#this might not make it into the draft but right now it's in!

[cevansbrat0007]

Bold Moves

Summary: You decide to slip Ari your panties during an innocent encounter at the public library...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, Bird Being Brave, Going Commando, Light Roleplaying, Frisking, Manhandling, Spanking, Ass Slapping, P in V Sex, Implied Overstimulation, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Decided to finish this when I came across it in my drafts. Takes place earlier in Ari and Bird's romantic relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I’m so glad you pitched me this idea, Marisol.” You beam as you finish writing in your notebook. “I know it’s still early yet, but I would love to collaborate with you for Halloween.”

“Yes!” The younger woman cheers, throwing her arms up in the air. “I knew I picked the right woman.”

“Just I knew they picked the right woman to run the town library.” You throw her a wink before tucking your pad and pen back into your purse. “Now, I hate to cut this meeting short…” Out of habit you press a hand against your belly, silently wishing you’d opted to throw on a pair of spanx this morning instead of a flimsy pair of panties. 

Frankly, you were tired of sucking it in. But every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you looked pretty damn good. Perhaps your confidence was growing after all. 

“But I need to get home and change so I can run by the shop before it gets too late.” You finish, feeling grateful when the sweet librarian sees fit to lead you out of her office.

“Sooo…” The dark-haired woman drags out the word, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you both come around the corner. “Word on the street is that you’ve been seeing a lot of Detective Levinson lately. Everything good, I hope?”

 “What do you mean?” You respond, willing your pulse to remain steady. “Everything’s fine. He just…likes for me to call him whenever something new pops up about Martin. That’s all.”

And whenever you lock up in the evening. And when you make it home. And then again to decide if he’s coming to your place for the night. Or, if you’re already on the back roads heading to his. 

It was all so fun and exciting. But at the same time, it was just sex. Amazing sex, mind you. But just sex all the same.    

Instead of responding immediately, Marisol simply chooses to link her arm through yours. “Mm. While I haven’t lived here long, I’ve already learned how much this town loves gossip.” She muses. “Which is why I try to fly under the radar at all times.”

“Uh huh.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Even when it comes to a certain Officer Milton?”

“Shh! We do no not speak that man’s name in this house!”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like he always goes out of his way to just…be around. He’s like a puppy. I do not have time for puppies, chica. I’m too busy building a career amongst the books.”

“Well sugar, I suppose you might wanna tell him that.”

“Ay, but that would involve making conversation. Something I also do not have time for because–”

“Because he’s standing over there by the door, talking to our favorite resident detective.” You interrupt with a giggle, prompting the other woman to drop your arm in a flourish before racing off back in the direction of her office before squeaking out “you never saw me” - leaving you alone. 

You allow yourself to stand there for another moment, content with watching the two men talk. While both were easy on the eyes, you were only interested in one of them. Glancing down at your outfit, you once again reassure yourself that you’re looking pretty damned good. 

And then – just that fast – an idea strikes you.

Refusing to overthink what it was you were about to do, you discreetly make your way into the ladies room. After checking to make sure you were alone, you slip into a stall. Reaching underneath your skirt, you slide your lacy black panties down your thighs before stepping out of them. 

Biting your lip, you tuck the small scrap of fabric into your pocket. Once you’re finished, you go to leave. But not before stopping long enough to refresh your lip gloss and fluff your curls. And then you’re out the door.

Hopefully you’d be able to catch the handsome bounty hunter before he left.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s right where you saw him last – near the front of the library still talking to Milton. As you near the two, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to pull this off without making an absolute fool of yourself. 

But first you’d have to find a way to get rid of Officer Milton without making your intentions obvious. And then it hits you. While it might be wrong, it was officially time to pawn him off on your favorite new friend.

Marisol.

“Good afternoon, Officer Milton.” You chirp as you sidle forward, politely interrupting their conversation. “Detective Levinson.” Of course you’re immediately met with smiles from both men. 

“Well get a load a’ you.” Milton gives a playful whistle once he gets a good look at your business attire. “Lookin’ sharp, darlin. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Actually, I just came from a meeting down at the bank.” You tell them, smoothing your hands along your gray pencil skirt. 

“Ahh.” The officer nods. “Fingers crossed all went well.”

“It did. Thank you.” Delicately clearing your throat, you make a show of glancing around before directing your complete attention to the young officer in front of you. “While I hate to interrupt you two when you’re hard at work, I think Marisol might need you.”

“She does?” The man immediately perks up, vaguely reminding you of your neighbor’s golden retriever. 

“Yep.” You wince inwardly, hating yourself for lying. “Not sure what it’s about, but I think she’s somewhere in the back.” 

Just like that, a switch has been flipped and Officer Milton is off on the hunt for a sweet little librarian who most certainly did not need him. Fingers crossed she would catch the hint and just go with it. 

And now you’re alone with the one man with the power to leave you breathless. You were constantly left tied up in knots around this man. But today it was finally time you turned the tables on this guy. 

“How’s the manhunt going, Detective? Any new leads?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss this part of my investigation with you, Miss.” He says, flashing you a rather charming smile. “But if you hear from our guy Martin anytime soon, be sure to give me a call.”

