#but not any specific wind. it changes. sometimes it's the warm summer wind that brushes against your palm

[lorei-writes]

Hi! Happy Friday.

For the fic ask game...

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Thanks in advance!

Ooh, okay! Thanks for dropping by! :)

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Ownership -- when writing this, I thought it was somewhat upsetting. Turns out people did not share that opinion.

Also, that Slavic Grandma at the Mansion headcanons. Those. Yes. I wrote them during 15 minutes break between one nap and the other. I posted them without checking anything. Heck, when I woke up I only hazily remembered that I've done all this. Now it's one of my most popular posts.

The only thing I can compare the response to that would be... When I accidentally activated the Slavic part of the fandom, by writing Polish!MC headcanons for IkeSen (Hideyoshi ones). We've screamed disco polo lyrics in the notes. Cursed. Lovely.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

// Of course, Winter Flower, again.

I'm trying to actually craft the plot this time, instead of completely winging it! What will come out of it is still uncertain, but only time can tell that much. So far... I've noticed that writing thing with certain continuity has become easier, so that's some improvement to how my previous series went. It's also easier to write when I'm not very hyped for it.

I'm also toying with several ideas for this. Let's call them... "I want to know who I am" and "I want to be safe" >:)

Ask game

[alinaastarkov]

Are there any specific Jonrya Quotes that doesn't mean sibling love? If so which ones?

Yes! Loads! Thanks for this ask.

She [Ygritte] is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't? - Jon VI ACOK

I don’t know about you guys, but it’s not often I’m romantically attracted to someone who immediately reminds me of my sibling. But hey, maybe that’s just me.

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. - Jon VI ACOK

Once again, I tend not to imagine my (future) romantic partner’s naked body and think of my sibling. I’m starting to sense a pattern 🤔

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers. - Arya I ASOS

Even Arya is comparing her (future potential) love interest to Jon. It’s an epidemic!

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II ASOS

Yet another instance of Jon thinking of Ygritte’s body beneath her clothes and thinking of Arya. Hmm, suspicious 👀

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III ASOS

Kind of strange to question his relationship to Arya, especially after all of those inappropriate thoughts regarding Ygritte. And to question only Arya? Seems like someone really wishes they weren’t blood related so it wouldn’t feel wrong to think of her that way...

"It wasn't Longspear, then?" Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways. She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?" "Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III ASOS

Real smooth, Jon. Real smooth. Notice how he totally dodges the question? How we never get an answer on if he would bed his sister? Perhaps because the answer is yes?? Notice how this sounds a lot like it might tie in to “their passion will continue to torment them until the secret of Jon’s parentage is revealed in the last book”? Very suspicious.

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. - Arya VIII ASOS

“I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He'll call me "little sister" and muss my hair. - Arya XII ASOS

Maybe not explicitly romantic per se, but it is telling that she genuinely believes her own mother and brother would not want her for superficial reasons and because of the people she killed in self-defense, but her belief in Jon doesn’t waver for a single second.

Jon has a mother. Wylla, her name is Wylla. She would need to remember so she could tell him, the next time she saw him. She wondered if he would still call her "little sister." I'm not so little anymore. He'd have to call me something else. - Arya VIII ASOS

Arya’s questioning her relationship with him too?! To distance herself from him and subconsciously make it easier to deal with romantic feelings in the future?! Will it ever end?!

"It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn't.  Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

This is so sweet and the specificity of his smile over the more general descriptions of the rest of her family mark it out as different in some way.

She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. Even Jon would never know Blind Beth, I bet. That made her sad. - The Blind Girl ADWD

Arya loves Jon so much she wishes he could meet her alter-egos too. Ugh, the romantic angst is too much.

"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. - Jon VI ADWD

Once again, Jon thinks of Arya in a way that a brother really shouldn’t think of a sister. Funny how he specifically says “Ramsay Bolton’s bed”, and not just any man’s bed? Maybe because he can imagine her in someone’s (his)? Either way, weird thing to think about, Jon. And a very violent reaction to your sister’s marriage. Way more than his reaction to another sister’s marriage. Definitely intense feeling that goes beyond sibling bond.

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" - Jon VI ADWD

Need I say more?

Jon felt fifteen years old again. Little sister. - Jon IX ADWD

This is not so big in terms of non-sibling feelings but it is a very intense reaction and also I love Jon being such an emo little shit here cause... Jon, bby, you’re sixteen. Calm down.

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. "Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. - Jon X ADWD

This is such a romanticised scene and the fact that it mentions Arya at the same time, and Jon’s intense feeling again, gives me pause and made me put it on this list.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon XI ADWD

Again, veeeerrry intense feelings, the mention of her wedding night again, and the fact that he once more questions his relationship with her. It’s too repetitive and obvious not to mean something.

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … "I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said. - Jon XIII ADWD

So, Jon thinks of his former lover and Arya right after, repeats the phrase “I want my bride back” specifically in reference to Arya, and imo “bride” is not what you call someone you have only platonic/ familial feelings for. That would be very weird. Then he abandons all his vows, something he had the opportunity to do and didn’t at least 3 separate times, for and only for Arya, and if that ain’t just the most romantic shit you ever heard. And then of course he literally dies with her as his last thought. Romantic. As. Fuck!

There is more than this, but you asked for things that don’t also mean sibling love, so here you go! 🤗

[pressedinthepages]

Elysian

Greek. adj. beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Word Count: 1086

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Can I perhaps request an Eskel x reader (if you're still taking them)? One where the reader is insecure about their body and Eskel shows them how beautiful they are? I'm having a hard time with my body just now and family members don't help in that regard so I need some fluff if you're up for it ❤️] omg this is so soft and i so feel you, hopefully this adds a smile to your day :)

Tags:   @whitewolfandthefox​ @havenoffandoms​ @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural​ @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely​ @magpie343​ @queenxxxsupreme​ @belalugosisdead​ @hina-chans-stuff​ @persephonehemingway​

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: plenty of fluff with a dash of angst, body insecurity, ~allusions~ to smut, but nothing specific

Eskel offers his perspective on your frustrations.

    You huff, sprawling yourself over a large rock at the water’s edge. The wind whips over your skin, the taste of salt dancing through the air. You throw an arm over your eyes, shielding them from the brightness of the sun as you wallow in self-pity. However, even that cannot last long, someone coming up and nudging your feet off the side of the rock. You lift your arm and squint, finding Eskel sitting just beside of you.

    You groan, dramatically throwing yourself back down as another wave crashes against the rocky shore. 

    “Do you want to be alone?” he asks, barely loud enough for you to hear. You hum, shaking your head as you sit up alongside him.

    “No, I just...ugh, it’s stupid,” You cover your face with your hands, trying to hold yourself together with the force of your fingers.

    “I’m sure it’s not, especially if it’s bugging you this much…” Eskel’s voice trails off, low and tinged with a sweetness one could only find in summer berries.

    “I-” you huff, running your hands through your hair and fixing your eyes on the waves as they reach the shore. “I’ve just been feeling...off, I don’t know, I feel almost like I shouldn’t look in a mirror, because I know I won’t like what I see.”

    Eskel hums beside you, his thumbs fiddling with a loose stitch on his trousers. You sit in silence for a while, not really wanting to talk more but certainly not wanting to leave Eskel’s side. Even just by being there, he has made the voice in the back of your head a bit quieter.

    “I know how it feels,” Eskel leans over a bit, so that you can hear him a bit easier over the songs of the ocean. “To not like the reflection that you find.”

    You look over at him, watching as the dark waves of his hair flutter in the breeze, brushing over the hills and valleys of scars on his cheek. You expect to find pity in his eyes, but you only see comfort, the honeyed hues of his eyes glazed with emotions too deep to name. 

    “Can I show you?” Eskel asks as he swings his legs to turn towards you, “Can I show you what I see when I look at you?”

    You nod, your mind swimming with too many thoughts all fighting for the forefront, fear and apprehension and hope, hope that Eskel will be louder than the self-hatred that seeps through your skin on days like this. 

    Eskel reaches out and takes your hand in his. The feeling of your fingers sliding over his sends sparks up your spine, as if he had let free some of the magic that lies in his soul. His hands have callouses from years of training and work, but they are like velvet slipping through your grasp. 

    He raises your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the back as your breath hitches on itself. “I love your hands, they speak of strength that lies under the surface of a gentle touch, carefully honed to conform to any need one may have.”

    Eskel pushes the loose sleeve of your shirt up, placing quick pecks to each and every freckle and dark spot he finds. “I love all of these little marks along your arms, they’re like constellations and galaxies spanning across a night sky.”

    He scoots closer to you, his leg pressing against yours as he sets his hand atop of your thigh. Not high enough to be presumptuous, but the warmth of it seeps to your bones. “I adore your legs, the way they hold you up and bring you to my side.” His thumb soothingly runs back and forth over the fabric of your trousers, lightly tickling as he moves to thread his arm around your waist.

    “Your hips make me think terribly ungodly things, swaying and weaving through life on a path of light and stardust,” Eskel’s voice has turned darker, temptation dripping from his lips as he whispers in your ear.

    He leans back, fitting a finger under your chin and tilting it up to him. You are close enough that your breaths mingle in the shared space between you. His hand runs up your jaw, sweeping across your cheek as he brushes a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. 

    “I love watching your hair dance through the air. Sometimes, I even get a bit jealous of the wind, since it gets to spin itself through the silk that frames you.” Your eyes close as he slowly, reverently, runs his fingers through your hair, goosebumps settling on your skin as you feel his breath on your cheek. 

    “Your eyes are the most stunning jewels I’ve ever seen, bright and shining even on the dimmest days. But, if they were to be put into a ring, or a necklace, they’d be plain, for they would be missing the rest of you.” You feel your lip tremble and your eyes well with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the outpouring of adoration that Eskel has given.

    His eyes drift lower, settling on your lips. “Ah, and my personal favorite. I love watching your lips move, weaving stories and spilling emotions that only a beautiful mind could conceive.” The tears fall freely now, warm tracks down your cheeks that cool with the salty breeze. 

“And you know what?” Eskel brings his eyes back to yours, a new intensity burning from underneath the kindness. “Even if all of those things were to disappear from your body, or if they changed and looked different, or if I went blind and couldn’t see any of them anymore, I would still love you all the same. Because you would still be you, and that’s all that truly matters.” 

“You love me?” You whisper as the ocean continues its quest to climb the rocks with every new wave.

Eskel chuckles as he pulls you close, resting his forehead on yours. “Of course I do, it was stupid of me not to have told you sooner. But nothing can change that, my heart is yours, for as long as you’ll have it.”

You lean in and capture his lips, trying to pour all of your unsaid thanks and adoration back into him. He is soft against you, gently pushing and pulling you closer like the tides sweeping along the deep ocean floor. 

“Thank you, Eskel,” you whisper, your lips barely brushing against him with your words, “I love you too.”

[softsweetsuffering]

OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian G��arán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Meeting Miss Morgan | Word Count: 3289 | Rating (for entire fic): 18+!!!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female OC | Chapter: 04 of 08 |  Link to Masterlist

Arthur knows what he's doing is stupid. In fact, he is stupid. He got up even earlier than usual, taking care of the firewood. Julie prepares it most of the time, but when she briefly mentioned in conversation that she doesn't particularly like doing it, Arthur immediately had the urge to do it for her.

He likes to think that he's just trying to help out around the farm, but after the pencils and the whole trouble Arthur went through with Jasper, he can't pretend that what he's doing has nothing to do with Julie. Somehow he always ends up helping her in particular.

Ever since she kissed him on the cheek, she wanders around in his mind when he's not busy thinking about something else. Having the chance to hold her in his arms didn't make it any easier. In fact, he feels like he's years younger, even more of an idiot, and stupid enough to think that she might like him as more than a friend, if at all. 

Julie's a nice person. Doing sweet things comes naturally to her, and has nothing to do with Arthur, but he still can't stop hoping. He's chopping wood and buys a new shirt like a changed man, as if he wasn't a killer, wanted outlaw, and complete failure.

Arthur finishes the last logs with a sigh, knowing full well that his day won't get any better. With some tools, he heads out to one end of Mr. Henderson's property, beginning the work that will probably take him the whole week, building a new fence.

On the one hand, it's a good thing that he can stay away from the stables for a while. That way, he at least can't embarrass himself in front of Julie. On the other hand, he has a lot of time to think. 

For the last two days, he's been remembering his ride with Julie. They didn't talk much, but Julie kept smiling at Arthur, so abundantly happy that she was finally able to ride Jasper. It was a joy to watch her race over open fields, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She seemed to glow in a golden shine under the warm summer sun, so free and unburdened that watching her made Arthur's heart ache. 

Fuelled with those memories, Arthur keeps working on the fence, trying to neither think back to his old life nor imagine the future. All that matters is hitching up posts, one after the other until the day is gone.

He makes good progress until he hears a rider approach. Arthur's heart drops when Julie rides up to him on Jasper. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur tips his hat, pulling it deeper into his face. "Jules."

She hops off the horse and strides over to him with a bundle in her hand, her eyes wandering over the already finished fence. "Let me guess, you didn't take any breaks."

Arthur opens his mouth, but Julie shakes her head and takes his hammer away before throwing it into the grass. Then she grabs his hand and pulls him to the nearby woods, making him sit down on a fallen tree in the shadow of a few branches.

"I had time to make something to eat for you since the firewood was already done," Julie says, raising a single brow at Arthur while unpacking the bundle in her hand.

"Was it?" Arthur says, looking out over the farmland in front of them. 

Julie pushes a bowl with stew into his hand and tops it off with a thick slice of bread. "It's cold but better than nothing."

"Thank you," Arthur says, although he's not sure how he's supposed to eat with butterflies in his stomach. 

Julie is sitting way too close, her leg brushing against his. Arthur would move, but then he'd fall off the tree. Instead, he shovels a spoonful of stew into his mouth. That should keep Julie from asking him any questions. 

"You know that you don't have to do everything, right?" she asks.

Arthur chews, but Julie keeps looking at him, waiting for an answer. He clears his throat, trying to come up with an excuse. "I don't mind the firewood. It's quiet work, relaxing. Just like building a fence."

"You must have had quite the excitement before when you actually like doing these boring things."

"Enough for a lifetime," Arthur says, knowing that he's avoiding her unspoken question. It's not fair to keep it a secret from Julie who he truly is, but the thought of her thinking less of him twists Arthur's stomach into knots.

He forces down more stew, and maybe Julie takes the hint or just wants for him to eat, but she stays quiet, looking up into the trees. They sit there until Arthur is done eating, and Julie fetches a bottle of water for him as well, scolding him for not bringing one along in the first place. 

Arthur thanks her again, trying to put the bottle into his bag to bring it along. He curses when one side of the bag tears, and his journal drops to the ground. It falls open, and Arthur hurries to pick it up, but Julie is quicker than him. Her eyes grow big as she looks at the page, and Arthur's heart stops, thinking about the things he recently wrote about her.

"I thought you only wrote in this," Julie says, "I didn't know you were drawing, too."

"It's just silly little doodles," Arthur says, hoping that Julie won't turn the page.

"That's the whole farm from the viewpoint up on that ridge," Julie says with wonder in her voice. She moves a few steps before turning around, holding the journal up against the horizon. "Arthur, that's incredible. Where did you learn to draw like this?"

"My pa," Arthur begins, realizing too late that he was thinking about Hosea and horrible guilt consumes him. 

"Your father was an artist?"

"No, what I meant was that he gave me my first journal when I was 15," Arthur says, the memory weighing heavy on him. "I've been trying to draw whatever I saw since then."

"Well, then he's a good father. You're really talented," Julie says. She closes the journal with such care as if it was a precious relic before handing it over. "I've meant to draw a few places around here, but somehow I never get around to it."

"How come?" Arthur asks, wishing he could see some of Julie's drawings.

"Mrs. Henderson would say I work too much," Julie sighs, "and Mr. Henderson is always concerned about me. A young woman alone on the road? Better not. There's a beautiful pond up in those woods, but there's a road going past with many travelers and stagecoaches, so there are sometimes bandits in the woods as well. Mr. Henderson would kill me if I went there on my own."

"He's not wrong," Arthur says. He met enough outlaws in his time who went far beyond thieving and killing. Some of them were so bad, you wished they would have killed their victims. "There are some bad people out there."

Julie studies Arthur for a moment as if to ask if he's one of them, but then she walks over to Jasper. "I better let you work now, or Mr. Henderson will have my head for distracting you."

"Thank you for the food," Arthur says again. After all, he can't tell Julie that she's already distracting him anyway.

"Somebody has to take care of you," Julie says with a smile before riding off, leaving Arthur with a warm feeling in his chest.

------

The next morning, Arthur walks out of his cabin, finding a fresh water bottle and a tightly wrapped package in front of his door. He doesn't have to look inside to know what it is. Julie must have gotten up even earlier than usual to prepare some food for him. Arthur picks it up, finding a little note tucked into one of the folds. It says, "Take some breaks."

Smiling, Arthur puts the package in his saddlebag and rides out to continue his work on the fence. This time, he doesn't mind those thoughts of Julie dance around in his head. He can't change her as much as he can't change himself, so he might as well enjoy her kindness, no matter how undeserved it might be.

When noon comes around, Arthur takes Julie's advice to have a break. He unpacks the food package, finding cold roast, bread, and berries. Sitting in the shadow of a huge tree, Arthur savors his meal. Somehow, it tastes so much better than anything he's ever eaten before. He's about to pack up when he finds a piece of paper sticking out from under his plate.

Arthur pulls it out, his eyes growing wide. It's a drawing of him on the Mustang riding up to the stables. Despite sketching other people all the time, Arthur has never seen a picture of himself. It's like looking into the mirror, and he's impressed how well Julie can draw. 

Wondering why Julie picked this specific scene, Arthur's stomach does a little summersault when he remembers what happened right afterward. Closing his eyes, Arthur can imagine how Julie's touch felt on his skin, but then he quickly gets up. He can't risk to drift off into these kinds of phantasies. 

Instead, Arthur carefully folds up the drawing and puts it in his breast pocket before riding out to town. Mr. Henderson asked him to run some errands, and he might be able to find a little thank you gift for Julie. At least that's what Arthur thought.

He's done with Mr. Henderson's business in no time, but even after an hour, Arthur can't find anything to give to Julie. He can't exactly gift her a sack of rice, but at the same time, anything more personal could give her the wrong - or worse - the right idea about Arthur's growing feelings for her. In the end, he decides that a heartfelt thank you has to do.

On his way back, Arthur has another idea, though. He's on the road Julie talked about the day before, so Arthur steers his horse into the trees to find the pond. It takes him a little going back and forth, but he knows what Julie has been talking about once he sees it.

It's a beautiful place with high trees and lots of flowers that surround the small body of water. Birds are singing, and when Arthur comes closer, a few deer quickly jump away and disappear. Letting his horse roam free, Arthur walks around the pond two times to find the right spot before settling down with his journal.

Usually, Arthur's quick with his drawings. He always had other things to do or was with someone who didn't appreciate him taking forever to sketch an abandoned church or oddly shaped tree. Today, Arthur takes his time. He tries to capture how the sun sparkles on the water, and painstakingly draws all the single petals on most of the flowers. He only rushes to finish the picture when the sun begins to set.

Looking at his finished work in the dim light, Arthur remembers Julie's words about him being talented, and for the first time in a long while, he feels proud about something that he did. Folding the paper as carefully as possible, he puts it to Julie's drawing in his pocket and hurries back to the farm so he won't miss dinner.

At the house, Julie greets him with a lovely smile, and Arthur's heart skips a beat once again. Thinking about giving her the drawing later makes him so nervous he can barely follow the conversation. When they're done eating, Julie heads outside to play her guitar, and Mr. Henderson holds Arthur back to talk about work.

Arthur nods along until Mr. Henderson finally gives him free. Outside, Arthur finds Julie sitting on the steps that lead up to the door. Her guitar is lying next to her, but she's not playing.

"No music tonight?" Arthur asks.

