#Shadow has been moved by light it seems... :: [MUSINGS]

[divineprank]

“Rage is only for what you believe can be fixed. All the rest is grief.”

-- Cormac McCarthy, (Stella Maris)

#Shadow has been moved by light it seems... :: [MUSINGS]

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

I Hate You

Five times Ed told Xenk he hates him, and one time... he tells him he hates him again, actually.

2.3k, Rated T for swears.

~~~

1

Xenk strides ahead through the winding tunnels of the Underdark, his pretentious cape billowing behind him.

It’s like he has his own personal wind, Ed thinks. Probably generates it himself, the smug bastard, no magic required.

The eery little creatures on the walls around them pulsate gently as they pass, their shimmering tentacles casting a dim blue light across Xenk’s armour. It glimmers. There’s something oddly hypnotic about it. Ed wonders when he last polished it. He was probably polishing it that very morning, desperate not to get a speck on it.

Fucking paladins. Fucking Harpers.

Ed watches him forge on ahead with increased annoyance.

“I hate you,” he whispers. Xenk says nothing, but the tilt of his head is enough for Ed to know he heard.

*

2

After the incident in Neverwinter, Ed does not become rich beyond his wildest dreams. He does not bring home cartloads of gold. He does not swap out cotton for silk and linen.

What Ed does is quietly curse Xenk under his breath every time he thinks about what he could have had. He isn’t poor - heroes of the realm aren’t left to freeze and starve, after all - but he always wonders what life would be like with a little more lining in his pockets.

That is what makes him to take the job offer when it lands at his feet. Although it’s a difficult job to say no to - a request from the old Lord himself, who has sought out Ed and Holga’s skills personally, to deal with what he describes as a spot of bother in a town a few miles from the city. This time, Kira is undeniably nervous but seems keen for them to go: they’re heroes, now, she reminds them. For the first time, Ed realises that she’s proud of him, and that would convince him to do nearly anything.

He muses, as he dodges out of the way of the snarling creature that’s been eating the local’s sheep and goes barreling into a towering pile of hay bales, that he is very glad Kira cannot see him right now. For a baffling moment, straw poking him in all the wrong places, he has no idea which way is up, flailing wildly for something to grab.

And then he does. He wraps his hand around something firm and strong and cold and—

He's heaved to his feet. Standing in front of him, radiant in his armour and the dazzling light, is Xenk.

Ed quickly lets go of his arm.

“Greetings, Edgin.”

Behind him, surrounded by villagers making ohh noises, is the decapitated body of the beast that Ed had been fighting, not seconds before.

“I had it under control,” Ed says.

“Of course.” Xenk smiles.

Ed thinks of the reward money. Of the accolades. Kira’s pride.

“...I hate you,” Ed says.

The smile does not fade. “Of course.”

*

3

First things first: Ed stinks. The stink is everywhere, it’s like it's in his bones, under his skin, in his head.

At least the damn dragon is dead.

“Please, oh heroes, please help us slay the beast!”

Ed had such high hopes. On the ride from their home to the mountainside town, he and Holga had been excitedly discussing how they would split the dragon’s hoard. Gems, jewels, piles of gold: they’d be rich, even after splitting it five ways.

Five. It had taken five of them to slay a dragon last time, after all.

And then, of course, there had been no gems, no jewels, no piles of gold taller than Ed stood.

What sort of shitty dragon hoards garbage?

No wonder the townspeople wanted rid of it.

He slides from the huge pile of muck. He can hear Holga cursing behind him, something about "and it’s in my fucking hair, too", while Doric, transformed momentarily into an enormous bear, attempts to lift a particularly sticky slab of debris from Simon.

Ed tries to stand, slips, and falls down again. This time at least he’s got his mouth shut.

“Need a hand?”

Ed looks up from where he’s on his knees in what he really, really hopes isn’t raw sewage. For a moment, he’s blinded by the sun, then the shadow ahead of him shifts, moves, and suddenly the light is blocked.

Xenk peers down at him, illuminated from behind, one hand extended.

Ed does not take it but instead struggles to his feet, determined not to fall again. He spits as he finally manages to stand.

“How the fuck—”

Xenk is spotless. From his dazzling armour to his perfect cape and his flawless skin. There is not a speck of dirt or shit or mud or even blood on him.

For a moment, Ed can only gape at him with his mouth open. He feels something cold and slimy slide down his back.

“I hate you.”

He goes to push Xenk aside (he dodges, of course he dodges) and strides away.

*

4

How Xenk became a regular member of Ed and Holga’s party, Ed just isn’t sure. It’s not just him: Simon, of course, joins them often, as does Doric when she’s able or the need arises. Ed enjoys having them both around - even if their whole on-again-off-again thing is beginning to piss him off - but Xenk is another matter entirely.

What really annoys him, really, actually gets on his nerves, is the fact that everyone else seems to love him. Sure, Xenk is noble and clever and a brilliant fighter. Yes, he’s a keen tactician and diplomat and is popular wherever he goes, and of course he’s the best swordsman Ed has ever seen and is furiously, distractingly handsome, but—

Where was that thought going?

Right, yes. 

Everyone else loves him. But, of course, everyone loves Ed, too. Ed is just as popular, even if he is a bit more abrasive. Everyone loves a bard. That’s the way of things. 

This is, Ed knows, a dangerous path to let his thoughts wander down when he’s several pints in as they celebrate a decisive victory and is swiftly seeing those pints down with several more, just to keep the first ones safe.

Simon is describing a stunt that Xenk pulled off to an adoring crowd of onlookers. Ed isn’t even sure what part of the daring deed he’s talking about, but the way the crowd is enraptured by his story is grating on him regardless. 

Ed sees back his pint, nearly drops the tankard on the table, and the words spill from his mouth before he can stop them - not that he would try anyway.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

Simon doesn’t stop in his story. None of his audience notices. 

But Xenk looks up. He catches Ed’s eye across the table. This, Ed thinks. Let this be it. Let him drop that stupid facade and throw himself across the table and hit me. Go on. He eggs him on in his mind. He wonders what his face is doing. Do it, he thinks. Do it. 

Xenk… does nothing. He smiles, the bastard.

The next thing Ed remembers is being poured into a bed in the roof of the inn. Someone is holding him up, making sure he doesn’t trip. There’s a metallic sounding clang that puts his teeth on edge, and when he rolls over he realises that someone’s placed a mental bucket beside the mattress.

“Sorry.”

He looks up. Xenk leans over him. No: he doesn’t lean over him. He’s standing a measured distance away, holding himself carefully.

Ed mumbles something. Xenk smiles again.

When Ed wakes up, horrible dawn light slicing across his face, he’s alone.

*

5

It’s all gone a bit wrong. Ed would be the first to admit when it goes wrong, but this time—

This time they’re truly fucked.

They shouldn’t have gone in with three people. But everyone else was busy, and they were running out of time, and so they entered the tower as a trio: He, Holga - and Xenk.

He’s been getting sort of used to having him around.

Which is what makes this—

It’s what makes this so bad.

He hoists him up over the edge of the demolished floor, pulling him up onto the stone beside him. Holga calls from somewhere up above - she’s coming to get them. Just stay there. Just hold on.

That’s what he mutters to Xenk, too, as he pulls his armour away. 

Ed has never seen Xenk’s cloak stained red, before. The colour looks wrong.

Xenk’s eyes are closed. Ed’s hands shake as he strips off the armour. Xenk would hate to see him treat the expensive plate so carelessly - not that he would see fit to tell him that himself, not in the sort of language that Ed would use, anyway.

Ed presses his hand’s to the paladin’s chest. He’d feared this. Not this exactly, but the fear of being without a magic user is what forced him to finally tap into his buried bard’s magic late sometime last year. The going has been rough, even with Simon’s - and, to Ed’s surprise, Xenk’s tutelage. He’s learnt little, but enough.

It has to be enough.

Ed’s hands stain Xenk’s shirt in scarlet smears. Xenk's blood is hot. Like this, he suddenly seems human. Fragile.

Ed mutters the healing words. It’s the only healing spell he knows, and he’s shitty at it and exhausted to boot, but at this stage he’s willing to try anything.

He feels the magic course through him, down his arms, into Xenk’s chest. There’s a strange, floating moment where he feels the steady thud of Xenk’s heart in his hands, all the way up into his core. Ed can feel his eyes drooping. He’s so tired.

But Xenk opens his eyes.

“Ed?” 

Ed’s never seen him look so scared.

No: that’s wrong. He’s seen him look this scared once before - the moment the hand had wrapped around his torso and pulled him over the edge into the darkness.

Everything hurts. Ed pulls his hands away, and feels himself falling.

“I hate you.”

And then it all goes black.

*

+1

A gentle wind carries with it the smell of fresh leaves and summer wildflowers. Behind Xenk, hooked neatly on the protruding branch of a tree, his cloak moves in the breeze like ocean waves.

Edgin is unusually quiet. He’s leaning against the tree, his lute on his lap, although he isn’t playing. He stares out at something that Xenk cannot see.

“Edgin?”

There’s no response. Xenk goes to sit next to him, crossing his legs and settling straight-backed at his side.

After a few more moments of silence, Edgin finally speaks.

“It’s been a year, you know.”

Xenk turns to look at him. He does not pay too much attention to the passing of time: the celebration of dates and numbers.

“Since?”

Edgin does not respond, but sits up properly, leans forwards, and tugs at the open neck of Xenk’s undershirt, exposing the edge of the twisting scar that splits his dark skin.

Oh. He supposes it has been a year: although it feels like far less time has passed. A lot has changed in a single year - a lot that once terrified him. It feels less frightening now.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

There’s a sudden heat in Edgin’s voice. Like he’s held these words back for too long, and now they’re scorching him.

“Do you see, Xen? Do you really?”

Xen. Xenk cannot remember the last time someone gave him a diminutive name. This is another thing that’s changed in the last year. Before, he would have demanded his full name. But now… Now it makes him feel like he belongs. He belonged to the Harpers, in a way. He had taken dozens of oaths, oaths designed to make many feel like one.

But this— this is different. It was different when Edgin and Holga accepted him as one of the gang, and it’s even more different now, sitting here alone in the sunshine with Edgin.

Ed.

“I—” he struggles with his words, now. He never did before. “Tell me how you see it.”

Ed takes a deep breath. 

“It’s been a fucking year, Xen,” he says. His words have cooled but not extinguished, like fresh-forged red steel. “A year since I thought you were dead. Since we—”

Xenk knows what he’s thinking of. He’s remembering that night - the night after Ed had pulled him back from the brink, nearly throwing himself over in the process. The long, still evening broken by the quiet, quickly smothered confession.

“I told you I hated you,” Ed says, finally. His words are just steam, now. Light and ephemeral.

“You did,” Xenk agrees. 

“I never— I never said sorry.”

“I know you did not mean it.”

Ed’s expression cracks. “Part of me did,” he admits, at last. “I hated you for— for leaving us.” And then, even more quietly: “...leaving me.”

The air feels heavy around them. Xenk twists around to better look at him. He takes Ed’s jaw between gentle fingers, feeling the scratch of his stubble, the gentle puff of his breath when Xenk rubs his thumb against his lip.

Ed does not resist as Xenk pulls him forwards and presses their lips together. Even now, it still thrills him - fills him in a way that all the magic and oaths in the world could not. Xenk thought he knew goodness, until now. He thought he knew devotion. He was wrong.

When they finally part, Ed stares at him with wide, dark eyes. He looks like a man lost.

He blinks once. Twice. And then his expression splits into one that Xenk has grown both familiar and fond of: a cocky grin to shrug off the fact that Ed has just experienced an emotion.

“You mushy bastard,” he says. “I hate you.”

Xenk grins, and kisses him again.

“No,” he says. “You do not.”

#dnd hat #dungeons and dragons: honor among thieves #edgin x xenk #xedgin #xenk yendar #edgin the bard #dndhat

[seabirdtxt]

.Irminsul --amend -m 'Scaramouche'

Nahida has called in the book club to try and start discussions about the Creator's situation. Cyno actually kinda knows what he's talking about and Alhaitham is... mostly there for moral support... [< prev] [Blog Tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. Separate warning for my writing being all over the place on this one. all relationships are currently platonic!

WC. 2.6k

----- ⚘ -----

There’s not much to do except wait for Alhaitham and Cyno to show up, unfortunately, so you have taken to chatting with Nahida and Aranyani about some of the games and toys that exist back on Earth. Aranyani seems to be interested in the mechanics of each, comparing them to existing games in Teyvat, while Nahida is more interested in trying them out for herself, someday.

Scaramouche doesn’t seem interested in the conversation, but he sits with the three of you anyway and watches the shadows of birds moving beyond the stained glass windows. 

You’d just been explaining the concept of the rubix cube and algorithms to the two gods when a sure knock is heard on the sanctuary doors. Scaramouche takes the opportunity to make his escape from the conversation, shuffling to the door and opening it for the newcomers. 

Cyno steps in, followed by Alhaitham, and the two of them hold each other at a polite distance as they walk down toward the dais, where the rest of you stand to greet them. 

“Hello, my friends!” Nahida exclaims, smiling brightly and clasping her hands together even as she and Aranyani take a gracious step back to allow you and the newcomers space. “Thank you so much for being here! We have a lot to discuss!” 

“We came as soon as we heard,” Cyno replies, nodding. He then turns to you with a little salute. “Your Grace, it is an honor to be in your presence.”

You put your hands up placatingly. “Please, there’s no need for formality…” you say, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as everyone looks at you. You clear your throat and gesture for the newcomers to continue. 

“We heard about the circumstances after your arrival in Teyvat,” Alhaitham states, stepping around Cyno, stopping at his side and crossing his arms. Straight to the point. “Do you remember the circumstances that led up to your descent? It might help point toward the root cause, and shed light on the ‘how’s and ‘why’s.” 

“Uh, good question,” you mutter, scratching your head about it for a second. “I was probably hanging out in my room or something, really. Playing, uh, games on my phone.”

You wonder if it’s too early to mention that said game was Genshin, AKA. controlling their world. You know they’re marginally self-aware, but the extent of which still escapes you. 

“Alright, and did you do anything different while you were playing on this ‘phone’? See anything strange?” Cyno picks up, pulling out a small notepad and quill. “Anything out of the ordinary, things that you don’t normally do or notice.”

“Well, my phone has been glitching a lot when I play games, lately,” you muse. “And I kept getting these buggy screens while I was in-game, but I figured that was just because my device was overheating or something. You know, they build them faulty on purpose so they can sell you a new one every few years? Apparently in France or something they made companies give people the right to repair their own phones, but we don’t have that where I live…” 

Cyno writes down most of the first half of what you say, but you seem to lose the crowd as you ramble. He looks up from his notepad to fix you with a level stare, though you can tell there's just a hint of confusion behind his expression.

“Can you say something that makes sense to people who live in this world?” Scaramouche interjects somewhere in the middle of your rambling, the first time he spoke since you guys first teleported to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “Or at least stay on topic, or something.” 

“Oh,” you reply, blinking. “Right.” 

Cyno nods to you again, though he keeps glancing at Scaramouche out of the corner of his eye. Alhaitham doesn’t bother with subtlety, fixing the Balladeer with a level, analytical stare. Cyno clears his throat after a few seconds of awkward silence, preparing his notepad once more. “So, you were saying you played on this ‘phone’ device, aside from the problem you noticed, was there anything else you did differently?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “I was playing the game like I normally would, doing commissions and stuff. No, wait, actually I did do something a bit weird.” 

This causes Cyno to perk up, and he leans forward onto the balls of his feet as he listens attentively. 

“Because the game was overheating my phone, my ping was super slow,” you explain. “So I was lagging pretty badly. I was doing one of the leylines in the jungle and I was spamming the interact button on the flower because I was getting impatient…”

“And then?”

“... And then I think another dialogue box popped up, but I didn’t notice what it said.” You finish, sighing. “After that, I just remember waking up beside a leyline thingy right here in Teyvat.” 

“Do you remember the exact location of the leyline?” Alhaitham asks, to which you shake your head.

“The Traveler and Wanderer found me not too long after that, and took me straight to the city. They probably have a better idea than I do, honestly. I didn’t really have a chance to figure out where I was, at the time…” 

“Do you recall any distinctive landmarks? Anything that stood out in an otherwise unremarkable location?” 

You shake your head again, trying to remember what you saw. “No, uh, I was a little bit distracted by discovering I was suddenly in- uh, in Teyvat, and-”

“So you were not already aware of your location when you descended?” Cyno clarifies. You nod quickly.

“I only figured out it was Sumeru when the Traveler started bringing me closer to the city,” you agree, wringing your hands nervously under the general’s gaze. “The few little houses and tents that started popping up, the architecture kinda gave it away…” 

“Were there any inconsistencies you noticed between your knowledge of Teyvat and the actual Teyvat when you arrived?” Cyno asks, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Just to make sure you’re in the correct version.” 

“Well, funny you should mention that,” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to share this, given the result of it sitting right next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, Nahida is giving you a thumbs up. “I got hurt touching a leyline, not the same one as when I first got here, though! I got a little cut on my hand, because the leaves are a bit sharper than I was expecting…”

Alhaitham’s attention shifts from the Balladeer back to you. “What happened when you were injured?”

“I, uh, I accidentally made Irminsul recover some deleted information.” You simplify as best as you can. “And now there’s several things that were added back to the world that aren’t technically supposed to be here...”

“I’ve never heard of leylines doing that, before,” Cyno remarks. “Then again, it’s not every day the Creator descends to Teyvat.” 

“Have you tried going back to the same location to see if it yields reverse results?” Alhaitham wonders aloud, seeming amused by the strange predicament. 

“And what is that supposed to achieve?” Scaramouche interrupts again, snorting as he crosses his arms. “Besides going for a leisurely stroll through the jungle, I mean. Irminsul already recovered the missing data, and the location itself doesn’t matter, if you haven’t noticed already, since you can find a leyline just about anywhere.”

“It’s certainly an unprecedented behavior for leylines,” Cyno agrees. “But again, the Creator has never descended before-”

“We heard you the first time,” Scaramouche deadpans, earning him a smack upside the head courtesy of you. “Ow! Do you want to figure this stuff out or not?”

“Be nice,” you grumble, though you do feel slightly annoyed at the repetitive line of questioning. “He’s just ruling things out, right?” You turn to Cyno, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. 

“Ley lines are a complicated but fascinating subject to study,” Cyno states, crossing his arms and tucking his notebook under one elbow. “However, I’m afraid interdimensional travel is a little bit outside Spantamad’s realm of expertise.”

“Honestly, that’s fair,” you give a resigned sigh, but Scaramouche cuts you off.

“But how’s that supposed to help you?” He sneers and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s like you want to be stuck here forever with no explanation for how you got here in the first place.”

“Can we just chalk it up to magic or something?” You ask sheepishly, a little embarrassed at having taken the time out of two of Sumeru’s most important figures’ days.

“I was looking forward to hearing about how you got into this predicament with your own two idiot hands, honestly.”

“What I want to know,” Alhaitham suddenly interjects, surprising everyone else with his initiative. “Is how the Creator and the Dendro archon are here, cozying up to a Fatui harbinger?” 

Four pairs of eyes blink at him in surprise, while Cyno nods in agreement.

“I think that’s the more pressing matter, here,” he agrees, and you can sense the tingle of static in the air as his previously-relaxed grip on his notebook starts to tighten. 

“Okay, see, that’s one of the things I was talking about!” You say quickly, the words leaving you in a rush in hopes of stemming the building tension in the sanctuary. “He was a harbinger before, but he’s all better now!”

“You say that like it was an illness,” Scaramouche snorts, to which you can only laugh.

“Yeah? As if you didn’t act a little bit sick in the hea-”

Nahida, who up until now has been doing an excellent job of pretending to mind her own business, decides to chime in before the general can come to his own conclusion.

“I apologize for not warning you two earlier, but I do have it on good authority—that authority being myself,” she hides her giggle with the palm of her hand, “that the Balladeer poses no harm to either of you, or the Creator!” 

“It’s also kinda my fault that he’s here, so I mean…” You trail off and give an apologetic shrug.

“How did you know I was a harbinger?” Scaramouche’s eyes narrow at Alhaitham and he crosses his arms as well, mirroring both the scribe and Cyno. “As far as I've been told, the memory of ‘me’ was erased from Irminsul.”

Cyno shakes his head. “No, there is recorded evidence of the Balladeer’s involvement with the sages’ god-creation plan,” he corrects, relaxing very slightly after Nahida’s reassurance but not dropping his guard completely. 

“I was present at the time of the Traveler’s investigation of the Joruri workshop, where they confronted the mechanical false god,” Alhaitham adds. “The person who fell from the machine indeed bears striking resemblance to you, but was confirmed to not be the Balladeer himself. However, Lord Kusanali’s own interjection confirms that you are indeed the Balladeer.” 

“He’s been reformed,” you say cheerfully, but your mind is running a mile a minute. Evidently Nahida and Aranyani are on the same page, because the two goddesses drift closer with curious looks on their faces. 

“So Irminsul has already started patching the holes in Teyvat’s history,” Nahida muses, hands on her hips. “It’s much faster than I anticipated, given the circumstances.”

“Not as surprising as you would think, little sprout,” Aranyani pats her head. “Irminsul is capable of very rapid computation, but the problem lies in resolving as many conflicting histories as possible. Two is faster, but three will cause some things to be shuffled around for a few days, still. The justification of the existence of multiple incarnations of the Balladeer may yet be subject to change.”

“So you’re saying that what we currently perceive as fact, is instead false?” Cyno asks, having retrieved his notebook once more. As the goddesses continue to muse on the subject, he writes down their theories and makes some notes of his own. 

“I’d say sorry for that workshop fight,” Scaramouche says, addressing Alhaitham with a smug grin. “But I honestly didn’t even remember you being there. I guess you just weren’t that noteworthy to me at the time. No hard feelings, right?” 

Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to grace him with a look, much to Scaramouche’s annoyance. Instead, the scribe quietly listens in on the Irminsul discussion.

Meanwhile, you try to remember what team you had when you took on the Archon quest fight. It’s been a while since then, and you’re not sure if you’re thinking of the right fight. Maybe you used Alhaitham in one of your weeklies? Speaking of which, do those boss fights exist in the world of Teyvat, or is that just for you as a player of the game? If they exist, how do the characters feel having to go beat up the same people on a weekly basis? What about the characters who are weekly bosses, like Wanderer, Childe, and Ei?

Thinking about it is starting to give you a headache. 

You decide to tune back in as Nahida and Aranyani finish bouncing ideas between themselves, with Cyno furiously scribbling annotations in the margins of his notepad. What was it they were talking about again? You get the sense that maybe you should've paid a bit more attention. 

“- that’s the case, then we should contact Inazuma and see if there is a new history that came up.” Cyno offers, to which Nahida shakes her head.

“If we ask directly, the answer we will get is the same.” She explains, wringing her tiny hands. “To them, this knowledge will have always existed. They will perceive it as an unchanged fact, in the same way you and the Scribe believe the circumstances of the Balladeer to be a fact. The better people to ask would be the ones involved in the anomaly.” 

“Alright, and how do we find them?”

“See, that’s the funny part…” You begin, only to be interrupted by a sudden swirling pressure in the chamber.

It’s strange to see the teleportation from an outside perspective. You watch as Wanderer shimmers into existence, adjusting his hat. The metal charms on the ends of it chime as they settle. He looks up, catching sight of you first and raises a hand to wave, only to stop short when he sees the other guests.

“... Looks like I’m late to the party,” he remarks, drifting over to Nahida’s side. “Wanna catch me up to speed? Not that I care, but I might as well get the full picture so I can correct you where you're wrong.”

“I asked for the General and the Scribe to come visit so that we could get a better grasp on the Creator’s situation!” Nahida explains, smiling brightly at him. 

“Great, and how did that go?”

Everybody chooses to look in different directions, unable to look Wanderer in the eye. You hear him heave an annoyed, but resigned, sigh. 

“We might’ve gotten somewhere if Buer hadn’t sidetracked,” Scaramouche adds helpfully. 

“And you might’ve gotten the groceries like you guys said you would, too, but here we are,” Wanderer crosses his arms, pinning you and Scaramouche with a pointed look. 

You wince and turn around, subtly leaning over to Scara, whispering: “I actually forgot about that…”

“Me too…” he replies, not quite as quietly as you. You both startle as hands come down on both of your shoulders, Wanderer’s grinning face appearing between the two of you. 

“Isn’t this just a splendid opportunity for you two to go find the traveler and restock our pantry, while Buer and I go over the details of what you clowns didn’t explain right?” 

