#a hawk would not go for a goose they are much too large

[creaturefeaster]

What's your dream job?🔮

I'd love to work somewhere in the field of animal biology, or just animal study/care in general. I have an interest in the processes & functionality of animal bodies that people don't fully understand yet, as well as their psychology.

It is one of my favorite things, to study an animal so closely that you begin to understand everything about it's life and why they live it they way that they do.

[vigilskeep]

Do you have any kind of analysis of Cassandra's character? I find how you talk about her so interesting and different from how the rest of the fandom refers to her

i wouldn’t say i know her very well; i’ve never yet done her personal quest and i don’t bring her out a lot. here are... some notes? displayed messily

cassandra is first and foremost a violent person. when she doesn’t know how to solve a problem, she leads with violence; her interrogation of varric, her reaction when he brought hawke to skyhold, threatening to execute solas simply for failing to produce results with his tests on the anchor when the herald was first found. chancellor roderick says this outright—and you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the chantry—but her use for divinia justinia was as a blunt tool, not capable of subtlety or diplomacy. unlike other members of the inquisition, she is not very capable of exerting power in other ways than violence, and she has spent her entire life expecting to hold power in any situation

cassandra could have been the inquisitor. she’s pretty much the obvious choice. she has to be actively dodging that to go on a wild goose chase to find the hero of ferelden and then the champion, and then still to evade it further and hand it over to the herald, who she may not even approve of. at haven, she at least appears at the war table. at skyhold, she doesn’t, having further and further removed herself from the role. if she does get along with your inquisitor, it suggests faith in your choices, following your lead. but it has a kind of different unique effect if she doesn’t rlly get along with your inquisitor, where it really feels like she’s been pushed out or allowed herself to be pushed out of the movement she started. either way her movement to be divine feels related to not having taken that lead position before

she gets very caught up in her own perspective on a situation. i think often of when she laughs at the herald and says “is that what you see?” when they ask if this isn’t still part of the chantry, which is what literally anyone normal would see. or her infamous comment to lavellan about whether or not there’s room among their gods for one more, completely missing that this would be a bizarre thing for them to ask of her. or describing varric’s andrastianism as “deep down, his heart is virtuous” to a non-andrastian inquisitor. etc, etc. it doesn’t occur to her to censor herself or consider how her words come across to other people who don’t have the same beliefs she does. she probably has mostly only been exposed to people who don’t have the same beliefs she does as idk antagonists and opposition, as the “criminals” she has to interrogate

she overthinks the consequences of her actions, the weight of history bearing down, in a way that suggests a kind of preoccupation with the assumption that her actions and life will be written of. nobody who reads as many of varric tethras’ books as she does isn’t kind of into that, despite her complaints. when a character constantly self-criticises but you only get approval from saying “no you’re totally good and cool and did the best you could!!!” and disapproval and sudden defensiveness from saying “yeah that was a bad move i’m glad you’re thinking about it”, i think i can come to some pretty safe conclusions about what that character really thinks and what they want to hear

her comments about “change” in her vision for the chantry are confusing at best, considering that she distinguishes herself from leliana almost exclusively by saying that leliana would change too much. her point is largely to restore things as they were, but all the things she’s restoring will, you know, somehow be better now. with very little discussion of how that could actually be achieved, as far as i can tell. even if i did agree with her end goal, i don’t think she would instil confidence

i don’t dislike cassandra i think she’s quite interesting but i don’t find her either admirable or sufficiently entertaining in order to want her approval or to hang out with her really so she does get a little left to the wayside in my attempted playthroughs personally

[theros]

on prey drives, or the lack thereof

a lot of nonhumans have mentioned their predatory urges or prey drives on here. it's a common topic of discussion, especially when it comes to not being ashamed of these thoughts and urges. i often see posts reminding carnivores and predators that they're not bad for having prey drives and predatory urges, and that of course these are a normal part of being a predatory animal. there is nothing to be ashamed of if you have a high prey drive or want to pounce on a small herbivore for breakfast.

but the more i think on it, i don't really have a prey drive.

i'm multiple predators; bobcat, snow leopard, kestrel, fox, coyote, cougar-- and i can't think of a single time i've looked at a small animal and thought prey.

potential food, sure-- but there was no urge accompanying the thought. just an idle recognition that that creature could be food if i were in a situation where i had to hunt it. i think humans have the same line of thought, especially if they are or have been around other humans who hunt for their food. i've known a lot of hunters in my life, so i wonder if that recognition of a deer or a squirrel or a rabbit as potential food just comes from that. it certainly doesn't have any accompanying instinct.

bobcats primarily hunt rabbits. when i see a wild cottontail outside, i don't think "i'm hungry and should catch that prey!", i think "huh. didn't expect to see a bunny in the open when there's so many coyotes around here."

small rodents are also common staples in the diets of bobcats, foxes, coyotes and kestrels. when i see a mouse or a squirrel or a rat or a chipmunk, i don't want to hunt it. that takes way too much effort.

the most my hunting instincts ever really trigger is when it comes to spotting quick traces of movement. kestrels and cats will happily snatch lizards when they can. being obsessed with reptiles now, i've taken advantage of that sense whenever i'm looking for wild lizards and snakes-- or trying to see the skittish mourning geckos in my indoor vivarium. even then, i don't watch them with the intent of eating them. if i want to catch the reptile i'm after, it will be released after i'm done looking at it and talking about its species to whoever's nearby to listen.

the thing is, foxes and coyotes are fundamentally lazy when it comes to food, foxes especially so. they're opportunists. both will happily eat roadkill and other carrion, or steal parts of other predator's kills. foxes will go for just about anything they can eat, and the less effort it takes to get, the better. eggs, worms, berries, garbage, bits off my mate's plate-- easy meals that take little effort to get are highly preferred over anything i have to hunt down. it's one of the many reasons that feeding wild foxes is a bad thing. foxes are lazy. if you can get an easy (even if unhealthy) meal from this human's backyard, why bother expending the energy to roam a territory searching for food? hell, why bother having a territory? if there's such an easy food source here, there's no need to maintain territory large enough to ensure you can find enough food for yourself. not having a territory to patrol means you can spend more time eating from the human's backyard.

the only time i ever feel that my predatory instincts really get triggered is whenever migrating goose calls push me into an arctic fox shift-- and then it's still the eggs i focus on more than the goslings. they don't struggle as much.

honestly, prey drive is the least of my concerns when it comes to alterhuman-related instincts, but the satyr's instincts should be left to their own essay.

if i wasn't a fox as well as a bobcat, would i have a prey drive? would the sight of a fawn away from its mother strike me with the desire to leap? would i want to crunch down the chipmunk in the garden or would i still watch it with the idle fascination of an already-satiated cat? would seeing the hawks circling the nearby field fill my kestrel's heart with envy because i can't fly high, scanning the ground for prey?

i don't know. but as it is, the combination of things i am has created a creature with no prey drive whatsoever, and i suppose that's okay. lack of hunting instinct doesn't make me any less what i am. hell, it may even reinforce it.

lazy fox, indeed.

[fleurcareil]

East & South Labrador

Drove this day another 406km through the boreal forest from Happy Valley - Goose Bay to the tiny hamlet of Port Hope Simpson, which brought me back to the coast, this time the eastern Labrador shore! Apart from Labrador being the "Big Land" of forests, it's also the big land of flies, which is a bit of a shock to the system after not having had any yet in my travels so far (mosquitos yes but flies are worse). There's the huge flies that sound like a bomb is ready to go off when circling your head 😳 and the tiny ones that are barely noticeable but swarm you in their hundreds. Like a woman told me earlier this week; "they all bite and they're hungry!" 🥺. I had managed to dodge the large flies as they're rather slow but impossible to escape the midgets, however generally there's much less of anything on the coast so that's good news!

I won't bore you with more pictures of ugly trees, but instead here are two from Port Hope Simpson, where - you'll guess it - the first stop was at the gas bar (although I'm back now into safe territory with more gas pumps) and then checked in before 2pm already, even including an extra 30 minute Newfoundland time change, which happens somewhere obscure on the road (doesn't really matter where, as there's nothing anyway 😅). Walked a bit around the harbour and then spent à few lovely hours along the water reading a book - A History of Time by Stephen Hawking that my sister gave me 20 years ago and which is interesting but needs to be read piecemeal, it's been a while since I brushed up on my physics! 😝

In the morning, the weather had done a 180, and changed from a sunny 28 degrees to a foggy & rainy 10 degrees😢. For the next few days, I was bundled up in my thermal underwear, woollen socks (thanks Tara for knitting them!), 3 layers of sweaters, winter coat, hat & gloves, whereas record heat temperatures were broken around the world...

I arrived early at the Mary's Harbour ferry dock so that I could still do a short hike up & down the hill to Gin Cove, which is not too special but still pretty enough and got me warmed up before boarding the little boat to Battle Harbour Historic site where I'm staying the night on the island. Despite the poor weather, I preferred to stay outside to watch for icebergs & whales (none) but I do see a puffin! 😊 With me are two elderly couples from Nova Scotia and Newfoundland who I find out are hyperactive, still scuba diving, skiing and planning a 3-week ATV road trip on their 70th, something to aspire!

Battle Harbour used to be the unofficial capital of Labrador in its heyday when it was the largest cod fishing village on the east coast and had amongst others the first hospital and Marconi wireless station. Some fishermen would stay all year, but most would travel from Newfoundland for the summer. It started declining when the school was relocated to Mary's Harbour but still operated until the cod fishing moratorium was imposed in 1992. The village is now restored and run by a historic trust, which provides visitors an opportunity to stay through all-inclusive packages. Seeing slowly the buildings come out of the clouds as the boat approaches made it even more mystical!

I'm staying in the bunkhouse all by myself (which I had already been counting on 😁) which was the original cookhouse built in the 1770's. After delicious lunch, we were given an elaborate tour of the buildings, which was really interesting as it was led by a 6th generation islander, who had lots of personal stories of how she helped salt the cod. Similarly, the handyman on the boat was one of the 10-year old boys who found a plane wreck the day after it had crashed in the fog  (and which I saw myself also in the fog), so that truly connects the history to the present...unsurprisingly, they're still bitter about what happened with the fishery as it destroyed their community, and some of the blame was given to the sharply increasing seal population since the hunt was forbidden in the 80's, which likely has a grain of truth (though most of the blame went to the federal government)... Despite the pouring rain, I decide to take a little hike around the island in the hope to spot icebergs (as there were 3 the day before) but all I got were beautiful landscapes and getting fully soaked. 😜

Over the communal dinner table, I got to know the rest of the guests; an (apparently famous) painter from Newfoundland - Jean-Claude Roy who shares the same first name as my father & comes from the same French region, his somewhat eccentric wife and a guy from North Carolina who is shooting a documentary about JCs relationship with Battle Harbour where he's been painting for over 10 years. The other group consisted of 5 Swedish sailors who toured the world on a yacht, showing breathtaking pics of Antarctica and leaving the next morning for Greenland.... Needless to say that the evening, including a black-white 1930's movie about an Artic exploration followed by beers in the pub, provided lots of interesting conversations! Compared to this lot, my road trip is really not that special😁.

I try another hike in the morning but the fog is even worse, so I give up quickly and instead play a patience card game in front of the wood stove, much better! The way back on the boat is quite rough but all is forgotten when the captain steers us along an iceberg!!💖 I had already seen quite a few in 2010 in Newfoundland but very happy I saw one again! Back on the road, the fog was really bad but when I turned the corner onto the south shore, it suddenly disappeared and I see not one but 3 white blobs on the sea! 😊 Iceberg Alley made its name true and in the next two days I saw a total of 41 icebergs; anything from little "bergy bits" to tabular, drydock, dome & pinnacle shapes, very very cool & unique in the world! Most were farther away and could only be properly seen with the binoculars, but a few were close to shore.               

The Red Bay world heritage site has an interesting history of Basque whaling and a ferry ride to Saddle Island for an interpretative hike, but there's basically nothing left (or it was reburied for preservation) so there's a lot of imagination needed to gather what was there 😂.

After a late lunch I was ready to crash in the hotel being hangover from the night before, but decided to at least drive to the start of the Tracy Hill trail, which is notorious for its 689 steps. The trail builders included corny inspirational quotes to keep you walking, and I must confess that the first one did get me to actually start: "One day or Day one?".  Apart from pretty scenery, every step seemed to show more icebergs; 22 from the top, which was a perfect way to close the day!

The next morning, I woke up again in fog (getting fed up with it now!) so at the lighthouse at L'Anse Amour, I first drank my cup of tea in the car while checking out icebergs and birds. It's the tallest lighthouse in Atlantic Canada which my legs definitely felt when walking up the steps to the Fresnel lens & active light at the top. The Strait of Belle Isle provides a 200km shorter route to Europe than around Newfoundland, but has strong currents, up to 200km/hr winds & often ice, so it has had its fair share of shipwrecks & heroic tales of rescue.

Nearby, a 9,000-year-old burial mound of a Maritime Archaic Indian child was found, representing the oldest known human remains in North America but there's now nothing to see apart from pretty dunes. In L'Anse au Clair I stop at the lovely visitor centre in an old church and do a small hike to an abandoned fishing village called the Jersey Room, after the families that settled here from Jersey island near France.

When I cross into Quebec, it's suddenly 1.5 hours earlier! The entire Atlantic and Newfoundland time zones are undone in a split second, which confuses me in my day-planning and makes it a very loooong day. Checking in at the ferry terminal (more on that later), doing groceries and lunch kept me busy for a bit and then I was off to a viewpoint where I was told you could see one of North America's largest puffin colonies... which are on that island far away in the picture below... I could definitely see with my binoculars it was full of birds but whether they were puffins or gulls?!? 😂 Nearby were again lots of Eider duck so don't think they're that special after all... they seem to do well!

Driving west to the end of the road, there were some more pretty viewpoints and a waterfall, until I reached the Salmon Bay Farm, which is actually a scallops farm located in Salmon Bay. I've toured an oyster farm when I was little in the Netherlands and didn't realize there were also scallop farms until now. After a tour of the on-land facilities and explanation how they're cultivated (interesting titbits; scallop shells grow year rings just like trees so you can count how old they are, and they have up to 200 eyes along the edge of the shell), I chose the left scallop to taste raw (both the muscle and the roe, which were very tender) and also tasted two steamed scallops, which included also the roe as well as the baleen-like frill which is used to filter the water for nutrients. All accompanied with a glass of wine & finished with local jam biscuits, great experience!

Only 15 minutes more to the west, I reach the end of the road, thereby finishing my tour of Labrador of close to 2,000km! It was a long drive of, as someone put it; "trees and rocks, then rocks and trees, and after that trees and rocks again" 🤣 but very happy to have done it and seen this part of Canada! 🍁💖

The only way to complete my loop back to Baie-Comeau is by a 2-day boat trip west until I reach the village of Kegaska where the road starts anew. There's no ferry but instead a cargo boat, so my car needs to be shipped into a container to make the voyage, a first for me! 😃 I was supposed to report this morning at 5:30am but when I dropped by yesterday, I was told that the boat got terribly delayed...likely until 10pm - midnight tonight. Good news is that I could sleep in this morning (although wide awake at 3:45 due to the time difference) and that I have an extra day here - going for a hike once this is posted, but on the flip side, I might now stay two nights onboard sleeping in a chair instead of a hotel, plus may need to cancel an excursion I had already booked for after my arrival. Mother nature is in control so hoping there won't be much more delays! 🤞

As a side note, it's shocking to realize that the time is here the same as it is in Thunder Bay, over 3,000 km to the west! No wonder that it's light so early here...

PS. the boat's departure time has just been updated to 9am tomorrow morning so I can luckily stay another night at the hotel here but will need to adjust my plans forward. It's going to be an interesting few days ahead...

Distance driven this week: 1,954km

Icebergs: 1 from Battle Harbour boat, 6 from the road, 22 from Tracy Hill, 3 from L'Anse Amour, 4 from L'anse au Clair, 6 from Blanc-Sablon

Wildlife: 1 puffin (Battle Harbour boat), 17 female Eider ducks (Red Bay) and 50+ male Eider ducks (Blanc-Sablon), 1 osprey & 50+ Merganser ducks (L'Anse Amour), 1 mink whale & 1 seal (L'Anse au Clair)

SUPs: none

Hikes: one at Mary's Harbour, one at Battle Harbour, two at Red Bay, one at L'Anse au Clair

[harveyhawkscripts]

[A4NB] Letter From a Friend [Comfort for coming out gone bad] [Nonbinary listener]

AN: Listen. I know this isn’t the usual script, more of a monologue, but I had writer’s block. I might still have writer’s block. So have something short, sweet, and super sappy.

Synopsis: The speaker and listener are best friends and roommates. The listener returns from a visit with their parents and immediately locks themselves in their room. Knowing that the listener had planned to come out to their parents, the speaker writes them a letter and slips it under their door.

Usage:

- Okay for monetization

- Please credit me as Harvey Hawk :)

- Tweaks, improv, and pronoun changes are okay! Just please do not rewrite the script completely.

Google Doc

Key:

[SFX and Action]

(.) Short Pause

(...) Longer pause

(Voice instruction)

Word Count: 655

—

[Paper unfolds]

BEST FRIEND (VOICEOVER):

Hey buddy,

By the way you’ve hid yourself away, I’m going to assume that coming out to your parents didn’t go well. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but I want you to know that I’m always here for you.

Take some time to be alone, but don’t isolate yourself for too long.

(Gently) I know you have a tendency to do that, you silly goose. Remember there are people you can go to for love and support. I know that’s what you wanted from your parents, and it’s what you deserve, but you and I both know how unfair the world can be.

It's okay to hurt. Don’t try to pretend you don’t; I can tell. You always try to hide it. You act like you don’t care what your family thinks, but I know how much you care for them.

Don’t worry, it won’t hurt forever.

When I see you, you’ll probably shrug and say you don’t need anyone’s approval to be nonbinary. This is true, but I know how broken up you were when you came out to your sister. I can only imagine how this must feel.

You said yourself that despite your problems with them, your family was your support system for so long. I know you’re torn up that they don’t accept this part of you. Especially given what a large part of you it is.

Just to let you know, I accept every part of you. It’s important that you know that.

(Amused) Remember that year when you brought me to my first Pride Fest? Thanks for that. I was so nervous, but you let me follow you around like a lost puppy and showed me all the cool events. Remember how I tripped on the train of that drag queen’s dress? That was mortifying! She was so sweet about it, though. I know that memory always makes you laugh.

When you’re ready to come out of your room, would you like to have dinner? I’m making something other than casserole! We can pop on some Muppet films if you want. Those always make you feel better, don’t they?

We can even watch Muppets from Space, even though it’s my least favorite Muppet movie and it’s not even canon. I know you love Gonzo, our nonbinary icon, but I can’t understand your affinity for what is objectively the least impressive Muppet movie. But since I love you, we’ll watch it.

And yes, I’ll fast forward through the Noah’s Ark scene in the beginning. It kinda freaks me out, too.

Make sure you hydrate! Take your medicine as well, if you haven’t.

By the way, I’m proud of you. Not just for telling your parents, but for all the growth you’ve done over the years. You’ve really come into your own, you know. Even if you say you’re not where you want to be in life, I think you’re in a pretty good place now.

Things like a house and your dream job seem far away, and maybe they are! But right now you have a roof over your head, dinner in the kitchen, and a best friend who loves you very much. I think that’s a good start. And if anyone can go far, it’s you.

Something tells me you needed that reminder. Your confidence seems to take a hit each time you visit your family. Maybe we should talk about it sometime? If you want to.

One more thing. You know who you are better than anyone else, period. There are people who will try to make you doubt your identity, but they haven’t spent the years exploring the depths of you that you have. Not even your mother knows you better. Trust and believe in yourself; your gender is your own journey. And I’m with you every step of the way.

See you when you’re ready.

END

[nite-shay]

My Neighbor: Hawks - (Takami Keigo / Hawks x Reader

Funny Idea: Your neighbor is hawks. 

Winged hero: Hawks. One of the fastest and youngest heroes pro heroes. Number 2 in hero ranks and number 1 in most eligible bachelors in all of Japan. 

And drum roll, please! *Drummy sounds* Tada! He is your neighbor! Shocking, I know, right? The title totally doesn't give it away! Nope, not at all!

Anyways, you might be wondering, 'Nite! How did that happen?'

Well.. ya see... that funny story…

Also, sorry for any typo :) 

Enjoy!

Notes: reader is 20+. No warning. Mild rating.

****

"Please be fixed. Please be fixed. "You quietly prayed as you hesitantly reached for the handle that leads to the lobby of your apartment building. 

The leasing office sent out a mass email earlier, letting all the tenants know that the central air was 'currently out of order' and they are 'working quickly to resolve the issue.' At least they were 'extremely sorry for any inconvenience this may cause and appreciate the patience of all tenants.' 

They also explained how per the lease agreements, no discounts would be provided for maintenance issues and that the full rent would still be due. 

I really need to move…

It just had to go out right smack dab in the middle of summer. And on one of the hottest days on record, no less!

You took a deep breath and pushed open the door into what could only be described as a magma cavern. Nope, you weren't on a tropical island; this was just the lobby. Damn, if it was this hot here, you can't imagine what your apartment must feel like.

You trudged your way through the muggy lobby grabbing your mail on your way over to the stairwell. By the time you made up to the very top floor, you were out of breath and drenched in sweat. Honestly, it looked like you just took a dip in a pool. Your clothes clung to every part of your sticky, overheating body. Hell, you were just happy you didn't have a heat stroke by the time you reached your front door.  

You prayed your apartment would be cooler.

It wasn't!

It was giving the stairwell a run for its money. 

Oh, hell no... NOPE! Not dealing with this.

You marched through the doorway, making sure to lock the door behind you, not like it would make much of a difference. You didn't see or hear anyone on the trip up or in the hallways. No doubt the other residences did the smart thing and retreated for someplace much cooler. You tossed the stack of mail on your end table without checking it. You'd deal with it later. More than likely, the postal carrier had mixed them up again with the tenant next door.... again...

Later problem for later me! Cool now!

You barely made it to your living room before you started peeling your sweat-soaked clothes off. Thankfully you lived alone, so you didn't have to worry about shocking anyone as you made your way to your bedroom. Tossed your clothes in the hamper before slipping into the thinnest shorts and tank top you could find. You would have said to hell with clothes in general at this point, but if you were going to cool this place off, you need to get some airflow in this place asap. That means windows and doors need to be open. 

