#days go by the mass gets closer and closer as it descends toward the town. and it messes with the weather and everyone knows it’s there

[spitedemon]

seeing people who aren’t trans get very mad on behalf of trans people in regards to us politics right now is like. it’s nice enough. but it is also the most intense out of body experience. i almost wish they’d stop talking.

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Can you do a Johnny x reader where the reader is also a caniball (excuse my spelling😅) and Johnny introduces her the the family because of that (btw love your work 🤩 proud of you)

Blood Stained Grin

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains; cannibalism, murder, graphic depictions of killing, drinking blood

•••

During your lunch breaks, you became a familiar face at Drayton's gas station. So much so that Drayton often had your plate ready and waiting. The flavor was irresistible – Drayton's mastery of BBQ was evident, and you savored not just the taste but the forbidden knowledge that it was, in fact, human. There's a unique satisfaction in indulging in the slightly porky, fatty meat of another person, and you reveled in the power dynamics of being at the top of the food chain.

Discovering the Last Chance gas station was a stroke of luck. You would have never settled down in this unknown town if not for its cuisine. You, unlike the usual patrons, belonged to royalty – a fact that you attempted to hide, but clearly set you apart from the regular clientele. There's only so much of a royal upbringing that you can disguise away, after all. 

You'd been forced into an exile of sorts. Your bloodthirst was too great, and too obvious. The rest of your family kept their cannibalistic tendencies strictly to maintain their youth and rituals; such as through bathing in the blood of the young, or consuming the flesh of those who'd dared to look into the dark underbelly of your cabal. 

You knew the government was in your pocket, and your family was beloved by the drooling masses, but you'd messed up. You just couldn't help yourself from luring young men in with your charms and riches only to slit their throats when you had them in your bed, and send their bodies to the chefs to prepare. You'd done it too many times, enough to draw suspicion, and your family exiled you to the United States, far away from home. 

It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to you. 

“Noticed yer plate was empty. Need seconds?” Drayton asked, smiling that friendly buck-toothed smile you'd come to respect. 

“Yes, please.” You nodded. 

“Johnny!” Drayton yelled back toward the kitchen, moving away from you. “Need you to feed our best customer, I gotta check somethin’ out back!” 

A tall man with dark brown slicked-back hair stepped into view with a plate of Drayton's finest, bringing it out to you with a calculating look in his dark eyes. 

“Drayton says you're here every day,” he said, sucking his tongue behind his teeth. “You don't look like the standard type'a folk we usually get.”

“That's because I'm not,” you said with a charming grin. You had seen Johnny around, but this was the first time he'd spoken to you. 

He looked good enough to eat.

“You like the meat, hm?” He asks, cocking his head. There's something more in his voice, something that hints at a shared understanding.

“It's my favorite. Nothing else like it,” you say, joining him in the mutual secret. You both know what the meat is, but which of you will be the first to admit it?

He runs his hand through his greased hair, grinning at you. “You seem like the type to respect the process to makin’ real good meat.” He leans closer. “Want a tour?”

You nodded to your plate. “After I finish this, sure.”

“I'll get you somethin’ fresher. Here, come with me.” He holds out a hand. You glance down at your plate then back at him, deciding to take him up on his offer. He pulls you up and takes you toward the back door, opening it and leading you outside.

There you see all sorts of vehicles, worn down and broken, and a generator. He leads you past all that, back to a shack. 

If you were less confident, you would have been scared. But you can sense there's a mutual understanding between you and Johnny. You know he's not going to try anything.

Besides, if he did, you'd use the concealed blade up your sleeve to slit his throat before he could think twice.

You hear it now as you descend the stairs into the basement of the shack. Something muffled, desperate. You recognize it, and revel in it. The sounds of impending death.

Your heartbeat speeds up, and your pupils widen. God, you missed this. The screams, the torment. Music to your ears. 

“Wanna see?” Johnny asks in a low tone. You nod, and he opens the sliding metal door, leading you further into the depths. 

The basement is nothing like the torture chambers back home, but it's respectable. These people clearly only eat the meat, not going so far as to harvest their victim's fear for adrenochrome like your family was proficient at. 

You'd have to teach them. 

Johnny leads you to the back room, where the screams are loudest. There you spot a behemoth of a man wearing another man's face, skinning the flesh of their latest victim who's shrill screams echo off the walls. 

To the left of the room, you see a young woman with dirty blonde hair painting a picture as if there isn't a man being skinned alive a few feet away. Beside her, a young man jitters in place excitedly, his eyes flitting between you and the scene. 

And then there's Drayton.

“Boy! What the hell you bringing her down here for, she's one of my best customers! I didn't wanna haveta kill her!” He yells angrily, standing up and approaching you and Johnny. The man wearing a face gets startled, accidentally cutting into the victims forearm, who looses a pained scream.

“Don't worry, old man. Can't you tell? She's one of us,” Johnny says proudly. 

“What the hell you talkin’ about, boy?” Drayton says.

“She eats people too!!” The gangly young man beside the painting woman exclaims happily. The woman seems completely oblivious to everything and everyone.

“Nubbins is right, ain't he?” Johnny asks, turning to you. 

You nod, your smile growing. “I know human when I taste it. I settled down in this town just for your BBQ, Drayton.”

Johnny beams, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “See? One of the family. And she's just in time to help with dinner. Back up, Bubba,” Johnny says, and the colossal man obeys. Johnny tries to hand you a Bowie knife, but you shake your head.

You step forward, your hands shaking not from fear but from excitement. It had been so long since you'd been here, standing over a desperate man with fear-stricken eyes. When you reach the man laid out on the table, you place a hand on his sweaty forehead soothingly.

Your other hand comes up to trace his cheek, and he whimpers. Then, in one fluid motion, you unsheath your hidden blade and slit his throat. Blood pours into your waiting hand, and you bring it to your lips, savoring the delicious sticky heat. 