Scaramouche wastes no time wresting his shoulder out of Wanderer’s grasp with a noise of disgust. “Who do you think you are to order me around, teacher’s pet? I’ll go when I feel like it.” He sneers, stalking off toward the doors of the sanctuary.

You offer a light chuckle and a wry grin of apology to the others, who watch unimpressed at Scaramouche’s display, while Wanderer dismisses you with a shooing motion.

Right. Time to get those supplies. 

#genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware au #genshin isekai #genshin wanderer #sagau wanderer #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #sagau x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #seabird.txt #glitch in irminsul au

[your-eternal-lies]

_  YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter three)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

WARNINGS — Mild angst, talk of dead moms. Sorry.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER THREE SO, WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE SKY OPENED UP?

“Should we try… screaming for help or something?” You propose, half-serious and half-mocking the absurdity of your shared predicament.

“Let’s save our vocal chords for now,” Steve suggests, hoping his steady demeanour will help steady your nerves. If Steve were alone, the decision would have been easy to make. But the thought of you trying to shimmy through that sliver of space sets off a series of blaring alarms in his mind. 

He almost sighs out loud; he can bench press his motorcycle, but can’t guarantee a few pounds of steel would hold steady under his manipulations. 

“Alright then, Captain Caution, we’ll stay put,” you retort, fingers playing with the frayed hem of your tank top. “But if we’re not out of here by Christmas, I’m holding you personally responsible.” 

“Fair enough,” he replies, shifting his weight and crossing his arms, leaning against an opposite wall. He notices you’re still holding onto his jacket, the leather draped over your joined hands in front of you, but he doesn’t make a move to take it back. 

“So,” you tilt your head, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You lean forward with an earnestness that Steve finds both slightly disarming and kind of endearing. “What was your most bizarre mission as Captain America?” 

The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smirk. “You mean other than a Norse god pulling a murderous alien army into the earth’s atmosphere?” 

“Fair point,” you concede with a laugh that echoes softly in the enclosed space, the sound bubbling up like champagne. “You know, I was there.” 

“There? In New York?” Steve muses, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got some great timing.” 

“You’re telling me,” you grin, and a genuine smile spreads across his face. He revels in the sound of your laughter; it seems to fill the elevator with warmth, pushing back against the cold metal walls. “I was visiting my mom at the time. But it all worked out, didn’t it? I met Chuck in New York.” 

“Chuck?” 

“My dog.” Steve then remembers the well-behaved German Shepherd that’s always following at your heels whenever he saw you in the building. “Walked into that shelter and there he was, this big dopey furball with ears too large for his head and a heart too big for that tiny cage.” 

He smiles at the mental image, “Love at first sight, huh?” 

“Yeah, destiny slapped me in the face with a wet nose and a wagging tail,” you smirk, your eyes getting this faraway look as if replaying a sweet memory. “Who was I to argue with the universe?” 

“What made you decide to adopt?” 

You purse your lips. “I don’t wanna say.” 

“What? Why?” Steve raises an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you, noting even in the dim light the way your cheeks seem to heat with emotion. 

“…Okay, but you’re going to make a big deal out of this.” 

“I promise I won’t.” 

“My mom died.” 

Despite the somber announcement, you’re smirking when Steve has no choice but to backpedal with a sigh. “You’re right, that is a big deal.” 

“It’s really not, though.” You lie, pressing your back against the elevator wall, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of embarrassment bubbling inside you. It’s been a long time since you spoke about your mom. 

“It was when my mom died.” Steve shares, the soft glow of the dim elevator lights casting a gentle shadow across his face. “I was eighteen then, but I had a friend to help me through it too.” 

A beat of silence passes, but your eyes lock with his, a small shared history seeming to close the gap between you. Your earlier trepidation begins to dissipate, like a steam from a morning shower fogging up a mirror. You find yourself standing a little straighter, a strange serenity settling over your shoulders. 

Your lips part and your mother’s story just spills out. How she raised you on her own after your dad left, how she taught you everything from how to drive to how to use your box of power tools when you got your first apartment, and how much she loved flowers. 

Her getting sick was never part of the plan, but the two of you were optimistic. For months, you were sure she would make it, and if there was anyone who could beat cancer with just sheer willpower, then it was your mom. 

But the optimism soon turned into denial as she grew weaker and weaker, until eventually, the person lying in that hospital bed became a stranger in your memories—so unlike the large looming figure of ‘mom’ that you had always grown up with. 

It was cheaper to have her cremated, although you supposed that was for the best. Her urn sits on a table in your apartment, now that you’ve left New York behind but certainly not the memories. 

And maybe it’s the darkness of the elevator, or the fact that you and Steve don’t know much about each other than what you’ve already shared, but he tells you all about Sarah Rogers and Bucky Barnes. 

Her famous apple pie, his best friend’s insatiable appetite for it, and the tales of a bygone time—things you’ve only read about in history books or saw in movies. You listen with interest, laughing at anecdotes, smiling instead of crying at the mention of eventual goodbyes. 

You wonder how he does it, living in what he must see as a strange new world—where he knows that the world sees more value in Captain America than they do in Steve Rogers. 

“Sounds like Chuck is a bit of a show-off,” Steve observes when the topic shifts, you describing the unadulterated joy of watching your dog’s talent with a frisbee. You quirk an eyebrow, motioning to the open elevator doors that were simply no match for his super soldier strength. 

“Sound like somebody else you know?”

« Chapter 2 || Chapter 4 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #summer’s fics

[crowzwhump]

Tw: Vampire Whump | Vampire Whumper | Kidnapping | Noncon Vampire Feeding | Stalking (let me know if I need to add any!)

The city was bathed in the soft glow of the full autumns moon hung high in the sky, the soft glow of streetlights, casting long, eerie shadows across the empty sidewalks.

In this urban labyrinth, Whumpee, a young and unsuspecting individual, hurried through the narrow alleyways, unaware that they were being stalked by a predator of the darkest kind.

Whumper, a modern vampire with a taste for the thrill of the chase, had spotted Whumpee earlier in a bustling cafe, their heart racing as they sensed the sweet aroma of innocence that clung to their chosen prey.

As Whumpee turned the corner, they were startled to find themselves face to face with Whumper, who had been lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, now stepped into the dim light, a charming smile playing on their lips.

"Lost, are we?" Whumper purred, their voice as seductive as a siren's song.

They moved closer, their eyes locking onto Whumpee's, holding them in a captivating gaze.

Whumpee, disoriented and slightly flustered by the sudden encounter, stammered, "I… I wasn't expecting to run into anyone here."

The Whumper's smile widened.

"Well Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, Doesn't it?" they mused.

"In fact, I could use your help with something. You see, I'm looking for a particular place, and I seem to have lost my way. Would you be so kind as to assist me?"

Whumpee hesitated, their guard slowly lowering in the presence of the charismatic stranger.

"I suppose I could help you find your way," they replied cautiously.

Whumper's smile only grew, "Wonderful!" They said, "I do appreciate your kindness, truley."

As Whumpee turned their attention to giving directions, the Whumper's predatory instincts sharpened as the conversation continued, their words a hypnotic melody that dulled Whumpee's senses.

But as Whumpee's back was turned, Whumper finally saw their opportunity.

In a swift and shocking move, the vampire lunged forward, wrapping their cold, strong arms around Whumpee.

"W-what are you--!?" Whumpee gasped in surprise, the realization of their peril sinking in too late.

"You're too trusting, my dear," Whumper whispered, their breath sending shivers down Whumpee's spine. "But don't worry; I promise to make this encounter unforgettable."

Terror seized Whumpee's heart as they felt the fangs graze softly their neck, Their eyes widened while their breath quickening as panic set in.

"No, please, don't!" Whumpee begged, their voice quivering with fear. "I'll do anything, just let me go!"

"Anything, you say? How intriguing," Whumper purred, their grip tightening around Whumpee's trembling form pulling them closer against them. "But I'm afraid it's too late for negotiations, my dear."

Whumpee's breaths came in ragged gasps as they struggled to comprehend the nightmare they had been pulled into.

"What… what are you?" they stammered, tears welling up in their eyes.

The Whumper leaned in, their lips brushing against Whumpee's earlobe, sending a shiver of dread down their spine.

"I'm a creature of the night," Whumper hissed, their tone both seductive and menacing. "A vampire, if you will, and you, my dear, are about to become part of my world."

Tears streamed down Whumpee's face as they whispered, "P-please, there mm-must be another w-way. I don't ww-want to die."

The Whumper's eyes gleamed with an unholy hunger as they gazed into Whumpee's tear-filled eyes.

"Oh, you misunderstand me," They murmured. "I won't let you die. No, I intend to keep you alive, to make you my Blood Bag."

With a gentle but firm grip, Whumper lifted Whumpee's chin, exposing the pale, vulnerable curve of their throat while the moonlight danced upon the delicate skin, emphasizing the pulsing vein beneath.

As Whumpee's trembling body was held firmly in the Whumper's grasp, the vampire's fangs pierced their delicate skin.

A sharp, exquisite pain shot through Whumpee, followed by an intense sensation of pleasure that was impossible to resist.

Whumper's venomous saliva mixed with Whumpee's blood, igniting a euphoria that left them weak at the knees.

Whumper fed with a calculated rhythm, their lips pressed against the wound, their tongue dancing over the puncture marks, savoring every drop, and as the first drops of blood touched the their tongue, a shiver of pleasure coursed through their body.

Whumper's hand, cool and gentle, caressed Whumpee's cheek, guiding their face to the side to allow for better access to their throbbing vein.

The Vampire's tongue flicked over the wound, lapping up the crimson nectar that flowed from Whumpee's neck.

The taste was intoxicating, like the finest vintage wine, all while whumpee's heartbeat echoed in their ears, the rhythm of their life force lulling the Whumper into a hypnotic trance.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Whumper fed, savoring every drop of precious life essence.

Whumpee's breaths grew shallow, and their vision blurred, the world around them fading into obscurity.

Finally, once Whumpee's body had grown frail and their breaths dangerously shallow, Whumper withdrew, their lips stained crimson.

They watched with a cruel satisfaction as Whumpee slumped forward, unconscious and utterly helpless.

With a predatory grace, Whumper gathered Whumpee's limp form into their arms their pulse had grown feeble, and their body had become a mere vessel, emptied of life.

Whumper's eyes glittered with triumph as they turned away from the moonlit alley, disappearing into the night with their newfound Blood Bag.

#vampire whump #vampire feeding #vampiric whump #kidnapping tw #stalking tw #noncon vampire feeding tw #seductive whumper #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whumpee #whump writing #whump prompt #kidnap whump #supernatural whump #whump idea #whump inspiration #vampire whumper #human whumpee #nonhuman whump #nonhuman whumper #whump community #whump blog #whumpblr

[mythicamagic]

Death Comes Knocking

AN: Not finishing projects seems to be the norm right now- so just take this lil 1,000 words of Lobo/Muerte x reader bc he gave me brain worms okay? Puss in Boots The Last Wish was so good you guys omg.

Pairing: Muerte x Female Reader

Rating: T

Summary: She's given a stern warning. 'No more of your kind are allowed' so she extends an offer to Death in return.

---

She’s seen him before, on the faces of those she’d loved. Their eyes would glaze over and become empty, void of all animation, becoming quiet and still as they took their last breaths. There- in the right hand corner of that glassy void in their pupils- the shadow of Death could be briefly seen, passing over and stealing all light.

The silk spinner has witnessed this countless times- from the luxury of these people’s bedsides as they peacefully passed, to freak accidents involving one too many drunken unicorns and a travelling puppet show. The world she inhabited was colourful, vibrant and endless- so it stood to reason that in this world, Death himself could be a real, breathing creature.

She just never expected to gain a personal audience with him.

“You’re becoming lonesome, inmortal.”

The woman jumped, startled so badly she lost grip on the white sheet she’d been taking down. A large hand snapped out to catch it mid-air, slowly lowering it back down to her in offering. It took a moment for her frozen hands to accept it, gazing up at the creature looming over her washing line. His shadow swallowed her whole. He gazed at her with a kind of unblinking- red eyed fixation- the kind that betrayed his identity before the suffocatingly still atmosphere did, as if time itself had frozen.

A wolf had entered her garden.

“Hate to be a bother…but when you get lonely it becomes a problem for me,” he continued in his perfectly polite tone. There was a faint, gravelly edge to his voice, but it hummed pleasantly in her ears rather than frightened her.

Recovering from her shock, the silk spinner folded her sheet and placed it atop a waiting pile.

“How so?” she found her voice.

“Well, you repeat the cycle, of course- the one that led you here,” he wandered around her humble garden, taking care to weave around bird feeders and windchimes without so much as a strand of fur brushing them. He moved on two legs like any human, not an odd sight. The graceful fluidity of his movements was alarming though. Deliberate and predatory. He was looping around her in a lazy circle that was slowly tightening. “It’s only natural…everyone’s predictable in a few certain ways: one of them is the universal truth that when you get lonely, you seek company,” he mused, finally stopping before her. “And the company of mortals just isn’t cutting it anymore, is it? Hm, my friend?”

He stood a good several feet taller than her. Not even attempting to crane her neck up, the woman tidied her basket and lifted it as if readying to walk back into her tiny cottage. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. They all die eventually, I’m not sure why you’re worried.”

With that said she took a step, only to find her wicker basket snagging on something- a sickle. The wolf practically used it as a fish-hook, turning her back to face him, and this time she had no choice but to gaze down the grey expanse of his muzzle straight into those vibrant red eyes.

“You’re not listeniiing~” he sing-songed in a gentle, cajoling tone full of too much teeth. He tilted his head with a patronising smile. “What cycle led you here?”

As if she could forget. “My creator was…lonely,” she murmured. “So, he made me, and eventually more of my kind.”

“Right you are! And I’m not such a big fan of that. Of your…kind,” a single deadly claw skimmed her cheek in a whisper of steel on flesh. The suggestion of it sent her heart racing. “You’re all so heavy. I can feel you.” All at once the playfulness vanished from his expression, leaving only a quiet sense of malice and frustration in his tight whisper. “The world won’t withstand the weight of too many of you.”

“So you’re here to stop me before I can even think about creating more immortals, is that it?”

“Bingo! My work here is done,” the wolf leaned back with satisfaction, and it felt like the garden could breathe again. Air entered her lungs, and the silk spinner shuddered quietly when his shadow drew away, allowing sunlight to kiss her skin anew.

With his silent warning given, the wolf swung his previously concealed sickle up onto his shoulder and happily strolled toward her humble gate, whistling an eerie tune.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, so quietly it was a surprise he heard her at all. But he halted immediately in his tracks. She could see his hackles rise a little just beneath the folds of his hood. “I’m not afraid, so there’s no reason for me to listen to you- Muerte.”

Death turned and met her even gaze. His silver fur fanned gently in the breeze, his tail flicking with agitation.

“Oho I really don’t think you want to go there,” light glinted off his sharp rows of teeth, the points glinting like treacherous mountain peaks. “True I can’t harvest your soul, but you’ve seen the life flashing before people’s eyes as I’ve taken them.”

He was suddenly there before her again, tilting her chin up with the flat of his blade. Her body automatically tensed, watching as the black specs of his pupils shined white, two moons hanging in a blood-soaked sky. “You were there, just as much as I was. You know- cordera- how painful it can be. How painful I can make it,” hot, panting breath fanned over her upturned face. Those rows of teeth were now inches from her ear as he leaned in close. “You won’t die, no- but are you really prepared to suffer me, over and over again, for breaking the rules?”

She swallowed. It was impossible not to picture the numerous grizzly ways she’d seen or heard people die.

Satisfaction leaked into his animalistic features. “Heh, thought so. Be seeing you.”

But I…I’m still alone.

Before he turned away, Death seemed to notice her expression. “If you’re really that hungry for company, then find the other heavy ones weighing this world down.”

“I don’t uh- get on well with the others,” she admitted weakly, knuckles relaxing from her death grip on the wicker basket. “We’d be living together if we enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Touché.“ He shrugged his large shoulders, resting a sickle on one with a bored look. “Well it’s not my problem, figure it out on your own time.”

Alarm flashed through her chest inexplicably as he finally turned away.

“Wait-“

“Carajo!” he hissed, glaring at her like she’d overstayed her welcome despite him being the one to approach her home. “What is it now?”

“Since you’re the one who has a problem with me creating fellow immortals- but I’m still hungry for company- the solution is right under our noses, no?” She smiled and dropped her basket to spread her arms wide, gesturing to the humble space situated on the mountainside. “You will become my companion.”

It amused her to see his dark features become blank with genuine surprise. His triangular ears perched upon his head flicked and flattened to his skull as if he’d tasted something sour.

“Cómo fue?”

“You are Death incarnate,” she said, confidence filling her tone the more she spoke. Yes- why hadn’t she thought of it before? This was perfect. “You won’t die- and I can’t be killed and won’t age. It makes sense to keep each other company.”

“You want…my company? Mine?” He shot her a look like she was crazy.

“Is that a problem?”

He tilted his head, falling silent for a long, silent moment. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her frame as he stalked closer. “…You must be starving very badly, if your need has driven you to beg for me to be in your midst. Only the souls of the suicidal and desperate call for me.”

“I’m not quite that far gone in my apathy for life. I’m 500 years young,” she smiled, offering her human hand out to his monstrously large, silver furred one to stop him from baring too harshly down on her, stopping him in his tracks. “But yes, I am…famished,” the admission slipped out oddly breathlessly, though she was uncertain why.

His mouth slowly upturned, sizing her up in an entirely different way from before. Intrigue, perhaps? He looked just as hungry as she felt.

“Well, well. What big eyes you have,” he purred, gazing at her intently with a wicked gleam in his own red hues.

She returned his smile with one full of teeth as her hand became engulfed in fur and warmth.

From that day on, Pygmalion’s immortal bride kept Death’s company whenever he had a moment to spare.

---

End

#puss in boots: the last wish #puss in boots muerte #muerte x reader #puss in boots the last wish spoilers #puss in boots the last wish wolf #puss in boots death x reader #Lobo x reader

[marvelmusing]

In His Shadows

Pairing: Eldritch!Darkling x Reader

Summary: The Darkling is nothing more than a fable in Ravka. A fairy tale to warn children about the dangers of the forest. But what happens when you wander too far from the path?

Warnings: Aleksander is a little bit creepy and his shadows are very handsy, eldritch being vibes, he has a major disconnect with what love actually is

“Well what do we have here?”

The sound of the voice, so close to you yet so distant, startles you into stumbling. Darkness had descended almost an hour ago and ever since you’ve been trekking your way half-blind through the forest.

Turning your head frantically, you look around in search of the owner of the voice. Heart hammering in your chest, you flinch once again at the sound of a deep voice.

“It appears you’ve strayed from the pathway, little one.”

The shadows seem to stir around you, the darkness moulding itself around you, weaving its way through the grass and foliage of the forest floor.

“It’s been so long since I last had the pleasure of such sweet company.” The shadows seem to curl over the curve of your cheek in a gentle caress. “Such a pretty face.”

“Where are you?” you demand, trembling in fright.

There’s a small click of the tongue, almost scolding you, before the voice responds,

“Patience, little one.”

There’s a rustle of leaves, as if he’s prowling around you in a slow circle, sizing you up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for someone to visit this small nook of the forest.”

Somehow, the shadows become more tangible, pressing solidly against your body as the tendrils slide around your waist, tracing over your arms and cupping your face delicately.

There’s a small hum of appreciation, then the voice says,

“Come closer.” Too baffled by what is happening, you do as he says, stepping further into the mass of shadows surrounding you. “That’s it. Let me see you.”

As you move closer, his form becomes clearer to do. The darkness still impairs your vision, allowing you only to see a pair of pitch black eyes. The rest of his features - raven locks and facial hair - seem to blend amongst the shadows.

“You’re not scared, are you?” he teases with a dark grin, a flash of white teeth bared devilishly.

There’s only one being which such striking features and an affinity for shadows. The Darkling.

As if he senses your sudden realisation he speaks firmly, his hold on the shadows pressing tighter around your body. The tendrils are cool as they slip under your clothing curiously, and your skin is flushed at the brazen contact.

“Don’t run. I doubt you could find your way through the darkness. Besides, you seem tired.” The shadows brush over your shoulders, working at the sore muscles there. “Perhaps you could rest here for some time.”

His shadows coax your forwards, until you feel his fingers curl around each of your wrists, encouraging you to follow him as he leads you into a cave. Water drops echo as they hit the rocky ground and you shiver at the sudden drop in temperature.

“I was reduced to this form a long time ago. Bound to this patch of forest and a dark little cave.”

Dark tendrils of his power seem to strengthen in the low light of the cave. Shadows thread through your hair, sensation prickling over your spine, and you inhale a shuddering breath.

“I have nothing but a hoard of old library books to amuse myself with. Nothing overly interesting or educational. Silly works of fiction.”

A high pitched gasp of surprise breaks from your lips as the darkness traces soothing patterns over your skin, curling lightly around your throat to provide a gentle squeeze as he muses quietly,

“However, I did find one piece of information. A singular thread that runs through every one of these stories, and I have discovered why I failed to conquer Ravka all those centuries ago.”

Almost consumed by darkness, you can barely sense where he begins and you end. His nose traces over your cheek, his stubble scraping delightfully over your skin.

“Love,” he whispers softly against your ear. “Every protagonist has something to fight for, someone that will love and support them through all their endeavours.”

His lips press a line of kisses along your jawline.

“I think you’ll do nicely.”

His hands, slightly warmer than his shadows, palm over your body, tracing seductively over every spot that makes you crave him. The only sound in the cave is your laboured breathing and his honeyed words.

“Even if you do not love me now. We have time.”

He sounds so soft and doting as he turns your head aside. His nose brushes lightly against yours, his next words whispered against your lips.

“I have always had a talent for reinventing myself and I am certain I can become something you will fall deeply in love with.”

His lips brush against yours, the barest hint of a kiss, and you hardly dare to breathe.

“Aided by whatever sweet nothings and pleasurable touches I can offer you.”

Then he kisses you.

-

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @veescorneroftheworld

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

#aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling moodboard #the darkling imagine #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Added chapter because I can do whatever I want, whenever I want

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

For my muse/manager @trashforazriel

Azriel had his legs spread wide, eyes pinned wholly on her. Any other time, it might have felt erotic but today it felt like a challenge. His wings flared for a moment before he drew them tight against his back and though truthteller was sheathed against his powerful thigh, Azriel didn’t hold a weapon.

A light breeze ruffled his inky hair, blowing a thick strand of it against hazel eyes. “How does it work?” he asked her, voice roughened from the cold sea air and the lack of sleep from the night before. Gwyn pushed those thoughts from her mind—if he scented her arousal, she’d lose this show down.

And Gwyn hated losing.

Flexing her hands at her sides, Gwyn glanced at the new invoking stones set along the gauntlets she wore. She’d called on that power before—before. Not since, though. And the thought of drawing on that power made her legs shake. An insult was on the tip of her tongue. She could push him away so easily, put him on the defensive. Azriel almost always took the bait.

“You just…” she swallowed hard. “It's a connection with the living world. With creation itself. And you—I—just…draw on it.” Not one ounce of pity crossed his face. “Do it, then.”

Fuck you! She wanted to scream it, knowing full well Azriel wasn’t the problem. It was her, and she didn’t know if she could explain it. He waited another moment, the sound of the sea crashing around them. And then he stepped forward with sure, confident steps. Holding out his own gloved hand, he let her watch that cobalt gem flare, let her feel whatever magic it was he possessed skitter through the air between them. One of his shadows wreathed protectively around her neck, another skimming the space between their two bodies.

“Siphons work the same way. It channels what I already have,” he told her. “Magic I was born with, that I’ll die with. And nothing I’ve ever done could change that.”

She understood what he was trying to tell her. This has nothing to do with your inherent worth. Still, he added, “This is in your blood, Gwyn. It’s your birthright. Take it.”

Gwyn could feel it humming just beneath her boots. Could feel the way the earth writhed and shifted—the caress of the wind, the worms in the soil just below. She’d always felt it, and when Catrin had died, Gwyn had felt too much of it. Like all the magic Catrin possessed had been gifted to her. The harder she tried to drown it all out, the louder it became. 

Azriel took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not leaving this rock until you do it, Gwyn. I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

She turned her back to him, shaking out her hands. “Close your eyes,” she demanded.”

“Excuse me?” 

Looking over her shoulder, Gwyn repeated, “I said, close your eyes. I don’t want you to watch me.”

He leveled a dark stare, but closed his eyes all the same. One of his shadows swirled across his face, earning a sigh of irritation from the Illyrian warrior—but she appreciated it all the same.

“I can’t do this if you’re staring at me,” she said, turning back to face him fully. 