"I felt like watching the stars," Julie says before turning to Arthur and patting the floor next to her. "Come sit with me."

Arthur swallows a lump in his throat, feeling like he might pass out. He can't remember the last time he's been so nervous. For a moment, he thinks about making up an excuse to go, but his feet act on their own, carrying him all too willingly over to Julie. He sits down next to her, leaving generous space between them, but Julie scoots closer, pointing into the sky.

"I love that one," she says, and Arthur follows the line of her outstretched arm to a big star that shines particularly bright.

"It's pretty," Arthur says, looking at Julie. She turns her head, and he tries desperately to come up with something else to say. "Thank you for the food. And the drawing. You're way more talented than I am."

Julie's cheeks gain a little color, and she waves her hand. "Like you said, just silly little drabbles."

Arthur thinks about the picture in his breast pocket, and it takes all his courage to take it out and hand it to Julie. "I thought about what you said when I was heading back from town. You probably could have done a better job, though."

Julie unfolds the paper and gasps before staring at Arthur. "You drew the pond?"

"I gave it a shot," Arthur says, rubbing his neck. Now that Julie is looking at it, he begins to see mistakes he didn't notice before, and he feels he should have taken more time to get the picture right.

"It's beautiful," Julie says, her eyes wandering over the page. "The details in the flowers. The water. This must have taken you forever."

Arthur shrugs. "Maybe when I'm done with the fence, we can ride up there together, and you can draw it yourself. Or any of the other places you wanted to draw."

Julie looks back up at Arthur, a shine in her eyes that makes his skin tickle. "You would do that?"

Arthur's not quite sure how they ended up so close to each other, and he knows he should just say yes, or maybe nod, but he's always been an idiot. "For you," he says, his voice almost giving out on him.

He moves even closer to Julie, knowing full well that he shouldn't. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she leans in, and Arthur closes the distance between them, his lips brushing against Julie's. Arthur's heart feels like it might jump out of his chest any second, and he wants nothing more than to hold Julie close, but then the door screeches behind them.

They move apart as if hit by lightning, and only seconds later, Mrs. Henderson comes out of the house. "Aren't you going to play, Julie? I really feel like-"

She stops herself when her eyes fall on the paper in Julie's hand. "Oh, my dear, that's lovely. When did you draw that?"

Julie throws a quick glance over to Arthur before handing the drawing to Mrs. Henderson. "I didn't. Arthur drew it today."

Mrs. Henderson's mouth falls open, and she looks back and forth between Arthur and the drawing. "Well, look at you, Mr. Morgan. Aren't you full of surprises? Who knows what else we might find the longer you stay with us."

She can't know it, but her words cut deep, and Arthur gets to his feet. "I think I better go to sleep. I want to get an early start on that fence."

"You two make quite the couple," Mrs. Henderson sighs, running a hand over Julie's hair. "The name, the drawing, and nothing but work in your heads. The two of you really need to have some fun for a change."

Julie lets out a muffled noise, and Arthur wishes he could just melt into the ground. Instead, he taps his hat. "Goodnight."

He turns around, walking away so quickly that he doesn't know if the two women respond. Arthur's whole body seems to fill up with rage, and he wishes he could give himself a good beating. 

When he left the gang, Arthur swore that he's done with making stupid mistakes, yet here he is, well on his way to hurt a nice, young woman, and maybe ruining more lives. The surprises he's filled with are danger, sorrow, and regret. Neither Julie nor the Henderson's deserve any of that. If he wants to stay, he has to get himself under control.

--------

Pretending to be busy with the fence, Arthur manages to stay away from Julie for two days, and then he jumps at the chance when Mr. Henderson asks him to bring one of the horses he sold to its buyer. That way, he gets to stay away for three more days, trying to sort out his feelings. 

At first, he goes with booze but concludes that that's just one more mistake, considering how he behaves when drunk. The trouble is that Arthur can't sleep when he's sober. He's tossing and turning, only drifting off for a few minutes before waking up in a cold sweat, guilt consuming him over and over again.

By the time Arthur gets back to the farm, he's so tired he can barely walk straight and doesn't remember the last time he ate. Still, he brings his horse into the stable, doing his best to take care of it. It's already dark, and Arthur hoped he could sneak into his cabin without anybody noticing. Of course, he has no such luck.

"Arthur?" Julie asks behind him, and Arthur does his best to stand up straight when he turns around to her.

"Yes, it's me. I just got back."

Julie takes a step closer, worry in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Just a little tired," Arthur says with a forced smile. "It's been a long ride."

He's not sure if he actually sways at those words, but it sure feels that way. Julie comes even closer, studying his face. "A little tired? You're dead on your feet. What's wrong?"

Arthur knows that he won't get out of this so quickly, so he shrugs. "Haven't slept well for the last few days. I'll be fine."

He waits for Julie to scold him, but she just takes his hand and leads him into the next empty stall. It's filled with fresh hay, and Julie forces him to sit down. "I'll be right back," she says, her voice low.

Arthur wishes he could go, but he's not sure he could get up on his feet before Julie's back. Instead, he shrugs out of his jacket and puts it behind his head like a makeshift pillow. He's staring at the wall on the other side when Julie appears in front of him. She puts a blanket over him and then sits down with her guitar on her legs.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks, but Julie only shakes her head.

"Just close your eyes."

She starts playing, and Arthur does as she says. He's nervous with her closeby, and he wants to apologize, but he's not sure how to even get the words out. "I'm sorry, Jules," he finally manages to say.

"Sleep, Arthur," Julie says, her voice warm and comfortable like the blanket over him. "You'll be fine."

It takes a while until Arthur can focus on the music, but then a nice heavy feeling settles in his stomach, the notes carrying him over into a better world, a world where he doesn't have to apologize for liking someone.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Born Into the Wilds - Chapter 10

*rises from the deep ocean of too much written on paper* I’m finnished!! Have the Link to AO3. *goes off to finally eat dinner*

In which Nyx levels up his sneaking skills and Libertus is badass.

Featuring: Taelpar Crag's creepy vibe, sneaking, Libertus saving Nyx' ass for a change, Ladone being cool and the author's pitiful attempt at Early Modern English. (She is very bad at it.)

Warnings: blood, injury, death of an animal and mention of reanimated corpses

Words in Hadnissa:

kohna = swearword; along the lines of shit ahtri = Spirit; umbrella term for everything from actual nature spirits to the presence of their ancestors thuir = father; more along the lines of papa zehstir = foreigner, enemy; very strong insult makti-oir = war chief, commander-in-chief, warlord; lit.: leading hunter credahtri = term for someone who abandoned the Galahdian way of life; lit.: ghost heart akastral = demon; more specifically a dead soul clinging to (or trapped withtin) its own body instead of moving on gekkan = bear like creature with antlers native to Galahd

Other stuff: Enías and Kyriákos are two of the five Fathers of the Hunt, a group of spirits/Gods, a large part of their culture centres around. Enías is the tracker that finds a prey's tracks and hides your own, and Kyriákos makes your blade unerring, your feet fast and silent, and your arm strong. Dala is the name of a Clan that consists largely of animal farmers and butchers.

Nyx!

The cry, high and desperate, washed over him like a wave crushing against a cliff side during a spring storm, as the sky fell away from him. Had that been Crowe? He couldn't be sure and had no time to contemplate it. He gritted his teeth so tight the muscles in his jaw twitched, to keep his voice from joining the wind howling around him.

It tugged insistently at his hair, his clothes, his skin like it was trying to keep him from falling. Falling deeper and deeper into the shadows of the Crag. It wasn't trying hard enough.

Nyx was so tired. His muscles were nothing but old rubber and each thought had to be grasped tightly or it would vanish in the murky molasses of his exhausted mind. Instinctively he tried to control his fall, years of flinging himself off cliff sides and warp training kicked in and made him spread his limbs out in a bit to stabilize his flailing body and slow him down.

Sharp rock and crystal rushed by him, often times nearly close enough to clip his body and make him tumbling down. It was so tempting to try and dig one of his kukris into it to try and break his fall. He knew it wouldn't work. Sooner his blade would be damaged irreparably and he would die.

He had only one chance and he intended to make it count. Nyx dug as deep as he could into the place where his magicks rested. The animal-deep jungle-instinct and the feeling of sharp glass-intruder-foreign. Both were nearly depleted, the King's magic less so but it still wasn't enough to scrounge together a warp-jump. In a near panic he also reached for his own magic, only a few precious sparks were left. Together they were enough, they had to be. Time was getting short.

Falling by a stone arch that nearly beheaded him, Nyx could see what he assumed to be the ground now. It was dangerously close. This had to work or he was dead. With all his remaining strength he threw the kukri in his right hand and followed.

It didn't feel like any other warp-jump he had ever done. This didn't feel like hurling himself head first through a door at full tilt with shadows grappling at him, a presence pressing down and stealing the breath from his lungs. No. This time it was like a leap over a vast chasm. It stretched him thin and for but a moment it was like every receptor in his brain was firing at once. There was a loud crackling bang, as if lightning struck the earth, and then he was rolling over the rocky ground.

Blue eyes blinked open blearily and stared at the sky above them, uncomprehending of what they were seeing. Sky wasn't exactly the right word for it. It was dark, too dark for the sun to still be shining and that should make Nyx very nervous, but right now he was too exhausted to care.

Instead he lay on the hard rocky ground, limbs arranged awkwardly around him and just... breathed. Far, far up, a thin band of tiny pinpricks of light were scattered in the dark, their light reflecting on large arches of crystal the likes of which he had never seen before. It all carried an otherworldly beauty that was easier to concentrate on than the situation he was in.

He remembered the attack on the Niff base that had been a strangely ramshackle construction and entirely untypical.

Glauca. Nyx remembered him. His fight, Ladone, the fall.

The fall.

He had fallen down Taelpar Crag.

The thought was enough to make him move. Or try to, at last. The moment he tried to roll onto his side the whole world lurched and despite the darkness around him restricting his ability to see, he felt like everything was spinning. If he hadn't been lying down already, he would be now. Maybe the darkness made it even worse. He didn't know.

Nyx groaned. His mouth was as dry as a summer's day in Galahd and his tongue lay heavy and fuzzy against his gums. He needed something to drink. Badly.

It took a while for the world to stop feeling like it was hanging on only one hinge and spinning and spinning and spinning out of control. Nyx swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and took several steadying breaths. Slowly, oh so slowly he pulled his arms closer towards him and proceeded to push himself up.

A breath hissed through gritted teeth when he was finally sitting up. His muscled quaked in exhaustion and everything was sore. Especially his back and left side.

A cry echoed through the Crag, starving and aggressive and animalistic. It didn't sound like it was very close, but still it made dread crawl up Nyx' spine with cold fingers. He couldn't stay here, he needed to move, he needed to get out of here and find his people. He needed... Another cry sounded. Had it gotten closer? Nyx wasn't sure, his brain still too busy with sorting through what the fuck had actually happened. He needed a safe place to spend the rest of the night.

Easier said than done.

The first time he tried to get his feet underneath him, it ended with him nearly face planting from the sudden bout of vertigo. Magical exhaustion was a bitch. It turned your brain to mush, slowed your reaction time to basically nothing and made you simultaneously feel like you had the worst hangover ever combined with not having slept for a week.

His hands brushed something cool and the sound of metal scraping against stone made him perk up. His fingers couldn't get a firm grip on the kukris, but they still made him feel so much safer, even if he probably wouldn't be able to hit a garula standing still in his condition.

The second try was better. Nyx stood there, swaying like a strong wind could blow him over, but he was standing. Finally he squinted into the night, trying to ascertain is surroundings without accessing the enhanced senses his magic could grant him. It was startling how instinctual it had become for him over the last week, which was both good and bad. Right now it was bad, since trying to use magic while in stasis or a hairbreadth away from it was something even he wasn't stupid enough to try.

It wasn't as dark as he had first thought it was. The strange crystals weren't exactly luminescent but they reflected the starlight far better than they should have been able to. Not two metres away from him was the wall rising straight up like a shadowy giant. In his condition he would never be able to climb it. He seemed to be on a small plateau surrounded by natural stone pillars that rose up to it like stairs. The air was cold despite it being summer and smelled indescribably of history, age and magic. It made his skin itch and the fine hairs on his arms rise.

Which direction should he go? It might be a very stupid idea to move in the dark but he couldn't stay where he was either, unprotected and unable to defend himself. The answer provided itself as he turned around, careful to not trigger another bout of vertigo, and saw the telltale smoky band of a haven rise up not too far from him.

Nyx blinked and stared at it dumbly. What was a haven doing here? Why was there a haven here? Despite the questions wading through his mind, he started to climb down from his spot. Since he didn't carry the materials of erecting a barrier against daemons in the way of his people, the haven was his best bet. There had never been an Oracle to Galahd to bless the earth with their brand of protection spells, so they had had to come up with their own methods. He would never take a step out of Insomnia without the means to erect a safe place again, he swore it by his ancestors.

Sending a silent prayer towards Enías and Kyriákos he climbed over the descending pillars. Sometimes on all fours, if he had to. There was no one to see it anyway.

The haven was situated along the bend of something that looked like a pathway further down into the Crag among a patch of grass stubbornly clinging the the thin layer of earth that had accumulated over time. A tiny stream whispered over age old stone and Nyx nearly fell onto the ground again as he went to his knees and drank in tiny sips. The water was so cold it made his stomach cramp but it was a balm for his dry throat.

When he laid down in the surprisingly soft patch of grass the magical fire of the haven ignited itself, sending a warm glow out into the night. Nyx didn't care if it ruined his night vision. Here he was safe from any daemons that might be down here and that was enough for now.

He closed his eyes. Again the scene shortly before he had fallen flashed across his mind. Glauca, his sword raised to strike the stone arch Nyx was standing on, and Ladone hurling towards him. She had been too slow. He nearly snorted, one of the few times the woman was too slow and it was in this fucked up situation.

Hopefully she wasn't blaming herself. She had been a friend of his father's, always there on the periphery as he grew up. A soft look had always replaced her usual scowl as she had taught him what few hunting tricks  Ilias Ulric had shown her. Nyx had been so stupidly grateful. Still was.

He hoped they had made it back to Insomnia by now, he hoped the ambush hadn't killed anybody else, he hoped Ladone had been able to finish Glauca off, he hoped... He hoped they were looking for him, a tiny part of himself whispered into the dark of the night.

As if to not only shield himself from the cold and the darkness lurking around him, but also from his own thoughts, Nyx curled up on the grass by the fire and allowed his exhaustion to pull him down into the realm of sleep again.

When he awoke again, it wasn't night anymore. Daylight spilt down the steep walls of Taelpar Crag, making the huge crystals almost seem see-through at certain angles. The green of the plants that were stubborn enough to grow here and the white of the stone nearly seemed to glow. It was a truly beautiful place. One Nyx could easily do without.

He just lay there, letting the light warm him and feeling even worse than last night – had it been last night? The stasis had eased some, a faint whisper of animal-deep jungle-instinct thrummed at the back of his mind and his connection towards the Lucian magic didn't feel as frayed and cutting-glass-sharp anymore. He could barely move a finger without it hurting. Sleeping on the rocky ground, grass or no grass, hadn't helped the situation at all.

But he needed to move and so he forced himself to uncurl and drink again from the tiny stream. Splashing his face with the cold water helped a bit and chased the last vestiges of exhaustion a way for now. Next, he bent down next to the haven's fire pit and touched one of the stones forming the ring with his dominant hand. Nyx' voice was rough and gravelly as he whispered the traditional words of thanks towards the Fathers of the Hunt for having protected him during the night, and also for the haven. It might be foreign and strangely passive like all havens were, but it had protected him and it was never wrong to be polite to magical beings and places. They all had the tendency to remember bad behaviour.

Picking up his kukris, only now did he see in how bad a condition they were. The blade of Galahdian make – or rather what the Lucian weapon manufacturer had thought to be Galahdian make, which it most certainly wasn't – was warped beyond repair. The metal bent from too much magic and lighting channelled through it and the grip looked close to crumbling. The other one looked a bit better. Not by much, but it seemed to still be useable in a pinch.

With a heavy sigh, he left the broken blade behind. If nothing else it would make a good token of gratitude in exchange for the protection he'd had for the night.

Something instinctual within him balked at the idea of following the way up and Nyx and long since learned to listen to his instincts. So further down it was.

It didn't take him long to determine that there was something very wrong with this place.

It wasn't only the strange feeling in the air, like there was something ancient and rotten watching him, but also the dead bodies strewn around the way and pinned to the wall by rusted weapons. Most likely their own.

A great number of them wore armour the likes of which, if he remembered Lucian history correctly, had been worn six hundred to one hundred and fifty years ago. There were no few pieces that looked older, but were rusted so badly he couldn't be sure if they actually were armour or weapons or something else.

Nyx knew the stories about Tealpar Crag. Of how people that wandered inside, never came out again. Lucians had avoided the Crag so obsessively that they had forgotten their own stories about it, which was honestly just another way to show how idiotic the mainlanders were most of the time. But he hadn't expected this. Some of the skeletons were old enough they should have been turned into dust a long time ago with how exposed they were to the elements even down here.

There was magic at play, ancient and powerful and probably entirely natural, and Nyx had to stamp down on the urge to tap into his own to get a feel for it.

He continued on. There was nothing in this age old carnage for him to find.

The path dipped left into a hollowed out section of the Crag's wall and grew so steep Nyx had difficulties to continue on. If he hadn't been moving so slowly, he probably would have missed the glint at the mouth of the tunnel, wedged between two rocks. Since bending down was a bad idea right now, Nyx kneeled to get a better look.

It was a glass vial which contained a sparkling blue liquid. Carefully, he rolled it between his hands. On one side there was a hairline fracture, but nothing leaked out. Someone must have dropped it there. It was sealed with a glass stopper to which clung the remnants of black wax. An old potion by the looks of it. Nyx weighted it in his hand for a few seconds before he pocketed it. If for nothing else, than to show Crowe and the other magic crazy Glaives when he finally got out of here.

Struggling back to his feet, he groaned as his left side twinged in protest at the unappreciated motion. He stumbled into the dark tunnel, one hand braced against the wall for support. He hadn't made it very far inside when he heard them.

Animals, or daemons. Or both.

“Kohna,” he whispered under his breath.

He was in no condition to fight daemons. He was in no condition to fight much of anything, period. His only hope was that he could somehow sneak past them.

With the next step he took, Nyx practically melted into the shadows of the tunnel, his steps didn't make a sound. The daemons – and it was daemons he noted with equal parts apprehension and relief – came into view after the next bend. Light filtered through cracks in the wall like sharp edged spears the creatures avoided at all costs. He could use that to his advantage.

There wasn't exactly much officially known about daemons, but Nyx had learned through experience that their sense of hearing wasn't that great, so he didn't need to pay too much attention on the sounds he made, and with the beams of light in the room their eyesight mustn't be that good either. Libertus was convinced they could smell fear, which no one could prove or disprove.

The cave was surprisingly large with a series of pillars that showed that humans had been invested in this place once. Which was creepy, since, to Nyx, this place felt like it would be the perfect home for a murder of crows. The pillars didn't reach the ceiling and so were very useful to him.

Long fingers made sure that his one remaining kukri was still securely sheathed at the small of his back, before he carefully started to inch his way towards a ledge that couldn't have formed naturally and started maybe a metre above the ground. It was carved into the stone, rough and uneven, but large enough for a grown man to fit, if he wasn't claustrophobic.

Hoisting himself up made his muscles quiver, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it bleed to stop himself from groaning in fatigue and pain.

A daemon ambled by and Nyx froze, pressing himself into the rough stone that surrounded him on three sides. It stopped where he had stood no two minutes ago and sniffed the air. Sweat pooled in Nyx' palms as he forced himself to take even breaths and not to panic. If the daemons detected him now, he wouldn't be able to react. He would be as good as dead.