When you turn back, Johnny is grinning. You return his grin, your teeth stained red. 

“Welcome to the family.”

[cosmos-coma]

Sensory Series - Smell

A/N: I promise it has sweet stuff i just need the reader to be a little upset with the world in the beginning.

Pairing: Eskel x reader

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: gn!reader (no pronouns), mild language and sarcasm

Summary: You and Eskel have a contract that goes wrong, but even a simple act like sharing a tunic can heal the day.

Touch, Hear

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This sucked. 

This fucking sucked.

You were cold and wet and bleeding a little bit and honestly, it's not too out of the normal anymore!

You knew that your shitty mood was just because it had been a long day, and that the contract... didn’t quite go as expected.

You two had been visiting a coastal town on the northwestern side of the continent. Eskel usually didn’t venture this far but you had asked him time and time again over the winter if you two could visit the coast. And while he took a lot of convincing he did finally give in; warning you that the ekhidnas and sirens around there were no joke.

Now you were paying for your relentless requests with ironic karma. Eskel had taken a contract culling the excess siren population which had recently expanded their range too close to human settlements; having reportedly taken fisherman’s catches and occasionally made an attempt on the local children. 

You had offered to take the crossbow, dropping them out of the sky while Eskel finished them off with his sword. You thought it would be faster, but it only made things more complicated. You were able to work efficiently and get through a few, but they quickly got smart and all swarmed around you. You couldn’t reload the bow fast enough and they quickly descended upon you. 

You barely heard Eskel shouting your name above your own screams as the sirens brought you skyward and began tossing you between clawed hands over the jagged and rocky shallows. You weren't sure if it was the motion that made you feel sick now or the horrible aversion you just developed to the smell of fish and the ocean. 

Eskel scrambled to run over and get hold of the crossbow but found himself hesitating just a moment as he took aim. What if he missed? What if he hit you? What if you fell?

But watching these creatures toss you further and further between each other, he knew he had no choice. So while you were on the opposite side of the writhing mass of wings, tails, and claws Eskel took a shot. 

And to his worst nightmare, this caused them all to disperse and drop you from the sky. “Y/n!” he yelled, more fear and desperation than you had ever heard from him before, as he threw down the crossbow and ran into the water towards your falling body. 

Your heart felt like it was about to leap out your throat as you saw the shallow rocky water rushing closer and closer to you. You had closed your eyes and braced your body for impact… only to be suddenly and forcefully knocked sideways and cast into deeper waters.

Eskel breathed heavily as he watched you land, adrenaline slowly dwindling as he lowered his hand from where he had just cast aard. He couldn’t do anything to catch you in time as you fell, but he hoped that he had pushed you into deep enough waters that you wouldn't be hurt. 

“Y/n…?” he said, wading deeper into the water, searching intently for your familiar form.

After what felt like minutes to him your head bobbed above the water and immediately you took a gasping breath. “Cold… fuck…!” You shivered as you began haphazardly swimming back towards Eskel, the cold ocean water having pulled much of the coordination from your muscles. Thankfully, Eskel came to meet you halfway and pulled your shivering form back to shore. 

“Shit, Y/n, are you okay?” Eskel asked upon laying you down on the rocky shore. He scanned you and moved your limbs gingerly to check for blood or trauma. So far you seemed all-clear, but you were shivering more than he was comfortable with. 

“I’m o-okay… I just n-n-need a minute….” The chill of the water had already sucked the energy from you and the swim back towards Eskel had only made it worse, but at least you were still shivering. “Ugh, it smell’s like fish women…” you grumbled, just needing to complain about something after the whole ordeal.