“I don’t appreciate being—” Azriel’s words were cut off in a huff because Gwyn, too afraid if she didn’t do it right then that she’d never do it, shoved the magic through her. Her own stones burned teal against the leather before a pulse of power slammed into Azriel’s chest.

Caught off guard, he hit the ground roughly, legs flying upward as his elbows broke his fall. Gwyn didn’t move, resisting the urge to tell him she was sorry. Maybe it was the look on his face that gave her pause—Azriel’s expression was one of pure, feral delight. Like a male who was getting exactly what he’d hoped for, which couldn’t be right. She doubted he cared much one way or the other and yet…that expression made her want to do it again.

His wings flared from behind him, wide and dark. He looked like an avenging god coming to claim her soul. “You know that was lucky, right?”

“Was it?”

“Do it again,” Azriel demanded, a challenge in those eyes of his. 

“You know, there is no glory in besting me, right?”

“Are you so sure about that?” he replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re Carynthian, are you not?”

“Emerie carried me—”

“You should have died,” he replied lightly, though there was nothing light in his eyes. Only pure, blazing fury—at her? For winning, when so few had in the past? Or for being put in the competition in the first place. “No one expected you to win and you made it to the mountain.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Neither did Rhys,” Azriel said lightly, refusing to let her downplay what he clearly thought was an achievement. “Cassian and I carried him to the top. Did you know that?” How could she possibly. “No,” she admitted. 

“So many people fair because they go it alone. I know why Emerie carried you up the mountain, Gwyn. Cass told us. You deserve your title, and there is some glory in defeating an equal.”

“Yeah, alright,” she grumbled. “Is this the part where you push me down?”

Azriel shrugged. “Block me.”

“I liked it better with Cassian.”

Azriel’s smile was savage. “Well, I’m all you’ve got.”

The point stood, though. Azriel didn’t bother explaining how she was supposed to block him, repaying her for knocking him off his feet with his own night-kissed blast of power. The force of his own magic, honed over centuries, left her breathless. Azriel had hardly seemed so affected.

He walked over to her, looking down while Gwyn worked to catch her breath. “This is why we practice,” he murmured, crouching so his elbows rested against his knees. 

“Get…fucked…” she panted. 

Another smile. “Are you offering—”

Gwyn kicked out her foot, shoving Azriel to the ground before he could finish that sentence. Her muscles screamed in protest when she scrambled up, quicker than he expected. One hand yanked his dagger from its sheath, the other wrapped around his throat. Gwyn pressed the serrated edge against the tattooed flesh, the tail of her braid teasing his cheek.

“Do you want to finish that sentence, shadowsinger?”

He held her gaze for a moment.

And then their positions were reversed, though she was still holding his weapon, still had it against his throat. “This is foreplay to me, priestess,” he replied, one scarred hand curling around her wrist. He pinned them both over her head, wedging a powerful thigh between her legs. “I would have you like this.”

“Dagger to your throat?”

But she knew the answer to that before she ever asked. Arousal was coming off him in waves, his scent edged with salt. “Yes,” he admitted. “Put my knife wherever you like so long as you’re touching me when you use it.”

It was meant to be a taunt, but the breathless quality of her words made it seem almost like a plea. “Is that what you’re into?”

Another savage smile graced his features. “Among other things.”

Don’t ask him! she ordered herself, though she desperately wanted to know everything he liked. Gwyn wanted to know him like she knew herself. Letting him show her exactly what he liked risked too much. Gwyn turned her face and Azriel released her, rising to his feet in the span of a breath. She did take his extended hand, letting him pull her up.

“What if we didn’t go back to the palace right away,” Azriel suggested, running a hand through his hair.

“And did what instead?” she questioned, trying to calm her racing heart.

“We could get a drink?” he asked, though his tone implied he could use several. Gwyn considered this. Like so many other things in her life, drinking was something that felt off limits to her for no other reason than her self-imposed exile from the world around her. 

It was dangerous to agree. He was too beautiful in the everyday, too tempting even with six feet of distance between them. What happened when she removed the barriers she was holding between them? 

“Just one drink?” she clarified. That was safe enough, right? He could drink as much as he wanted, she supposed, but she could have her one while grilling him for information until she knew all his deepest, darkest secrets.

Gwyn didn’t interrogate why she wanted to know that. 

“Scared?” he challenged. Bastard.

“If you’re going to be mean about it, my answer is no.”

Azriel cocked his head. “Drink as much as you want, Gwyn. Why don’t you drink enough to tell me why you stopped training with me.”

Cold dread slithered up her spine. Gwyn was never going to tell him the truth on that front. “I told you—I like Cassian better.”

“He’s prettier than me?” Azriel scoffed, eyes bright with amusement. She almost laughed because no one was prettier than Azriel and surely he must have known it. 

“And funnier, too,” Gwyn said, daring Azriel to disagree. He only shrugged, no malice on his face.

“Cassian wouldn’t let you off so easy with a drink. He’d make you knock him on his ass before you got your reward.”

“Drinking at noon with you is hardly a reward, Az.”

“No? You have a problem with my sparkling wit, too?”

He was going to be the death of her. He was feisty today. Chattier than she’d ever seen him, and more open than she was used to. Gwyn wondered what had changed. Was this who Azriel was beneath his icy exterior? Had he finally grown comfortable enough to let her see the hints of his personality? Something was happening—something new that she didn’t quite understand. 

“Are we staying or are we leaving?”

Azriel considered for a moment.

“Another hour. Hit me again.”

Gwyn groaned, wishing Azriel could leave things well enough alone. She’d done it once, hadn’t she? He’d want to see it again and again, until her magic was like an extension of her, until she could shape it the way he did. She thought about what he said—about her magic being in her blood rather than tied to her intrinsic worth. How did that work? 

“Two drinks.”

“Nice try. Come on. Hit me again.”

Gwyn would have liked to swing at him. Maybe he knew it, too, because he took another step back. But he didn’t relent, either. Azriel held firm, repeating his order like she was merely another of his soldiers. Gwyn did push more magic at him, ignoring the way it made her insides feel—warm and cold, both worthy and unworthy all at the same time. Maybe it was how irritating he was that forced pulse after pulse from her palms, all of it blocked by Azriel’s own siphoned magic. He pushed back, too, and Gwyn managed to block him about half the time.

Not that she could say how, exactly, she managed it. Because she didn’t know. It was more reactionary than anything—he shoved, and she merely tried to defend herself. Gwyn was certain she’d find nothing but bruises along her back when she undressed later that night.

She was sore, and sweat soaked by the time he finally relented. Azriel looked happy, which she supposed made sense. Only he could find pleasure in pain. She let him scoop her up, grateful for a short respite on her aching muscles.

“You did well,” he murmured, his breath skating against her cheek. 

“High praise,” she said dryly, though in truth it was. Azriel didn’t bother responding to that, wings flared as they made their way back to Montessere. Gwyn wished they could leave, the yearning hitting her so strongly she could feel it twisting in her gut. Who would have guessed she’d miss home so much? But right then, Gwyn felt it deeply, felt the loss of Emerie and Nesta and the familiarity of being somewhere with well established rules she understood.

Here, all she had was Azriel and nothing made sense. 

“C’mon,” Azriel murmured when they reached the palace grounds, his fingers skimming the back of her hand. “Let's go get that drink.”

AZRIEL:

Azriel was fucked. 

For five centuries, Azriel had kept more secrets than he could count. More than just his own, shouldering all of his High Lord’s secrets right atop his own. Never once had he felt like he was drowning. But now, seated at a little table in the back of a dim tavern, Azriel didn’t think he could keep another. The words kept rising in his throat, swallowed at the last minute when his senses returned to him.

You’re my mate! 

He’d thought the liquor would help him, but it was only making things worse. Gwyn carried most of the conversation, telling him in hushed tones about the new chapter she’d deciphered. It was nothing interesting other than proof she was right. A history of Montessere and the early tribes before they unified under one Fae warrior. She was more interested in the old gods that ruled, reciting tales Azriel was vaguely familiar with thanks to Rhys’s father and the education he’d been given once he’d proven to be valuable. 

Azriel found that if he nodded his head and kept his eyes focused on her, she didn’t notice he wasn’t really paying attention.

He wanted to go back to the little island they trained on. He wanted to be flat on his back with Gwyn hovering over him, truthteller biting against his skin. Only this time, he’d kiss her until she drew blood. And he’d tell her what was happening between them so she couldn’t deny it like Azriel suspected she was.

Did she truly not feel that cord between them? Azriel didn’t know how he’d missed it, but now it was all he felt. Like a muscle attached to his rib, easily flexed just like any other. Gwyn, animated and bright, was explaining to him the wild hunts of old. Experimentally, his eyes never leaving her face, Azriel pulled gently.

Her breath caught for only a moment, choking on her words like she’d inhaled too much air too fast. She stumbled for a moment, blinking as she tried to gather her bearings. There was no awareness to her expression, no dawning realization like he’d hoped. Azriel didn’t want to be the one to tell her what he was feeling. Given their track record together, he was deeply afraid he’d end up shouting it at her and that hardly seemed an auspicious start. 

Besides, Cassian had tried that and look how that had gone. No, he needed her to piece it together herself. Easier said than done, he thought, given how tightly walled off she was. They were making some progress—she had her siphons and she’d drawn from that power today. It wasn’t as powerful as he suspected she truly was, but there was bite to it. 

He wanted to see her combine it with the curious flame she’d shown him when they’d first arrived. He wanted to see her unleash herself, to pull those walls down so he could see how magnificent she was. And Azriel knew that if he couldn’t figure out how to do that relatively soon, she’d retreat back to the library in Velaris and he didn’t think she’d ever visit him again.

How many decades would pass before he broke and told her the truth? And then what? She could ban him from entering. Azriel knew Rhys would enforce it.

What did she feel for him, he wondered? Sometimes he thought he felt something before she retreated back inside herself. And maybe it was that question that prompted him to keep drinking beyond a reasonable limit. Beyond the ability to fly—or walk, even.

“You’re too heavy,” she complained when they finally stumbled out into the crisp, overcast night. Azriel opened his mouth to respond, but only a loud hiccup erupted.

And Gwyn? She giggled. Azriel whipped his head around to look, stumbling forward. It was lucky a nearby light pole caught him—albeit by the face—before he fell flat on his ass.

“That was cute,” he said, words slurring at the edges. Gwyn shot him a look. He wasn’t sure what the look meant, only that he liked that, too. The meaner she was, the more he wanted her. And when she was nice, too, he supposed.

All the time. He wanted her all the time, and he couldn’t untangle how much of that was the mating bond, and how much was just her. Maybe an even split? He wasn’t in the right headspace to figure that one out, either. He did want to kiss her, though.

Badly.

Enough that he made his way toward her, snaked an arm around her waist, and tried to press his mouth against her own.

“You’re messy tonight,” she teased, turning her face sso his lips collided with her cheek. “We’re out in the open, Az?”

“So?”

She sighed, a pretty sound that lanced straight through him. 

“Let's get back to the palace at least. Yeah? Just…one foot…and then the other. You’re doing it—”

“I’m not a baby,” he grumbled. 

Gwyn chuckled again, high pitched and sweet and fuck he wanted to do the most absurd, filthy things to her. He needed to. Instinct was riding him hard, made worse by the alcohol and his inability to figure out what, exactly, was going on. 

“You’re an Illyrian baby.” Gwyn interrupted his thoughts, pulling his arm over her neck so his fingers were brushing the tops of her breast. That was better, he decided. At least he was touching her, which soothed some of his frustration. She was still here, still with him. And so what, he lied to himself, if she didn’t realize they were mates. She was smart. Gwyn was going to figure it out and he’d act surprised too. Maybe he’d even gasp.

“Is that what that was?” 

“What did you say?”

Azriel blinked. He hadn’t meant to vocalize that. “What?” he replied dumbly, hiccuping again. Gwyn sighed, leading him into the too dark palace. 

“I didn’t think you could get drunk,” she admitted, pitching her voice lower. His shadows had returned, murmuring in his ear the news of the day.

Kai is in Vallahan.

The king is meeting with a High Lord of Prythian

Are you drunk?

Did you tell Gwyn you’re mates?

Azriel swatted at them like nosy, buzzing flies. “Mind your own business,” he grumbled, once again saying the words he meant to merely think. Gwyn peered over at him, eyes bright and once again, Azriel was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. 

“What are they saying?”

Lie. 

“Kai is in Vallahan,” Azriel managed, just barely making his way up the stairs. It occurred to him one of his wings was dragging on the ground, though he had no energy to lift it. The drag of the floor was strangely intimate, though not exactly erotic, either. He glanced over his shoulder to look, well aware that it was the alcohol making him so tolerant.

He would have been coming out of his skin, otherwise.

“So we’re alone?” Gwyn asked, shouldering into their shared room. Azriel brightened at her tone.

“We are alone,” he agreed, catching her just the moment the door was closed. Her mouth was warm, lips soft and he was desperate. He’d been desperate for a while now, but that morning had set him on edge. He wasn’t particularly gentle, forgetting he was supposed to be. And Gwyn didn’t seem to mind, either. She let him back her up until they both tumbled to the couch and fell in a graceless heap to the floor. Gwyn was giggling and Azriel couldn’t help his laugh, breathless on his back, still holding her to his chest.

“You’re so drunk, Az,” she said, her hair creating a curtain around them. Azriel brushed some of the strands back, tucking them behind a pointed ear he couldn’t resist tracing with his fingertips.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said in response.

Gwyn blinked, eyes wide with surprise. “Very drunk—”

“That’s not the alcohol talking,” he protested, but Gwyn wasn’t listening. She was pushing away, doing that thing where she retreated when he pushed a little too hard at those barriers. He sighed as she stood, smoothing out her dress.

“We should probably go to bed.”

“Great idea,” he agreed, wobbling on his own legs before snatching her around the waist and dragging her into his bedroom. Azriel kicked the door shut with his foot while Gwyn protested. That didn’t stop him from dropping her to his bed. If Gwyn wanted to escape him, she could easily put one of the many daggers he was certain on her person in his gut. She merely laid there, hair spread around her face like every fantasy he’d ever had come to life.

He wanted her. Azriel wanted to peel her out of her clothes with his teeth and spend the night making love to her. Maybe then she’d realize what they were. Hadn’t Cassian said his and Nesta’s bond had snapped together when they’d first come together? Or had Azriel only hallucinated that information?

Gwyn had said she didn’t want to, but maybe she’d change her mind. Not today, he reasoned. He was probably too drunk to make it good for her, besides. That didn’t stop him from climbing up the bed after her, nor did he protest when she laid his head against her chest. Azriel promptly buried his face between her breasts.

“You’re affectionate tonight,” she said, sliding her fingers through his hair.

“I like being touched,” he admitted. It felt safe to tell her that. A secret, he realized. One of the many he’d held back from everyone who knew him. 

“I know you do,” she murmured, nails scratching his scalp. “You’re not as mysterious as everyone pretends you are.”

“Take that back,” he mumbled, angling his head to look up at her. What else had she noticed about him, she wondered? What little secrets had she unearthed, unaware she could see them because they were mates? Didn’t she realize what drew them together, even when it was painfully obvious she wished otherwise? Azriel wondered if Gwyn didn’t suspect. Afterall—he’d never been good with words, but he was with her. Somehow, when she was falling apart, Azriel knew what she needed to hear. 

That was hardly his best skill. 

“I feel the same way,” she admitted, scooting down the headboard so his chin was resting on her shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I let someone touch me.”

Azriel pressed a kiss just beneath her jaw. “Not all hands are kind,” he whispered, well aware she understood.

Gwyn picked up his hand—scarred from the abuse he’d endured as a boy. It was a memory he couldn’t run from, though the Cauldron knew he’d tried. Something about her own pale fingers lacing along his own soothed the anger he too often felt when he saw those old wounds. Like maybe things were going to be okay. And maybe there was a reason he’d had to suffer so much—like his suffering was mirrored with her own. 

No one understood. Centuries of feeling he was on his own, that this was only his burden. And the gods knew if he could have taken that from her, he would have. Azriel would have endured all that horror and so much more if she’d never had to. But she did—for whatever reason, the Mother saw fit to give Gwyn all the same burdens Azriel shouldered. 

And when she looked at him, he knew she saw him. Beyond his appearance and what he wanted people to notice about him, those teal eyes pierced his flesh until she was picking through his very soul like it was one of her books. Unreadable to everyone, yet Gwyn had the cipher. 

Azriel brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing them softly. He was too drunk for this, the alcohol making a mockery of his feelings. “I’ll touch you whenever you like.”

“It doesn't always have to be about…you know…” A deep flush crept up her neck. 

Azriel grinned. “No, Gwyn. I don’t know.”

She swatted at his chest. “We could be like this.”

Did she not realize what she was even asking for? Vulnerable, unguarded affection? His mate wanted to be held without worrying he was going to slip his hand beneath her skirts? Azriel could have floated back to Velaris. “We are like this,” he said, wondering if she realized he had no intention of letting her go once they finished here. He kept waiting for her to bring it up.

But Gwyn scooted further down the bed, cheek pressed to his hair, fingers still gripping his own.

“I’d like that.”

Azriel sighed.

So did he.

#gwynriel #limping across the finish line but i did it

[thetypingpup]

Ok you wanted Xiaojun hard thoughts

I see your siren Xiaojun and I raise you: needy vampire Xiaojun?

Thoughts?

...k so walk with me, alright?

imagine looking at yourself in the mirror, trying on a new dress you bought. you scrutinize your reflection with a frown, trying to arrange the fabric to make it lay right. you swear it looked a bit different in the store, but now in the reflection of your own mirror, you're not sure how to feel. you're debating on returning it, maybe exchanging it for a different size or a different color. something about it just isn't quite right.

that's when you hear the low, alluring tone of his voice hum to you, "i think you look divine."

the shadows deepen right as the lamplight intensifies, spotlighting a golden hue right on your mirror. this time you don't see your reflection staring back at you, but a man who possesses ethereal beauty. elegantly etched emerald eyes stare back at you, his face framed by his long dark hair. the subtle frills on his flowing shirt make him look like a relic in time, and your eyes are instantly drawn to where the fabric parts to reveal the toned planes of his chest. silver rings glint on his fingers, and you're fairly sure one of them takes the shape of a bat, though you're admittedly distracted by the elegance of hands. his gaze shamelessly roves over your form, petal pink lips curling into a smile. he clearly enjoys what he sees. you know exactly what he is, and even if you were unsure, the pronounced point of his ears and fangs give him away. you thought vampires couldn't be seen in mirrors, moving instead through the darkness of night. but this vampire, who quickly tells you his name is xiaojun, seems to move through objects that refract and reflect light.

xiaojun reads the way your thoughts are scrawled all over your face and insists that you "keep it. i think it looks perfect on you."

he begins to muse about how every part of the dress compliments you perfectly, painting a portrait that traces the contour of your body with his words. he admires the low cut of the dress, and how it accentuates your breasts enticingly and reveals a delectable amount of decolletage. he brings up the slit on the side, how the fabric parts like a curtain to reveal the shape of your leg, how the shape of your thigh and the curve of your ass is driving him absolutely mad with lust and hunger. his tongue sweeps over one of his fangs as the urge to bite builds within him, an action that has you shuddering with anticipation.

his voice goes from a silken purr to a more velvety texture the longer he speaks. his words do more than seduce you, but seem to caress your bare skin and send skittering shocks right down your spine, a sensation you quickly crave more of. heat rises within you the longer he speaks, arousal forming between your legs. his hand reaches out, trying to touch you, only to be stopped by the glass barrier between you. with his fingertips against the glass, he traces the shape of your body, and you suddenly wish to feel his hands upon you, feeling your skin for himself and panting the canvas of your body with his touch. eventually, he can't take it anymore and just has to feel you. his desire for you is what draws him out of the smooth surface and into a more solid form, and the moment he's free of the glass confines, he pulls you right into his arms. your own arms wind around him, surprised to feel just how solid and warm he is, teeming with life despite existing on the edge of death. his scent draws you in more, and you press yourself against him with the same shamelessness he's been displaying this whole time.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting to have you like this." he confesses, holding onto your waist with a desperate grasp. he presses against you, and a rush of dizziness overtakes your mind when you feel his clothed cock pressing right against your leg, showing just how much he's been craving you, "i've been seeing you for so long, and now...now i want to feel you, to taste you, to give you the pleasure you more than deserve. please, let me show you just how exquisite i think you are."

in seemingly no time, you're laid out over your sheets beneath him. the dress is still on, as he easily works around in and under it to feel you. after an agonizing amount of pining he finally has you, and his excitement electrifies his every move with fervency. his lips are latched onto your neck, fangs sinking into the skin, and the slight pain easily gives way to intensely erotic bliss. his hands, which mapped out your entire body in reverent touches, slide between your legs. with one hand he keeps your thighs spread, while the fingers on his other hand slip through your heat.

two fingertips push through your folds and into your innermost depths, massaging you from the inside with deft, skilled strokes that make you squeal with delight. you arch up against him, grabbing onto him, noticing how he feels warmer and warmer the more of your blood drips onto his tongue. the lamplight intensifies and casts a gold tinted glow over your bed, the rest of your bedroom cloaked in shadow. when you glance to the side you can see his emerald gaze gleaming with heated lust, making your heart pound in the confines of your chest. he stays firmly pressed against you, as if attached to your side, rolling his hips against your leg as is own need for friction builds rapidly. he growls between quick nibbles and drawn out sucks about how you're "so warm, so wet. mmm, you feel just as good as you look, my dear. even better than i had hoped."

you cum around his fingers with a gasping cry, hands scrambling to try and find purchase as your entire body is wracked with tremors of titillation. pulling on his hair, pulling on his shirt so hard there are sure to be tears in the fabric, he loves it all. his growls get rougher as he feels you gush onto his fingers and buck against his hand, loving the way you're completely overwhelmed pleasure and decided to use him as an outlet. he doesn't stop, keeping you suspended in erotic bliss for as long as you'll allow, taking as much as he can possibly give.

needless to say, you decided to keep the dress. you even bought a necklace with an emerald pendant to go with it, one that xiaojun could easily slip into and stay nestled in the valley of your breasts.

#wayv smut #wayv xiaojun smut #nct smut #nct xiaojun smut

[marleyswho]

no woman, no cry (chapter three)

warnings. false awakening/reoccurring dream. fluff. introduction to more oc’s. mention and description of mental breakdown. ex-girlfriend and sisters. that kind of soul connected love. two-sided personality. slight neglect. hinting towards flirting. jealous!tish. possessive!tish. angst. tense arguing. a realization and apologies

tags. @shurislover @s0lam33y @desswright29 @pocketsizedpanther @naftalyspaces @oceean @tishlvr @bbbbbbrilliantly @shurisnovia @kisskourt @blkgworlamplified @prettymrswright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @jordisblogg

notes. this chapter contains… a lot, we’re hitting ALL the emotions. i’ve been ready to write this chapter for weeks as that scene was replaying in my head over and over and now it’s finally here. i hope you all love it ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The Milan sun dips below the horizon, casting a soft amber hue over the bustling Malpensa Airport, the first time she’s felt the sun since leaving Jamaica. Genesis stands in the economy boarding line, her dreadlocks tied into a loose bun, tucked under a knit beanie. Her eyes, a reflective pool of thought, wander across the vast terminal, watching the world around her.

Once the line moves enough, she hands over the needed documents, a subtle sigh escaping her lips as she does, fingers brushing against a leather-bound journal in her bag, a collage of sketches and musings that mirror her soul.

Boarding the aircraft, Genesis nestles into her seat, the window to her left granting her a panoramic view of the bright tarmac lights. The seat beside her remains vacant, a small luxury in the cramped quarters of economy, and ahead of her is the curtain that divides the classes. She imagines Letitia, her relaxed posture in the cocoon of first-class comforts.

Genesis blacks out most of takeoff, having done it many times before, and though she doesn’t sleep well normally, there’s times where her body’s just so tired that she doesn’t even realize she falls into it.

And this time, when her eyes droop closed, an image floods her sight. It’s a field, a vast expanse of green that seems to stretch infinitely. And there’s a small child, maybe no older than nine. It’s her, a child with braids, her clothes a couple sizes too large on her skinny frame, billowing around her as she runs. But it isn’t joyous, there’s no laughter, only fear clear on her face, set by the sudden harsh crackle of incoming flames.

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t scream for help, only her ragged breathes are heard as she runs towards her view of the scene, an intuitive understanding that to turn would be to acknowledge the fear gnawing at her heels. And she’s never been one for that.

She hears the gallop of hooves suddenly, a man on the horse a persistent shadow in her periphery. His presence is ominous as he rides after her, yet there’s something strangely familiar, like a forgotten verse of a once-loved song.

And then she hears the hum.

