#vine thorn cookie

[lilmissytealbow]

The Flower Captains heights’s

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫・h.j

—for months you have dealt with constant intrusive thoughts, wondering what life was like before your head was swarmed with anxiety—until one day, you wake up and it isn't your OCD that you remember—it's hyunjin. alternatively: you find hyunjin baking your favorite sweet treat and you fall even deeper in love with him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・hyunjin x gn!reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・hurt and comfort, established relationships, one sided angst, me trauma dumping, tooth-rotting fluff // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.4k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・reader with OCD, could be read as any sort of obsessions + compulsions but focuses on the obsession of time and the thought that this state of mind will never change, one curse word, kisses, so so many kisses, kisses that end in food fights, food being made that ends in kisses, was the food ever actually made? the world may never know. // 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭・je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

𝐚/𝐧・this kind of really sucks, but i decided to throw away my perfectionism for a little bit and just pour my soul out instead. I've recently been dealing with some serious OCD symptoms and I am trying to get a phycologist to help me navigate these symptoms and get diagnosed, but I thought of this today what it would be like to not wake up and immediately remember my anxiety and my obsessions...then started sobbing :D then hopped on my computer and wrote through the tears haha. edit cookie: I wrote this in early December hated it decided to post it anyways in the small happenstance that somebody might relate to it, I hope that somebody out there feels even the smallest comfort from it :)

You wanted to run away—to take Hyunjin by the hands and disappear into the forest brush; to press your palms into the earth until it felt as though your fingers had become roots, twisting and tangling, becoming one with the trees. You longed to rest beneath the grass, to watch as the stars sang like fairies, strung in sweet, serene stillness. You wanted to trace constellations on his skin, set fireflies alight in his eyes, to kiss him until you were sick of it—until your lips could bear no more.

You wanted to run away and never look back, but 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 always had a way of looking back at you. One day, you awoke, and all the stars had fizzled out—ripped from the sky like a fallen angel's wings. Your world had been dipped in ink, a single drop that spread underneath your eyelids as though you had never woken at all. It consumed you, a once-magical world stolen in a single moment, leaving you completely and utterly under their control.

The trees had grown thick with leaves, their vines crawling up your spine; creeping across your legs, your feet, your teeth. Go away, you wanted to scream. Go away, go away, go away! But the more you squirmed, the deeper they sank their thorns in. There was no escaping; you had become one with the fear, one with the shadows. The sense of what had been faded out, swallowed by the crippling uncertainty of who you were 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 the darkness returned.

Months later, that feeling still hadn't left, and it terrified you to imagine it never would.

In the small stretch of time, floating on the edge of an in-between, is where you felt most at peace. Only a heartbeat short of two seconds, where sleep was nothing but an echo, yet the world had not quite begun to spin again. And for a breath, as you stretch your palm across the silky sheets, still warm from the imprint of Hyunjin's body, you didn't think about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞; you didn't think about anything but him.

You stay here long after the world began to spin again—waiting, wondering, sinking deeper into the thought of him: the fallen star nuzzled just beneath his eyelid, the feel of his fingers, soft and saccharine, brushing over your knuckles; the way his lips taste like oranges and his skin smells like fresh rain. You study every moment as though they were going to fade away—fluttering from your palms like ashed scrolls.

Then suddenly, it hits you. There were no intrusive thoughts, no anxieties—nothing but the ache where Hyunjin should have been; an ache that consumed you so greatly that you didn't have enough time to worry about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. The realization sinks deep into your bones, pulsing in tandem with your trembling heart—everything felt so overwhelming in that bed, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 flooding back in. Though this time, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 tasted bittersweet—a distant, muted sour, a small break from the usual loud, potent flavor it tended be.

Something about the thought made your chest feel heavy, your head feel loud. You wanted to ask yourself so many questions, so many things you didn't have the answer to, but instead, you decide to search for Hyunjin, rising to your feet.

The faint scent of bananas and honey wafts through the crack in the door, slightly ajar from where he had left minutes before. You follow the scent down the hall, willing your trembling legs to hold you steady, though the sight that awaits you makes you weak in the knees for an entirely different reason.

Hyunjin's standing above the stove, still disheveled in his pajamas, swiftly whisking a bowl of batter. Beside him lays a cutting board with sliced bananas and a bread pan, the inside sticky with butter. And when he tilts his head to check the stove's timer, you notice the streak of flour smeared on his cheekbone, and for whatever reason, that detail absolutely destroys you.

Dewy-eyed and weak, you shuffle towards him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to shake the whisk from his hand. Hyunjin jumps, startled by the sudden touch, before he blanches, watching a single tear fall from your lash line.

The bowl drops onto the stovetop with a soft thud.

One second, you are feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath your palm, and the next, it is pressed against your cheek, the tip of your nose nuzzled into his throat. You breathe him in, filling your lungs up until it feels as though your chest has blossomed with the subtle scent. Hyunjin smelled like the forest's first breath—a faint, delicate petrichor that clung to his skin, as if he was the creator. A smell that brought you right back home.

"My love, what's wrong?" His voice hums against your cheek, trembling with a worry you were so reluctant to cause. It takes you centuries to speak, brushing through the vines creeping up your throat.

"I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought of was you," you whisper.

Hyunjin stills underneath your palms, his breath catching like weeds in his throat. It killed him to see you this way, utterly terrified by the very person he was so overwhelmingly besotted with. For months, he guided you through it, every restless night, every bad day, murmuring into your hair—when there's darkness look for the stars—with his hand held tight, you would argue "but there are no stars."

So Hyunjin created some. Every night before bed, he would coat your thoughts in honey, so with every kiss you would be reminded of him, and not them. It almost brought him to his knees, knowing all his hard work paid off.

He was over the moon, grateful tears collecting on his lash line. It takes him three shuddering breaths to push the words off his tongue—falling into your ears like sweet nectar.

"Oh, baby," he chokes, capturing your cheeks between trembling palms, still mindful of his sticky fingers. "I'm so glad, baby, I'm so fucking glad." Hyunjin can't hold himself back as he leans his forehead against your own, pressing his lips to yours.

He tastes like oranges and joy, so, so much joy it's dizzying. You seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, then his chest. He pulls you closer, so impossibly close, it feels as though your heartbeats have taken root within each other, a love sprouting through a single passionate kiss.

When there is darkness look for the stars—it was a quiet night four months ago when you first heard those words, nestled under the nighttime sky; his cheeks freckled with moon dust.

You could still feel it, the way your heart overturned as you shoved the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to talk about—how could you explain something you didn't understand? How could somebody sympathize with something that was so crazy?

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a while after that, bestowing your words with all the deference you deserved. It felt as though you had died a million times before he finally decided to speak.

"When there is darkness, look for the stars." At first, you stammered, both confused and slightly offended—that was, until he hooked his finger under your chin and kissed constellations onto your skin, spreading the galaxy inside your eyes until that was all you could see, all you could think.

It was that night where it all began.

It takes one clumsy kiss for him to accidentally smear a fat strip of batter across your cheek, breaking your makeout with a startled gasp. He goes wide-eyed, only slightly apologetic as he breaks out into a smile, seeing how adorable you looked—lips swollen and red, banana and flour smudged on your face.

"Baby—" Hyunjin doesn't get to finish his sentence, not before a slice of banana is catapulted onto his forehead, sticking with an audible thwap. He yelps, utterly gobsmacked, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

You begin to laugh, a rib-splitting, belly-gripping guffaw that resounds throughout the entire kitchen. With a playful scoff, Hyunjin grabs a handful of bananas, flicking them at you like bullets. You don't stop throwing food at each other until your stomachs burn with laughter and the floor is coated with enough ingredients to make banana bread itself. Hyunjin pulls you in, lips dusted with flour and giggles. He presses his smile against your own.

You realize then, blossoming with adoror, you had been so focused on what it was like 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 that you never stopped to think about how 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 didn't include Hyunjin.

Maybe, just maybe, you could get used to 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫.

cookie owns this. thank you.

[heartstringsbloom]

Hear me out

Lightning McQueen of Hearts

I’m about to get a little fantastical with this

Willy’s Butte is known for its desert sands. It’s also home to tulips and cacti. One should always be careful. What it isn’t known for is mysterious roses popping up on the edges of those cacti. The single bloom is so brightly red it’s almost cartoony, or so Lightning thinks as he drops into the patch for a closer look. His recent obsession with flowers only fuels his curiosity, but it’s almost as if he couldn’t look away if he tried. He doesn’t remember if he tried . . .

It’s velvety to the touch. Surprisingly thick and strong. Light plucks it, careful of the cacti surrounding, though his finger slips either way. A thorn?

Ow.

Suddenly the world dips. His vision wavers, swims. He doesn’t feel himself fall, thankfully doesn’t feel the cactus needles, because he’s out before they touch him.

He’s waking up, someone says.

He blinks himself to consciousness. It’s not the first time he’s woken up in Doc’s clinic. Usually he remembers why, though.

Bluer-than-the-ocean pours into his field of vision. Sally cups his face. Something worries her. Light reaches out to return the gesture, even brush some blue behind her ear, but he freezes as soon as his fingers reach her.

Thorns.

His arm is covered in them. Jagged, winding vines that curl up and around his forearm and wrist. Black, red markings. Covered in thorns.

Sally follows his gaze and presses her lips together. They had noticed, she says.

Then she hands him her mirror.

Oh.

Where strawberry-dusted gold had been, there now was a deep red. Rose red. As if someone had bled all over his scalp and it painted down the rest of his hair. The thorny vines have curled up his jaw and around his eyes like the memory of some weird, tattooed mask. Barely there yet unforgettable.

He can’t take his eyes off of his reflection. Sally rubs his back soothingly.

They both turn when the door opens and in steps Doc, who’s scrutinizing a file as if it’ll confess that it’s been in the cookie jar.

He can’t make heads or tails of the situation. Mcqueen’s vitals are fine, though his heart is a little more active. His pupils are blown, too, and—Doc lets out a laugh of disbelief. Maybe anxiety.

What? Lightning grips the medical bed.

Didn’t you see the hearts?

Sally holds the mirror in front of him.

Oh.

Centered in his dilated pupils was a matching set of small, red hearts.

A sudden wave of emotions runs through him, twisting around his veins and lighting up his heart. Everything burns and everything sings. He wants to scream and he wants to smile. Nothing makes sense.

He feels mad (he feels mad). In the frenzy of his heart he remembers, all of a sudden.

Through his teeth he asks about the rose. He thinks it was painted red. He wants to play croquet. (He wants to play croquet?).

He only asks about the rose. Neither of the other two can tell him where it even came from. Roses show up in the desert sometimes, but never have they seen one on a cactus.

He hadn’t known better. He wouldn’t have touched it, had he known the outcome. His nails bite into the leather bed, and it’s as if his touch itself contains a dozen thorns.

He didn’t mean to tear it. What’s gotten into him?

He sways on his feet as Sally helps him down, Doc’s advice of plenty rest and maybe some water following them out the door. He stumbles but Sally rights him every time.

He feels like he’s losing his head. He feels . . .

He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

(He dreams of half-painted roses and croquet gardens).

Eep.

[cookiesrunaus-whitelily]

Silly question, sorry if I'm bothering you but....

Could you write something about White Lily and Matcha? Since they both don't seem to relate much in your dragon lily Au.

Before you read this…. I really like doing angst, so don't blame me if this is sad.

White Lily stood surrounded by impenetrable darkness, trapped in the shadowy prison where her mind had been confined for years. Thorn-covered vines held her, binding her as she kept the beasts imprisoned. Pain had long since become a constant companion, as familiar as the loneliness and sorrow that clung to her like a shroud. Yet, amidst the abyss, one glimmer of hope remained: her children. They were the only reason she still drew breath, the last thread of purpose in her broken existence.

Today, it was time to see her youngest, Crimson Vanilla, who lived in the grim lands of Dark Enchantress. She sent one of her butterflies to that cursed place, hoping to catch a glimpse of her son. Upon arrival, the butterfly saw nothing but darkness; rotten cakes littered the ground, and foul masses of dough lay strewn about. The atmosphere was gloomy, suffocating, a nightmare made real.

The butterfly carefully slipped through the castle’s depths, avoiding detection by the cake guards. But suddenly, it froze. A faint trace of magic... dragon magic. Panic seized White Lily.

Could it be Pure Cream? Grand Madeleine was not the one who was taking care of him? Or had something terrible happened?

Each question was a dagger to her heart. Then, another possibility chilled her blood.... What if... it was one of her eggs?

With renewed urgency, the butterfly fluttered in search of the magic’s source. It was faint, delicate, like the whisper of a newly born life. Only two beings could emit such magic: Pure Cream or Crimson Vanilla. Or perhaps... one of her eggs.

Fear gripped her, but she refused to stop.

At last, the butterfly arrived. The sight before it was a nightmare.

Kitchen utensils scattered across the floor. A bubbling cauldron filled with that dark, corrupt dough...the same vile substance the beasts guarded in their realms before being imprisoned. And on the floor... fragments of an eggshell.

No... no, it can’t be.

The butterfly frantically fluttered through the room, following the trail of eggshells until it came to a stop in front of a cold metal tray, illuminated by a lonely light. And there, on the tray, lay a small body.

A baby dough ... with a small tail and horns. Next to it, the broken shell. The egg had been placed in that vile, corrupted dough. It was clear how the evil had consumed what once was life.

The butterfly hovered close to the still body of the baby.

Nothing.

No movement. No breath. No pulse. The magic that had once flowed from it now faded into the shadows.

No... no... NO!

The butterfly pressed itself against the lifeless cheek of her premature daughter. And then, for the first time in years, White Lily’s voice, cracked with sorrow, broke the silence with desperation.

"My baby... please... it’s not your time. You mustn’t die!"

From the depths of her prison, tears began to stream from her closed eyes.

"Please... please... PLEASE!"

Her plea was a silent scream, a cry of anguish that tore through the air.

"My little one... my sweet tea leaf..."

Her heart shattered. Her daughter was dead before she could even live, never knowing her parents' warmth, never meeting her siblings.

"My little Matcha Leaf Cookie... open your eyes... Mom wants to see you..."

The whisper was soft, filled with a love that had never had the chance to be given. She longed to embrace that tiny creature that had not felt her mother’s love before dying. The light that once burned within White Lily now flowed through her hand, reaching the butterfly that rested on her daughter.

"Don’t be afraid, my baby... I will save you... I will wake you! You will live, I swear it."

She knew the cost would be great. A vine of thorns pierced her chest, fresh jam staining the ground where her body lay. But none of that mattered. She would not let her daughter die like this.

The butterfly began to glow, and slowly, the baby’s body followed suit.

One minute passed.

Nothing.

Two minutes.

Still nothing.

Time became a torment, each second dragging her closer to despair.

And then, she heard it.

A heartbeat.

Pum.

Then another.

Pum.

And another.

Pum. Pum. Pum

Until finally...

A cry.

Matcha Leaf Cookie was crying. Her tiny green eyes opened, gazing at the butterfly, which looked back at her with warmth.

White Lily, from her distant prison, smiled through her tears. "You’re perfect," she whispered, her voice a mixture of relief and joy. But then, she felt it: She was coming. The butterfly flew away just in time.

Dark Enchantress arrived and stood in shock. The creature that had once been dead now cried out with life. Surely, she would keep it alive, if only to see how its magic would evolve.

That, at least, gave White Lily some peace. Her children would be together. They would have each other.

Exhausted, White Lily closed her eyes. The open wound and the loss of jam were weakening her body. She knew that if she continued to take such risks, death would be inevitable.

But what did death matter, if with it she could ensure the life of her children?

The whisper of deception mocked her from the shadows.

"One day... you will fail to protect them. Nothing lasts forever..."

White Lily knew that. But for now, all she wanted was to rest. She needed strength. Strength to keep the thorns in place. Strength to protect them.

She had to endure. She had to hold on. She had to protect them. All of them.

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Main Objective: Defeat Malleus Draconia (Failed)

Dawn (Loading her gun when sees a sea of thorn vines come after her): AHHHH!!!!

[10 Minutes Later]

Dawn (Tied up with Thorn Vines while hanging upside down) (Watching her brothers eating the cookies): Damn all of you. I will get vengeance and I will get my friends cookies next time. Just you all wait.

MISSION FAILED! WE'LL GET THEM NEXT TIME!

Malleus, eats his victory cookies.

[deldeldel90]

Gwen, a Gwen who doesn't find the CPC, looking at herself in the mirror and then, she realizes something: "What if I am beautiful? What if the world is just mean?"

And, because she sees little difference between her and her beloved siblings, she grows really protective over them, but gently protective. she spends all her days with them, just like when they were kids, and finds herself adoring her siblings even more. she braids flowers into Maria's hair, bakes cookies with Jamie, and watches Lorena sword fight.

The world is mean, she thinks to herself, closing herself off from anyone not her family. everyone hears about the isolated princess Gwendolyn, hidden beneath her castle's walls... The ice princess, protected behind thorns and vines...

But what they don't know, is how she's not only the one protecting. She's the protector.

She, who loves her family more than anything. She, the daughter of the woman who wished for nothing more than to keep her family. She, Gwendolyn.

"you're beautiful," she tells them, because there's nothing she fears more than the world telling them otherwise.

[rainbowxocs]

(REFERENCE COMING SOON)

TW: Child Abuse, Grooming, Stuff of that nature.

Name: Jonah Louis Francois.

Alt Names: Moon, Mouse.

Special Titles: Forsaken God, Death, The Grim Reaper, Puppet, God Killer.

Old Titles: Roi De France, Dauphin de France, General, God of Knowledge, God of Mourning, God of the Moon, God of Healing, False God, Mad King.

Username: @jonahfrancois

Nicknames: Your Majesty, Your Highness, My Prince, Chiot, Baby Girl, La Lune, Moonie, Old Man, Hero, Mr Nice Guy, Dog Boy, My Muse, Watson, Hound of Baskerville.

Chronological Age: 4.5 Billion.

Vessel Age: 605.

Age: 45.

Pronouns: Any Pronouns.

Sexuality: Demisexual, Gay.

Gender: Transfeminine, Nonbinary, Genderqueer.

Base Species: Starling.

Current Species: Litch, Reaper, “Werewolf.”

Disorders: Insomnia, CPTSD, Morality OCD, Autism, Schizophrenia, NPD, ASPD, Bulimia.

Physical Disabilities: Blind in Left Eye,Dyslexia, Chronic Pain, Cursed, Immunocompromised.

Curse Info: He got cursed after trying to deceive the gods. The curse has two parts to it, Jonah is able to feel everyone‘s pain and emotions within a 50 mile radius of him, Jonah is able to take a persons pain/injury and transfer it to himself. Jonah also has a sort of Hanahaki-esque part to his curse, where Roses and Thorny Branches will sometimes consume him or cause him to throw up the flowers. Usually this part of the curse activates if Jonah hurts someone. His hands and arms can also blacken if he uses excessive power.

Recovering Addictions: Nicotine (Cigarettes), Alcohol, Cocaine.

Religion: None.

Job: Professional Antihero, Hospital Administrator, Cafe Owner, Painter.

Degrees: Mathematics, Physics, Paramedic Science, NPLQ, Health Administration.

Lives in: NYC, New York, 2306.

Languages: Voynich,French, English, ASL, LSF, Spanish, Chinese, Hindi, Japanese, Arabic, German, Danish, Italian, Russian, Dutch.

Height: 6’5”

Ethnicity: French.

Accent: French.

Monster Form: Black Shadowy Werewolf-Like Creature with glowing white eyes. Slightly staticy.

Animal Form: Giant Powder Blue Isopod, or Black Wolf.

Other Form: Blue Goop.

Spirit Form: Blue Firey Figure with Glowing White Eyes.

Spirit Level: Acceptance.

Powers: Healing, Thorn Vines, Siren, Illusion Magic, Reality Bending, Shapeshifting, Snow Magic, Fire Magic, Plant Magic, Hypnosis, Water Magic, Causing Eclipses, Strings, Necromancy, Ocean Magic, Mind Walking, Dream Walking, Static.

Weapons: Sword, Knife, Scissors.

Alignment: Lawful Neutral.

Text Color: Blue.

Main Animal: Dogs, Otters, Mice.

Main Hobbies: Piano, Painting, Sewing, Crochet, Knitting, Antiquing, Reading, Video Games.

Favorite Drinks: Peppermint Tea, Hot Chocolate,

Favorite Snacks: Almonds, Cheese, Tortilla Chips, Triskets, Pomegranates.

Favorite Meals: Peanut Butter and Pickle Sandwiches, Mac and Cheese, Tacos, Ratatouille, Garbure, Mushroom and Olive Pizza, Maki Rolls, Sashimi, Toast.

Favorite Dessert: Blueberry Muffins, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Swirl Icecream, Cheesecake.

Favorite Flower: Daffodils, Lilies, Daisies.

Scent: Fancy Vanilla Cologne.

Handedness: Right Handed.

Blood Color: Gold/Silver, Sometimes Red.

Awareness: Very Aware. (Effect: Negative.)

Birthday: December 1st 1701

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: Jane Austen is one of his favorite authors, He is fork lift certified.

Special Interests: History, Heroism, Physics, Project Sekai and Vocaloid, Idols, Animals.

Stims: Very subtle stims. Fidgeting with pens, playing with his hair, etc. he also uses a moon stress ball.

Stimboard: COMING SOON.

Moodboard: COMING SOON.

Fashion Board: COMING SOON.

Comfort Objects: Teddy (Old Teddy Bear.)

Family:

Alden Francois, Madeline Francois. (Parents.)

Charles, Pierre, Raphael, Angelo. (Brothers.)

Evelyn Williams (Adoptive Grandmother)

Lila Francois (Adoptive Daughter) (Deceased)

Evan Sirius (Adoptive Son) (Deceased)

Kaela Sirius (Adoptive Daughter)

Aculia Bell (Daughter Figure)

Friends: Samantha, Claire, Malik.

Puppetmaster: Aditya.

Romance: James DuPont, Aditya Ravi. (Spouses.), Kriston Bell (Boyfriend.)

Enemies: James DuPont (Mortal Enemy)

Pets: Jasper (Service Dog) (Golden Retriver), Pepper (Grey,Tan, and White Cat with Cerebellar Hypoplasia), Aquarium with Various Fish.

Reincarnations: Achilles, Other Unknown Reincarnations.

Brief Personality: Not many people know the real Jonah. He has carefully crafted his personality over the past few hundred years in order to be the epitome of perfection. Kind, Generous, Empathetic. He wants nothing more than to help people, to be good. However underneath the mask, Jonah is incredibly lonely. He often feels like there is a glass wall between him and other people. The “real” Jonah, doesn’t react correctly, doesn’t have the proper emotions or thoughts. So he buries that within himself. Though, some have noticed his mask is slipping.

Brief Backstory:

Jonah was born as a french prince, the youngest out of four other brothers. He was much younger than the rest of his brothers, them being young men when he was born. This concerned Jonah's mother deeply as her other sons had playmates and other children to grow up with and Jonah would be all alone. She looked down at her son in his crib until she had an epiphany.

She took several ladies in waiting down to the local town's orphanage with her and she picked out a boy around her son's age. One of the women named him James. Queen Madeline decided that this will be her sons new playmate and took him back to the castle with her.

Jonah and James became inseparable. They shared the same bed, they would play together, eat together, basically do everything together. The queen's gambit actually worked spectacularly. They were best friends. Though she did regret it sometimes when Jonah would have the mother of all tantrums when James wasn't included in every single activity they were doing. But, it made Jonah happy and that's all that mattered to her.

One day, when Jonah was around 5 or 6, Jonah's father kissed his mother while saying goodbye. Jonah asked her about it as he was curious. She explained that is what married people do. Jonah, again confused asked what marriage was. His mother said that marriage is an inseparable bond, someone you are with forever. She also explained weddings and other boring stuff like that.

Jonah nodded, and went off to "go play". and by go play, he means go be a little rascal. Jonah snuck into his parents bedroom and climbed up on a chair. He began to rummage through his mothers jewelry box. The little thief found a beautiful ring and stuffed it in his pockets before making a quick getaway.

Jonah ran his little legs over to James, finding him in the library where he normally was and he knelt down and proposed to James. James, of course said yes and the two of them ran through the castle and to Jonah's mother. Jonah explained that he needed a wedding URGENTLY. it was VERY important.

Thankfully, his mother found this amusing despite the time period and decided to indulge them. She set up a crowd of their collective stuffed animals, and officiated a little "wedding" for the two of them. She even took one of her old necklace chains and fashioned the ring into a necklace, since James hands were far too small to wear the ring normally.

She figured, that they had no idea what the hell this meant so might as well let them have fun.

The rest of their childhood went without much incident, the two of them just learning and playing with one another. Until the two boys turned into tweens about 11 or 12. They were starting to get a little rebellious as tweens often do. One day during a boring royal event, the two of them snuck out of the castle and onto the grounds.

They ran up to a nearby pond that was on the property and they both decided to go swimming. They jump into the water. Jonah is a natural born swimmer, however.. James.. was not.. while Jonah and him were having fun, Jonah got distracted by some guards coming and trying to find him and James. He swam deeper into the water to hide, and when he came back up. He realized.. James was ?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ

He dived under the water, and.. found.. ?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ.. James had ?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ.. Jonah pulls his friend up onto the shore and attempted to?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ, but it was already t̴̮͙͉͕͒̂̈́̒̿͂͐̈̿̚͠͝o̴͉͈͙͂̏̀̓ͅơ̷̟̳̬̣̪͓̤̱̣̩̮̓̌̐̈́͋̍̃̕͜͝ ̷̟̤̐̐̓̈͊̈́͝l̵̢̡̢̧̡̧̜̝̬̻̱͇̭͈̙̉̅̉a̷̢̦̗̼͕̼̩̭̝̽̔ͅt̸͙͔͝ȩ̸̢̝̝̗̠̘͚̳̫͉̫̱́̀̈́͋̾̒̃̐̒̾̀̑̕. Jonah, began to sob into James. Up in the sky, the moon covered the sun causing an eclipse. The water from the pond moved forwards, surrounding James and Jonah in a shallow pool. The water glowing a bright blue around them and, like a miracle.

James ?̸͎̬̑̇͂̎̓̆̀̒͜?̷͍͎͍͓̤͓͖̫͈͆ͅ?̴̧̟́͂͝?̴̧̛̣̞͚̤̟̝̮̫̟͙̟̀͑̀͒̔̅̂̀̄͗̊̌̕͜?̶͈̗̜̝̈̿͛̓̐͌̀?̴̳̖͎̓̈́̕. Jonah hugged him tightly as he began to cry harder. The moon moved past the sun, returning everything to normal. James was very confused as he didn't even remember what had happened. But he hugged Jonah back either way. He picks James up and brings him back to the castle.

The two grow up more, now being around 16. Jonah has been learning how to paint and do the arts, as well as learning how to swordfight. Him and James will practice for hours on in just sparring with one another. The two of them quite enjoy "fighting" and they're both quite equally good at it.

