina must see the tears in his eyes because she immediately moves to wrap his arms around him. He can’t help that some of those tears roll down his face.

“What have I done in my life to deserve this?” he mumbles into her shoulder.

Ragnor looks lost for words. If he wasn’t feeling so miserable Magnus would be enjoying the fact that apparently, there are things that can shut Ragnor up. 

“Come, sit with us.” Catarina guides Magnus to the sitting area. As she sits down with him on the loveseat, Ragnor takes one of the fauteuils. Catarina gently strokes his back while Magnus tries to stop his quiet tears.

“I am so sorry, my friend. I don’t know what else to say.” Ragnor finally says. 

“It’s OK. I don’t know either.” Magnus’ vision blurs again as his eyes fill up with tears again. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t do this, I can’t!” His voice breaks and he leans into Catarina as she pulls him towards her in an effort to comfort him.

He lets himself be comforted in silence as he cries. After a few minutes, he forces himself to get it together. In an effort to lighten the mood, he says, “Well, at least my father has given me permission to finally leave Edom before my wedding from hell. 90 days. That should give me enough time to go hiking in South America and move to a remote mountain village where the outside world will never find me.”

“Come on, we both know you’re way too high maintenance to survive in a village without electricity or plumbing,” Ragnor snorts. “But I suppose it’s preferable to marrying a random person in Las Vegas or something, because this way, you’ll eventually come back home.”

Magnus shoots up from the couch. “Ragnor, that’s brilliant!”

“Wait, what?” Catarina says, while Ragnor just stares at him blankly.

“That’s exactly what I need to do. I need to find my own spouse! I need to go somewhere, far away where no one knows who I am. That way, I can find someone who’ll love me as me, not as the crown prince of Edom!” he paces through the room, gesturing wildly. “And if we get married in Vegas, I can’t get married to Camille! And I’ll have someone to rule by my side so my father can’t possibly get upset. After all, all he wants is for me to get married.”

“Magnus, I’m sorry, but that is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” Ragnor interrupts his pacing and firmly places his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. “You can’t just move across the world, find someone, lie to them about who you are, fall in love, get married and then tell them, hey, guess what, you’re royalty now, and we’re expected to rule over a proud island nation soon!”

Ragnor leans his forehead against Magnus’. “You are my best friend and I know you are desperate. But please, this plan is a recipe for disaster. We will find another way to get Camille out of the picture.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this, Ragnor. I need to get away.” Magnus hears his voice breaking again.

“And we will. Your father gave you 90 days and carte blanche. We can travel anywhere you want, in style, while we figure this out,” says Ragnor.

Magnus swallows thickly. “No. I don’t want to travel in style. I wasn’t kidding. I know I shouldn’t go and get married to someone over 90 days, but... I do want to know what it’s like to live like a normal person. Just to be by myself, to take care of myself, just be Magnus, for once in my life.”

Ragnor looks at him sympathetically. “As you wish. Now, where in the world would you like to do that?” 

Magnus sighs. “You know, I absolutely have no idea. Preferably somewhere I speak the language, and far from Edom.”

Catarina clears her throat. “You know, I kept my place in Brooklyn, because my exchange was only for a year and a half and it’s hard to find something that nice. I mean, it’s nothing fancy, it only has one bedroom. But one of you can sleep on the couch. If you’d like.”

Magnus looks at Catarina, who plays with her hands nervously. “Are you saying we could stay at your place in New York?” 

“Well, yeah, but, don’t expect too much of it. It’s nothing like you’re used to here in the palace, but if you want to, you could. I can send a message to my landlord, saying I met you guys at university here, and you need a place to stay while doing research in America. Luke is great, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.” Catarina looks at him expectantly. 

Magnus flings himself into her arms. “Cat, that’s perfect! That’s exactly the kind of mundane, normal experience I’m looking for!” He kisses her cheek and turns around.

“Ragnor, pack your bags. We’re going to America!”

Chapter 2: The mundane life of two ordinary exchange students

Even when flying first class, the journey from Edom to New York is long and tiring. After layovers in Singapore and Amsterdam, they finally find themselves at John F. Kennedy International Airport. Magnus feels the excitement of being here buzzing under his skin like magic. 

Ragnor, however, doesn’t feel as energetic after having travelled for about thirty hours. Unlike Magnus, he appears to not be able to sleep on a plane. He drags himself and his suitcase after Magnus. 

Packing had turned out to be another fight between him, his father and Raphael. They had insisted on preparing a full set of royal baggage, but Magnus had insisted they wouldn’t need all of that in New York. Of course, he hadn’t exactly told his father about their plan to stay at Catarina’s one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Instead, he told them they would get a suite at the Waldorf Astoria, and they would love to go shopping for more clothes. 

His insistence that a suitcase and a backpack was therefore enough, was only accepted if he, in turn, took a staggering amount of “pocket cash” and a credit card with him. Knowing this was the closest he’d get to getting his way, Magnus accepted. He planned to spend as little of the money as he possibly could, fully committed to the idea of living the next 90 days as a normal guy for the first time in his life.

Plenty of pocket cash did make it easy to grab a taxi to Catarina’s place. After stacking their suitcases in the minivan, he gave the driver the note where she had scribbled the address on for them. It takes them about 45 minutes to get there and Magnus doesn’t know where to look. He’s never been allowed travel, not even to join his father on formal state visits. Asmodeus had always said that was a privilege he would have access to once he was married, and that hadn’t really worked out for him so far. 

Edom City was in no way comparable to New York. He immediately understood what songs meant by concrete jungle. It was December and snow was falling from the sky. Magnus had never seen snow in real life before. The average temperature in Edom was 30 degrees Celsius -86 degrees Fahrenheit, he looked that up before they left- year-round. 

With an excited grin on his face he turns to Ragnor, who looks tired and grumpy. 

“There’s snow. I forgot all about how much I hated the bloody stuff,” he mumbles.

Magnus punches him playfully. “Oh come now, look at it! It can’t be that bad. It’s so beautiful.” 

The rest of the trip he dreamily stares out of the window, thinking of all the mundane ways he could meet someone normal and fall in love.

---

As soon as Magnus steps out of the taxi he understands why Ragnor was so bothered by the mere sight of snow. He has never been this cold in his life and they are most definitely not prepared for it.

As Ragnor pays the cab driver, Magnus turns and looks at their new neighborhood. They have stopped at a small parking lot between two old looking buildings looming over them. There’s a lot of reddish bricks and a lot of doors, and it takes them longer than they are willing to admit to find the right doorbell.

“Hey, you must be Cat’s friends!” A tall man in a police uniform with dark skin and a neatly groomed beard says as he opens the door. Behind him a hallway appears, all brown tiles and aged wallpaper.

“And you must be Mr. Garroway!” Magnus says, holding out his hand. “I’m Magnus, and that’s Ragnor.” he points to where Ragnor is shivering next to their suitcases. 

“Please, come on in!” Luke motions. They drag their things up the stone steps and he closes the door behind them. 

Magnus clears his throat. “We are most grateful you’re allowing us to stay in Catarina’s apartment for three months,” he says, consciously trying to make a great first impression.

“No problem at all. Cat’s pretty much the perfect tenant and since she’s vouching for you guys, I’m sure we’ll get along fine. And before I forget, Mr. Garroway is my old man! Please call me Luke,” he says with an easy smile. 

Magnus grins back, he likes this guy already. They move themselves and their suitcases further into the hallway. There’s a white door, and a wooden staircase going up. 

“This door here, that’s me. Don’t hesitate to knock when you need anything.” He glances at his watch. “I really hate to be rude, but I have to get into work soon. So if you’ll follow me I’ll show you to the apartment.” Luke gestures to the staircase next to his front door. 

Luke points his hand in the direction of narrow stairs. “You’re gonna have to haul those up here.” He points to their luggage. “This place is kind of old. I don’t think the people that built this all those years ago thought things through properly. I mean, they had furniture back then too, right?”

They smile politely and Luke turns to go ahead of them, scaling the stairs and opening the door. Magnus is glad he and Ragnor have spent years having daily staff fighting practice because there’s no way he would’ve made it in one piece otherwise.

Magnus walks through the door and steps into the room that’s on his left. It’s an open space, a small living area with a couch and a tv, next to a 4-person dining table separating it from a small kitchen. Straight ahead there he sees two doors, presumably leading to the bedroom and bathroom. Everything seems about as big as his en suite palace bathroom and while he feels a little bad about it, he couldn’t be more excited. It’s as utterly normal as he had imagined.

Luke’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “So, Cat said she met you guys at school on the island? And you’re here to do research?”

“...Yes. Yes, we are ordinary students. Here to do research. At the university.” Magnus nods with a big grin on his face. He can hear Ragnor snorting behind him, and swings his arm backward in the hopes to swat his arm. 

“Mr. Garrowa-” Magnus starts, cut short by Luke’s raised eyebrows and unimpressed look.

“My apologies. Luke, we do not know cold winters where we are from, so I’m afraid we are a bit underdressed for the weather we found ourselves in. But we are poor students. Where can we buy winter clothes for our limited budget?”

Luke smiles at them. “Yeah, I remember those times when I was at the police academy. There are some stores at the mall. Two stops on the subway, you can’t miss it.”

Magnus rubs his hands together. “Perfect, we will look into that later.” 

Ragnor, who had walked himself over to the radiator in the kitchen, rolls his eyes at him.

“I really have to go now, or I’ll be late. But you know what? I bet you guys don’t have any plans for today after travelling for so long. I’m pretty sure I still have some old winter coats that you could use while you’re here. If you’d like? They’re nothing special, but it’ll save you some money on something you’re not gonna bring home with you anyway.” Luke looks at them for an answer.

Magnus feels a pang of guilt because he’s lying through his teeth and this man is offering him -a prince!- handouts out of the kindness of his heart. But this is what he wanted, right? To be treated like a normal student, and look like one?

He smiles. “Thank you, Luke, that is very kind of you. We would like to take you up on your offer.”

---

The next morning they step out in the coats that Luke brought over. Since Luke is taller and broader than both of them, they are noticeably on the bigger side.

Ragnor huffs. “We look ridiculous. Let’s go buy new ones.” 

“We will do no such thing! We cannot insult Luke like that. It was very generous of him to offer this and we will wear them,” Magnus says and twirls. “Plus, look at how normal these make us look! It’s amazing!”

Ragnor rolls his eyes -again- and shivers. “Well, I hate it. And I’m cold. Let’s find that subway station,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

They walk through the little park in between the buildings in the direction they were told to go. In the middle of the park are a couple of benches, where three elderly people are seated, holding small cardboard cups. A small Yorkshire terrier in a coat hops through the snow around the bench.

Magnus elbows Ragnor excitedly. “Look! Real Americans!” He whispers, as they walk towards the trio.

“Good morning, my neighbours!” Magnus beams.

“Hey! You must be the boys from Indonesia!” the man says and raises his coffee cup to them.

“How do you know it’s them? You can’t just assume these things. That’s rude,” one of the women interjects. She looks quite distinguished in her big, fluffy fake fur coat. Her hair is dyed a dark reddish brown, and she wears it in an impeccable updo. 

“We sure are though. And we are very happy to be here!” Magnus can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

“Well, we’re very happy to meet you two. You look like good kids,” the last lady nods. She is of Asian descent, but thankfully doesn’t look like she could be from Edom. She wears a much more practical green coat with a big red scarf. Her hair is grey with lighter streaks, tied together in a low ponytail, but the sparkle in her eyes makes her look younger.

“Where are my manners?” The man says, who is grey and balding, and has to put in some effort to stand up and greet them. “I’m Hodge, or so they say. These ladies here are my good friends Imogen and Jia,” he nods, as he clutches his cane.

Magnus moves to shake all of their hands and sternly looks at Ragnor, who begrudgingly takes one of his hands out of his pocket and greets the elderly trio as well.

“Just so you boys know,” Imogen starts, as she puts the little dog in her lap, “We’re the eyes and ears of the neighborhood. So if you need gossip, we’re your source,” she whispers loudly.

Magnus doesn’t really know why he would need gossip, but he wants to befriend his new neighbors either way. “That’s good to know. If you’ll excuse us, we must get going again. We’re trying to find the subway station.”

“Oh! You’re headed in the right direction. If you walk straight through the park, and…” Jia rattles off the same directions as Luke had given them, but they listen and thank her anyway.

The directions turn out to be accurate, and two stops later, they step out at a mall. Magnus has to drag Ragnor away from all the high-end boutiques, determined to find this store called Target, that Luke had recommended to them.

Ragnor walks through the aisles under harsh fluorescent lighting, between racks and tables of clothing. He stops and rubs the fabric of a sweater between his fingers and looks disappointed. Sighing, he looks at Magnus. “Tell me, why are we doing this again?”

“Because we’re ordinary exchange students, we cannot wear designer clothes or no one will believe us. Now pick some things and try them on,” Magnus says as he picks up a few basic t-shirts to wear under the button-downs and hoodies he tossed in his basket. 

They get themselves into fitting rooms next to each other as they shrug their own clothes off, and try the new ones on. They’re all hit or miss and nothing in between, but Magnus has never enjoyed anything more in his life. Most of his clothes are custom made traditional pieces. And as he grew older, his father organised for high-end designers to put on private shows at the palace. Magnus would be allowed to pick whatever he wanted, and they would tailor it for him right away. He has never tried on normal clothes before, in a store. And even if they don’t fit his body as well as his clothes in Edom, he’s happy with the result.

He slides the curtain open and steps out in a colorful button-down, dark wash slim fit jeans and a casual blazer. He spins in front of Ragnor, arm stretched out to the side.

Ragnor leans against the wall of his fitting room with his arms folded across his chest and gently smiles at Magnus. “Let’s go out tonight and celebrate your freedom,” he says, as he rubs his upper arms. “Maybe, if we drink enough, we could even forget about how cold we are.”

“Wonderful idea, my friend!” Magnus smirks as he turns to the mirror, quite pleased with himself. Maybe it won’t be that hard to find himself a date in America after all.

---

Walking into the first bar they find, Magnus straightens his new shirt, and looks around the place. He’s feeling good. Instead of his topknot, he had chosen to style his hair in a mohawk, taking full advantage of his father not being here to disapprove of it. 

In the middle of the bar is a small dance floor with flashing lights, with people awkwardly trying to move to the beat. Along the sides, groups of guys and girls with a lot of beer are making valiant efforts for their discussions to compete with the music. Ragnor leans in to Magnus. “Let’s go to the bar, I need a drink.” 

They walk down towards the far end of the bar, sit down on stools and order two whiskeys. It isn’t long until a girl comes up to Magnus and drapes herself over the bar in front of him. She’s stunning, she has long dark curls and is wearing an all leather ensemble.

“Hey gorgeous,” she purrs. “Are you gonna buy me a drink?”

Magnus looks at Ragnor, who shrugs as a reply. Why not, he thinks. If this works out, the only thing he has to lose is Camille.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,” he smiles, and his smile falters a bit when she proceeds to run her finger over the price list and orders the most expensive cocktail on the menu. How, does she know he’s a prince? But maybe she just really likes this particular drink, he tells himself. Maybe it only looked like she was picking the most expensive drink on purpose?

“So how did you pretty boys get here?” she asks.

“Well, we just flew in yesterday. We’re students-” Magnus starts.

The woman in leather looks disappointed. “So, like, you didn’t drive here?”

Ragnor snorts, “No, you don’t exactly need a car in Brooklyn.” 

“Oh, well, too bad you really are cute. But I’m just not into men unless he drives a BMW,” she says and walks away with her cocktail. 

And just like that, Magnus is done. He throws back his whiskey in one go, tells Ragnor to pay the bartender and he’s out the door. Ragnor catches up with him outside and squeezes his shoulder.

They go to the next bar, and another one after that, and another one after that. Men, women, none of his admirers looked the same - but all of them wanted something similarly shallow. And Magnus is not looking for a quick hookup. Neither is Ragnor, who had mumbled something about missing Cat after his third drink. The ones that didn’t immediately express their interest in sex seemed completely crazy, and claimed things like the ability to talk to dead historical figures as long as they stared into a candle hard enough.

Right now they’re sitting in a booth at a cozy gay bar, and while he loves the interior and the general atmosphere, he’s not loving this new situation they find themselves in. Ragnor is slumped next to him, staring at his beer, while Magnus tries to listen to a handsome man with auburn hair and blue eyes who spotted him early on and immediately came up to introduce himself as Eddie. And then some. 

“...You know right now I’m just working on the videos, but really, I want to star in the videos, you know, become a singer, you know, pop, and some rock, just write my own songs, and produce my own songs. And then I’m gonna try and be an actor, because people keep telling me how talented I am, what a natural I am, and stuff like that. Like movies, of course, like Oscar-worthy dramas, because everyone says I have so much range, and my ability to make people cry with my performance like, all the time. So then, I’m gonna write my own stories, and direct my own stories, and produce the movies I’m doing...” 

Magnus is trying to pay attention, he swears, but he can’t get a single word in. The words wash over him like a waterfall and combined with the alcohol and the temperature of the room, he’s starting to feel a bit tired. Suddenly he’s back when Ragnor drops his head against his shoulder and he fears his friend is falling asleep, too.

It did seem to finally shut the auburn-haired man up, and Magnus decides to take advantage of that. “Eddie, I’m so sorry, it was nice meeting you but I’m gonna have to get my friend home now.” 

Before Eddie can get another word in, Magnus wraps his arm around Ragnor and maneuvers him right out of the place.

Outside, the fresh air rejuvenates them and they stroll towards Cat’s place.

“Is it my imagination or does everyone in New York have a severe emotional problem?” Magnus wonders out loud.

Ragnor huffs, “I worship the devil? No man has ever satisfied me, you’re cute, do you want to give it a try? I’m only into the group thing?” he summarizes the awful pick-up lines they heard over the course of the night. “If this is what normal people are like I’m not gonna last these next 88 days here!”

In the distance they see a small figure in a fluffy coat approaching, walking an excitable small dog on a leash. 

“Miss Imogen!” Magnus greets her politely.

She looks a bit startled at first, until she notices who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, the boys from Indonesia! I didn’t see you there, I was minding my steps because little Church always bounces around my feet! You have to be careful not to fall at my age, you see,” she says, feeding Church a treat once he sits down calmly.

“What are you boys up to tonight?” she asks.

“We were hoping to- ” Magnus doesn’t embarrass easily, but he isn’t sure how to talk about this to a little old grandma.”-where eh, where in New York would you go to, to find some nice people?

Miss Imogen does seem to catch on right away, though. “Well, you’ve got to go out and look, son! They won’t just fall on your lap!” her eyes gleam mischievously. 

“We’ve been to a lot of bars in Brooklyn tonight,” Ragnor sighs.

“Well that’s where you messed up, son, you can’t go to a bar to find a nice date!” she swats at Ragnor’s arm. 

“You’ve got to go to nice places, quiet places! Like, at a library, or a church. Or, you boys are students, right? Maybe your school hosts nice events. Speaking of events, this place where I’m going tonight - the Rainbow Rally. There’ll be some nice, good youth like yourselves there. It’s a fundraiser for those poor gay kids that get kicked out by their parents. Our local community center does a lot for all kinds of kids. Yes, yes, all good people there,” she nods.

Magnus looks at Ragnor with an excited expression. 

Ragnor shrugs, and sighs, “Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

---

The Rainbow Rally festivities had already started once they found their way to The Max Community Center. They step into the room that is unsurprisingly decorated with rainbow colored banners and balloons. The place is packed, but they spot two seats and quickly sit down on two empty plastic chairs. 

“My poor butt hurts already,” Ragnor hisses at him. Magnus decides to ignore him.

Up on stage, six girls who all looked in their twenties perform a dance routine to a 90s medley. They all wear black pants with a top in their own color. A girl with long dark hair in red, a girl with dark skin and curly hair in yellow, a pale redhead in green, an Asian girl in blue, a blond haired girl in purple and finally a brown haired girl in orange. They look like they have a lot of fun up there and have obviously put a lot of effort in.

As the medley comes to an end, the group takes their final pose and the audience gives them a standing ovation. Clearly, these girls are popular.

Ragnor claps, leans towards Magnus and mumbles, “Apparently these women are the best that Brooklyn has to offer. Pick one, and let’s go home.” 

Magnus snorts. “Patience, my friend. That’s not how this works. Besides, this evening is for a cause we should support. We’re staying.”

The audience sits back down again as the girls move out of their final pose, wave to the crowd, and hug each other. The girls wearing blue and purple have a little moment together, giving each other a quick kiss before putting their arms around each other, smiling brightly. 

A man wearing a blue suit and a ridiculous Mad Hatter-style top hat walks onto the stage holding a microphone. 

“Everyone, what a performance by our own dance troupe, Rainbow Power! They are some of the best volunteers we have: Isabelle, Maia, Helen, Aline, Rebecca and last but most definitely not least, my lovely daughter Clarissa!” 

The redhead’s embarrassed “Dad!” got picked up by the microphone enough to make the audience laugh. “Give it up one more time for our girls!” 

The audience claps and cheers enthusiastically as girls walk off the stage waving, leaving Mr. Mad Hatter standing there by himself. Not for long, as behind him a bespectacled young man fusses with microphones and other equipment, as a blond man tries to fix the wires.

The man in the top hat brings the mic back to his mouth. “I have a special treat for you today. She’s six years old and has the voice of an angel. No, scratch that, she is a literal angel. She can be a little bit shy, and she’s a bit nervous about performing tonight. So guys, gals and nonbinary pals, let us gently welcome little Madzie, and Simon Lewis who will accompany her on piano!”

The audience tones the volume of their clapping down considerably, as a little girl with braided pigtails, a little sparkly pink skirt and a little jean jacket walks up on stage. She’s holding the hand of the guy with glasses who set up the equipment, and he has to bend a little to accommodate her.

He sits down behind his electric piano, and little Madzie steps up onto a stool next to him. She stands in front of the mic and they hear her breathing a bit, before Simon asks her softly if she’s ready with a kind smile. She turns her head and nods.

Simon gently plays the intro to the song that Magnus doesn’t directly recognize until Madzie sings the first few lines, 

I believe the children are the future / teach them well and let them lead the way / show them all the beauty they possess inside. 

She starts off a bit insecure, but gets more confident with every line. Magnus is a big old softie and feels tears coming up. To his side he sees Ragnor looking touched as well. Everything about the performance is adorable.

For a six-year-old, Madzie’s closing notes are surprisingly clear and steady. Forgetting about being gentle, the audience gives another standing ovation. Madzie looks to the floor and shuffles her feet, but Simon takes her hand and together they walk to the middle of the stage and bow to the people. Madzie giggles.

The man in the top hat walks back on stage and whispers something in the ear of the young man. He laughs and pats him on the back and walks off the stage. 

“Put your hands together for our little Madzie here, who lives with her Nana here a block away. They sometimes struggle to make ends meet. But, she’s been coming to The Max for two years now and as you can hear, those free music lessons we’re able to provide -thanks to your generous donations- are paying off!”

The audience applauds, and Madzie is still holding the man’s hand and shyly looking down to her feet. 

“Hosting free classes and activities for our less privileged kids isn’t the only thing we do here at The Max. And that is what we are here for tonight. And as the founder and CEO of Morgenstern NetTech Innovators I am proud and honored to be the main sponsor of this event. However, this event would not have been a success without the main organizer of tonight’s festivities. Please come on up here, Mr. Alexander Lightwood!” 

The crowd immediately starts cheering like he has announced the most famous of celebrities, and Magnus is intrigued. He sees Madzie immediately letting go of Morgenstern’s hand and bolts across the stage to launch herself at a tall male figure, who picks her up and puts her on his hip, holding on to her with one arm.

As the man walks towards the microphone, Magnus’ feels his surroundings slowing down like he’s in a movie. This guy walks like a model, with dark hair and stubble that looks intentional, wearing grey trousers and a light pink dress shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows. How are his forearms gorgeous? As a finishing touch, he wears a tie with cartoon clouds and rainbows. 

He shakes the host’s hand, smiles to the audience and subtly tries to wave to someone, before speaking. “Thank you Valentine, for that introduction, and for doing a great job at hosting this evening so far. And of course, thank you to my friend Madzie here for treating us to that beautiful song.”

The audience applauds again, and the guy shares a smile with the girl on his arm, as she wraps her little arms around his neck. Magnus can feel himself melting.

“Madzie’s song makes a great point. The children are our future, and it is up for us to provide them the best possible start. For some children, this isn’t a given. And for kids and teens who discover that they’re gay or trans, for example… They face even more difficulties. Sometimes they get kicked out of their own homes. As a gay man myself, I’m sad to say that I know what that is like.” 

The audience is very quiet, as he clears his throat to carry on.

“That is why we’ve organized this evening. I’m proud to announce that we, as The Max, are working together with the Trevor Project to provide a safe space for all LGTBQ youth. We’re planning to run special workshops where these youth, regardless of background and orientation, can meet up with each other and share experiences. Or talk to one of our trained volunteers. We want to provide other emergency resources as well, and education to family members.”

He pauses and looks around the room. “As you can see, our volunteers are passing through the aisles with donation baskets. So please, give all you can. Now… We’re happy to get the kind of money that jingles, but we’d rather get the kind that folds,” he adds, with a youthful grin.

The baskets are passing through the rows and the chatter of people fills the room. One of them makes its way into Magnus’, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off the man on stage, who’s still holding the little girl. They seem to have a conversation away from the microphone, while she plays with his rainbow tie.

Ragnor clears his throat and holds up a bunch of 50 dollar bills folded together, that he still had on him after the shopping trip. “You wanted to donate something, right? We only have bills of 50 so it’s gonna be pretty generous I reckon-” 

Magnus mindlessly grabs the entire stack and puts it in the basket and hands it off. He can feel Ragnor’s astonishment, but he doesn’t care - this man on stage is perfect and he wants him. In every possible way.

The chatter dies down as the volunteers carry the baskets onto the stage.

Mr. Perfect moves towards the microphone again. “Thank you so much. Without you -our audience- this evening would not have been a success. And we still have some amazing performances for you, so I’m going to hand this microphone back to Valentine!”  

Under loud applause he smiles, bows gently, and walks off the stage. The volunteers carrying the baskets follow him. 