Eskel could only watch you for a few seconds before letting out a small at your words. “Leave it to you to be tossed around by monsters… and only complain about the smell….” He said pressing a quick warm kiss to your forehead and scooping you up to head back to the inn.

````

The inn smelled of warmth and whatever comforting dinner the cook had been tirelessly creating since mid-day. Though you weren't at all thrilled with the way the scent mixed with the smell of the ocean water still soaking your clothes. “Let's get you into dry clothes, dear,” Eskel said and you nodded a bit, pulling your legs up the stairs to your room, still shivering and heavy with wet clothes. 

Once you were in the privacy of your own room Eskel helped you remove your outer layers, eyes averting themselves to give you a sense of privacy. “Let me- ah, I’ll get you something dry to put on…” He said in a way that made a soft smile pull at your lips. 

You sat on the nearby chair, putting your clothes in the rub to soak as the smell of sea salt finally diluted and was replaced by warm water and the scent of the dried flower heads you had dropped in. You were down to your still wet underclothes, wringing them out over the drain before you when Eskel came back, eyes glossing over your damp body before he locked stares with you, forcing his eyes not to stray anymore.

“Well I don’t have much, but I have a spare tunic… It set in front of the fire for a bit so it should be nice and warm.”  Eskel stood at a bit of a distance from you, but you could sense the smell of the active fireplace that followed him over to you. You nodded and blew out a heavy breath, trying to get the hairs out of your face, but they only ruffled in your small breeze.

“I love you so much….” You couldn’t help the warm smile that came to your face and you stood to head over to him. “I should have an extra pair of undergarments with me, thank you for warming it up for me, love.” 

He looked away again as you pulled off your undergarments, pulling on your extra pair and Eskel’s warm tunic. As you slipped it over your head it was like the entire day melted away; the scent of Eskel flooded your nose and put your mind at ease immediately.

Breathing his scent was like stepping into your home after a long day, safe and comforting as it enveloped you. He smelled mostly of campfire smoke, the deep mellow scent that had just a hint of sweetness to it. You think it must've ingrained itself into his skin and clothes over his decades on the path, but you also thought it described him amazingly well.

 There was another deep scent about him though, Pine. It made you think of the miles and miles of pine-laden cliffs that had absolutely captured you when you first arrived. The misty air and their rich yet sharp scent made your lungs expand with new life.

All of these combined with the soft undertone of mountain honeysuckle. It wasn’t strong, in fact, you had to search for it for a minute but it tied all of Eskel together. He was a mellow but strong man, like the forests you had camped under for countless days, but he had a light sweetness that meant you could breathe him in for hours without tiring.

“Better?” He asked, barely hiding his satisfaction as his eyes wandered over your body swallowed by in his tunic. 

You snaked your arms around him as you tucked your nose in the crook of his neck, his own arms enveloping you as his scent wafted again to your nose. 

“I’m always better with you…”

___________________________________________________

Tag list: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight

[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader)

 PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls...

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

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└───────────━┿──┿━──────────┘

You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians. 

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats. 

Anything and everything to escape. It’s not your first sticky situation, and it probably won’t be your last.

You know how to be quiet. How to hide. And when it comes down to it, you know how to swindle and how to fight, if need be. You try not to resort to that, not out of compassion or concern for the heathens that try to best you...no. You just know that you’re not as skilled as some of the rigorously trained ex-militia and rogue bandits that prey on loners in towns and off the roads.

You don’t know exactly what they want. A woman to toss around between themselves and torture before they descend on you like wolves? A new girl to sell on the black market? A pretty decoy to get carts and wagons to stop on the roads, allowing them to abush, raid, rape and kill as they please?

Whatever it is that they want, you’re not giving it to them.

‘They’ll have to catch me, first.’

You duck and dodge branches, bobbing and weaving through the trees before the forest finally begins to clear. You keep your hand on your dagger’s hilt, just in case.

Who knows what hides in the woods?

Finally, you come to a clearing run through by a small creek. The dense woods have seemed to disperse here, and now all that you can spy are peaceful glens and swaying flowers. Deer jump away through the grass, hares run into their holes, and fish shine from the stream. 

It feels…safe.

But you’re not one to be foolish, and so you continue on. Hoisting your basket closer, you can’t help but spy a garden as you pass through the glen.

Fat tomatoes hang on vine, bright orange carrot tops sprout from the soil, green onions, zucchini, berries and fruits….

…Someone has made a garden here. Hopefully if they’re the gardening sort, then they’re the safe sort. You quickly fill your basket with a few items, tuck some coins hidden near the stalks in apology for your ransacking, and carry on.

Finally, the glen ends, the forest stops entirely, and you stumble upon something entirely unexpected.

'A castle...? Out here in the middle of nowhere...?’

A grand, gothic castle of castles, spirals up towards the clouds in the sky. You gaze up at it in awe, sure that there is nothing else in the world quite so large or so spectacular. You’re certain that had the woods not been so oppressive and thick on the way in here, so wide and strenuous, that you would’ve spotted the castle for what it was miles and miles and miles ago.

You whistle low, impressed as you step forward. You take only a few steps before you stop.

A ripple in the wind draws your eye.

Two barely clothed bodies impaled on stakes tower before you, death etched onto their faces. The spikes go through them, hidden by the soiled shifts they wear and rising high up and out through their mouths. It is a grisly sight indeed.  Unfortunately, you’re no stranger to ‘grisly’ in these lands.

You move slower, more carefully than before.

Assessing the bodies, the blood is long dried on the stakes and the petrified flesh. Most of the meat is gone, pecked away by crows most likely, and the flesh that remains is hard and dried out. 

You have dealt with your fair share of monsters, but you’re not too sure you want to risk running into the one who did this. It was done with malice, strength, and a raw fury. A nonchalance for human life, it seems. Much like the same nonchalance shared by the evil men you run from.

You hear faint voices call from the trees. 

They’ve tracked you. And they’re coming closer.

“We can’t come here. It’s cursed ground. Don’t you know who this castle used to belong to?”