There is a war going on between his father's kingdom and some others. It's quite vicious and things have been tense around the castle. Jonah's older brothers are helping their father the best they can however none of them are exactly good at strategy or battle tactic. Which is causing a lot of arguments between them and their father.

Jonah and James one day decide to visit the war room, where they find the king screaming at Jonah's brothers. Their bad call had caused an entire army to die, once again and he was getting sick and tired of them all being idiots. They all storm out of the room for a moment to cool off, leaving Jonah and James alone in the room.

James looks at the giant chess board in the middle of the room, looking at the battle strategy. Jonah couldn't really make heads or tails of it, he was always more of an artist than a military man. James however moved some pieces around in order to make a better formation before stepping back.

Jonah's father came back into the room, and looked at the board. He looked at Jonah and thought that his son had done it instead of James. Something.. clicks in the kings mind before he dismisses the two boys.

A few weeks later, The king summons Jonah into the war room again. He tells him that it is a shame that he is the youngest when he has so much potential to be a great leader. Jonah.. didn't exactly agree but nodded anyway to be polite. His father brushed some hair out of Jonah's face. "You want to make me proud, right?" The king said.

"Of course." Jonah replied.. nervously.

"Why don't you become my second in command so to speak? Your brothers are not exactly... the best at this sort of thing. I need someone like you to help me."

And of course, Jonah wouldn't say no to something like that. Being able to help his father, to actually get attention from him would be amazing. Him and his father never really had much of a connection due to Jonah being a bit soft. If he could prove to him that he also had value, Jonah thought that would be swell.

Jonah's father and him spent a lot more time together, growing closer and closer. Jonah despite not being the one who originally messed with the board, was actually pretty good at strategy. Most of his plans worked and the ones that didn't, his father would ?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ give him a pat on the back. You can't win them all after all.

His brothers kept getting in the way though of his progress. The lot of them didn't really take Jonah seriously. His dad did though, and that's all that mattered. Him and his dad would stay up late at night and ?̴̡̖̦̼̜̺̰̈́̀̿̀́́͂̋͝͝?̴̛͔͕͙͉͓̙̞͖̱̉͌̊͐̚͜?̴̧̰̭͉̺͙͉̰̯̦̊̇̄̑̄̏̑̄̏͆͑͝?̷̛͈̦͖̲̫̬̔͌̽̇͑̎͐͗͜͠͠͠?̷̼̼͓̖̬̐̓̇?̴̨̧̣̼̘̝͈̰͉̞̅̐̇͌͠?̶͖̬̖̟̱̰͖̹̺̍̿̈́̆͋̃̍?̴̡̛͙̫̬̹͍̳̮̮͍̲̱̔͂͊͆̅̄̾̿̕͜͜͠?̴̛̱̥̖̰̫̖̝̥̝̈́̑̈́͂́̍̔̌̆̔͐͘̚?̴̧̘͍̙͈̯̝̻̝͙̟̹͚̺̂̐̀͗̇̄͝?̵̧̪͔̼̜̤̹͐?̷̯͍̰̪̣̘͈̘̥̐̉̿̾̽̓̂̐̊̐̂̊͑̅̅ͅ gossip about his brothers. The king over the coming months explained to himạ̴̢̛̜͂̌̆̀̋̑̉̋͝͠ ̴͓̯̑̈͗̉̃͒̒̚ṕ̷̮̣̣͈̫̤̅̀̈̔͑͌͛͘ľ̶̡̛̥͖̮̪͚̟͉̠̤͎̊̃́̀̉́̋̆̾̚ă̶̡̜̤̗̖͓͔̦̥̼̣͈̜̞͚̚n̴̨̛̍̔͐̾͑̂. Obviously, he couldn't just make Jonah the heir. Birth order succeeds intelligence and actual talent to rule a country. So the king told Jonah to ?̴̡͕͍̭̭̝̣͖̼̭̞͙̺̳̖̇͝?̷̧̙̟̭̥̰̥̱̭̾̊̅͑̓̾̏̈͋̑́̕̚̚͜?̷̯͇͖͇̳͔͓͖̜̼͖̖̼̻̬͌̂̇́͐́͑̎͘?̶̛͔̰̦̓̎̂̆̄̎̄̈̀͘̕͠͠?̸̧̪̩͖̱̣̱̠̠͔̬̀͐͗̈̋̔̊̎͘͝͠͠?̸̯͔͔̙̞̦̹̱̫̩͙̘̜̙̙̽́̏͊̊͘. It would be easy, all he had to do was get rid of the problem and then Jonah wouldn't have to worry about his brothers getting in the way of ?̴̡͕͍̭̭̝̣͖̼̭̞͙̺̳̖̇͝?̷̧̙̟̭̥̰̥̱̭̾̊̅͑̓̾̏̈͋̑́̕̚̚͜?̷̯͇͖͇̳͔͓͖̜̼͖̖̼̻̬͌̂̇́͐́͑̎͘?̶̛͔̰̦̓̎̂̆̄̎̄̈̀͘̕͠͠?̸̧̪̩͖̱̣̱̠̠͔̬̀͐͗̈̋̔̊̎͘͝͠͠?̸̯͔͔̙̞̦̹̱̫̩͙̘̜̙̙̽́̏͊̊͘.

O̵̅̔̐̒̅͑̊̿̌̚��͍̼̣̯͍̲̆́n̵̞͙̼̬̩͇͕̠͎̼͕͍̺͕͂e̵͈̓̒͛ ̵͔͔̲̳̙̞̪͓̊ḅ̴̛̘̙̠͝ỵ̸͙̬̺́̅̐̔̀͒̑̈̀̎̕̕̕̚ ̷̨̗̜̱̬͓̟͉̯̯̥̜̣̙̈̋̉̿͋͜ö̴̡̫̖̤̀̾͝n̸̡̨̺̮͔̲̝̗͍̹̹̓̍̅̐̏̕ḙ̶̻̲̻̀̎̈́̋̑͛̾̔͘̕ ̸̙̟́͆̍͗͌̃͌͆t̴̰̤̪̫̗̐͒̀́̉̑̉̔̓͋͛̽̚͝ͅh̶̘̜͑̄̈́̾͒̿̈͑̆́̆̊͘͝ę̷̛̜͎̝͂̇̂̄͠ ̶̛̘̃̑̌̃̏p̸̧̢̛̩̪̤͛̊̅̀r̸̨̡͎̟͖͚̖̱̭̪̋͌̓̈́̈̓͝í̷̛̺̜̜̥̬̰͔͎̇̉̔̐̊̂̄͗͘͝n̵̨̨̦̬̹͔̮̽̐͛̄͐̄̊̾͌̆̒͝c̵̡̤̖̭͙̜͈̟͖͖̍̆ͅȩ̶̱͖͓̭̩͒͐s̴̡̨̢̘̫̙͔̗͚̀͊͆͝ ̷̘̣̜͙͋̓̎̏́̇ả̴̡̧̡̤͇̬͉͉̰̭̮̱͙̹̐̈́l̸͕̘̀̄͐̔̀̒̇̚͜͠l̶̯͙͎̳͔̜̘̦̤̳̪̐̔̀ ̸̻̉͑͂̂͆̇͝f̶̨̪̩͙͙̦̆̋̆̃̾́͜ē̵̡̢̛͓͔̬̰̭̘̣͎̻͙̓̒̽̊̈͆͆̈́̃̈́͒͘ͅl̶̢̩̳̗̘̜̮͖̙̥̥̃̈̃̽̎̀͛͋͠͝ḽ̴̫͍̭̀̓̈́̽̀̇͌͌͊͝.̴̢͕͈̱̝̪͚̲͎̪͕̭͓̈́͊̐͒̾͊̒̑̀̅̅̌̿̊͜͝

Jonah was the new heir to the throne, and along side his father he began to train to one day take over his fathers stead. ỉ̸͔͕̹͗̌̇̋͝ ̴̡̛̰̯̯̣̼͕́͗̀̍̔̎̉̀̚h̷̡̢̦̼̝̬̳̼̬̘̬̰̝̃͛́̑̔̽͝ͅá̵̡̡̱̮͙͎͍̠̭̭̎͛ͅț̵̗̱̘̬́̑͂̅́̂̄̉͆͒͘ ḙ̴̲̻͛̆̐́͊͘͘t̴̡̢̧̤͖̜̯͌̓͛͗͑̔̓̈́͒̽̄͑̚͝͝h̶͔͚̪̤͎̅̃̔́͗̾̚͠ī̶͍͕̱̹̬̺̬̰͖̺͛̀̿̆̽͝ş̷̲̭̪̹̬̀́̏͠.̷̪͕̠̩̱͎̺̳͕̻͙̻̍̓͌̅͝ͅ Jonah finally felt happy, H̷̬̫̟̪̻̍͂̍̑̔̿̍͒̾̚ế̵̻̭̮̜̬̄̈́ ̴̧̗͙̳͚̰̹̤̻̭̣͆͋̒̍͜h̷̥͖͉̤̯̗̹͉̯͍̣͕̰̹̰̒̌̅͊͛̎a̶͙̻͙̟͎͒̓̒d̸̙͓͔̜̔̌͐̀̀̓ ̵̖̠̘͈͚͍̞͎̥̺͉̎̍̄́́̈́͗̇͛̀̕͝͝a̷͙͔̲̭͐͑̀̎͘͝ ̷̨̫͍̪͓̼̬͖̪̞̤̤̪̘͖̒̿̇̏̊̊̊̒̒͗p̵̛̤̗͙͓̿̐̂͌̓̒̊̍͆͒̇̏̚͝ͅư̶̛̪͙͌̿͂̌̿̈́̅̀ŗ̶̈́͆̏͑͒̉̑̆̚p̴̬̣̓͒̆̀̏̔͠ȏ̷̡̰̣͋͊̏ś̴̨̢̛̛͓̪̦̝̗̂̑̈̒̓́͑̉ḙ̶̢̢̛̘̰̙̻̊̈́͐̂̈́̓.̸̞̓̏̑̾ H̵̡͔̥̰͍̠̻͌̀̈́͌͂͂̆͂͛̂͊̕ͅȅ̴̡̼̙̘͎̙͇̍̀̔͋̚ ̵͖̼͇̾̅̿̾̔͛͠w̸̛͇͑̋̄̔̄̓͋̅́̈́́́à̵̳̑̉̀́͂̍̑͋̿̊̊̈́́͝s̵̰̪͇̹̖̠̳̝͂̽͗̕͠ ̶̪̼̠͙̬̺̚m̶̤̪̪̟͚̭͙̮̼̾̐͂͛̑̏͂a̵͗́̀̽͌̀͒̎̆̊͒́͘��͓̰̺͕̻͓̤̣̖̤͇͈ķ̸̫͇̰͕̲͍͚̠͚̯̥̗̥̊͗͂͋̚͜ḯ̸͚̰̥̠̫̘͙̹͍̼̜̞̦̜̒͐͋̽̌̐̎̒̉̽͆̚͝͝n̷̨͇̯̭̠̝͕̝̻̽ğ̸̭̞͊̽̀͊͝͝͝ ̸̡̖̓̌͜ͅḩ̵͙̬͖̳̞̝̘̞̫̤͊̿̾̿̒i̷͔͗͆m̴̛̹̹̯̆͊͐͛̿̊̚ ̵̢̳̬̤̪̝͍̜̹̣̮̥̠̱͂͒͋̓̈́͒͝ͅp̴̢̨̡̛̝͙̝͔͍̺̲͙̣͐͊̌̂̾́̈́̒̈́̿͌̅͝͝ͅr̴̡̡̰̬̗̰̖̪̩̗̾̑̎̋ͅo̴̬̗̱̠̰̺̲͖̞̭̲̗̩̟͑̈̌̎̉̏̀̈́̊̈́̽̿͗̈́ǔ̴͖͔̮̣̗͎͓͍͉̠̤͙̣̥̉͑̓̐́͗̉̍̓̈́̍̓͂ͅd̵̛͉̘͐̂͊͂͌́̑̎̐̒̅.̶̖͉̂̇̿̌̈́͆͜

When Jonah was around 17, all the court could talk about was marriage. There were several ladies of the court who were fawning over him. However Jonah never seemed interested in any woman. Most people believed he was just reserved. Every party his mother and father would throw for him to find a wife, he would just sneak off to the rose garden with James.

In Jonah's mind, he already had a wife. He didn't need anyone else besides him. James however was a bit more practical. He did genuinely try and attempt to get Jonah at least a woman he could be friends with so the others wouldn't grow suspicious of the two of them. Despite Jonah's many protests.

His mother informs him that a specific kingdom has offered a meeting with their daughter. Jonah begrudgingly agreed after James pushed him to at least try to meet with her. A few weeks later, a quite beautiful woman arrived, a Duchess from a neighboring country named Dahlia. They exchanged pleasantries however her ladies in waiting wouldn't quite let Jonah anywhere near her to speak with her.

James followed Jonah around to sort of, match the vibe the Duchess was putting out. The group of them would walk around the castle together in awkward silence. It was so. terrible. Jonah eventually lead the group of them to the rose gardens, where he s̴̞͇̤̰̗̗͖̭̥̍̀̒̊͋͑̚͠t̷̮̻̭̤̩͔̆̓̋ǎ̷̡̛͎͊̈́̓̈́͐̚͘ŕ̷̡̨̪̤̜̗͚́̍̓̋͂̓́̽̔̇͑̕͠e̴͍̰̖̥̺͉̯͗d̸̨̧̛̬̯̪̭̳̳̹̝̦̗̘̺̤̑́̽̓̚͠͠ ̶̮̺͚̜͕̲͓̜̱̬̔̐̓̾͜͠͝ͅa̵̡͈͖̮̼͓̅̌̏̐̈́̕̚t̴̨̢̝̬͇͔̙̆͋̾͐͊̃̓̿̋̂̉̍͂́̕ ̶̢̢̯̹̣͈̦̜̥͍̹̞͔͒̉̀͒̀͐̉̚͜t̶̢̙̹͕̬̖̭̩͙͓̑̆͂̾͊̍̄͆̕̚͠ͅh̷̨̰̭̩̭͚͈͓̱̗̪̺͉̣̭̽́̉̔͝ę̵̛̛͉̻̍͗̒̋́͑̎̀̽͑͆͘͝ ̶̨͎̜̲̥̹̦̯͔͎͖̗̱̇r̴̨̛̥͚̩̙̖̜͕̟̤̮̳̒́̾̌̈́̂̽̄̔̌̀͆̌͘ǫ̴͚͕̫͚̱̘͙͍͙̟͗ŝ̴̹̒͐͐́̒͆͗̇̏͝e̸̡̘̫̭̳͓̖̺̜̬̝̜̖̔̎͆́́͑͛̿͝ş̷̡̡̬̥̮̙͉̜̙͔̗̈́̀.̷̈́̾̀̈̒��̨̳̭̼̣͆͗̉̐̑͐̉̈́̈

He went and grabbed one with his hand h̴̨̥̰͚̦̪͎̤̘̠̪̟͇̠̿̍̓͊̽́̍̚ͅę̸̢̠͉̝͛̒̊̌͋̎̋̑͆̊̓̚̕͘͘ͅ ̴̛̛̟̯̥̙͎̤͖͈̻̊̉̈͂̏̄̀͘͜͜b̷͈͚̬̈́̇̾̅̏̆͒͋̓̈̂͜l̵̟̈́́͊̾̾͒̊̋̓͐ȏ̶̧̳͍͇̜̩͖͔͕͍̥̣ͅo̵̯͑͋͗̎́̏̄̿̊͜͝d̵̩̩́͊̓̍̿̊͐͊͗̎̑͗̿͂̕ ̸̛̛̦͊̄̆͋̊̀̄́̉̈́͛͘̚g̷̨̾̀͋̊ų̷̗̥̜̾͌̉͌̇s̶̢̛̤̼͎̈̒̾͑̀͊̆̉̚h̷̛̖̯̓̄́̐̓i̴͚̝̼̦̯̝̙̣̥̠͎̘̬̋̍̋͒̀̉̾̑͜n̸͍̦̜̄͐̃̀͑́̎̌́̚g̴̡͓̺̜̖͚͙̥̟͎͎̫̭̈͐̏̆͌̈́̂͒ͅ ̸̳̳̪̗͉̆͗̍̔͑̆̈́̃̆̕ͅf̵̰̹̬̉̑͛̍ŕ̵̼͈͙͈̪͎͕̳̪̼̱̻̮̦͐̑̾͗̿̅̚͝ͅo̸̘̬̗͉̾̅̿̓͐͐̐́̎̊͂͑̂̍m̵̯̜̤̱͎͈͉̣͓͓̙̺̘͋͝ͅ ̸̡̨̛͈̞̹̘͎̰̹͉̳̯͉́́̅̏̍̍̈́̋́͠ͅh̴̖̝͋͒ï̵̢̨̢̲̼͎̼͕͕̣͍͎̼̯̀ş̷̛̫̩̼̪͎̟̥̦̬̞̜͚̑̉̃̄̎̈̉̉͛͂͆́̔͜͝ ̶̡̛̛͇͈͕̗͖͙̱͉͚͕̖̘̼̭̿͌͆͐̈̿̆͋͐̈́̀̕͠ḩ̴̯̞͔̺̦͎͙͗̌̎́̆͑͆̀̍̈͝a̸̙̣͈̠̲̙͔̭̥͎̘̖̮̜̿̒͛́ͅn̶̦̂͆̔̇̋̆̏́d̸̢̛̻̙̭̟̞̠͗͋̂̓͋͒͜ ̶̪̼̓͆̄̂̃̈å̵̗͓̘̠̱̀̎̏s̴̰̪͓̣̖̪̭̱̺͉̀͋̌̀̚͜ ̸̧̲̟͓̈̌̔̍̉͊͛̓t̸̯̪͉͎̞͉͗͛͛͘ḩ̷̘̩̭̤̦̻̮̝͚́̓̊̈́̿͜e̸̛͈̬̜͕͖͊͐̃̅̚͝ ̶̢̧̩̮̘̹̖̣͚́̏̐ͅt̵̨̩̩͉̯̳̬̮͓͈̻̯̿̈́̑͒̈́̽͊̒̈́ͅh̸̛̥͎̟̘̜͗̇͗̎̈́̈́̿̈͌͒͆͊̕͠o̶̹͍̹̯͔͊̎͒̉̀̐́ŗ̸̨̧͍͕̬͉̠̬̳̩̖͖̞̜̈́̅̄̀n̵̡̢̼̠̪̦̫͈̬̘͉͂͛̔͌̈́̂̌ͅͅs̴̥̘̭̘̦̾̊̆ ̶̛̩̎͛d̴̤͈̬̩̬͍̞͚͇̏̆̑̓̽̇̂́́͑̿̏̆͝u̶͚͓͕̩͔̗͙̪̳̮̤̮̠̾͜͜g̴͓̰͈͈̓ ̴̧̻̬͓̥̏́̾̈́͜ḯ̶̗̹͚̞̙̜̘͓͈̬̗̀͗̅̋͂̓͒̀͗͂̐̚͘̚͜ͅn̷̺̫̞̝̖͈̓̇̍̾̓̂͋̀̌̌̂̂̄͝t̶̫̳̠͉̼͈̎̽͑̈́̌͑͐̎͂̈̉̒̔̚o̸̞̥̞̰̭̺̘̦̰͍̹̹͛͑͂̿͜ ̴̘̠̳͇̩͓̿̈́̈́̇͑̄͑̀͌̕̕͠ḫ̷̨̢̧̞̻̦̼̺̩̝͕̠͆͜ī̴̧͕̣͖̹̥̟̫̩̬̖͉̰͑̐̀̽̔̈́̈́̆̕ḿ̴̢̦̩̣͙̬͎̫͔̝́̅̏̐̈͛͑͂̌͋̇̕̕͜.̸͎̑̍̍́̅̅̈́̾̽͘͘

He stared down at the bandages on his hand.

"Are you listening, Jonah?" The king said.

"Oh." He shook his head, looking up at his father. "Sorry. I got distracted, what did you say?"

"People are starting to talk, Jonah." His father took a sip of his drink as he paced slightly around the room.

"We could give you the most beautiful, intelligent woman in the entire world and you would still run off with the servant boy." His father said, coldly.

"I... mean.. I've known him for my entire life.. He's my best friend.. I just sort of default to his company above someone I don't really know.." He sighed. "She was barely even speaking to me."

"You always find an excuse, Jonah. It's always something with you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't me-" ?̸̨̛̰͓͍̦̭̄̈͘͠?̵̡̲̱̭̺̰̣͋͐̎͒͊́̚͝?̷̼̻̇͂͛̿͌̕͝͝?̴̯̟̜̦͉̰̣̊͊͒́͌̓͐̒̅?̷̧͖̆?̸̨̳̎͋̈́͐̊̎̈́̂͘?̴̝̻̱̞̮̆̈̇͒̿̒̄͆̕͠?̷͎̗͕̫̜̯̭̱͉̖́̒͛̅̉̓͝?̴̡̡̳̘͉̟̝̮̦̫̺͐̊̊̌̍́̀̒̀͗͑̏͊͘͜?̴̨͓̪͉̲͖͓̬̬̣̳͎͕̼͑͗̽̚̚?̸̢̮͍̰͙͖͛̿̈́̈̽̑̽͐̔͠͝ͅ?̶͇̣̱̮̦̈́̽̅͂̊̓̑͂͗̍?̷͙̥̻̦͚́̇̕̕?̵̧͖̺͓͍͎̠̦̣͈̝̞̾͑̾̔̅͆͋̎̀̅́͗̚͝?̶̧̢̼̫̥̮̥̫̤̈͒̊͆͊̌̉͆͗̅̔́̅͠?̷̢̧̠̱̗̺̘̝̥̿́͂͜?̶̛͈͙͗̀̈́͐͘͠͝?̴̡̛̘̖̈́̾̔̀̑̓̉̋͘͝?̷̨̙̜̥̣̖̩̻̤̦̟̩̳̦̉̍̍͌̾̐́̕͜͠͝?̵̲̲̤̦̖̣̔͂̓͌̇̄̾͒̍̋͝?̶̤͙̦̗͔͈̘͍͇̎̿̆̔̊̔͌ͅ?̴͔͕͕̮͙͂͂̚͘?̵͎͍͈̗̿̓̔̋̈͛͐͊͗͜͠͠ͅ?̸̢̺͍̙͖̤̭̜͙́͑̾͛̉̽͗̿̈́̂̌̈̇͜͝͝?̴̬̯̱̳̣͚͕̇͗̕?̴̜͓̫̺̰̰̞͈̣̐̀̒̾̈̍̉̒?̷̧̯͙̄̈̃͑̒͐̽͝?̴̨̛̫̥̰͔̩̻͇̲̫̯͛̈͊̏̑̏̅̅͆̍́͜͝?̵̞͖̖̗̟̠̯͙̻̙̳̼͓̒/̶̫͇̱̀͛͐͐̾̇́͊̈̚͠ͅ

Within the next few weeks, Dahlia was betrothed to Jonah. The plan being Dahlia will move into the castle and live with his family. Jonah wasn't the most thrilled with this arrangement, but he knew it was necessary. He just tried to enjoy his last few months of freedom.

One night, Jonah woke up. He rubbed his eyes and realized James was gone from their bed. Which was odd. Jonah tried to go back to sleep, but he just couldn't without James around so he decided to take a little walk around the castle until James came back.

He walked through the hallways and heard ?̸̛̥̳͍̟̠̮̗̠͈̀̌̂̄̾͂̈͒͌?̶̢̰̜̰̪͍͙̪̥̮͎̼̒̓͗́̑̽͑͌́̃͌̓͘͠?̶̨̤͖̲̳̺͉̘̦̥͍̆̍̅?̸̦̼̦̩̜̤̗̱͚͈͔̮̋́́̃͌̀̊̇͌̈̀͒͗͜ͅ?̸̨̩͚̭̪̖͔͓̭̫̺̖̪̮͈̏̐́̑̆̎̎͆̅͆́̕̕?̶̨͇̲̩̱̔́̅͂̆̽. James came out of his parents room,?̸̛̥̳͍̟̠̮̗̠͈̀̌̂̄̾͂̈͒͌?̶̢̰̜̰̪͍͙̪̥̮͎̼̒̓͗́̑̽͑͌́̃͌̓͘͠?̶̨̤͖̲̳̺͉̘̦̥͍̆̍̅?̸̦̼̦̩̜̤̗̱͚͈͔̮̋́́̃͌̀̊̇͌̈̀͒͗͜ͅ?̸̨̩͚̭̪̖͔͓̭̫̺̖̪̮͈̏̐́̑̆̎̎͆̅͆́̕̕?̶̨͇̲̩̱̔́̅͂̆̽ brushed past Jonah. His mother stormed out with his father standing in the doorway, trying to tell her to come back. Before he looks at Jonah and ?̸̛̥̳͍̟̠̮̗̠͈̀̌̂̄̾͂̈͒͌?̶̢̰̜̰̪͍͙̪̥̮͎̼̒̓͗́̑̽͑͌́̃͌̓͘͠?̶̨̤͖̲̳̺͉̘̦̥͍̆̍̅?̸̦̼̦̩̜̤̗̱͚͈͔̮̋́́̃͌̀̊̇͌̈̀͒͗͜ͅ?̸̨̩͚̭̪̖͔͓̭̫̺̖̪̮͈̏̐́̑̆̎̎͆̅͆́̕̕?̶̨͇̲̩̱̔́̅͂̆̽.