Magnus whimpers and elbows Ragnor repeatedly in his side. 

“Ouch, knock it off! What the hell was that for?” he whispers angrily while rubbing his hand over his ribcage.

“I think I’m in love,” Magnus whispers back, his eyes following this Alexander Lightwood.

Ragnor rolls his eyes. While Magnus is mentally planning his coronation alongside this beautiful man who’s apparently great with children because of course he’s perfect like that, he wonders if after this trip Ragnor’s eyes will be stuck spinning around in his sockets.

“-not able to donate money, maybe you can donate some of your time. At The Max we’re always looking for new volunteers! You’ll be able to make a real difference in the lives of our children. At the exit our staff will answer all of your questions and they’re ready to sign you right up!” Valentine gestures towards the exit, before announcing the next act.

Magnus stops listening after the call for new volunteers. He slowly turns his head towards Ragnor with the biggest grin on his face. “My friend, I just got the best idea!”

“No. Oh no. Definitely not!”

Chapter 3: Bane, Magnus Bane

“I hate you.” 

“Don’t be silly Ragnor, you love me.” Magnus says, as he looks into an old mirror on the wall. They’ve been given a stack of polos with the community center’s logo on it, with the apology that most common sizes are sadly out. 

Magnus snagged what was apparently the only small adult sized shirt out of the pile, because when he turns he sees Ragnor in a shirt several sizes too big. It hangs on Ragnor’s lean frame, the overall droopy look not helped by his expression. He looks annoyed, frustrated, overall done and everything in between.

“Come on now, just… French tuck it into your jeans. It’ll help.” Magnus suggests. He looks back at the mirror. His own shirt is probably a bit too snug, but if anything, it makes it cling to all the right places. He’s here on a mission, after all.

“Why can’t I wear the smaller size? Your shoulders are broader than mine.” 

“Because I’m the prince, and technically, you’re my servant. Plus, I’m here to woo a certain someone.” 

Ragnor shrugs his zip-up hoodie over his shirt and walks up to Magnus. He puts his hands on his shoulders and sighs.

“Magnus, I’m going to be honest with you. I love you and you’re my best friend, but this is by far the worst idea you have ever had.” he says, while looking straight at him.

Magnus wants to look away, but Ragnor demands eye contact.

“What do you think will happen? That within 87 days, the pretty boy will fall in love with you, and he won’t be upset when he finds out you’ve neglected to tell him that he’s expected to rule a country? And aside from that, you don’t actually know the guy! Sure, he made an impression up on that stage and honestly, it’s quite unfair how handsome he is, but you don’t know him. Hell, he might as well be in a relationship already.” 

Magnus knows he’s right and it stings. The fear of having to go back to Edom and marry Camille feels like a heavy weight that’s crushing his chest. He looks at Ragnor and fights the urge to cry.

He tries to find his voice, and what he says comes out sounding a lot more vulnerable than he intended. “Please… I-I can’t just-I got this feeling when I saw him. Like… You just know,  you know? I have to try, Ragnor. I have to.” 

He’s thankful Ragnor knows him so well. 

“OK. I really don’t agree with this, but I get it. Let’s see what we can do.” 

---

They step out of the staff room they were allowed to change in, and one of the girls who performed as part of the dance group is waiting for them. 

“Sorry again guys, the new shirts should be coming in soon and we’ll get you better fitting ones.” she apologizes, as she takes the shirts back from Ragnor and puts them back on a shelf.

“So, like I said, I’m Maia. I’m one of the volunteer team managers. I’m here a couple of days a week when school allows it, so, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other!” she claps her hands together and flashes them a friendly smile. “When I’m not here, there’s Clary, and Aline helps out when she has time. They’ll stop before the end of your shift so you’ll get to meet them today. Just so you know who to go to when you have questions.”

Magnus likes this energetic woman, she looks strong and mature despite her youthful face.

“What are you majoring in?” Magnus asks as she leads them to where they’ll be working.

“Marine biology, at Columbia.” she looks proud, and rightfully so. Magnus is impressed, and whistles between his teeth.

“I know,” she laughs, “I worked so hard to get in. I didn’t have a great home situation, I barely graduated high school and I didn’t even apply to any colleges. But then I found this center, I made some great friends and they got me to a better place. I started out taking classes at a local community college and ended up transferring to Columbia.”

She stops in front of cleaning supplies, and grabs hold of the wooden handle of the mop, and rolls the bucket forward. 

“You know, people think that we’re exaggerating when we tell our volunteers you're changing lives by helping us out. But it’s true, and I am proof of that. So thank you guys, and welcome to the family,” she smiles, and looks at Magnus as she rolls the cleaning supplies towards him. 

“So to start, we like to mop the floor every morning. You know how to mop, right?” she asks, looking at Magnus. He has never even touched a mop before in his life, but how hard could it be, really? So he nods, and she takes Ragnor to another room, who shoots Magnus one last look of disdain.

Mopping the floor turns out to be more work than he thought, but, after getting some help from a blond guy who introduced himself as Andrew Underhill in the small café attached to the center, he finds a good rhythm.

To make the chore more fun, he hums his favorite songs and adds some subtle dance moves. He hasn’t seen anyone other than Maia and Andrew, and they’re busy. Plus, the entrance of the building is just spacious enough, it’s honestly begging to be danced in.

Caught up in his smooth moves, he apparently stopped paying any attention to his surroundings because he dances right into someone, who then grabs his arms to steady him. Magnus spins around to apologize when his breath catches.

It’s him, and dammit, he is even more stunning up close. His eyes are intense and a shade of hazel he has never seen before. He’s tall, and broad-shouldered, and still looks amazing in a suit. His hair is a dark shade of brown and fluffy, like he’s been running his hands through it. Magnus knows he has never felt this kind of instant attraction to someone before.

And, if he’s not mistaken, he sees appreciation in Alexander Lightwood’s eyes, as he catches him running them over his body. Silently he thanks the heavens for this ridiculously tight shirt, because it looks like it’s working. He smirks at Alexander, who flushes a bit pink as he finds himself caught.

Magnus pulls himself together quickly. “I’m so sorry for bumping into you, but above all, good morning. I believe we haven’t been formally introduced?” he says as smooth as he can manage in front of this beautiful man, and holds out his hand.

“I’m Alexander. Lightwood. Well, Alec, really,” he says with a genuine, lopsided smile. “I own the center, together with my mother. I haven’t seen you around before, are you one of our new volunteers?” 

“Yes! Your speech during the Rainbow Rally was more than inspiring, I just had to sign myself up!” Magnus flashes him a broad smile. They seem to realize at the same that they’re still holding hands, and they awkwardly let go at once.

“That’s eh, that’s great to hear, we do amazing work here and your time is appreciated,” Alec smiles adorably shy. “I didn’t catch your name though?”

“Oh, my name is Magnus,” he says, cocking his head.

“Just Magnus?”

“Yes?” 

“You don’t have a last name?”

Well, shit. He actually doesn't have one. He certainly can’t tell Alexander that it’s not just Magnus, but His Royal Highness Asmodeus Magnus III, Prince of Edom - but no one had asked him for a normal last name, until now. His mind goes blank and he fears his charming expression has now turned into ‘deer caught in headlights’, as his eyes shoot across the room. They land on a couple of framed Batman comics hanging on the wall.

“...Bane?” he blurts out, immediately regretting his choice. Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up, probably because he’s making it sound like he’s asking him a question.

 “Yes, Bane. Magnus Bane.” he nods, because there’s no way he can take it back now without making the situation worse. 

Alec doesn’t look convinced, as he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure, I know what my own last name is,” he says jokingly. His heart beats fast and he feels his cheeks heating up, this time it’s not because of his brand new crush standing in front of him, but because he fears he has no choice but to double down. “I know it sounds weird in English, but it’s actually quite common where I’m from.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of your name, I-” Alec immediately rushes out with a concerned expression. 

“It’s quite alright, darling,” he says. He hates to admit it, but Ragnor was right: he already feels awful lying to this man’s face, and this was only the first time. But he himself decided to make this very normal bed, and he’s stubborn if nothing else, so now he’ll lie in it. 

Alec gives him a soft smile. “Well, I better get going, I have a meeting to prepare for.”

“Yes, of course. Hopefully we’ll get the chance to talk again. On a professional level,” Magnus says.

Alec rubs his hands together. “I- It was nice meeting you,” he says, still smiling, and turns to leave.

“Oh, Alexander!” Magnus calls out after he’s a few steps away. He turns back around again and looks at him questioningly.

“I have recently been placed in charge of garbage disposal, so… If you have anything that requires disposal, don’t be afraid to call on me. I’ll come take it out most urgently,” he says.

“That’s… Good to know.” Alec says, with an expression between confusion and laughter.

“When you think of garbage, think of Magnus!” he exclaims with the biggest grin he can muster.

Alexander nods, now visibly trying to hold back his laughter, and turns around again to walk towards the offices.

“...Oh, you fucking dumbass.” Magnus whispers to himself, and watches him walk away. He turns to the wall and thumps his head against it. The only thing going for him right now is that Ragnor wasn’t here to witness this exchange.

---

The rest of the week goes by quietly. He and Ragnor volunteer a shift every day, much to Ragnor’s annoyance. Most days he manages to greet Alec, but he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to really talk to him. Yet he is crushing harder and harder on this captivating man with every smile they exchange.

In the meanwhile, he has started to befriend the volunteer coordinators, Maia and Clary. They’re both still in college, which nearly made Magnus blow his cover as a fake student. He’s also getting along well with Andrew, who manages the café, even though he’s very flirty - even for Magnus’ taste.

It’s the weekend, and Magnus has taken up a volunteering shift by himself, letting Ragnor sleep back at the apartment. Although he’s sure he’s secretly planning to video chat with Cat while Magnus is out, which makes him happier than he thought it would. 

There’s a lot of kids running around this Saturday, as most classes are held during the weekend, and Magnus spots little Madzie from the rally. He had a coffee in the morning with Clary, who hosts several painting classes today. And also he met her boyfriend Jace, who introduced himself as being in charge of the boxing and judo programs. Jace also turned out to be Alexander’s brother, even though they look nothing alike. 

Magnus is helping Andrew out and having a pretty good time. He’s wiping down the counter as Alec walks in, and even in a plain black sweater he looks unfairly good. He’s trying to think of an excuse to go and talk to him, until he sees him sitting down at a table where a sharp -yet boring- dressed Desi looking man had been sitting for a while. The guy smiles, stands up to lean over the table to grab Alec’s chin and kisses him.

Magnus knows he doesn’t have any right to, but he feels like someone kicked him in the stomach. Of course this perfect man isn’t single, what was he thinking? He takes some deep breaths to gather himself and turns to Andrew.

“So… That’s Alexander’s... boyfriend?” he asks, and while he tries to go for casual he knows he’s probably failing. Spectacularly.

Andrew grimaces. “Yup. They’ve been together for a while now. He’s such a douchebag.” 

Magnus turns his head in shock. “Who, Alexander?!” 

“No, what the hell, of course not,” Andrew scoffs as he finishes polishing a tea glass. “He’s a literal angel. Too good for this world, especially with what he’s been through. We’ve been friends since college, he got me this job and everything after this thing that happened with my ex Lorenzo…” Andrew trails off for a bit.  “Doesn't matter. I meant Raj.”

Andrew throws the dishcloth over his shoulder and moves closer to him to mimic Magnus’ pose, leaning on the counter with his elbows. They try to look at the couple as subtle as they can.

“So… what’s the deal with Raj then?” Magnus asks quietly.

“Look. Some details are important to the story, but they’re just not my place to tell you. So this is gonna be vague on purpose.” Andrew looks down at his hands and plays with the watch on his wrist. “Alec met Raj when he was in a bad place. Really bad. He was so vulnerable and Raj… He just swooped in and didn’t take no for an answer, I guess? I don’t think Raj ever takes no for an answer. He always gets what he wants,” he scoffs. “And…”

Magnus looks at him questioningly. 

“And he’s why Alec went through a time where he hardly spent time with his friends anymore, me included.” The blond man has now taken his watch from his wrist and fidgets with the strap. 

“Raj, he gets jealous a lot. Like, I’m gay too, and therefore I’m obviously trying to get into Alec’s pants. Or so he said. Don’t get me wrong, Alec is definitely the most handsome man I have ever seen but like… He’s my friend. I don’t see him like that, at all. You know what I mean?” 

“I do. I’m bi, and I’ve had to deal with this kind of stuff too,” Magnus sighs. “Like because you’re not straight, you’re automatically attracted to anyone you talk to.”

“Right? That’s exactly what I mean. I’m sorry, man. No one deserves that kind of shit, especially not based on their sexuality.” He puts his hand on Magnus’ shoulder and gives him a kind smile.

“Anyway, Alec was so broken and I think at some point, he was glad that Raj was making decisions for him because he was so burned out. About two years ago, his brother and sister, his other two best friends and I, we held some kind of intervention. Told him things were not OK the way they were. And he listened. He got himself some therapy and now he’s smiling again. This past year has been really good for him.” 

“So, they must be pretty serious, if they’re still together,” Magnus says.

“I know Raj is. I mean, as serious as you can be about someone you really only want as a trophy husband. But Alec… I don’t know. Of course he cares for him, but I feel like he stays with him out of obligation. It’s hard to break up with someone after being together for a few years. But they don’t live together, like, Alec still lives with his siblings. Every conversation where Raj or Maryse brings up moving in together or getting married… He’s tense immediately, laughs everything off and changes the topic at lightspeed. So if you ask me, he’s not happy and this thing,” he gestures in their general direction, “Is not gonna last. But he won’t talk about it. At least, not to me.”

Magnus feels bad about how hopeful hearing all this gossip makes him, so he tries to ask something less loaded. “Maryse?”

“Maryse Trueblood, his mom, she’s the one he owns this place with. She’s on vacation now somewhere in the Caribbean but she’ll be back next week. Strong, passionate, and honest to God terrifying when she’s angry. But really sweet when you’re on her good side,” Andrew drags the dishcloth from his shoulder and slaps it against the counter. “So that’s that. If anyone brings it up, remember - act surprised, you know nothing.” 

“It’ll be like brand new information,” Magnus nods.

“Exactly. And Magnus?” 

“Yeah?”

“If you’re looking for a date, I’m single, you know,” Andrew winks and walks to the back.

Magnus laughs and shakes his head.

---

After his shift, Magnus bundles up again and walks home. It hasn’t snowed for the last two days, so the sidewalks are still mostly clear.

Everything Andrew had told him is dancing through his mind. He feels awful for being excited about his crush allegedly being unhappy in his current relationship, and picturing himself as the knight in shining armor who’s going to save him and live happily ever after as kings of Edom.

But what is he going to do, sabotage a relationship? Seduce Alexander and have him cheat on his boyfriend? No, he has been cheated on himself, he won’t make someone else go through that kind of pain. No matter how awful they allegedly are.

And who says Andrew is even right? He might as well be seeing what he wants to see because he wanted his friend back.

But if Alexander is unhappy… It can’t hurt to befriend him and be painfully charming, right? What does he have to lose? His worst-case scenario is having to go back to Edom and marry Camille. Plus, Magnus did always like a challenge… But how is he going to grab Alec’s attention?

“You’re thinking so loud, it’s making my head hurt, son.” 

Magnus jumps a little at the sudden interruption from his stream of thoughts, until he sees a familiar old man sitting on a bench by himself.

He smiles and bows his head a little. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hodge.”

“Come, sit. Tell old Hodge what’s wrong. No, wait,” he points his finger at Magnus and squints at him. “Let me guess, it’s girl trouble.”

Magnus sits down next to him and fumbles with his gloves. “...Kinda?”

Hodge nods. “Ah, I see. Boy trouble. Basically the same thing, right?” 

Magnus chortles. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.” 

“Tell me about it, and we’ll fix it, son.”

“So, I’m trying to gain the attention of a certain young man, but…” Magnus starts.

“And you’re sure he isn’t heterosexual?” Hodge interrupts.

“Oh yes, very sure,” Magnus says.

“Is this an American boy?” 

“I don’t know? I think so?” Magnus has no idea what that has to do with anything.

“You see, son, when you’re trying to attract the attention of a nice American boy or girl, you gotta get in well with their parents! This is a common misconception, it’s got nothing to do with you or what you look like. If you get in good with the folks, you get in good with your sweetheart.” Hodge finishes.

Magnus looks at him. He’s not convinced, and it must show on his face.

“I ain’t lying!” Hodge sounds a little insulted.

“Well, in that case, thank you for your wisdom.” Magnus stands up again and continues his walk home.

---

Hodge’s advice in the back of his head, he finds himself behind the café counter with Andrew next Wednesday. And while he likes Maia and Clary -or Helen and Aline, who he spent time with in between their dance classes last Sunday- he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about this with anyone else.

Not that he tells Andrew about his ulterior motives with Alexander, of course.

The central theme of this week had been the return of Maryse Trueblood. Andrew’s description had been pretty accurate. While mopping the floor, he had heard her talk on the phone with a delivery company who hadn’t held up their end of the deal. None of her rant was directed at him, but he felt put in his place all the same.

And save from an introduction and some greetings, he wasn’t actually able to “get in good” with Maryse at all. In fact, a compliment about her beautiful latest collection Burberry trench coat had only resulted in an expression of which he wasn’t even sure what it had meant to convey. But whatever it was, it wasn’t pleased. 

The return of Maryse did make him wonder about Alexander’s father. The fact that he was Lightwood and his mother Trueblood, he assumed his parents had gone through a divorce. To avoid awkward conversations, he figured he should subtly ask Andrew.

It’s a Wednesday morning, and they’re cleaning everything the elderly yoga class has left behind after their post-workout tea party.

“Hey Andrew?” 

“Yes, Magnus? Are you finally gonna ask me out?” he grins.

“No, not exactly,” Magnus rolls his eyes. “I was just wondering, is Maryse divorced?”

 Andrew’s flirty expression immediately drops to an uncomfortable one. “Why do you ask?” 

Magnus feels glad he didn’t ask Alexander or Maryse in person if this is Andrew’s reaction. He clears his throat. “Well, everyone talks about Alexander’s mother and brother and sister but I’ve never heard anyone talk about his father.” 

“There’s a reason for that, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing the details of that, either. But yeah, Maryse and his father Robert did get a divorce about ten years ago, and a few years after the divorce he died. It’s still a loaded topic for everyone so… It’s probably best if you don’t bring it up yourself. If one of them wants to tell you at some point, they will.” Andrew concludes and moves to put the coffee cups away.

“Hi guys!” Magnus’ day suddenly gets brighter when Alexander walks past and waves at them. Andrew just waves back.

“Hi!” he replies, a little too dreamily.

His mood dampens when he sees him walking outside where Raj is waiting in his car, smoking out of the window. It’s a very nice sports car. Raj flicks the cigarette on the sidewalk as Alec walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat. Magnus can’t help but sigh a little as he watches them drive off.

“So Raj drives a really nice car,” he states.

“Yeah, he likes to brag,” Andrew scoffs.

“He must work hard if he can afford a car like that.” 

Andrew barks out a laugh full of disdain. “What, prince Raj, work? You’ve got to be kidding me. He lives off his parents’ money. You went to the Rainbow Rally, right? You remember the guy hosting, with the goofy top hat?”

“I do,” Magnus says, biting on his bottom lip.

“That was Valentine Morgenstern, he’s Clary’s dad and one of the main sponsors of The Max. Anyway, he and his company developed that 4D-breaking-the-speed-barrier type internet, or whatever it’s called. Raj’s parents were wealthy before they invested in its development, but when that took off... “ he shakes his head. “They’re rich as royalty now. Raj technically works for them, but trust me, he hasn’t worked a single day in his life.” 

The first thought that pops into Magnus’ mind is thinking that him being a wealthy prince shouldn’t be much of a dealbreaker for Alexander if he’s ok with this - and immediately kicking himself for it.

“He’s a cheap bastard though, when it concerns others,” Andrew continues, always happy to rant about Raj. “The other night after the Rainbow Rally, when Alexander had sorted out the donations he found out someone put like a whole bundle of 50 dollar bills in. Raj took credit for it, and that was a big fat lie,” he scoffs. “He hates Alec working at The Max, he thinks he’s naive and wasting his talent on something as dumb as a community center. Our friends privately agree with me, that he'd never donate anything, let alone that much. So I’m not making this up because I hate the guy.” 

Magnus stills. He knows Andrew isn’t making it up, because it sounds exactly like the stack of money Ragnor handed him that night.

Andrew seemingly takes his silence as encouragement to keep on talking. “Like I said, Raj always gets what -or who- he wants. And he buys him the most extravagant shit. How are guys like us gonna ever compete with that, right?”

His tone is joking, but Magnus… He could. It wouldn’t even be a competition. Raj’s parents might be rich as proverbial royalty, but Magnus? He’s a literal royal. If he can’t follow Hodge’s advice and get in good with the folks, it wouldn’t hurt to try and buy him something extraordinary. Anonymously. 

Right?

---

Alec has stretched his legs out on their L-shaped couch, finally reading that book that everyone has been talking about. He’s been so busy with work, and Raj had demanded a lot of attention, so he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Izzy is dancing around the living room with exaggerated moves to the 90s medley she performed to during the fundraiser. He admires her. Often he wonders how someone can be both a technological genius and a social butterfly that knows how to move. He smiles fondly at her but shakes his head when she gestures at him to join her.

He’s not as shy as he used to be, but it takes effort for him to do the things that his job requires him to do - networking, finding new sponsors, public speaking. However he’s well aware of what he was like when he was younger, and has finally managed to be proud of himself and who he is becoming.

Flipping the page, he hears the doorbell as a background noise. 

“I’ll get it!” Izzy yells and turns the music down, but still dances her way to the front door.

“Special… -ightwood?” is all he manages to overhear.

“Sure, where do I sign?” Whatever it is, Izzy sounds excited.

He hears the door close and Izzy walks back into the living room with a small, but expensive-looking gift bag. She all but throws herself down on the couch next to him, reaches into the bag and takes out a luxuriously wrapped box.

Alec laughs, this is something that would only happen to Izzy. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, something for you,” she grins and she wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Alec says, surprised.

“Yeah, this guy was at the front door with like, security people. They said it was a special delivery for Mr. Alexander Lightwood,” she says.

Alec has no idea what this is about. Raj occasionally buys him expensive gaudy things. But he never gives them in private, because there’s no one to watch him flaunt his wealth - let alone having it delivered to his house when he won’t be there to brag about it.

While he feels a bit wary, his curiosity ends up winning.

“Well, do you mind if I open it, then?” he snatches the box from her hands and sticks out his tongue, like the mature older brother he is.

His hands feel too big for the delicate bows that hold the box together, but after some fumbling he manages to open the box. It reveals a beautiful classic Rolex watch with a moonphase mechanism. He is stunned.

Izzy whistles between her teeth. “Wow, this is the first thing Raj has bought you where he actually had your tastes in mind.”

Alec feels bad, but it’s another reason why he doubts it was Raj who sent the watch. He clears his throat and tries to find his voice. “Did it come with a card or anything?” 

Picking the bag off the floor, Izzy rummages through the wrapping paper and finds a card. Her eyes widen comically as she reads out loud: “From an Admirer - NOT RAJ.”

She jumps up and slaps Alec’s arm. “Somebody has been messing around!”

“I am not, you know me better than that! And I don’t even know anyone with this kind of money, other than Raj. Or the Morgensterns,” Alec says, insulted that his baby sister would think that of him.

Izzy puts her hands in her sides and says, “I don’t care how much a man admires you, but no one gets anyone a gift like that unless they think they have a chance to get with you.” 

Alec runs his fingers along the gold framing the face of the watch. Someone admires him. Enough to get him a watch that must have cost at least 20.000 dollars. And they did it anonymously. 

But that someone also knows he has a boyfriend. Because he made sure that Alec knows it wasn’t a gift from said boyfriend. Is this a test to see if he’s faithful? From Raj? Maybe it’s a crude joke, trying to trick him into thinking someone cares about him. 

“...Do you think it’s a real Rolex?” he asks Izzy with a small voice.

She seems to sense his inner turmoil and calms down to sit close to him. He lets her take the box, and looks at her while she inspects it.

“It has to be.” 

He takes the box back and takes the watch from it. Izzy leans against him and puts her head on his shoulder.

“Are you gonna tell me what goes on in your head, or am I going to tell you?” she asks.

Alec sighs. Izzy can read him like an open book, in all capital letters. Where some people say it’s best not to push people and let them come to you in their own time, Izzy bulldozes right over his defenses and speaks her mind. Because otherwise he’d never talk, she says.

And she’s probably right. Secretly he’s glad when she decides to put into words what she thinks he’s thinking, because that way he doesn’t have to himself. It makes it easier. 

So he says, “Go ahead.” 

“I think that you’re not happy with your life right now. I think you don’t love Raj in the sense that you want to marry him and raise a family. I think you stay with him because you feel like you owe him after what happened. Honestly, I think that you’re still thinking you don’t deserve to be loved at all.”

Alec swallows thickly, and doesn’t try to stop her from saying the things he’s been trying too hard to keep down inside.

“And I think that by receiving this watch that has clearly been bought with you -and only you- in mind, you once again realize Raj doesn’t love you for you, he only loves you as an accessory for him. And it’s suffocating you.”

Alec lets out a shaky breath.

“I think you might be right,” he whispers.

---

It’s been another week and New York has been spared more snowfall. This has significantly improved Ragnor’s mood, although Magnus suspects that his early morning video chat sessions with Catarina have something to do with that as well.

Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, and it amuses him to no end. Especially since Ragnor seems under the impression that he’s being very subtle about it.

What Ragnor hasn’t been subtle about however, is his disapproval of the anonymous Rolex delivery. In fact, he has been very vocal about what an awful idea he thinks it was.

Today they have been placed on sanitation duty and they’re cleaning the windows of the lobby on the inside. Outside, Alexander is walking up to the building, accompanied by two women he’s never seen before. He sees Magnus and waves at him with that shy smile that makes his knees go weak.

“Ragnor, there he is. And I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Good!” Ragnor tosses his cloth in a bucket. “Tell him you sent him that 25,000 dollar watch, then he can fall into your arms and we can leave this godforsaken place.”  

“No, I cannot do that,” Magnus says indignantly.

