#but hey. love a challenge!

[bookwyrminspiration]

“how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” For Keefe and Tam? Can be platonic or romantic if you want to do anything for it :). Maybe with cuddles because I, personally, am craving the skin

I love your writing btw please write a book one day <33

That's very sweet of you--I'd love to write several books someday! I've got some concepts up my sleeve already. Also, the way I set up their dynamic (a self-inflicted personal hell) the cuddles aren't as prominent as I would've liked to give you, but hopefully the rest of the fic makes up for that <3

idiot boys and stupid feelings <- ao3 link

warnings: sickness, brief reference of the twin's time banished and all associated troubles, but that's really it!

word count: 6.1k

Watching the sun wallowing, meekly disappearing before an unforgiving horizon as it trailed reds and purples and loud oranges in its wake across the sky was a conflicting sight for Tam, who observed unimpressed from the balcony.

Of all the sunsets he’d witnessed, the view from whatever place this was--Mr. Forkle had told them, but he hadn’t bothered to listen to that part; he’d been more focused on words like “resurgence” and “outbreak” and “victims,” the more important things--wasn’t one to stand out. A simple skyline, typical colors. The sun could do better.

A frown started to surface, but instead of letting it breach, he reached to tug on his bangs instead, the one habit he could never seem to break.

Cool air washed over his face, chilling the drying sweat sticking to his skin, a remnant of the efforts he’d exhausted, that they were all exhausting.

Over an hour ago, their group had dispersed to their various assignments, each to return to Wherever-the-hell once they’d finished their parts; he’d been done first, and was now alone in the hideout--as alone as one could be when they were always watched.

The balcony sat perched over a tumbling, mountainous expanse, sloping down into the night, a twisted metal railing decorated with florals and feathers encasing it. The wide doors were fully open behind him, allowing the light from the room beyond to spill into the creeping night and the cool, fresh air in.

As he stood there, he pretended he couldn’t feel the eyes of this place, examining his hand for traces of shadow, darkness caught under his nails, averting his gaze from that uninspiring sunset. From the memories they stirred.

Another sunset meant another day survived, but another night to face. Time without reliable warmth, with impaired sight, things moving in the night, fitful sleep.

Tam’s mouth twitched, more of the frown slipping out, shoving those thoughts aside and finding the nearest other to latch onto and distract himself.

Which landed him on blonde hair, pale eyes, bags creeping beneath them, charcoal smudges on fingertips.

And something…off.

Of all the people to think about, he didn’t have to settle on Keefe, how he’d seemed…fuzzy, ill-alert, at their “meeting” earlier. There were over a dozen people in the room, and he made it his business to watch each and every one of them, to be prepared just in case--

But, regardless of how many people he observed, his thoughts snagged on Keefe. There was something unspoken about him, something festering, something that had made him want to leave him behind. Give his piece of the assignment to someone else.

Instead, he’d decided that, with the least important piece of their puzzle, Keefe was the least of his troubles.

It had been a surprise, actually, to return to the hideout and find himself the first one back, he’d been so sure that with such a small responsibility Keefe would be impatiently pacing the place, about the track someone down to join them instead of waiting for them all to reconvene while complaining about how miniscule his job had been.

Tam’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft, dragging sound of approaching footsteps.

He stilled, darkness staining his fingers like charcoal as he tilted his head to the side, listening.

They came from somewhere around the hideout, outside, only audible because he, himself, was outside.

Shadows traveled further up his arm, a tactful, slow acclimation to the darkness falling further with each second the sun acquiesced the sky.

The footsteps paused, and in their place a door handle jangled; stone-like, Tam turned just enough to peer over his shoulder, to watch as the door swung open and a particular pale-eyed blond stepped through, hand pushing through his hair, eyes scanning across the room, the empty couches facing each other, barren counters, untouched chairs with throw pillows still dented from over an hour ago.

His eyes missed Tam, skipping past the balcony sheathed in unnatural shadow as he swept the door shut behind him.

Immediately, his facade crumbled, and if Tam said he was surprised he’d be lying.

Keefe’s shoulders drooped, carefully curated carefree expression melting into bland nothing, fingers coming up to hold his temples, traveling back to poke gently at the base of his neck like it ached.

Shuffling, dragging footsteps took him to one of the couches, where he lowered himself as though the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

Tam only watched, squinting to see better.

He wondered how long it would take Keefe to realize he was there, if he even would at all. The thought of how long he could probably get away with it amused him, but slipped from his grasp at the sound of a sniffle.

His muscles tensed once more, ready to make himself known and gone immediately if Keefe was about to start crying, but the sound repeated, and with it, everything from that evening clicked into place.

“How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here,” he said, turning fully as he did so, facing his back to the memory of a sunset and inclining his head as he learned against the railing, looking Keefe over from the better angle.

With that angle, he got a good view of the way he jumped, spine straightening and eyes widening, showing the whites all around.

His hands dropped from his head, falling in his lap as he shook himself off, a few precious seconds passing before he had himself sorted. “Were you just watching me? Dude, that’s so creepy.”

Tam ignored the question. “Drop the act, I can see right through it.”

Keefe’s shoulders tightened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted.

“Don’t even bother to try and lie to me right now. You’ve been off all evening. Now, like I said, come here.” Tam jerked his head towards the spot beside him.

His posture shifted, softening ever so slightly as he glanced between him and the door, as if there was someone else to see. Perhaps waiting for Biana to leap out of the shadows and accost them.

“Why?”

“Fresh air.”

Keefe frowned, leaning back further into the cushions, a slight grate to his voice. “But I just got all that fresh air running around scouting, looking for nothing.”

Tam shrugged. “Fine. Don’t, then.”

Silence fell for only a few short moments before Keefe grumbled something Tam couldn’t pick up, not even with all his practice, pushing up off the couch and stalking over to the balcony beside him, leaning facing out.

At least, Tam thought that’s what he was going for; instead, his feet dragged across the floor and his path swayed, Keefe unable to keep himself moving straight until he slumped against the banister, breath shaky--though he tried to hide it.

“You’re a mess, where’d you even catch…whatever that is,” Tam eyed him up and down, from the wan pallor of his face contrasted with the unnatural flush on his cheeks to the uneven rise and fall of his chest to the unsteady stance of his feet, relying on that railing for support.

Keefe huffed out what might’ve been a laugh. “Wow, thanks. Real supportive. I feel so cared about.” A low sighed rolled between his lips, laughter fading. “I think I caught it from Fitz. He wasn’t feeling great, but I ignored that and insisted we hang out anyway, and now…wait, earlier, did you say ‘all evening?’ Like you’ve been watching me all evening?”

It took Tam a moment to follow Keefe’s disjointed thoughts, lips tightening as he recalled the exact words he’d spoken.

If his cheeks felt warm, it was all the layers, all the black, nothing else. He scowled. “It’s not my fault you’ve had that funk around you all day. It’s hard to ignore.”

It wasn’t, actually; he had more than enough experience curating what, exactly, he paid attention to and was aware of. Pushing Keefe and the haze around him from his mind would’ve been simple enough.

In fact, it took more energy to pay attention than to let his gaze skip past that concealed fog around him. And yet he’d paid attention anyway.

“I think you just like me,” Keefe said, grin pulling at his lips, lifting his head enough to turn and peer at him. The unhealthy flush spread across his cheeks had starting fading to a lighter pink in the cool air, his eyes still dimly alight with fever, he noticed.

His eyes scanned scarred, warm skin, mussed hair, a silhouette backlit by the soft glow of the room beyond, the silence stretching on, his statement unanswered.

Keefe shifted, pushing off the railing to stand straighter, the two of them almost equal in height, though Keefe stood slightly taller and shamelessly used it to his advantage. “We’re alone; you can admit it, you know.”

That was…much more forward than usual.

Tam rolled his eyes. “All I have to admit is how much more annoying you are than I let on.”

“You hesitated.”

“You’re aren’t thinking clearly.”

Keefe shook his head, looking down the few inches he had on Tam, leaning in closer, unconscious of the movement; Tam was very conscious of it. “Uh uh, I may be fuzzy”--he tapped at his temple, blinking as though fighting to keep his eyes open--”but I noticed. You were thinking about it, weren’t you? You’re always thinking about something.”