And for the next hour, that's what you did. Every window you had was open as far as they would go, along with the sliding glass door that led to your balcony. The breeze that flowed through your home was still hot and muggy, but it was then nothing. You also gather any and every fan you had, even the pitiful little desk fan that sounded like it was on its last leg. If it ocellated or moved air in any way, shape, or form, that bitch was on high!

It took a little bit, but it felt like you could breathe as the temperature started to drop. Of course, by then, you were on the verge of dehydration and also contemplated, more than once, curling up in your fridge until that accursed flaming ball of gas in the sky went down.  

But you had food in there, and you can't waste food. Damn it.

Speaking of food...

You enjoyed a large bowl of ice cream and about three glasses of water. You reveled in the coolness of the sweet treat in your stomach, which gave you motivation for your next venture.

 A nice cool shower. 

You let the cool water flow over your whole body for what seemed like forever. Letting it wash away the stress, heat, and sweat of the day right down the drain. By the time you were done, your fingers were pruney, and the sun had descended entirely.

Damn, you were tired.

You lazily dried yourself and considered just going to bed as you were. You were on the 15th floor of your apartment building, so it wasn't like you had to worry about anyone peeking in your window. But you still didn't feel comfortable sleeping naked with your windows opened, and you really didn't want to close them. 

After a short debate, you settled on a thin tank, and underwear was a good compromise. 

Your body felt sluggish as you made your track to your bedroom. It was still relatively early, but between your job and the heat, you were completely and utterly wiped. 

Bed... Sleep... 

You showed your bed no mercy as you tore the covers off the nicely made bed and tossed them across the room. Then with no grace whatsoever, you let yourself collapse into the cool embrace of your mattress. Between the comfort of your bed and the white-nose of the fans, it didn't take long for drifted off to sleep. 

***Later that night

The summer night air was hot and humid as the Wing hero: Hawks, flew high above the city. Even at the higher altitude, the air was so thick, it felt like he was swimming in a dense swamp rather than soaring through the sky. His whole body felt sore and heavy, so much so that he was actually an effort to keep himself afloat. 

Damn, that villain really did a number on me. One more hit, and my goose would have been cooked.

The shift today had been long and hard, thanks to a tough group of villains that left him banged up and exhausted. He ended up having to get patched up at a hospital. The doc that ended up putting him back together tried to get him to stay, but he managed to talk him into agreeing on releasing him. Though, he would have flown the coupe either way. He couldn't stand hospitals or clinics. Not that there was anything wrong with those places. They just reminded him too much of the commission. Orderly. Sterile. Functional. 

Which is nice for a hospital, not for life. He has almost 20 years of experience with it to make him an expert on that subject. 

Shit got old quick….

Though honestly, it wasn't like his place was much better. It was a simple bed, one bath apartment. Top floor, of course, with a balcony that looked over the inconspicuous neighborhood it was built in. Now being the number two hero, you'd think he makes enough to live somewhere a bit more… well, expensive. But while he did live the high life, it was nice to have a place he could go and just be Keigo, not Hawks.

And speaking of, he could see his balcony coming into view. 

He swooped down over the rallying, stumbling a bit in the landing. It was pitch black, and his eyes felt as heavy as his body. Thankfully, though, he didn't fallout then there. Camping wasn't his thing, and while the balcony was rather spacious, his bed sounded much more comfortable. 

Ahh, home sweet home. 

That's weird. Did I forget to lock the door again?

He shrugged, not giving it much thought. He'd been in a hurry this morning, getting called in for an emergency issue downtown. And it wasn't like the first time he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him. Plus, he lived on the top floor; it's not like he had to worry about people just walking in off the streets. 

Lot easier targets than his humble abode. 

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Damn, it was hot. He must have forgotten to turn the AC on this morning. The apartment was hot and muggy, but he honestly couldn't have cared less. An oven sounded like a good place to take a nap at this point. His body started moving on its own towards the bedroom, stripping out of his hero costume along the way.

Bed. Sleep. Bed. Sleep. Bed. Sleep.

His mind chanted over and over, clothes would be tomorrow's problem. He didn't even bother turning on any lights as he maneuvered through the living room and down the hallway. He'd lived there for over a year, so he knew the layout like the back of his hand.

By the time he made it to his bed, he was down to only his boxers. He was about to pull those down, too, but the moment his legs came in contact with the mattress, it was like whatever energy was left was drained out of him.

He sighed and let his body fall forward across the bed that would give him the sweet relief he so desperately needed. 

Thump!

Huh? Why did his mattress feel all lumpy?

A loud shriek jolted him back to life long enough to realize that he was not alone. That the lumps in his bed weren't his covers, but a body. 

There was a person in bed.

He shifted his weight, forcing himself up as the body under him started to trash and yell.

"Huh? What are you doing in my-" He managed to murmur out before a sharp pain to the side of his head finally did him in, and his mind gave in to the darkness of unconsciousness. 

********

Your dreams were a God sent.

You were in a winter wonderland. Cool snowflakes danced all around. A cool breeze would blow every now again. It was like you could hear the clinking sound of ice hitting the window. Oh, what was that? The sound of heavy snow falling from the tree limbs? How wonderful!

So wonderful. So peaceful. So cool.  

But everything changed when you were jolted awake by something pinning you to your bed. Whatever it was, was large, heavy, and sweaty. 

You shrieked as you realized it was a person! There was a person on top of you! You trashed about trying to push the weight off of you, but you couldn't seem to get them off you. You screamed louder and struggled harder until their weight shifted.

"Huh?" The voice above you was drowsy sounding definitely that of an adult male. Your panic doubled as he shifted again, giving you a little more wiggle room. You still couldn't get free, but you took the opportunity to reach for something, anything to defend yourself with. Like hell, you were going down without a fight! Finally, you managed to wrap your fingers around something large on your bedside table. "What are you doing in my-?" You didn't let your attacker finish as you bashed the lamp into the side of his head.

He let out a loud 'off' as he rolled off the bed, giving you enough time to scrabble to the opposite side of the bedroom, hitting the lights. 

Were those....wings? 

Peaking over the side of the bed was, in fact, crimson feathers.

Who or what the fuck is that?

*******

Hawk's head pounded as he slowly stirred.

Shit, did he get drunk last night?

Slowly he opened his eyes, wincing from the light flooding the room along the memories of the night before. That's weird; he didn't remember turning on any lights.

Was it morning already?

He went to stretch his sore, aching body but quickly realized he couldn't.

He glanced down at himself and saw that yeap he was in his boxers and tied- wait.... were those power cord and... belts?

He blinked. What the hell? His upper body was bound in what looked to be a mix of various power cords and belts. Did someone break into his place and attack him? 

Who in their right mind would break into his house? He was a hero! One of the top in the country! 

He sighed as he tested the 'ropes.' Well, if this was a robbery, it was poorly planned, to put it mildly. The assailant left his wings completely free, and the binding was so poorly tied that he could slip right, with little effort. 

A squeak of a floorboard caused his head to jerk up and glare at his attacker. A person carefully stepped into his view. And well, of all the things he'd been prepared for... you weren't it. And certainly not you, in nothing but your underwear, a tank top, and wielding a lamp like it was a baseball bat. 

Well... this is... unexpected.

He could only stare at you in confusion that years of training couldn't even stop. Huh? You didn't look like a villain, much less a burglar. Honestly, you didn't look like a fighter at all. 

If you weren't a villain, then...

He mentally groaned. 

Great. You were a fan... and a crazy one at that. 

Over his career, he's had a few run-ins with crazy or obsessed fans of his. He couldn't count the number of times he's had to change his phone number or move his safe house. Even with the commission on his side, his info still got out! 

Maybe they should start hiring them instead... 

Well... at least you were easy on the eyes. He thought as he gave you a once over. Your hair was a mess, and was that a bit of drool on your chin? 

Yeap, just another crazy yet fairly active fan.

"Hey there." He greeted you with a warm smile, causing you to jump. He needed to play this out some. Escaping wouldn't be a problem, and he already had a few feathers at the ready in case you tried something. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. As irritated as he was at you, he didn't want to hurt you. You weren't a villain, just... confused. "It's not every day, I wake up to beauty like you. How about you untie me so I can introduce myself properly."

He gave you a charming smile as he watched your face go from nervous to confused and then to anger.

"L-Like, hell, I'm telling you my name after what you did!" You took a step forward and raise your weapon up slightly higher, ready to strike. "And don't flirt with me, you creep!" 

Hmm, that usually works.

"My bad. I didn't mean to offend you. If you untie me, I'm sure I can figure out a few ways to make up for it." He winked, keeping his smile friendly and inviting. He needed to figure a way out of this that didn’t involve him hurting you or land him on every news station in the country. 

*****

"You're seriously fucked up in the head, you know that! I am not untying you!" You yelled as a blush slowly crept over your cheeks. You were shocked at the stones this guy had! He broke into your home and attacked you while you were asleep. And now he was flirting with you?! Like this, a date or something! 

Something in his eyes flashes for a split second, and you saw one of his wings twitch. 

Why did he keep looking at you like that?

"D-Don't try anything! The police are on their way!" At least you hoped they were. You hadn't been able to call them, cause stupid you forgot to put your phone to charge when you got home. It was completely dead. You could only hope one of your neighbors who stayed had neared the commotion and called for help. 

"Police?" His golden bird-like eyes went wide for a moment. Did he really think you wouldn't call for help?

"Yes, the police! You broke into my home and attacked me in my sleep! What did you just expect me to call for a parade?!"

"Wait…" You could see the gears turning in his head as he glanced around your room. His eyes suddenly went wide.

"So… you're not one of my fans?"

"Fan? WHY THE HELL WOULD I BE A FAN OF A PSYCHO LIKE YOU!?!"

"Wait! This is just a misunderstanding!"

"How the hell is breaking into someone's home, attacking them in their bed in the middle of the night a 'misunderstanding'?"

"Look, all I remember is flying home. Walking through my…" The man trailed off. "Wait, what address is this?"

"Like I'd give my address to a villain?" You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"I'm already here like it's really going to make a difference?" He growled before giving you a glare. You watched as his wings poofed up a bit. "Also, watch the insults. I'm a hero, not a villain."

"Likely story." You deadpanned. "You could at least come up with something more believable than that..."

"W-wait... You don't recognize me?" You gave him a once over. "Take a really good look at me." His wings stretched out a bit. "Anything thing ring a bell?" You just stared at him blankly. Granted, he was good looking, and if he wasn't a criminal, he could easily be on the cover of a magazine. "Seriously?"

"Pretty convenient of you to pick the home of someone who doesn't follow heroes, huh?"

"More like, inconvenient. If you did, you'd recognize me in a heartbeat." He sighed. "Look, just check my pants pocket. You'll find my credentials." 

"How do I know this isn't just a trick? Or maybe they're fake." 

"It's not a trick! Look, if you're that worried, just get your phone and google me. I'm the wing hero: Hawks." Huh? Why would he suggest that? He wouldn't know about your phone... so why would he tell you to get it? You could call for help. That should be the last thing he wants. You pondered for a moment. 

****

"Fine, I'll check. But this better not be a trick," You paused. "cause if it is, I got another lamp with your name on it!" He watched as you gradually made your way towards his discarded clothes. While you searched for his wallet, he glanced over to the shattered remains of what he assumed was your first weapon. 

Well, that explains the small blood trail on the side of his head and his headache. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, you found it. You made your way back to him as he watches you juggle, keeping your on him, holding the lamp, and reading his ID. 

"Hero license, Hero: Hawks, Name: Takami Keigo." You mumbled as your eyes darted between the ID's picture and himself. He could still see the doubt in your eyes. Damn, if this didn't work, he was going to have to free himself. Hopefully, he'd be quick enough to do that and subdue you without hurting you much. "Wait… Takami… Keigo.." Your eyes went wide, and he had to admit, his name sounded a little too good coming from you. "Wait! That's the name on the mail that keeps getting put in my box!" A look of realization and shock washes over you. "You're my neighbor!"

"Ah, so you're the one that's been slipping my mail under my door!" He couldn't help but smile and sigh internally. Finally, somethings going right! " Nice to finally meet you! Sorry I haven't had a chance to introduce myself before now. Work keeps me pretty busy."

"You're a hero… and you're my neighbor…." Your eyes were wide as you stared at him. 

"Looks that way."

"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BREAK INTO MY HOME!"

"It was an accident! I swear! I was exhausted and just flew to the wrong balcony. Honest. The glass door was open, and I didn't even realize I was in the wrong place." He tried to reason with you.

"Didn't you think it was a little strange that the furniture wasn't yours, or how about the fact that I was IN the bed?"

"Like I said, I was exhausted." He just shrugged before mumbling. "And well, let's just say you wouldn't be the first time a fan found where I lived and tried to surprise me in bed."

".... so you thought I was some psycho who broke into your home just to try and sleep with you…" You glared at him, clearly annoyed. "You realize I'm still holding a weapon right now, and remember..." You gestured with the lamp. "I gotta pretty mean swing..."

"Easy there, Chickadee. I'm joking. And I wouldn't call you psycho just... A little touched in the head." That earned him a glare that made him chuckle. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"You like pissing people off, don't you?"

"I've been known to ruffle some feathers from time to time." 

"Look," You sighed as you tried to process everything that just happened. "This is just... too much..." You sat the lamp down finally. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"No worries. This one on me." He made a move to stand. 

"Oh, here, let me..."

"All good, I got it." He stood up, letting the restraints fall off of him like they weren't even there, let alone tied. 

"H-how did y-you?" 

"Oh, yeah. Word of advice, ya might wanna work on knots." He chuckled as he stretched.

"Y-You could have gotten free at any time… why didn't you?"

"Like I said, I'm a hero." He walked forward while you moved to the side, eyes still wide-eyed." If I'd freed myself before you realized who I was, you would have freaked out. Honestly, the last thing I want is for you to get hurt or you to go screaming down the hallway in your underwear." He informed you as your face turned beet red, and you then tried to pull your shirt down. He laughed at the poor attempt to hide. "Well then, gotta say this would make a hell of a story, but I'd really appreciate it if we kept this between us." He could help but tease you more. You looked so damn cute when you're flustered. "Not to brag or anything, but I'm a pretty well-known hero and have a reputation to uphold." He sent out a few of his feathers to help gather his gear while he talked to you. You were so entranced watching his feathers work that he had to repeat himself again.

"I-I-I… Yes!" Your eye finally snapped back into focus on him. "Of course! Just between us!"

"Great! Glad that's settled." He took a step towards you and held out his hand. You finally got the message and handed his wallet back to him. "My superiors and PR would have my tail feathers if this got out." He ginned. "Well, would you look at the time!" He grinned while making his way to the sliding glass door and out to the balcony, his floating clothes trailing behind him. "Best be on my way. I have an early shift in the morning. Sweet dream angle." And with that, he stepped out to the balcony and fluttered over to his.

Damn, what a night!

*****

Extra:

The next morning.

You woke up late, groggy and sweaty. The AC was still out, and your apartment was slowly heating up. 

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself out of bed, put on shorts, and headed to the kitchen.

Last night was a hell of a night. 

Your neighbor is a hero... 

What are the odds of that?

You reached up into your cabinet and pulled down your favorite cereal.

Whatever, he can't be that good if he made that big of a mistake, right?

You quickly made your breakfast and headed for your balcony. There was a slight breeze blowing that morning, making it almost bearable outside.

Almost...

Huh? What's that?

There was a large brown bag sitting on your patio table.

That wasn't there before...

You sat your bowl down and picked it up. Whatever it was, it was a decent size and heavy. You opened the bag, and the first thing you found was a note.

'Sorry again about last night. Here's a little gift for you to make up for it. 

Bet you could do some real damage with this one. Batter up, chickadee!

Your neighbor,

-Hawks'

You reached further into the bag and pulled out... a lamp?

It was made out of wood and metal, making the damn thing large and pretty heavy. It was well made and couldn't have been cheap! You pulled it further out of the back, and when you saw the shape of the body, you couldn't help it: you busted out laughing. The damn thing was in the shape of a roaster!

Your neighbor... is a hero... and a strange one at that...

********

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

[an-anaemic-pen]

Dance of the Little Swan I.iii

Dance of the Harpy

Prelude || Overture

Summary: The Jötnar were thought to be long-since-gone within the mortal realm. Amidst all of her fakery, Mommy Fortuna holds Loki, trapped in birth from and far from what he once considered home, as well as another little treasure: a swan maiden.

(Yes, this is a crossover, but the Last Unicorn is fairly minimal plot-wise and it’s largely a Loki fic)

Relationships: F/M (Loki/Original Female Character, Molly Grue/Schmendrick)

Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content)

Loki’s skin had returned to its usual color after a few days.

The little girl attracted much attention, and Mommy Fortuna was making quite a profit—not that Ceana even  knew anything about how the hag handled her money. The only thing she knew was that Mommy Fortuna looked something brushing against happier than usual and Ruhk had asked for a raise.

They’d been carted across the land for about a week since she and Loki had last spoken.

One night, Ceana had woken up to find his crimson eyes watching her  far  too intently.

She had not slept as well since.

The carts were rattling down a dirt path between two of the larger towns. Out of nowhere, there was a loud screech.

Ceana’s gaze bolted upward. In the cloudy evening sky, she saw a silhouette; the most terrifying silhouette she could possibly imagine. Of course, she’d heard of the harpy in tales, but never imagined she’d come across one in real life.

She was circling the caravan like a hawk, her eye beedy.

By work of the witch’s magic, the cloak, pinned at the tip of her cage, fell down in one movement. Ceana was left in darkness. The cage rattled more as the horses grew uneasy.

Anticipation was pressing against her being. Her heart was pounding, and she sat frozen, barely able to breathe as she waited for the attack. Harpies had keen senses of smell, didn’t they? Could she smell Ceana beneath the covering?

It did not matter, Ceana knew, because the Jötunn would most certainly find her to be a perfect meal.

The harpy cried out, and adrenaline spiked her system.

Ceana squirmed around the prison, desperately reaching out in an attempt to grab the covering and see what was going on. She was able to lift it up enough to see the front of the caravan was—

Still?

It had halted, her cart stopping not long after. She heard another cry, a loud crash, and the splintering of wood. Ceana rushed to the other side of her prison, looking to the back of the caravan.

The giant creature had landed atop Loki’s cart, her sheer mass breaking the roof of his prison. She spread her wings, knocking the cart over as she lifted off. Ceana covered her cage, curling up in a ball and wrapping her arms around her head.

Smaller prey would surely not be as enticing as the horses, who were far more substantial than she. If she had the luck to escape the harpy alive, perhaps she could escape Loki without losing a limb, as well. Ceana hoped her luck could hold out for that long, especially after being so poor for the period of time she had been imprisoned.

It felt like the horse was attempting to break free of his holds. Ceana’s cage fell from its base, knocking her to the ground. She could feel her body bruising as she slammed against the metal.

The world outside her dark little haven was muffled havoc. She could hear grunts and garbled yells, they were Ruhk’s, she realized, as well as Mommy Fortuna calling out spells. A grotesque squelch entered her ears as the witch’s voice was rather abruptly cut off.

Chills ran along her entire body. Ceana felt faint.

“Awaken, swan.”

Ceana did not wish to. The world of sleep was quiet and warm, and she did not have to deal with the poking hands of those in the crowd. An icy palm touched her shoulder, and Ceana’s eyes flickered open. She lurched away from the freezing touch, banging her head against something hard.

“Stay still, lest you wish to die,” the voice was demanding, yet also surprisingly gentle.

After a few moments of awkward half-staring and much blinking, Ceana was able to get her eyes to focus. The clouds had cleared to reveal the sun. The blazing sunset framed him, the orange a sharp contrast to his blue skin.

Ceana was still inside her cage, and her cloak felt like it had been draped over her form.  He has seen me, then.

She stared at him with wide eyes as he reached through the door of her cage, which looked to have been forced open since the lock was broken, and flinched when he touched her. He had not done so since the ship, and she expected his palm to be cold, but it felt…  normal —if that was the correct phrase.

Ceana did something at least akin to relax when he next spoke. “You are hurt,” he said.

Ceana’s eyes followed his arm to where he was lifting her shin to inspect it. Only now did she notice the large scrape across her skin and realize how much it hurt. Her head panged and she carefully lifted her hand.

Her arm didn’t hurt outside the dull ache caused by a bruise, and she gingerly felt the pain on her head. Thankfully, it was just a bump; her mother had always called them goose-eggs. The memory made her smile softly—she missed her family.

Loki ripped off a large section of the cloak and Ceana yelped in surprise; he flinched at the volume of her voice. She immediately held the remaining cover closer against her.

“Must you  scream  when I am trying to  help you?” He proceeded to grab her leg.

When Ceana attempted to kick him, he simply gripped her tighter. She struggled against him with all of her might—not that there  was  much. So, he grabbed her foot with his free hand, pinning her against the cold metal of the cage.

“Don’t eat me!” Ceana yelped and tried to scramble back. She had been hoping she would sound threatening, or at least defensive, but it came out as more of a plea.

He barked out a laugh. “Perhaps I won’t if you sit still.”

The ‘perhaps’ was all it took for her to be subdued. She hadn’t been eaten by the harpy, so perhaps her luck would hold out.

“Good.” He wrapped her lower leg in the scrap of cloth, tying it tightly enough that it wouldn’t come loose, but not so tightly that it was uncomfortable.

Then, he offered her his hand.

Ceana looked at it, half dumbfounded that she was still alive.

“Would you like me to leave you in the cage to starve?”

Ceana only had half her mind when she answered: “no.”

“No,  Your Highness.”

She bit her lip. He  had just helped her, as he said he would. “No, Your Highness.” She wrapped the cloak around her as best as she could before hesitantly taking his hand. Against his blue palm, her hands appeared even smaller and more delicate.

Loki hoisted her up, one hand holding hers while the other wrapped carefully around her waist. Ceana couldn’t tell whether it was to help support her and keep her body covered by the cloak, or to have an excuse to touch her. Perhaps it was both? She didn’t know much about mortal men, let alone  Jötnar.