“Of course.” You nod, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well, I’d best be goin’ now.”

“Be safe gettin’ home.” 

“Same to you. Detective.”

And then, without sparing him so much as a warning glance, you discreetly remove your panties from their hiding spot and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans. To his credit, Ari doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he continues to stare straight ahead, his gaze never wavering.  

Head held high, you manage to make it all the way to your car before collapsing in a fit of nervous laughter. While you wished you could’ve seen his face, you know deep down that you were better off running off the way you had.  

Maybe he’d call you tonight and maybe he wouldn’t. But all that mattered is that you’d mustered up enough confidence to make some bold moves this afternoon, which by all accounts made you a bad bitch.

Later That Same Evening…

It’s been hours since you pulled that stunt with Ari, but as luck would have it, you still had yet to hear from him. Not that you were worried or anything. In fact, if you had to choose an emotion, you were more disappointed than anything else.

While you’d long since abandoned your high heels by your front door, you were still wearing the outfit you’d worn to the bank. You’d simply been too excited to go by the shop so you’d decided to remain closed for the day.

Heaving a sigh as you rise from the couch, you’re in the middle of debating whether or not it’s worth trying to cobble together something for dinner when you hear the sound of your doorbell. Confused, you go to reach for your phone, only to frown when you see there’s nothing from the one man you wanted to hear from most.

The bell chimes again, prompting you to get a move on. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You mumble, stretching your arms above your head. Opening the door, you’re treated to the sight of a large man standing on your porch with his hands in his pocket, his official badge prominently displayed on his hip. 

Hello, Detective Ari Levinson. 

“Evening, Miss. Apologies for bothering you so late.” 

“Why hello, Detective. Somethin’ I can help you with?” You do your best to keep your tone light while you wait for him to explain himself.

“Sure hope so. Got a report about someone engaging in some inappropriate behavior.” He informs you, barely concealing his smirk as he leans his big body against the porch railing.

“Is that right?”

“Fraid so.” He nods solemnly. “In fact, I actually found a trail of evidence that led me right here to your front door.”

“I…well, there has to be some mistake.” You protest, your hand flying to your chest. 

“Huh.” Ari sucks on his teeth as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small scrap of lacy black fabric. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know who these belong to, would you?”

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your panties dangling from one thick index finger. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but they’re certainly not mine.” You sniff haughtily. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Now, Miss.” He gently chastises, taking another step towards you, invading your space. “Perhaps I should warn you that it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement.” Instead of responding you simply fold your arms across your heaving bosom. 

The nerve of this man, thinking he had the right to question you like this right out in the open. Honestly, what would your neighbors think? The scandal!

“You know what? I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna need to search the premises.” The bounty hunter moves to enter your home, only to growl when your hand stops him short. “It’s also a felony to impede an official investigation.” Ari grunts, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“And I'm thinkin’ I'm gonna need to see a warrant first, Detective.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his eyes darken - his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. 

“I’m sure a good girl like you ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” Ari rasps, leaning in so that his mouth now hovers a mere inch above your ear. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” You respond, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Unless there’s something in there you don’t want me to find?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Blowing out a breath you decide to give the man what he wants, if only to see what comes next

“Not sure I believe you, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” You concede. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you come in for a quick look. But you’ve gotta be fast.” You tell him, poking him in the shoulder before turning to lead him into your home. “Because I’m expecting company any minute and we don’t need an audience.”

“We’ll see.”

Your pulse kicks up when you hear Ari shut the door behind you, followed by the quiet snick of the lock. Guess that meant he thought he was staying awhile. Just as you open your mouth to protest, you’re caught off guard when he brushes by you, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. 

“I’m not sure what you’re on, Detective.” You say, shooting him your fiercest glare. Meanwhile, this man responds with his most lethal grin. “But I’m giving you five minutes to figure it out before I–” 

“You know, Miss, I didn’t wanna ask you this outside. Especially given the already delicate nature of this investigation. But do you happen to be wearing any panties?”

“Excuse me?!” His question has your mouth falling open, your cheeks burning hot with outrage.

“Answer the question.” His eyes track your every movement as you slowly back away in the direction of the stairs. “Because every good girl I know puts on a pair of panties before leaving the house for the day.”

“Goodnight, Detective Levinson.” You hiss before turning and taking the stairs two by two. “Please see yourself out before I’m forced to call your supervisor.”

Your words are met with silence. And it’s not until you reach the edge of your bedroom that you hear him moving – up the same stairs you’d just scaled only seconds before. You can hardly suppress a shiver as the heady thrum of anticipation courses through you. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” Ari growls softly as his impressive form fills your doorway, effectively blocking your only exit. “But I’m not through with my investigation.” It’s a struggle to ignore just how good he looks taking up space in your bedroom like this. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I’m finished.” He takes a step towards you, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “But first, I’m gonna need you to turn and place your hands on the wall.”