Tam’s lips pressed together, averting his eyes, scowling. His gaze flickered to the door, fragments of shadows skittered along the edge of the room in tandem. They were alone, but for how long? How long until the rest of their group finished each of their individual scouting missions, returning to catch them too close in the dark?

He’d spent his life with it as his defense, and yet now its charged silence threatened to turn on him.

“You’re doing it again,” Keefe interrupted, the words fumbled, exhaustion creeping its greedy fingertips around the edges, digging its claws into the vowels.

His voice drew Tam’s gaze back, piercing through the dark. Had Keefe gotten even closer?

How had he missed it?

Tam’s body went rigid, the cool air doing nothing to combat the turmoil stirring in his mind, leaving him to fend for himself. “What--what are you doing? Cut it out.”

Brow furrowing, the words took a moment to pierce through Keefe’s thick skull.

When they did, he took a step away.

He opened his mouth, but closed it again, instead letting out a breath, one hand unconsciously rising to rub at the base of his skull, poking and prodding at what he was now certain was a headache.

Tam latched onto it like a lifeline against the sudden silence, the retreat he’d asked for and dreaded. “Have you--hailed Elwin? He always fixes you up.”

Keefe let his prior comments drop untouched, as though they were never there, snorting, “Elwin’s got enough going on with the gnomes and all the councillor visits. I’m not going to bother him with just a”--he gestured at himself--”cold or something. Whatever it is.”

“He’d want you to,” Tam reminded him, trying to be less…whatever it was about him that had Keefe stepping away. Even though he’d told him to.

Keefe had slumped over the banister again, forehead practically pressed to the railing, goosebumps raised across his skin, shivering now instead of overheating. He didn’t answer.

A few shadows slipped forward, invisible against the descending dark, hedging around the edges of Keefe’s shape, hesitating.

“Keefe.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?” It was more exhale than speaking, the words happening to tumble out at the same time, by chance rather than intention.

Tam frowned, only for a moment before he schooled his expression. “What are you even talking about?”

“When everyone else gets back, are you going to tell them?” Without any force, he gestured to himself.

“That you’re sick? Tell them yourself. Probably won’t even have to, one look at you and it’s obvious.”

Keefe sighed in what might’ve been relief. “Thanks.”

Tam crossed his arms, looking away, eyes scanning over the empty room, shadows creeping through the door searching and searching for others, but there was no one to break the silence that fell once more. They truly were alone, just like Keefe had said.

Why? They weren’t supposed to be. Where was everyone else? Why hadn’t they come back yet?

“You,” Keefe started, though he stayed with his head pressed to his arm against the railing, “are one to talk about funks when you’ve got your own all over you.”

“What?”

Keefe waved a free hand, nonchalant. “You’re so worried I can feel it, and I’m not even touching you.”

Tam glanced down to Keefe’s hands, where they rested against the railing. Close enough that they could reach out and touch him, if they wanted to.

He looked away.

“Did I successfully distract you with my charming personality?” Keefe asked, shifting his head so he could look at Tam, the hint of a smile on his mouth. But…less so. Not as wide as he’d been smiling earlier.

“You talk too much,” he scowled, reaching up to tug at his bangs, the scratch of metal against his fingertips comforting.

Keefe made an indignant noise. “You’re the one who started this conversation, creeping on me from the shadows and telling me to ‘come here.’ This one’s on you. If you didn’t want to talk to me, why ask me to come closer to you? Hypocrite.”

Now it was Tam’s turn to be indignant. “You were feverish, I told you to get over here to cool off--and so you wouldn’t infect the room.”

“Nice to know you care.” Keefe mumbled, eyes rolling.

“Of course I do,” he hissed back, then clamped his mouth shut.

Keefe stilled beside him, but Tam refused to move his gaze from where it bored a hole into the far wall, that frown from before resurfacing as his fingers dug into the railing he leaned on, bones and muscle turning to stone.

Silence screamed for long enough Tam was nearly convinced neither of them would ever speak again, and then--

“You’re gonna pass out if you stay so rigid. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to loosen up once in a while?”

Internally, he flinched, but his body remained impassive. He shot Keefe a glare. “You have to make everything into a joke, don’t you?”

It was Keefe’s turn to flinch, scowling as he looked away--but it lacked any real conviction, lethargy dimming the edges as he sniffled, a slight shiver running through him.

Tam’s frown deepened.

He watched--though if you asked if he’d been watching, he’d deny it--as Keefe’s attention snagged on something he couldn’t see, eyes distant as he flexed his hand over and over.

Flashes of cold nights and running noses, flush cheeks and wondering hoping begging Linh to wake, to be well, to push through the haze and find him again passed through his mind. Searching for herbs but not knowing what to look for, never enough supplies, coughs and setting suns and days stretching into weeks into months into eternity as Keefe faded further and further into that haze, away from him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. “What?”

Somehow Keefe found a way to slump down even further, resting his head on his arm, squished cheek distorting his words as they spilled out, filter breaking like a dam under his exhaustion. “I don’t get you. You say you’ve been watching me all evening and tell me to come stand next to you, and then get all defensive and upset with everything I say. You’re feeling something strong enough I’m picking up flashes through the air, but I’m not touching you and I can’t think straight so I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel great. You say you care and then snap at me, what am I supposed to make of all that?”

Outburst over, Keefe stopped leaning on the rail entirely, instead lowering himself to the ground as he rubbed at his neck, still sniffling, staring off into the dark, sun long since gone.

Tam couldn’t help the lurch in his chest at the sight.

Keefe or the darkness, he couldn’t tell, but the jolt was there all the same.

“You must be worse than I thought if you’re getting all emotionally aware on me,” he peered down at him, trying to distract himself from the stone sitting in his chest.

“Seriously? You were just getting on my ass about making jokes out of everything.”

Shadows pulsed under his palms, swirling with an unidentified heat he didn’t want to think about. “Fine. You have a point there. I…sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Keefe made a dismissive gesture up at him, other hand still flexing, eyes closed now as he rested his face against the railing, legs crossed beneath him. It didn’t look comfortable.

After a few terse moments of debate with himself, both sides screaming adamantly, he huffed out a breath and lowered himself down hard, not giving himself a chance to second guess any longer.

“Do you want to read my emotions?”

Keefe sat up in surprise, looking over at the hand extended in offering.

“What? You’d let me?”

Teeth grinding, words slow, “You said you couldn’t tell through the air. Wouldn’t this help?”

Keefe searched his face as though making sure he was serious, and Tam fervently hoped there wasn’t anything to find as he reached to tug on his bangs. “Make a decision before I change my mind.”

That was all the encouragement Keefe needed, gaze sliding down his body--Tam swore he could feel its weight against his skin like static--to his hand, wrapping two fingers around his wrist as though taking his pulse.

Keefe’s eyelids fluttered as he inhaled, sudden and deep, grip tightening, a furrow between his brows as he pushed through his fatigue and into the maelstrom of emotion he’d been complaining about.

Trying not to squirm beneath the scrutiny, all he could do was watch, entirely unaware of what, specifically, Keefe was finding. What he’d learn.

Was this what it felt like when he read people’s shadow vapor, the sitting and the waiting?

Why had he agreed to this?

Why had he even suggested it?

A small, rebellious voice in the back of his head knew why, but he shoved it away before it could put voice to those thoughts.

“What--” Keefe made a face, scrunching up his nose, soft confusion in his tone, “what are you afraid of?”

Tam started. “I’m not--”

“You do realize you can’t lie to me, right?”

Keefe looked at him with an intensity that made him want to knock the look from his face, to turn around and walk into the night.

He settled for pulling his arm away, breaking the connection--or at least, he tried to.

As his wrist slipped from Keefe’s grip, he caught his hand, fingers brushing against his palm as he squeezed tight.

“Wait. I’m…sorry.” Keefe looked lost, fumbling for words, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. “I…didn’t mean to push you. It’s just a really strong feeling. It surprised me. Is it the thing with the gnomes? Because we’re going to figure it out and fix it.”

“I know that.”

“Then what…?” Keefe trailed off, looking lost, brows furrowing as he tried to think through the fog in his mind.

Tam’s grip tightened involuntarily, memories from his and Linh’s Exillium days flashing through his mind. “I don’t like sickness.”

