#Ivory Wood Residences

[ellivenollivander]

A Worthy Trade

Summary: Garreth & Adelaide Weasley ready for the day, and Garreth ruminates on all of the Good in his life. Word Count: 2173 Rating: T A/N: Written for @garrethweasleyfest. My prompt used was Professor Gar. The inspiration to write left me entirely for basically a month straight, and this was actually meant to be a longer work. I might write a part two. We'll see what happens, and I hope you enjoy it for what it is anyway. HUGE thank you to @cuffmeinblack, @pluviowriting & @applinsandoranges for being so kind and encouraging. This wouldn't have happened without you! TW: Pregnancy, Pregnancy Mention

Hogsmeade was in top form when autumn descended upon it, Garreth had always thought. The vibrant hues and blue skies of summer giving way to overcast clouds and trees fading into brilliant reds and oranges and finally into nothing at all, when December came, and with it, linen-white blankets of snow. The florals that clung to the air beneath the summer sun dissipated with the bite of the autumn air, replaced with the scent of wood-burning smoke as the resident hearths were lit to chase away the cold, falling leaves dancing on the breeze and along the cobblestone streets. It all felt very much like home. Which is exactly where Garreth stood, half-drinking a tea now gone cold and scribbling notes into a journal that was stuffed as full as the mind of the man who filled its pages, splayed about on the kitchen countertop. The windows were open despite the roaring flames that crackled and popped in the fireplace, the curtains fluttering in the breath of an early morning wind. Garreth wasn’t fond of the curtains, to put it kindly, likely once a lovely ivory and now yellowed with age. Horribly outdated, and left behind by the home's previous owners but his wife had insisted they gave the place charm, so they had stayed, framing the old paned glass window that seemed to never be streak free no matter how often they scourgified. Garreth’s attention was drawn away from a scrawled note on adjusting the preparation of alihotsy to suit lesser needs (dried rather than chopped?), to their family cat outside the window, pouncing upon something hidden in the wilted and brittle remains of his wifes garden which had succumbed to the changing season. He thought he ought to clear it out, so it was ready for his wife to till and bring back to its usual glory the moment the ground thawed come spring. Or perhaps he ought to build her a proper greenhouse, so his green-thumbed wife could have all of the fresh produce and flowering blooms that she pleased, year-round. Adelaide would like that, he thought, and he knew Mr. Brown of Tomes & Scrolls carried the spellcrafts, and surely the materials would not break the bank with each of their comfortable salaries. With his face falling into an excitable grin that he swallowed with another glug of his tea, should his wife stumble in and catch him with one of his masterful plans, he scribbled a note to remind himself to stop by and visit Tom in the sparse open spaces of his journal after work. 

Tea cup halfway to his lips, he watched with an amused grin as the cat bolted off again, into the dying brush and off to wreak havoc elsewhere. Hopefully, to The Magic Neep, where it had become a thorn in old Mr. Teasdale’s side. The usually jovial herbologist had blamed the small beast for the destruction of his fluxweed crop on more than one occasion. Garreth had tried to defend his wife's beloved feline, with the entirely logical deduction that there was no way the old man could prove it was indeed their family pet, but his wife had shushed him, offering apologies and promises to bring over some of her esteemed ginger cakes as recompense in order to keep the neighbourhood peace. 

Saving the neighbourhood peace was growing to be one of Adelaide’s talents, helped by her enthusiasm for time spent in the heart of the home - the kitchen. Always delivering treats and sweets to their neighbours, and most often, Mr. Pippin, and of course on behalf of Garreth. Who had more than taken advantage of the short distance between their home and the potions shop, eager for spirited conversations with a man as enthusiastic about potions as he was. Only a small footbridge separated their home and the shop, and Garreth Weasley was as much a permanent accessory in the shop as the sign on the door, his wife soothing the scowl of its proprietor at his constant interruptions of his work with hot meals and warm pastries. 

Adelaide Weasley was always welcome, and her husband was welcome in the way a father swears he doesn't care for the family pet, but never moves it from its nap when it curls up in his favourite chair. 

Garreth had only just slipped the loose bits of parchment back between the pages of his journal, when his wife strolled into the kitchen, hair tied neatly behind her head in her usual plait, and fussing with the loose fabric of her blouse. He allowed his cup to fall into the hot, soapy water, mindless to the way it began to clean itself amongst the breakfast dishes, with his attention entirely on his beautiful wife and the contemplative scowl on her face. 

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of her pulling her blouse over the soft swell of her stomach, concealing it away with the ruffles and lace. He leant against the sink with an amused grin, green eyes following the way she poked and prodded at herself. 

“You know…” He began, with a strong arm reaching out to pull her close, wrapping her up in his embrace, his head instinctively tilting down to trail chaste kisses along the slope of her neck.  “... You can’t hide our good news away forever, or else people may question where you’ve got a baby from when it arrives.” His tone was light, Teasing. Even if it took every ounce of his self-restraint to not take out the entire front page of the prophet to announce the news that they were going to be parents, Garreth respected his wife’s choice to delay the celebrations. It was her body in the end, though that didn’t save her from his affectionate jabs due to his own impatience in the safety and privacy of their own home.

He hummed happily, forehead resting where her shoulder met her neck when she reciprocated his lazy morning affections with her hands in his hair, a giggle fluttering from her lips as she kissed his temple. 

“Yes, well. Evie said that once people know, they’ll be poking and prodding at me all of the time and I don’t fancy that much.” 

Evie. Evangeline. His wife’s best friend from their days at school and who had two children of her own already, after having settled down with her childhood sweetheart the moment they had graduated. Adelaide seldom did anything without her ever-present companions counsel and when Garreth had proposed, he had half-expected his lovely bride-to-be to tell him to Hold That Thought whilst she ran off to ask for her friend's opinion on the matter. 

(She hadn’t, and instead, the memory of her standing flushed and teary-eyed amongst the foxgloves and forget-me-nots whilst he slipped the modest ring on her finger during her gleeful acceptance of his self-proclaimed paltry offer would live at the forefront of his mind for the rest of his days.) 

Now, it seemed the two had all the more to talk about now that his wife was well on her way to join her friend in motherhood. Garreth was grateful for the feminine support through his wife's first pregnancy, even if it called for a few interrupted meals whilst Adelaide explained in detail her varying symptoms to Evangeline’s head in the fireplace. “Mm. Well we don’t want you being poked by anyone other than me now do we?” Garreth chuckled; Smiling and savouring the lingering scent of lavender and bergamot from her shampoo as he brought himself back to height, pausing only to steal a kiss from her pouting lips, soothing her look of mild disapproval before helping her into her cloak. “Come on then, the young and impressionable minds of our students thirst for our wisdom.” 

  ***

A choice to live within the faculty quarters of the school or to live outside of its majestic halls was given to each member of the general staff and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Garreth had taken full advantage of the former during his first few years as a Professor, putting every knut that would have been spent on room and board away on a dream for a potions shop with his name on the front. Then Adelaide Oakes came gliding into the picture. A lovely little thing who was sweet and kind and laughed at all of his jokes. Even the ones he knew weren’t his very best work as he slumped over potions essays that had him feeling the slightest twinge of sympathy for the grizzled Auror that had once held his post (and who still haunted his nightmares every now and again when he was struggling with a more difficult brew). 

Adelaide had transferred into the role of Magical Home Economics Professor, A class meant to prepare magical children for the mundane realities of living in a magical world, when the elderly Professor Spindle had finally thrown in the towel and retired to an island in the Gulf of Finland.

Garreth had only just settled into his fate in academia when Adelaide came around (Again. She so loved reminding him of all the classes and moments they had shared during their own schooldays that he had seemingly paid little mind too. He equally loved reminding her that his mind had been very busy becoming the next great potioneer thank you very much.) A year spent inside the castle he now called home for a second time, only this time, he was educating the next generation of magical minds in the world of cauldrons and brews. 

Playful banter, a few shared butterbeers in the staff-room, a decidedly romantic candle-lit dinner at the Three Broomsticks and a terribly, terribly awkward disclosing of a workplace relationship to his own bloody Aunt later, and the rest was well and truly history. Garreth found himself lamenting the years he spent Not Noticing her whilst they attended school together. Missed opportunities of fumbling around in broom cupboards and blushing faces  over sickly sweet teas at Steepleys. (Though Garreth had tried using his Weasley charm to coax his now wife into a broom cupboard rendezvous now and again when their days were especially dull, but his respectful wife had kept things firmly over-the-clothes.) He lamented, even, not taking his fathers job offer to work at the Ministry. If only because it may have put her in his path far sooner whilst she worked alongside her Uncle Rowland  in the Goblin Liaison office. The money Garreth had tucked away inside of his vault at Gringotts had swiftly been reallocated to other worthwhile endeavours. Gifts and dinners out, weekend holidays and yearly passes to the Magical Arboreal Gardens in London. Everything a girl like Adelaide deserved when being courted. Then, the modest sum of gold had dwindled after a sweaty-palmed conversation with Rowland Oakes had given Garreth his blessing, and he bought her a ring. (Not nearly as grand as she deserved, but she had gasped and cried as she stared at it on her finger, so he must have done alright.) The rest of it disappeared with a wedding and a honeymoon, and the scant remains of the gold were scraped together with his brides and spent on their home. 

More often than not, Garreth sat staring at the wall in the office he had spent much of his youth sneaking into, reminiscing on where his life had ended up – and deciding whether or not he regretted the choices he had made that had brought him here and now. His dreams of owning a potions shop seemed further away than ever before, though it still sat dormant in the back of his mind, and weaved its way between the lines of his journal. On a particularly optimistic day, He had even painstakingly filled out a patent application for his perfected Weasley’s Wonder Tonic. Though the high that had carried him through every line of legal jargon transfigured itself into a different sort of joy, when his wife had joined him in the little nook that served as his workstation, delicate hands holding her contraceptive potion and pink lips whispering “What if we started trying?” Garreth had beamed, A Winter Baby. Now wouldn’t that be nice? and took her blushing and giggling to bed. The application had been tucked away in the pages of his most private thoughts, and he barely paid it any mind. Thus, despite the dull longing that seemed to capture him on a Bad Day, the thought of his wife - bright-eyed and giggling by the fire, cheeks pink from the firewhiskey they had shared to celebrate their students surviving exam season their first year teaching together or the way she hummed The Enchanted Garden whilst she baked barefoot in the kitchen - soothed whatever doubts had crept their way into his mind, warming him faster than a pepper-up. Garreth Weasley had simply traded one dream for another, and would not trade a single moment, nor take a single step in another direction if offered the choice. 

[monayen]

uhhh I dunno really but — maybe a fic of reader just walking in the forest because they r lost then getting caught in a bear trap nyen set up and uh he does something fucked up to reader, like fucks them then kills them or something? Or something heavy gore related while he fucks them.. sorryyy ahhh (I’m a damn masochist.)

The Lost Camper | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - noncon, unsafe sex, fear play, knife play, blood kink, stabbing, sadism, fingering, violence, degradation, dacryphilla, READER DEATH

a/n - this came out to 4k words :') i know anon described a bear trap/hunting-esque situation but i felt making the reader a more cryptic-like being of the woods made a bit more sense (and easier to fit in) either way, reminder that this is DARK. there isn't a happy ending and the reader does freakin' die. (though rebirth is implied. see it how ya' do) i apologize for any mistakes as this is my longest work to date (whoop whoop) thank you for your comments and requests on both ao3 and tumblr. keeps me motivated ^^ currently working on a Randal fic and some Luther headcannons :3 inbox open as always. ANYWAYS ENOUGH

You aren't sure why you decided to hop over the Ivory household's security measures and rummage through their things while they slept. You’ve seen campers before in these woods plenty of times. Hundreds, if you kept count… but you don't.

You also don't ever interact with campers these days either. They didn’t tend to be special and they didn’t ever really get in the way. Maybe you’ll spook them by hovering around behind the greenery, sticks cracking underneath rugged boots. They don't interest you anymore beyond listening to them talk about their boring, human lives. 

It doesn't make them completely irrelevant to you though, as you’ve gained a habit of sneaking onto their campsites. You steal – quite often. Well, as often as people come this deep into the woods. It's how you justify it, how else are you supposed to get canned food and new clothes? And so what if you also take a couple of books you can't read and stuffed animals whose furs mat under dirty hands. The mossy den you reside in could always use new things, even if you have no use for them.

For as long as you remember, it has been like this. A being of the woods, you’ve become a cryptic-like legend. “The Lost Camper”, you’re called. Whatever that means. You aren't sure what life is like past bark and muddy soil, clothes messy and hands rough. You were never lost, this is all you know.

Is it all so bad? So bad that humans go out of their way to tell campfire stories about your existence? The grass gives you more comfort than any sleeping bag can. 

So there really wasn't any need for you to be past that fence they set up. The truth was that they were… interesting. More interesting than any other family who ventured out here. You saw as they gathered around and talked, well, two were doing most of the talking. Brothers, apparently. (despite not looking much alike) 

They tagged along a couple more… characters. Notably, these two catmen that hovered around the older one of the brothers. They looked more alike, cat ears dawning their similar haircuts. You could tell them apart by their clothes – easier, their demeanors. 

The blue haired one stood hunched, staring at his… ”master” talk. Immediately, you could tell he was the more timid of the two. You observed the other pinkish haired one smoke a cigarette a few steps away from the group. His eyes – eye, actually – looked low and dark. The patch on one of them leaves you to wonder what might've happened for it to be left in such a state. Catching his name from his master, “Nyen”, which made sense considering his appearance.

You must have been staring too long, because suddenly Nyen lifts his head and his sunless eye meets yours for a second. Ducking quickly behind the trees, it should have been your sign to leave, to go on your merry way of collecting berries and getting high off of mushrooms for entertainment. 

But of course – you didn't. Instead, you retreated to the comfort of the conifer and stood idly. The sun set faster than you expected, any thoughts of simply leaving long gone hours ago. An eager smile spread across your face, these unique campers were asleep and you were going to rein free on their grounds. This was going to be the most fun you’ve had in ages!

As you tiptoe to their spot, you point out the odd set up. They had a truck and two tents, but only one tent actually seemed to be occupied. They also left a plethora of things outside unattended. Great for you. 

Nimbly, you start pocketing random things into your large well-loved leather crossbody bag. You’ve rummaged through many people’s unattended things before, but they definitely take it to a different level. This place was filled with bizarre stuff, stuff you’ve never seen before. 

Why the fuck were they carrying several wooden carvings of beavers and… birthday cake flavored “lube”... unsure what the latter was. Either way, you found it all the more entertaining to stuff these random things into your bag, giggling slightly when you pulled out a photorealistic framed drawing of a blue pony with a rainbow mane. 

You were so intrigued by all these things that you didn't realize masked, narrow eyes staring at your figure past the of the darkness camp. 

-

Nyen had been waiting for this. How stupid can you be? He saw you past the trees when the sun was still up, staring with a stable gaze – observing. Your face was shaded by the leaves, but he could see the grip you had on the tree trunk you stood behind. You looked rugged, you weren't just another camper or hitchhiker. He huffs his cigarette, more freaks. Nyen moves his eyes towards his master, clearly already stressed with the hitchhiker they had picked up hours before. Another huff.

His eyes meet yours when he decides to look up again and just as quickly – you're gone. 

Once Luther hears about this, his brows furrow slightly at the idea of another thing to deal with. “Oh dear, I just can't catch a break.” Nyen waits for his master to continue.

Randal (who totally wasn't eavesdropping) perks up once he recognizes who they were talking about, “Oh! Oh! You mean the…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “The Lost Camper…” Luther twists his head to stare at his brother, “Is that the name?” 

Randal nods excitedly, “I’ve read all about her! Apparently, she’s a ghost. Or like a cavewoman. Or an animal-hybrid. I actually didn't read that much.” He shrugs, “She doesn't hurt people, I think. Just swipes a few things and wonders around. Which is a little boring, would love it if something tried to kill us! AGAIN!”

Luther shakes his head and looks back at Nyen, “Hm, it’s too late now to move everything back inside…” He places a finger on his chin, “If that's true, then deal with her if she becomes a problem, alright?” 

Nyen nods, “Yes sir.”

From what Randal said, he knew you would most likely lurk in the incognito of the night. So he took his stance outside the tent everyone else slept in. 

He almost giddily twirls the handle of the knife, waiting and waiting. Hours pass, he doesn't have a watch but his internal clock tells him it’s around 3 am when he finally spots you. Look at you, being a problem.

Your back is faced away from him. Through the darkness, (and thanks to his skill of seeing well in the dark) he witnesses the silhouette of your thievery. Nyen can't point out exactly what you are taking but all he can imagine is his master’s upset face if he sees things are missing. The grip on his knife tightens.

