#Peep fears no fey

[redflagromance]

Short Story Release: Duck Hunt (Maeve Le Fey Story- 8,122 words)

"I won't be making frogs." Maeve slapped the papers onto her end table, next to the lamp. "I appreciate you dropping these off, I really do. But I'm a little offended that you would even add that spell to my library requests unasked." She sniffed. "It's simply not to my tastes, Adelaide."

Adelaide followed her down the entryway, giving a cursory glance at the songbird peeping furiously for his attention in a golden cage.

"It's a classic for a reason." Her old classmate rolled his eyes, as if she was being unreasonable. "How can you call yourself a practitioner if you've never turned someone to a frog?" He turned away from the bird and fiddled with a ceramic on a display shelf. "People are starting to talk, Maeve."

"Why would I need to do that?" Maeve threw her hands up, sighing. "Why do they even care?" She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook. “Busy bodies, all.” She shot a disapproving look at the silly red bird beating its wings for attention.

Adelaide turned and shook his head piteously at her. "I suppose that if you don't know, you'll never know. Chin up darling, you have other skills. Eventually people will forget. Maybe you could make a point to show off something soon?" he suggested kindly.

‘They think I can’t do it? How ridiculous.’

Maeve took a deep breath and shook off whatever latent insecurity made her fear peer disapproval. She didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

"I'm afraid of hyenas," Adelaide said. He was clearly trying to comfort her with some relatable anecdote. "I've been as far back as I can remember." His voice went quiet, his gaze distant. He was seeing some other time and place now.

Maeve tuned him out.

"It's probably just because a pack of hyenas ate my Father," Adelaide muses.  "I wasn't old enough to remember, but I was there. The first time I saw The Lion King on Broadway, I lost my mind and killed 34-"

"Adelaide," Maeve interrupted tersely. "I appreciate that you're trying to cheer me up, but I'm not in a headspace for it."

He stopped talking entirely. He gave her a dazed look. He didn't seem entirely present.

She ignored that. "I'll see you tomorrow," Maeve said, hoping he'd take the hint and get out of her living room without their customary cup of coffee. She let out a sigh, because he was being kind. "Thank you for bringing this." She picked the spell details back up. He really did mean well. “I’ll think on what you said, darling. And I’ll see you at the reunion next month.”

Adelaide looked at her long and hard. He let out a sigh. His eyes softened with fondness. "Don't work too hard," he admonished. Then he left in a swirl of smoke. The distinctive aroma of his magic spread out through the room.

She closed her eyes and indulged in a deep, calming breath. Then she opened her eyes and gave the songbird a stern look. It had gone quiet and sullen when Adelaide left. “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Maeve chided.

It peeped in response.

“So rude,” she muttered, and went to make something for dinner. She gestured sharply upwards with her left hand and the cookbook obligingly lifted to hover above the counter. She hummed and flipped pages, looking for the recipe that she’d chosen yesterday.

Music started for her, a pleasant background to the evening chore of preparing food. She was in a very good mood by the time that she had finished meal preparation, a ritual that soothed the rough edges of an irritating day at work. She plated a serving and put the rest away for her lunch tomorrow.

At said lunchtime Maeve opened the fridge at work anticipating culinary perfection- a particularly exemplary rendition of duck confit and a salad- but all she found was confusion.

“Where is my lunch.” She asked the universe flatly.

The universe didn’t respond, but the nosy man from the advertising department did.

“Oh, wow,” He said, coming up behind her. His hot ham breath was on her neck.

Disgusting.

“Looks like you’re the latest victim of the lunch bandito.” His pronunciation was abominable. Why were white men like this. This interaction was somehow worse than some contemptible peon stealing her lunch.

He was definitely doing his finger-guns thing. She shut the refrigerator door and walked away.

‘Someone is going to pay for this. For my lunch, and especially for Greg talking to me.’

Incensed, she went back to her office and flung herself onto her office chair. She stared at her laptop, musing over her options.

‘How long has this been going on? Greg implied that I wasn’t the first.’

She opened the anonymous HR complaints inbox, noting not for the first time the sheer number of complaints regarding the ply of the company toilet paper (unlikely to be changed).

Maeve would not say that she was particularly given to caring about the concerns of others, but she did like to think that she was competent at her job. She tended to review most suggestions on the same day, so it would have been bizarre to not have known about a, a- what did Greg call them?- a lunch luchador.

The only complaint that she could identify as being plausibly related was from four months ago. Faheema in Client Relations had had her tomato and peanut sauce salad stolen from the break room. Unfortunately, there were no suspects and the complaint had languished there.

‘That can’t be the whole story.’

Maeve leaned back and gently massaged her temples. ‘I should check back at the crime scene, and interview the witnesses.’

The work refrigerator betrayed no new information, save that her expensive glass container wasn’t there.

Neither was it in the sink, or the trash can.

‘The unsub must have taken the evidence with them.’ Maeve took out a tiny pad of paper from her pocket, and wrote ‘careful’ in it.

Of course, lunch was mostly over, so there was no one to interview in the break room.

‘I guess that means I have to go back to my contact.’ She mused. ‘Find other victims and witnesses. Walk the streets.’

She found Greg at his cubicle, drinking stale coffee. His oversized khakis billowed in the air conditioning breeze.

“Mr. Wilson.” She greeted, putting her hands behind her back. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

He looked up at her, wide eyes filled with something she couldn’t discern. Fear? Hope? Guilt? Surprise at being accosted by an HR attorney?

“That- that would be fine.” He put down his green mug. It said ‘I’d rather be golfing.’

“How can I help you?”

“My lunch.” She stated clearly. “It wasn’t the first to be stolen, was it?”

He coughed.

‘A sign of guilt?’ She eyed him up and down. Greg would be a prime suspect, if contemptibility were a sign of the criminal element. He didn’t seem to be able to afford a full pair of shoes to go with his socks, which would explain his motivations in purloining paninis.

“No, ma’am. It wasn’t. It’s been happening for over six months.” He rolled over to part of his desk, where he removed a legal notepad covered in scribbles. “I think the first one was Niraj,” he gestures a few cubicles over, “but there’s been one almost every work day.”

Maeve did some quick mental math and the answer was appalling.

‘The depths of this unsub’s depravity knows no bounds. That’s over 120 lunches.’

“Why haven’t people been reporting this?”

She could tell from his flinch back that her tone had come out too sharp. Meave compensated with a smile.

Greg gave her a wavering smile in return and ducked eye contact. “No one wanted to bother you,” he said vaguely, with a smarmy grin that made it evident it was a joke at her expense.

Her immediate theory was that the lunch thief had somehow intimidated the cubicle peasants into silence. She dismissed that after a moment- they would have compromised their anonymity if they communicated. No, the answer was much more likely that she had some kind of reputation for being unapproachable.

She got no further with the mystery that day. The incident might have faded if it wasn’t for the fact that when she warily opened the shared refrigerator the next day, her butternut squash risotto with porcini mushrooms and chicken was not in it.

“I am going to take a life,” Maeve said through gritted teeth. She ignored the sudden sound of a chair scraping and someone leaving the room. Someone coughed. She stalked over to the sink to look for her container– there it was, along with yesterday’s. She picked it up and made a sound of disgust. “Neither one of them have been washed.” Her voice came out incredulous. “This- this animal kept the first container in the office, unwashed, for 24 hours?”

She absolutely had to unmask this vile and petty bandit.

Maeve stalked back to her office and wrote up a scathing email. Then she deleted it and wrote another one, addressed to the entire company, with sugary sweet concern for whoever had eaten her lunch. She’d just found out that the sauce in it had been expired, after all, and anyone who ate it should seek medical attention immediately. She hit send and waited.

She did not have the kind of reputation that made people dismiss her as a threat. Whoever had eaten that was probably feeling fear for their life right now. Any minute now, someone would confess, or ask for permission to go to the doctor for a sudden stomachache.

Any minute now.

Minutes dragged on into hours and Maeve had to admit that whoever had robbed her had done something far more insulting than steal from her. They had dismissed her as a threat.

With that poisonous thought in her mind, Maeve found herself tempted to put a little something extra in the next day's lunch.

She refrained after remembering that the pattern indicated that it was likely she would be eating her own lunch tomorrow.

It wasn’t a targeted attack: the thief selected victims randomly.

After making that assessment, it was absolutely infuriating to open the fridge door at lunchtime and discover once again that her lunch was not inside. This time there was, again, no storage container in the sink or garbage.

“It’s in their desk,” Maeve muttered to herself, punching in an order for delivery with unnecessary force. “That little freak has my storage container in their rancid desk.”

They were definitely targeting her now.

…It was legally inadvisable to actively poison her own lunch, as well as a waste of a good container.

‘My only option is surveillance.’

It took a few days for the equipment to arrive and for the mail personnel to deliver it to her desk.

She reviewed the instructions multiple times, and waited for the end of business hours.

As usual, the feral masses fled the building at exactly five. She stalked back to the crime scene with a box of cameras and wires.

She was furiously drilling a hole into the wall when she heard someone call out to her from behind.

“Ma’am.” Someone said, vaguely threatening.

She turned around, one hand on the ladder for balance.

The security guard turned a gruesome shade of pink at the sight of her face. “I’m sorry ma’am, but do you have permission to do this?”

She waved her drill at him. “I’m a lawyer. This is all very above-board, I assure you.” Then Maeve leaned down at him. “I have noticed that you have been remiss in your duties. This lunch thief”, she spat, “has been allowed to run amok in this place for far too long. I am merely putting it right.”

“O-Okay then.”

The guard left in a hurry. No one evidently dared to check into whether she did have the authority or permission to install cameras, which was the first bit of luck Maeve had had all week.

Once they were installed, all she would have to do was watch and wait.

Maeve resentfully checked the recording from the previous day, rewinding and rewatching over and over again to try to catch sight of her container as hands moved in and out of the fridge. But it was no luck- she hadn’t managed to capture any definitive proof. It was difficult to determine at what time the unsub was striking, and there was significant traffic in the break room at all times of day.

She scowled as yet another office worker got their coffee and then stepped back to hang around in the aisle, blocking her view. They seemed unaware of the woman who was obviously waiting for them to move. Her blood pressure rose and she gritted her teeth, fighting her anger.

Why? Why were so many people that way? There was perfectly adequate seating.

Not for the first time, she considered moving her camera. But the only answer was patience. So she set her jaw and admitted that it would take at least one more day.

The options for camera placement had been limited. It would have been ideal to put it three feet from the refrigerator: except that the thief would see it immediately.

The unobtrusive placement she'd settled on had a direct line of sight to the fridge - as long as no one was standing in the way or there wasn't a tall person sitting at a certain table. That should be fine. What kind of lunatic spent their time standing around cluelessly in the walking path?

Apparently, one of the most beloved traditions of office workers was lurking in the walkway clutching their instant coffee. One of them was swaying back and forth on the recording she was watching at the moment. Maeve felt her hand curl into a fist.

She rewatched Angelica sip coffee on the monitor, taking over half an hour for a paid coffee break that she seemed to nurse beyond reason. Good for Angelica, honestly. She wasn't paid enough: Maeve had checked.

‘What I have managed to discover is that a large number of workers are avoiding work in the break room.’

But that wasn’t her concern. Frankly, she didn't give a damn about squeezing productivity out of office workers. She wasn’t one of the managers. Her concern was not with the cubicle jockeys escaping the crushing oppression of open plan offices, but of weightier merit. And she was failing at identifying the culprit.

‘I will find this thief if I have to comb through every inch of this office campus.’ She gripped her own coffee mug tightly. Her coffee was certainly cold by now, but she drank it anyway.

The office grade coffee left a sour aftertaste in her mouth and a film on her tongue. It was even more contemptible cold, but her sorry detective work merited sorry coffee.

She sent the next update, cc'ed to the President and Vice President, as per her habit. She didn't mind that they didn't respond.

Every day, it was the same. She would bring in lunch -unpleasantly textured, overly spicy, bland- the criminal devoured them all. Maeve would find her containers in the sink over the next few days, unwashed.

She considered seeing if DNA was left behind, and trying to see if the culprit could be identified that way.

It did seem likely that the kind of monster that would do this might have DNA on file with the authorities, but she didn't have access to any DNA databases in her capacity as an HR representative.

It made her think about criminal profiling, though. Everyone who'd had food taken was a young woman.

…That meant that he'd been in the room watching people either put their food in or eat it, she realized. In order for there to be a type of victim, the lunches couldn't be randomly selected.

He'd been grocery shopping. Looking at a menu.

And that, Maeve realized, implied free time.

She didn't know what that meant, but it wasn't something she'd forget.

The problem was beginning to interfere with Maeve’s actual work. Stacks of policies up for review were threatening to topple over her desk, erecting skyscraping monuments to corporate thoroughness.

But it was hard to care about that right now. Maeve hadn’t had a proper lunch in three weeks. She was tired of ordering in or waiting until after work. She was also tired of making lunches she was never going to eat, even if they were inedible.

‘I could always just stop bringing in my own lunch.’ She glared at the empty fridge accusingly. It wasn’t like she’d truly expected her lunch to remain. ‘Or I might put a mini fridge in my office.’

But both of those options were intolerable. The lunch thief would just be forcing her to either continue to not eat, eat foods that she did not want to eat, or buy a fucking fridge just to avoid them. And even if she solved the problem for herself, this godforsaken cyst of a person would just steal from someone else.

No. She had to solve it. She could crack this case.

The cameras had identified a few general trends. There was a general group of peons that came in around 10:15 for coffee refills, and then it was consistently busy from 11:00-1:00PM.

‘I’m going to check the fridge at half hour intervals, to see if there’s a pattern as to when the thief strikes.’

The next day, she clutched the steering wheel just a bit too tight on her way in. She wasn't even at work and the tension was ruining her mood. She hit the brakes at a crosswalk, eyes glancing over to check for children among the pedestrians by sheer force of meticulous habit.

There was a gaggle of elementary students laughing in an uneven pack on the left. She kept some attention on them in her peripheral vision as she went through the intersection.

In her rearview mirror she saw the next car come up the block and barrel through the intersection without stopping at the sign. They caught up with her right away and clearly hit the brakes hard, jerking when they slowed suddenly.

She saw the driver lift a hand and gesture at her in irritation, mouth moving as they doubtless raged.

The muscle in her jaw twitched with tension. She glanced at her speedometer to confirm that yes, she was driving at the limit.

So. That asshole was speeding in a school zone and blowing through stop signs.

"You know what I do to men like you?" Maeve asked her empty car, all coiled tension and tightly leashed violence. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and considered it: they'd pass her, legally or not, as soon as she gave them the chance.

She could follow them. They wouldn't notice. Anyone who didn't notice stop signs and children in a school zone was too self absorbed to realize they were being followed. It might make her late, but she had flex time. She could just arrive at work later. It wouldn't be the first time.

Maeve was sorely tempted, her blood rising with the thrill of the hunt.

It took real, punishing self control to flick on her turn signal at the normal place. She turned away with only a lingering glance at the bad driver in her rearview mirror.

She had to get to work on time to put her bait in the fridge at the normal time. She was already hunting down one piece of human refuse. Besides, that kind of thing required resources that she hadn't yet freed up.

Her iron self control got her to the break room by 8:00 am. She put the container in the fridge and gave it one last resentful look before she closed the door. It wasn’t even appealing to her anymore. She’d made this food to punish an asshole. It wasn't enough retribution, but it made her feel a little better.

The lunch was fish, cooked in ghost pepper sauce and served with leftover pasta. She'd gotten the fish on sale and then left it in her fridge for two days.

‘Honestly, I hope they eat this. I can’t.’

When she checked the fridge later, it was still there. And at nine, and nine thirty. Perhaps they had some self respect after all.

At ten it was gone. She made a note in her notebook. She hoped it caused vicious indigestion.

The next day, her lunch was gone at ten thirty. It seemed like a general pattern might emerge.

The trend held on Friday- her lunch disappeared sometime between ten and ten thirty.

She went into the weekend feeling victorious. Monday. This would end on Monday. She’d do a stakeout from 9:30 or so, until she caught the thief red handed. She couldn't just camp out in the break room and stare all day; not while catching up on her workload. But she could spare one morning.

It was not to be. At 9:30 on Monday, Maeve found herself staring at the empty space where her lunch (a phoned-in effort of three boiled eggs and a quick pickled salad) ought to have been. It was already gone.

The rest of the week made it clear that there was truly no pattern. This maniac took her lunch anytime from 8:05 (within the amount of time she’d used the break room bathroom on Tuesday), to 11:45.