“Well, do something!” 

“Don’t worry, I do have a plan,” he says.

Ragnor throws his signature eye roll. “What are you gonna do, mop your way into his heart? 

The comment rubs Magnus the wrong way. “That, my friend, is not fair.” 

“What’s not fair is me doing manual labor.” Ragor grumbles and stares down at his hands. “I am badly in need of a manicure.”

Magnus barks out a laugh. “Oh listen to you, I am badly in need of a manicure,” he mocks. “People will think you’re the pampered prince, not me.” 

Ragnor turns to him and it looks like he’s debating on punching his arm, or come up with a spectacular rebuttal - but he does neither.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow. “Were you going to say something?”

Ragnor visibly gives up, picks up his cloth again and goes back to cleaning windows.

---

While putting back the window cleaning equipment in the supply closet, he spots Alexander and the two women at the café. He excuses himself to Maia for a bit as he shrugs off the zip-up hoodie to leave him in that snug fitting polo. Confidently he walks in the direction of the café, when he sees Andrew joining them.

It turns out he doesn’t even need to think of an excuse, because Andrew notices him and waves him over. He feels butterflies in his stomach when he comes close to the table and sees Alexander wearing his new watch. It looks amazing on his wrist, just like he imagined it would.

“Guys, this is my new friend Magnus!” Andrew introduces him to the table. “He’s from Indonesia and started volunteering here a few weeks ago.” 

“We’ve met,” Alexander smiles. “Please, take a seat.” 

Magnus grabs a chair from another table and sits at the head. 

The brown-haired girl next to him sticks out her hand, “Good to meet you Magnus, I’m Becky!” She has a contagious smile and bright dark eyes and has a very friendly, approachable energy to her.

She leans her shoulder into the blond woman next to her, who looks very calm and put together. “This is my wife,” she says.

The blond woman smiles and holds out her hand as well. “Lydia, nice to meet you,” she says. Her blue eyes are sharp, like they’re not about to miss anything that’s going on.

“So, Andrew says you’re from Indonesia, what brings you to New York? And The Max?” Lydia asks.

Magnus figured out a while ago it’s easier to just go with people mistakenly thinking he’s Indonesian. He feels like it makes it less likely for anyone to recognize him, even though the odds of someone recognizing the crown prince of a small Southeast Asian island nation are already pretty slim.

“I’m a student, my friend and I are here for our research. And at the Rainbow Rally, Alexander here inspired us so, that we figured we might as well take the opportunity to gain this valuable experience and do some good,” Magnus says. He can feel himself smiling dreamily at Alec, who returns a smile and looks a bit flustered at the praise.

Lydia cuts in with what feels like a rude awakening. “That’s nice, what university do you go to?”

“...The University of-of the United States,” Magnus blurts out.

Becky looks at him with a confused expression. “I’ve never heard of that.”

Magnus finds his most awkward smile again and shrugs. “It is a very small private university. We do not even have our own basketball team.” 

Andrew jumps in at that. “Oh, we have an extra ticket for the Knicks game this weekend, wanna come?” 

Magnus finds Alexander’s eyes who smiles at him again, with a soft nod and an expression that he feels says why not join us? 

“Yes,” Magnus breathes out.

“Great!” Becky claps her hands together excitedly. “It’s a triple date!” 

It’s a what now?! 

“It’ll be Becky and Lydia, me and Raj, and you can be Underhill’s date,” Alec says.

Andrew grins at him and lifts his eyebrows.

Oh, Magnus thinks. 

That took an unexpected turn.

Chapter 4: Learning to walk, run, climb and dance

Magnus has no idea what normal people wear to a sporting event. On top of that, basketball is pretty much a nonexistent sport in Edom. But he has seen movies, and from his limited research, people seem to wear shirts with team logos on it. Since he’s supposed to be a foreign student on a budget, he feels like he can’t go and buy one.

Instead, he dresses like he imagines a normal, casual date to be like. He picks a floral blue button down, and leaves a few unbuttoned at the top. He tucks his shirt into slim fit jeans and lets his feet slide into his boots. He didn’t bring any jewelry, so this’ll have to do. While he usually wears a topknot when volunteering, for this day out he feels like he could pull off a mohawk along with some sparkly black eyeliner.

Ragnor still thinks he’s dumb as fuck for voluntarily leaving the apartment in this weather, but Magnus doesn’t care. It might be a triple date, but it’s still a date. He can show off his good side and if nothing else, experience some more normal real life things, like going to a sports event with friends.

They had agreed to meet each other outside of Madison Square Garden. Magnus has no intention of making a bad impression by showing up late, but when he arrives he is surprised to find Becky and Lydia already standing there.  

It is nice getting to know two of Alec’s best friends, to learn about their hobbies and work. Becky talks about how she and Alec were only out to each other for the majority of their teenage years, being the only queer kids at their school. They end up talking about how Alexander had introduced Becky and Lydia during their college years, and how it had been love at first sight. And the time he went shopping for engagement rings with Lydia, and helped her set up the surprise proposal. Magnus didn’t think he could be even more taken by this man if he tried.

Soon after they are joined by Andrew, and the conversation shifts to excitement about the game, and how good their seats supposedly are. Becky and Andrew are throwing player names around like it’s a competition, and Lydia leans towards Magnus and confides in him that she has absolutely no interest whatsoever in basketball, but makes an effort because her wife loves it.

 Ten minutes later they are joined by Raj and Alec. Raj holds his hand stiffly around Alec’s waist, who in turn has his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He smiles when he sees his friends and that’s their cue to head into the venue.

Magnus calmly follows the group, who seem to know exactly where they need to go. He notices that five minutes ago the conversation involved everyone, and it is now dominated by Raj. Who is apparently responsible for these great tickets, because of his amazing connections. He catches Andrew’s eyes, who in turn makes a strangling motion with his hands. Magnus snorts.

They find their section and row and Magnus walks in after Lydia, Becky and Andrew. On his other side he finds Raj, and Alec and his long legs get the seat next to the staircase.

He realizes that he has never actually talked to Raj before. And now that he’s sitting next to him, he doesn’t know what to say. He realizes he’s probably biased anyway, now that Andrew found in him an outlet for all his Raj-related complaints. 

The game begins. Magnus sits back, and lets his eyes roam over the circus before him. The action on the court, real cheerleaders on the side, the enthusiastic fans in the stands. He rubs his hands over his upper legs.

“Wearing jeans must be a new experience for you.” Raj says.

Magnus doesn’t know how fast to turn his head to the man in disbelief.

Alec looks very uncomfortable and before Magnus can say anything, he looks at Magnus. “Are you able to follow the game?” he asks with an apologetic smile.

“Yes, I’m able to follow the game quite well,” Magnus gives Alec a polite nod back. He feels Andrew patting his knee in support.

“So what game do you play in the Philippines, Indonesia, wherever the hell you’re from? Chase the monkey?” Raj laughs at his own pathetic excuse for a joke, eyes not leaving the court.

Magnus sighs deep, forcing himself to not take the bait. “No, we mostly play football. I believe you call it soccer.”

“Soccer,” Raj scoffs. “Yeah, that’s a real funny sport, real manly. How y’all bounce that ball off your heads. I’m sorry, but that’s just not a real sport. I don’t watch any sport where men are afraid to use their hands.” 

At this point Magnus fears that regardless of what he says, Raj will mock it. He’s never had to encounter anything like this - he’s the sole heir to the throne of a wealthy island paradise. People usually bend over backwards to accommodate him.

He guesses it looks like Andrew might have been right about this guy after all. But right now, he’s had enough and figures he could use a nice long walk to the restrooms. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please…” 

Alec’s expression is hurt and looks like he’s about to say something, but Magnus purposely avoids his eyes as he gets up and shuffles out of the row. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Andrew calls after him.

“No, I’ll be able to find the restrooms by myself, don’t worry,” he smiles without meaning it and walks up the stairs out of the arena.

---

There’s an impressive line, even for the men’s room. But Magnus doesn’t mind. It gives him the opportunity to calm down a little, and above all, do some people watching. There’s elderly people in jerseys, parents with young children on their shoulders, adorable teenage couples walking hand in hand. 

He sees a concessions vendor walking past him with a tray of goods, their eyes met and he nods kindly at him as he walks past. A few seconds later he hears a man screaming.

“Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness! It is YOU!” the vendor exclaims. “I cannot believe it!” 

“Oh!” He falls to his knees and takes his Knicks cap from his head, and holds his hands out to him like he’s his savior. “Greetings, Your Highness!”, after which he starts bowing rapidly, his hands over his heart. 

Magnus panics and he feels his entire face flushing. 

This man knows who he is. 

The entire line to the men’s restroom has stopped and is staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, that must look odd even for New York standards. He leans towards the man and reaches his hands out to him. “Please sir, please stop bowing,” he urges with a fake smile. He looks around him, but thankfully doesn’t recognize anyone standing around.

The vendor grabs his hands and looks up at him and his eyes are full of wonder. “I am a loyal citizen of Edom!” he says loudly, seemingly unaware of the scene he’s making.

“Yes, but you’re going to spill your beverages,” Magnus keeps urging. “Please sir, please stand up.”

The vendor’s mouth falls open. “This is the greatest day of my life,” he says, and based on his expression, Magnus believes him. He feels bad to disappoint his loyal subject, but he can’t be found out. 

“Yes, it was very nice meeting you too. Please excuse me!” he puts up his widest smile and smoothly walks himself out of the line and back into the corridor, towards the entrance of where their row was located.

He sees Alexander and Andrew walking towards him, probably worried because he was taking so long. He takes a deep breath and gives them a small wave, letting them know he’s OK.

“Please! Please!” The pleads get louder and he hears someone running behind him. 

He turns around and is immediately face to face with the vendor from before. He has a co-worker with him now, who is holding a phone. “May I just have my picture taken with you?” he pleads. Magnus shrugs uncomfortably and the guy moves to stand next to him. 

The vendor, in his excitement, wraps his arm around Magnus, takes off his cap again and places it over his heart. They pose, Magnus forces a smile that’s too toothy, and his coworker snaps a few quick pictures. 

The guy turns to face him again and beams, “I will cherish this experience for the rest of my life.” 

Trying to make the situation seem more natural Magnus offers him a handshake, but instead he bows, and makes sure to connect his forehead to Magnus’ hand. 

“The rest of my life,” he seems to pledge, and repeats the motion. After him, the photographer walks up to him and mimics the forehead-to-hand bow. 

Giddy like a pair of starstruck teens the two walk away, leaving Magnus alone with Alexander and Andrew, who look gobsmacked. They look between themselves and back at Magnus with open mouths, so he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and smiles weakly at them gesturing to the entrance to the arena.

But they don’t move an inch. Alexander is the first one to find his voice. “...Who was that?” 

“Oh, just… A man I met in the restroom.” he nods with an awkward smile, and decides to just walk back to his seat, eventually followed by his friends.

---

Magnus doesn’t see Alexander around The Max for the next couple of days after the game. Somehow he’s glad, hoping he’ll have forgotten about the whole picture-with-a-random-stranger thing next time they see each other. When he does see him again it’s a Wednesday afternoon, and he’s sitting in the café at a table near the window. 

With Raj.

Magnus is mopping a corner of the café where some mothers and unruly toddlers had previously had lunch, with the remnants of said lunch smeared across the tables and floor. Ragnor laughed at him when Maia asked him to clean it, while he got to help her out with some paperwork.

He doesn’t mind though, because from where he’s cleaning he can overhear Raj and Alec.

“Babe, why don’t you quit this job?” Raj asks him.

“Because I love it here,” Alec says defensively. “Mom and I made this place into what it is today.”

“Yeah, but everything runs smoothly now, right? You’re my man, and my man doesn’t have to work. I’ll take care of you. I’ll get you everything you want.” 

Alexander’s shoulders are hunched and he’s making himself look a lot smaller than he is, while his hands are in front of him as Raj holds onto them.

“What can I get you?” Raj asks.

Magnus can hear a tired smile in Alec’s voice as he says, “Nothing, Raj, I’m fine.” 

Raj doesn’t seem to take no for an answer. “I’ll get you some… Coffee?” 

That gets a more genuine smile out of Alec. “Sure. Coffee is good,” he tells him.

“Be right back.” Raj says, as he gets up from the table. 

Magnus takes this opportunity to mop his way over to Alec, but pretends he doesn’t notice him.

“Hey, Magnus!” Alec says, and Magnus turns to see him smiling at him from where he’s leaning on the table. “Did you have a good time at the game?”

“Yes I did, thank you very much for inviting me,” Magnus smiles.

“Sit down, take a break for me,” Alec gestures to the chair Raj had been sitting in, and Magnus doesn’t have to think twice.

Alec stares at his hands, and lightly pinches the skin between his thumb and his index finder.

He swallows. “I- I wanted to apologize for Raj’s behavior at the game. I can’t believe the things he said to you, they were extremely offensive. Even for him. He can be quite obnoxious,” he says quietly, looking up at Magnus through his long lashes.

Magnus is captivated by his eyes. He’s never met anyone before whose eyes seemed to take the concept of mirror to the soul so literally. So he shrugs. “I’m sure he cannot help it.”

Alexander gives him a soft, lopsided smile. “You know, you’re a very unusual guy. I’ve never seen anyone mop the floor with so much pride as you put into it.” 

Magnus chuckles. “Well, you know what they say… He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

The expression in Alec’s eyes is wondrous, and Magnus wants nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss him. But he can’t, so instead he clarifies, “That was not mine, that was Nietzsche.” 

“See!” Alec says with unexpected passion, laying his hand over Magnus’, “That’s exactly what I mean. Most of our volunteers don’t go around mopping floors while quoting Nietzsche,” he laughs.

Magnus smiles back, but before he gets a chance to reply, he hears Maia scream.

He twists in his seat to look at what’s going on, and he sees a wild eyed young man with a knife in the middle of the café.

Ragnor has stepped in front of Maia, who is visibly shaking.

“How could you do this to me? You said you would love me forever!” he slurs, clearly under the influence of something. The café has gotten so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Still, he spins around, holding his knife out in front of him. “Everybody shut the fuck up!” 

“Jordan, please, don’t do this,” Maia sobs.

“Well, I have to now!” He stumbles towards her, swaying on his feet. “This is all your fault!”

Magnus feels like he has to do something. So he’s going to do what he has been training for all these years. He twists the wooden handle off the mop he was still holding on to, trying to meet Ragnor’s eyes. When they do, he quietly gestures towards the handle and Ragnor blinks fast, twice. Magnus knows he’s catching on.

“Excuse me for a moment, Alexander,” he whispers, but continues to look at Jordan’s back.

He gets up and holds the handle of the mop in front of him. Jordan hears his footsteps as he swings around, and stumbles a bit to the side, still swinging the knife around. He looks confused.

“Please, it would be wise of you to put the knife down,” Magnus says gently.

Jordan stumbles some more. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Stay out of this,” he shouts, making unsteady stabbing motions.

“Please refrain from using profanities in the presence of these people.” Magnus continues in a voice much calmer than he feels. “This is my last warning. Put the knife down or I will be forced to thrash you.”

“Fuck you!” is all Jordan manages to sputter out, before Magnus grabs his stick and with some swift hits he works him to the ground. Ragnor immediately rushes in to step on his wrist and takes the knife from him, while Magnus keeps him on the ground. 

A collective sigh of relief sounds through the seating area. Maia falls into Andrew’s arms and cries as he strokes her back.

---

Jordan, who turned out to be Maia’s ex-boyfriend turned stalker, is swiftly dealt with by the authorities. A replacement is called for Maia, who was immediately taken home by Alexander. He must have stayed with her, because Magnus doesn’t see him return to the center.

Surprisingly enough, Maryse ended up calling him and Ragnor to her office to personally thank them. She shared a bit about how after their break-up Jordan had stopped by The Max before, but never armed and under the influence. 

Maryse asks them if they are available upcoming Saturday evening, and if they would like to help her out with a private matter. Magnus immediately says yes for obvious reasons, which greatly upsets Ragnor.

And that’s how they find themselves standing outside in the cold in front of a nice place in the Upper East Side, as waiting staff for a small party Maryse was hosting. She asks Ragnor to stay by the door to welcome people in and take their coats, as she touches Magnus’ shoulder and asks him if he would like a tour of the place.

Desperate to impress, he follows her around and listens attentively. The best part of this tour are the pictures of young Alexander with what must be his three siblings. 

Maryse looks at Magnus. “You know, I grew up with a single mother and a few siblings in a house not much bigger than this floor. And look where I am today,” While she makes it sound like an accomplishment she is proud of, she looks sad. She runs her finger along the picture of a little boy, sitting on the floor, reading a comic book. “I just wish the circumstances would have been a little different.” 

“You have a beautiful home and family, ma’am,” Magnus smiles.

“Please, call me Maryse,” She breathes out and stands tall again, and smiles back at him. “And thank you. Maybe one day, with hard work, you can have a place like this of your own.”

Magnus thinks of Edom, of their palace, their family mansion up in the mountains, their private beach resort, their many properties around the world but says, “That would be something.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Maryse’s smile is kind and genuine. He figures she means well. “Come, I’ll show you the bar.” 

Maryse explains his duties for the evening, which seem to boil down to keeping everyone’s glasses full. Ragnor walks around with a tray full of champagne glasses while trying to sneak himself a glass when he thinks no one is watching. 

Magnus fidgets with his black bowtie that’s part of the outfit and is glad he went with the topknot rather than the mohawk. He looks around the room and sees people he recognizes from the Rainbow Rally. 

He sees Valentine dancing with a woman who looks exactly like an older version of Clary. Clary and Jace are talking to that guy with glasses who played piano for little Madzie, who in turn has his arm around a beautiful girl with dark hair in a ponytail and a red dress. He recognizes her from the pictures and deduces that she must be Alec’s sister. Mentally he takes a note that he should try and talk to her tonight, as he has never seen her around The Max.

Andrew doesn’t seem to have much interest in anything other than trying to distract Magnus, hanging on a barstool. And Magnus likes the guy, but after several glasses of champagne literally everything that rolls out of his mouth is flirty and suggestive.

Luke walks up to him, looking very sharp. He has had them over for dinner several times now and they get along great. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, I thought you had a night shift at the police station?” he says.

“No, not tonight. Can I have some champagne?” He leans on the other side of the bar and nods at Andrew. Magnus hands him a glass.

“So, you’re friends with the family?” Magnus asks.

Luke looks a bit flustered. “Eh, yeah. Yeah. Maryse and I are... Old friends.”

Magnus sees Maryse across the room sneaking glances at him and Luke and he snorts. 

“Sure you are. I think your old friend wants your attention,” he winks, as he hands Luke another glass of champagne. Magnus watches him walk over to her, hand her the glass, and they clink. They’re giving each other meaningful looks and soft smiles, and it’s the sweetest thing.

He gets rudely interrupted by Raj, who appears in front of him and nods a greeting and gestures something that Magnus interprets as I would like a glass of champagne, please. He hadn’t seen them come in. He lets his eyes dance across the room as he fills a glass and spots Alexander with his siblings and their partners.

He has his head thrown back in laughter while his brother is bent over clutching his stomach and Magnus feels the butterflies come to life again. He realizes he has never seen Alec look so young and carefree.

Raj audibly clears his throat, and says “As I was saying..” and Magnus has to force himself to pay attention. “I can appreciate how you handled that guy with the knife the other day. I would have helped you out myself except, well, I had a cup of coffee in my hands. You know?”

Of course he gets what Raj is saying and he wishes he could wipe that smug expression off his face. Instead, he forces a tight lipped smile and nods.

“I bet you learned all that by fighting lions and tigers in the jungle and shit,” Raj says, sipping champagne.

There are in fact no lions or tigers in Edom, but Magnus doesn’t want to put any effort into correcting him. He’ll just have to go with whatever this conversation is gonna throw at him. “Yes, where I’m from, we have to be quite aggressive sometimes.”

Raj puts his elbow on the bar and points at him. “I’m all for that,” he says. “Especially in a relationship. You know,” he turns his gaze to Alec, who is still talking animatedly to his siblings. “They may not admit it, but these quiet types, they all want their man to… Take charge. Tell ‘em what to do.” His expression is predatory as he throws back the rest of his champagne and walks away, taking a new drink with him. 

It makes Magnus feel very uncomfortable, but before he can do anything, Valentine and his wife Jocelyn walk up to him for a drink and start a conversation. They’re a nice couple who are impressed with his disarming of Jordan and ask all about how he’s liking New York so far.

Suddenly they’re joined by Maryse, who grabs on to Jocelyn and smiles brightly at Magnus. “Make sure everyone’s got their glass kept full, I have a very special announcement to make,” she says and speeds off again. 

Jocelyn shrugs at Magnus. “Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do!” she says as she holds out her empty flute for a refill.

Magnus spots Ragnor going around the room with a tray, and suddenly everyone is looking at Maryse. She stands up the few steps that lead into the dining area, so she can overlook the room. She has the biggest smile on her face, clutching a full glass of champagne. Everyone -even her children- look puzzled. 

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” she lets her voice carry through the room easily and the chatter dies down. “Raj, please join me,” she says. He walks the three steps and stands next to her. Someone has turned the music down and it’s impossible to make out what song is playing.

“My dear friends and family. It’s wonderful to see you all this evening and I hope you all feel welcome in my home. But I have just heard some news that makes me the happiest woman in the world. And I cannot wait to share this with you!” she continues. “As you all know, Raj and Alec have been going together for quite some time. So I’m pleased to announce that just a few moments ago, Raj has popped the big question-” 

A chorus of oh! buzzes through the room. Magnus eyes are focused on Alec, whose demeanor has changed completely from mere minutes ago. He looks tense. 

“-and Alec has happily accepted!” Maryse holds out her glass in his direction. “So, as it turns out, this has become an engagement party!” 

Clary and Alexander’s sister cover their mouths with their hands immediately and their eyes have gone comically wide, while his brother has paled like someone punched him in the gut. And Alec looks absolutely fuming.

“To our grooms!” Maryse and Raj hold up their glasses and most of the guests say it back to them. 

Valentine Morgenstern, who is apparently terrible at reading body language, steps up to Alexander and pats him on the back. “Congratulations, man! I am so happy that you guys are finally tying the knot.” 

“Enough.” 

Alec doesn’t even look at Valentine and with his long legs he charges up the small steps in one go. He grabs Raj by the upper arm and grits something through his teeth and drags him out of the room through the dining area. 

The exchange has flipped the mood of the guests and everyone looks very uncomfortable. Someone decided to combat the awkward situation by turning up the music again.

He has got to find Alec. Magnus slips away from the bar, to the hallway and stops outside the door that leads into the kitchen. He stands still before turning the corner and he hears Alec’s voice, and decides to listen before making his presence known.

“Next time you and my mother get together to plan my life, I wish you’d let me in on it!” Alec barks out.

“But baby-” 

“Don’t touch me! You know what? There will never be a next time.” 

“But it’s our engagement party!” Raj says sweetly.

“No, it isn’t. We’re done. Get the fuck out of my life.” 

He hears the back door slam shut, and soft footsteps walking back to the dining area. 

After a few seconds Magnus peeks around the corner, glides through the kitchen and into the garden. He sees Alec sitting on a swing set, his long legs stretched out in front of him, surrounded by snow.

As he realizes he’s still holding on to a bottle of champagne, he walks up to him and offers it.

“No thanks, I’m really not in the mood to celebrate,” Alec says with a small voice.

“Who says you can only drink champagne to celebrate? It’s still alcohol,” Magnus suggests carefully.

Alec snorts and takes the bottle from him, and Magnus considers walking back inside to give him some space. “Wait,” Alec says, “Sit down. Keep me company. If you’d like.” 

Magnus smiles and walks to the other swing. He’s used to sitting with immaculate posture, which is hard on this thing that’s not a chair. Alec laughs at him.

“If we’re gonna be friends, you need to loosen up a bit,” he says.

“Oh, I can be loose,” Magnus slumps against the swing in the most exaggerated way. It gets him one of those lopsided smiles from Alexander, although it looks sadder than his usual. Despite that he says, “Much better.” 

He just wants to hold this man in his arms and tell him everything is going to be OK. “Are you alright?” is what Magnus asks instead.

Alec immediately sits up straighter and goes from sad to angry again. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. But I’m not going to let myself get pressured into marriage by Raj, or my mother, or anybody.”

Magnus thinks of his father and Camille. “I understand completely. Where I’m from, arranged marriages are very common. But I don’t think anyone should get married out of obligation.”

“You’re right! And how would I even consider marrying a guy like Raj. There’s a reason we never moved in together, you know.” He runs his hands that look red from the cold through his hair. “He just made me so furious back there. Guess this was just the push I needed to end things. I never should have let it get this far.” 

Magnus doesn’t know what to say. He’d love to hear everything he has to say about the topic, but now is not the time. So they sit, in a comfortable silence.

After a minute Alec softly asks, “Do you think I overreacted?”

Magnus considers his answer. “I think that someone’s first reaction is usually the correct one.”

A pair of watery hazel eyes stare at him. “You know, you’re very easy to talk to,” Alec whispers between them. “I feel like I could tell you anything.”

Magnus leans towards Alec and they stare at each other. It’s so cold, but he doesn’t care. He wants to drown in the swirling sea of browns, greens and blues that are this beautiful man’s eyes.

They are both startled when the kitchen door opens and Andrew leans out. “Oh, there you are. Hey Magnus, we need some more champagne over here,” he purrs.

“I’ll be right there.” Magnus rubs his hands over his arms. “I almost forgot I wasn’t here to party,” he smiles down at Alec apologetically and walks to the door, leaving Alec behind.

“Magnus?” he says just loud enough to hear. Magnus turns around. 

“Thank you for listening to me. I appreciate it.” 

“Any time, Alexander. Any time.” 

Just as he turns around, Alec calls for his attention again. Magnus wonders what’s left to say.

“Be careful. I think Underhill likes you,” he says with a faint smirk. Magnus raises both eyebrows and shrugs.

It’s not Andrew I'm interested in, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. 

---

A few weeks later and he can’t get Ragnor out of bed anymore. His phone is in his hands as per usual, so he must have fallen asleep calling or texting Cat again. He probably didn’t get much sleep at all.