ḯ̷͖̞̑̕͜ḿ̴̦̻̣̋͠ ̵̡͖͚̕s̸̹͚̒͊o̶̘͋ ̶͖̍̈̚s̸͍̱̾̐ō̵̫̲r̸̆��̖͜r̶͕͆͌̃ÿ̴͙̺̟́͊ ̷̬̦̈m̷̖͙̝͛͠ő̶̫m̶̛̫̟͙̃m̷̯̗̩̐̇̾y̶̞͙̼̌͛̚ ̶̢̢͕̑͛̈́i̴̛̪͘ ̵̤̌ḋ̶̪͈͎ĩ̵̼̖̚d̷͖͆͒̾n̸̨̦͊̃t̵͇̖͐́̒ ̵͎͔͒̚ḿ̴̧͉è̵̠̔ȁ̴̫̗̮n̸̼̠̈͑ ̷̡̀́͜t̵̘̦́o̵̱͌͐o̶̤͇͕͝ ̴̺͒͋̓p̶̬̦̚l̶͓̖͝e̵̘͓̺̓̓̓ả̸̫̪s̷̱̚e̵͚̰̫̐̈́ ̴̙̺͊f̸͉̈͂o̶͈̓̔̚͜r̶͔̱̈͝ḡ̸̲̣͒̄ị̴͕̾͐̂v̴̻́̇ḙ̷͋ ̷͔͛͐̍m̴͔̺̓e̴͈̍ ̵̠̞̈́i̶͇͒̾͑m̸̻̠͖̏͒͠ ̷̥͌ś̵͇̥͓̌͘ỏ̸̠̂͝ ̴͇̃̊s̷̳̑̇o̸̧͓̜̾́ȓ̵̜͘r̶̰̭̦̿͑̉y̵̲̻̠̍̅͂ ̴̳̻͎͂i̴̳̒̕ ̵̱͑d̴̯̂̂ì̶̯d̴̞̺͛̒n̷̮̼̣͋̄t̴̛̞̏ ̴̨̜̟̍̆m̸̨̬̿e̴̟̥͐̈͆a̸̖̿͊̀n̵͖͚̣̓ ̵̘̒͠t̷̛͎͈ō̸͖̳ ̴̻̣̂̀͝i̷̳͐ ̷̼͊͜d̵̲̫͖͗͌ì̵̖͚̜͋d̸̺͌̃̇ǹ̸͍̭̊̿ț̴̭̀̋͜ ̶̪͍͙̒͂m̷̱̟̾ë̷̟̲́a̷͖̕n̸̗̻͑͝ ̸̱̆ţ̸͖̈́o̸͖͠ ̶͖͌͗̒i̶̞͘m̷̠͚̬͑́̇ ̷̢͕̈̂͝s̶̳͐̂͝ó̷̜̯̈́̍ṟ̷̼̈́ṙ̶̫̟̂y̸̬̭͗̓̅ ̴̛̲̼̱t̶̡̩͍̚̚ḫ̵̅͛ë̵̱̱́r̴̠͌̌e̷̻̺̩͆s̶̛̮̏̕ ̵̝͛̇̌ͅs̵̭̲͂͂͐o̴̯̥͆ ̷̧̘̱̓m̷̬̌u̷͇͊̿͠c̵̢̩̈̈h̸̪̓̂͘ ̵͓͈͎̒b̴̄̕ͅl̴̪̣͐ō̸͉ô̴̯̮̹̚͝d̷̩̭̘́͠ ̸̛̤̊͗i̶͓̹̊̅ ̷̦̯̌̄d̸̛̗ĩ̶̧͉̾͘d̴̥̮̓̆n̴̦̤̮̋̀t̸̨̟͇̿̃̓ ̸̨͚̰̾m̵̧̹͆͂͠e̸̞̟͕̐a̸̖̘̔ṇ̵̞͓͊̋̀ ̸̖͆t̵̟̻́̒ö̵̠̒ ̸͓̎̅k̶̲̓i̸̱͛l̸͔̮̓l̷͔̊͊͝ ̵̙͐͘͝y̴̬͗ờ̸̫̬͈̚u̴̖̞̪̇ ̴̟͈̑̒̔b̷͈̊̏͋o̷̰̞̲͐t̷̨̰͓̀h̵̩̍̈́͠ ̶̞͖̇̓͜į̶̏̄̆m̶̟̲͆͛̕ ̷̫̖̰̿s̶̜̒̕͝ͅò̷̧̲̻͝r̷̦̤̋r̴̝͌̀̓ỷ̴̬ ̶͇̹͘ị̴̞̚ͅ ̴̥̯͚̇͝d̴͉͊̄į̴̤̿̄́d̴̢̧͜͝n̶̛͖̥t̷͓̅̒ ̷̰͓̙̏m̴͔̽͆ę̸̀̈̚a̸̬̤̓͋͠n̶̮̥̞̏ ̵̺̅͋t̴̞̊o̸͓̾ ̴͕̣̳̊͂i̶̧̜̘̔̇͝ṃ̴̡̉ ̴̛͚s̴̢̤̯̋̀o̴͇͐̏ṙ̵̪̘̓r̷̭͗͘ȳ̴̙͐́ ̵̪̈̀į̷̥͕̎̄̄m̵̗̻̞̔̕͠ ̸̩͉͒͘s̴̩̗̤̅ó̸̻̦̺͠r̷̗̭͋r̴̤͛̈́y̴̭̗͙̐͒͝ ̶̝̭̆̆͝p̷̢͝ḻ̴̩̜͋e̶̯̭̋͜a̵͈͉͕͐̎͋s̴̤͆̕e̵̥̗͐̂̈́͜ ̴̻̝͐̄̈c̶̬͐͂̍ó̴̧̮̜͠m̴̤̠̳̍͘e̸̢̊̀̕ ̶͔͠b̴̠͕̮̄ȧ̵̮̜̞̃̈́c̵̞͐̿k̸̞̙̉ ̵̟̱͌̓͝i̴̢̢̠̓̕͠l̶̬̖̗̔͑̈́l̵̨͉̓̄ ̵̼͗͌͘b̴̙̲̯̓ẹ̷̱̽͜ ̸͕̌̆̀g̴̢̻̝̅̈́ȏ̶̗̤̈o̴͎̽͂̂ḑ̴̥͎̿̑ ̸̰̚͠ť̴̠̺͎h̴͈̊ị̴̓̃s̶̘̏ ̷̩̟͛ͅẗ̷̢̈́i̸̝̩̋̓m̴̟͌̓̀e̴̟͕̺̎ ̶̧̄͐͛͜p̴͚̔͌͒ĺ̸̡̅ͅë̸͙̭́͠͠ậ̸̻͉͘s̷̡̙̞̄͐e̵͙̫̣͊͒̕ ̴̡̺̔̕c̷̳̄̑͜͝ỏ̸͕̠͎͘͝m̷̝͒̾͋e̵͔̓ͅ ̶͈̳͓͛̃b̷̜̤͆a̸͔̙͑͘c̶̗͕̈͝k̶̹̪̋̋ ̶̢̃̃i̵͚͚̩͐ ̷̳̉w̷̺̅į̴̭͌́l̴̞̈l̵̖̯͉̂ ̷̧̠̬͒͝d̶̺͔͊ỏ̶͔͘͘ ̷̮͝a̸̠̖̖͒n̷̤͑ẙ̴̨̹̍̈́t̴̥̤͛̈́͝h̵͉̺̣͐̐̈į̵͠͠ͅn̵̟̻̈́̐͑͜ǵ̶̻͕̰̇͋ ̵̗̹̊́͑t̶̪͎̅́ȍ̸̳͒̓ ̵̹̭́g̷͚̣̒̆͝ḛ̸̆͝t̴̰͓̑͐͐ ̴̘͖̙̀̔͠y̷̧̭͚̔õ̵̳̞̥̔̆ǘ̷̬̱̀͋ ̵͎̲̼͠b̵͓̈́͠ḁ̴͎̍ͅc̶͉̒̚k̸͇̹̳̈́ ̵̙̽p̶̯̲̉͜͝͠l̴̛̤̥͚͂ë̴͙̗͇́a̸̫̋̓̚s̴̰̹͆̅̉ē̸̼̫͠ͅ ̷̧͍̠̾i̷͍̞͋m̸̺̝̑̓͝ͅ ̷̹͖͛͗s̴̡̋o̸̩̒ŕ̷̦͚̍r̴̡͍͛͂̍͜y̸̙̅̀͗ ̶̧͍̱̓͠i̷̢̻̪̐͐m̷͓̼̖͛͝ ̶̢͉̂̉̕s̴̛̲͠͝ó̵̳̂ŗ̷͎̎́r̶͙͛̆y̸̰͓̎̀ ̷̥͈̦̈́̒̋i̷̼̓m̵͈̝̃͒̍ ̷̞̺͊̇ṣ̶̔̈́͐ŏ̵͚̩̼r̸̼̓͆͊r̴̠̗̱̽́ý̶̜̎͠ ̸̟̠͝ị̸̧͌ḿ̸̼͇ ̷̦̑s̶͔͂͌̿ơ̸̛̬͖̈́r̵̘̲͆̀̚ŗ̶̜̣͗͠ÿ̸̗̼̱́.̵̙͈̆̉͘ ẗ̴̺̞̂h̷̭̆͌e̶̡̜͎̒̀ŗ̴̘̜̀̔̈è̶̟̞̫̚ș̵̖͙͆̆͆ ̴̣̅̋s̸̢͓͙̓ọ̷̿͝ ̷̨̜͖̄m̴͔̹̈́u̶̦͓̿́c̷̛̱̫̽h̵͇͚̣̆̇ ̵̲̉͒b̸̠̱̻̉l̵̻̮̙͗͑͝ö̸͓́o̵̻̅d̶̠̱̿ ̸͎͇̈́̑͘t̸̮͈̘͘ȟ̵̪͌̃ȇ̸̦̱̯ṙ̸̨̞e̵̮̲̪̚s̴̼̈́ ̴̠̒̆̇s̶̨̯̈́̉͛o̶̱̘̼̅̈́̌ ̶̞͈̈́̂̌m̵̧̙̟͐̑ű̸̩͖c̵̿͌͜h̶̲͛͊ ̴͉̮̖͗̀́b̶͙͔̅̎l̴̥̠̲̍̌͠ö̶͔́̃͂ó̴̡͎͓͋̓d̶̥̻̂̊ ̴̼̀t̴̜̻͐̏̒h̴̞͔̏͂͝é̵̯̝r̴̰̼̒ę̶̤̾ͅs̵͙̮̰͂̓͝ ̴̺̦͊̉̀s̶̭̯̉͑ö̸͎͚̯ ̸͕̗̂̈́͋͜m̶͓̿u̷̞͔͛c̶̳͛̀͘ͅh̶̨͙̜͠ ̴̜̂̀b̶̧̮̾̀̎ḽ̸̨̜̋̀͌o̶͕̞̓ò̴̜̟͓̾̓d̵̥͗͂ ̵̠̆̐ì̵̼ ̴̭̅͆͝c̷̥̬̊͗̋ä̴̲͓́̈́n̴̝͖̏t̵̳͉̙̕ ̸̗̆͜͠͠b̵̥͂r̵̜̄͝e̵͚̭̊ä̴͎͖̳́t̶̠͉̑̀̕h̶̙̗̗̑̀e̵̲̞̙̽̈́͝ ̸̝̠̩̄p̵͓̹̉l̸̺̅̅e̶͓͐̀̀ã̸̞̬̽͜s̵͇͝è̵̺̮͑̄ ̷̤͗m̷̺̪̑̆̅ä̶̝̍k̴͙̇̓̉e̶̢̙̲̽ ̶̢̰̤̒̂͌ï̴̖̣t̵̬̗̝̉ ̶͉̰̃͘͜s̶͉̣̮̿t̵̞̫̽̑ǒ̴̡̼p̵̱̰͗̌ ̴̠̒̈́͜m̴͇̋a̷͔̥͈͛͝k̴̥̣̗͌͝͝ĕ̷͜͝ ̸͇̫́͐i̸̠̙̎̒̂ͅṯ̸͆̚ ̴̳̞́̓̚s̵̡͉̎̔̈́ţ̸̘̙̾̇o̵̺̮̯͠p̵̨̽͠ ̶̿̚͜ī̸̛̖ ̸͙̲͇̿̒̕d̴̝̔̕o̴̫̯̾͒͠ͅn̵̖͔̒͗͝t̸͝ͅ ̷̫̇͋͂ẃ̶͔̖̮a̸̤̫͛n̸̩̦̥͠t̵͓̙͉͝͝ ̴̳̰͝t̸̳̙̏̽̕o̵͙̐̾̓ ̵̣̖͛r̴̺̜̹̎è̸̖̮̓m̶̧̙̞̈́̾e̴̱̽m̵̺͉̏̅b̵̭͒e̶͓̙̔̓͑r̸̨̤͓̚ ̵͎͉̋̀̆t̵̼̺̓́ḥ̴̑̚i̸͇̎̍ș̵̙̪̽ ̵͔̞̀̒̂p̶̦̺͝l̴͉̹̘̑͘͠ȅ̵̥͓͂͝ą̶͗s̴͓̩̹̽̇̇ě̶̲͍̈̍ ̴̥̞͆̓͌m̷̼͛͑ą̸͋͝ͅk̵̺͎̔́ȩ̴̛͈͌̊ ̵̧̠̆į̵̡̛ẗ̵̫̰ ̷̤̕s̵̪̈̇̚ṯ̸͊o̷͖͊͗̎p̸̟̀́ ̷̣̮̮͗m̶̘̂ā̶̞͎͉k̷̜̻̉͛e̴̛̺͕͊̓ ̶̾ͅḯ̴̠t̴͓͍̣͐̌ ̴̜̹̻̑͆̾ŝ̶̲̩̌ṯ̶̹̿̂̀ö̴͖̉͊ṕ̷̠̮ ̷̛̼͌̉m̸̼̭̭̆͘ä̶͙̀͝k̷̭̪̲̄̇ė̵̗ ̷͇̅ị̴̲̈͒͐t̶̝̓̚ ̴̣̹̍͜s̶̞̜͗̽t̵̝̺͌͜ó̶̰̯͎p̴̝̟̗͛͝.̸̬̙͈̀̈́͗

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"̷̱̟̎y̶̗͍̋o̷͍̫͛̂u̴̗͊̕ ̸͈̹̫̍̈́d̴̖̰̈́̇i̴̖̿͂̂d̷̦̀̎ ̷̧̡̦̏̋s̷̫͓̺͌̈͒u̵͍͖̅c̶̥̅h̶̗̟̞̐̉̋ ̷̢̛͕̈̏͜a̷̼̠̝̒̒͘ ̵̗̩̋͊̉ǵ̶͙͍́͝o̵̹̓o̷͇̣̲̓d̷͙̒̊̎ ̷̫́͂j̸̱̉̀̓o̶̫̹͌̉͝b̶̤̹͙̈́̐̽"̵͔̓

"Jonah?" James said softly.

"Huh-?" Jonah shook his head, James was carefully dressing him.

"It's going to be alright.." He dusted off Jonah's shoulder before looking up at him. "You're going to walk out there, and you're going to act.. somber.. but stern.."

"And nobody will know w̷͍̙̏͝h̶̳̕a̷͕̺̒̔̅ẗ̷̢̹̩́ ̴̪͖̐͌̂h̵̹̍̃̕ȁ̴̯͉̮ṗ̷̠̞͆̆p̴̳̅̕͠e̸͍̬̓̍n̴͙͉̱͌͐͒ȩ̴̗̄d̵̹̗͍̒" James said, before placing Jonah's crown upon his head.

The coronation went without a hitch, the wedding was shortly after. Jonah ?̸̖͖̣̈̕͝?̵̢̢̢̤͖̰͛?̴̘͔̤̼͎̩̑͐̓̓?̷̙͈̪͌͆̅͌̏̍?̶̢͍̜̣̟̓͜?̷̮̝̝̬͑̈̍̈́̊?̶͇̙̐̐͂̏͘͠?̶̣̳͓̖̔̿̀̒̔͠?̶̢͓͚͒͐̈̌?̷͓̲̦̼̃̒̐̆ was fine. He, was able to do a lot more now. He made James his knight, so that the two of them can still spend time together. James, happily accepted this role. It was different now. But, the two of them made it work together.

Dahlia begins... to notice something between the two... But Jonah didn't seem to notice nor care. He just really needed James around. He grounded him in a way no one else could.

A year or so passes, and a plague has taken over the country, and unfortunately Jonah fell deathly ill. For several weeks, Jonah was mostly alone.. as nobody wanted to catch the illness.. It was torture for him, b̸̢̨̢̛̻̬̝̗̤͎̲̭̱̤̦̺̀̑̏͐̓͗͋͘̚͜͝e̷̡̢̧̥̹̹̪͖̝͎̦̼̟͖͕͛̏̍̈͆̓̈́̉́̈́̆̽͘̕͝͝į̷̧̗͇̘̗̼̻͈̖̪̰̩͎̋̆̑̓͒̈́̒̈́̄͜͝͝n̷̡̛̯̲̪͙̥͓͉͇̬͈͔̈͑̌̎͋̄̊͐̔͊̌̂̃͑͜͝g̴̢̧̛͎̤̻̭͍͕̦͔̞͇̺̝͔͉̽̌̚͠ ̶̢̳̬͈̎̾͊̈͆͐͋͒̏̚̚͝͝a̷̡͚̼͎̰̣͕̤͔̓͒́l̴̡̥̬͉͈̹̖̝̤̻͇͚̗̳̹͙̃͐̓͘ǒ̵̢̧͔̺̜͇̻̀̈͛̾͜͝ͅṅ̵̦͎̤̪̗̺͚̃ȩ̸͙̻̥̣̩͙̞̰̑̽̿̄̍͐̾̏̊͛͂͘͝ ̴̧̧̨͚͖̤̬̹̹̰̠̜̼͙̭̎͆͜ͅw̷̳̠͎̯̃͊̔͛̅̈̂͒̀̿̃̑̉̓͒͘i̸̍̈́̉̽͛ͅț̷̩͌̑͝h̵̟̙̙͚̖̟̹̫̥̯̤̩́̔̂͆͊͂̽̿̂̋͂̈͂͌̚͝ ̵̧͖͉̯̠̩̝̼͉͂͒͜͜ẖ̸͍͍̪͇͍̬̱̽̓͗̽̃̓͊̕͜i̷̡̩̳͙̯̰͇͖͇̤̰̳͛̄̈́̓̑̐͝͝ͅş̸̱͇̝͙͙̤̲͇͙̝̳̬̫̅͗̉ ̵̢͉̗̠̔̇̆̋͗͆͋̆͜͝ͅt̶̝̬͓̱͕̦͔̖̻̤͔̙͙͚̅̒͊̏̈́̔̓͊͝h̵͚̳͔̬͓̬͐̿͌̃͌̌͐͛̂ͅǒ̶̡͖̟͎͕̬̝̘̞̻̖̲̈́̂̈̓̓̚͝͠͝ų̶̡̯̪̦͖͖̲͉̟͈̰͉̓͌̏̂̐́̄̏̽̂g̵͎͍̻̩̅̍̈́͂ḧ̸̢̨̝̙͈̺̯̳̯̩́̈́́̂͋͌̃͑̈̚̚͜t̵̮͕̠̰͖̘̻̖̪̻̎̂̄͒̾͐͛̑́̐͠͝s̴̟̥̟̮̺͔͍̽̽̒̅́̔̑̌̓̾̕͜.̶̭͑͗̽̍̀͋̐̇̇̀̄͋

Jonah is broken out of his mind by the sound of his door opening late at night. A man in a mask came in with some sort of liquid in a bowl, Jonah quickly realized it was James. The two of them, had a long conversation about their life, about everything that happened.

James had Jonah drink the concoction he had made, though Jonah doubted it will help much. He was talking to James as if he was going to die.. why would he survive this after all.. James caressed his cheek with a gloved hand. The two of them.. told eachother how much they love one another.. Jonah told James that he would always be his, no matter what. Ṭ̴̙̺͓̹̭́ȟ̵̢̢̩̳̞̩̙̋̀̈̐̐̅͊̌è̸̙̫̗̱͉͚͔̹͍̎̿͜͝ͅ ̸̧̺̺̖̲̹̪͖̬͗̓̂̈́̈́̒̏̀͝͝d̴͍͙̙͙̟̮̝͙̤͍̖̳͔̰͂̉̇́́̎̉̋͘ǫ̸̡̣͓̲̭̯̩̍͛̋̓̀̓̄͌̒̓̿̒̐̕̚͠͝o̶̖̜̼̭̳͍̗̦̱͔͔̠̗̻̫̱͗̾̆͊̒͋̚͜ȑ̵̛̗̱͎͔̙̬̩̣̾́̂̌̇̀̍̌͂̕ͅͅ ̴̣͓̭͈͊̊̓̅̀͑̏͛́̂̓̊w̷̧̢̡̗̦̮̪̝̮̳̰͙͈͍̭̖͓̐̌͂͒̉͆̒̑̒̈́͐͋a̷̧̨̨̻͙̣͙̜̘̝͖̲͓̘̙͛̂͜͝s̸̢̧͈̣͚̤͕̗̠̥̩̥͚͈͍̟̊ͅ ̸̥͓̭̼͈̮͈͈̣̿̊́͑̎̇͛̀̒̒̈͑́̈̚̚ͅs̴͙̗̞͌́̌̑̑̐̈̽͘͠l̸̡̹͙̜̩̻͓͍͍͔̞̟̜̣̖̑̊̊ḯ̵̧̠̲͚͚̣̳͎̳̼̭͈̔̓g̷̝͓̿̓̄͝h̵̍̊̋̀̊͗̆́͠͝��͈͈̠̥͕̀̉t̵̡̧͕͔͚͔̲͓̮̹̔̋̎̽͝ḽ̶͖͓͛̈͑͂͆̈́̔̽̓̆̑̓͘̚͝͠ÿ̴̛̝̼̟̻̱̗͖́̈́̆́̃̈̂̔͌͗͂̈͝͝ ̶̡̢͇̬̤͍̪̙͇̫̯̻̯͈́̃̽̐̐̔̌͜o̵̩̺̖͇̥̗̥͇̖̲͑p̵͓̳͎̳̩̞̠͍̓̌̾́͑́̑͌̚e̶̯͎̺͆̌͊́̏̈́̒̉̐̀̐̈́̀̈̈̕̚n̵̨̨͔͎͇̥̥̠̱͔̼̥͚̈́̉͜.̶̨̱̱̗̦̜̙̯̩͎̱̪̰̑̆͊̈̓̄̒͝

Jonah, amazingly actually was able to recover from the illness. It genuinely was a miracle. He wondered if James care had maybe actually helped a bit. The two of them continue to live their lives normally. One day the two of them are walking through the castle, chatting about some plans for a banquet they have to throw because of some neighboring kingdoms coming to visit.

Until they are stopped in the middle of the hallway by Dahlia and a few sets of guards. They ?̶̢̘̻̪͎͍͍̈́͌͆̆̅́̎͠ͅ?̷̢̺͔̘̗̰̰̟̮͇̼̼͇̍̒͊̉̈́̐͂͋̆̕͝?̶̨̡̡̺̟̩̥̺̮̬̻̥͎̙̰̩̀̋͑͌͐̽̽̐̌͘?̷̨̢̛̟̯͈͚̭̳͍̯̭̝̣͋͊̋͛̋̇́̓̒̀̑̎́̕͘̕?̴̧̻̙͈̺͔͖͕̟̒̈́̈́ͅ?̸̧̛͔̰̪̺̣̹̰̠̘͙̥̻͛͌͂̓̈̌̒͠ͅͅ?̷̧̞̯̹͛̔́́̒̀͒̔͒̑͐̚͠͝ͅ?̸̧̤̻̮̬̠͖̹̲̗̻͍̼͔̩̖̿̿̆̂̆̓̅́̽͑͝?̵̡̛͈̞̌̏̊̽̑̋͛̏̔̏̃̕?̸̼̩̭̑͌̐͛̄̍͂̉̚͠͝͝?̶̨̼̹̭̬̱͓͉̟̬̭͙̰̙͕̺͛̃̀̅̔̿̈́̋̋͒͛̒͆͌̚̕?̷̡̧̼͎̭͔̹͈̳̹̱̫̯̪͚͛̀͆̈́ͅ?̷̠͕͓͖̼̘̥̰͇̜̻̩̰͇͛̀̊͗́͌́̃͐͝ͅ?̸̣̳͕̼͙͉͙̪̝͕̱͛̎̂̏͛͂̈́̔͆͂̒̂͝?̶͉͉̮͔̤̣̳̜̠͕͈̣̤̣͇̎͂͛̈́̓̂̐͝?̸̨̛̙͇͕̩͇̠̹̙͚̺̳͖̦͗͆̀͌̌̋̒?̴̢̨͚͓͙̤̭̪̥̍̐̈́̈́̐̈́̈́̑̆͌́͝͝?̶̢̨̛̺̭̣̼̬̋̄̃̆͒́́̂̑̔͒̍͒͝͠͝?̸̘̰͔̞͙͉̦̪͜͝?̶̨̡̣̥̺̤̱͊́͝ͅ?̴̰̩̦̆̄̉͊͊̒̆̅̀̍́͜͝͠?̷̭̥̜̭̠̫̪̦̘̦̯͉̫̳͎̯͕̄̉̐͗̓̈́͌̀͗͊͑͑͛̇͗͝. James is. ?̶̢̘̻̪͎͍͍̈́͌͆̆̅́̎͠ͅ?̷̢̺͔̘̗̰̰̟̮͇̼̼͇̍̒͊̉̈́̐͂͋̆̕͝?̶̨̡̡̺̟̩̥̺̮̬̻̥͎̙̰̩̀̋͑͌͐̽̽̐̌͘?̷̨̢̛̟̯͈͚̭̳͍̯̭̝̣͋͊̋͛̋̇́̓̒̀̑̎́̕͘̕?̴̧̻̙͈̺͔͖͕̟̒̈́̈́ͅ?̸̧̛͔̰̪̺̣̹̰̠̘͙̥̻͛͌͂̓̈̌̒͠ͅͅ?̷̧̞̯̹͛̔́́̒̀͒̔͒̑͐̚͠͝ͅ?̸̧̤̻̮̬̠͖̹̲̗̻͍̼͔̩̖̿̿̆̂̆̓̅́̽͑͝?̵̡̛͈̞̌̏̊̽̑̋͛̏̔̏̃̕?̸̼̩̭̑͌̐͛̄̍͂̉̚͠͝͝?̶̨̼̹̭̬̱͓͉̟̬̭͙̰̙͕̺͛̃̀̅̔̿̈́̋̋͒͛̒͆͌̚̕?̷̡̧̼͎̭͔̹͈̳̹̱̫̯̪͚͛̀͆̈́ͅ?̷̠͕͓͖̼̘̥̰͇̜̻̩̰͇͛̀̊͗́͌́̃͐͝ͅ?̸̣̳͕̼͙͉͙̪̝͕̱͛̎̂̏͛͂̈́̔͆͂̒̂͝?̶͉͉̮͔̤̣̳̜̠͕͈̣̤̣͇̎͂͛̈́̓̂̐͝?̸̨̛̙͇͕̩͇̠̹̙͚̺̳͖̦͗͆̀͌̌̋̒?̴̢̨͚͓͙̤̭̪̥̍̐̈́̈́̐̈́̈́̑̆͌́͝͝?̶̢̨̛̺̭̣̼̬̋̄̃̆͒́́̂̑̔͒̍͒͝͠͝?̸̘̰͔̞͙͉̦̪͜͝?̶̨̡̣̥̺̤̱͊́͝ͅ?̴̰̩̦̆̄̉͊͊̒̆̅̀̍́͜͝͠?̷̭̥̜̭̠̫̪̦̘̦̯͉̫̳͎̯͕̄̉̐͗̓̈́͌̀͗͊͑͑͛̇͗͝?̴̼͖̫̎̿̃̊͛̉̏̉̓͂́̌̒̕͘͝ͅ Dahlia comes over to Jonah and hugs him. He looks down at the ground not sure what to say. T̸̛̥̊͐̊̕͝͠h̶̢̡̰̗͚͖̦̔ȩ̵͙̋̾̔͂̓͌̚͜ ̸̡̛̘̥̩̤̥̥̮m̴̡̼̹̔̈͗̚͜ō̶̲̟̯̣̞̑͆̌̓͜͝͠n̵͙͊́͊͋͘s̷͚̟͎̃t̸͖͎̦̰̫̯̺̿̀͑ȩ̴̬͍͓̾͛r̸̺͑̀̆̇́̕͝ ̵̠͇̳̞̌̐͜͝i̶̺͍̻̖̎̌͠s̷̢̲̟̼͊́͋͂ ̶̞̳̫̮̞̃̃̑̐͘͝͝ͅğ̴̡͕̝̀͐̈́̃͛ó̸̤͆̎́̚͠ń̷̲͓ȅ̴̫̀͗.̶̘͎̓́͛͑͜͝͠

Jonah and Dahlia sat upon their thrones as they watched the execution. This was, a quite common occurrence for any royal family. The guards pulled him onto the chopping block, locking the boy in place. Jonah thought about how his mother never let him go to these kind of things. How gruesome they were.