He needs to wait again, wait for the perfect moment, wait to pounce . Nyen hears giggles escape your mouth – small, but he hears it. His jaw clenches. How dare you tee-hee while taking his family's very important stuff? He almost wants to lunge at you straight away, but he decides against it. Nyen wants to stab you in the throat and watch the blood splurt once you turn around. He just needs to get a bit closer…

SNAP

How irritating. Nyen just had to step on a twig. 

Your reaction time is just as fast as his, darting into the dark woods with him quickly trailing behind you.

Nyen huffs to himself. He wanted to make this quick, but he certainly doesn’t mind a chase.

-

Holy shit, shit, shit. Thoughts race a thousand miles per hour, with your legs following right behind. You admittedly got too into it that you weren’t focusing, now you have to make a great escape. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve had to run away from a camper, there was a time where a woman got spooked by you on her way to take a piss. Her scream was so loud that you immediately dashed past her, dropping the clothes you had stolen. Her husband (presumably an experienced outdoorsman) actually trekked through the woods with a shotgun for a while as you held your breath in the branches above. Ultimately, her family was gone before the sun was down. 

But you aren't sure you can just avoid this one. You allow yourself to turn peek behind you and see him . The smoking catman, Nyen. The shade of the night is heavy, but you’ve adapted to see well in the dark. You’re sure he has that skill too with the way his gaze is steady, hard, and right on yo u through terrifying masked eyes. Where did his eyepatch go?

Shaky hands clutch the filled crossbody bag that jumps with your every movement. If you had to go through this, you at least want to keep the stuff. 

Just tire him out, you think. It's reassuring that you know these woods like the back of your hand. You’ve tread several miles, exploring and wondering, though never finding a road. (Odd.)

Agilely weaving him past trees and fallen logs, your boots try to find leaf covered ground in an attempt to not leave visible tracks, but that would cause you to move slower – and you can't afford that. You assume with enough loops and turns, he will lose your trail.

A loud, gravelly yell can be heard behind you, “You can't run forever!” It makes your heart hammer because it's true. You aren't sure how long you’ve been running now but it feels like hours .

Periodically, you pause to catch your breath, but it isn't long before you hear his heavy steps get closer and closer, forcing the chase to start again.

It’s terrifying. You have amazing stamina. It's part of being in these woods, moving a lot. Nyen is different though, you don't think he’s stopped once. He’s a hunter, a bit slower than his prey but always behind. 

Huffing, you duck under branches and jump over uneven ground with aching legs, barely catching yourself a few times. It’s strenuous to carry on like this, so close to giving out. It’s impossible to focus with this adrenaline pumping through your veins, are you going in circles? Herbage you’re so used to begin to feel like a labyrinth of ever consuming moss and vines. 

Managing to keep your distance, you start to believe that maybe you’ve lost him when the echo of rushed footsteps begin to fade. There’s a wave of relief when all that can be heard is the sound of heavy panting and earth stirring underneath sore feet. 

You close your eyes as you continue to move forward, wind flowing through your hair with momentum. It’s just for a second, for a moment of clarity. It's a terrible second. Your right ankle rolls horribly on a rock, making you tumble down with shriek. It reverberates past trees and you’re sure he's heard it. 

He’s already closing the gap, leaves shuffling behind you. Regaining composure with gritted teeth, you come to the conclusion that he can have his damn things. It’s not worth running forever. Peeking at your quickly growing swollen ankle, you aren't sure you even could.

Finding an area where the trees thin out with patches of soft grass, you use the last of your excretion to exclaim, “Wait, wait!” Facing him finally, he stops feet away from you. 

You finally get a closer look at him. His stance is still aggressive, as if you are about to take off at any moment. You see his glare filled with pure disdain, thin lips curling in a snarl. His eyes go beyond his bizarre mask, it feels like he's piercing you with them.

“Say it.” It's a husky voice that makes the anxiety in your stomach swirl. You realize you haven't been face to face with someone in… a while.

Croaking out with a strained voice, “Look, here. Have it back, I don't want it anymore.” With shaking hands, you tug the worn leather over your body and drop it onto the ground in between you two. Gulping, you scan his figure for any type of reaction.

That's when you notice a glint in his hand – a knife. Maybe it was foolish to assume he wouldn't have a weapon on him, he was chasing you after all. But it dawns on you that you don't have one. 

Nyen seems to pick up on your sudden stiffening, taking a step forward. It takes everything in you to not take off, but you know it would be fruitless with a sore ankle. 

“I know who you are.” You shake, “You do?” He nods slowly, “Randal told me about you. ‘The Lost Camper’, a habitual thief and urban legend. A fucking pussy too.” 

A low laugh escapes his lips, he’s getting closer. “So, you think you can just get away with this?” Sweat builds even heavier on your brow and you shake your head, “No, no. I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't mean to–” He cuts you off, “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing. You need to be dealt with. ”

Your flight instinct kicks in and despite the light injury you sustained, your feet begin to move on their own. It's not fast enough though, he lunges at you and the sudden weight causes you to fall down with a pained hiss.

There's a tackle, he's grabbing at you while you try to force yourself up under him. It’s incredibly rough, there isn't enough room to struggle around with how his weight presses you down.

You watch terribly as Nyen brings his knife up in the air. The pale moon shines on the blade, and for a second, you see the reflection of your terrified face before it stains red. 

A guttural scream forces out of your mouth, making you throw your head back before it crooks back down to see crimson blood seep through your jeans down the side of your thigh. 

Nyen doesn't waste time in pulling the blade back, watching how you writhe in pain. Through teary eyes, you see pure excitement spread across his shaded face. He’s enjoying this. 

You can barely resist when he's forcing your thick jacket off your body – not satisfied with how the material lessens the cuts he’s adorning your body. “Don't do this…” It’s meek and pathetic, you know but you can't help it. He stands above, blood staining his hands. 

“It's already happening.” It's deep and low, and you feel every drip of venom that laces his words. 

You witness Nyen begin to rub the growing bulge in his tan jeans, causing your stomach to twist in a way that you're scared you may vomit out of the fear and pain. The catman groans, “Fuck… I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

Soon enough, he strips you of your worn shirt and jeans clothes. It's scary how Nyen handles you like a ragdoll, no concern for the twists and gashes your injured body has to endure. 

“So this is what you were hiding under all that? Lucky me.” It’s so condescending that you grit your teeth. For any chance of keeping your dignity, an attempt of covering yourself and moving is made – but it’s met with a swift kick to your ribs that results in burning heaving.

A cold hand slips under your bra, lifting it over and groping at your chest. Whimpering, you attempt to shy away from his touch but he draws you back with an even colder tip of a blade that swipes across your skin. 

Red drapes over your body like a warm blanket in contrast to the cool chill of the forest air. You can almost stare off into the starry night you are so used to while you try to regain bated breath, just for an escape.

Nyen doesn't allow this though. He flips you over roughly onto your stomach, ripping away the comforting sky from your vision. Again, you want to at least protest when he greedily spreads your legs open, hand prodding at your sensitive heat.

Shit. You don't remember the last time you ventured into anything sexual. Maybe you’d rub one out when the idea popped up, but it never really did. You’ve seen a… er– dildo (if you remember correctly what it was called) once or twice when snooping around camps. It gave you a good laugh then, but you would ultimately leave it. 

Now you can feel how his hard length presses up against you. It’s an uncommon sensation, and fuck – why does it have to be big? 

Cutting your underwear off, his long fingers soon dip into the heat of your pussy, pushing in and out. You gasp and tremble underneath his touch. He doesn't wait for you, curling his digits up as growing wetness coats his knuckles. It's disgustingly good, making your traitorous body clench around his fingers. 

Nyen looms over you, wiping the soaked knife onto dark long sleeves, helping him keep his grip on the handle. Then, he pulls his fingers out of you, tauntingly slow to hear how you whimper pathetically. “Look at you, bitch. You're fucking dripping.” He mixes the juices with your blood, “Heh, in more ways than one.”

With unbuckled jeans, he moves fully on top of you, knees pining the sides of you down as he grunts against your soft ass. Nyen then grips your hair and pulls your head back, curving your spine into an uncomfortable position. His knife finds its way to your exposed neck. 

Shaking, it nips at your skin as shallow breaths escape you. He brings himself closer . “Should I just kill you now? What do you think, slut?” Adrenaline rushes through your body, a shameful cry escapes you, “No, no! Don't– don't!” 

He grinds against you, “Then beg.” Shaking your head, you respond – “Please. Please let me go, I’m sorry.” A deep sinister chuckle responds, “No, bitch.” He yanks your head back even farther. Feeling his hot breath against your face, he spits, “Beg for me to fuck you.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, shutting tightly when his blade grazes hurt skin once more. His hard length prods at your entrance – waiting. With a deep breath, you whisper oh-so pathetically. “Please fuck me.” You pray it's enough.

“Better than that. C'mon, or I’ll slit your pretty little fucking throat.” He yanks your hair, pushing into your skin. You panic, fat tears streaming down your face. “No! Don't kill me! Please, please just fuck me. Please.”  

Your screams turn into loud cries, echoing onto the tall trees that surround the scene. Nyen relishes in your wails, nails digging into the back of your scalp before his cock sinks into you roughly. You squirm with a loud pained gasp, you weren't close to ready for him. 

His knife (thankfully) removes itself from your neck, grip on the handle still iron strong. It doesn't give you anything to distract from as he stretches you out incredibly painfully. Inch by inch, your muscles contract and try to adjust to his size – but it's not nearly enough when he begins to start to move. 

“You're so fucking tight.” He lets out a sharp grunt, skin slapping against yours. “You've never fucked, haven’t you?” All you can do is cry. “Perfect.”

Forgetting the threat of his knife, he reminds you with a deep slash across your back. Pain vibrates through you, hands grip at soil and blades of grass in an attempt to stiffen the burning sensation that consumes you. Nausea festers and chokes at the back of your throat, certain that if you had eaten this morning it’d be spilling out your mouth by now.

It's an entrancing sight for Nyen, the large gash displays the crimson beautiful blood dripping down your arched back and onto your asscheeks as he slams into you. It’s a lot of blood. So much so that he feels how you physically weaken under him, fully incapacitated.

He decides to flip you back onto your back once again like the ragdoll you are. There, he can see how the light in your eyes start to dim. Red, and swollen, and tear rimmed – they stare back at him, wordlessly pleading for any type of mercy.

Nyen ignores it, choosing to grab your injured thighs and hike them over his broad shoulders, angling even deeper inside of you. Tight muscles draw him closer, grunting at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him. “Shit, you're a greedy fucking thing, aren't you?” He spits at you, grabbing your face to make sure your eyes stay on him, inches separating your faces. 

You don't respond, hoarse cries and moans are all the sounds you can make. Nyen’s mask taunts you, wide eyes never leaving yours as his nails scratch at your chest and waist, marking and trailing. Nyen’s nails even have the nerve to dig into your open wounds, forcing the blood to escape even faster. 

Any pleas you can muster out fall on deaf ears, and you almost wish he killed you before all this. But then it clicks that this is all just a game to him – you're simply a toy. The evil grin on his face is evident of this, he's truly enjoying watching this horrible scene come undone by his hands. The chase, the torture, your cries . It only makes his heavy cock harder and his thrusts sloppier. 

Your head is woozy and your vision is getting blurry. Numbness circuits through your body, the only thing you can feel is the sensation of his cock ramming into you over and over again. 

Nyen lets go of your face and chooses to grab at your bouncing tits, squeezing hard enough to create bruises. His twitching cock then rubs inside of you perfectly . A loud whine follows that causes Nyen’s jaw clench at the sudden extra pressure around his length, “Ah, hgh,– take my cum like the pathetic bitch you are,”

Stars in your vision soon mix with the stars in the night sky, you can't feel your legs anymore, neither your arms. Blood loss is getting to you – and quickly.

His body drives into yours, the sensation of gore under you squelches around against skin and dirt. Then, the knot building inside your numbing abdomen finally snaps, your breath hitches and you keen loudly – writhing around him.

Nyen soon follows, basically growling at how your pulsating pussy feverishly sucks him in and empties his balls. He rides the orgasm, fucking his cum deep inside you, and basking in the gripping release.

When he pulls out and off of you, your body limps on the ground. Overlooking, he can see how your lungs shallowly take in much needed air. Blood glistens off your cut adorned skin, and god is it a fucking beautiful sight.

He tucks his cock back into his blood soaked jeans, and he can already hear about how it's extra laundry to do now. But frankly, he doesn't care. Nyen gives you a once over, just to make sure the image of you really seeps into his brain. After well enough, he pockets his knife and walks over to the criminal leather bag that started this all. 

Suddenly, a weak grip holds onto his ankle. You.

You look at him with big, lidded eyes and croak out, “Wait… wait– am I… am I going to die?” He stares back at your frightened face with his reactionless one. It's quick before he gives you a sinister smile, then he yanks his ankle out from your grasp and grabs the bag that lays beside you. 

“Yeah, probably.” He then pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, flicking hot ash onto your chest. 

“You were a good fuck though, I’ll give you that.” It’s patronizing. A final tear streams down your cheek as you watch him walk into the fog of the trees without another word.

You stare at the sky once again, leaves sway above and let moonlight peek through. Your inhales seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but you don't realize. You just pay attention to the movement of the leaves and the formation of stars. 

Grass picks at the back of your head, it’s soft – one of the only things you can feel besides excruciating pain. You let it be your pillow, the comfort that is ever fleeting from your grasp. 

This wasn't a fate you ever expected to have, it wasn't even proper death. It all makes you want to get up and fight for yourself. To live. He wasn't going to win. 

But reality sinks in when your vision fills with black spots, and you remember you're actively bleeding out, abused and hurt. Dying. It hurts to move, and the lone thought of welcoming it reverberates in your mind. It’s okay… It’s okay… 

With a final breath and ringing ears, darkness finally mercifully consumes you. 

To the dirt you were born, to the dirt you return to. 

And to the dirt you will rise up from again. 

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Music To Bring Us Together

(This one was on my mind for a while (yes a certain fic of mine has a twin of sorts to this...) sooo yeah it just took a while to write it actually up.

If anyone wants a steamy followup to this particular chapter then say so and maybe i'll gather my spoons Oh and I've decided to call this kind of series The Phantom and his Songbird so enjoy:

A Celebration for Two

Things Better Left Unshared )

If asked separately both Erik's and your answer to what your favorite time of the week was, it would be the same: it was when you had the chance to get away from everything at the opera and had time to go spend the night with the lonely ghost that lived below the operahouse. He lived for those times, unable to stand the fact that he still could not simply always be with his beloved, to hold and shower you in affection and attention constantly, but he had even in small bits learned his lesson from before and he would not dare do anything that could even possibly make him lose you. He would wait, impatiently, and watch and admire you from afar despite wanting to do so far more personally, and when the time came he'd appear and whisk you away and the smile you'd wear on your face would send his heart a flutter to think that there really was someone who enjoyed his company and didn't fear his face. Could he truly believe it? Of course not, he still expected some trick, some lie or deceit of how this was not real, could not be real, and that you truly did fear and hate him for all he was, had done and could be. The gentleness of your tone and kiss to try and reassure him calmed the voices within for a time but never enough; he needed you by his side always and how you wished you could be but you did love the Opera Populaire for what it was and could be, almost as much as you loved it's resident Phantom.

Today was one such day; a break in rehearsals and you slipped away to that small side room, knowing that any second the secret passage would open and Erik would appear. You could always go down yourself, how many times had you walked it to the being able to do so in your sleep if necessary, but you knew how much the man loved to be able to whisk you away and who were you to ruin that for him? The Phantom, still spoken of in terrified whispers and hunted by those who knew and remembered, had so few joys as far as you could tell, things that truly could bring him happiness and peace in his admittedly lonely existence; to take this one away was far too cruel to you and thus you would not. Part of you wished instead that you could do more.

You had only been waiting for a fraction of time when there came the familiar sound of the hidden doorway opening and familiar touch upon your hand. Some days he grabbed you so fast and hard you could practically taste his desperation and need for closeness but this was not one of those days. His touch was light, almost hesitant, and you knew exactly what to do: you smiled and moved your hand to entwine your fingers in his, your tone soft and happy as you spoke, “Erik.”

“Songbird,” he responded and you were pulled close into a tight hug; you were surrounded by the scent of roses and old paper, ivory and water and wood.