“I–I will do no such thing!” Comes your almost breathless reply. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Hm.” Ari cocks his head, his magnetic blue eyes leering at your much smaller, curvier frame. “But you are a suspect.” In less than a fraction of a second, this man is now standing in front of you. “And it would be rather reckless of me if I didn’t pat you down.” One large hand curls itself around your bicep before gently leading to a nearby wall. “You should know that I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to following protocol.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you place both of your hands on the cool surface. Taking a deep breath, you can’t help but jump when he kicks your feet apart, forcing you to spread your legs even wider, granting him better access.

“I’m gonna report you.” Unfortunately for you, your flimsy threat does nothing to deter him.

Your eyes fall shut when you feel two large, warm hands glide their way up and down your arms. It feels as tempting as it does comforting. He repeats the action twice more, almost as if he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Next, those wandering hands are stroking along your sides, greedily following the path of your curves. And then you feel him bury his nose in the crook of your neck. It’s impossible to miss his soft groan as he inhales your sweet scent.

“Now I’ve gotta ask you, little Bird.” He hums, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear. “Do you have anything on you that could stab, stick, or poke me?” 

“N-no.” 

God, you were so fucking wet right now it’s embarrassing. And you can’t stop the moan that catches in your throat when his sensual ministrations move to your breasts – cupping, massaging, and kneading. He lewdly palms them through your blouse, this thumps paying extra attention to your hardened nipples. Your back arches of its own accord as he continues to play with your body.

And there’s a part of you that hates yourself for the way he makes you respond.  

“Hm. So far so good, baby. Proud of you for keeping your hands where I can see ‘em.” Now his hands are skimming down your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt. His warm breath dances along your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “But now it’s time for the big question.” Ari begins inching your skirt higher and higher. “And don’t you dare lie to me. Are you–”

“This ain’t right, Detective!” You protest, protectively clenching your thighs together. However, your words only make him chuckle. “Pretty sure this is an illegal search and seizure.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I would have to respectfully disagree with you.” He says at the same time as he grinds himself against you, his massive erection pressing into your lower back. “It’s my job to keep the community safe. And to deal with naughty girls who go around handing out their unmentionables to strangers.” Your skirt inches even higher now, stopping just short of revealing your dripping cunt. 

“And what do you know?” He purrs, holding you still as his hand dips between your thighs, cupping your most intimate flesh. “Looks like we’ve got a little liar on our hands. Don’t we?”

“Don’t. We.” The renewed authority in his tone makes your pussy quiver.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how should we handle liars, sweetheart? Hm?” Your knees go weak when you feel two thick fingers spear their way through your messy folds, lightly strumming over your clit. “What should we do with you?”

“....I…don’t know….”

His deep chuckle has you squirming in his hold, your hips bucking as he continues to grind the heel of his palm against your sensitive nub.  

“Tell you what. You and I are about to have a serious conversation about what happens to pretty young ladies who can’t seem to tell the truth. Even when it’s in their best interest. What do ya say?”

“Y–yes, Sir.” You moan as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, sparks of pleasure dancing behind your eyes. “Whatever you want – I’ll be so, sooo good!”

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Why the fuck you keep runnin’, baby?” Ari growls, smacking your bottom hard. “Yeah, get that juicy ass back here. Love watchin’ those cheeks bounce.”

The rhythmic sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, spilling out into the hall as Ari drives into you over and over again with his impressive cock. 

He’d been hard for hours before he ever showed up on your doorstep. Frankly, he’d lost count of how many times he’d paused throughout the day to bring your panties to his nose. It was like he couldn’t seem to get enough of how good you smelled. But he also knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He needed to taste you. Needed your unique, earthy flavor on his tongue. 

Thankfully, he had no doubt that he’d have time to eat the fuck out of your sweet pussy later. After he was finished fucking you into oblivion for being such bad girl. Who would’ve guessed his little Bird had it in her to be so deliciously naughty?

Meanwhile, you’re too busy sobbing into a pillow to be proud of yourself right now, your hands fisting the sheets while your man exacts his revenge on your body. At this rate, you’d already cum twice. And here you were already roaring along to orgasm number three. 

Fuck, this man was a goddamned menace!

Your desperate cries grow louder as Ari picks up his pace, forcing you to clench around him as you finally resort to begging.

“Please, Ari!” You wail when he lifts your hips higher before adjusting the angle of his strokes. “I–ooh God–M’so close!”

“Oh yeah?” He snarls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Then let me see you work for it.” A sharp hiss escapes when his heavy palm comes down on your ass again, this time smacking both cheeks without so much as missing a beat. “This is how bad girls get punished.” You tense when he delivers yet another blow. “They’ve gotta work for their pleasure.”

“I’m sorry–wooh God!” Your voice comes out raw, bordering on hoarse.       

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there we go.” He gifts you with another slap, earning a sharp yelp from you. “Yeah, throw it back like you love it.”

After an afternoon of being bad, there’s nothing you want more than to be good for this man. You wanted to please him. Make him happy. If only so he never stopped touching you. And you were trying – honest to God, you were.

But it was all too good. Too much. 