The executioner asked for the prisoners last words. But he said nothing. H̶̢͎̖̳̦̿̓̐͒̍̈́̆e̷̩̔͝ ̸̛̝͎̈͋̈́͝l̴̖̙̯̪̬̭͛̽͐̆ͅo̷̝̫̠̼͇̞̾ͅò̸̦̤̭͔̖̻͚̰k̷̬͎̱͓̯͔̜̱͒̇͗͌͑͋̑e̵̦͎͍̦̳̪̫͍̐͑̀͝d̵͇̊͌̒̄ ̴͇͚͓͇̌̋̄͑̀͛̾͝i̶̢͚͛̓̊̑͘ņ̶̯͇̞̯̥̋́̐t̴̡̧͚̊̓ͅͅo̶̜̬̼̙̺͗̒̅̒͛̒͘͠ ̸͉͍̣̺̗̰̲̿̏͑̂m̵̨̞̓͌̀̆̈́ẙ̵̲̰̊̓͌͗ ̷̨̟͎̱̯̆̈́͑̂ę̷̻̿͑̈́̔̈̒̐͘y̴̛̥͇͓͚̪̟̹͌̒̅̋͐̎e̵͉̩̜͚͓̠͌͆̉̈́s̷̯͍̽̈́͂̅͘̚̕͘ ̸̪͓̀̉ấ̴͙͆ǹ̸̢̦̲̲̣̺̃d̸̮̱͖̼̯̪̜̂͆͋̿́̐̒͠ ̶̗͔̉͘h̸͕͒̎e̴̡̞͕̣͎̦̽̀̉͠ ̶̢̛̩̘̜̊̓͘̚ͅḽ̸͍̪̥͗̽͆̈́̆͒͠o̴̙̲̮͉̺̓̌́̈̑o̸͎̪̤̍̊k̶̛͖̠̰̝͈̩͒̎e̷̛̛̞̯̬̹͎̠͌̿͆̓́͠ḏ̶̱̖̜̔̂́͂͐ ̸̩̳̳̗͈͚̮̙͗̉̓̍̈s̷͇̥̠̥͔̪͓͎̄́ỏ̴̲̜̾ ̵̼̰͆̋̍̏́̄͠b̷̫͇͓̹͙̺̭͛̒͂ȩ̵̯̬̃͝t̵͖̘͙̻͈̭̪͝r̵̛̮͛̽̃̐a̶̖̜̲̮̝̞͂͒̽͑͊̚̚y̴̼̩͒̃͌͆͋͝é̴͉̩̜͎̗́̉̇͋̇̾d̸̟̭̱͛̐͒͝.̶̧͚͕̫̔͊̿̃̌͠

H̶̢̛̖̝͕̦̫͉̠͌̊͘i̵̛̲̠̦̦͈̿͆̓͆͆s̷̫̮̊̓̈́͝ ̶̡͉͇̯̳̦͗h̸̪͙̝̳̣́̍̑͘e̶̫͙̩̼̽̊́͛̒̈́͝ͅa̴̛͇̣d̷̛̯̣̪̺͙͚̎͌͐̓́̕ ̸̯̖̹̯̊̊h̶͈̞̳̦̻̦͋̍̊ḭ̷̡̲͎̤̹̳̰̀̽̓̎̏̕͠t̵̩̀ ̵̡̧̥̙͆̚ẗ̷̢̢̤̩͕́h̴̢̧̝̳̖̪̦̄̔̉̈́e̸̡̟̯̜̞̬̖̪͌͋̉̋̊̕͠͝ ̷̧̺̥͉̄̆̈́͝g̸̺͓͔͕̝̀̿̅̇̈́́͝r̸̹̖͓̬͎̪̲̾͐ͅǒ̷͔̜͖̗̼̻ͅȕ̸̮̮͈̬̘̺̬͜n̴̨͖̰̆́d̸̦͋̀̇́͝.̸̫̳̱͍̣̦̰͎̓̈̐̚

Ḭ̴̯̙̪̘͍̑͊ ̸̞̱͖͇́̄͑̚̕͝ͅḓ̴̢͚͚͖́́̔̿̑͑͘͝o̸̞̠̤͒̿̊̾̚ǹ̵̢̫͈̥̭́̀̔̂́̒̂͜’̷̳̻͔̮̤͗̉͝ͅt̶͇̥͖̘̲̆̿̅̑̔̓̆͝ͅ ̸̨̗̣͔́̂͊̾͒̍k̵͚͓̼̜͒͑̌̋ͅn̶̡̡̯̥̠͖͆̍́̽̋ȯ̶͇̱̮̘̹͍̌̂͜w̵̤̩͑͂̄̈͌̎̚͜ ̴͚͕̼͇͔̂́̀̋̈́͘͝h̸͖̥̟̳̙͖̬̳̍͠ọ̶͈̥̹̬͔͍̿͋̅̐̄̓͜͝w̵̛̼̼̝͓͒̾͗͑̌̂̌ ̵̛̮̻̌͐̎͝l̶̢̧͍̪̟̓̔ō̵͎͓̤̰͉̫̰͛̎̏n̷̝̮͎̲̄͝g̴̯̘͒̈ ̶͕̞̓ì̷̞̪̳̩͒̈̔͝ẗ̶͙̲́̂͊̈̊’̵̛̗̏͒̉͂́̇̆s̸̛̥̞͙̞̓̋̌̚͝͝ ̶̢̫̼͗̿̓̈͛̆͝b̸̨̛̼̤̳͍̤͖̹̔̅̍̑̾e̸̳͈̫͇̬͘e̵̡̛̗͖̫͔̙͐͋̍̐͜͜ņ̴͚͇̘̲̪̟͛͜.̵̫̞̟̇̉̈́ ̶͉̮̝̥̓̏̑͗͋̄͠D̵̥̺͓̃͊̾à̴͎y̶̨̙̼̦̝̯͚͂ś̷͆͋̇̐̆͠��̢̣͍̱?̸͖͙͔̓̋̓̿͠ ̸͉͍͙̇̒̉́M̵̨͉̪̫̺̀ǒ̶̧̭͙̫̯̞̖̆͊͛͜ņ̸̲̹̦̰̀̐͋t̴͍̘̯̻̆̿͂́h̴̪̺̟̪̗̆̆͛͘ś̴̙͈̺̮̹̒͑͒̽͛̚?̵͖̊ ̸̗̯͒͌͠Ý̵͕̃̈́̀̿̈́̔͘e̶̡̡̺̮̦̩̟̓͛́͝a̷̦͇͓̥̺͉̒̿͗̏̍͠r̷̨̖̻̙̰̳̀͑̍s̶̡̹̬̥͇̫̘̖̾̈́̄̕͠?̸͎̝̤́̆̏͑̈́̔̚͝ ̸̘̮̯̤̯̯̀͆͊͂͐̑͐̒I̵̜̐̓̈̀̆͂̈́͠ ̸̟͔̫͍͇̉͌̃̇̈́͜ç̴͍͓̙͈̯͗̐̉̀̀̋̚a̷̤͍̜͊͆̿͂͌n̴̰̫̦̩̦͋̈͌̑̇̓̏̃’̶̩̞̹̮͕̮̣̈́̕͠͠t̴̥̿̈́͗̀̒̚ ̷̰̇̐͑̓͒̃̈̄s̵̢̜̈́̋̌̈́̋͊l̸̡̗̣̼̣̰͖̫͑̿͑̈́̊̍́e̸̼̙͖̭̾͆͜é̷̘̚͜ͅp̷̡̩͕̹͚̟͔̔̾́̌͆.̴̗͍̖̄̂

Jonah began to wander through the castle aimlessly, tracing the walls with his hand. He had grown up here, he knew it intimately. Į̴̼͍̣̼͇̀̔̔̅̇͝ ̶̨̲̌̃ḳ̷̅̓̊̀̽̽̈́̃͜͜ḛ̷̡̣̿̒ͅę̶̼̆p̴̢̤̯̙͌̒̿̓̉͘͝ͅ ̵̨͗̌̋̏͘h̷̘̮̝̗̱̯̑̀e̵̥̯̭̔͊ḁ̷͔̰̻̝̀͆̏̈́r̶͙̱̖̙̟̓̽͑̕ͅḯ̶̠͉̼͝ň̵̯̭ģ̴͈̼͚͙̻̰̐̓̌͘ͅ ̶̼̺̬̞̲̖͎̖͗̒̅i̶͇͕͕̓̽̕t̷͙͓̳͗̈́̃.̸̡̣̼̠͗̈́̑̽͋͘ ̶͑͜͝O̶̫̟̽͂̊̈́͌͠͝v̷̲͈̻̯̩̊̃̽͂̀̐̀ḙ̵̦͕̝̤̗̇r̵̢̡̗̫̖̙͓̻͋̑̓̈́̉̋ ̴̨̙͓̣͗͆̂̋̏͘͠͠ä̷̛͉͖͇͇̞̂n̵̼̺̜̫̝͛̈́̍̒͐d̵̨͕͚̳̪̣̾͜ ̶̛̳́̎͆̅̂̐o̵̻͓̻͌̇͂v̶̧̡͎̣͍̐́͠ë̴͓̞̲̬͈́̂̿̔̕ŕ̴͇͇̠̬̤̟̜̙͆̄̃̓̈ ̷̢̡͔̥̖̞̂̽̔̓̏̌̊͌a̷̡̗̗̰̩̦͋̏̎̊͐͑̚͘n̴̢͔͕̹̯͋͐d̶̨͈̽̑̈́͌̍̎͠ ̸̢̦̻̪͚̋̂́̒o̷̢͍͚̭̠̱̼̓͐̌̀v̴̧͙̐̄̋̎̀̇̄͝e̵̡̡͇̠̗̣̖̓͆̀̕ͅr̶̹̣͕͗̉ ̶͎̫̽a̸̢̜̜̘͖̖͙͠g̷̠̞̺̞̟͉̪̽̒́̎̓̆͘͘a̴̡̛̫̥̩̳̫̪̺̋͊̆͐̽͑i̸̛̦͈͚̿̉̆͊̓͘͠ṇ̸̻̫̦͈͕̓̐͗̈̍̌͊͠.̶̧̳̳̳͖̖̇̾̒͜

I̶̘̟͛̓̈̿́͋͠ ̴̱̐̈̌͒͌̕ḩ̶̛͚̘̱̝͈́̒͝a̵̛̲͓͛̏̄̃̓ț̴̨̖̅͗͆e̸͎̔̅ ̷̻̝̃̈̋̃͊͌̕͘m̴̪̟̫̱̟̙̝̀̀̏̀̅͊ͅỳ̴̼͈̯̦̭́̋̇ș̷̬̳͍̘͇̏͠e̷̛̳͎̙̓̑̌̏l̵̤͖͓̼̂̄̀͂̅̕f̵̧͓̺̪̜̤͈̖̏͊.̷̯̪̳̼̖́̄̀̇̋͐ ̴̤̘̫͍̗̩̺̈̽̈́͐I̷̧͍͙͎̯̣̎̀̄̓ͅ ̵̒̂̿̒̇̉͘͜͝h̶̢̺̗̝̠̬̥͒̾a̵̛̰̣͔̗̫̐̀̂͒̓̕t̸̢̢̲̰͈̟̲̳́̎̿̒̿̂͝e̶̻̪̠̭̬͌̽̈́̀̾͛̉ͅ ̵͇̥͉̩̝̑́e̸̠̻̯̣̕v̸̛̞͒̀̈́̔̕͝e̶̲͎̬̻̗̞̰̱͑r̷̰̍́͑̀͒̌y̷̘̱̩̰̝̞̬̓̎̕͝t̶̘̳̤̩͕̫̥̠͌̉̾̄̋͋̚͝h̵̺̩̳̥͇̣̹̑̈́̅͊̊̑͜į̴̰̳̀́̒̓̀ͅn̷̡͔͉͉̆͐̅͊͘g̶̜̪͙͚̀̋̀́͝ ̷̛̬̥͎̈́̆̏͝ḁ̸̮̹̮̿͂̽͐̋̌̈́̚b̵̲̠̖͎͖͌̍̐̋͋͝ͅö̵̤̪̬̖͎̖́̃̆͂̈̀̆ū̷̡̙̩̹̘͙͇́͝ṱ̶̌́͌̅̓͝ ̴͓͙̻̰͙͆́m̶̨̂̔̊͒͘͘̚e̶̡̡̫̗̣̟͊̌̏͂̕͝.̶̢͙͎̝̘͇̝̿̂̌́̕͝͠ Ḯ̸̫̲̪̳̲ ̴̠̲͈̅r̶̡̮͇͕̝̫̣̓́̒̀́͠͠͝è̴̯͓̭̙͝a̴̧̡̘̤̒́̈́̓͘͜c̵̡͈̤͍̰͈̍͆̓͜͜͝ḩ̵͔̙̞͉͗̏̽̿͊͌͊̃ͅ ̶̬͈͔͎͒̚͝f̸͖̿̔ó̸̺̻r̶̭̍͒̽̚ Ḯ̸̫̲̪̳̲ ̴̠̲͈̅r̶̡̮͇͕̝̫̣̓́̒̀́͠͠͝è̴̯͓̭̙͝a̴̧̡̘̤̒́̈́̓͘͜c̵̡͈̤͍̰͈̍͆̓͜͜͝ḩ̵͔̙̞͉͗̏̽̿͊͌͊̃ͅ ̶̬͈͔͎͒̚͝f̸͖̿̔ó̸̺̻r̶̭̍͒̽̚ ̷͔͚͈͇̬̥̏͑̂̅͋̕͘͜͜͝t̵͕͈̘̂̈́̎͌͝ḫ̵̯̖͑̽̀́̄e̷̥̜͇̔̓̐̅͆̐͛ ̵͕̪̟͎͙̻̍c̴͉̠͆̃̈́͗ắ̵̢̞̪͖̠͒͜n̷͍̭̭͚̠͎̲̓̏̒͆͊̆̆̚͜d̷̛͍̺̲̤̈̒̓̈́̃̋̚ẹ̶̰̰̰̹͑͛̀̕͝l̴̙͙̀̉̕͝͝ḁ̵̙̎̉̓͌͑͑͐̉b̵̬͖̆̕r̶̲̰̤͇̦̦̕͜ͅả̸̡̳̳͉̹̦̬̖̐͘,̵̝̂ ̴̳͈̉̑̈̈́̊͝ͅͅI̷͚͓̖̭̣̩̽̃ ̷̭͙͉̔̉r̸̩̹̳̗̩͍̙̿̉̊͑͑͑̐́è̷̱̔̄a̶̗͈̪͒̏͝ĉ̸̜͔̠̙͙̒̒̎͆̿͌̚͜ẖ̷̡̩͉̦̓̈́ ̶̰́̑̾̊̎̓̔͋f̸̡̧̯̹͙̣̟͕́̏̇́͛̈̚ő̶͈̘̼̠̠̂̔̿̚̕͝ŗ̷̱͚̘̋̉́̽͘̚͠͝ ̵̤̼͊t̷̡̺̣̦̙͓̄͊̄̈́͜h̷̗̠̳̠̞͓̮̍̈̿e̵̼͌͐̅̌̊ ̸̨̛̬̩͖̽̍͛̑͘c̸̻̬̼̟̳̣͇̭͆͂͗͂̚͝ȧ̵̟͚͉̙͊̈́̈́̑͌͑̕n̵̖̟̹̻̽̚d̶̛͓̥̋͗̽͑͘ẹ̴̲͖̌͂̊l̴̛̮̲̳̥̼̞͗̿̉̄́́̒͜a̴͔̮͔̻̣̹̋̀̏͋͠b̷͖̩͔̩͚͔̂̔̉͗r̵̢̦̻͗̄a̵̡̨̞̤̰͙̦̾̃.̴̳͂͆́͌̓̐̚͘ ̷͔͚͈͇̬̥̏͑̂̅͋̕͘͜͜͝t̵͕͈̘̂̈́̎͌͝ḫ̵̯̖͑̽̀́̄e̷̥̜͇̔̓̐̅͆̐͛ ̵͕̪̟͎͙̻̍c̴͉̠͆̃̈́͗ắ̵̢̞̪͖̠͒͜n̷͍̭̭͚̠͎̲̓̏̒͆͊̆̆̚͜d̷̛͍̺̲̤̈̒̓̈́̃̋̚ẹ̶̰̰̰̹͑͛̀̕͝l̴̙͙̀̉̕͝͝ḁ̵̙̎̉̓͌͑͑͐̉b̵̬͖̆̕r̶̲̰̤͇̦̦̕͜ͅả̸̡̳̳͉̹̦̬̖̐͘,̵̝̂ ̴̳͈̉̑̈̈́̊͝ͅͅI̷͚͓̖̭̣̩̽̃ ̷̭͙͉̔̉r̸̩̹̳̗̩͍̙̿̉̊͑͑͑̐́è̷̱̔̄a̶̗͈̪͒̏͝ĉ̸̜͔̠̙͙̒̒̎͆̿͌̚͜ẖ̷̡̩͉̦̓̈́ ̶̰́̑̾̊̎̓̔͋f̸̡̧̯̹͙̣̟͕́̏̇́͛̈̚ő̶͈̘̼̠̠̂̔̿̚̕͝ŗ̷̱͚̘̋̉́̽͘̚͠͝ ̵̤̼͊t̷̡̺̣̦̙͓̄͊̄̈́͜h̷̗̠̳̠̞͓̮̍̈̿e̵̼͌͐̅̌̊ ̸̨̛̬̩͖̽̍͛̑͘c̸̻̬̼̟̳̣͇̭͆͂͗͂̚͝ȧ̵̟͚͉̙͊̈́̈́̑͌͑̕n̵̖̟̹̻̽̚d̶̛͓̥̋͗̽͑͘ẹ̴̲͖̌͂̊l̴̛̮̲̳̥̼̞͗̿̉̄́́̒͜a̴͔̮͔̻̣̹̋̀̏͋͠b̷͖̩͔̩͚͔̂̔̉͗r̵̢̦̻͗̄a̵̡̨̞̤̰͙̦̾̃.̴̳͂͆́͌̓̐̚͘

When Jonah awoke, he was in a courtroom. He tasted A̷̭̗̅s̸̢̱͍͓͍̤̙̈̏̏͌̂̈͠h̶͎͇͋̈̓̓̇́̾̕ͅ in his mouth. He seemed to have made an audience with the gods. A tall figure dressed in a black cloak stood before him, along with several other godlike beings. Jonah remembered feeling nervous, having all these eyes upon him.

The god in the cloak asks Jonah if he wants to admit the sins he’s committed. To face the crimes and horrors that have happened in his life because of his own two hands.

Jonah snapped into a performance, he begged and pleaded, he said he was sorry. H̴̯̒̏̇ͅë̴̞̦̻̺̙̣́̉͂̉͜ ̸̧̧̞̝̘̚w̶̢̡͔͓͕̏̑̃͌̎̎ͅä̷̯̯̜́̍̏̎̉ͅš̵̲̮̱͕͎͋͑̾̋̄̊̾ņ̵̡̫͕̤̽̌̾͐͜͠’̴̖͙̽͌t̴͇̠̤̖͙͙̱͐̍͑ ̶̙̩̟̿̀s̸̛͈̠̅̍̿͆͆̕͝ó̶̢̢̥̥̌͆̌̋͒ͅṟ̸̖̜͕̤̝̎̇̒́̉͂͐̓r̶̨̧͇̮͈̩͛̓̎̃̆̚͠y̷̬͙̎.̵̛̥͙̫̭̝̥̺͆͆͋̍̽̓͜He balanced his arms and head on the podium, looking downwards. I̸̞̣̻̜̯̅̈́̈́ͅͅ ̶̛͈͓͖͇̭̗̇r̷̢̘̖͙̜͕̗͂̈́̒̌ȇ̵̹̣̺̪͍̹̓̏̾̈́m̵̛͙̟͍̯̟̫͖̂̊͑͝e̵͓͕̗͐̎͑m̴̦̲͕̱͠ḃ̴̼͎̯͕̦͋̕͝e̶̺̼̝̝̩̝̒̀̊̀̎͌́r̷̳͖͇͠ ̷̖͌͌̆̚͘s̸̗̪͘m̸̥̜̟̆��̼̹̟i̶̬̫̾̈̄̆ļ̷̼͓̳̹̳̇͗̋̊́ǐ̸̼̹̤̪͔̣͙̲̊́̈́n̶̰̒̈̀̈̽̂͘ǵ̴̲͓̆̊̅̊͠,̶͈̪͙̖͙̃ ̷̰̯̯̻͈́̌͠ț̸̮̆͆̉̐̒h̶̢̖̣̣̣̺́̀̈́͜ͅï̴̯ṋ̴͎̓k̵̯͐̑͛ĩ̷͍̜̻͚̍n̶̜͖̞͔̫͙̉̐͂̅͛̿̑͊g̴̡͙̔̈̆̑̍͒͝ ̶̦͕́̄ì̴͉̣̲̩͕̟̮͂͐̕͜ṫ̴̝̱̳̼̬̜̖͋̏͘ ̶̢̨̨̛̛̬ḣ̶̹̩̠͙͎͇̈́̌̽̅̀̚ͅͅạ̸̗̝̝̑́̏̂̈́d̷̙̠͈̻͉͖̾ ̶̡͙̜̪̰̩͐w̶̨̬̼̫̰̗͒͑̇͆͋̉̓ǒ̵̧̰̩͚̩͎͚̪̔̋͌͝r̸̙̘̮͚̃̔̽̒͌͒͠͝k̶̫̯̟͑̈́e̵̢̬͊̑̏̅͝ḑ̵̜̲͚̳̦̟̰̾̚.̵̢̥͖̘̺̩̄̚

B̶̧̗̗̼̤̰̏̄͗u̸͎̱̖̽́̂̾̆̕t̶̰̠̠̉͋̈́ ̸̗͉͖̠̼̳̘̔͋ḧ̸̠̺̜̰̭́ȇ̶͕̖̟͉ ̸̪̺̈̀̾͗͆̌͑͘s̴̢̼̈́̋̈́͜͠ȁ̸̟̰͉͈͙̰̺̖̏́́w̷̲̖͓̋̈́̈̊͂͘ ̴̡̧̮͎̹̗̥̐ṯ̶͎̩͌ḫ̸̘̟͎͓̰̻͛̿͛̉̆̈́r̵̺̪̣̘̖̖̈͒̾̈͜o̷̜̼̙̽̎̒̂̿̿͑͝u̷̳̤͚̻̮̻͙̥͋͋̈̅͆ǧ̵̢̖͚͚̅̌͠h̴̛̳́̈́́́͆͒̔ ̶͍̻̦̻̠̌̐ͅm̵̧̟̮̣̣̙̉͊͛ẹ̸̪̬̙̤͉̞̭͂.̶̨͈̰͈͉͑̚ Y̴̗̩͍̻̯̰̻̓̉ỏ̸̘͖̹̫̇̏̓̎̊͊̆ȗ̵̧̗̀͋̕̕̕ͅ ̸̫͖̻̻̣̫̹͋̎̋͒̐̉̚̕c̶̨̫̳̈́̽̐̓́̃̂͐â̶͇͖̘̣͚̅͂͝n̵̨͍͍͕̋̈́̌͑̕͜n̸͕̩͖̩̺̟͝o̴͉̪̝̯͎͈̥͗͋̀̇̂̈̚͠t̴̝͍̗̎͋̈́͗͑͂͆ ̶̨͖̯̠͛̓͒̊̚e̷̱̽͌̾̔̀͒̕ͅş̶̈́̀̈́̋̈̀̊̈c̷̪͉̎́a̶̛͖̳͓͆͒̏͝͝p̸̡̫͛̈́̀̅̓̍͌ë̶̬́̌͊̅̚͜͠ ̴̻͇̲̆̏͒̋p̷̞͍̺̂͒̄̕̕ṳ̴͛͐̔̓́̕n̵̨̛͇͈͕̥̲̦͂̓̚ḯ̵̲̈́͒ş̴̯̕h̸͖̮̄͗̌͒m̶̢̖̪̮͓͛̇̈́̊̏é̷͕̖̪̖̲̎̇̓̚n̶̢̦͍͑͌̌t̸͇̖̟̩̃̑̈̉͝ ̴̩͎̃͝t̵̤̾̈́h̴̛̥̤̟̤̄͐̓̈́͊̂͘r̸̯̂̓̎͆̒ǫ̴̡̧̧̢̰̠̎̆ǘ̴̪̳̗̭̫͛̈́̃͘͠ͅg̴̘̩̮͇̑͆̇̉̈́͝͠h̶̛̤̜̏̆̂ ̶̢̩̺͉͎͕̣̈́̇͊̊̀ͅd̵̗͒̆̓̀̑̔ĕ̸̛̞̩̰̠̪̎͒͗ͅä̵͖̺͎͉̠̹́̌͆͊̊̒̓̈ͅt̵͙͚̮̦̄͑̇͝h̴̺͎͐͗̿͛̕.̵̟̟͎̥̣̪͐̀ ̷͈̅̇F̸̺̲̻̟̜̀̓̕o̵̧̭͖̤̮̒͐ͅr̴̖̦̉̚ ̷͖̻̐̆͋̓̈̅h̷̳͊̂̓̄͌͝e̵̬̗̺̯̝̭͘ͅ ̸̳͖̻̏́͋̉ị̴̱̪̯̦͉͔̗̉̉͑̈́͋̚͝s̸̨̨̲͓̭͈̗̾̿͊̆͛̽̌͝ ̷̦̟͊̀́̃t̵͇̻̙̤̣̪̬̠̀̊́̂͑h̸͇̊͌̄̋̆̾͘e̷̛͖̲͙̊͒̿̆͝͝��͈̻̜̗ ̷̣̀̎̅͝j̴̦͈̚ų̶̼͚̫̪͖͊̀̕d̴̗͔͖̜̲̬́͆̂͌́̃̆̊g̶̙̖̮͈̣̣̿̋̅e̸̥͋̃̂,̸͇̬͎̟̱̠͉̮̒̎̎͋́̓̚ ̵̡̗̙̼̼̯̋̈́͜ͅj̸̤̬͎̬͗̉̀̚͝ṵ̸̧̧̳̼̮̤̜̆̌̊́̈́̎r̴̝̟̔̀͛̎̈̈̕y̴̧̹͙̠̫͓͂̓,̴̧͒̂́̽̚͝͝ ̶̧͚̖̼̗͊̔͒̃̏͂͋a̵̢̨̛͎̝͍͛̌̾̔͐̐n̷̛͆͜͠͝d̴͎͍͈̮̤̑ ̷̢̗̭̗̱̟̪̿̿̽̒̾͜ȇ̶̛͚̫̀͋̍͂̅x̷͍͍̩̱̤͋̀͌͠e̸̥͇̙̳̊̑̉̇̈́̕c̵͇̝̖͓̖͛̌̀̂͊u̴̘͙̻̩̺͝t̶̟̰͕͗̓͐͑̆̅̕i̸̢͎̜̣̞̟̘͓̍̎͌̋͐̋͝o̵̰̅͌͂̈́́͠͝n̷̜̲͖͉̬̓̒e̸̛̮͇̲͍͎̫̫̋̋̇̾r̴̪̾̊.̸̢̨̦̹̱͕̣̏͑͂̈́