That tickled at her hind brain. There was something familiar about that… Oh. She'd thought before that the thief must have a lot of leisure time in order to wait in the break room and choose victims. But the times that the food went missing was a clue too. No one who was being managed could just go wandering around the building at any time in the morning. Breaks were staggered to prevent congestion.

That meant that the thief wasn't being managed. The thief might be a manager.

That would narrow things down a lot. She printed off a few pages of company headshots of all managerial staff in the building.

When she took the document with her to the head of security, he got an uncomfortable look on his face. "I don't think that we can send someone to watch the break room for managers," he said in a steady, soothing tone.

"Why not?" Her tone came out sharper than she wanted. Maeve compensated with a little smile.

"Because," he said slowly, "no one will enjoy their breaks if they think that security has been deployed to watch them taking their breaks."

She rolled her eyes and left the security station in a huff. Something had to be done. This couldn't go on.

It was ridiculous and undignified. She'd never been hounded in such a petty way before. The effect that it had on her was surprising.

Her sleep started to suffer. She didn't enjoy cooking as much as she had before. That was infuriating, since she had deliberately cultivated the skillset as part of her routine. Spending a long time cooking quality food had made her feel proud of herself: now she just felt annoyed, constantly bothered by the hovering reminder that someone was toying with her.

She wasn't going to waste gourmet ingredients on live bait for some asshole, so she either had to eat leftovers or adjust all of her recipes for single portions. For weeks, she wasted time making a lunch that she knew she would never eat. It made her shake with a sort of helpless fury in her own home. This person was stealing more than food: it was her time and labor, her peace of mind and some of her dignity.

Maeve could feel her tight grip on her life slipping. It was on the fourth week of this unending nightmare that she realized that she’d nearly missed a meeting while waiting for lunch delivery in the lobby, and she hadn’t even ordered.

‘Enough is enough.’ She slammed a briefcase full of files onto her desk and gritted her teeth. ‘I’m going to find this person and deal with them myself. They're going to regret toying with me.’

The next morning, she packed up her laptop and brought everything to the break room, setting up at the table closest to the fridge.

People edged around her anxiously over the next hour, filling up their coffee mugs quickly and escaping to their cubicles in a way she knew was atypical from her study of the cameras and several office sitcoms. No one lingered foolishly several steps away from the coffee station, blocking the walkway.

She watched and waited for her patience to be rewarded. But no one came. At two in the afternoon, she left.

The next day, she considered her options. The thief had not struck when she had placed herself directly in the break room.

‘Then again, I was visible from the doorway. They probably saw me and chose not to steal. Perhaps they didn't even enter the room. If I want to observe my prey without detection, I should sit further away and decrease suspicion.’

The nature of her job made it very difficult to do in a public setting like the break room, which meant that Maeve was forced to only do reports instead of bringing out private files. She waited and waited, glancing up from her computer every few seconds.

Time drug on, and her nerves were shot. Maeve felt fried, tired, and hungry. She wanted to leave. Patrick from accounting kept trying to make bad puns in her direction. He'd seemed to misinterpret her behavior as an attempt to make friends with the other workers.

Movement by the doorway caught her attention, as someone in an obnoxiously colored jacket shuffled in. They crossed the room, pausing by the coffeepot to leave their mug with a careless clatter before making their way to the fridge.

It caught her attention. It wasn't criminal, but it was a little antisocial and selfish to leave your dirty dishes around.

Her intuition was humming at her. She watched intently as this person opened the fridge and removed a small glass container. She felt a heart-stopping thrill.

It was him.

The thief didn't even pause before turning to refill his dirty mug with coffee. He looked totally unbothered and casual, as if he did this every day. He wasn't in the least bit worried.

‘That’s mine! He's actually holding my food. There's no way to explain that.'

She quickly closed her laptop with a nasty little smile and got up, crossing the room in a graceful lope. She managed to insert herself between the long legged thief and the break room door just as he was about to exit with his coffee and her lunch.

He barely avoided walking directly into her. Instead of looking at her face, he tried to step around her. She side-stepped to block him.

“Hello.” She smiled, poisonly sweet. She was so close to vengeance. “Is that my lunch?”

“Hey.” The man just looked at his phone, and barely addressed her at all.  “Nah, it’s mine.” He sounded so casual. He was blowing her off.

“That is clearly my container.” Maeve said sharply. Her tone rose a little. Of course it was hers. She'd paid extra for the customized design on the glass. "That's a ridiculous lie when I actively watched you try to steal my food." She put a hand up for her food. "Here." She waited.

He sighed as he lowered his phone. He lifted the container with the braised duck she’d made last night, and finally made eye contact with her. He stuck out his lower lip in a mocking pout for a moment before he responded. “I don’t see your name on it. That’s one hell of an accusation, miss.”

He was… amused.  He was fucking getting off on this power play.

The sheer fucking gall of it stole her breath for a moment. She'd caught him holding her property, and he didn't think she could do anything about it.

‘I made that food. The rest of it is still in my fucking fridge at home. I could fit that duck breast back in like a puzzle piece.’

“Give it back.” She said, low and slow. Anyone could hear the danger in her voice. Even people who had no idea that she was a witch knew she was intimidating.

“Why would I do that? It’s my lunch.” Then he chuckled at her, and walked around her. She was frozen stock still. “You should be careful of who you accuse of things, miss. I’m an important man and you don’t want to get in trouble.”

Her heart rate was through the roof and her whole body was tense with fury. She turned to watch him go, blood thumping in her ears. Had that really happened? She'd caught him in the act and he'd condescended to her? He didn't even glance over his shoulder.

She'd never been dismissed like that. Never.

She had a furious and helpless lightning realization: this was why the other women  hadn't complained about the theft. They'd known that they were powerless to stop it. People just had to accept this vile, selfish behavior, because it was coming from someone above them.

'And it's because I'm a woman. He thinks he can do this to me because I'm a woman.'

Well. The unpleasant joke was on him. She wasn't an office worker. She was a lawyer. She'd go over his head. The company owner was a family friend: whatever caché this shitstain had wouldn't outweigh her position and connections.

He was going to regret the way he'd treated the office workers. Even if empathy was beyond him, he'd know that he fucked up by stealing from her.

“I am going to find out who he was," Maeve said to herself, icy cold in the chatter of the break room. He didn’t look familiar. "He's not from this department."

She would know. She'd been studying pictures.

“I think he’s a programmer.” Someone said quietly, and Maeve swiveled her head around in time to see a cubicle worker’s face disappear behind their mug. Whoever it was didn’t matter.

“Does anyone know his name?” She asked. No one met her eyes, but everyone shook their heads.

"He said he's a team lead," someone offered.

People had been watching that confrontation. A few weeks ago, she might have been mortified to be disrespected so publicly. But it wasn't the first time, she realized. That was probably why the complaints had stopped: someone had seen this man steal, and he'd threatened their job the way he'd tried to threaten hers.

She’d start with the website development team. They were only a floor down.

The unfortunate thing about massive streaming businesses is that they have an infestation of programmers. Maeve had to click through hundreds of faces before she found the rat-faced dillhole that had stolen her lunch and lied about it to her face.

“Raymond Atwater, meet your doom.” She whispered in victory at the screen. Evidently he was a team lead for the server security team.

What was obscene was that his team was in an entirely different building. This asshole had gone across campus to steal her lunch.

To be clear, he'd walked out of his office, through the office pool, out into the lobby of his own building, across two parking lots and a decorative garden,  through the lobby of her building and up the elevator to the 9th floor, all to steal her fucking lunch. And he'd done that almost every day for 3 and a half weeks. What was wrong with him?

‘Maybe he got caught in his own building.’ She mused, before sending a quick exploratory email to the HR team in his actual building, as well as the HR heads in the buildings closer to it. They might have more information.

She wanted dirt. Filthy dirt. And as much of it as possible.

In the update to the president, she happily included the footage and Raymond's name.

The response from the HR head in Raymond's building was fast, professional, and immediately confirmed that he was a problematic employee.

Maeve frowned at the email, rereading one line in particular.

"Management has been disinterested in pursuing suggested corrective measures for multiple instances of problematic behavior," the rep had written. Maeve glanced back up at the head of the email to jog her memory of the other woman's name, Kimberly Lianson.

"I would recommend a meeting with his head of department, Mr. Patel, and perhaps part of the executive team, since Mr. Atwood's actions have had an impact across the campus."

"I can do that," Maeve murmured to her screen. She sent off an inquiry with the company President's secretary about meeting availability. Most people needed to wait a week or two. But for Maeve, the secretary made time.

Two days later, she met Kimberly Lianson outside the meeting room. The older woman's eyebrows shot up.

"Would you like any help preparing for the meeting?" Maeve said, instead of a greeting.

Kimberly's face relaxed. She smiled. "That would be very helpful, thank you. Could you get the door?" She shifted her burden to the side and shook one hand free so that Maeve could access the key dangling from her wrist and open the door.

She pushed it open and strode in first to find the light switch.

"Thank you so much for putting all this evidence together," Kimberly started. She blew a little strand of sweaty hair off of her face. "I really start to wonder if they'll ever be willing to punish a manager, but I'm hopeful."

Maeve let out a surprised laugh. "He's guilty," she said. "I have him on camera stealing from me, and notes about everything I can see that he stole. The dollar value actually becomes rather substantial."

Kimberly's warm smile became a bit fixed. "Well." She glanced over Maeve's shoulder for a moment. "I think it's an uphill battle, if I'm honest."

Maeve stared. "There's enough complaints against him to wallpaper my office."

Kimberly's lips went thin as she pressed them together. "Yes," she finally said. "He does a very important job and makes the company a lot of money."

That was such bullshit that she couldn't speak for a moment. When she could control herself again, Maeve took a deep breath. "Well, I do a very important job as well," she said. "I'm confident that we can present the facts and get some justice."

Kimberly was obviously not convinced.

Maeve didn't mind. She'd see.

They finished setting up for the meeting and were ready before the head of information and security and the company President arrived, obviously finishing up some funny conversation. The president clapped Mr. Patel on the shoulder before he took in the room, amusement crinkling his eyes.

"I hear that there's a presentation." He took a seat. "About a, uh- somewhat difficult engineer."

Maeve smoothed the front of her skirt as she took a seat. "Yes, Ms. Lianson has a presentation prepared to make things shorter. Thank you so much for coming,  Mr. Conway, Mr. Patel."

"Yes, it's about Atwood, isn't it?" Mr. Patel didn't return her greeting. He glanced over at Mr. Conway. "Brilliant man," he explained casually. "Steps on some toes, but he gets results."

"Interesting," Maeve cut him off. "Ms. Lianson, if you wouldn't mind?"

She sat with her fingers folded precisely on her lap as Kimberly listed the types of complaints leveled against Mr. Atwood from his department and others. She had a still image from Maeve's camera of Atwood taking one of Maeve's lunches: and two other photos of him with different lunches. Because apparently he'd been stealing more than one lunch per day.

As Kimberly spoke, Mr. Patel fidgeted, pulling at his collar and fiddling with his cuffs. He tapped at his watch at one point, peering at the second hand. He didn't touch his stapled papers.

Maeve hated him. He obviously didn't care about this.

"When confronted about the theft, Mr. Atwood lied and insinuated that confronting him for the theft would mean retribution." Kimberly seemed resigned.

Maeve felt very tense.

The President was a family friend. He wasn't much more interested in the facts than Atwood's department head was. But that didn't matter. He wasn't going to let someone treat her that way.

When Kimberly wrapped up, Mr. Conway was the first to break the ice. He shifted in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table as he spoke. "Well, what are you expecting to happen?"

"According to company policy, he should be terminated immediately," Maeve answered immediately. "In light of the fact that he's causing disruptions in three different departments with impunity despite being made aware of the unacceptability of his actions,  he doesn't meet the standard for employees."

Mr. Patel let out an incredulous scoff. He waved a splayed hand around the room. "Over a few missed salads?" he said incredulously. "Don't you think that's a bit dramatic?"

"It does seem petty," Mr. Conway agreed, shaking his head. "The whole thing- he should write up an apology." He rubbed his hands together as if to wash them of this affair. "He's clearly immature, but no real harm was done.

Maeve stared at him. Making someone apologize is what one does with naughty children.

"This is a case of theft. Theft is a fire-able offense, and the dollar amount Mr. Atwood has stolen from employees is in the thousands."" Kimberly said, a little stiff. "Regardless of what has been stolen, Mr. Atwood has been stealing from other employees for years. This is not to mention the multiple complaints of harassment and creating an unsafe work environment."

"Snacks," Mr. Patel dismissed. He let out a sigh. "I'll increase the budget for snack food in our department so he isn't roving around for food."

"Good man," Mr. Conway said, and stood up cheerfully. "Well, thank you for your time, ladies, keep up the good work." He winked at Maeve. "Your cooking must be something! Your mother would be proud." He left with a little chuckle at his own joke.

Maeve was too furious to speak. If she opened her mouth, actual venom was going to spurt out. She stood dangerously still as the two men left the office.

A sigh from Kimberly broke the spell. "As I said," she started ruefully, "an uphill battle." She gathered up her materials.

She managed a stiff nod.

The older woman looked sympathetic. "I know," Kimberly said. She let out a sigh and rifled a hand through her hair. "That was frustrating. You could always go to the police." She gave Maeve a wry look. "I don't know that it would be much more effective." Then she walked out of the room, balancing the precarious stack of folders that neither Mr. Conway or Mr. Patel had bothered to even open.

She felt like her legs were numb in her expensive shoes. The red bottoms wobbled awkwardly on the carpet as she stood still and tried to process what had just happened.

The shame won out after the door closed behind Kimberly, and she exhaled a painful held breath. At least there was no one in the room to see her like this. Ungainly and unbalanced, Maeve walked to her office in a haze. People walked by her, clutching papers and mugs. She hugged the wall and averted her eyes.

'Maybe they'll do something about it,' she lied to herself. The elevator dinged above her head, but it sounded dull and remote. The lie coiled in the bottom of her stomach like a viper. She carefully stepped into the elevator, mindful that if she acted too out of the ordinary, people would make it the subject of gossip.

She tried again to console herself in the quiet of her office. 'At least he might stop.'

He'd changed buildings after the last few complaints, anyway. It seemed likely he'd move on to a new victim. Then Maeve could hold her head high enough in her building, and pretend that that meeting didn't happen. She could fix it.

Her lunch wasn’t missing the next day. Maeve ate it, thankful for the return to her routine. But it tasted like nothing.

She'd forgotten to season it properly. Maeve ate it mechanically, bite after bite of bland pasta.

Something worse happened in the afternoon.

It started with the little ‘ding’ sound her computer made when an email landed. Maeve put down the files she’d finally started working on, and clicked on the notification.

It opened an entire email from that skunk, Raymond. It started out banal enough.

“I’m sorry”

‘A good start, if a little lackluster in the begging he should be doing.’ She thought sourly, before starting on the rest. The viper in her stomach twisted.

“- if you were offended that I enjoyed your cooking. You are a decent cook, and I thought that the opportunity I provided you for someone else to try your cooking might improve your abilities while providing me with a quick lunch. I am, after all, very busy- I have 50 people under me”

‘No you don’t, you twat, I can see the personnel files. Why are you lying to me?’

“And my time is very valuable. Someday, if you work hard, I’m sure you will understand. As for feedback, I have to say that some of the food was better than others. You make a competent risotto, but you need to work on how you prepare fish. Hopefully you can improve.’

She had to look away from the computer for a long moment. The rage and embarrassment were bubbling up again. She felt nauseous.

“The President said that I needed to send you an email to resolve this misunderstanding. If you have any questions, please let me know. I’ll try to get back to you within a few days, as my schedule allows.

Thanks,

Team Lead Ray”

“You’re not my team lead,” she uttered, feeling petty and filled with bile. “In fact, you’re a fucking loathsome little worm. An utter wretch, a thieving pile of donkey mucus.”

The air in her office began to feel a little claustrophobic from her own malign energy, so Maeve took a second to breathe and lean away from her computer. Her stomach roiled.

“So, they won’t be doing anything about him.” That should have been less surprising after that awful meeting. Maeve would have thought that her history with the President and his family might merit a little more consideration.

At the end of the day, it obviously meant nothing. Or worse, that that doddering twit thought she was a whining child. Whose mother would be 'proud of her cooking'. It made her feel sick.

Something she'd heard yesterday came to mind, unwrapping a painful present of context.

'The President implied he hadn't heard about this before.' she realized. 'I've been sending updates on this for weeks. They… didn't read them. Any of them.'

Maeve’s outlook on her employment really began to shift at that moment.

'They didn't care about my work. And they don't care about my position. About me.'

She took a look at the pile of HR complaints and considered her options.

‘I’m going to ensure that this is the worst mistake they’ve ever made.’