Keefe nodded, still not quite following. “Well duh, no one does, it sucks--”

“It’s not the same for you,” he interrupted, looking away, leaning back against the railings, peering into the night sky as his stomach clenched. “When you’ve been sick, you’ve always been able to call on the best care your world has to offer, just a hail away. All the supplies you could ever need readily available. You’d be better by the morning as though it’d never even happened, just a slight discomfort, comfortable knowing you’d be just fine. You could take a day off, even. You never had to wonder if there was enough to treat you, if you could find what you needed, not sure when she’d get better and if she’d be okay to go to school, or if you’d have to leave her alone to go and get your beads, hoping you wouldn’t catch it because there wasn’t enough to treat the both of you and someone had to get the beads otherwise you’d be left behind.”

Tam cut off, biting his lip, for once not even caring what Keefe picked up on his palm, too distracted as he tried to get the images of Linh’s flushed cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, the tremor in her fingers as she propped herself against the wall, out of his head.

“Linh got sick,” Keefe whispered, more statement than question, but he decided to answer it anyways.

“Bad. It’d started out just a mild cold she must’ve caught from another wayward--fever, sniffles, headaches,” he glanced at Keefe’s flushed cheeks, blinking uncomfortably as he rubbed at his neck, both all too aware how it matched up with his symptoms, “but it didn’t go away. And we didn’t have anything to treat it with. And it got worse. A lot worse. I hated watching the sun set because she always shivered so badly without the sunlight’s warmth, no matter how hot I made my body. But the worst part was the only reason it got that bad was because we didn’t have any elixirs or treatment--but they exist. We just didn’t have access. And yet you do and throw it away,” he added at the end, bitterness coating his tongue.

Keefe swallowed, thumb pressed into the back of Tam’s hand. “I…guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

“No shit.”

For once, Keefe let the attitude slide, an incredibly unsettling phenomenon, because instead he was looking directly at Tam. He was suddenly reminded that with their hands still linked, he could still feel every single one of his emotions.

“What if--what if I promise to take something myself then? I still don't want to bother Elwin--the gnomes have him busy enough--but…you don’t need a physician to take elixirs. There’s probably something somewhere in whatever-the-hell this place is called--I wasn’t listening when Fork man said the name.”

“Me either,” Tam admitted. “It’s probably something stupid. Do you really plan to take something, or are you just saying that?” He couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice, but Keefe would’ve felt it anyways.

Keefe made an offended noise. “I meant it! I’m trying to make you feel better about your sad life, because Foster keeps getting on my case about being nice to you and she’s so stubborn about it--and maybe I just like you, you ever thought about that?”

Unlike Tam, Keefe didn’t look the slightest bit concerned by the confession, grumpily playing with Tam’s fingers in his hand, poking at the veins beneath his skin. Though maybe he hadn’t thought through the consequences of saying it, or was too tired to.

“Do you?” Tam asked, quiet, braced against the answer.

Was he worried he’d say no?

Or that he’d say yes?

“I do,” he said, eyes on their linked hands, “more than I should.”

A heady rush passed through him, spine tingling as his stomach dropped--relief? Fear?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keefe’s already flushed face reddened further, as his brain started to catch up with where the conversation was headed, pressing his lips together as though he could stop it. But there was no way Tam was letting him walk away without answers and Keefe knew it; he’d opened the floodgates, now he had to ride out the wave. It was his own fault, really.

Sighing, he made a non-committal gesture as though that would explain everything. “We both know it would be better for both of us if…if no one had to put up with me. If I could just keep all my problems and feelings to myself instead of everyone else having to deal with the mess.”

Tam made a face, snapping, “You don’t have any right to say what would be better for me. Don’t make that choice for me.”

Starting back a little, Keefe tilted his head to the side, mouth falling open a touch, glassy eyes searching Tam’s.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t get to decide what is and isn’t worth my time.”

Keefe’s breath caught, tongue between his teeth as he ventured, barely audible, “And me? Am I…?”

Tam didn’t answer for a moment, heartbeat screaming in his ears loud enough he could barely hear himself say, “You’re the empath, you tell me.”

A few moments passed, Keefe’s shaking fingers pressing against the lines of his palm with intention this time.

As the shaking spread, Keefe’s eyes widening as he glanced between him and his palm, Tam added, “Why do you think I invited you over here?”

“...Fresh air?”

Tam rolled his eyes, but tried to keep his voice gentle as he stared ahead. “Because…I wanted to keep an eye on you. Because I care and its--fuck it, its worth my time, alright? Don’t make me say it again.”

Against his better judgment, he glanced at Keefe, only to see a shit-eating grin starting to spread across his lips.

“Don’t push your luck,” Tam grumbled, shifting as he reached for his bangs with his free hand, fingers flexing in Keefe’s grip unconsciously.

Keefe nodded, smile mellowing, lingering until it turned into something uncertain. “Where…where does that leave us?”

Tam didn’t have an answer.

“Us?” he repeated instead.

Reddening, Keefe tried to backtrack, though he still didn’t let go of his hand.

But he was all out of words, quickfire mind finally exhausted, nothing left to shield himself as his mouth gaped and closed, nothing to save himself.

As if he’d ever need saving from Tam.

Scowling, he cursed idiot boys and stupid feelings, shaking his head, pressing his palm firmly against Keefe’s, deliberately thinking the words he didn’t know if he could voice again, bringing the feeling to the forefront of his very self.

I care.

Keefe hissed in a breath through his teeth. “I--oh.”

“Oh?”

“Us.”

It was all he said, but it was all he needed to say in that moment, because suddenly it was no longer a question.

It was an undeniable certainty.

“Alright,” Tam said, nearly lightheaded, “us.”

He didn’t think he minded his hand in Keefe’s anymore, whatever he’d find.

He’d already found exactly what Tam had wanted him to, what he’d been unwilling to admit he’d been hoping he would.

A shiver crawled through Keefe’s body, and for a moment Tam became the empath between the two of them. Unimaginable lethargy pulled at his bones, breath labored through narrowed airways, a fog in his mind trying to drag him into darkness.

They’d left his illness unspoken for a moment, distracted by their…whatever that conversation was, but no longer.

“You need to rest,” Tam instructed, gentle, but firm. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, but Keefe wouldn’t make it easy.

That, as expected, sparked something in Keefe, some last ditch effort to pull himself together. “No, there’s the resurgence, and we still have to reconvene with everyone--” “Please.”

The word surprised them both, stopping them short.

That…wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

But something in Keefe looked uncertain, lost, so he said it again. “Please, Keefe.”

“I…okay,” he deflated, words barely a whisper as he gave in, the bravado he’d put on slipping away, leaving him hunched over, sniffling, chills coating his bare arms on the now cold balcony, washed in the light spilling out from the room behind them.

Tam looked him over, nodding to himself--he believed him, that he’d listen for once in his life, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Keefe. “I’ll find wherever their stash of elixirs is and bring them to you--why don’t you sit on the couch, get out of the cold?”

Another tremor ran through him as he finally let Tam’s hand slip from his as the two pushed to their feet in tandem, one much steadier than the other.

And even though their hands didn’t touch, not even the barest of brushes between their fingers, a silent electricity hummed between their bodies, tingling along his skin as they split. Keefe collapsed face first into the couch, groaning, and Tam moved to search the rest of the place in the quiet that followed, haunted by the hollow feeling of skin that hadn’t been touched, but nearly had been.

It didn’t take long for him to find a small, but well-equipped supply of medicinal elixirs, balms, and miscellaneous assortments for small injuries and ailments. He grabbed two he thought would help, shutting the doors behind him as quietly as possible, but they still echoed in the silent place--seriously, where was everyone else?

Had so little time passed that no one else had returned?

He could’ve sworn lifetimes had come and gone on that balcony.

So brief, and yet now the scope of his world had changed, new, undefined tethers drawing him to a certain troublesome boy with no sense of self-preservation or risk sprawled across the entirety of a couch.

Leaning over the back of it, peering down at him, Tam tapped the two vials he held against the back of Keefe’s head, smiling to himself as Keefe swatted half-heartedly at him.

“You already agreed, you don’t get to take it back.”

“I wasn’t going to!” he protested as he shifted to a propped up position, though it had less force than he would’ve expected. “I told you I meant it. I know everyone’s always telling me off for being stubborn, but I don’t always push back. I can make smart decisions.”

He’d believe it when he saw it.

Keefe grabbed the vials, uncorking the first.

Tam blinked as he downed the contents and studiously avoided his gaze. “You’re holding something back.”