“Yeah, and they’re dead. No one’s seen em’ for ages. But I see little footsteps. Have a feeling the lass went this way.”

You freeze, glancing between the bodies, the huge castle door before you, and the mouth of the forest.

It’s the castle and its possible hidden horrors, or the men on your trail.

“Skin like ebony, that one. Pretty mouth, doe eyes. She’d sell for a pretty penny.. We wouldn’t have to raid for months.”

“…Or we could keep her to warm the cold nights.”

Your mind races, trying to choose. 

You could fight the men, still. But there are many of them, and just one of you. Your magic is somewhat abysmal without knowledge to guide you, and your dagger won’t measure up to prove the little sword skills you do possess. Your words will probably not get you out of this one, either. Not this time.

“I’d rather make her scream.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you Macon? But you did that to the last one, and now we’re out here hunting a new lass instead of enjoying the old one.”

‘That’s it,’ you decide.

The castle it is.

You sprint away from the woods as fast as your billowing cloak and dress will allow, ignoring the foul smell of decay and passing between the bodies. You feel as though you’ve irrevocably crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed, a decision made that can’t be taken back.

You will live with it, you decide. Better that, than capture.

Racing to the front of the grand doors, larger than the largest buildings you’ve witnessed in life before this day, you bang raptly against the wood and stone.

For a moment, nothing happens and you feel as though you will be caught right at the footsteps of this castle.

Then, you hear a doldrum, a creak and whirring of machinery and mass movement. The door shifts open just slight enough for you to slide through, making a gigantic noise in it’s wake. 

Quick as wind, you push through and fall to the floor, turning to see the grand door begin to shut closed behind you. 

The men stand before the staked bodies, unwilling to pass them and watching you as the doors close you out of their sight.

“You’d be better off with us murderers and thieves, woman!” One shouts futilely. “For even our hearts aren’t as black as the monster’s in those walls!” 

The door shuts him and the rest out. You harrumph and stand, wiping the dust off your dress and looking away.

Fuck him. And fuck his threats, and fuck his horrible little friends. Any black-hearted beasts you come across, you could handle well enough.

At least…that’s what you tell yourself to keep a brave face. Better that than nothing.

You look around.

The inside of the castle is larger than life, grand, and dark. Everything is clean and without dust as you would’ve expected from such a structure…an army couldn’t keep this clean…yet it feels unlived in.

For a moment, there is nothing but heavy, oppressive silence. You listen for a breath, a sound, but can hear nothing outside of your own increasing heartbeat.

You turn, looking to the top of the staircase.

Your eyes tell you there is nothing there, but your instincts tell you something else.

Suddenly, the lights of a thousand candles sweep on throughout the grand hall, illuminating a massive stone staircase and a figure standing at the top of it. You have very good sight, but the room is so large that you can barely make out the figure, even with the candlelight.

Nothing is said, the figure is motionless, and you begin to tremble. This must be the one who lives in this place…not an intruder or a vagrant. You don’t know how you know, but the figure is too large, too looming, and too confident even in its vagueness of detail for you to assume it to be anything other than the owner. 

The one who likely staked those unfortunate souls outside the walls.

You feel as if the mysterious figure is waiting for something, and you don’t know what to say. But something must be said.

Your voice is as steady as your fear will allow.

“My name is ———. I come from afar. I am…I am seeking refuge…if you will have me.”

“Refuge from the men outside.” 

The voice carries through the empty hall, lilting, low, and deadly. You hear hints of refinement in the speech but they are not enough to hide the white hot lethalness you sense underneath. A rage that you cannot even begin to place or name.

“Y-yes,” you stumble embarrassingly, affected, “from the men outside. They followed me here. I have nowhere to go.”

“And so you feel entitled to my protection.”

“No!’ You exclaim, shaking your head. You stopped expecting assistance from people long ago. The life of a lonely wanderer is just that...lonely. “I inconvenience you, and for that I apologize sincerely. Just…just refuge. I can be on my way after they depart.”

“To where...?” The disembodied voice says as calm as a pond at night, yet you feel the ripples that lie beneath.

“Nowhere,” you breathe.

“…And you come from?” The figure disappears like a mist, yet the voice remains.

“I…nowhere,” you gasp honestly, truly afraid now.

“Lies.” The voice spits viciously, sounding closer then far away, as if it’s bouncing around the space of the great hall.

“It’s t-true!” You insist, your trembling hands reeling in towards your chest in a futile attempt of protection from the unseen danger. “I hail from nowhere! I belong to nowhere! I have little. Just refuge, sir. A night, even!”

“I could grant you refuge,” the voice assumes, “or I could send you back out to those men and be bothered with none of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, daring a chance to hope.

The voice chuckles humorlessly, dry as dead leaves.

“Perhaps,” it toys. “But I also wouldn’t allow a mysterious woman of mysterious origins to stay in my castle, learn of my ways, only to run back to the outside world and send a horde of farmhands sprinting over to slay me. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, I think I’ll keep you instead. Are you willing to make that bargain with the Devil?”

You pause, your mind blank. You search for an answer to reason with this...this...your thoughts race.

“Look, I know I’ve come into your abode unannounced and rather…rather rudely, making demands, but I must implore you—“

“—Answer me!” the voice barks, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

'That’s it.’

“You’re a prick, you know that?!” You blurt.

“…” You can hear the confusion in the empty air. “…Pardon?”

You push on, figuring that if you’re going to be staked by the unseen castle-owner or given up to the men outside, or toyed with any longer by any of this nonsense, that you may as well speak your mind one last time.

“You know good and goddamn well that I am not running into a fantastical, creepy castle of myth decorated by corpses on the front porch for the fun of it! As if I care or even believe some farmhands could handle much less defeat you when you can clearly impale full grown adults and work such a place as this—!”

“...”

“—And how dare you tease a woman scared out of her wits, can you even pretend to try to put yourself in my place?! Do you know how long I’ve been running from those idiots? If I had your strength I’d’ve staked them myself and added them to your lovely, little welcome collection as a visiting gift, because believe me, I’m sick of running from morons and monsters! I’m not above spilling blood! But as I said before, I possess little, and come from nothing, and journey towards nothing. From that, you can figure I can’t do much in terms of protecting myself besides running into large, spooky places and begging their arrogant owners for some rest—”