She turned back to the computer screen, still lit up with the offending email.

“And I’m going to start with you," she promised venomously.

Two weeks later, she was waiting on a bench under sun-dappled leaves in the local park. It was earlier in the day than she would have usually been off work, and she was enjoying the chance to relax and commune with nature. The birds were singing, the breeze was blowing, and the sun was shining its beneficence upon her.

She watched the ducks in the pond bobbing in the warm water, while a bird yammered endlessly next to her. Some elderly couples and a young mother were slowly walking around the lake, while some speedwalkers marched around the paths single file. She waited for all the passersby to face the other direction.

A particularly large bird scream in her ear disrupted her sense of peace, and made her ears ring.

“Oh, shut it.” She turned to the bird in the birdcage. It peeped at her, seemingly furious. “I’m about to release you anyway.”

She opened the cage and reached her hand in, delicately lifting the bird out of the door. She whispered something onto the wind, and threw it up into the air.

Its wings outstretched as it reached heavenward, before curling down around it in a shimmering golden light. Within a second, a dazed man in a red running suit was standing in front of the bench. He blinked blearily at her, before swaying. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed on the dirt path.

She left him there.

“Good luck explaining to your sand volleyball friends why you were missing for three months, you ass.” His hand moved, but it was going to take him a while to remember how to use those limbs again. Doubtless someone would report a man collapsed on the running path within a few hours, and the police would return him to his grateful family. Pat would never remember where he’d been, and couldn’t explain his absence. All he’d remember would be the new, bone-shattering aversion to running red lights in a school zone.

The tinny quality of a personal bluetooth speaker heralded her quarry.

As ever, she was well-timed. Just as Pat began to snore into the dirt, a familiar figure jogged around the bend of the lake. His long legs worked lazily, eating up ground in the middle of the path. He barely seemed to register the other people, prompting one of the elderly men to take a doddering leap off of the path, before Ray clipped the side of a stroller with his right thigh.

Maeve watched as the woman tried to tear into him, but Raymond, Team Leader Extraordinaire, seemed very convinced that she had been in his way, being that she wasn’t entirely off the public sidewalk.

He huffed at her, and then left, diverting up to the otherwise abandoned path Maeve was sitting on.

She idly ran her fingertips over the wire frame of the birdcage next to her. The sun had made it almost uncomfortably warm.

Raymond only stopped in front of her when he tripped on Pat’s unconscious body.

“What is that doing there?” He asked, sounding disgusted.

It somehow inspired more contempt for him than she had previously possessed.

‘Anyone remotely decent might wonder if he was alive or okay, you infested carcass.’

“Hello Raymond.” She rose, and stretched out her arms. “Lovely day.”

“Uh, yeah.” He looked at her without any comprehension. This muppet faced buffoon had stolen her lunch for over a month, and didn't know what she looked like outside of the office.

It rankled more than it should.

“Do you happen to have a fever, a cough, or any symptoms that would lead you to believe that you might have the flu or another illness?” She asked, businesslike. Her hands were at the ready.

“Of course not.” He had the audacity to look offended. “And where do you get off asking me that? Who-”

She waved her fingers and concentrated. His long white shirt became wings, and he shrank. And shrank.

In the span of a few moments, a confused white duck was standing on top of Pat’s back. She pulled her waiting phone out and snapped a picture, and sent it to Adelaide with the caption 'Look what I found in the park!'

Then she tilted her head, mentally measuring the waterfowl's dimensions.

“I probably should have made you a songbird.” She sighed, grabbing the duck with both hands. He made a weird sound in response. “I was just thinking of those beautiful ducks on the pond. Now you’re too big for the cage.” She stuffed him in anyway, working with the fresh transformation limpness. It would be more difficult to deal with him later, when he’d figured out how to be a duck. Then again, nothing she’d seen would have led her to believe that Ray was capable of learning.

She shoved the cage into the newspaper-lined backseat of her classy black car, and left the park without a second glance.

NOTE:

This was originally posted on my Patreon, where I am continually writing other character stories for Deplorably Devoted. Check it out here!

[fluffyquill]

More post-campaign vignettes! It's kind of a crime that I haven't done more art of Lady Chirp. (LOL and there's a technical typo, as I wrote "as as a baby.")

Full page comic and description below the cut!

More of the Goblet Mini-Series! Tiny Hob Fable and Grabalba get the news Grabalba explains, and How Hob Found Out How to break the news?

[Description: ACOFAF comic

Panel 1 Peep (offscreen): Hob! Hob, come play pirates with me! Binx: (holding a teapot and watching Peep) I still can't get over how small she is! So little! Chirp: (cup and saucer in hand, looking like a proud parent) You think Peep is small NOW, you should have seen her as a newborn. Been growing like a weed ever since. Rue: That makes sense. I read that owlbears are only about 9 inches long when they're first born. (They approximate nine inches between their paws.) And now I'm seven feet tall!

Panel 2 Peep: (only her hands are visible in the panel as she reaches for Hob) YOUR EARS ARE SO FLUFFY!! Peep: What about goblins, Hob? How big were you as a baby? (Hob looks up)

Panel 3 Hob: Oh! Well, save for salt goblins who pop into existence fully formed, most goblets average at about 5-6 inches long, so I suppose I was in that same - Chirp (offscreen): Wait wait wait - sorry for interrupting...

Panel 4 (Chirp looks like she's desperately trying to keep her composure. Rue is blushing, though their face is not in frame) Chirp: WHAT did you say baby goblins are called? (to herself) Be cool, Chirp. BE. COOL. Hob (offscreen): Goblets - partially because we're so small, partially because we fit in a goblet cup at that age...

Panel 5 (There is an explosion of hearts with "TOO CUTE!!" stamped across the front. There is a shadowed silhouette of a bugbear and a little girl with wings and a ponytail in the foreground.) Peep: Mama has a weakness for cute things. Hob: I see.

End description]

[amurih]

I know that Squak is going to be the “fun” Uncle for Peep but what if the others? I trying to imagine like Peep describing her mother’s “family” tree and it’s fucking wild man. Like she’s giving like a “ my family tree” presentation to her class:

After a long explanation as to what bad parts of birds Great-grandfather is made up of Peep is ready to share with the class her TOP 5 favorite family members on her Mother’s side.

First is what looks like a professional headshot of a dark skinned man’s with bird like features giving a seductive/suggestive look and an signature autograph of the pen named “Airry Pearry”.

“And here is Uncle Squak, he likes to party hard and write stories with me. Mommy says I can’t have the special drinks and Glad Stuff that she and uncle like to have until I get bigger, but they give me my favorite juice and candy so I can have fun too!”

Peep slides over to the next set of people on the board labeled Andhera and BINX. A picture of a handsome tall man with a small cloud over his head standing next to a shorter woman with a choppy bob and moth wings on her back. Both look like a deer in the headlights spooked from having their picture taken in grubby shirts, stretchy leggings, and mismatched socks.

“And here is Uncle Andhera and Aunt BINX; uncle is the prince of the Unseelie Court and can fold so many animal out of paper, and knows a lot about caves! Auntie has a HUGE collection of cool stuff that people forgot! Uncle also has a dog with a face of an old man named Grandpa Dog! It even speaks! Aunt BINX gives me hot chocolate when we go camping outside and always has a warm blanket for when it gets cold.”

They then slide their fingers to the last two names in front of the children. Both Huge and monstrous beings wearing really fancy clothing. One with the face of a canine, many teeth and sharp claws. The other the head of a green barn owl but the body of a bear wearing flowers on them.

“And here is Uncle Hob and Auncle Rue. Uncle Hob is big and scary looking at first, but he is very soft and gentle and lets me ride his horse with him. I once saw him punch a tree in half while getting the fire wood on our camping trip with Aunt BINX and Uncle Andera. Auncle Rue is so pretty and always wears the nicest clothes. I like to dress up with them and have our tea parties! They used to plan and host BIG parties for everyone in all the realms of the fey wild.Mommy, and Uncle Squak, and Uncle Andhera, and Aunt BINX, and Uncle Hob met at one of their parties. They like to play matchmaker.”

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Rainy Day Rescuer

Feyre Archeron x Rhysand - OneShot

Feyre gets locked out in the rain and fears she'll have to tough out the storm. That is, until a kind stranger opens his window.

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2130 words

*******

Feyre’s favorite thing about her apartment building wasn't the location or the free parking—although she did love that—it was the rooftop.

She’d lived in the building almost a month before realizing she could access the roof. The padlock on the door was apparently for appearances only, and it easily came off when she pulled on it. She figured out how to rest it back on the door so that when she was out on the roof the door still looked locked to anyone who didn't know better.

So far, she hadn't run into any of her neighbors trying to share the spot, but she knew someone else used it. Normally, she came up here to paint or to think and look at the stars. The view from the roof was lovely; she could see the city center and all the lit-up buildings, and the Sidra river that flowed through it.

The first time she set up her easel, one of her paintbrushes rolled away, and when she tracked it down behind an old broken crate she found a book had been carefully tucked away behind it.

Feyre couldn't help it when she picked up the book to get a better look at it. She glanced around quickly before chiding herself, knowing that no one else was out there with her. She recognized it as some sort of mythology retelling. Feyre flipped through it, trying to find some name or any indication of who it belonged to. All she found was an old receipt from a clothing store being used as a bookmark.

Spotting her runaway paintbrush, she grabbed it and put the book back where she found it.

That wasn't the last time she saw that book, and it certainly wasn't the last time she lost one of her paintbrushes.

In the next few weeks, every time Feyre went out to the roof she looked for the book.

It was always in that same place, hidden away so it wouldn't be noticed. But every time she opened the book the bookmark was moved a little further along.

She also started noticing annotations written in the margins. Feyre tried to imagine what this person must be like. It was odd, but kind of fascinating to follow along with this person’s progress.

She tried to focus on the fascinating part, and not the part that made her feel a bit like a creep for peeping into this person’s thoughts.

Except, when she made her routine book check that night, it was gone.

Feyre tried not to feel too disappointed. Why was she so invested in another person’s book? But it had become a constant that she looked forward to, and now it was gone. She could only hope they would start another one.

She laid out a thin blanket and sat down to look at the stars.

She must have dozed off at some point because she was woken up by raindrops hitting her face. It wasn't heavy yet, but she could tell it was going to start soon.

Ignoring the drizzle, she glanced at her phone. Feyre groaned and sat up, rubbing her face.

“Ugh, okay Fey, let’s call it a night.” She mumbled to herself, sleepy and moving slowly. She packed the blanket in her large tote bag and went to go back inside. Pulling on the door, she stumbled back a step. She was too tired, her grip was already slipping.

Feyre adjusted the bag on her shoulder and pulled the door again.

It didn't move.

She gripped the handle with both hands and pulled, hard.

Nothing happened.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

Feyre was wide awake now. This couldn't be happening. Shit.

She threw her bag down and used all her strength to open the door she ultimately knew wouldn't budge.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, she stepped back from the door.

“Shit.”

The rain was beginning to pick up.

“Really?!”

Lunging for her bag, Feyre dug around until she felt her phone. Gripping it, she unlocked it and was about to find someone to call for help...but she had no service.

How could she not have any service? Oh, gods, she was going to be stuck out on the roof, in the rain, until someone decided to come out there. It could be who-knows-how-long until that happened.

Spinning around, Feyre caught sight of her salvation.

“The fire escape!” Beaming, she grabbed her bag and ran over to it. “You beautiful, fantastic fire escape, help me out.”

Feyre managed to climb down the four stories of stairs and ladders without slipping on the slick metal. Gods, wouldn't that be a sight? She’d slip and come tumbling down the rest of the way, providing free entertainment to whoever walked past the building’s back alley.

When she finally made it to the lowest landing she tried to lower the final ladder that would bring her to the ground.

Only, it wouldn't move.

��Come on,” she muttered, still trying to force it down, “Don’t do this to me. I’m so close!” Feyre looked down to see the drop. Cringing, she admitted it was farther than she trusted herself to jump without breaking something—most likely her.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the sky. Feyre pressed herself against the building as the rain finally poured down.

“Seriously?!” She shouted up into the apparent waterfall above her head.

A knock from behind her startled her enough that she jumped around and let out a loud shriek.

“Um, are you okay?”

A voice came from a window set into the wall that she hadn't noticed before with a man’s face pressed up against it. Through the rain streaming down the glass, she couldn't tell if he looked more concerned or wary at her appearance.

It took her a second to respond.

“No.” She tried to shake the wet hair out of her face. “I’m not.”

“Are you trying to go up or down?”

Ah. He was probably worried she was just some random person who decided to hop up onto his balcony landing.

“Down.” She said, trying not to think of how bizarre it must be for him to look out and see a woman stuck outside his window, sopping wet.

This really wasn't how she wanted to make first impressions with her neighbors.

“I got locked out on the roof and tried to get down the fire escape, but,” she gestured to herself and the now downpouring rain that was making this conversation difficult, “it didn't really work.”

She hoped he would offer before she had to ask the insane request.

Thankfully he did.

His eyebrows shot up and he seemed to finally notice how bad the rain was. Hastily opening the window, he gestured for her to come in.

“Come in, it looks awful out there.”

Before she could think better of accepting the stranger's invitation to literally climb into their apartment, she picked up her soaking bag from the grate at her feet and crawled over the windowsill, quickly closing the window behind her to block the storm.

Maneuvering to a standing position, Feyre took a moment to take a breath and thank whoever was listening for her unexpected savior.

She turned to face him. He was tall, she would have to crane her neck up if stood much closer. And he had vibrant violet eyes that the artist in her wanted to study.

“Hang on a second.” He left her standing in his living room. Feyre looked around at the sofa and tv that took up most of the space, the bookshelf propped against one wall, and pictures of friends on the wall.

The man came back in with a towel in hand.

“Here, try this.” He handed it to her politely.

“Thanks.” She quickly wrapped it around herself, trying to dry off and stop shivering.

“No problem.” He looked like he was going to ask her something when something on the bookshelf caught her eye.

“It was your book?” She gasped, pulling the familiar volume from the shelf. Feyre whirled around to face the dark-haired man who was looking at her warily. “You’re the one who’s been using the roof!”

He stepped closer to her and gently took the book from her hands, casually flipping through it. Flicking his eyes up at her, he asked, “How did you know about my book?”

Feyre could feel her cheeks heating and she could've sworn a smirk made its way across his face.

“I, uh, found it one day.”

“You found it?” he asked skeptically. “I hid it behind some old box, how did you find it?”

At least he just looked curious, and mildly amused, and not disturbed at her snooping. Yeah, maybe it was tucked away, but anyone who tried for more than a minute could’ve found it, so she didn't feel as bad.

Drawing as much pride as she could muster when she was dripping water onto this man’s carpet, she huffed, “It was a crate, not a box.” He grinned and she went on, “and for your information, I dropped a paintbrush and it rolled over there. I found the book when I was chasing my brush. I don't actively seek out other people’s things to snoop.”

His grin widened as she explained and by the end, he was chuckling.

“And here I thought you just really wanted to get to know my reading tastes.”

She scoffed, but hid a grin, “Yeah, sure. I don't even know you.”

As she said it, she realized it was true.

Besides the fact that he lived in her building and was kind enough to let her in from the rain, she had no idea who this man was.

It seemed he remembered the same thing as he gave her a charming smile and held out his hand.

“You can call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?” She raised a brow. She’d never met anyone named Rhys before.

“My full name is Rhysand, but,” he paused to wink at her, “the people I like call me Rhys.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle flirting but met his hand with her own.

“Feyre. Just Feyre.” She held his gaze for a few more minutes before they both dropped their hands.

“Well, Just Feyre, I think I have something for you.”

Before she could respond, he vanished into the other room. He had something for her? What? Was this some other lame attempt at flirting?

She’d let him flirt if he wanted to, maybe she was a little interested to see what he’d try.

But he came back out to stand in front of her with one hand behind his back.

“Yes?” She tried to peek around him, but he angled his body away so she couldn't see what he was holding.

Leaning in close to her, Rhys said, “I believe that is yours.” With a flourish, he brought his hand in front of him.

“My paintbrush!” Feyre couldn't believe it. She looked back and forth between the brush and the man holding it, “I’ve been looking for this one. I lost it weeks ago! How do you have it?”

Rhys smiled broadly at her as she took it from his outstretched hand.

“I found it near the back corner one night, it must have just rolled away from you. It looked like it could blend right into the wall.”

Ceasing her inspection of the brush, shocked that she had found it—that Rhys had had it—she looked at him and beamed.

He blinked, almost dazedly, as he watched her smile.

“Thank you!”

Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. Rhys tensed, and at that moment Feyre remembered that she was still soaking wet from the rain. Wincing, she hastily pulled away before he had a chance to return her hug.