Keefe scowled at his matter of fact tone as he downed the second, though his hands shook as he uncorked it. “Fine. Your story about Linh got to me, okay? I don’t want to worry anyone else.”

Of course. He’d never relent for his own sake, only to prevent himself from becoming a burden to others.

Idiot.

Keefe wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, waiting for the elixirs to kick in and for Tam to say something, but he was too busy scanning the room for a blanket, frowning when he came up short. Surely a secret, underground rebel organization trying to fix fundamental problems in their world had enough interior decor sense and time to have decorative blankets somewhere.

Apparently not.

“What are you looking for?”

“A blanket. You’re shivering, but I don’t see any,” he continued, ignoring Keefe’s mouth opening--likely to protest. He always had something to say. Infuriating.

Keefe didn’t like being ignored and rolled his eyes--though he winced with the action, probably aggravating whatever of his headache hadn’t eased yet--and grumbled, “This is ridiculous. I’m not even that cold. What are you even going to do about it without blankets? Share your body heat?”

It took a moment for Keefe to register what he’d just said, but when he did his eyes went wide, mouth snapping shut as he dared a glance at Tam.

He kept his face carefully impassive, but he reached up to tug at his bangs, habit traitorously giving his frazzled state of mind away.

Neither of them spoke for a moment longer--Keefe, because while sick, had the sense to realize he’d given away much more than he’d intended to tonight, and Tam because he had no idea what to do with everything Keefe had given him.

“Careful there, someone might think you actually wanted to be close to me,” Tam deadpanned at last, fingers still in the rough metal, though the joke fell oddly. Like with whatever their new us was, it didn’t fit anymore. Like it was just going through the motions without the venom behind it.

Keefe said nothing, but his gaze flickered, away from Tam’s face--only for a few moments, but long enough for Tam to see him rake it down his body before snapping back, and he could’ve sworn it lingered on his hands.

Tam stopped short, mind going blank. “...do you?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” was the answer he got, unable to tell if his flush was from sickness or embarrassment as he refused to meet Tam’s eye.

He gave his bangs one final tug before he dropped his hands, blurting out, “When we couldn’t keep warm in the neutral territories--before we’d learned to regulate our temperatures or when we were too tired--we’d share body heat.”

Keefe’s brow furrowed, looking up at him, uncertainty on his face. “...are you offering--”

“Well if you don’t want to--”

“I didn’t say that! You…you’re warm,” he tacked on at the end, trying to find a suitable explanation, but the hesitation gave him away.

Tam stayed silent for a moment, then, “Sit up.”

“I--huh?”

“I said sit up; you’re taking up the whole couch. Unless you want me to crush you with my body weight, I need space,” he continued, but Keefe was already scrambling to push himself up, freeing up a spot that Tam slid into, breath catching as their arms brushed together.

He’d been close to people before--closer, even, usually with Linh.

But something about Keefe’s arm against his jolted through him, every hair on his body standing on end.

“I’m not going to bite,” he said, amused, watching Keefe sit stunned beside him, rigid as a statue, a cornered animal ready to bolt. “Well, probably not.”

Keefe huffed, something sounding like asshole and fuck it spilling past his lips as he shifted closer, their legs pressing together too now, the static between them building, though neither mentioned it.

Quietly, glancing at him for permission as he did so, Keefe reached out and took Tam’s hand; he felt rather than saw the tremor that rocketed through him at the influx of emotions the touch provided, but Keefe just held on tighter.

Their breaths the only sound, they sat like that, pressed together, until Keefe’s shivers had started to abate.

“How are you so warm?” Keefe mumbled suddenly, starting to melt back into the cushions beside him--whether because he was comfortable or exhausted, Tam couldn’t tell. “You’d think a shadow guy would be freezing.”

“Shadow guy?”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

Keefe’s eyes had fallen closed, words slurring, chest moving slow, rhythmic.

Hardly daring to move, Tam watched as Keefe’s muscles gave in to sleep, his head tilting, falling in a slow arc towards him, until Keefe’s cheek was pressed against his shoulder, grip loosening in his hand.

Tam’s breath caught in his throat, but he stayed still--until Keefe started to slip, at just the wrong angle that gravity tried to pull him forward.

Before he could fall further, Tam caught him, grinding his teeth together as he weighed his options.

Gently, he shifted, hardly daring to breath lest he wake Keefe from his much needed nap, and just…adjusted his trajectory slightly.

Instead of falling forward and off the couch, or roughly shoving him back, Tam lowered his head into his lap, hands hovering over the rest of his body uncertainly before he finally let them settle on Keefe’s arm.

A few terse moments later, Keefe gave no sign of stirring, settling into the new position, breaths even--and Tam thought his color had improved too, the elixirs starting to kick in.

There was nothing else to do in the silence that followed but breathe an easy sigh, looking around at the well furnished room--unforgivably devoid of blankets, but otherwise lavish--the steady light, the stable structure, secure in the knowledge that no matter what happened next, he wasn’t--they weren’t--out there still.

That they could get what they needed, and enough of it.

They weren’t the only people looking out for them anymore.

Which brought a different problem to mind: where was everyone else?

Almost as soon as he put thought to the question, something prickled his senses, and the door across the room swung open, Biana bursting in with Linh close behind, breathless.

They stopped short at what they found as Tam tensed, Biana’s mouth falling open and Linh covering a knowing smile with her mouth.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, glaring at them, heart pounding.

The glance the two shared and the grins that followed didn’t bode well for him.

But as Keefe shifted in his lap, sleeping peacefully, safely, recovering, skin soft against his own, he couldn’t quite remember why he cared.

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc kam #quil's quill #quil's queries #nonsie #look guys I did it! i wrote a fic! #i am putting it out into the world you better be nice with it <3 #also I'm sooo good at titling things <33333 #okay I'll be quiet now enjoy the fic :) #nonsie I hope this satisfies your prompt I kinda created. a whole situation out of it #would've been so much easier if they were already established i don't know why I didn't do that #but hey. love a challenge! #maybe if this isn't enough cuddles I can write a follow up sometime in the future where they're more physically comfortable #i like how I said I'd stop talking and then I didn't #i'l actually stop now. very giddy atm I haven't posted fic in a while this is quite the rush

[fizzytoo]

after getting too drunk to head home on her own, dali crashes at amaya and karlee's. she hangs around for a while to help with chores as a thank you for letting her stay and for the clothes she borrowed.

sometime after dali leaves, karlee and ama have a discussion about how dangerously low their finances are and how the ranch isn't bringing in much profit.

dali by @beebeesiims (also let me know if it's okay to tag you each time dali is on screen 🫂)

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 gameplay #postcard legacy challenge #postcard: gen4 #dali standing there w a coffee mug in ama’s shirt and pj pants…. i’m gonna be abnormal for a while #and then she’s wearing ama’s shirt again w karlee’s jeans and hat :D i love sharing closests #postcard gen 4 bankruptcy arc 😞 #they have no money. i used most of the previous generations saving to build this house 😭 my fault yall #this works out for me bc i feel like it’s time for them to struggle 😈 #i just think it's so funny that theyre talking in the corner 😭 #hey i didnt want to say this in front of your friend but we're broke :/ #dalila by beebeesiims #sim: karlee kamealoha #sim: amaya kamealoha

[shititsarobyn]

I put the blorbo in the bin. She mad.

Cringetober/inktober day 7!! Todays prompt was Pinterest art base and I found an old one I had saved for no reason so here we are :))

#yipppeeee #I was worried I wouldn’t finish this one as I’ve been a lil busy! #but hey here we are #loving intober so far #my crit role hyper fixation coming in clutch #cringetober #inktober challenge #intober2023 #inktober #imogen temult #girlfailure imogen temult #she’s so girlfailurur #cr imogen #critical role #crit role #critrole fanart #critical role imogen #laudna x imogen #:))))

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Fake Dating

In my head the episode “Masters of all Time” is where this timeline diverges so before Vlad cloned Danny, because let’s face it that’s really where his character went from understandable though still an ass, to full cartoon supervillain and where his writing went downhill.

So Vlad is now cool with Danny and the Fentons. After seeking their help curing his ecto-acne, he had plenty of time to reconnect with Jack while recovering. Maybe the cola tainted ectoplasm is what was causing his extreme moods and obsessive tendencies in the first place, or maybe he just saw the error of his ways and has been in therapy since then

So Danny, a bit older and no longer dating Sam after an amicable breakup, now has a well meaning Vlad Masters trying to set him up with various rich socialites. A lot of them are being pushed by their parents because of Danny’s connection to the Masters’ name.