“.....”

“—So, I’d very much appreciate if you stopped toying with me and make your decision on whether you’re going to kill me, kick me out, or keep me, because I’m tired of trying to figure this all out by myself and I’m tired of the anticipation. So what’ll it be Mr. I-Like-to-Leave-Corpses-Outside-My-Castle-and-Harrass-Visitors?”

You huff after your rant, waiting.

The voice is silent for a long, long moment, before an accusing tone reverbs back to you.

“You’re the one who barged in—“

“—You’re the one who opened the door!” You return, throwing your hands out in frustration.

“I didn’t, the castle did.”

“Oh, well fuck me, then. I suppose I ought to thank the ‘castle’ and head back out to let those hoodlums try their worst. So long, strange sir! It was interesting, arguing with you.”

You turn on your heel, over this entire day, and knock at the door raptly. You tap your foot as you wait on the castle, arms crossed and dagger in your hand to strike the nearest hoodlum that likely awaited outside. What a day, you couldn’t believe this shit.

The machinery whirs once more and the door barely opens before a large, leather gloved hand reaches past your head and slams the towering door back, closing it shut. The strength the act takes is incomprehensible, you think. 

Inhuman, you realize.

The hairs at the back of your neck raise long after the presence behind you appears. You feel no breath on your neck, yet you know someone stands behind you. You can’t look away from the large, gloved hand on the door. You’re afraid to see exactly who stands behind you.

A man...? Or something else entirely….?

You try to speak but gasp instead, short and shocked.

Silence reigns before you get a hold of yourself and choke something out.

“Y-y-you’ve made your decision then…I presume...?” You stammer into a squeaking volume, your anger long gone and replaced by fear once again.

“Don’t make me regret it…” The voice sneers, close enough for the breath of it to shift your hair and the baritone to reverb over your skin. A chill runs up your back and you can do little to hide it. You feel as though the figure behind you is impossibly tall, imperceptibly assessing, and spying every single thing you do. 

You feel the presence lean in over your shoulder, a mouth right next to your ear.

“…or you will regret it, visitor. That, I can promise.”

You gulp loudly, nodding your assent without turning around. You feel frozen to the spot. The hand withdraws and your shoulders unclench only a fraction. You feel as if a predator had been standing behind you, and has decided not to destroy you...for the moment.

You wonder if you are right, and why your cheeks suddenly feel so hot when your heart is beating so fast in terror...?

“I’m going to clean the trash off of my porch,” the voice states eerily. “Don’t touch anything until I return.”

As quick as a blink, the presence disappears entirely. 

You finally turn around, alone and confused.

There is nothing but the large castle hall, looking back at you.

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[ask-rp-devra]

A few more days passed, the whole island was preparing to lose two staff members for a short while so ther was a handful of new Pokemon squads on patrols, and a lot of handing over of work to Professor Grey and Pari who were happy to stay behind for the time being. Seeing as the trip to the Crown Tundra area in Galar was looming, peach had put in special permission to bring along Valka, her age and subsequently monstrous skill made her usually unable to travel, trained to a fine point, putting her in a gym battle or a league seemed very unfair, but the locals seemed to think she’d fit the bill, Professor Magnolia had mentioned the abundance of legendary Pokemon in the area, so it would seem wise to take along a Pokemon that was able to hold its own.

With bags packed and bodies in seats the woman and her apprentice began the trip back to Galar, not only to collect more data on the new areas, but also to gather Devra’s team mates up to bring back to the island. The flight back was fine, Peach slept, drooling a bit, legs tucked up in the plane seat, her single Pokemon stashed for the journey, it felt uncomfortable having Valka in her pokeball, it didn’t happen often.

Devra had spent most of her free time packing for the trip, and the rest of it bonding with the two Pokémon she’d be bringing to the tundra. She had to make sure Aliza and her newest Pokémon Coal were strong enough to hold up in the tundra. Fiona helped her load with training her daughter, trusting her human to take care of Aliza but also wanting to make sure she’d be okay too. Now that they were on the plane Devra sat in the window seat, watching the clouds go buy. As they got closer to landing she gently nudged Peach. “Professor? We’re almost there.” She then looked out again, excited to see her mom again, as well as all of her other Pokémon.

Peach grunted, awoke with a jolt, and looked around, dazed and somewhat still very asleep, looking rather disheveled. Drool sticking hair to her face, squinty tired eyes, and a miserable headache. Water and pills as she waited to get the green light to get off the plane, and finally see her partner again, the ball sat in her pocket, in her hand, waiting patiently.

by the time they had disembarked, got their luggage and had caught a flying taxi towards Devra’s home, they had been able to finally take in the scenery, and enjoy the view as they made their way back to postwick, a quiet little town full of wooloo keepers and families.

“you must be happy to get home, see the family, you’re old Pokemon.”

Devra had given the corviknight a warm hello when they were picked up, being familiar with his taxi team. “I’m super excited. I told mom we were coming the other day. I think she’s going to have tea and cake waiting for us. I think you’ll be happy for the tea. She says my Pokémon have all been keeping an eye out for me. I have a feeling there’s going to be a mob when I get of the taxi.” She laughed as she saw her house come into view, here eyes bright and happy.

The pair thanked the taxi driver, and his delightful Pokemon, watching them fly off, leaving them outside a quaint little home, the front door swinging open in haste, a woman stepping out, presumably Devra’s mother? Peach smiled a bit, trying to come off as pleasant, and let Dev take the lead here. In her pocket she could feel the pokeball shake, Val trying to get out.

“not yet bud, let’s just get settled, not long now.” She murmured very quietly, not drawing any attention to herself.

Devra glanced over at Peach, her own poke balls in hand. “You can let her out now Peach. Most of my guys know to be polite around new visitors.” She let out Coal and Aliza, the young ponyta snorting as she was finally able to stretch out. Devra quickly explained things to them before a loud cry was heard from the side of the house. “Oh boy...give me a second.” She got up and quickly put some space between the little group and the hoard of Pokémon coming at her. She soon disappeared in a mass of excited cries, her laugher still being heard.

This was...expected. Peach had caught Devra chatting on her phone across videos to a lot of these Pokemon, all shapes and sizes, so she took a perch on the fence out of the way, and let the mob rush over and get their affection out of their systems. The poor girl within the crowd was far from unhappy about it all, they seemed like relatively well behaved Pokemon. While the ruckus went on, she release her darling fire type, who shook her whole body thoroughly, hating the feel of pokeballs, sending little embers out of her fine fur, before seeing the group, and scaling a tree to be as far out of the way as possible. Peach looked up to her, a small almost unnoticeable grin on her face. “you’re probably right to get some distance, never been one for socialising hey buddy.” She grumbled, folded her legs up under her and sat like a loaf in the tree.