“Sorry. I got excited.” She glanced down to see the small puddle on the floor beneath her and cringed. “I should probably go.”

“Hm? Oh.” Rhys cleared his throat and nodded, “Right. You probably want to change into something dry.”

“Yeah.” They both stood there awkwardly staring at each other, not sure what to say next.

“Okay,” Feyre picked up her bag and took a step towards the door. “I’m just gonna...” She trailed off as she and Rhys pivoted around each other so that she was closer to the door.

He walked with her the last few steps, pausing when she opened the door and turned back to him.

“Thank you, Rhys. For the paintbrush, and for not making me stand outside like a drowned cat all night.”

His laugh made Feyre crack a smile.

“Anytime Feyre, darling.”

She smiled.

“Goodnight Rhys.”

He mirrored her smile.

“Goodnight Feyre.”

Maybe getting locked out wasn’t so bad, after all.

***

Taglist:

@allthebooksunderthemoon

@astra-ad-mare

@becarefuloflove

@bisexual-genderfluid-fan

@booklover41802

@charlizeed

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@danibutterr

@doubt-less

@emily-gsh

@enormousbooklover

@foughtconquered

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@hakunamatatazz

@i-have-but-one-brain-cell

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@jorjy-jo

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@mariamuses

@mayhemories

@midsizewitch

@miserablesmusings

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowansfirebringer

@sayosdreams

@sheharahu

@sleeping-and-books

@stardelia

@story-scribbler

@superspiritfestival

@surielandiareendgame

@swankii-art-teacher

@tomtenadia

@westofmoon

@whimsicallyreading

[fthrfwl]

A LETTER FROM @willowdied​​ ARRIVES CONCERNING THE META :     META   +   her daughter     /     mortal realm family.

i would like to imagine that esmé was already pregnant before meeting chirp,   it wasn't noticeable and chirp didn’t know   (  she also didn’t understand how human reproduction works so she wouldn’t have known anyway  ).     esmé was doing her at - home workout routine,  which consisted of running on the treadmill,  when she heard a  LOUD THUMP  at a nearby window.     when she went to check it out,  she finds an injured chirp,  who was distracted and flew straight into her glass window.     esmé casted cure wounds and she,  being nice,  invited chirp inside to which she obliged.     they got to know each other—mostly it was esmé asking genuine,  normal questions   (  she is a journalist in my headcanon  )   while chirp was asking questions related to s3x and trying to segue that into the bedroom—and they did,  indeed,  fuck.

it wouldn’t be the last time seeing her though.     when chirp visited the material plane   (  it being like the second or third time  ),  she was very curious about the stuff the kind stranger told her so on her little sight seeing adventure,  she encountered esmé while she was working and was offered going out for some coffee.     this is also when chirp learned that she CANNOT have coffee.     she felt like shit the next few days and esmé took care of her.     more getting to know each other and more bedroom stuff happen while chirp stayed in the material plane for a bit.     when chirp does return to the fey realm,  there was talk from grandfather about the material plane stuff which she thought she was caught.     fortunately,  she wasn’t.     she continues to visit and sometimes will run into her window in the     “   oh no~     i injured myself!     what a coincidence that it was your window i crashed into   ”     fashion.     at this point,  chirp definitely caught feelings.     something just felt different with her.

a little later when the baby bump got bigger and a little harder to hide,  chirp was told everything and she was left conflicted.     there was a period of time where she went radio silent and didn't visit the material plane,  or at least not esmé,  out of fear and she didn't have the heart to tell her so in one of her final visits,  she lied and said there was something she had to tend to in the fey realm.     this   " hiatus ”   gave her some time to come to terms with her feelings,  what to do because of grandfather's beliefs,  and how to resolve things.     and in a cliche turn of events,   finally bird-ing up to return to the material plane and tell esmé the truth,  chirp miraculously arrived at the hospital and was present when peep was born.     HOWEVER,  her plan didn't follow through because she saw how tired esmé was and felt it was an inappropriate time for this sort of thing.

the moment that really solidifed her committment to a relationship was walking in on esmé cradling peep on the bed all wrapped up.     it was a really vulnerable and surprisingly emotional point for chirp that she did cry and pop the question.     instead of presenting a ring,  chirp gave them her magic and told her everything,  including how the time she didn’t visit was because she was fearful and she makes a promise that she wouldn’t lie to her again and would be there for every step of the way like esmé was with her.

she visited the material plane more frequently after peep.     i’d like to think she is the more chill mom out of the two that lets her child do some wicked stuff like some pranks and maybe boasting about birds   ...   esmé has told her before she probably shouldn’t tell her child to say her great grandfather created birds if she’s trying to hide the fact that but chirp absolutely whispers it.     she also tries to teach her child magic at an early age,  because it was more about presentation and deeds in faerie methinks,  so it’s that sense of worth and thinking that her child will love her more.     but you know,  it’s not and it makes chirp emo.

[eternalstrigoii]

Protector of the Moors

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Tundra Healer Dark Fey Reader aka @vespertineoracle gets more Nyvi because these are Soft Hours(TM).

             It was a new day, the dawn of a new chapter for you all. The air was crisp and briny, and work on a magical bridge between the kingdoms was already underway.

Which meant it was all the more crucial for you to map the territory and identify places in need of preservation for their medicinal qualities, and to do so quickly.

The plan, or the rudimentary outline of one you’d sussed out the night before while gathered around a bonfire with your tired (and often wounded) kinsmen, involved taking your entire stock of pressed paper and making as detailed a map as possible while on foot. It would’ve been much easier from the skies, and much better for you to identify relative locations – and it wasn’t as though you were the only one with the same desire.

But you didn’t ask anyone to join you.

You were all tired. You were glad the battle passed quickly, because night had barely fallen when a great many of you took up residence in the trees. Now that you were liberated from your nest of origin, the collective of you hesitated to return, lest your freedom be fleeting.

A handful of you stayed awake well into the night. Ini fell asleep at the bonfire, watching the embers mingle with the stars. Borra listened to the night-sounds until one of the fledglings Udo returned for nodded off against his leg, and you ignored the fierce flutter in your heart when he gathered them to return to their nest-mother.

It was him you thought of while you gathered water from the white oaks – water that could be used for healing, as it broke fevers and staunched wounds. You thought of the cloth bandage around his arm and how lucky he’d been that it hadn’t gone a bit further in either direction. How difficult you’d always thought him, deliberately toying with iron to build his pain tolerance.

But he hadn’t fallen, and you refused to dwell on those of you that had, because you had a task at hand. You were fond of him, and he was alive, and you were glad.

And you desperately wanted to find some mullein. It would soothe the irritation so many of your people found themselves with, now, from the tainted iron in the air.

You made a small note in the corner of your page of the plants you hoped to find, your foot supporting your woven water-basket. The sun on your neck and the breeze in your wings carried the pungent perfume of sweet mandrake, and you paused your note taking to breathe it in.

And nearly kicked over your water-basket when you heard the earth shift behind you.

“Fallen stars!” You whirled around, nearly slapping Borra with one of your flared, snowy wings.

He had the nerve not play chastised, leaving the ghost of a heart-rending smile on his lips when you faced him. “Are you doing that all by yourself?”

You floundered. “Were you spying on me?” you managed when you regained the ability to speak.

He quirked his head, and you had half a mind to pull back a branch and trap his big horns in it. “I’m not unfamiliar with the territory.”

“So I’ve noticed!”

Horrible, you thought pointedly when his mouth started to quirk, poorly-repressed laughter threatening to slip out. “Did I scare you?”

“No more than you have in the past, you piebald nuisance!”

He did laugh, then, and though your irritation was largely for show, you thought the sound might’ve quieted even the deepest fury. He laughed so rarely. It was like stumbling upon a secluded oasis; a gift for you and you alone.

“I’ve got scouting to do,” he said as though he knew about your map and your plans without being told. Maybe he did; he did see you writing. “I prefer you don’t go alone.”

You couldn’t even pretend it was because of your long-injured wing; he was just like that. Not even Suren, Ini or Shrike were spared.

You sighed theatrically and stowed your water-basket safely in the low branches. You rolled up your materials and stuffed them in your satchel before accepting his offered arms – taking your sweet time about it just to be a thorn in his side.

Not that he minded. As wary as he was of what lied beyond the river and beyond the moors, you’d both waited too long not to grasp your freedom by the antlers.

“Do not drop me,” you cautioned playfully as you wound your arms around his neck, and got tugged flush against his body for your trouble. He was all powerful muscle, and his radiant heat made you shiver.

“Then hold on.” His bright eyes glinted with mischief, and his huge wings beat so hard yours folded instinctively. He launched you both into the sky on a self-created windstorm, the force of which made the leaves tremble on the branches.

You clung to him, your satchel trapped between your hip and his, until you cleared the canopy.

Skies, it really was beautiful.

Were it not for your half-limp wing, you would’ve made this journey yourself hours ago.

Your wings flared instinctively to aid the both of you in coasting. He was unfazed by your weight against his chest, drawing you up until you nearly kissed the clouds. You saw what he’d described in moons-old plans – fields of grain packed dense like walls, a slow-moving windmill just above a mortal village, and the moors. They were so large, so deep, that it was no wonder Ulstead alone had the nerve to prey on them. How many people could wander in and just vanish, lost to the sheer treachery of the landscape alone?

You tightened your grasp when you flattened only for Borra to turn slowly, affording you the proper aerial view.

Below, you saw the moor-folk returning to their lives. You saw flower-people fluttering between the meadows and the streams, people like iridescent dragonflies glinting and shimmering in the sun. You saw Suren tossing berries at the raven Diaval from her respective perch in the trees – as a bird, rather than a man – and him trying to catch them from his branch before they fell, and were stolen by the amphibious peoples who lived in the brook between them.

It was a magical place. Something well worth fighting for, like the man supporting you whose eyes had never left your face. You were so happy to be soaring over the moors that you forgot, for a time, to harbor fear that it might still all be taken away.

“How well do you know this place?” you asked at last. You’d veered toward the peaks and, as interested in fully mapping the territory as you were, you hoped to identify your necessities first.

“Well enough,” Borra replied. Well enough to feel secure in battle, then, which meant well enough to propose your list.

You told him what you were looking for in hopes that he memorized what those plants were; he was no stranger to your work, and he was keen enough that you imagined he’d have at least a rough idea what you were talking about.

He thought it over for a moment, and slowly curled his wings around yours.

You took the cue and let him steer.

He let you glide on top of him until you were ready to dive, and the slow turn of your bodies made you intimately aware of how close you’d gotten, your leg hooked comfortably around one of his. Your eyes flickered up to his, and you must’ve been a little frosty, because his mouth quirked into that ever so lovely not-smirk that meant he was absolutely laughing at you inside.

It wasn’t your fault he looked like that. Wasn’t yours that he acted like that, either, the peacocking fool.

Just for you, you reminded yourself, and the flush of pleasure almost echoed the burn of frost in your cheeks.

You touched down in a meadow, and you flushed terribly at the way he held you up rather than let you slow your own descent once your feet touched the ground.

“Over there,” he said, much too casually letting go of your waist.

You unhooked yourself as though from a pup-cling and tidied your robes. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head, content to wait.

It was so bright, there. You couldn’t imagine the world outside could be much brighter than the jungle fey’s territory, but the hues of green in the leaves, the way shadow and cloud-shifted light danced over the bark of the trees, astounded you. You savored every step through the tall grasses, careful to keep the little sprites that rose to meet you from being caught in your clothes.

A dense cluster of mullein was nestled on a sunny ridge. Exactly what you’d been hoping for. And there was enough to take back to the nest to cultivate, should your people need the resource.

Leave it to Borra to take you right to the most important thing you could think of.

You began note-taking immediately, sketching out the rough outline of a map – marrying the sights of your flight with the rough-hewn one you recalled vividly from being etched into the stone floor of the meeting hall. You’d only covered a small portion of the moors, but you did your best to describe them accurately – here was the starting point, set back from the river; here were the peaks you’d neared. Here was the valley you currently stood in, and right, specifically, there, was the little grove of mullein.

You’d have to come back to uproot whole plants, you realized with a small measure of dejection. You’d only brought enough containers to secure parts for use.

A great peep-and-flutter arose behind you, and a part of you hoped that Borra was behaving himself. You took a bit from a portion of the plants, careful not to impact any of their growth significantly. You noted on another page their health, their size, their gathering time and what portions you’d harvest.

He laughed. Again.

It gave you pause the way the sun on your skin encouraged you to linger. You turned, your slender writing-charcoal still in-hand, and you nearly had to sit down.

The moor-folk were all over him, swarming like bees to sweet. He had several in each of his open palms, and you imagined that one settled and one became a dozen, but, no – he lightly skimmed his thumb-talon down the backs of one of the flower-people, and they shivered with delight.

“I remember you,” he said to one of the willow sprites that dared practically perch on his face. “You were unharmed?”

They chattered fiercely and though there was no way he understood them (you presumed, though he had spent more time on the moors than any of the rest of you), he paid attention to them while they hovered before him on thin, leafy wings.

There were six more of them in his hair, you realized, playing with it. And he let them.

“Good,” he said, though you hadn’t followed a word of it beyond the essence.

They were faeries he’d saved on his private crusade, his incidental attempts to uproot their new companion from her role as protector of the moors. The ones he’d saved from being stolen, who he’d freed himself. Before or after killing their captors, you’d never asked, and it didn’t seem to matter. They knew him, and they loved him, and you saw him that gentle so rarely that, for a moment, you swore your heart might fully frost over.

One of the little dragonfly-people touched his cheek, their high-pitched murmurs of concern drawing tears to your eyes.

“No, no,” he soothed, “they’re natural. It’s decorative.”

Ancestors be with you, you had never loved another as fiercely as you did him.

They touched, marveled. They’d seen horns and wings on Maleficent, but maybe never that way. Maybe they knew her too well (you hadn’t yet learned of their once-tenuous relationship with your people). His wings shifted at the brush of petals on his cheek, and a great chorus of oh! rose up from them.

He smiled so widely that it caused a physical ache in your chest. You brushed away the dampness on your lashes that threatened to make itself apparent. How long had it been since you saw him so at peace? Since you knew without uncertainty that he was happy?

“Alright.” His shoulders rolled, and a few of them giggled as they dislodged. “No more of that.”

The willow sprites in his hair giggled the loudest.

“How proud you are of your dirt,” you muttered, halfhearted, into your notes.

“What was that?” he had no trouble faux-raising his voice to remind you he could hear you all the way across the field.

You’re a dirty little magpie and I love you with all my heart, you thought, though you said, “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve rubbed dust into my clothes!”

He grinned, but it was different. The glimmer was back in his sandstorm eyes, and the little fey knew better than to linger close. They scurried off into the fields, giggling as they watched him launch himself at you – like you were fledglings again, roughhousing in the belly of your people’s nest. He caught you around your white-robed waist and pulled you up off the ground.

You dropped your things and grabbed the straps of his leather armor in warning. “Borra, don’t you dare--!”

“I dare,” he grinned, and your breathlessness at the sight of him fell second to your absolute distrust of the mischief in his eyes.

“I’ll kick you!”

He hauled you up against him like you weighed nothing, like you were as light as his gaggle of faeries despite the furry lining of your clothes. You gripped him for dear life, folding your wings in close.

He flopped backward in the grass hard enough to make you huff. Dropped like a weight, you thought, and followed it up with, sunk like a stone. A big, much too pretty stone.

“You’re the one who wanted to go picking leaves, but you complain about getting dirty.”

You had half a quick retort in mind, but you stopped yourself. It was over now. The war, the preparation. Things could change. You could sink into the springs with him, work a fish-bone comb through his hair with the utmost patience. You might even be able to tend the more obvious cracks at the base of his horns, though whether or not their severity worsened naturally with age or if it was just from benign neglect, you weren’t entirely sure.

“I’m not complaining,” you muttered, and it said far more than you expected it would. You loved him. You were as grateful as they were. For the mullein, for the map, for his obsessive attention to detail, for his love, for his joining you this morning, and for his being with you now. Oh, skies, how you loved him, like a flutist who only knew one song.

He laid still under you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was toying lightly with a lock of your hair. It was so nice to rest, even among obligations. Even if you knew he would never go unprepared, you could see it in his face – in the slow blink of his eyes and the soft set of his jaw beneath your fingers – there was hope he would know peace.

You lowered your forehead and pressed horns gently with him. He was sunshine-radiant against you, and you heard him make his low, purr-like sound at the frost that bloomed where your skin met.

“Thank you,” you murmured. For the help, and for not dying; for his love and a thousand other little things whose names escaped memory.