“Just know, everytime you run, I’m gonna drag that sweet ass right back.” Ari renews his punishing grip on your hips, holding you up even as your sweat slicked body starts to give out. “Now cum for me one more time so I can finally stop takin’ it easy on you, pretty Bird.”

END

Official Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

@gh0stgurl

@blogbog710

@sincerelytlh

@gummydummy19

@steviebbboi

@missaprilt23

@scorpiosaintt

@etherealdisneyvillainness

[boundinparchment]

IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written.  This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest.  The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance.  Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone.  You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest.  That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth.  Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars.  The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.  

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever.  Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide.  A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.  

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit.  The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that.  This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull.  They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience?  A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging.  You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down.  Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone.  And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now.  His power of observation knew no bounds.  He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white.  Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.  

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane.  It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together.  The arrangement would come to you.  It always did, in the end.  There was time.  For now, walking away was best.  You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen.  There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once.  This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly.  For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter.  You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on.  The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices.  Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said.  That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed.  He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.  

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box.  The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision.  A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects.  Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby.  So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion.  The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain.  While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers.  You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration.  They were more common lately.  Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough.  Your footsteps, too.  You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in.  Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake.  Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press.  After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him.  So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section?  Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him.  He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details.  Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went.  The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door.  Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun.  You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you.  It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories.  It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath.  You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating.  Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness.  The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said.  “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought.  He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.  

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide.  Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik.  I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly.  “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration.  This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones.  No wonder you were always exhausted.  He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules.  Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.  

But you knew this.  Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him.  The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried .  I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind.  Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements.   It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves.  Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely.  There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger.  He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary.  Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes.  What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug, 

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last.  “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured.  “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process.  There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks.  Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know .  Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him.  The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose.  He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was?  Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea.  What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik.  The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy.  Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced.  “Everything before was always a given.  We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted.  The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed .  The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity.  And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely.  Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself.  To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in.  A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.  

What scared you so?  What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance.  He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem.  You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late.  The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him.  Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive.  Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him.  Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth.  He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him.  Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair.  “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his.  Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy.  It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand.  He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied.  “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either.  Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to.  It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world.  Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence.  That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house.  If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.  

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.  

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side?  At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him.  There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless.  His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him.  Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?  

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you.  And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now.  Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance.  Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi .  You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured.  “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away.  You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction.  As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless.  He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck.  Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid.  Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans.  Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint.  It was obvious what it was from the picture alone.  Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along.  No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy. 

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind.  He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless.  All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right.  A vacation was needed.  More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture.  You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it.  You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.  

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home.  Or rather, your old home.  Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track.  After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom.  You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time.  What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit?  Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted.  You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events.  Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest.  This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit?  Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales?  It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point.  It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair.  He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning.  You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you.  Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself.  You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity.  Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape.  Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise.  “Half of these buildings are new.  I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills.  You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down.  With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack.  Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child.  Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music.  The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned.  Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more.  Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said.  “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied.  “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time.  I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs.  You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter.  There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people.  Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy.  You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves.  Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said.  “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to.  You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye.  He knew.  There was no way he didn’t by now.  Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly.  He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories.  Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination.  Your Zandik loved to plan, after all.  He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again.  You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away. 

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets.  You couldn’t help but pause and stare.  The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time.  A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her.  In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy.  It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself.  Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze.  The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became.  They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie.  Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No.  It’s unusual, is all.  You hear it too?”

“Everyone can.  If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded.  “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours.  People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now.  Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia.  You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map.  As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm.  One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late.  Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss.  It had to be.  Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated.  Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely.  An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least.  Were you nauseous prior, he wondered.  If so, why?  You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of.  All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical.  His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him.  “I had the best brioche here.  There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage.  A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand.  From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine.  They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally.  It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up.  Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun.  That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments.  He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important.  No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer.  All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked.  The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him.  Did you miss teaching?  Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square.  “Let alone children.  School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation.  At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.  

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis.  It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it.  Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself.  That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.  

Or so the tour guide said.  You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast.  Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze.  You’d missed this.  In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days.  But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik.  He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture.  The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings.  It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.  

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale.  Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had.  And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.  

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone.  Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured.  “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone.  He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.  

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk.  “How foolish, rooh’ albi.  My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies.  When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace.  You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors.  The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen.  Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty.  The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling.  Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity.  You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.  

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you.  What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered.  “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes.  The material must matter, though.  And the distance.  Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side.  It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later.  He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group.  As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished.  A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos.  The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process.  Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes.  You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide.  Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena.  If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another.  Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks.  They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note.  Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused.  All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home.  In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.  

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it.  Did Remus realize that, in the end?  Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago?  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed.  Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze.  A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky.  You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block.  This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik.  What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune.  Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming.  Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed.  It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything.  He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down.  His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses.  Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony.  Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical.  Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.  