And yarn; you could feel a familiar scarf against your face and could not help but smile brighter. Since you'd given it to him for your shared birthday he become stuck between wanting to constantly wear it and treating it like some precious treasure bestowed upon him by a god. Which you supposed made some sense considering his feelings about you. You of course were happiest seeing him wear it, able to see him enjoying your little present and know you had done well in making it for him. It added a little color to his darkness, a light for the man sometimes lost to the shadows but a man who nevertheless you loved dearly.

“Shall we go down to the lair now?” As much as you loved being in his arms, and you truly did, the secrecy of his hideaway under the operahouse gave you both the space and ability to do more than this small room ever could.

The fact you would ask brought a shiver of delight to him and a smile to those ruined lips of his. It was like a puppy being offered a walk in the park by it's master, an apt enough comparison considering how he reacted to you. Luckily you liked that in him, the excitement he seemed to get from the acceptance you gave and the lack of fear you had for him.

He moved with the swiftness and ease of exactly what he was and the two of you were soon off, practically gliding over steps to go down, down, down deep below, into catacombs, into an abyss lit only by candlelight, past traps that were sent not to harm you but to prevent any from following, to an all too familiar lake. You settled into your seat upon the boat and watched him, unable to resist a smile at how he looked as he rowed you both across.

Once, near the beginning of this love you had found yourself in, you had offered to help only to see the strangest look of shock to cross his face. He had refused so verehemently you at first had been hurt before it had come out that rather he couldn't imagine making you do such a thing, that it was in his mind only right he do so for you and that you need only relax. The fact you had been hurt by his refusal even for a second had left him devestated in such a way that required quite a bit of cuddling and hair stroking and reassurance. It was one of those things you found both funny and adorable about Erik: he, the Phantom, terror of the Opera Populaire, murderer and genius, could be so full of confidence and self-importance yet so easily fall to the deeps of despair and terror with the simplicity of love. The complexity of his character was fascinating and endearing, making you unable to tear your eyes away at times when the layers started to show.

The trip across was like that, full of you watching him, adoring his figure as again he looked more the imposing Phantom than the lovesick puppy, though every time he caught you staring with your adoring gaze, his face turned red behind his mask and you only continued to smile knowing it. His eyes would widen, it was hard to miss as someone who so often looked at him, watched him. He brought you to shore without a word though you were sure his mind had a thousand and one things he wished to say to you, sing to you, beg of you.

Erik stepped out first and like the gentleman he really was he offered his hand to help you step out of the boat. This too was something you could do on your own, as easily remembered as every other step of this trip, and again it was something you would never try to take from your phantom. You placed your hand in his and saw him smile so brightly and happily; you stepped off the boat and into his arms once more. Any chance he had he seemed to take in hugging you, holding you, as if afraid that if he didn't keep doing it you might prove to be an illusion, a dream he conjured up from nothing to replace the dark and painful memories of his love for Christine Daae. You of course were indeed real and warm and loved him even knowing what had happened, what he had done. Because behind the rumors and stories and fears, you had found a man who was desperate for love yet never knew how quite to get it or give it healthily.

After he seemed convinced for the moment that you did care and would be going nowhere, Erik led you into the house proper and you sat in the sitting room, watching as he went back to being the adorable Erik that you knew and adored. His fluttering around, muttering about how best to please you, what he would do for you, what kind of food he should make, what kind of music he should play. Part of you was half tempted to tell him to just sit down with you so you could cuddle for a while; he always seemed to like that as did you, though if it went on for too long he would start to cry and weep about how he was not worthy of such softness, of how he was a monster and you were a sweet songbird, that he was something even his own mother could not love so how could you? You did not mind reassuring him of course, it was normal enough for you both at this point and being able to give your sweet traumatized Erik some love and reassurance was something you were happy to be able to do. But tonight, tonight you wished for something different.

You smiled as he made another pass across your path and you spoke up, making sure to be heard, “Erik, I do have a request.”

This immediately stopped him in his tracks and he turned to you, wide eyed, before falling to his knees before you. Requests from you were rather rare; you did not often ask much of him, because he always had hundreds of ideas and plans, because you knew he liked having some control in his life and this was an easy one, because you did not like to impose or possibly trouble him. But he jumped at any request you did make and fumbled to take your hands in his, staring right into your soul it seemed.

“Your Erik is listening, anything my songbird wants, I will give you; just ask and it will be done.” He didn't slip entirely into third person which was a good thing in your book; his emotions sometimes got so overwhelming he couldn't help it and you didn't mind but you didn't want to overwhelm him today.

You squeezed his hands with another smile. “I wish for you to teach me to play something”

He seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and staring at you in confusion. But of course, you were a songbird, a singer, and that was all you truly really ever asked to be; you liked to be part of the choir, to let the music fill your lungs and fill the air. You'd never before expressed an interest in learning more than that but you had listened to him play so many instruments, he loved to show off to you like a peacock shows off it's feathers to a potential mate, and you found yourself curious to try. No, you were more curious to be able to try to play alongside him one day; you may never reach the level of a natural talent like his but you wanted to at least try.

“You...you wish to learn an instrument?” He asked his words slow and measured.

You nodded and he let go of you so quick you felt you might get whiplash. Especially as he quickly ran from the room like his cloak was on fire. The speed with which he moved, grabbing case after case from another room and placing them all on the coffee table before you was honestly both a bit shocking and very amusing. You had a pile of them soon enough, of slightly different sizes and shapes, but you recognized them all as instrument cases; you tried not to giggle or laugh as he continued this until you had so many to choose from it was a bit silly. And finally he stood still, breathing hard and looking at you expectedly, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement and energy.

“Which would you like, songbird? Your Erik can you teach any instrument, Erik is very good at all of them, Erik is a master of them and Erik would love to be able to teach you, just please tell Erik which you want please please please?” Oh no now he was completely into third person.

You stood up and gently took his face in his hands, careful not to upset his mask since it would help him ground a bit better. “Breathe, my angel, please. I already know which instrument I want to play but if you're going to teach me then I need you to breathe and not panic so, alright?”

He whimpered, a good whimper, maybe too good of one; he shuffled on his feet and closed his eyes at your touch before nodding. You would take it and smiled before kissing him lightly upon the lips. It was hard to resist such a good boy.

“Which...which one does...do you want Er...me to teach you?” he asked, trying his hardest to pull himself together, you could see it; he bit his lip and looked at you with such expectation and love it made your heart flutter. How could one man be so precious and so adorable and so dangerous all at once?

You smiled again and pulled away from him, the whine he gave was not a happy one but he did not hold you back; you leaned down to the table and gently pulled from it one case in particular, opening it to reveal a beautifully crafted violin. His eyes widened at your choice and you did not need to ask to know why; you had heard all the stories, all the legends. Knew that Christine Daae's father was a known violinist, that Erik had once used that knowledge and that violin to try to entrance her in the graveyard after the disasters before. And thus there was a shadow that clung to it, so much so that while you knew he had it, you had never heard him play it; you supposed it held too much of a memory of his failures, of his darker side, that he had been too afraid.

You were not though. Gently, reverently, you removed the instrument from it's casing and took up the bow with one hand. It felt cold in your hands and heavier than you expected but you refused to back down now from your choice. You turned your gaze back to him, still smiling, still hopeful as you spoke, “I wish you to teach me this one, Erik.”

“I...” he seemed to be in some shock but at least he stayed in first person; he opened his mouth only to shut it again, emotions running across his face at incredible speeds.

He cleared his throat, tried to collect himself, and attempted to speak again, “Are you sure? There are better ones I can teach you.”

You both knew that was a lie. Few were as beautiful as a violin when played right; only the piano and organ were more precious and close to his soul as that violin. But memories were a terrible thing and there were things Erik still never did that you suspected were from that terrible, terrible experience.

You were resilent though and stubborn, shaking your head. “I really wish to learn the violin, please Erik? I couldn't imagine learning from anyone else, for who else could possibly be as good as you are at playing it. And I have heard such beautiful things when a violin and piano play together by those whose skill are no doubt less than your own and so surely with your instruction...” You were not playing fair with him. He could be fluttery and excitable and oh so absolutely adorable and lovable with you but you knew there was a pride there and a part of him that did wish so terribly to be able to teach you. And here you were, tantalizing him on both regards, drawing on those parts of him in hopes of getting what you wanted. You could see in his expression the fight between doing so, allowing his pride to win out or his fear.

“But,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper, a fearful small thing and you were reminded how sensitive your phantom truly could be.

It hurt you and you lowered the instrument, approaching him. “Oh Erik, sweet angel, I truly wish to learn but I don't wish to cause you actual distress, I promise.”

He looked up at you and your eyes met; you smiled gently at him, lovingly, and he bit a ruined lip. You wanted this, you truly did and you wanted it to be the violin but if it really was so hard on him to teach you, if pushing it would only hurt him more, you supposed you would need to let it be. Because it wasn't worth harming the man you loved so much.

Finally a sigh left him and he shook his head. “No, my wonderful songbird, I...I will teach you. Your Erik will do anything my songbird wishes of me.”

A smile formed on his face and you felt your heart swell with how cute it made him. Any expression of happiness was always a good one to you and you nodded, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, mon ange.”

Erik's heart fluttered at the kiss and his smile grew before he cleared his throat again. “Now let's see about your stance.”

You did not expect so much touching yet one he took a deep breath to compose himself his hands moved along your body, adjusting it, moving your arm, your head, the instrument so that it was cradled just right, that your fingers were in the right positions. Your skin heated up as he placed his hands on your waist and commanded, not asked, you to play. “A few notes, just to start.”

You did as instructed and only got in a few before he clicked his tongue and stopped you, readjusting you slightly. “No no no, relax, let the music fill you like when you sing. But instead you make the violin sing for you; caress it, feel it, the bow is an extension of your body, not simply a tool. Now again.”

Again you tried and felt his hands on you. They were warm, even through your dress, and your heart pounded hearing his breathing in your ear. You knew you were far from perfect, this being your first time, but it was better than you expected, because he had made sure of it. But it was strange to you; learning was something you had asked for, wanted, and you knew he could be passionate about teaching, something you always had been able to gently dissauage in him when it came to your singing. But perhaps the closeness, the actual physical contact, made this feel all the different, and you couldn't help but think as well how warm his breath was and strong his grip and how you wished to obey that smooth, alluring, commanding voice. So different than your Erik, your sweet and often self conscious angel, your excitable and loveable man, who slipped into third person at the smallest embarrassment or flustering, who smiled so geniunely and clung and loved with such intensity but not like this. His intensity was normally of desperation and love; this was passion of a different nature and it made heat build up within your heart like a fire you were not sure you wished to have extinguished. It felt both wonderous and a bit strange.

He nodded behind you, making pleased noises that only made it worse inside you. “Good good, much better. Though you still are far too tense.”

He placed a hand over yours holding the bow and closed his eyes. “You know how it feels to become one with the music, I know you do, songbird, just translate that to this.”

You certainly tried. You tried to take a deep breath, to forget he was there, that he was touching you, that he was so close. To focus on the notes, the violin, the music; get a feel for each note, what it was like, what it felt like, which was which and how they sounded together and in sequence. But Erik was a horrible distraction and you could not focus with his hands on you.

“Erik,” you muttered and this seemed to be to no avail; perhaps he was too far into his own mind, the Angel of Music he once was creeping out and overtaking.

“Focus, my songbird.” His voice was so exact, how could you possibly disobey?

“Erik,” you repeated and felt your heart ready to pound out of your chest.

“Give into the music.” His grip tightened both over your hand and at your side and you had to work very hard not to shake and play incorrectly. Even with all this you did not want to do that.

He was not listening and you were not sure you could take much more of this. But you being the smart songbird you were, knew of one thing that your angel could never resist no matter what happened, a thing that was guaranteed to break him of anything and return him to his sweet blubbering self.

It took all of your strength to pull it off, gripped as you were by his strong callused hands, but you managed by some miracle to turn enough to press your lips to his. Erik's eyes widened behind his mask and you knew that his whole face was turning red, could feel his hands lighten their grip, his body start to stiffen as it often did when you kissed him only to relax again. And move to grab your arms and pull you ever closer; Erik was a master of music but he was a slave to your love and desperate as always for every bit of it he could get. To be kissed by you was something he seemed always to want more and normally you delighted in giving it to him, everything you could. All the love you could muster for this sweet broken man. But the fire inside you was still burning and the aching that grew from the way he had spoken, the power of the Angel of Music, and there was plenty of desperation of your own as you leaned into the kiss, into him, only to have to break away for the all too human need of air. You both panted and you could see how blown out his pupils seemed to be as he looked at you.

“Songbird,” he said in a low voice.

“No fair,” you muttered in response and bit your lip, “All too unfair.” How did this man, this phantom in the dark, have such power yet seem so delicate and sensitive so much of the time? You did not know the answer to it but you knew it was unfair, that such a beautiful soul had to feel and be trapped by the past, by insecurities, by others.

“What is unfair?” he asked and there was still an edge, a trace of the angel within the man.

“Everything,” you stated and looked back at him, into those eyes that roiled with such emotion and thought, at your Erik, “But especially that you only seem able to have confidence in yourself and your place in the world when it comes to music.”

That seemed to fluster him but you took the opportunity to kiss him again, no little light thing as the flame inside continued to burn. If not for the violin and bow in your hands you would have grabbed hold of him but you did not dare drop the precious instrument, for him and for yourself, thus you could only lean into him and want more while getting only that. You heard him whine behind the kiss but Erik did not resist it and that grip he had on you loosened only so he could wrap his arms around you. How he delighted in holding you, it burned you more because here was his soft side showing again and you felt a tear hit your face. Not your own, his; the kiss broke again and he was looking at you with that sad expression he would get when things started to overwhelm the man, filling him up and demanding to be let out.

“Songbird,” he repeated with the essence of the whine woven in.

“We will have to continue the lesson later.” When you can explain better, when you can tell him gently how much it made your heart race to feel his touch, your skin burn to feel his breath against your neck, your body yearn because of the power of the Angel's voice and the love for the man. But right now you could not, need was too strong and he nodded all too quickly, sidetracked so easily by you.

He let you go long enough for you to be able to put the violin and bow safely away and close the case but not a second longer. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and picked you up, burying his face in your neck. “Your Erik wishes to be loved by you, please.”

“I wish to be loved by you as well, mon ange,” you whispered to him.

That's all you needed to say. The instruments and music were left behind as he carried you off to his room, to make music with you of a different type.

[advisorykitty]

Cat-Nap

Nyen x Reader x Robert

The Ivory Household was as quiet as it ever got, which was still not quiet at all. The sound of scurrying footsteps echoed through the walls as Sebastian and Randal did whatever gosh knows what. Meanwhile, Nyen, the house’s resident grump, was pacing the halls with a string of curses muttered under his breath.

“That fucking traitor,” Nyen snarled, his tail flicking with irritation. “One of our own, siding with those rats. Damn bastard.”

He stalked down the corridor like a predator on the hunt, his boots hitting the floor with a menacing thud. He could already feel his blood pressure rising at the thought of it—a cat—giving food to those scrappy little rats. It was a betrayal of the highest order, and Nyen wasn’t one to let things slide.

Nyon, the quieter of the two catmen, stood awkwardly to the side, watching his fellow feline work himself into a rage. His eyes blinked slowly, not quite understanding why Nyen was so furious—again.

“They’re... nice?” Nyon mumbled, but his comment barely registered. Nyen was too busy plotting what he’d do when he caught you. Spoiler: it wasn’t going to be pretty.

---

Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the brewing shitstorm. As a catperson yourself, you knew Nyen had a short fuse, but today, you couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Instead, you were curled up in one of your favorite napping spots: a cupboard. Not just any cupboard, though—a small, cramped one in the pantry, filled with jars and cans you used as makeshift pillows.

The ratmen had grown on you in a way you hadn’t expected. At first, you were just indifferent. They were scavengers, scrappy and a little annoying, but after spending enough time around them, you realized they weren’t all bad. Plus, they were always in need of food, and you didn’t mind slipping them a loaf of bread or some cheese every now and then , also do you mention how good their taste was??Anyway.

Nyen would lose his mind if he found out—again—but that was a risk you were willing to take.

Today had been one of those days. You’d helped Robert grab some food earlier, and now, after your little good deed, you’d settled down for a nap, feeling pretty good about yourself.

---

Robert, meanwhile, was already sneaking through the pantry again. He hadn’t planned on making another trip today, but when the others had drawn straws for who had to go scavenging, he’d come up short. So here he was, slipping through a crack in the wall, looking for food—and not expecting to find you curled up in the cupboard, fast asleep.

He stopped, hands on his hips, staring at you with a look of disbelief. “Really?” he muttered to himself. “Of all places...”

“Hey,” Robert said, giving the cupboard a light knock. You didn’t stir.

“Oi. Wake up,” he said, louder this time, tapping the wood with his foot.