“Mm.” He bunted gently against your horns in return. “Tell me when you’re ready to move on.”

You lingered there, against him, for a little while longer. The flower people had come to play with your hair and touch your skin and marvel at your cold and the softness of your wings, and you were happy to let them.

“Protector of the moors,” you muttered.

He smiled a bit wider, and you couldn’t resist kissing him.

The flower people had a field day with that.

                  If you liked this and want to see more, click here.

[missjudge-me]

I was tagged in a lovely tag game by @ahhhnorealnamesallowed, thank you bestie 🥰😁😁😁

Last Song: That depends, song as in song in a music app, Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths, in a FMV, The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy 🥰

Currently Reading: I'm always re-reading Qi Ye, but rn I'm stuck in the middle of The Song of Achilles (because I Fear), while I wait for the last part of The Last Kind of Osten Ard by Tad Williams, The Navigator's Children... And ofc I read an ungodly amount of fics (or rather listen to) every day 😅

Currently Watching: rewatching SCI Mystery with the Project Paranoia squad 🥰, simultaneously rewatching Word of Honor, but I really should get to my watch list (A Tale of Thousand Stars is very high up there, also I promised you the Moon, The Lost Tomb Reboot, My Roommate is a Detective, HIStory, Children of a Lesser God, The Wolf, The Legend of Fei,......)

Last Movie: I don't really watch movies anymore, at least not new ones, only rewatch the ones I already know... Probably Life~Love on the Line with the PP peeps on our weekly drama stream..

Craving: I just had breakfast, so I'm good, but I drink Iced Coffee all the time, so I guess that's it.. 😅

And I'll add one more:

The last thing that made you happy: I commissioned a digital painting of XiYuan and it's making my shrivelled little heart feel very warm 😂

🤍🖤Tagging (if you want, no pressure): @begrudginglytumbling @kissahelmi @mllorei @stormy-seasons @humanlighthouse @thursdayplaid @ori-flails @elvencantation @eirenical and of course anyone who wants to 🖤🤍

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

Thought I’d dust this off. Vamp Verse. written back in 2014,

CHARACTER : LUCINDA FABRAY.

x

VAMP VERSE.

X

X

The streets of the forest hugging town were deserted, the lanterns and torches long ago extinguished, the lantern boy no doubt not seeing the point so late at night and fighting a losing battle against the cold, damp autumn air. Better he stay wrapped up warm in his bed rather than risk a bout of sickness that would render him useless and cost him his wages.

Lucinda drew her gloved hand through her ash blond, chin length hair as she patiently waited, concealed in the shadows, her hazel eyes never leaving the two story building across the thoroughfare. Inside, she could hear a number of relaxed heartbeats, normal for humans slumbering, and the slightly faster flutter of a something else..

It had been surprisingly easy to locate her mark.

A 5"6' refined lady of delicate stature with a fine bone china face that looked as if it had been created by the finest craftsmen, making inquiries as to her estranged, dear friend's whereabouts tended to loosen most men's lips and if that didn't work, coinage could always be trusted to deliver.

Her own kind had been quite eager to divulge whatever snippet of information they thought might be useful to help an irate Vampire on her way.

It would seem that on his travels her quarry had not made many friends, or rather he had, they were just the wrong sort.

Still, she had expected it to be a bit more of a challenge.

The non descript town was exactly the type of place she expected to find the snivelling, little turncoat. The surrounding dense forest would more than provide for his dietary requirement of mushrooms, nuts and worms, and he could steal all the milk he wanted.

That's how she had tracked him through the lush countryside. Strange phenomena of dairy curdling in its buckets and cattle turning dry early had reached her ears and she had set off in hot pursuit.

It would seem he had learnt a trick or two over the years, mastering the art of masking what he truly was.

The varmint was passing himself off as a travelling merchant dealing in woven bracelets and charms that warded off evil spirits, fairie folk and Witches, fashioned from useless beads and baubles.

Of course some of the simple farming folk had fallen for it, fuelled by the fear of the sickness and sermons full of evil doers, helped long by the disgusting creature's curses upon the live stock of those that didn't buy his trinkets or had insulted him.

Thinking himself safe, the spiteful creature hadn't even bothered to cover his tracks.

Well, he was about to find out just how much his hubris was going to cost.

Peering from under the lip of the lentil, Lucinda observed the night sky. The moon was in its first phase and it's weak rays couldn't penetrate the heavy bank of clouds that had rolled down from the dense forest.

Good. She grinned, tugging at the thread of catgut, checking the slight resistance of the spool concealed in the sleeve of her shirt.

The lack of light and cold, heavy moisture in the air were the perfect conditions to stalk the creature she currently had in her sights. .

Her thoughts flickered briefly to Bridget and Santana, who were probably entertaining themselves at someone else's expense.

Maybe she ought to have brought them along. It would have been good practise for the pair and a rare opportunity to educate them both that there were more species in the phenomenal community than just Mystics, Vampires and Versipellis.

She could only imagine what Bridget's reaction would be like when she found out that Fey folk genuinely existed. The French girl had been convinced that she had seen fairies in the gardens of House Dubois which as Lucinda knew simply wasn't possible.

Yes, they existed. And the Justice Keeper had a unique experience.

The Fabrays had once been the proud owners of a banshee who had screamed and wailed the evening her sister, Charlotte, died and then returned seven months later when Lucinda lay agonised on her death bed due to a cursed draft she had stupidly believed would rid her of her sister's ex, and now her, husband's seed.

The bitch had wailed, gnashed, shrieked and moaned when all the dying woman wanted was a bit of peace and quiet.

Years later when their older brother had passed due to old age, Lucinda had caught up with the banshee, giving her one hell of a wallop and warned her, if she ever so much as made a peep ever again, she would cut out her tongue and sell it on the underground. The banshee had feebly shook her chains and then stopped when she caught Lucinda's glare.

Then there were the illegal markets she had seen as a novice that had sickened her to the stomach. Fey folks pelts and bones were said to contain potent magic and there was much money to be made if you could procure such things.

No creature deserved to be treated in the fashion she had witnessed.

She had heard rumour that eons before she had been re-birthed the Fey folk used to frequently visit the mortal realm, for want of a better word, but now because of the fear of capture, they tended to stay in the Summerland out of the way of prying eyes and they most certainly didn't flit about in peoples back gardens willy nilly.

However, that was not to say that on occasion one might get curious or some idiot would piss them off and they would come out to play.

Normally it was just small things, like wrecking the house or scaring the be jesus out of the family pet. Sometimes it leaned more towards the dark side, like say kidnapping or 'borrowing' as they called it.

Everybody knew the stories, a young maiden or a man would wander into the woods, disappear and then years later return, having not aged a day. Some returned enfeebled and old.

But the one thing that was agreed, was that they came back 'changed'.

They would continue their lives, some would marry and in turn have children, who would probably have an uncanny ability with animals and plants, or an aptitude for playing haunting melodies. They made excellent hunters, fur trappers, cheese mongers and dairy maids.

All in all, usually they were relatively harmless and caused the Justice Keepers no trouble. The Mystic's tended to bring them into the fold anyways. However, once in a while something would turn up, like Gunther.

He was a nasty piece of work said to have Goblin somewhere in his ancestry...

On one rare occasion, Lucinda had come across a Goblin at one of the underground markets. It had been rammed in a cage meant for a chicken, its arms and legs twisted. When she had approached it had hissed in fear and tried to shrink back as far as its small cell would allow. She had unlocked the latch murmuring assurances that it would not be harmed, holding out mushrooms to coax it from out of its confines. She had just about been able to make out large, bright eyes from beneath its bushy eyebrows and long wispy beard before its long, spindly arm whipped out and the fungi had disappeared from her palm.

She had watched fascinated as razor sharp teeth decimated the mushroom with in seconds. It had cocked it's head and regarded her owlishly before attempting to wrap its tongue round the foreign language, asking, timidly,

"M-Or-E "

When she had produce a handful of mushrooms from her pouch, its ugly face had lit up with glee and it had knuckled, with surprising speed, out of the cage, grabbing the morsels with both its over large hands, stuffing them into its mouth.

The shape of the creature was enough to make her eyes water, its deep brown skin looked leathery, its shoulders and back sprouted with coarse dark hair much like a hog. It barely came to her knee. It had licked its fingers before suddenly darted up her arm clinging to her shoulder and back, much like a terrified child, and had remained there as she traversed the rest of the market until she had to reluctantly hand it over to the Mystic whose job it was to help return them to their homes.

She hadn't been able to get the stink or the stains of its drool out of her clothes and so had settled on burning them.

If only Gunther had been like that, instead he had be human too, and it was the human part that turned him into an obsequious wretch. .

The click of a door opening roused her from her thoughts.

Pressing back further into the gloom, she coolly observed as a bandy legged man of small stature stepped out on to the thoroughfare, closing the door of the dwelling very carefully behind him.

As much as she adored the two Green Horns and wished them to share the experience, this was something the Senior Justice Keeper needed to take care with no distractions.

This was personal

Checking her charms were in place, she waited until he had hurriedly travelled some distance before leaving the confines of her hiding place and began to make her way, fleet footed, through the damp, cobbled streets.

X

Up ahead, Gunther began to veer off, hopping in and out of alleyways and sometimes retracing his steps. Occasionally he would drop stink bombs in a weak attempt at masking his scent. Not that did him any good, the stench emanating from him was enough to make Lucinda's eyes water.

The Vampire was in no rush, as she knew exactly where he was heading, besides if she wanted to follow him at close quarters all she had to do was listen out for the yowls and screeches of the town's feline population to signify his passing.

It hadn't been hard to locate his lodgings, a modest caravan set in a traders paddock on the outskirts of town. The horse already harnessed to the braces, ready to leave at a moments notice in the dead of night would have been a major giveaway if it hadn't been the only wagon there.

The Justice Keeper ducked into an alleyway and propelled herself onto a roof, watching keenly as the scrot quickened his pace, no longer making any pretence of his destination.

As he galloped up the road towards the gate, throwing worried glances over his shoulder, the ash blonde darted along the outside wall, coming to a halt twenty feet away from her marks abode on wheels.

The Gabfling's hands flew over the leather harness checking for any sabotage. Finding none, he seemed to visibly relax before pulling himself up into the driver's seat, clucking his tongue and giving a flick of the reins.

The piebald mare flickered her ears, ambling across the paddock and out through the gate onto the road.

Like liquid silk, Lucinda slid over the wall, covering the distance to the moving caravan in a blur and neatly hopping on the back trellis.

As Gunther was attempting to sneak out of the town, without alerting the inhabitants to his hasty departure, Lucinda loosely held on and checked all her pockets, taking stock of everything she had at her disposal.

She had her trusty gauntlets, the left stake replaced with a spool of catgut. Wrapped around the waist of her corset were two brown leather pouches. The front one that rested on her hip was full to the brim of Clover dust and the other contained the amethyst crystals and charmed beads. Her dagger lay tucked in its padded sheath against her thigh and her right boot was decidedly heavier than the other.

Tucked into the breast of her corset, nestled in between the leather and the fabric of her shirt underneath was a penned affirmation, protecting her from his heathen tongue. Also against her breast, but against the skin, she wore her Velysian stone.

There were a handful of ways you could get rid of a Gabfling, many of which would not be uttered outside of the covens, leaving her with limited options

Gabflings as a rule were wickedly strong, on par with true born Versipellis and definitely equal to a Vampire.

If she was lucky, she would catch him unawares and it would all be over.

Taking the right-hand fork that led out into rural areas, the caravan swayed gently making tiny creaking noises that mingled in with the sound of the wheels upon stones. From inside the caravan, she could hear the banging of pots and jars sliding in their shelves

Hoof beats became muffled and the cart lurched forward as the mare picked up pace, trotting on the earthen track, her harness jangling. Countryside began to whip by, sweeping pastures on the left and trees on the right.

Peeking round the side of the caravan, she could see the track hugged the tree line before disappearing into a heavy coppice.

The thick foliage would provide cover, making it the perfect place to strike.

Remembering that this fucker liked to fight dirty with a penchant for gouging eyes, Lucinda pulled down from the crown of her head, a pair of clear screened goggles, fixing them in place and checking the tightness.

Holding on with one hand, she took a huge breath, grinning from ear to ear.

She felt the familiar anticipatory tingle start in her gut, embracing it like an old friend as it spread through her like fire, muting the voices that plagued her.

This was her purpose.

She loved the addictive feeling .and smug satisfaction of winning and knowing that she was the best at what she did and nobody, not even her chosen, older sister, could rival her.

This was her domain.

As the cart trundled into the coppice, Lucinda nimbly climbed up the tiny, wooden slated ladder, easing her slender but powerful frame on to the slightly curved roof, hoping to drop down on the unsuspecting Gunther.

She wanted this quick and neat.

Lying flat on her stomach, the Justice Keeper silently shimmied over the smooth, wooden surface, working her way towards the front of the wagon. The cool, brisk wind whipped at her hair and face and she was grateful for the protection leant to her by the goggles. The last thing she needed was a fly or piece of dirt impairing her vision.

Slowly, she teased out the thread of catgut from the spool, wrapping it three times round her right hand and then repeating it with her left. Bunching her muscles, she manoeuvred into position, ready to reach over the lip of the caravan.

Suddenly, the roof behind her exploded sending up a spray of splintered wood and a clawed hand locked onto her ankle, tugging her hard.

Terrified, the horse bolted, breaking into a gallop.

Gripping on to the wagons roof as it began to bounce over the uneven track, Lucinda turned her head to look over her shoulder, kicking at the hairy hand that was squeezing the delicate bones in her ankle.

Using all his weight, Gunther yanked her backwards through the hole in the roof. She screamed as the jagged planks tore into her thighs and lower stomach not protected by her corset.

Her leather belt snagged on the wood, stalling her trajectory for a split second before the snarling, Gabfling tugged once more, flinging her harshly onto the floor of the cabin.

Instinctively, Lucinda drew her forearms protectively to her face and upper chest as a set of claws raked the leather of her gauntlets. Kicking out wildly, she grinned in triumph when she felt the heel of her boot connect with a doughy stomach and a mixture of a gurgle and a groan reached her ears.

Scrambling to her feet, she steadied herself, narrowly avoiding being hit by the flying debris of crockery and knick knacks jostled from their homes.

Vampire and Gabfling eyed each other across the minuscule space. Swinging pots banged and drawers rattled all around them. Feathers flew up as a lone chicken squawked and flapped in its cage. Lucinda yelled, derisively, over the noise,

"Really Gunther, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

The ash blond's eyes raked over the creature. He stood at 5ft, and would probably be a little taller if he's sinewy legs weren't always bent outwards at the knee. His long, lank hair was thinning on top and his brown tinged skin looked like it was covered in a layer of grime. His thread bare jacket was two sizes too big giving his chest a concave appearance, but she was more than aware of what power lurked under the off black material. He'd gained some weight round his waist and in his cheeks since she had seen him last.

Business must have been very lucrative indeed.

Set between two swamp green eyes was a long but bulbous whisky nose, tinged red. He grimaced at her with off kilter, yellow and brown teeth set within at least a few days stubble. He rasped, clutching his stomach,

"Friends knock!"

Bracing herself, she spat back,

"And friends don't sell each other out, you snivelling little rodent!"

Gunther smiled broadly, showing his foul teeth as he shrugged, whimsically,

"Business is business, Miss Fabray!"

Despite his carefree attitude, she could smell his nerves in the form of an over powering stench of body odour. The enclosed space reeked of it and for once she was grateful for not needed to breath. Trying not to taste the rancid air, Lucinda bared her fangs, snarling,

"So you're a business m.."

The caravan tipped heavily to one side, throwing Lucinda off balance and slamming her head brutally against the sharp edge of one of the numerous in built cabinets. Reeling she was vaguely aware of high pitched shriek before a strong shovel like hand encompassed her skull, violently bashing her head through the flimsy wooden wall.

Once more the wagon banked to the other side, throwing the Vampire and the Gabfling back across the living space. Quickly, Lucinda flipped round only to be caught in a bear hug.

Gunther squeezed, his nose inches from Lucinda, breathing his rancid breath as he gurgled and giggled. This close, she could see his teeth had become jagged points and his eyes oily black discs reflecting her image.

He continued to exert pressure, swinging her round and round as if they were dancing, cackling into the night, banging her off every surface available.

Lucinda screamed at the excruciating pain of her ribs buckling and her spine twisting as he mercilessly tenderised her. Her vision blurred with spots and colours.

She needed to get him off her to give her body time to heal.

Feebly she thrashed and the soles of her boots skidded through the oils on the floor from the smashed jars. Straining her wrist, she struggled to hook her fingers through the loop in her dagger as he dashed her shoulders through the counter top, sending the contents of the drawer beneath flying up into the air.