Jonah panicked. J̸̫͑́ơ̵̺͑̿̃n̴̨̧̛͗̂̓̈́̈́̒ȃ̶͖̺̖͕̐̆h̴͍͗͗̃͗̚ ̶̠̻̰̄̃̀̋̔p̵̮̻̯͘̕ä̴̛͔̥͕̥̭̩̥́̇̄̾̚͝n̷̞̓̔͝i̸̬̯̮̭͉̦͆̀̈́̏̒̄͝c̸̜̾̓̍̐̒̄̀ķ̸̥͇̰̙̲̾ȇ̷͕̺̟̤̿̀͛̃͘̚d̵̢̛̠̣̙͖̐̑͒͜.̵̼̉̈ J̸̫͑́ơ̵̺͑̿̃n̴̨̧̛͗̂̓̈́̈́̒ȃ̶͖̺̖͕̐̆h̴͍͗͗̃͗̚ ̶̠̻̰̄̃̀̋̔p̵̮̻̯͘̕ä̴̛͔̥͕̥̭̩̥́̇̄̾̚͝n̷̞̓̔͝i̸̬̯̮̭͉̦͆̀̈́̏̒̄͝c̸̜̾̓̍̐̒̄̀ķ̸̥͇̰̙̲̾ȇ̷͕̺̟̤̿̀͛̃͘̚d̵̢̛̠̣̙͖̐̑͒͜.̵̼̉̈ J̸̫͑́ơ̵̺͑̿̃n̴̨̧̛͗̂̓̈́̈́̒ȃ̶͖̺̖͕̐̆h̴͍͗͗̃͗̚ ̶̠̻̰̄̃̀̋̔p̵̮̻̯͘̕ä̴̛͔̥͕̥̭̩̥́̇̄̾̚͝n̷̞̓̔͝i̸̬̯̮̭͉̦͆̀̈́̏̒̄͝c̸̜̾̓̍̐̒̄̀ķ̸̥͇̰̙̲̾ȇ̷͕̺̟̤̿̀͛̃͘̚d̵̢̛̠̣̙͖̐̑͒͜.̵̼̉̈ J̸̫͑́ơ̵̺͑̿̃n̴̨̧̛͗̂̓̈́̈́̒ȃ̶͖̺̖͕̐̆h̴͍͗͗̃͗̚ ̶̠̻̰̄̃̀̋̔p̵̮̻̯͘̕ä̴̛͔̥͕̥̭̩̥́̇̄̾̚͝n̷̞̓̔͝i̸̬̯̮̭͉̦͆̀̈́̏̒̄͝c̸̜̾̓̍̐̒̄̀ķ̸̥͇̰̙̲̾ȇ̷͕̺̟̤̿̀͛̃͘̚d̵̢̛̠̣̙͖̐̑͒͜.̵̼̉̈ J̸̫͑́ơ̵̺͑̿̃n̴̨̧̛͗̂̓̈́̈́̒ȃ̶͖̺̖͕̐̆h̴͍͗͗̃͗̚ ̶̠̻̰̄̃̀̋̔p̵̮̻̯͘̕ä̴̛͔̥͕̥̭̩̥́̇̄̾̚͝n̷̞̓̔͝i̸̬̯̮̭͉̦͆̀̈́̏̒̄͝c̸̜̾̓̍̐̒̄̀ķ̸̥͇̰̙̲̾ȇ̷͕̺̟̤̿̀͛̃͘̚d̵̢̛̠̣̙͖̐̑͒͜.̵̼̉̈

J̵̙̞̎̈́̽ỏ̶̜͍̝̊n̶̺̱͙͙̞̅͜ȧ̵̻̫̞͉̳̿̑̍ͅh̵͚̏̋̍ ̶̟̼͉͓̜̗̦̂̀̓̊́̅̇l̶̦̪̰͇̫̒̏̈́ǫ̵̼͔̟̦͂͐̕ȍ̵̧̧͈̹̙͙̾k̶̢̡̘͓̥͈̳͑̈́͌̋ę̶̣͚̟͛͊̓̈́͂̒d̷̬̑͂̃ ̷̹̬̬̼͒́̃̀̔͒̇d̷̢̫̩͓̝̉͗͑̐̍͊͜ơ̷̡͓̐̃̍̀w̸̰̓͊̊͗͛͝n̵̤͚͖͝͠ ̷̡̠̩̋͐̉͑͐̂̓͝ä̶̠̜̰̙̯̗̤͔́̊͆ţ̸͈͉̭̃̾̋̓̂̅̿͝ ̴̲̰̯̏t̵͔̹̆̍̚͠ḩ̸̲͓̘̞̩̤̍̈́̂͆e̴͑̽̑̄̎̉̾ͅ ̵̢̛̫̈́̀̃̃s̶͍͇͔͖͓̣̞̓̿̐̏̉̆͠í̴̖̗̬̱̬͚̬͂̇̓l̵̨͕̮͕̥̟̲̻̂̿͊͒̏̾͘v̵̧̧̫̩͒e̵͇̪͈͙̙̟̫͒̈r̵̪̞̎͆̾͌ ̴̥̞͕̹̳̻̎̈͒̈̐̑̐͠b̸̭̰̥̞̭̩̺̙̈́l̷̙͉̱̪͕͇̟̃ȍ̶̧͚̣͉̣͉̣̑̚ó̴̫͉̻̜͎̤̥̽̔d̷̡̧̿̾̎͒͝͠͝ ̵̙̣̙̼͆̈ö̸̢̲̹̪̦̙̓̍͗͗́͌́ͅn̴̦͕̄̀̄̔̐̏̚ ̶̥̪͈͗̈́͂̉̓̕h̸̡̙̫͕̒͛̋̂̀̽̚ḭ̷̟̘̰͑̎͒̓̾͝͝s̴̨̛͔̗͈͕̥͍̆ ̵̧̹͕̘̉̈͂̃̀͠ḩ̷̣̺͉̰̔̈́́̇̕ͅå̶̧̢̙͚̃͊̈̾n̷̖̥̗̙̠͚̑̇ḑ̵̨̛͇̈́̍̀͆̍͜s̵̪̫̫̗̿̽̒̊̈̚͜ͅ ̵̛̝͍͚̎̓͒̇̀͝a̴͔̰͔̦̓̚͝ͅn̴̜̞͎͚͖̤̅̄ḑ̷͇̖̜̰̥̗̮͒ ̷̏́́̃͑̈ͅh̷̨̡̫͈̥͍͕̽̄̀ě̷͔͈̕͠ ̷̺̪̲̟̺̬͈̓̓͌̕ͅc̵̜̦̱̲̙̞̐̑͊͘l̷̙̪̭̟̫̗̫̈ͅụ̷̧̧̭̣̱̋͝ͅt̷̯͔̩̫̅̓c̶̜͕͒̚̕h̵̢̛̘̗̯̱̻̬̎̍̀̄̓̑̉e̶̱̹͑͝d̴̛̟̉ ̸̢̳̭̺̞̘̱̀͐t̵͓̣̿̂̈́̔͊̑͘͝h̵̡̧̖̲͇́͘͜e̷̤̟̎̌ ̶̧͔̥̃̋̕e̵̢̢̼̘̼̽̄͑͊̋̑̈́̑m̵̈́̽͒̀̄��̼̤ͅb̴̥̲̭̺̜͑̓͆͘l̴̬̭͚̗̘̄̉ë̷͔͍̘́͐̽͗͂̀͝m̸̜̲͚͙̫̱̰̈̒̈̏͛̈́ͅ ̴̛̛̺̯͚̭̖̱̰͗̀̄͠ͅa̵̲͂͌͐̇͆̈́n̷̦̈́͛̋̇͘d̵͈̘̦͇̥̱̺͒͑̃͆̽͂̿̚ͅ ̶͔̪̪͇͔̞̂ͅp̴͔̤͚̣̞͖̺̊͆͆̀̐̚ḽ̸̘͕̑͌͗̀á̴̩̑̓͆ç̵̨͋̒̂̌͆͘̕ͅé̵͎̎̐̍̈́͗͝d̴̟̎ ̶̨̛̜͕̙͚̈i̸̧̝͚̯̩͉̜͋̾͊̈́̀͐̆͝t̷͔̭̟̮̰̞͉͋ ̶̧͙̩̫̫͝ͅḭ̴͑͂̋̎̋͝͝͝n̷̳͖͊̽̃̂̌͌̔̾ ̶̲͖͉̻͗̾̏̔h̵̢̤̬̝̫͍̻̐ỉ̵̬̅̽̚s̵͚̘̦̥̹̒̎̀̈́̕͘ ̷̢̤̹̮͍̯̩̌̅̿̎c̷̛̤͚͗̌̓̓ͅͅh̷͕̲̫͍̮͉̘̥͑̃ę̶̥͙͔̻̍ͅs̷͖̱͒̋t̶̟̭͓̊̅͋̓͝.̵̪͈͐̇̀͘ ̴̧̡͇̰̇̃̈́̈́T̸͈̊͊̓͊͑̓̓͘h̵͕̙͚̹͈̥͌̔͘ȩ̵̤̇͋ ̴̰͒̿͑̓͐̄̾g̸̲͍͙̥͐o̸̟̾ḑ̷̪̱̬̲͓͕̏̂̌̇͑́͘̚s̵̭̲̼̈̾̋ ̷̡̢̣͚̩́̉̔͒̈́͜t̸̡͝r̴̘̳̱̖̰̞̬̺̾̐͂̀i̴̢̛̙̤̬̻̲͛̔́̇͑̽ͅe̷̡̬̣̝̺̝̅͂̂͜d̶͔͈̲̪̬̫̭̬͆̉ ̶̛̟̝̫͐͑ͅț̶̖͕̪̹̘̬̒͗͛̿̚̕͝͠o̶̳͈̞̭͉̗͛͆̏͘̚͝͝ ̷̨̟̳͇͆̓̓̿͘͠͠r̶̩̗̻̥͔͑̆̒̓ẻ̴̲͍̳̣̠͎̙̃̅̓͋͒̈́͆ͅs̶̡̪̠̱͕̺̟̿̏̓t̷̲̳̹̮́̉ṟ̴̛̣̳̰͇̈́͆̅̅̿ä̷̞̙̙͎̺̓͗̔́͘ȉ̷̩̤͓̹̮̮̼͊̃̕ͅn̸̨͗̔̈́̎̇͘ ̴̱̱̋̏͆́h̵̹̖̿̈́̅̔̆̄͠ì̶̖̣̫̖̚m̵̰͂̅-̶̬͔̉̆̀̋͜

T̴̢̨̕h̵͙̫͊̆́ë̴̡̱̗͔͂y̶̮͚͓̔̾̍̒ ̶̛̜̦̈́ͅt̸̖̜͇͚͗͋́͂h̵̹͖̖̝͗̈́͑̕r̶̤̖̯̥͆ë̵͍̼́̃͝͝w̷̘̄͐̈́͘ ̸̛̭͙͈͖m̶̢̈́̃e̷͖͔͓͠ ̷̞̫͖̓i̶̝̺̓́n̶̠̪̹̒͜t̴̛̳͑͝o̶͕̩̔͠ ̴̼̻̀̑̈́͘t̵̫̻̥̱͋́̆̍h̶̺̤̆̐ę̴̛͓ ̸͇͋̍́ȑ̴̲í̷̧͖̼͎̍͝v̵̢̥͚͖̒́̈e̴̡̛̠̩r̸̢̢̘̃̐̑͜.̶̨̧̲̖̇ ̸̳̳̗̣̍̂͝Ī̴̗͠ț̵͎̾̍͊ ̴̧̦̲͘͠ẁ̶̛̩̚á̸̧͎̗̗̂s̶̤̈́̑̓ ̶̥̱̖͂͊͜s̴͕̻͈̓o̵͈̱͚̓͛ ̴̡́̽̕c̸͖̋ơ̵͉͚͑͑͝ḷ̷̔̅͋͛d̷͕̐̈́.̶̯͗̇ ̶͖͍̲̊A̷̦̥̔l̸͎̲̾͌̅l̷̮̯̼̂͛́ ̶̳́̑̓̊Ḭ̵̧͇̳̽̀͝ ̴̘̈͆͆c̸̤̱̺̭̊͌̃͝ǫ̴̧͔̍͗̊̂u̴̜̘̦̙͂l̷̤̬̽̅̂d̷̛̜̗͉͔͐ ̵̟̥͚̩͛̕͝͠h̶̡̩̼̲̓͒̒ȅ̴̢̡͕͈͆͋̇à̷̮̖̼̏̽̕r̵̺͌̉̈́̕ ̸̨̅͜w̸̮͙͐ë̸͇̼͕͍́̐̃̉ŕ̷͍̲͒̕é̵̺̈́̾͠ ̷͇̤͋̓s̴̤͆c̶͎̣͔̿ṛ̸͍̘͝e̸̙͗̈́̐̈́ắ̴͙̌̚m̵̪̾ŝ̸̫̖̃͂ ̶͇̟͉̟̐͛͒͐a̴̺̻̙͆̂ǹ̵̮̺̩d̸̮͛ ̸̺̬͈̚t̴̳̻̺͂͂̕͝ḫ̶̂͝͝e̷̬̤̓͋̓y̶̛̺͕͇͗͒̌ ̷̨̥͐͂̂̾ẇ̸̺̾̽̐e̵̘̘̲̰͋r̷̛̈͘��̻̙e̴͓̜̓ ̶̢͙̊ā̶̚͜ḻ̷̝̼͙̒͐͋l̷͔̹̫̀̈ ̸̼̟̼̓́͑g̵̯̦̞͛r̸̦̪̩̀̈́a̵̱͇̾̀s̴̥͊̈͒̏p̶̤̻̓̀́̚i̷͙̖͓̖̓̊ṋ̶̡̞͓̀̾̇g̸̮̠̰̼̀̆͘ ̴̲̦͊͑̌́ḿ̸̢͚̖͗̽e̷͉̻͚͙͋̌͛.̷̱̪̝͇͌̍̅ ̷͖̼̥͑Ị̸͕͎̏͜ ̴̢̫͔̘́́̀̅c̵̨͉̺̉ǫ̸̓͂ŭ̵͚͌̕l̴̛̘̮d̶̰̼͋̿́̌ǹ̷͉̩̀̑̚’̴̨̭̻̬́̅̒̐t̸̗̱̆̈̑ ̸̗̥̠͖̓̊̚d̵̲͓͐͌̒̌i̶̜͌͌e̷̛̞̪͊͝.̵̯͍́̔̏̄ ̷̡̟͎̑̉͠Ẁ̶̩̾ḩ̷̲̘̮̅y̵̖͖͔̬̐ ̴̠͍̏č̸͙̱̪o̸̬̖̎̉ȕ̴̥̇̆͋l̴̩͍̈͊̅͗ḍ̸͔̗̞̾̓̏ň̷̨̦̻͎̅͝’̷̯̐͑t̴͕͍̆̾͌ ̷̼́Ȉ̶͚͉̺͒͐̄ ̷̡̟̣͑̀̋͛d̴͚͂̽̀͝i̵̩͒̚ḛ̵̱̫̰̃͌.̵̨̲̯͖̀̋̑ ̸̙̻͍̄̇W̶͎̊̓͂ḥ̷̽͗̾͝y̸͕͍͓͋͊ͅ ̵̞̓c̵̟͇̎̈o̸͖̹̾̓̈́̇ủ̸̯̣̻̭l̵̲̲̰͕̉͊͑d̵͕͖̗͐́̾͝n̷͊̋͜’̷̺̖̮̋̅͛ṫ̷̪̥̼̒̓̎ͅ ̸̛̯̹̎͘I̶̧̺̓ ̴̨̅̋̐͝ḍ̷̮̄̽̕͘i̷̡͕͔͈̓e̵̱̚.̸͈̆̇͊͝ ̸̯͖̑̃̾̂Ẇ̸͕̤͜ḥ̶̛̪̞̆͂́͜ỳ̶̗̩͝ ̶̨̤̌̅̿c̵̭͍͖͕̀̔o̷̱̗͝ú̴͓̫͚̊ͅl̵̞͚̈́d̶͕̫̿n̶͈̮̭̩͆’̶̟̟̦̒t̷͔̙̼͆ ̶̤̲̓́I̵̥͔͋ ̸͓̙̥̊̌d̶͓͋͐͋̚ĩ̶̧ͅe̶͇̎̇̊.̴̖̹̖̑ ̸̤̹̝̲̄̅P̵̞̣͇̾̓̍͘l̵͓͎̣̻̽̂̍e̴͎̒͋̏̒a̸̛͖͓͐s̶̫͐͂ę̵̛̩ ̴̣͕̌͒͆l̴̝̎ȩ̶̉̃t̶̬̩̻́͜ ̴̨͔̕͜m̶̢̫̻͖͑͝e̸̬̳̲̝͐̌̾̽ ̵͙́̿̌̄ḍ̴̨̱͗͆i̵͎̓̓̍͌ẽ̴̳̫̗͚̑.̵͉̙̭̓̓ ̷̫̅P̷̲̞͔̥͛l̷̜̙̥̑̇͜e̴̤͚̰̖̽͗̎͝a̵͉͊s̷̡̊̿e̶͓̔ ̸̢̹̭̓̄Í̷̧̠͙ͅ’̷͌̇͂͗͜͜m̶̻͇̯̋ ̷͚̈́s̸̹̤̟̰͑́̃͗ǫ̴͙͊͛r̸̗̿́̈͜r̸̢̞̭͋ý̶̢͈̖̐͗͝ ̶̛̰͙͔Ỉ̸̢̳͇̑ ̴̢̥̥̬̏d̶̙͉̻̯͑̈̌͗į̷̙̳̻́d̸̜̠̝̍n̷̲̂’̵̜̞̃ţ̴̔ ̵̹͍̐̓̐m̶̝̩̹̞̓̄͗̚e̵̢̱͈͕͛̾à̵̫̌͐n̸̛̛̦̅͗ẗ̵͕́̀͜ ̶̭̯̺͉́t̴͎̋ó̴̘̯̭̬ ̸͔̱̑̍̕ǰ̵͚̐̀ủ̸̯̝̯̖̀̂s̴̨̿̒͛̈t̴̲͝ ̸̠̠͎̘̓l̸͕͕̊̏̄́e̶̺̫̔t̸͖̭͆̈̐͝ ̴̯̰̀m̶͔̟̬̽̈̈́ẻ̴̺̳̳͛̓͂ͅ ̷̠̺̬̊̽̓̽d̸͔̪͎͆̚i̷̾͑̍͝ͅe̸̩̊̔ ̴̡̬̝̄͌p̷̗̎͆̆͗l̵̺̝͌͝e̶͍̞͂̍͠ä̷̺͖̟́̿̾s̶̠͔͌͌ȅ̶̘̤̻̒ ̴̰̂̄ḻ̸̛̜̀e̶͈̱̬͋̈͑t̸̛̺̝͕̹̓ ̸̺͍̗̾m̶̢͚͑̎̚͜͜e̸͈̽̊͠ ̶̲̻̉͛͝d̷̛̖̉͛͐í̵͖̪̄ȅ̷͕̽.̵̯̏͊̈́͜͠

H̸̨͔͑̏̕ŭ̴̡̝̹͙͋ň̵͒̅͜ḑ̵̛͉̞̲̠̼́͂͆̄r̴̰̟̱̯͖̄ȅ̷̡̩͖̹͙̌̔̏͜͝d̷̝̦̙̽̑š̴͓ ̶̘̻̘͎̩͍̿͊̿ő̸̦̞̽͑̌͌f̸̪̜͔͓̽ ̸̛̖͋͛̅̚y̷̰̳̖̙̕e̸̢̘̟͚̗̖͝a̸̡̠̟͌͗̄͠r̶̥͇̥̖̗͂ͅs̴͈̮̰̺̅̊͑.̶̥̋̂̄͝ ̸̦͉͍̏̄̊Ṡ̶̟̭̯̫̞̈́̓̚ỏ̸͍̲̫ ̴̪̥̞͌̓m̷̢̮̕ȕ̵̡̬̻̘̽̏c̷̻̯͕͈͔̀̌̔ẖ̴̭̘̖̽̈́ ̶̗̣͚͎̠͚̄͠t̸̡͊̀̃̎̾i̴̬̔́́͑̍̿m̴̢̤̟̺̈̿̈́̀̓͝e̴͍̦̻̩̒͗̎̾.̴̭̫̱̽̿̽ ̵͚̭̳͊̓̀̆̚͝P̴̰̮̫̮͚̿͒̽͛͠l̸̥̓͘͝e̴̘͓̋̐̑͂͝a̶͇̟̬̝͗͛̽̊́́s̴̘͖̭̈͌è̸̦͈̯͚̺̋̆̕ ̷̧̥͓͍̫̣̀̂̈̀̌Ȋ̵̧̑͝͝ ̸̟̽̽j̸̨̥̖̱͖͊͝ư̸̪̪͗̅̊̂s̸̛̟̯̒̄̊͝t̸͇̾̈́̈́̄̓̉-̵̧̰̀͗̍̂͑ͅ ̷̧̮͕̖̀̅i̴͍͙̲͆f̵̻͍̣̦̫͛̀͂̉ ̴̠̳̠̗̿̑I̴̗̒͘ ̶̢̳̗̈̌̽̇ͅc̸̖̤͊̔̈́̕o̸̬̝̮̥̺̞͂͋u̵̺͇͚̕l̷͍̺͓͒̃͐͒͝ͅd̸̻̬̝͎́̏̓ ̸̩̘̠̗̓̾̓̾g̴̮̞̦̘͝r̷̻͇̥̪̆̀̎̈́̎á̴̳̯̰͉̪̳̈̓̆ş̷̡̭͖̱̃̈́p̸̛̞̒͒̊̀̈́ ̵̣̳̑̔ỉ̴̘̰͚͖͔̲́͘̚͝͝t̸̪̼̱͌̇̃.̵̲͐̔̐ ̵͕̦͑̍̐P̷̳̂l̴̢̨̳͈͍͗̐́̚ę̴̣̠̫́͌̀̑a̴̧͎̦͉̠̮͝͝s̶̼̀̿̕e̸̞̼̘̝̟͆͂̇-̶͙̚ ̴̫̒I̵̥͐̆̊̿̉ ̴͕̤̆̽́̉͠j̶̡͕͈̯̰̯̃͘u̸̡͙̝͎̺͑̿̽̒̕s̸̖͌̽̈͐t̸̢̛͈͍̱̭̹̊̋͒͝-̸̡̬̮̬̮͛͑̀́̐͘ ̷̡̡̳̦̳͙̈́̆I̶̗͔̬̻̕ ̵̺͎̟͙͖̣̓̆̀̓̓̍ç̵͈͕̞̗̍a̸̟̟̖̋͐͋͊n̴̜̿͂̕ ̷̭͑̾͑́̽́j̷̬̋͛̍ũ̸͓̠̓̏̿͜ș̸̐͊͋͂͘t̶̠͎͔̳̾͛̂̓͆̏ ̴͓͙̜͍͉̈́b̸̛̭̜͕̱̗͑a̸̛͎͍͕̭̰r̸͈͉̖̊̌͠ę̴̦̗̪͛̍̓̑̎l̷̥͑y̴̹̠̜̘̓͒̆̈̏͝-̵̡̤͎̏̈́̌̑ ̸̲̱̱̼̥̼̆̽̐̈̿͝r̶̛͇̟̗̬̈́͌̿̊͋e̶̺̟͓̥̳͐̋ą̶̛͇̝̖̬͑̅̎̈́͘ċ̶̩̖͘̚͝ḫ̷̨̡̤̫͌̎̿̈́̒̏ ̴̙̺̥͙̱̀̓̈́̚i̵͖̙̥͂̅̂͜t̶̡̾̎͝͝ ̷̪͈̖̼̇̓͆i̸͓̹̺̪͛̀͑f̸̢̤̼͓͂̿̈́͊̊ ̵̧̦̫̚̕İ̶͙̝͓͙͑̄̅̂̚ ̶̣̬̤̎̅c̶̙͖̥̖̝͆̈́̈͝ȧ̷̧̧̹͈͈̬̅n̴͙̪̖̑͂̈́͒̈́͘ ̶̧̦͔͑͜j̸̨̪̯̱͈̣̉̇̈́͘u̶̡̟̺̟̻̘̿̋̔͋͐s̷͉̣̣͐̈̃t̴̡̨̿̅̇͌̓͝-̶̧̠͕͇̓̓̆͆̊

Jonah reached up and got a solid grip on the edge of Ţ̸̢͙̬̘̦͔͉̻͎͉̱̙̉͐̈͂̇͋̽̂͛̕͜͝͝ḧ̶̨̡̡̻̰͖̙̠͈̲̭̞̠́̉͋̔̒̀̀̌̈́́̀̓͘̚͘ȩ̶̢̧̢̡͖̭͕̻̦͖͙͓̯̦͊̏̾̽̒̈́̑̉͛̓̒̔͆͋͐͆͑ ̶̧̟̑̿͂̈́͆̅R̶̨̨̢̧̟͉͙͔̥͇͑̊͐͐̓̍̽̽̋̔͋̚i̸̛̩͙̣͊́͜͠v̷̢̛̜͋͛͗̄̈́͌͑̀̍͋̆̓͠͝e̷̲̋̂̓͝͝ŕ̷͓͎̼̙͙̞̤̗̱̥͉͓͍̖̦̇͋̌͌͐̇̀̄̕͜͝. He shakily pulled himself up and out of the water. Į̵̩̯͓̮̣͉̗̫̹̿͋̈́̾̇̋́̌͆͛̊̚t̵̬͓̮̮̬̣͋̊͘͜ ̶̙̣̟̬̩̝̺̱̞̏͆̀̇̈́͆̄͒̈́̔̊̊̂̑͝ͅẃ̶̡̛̗̺̓ą̸̺̜̗̦̯͖̖͕̼͕̲̪͒̅̀̐̐̓͒͊͑̉̚̚ͅs̶̻̹̎̈́̆̋͑́̒́̕ ̴̤͚͇̘̺̩͈̫̻̙͓̪̮̥̫̋̏͒̔͑̿̓̐́̿̈̚͠͝͝s̴̨͎͍͚̠̝̥̅͛͋͜o̶͍̳͎͈͆̾̈́̃̉̈́͛͘͝͠ ̴̧̤̗̯̗̺̞̼͙̘͈̩̘̤̮͊͊͌̇̇̉̌̋̈̊̍̐͗̏͘͜͠͝č̸͙̣̜̟̣̜͍̩̳͆̈̀́̌̍́̌͂͊̕͝o̵̮̟̰̳̝̹͈̗̖̙͉̣̮̣̳̻̙͊͆̈́̀͆̎͛͑͒̌͝͠l̴̩̻̖̮̎̆ḋ̴̛̇͋̅͐͒͛͋͐̋̈́́̕͜͝.̶͉̆̓͋̉̚͝͠

He shuffled himself over- he hadn’t.. walked in so long.. he hadn’t.. thought.. in so long.. He reached over to a pomegranate tree and devoured most of them.