“Ragnor, get up! We’ll be late for our shift,” he calls out. “I’ve been doing so well with Alexander and the rest of The Max, you can’t ruin this for me.”

Ragnor sits up straight on his pull-out sofa bed. “I am sick of this. I am sick of living like a peasant and I am sick of having like a twelve hour time difference from home. I miss my life back home and I miss having my favorite things!” 

Magnus isn’t impressed. “Are you done now? You’re sick of this and miss home? Fine, go do something fun for yourself, find something that reminds you of Edom. But you are going to volunteer your shift today!”

With a constant stream of complaints, Ragnor makes his way out of bed, takes a shower, and grabs an apple. “I’m so glad we only have one month left to go in this dump.” 

It feels like a slap in Magnus' face. Ragnor immediately seems to realize he shouldn’t have said that.

“I thought you understood. Forget it,” Magnus mumbles and barges out of the house.

---

His hurt over Ragnor’s comment and panic over having just one month left in New York fade as soon as Alexander walks up to him and asks him if he’d like to have coffee.

“I’d love that,” he says, as his heart does a little jump.

So they pick up a cup at Andrew’s, who looks a tiny bit jealous. It’s February now, and it’s a lovely cold but sunny day. They sit outside on a bench sipping their drinks.

Alec often talks about his relationship with Raj and how it has affected him. His very public engagement/break-up had an aftermath that kept hurting him over and over. Maryse had been very upset and insisted on several mediating sessions trying to get them back together. That angered Alec’s fiercely protective siblings and had led to a lot of shouting matches after closing time.

It turns out that Andrew hadn’t embellished any of his stories about Raj. Alec had indeed felt trapped and unhappy for years, not allowed to make any of his own decisions and feeling like his opinions didn’t matter.

“I think I stayed with him because people expected me to. You’ve seen my mom’s attempts at mending the relationship,” he starts and sighs. “You know what, I am so sorry. You must be tired of hearing about all my problems with Raj.”

Magnus touches his hand lightly. “No, not at all. It’s important to talk about these things. It sounds like you haven’t been talking at all for years.”

“Still, I feel like I owe you something to make up for it. How would you feel about dinner?” he asks, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean… I can invite Becky and Lydia too. And- Underhill, if you’d like?”

Magnus’ heart is beating out of his chest. “...Or we could have dinner together,” he says.

Alexander doesn't look at him. “You wouldn’t mind, just the two of us?”

“No. In fact, I’d love that.” Magnus smiles. To lighten the mood, he adds, “We can’t have dinner at my house, though. It’s very small and my roommate is Ragnor.” 

Alec laughs. “We can’t have dinner at my house either. My brother and sister have never heard of this concept called privacy,” he says with emphasis on the last word. “It’s OK though,” He hesitates. “We can go to a restaurant. It’ll be my treat, don’t worry. I’d love to take you out.” 

Magnus grins. “So, is that what it is? A date?” 

“If- If you’d like?” Alec looks at him with insecure eyes.

“Yeah. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Tonight.”

And so they sit together with matching smiles, until they get called back in to work.

---

“Oh my God, Ragnor, you are not going to believe it! I’m going on a date ton-” he’s dumbfounded as he looks through the living room. He finds Ragnor sitting in a pile of shopping bags.

“What the hell happened here?” he demands.

“You told me I should do something nice for myself. Because I’m homesick.” Ragnor looks at him from the pull-out sofa like a dog that has been caught while destroying a pillow in the middle of the living room.

“But what is all this?!” he points at the bags of what may be every single luxury brand sold in New York.

“I bought myself some nice things. And then I saw some things that I thought would look great on you. And Cat,” Ragnor admits. “Actually, a lot of this is for her.”

Magnus is astonished. “So is there any cash left at all?” 

Ragnor grimaces. “Yeah, there’s like, about 2000 dollars left? But it’s OK. I have a plan.”

Magnus eyes widen. That’s definitely not OK, but he has about a month left before he has to face the music. “I could strangle you right now. And just so we’re clear, I am not fine with any of this.” He frowns. “But there’s nothing we can do now. And I don’t want to. I have a date to get ready for and I don’t want anything to mess my chances with Alexander.”

“Oh, I bought you this amazing waistcoat, it’s in a black bag somewhere-” Ragnor pipes up.

“No! I’m supposed to be a poor man!” Magnus huffs and storms into the bedroom. He looks at his wardrobe and selects his favorite shirt and his tightest pair of jeans. He puts effort into his hair and make up. 

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. He can’t let Alexander see his living room in its current state. One last look in the mirror and he knows it’ll have to do. He grabs the remaining 2000 dollars and stuffs it in a paper bag The Max café uses to put pastries to-go in.

“Clean this mess up, put the bags in the bedroom or something,” he points at Ragnor. “And don’t wait up for me!” he yells at Ragnor before closing the door behind him and rushing down the narrow stairs.

He opens the front door. As soon as Alec sees him, he smiles wide and his eyes shine. 

“Let’s go,” he says.

And Magnus feels the butterflies in his stomach multiplying once more.

Chapter 5: First dates, shared plates and motorcades

Magnus had never met anyone who made him open up so effortlessly, and he knew Alexander might feel the same. They stroll through the city as Alec walks them to the place he had in mind. “We’re almost there,” he says. 

Magnus sees a homeless couple with a dog, huddled together on the side of the road. He takes the pastry bag with 2000 dollars out of his winter coat and gives it to the woman. She smiles faintly. 

“What did you give them?” Alec asks curiously.

Magnus flourishes his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, just some change we had lying around.” And leaves it at that.

They stop in front of the place Alec had in mind. He looks a bit uncomfortable and starts rambling. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but, I really like this place and they have just about everything and the atmosphere is great, and I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager, I hope you don’t mind-” 

Magnus looks at the sign saying Taki’s Diner and doesn’t get why Alec looks so conflicted.

“It’s- I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get out of this for as little money as possible, or that you’re not worth a nicer restaurant, or-”

Magnus holds his finger in front of Alec’s lips. He feels his warm breath stutter and tries to not let that distract him. “Alexander, it’s fine. If you love this place, I’ll love it too.”

That seems to calm his nerves, because he walks forward and holds the door open for him. Most tables are filled and 50s music sounds from the jukebox. To Magnus, it looks just like a scene from a movie he’d never thought he would get to experience in real life. They pick a booth in the corner for themselves, and Magnus lets Alec order for him. 

It turns out to be a bit of everything: fries, pizza, nachos. There’s bottomless sodas and Magnus knows he’s going to miss everything about this back in Edom.

Alec apologizes again for talking about Raj so often. He tells him it’s OK, but that Alec is obviously not. 

Alec plays with a french fry. “So, I’ve never told you -or anyone- the full story. And before you say I don’t have to… I know. But I want to. Just let me talk.” 

Magnus closes his mouth again, because he was about to assure him he didn’t have to. He grabs his diet cherry cola and swirls it around the massive cup. “Whatever you want to tell me, I will listen,” he smiles. Alec flushes.

“So, this is a difficult story for me to tell. And it still hurts like hell,” he clears his throat. 

“So, during my last year of high school I accidentally came out to my family over Christmas break. We always went to this fancy resort to ski and that year I met a guy my age. Before him I did know I was gay, I told Becky at 13 that I thought I liked guys. But since I never had a real crush before I still told myself that I maybe wasn’t. That I just hadn’t met the right girl yet.”

“But I met this guy from Colorado and I was blown away. He was out and proud and immediately took interest in me, and it was amazing. Izzy noticed right away that we were more than friends, and she lied to our parents for me when we wanted to sneak off to make out. It was great until a few days later when my dad walked in on us. And looking back, it was pretty innocent - all clothes were on and we never went any further than kissing. I was 17 and so inexperienced, having a guy interested in me like that was more than enough.”

“So my dad finds us. He kicks the guy out and I’m grounded for the rest of the trip so I could think about what I did and what I wanted to do with my life. My mom brought me food and sat with me sometimes. I wasn’t allowed to see my siblings.” Alec swallows thickly.

“Anyway, during the trip home you could cut the tension with a knife. And the proverbial bomb just exploded as soon as we came home and closed the front door. My baby brother Max was 6 at the time, Izzy and Jace were like 14 or 15. Basically it was everyone versus my dad. Max started crying and I took him to his room and we cried together. Poor kid had no idea what was going on, they had told him I got sick during our skiing trip.” he runs his hand over his face.

“Apparently my mom and Izzy had figured out I was gay years before and they were just waiting for me to feel comfortable enough to tell them. But my dad… He hadn’t realized and refused to accept it. He kicked me out after Max fell asleep. I disappeared for a few days and it was the worst thing I had ever gone through at the time. When I showed up at Becky’s after those few days on the streets, I found out my mom chose me and my parents were getting a divorce. And soon my dad moved to Los Angeles.”

He pauses and takes a sip of his drink. His other hand is on the table and not wanting to interrupt but still showing his support, Magnus squeezes it. Alec flashes him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but doesn’t pull back his hand.

“So my dad moves to LA. He gets visitation during the holidays. Not for me obviously, he made it clear he didn’t want me as his son anymore. Jace and Izzy were old enough to refuse to go see him. Max didn’t have a choice because he was still so young. I think he felt guilty about going to see him, like he was betraying us, even though we told him we understood.”

“Despite my parents’ divorce, my last half year of high school was actually pretty great. I decided to not give a fuck and be out. Becky and I have been friends since kindergarten and came out to each other at 13 and just stayed in the closet together. So my coming out gave her the courage to do so too. Her mom Elaine, she was so accepting of her, and me. We were the only out kids in our year, but we had each other. We went to prom together. It was amazing,” he smiles faintly.

“So, fast forward. My dad had spent years planning my career for me, and I had already gotten into Harvard on a scholarship. Since I didn’t know what I wanted, I went to business school anyway and graduated early with honors. I got myself a good job at an accountancy firm, owned by Raj's family. Raj was one of my seniors. I knew he liked me, but I wasn’t interested. Life was pretty good at the time. Jace and Izzy got into NYU, and Max was gonna turn 13 that summer. He told me he didn’t want to spend the entire summer with dad in LA, he wanted to hang out with us because he was big enough now and-” 

His voice breaks. He takes a few deep breaths and forces the tears back. Magnus keeps stroking his hand on the table in what he hopes are soothing circles.

“We told him that dad had already made plans for this summer, and that next year we would arrange for him to spend a part of the summer with us. He was OK with that. So he went. And two weeks before his 13th birthday… He and my dad got in a car crash and-” 

A lone tear runs across his cheek now and he has a tight grip on Magnus’ hand now. With his other hand he rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes out and looks back up, getting himself under control again.

“Sorry about that. They were both gone on impact. I don’t remember a lot from the weeks after that. I know I spent a lot of it in bed. I don’t remember the funeral. All I remember is that the day I tried to go back to work I was so fed up with everything, I quit on the spot. After that, Raj started pursuing me, I guess. And I don’t even remember saying yes to him? It just kind of happened. It’s pathetic, I know,” he chuckles.

His laugh is laced with self-deprecation and he avoids looking Magnus in the eye. 

“I have felt this... guilt for years. If I wouldn’t have been gay, my parents wouldn’t have gotten a divorce and my brother would still be alive,” his voice sounds raspy.

“Hey, you know that’s not true,” Magnus says softly. “You went through something traumatic. That changes people. It’s OK.” He caresses Alec’s knuckles. “Besides, you’ve been doing really well in taking back charge of your own life again.” 

“I guess I have been.” Alec gives him a watery smile. 

There’s a soothing silence for a bit where they stare at their joined hands.

“You know, it feels better than I thought, telling someone. Telling you. It feels… Freeing.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” Trying to lighten the mood a bit, Magnus raises his glass. “To freedom.” 

He looks up to Magnus through his long lashes and smiles. Magnus’ heart sings. Before either of them can say anything, they’re startled by loud knocking on the window. It’s the homeless couple from before, and they’re waving and yelling thank yous, before walking off again.

Apparently the interruption was exactly what Alexander needed. He laughs with an astonished expression. “You have the most amazing effect on people!” 

Magnus shrugs, uncharacteristically shy. “No, I really don’t,” he says.

“You do! I mean, look at what just happened. And that guy at the basketball game? People love you.” Alexander stares at him, with those intense hazel eyes of his. Magnus feels his layers of armor being stripped away.

“I bet where you’re from, people just... Throw themselves at your feet,” he says, not breaking eye contact.

Magnus feels his heart beating in his throat and knows he shouldn’t answer, but his curiosity wins out. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you have this inner glow. Like you’re above everything mundane. It’s almost…” he pauses to think. “Regal?” 

Magnus barks out an awkward laugh and doesn’t respond. If Alec only knew.

“So what did you do back in Edom?” Alec asks.

“Asides from research,” Magnus thinks for a bit and settles with something close to the truth. “I was in the family business.”

Alexander cocks his head a little. “And what’s what?” he asks, genuinely interested.

Magnus raises his eyebrows and takes a big gulp of his drink to buy himself some time. Well, apparently 'close enough to the truth' is going out the window again. He decides to go with the most common profession in Edom. “Eh, goat herding.”

Alexander chuckles and looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yes! Does this surprise you?” Magnus asks. He realizes he’s testing Alexander a little, to see if anything would change if his family business wasn’t exactly glamorous.

“I don’t mean to offend in any way but it’s just...” Alec pauses. “You seem so educated, so proper, so... Distinguished? I guess I didn’t expect that from someone who looks after goats all day.” 

Magnus can’t look directly at him while the white lies flow out of his mouth. “Well, the goats really do take care of themselves most of the time, which leaves a man with a lot of time to read.” 

Alexander seems to believe him, and in the back of his mind he feels Ragnor giving him a face that says I told you so. But the soft look Alec gives him makes him shake the feeling.

Should he tell this wonderful man that he’s been a prince all this time?

Taki’s has cleared out for the most part by now, and the lighting is softer. Someone has been going through Elvis’ greatest hits on the jukebox for the last 15 minutes. Before Magnus can blurt out his secrets, a server walks by and brings their bill in a leather booklet. 

Magnus moves his hand towards it, but before he can, Alexander moves his hand over it and slides it towards himself. “Please, let me. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I don’t want to take advantage of you, Alexander,” Magnus says, meaning it in more ways than Alec could know. 

“You’re not,” Alexander says, with a determined expression. “I knew you weren’t well off when I asked you out on a date. I don’t care about money. I care about you.”

And in that moment Magnus knows for sure that this beautiful, honest man is everything he was looking for. As if on cue Can’t Help Falling in Love With You starts playing. Magnus takes a deep breath as he slides out of the booth, stands up and extends his hand. “Care to dance?”

Alexander looks wildly unsure, but places his hand in his anyway. Magnus walks him over to the small, empty dance floor in front of the jukebox. 

Magnus turns to face him and runs his hands up his chest, to end up resting over his shoulders. Alec’s breath hitches, and he tentatively places his hands on Magnus’ hips. Together they softly sway to the music, cheeks resting against each other.

“I’ve never danced with another man before,” Alexander’s breathy whisper tickles his ear.

Magnus pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Alec’s eyes flick from his eyes to his lips, back to his eyes. “I think so.” 

Magnus feels himself drowning in those hazel eyes, and before he knows it, their lips touch. Once, twice. He rests their foreheads together and feels Alec’s arms moving around his waist to pull him closer, and he lets him all too willingly.

He closes his eyes and feels his heart explode and knees buckle as their lips meet again. Just as he thinks his brain is catching up to what’s happening, he feels Alec’s teeth passionately grazing his lower lip. And who is Magnus to deny him anything? As their kiss deepens he gets lost, and never wants to find his way back.

---

Magnus is ready to go, waiting around Alec’s office while he’s typing up one last email. He’s standing in front of a wall that holds, among his diplomas and children’s drawings, a lot of photos of people and places. Most of the pictures are older, and they make him smile. 

He recognizes a picture with his siblings he saw at Maryse’s house, where Max was still with them. Alec and Andrew at a concert. Young Alec with his siblings and Becky, Simon and Clary at a theme park. Alec with Madzie, who is holding up an ice cream cone that’s way too big for such a little girl. 17-year-old Alec and Becky with matching corsages at what must have been their senior prom.

One picture in particular makes him coo. Alec looks up, probably wondering what is going on, and smiles when he sees what Magnus is looking at. It’s a picture of him with Becky and Lydia on their wedding day. The brides are both wearing dresses and Magnus isn’t surprised to see that Alec looks stunning in a tux. They look like they can’t contain their smiles because of how happy they are.

“You mentioned you’ve been best friends with Becky since you were kids, but how did you meet Lydia?” Magnus asks. 

Alexander laughs and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. “Lydia is my best friend from college. We met during our first class and we just hit it off. She lived with her grandparents in Florida before Harvard, so I asked her if she wanted to spend some time in New York during summer. She did, and of course my mom had to throw a party for me surviving freshman year, and Becky and her family were invited…” he pauses with a smile on his face. “So I introduced them and I swear I literally saw sparks flying. Two years later Lydia proposed and the summer after that, they got married.”

“That’s beautiful,” Magnus says softly. 

“I know,” Alec flashes him one of his lopsided smiles. “I’m so happy for them. It’s the kind of fairy tale romance most people can only dream of,” he adds quietly, looking at Magnus.

They smile shyly at each other and look away. Magnus wonders if Alec feels what he feels as he stares at his shoes, feeling like a teenager.

The sound of high heels walking down the hall comes closer, and Maryse walks into Alec’s office holding a large bouquet. 

“Alec, can I talk to you for a bit?” she says. 

Her tone of voice makes it clear it wasn’t so much a question as it was a request for Magnus to leave the room. So he puts back the wedding picture, smiles at Alec and says, “I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. Nice to see you again, Maryse,” he smiles, despite not getting much of an acknowledgement. 

As he walks down the hallway, he hears Alec asking her what she wants. And he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t say he feels bad about it either, so waits at a distance where he can  just overhear their conversation.

“Just look at these!” he hears Maryse say. “And they smell great too. Raj must be spending a fortune on all of those flowers.” 

“And you are free to put them in your office along with the other ones, I still don’t care,” Alec says calmly.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To a museum,” Alec’s deep voice travels easily, even though his tone is softer now. “With Magnus.”

Maryse must be making a face, because next thing he hears him say is a mildly irritated “What?”

“You’ve said it yourself, Alec, he’s a goat herder!” 

“So what if he is? If I’m OK with that, you should be too. He’s a good, honest man, who obviously knows the value of hard work.” 

He hears Maryse’s heels click on the tiles. “Why don’t you just make up with Raj? He dresses real nice, and his family is doing well for themselves,” her tone, despite the message, is kind.

“Mom, not this again.” 

“I just don’t want you to struggle the way I had to, growing up,” she says, quiet and vulnerable. 

“I’ll be fine, mom. Don’t worry about me.” Magnus hears him give her a kiss, followed by footsteps.

Magnus drapes himself across the wall casually, fidgeting with the chipping polish on the nails of his left hand. 

“Hey,” Alec says softly as he stops in front of him. He puts his hand on his upper arm and kisses his cheek. Magnus' stomach swoops like he’s on a rollercoaster. “Let’s go.” 

Magnus follows him out of The Max. After Alec’s story, he noticed something he hadn’t thought about before. And since he’s not going to bring up that he overheard the conversation with his mom, he might as well ask. He fixes his scarf as the cold air hits him and says, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but the center, is it named after your brother?” 

“Yes, it is. Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but there are these Batman comics, framed up on the wall in the lobby?” Alec asks.

“As a matter of fact, I have noticed those before,” Magnus says. Every time he walks past them, he feels as if they’re judging him for telling people his last name is Bane.

“They were Max’s, he loved comic books in general. When he was a kid he had his own superhero identity - The Max,” Alec recounts, with a broad smile on his face. “We all went along with it, he was so cute. Anyway, after the divorce my mom needed a new project in her life, so she took over a community center. And after he passed away, she did rename it. I think it was Izzy’s idea.”

Magnus smiles. “Whoever it was, it was a great idea.”

They take the subway to the museum. As they walk the last bit, the back of his hand brushes Alec’s and he wants nothing more than to hold his hand. Instead he asks, “So what museum have you picked out for us?” 

Alexander’s cheeks turn a little pink and he looks at the trees they’re passing. “I picked this one place that currently has a large exhibit on island nations in the Asia-Pacific.”

Magnus cocks his head, because he feels like that’s not all he wanted to say.

“I mean, it’s where you’re from, and I want to learn more about it,” he says, wringing his hands together like he’s nervous.

Magnus melts a little, it makes him feel brave enough to grab his hand. Alec blushes and grins down at him like he’s been given something amazing.

The exhibit is impressive. They walk through Polynesia and Micronesia, and Magnus loves it. He’s never been to any of these islands, but he has met some of their presidents and monarchs during official state visits to Edom. He tells Alec stories as if he wasn’t part of the formalities, or as if he’s learned about them by reading.

They stroll past Indonesia when he feels Alec tugging on his hand. “Look, Edom! 

Magnus smiles and looks at the ceremonial garb up on mannequins. There’s also vases, and decorative plates, and several ornate staffs used for their traditional martial arts style he knows so well. It’s weird to see these things that are so normal to him put up in a display.

“Tell me everything, what’s it like?” he asks, and Magnus is charmed by the genuine interest in his voice.

“Oh, you would love it there. It’s the most beautiful place on earth. The people are so friendly,” he looks at Alec. “And you? They would treat you like a king,” he adds cheekily.

Alec scrunches his nose and gives him a soft chuckle. They walk another few steps, before Magnus sees three familiar faces on the wall staring back at him. He suddenly feels nauseous and he feels sweat breaking out of every pore. It’s an official portrait of the royal family of Edom. His father is standing in the lavishly decorated room that exists for the sole purpose of taking these kinds of pictures in. His mother is on his right arm, and Magnus is standing on his left.

He’s sure that this particular photo is almost ten years old, but he has barely changed. And even if he’s wearing an extravagant tunic and his hair looks different, it’s unmistakably him.

Magnus drags Alec around the corner and kisses him passionately. 

Alec breaks it off after a few seconds. “Magnus, people are gonna see us-”

“Let them see,” Magnus says and kisses him again. “What do you say we get out of here?”

Alec looks confused, “Now?”

“Yes,” Magnus stresses, “Now.” 

---

Alec seemed surprised by the sudden change of plans, but went with it anyway. They ended up at a small burger place he loved, and Magnus insisted on trying Alec’s favorite. He had to admit, it was pretty good. A few beers later and pleasantly buzzed Alec insisted on walking Magnus home.

“Well, here we are.” Alec says, looking at their intertwined hands.

Magnus considers his options for a bit. He doesn’t want to take things to the next level yet, but he also isn’t ready for this date to be over. “Do you want to come up?” he asks hesitantly.

Alec’s eyes widen, his expression hesitant.

“No, no!” Magnus says, “Not like that. Just a drink. Remember, I live with Ragnor.” 

“Yeah, OK.” Alec releases a relieved breath. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Magnus smiles at him and walks up to the front door and opens it, and walks ahead of Alec up the narrow staircase.

“I’ll have to apologize for the mess, it’s not a very big place. And Ragnor has been extra grumpy lately because he’s homesick and-” he stops, noticing a note stuck to his front door.

It’s from Ragnor. Saying his parents are here. And they have taken him to their royal suite at the Waldorf Astoria. 

Magnus pulls the note from the door, crumples it up and sticks it in his pocket. He swallows thickly. What is he gonna do?

“Magnus? What’s wrong?” Alec asks, standing right behind him.

“Nothing, it’s just…” he turns around to face him. “There has been an incident? With the- the plumbing? We’re- we’re not allowed to go inside.” 

“Oh, well, we can go to my place,” Alec says. “I don’t live far, if you don’t mind my siblings.”

“That’s perfect, I’d love to.” Magnus smiles faintly, his heart beating fast in panic. He gives Alec a peck on his lips, and they walk down. 

He needs to get Alec home, and without coming across as blunt, say good night. And then he needs to get to the Waldorf Astoria as soon as possible before his father causes damage beyond repair. A thousand thoughts run through his mind and he doesn’t know what to say, which seems to worry Alec.

“Are you OK Magnus? I can help you out with fixing the apartment if that's what has gotten you this quiet.”

“I’m fine, it’ll be fine,” he tries to assure him. “So, your siblings will be home? What’s it like living with them?” 

And Alec talks. Magnus forces himself to pay some attention, but he can’t. Why are his parents here? How did they find Cat’s apartment? He still has time, they can’t tear him away from his normal life yet. More panic washes over him and he blinks fast to stop the tears. He gets ripped from his thoughts when Alec speaks.

“We’re here,” he smiles. Magnus smiles back and walks through the door. Magnus lets Alec take his coat and they walk into the living room.

“Mom?!” Alec sounds very surprised.

“Alec!” she waltzes over to him and rubs his arms. “And Magnus! So good to see you, my boy,” she says, as she embraces him. 

Magnus is glad Alec doesn’t think he’s rude for thinking this is weird, because their eyes meet over her shoulder with the same bewildered expression. 

“What are you doing here, mom?” Alexander asks.

“What? Do I need an excuse to visit my wonderful son and his new beau?” she smiles broadly. “I have to make a quick phone call though. Now don’t you go anywhere. Make us a cup of tea, so we can catch up!” 

She steps out and closes the door behind her. Alec still looks confused but walks towards the kitchen anyway. Magnus follows him.

“What was that all about?” he asks. 

Alec fills the kettle up under the tap. “I have absolutely no idea.” 

“Especially since this afternoon she tried to talk you into making up with your ex instead of going out with-” Magnus jolts, realizing he shouldn’t have overheard that conversation. 

A pained rather than offended expression crosses Alec’s face. “You heard that?” he asks.

“I apologize, I know I shouldn’t have.” Magnus apologizes. He checks his watch, he really should get to Ragnor as soon as possible.

Alec puts the kettle on and leans against the kitchen counter. “No, it’s OK. My mother was out of line, she is the one that should apologize.”

They hear a door open and close in the living room, and Alec turns to walk back in, so Magnus follows him. It’s Maryse, who greets them with open arms again, gesturing them towards the L-shaped couch. 

“I’m so sorry, but I really have to get going, Maryse,” Magnus says.