It does not go well

Tired of all Vlad’s well meaning efforts, Danny decides to fake a relationship to get him off his back, at least untill he forgets about the whole thing. 

Who’s he going to “Date?”

Tim? A fellow insomniac, lover of coffee, similar aged and sharing his sense of humor? His connection to the Wayne and Drake names would certainly appease Vlad’s insistence that Danny deserves only the best partner

Kon? Those two would get on like a house on fire. clearly I’m talking about classic punk leather jacket and a million piercings Kon. Maybe he picks him because the punk bad boy look annoys Vlad, maybe just because Kon would find it funny. Maybe Vlad knows about Kon’s connection to Luther, or he doesn’t and seriously is questioning Danny’s choice. Maybe Tim and Kon are Dating on the down low and Tim is just lending Danny his boyfriend because they both think it’s funny, and it may or may not end up with all three dating

Jason? Age Danny up a but more and boom, Jason is a valuable option. The black sheep(acording to presses) of the Wayne family. From crime alley, leather jacket and motorcycle bad boy that would drive Vlad crazy(he’s better and not evil but he’s still vlad) but he can’t protest because he is a Wayne after all. 

any variety of DC characters honestly. I’m a sucker for the fake dating trope

#Danny Phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #superbraindead #braindead #fake dating trope #just love the idea of them pretending to date #then months later while they cuddle on the couch asking 'hey babe? are we actually dating?' #kon: we make out and you try to leave hickies on my invulnerable skin which is next to impossible #Kon: yes babe #Danny: to be fair it's a challenge and I hate losing

[betaruga]

Two to Tango

Comic I made for Shortaki Week 2023 for a series I had no idea was gonna blow me away on a full rewatch...  I still can't believe Hey Arnold has future lore & Helga almost had a teen spinoff...and she still can! If you want to see more of "The Patakis" era of Hey Arnold get greenlit like fans did for “Hey, Arnold! The Jungle Movie,” sign the petition here! (x) 

Featuring designs from other artists (w/ permission!) Pg 1- MonyArtz || Pg 2- MoonlitStoop || Pg 5- noodle-puppy || Pg 6 - Spikermonster || Pg 8 - Bii

#hey arnold #shortakiweek #helga pataki #betaruga-HA #the patakis #this comic ended my life it was a real labor of love #hope you enjoy it! #was a challenge combining the prompts

[heartslobbf]

hater alert! far too many people say that juri’s character arc ‘isn’t about her being sad about being gay, it’s about being sad about unrequited love that happens to be gay’ and. well. that is not true and by saying that you are completely flattening the brilliance of juri’s character arc which literally culminates in her being able to accept her own lesbianism despite her unrequited love, despite all her shame and self-loathing, despite this pursuit by Some Fucking Guy to try and ‘save’ her from these feelings. like if you think juri’s entire character is just ‘sad about shiori’ how do you appreciate even a modicum of the emotion packed into that final juri duel. it is both about shiori and, even broader, her lesbian identity and what that means to her intrinsically as a person, removed from romantic relationships and just purely as like. you know. Who She Is. the idea that even when juri’s locket is cut from her neck she is still a lesbian that’s still who she is and she cant change that and, crucially, she doesn’t want to even as she is agonised by these feelings. that’s why she forfeits the duel!!!! she’s clocking out she’s quitting she’s saying no!!!!!! this is me and ive got to be ok with that this is me and i can accept that this girl might not love me and i can keep living despite that. like. god im so normal arisugawa juri im so sorry that no one understands you and your intrinsically unapologetically lesbian storyline like i do

#ok got that out of my system now (rewatched ep 29 duel too many times) #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #idk i just see that argument so much and it makes me so sad #bc i get where ppl r coming from there r a lot of unnuanced ‘sad bc gay’ narratives out there #but juri’s whole arc is about actively challenging and deconstructing that idea #and it deals with the sadness that comes with being closeted with knowing youre gay and not really liking that about yourself #and eventually she does accept and embrace that aspect of herself but CRUCIALLY she doesnt do it via romantic validation #in fact she does it in the face of like. All Opposition Ever #no one says hey juri if you were gay that’d be totally fine actually haha #ruka tries to save her from her lesbianism!!!!!!!! like!!!!!!! #it is juri and juri alone who makes this resolution and that is just So Fucking Important to me #shes so. she is the queer character of all time to me i literally dont care no one else will ever come close #LIKE!!!!!!! THE CASTLE WEEPING ON HER WHEN SHE MAKES HER CHOICE!!!!!!! #accepting that part of yourself and having the symbol of matrimony and heteronormativity WEEP over you #no one ever validates juri’s choice to accept her queerness but she keeps making that choice #and her in episode 37…….. god i just might keel over and die girls when juri utena touga parallels…… #anywayyyyyyy love and light i love juriposting #shut up daisy

[tequiilasunriise]

bitches really be out here publicly divorcing as if they weren’t in a secret relationship

#i love how lenore stomped over ready to throw divorce papers and also hands #and annabel just kept getting more and more into it liKE GIRL PLEASE!!! UR ASS IS GETTING BEAT BUT NOT IN THE WAY U WANT IT LIKE GIRRLL #girl please read the room and understand that Lenore is about to rip full custody of Morella away from u #ANNABEL LEE STOP GETTING TURNED ON MID DOVORCE CHALLENGE: IMPOSSIBLE‼️‼️‼️ #all of the passerby and spectators stopping n staring at these two like #‘?????? did we- did we miss some LORE™️ or smth????’ #oh to be part of that crowd who got to witness the full blown break up #in my peripheral I see some disgruntled hands exchanging money #apparently half of the academy had a bet wherher or not these two disasters were secretly fucking around together or not #some swore by their second death that white raven was DEFO doing some shit together #while others believed em to just be old fashioned enemies who are complete douches to each other nothing more nothing less #the ppl who betted them to be nothing more than fierce as fuck enemies/rivals. well. well i mean you TRIED ig. i mean u tried WRONG but hey #at least you still tried #nevermore webtoon #nevermore neverwhore #white raven #lenore vandernacht #annabel lee whitlock

[choccymilllk]

DAY SEVEN-- hound army and rest

i think hound army includes Steve too since he's the main character 👍👍✌️✌️‼️‼️💥💥💥💥

i think this is the first ever challenge ive fully completed this feels so insane,,,

#art !! #mcyt fanart !! #technoblade #or like doodle more like #hound army #FirstTryTechnoChallenge #HEY!!! this was such a fun challenge i hppe u make more in the future🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶✌️✌️✌️⭐⭐🫵🫵‼️‼️ #biiiig love to u #and to everyone too #i still miss him a lot but im really glad i was there for a bit

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don' #hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay! #also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

[spearxwind]

These are really quick scribbles but I wanna share them because I am quite proud of em

Been thinking of tweaking Hades' design for a little while, and now that I actually have his backstory and such more developed I finally sat down to scribble some ideas and I landed on this one

Notes: very floral themed bc he's from a really plant heavy tropical biome in CD, the petals can fold back fully and can be used for swimming, as a threat display/hunting tactic, camouflage, etc. The petals themselves can change shape a little bit, this would just be their max aperture for the threat display :]

#windyart #hades #challenger deep #oc ref sheet #uhhhhh technically yeah #just a scribble #eel hades #maybe i should give him a tag for his eel form as well i mean talas has one #have not drawn jack shit lately so i wanted to share at least something and hey i have been really obsessed with these today and yesterday! #i love this guy

[the-woman-upstairs]

Honestly, even without Art’s attempts at manipulation and sabotage, I don’t think Patrick and Tashi’s relationship would’ve survived anyway. Before they started dating, Patrick was criticizing her career plans and Tashi was never interested in entertaining his massive ego at her expense. Passion and chemistry are important to relationships, but if that’s the only foundation, it’s gonna crumble quickly.

The only difference between Patrick/Tashi vs Art/Tashi is that the relationship would’ve ending with a bang instead of a whimper.