You let out a sleepy groan, your ears twitching as you blinked yourself awake. Slowly, you lifted your head, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Oh, hey,” you mumbled, stretching out your arms. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Robert crossed his arms, giving you a flat look. “You always pick the weirdest places to sleep.”

“It’s cozy,” you said with a shrug, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for food, what else? We need it,” Robert replied, raising an eyebrow.

You sat up a bit more, realizing he probably wasn’t in the mood for your usual laziness. “Right. Let me help, just give me a sec”

With a quick stretch and a few groggy blinks, you hopped out of the cupboard and began grabbing things off the shelves. Within minutes, you handed Robert a couple of loaves of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a small block of cheese—your usual haul for the ratmen.

“Here,” you said, flashing him a sleepy smile. “This should hold you guys over.”

Robert gave a small nod, his way of saying thanks without actually saying it. “You’re alright,” he muttered. Quickly running over to the whole he made earlier to prevent from potentially dying, again.

“Don’t tell Nyen,” you replied with a chuckle. “He’ll lose it if he finds out I helped you again.”

---

Unfortunately for you, Nyen was already hot on your trail. His temper had only gotten worse over the last hour, especially when he noticed the pantry door was cracked open. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught sight of Robert sneaking away with food—again.

“That fucking traitor!” Nyen hissed, storming toward the pantry. “They gave food to those rats again! Unbelievable!”

Nyon, who had been trailing behind, watched with his usual wide-eyed expression. “Maybe... talk first?” he offered weakly, but Nyen was already too far gone.

He shoved the pantry door open, tail lashing behind him as he glared around the small room, his eyes finally landing on you. You were sitting on the floor, leaning against the cupboard, looking a little too comfortable for someone who had just committed high treason in Nyen’s eyes.

“You!” Nyen growled, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. “You fucking rat-loving bastard! Again? Really?”

You blinked up at him, still half-asleep. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Nyen snapped, his voice getting louder. “I saw you! You’re helping them, aren’t you? Feeding those filthy little rodents like some... some traitor!”

You rubbed the back of your neck, shrugging. “I mean, they were hungry. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Nyen’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head at this point. “You’re supposed to obey Master Luther! And here you are, handing out food to the enemy like some kind of—” He struggled to find a word foul enough, so he just settled on more swearing. “Fucking rat-loving piece of shit.”

You sighed, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Look, it’s not like I’m giving them gourmet meals or anything. It’s just bread and cheese. Calm down.”

Nyen looked like he was about to explode. “Calm down? Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down when you’re over here making nice with rats? Do you have any idea how much I hate those little fuckers?”

You glanced over at the door, wondering if you could make a break for it. Nyen was worked up, but he wasn’t exactly quick on his feet when he got this angry.

“Just... take a deep breath, okay?” you offered, trying to deescalate the situation. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack at this rate.”

Nyen took a step closer, his claws twitching at his sides. “I swear to god, if you don’t stop helping them, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nyen paused, his mouth hanging open as he tried to come up with a suitable threat. Finally, he just growled in frustration. “I’ll make your life a living hell, that’s what! You’ll wish you never set foot in this house, traitor.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied casually, stepping around him. “Anyway, I’m going back to my nap. Try not to lose your mind while I’m gone, okay?”

With that, you sauntered out of the pantry, leaving Nyen standing there, fists clenched, seething.

Nyon, who had watched the whole thing in stunned silence, finally spoke up. “They... nice?”

Nyen threw his hands in the air. “Nice? Nice? They’re a fucking menace, that’s what they are!”

Nyon just blinked.

---

-----

The days after you’d helped Robert and the rats were blissfully uneventful—at least, for you. Nyen, on the other hand, was stewing in his rage. He’d caught wind of your little act of "betrayal," and it had only added to the fire already burning in him. You could almost hear the distant thumping of his heavy boots as he stalked through the corridors, looking for you, no doubt.

And here you were, curled up comfortably in a cupboard, dozing off again. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep in weird places. If anything, it was your signature move, and if Robert or the other ratmen needed something, they’d know exactly where to find you.

But right now, you were far from the safety of your cupboard dreamland. The sound of furious footsteps stomping down the hall woke you from your nap, and your ears twitched as you lazily blinked your eyes open.

“Fucking... rat-loving... traitor.”

You recognized the voice immediately and groaned, pulling the cupboard door open just a crack. There, standing in the hallway, was Nyen, his eyes practically glowing with fury.

He spotted you in an instant, his expression twisting into something between disgust and rage. His lips curled back into a snarl, and he marched over to your hiding spot, yanking the cupboard door wide open.

“There you are, you lazy piece of shit,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “Thought you could hide in here forever, huh?”

You stretched lazily, completely ignoring the murderous look in his eyes. “Hide? Nah. I was napping.”

Nyen’s claws twitched dangerously, his tail lashing behind him. “You think this is a fucking joke, don’t you?”

You shrugged, sliding out of the cupboard and dusting yourself off. “I mean, you’re the one who keeps getting worked up over a few crumbs of bread.”

Nyen’s eyes widened in disbelief, his anger boiling over. “A few crumbs? You’ve been feeding those disgusting rats for days! You’re practically throwing them a fucking banquet in there!”

You grinned, leaning back against the wall. “They were hungry.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF THEY’RE HUNGRY!” Nyen roared, his claws slashing through the air as he stepped closer. “They’re rats! They steal, they spread disease, they’re filth. And here you are, playing house with them like some sort of... fucking rat sympathizer!”

Your grin widened. “Well, when you put it like that—”

Nyen snapped. His kinfe swiped at your face, and you barely dodged in time, the tip of his kinfe grazing your cheek. You winced, more out of surprise than pain, but you stayed where you were, refusing to back down.

Before Nyen could lunge at you again, a soft voice interrupted the tension.

“Nyen... please... calm down.”

It was Nyon, standing quietly in the hallway, his wide sherbet pink eyes blinking at the scene before him. He looked worried, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

“They... not so bad,” Nyon mumbled, his thick accent making his voice sound even softer. “They... just hungry.”

Nyen shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut steel. “Shut the fuck up, Nyon.”

Nyon, as usual, didn’t flinch. He just kept blinking, his expression one of quiet confusion. “But... they not hurting anyone.”

Nyen let out a snarl, his patience snapping completely. “I SAID SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!” With a quick, furious motion, he shoved Nyon hard, sending him stumbling back into the wall. The impact wasn’t enough to hurt him seriously, but it was enough to make Nyon’s eyes widen in shock, his usually calm demeanour faltering for a split second.

Your jaw tightened as you watched Nyon stumble. “That was unnecessary.”

Nyen turned his glare back to you, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Don’t fucking lecture me. You don’t get to act all high and mighty when you’re the reason this shit’s happening.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve hated those rats long before I got here.”

Nyen’s eyes narrowed, his claws flexing again. “Yeah, and I’m this close to getting rid of the whole fucking lot of them.”

You frowned. “You’re not seriously thinking about...”

“I’m fucking done with this,” Nyen hissed, stepping closer until his face was just inches from yours. His breath was hot, and you could see the raw, unfiltered hatred burning in his eyes. “If I catch you giving them so much as a fucking breadcrumb again, I’ll make sure you regret it. I don’t care if you think you’re being some kind of hero, feeding them out of the goodness of your heart. You’re not. You’re just a fucking idiot who’s making everything worse and cant respect their masters orders.”

You held his gaze, refusing to back down even as his claws hovered dangerously close to your throat. “They’re just trying to survive, Nyen. They’re not the enemy.”

“They are the enemy,” Nyen spat, his voice dripping with venom. “And if you keep helping them, then so are you.”

For a moment, the air between you was thick with tension, both of you locked in a silent standoff. You could feel Nyen’s fury radiating off him like heat, his every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But you didn’t flinch. You never flinched.

After what felt like an eternity, Nyen let out a sharp breath and stepped back, his claws retracting but his eyes still burning with rage.

“You’ve been warned,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Next time, I won’t be so fucking nice.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the pantry, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared from sight.

Nyon, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, finally stepped forward, his eyes still wide with concern. He didn’t say anything at first, just blinking at you as if trying to process what had just happened.

You let out a breath, rubbing the back of your neck. “You okay?”

Nyon nodded slowly. “Yes. But... Nyen... very angry.”

You snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Nyon tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why... you help rats? You know.. he hate them.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall again. “Because they’re not bad. They’re just... doing what they have to do to survive. Same as us.”

Nyon blinked, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the concept. “But... they steal.”

“Um.. that's kinda true.. but I give it to then so I wouldn't say they steal??"

Nyon was silent for a moment, his pink eyes studying you carefully. Then, after what felt like a long pause, he nodded again, as if something had finally clicked in his mind.

“I see,” he said quietly. “You... kind.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess so.”

Nyon didn’t say anything else, just gave you a small, shy smile before turning and following in Nyen’s footsteps, disappearing down the hallway without another word.

As the tension in the room finally faded, you leaned back against the wall again, your mind already drifting back to the idea of another nap .

You rest your eyes for a bit, fatigue overtaking your senses. Man it would be nice to sleep..

But this time, as you settled back into the cupboard, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Nyen came after you again.

Something told you it wouldn’t be long.

(P.s this was a request on ao3 , also this isn't proof read so sorry for errors (；へ：) )

[blinkngone]

light years.

Silence resides like an unwelcome guest in the Burrow. On the days he doesn’t go to the Ministry, Harry mostly sits at the table in the Burrow’s kitchen, picking the skin on his lips. New post-war commodity at the Burrow: dirty dishes populating the a sink that has always been spic and span. A glass of water on the table that he never drinks. Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, rotting in the kitchen of a crooked, sun-bathed house. Out of the corner of his eyes, past the kitchen window, there is a blur of red and ivory. Sometimes he watches this blur flit back and forth between the frame of the window, sometimes he puts his head on the table, closes his eyes. Wills himself to remember her skin on his, the smell of her on his jaws. She feels a lifetime away. Centuries pass before he lifts his head back up again. The slant of the sun lengthens on the table. Near the edge, G.W is inscribed on the wood, below it, the initials of her brothers. These words belong to another time, when pain came from breaking elbows in the yard, gnome biting their toes, bee stings from the hives sticking to the trees. These days, pain comes from things they shouldn’t have even experienced.

“Your childhood was robbed from you,” Kingsley told Harry one time when they were repairing the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Amid the havoc of the war, green plants shot up regardless.

So much more than just his childhood was robbed from him, Harry wanted to tell the Minister. His life was almost snatched from him. His future, his people, all the love he could’ve had. He didn’t say anything, just shrugged. After, as he stood near the lake smoking a cigarette, squirrels scampered away from him. Like they knew this life he had, was more tinted with death than any eighteen year old life should be.

/

Now, the sounds from outside populate the silence of the Burrow. With Ron and Hermione in Australia, Mrs. Weasley at the Shell Cottage, and the others at the Ministry, the house seems to be an extension of the aching loneliness he feels. Lately, he is consumed by the need to do something, anything except attend hearings at the Ministry and helping at Hogwarts. There is a constant restlessness between his ribs. In bed sometimes, he cannot feel his body anymore, feels like he is becoming more and more unmoored from this plane of existence. In the bathroom that mostly smells of shampoo that Mrs. Weasley makes from the flowers from the Burrow’s orchard, he looks at the reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink, and is unable to locate himself.

Ginny, he observes, embodies his restlessness. She is wild that summer, Ginny. He sees it. She prowls around the Burrow at night, lithe and haunting. A ghost. In daylight, she is as fleeting as an afterthought. She is gone before he’s up, and thinks no one notices how she is beginning to disappear, parts of her falling off and getting lost. Untended grief settling in those empty spaces. Harry becomes increasingly concerned, but no one has taught him how to prevent another person from disappearing into darkness. Framed in the window of his room in the attic, he too, looks ghastly. If it weren’t for the throb of pain in his open wounds, the sting of summer on his red burns, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he were human, Harry thinks.

He remembers their days at Hogwarts, how she’d demand he sit against the trees and watch her fly. Eyes glinting, and a wicked grin on her face, she’d deftly braid her hair into a plait. Broom between her legs, she’d say, “Top this, Potter.”

And he watched, because how could he not. After everything he’d seen in his sixteen years of life, she was a miracle. Later, he’d unbraid her hair, lips on the column of her neck, tasting the wind on her skin.

These days, the only forms of interaction between them are: their dirty cups stacked on top of each other, strands of hair she sometimes leaves in the bathroom sink, her clothes and his tangled in the laundry hamper.

/

It happens on an ordinary afternoon. He stops a few feet away from the Burrow, near the chicken coup to smoke a cigarette. Today, he met Kingsley at the Ministry. He offered Harry a spot in the Auror Department.

They sat opposite each other at the table in the Minister of Magic’s office. He told the Minister, “I have to think about it.”

“Yes, Harry. Take your time. Maybe wait till Ron and Hermione are back.”

“Ron and Hermione, yeah,” he said. It dawned on him that he’d never taken an important decision without them by his side. He was so wholly inadequate without the two of them.

The birds chirp in the orchard now, the breeze heavy with humidity. Dragonflies buzz over his head. Hermione once told him, when she was little, she’d look out the window of her bedroom in the hopes of seeing dragonflies.

“Dragonflies mean heavy rain!” her Mum used to tell her. In his last letter, Ron wrote Mrs. Granger’s memory was proving difficult to be restored. She was still unable to remember Hermione.

It sure feels like heavy rain today. He blows the smoke out, slowly. Taps his finger against the cigarette and watches the column of ash fall away.

“What’s that?”

He turns around to see Ginny, broom against her hip, standing where the orchard gives away to tall and wide grass blades. Her voice sounds different, rusty from the lack of use.

“Cigarette,” he tells her.

“What?”

“Muggle shit.”

She just lifts her eyebrows, her mouth perched on the brink of laughter. Her hair is wild, sweat shining on her face. For a few seconds they look at each other. He is afraid to look away.

“Want to try?” he asks her.

She shrugs and steps forward. He covers the distance between them in three long strides.

/

The floating foliage of the leaves makes shadow patterns on their bodies. The sunlight feels old, slightly muted. She he likes the way the yellow light catches the tiny hairs on his arms, bringing out the dark butterscotch of his emerald pupils, makes his face look unbelievably beautiful. They pass a cigarette back and forth, the both of them lying on a patch of asymmetrical sunlight, the dew from the grass wetting the back of their thin shirts. He blows the smoke from the corner of his mouth, so that the left side of his face disappears momentarily in this white smoke, then reappears in the very next instant. She can smell the scent of her own hair, like wildflowers, and wishes he smells it, too, over the smell of his cigarette.

He doesn't speak much, nor does she. But his lingering looks burn into her skin, make her feel more than a wound that won’t scab, not even at the edges. Yesterday she took him to the pond, and they sat near the edge, with their feet in the water. Green weeds curled around their calves. Their shoulders were touching.

He said, “I thought about you, a lot. You know, when I was away.”

She blinked at him and wondered if it was too early to tell him about hurting in his dorm, seeing his face every time they shot a Cruciatus at her, willing to die than divulge any information that might be used against him.

“Oh.” She touched her chest with her palm. She looked out at the pond, listened to the croaking of the frogs on the green pads of leaves bigger than the sun in the sky. She wanted to give him her heart, knew he’d cradle it in his rough palms delicately, with the kind of tenderness that touches you once in twelve million light years.

“I stole your jumper,” she told him. “Wore it to bed.” Every night.

She turned to look at him the same moment he looked away. She caught the shy upturn of his smile sideways, for a fleeting moment, and revelled in it for the entire night.

She turns to him now, props herself on her elbows. He looks up at her. There are a million things she wants to tell him. The most important of which, perhaps, is that she loves him. Wants them to heal together.

“Harry.”

He stubs his cigarette in one quick motion. The contours of his lips, the wetness of his tongue are painfully familiar. Beautifully so.