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled .  Just…in general.  Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition.  Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent.  It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill.  He knew the smell of death and disease.  Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people.  Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest.  Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store.  He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well.  But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished.  After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached.  “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face.  How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused.  What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions.  From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance.  There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis.  Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible.  It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable .  Besides, everyone exhibited differently.  Would explain most of your symptoms.  And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit.  Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause.  Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though.  From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible.  What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for?  Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle.  But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew.  Just as you would anything else.  He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one.  Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips.  Not a detail out of place.  He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all.  It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell.  Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care.  It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope.  Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.  

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it.  In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down.  He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied.  Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day.  If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time.  He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them.  You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position.  The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.  

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements.  The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all.  Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it.  The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate.  You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony.  Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.  

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.  

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes.  He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them.  Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him.  You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine.  Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from.  Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air.  Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage.  It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling.  Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them.  You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning.  He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back.  You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly.  As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured.  “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented.  However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this.  Us,” you replied.  “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck.  Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.

[tinybojeregifts]

me just over a week ago: i'll just make a lil space for my short and silly dialogue ficlets! just quick ideas, something light and fun, and i really don't think i'll ever write smut ☺️

me right now: on top of the dialogue fics in my drafts, some of which might turn into something else, i have four WIPs that are definitely not short and silly dialogue ficlets, and two of them are pretty explicit smut 🫣

[vykio]

Kevaaron break up you say?? 👀

WIP Game! ohohohoh in this version, katelyn and aaron broke up a couple months ago but they're still friends. they're done their exams and drink to that and Katelyn drops a any developments on your crush on Kevin? and that is where Aaron learns for the first time that Katelyn thinks he has a crush on Kevin LOOOOL............

This isn’t Aaron’s room. It hasn’t been for almost two years now but his body brought him here anyway. It dawns slowly on Aaron that he’s in the wrong place, but he’s aware enough to notice Kevin’s brows scrunch together on his face. Watching Kevin’s lips turn down as he frowns unsettles him; looking down is worse because Kevin isn’t wearing a shirt—there’s so much of his skin on display with his legs bare, too, and Aaron hears Katelyn say, I’m sorry but we both know you—

Aaron curls a hand into a fist and weakly drives it into Kevin’s stomach. It works in stopping the thought but it brings out something worse—Kevin’s whole body reacts, surprised, his muscles tensing and rippling against Aaron’s hand. Aaron recoils at the sensation and takes a step back, protectively tucking his arm against his chest. “G’night,” he says loudly, hoping none of his sudden panic has seeped into his voice.

Kevin slips two fingers in the collar of Aaron’s hoodie when he turns away, still within reach, and hauls him back. Aaron falls back without fighting and wheels around once he’s steady to swat Kevin’s hand away. He turns a snarl at him. “What?”

The flash of concern on Kevin’s face is no longer, but he does have an eyebrow raised at him. “You look like shit,” he says flatly. Aaron hadn’t paid attention to what he looked like when he fled from Katelyn’s. He hadn’t cried, but he can still feel his face and neck hot in some places, still probably red from being flustered and blindsided. Before Aaron can take offence, Kevin jerks his thumb over his shoulder and adds, “I’m drinking.”

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Obtaining Killer)

Hey guys! Through with a bot of stuff for the day and I have a sneaking suspicion that this stress headache will not leave me until I finish some projects for work, so I *may* be m.i.a. for a hot second until they stop.

In the meantime, I want to drop this! (Unedited, unrefined, raw off the slab style)

Andddd @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens ! Hello! (Mutzelputz if u see this, the tags weren't working for some reason, I apologize.)

Hope y'all enjoy!

Ccino had convinced him to leave the castle. After nearly a year had passed since his last true public appearance. Since he'd stolen the apple from his brother. Nine months had passed since he'd sent Dream away. He tried not to think about it.

Nightmare had been finding out a lot about his magic. How it made him jittery, and how he felt like he understood so much more. How it made him deeply paranoid, quick to react.

How it made people listen to him.

He figured it was because he was scary now. The negative magic condensed over every inch of his bone wasn't exactly appealing, and the extra limbs which had sprouted from his spine now acted like his own personal weapons. If someone didn't listen, didn't give him an answer he liked, the limbs moved without him even thinking.

It had taken time to learn to better control them. Even now, they writhed in his wake. His nerves expressed through their lashing and twitching as they hovered just above the ground.

The streets weren't exactly crowded.

Upon word of the King's arrival to this small providence, Nightmare had found that many people fled from his path. His travel party of several soldiers, and himself on horseback. He'd always wanted to ride horses. The traitor twin was someone that every citizen wished to avoid.

Ccino had coaxed him outside with promises of fresh air. Apparently there were promising young members of the city guard that Ccino swore would be wonderful future knights. Young warriors for him to bring up loyally under his name, no fear of betrayal.

It had made sense, at the time, but Nightmare hadn't chosen to recruit any of them.

It wasn't to say he didn't want to. Several of the humans and monsters were very talented, and he did his best to give them praise, but he could tell. None of them wanted to work under him. They didn't like him. Rejection and hatred that had pierced him immediately, he could practically taste it.

Ultimately, they would do better here in their hometown. A place they were passionate about protecting, and with people they cared for. Night would not try to mold promising soldiers into his perfect guard. No matter how smart of an idea it may have been.