The thing – it kind of looked like a goblin, just with more sharp edges and seemingly double the amount of joints – sniffed again. The sound grated against his ears. It made a sound that was like a high pitched scream and a mad cackle rolled into one, before it jumped once, twice and bounded down the tunnel Nyx had come from. So it had been able to smell him to some extend. Good to know but also bad news. He needed to get out of this cave and back into the sun before the goblin-thing noticed it had run into the wrong direction.

As careful and silent as he could, he started to crawl forward. Each time a daemon came too close he froze and prayed to his ancestors and to the Fathers of the Hunt, that they wouldn't find him. They didn't.

He was maybe halfway across the cave, the ledge had risen until it was just below the ceiling and now tilted sharply upwards. End of the road. Very carefully, he did not curse out loud. A cursory glance into the room showed him that he was in an area shielded by two beams of light with no daemons within and one of those small pillars at the edge of it. Very convenient. Almost as if someone had designed it that way.

Trying not to jostle his injured side, he slid partly off the ledge and swung himself on top of the pillar. He froze, sitting on his haunches, and tried to determine if the daemons had seen, heard or otherwise sensed him. None moved intentionally closer and he doubted they could plan that kind of ambush. Nyx remained where he was for a few minutes longer, just to make sure.

From his elevated position further into the room he could make out the exit. It was behind some kind of small shrine, the ropes around it held some kind of barrier spell, if he read it right. For now the barrier was inactive. Nyx had no idea what would activate it and he honestly had no desire to find out. He just wanted to get out of here without dying.

The daemon that had followed his smell down the tunnel came back, chittering its displeasure for all to hear, but did nothing else. Maybe it thought he had escaped back into the sunlight.

Jumping from pillar to pillar like a cat made the path so much easier. It was a bit like jumping from tree to tree in Galahd's jungles to ambush the MT trampling through. Just without the actual ambush. Or other people as backup. Why had he taken the feather out of his braids again?

When he finally slipped past the little shrine, careful not to touch any of the ropes or the coloured cloths hanging off them, he escaped the tunnel as fast as he dared, only sighing in relief when he felt the sunlight caress his skin. It was already late afternoon. Had he really spent that long inside that cave? That couldn't be true, could it?

Nyx stretched his sore muscles cautiously, wincing at the painful twinge in his side. He slipped off his armour, his coat and pulled up the stiff shirt and vest beneath it to reveal a series of large, nearly black bruises. They covered most of his left side. He poked at one, swearing under his breath at the pain, and got fully dressed again. This wasn't good, but at least none of his ribs seemed to be broken. He should have checked that before he had spent hours lying on his stomach. Stupid.

With a derisive snort he continued his way further down into the Crag.

It was getting very close to dusk when he found the haven. His second one since he had gotten stuck here. He had certainly hoped to have found a way out of this ahtrii forsaken place by now. No such luck.

The haven was hidden away underneath an overhanging rock just off the path. There was a thin stream of water trickling down the wall and collecting in a clear, small pool that nearly seemed to glow. It was eerie but Nyx was thirsty and couldn't exactly afford to be picky. The taste was fresh and cool with just a bit of something that zinged along his tongue. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but disturbing nonetheless.

Close to the small pool, the stones were positively covered in lichen and moss. Both looked close enough to the variants growing in Galahd that he decided to take the risk and eat them. They... tasted horrible, but since he wasn't dead by the time night fell he figured they hadn't been poisonous.

He sat down, still hungry, leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and closed his eyes. He was so tired. The gurgling whisper of water lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

Nyx jolted awake, head jerking up and neck cracking as he rose from his uncomfortable position. It was still dark, even if a few hours must have passed. A quick glance up towards the sky with bleary eyes showed him a nearly full moon . The crystals glittered around him.

Something had woken him up, but there was nothing as far as his tired senses could pick up. After a few minutes of silent tension he was ready to go back to sleep, blaming his overtaxed senses for waking him up. The last few days had been a Pitioss damned disaster, after all.

He had just decided to sit down again when he heard it. The echoing cry of a daemon that was abruptly cut off and shortly thereafter the sound of footsteps.

More than one pair.

Probably two.

There were people here? Other than him, that was. Or were those some kind of daemon the had never seen before? Nyx wouldn't put it past this place. But until now he hadn't seen them anywhere outside the caves.

Near soundlessly he unsheathed his one remaining kukri and crept towards the edge of the haven. The steps came from further up the path and grew steadily louder until another sound was added to the cold air.

Voices.

Voices he knew, he realized with a sudden rush of adrenaline.

“... so far down?”

“Let's just find a place for us to hole up in for tonight and continue searching in the morning. We won't get much of anything done, if we're too tired to see straight. Especially fighting.”

“I know, I know. Let's just hope there's another haven somewhere around here.”

And then they stepped around the corner, dark silhouettes in the night. Two people he was very glad to see, indeed, even if he hadn't expected it at all.

“Libertus, Ladone?” he called.

Both silhouettes froze.

“Nyx! I knew that tumble wouldn't be able to kill you!”

Libertus surged forward and pulled Nyx into a hug so tight, it pressed the air right out of his lungs and made lances of pain shoot through his beaten up side. Not that Nyx let that stop him from returning the hug just as tightly. When he was finally let go, Ladone was there, her stern flintstone gaze softened by worry and relief as she eyed him from head to toe.

“You've got even more rotten lucky than your thuir, boy,” she noted, her voice rough, as she pressed another home-brewed ether into his hand.

He gave her a grateful smile and fingered the vial before downing the yellow liquid in one go. The sudden surge of energy made him shudder.

“Not just a tumble,” he grinned as they sat down around the firepit.

Nyx was positively giddy, and not just because of the ether. He hadn't truly realized under how much stress he had been until a large part of it fell away in one big swoop. Now he had two extra pairs of eyes and hands, people he could rely on and who watched his back as unflinchingly as he watched theirs. It didn't hurt either that most of the after effects of the stasis had vanished.

“How did you survive?” asked Ladone. “Most of the people who saw you fall are convinced you died.”

“I broke my fall with a warp. Scrounged up what was left of my magic for it and passed out because of the resulting stasis afterwards. It was strange though. I didn't have enough left of my own or the King's magic individually to manage it, so I combined them – don't ask me how, I have no idea. The warp turned out all kinds of weird because of it.”

“Weird how?” she asked, her thin brows furrowed in concentration.

“Weird like...” Nyx had to stop and actually think about it. He couldn't remember that much of what had happened shortly before and during his fall down into Taelpar Crag. When he continued, the words were slow and halting. “It didn't feel like it usually does. More like I was really jumping between places. You know all these slow motion scenes in those overly dramatic movies the Lucians are so fond of? Like that, but fast.”

“That,” started Libertus with a peculiar look on his face, “makes no sense at all.”

Nyx just shrugged. He had no other way to describe it, only having done it once. And he wasn't going to do it again until he could talk it through with somebody who had more knowledge in all things magic than him.

“How are the others? Did everybody make it out of that trap alright? What about Glauca? The last thing I remember of him is his damned sword coming down towards the arch I was standing on.”

“For the most part. Your idea to use that field spell was absolute genius. Less than half of the drop-ships made it through and none of those who did were undamaged. No one else died. Crowe and the other mages were all very close to stasis afterwards, but otherwise fine. Which, by the way, is the only reason she didn't come, too. Luche is holding down the fort, so to speak. He said he can give us three days before he has to start heading back to Insomnia,” answered Libertus.

That was stupidly risky. Why was Luche doing that? Not even a month ago he would have been halfway back to Insomnia with the rest of the Glaive by now.

“Glauca isn't dead,” Ladone butted in.

A long beat of tense silence followed.

“What?” exclaimed Nyx, utterly astonished. He had been so sure they had finally taken that son of a bitch down. That man had practically been on his last leg. “How?”

“I tried to stop him from crumbling the arch, but I was too late. People always say I'm the fastest they know, but the one time it really counts I'm too slow. Figures. That zehstir released some kind of energy wave, knocking everybody too close back. It gave him enough time to get away.”

“Damn,” whispered Nyx, not sure what else to say.

Two days, he thought.

Two days until they had to be back at the Niff base, and if he judged this new Luche right, who was all about not following Lucian orders too closely all of the sudden, he would probably move as slowly as possible during the way back to give them even more time.

“You two should get some sleep,” he said after a long pause.

“What about you?” Libertus wanted to know.

“After that ether I doubt I'll be able to sleep, and I don't think either of you got any chance to rest while chasing after me.”

“Heh, you're damn right. Chasing after your ass is exhausting,” snorted Libertus.

“Oh my, big guy. I didn't know you felt that way about me. Why didn't you say anything sooner?” Nyx batted his eyelashes at his hunting-brother in a faux coy expression.

Libertus playfully shoved at his shoulder, grumbling fondly under his breath while Ladone rolled her eyes.

“Just don't do anything where I can hear you,” she deadpanned and laid down, her back turned towards them and the fire.

If she felt their incredulous stares, she didn't give any indication thereof. The hunting-brothers looked at each other, their expressions moving in a silent conversation until Libertus huffed and laid down as well.

Nyx spent the rest of the night in contemplative silence.

They left their meagre camp as soon as there was enough light to move safely. Time was short and none of them knew how far they still had to go.

“Why don't we just go back the way you came?” Nyx asked as they continued to walk further down, now along wooden walkways that had been attached along the Crag's walls.

They weren't in the best of conditions, but steady and wound their way down and down, and for the first time Nyx could see how deep the Crag really was. It made his mind dizzy and his heart race. As far as he could tell, they were more than halfway down. To thirds maybe. Massive stone arches spanned the distance between the walls like bridges. The farther they went, the more Nyx felt like they were being watched. It made him more than a bit antsy.

“Damn Nyx, would you stop that already!” complained Libertus as lightning fizzled in the air yet again.

Nyx didn't bother with an answer. He couldn't really help it. He just felt himself bristle at the invisible eyes even more, his vision fluctuating between human-normal and what he assumed coeurl-normal to be. It was distracting and nausea inducing and he wanted it to stop.

“And to answer your question: we came here the same way you did.”

“... You fell down?” He couldn't quite believe Ladone would just fall down the Crag.

“What... of course we didn't fall, we're not you. We warped,” grumbled Libertus, utterly exasperated.

“We touched down at some kind of lake with too many corpses, that all started to fight us and talked,” added Ladone and prevented the argument from forming in the first place.

Nyx was too distracted to really notice. Still, he blinked at that comment. Reanimated corpses were strange. Like, properly strange. On the other hand the whole feel of this cursed place was setting his teeth on edge by now, so it wasn't really surprising.

“It was creepy as fuck,” grumbled Libertus, who seemed all too happy for an opportunity to complain about the whole situation. “Those things were going on and on about how we weren't worthy and, how we should turn back and how only the strong will survive. Too bad for them, I'm an Ostium. Strength is kind of what we do.”

They made it through three more daemon infested caves before they arrived at one of the big stone arches bridging the Crag.

“Something's here,” whispered Nyx towards the other two.

Without a word they readied their weapons.

A loud screech split the air and a creature unlike anything they had ever seen landed in front of them. It looked like a mix between a wyvern and a sahagin with bird legs ans a pair of clawed wings. The ground shook when the heavy body landed, long tail whipping aggressively through the air. Nyx answered the uttered challenge with a bone rattling roar of his own. The creature reared back, pausing for but a second before it lunged straight at him.

Libertus stepped in its way, a scavenged shield brandished in front of him to brace for the impact of the attack while Nyx and Ladone leaped out of the way.

Nyx jumped onto the creatures back while it was distracted by Libertus and slammed his kukri between two plates guarding its long neck. The blade bit deep into its flesh and the smell of burnt skin crept into his nose as lightning crackled. The creature shook itself with a pained cry and threw Nyx clean off as the blade of his kukri broke. He landed on all fours, his lips pulled back into a snarl.

The thing, animal, whatever, took into the air on strong wings. Ladone hung from its side by her own blades and took to riding a daring rodeo as she swung herself onto its back. No matter how it rolled through the air, it couldn't shake the huntress off. No wonder she'd been friends with his father, Nyx couldn't help but marvel.

Nyx stretched a hand out and sent a powerful bolt of lightning into one of its wings. He had been aiming for an eye, but whatever. It tumbled towards the ground, trying to keep itself from falling with one wing. But it was no use as Ladone attacked it with a series of fire spells.

“The throat! Slit the throat!” yelled Nyx and hoped Libertus had heard him over the painfully loud screeching.

He must have. The moment the creature hit the ground Libertus was there, brandishing his heavy kukri that was more a small axe than anything else, and cut its throat as he slid along the ground and beneath thrashing limbs. A wing clipped him by the shoulder and sent him flying. It died with a last garbled screech, blood rapidly pooling around it.

“What by Pitioss was that thing?” Nyx could hear Libertus ask as he picked himself up with a groan.

The sleeve of his coat was ruined and his shoulder would bruise like nothing else, but he seemed otherwise fine.

“I have no idea,” he answered after his ears had stopped ringing and poked the carcass with a foot.

He sighed as he saw the remnants of his kukri sticking out of its neck, and wondered if he could take one of its talons in exchange. But taking a trophy was Libertus' privilege, if he so chose, since he had struck the killing blow.

His hunting-brother stepped up towards the carcass, stared at it with keen eyes and with three quick strikes cut off the talons of one leg. One for each of them. Grinning, Nyx plucked his out of the air as Libertus threw it in his direction, and rolled it between his hands. It was nearly as long as his whole hand and wickedly sharp. A fine trophy.

“Thanks, big guy,” he called.

Ladone jumped from its back down next to him and accepted her own claw with a grave nod of gratitude. “If no one is too injured we should continue post haste.”

“I'll survive,” declared Libertus after he had rotated his shoulder a few times.

“If you're sure,” she said and started to walk towards the other side of the Crag, a customary fireleaf back in her mouth.

Nyx and Libertus exchanged a meaningful glance before they followed her.

They walked through a series of empty caves that reminded him of the oldest holy sites on Galahd. Grand and with a heavy air of power and age, those places had come by through generations of continued faith and care. Whatever was the point of this place – and it was too deliberate for there not to be a point – Nyx knew they would find out very soon.

The last cave they went through had an open wall that offered a good view on a stone arch bridge that was positively covered in weapons. Swords, axes, javelins, halberds and many, many more, all in numerous sizes and forms.

“What by ahtrii is this place?” whispered Libertus beside him, as all three of them stood there and stared.

“You're only asking that now? From the first moment I came here this place wanted to make me claw my own brain out,” Nyx murmured back, his eyes never leaving that bridge.

Something was there, old and powerful and lonely, full of rage and edging on corruption. It was disconcerting. He wanted to bare his teeth and hiss in warning for whatever was down there to keep away from his pack.

“Whatever it is that's down there, it's in our way,” stated Ladone, chewing thoughtfully.

“It's been watching us closely for some time now,” Nyx added.

Libertus just grunted. He had most likely picked up on Nyx' behaviour and had come to a similar conclusion. Maybe he himself could feel it, too. Libertus rarely talked about anything that could cross into the territory of Clan secrets.

Ladone looked at them, her eyes hard as flintstone. “We need to get going, if we want to make it out before nightfall,” she stated brusquely. “If it comes to a fight – and I think it will – make every hit count.”

Both men nodded. It should probably be Nyx saying all this, but Ladone had seniority. Not only that, but she was also a trap specialist, and while this didn't exactly seem like a trap, it came very close to one.

“Libs, front-line attack, keep its attention on you as much as you can – whatever it is. Your shoulder up for it? You'll need to do most of the fighting,” Nyx wanted to make sure.

His hunting-brother rotated his injured shoulder again and nodded decisively. Nyx nodded back and turned his attention towards the older woman.

“Can you do the same as you did with Glauca?”

Thoughtfully, she looked back out towards the bridge. “If that's what you need of me, I'll do it, makti-oir.”

Not exactly what he wanted to hear, but he nodded anyway.

“I'll act as backup and battle mage,” he decided.

From up here the weapons on the bridge nearly looked like shrubbery. Very deadly and sharp shrubbery, but still. The thought amused him.

Plan mostly decided, it didn't take them long to climb down the rest of the path onto the bridge. As soon as he stepped foot on it, the weight of the invisible eyes slammed into him like an actual punch in the gut and made him stumble half a step backwards. His companions tensed and Ladone seemed to fade from his senses nearly entirely. Just the faint hum of her magic tangled in his made him aware of where she was.

It was a strange feeling, that. He hadn't even known that he could do that with his magic. Libertus he could feel even stronger. Was it because he had known his hunting-brother for longer, or that he was closer to him than he was to her? As interesting as that train of thought was however, it would have to wait.

“Ye of no fayth should not be here,” echoed a deep, metallic voice through the air.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” Libertus demanded as he took a step forward.

A shimmer of angry-old-sharp-as-a-blade magic gleamed in the air, and then there he was. A man in ancient armour, taller than both Libertus and Nyx by at least three heads. His face was covered by a mask in the style of an Solheimr honour guard and where his eyes should be, there was a sickly, yellowish glow. His left arm was missing, having seemingly been cut off.

“So you're the one we have to beat to get out of here,” determined Libertus, trying and succeeding to hide the intimidation he must feel.

Nyx smiled and the man tilted his head as his burning gaze landed on their braids.

“Thou art not of my lyne. Ye, who cometh from the lynes of no fayth, answer. Why art ye here?”

A warning growl rumbled deep within Nyx' chest. He couldn't see Libertus' face, but he could hear the sneer in his voice.

“For a man of the Astral faith you wear those beads very proudly, credahtri. Tell me, what is this place? Your little hidey hole, so you won't have to face those you betrayed?”

The man reared back as if he had been slapped across the face and the double edged and heavily ornamented sword in his one hand twitched. But he did not attack. For now.

“These art the Tempering Grounds,” the man drawled. His voice had gained an edge and a weight only an akastral could have. “For those who longe to be a Shielde to their King, to see their strengthe be worthy of this task. 'Tis a place to teste the fayth and strengthe of men who dare to trod this pathe. Those of no worth shalt be doomed to lyne the Pathe of the Shielde. Ye art not worthy.”

“What makes you think I need your blessing to be able to protect anyone, credahtri? I know who you are. I know what name you once bore, and how you abandoned it to kneel at the feet of those who nearly destroyed all of Eos in their reckless abandon.”

A furious roar made the air between them shudder as the armoured giant leapt forward and crashed with his shoulder into the banged up shield Libertus held in front of him. The sound of the impact made Nyx' teeth clatter. Libertus roared his determination, as he pushed back against the akastral's power.

Nyx didn't let that deter him as he slunk soundlessly between the weapons buried in the stone, as if they were indeed nothing more than shrubbery of the Galahdian jungle, until he was nearly behind his prey. His claws may have been blunted for now, but he still had his lightning. With a near deafening crack a powerful bolt connected with the man's side and threw him onto the ground.

Not wasting a single second, Libertus stood over him and swung his kukri down. The man rolled out of the way, still clearly dazed, so it only clipped the small of his back. The heavy blade shook with the tremors running through ancient fingers. The lightning had been powerful. Nyx couldn't do something like that too many more times before he started to court with a magical stasis yet again.

Armoured fingers clenched and unclenched around the hilt of the sword before it vanished in a yellowish mist. At once it was replaced with a sleeker blade. It was long with only one cutting edge, not at all unlike General Leonis'.

The air wailed as the new blade cut through it with a speed Libertus could barely keep up with. His hunting-brother was made for strength. Speed had never been his strongest suite. He did his best as he ducked more and more behind the shield. The dented metal wouldn't last forever.

Across from Nyx a shadow moved. It wasn't a warp, there was neither the taste of Lucian magic in the air, nor the sound of breaking glass or its accompanying flash of blue light, but from one moment to the next Ladone was there and plunged her thin blade right above the calf, where a thick strand of nerves was located.

The man toppled forward with a pained cry as his knee gave out, right into the waiting blade of Libertus. He managed to hit him in the neck and cut off the long strands of pale hair held together by a heavy and old fashioned bead. If the man had been anything else but an akastral, he would have bled out and died within seconds. But he was, and so he swung his own blade as he fell to his knees and cut Libertus right across his face.