Ḁ̴̺̉̐̈́́̐̚̚̚͝ ̷̡̨̝̥̥̻̏̓̓͌̈́̾̋͝g̷̡̘͈̪͆̍̈́̐͆͒͌̚͜͝ͅǫ̵̬͖̲͎͈̝͕͇͔̰̳̯͇̲̜̞̀̔̓́̚ḍ̷̺͕̥͙̙̙̣͎̺̪̈́͑̒̚ ̵̙̥͇̳͚͓̙̜̩̜͎͛́̓̓̒̄͛̌̑̿̊̈́ͅa̷͇̖̓̏̍p̵̢͈̬̞̘̣̫͉͆̒̈́͒̄̄̒͑͜͠͝͠ͅp̵̢̳̺͓͇͇͉̙͙̭̼̬͎̉̏͒̓́́͑͘̚̚͠͝r̵̨̦̹̘̊͐̋͊̾͌̑̓̍́́̌̾ó̸̡͔̭̮͙̼̣̺̖̬̜̩͔͔̜̈̾̔͂͗̑̄͐̈́͌͘͜͝ą̶̨̟̤̗̝͎̣̫̃͂c̸̰̜̦̺̖̭͚͊͑̉̊̈̂͝͠ͅh̴̡̡̖̫̘͓̟̯͓̖͉̹̪̓͂͐̇̑̕ͅę̵̛̯͇͎̬̩̥͎̮͕͇̣̞̈́̒͒̔̔̑̂̀̈́̾͘̚͜͝d̵͎̟̹̳͖̯̘̲͈̺̙͎̯̙̗̝͙̐͂̇͑̀̊ ̴̧͕͕̗͕̞͖̰̥̞̙̳̾̾͒̏̅̈̀̒̕̕͝͝h̵̡̗͉̠̳͙̻̥͚̤̙̠̥͚̗̩̒̀͂́́͗̀͂̀̽̅̉́͒͝͠͠ǐ̴̩͍͔̥̲̟̓̎́̅̌̕m̵̰͍̣̲̩̭̣̰͈̱͕͉̤̦̪͙̲̓͌͐͂̀̈́͛͂͊.̵̨̛̥̩̩͓̜̪͚͎̩̿̿̂̊̽̀̋̎͠

[will be continued. can you blame me for not finishing it all look at how long this already is lol]

[msweebyness]

DuPont School for Monstrous Youths- Greenhouse of Terror

It’s ya girl, Weebie! Comin’ at ya with a new Monstrous Youths short! This time around, Adrien’s helping Mylene out in the greenhouse, and he’s about to meet her babies! Enjoy! @imsparky2002 @artzychic27

“Thanks for coming to help me take care of my plants, Adrien! Ivan has band practice, and no one else could make it today and, believe me, my babies can be a handful!”, Mylene said to the blonde boy entering the school greenhouse alongside her with a smile, small flowers blooming in her vine hair at her happiness.

“No problem, Mylene! I’ve been wanting to see the inside of the greenhouse for a while now! I’ve never seen plants like a lot of these before!”, Adrien answered brightly, looking around with fascination.

Mylene giggled softly as she turned on the fluorescent lights in the room, illuminating the tangled jungle of unique and bizarre flora.

“Well, let’s get started then! I can’t wait for you to meet my little sweeties!”, she chirped, leading him to the center of the mass of plants. Adrien quirked an eyebrow at this, but followed her nonetheless.

When they reached the a certain point in the path, Mylene stopped with a smile and let out a whistle, slightly startling Adrien.

“Brutus, sweetheart! Wake up, mama’s here with your breakfast!”, she called, and Adrien watched as a mass of large leaves moved, before a huge, flat head at the top of a thick stalk rose, moving into the light.

Blinking a few times, Adrien stared in wonder at what appeared to be a massive venus flytrap with sharp teeth like those of a lion protruding from its green jaws as it released a happy growling sound and nuzzled Mylene.

“Adrien, could you bring the wheelbarrow over, please? It has Brutus’ food in it!”, Mylene said as she scratched under the flytrap’s ‘chin’.

“Sure.”, Adrien said, going over to fetch the wheelbarrow they had brought with them. He rolled it over and took off the cover, finding a deer carcass within. He swiftly jumped back as Brutus lunged forward and snapped up his meal, downing it in a few seconds.

“Slow down, baby, don’t choke yourself.”, Mylene chided gently, petting Brutus’ thick stem. After a few more minutes of tending, they bid him goodbye and continued on their way.

It was only after they’d walked for a brief time that Adrien began to hear a peculiar sound. A high, vibrating trill that almost seemed to be humming some sort of melody. As they continued to walk down the path, it grew progressively louder, until eventually they came to a tall, hydra-like plant with glowing white feelers at the ends of its long tendrils.

“Adrien, meet Cookie!”, Mylene said cheerfully, laughing softly as the plant gave her ‘kisses’ with its tendrils.

“Okay, Adrien, while I help prune Cookie’s tendrils, could you play some of Jean’s songs? Or anything from Monster SMASH? Cookie doesn’t enjoy pruning, but she does love music, and she’s probably Jean’s biggest fan!”, Mylene then instructed, with Adrien obeying, hooking up his phone to play one of their phantom friend’s rockabilly hits.

Cookie immediately began to trill happily as she swayed to the music. While this went on, Mylene showed him how to gently trim the stray wisps from her tendrils. After this was complete, they bid her goodbye and went on their way.

After another short bit of walking, they ended up in a clearing. In the center rested an unusual tree. It was tall but stout, with blood red bark and a jagged opening in the center of the trunk. Its branches twisted out every which way, brimming with a mix of thorns and leaves. Mylene instructed him to be careful and quiet as they approached.

“Roach?”, she called gently, “It’s time to tend your roots, sweetie!”, before the tree began to stir, letting out a high keening sound, using its branches to greet Mylene with a ‘hug’.

“Okay, Adrien, we need to adjust and massage Roach’s roots. Just be very careful and don’t make any sudden motions. Roach spooks easily and he lets out poisonous gas!”, she cautioned, before they went to work tending to the mutant tree.

Around ten minutes later, Mylene was able to keep Roach calm despite a few mishaps from Adrien’s inexperience, and they completed their task. After assuring Roach that she would be back to see him soon, she and Adrien continued on their way.

It wasn’t long before they were pushing their way through a thick patch of brush, a low sort of rumbling hum meeting their ears as they went on. When they finally emerged from the brush, Adrien was face to face with what appeared to be a gigantic mushroom with a bevy of long spines. As they approached, the spines began to rustle as the creature let out a dissonant thrumming noise.

“Morning, Oggy!”, Mylene told it as she pulled out what appeared to be a bag of organic mulch, “Adrien, this is Ogg. We need to change out his bed, so it’s fresh and he can breathe right.”, and Adrien nodded.

Adrien observed as Ogg’s spines seemed to feel around in the air and on the ground. Smiling, Mylene explained that this was how Ogg observed his surroundings. His spines were full of sensitive nerves that could pick up vibrations in the air and ground.

Finally, they finished with the mulch, said goodbye to Ogg, and trekked back out of the brush. As they circled back near the front of the greenhouse, Adrien noticed that numerous vines now stretched over the ground, and Mylene told him to be very cautious not to step on them.

As the vines grew denser and denser, Mylene finally stopped and called out:

“Gigi! Are you awake?”, and was answered by a low hissing sound, a number of the vines rising and greeting her affectionately. Adrien couldn’t see a specific body of the plant, and figured that Gigi must be the huge cluster of vines itself.

“We need to make sure there are no tangles in her vines that could stop her breathing or hurt her. Then we can give her some water, and you can go get ready for class!”, Mylene explained, and they began to work gently with Gigi’s vines.

After they finished tending to the vines, Mylene said goodbye to Gigi, before preparing to do a bit more housekeeping in the greenhouse, as Adrien began to get his school bag ready.

“So, what did you think?”, Mylene asked, “It’s a lot of work caring for them, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything!”, Mylene said with a blissful smile.

“Yeah…”, Adrien said, smiling himself, happy to have been able to see a unique part of monster culture, “I think I might be back to visit soon!”

These plants may be monsters, but they’re big old softies! Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[mary-is-writing]

@writeblrcafe Secret Santa 2023🎅🎁

Thank you for organizing this event! This is my gift for @sparrow-orion-writes , I hope you like this short story!! Sorry it took me so long, I wanted to finish by Christmas but life happened. Still, here it is, a coffee shop kinda enemies-to-lovers with a fantasy setting story. Happy holidays and happy new year!!!

Title: Snakes and Vines

Word count: 2409

CW: None

Something was burning and it wasn’t Eri’s fault.

She could’ve sworn she hadn’t left the oven unattended for that long. She simply went to decorate as many cookies as she could while the cupcakes finished baking, and then, she was planning on going back and multitask on decorating both to finish earlier. But it seemed that hellfire powder, though a quick rising agent, was more flammable than she thought, since the whole oven went up in flames with a kaboom that could be heard from every place in the shop.

The bits and pieces went flying, destroying most of the kitchen as well as whatever pastries were lying around. The good news was that nothing hit her and the coffee shop was empty since it was already late; the bad news was that the destruction reached even the tables and chairs that were farthest from the kitchen. The worse news was that her boss was already stomping his big combat boots towards her direction while yelling and cursing all heaven and hell, and there was no way for her to fix it before he opened the kitchen door. The terrible news was that the fire was spreading quickly through the wall.

And the worst, most absolute, horrible news was that a bunch of cookie-frosting and burnt cupcake had flown right into Amalia’s face, of all the demons in Obertham. However, as established earlier, this was not Eri’s fault.

“This is your fault!”, she quickly yelled at her, while Amalia tried to clean her face.

“WHAT?! How the fuck this is my fault?!” Amalia’s snake hair hissed back at her.

“You kept messing with the oven when I told you to leave it alone!” Eri answered, vines with thorns quickly growing around her.

“YOU’RE the one that added the stupid hellfire powder even though I told you not to!”

“And I wouldn’t have needed to bake another batch quickly five minutes before going home if you knew how to bake shit!”

“The only reason I have to bake is because of your slow ass that doesn’t get anything done! At least I know how to prepare coffee while working in a coffee shop.”

“You’re just a–”

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY KITCHEN?!”

Their boss entered, his screech giving off a freezing gust of wind so cold it immediately put down the fire. Then, after giving a quick look to the damage and the two, proceeded to freeze them in place so he could lecture them both for about half an hour, all the while letting his rage take control of his ice and making them feel like they were in a freezer. Eri didn’t like working for an ice demon; whether he was happy or angry (especially when angry) he was always surrounded by the cold. The whole “enjoying a warm coffee in a chilly environment” was part of the shop’s charm, but a dryad like her would never understand why anyone would like that. Still, she needed this job, so she had to suck it while trying to not freeze to death.

But getting yelled at was unfair. Sure, maybe she had added a tiny bit more of hellfire powder than she should have, but if Amalia hadn’t been messing with the oven, the settings would’ve been the correct ones and it wouldn’t have exploded. Nothing her boss would listen to, though, and she found herself being ordered to stay overnight, clean the whole mess and re–bake everything to be ready for tomorrow.

Alongside Amalia, because of course. And at that hour, it was only natural for their tasks to extend into ungodly hours of the night, so of course they had to spend it there. There was a sleeping room, destined to be used by employees in times where the shop had to remain open for days straight, like in the Festival of Light, so they could take turns sleeping and working during their shifts. Eri was glad that she at least wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.

There was only one bed. Because of course.

“I’ll take the floor”, she said with a groan.

“No, I’ll take it”, Amalia said. “You take the bed. Just give me some sheets or something.”

“I said I’ll take it”, Eri responded dry. “It’s gonna be colder than usual thanks to the boss’s fit, and that’s bad for a snake demon like you.”

“Said the dryad, the cold is just as bad for you. Besides, I’m younger, so it’s better if I take the floor.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me old?”

“Oh, for the love of–” Amalia ran a hand over her face. Some of her snakes hissed in frustration at her, and Eri almost wanted to hiss back. “Just take the goddamn bed, Eri.”

“No”, she crossed her arms. “After all, it’s the responsibility of the older ones to take care of the children. So, you take it.”

“Fine, I guess nobody is sleeping in the bed, then. We’ll both sleep on the floor.”

Eri was used to fight with Amalia at this point, so much so that she didn’t even think to contradict her just for the sake of it. Forest will wither and oceans will dry before she’d let her win an argument.

“If that’s the case, why don’t we both sleep in the bed, then?”, she said, only realizing what words had left her mouth afterwards.

“Fine! Geez! Have it your way then!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

After a couple more “fines” that we’re said in a very “fuck you” kind of way, they both climbed in the bed. Amelia took the side closest to the wall, while Eri the side towards the door. There was also just one sheet and pillow, so they had to sleep back-to-back without moving an inch.

What a night. Eri couldn’t remember a worse one since she started working there…though having to carry around her tree in a pot in the middle of a cold night after getting evicted was a close one. Now what? She hoped the boss wouldn’t fire her for this. Without a job, one cannot survive in Obertham, not only because it was required for non-humans to have one in order to remain in the city, but also because it was expensive as hell and almost no landlord would give her a lease without one. Feeling the physical exhaustion and the mental stress growing got to her and, ever so softly, she sniffed a few tears away.

“I’m sorry.” Hearing Amalia apologize shot Eri wide awake.

“What did you just said?”, she asked, still not facing her. Amalia sighed, in a way Eri’d never heard before.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have messed with the oven. I thought that, if you weren’t gonna listen about the hellfire powder, at least I could prevent the oven from exploding by changing the settings, but…”

“Wow. You literally couldn’t have done a worse job.”

“Yeah. So. Well. I’ll tell the boss tomorrow to not punish you too much more for it.”

That was…weird. Was Amalia actually…being reasonable? As Eri was trying to wrap her head around this situation, a thought crossed her mind.

“You heard me cry, didn’t you”, she asked, monotone.

“…No.”

“Okay. Yeah. That’s not gonna fly.”

“I just thought you…could use a win.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips. And it must have been really bitter because Amalia immediately stood up.

“Why do you hate me, Eri? What have I ever done to you?”

“You mean besides destroying the kitchen, almost killing me, and jeopardizing my livelihood?”

“But you didn’t start hating me now, did you?” Even in the darkness, Eri could see the silhouette of the snakes in Amalia’s head squirming because of how agitated she was.

“I don’t hate you.” She answered. “I just don’t like you.”

“What’s the difference?”

“If I hated you, you’d be seeing me with thorns all around me all day long, since I have to be all day long next to you.”

“Okay, fine. Why do you dislike me, then?”

Maybe it was the tiredness. Maybe it was that they were completely alone, in the darkness, and she couldn’t see Amalia’s face. For whatever reason, Eri felt like spilling her guts.

“Because you’re arrogant, despite only knowing how to brew coffee. And you are terrible at baking, yet you act like you’re in charge of the kitchen. And you’re younger than me, yet ever since you first came you’ve had this attitude of ‘why do I have to work with this useless adult?’. And even though I need this job to survive, you act like just being here is a bother and couldn’t care less of what happens to it or me.”

The silence that proceeded was as cold as the floor, and as the seconds passed and Eri regained her composure, she started to wonder if she’d said too much. But then, Amalia talked.

“What about you, then? Ever since I came here, you’ve treated me with nothing but hostility.  You just assumed whatever you wanted about me and decided that you didn’t like me. I’ll admit I’m bad at baking, and I hate it, but if I didn’t care about this job, I would simply get another one. Saying that I don’t care about what happens to it or you is honestly insulting. You think I’m that heartless just cause I’m a demon?”

“Of course not. You think I’m nice and delicate just cause I’m a dryad?”

“A rabid hellhound is nicer and more delicate than you.”

Eri let out a sound that was a mix of scoff and laughter. Still laying on the bed, she breathed deeply.

“I’m sorry, too. For, you know… Antagonizing you, and stuff.” It felt awkward. When was the last time she’d talked with her without feeling a headache? Scratch that; Eri didn’t even think she’d ever had this calm of a conversation with Amalia, ever. “But don’t you think it’d be better if you showed you care more?”

“Well, don’t you think it’d be better if you learned how to serve a cup?” She said, playfully.

“Why? Your coffee is great, I don’t need to learn.”

Amalia blinked. Some of her snakes looked at each other.

“You…like my coffee?” Eri felt wide awake for the second time. Crap, she hadn’t meant to say it. “You’ve…never said so…”

“Because I didn’t want it to get into your big head”, she said, then instantly regretted it. “Yeah, I like your coffee. It’s good coffee. Great, even. I don’t know how you do it, but every single fricking cup you make it’s perfect. Happy?”

She wanted to cover her face with her vines and disappear. Never would she had imagined she’d compliment Amalia, out loud, to her face.

“I…I like your baking.” Amalia responded, shyly.

“Don’t give me the pity talk, please.”

“No, I mean it. I started working here because… because of it.” Eri looked at her in the dark. She could almost see Amalia’s hand playing with her snake hair. “And I’ve always been good with coffee cause, y’know, my snakes help me perceive the smells and temperature appropriate for each brew, so I thought I could work here. Never expected to blow up the kitchen.”

There was something there, though. Something about the way the silhouette of her hand moved, how the snakes danced over the fingers. Like a very distant memory Eri’d almost forgotten but that came back little by little as she spoke.

“Wait…” Eri threaded carefully. “Are you– Are you that girl that always came here and always ordered black coffee with marshmallows and a slice of abyss strawberry shortcake? The one that always burnt her tongue whenever she had her first sip?

Amalia let out the biggest groan Eri had ever heard leave her lips.

“How do you remember that but not me?”

The dryad basically jumped up and sat on the bed next to her.

“WHAT?! That was you?!”

“Of course it was me! How have you never noticed it?! How many snake demons do you see in the daily to not recognize me?”

“I mean, all dryads have face blindness, so…?”

Well, that wasn’t an answer Amalia was expecting at all.

“W-Wait. What?”

“Yeah. We can only recognize one another. Everyone else just looks the same, like, beyond things like voices or mannerisms? It’s like trying to differentiate two grains of rice. And that was so long ago that both things are very fuzzy in my memory. But was that really, really you?”

“Yes, it was. Why do you keep asking?”

“Cause I’m pretty sure that girl gave me a love letter once”, she said. “But then she stopped coming, so I could never answer back.”

Eri could almost swear she heard a little gasp. The snakes suddenly stopped moving, and Amalia turned away, the line of her face showing she was looking left. Suddenly her coming to the coffee shop a lot, to the point of even starting to work there, made much more sense.

“That was in the past. Before I knew a rabid hellhound was nicer than you.”

The feel of a grin in Eri’s face made a few little flowers grow at the tip of her hair.

“Hoh? Disappointed, then?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe”, Amalia answered, trying to sound calm. So, since she was playing the cool card, Eri decided to play along.

“Really?” She approached her. Vines filled with leaves and flowers grew around, and she trapped Amalia with them by the wrists, the hip, and one ankle. “Then I guess this would do nothing for you, hm?”

The snakes hissed at her. For the first time since knowing her, she thought that reaction was cute.

“Screw you”, Amalia spouted.

“Pfft. Yeah, you wish.”

“ERI!” The dryad laughed as a response. She released the snake demon and went back to lay in the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Goodnight, Amalia.”

Eri closed her eyes. Who knew her demon coworker could be this innocent? If she didn’t get fired, she’d have to start treating her more gently. Perhaps she’d get more fun reactions like those. As she was getting ready to start drifting into sleepiness, the voice of Amalia reached her once more.

“And what was it? Your answer…?”

Eri didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled.

“Maybe I’ll tell you over some coffee and cake.”

[birgittesilverbae]

top 5 snacks :)

sun-warmed wild raspberries just picked, something about having to fight thorns for them just makes them so much better (me in my pvc raingear fighting through the tangles of vines built up around our bunker silo)

get a hankering for those 10 pack vanilla frosted sugar cookies every so often when I miss the roommate who introduced me to them

frozen grapes my beloved

i will eat sour patch kids until i regret it

granny smith apples sliced with sea salt

[cookiesofthecosmos]

White Rose Enchantress Cookie

Often referred to as “White Rosie”, this peculiar cookie commonly resides within a garden of white roses usually referred to as their secret since she’s seldom seen walking among them. Harsh sunlight harms her due to her overall light coloring and she often hides within shaded areas as a result. White Rosie may look ominously familiar, but her origins are not something she is keen to telling others. However, it is known she came from a large white rose that bloomed from a soul fragment embedded in a garden of white roses. When darkness covered the land, the garden wilted and the flowers casted their life into the newly formed Cookie to save her. Unfortunately, while it did work, the darkness still remains within her…Alongside light. The rest is shrouded in mystery but a few know the tale beyond that.

White Rosie is a skilled fighter, using vines to tangle her opponents and then summon vines with thorns to further harm them. But! She is quite gentle and rarely finds the desire to fight anyone. Additionally, she possesses some healing ability as the petals of her rose horn can soothe wounds and heal them over time. Magic is a limited power; Too much light hurts and too much dark hurts. She must use them within balance or risk one of two sides overpowering the other.

Her wings allow flight but due to an old injury she can’t really fold them properly. She is loved by two. White Rosie refuses to believe her fate is to be evil; She will decide her own destiny. No matter how long it takes. No matter how often Dark Enchantress Cookie tells her to accept the darkness in her soul. After all, her horns are just thick vines!

[lilmissytealbow]

Meet the Flower Captains

[the-kr8tor]

Red Firefly

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, Noxian! Reader, historian! Reader, part 2 of ink and bedrock, CW death mention, CW food mention, TW panic attack, CW, violence. Arcane spoilers, arcane characters appearance.

Ekko Masterlist

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Part 1 <<< Part 2 >>> Part 3

The wooden spoon almost cracks under your grip. Splitting sounds of wood falling into deaf ears even when your knuckles shake above the sweetened icing. Your memory betrays you, the cold of the apartment Caitlyn graciously lets you borrow seeps into your threadbare sleep clothes, frost biting into your innards, clawing around your hands and up to your throat like rose thorns.

You're back there again, home, where blood spilled on the streets is a welcome sight to behold like grass growing in between the pavement. Where cracked knuckles can be seen on every citizen, purple skin weighing down their eyes, crimson swimming in their irises. Home. Where you always belonged. Where he belonged. Until the darkened slithering roses caught up to him, crawling all over the freezing room you both called home. Or was it just his home? You were always out fighting for home because that's what they taught you since birth. Always out screaming and thriving amongst bloodied swords and gunpowder itching into your nose. But not him, he was inside his study, reading, learning. Always the better one between you two. Always the kinder one. All soft palms with bitten cuticles from a nervous tick he never shook off. Warm eyes that remind you of your mother, and a soft smile that your father never showed anyone except that one time you first took hold of a gun.

He was the best version of you. Rounded around the edges, no jagged line that bares its teeth whenever one gets too close. He's not you.

Until they stopped him. Black spindly vines wrapped around him, thorns pricking his skin, spilling the same blood running through your veins. Then suddenly, the chill stops, and his muffled screams subsides, leaving the rumbling tone of your cracked heart beating amidst the dark. It should've been you, your mind always screamed. But he was the best out there, ambitious, cunning. And that got him pulled into the thorns.

So you fought, killed, maimed, in hopes that they'll take you too. That they'll find you worthy enough to be taken into their piercing embrace that smells of roses and warm iron. And yet, it wasn't enough. Even when you stood atop bodies of both comrades and enemies. It wasn't enough. You were not good enough to see him again. Even if it was just a glimpse of those eyes, even if they're lifeless now, even if the light hasn't glistened in them. Even if it means you would be joining him in the rose scented abyss. You'd be happy enough to be wrapped in the same thorns, to meet your end just as he did.

The sound of the beeping oven brings you back to the present. The past fading away as you slowly unfurl your palm off from the wooden spoon seeing the indents it has left on your skin. You open the warm oven, its heat searing away the remnants of the memory. Smoke wafts over your face, pulling you into its warmth.

You sigh, leaving it open as you crouch down, bathing in its warmth. A reprieve from the frost that still clings to your lashes and the pads of your fingers. The double yellow light inside the oven blinks at you, like an owl watching you in the night. It yanks you back into place, reminding you of where you are.

“Piltover,” you say to yourself, voice feeling heavy from its prolonged idleness. “I'm in an apartment in Piltover. I'm here for…” your sharp breath strikes into your lungs. Fingers closing and opening around itself, fists shaking before letting go and doing the ritual all over again. “Work. Research, study, interview, write.” The smell of the freshly baked cookies wafts across your nose, steadying you in place. “Piltover, work, research, study, interview, write.” The words spill from your lips like a mantra.

“Cookies.” You close your eyes, shutting it tight before opening it again, doing the same thing with your shaking fists. “I'm making cookies.” Finally, the feeling of the ground underneath your feet feels solid. The air no longer knocks the oxygen from your lungs. It's steady. And you don't smell the roses anymore.

The past crawls back into the very far end of your mind. A persistent gnawing that you've managed to keep it in its place for years. You've come to terms that it'll always be there, like the lives you've taken. Balled up into the corner, claws bared, ready to take a pound of your own flesh. You'll survive despite the weight, you'll live in spite of it. And you'll fight, not to atone for your sins, you fight so it never happens to someone again.