Once she was safely out of the cage, Loki released his grasp. Ceana noticed him avert his gaze and she took the chance to rearrange the cloth into a makeshift dress of sorts. She grabbed the covering of her cage, splayed out across the grass in a disheveled heap, and wrapped it around her shoulders as an extra layer.

Then, she heard a quiet sob.

It wasn’t coming from Loki, of course, but from the general direction he was standing in, relative to Ceana. She took a few steps towards the noise, limping slightly as she went.

  “You’re welcome.”

She raised her hand dismissively. Ceana knew she’d probably pay for that later, but she felt a maternal urge rise from somewhere within—gods only knew where—and she  needed  to find what was causing that sound.

She heard Loki not-so-subtly mutter “ungrateful wretch,” but she ignored it.

Ceana attempted to hurry her pace, and her foot got caught in the cloak’s trailing hem. She tripped, tumbling to the ground most ungracefully. The grass swished as someone walked past her. Then, the sobbing grew louder.

By the time Ceana was able to gain her footing again, the Jötunn had wrangled a small being from a cart’s wreckage and was carrying the screaming thing over to her. She realized it was the little girl, who was currently trying desperately to free herself from the tight grasp of the Jötunn.

He shoved the child into her arms and Ceana attempted to comfort her. When the screeching thing wouldn’t relax in her arms, Ceana put her down on the ground. She only had a minimal amount of experience with human children—her younger sisters were in swan form until they fully matured.

“Hey, hey, hey.” She began to shush the child—Annie, she decided to call her—and gently put her hands on the little one’s shoulders. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ceana glanced behind her. Loki was rummaging through the dead body that once belonged to Ruhk, his hands getting covered in blood as he sifted through the carnage.

Ceana opted to turn Annie around so the already-traumatized child would not see, shifting, so she was still in front of her. Then, she reached out, wiping away the tears streaming from Annie’s big blue eyes. Her hair was strawberry blonde, and she looked as she had before Mommy Fortuna had cast the illusion.

Ceana assumed that the old hag had gotten what she deserved.

“I know I’m not your mamma, but I can take care of you until we find her.” Ceana did not even know if the poor girl had a mother.

Annie seemed to begin to realize that Ceana was not going to hurt her, and ran into her arms, burying her face into Ceana’s chest.

She smiled softly, running her fingers through Annie’s tangled hair and picking out wood chips. The fact the girl had managed to survive with a just a few scrapes and bruises was a miracle, and Ceana found herself thanking the gods.

She glanced at Loki, who had moved on to another one of Mommy Fortuna’s henchmen.

Now that her racing heart was beginning to start the process of slowing down, Ceana realized that she felt…  free.  She had not felt that way since Mommy Fortuna had taken her feather.

Her sisters never told her about their hearts feeling confined after they were married. If she ever saw them again, she would have to ask them.

The feeling of freedom did not last long, however. She could hear Loki looting the bodies as Annie’s sobs quieted and the little one fell asleep. Annie was not at all heavy, but it felt like a moose had settled its weight upon her chest, and Ceana had to catch her breath for a moment.

She turned to the Jötunn. He was smiling.

He held up a woven garment of twigs which Ceana had used to make an armband; a small tail feather had been attached before she turned for the first time. Now, the feather was broken, snapped in two and barely hanging together where it was still held in one piece.

Loki walked up to her. When she tried to take her feather, he snatched it away. “For now, little swan, you are  mine.”

Her sisters had told her marriage was a wonderful thing. It was part of the legend—as long as the swan maiden put her feather out, a good, loving man would find it and become her husband. She would be bound it him, but he would be good to her. It was a fair trade, Ceana had thought. A male counterpart of her kind did not exist, so it was necessary for the maidens to find husbands.

But her feather had not brought her a good husband—it had not brought her a husband at all, and now, she was bound to a Jötunn who claimed he was the God of Lies. The weight over her heart told Ceana that Loki would  not  be good in any way.

“Come, swan, we must leave.” It was practically a purr. He knew the power he now held, dangling it over her head like a piece of bait.

Ceana pulled Annie against her, picking the child up and cradling her as she stood. Loki, thankfully, helped her up, but Ceana tore her arm from his grasp. The little child did not stir.

“We must find a brook to clean your wound. While you were addling about hugging that thing, I found the food supply and packed as much as I can carry.”

“Am I not going to carry it,  Your Highness?”  Ceana wasn’t exactly sure as to where the snark had come from, or why she was asking in the first place.

“You are  weak,  and it would slow us down. Do you recognize this area?”

She did not want to answer him. So, she didn’t. The legend dictated that she could not leave him, but she did not have to obey his every command, either.

“Speak,  unless you want me to make you my next meal.” He bared his teeth.

Her heart skipped a beat, and Ceana held onto Annie a little tighter. “No, I don’t know where we are.”

“Address me with my given title.”

“No, Your Highness.”

“The entire sentence.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do not question me,  swan—”

“Your Highness, you  are  aware that I have a name, correct?”

He scoffed. “Of course, Ǣsbiǫrndóttir. I merely figured you would not wish to grow too…  personal.” He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb running over her lower lip and sending icy relief to it. She could feel how swollen it was near the corner, most likely from accidentally biting herself while tumbling around in the cage.

It felt oddly intimate to have a hand cupping her cheek, so Ceana turned away. He lowered his hand, eyes glowering, and began to walk towards the sun.

Ceana decided to make the best out of a bad situation. “Do you plan on traveling all night? It would be best to remain here until the morning.”

The Jötunn looked at her, pondered, then spoke. “Very well. Find a place to put the child, then set up a camp while I will go collect wood. We leave at dawn.” Then, he walked away.

It was a small fire, but the Jötunn, no surprise, stayed far away. Annie was still sound asleep, curled up amidst one of the covers. Loki had been kind enough to drag all of the bodies into one of the largest coverings, wrapping them up so they were out of sight. He said he would set them alight once they left.

Ceana was unlucky to have seen the remains of the witch. She now stared at the fire, trying to burn the image of the blood and various gore-ish organs out of her memory.

“What do you know of this place?”

Ceana looked up but said nothing.

“It was not a request, swan.”

Her lips pursed and she sighed in annoyance. “Not much, Your Highness.”

“I require the  actual information,  not a rough amount.”

Her eyebrow cocked, and Ceana blinked. “The way these people talk tells me that we are in Scotland. I would say we are somewhere in the highlands.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I know a few tales that are common across the land, if you would like to hear them.”

He seemed genuinely interested. Ceana did not believe him. “What creatures do you know of?”

She thought of every story she had heard while in the colder months, when she migrated south to stay with warmer weather. “I’ve heard of the Loch Ness Monster, Kelpies, and Selkies many times, as well as the Sídhe and spirits known as Fuathan. More uncommonly, I’ve heard of the three Siths, and only a couple of tales of the unicorn and the Sluagh.”

“Tell me of these creatures.”

“The Loch Ness Monster is a serpent-like monster. Not much is known about her other than her location. Kelpies are water spirits that appear as horses, luring their victims to ride them, then taking them off into the waters to drown them. Selkies are similar to those like myself, except they are seals, rather than swans, and the Sídhe are little humans the size of my smallest finger with wings, known for their work of mischief. I believe Fuathan are spirits in general, as I have not heard them be specified.”

“What of the three Siths? Are they something akin to the Nornir?”

Annie stirred and Ceana placed her hand lightly on the girl’s upper arm, soothing her back to sleep. She shook her head when Annie relaxed again. “The siths are three phantoms, unrelated other than the fact they all hail from the highlands. I do not know what their individual names are, but they are malevolent spirits.”

“What do you know of the Unicorn?”

Ceana blinked and followed Loki as he got up from the makeshift cloak he had made from one of the coverings—which Ceana, of course, was tasked with carrying when he grew too hot—and threw a plank of wood on the fire. He hissed when a wayward ember landed on his leg. He flicked it away and stalked back to where he had originally been, settling down on his cloak.

“Unicorns are rare creatures. They can only be seen by other magical creatures and pure-of-heart virgins. They hold rejuvenating magic unlike any other, and even the smallest amount of dust from a crushed horn can cure any illness or curse.”

“And the Sluagh?”

Chills ran down her spine. She had only heard one tale of the Sluagh, from an estranged man at the coast on her first migration being able to turn human. She and her sisters were resting on a beach when she turned into a maiden, walking around and growing more adjusted to her arms and un-webbed toes.

She’d run into the man, who didn’t seem to notice that she was completely uncovered, and he had gripped her by the shoulders desperately. “Beware the Sluagh,” he’d said, “vicious, vicious things, the restless dead coming from the west. You won’t make it out alive—not a pretty thing like you. No, the strongest warriors barely escape their hunger.”

Ceana had taken his shaking hands in hers. “Hunger?”

He’d leaned in so close their noses brushed against each other. “Flesh,” he’d whispered. “Warm, soft, human flesh.” He’d collapsed after that.

Ceana had promptly called her sisters and her mother, who had come with them. She’d pronounced him dead, and they’d flown off after that.

Ceana had not seen any Sluagh. Or perhaps she had and just hadn’t realized it; the man hadn’t exactly told her what they looked like.

“They are vicious flesh-eaters, Your Highness. Only the strongest of warriors barely escape them.”

“Flesh-eaters?” He barked out a laugh. Ceana briefly wondered as to why a supposed god’s laugh was so harsh. “I suppose every land has their legends.”

“You do not believe they are real?”

Loki sighed and lay down on his back. He absent-mindedly played with the broken feather, still attached to her armband. As if on impulse, he ripped the feather from the twigs and threw the woven article into Ceana’s lap. “You may keep that part; I have no use for it.”

“You did not answer my question, Your Highness.”

She barely noticed his crimson irises flicker in her direction. “I am a prince of the Nine Realms, girl,  I answer to none.”

She licked her lips, only then realizing how thirsty she was.  It will have to wait.  She didn’t want to leave Annie alone with the creature who might still eat both of them.  Power in numbers. She settled down, wrapping her cloak around her body like a cocoon and closing her eyes. She tried to ignore the innate and unmistakable sense that she was being watched.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Please gush more about this wings AU thing

aaaAAAAAA sir you’ve opened the floodgates

K so most things are similar to canon? But there’s wings and that’s fun. Luz is just a common lil house sparrow, nothing particularly special about her. Eda, on the other hand, is a whole melting pot. Hybrids between different species are a thing, but the thing is, the hybrid traits show up in color and mannerisms of said bird. Wing shape sticks to only one specific species. Eda got the owl gene, but has a mess of other birds in her, too. She’s got raven (shiny things), cardinal, scarlet tanager, vulture, probably goose, and many others. Lilith was given the raven wing shape, which added to the reason on why she dyed her hair, so she can at least look like a pureblood.

Willow was pretty easy, hummingbirds fit her Aesthetic. But she’s also Buff, and I thought it’d be funny if she was a giant hummingbird, since those bad boys are, as far as I know, bigger than house sparrows. Gus was a little more difficult. I wanted a small bird, but I didn’t know which. Then I looked up the white-breasted nuthatch and found that 1. they are very loud. 2. they will fight bigger birds. So obviously I had to go with that. Gus is babey but he is loud and he will fight. probably a bit of a mix with chickadee or finch in there somewhere, too. A fast bird just seemed to fit Amity. But I wanted a fast but dainty-ish bird, not like a hawk or eagle. She was almost a gyrfalcon, but mutuals thought an american kestrel would fit her better. They are tiny, they are fast, and they are babey. Mattholomule was obvious. Shrikes are assholes. That’s just how it is. Boscha gave off the vibe of a bird of prey who would destroy me. But parrots could also bite my face off without blinking so I went with pretty and deadly. Lovebirds have a color similar to Boscha and also her being a bird with that name was funny so I chose it. Skara as a songbird was obvious, she’s in the bard track after all. So a nightingale was inevitable. Simple feathers, but with a beautiful voice. Viney,,,,,,honestly I just thought of birds that hang around other animals and came up with Oxpecker. She’s also probably a bit of a melting pot with dove, egret, and a couple different starlings. Jerbo is tall. Secretary birds are tall. Enough said. Belos was almost a bearded vulture, but I decided against it. I decided “let’s give him the biggest wings imaginable. simply because I can” so I chose the wandering albatross, the bird with a wingspan of twelve feet. Yeah, they’re thin, but these guys can also fly for a really long time, and idk, I thought the threat of that looked interesting.

In this AU, the rich don’t really,,,,fly. Flying, in the high-class, is seen as too much work. People who don’t fly are seen as powerful because they have better things to do, or they simply have no need for it. This has led to a couple of high-folk simply,,,,,not knowing how to fly. Also a lot of wing muscle issues. The twins can fly, not well, but they can fly. Amity, on the other hand.....can’t. At all. Of course, nobody else knows this. Choosing not to fly is one thing, but not knowing how is a disgrace. 

Luz is a different story. She uses her wings all the time, which helps strengthen them. It’s not just because she flies often, but because she is constantly moving them. She uses them as extra hands to push and pull things, she flaps them excitedly and hovers an inch or two off the ground when excited, she hangs them when she’s tired or sad, she flares them when she’s mad, and she just moves them around when she talks or is showing off something. She simply cannot hold them still. Which is fine for her, since sparrow wings are small and thin, but for Eda, who also moves her wings a lot, it’s a hassle. It’s a common occurrence for something to fall over in the Owl House because neither of these two can hold still.

Also, they have more than just wings. That’s some weak shit right there. They’ve got tails, patches of feathers, can make chirps similar to their species, if their species has crests of feathers or a certain piece of feather(s) that stands out, it shows up. Along with dots of color if it stands out. Peacocks have those three frills on their heads plus faint whites around their eyes, turkeys have those dangly things I’m too lazy to look up the name of, and sometimes the size of the bird affects a person's height. The whole sha bam. It’s hell for Eda, who’s a blend of at least 5 different birds. What surprise will today bring? Who knows!

There’s also of course, accessories and fashion for wings. Jewelry, ribbons, scarves and silk that can be pinned or pierced on wings and sometimes tails. Of course, the rich have the most lavish, but the prettier ones are usually very heavy and weigh down flight near completely. And trying to fly with ribbons or silk around wings is difficult, and can tangle and cause birds to crash. In fact, some types of silk or techniques for fashioning wings are banned or heavily mandated due to the hazards and accidents that occur. Fake feathers are also a thing, usually for those who want their wings to look more grand, hide knives in their wings, or, recently, to hide clipped wings. Binding wings are also a thing, though they are typically only for prisoners or for people with such big/broken wings that they can’t keep them closed properly. These are usually covers that wrap around the entire abdomen to keep the wings shut, but for people who don’t want others to know they need them binded, there are thin strings that stretch across the backs of wings that hold them shut or up at a certain angle. Some people put painful pricks right underneath their scapulars to keep their wings at a regal posture. There are also piercings. Some are rings, some are simply nubs. A common piercing is to piercing the base and tip of the membrane and hang a thin chain between the two. Emperor Belos has a tradition of stabbing hooks through the membrane of prisoners and hanging them by their wings alone before they are to be petrified. 

There’s also a little unofficial tradition with gifting feathers. A person will pluck a feather from their wings (sometimes tails but that’s more uncommon) and give it to someone. The more important the feather, the more you mean to someone. It’s not inherently romantic, it’s more of a way you show you care about someone, but it can be. Scapular (base feathers) and primary feathers are the important ones. They’re the feathers that are the closest to said person or their the feathers that are required for flight, they’re usually shown off with pride when they’re gifted to someone. Often a simple string with the single feather on it, but earrings and bracelets are also used. 

Luz has a necklace each from her friends and family. She has a primary feather from her mother, a primary and scapular feather from Eda, a primary covert from Willow, and a secondary covert from Gus. She would later get a secondary feather from Amity that would eventually be replaced with a primary feather. She keeps them all on one necklace in her room and switches them up every now and again. Sometimes she’ll wear only one feather, sometimes she’ll wear a few, or all at once. There’s no particular pattern, she just wears what she wants to that day. 

The grom note in Enchanting Grom Fright is replaced with Amity wanting to give someone a marginal covert feather (she was going to go with scapular but decided that might be too much). Luz going with her to grom coincides with her gifting a secondary feather to Amity, and Amity gifting the same type back. Amity kept that feather with her at near all-times as a necklace she hides under her shirt. A secondary and primary covert feather from Willow and Gus respectively would soon join Luz’s every now and again.

Luz would also teach Amity how to fly, once she realizes that Amity can’t. Course it’s in secret, nobody can know that Amity Blight can’t fly, but Willow and Gus do show up to help. Thing is, it hurts. Amity has barely used her wings in fourteen years. Her parents always made her hold them at a certain angle and she could barely express herself with them. They were more like large pieces of jewelry than anything. So when first learning to fly, she has to stop after only ten minutes, because her wings hurt. They ache and cramp and she’s convinced it’s too late for her to learn how to fly, her wings simply aren’t used to it. Luz, not one to back out on her word, basically becomes a coach instructor. Once a week she drags Amity off into a clearing where nobody else is and basically chucks her into the sky (stronk wings). And after a while, Amity’s able to go longer while gliding or warming up her wings. Ten minutes becomes fifteen, then twenty, then thirty, and suddenly, she can go over an hour practicing without getting tired. And you better believe she shows off to Willow and Gus. Maybe even Lilith a little bit during training, though that’s mostly on accident. Races, of course, happen a lot. 

I’m already ramblin’ a lot and I do wanna write this eventually, so I’ll stop here for now. But know that there are romantic flights, Amity’s parents do not like the ‘common species,’ wings can be clipped, Eda is not immune to wing injury, and Barcus is trying to avoid all the bird drama, unsuccessfully.

[anthonyed]

stevetony + no. 99 (“I fell in love with you, not them.”)? only if you want to, of course. no pressure! :)

ive said this before: i LOVED writing this. hopefully you like cats ♡

-//-

Tony says it started like this: 

One afternoon, Tony barged into Pepper’s office because he conveniently forgot how to knock and caught her rolling a miniature lint roller up her suit sleeve. 

She startled with her high pitched, “Oh my god, Tony!” But, Tony was too fascinated by the lint roller that he kept advancing with a singular focus.

“What is that?”

Pepper bristled, “It’s a lint roller. Why are you here? I told you I don’t want to see you for at least four hours.”

Oh. Right. She was still upset about something Tony did during the board meeting. Menial stuff, unimportant, anyway -

“I know what it is, what I meant is, why are you using that in here?”

At this point, he’s close enough to catch the very fine blonde hair stuck on the roller. “Are you trying to bury the evidence of your boyfriend, Miss Potts? Because while that is very thoughtful, I have a feeling he’d be -,”

“It’s not a boyfriend,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “With you as my boss I don’t have such time -,”

Tony on the other hand, while Pepper was talking, snagged the roller from her hand, “This is - This is not - Ah CHO!”

Pepper winced. 

Tony’s jaw dropped. 

“Miss Potts,” he asked, deadly calm. “I thought you read and signed all the clauses when you agreed to be my personal assistant.”

“I did, Mr Stark.” Pepper's lips thinned.

Tony dropped the roller on her table; the miniature thing completing two circles before stopping in front of her.

“Then why are there cat hair all over you?”

-

Despite what Tony likes to think, according to Pepper it started like this:

"Who is that?" Tony asked, low whisper, eyes like hawk fixed on the blonde man with a pink cap - 

"Oh!" Pepper exclaimed, leaning sideways and waving to catch the guy's attention. "That would be my lunch."

From the cat cafe, Pepper didn't say. Instead, she hurried out of the room to meet the delivery staff before he could enter; didn't want to risk putting the man responsible for her paycheck in close contact with the one thing he's allergic to: cats' fur. 

Now, Pepper doesn't know exactly what Tony thought that day, but when she reentered the room after shoving a 20 dollars bill into the guy's hand, she found Tony to be in some kind of… stupor. 

She stopped where she stepped in. The door closed behind her and she asked, "Tony?"

Tony startled. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"What? No!"

"Is he single?"

"Tony -,"

"Who is he?"

Pepper paused. Then she promptly decided to play hard - because secretly she is a menace and Tony is right. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Fast forward the next day; she saw Happy exiting her beloved cat cafe and entering the limo he drives to drop Tony off at work.

She didn't even hesitate; she pulled open the passenger door and slid into the empty seat.

"Fancy seeing you here," she cocked her head, smiling syrupy sweet. 

Tony Stark stared wide eyed, like he'd been caught red-handed with a cookie jar.  

"Ah HAH!" Pepper pointed at him. 

No matter how much Tony denied: "It is not what you think it is!", don't believe him. 

It was exactly what it was. In fact, that was how it started.

-

But Steve never talked to Pepper as much as he talked to Tony. So he obviously thought what Tony claims is right.

That the reason the wildly famous Tony Stark started frequenting Bucky's cat cafe is because he loves cats, and the moment he learned his PA had been hiding this cafe’s existence from him, he bribed her with fancy shoes to get the address. 

Happy would say, bullshit. 

But as it is, Happy works for Tony and Tony bribes him with a free sandwich of the day every time they visit the cafe to keep his trap shut. 

(What can Happy do in the face of excellent sandwiches and delicious Caramel Macchiato? They do say it’s hard to get the caramel swirls on top of the whipped cream right, and whoever makes his drink does it perfectly each time. So at least for the love of that talent, Happy keeps his mouth shut.)

So, when Bucky taps the caramel bottle on the counter and grumbles, “Are you gonna ever ask him out?” - Steve blushes the deepest shade of pink and pries his eyes away from Tony.

“Why would I ever do that?” He busies himself with… nothing.

“Uh, I don’t know Stevie, maybe the fact that he keeps coming back here asking for this vile shit," he pauses to press the cap delicately over the large Caramel Macchiato. "Or that he’s giving you pathetic googly eyes all the time?” 

Bucky glares at Steve then he directs that glare at the drink he loathes making the most with all the venom in the world. 

“Wherever he’s putting this cursed thing into," he shoves it at Steve. “Here. Go call for your knight in… whatever the fuck he’s wearing.”

Steve turns to look at where Tony’s sitting; in the far left corner in the back of the cafe; in his pinstripe suit and daisy dotted tie paired with white, also daisy dotted, sneakers and a pair of orange-tinted glasses. 

Alpine - Bucky's white Turkish Angora - sits pristinely on the table in front of Tony looking like she’s giving him a lecture on something - like father, like daughter - while Tony stares right back at her challengingly. 