Letting the shield fall, but not his kukri, Libertus stumbled back and covered the bleeding cut across his face with his now free hand. With a roar Nyx slammed into the armoured giant who was breathing heavily as he tried to stand back up again. Not that Nyx really took notice of it. He was too busy curling his fingers around the akastral's throat as lightning crackled aggressively around them.

Somebody screamed. Nyx couldn't have said who it was, Libertus, himself, the man in the ancient armour. This man had dared to injure his pack-brother and no one would get away with it. Not even dead souls that hadn't found their way beyond the gate.

A ghostly, see though arm gripped him by the coat and violently tossed him away. Nyx skidded along the ground on all fours, even as the rock bit and cut through the leather of his fingerless gloves. He stayed like that, tense and growling like a coeurl ready to attack. His prey was still in range of a possible attack, but so was his pack-brother. So he held back.

Libertus himself had used the opportunity to wipe away as much of the blood as he could and pick the shield back up in anticipation of another attack.

The man had a second arm now. An arm that also held another blade. This was bad. Very, very bad. For a moment none of the fighters moved.

“Who dost thou think thou art to say thou knowest me?” the akastral growled in his metallic voice full of pent up anger and pain.

“Have you truly forgotten everything of the culture you come from?” Libertus scoffed, not relaxing from his battle stance.

The tension in the air grew even heavier.

“'Tis not my culture,” he said, something like wistfulness tinting his voice.

“No,” agreed Libertus, “it isn't. Not anymore.”

Then, without warning, the man lunged towards Nyx, both blades raised to strike, fast and precise like a venomous snake. Nyx leaped backwards, seeking cover in the forest of weapon surrounding them. Libertus however, hadn't seen that. His pack-brother had his eyes firmly on his enemy and only knew that he was about to attack Nyx. So he ran straight into the line of the attack, his whole body braced behind the shield.

It didn't help much. The impact of the strike cleaved the shield clean in half and flung Libertus backwards, close to the edge of the bridge.

Nyx had no clear view of what was happening as he picked himself up, careful not to injure himself, as his hand found the metallic shaft of a javelin. He could feel Ladone's tension through their tangled magic. She was somewhere close to his right, tense and worried, but ready to strike at any moment.

She moved fast enough to practically appear out of thin air beneath the armoured right arm raised to attack, and slammed her kukri into the lesser protected armpit. Her body twisted and ducked around the man's back, pulling the blade with her as she cut the archilles tendon of his right foot with the other kukri. He fell towards the ground like an ancient tree.

Ladone backed off until she was out of reach of another potential attack, but didn't cloak her presence again. Instead she came to a stop next to Libertus who rolled onto his side with a pained groan. She helped him up with a steady arm, all the while she never took her eyes of the fallen giant who was watching them silently.

All the while Nyx had pulled the javelin from the ground and weighted it carefully in his hand. It was a simple weapon, the blade at the tip broken and bent horribly out of shape. The other end still looked sharp enough to injure, if the thrust was strong enough. It might just work.

With a cry he threw the javelin and reached for the Lucian King's magic within him. He warped in a shower of blue light and crystalline shards as he burst through the barriers of space. His hand gripped the slim shaft of the flying weapon and he twisted in mid-air until its sharp end pointed downward. Gravity did the rest. Aided by his weight the pointy end slammed down into the armoured man's shoulder and pinned him to the unforgiving stone beneath him. Nyx landed gracefully just out of arm's reach.

Then Libertus was there, resting his kukri right against the unprotected throat as the man threw his head back against the stone and gave a hoarse scream of pain. It echoed between the walls of the Crag for a long time.

It was over. The man had lost. All of them knew it, but none of them dared to relax even as the magically constructed arm vanished together with the blade it had held. The mask tilted just enough for yellow glowing eyes to wander from Nyx to Libertus and Ladone, who looked ready to plunge her kukris into the man's crotch if she needed to.

“Tell me, warrior, what be the name of the man that wouldst protect his King with such determynacyon?”

Libertus blinked. It visibly took him a few seconds until he realized that the akastral had addressed him. He exchanged a glance with Nyx, who just shrugged helplessly. Between the two of them Libertus had definitely the better chance to guess what went on in the minds of people that had died a long, long time ago.

“Libertus of Clan Ostium,” he said at last.

There was another long beat of silence.

“Ostium. Oh, how ye fates turn. I wouldst have been honoured moste highly to counte thee amongst mine bloode. The name I was gifted by those whomst took me in is Gilgamesh Amicitia.”

Libertus did not give Gilgamesh the satisfaction of an answer. He just scoffed.

Nyx felt something cold that vaguely felt like shock and surprise trickle down his spine. The Amicitias had been of their people once? Dimly he noticed that Ladone didn't seem surprised at all.

With great difficulty Gilgamesh lifted his hand off the ground and pointed it towards the far off wall. Magic shimmered in the air, heady and ancient and powerful, and a stairway appeared. It wound its way up towards the surface of Taelpar Crag.

Another twist of the hand and three weapons appeared not too far from them. All three Glaives tensed.

“During mine life I have travelled far and wide in mine desire to learne everything there was to learne of bladed weapons. Take these as sign of mine defeat moste cruel, as it ought to be done in the way of your people,” Gilgamesh spoke, not noticing or simply not caring of the reactions around him. “The way is free for you and yours, oh King. Libertus of Clan Ostium, take thine King and thine companyon and go. Ye have been found moste worthy. And remember: A Shielde dost not move no matter the danger, no matter the adversary.”

“As if I care about being worthy,” his hunting-brother scoffed as he pulled back his blade.

The fallen man just barked an eerily metallic laugh before he went still.

The three Glaives exchanged a look across his motionless body before they started to walk away from the battleground. For a moment Nyx contemplated leaving the offered trophy behind, but he was makti-oir now and that would be a slight against his traditions, his culture and his ancestors.

It was a Solheimr khopesh he found himself with. An asymmetrical one bladed sword made out of mithril. Ornate carvings and runes lined the milky metal and shimmered like bronze in the light of the sun. It was utterly beautiful and enchanting. Nyx knew for a fact that none of the known exemplars had survived as anything more than rusted remnants in museums. Safe for this one, apparently.

Libertus whistled lowly in appreciation as he hefted the heavy double bladed battle axe onto his uninjured shoulder, its design distinctively Solheimr as well. Each blade was at least as big as his head and wickedly sharp, the edges lined in a black coloured metal Nyx did not know. As a whole the weapon was as tall as his hunting-brother himself. Libertus took the bead he had cut off Gilgamesh and tied it to his new weapon with long strands of pale hair. He nodded, satisfied with his work.

“We need to hurry, if we want to make it,” said Ladone while she eyed the trident in her hands sceptically.

It was weapon just as deadly as it was beautiful, adorned with symbols of a long bygone civilization none of them recognized.

“You sure you can manage, big guy?” Nyx asked, worried.

“I feel like I've been flung around by a gekkan and a Dala got too close to my face, but I'll live.”

Luckily the cut wasn't as bad as it had seemed at first. It travelled from just above his left eyebrow, over the bridge of his nose, along the right corner of his mouth and ended at the edge of his jaw. It was shallow enough to have mostly stopped bleeding already.

“It'll scar,” Ladone stated after she had eyed the wound for a long moment. “I don't have anything left on me able to heal this.”

“Then I'll have something to impress the ladies with,” Libertus shrugged with a grin.

Nyx laughed.

[twilight-adamo]

Author’s Notes: Brave New World, Chapter 5: What’s Past is Prologue

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709434/chapters/49462937

As a bit of random trivia, this is the first thing I’ve written set in New Orleans that I’ve actually released publicly. It is also, due to the way I title chapters (their filenames are just the chapter numbers; I don’t decide on a title until I’ve finished), the only thing I’ve written set in New Orleans that never, not once, not even as a working title, borne the title “House of the Rising Sun”. I can’t help it: the song and the city chase each other endlessly in my mind. I’ve been to New Orleans once, about six years after Katrina, and fell in love with the place. I haven’t managed to make it back in the eight years since. I’d quite like to return.

I keep track of the timeline in my outline for the story. It’s late July 2005 in this chapter; in a little over a month, well after BEAR have left, Katrina will hit. I hadn’t remembered until I started digging into the city’s history, trying to figure out where the plotline would fit, but I’m brushing up against it here. The gang will undoubtedly hear about it. I’m not yet sure how it will impact them, beyond general sorrow, but I’m pondering it.

(About BEAR: a reader on FFN - MooNOrchiD, if you’re reading this, hi - pointed out the acronym for Bella, Emmett, Alice and Rosalie. I’ve been using it in my notes. It’s damned convenient, and it makes me giggle.)

Anyway, the chapter title ended up being another quote from The Tempest, one I’m not using as a book title in the trilogy or extended Tempestverse. I’d considered “The Past is Never Dead,” from the Faulkner quote - “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” - but when I remembered “What’s past is prologue,” and more, that it came from the play from which I borrowed the name of this AU as well as the titles of the stories within, well. It seemed a perfect match.

Once I hit last chapter’s reveal, I really couldn’t think of much reason why Alice would want to keep hanging around the site of her death and revival, and the slaughter she committed as a newborn vampire. And I was eager to get to New Orleans. So if it seems abrupt, well, it is a bit abrupt. It surprised even me. But the asylum has served its purpose, at least for the time being.

I’m trying to balance the episodes of cognitive dissonance and general weirdness Bella is experiencing against the fact that this isn’t really about her - as she herself acknowledges, and that’s why she tries to hide this latest one from Alice, though she doesn’t end up managing it. I also generally don’t want to have too many of them too close together. It��s part of a thread that will continue throughout this book, and there will be more to them in time, but this section of the story, for all that Bella is still narrating and this necessarily limits our perspective, is Alice’s first and foremost. It’s a tricky balance to strike, and I admit I’ve occasionally considered trading Bella’s perspective for someone else’s (not just in this part of the story). But that’s a narrative shift that should be used sparingly, if at all, and I would prefer to leave most of the other characters’ perspectives to These Our Actors. Besides, the very thought of writing from Alice’s perspective, with all her slipping between the present, the future, and now the past, gives me a headache.

I’ve played fast and loose with Alice’s visions of the future in the past, and more so since Bella started altering her powers - I had a reader early on tell me that wasn’t how her powers worked, and while I think Meyer’s descriptions are inconsistent, I can’t say they were entirely wrong about that. Still, in many ways, Alice’s power is one of narrative convenience, and it was inconvenient for me to have her instantly able to see everything. So I decided, and I think this is reasonable, that Alice needed time to learn to control her power to see the future (and still doesn’t have complete control, at that), and will similarly need time to learn to control her power to see the past. For now, she can follow threads, but there are shifting and vaguely defined limits that even she doesn’t fully understand. All will be revealed in time, or at least enough of a story to get along with.

I really want to make Alice and Bella’s relationship healthy, loving, and open, for all that they’re going to have their problems, same as any other couple. I hope I’m succeeding. It definitely seemed to me that she would pick up on Bella’s distress - there’s very little she fails to notice - and that she would expect honesty in their relationship, even if the truth is painful or difficult.

Bella’s relationship and history with magic is going to be a thread throughout both this book and the next, so I wanted to spend a little more time fleshing out her perspective, and with Rose being a novice witch, that afforded me the opportunity to do so. The conversation took a briefly maudlin turn that tread over a lot of territory from the previous chapter before I cut that bit and brought it to a different inclusion. The outtake will be under the cut at the end of this post.

5513 St. Charles Avenue, New Orleans, does not exist. The spot where it would stand is a playground. I didn’t want to associate any real homes with a fictional haunting (and of course I could hardly resist throwing a thirteen in there when the opportunity arose). But it’s in roughly the right location, I think, for a double gallery home once owned by a decently wealthy family.

Now we get to some of the larger changes. I’ve already started altering Alice’s story substantially, as I discussed in the author’s notes for the previous chapter. Here we have another significant change: in the backstory established by Stephenie Meyer, Alice’s mother was murdered, but it was ruled an accident by the authorities. Only Alice’s visions indicated it was homicide. Here, it’s widely known to be murder, but there’s a scapegoat in the form of the Axeman of New Orleans.

The Axeman is a real serial killer from the early 20th century, and while there have certainly been suspects, his true identity is still unknown, as is his motive. There are those who believe he targeted women specifically, only attacking men when they happened to be around his intended victims. Because many of the victims were Italian immigrants (many, but not all), some contemporary commentators tied him to the Mafia. The letter he allegedly wrote demanding jazz bands playing in every house that wished to go unscathed, well, I tend to agree with those who think it was a hoax, though there are wilder theories claiming it wasn’t, and he deliberately launched his spree to expand the popularity of jazz music. Whoever he was, whatever his motives, he hangs over the city of New Orleans to this day.

Was Alice’s mother Luciana actually murdered by the Axeman himself? I don’t know if I’ll end up saying either way. I don’t know if it matters, to be honest. If she was, I would say he was not necessarily tied into the Mafia, but he was a hired killer, and his reign of terror had some greater purpose. It’s just as possible the Axeman was a convenient cover story. It was a hired killer either way, and he had accomplices - the identity of the actual killer is less important here, I think, than the identity of the people who hired and helped him. We’ll learn more in the next chapter.

The last chapter was over ten thousand words, and I briefly considered letting this one be a juggernaut as well, but I hit a natural break point and it seemed better to separate things. I’m working on Chapter 6 now. I’m going on vacation in a couple weeks, and I hope to finish at least that chapter before I leave, as it’s going to mean a hiatus (and I do have another writing project I need to keep working on before the year is out, to boot). I’d really like to get out of the dark place Alice is in now, and give the poor girl the opportunity to find closure and move forward, so maybe I’ll manage to squeeze in Chapter 7 as well. We’ll see.

And now, the outtake, purely as a matter of interest.

Rosalie must have seen something in my expression, despite my best efforts, because she reached out to take my hand. “From what she says, it sounds like you taught her everything she knows. Or close to it.”

“Yeah. Well.” I cracked a small, humorless smile. “I don’t remember any of it. And I can help with theory, but...I can’t demonstrate this stuff for you, and the magic Callie practices isn’t what I’m used to.”

“The spells you talked me through seemed to work just fine the other night.”

“They did. And I’m very glad, believe me.” My smile turned a little more genuine. “I guess I’m not completely out of touch.”

“What does it feel like?” Alice asked softly, glancing between us. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“The actual spellcasting? Or…” Rose shrugged as she trailed off.

“Any of it. All of it.”

“It’s a little different for everyone, I think,” I said slowly. “There are things we have in common, but we filter the experience through our own perceptions of the world. When you cast, it’s like something moves through you. And when you’re just living in the world, then…”

“It’s music, for me,” Rose added. “I can tune it out, but it’s like there’s a radio playing down the hall. The songs and sometimes the volume change. It’s like the world is trying to tell me something, but I can’t quite figure out what. Sometimes I pick up general themes, but that’s about it.”

I nodded. “It’s never that clear. Not without effort, and - well, I certainly don’t remember divination being my strong suit. Callie says I tended to interpret magic visually, and I saw the colors of Rosalie’s spellwork, but mostly I remember these...whispers of sensation. Something that was almost visible, almost audible, almost tangible, but not quite any of those things. I perceived it all through my mind’s eye. It felt like...standing in the ocean on a hot summer day. The water is warm and your toes are curled in the sand, the seaweed fluttering against your legs. The sun warms your skin, and the sky is that perfect shade of blue, but there are clouds scudding across it, big, white, fluffy ones, the kind that come in elaborate shapes, castles and dinosaurs and starfish and whatever else you can imagine. The wind is whistling past, and you can halfway feel, halfway hear the way it whispers of the autumn and winter days to come. You can feel so keenly that you’re a part of everything around you that it’s hard to tell where your soul ends and the world begins. And losing it is...it’s not like going blind, or deaf, or losing a limb. It’s not that simple. But it’s still...it’s loss. It would be like - if you couldn’t see the future anymore, maybe.”

Alice shuddered at that, leaning against me. “God, I can’t even imagine what that would be like. Baby…”

“Yeah. It’s okay.” I turned, planting a kiss against her hairline. “I’m...fine. I don’t need magic to get by. Plenty of people do just fine without it, it’s stupid to…”

“You’re not stupid,” Rosalie interjected. “What you’re talking about - I’ve felt that for all of a day or two. I went my whole life without it, I don’t need it, but - you found a way to give me this gift and now the idea of losing it again is horrifying to me. You were used to perceiving the world in this specific, complicated way, and you lost part of that, and you’re still coming to terms with it. I’m not going to tell you to wallow in that feeling or throw yourself a little pity party, but I understand it now. Your feelings aren’t stupid. You just...can’t let them rule you.”

I shut my eyes, nodding slowly, letting out a long breath. “Still. I have a lot to be grateful for,” I replied, putting my arm around Alice’s shoulders and squeezing gently. “There was a time, long ago, when I didn’t feel the world that way, and I was fine. It’ll come back, or it won’t, and I’ll have friends and family and love and a power of my own either way. That has to be more than enough for anyone.”

[daughterofhel]

I pretty much exposed part of myself in this specific example with the last (posted) written work I did— but never quite thought of it like that. What a lovely viewpoint.

I’m not about to post the actual link since my fandom my business but it’s written vague enough to pretty much work for any wlw ya want. Since I thought about it, here you got. If you’re curious. Since it relates to the post above.

3 prompts requested for the short story!

-“Remembered your favorite [item, place, routine, etc] and I have it ready for you”

-That thing where you cup someone’s face and brush your thumb over their cheek

-Laying on top of someone for cuddling

(I decided to use some personal touches to this, as I also have fond memories of that hotter than hell island and it made it sort of fun to write in the midst of the love story)

Reminiscent of Us

Memories are a funny thing. They’re spotty, they’re vivid, and sometimes they’re lies. Why do we do that? Lie about how bad it was? How good? Sentimentality really had its own kind of rose colored lenses. So many long, young summers spent on her childhood island and yet… she never remembered it being so goddamned hot. No. Not just hot. Humid. Even the bugs screamed in the trees from dusk til dawn in outrage.

Her body seemed to stay in a state of warm and sticky, even with the cheap fan rotating back and forth in their loft. Why didn’t she remember this place didn’t have AC? So many things changed here; buildings closed down only to spring up two more in its place like undying weeds. That was to be expected though, given that her island was essentially a vacation spot for many. At least the mom and pop shops still had a strong stand compared to the more corporate buildings. It made it easier to see out over the sea of tiny shops to the actual sea just at the edges of the glowing town lights.

This was simultaneously the best and worst time to visit. Best because no one in their right minds would come to a damn jungle in the summer for vacation, and worst because no one in their right minds would choose a jungle summer vacation. Were the mosquitos really this thick? She’d probably stink from the sheer amount of sweat pouring off her if it weren’t for the thick, chaotic balance of sunscreen and bug spray.

That scent could be tasted in her memory as if she had done it just yesterday and not nearly a decade and a half ago. It sat on the heart kind of funny, catching a wift of a memory; they do say scent memory is the strongest. She should’ve remembered the sound more though. Many homes didn’t shy from the bamboo wind chimes. The shell chimes. Their many little fish flags flapping in all directions in the constantly dancing wind. She liked those flags. Big fish for momma and papa. Little fish for the children. Some even were funny and added their pets. It felt like knowing her neighbors without having ever really spoken to them.

Odd to not recall even the language, to barely stumble past hellos, and still feel so comfortable among the people. It really felt like a home away from home. It was nice, hell it was probably the warmest part of coming back. As little, and some big things, became clear to her the moment they stepped off the plane, she had started to second guess all of her memories. To realize she wasn’t just recalling the general community and kindness of the locals just because she was a kid, but because it’s how these people just were. Really, it nearly made up for the unbearable heat.

The bomb ass soda machines honestly helped too. It was hard to imagine anyone actually wanting a hot drink right now, but it was an option. The sheer drink variety felt like winning the lotto in its own odd way. Each time she tried to chose a new drink blindly, excitedly bouncing on her feet as it thumped into the retrieval slot, can already sweating as bad as she the moment it hit the outside air.