The tune’s a constant, melodic notes, deep and experienced, echoing a timelessness that feels both foreign and familiar, seemingly etched into her very soul. Yet its origin remains a mystery, obscured like a half-remembered lullaby.

The dream dissolves as the Captain’s voice announces their descent into Heathrow, and Genesis stirs, her eyes opening to the sterile light of the cabin, causing her eyebrows to furrow.

Still in a sleepy haze, she stows her journal, making an internal commitment to try and decipher the dream’s meaning later, wether be in sketch or writing, and she checks the seat pocket and the floor before zipping up her carry-on, knowing she has everything, now ready for landing, ready for the return back to urban life in its entirety. And the humming retreats into the recesses of her mind, where it will wait, patient and steadfast, for the night’s sleep, or a moment of meditation, or even revelation, when she’ll finally be able to recognize it for what it is.

Once she’s able to get off the plane, she steps into limited space of the tunnel, and she’s not sure she’s excited or even relieved of the arrival. But then she sees her, Letitia, standing in the slightly more open space next to some workers, a soft smile turning her lips up slightly. Her presence is a balm to the fatigue and anxiety that clings to Genesis like a second skin.

“Hey,” Letitia says quietly, reaching out to intertwine their fingers, her palm providing gentle warmth against Genesis’ almost chronically cold skin.

“Hey,” Genesis mirrors her, voice a little raspy, tinged with the remnants of sleep.

Together, they navigate the throngs of passengers, moving in silent harmony towards the assigned baggage claim, the carousel churning out suitcases in a rhythmic clunk. And Genesis watches as Letitia grabs hers with easy grace, seemingly a contrast to the tension she feels in her own limbs, happy she only traveled with her crossbody bag.

Suddenly, a whistle, sharp and clear, cuts through the murmurs around them and Genesis’ head turns instinctively towards the sound, her heart recognizing it before her mind even can, her eyes instantly falling on the form that made it.

Julian, a head above the crowd, his dreadlocks a cascade over his shoulders, his smile seeming to reach his eyes, igniting a furry of emotions within Genesis, a mixture of joy, nostalgia, and an unspoken trepidation.

“Gen!” He calls out her name and the sound brings with it a flood of memories. Sun-drenched afternoons and the smell of rain hitting the earth.

“Julian…” She breathes out, her voice quiet, yet there’s the smallest smile forming on her lips.

His arms wrap around her easily, his six foot frame towering over Genesis’ five-four one, an invitation back to the days of their youth where a hug would fix all the scrapes on knees and hearts alike. The familiarity of the embrace envelopes Genesis like a blanket, the kind of hug that doesn’t shy away from the past.

“God, I’ve missed you.” Julian murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through their joined bodies, and Genesis breathes in the scent that’s unmistakably Julian, the faint trace of sandalwood and the crispness of open air that always seems to cling to him.

They pull away slowly, reluctance threaded in Julian’s movements, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a moment longer, eyes searching her green ones, for the friend he knew, the one that climbed trees to their highest branch and dreamt as big as the sky.

“Yuh alright?”

“I think so…” Genesis nods, voice steady, and Julian can’t help but chuckle, pulling back fully now. And in that moment, she feels Letitia’s hand take hers again, a gentle squeeze felt, and Julian notices the subtle entwining, looking between them before his eyes fall on their hands.

“Letitia, yeah?” He questions, looking at her with a slightly narrowed expression. Letitia nods, extending a hand to his, feeling his tight grip as he shakes. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too.” Letitia replies, voice steady.

With the luggage secured and the hustle of the airport now behind them after walking out, Genesis and Letitia stand on the curb, the cool London air wrapping around them. Julian, having gone to retrieve the car, pulls up on their place by the sidewalk, his presence a reminder of the incoming departure.

“I always dreaded this part.” Genesis looks at Letitia, eyes softening as she remembers back to the moments of goodbyes between them, after months together for filming and press.

“Only for the night. Tomorrow we can grab coffee or tea at that little place you love. What is it… Exmouth Coffee?”

“You remembered?” Genesis cant stop the smile from appearing on her lips. She maybe only mentioned that fact once, at least five years ago now.

“Of course,” Letitia says, a playful rebuke in her tone. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”

And they move closer, a hug enveloping them with a deep warmth, one that fills Genesis’ heart, and Letitia’s whisper fills her ear.

“Nine tomorrow? Meet you there?”

Genesis nods as they pull away, but not too far, pressing a soft peck against Letitia’s lips before they finally step apart fully, Letitia opening the passenger side door for her before closing it again, leaning down to look at Julian through the window.

“Take care of her, yeah?”

“Always.” Julian nods with reassurance from the driver’s seat, and she straightens, about to step back, when she hears his voice again. “Oh, and Letitia?”

Her eyes meet his in curious question.

“Thank you for bringing her home.”

A warmth fills Letitia’s heart, nodding, sharing one last glance with Genesis, the finality of the moment hanging heavy in the air before she finally steps back onto the curb, watching as Julian pulls away, soon disappearing around the corner.

The ride to Tottenham is shrouded in the kind of silence that allows the soul to speak. She sits there, her gaze fixed on the world racing by the window as the city transitions from the polished streets of London to the more rugged, lived-in spaces of Tottenham. She always thought of Tottenham as London’s Trench Town, in ways, those who grew up normally try and get out.

Letitia did… but Genesis isn’t there yet.

Yet, Chronixx’s soulful voice plays through the speakers, the lyrics of his version of “Smile Jamaica”, a balm to the scenes she sees. The soft hum of the music is a reminder of Jamaica, of the days spent looking for peace within herself.

As Julian’s car turns onto their street, the familiarity of the terraced apartments, each baring scars and stories of so many generations, cause Genesis’ heartbeat to pick up, just slightly. Soon, Julian parks and the engine’s cessation marks their arrival, but they just sit for a moment, neither of them making a move to leave, letting the silence between them stretch comfortably.

“Yuh sure you okay?” Julian questions quietly, finally, his voice soft, yet carrying in the small space of the car.

“Yeah.” Genesis’ reply is simple, only a short pause from the question, turning her head to offer a sheepish, closed-lipped, smile.

She then steps out of the car first, the night air flowing against her and Julian follows, leading her up to the door before unlocking it with his key and letting her in.

Ziggy was there to greet them as they enter, his presence almost a larger-than-life force in the modest entry-way. His dreadlocks are tucked into a natural toned beanie, almost framing his head, and his eyes light up when he sees Genesis.

“Gen,” He smiles gently, his arms already open for a hug.

“Zig…” Genesis replies, mustering a small smile as she walks into his embrace, his hug enveloping her easily.

They stay like that for a moment, no words said, just remaining the same, but eventually Ziggy pulls back and he steps out the way for Genesis to get to the stairs, watching as she walks past and she hears his voice say something about going out tonight, though she’s not sure if it’s directed towards her or Julian, or both, but she just keeps walking up.

Her room sits at the sharp turn right from the stairs, finding her door creaked open, and she pushes on it to reveal the chaos that awaits her. She takes in a sharp breath as she steps in, standing in the middle of the mess as she looks around, rubbing the back of her neck in annoyance with herself as she remembers the events coming back to her mind.

She was mad, pissed. She remembers turning to go walk out the room before her anger just took over, slamming her hands into the closet on her right before slamming her shoulder into it and turning to walk back into the middle of the room.

She remembers pulling down the curtains and blinds, the ones that still aren’t there, and she remembers grabbing the broom, because she was using it earlier that day to actually clean, and she just started hitting it into the window, intent on breaking it. When it wasn’t working she swung it like a bat and broke off the tail-end, but she kept going until she did manage to break the window, leaving broken glass all over her carpet.

She threw so much stuff after that, leaving it haphazardly on the floor before turning and kicking at the wall because she was still so uncontrollably mad. She had raised her leg like during knee-ups and just shoved her foot down, stumbling back slightly after the impact, but that didn’t stop her, not even when she paced a little, she continued to kick the same place repeatedly until there was a shoe sized hole there.

And that’s when she dropped to the floor, knees to her chest as she sat against her bed, arms leaning on her knees as her head dropped into her hands, and she broke down into tears, sobbing.

“We repaired the window and the wall.”

Genesis jumps, her heart skipping a beat literally as she’s harshly pulled from her memories, whirling around to find Ragga in the doorway, his presence as grounding as earth itself. He’s always had a way of moving silently, a gentle giant with eyes that seem to see through everyone’s soul.

“Me and Junior…” He continues as Genesis’ hand goes to her heart, taking in a deep breath that almost hurts, and she can’t help but chuckle slightly, turning and looking towards both objects, finding them surely fixed.

“Thank you…” She says after a moment, her voice quiet, carrying the vulnerability she normally doesn’t show out to the world.

“We’re family, Gen. We look out for each other, yeah?”

Genesis gives him a nod of understanding, watching as Ragga leaves, heading towards the stairs and Genesis turns back to the mess, glancing around the space once more, taking in all of her past before starting to clean up.

It’s not until close to midnight that things are back in place, organized, or thrown away. And exhausted from the journey and the emotional toll of the day, Genesis lets herself fall backwards onto her bed. The ceiling above is a blank canvas, stark and unyielding in its simplicity, so different from the complex tapestry of her mind. For a moment, she just lays there, breathing deeply with her eyes closed, grounding, feeling the rise and fall of her chest and listening to the hush of her room.

But soon she opens her eyes, turning her head to the right, her gaze settles on a picture that’s frame is propped up against the soft glow of her crystal lamp. The photograph— black and white, its edges worn from touch before she was able to frame it— is of a man with a joyous smile, dreads tucked under a knit beanie that lays very loosely on his head. His eyes are crinkled with genuine delight as he holds a baby close to his chest. The infant, secured in the safety of her father’s embrace, is oblivious to the depth of the moment now captured forever in time.

And Genesis whispers, a greeting that carries weight of years passed and words unspoken.

“Hi, Baba.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s grey and windy in London, as Genesis makes her way to Exmouth Coffee. The city’s waking, the air filled with the familiar cacophony of distant traffic and the talkings from early risers. The smell of coffee from the coffee shops that seem to litter every corner fill her nose, mingling with the city’s exhaust, an urban scene that Genesis has come to associate as home.

As she nears her destination, her pace slows just a little, allowing her to take in the sights and sounds of the city more. It’s so different to her now, how she sees it.

Her eyes also catch sight of Letitia waiting ahead, her silhouette unmistakable against the classical facade of the cafe. Dressed casual, she seems absorbed in her phone, a thumb moving swiftly across her screen, but the soft sound of Genesis’ footsteps on the pavement reach her ears and she looks up, her expression softening, eyes lighting up with a gentle smile.

“Morning.” Letitia murmurs as Genesis gets close, their greeting culminating in a small, affectionate, peck of lips that feel like the final piece of Genesis’ morning clicking into place.

“Morning.” Genesis repeats, her voice low but infused with warmth.

They head inside, the air thick with the aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries. They both order hot chocolate, rich and decadent, a comforting switch from the usual morning caffeine, though Genesis has never been a coffee person at all.

Sitting at a small, intimate, table, their hot chocolates steam before them as Genesis recounts the previous evening, the homecoming. Letitia listens intently, her hand over Genesis’, offering silent comfort with a gentle rub of her thumb against Genesis’ wrist.

“…I don’t know, it just felt… different.” Genesis continues, her gaze flickering to their intertwined hands.

“A lot’s changed,” Letitia nods slightly, offering the smallest closed-lipped smile.

Genesis nods, a silent agreement, eyes moving to her untouched hot chocolate, a little steam still coming off of it, by surely drinkable by now. Yet, she doesn’t take a sip. And after a moment, Letitia’s grip on Genesis’ hand tightens slightly.

“There’s something I need to ask you.” Letitia begins tentatively, breaking the silence.

Genesis meets Letitia’s gaze, her brows furrowing slightly in curiosity.

“Would you want to come to Portugal with me?”

Genesis’ eyebrows furrow even more at her question, at the randomness of it. She doesn’t understand why she would have to be there, but before she can question it, Letitia continues.

“It’s only for a couple days with a few friends.” Letitia’s voice is hesitant, a touch quieter now. “And… Fidji’s going to be-“

“Your ex?” Genesis cuts her off in question.

“Yes, but-“

“I and I…” Genesis mutters, hanging her head slightly in annoyance, causing Letitia to lean closer.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s not like that, I promise. This trip was planned months before.” Letitia attempts to plead her case quickly, keeping her tone as calm as possible. “I just… need you there, Gens.”

Letitia’s thumb had paused in its motion, her hand now squeezing Genesis’ gently and Genesis lifts her head, eyes searching Letitia’s worried expression, searching her eyes, looking at her.

She takes a deep breath after a moment, heavy, the weight of the decision weighing down on her chest, yet she still trusts Letitia, just enough.

“I’ll go with you.” Genesis says quietly, but firm, watching as Letitia’s face lights up. “But, to make sure yuh head stays on straight.”

“Nothing about me is straight.” Letitia murmurs in a playful tone, causing Genesis to playfully roll her eyes as Letitia chuckles giddily at herself before Genesis looks to her phone, a reminder that she has therapy in half an hour.

“‘Ight… I gotta go.” Genesis pushes herself up, her and Letitia’s hands finally separating as she grabs her hot chocolate, already in a to-go cup, slinging her bag back across her body. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Letitia catches the reluctance in Genesis’ voice and there’s a pang of sadness in her heart, a mixture of her overthinking their conversation and the overall emotion of not wanting Genesis to leave so soon. But she nods, and Genesis leans down slightly, kissing the top of Letitia’s head, on her cornrows before she moves towards the door, and Letitia’s head turns, watching her as she walks outside, turning right, heading opposite of Letitia’s position, the cold air greeting her quickly.

The days leading up to the trip slipped by like sand through an hourglass, each grain a moment of contemplation. Genesis stands before her open crossbody bag, its contents sparse but essential. She’s never been one to overpack, not that she’s ever had too much to work with, a few items of clothing, necessary toiletries, her sketchbook, and her camera.

As the day of departure dawns bright and early, still a grey sky filling the expanse, Genesis feels a flutter of nerves as she walks into the busy airport. Letitia had texted her the meeting point, past security, and after an hour of slow lines, she’s finally able to walk towards the space, her eyes landing on the familiar figure quickly.

Letitia’s presence is a beacon, her excitement palpable even from a distance with a big smile, and as their eyes meet, her eyes light up even more as she quickly closes the gap between them, hugging her tightly.

“I missed you.” Letitia whispers, words muffled by Genesis’ shoulder.

“You just saw me.”

But Letitia just shakes her head and they hold each other a moment longer before Letitia pulls back, taking Genesis’ hand gently, intertwining their fingers, and leading her to where the rest of the group sits, a small circle of mostly unfamiliar faces, yet Letitia doesn’t push any introductions or small talk, just leading Genesis to sit, staying close, her world seemingly shrinking to just the two of them.

The whispers they exchange are soft and intimate, gentle musings, reminiscent of actors sharing a secret joke between takes, a moment of genuine connection in midst of a scripted world. Letitia’s laughter is quiet, a sound that seems reserved just for Genesis in this last week together, her eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. Their shoulders brush together occasionally, a subtle contact that speaks of a mutual desire to remain connected.

And Genesis leans in closer, just a little, her face the same as it was when she arrived, calm, collected, yet her whisper brings a small knowing smile to Letitia’s lips. It’s a dance of dialogue, tender and loving.

Across from them, Fidji observes the scene unfold. The quiet exchanges don’t escape her notice, nor does the gentle way Genesis’ fingers reach up to gently run against Letitia’s cornrows. There’s a familiarity in these gestures, a language of touch and glance that speaks volumes.

Fidji’s glance is sharp, analytical, as if she’s trying to read this new and sudden dynamic. The way Letitia’s head tilts towards Genesis, the soft glow in her eyes. It wasn’t like that when Fidji was the one on her left side. Her lips press into a thin line, and she takes a slow sip of her drink, ice clinking against the glass like a punctuation to her unspoken thoughts. There’s an unmistakeable hint of distaste in her expression that reveals more than any words can, and she looks away before either of them notice, looking back to her sisters as they still continue to converse.

The boarding call for their flight eventually breaks the cocoon around Genesis and Letitia, the group gathering their belongings, the transition from the lounge shifting the energy surrounding them. Letitia stands, her hand slipping into Genesis’ with ease once more.

They join the line, the group’s dynamic subtly shifting at the reality of the departure setting in. Letitia’s hand gently squeezes Genesis’ as she leans in close to her ear, whispering.

“You okay?”

Genesis only nods and soon they finally cross the threshold into the bridge, the tight space bringing them even closer together, their quiet whispers seeming to funnel back to them, a reflection of their words and Letitia’s laughter remains quiet but heartfelt, an affectionate sound that seeps into Genesis’ heart.

Fidji walks several paces ahead, her posture perfect and stride confident, yet there’s a tightness around her eyes, acutely aware of Genesis and Letitia’s closeness from behind her. But she doesn’t look back, her grip on her boarding pass tightening, betraying her seemingly cool exterior, but they don’t notice.

The group files onto the plane, the seats of first-class wide and inviting, something Genesis has never experienced, a promise of comfort and isolation away from others.

They find their seats, beside one another, sinking into them, and Genesis looks around at all that’s available in this small space, and her eyes fall to Letitia, who gives her an almost teasing smile. But Genesis just slowly raises the cover between them, chuckling at Letitia’s playfully offended voice, before stopping, lowering it again, only doing it originally to mess with her.

As the plane eventually begins to taxi, Genesis slouches back in her seat, head resting back, allowing the engine to be her lullaby as her eyes start to fall closed, body still recovering from jet lag, and everything around her fades into darkness.

Suddenly, she sees the expansive field in Guyana, in the distance a fire roaring, casting the sky in an ominous glow. Yet, there’s nothing more.

But a single sound pierces through— the hum. A melody that seems to emerge from the very depths of her mind, the sound leaving the same effect it always does.

It’s a tune laden with emotion and history, yet she still doesn’t recognize it, she doesn’t see it as a thread connecting her to her past, calling to her. It’s just simply there, a calming vibration in the expanse of her subconscious, pulling her gently, leading her deeper in sleep.

As Genesis fades further into the dream, the landscape of which she sees begins to dissolve into shadow and the hum becomes everything, a soothing lullaby carrying her away and into the darkness. And soon, there’s only stillness.

Just the hum and the dark

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Morning in Lisbon greets Genesis with a subtle shift, one she been observing silently since the night prior, Letitia’s generosity in paying for the suite, now seemingly fostering a sense of entitlement among the sisters, the ease in which they take her kindness as due.

They spent the morning exploring the city’s streets, walking as a group, but Letitia, who was a constant at Genesis’ side the day before, now moves with fluidity ahead, and Genesis’ eyes are on her back as she walks slightly behind Fidji, talking with her quietly and Genesis hears her laugh.

She lags behind, letting the distance grow, a small experiment to test if her absence from the constellation is noticed. But the movement and conversation just continues to move forward without pause, laughter and playful musings rising over the quiet-ish streets.

And Genesis only sighs, maintaining her pace as the pieces in her mind start to connect.

As the day trails on, Genesis notices the same things over and over, Letitia’s personality shifting to a person she’s not even sure she recognizes. It’s been her fear since that night in Milan, maybe even a little before that, and she knew she was going to have to keep an eye on it, and it’s what she expected.

They’re at a club in the night, a little separation in the group, maybe needed. Letitia and her friends are kind of gathered, drinking wine or whatever thing of alcohol is desired at the time, but Genesis remains in her quiet corner.

Letitia’s gaze lingers on Genesis from across the room, watching as she’s engaged in easy conversation with a girl who’s a stranger to them both. There’s an unmistakable tightness that grips Letitia’s heart, an unbidden discomfort at the sight of Genesis’ gentle laughter, even tentative, being shared with someone else. When the girl departs, leaving Genesis in her peace against the wall, Letitia feels the pull towards her, discarding her half-finished drink on the bar, weaving through the crowd towards Genesis.

“Who was that?” Letitia questions, standing close enough now to notice the subtle shift in Genesis’ demeanor.

“Nobody you need to be worried of,” Genesis replies, her voice light, almost teasing, chuckling slightly as she relaxes further against the cool wall.

“And you’re laughing?” Letitia can’t help but add, the tightness in her chest now manifesting in her words.

A beat of silence falls between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts, and Genesis pushes off from the wall and edged toward the exit after a moment.

“I need some air.” She mutters, eyes remaining away from Letitia and heading outside. Yet, she doesn’t get far before she hears Letitia’s footsteps behind her, followed by her voice.

“Where are you going?” Letitia asks, following after her quickly, yet Genesis continues forward. But Letitia soon catches her, moving her body in front of hers, blocking her path.

“Move!” She calls out to her, but Letitia doesn’t budge, and Genesis pushes her back lightly, freezing in her steps. “Move, Tish!”

The reaction causes for Letitia to look at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed towards her, but Genesis’ expression is firm.

“Why you acting like some jealous teenage boy? Now you notice me, eh?”

“You think things changed suddenly? To make you go do that?” She motions to the club.

“Some things definitely changed.” Genesis says bitterly, eyes remaining on Letitia’s. “Whenever you used to do all this, the parties, the clubs, go with all types of people from who knows where doing who knows what. I know why yuh friends leave-“

“They left cause them didn’t like the life.” Letitia’s very adamant, speaking with her hands, but Genesis shakes her head. “What do you want me to do? Just suffer and suffer-“

“We are suffering, I done suffer and you didn’t even know!“ Genesis raises her voice. “Yuh used to come and go, I had to watch you with all those women-“

“And you’re any different?”

In that moment, a sound falls off of Genesis’ lips, a slight sucking sound, audible of distaste and annoyance as she attempts to walk past her again, only to have her bicep grabbed and Genesis swings, her hand coming into contact with Letitia’s cheek, the sound not too harsh, but audible enough to turn Letitia’s head, her hand flying to her cheek as she turns her head back towards her, yet it’s not from pain, but from the surprise of Genesis’ action. A rare break in her always steady composure both of them staring at each other in the tension.

“Who really care for you, Tish? Your ‘friends’… spending all your money, using your likeness…”

In the aftermath of the unexpected contact, a shock runs through both women, an electric current of reality jarring them from the night’s indulgent fantasy.

“You swim in pollution, you get polluted,” Genesis continues, pressing her finger to her chest with conviction, her gesture punctuating her plea. It’s a reminder of their shared values, of conversations that had previously woven the fabric of their bond—conversations about authenticity, integrity, and the seductive danger of losing oneself to a world that takes more than it gives.

Their eyes lock then, two forces of nature caught in a moment of raw honesty. Genesis’ words hanging in the air between them, a stark truth that strips away the veneer of the evening’s glamour.

“We used to talk of this and everything else when you only had a few fancy shirts!” Genesis’s fingers grip the material of Letitia’s jacket, a tactile echo of her words. “It’s time to wake up. Wake up, Tish!”

The air around them is charged with the intensity of the moment. Letitia’s eyes, previously hardened by defensiveness, are now more gentle, the layers of realization and vulnerability blending into a look of awakening. She can see Genesis— not just the woman before her, but the essence of the person she knows, the one who has always dared to speak the truth, no matter how uncomfortable. The one who’s always been there to catch her.

And she can finally see the reality of the life she’s brought onto herself

Increasing overwhelmed and overstimulated, Genesis attempts to pull away, a well of emotions churning inside her, starting to walk off, but Letitia’s instincts kick in quickly. She catches up, reaching out swiftly, her fingers wrapping around Genesis’s forearm, an unspoken plea for her to not react like she did a moment ago. Genesis’ muscles tense in response, her instinct to flee momentarily overwhelming her desire to reconcile, something Letitia can feel.

“Genesis, wait,” Letitia implores, her voice tinged with desperation.

Genesis’s movement doesn’t halt much, though her body language speaks of her inner turmoil. She continues to try and step forward, to extricate herself from the situation, but Letitia isn’t letting her slip away, not now, not like this.

In a fluid motion born out of urgency, Letitia steps closer, her arms encircling Genesis in a firm yet gentle hold.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, her voice a whisper against the night. “Please.”

Genesis’ natural instinct is to resist, to shake off the hold and find refuge in the quiet streets of Lisbon. She still tries to pull away, her movements born of a reflex to escape confrontation and vulnerability. But Letitia, driven by a sudden clarity of what’s at stake, refuses to let her go again.

“I’m sorry…” Letitia murmurs again, a mantra of reconciliation. “I’m sorry…”

The words reverberate through the small space they occupy, weaving a spell that seems to slow the world around them. Genesis can hear the genuine regret in Letitia’s tone, the vibration of her voice repeating the words over and over in her ear, resonating with a truth that’s impossible to ignore.

And something in Genesis yields, a wall within her crumbling, allowing the sincerity of the moment to seep through the cracks. Her body relaxes against Letitia’s, the fight to pull away diminishing with each shared breath, each whispered word.