[hollowknightinsanity]

HOLLY REF SHEET ATTACK 💥💥💥🪳🪳💥🪳🪳💥🪳💥🪳🪳💥🪳💥🪳🪳💥

WOOOOOOO GIRLFRIEND WOOOOOO YEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH MY BELOVED WOOOOOOOOOOOO

they mean the world to me

INFO UNDER THE CUT 💥

Full name: Holly Bloom Eburne-Leaflet

Aliases: Princeling, Mx. Eburne/Leaflet

Species: Wyrm / Rootkin hybrid (Wyrmroot)

Planet of Origination: Earth

Age: 81

Height: 8’0”

Gender: Biologically intersex; identifies as transfeminine non-binary

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs — She/Her/Hers (FRIENDS/FAMILY ONLY)

Sexuality: Biromantic, greysexual, polyamorous

S/O: Amaryllis Vigus (husband), Galetris ‘Gal’ Akrai (girlfriend)

Family: Chysanthus Heather Eburne (father), Viol Glory Leaflet (mother), Mystery ‘Ghost’ Evergold (twin sibling), Promise Evergold (sister), Deliverance Evergold (sister) Hornet Arac Eburne (half-sister), Albus Iris Eburne-Leaflet (brother), Ivory Zinnia Eburne-Leaflet (sister), Sombre Vigus-Eburne (child), Seraphim Vigus-Eburne (child), Gaia Vigus-Eburne (child), ~5 million other siblings (I am not joking)

Biological child of Hallownest’s Royals, otherwise known as The Pale King and The White Lady. Once lived as a Knight, born and ‘raised’ to seal an ancient Goddess whose land was stolen from her.

In a romantic polycule with Amaryllis and Galetris, planning on marrying Galetris in the future, and is already married to Amaryllis. Currently has three children with Amaryllis, who they named Sombre, Seraphim and Gaia, and plans on adopting a child to call theirs and Gal’s.

Narrowly avoided death after escaping the Black Egg at age 79; it takes a grand lot to kill her, and her sister Hornet as well as a Dirtmouth resident were there when they escaped, and prevented her from passing.

A quiet gentle giant, preferring to stay indoors or underground, either alone or with their family. She used to work as a Knight for her parents (enduring an unfortunate amount of neglect and abuse while doing so), and was used to seal The Radiance after She started an infection. They no longer do that sort of work — they’re far too old and weak to fight anymore — and currently remain jobless, as they are disabled and perpetually exhausted.

Has lived in Hallownest for her entire life; through their adolescent and teen years, they lived in the White Palace, which has since been destroyed and hidden away in the Dream Realm. Currently, they reside in a moderately-sized home on the surface town of Dirtmouth with their sister and partners, doing little other than caring for their children and resting.

She’s not necessarily built for battle anymore, but when she does need to fight, she resorts to her claws and fangs. On very, very rare occasion, they will use their taught Soul spells, but this is only in dire situations.

Hex codes

Both:

#121212 — Skin / Fur / Backside tail scales (base)

#302D2D — Scars / Inner ears / Tail underside

#C8D6E0 — Crown / Pale Ore prosthetic 1

#DEE8EE — Shell / Leaves 1

#98BBEF — Pupil (effect using same colour + regular inking brush, #blended until it looks right, layer blend mode Add)

#0E264B — Sclera (effect using same colour + airbrush, layer blend mode Add) (yay I finally figured out what it’s called)

#9ABFA7 — Leaves 2

#FFC184 — Kintsugi (courtesy of Ravine)

Casual:

#171A2B — Dress

#292233 — Shellwood prosthetic (texture using Wood brush, layer blend mode Overlay)

#5D6276 — Belt

Formal:

#0B0B0B — Cloak

#00061E — Dress fade

#020B31 — Dress base

#C7D1DA — Corset 4 (texture using same colour + a lace texture from IbisPaint X, layer blend mode Multiply)

#E2E7EC — Corset 1 (texture using a lace texture from IbisPaint X)

#D2E9FF — Corset 3 / Ribbons

#E0E8EE — Pale Ore prosthetic 2

#FFFFFF — Corset 2 (texture)

#FFDAA7 — Cloak chains / Cloak buttons / Corset… ring… things. Whatever they are.

Other:

#000000 — Tongue / Blood base

#3E0404 — Blood accent / Blush

das it :)) WIFE YAYAAYYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYYAYA *explodes*

[straightouttheslendermansionn]

𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙿𝚃. 1

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓(s): Jeff The Killer, Homicidal Liu/Sully, Jane Richardson, Nina The Killer, Clockwork

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: Tbh there aren't many mentions of anything happening, but here's a warning for very brief mentions of human experimentation and demonic presences.

These are all HEADCANON and I do not intend for any of these interpretations to be entirely canon. These are how I see the characters and some rules of the world.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚜

Aging in my Creepypasta universe works like this– unless you don’t completely have a physical form and died early, your body can only age until 25 years old. This is in place to make sure that the body is useful enough but also so that it’s easier for the pastas to get around. For those over this age, they stay at the age they currently are.

The mysterious haunted woods and the Slendermansion therein exist, but not many actually reside there permanently. If the pasta needs technology, is a proxy of Slender, or is willing to meet the requirements to stay, mainly being serving Slender, then they reside there. Other pastas visit but they either live in their own settlements in the woods, or they look and behave in a certain way that allows them to live among society.

Anybody listed as “Nonconforming Humanoid Entity” in regards to species just means that either they are/were human and  we don’t know what they are or that they were never human and… we still don’t know what they are.

Slender isn’t fatherly to anyone that he doesn’t need to be and is not afraid to take away privileges he has given the people who live under him. He is manipulative and crueler than hell itself. 

Creepypasta fans do exist in this universe. They can see you. :)

𝙹𝚎𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛

Name: Jeffrey Allen Woods ("Allen", not "Alan") Age: He was 15 at the time of the original incident, but is about 18-19 Species: Nonconforming Humanoid Entity (Because he was human but sure as shit isn't now) Sex/Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Aromantic-Heterosexual Race/Ethnicity: European-American Nationality: American, from a small town in Alabama Religious Alignment: Atheist, family used to be Roman Catholic Body Build: William Afton from "Silver Eyes" type beat (Jeff doesn't have a strong-looking body and I'm sick of us thinking he does) Features: (often tangled/super messy) ivory, shoulder length hair, leathery skin bleached white with some more severe visible burn scars throughout his body (including part of his head), skin is also scarred by the various lacerations he has obtained, dark circles and no eyelids, icy blue (almost white looking) eyes, the infamous cut smile (that never heals because he constantly strains it) Aesthetic: Pretty much just grunge style for this guy

𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚕 𝙻𝚒𝚞/𝚂𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢

Name: Liu Vicki Woods Age: He was 17 at the time of the original incident, but is about 20-21 Species: Human (Liu) + Inner Demon (Sully) Sex/Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Demisexual-Heterosexual (Sully less than happily abides by his demisexuality) Race/Ethnicity: European-American Nationality: American, from a small town in Alabama Religious Alignment: Roman Catholic (Semi-Practicing) Body Build: Looks lanky or barely built from afar and isn't jacked, but he has some muscle Features: Liu got the pretty genes, I'll start with that. Slightly tanned ivory skin, Fluffy brown hair on the shorter side, 47 stitched-up scars all throughout his body (including one that goes down his face, splits at his nose onto his upper cheeks, and the infamous smile again), pale green eyes, dark circles from sleep deprivation. Aesthetic: I once saw someone say that he dresses like it's "Christian Girl Autumn" all year and I cannot find a better descriptor.

𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗/𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛

Name: Jane Tod Richardson-Vaughn Age: 26 Species: Enhanced Human (as a result of gov't. experimentation)(Liquid Hate) Sex/Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Lesbian and happily married to her wife Mary Race/Ethnicity: Chilean-American Nationality: American, from Los Angeles, CA Religious Alignment: Christian (Practicing, though many in other Christian communities question or talk down on her regardless) Body Build: Muscle Mommy. 6ar6ie6 body type. Hands down. Features: Black mid-back length raven hair, fully black eyes (sclera and all), pale white skin, slight darkening under eyes, various types or scars as a result of experimentation. Aesthetic: Classy and casual, but she also really likes black.

𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛

Name: Nina Hopkins Age: 17 Species: Superhuman Sex/Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Bisexual, male lean Race/Ethnicity: European-American Nationality: American, from Gulf Shore, Alabama Religious Alignment: Atheist Body Build: Skinny young woman, but healthy skinny. Features: Long black hair with a hot pink coon-tail side bang, sewn open eyelids, signature smile, icy blue eyes (slightly brighter than Jeff's), white leathery skin and minor scars all over her body. Aesthetic: Scene girl style. I like this version of Nina so I keep her.

𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔

Name: Natalie Oulette Age: 24 Species: Superhuman Sex/Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Bisexual, female lean Race/Ethnicity: French-Canadian Nationality: Canadian, from Victoria, British Columbia Religious Alignment: Atheist Body Build: Lanky-looking but has hella muscle built up Features: Almost ginger-looking, shoulder-length auburn hair, one green eye while the other socket has a clock inside (which she is constantly bleeding from), sewn-up chelsea-grin, pale ivory skin with barely visible scars all over Aesthetic: Simple, sometimes grunge style preference.

[dj-devil]

welcome part 1

don't go there

pairing: prince!hyunjin x fem druid!reader

genre: medieval fantasy au

warnings: fluff, angst, magic, shapeshifting

words: 2.4k

summary: the forest is cursed. not many remember why, and only some are curious.

he is the prince who has been watching the forest his entire life

she lives there. as one of the last of a family of shifters that now roams the forest.

Masterlist

The sun outside the forest no matter how dull is still brighter than anything you were used to, being just beyond the border only yielded so much sun. The process of studying and learning how to be a raven was two months, which cut it a little too fine for your taste. The raven choosing was in little under two days and shape was always the hardest part. And feathers. You've never done feathers or birds in general.

This field, a large unkindness called home. All day various groups talked, to each other and other animals that would wander close enough to get to the lake surrounded by the trees they called home. Gliding, walking, eating, talking, flying, interacting. All things you would have to think about when becoming a raven. It weighed on your mind that you would not get this right in time for the ceremony. It's not like it only happened every five or something years. Something to do with teaching and learning to be ready for the care they would need, you were sure that was what the guards had said that time.

Leaving the forest always seemed the wrong thing to do, whenever you had tried in the past there was always a watchful eye somewhere aware of your plans. You had always noticed it in the corner of your peripheral, the disturbing feeling of being spied on; stalked. But now, for some reason, things were calmer, like some of the weight of your decision had been shifted. It was not something you understood, but for the moment were grateful for.

The guards and residents of the castle stayed away for a few days, stopped rigorously watching the field of vibrant green and dotted black. It was in those few short days that you crept from the safety of the woods to be with the ravens up close. The person who had named a flock of ravens had had something against them, you'd always thought, since learning that it was called an unkindness. They had probably never talked to them either, not big on gossip but rather casual informative conversations.

"Is there room by the lake for one more?" You asked the flock as they sat at the water's edge, under the guard of the willow trees around its edge. To most, this would be just a cacophony of endless squeaking. To you this is a dozen voices asking the same question; "If we make room are you going to sit or walk away like the rest of those idiot humans?"

The question makes you smile, speaking to new groups of animals always does. The surprise squeaks when in the space they make, you sit.

"How did you…?" One speaks up after some silence, and you find the raven's face in the sea peering at you inquisitively.

There is only one word for this, you know that. Only one word to elaborate a lifetime that they would understand; "Druid."

Wide eyes all around, a group hopping in time another just off. Surprise is the most shared emotion, it seemed so cute on ravens. Wings opening slightly, either slight or full hopping, beaks that let loose the gasps and squeaks.

"Does that mean you're Ivory's daughter?" Comes a quieter whisper from beside you, a smaller bird. You turn to face them, patiently putting out a hand to give them a gentle pat on the head.

"Yes. She was my mother."

"Why are you here then? And not in the forest working on the smog?" Turning back to the group, there is one raven in the centre staring up at you with a kind of curiosity that you know you have, the one knotted with a desire to fix the problem. To search your whole life for a solution when the only things you have to go on are what others tell you about the problem. You could see the gears turning in the raven's head, chugging and groaning under the weight of the knowledge of the cursed forest that was always passed around. Through most animals in the surrounding area, the understanding of at least part of what happened passed through the generations.

You give them all a small smile, "I am here to learn how to be a raven." Not fully answering both questions, but one seemed enough. The rest would be answered in time. A chorus of oh's fills the air. An excitable voice piped up. "You have watched, now you wish to be, yes?"

"Yes." You answer with a giggle at their enthusiasm. They sit together in a group, in their matriarchal stages as the lady who runs both the unkindness and this part of the field makes her way to me. She walks two steps before quickly hopping the rest of the way.

"That would've taken too long, right. I'm Bone, I've led for 200 years. And you wish to be a raven? You are?" She breathes deeply as she lands in front of you, wings flapping slightly to create a light wind that can cool her off a little.

"I am Y/n, I come from the Yellow Wood forest. I need to be a raven to help my family; the last druids." You speak with confidence and wide eyes to the raven in front of you. She; who definitely saw the beginnings of the smog 20 years ago. She; who won't tell, but could be there to offer words of wisdom if they are needed and accepted.

Bone watches you closely, small eyes peering at you as if you are a whole forest that has withstood a hundred wars. As if you are the forest you have lived in all your life, while there is a little truth to it, you feel everything that happens there, lived through enough to know how every part of it functions. Even now trees creak and leaves shift, you know exactly what part of the forest that is in. It is a part of you, you'd been running every part of it as long as you could run. It is your home, the centre of all your problems and the centre of all your love.

"You have much to learn, starting with feathers.."

Bone flaps her wings generating a gust of wind that wanders by you through your hair to its tips, decorating the fields with petals of the wildflowers it sent into a spinning match. The images of how to transform hair into feather pulses in your head, spreading through every fibre of your being, over the hair all over your body begins to grow longer and blacker. Pushing through the discomfort of the new change, feathers take a staggering form bristly and fragile, and a strange form of disfigured autumn leaf-shaped leaves take over your body. Your body shrinks to the rough size of a raven, a little larger than an adult which by how you feel itchy all over is just the beginning of the process.

"Well, that is a better start than I have seen in a while. The last to do that good, was your mother." Bone nods approvingly, as you shift back to human. A curious glint in your eyes, as you watch Bone, turn to the others to usher them into the trees so there is less pressure, eyes that can be discerned add to the crushing weight you feel like an avalanche building around you; the last of your ideas hinged on this working, the last of your hope to break the curse you were born into. All on this one plan, that could if you weren't careful go horribly wrong.

Over the next day, your body and mind go through the changes in order to take and hold the form of a raven, your idea of feathers becomes clearer, though more complicated than scales, it becomes easier than fur. You'd become a mouse once, it had taken 6 months of trials to even come close to the concept of fur.

You get to know others in the field, some had come from places you had never heard about with names you couldn't pronounce to give their chick the chance to be accepted into the castle. It is an easier life than outside the castle walls. That is the hardest part of this plan, you still had to be chosen. The dread and sense of responsibility that weighed on your back the feeling of carrying the entire forest, it is not all your burden to bear, though it did feel that way.

***

In the distance, beyond the wall, the castle came alive with movement and sounds, a steady drum began to sound as people scurried around the courtyard. A flurry of banners was placed in a few minutes; black, red and bronze. Mumbled yelling from this distance, the guards seemed to be in a rush. The day had broken a few hours ago, it wasn't that they were late, was it?

Through that meant there was still time, in the stillness of the field, barely rustling as a light breeze washed over the the tips of the grass. Still, time to be able to fully become the raven you needed, the friend that was going to get you into the castle. At least you hoped it. With this in mind, you sat on the ground, cross-legged and hands on your knees. Mind only focused on one thing, completely being a Raven for the first time.

What most people were always unsure about with Druid's was how the shifting process worked, most assumed the animal would be in the same age sphere as the person shifting, however, they start as the baby and then grow up just like everyone else does. Albeit a little quicker depending on lifespan and animal.

But like most other things it is a learned skill that you work at. Sometimes it took days or weeks, years and sometimes you never actually managed it. Everyone was different in the animals they could become.

Your body worked in tandem with your mind, shrinking and growing the barely formed feathers of a chick whilst also turning you fully into that chick that you are so set on.

The stomping of the guards begins to take over the sound in the area. An earthquake of boots and metal marched into the field. Spouting words of don't worry, we'll give them back and we won't hurt them. The scattered squarks of we know, you're late and move forward filled your ears.

Your voice becomes shrill to the guards who grow closer the more confidence they got for the chicks that are not moving and parents who are not freaking out. Some of the guards wince at the noise created by all the chicks together, deafening them a little. Others smile and bob to the ground; eyes glistening with tears over the selection they were about to make.

A selection of stuck-out feathers and wobbles brings their attention to you, as you get pushed to the side by the multitude of other chicks that are also here. As tiny as all the others are, you seemed smaller to them. Two exchanged a glance of worry and determination, as you did not have a mother watching over you or another to squawk back to.

To your right, a familiar face comes into view. Dressed in red and black, adorned in silver accents, is the boy who interrupted your staring contest a month ago. With light brown short hair and warm orange eyes, he watches over the exchange of rights to parenthood by the ravens at present. He also catches sight of you, concern and uncertainty plastered clear on his face.