As Devra made her rounds through the mob, four figures bounded over to the grumpy woman. Two of them were applin, both rolling around at her feet. Then a smaller than normal dreepy floating slightly behind the excited little ponyta that stood happily in front of peach.

The quad of new and quite familiar Pokemon approached, Peach for once had no snacks in her pockets, fresh from the airport with its restrictions, she rummaged to no avail.

“ah sorry guys, I normally have snacks on me, I’ll have to go shopping sometime soon.” Instead holding her hand out to see if they wanted to sniff. The applin had her attention in particular, her trip to Galar was cut short due to a medical emergency back at the labs, so she never had a chance to catch any or observe them. “you’re all certainly very strong looking aren’t you.” The ponyta reminded her of home, in a weird way, growing up with the species just being around, she became use to them from an early age, though this youngster was Galarian and very different in appearance.

Devra looked over at peach and grinned, seeing her with four particular Pokémon. She managed to make her way over to the little group, her Gardevoir holding onto her harm as she went. “Looks like you met your surprise.”

“my what?” She was a little dense at times, head empty. By this point they’d gotten a bit closer to her, she had been able to pet them all a little, besides the Dreepy who was a little more shy from the looks of it. Val stayed high up and observed quietly, she was use to sharing her human, this was not new to her.

“Your surprise! You were so excited when you saw the Pokedex entries for applin, and curious about Dreepy. So I thought I’d get you a gift for all the help you’ve given me. The ponyta is kind of a bonus. The dreepy has gotten kind of attached to him, so I don’t think it would be smart to split them up.” She laughed as she was hugged buy the gallede as well, the two obviously fond of their human.

“wow, that’s really thoughtful of you, you know you didn’t have to do all this right? But thank you regardless.” Peach didn’t think she’d be getting a few team mates so fast, some may have to go home for now, they’d be too young for battling in the Crown Tundra just yet. “‘what do you all think then? You want to see if we get along? Don’t have to stick with me if you gave it a try and don’t enjoy it, but it’d be nice to get to know you all a lot more for sure.” She directed her questions to the Pokemon before her, not focusing on the little ghost type too much to not freak them out. It would certainly be nice to have the company, and there was no other fox pokemon so Val wasn’t bothered by their presence at all. With so many around it really felt a bit more like home.

Devra laughed as the applin bounced happily. “Oh don’t you worry. They’ve been super excited to meet you. I’ve been telling all about you and what you do for Pokémon. The dreepy has been excited too, but he’s just a little shy.”

“oh! So you all knew me before I even knew you, well that explains why you all came over so quickly.” The woman laughed a bit, noticing Val descend from the tree behind them, sitting bout a meter back from the others, there was a shimmer you could almost not notice around her, she was putting up a barrier to give herself some space, but seemed rather calm and not at all in discomfort around these new faces. Peach shifted to the side a bit, gesturing to her beloved partner. “well then everyone, meet Valka, she’s...well, family. hopefully you’ll all get along and learn a lot from each other. If you’re worried or want some advice, please ask me or Val and we’ll try to help.” Her attention shifted to the Dreepy who was still hiding a bit behind the Ponyta.

“‘Ah, and don’t worry little guy-“ her eyes glanced about secretively, trying to be a little less scary with her expressions, softening as she whispered a little to him. “‘you and me can be shy together, I’m not great with big crowds or lots of eyes on me either. If you ever think it’s too much for you, you can hide behind me and I’ll scare off whoever’s bothering ya, I’ll be the brave one when you can’t.” She did laugh, this wasn’t the first shy Pokemon she’d had to handle, and they had a lot of love to give normally, just took time to get them comfortable. Her attention now off of him, she let Val so her usual thing, advance to the group, sit in her lap, and discuss with the others, get ting to know them a bit. One applin seemed happy to crawl up onto the professors shoulder, the other wiggling up next to her leg where she sat.

“‘honestly Dev they’re all darlings, I’m sure we’ll all get along great in time.”

She grinned happily as she watched Peach with the little group. “I’m really glad it worked out. I was a little nervous that they still might be too shy. Well, besides the dreepy. Oh!” She dug in her bag and pulled out an odd looking apple. “I almost forgot this! It’s a Sweet Apple. You can use it to evolve one of the applin into an appleton.” There was a happy rumble from behind her as her own Appleton stepped forward. “There’s another apple called a Tart apple that can get you a flapple like mine too. But I haven’t been able to find one yet.”

The mention of the specific fruits found in Galar caught the professors attention, also noticing the big rounded Pokemon approach upon seeing it. The Appleton was actually surprisingly small for a dragon type, shin height, and possibly the cutest looking thing peach had seen in a while. She accepted the fruit thankfully and had to look it over, sniffing it, and all too tempted to take a bite to figure out what it’d be best suited to, from the name, it’d be a really good eating apple, the tart one however would be a cooking sort no doubt.

“ill have to keep my eye out, I must have missed this all last time I was here, good thing you kept your eyes peeled for this.” She let everyone of the new youngsters around her have a chance at looking over the apple too, even Val took a sniff. It was always good to let them see as much of the world as possible, and all the items it contained.

“Maybe one of the pair will like the chance to evolve one day, they’ve probably had time while staying here to meet your pair of Pokemon who chose to evolve, so who knows.” She looked to the two Applin who she had become very fond of quite quickly, they had surprisingly big personalities for such small species, giving each other grief at any given opportunity, like bickering siblings. “they’ll figure it out when they are ready.”

She smiled as she glanced back at the house, waving to her mom as she came to meet them now that the chaos had settled down. “My moms name is Olivia by the way. Not sure if I told you that.”

“you did not.” She said matter of factly, and stood to greet the woman who looked very happy to see her daughter. The woman herself had a fair bit of resemblance to Devra, they shared a few mannerisms too peach noticed while offering a smile and a handshake, which did slightly throw Olivia, she had intended to go for a hug, but saw the social queue and changed it up.