Liho, who’s Natasha’s favourite kitten (no matter how fervently Natasha denies having a favourite at all) is lounging next to Tony, tail draped lazily over his lap. Mrs Berry in all her tortoiseshell glory, is licking her butt on Tony’s left. Grey Mr Goose is sniffing Tony’s shoes and rubbing up his shin. 

Behind the cash-counter, Steve sighs like the hopeless man he is. Bucky’s bemused gaze bores into him steadily.

Steve bristles, “I don’t see what’s wrong with what he’s wearing.” Because as much as Bucky’s wrong about Tony being interested in Steve in any way, he is right in assuming that Steve is. 

As a matter of fact, he’s balancing precariously between sanity and lovesick insanity and with every visit from Tony, he’s tipping dangerously towards the latter. Fantastic.

“Idiot,” Bucky snorts, turning to the kitchen. "At least ask him to change the fucking order. For fucks’ sake.”

Which leaves Steve alone with Tony, since it’s 8.30pm on a Tuesday and the cafe would never see a slower business hour than that.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Steve puts the drink on a tray and checks his reflection on the microwave’s shiny surface - courtesy of Phil, their clean-freak coworker - before he moves.

It’s both scary and amazing how each time he makes his way to Tony, his heart would pitter patter and trip in its running behind his ribcage. So is the way he’d inhale sharply, lashes fluttering when they lock eyes and Tony smiles and -

Steve could just die right then and there. 

-

The first time Steve talked to Tony; he vividly remembers it being a horrible day. 

Everything had gone wrong from when the alarm went off that morning - A series of misfortunate events, and he’d just bribed Clint with a promise of dinner from his wallet in exchange for his extra shirt because an idiot on the freeway had driven through a puddle of rainwater soaking Steve dirty and wet. 

Then, he’d stepped behind the cash counter for his turn at taking orders when a rich-looking asshole in a gaudy get up started yanking on Steve’s already frayed nerves. The man, with his stupid beard and flashy glasses rattled off what he’d probably thought an impossible order.

But Bucky was the barista for that hour and Steve had never come across an order Buck couldn’t whip up till this day. Right then though, he was calmly speckling cocoa dust on a mocha, letting Steve face their new customer who had evidently walked in to test their capability. 

Unfortunately for all parties involved, it was just not Steve’s day.

“Do you want anything else?” He’d asked, after dotting pointedly on the cup. 

Tony had leered at him, saying: “Maybe a little smile for the service,” and Steve fucking snapped.

“I’m sorry. But we don’t serve that for assholes.”

He could see Bucky freeze next to him. Tony, on the other hand, looked fully offended. “Excuse me?” he started, peering above his purple glasses, gearing up for a fight and Steve wasn’t going to back down either - putting the empty cup aside as he inhaled and squared up his shoulders. 

But Bucky broke it off before it could even begin.

“Rogers, go make sure Barton is not ruining my sourdough,” he spoke up, flat toned, and he squeezed Steve’s arm warningly before offering his best smile to Tony. “I’m sorry, sir. We just ran out of cardamom so if you don’t mind excluding that from your order, I could whip it up for you just fine.”

The sudden professionalism was so jarring for both men that they each stuttered out an affirmative response and that was that.

Steve went into the kitchen, finished his shift, put an end to his awful day and he forgot all about the asshole customer. Until a week after when he returned.

-

“One caramel macchiato with perfected caramel swirl for Happy Hogan,” Steve places the tray in front of Tony. 

Alpine hops down and leaves, bringing her gang with. Tony’s eyes trail after the number of swishing tails, as well as Steve’s. 

“They really do like you,” Steve tells him, turning back to Tony with a teasing glint in his eyes; cheeks straining hard to keep a happy smile inside. "Nobody gets that much attention all at once."

Tony snorts, leaning forward in his seat, and he looks up from the rim of his glasses. "Pretty sure it's an intimidation tactic," he squints his eyes at Steve.

"Whatever for," Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and he looks down at his feet before looking up at Tony. “Are you gonna stay here longer? I was wondering if I should make yours to go or to have here.”

“Oh,” Tony glances at the tray, “So that’s why my drink is not here then,” he grins at Steve.

“You didn’t even notice.”

“Too busy noticing you.”

Steve blinks, “What’s that?”

“To have here,” Tony declares loudly, his eyes flicker as if they’re hiding something, and his next words come out softer, “If you don’t mind having me here for long, that is.”

Steve’s pretty sure he’s blushing; at least his ears must be the shade of tomatoes in the Spring. At least. “No. I - Of course not.” Could have said, stay forever please but luckily for Steve even his self-deprecating tendency has mercy on him. “Shall we?” He signals.

Tony’s eyes go wide as a saucer. “You’re letting me watch you make it?” And there’s excitement in there, Steve could taste it, even if Tony is trying so hard to keep it contained.

“I mean, we’re not busy now,” he shrugs and the doorbell dings, seeing the only couple who was there out. “And we’re closing in fifteen minutes so…” Steve turns back to Tony, mouth stretching slowly into a smile, eyes twinkling and he could see Tony’s face wearing his reflection as he stands up. 

“Lead the way, fine Sir.” 

-

Changing opinions is not an easy thing to do; especially those cemented so strongly from first impressions.

Seeing Tony the second time immediately made Steve’s spine tense up. But he’s been on this job for a very long time and he knows how to keep feelings away from his profession. He looks Tony straight in the eyes and beamed at him like sunshine.

“Hello! Welcome to Purricano, what would you like to have today?”

Steve distinctly remembers Tony’s eyes going saucer shape wide that day; two rapid blinks and a slack jaw which required Steve’s arched eyebrows to work. (If you ask Tony, of course he’s going to deny that.)

“You’re smiling today,” he squinted. “Why are you smiling? Do I have something on my face?” His eyes flashed towards the nearest reflective surface and Steve swallowed a bubbling laugh. 

“Except for your fashionable pink sunglasses, I assure you, there is nothing on your face, Mister,” (and your stupid goatee), Steve kept smiling creepily. 

Tony’s eyes grew narrower, and he glanced over his shoulder once - making sure no one else was waiting in line - before leaning close to the counter. He beckoned at Steve with one elegant finger, and he hushed, “Do you really think it’s fashionable?”

And the first bubble of laughter escaped out of Steve’s chest that day.

Never stopped ever since.

-

Tony makes him happy. There’s no denying in that. 

It’s probably why Bucky keeps pestering Steve to ask him out; because it’s been years since Steve last laughed. Genuinely, and this loud.

“Oh god,” he clutches his stomach, wiping tears from his eyes. 

The horrible latte art Tony attempted stares back with ugly googly eyes when he looks down and he bursts into another fit of laughter. 

He could feel one of the felines’ tail curling around his ankle curiously, and a pair of large green eyes peer up at him longingly with an accompanying pitiful meow.

“Not,” Steve tells her. 

None of the cats are allowed on the counter; even Alpine doesn’t get the pass. But she likes to try the most out of them all. The rest are already settled for bedtime, and Steve briefly thanks his quick wit to flip the sign close on the front door before he starts showing Tony around.

He turns to him with aching cheeks, tingling skin but the remnant of his grin dies when he sees Tony’s face. Something else takes residence in his belly instead; wings flapping neurotically, lifting to fly away.

“What?” he asks, lashes fluttering, breath sticking like glue on the lining of his throat. Because Tony looks dazed, like he’d just witnessed something divine but got no vocabulary enough to describe what was that.

He shakes his head, inhale sounding sharp, and he tries to bury his words under a chuckle but Steve hears him this time. “You’re beautiful.”

Loud like a Church’s bell, echoing even after and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. Hope, blossoms like Queen of the Night; rapid and shy. Would die with a single ‘no’ from Tony, would probably never bloom again after this, but the hope is heavy as well as pretty; pushes Steve to ask Tony, “Did you mean that?”

Tony’s eyes snap up and Steve could see the same hope growing in them. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice high with a nervous tremor and it comes out like a breathy bark. His shoulders come loose, all limbs as well, and he reaches out for Steve before he stops himself. 

Can I? His eyes ask, and Steve takes a step forward. Of course; his gesture screams. Of course, you can.

Tony's hand touches his cheek and Steve thinks maybe this Queen of the night would live to see daylights. 

He shudders, full body. Closes his eyes tight and wills those butterflies in his belly to calm down. He smells Tony before he hears him; spice and a spilled can of cinnamon from just now. "Shh," Tony tells him. "Shh," and Steve sighs into his palm. 

His thumb drags a stripe under his eye, and Tony says, "God, Steve… Can't you see how bad I want you?"

The truth is no. Steve didn't see it. He shakes his head.

"Why'd you think I keep coming back," Tony asks, so close now that Steve swears he could hear the rumble in his chest even if their bodies are not touching. Yet. 

Feeling somewhat more grounded, he guesses, "For the cats?"

And Tony laughs. 

Not just a little but a full hearty laugh that makes him wheeze. 

"Oh no," he splutters, trying to gather himself apiece while Steve's surprise slowly shifts into a scowl. 

"No, no, no," he chants, reaching for Steve again, catching his face with two hands, cupping and Tony's so bright with joy when he presses their foreheads together. 

"Steve, Steve, Steven," he breathes. "Honey, I can’t go near a cat without popping twenty antihistamines."

"I'm allergic to them."

"What?" Steve pulls back. More shocked than surprise now. "But -,"

"It's you," Tony cuts him off, pulling him back by his hips, and he butts his head into Steve’s breastbone. Buries his next words in there; "I fell in love with you, Rogers. Not them.”

And he sounds almost whiny but Steve can see now, why; can’t believe Tony’s been inhaling allergy medications to see Steve - 

“Jesus Christ.” A little frustration seeps into Steve’s own voice as he buries his fingers into Tony’s hair. “I can’t believe you’re allergic to cats.”

A betrayed meow sounded from below and both of them look down to find Liho, gazing expectantly at Tony. “Meow,” she says again. 

“Think you got some explaining to do,” Steve smirks, looking at Tony. As if on cue, Tony sneezes so hard that Liho jumps a foot in the air before scrambling away in fear. 

“Oh uh,” he cups his mouth and nose, blinking at Steve, lost.

And Steve knows it’s bad to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. At least he saves himself with a smooth invite when he’d calmed down. “Wanna wait outside? Let me close the shop and we’ll…”

“Dinner?”

“Definitely.”

“Great!” Tony grins at him so prettily and Steve, with his heart fluttering in its cage, leans in and kisses him sweet. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

QE, inflation, slave labor and a People's Bailout

The Obama administration inherited a vast economic crisis. They responded with Quantitative Easing, pumping trillions into the finance sector to rescue the banks that had knowingly gambled on bad mortgages, losing so much they were about to go under.

https://www.cnbc.com/2017/11/24/the-fed-launched-qe-nine-years-ago--these-four-charts-show-its-impact.html

At the time, deficit hawks predicted inflation, which is a commonsense prediction: inflation is what happens when the amount of money chasing goods and services goes up faster than the supply of those goods and services, creating bidding wars.

They were right...and wrong. What we got was asset bubbles, especially in housing markets, driving up the price of putting a roof over your head rewarding speculators and landlords, especially Wall Street landlords.

And Obama's handling of the financial crisis put a lot of us under the thumbs of landlords! Obama bailed out the banks, but not the mortgage holders, kicking off waves of foreclosures.

Thanks to lax oversight, banks that had cheated to originate or service mortgages were able to cheat on foreclosures, too - stealing houses from borrowers who were up-to-date on payments or who were entitled to forebearance.

https://web.archive.org/web/20101017014628/http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_upshot/20101014/bs_yblog_upshot/is-david-j-stern-the-poster-boy-for-the-foreclosure-mess

I mean, literally stealing houses by the hundreds or even the thousands. The very same people who created the great financial crisis got bailed out, rather than punished, and used their new lease on life to commit even worse crimes with total impunity.

The houses that were foreclosed (and sometimes stolen) were flipped to Wall Street, who LOVE financial products based on peoples' homes. After all, people will move heaven and earth to keep shelter over their kids' heads.

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/02/blackstone-rental-homes-bundled-derivatives/

Corporate landlords built a sturdy, three-legged stool to guarantee the flow of rents to their investors.

I. Jack up rents to consume the majority of tenants' income:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2017/09/wall-street-owns-main-street-literally.html

II. Cease maintenance, knowing that your tenants have no recourse if their homes are crumbling and unsafe:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/usa-housing-invitation/

III. Perfect the eviction, heretofore an American rarity:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2017-01-03/wall-street-america-s-new-landlord-kicks-tenants-to-the-curb

America's housing crisis - substandard homes rented at unsustainable costs to people who had their own homes stolen from them by the same investors they're currently paying rent to - is a major legacy of QE, and it's definitely inflationary.

But it's a highly selective form of inflation. Many people won't experience it at all: if you owned your house before the crisis and weathered it, the asset bubble has made your home more valuable, while falling interest rates let you refi at rock-bottom rates. You're great.

You're paying less than ever for a home that's worth more than ever, but that's a spillover effect of the main show, which is the process by which millions of Americans were robbed of their homes and then moved into high-priced slums to the benefit of the 1%.

Both Obama and Trump have boasted of the economy's performance since QE, pointing to soaring share prices - share prices that are totally decoupled from company performance. Companies lose money and still gain value.

Indeed, predatory companies (like Grubhub, Postmates, Door Dash and Uber Eats) that destroy profitable companies (restaurants) while still losing money are booming in value.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/18/code-is-speech/#schadenpizza

Investors understand that consumers have no money, due to rising housing costs plus crashing wages, largely thanks to the "gig economy," a polite term for "worker misclassification."

Companies that get bailouts would be stupid to spend the money on jobs or new productive capacity to make stuff no one can afford to buy. Instead, they buy their own shares and declare dividends, driving up share prices.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/20/the-cadillac-of-murdermobiles/#austerity

We have seen an incredible market bull-run since the Great Financial Crisis, a run that has largely continued since the pandemic. It's the other asset bubble: a bubble in investment assets.

Corporate leaders claim responsibility for these rises, but the reality is that it's the predictable result of bailing out banks and companies rather than workers and homeowners.

Société Générale's analysts say that about half of the stock market's gains since 2008 can be attributed to QE.

https://www.marketwatch.com/story/without-qe-the-s-p-500-would-be-trading-closer-to-1-800-than-3-300-says-societe-generale-11604688442

Top-down bailouts have multiplier effects. The banks are made whole, then they get to steal our houses, then they get to steal our rents, then they get to goose their share prices.

This is how the super-rich got even richer, before and after the pandemic. It's also why the tiny minority of Americans with adequate retirement savings saw them swell - it's another spillover effect of the great upward transfer of national wealth.

Why does all of this matter now? Well, between my writing my first paragraph and this one, Biden was declared, giving us what the Biden campaign signalled would be "Obama's third term."

Biden's taking office amidst a financial crisis that's far worse than 2008.

Biden has a long track-record of giving legislative gifts to the finance sector at the expense of the American people. They called him "The Senator from MNBA" for a reason.

https://www.gq.com/story/joe-biden-bankruptcy-bill

If he addresses this crisis the same way that he did in 2008 - the way that Congress and the Senate addressed the crisis in 2020 - by bailing out finance, not the public, we're seriously fucked.

Sure, the stock market will continue to rise and rise, as will house prices.

If you are in the 1%, you will get SO MUCH richer. If you're in the 10%, your retirement savings will swell, your mortgage will get cheaper, and your house's value will go up.

For everyone else: evictions, foreclosures, soaring rents, worse wages.

Last week, California voters passed Prop 22, safeguarding the right of gig economy companies to misclassify their workers as contractors and pay them sub-minimum wages, withhold benefits, evade payroll and unemployment taxes, etc.

Uber/Lyft spent $200m to secure that win.

As Prop22's promoters remind us: Gig work is the new unemployment benefit: it's a private-sector jobs guarantee, work you can get at the tap of your screen. It's a perfect labor market - workers effectively bid to offer the best price to perform servant work for others.

The more workers there are, and the more desperate their situation is, the lower the payments go. A lot of those savings are siphoned off by the (money-losing, stock-soaring) gig companies, but some of it is passed onto customers.

This is by design.

Since the Reagan years, neoliberal regulators and lawmakers have hewed to a radical anti-monopoly theory called "consumer harm." Under "consumer harm," monopolies are only a problem if they drive up prices.

Since gig companies lower prices, they are totally kosher - even if they secure monopolies through predatory pricing.

But there's an even more insidious side to "consumer harm" and the gig economy.

Misclassifying workers as independent contractors converts a brutally exploited workforce into a collection of "small businesses." If they get together and demand higher wages, THEY violate the consumer harm standard. They're a group of companies fixing prices!

We're 12 years into the QE experiment and it has demonstrated the relationship between government money-creation and inflation: inflation isn't the result of government spending, it's the result of government spending that leads to bidding wars.

Giving trillion to the rich created inflation in the things that rich people buy: our houses (out from under us) and stocks.

Now, imagine what a People's Bailout could do.

Imagine replacing the gig economy job guarantee (a workfare program with no workplace protections, job security or minimum wage) with an actual Job Guarantee as described by the economist Pavlina Tcherneva:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/05/the-hard-stuff/#jobs-guarantee

Federally funded, locally administered: good jobs at inclusive wages that served community needs proposed by community groups and approved by local governments.

Would that be inflationary? Recall that inflation is what happens when the number of buyers goes up and the supply of things they're buying doesn't keep up. Inflation is the result of bidding wars.

For a jobs guarantee to be inflationary, there would have to be a bidding war for the US workforce. That is the opposite of what we have now.

https://wolfstreet.com/2020/11/06/picture-emerges-of-a-weird-recovery-to-still-historically-awful-levels/

The reason no one wants to buy Americans' labor is that no one has any money to buy the things Americans make with their labor. The only people with money - the wealthy - primarily buy our homes out from under us, and stocks.

QE for the wealthy has made the economy incredibly perverse. Productive companies are being driven to bankruptcy by gig economy companies that lose money. Millions of workers compete to provide services for the lucky few, for dwindling wages.

Workers can't afford to buy stuff so companies have no reason to make stuff and so they become finance grifts, until they collapse, like Hertz did (after it converted itself from a car-rental company to an accountancy trick company):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/27/literal-gunhumping/#hertz-uranus

The gig economy jobs guarantee can't last. Eventually the number of workers bidding to serve the wealthy will exceed demand by such a wide margin that wages turn negative - the depreciation and payments on your gig economy car will exceed your income.

But a real, public sector, federal Jobs Guarantee? Yes please.

Paying workers good wages to do productive things that their communities need will create demand for the thing companies have decided not to make anymore.

In other words, it will enable companies to make profits again, and it will drive out the companies whose share prices soared on the expectation of losses (accompanied by dividends and buybacks). It will dampen the stock market, but improve the economy.

This will mean the end of those spillover effects - soaring house-valuations and 401ks for the lucky few - but those came at a VERY high price - vast un- and underemployment, the gutting of the productive economy, crushing debt for the majority.

America bought those house price rises and 401k gains at a steep price: it cost the nation its resilience and political stability.

If the goal of QE was to secure middle-class Americans' retirements, it was spectacularly wasteful.

A tiny fraction of QE's trillions went to middle-class retirements, while the vast majority went to making the 1% far, far richer. Most middle class Americans still don't have secure retirements - their dotage will be spent competing for gig economy jobs.

For the price of QE, the US government could simply have guaranteed the necessities of retirees: shelter, food, care. This spending would crowd out jobs, sure - the worst-paid, most precarious jobs, from fast food to gig economy "jobs."

It would make America into a country of secure and prosperous people, instead of food-delivery drivers and dog-walkers.

12 years of finance bailouts and 0 years of People's Bailouts have only exacerbated this, and the pandemic metastasised it.

When it comes to stimulus, America can't afford a third Obama term. We need to demand better of Biden - we need to demand a People's Bailout.

For almost* all our sakes.

*Offer not valid in America's richest ZIP codes.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if the Animorphs could use magic-like, in addition to the morphing?

All her life, Cassie’s dad has treated raccoons and ferrets, the occasional goose or hawk.  And for as long as she can remember, he’s treated other things too.  There was the pine marten with tiny horns that the long-fingered man with the scars on his face brought from under his coat.  There’s the seahorse that buzzes up to their door on the regular, gossamer fins beating hummingbird-fast at the air as it hovers five feet off the ground.  There are winged foxes and antlered rabbits and animals for which Cassie has no comparison.

Walter never comments on them directly.  Instead he skids the Venetian blinds closed and pulls out his other kit — the one with bone needles and spools of spider silk and not a trace of metal throughout — and gets to work.  Cassie can’t remember how she learned never to comment directly on these night customers.  But she knows.  She does not mention them aloud.  Most of all, she does not thank them or ask for favors.

They never pay in coin, these visitors that step over the back threshold and never come when there is road salt on the ground.  It doesn’t matter.  Every stock share Walter and Michelle buy proves to be lucky; every item they store in the downstairs refrigerator never spoils.  Michelle can heal animals at the Gardens that no one else can save.  Cassie’s parents are careful never to ask for these gifts, or indeed express any opinion on them at all.  Their night visitors bargain exactingly, mercilessly, without quarter.  The only recourse is not to bargain with them at all.

Tobias doesn’t believe he’s a changeling.  Not really.  He’s pretty sure that’s just something his aunt says to excuse how little she cares about him.  That doesn’t stop him from leaving a capful of her Rodda’s clotted cream on his windowsill every night, especially because he wakes every morning to find the cream gone.  Just in case, he tells himself.  Just in case his real family is out there somewhere, keeping an eye on him.

Jake has no thoughts on magic or fae.  If asked he’d shrug and casually disbelieve.  But he listened all the same when his Grandpa G whispered the secret to controlling a golem, to making life of clay.  To destroying that life with a press of the thumb.

Marco learned not to count anything out he hasn’t seen disproven with his own eyes.  Eva lit candles for the Virgin Mother and for the ancestors, for Rihannon and Guabancex and the Holy Ghost.  Marco doesn’t always honor the old rituals, but he also doesn’t cross still waters or take favors from strangers.  He always cleans spilled salt and keeps a tiny iron knife tucked into one pocket.  He wears his underwear inside out and spits on the floor after wishing good luck.  He hedges his bets.