In your observation of the guards and the boy, you did not notice the pair of hands closing in on you, encircling your feet and releasing you from the pressures of standing by yourself. To your small form, the lift seemed higher than it was, the ground a mountain beneath you.

"Hey, hey, hey!" You warn, suddenly worried about the fall from a height like this.

"I got you. You're ok, little one." The guard picking you up reassures you, placing you gingerly in a box with a thick blanket lining. "There. Much better, huh?" Under your feet is the fluffiest blanket you've ever seen, a deep purple you'd only seen in the flowers closest to the centre of the forest. It feels strange on new feet, not to mention as you carefully put your body down as well, the scattered feathers do little to shield your new skin from the blanket. Pecking at the fluff until it is comfy, turns out to be a difficult task when your beak is longer than expected.

The new revelations take up all the space in your brain, the rest of the process of picking chicks, making sure they are comfortable, moving the boxes inside the castle and removing you from the box to a lush pillow don't even touch your tiny bubble of wonder at the life of a raven. What does, is the loud voice beside you.

"Whatcha doin' there?" Turning you see a somehow scraggily raven - even more so than you - perched on a red pillow, staring at you.

"Not really sure." You speak slowly for the first time, the language feels strange coming out of your beak.

"Did you at least bring them a present? They love it when you bring them presents. I brought a flea, but I'm Flea, and I'm covered in fleas. So I brought a flea."

Your head cocks in confusion first and disbelief second, trying to understand. Now was this a human thing or a raven thing?

The queen appears in your view crown almost glowing in the morning sun. She walks up to both of you and Flea smiling ravishingly as she puts out her hand for the dead present trapped in the boy's beak.

"Oh, thank you, glad to know we're appreciated." She says as she takes the flea and wanders over to the prince for him to look at. Human thing, right. As you follow her your eyes fall on the prince, blonde hair with hazelnut eyes. Your staring contest buddy was the prince?

"It's… dead. And all mangled, I don't even know what it used to be?" Hyunjin raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"It's a present regardless, it must be appreciated." His mother scolds.

"Thank tha thank….you. I think.." He manages with a nod in our general direction.

[vverago]

THE WHITE CROW BURNS

By Vienna Godoy

A 2,357 word excerpt of my novella wip, We Sang in the Wood: A Series of Short Stories of Animal Myths, for acereadsandwrites on Instagram

Check outside my insta: vverarosa.go to see more of this work

Summary:

They say crows, beautiful messengers of Apollo, used to be as white as swans. Until, one crow is caught within the betrayal of her Master’s lover: Coronis. In return, Apollo burns her wings to ash.

The little crow shares her tale to a bevy of swans, whom are dying to spoil her secret, while Apollo hunts her sisters.

Amongst the rustling of the groves, a Raven catches the air. She violently dashes through the leaves with her feathers dripping with ink and ash. In the middle of the tangling forest, resides a dark pond hidden by the overcast of branches– only little pools of sunlight strike the water in glittery waves. The Raven crashes onto a tree, groaning at the pain as her eyes spot a shimmer of ivory. 

Across the wine ridden water, a bevy of Swans sing together in a haunting harmony. The dissonance calms the heart of the Crow, and urges her to come closer to their song. The Crow pants, creeping around the rays, meeting the edge of the pond. She cries at the beauty of the pale feathers that gleam without a speck of dirt. 

“Hark, snow painted Swans!” She caws loudly with her wings flapping, “Your beauty shines no more than the sun. You wouldn’t dare believe that I nearly shared the same radiance.” 

A few Swans glance at the little Crow, who wallows at the pondside. Her wings cake in the mud. 

One gave her a haughty laugh, “You? With your feathers soaked in the mud and burnt like ash? Of course we wouldn’t dare believe your pitiful, self-seeking tale.”

The Crows sniffs at his snide laugh as the others honk in laughter. “I only speak the truth as is my duty as a messenger! My wings were pure as yours, iridescent in the light! The Keeper of the Sun has cursed me, but I dare not speak his name! His light burnt my wings– Oh, how painful they feel!”

Her accusation earns their interest, and they crane their necks towards her. They honk and shout over each other, twisting to ask her for her story.

The Crow sighs, wings tucking into her gray sides. “Very well, but know that it pains me to tell! My sisters and I lived in the heavens where the gods danced in the clouds. The skies are always bright there, the Storm King hates to rain on his kingdom.

“Despite the plethora of gods, there was only one we liked to dance and sing with: the young boy of the Sun. He loved us! He’d feed us from his dark, sun-soaked hands. In return, we feed him news of the mortal word as his lips would kiss our crooked beaks lovingly.

“One day, I was flying through Thessaly when horror struck! A hunter pierced my wing with an arrow! As I tumbled through the city, I spotted the princess on her porch. Her hair was like midnight, as if I could drown in it. And her eyes were just as dark against her pale skin.

“The Thessalian princess smiled at me radiantly as I stumbled into her yard. She lifted me into her hands before stroking my feathers and kissing my head.

“‘You poor thing!’ She cried, carrying me into her room. ‘Oh, sit very still!’

“She had set me on a bed of soft quilts, nestling me like a chick, as she tended my wound. I chirped and cawed as the pain left. Once I was tended to, she cradled me in arms for the night.

“‘How lovely to meet you, little Raven.’ She whispered to me. ‘I am Coronis; I hope you shall visit me often.’ Once the Sun appeared in the sky, I flew back to share the young god with my news.

“‘Little Crow,’ He smiled warmly. ‘Your sisters shared fascinating news last night: stories of Ares’ growing wars in Crete; of a child with beauty akin to Aphrodite in the Ionian Sea. Yet, you were the only one absent! I hope your night was filled with tales.’

“I bowed, spreading my beautiful white wings. ‘My Master, my day was treacherous, yet my night was peaceful. Hark! See my wing as an unlucky hunter has missed his prey.’ My master then kissed my beak and wings in folly. ‘But, a young princess of Thessaly took me in and nursed me back to health! I owe her many thanks and visits.’

“He was so enamored by my tale, finding himself daring to meet the kind princess who cared for his friend. And so, mid-day, he carried me on his golden chariot to the beautiful city. I perched on his shoulder as we searched her garden, and finally found the inky haired royalty onto a stone stool– sewing a little scarf. My master transformed himself. Now understand, my pale friends, the light of a god is powerful! I nearly went blind from his beacon, but my feathers could stand the heat of a dying star!”

The eldest Swan honks, “A dying star! Well, no longer, can you now?”

The Raven’s feathers ruffle and her eyes flitter towards the little pools of sunlight growing through the trees. “Hush!” She shouts, whispering the end.

“And continue to heed my tale. The young god was immediately stricken by her beauty. His ambrosia eyes were glittering, and he nearly fainted in my wings! However, he rose himself up. His delicate golden curls bounced delightfully on his dark skin as he took a step to her. I immediately fluttered to my friend– cooing the best I could. The Thessalian princess smiled wonderfully at me, and my heart nearly burst from my chest as she kissed my head.

“‘Hello again, little Raven.’ That darling Coronis whispered. Her kisses ceased with her gasp. ‘Oh! You brought a friend.’

“I peek out from her neck, watching the sun god admire the sight. He smiles softly, a gentle regal poise that hides his boisterous godhood. I watched him bow to the princess, telling her he was the son of a visiting merchant– looking forward to meeting the king’s children.

“Coronis grinned. ‘There is only one, Young Master. And, she is I.’ She set me on the ground, standing with grace to bow. ‘I am Princess Coronis of Thessaly, at your service, Young Lord.’

“And so, the sun god kissed her hand and gave her a fake name: Ellios, after his old friend.”

“Our dear Helios!” A swan wept. “Oh, we knew his story well. That young wretched god took his home in the sky without any thanks!”

“Don’t you lie about my Master!” The Raven shouted.

“You are no longer his servant, little Raven!” The elder Swan stated. “He has casted you out, we can say what we please about him, and you can continue your story about him.”

The Raven’s feathers ruffle at his words, but she sighs. “Very well, I suppose I have no control of that nor does my Master. But, please!” She pleads, eyes gazing at the sun settling in the trees. “Take caution for my own safety! I can see his chariot searching for me. But, to continue my tale:

“My Master and Princess Coronis quickly became close friends, alongside my friendship with Coronis. They would flock in the fields, confide with each other in the garden. I would linger in their escapades, and my dear Coronis always found ways to include me. At night, when Ellios left, Coronis would keep me close to her chest and kiss my head.

“She whispered. ‘How I wish you could join me, little Raven, beautiful specimen. You always can find me, caring for me like a dear friend. Yet, you can never stay, wings cannot run.’

“I truly loved her, understand! I wished for the sun god to give me legs, so that I may run with them and kiss her hand like he does. He refused, dismissing me with a coldness like the dark side of the moon.

“Without a word he left, and I followed him around the world and back to Thessaly. There, the princess’s chambers, laid her and the sun god in gentle embrace– to my utter horror! He had taken my place upon her bosom! I fled, crying to my sisters, yet they only berated me!

“‘Falling for a human! You insane bird! Won’t that sun god have your head!’”

“And, how right they are!” The swans shouted. “Such is forbidden love, it could never be!”

“And, how correct you would be!” The Raven cried as moonlight drifted overhead.

“Those nights continued the same, until Coronis no longer had me as her nightly companion… Replaced by her new lover, that damned god, we grew distant. I fled to the heavens, distracting myself with my sisters’ follies.

“Until, Ellios called me to the earth, asking me to watch over his love– the princess– as she was full with a child.”

The swans gasp and honk in surprise!

“My reaction was just like yours! But, loyal as a bird can be, I flew down to Greece again. And, Coronis greeted me with kisses as though I never left. And, my Master was true! Her belly was swollen, her cheeks softened– pink as roses! She glowed brighter than his chariot dragging the sun! I watched her like a hawk.

“During the day, I watched her tend her garden as other men would bother her for her hand. Once I relayed this to Ellios, his face darkened, and he instructed me to return to the Earth.

“‘Peck out their eyes! Might they never see her beauty; only I deserve it!’ He cried, shaking me by the wings in fury.

“And, so I swoop down, plucking and pecking the pretty eyes of the princes and dukes who dare enter my princess’ garden. At night, Coronis thanked me every night with kisses. Her baby’s heart beated gently, and I would slumber to its lullaby.

I had fled far into the garden, where a large fountain rested. There, I wept with joy. I felt so free with my princess. But, my head swarmed, scared if Ellios would treat me as he does the princes. I wanted nothing more than to love Coronis. Tears of gold stream into the fountain off my feathers. In a bright flash, a goddess revealed herself to me! Stunning with rainbows, the darling Iris!”

The swans squawk in glee. “Oh, our darling Iris! Gentle goddess!”

“Yes! Yes! The goddess is so kind! She beckoned me closer, speaking sweetly, ‘Oh pretty Raven. Your sisters tell me of your troubles; I wish nothing more than to calm your worries.’

“My heart warms at the goddess, and I finally crow, ‘I love her! I wish only for her happiness! But, my Master is a jealous man.

“He lives in the Heavens, asking me to watch over her– angered when she expresses love for another or others for her, he asked me to remove her from their vision.’ What will you have me do, lovely goddess!’ I asked.

“‘Tonight, before you lay down with your princess. Drink the water of this fountain and look into the mirror. When you wake, you will find something new.’

“As she faded into the rainbow of the water, I followed her instructions: drinking the water as the sun setted. When I returned, Coronis greeted me with sobs and warmth. As her tears fell onto my white feathers, I nuzzled into her chest and pecked lightly on her cheek. Crying softly turned into lullabies.

“When I rose, the world was spinning. Her room felt small in my blurry vision. I glanced down at my Princess… Down? I asked myself. My crow feet dragged on the ground, strangely heavy. And in the mirror, just as Iris promised, wasn’t a little white crow… But rather, a girl. A girl with pure ivory hair and skin that would make any Greek woman jealous. The only thing I could recognize was her dark eyes, beady irises.

“When Coronis awoke, she screamed! I darted to her, shushing her, holding her hands. ‘Coronis! My dearest friend, don’t shout! It’s me! Your little Raven.’

“Coronis gasped, pulling me closer, ‘Little Raven? My darling bird?’ She cups my face leaving my heart pounding as she bores her eyes into mine. I watched her eyes grow before she pulled me close. ‘Oh my, my friend! What god has blessed me? Blessed us? Oh, what great fortune! Knowing you can now speak to me, I don’t feel as lonely. I dreamed of this conversation for years.’ We smile, lingering with stares, before I lay beside her and kiss her head.

“‘I’ve longed for you to hear me.’ I whispered.

“We didn’t leave her soft bed for the whole day; instead, we kissed each other and talked like long lost friends. I became her personal handmaid, and she called me Ischys. For weeks, I watched over my princess– finally able for her to rest on my bosom. I watched her belly, nearly due. My sisters would visit, questioning when I would return to share my news with the Master. But, I couldn’t leave my new body– not even if I wished.

“But, the peace could not continue as one night, when I laid with Coronis and she was kissing my new name into my skin, the sun god had snuck into the window. He shouted at us in rage, crying that one of my sisters had told him! Coronis begged him to stop, but the fury of a god is a powerful thing.

“With his magic, he stripped my arms into wings, and I watched his human form transform into a godly light. Coronis shielded herself, but his light began to burn my skin! It boiled and stung, yet I fled– as fast as my wings could carry me. As my wings dripped ivory and into ink, I stumbled into your pond. Where I now hide from his fury.”

“And Coronis? What has come of her?” The Swans asked.

And, the Raven cried. “I don’t know! I miss her so much, but I know in my heart she still breathes with her child!

“But, now you know. But listen closely, he now searches for my sisters because of my doing. Do not let him burn their beautiful wings! I beckon you, dearly beautiful friends, seal this tale from your songs! For their sake!”

.-.-.-.-.

Hope you enjoyed <3

Check outside my insta to see more of this work

[noir-drabbles]

Drafts 1

Summary: Just an unfinished solo writing thing while playing Iron Valley. Basically it was just me testing out what it is I wanted, trying to create my own setting and characters, but then my brain got bored of it. So, I figured I may as well dump it here.

(I said I was going to start dumping my drafts here and I am going to commit to it. Drafts will be half actual prose writing and rambles on the side because I want people to enjoy the ideas and characters I have in my head. Hope this is fun!)

(Oh yeah, here's the link to the game I was playing. Lot of reading but it's easy to start and understand. Really does test out one's creative muscles.)

Today’s Spring pick for the Luminariae Post is as follows:

When a new branch grows, I always worry for what it may carry. The bark upon the trunk is many years old and yet it still insists on growing new leaves, new buds, and new fruits. A large and wise old tree, and yet it didn’t know age. It didn’t know where it should draw its limits. It simply grew and produced, as it always has, even when the threat of disease was always there.

But I’m not scornful. I’ll simply grab my polished clippers and snap off whatever rot has caught onto the leaves, onto the branches. I’ll eat the fruit it gives me, and carve a flute out of the wood I snipped off.

I’ve been there when you were young, when each new leaf would make me dance in the mud because I keep forgetting not to over water you. When your fruits would spawn out of seemingly nowhere, like your love for the world could not be contained, so you had to give it back as much and as fast as you could.

You’ve long outgrown me. I can’t even climb up to the very top of you as I once used to with my own little sister. You could still support me, but the youth in your new branches are not what they used to be. And yet, you still try and grow just as much fruit as you can, even when it’s no longer anything anyone can eat.

You’re just an old fool. You and I are two of a kind. And that it why you will always be one of my dearest friends.

And every day, I thank you for being who you are.

– Carmen

Heyo, author Noir here. So, the idea I had for this little segment is that every start of the new season, the Luminariae Post would post a submission that was sent to them by one of the residents in this small town of Arbor Hills. Typically they pick submissions that have something to do with the current season, or just a general connection to nature that can be connected to said season. It's also meant for the regular folk to take a peek into a small part of that resident that wrote the piece. Just fluff writing things.

Oh, and Carmen is a big ol dragon man, the one that basically provides the Reader with a house and a job, a nice bouncing point since the Reader starts off with literally nothing, not even clothes. He's a nice man, good roommate and clearly misses having other people live in his house. There's this big tree that the whole town pays their respects towards because of the sheer size and reach of its roots. In fact, most of the plants and trees you find often end up connecting their roots to that big tree, as it provides nutrients to said plants, leading to them weathering even the toughest of disasters. Rumor has it that Carmen was the one that planted that tree when it was a sapling, but that's just a rumor.

Spring 2

Time: [0/4]

| Forecast: Sunny | Luck: Neutral | Lucky Color: Lemon |

“Did you hear? Apparently our dear local baker has been in need of a new recipe to put as a potential special.”