Some drinks were beyond amazing. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to having gone as far as to starting a diary just for the sake of never losing this moment again. The terrible drinks were only their own kind of joy thanks to the woman beside her, who never seemed to be able to hide her amusement from her. The bitten lip and snort that always followed made the hacking of the foul liquid somehow fun. Watching her companion go from that soft adoring smile to panic as she brought the drink near her lips was even better.

It always ended in a mess and a light nagging. Nagging that tumbled into laughter as they stickily stuck to each other on a heap on the ground. It was always kept brief though. The unrelenting heat really kept the PDA down. It was kind of interesting, learning to be intimate with each other without touch. Maybe it was just her, and it could be, she did have a habit of focusing too much on things… But she swore they spoke less each day and yet never had they said more with looks alone before. Sometimes it made her hotter than the sweltering sun. A lot of the times it just.. felt right. She was nearly convinced she could fly she felt so light.

A little corny, yeah. She could admit that. Still… those silent convos never made her feel more heard by her partner. They were nearly reverted back to animals as they often just made a series of grunting or whining noises to get across points or questions. And wow, when they did talk? Their hands went everywhere. The locals understood them better that way and who knew even the blandest of stories could be such fun with a little extra hand waving?

Coming back had been a lot of things. A lot of unexpected and expected mixed into one. But how could anyone have predicted the new threads weaving into their already unbreakable bond? Eight years together, first as coworkers at a coffee shop, roommates at least twice through college and again for a year in the city trying out various internships, to eventual lovers. Lovers who tied the knot just last spring.

Funny. They got off on the wrong foot all those years ago. She had never even made a cup of coffee before and admittedly her partner was kind of a coffee snob. Her stubborn nature didn’t help matters. Hell, they were both stupidly stubborn and passionate. But also kind. Things shifted when they saw each other more as people. When they finally set down their boxing gloves and tried using their ears for once.

Their blooming friendship didn’t get much time to build before the school year started up again. And then they were just a memory. That is, until one associates degree and a disaster frat party later ended with a cramming of new roommates. This would’ve been somewhat pleasant had she not been part of the reason this was happening at all. Apparently a LOT of things are way more flammable than manufactures would leave you to believe. She was lucky it wasn’t worse… though honestly, she could’ve totally been a fire dancer in another life. Maybe even a dragon if her alcohol fueled spewing proved anything.

Being around each other at odd hours, seeing the different side of each other somehow changed their unexpected connection once again. They nearly had no classes together but somehow managed to study just fine in a group. Her original roommate really was owed the most credit for her unending patience of the twos back and forths. When did they start calming down? Looking into their rented apartment, seeing her lover laying out the futons over the tatami mats, she felt a different warmth glow around her heart. It matched the slow sinking of the sun, letting the earth become a strange blinding orange before settling into softer, warmer purples.

The next time they had been roommates at the school, it shook them both that it had been requested by the other. The shift between them became nigh unshakable. The friendship took them by surprise, as it was more than either had experienced before. The jokes of them being like an old married couple didn’t even faze them, I mean, how could they argue the fact? The cuddling was also nice. Needed, really, given how stressful the semesters got. A couple dumb ex’s forced them into a classic game of ‘shes my girlfriend’ that they just kept playing along to. If she thought about it… they never did discuss that. They made the statement and it just remained as so for the duration of their time on campus.

Two almost kisses and a sudden heated collision in the connubial showers changed their views entirely about each other. Where it had been like sitting next to calm waves it now felt like a storm off the coast, shaking the waves so hard ships shivered and shaked even in the docks. The powerful spiderwebbed lightning never kept the skies dark for long. The way the static charged the air, raced along the skin, the loud booming of thunder catching the heart right into your throat? It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

Every tiny touch, little glance, shot them back to the cliffs edge, right into the heart of this storm. And it scared them. They couldn’t stop yet it was so much, too much, that it became unstable. Their lost themselves in each other, in sheets and even deserted libraries. The talking stalled nearly entirely, conserving breath before they were plunged back under the waves they were now surrounded by.

But nothing can remain sustained like that. It was too much. With no balance they found themselves drifting apart. They needed each other but had no means to properly place the other in their life. How could they? They had yet to plant their feet back on land themselves. And so, once more, they went different directions.

The glow of the fridge hit her back as ice clinked into glass cups. A citrus scent lazily clung into the thick, damp air, almost tangible on its own. She shifted, her legs kicking idly back and forth over their third floor balcony, exposed thighs sticking to the laminated tile. In the distance light drumming could be heard as folks cheered and sparklers were lit and waved around. Distantly she wondered what festival had it been but decided it was much too late to care now.

Her partner made her way next to her on the balcony, offering that lopsided smile that made her heart flutter like the wings of an excited baby bird. A cold splash on her shoulder and thigh forced her to look down into the proffered hand near her face. The drink had a pleasant mix of orange and red coloring, the fruit smell now even stronger. She responded with a sleepy smile, feeling so utterly calm as she accepted the cool drink. The light contact of fingers still sent a tiny little jolt through her. That likely wouldn’t ever fully go away, not that she wanted it to.

And then, mere moments later, they were sitting as close as they dared in the summer night. Both women sipping their cool beverages looked out among the tops of the many, crammed homes. Children on rooftops were barely seen, white smiles and brighter sparklers zipping around in glee. Fireflies joined the mix in a more subdued, quieter manner, drifting as if also on a tired, hot summer autopilot.

She looked briefly down to where she set her drink, her partner giving her another little smile as she draped her pinky over hers. She smirked amused but still gave her pinky a light squeeze in response as they stared on. The music and commotion grew louder as torches came into view, people gathered in colorful clothing singing and clapping along down the streets. A bunch of feet moved in rhythm under a long, colorful dragon costume as it’s head and frills shook playfully to the music and into the faces of those around. People giggled and kids squealed as they ran, braving the happy, paper-dragons rapidly closing and opening mouth once again.

The lively commotion was almost like the city at night. The city in which they solidified their existence in each other’s lives. Fate always seemed to throw them into each other’s paths. How could they have both been seeking shared living arrangements in the same city, same area, at the same time? The moment she read her name on the list she didn’t think, she just said yes and signed the needed paperwork.

Seeing each other face to face was a different experience. It had already been nearly three years since their last encounter. It wasn’t as tense as she expected but not as joyous either. It had honestly surprised her that the woman agreed given her disposition on the matter regarding their previous relationship. Of course that stupid list of rules they worked out probably sped things up. They went back to nearly as they had been as colleagues at the campus coffee shop all those years past. Well, perhaps not that many years past. It certainly felt like a lifetime though.

Yet they persevered. They had their ground rules laid out and did fairly well at following them. Yet it always seemed they had no control over how their relationship would shift back to something more. No amount of rules or separation ever seemed to stop them from needing the other. It wasn’t really a friends with benefits ordeal, it had been more or less like the first time they got together. Unofficial girlfriends. Never stated, just doing everything one would, but naming it out loud.

They had changed. That was the first thing to really be noticed. Some things stayed the same, sure, as some things never really change. But the aspects where they grew and evolved brought a whole new light into perspective. They were familiar strangers with a past. And even now, as they relearned each other, their desires never could accept a backseat. They craved each other’s companionship. They needed the other for silly movie nights. Couldn’t go shopping without dragging the other along, even just for groceries. The unending need to share anything and everything lost them sleep more often than not.

And the skinship went to new levels. The passion remained, as it was part of their very beings, but now it was cut with something they had lacked. Ground. Safety and confidence in themselves and each other. They excelled in their fields and ran like well oiled machines. Even with the hiccups, their relationship evolved to very much the same. They added to each other in such ways that others commented on in pleasant surprise.

Their set rules were set aflame the moment she half jokingly asked her to marry her. They had been out on the walk, where the storefronts crowded along the river, sharing their favorite street food on their lunch break. There was a very limited amount of her absolute favorite dessert ever, and the timeframe typically had crowds waiting more than an hour for the lovely treat. And here her partner was, holding the horrendously sweet, fluffy, amazing treat out at her. Her partner hated crowds and never left work early for anything.. and yet. Here she had done both. Without any specific reason and cause.

Looking at the limited edition of the dessert, understanding the unspoken words of love, she just couldn’t help herself in asking this woman to marry her. And of course, like everything so far, it was a surprise to them both. In fact, the moment the words left her mouth, she looked up surprised and a little horrified she even thought it outloud. She didn’t even have time to process them, it had just happened. As if her heart gained control just long enough to push the causally said words out.

She had expected a bark of laughter, a roll of the eyes, maybe even a joking ‘you wish’ from her partner. But she was met with silence. Well, maybe not silence, it was hard to tell given the roaring of blood in her ears. She had even began to feel faint, likely due to the fact she wasn’t even breathing anymore. As her partner stepped up to her, a hand out stretched, she flinched. A slap had not been on her list of possibilities but something this serious said as a joke might’ve set her partner off. ...Right?

Peeking an eye open at the first bit of contact, her breath stuttered out as she realized she wasn’t being slapped at all. Those eyes that alway showed a bit bright when they caught her own seemed to spark with something unnameable. The hand on her cheek spread out, just a little, so when a thumb slowly caught the bottom of her lip, she took in another sharp breath. Her legs were as weak as that stunning smile aimed her way shifted as the woman’s head gave a single, silent nod.

A shift to her left shook her out of her thoughts once more. The wind had oddly been just cool enough to make this sweaty summer night actually pleasant. That coupled with the cool drinks and the cheap blowing of the fan at their backs, it was almost perfect. The sensation of soft hair piled on her lap, a sticky arm coming to rest over her knees as her partner's body settled herself more comfortably. She didn’t mind, couldn’t have if she wanted to.

Absently running her fingers through the softest hair in the world as she stared at the now far away dancing troupe, she felt lips brush the fabric of her pants.

“What are you thinking about?”

The wind tickled her face with damp hair, bringing along relief and the scent of fried things, all over again. The cicadas screeched quieter while the light tinkling of bamboo chimes filled the void left. She chewed her lip and looked down at the woman she loved more than anything she could have ever imagined.

“Us.”

I think one of the most fun things about people’s writing is revealing the quiet, personal mythology of individuals.

I’m not talking about their spirituality or their religion. I’m talking about the things that evoke immense emotion in us one way or another that we struggle to explain why and- thus- the symbolism in our stories that to one interpretation is really only for us, if I write a scene where a character as a child eats an orange sherbet push pop that maybe to everyone else it will be an irrelevant detail, and I feel alone in the overwhelming nostalgia and softness of sun-soaked childhoods at a very specific park and a routine I used to follow for no particular reason- but I like to think it’s not, only for me.

I think that, while it’s a folly to presume to know the mind of anyone you’ve only read the work of, there is a kind of intimate exchange in storytelling. We talk often about obscure or strange trauma triggers, people whose minds have somehow condensed an abusive experience down to the sight of eggs on a plate or a particular song but only when it’s whistled- but these forms of trauma simply reflect a broader truth in human understanding. We make patterns out of the strangest things.

“Pareidolia” is the proper term often used, and, as I so often like to do with words, I chew it apart into its pieces and look for pretty fragments. Pareidolia is simply the way that we look for, and see things- patterns, faces, hands- where they do not factually exist. The things that are most important to us make soap bubble distortions out of our world. But inside of that word is ‘idol’, like an idol for a deity. I am sure that presence has other meanings, but a part of me imagines it almost as a personal pantheon. The strange gods of the life that only we have lived, and that we share at a thousand small places with others.

The god of my childhood is orange sherbet push pops, eaten in summer, earnest attempts made to lap up all the sweet sticky syrup before it drips too far but never successful, and the plastic ‘umbrella’ (really the pusher, but it was always an umbrella to my eyes) taken to play with and turn in my fingers long after the cardboard tube was gone. Perhaps, somewhere in the world, there are other people that know that particular god.

A curious thing to call divine. Just one memory among many. But whenever I see them again, it’s like turning over a page in an old yearbook and there’s your best friend who you haven’t seen, who you wonder what they’re doing now. The vocabulary of our most intimate and personal experiences are littered with ostensibly meaningless objects that held our hearts once.

If I read a story, and two people eat peaches together, lovingly described, gently rendered, I wonder if the author’s first love tasted like peaches.

[tavinafanfiction]

Capax Infiniti: Holding Infinity

So, NejiTen Month 2018 is starting....It’s August everyone and I’m too excited so have my first offering. 

Read it here on FFnet, or here on AO3 or just under the cut. 

Holding Infinity

This is how it begins.

He watches Tenten retrieve the weapons she’s used over the course of a training session, one normal day in late summer and suddenly there is a knot of tension in his chest.

It is a day exactly like every other. There is nothing to determine it special or distinct from any other day, any different than any pearl in a long long string of pearls that were their days together.

Nothing.

But today something shifts and changes.

Something about the way the setting sun hits her hair casts it in shades of gold. Something about the way she turns to him while pulling a kunai out of a target — a bull’s eye, how could it be anything less — settles the tension deeper.

“Neji.” She says, lips curled up in happy laughter. “You’ve got leaves in your hair.” She raises a casual hand, brushes them away, and he stiffens.

It is barely noticeable, such a little thing, but she notes it; he’s certain she does.

He pulls the last of the leaves from his hair himself. “You’ve improved.” He says, by way of conversation because he’s at a loss as to how to recapture the moment. “Open handed combat has always been harder for you.” Than me. The last two words do not go unacknowledged between them.

There are some things to be said for a conversation without words.

“So have you.” She nods. “You can control the size of your kaiten much more accurately now.” She’s about to say more, but Gai-sensei and Lee burst into the clearing.

“100!” They shout together.

“Yosh!” Lee’s energy is always impressive. “Tomorrow I shall run fifty extra laps.”

He shares a glance with Tenten as the rest of their team dissolves into manly tears and extra promises to continue to work hard. The set of her mouth says she’s annoyed, but her eyes are happy and fond

It is a habitual scene, almost as normal as the many dents and cuts in the targets on the other side of the training field. Perhaps when this all began, he found it annoying, but now?

Now he’s fond of the sight as well, even if he would have to die before he said anything about it.

“I see you two have fanned the flames of your youth impressively today.” Gai-sensei looks about the training field.

Half an hour of cleanup has not made Training Ground Five any less of a disaster zone.

“There have been improvements.” Neji allows.

Gai-sensei nods enthusiastically. “It is good to know that you have embraced your youthful vibrancy, Neji!”

Something about his facial expression must have been funny, because Tenten giggles and starts dragging him away. “We’re going to dinner, Gai-sensei. See you tomorrow!”

The settled tension in his chest becomes a dull ache.

Has her hand always been so warm?

That night after dinner he walks her home just like he’s done for the past year and a half and bids her goodbye at the door before heading home himself.

The ache is gone and he doesn’t think much more of it.

A hard day of training, he thinks. Nothing to worry about. He forgets about it soon after.

This is how it begins.

He finds himself standing over the sink a month and a half later, coughing uncontrollably into his hands. He might have caught the flu sometime during their last mission in the Land of Water.

It has been an unbearably chilly fall. Almost unseasonal really, Konoha is a temperate place, and most winters, it doesn’t even snow.

He might have caught the flu, but he doesn’t think the flu has much to do with the pale spotted pink petals that he’s fishing out of his sink, or the small drops of blood peppering their surface.

He hasn’t eaten any flowers that he’s aware of, much less ones that he’d be regurgitating so violently.

Still, the coughing fit subsides, and there are only three petals in his sink and a miniscule amount of blood that he has detected only with the byakugan, so there’s nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about.

He throws the petals in the trash.

Hinata-hime’s waiting for him in the garden. He’d promised to oversee her training today.

This is how it begins.

“Umm...Neji-niisan?” Hinata pushes her fingers together in that habitual nervous tic of hers that he’s tried to correct time and time again — and she’s getting better, truly, it just comes back when she’s very, very nervous — without much success. “There’s something growing in your chest.”

He drops his jyuken stance. “What?” Something growing—

The flowers.

There’d been petals in his sink this morning.

“I-I can’t see it very clearly.” Hinata shifts uneasily on the balls of her feet. Her fidgeting has gotten even worse. “But it looks like flowers in your lungs.”

“Don’t be silly, Hinata-hime.” Neji ignores the rapid tightening in his chest — the same one that’s been hurting on and off for about a month now — He really needs to stop, stop thinking about it.  It’s nothing to worry about. “How can anyone grow flowers in their chest?”

Hinata looks like she wants to say something else, but he takes a deep breath, just to prove to her that he can — it hurts; it hurts like that one time when he was seven and nearly drowned in the pond in the back garden — and he can still breath just fine.

Hinata looks down at her feet and then looks back at him. “Alright then, Neji-niisan.”

Her admission doesn’t taste sweet at all.

That he ends the day coughing over his sink again doesn’t mean anything either.

He fishes four petals out of his sink and throws them in the trash.

Nothing to worry about. The mark on his forehead burns.

This is how it begins.

He’s running laps with Lee during the morning a week later when suddenly the ache in his chest gets worse, and he’s coughing by the side of the road.

Thankfully, there’s neither flowers, nor blood.

Just the concerned eyes of his most youthful teammate when he straightens up again.

“Are you alright?” Lee asks, his heavy black brows drawn together. “This is most unlike you, Neji.”

“It’s most unlike you to be so subdued.” Neji snarks back. It is unusual, unusual for Lee to be serious and concerned instead of effusive and concerned. The subdued nature doesn’t suit him.

“You don’t normally start coughing not ten laps into our run either.” Lee crosses his arms and frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“I caught a bout of the flu when we were in the Land of Water.” The lie slips off his tongue as easily as breathing. Which is to say, his ability to lie has gotten worse recently. “I’m not a hundred percent yet.”

It’s likely not what’s happening to him, but he doesn’t know how else to explain it — doesn’t want to explain it, so he won’t.

“Ah,” Lee takes a deep breath. “You should have said so then, my eternal rival!” He bellows. “We ought to get you checked up at the hospital!”

“It’s not serious.” Neji looks away. “Don’t get so worked up, Lee.”

They continue running, Lee taking a slower pace than usual.

His coughing fits don’t come back until he is alone that evening.

This is how it begins.

He and Tenten are out to dinner in one of Konoha’s relatively more well known hot pot destinations, and he is doing a very good job of ignoring the ache in his chest that’s been building all day. Training hadn’t been entirely productive. He’d been trying harder not to cough up more petals than paying attention to actually improving.

Outside, it is still unseasonably cold, with a light dusting of snow on the ground.

She has his jacket around her shoulders as they try to warm up a little from the cutting wind outside, rubbing her hands together close to the pot in the center of their booth as he diligently adds mushrooms and tofu. “Neji, was there something specific you wanted something for New Years?”

He looks up at her, and for a moment, can only stare, dumbstruck, at the way the winter wind has scrubbed her cheeks raw and red. She’s not supposed to look pretty right now, half frozen as she is, but it’s on the tip of his tongue. Tenten, you look nice today.

“Not really.” He says and tips the pork into the hot pot as well. He should have done that first, since it’ll take longer to cook than the tofu, but he wants to stay here, just here in this moment until this moment becomes the rest of his life, and if improper hot pot use will do that, he’ll take it. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Hmmm.” She fiddles with an old kunai as her hands warm up, staring off into the distance. “If it’s going to be so cold for a while yet, a hat would be nice.”

“You don’t already have one?” She came to team training that morning without a heavy jacket, a hat or gloves, but he had assumed she’d just forgotten it at home.

She laughs, the sound like warm honey. “The last time I wore my old winter hat was eight years ago. I think it’s a little tight now.”

He resists the urge to cough and sets his chopsticks down on the table. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He notes the worry in her eyes before he goes.

It’s more than single petals littering the sink of the men’s room in the Golden Dragon. This time, there’s no denying the blood. It looks like he cut himself on a kunai and then let the wound drip onto the white porcelain.

There are full flowers clogging up the drain, bell shaped and pink with a hint of dark green stem.