—

Gold and blue confetti flutters overhead, cheers roaring all around you as you stand on the bridge of progress. It's no longer empty, its grey steel still towers over you, but this time it's accompanied by colourful streamers, and the rousing sound of a jovial band rising above the howling breeze and its occasional metallic creek.

The sides of the once empty bridge that connects Zaun and Piltover are now full of shops. No longer does it bear its dark history, no cracks left in the cement where a bullet hit, or red stained asphalt underneath your feet. It may not have the same marks that's been there for generations, the council may try to cover the devastation the bridge witnessed— but the people still know about it, they carry it on their backs, a heavy pack filled with grief. Their history will forever be etched in their blood.

Despite it all, they try to live in the moment. The owners and employees stand happily beside their spaces, all smiles with hope shining in their eyes. You notice that they both consist of people from Zaun and Piltover working together in harmony. Both sides are willing to toss aside their bigotry for a better future. The crowd awaits the grand reopening, people from both sides of the bridge mingle among each other, no longer at each other's throats. Reconciliation is prevalent, of course some people are still doubtful about the other side, but more and more of them slowly get used to the unity that's now present in the former warring cities.

Everyday you walk around you see more Zaunites walking into Piltover, and people from Piltover strolling around the shops in Zaun. Ridding oneself of prejudice is hard and takes time, but day by day, it becomes easier to conquer with some help from the very people they used to snide at. It brings you hope for the future of Piltover and Zaun.

But the very man who should be there to witness the leap into further unity isn't there to witness it. You stand on your tip toe to scan the crowd for the familiar head of white hair. Alas, you don't even see a glimpse of him. Even Scar, his right hand man you've come to know is there with his kid perched on his broad shoulder. His son notices you, whispering to his father and perhaps mentioning you, the weird lady who's always at the hideout interviewing people because their leader always has an excuse to miss your appointment with him.

Ekko always seems to fall in between your fingers, it's either he has an emergency somewhere, or he's busy with fixing up something. There's always somewhere he needs to be or something to do. You're starting to think that he's avoiding you and your questioning. Well he is, but you're determined to get his side of the story, even if it's the last thing you'll ever do.

You're not leaving Piltover with a half baked story to tell.

Scar meets with your eyes, nodding curtly at you in greeting. You nod back, smiling all friendly to him before he returns his attention towards the speech. To no one's surprise, Scar himself isn't opening up to you for an interview, you guess he's a closed book just like a certain leader of the firelights.

The place is packed with people, children wave around streamers, their eyes are wide, and grins prevalent on each of their excited faces. You can barely see the mark the war left on the bridge, there's only hope and joy here. Smiling, you match the crowd's happiness despite what transpired to you earlier. But behind those faces, you sense their heavy gazes on you, narrowed eyes roaming around your crimson clad form. Their whispers stab your ears, their sneers pushing you down. But you won't let them. They can snide all they want, you won't leave until you've achieved what you came here to accomplish.

Sevika stands to the side, right next to the podium where council member Shoola stands at the helm. The gold mask glimmers in the sun, all smiles and what you always call the ‘politician posture.’ Back straight, arms moving around for emphasis on their speech, aura oozing confidence, and a body language that screams power.

Sevika scans the crowd with her dark eyes, always looking out for danger. Shoola Might be the one at the helm, but Sevika is the one who's more daunting, exuding power without looking at her people under her nose and through golden prejudiced shades like a couple of councilors you've met. To you though, she looks uncomfortable standing above the crowd by how she's switching her weight over and over on each of her feet. And how she's been inhaling in shallow movements but subtle enough that it's almost impossible to see. You can't help but smile at the thought of her being nervous on stage.

Vi and Caitlyn stand amidst the crowd, smiling softly amongst themselves. Vi’s pink hair is unmistakable, so is her affection towards the former enforcer. Walking through the crowd as politely as you can without bumping into anyone, you make your way towards the couple. The bag filled with tins full of cookies is held to your chest to prevent it from spilling out into the audience as council member Shoola talks about the past and what she hopes for the future for both cities that are now connected together. You should be listening just in case you need it for your research, but you're too occupied with trying not to get hit by someone's elbow or accidentally smack someone's face with your bag of goodies. You'll just settle with asking councilor Shoola for a copy of their speech instead.

Vi and Caitlyn hears you before they see you. The loud clanging of your tin boxes has their attention on the source immediately, their ever alert eyes relaxes when they see your familiar face smiling at them.

“Fancy seeing you two here.”

“We live here, spark.” Caitlyn chuckles at Vi’s joke, eye patch crinkling as she smiles. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there knocking on people's doors?”

“You two live right on the bridge?” You jokingly say, earning no laughter from the neutral faced couple. Your smile wavers a bit, chuckling nervously until they both crack a teasing smile. With a roll of your eyes and relief mixed in, you stand awkwardly by their side. “I’m about to go to Ekko's, but I gotta cross the bridge to get there y'know.”

“Should've come here earlier, avoid all of the pomp and circumstance.” Caitlyn flicks her eye at you, returning her attention towards the podium, where the councilor is urging Sevika to talk. But with a simple grunt and shake of her head she remains in place and the councilor has to continue her speech, fumbling a bit from the sudden derailment. You smile at Sevika, she notices you in the crowd, nodding in acknowledgement.

“I was busy with baking.” Vi’s eyes lit up from your words. “And I kind of forgot about the event.” You mutter under your breath, earning a side glance from both of them.

Vi has her arm around Cait’s shoulder, chin resting atop it as she ignores the speech. “Is Ekko still not talking to you, spark?”

“Yeah, but it's completely understandable.” You've gotten used to the nickname, some people have even adapted to calling you that too. But that doesn't mean you're starting to like the said nickname. “They don't call me patience back home for nothing.”

Violet smirks, glancing sideways at Caitlyn before nudging you with her boot. “Uh huh,” she clicks her tongue, “don't try to change your nickname now that it's taken root in everyone.”

She saw through your ruse.

Sighing, you tilt your head back with a groan. “Is it too late to yank the root out?”

Her chuckles rise above the sound of the speech, earning a few glances from other people. “Nope, spark, that's your name now.” You shake your head with a smile at her teasing. “About Ekko, I can always talk to him for you? Get him to finally take that interview so you can go home early.”

“Trying to get rid of the poor girl already, Vi?” Caitlyn answers for you, it's the exact words you were just about to let out. Minus the ‘poor girl’ part.

Vi smiles, flicking Caitlyn's ear fondly. “I didn't mean that, cupcake. I'm just saying that she might be missing home by now. People who miss her.” She meets with your eyes. “You've got people missing you back home right? It's not just your old professor waiting for you all scrunched up in her leather chair?”

“How'd you know she has an old leather chair she always sits on?”

“You're deflecting, spark.” She twists around Caitlyn to move in between the two of you, her arm weighing heavy on your shoulders and the young Kiramman’s.

“I'm in no hurry, Vi. There was one time our research took us a year and a half to finish—”

“Deflecting with a capital D.” Vi shakes you as Caitlyn listens in. “We pour our heart and soul to you and you can't even tell us if you've got someone back home?”

“She's just nosy, you don't have to tell her.” Caitlyn sighs, arms crossed over her chest as she pretends to be uninterested in your life back in Noxus.

“Please,” Vi snorts, wiggling Caitlyn in place with her other arm perched on the former enforcer's shoulder. “I *know you're just as interested in knowing, cupcake.”

Caitlyn raises a brow, eye narrowing at Vi, who's probably regretting her words. You decide to save her.

“I have no one other than my professor.” Your sudden remark has their attention fully on you. “And it's fine. I've gotten used to it, life on the road doesn't give me much time to find someone. And whenever I'm home I'm either writing or studying with my mentor.” Your chest feels heavy. You're already aware of what they're about to ask next, so you beat them to it. “As for family…” you inhale sharply just as when the trumpets and the drums play a jovial tune, signaling the end of the speech and the grand opening of the bridge.

“This is the start of progress between both cities! A hope that connects us together!” Councilor Shoola says, cutting off a large golden ribbon just behind her. The crowd roars into an applause as more confetti pops out from above, raining down on everyone.

Vi and Caitlyn took their eyes off you for only a second when they watched the ribbon cutting, but once they turned back towards you, you were already gone.

“Shouldn't have pushed her.” Caitlyn says in a sing song lilt, grinning at Vi with her hand placed on her hip.

Vi feigns an offended gasp, “you asked me to ask her!” Grabbing Cait by her waist, she embraces her.

Hearing their giggles fading behind as you walk away has you smiling softly to yourself. But the way you grip onto your bag says a different story.

—

You walk towards Zaun with your mind saying the same words you uttered this morning over and over again. The breeze flutters your lashes, there's no more smog or the grey ebbing out beneath your feet unlike what you were told by pilties before you went down to Zaun. There's more sunlight bathing the lanes, it's refreshing, especially to its citizens who can now take a deep breath without worrying.

You've been walking the same route for an entire week now. It's the same faces walking past you, the same ivy covered walls, the same purple eyes that follow you as you walk past her painted face. Sometimes you wonder if the stories you've heard about her were as accurate as they told you. Memory is a fickle thing, love and hatred tends to warp the memory of a person.

You always stop by the last drop and Vander's statue just to see the progress they're making on the renovation. Machines grate against your ears as sparks fly from the roof someone's mending together. You've learned that Vander used to run the place years ago, it's poetic you think, that even now he's overseeing the place.

As you pause by his statue for a minute, the same single blue flower left by his solid foot remains there. You've noticed that it's always fresh, never wilting beside him.

“It's a peony.” You almost jump in place at the sudden voice.

Holding onto your heaving chest, you look down at the source. “Hello?”

Her pierced ear flicks, eyes shining under the morning sun. “You're the noxian everyone's been talking about, huh?” Her various colourful accessories click against each other whenever she moves.

“Yeah,” you bend down slightly to give her your hand in greeting. “I'm Y/N.”

She shakes your hand, fingers small enough to only wrap around your two fingers. “Babette. Sorry for the scare, honey, you looked like you're about to set the thing on fire from how hard you were staring at the flower.”

“Are you the one leaving them here every day?”

“No,” she stops you from asking with a stern finger lifted up in front of her. “And I don't know either.”

You nod as the cogs in your scholarly brain turns. “You look like you've been living here all your life, can I interview you?”

“You calling me old?” Her eyes narrow at you, and you're already forming apologies in your head. She clicks her tongue, “I'm free next week if you give me a whole tin of those cookies.”

Relieved, you grab what she wanted, giving it to her without protest. Ekko just has to settle with less cookies. “Deal.”

The tin looks big in her hands. “Look for The Vyx, you can't miss it.”

“Isn't that—”

“It is.” She smiles, puffing her chest out. “Afternoon, don't be late.”

“I—I won't.”

With a wave goodbye, she walks away with a dozen or so of your sugar cookies in hand.

Scratching the back of your head, you can't say that what transpired was the weirdest thing that happened to you here. There's never a dull moment in both Piltover and the undercity.

—

The gentle breeze welcomes you back as you enter the not so secret hideout. There are less people today since most of them are checking out the new bridge and its new establishments. But a few people stayed, taking advantage of the space as children run amok, needing you to dodge them with some effort.

“Woah!” A red headed girl almost collides into your legs. “Careful!” She answers with her tongue sticking out playfully at you before running away behind the gingko tree where a large mural has countless faces painted on it. You see it in all its glory now that it's daylight.

You've come to know who's who on it, even then, there's still more people on there that you'll never come to know. Right near the middle has Ekko's likeness painted on it, together with Benzo and Vander's face. You've always wondered why he's placed right next to the people they've lost over the years. You know why Vi is there, but not him. You still haven't asked Ekko about it, and when you asked the other firelights, they just shrug at you, telling you that you should ask the man himself. You figured that they don't know the real answer either, that Ekko gives them the same reply.

With a glance at the foot of the mural, where portraits, toys, drawings, and personal things of the deceased are placed; you decide that today is the day you get to ask Ekko about it. If he even talks to you today that is. So with you taking another tin box of cookies from your bag, you place it right next to a pair of goggles with its colours fading from the environment. You stay there for a minute in silence, eyes scanning every face before closing them in respect.

You walk away, footsteps weighing heavy, air briefly smelling of roses.

—

After a week of practice with the elevator up to the tree house, you feel like you've become an expert at handling it. You tried to ask a firelight to teach you how to use a hoverboard, but even with a bribe they just laughed and refused to teach you. So you had to settle with the elevator or the stairs to go up like some land loving peasant. One day you'll ride on a hoverboard, but for now, you have the behemoth task to get Ekko to open up.

You knock with the signature rhythm you always do. One short knock followed by three sharp knocks consecutively, it's a surefire way to tell him that it's you without yelling through the door.

“Go away.”

Or a surefire way to immediately identify you and get rid of you within a span of a half second.

“You sure? I bought cookies.” You shake the bag in your hand, hoping the sound is enticing for him.

Silence follows, and you start to think that he's actually considering letting you in because of the biscuits.

“Go away.”

You huff, “come on, Ekko, please? Vi says that she'll come down here and annoy you until you start talking to me so please can you at least let me in? I won't even interview you! I can just stay inside!” There's still silence inside the room. “It looks like it's about to rain.” A flat out lie on your part, it's the sunniest day in the undercity with sunlight shining in between the large gingko leaves.

Then you hear it, a slight shuffle of feet then a metal lock sliding open. He doesn't open the door for you, instead, you hear his fading footsteps and the creak of a stool sliding back.

Smiling victoriously, you grab the doorknob, twisting it as you peek inside the dark room. Save for the lamp sitting on his table at the far end of the wall, it's completely dark inside. The smell of sizzling metal has you wrinkling your nose.

“I'm coming in.” You wiggle yourself inside to lessen the light from entering his abode lest he sees through your half baked lie. “Morning, Ekko.”

He doesn't even grunt in greeting.

You notice that he's sitting in the same position you left him yesterday. You've managed to get inside after telling him that the children are after you and your magic pen again. Which they were, so technically not a lie. Whenever you can't convince him to let you inside, you spend your time with his people. Either interviewing them or just hanging around them. Most of them welcomed you with open arms, some were a bit apprehensive at first, but after a while they've become accustomed to you and your noxian self.

Your footsteps are measured as you cross the small distance. You've learned your lesson after accidentally stepping on a stray fan blade that sent you tumbling down on the floor. Ekko did help you up on your feet, but he continued to ignore you for the rest of the time you were inside.

“I hope you like sugar cookies. I saved you a batch after someone talked me into giving them a whole box. We missed you during the ceremony. Sevika looked like she was about to run home during the speech. She does not like the stage.” You're met with silence as you slide the opened tin of cookies on his cluttered table, you see a plate of untouched meal. You figured that it's not breakfast from how the mashed potatoes are starting to grow its own potato sprout, it's been there since last night. He hasn't eaten before or after that. “Do you want me to get you breakfast from the mess hall?”

He flicks his eyes towards the firefly shaped cookies with its green and blue icing painstakingly decorated on it. His jaw tightens, the dark circles under his eyes seem to weigh him down. The oversized jacket he has on makes him smaller in your vision. His hair looks like he has tied it numerous times without checking it in the mirror. Cheeks greasy, shining under the lamp light. You guess it's oil from the contraption on his desk.

“Is this how you make people talk to you?”

“It usually works.” You shrug, taking the plate of musty dinner. “I'm going to get you breakfast. And maybe something for me too.” You mutter the last sentence under your breath.

“I didn't ask you to.” He says without sparing you a glance.

“Well I want to.” Shrugging, you watch him continue to work on a piece of machinery, seeing how his hand trembles from fatigue. “And, no one wants the boy savior to collapse from starvation do we? What would that look like when they find me, a noxian, looking down at your limp body?”

He scrunches his nose. “They might kill you.”

“Exactly.” You nod, grinning from ear to ear. “You look like a sunny side up guy.”

“Omelette.” He says once you make it to the door.

“Oh a fancy way of having eggs. I heard you loud and clear, bossman.” You mock a salute at him even though he won't see it.

—

You come back to Ekko's treehouse and workshop with two plates of cheese and onion omelettes placed on each of your hands. When you told the firelights cook that it was for Ekko, he immediately gave you the biggest portion and even cooked it fresh just for him. He was kind enough to give you a piece, even telling you that you can't switch out the plates and he *will know. You couldn't tell if it was a threat or not by how he pointed a spatula at you when he said it.

Pushing the door open with your foot, you find Ekko in the same place. All scrunched up in his seat, his familiar jacket is placed on the back of it as sparks fly around him. When you first heard of him as the ‘boy savior’, you always knew that he's still carrying the weight on his shoulders. You've seen it in most survivors, sometimes it's guilt that weighs them down, sometimes it's grief. But it's always sorrow that accompanies it. And even anger.

“You're staring.” He utters above the sound of crackling metal. His head cranes over his shoulder briefly, his thick goggles obscuring his eyes from you. “Either give me the food or leave.”

“Can't, sorry.” You cross the small distance towards him. “I promised Jericho that I'll make sure you eat it.”

He groans, yanking off his goggles as you try to make room for his plate on the table. You notice your cookies inside the tin are almost completely gone. The corner of your lips tick upwards, eyes shining happily under the warm light of his lamp.

Ekko notices, side eyeing you in reply and snatching his plate from you. He takes your plate with the smaller portion, and you immediately exchange it with his plate lest you suffer the wrath of his cook. He gives you a look, brow raised and frowning.

“He said the bigger portion is yours.” You jut your lower lip, shrugging as he narrows his eyes further. “Look I'm not gonna risk it, okay? The guy's huge.”

“I thought you noxians can fight your way out of anything.” Ekko stabs his fork into the steaming omelette, the runny egg drips from his fork as he takes a bite.

“Oh I can, I just prefer not to fight over an omelette.” Hopping up on the table, you sit down with the plate placed on your lap, you eat beside him. He gives you another look. “What? You don't have another chair in here. It's either here or your bed.” You gesture with your head towards the neat bed in the corner of the room. “And I'm sure you don't want me eating on your bed.”

He grunts in reply, continuing to eat. You see the slight permanent grimace he has, how his brows knit together as if he's expecting a punch, and how his shoulders tense instead of relaxing. It's as if he notices the muscle straining under the weight he thinks is the world being hurled over his shoulders.

“Are you happy?” You blurt out. But you don't regret it.

He blinks, fork pausing halfway. “Are you?”

You shrug, eyes meeting with his own. “I'm perfectly happy where I am. Took a while, but I think I made it.”

He hums in reply, “sure.”

“What, you don't think I'm happy or you think that you're happy?”

“I'm... content. Is this part of your interview? You said you weren't gonna ask questions.”

You take a bite of your omelette to avoid his question. “Just curious, it was off the record by the way. You can be happy too y’know.” He stays quiet after that, eyes downturned towards his plate.

You two continue to eat silently, forks scraping against plates. The tension from before slowly ebbs away, leaving a comfortable quietness permeating between the both of you.

Once you finish your breakfast, he's already trying to get you out by pulling the goggles over his head again. A clear sign that sparks will be flying again and he wouldn't care if you get hit by a stray spark or two.

But when he pushes the on button on his soldering machine, it's the one that's sparking. Ekko huffs in his seat, pulling up the goggles and opening the mechanism as it puffs out grey smoke. Hot metal and eggs, lovely.

Taking the one remaining firefly cookie you made, you continue to perch on his table whilst he side eyes you every minute to check if your presence is still there. You chew loudly on the cookie to irk him further. As much as you need to write down his story, you won't back down on his stubbornness. Mel chose you for a reason, and you promised to not disappoint her and the whole council.

“I've always wondered.” You munch annoyingly, earning a scowl from him. “I saw your face painted on the mural. Were you somehow brought back to life?”

Ekko slowly turns his head towards you, for a second you think that he's about to answer you but he only takes a screwdriver that was right next to your thigh.

“It makes me think that you were gone for a long time, presumed dead, that's why you're there. Other than that, you were kidnapped, and then presumed dead.” You pause, tilting your head with a sly smile. His eye twitches at your annoyance. “All of my ideas are of you being presumed dead. Or you've mastered the magic of resurrection.”

“Still not going to answer your fucking questions.” He twists the screwdriver steadily and a bit angrily.

You press on.

“You should see the bridge sometime, it looks amazing. There's shops everywhere, I even got a Piltover and Zaun unity keychain there.” Your finger loops around the keychain where it's hooked on your satchel's zipper, showing the metal design to him.

You're only met with silence and the sound of gears grating against each other. Or was that his teeth clenching down in irritation?

“I've been told that you seem to do everything perfectly for the first time.” You say as the machine puffs out smoke and fizzles out. “Well, not everything, I suppose.”

“I don't do anything without thinking about it.” He grips the screwdriver tightly, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, smudging the white face paint and transferring it on his glove. He notices your small smile at his answer. “Still not answering your questions.” Pointing the screwdriver at you, it only earns a grin from you instead of striking fear in your heart. It's hard to be menacing when you just scarfed down six cookies in one sitting. Sighing, he returns to his work instead of wasting his time on you, who clearly won't give up. “Go away, red.”

“Oh, a nickname!” You clap your hands together just to irk him some more.

“Not a nickname,” he debunks the insinuation that he's friends with you. “I forgot your name.”

“Well, that's impossible, it's unforgettable. And that was rude.” You point at him playfully, taking one last bite of the cookie.

“You're making my machines break by your mere voice alone.” He says in between clenched teeth. “Leave.” Gesturing towards the door with his head, you shrug, finally relenting now that you've made progress with him.

He'll be an open book for you in no time.

“I was about to leave anyway. Got an appointment with Sevika.” You hop off the table, taking your belongings and cleaning up the plates to bring with you. He still tries to fix his machine, brows furrowed and frowning deeply. Your teasing did not help him one bit. It's either that or his heavy eyes and lack of sleep are finally catching up to him. Without a second thought, you punch the machine. To your and Ekko's surprise, it cackles to life. Ekko looks at you as if you offended his mother. “I was guessing it needed something to be loosened up. You're welcome.”

“I had it.” Ekko's hand is placed atop it protectively. Glaring at you as you nonchalantly stare at him. You try not to grin at him.

“I know you did, get some sleep and maybe you'll catch what's wrong next time.” You start to leave, footsteps echoing as he stares daggers on your back. “The hideout can survive another day without the ice machine, firefly.” You chuckle to yourself, “see, I've got nicknames for you too, and I didn't have to forget your name.”

The door closes with a creak, leaving Ekko alone once again as stares at the spot you just left. Glancing at his bed, he shuts all his tools down, and slinks away towards the soft mattress. He'll never tell you that you were right. If he was well rested, he would've seen the mistake. As his eyes shut close, he wonders how you also know about handling machines. He drifts off with your pen sword rattling around in his mind.

—

The whole room feels stifling, dust fluttering around, and the scent of metal itching your nose. In those four metal walls, sits a circular table in the middle, free of any decorations, or any pomp and circumstance you saw on the bridge of progress. A single light flickers above the table, papers lying still as the two parties glower at each other.

Sevika has told you that the meeting locations change with every meeting to protect the information from getting out and into the hands of someone else with ill intentions. Despite the meetings under lock and key, Sevika holds a community talk every week so that the people in the undercity knows about all the progress in different matters regarding their city.

Ekko's jaw tightens as Sevika continues to explain what happened during the last council meeting she was in. His brown eyes swirl with tethered anger. Hopefully not at you as you sit on his left side a few seats away from him, writing away the typical scene between a council member and a pillar of Zaun.

This is how things get done here, under a single bulb of light in a room hidden underneath the city. It's not just Ekko or Sevika talking (sometimes arguing) down here, there are a few notable people from Zaun speaking their piece. But they know when to stop talking when the two are at each other's throats. They watch their bickering back and forth, mouths keeping mum as they bide their time.

Sevika sighs after her explanation, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. “We need to go through a lot of red tape just to pass it, Ekko.”

“Maybe you didn't try hard enough.” Ekko raises a brow, eye twitching in annoyance. “It's been six fucking months since we submitted the appeal, approving something like this shouldn't be so hard.”

“What the hell do you think I've been doing this whole time?” She scoffs in her seat, metal arm clanging against the table as she lays it on the surface. “I'm trying here, Ekko.”

“Try harder.” He says through gritted teeth. “There's still no clean water down in the south, it's been years. Add that shimmer’s still getting through the city, and we have no idea who's making and distributing it. This shouldn't be a fucking problem anymore, Sevika.”

“The council doesn't like it either.” She leans forward, eyes narrowed at Ekko. “But we have to be patient, the task force is doing all they can to find—”

“The fucking task force,” he clicks his tongue. “All they've done is falsely arrest our people, leaving the actual assholes to roam free. Just last week we got a handful of them trying to distribute.” Moving, he leaned further on the table, fist placed atop it as his eyes challenged Sevika. “Not to mention that the grey still lingers down in the mines near the south. There are kids there.”

“Don't you think I don't know that?” Her tone is sharp, eyes boring into Ekko. “You can't sic your firelights on them whenever you want to anymore. That's an enforcer’s job. The council doesn't like it when citizens take matters into their own hands.” She points at him. “Listen, I don't like enforcers either but establishing due process here would be for nothing if they don't get arrested properly—”

“You sound like them.” Ekko interrupts, chin raised high.

Sevika inhales sharply, sensing the tension in the air is at an all time high. The stories some zaunites have told you about her is a stark contrast to the woman sitting in front of you. Three years being a councilor and a leader has changed her.

“The people who were arrested were found not guilty. They got out a few days ago. And there’s a project that would bring clean water to the south. Same goes for the leaking grey.” She explains, tone softer but not less commanding. “It's being taken care of, you'd know that if you just take my goddamn invitation to come to a meeting.” She backs down, sitting back on her chair as it creaks under her. “We're not enemies anymore, Ekko. I'm doing all of this for Zaun too.”

Ekko scowls, eyes darting around the people in the room to calm himself down. His eyes stop when he sees you, as soon as he pauses at your form, he's already looking away when you glance at his frustrated face.

“Send me updates on the investigation. Every name, address, every single detail that passes through the task force's lips, I want them.” He sits back, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Sevika under his scrutinized gaze. “And I want final say on the blueprints on the project.” Sevika opens her mouth to contest but Ekko's still not done. “I want to make sure that what they're doing will last for generations. I won't settle for half assed.”

The dark haired councilor chuckles under her breath. Eyes flicking at you as something passes by her eyes before staring at Ekko once again. “I'll make a council member out of you yet.”

Ekko scoffs, wordlessly conversing with Scar as he glances at his right hand man briefly. “If there's nothing else—” He begins to stand up, seemingly tired from the debacle but doesn't let it show.

“Looks like you've warmed up to her. She's not so bad huh?” Sevika says teasingly, index pointing at you under the single dim light. There's suddenly a dozen eyes cast on you.

It takes you a few seconds to come up with something. “See, Ekko, I'm not so bad.”