“Oh? Which one? Is it that sweetie Ivory or that nutty Obsidian?”

“Don’t be mean Martha. But it is nutty Obsidian. Apparently he’s going a little crazy from lack of inspiration and just wants something new to really make his day pop from grays to happy pinks.”

“Hehehe, well in that case, you think he’ll want to try out some of my homemade cookies? Maybe that’ll perk him right up and get his head out of the pizza oven ashes?”

“Bleh, if you want to kill him… But yes, let’s. I’ll be the merciful one and bring him some of my delicious tea.”

“Let’s poison him together, Lily.”

The idea I had here is basically a cutscene being played out every day, where a couple of characters do something or have a conversation that implies a very long request. The town bulletin is still a thing, but those quests will end up being pretty short. The short requests do change often, I'd say once every two days, while the longer requests are more persistent, changing once every five days. Obsidian is basically this mad scientist-like baker that loves to go crazy with the designs and flavors of his baked goods. And, well, he's prone to losing inspiration and just wants something to get that flow going. He's a pretty intense cosmic star dude, the kind of energy that easy to be overwhelmed with. He has a sister named Ivory who helps out in the bakery, but is mostly found working with wood as the local carpenter. She's not gentle, she has that quiet intensity about her, and is just as wacky with her woods craft. She will get the request done, and will probably add some else to it. A weird feature that you probably won't notice until you accidentally activate it. Like a table that can convert itself into a suit of wood armor. You never know with these two.

Oh, and I have no clue who Martha and Lily are. Just that they're best friends who love to gossip, and were once very competitive rivals in school before someone tried to accuse them of cheating so they'd be unable to participate in theater. Yeah, those two were theater kids, and their rivalry, for the most part, was a fun exaggerated thing on their part that got a liiiiittle too real, but they're good now. They're middle-aged and married to their respective spouses.

“You doing alright?”

You snapped out of your reverie by a rumbling voice that’s not quite meant to overpower the general noise, so much as it should rumble underneath one’s feet.

You didn’t look at Carmen. You looked at his horns instead, all scratched up and chipped at in all their ridged and curling glory. It’s hard to look at him in the eyes. They aren’t particularly piercing, they’re just filled with a love for the world around him. A gentle and boundless love that he’s willing to share with you, a fellow roommate but a stranger still.

It’s… a lot. Too much. But it’s fine. He’s good and nice. He makes you all those warm and filling meals, and lets you take up a room in his house. You had nowhere else to go, but he gave you a hand anyway.

So, are you doing alright? He did ask.

You hummed out a yes. Because words would be too much in all this noise. The sensation of your throat rumbling, of moving your lips and making a conscious effort not to stutter. You’re already a little on edge as is.

“Hmm,” he copied your tone, though you didn’t know if that meant he believed you or not, “I know there’s a lot of little noises, but a small outing like this is good. It is something to get used to, that’s for certain.”

It’s… yeah, he’s right. It is a lot. Carmen’s farm isn’t exactly all the quiet either, with all the cows, chickens and bees he has, but there’s a different quality to the noise of people. It’s a… a rhythm, of sorts. The livestock back home are always keeping out a listening ear to the nature around them, so their own noises follow that beat, usually. But people… don’t really care, nor can they truly listen.

The rhythm isn’t bad, in the sense that it’s wrong and that people should pay more attention. It’s just… different. Absorbed in their own little pocket of time. And those pockets just, overlap in your ears.

You’ll probably get used to it, in the same way you got used to Carmen when you first woke up to his face looming right over under the arbor. It was an adjustment. The man’s over seven feet tall with a broad frame to fit, built over the years from heavy farm work. But, you suppose that’s the average height of all dragons. Well, his specific branch of dragon anyway. You don’t know any other dragon.

You nodded and let your eyes wander over the sparse crowd around you, to the area you’re both sitting on a bench in.

The village’s center, built around a pretty fountain that’s filled with little seashells, all in various pastel colors of white, blue and pink. One little kid in white sandals had to lay her belly on the ledge of the fountain just to reach in and drop her shell. Her little transparent wings fluttered with her excitement, dropping flecks of pink dust here and there.

A water spout spat right up her nose and the little fairy girl snorted then gave a big powerful sneeze. She launched herself right into the air. Luckily, before you or Carmen could rush right over, her father was right there to catch her.

Chuckling, her fairy father said, “I got a precious gift from the heavens!”

“No!” She yelled, raising her arms high like claws, “I am your worst nightmare! I eat your dreams and your banana splits!”

He gasped, “A monster! Oh no!”

She kicked her feet and lost a sandal in her giggles.

You jumped when Carmen gave chuckles of his own. The sheer volume of his voice never ceases to surprise you, that his happiness can be something so… loud? Strong? It’s solid. Which is kind of dumb now that you think about it. You’ve seen him lift an entire tree trunk with his arms and shoulder alone. It shouldn’t be shocking at all to find that his laugh has just as much power behind it.

But it is, because he would always bend down just so people could hear him. He didn’t like raising his voice just as much as he hated going into the details of his private life.

And with a flinch, Carmen realized as much. He looked to the side, scratched the back of his neck, and sighed out, “Sorry.”

Did you look bug-eyed? You probably did.

You shook your head at Carmen. He doesn’t need to apologize to you. It’s not his fault that you’re easily startled. Besides, he’s the one going out of his way to get you situated in this place. He didn’t have to do it, but he did anyway.

He nodded to you then hovered a hand right over your shoulder. He stopped, waited, and when you shifted closer, he patted you. The weight and strength of his bones alone almost made your joint creak.

“I’ll be going on ahead. I need to buy some things for the gardening day this week.” Carmen reached into his pocket and took out a few notes that you don’t really need. He pays you plenty for your services, but saying no to him–especially when he wants to spoil or be nice–just leaves a sour taste in your mouth. He stuffed them in your hands. “Go around, explore. Or relax by the community garden if you’d like. I’ll be by Peach’s place for the most part. I won’t go home unless you want to, okay?”

Ah, here it is, the big send off. You can’t really complain since you asked for this kind of time for yourself, but augh… It’s difficult all the same. You’ve been here for the better part of one year and you’ve yet to make a single friend. You haven’t really been trying, to be perfectly honest. Whenever you go out into the village on your moped, you’re strictly in working mode, schedule and time all planned out. Whenever people would try and talk to you during those hours, you get antsy and anxious.

You hate being off schedule. On top of that, if you weren’t working, you were around Carmen all the time. He’s a friendly and well known face. It’s only natural for people to gravitate towards him rather than you, especially when you would rather hide in his shadow than look at anyone.

You weren’t trying to make friends. Everything was just too unfamiliar for you to do that, or even think of it. And nobody pushed you to do that. In a way, you’re grateful for that, that the people here left you alone for the most part. A nice respect of your time and attention. They made attempts to talk to you, certainly, but that was about where the pushiness ended.

And, now, you’re calmer-ish. You can take the time and try.

You can go anywhere and make a friend.

…

Augh, you still can’t talk. Words just really don’t want to come out.

Well, baby steps, baby steps.

Carmen has since left you to yourself, with money in your hands. A nice sizable amount. Can’t buy a microwave with it, but you can grab a while feast of pastries if you wanted to.

…you know what? That sounds like a good idea. Having something to munch on while trying to make a friend would help calm you down some. Besides, a lot of people frequent the bakery. Surely you’ll be able to find someone who wants to befriend you.

That and you’ve heard of the gossip between those two women over there. Apparently the local baker needs some help. You don’t have any ideas, but maybe you’ll come up with something by the time you get there?

The crowd didn’t really get any thinner as you walked down the white stone path. Lots of people were gathered in small packs, but they were polite enough to shift slightly out of your way. You followed the scent of bread and soon enough found yourself inside the cozy atmosphere of a bakery.

Honestly, it seemed more like a home than it did a bakery, which makes sense since it looked like a store/home hybrid from the outside. But, rather than a home that seeks to hide emptiness with store bought furniture the owner vaguely likes, each table, chair and even the frame of the mirrors in this place were clearly handmade.

It was small though, and all the furniture had people either gathering or sitting on it. There wasn’t anywhere you could just pick and sit down for an hour or two while you mindlessly pick at your pastry and watch the people go by.

A healthy routine makes for a good base for potential friendships. At least that’s how Carmen puts it. You’re not sure if it’s true, but you may as well try, right?

You walk to the back of the line and wait. At the front, behind the register was someone that you can only describe as a galactic black hole. The white light that makes up what you think is hair slowly swirls around in a clock-wise motion, collecting light like a vent does smoke as it slowly gathers in some dark center you can’t make out. The white light hair fades into a dark shadow dappled with white little star pinpricks, doing nothing to to take away from the bright eyes that look around this way and that.

This person had no mouth to speak of as he nodded and packaged a new box of pan dulce. It’s interesting to you, watching the way their body never quite stabilized into something truly solid, but it was enough for his clothes to hang on. He didn’t have a uniform, it was just a set of comfy billowing clothes that had little tears and big patches over what was probably holes.

His form stretched up, bending in ways a shadow would as he gave the box to the person waiting in line.

“You wanted a surprise and a surprise is what you’ll get!”

Aaaand this is where I lost my steam, and I had a pretty good pace going too.

Reader is basically this dryad person that was born from the big tree(of which I have yet to name, eh) and as such, has little to no knowledge of many things beyond the general basics. Socializing is obviously not their thing. Many of the towns people just think they're a traveler from afar that suffers from amnesia, but since nobody witnesses the Reader coming out of the tree, it can't really be disputed that they're not a traveler.

There's a biblically accurate angel just, hanging out in Arbor Hills. He's the current master carpenter and boss of Ivory. He spends most of his time sleeping, and in the rare times one manages to make a request to him, you can be sure that whatever furniture he makes will never break, and will even have a little buff to them.

The angel's name is Peach, because someone called him "an absolute peach." With the last name Angel for the sake of simplicity. No matter how you poke and prod at him, you can't get details about his past, you'll just get references about how empty of an existence he was living before coming here. Now he can dream all he likes.

There's a tradition at the start of a new year to share stories you may have or have written. Arbor Hills is all about communal story crafting, so often the whole town will come together to either craft a new fairy tale, or add on to another existing tale. The only rule is that it has to have at least one true event in there, or be based on a true event. So you could have witnessed a bug trip over grass and flip itself over and craft a tale about a malicious weed that seeks to grow and prank all the bugs that nipped at it. That kind of thing. So, one of the Promises is to get ideas and make a story before Spring 1 rolls around. There are usually two groups, one group that's full of people that have written their stories on their own, and the other group that shares their ideas for a group story making session. Perfection is not expected. Just have fun. And if you don't want to make a story, just be a listening ear.

There's also another tradition where, after reaching a certain age, kiddos go to the community garden to pick out a seed they like and plant it somewhere in the town. This tradition does stretch out beyond just for the kids, you can do this as a new adult, or when you reach a huge milestone in your life. Don't worry about having to take incredible care of it, these seeds are magical and are often deeply connected to you. They grow as you grow, and if they get sick, you can be assured that they'll be taken care of by the garden spirits of the forest.

There aren't many dragons to be found. There be different types of dragons, but their lifespan varies quite a bit between them.

Same for the dryad. There's nobody else quite like you, and if there is, they're usually no bigger than the size of your palm. Tiny, squeaky things.

I know I have more things sitting in the brain, but I need to prodded at to really remember. So, if you want to poke at my brain, be my guest!

[givekennyabreak]

Refuge (Kenny Liu x gn!reader)

Summary: Life is tough at whatever the hell this town is, but at least Kenny got you by his side.

Word count: 733

Rating: M

Warnings: spoilers for s2e3 of From, mentions of blood, death, canon compliant violence and gore, a lot of swearing, reader is hinted to wear glasses, hugs, use of (Y/N).

The loud slam of the front door is what startles the duo.

"The fuck?" Swears Jade, as they watch Kenny storm by without a single word.

The chess board is on the coffee table between them, ivory pieces thrown around as Jade tried to teach his confused friend how to actually play it - not just imitate my little pony characters with the horse pieces.

"Something's wrong." (Y/N) whispered, already standing up from their seat on the couch.

"He probably saw his crush with her fianceé again-"

"Dude, he'd just sulk." They retorted, brows furrowing, glasses slipping down their nose. "Something bad happened."

Jade opened his mouth to say something again, but whatever it was got lost as the resident fix-it 'guy' turned around and towards Kenny's room.

"Well, fuck me, then."

Three quick raps against the door was enough to let Kenny know who was on the other side.

His mom called out to him instead of knocking and Jade knocked once before storming in shouting or mumbling from time to time.

"What is it?" He asked, voice strained. It wavered a little, and he heard a small thump against the wood - his friend leaned their forehead against it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" (Y/N) said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.

The freckled man chewed on his bottom lip, fists clenching by his side. He wanted to stop - to sit or lay down, he was absolutely fucking tired, but his legs wouldn't stop pacing around.

He just saw a young, bright woman die with an iron stick through her head, and those things, those monsters, had the audacity to leave her there to suffer more and more and more until-

"Kenny?" (Y/N) whispered, softly, still waiting for his answer.

"Come in, please."

The deputy kept his eyes on the ground. He heard the door open, and then close; then, a pair of black combat boots appeared in his field of vision.

"Kenny, look up, please."

He didn't. He wouldn't dare look up because he'd see his friend's innocent, happy face and remember the screams amidst the forest.

The first tears fell without him realizing.

The sobs wracked through his body like the thunderstorm a couple of days ago, and it was only then that Kenny felt his friend actually hoist him up by his waist (with little struggle) and his legs soon felt the soft mattress against them. With a small push, he sat down, still looking at the ground, and (Y/N) kneeled by him.

"I don't know what happened." They said, hands cupping Kenny's freckled, warm cheeks. "But I'm here for you. If you do say anything or not, I will be here."

"They- they stuck an iron stick through one of the passengers head's." The deputy managed to say through the sobs, his own hands now engulfing the ones over his cheeks. "She was in the forest. They kept her a-alive."

(Y/N) gritted their teeth, jaw set tight.

"And she felt nothing at all, until she started to scream and then Boyd had to pull the thing out and Kristi held her hand and all Ellis and I could do was watch as she died stuck to a tree in a forest in the middle of nowhere without being able to call her mom one last time!"

The deputy cried harder then, holding his friend's hands with an iron grip. He sobbed until his body shook, and the entire time (Y/N) stayed close to him, their own forehead resting on the crown of Kenny's head.

At some point, the freckled man let go of their hands, and snuck his arms around their waist instead, hiding his teary face on the crook of their neck. (Y/N) opted to hug him back, one of their hands on the back of his head, pointer finger drawing random patterns on the soft black hair.

"I'm sorry." Kenny whispered, still sniffling. "Sorry to dump this all on you."

"Don't ever be sorry about telling me these things, Kenny." They retorted. "I'm here for you, always. No matter how gruesome or cruel, you can let it out to me."

Kenny, for the first time since he got home, looked up at his friend.

Lopsided smile, fogged up glasses, wild hair sticking up to all possible directions, gentle eyes.

"You can always count on me."

Kenny smiled back.

"I know."

Okay this was a RIDE

I hope I made all the two characters justice lmao sorry if I made Jade seem annoying, he just strikes me as an annoying brother (like my own younger brother) so yeah

Hope y'all like it :)

Also if the English is kinda wonky pls tell me bc I'm a tired Brazilian worker :')

[parznite]

Dreamweaver AU : Chapter One: Scarlet Dreams

This chapter is created from the POV of Dawn Walker, aka Sundrop. Diving more into his life within his own realm and his unique duties.

The dream realm, a cloud palace in the sky, where the denizens who lurked along the skyline lived in the burning sun. Enjoying the crisp warmth that blessed the clouds they resided in. Within this realm; dreams became realities, ambitions turned to dreams and fantasies unleashed. The ivory wisps lived in peace and tranquility, working under their guardian. The radiant protector that's known as Dawn Walker. The ray of sunshine that blesses the dream wisps with their unique powers to give mortals daydreams during the day and sweet slumbers at night.

Dawn found himself atop his pedestal in the centre of the floating city within the realm. Blue optics focused on the clouds above, a delicate golden digit reaching out to form them into shapes of creatures or abstractions. He normally had seen such figures through the many realms he had passed through, especially the mortal realm. His gap-toothed grin only widened as he perfected the puffy clouds into something magical. From ships that sail the seas of sapphire to creatures with maws open to roar. With a flick of his wrist, he brought the delicate creation to himself, turning it over to look at all sides of it.