“Neji, are you okay?” She calls through the door.

He braces himself against the sink and doesn’t cough again. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound fine.

His throat is on fire, and apparently, he’s growing flowers in his lungs.

He gathers up the two pink things in the sink and rinses all the blood away, even if he can’t quite wash the iron tang out of his mouth.

He’s not quite morbid enough to give them to Tenten and pretend that he left to find her a gift. Instead, he tucks them in his leg pouch. Maybe Hinata will know what they are.

She’d looked like she wanted to say something more the last time they’d discussed this nearly two months ago.

“Really Neji, you sounded like you were coughing up a lung or something in there.” Tenten drags him back to their booth, hissing quietly at him all the while. “You need to get that checked out by a medic. Go see Sakura after dinner. You don’t sound like you’re fine.”

He’s worried her then, because normally Tenten doesn’t outright demand things anyone but herself. Tenten only expects herself to be perfect.

He doesn’t want to say no to her though, even if going to a medic and saying something along the lines of “ah yes, I got this mysterious tightness in my chest a few months back and it appears that I’ve been growing flowers which I now cough up at inopportune times like a dinner out with my teammate” is probably a one way ticket to a psych eval and a padded cell.

“Alright.” He says. “I’ll go see a medic sometime this week.”

The fire in his throat eases long enough for dinner.

It’s happy enough, even though Tenten keeps casting worried glances at him. “Are you sure you feel fine, Neji?” She asks when they’re done and about to head out.

“Yes.” On some instinctual level, he’s always known that Tenten cared about him, that if he pressed it, they could be more than friends, more than teammates, more than two people who trusted each other to watch their back.

But he doesn’t press it.

He’s not free with his affections, no. He doesn’t have the freedom of a choice in the matter.

“You’re certain you’ll go see Sakura?” Tenten pauses to shrug off his winter jacket at the door of her childhood home. “Absolutely positive you’ll get a diagnosis and antibiotics for that nasty cold of yours?”

“Yes.”

Tenten’s parents are immigrants from the Land of Iron, and her own background is closer to samurai than shinobi. She is their only child, the first in her family to break past an Academy graduation and sprint headlong into life as a chunin.

Perhaps once, he would have looked down upon her without ever seeing her dedication, her steel-forged will, her warmth. Perhaps.

But that is not now.

They stand there for another moment under the porch light until it gets too cold and she has to go in. No words are said, but she doesn’t worry any longer.

She knows that he’ll go, if only because he hates lying to her.

Tenten is free as she is, and he has never been one to chain swallows down to the earth.

This is how the end begins.

He goes to visit Hinata’s room, even if it is rather late. “Hinata-hime?” She’s sitting at the table, poring over a scroll.

“Oh!” She hurries to bring out a second folding chair. “Neji-niisan, I didn’t know you were coming tonight. All the tea I have has gone cold.”

He’s startled her. “I didn’t say I was coming.” He softens just a little. His younger cousin tries too hard to please everyone, is far too kind to deserve this sort of anxiety. “Don’t worry about it, Hinata-hime. I’m the one intruding.”

Sometimes, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to mend the bridges that he broke during the Chunin Exams all those years ago. He’d done is level best to kill her, and he would have succeeded had not three jounin held him back from it.

Hinata’s forgive him for her near murder at his hands, but years and years of criticisms, cruel barbs and outright death threats are not so easy to erase even for someone as kind as Hinata.

Perhaps he is meant to build a new bridge instead of trying to mend the old ones.

“I’ll go heat up some water.” Hinata flies across the room for her electric kettle. “There are tea leaves in my cupboard.” She pauses at the doorway before she leaves for water. “You look all frozen through.”

It would comfort her to make tea, so he allows himself to smile. “Then tea would be heavenly, Hinata-hime.”

She comes back with boiling water from the kitchens and fidgets with the right amount of tea leaves and what kind he’d like at a table a little ways away, but eventually, her hands settle, and her shoulders straighten. “Neji-niisan, why are you visiting?”

“I needed your help identifying some flowers.” His cousin presses flowers like his aunt once did in her free time. Surely she’d know at least what he’s been coughing up, if not why.

He opens his hip pouch and gives her both blossoms that ended up drenched with his blood in the sink of the Golden Dragon.

“Azaleas.” Hinata looks over at him, worry in her lavender eyes. “They’re not in season right now.” She hands him his tea, wrists straight and steady. “They’re a summer flower, Neji-niisan.”

She doesn’t ask him why he has them though. She’d been the one to note the something growing in his chest.

“What do they mean?” He had only come to see her because he wanted a name for the things falling out of his lips, but now, suddenly, a name is not enough.

“Take care of yourself for me.” For a moment, he thinks she’s trying to ask him something, but she continues, in that same quiet voice of hers. “Temperance.” Hinata pauses for a long, long moment as her throat works and nothing comes out. “Fragile passion.”

He has half an idea who these flowers refer to now. Tenten. But he still has no idea why.

“P-please go see a doctor, Neji-niisan.” Hinata clasps her hands together so hard that her knuckles turn whiter than her pale skin. “The...the growing in your lungs has gotten worse.”

He certainly feels worse these days.

“Don’t worry about me, Hinata-hime.” He takes his flowers and rises to go. “I already promised Tenten that I would go.”

This is how the end progresses.

It’s a slow, steady march to the hospital the next morning, like an inexorable pulling in the pit of his stomach. He’d promised. He has half an idea of what this means.

He just still doesn’t know why.

“Here to see Haruno Sakura for my scheduled physical.” He’d put off going to Konoha General for weeks now.

Technically, he’s already missed the time slot for his physical because he didn’t want to be here, but he had promised Tenten because not promising Tenten would make her sad and prone to doing rash things like bashing him over the head with a nunchuck and then dragging him to the hospital anyway.

If he’s going anywhere, he would prefer to at least have the illusion of free will while getting there.

“You’re late.” Sakura’s standing in the doorway of her office, arms crossed, and mouth in a thin, straight line.

Neji sets the two wilted azalea blossoms on her desk. “I coughed these up in the men’s room of the Golden Dragon yesterday.”

Sakura blinks. “You what?”

“Hinata-hime says that I have something growing in my chest.” He might as well say it all and hope that Tenten doesn’t have to come and visit him in the long term care ward of Konoha General’s mental breakdown division. Knowing her, she’d try too successfully to break him out and then he’d spend the rest of his days hiding in her parents’ basement or somewhere equally insane.

Sakura drops her clipboard. It skitters over the linoleum floor between them. She looks paler than usual.

He bends over and picks it up. “You should be more careful of your things, Sakura-san.”

“You said you have something growing in your chest?” Sakura accepts her clipboard from his proffered hands with nerveless fingers. “How long have you known?”

Neji considers it. “Three months or so.”

“Three—” Sakura’s mouth snaps shut into a thin, hard line. “Get on the examination table, Hyuga. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

He takes a deep breath — as deep a breath as he is capable of taking at the moment — and gets on the table.

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to stop probing his lungs with her chakra, turn away from him, and shriek several choice words at the opposite wall. She turns back to him with some strange cocktail of fear and sorrow in her eyes. “Who do you love, Neji-kun?”

He blinks. “I fail to see how that has anything to do with my medical status, Sakura-san.” Not exactly true. He suspects the flowers he’s been coughing up have something to do with—It’s not important.

“You have Hanahaki Disease.” Sakura’s emotional cocktail has switched straight back to rage once more. “You have late-staged Hanahaki Disease.”

He blinks again, although this doesn’t help much. “I have a disease that makes me throw up flowers.”

“Because of your unrequited love!” She throws up her hands. “Just make a confession or your only other options are a completely terrible operation or death.”

Love.

Tenten.

He swallows, hard. “Why is the operation terrible?”

“You’ll never be able to love again.” Never—what does it mean to never love again? Does it mean that he will change? He’d rather not be as he was during the days where he vowed that only destiny mattered. “You’ll forget that you’ve ever known them.” Unacceptable.

He has not cultivated this friendship, has not been joyous with her successes and and depressed with her stumbles, has not lived the past six years of his life just to forget them. “No.”

Sakura looks over her clipboard at him. “Why don’t you want to confess? I don’t think they’d reject you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“No.” Neji smiles rather sardonically. Tenten, kind, wonderful, worried Tenten, tell him his feelings are silly? He might as well try to hold the moon in his hands. “But I would rather not confess.”

He might be a caged bird, but Tenten deserves the vibrant life that she’s now living, deserves only good things and far more than he could possibly offer her.

Things are changing within the Hyuga Clan, but that does not mean that life is good, only that it is better. There’s a world of difference between better and good.

Thus, it is best if his connection to Tenten remains something like favorite teammate rather than a burgeoning romantic relationship. The Clan cannnot use something that just plain isn’t there.

“Then I will warn you that if something doesn’t change you’ll be bedridden within three months, and likely dead within the next six.” Sakura sets her clipboard aside and sits down on the floor. “Why, Neji? Why won’t you confess if you aren’t afraid of rejection?”

“I think my reasons are my own, Sakura-san.” He rises and heads for the door. “Thank you for your time.”

Since the available operation is...unacceptable, he’s left with two options, of which neither one looks particularly appetizing.

Well, he’s never been afraid of dying even if without this disease, his life has been comfortable for the past few years. At one point, he thought it was his destiny to die for something trivial. He just never thought it would be for something like unrequited love.

Take care of yourself for me, Tenten.

Temperance.

Fragile passion.

So that’s why it’s fragile. I won’t be here to enjoy it.

Well, there’s no reason that anything has to change right this moment. At least he’s identified the raw ache in his chest now.

The end progresses something like this.

There are firecrackers going off in front of Tenten’s house when he visits for New Year’s Eve. He is obligated to spend New Year’s Day inside the clan compound, observing the necessary rites, which means that he has to leave before midnight, but it’s only early evening, so there’s still time to give Tenten her present and stay awhile.

Yingyue-san welcomes him into the foyer as he slips off his snow covered shoes.

“Tenten!” Yingyue-san calls over her shoulder. “Neji-kun’s here.” Tenten’s mother smiles pleasantly at him. “You’re here just in time; the sesame dumplings are ready.”

“Neji!” Tenten crashes through the hallway in her old cloth slippers, hair loose and wet down her back in a shower of cascading water droplets. “It’s so good that you made it again this year.” She looks radiantly happy as she does every New Year’s that he’s ever seen her.

It is a tradition from the Land of Iron to wear red for the New Year, and practically every surface is covered with that same shade of bright red.

He holds up her wrapped present. “I promised I would come.”

He’s been here for enough New Year’s celebrations to know that the wrapping ought to be red tissue paper. “Is Lee or Gai-sensei here yet?”

Tenten’s face falls. “They’ve been called away for a last minute mission. Tsunade-sama’s afraid that there are people raiding Orochimaru’s old bases in the Land of Rice.”

He had been distracted enough in the recent days not to notice. “I see.”

Tenten gestures for him to follow her to the living room. “How was your trip to the hospital? We never did have time to talk about it.”

“It’s fine.” Not a lie, just an omission of the truth. “The cough will go away within the next half year.” Presumably because he’d be buried by summer, but New Year’s Eve is not the time to speak of such auspicious things.

“Half a year?” She side-eyes him. “Neji, don’t be so dramatic about it. Covering your bases gets you nowhere.” She shakes a finger in his direction. “It better be gone by this time next week, you hear?”

He laughs and nods.

“Neji! Tenten! The dumplings are ready!” Liushan-san pokes his head in around the door. “And to celebrate how well the forge is doing this year, I bought specially imported erguotou from back home.” He smiles while holding up a bottle of something that could only be the Land of Iron’s most famous white wine export.

Tenten slides off the couch. “Tou-san! You shouldn’t have!” There in that moment, with her hair in disarray and her laughing dark eyes, he is sure that he’s never seen anyone as positively radiant.

Which is of course, why there is suddenly a stabbing pain in his chest and three flowers trying to make their way up his throat.

“Neji?” Tenten’s turned back to him now. “Neji?”

His vision’s fading. “Neji!”

This is how it ends.

He wakes up in the hospital to Tenten pacing the length of his bed with the energy of a caged tiger. Her hair’s still loose, and it flies out behind her rather impressively. Sometimes, he forgets that Tenten’s hair is about as long as his own since she wears it up so often.

“Sakura told me everything.” She says before he can even open his mouth. “And then I went and bullied your sweet cousin into telling me everything else Sakura couldn’t possibly have known about.”

“Tenten—”

“How could you do something like this, Neji?” She throws her hands into the air, something like a sob in her voice, but that’s impossible, because Tenten never cries. “How could you just sit around choosing death for months at a time without ever even talking to me?”

“Tenten you deserve more—”

“I sure as hell deserve more than an idiot who would kill himself before telling me that he is literally dying of unrequited love!” She buries her face in his chest. “But I don’t want it.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” He settles for that instead. I didn’t want to chain you down. I didn’t want to make your choices for you.

When she raises her head again the front of his hospital gown is wet.

He’s made her cry. “Not telling me made it worse, Neji.” She says watching him with her red-rimmed eyes. Tenten’s an ugly crier, which is one of the reasons why she never cries. Her cheeks are red and splotchy, and she looks like she rubbed her nose too many times. Neji doesn’t care. “I don’t get to chose you if you don’t tell me that you’re a choice.”

And he’d always known that it’d end this way if she ever found out about it. “The Clan.” He says sighs with more lung capacity than he’s had in months. “Will not be pleased if I want to become just Neji.” Tenten doesn’t have a family name.

Liushan-san once had a title that passed for a last name before he had moved his family to Konoha, but that had been left behind in the Land of Iron.

Leaving the Hyuga Clan without being dead is not a done thing.

Tenten stifles a laugh. “Then we’ll hide you in the basement until they stop trying to find you.” She twists her hands together in her lap. “It’s me, isn’t it?” She doesn’t sound certain, which is halfway silly, because she’s one, already volunteered to hide him in her basement, and two, who would he love half as dearly as Tenten?

“Of course, it is.” As if it could ever be anyone else.

“You were coughing up my favorite flower.” She says after a long pause. “Azaleas meant homesickness, from before, you know, but whenever I saw them, I’d think of home. So they were my favorite.”  

“I see.” So they had meaning for her too. “Hinata-hime said that they meant take care of yourself for me.” And fragile passion, but this love isn’t fragile. Not in the same way that other first loves are fragile.

He’d hurt her by hiding the reason for his sudden descent into illness, but still, here she sits by his bedside anyway.

She sighs. “Will you let me love you?”

The corners of his mouth turn down. “Will you hide me in your basement?”

“Of course.” She takes his hand. “Don’t be an idiot again, Neji.”

Tenten rarely demands anything from him that she wouldn’t be able to do herself.

“I won’t.”

It begins like this: a bitter bent boy meets a girl with a fire in her eyes and steel in her spine, and somehow they grow up to be better people for it.

[fanficsofmine]

Secret Love Song - Chapter 4

Back by popular demand! Secret Love Song will be posted on Sehun or Jongin's specific days. I'm very excited that we had so many requests to bring this back. -T✨ - Jongin wasn't wrong. He was great at hiding his emotions. The next few months consisted of us pretending our conversation had never happened. Initially, it was difficult. I did not like hiding things from Sehun. I also did not like carrying such a big secret about my best friend. I had started to feel guilty any time that Sehun showed affection toward me around Jongin. Jongin never showed that he was bothered by any of it. If he had not confessed his feelings directly to my face, I never would have assumed that he actually felt that way. He flirted with girls at bars and clubs when we would go out on days off. He took girls back to his hotel rooms. I was hopeful that, since he had been honest and gotten his secret off of his chest, that, hopefully, he was working on moving past it. The tour was going everywhere. All of us had been from all over the world, so it was exciting to see every country the girls were performing in. I was exceptionally ecstatic, because we were hitting California soil. I adored the beach with all that I was. I had told Sehun and Jongin our whole lives that I was going to live there one day. We actually had three days off before our next show. We were given free reign, as long as we were back at the hotel by curfew to keep everybody accounted for. The morning after our flight landed, Sehun woke me up gently. My eyes fluttered open to see him basked in sunlight. It glowed behind him, making him look ethereal. It was summer, so he was starting to freckle. His hair was down and soft. His dark eyes grazed my face as I drank in all of his features. He smiled at me and brushed a few rogue hairs out of my face. "Wake up, baby. I have a surprise for you." "You mean beyond actually waking up next to you every morning? Because, sometimes, that still surprises me. How did I get so lucky?" A shyness took over his cheeks and Sehun flushed pink. "Flattery gets you everywhere, jagiya," he kissed my forehead before climbing out of bed. "Get up! Let's go!" He dug through my suitcase and pulled out a blue sundress with white lace at the bottom. He tossed it at me and told me to get dressed. I obliged and quickly did my hair and make up. Sehun refused to tell me where we were going. The Uber driver drove us through lots of winding streets before we got to a two story shopping center directly across the street from a beach. We thanked him and Sehun helped me out of he car. We walked up the stairs to a restaurant that overlooked the ocean. It had gorgeous glass walls and outdoor seating so that, no matter where you chose to sit, you could see the crashing waves. We opted for outside. The smell of sea salt filled my body and I closed my eyes as an ocean breeze filtered through my hair. When I opened my eyes again, I saw Sehun staring at me. "What is it," I asked and slightly tilted my head to the side. "You're so beautiful, baby. I'm so insanely lucky that you gave me the chance to be yours." I reached across the table and grabbed his hands. "You've been so good me, Sehun. I honestly can not thank you enough for how well you treat me." He smirked a little bit, "y'know, I'll be honest, I always imagined you ending up with Jongin. Not me." My stomach flipped. "Why? Why did you think that," I tried to maintain my composure as our server handed us two mimosas. I took a drink of mine to help my throat that had just dried up at his words. "I dunno," he shrugged and took a sip of his, "he was always more forward than I was. I figured that he would make a move before I ever did." His soft eyes met mine. He let a tiny smile dance across his lips as he said, "he'd be mad at me for telling you that he used to have a huge crush on you." I chuckled, "I, um, I don't think that we should be talking about Jongin on our date. Let's just enjoy the two of us, yeah?" He nodded and smiled at me again. His smile was so gentle. It warmed me through and through. Sehun was the absolute best boyfriend that I had ever had. I refused to let Jongin's confession ruin what we had. After brunch, we crossed the street to the beach. We took our shoes off and Sehun cuffed his pants. We laced fingers and walked along the water's edge. The best part about being with Sehun was that we had yet to run out of things to talk about. We had known each other practically our entire lives, and there was never an awkward silence between us. We talked about what we wanted to do after the tour was over. We only had a few months left. "Surely it won't be that easy to return to normal life," I whined, "I've grown used to traveling the world. I think I want to do more of it." "Would you mind if I came along," Sehun lifted my arm and had me do a spin before pulling me into him. I placed a kiss on his cheek. "I wouldn't expect anything else," I smiled. "I'm glad. I was thinking that, maybe, we could make a honeymoon out of it." My feet stopped moving. "Did you say..." Before I could finish, Sehun dropped to one knee right there where the water lapped at the shore. He pulled a little box out of his pocket, and opened it. A beautiful rose gold band with a simple round diamond sat in the box. "I know that we have not been dating forever, but I have known since I was a little boy that you were the girl I wanted to marry. Lucky for me, that feeling never changed. You're my best friend. I want my future to be with you. Will you marry me?" I raised him out of the water and nodded aggressively. "Yes! Yes, Sehun! I will marry you!" He slid the ring onto my finger before crashing his lips onto mine. He lifted me up and spun me around. I laughed as tears of excitement and joy filled my eyes. We got back to the hotel and ran into Perrie in the hallway. "You two look downright giddy," she grinned at us, "that means she must have said yes!" "You knew!" My eyes grew wide and I gave her a playful shove. "Of course I knew! Oh my god! Congratulations both of you," she wrapped her arms around both of our necks and squeezed us tight before saying, "Oh my god! Let me see the ring!" I showed it to her and she shrieked! "Good job, Sehun! It's stunning!" The commotion caused others of the dancers and the rest of Little Mix to open their doors to see what was going on. They flooded the hallway. Cheers and congratulations were passed between everyone. Sehun got high fives and pats on the shoulders and backs from the other guys, and I got more hugs than I had ever experienced in my life. "We have to celebrate!" Jade demanded that we all go out that night and go dancing. I looked around at everyone. We had all grown so close on this tour, it felt as though we were a family. Them being happy for us meant the world for me. My eyes landed on Jongin. I hadn't realized that he was there. He was leaning against the door frame of his hotel room. He was biting his bottom lip, as though he was attempting to hold back from saying something. When he saw my eyes land on him, he did not even try to fake a smile. He turned and shut his door behind him. I started to make my way to his room, but Leigh-Anne stopped me. "Go. Be with your fiancé. I'll talk to him." She ran a hand along my hair and hugged me. I nodded and smiled. Rejoining Sehun, I grabbed his hand again. He kissed the top of mine and said, "should we go have a moment alone to celebrate, future Mrs. Oh?" We told everyone that we would see them later, and made our way into our hotel room. I was ecstatic. I had just agreed to marry my best friend. So why was my excitement being drowned out by a wave of worry that things were about to take a turn for a worse with Jongin?