“it’s really nice to meet you, you’re daughters been a real asset out in Johto, you should come and visit her some time perhaps, see what she gets up to.”

Olivia smiles warmly at Peach as she shook hands with her. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you as well Professor. Devra has told me so much about you and the island. I’ll have to make a trip out some time. I’ve been meaning to take a holiday for some time now.” She then turned to her daughter and gave her a massive hug, inviting both of them inside for a rest before they continued their trip.

[snelbz]

The Ranch {21}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

The Ranch Masterlist

When Tomas descended the stairs, the first thing he noticed is that the house was quiet. No gasping breaths, no groans of pain, no screams of agony from a natural birth. There was also no baby crying. 

The sun was almost gone, the last rays of its light just behind the tree line. The house was already becoming dark.

“Nesta?” He called, his voice crooning. “Are you okay, love?”

There was no reply. The chair she’d been in was still in the middle of the living room, rope still looped around the back. But the bedroom, the room where she was supposed to be giving birth…

Tomas flipped the light switch on. It was a bloody mess. Towels on the floor, the bed, the chair in the corner. There was blood and moisture and some mucus-y looking substance on the rug he didn’t want to look at for too long.

But it was empty.

He turned heading for the kitchen, knowing she couldn’t have gotten far, not with how much blood was-.

He screamed as white hot pain lanced down his arm, the same arm that was covered in stitches from the night before. 

Before Nesta could bring the knife back down, Tomas had grabbed her wrist.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he seethed. He got right in her face. “Where is she?”

“Safe,” was all Nesta said.

Her legs were wobbling, surely about to collapse. Beads of sweat coated her pale skin. Unsure of what she was actually trying to accomplish - as if she could accomplish anything in her current state - Tomas let out a breathy laugh. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, my love,” he whispered, bringing his fingers up to graze her cheek. “You need rest, or you could die.”

“If that’s the alternative to a life with you, so be it,” she hissed, but the words, the tone, even cost her a great amount of energy.

Tomas clicked his tongue. “You always were so dramatic.” 

She tried to jerk her wrist away, but it was pointless. Instead, he tightened his hand around her wrist until a soft sob shook Nesta’s body.

“Let’s get you back in bed,” he repeated, his voice low.

“I’m not dropping the knife,” she said, voice shaking. She could hardly keep herself upright. “You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tomas was reaching up to take the weapon away. Although weak and in a mass amount of pain, it seemed she believed what she said, because her grip around the hilt of the knife was tight. 

One by one, he pried her fingers from the wooden hilt, and when there was only one more clinging to it, she struck.

He hadn’t noticed the small, thin paring knife in her right hand when he’d seen her. No, he was too focused on the large chef’s knife in her left hand.

She jammed the small blade up into his abdomen and he released her with a cry. The chef’s knife fell to the floor and she moved away from him as quickly as she could, a whimper of pain the only sign of her discomfort.

“You fucking bitch.” The voice was much closer than she expected and suddenly she was jerked backwards by her loose hair. She cried out as her scalp was on fire and then his arms were around her, caging her in. “Where is she, Nes, huh? Where’d you hide her?”

“I didn’t hide her. She’s far, far away,” she bite out. “She’s gone, she’s safe and you’ll never get your hands on her.”

She felt his arms tighten. “Is that a challenge, love?” he breathed in her ear. “We’re going to be a family and you know it.”

“I hate you,” she hissed. “I fucking hate you.”

“Let’s get you back to bed,” he said, once again, his words clipped.

His arms began to tighten even more, a vice to cage her where she stood, but then from outside, a horse whinnied.

For a split second, Tomas’ grip slacked, but the instant Nesta’s mouth shot open to cry out, his hand was over her mouth, muffling her screams.

She tried to scream, praying it was Cassian that was just outside, but failed. Instead, with one arm tightened over her abdomen and the other covering her mouth, Tomas dragged Nesta to the corner and peered through the window, hiding beside it. The back of Nesta’s head was against his chest.

She couldn’t see a thing. 

Her attempts to scream continued as Tomas’ blood stained the back of her sweatshirt. He jerked her back again, fingers digging into her scalp, and she grew dizzier as he hissed into her ear, “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

But she had heard it, had heard the yell of a man that would tear apart the world to find what had been taken from him.

“NES!”

The sob that tore from her was weak, she knew she wouldn’t be on her feet much longer, but she had to make what time she had count.

He had her head jerked to the side, but she could still feel his breath on the side of her face. She couldn’t brace herself and she knew it would hurt her as much as it hurt him, but without warning, she threw her head back and slammed it into his.

The sound of Tomas’ skull bouncing off the wall was something she would remember for the rest of her days, but the new ache in her head made her sick to her stomach. It didn’t help when Tomas shoved her away from him, causing her to stumble. Her forehead smacked into the window and blood trickled down her forehead as she tried to crawl away.

The chef’s knife was still on the floor of the living room, the small knife she’d hidden long gone. Nesta could hear the doors shaking as Cassian tried to force his way into the cottage and she turned to glance at Tomas behind her. He was slowly getting to his feet and Nesta saw the black handle of a gun sticking out from the waistband of his jeans. Her heart stopped beating in her chest.

He wouldn’t use the gun on her, he wanted her alive. He had no such reservations about Cassian.

Nesta got to her feet, ran for the living room and grabbed the knife. Tomas looked over as she did so, blood dripping down his lips from his nose. She felt a smug satisfaction at the injury her blow had caused, but when he started advancing on her, she froze.

The sound of a door bursting open had Tomas turning towards the noise and Nesta knew she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

With what little strength she had left, she rushed towards him and he glanced down at her, right as she shoved the large knife into his side. His eyes went wide.

The small grunt that left Tomas’ mouth was the last sound he made before he collapsed.

He didn’t move again.

Thundering footsteps had Nesta on red alert, knowing she had nothing left to defend herself with, but then Cassian appeared around the corner. The whimper was pathetic, she hated herself for the sound, but she was unable to stop it as her knees buckled and she collapsed in the pooling blood, sobbing uncontrollably.

Cassian didn’t hesitate. 

He hurried to her side, on his knees in the crimson pool, scooping her up into his arms. Her head instantly fell against his chest as her eyes drooped, his heart beating rapidly. 

“I’m here,” he breathed, sobbed, holding her head against his chest. “Fuck, you’re burning up, sweetheart. Keep your eyes open, okay? Keep them open, baby, please.”