The Gabfling snickered,

"Not so smart are we now?"

With one last push, she felt her finger slide through the solid metal loop. Deftly flicking it out of its sheath, she drove the tip of the blade forward feeling it meet unresisting flesh.

Gunther let out a yowl, releasing her. Staggering back, she fought the urge to vomit at the sensation of her displaced bones slowly returning and knitting back together.

"You cut me!" He screamed, over the rattle of the cart, spittle flying from the corners of his lips.

Cradling her aching ribs, Lucinda managed to mutter,

"Did I? Who would have thought?"

Instantly the Gabfling was on her again, the force tipping them backwards, out of the front of the caravan.

Gunther hissed and snarled, gripping her outstretched arm, banging her hand against the metal rimming step. She felt her bones shatter and her dagger fell from her useless hand.

Dirt and small projectiles of stones, flicked up from the mares hind hooves as she continued to gallop over the track. The panicked horse began to make the sharp turn. To Lucinda's left came the creaking of stressed and weakened wood.

They both grappled on the floor, grunting with the effort in the narrow space, knees, elbows and fists attempting to find their target. Gunther caught her by the front of her corset, driving his head forward. Lucinda quickly shifted to one side and there was a hollow thunk as Gunther's forehead connected with the floor instead.

The left hand brace, broke with a sharp crack as the mare made the acute bend, the right hand wheel still stuck in the solid, deep groove of the track. The leather reins slide past Lucinda's vision as the harness became loose, the broken brace bouncing erratically of the ground.

With a squeal, the mare kicked out, dislodging the rest of the traces, taking off into the darkness. With no horse to make the turn, the wagon continued on its trajectory at full speed.

Both the merchant and the Justice Keeper, her head craned back, peered ahead into the gloom at a bank of thick trees fast approaching. They shared a shocked look of realisation as the left wheel shattered under the strain, tipping the cart forward, flipping and propelling into the air.

Lucinda scrunched her eyes and braced herself as, upside down, the wagon descended, crashing into the ground and breaking into smithereens.

Blinking her eyes and shaking her head to get rid of the fuzzy ringing in her ears, Lucinda crawled on her hands and knees, dragging her bruised and battered body from out of the wreckage.

The forest was quiet, broken at intervals by the sounds of one of the wheels squeaking as it continued to turn on its axel and the occasional squawk of the newly liberated chicken.

Wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain in her kidneys, the ash blond woman collapsed back into the damp, earth and leaves, murmuring under her breath,

"Just a few more minutes… Few more minutes."

Why the hell hadn't she just threatened the Mystic into selling her the spell? It would have made the whole thing a damn sight easier.

Pushing herself off the ground, she flopped onto her back, immediately regretting it as stars exploded behind her eyes. Rolling uselessly on her side, she reached back onto to have her gloved hand return drenched in dark maroon.

Closing her eyes, she prepared herself, as she gripped the sliver of wood protruding from her lower back. Gritting her teeth, she gave it a yank unable to stop the shrill cry escaping her lips, echoing round the glade.

The offending shard of timber was at least the length of her foot and the width of two fingers and she could only imagine the internal damage it had caused. It could have quite easily of punctured her higher, perforating her heart and turning her to dust.

She was exhausted and drained. All she wanted was to be back home with her family.

Methuselah, she would even give anything to hear Bridget and Santana going at it hammer on tongues.

A manic giggle erupted from her chest at her choice of words as she tossed the makeshift stake back into the debris.

The hollow sound of moving timber and a muffled, agonised moan caught her attention.

Iron-willed, she staggered to her feet, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to ignore the smart of her injury. Stumbling over the wreckage of timber, twisted metal, scattered clothing and household items, she made her way towards the noise.

What remained of the caravan had lodged itself deep into the dirt

Rounding what little of the caravan was still intact she spied Gunther trapped behind it. He lifted his head, jet black globes swivelling to her as she approached,

"Help me!" He wheezed, holding out a grimy hand.

Standing back, Lucinda crossed her arms over her chest and observed the scene before her.

A nasty looking piece if twisted wrought iron had embedded itself into his chest and his face was covered in oozing cuts and dirt. She hadn't thought he could get any uglier but she was being proved wrong.

Never taking her eyes off him, she manoeuvred the remnants of what had once been the merchant's home to one side and wasn't surprised as it crumbled to pieces.

He made a feeble attempt to sit up on his own before collapsing back in a heap, grimacing as the unrelenting metal spike moved. The Gabfling begged,

"Please."

Removing her goggles, she gave him a soft smile before circling behind him, hooking her hands into his armpits and dragging him over to rest against a nearby stump. If she was quick and got him to a Doctor in time, he would probably survive his injuries.

The ash blonde knelt on the stump behind him teasing out a length of catgut as she lulled,

"Not the night either of us planned, eh old friend?"

She listened as he rambled, his words broken by coughs and sputters as she lovingly wrapped the thread round both her palms and pulling out more to make a wide loop.

"I'm sorry." Gunther gurgled and rasped, "If I had known, I never would have… Sebastian. He was offering good money and you know.. "

Dropping the loop over the unsuspecting Gabfling's head, until it came to rest every so lightly against his collar bone, she finished his sentence, icily,

"Business is business, Gunther."

His little brown head, bobbed,

"Exac….."

Lucinda yanked the catgut, swift and hard.

Gunther struggled, feebly attempting to grasp the thread round his neck, his other arm flailed wildly behind him, searching. Lucinda jammed her knee in between his shoulder blades keeping the pressure taunt. She heard the sickening crunch of his windpipe collapsing.

He convulsed and gasped, his hands scrabbling and heels digging into the soft earth beneath as he fought for his last breath.

His fragile body gave one last twitch before ceasing to move completely

The Justice Keeper gave one last tug; hard enough to slice into his flesh as the smell of fresh urine assaulted her.

Unwrapping the catgut, were it quickly snapped back into the spool, she removed a small knife from inside the calf of her left boot, nicking his jugular, just to be on the safe side, before allowing his body to fall limply to the forest floor.

Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands, she let out a deep sigh before climbing to her feet and brushing the dirt from her already destroyed outfit.

Her muscles ached with fatigue.

She would give anything for a stiff drink and a soft coffin.

Satisfied that if anyone what to happen upon the carnage they would figure it just a horrific accident, she set off back across the glade, reminding herself to keep an eye out for her lost dagger.

Stepping over the debris, a twinkle of bright metal caught her attention. Pushing the busted cabinet to one side, she let out a bark of laughter as her eyes landed on an unassuming ladies travel chest.

The sneaky bastard!

Rummaging through the numerous pieces of clothing strewn over the glade, she found a sheet, tipping the contents of the chest onto it, unable to stop the broad smile from stretching across her face.

With tinkle of metal coinage upon metal, she twisted the corners of the blanket together before swinging her makeshift sack over her shoulder.

Glancing up at the night sky, she gauged she had just over an hour before sunrise. With her Vampire speed it wouldn't take her that long to get back to her lodgings, she might even be lucky enough to be able to slip in a quick feed, which would be much more nourishing than a thrall.

Fixing her goggles in place she whistled a merry tune as she limped down the road back towards the town, dreaming of sumptuous life force.

"All in all, she mused, not bad for a nights work."

@those-lesbian-ships @smttnpegasus

[doomonfilm]

Awards : 78th Golden Globes Nominees (2021)

2020 was certainly a strange year for awards shows, but luckily, the 77th Annual Golden Globes ceremony was able to conduct business as usual based on their scheduling so early in the year.  With the shadow of COVID-19 extending into 2021, the ceremony has been delayed until late February, and a location has been named (The Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills), but I will be curious to see if any adaptation will be made base on social distancing regulations.  After five years of hosting duties being handled by Ricky Gervais, the dynamic duo of Amy Poehler and Tina Fey have been brought back into the fold, marking their fourth assignment at the job.

The impact of streaming services has been a gradual one when it comes to the award show circuit, but due to the circumstances of 2020, many of the streaming services kicked the doors down in terms of garnering nominations.  The presence of Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime and even Shudder can be felt in nearly every film-related category, with many categories finding the services placed in direct opposition against one another.  Seeing Mank in so many categories is no surprise as well, and while the film does stand to have a successful night, the competition is definitely stiff.  A lot of my predictions manifested, specifically the numerous Mank nominations, the Chadwick Boseman and Viola Davis nominations and the presence of Soul in several categories, but I am a bit sad to see that Evan Rachel Wood did not garner a nomination for Kajillionaire. 

As per usual, there are a lot of holes present in regards to films I’ve seen versus films nominated, but I will still go down the list and provide thoughts where I feel they are valid.  I will make an attempt to catch up on some of the missing films as well, so be on the lookout for reviews and blog entries about some of the films nominated.

NOMINATIONS

Best Motion Picture – Drama The Father (Sony Pictures Classics) Mank (Netflix) Nomadland (Searchlight Pictures) Promising Young Woman (Focus Features) The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Netflix) Thoughts : This feels like Mank’s award to lose.  I’ve heard great things about Nomadland as well as Promising Young Woman, but Hollywood likes to award films about Hollywood (as well as posthumous redemption stories), and Gary Oldman is a beast in the lead role (as per usual), so if I was a betting man, I’m betting the farm on Mank. 

Best Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (Amazon Studios) Hamilton (Walt Disney Pictures) Palm Springs (Neon) Music (Vertical Entertainment) The Prom (Netflix) Thoughts : This one feels like Hamilton’s award hands down, but seeing as Borat is the only other film I’ve seen in this category, I’m a bit ill-informed.  Seeing multiple nominations for Palm Springs does have me intrigued, and I will have to get around to seeing that one, but I don’t know if it has the firepower to stand up to Hamilton. 

Best Motion Picture – Foreign Language Another Round (Samuel Goldwyn Films) La Llorona (Shudder) The Life Ahead (Netflix) Minari (A24) Two of Us (Magnolia Pictures) Thoughts : I do not have a dog in this fight, but after seeing Mista GG eviscerate most every version of the La Llorona film except for the one up for nomination, I’m going to cheer that one on (go Shudder!).

Best Motion Picture – Animated The Croods: A New Age (Universal Pictures) Onward (Walt Disney Pictures) Over the Moon (Netflix) Soul (Walt Disney Pictures) Wolfwalkers (Cartoon Saloon) Thoughts : Soul, plain and simple.  This one is easy.  I have heard good things about Wolfwalkers, and since Over the Moon is on Netflix I may give it a peep, but if Soul doesn’t win this award I will be wholly surprised.

Best Director – Motion Picture Emerald Fennell, Promising Young Woman (Focus Features) David Fincher, Mank (Netflix) Regina King, One Night in Miami (Amazon Studios) Aaron Sorkin, The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Netflix) Chloé Zhao, Nomadland (Searchlight Pictures) Thoughts : I’d like to see Regina King win for One Night in Miami, but it’s going to be hard to beat David Fincher for Mank. 

Best Actress in a Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy Maria Bakalova (Borat Subsequent Moviefilm) Kate Hudson (Music) Michelle Pfeiffer (French Exit) Rosamund Pike (I Care a Lot) Anya Taylor-Joy (Emma) Thoughts : Possibly the most surprising nomination in this category for me is the one actress I got to see nominated, and that would be Maria Bakalova from Borat Subsequent Moviefilm.  Emma is on my too-see list, so we will see if Anya Taylor-Joy can potentially have multiple projects that garner her wins.  I was REALLY hoping to see Evan Rachel Wood in this category, but I’ve been wrong before, so I’ll get over it.

Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy Sacha Baron Cohen (Borat Subsequent Moviefilm) James Corden (The Prom) Lin-Manuel Miranda (Hamilton) Dev Patel (The Personal History of David Copperfield) Andy Samberg (Palm Springs) Thoughts : Andy Samberg and James Corden get to split my surprise award for this category, with Sacha Baron Cohen hot on their tail.  In all honesty, this is another category I have no vested interest in.

Best Actress in a Motion Picture – Drama Viola Davis (Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom) Andra Day (The United States vs. Billie Holiday) Vanessa Kirby (Pieces of a Woman) Frances McDormand (Nomadland) Carey Mulligan (Promising Young Woman) Thoughts : On the page, this looks like the toughest category to call.  If I was betting, my bet would be on either Frances McDormand or Carey Mulligan, if not split between the two of them.  Viola Davis gave a powerful performance in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, and it’s nice to see the uber-talented Andra Day get nominated for her portrayal of Billie Holiday, but the Hollywood hype machine seems to be in the favor of either McDormand or Mulligan walking away with this one.

Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama Riz Ahmed (Sound of Metal) Chadwick Boseman (Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom) Anthony Hopkins (The Father) Gary Oldman (Mank) Tahar Rahim (The Mauritanian) Thoughts : It would be very easy to say that Gary Oldman is the favorite in this category, but the buzz behind Sound of Metal may enhance Riz Ahmed’s chances at victory.  At the risk of sounding sentimental, I’d personally like to see Chadwick Boseman win this award, but I also fear that the entire posthumous nature of this nomination may work against him rather than in his favor.

Best Actress in a Supporting Role in Any Motion Picture Glenn Close (Hillbilly Elegy) Olivia Colman (The Father) Jodie Foster (The Mauritanian) Amanda Seyfried (Mank) Helena Zengel (News of the World) Thoughts : The only one of these performances I’ve seen (unfortunately) is Amanda Seyfried’s, which was impressive, but with names like Glenn Close, Olivia Colman (fresh off of a recent Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy Motion Picture win) and Jodie Foster in the hunt, this will be another tough competition.

Best Actor in a Supporting Role in Any Motion Picture Sacha Baron Cohen (The Trial of the Chicago 7) Daniel Kaluuya (Judas and the Black Messiah) Jared Leto (The Little Things) Bill Murray (On the Rocks) Leslie Odom, Jr. (One Night in Miami) Thoughts : The buzz behind Judas and the Black Messiah has me wondering if this is Daniel Kaluuya’s category to lose, but this is another category where the competition is incredibly fierce.  Sacha Baron Cohen was strong in his portrayal of Abbie Hoffman, Leslie Odom, Jr. gave us a new look at Sam Cooke, and Jared Leto was palatable in his subtle unhinged performance for The Little Things.  I did not see Bill Murray’s performance, but his clout alone always makes him a contender.

Best Screenplay – Motion Picture Promising Young Woman (Focus Features) Mank (Netflix) The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Netflix) The Father (Sony Pictures Classics) Nomadland (Searchlight Pictures) Thoughts : It would be ironic if Mank did not win this category, as the film focuses on a screenwriter, but stranger things have happened. 

Best Original Score – Motion Picture The Midnight Sky (Netflix) – Alexandre Desplat Tenet (Warner Bros.) – Ludwig Göransson News of the World (Universal Pictures) – James Newton Howard Mank (Netflix) – Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross Soul (Pixar) – Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross, Jon Batiste Thoughts : It’s got to be a win for Trent Reznor and Atticus Rose in this round.  Be in their period-specific and ear-fooling Mank score, or their incredibly jazzy and heartfelt offering for Soul, these two are a formidable duo who will likely dominate this category for years to come.

Best Original Song – Motion Picture Fight for You from Judas and the Black Messiah (Warner Bros.) – H.E.R., Dernst Emile II, Tiara Thomas Hear My Voice from The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Netflix) – Daniel Pemberton, Celeste Io Si (Seen) from The Life Ahead (Netflix) – Diane Warren, Laura Pausini, Niccolò Agliardi Speak Now from One Night in Miami (Amazon Studios) – Leslie Odom Jr, Sam Ashworth Tigress & Tweed from The United States vs. Billie Holliday (Hulu) – Andra Day, Raphael Saadiq Thoughts : Unfortunately, I do not have enough knowledge of any of these songs to pick a winner... I may go Spotify them for a base guess, but I would more so like to hear them in the context of the films they are connected to.

Best Television Limited Series or Motion Picture Made for Television Normal People (Hulu/BBC) The Queen’s Gambit (Netflix) Small Axe (Amazon Studios/BBC) The Undoing (HBO) Unorthodox (Netflix) Thoughts : Small Axe feels like the possible underdog winner in this category, especially with the recent race-related turmoil that has left a dark cloud over an already dark year.  That being said, with a handful of record-breaking achievements under its belt, my money is on The Queen’s Gambit winning here. 