Rachel’s heard of the old gods, of course she has.  They were the fascination of her entire primary school year for a full week, just after unicorns and slightly before everyone became silly amateur witches.

Andalite culture frowns on superstition, and so Ax does as well.  Outwardly, at least.  That means not telling anyone how thoroughly, how casually, Elfangor has always believed in magic.  It means not thinking of the still pool of water, the silver knife, the other scrying tools from eldritch andalite culture… and the way his brother would, just sometimes, know things it was surely impossible for anyone to have seen.

“I put no faith in magic,” Marco says, when Cassie tells them about her dreams.  “I don’t trust it, and neither should you.”

«Fine, then.»  Tobias glares at him.  «Explain how we had the same dream, about the same voice, every single night.  Go ahead.  We’re waiting.»

Andalite magic isn’t like Earth magic, they’ll come to learn.  And sometimes the magic and technology are hard to tell apart at a glance.

It was just a long-distance call, Ax insists when they find him.  He doesn’t know how they talked to a whale.  He can’t explain why Tobias, but not any of the others, would have received that call.  Surely it doesn’t mean anything.  Technology only looks like magic, when viewed from a distance.

Tobias sees the rabbit disappear when it enters the unnaturally round circle of mushrooms.  But he’s hungry, and he’s tired, and the rabbit is fat and white and moving slow.  He doesn’t pull up from the dive in time.  Instead he follows it inside—

And hits the ground on two stubby-toed feet, strong human arms thrown out for balance.  He’s naked, but that seems incidental.  He’s human.  He hasn’t been human for almost six months.

Mostly human.  There are feathers on his arms and along his back.  He sees through hawk eyes and hears with hawk ears, a raptor’s head on top of a human body.  He thinks of ancient Egypt, of that god with the ankh, when he imagines how he must look.

And then he staggers back several steps, all the way to the edge of the suddenly-vast circle of mushrooms, at the sight of the beings who approach.  Their leader is a tall man made even taller by the enormous antlers that sprout from his head.  Behind him walk trees who are also teenage girls, goats upright on two legs, an entire court of half-human half-other beings.

Tobias’s whole body is cold with fear.  He tries to fly, but his wings cannot lift heavy human bones.  Tries to speak, and a hawk’s harsh cry comes out of his mouth.

“Come, little hunter,” the king who is both stag and man says.  “Dance with us.”

«What will you give me if I do?» Tobias asks, finding a different voice.  A stupid and brave thing to say.

The king smiles.  “An answer to one question.”

Tobias doesn’t ask what’ll happen if he refuses.  He’s no fool.  So when they start to dance, he joins the flow of their bodies.

His body moves with grace and speed impossible to him.  There is no music, other than the endless eerie wails of the other dancers.  The dance rages around him, drags him down into dizzy undertow.  He can either keep up, or he can be crushed underfoot.  Those are the only options.  He dances.

It’s been no time at all.  It’s been years.  Exhaustion sets in.  Hunger.  Thirst.

But Tobias is no fool.  He refuses their cordials and fruits, their temptations of hide and bone.  The glistening pomegranates and airy cakes are easy to ignore.  The fresh-killed snake, the blood-warm fox… Those are much harder.

Once, they bring before him a plump, struggling rabbit.  It’s enormous, fat and juicy and still kicking, and he feels himself weaken.  But just before he swings his enormous beak forward to rip at the flesh, he catches a hint of its true reflection in the eyes of the river-maiden who holds it.

It’s not a rabbit.  It has the seeming of a rabbit, but even now he can hear its cries.  Close to rabbit cries, close… but not quite.

Tobias rears back.  He doesn’t see what happens to the not-a-rabbit, because he chooses not to.  And it’s easier after that, so much easier, to refuse the haunches and marrows that they try to pass his way.

Maybe that’s why they throw the net over him.  Darkness and pain cage him in.  His inner hawk panics, screaming and breaking bones against its sides.  But a half-remembered bit of lore surges to the front of his human mind.

He morphs.  Speed is of the essence, and he twists down to the shape of a garter snake he has never acquired.  The net tightens, so he grows large.  Becomes one of the hork-bajir that haunt his nightmares, with blades to slash the net.  So it becomes sticky and dense, and he becomes a spider who can scuttle along its lines.  It grows heavy enough to crush him, so he surges upward and out as a stegosaurus.  It ensnares him with clever knots, and he grows human fingers that he might untie them.  It weights him down, so he goes hawk to fly free.  It becomes fibers that abrade and embed, so he takes on andalite shape to slash the bindings to pieces.

After that, the net falls away.  He stares around the clearing in all four directions at once, seeing them now for what they really are.  His chest is heaving, his tail blade trembling.  He’s desperately tired, but here is no place to sleep.

The woman whose hair drags clear the ground steps forward.  She presses a hand against his cheek, and just like that he’s the human-hawk again.  Only the andalite stalk eyes remain, along with the taloned feet of a hork-bajir.  The world around him remains vicious and savage and beautiful.

“You have entertained us well, little changeling,” she says.  “You may go now.”

«Wait—»  Tobias knows it’s stupid to argue, but he also knows it’s even stupider to leave here with a bargain unresolved.  «My question.»  He takes a breath, filling human lungs nestled between andalite hearts.  «What am I?»

The woman laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the clearing.  “My dear boy, there’s no need to ask us directly, not after we just spent all evening answering you.”

And just like that, Tobias is a hawk.  Or something with the seeming of a hawk.  He sits on the ground just outside an ordinary circle of mushrooms, the rabbit he followed mere inches away.

He watches it leave.  He’s not hungry for rabbit anymore, and suspects he might never be again.

Little changeling, she called him.  And he cannot help but wonder what might’ve become of the boy he replaced, remembering the not-a-rabbit’s helpless cries.

“Fuck it,” Marco says.  Only it comes out like “f-f-f-f-f-fuck i-t-t-t-t” because his teeth are chattering so hard.  They ended up somewhere covered with ice and snow and devoid of life except for polar bears.  No.  Scratch that.  They’re nowhere.  This place might as well be the surface of the fucking moon.

Which is why he’s gone just crazy enough through some combination of hypothermia and desperation to be trying this now.  His fingertips and toes are already grey-white with frostbite at the edges.  Ax is upright for now, but has already collapsed twice.  They’re fucked.  Utterly and completely fucked.

Unless, of course, Marco can coax fire from ice.

The theory behind it is perfectly sound.  Take a beam of sunlight, direct it through a curved lens — in this case a chunk of ice floe that Ax carved with his tail and Marco shaped with what little heat is left in his hands — and that’ll generate heat.  Generate enough heat, and the kindling should ignite.

Only, if you stop to think about it for half a second, that’ll never work in an environment as cold as this one.  If Marco stops to think, he’ll remember that the tiny pile of kindling will burn up in an instant if it even combusts at all.

The kindling is a pile of hair, blond and brown, black and blue.  And a single crumpled feather, striped in brown and gold.  A small, sad pile.  But also: A sacrifice.  An evocation.

It shouldn’t work.  It shouldn’t.

Cassie is murmuring something that Marco elects to ignore.  Because Marco doesn’t believe in astrotheology.  He doesn’t believe in pyromancy.  He just needs to believe in reality.

The sun’s own light casts through the fragment of glacier in his hand.  The concentrated seed of its power rests squarely in that nest of hair.  Don’t move, Marco wills his aching, cold-numb hands.  Don’t move.  Focus.  Breathe.  Don’t move.  Believe.

Smoke curls.  Jake makes a noise, cutting himself off.  Marco imagines his own mind, focusing in a beam just like that weak Arctic sunlight.  Imagines it bending into a pure, strong core with the power of that ice.  The world fades away.  The cold recedes, or maybe that’s just the final stages of hypothermia setting in.

The hair puts up a tiny curl of flame.  The flame gutters and grows.  It races along strand after strand.  The smell is something animal and awful, but the fire is growing.  It’s becoming red at the edge and blue at its core, hotter than the meager fuel should allow.  Marco’s teeth are clenched so hard they cannot chatter, his whole body clenched around where the dying skin of his hands presses with unforgiving power against the ice that kills it.

The flame grows.  It grows.  It’s not possible, and that very fact seems to add strength to its stubbornness.

It’s candle-sized by now.  It could illuminate a lantern.  It’s throwing shadows and glow onto Cassie’s face where she crouches across from him, still chanting.  It’s a fistful of flame.  It’s a campfire.

The hair is gone by now.  Even the ice is melting away, every drop of water that hits the flames becoming like oil in its power.

Marco sits down, hard, on the now-slushy ice.  Jake is leaning forward, laughing, crying, tears frozen to his face.  Rachel thrusts both hands at the flames, fingers starting to unfurl from their painful permanent clench.  Even the frostbite on Cassie’s nose and Ax’s stalk-eyes is visibly healing, another impossibility even with the hearthfire now flowing strong between them.

“This,” Marco whispers, sunning himself in the heat of cannot-be, “is insane.”

Cassie steps out into the daylight beyond the barn, half-startled as always by the shock of its heat.  She isn’t like Marco; she doesn’t need explanations or words.  Her father has always just focused on using whatever works, without trying to apply her mother’s formal empiricism.  Sometimes the creatures bring themselves in for healing, and usually when they do they don’t look like any animal that has ever appeared in one of Michelle’s zoology textbooks.

Sometimes Walter sits out all night with a deer’s head cradled in his lap, a snake wound through both his hands, or one of the beings who is neither mammal nor reptile sheltered by the curve of his body.  He wills, on those nights, and sometimes a broken-legged deer will run free or a fatally ill snake will roll healthy from his palms when he’s done.  Whenever that happens, whenever the will succeeds, he’ll come inside with a few more white hairs, slightly more of a limp in the creeping arthritis of his knee.  That’s the reason Cassie isn’t allowed to join her father on those nights, isn’t allowed to help beyond her mother’s methods: needles full of cortisone, needles trailing twine.

It’s also the reason she doesn’t know how this works.  She suspects that her father doesn’t know either — Walter’s the type to shrug and say they can either explain the molecular structure of water or they can fill this water trough that’s empty now, and only one will ensure the horses remain healthy on a day this warm.  So maybe not knowing isn’t a hindrance, not when it comes to willing wellness to travel from her body into another.

The being she holds in her hands has certainly never appeared in any of Michelle’s books.  Which is part of the reason that Earth’s weak yellow sun, giver of both cancer and trees, can do nothing for her.

Aftran needs kandrona, needs the rich light of her homeworld.  Cassie has no kandrona to give.

“Please,” Cassie whispers.  She holds the fragile little body toward the sky, an offering to Sol.  “Please, just hold on for a little while longer.”

Aftran doesn’t answer.  Aftran cannot hear her, cannot see the brilliant star that warms them both.

Cassie can feel the weakness inside of Aftran, the hunger.  Tonight they’ll take her to the sea.  Tonight they’ll give her whale DNA, and a new chance at life.  She only has to make it that long.

She’s not sure when the trance begins, or how long it lasts.  Later, she’ll have no memory of her knees giving out and her shins hitting the dirt, or of the hours she spends with her hands raised toward the sky in supplication.

It’s Aftran who wakes her.  Aftran who sends a jolt of something through the connection they’ve shared ever since their minds were briefly one.  It jars Cassie and causes her to topple over.

Aftran is strong, scrunching and stretching fins as she basks in the glow of a sun she shouldn’t even be able to see or feel.  Cassie is weak, joint-aching and head-pounding as she fights unconsciousness.  The feeling is so overpowering, so painful and unlike anything she’s experienced before, that it takes Cassie several seconds of lying on her side fighting even to breathe to recognize this as hunger.

Not hunger, famine.  The dangerous kind that leaves her body screaming for sustenance, devouring its own fats and muscles in its desperation to find more fuel for the fire that keeps her alive.  Cassie has grown up secure, with a full refrigerator and loving parents.  This ravening full-body ache brings to mind her great-grandmother’s stories of sharecroppers so desperate as to devour earthworms and hay seeds.

But Cassie has it easy.  She is on her own planet, and she is a child of plenty.  All she needs to do is crawl the ten feet to her parents’ vegetable patch.  To rip the first of the row of carrots from the ground, rolling the dirt off between her palms before she eats it.  Stealing the sun’s sustenance from this plant that has worked so hard to store it.

She is human.  She cannot make her own energy from suns’ light like Aftran.  To be human is to murder and devour just to stay alive.  But to be human is to choose, at times like these, to share the plenty that surrounds her.

Aftran rests on the back of Cassie’s wrist now.  Stronger than she has any right to be.  Cassie rips the life from another carrot, and stops for a moment of gratitude before she begins to devour.

Rachel takes time to gather the supplies.  A mason jar emptied of jam.  Nails and tacks and razor blades, sharp nasty iron and steel to keep evil at bay.  Sea salt and rosemary to purify and protect, layered inside the jar overtop.  And then, last of all, several ounces of her own urine.  To mark it as hers, old-school the way that wolves do.  The lid sealed with wax from a black-tallow candle, wrapped with red ribbon to keep the magic inside.  She buries it at the edge of her yard, whispering invocations to Aphrodite and Ares as she does.

She can’t take it with her, especially not when she morphs, but she can create a bubble the length and width of the property.  She can carve out a space for herself and her mom, Sara and Jordan, that no yeerk can enter.  She has power.

She tests it one time, calling Mr. Chapman to come pick up Melissa at her place.  Smiling, lips pulled tight with glee and anger, she watches him get to the edge of the property line and… stop.  

Watches as his head shakes, his body shifts, and he comes no further.  The spell holds.  The yeerk leaves.

And then comes the day when Melissa herself freezes at the edge of the yard, an expression of confusion on her face.  She leaves, after a while.  Only it’s not really her leaving.  Not anymore.

Rachel doesn’t feel so smug about the spell, after that.

«Please be quiet,» Ax says, after the fourth or fifth time Jake asks Cassie in an undertone how much longer this is going to take.  «I am not confident in this process, and cannot do with distractions.»

They stand at the edge of a waterfall deep in the California woods.  It’s not much, less than ten feet tall, but that’s not what’s important.  What’s important is the place, and the harmony of that place.

What’s important, Ax knows, is the entropy.  Water eroding rocks, breaking down walls.  Trees broken apart by murmurations of termites and fractals of rot.  Nature building and pulling down, creating and destroying, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything out of one beautiful form into another.

Entropy is a release of cosmic energy.  That’s what Elfangor taught him, anyway.  And if he does it right, if he feels this place — water in his hooves, wind in his fur, seeing and feeling and becoming a part of that steady joyous death — he can harness and direct some small fraction of that energy.

The energy flows out of him, and down the bond.  He thinks he can feel it.  His strength becoming Tobias’s, Tobias’s pain becoming his.

“Is it working?”  Jake loses patience again.

«I believe it might be,» Ax says.  He reaches out, all four eyes closed, and takes Jake’s hand in his.  A second human hand, strong and blunt and warm, wraps around his other wrist, as Cassie takes hold.

His shorm is not here.  His only family on this planet is in the yeerks’ hands.  They are hurting Tobias right now.

Rachel and Marco are on a rescue mission.  Jake and Cassie and Ax are here, having walked for hours in the wrong direction, standing by a destructive stream.  Keeping Tobias alive.

Jake sinks to his knees, gasping hard.  Cassie is making a small noise in the back of her throat, one that has no words.  Their strength flows through Ax, and away.  The power in their joints, the sight in their eyes and the succor in their limbs, drains away.  Every heartbeat, every breath, leaves them and does not return.

No one asks if it’s working now.  There are tears running down Jake’s face, his hand trembling in Ax’s as it squeezes hard enough to grind bones.  But they don’t let go, and they don’t end the spell.  They send strength down the bloodline, down the lines more powerful than blood, until one by one they fall into the icy current when they have nothing left to give.

“I don’t believe in magic,” Marco says, but he uses the same tone as when he says “I don’t believe in aliens.”

Cassie asks her father, her grandmother, and her mother’s grandmother more questions.  She pretends it’s idle curiosity, any time her father asks.

Rachel finds that coven she once thought so silly.  They teach her to write names on willow-pulp paper and freeze them underwater, to drag minds away from the forces that might otherwise take hold.  “Melissa,” she whispers, “Melissa Andrea Chapman,” and she prays it will work this time around.

Anyway, they kind of win.

The first person to appear to him is an unfamiliar woman with rough-cropped hair.  No one Jake knows, or no one he remembers, anyway.  But she wasn’t on the dead, drifting hulk of the Rachel a second ago, and now here she stands.  So the ritual must have worked.

“I’m sorry to disturb your rest,” Jake tells the ghost.  “I just…”  He looks down at the drying clay still smeared across his hands, the familiar characters in cascading rows across his arms and across the metal of the deck.  It’s earth, farther from the Earth than any precious quantity of dirt has ever been.  Just like him.

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t choose it.”  She crouches in front of him, placing an inexplicably warm hand over his.  “I’m Jondrette.  You saved my life at the battle under the garment factory.  You should’ve killed us.  Instead you called off your forces, told us to run.”

“You died anyway,” Jake says sadly.  “You owe me nothing.”

“Not before I returned the favor.”  She smirks, proud of herself.  “Visser Three would’ve killed you in that hospital garage, had we not shot him from behind.  I owe you nothing,” she agrees.  “Because you’re going to die anyway.”

“I’m scared,” he confesses.

The Blade Ship, and the thing it became, are gone.  He rammed it.  Shattered shrapnel floats past through the Rachel’s failing gravity.  He won, and all it cost was everything.

“I don’t think I want to die anymore, but…”  Jake laughs, harsher than expected.  There’s no one to lead here, no one to impress.  “It’s a little late for that now, huh?”

«It’s all right to be scared,» Elfangor says, when he appears.  «You’ve done well.»  He looks andalite and human, standing guard over Jake’s death as Jake once did for him.

Jake nods, and Elfangor returns it as a bow.

«You’ve honored us all, and it was an honor to serve with you, my prince.»

This new ghost causes Jake to surge several inches off the deck in horror before he falls back, lacking the strength to stand even in this reduced gravity.  “Ax,” Jake gasps.  “Ax… No.  You?”

«It’s all right,» Ax says.  «You killed it.  You honored me.  The ritual of mourning is complete.»

“I wanted to save you,” Jake whispers.

«And you did.  Rest, Prince Jake.»

«You were feared by your enemies, beloved by your cousins.  No higher praise can be spoken of any warrior.»  Arbron, when he appears, is the same strange duality as Elfangor: all andalite and all taxxon, all at once.

Jake wonders if it’s a nothlit thing, if Tobias…

No.  Tobias and Marco, Jeanne and Menderash and Santorelli, all made the escape pod in time before the collision.  Jake has to believe that.  He has to.

«Rest,» Ax says again.  «It’s time.»

“He’s right, you know,” a new voice says, and for the first time Jake feels his eyes prick with tears.  “It’s the easiest thing in the world, once you let yourself go.”

A familiar arm slips around him, and Jake lets himself lean against his brother’s shoulder.  “You’ll stay with me?” Jake asks, hating the weakness in his own voice.  “You’ll stay?”  He doesn’t know how long he can keep up the ritual.

“‘Course,” Tom says.  “No getting rid of me now.”

The specter shapes crowd the room by now, crouching close or standing by.  All here, if Jondrette is to be believed, because they chose to be.

It’s harder to breathe, now.  Harder to see, darkness blurring his vision.  Tom is warm against his side, but Jake is bitterly cold.

“I don’t want it to end,” Jake slurs.  Falling asleep never hurt this much, and the dreams that awaited him on the other side were rarely kind.

“It doesn’t.”  She’s already grinning when she appears in front of him, like this is the greatest daredevil stunt ever pulled.  “We go on.”  Rachel gestures around to the crowd on the bridge.  “Aren’t all of us proof of that?  Nothing is ever lost.”

“Go on to where?” Jake can’t help asking.

At that she laughs.  “Like I’d spoil the surprise.  C’mon, I’ll show you.  Let’s do it.”

She grabs his hand and yanks him forward.  Or maybe that’s Tom, shoving him from behind.  Or Ax’s smile, eyes only, pulling him in.

A small strand of space-time goes dark and coils into nothingness.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 22 (Basement)

Summary: A sidequest went bump in the night at Hawke house. Just what the hell is in the basement anyway?

(Warning: blood, someone getting murdered.)

---

“Man, I haven't been down here since we used this way to break in!”

Talk about a sentence she had never expected to actually say...

Even though it was high noon, the room Moses and Avery stood in was dark. The lantern they had brought with them cut through some of the inky black, but it wasn't enough to see into the far back. Everything else was still hidden in the shadows, waiting to jump out at them.

Which was why they were wearing armor. They were kind of popular targets for assassination attempts as of late.

Avery, gifted with the ability to see better in the dark than her companion, glanced around. “I don't see anything, do you?”

“I have a lantern and you have night vision, what do you think?” Moses shifted the lantern before she could answer. “Leandra was probably just hearing things.”

Probably. That or she wanted to take them on a wild goose chase through their own fucking house. Anything was possible with that woman.

Avery's so-called mother was the reason they had found themselves down in the basement to begin with. Over breakfast, Leandra had claimed she had heard strange noises coming from beneath the house and all but begged them to go take a look. Normally they wouldn't have, but it just so happened that there was a way to get in from Darktown so... they had suited up and gone down.

It wasn't for her, of course. They were just satisfying their own curiosity.

“Well, let me go check the lock on the entrance.” Avery crossed the room, trying the heavy bar that held the door to Darktown shut. “Yep, this son of a bitch is locked up tighter than the guard house when there's trouble. Maybe it was just a rat or something.”

Moses nodded as he waited for her to return. “It'll give the dogs something to do if they find it.”

“Man, you've been hanging out with Anders too much. Cats go after rats...”

The two shrugged as they left the basement behind, returning it to the darkness. They had better things to do than to look around and wait for something to pop out anyway. With any luck, things would return to normal.

If not, they were heavily armed and fairly skilled.

---

“Wake up!”

It was really the fact someone was shaking her fucking arm off that woke Avery up. The shout was just an added bonus.

“What the fuck?” She blinked, eyes bleary. Even in the dark, she could make out that someone was standing next to her bed, eyes wide with terror. A few seconds later, she realized that person just so happened to be Leandra. Confusion was replaced by ire as she rubbed her eyes. “The fuck you want, Leandra, I was sl-”

The woman grabbed her arm. “I heard it again! Something's down there!”