#challengers #challengers spoilers #patrick and tashi need art between them #his willingness to submit even when done so with manipulative intentions does let tashi and patrick to indulge in their desire for control #the movie makes a point of saying that patrick is constantly shooting himself in the foot because he’s unwilling to humble himself #art let patrick get away with a LOT but tashi does and would not #but even tho patrick does get to the point where he can humble himself it’s still necessary for patrick to go off script and stir shit up #the way the film ends makes it abundantly clear that all three of them need each other to function #and that each person brings something different to the trio that each person needs #so i don’t buy that patrick and tashi could’ve worked things out on their own #tashi so clearly likes art’s dependence and loyalty to her #while also getting a lot from patrick’s passion and pushback #would also like to say that i personally love when art’s a mean little bitch #not only cause it’s fun but because it really seems born out of a fear of being left alone/behind #spreading my ‘art’s a greedy pillow princess that actually needs TWO tops to handle him’ agenda #and wrt the injury…sorry no one’s actually at fault for that #not only could no one could ever engineer something like that #it could’ve happened at any time because that’s life #in the film it’s meant to underscore the danger of disharmony between all three of them #and snap the tenuous thread holding all three of them together #and placing blame kind of misses the overall point the film is going for wrt the relationship between all three #hey is it just me or has this film broken my brain

[rainymoodlet]

rowan: my chest feels this way because i'm sick and not because this man is boring into me with the most unique eyes i've ever seen 😐

(Rowan shifts against the chaise, his stomach twisting. It's embarrassing in general, to be called out for one's naivety... but even moreso by a man who seems so wholly unimpressed.)

(He can't tell why, but he doesn't want this man to think of him as foolish. There is an ease in his air of knowing; a natural, ancient confidence that has Rowan's chest twisting.)

Rowan: I guess... I thought it would go smoother than this. I've read accounts of travelers who ended up here. They all only ever made it so far to catch a glimpse of the streetlights, before...

Rowan: (he fidgets, highly aware of the man's eyes on him) They'd take a turn, only to end up right where they began. Others were only recorded to have entered, never to return again...

Rowan: ... I guess I thought I'd be an exception.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 challenge #ts4 legacy challenge #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #ts4 joy of life legacy challenge #;tjol3 #sim: alsace #sim: rowan #|| #rowan is so sweet and genuine and he has the 'trusts the world' trait okay he was raised by three mums who love him absolutely #he didn't think that anything would happen to him because nothing ever has ;o; #he's sweet as much as he is a little shit #he may be gloomy but he's an angel dfdkjh #alsace meanwhile is so fucking old that he's like hey... maybe... think for a second??? maybe just think. #he's too old for this shit three million times over #but this is kind of a basic description of the wards straud has put over the hollow #he doesn't want anyone coming here he doesn't know of #and it's very much understood that he has some sense of rowan having entered - but we'll see if he's aware of what's happening to him 👀 #bless morrigan-sims for the idea to put in alt text below the cut!!! #the next batch of story posts will have much bigger font i'm so sorryyy #alsace LOOKS SO FCKING GOOD HERE AHGHGHGHGHHHH #CAN'T wait till y'all see his other outfits mwahahahaaa

[letssofia3006]

#toh #the owl house #the collector #toh collector #collector toh #toh spoliers #i always try to draw the characters as close as canon #and today my brain challenge me #and said to me #hey sofia how close could you got? #anyways i love this pokemon trainer who then got captured in a pokemon ball #my art

[natasha-in-space]

Show & Tell

Zen/gn!reader/Unknown;

You are meant to play the part bestowed upon you. That is all the purpose you will ever need. At least, that's what you are supposed to think. But, even the best of actors can forget their lines. Except, the one overlooking your play is not very forgiving.

Based on Zen's 3rd Bad Story ending.

Content warnings for: non-consensual drug-use, and overall Unknown being a very creepy bastard.

"A long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a beautiful silver-haired knight, and a kind-hearted prince/ss. Everything was well in their kingdom, until the prince/ss realized that their court was nothing but a bunch of traitors to the crown... filled with dirty liars and hypocrites. The prince/ss thought their loyal knight would come and save them, that they would run away together. But... alas, that did not happen."

A hushed, breathy voice travels throughout the spacious room, echoing against the thick walls of your own personal playhouse, almost like a phantom haunting its opera house. Only the heavy sounds of large boots against the wooden stage serve as a reminder, that there was a very real narrator present in this room, telling his rousing tale to a gracious audience of none. Your vision is spinning, your body too weak to even hold your head up properly. You would have probably collapsed if not for the comfortably cushioned throne reserved just for you to sit upon.

Oh, how gracious your host was, providing you with everything you could possibly need for you to stay as relaxed and comfortable as you can be. All you need to do in return is to sit there like a disciplined prince/ss you are, and listen. Your thoughts are far too jumbled to make sense of it all, anyway.

Unknown will do so for you.

"-The prince/ss had no idea that their beloved knight was in the same team with all the horrible liars. God... our poor, poor prince/ss..." The voice purrs, suddenly just a few inches away from you, and you feel a cold slender finger caress your cheek lovingly. You lean into the cool touch, a welcome change for the ever-growing fever burning you up from the inside out. Your eagerness is not unnoticed by Unknown, who chuckles in what seems to be amusement, and walks away, much to your visible dismay. He never gives you what you want, however small it is. You wonder if he finds some sick sense of enjoyment in teasing you with a carrot on a string like that. He continues his story, not addressing your little whine of displeasure in any way. Which is probably for the better. He didn't like whiny brats, after all.

"It's a good thing that... the prince/ss had a guardian angel looking over them. Waiting for a chance to take them under his caring wing, and guide them to paradise."

A moment of deafening silence passes, almost as if Unknown had to think over his narrative for a good while before continuing. You never could understand what was going through that head of his. His expression is stoic, unreadable. Almost like he's not even fully there, just staring ahead without seeing a thing. Stuck in his own perverted fantasy, rather than facing the reality in front of him. It's almost unnerving to look at. Then, a harsh clap makes you twitch in your seat, a numb ache drilling into your temples from the loudness of it bashing against your already overstimulated senses. The man didn't seem to care for your discomfort, though, simply patting you on the head as if you were nothing but a plush toy.

"...How about it, party coordinator!? Hm? A beautiful story, no?"

You open your mouth to say something - anything - but, all that comes out is a single raspy breath, your thoughts tangling together into one blurred lump of obscure concepts, before you could latch onto even a single word for you to utter aloud. Unknown appears to be unaffected by your lack of a proper response, though. It's like he doesn't even see you as a human. Just an inanimate object to play around with.

His pretty doll to put on this twisted play with.

His footsteps grow farther away from you as he pulls away from you once again. Then, a gentle sound of a curtain being pulled back, the fabric tossed unceremoniously onto the stage and sliding off of it to crumple up somewhere beneath it. A beautiful decorations turned into a useless floor mop in a single move. A grim reminder that nothing in this room was truly valuable in its master's eyes. Including you.

You decide to look up towards the sound, your vision bleary as you stare ahead, trying to force your brain into actually processing what you see, instead of just letting it stay an unfocused blob of shapes and colors. Your cloudy gaze meets a similar one of a breathtaking ruby color. Like two spectacular jewels shining in brilliant stage lights, brighter than any of them, yet so dull and lifeless at the same time. Something pulls at your insides once you make eye contact with a beautiful silver-haired stranger sitting opposite from you. It's urging you to fight against the heavy fog filling your head like some higher power you have no control over. A name sits just on the tip of your tongue, yet so far away. It perches itself right in the middle of your throat like a lump of acidic bile, scratching painfully at your esophagus, suffocating you from the inside out. Demanding to be set free, yet warning you against it.

You... knew this person. From somewhere. You wonder... if maybe... just maybe-

"And, here's our noble knight!" You quickly redirect your attention back to Unknown, internally berating yourself for getting distracted from what's truly important here. His leather jacket is exposing his boney shoulder to you, a large intricate image of an eye boring straight into your soul. The symbol is a familiar one. But, in a different way. It leaves your skin prickling with a disgusting sensation of cold sweat dripping down your back. You suddenly start to feel nauseous for some reason.

...You look away from it.

Instead, your raise gaze eyes at Unknown's face. His mint eyes sparkle in blinding lights of the makeshift stage he has put up just for you. It's the complete opposite of the dull and unfocused look present in the Knight's stare. There is an almost childlike glee swimming in his irises while he looks between you and the Knight, as if he is pursuing your personal approval in this intricate game of make-believe. Yet, it does not feel innocent nor really happy in nature. His grin is a sadistic one. Callous. Heartless. Lacking of any true warmth and affection for you, no matter what friendly front he tries to put on in front you. It makes you gulp, a silent warning of danger lurking in those cold eyes that does not escape you, even through the thick fog filling your head. He has you trained well, after all.