[brykyo]

His Mother's Love

       When Oswald closed his eyes and thought to his mother, his mind would immediately go to the way she would stroke his head. Her touch was always feather soft but warm and never failed to make him feel safe. As her fingers would comb through his hair, she would sing old songs in her native tongue. Songs of freedom and a never-ending sky. Songs of lost love and broken cities. Her voice never failed to bring tears to his eyes, especially now when he knew he would never again feel that gentle touch or hear her voice. But Oswald could remember. 

       His oldest memory of his mother stretched far back when he was just a small child. He used to stand by the doorway - just watching his mother stare out the window and enjoy the cool breeze. If she was lucky, fate would smile kindly on her and send a fresh wind down her way, but usually the air was heavy with the scent of the city. He remembered that she would always get excited at the smell of a storm on the air, because that meant the world would be cleansed around them. 'The rain will wash the city new, Oswald.‘ she would tell him, her voice filled with so much excitement that he himself couldn’t help but mirror those emotions. 

       Gertrud used to wear this white shawl, Oswald was certain he could find it if he looked, but he knew the fabric would have long since yellowed with age. No longer would it flutter behind her, giving her the illusion of having wings as she walked through the park where they used to have picnics. No longer would she stand by the edge of the pond, tossing bread to the swans that inhabited that park, her expression so soft and mournful you would think she was looking at lost family members. Of course, Oswald hadn’t known back then how true that statement had really been. If he had, he would have held his mother’s hand tighter. He would have done all he could to console her, but as an ignorant child, all he did was pull away to run through the open park, happy to be free of their tiny apartment. 

       When Oswald’s fangs first came in, he had been so happy he could’ve fainted on the spot. Their arrival was just proof he was as special as Mother told him, he wasn’t just some boring human like all the rest, no, no, no he was something else, something grand! His mother, on the other hand, reacted very differently. He could still see her horrified expression as he happily showed them off. He could still feel her fingers digging into his flesh as she filed down those sensitive fangs with half crazed desperation. He could still hear her ragged sobs as she apologized over and over until her voice was completely gone. It didn’t take long for Oswald to resent his own blood, to hate his flesh for causing his mother so much pain. To spare her this pain, he had taken to filing down his fangs all by himself, not that it did much use.  The other children just seemed to know something was different about him from the moment he walked into the room. 

       School had been lonely for young Oswald, who would spend his days dodging bullies and just waiting for the bell to ring so he could rush back home to his mother. That small apartment was his only sanctuary, the only place where he could be at peace. Often times he would come home with tears in his eyes and torn clothing - the victim of yet another foul prank. Other days he would just silently trudge on into his mother’s bed and cry into her arms, asking her why no one else liked him. What was so wrong with him? His mother would always assure him that it was nothing. That the bullies were being cruel because they were jealous and sometimes that would make him feel better - other times it just made the the loneliness worse. 

       Oswald would soon give up the hope of friends and devote himself to becoming stronger and that meant discovering what he was. He would spend hours pouring over book after book in the library, desperate for anything that could give him an inkling as to what he really was. The answer, interestingly enough, came by accident as he was walking home from another fruitless search. The thug that had sprung out of the shadows had no clue what he was dealing with, and frankly neither did Oswald. How could he have ever guessed that to unlock his true potential, he needed something so specific?  He could still remember being pinned to the wall. The way the bricks dug into his back and the way the mugger’s face twisted with greed as he threatened him with a knife. How Oswald ended up with that knife, he still wondered, but somehow he had managed to not only grab hold, but turn it against his attacker. Not that he needed it, no, with just the smallest cut, the smell of blood filled the air and something in Oswald snapped awake. 

       Oswald would later stagger on home, his eyes wide with wonder and his clothing soaked in blood as a strange warmth filled his veins. He knew what he was. But he still couldn’t believe it. A vampire itself was not the rarest thing, but a Traditional? Now that was something different. A Traditional​ was like royalty, a breed that was smarter, faster, stronger, and well, better than any made vampire could ever hope to be. While made vampire’s could turn humans, it was the Traditional that was the true sire to any newcomer in the bloodline, no matter how far down the list went. But a Traditional could do something special. A Traditional could have offspring and that was obviously where he came from. 

       From his first taste of blood, Oswald had felt a change. Smells were stronger, his eyes were sharper, the world itself was so much clearer than it had been just the day before. He felt like he could do, well, anything! That was until he realized the downside to his metamorphosis - his newfound aversion to sunlight. He should have expected it, he supposed, he knew made vampires had difficulty going out during the day and would either depend on halflings or would cling to the shadows, but it wasn’t as if the sun burned him. No, it was more like an uncomfortable tingling feeling, like when your foot fell asleep and you tried to stand on it. He could stand it, but it was irritating, to be sure, which was why he took to carrying an umbrella everywhere he went.  

      The good thing about Gotham was that the average day was cloudy at best, at least until summer came scorching its way through the streets. Not that it mattered, no Oswald found himself spending his nights searching for more and more blood. He found he could be satisfied with animal’s blood, but that was like eating a snack when you were starving. It kept him alive, but he yearned for more. He had to learn how to properly hunt and he had to do so by himself. If his mother noticed the change in him, she didn’t say a word about it, but Oswald would catch her staring at him sometimes, the look on her face perplexed - as if she had just mistaken him for someone else. It was then that he tried to ask about who his father might be. 

       It wasn’t that Oswald hadn’t asked about his father before, but he had always easily been brushed off. 'I don’t want to talk about him'  his mother would say, a distant look in her eyes. One would think that this would have upset him, but deep down he knew that she was trying her hardest to protect him from something. She had to know more than she let on. So, with renewed energy, he began to ask once more, only to find her ducking his questions or giving vague answers. All Oswald really knew was his father couldn’t be with them - but that didn’t tell him anything! But, there was only so far he could push his frail mother until one day his incessant questions finally drove her to tears. For hours, Oswald sat by his mother’s door and listened to her ragged sobs until the curiosity for his father turned into fervent hatred. He vowed to find the old bastard himself and make him pay, but to do that he had to become someone different, someone even more powerful. To do that, he had to turn into a man like Don Falcone. 

      Any Gothamite worth their salt knew the Don and Oswald had been lucky enough to see him out and about on the streets and even before he discovered what he was and began to develop his powers, he could tell that Don Falcone wasn’t human. To be around the Don was to witness real, raw power, despite the man’s old age - but no one knew what he was. At this point, Oswald could care less. He had to rise up and take over. This path would eventually lead him to Fish Mooney’s territory and his willingness to do whatever it took to get ahead landed him a job as her umbrella boy. 

       Fish Mooney was a half breed, everyone knew this, but despite her half human side, she too radiated a kind of power. Miss Mooney just had a way of drawing in one’s attention, her every word and every action had the watcher at the edge of their seat, just wondering what she would do next. Oswald both idolized and despised her. The way she dismissively passed over him, never believing he could be more than just an umbrella boy absolutely infuriated him as well as amused him. He’d show her. He’d show all of them. He just had to bide his time and build up his strength. 

       Oswald learned that blood differed from person to person, which he should have expected. He couldn’t be all too picky, sadly, he had to take what he could when he could. The easiest target was the occasional blissed out drug addict. They were so far gone that they hardly noticed when he bit down or when he got up. As long as he put the bite mark where they couldn’t see, it would heal in a few days, leaving no trace of his presence other than a dizzy ache.

       He also learned the subtle differences in scent. The girl who swayed gently on the stage had a scent similar to the nymphs who would breeze through town, but he suspected she didn’t know. The sneering man holding a sign that said 'What Monsters Need is a Good Stake’ had mixed blood as well, a fact that made all those strong enough to pick it out smirk as they passed him. Oswald doubted he knew that either. Strangely enough, though Oswald knew his mother was human as well, every so often she would smell of something different. He never could place a finger on it, he never smelled it anywhere but on her. He would eventually shrug and just dismiss it. She probably had some monster ancestor way down the line. Way too far for her to have inherited much power or even know it was there. So, Oswald didn’t concern himself too much with it beyond the odd glimmer of curiosity. After all, he had to have inherited something different from his mother that made him so different from other vampires right?

       Quite a bit of time passed peacefully, or as peacefully as such a life could be. He would spend his time serving Mooney, come home to his mother and once he had a moment to slip away, he would hunt. Every so often he would have a night off and he would spend that night in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city, sharpening his skills and scheming his eventual takeover. He just had to wait for the right moment to pull the rug from underneath that bitch Mooney. Oswald wasn’t the strongest of creatures, after all he had seen glimpses of what the others could do. He couldn’t win in a full-blown frontal attack, no he had to rely on the skills he did have. He was quick and nimble and his senses allowed him to spy on Miss Mooney from further away. Not that he had to worry about anything, he was her umbrella boy, he was kept right by her side through quite a bit. Oh the things he could say about Miss Mooney - if he thought it would actually get him further along. Sadly, one couldn’t just waltz up to Don Falcone with some rumors in their back pocket. He needed something a little bit more substantial to get what he wanted. 

       Who would have though that the missing piece Oswald so desperately needed would come from Gotham’s own royalty, the Waynes. There were rumors flying about that old family, nothing really concrete. They were almost too pro monster rights to be humans, always hosting fundraisers to bring money for some new cause - from making new schools for half-breeds all the way to cleaning up the streets. The Waynes were in everything, which probably was what led to their deaths. But it did bring dashing Jim Gordon barging into his life, all full of aggression and determination. He was a pawn that Oswald couldn’t wait to make dance. Perhaps it was partly due to Jim’s arrival that helped Oswald hatch his plan. 

       Oswald would admit that his plan came with… complications. He hadn’t expected Miss Mooney to realize his betrayal so soon and he definitely hadn’t prepared for her reaction. True his pain resistance was different than most, but Miss Mooney wasn’t one to be deterred. He could definitely remember that night, it was seared into his brain. He could remember cowering on the floor as she attacked, he was forever changed by that night. Perhaps it was pure luck that the leg of the table broke into the perfect shape for stabbing. It had to be luck that the leg ended up embedded in his leg rather than his heart, but as the wood shattered within him, the shrapnel would be the cause of his limp in the years to come. 

       Well, limp or no, Oswald sure danced circles around everyone, didn’t he? He pulled the rug out from beneath Mooney didn’t he? Oh the look on her face when she realized that he had been with Don Falcone the whole time still brought a smile to his face. Lila’s death had been… unfortunate, but he couldn’t just let her make off his meal ticket could he? Sad as it was, he still needed Falcone’s protection against his next foe: Maroni. Stupid and easily manipulated as he was, that moron had strength and an explosive temper that scared even Oswald. Who knew what he wouldn't​ do? Oswald would admit, not even he expected that ogre to drag his poor mother into their feud, but he guessed he should have known. 

       If there was one thing Oswald had never wanted it was to be the reason his mother shed tears ever again, but once again, he would sit outside her door and hear her ragged sobs after that fateful night. And to think she had been singing just a few hours prior. In such time, Maroni had ruined everything for him, so it was only fair that he repay that debt, yes? Despite both Dons’ bluster and power, despite Fish’s rage, they all were brought to their knees and who was left standing? Why, little, worthless Penguin. That’s who. Finally he took his rightful place as king. Finally, he could give his mother the luxurious life she deserved, but Fish Mooney wasn’t the only one to leave a mark on his life. Maroni’s interference would keep his mother from fully meeting his eyes for the months to come. For the first time in his life, he wouldn’t have his mother’s gentle touch, not that Oswald even noticed did he? It’s funny how it took losing her to even realize she was gone. 

       How had he not even noticed that she had been taken? How could he be so careless? Oswald knew, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. It was because he was afraid of her eyes. Once they held nothing but love, but after Maroni, there was disappointment, even fear in her gaze. His own mother was afraid of him, as if he would ever hurt her. And so, he hid her away, or well, so he thought. It hadn’t taken long for Galavan to find and take her away, had it? His guilt and fear for her consumed him, all he could think of was what could have happened if he had actually been there for her. Would he have even been able to save her? 

       "Oswald, why do you look so sad?“ Her hand stroked his cheek like it always had, the gentlest smile on her face as he clung to her. A scream rang in his ears, frantic and desperate. It was the soreness in his throat that told him who that scream even came from as he grabbed the knife and lunged at Theodore Galavan, not that the attack did much for him, did it? No, he ended up scurrying into the night like the coward that he was, leaving his mother’s crumpled form behind. Was it Galavan that caused his mother’s death or his own ineptitude? If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his dream, could he have saved her? Or was his existence always destined to drain the life away from her? 

The fire has gone out, wet from snow above

But nothing will warm me more than my, my mother’s love

        Gertrud would never sing to him again. She would never stand by the lake with her shawl flying behind her. Never again would he feel her gentle touch. Never again would he be in the presence of his mother’s love.

[daddyslittlejuliet]

Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Matted dog hair is the worst! It’s ugly, dirty, sometimes painful, and once matted dog hair starts it can snowball out of control and become a health issue.

I used to babysit a brother-sister Blue Picardy Spaniel team. These regal dogs have luscious, wavy feathering on their legs, underside and tail. This breed is also a ball of energy! Add that glorious feathered coat after a long hike with running and romping through streams, and you have yourself some serious matted dog hair!

The kicker — the siblings’ folks were adamant that their fur could not be cut. I’d try to help by brushing them after our outdoor adventures, but I felt bad for the groomer when I’d drop them off and have to remind the staff, “No cutting!” Like magic, those two pups would come back with silky, mat-free feathers. How did those groomers deal with all that matted dog hair? Patience, the right tools, skill and help from vigilant dog parents.

What You Must Know About Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

Dog with crazy-messy hair blowing in the wind. Photography ©cynoclub | Getty Images.

Here are some grooming tips for dealing with matted dog hair:

First, train your dog to enjoy grooming so he’ll stand still long enough to get the mats out! Start brushing your pup when he is young, even if he doesn’t need it. Hand out praise and high-value treats so he can associate grooming with happy things.

Pay close attention to areas that mat easily: behind the ears and legs, in the armpits, on the undercarriage and where his collar or halter rubs.

Keep matted dog hair from forming. A detangler cream or spray helps prevent fur from getting clumped up and can be used before your pup jumps into a river or lake to make the post-swim brushout easier. Use only products specifically made for dogs.

If your pup’s coat has gotten severely matted or hasn’t been cared for in a while, take a trip to the veterinarian. An uncared-for coat and extremely matted dog hair can cause skin irritation or infection that needs to be treated by a medical professional.

To learn the best way to brush out your pup and kind of brush to use, talk to your groomer. Your groomer will be happy to share, as the better you are at daily grooming the easier her job is.

Don’t ignore the paws. Hair that grows in between the pads can get matted. Keep that hair short. If you need a touch-up between professional grooming, then buy some dog clippers. They’re easier than scissors on your dog’s sensitive paw pads.

Clippers are also useful to keep a pup’s rear end neat and clean. Between sitting and pooping, that area can get messy fast. A clean area around the anus is worth a little embarrassment between you and your dog.

A good diet helps him have a healthy coat that’s less likely to mean matted dog hair. Look for omega-3 or fish oil in your pup’s food and supplements. Of course, consult a vet to learn the best amount to be giving your dog.

Professional Groomers on Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

How do pro groomers deal with matted dog hair? Photography by Laures/Thinkstock.

1. Deana Mazurkiewicz IGMS, NCMG, IFMS President, Intellectual Groomers Association and Master Stylist at Pawsh By Deana in Zephyrhills, Florida. facebook.com/intgroome

Never bathe your dog if he has mats or tangled hair. Water acts as a sponge and only makes them tighter.

Use corn starch to help loosen matted dog hair. Rub some into the mat to help loosen, then brush out.

Don’t assume that conditioner will remove or loosen mats. They must be brushed and combed out thoroughly before the bath.

NEVER try to cut out matted dog hair. The mats may be tighter than you think or have the skin caught up in them, and you can easily cut your pet.

2. Windmere Kennels, St. Charles, Michigan; facebook.com/Windmerekennels

Brush! Dogs like Poodles and Goldendoodles that are considered non-shedding don’t shed the dead hair on their own, they need help by brushing a minimum of twice a week with a good slicker brush.

Regular visits to a professional groomer is a must to stave off matted dog hair! Every six to eight weeks is recommended.

Mats begin at the base and not at the top of the hair. While your dog might look to be mat free, get your fingers down into the nape of the hair to feel for any tangles and snarls. Catching a potential mat before it happens makes removing it much easier.

Do research on your breed’s specific needs for proper grooming. Depending on your breed, the coat or hair will require different practices to keep it healthy and vibrant.

3. Vanessa Hoyt, Groomer Girls Pet Salon, Lawrenceville Georgia. Facebook.com/groomergirlspetsalon

Always work on small sections, from the ends of the hair working your way up to the skin.

Always use a good conditioner. Dematting can cause major breakage even if done correctly.

Always use cooler warm water as a quick rinse as the last thing you do in the tub. This will help seal the hair shafts. Warmer water leaves them open, making the hair prone to breakage and damage. Broken and damaged hair tangles quicker.

Always use a finishing conditioning spray.

Thumbnail: Photography ©Tierfotoagentur | Alamy Stock Photo.

Wendy Newell is a former VP of Sales turned dog sitter, which keeps her busy being a dog chauffeur, picking up poop and sacrificing her bed. Wendy and her dog, Riggins, take their always-changing pack of pups on adventures throughout the Los Angeles area. Learn more about them on Facebook at The Active Pack and on Instagram at @wnewell.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

We’re celebrating the Dog Days of Summer on Dogster.com this August! Join us for insight on summer fun, grooming, safety and more.

This piece was originally published on March 27, 2018.

Read more about dog grooming on Dogster.com:

Wondering How to Clean Your Dog’s Ears? A How-To (and How Often!) Guide

How Often to Brush a Dog’s Teeth and Other Tips on Brushing Your Dog’s Teeth

Wondering How Often to Bathe a Dog? It Depends on These Factors

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[stiles-wtf]

Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Matted dog hair is the worst! It’s ugly, dirty, sometimes painful, and once matted dog hair starts it can snowball out of control and become a health issue.

I used to babysit a brother-sister Blue Picardy Spaniel team. These regal dogs have luscious, wavy feathering on their legs, underside and tail. This breed is also a ball of energy! Add that glorious feathered coat after a long hike with running and romping through streams, and you have yourself some serious matted dog hair!

The kicker — the siblings’ folks were adamant that their fur could not be cut. I’d try to help by brushing them after our outdoor adventures, but I felt bad for the groomer when I’d drop them off and have to remind the staff, “No cutting!” Like magic, those two pups would come back with silky, mat-free feathers. How did those groomers deal with all that matted dog hair? Patience, the right tools, skill and help from vigilant dog parents.

What You Must Know About Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

Dog with crazy-messy hair blowing in the wind. Photography ©cynoclub | Getty Images.