Normally, Avery would have told her to fuck off and go back to sleep. It was what she wanted to do on her rare night off, but something about the wide eyes and iron-grip on her forearm prevented her from doing so.

Leandra was terrified. And as much as she might have enjoyed that... she wasn't going to get any rest until she checked it out.

“Fuck, fine... let me get my armor on and I'll go down to check it out. Stay here with Chewy I guess.”

She hopped out of bed, yawning. The human took her place, at least having the common courtesy to sit on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it. This change in motion caused the large dog curled at the foot of the bed to sit up and yawn, cocking her massive head to the side as she watched her owner head over to the armor stand.

Before Chewy could get up, she held out her hand. “You guard Leandra, girl. I've got this.”

Unsurprisingly, her mabari didn't fight too hard to follow her. Loyal as she may have been... she was also fucking tired. Avery couldn't fault her for that as she finished pulling on her armor. Once everything was clicked into place, she grabbed her sword and shield. Both were soon on her back as she left the room.

The house was quiet, unsurprisingly because everyone else was probably fucking asleep. Avery was careful to not walk too loudly, lest her armor-covered feet wake some other unfortunate soul up. She descended the stairs, and soon was heading to where Leandra had heard the noise. Into the dark basement she went, without a light to guide her.

After all, if something was there... well she would get the drop on them. Thank you night vision.

It was quiet in the basement when she got down there. Avery went from room to room, peering in to see if anyone was trying to hide out. However, she found nothing except a lot of dust and the signs that maybe a rat had got in. Rat poop wasn't much to go on, however.

“I'm going to kill Leandra for waking me up. Could probably hide her fucking body in Darktown or something.” She yawned. “I'm going the fuck back to s-”

In the distance, the soft creaking noise stopped her from talking. Avery ducked behind a box, eyes wide as she looked for signs of a disturbance. The bar across the locked door never moved, nor did anything else in the room. Despite that, her heart began to pound as a chill set over the room. She wanted to look away, but she was transfixed on the a point in the middle.

Then she saw the head.

Out of the darkness materialized a gray figure, practically see-through. They stayed there a moment, hovering, before they suddenly dashed to the barred door. They pulled at it with all their might, gestures panicky and frantic. Then they turned, facing the entrance to the room.

It was a girl, probably a few years younger than her. Her face was streaked with tears, and also flecks of blood. She had a scar through her left eyebrow, and she looked as though she hadn't eaten in a long time. To say she looked terrified was putting it mildly.

“N-No, please! I don't...”

The accent was Ferelden, though from where in the country Avery didn't know. She wanted to move, to jump to her aid, but her body was stuck in place. All she could do was watch as the atmosphere grew heavier by the second.

Then the figure went flying, smacking against the wall and sliding down. When they tried to get out, they let out a whimper. An impression formed around their neck – someone's hands. She tried to grab for them, but it was too strong.

“I didn't see you kill anyone, Ajax! Please-”

Then she was gone. The room was silent. With it came the heavy footsteps of a memory as whatever was playing out started to wind down. The footsteps continued right past Avery, sounding as though they were dragging something.

A few seconds later, the mood lifted. It was just a basement again.

Avery's heart was about to beat out of her chest as she leaned against the box, breathing hard. She could see it now – a slight dent in the wall just the size of someone's head. It had been there the entire time and they had never noticed it. Why would they, the basement had been in smuggling hands for quite sometime.

Whoever that girl was... well, she didn't know. She hadn't recognized her face in the brief moment she had seen her. Not part of the Rose was all she could say. One thing was for sure – she was dead. Her bones wee rotting somewhere that nobody would ever find them.

Ajax had probably made sure of that.

“I think I need to ask around tomorrow.” Her voice was shaky as she stood. “Maybe get Varric's help on this one.”

No doubt it was going to keep up until she found whoever this asshole was. Unlucky for him, she was tenacious. That was for sure as she started to climb the steps out of the empty basement. If he was still alive, she was going to find him.

What she was going to do with him... well, she'd figure that out later.

---

“Damn it's cold tonight.”

“Quiet... someone will hear us.”

Another night, another deal at the docks.

Two men stood in the alley, waiting. Their contact was supposed to be coming an hour after midnight, and the seconds were ticking away. With every one that passed, the anxiety ramped. Had they been turned into the guard?

“We shouldn't have done this... we're not-”

The larger man held up his hand. “Too late to say that. Now shut up. I think I hear someone coming.”

There were footsteps in the distance, and not those of the guard rolling past on patrol. They didn't sound like the heeled shoes of a woman who worked the docks either. Something like relief flooded over the two as they waited.

And then that faded the second the smaller of the two went sailing into a wall.

“There you fucking are.”

The person standing before him was almost half his size, wearing armor that looked as though they had taken it off a dwarf. Their eyes glowed in the moonlight, as did the fangs that were exposed whenever they spoke. His heart began to pound once more as the details started falling into place.

Fuck. It was Hawke.

He held up his hands. “We're not doing anything you need to get involved in, Ha-”

The air left his lungs as her punch found his gut. He was left doubled over, breathing hard as she kicked him hard. Something crunched as he went down onto the cold, dirty ground. All he could do was stare up at her.

Her eyes were burning with rage. “Ajax, right? I've been looking for you, you son of a bitch.”

With surprising strength, she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him against the wall. A sword was soon angled under his neck, right against his jugular. Those eyes never left him as he struggled to get his footing.

“I-I don't...”

She growled – it chilled his bones. “Save it for someone who hasn't been tracking you down. I've got you good on three murders, two assaults, and at least one kidnapping.”

The sword pressed into his neck, but never cut him. “Where the fuck did you put Amelia's body? Tell me and I won't slit your throat and toss you to the sharks.”

The name made his blood run cold as he struggled for breath. Details rushed through his mind – a late night like this one, a dirty shovel, and the pounding of his own heart as he hastily covered everything up. Usually, he was more thorough than that.

But... he had gotten careless.

“I don't know what you're-”

A thin stream of blood trickled down his neck from where she had cut him. “Every lie you tell means you're one second closer to losing your damn head. I'm not going to say it again. Where the fuck is she, Ajax?”

Panic raced through his brain. Though he had never met either Hawke, he had heard enough about them to know she wasn't kidding. Hawke had a body count attached to her name in the high double digits, maybe even triple by now. One more wouldn't make her lose much sleep, especially from how she was glaring at him.

Sometimes, you had to cut and run.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell the guards.”

Hawke laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “Yeah, that's not going to be a problem. Now, you telling me or what?”

The sword was getting closer to causing some real damage now. It was staring to get harder to breathe as he watched his blood trickle. Nobody was coming to his rescue either – his number two was still on the ground unconscious. Maybe he was dead too, or just concussed. Without him, he was on his own and with his back to the literal wall.

At least it was with someone who wasn't going to run to the guard. They hated each other.

“She's buried in Darktown, near the healer's clinic. There's a barrel over where I dug.” He winced. “Now are you going to let me go?”

The answer came with a quick slide across his neck. Blood spurted in a wide arc as she dropped him. He was left staring, wide eyed as the life drained from him. The last thing he saw before it all went black was Hawke walking away like a woman on a mission.

Then there was nothing.

---

“Damn it, what's taking so long.”

“Patience, Hawke. It will be over soon.”

She hated talking to Sebastian, but he was kind of her in for this sort of thing. Besides, he knew the Chantry better than she did, and he was more likely to get results. So she was left to stand there, twitching like an unruly child as she waited.

Had she ever mentioned she hated the Chantry? She really fucking did.

Sebastian watched her with a careful eye. “Aveline said you did the city a service by taking Ajax out. Kirkwall is breathing a little easier without him.”

“Amelia isn't.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But maybe after this she can rest easy. Her sister said she was Andrastian and all...”

That was something she had discovered too during her days of investigation. The girl who had died in her basement had been new to the city a year before she had gotten the house back. She had gone missing and had been presumed dead. That presumption had been proven true when Avery unearthed her bones and the necklace she wore a day prior. Now it was just... taking care of things.

Her sister was up at the front, paying attention to the service that was going on. After that, she'd get Amelia's ashes and... well, Avery was never sure what people did with them. They had buried her father, and it wasn't like she had been able to go back for Carver. It was a mystery she wasn't particularly keen on solving, all things considered.

“It's a miracle you were able to find her bones. Now maybe her family can heal.” He offered her a sort of sad smile. “Are you sure you don't want to say anything to her?”

Avery shook her head as she started towards the door. “No. I don't really know what I could say. Don't think she'll accept 'Hey I saw your sister's ghost get murdered, but at least I found her body under a fucking barrel. Also good news, the guy who did it is dead but that's not much.'”

It wasn't a particularly useful thing to say to someone grieving. She knew that better than anyone.

At least it was bright out when she left the Chantry building proper. Hightown was going about its business, as it always did. It was easy for her to slip in among them as she headed for home, hands in the pockets of her jacket.

With any luck, Amelia wouldn't be coming back to her basement that night. Maybe she was already with her Maker.

“Hope you're ok, wherever you are.” She shook her head as she turned for home. “Rest easy, I guess.”

She let the matter drop after that. There was plenty still to do in Kirkwall, and if she wanted to get any of it done she needed some rest. There was a bed calling her name, and she was going to answer it with open arms.

The rest... she could worry about that later.

[aria-i-adagio]

Ch. 22: There Was a Time When The Pieces Fit

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Wordcount: 5500

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The next morning, the markets are busier than usual, especially in the neighborhood where the tailors ply their trade.  Vivid fabrics are hung outside of windows, framing interior displays of elaborate costumes, and multiple temporary stalls hawking masks have appeared, cluttering the sidewalks and pushing foot traffic into the street proper.  Asra walks close, holding my hand.  I’m easier in crowds than he is, at least, normally, when I’m in a decently good place.

“Is this what Vesuvia used to be like?”  I ask.  He’s mentioned more than once that the city had never quite recovered after the plague.

“Closer.  The masquerade was always good for business.  You always liked it.”  Asra pauses to look at a row of masks hanging in a stall.  “Never cared much for shopping for clothes otherwise.  But costumes were different.”

That sounds accurate.  Nadia and Portia had added more to my wardrobe selections in one week than I had in the past three years.  And admittedly, the dark grey leggings and blousy green top, Portia had suggested this morning was once again nicer than anything I would have chosen, while still being practical enough for an excursion to the city and wherever Asra’s friend lived.

“Did you ever try to help me get my memories back?”

Asra’s hand tightens around mine, thumb running over my knuckles.  “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“It was a couple months after, after it happened.  You weren’t talking much yet, but you were reading all the time.  I gave you a stack of your old journals, old letters, some that hadn’t been opened.  You seemed fine, so I went out to the market to pick up a few things.”  He stops and lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing my fingers to his lips.  “When I came back, you were curled in on yourself, around a book I can’t read, shaking and sobbing and holding your head, and I couldn’t get you to stop.  Artemis couldn’t get you to stop.  You wouldn’t talk, we could barely get you to eat, you wandered off in the night, and I couldn’t find you for hours.  Whatever it was you had found, it was too much for you.  That went on for nearly two weeks, and then, I -”  He steps back against a wall, pulling me with him, and wraps his arms around my shoulders.  “I found a way to make you forget again.”

“You did what?”  I jerk away from him, heart pounding and blood rushing to my face.  “I remembered something and you took it away!”

“Dema, listen, whatever it was that you remembered - It broke you again.”

“Goddammit, Asra!  How dare you, how fucking dare you!”

“Should I have left you like that?  Barely with us.  Even Artemis thought -”

Fucking hell, Artemis too.  “So you held a vote?  Is that supposed to make it any better?  That you decided to take back something of my life.  Something of who I am?”  I turn on my heel and stalk away from him, back into the foot traffic of the street.  I don’t actually care what his answer is.  I found something of mine.  And he decided to take it away from me.  My temples start to pound.  Light bursts behind my eyes and my vision drops away for a moment, returning to me, but bringing with it a crushing vice.  A hand catches under my elbow as a stagger and guides me away from the crowd, to a quiet alley.

“Shh . . .”  Cool fingertips ghost over my temples.  “Dema.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  

I turn my face away from him.  “Don’t make me forget again, Asra.  You don’t get to make decisions for me.”  His fingers trace along my jaw.  “Don’t, or I swear to God, I will find some way to remember what you’ve done, and you will never see me again.” 

“I won’t.  I promised.”

I let him tilt my face back to him.  His eyes are bright and intense and, I think, honest.  He means it.  Or at least, I think he means it.  I want to.  I close my eyes and breath deeply, willing the worst of the headache away.  “Okay, let’s go get Julian.”

*** 

Julian answers the door to Mazelinka’s hut, stooping low to fit through the frame.  “You're here.  You got away okay?”  He grabs my shoulders and looks me over carefully, as if I might somehow have been injured walking through the palace gardens last night.  He peers carefully at my face, then his eyebrows lower.  “Are you alright?”

“I am.  Just got upset at something in the market.”

“She's fine, Ilya.”  Asra's voice has a hard edge to it, as if he's responding to something more than Julian's current concern.

“Asra!”  Julian's one exposed eye goes wide.  “You, you're here.”

“No, Ilya, I'm a hallucination.”

I look over my shoulder to glare at Asra.  “Would you quit?”

“Here now, what's this?”  Mazelinka pulls Julian back into her house.  “Huh.  There’s two of you.  Well, do you need an invitation, come on in?  Tell me you’re here to take this boy off my hands, he’s driving me crazy.”  She looks Asra up and down and chuckles.  “Hmm, you’re a colorful character, aren’t you?” 

Julian works his way to the back corner of the room, as far from Asra as he can manage.  Asra ignores him in favor of surveying the contents of Mazelinka’s kitchen, which to be fair, are anything except mundane.  Mazelinka watches him with an amused expression on her face.    

I follow Julian and slide my arm around his waist.  He smiles and pulls me against him, hands running over my shoulders and back, but he still looks worried, even as he leans over and kisses the top of my head.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Surprisingly, yes.  Mazelinka didn’t even have to sneak a potion into me.”

“Asra thinks a friend of his might have some information that will help you.”

“Asra?”  He looks across the room where Asra has actually started opening the jars and containers hodgepodged on the shelves.  “Asra is going to help me?  He can’t stand me.”

 Mazelinka swats Asra’s hand away from one enticingly large crock with her wooden spoon.  “Mind yourself, child.  That might be what I keep the grumpkins in.”  Asra pulls his hand back and tries one of his smiles on her.  She simply arches her eyebrows in response.  His usual tactic of charm isn’t going to work on her.

  “Asra.”  His attention turns to me when I say his name, and his face tightens, I assume from seeing Julian with his arm around me.  “Where does the friend you mentioned live?”

“The forest.  Walk is an hour or so.  Maybe a little more.”

“And you, uh, you think he has information for me.”

“I know he does.”

“Hmph.”  Mazelinka doesn’t sound especially impressed.  “I suppose you’ll need lunch.”  She shoves a basket at Asra and gestures to the table.  “Make yourself useful, that garlic won’t braid itself, and I need to get it hung and drying today.  You two help him.  I’ll pack you something to eat.”

Julian fills two mugs with coffee before joining us at the table.  He sits down next to me and slides one the mugs into my hands.  “Um, sorry, Asra, I don’t think there’s any tea ready.”  Asra rolls his eyes hard enough that I’m surprised to not hear them rattling in his skull.

Mazelinka appears beside us with a small teapot and a cup which she sets in front of Asra.  “Ilya, I know you were raised to be better to guests than that.  Now, go get the other basket from out back.” 

Julian rolls his eyes easily as dramatic as Asra, gulps down some of his coffee, and gets back up, heading to the back of the house.  Asra selects three from the basket and lays them out on the table, beginning to work the long stalks into a tight braid.  He raises his eyes to me.  “I really am trying to help.”  He adds a fourth bulb to the braid, then pours tea for himself.  “Please say you believe me.”

“I think I do.  I want to.”  That might as well be my new mantra as far as Asra goes.  I want to.

Julian drops another basket on the table and glances over at Asra’s work.   “Not like that.”  He lifts the braid off the table and starts to add another bulb.  “You don’t want a flat chain, the bulbs should sort of, uh, spiral around.  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you this?”

Asra freezes then his hands start to shake.  The temperature in the room seems to drop by several degrees.  “My parents disappeared when I was eight.”

The air could be cut with a knife.  Faust raises her head from where she’s been hiding in Asra’s shirt and hisses at Julian.

“I, um, Asra, I’m sorry.”  Julian sits back down next to me and picks up several garlic stalks of his own, deftly working them together into the start of a chain.  “Sorry.”

Asra takes drink of his tea, sets the cup aside, and picks his own braid back up.  “You didn’t remember.  You were kind about it when you knew.”  A heavy sigh.  “I’m sorry too.  I never meant for things to end up like this.”  He blinks rapidly then takes another sip of his tea.  “I didn’t know.”

I reach across the table and touch the back of his hand.  He’s still trembling.  “What happened?”

He shakes his head, then laughs.  It’s bitter and hollow and haunting.  “Here’s the worst thing:  I don’t remember either.”

“You don’t remember.  Remember what?”

“What happened at the last masquerade.  Not any detail.  I know I did something.  But not what.”

“Asra, in the library, I found a note in your handwriting in an old -”    

Mazelinka drops a large bundle in front of me, cutting off the question before I can finish it.  “That should feed the lot of you.  Make sure Ilya eats.”  She punches him playfully in the stomach then ruffles his hair when he doubles over dramatically.  “Now, get out of here and leave an old woman in peace for a bit.”

Outside, I stop to work Mazelinka’s bundle into a string bag I keep in my pocket.  Asra kneels down to examine the herbs outside of the house: rosemary, oregano, parsley, and several other more specialized plants.  “Ilya, you never told me your grandmother was a witch.”

Julian looks up from petting a chicken that scratching through the yard looking for scraps and insects.  “What?  Mazelinka’s not a witch.  Those are just herbs.  Classic cooking, you know.”

“If you say so.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Dema asked me to help.”  A goose starts toward Asra, honking madly, wings raised and flapping like a landed fish.  Asra jumps up and backs away, hands stretched out before him in appeasement.  “I thought about sending you on some elaborate scavenger hunt for the fun of it, but Faust talked me out of it.   Come on, we’re headed for the forest north of town.” 

***

The forest begins as olive groves, younger trees on the outskirts that are carefully tended, surrounded by soft, low growing grass.  Further back the tree start to lose their careful order, gaps left behind where trees have died and been removed.  A few that have fallen on their side have been neglected where the olives give way to the twisting trunks of cedar and finally to forest giants that shade the floor, cooling the air and obscuring the time of day.  Cedar resin and the earthy scent of leaves breaking down scent the still air.  It’s soothing - grounding and peaceful.  The same natural spell seems to be working on Asra, who is contentedly humming a tune as he walks beside me.

“Asra, who's this friend?  I don't remember meeting anyone who lives out in the forest.”

“Muriel.  You've met him.”  Asra pauses, drapes Faust around my shoulders and kneels down to gather an herb from beside the pathway.  “Recently.  But people forget him.  He's under a spell.”  He digs around the base of a plant with five leaves centered around a cluster of red berries.

Julian is several paces before us circling around a tree and talking to himself about the size of it.  He pauses and pulls his glove off, touching the papery bark that hangs in strips from the gnarled trunk.  I stroke Faust's smooth head.  To be forgotten?  That might be worse than forgetting, at least I still have people who care about me - a few anyway.  “That sounds awful.”

“It's what he wanted.”  Asra lifts a twisted branching root from the soil.  Ginseng.  “I'm not sure why the spell excluded me, but I'm glad it did.  He's my oldest friend.”  He stands, shakes the worst of the dirt from the root, and tucks it into his bag.  “And, I’m glad your two are meeting.  Again.”

“Dema, Asra,”  Julian's voice is uncharacteristically quiet.  “Did either of you hear that?”

“Ilya -”  Asra sounds annoyed again.

I put a hand on his shoulder and touch a finger to his lips.  I can hear dry leaves crunching off to the side of the pathway.  Faust coils tighter around my shoulders.  “Danger.”  Heeding her nerves, I put my hand to the knife at my belt.  I can see Asra’s fingers twitching with the beginning of a spell.  He leans over, picks up a rock and lobs it in the general direction of the noise.

A crack of a branch snapping then a rustling of dried leaves and brambles.  A large figure - indistinct, but somehow I know that the trees are doing me a favor, blocking the sight of something my mind wouldn’t be able to make sense of anyway - runs in the opposite direction.  There’s the smell of death - decomposition - in the air, not the natural return of vegetation to soil, but something sick and wrong.  Julian jumps in front of me, but before he blocks my line of sight, I can make out two glowing red eyes.  Asra runs after the creature, light crackling around his hands.

“What was that?”  Julian’s hands are firm on my shoulders.  He’s scared I might go running after Asra.

“Large, white - was it Lucio?”  I didn’t really think so.  It seemed larger, and somehow much more menacing that the Count’s half mad shade.

Julian shakes his head.  He’s biting his lip and looking around nervously.  “I think it may be worse.  Much, much worse.”

“Who?”

His eye darts to the right, like he’s searching for a word that he can’t find.  One gloved hand slid down my arm as I raised one of my hands to his chest.  His heart is pounding, faster even than mine.

Behind me leaves crackle as Asra runs back to us.  I can feel his warmth at my back.  One of his hands closes around my shoulder and the other reaches past to touch Julian’s arm almost tenderly.  “Are both of you alright?”

“I’m okay.”

A moment of quiet as Asra presses his lips to the top of my head.  “Ilya?”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Julian opens his eye again.  “I’m, um, I’m alright.  What was it?”

“I don’t know.  The sooner we get to Muriel's, the happier I will be.”  He turns away from us and sets back off down the path.  Julian finally notices Faust wrapped around my neck, jumps in surprise and then follows Asra.  I stroke Faust's head again, more to reassure myself than her.  She's a very sensible snake, after all, probably the most sensible in our little traveling circus.