In the cocoon of Letitia’s arms, Genesis allows the silence to envelop them, a sanctuary from the night’s earlier chaos, now filled only with the sound of their breathing and the distant melody from the club’s interior.

The embrace becomes their entire world, a haven amidst uncertainty. Letitia’s apologies still continue, even more hushed, hanging in the air, her breath warm on Genesis’s ear, a silent testament to the intensity of the moment.

Genesis soon shifts ever so slightly, her movements delicate but intentional, gently pulling Letitia back enough to see her face, and without a word, Genesis closes the small distance between them, pressing her lips to Letitia’s, shutting up her quiet ramble, grounding her.

The kiss lingers, a slow and gentle mingling that speaks volumes, each soft brush of their lips a reaffirmation of connection and care. And when they finally pull away, there’s a breathless quality to the space between them, as if the air itself is charged with the intensity and tension radiating off of them.

Letitia’s eyes remain closed for a moment longer, savoring the feeling. Genesis’ does as well, brushing a thumb across Letitia’s cheek, tracing the line where her own hand had made contact earlier, erasing any remnants of the night’s earlier tension.

“Don’t lose yourself… yuh hear?” Genesis voices quietly, voice still breathless. “And you do all that again and I’m gone.”

There’s silence between them even as Letitia nods in understanding, relaxing under Genesis’ touch.

Letitia’s eyes flutter open, her gaze looking upon Genesis with a vulnerability that only the raw honesty of love can elicit, the threat hanging in the air between them is a revelation, a crystallizing moment that anchors Letitia to the spot.

They head back to the hotel with fingers entwined, Letitia leading the way to a newly acquired room, a decision made in silent understanding that they need isolation from the sisters, from everything that can intrude on the sanctity of the newfound understanding. She procurers them their own space, a quiet sanctuary where the outside world can be kept at bay, allowing them to be alone with each other and their thoughts.

The room’s dimly lit, the soft glow of bedside lamps casting gentle shadows across the walls, creating a cocoon of warmth and privacy. They lay side by side on the bed, their bodies close but not touching, enveloped in a shared silence that’s as comforting as it is communicative. The tumultuous emotions of the night have given way to a calm understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the depth of their connection.

As they lay there, the noise of the city seems distant, irrelevant even. The quiet between them, a healing space, a soft fabric woven from threads of tension and tender realization. Letitia soon turns her head to look at Genesis, her eyes conveying the emotions that words can scarcely capture.

“Thank you,” She whispered, her voice barely audible yet clear in the stillness of the room. “Thank you for finding me.”

It’s a simple statement, but laden with meaning—recognition of how Genesis has seen through the facade, has reached past the surface and pulled Letitia back from the brink of losing herself. It’s an acknowledgment of Genesis’s strength, her unwillingness to let Letitia drift away, and her courage in confronting the painful truths.

Genesis turns to face Letitia, their eyes meeting in the semi-darkness, a silent conversation passing between them. She reaches out then, her hand gently brushing Letitia’s cheek once more, a mirror of the earlier gesture that had marked the beginning of their night’s emotional journey.

Her gaze is full of emotion and in the semi-darkness, their eyes lock, communicating more than words ever can. The air around them seems charged with the intensity of their connection, each breath a shared rhythm.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Genesis leans in, pressing her lips to Letitia’s in a kiss.

And she can feel it. How the woman she knew had returned to her.

#letitia wright #letitia wright fanfic #letitia fanfic #shai’s oc #no woman no cry fic

[the-faceless-bride]

~~A new grave has been put in today please welcome our new arrival~~

Save The Show

You were never in the spotlight, your nerves would always get the better of you. You would stumble, mumbled, voices stuttered and cracked, and you became a mess.

But... That was only when you were in the spotlight, you felt more comfortable in the shadows. Nothing but dim light and darkness around you, letting everyone melt away getting lost in the music.

But even that came with its issues...

You were currently finishing up your hair, today you were getting ready for a final rehearsal before the show tonight.

You and your group were given the rare opportunity to perform in the Palais Garnier opera house, and everyone was ecstatic and even some jokes and half wishes of being given the chance to see and meet the Phantom.

While spotting the Phantom would be cool and might even amaze you, you had your skepticism about the whole Phantom bit. People have said and done crazy things for fame before, who's to say this isn't some elaborate scheme to attract attention?

You sigh letting the spray set in your head of curls bouncing a few to be sore they wouldn't fall out while you were dancing and moving around. Some of the curls were tight and well-placed others were a bit messy and fell from their original place but even if you'd prefer they stayed the way you placed them, you couldn't help but think the look gave you some character and you never minded that.

With that, you let onto the stage; taking your place with your partner Angel, his hazel eyes looking you over before he smiled fixing a curl and letting it fall over your face and you laugh.

You and Angel had always been best friends, the blonde male was handsome and needed a girl friend to help him mask his secret, and you were happy to help. It kept pesky sleazy pigs called men away from you and helped him keep his reputation by keeping his homosexuality a secret.

However, your smile drops when you almost fall over from a force bashing into your shoulder, looking over to see the star, the main attraction, the one and only muse known as a strawberry blonde beauty with a body to die for by the name of Caroline.

You and she never seemed to get along, you were fine and friendly at the start, but when you were cast as the leading role and her the understudy that friendly conversation turned to spiteful comments, you didn't even want the main role anyway that wasn't the role you applied for... So after lots of begging complaining, purposefully lessening yourself, and talking more than usual about how you've never sung Oprah before and how you would most likely mess up the show, you were placed in the background and Caroline became the star... But that didn't seem to calm her nerves any less...

You took a breath before getting in position for your dance, your voice was one of three background singers that were meant to harmonize with the lead but not overpower the lead or take the spotlight away from her.

But getting lost in the music can make it difficult...

You close your eyes letting Angel lead the dance as you sing your heart out, you had never sung in Oprah before this, but having taken advice from a mentor and getting lessons and now your first show was meant to help open you to more musical opportunities and you were glad you took the advice.

The music was hauntingly beautiful and the motions felt so touching and intimate, letting it flow through you. Almost gone... The only thing holding you to the stage... The world... The feeling of Angles arms grounding you.

Singing your notes, pouring all you had into it when suddenly... The music stopped.

Your eyes flew open and a frustrated sigh sounded throughout the empty theater, Coraline's eyes burning holes into your soul.

The instructor pinches her nose with a huff, "Darling... How. Many. Times do I have to tell you to keep your voice in check?! You keep singing over our main lead! As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm you are not the star here, you had the chance and you threw it away! Now, please!"

You mumbled an apology keeping your head down, hearing a scoff from Coraline.

The instructor huffs looking at you with a disappointing stare, whether it was because you couldn't follow her instructions or the fact she wanted you as lead but you turned it down was beyond you.

"From the top."

This was it the night of the show and you get like throwing up, but reminding yourself that in the shadows no one would notice you calmed you down only if a little...

The show was running smoothly, you danced when it was your part, sang, and gave Coraline props when your choreography had you do so.

It was all going so well... Until it wasn't.

Once the show hit an intermediate for the set and costumes to change it all went downhill.

The scene was the lead and the male love interest meeting at a ball and falling in love... However, when it was the lead's role to get on stage...she didn't show.

You weren't even on stage and you knew that by now Coraline aka the leading role was meant to be dancing her way through the crowd of dancing guests to get to the prince, so where was she?!

You were getting antsy and didn't was the night to be ruined, frantically asking where Coraline was before the final cue was given and it became clear to the audience something wasn't going right in the show.

But only getting answers of shrugging and frantic "I don't know"s and " I haven't seen her"s and running very low on time left you finally get the answer of "I saw her giggling with one of the guys meant to be in the background before she ran off with him, she must not realize that the halftime was over." Time was up, you panicked slipping on the lacy overlay on your ruffled dress and throwing on the leads mask before rushing out in the hope no one would notice, and the show wouldn't burn to the ground.

The back dancers didn't seem to notice the change in actress mid-way, but the man playing the prince did. But him seeing the frantic look and no sign of Coraline he got the idea of the situation and carried on as planned.

With your nerves and adrenaline pumping through you, you were able to get through the song to get to the next scene, you knew you were going to pay for your panic and stealing the spotlight bit you had to save the show.

But it wasn't all for nothing, because while most people were too entranced by the whole play to notice the switch in that scene, someone did.

He sat in his booth, his eyes only on you... Erik felt his breath hitch, you had stolen his breath away... Well... At least you would've if he had any...

(Might make a part two...)

#slasher imagine #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #erik the phantom #erik destler x reader #the phantom x reader #the phantom of the opera

[divineprank]

Kill your health, and kill yourself, and kill everything you love... And if you live you can fall to pieces and suffer with my ghost.

-Ganondorf, probably

#tw suicide #Shadow has been moved by light it seems... :: [MUSINGS] #oh no! there she goes! #out in the sunshine! #sun is mine! #i left her in the sand!

[nocasdatsgay]

Ch. 1 of From the Shadows the Beast will Rise

Masterlist here/ Prequel “Chokehold” Here

Summary: Eris gets a visit from Azriel months later and is summoned to the Night Court.

Rated: M

Warnings (I forgot 😅): sexual themes, Azriel’s past trauma, discussion of mor’s trauma,

AO3 Link Here | Chapter 2

**Also read below**

It had been months since their last encounter, but Eris knew Azriel was watching him. He could smell hints of evergreen from the shadows in the far corner of his room in the Forest House. They had followed him around all evening, except during dinner when they had the right mind to make themselves scarce around his father. Eris reasoned it was probably due to his lack of responses to the letters in his study. 

It was only when the smell got stronger he knew Azriel physically arrived. Anger flared for just a moment within. Azriel knew better than anyone the sensitivity of the wards on the house. However, Eris wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead he schooled his features and looked down at the book he was reading and flipped the page. 

“Are you going to hide in the corner all night?” He asked loudly, not bothering to read the text in front of him. When no answer came he sighed, annoyed. “I can smell you, idiot.”

Eris looked up to see Azriel step out of the shadows. He smirked at the displeasure etched into his features. Spymaster wasn’t used to being caught. Eris folded his page and closed the book, setting it to the side table. He let his gaze run quickly over the male in front of him. 

“You have a lot of nerve coming into this house uninvited,” Eris folded his hands together in his lap and lifted his chin. “Just because I let your shadows linger doesn’t mean you’re welcome to enter.” 

Shadows whirled around Azriel, more pronounced in the light casted from the fireplace. If Eris didn’t know any better, they seemed agitated as well. Azriel didn’t move, save for his wings twitching. 

He glared at Eris. “Rhys wants to know why you’ve ignored his summons.”

Eris scowled. “Rhys overestimates his importance. He also underestimates mine. I’m not his citizen to be summoned. Maybe he should start asking politely; requesting instead of demanding.” Eris slumped back in his seat and grinned. “He’s so used to ordering you around like a dog, he forgets what it’s like to actually communicate with someone of decent intelligence.”

Azriel stepped forward. Eris didn’t ignore the glance he casted to the roaring fireplace before focusing back on Eris. 

“You’re the one who begged for an alliance.” Azriel emphasized the word beg just enough for Eris to notice. He didn’t react even if trousers felt slightly tighter. “If you wish for Rhys to honor it, I suggest you stop being an entitled bastard.” 

“Did he send you?” Eris snapped in reply. “Or did you come on your own to waste my time? I assume it’s the latter since Rhysand is fully aware of the stipulations of our bargain.” 

Azriel crossed his arms. Shadows slid to the carpet, and Eris watched them creep forward. 

“Where is your bargain mark, anyway?” Azriel tilted his head. 

“I don’t have one.” Eris felt the cool touch of a shadow circling around his ankle. 

“Has to be somewhere your father won’t see it,” Azriel mused. Another shadow circled Eris’s other ankle. “Does he weld the knife himself? Or does he make his guards extract information from you while he watches?” 

Both shadows slipped up his pant legs. 

“Himself.” Eris answered honestly. Phantom pains from all the times he’d been questioned lurked in the back of his mind.  “It’s strictly politics. You should know; Rhysand would rather bloody your hands than his own. At least my father is willing to do that part himself.” If that stung, Azriel didn’t show it. “Call back your shadows.” 

Shadows slid down his legs again, slinking out his pants and back onto the carpet. His eyes lost track of where they went when they merged with the others. 

“Inside your left thigh.” A hint of smirk graced his lips. “Of course it’s somewhere slutty.” 

“Are we done?” Eris finally stood and straightened his jacket. 

“Only if you want to be.” 

There was sincerity in those Hazel eyes. An offer. It was nighttime. Besides some guards, no one else  was up at this hour.  Eris debated for a split second if he wanted to risk it. 

“Not in this house,” Eris replied after a moment, more softer than he intended. 

Azriel nodded slightly. “Rhys did send me. He was wondering if you were dead.”

Eris laughed, the hollowness of it evident. “My apologies then, for disappointing you both. All of Pyrthian will know if I die before my father. My brothers would make sure of it with their bragging.” 

Eris could have sworn there was a scowl on the shadowsinger’s face before he stepped back, disappearing and taking his shadows with him. 

***

Eris waited two days after Azriel’s visit to send Rhys a letter. The meeting in the moonstone palace three days after the response was just as tedious as he anticipated. There wasn’t much he didn’t already know. He knew from his correspondence with Jurian that Koschei sent a warning to Vassa. He knew already of the efforts with Day Court to research; Lucien told him of that weeks ago. 

He didn’t like his brother being the one in talks with Helion but vocalizing it would draw suspicion none of them needed. The only surprise of the meeting was the presence of the middle Archeron sister, Elain. She sat silently beside Azriel, watching him. Eris waited until the end of the meeting to put his amber gaze towards her. 

“You never explained why you’re here, little sister.” He loved the way she scowled at him and bristled at the sarcastic endearment. “Are you even still to be my little sister? I can never tell with the way you string him along.”

He heard a scratching of wood. Probably Feyre’s claws since she hissed at him. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

“Why not? We’ll be family eventually.” 

He turned to Rhys and Feyre and he smirked at his correct assumption. He felt Azriel’s glare and a shadow slip around his ankle. He kicked out his foot, shooing it away. He then felt a claw against the wall of his mind. He mentally sighed and opened a crack in it. It was Rhys who spoke to him. 

Why do you always cause problems? Elain is here for a reason. 

What reason is that? I thought her sole job was to ensure Lucien stays tethered to your court. 

Eris shut down his walls again when Rhys growled at him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They always acted as if they were above court politics; like they weren’t playing games of their own. Eris leaned back in his seat, debating if he should just leave them to stew. But Elain kept her doe eyes focused on him. He stared back.

She whispered, “Autumn blooms wilt without the sun.” He furrowed his brows at her but she continued. “They weep for the lost fox and the slaughtered hounds. They weep for the sunlight.” 

“Poetry?” He cut his eyes to Rhys and Feyre. 

Elain continued and a chill went down his spine. “Only out of the shadows, will the beast rise. Autumn blooms make the path. If they falter the beast shall fall to the depths. The blooms will be set ablaze and burn to ash.” She blinked and looked at him like she was just now truly looking at him. “Kill your father before he kills you, Eris Vanserra.” 

Realization settled over him. Eris’s eyes cut to Rhysand. A scratch in his mind told him Rhys was listening. 

A fucking seer?

Or poetry. Rhys physically smirked at him. Heed her warning Eris. Time is running out.

***

Eris could have lit his entire guest room on fire with the rage welling in him. Of course Rhysand was hoarding Elain away from his brother, not only for his allegiance but also her powers. A fucking seer. There hadn’t been one in Prythian since before he was born. 

He continued to pace the room, chewing on his nail while he thought. The other sister- the witch, she lost her powers. He never anticipated she’d accept his marriage proposal when he asked but he wished she had. A waste of power. He didn’t know how Nesta lost her powers- his informants heard whispers of Feyre nearly dying in childbirth and Nesta used her power to save her and the heir. Now Elain, with her own abilities, was at risk.

His informants also told him of how a certain shadowsinger was close to Elain. Too close. A flower pendant necklace purchased by him was telling enough. Probably an order from Rhysand to keep Elain occupied while putting just enough distance between her and his brother. It kept Lucien tied to Night Court without risking him taking Elain away. He scoffed loudly. Rhysand and his games, an annoyance to the world. 

Eris stopped, dropping his hand when he smelt the air change. He waited and turned to the opening of the bathing chamber. There stood Azriel, his shadows a frenzy around him and making him look more dark and broody than usual. Eris slid his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“And what do I owe for this visit, Azriel?” 

Azriel walked up to him. Eris watched the shadows try and reach out to him when he stopped within arms reach. 

“I told you to stop antagonizing Mor. I didn’t mean for you to start taking your shit out on Elain.”

“Does she know what you did in this room, Azriel? Does she know you rutted like a mindless beast atop her mate’s brother until we both came undone?” Eris sneered when a hand came around his throat. “You think I don’t know about that? You’re the one who pursues her knowing she’s mated. And knowing you like to fuck males. Don’t act angry about it now.” 

“I’m sick of your fuckin mouth.” He squeezed before shoving him back by his throat. “You’re the one who begged for a lesser male to choke you. Choke you until you came from that alone.” 

Eris coughed, stumbling back and throwing out his hands for balance. “I asked politely. That isn’t begging.” 

“You asked because I told you to. You think you’re better than me but you’d get on your knees and choke on my cock if I pulled it out. Do you even like females? Is that why you left Mor to die?”

That was the wrong thing to say to him. Eris felt his temp rising and he set his arms ablaze with his magic. 

“When will you brutes let that shit go?” Eris stalked up to Azriel, who took just as many steps back. “You found her, didn’t you? I smelt your fucking shadows even back then. I smelled them coming. If I took her, she would have been murdered by my father.” Eris let the rage blind him as he cornered Azriel against the wall. “I’m not the one who put a nail through her womb to make sure that bastard’s seed didn’t take. Stop blaming me for her father’s doings.” 

He would have kept going if the smell of pure terror hadn’t reached his nose, snapping him out of his rage. He realized several things at once. Azriel was utterly still, wings tucked tight and eyes glazed over. Shadows covered his hands until they were no longer visible. Shadows also circled Eris’s arms as if they could suffocate the flames dancing on them. Eris shook out his magic and stepped back, shadows disappearing with the flames. 

Eris always knew those scars on Azriel’s hands were from burns. He knew because he had burn scars of his own, just hidden. Azriel seemed to come back to himself but the shadows didn’t leave his hands. Eris glanced down at them. 

“Who gave you those scars?”

Azriel slumped against the wall, wings drooping in a slump. He blinked a few times before responding. “My brothers. I try to not,” he shook his head. “I normally don’t let it bother me. But the way your magic,” he stopped again, like he might be ill if he opened his mouth. 

“I won’t do it again,” Eris whispered. 

The shadows eased away from Azriel’s hand and Eris grabbed his wrist. Azriel jolted but didn’t yank his arm away. Eris knew he shouldn’t but he traced the scarring with his other fingers while he held up Azriel’s hand with his own. 

“For what it’s worth, I like your scars.” A confession he said so softly he wasn’t sure he even spoke it aloud. “What happened to your brothers? After they did this.”

Azriel snatched his hand away. “Nothing happened.” Eris cut his eyes to see Azriel scowling. “Don’t patronize me, Vanserra.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eris straightened his posture, clasping his hands behind his back. “Stay away from my brother’s mate and we’ll call it even.” 

“Jealous?” 

One of his shadows floated away and brushed against Eris’s cheek, wrapping around to file through his hair. Azriel’s eyes tracked it while he scowled. Eris pulled a hand from behind his back and lifted it. More shadows came and twirled around his fingers. 

“Something tells me jealousy isn’t necessary.” Eris shook away the shadows. “You should go. Keir will be here and the last thing I need is him thinking I’m in good graces with Rhysand’s inner circle. Unless you plan on fighting me as a cover.” 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Keir wants to smell how you react when I fight you.” Azriel then stepped back and slipped away into the shadows. 

#azris fanfiction #azris #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #from the shadows the beast will rise #y’all better know I care cause I posted this here AND on ao3 #I ain’t editing shit btw #an excuse for az to call eris slutty tbh

[holyplasmaball]

For the manwe week prompt "Free of evil | Opposition":

“The blame rests not upon you”, Nienna spoke with a heart unbarred. In a torrent endless poured forth her compassion, until Manwë found his cup filled and overflowed, her kindness not a balm but a spillage, a flood which overwhelmed instead.

In him there lay no such hollow to be filled, no chamber vast enough to contain all that she proffered, and he could not fathom why she would pour forth from herself in such direful abundance with naught to necessitate it. He had ventured here not for solace, but for counsel, to gain insight into her ruminations so as to comprehend why she acted thus. Why she, who shed tears for all the world's woes, who felt the sting of his brother’s transgressions most keenly, would then prostrate herself and implore mercy on Melkor’s behalf. Why she would weep when he who had wrought ruin and devastation was at last ensnared within unyielding confines, his evil chained in impotence.

Nienna placed her hand upon Manwë’s arm. “You know not what you do."

In these words was made apparent what the surfeit of her compassion had implied. She deemed him culpable. Blameless, yet culpable, a party who had erred unintentionally.

The verdict given had indeed not found favor with her.

“I but act our Father’s will,” Manwë did remind her then, partly to reassure her that no harm had been done. He did his Father’s will, and thus, could not err. This was the simple truth of him, the cornerstone of all his principles, the speck of light set within his spirit by which he might illumine his way through the shadows of this world. As long as he stayed faithful to this, and did trod the righteous path, he would remain untainted, and all that could be redeemed from his brother’s deeds would eventually be uplifted.

Yet Nienna remained as she had been.

“I know,” said she.

And Manwë could not comprehend her. The words hinted at dissent, as if she conceded that he had indeed acted in accordance with their Father's will, yet still somehow faltered. As if it were their Father who had erred, and caused them all to stumble. Yet this could not be so, and rather he must have misconstrued her intent, for she was not corrupt, and even contemplating casting doubt upon her purity pained his heart.

To purge these suspicions from his mind, he voiced them aloud for her to dispel: “You speak as one who has lost their faith.”

“Faith?” Nienna’s lips curved in a manner that, on another spirit, might have lead to laughter. Her amusement was sincere, and devoid of mockery, resembling the fondness of a mother confronted with the sweet innocence of her child.

“Love,” she spoke instead. "A power which does the stars in heavens raise, which births mountains and valleys and the oceans to fill them, and all life still and moving to traverse them. A boundless might, more potent even than our Father’s decree, for His will too is moved by it. For our Father loves us, and it is for love that He has made us, just as we have made the world.” She paused. “Yet love is foolish.”

Upon this perilous turn she stalled, perhaps to grant him grace. For it much seemed like a free passage, a chance for Manwë to divert the course with words of his own so he might steer clear of her true musings and escape unscathed. Yet he had come here to understand her, and to this end he did stay and hearken.

“Our Father loves us,” Nienna continued. “And He is good, and what He has made He loves, and it is then made good. This is a truth which none of you can see: that in essence, we all are virtuous, none tainted by evil's hue. That it is the deeds themselves which embody the darkness. And that, in our folly, blinded by ignorance’s veil, all, in unwitting error, succumb to sin.

And here, at last, afore these truths does emerge, the folly of our Father’s love, spoken now, yet forever unheard; for you, Manwë Súlimo, have been made free. Evil you can not comprehend, and so, what evil you beget, you can never perceive.”

@manweweek i'm a little late, hope it's okay!

#manweweek #manweweek day 5: free of evil #manwe #nienna #my writing

[dragonwritersblog]

Royally Screwed!

Read on AO3

1/2/3/4/5

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, there was a lot of issues going on and it took out a lot of energy from me. But it's here now and I hope its worth the wait. Hope you guys enjoy! Also I tried to edit it as much as I can but I'll go back is there's any spelling mistakes, but other than that, here's chapter 2!

2. Irish Eyes

Kaufmo groaned as he pressed a hand to his lower back, tonight’s show hadn’t been kind to him in the slightest. The ringmaster has suggested a few new stunts for his act to make the audience go crazy. Now usually that would be fine…if the ringmaster hadn’t announced it while performing. It gave Kaufmo no time to warm up or prepare before he saw an anvil failing for the sky and aiming right at him. He managed to dodge it just in time and had earned him some good reception, but he had twisted his body the wrong way while ducking, leaving a pretty bad sore spot on his back.

He sighed, at least it was over now and he could have a better chance tomorrow morning to prepare for that new trick (and anything else the ringmaster hadn’t told him about yet). He was going to head to his tent for the tight when he heard light sniffling from the lion cages. He turned and tried to peak through the shadows to see who was inside of Ragatha’s lion’s cage…oh, it was Pomni.