And so he'd moved on.

Night had visited several smaller shops, onces which couldn't afford to refuse him, and he bought some fabrics, a trinket, some small thing from each place he stopped by. He payed exactly the price he needed for each thing. He wouldn't bribe his people, either. The best he could do would be to remain neutral.

He did discover, against all odds, that he was enjoying this day out. Ccino was, in fact, usually correct about this sort of thing.

The travel had been enriching. Almost exciting. He'd never gotten out of the castle much at all, this was all new and excitingly mundane.

Good things do not last forever.

It was almost sunset when he noticed it. Torches being set up, a platform prepared. A crowd gathering.

An execution, came the mutter from one of his soldiers. Though he recognized the set-up, Night had never been in attendance to an execution. He was morbidly curious. The crowd held such a contempt. A broiling hunger for blood.

He wished he'd wheeled his horse away when a few people were ushered out of a nearby building.

The prison, maybe?

There weren't many of them. Nightmare dismounted his steed, and much to the dismay of the soldiers at his side, he found himself sinking. Into the growing shadows cast by the dying sun.

He re-emerged beside the stage, where the few people were lined up. Ready for death by hanging.

That trick wasn't one that Nightmare quite understood yet, but he was always drawn to feelings of intense negativity. He knew that, now. Something about these prisoners were bothering him, even at a distance, and he found himself more curious as he stood before them.

His guards, at the back of the crowd, hadn't seemed to figure out where he had gone. He had the time, now, to loom over the small group of prisoners.

The city guards, the trained ones, had likely seen him earlier at their headquarters. They did not speak even a word against him as he stared.

Nightmare stared at these faces.

A dog monster, scrappy and scarred, black fur clashing against a few patches of white. One of her ears was missing.

A pair of humans, both men, one with long, curly red hair and another with short-cropped red hair and the beginnings of a beard. Maybe they were brothers?

A skeleton. His sockets dripped with black magic, and his soul was a piercing crimson, just infront of his chest.

A flame monster, small and stout. Their flames a flickering green and purple. One of their eyes had a patch over it.

Nightmare was not great at determining emotions yet. He was hardly versed in his own feelings, but there had been improvement recently. Understanding new emotions had been coming more naturally to him.

Sometimes it hurt, but he was learning.

Now, past the blossoms of a headache, he felt a bit baffled as he subconsciously picked through the negativity these monsters exuded. Their fear. Their pain. Their loss, and their anger.

Oh.

"Only one of you is guilty."

He'd said it without thinking, practically announcing it with a voice that still felt unnaturally deep. A voice which rattled his ribcage and seemed to force past the barrier of darkness around him.

The group before him seemed startled. Confused.

Well, all but the skeleton, who seemed to only raise his skull slightly. As though just noticing Nightmare was there.

"How could you have possibly been jailed in the first place?" He muttered a bit quieter to himself.

He knew, deep down, that there were many, many rules in place for situations like this. Laws which he could challenge. People he could speak to. He could appoint members of his court to each of these people and try to earn their innocence through the rites of the law.

Then again, he remembered the rage of the crowd. The frustration of the people waiting to see these killings take place.

He didn't know what to do.

Now the prisoners, especially the two humans, were staring at him hopefully. He'd managed to shatter the negativity a bit. He believed them. He knew this was wrong.

"I don't know..."

The mutter came again unprompted.

These people would not have the means to repay him for his help. He couldn't just waive fees, or risk his court turning against him. He couldn't afford enemies being made so close to his inner circle.

He couldn't just leave them, though. Not after he'd seen the injustice of it all.

Stuck in his own thoughts, he was drawn out of it by a snickering laugh.

"Just set them free." A voice followed, "You are our King, aren't you?"

Nightmare then found his eyes drawn to the skeleton.

The others had eased themselves away from him. He stood, now, almost alone. He seemed unbothered by speaking up, his sockets held in an almost lazy posture. Tension going completely un-held.

He grinned up as the King, and seemed to watch contentedly as the thought settled in Nightmare's skull.

He could do that. Simply waive their charges. Pardon them. He could do that, surely. Many royals had done it before him for less certain terms. His mother had plenty of times.

"And you are guilty. You'll still be hanged. You know this, don't you?" Nightmare asked.

That was when the Skeleton's lazy sockets seemed to tighten with a sort of glee. Some hidden joke Nightmare wasn't privy to.

"Hmm." This was a poor choice. This was a bad decision. "Tell me, quickly, how you came to be here. Before I proceed?"

Nightmare didn't know why he was asking. He was... curious. Just like he had always been.

Very few people would ever speak straight to his face. Ccino, that was the only one who'd done it since his change. Since the prophecy. This skeleton had done it. He'd spoken when no one else could muster even a plea.

The silence he seemed to bring to every room. Broken, just briefly.

The skeleton stared at him a moment.

"Name's Killer, your majesty." The tone was mocking. "A while back a buddy of mine got into hot water, and I decided to help them out. Now, plenty of bodies later, I'm the one stuck on death row."

Simple. An admission of guilt.