***

Thunder rolls in the distance and the leaves in the top of the canopy rustle as heavy drops of rain begin to fall through them, reaching us after they’ve whispered their way through the trees.  It’s a summer rain, the falling water is warmer than the forest cooled air around us.  Asra begins to hum again, mood improving rapidly.  And my own follows as a splash through a puddle of water.  I’ve always loved the rain, longer than I can remember.  I’m sure of it.  I cup my hands in front of me and funnel enough water into them with magic to sneak up on Asra and splash the back of his head.  He spins on his heel and retaliates, pushing a burst of rain into my face then reaching over to brush the water droplets from my cheek.  The game continues as we walk, rain pushed and pulled by magic in waves around us until we’re both soaked and giggling like small children.        

Julian watches us in disbelief and wraps himself tighter in his coat, shaking his head.  On the pretense of stopping to look at a plant, Asra drops back behind him.  He gathers a floating sphere of water.  With a devilish grin - the most genuine expression I’ve seen on his face today - he drops it on Julian before jogging back up and grabbing my arm.

“What the hell!”  Julian splutters.

I look back over my shoulder and smile sweetly while batting my eyes.  I’ll play along with Asra’s prank.  “What, darling?”  Julian’s auburn curls are plastered to his head and turned nearly black by the water. “Oh, you’re drenched.  Have you been walking in the rain?”

“You two are impossible!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you don’t?”  Julian looks around then seizes opportunity in the form of a broad leaved plant that caught a sizable amount of water.  He sntches it from beside the path and tosses the water back at Asra before using his height to knock bat at a limb over Asra’s head shaking more water down on him.  “Ha!”  He grins at having figured out a way to join in us.  “Thought I couldn’t get you back.”

Asra laughs in delight.  “Clever, Ilya!”  He runs further down the path, Julian with another of the broad leafed rain catching plants held in both hands.

“What do you think, Faust? Shall we lock them in a room together until they fight it out? Or fuck it out?”

Faust turns her head to me and brushed her tongue against my cheek.  “Fuck?”

“Yeah. That's where my money is.”

Asra calls my name. I roll my eyes and trot after them, before one - or both - decide to come back and pull me after them.

***

Asra stops in front of an ancient tree.  Ten people with their arms outstretched might be able to circle it - might.  “Here we are.”  A rough dwelling of tightly stacked but unmortared stone, is built into its roots.  Asra goes to the door and begins to trace a series of sigils on it.

“Your friend is a magician too?”  Julian doesn’t sound overly pleased.

“Mhum.  This kind of thing is his specialty: wards, protections, anything like that.”  His tracings light up like fire for a moment, then fade into the door.  Asra pushes it open a crack and calls out a greeting before opening it entirely.  “He’s not home, but it’ll be okay if we wait inside.”

The inside is small, but tidy and meticulously organized.  The ceiling is high, built well up into the hollow of the tree.  Julian doesn’t have to stoop, either going through the door or once inside.  Shelves are built along the walls, one corner houses a bed piled high with comfortable looking furs and the opposite one has a table and chairs built plainly from rough hewn, but strong, wood.  Across from the door the remains of a fire glow gently in a stone hearth.

Asra goes to one of the shelves and picks through the contents.  He finds a piece of clean, dry toweling and presents it to Julian, presumably as a peace offering.  “Go ahead and sit down.  I’ll get some firewood.”

I set Mazelinka’s bundle down on the table and let Faust, languid from the cool rain, down beside the hearth before taking the towel from Julian.  “If you sit down, I can actually reach your hair to dry it off.”

“You know, I could do that for myself.”  Despite his grumbling, he takes off his coat and sits down in one of the chairs.  I step between his legs and toss the fabric over his head, scrunching and rolling his hair between the layers.  Worst of the damp wicked away, I drop the towel on the table and finger comb his hair back from his face before kissing his forehead.

“Better?”

“Much.”  He looks me up and down.  “You look like a drowned kitten, yourself.”

“Still breathing though.”

“Yes but -”  He takes the towel off the table and dabs at my face.  “You’ve got to be cold.  Look you’ve even got gooseflesh on your arms and your -”

“Decolletage?”

“What?”

“Chest.”

“Oh, yes, well.”  He smirks and leans his head forward to kiss my collarbone then lays his cheek against my chest, as his hands wrap around my waist.  “It’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction, but a sign of the body trying to preserve heat...”

I laugh and cast a spell that wicks the water from my clothes and into the air.  “Julian, I’m fine, I pro -”  

My protest is interrupted by the door of the hut being kicked open by quite possibly the largest man I’ve ever seen.  Julian lifts his head.  The space suddenly feels much smaller.  He’s carrying a bundle of fur in his arms and has a scowl on his face.  Is this Asra’s friend?  He looks at us, shakes his head as if he isn’t surprised, then promptly ignores us to lay his burden down - very gently - on the fur piled bed.  Straightening back up, he looks both of us over with melancholy green eyes.  “What are you two doing here?”

“Umm, we’re with Asra.  He went to get some firewood.”  There’s a canid whine from the bundle he set down.  I peer around his bulk.  Curled in the furs is a large, black wolf.  Her snout and side are covered in blood.  “Is she hurt?”

He smooths a hand over the wolf’s back and doesn’t reply.  It was a stupid question on my part.  I hope Asra gets back soon.

“I might able to help her.”  Julian ventures cautiously standing up from his chair.  He pulls off his gloves and touches his throat.

The man glares, eyes going hard as he kneels down beside the wolf, cautiously pushing fur away from the wound in her side.  “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

The wolf whines again, more piteously this time.  The big man strokes her head and his eyes soften again.  He looks like he might cry himself.  “Please, Muriel -”  That was the name Asra had said, right?  “Let him help.”

“He can help Inanna, Muriel.”  Asra pushes through the door with an armload of firewood.  Does he know about the mark on Julian’s neck and his ability to heal?  I don’t think I told him.

Muriel gives Julian a decidedly skeptical look, then nods.  Julian approaches the wolf, hands held out and up in front of him.  She snarls at him, then calms as Muriel strokes her back.  Julian kneels beside them and lets the wolf sniff his open palm before speaking softly to her.

“That’s a good girl.”  He runs his hand lightly over her bloodied side.  “You must be in a lot of pain.  It’s okay, I can help you.”  He presses his hands against her side and closes his eyes.  The mark on his throat glows briefly, and jagged, bloody gouges appear on his arms.  He manages to stand, then staggers back.  I grab his upper arms, hoping that the cuts don’t go that far up and help him back into the chair.  The wounds are already healing, but they’re deep and clearly not the good kind of painful, and there’s blood seeping into one side of his shirt.  He leans over, elbows and his knees, and head in his hands.  I rub his shoulders in sympathy.

Muriel checks over Inanna carefully, examining each paw and opening her mouth.  Finally, he nods in satisfaction and looks back at us.  His eyes are still stormy but no longer acutely miserable.  “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.”  Julian grans and leans against me.  “Got to be good for something.”

Asra walks over the hearth and sets down his load of firewood.  He picks up Faust and curls her around his shoulders before adding a log to the embers.  It catches quickly, flames lick up the sides curling through the dry, stringy bark.  A ringing, thin and reedy, begins in my ears, quickly swelling along with the flames.  My vision goes fuzzy, darkening around the edges, and the room suddenly feels far away, and I’m falling . . .

Hands at my waist stop me from collapsing into the floor.  I blink rapidly, clearing my vision enough to see Julian looking at me.  His one uncovered eye is wide with worry.

“Dema?” Asra looks at me, face filled with concern.  “Shit.  I didn’t think.”

“I’m . . . I’m okay.”  I take a deep breath, steady myself on Julian’s shoulder, and drag a second chair to where I can sit, and Julian will block most of my view of the hearth and the fire burning in it.  I take one of Julian’s hands and busy myself with checking on the still healing wounds.  The wolf must have been hurt badly.  Julian’s watching me with concern, but his face is tight with pain and for once he isn’t talking.  “I’m fine, really.”

“Okay.”  Asra doesn’t sound convinced.  “Umm, introductions. Dema, Julian, this is my friend Muriel.  Muriel, Dema and Julian.”  Muriel doesn’t look impressed.  Asra sighs and leans over to scratch Inanna between the ears.  She licks his hand in greeting.  “What happened to Inanna, Muriel?”

“She got a bite of something, and it got a swipe at her.  Big, white thing, but I couldn’t get a good look at it, moving too fast.  She says it tasted foul.”

Asra and I exchange a look over Julian’s shoulder.  Big, white, and fast moving describes the absolutely unnatural creature we saw just now.  I look at the wolf with newfound respect.  She is brave if she attacked that thing.  Of course, now she’s curved next to Muriel, licking his arm like the gentlest of lap dogs.

“Muriel, have you checked your wards recently?”

“Just now.  When I sensed something threatening in the forest.”

“All of them?  Even the one at the top of the tree?”

Muriel’s lips twist.  “Forgot that one.”

“We should probably go check that one as well.”

“Why don’t we eat lunch first?”  I suggest.  The gouges on Julian’s arms have closed up, but he still has his head clutched in his hands again, and his skin is even paler than usual.  “Muriel, we have a packed lunch, there’s plenty to share, I’m sure.”  One thing that I’ve noticed the hut is missing is anything recognizable as food.  I start unpacking the bundle from Mazelinka, happy to have something that diverts my attention from the fire, even if the flares of a new log catching have died down to a steady crackle.  There’s a fresh loaf of bread, cheese, olives, a crock of hummus cleverly sealed up with beeswax, and - oh! - fresh cherries.

“That’s a good idea.”  Asra sits down on a bench on the other side of the table, and Muriel cautiously joins him.  I break the bread into four roughly equal pieces and hand them around, nudging Julian gently.  He raises his head and grins weakly at me when he takes the bread.  Across the table, Asra gives half of his own piece of bread to Muriel and says something about having had a really rich breakfast at the palace that morning.  True, but I can tell he’s concerned about the lack of food in the dwelling.

After we’ve finished eating or mostly finished, I’m polishing off the last of the cherries; Asra, knowing how much I love them, ceded his share to me - Julian pulls out the key we found in the library yesterday.  

“Have either of you seen this before?”

Asra looks expectantly at Muriel.  Muriel looks down at the table, responding with his eyes averted.  “Yes.”

We wait a moment, but he doesn’t continue.  

“Care to elaborate?”

Muriel rolls his shoulders.  “It was . . . the night of the fire.  Asra sent me to find you.”

Julian looks over at Asra, eyes flashing with anger and confusion.  “You were there.  Why don’t I remember any of this?”

Asra responds with silence.  He’s keeping his face still, but I noticed a slight twitch of surprise when Muriel said that Asra sent him for Julian.  Is this one of the things that Asra has forgotten?

Muriel speaks again, staring off into some unseen distance. “Asra gave me the key.  Sent me down the dungeons to get you.  You’d been locked up, and you were half dead, delirious and talking about laughing ravens.  Brought you - dragged you - to a private dining room, where -”  He stops, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before continuing with his eyes still closed.  “Something happened.  Something I don’t understand.  And I don’t like.  Nadia, him, the court, Asra had them all gathered.  After, Lucio staggered up a staircase.  I followed.  I wanted - it doesn’t matter what I wanted.  You and the Consul ran after me.”  Muriel’s gaze drops, and Asra curls his hands around Muriel’s much larger ones.  “At the top, Lucio was already in flames.”

Asra watches Julian intently.  Julian is silent for a long moment before speaking slowly.  “The fire -”  He pauses and starts over again.  “The fire had already started.  It had already started!  I’m - I’m innocent.”  He holds up his branded hand, considering the mark.  “I’m innocent.”  

One of his hands traces across his eyes; the other touches his throat.  A strange, fey look passes over his face, and he pulls the eyepatch off, blinking rapidly in the light.  Neither Asra or Muriel appear surprised by the state of his eye.  “I remember now.  I was in the dungeon.  Lucio locked me down there to find a cure for the plague.”  He looks particularly pained as he says the words, as though he felt shocked and betrayed by that action.  “I wasn’t working fast enough.  For him, or for me.  And -”  His voice trails off.  He glances up and to the right before looking directly at me.  “- I found it.  I was dying . . . but whatever it was I found it must have worked.  I’m alive and the plague is gone.”  He grabs my hands and presses his forehead against them before looking back up.  His mouth, hanging open in wonder, slowly curls into a triumphant smile that then turns to a laugh.  “I didn’t kill Lucio.”

Across the table, Asra is smiling faintly, one hand still curled around Muriel’s in reassurance.  Muriel still stares off into the distant, expression stricken.  Recalling that night must have been truly painful for him.  Sensing his mood, Inanna comes to the table, and nudges his leg until he reaches down and curls one hand into her fur.

“I’m afraid that’s not quite true.”  Asra’s voice is hesitant.

Julian turns away from me to look across the table.  “What do you mean?”

“The plague being gone.  I think . . . You remember the red beetles?”

I’ve heard of the beetles with their glossy carmine shells.  They infested the city during the plague, appearing at the same time the water turned red.  Beside me, Julian shivers, and his face pales again.  “Yes.”

“The past several days, while I was gone.  I passed through one of the villages nearby.  Their well had gone dry, and they asked me for help to try to restore the water.  Beneath it, I found more water.  And a swarm of the plague beetles.”

We’re all quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in.  Julian speaks first.  “Had anyone in the village sickened?”

Asra shook his head.  “Not when I left.  I thought Nadia needed to know.  And then when I return, there’s an ongoing manhunt for you, and Lucio’s ghost is manifesting in the palace.”

Julian leaves over the table and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Oh, that’s, that’s bad.  Awful.  Um, we’ve got to find that dungeon.  I don’t remember where it is.  It’s coming back, I think, maybe, but everything - everything is still foggy.”  He grimaces and rubs at his temple.  It’s a look that I find all too familiar, and I rub the back of his neck as he continues.  Maybe that will alleviate some of the headache.  Helps mine sometimes.  “Whatever I found, whatever the cure was, it could still be down there.  Asra?  Muriel?  Do either of you remember where it is?”

Muriel just shakes his head.  Asra frowns.  “I wish I did, Ilya.  I might - I should, especially if the plague may be coming back, and Lucio is somehow trying to reenter the world, speak with my master.”

“I want to check that last ward.”  Muriel says quietly.  “And maybe cast runes.  See if they’ll tell me anything.”

Asra nods.  “Usual place?”

“It’s safest there.”

“Okay then.”  Asra rises from the table and steps behind Muriel, folding his hands over the massive shoulders and squeezing them.  “Up for another bit of a hike?”

Next Chapter

A/N: Chapter title from Tool, “Schism”

[nitewrighter]

Reidan Fairytale AU, Pt. 2

In which I continue going off on my Child Ballads Jag. 

Continued from this

—-

“What is out there in those woods that fascinates you so?” Rei’s Lady Mother asked as Rei was embroidering one of her gowns, “Your uncle says you keep claiming sickness and putting off your hunting trips, yet you run off there every chance you get.”

“I like the birdsong,” Rei said, squinting at the ivy bordering her gown’s hem, “My sparrowhawk scares them off.”

“I know you’re no longer a child, you can tell me if you have a lover,” said her mother.

Rei reddened and glanced off.

“The world has its share of rakes and scoundrels,” warned her lady mother, “I know you’re clever, but still I worry.”

“He’s not a rake,” muttered Rei with a slight smirk and eye roll before immediately catching herself. Her mother just smiled.

“I should like to meet him,” said her mother.

Rei just paled and set her needlework down. “I need to go,” she said, walking off.

—

“Tell me about her,” said the queen, as her servants bedecked her in amber and ivory.

“Who?” said Aedan, glancing up from his book.

“The girl–or boy—Whoever it is. Tell me about them. Don’t deny it, you’ve been sighing day and night,” said the Queen.

“What girl–? I mean—” Aedan caught himself.

“Girl then,” said the queen with a smile, “I’ve asked every corner of my court yet I cannot for the life of me find out who it is.”

“Oh well… you… wouldn’t know her,” said Aedan.

“I have known every tree in this forest from nut and acorn, and have raised the very standing stones which mourn the kings before me. That I would not know her is impossible unless…” the Queen blinked several times then squinted and leaned close to him, “Unless she is not of this wood.”

Aedan bit the inside of his lip as his mother scanned his face. Finally she shrugged.

“Well, I suppose we all take human paramours from time to time,” she said, walking away from him briskly and examining her own appearance in a mirror, “Shouldn’t be a problem in a century or so.”

“A-a century?” said Aedan.

“When she dies, of course,” said the Queen, “As mortals are wont to do.”

“When… when she dies…” Aedan repeated, feeling as if his insides had just been scooped out of him.

“Yes, so by all means, sigh and long, and sing your songs. But for your own good, know it is fleeting. Their world is not our own, a thaisce,” said the Queen.

“Why can’t it be?” said Aedan.

“Pardon?” said the Queen.

“The world of Fae and the world of men… why must they be separate? Why must we hide in the trees and in the shapes of animals?”

“Because anything humans don’t understand, they destroy, and, my Prince, they have so little capacity for understanding.”

“Well of course they’ll never understand if we keep hiding from them!” said Aedan.

“We hide because it’s safe,” His mother spoke with a breath as chill as night air and bright as moonlight and Aedan was silent. “I will hear no more of this nonsense,” said the queen, “Go to your paramour. Take what pleasures you can, but know they are fleeting.”

Aedan’s lips thinned and he turned on his heel and walked out of the chamber.

—

“You’re distracted,” said Rei, brushing Aedan’s hair back from his face as he lay with his head in her lap. Aedan was watching the autumn leaves shake and fall in the breeze, far more aware of the turning of the seasons than he’d like.

“Hm?” he broke his sight away from the leaves to look at her.

Rei snickered a little, “Well that proves it,” she said playing with his hair slightly.

“Rei,” Aedan spoke after a long while.

“Yes?” she smiled.

“Would you ever consider… joining the fairy court?”

“I’m not a fairy, you silly goose,” she said, tapping his nose.

“Well, if you ate food I offered you, fae food, you would be my charge… I…” he fidgeted slightly, “I’d… look after you.”

“But… that means I’d never see my family again, wouldn’t it?”  said Rei.

“I—not necessarily, it… it would just be a lot harder…” said Aedan.

“But if I’m in the Fae court, I wouldn’t grow old or die. But they would…all my friends, too…” said Rei, looking off, “I… I don’t want that.”

“I see…” said Aedan, quietly, “But… I’m…”

“Aedan… It’s all right. I know i’m just a distraction for you. You’ll go on and be a great fairy king, and I’ll be a funny old woman telling mad stories of the prince she loved when she was a young gir–”

“No,” Aedan said flatly.

“What?” said Rei.

“No,” Aedan said, sitting up from her lap, taking her hands in his, “I won’t accept that. I don’t want to endure eternity without you.”

“Aedan, I love you, but you’re a prince. It’s not fair of me to ask you to throw all that away,” said Rei.

“You never had to ask,”  said Aedan, he kissed her knuckles, “This is my will,” his eyes flicked up from her hands to her face, “Would you have me?” he asked, “If I chose a mortal life?”

“Yes,” the word fell out of her and she suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace, “Yes, of course.” She pulled out of the embrace slightly to look at him, “But… how? There’s no way your mother would permit something like that…”

“I’ll figure something out,” said Aedan, taking a lock of her hair in his fingers. He thought for a few moments. “Give me four days,” he said, “I’ll find an answer, and I’ll return to you.”

“Do you promise?” said Rei.

“I give you my word,” said Aedan, He picked up a scarlet red leaf from the ground and pressed it between his palms for a few seconds. When he opened his hand, it was a beautiful red ribbon. He plaited it into a love-knot in her hair.

“Four days,” he said, cupping a hand to her cheek.

“It won’t be dangerous will it?”

“Not dangerous at all,” said Aedan, smiling.

—

Aedan told his mother that he was leaving to visit the ruins of neighboring kingdoms, and he was mostly telling the truth. It was two days’ journey to the barrow of the Dullahan. He hardly ever left the woods---and where he did go was severely limited by the settlements of men. He took the form of a hawk to sweep over the human settlements--the scent of blacksmith forges sickened him. A day and a half’s flight and he landed among the mounds of the unseelie. Another half-day’s walk threw the bone-strewn moors and he found himself in front of the largest barrow there. Aedan stood in front of the grim mound with his hands on his hips.

“Death-Lord! I seek audience with thee!” he called into the shadows of the tomb.

There was no response. He waited around a short while, threw a few pebbles into the dark doorway leading into the mound, then called again, “Dullahan! The Prince of the Wood seeks audience with thee!”

“You’re a long way from home, Princeling,” a croaking voice came from the darkness. A hand gauntleted in black steel braced itself against the doorway of the mound as a headless figure with black smoke streaming from his neck stump emerged from the dark of the barrow. “What do the undying seek from the dead?”

“Love,” said Aedan.

“Not interested,” said the Dullahan, turning around.

“Not from you!” Aedan called after the Dullahan and the Dullahan sighed and turned on his heel.

“I love a mortal,” said Aedan, “I seek to cast my lot in with her.”

“You seek death,” said the Dullahan.

“Not immediately,” said Aedan, “I seek a mortal life.” 

The Dullahan stared at him for a few seconds, or at least stared as much as one without a head could. “Mortals come and mortals go. Would you throw away so great a gift and so much power for one?”

Aedan thought for a few moments. “You’re old as Death. Would you have done the same, once?”

The Dullahan looked down. “Once,” he admitted.

“But you never stopped thinking of them, did you?” said Aedan.

“Never,” said the Dullahan.

“So you understand,” said Aedan.

“I understand, but I will not cast my shadow over you, Princeling. Even I fear the wrath of your mother,” said the Dullahan.

“There must be something you can do!” said Aedan, “You are a Death-Lord, and you have seen the pain of loss a thousandfold. Would you doom me to know that pain unending?”

“I am every bit a Fae as you,” said the Dullahan, “I do not give anything without a cost… however, what you request is a cost in and of itself. It cannot be freely given, but it may be earned.”

“Tell me,” said Aedan.

“In three days time, my retainers and I will hunt,” said the Dullahan, “If you outrun me and my horse in that hunt, I will grant you a boon–for what do mortals do all their lives if not outrun death? I will grant you your wish, and you will be free to live the life you choose. Not even your mother cannot argue with the laws of the Wild Hunt.”

“Then in three days time, I will out-ride you, Death-Lord,” said Aedan.

—

Rei was staring out the window of her tower, her eyes mapping out the way the stars hung over the forest.

“Two days since your last little forest romp,” a voice spoke behind her and Rei turned around in her seat to see her Lady mother in the doorway to her chambers.