The child was the newest member of the cast, and the youngest. Now that Kaufmo thought about it, no one had joined the circus at her age before, so the experience must have been so much more jarring for a young girl. And she was only five years old, the poor thing.

The girl was patting each lion’s mane as she tried to control her tears, the large animals providing as much comfort as they could. She had been quite nervous around the two felines when she first met them, but after seeing how tame they were, they were a great source of security for her in times like this. Times when she felt overwhelmingly homesick.

Kaufmo tapped one of the bars, alerting everyone of his presence. The lions let out a growl when Pomni let out a startled gasp, only to calm down once they saw the clown. “Easy, it’s just me,” he said reassuringly as Pomni gripped tighter to one of the lions. “Hey kiddo, sorry for scaring you.”

Pomni wiped her eyes as the clown climbed in, sitting on the wall opposite her with one of the lions between her. The other lion came back to sit beside her, nudging her hand for more scratches.

“Huh, Simba and Kovu seemed to have taking a liking to you,” Kaufmo mused. Despite their large size, both of the large felines were rather friendly to the rest of the circus. Give them a snack and scratch their favourite spot and you were practically their best friend.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” Pomni whispered, harshly rubbing her the tears off her cheeks to hide the fact that she had been crying. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, the show just finished up and I was gonna get back to my tent,” he explained, “But, then I heard someone wasn’t feeling that great.”

Pomni paled, hiding her face in Simba’s mane. “It’s nothing!” she mumbled into the fur, “I just had something in my eyes, I’m fine!”

Kaufmo hummed. Pomni seemed to be quite a particularly panicky child, one wrong move and she’ll be shaking like a leaf, in fear for her life. He had to approach her carefully, she had already been through enough. “Here,” he pulled out a handkerchief. Pomni stared at it cautiously. “Don’t worry, it’s joke free. Clown’s honour.” He put a hand to his chest with a mock serious expression.

The child smiled, taking the little white fabric and wiped her cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” Kaufmo said, “I understand. We’ve never had anyone as young as you join. Well, ‘join’ might be a might of a strong word. And you have every right to be scared, upset, angry. It isn’t fair what the ringmaster did. If you need to scream, scream.”

“Maybe not scream,” she muttered, “But the ringmaster said we’re not allowed to get upset.”

“That’s because he’s void of any emotion and doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he placed the tips of his fingers on her hand just in case she wanted to pull it away. “Pomni, you’re five. Cry if you have to cry.”

Suddenly, a wall had crumbled and the dams were loose. The child latched herself onto the clown, muffled cries escaping her and tears soaking his costume. He instantly wrapped his arms around her. “Shh, there, there,” he whispered, “It’s gonna be okay kiddo, I got you.”

“I want my Ma and Pa!” she wailed as he stroked her hair. “I wanna go home!”

Kaufmo sighed. She was way too young for this. Curse the ringmaster and his void heart. “I know kiddo,” he hugged her tighter. “I know.”

They remained like that for a moment, Kaufmo letting Pomni cried while he stroked her hair before the child pulled away, her cheeks tear stained. “Sorry,” she sniffed.

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” he reassured her. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, would that cheer you up?”

“Um, okay,” Pomni nodded. “I…I like to sing a little bit, my ma used to teach me.”

“Huh,” Kaufmo lit up, an idea forming. “You know, I like to play guitar, I used to play it a lot.”

Pomni beamed, crawling closer to him, “Really?!”

“Heck yeah,” Kaufmo chuckled, “How about I go get it and I can show you what I can do?”

“Yeah!” Pomni cheered, giggling and falling back, a lion catching her with the side of his body.

“Okay kiddo,” Kaufmo grinned, “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

The clown had never run so fast in his life. He couldn’t recall the last time he played his guitar, but he remembered how much he loved it. Once he made it to his tent, he picked up the instrument from the side of his bed and ran straight back to Pomni, the little girl was playing with Kovu’s mane before gasping with excitement when she saw the guitar.

“Okay, it’s been a while,” Kaufmo told her while tuning it, “But I think I remember this.”

He began playing a simple chord, rummaging through his mind before landing on a song he hadn’t sung for anyone.

You can't take my past

You can't take my history

You could take my Pa

But his name’s a mystery

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

Oh nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

“Wow!” Pomni looked absolutely awestruck, it was the cutest thing in the world. “That’s so cool!”

“It’s not finished yet,” he admitted bashfully. “I haven’t really had the time to.”

“I can help finish it?” Pomni suggested shyly, “And maybe…you could teach me too?”

Kaufmo’s eyes widened, not only had he not played for someone in so long, but it was the first time a person asked him to teach them. For the first time, someone didn’t want to now the clown that Kaufmo played, but rather the part of a person that the ringmaster had forced him to bury so long ago. “Yeah,” he nodded, “I think that can be arranged kiddo.”

He carefully placed the guitar on her lap, the instrument was comically big for her little body, but she managed to hold it properly. She giggled with excitement as her guided her hands on where to go. “So, if you put your fingers here, it makes a makes a C chord,” he told her, her fingers making the shape and strummed the strings, her face brightening after playing her first ever note. “Atta girl, and just make this shape and you’ll get a G chord.” He shifted them again, grinning as she played the second note.

“I’m doing it!” she exclaimed.

“You’re doing great kiddo,” he grinned, “Now, have you got any ideas for lyrics?”

The child nodded so fast that he was afraid she’d hurt herself. With a gentle voice, she began to sing.

You can't take my charm!

You can't take my humour…

.

.

.

Twenty Years Later

Kaufmo hummed cheerily as he walked through the inn the rest of the cast and himself were staying in. They were here for the rest of the week to perform, but everyone had really wanted to explore the rest of the town. And who was he to stop them?

Ragatha had wanted to see if they had any good treats for her lions, Zooble wanted to buy some flowers for Gangle, and Moon and Sun had wanted to wander with everyone and see the sights. Kaufmo decided to stay, wanting to take the day to rest. However, there was one person who didn’t say anything about wanting to go or stay.

Pomni.

Despite last night’s fiasco with the prince, she seemed to be in a good mood. He was heading to her room, just to check up on her and see if she wanted to go out as well. He was about to knock when he heard the faint strums of a guitar and a female voice singing along with the tune.

My mother says I have Irish eyes

Irish eyes, Irish eyes

My mother says I have Irish eyes

They go ever so blue under stormy skies

But they're never so blue as when I let them cry

Kaufmo smiled, Pomni’s voice was always so heavenly whenever she sang. Every song she wrote, he would always be excited to hear. He cracked the door open a little, seeing her standing with her guitar in hand as she sang. She wore a simple shift with brown stays adorned with pink stitched flowers and a light green skirt that reached her black boots. She looked a little bit like spring itself.

My father says I have English hair

English hair, English hair

Brown like the bark of an oak somewhere

Like the bed of a lake where the hemlock grows

Like the thorn in the stem of an English rose

She began to twirl happily, dancing along with her song without a care in the world.

I'm a map of the world and the ones before

One foot in sea and one on shore

Every step, every hope flung high

I'm a map of them all with my Irish eyes

She jumped, whipping round when she heard the sound of clapping, only to soften when she saw that it was Kaufmo standing at the door. “Don’t scare me like that,” she giggled, putting her guitar away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you kiddo,” he said, “Is that a new song?”

“Yeah, I began to write it when we were on the road,” she confirmed, “Decided to give it a whirl before I went out to town.”

“You’re going out?” Kaufmo asked hopefully. Pomni wasn’t normally someone who liked to be out in busy places when she wasn’t performing but seeing her actively wanting to go out was quite a big step for her. While it left him protective, it left him proud of her as well.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Gangle wanted to go look and see the dresses here so I wanted to go with her as well. Ragatha and Moon should be with us as well.”

“I’ll come too,” Kaufmo said, “Just in case you want to leave early and come back.”

“Kaufmo,” she sighed, “I’ll be fine.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Kaufmo reassured her, “It’s just, you know…It’s always going to be my instinct to protect you.”

Pomni smiled, walking over and wrapping her arms around the clown, with Kaufmo doing the same. “I understand, what we went through was…its over now,” Pomni said, “I wanna be able to go into towns without being terrified of who I run into, enjoy my time with my family. With my Pa.”

Kaufmo patted her cheek, she never failed to amaze him. “Well then, what are we waiting for?” he asked, “Let’s go have some fun.”

Pomni patted his hand back before Kaufmo let it fall to his side, both of them leaving the room and heading downstairs to greet everyone else before going into town.

.

.

.

Jax paced back and forth in the dining room, dressed in a simple white blouse, blue waistcoat and black slacks. The room had been cleared earlier after breakfast, but he needed the space to pace and think about his plan to woo Pomni. She was going to be tricky – if her outburst was anything to go by – so he had to tread carefully about this. Motley watched the prince go back and forth, the kitten perched on the table experiencing the most brainstorming that Prince Jax had ever done in his life.

How would one win over the heart of a spitfire? A being so beautiful and entrances you with its song and dance but can easily scorch you if you make one wrong move. But it was that danger that pulled him closer to her. Only a woman like her deserved the best when it came to courting. But where to start, what should he do?

Queenie and Kinger watched their son’s pacing from the slightly ajar door. The staff had alerted them of the prince’s peculiar behaviour, so they wanted to investigate it for themselves – from afar of course.

“I still can’t believe it,” Kinger muttered, “Never would I have though the day would come where Jax would be so entranced by a girl.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Queenie mused, “I’m not surprised it was the jester that stole his heart. She does seem to be such a darling. Although, I will admit, I am slightly concerned with what Jax has up his sleeve with this one. His mind is quite…devious after all.”

Kinger hummed in agreement, “That is true. He always has these great plans when it comes to playing tricks on the servants or his escape attempts. Part of me doesn’t want to know what type of plan he comes up with for courting her.”

“Yes,” Queenie nodded, thinking to herself for a moment. The jester, Pomni was her name she believed, seemed like such a sweet young woman. While she was glad her son was in love, Queenie was completely aware of Pomni’s outburst with him they other day (after all she was outside tent when it happened, and was able to hear every single word). “How about you let me handle this Kinger dear? I’ve had my experience when it comes to men falling to a woman’s feet before. I could help correct him with the proper ways of how to win a girl’s heart.”

Kinger blushed, memories of himself as a young prince falling for a lord’s daughter many moons ago flooding back to him like a tidal wave. “Uh, y-yes darling,” he stuttered slightly, “I believe that would be for the best. The last person he needs advice from is his old man who laned face first into mud when trying to court the person he admired.”

“But I fell in love with you because of that dearest,” Queenie teased, giggling at Kinger’s flustered expression. “Now, if you excuse me. I have a son to steer away from making a fool of himself.”

“Good luck,” Kinger gave her reassuring thumbs up. Truth be told, when it came to Jax (especially since he was in love) she probably needed that luck.

Queenie took a breath, opening the door further and entering the dining room, though it seemed that Jax didn’t notice her presence, still caught up in his planning and muttering. Motley did though, letting out a happy mewl and ran over to her, climbing up her cloak and settling himself in her arms. The queen let out a small laugh, running a finger over his head as she walked up to her son.

Jax jumped as soon as he heard the sound of a throat clearing, exhaling when he saw that it was only Queenie. “Holy shit!” he cursed, placing a hand on his chest, “You scared me!”

“Language young man,” Queenie reprimanded him, “I just wanted to see if you were alright, the servants said that you haven’t left this room since breakfast.”

Jax sighed, the moment word about anything happening to him got out, his mother would instantly be by his side to make sure he way okay. It was one of Queenie’s most admirable qualities. “Yes, I’m fine mother. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“I see,” Queenie hummed, her eyes giving off a teasing glint. “It’s definitely not the jester from last night’s performance.”

Jax was so sure that his fur had changed from a periwinkle purple to a cherry red as he whipped round to face his mother, a smug look curved upon her features as she eyed her son knowingly. “M-mom!” he nearly choked on his words.

“Careful now dear,” Queenie chuckled, “The last thing we need is for our heir to suffocate on himself. Besides it was quite obvious, you immediately trailed after her like a loyal pet the moment her performance ended and are still infatuated with the girl despite her verbal lashing with you. Yes I’ve heard it, I’m sure most of the kingdom did too.”

“I can’t help it,” Jax rubbed the back of his neck. “The moment I heard her singing, my soul was bewitched. I had to listen to her song, her voice was telling a story and I wanted to learn it word for word until she’s ingrained into my memory. And her beauty, I don’t think I’ve met another person who radiated starlight just as much as she did. She’s a book that I can’t put down, I need to know more about her! I have to let her know that she’s the one for me!”

Never in all her years did Queenie think her son was capable of being bashful. Everything about Jax, from the way he spoke to the way he strutted down the hall screamed nothing but self-righteous confidence. What type of magic tricks did Pomni possess to reveal this new side of the prince? “Well, well,” Queenie breathed, “It seems that you’re very taken with this girl.”

“Oh, she definitely stole my heart and run off with it,” Jax sighed, “I just need to know what to do that will make her realise just how perfect I am for her!”

Queenie cringed, she had a feeling this was coming. The last thing Jax needed was his ego sabotaging any chance of Pomni liking at least a quarter of him back. After all, it was his arrogance that made him receive her angry and biting tone with him, if he continued down this road he would ending up kissing any plans of courting her goodbye. “Now Jax, I understand the butterflies that come with meeting someone that has you ‘bewitched’,” she spoke carefully, hoping that her son’s head wasn’t already full of outlandish plans already. “However, Pomni has already made her opinion of you quite clear. I will support you if you want to make amends with her, however I will put a cease to that if you try and force her to become yours.”

“Force her?!” Jax gasped, flabbergasted at his mother’s suggestion. Women would throw themselves at him without Jax doing nothing more that blink, how on earth did she think he was going to force Pomni to be his? “She’ll come running to me when I show her how charming I can be, before she leaves she will practically be begging me to marry her. It’s just as easy as that.”

“Jax,” Queenie shook her head with a disappointed frown, “Are you even listening to yourself? You barely know anything about having these types of feelings, how on earth do you plan on courting a girl if you don’t take them time to access yourself first?”

“Well judging how you and father say sappy crap to each other all the time and don’t end up gagging by how overly sweet it is, it’s probably not that hard,” Jax shrugged. His heart sunk at Queenie’s crestfallen expression. He went too far there. Motley gently purred into the queen’s chest, providing comfort for her hurt state.

Despite the saccharine display his parents put on, Jax could tell how much they treasured their love for one another. To insult their bond was an insult to his mother as well, and he hated making her feel awful. “I…mother forgive me,” Jax exhaled slowly, “I got caught up there, I didn’t mean that-”

The door burst open as a guard entered into the dining room, “Your highnesses. The markets have new products after the recent shipment. Would you care to be escorted into town today, or shall I have the servants search for something that you need?”

“I, I suppose it would be nice to go into town today,” Queenie turned to her son, her eyes giving a soft forgiving shine. “What do you think Jax?”

They were okay, Jax nearly sighed with relief. Seeing his mother upset was his own personal torture, and he hated every bit of it.

“I also wanted to inform you that the circus cast from last night are also in town today,” The guard informed them, “In case you have any words to say to them for their performance.”

Jax practically beamed at that, his grin nearly splitting his face. He cleared his throat, putting on a suave look and straightened his back. After all, he had a jester to court. “Well there’s no harm in saying hi to them, now is there?” he smirked, “I think a little trip sounds just delightful.”

Queenie paled. She recognised that smirk, Jax always wore that smirk when he was up to no good. “Jax…” Queenie drawled warningly.

“Go alert my father that we plan to leave as soon as possible, in case he wants to join,” Jax commanded the guard.

The soldier in question raised a brow at that, familiar with the young prince and his antics, before turning to the queen for her verdict.

Queenie sighed, once Jax’s mind was set that was no point in trying to change it. Besides, she really wanted to go out today. “Inform Kinger that we plan to leave soon,” she said, “I would hate for him to miss out on this.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the guard bowed, turning on his heel and walking out the door.

Queenie gave Jax a glare, a silent threat to not do anything stupid.

The prince gulped, whenever Queenie sent him that look it gave him nothing but sinking dread in the pit of his gut. He had a lot on the line today, not only risking it all to win Pomni’s affection, but also to make sure he didn’t suffer from his mother’s angered wrath as well. “D-don’t worry m-mother,” he stammered, “I promise that I have nothing but good intentions going forward.”

Queenie raised a brow as Motley let out a meow – Jax swore the little shit was mocking him. “As for you,” He picked up Motley and set him on the floor, “You’re staying here. The last thing we need for you is to get lost and become someone else’s pet.” Motley mewled, pawing at Jax’s leg with a pleading look on his face. “Nope, I’ve made up my mind. Your tricks aren’t working on me today.”

He turned to his mother, offering his arm out to her, “Shall we?”

Queenie sighed, letting out a little laugh at her son’s outlandish behaviour, “I suppose. But you better behave, got it young man?” She nearly growled.

“…Yes ma’am,” Jax whimpered pathetically.

Queenie patted his cheek, “Good. Now then, let’s go find your father before he chases after another butterfly for his collection. We don’t need a repeat of…last time.”

Jax shuddered at the memory, despite his own bug-like pranks, he certainly didn’t want to do what his father was capable of. “You and me both mother,” he nodded.

He hid the dopey grin that stretched on his features the more he thought about the jester, how he was going to spoil her, give her everything she could ever hope for and more, to do anything to make her his and his alone. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

.

.

.

To tell the truth, Pomni was nothing but nerves when to came to public situations. It was different whenever she was performing, she knew that by the end of the day – as long as she put on a smile and a good show – everything would turn out according to plan. When it came to actually being in a crowd full of people, she always felt like she was going to be sick. It wasn’t easy to put on a façade when there was no pre-planned performance. The thought of being around so many people, not knowing what they were like or what they would say, she could make one slight mistake and everything could go wrong.

She was a bit glad that Kaufmo insisted to come along, to read the signs on her face in case she had to get out of here. But another part of her felt guilty for doing that. She wanted to enjoy herself put in public, to not fear the next person coming here way, to not fear if they had any other ulterior motives. Why did her mind have to be like this? And she hated how she always dragged Kaufmo down with her, he deserved to have one day where he wasn’t constantly worrying over her, how did he not see her as a burden? She just wished could be…normal. But someone like her could never be normal, not in this lifetime anyway.

Still, she wasn’t going to waste her time dwelling on misery, life was too short for that. She remained glued by Moon and Ragatha’s sides, Kaufmo trailing behind them like a guard dog (a rather colourful guard dog but the intention was clear). She wanted to have fun, have a day to just be Pomni, not worrying about the performance for tonight and if it was perfect enough. That was for later, this was now.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Sun marvelling over cakes at the window of a bakery, his mouth watering at each flavour presented through the glass. Gangle and Zooble were at a flower stall, with the latter buying a rose the same colour as the ribboned woman and gifting it to her, making Gangle blush. Pomni smiled at the couple, maybe one day she would find someone to share a bond with like Zooble and Gangle.

She heard a small gasp, turning she noticed two young girls pointing at her while whispering excitedly. Pomni shook her head fondly, they must have recognised her from the show the other night. She gave them a small curtsy, the children become even more excited before bounding over to her. She was a little bit nervous with the sudden closeness and enthusiasm from the children, but Moon and Ragatha were behind her, making sure she was alright.

She was fine, all she got was a fright. “Hello,” she waved at the two girls, “Hope can I help you?”

“Hi miss!” The first girl squealed, “You were so pretty last night!”

“Why thank you,” Pomni cooed, “Did you two enjoy the show?”

“Yeah!” the second girl cheered, “You were my favourite! You were so sparkly and twisty!”

Pomni giggled, they must have been referring to her costumes and her dance flexibility on the aerial silks. It was the main highlights of her performance and what boosted audience numbers. She wasn’t surprised that the girls liked it so much. “I’m so glad you two had fun,” she grinned, her chest fluttering at the girl’s collective beaming faces.

“What you like one of our flower crowns?” the first girl asked, “It has pretty daises!”

Pomni placed both hands to her chest in a flattered manner, “I would love to have one of your flowers crowns.”

The girls jumped with glee, fishing into one of their satchels and pulling out a delicate daisy chain tied into a circle. Pomni lowered her head as they placed it on her hair, the whole interaction made her feel giddy and warm. After all, who didn’t love flower crowns? She never got to do that at their age, so there was something bittersweet having a chance to do this now. She was about to open her mouth to thank the girls for their gift, when a loud and brash voice made her flinch.

“I knew a crown would look good on you,” Prince Jax’s voice made her wince, “Just have it in gold and you’ll look like a real princess.”

Pomni took a breath, plastering on a face of fake kindness and concealed annoyance as she turned to the prince – Moon and Ragatha were protectively standing on each side of her as Kaufmo stood from a distance, ready to intervene in case anything happened. “Prince Jax,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“Your presence is enough for that little lady,” he grinned as she bristled at the nickname, “I was just making my way through town and decided to stop bye and say hi.”

“Well, now you did, so you can go now,” Pomni rolled her eyes and turned to face the girls again. Moon and Ragatha smirked while Kaufmo’s chest puffed proudly.

Jax faltered a bit, he didn’t want this conversation to end so soon! He ran up to her, dodging the ragdoll and Moon, ignoring Kaufmo’s icy glare and shoved himself in front of Pomni’s eyeline. “If you like, I could get you a little souvenir,” he offered suavely, “After all, daisies die pretty fast. Kind of a pathetic gift if you ask me. A little gold chain with a diamond would like nice around that pretty neck of yours.”

Pomni scowled at him, her anger growing more as she heard the two little girls’ sniffle at his insult. They were young, yes, but she knew about much effort must have gone into making this crown. And the fact that she never got to do this as a child only added fuel to the fire. “You have some nerve insulting the talents of your people,” she poked him harshly in the chest as a look of fear spread across the prince’s face. “This is a gift made from the gentle hands of the next generation of your kingdom, don’t you dare degrade this is present in front of them. And even if it were to die quickly, it only means I must cherish it more before that happens.”

“I-um,” Jax stammered, he was barely a minute into talking with her and he was already screwing up. He had to try a new tactic. With quick thinking, he ran over to the flower stall, blindly picked up a bouquet, slammed a few coins down and ran back over to Pomni. “Here,” he shoved the flowers into her face, making her splutter. “As an apology.”

After Pomni regained her bearings, she took a proper look at what was shoved in her face. Taking a note of the flowers in his hand, she gave him a deadpanned look, “Orange lilies and yellow carnations?”

Jax gave her a smug grin, looking as though he won the lottery, “From Prince Jax himself. You’re welcome.”

“They literally symbolise hatred and rejection,” said Pomni. Jax’s face fell, as though lightening struck through him at the realisation. “I think I’ll stick with my daisies.”

With that, she gave him a tight-lipped smile and walked away – but not before giving the two girls a warm hug and reassuring them that she loved her new flower crown.

Jax was about to go after her, until he was stopped by the death glares of Ragatha and Moon, as well and a tight grip on his shoulder. His eyes followed the hand attached to the arm, all the way to the furious gaze of Kaufmo. “I don’t give a damn if you’re royalty or not,” the clown growled, “But you will not disrespect my kid in front of me. Do I make myself clear?”

Jax gulped, the last thing he needed today was to be murdered by an overprotective clown, “Yes sir.”

“Good,” Kaufmo took his hand off, brushing it on his suit and walked away to find Pomni, Ragatha and Moon in tow.

Jax let out a breath, he never knew clowns could be that scary. He froze at the sound of a throat clearing, he groaned as he looked at Kinger and Queenie, disappointment etched on their faces with the royal guards standing behind them. “I ask for one thing Jax,” Queenie muttered, “One thing. For you to behave, and this is what you do?!”

“To be fair…this is me we’re talking about,” Jax gave them a nervous chuckle.

The couple’s expression didn’t change. “Come on,” Kinger sighed, “You’re sticking with us for the rest of the day.”

Jax whined, crossing his arms as he followed his parents and the guards. Queenie stuck by his side though, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “You know, the next time you want to impress a girl, keep the snide comments about simple gifts from children to yourself. You aren’t going to get anywhere if you keep up that attitude.”

Jax grumbled under his breath. But his mother did have a point though, they were just kids, he didn’t have to stoop so low. His stomach churned, hearing those whimpers from those little girls struck him in the heart, how could he be so cold-hearted? “You’re right mother, that wasn’t the best choice of words,” he admitted. Queenie’s eyes sparked a little bit, perhaps her son was finally taking the right step- “That’s why I’m going to spend so much fortune on Pomni and gift her anything she could ever ask for without commenting on the boring stuff she likes!”

Queenie’s face fell. Nope, Jax was still up his own ass.

.

.

.

The minute Jax was back in his room, he started writing a list. He wrote down everything he knew about how to woo a woman, and as someone who was quite popular with the ladies, he felt pretty confident with his abilities. Truly, he was a master of his craft. Once he was satisfied with his plan, he got to work, with Motley watching the trainwreck preparing itself from afar.