Maryse dismisses his comment with a flourish. “Nonsense, you can stay for a cup of tea, right?”

So they sit next to each other, awkwardly, like two teens instead of the late twenty-somethings they are. Maryse sits with them, looking ecstatic. “How was the museum, boys?”

“It was very nice, mom,” Alec says, a bit awkward.

“And did you go out for dinner?” she continues.

“Yes, we went for a burger?” Magnus isn’t sure why Alec makes it sound like a question, but he’s certainly not comfortable answering anything right now.

“Alec! You should treat your man better!” Maryse says exasperatedly. “Why don’t you make reservations at the River Café?” 

“I-” Alec opens and closes his mouth like a confused fish. 

Something beeps in the kitchen and Maryse jumps up. “Don’t you go anywhere, I’ll be right back, with tea!” 

Alec lets out a breath and turns to Magnus. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he whispers loudly, eyes wide.

Magnus decides he has to take the opportunity. “Me neither, darling. But I must leave.” 

“Is something wrong? Is it because of my mother? Because I’m so sorry about that,” Alec asks.

“I promise I will tell you when the time is right, but right now, I have to go, I’m sorry. Please excuse my leaving to your mother.” He gives Alec a chaste kiss on the lips and lingers a little, running his fingers along his strong jawline, wondering if it’s the last time he’ll be able to do that.

With a weak smile he rushes out the door before Maryse comes back.

---

Magnus sprints towards the main road as soon as he’s on the street. While the weather had been nice during the day, a steady drizzle now comes down from the sky. He hails a cab to the Waldorf Astoria. As they drive up to the hotel he notices that the flag of Edom is flying alongside the American one and his heart rate picks up even more - his father really is here. He pays the driver and doesn’t wait for change.

He barges through the hotel and wonders how he hasn’t been stopped yet looking the way he does when he sees himself in the elevator mirror. Ill fitting clothes, sweaty and his hair is a mess because of the rain. If his father sees him like this he’ll never let him out of his sight again for the rest of his life, he thinks.

He knocks on the door and holds his breath. When it opens, he’s face to face with Ragnor. Ragnor looks relieved and wraps him in a hug. “Oh thank god you’re here. Don’t worry, your parents are out.” 

“How did this happen?” Magnus hisses. He walks into the suite and closes the door.

Ragnor looks at him sheepishly. “After I went on that shopping spree and spent all our cash, I may have sent a request for 1 million dollar…?” 

"You did what?!" Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose. “I could strangle you right now but that won’t get us any further.” He paces for a bit. 

“Magnus, no offense but you’re a mess, your father will strangle you if he sees you like this. Go fix yourself up before they get back. I’ll find you some appropriate attire.” Ragnor points towards the bathroom.

After a quick shower he jumps into a much more traditional combo of an embroidered purple tunic and slacks. He grabs his eyeliner and applies it in a subtle fashion. Ragnor helps him attach crown-like jewelry to his top knot. 

Magnus stops to think. “Wait, you said my parents were out. Where did they go?” he asks.

Ragnor pulls back his hands immediately. “They, eh…”

“What?” 

“Well, they, they-” Ragnor sputters.

“Spit it out!” Magnus bites, now worried about what he’ll say.

“They went to Alexander’s place, the one that he shares with his siblings,” Ragnor admits.

“What?! Why would they do that?” Magnus yells.

“Because Maryse called them, saying they could find you there.” Ragnor looks guilty, but Magnus is back in panic mode.

“We have to go!” he says, running out of the bathroom. “We have to go right now.” 

Ragnor knows better than to go against him, because he’s right on his heels and they grab their coats and they’re back on their way to Alexander’s place in Brooklyn.

---

It doesn’t take them as long as Magnus feared it would. They storm out of the taxi running towards the right apartment. In the distance he sees a man walking that reminds him of Alec but with slouched shoulders, but other than that guy, the streets are surprisingly empty.

They find their way up and on their way through the hallway, they’re greeted with the sounds of a fairly heated argument.

“Asmodeus! Apologize to Ms Trueblood!” an exasperated voice that sounds like his mother is audible through the door. Magnus stops while his hand is already on the doorknob, and looks at Ragnor with a question in his eyes. Ragnor looks equally unsure of what’s going on.

“I will do no such thing!” his father’s voice booms. “This woman is beneath me and so is her son.” 

“Well, I don’t give a damn who you are!” Maryse says loudly, in the harshest tone Magnus has ever heard her use, “But if you say one more word about my son I will personally kick your royal ass out of this apartment! There isn’t enough money in the world to buy my son off!”

“Nonsense” Asmodeus scoffs, like it’s the most ridiculous statement he’s ever heard. Ragnor nods that this would be a good time to enter the room.

They step into the living room and are greeted with looks of surprise, their argument forgotten. Queen Raniya lets out a sigh of relief and rushes to Magnus at once.

She cups his face and looks at him. “Are you alright, my boy?” 

“Yes, mother, I’m fine,” he chokes out while she kisses his forehead, after which she smothers him in a hug. He has missed his mother more than he realized, and relaxes in her arms.

After she releases him, Magnus looks around the crowded living room. Isabelle is holding onto Maryse’s arms, as if she’s trying to physically restrain her mother from launching herself at his father. She’s looking at Magnus with an expression that’s both hurt and awed, while Maryse tries to look composed but seems ready to combust.

She’s facing his father, who looks every bit the untouchable King of Edom he is. Magnus can read the disdain on his face, he doesn’t like standing in this peasant’s house one bit. He is surrounded by servants who look very uncomfortable, and Raphael is half a step in front of him and looks ready to break up a fist fight.

Raniya still holds on to his hands, and he feels Ragnor’s hand on his shoulder as he realizes that one person in particular is missing.

“Where is Alexander?” he asks.

“Your daddy here just drove him off!” Maryse spits out, eyes shooting daggers at Asmodeus.

Magnus fears the answer to what he’s about to ask next. He takes his hands from his mother and walks over to face his father.

“What did you say to him?”

“That is none of your business. We shall return to Edom at once,” Asmodeus says coldly.

“I will not leave without Alexander. I need to talk to him,” Magnus says, stubborn, determined to not let his father win their staring contest. He will refuse to break this time.

After a moment, his mother softly breaks the silence. “So you do care for him?”

A smile creeps on to Magnus’ face, just thinking of the man that stole his heart without even trying. He breaks eye contact with his father to look at his mother. “Yes. Mama… I think I love him.” 

Queen Raniya walks up to him and places her hands on his shoulders. “Then go after him,” she says with a soft smile.

Magnus returns her smile, thankful for his mother’s blessing.

“Magnus! I forbid it!” Asmodeus barks, while gripping his son’s upper arm.

Raniya slaps his hand away. “Oh, shut it, Asmodeus, our boy is in love,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

Magnus doesn’t know where his mother’s sudden support comes from and has never heard her go against his father, but he has no time to think about that right now. He is grateful for the distraction she provided and sprints out of the house. He realizes that the slumped figure he saw walking away coming up to the house must have been Alexander, so he runs in that direction. He can’t be far.

He spots Alexander as he’s about to walk down the stairs leading into a subway station. He calls out his name, but if he hears him, he’s choosing to ignore him. 

So he runs after him down the stairs, into the station, through the gates and down another flight of stairs that lead to the platforms. He keeps calling his name, and Alec keeps walking.

Magnus spots him making a sharp turn to the right and slipping into a waiting subway train as he’s a few steps away from the platform. The doors are about to close but he’ll be damned if he loses Alexander like this. So he forces the train doors open and squeezes into the train. 

The doors close behind him and he’s met with annoyed glares from fellow passengers.

He spots Alexander walking down the train, so he goes after him, mumbling excuses to people he passes. 

When he sees Alexander still, because he can’t walk any further, he stops at a distance.

“Alexander, please,” he begs.

Finally Alec turns around to face him, straightens his shoulders to make himself look as tall as he can be and steps towards him. Magnus is afraid he might punch him in the face - and if he does, he wouldn’t blame him. He probably deserves it.

Alexander doesn’t punch him, but his beautiful eyes are on fire as he pushes something towards Magnus. “When exactly were you planning on telling me?” he sounds as upset as hurt.

Magnus scrambles to look at what he shoved at him and his heart is pounding. It’s a crumpled up 100 Edom rupiah bill and he doesn’t know what to say.

Alexander found out he’s a prince because his face is on a banknote.

“I never meant to hurt you,” is the weak excuse he manages to articulate.

“Well, at least I solved the mystery of who sent me that Rolex!” Alec snaps. “You know, I never wanted any of that.” His fists are trembling by his side. “And I don’t want you.”

Magnus feels the eyes of their fellow passengers burning on his back. He wishes there was a better place to discuss this, but he’s going to have to roll with the punches. He needs to make Alexander understand why he did what he did.

“Alexander,” he begs. 

Alec raises his voice, “Look, just leave me alone!”

Magnus refuses to give up. “Alexander, please!” he swallows thickly. “I love you.” 

“Then what about the woman you’re going to marry?” he bites.

Fuck. Magnus lets out a pained laugh. “She’s someone my father arranged for me to marry, I don’t love her! Why do you think I came to America?”

“Your father told me,” Alec says darkly, “To sow your royal oats. To have some casual fun while you still can.”

“Oh no, Alexander,” Magnus says, “I came to America to lead a normal life for the first time. And then I found you. I- I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“So why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me you were a -” Alec seems to have trouble forcing out the word. “A prince.” 

“Because I wanted you to love me for who I am,” Magnus feels tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m still the same person I’ve been all this time,” Magnus says desperately, “Should it matter that I’m a prince?”

A look of guilt flashes across Alec’s face as he looks down to his shoes. “It shouldn’t, but I -”

“Then tell me you didn’t care for me when you thought I was a goat herder,” Magnus interrupts, “And I promise I’ll never bother you again.” 

Alexander sighs deep as he rolls his eyes, but stays silent. Magnus is afraid to speak.

“It just wouldn’t work out,” he starts after a moment, “We’re too different. I am a burned out accountant who works at a Brooklyn community center and you’re royalty, for God’s sake!”

Magnus doesn’t want to hear any of those kinds of arguments. “Do you want me to renounce my throne? Because I will. If you’ll give me another chance, I swear to the Gods, I will.” 

Alec stands with his arms crossed, looking torn.

Magnus feels like he has nothing left to lose, so he spreads out his arms, and starts loudly, “From this moment on, I will no longer be the pri-” before Alec interrupts him.

“Magnus, no. I can’t let you do that. That’s not fair to you or your country.” 

“I do not care about my crown, I care about you,” he takes a step towards Alec and goes for broke. He knows they’ve only just met, but he wants to be with this man, forever. 

“Marry me, Alexander?” 

Alexander’s eyes widen and he gasps softly. He doesn’t answer.

“Go on pretty boy, take a chance!” a random passenger yells, followed by cheers of encouragement from others. 

Magnus feels sick.

The train rolls into the next station.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Alexander says hoarsely. “Goodbye, Magnus.” 

He barges out of the wagon and leaves Magnus behind. He wants to go after him again, but he can’t. His legs won’t move and he can’t breathe.

And Alexander disappears from his view as the doors close and the train comes into motion again.

---

His mother won’t speak to his father anymore, after the latter was unwilling to compromise on anything. Now they’re leaving. Magnus and Ragnor share one of the cars of the motorcade that takes the royal family back to the airport. 

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” Ragnor says softly.

Magnus can only choke out another silent sob in response.

Chapter 6: The End

The royal temple is decorated with the traditional wedding colors of Edom. Blue drapes and banners and fresh flowers brighten up the place, and Magnus feels miserable. He’s wearing a blue batik shirt with a high collar and heavy gold embrodings. His pants are solid navy and his feet are bare - this is a temple, after all.

His topknot is pulled together so tight that it hurts his scalp, but it has to, because his hair can’t look out of place in any of his wedding photos.

He feels empty. Crushed. He thought he felt empty during the courtship ritual, but that was nothing. The same important people are probably seated in the temple. It must look like a joyous occasion for them.

Asmodeus and Raniya are seated in thrones on the side of the dais. His parents started speaking to each other again two days after they came back from New York. Now they are holding hands on their shared armrest while they look pleased and proud of him.

It only makes him feel more heartbroken.

The sound of soft gamelan music that slowly swells indicates that the wedding ceremony is about to begin. He looks at the priestess, who gestures that he should turn around now.

And so he does. He faces the crowd and sees the bridal dancers with their big feathery fans covering Camille. The first two dancers hold sticks, and they sternly tap the end on the floor to signal the others. They take calm, confident steps to the rhythm of the music as they begin to move their fans. 

The first two move away, to dance ahead of the bridal party. 

Magnus closes his eyes.

When he opens them, two more dancers have moved away from the bride. 

He breathes. He can do this.

The party stops in front of the dais Magnus stands on. 

Who is he kidding, he can’t do this! He wishes he could run away. He doesn’t, because he knows he won’t get far and will only make a fool out of himself and bring international shame to his family.

The dancers shake their fans, so that the bells attached to them chime, a sign that they have reached the end of the aisle. A gong sounds, and one by one the dancers remove their fan to reveal his bride.

Magnus can’t deal with the idea of being eye to eye with Camille, seeing her smug expression, knowing she got her way. But he knows he can’t look away. He squares his shoulders and prepares himself as layer by layer gets peeled away to reveal…

“Alexander?” he whispers.

He turns around and looks at his parents wide eyed to get some kind of confirmation. His father has a private smile on his face and his mother nods with gleaming eyes. Maryse and Luke have joined them without Magnus realizing, and they stand next to his parents’ throne with big smiles on their faces.

So he looks back to Alec, who stands at the foot of the dais, in the same traditional dress as Magnus - except his heavy golden embroidery is set on cream colored batik instead of blue. He shrugs with a shy smile that’s a bit goofy and crooked and genuine and just so him.

So Magnus does the only logical thing he could do in this situation.

He rushes down the dais, grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss that is in no way appropriate for a traditional temple ceremony. Alec doesn’t seem to care either, because he kisses him back just as fiercely.

Someone clears their throat loudly over the buzzing of the guests. Magnus pulls back and then they’re just smiling at each other. He feels like his heart might explode 

 “Your Highness,” Raphael says, “Better save that part for after the ceremony.” 

Magnus nods at him with a grin he can’t wipe off his face anymore. He lets out a short breath and pulls himself together. He hops back on the dais to resume his position and holds out his hand for his groom to take.

Alec slides his hand into his, and stands next to him. They step forward and kneel.

The high priestess starts chanting the ancient words, to which the other priests and priestesses chant their reply. And Magnus feels like he’s on top of the world.

---

After the ceremony they’re guided out of the temple back into the bright sun, to an open carriage drawn by four white horses. The people of Edom City are waving flags and cheering for them as they’re being taken back to the palace.

They never stop holding each other’s hand, as they wave to the crowds with their other hand.

Alexander looks a bit overwhelmed, as he leans into Magnus. 

“Would you really have given all of this up, just for me?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

“Of course!” Magnus responds, “We could still give it all up now, if you’d prefer.”

Alexander looks at him pensively. His hazel eyes sparkle as much as the golden thread in his shirt and Magnus falls in love all over again. A smile breaks his thoughtful expression.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m good. Besides, you already promised me they’d treat me like a king here,” he adds, grinning mischievously. 

“As they should,” Magnus says, lifting up their joined hands to kiss Alexander’s knuckles.

They’re quiet for a bit.

“What did we just do?” Alexander breathes out as they ride through the palace gates.

“I think we just got married,” Magnus says, still wondering if this is a dream he’ll eventually have to wake up from. “And you’re the prince consort of Edom now.”

Alexander slowly shakes his head with an incredulous expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted on the subway,” Alec says, still clutching Magnus’ hand.

“I’m sorry for lying by omission about being a prince,” Magnus apologizes in return.

The carriage comes to a smooth halt. They have a few moments before they’re expected to make a grand entrance at their own party, and they plan to take this moment together.

Shouldn’t they have talked this through before getting married? Alec swallows thickly as he rests his forehead against Magnus’ and holds on to his hands even tighter. As if he heard Magnus’ thoughts, he speaks. “For some reason I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life,” he whispers.

“Me neither,” Magnus says as he caresses his cheek with his thumb. He leans forward, and kisses his husband softly.

“Come on you guys, you’ll have time for all of that later!” Lydia calls out from the doorway, where she’s standing with Becky and Andrew. “Besides, half of New York is in here getting impatient. They want to congratulate the happy couple!”

Magnus barks out a laugh and looks at their faces.

“What?” Alec grins, “Did you seriously think Jace and Izzy and the rest would miss my wedding?”

“Well then, let’s go,” he replies. “We have to start the rest of our lives together with the biggest party Edom has ever seen.” 

Alec’s smile is brighter than the sun, and Magnus just knows he has found his happily ever after.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

‘Jack the Stag, and Other Works Penned by the Esteemed Songstress Sombra’. It’s an inside joke, probably. Kind of Part 3. Unedited. Personally, I’m liking this story more and more.

Otherwise: a bad Witcher AU but not because of the TV series (rest is somewhere here either under totally not witcher au or murder-deer tag)..

Warnings: blood, animal death (implied but not really), Jack has a thing against dryads only he does not, discussions of the price. Bad puns. (also, we are nearing towards one of the resolutions \o/)

*

Gabriel broods foregoing any further attempts at having a conversation and this time he's thankful for Jack ignoring him - until the brief vibration of the medallion when they pass through the boundary of the dryad grove brings him out of the dark reverie.

The air Gabriel inhales is rich with the smell of berries and coniferous trees, the light comes from no obvious source, and in front of him Jack suddenly whips back as an arrow flies past him.

"Oi! You stupid bitches," he screams in retaliation, "at least hit or miss proper!"

True to his words, some blood trickles down from the gash on his arm, and Jack almost dives forward to evade the other arrows fired at him while still shouting profanities, at least until a sort of a reverent whisper carries on the breeze as dryads emerge from their hiding spots.

"Wasn't that hard, was it now? I want to speak to your tree-mother." Jack strides forward, ignoring the way the dryads congregate around and try to touch him in passing - which absolutely has nothing to do with the patch of blooming flowers springing up from the bloodied stone.

Only it does have everything to do with it, and Gabriel pauses on the way to pick two of the cornflowers not sure what he intends them for. When he catches up, Jack sits in the grass surrounded by a circle of the adoring dryads responding to his every question.

He finds a spot away from them but close enough to hear the indistinct chatter, some of Jack's words carrying over the murmur of the other voices.

Gabriel turns the flowers in his hand, a gesture to keep himself busy paying only the nominal attention to his surroundings.

The touch sliding over his shoulder and fingers wedging below the hardened leather comes as a surprise. He glances at the dryad tilting her head now at him, her eyes half-lidded and parted lips stretching in a little smile. Gabriel just raises his eyebrows as she moves closer.

Soon, her arms circle his neck and she almost sits on his legs.

"Hands off and where I can see them, you tree harlot," Jack almost snarls from where he stands above her and the dryad shies away with haste, coy and supplicant, stealing glances and them both. "Scram! Now!"

"Fucking tree whores thinking they can touch anything they want only because they want to!"

Gabriel slips the flowers behind the pack as Jack sinks to the ground next to him, still ranting, keeping his eyes steady on the visibly pouting dryad slinking back to her sisters.

"The pond is there, you need to clean yourself so I can dress your back properly."

This grabs Jack's attention and he tries for the same sultry expression the offending dryad wore on her face. It's ridiculous, even without the dried insect viscera in his hair.

"I remember someone offering to wash my back in exchange for his sword?"

"Not like this. I'm serious," Gabriel adds seeing Jack bat his eyes, adding whole layers of absurdity to his attempt to act seductive. "Stop it, you look about as captivating as Sombra put in a gown."

"There's really no making you happy, is there?"

"I'll be happy when your back is taken care of." He nudges Jack's arm with his hand. "C'mon. You can tell me all in the meantime."

"All?" There's a flicker of darkness swiping over the blue and white of his eyes and Jack smiles.

Gabriel doesn't deign to answer and points in the direction of the pond, watching Jack get up with a groan and plod to the bank where he proceeds to make a spectacle out of losing his boots and pants. Several of the dryads hiding in the reeds are certainly appreciative of it.

"Get into the water, no stalling," Gabriel mutters gutting the bag to find everything he needs. Truth be told, he could use a bath too but he's not going to risk it, especially not with the same dryad slowly inching closer. "Vatt'ghern. Infertile," he tells her in low voice.

Any pretense of interest she might have carried is immediately extinguished by an expression bordering on offended. The scoff coming from her is drowned by the sound of water splashing and a scream.

"Melitele's tits, it stings!"

"And if you don't do it, it will get worse!"

"I'd rather sleep in an ant nest!" Jack sputters between dunking himself under surface and vigorously rubbing his hair to get the crusted remnants of the centipede out of it. "Or have my mouth stung by a bee!"

"Do I want to know?"

"No. It was embarrassing, the honey didn't help."

The image of Jack with his lips all swollen and puffy is enough to elicit a snort out of him. When he looks up, Jack's staring back at him from the water with an amused tilt to his head.

"Made you laugh, little cub."

"Are you done?"

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to look." Gabriel turns his head back down to the preparations, mixing the crushed herbs with the lard.

"Fine, be this way," Jack huffs, splashing some more before he decides it's enough, and he marches out of the pond.

Without any additional prodding he sits in front of Gabriel with his back turned to him. Droplets of water and some duckweed stick to his skin and Gabriel brushes them off with the cloth before he starts applying the ointment.

"So why did they let the bugs run off the leash?"

"Tree-mother's been asleep for generations, and now she's dying, so their control over the grove is slipping."

"They're not true, are they?"

"Mixed. They have a cozy agreement with the men in the village, once a year they get a kid or three out of it, some other in-between."

"You'd think there would be more of them." Gabriel puts finishing touches to the burn and moves to the graze on the arm.

"Do you see any boys here, cub?"

"This much, I've guessed. They're not going to keep this place for much longer."

Jack turns around and shifts to his knees.

"I could give them time. A lot of it, to last for generations more."

"Could, not would," Gabriel notes while slicking back blond hair from Jack's face to inspect the wound on his cheek, reddened and hot but bleeding no more.

"They have nothing to offer in return that I'd want."

"You could ask some to lie with you, they'd probably fight one another for it."

"The key is want. But," Jack looks at him expectantly, and his palm covers Gabriel's fingers resting on his cheek, "I could do it for you, little cub. Do you call upon the Covenant and pay the price?"

"I do," Gabriel answers after a moment of hesitation, remembering the last time Jack had asked him the same. "Wait."

He reaches for the cornflowers and fits them behind Jack's ear - making sure the stems hold in place. The smile he is given in return is full of unspoken words.

"You'll make me think you care, cub," Jack drawls in content tones. He moves closer and splays his fingers on Gabriel's thighs, their noses almost touching.

"Pants."

"Do I have..."

"Yes, you do," Gabriel cuts short the petulant whine by thrusting the bundle of cloth in his face.

"Since when do you always have a spare pair?" Jack grumbles under his breath - backing off and getting his feet into the pant legs.

"Since you insist on promenading buck naked all the time."

Jack freezes with the trousers around his knees and stumbles a bit.

"Was that a pun?"

"Maybe."

"Commit to it, then, so I can hate you proper for it."

"No." Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

"Careful, cub, you're like a spring's fawn on November’s ice." Jack pulls up the pants, ties the strap, and stretches before turning on his heel. "Coming?"

"Wait," Gabriel calls out after him, following closely behind, "you didn't name the price."

"And you had not asked before agreeing," Jack flashes him a wry smile over his shoulder. "I'm trusting you to keep the word given and pay back what is owed, little cub."

"I can't do that if..."

"Hush, little cub."

Jack leans down and picks up a broken stone barely breaking his stride. The dryads flock to the sides but keep their distance as he stops in front of a wilted tree, looking at it attentively with his head tilted back.

The gnarled branches spread in canopy above the clearing, the aged roots pierce the ground around the massive trunk except for the path free of any growth on which Jack stands with his bare feet braced on dirt and stones. His left palm smooths over the cracked bark.

The impression Gabriel has that Jack in his vindictiveness aims to teach him a lesson evaporates when he begins to speak.

"You're so old that you remember the time before them. You've earned your peaceful sleep, many times over. But you left the children alone without guidance."

He grips the stone in his left hand and with a wince cuts the inside of his right palm with it, slow and deep.

"So sleep longer and dream, and from those dreams let the seed come that will grow a sapling to continue in your stead so the children are taken care of."

Fingers smear the blood on the trunk before Jack presses his hand to it. Into it.

Gabriel's medallion jumps violently straining against the cloth of his shirt and the chain - trying to break free before it falls slack as suddenly as it had started to react to the magic.

Gabriel finds himself moving even before the bloodied stone slipping loose from the grip Jack had on it registers fully in his mind. He almost slides, ending in a crouch with his arms outstretched and catching Jack's full weight before he hits the ground in a dead faint.

He's cold, so cold, wracked by shivers, and his breath burns Gabriel's cheek.

"I need something to warm him up," Gabriel barks an order at the surrounding dryads, undoing the buckles of his armor with one hand while he cradles Jack to himself with his other arm.

He throws the chestpiece awkwardly to the side and strips his shirt - hands are holding out furs and worn out blankets. Gabriel grabs as many as he can and wraps them around himself and Jack, pulling him closer, tangling their legs together before he lies back on the ground.

Jack, with his face cradled in the nook of his neck, is still running hot and cold, skin frigid to the touch and each exhale scorching, trembling with no respite in sight.

"Fuck." Gabriel purses his lips unsure if anything he does, and could do, is even helping.

Above them, the dead branches sprout green leaves and flowers bloom filling the air with sweet aroma but he can only think about running his hands over the hair on the neck of a great old stag gasping painfully for its breath, of curling his fingers around the arrow shafts.

He remembers the weight of the knife he had plunged into its flesh, no, not the swiftest of deaths, and the blood pooling beneath them - seeping into the ground to give birth to a miracle - and it is the knife he feels between his fingers twined into blond locks.

Where he sat at the edge of the river, Jack had laid with his head in Gabriel's lap unaware of the attentions of rusalkas and nymphs focused on him as he trembled with the same kind of chill clinging to his skin, lips blue at the edges and warmed on the inside by his breath.