“He... hasn’t broken your heart, has he?” said her mother, stepping into her room.

“No, never,” said Rei, looking back out the window, “He would never.”

Her mother kissed her temple. “Try and get some sleep, dear,” she said, before walking out of the room.

Rei sighed and tried to turn her attention to her needlework. “Not dangerous at all,” she repeated what Aedan had told her, “He’s perfectly fi--”

She heard a screech and turned in her seat to see a winged shape sweeping toward her tower. She set her needlework down and backed away from the window as a large sparrowhawk landed on her windowsill. 

“But... Gin is in his mews...” Rei said quietly to herself before her eyes flicked down to a familiar green ribbon wrapped around the sparrowhawk’s left foot, “Aedan?” she said softly.

The sparrowhawk screeched and flapped its wings.

“It is you!” Rei stroked the side of the sparrowhawk’s head, “Oh, I’ve been so worried! I thought you wouldn’t be back for another two days---”

The hawk beat its wings again and then suddenly leapt off from the windowsill.

“Wait--!” Rei called after the hawk but covered her mouth so that none of the house would hear her. “Fairies,” she muttered under her breath as she threw on her pelisse over her nightgown and pulled on a pair of boots. She slipped out of the manor, hopped the stone wall of the garden, and raced out to the forest, keeping an eye on the sparrowhawk overhead.

Rei passed through the first thicket of trees, “Aedan?” she called, her voice falling in with the sound of crickets and the chittering call of nightjars. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a pale moonlit figure through the trees and raced after him. “Aedan, come on,” she said, closing the distance between herself and the pale figure, “You know I’m not supposed to be out after--” she touched his shoulder and found herself with her hand up against the trunk of a birch tree, “...dark.” she brought her hand down from the tree and backed away from it. A trick. An illusion. Whoever had brought her out here wasn’t Aedan. She felt the chill night air and closed her pelisse tight around herself and turned on her heel, only to find herself staring up at a tall woman with short-cropped red hair, clad in a long amber and burgundy gown.

“...Oh...” Rei was backing up slowly, “You... you must be... I mean---I’m sorry, I--I’m here without permission, my--my lady? Ma’am? I mean, I’ll leave right away---”

“Leave?” said the Queen, “Why would I cast out an honored guest?”

“W-what?” said Rei, continuing to back up.

“You are my son’s paramour, are you not? The Prince Aedan?” said the queen.

“What--? That’s silly, I’m just a human---” Rei started.

“You think I’m silly?” said the Queen.

“No! Not silly! Not at all!” said Rei.

“I do not make mistakes,” said the Queen, “Why deny it then? Are you ashamed by him?”

“No!” said Rei, “Never! I love--” Rei caught herself.

The Queen drew herself up to her full height with some sense of victory. “So I was right,” said the Queen. 

Rei bowed her head, unsure of what fate might befall her.

“Oh come come, dear,” said the Queen, bringing a hand up under Rei’s chin, “I said you were an honored guest, did I not?”

“You did,” said Rei, not wanting to contradict her.

“So come with me, you and I have much to discuss,” said the Queen. With a wave of the Queen’s hand, they were both standing in a great hall with the walls veined with tree roots.

“You must be famished,” the Queen gestured at a long table laden with dozens of plates of the most beautiful-looking food Rei had ever seen. There was roast goose with gold crackling skin, pears poached in spiced wine, intricate little sculptures of spun sugar, and silver platters piled high with the sweetest, juiciest fruit Rei had ever seen. “Please,” said the queen, “Eat.”

Rei felt her mouth water but broke her eyes away from the table. Fae food, she thought, Don’t eat their food. 

“My apologies, your majesty, I’m... not hungry,” Rei said.

The queen sighed and snapped her fingers and just as easily at it had been there, all the food was gone. “Very well then,” she said, walking past the table and down the hall, “Come along.”

Rei hesitantly followed after her.

They walked through the tree-root lined halls until they reached reached a large ballroom where music filled Rei’s ears and beautiful figures whirled about the floor in an endless graceful dance. The fairy court laughed and clapped and reeled and the music made Rei’s heart leap. It took every bit of willpower to not rush out and join the din of the dance floor. Never in her life had Rei heard such music that made her want to move---to leap and twirl and hook arms with any of the beautiful fae dancers moving about the hall.

“They seem to be having fun,” said the Queen, leaning close to Rei’s ear, “Why not join them?”

Why not? Why not indeed? How Rei wished more than anything in that moment to leap in and join the dancers and never stop--

Never stop.

She was not fae. She was not one of them. She could dance her feet bloody. She could dance her feet to bones. She could dance her feet down to the bloody stubs of her ankles and she would not stop. Rei pinched herself and turned away from the dancers. “I--You said we had much to discuss?” she said, trying not to look at the dancers.

“Indeed we did. All business with you, isn’t it?” said the Queen, bringing her hand around Rei’s shoulder again and leading her away from the dancers. The music faded behind them as they continued down another corridor and the Queen smiled. “I’m impressed, many mortals warn each other against the dangers of our hospitality, but few have the willpower to actually resist it.”

“I--I really don’t mean to be rude, I just can’t stay very long, is all,” said Rei. 

“Oh but of course,” said the Queen, “Well you’ve passed the tests. Now I can finally get to know the young lady my son is so besotted with.”

Rei exhaled with relief. “I’m... glad I passed, your majesty. I would have liked to know they were tests though, I was very frightened.”

“Well you have to be very brave to love a fairy,” said the queen with a smile, “Very brave indeed. But... I am glad you passed as well.” She turned and stroked a hand down the side of Rei’s face. “Such a handsome girl, “ she said, “Such lovely skin and striking eyes.” She coiled a lock of Rei’s dark hair around her finger. “And such lovely hair. You simply must let me brush it.” 

“What?” said Rei.

“Oh it’s only the nattering of a foolish old woman,” said the Queen, playing with Rei’s hair slightly, “I’ve never had a daughter of my own, you see. This world is so cruel to girls. I brushed Aedan’s hair but as you imagine it could never quite be the same. But this…” she wove a hand into Rei’s hair, “So dark… so rich… surely you would spare me as silly a wish as brushing your hair?”

“Well… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…” murmured Rei. She had been warned against eating the Faeries’ food, and staying away from large stones in the middle of fields that had no business being there, but no one had said anything about combing hair.

The queen motioned to a chair and Rei sat down in it, then the queen produced an ivory comb and began running it through Rei’s hair. It was thick, terribly thick. Rei had had several governesses break combs trying to tame it, but the queen’s hands seemed to sweep through it clean and smooth as a river.

“My son is very fond of you,” said the queen, pushing a bit of hair aside to see the love-knot ribbon Aedan had plaited into her hair.

Rei reddened. “Oh… well… I’m… very fond of him,” she said. The queen curled a bit of Rei’s hair around her finger, and with little more than a wave of her finger and movement of her wrist, she knotted it. Rei yawned.

“Are you?” said the queen, knotting another lock of Rei’s hair.

“So much...” Rei’s eyelids were drooping. 

“Then how could you stand to break his heart so?” said the queen, making another knot with another flick of her wrist.

“Break...? Break his heart?” Rei’s voice was hoarse with sleepiness. 

“Yes... He’s one of the Fair Folk, and you’re only mortal, my dear,” said the Queen, 

“I don’t...” Rei started, but her head lolled forward and she fell into darkness.

[urdnotcadash]

Dragon Age Questions

i was tagged by @nordxz thank you so much!

&& IF YOU SEE THIS AND WANT TO DO IT, I’VE OFFICIALLY TAGGED YOU

i think this is a lot of rambling but i hopeit makes sense. feel free to ask if you have any questions about my ocs.

01) Favourite game of the series?

That’s a really tough question, honestly, because i love them all for separate reasons. I play Inquisition the most, but i love origin and 2′s story... so tough question.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

I played Skyrim for like 2 years (whenever i felt like playing) & finally got too bored to play. so i searched through my brother's games and found Inquisition. it took a while for me to finish it (bc i played on his console too). thennn i played the games backward. Inquisition, 2, and Origins. 

03) How many times you’ve played the games?

I’ve played through completely 2- 5 times each. but I’ve started countless games each in every game and just didn’t finish them

04) Favourite race to play as?

Dwarf! Especially in Inquisition. 

05) Favourite class?

Rogue! Wielding a bow is my go to. 

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

Honestly, it depends!  Likeee mage play through= mage rights, but any other class just depends on how i want to play or the background i gave the character. i’ve yet to side with the templars in Dragon Age 2 though. lol.

07) Go-to adventuring group?

Again, it depends. but i almost always have Alistair in origins, Varric in 2. my go tos are: 

dao: Alistair, Wynne, Zevran/ Leliana

da2: Varric, Bethany/ Anders and/or Carver/Aveline, Isabela

dai: Cassandra, Dorian, Iron Bull

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

i’ve done a lot of work on all of them. I’d say Roxy & Gavin Hawke(&Aidan Amell and Odette Surana bc their stories are related) and August Trevelyan. i don’t write a lot about any of my ocs but i’ve made full timelines and family members for all of them. i still intend to put bios out, but the only one i have finished right now is Stella. I’ll try and start those while im at my moms. c:

09) Favourite romance?

i really appreciate all of them, but i have a few favorites. 

Zevran, Isabela, Iron Bull- which i know they have one thing in common and it’s being known for being extremely sexualized. maybe im a sucker for falling hard and being able to open up to someone. but i really adore their stories and i just want to hug them, ok.

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

I have the books and haven’t read them, yet. it’s on my long list!

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

I’m really looking forward to The Masked Empire tbh. 

12) Favourite DLCs?

The Descent, defiitely! but i haven’t played through them all yet, just all of dai and some of daos. 

13) Things that annoy you.

Representation, probably. yes they have lgbt people but i personally haven’t been able to connect to any of them EXCEPT Lace Harding & she’s not even a full romance! lol. 

theres nothing else that comes to mind or i feel comfortable talking about. 

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Ferelden.

15) Templars or mages?

Mages.

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

They’re really all interchangeable. i need to make a few more characters if i want complete timelines though. for example:

Odette Surana & Aidan Amell, Gavin & Roxy Hawke, Augustine Trevelyan/Sunshine Cadash/ Austa Adaar can make one timeline. Except Odette couldn’t survive without Aidan whereas Aidan wouldn’t be the same without Odette. 

& Stella Tabris, Roxy & Gavin, Sunshine/ August/ Austa could also work. 

hell i’ve even thought about combining them all somehow lol. 

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

(all mabari unless specified otherwise) 

Stella Tabris: Goose & Cricket(found after Blight)

Odette: Ser Barksy Aidan: Barkspawn

Roxy: Sweetums Gavin: Mighty

August: Yellow (named by Clem), Flower (a cat also named by Clem), horse: Pretty Boy

Sunshine: Rose (might be renamed tho) and her Battle Nug: Nugget

Austa: Precious (Josie’s mabari), 

18) Have you installed any mods?

Two for Origins, one to skip the fade in the circle and another for an all romance mod- i think. 

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Aidan did far more than Odette, Aidan wanted out of the circle. Odette wanted to take Irving’s place- she wanted to make the circle better. 

Stella wanted the hell away from the life her dad imagined for her, she was scared but excited. She didn’t like how it happened, nor the responsibility that was placed on her shoulders.. but she knew she just wanted MORE. 

20) Hawke’s personality?

Roxy: Purple Gavin: Blue

The twins really help one another, yes they can survive without the other but they wouldn’t be the same. Roxy keeps Gavn from being so serious and Gavin reminds her to me more... sensitive.. even if it doesn’t always work. 

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

lmaoo noo, im so lazy about armor. as long as they look good i don’t reallt care. 

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

August, would have done more for her daughter’s father.. she would have been on watch the night he was taken. Losing her best friend was very hard for her. 

Sunshine, once upon a time, wished to leave when her sister did... but after the Inquisition, she was thankful for it. For the people, she’s met, and the skills she developed during that time. 

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Sort of? i have them work around the canon...sorta.

Odette only survives because of Aidan (two heros isn’t canon so), because if Aidan didn’t exist she wouldn’t have even told Alistair about the dark ritual and wouldn’t have let him go to the final battle. Thus sacrificing herself. 

Roxy and Gavin: Twin Hawke AU where all the siblings survive. Roxy and Gavin fight the Ogre, saving one of the twins. Carver becomes a Warden and Bethany joins the circle. 

Austa’s parent’s escaped the Qun, but they escape with two of their own biological children Oz and Austa.  & Valo Kas actually started from the remains of an old Tal Vashoth community and have since built to a large merc company her brother and father run. 

&August had her daughter Clementine at her childhood home and left her there to be raised- bc her parent’s used her status to have that privilege.

The Cadash Carta works a little differently. Instead of one person at the head: it’s a council, like orzammar, and several families run their expanded carta family. The children can inherit their parent’s position in the council unless they don’t have kids or are voted off. So since Sunshine’s father is part of the council meaning her younger brother, Wesley, is being trained for their father’s position. Zelde (oldest sister ), left before she could even be considered and Sunshine was trained to be an assassin from a young age.. so she also wasn’t being considered. 

so i guess they all do... oops. 

24) Are any of your character(s) based on someone?

not really. probably should bc they all look really similar imo. I do have different oc aesthetic boards that give you an idea though!

25) Who did you leave in the Fade?

im a weak bitch who decides they all somehow get out.........  but Stroud. poor guy. 

26) Favourite mount?

the war nug! <3 i love them. 

[thedegenerateasexual]

another big old fuckin rape warning jfc

incest warning too i guess? lmao this book

AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK CHAPTER im not ready

four days after the first encounter and kate hasn't made another move - "But she hadn't moved from the lifeguard perch all week, hadn't even spoken to him. She'd just watched him like a hawk, gaze trained on him, as he'd stroked through the water. One by one the other swimmers had left, and he'd remained behind, torn between disappointment that she hadn't done it again, and complete and utter relief that she was staying away from him."

and then she does: "He swam lap after lap beneath her scrutiny. Then, just as he did one last flip-kick and headed for the stairs in the shallow end, he felt the vibration of her approach in the water. And then she was swimming alongside him. He couldn't believe it. He didn't know what else to do except to keep swimming. What was he supposed to do? ... He thought about all those human, adult things that he hadn't done, that she obviously had—get a job, have a car..."

so then they stop swimming, and she takes his hand:

She smiled at him, much more shyly than he would have expected. She looked down, then peered up at him through her lashes.

"What you must think of me," she murmured.

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure that she could hear it. He had no idea what to say to her, and he also had no idea how to get out of the pool without embarrassing himself.

Except . . . he didn't want to get out of the pool. He wanted to kiss her.

"There's something about you," she whispered. "I've been thinking about you all week. I tried to stay away. I mean, you're a student and I'm . . . well, I'm not a teacher. But I'm close. To being a teacher."

She swirled her fingers through the water. "And this really isn't my style, you know? I don't come on to men like this."

Men. She thought of him as a man. He licked his lips, completely tongue-tied.

what kills me about this is that this is what he does in the show when confronted with kate, or other things that make him uncomfortable (jennifer) - when derek can't think of the right thing to say he goes dead fucking silent. he just plain stops talking. & i'm like devasated at the idea that it's a lifelong habit 

and then, this is the most manipulative part:

"I wish you'd say something," she murmured. "I'm kind of dying right about now. I'm sorry if I misread your intentions. I won't bother you again."

His intentions? Misread them? He was baffled. But then he thought about all the looks he had thrown her way. How he'd glanced up at the lifeguard tower every time he'd made a turn to head down the lane. Maybe he had been sending out signals.

THAT'S TEXTBOOK GASLIGHTING JESUS CHRIST HE'S SIXTEEN

it gets worse! she "assumes" he has a girlfriend and pretends to be all shocked when he says he doesn't because he's "so handsome and all" and then says "look this is happening in such an awkward way i dont mean to crowd you im just drawn to you i cant rly explain it" exCUSE me oh my god and then adds "but i don't want you to think i'm just after, well, YOU KNOW" THAT'S WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE but he's sixteen and never had a girlfriend so he doesn't know any better!!!!

so she asks if he wants to go for coffee and show her around and then adds "we'd have to be careful bc outsiders wouldn't understand" i'm pretty sure they'd understand just fine :///

like i knew it was like this but im still so outraged on his behalf jesus

and he's thinking about how he doesn't know any coffee places in beacon hills bc he spends most of his time out of the community but SHE says:

"I think we're both having the same thought," she murmured. "Privacy."

Privacy, as in being careful not to be seen together while they were hanging out? Or privacy as in . . . oh, God, was she serious?

"So we can get to know each other." She pondered a moment. "Would you think I was too forward if I invited you to my apartment? Just for coffee?"

and he's like panicking running through his options bc he wants to go but he's supposed to meet laura and there's only one car - she offers to drive him home, and oh, wouldn't she just love to know where the hale house is - but eventually he just says he needs to check in with his sister first - and she's like, "laura hale? oh dont be startled i made some discreet inquiries about you" and it doesn't trip his creep radar bc he doesn't have any life experiences but holy fuck that's like right next door to stalking

as an aside i don't like how they use wolf as a verb in this book it's weird - he began to wolf, his eyesight wolfed - like nah. no thanks

uhhhhh so derek asks laura to pick him up in 3 hours and she's like "whats in it for me" and he's like "i wont tell dad i saw you frenching josh" JOSH THEIR COUSIN??

the exact words were josh was peter's sister-in-law's kid

that's, uh

i mean that means peter's brother's kid, then, right? which means laura and derek's blood cousin???? alright then

oh god kate came in the locker room in JUST A TOWEL while he was talking he can't get a minute away from her

laura's like "ur gonna go do something slutty with a human aren't you" THIS IS CONTRADICTING SEASON 1 CANON LOL derek never told anybody about kate! laura is super weird in this book if my 16yo little brother was about to go sleep with a teacher i would never be so chill about it

Oh, sweetie, getting your attention is like shooting fish in a barrel, Kate thought as she drove Derek in her car to her apartment. It was across the street from a bar, which, from her point of view, was convenient for when she wanted to hang out with the grown-ups. She was wearing a pair of jeans, heeled boots, and a black low-cut cashmere sweater. I can practically hear you slobbering. It's like you're a big puppy dog and I am a juicy steak.

this dialogue.......

i wasn't like, having the worst time reading this book, it wasn't actually that bad, but jesus

oh my god

"The thrill of this new hunt raced through her. The euphoria of the chase. She never, ever got tired of dangling herself in front of males of all kinds. It was no accident that in ancient Greece, the deity in charge of the hunt was a goddess—Artemis. Beside her, Derek "Aquaman" Hale had his head resting on the back of the seat and his eyes closed. He was really good-looking. This was not going to be the most difficult thing she'd ever done in her life."

good GOD 

so she offers him a drink, and starts with coffee, but quickly escalates to wine: "I like to have a little something to unwind after I'm at the pool, you know? Lucky thing I live across the street from a bar." She said that to goose him a little, remind him she was a woman, with a woman's needs.

and that he's sixteen.

now she's talking about how she doesn't even know if derek and the hales are the wolf pack she's looking for: She had her orders, but she had to be sure. Kill werewolves, and you were a hero. Kill people, and you were a mass murderer. The group she was involved with had detected werewolf activity in Beacon Hills, and she just had a feeling about the Hales. Of course, there were several other large families in the area that might make up the pack she was seeking. Derek's furtiveness and hesitation might have nothing to do with her assignment. There were reasons other than being a werewolf for not wanting to bring home someone who was way too old for you. It hadn't dawned on him to question the motives of a pretty woman who was coming on to him. He believed what he chose to believe.

apparently she has some tragic backstory w/ this? "Menwerewolves and humanswere so simple. They always assumed you wanted them. Some fat man on a couch burping and watching cage matches? Oh, yeah, you wanted him. A guy who threw you around the room and accused you of cheating on him? Oh, yeah, you wanted him. Like a hole through your heart. But the good one? The one that you really did want? A flash of rage roared through Kate, but she kept it at bay. She could feel it trying to take over, like a wolf scratching at her door. Rage was not her enemy. Rage got the job done. In ancient Greece—land of Lycoan, said to be the first werewolf—men who pissed off the goddess Artemis were ripped to shreds by her hunting dogs. Several times a day, Kate dreamed about ripping various people to shreds. Of course, she never acted on it. She left that for others much less able to control their savagery." see, like, if derek wasn't 16, i could buy bad men in her life leading her to want to use men like this, but derek is a boy and she talks continuously about how innocent he is, so like...no slide

i know i'm just doing a lot of copypasta rn but it speaks for itself: "She watched as Sweetie Derek politely moved a packing carton off her sofa and sat down. What a body. Still boyish, but with the sweet promise of a truly splendid man. If she was right about the Hales, Derek would never become a man. Just as he wasn't really a boy. He was a monster hidden inside a human disguise." that aligns pretty well with the "they're all just a bunch of dumb animals to me" shit she talks in 1.11, also, "Sweetie Derek," this is so horrible

she finally pours them wine and leans against the counter to "give him a view" - "She waited for his response. He was staring at her body. Wanting her. Intimidated by her. She loved it." like this is SO BAD AND EXPLICIT she really does just love that he's young and unsure it's FUCKED

so then we switch to derek pov, and they eat like a light lunch of sandwiches with a long awkward silence, and he does a lot of internal monologuing about how cool it would be if she could come home and meet his family and be her mate

which like...i know how teenagers are but he met her five days ago. tbh real grooming, which is definitely what she's doing, takes longer than that, but i guess we were going for brevity here lol

(in this book derek's dad is the alpha? but in season 3 talia is, so i guess they changed werewolves then to be matriarchial like hunters)

like, she's asking him questions about himself - lucky number, favorite color - she asks him if he believes in fate. he keeps clamming up and she keeps trying to get him to talk so she finally asks about his swimming and he blurts out that there's just so much pressure, even though he can't really tell people about his "double life" and she like IMMEDIATELY responds with "yeah ofc there is hs is so rough like the ppl you have to hang out with some are still like babies and some are all rown up and ready for the real world like you" like...this is classic grooming techniques

and he's like flattered and think she's mega hot but he's also really nervous, and when she leans into his space and asks if he's ready: "He set down his sandwich. His heart was about to burst out of his chest. His body was quivering and trembling. He felt as if he were burning up." and he does say yes so i assume they banged but THANK god the chapter cut to black