Nightmare stared at him some more.

Finally, it seemed his frantic guards had noticed him. Found him. They rushed to his side, though not as fast as he would've liked. He could feel the frustration seeping from each armored body around him.

"You don't have an aversion to it," Nightmare voiced, "Killing, I mean."

Killer nodded. Unashamed.

It felt strangely calm, still. Perhaps it was because the crowd was still chattering. They likely hadn't noticed Nightmare at all.

The king turned to the city guard, still stood on the steps. "Free these four people. My judgement decrees them as not-guilty."

And, before any time could pass in the slightest. "Killer, I would like you to accompany me, before you abscond."

He'd noticed it. Killer had undone his cuffs before their conversation. Completely freeing himself from his weak imprisonment.

Killer seemed amused at the concept of sticking around to chat.

"If you would, I would like to recruit your services at my castle. I need a man who is willing to kill. And kill swiftly." Ccino said to establish an image. It was obvious now that his reputation would remain in the gutter, no matter what choices he made. He was not Dream.

Killer's sockets narrowed.

"And what would I get for being your little hunting dog?" Again, it was bold. It was new.

Nightmare was sure his expression hadn't changed since he'd come before the group. That same angry glare that sat permanently along his skull. The magic had an image to project.

His tendrils flicked, slightly.

"Payment, room, Fresh meals, and any other amenities you may like, so long as it does not break our treasury." He replied, "All I ask is that you simply obey me. And Me alone."

Not true. He'd probably ask for him to listen to Ccino as well. Once he knew for certain he'd stay.

Killer seemed to be thinking. He eyed they king, up and down. He looked to each of the guard around the king. The ones who were back in position now, though Nightmare could feel their annoyance. Their confusion.

Then Killer turned.

Then he turned back.

"Mm. Can't be worse than the ol' noose." Killer replied. "Funny way to run a country, my king. Hiring the first murderer you spot?"

Nightmare didn't humor that with a response. He was honestly shocked the skeleton had even agreed.

Though, all of that negativity had been swapped out for a glee. Something deep in Killer had changed during their brief interaction. A hope. Night could barely grasp the edges of its existence with his subconscious. But it was there.

.

He ignored the crowds as they grew confused. He ignored the worry pouring from the criminals as he had them released and informed them of their pardon.

He did not ignore when his guards told someone to keep their distance. He glanced up. Killer was standing beyond the guards, looking bored.

Nightmare, trusting fool he was, didn't even ask a guard to watch him to ensure he stayed put.

"Stand down." He ordered the guard, who begrudgingly allowed the skeleton to smugly slip past.

His tendrils kept the monster at a distance Night preferred all on their own. He seemed to take the hint.

"They're all gonna be dead by morning, you know." Killer voiced easily.

Nightmare turned to him, confused. What did he mean by that? He'd pardoned them?

"Are you deaf? The crowd wanted us dead, especially me." He chuckled, "Leaving them here is definitely going to get them killed. If the crowd doesn't rip them apart the second you leave, then it'll happen at night. There will be no witnesses."

Oh... Night hadn't fathomed that these people could turn on the innocent once declared. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Did they have a home to return to? A family they put at risk?

The noose was a fast death, but being murdered? That would've been so much worse.

He could tell, by the way they evaded looking at Killer, that he was right. Nightmare would be sentencing them to a new sort of death if he did it like this.

But he didn't have time for a trial. Or several. The sun was going down, abd Ccino expected him back. The castle needed him present, or they might revolt.

Someone might hurt Ccino.

Oh, he was such a poor ruler. He did not know his people well enough. How he lamented the lessons Dream had taken about crowds and current issues abd how to be likeable.

Night didn't know how to handle this. He was still learning!

A trembled in his hand. He tucked the limb quickly away from where it had been lightly clutching his tunics thick fabric, now hiding it beneath his cloak.

"Killer is right. It won't be safe here, for any of you." He spoke. Thank the gods it didn't sound as shaken as he felt. "I extend an offer to you all. You may stay here, or you may come take up positions among my staff back at the castle. Unlike Killer, I do not expect any crime from you, but you will be paid and housed."

The offer was met with a roar of frustration from the crowd, Nightmare chose to allow his guards to handle it. He watched, carefully, as the four looked between eachother.

The brothers agreed first. (They introduced themselves as brothers as they knelt in thanks.) Then the Dog. She said she had no family left to watch over, starting a new life would be for the best.

The flame refused, saying they would leave town by morning, and try to stay safe.

And so, Nightmare left the town with four new party members. Each had been provided a horse, each tied to one of the guards. Aside from Killer, whose steed was held personally by Nightmare.

He figured Ccino would chew him out for this, for bringing criminals into the castle when he was sent to collect soldiers, but Nightmare had a good feeling about these ones.

They did not hate him. Or fear him. He was helping them. And it felt good.