Gabriel had asked then, bound by the curiosity, and the one with the crown of water lilies in her damp hair almost laughed at his question.

"Silly man," she whispered with the shimmer of a stream spilling over the rocks, her dark eyes glinting, "it is no fun when he sleeps."

As enigmatic answer as ever, and no less he came to expect from creatures of her ilk - speaking in riddles unless they want something - but one that explained enough. He had spent the rest of the night with fingers tracing the jagged grey scar under which a steady pulse ran.

And in the same fashion Jack's skin slowly warms as his breath cools and shiver subside. Soon, the hand resting on his chest shifts slowly to touch the leather pouch on the string.

"Never take it off," the voice in which Jack speaks is barely audible. "Never tell anyone."

"I won't. I wouldn't." Gabriel looks at his face where under the lashes only a sliver of blue glimmers. "What did you take for it?"

"I wanted you to catch me," Jack murmurs against his skin.

"You couldn't have..."

"I trusted you to catch me, little cub. And you did."

"That's fucking ridiculous, you twat," Gabriel laughs - it's strained and leaves his throat raw and hurting. "And I was asking about the flower. What was the price for the flower?"

"A kiss."

"A kiss," Gabriel repeats after him because it is even more preposterous than anticipated

"Now," Jack puts a finger against Gabriel's lips, stopping whatever he might say, "a kiss had been asked, and a kiss had been given. It is not for you to decide what makes a kiss."

"A kiss. Was it worth all of that?"

Jack shifts and moves so that his elbows rest on the sides of Gabriel's head, and he looks down at him.

"Why do you want me to tell you it was not?"

"Because when you get what you want..." Gabriel swallows past the dryness in his throat. "You will leave, won't you?"

Jack chuckles with his lashes lowered and his head inclined curiously to the side, lips pushed forward almost in a pout.

"My foolish little Gabriel, why, oh, why would I leave if the only thing I want is you? Have I not made myself known?"

[geronimo-11]

Fireworks

@softseeds I meant to post this yesterday, but between homework and work I never got the chance to finish it :( So here’s a birthday themed, belated-birthday present! It’s... longer than I intended. Sorry! Something was seriously wrong with her.

Joanna sat on the step of a park gazebo, the muffled sound of voices carrying over from the building her parents had rented for her sixteenth birthday. The party was in full swing, music and laughter blaring from the open windows. It seemed like everyone was having a good time. 

She stared at the building for a moment longer, feeling slightly guilty she’d snuck away when her parents had gone through the effort of putting all of this together for her sake. The event was supposed to be a surprise and her parents had actually managed to hide everything from her. From the decorations, to finding a DJ, to inviting all her friends and family… including Camden Mitchell.

She’d had a crush on him for years. With honey-blonde hair, soft brown eyes, and a kind smile it was impossible not to like him. Well, impossible unless you were Jacob Seed. But Jacob didn’t really like anyone, so she ignored most of his grumblings. She and Camden were on the school debate team together, and had chatted occasionally after meetings, but that was the extent of their interaction. She had thought that the crush was strictly one sided, that there was no way he’d single her out when every girl with a pair of eyes was fawning over him. But apparently he had a crush on her too, because he’d just kissed her behind the DJ booth and it was… wrong.

Heaving a sigh Joanna let herself fall back on the gazebo floor, staring up at the ceiling. She thought briefly on the kiss and frowned. As far as first kisses go, it could have been worse. It wasn’t that Camden was a bad kisser, it just wasn’t what she was expecting. There were no fireworks. And there were supposed to be fireworks.

At least, that’s what every magazine she’d ever read and all of her girl friends had told her. And she trusted their experience over her inexperience. But no, instead of feeling the passionate sparks of a first kiss, all Joanna could focus on was how dry and chapped his lips were, wondering if it would end soon. That’s not the reaction she was supposed to have to her first kiss. 

So, the only logical explanation was that something was wrong with her. Seriously wrong. She thought to herself, letting out another frustrated groan, and flinging her arm over her eyes. Because not only had she felt nothing, but when he finally stepped away from her, she’d mumbled a stilted “Thank you,” before shuffling around him and out the back door. There was no way she could go back inside now- she was mortified. Luckily the night had been warmed significantly by the summer heat, because she was going to have to live out here now.

She’d never be able to look Camden in the eye ever again. And she was definitely going to have to quit the debate team, there’s no way she could deal with seeing him there every day. Did he take the same route to school as her? She briefly remembered seeing him on her street one day, but that could have been someone else. Joanna dragged her hands agonizingly over her face, muffling yet another groan as they reached her mouth.

“Too much cake?” Joanna shot upright, embarrassment flaring up the back of her neck when she briefly thought Camden had come to check on her. But her eyes clapped on Jacob’s familiar copper locks and the knot in her stomach relaxed. He walked towards her, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a small smirk on his lips. Joanna forced a smile.

“No. I haven’t eaten yet, actually,” she replied. He arched a brow at her.

“You sick? I’ve never known you to turn down cake,” he asked, leaning against the side of the gazebo when he was close enough. Joanna shook her head, fingers drawing absent patterns on the floor.

“No, I just-” she stopped herself short, blue eyes darting up to meet his. Jacob had never liked Camden, he’d told her multiple times. If she told him about the kiss, and that that was the reason she was out here and not at her birthday party, he’d be pissed. She couldn’t tell him, no matter how badly she wanted to spill her guts. 

“I needed some air. It was getting too crowded in there,” she lied coolly. He observed her silently for a moment before moving next to her, jerking his chin to tell her to scoot over. She obliged and he sat next to her, shoulders brushing and sending a familiar wave comfort washing over her at the contact. 

“Did you bring John and Joseph?” she asked him, looking around for the younger Seed’s and hoping to quickly change the subject. Jacob nodded, looking over towards the building behind them. 

“They’re inside, probably eating more than they ever thought physically possible. Your Mom’s a food pusher,” he told her with a smirk, making her laugh. He wasn’t wrong. The first time he ever came to her house her mother had all but forced a three-course meal on him, and then invited him back for dinner that weekend. Joanna didn’t think he’d come back, but he’d showed up with his brothers in tow, and her mother practically wept with happiness. 

“Then I heard the moaning of some dying animal, so I came to put the poor thing out of its misery. But lo and behold,” He looked over at her with a smirk and she rolled her eyes. Jacob laughed, a sharp gust of air through his nose. “I came over here when I saw you. Figured something must have been wrong,” he amended lightly, and she could feel his eyes on her face, gauging her reaction. He knew her too well. Joanna hummed in response, hugging her knees and looking up at the star filled sky. 

“I’m fine. Just didn’t feel like having a heat stroke today. It’s hot in there.” 

“It’s hot out here,” he countered. He was right, it was hot and the air was thick and sticky with humidity. But then again, they were in Georgia. It’s not like the heat was new.  Joanna shrugged, deciding not to answer, looking at the sky once more. They sat that way for a while, looking at the stars and talking. Then Joanna rested her head on Jacob’s shoulder and they were quiet for a while, just sitting in each other’s company. 

“I got you something,” he told her suddenly, shifting to reach into his back pocket. Joanna smiled, surprised. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she told him sincerely, to which he only rolled his eyes and gestured for her to hold out her hands. She held them out, palms up, watching curiously as Jacob reached over and let something drop from his closed fist. Joanna gasped softly at the feel of cool metal hitting her skin. He hadn’t bothered wrapping it, whatever it was. Although, she was already shocked that he’d gotten her anything in the first place, so she shouldn’t have been surprised. She looked down as he moved his hand away and her heart skipped a beat.

A silver chain dangled over her fingers, and a small charm almost as big her thumb sat snugly in her palm. A pair of cherries inlaid with two small rubies. It was no secret Joanna had a minor obsession, she had a patch sewn into her denim jacket of two large cherries that she wore proudly, and she lost count of the small trinkets she’d bought that decorated her room. This was the perfect gift.

Joanna passed a finger over the rubies reverently. They were plastic, she could see the hot glue behind them. Altogether the necklace probably hadn’t cost more than five dollars, but she knew how much every penny meant to him. He was trying to save up for a car. To get away from everything. It was hard, though, when his father took almost everything that his son had earned and drank it all away. This may very well have been most of Jacob’s savings that week.

Joanna stared at him, wide eyed. Jacob cleared his throat, watching her apprehensively, his blue eyes shining almost silver in the moonlight.

“I know, it’s not much. But, I saw it and I thought of you, so I just,” he trailed off, waving a hand towards the necklace still dangling between her fingers. She glanced down at the plastic cherries still in her hand and then back at his face, brows furrowed. Jacob shifted, raking his fingers through his hair with a huff, “Shit, Jo, if you don’t want it I’ll just take it back-”

Without a word or second thought Joanna leaned forward, placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him. She felt it, then. What her friends and the magazines were talking about.  

Fireworks. 

They exploded in her stomach, shooting up to make her heart race and her brain go fuzzy. Her blood raced through her veins, sending a pleasant tingling through her body from head to toe like sparklers on the Fourth of July. 

Eventually the feeling began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of panic as what she’d just done finally set in, and she realized he wasn’t kissing her back. She pulled away, though she was still close enough that his breath puffed gently against her lips.

“Thank you,” she told him earnestly. Avoiding his gaze Joanna pretended to admire the necklace he’d given her, fiddling with the clasp and tying it around her neck.

“Come on, we should go inside. If my parents find out you’re here and you haven’t eaten they’ll kill me,” she joked, forcing herself to laugh when all she wanted to do was scream and run for the hills. She stood up, still avoiding eye-contact with him, and started walking back towards the party behind them. Her face felt like it was on fire, but her lips tingled pleasantly and she had to bite back a smile. 

When he made no move to follow she briefly thought Jacob was going to stay outside, but after another minute of silence she heard his footsteps trailing after her. As she approached the building and opened the door, music blaring into the night, two thoughts crossed her mind:

She may have just crossed a line with her best friend, and she seriously needed to stop thanking people for kissing her.

[gwiiyeoweo]

Noctis is aching but they’ve learned to fight pain with pain.

Rating: M Pairing: Gladiolus/Noctis/Ignis

Ignis makes a shallow cut, in the meat of Noctis' thigh and avoiding the major veins and arteries. He drags it, slow and precise, a clean thin line that could challenge a papercut; but then he presses harder, and a brilliant thread of crimson follows his trail. It buds into pearls of red, collecting until they spill down, staining fair skin and left to clot and dry. 

Ignis looks up, to gauge his beloved's threshold. 

Gladio has Noctis, gently holding him from behind and pressing a kiss to their prince's hair, one arm wrapped around his stomach. Noctis holds his hand, trembling ever so but not wringing him in a death grip. 

"Not enough," Noctis breathes out, words shaky but still there. And it’s true, not a brave front made to protect himself from the public’s eyes — or anyone’s eyes, for that matter. For here, he’s able to let his walls down, peel away his layers until all that’s left is raw need and honest pleas. For here, Ignis could take his knife and carve it through Noctis’ chest, and Gladio could simply slip his hand in and reveal that heart’s desire. 

Ignis obliges, taking to another patch of clean, unmarried skin and pressing his blade there. He takes it slow but deeper, slicing through flesh like a hot knife to butter with blood melting through from the line. It’s precise, clean. A straight cut through. He remembers, once upon a time, when he had first done this and how his trembling left jagged wounds in their wake. How he could have sworn he had done more harm than good but Noctis’ resulting bliss soon had him singing a different tune. 

A particular slice has Noctis hissing and bucking up, but Gladio keeps him in place, pinning Noctis' back to his broad chest. There's no protest, no tapping out or safewords. So Ignis continues, keeps his breath slow and hands steady, ready to stop for that signal. 

Ignis would be afraid, remorseful, perhaps panic-stricken to see such pain contort his love's dear face. To see the unshed tears budding off his eyelashes, where the only tears deserving to grace them should be of joy. To see the quiver on his skin and the sweat on his neck, when such trembling should be made during passionate love and not from a passionate red. But Noctis needs this. And in a way, Ignis too — a sort of self-indulgence and pride that Noctis allows them this, has given them his life in their hands and Ignis could even press his blade against his prince’s throat with absolutely no qualm.

And if Noctis needs a pain worse than the one that constantly plagues him, to make him forget the nightmare that follows him into day, then Ignis would rather be the one to provide that cruel relief. As if he'd allow anyone else but him and Gladio to do this. 

They've tried their hand at everything, from medication to massages to herbal concoctions, nearly every trick in the book to alleviate the burn of the Scourge that still ran in his veins, eating away at the nerves in his back and lighting his spine on fire. But without Luna to heal him of the disease, they discovered the best tactic was to fight pain with even more pain — a distraction to keep his mind off the Starscourge.

So when Noctis had texted him that morning, a simple message of two words that read 'My back,' Ignis dashed to his closet and snatched up the very bag he had prepared for this sole reason, calling up Gladiolus to say their prince had a flare-up. They had nearly arrived at the same time, Ignis only steps behind Gladio as they entered the apartment to find Noctis curled up in his bed and with the all too familiar face of agony. 

"C'mon, breathe for me."

Gladio whispers into the crown of Noctis' hair, voice so soft as if they're not literally hurting him themselves. Out of the two, he had been the more hesitant, the last of the three to join in on this "pain therapy," as Noctis likes to call it. It had been an accident, Gladio walking in during a session with Noctis tearing at the sheets and bleeding underneath Ignis. He had snarled, ripping Ignis off and roaring out accusations as he tried to gather Noctis up and away, only to discover the entire thing was consensual and desired and flat-out necessary.

There was a good talk after that, once the sheets were changed and potions used up, and they determined Gladio had every right to either refuse or accept. 

"You know me better than that, Noct," Gladio had sighed, lightly brushing his hands over the healed, nearly invisible wounds, "I'm with you through thick and thin. I'm your Shield, this body belongs to you — and my heart. There's more than one way to protect you, and there's no way in hell I'm gonna half-ass things."

And that was that. 

Eyes screwed tight, Noctis tips his head back onto the man's shoulder, Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in a struggling breath. Gladio dips his head down to kiss his neck, gentle and light butterflies, and nuzzles his bare shoulder with soothing affection. 

If only the public saw them now. Ignis, the butler, the mother hen who likes to fuss and baby his prince; mercilessly carving away at his dear heart's flesh despite the tears and cries. Gladiolus, the battle-hardened warrior who shoves Noctis to the dirt in their spars, bruises him with relentless strikes and force; coddling him like a precious egg and murmuring sweet reassurances through it all. 

There's a joke somewhere in that, probably. 

But none of them have the time of day to think about it. Noctis, especially, with his desperation to seek out this other pain, to feel Ignis’ burning hands leave his skin scorched and bleeding, to forget the venom in his back in favor of Gladio pressing against him and keeping him still as they torment him in just the right places. He doesn’t even have the chance to think — finally, fucking finally — when Ignis marks the inside of his thighs, that sensitive area of skin that has him wailing in the most exquisite way and that noise in his head gets drowned out by his own cries and Gladio’s low voice. 

   Ignis cracks the last of their potions, watches as the magic fizzles away and turns the open wounds into faint pink marks. In time, they’ll fade away to nothing, leaving no trace or hint of what they once were. But Ignis runs reverent fingers over them, leaves a featherlight kiss at each healing mark.

Noctis laughs, tired but soft, and wiggles underneath the tickling. His face has gained back a bit of color, no longer pale and stark against the pain of blood and blades, the small lilt of his lips a welcomed sight once more. He’s still propped up against Gladio, who also still has his arms wrapped around Noctis, but less as a sturdy vice and more of a cozy cocoon of comfort and warmth. 

“How’re you feeling, champ?” Gladio asks, lightly resting his chin on top of the other’s head.

“Sleepy, better.” Noctis ignores the weight on top of his skull, too worn to make any protest. Just the way he likes it. “Loads better.”

“And your back?” Ignis asks, glancing up from his place at their prince’s knees.

“Numb.” That is to say, as good it would get for the remainder of the night.

But Noctis looks at peace, and none of them are willing to be choosing beggars. Ignis clears away their things — wraps, empty flasks, towels and disinfectant — and piles them neatly at the foot of the bed; they’ll clean everything up come the morning. Gladio is already shuffling Noctis and himself beneath the covers, gathering the pillows underneath them and fluffing them up just right, making sure not to jostle their prince too much as he tucks themselves in. He leaves a spot for Ignis though, to the left of Noctis so they can sandwich him in between. 

Noctis makes no peep, aside from the sleepy yet content sigh he makes when Gladio slides his arm underneath his head and Ignis runs a soothing hand along the curve of his waist. He'll be sore, as always, when the sun rises and Ignis wakes him to take his morning prescription, before Gladio carefully turns him over to work therapeutic hands down his spine and muscle. 

But most importantly, the thorn in his back isn't driving him crazy with agony, now only a slow thrumming after redirecting his energy and nerves elsewhere. Noctis feels little more than a ragdoll, limp and exhausted after being pulled apart at his seams and stitched together again, a good sort of ache lingering where Ignis worked his magic. 

He’s warm, content, smothered with affection and trapped between his two lovers, Ignis rubbing a slow circle into the meat of his hip while Gladio goes on a quiet tangent on the recent novella he’s picked up. It’s easy to fall asleep like this, listening to the low rumble of a deep voice and feeling the once cruel hands turn tender and mild along his bare skin. 

It’ll all happen again, when the pain becomes too much to bear and he needs that distraction once more, in a week or a month or a few days. But Noctis will sleep soundly, knowing he’ll have them both all the same. 

[reanu3575436-blog]

Best Wishes For Anniversary

Helping someone to recall the day they said "I, do" is reliably a critical bit of lauding a remembrance and reaffirming suffering friendship. Despite signifying the logbook and orchestrating happy activities, recall that it's once in a while the tiniest signs that go the longest way. When you're sending a celebration card, the words you compose can incorporate astounding elation not at all like some other. Notwithstanding whether you are applauding your own celebration, recalling the fifty years your people have acknowledged together, or wishing mates a happy recognition, we have you verified. Take a gander at our announcements and direction underneath for what to write in a celebration card.

Do whatever it takes not to feel overwhelmed when you put pen to paper. Our guide consolidates an option that is other than celebration messages to help make your remembrance favoring fundamentally continuously unprecedented. We have the auditing admonishment to back them. Notwithstanding what the occasion or whom the recipient, make a recognition card that is guaranteed to pull at the heartstrings with these model celebration messages, tips, and traps.

Very much arranged: What To State In A Remembrance Card

What you write in a recognition card will depend on your personality keeping an eye on the card to. Despite whether you are planning to offer a toast, share an exceptional memory, or basically express an essential 'Very much done,' you'll need your recognition wish to be passionate and reflect your relationship with the recipient(s). Seek after these tips to help control you through what to state in a recognition card.

Address the recipient(s). You'll have to start your wants off on the right foot! On account of the manner in which that organization remembrance card messages is when in doubt an incredibly near and dear technique, you'll have to stay away from the fundamental 'Dear, so-hence's inviting. For a couple you're close with use their first names "Jane and John." on the off chance that you're making the card to your people "Mother and Father" is perfect. With respect to your very own recognition card, using pet names to address your life accomplice can incorporate the individual touch you're hunting down.

Draft an individual message. Use two or three lines of the card to share an inside joke or incorporate a moment you share with the lovebirds that you acknowledge close to your heart. A special moment like this will ensure your card is hand crafted to reflect your bond with the honoree(s).

Make a remembrance wish. Take the accompanying couple of lines to wish the couple well for the future and celebrate what it holds.

Incorporate a recognition quote. Resonating with a proposal or inclination from someone you rotate toward the sky to is continually useful to examine. Let the master makers, essayists and celebrated names raise your remembrance card to great.

Make sure to make reference to any wedding recognition accomplishments. Each and every passing recognition indicates a remarkable celebration of love, anyway there are those accomplishment years that are extra exceptional. Think first year remembrance, fifth, tenth, twentieth, 25th, 30th, 40th, 50th, 55th, and 60th. Try to join this special new number some spot in your welcome.

Make sure to state "Chipper remembrance!"

Finishing your welcome off with a warm closing. You'll have to finish your card likewise as the way in which you started it, on the right note. Before denoting your name experience a warm closing to wrap any celebration message. For example, you can pick between one of the going with or use your own (Most smoking Congratulations, With Love to You Both, All life's Optimal to You, Perky [20th]!)

Happy Remembrance Wishes And Recognition Card Expressions

With respect to your happy recognition messages it's not just about the proportion of words you use, yet logically about the thought put behind them. There's nothing out of order with keeping your remembrance card inviting speedy and easy, yet you should endeavor to join something express about the couple if possible. Use these model recognition messages to empower you to make your own wonderfully modified welcome.

You have valued each other through all of these years. May your warmth continue bringing you enchant as you acclaim your recognition of love and partnership.

Perky remembrance to a magnificent couple! May the freshness of your warmth reliably remain.

No one and nothing in this world is immaculate… yet both of you are at any rate fairly close! Happy remembrance.

A remembrance is a chance to laud the enjoyments of today, the memories of yesterday, and the desires for tomorrow. Playful recognition!

The delight you share is an important gift. Happy remembrance to my favored smiley faces.

Happy Celebration to both of you! Looking for after much increasingly significant lots of ecstasy.

The most happy of celebration wishes to the both of you. I believe you have a wonderful day and year.

Celebration Wishes To Life partner

The strain to express the right words appears to augment when you are endeavoring to draft a remembrance quote for the him in your life. In any case, there's no convincing motivation to weight! Tell your life partner precisely the sum you revere and love your relationship with these perfect words. Notwithstanding whether he is the sort of individual who may respect a contemplative reflection or the sort to esteem an intriguing recognition wish, these messages should kick you off exhibiting your significant other precisely the sum he means to you.

Thankful to you for being my significant other, my accessory, my sweetheart and my nearest sidekick. Peppy remembrance!

All of these years, you have been astonishing. As a dad to our kids and as my sweetheart, I have been happy in your arms and I could see that we'll be increasingly euphoric for a mind-blowing rest. Thankful to you for everything. Chipper remembrance, my sweetheart.

Marriage is a relationship in which one is for each situation right and the other is the life partner!

On our celebration, I need you to understand the sum I've taken pleasure in disturbing every one of you this time and that I am so anxious to keep doing all things considered later on.

One more year to make significant memories together. One more year to discover new things to acknowledge around each other. Additionally, one more year to fortify a marriage that portrays until the finish of time. Merry recognition!

How blessed am I to have a man like you in my life? Here's to much progressively significant lots of love and euphoria together.

Recognition Wishes To Life partner

Help your significant other to recollect the day she expressed, "I do" and shimmer an emphasis on your everlasting reverence with several extra one of a kind words just for her. She will verifiably respect this nostalgic flag and the chance to recall a moment that completely changed herself until the finish of time. The best part about this remembrance quote for her is that it's starting from you.

If I had my life to live over yet again… next time I would find you sooner with the objective that I could love you longer. Happy Celebration to us!

I feel so blessed to have a splendid woman – a woman that made my life complete, a woman that fills my heart with bliss when I wake up until I return home from work. I appreciate you to such a degree.

I'll treasure you despite when we're old and wrinkly. Bright remembrance!

Being with you makes me feel like our remembrance is every single day. I have been respected with you close by, and I cherish you. I treasure you. Merry recognition.

You have made me a predominant individual by appreciating me for my personality. Thankful to you for being there for me by and large. Happy remembrance sweetheart!

I don't have the foggiest thought where I'd be without you, and I never need to find. Here's to various significant lots of worship and happiness ahead!

General Recognition Needs For Anyone

A recognition should address the time and love shared together. After you've incorporated a tweaked message you can use the accompanying couple of lines of the card to swing to the future and remind the couple that the best is yet to come. Recognition wishes make for a smart and straightforward extension to your appreciated that will have a noteworthy impact.

Here's to one more year of being uncommon together!

Can't believe it's been [# of] years starting at now. Here's to some more!

Wishing you significantly progressively extensive stretches of joy and unequivocal love.

Sending you treasuring wishes that you'll turn out to be further and progressively significant in friendship with each passing remembrance.

Wishing all the more laughing, more bliss, more love for the both of you in the years to come.

Wishing you both most of the rapture on earth! Well done!

Bright remembrance today and happy marriage reliably! Very much done to you both!

Desire you both can adulate a little consistently! Congratulations on the remembrance!

Recognition Needs For Watchmen

Your people have appeared boundless entireties how to value and what love is. Offer thanks toward them for the point of reference they have set for you and use these remembrance needs for gatekeepers to empower you to make a message they will regard. On the off chance that you're wanting to incorporate a reward for mother and father, don't leave behind these beguiling wedding recognition refers to for watchmen.

You are the gatekeepers that all kids intend to have, you are the couple that all sweethearts might want to be and you both are the backbones of assistance that every family wishes it had. Happy remembrance to the best watchmen ever.

Your congruity in incredible and terrible events has demonstrated us joint effort. Your strength for each other's affinities has indicated us resistance. Additionally, your assistance in the midst of each other's crises has appeared so.

More....

[fallout4holmes]

Far Harbor 3

The Children of Atom are based inside an old submarine dock they call the Nucleus. Given the current animosity between the Children of Atom and Acadia, I asked Valentine to stay out of sight as I approached the encampment outside. I thought the guards might react poorly to seeing a prototype synth. It's fortunate Valentine agreed; as I turned the corner, two Children were being 'tested’. Only one of them was going to be let back inside the Nucleus. As one begged the Grand Zealot (his actual title) to see reason, he was killed by his brother with a single shot. Appeased, the Zealot permitted the killer entrance, his sin forgiven.

I stepped forward. Dima had been right, the fact that I was a mainlander granted me mere suspicion rather than hostility. If I was sincere in my desire to join the Children of Atom, I first had to drink from a sacred spring and bring back whatever message or gift Atom provided.

I reported back to Valentine, “If we want to get inside, I have to go on a vision quest.”

“You have to what?!”

“There's a spring this way.”

“A spring?” He frowned, “Holmes, as much as I admire your dedication to playing a role, this is crazy even for you.”

“I can give him whatever story he wants about a vision, but I can't fake the physical symptoms of radiation poisoning. Not with the resources currently at hand.”

“And you think the only way he'll believe you is if you've recently sucked down some rads.”