Best Performance by an Actress in a Limited Series or Motion Picture Made for Television Cate Blanchett (Mrs. America) Daisy Edgar-Jones (Normal People) Shira Haas (Unorthodox) Nicole Kidman (The Undoing) Anya Taylor-Joy (The Queen’s Gambit) Thoughts : I believe that the power behind The Queen’s Gambit will carry Anya Taylor-Joy to victory in this category.  Nicole Kidman and Cate Blanchett are certainly stiff competition, but 2020 belonged to Anya Taylor-Joy, and I believe this will be reflected by the Golden Globes.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Limited Series or Motion Picture Made for Television Bryan Cranston (Your Honor) Jeff Daniels (The Comey Rule) Hugh Grant (The Undoing) Ethan Hawke (The Good Lord Bird) Mark Ruffalo (I Know This Much Is True) Thoughts : Sadly, I missed everything nominated for this category, so as impressive as this list of names is, I am terribly ill-informed and cannot hazard an educated guess for who will win.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Series, Limited Series or Motion Picture Made for Television Gillian Anderson (The Crown) Helena Bonham Carter (The Crown) Julia Garner (Ozark) Annie Murphy (Schitt’s Creek) Cynthia Nixon (Ratched) Thoughts : While the names Gillian Anderson and Helena Bonham Carter immediately pop from this list, the dual nominations for The Crown may harm more than it helps.  Ratched also had a bit of early buzz behind it, but Schitt’s Creek has been a monumental fan favorite, so I think Annie Murphy may be walking away with this one.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Series, Limited Series or Motion Picture Made for Television John Boyega (Small Axe) Brendan Gleeson (The Comey Rule) Dan Levy (Schitt’s Creek) Jim Parsons (Hollywood) Donald Sutherland (The Undoing) Thoughts : If Small Axe can’t garner a win as a series, then it may have a decent chance at getting John Boyega a victory for his performance.  I’m also realizing that I need to look into The Undoing before the Golden Globes takes place, as it has appeared several times on the list of nominations.

We’ll see you on February 28, 2021 for the 78th Annual Golden Globe Awards on your local NBC affiliate! 

[fiiore-blogs]

𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞  𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐬𝐨 ; character  study

tws : abuse , mentions  of  death , homophobia  &  blindness ( ?? )

BASICS 

full  name : fiore  emiliano  luca  gattuso

nicknames : honestly  just  fiore , flower  cat  boy  as  a  joke  by  his  cousin  ( his  first  name  translates  to  flower  in  italian , his  surname  gattuso , derives  from  the  italian  word  gatto .... which  literally  means  cat  kdnvdfjs )

age : 20

date  of  birth : may  30 , 2000

zodiac  sign : gemini 

place  of  birth : tuscany , italy

hometown : rome , italy

location : kingsboro , brooklyn , new york city , new  york

ethnicity : white

nationality : italian

religious  views : non  affiliated , but  definitely  believes  there  is  a  higher  power ( or  multiple ) of  some  sort

educational  level : high  school  graduate

occupation : influencer  &  model  occasional  sugar  baby

living  arrangements : lives  in  a  super  boujee  ass  house  ( basically  mansion  tbh ) with  his  older  cousin  gio , &  his  cat , which  he  very  proudly  named  draco  meowfoy

mental  conditions : undiagnosed  anxiety , very  claustrophobic , will  literally  freak  out  if  he’s  in  a  tight  space 

physical  impairments :  he  has  shit  vision , always  has . his  vision  is  20 / 50  without  any  type  of  help , which  isn’t  necessarily  terrible , but  not  exactly  great . once  you  reach  20 / 70 , you’re  considered  to  have  low  vision , which  is  technically  considered  partial  blindness . with  contacts  on  though , he  see’s  a  solid  20 / 30 , which  again , still  isn’t  too  great , considering  the  fact  the  average  person  see’s  20 / 20 . no  one  knows  his  vision  is  so  garbage  minus  his  cousin , &  no  one  has  ever  ever  ever  seen  him  with  glasses  before . in  fact , no  one  even  knows  he  needs  glasses  or  contacts  to  see , as  he  keeps  this  a  secret

addictions : none  really , just  smokes  the  usual  weed  &  drinks  the  usual  drink , has  tried  coke  once  but  didn’t  really  like  it  too  much 

PHYSICAL  APPEARANCE

height : 5 ‘ 8

body  type : pretty  damn  lanky  but  slightly  muscular ( for  actual  body  claim  gifs  click  here , here , here , here , here , here , here , here , here  &  here ! )

eye  color : baby  blue , but  shifts  colors  in  different  lighting . sometimes  they  look  more  on  the  green  side , sometimes  they  look  sort  of  grey

hair  color : brown

style : he  loves  a  good  boujee  brand  tbh ! catch  him  wearing  luxury  brands  like  philipp  plein , balenciaga , hermès , valentino , gucci .... just  to  name  a  few . he’s  not  opposed  to  wearing  cheaper  brands  &  even  owns  a  basic  floral  jacket  from  forever  21 , but  his  main  rule  is  it  has  to  look  good . honestly  would  rather  shave  off  his  eyebrows  once  a  month  for  an  entire  year  than  to  wear  sweats , you’ll  simply  never  see  him  with  those  on . in  fact , he  doesn’t  even  own  a  pair  of  sweats , not  even  just  to  be  at  home . in  fiore’s  opinion , people  wearing  sweats  have  just  ‘ given  up ’ . this  saint  laurent  jacket  right  here , is  one  of  his  favorite  pieces  of  clothing !

tattoos  &  piercings : this  gemini  symbol  tattoo  on  his  left  wrist , a  cartilage  piercing  on  his  right  ear

scars / birth  marks : a  notably  big  scar  on  his  lower  left  abdomen  ( courtesy  of  his  dad ) , birthmark  on  his  upper  left  cheek  ( which  honestly .... low  key  makes  him  hotter  fkdfvnfdsjn )

PERSONALITY

positive  traits : determined , confident , witty 

negative  traits : secretive , narcissistic , dishonest 

what  do  they  consider  to  be  the  best  &  the  worst  part  of  their  personality ? :  the  best  part  of  his  personality  is  his  confidence  &  his  ability  to  achieve  his  goals  or  get  his  way  somehow . he’s  not  too  bright , but  he  knows  how  to  get  what  he  wants  &  stops  at  almost  nothing  to  have  it  his  way , being  extremely  determined  &  restless . the  worst  part  of  his  personality  has  to  be  the  fact  that  he  can  be  very  dishonest . it’s  a  defense  mechanism  mostly , but  he  has  a  way  of  bending  the  truth  to  his  favor , often  times  becoming  manipulative  &  inconsiderate  of  other  people’s  feelings 

are  they  more  introverted  or  extroverted ? : the  very  rare  case  of  an  extroverted  introvert . he  really  does  enjoy  talking  to  people  but  he  loves  his  alone  time  as  well  &  sometimes , too  many  people  to  talk  to  gives  him  anxiety

any  talents ? : not  really  a  talent  but  more  of  an  unknown  fact  –  he  has  hypermobile  joints  ( or  what  most  people  call  double  jointed ) almost  everywhere . on  his  knees , on  his  elbows , on  his  shoulders , on  his  fingers . he  can  bring  his  arms  all  the  way  around  &  back  while  holding  onto  his  hands , can  touch  his  thumbs  &  other  fingers  to  his  forearm  ( for  more  info  on  this , click  here ) . he  also  makes  really , really  good  edibles 

what  are  their  fears ? : huge  slightly  irrational  fear  of  being  buried  alive , being  in  a  tight  space  barely  able  to  move  or  tight  spaces  in  general . no  one  knows  this  one , but  he  also  has  a  huge  fear  of  ending  up  completely  blind . his  grandmother , his  mother’s  mother , has  always  had  terrible  vision  . she  was  pronounced  legally  blind  when  she  was  barely  45 , later  going  completely  blind  before  she  turned  60 . fiore’s  mother  didn’t  inherit  her  bad  vision  but  it  skipped  a  generation  &  if  you  guessed  it , his  grandmother’s  shit  vision  is  something  he  carries . he  has  a  huge  overwhelming  fear  of  it  getting  worse  &  worse  over  the  years , &  ending  up  like  his  grandmother  did 

any  allergies ? :  corn . will  literally  have  a  deathly  reaction

do  they  have  phobias ? : claustrophobia 

list  3  pet  peeves  they  can’t  stand : people  chewing  with  their  mouth  open , when  people  have  strong  unpleasant  body  odor  or  bad  breath  ( no  bullshit  he’ll  call  you  out  for  this  lmfao ) , dirty  fingernails 

PAST

best  memory : opening  up  to  his  cousin  about�� what  really  happened  with  his  parents  &  having  him  accept  him  with  open  arms , then  later  that  day  going  to  the  beach , smoking  one  with  him  &  talking  about  life 

worst  memory : his  parents  finding  his  sex  tape  with  his  now  ex  boyfriend , causing  them  to  disown  him  &  almost  beat  him  to  death 

biggest  secret : his  past , as  he  refuses  to  talk  about  anything  that  happened  before  2018 . also , his  vision ? definitely  a  secret  too 

biggest  wish : surprisingly ? falling  deeply  in  love  with  someone  &  traveling  the  world  with  them , also  opening  up  an  edible  shop 

biggest  fear : irrational  fear , but  being  buried  alive , crossing  paths  with  his  parents  again , &  turning  completely  blind  at  one  point  just  like  his  grandmother  did 

first  love : alessio  cardone  ( npc , nathan  naenen  fc ) , his  first  love , &  so  far  the  only  person  he’s  ever  truly  fallen  in  love  with . for  gifs  of  his  face  click  here  or  click  here  

ROMANCE  &  SEXUALITY

sexuality : bisexual / biromantic 

turn  ons : dirty talk , fingering  &  being  fingered , versatile  sex , being  dominated / dominating  someone , lip  biting  when  kissing , hickeys , being  spoiled , cuddling , hair  pulling 

turn  offs : people  denying  or  hiding  what  they  really  want  &  desire , know  it  alls , people  treating  him  like  he’s  stupid , cheap  people , people  who  talk  shit  with  people  around  but  won’t  peep  a  word  when  they’re  alone , hypocrites 

MISCELLANEOUS 

speaking  voice  claim : lorenzo  zurzolo  vc , or  click  here !

relationship  with  mother : he  hasn’t  spoken , heard  of  or  seen  his  mother  since  his  parents  disowned  him  when  he  had  just  turned  eighteen , so  well  over  two  years  ago . he  has  no  idea  if  she’s  even  alive  or  well  

mother’s  name : originally  martina  reina  ( now  martina  gattuso )

relationship  with  father : same  thing  with  his  father . he  hasn’t  spoken , heard  of  or  seen  him  since  his  parents  disowned  him . despite  both  his  parents  being  trash  though , fiore  has  always  been  more  afraid  &  resentful  of  his  father , as  he  has  beaten  him  multiple  times  throughout  his  childhood , while  his  mother  mostly  just  stood  by  &  let  it  happen . he’s  also  done  things  like  lock  him  in  a  car  trunk  for  hours  as  punishment , &  would  leave  him  in  a  tight  spaced  closet  for  longer , which  explains  his  irrational  fear  of  being  buried  alive , &  his  severe  claustrophobia  

father’s  name : gian  gattuso 

siblings : none

pets : click  here  to  see  his  ragamuffin  cat  he  named  draco  meowfoy 

favorite  place : any  part  of  spain . honestly  loves  spain , &  loves  how  shameless  some  spanish  people  are 

role  models  or  crushes : seth  rogen  ( he’s  not  even  a  role  model  fiore  just  loves  him  skacnbdjs ) , terry  crews , tina  fey , jamie  chua  ( this  is  just ... for  obvious  reasons  lmfao )

favorite  animals : a  sucker  for  koalas , cats  &  dogs  ( definitely  a  cat  person  though ) . he  also  thinks  red  panda’s  are  possibly  the  cutest  creatures  on  the  planet 

favorite  books : the  five  stages  of  andrew  brawley  by  shaun  david  hutchinson , a  child  called  it , the  lost  boy , a  man  named  dave , the  privilege  of  youth , all  by  dave  pelzer  ( he  has  cried  reading  all  of  pelzer’s  books  too , as  he  feels  it  hits  close  to  home ) 

favorite  movies : la  vita  è  bella , literally  all  the  sex  &  the  city  movies , honestly  any  movie  seth  rogen  is  in , catch  me  if  you  can 

favorite  music : listens  to  almost  anything  but  his  favorites  are  anything  indie / alternative , deathpop  &  italian  music

favorite  food : pasta , chicken  picatta , authentic  mexican  tacos 

favorite  dessert : anything  tiramisu , caffè  gelato , cannoli

QUIRKS

are  they  right  handed  or  left  handed ? : left  handed 

what’s  a  word  that’s  always  on  their  lips ? : “ oh  yeah ? ”  usually  in  a  teasing  manner  or  sexual  context 

what  languages  do  they  speak ? : italian , english , spanish , decent  sicilian 

do  they  curse ? : definitely 

what’s  their  worst  habits ? : lying  ( obviously ) , always  wanting  to  have  the  last  word , instantly  seeking  revenge / getting  even  when  he  feels  he’s  been  wronged , chewing  ice , &  honestly ? forgetting  to  eat  for  long  ass  periods  of  time . he’ll  eat  something  at  ten  am , then  suddenly  it’s  about  to  be  midnight  &  he’s  like  ‘ well  fuck ..... i  forgot  to  eat  🥴 ’

do  they  drink  or  smoke ? how  frequently ? : drinks  &  smokes  pretty  frequently ! is  honestly  never  one  to  turn  down  drinking  or  a  smoking  session 

are  they  an  early  bird  or  a  night  owl ? : night  owl  for  sure

how  tidy  is  their  room ? : usually  tidy  or  decent  looking  at  least . he’s  not  a  neat  freak , but  he  hates  his  room  being  messy 

how  long  do  they  usually  take  getting  ready ? : forever . it  takes  him  at  least  an  hour  just  to  shower , thirty  minutes  to  pick  out  his  clothes , another  thirty  to  do  his  ‘ fresh  out  the  shower ’  routine , &  longer  to  actually  get  ready  &  be  satisfied  with  his  look . in  other  words , a  girl  takes  less  time  than  him 

[neoraven]

September’s TV Premieres - The Rest!

Here are the rest of the shows debuting or coming back at the end of September! This is a little bit rushed and low effort and I'm sorry about that. Also apologies for it being kind of late for The Good Place (2 eps last night were amazing!).

9/20 The Good Place s2 (NBC)

[ABSOLUTELY] I have a good bit of fear that they won't be able to live up to the nearly flawless first season. But I will get over that and watch this come hell or high water. I've willfully avoided nearly everything about the new season prior to the two part premiere of season 2.

9/24 Star Trek: Discovery (CBS AA)

[ABSOLUTELY] It's Star Trek, come on. I watched The Orville and forgave most of its flaws just because it was Trek.

9/25 Young Sheldon (CBS) Kevin Can Wait s2 (CBS) Me Myself & I (CBS) [PROBABLY] I checked out of Big Bang Theory a while ago, but I hate myself enough to watch at least the pilot of Yung Sheldon. I made it through the first season of Kevin of Queens, and I have to see how classlessly they kill off Erin Hayes' character. And finally, I'm down for the high concept of MM&I if nothing else.

The Brave (NBC) [MAYBE] I have a vague desire to watch all these rah rah military pilots/shows and compare them or such. I don't know if I'll actually do it.

9/26 Lethal Weapon s2 (FOX) [ABSOLUTELY] One of my favorite new shows is gonna be back and better than ever. Hopefully they can keep up the mix of fun standalone episodes and the darker, plot-heavy stuff.

Bull s2 (CBS) NCIS: New Orleans s4 (CBS) Law & Order: True Crime: The Menendez Murders (NBC) [MAYBE] The first two I can take or leave PLUS I'm about a half season behind on each. The new Law & Order? I just don't think it's as interesting as a set up as the OJ Simpson thing. I might get swayed by reviews or just morbid curiosity.

The Mick s2 (FOX) Brooklyn 99 s5 (FOX) [ABSOLUTELY] These two shows are hilarious and I'm glad to get more.

9/27 Modern Family s9 (ABC) [PROBABLY] I've been wavering on this show, but I'm enough years deep that is has to get really REALLY bad for me to quit.

SEAL Team s1 (CBS) [MAYBE] see The Brave

American Housewife s2 (ABC) [ABSOLUTELY] This was one of my favorite new shows from last year. Should still be funny!!

9/28 Superstore s3 (NBC) Grey's Anatomy s14 (ABC) Great News s2 (NBC) [ABSOLUTELY] Another lineup of three shows I really like. Also noting that Tina Fey is bringing her acting talents to Great News to now play a Jack Donaghey boss type as the circle becomes complete.