Firstly, he went to the best broker he could find and purchased the most beautiful, one-of-a-kind diamond that he had ever seen in his life. It was just as striking as Pomni’s perfect eyes. He had a servant deliver it to her, content that within a day’s time she would be coming to the castle to visit him. However, the servant had come back and instead of his jester, he returned with news that Pomni had sold the diamond to a local jewellery shop, where it was smashed to pieces and turned into lovely necklaces for the other women of the village.

Okay, so she wasn’t a fan of shiny things. It doesn’t matter, he still had a few plans up his sleeve.

Next, he took out a deposit of his spendings (it was at least enough to buy ten castles) and requested it to be sent to Pomni in her name for her to do what she pleased with it. His heart skipped a beat when he found out she accepted it, only for him to choke on his tongue when he found out that she had donated it all to the orphanage of the village. The only thing he received from her was a note telling him to ‘do something beneficial with his spendings since he had so much of it’.

He swooned over the fact that his little jester was so charitable, but he couldn’t ignore the irritation that came with it! He was going further beyond for her, yet she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. What else did he have to do to make her notice him?!

It continued like that, he would send her the most lavish, expensive gifts that would make any man or woman swoon, and every single time she either gave it away or returned it. Jax was starting to get on his last nerve, she was going to notice his affections one way or another. He still had one more plan, and if this didn’t work (which it would!) then he was truly at a loss.

The next day, he gave instructions to the royal announcer. A royal banquet was going to be held at the castle tonight, with Jax wanting nothing more than to have Pomni to be his plus one for the evening. Maybe it was a bit of a jerk move to announce this publicly, but he was just so desperate to see her again, he was willing to do anything just to catch a glimpse of her lovely face.

He awaited patiently, so sure that his plan was going to work. When the announcer came back, there was a smug grin on the prince’s lips, expecting for him to say that his jester would be attending tonight. However, the situation was much more different than the prince had hoped. When the news went out to the public that Prince Jax wanted to invite Pomni to the banquet, she had merely given the announcer a simple bow and replied:

“I appreciate the invitation, but I will have to decline the prince’s offer and his lack of planning ahead.”

Jax felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach.

She rejected his invite! In public no less! It was one thing to reject an invite to such a regal occasion, but to reject a royal? That was the biggest humiliation that anyone could ever do to royalty! It would leave a mark on his reputation! The only prince known in all the lands to be rejected for all the kingdom to see.

And this is where it left him now, alone at the banquet, swirling a glass of wine as he mumbled to himself. “It was the diamond, I should’ve gotten her the ruby,” he muttered under his breath, “Diamonds are overrated anyways. I don’t understand, I’m great with courting, how could anyone-”

“You know, you can tap a cocoon as many times as you want, the butterfly still won’t come out,” he jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice as she walked up to him.

“Mother,” he gasped, “You can’t keep surprising me like that!”

“Just like how you can’t keep pushing this girl to be with you,” Queenie crossed her arms over her chest, “Honestly Jax. Out of all the ideas you have had in your entire life, announcing to the public to make Pomni join you for tonight has got to be your most ridiculous one yet! Honestly, I don’t blame her for rejecting you, someone had to hit you with common sense eventually!”

“I-I, but!” Jax stammered, but deep down he knew his mother was right. Karma had to hit him eventually, and it hit him with the most alluring, beautiful, one-of-a-kind songbird that fluttered into his heart, only for her to be completely out of his reach. He sighed, “I just… I never felt this way for anyone before.”

“Really?! I couldn’t tell with the way you were constantly making a fool of yourself!” she ignored Jax’s gaping mouth towards her, continuing her speech. “She has expressed to you multiple times that she isn’t interested with what you have to offer Jax! Either you cease these attempts or you actually find something that will let her see you in a different light!”

“How?! If this is all that I can offer her, then it’s already too late for me. You know it, you see it! I’m nothing but a reckless prince who keeps ruining things for myself,” Jax’s shoulder’s tensed, taking a breath while feeling his heart twist in his chest as his eyes drifted down to the ground. “For the first time something finally good came my way and I already messed it up. But I don’t want to let her go.”

Queenie’s shoulders sagged, her face twisting somberly, “You already have so many good things Jax. I wish you could see it too.”

Jax was about to open his mouth to ask what she meant, but Queenie was already walking away. He stared at the wine in his cup, watching the bubbles rise to the top. Through the glass, he could see the other guests spying on him, whispering to one another while pointing at him.

He knew they were talking about his most recent blunder with Pomni, and as much as it hurt, it wasn’t the first time the upper class had gossiped about him. Even before his pranks, before his reputation as the ‘disaster heir of Laphria’, ever since he was a child every lord, duke and count always had their opinions and comments about of him, none of them friendly.

Jax scoffed at them, he didn’t care. At least now that he was older he had a reason for them to talk nothing but rubbish about him, instead of simply being a child.

He took a swig of his wine, it was going to be a long night.

.

.

.

My nana says I have travelling feet

Travelling feet, travelling feet

Slippers for princesses don't fit me

But I dance to my own drum, bright and bold

And my travelling feet always get me home

Pomni strummed her guitar in the dressing room, fully decked in her costume and waiting for the performance to start later. She always got nervous before a show (especially after the public invite she received from the prince) but her music always calmed her down.

My sister says I've a restless soul

Restless soul, restless soul

Easy to catch, but I'm hard to hold

Like a song on the wind that you caught one day

I get under your skin, then I slip away

Gangle, Zooble, Moon and Ragatha were in there as well, adding the last touches to their costumes while listening to Pomni’s song. The girl had come a long way, for better and for worse, but her music was one of the things that gave the circus members hope. After what they went though, they could all use it.

I'm a map of the world and the ones before

One foot in sea and one on shore

Every step, every hope flung high

I'm a map of them all with my Irish eyes

“That’s coming along really well Pomni!” Gangle clapped as Pomni finished up.

The jester smiled, resting her head on the side of her guitar as she faced the rest of the group, “It still has some polishing but it’s becoming a new favourite of mine.”

“I’m glad you have something to focus on after that whole mess earlier,” Moon sneered at the memory of the announcer, feeling nothing but fury at the prince for trying to pressure Pomni to join him. “It took bravery to decline such a heavy offer Pomni.”

Pomni cringed, “I don’t understand, what on earth does the prince see in me for him to keep running back! I mean, you’d think he’d take a hint after what I said to him the first time I saw him! But no, he just wants to keep being annoying. Ugh, men are the worst thing in this realm.”

“Agreed,” Ragatha nodded, “Men are only born with half a brain with not a lot going on in there.”

“I don’t know,” Zooble shrugged, “Granted, women are better. But you seem pretty passionate about someone you find annoying Pomni.”

“W-what?!” Pomni stuttered, nearly dropping the guitar, “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You know, if you really hate him Pomni you wouldn’t be talking about him this much,” Zooble grinned, crossing her arms over her chest.

Gangle gasped, an excited grin gracing her mask, “It’s true! Pomni, you can say you like him, we won’t judge!”

“I-I, no! I don’t ­like him! That’s absurd!” Pomni stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“Exactly, there’s no way that prince even deserves Pomni,” Ragatha nodded.

“Honestly, you and Zooble might be so head over heels with one another that you both are making up stories in your head!” Moon frowned, shaking her head.

“Or maybe we’re able to see the obvious,” Zooble chuckled.

“No! No! You don’t see anything!” Pomni squeaked. “Besides, Jax is not my type at all! He’s so loud and rude. And has a terrible sense of humour. And struts as if he owns the place. And he has untamed, wild eyes…that shine. And he’s always smiling no matter what’s thrown his way. And his smile, its so…” She trailed off, whipping her head up when she noticed Zooble’s shit eating grin, Gangle’s giddy face and the shocked looks that Ragatha and Moon shared. “…It’s so annoying! I mean come on!”

Her eyes darted between everyone, no one was buying her excuse. “I’m getting some air!” she huffed, setting her guitar down and running out of the dressing room.

Once she was at a good distance, she climbed the nearest rope connected to the ceiling, balancing and swinging on it slightly before jumping onto a nearby trapeze swing. She sighed with relief, despite her anxiety, the vertigo from being up so high was enough to distract her. She smiled a little bit, from up here she could see half of behind the tent and the audience were starting to flood the seats.

Her mind went back to what Zooble said, more so what they said about Jax. Her?! Like him?! How could she ever like him?! They were so different and he oozed nothing but a ‘higher than thou’ attitude, something she despised. She hated him, yup that was her final verdict, she hated him.

But unfortunately Gangle was right, she couldn’t get him out of here head.

She groaned, why couldn’t the rabbit prince get out of her head?!

“Did you hear about Prince Jax?”

Pomni perked up, looking down at the crowd. There was a group of young adults around her age, from the fine fabrics and jewels they wore that had to be belonging to quite prestigious families.

There were two young women and men, each one of them wearing vicious smirks. “This has to be his most embarrassing blunder yet.”

Pomni frowned, she didn’t like their tones at all.

“As if he wasn’t an embarrassment enough,” the first man sneered, “Honestly, I can’t believe that the crown will be going to him.”

“Marriage into the crown is the only saving quality of that man,” the first woman giggled, “That and his parties.”

“Imagine how low you have to sink to be like that,” the second man cackled, “Only being good for parties and nights in the sheets.”

The second woman whacked his arm with her fan, “Don’t talk about such topics in public!”

“He isn’t wrong though,” the first woman pointed out, “He was so desperate to lose his virtue, such a pig!”

Pomni’s heart sank. She only heard the village talk about the prince, his recklessness and pranks and all that, but was this how the upper crust talked about him? He probably had to spend every day with these types of people coming into the castle, did he hear every bit of it in the hallways?

“What else do we expect from an orphan bastard,” the second man sneered, “Only taken in because the royal family felt pity for him. Only one with peasant blood could act so foolishly.”

Pomni saw red. That was the final straw. To think so lowly of someone just because they had no blood relation to royalty, out of all the things to not like about the prince, that was what they hated the most?! He couldn’t control not being born into status! And each comment that they made was an indirect insult to the king and queen taking in a child from the kindness of their hearts!

In fact, having this knowledge made her understand Jax a little bit more, was this why he acted out the way he did? From hearing these comments all the time? After all, she knew better than anyone about being taken care of by someone with no blood connected to them, she didn’t know if she would even be here today if it wasn’t for Kaufmo.

She glared at the ignorant cluster below her, she wasn’t going to let them get away with this.  

She looked up, on the platform next to Moon and Sun’s tightrope, she could see the bucket of water that was typically dumped onto Kaufmo’s head at the beginning of his act. She titled the swing, giving it a bit of momentum before swing over onto the tightrope. She jumped, balancing carefully before tiptoeing over to the platform. She picked up the bucket of water, searched for the group again before dumping the water over them, soaking their clothes and makeup.

They let out ear-piercing screeches, demanding who did this. Pomni jumped back onto her swing, hidden in the shadows as she bit back a giggle. That would teach them a lesson for their vile little words.

She froze when she heard a throat clear, looking back behind the tent, she saw Kaufmo with his arms crossed while frowning. Damn it, he saw what she did.

“Uh…the water was dirty?” she gave him a nervous laugh.

His face didn’t move a muscle. Oh I’m in big trouble “I’m sorry Pa.”

.

.

.

There was so much smoke.

So much fire.

She couldn’t breathe, the smoke was too much.

There was no one there.

Where did everyone go?

She couldn’t be alone.

She can’t be alone.

“Ma!”

There was no answer.

No body

No life.

“Ma where are you?!”

Pomni woke in a cold sweat. She took in her surroundings, she was in the inn, sleeping after another show. She wasn’t a five-year-old girl anymore, she wasn’t stuck in a burning town with faded memories. She was here, she was safe.

She rubbed her face, the nightmares would always change, but they would never become dreams and they would never go away. There had been nights while she was more than willing to sacrifice her sleep, but it only resulted in passing out during the middle of the day. Nothing but a viscous cycle that she couldn’t escape from.

She contemplated getting her guitar out, but she didn’t want to risk waking anyone. She hated it when she got like this, she was nothing but a burden that everyone else was forced to carry. She was weak and stupid and a coward and-

Smash!

She screamed when the glass of her window smashed, a hooded figure climbing in with a knife and rope.

Pomni’s stomach sank. No, no I can’t go back.

She reached under her pillow, pulling out a knife of her own. The hooded man came forward to hit her, she blocked his attack and kicked him away. He let out a yell as he was pushed back. Pomni jumped off the bed as he began to stand back up, slashing her knife on her arms every time he lunged to her.

She raised her knife again, only for her door to be kicked down by another figure. They grabbed her arms, forcing her to drop the knife. The first stranger handed the rope to his associate as they reached into their pockets for something else. “Thought you had her under control,” the second figure spat.

“Don’t blame me,” the first one retorted, “Caine didn’t say how much of a spitfire she was.”

The name sent a shiver down Pomni’s spine. “Help! Somebody hel-” her cries were cut off when the first figure wrapped a gag around her mouth, muffling her screams.

“The pay before make up for this,” the second growled, “I got every mind to cut this little bitch’s fingers off.”

“Easy, Caine said he wanted her in one piece,” the first told him, “Just keep your eyes on the prize and we’ll be fine.”

Pomni heard more screams and crashes coming from outside her room. The others, they were in danger to. She tried to escape from her captor’s hold, but they were too strong as they wrapped the rope around her wrists and dragged out of the room.

She paled as she saw the rest of the circus crew being dragged out of their rooms, with staff members of the inn trying to stop them. In the midst of the ruckus, her captors managed to drag her away and outside into the pouring rain. The first figure pulled him onto his horse, with the second one hoisting Pomni behind him.

“Remember,” the second one spoke, “Meet Caine in the middle of the woods, that’s where he’s doing the pick-up.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” the first nodded, whipping his reigns and taking off.

Pomni could only struggle as she watched the inn grow smaller and smaller, while her heart spiked and panic washed over her.

She can’t be a prisoner again.

She can’t let that happen.

She won’t let that happen.

.

.

.

The royal family was awoken in the middle of the night, an emergency was afoot and it needed their full attention.

Jax rubbed sleep from his eyes as he followed his parents into the throne room. This had better be good if he was rudely awoken.

“Your majesties,” a guard bowed, “The innkeeper has requested immediate help, her inn is under attack.”

The fur on Jax’s neck stood, that’s where Pomni was.

“Word has it that they call themselves the gloinks, a group of bounty hunters that has raided many kingdoms before,” the guard continued, “We managed to send over as many as we could to arrest them and they managed to intervene before anyone was hurt. But one already got away with a victim.”

No, no, no, no, no, no. Please don’t tell me its-

“They took the jester from the circus.”

Jax was numb, the rest of the world falling silent.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his parents worrying and giving out instructions of what to do. But Jax? He already had a plan. Get Pomni back.

And so, he ran.

“Jax!” Kinger yelled out to him, “Jax!”

“Jax where are you going?!” Queenie shouted.

He ignored them, he had to. Someone kidnapped Pomni, and they were going to pay.

He ran all the way to the stables, pulling a nearby coat off the rack as he took out his horse. He didn’t bother with a saddle, he had ridden plenty of times without one. Maybe he would get in trouble for disobeying his parents later, but he didn’t care. What mattered right now was Pomni’s safety.

He took hold off his horse’s mane as he took off, running out of the stables and towards the gate.

“Open the gate!” he shouted to whoever was there.

At his command, they opened.

“Come on boy,” he told his horse, “We gotta go!”

The horse galloped faster and faster, running past the gates and into the town.

He had to pick up the pace, Pomni’s captor was probably reaching the edge of the village. There was one thing he knew, tonight, he was getting Pomni back.

.

.

.

Pomni struggled with her binds, her kidnapper’s horse was starting to near the forest. She couldn’t go back to Caine, not when freedom was at her grasp. She closed her eyes and focused, blue mist levitating from her hands. She focused on the knot on the rope, letting the mist carefully pull it out. It took time and patience, but she managed to get it to slip out.

She pulled the rope off, taking the gag off and was about to jump off the horse when an arm grabbed her. “Oh no you don’t!” her captor growled, “You ain’t getting away that easily!”

“I’m not going back!” she screamed, “You can tell Caine to go fuck himself!”

She raised a hand, scratching him in the face, leaving behind three bleeding streaks across his skin. “You stupid cunt!” he screamed.

He struck Pomni across the face. The momentum sending her off the horse, hitting the back of her head on a rock. “Fuck!” he jumped off, going over to her, “Shit, Caine’s gonna kill me!”

“Not before I kill you first.”

A fist grabbed the back of the captor’s hood, and he met the striking yellow and furious eyes of Prince Jax. He swore death was staring right back at him.

Jax used his other hand to grab the captor by the throat, lifting him above the ground. Jax grinned as he watched writhe in pain, scratching at his hands for air. He felt no mercy for this son of a bitch, he put his filthy hands on Pomni. He was going to pay. He slammed the captor against a tree, his head collecting with the trunk as he passed out. Jax threw him to the ground, he would deal with him later. There were more important matters at hand.

“Pomni!” he rushed over to her, kneeling to the ground and putting her head on his lap. When he pulled his hand away, his heart twisted as the sight of blood on his fingertips. Carefully lifting her head, he saw a nasty gash bleeding in the back of her head. He had to get her to a healer and fast. He pulled his jacket off, tearing off a sleeve and wrapped it round her add, making sure it applied pressure to the wound and ceased the bleeding.

He slid his arms under her waist and back, pulling her into his embrace and let her head rest on his shoulder as he stood. He carried her over to his horse, lifting them both up as he cradled her. He could see the rest of the guards coming, they could deal with her captor. For now, Pomni needed medical attention.

Without missing a beat, his horse tore off back to the castle, Jax keeping one hand on his mane and the other wrapped around Pomni to steady her. “Come on boy, come on!” he grunted, the horse snorting back as he ran as fast as he could.

Relief flooded him the moment the castle gates were in sight, opening at the first sight of the prince. Jax jumped off the horse as he slowed to a spot, keeping Pomni in his arms as he ran to the doors of the castle.

The guards positioned outside immediately opening the doors once they saw the royal and the injured jester, not wasting a moment so he could get her inside.

“Medic! I need a medic!” Jax yelled out, running up the marbled stairs.

The servants rushed out at the sound of the prince’s voice, gasping at the sight of Pomni and led them both quickly to a guest room.

Jax gently lay her on the plush bed, a few maids rushing over with bowls of water and towels. “She hit her head,” he told them, “I tried to add pressure to stop the blood but I’m not sure if it did enough.”

He unwrapped the makeshift bandage, tossing it aside before grabbing one of the wet towels to press it against the wound. A maid took it from him, pressing against it instead. He didn’t want to stand there doing nothing, Pomni was hurt and he was hanging around like a useless fly. “Blankets, do we have blankets?!” he turned to another servant, fear and desperation in his eyes.

They must’ve noticed, for they didn’t waste time pointing to a nearby cupboard. Jax rushed over, pulling out every blanket he could find and placed it on Pomni’s shivering body. “Hang in there Pomni,” his hands began to shake, there was more blood. He couldn’t lose her, not after treating her the way he did. His mother was right, now he was paying the price.

A doctor rushed in, medical bag in hand and ready to get to work. Jax’s stomach flipped when he heard Pomni letting out a whimper in her unconscious state. “Be careful with her!” he growled.

He felt a hand pulling him back by the shoulder, he flinched, shoving it away, only to soften that it was his father with his mother behind him. “Pomni is in good with hands with the doctor,” Kinger placed his hand back on Jax’s shoulder, “You got her here in time, let him do his work.”

“I can’t do nothing,” Jax interrupted, “Not when she’s hurt like this! I have to, I need to-”

“Ma,”

Everyone turned to the voice. Pomni wasn’t awake, but a tear slid down her cheek as she shifted in her slumber. “Ma,” her voice cracked, “Ma I’m stuck. Where are you?”

Jax’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Seeing and hearing Pomni so vulnerable, stripped of the glam and sass she wore, leaving behind a broken and frightened person instead. It made the guilt ten times worse. He felt himself sway, his head was pounding and his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest from how hard it was beating. Queenie immediately noticed, already wrapping her arms around her son and led him to a cushioned chair in the corner of the room.

“Pomni, she needs my help, she…” he murmured.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’ve done enough,” Queenie reassured him, running a hand over his ears, “Rest, she’s going to be okay.”

Jax wanted to protest, to insist that he was fine, to be by Pomni’s side. But the promise of sleep was too strong to ignore. And so, he shut his eyes. He’d wake up later, then he would help Pomni.

.

.

.

Kaufmo couldn’t stop trembling. When the inn was under attack, he was roughly grabbed out of his bed and shoved against a wall, leaving him with a bleeding forehead and a black eye. The blood was ringing in his ears and his vision was blurred, but what he did notice was Pomni screaming and tied up as she was dragged away.

He wanted to reach out for her, to give hell to those who hurt his kid, but the pain was too much and his attacker was too strong to escape from. Just hearing the cries of his family, and the fear of…him finding them. It was too much.

He thanked whatever god was up there when the palace guards came, saving them from the gloinks. But it was short-lived, with Pomni being the first thing on his mind. Out of everyone in the circus, it was his kid who had the highest bounty on her head.

He nearly cried when the news of Pomni being safe at the castle arrived to him, but what shocked him was who saved her. Prince Jax. Never in all his days did he think that the arrogant prince would care for anyone’s wellbeing other than his own. Nevertheless, Pomni was Kaufmo’s first priority, he wanted to get to the castle as soon as possible.

And this was where he stood now, in the throne room with the rest of the circus behind him, all praying for Pomni to be okay. The king and queen trekked into the room, Kaufmo running as soon as he saw them. “Where’s Pomni? What happened to her? Is she okay?” tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t care, his kid was all that mattered.

“It’s okay,” Queenie spoke, “Pomni is safe, she hit her head but we had a doctor attend to her and she is recovering in a guest room.”

Kaufmo let out a giant sigh of relief. All tension leaving him the second the news was told to him. Pomni was okay, they got to her in time.

“However it does leave a question,” Kinger said, his tone serious and avoid of any other emotion, “Why were the gloinks targeting Pomni directly? What’s going on with you all?”

Kaufmo paled, the rest of the circus matching his expression. They had a feeling that after what happened, this question would arise. After all, this wasn’t a normal attack. The gloinks were infamous for their bounty hunting, always demanding the highest pay for whoever that had to go after. So why go after a simple jester?

“Kaufmo?” Ragatha walked towards him, placing a hand on his back, a silent question if he really wanted to get into this mess.

“It’s okay, they have to know,” Kaufmo took a breath to prepare himself, he could so this. “Our circus wasn’t always like this, and I wasn’t always the ringmaster. Many years ago, I wanted to be a clown for my whole life. Performing in a circus was always my dream. But no matter who I went to, they would never hire me. I was going to give up until I met a man named Caine. He was starting a circus of his own and he had everything, except a clown. He practically hired me on the spot, I was so excited that I was willing to look past any warning that were blaring.

It was fine at first, the audience liked my jokes, it was good pay and I got to travel all over the land. However, after a year of being there, I was ready to go home and see my family. But when I tried to leave, that was when I saw Caine’s true colours. The moment I stepped out of that tent, I was attacked by Caine’s hunters. It was then when I learned that no one could leave, and even if you tried, Caine would send his men after you. Either you get attacked, but if you attempted to leave multiple times…I know many members who chose death rather than stay.”

“That’s how Caine tricks people,” Moon spoke up, “He offered me a home for me and my brother. I even fell in love with him. But when I saw what he was doing, I tried to get help. I made it about three feet before his hunters came after me.”

“He said he would help my family,” Ragatha rubbed her arm nervously, “We were poor and he said he would pay for anything as long as I stayed in the circus. I haven’t seen my family in five years.”

“I wanted to run away with the circus, escape from the harm that was in my town,” Gangle sniffed, Zooble wrapped an arm around her, “I never thought how much worse it could get.”

“It went on like that for so long,” Kaufmo continued. “For years we were nothing but puppets for Caine as he fed off our talents. If we weren’t sleeping, we were either rehearsing or performing. And if we showed the slightest sign of fatigue, he’d unleash his fury on us. It only got worse when Pomni arrived. Pomni…I’ll let her tell her story. But she was the youngest out of all of us. She was five when Caine stole her. I took her under my wing, protecting her from Caine. But Pomni was different than the rest of us, her talents are…unique to say the least. It was what attracted audiences however, and as long as Pomni had that power, there was no way Caine was ever going to let her go.