“Relax, Valentine, one sip won't kill me, and you'll be at hand should I be horribly mistaken.” I handed him a bottle of X-111, Scribe Neriah's radiation cure. He was not reassured.

I should have listened to him. I was fully prepared to be sick from drinking irradiated water. I was not remotely prepared for the sudden vision of a dark shadow of a woman beckoning me to follow her. The world was suddenly encased in a haze of sickly yellow, the ghostly figure shrouded in black smoke urging me onward as we ran across the island. Irradiated creatures stood aside as we passed, as she led me through ‘Atom’s realm,’ until we reached a small building surrounded by ferals. The ferals attacked, rotting, charred, glowing. I fought in a daze as the figure looked on, vaguely aware of a voice calling to me in the distance, another vague shadow of a figure fighting beside me until the ferals lay dead at our feet. I could hardly stand. I stumbled toward the door of the building, an annoying rapid clicking sound piercing my thoughts as someone grabbed me from behind. I struggled, but I… I realize now that I was dying. A bottle was thrust between my lips as Valentine commanded, “Drink, damn it.”

The X-111 poured down my throat, a chill cold convulsing through my body as the radiation poisoning was countered. A needle in my shoulder; a stimpak injection. “Eat,” he commanded, and I ate what he fed me though I can’t remember what it was. I drank what he gave me, shuddering as the hallucination faded from my perception, the sickly yellow haze disappearing to reveal an old storage building decorated with barrels of nuclear waste.

“Don’t ever do something so stupid again,” Valentine scolded.

I coughed, “I’ll try not to. Where are we?”

“Hell if I know. You took your ‘just one sip’ and then took off running like a man possessed.”

“There was… it was vivid. The animals we passed, did they behave… strangely?”

“... yeah. Come to think of it, it was weird how they sort of got out of your way.”

“Were you hurt -”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. You’re the one who almost died.”

We were sitting on the ground. He was holding me tight against him, my back to his chest. I placed a hand over his, “I’m fine, Valentine. You can let go now.”

He remained stern, “I’ll let go when I’m certain you’re not going to get yourself killed, and not a minute sooner.”

“I’m perfectly capable of -”

“Considering what just happened, you don’t get to make that claim.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it would be that… that.”

“Doesn’t excuse anything.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

“Don’t think that agreeing with me is going to make me stop being furious with you.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” We sat a moment longer. “Thank you for saving my life. Again.”

He sighed, and slowly let go. “Damn it, Holmes, stop trying to get yourself killed.”

“I swear to you I’m not.”

“Yeah, that’s part of what makes it so infuriating.” We stood, “So. You’ve had your vision quest.”

“I think there’s something inside I need.” I went into the building and retrieved a small carved wooden idol of a woman. Somehow I was certain that it would be all I needed.

Valentine was unimpressed. “That’s it? That’s what this whole nonsense was about?”

I shrugged, “We’ll find out.”

The Grand Zealot was not only impressed, but reverent. Apparently, the shadowy figure is a known phenomenon to the Children. They call her Mother of the Fog, and view her as a saint or messenger of Atom, a sort of radioactive guardian angel to the island… and I had just presented them with an idol of her. This meant Atom had clearly chosen me for something special.

I'm certainly not the typical new convert, that much they're right about.

I was welcomed, given a set of robes, and instructed to give the idol to High Confessor Tektus. Valentine followed, earning a suspicious glare. I took inspiration from the Brotherhood, “The synth's with me,” I said. “It's an old model, but has served me well.”

“You will be held responsible for its actions.”

“Understood.”

As we entered, Valentine said in a low voice, “Should I make a beeping noise next time?”

“My dear Valentine, it was the likeliest method of getting you inside.”

“I’m joking, Holmes. You alright?”

“I'm walking through corridors littered with radioactive materials after experiencing a hallucination common enough to have developed its own legend.”

“That's a 'no,’ then.”

I smirked, and gestured for quiet. High Confessor Tektus was addressing his flock.

It was a message of fire and brimstone, the eventual vengeance of an angry deity upon the non-believers of Far Harbor. When he finished, the Children assembled rose and went on about their day to day lives, much like any settlement, with a few remaining on their knees to pray. As we made our way through, we were greeted by a man who instantly stood out as a bit different from the rest. He wore the same attire as the rest of the Zealots, what might be described as the Children of Atom equivalent to Brotherhood Knights. What made him stand out was how obviously distracted he was.

Curious, I said hello. I was encouraged by his greeting. “Yeah? I mean, glory to At... wait. You're new.” The sight of Valentine behind me seemed to bolster him, “You happen to see Brother Devin? Sickly guy praying off by himself?”

“Fella that looks like he’s two steps away from a ghoul with hair by the entrance?” Valentine asked.

“That's him,” the man nodded, and introduced himself as Ware. He explained that he and Brother Devin don't have 'Atom’s gift,’ that bizarre quirk of biology or genetics that enable most of the Children to withstand radiation without harm. Ware himself was a Trapper before his group stumbled upon High Confessor Tektus and some Children on their way to a pilgrimage. It's an old story of practical conversion.  For the promise of three meals a day and never worrying about being eaten in his sleep, who wouldn't choose to ‘join the family?’ Now, he was hoping beyond hope I was as practically minded in my devotion as he was. His friend Devin is a jet addict. The boy was convinced that if he went on a fast and bathed himself in radiation, that he would receive a message from Atom himself to let him overcome his vices or some such nonsense. What he was doing was slowly killing himself. Ware’s plan was to help the vision along. I was the perfect stranger for the job.

“Valentine,” I said, “I'm about to do one of those stupid things you're so fond of.”

He smiled. “Figured. Can't say I object too much to this one.”

Dressed in old rags and possibly emanating a faint glow from radiation exposure, I gave a grand speech to the suffering Brother. I don't even remember what I said, something about his fasting bringing about his own salvation, after all he hadn't touched jet since he started. Whatever I said, it worked. Devin hurried off, overjoyed, and I felt a comforting skeletal hand on my arm.

“Still standing?” Valentine sounded oddly amused, “Come on, Ware said he's got something that should help.”

“What's amusing?”

“It’s funny how much Atom's Messenger sounds like the Silver Shroud.”

I stifled a laugh, and drank down the syrupy brew Ware handed me without question. It felt like a dose of Radaway and three stimpaks at the same time. Ware was grateful for my help, and gave me the recipe in thanks.

“If nothing else, you saved a kid’s life, so this might be worth all the effort,” Valentine said.

We returned to our original purpose. I brought the idol to the High Confessor. He was impressed, though more cautious than his Grand Zealot. According to him, he and Confessor Martin came to the Island from the Capital Wasteland. The people of Far Harbor cast them out, and they and the few followers they had found in town barely escaped with their lives. Given the general hostility the Harbormen and women show newcomers, I can believe it. Of course, sending Children to sabotage the Harbor and preaching damnation isn't going to help matters, but reason rarely makes sense to those who are already certain of their moral high ground. The same goes for Far Harbor, people like Allen Lee in particular who would rather eliminate anything they don't understand than try to coexist.

Dima and the Children existed in peace until Dima gave Far Harbor the Fog condensers. Now Tektus is determined to obtain the memories Dima made them promise to never access. None of his people have been successful. Security around the Control Center housing Dima's memories consisted of a single guard, who warned me not to enter. Everyone who has gone in, hasn't come out. I made some comment about faith shielding me, she scoffed, and let us inside.

As we beheld a tunnel filled with laser tripwires and machine gun turrets, Valentine said with sardonic humor, “Well that looks fun.”

Our progress through was difficult, primarily due to the two assaultrons with stealth capabilities on guard. Fortunately the tunnel was narrow, and I had brought a couple of mines with me. Once we had finally penetrated to the computer banks, all that remained was to use the program Faraday had designed to retrieve the encoded memories.

Dima had said I would have to go inside to retrieve them. As a device lowered for me to put over my head, I half expected something remotely similar to the Memory Den. I couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It was a world of blue blocks and hovering red defense programs, things called indexers looked like pixelated green insects scurrying to carry data to its destination…

When I finally emerged, I groaned, rubbing the sides of my head, “Thank goodness that's done. I've never been so bored.”

Valentine was skeptical, “You were inside the mind of a prototype synth hooked up to computers and it was boring?”

“My fascination with the alien environment I found myself within was quickly overshadowed by the banality of the task in front of me. I'd have thought your brother might have something a bit less repetitive guarding his secrets… but that’s neither here nor there. You need to listen to this.”

I handed him the holotape of one of the memories I’d found. It was the day they escaped. A frightened and confused Nick Valentine demanded answers, asking what sort of a thing Dima was without even realizing he was the same. An argument led to a fight, and Dima walked away, leaving Valentine to wake up in a junkyard alone.

Valentine was shaken. “God… Dima really did help me escape the Institute? I wasn’t just tossed out with the garbage?”

I nodded, “So it seems.”

“I must’ve still been in a haze from the Institute’s experiments. Did I really attack him? Did he really knock the daylights out of me and leave me for dead?” He shook his head, frustrated, “Damn it, why can’t I remember?”

A hand on his shoulder seemed ludicrously inadequate for comfort, but I didn’t know what else to do. “Perhaps Dima is right and over time memories are overwritten, or perhaps the blow he gave you had something to do with it. Perhaps you’re no different than anyone else who suffers a traumatic experience and promptly buries any memory of it happening.”

He sighed, and covered my hand with his. “Yeah. Well, I wanted proof Dima and I had history, and I got it. Now I just gotta figure out what to do.”

“Do you want a brother in your life?”

“And if I did, would I want Dima to be that brother? I don’t know, Holmes. A lot of time has passed. I don’t know anything about him, not really. Maybe that’s the place to start. Try to be a little nicer to the old synth. Make up for lost time…”

My hand fell from his shoulder, a strange tightness in my chest. I want him to be happy, to have at least a chance at reunion with the brother he never knew, but I also knew what Dima’s memories held. “You should know, Dima is hiding something. His memories mention contingency plans, a secret medical facility. I believe the reason he offloaded these memories is because he couldn’t stand to remember… traumatic experiences.”

Valentine frowned, but nodded, “We have to know what's going on. I'd like to take Dima’s word for it, but we have to see for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no it’s… I’m glad you gave me this. At least I know that much is true, that he cared enough to get me out. As for the rest… we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Dima buried a kill switch code for the turbines that power the Fog condensers around Far Harbor. A secret medical facility is apparently housed somewhere inside a soda factory, where something happened that Dima hated himself for. He found the nuclear launch key for the submarine within the Nucleus and promptly removed his memory of its location. 

We are going to be remarkably busy.

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Hi, guys! Chapter 28 of A Thread of Fate is now live on AO3, and it’s full of everybody dealing with things they’re not totally mentally prepared for because I’m mean to my characters but I swear I love them.

Chapter 28: Finding Footholds

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the unexpected three-day mission, or how little sleep I’d gotten without Nalissa at my side, but I wake actually feeling rested for the first time in days. She fell asleep with her head on my chest like a pillow, and though I seem to have turned toward her in my sleep, she’s still curled against my chest with her face buried in my nightshirt. One of her arms is wrapped around me, and as I brush the hair back from her face, I can’t help but smile.

She’s lovely, and incredible, and she loves me. I’ve never heard those words before, not directed at me, until last night. Remembering them in her voice, with my name attached at the end so there can be no mistake, makes me happier than I knew I could be. She makes me happier than I knew I could be.

Nalissa murmurs something in her sleep, too faint and too muffled to make out the words, but they’re not frightened ones. I hope she didn’t have nightmares while I was gone. With no Ilana to talk her down, I can’t imagine how the Wardens would have reacted.

The Wardens, I remember with a start. The sun hasn’t yet risen but the sky through the window is beginning to lighten, and I can’t imagine Caron is a patient man. If she’s expected again today, he’s probably already pacing.

I work her fingers free of my shirt, ignore her mumbled protest, and kiss the back of her hand gently. “Lissa. Lissa, wake up.”

Whatever she says in response is still distorted by sleep and her face against my ribcage, but I’m pretty sure I hear something about the color of Andraste’s chosen undergarments and a bleeding pyre in there, and I have to stifle a chuckle. Quite the blasphemous vocabulary she has when she isn’t trying to be proper and polite.

“Lissa,” I try again. “My dear, are you supposed to be training with the Wardens again today?”

“’m not a deer, you’re a deer,” she grumbles quite clearly this time, and the accusation is so obviously meant to be an insult that I burst into laughter. That rouses her quickly enough.

“Mm? What happened?” Nalissa asks, blinking up at me groggily, and I can only offer a grin as an explanation. Then she looks around, realizes it’s nearly sunrise, and I can watch the panic creep into her widening eyes. She rolls away and out of the bed so quickly I think her feet hit the floor before I’ve even realized she was moving, swearing softly under her breath the whole way.

“I take it you are supposed to be training with the Wardens today,” I observe as I rise. I turn toward the wardrobe, in the general direction of which I had tossed my breastplate after it tried to murder me yesterday, and freeze.

Nalissa has just yanked the overlarge tunic off her head, tossing it aside to destination unknown, and is wearing only smalls beneath. I watch, entranced, as her fingers deftly tie a knot in the back of her breastband, before I turn away with my face burning to collect my armor from the pile I tossed it into yesterday instead. She has her back turned, likely not thinking of my presence at all, or I doubt she would have allowed me to see the scars she tries to hide.

A stray thought flits through my head of what she might have looked like facing me, before the undergarment was properly in place. I shake my head and try to clear it before Sister Agatha’s voice in the back of my mind can start screeching that I’m a lecher.

Is it still lecherous if the woman that keeps wandering into my mind in various states of undress is engaged to marry me? If I love her, and she loves me too? My heart still does a flip at the idea, but yes, I decide, Sister Agatha would definitely still say so. Regardless, such distractions do not help with trying to put on armor, I remind myself firmly. Quite the opposite.

I make very sure every buckle and link of chain is in place before I turn around again, to make sure she’s had time to dress properly. To my surprise, she’s wearing armor of her own, and as I recognize it, I think my heart stops. Warden armor. She’s wearing Warden armor.

“Nalissa,” I say sharply, crossing the room in haste. “What is this? What did they do?”

My hands tug at the shoulders of the studded leather gambeson, the blue and silver motif of the order that I was once so proud to wear suddenly terrifying me to see on her. Three days I was gone—Caron could easily have organized a Joining in less time than that. If she took it so recently, I wouldn’t sense her yet. I wouldn’t know unless they told me.

“Wh-what?” Nalissa stammers, and her eyes dart between mine in confusion.

“This armor,” I demand, gripping it more tightly, until the edges of the studs start to cut into my fingers. “Why do you have it? What did they make you do?”

“Make me do? I’ve been running drills for them in the morning. That’s all they’ve asked, like we agreed.”

“Did he Join you?”

She shakes her head and frowns, looking uncertain. “Caron? We sparred the first day, but—”

“No, a Joining ritual. A chalice—did he have you drink from a chalice? A great silver one with dark liquid inside?”

“What—no,” she objects, and finally I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. Nalissa’s shoulders though remain as tense as a drawn bowstring. “Alistair, what just happened?”

“Nothing,” I answer quietly, leaning my forehead against hers. She hesitates, then reaches up to drape her arms around my neck, and I relent with a sigh. “The Joining is… it’s how Wardens are made. I saw you in that armor, and I thought… I was afraid he had tricked you somehow.”

She kisses me gently, if very shortly, and smiles. “Well, if it helps you feel better, I’m typically not one to accept strange drinks from men I already don’t trust as far as I could throw them.”

“Good, because let me warn you, it tastes terrible.”

Nalissa laughs and leads me downstairs by the hand. She only lets go at the door just before we exit to the training field, and pauses to prepare herself. I watch her roll her shoulders and check that her hair is secure in its high ponytail, then take a deep breath like she’s about to dive underwater. It’s a strange experience, watching as she dons the mental armor I spent weeks convincing her she could let go of around me.

When she steps outside, it’s with that proud tilt to her chin and a commanding stride that somehow makes me feel invisible, following in her wake. Caron is nowhere to be seen, I notice. Didn’t she say she sparred with him the first day? I wonder just how that went, for him to agree not to be here. I bet she stomped him, I think with a grin. I really was lucky to get to lose that first match while no one was looking.

And Andraste’s ashes, if Nalissa isn’t good at this. She has the Wardens pair off for practice, then marches up and down between them, rearranging the pairs. It only takes a minute to realize what she’s up to. She’s matching greatswords with dagger users, axe wielders with shieldbearers—pitting speed against reach and defense against power. Everyone has a match-up where they’ll struggle, she says, but struggle is a chance to improve. And I wonder how many of these weapons she’s actually used herself, because she seems to have advice for everyone. When she comes to Oghren and me, we’re no exception.

“Your axe is dual-bladed, Warden Oghren,” she points out with an arched brow.

Oghren grunts and rolls his head to one side, as if trying to crack his neck. “Aye.”

“Yet you only seem to use one blade against a single opponent. If you miss a strike, you dodge and reposition. Habit, I assume. But if you have a opening to bring the other blade to bear, it’s a simple matter to hook it on the edge of an unsuspecting shield. Trust me, shield users do not adapt quickly to having it yanked off their bracers.”

Oghren twitches his moustache in thought, then agrees it’s a sensible suggestion. Nalissa nods and adds, “Do try not to actually break any arms in here though. Save that for the darkspawn.”

“I’ve managed not to break him so far,” Oghren grumbles, and when Nalissa turns to me, she’s wearing her serious face still but there’s a twinkle in her eyes.

“You heard the man, Warden Alistair. He’s coming for your shield. Don’t let him.”

“Fine advice; should’ve thought of that one myself,” I joke, and one side of her mouth curls into a smirk. I find that it makes me want to kiss her in the middle of the practice field.

“I’ve seen you spar,” she points out, neglecting to mention that it’s typically been against her. “Somehow, I really don’t think you need step-by-step instructions.”

Nalissa gives me a wink that makes Oghren snicker, and then her head snaps to something behind me. “Oy, Warden Tarvell! Keep swinging that wide and you’ll disarm everyone except your opponent…”

Oghren eyes her as she leaves and then raises his brows at me. “I always knew you liked being bossed about, but that one could order a dragon to flee and the beast’d probably consider it.”

He gets a chuckle out of me, but not enough of a distraction to catch his axe on my shield, which I’m pretty sure is what he was aiming for. “She can be very persuasive. But she could also probably slay the dragon, if she really put her mind to it.”

“Maybe. After how she handled the boss, most of these blighters would probably follow her to fight one.”

Of course she did, I think a little proudly. She’s incredible. I check over my shoulder that she’s still out of earshot, then whisper, “How did that go? She didn’t quite say, except that he never came back after.”

“Little lady’s a sodding acrobat is how it went,” Oghren says, then gives what I can only shudderingly describe as a really low-pitched giggle and adds, “Lucky you. I bet she can do some fun things with those legs.”

“I realize it’s like asking a Revered Mother not to Chant, but could you not be crude? For once? Tell me what she did.”

“What do I look like, a match caller at the Proving Grounds? She danced around all light-footed like she belonged in the circus, knocked him on his ass, and put a dagger to his ribs. Anything fancier than that, you’d have to get someone else to tell you.” I’m just about to sigh and give up when he adds thoughtfully, “But to be honest, I think it was the scars that won her respect more than the dueling.”

“Scars?” I ask curiously.

The obvious answer doesn’t occur to me, because she’s so careful to keep them hidden, so ashamed when they’re spotted. I don’t even imagine he means her scars from Fort Drakon until he mumbles, “You know,” and makes a nervous gesture toward his back like he’s afraid she’ll catch him looking if he’s not quick about it.

That actually does stun me long enough for him to hook his axe under my shield, but I recover quickly enough to cross my sword under the axe head and pin it in place long enough to free my shield. I backstep quickly out of range and give him a serious look. He frowns but gives up the attack.

“What do you mean, her scars won her respect? Who saw them? How?”

“Damn near everyone with eyes, I imagine,” he says with a shrug that tells me he has no idea how serious that is. Something of what I’m thinking must show on my face, because he holds up a hand warily. “Now, it was just the back of her shirt that tore. Nobody saw any fun bits. I certainly wouldn’t be standing here telling you if they had, I’d be standing back and waiting for the explosion—”

“Comforting, Oghren,” I say, a little more sharply than necessary, and I receive a scowl for it but I don’t care. “What did she do? She doesn’t let anyone see that, she must have been mortified.”

“For a minute, she tried to cover ’em up again,” the dwarf admits. “Can’t see why. Warriors should be proud of their scars. But then she changed her mind and showed the boss what for, and marched out of the arena like she owns the place.”

I glance over my shoulder at Nalissa again, this time with more appreciation than anything else. I’m not surprised, exactly; that would be the wrong word. My Nalissa is stronger than even she knows she is. But Oghren’s story is a far cry from the girl I met a few months ago, who froze up and nearly broke down at her scars being revealed to just me and Venya, and that has me nearly bursting with pride for her.

The deeper wounds from her imprisonment, I think, may finally be starting to heal too.

I’ve just dismissed the Wardens and started toward Alistair when I spot him as the crowd clears. My heart kicks into panic mode before I can stop it, but this time I’m prepared enough to force a deep breath and focus. It isn’t Rendon Howe. Rendon Howe is dead, and he never wore his hair that long, and his chin was weaker and his nose more hooked.

Listing the differences helps, a little, but still it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep a straight face. He wasn’t here for drills, and I suppose that makes sense considering he has a bow and quiver over his back instead of a close-range weapon. But that means he’s come at the end of training on purpose, and considering he’s looking straight at me, I don’t really have to guess what that is.

Alistair, sweet as he is, appears at my side while I’m distracted and speaks to me gently. “Lissa? Are you okay?” He keeps his voice low enough that no one else can hear, takes care not to touch me, and I know he’s worried. There are still enough stragglers putting away training weapons and packing up shields that if I lose myself again, it could be very problematic. I nod sharply, the motion maybe a little more jerky than usual, but I keep my spine straight and my eyes level. It is long past time, I think, that I took control of my fear back from Rendon Howe.

“Lissa,” says Nathaniel Howe, and even though the voice is different too, a cold chill runs down my back that I do my best to ignore. “Good morning.”

“Nate,” I answer, crossing my arms to feel more held together. “It’s… been a long time.”

Nathaniel tries for a smile. “Yes. Last we met, you were still a tiny, freckly kid hiding from your tutor and sparring with squires, and now you’re training Grey Wardens. I’m sure the old man’s glad his lessons didn’t fall on completely deaf ears.”

A sudden image of how Aldous’ beard used to twitch as he tried not to smile at my shenanigans strikes an unexpected chord of homesickness in my chest. The old scholar said something very much like that the last time I spoke with him. “I’m sure he would be,” I say, and my words come out a little more clipped than before. “If he hadn’t been murdered in the library with the guests.”

Nathaniel fidgets with one hand on the strap of his quiver, looking exactly as uncomfortable as one would expect from the turn in conversation. “I, ah, meant to speak with you about that. If you have a moment?”

Alistair touches my elbow, his hand warm even through the studded leather. When I glance at him, his eyebrows are pulled low over eyes still watching me with concern. I don’t think he doubts me, he was always far too upset with Fergus for doing that, but he’s probably worried at the prospect of leaving me to a private chat with someone I’ve so recently tried to murder.

I give him a faint smile and a nod, then gently but firmly remove his hand and squeeze it for reassurance. “I’ve got this,” I tell him quietly, purposefully choosing any phrase but I’m fine because I’m fairly certain he doesn’t believe that one anymore. “I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

He hesitates only for a moment, then presses a kiss to my forehead and reminds me in a somewhat louder voice that he’ll be within shouting distance if I need him. He spares only one glance toward Nathaniel as he turns to leave, but it looks very much like a warning. Alistair’s faith in me makes me feel bolstered, and even though I don’t think I need it, that he’s still so ready to defend me makes me feel safer, even as he walks away.

“He really loves you,” Nathaniel says aloud, something like disbelief in his voice as he stares and shakes his head. So I’ve just realized, my mind snarks, but I don’t say it and so he continues on. “I’d assumed it was arranged, him being the king. That he only defended you as the future queen. But you’re actually in love.”

Something about his tone says without words, “That explains a lot,” and I wonder again about the mission Alistair still hasn’t found time to tell me about. But I can’t see any reason to lie, so I admit, “It was arranged. I almost decided to overthrow Fergus and refuse. I’m glad I didn’t.”

The last part comes out sounding surprisingly soft, and I force a cough to cover it, like I might have been losing my voice. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to admitting… anything about how I feel for Alistair, to anyone except him, and even that is so new it makes my heart race just to remember. I’m failing miserably at remaining stoic, I realize. I’m probably blushing, and definitely not completely hiding my smile, and I can’t allow that to be a weakness for someone to exploit.

“Well, I’m… glad for you,” Nathaniel says slowly, but though he seems sincere despite his struggle with the words, he is a Howe, and I’m not sure that I’ll ever trust anyone with that surname again.

Etiquette dictates I should thank him for the sentiment, I know that, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Perhaps that particular lesson Aldous and Mother tried to teach me didn’t stick so well as they would have hoped. So I shift my weight from one foot to the other and ask abruptly, “What is it you want of me, Nate?”

He pauses before answering, looking just as uncomfortable with this entire conversation as I am. Odd, considering he’s the one that sought it. Finally he sighs and gestures hopefully toward one side of the training field, past the few Wardens still inspecting bruises and stowing equipment, and I follow him cautiously away from the wall of the keep.

Nathaniel leans against the wooden fence separating the training grounds from the courtyard proper and stares toward the sunrise instead of looking at me. “I’ve, ah… heard rumors since my return to Ferelden.”

“No surprise there. I’m sure Arl Bryland is already telling people Alistair and I have eloped and are honeymooning in Orlais, dueling grand dukes and winning honor for Ferelden.”

He snorts, then shakes his head. “That does sound like something he would say, but not the rumors I meant.” He looks over his shoulder at me, and despite all the differences I keep trying to focus on, his eyes are the same steel gray as his father’s, and I pull my elbows more tightly to my sides. It’s a poor defense, but it makes me feel a little better. “I’ve heard… disturbing things, about my father. And about you.”

I find that my mouth is turning dry, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak again. “That he tried to murder my entire family and everyone loyal to us? Not rumors.”