9/29 MacGyver s2 (CBS) Inhumans (ABC) [MAYBE] I have quite a few episodes of MacGyver still unseen, and no burning desire to go through them. It's a really fun show and a nice time-waster, but there's way too many other things going on. And Inhumans is getting a rather epic panning by everyone who's seen it. I already am not that interested in Comic Book Shit. But I could peep it just for the novelty and to see how bad it is.

The Exorcist s2 (FOX) [PROBABLY] I have ambitions to catch up on all of season 1 and watch this in October as part of Halloween stuff.

[darklingandy]

Spirits of the Earth and Air

Chapter Twenty-Three: Pistachios

Whole Foods was the most likely place to find herbal stuff in Berk. Standing in the middle of the aisles, Astrid was hyper-aware of the comfortable weight of the hidden weapons she wore under her clothes. They pressed against her skin, familiar. She refused to fear the Fair Folk, no matter what Hiccup said or thought. She wanted to See. So she stalked up and down the aisles hunting for the ingredients she’d seen on that page of the journal.

Hiccup shadowed her. Since he was invisible to everyone else (and wasn’t that just fantastic), she had to pretend she couldn’t see him, but she watched him from the corners of her eyes. He looked thin and shadowed, the bright florescent lighting washing him out, leaving him paler than usual.

He’d had always been nervous and fidgety, but now that he’d told Astrid the truth about his Sight, it was different. Every flinch and twitch had meaning now: he was ignoring something unSeeable.

He’d always been bad at looking people straight on. His eyes slid away, not staring for too long, flickering here and there. Now, every time he did it, she had to stop herself from whipping around to stare, knowing there was something fey there. She wanted to know what he Saw.

I wonder how much longer I’ll even be able to see him, she wondered as she turned a bottle of some spice over in her hands. Already, staying aware of him seemed an effort. If she let her mind wander, his presence faded away from all awareness until she forgot he was there. She didn’t remember him until he spoke. She had to be careful not to start chattering at him in the middle of the grocery store. It was maddening.

“I can’t believe my parents didn’t have celery seed,” she muttered to him out of the corner of her mouth. He shrugged.

His eyes slid sideways. “No. I don’t know. Just put it back.”

What is Jack doing? She wanted to ask but another customer was walking down the other side of the aisle, a middle-aged woman in a cardigan, ambling slowly as she perused the bins of bulk goods with a grocery list in-hand.

Astrid tried to focus on the endless rows of spice bottles with their little green labels. There were too many spices here; why did there have to be such a wide selection? She felt like she was reading the labels over and over again.

“Just stop touching things,” hissed Hiccup. Astrid almost jumped. She glanced at him over her shoulder to see him looking very stressed. He pinched his mouth together and shook his head at her.

Astrid liked this Jack guy already. She smothered a grin and turned to the shelves again. Pumpkin spice…that was a thing they sold?…oregano…celery seed… wait, we need that one!

“Got it,” she whispered, soft enough that the other woman in the aisle wouldn’t hear.

Hiccup heaved a relieved sigh. “Thank god,” he muttered.

Just then, a lever on one of the bulk bins went down — seemingly of its own accord — and organic pistachio nuts spilled everywhere. They piled up on the shelf underneath,then spilled over across the floor with little rat-a-tat-a-tat sounds, bouncing and shooting every which way across the fancy fake-rock texture ceramic tiles. The endless stream of nuts kept coming until the entire contained finally emptied itself out, and one final nut fell out, bounced off the pile, and went skittering away across the floor under the rest of the bins. Everything fell silent.

Astrid stared at the pistachios. The other woman in the aisle stared at them. Astrid looked up. The other woman stared at Astrid.

“‘Sup,” said Astrid. She tossed the woman a peace sign and power-walked away down the aisle, onward to the herbs and supplements section. Behind her, Hiccup was muttering very quickly into thin air. It was hard to tell, but he sounded both annoyed and amused.

“We’ll meet you outside,” he said, louder. He was gone almost before Astrid could nod at him, presumably taking Jack along with him. Astrid heaved a relieved sigh and continued her hunt for eyebright, orris root, and mugwort.

Next on the list was the four leaf clover. Astrid wound up crawling around on the lawn of Tam Lin Park on her hands and knees, peering at every little plant she could find that wasn’t grass. It was hardly more than a cramped patch of grass next to a swingset, a slide, and a couple shabby picnic tables, but it was closest to her house and Berk had nothing better to offer. Her hands and knees grew covered in dirt and green stains. It was growing cold; she was glad she’d brought a sweater, even if it was getting filthy.

Where Hiccup sat, the grass was dry, brittle, and brown. She stared at it. Dead grass circled him; next to him there was a spot covered in glittering white frost. What the hell…was it like that before?

“Are you cold?” she asked him.

He shrugged. He was wearing his own hoodie that he’d taken from his house earlier. “I’m okay.”

On the tiny playground a little ways off, several young mothers sat at a picnic table while their children crawled on the equipment. The mothers kept shooting Astrid weird looks, muttering among themselves. Astrid cast them a glare and turned her back on them.

Hiccup was building up a pile of ripped grass at his elbow. It stained his fingertips green. He glanced at Astrid. “Why are you scowling?”

“There’s too many damn three leaf clovers.” Astrid tossed yet another one away from herself, in the direction of the nosy suburban moms.

“I know,” Hiccup agreed. His eyes flickered across the playground and turned downward.

Astrid felt the skin on her neck prickle and took a breath.

Hiccup focused back on her. “But there’s going to be a four leaf. We’ll find it.”

“Who says? Jack?”

Hiccup snorted.

Astrid grinned at him. …those pistachios nuts… She smothered a laugh. She could imagine how hilarious it must have been for Jack, standing unSeen in the middle of them: the cause of the commotion but undetectable as the source, watching the astounded looks on their faces.

Between the three of them — two that Astrid could see — an aura of excitement permeated the air. She couldn’t help the rising bubbling hope in her chest, even as she picked through bits of plants and dirt. Astrid would get to See, the same way Hiccup could. She couldn’t wait. She wanted to meet Jack in the flesh.

Questions bubbled up inside her, so many questions. “Are all the fey friendly like Jack?”

“No! No. Nooooo.” Hiccup looked horrified at the idea of it.

“Ah.” Astrid frowned. “What are they like then?”

“Uhhhh…” Hiccup considered this, his eyes downcast so that the sunlight glanced over his face without illuminating what he was thinking. “Capricious,” he said at last.

“What was the court like? Did you talk to any of them?”

“Er…Astrid.” Hiccup dropped a handful of grass and wiped bits of leaves off his hands. “Listen. I know you think this is all very exciting, but…they’re dangerous. You can’t trust them. Ow.” He rubbed his arms and glared off into space at Astrid’s left. “Okay, you can’t trust most of them.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I mean, sure you probably can. You’re Astrid. But…do you remember Heather? Heather Snarkson?”

“What?” Astrid had never heard that name in her life. “No. Who-?”

“She was in our class. She sat next to you in bio. You were friends with her, Astrid.”

“Okay, now you’re just-”

“The fey took her.”

A cloud passed over the sun. A breeze swept through the trees around the park, rustling the branches and sending down a shower of dead leaves.

“A few months ago, and everyone in Berk forgot she even existed or was ever just do that sometimes. They take people.”

“That’s-” Astrid’s mouth was dry; she licked her lips with a nervous tongue. “They can’t just-”

“They do.” Hiccup’s voice went hard. “What do you think happened to my mother?” He looked away from her, down at his hands in his lap, absent-mindedly running his fingers through the lawn again.

Oh my god. Valka was… Astrid swallowed. “But why?”

“For fun. They’re inhuman. Most of them have no concept of morals or empathy.”

They won’t get me though. Astrid’s gaze strayed into the space where she knew Jack was sitting, where the grass was frosty white. “What about your faery? Jack?”

A soft, fond look came into Hiccup’s eyes. “More human than most.”

Does he like…oh my god. Ohhhh my god, he likes the faery. Astrid let this pass without comment since she knew Jack was there, but she made a mental note to absolutely drill Hiccup about it later as soon as she knew they were truly alone. “Uh-huuuuuh,” she said out loud.

“Find any four leaf ones yet?” said Hiccup quickly.

Astrid sighed. “No,” she admitted . “Nothing yet.” A man walking his tiny chihuahua past the park stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to give her a strange look for talking to herself. Astrid stared back at him. “What?” she demanded when he didn’t immediately say anything.

“Don’t you have school?” he asked.

“No.” She glared at him until he tugged on his dog’s leash and scurried away. “And mind your own business!” Annoyed, she ripped up a handful of the lawn without checking it and threw it after him. As the little bits and pieces of vegetation flew threw the air, she spotted a clover in the middle of it. “Ah!” Her shout startled Hiccup. She dove for the clover, grabbed it before it became lost on the ground again, clutching it between her fingers. “Got one! Yes!” Excited, she punched Hiccup’s arm with her free hand.

“Finally.” Hiccup rubbed at his arm, smiling.

When they drove back to her house, they found Jack’s little messenger fey waiting for them on the front porch. Hiccup grabbed Astrid’s arm to stop her before she barreled it over on her way to the door.

It bowed low at their approach and held out its hand. A large speckled mushroom rested on its palm between curled fingers. “Your mushroom, my lord,” it said to Hiccup, peeping up at him.

“Uh.” Hiccup sputtered and turned red.

Jack stepped in front of him. He bowed back to the fey. “He thanks you for your service.” Behind his back, his hand flapped at Hiccup. Hiccup clamped his mouth shut.

The little fey bowed deeply again, almost falling over in its enthusiasm. “I am happy to provide it.” It seemed very pleased with itself as it flew off again and disappeared beyond the gate.

“Why is he calling me that?” Hiccup muttered. He gave Jack a desolate look and motioned for Astrid to unlock the door. Jack handed the mushroom over to Hiccup, who in turn passed it to Astrid. “We have our special mushroom,” he told her.

She raised her eyebrows at it. “Oh, is that what just happened.”

“I told you, there have been, um, rumors.” Jack answered Hiccup’s question. He pursed his lips and looked away. They traipsed after Astrid into the house.

They trailed after Astrid into her house again. She parked them at the kitchen island. “Wait a second.” She disappeared out the back door. A few moments of silence passed.

“Do you think this will work?” Jack whispered.

Hiccup glanced up at him; Jack looked thin and worn down, dark circles under his eyes, hair drooping over his forehead, skin greyish from being exposed to so much human metal. “…yeah,” said Hiccup. “Of course it will work.”

Jack’s mouth twisted and he opened it to say something, but Astrid interrupted him as she barged back in through the door.

“Okay,” she announced. She set down a glass jar half full of greyish water, little bits of leaves swirling around the bottom of it. “Rainwater from the bird bath. I think we have almost everything.” Hands on her hips, she surveyed everything they had collected, laid out across the marble counter top: the celery seed, orris root, eyebright, mugwort, their crumpled four-leaf clover, the mushroom, the rainwater. “We’re just missing the stone thing. I checked google. Did you know that you can order witch stones from people? They say they’re real, but either way it would take almost a week to get one sent here, and I don’t know where in Berk to find one naturally.” As she was talking, she pulled an egg out, cracked it into a cup, and put the innards of it back into the fridge.

“We don’t have enough time for that,” said Jack, blanching. He leaned against the island and scraped a hand through his hair. The unsaid threat loomed over them: Pitch is coming…

“We’ll do it without the stone,” said Hiccup firmly. “It’ll be fine.”

Astrid was rifling through cabinets with a great deal of banging and clanging.

Every glass container that the Hoffersons’ had appeared on the island: mason jars, Pyrex measuring cups, glass bowls. Astrid pulled her hair back and they opened the bottles that they’d gotten from Whole Foods, cracked open the capsules for eyebright and mugwort, carefully sliced off a portion of the mushroom. They poured off the top of the rainwater that was clearest into a Pyrex and boiled in the microwave. Jack watched them with his fingers holding one eye open, slowly coaxing the eye to water.

“I think we’re ready for you,” Hiccup whispered to Jack. Between he and Astrid on the island counter was the Pyrex of potion, a simmering cloudy grey.

Jack caught a couple tears on the tips of his fingers and shook them into it. It hissed a little, remaining the same color. They all stared at it. “What now?” asked Jack. “It’s too early to actually use it.” It was still light outside, late afternoon; the sun was still up.

The distinct sound of tires on the gravel driveway alerted them to an approaching car. “Ah, fuck, someone’s home.” Astrid’s eyes darted around and she shoved the potion into the nearest cupboard. “Go upstairs, we’ll do this later.” She shooed them both toward the stairs as she went to the front door.

Jack and Hiccup fled upstairs. Behind them they heard the door open, then the voice of Astrid’s mother. “Oh, you’re home, sweetie. Did you already do your homework? Here, I brought takeout, I’ll leave you some in the fridge. I can’t stay around, I have to—”

Hiccup shut the room to Astrid’s door with a click and the voice became too muffled to understand anymore.

“Is she gonna leave again?” Jack stood in the middle of the room turning around for a second, restless with impatience, then bounced off the edge of Astrid’s bed and let himself drift to the ceiling.

Hiccup felt restless too; he went to window and stared down at the new car in the driveway. “Sounded like it. Astrid’s parents are never around much. They really just sleep here.”

“That’s why Astrid is so lonely,” said Jack from the ceiling.

Hiccup’s craned his neck to look at him.

Jack seemed to read his expression and shrugged upside down. “I watched her too, sometimes. Mostly because she’s your friend. But I like her too.”

“I know,” said Hiccup. “I just didn’t realize you were so…”

“Perceptive?”

“I guess.” He turned away. They fell silent.

Astrid’s mother came and went, but before they could creep downstairs again, Astrid’s father pulled in. For a little while they could hear him downstairs, every once in awhile saying something to Astrid. The house fell quiet; the shadows grew long against the orange sunset light. As the light was disappearing into blue-grey gloom, footsteps came up the stairs and continued on past them down the hall. A minute later Astrid was cracking open the door.

“Finally,” she said, motioning them out. “Just in time. I thought he was never going to go to sleep, he took forever. Come on.”

They moved with only illumination from the overhead sink light to guide them as they gathered around the kitchen island again. Their faces, swimming in the darkening reflection of the window over the sink, looked ghostly. Hiccup’s freckles stood out stark against his skin.

Jack hovered around Astrid, not seeming to know what to do with himself, until he finally settled down on a stool right across from her, twisting his hands in his hoodie pockets.

Astrid licked her lips and tapped the edge of the Pyrex dish. “Here goes nothing.”

They all held their breath as she dipped one finger into the liquid, wiped it on the edge of her lower eyelids - one eye and then the other. She blinked several times, looked around. Her mouth twisted up into a moue of confusion.

“Maybe…maybe it takes time to work?” Jack’s voice trembled in the air and hung there for several threatening seconds.

“I don’t see anything,” said Astrid. Her voice, too, was tight and nervous.

Hiccup looked between them. Astrid’s eyes were wandering, desperate and seeking, but still going straight through Jack as though her were nothing but ghost. Jack stared back at her with his mouth pressed into a thin line.

There was a sinking, constricting feeling in Hiccup’s chest. “It didn’t work.” His voice sounded defeated. “We didn’t have the witch stone.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Astrid rammed her fist against the marble countertop. “Damn it!” she shouted. Jack and Hiccup both jumped. She swung around and left, punching the door frame on her way out, hard enough to leave small dents in the wood where her knuckles collided. “Ugh!” She stomped upstairs and slammed her bedroom door.

Hiccup didn’t follow her. He knew better. She needed a little time to cool off; then she would rant and rave, talk to him, they’d work something out and both feel better. Right now he felt sick.

He buried his eyes against his palms with a tired sigh.

There was so little time left. It felt like he was always running from it, running out of it, running with an ending snapping at his heels - yet they always seemed to be waiting for things. Now they would have to wait for a witch stone, and start everything over again. There wasn’t enough time. How was he supposed to help Jack like this? Just him? The only one who could See? He tried once and failed. He’d just tried once more and failed. What now? He couldn’t do anything. He was only Hiccup. Only human.

“I’m sorry.” He looked up, but no one answered him. The sun had gone down. It was completely dark now; he was alone in the silent, empty kitchen. When did Jack leave? Hiccup hadn’t even noticed him going. The glowing microwave clock read 8:24; he’d been sitting there for over an hour. Time had slipped away.

I can’t do this…

Moving with slow, tired movements, Hiccup stood up and crept upstairs. When he cracked open the door to Astrid’s room, she was already in bed, either asleep or faking it. He pulled off his shoes, slipped in under the covers next to her, curled up with his forehead resting against her back. Despite his breathing slowing to match hers, deep and even, it takes him a long time to fall asleep. And in the time in between, he stared open-eyed into the darkness, wondering where Jack had gone.

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