A soft metallic whistle passed through his separated teeth, filling the open space with a cheerful tone. "Someone will enjoy seeing you," the radiance whispered before clasping his hands over the creature-shaped cloud. Clasping his hand into a fist, and tossing his other hand up he opened a wavering portal. Turning his body with the gesture as he pulled the fist to his face, unclasping his fingers. With a breath, he sent the cloud through the portal he created in a gust. In a flash, the shape disappeared into the portal that Dawn simply closed behind it. His eyes trailed up to the other clouds in the sky, tucking his wings closer to the sides of his head. A glossy gaze admiring the other decorative shapes that lingered in the ocean above.

"Dawn?" a soft whisper snapped him back from his momentary daydream, the beams on his head shrinking in as he got startled. Quickly he turned only to see one of his realm denizens before him. The misty wisp known as "Clover" with soft pale eyes staring up.

"Ah Clover, my dear friend," Dawn beamed as he pushed himself from his pedestal, turning on his feet. Arms flicking outward sending his chiffon fabric into the air behind him before it fell delicately back into place. Tipping his body down, he scooped the shimmering native into his hands. Running a pale finger over the flickering flame-like hair to smooth it down. Simulating a petting motion that is similar to how someone would pet a smaller creature. Stifling a giggle, the wisp began "I just got back from sending the dreams out" Clover chirped.

A look of pride washed over the droid, eyes shutting as he offered a pleased look. "That's wonderful dearest Friend! Have you come for more?"

"Yes please!" Clover eagerly replied, small eyes closing. Dawn looked over the proud little wisp, thinking hard for a moment before touching his temple to the others. His mind flashed to many different outcomes before speaking the next words slowly. "You will be giving this dream of good fortune." With opened eyes looking at Clover, Dawn couldn't help but laugh. "And please you can call me Sun as well, no need to be so formal my friend" Pale orbs shuttered open before a simple nod left the wisp. The flame-like creature pushed from the guardian's fingers to the soft cloud below, disappearing through it as they left to fulfil their new goal.

Pleased with his work, his eyes slowly drew from the area the wisp was to his own quarters. Starting towards them, waving to a few familiar wisps on the way before entering. Gripping the golden knob of the door to shut it behind himself as he entered. Leaning against the mahogany wood, azure eyes were drawn to the many clocks up on his wall. Fixating on the one labelled as "Mortal Realm". "Soon", he thought to himself, a smile creeping across his maw. Not only was he going to see the mortals again tonight, he was going to be with his partner. It's been a week since they had gotten to see each other. While they talked every day through their own communication devices, he admittedly missed Dusk often.

Time for their gathering couldn't come sooner, it had Dawn's feathers in a knot. He couldn't wait to see his crimson-eyed suiter. Let alone discuss all of their work, plans and more on the mortal realm. It was always so fascinating to watch the mortals at work while spending the evening with his one and only. Thinking back to previous meetings, he began to wonder if they'd find that mortal they ran into previously. The one who was able to see and communicate with them. It still brought Dawn's curiosity to its peak and he hoped they'd be able to find them again.

Until then, Dawn took this time to rest up for the late-night adventures. He'd been working tirelessly to make sure he got all his wisps busy at work while maintaining the integrity and unity of the dreams he provided. While it might not seem like a lot of work, it was a lot when you had to do it thousands of times over in a daylight cycle. Regardless, he loved his position as a Guardian and maybe a few moments of shut-eye would do him the trick.

The figure found himself going to his canopy bed, undoing his overgarments before tucking himself into the soft comforter. Wings into themselves and folding feathers over as he rested on his side. Clasping the blanket with one hand and the pillow in the other. A deep breath left Dawn as he took a moment to rest his eyes in the warmth of his bed.

What seemed like only a couple of moments lasted for an hour and a half. Shifting his weight while sinking into the bed. Sapphire eyes flickered open, eyelids heavy as he turned his head slowly. Peering out the window at the forever beaming lights before dragging his gaze at the clocks. Squinting at them, willing his eyes to adjust to the numbers before inevitably giving up. Reaching up he hoisted himself into the sitting position, one hand rubbing at his cornea hidden behind golden lids. Pools fixating on the digits of the clock, reading over the numbers on the Mortal clocks. "8..45" the ray managed before tossing his legs over the bed. Stretching his joints skyward while his wings fluttered out.

Now realising the time, he was practically jumping from his bed and grabbing his overgarments to toss back on. Fastening his belt around his pants and pulling over his leather tunic, settling it so it was facing properly. With a snap of his finger, the radiant charm necklace reappeared over his stern. The dazzling item adorning itself back in place, wavering only slightly when Dawn moved.

With a final glance over his quarters, he pulled the sunglow scarf around his neck once more. Allowing it to fall freely behind him as he paced towards his personal portal. Touching the golden frame it shimmered to life. The displayed image showed the rendezvous spot he and Dusk previously picked out. A beautiful lake was surrounded by a luminescent forest as the moon began to creep over the sky. It was a simple place, where the two could easily travel to during their gatherings with limited problems. The radiant guardian glanced around before taking a deep breath in and shaking his nerves away.

"It's time." He stepped through the portal.

[rosiesdiner]

@lindsohalloran

rosie is accustomed to mr. wexley's communal updates by now. the residents gather in the atrium, seeing as it is the largest open space for them to fit. it is noticeably fuller with the new arrivals, now they are out of official quarantine. at least there is enough seating for everyone, more so than the lobby would have provided were it accessible. that is her fault, but rosie doesn't regret setting the charges on that first day of panic, collapsing the front entrance in clouds of billowing cement and wood, trapping the infected outside.

with the owner of the building concludes today's brief message, most disperse. Introverts slip away to their apartments and penthouses, while the latest recon group gather together to review their upcoming departure. she stretches like a lanky cat, fingers twined together in front of her with arms straight out then raised before dropping back down to her sides. her ivory sweater is a bit too warm now the temperature outside is rising, but she'd rather be hot than cold.

❝ so, you're immune ? that's wonderful ! ❞

whether or not immunity, delayed or doomed susceptible to maxed out rabies status is meant to be a secret, the results never are these days. those first tests back in the fall were passed out privately, but could they even be trusted? vince turned so quickly even though his results, like hers, reported delayed.

rosie hasn't heard what maisie's results are -- that gossip hasn't reached through the vine yet. will any of them be surprised if she's delayed ? what with her current sickly state ? no one within her radius has turned yet, thankfully.

[elisethetraveller]

Closed Starter

Legs folded up underneath her, Elise glanced across the papers before her. Age could be a burden, but at the moment, she was thankful for her long life. Trade and politics were not something she had ever had formal training in; however, over the years, she had attended enough courts to, at the very least, consider herself well-versed in the basics.

"Hm?" Silver eyes glanced towards the door as it opened. "Is everything alright?" From what she remembered, there weren't any meetings today. However, the younger man didn't look to be in such a hurry he was bringing bad news.

"I-ehm… Yes, Mis-Elise." The mage couldn't help a friendly smile appearing on her face. She didn't like titles, but it was hard to do away with social customs. "You have a guest. The eye of Zaun."

"Oh." Standing, Elise pushed aside the papers before walking to the other. "Well, we should probably not keep him waiting." Gesturing towards the door, she followed after the young man.

The house she'd taken up residence in was large; one could even call it sprawling. It was needed since she wanted her patients close while still having the space for business. It was the most ostentatious thing she had acquired since becoming the de facto leader of the area. In the beginning, she had been operating out of a warehouse, but one of her people had pointed out that she needed proper meeting rooms. Thus, she had directed funds to buy this house, a former gambling den. Many rooms still had the original decorations, with elaborate wallpapers and polished wooden floors. Now, most of them were filled with beds and medical supplies.

The room she kept most meetings in was decorated with a blue sky and a pale wooden floor that was probably supposed to give the illusion of a cloud. Personally, the mage had always thought the ivory wood was more reminiscent of bone. Turning to the young man, she dismissed him before entering the room.

"Welcome, Silco. I hope the journey here went well." The pale mage greeted with a soft smile. "I wasn't aware you wanted to talk; if so, I would have gladly gone to your territory." Elise couldn't help but reach out, checking the wards she had put on her home. She couldn't sense any changes. "But no matter. What can I help you with?"

( @zaunrising )

[whisperingwinters]

Hello! You can call me Winter, I like to Pokémon rp with my OC, Violet. But I also just ramble abt stuff as well. This blog doesn’t have a set thing I’m too stupid for that. There is no timeline, time is an illusion and also I am lazy soooo-

Violet is a Pokémon trainer that after journeying quite a few regions decided to settle down and live deep in the woods where no one would bother her.

She was born in Glitch City and assumes that is the reason that her shadow is all glitchy and pixelated.

She visits the main part of the unknown region she resides in from time to time, but mostly keeps to her self and uses a tumblr blog to substitute human interaction. She was in Sinnoh during the Space Time Incident and that is where she got Charlie. She is known to be carefree, reckless, and antisocial. Also she’s 6’8. Please let me know what the fuck this woman eats and how can I get some?

My Pokémon are:

Facade the Vivillon

Valiant the Gallade (Mega)

Pestilence the Clodsire

Macabre the Skeledirge

Jubilee the Spiritomb

Fiesta the Azumarill

Incognito the Arbok

Pera the Luxray (Alpha)

Athena the Dragonair

Faerune the Dratini

Dread the Frogadier

Chamomile the Spectrier (Shiny)

Paradox the [SAVE]

Muffin the Tyrantrum

Echo the Meloetta

Opal the Poipole (Shiny, Chimera)

Chrysa the Liligant (Hisuian, Shiny)

Peppermint the Tinkaton

Bonk the Steelix (Shiny, Ancient, Alpha)

Obsidia the Hydreigon

June the Pigeot

Autumn the Fletchinder (Shiny)

Ginger the Houndstone

Dakota the Lucario

Marionette the Banette(Teddiursa Doll)

Opulence the Gholdengo

Xena the Lycanroc(Midday)

Trips the Shiinotic

Seraph the Larvesta

Apocalypse the Slitherwing

Goose the Garchomp

Loki the Ditto

Eden the Serperior (Axanthic)

Sylph the Sylveon

Eryn the Sylveon

Kaiju the Gyarados (Huge)

Kaisel the Gyarados (Runt)

Charlie the Hisuian Zoroark (Runt)

Katelyn the Zebstrika (Rescue)

Zeke the Lopunny (Shiny)

Grape Soda the Swalot

Wheatley the Rotom

Wall-E the Porygon

Missy the Sneasel (Dark Poison)

Akai the Inkay

And Yuki the Froslass

Local wild Pokémon:

Sprout the Turtwig

Apricot the Grotle

Branch the Torterra

Mahogany the Torterra

Bandit the Sneasel

Wraith the Banette

The Swarm (1000+ Unown)

Kit the Noibat

Kat the Noibat

Dracula the Noivern

Ari the Eevee

Spock the Flareon

Ivory the Crobat (Unofficial Team Member)

Glados the Scizor

Murkrow (5x)

Vix the Ninetales (Ancient, Alpha)

Igneus the Charmander (Unique life flame)

Sunshine the Yellow MissingNo

OCCASIONAL VISITORS:

Thundurus

Rosalie (Shiny Ditto)

To Be Added…

[iviarellereads]

The Neverending Story, Chapter 1 - Fantastica In Danger

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Neverending Story, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which the story truly begins.

With a full-page illustrated A(1)

All the beasts in Howling Forest were safe in their caves, nests, and burrows.

It's midnight, and a storm is raging. Then, a light sips through the woods. Not lightning: a will-o'-the-wisp(2) that's lost its way, quite unusual even in Fantastica. It carries a white flag, making it a messenger of one sort or another.(3)

It finds a clearing, where three figures sit at a campfire.

There's a giant, who looks like he's made of grey stone and almost ten feet tall. The wotw(4) recognizes him as one of the rock-chewers, who are few in number and slowly eating the mountain range far from the Howling Forest. His vehicle is a great bicycle with two millstone wheels.

There's a night-hob, not much bigger than the wotw, who might have come from anywhere in Fantastica but likely came from somewhere far from the Howling Forest, because his vehicle is a bat.

And, there's a tiny, who live even further away than the rock chewers' mountain, but here he is with a pink snail mount.

The wotw is curious at three such different creatures sharing a fire, until it sees that they all also bear the white flags or scarves of messengers. It approaches, and is greeted warmly. They exchange names: the wotw is Blubb, the tiny is Gluckuk, the night-hob is Vooshvazool, and the giant is Pyornkrachzark.

The wotw really shouldn't stop for too long, as it carries a secret message for the Childlike Empress. The others say they're sure they carry the same message, and some discussion is had, describing how something ominous is happening in the far reaches of Fantastica. Objects, places, even whole features like lakes disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a hole, behind.(5)

Still, the wotw doesn't know the way to the Childlike Empress's tower, and the others won't share what they know unless the wotw will light their way. The wotw refuses and takes off, and the others decide to make their own way as well.

In the school attic, the clock strikes nine, and Bastian is a little confused to come to awareness of his surroundings, as he'd immersed so deeply into the story. He usually likes stories that are exciting, or funny, or make him dream. He can build such a story so vividly in his senses that he completely forgets himself until it's over.(6) He's glad he's up here reading instead of in his classroom, as this is just the right book for him.

In Fantastica, a week later, the night-hob arrives first, or believes he does because he's flying. He circles his bat over the great garden of the Labyrinth, designed entirely to amuse and delight, since no one known in Fantastica would ever dream of trying to harm the Childlike Empress. He continues flying over it until he reaches the Ivory Tower, her residence.

The word 'tower' might give someone who has never seen it the wrong idea. It had nothing of the church or castle about it. The Ivory Tower was as big as a whole city. From a distance it looked like a pointed mountain peak twisted like a snail shell. Its highest point was deep in the clouds. Only on coming closer could you notice that this great sugarloaf consisted of innumerable towers, turrets, domes, roofs, oriels, terraces, arches, stairways, and balustrades, all marvelously fitted together. The whole was made of the whitest Fantastican ivory, so delicately carved in every detail that it might have been taken for the latticework of the finest lace.

The night-hob landed lower down, at a stable, where his bat is taken and he's offered a ceremonial welcome cup. The ritual is observed, and the bat is taken to a stall, where it falls deeply asleep. In fact, not a single animal in the stable is making a noise.

The night-hob is also pretty exhausted after the trip, but hears a voice call out to him: the tiny arrived first, after all. And, he says, to see the Childlike Empress one must put in for an appointment, as so many messengers have come from all across Fantastica. The night-hob is unconvinced, so the Tiny takes him out to the High Street, where people and creatures of all sorts are in discussion. The menace of the nothing has broken out everywhere, and the Childlike Empress is ill, which could be the cause or a symptom.

Soon, the wotw and the giant also arrive.

During the long waiting period, the four so unalike messengers became good friends. From then on they stayed together. But that's another story and shall be told another time.

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(1) If your edition doesn't have illustrations for the letters, I'm so sorry because they're very fun. This one, for me, is the giant on a stone bicycle, the tiny riding his snail in one top corner, and the night-hob on his bat in the other top corner, with the will-o'-the-wisp in the triangle of the A. I do plan to describe my illustrations for the book, unless folks find it tedious. There are only 26, after all, one for each numbered chapter. And yes, somehow, at least this translation managed to keep the letters at the beginning of each chapter, which I assume was a thing in the original German text as well. It's so utterly charming, and really drives home that it's a book about books, you know? Bravo everyone involved. (2) These little creatures have quite a storied history. They're related to jack-o-lanterns, the reason we carve pumpkins at Hallowe'en. They typically symbolize an unattainable hope or goal, or the strange and sinister. In German, it would be "irrlicht" or "irrwisch" or, properly, with a capital i, being a noun… (which, side note, if you ever notice someone capitalizing all their nouns, they probably learned German, and in historical documents, it's a remnant of English's Germanic origin that lasted well into modern English usage) and, uh, to wind back to it, Irrlicht is along the lines of a wandering/deceiving light,"wisch" just replaces light for wisp, and it's a shared folklore across much of Europe. All the creatures of Fantastica, I believe, have some grounding in our world's myths, legends, and peoples. (Oh, we'll come back to that.) (3) Is a bearer of a flag of truce not also a kind of messenger? I ask you. (4) It's this or have to copy and paste it 'cause it's a pain in the wrist to have to reach for all those hyphens. (5) Somehow, "nothing" is always scarier than something. (6) My jealousy knows no bounds. I like a lot of books with vivid descriptions, but I process none of it. Aphantasia comes in many degrees, but I grew up believing that people who said they *saw* things were exaggerating or making it up. No, they really do, most people even, supposedly. Sometimes I think I can conjure up reasonably vivid sounds of things I've heard, but not always, and never a smell or taste or feeling.