So, despite your ever growing discomfort gripping at your guts, you make sure to play your role diligently. You smile, providing him with appreciation he wordlessly demands from his prince/ss. His wicked grin widens once he sees your positive reception, his chest puffing out in what looks like pride, as he now stands behind the Knight, placing his hands onto his shoulders. His posture is relaxed, yet you can see his long fingers digging into the Knight's shoulders with way more force than necessary. Through it all, his gaze never leaves you, not even for a second. It feels suffocating. Like he's searching for any sign of imperfection in your behavior, however small, eager to teach his favorite pet a new lesson.

You remain still.

"-Eventually, the Knight did come running for our prince/ss, but... he was too late."

A small, pained groan falls from the Knight's lips, his appearance rather disheveled despite the gorgeous attire he was dressed in to make him look dignified. There are dark rings imbedded into his skin under his eyes, even more noticeable due to the sick paleness of his otherwise flawless complexion. Blemishes and cuts peek out from just underneath the frilly costume. But, you know Unknown prefers his pretty Fairytale to the ugly Truth. So, you pay no mind to imperfections bleeding into your play.

Yet, something tugs at your heartstrings once again the moment the Knight looks on at you, his brows furrowing just a tiny bit as he takes you in. It was unclear if he was feeling confused or distressed. A sudden desire to reach out and cup his cheek unexpectedly fills your senses. A want bring him comfort. A wish to pull him close. A longing to utter the same name that has been gnawing at your throat like a vicious parasite for a good while now. If it wasn't for the fatigue weighing your limbs down in invisible heavy chains of pure steel, you would have probably tried to move towards him without a second thought.

As you grapple with your frazzled mind abruptly acting up against you, the Knight's silver hair was now being combed through and played with by Unknown. With a smirk playing on his chapped lips, he leans in to murmur into the Knight's ear: "Fortunately, there is a happy ending to this fairytale of yours, noble Knight. But, it is up to me to write it."

His words were hopeful, but they still sent a cold chill down your spine for some reason. A sentiment reciprocated by the Knight, judging by the way his hands clenched tightly where they rested on his throne's arm rest.

"N-No..."

His voice is quiet and raspy. Yours is very similar. It makes your breath hitch in the middle of your throat painfully, your body impulsively leaning towards the two men in front of you. An action not going unnoticed by Unknown, who raises a brow at you pointedly.

You take the hint.

...So, you return back to your place without a word.

"...No...? Oh, but that's not in the script, noble Knight! I thought you were a talented actor, are you not?" Unknown mocks, seemingly more amused than angry at the Knight's disobedience. He tightens his grip on the other man's chin and lifts his head up to make him look him directly in the eye. The Knight groans, probably because of the unpleasant feeling of vertigo caused by such harsh movements. You know Unknown doesn't care for his discomfort. Much like he doesn't care for yours. You are just glad that it's not you who's on the receiving end of his attention right now. He continues, his tone suddenly shifting from mocking to shockingly tender. The change is so quick, it almost gives you a whiplash. "Poor, poor Knight... Is your head hurting? Here, take the magic potion to make all your pain disappear... This one was specially manufactured by me. Just for you."

Unknown pulls out a familiar mint liquid shimmering inside a small flask, and you immediately look away from the scene, your entire face scrunching up at the mere sight of it, almost involuntarily. Just seeing that specific shade of mint brings back the bitter taste of pungent chemicals burning at your lips that you are painfully familiar with. You just stare ahead blankly, listening to the gruesome sounds of coughing, gagging and choking that soon follow. It's a grisly change from the soft-spoken narration that was filling the room just moments prior. What you focus on, though, is the quiet murmurs of encouragements Unknown was cooing to the Knight as the acrid liquid pours down his throat forcefully, burning anything it touches, without any mercy.

You couldn't understand Unknown. One moment he could be cruel, and the next he could be loving. Cold and indifferent, and then almost giddy with some twisted sense of excitement. With him in the room, you always feel like you are walking the thinnest of tightropes, just on the edge of plummeting down into the abyss filled with dozens of wolves hungry for your blood, and all it would take is just a single wrong move from you. Today, though, he seems to be in a rather good mood.

You don't know how happy you should be about that, though.

After the flask falls to the floor with a loud clatter, you look up and witness an eerie sight unfolding before you. Unknown's hands are now gripping the Knight's chin and wrist in a rather painful-looking grasp, forcing him into what he probably perceives as an honorable pose: with the Knight's head held high and one of his arms stretching out towards you. It looks rather disturbing, though, as you take note of the Knight's labored breaths and an ugly stain of mint against his pretty clothes. You can see him actively struggling not to throw up, his lips trembling, and his face even paler than it was before, twisted in an expression of agony that left your chest burning for a completely different reason than that same hazy fever weighing you down.

You were intimately familiar with that horrid experience. You stayed still for that exact reason. Not wanting to be on the receiving end of the Unknown's 'help' next. Maybe a bit cowardly of you, but you did not care.

"-C'mon! Act happy! You said your dream is to act until you die. That's what you said at your last punishment, is it not?"

Unknown is merciless towards the poor man, shaking him like a ragdoll and only making his already rather dizzy state even worse. Then, he looks up at you and jerks his head at you, indicating that he wants you to come over. You freeze, suddenly more uncomfortable than you've ever felt before. But, you know better than to resist. So, you listen. Pushing through the fatigue and pain screaming at you to stay still, you stand up from your throne slowly, and clumsily make your way over to the two men opposite from you, struggling not to trip over your own two feet, with how shaky they felt under you.

Unknown grins, looking at you with a glint of pride in his eyes. It almost makes up for the nausea and weakness you have to endure constantly. Almost. You do end up stumbling as you finally walk up to them, but Unknown graciously moves over to hold you up, his hands gripping your waist in a rather gentle hold for someone so brutal in his ways. It makes you want to lean against him, to let him support you when you can't stand. But... you know he won't do that. And, just as quickly as his hands grab you, they are suddenly gone.

And you realize that you are now seated on the Knight's lap.

The beautiful silver-haired man, now in such close proximity to you, was so close that you could make out each individual lash fluttering around his dangerously attractive eyes of scarlet hue. Though, now that you were able to stare at them that much closer, you could see tiny dots if mint mudding that pretty shade of red. You didn't like that. He seems to share your bewildered and enthralled state of mind, gazing down at you with a shocked expression that probably echoed your own.

The spell breaks once you hear Unknown's voice echoing against the walls around you, now circling you two like a hungry cat playing with its food. Even though you don't look back at him, you can still hear a smirk present in his voice as he begins to utter his next words to you in a gentle hiss flowing through the air. You wonder if that's how the jealous Serpent's words of corruption sounded to Eve, as it whispered its sweet deception into her ears with a false promise of greater knowledge. It makes you clutch onto the Knight's shirt tighter than would be considered appropriate, making his breath hitch at your touch.

"Now, this time, make sure to court your beloved prince/ss with true love they deserve. You owe them this much for all the ugly lies you poisoned them with." Unknown's voice is husky, almost quiet enough for you to miss it completely. Yet, for some strange reason, it fills your ears with such force that he might as well be yelling. You gaze up at the Knight, refusing to move a single muscle. There is some wordless understanding flickering between you two, one that you cannot recognize fully due to the hazy state of your mind. But, you can feel it. A timid ticklish sensation fluttering somewhere deep within your ribcage, like a butterfly that has just come out of its cocoon and doesn't have the strength to take flight just yet.

Then, a hand reaches for your cheek. You jolt, the tiniest of gasps escaping past your lips at the unexpected touch that leaves your skin tingling with an uncomfortable warmth that spreads down your neck and pools right in the center of your chest. And then, the Knight's face is just inches away from yours. His breaths are tickling the flush skin of your cheeks with gentle puffs of air. The feeling send your entire body buzzing with some strange energy you can't quite put your finger on. The footsteps circling around you immediately come to an abrupt stop, a heavy silence filling the room once more. If not for the deafening pounding of your heart almost rupturing your eardrums, that is.

"...I think... I've seen you somewhere before..."