“What are you even doing here?” He scrunches his nose at you.

“Sevika invited me.” You smile, chest puffing out with pride.

Ekko looks at Sevika with a raised brow.

“The council told me to. And Vi asked nicely.” She shrugs.

“Hey, and here I thought you wanted me here.” You say with mock hurt as Ekko leaves the room together with his entourage. “Wait, hold on, Ekko! We have an appointment if you forgot!” Scampering away, you hastily gather your things as you try to follow behind him. Sevika chuckles at your fumbling as you leave.

Once he's out of the door, he hops on his hoverboard, already flying away. Leaving you in the dust once again.

“Little shit.” You curse, chest heaving after you bolted after him. Kicking a pebble with your foot, you begin the trek to the firelights hideout. Maybe this time he'll talk to you. (He didn't.)

—

The stifling council room has become a common sight for you. Its white dreary walls with its golden inlay and harsh light bearing down on you doesn't intimidate you anymore. It's starting to irk you as the council scrutinizes every word you've written in your draft that you've made enough copies for each of them.

Their eyes scan relentlessly at the pages, silence permeating the room as they flip through it. You feel eyes on you, making you stop from mindlessly picking at your nails. Looking up, you meet with a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Sevika tilts her head, nodding subtly at you with a slanted smile as she flicks her eyes at your draft sitting in front of her. You have no idea if that's a good thing.

You furrow your brows at her, confused and wordlessly asking what she meant.

She raises a brow in return, smile remaining on her lips. Shrugging, Sevika points at herself then over to you as she shakes her head. That's not good.

Eyes widening, you avoid her gaze on you after that. You're trying to wrack your head from remembering if you've written something bad about her, but you come up with nothing. Slowly, you move your eyes towards her without craning your head only to meet with her amused dark eyes. Immediately looking away, you swear you heard her chuckle above the quiet of the council room.

Hopefully her ominous gesture before was just to rile you up in front of the whole council.

A thud echoes throughout the room, almost shaking the circular table. “Right, that's enough. We don't have all day to read poetry.” Sevika interrupts their reading time, palm placed on the table as the rest of the council members look at her with a scrunched up expression. “I think this is approved, yes?” She roams her eyes around the table. Slowly, the council members nod.

“Yes, but I think we're still missing someone's very important account of the events.” Council member Shoola elegantly closes her copy as she stares at you with a raised brow. “I've noticed that there's not a single word from him.”

You immediately know who she's talking about.

With a quiet sigh, you nod. “Ekko, and I'm working on it. He's a bit…apprehensive to talk to me.”

Sevika stifles a laugh whilst you feel like melting under the spotlight.

“Ms. Kiramman, isn't Violet a friend of his? Maybe she could persuade him to speak to our historian.” Shoola remarks to Caitlyn, who's looking tired in her chair as her eyes scan the last page.

“She is,” Cait replies and you subtly shake your head at her, trying to convey that you can try to do it yourself. She seems to notice as the corner of her lip ticks upwards. “I can ask her.”

“Good.” Councilor Shoola smiles as she places both hands on the table and returns her attention towards you. “You did good, everything is up to par.” Up to par?! “You're dismissed.”

Reigning in your annoyance, you nod at them politely before you turn away to leave. The second the door closes, you roll your eyes, groaning in the middle of the hallway. A vase in the corner catches your attention, and you want to indulge your frustration by throwing it across the room. But you don't, instead you march your way outside with more determination to have Ekko speak to you. Not a grunt or a tired “go away.” No, actual words that you can write in your book.

“I'll show them ‘up to par.’”

—

You come back to the hideout as usual, but earlier than before as you have grown accustomed to the winding paths in the lanes.

The sun feels warm on your skin as the early morning rays greet you. The tree stands tall, leaves swaying in the comforting breeze. Firelights are still waking up, bones creaking as they stretch, groaning as they wipe away last night's tiredness in the corner of their eyes. A couple of them wave groggily at you, and a few more make a face at your repeated appearance in their home.

As you continue to walk towards the growing familiarity of the large ginkgo tree, you hear a voice coming from somewhere. Another aspect that you've grown acquainted with in your ever shifting life.

“We don't have a lot of yeast left in stock so—”

“Morning, Ekko!” You wave at him, you've caught him during his morning patrol around the commune. He groans at the cheery tone of your voice this early in the morning. He wonders if you have some sort of extra strong noxian coffee. “Ready for our interview?”

“We'll talk later.” He tells the baker, his arms are bare, skin glistening as if he's basking in the glow of the sun. He ignores you completely as he quickly takes the hoverboard from his back and hops on it within a second.

“W–Wait, hold on!” You try to reason with him, this time with a pack of sour candies you bought on the bridge last night. Maybe he doesn't like sweets? That's your thinking anyways on why he's still not convinced to talk to you.

A puff of dust hits your face head on as he flies higher and higher into a big pipe sticking out of the wall.

“Come on!” You splutter out, coughing away and wiping the dirt away from your eyes as you lose to his power of flight again.

—

The next day you come back to Ekko's treehouse again, this time carrying two plates of breakfast to save you a trip. You greet him warmly, and he replies with a gruff grunt. Sitting on the edge of his work table is uncomfortable, so is the silence. So you fill it with the sound of you scribbling on your notebook, recounting all the interviews you had with an enforcer last night. And you pretend you're not glancing at his face every minute or so. Maybe he's also pretending you're not there too as he continues to work on a new device.

You sit and write, he fixes a machine and stays quiet— It's been like that for a few days, the sound of your pen scribbling on paper has become the norm for him. And you've grown accustomed to the sound of his quiet swearing when he accidentally nicks a wire. An entire week goes by, a whole seven days of sitting in silence with no words shared between each other. Eyes darting towards the concentration on his face, and with his hand silently shoo you away to get a screw driver that's near your thigh. You scooch away with reserve, your subtle smile lost on him when he doesn't realize that he's used to your presence. He's still ignoring you, yes, but he doesn't tell you to get out anymore.

A day or so goes by, and you're starting to speak to him again. They're not questions, if anything they're just random thoughts you have. Whether it's talking about a peculiar raven you saw on the way, or that you've ran out of sugar for your tea, you tell it to him. And again, he doesn't reply. Only either sighing or grunting. As per your promise and your own principle, you don't talk to him about the interviews you have with other people. You can't even tell him how people look up to him after what he supposedly sacrificed up on the hextech tower. With a sigh after talking about the progress of the last drop's renovation, you continue to write away in your notebook that has his name written all over it.

“Did you know that gingko trees are so ancient that the bugs that used to pollinate them are long dead? Even the creatures that used to eat their fruits are extinct. They've survived because of the wind and other factors. They survived through it all.”

Ekko blinks at your peculiar words, twisting around to stare at you blankly. You make a face, shrugging and going back to write in your notebook as if you didn't just tell him something offbeat, and probably something that he felt through his bones.

“Just thought it was cool. Kind of poetic, hm—?” Looking up at him, you find that he has turned away from you once again.

You don't hate him, in truth you love annoying him and seeing how he reacts whenever you push his buttons. He's a friend to you, even though he doesn't see you as his friend, or even an acquaintance. You've been told years ago that's how you usually show your affections. You guess they were right.

—

Another day comes by, another day of talking to yourself. This time, a packet of sugar greets you above a wooden chair placed on his left. It's further away from him, but now at least you don't have to sit on his desk like some paper weight. You smile, tamping down a victorious chuckle as you sit down and tell him about what happened last night when you were running around the undercity looking for a former chem baron henchman. You notice his shoulder stiffen at the name, so you made sure to tell him that it went alright, that the man was just an accountant back then. Ekko seems to go back to his usual self after that.

—

Hours of sitting on an old rickety chair has your back aching, you groan after another day of one sided conversation. Back cracking as you stand up and stretch your lower back as if you have the back of an eighty year old.

“I'm going downstairs, do you need something from the mess hall?” You say whilst you roll your shoulders around. To your surprise, Ekko turns around in his seat.

His eyes weigh heavy with dark circles marring under those seemingly golden eyes of his that glow under the yellow light of his lamp. “You’re not going to give up are you?”

“Nope.” You pop the letter ‘p’ with emphasis. “Trust me, Ekko, if I leave here with an incomplete story, my professor will replace me. And she's ten times more annoying and determined than I am.” Your own joke brings an ache in your chest.

“I'm used to annoying professors.” He scrunches his nose.

“So I've been told.” Shrugging, you leave the room.

You come back up a few minutes later with two cups of water, seeing that he needs it since all the cups laying next to him have been empty since you first arrived. To your shock, the wooden chair you've been sitting on for the past few days has been replaced with a patchwork armchair. You have no idea how it got up here so fast without you seeing it be lugged around by Ekko. You're sure that it didn't suddenly pop out of thin air whilst you were gone.

As you place the cup of water on his table, you give him a genuine fond smile. “And here I thought you weren't paying attention.” Laughing, you're in awe of him. “You're a miracle worker, Ekko.”

He glances at you, side eyeing you as he grabs the cup, its contents sloshing to the sides as he tries to gulp it all down in one go.

Taking it as a competition, you don't let him win, chugging the cool water alongside him while the two of you watch each other and race to finish the whole glass.

The simultaneous thump of the cups being placed down has you grinning from ear to ear. “Looks like it's a tie.”

Ekko frowns, turning his chair around to wordlessly go back to work.

“I'll win the next one.” You go and test out your new chair, and you swear you heard him whisper a, “no, you won't.” That has you covering your mouth to tamp down your laughter.

—

You come back to the treehouse one day to find Ekko sleeping soundly on his desk. Face tucked atop his arms, foot twitching, and cheek scrunched up as he frowns even in his sleep. His twists are loose, free from his usual style as it falls over his face. Oil is smudged on his cheek, face paint transferred onto his arm, and you immediately retract your hand away from wiping it.

To let him finally sleep, you do a double take when a breeze comes by through the open window he has left open. So you turn back around, grabbing his familiar jacket from the bed to drape it over his shoulders. The jacket smells faintly of metal and mint. Careful not to wake him, he inhales deeply when your hand accidentally grazes against his cheek.

Ekko’s frown deepens, and you think that you've woken him up. You freeze up in place, hands held up in surrender. You're already forming apologies in your head, he opens his lips, a name spilling out.

“Powder?”

You blink, waiting for him to open his eyes but he remains asleep on his desk, dreaming of something better. You hope it's something better.

Inaudibly making your way towards the window, you shut it close silently but your thoughts are far from silent. Besides Ekko's name being frequent in your notes and in the numerous interviews you've done, there are two that are more frequent. She's an enigma to you, a shadow looming over you, a story untold when everyone who actually knew her is either dead or won't talk about her. Even her own sister doesn't truly know her. If Ekko won't talk about her, either one of her— you think it's time to get to know her better.

With a quick look at your watch, you leave the firelights hideout in favour of dredging the past under the rubble that stretches underground.

People lie, and minds fade away, but the memories left in the walls and their footprints don't.

—

Ekko's perceptive, terrifyingly so. After the war, his eyes always honed in on details unlike before. Even prior to the war he has always been quite observant, but not like this. Always looking out for danger from the smallest of things. So when you start coming in late, he notices. Then he sees your red jacket finely dusted with a coat of dust, and how you cough against the crook of your elbow.

He knows where you've been.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat. “I feel a cold coming.”

“It's because of all the sweets you've been having.”

You smile, finally having Ekko speak to you. It's a jab, still, it's going in a good direction. “The children like it, you can't blame me for having a few.” Your hands pause from sketching the side of his face, legs placed on the arm of the chair.

“It's your bribe.”

“Please, I've already asked the children about their side. They keep hounding me for sweets, and I like making it for them.” He hums, shaking his head before returning his attention towards his pile of paperwork. “How about you?”

“What about me?” Ekko hates doing paperwork but he soon realized that nothing will get done in Zaun without a single signature on a piece of document. He places his head on his fist, back turned away from you, but the way he shifts his weight towards you says that he's all ears.

“You've eaten those bribes yourself, when are you telling me your side of the story?”

“When your professor gets here.”

You snort, smiling when you get his jawline right on your scribbles that you call a drawing. “That's mean, firefly.” He groans at the nickname you bestowed upon him. You're taking a page right out of Vi’s book just to irk him. “You want a little old lady to travel miles away just so you could tell her the exact same thing you can tell me?”

“That's not what I meant—” the sudden beeping from your watch interrupts him.

Hopping off your seat, you take your belongings and place it in your satchel.

Ekko's brows pinch together, moving in his seat to look at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going?” He checks the ticking clock right next to his table, seeing that you're still hours away from your usual exit.

“Missing me already, firefly?” Your lips curl into a smirk as you tug your bag over your shoulder. He huffs in reply. “Don't worry, I'll be back again to annoy you since this is Madam Babette’s last meeting with me. I have to see her about her establishment.”

“You can just tell me if your sponsors aren't paying you well enough.” He says, still occupied with paperwork, smirk hidden away from you.

“Ha ha.” You mock a laugh, sauntering towards him. “Why, you're gonna raise some funds for me, saviour? Someday you're gonna have to pay me back for those sweets.” Hip against his table, you drape your arm over the back of his chair, head tilting down to stare at him through your teasing eyes.

“And here I thought you gave me those out of the goodness of your heart, noxian.” He levels with you, back straightening as he meets with your eyes. Your face is a mere few inches away from his own, but he's not backing down.

A moment passes by between you, the air growing with tension. Taut and ready to snap. It’s either you bite his head off first or he beats you to it with his teeth munching down on your frontal lobe.

You see yourself in his eyes, your dust laden hair, the bags under your eyes, and your tired skin— it makes you back down. Insecurity making its way to your chest. This job has taken a toll on you, and you know that he has noticed it. How could he not when he has been seeing you everyday for months. You can't ignore how attractive he is, you figured before that it'll fade away in time, but you've grown attached to those eyes of his.

“My academic sponsors are actually quite generous, thank you very much.” Huffing, you move away and walk up to the door, leaving him in the room once again. He smiles, staring at the door you just left in.

He was right, you lost this time around.

—

The walls are lined with pink velvet, sheer red curtains falling over the windowless walls. The Madame's office is all plush and smooth, chairs covered in silk, ceiling covered in shiny crystals that seem like it's falling down like dew drops. The air even smells sweeter inside, fresh flowers left on every surface of the room, as if a florist went through the whole place and randomly put vases filled with flowers in every corner.

You feel out of place, your laced up boots are a direct contrast to the fluffy rug underneath your feet. Perhaps you should've worn your heels? You blame Ekko's treehouse for needing you to trudge up and down its stairs since the elevator broke down a few days ago.

You place the tin of chocolates on the crystal table, sitting it beside some odd shaped vase that you've been meaning to ask Babette about. Or maybe it's a pitcher since there's no flowers in it? Either way, it perplexes you.

As your hand glides all over the silk couch you're sitting on, the beaded curtains part and reveals the madame of the infamous Vyx.

“Your Miguel was hounding me again.” You smile gently at the acquaintance turned friend.

“Hello to you too.” Babette rolls her eyes then walks over to the couch adjacent to your seat, hopping up and sitting cross legged as usual. “It's because he has never seen a pretty noxian.” Her eyes twinkle with playfulness.

“Hi.” You chuckle out. “Well, he clearly hasn't seen Mel Medarda yet.”

“He wasn't too pushy?” She asks with genuine concern. “I hate to punish the big guy.”

“No, he was once again asking if I'm free for coffee.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“‘What’s coffee? We don't have that in Noxus.’” You say truthfully, mocking how you said the blatant lie to Miguel, earning a hearty laugh from the woman.

The beaded curtains part once again, revealing a lithe man with a wolf mask hiding half his face as he saunters inside, and his alabaster hair shining under the twinkling iridescent lights. His hands are full with a tray of teapot and teacups clattering against each other. Even with his face obscured, you can tell that he's handsome underneath it. When he gives you a polite smile, your heart skips a beat. Clearing your throat, you pretend to act nonchalant in front of Babette.

“Where were we?” She smiles knowingly, eyes darting towards the tea being poured into your cup, and towards the way you're trying to avoid the man's eyes. She sometimes reminds you of your professor.

Inhaling, you gather your professionalism. “You were telling me all the improvements you've done to the Vyx now that it's under your management.” She hums, nodding along as she sips at her tea. “You've told me about the present and your wishes for the future. Can you please tell me about the past if you're willing?” You put sugar in your cup, mixing the tea and then blowing at the warmth.

Babette gestures for the man to stand outside the room, which he immediately complies with a curt nod.

“Will you?” She raises a brow, ear ticking upwards as she questions you.

“Will I what?”

“Answer if I asked about your past?” Now she definitely reminds you of your old professor. You suddenly feel like crying.

You inhale, trying to even out your breathing, fist tightening around the teacup. “I guess not.” Slowly unfurling your fingers around the handle, you gently place the cup back on the table lest you break it. “I'm not asking just to pick and prod at your past, I want to know what life was like back here before the war, before…. everything else happened. I'm sorry if I offended you.”

“You’re a rose with thorns.” Your heart thumps loudly. “That's what I guess about your past anyway.”

“A rose with thorns,” you whisper the exact words he said to you years ago, it was his face saying it, but not his voice. “They only take blood from those who try to steal from them.”

Babette chuckles and sips her drink. “Or someone who has experienced hurt and was forced to grow thorns.”

You take your teacup once again, eyes downcast at the swirling pool of auburn. You've forgotten how people like her are perceptive, with a keen eye in judging people. With that, she has succeeded at her profession.

After a beat of silence, and the crystals above shine rainbow light on the porcelain cup, you take a breath. “Why did you agree to this interview in the first place?” Your words are laced with suspicion.

“This will be published all over right?” You nod. “Simple, free advertising. Make sure you mention me and my place by name, sweetheart.” Your eyes roam all over her face, trying to decipher if it's a lie or not. Your pen weighs heavy in your hand.

She drinks her tea, eyeing you over her cup. You can't read her if she has any ill will against you, or if she has an ulterior motive.

So you continue on and do your job. You guess you just have to be extra vigilant, knowing that she deals in secrets.

“My past.” Babette finally speaks, “dealt with the wrong hand like every other zaunite out there. The only difference is that I bore it on my chest. I used it like armour to survive.”

You scribble her words in your notebook, now noticing how your hand trembles around your gilded pen.

“Oh, are these your cookies?” She must've noticed the tension in the air now that she's trying to lighten the mood. You nod, pushing the container over to her as she smiles at you.

“I gotta hand it to you noxians, you know how to make all the sweet things.” Grabbing a flower shaped cookie, she munches happily as crumbs fall down on the shaggy rug.

“I'm starting to think that you're stretching our appointments because of the sweets I bring.”

“That and the good company.” Smiling, she pushes the tin of cookies at you, wordlessly apologizing, or that's what you think anyway.

The session goes on like normal. She told you that she wasn't anywhere near Piltover when the war happened as she decided to get on the blimp out of the city before it all went down. Somewhere in the conversation, Ekko came up. Which Babette smiles at the name of.

“A good kid.” She says, and you softly smile. “Never seen him anywhere near here nor I want to see him here. I knew of him when he was just a kid, y'know. He was rambunctious, always riding that damn cycle of his with Ji— his friend and riling up every enforcer they come across.” She chortles at the memory. “Him and Benzo were a pair.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, circling Benzo’s name in your notebook.

“Both geniuses, good at anything that ticks.” She sighs. “They could've done something good if the circumstances were different. He's raised well in my opinion.”

“How about his friend? You mentioned her, the blue haired one.”

She sighs, taking the teapot and refilling her cup. “I'm kind of tired, sweetheart.”

You nod, shutting your notes closed as she pours you one last cup of tea before you go back to Ekko's. “I understand, maybe a story for next time then.”

“Maybe next time, and bring more of these.” With a clink of her cup with yours in a small toast, she points at the cookies with a grin.

—

Leaving the Vyx has your mind rolling with thoughts of the past and the present. The air seems to smell like a combination of old roses and mint.

Your footsteps echo throughout the barren alleyway of the lanes, concrete walls closing in on you as your heart thuds against your chest, ears ringing with a muffled hiss. Eyes cast down at your boots, you hug yourself tight, fists curled around your coat in an iron grip. The same words you've uttered since your last attack falls from your lips like a prayer. Tone soft and desperate above the wind.

The mere mention of your past and what Babette called you single handedly ruined your day. You're contemplating whether you should go back to the firelight hideout or go home instead. But you promised Ekko that you'll be back, so you'll go back. Maybe the walk on the way there will calm you down.

The harsh sickening thwack over your head makes the decision for you as your vision goes dark.

—

Ekko suddenly feels something is amiss. Like a buzzing around his head, or an itch he can't relieve. He looks at the pile of paperwork on his table that's slowly getting smaller with every hour that goes by. That's not peculiar at all, hence why he's looking around the room, finding nothing is out of place. His bed is neat, the window is open with the birds chirping away outside. Laughter filters upwards to the treehouse, and the sun beams down upon him and the beloved tree.

Everything is normal enough, so why does he feel like something's missing?

Checking the ticking clock, finding that it's half past four o’clock already, his attention immediately turns towards the empty armchair sitting a few ways behind him. He blinks and realizes what's missing. You.

His brows furrowed together, there's no quiet scribbling, no sudden questions thrown at him. And none of the crumpled up look you have whenever you can't find the right word. Twisting around in his seat, he goes back to his work with you knocking on the back of his mind.

You've become such a staple to his daily life these past few months that being alone is a thing of the past for him. Your presence was always there, sometimes quiet, a nice reprieve to his chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. And sometimes you're talkative to no end, a voice that he has gotten so used to that he can recognize your tone and the usual words you always seem to use. ‘Using said is so overdone,’ you said, all the while using it every paragraph or so. Or a comforting, ‘you should eat something, Ekko.’ He'll never admit to sneaking a peek at your notes, nor to actually listening to you. Your voice has been a welcoming lilt against the awful silence that occasionally plague his mind.

So when you told him you'll be back, he knows you'll be back to annoy him further or to use the quiet in the treehouse to do work. He knows you'll be back because you always came back. It's a fact for him now, just like all the morbidly macabre facts you suddenly sprouted on him at nine am in the morning.

Where in the world are you?

Ekko realizes that he hasn't read a single word since he noticed the lack of presence. The pen in his hand has been frozen for four minutes now, hand sitting idle atop the pile of papers just waiting for his signature.

The clock ticks, and the birds still sing outside, but you're still nowhere to be seen— the door suddenly opens, and the sigh of relief he let out would have you teasing him.

“Thought you finally gave up.” He says, acting casual amidst the internal turmoil he just had.

“Expecting someone else?” Scar's voice jolts him in his seat, immediately twisting to look at his right hand man.

Scar raises a questioning brow at Ekko, who's already bolting out of seat to get his hoverboard.

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[gothicwitcholive]

You know, this takes me back to the days where if people saw a boy bully a girl, it was because he liked her. I hate that classic trope, so much.

A new anon here (me), but I hope there's no redemption arc for the Beasts. White Lily Cookie, get those Beasts, especially Shadow Milk Cookie, who indirectly killed Elder Faerie Cookie.

Burning Spice Cookie? Yeah this man wanted to destroy everything GC ever loved. Would a partner do that? My partner wanted to do that. Destroy EVERYTHING I ever loved.

Also, for a redemption arc, there's no purpose?? No way in hell ANY of the Ancients want to talk to the Beasts. Pure Vanilla Cookie needs to put his foot down and straight up defeat Shadow Milk Cookie in January.

Hey new Anon!

I also hate the "if they bully you, it means you're their crush!" trope too. No, no it doesn't. If they truly liked someone, why would they go out of their way to be an ass to their "crush"? Wouldn't they be nice and try to do something sweet?

Plus the Beasts most likely have no intention on changing themselves. Hell MF had some reason to be the way she is, but BS did it because he was bloody bored. BORED? DUUUUUDE! There is no reason to redeem them and even if they were possibly redeemed, the scars are still there. How come it's acceptable when GC is upset with WL, but it's not acceptable for GC to be upset with BS? He wanted to destroy everything she loved, and for what? Why the hell would you be in a relationship with someone that wanted to fuck up everything you love? (It's not a direct attack, it's just asking in general.)

It's not love to destroy what your partner(s) ever loved. It's abuse. She lost her gothdamn queendom once, and risked losing it again to him. Love is not a vine with thorns piercing hearts, love is not tearing off someone's wings so they can't fly, and love certainly isn't stomping all over a partner or partners because of boredom.

I hope PV whoops SM's ASS. Fuck that, "The truth always prevails" bullshit, it's time for "It's time to have your ass handed to you on a silver platter, or more like a silver TREE."

[imjustheretofangirl003]

Theres often been this whole thing abt making tumblr easier for new users but yknow what I want them to teach people before they can make a post?

HOW TO NOT SPAMTAG

If you are posting a selfie, headshot, not even bust up, and a piece of a plant is 2 pixels wide in the background

You dont add the plant tag

You do not tag it as the top 3 or 10 trending tags to get traction/attention

Unless the tos has changed, doing stuff like that is actually reportable as spam because you arent using tags right!!

Yes everyone has their own way to be on the internet and we often use tags for full sentences but thats not what Im seeing here. Im seeing blogs less than 2 months old gumming up broad tags with selfies, irrelevant shit, etc. Yes that picture of Zelda you ripped off Pinterest that was ripped off a Tumblr has a rose in her hand. Its not polite to tag it as plant leaf rose vine thorn Zelda dark academia cookie run and bisexual.

This is mostly just a rant to get it out, I understand people are new and new and trying to figure things out but Gosh I just autoblock every 👋 new account because theyre mistagging shit wrong and are the last 4 hours of uploads in a tag. I dont even know if they are bots at this point or Tumblr just explains things reallly bad

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Main Objective: Leave The Dorm Updated Objective: Defeat Sebek (Complete) Current Objective: *CRITICAL BOSS BATTLE*

[Dawn was able to use Sebek's Speed against him and trapped him in a leg rope trap, causing him to fall, and he could not take it off as Dawn ran off.]

[Dawn reached the Main Foyer but placed her pistol in her holster on her side and pulled out a new Rubber Ball Gun she was saving just in case: A Rubber Ball Assault Rifle. She looked around and saw nothing - it was completely empty and she made a move for the door when Thorn Vines erupted from the ground to cover the door; preventing Dawn from escaping. The Green Fire Lanterns on the walls lit up and Dawn could feel the final boss had arrived.]

[Dawn turns around slowly to see the figure of her Eldest Brother, Malleus Draconia, sitting on his throne with the fire giving him a very intimidating look.]

Dawn (Gripping the Assault Rifle as she looks at Malleus): I should have known you would make such an entrance, Eldest Brother. I've defeated your soldiers and I shall ask only once: Allow me to leave or we shall face in combat. You shall not claim my cookies this time around, Brother.

Malleus: The others do not deserve your baked goods. They do not appreciate it as we do. But, if we have to fight, let it be one to be remembered!