Here are some grooming tips for dealing with matted dog hair:

First, train your dog to enjoy grooming so he’ll stand still long enough to get the mats out! Start brushing your pup when he is young, even if he doesn’t need it. Hand out praise and high-value treats so he can associate grooming with happy things.

Pay close attention to areas that mat easily: behind the ears and legs, in the armpits, on the undercarriage and where his collar or halter rubs.

Keep matted dog hair from forming. A detangler cream or spray helps prevent fur from getting clumped up and can be used before your pup jumps into a river or lake to make the post-swim brushout easier. Use only products specifically made for dogs.

If your pup’s coat has gotten severely matted or hasn’t been cared for in a while, take a trip to the veterinarian. An uncared-for coat and extremely matted dog hair can cause skin irritation or infection that needs to be treated by a medical professional.

To learn the best way to brush out your pup and kind of brush to use, talk to your groomer. Your groomer will be happy to share, as the better you are at daily grooming the easier her job is.

Don’t ignore the paws. Hair that grows in between the pads can get matted. Keep that hair short. If you need a touch-up between professional grooming, then buy some dog clippers. They’re easier than scissors on your dog’s sensitive paw pads.

Clippers are also useful to keep a pup’s rear end neat and clean. Between sitting and pooping, that area can get messy fast. A clean area around the anus is worth a little embarrassment between you and your dog.

A good diet helps him have a healthy coat that’s less likely to mean matted dog hair. Look for omega-3 or fish oil in your pup’s food and supplements. Of course, consult a vet to learn the best amount to be giving your dog.

Professional Groomers on Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

How do pro groomers deal with matted dog hair? Photography by Laures/Thinkstock.

1. Deana Mazurkiewicz IGMS, NCMG, IFMS President, Intellectual Groomers Association and Master Stylist at Pawsh By Deana in Zephyrhills, Florida. facebook.com/intgroome

Never bathe your dog if he has mats or tangled hair. Water acts as a sponge and only makes them tighter.

Use corn starch to help loosen matted dog hair. Rub some into the mat to help loosen, then brush out.

Don’t assume that conditioner will remove or loosen mats. They must be brushed and combed out thoroughly before the bath.

NEVER try to cut out matted dog hair. The mats may be tighter than you think or have the skin caught up in them, and you can easily cut your pet.

2. Windmere Kennels, St. Charles, Michigan; facebook.com/Windmerekennels

Brush! Dogs like Poodles and Goldendoodles that are considered non-shedding don’t shed the dead hair on their own, they need help by brushing a minimum of twice a week with a good slicker brush.

Regular visits to a professional groomer is a must to stave off matted dog hair! Every six to eight weeks is recommended.

Mats begin at the base and not at the top of the hair. While your dog might look to be mat free, get your fingers down into the nape of the hair to feel for any tangles and snarls. Catching a potential mat before it happens makes removing it much easier.

Do research on your breed’s specific needs for proper grooming. Depending on your breed, the coat or hair will require different practices to keep it healthy and vibrant.

3. Vanessa Hoyt, Groomer Girls Pet Salon, Lawrenceville Georgia. Facebook.com/groomergirlspetsalon

Always work on small sections, from the ends of the hair working your way up to the skin.

Always use a good conditioner. Dematting can cause major breakage even if done correctly.

Always use cooler warm water as a quick rinse as the last thing you do in the tub. This will help seal the hair shafts. Warmer water leaves them open, making the hair prone to breakage and damage. Broken and damaged hair tangles quicker.

Always use a finishing conditioning spray.

Thumbnail: Photography ©Tierfotoagentur | Alamy Stock Photo.

Wendy Newell is a former VP of Sales turned dog sitter, which keeps her busy being a dog chauffeur, picking up poop and sacrificing her bed. Wendy and her dog, Riggins, take their always-changing pack of pups on adventures throughout the Los Angeles area. Learn more about them on Facebook at The Active Pack and on Instagram at @wnewell.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

We’re celebrating the Dog Days of Summer on Dogster.com this August! Join us for insight on summer fun, grooming, safety and more.

This piece was originally published on March 27, 2018.

Read more about dog grooming on Dogster.com:

Wondering How to Clean Your Dog’s Ears? A How-To (and How Often!) Guide

How Often to Brush a Dog’s Teeth and Other Tips on Brushing Your Dog’s Teeth

Wondering How Often to Bathe a Dog? It Depends on These Factors

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[jeffreyrwelch]

Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Matted dog hair is the worst! It’s ugly, dirty, sometimes painful, and once matted dog hair starts it can snowball out of control and become a health issue.

I used to babysit a brother-sister Blue Picardy Spaniel team. These regal dogs have luscious, wavy feathering on their legs, underside and tail. This breed is also a ball of energy! Add that glorious feathered coat after a long hike with running and romping through streams, and you have yourself some serious matted dog hair!

The kicker — the siblings’ folks were adamant that their fur could not be cut. I’d try to help by brushing them after our outdoor adventures, but I felt bad for the groomer when I’d drop them off and have to remind the staff, “No cutting!” Like magic, those two pups would come back with silky, mat-free feathers. How did those groomers deal with all that matted dog hair? Patience, the right tools, skill and help from vigilant dog parents.

What You Must Know About Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

Dog with crazy-messy hair blowing in the wind. Photography ©cynoclub | Getty Images.

Here are some grooming tips for dealing with matted dog hair:

First, train your dog to enjoy grooming so he’ll stand still long enough to get the mats out! Start brushing your pup when he is young, even if he doesn’t need it. Hand out praise and high-value treats so he can associate grooming with happy things.

Pay close attention to areas that mat easily: behind the ears and legs, in the armpits, on the undercarriage and where his collar or halter rubs.

Keep matted dog hair from forming. A detangler cream or spray helps prevent fur from getting clumped up and can be used before your pup jumps into a river or lake to make the post-swim brushout easier. Use only products specifically made for dogs.

If your pup’s coat has gotten severely matted or hasn’t been cared for in a while, take a trip to the veterinarian. An uncared-for coat and extremely matted dog hair can cause skin irritation or infection that needs to be treated by a medical professional.

To learn the best way to brush out your pup and kind of brush to use, talk to your groomer. Your groomer will be happy to share, as the better you are at daily grooming the easier her job is.

Don’t ignore the paws. Hair that grows in between the pads can get matted. Keep that hair short. If you need a touch-up between professional grooming, then buy some dog clippers. They’re easier than scissors on your dog’s sensitive paw pads.

Clippers are also useful to keep a pup’s rear end neat and clean. Between sitting and pooping, that area can get messy fast. A clean area around the anus is worth a little embarrassment between you and your dog.

A good diet helps him have a healthy coat that’s less likely to mean matted dog hair. Look for omega-3 or fish oil in your pup’s food and supplements. Of course, consult a vet to learn the best amount to be giving your dog.

Professional Groomers on Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

How do pro groomers deal with matted dog hair? Photography by Laures/Thinkstock.

1. Deana Mazurkiewicz IGMS, NCMG, IFMS President, Intellectual Groomers Association and Master Stylist at Pawsh By Deana in Zephyrhills, Florida. facebook.com/intgroome

Never bathe your dog if he has mats or tangled hair. Water acts as a sponge and only makes them tighter.

Use corn starch to help loosen matted dog hair. Rub some into the mat to help loosen, then brush out.

Don’t assume that conditioner will remove or loosen mats. They must be brushed and combed out thoroughly before the bath.

NEVER try to cut out matted dog hair. The mats may be tighter than you think or have the skin caught up in them, and you can easily cut your pet.

2. Windmere Kennels, St. Charles, Michigan; facebook.com/Windmerekennels

Brush! Dogs like Poodles and Goldendoodles that are considered non-shedding don’t shed the dead hair on their own, they need help by brushing a minimum of twice a week with a good slicker brush.

Regular visits to a professional groomer is a must to stave off matted dog hair! Every six to eight weeks is recommended.

Mats begin at the base and not at the top of the hair. While your dog might look to be mat free, get your fingers down into the nape of the hair to feel for any tangles and snarls. Catching a potential mat before it happens makes removing it much easier.

Do research on your breed’s specific needs for proper grooming. Depending on your breed, the coat or hair will require different practices to keep it healthy and vibrant.

3. Vanessa Hoyt, Groomer Girls Pet Salon, Lawrenceville Georgia. Facebook.com/groomergirlspetsalon

Always work on small sections, from the ends of the hair working your way up to the skin.

Always use a good conditioner. Dematting can cause major breakage even if done correctly.

Always use cooler warm water as a quick rinse as the last thing you do in the tub. This will help seal the hair shafts. Warmer water leaves them open, making the hair prone to breakage and damage. Broken and damaged hair tangles quicker.

Always use a finishing conditioning spray.

Thumbnail: Photography ©Tierfotoagentur | Alamy Stock Photo.

Wendy Newell is a former VP of Sales turned dog sitter, which keeps her busy being a dog chauffeur, picking up poop and sacrificing her bed. Wendy and her dog, Riggins, take their always-changing pack of pups on adventures throughout the Los Angeles area. Learn more about them on Facebook at The Active Pack and on Instagram at @wnewell.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

We’re celebrating the Dog Days of Summer on Dogster.com this August! Join us for insight on summer fun, grooming, safety and more.

This piece was originally published on March 27, 2018.

Read more about dog grooming on Dogster.com:

Wondering How to Clean Your Dog’s Ears? A How-To (and How Often!) Guide

How Often to Brush a Dog’s Teeth and Other Tips on Brushing Your Dog’s Teeth

Wondering How Often to Bathe a Dog? It Depends on These Factors

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[buynewsoul]

Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Matted dog hair is the worst! It’s ugly, dirty, sometimes painful, and once matted dog hair starts it can snowball out of control and become a health issue.

I used to babysit a brother-sister Blue Picardy Spaniel team. These regal dogs have luscious, wavy feathering on their legs, underside and tail. This breed is also a ball of energy! Add that glorious feathered coat after a long hike with running and romping through streams, and you have yourself some serious matted dog hair!

The kicker — the siblings’ folks were adamant that their fur could not be cut. I’d try to help by brushing them after our outdoor adventures, but I felt bad for the groomer when I’d drop them off and have to remind the staff, “No cutting!” Like magic, those two pups would come back with silky, mat-free feathers. How did those groomers deal with all that matted dog hair? Patience, the right tools, skill and help from vigilant dog parents.

What You Must Know About Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

Dog with crazy-messy hair blowing in the wind. Photography ©cynoclub | Getty Images.

Here are some grooming tips for dealing with matted dog hair:

First, train your dog to enjoy grooming so he’ll stand still long enough to get the mats out! Start brushing your pup when he is young, even if he doesn’t need it. Hand out praise and high-value treats so he can associate grooming with happy things.

Pay close attention to areas that mat easily: behind the ears and legs, in the armpits, on the undercarriage and where his collar or halter rubs.

Keep matted dog hair from forming. A detangler cream or spray helps prevent fur from getting clumped up and can be used before your pup jumps into a river or lake to make the post-swim brushout easier. Use only products specifically made for dogs.

If your pup’s coat has gotten severely matted or hasn’t been cared for in a while, take a trip to the veterinarian. An uncared-for coat and extremely matted dog hair can cause skin irritation or infection that needs to be treated by a medical professional.

To learn the best way to brush out your pup and kind of brush to use, talk to your groomer. Your groomer will be happy to share, as the better you are at daily grooming the easier her job is.

Don’t ignore the paws. Hair that grows in between the pads can get matted. Keep that hair short. If you need a touch-up between professional grooming, then buy some dog clippers. They’re easier than scissors on your dog’s sensitive paw pads.

Clippers are also useful to keep a pup’s rear end neat and clean. Between sitting and pooping, that area can get messy fast. A clean area around the anus is worth a little embarrassment between you and your dog.

A good diet helps him have a healthy coat that’s less likely to mean matted dog hair. Look for omega-3 or fish oil in your pup’s food and supplements. Of course, consult a vet to learn the best amount to be giving your dog.

Professional Groomers on Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

How do pro groomers deal with matted dog hair? Photography by Laures/Thinkstock.

1. Deana Mazurkiewicz IGMS, NCMG, IFMS President, Intellectual Groomers Association and Master Stylist at Pawsh By Deana in Zephyrhills, Florida. facebook.com/intgroome

Never bathe your dog if he has mats or tangled hair. Water acts as a sponge and only makes them tighter.

Use corn starch to help loosen matted dog hair. Rub some into the mat to help loosen, then brush out.

Don’t assume that conditioner will remove or loosen mats. They must be brushed and combed out thoroughly before the bath.

NEVER try to cut out matted dog hair. The mats may be tighter than you think or have the skin caught up in them, and you can easily cut your pet.

2. Windmere Kennels, St. Charles, Michigan; facebook.com/Windmerekennels

Brush! Dogs like Poodles and Goldendoodles that are considered non-shedding don’t shed the dead hair on their own, they need help by brushing a minimum of twice a week with a good slicker brush.

Regular visits to a professional groomer is a must to stave off matted dog hair! Every six to eight weeks is recommended.

Mats begin at the base and not at the top of the hair. While your dog might look to be mat free, get your fingers down into the nape of the hair to feel for any tangles and snarls. Catching a potential mat before it happens makes removing it much easier.

Do research on your breed’s specific needs for proper grooming. Depending on your breed, the coat or hair will require different practices to keep it healthy and vibrant.

3. Vanessa Hoyt, Groomer Girls Pet Salon, Lawrenceville Georgia. Facebook.com/groomergirlspetsalon

Always work on small sections, from the ends of the hair working your way up to the skin.

Always use a good conditioner. Dematting can cause major breakage even if done correctly.

Always use cooler warm water as a quick rinse as the last thing you do in the tub. This will help seal the hair shafts. Warmer water leaves them open, making the hair prone to breakage and damage. Broken and damaged hair tangles quicker.

Always use a finishing conditioning spray.

Thumbnail: Photography ©Tierfotoagentur | Alamy Stock Photo.

Wendy Newell is a former VP of Sales turned dog sitter, which keeps her busy being a dog chauffeur, picking up poop and sacrificing her bed. Wendy and her dog, Riggins, take their always-changing pack of pups on adventures throughout the Los Angeles area. Learn more about them on Facebook at The Active Pack and on Instagram at @wnewell.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

We’re celebrating the Dog Days of Summer on Dogster.com this August! Join us for insight on summer fun, grooming, safety and more.

This piece was originally published on March 27, 2018.

Read more about dog grooming on Dogster.com:

Wondering How to Clean Your Dog’s Ears? A How-To (and How Often!) Guide

How Often to Brush a Dog’s Teeth and Other Tips on Brushing Your Dog’s Teeth

Wondering How Often to Bathe a Dog? It Depends on These Factors

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[grublypetcare]

Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Matted dog hair is the worst! It’s ugly, dirty, sometimes painful, and once matted dog hair starts it can snowball out of control and become a health issue.

I used to babysit a brother-sister Blue Picardy Spaniel team. These regal dogs have luscious, wavy feathering on their legs, underside and tail. This breed is also a ball of energy! Add that glorious feathered coat after a long hike with running and romping through streams, and you have yourself some serious matted dog hair!

The kicker — the siblings’ folks were adamant that their fur could not be cut. I’d try to help by brushing them after our outdoor adventures, but I felt bad for the groomer when I’d drop them off and have to remind the staff, “No cutting!” Like magic, those two pups would come back with silky, mat-free feathers. How did those groomers deal with all that matted dog hair? Patience, the right tools, skill and help from vigilant dog parents.

What You Must Know About Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

Dog with crazy-messy hair blowing in the wind. Photography ©cynoclub | Getty Images.

Here are some grooming tips for dealing with matted dog hair:

First, train your dog to enjoy grooming so he’ll stand still long enough to get the mats out! Start brushing your pup when he is young, even if he doesn’t need it. Hand out praise and high-value treats so he can associate grooming with happy things.

Pay close attention to areas that mat easily: behind the ears and legs, in the armpits, on the undercarriage and where his collar or halter rubs.

Keep matted dog hair from forming. A detangler cream or spray helps prevent fur from getting clumped up and can be used before your pup jumps into a river or lake to make the post-swim brushout easier. Use only products specifically made for dogs.

If your pup’s coat has gotten severely matted or hasn’t been cared for in a while, take a trip to the veterinarian. An uncared-for coat and extremely matted dog hair can cause skin irritation or infection that needs to be treated by a medical professional.

To learn the best way to brush out your pup and kind of brush to use, talk to your groomer. Your groomer will be happy to share, as the better you are at daily grooming the easier her job is.

Don’t ignore the paws. Hair that grows in between the pads can get matted. Keep that hair short. If you need a touch-up between professional grooming, then buy some dog clippers. They’re easier than scissors on your dog’s sensitive paw pads.

Clippers are also useful to keep a pup’s rear end neat and clean. Between sitting and pooping, that area can get messy fast. A clean area around the anus is worth a little embarrassment between you and your dog.

A good diet helps him have a healthy coat that’s less likely to mean matted dog hair. Look for omega-3 or fish oil in your pup’s food and supplements. Of course, consult a vet to learn the best amount to be giving your dog.

Professional Groomers on Dealing With Matted Dog Hair

How do pro groomers deal with matted dog hair? Photography by Laures/Thinkstock.

1. Deana Mazurkiewicz IGMS, NCMG, IFMS President, Intellectual Groomers Association and Master Stylist at Pawsh By Deana in Zephyrhills, Florida. facebook.com/intgroome

Never bathe your dog if he has mats or tangled hair. Water acts as a sponge and only makes them tighter.

Use corn starch to help loosen matted dog hair. Rub some into the mat to help loosen, then brush out.

Don’t assume that conditioner will remove or loosen mats. They must be brushed and combed out thoroughly before the bath.

NEVER try to cut out matted dog hair. The mats may be tighter than you think or have the skin caught up in them, and you can easily cut your pet.

2. Windmere Kennels, St. Charles, Michigan; facebook.com/Windmerekennels

Brush! Dogs like Poodles and Goldendoodles that are considered non-shedding don’t shed the dead hair on their own, they need help by brushing a minimum of twice a week with a good slicker brush.

Regular visits to a professional groomer is a must to stave off matted dog hair! Every six to eight weeks is recommended.

Mats begin at the base and not at the top of the hair. While your dog might look to be mat free, get your fingers down into the nape of the hair to feel for any tangles and snarls. Catching a potential mat before it happens makes removing it much easier.

Do research on your breed’s specific needs for proper grooming. Depending on your breed, the coat or hair will require different practices to keep it healthy and vibrant.

3. Vanessa Hoyt, Groomer Girls Pet Salon, Lawrenceville Georgia. Facebook.com/groomergirlspetsalon

Always work on small sections, from the ends of the hair working your way up to the skin.

Always use a good conditioner. Dematting can cause major breakage even if done correctly.

Always use cooler warm water as a quick rinse as the last thing you do in the tub. This will help seal the hair shafts. Warmer water leaves them open, making the hair prone to breakage and damage. Broken and damaged hair tangles quicker.

Always use a finishing conditioning spray.

Thumbnail: Photography ©Tierfotoagentur | Alamy Stock Photo.

Wendy Newell is a former VP of Sales turned dog sitter, which keeps her busy being a dog chauffeur, picking up poop and sacrificing her bed. Wendy and her dog, Riggins, take their always-changing pack of pups on adventures throughout the Los Angeles area. Learn more about them on Facebook at The Active Pack and on Instagram at @wnewell.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

We’re celebrating the Dog Days of Summer on Dogster.com this August! Join us for insight on summer fun, grooming, safety and more.

This piece was originally published on March 27, 2018.

Read more about dog grooming on Dogster.com:

Wondering How to Clean Your Dog’s Ears? A How-To (and How Often!) Guide

How Often to Brush a Dog’s Teeth and Other Tips on Brushing Your Dog’s Teeth

Wondering How Often to Bathe a Dog? It Depends on These Factors

The post Easy Ways to Deal With Matted Dog Hair by Wendy Newell appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.