“That much Delilah has told me,” Nathaniel admits, and a sense of dread settles in my chest like a terrible premonition. “Whatever… became of him while I was gone, I’ve come to accept that there was more to it than just making the wrong decisions in a war.”

“Good,” I snap, a little more viciously than I meant to, but he doesn’t falter and that gaze is starting to make my hands itch to hold a blade.

“Is it true, that he didn’t kill you intentionally? That he kept you prisoner during the Blight?”

I look away from those chilling eyes, needing to focus on keeping my breathing even. My nails feel like they’re cracking against the metal studs on my upper arms, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip. “I’d really prefer not to talk about that,” I manage to say, but my voice comes out too high and too thin to sound firm.

“Fucking Maker,” Nathaniel swears. I hear the creaking of wood and react on instinct, one hand flitting to the knife pouch at my hip, but his bow isn’t even in his hands. Instead he seems to be trying to wrest one of the fence slats from the post, and judging by the sound, the fence objects. His back is to me again, for which I’m grateful, but still he hisses, “He really did it, didn’t he? It wasn’t just… death as acceptable losses. It was murder. Torture. Senseless violence. That’s what he became.”

“He wasn’t called the Butcher of Denerim for nothing,” I whisper hoarsely, and this time when he looks at me, his eyes aren’t so much like his father’s anymore. They’re downcast and regretful, an emotion I never saw Rendon Howe wear.

“Why? What did he possibly hope to achieve?”

He sounds desperate to understand, and as much as it makes me feel sick to think about, I consider the answer. Highever itself wasn’t it; I don’t think it ever really was. I was only ever a means to an end, and chances are Howe only enjoyed hurting me so much because I reminded him of someone else. It isn’t something I should have to try to explain to anyone, but Nathaniel does deserve the truth. And in the end, it’s just another thing his father has forced upon me to deal with.

“I… I think it boiled down to resentment,” I try to reason. It’s difficult to try to apply logic, especially when each revolting memory threatens to pull me in, but I try. “He was angry—furious—with Father. Decades later, and he still blamed him for ‘stealing glory’ at White River. For winning the favor of the king and the freeholders. For becoming a teyrn when H—he only ever became an arl. He thought he deserved everything that was my father’s, so he took it away. At first, I think… I think he only meant to make me beg to die. But then something changed. Loghain started losing supporters and ground, I suppose, but I had no idea. He just swore I would never know peace again until I married his son and handed Highever officially back to Amaranthine.”

Nathaniel gives me a look so near to disgust that I could almost be offended if I wasn’t preoccupied being terrified of my own thoughts. “He wanted to force you to marry me?”

“No,” I correct him, shaking my head. “Thomas. It was always Thomas, until he and Lady Eliane died. Then… then it was him, until he died too.”

“Are you… you’re saying my father tried to torture you into marrying him.”

I realize abruptly that my face is stinging in the chill morning air and turn away to dry it discreetly. “He was mad, by that time. More so than before. Grasping at straws, with all his plans coming undone around him. Everyone thought Fergus dead, and me the only heir, and with Loghain’s support failing…”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath and a long exhale before he speaks again. “I didn’t want to believe how far he’d fallen, but the… things I’ve heard, and what they’re all saying about scars, I had to ask. Maker, I’m sorry.”

My fists clench at the mention of those marks, and I give him a piercing look. “Don’t you dare. Your father did quite enough to me, Nate. I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone contributing to the rumors I’m—I’m weak or an invalid or—”

“What?” he interrupts, and actually scoffs at me like I’m being ludicrous. “Lissa, not a damn person in this keep thinks you’re weak. They’re talking about how you must be stronger than any of them. That you’re a better duelist than Emile—and for the love of the Maker, do not tell him I said that or he will send me on pointless scouting missions twice a week for the rest of my life.”

“I… what?” I stare at him, unable to connect the words with what I’m sure I’ve seen in the eyes of some of these men, but he just shakes his head at me.

“They think whatever happened to you is deplorable, but that’s all. I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but there’s not a Warden who saw that fight that wouldn’t throw down a gauntlet at the first man to call you weak. Emile included. He might be too proud to admit it, but I know him. He was impressed.”

I can’t decide if everything he’s saying is the truth or not, but I appreciate that he says it anyway. So I swallow my own pride and offer the apology I really should have given him when he first approached. “I’m sorry for how I reacted, in the dining hall. I wasn’t in a—I didn’t recognize you—”

Nathaniel holds up a hand to silence me and offers a wan smile. “It’s fine. Your fiancé explained. A little angrily, not that I didn’t deserve it, but it’s what convinced me you probably wouldn’t stab me if I approached slowly enough.”

“Probably not,” I allow, trying for a smile too. I’m probably about as successful as he is. “I’m… also sorry your father wasn’t who you thought he was.”

“No,” he answers quietly. “He hated my mother, and sent me away to the Free Marches in a glorified exile because he preferred my brother. I should have put it together a long time ago.”

I don’t know what to say, but he doesn’t seem to want a response. One polite nod later, he turns to leave, and I take his place leaning against the fence and trying to catch my breath.

I don’t quite manage it until a short while later, when a voice whispers my name and then a familiar pair of arms circle my waist from behind. Alistair’s chin rests on top of my head and I lean back against him with a sigh. I’ll work out what to tell him about all of this later; for now, I just hold onto his forearms like they’re the only thing tethering me to the world.

[tenderthings-archive]

the mother we share. (carver hawke week, day #2)

A/N: naturally, i like sad sibling relationships. naturally, i took the rivarly route. naturally, i took the title from that CHVRCHES song.

also this is meant to express how carver sees katrine vs how katrine is seen by the companions, whom generally speaking loved her, and the general lovely nature of a Purple + Flirty Hawke.

prompt: “Family”

word count: 989 

carver appreciation week: (x)

He doesn’t recognize his family anymore.

The distortion starts with their father’s death. It was a slow, debilitating sickness but a sicknes many would and should survive. Alas, Malcolm Hawke had lived in the Circle half his life and one winter day, he began to spew blood.

Carver and Bethany had just turned fourteen.

Watching him die was no kindness; by the end of it, he did not look like their father anymore. Pale and withered, with a breathing so scarce, every intake of breath wracked his lungs and dried his throat. Even so, he quirked his lips and told his wife not to weep. He had lived a good life with her, he said. It made his mother smile despite how empty the words felt and still do, looking back.

The Revered Mother told them to take comfort in saying goodbye, to be thankful in easing his passing into the Maker’s embrace as she spoke the final sermons at a shallow grave.

In that moment, he saw a cruelty set in Katrine’s eyes that Carver had never known before.

She knew better; he knew she knew better but the world might as well have ended that day.

He took his sister’s hand in his and held it tight until the flames blistering her skin quelled. His own palm itched and tinged pink but he bit the inside of his cheek and focused on Bethany as she lay flowers by the headstone.

Katrine laughed less. It was a quiet change, less obvious than his or Bethany’s or mother’s but he noticed. She teased and mocked and made terrible jokes but all it managed to do was irritate Carver and exhaust Bethany. Sometimes, she sounded so much like their father that Mother had to excuse herself from the room. Bethany would follow after.

Meanwhile, he wanted shove his big sister out a window but he knows she goes out to the garden at night to cry so instead he does nothing.

Carver found hard labor, staying close but not close enough as to find himself trading blows with Katrine day-in and day-out. Bethany took up their father’s trade in the village, tended to their crop, and took care of their mother but they both left the house even less than before. Meanwhile, Katrine began to venture far from the safety of the village, only to return after sundown with exotics from the Wilds. She gives most to Bethany to sell and keeps a few to make perfumes for Mother and Beth.

He wasn’t sure what about that made him angrier: her initiative or her coming home covered in scrapes and bruises. He chooses the first.

They had recovered, more or less, from their father’s death. For three fleeting years, they survived if one could call it that. Then the Blight came and Bethany died.

He’s not sure who to blame for that.

It changes—the darkspawn, of course, but prodding at monsters in the dark was akin to fighting blind. Once news had reached them that the Blight was over, why bother fighting at all? Sometimes, it was Loghain and the betrayal of Ostagar. They had a chance to win and it was stolen from him, but that bitterness was nothing compared to the moment Bethany’s broken body hit the ground and his mother screamed.

And then there was Katrine. She killed the orge. She made the deal with the Witch of the Wilds. She led them to Kirkwall and found work in short order. But none of it—not a damn thing—played out into their favor.

Kirkwall ate them up and spat them out but his sister persevered and he followed her, as he always did, into the belly of the beast. He watched her back during the year they spent with Meeran and his mercenaries, wining the brigands more contracts than ever before. Carver feared for her life every step of the way, waiting for the mistake that would lead the templars to their door. Aveline, a mere recruit to the guards at the time, could only do so much. Meanwhile, Katrine went to bed with Meeran and gained a taste for trouble and profit.

From then on, she walked the fine line between the templars and mages, vagrants and criminals without batting an eye. She smiled, laughed, teased, and flirted so often and so much Carver wondered if she even missed Bethany or was she merely looking for a replacement in the litter of strays she picked up.

But Katrine persisted—She was set on being everything their father left behind.

And Carver followed her into it. He had to. It’s what his father would’ve wanted.

He blames her more often than not—more than he should, perhaps. If he didn’t, all that would be left is him, lingering in the memory of decaying faces. He’s not sure if he can hate himself more than he does already.

Sometimes, he wonders which of them Katrine has decided to hate. Is it him? It should be him.

They come home together once the day is done. The streets are empty and whomever needed killing that night is just a cooling corpse atop a pile of others.

Mother has gone to bed already—she sleeps half the day away already, but it’s better than when she is awake. She either says nothing at all or turns bitter and holds his sister accountable for every terrible thing they’ve lived through. This is why they’re both surprised to find a stew on the fire waiting for them.

That night, they sit in silence, facing away from each other. They’re too tired to say anything, anyway.

He glances up only when he notices that she is not eating.

Suddenly, in the dim firelight, his sister doesn’t look like his sister anymore and the answer to his question is simple.

[rhodopsins]

like a tattoo on my heart (i can’t escape you)

sungyeol/myungsoo ; 3.1k

20:15 yeolie: hey 20:15 yeolie: myungsoo 20:15 yeolie: can you come outside? 20:20 soosoo: whats wrong 20:20 soosoo: ? 20:20 yeolie: i’m outside 20:20 yeolie: come outside please

myungsoo doesn’t really listen. not really. he knows that sungyeol’s lips are moving and he knows that words are coming out, but he can’t process any of it, can’t make any sense of what sungyeol’s saying. he’d stopped listening after sungyeol had taken myungsoo’s hand in his and looked directly at him and said those six words. sungyeol looks at him now, concern and worry etched into the lines of his face (lies, myungsoo thinks, bitterly, if he’d cared what myungsoo felt, he wouldn’t have done this in the first place), and he says, “i’m sorry, myungsoo. i really, really am.”

myungsoo watches him walk away, his fists tucked into the pockets of his jeans and the line of his back curved and bent over, before he can even reply. he’d wanted to say, spitefully and hatefully, that myungsoo’s not sorry at all, that myungsoo will be just fine without him, that myungsoo could not care less whether or not sungyeol wanted to break up with him or not. but really, he’d wanted to ask sungyeol why, wanted to ask sungyeol if it was because of myungsoo, wanted to ask sungyeol if it was something that myungsoo could change about himself to make sungyeol stay.

he wants to run after sungyeol and beg him to take him back, but he clenches his fists by his sides and forces himself to stay still. he forces himself to stay where he is, standing outside of his house in just the t-shirt and the shorts he’d worn to take a nap earlier. the summer heat is almost oppressive, but he stays there, feeling sweat bead on the skin of his arms and legs and on the nape of his neck. i think we should break up, he keeps hearing, over and over again. i think we should break up.

it isn’t until he tastes salt at the corner of his lips that he realizes he’s crying. he tries to wipe them away, bringing his hand up to brush the wetness from his cheeks. myungsoo shivers then. it’s uncomfortably warm during the day, but it’s breezy at night, and myungsoo needs to leave, to get anywhere else but here. he’s glad, suddenly, that no one but him is home right now. his parents are out, and sunggyu is out with woohyun somewhere.

that way, no one’s around to see the way he runs upstairs, nearly tripping on the steps. no one’s around to hear the way he slams his door closed, falling onto his bed. he waits for the tears to come, but he’s numb. myungsoo’s eyes fix on the camera on the desk beside his bed, and he reaches for it as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket.

there aren’t that many photos in the camera. he’d only gotten it three months ago for his birthday, and he hasn’t had much time to fill it with memories. he’d planned on spending time this summer taking pictures with and of sungyeol, but he supposes that that’s not happening anymore. he clicks through the photos that he does have. there are just a few. some are of the scenery around them, some are of sunggyu and his parents, but the majority of them are— and myungsoo’s breath catches in his throat— they’re of sungyeol.

click.

sungyeol and the broad lines of his back, stretching the starched white dress shirt of his school uniform wide. myungsoo remembers how it had felt against his cheek whenever he’d pressed himself up against sungyeol’s back. what are you, an octopus? sungyeol had asked too many times for myungsoo to remember, but he’d always let myungsoo cling onto him during their lunches together. howon and woohyun had always pretended to vomit, but it hadn’t mattered, not when sungyeol was warm next to him.

and sungyeol had always walked myungsoo back to his own class, back to 2-b on the floor below, even though they both knew that sungyeol hadn’t had to do anything of the sort. don’t i deserve some kind of payment for walking you back so nicely? sungyeol had joked, grinning down at myungsoo with his eyes in half moons, leaning down just enough that myungsoo knew exactly what kind of payment he’d wanted. myungsoo had leaned upwards, curling his fingers into the hair at the back of sungyeol’s neck, and murmured your hair’s getting long, you should cut it against his lips, and sungyeol had grinned into the kiss. the next day, he’d come to school with his hair trimmed just slightly, and myungsoo hadn’t been able to resist burying his hands in sungyeol’s hair and mussing it up again.

click.

sungyeol and the moles dotting the jut of his collarbone and underneath his ear, out of reach whenever they were in school. but myungsoo’s parents weren’t home often, making it easy for myungsoo to just bring sungyeol in through the front door. he’d always come over with only the most innocent of intents, myungsoo knows, bringing his textbooks and his notebooks over. they’d done their homework together, their arms pressed neatly against each other, until the touch that had been lazily resting on myungsoo’s thigh turned into something more.

sungyeol had always taken his time with myungsoo, twisting his fingers inside myungsoo and stretching him open, pulling myungsoo closer to him and pressing in and making his eyes roll back into his head with every short and shallow thrust of his hips. sungyeol had always fallen asleep after pulling a tissue from the dispenser on myungsoo’s desk and wiping the come off of myungsoo’s stomach. then it had been easy, so easy, for myungsoo to prop himself up on his elbows so he could watch sungyeol sleep. he’d traced the lines of sungyeol’s face, connecting the dots between sungyeol’s moles, and he’d laughed quietly to himself when sungyeol had scrunched up his nose when myungsoo brushed his knuckles against his cheeks.

click.

sungyeol and his legs, long and thin and beautiful, stretching all over myungsoo’s bed and letting his feet dangle over the side. myungsoo’s clothes had always, always been too small for sungyeol to wear, and eventually, sungyeol had ended up bringing some of his clothes over to wear every time he’d fuck myungsoo through a heat. 

myungsoo had tried on one of sungyeol’s shirts, one of his loose and worn sleep shirts, and he’d stared at himself in the mirror at the way that the sleeves ran halfway down his arms and sungyeol had stared at him, too, and his eyes had darkened and he’d pulled myungsoo back into bed. he’d always said that myungsoo was the most handsome, the most handsome man he’d ever seen, but myungsoo hadn’t seen any of that in himself at all. no, he’d thought while watching sungyeol move above and inside him, sungyeol was the handsome one here.

he’d heard some of the other students in his class talking about how spending heats with an alpha was so much better than spending them with a beta, about how the knot was really the best part of it all, but myungsoo hadn’t paid attention to any of that. he’d thought them shallow at the time, but after sungyeol, he’d thought them outright stupid. because what use was a precious knot if you had to worry the entire time if something was going to happen, if you were going to walk on eggshells the entire time? when sungyeol had said, hesitantly, that he’d brought protection just in case, myungsoo had surged upwards to take sungyeol’s face in his hands and kiss him with every ounce of energy he’d had in him and whisper against his lips that he’d wanted to feel all of sungyeol inside him.

he knows he should’ve been more upset that nothing was going to happen. it had been a terrible, such a terrible thing to think, but he’d thought that he could handle it if something did happen. he’d spent so much time at the local playground with the kids there, kids from infants to elementary schoolers, that he’d known that he’d be willing to brave any obstacle just to have them himself. 

but he’d met sungyeol and fallen in love with the way he’d touched myungsoo with a gentleness that belied his size and with the way he’d said myungsoo’s name with a reverence that told him that nothing else mattered to him and with the way that he’d trusted myungsoo enough to tell him the secrets he couldn’t even tell sungjong— that he was deathly afraid of growing up and facing the future, that he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, that he wanted to spend as much time with myungsoo as he could before they ended up going their separate ways, sungyeol heading off to university and myungsoo remaining behind in high school.

myungsoo wonders if he’ll ever have someone like sungyeol again. probably not, he thinks. he’d seen sungyeol for the first time when he was over at sungjong’s house after elementary school, when sungyeol had burst into the front door with his arms slung around two other boys, their uniforms clearly that of the local middle school, and when sungjong had turned to myungsoo and said with a grimace on his face, sorry, that’s my stupid brother and his stupid friends, myungsoo had thought that someone who laughed and smiled like that couldn’t possibly have been that stupid of a person. 

and when the doorbell had rung one day a few years later, when he was a third year in middle school, he’d opened the door to see sungyeol on his front step. he’d stood there, unmoving and unblinking, until sungyeol had said that i’m here for kim sunggyu? the math tutor from 3a? and myungsoo had snapped out of his reverie and led sungyeol to his brother’s room.

he’d never considered for a single moment that sungyeol would look back at him, not ever, not once in his life. because he’d been that awkward kid with the ugly curly hair that whipped around his face like a tornado and the strangely pointy nose. at least the kims’ younger boy has pretty eyes, he’d heard the neighborhood ahjummas say about him on more than one occasion. too bad he’s not smart like his brother. guess you can’t have both in one son. he’d stood there, shaking in the aisles of the grocery store, until his mother had found him and asked him why he was crying and he’d said that he didn’t know.

then on a blustery spring day a year ago, when the flowers were all in bloom around them, sungyeol had asked myungsoo if he’d wanted to go get ice cream after school and myungsoo had asked why he’d want to get ice cream when they had ice cream at home and sungyeol had flushed and looked to the side and said i’m asking you out, myungsoo, and myungsoo had blinked at him and said then i’ll go out with you, hyung, and that was it.

the camera beeps when myungsoo gets to the end of the photos. no further data, it reads. it’s heavy in myungsoo’s hands, somehow even heavier than it had been when sungyeol had bought it for him— and that’s right. sungyeol had bought this camera for myungsoo, bought it with his hard-earned money from his part-time job waiting tables. 

myungsoo hadn’t even thought that sungyeol was listening when he’d said that he wanted a new camera since his old one had broken when sunggyu had accidentally spilled their parents’ soju on it. he’d wanted this specific model for a while, and he’d tracked all of the technology blog posts and articles and checked the specifications on it— its aperture, its lens width, its frame rate, its angle of view, its shutter speed— all things that he’d expected sungyeol to just nod and smile at and humor him for talking so animatedly about.

he’d cried when sungyeol had told him to open up a small and neatly wrapped box, when sungyeol had only grinned when myungsoo had asked him, shock in his voice, how much it had cost, when sungyeol had told him not to worry about it. happy birthday, myungsoo, he’d said. don’t cry, it makes me only want to hug you more, okay? oh, don’t cry, really. ahh, i knew you would be like this. such a crybaby. come here, myungsoo. the first photo he’d taken with his brand new camera was of sungyeol, smiling as brightly as the sun shone on them, with the same striped shirt stretching across his chest as he’d worn on their first date.

he scrolls nearly aimlessly through their texts together. it’s been almost a year and a half; it would’ve been two years this coming spring. sungyeol had told him once, his fingers intertwined with myungsoo’s, that they could last forever, and now myungsoo wonders if they’d had different definitions of forever all along.

just last week—

03:28 yeolie: go sleep myungsoo 03:28 yeolie: its late 03:29 soosoo: im not tired tho 03:29 yeolie: sleeeeep 03:29 soosoo: ur not my mom 03:29 soosoo: or my brother 03:29 yeolie: ur right 03:29 yeolie: im more than that 03:29 soosoo: ewwwwwwwww 03:30 yeolie: gn bb <3 03:30 soosoo: <3

last month—

16:20 fartypants: can u stop changing my name???? 16:20 fartypants: myungsoo srsly?? 16:20 snugglebuns: only when u change mine back 16:20 snugglebuns: :T 16:20 fartypants: but u r a snugglebuns 16:20 snugglebuns: and u r a fartypants 16:20 snugglebuns: so idk what the problem is here 16:21 fartypants: kim myungsoo 16:21 fartypants: do u wanna die 16:21 snugglebuns: lee sungyeol 16:21 snugglebuns: do u wanna die 16:21 fartypants: ok thats it 16:21 fartypants: ur going down 16:22 snugglebuns: k fartypants 16:22 snugglebuns: come at me 16:22 fartypants: just u wait kid 16:22 fartypants: dont regret it too much 16:23 fartypants: when i make u cry for mercy

a few months ago—

23:40 myungsoo: omg im so sorry 23:40 myungsoo: i didnt kno 23:40 myungsoo: my brother had his bf over 23:40 myungsoo: :( 23:40 myungsoo: ah that was embarrassing im sorry 23:41 myungsoo: i shouldve checked if anyone was over 23:41 myungsoo: before 23:41 myungsoo: you know 23:41 sungyeol: yo its ok 23:41 sungyeol: ive never seen woohyun in the bathroom before 23:41 sungyeol: they say u gotta have a new experience 23:41 sungyeol: every day to really live ur life to the fullest 23:41 sungyeol: and also 23:41 sungyeol: at least i know hes overcompensating now 23:42 sungyeol: lmao imma tell howon later 23:42 sungyeol: ill tell woohyun its ok if he short 23:42 sungyeol: sunggyu-hyungs short too 23:42 sungyeol: so they r a perfect match 23:42 sungyeol: a perfect fit 23:42 sungyeol: ;) 23:43 myungsoo: gross 23:43 myungsoo: can u not bring my brother into this 23:43 myungsoo: i rly dont need to think about my brother having sex 23:43 myungsoo: in my brain he doesnt have sex 23:43 myungsoo: like a monk 23:43 myungsoo: its weird 23:43 sungyeol: ur weird 23:43 myungsoo: so r u 23:43 sungyeol: touche

after their first date—

16:23 sungyeol: that was fun :) 16:23 sungyeol: i’d be down to do it again? 17:10 myungsoo: sorry i was asleep 17:10 myungsoo: but ok!!!!! of course 17:11 sungyeol: yay :) 17:12 myungsoo: :)

and finally, when they first met (the first time myungsoo had spoken to sungyeol for real on his own, the first time sungyeol had said something to him that involved neither of their brothers)—

15:09 kim myungsoo: hi i’m sungjong’s friend myungsoo 15:09 kim myungsoo: this is my number 15:10 lee sungyeol: hey it’s sungyeol 15:10 lee sungyeol: text me if you need anything, okay? 15:10 lee sungyeol: i’m always here to help 15:10 lee sungyeol: from a hyung to a dongsaeng 15:11 kim myungsoo: okay 15:11 kim myungsoo: thanks 15:11 kim myungsoo: i will hyung

the front door slams, and myungsoo nearly bolts upright. it’s sunggyu. he hadn’t expected sunggyu to be home so early, but now that he is, he can’t hide anymore. he doesn’t remember ever locking the door, and when the door slides open, he’s proven right. sunggyu pokes his head in, probably to make a jab at myungsoo again, then opens it fully once he sees myungsoo’s face. “holy shit, myungsoo, what happened?”

myungsoo turns so he can press his face into his pillow. maybe if he pretends he can’t see sunggyu, he won’t have to respond. this would be the ideal situation, where sunggyu pretends that he hadn’t seen anything, where myungsoo pretends he’d never even met lee sungyeol, where the world will continue spinning and spinning and everything will be fine when the sun rises again in the morning. but he hears the tell-tale footsteps of sunggyu moving closer, and his bed shifts when sunggyu sits down. he tries to suppress it, but he can’t help the way he relaxes when sunggyu’s hand smooths over his hair, soft and gentle. “do you want to talk about it?”

“sungyeol-hyung broke up with me,” myungsoo chokes out into the pillow, holding back a sob. there. he’s said it out loud. he hopes that sunggyu will take the hint and leave so he can feel sad and sorry for himself on his own, but instead, sunggyu shoves myungsoo over to the side of the bed so he can get in underneath the covers. myungsoo’s about to yell at sunggyu for squishing his camera when he notices that sunggyu’s already put his camera and his phone on the table. sunggyu hasn’t held him like this in a long time, not since they grew up and stopped having slunber parties in each others’ rooms. but now, with sunggyu’s arms around his shoulders, with his head tucked underneath sunggyu’s chin, with sunggyu’s smell, comforting and warm, wrapping around him, he feels safe.

“it’s okay, myungsoo,” sunggyu murmurs into myungsoo’s hair, and myungsoo realizes that he can’t hold the tears in anymore, not when sunggyu’s speaking to him like this, so reassuring and comforting. “just let it all out now, no one’s judging you. i’m here for you. just let it all out.”

so myungsoo does. for now, he clutches onto sunggyu like he’s drowning and sunggyu is his only lifeline. he’ll figure it out in the morning.

21:08 jjongie: myungsoo-hyung 21:08 jjongie: do you know why sungyeol-hyung won’t come out of his room? 21:08 jjongie: i think he’s crying too 21:08 jjongie: it’s scaring me a little 21:09 jjongie: he won’t let me in 21:09 jjongie: did something happen? 21:09 jjongie: hyung? 21:09 jjongie: please respond 21:09 jjongie: myungsoo-hyung