“That was where I came in,” Zooble spoke up. “When the circus arrived in my area, I already had my suspicions. That was when I met Gangle, she told me what happened and I knew I couldn’t do nothing. So I came up with a plan to get them out. I would pretend that I wanted to be in Caine’s show while trying to get everyone out. It took a few buddies of mine and some help from my village, but it worked.”

“We managed to get the enforcers of the town and alert them of what was happening and then managed to detain Caine…at least for a while,” Kaufmo’s face fell. “A while ago, we heard news that Caine had managed to escape, but what really scared us the most was that he didn’t want any of us. Just Pomni. She was irreplaceable, so we’ve been on the run ever since. As long as Caine’s out there, none of us are free.”

Queenie and Kinger stood there, shellshock keeping them frozen in place. How could anyone react any differently to that information?! They wanted to so badly to ask about Pomni, but they knew that they shouldn’t pry her story from others. It was hers and only hers to share. “I appreciate you telling us this, I can’t imagine what you all have gone through,” Queenie told them, nothing but kindness and sincerity in her tone.

“Rest assured,” Kinger straightened up, “We will do everything in our power to make sure Caine doesn’t come near you ever again.”

“But how?!” Kaufmo cried out, “We’ve done everything in our power to get rid of him and he still manages a way to find us! We’re lucky to be alive at this point!”

“Believe my husband and I when I say that Caine will not get away with these crimes,” Queenie informed them. “For your safety, including Pomni’s, we advise you to stay within the castle walls under Caine is no longer a threat. Our soldiers are highly trained to deal with these types of threats. Worry not, your freedom is going to be granted soon.”

Kaufmo opened his mouth and closed it. Freedom? Was it really that possible for him? Would his daughter finally be rid of that monster? Maybe he was getting his hopes up, but by the end of the day, it was still hope. And as long as Pomni was safe, he would take it. “Thank you, your majesties, thank you,” Kaufmo shuddered, feeling a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time.”

“Of course,” Kinger nodded, “Once Pomni has arisen, we’ll let you see her. As for now, we’ll have your belongings transferred over to the castle. Please, breathe, you are all safe here.”

The circus members looked to one another, was it really possible? Would they finally have a life without fear? All they knew was one thing, as long as Caine didn’t get his hands on Pomni, then they could all finally breathe.

.

.

.

Pomni stirred lightly, her head thundering with pain. She was half tempted to go back to sleep, this bed was the softest she had ever slept in. She eyes shot open, the bed at the inn wasn’t normally this soft. When the bleariness cleared, she could see that she was laid upon the most luxurious sheets she had ever slept in, along with sleek silky pillows that cooled the heat rising upon her flushed skin. As her eyes travelled, they landed upon red wallpaper with embroidered gold stems and leaves, her gaze drifted to the side as she spied some type of curtains tied to each side of the bed.

She lifted herself up into a sitting position, ignoring her throbbing head as she took in more of her surroundings. She was still wondering how she got here, in fact, her memories were just as fuzzy in her. Then, in a flash, it came back to her.

The nightmares.

The break in.

The cries of her family.

The fear of seeing Caine.

The agony of her head hitting the rock…

And then Jax was there. His touch soft and his voice gentle as he lifted her and carried her back to the castle. Jax…saved me.

Pomni turned, gasping faintly as she saw the prince in a chair next to her. The castle she realised to herself I’m in the castle. Jax’s head was resting on the side of the bed as his breathing evenly flowed in and out. She smiled a bit, he looked so innocent like this. Stripped of his brashness and confidence, a small glimpse of Jax was peeking out to her. She was half tempted to brush her fingers through the fur of his ears, but quickly decided against that. He was a prince for goodness’ sake, how improper would that be.

She flinched at the sound of small pattering feet. She had a feeling she was safe due to the heavy protection surrounding the castle, but even that couldn’t keep the nerves at bay. She held the blankets closer to her, as though they would act as some sort of shield. All that worry melted away into awe once she saw the sweet brown eyes of a kitten starting up at her as he wandered into the room.

“Aw!” she cooed, “Hi little kitty!”

The kitten meowed, his tail wagging slowly as he made his way over to the jester. Pomni patted the bed, gesturing for the feline to come up. His claws caught into the sheets, making his way up until he joined Pomni on the mattress. Unable to resist, she scooped his up into her arms, with the little kitten rubbing his head against her cheek as he purred. “You’re just the sweetest little thing, aren’t you?” she scratched behind his ears.

Mew

She pressed a small kiss on his nose, he was just so cute!

Unbeknownst to the duo, the movement and noise that they were making made the prince stir a bit.  

Jax let out a low grumble, the back of his neck aching after sleeping in this horrible position. But he didn’t want to leave Pomni’s side for a moment. Just in case she woke up or something happened to her in her sleep. No, he had to be here. Even if he resigned himself to sleep in a terrible way, Pomni mattered more.

He could feel something move next to him, along with the sound of coos and tiny meows. Wait a minute, he recognised those meows. He straightened up immediately, ignoring the neck ache. Pomni jumped at how quickly got up, hugging Motley closer to her.

“You’re awake!” Jax’s mouth split into a relieved grin, “Are you okay, nothing hurts does it? Do you need anything? Another blanket, water?”

Pomni blinked with confusion at the prince’s many questions. He seemed so…sweet? He did save her life, but still, seeing this side of him was so jarring. “Um, I’m fine thanks,” she smiled awkwardly.

He ran to the door, not wanting to waste a single moment longer, “Doctor! She’s awake!”

It wasn’t long before the doctor came in, checking her over and making sure she was alright, informing her about her extended stay in the castle and the search for Caine. However, all her focus seemed to be on Jax. When the doctor asked for a cool towel for her flushed face, Jax was eager to fetch it. When a breeze through the window made her shiver, he was quick to close it. And when the maid was setting up a tray of breakfast for her, Jax dropped everything to help her. Even the servants and doctors seemed perplexed by his behaviour. What happened to the mischievous prince who made sure to make his crudeness his reputation?

When the buzz died down, the doctor informed Pomni to stay in bed and that he would fetch her family.

Her family. They were safe, it relieved some tension that she didn’t even know she had. It was when Jax turned to leave that she did something that puzzled both of them. “Wait!” she called out. The prince turned back, did she want him to stay? “I-I just…why did you save me?”

Jax was taken aback by that question, staring at her as though the answer was obvious, “I couldn’t just let them take you. Bounty hunters invaded my kingdom and kidnapped one of our visitors. Besides, you hold value to your family and circus. They need you in their lives.”

“R-right, well what I wanted to say was…thank you,” her smile made his heart turn to melted gold. So soft yet so delicate and beautiful. It was burned into the prince’s memory.

“Y-you’re welcome Pomni,” Jax stuttered, sitting himself back down on the chair. He gulped, not once in his life did he get so tongue-tied over another person. It was certainly an interesting feeling to say the least. “And I should apologise for sending you those gifts and the announcement in the town square. Please believe me when I say that I didn’t aim to make you uncomfortable. How does my mother put it? My heart can be bigger than my brain sometimes. But I’m sorry that you had to witness it.”

It was Pomni’s turn to be taken aback. She had never heard words so genuine and sincere, especially with it coming from someone she always saw as pompous and crude. She cleared her throat, “I appreciate the apology your highness. It may take me a while to fully forgive you, but you’ve made a good start already.”

“Jax,” he said.

She hummed questioningly.

“Call me Jax,” he clarified.

“Oh! Well, thank you Jax,” she ran her fingers along the kitten’s fur, listening to him purr to fill the pleasant silence.

“Ah, I see you met Motley,” Jax poked the feline’s nose.

“Motley?” Pomni tilted her head.

“My cat,” he clarified.

Pomni let out a gasp, excitement washing over her. “This is your cat?!” she beamed, holding the kitten up to her face, “He’s adorable.” She pressed little kisses over his small face, Motley purring louder at the affection.

Jax grumbled, ignoring the twinge of jealously, “He’s an obnoxious little shit.”

Pomni scoffed at him, “No he’s not! He’s a sweet little gentleman.”

“He broke in here and decided that this place was gonna be his home,” Jax retorted back, “I didn’t get a say in the matter.”

“But how could you say no to this cute face?” Pomni held Motley closer to Jax’s face, the kitten pressing a paw to the prince’s nose.”

“He’s quite…persuading. But you won’t like him when he’s taking a bath, trust me,” Jax said.

Pomni rolled her eyes, cuddling the kitten again. Jax smiled softly, it was sweet to see her bonding with Motley, after what happened she could use this little interaction to help lift her spirits.

They paused for a moment, Jax letting Pomni take small bites of her breakfast while he prepared some tea for her. He had requested chamomile from the maids, it was what helped him for whenever he had a sick day and he hoped it would help Pomni as well. Once Pomni’s plate was cleared, he gently put the mug in her hands and took away the breakfast tray. She hummed appreciatively at the warm drink, watching Jax’s carefully stack everything together and taking it to the door. It was quite the sight to see, a prince waiting beck and call for a commoner. But she wasn’t complaining, it was rather comforting to be taken care of.

Throughout the silence, simple questions being traded back and forth between the two. “So tell me, how do you know so much about flowers?” Jax asked, “You know, after my abysmal attempt of trying to give some to you.”

Pomni laughed, it was quite funny looking back at it now, “My ma-…my family always loved flowers, they taught me everything there was to know about them. My favourite was always roses, it might be cliché but there are so many meanings to come out of one flower depending on the colour.”

“I see,” Jax murmured, even the smallest thing about Pomni meant the world to him. She was just so fascinating.

“And you,” Pomni spoke, “What is your favourite pastime?”

“Well…I have a passion for reading,” he told her, “Ever since I was young I’ve always had a fondness for books about adventures and swashbuckling pirates! Every page was a new journey and I wanted to devour it all! I wanted to live that life more than ever.”

“That does sound amazing,” she mused, “I haven’t been to a library in so long…” she trailed off. Jax’s face fell slightly, reaching his hand out to her. Pomni noticed the sudden change in mood and smiled again, “But it’s alright, I’m sure I will one day.”

Jax nodded, keeping her sentence locked in his mind. He’d have to come back to that later.

Pomni bit her lip, another question had been burning at the back of her mind and it had made her more curious than she thought she should be. She turned to Jax, “I have to ask, why did you want to see me so badly? What did I do that made you so infatuated?”

Jax blinked, resting his arms on his legs as he clasped his hands together. He took a breath, his face serious as he answered her, “I know it might sound ridiculous, and you’re allowed to laugh. But in all honesty, it was your voice.”

Pomni perked up, her eyes wide, “My voice?”

“Yeah,” Jax nodded, “The moment you started singing, I just wanted to know more about you. You were telling a story simply through song, but you were only telling the first chapter. I got impatient and wanted to read more. From the first note, I knew that there was more to you that I had to know. I just…didn’t go about it the right way at first.” He let out a nervous chuckled, only to freeze when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!”

“No, no, you didn’t,” she let out a choked laugh, wiping the tear away, “In fact, you said exactly what I needed to hear.”

Motley rubbed his head against her arm, offering as much comfort as possible. Jax placed his hand on hers, “Pomni, if I act or say anything stupid just say the word. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a massive idiot.”

Pomni giggled, her face twisting into one of mock surprise, “Really, I had no idea!”

Jax rolled his eyes fondly, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up short stack.”

She snorted, about to say another word when the room was suddenly flooded by the circus members. Each one of them fretting over her and checking if she was okay. “Guys! I’m fine!” she reassured them, Motley scrambling out of the crowd and ran over to Jax.

The rabbit picked him up, giving the circus cast their space as they reunited with Pomni. “You scared me to death kiddo!” Kaufmo squeezed her, “I thought they got you!”

“I’m okay Pa,” she rested her head on his shoulder, “I gave them a piece of my mind before Jax saved me.”

Kaufmo froze, slowly turning to the prince. “You saved my kid?” he asked.

Jax gulped, he still hadn’t forgotten the clown’s terrifying threat, “Yes?”

Kaufmo hummed in thought, it seemed that he judged the prince a bit too harshly. But only a little bit, he didn’t regret chewing him out. “Thank you, your highness,” he gave Jax a simple bow, “It’s good to know that our safety is taken seriously by you.”

“O-of course,” Jax stuttered. He had fought and won battles against much more frightening opponents, how did a clown seem worse than that?

Kaufmo turned his attention back to Pomni, running his hand over her wound and cringing at the sight. He sat on the bed next to Pomni, the girl leaning into her father’s hug as the rest of the circus members watched over them.

Jax decided to take this as a que to leave and give them their privacy. He was just about to head out the room when he was stopped by Pomni’s voice, “Jax!”

He paused, turning back to her.

“Thank you, again,” Pomni smiled at him, “For what you did.”

Jax grinned, feeling a sense of pride fill him. But it wasn’t the usual arrogance he’d come to expect, there was a warmth to it, and a flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Holding Motley in one arm, he gave the jester a bow, “Always. If you’d like, once you’ve recovered, I could give you a tour of the castle?”

“I’d like that,” Pomni nodded.

And with that, Jax took his leave, fully aware of the stabbing glares of Kaufmo, Moon and Ragatha on his back, never did he expect to feel such danger from a circus crew.

Pomni bit her lip shyly, fisting the sheets below her hands before looking up to meet Gangle’s giddy smile and Zooble’s teasing gaze. “So, you got yourself a date with the prince huh?” Zooble chortled.

“S-shut up!” Pomni threw a pillow at him, making them laugh harder. She sighed, that prince really wormed himself into her heart, didn’t he?

Song Credit: Irish Eyes by Rose Betts

#the amazing digital circus #jax #pomni #pomnijax #funnybunny #jax x pomni #pomni x jax #kinger #queenie #ragatha #gangle #zooble #tadc sun #tadc moon #caine #dragon rambles #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #royal au #prince!jax #my writing

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 4 (Tabaeus x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 |  Previous| Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

The next day, you rise with a groan and rub at your eyes. They burn with exhaustion, given how late you burned the midnight oil last night. Without even debating it, you send a call-in text to your job and put your phone on Do Not Disturb. You’re a fine employee and if this sudden sick day gets you fired, you have a buffer with Tabaeus’s financial contribution.

You go about your morning as you usually do, albeit with a vampire sleeping in your bedroom closet. A shower, getting dressed, figuring out what to eat for breakfast. All the while, you’re turning over thoughts of Tabaeus in your mind.

The purchase of a wardrobe - ranging from grungy masculine to academic feminine and everything in-between, accessories and cosmetics included - for Tabaeus had been successful. Now, if the two of you needed to go somewhere, they wouldn’t look like a walking corpse fresh from a grave robbery.

As you pour yourself a bowl of cereal, your brain muses over Tabaeus’s fashion taste. It doesn’t really narrow down the vampire’s original era. There’s no singular hint of Victorian or Edwardian or the Roaring Twenties or the Great Depression, let alone earlier or later eras. Not that you had been hoping for any clues like that, but you hadn’t entirely erased the possibility.

No, Tabaeus’s tastes ran just as eclectic as yours. You wonder if that indicates anything in Tabaeus’s personality as you finish putting the milk away and turn back to your breakfa-

A surprised yelp leaves your lips as you find Tabaeus looming behind you. Your body jerks backward with a start, knocking your back against your refrigerator. They’re so close, you can once more scent that strange powdery aroma of them.

Your shock isn’t enough to keep you from noticing their clothes. A tight white knit tank top paired with dark grey sweatpants that needed to be cinched tight to the vampire’s waist. The Tabaeus approved pajamas.

“What are you doing?” Your hiss leaves your lips almost immediately as you press a hand to your chest, over your racing heart.

“Oh, am I not allowed to leave the closet?” Worry creases Tabaeus’s brow as they glance back toward your bedroom.

“Of course you can come out. I just didn’t expect you to be up! It’s daylight.” You motioned to the curtained windows, where sun is creeping in through the gaps of the fabric and blinds. Of course, your cheap apartment wasn’t billed as wonderfully lighted, so the shafts don’t move too far into your home.

The hunch in their shoulders subsides as they straighten, glancing to the windows. “Yes, well, I could not sleep.”

“I see that,” you reply, shaking your head as you go to retrieve your breakfast.  

Tabaeus follows at your heel, leaning around your shoulder to peer at what you have. “What are you eating?”

You make your way to the living room, which is barely disconnected from the kitchen. As you settle onto your ragged couch, careful to stay in the shadows, you place the bowl on the coffee table. “Milk and cereal.”

“May I try?” Tabaeus kneels on the floor beside your knee, positioned carefully to keep you between themselves and the nearest shaft of sunlight.

As you crunch the cereal bits into the milk with your spoon, you eyeball Tabaeus. Their attention seems fully on the cheap, highly processed, overly-colorful food being submerged into the milk. Despite your hesitation, you can’t help relenting. “As long as it won’t make you puke everywhere.”

“Why would it make me vomit?” Their red eyes wheel from the crispy cereal to your face, wide with curiosity and a pinch of uncertainty.

“I don’t know, it’s like a thing in vampire lore, right?” You shrug and wave your spoon as you speak. “Vampires can’t eat regular human food or it makes them sick?”

You could have sworn you read something somewhere. Or maybe it was just a common trope in vampire media. Whether due to biology or a curse, the bloodsucking undead couldn’t eat human food. In fact, you believe you saw a movie once where a vampire was attempting to reverse their curse by eating human food for an extended period of time. Though, as you think that, it sounds rather silly.

Tabaeus hums with critical consideration at your words. Soon enough, they come to a grande conclusion, “I believe that is a lie.”

With a chuckle and a roll of your eyes, you begin to scoop up a spoonful of cereal. “Forgive me if I’m a little hesitant to- Hey!”

As you were voicing your concerns about having to clean up projectile vomit, the vampire took their opportunity for a nosh. They swept in quickly, catching your spoonful of cereal in their mouth with a flash of their pointy teeth.

With their lips around your spoon, Tabaeus turns an innocent red gaze at you. Their mouth still around your spoon, they mumble a very wet and garbled, “What?”

You just stare at them, speechless at their sudden audacity. Well that and the fact you never realized how long and seemingly prehensile their tongue could be. As Tabaeus noisily chews, the crunching cuts through your surprise.

Trying to fight down the pout puckering at your lips, you simply sigh, “You could’ve gotten your own bowl.”

Tabaeus watches as you respoon yourself a bite, their red eyes unnervingly intent as you raise the cereal to your mouth. When you finally have taken your bite, they shrug and sit back on their heels. “A bowl would be excessive. I simply wanted a taste.”

“Mh-hhmm,” you hum as you eat, but offer no more conversation than that. While you do wish to finish your cereal before it gets too soggy, your brain isn’t letting go of the image of Tabaeus’s mouth. Nor of how their attention seemed affixed to your mouth as you took your bite. Despite your better sense, it sent an awkward prickling heat down your back and over your skin.

So, you focused solely on your cereal with the blessedly cold milk.

To Tabaeus’s credit, they didn’t pursue further conversation as you ate. Instead, they shifted to the opposite side of the coffee table, where their magazine lay open. Absently, you notice that while you slept, they must have painted their nails with the fluorescent blue nail polish.

It didn’t exactly surprise you when Tabaeus plucked a magazine from the check out racks earlier. The fact the magazine, a Global Geographic one-off about memory and psychology, also didn’t surprise you. It was logical that your possibly amnesiac vampire friend would choose such reading material. Then again, you still had no clue what Tabaeus found interesting. Even if they’d picked up a celebrity gossip rag or a tabloid, would that have surprised you?

“Is that magazine good?” You ask, after you have finished your cereal and returned from depositing the empty bowl in the sink.

“I am uncertain of the veracity of these claims, but I am enjoying the stimulation.” Tabaeus looks up at you, a gentle smile on their lips. There’s a light in their eye that had been missing previously. They turn back to the magazine, clearly running their finger along a particular line. You wonder if they’re mentally highlighting where they stopped. “It is making me consider things I had never thought of before.”

A thought strikes you, considering Tabaeus’s apparent curiosity and subtle delight in trying new things. “Do you feel like you were lacking stimuli in the past?”

“I…” Tabaeus’s eyebrows furrow and a complicated array of emotions pinch at their features. Before you can try to divert the conversation elsewhere, they answer, “Yes. I think my life has been rather empty.”

You wait for Tabaeus to add any further details, before asking, “Do you remember something?”

“A great deal of things, but none of it makes sense to me.” Tabaeus heaves a sigh, leaning back against the base of the chair opposite of you. Their red eyes flicker to the ceiling, their hands motioning as they speak, “I can see these memories, these things, but I cannot recall the names of the people in them or what the events are or what is even transpiring or where they took place.”

As they finish, their shoulders slump and their hands fall into their crossed legs. Frustration and gloom wrap around Tabaeus as their frown deepens and their eyes flicker to the floor.

“Is it like catching a movie that’s half-way over? Or a random episode of a show?” Despite the obvious anguish the subject holds, you push for further details. You don’t want to lose the momentum Tabaeus has found.

However, your questions adds a dose of confusion to Tabaeus’s expression. Their attention flickers from the floor to your face. “I do not understand.”

“A movie, like moving pictures?” You bite your bottom lip, trying to come up with the most concise explanation. You thought they’d understand, but now you’re struggling with your own inability to explain something you’ve always had as part of your life. “They tell a story through a visual media that’s been previously recorded?”

“And an episode of a show?” Tabaeus tilts their head.

“I’m sure you know what a show is - like a presentation for entertainment or educational purposes - but in this context a show is like a movie, but much longer and separated into shorter episodes.” The longer you babble on, the hotter your cheeks grow. You don’t feel prepared enough to be explaining these things to Tabaeus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“I understand, at least a little better than before.” Tabaeus gives a slow nod, still visibly mulling over your explanation. Still, they smile at you and heat rises along your skin. “Thank you.”

Shaking off your own feelings of awkwardness - and the heat that has arisen from the vampire’s smile - you try to refocus the conversation once more. “Do you still think these memories might be from people you’ve fed from?”

Tabaeus sighs once more, shoulders once again slumping. “Perhaps? I am not certain. It is just a possibility.”

You press your lips together, your eyebrows furrowing with a hesitant thought that has been dawdling at the back of your brain. “Do you have my memories? Beyond knowing where I live?”

“A tiny bit.” Tabaeus answers, scratching at the back of their neck. “It is not like the other memories. Yours are shorter, less ingrained, harder to grasp.”

Though it’s a small difference, you feel it’s worth noting. Perhaps it’s an indicator that the other memories are Tabaeus’s own. Or maybe Tabaeus had personal sources of blood in the past and supped from them for a longer time, making their memories more solid in the vampire’s mind. That latter thought makes your stomach lurch a little.

If Tabaeus had reliable sources of blood in the past, what happened to them?

You shake the question from your mind. While it was good to keep your wariness sharp, it made no sense to dwell and worry when Tabaeus hadn’t given you a reason to do so.

Scrabbling for a different train of thought, you hear yourself suggest, “Maybe doing some research of other time periods will help.”

That makes Tabaeus’s ears twitch, their eyebrows raising with curiosity. “How will we do that? It is daylight.”

A grin tilts at your lips as you offer Tabaeus your hand. The vampire’s eyebrows raise, but they take your offer, laying their palm in your hand gently and pushing themself to their feet. Mentally, you note their hand neither feels warm nor terribly cold as you lead them to your desk in the corner.

Sitting atop the desk is a desktop, a recent splurge that necessitated a payment plan when you bought it.

You guide the vampire to sit in the peeling office chair, though Tabaeus does so with obvious hesitance. They daintily drop onto the cushion, eyes catching on the computer mouse and keyboard and monitor. The vampire watches as you tap the keyboard, and they start as the computer hums to life.

“This is called a computer. It will connect you to the Internet, which is like a repository for everything you could possibly want to know.” Learning from your fumbling explanations earlier, an epiphany hits you. As Tabaeus sits there, red eyes wide with wonder, you lean over them to open the browser and type a URL into the keyboard.

The all-too-familiar red and white logo TubeYou appears. After another search, you find what you’re looking for: A video explaining computers and the Internet. “This will explain a bit. If you have any questions, just ask me.”

Tabaeus is silent, still staring with wide eyes as a friendly host appears on the screen. The host’s chipper voice filters through the speakers, making the vampire’s ears twitch though their eyes do not leave the screen.

As Tabaeus watches their introduction to the Internet, you trail back to the couch to settle in. With how they watched you click on things, you’re willing to bet the vampire has already figured that component out.

You pull out your cellphone from your pocket, ignoring the three new messages from your manager as you open a game app. All the while, you hope you haven’t just opened a dangerous Pandora’s box by introducing Tabaeus to the World Wide Web.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster fucker #exo writing #vampire #vampire x human #vampire x reader #monster x human #room and board #room & board #room and board part 4 #r&b part 4 #rab part 4 #room & board part 4 #currently monitoring my 11yo's slumber party #hahahaha #dead #Anyway #Just some Tabaeus getting comfy with reader