[catocappuccino]

A pointless tumblr post titled

"Assigning furby colours (specifically 1st gen) to Murder Drones characters without giving any explaination for my choices" part 1

Uzi - juicy grape

N - labrador

V - banana peel

J - bumblebee

Cyn - angel

🔥🔥🔥If you enjoyed this post leave a like and follow for more PEAK content like this🔥🔥🔥

/j

[tsukasalover]

I can think of a lot of reasons why I like and have gotten attached to tsukasa more than any other fictional character and i think if i had to keep it simple (or else id be rambling for hours) id say

1. He’s so interesting. I usually pick up the extremely mischaracterized blonde characters anyways but he gets my brain working real hard. its almost 2am and i cant think straight but theres something about his duality that keeps me glued to him and the amount of Layers he has and how removing even one layer or completely ignoring how both his huge ego and kindness + selflessness coexist can really mess up your perception of him. There was something quite short i wrote about how both sides make him. Well. Him. back when his colofes dropped since i was so annoyed at the people Not getting it (while most never even read the STORIES 😁) anf ive been screaming this for a year now Please. Also the way his dream and being a good big brother go hand in hand have captured me. I really like fictional siblings and they fill something personal i miss and Looove looking at the roots of characters. Discovering where this and that and connecting events to what started their behaviors or helped their personality bloom. So seeing saki and toya play such an important role in his life keeps me HOOOKEDDD. I took the bait like tiny fish. Dont regret it. Never will. I like my fictional characters like layered cake. Thats basically how i see them. I had a yummy chocolate cake with so mant layers the other day 🤤 but anyways. I also really like when characters have to learn and grow as people after making really bad mistakes or being straight up assholes so it really took a while even after mainstory but once i got to see more of him with saki and read dazzling i was like. This is the guyyy. Youre mine now lets go. I dont like perfect characters but.. you see.. when characters who have (sometimes way too much) confidence and are dramatic yet are shown to truly be good people who enjoy making others happy… alright.. now im listening… Sign me up…

But really he has almost everything I’ve ever looked for in a character. Starting with the fact that he’s a theatre kid. And blonde. Of course emu nene and rui + more fictional characters have made their way into my heart and ive gotten attached to them on very Very personal levels but when it comes to this Idiot who wants to be a star and reminds me of a dog its something that i dont even know how to explain sometimes. Why is he here? What are you doing inside of my head. Ill never have one solid answer because he takes up too much space in my mind and i become incoherent too often when talking about him.

2. Ignoring my first answer, He is ugly. My favorite punching bag. Cartoon character. Begins floating when he smells pie. I dont know anymore

3. he just like me fr (Which is terrible i dont like that)

[sukugo]

everytime sukugo gets called a crack ship i suffer +10 damage

[boxwinebaddie]

🎸 happy uncneen pepinursteppermint wintereve 🍬 ❤️‍🔥

❤️🤘 + ft. how i think my styles would say HYH

[unriding]

hi hi evie !!! i hope youre doing swell today !!! remember to take breaks from your booth !! heres a refresher 🤲

hey … nick? hi nick! hope you’re doing great!! im picking myself off the floor right now JSNDNKC so actually this is my 5th attempt at typing a proper response (in total i have probably written about a full scientific report’s amount of info about this and decided it still did not do your ask any justice..)

gif A is me clutching onto this ask sobbing, gif B is me still clutching onto his ask sobbing, gif C is me after my tears flood my house (the ask is safe inside my pocket of course…)

[bismuthburnsblue]

1st draft of the wing collar! (or first proper one, anyway- i messed around with some rough draping to get an idea of how to angle things)

to draft this i pretty much just stared at shawl collar patterns and messed around with fabric on my form until i had something i could put on paper. i joined that onto a basic bodice with princess seams pattern & just sort of... guessed about the back collar.

its definitely not where im wanting it, but it taught me a lot! sewing these is very much a trust the process technique, but i think i understand it now?

i think the very first thing i have to adjust is the height of the back collar- i really did just vibe that literally as i was cutting out this mock up (planning on adjusting it as needed) and its way way too high. i think this is the main thing throwing this all off- the collar sits way too tall, which pulls the wings back and the neckline down, which isnt what im going with here. its also causing wrinkles around the curves that i think i should get out by reducing the height.

overall, not a terrible first draft!

(if youre curious, heres what my pattern piece looks like- you can see how i had absolutely NO idea what the back collar was gonna be by how its... not there. just a taped on piece of paper to suggest direction 🙃)

[sarcasticratsims]

Anyone who asks questions about my characters I love you

[brittlebutch]

officially 10K into this fic and having a realization about where I'm at on characterization so far, so i'm wondering:

[notetaeker]

Please have your kids memorize longer surahs in a fun way when they're little. That way those surahs will always be filled with a distinct comfort and nostalgia like nothing else when they get older. It doesn't even have to be a whole surah. The satisfaction of reciting qur'an and reaching an ayah you know is so amazing. It's like arriving at a place that's packed and recognizing your friend in the crowd ;_;

If you make it fun then it'll be such a powerful thing in their lives. It's a different kind of comfort subhanallah.

This also works on yourself by the way- you are the youngest you'll ever be so might as well start today... Who knows? Some years down the road you might read the ayah or happen to hear it and recognize it like you would an old friend 💓💓

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...