The Knight's raspy voice is so close to you that it makes your head spin. You are now fully aware that you have heard that voice before. There is no doubt about it. Just not that dull and hoarse. It reawakens something buried deep within you. A flicker of common sense that got fizzled out by a certain slender boney hand. It sparkles to life, its timid flame burning brighter and brighter, fighting intensively and desperately against the drugged darkness of dissociation you were forcefully put in. Your breathing quickens, your hands begin to tremble where the clutch onto the Knight with their unsteady grip. They are fuzzy, very fuzzy, but you are sure you can remember some instances of you and the Knight sharing some precious moments together.

No... Not you and Knight... You know who this is. How could you not? You've grown so close to him in such a short amount of time. A dazzling actor with a heart so passionate for all that he does, it swept you off your feet.

-But, just as you open your mouth to finally utter the name that has been on the back of your mind this whole time, a cold hand suddenly grips your cheeks in a vice grip, and a deceivingly cheerful voice rings out right next to your ear, making you wince from the harsh loudness of it.

"...I'm your love! Your prince/ss! And you are my Knight."

You suppose this was Unknown's attempt to impersonate your voice. Or maybe it's a mockery. You couldn't really tell. Either way, it was a rather poor attempt for sure. You didn't know if you should feel offended or not. Do you seriously sound like that to him?

Maybe it shouldn't be surprising that he doesn't even see you as an equal. However, that reminder still hurts. In a peculiar surface-level way.

"...You are the prince/ss... I am the Knight..." Your attention is stolen away as the Knight repeats your lines that came from Unknown's lips, sounding like a lifeless robot attemting to poorly imitate human speech. It didn't sound like his voice at all. You frown and are not happy with it. You are not happy with it at all. Without thinking, you lean in, the grip of your hands on his shirt loosening ever so slightly as your lips just about brush against the damp skin of his cheek. That wasn't a kiss, really. You just had a hard time coordinating your movements, so, once you leaned in, your sense of balance was thrown off, and you ended up bumping against him innocently.

But, once you notice your mistake, you don't move away. You don't try to fix it. You don't try to go back to the script you were meant to play. You simply remain in that spot. Frozen. Holding in a breath as your wide eyes stare back into a pair of dull vermillion ones, just as astounded as yours are. Then, you see something change in them. A glimer of reason. Of humanity. Of some deep-rooted fondness for you that was now brought back to life, much like the one you felt simmer within you moments prior.

You feel a pair of large hands suddenly grip your shoulders, bringing you closer to the man in front of you, making your breath hitch. Until you are pressed flush against him, his chest against yours, and your nose tucked into the crook of his neck. It feels almost desperate - the way he holds you close to him. It's like he's trying to protect you from something. You feel him begin to tremble, his breaths short and quick as he shakes his head, his voice sounding so much more life-like now, but still so disoriented, it makes your heart ache.

"No... No. You... You- Y-Y/N...?"

There. The illusion shatters into pieces.

"Stop, stop-!"

You almost whimper and cover yourself as the harsh screech tears through your eardrums. The enticingly soft baritone of Unknown's narration was lost. Replaced by the grating and high-pitched shriek of rage that left you shaking from fear and wanting to run away as fast as you can. Yet, you remain frozen, not even shaking as you sit, stiff as a statue. It's like the fear paralyzed you. Your mind was running a hundred miles per minute, yet your body didn't move a single inch. It was a really uncomfortable feeling to grapple with. Almost like you were locked within your own body, unable to control it the way you were supposed to.

Then, you are harshly yanked back by the collar of your shirt and forced to stumble onto your legs, which quickly give out from under you this time around. It was already hard enough to keep your balance, but with the cold fear gripping your limbs, it was practically impossible. So, you tumbke down onto your knees, like a helpless doll, unable to stand upright without its master holding its strings. Your incompetence elicits an almost guttural growl from Unknown, who stares down at you with pure fury written all over his rather delicate features. It makes you want to shrivel up, crawl into the nearest hole, and die. He roughly pulls you back up, his fingers digging into your forearms rather painfully as he holds you up. Something that is clearly annoying him greatly, and he makes no effort to hide it.

Which is ironic, considering he's the reason you can't even stand straight in the first place.

"Looks like our prince/ss may need more training after all... What a waste." He spats out that last word with such contemt, you swore a part of you has died right then and there. "I guess it's back to the basement for you, party coordinator. I can't have you saying anything stupid on me, can I?"

Before you have any chance to protest, beg, or cry, you are pushed back onto your throne, left to wait for your inevitable punishment. The word 'basement' alone made you want to scream. It's like your body and mind have already learned what that word meant for you, pushing them to go into overdrive just from hearing it. Yet, you are still just as helpless. Trapped within your own weakened body and left at the mercy of Unknown.

As you sit there and grapple with your ever-growing panic, he turns his attention back to the Knight. Or, to be more precise, Zen. No need for any roles when the fairytale has already been sullied.

"You are not ready to be on stage yet." He mutters under his breath, one of his hands now gripping onto the other man's chin as he brings his face almost uncomfortably close, until he's mere inches away from him. You can't see the expression on his face as he has his back to you. But, Zen's eyes flick between you and Unknown, reflecting your fear. The feeling of powerlessness is almost suffocating. Not only can't you help yourself, but you also can't do a single thing for Zen as well. You are both just two dolls for Unknown to mold to his liking.

Or, rather, his Savior's liking.

"-Your eyes are lying."

Unknown's hiss is full of frustration and resentment. You are wondering why he has such a strong dislike for Zen. With you, he seems to be more annoyed at your inability to follow his wishes. Like a kid, irritated at his toy not working properly. But, with Zen? It's almost like he's actively shaping him into something else not out of his own personal twisted desire to do so, but because it's what he has been assigned to do. In other words, forced to.

You wince as you see Unknown's fingernail digging into the other man's skin, just beneath his eye. It's almost like he's holding himself back from actively gouging his eyes out right then and there. The mental image almost makes you want to throw up, frankly. And, the mere fact that you were actually considering such a gruesome thing as a very real possibility... it disturbed you.

"You will play the role you were given. It's only a matter of time. And, as for the prince/ss..." He looks back at you, his expression dark as he looks over you thoughtfully. His stare makes your skin crawl. "I'll take good care of them."

A cruel smile spreads over his face as he stands back from the poor actor. He extends his arms and circles you two once more. But, this time, his voice is loud and commanding. Each word seeping into your ears and digging into your psyche like a swarm of vicious leeches, eager to gobble up what little remained of your common sense.

"And then, we'll start our play again. From the very beginning. Over... and over... and over again. However long it takes. Time is not a problem when you're in Paradise!"

"Now... shall we begin?"

His cold hand gently caresses the side of your face as he stops just behind you. His touch is no longer providing you with any relief. It only heightens the feeling of dread enveloping you like a dense cloud of smoke.

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #zen ryu #mystic messenger zen #zen x reader #unknown choi #mystic messenger unknown #saeran choi #unknown x reader #saeran x reader #OH HEY IT'S FIXED #fun fact this was supposed to be more spicy than creepy but uh- #i found it way too fun to go all in on the messed up part of it #unknown is very creepy and ruthless in the bad endings - and also VERY quick to switch moods #i wanted to play around with that part of him #also!! first silent reader #i thought it'll be a fun challenge to write up from a perspective of someone who doesn't speak #i love writing dialogue so diving in more on the descriptive side of things was a fun exercise #and i edited unknown's lines from the games a bit #bc i love doing that

[cyrankaa]

Dean Winchester

#hey cw i have a challenge for you #introduce a love interest for Dean whos relationship with him lasts more than one episode #and whos more than just a plot device #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #destiel #i guess

[flamemons]

#digimon frontier #abril can draw sometimes #this memes so funny to me and its bc it reminds me of them #like koujis so thoughtful and serious at like the slightest twinge of non-straight-ness hed be like. oh no i Have to deal with this #and takuyas illiterate and barely thinks about that sort of stuff #but hes also immune to comp-het bc hes so *shrug emoji* about How People Should Act #so he interprets koujis genuine attempt at being open and honest as a Challenge #its as if kouji went ''hey....i like action movies'' like oh NO you dont i love action movies i can name like five #ive thought too hard about this. #i do wanna make it clear tho this isnt like. shipping art i dont really care about their romantic exploits #although anyone cam interpret it how they want #the most important thing is that takuya has to Win