He cried into her hair, and she wanted so desperately to cling to him, to tell him how much she loved him, but she didn’t have the energy. All she could manage was, “Sloan?”

“Safe,” he promised, his voice breaking as he rose to his feet, her in his arms. “Beautiful.”

The faintest of smiles touched her lips as her eyes fluttered shut. Cassian carried her out of the cabin and down the porch steps, but she didn’t know what happened after that. 

She drifted into a dark, deep sleep.

___

Nesta had no idea how much time had passed before she woke up with a dry, scratchy throat, hooked up to a series of beeping machines.

For a moment, she began to panic, but then her vision cleared and she knew she was far away from Tomas, as the memories came back to her.

She had killed him.

He deserved it.

She was safe.

But where was Sloan?

She attempted to sit up, to find her baby, to find Cass, but she grew lightheaded and fell back into the pillows with a groan.

She began to cry, quietly, but then she heard her name and knew he was there.

“Nes.” 

She opened her eyes and found Cassian sitting on the edge of the cot, Sloan sleeping soundly in his broad arms. His cheeks were blotchy, his eyes red and puffy. A shaky hand reached up, his knuckles trailing gently down her cheek.

She didn’t say anything, nothing had to be said as she grabbed his hand where it brushed against her face and brought it to her lips.

The single tear that ran down Cassian’s cheek told her what he couldn’t.

She gazed down at their daughter, at the perfect combination of the two of them. She hadn’t been able to take the time to look at her when she was born, she was too focused on shoving her into Claire’s arms and begging her to run. But now that she could see her, that she could appreciate her, Nesta began to softly cry once again.

Cassian carefully laid her in her mother’s arms and Nesta wasn’t able to stop herself from leaning down and pressing the softest of kisses to her forehead. She had her father’s coloring, from the tan skin, to the thick, dark hair on her head. But Nesta knew when she woke up, she’d find her own stormy eyes gazing back at her. Sloan had inherited her full lips and she couldn’t tell whose nose she’d gotten because her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Nesta looked up, blinking the tears away and found Cassian staring at Sloan, his cheeks wet. “Cass, you couldn’t-.”

“He took you, Nes.” His words were deathly soft. “He came into our home and he took you both. I have never been so scared in my entire life. I was going crazy.”

Nesta only shook her head, but when she opened her mouth, it was hard to speak. Cassian grabbed a cup of water from the side table and helped her drink, and when he set the cup back down, he said, “I promise I will never let anything happen to you, to either of you, ever again.”

She nodded, although it was an impossible promise to keep, she knew he would try his damndest. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, and he pressed his forehead against hers. For a moment, the three of them remained there, Sloan sleeping, her parents above her, dwelling in the peace of silence. 

“It’s okay now,” Cassian said, quietly. “It’s over, he’s gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Nesta just stared at her daughter with parted lips as Cassian kissed her forehead.

“We’re going to go home and it’s all going to be okay,” Cassian continued, and she knew he was talking just as much to himself as he was to her. She could see the guilt in his eyes.

But she met his eyes and, voice hoarse, whispered fiercely, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he breathed. “More than I can begin to tell you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, savoring the moment of just being together, being a family. Whole and happy and safe.

Nesta looked down into her daughter’s face, the picture of innocence and perfection. She softly ran a finger along her cheek, terrified to wake her, but needing to touch her, to know she was really here. She knew nothing of the evils of the world, to her, the world was still small and safe. She whispered, “I killed him.”

Cassian swallowed hard. “You did. But you didn’t have a choice.”

Nesta shook her head. “I did though, I didn’t have to-.”

He took her face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away the tears running down her cheeks. “Nesta, he kidnapped you, held you hostage, and forced you to give birth to your baby on your own. Thank the gods for Claire or…” His words dropped off and he closed his eyes. “Nesta, if you hadn’t killed him, I was going to.”

She nodded, understanding him, but it didn’t stop the tears. She gazed down at Sloan. Nesta breathed, “Is she okay? Is everything okay?”

“She’s perfect.” The reverence with which he said the words had Nesta looking up at him. His eyes were on their daughter. “Ten fingers, ten toes, the sweetest smile and the loudest cry I’ve ever heard.”

As if she heard her parents talking about her, Sloan let out a piercing wail and Cassian was on his feet, ready to take her, but there was no need.

Nesta was gently bouncing her, stepping so gracefully into the role of motherhood. She cooed down at her and Sloan’s cries quieted.

“How long was I out? Should I feed her? I don’t-.” She looked up at him, fear overtaking every other emotion. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” Cassian began, gently. He pressed a button on the remote by her bed as he said, “You slept for about a day and a half. You passed out on the way here, but they checked everything out when we got here and they say, considering, your body is healing as it should, although they had to redo your stitches, but there’s no infection or anything. Other than that, you’ve just been sleeping. They’ve been giving you fluids through the IV.” Cassian broke his gaze from Nestas to look down at Sloan. “She’s been getting formula while you’ve been out, but I told them you planned to breastfeed, so when your nurse comes in, she’ll help.”

Nesta nodded, taking in all the information. She had slept for a long time, but that exhaustion lingered and she had a feeling it would for quite some time.

The door swung open a minute later and Claire came in, looking much cleaner and less frazzled than the last time Nesta saw her, although her eyes teared up when she caught sight of Nesta awake.

No words were needed as Claire went to the side of the bed and wrapped Nesta in her arms. Nesta returned the embrace and they cried together, careful for Sloan between them.

“Thank you,” Nesta breathed. “I’m so sorry, that he pulled you into it, but, I- I’m so thankful you were there.”

Claire only nodded, unable to trust herself to speak, then cleared her throat. “Okay, momma, let's feed this beautiful baby.”

It took a while for Sloan to latch, which Claire explained wasn’t uncommon, but when she did and began to eat, Nesta felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

Nesta meant it. She was so incredibly grateful to Claire. Without her, neither she nor Sloan would have made it. As someone who Tomas also forced against her will to comply with his wishes, Claire had done her best to make sure Nesta survived a horrid childbirth, and she had brought Sloan to safety. 

For that, Nesta was, and always would be, in Claire’s debt.

When Nesta told her as much, Claire simply shook her head with tears in her eyes and said, “Invite me to her first birthday bash and send me the yearly Christmas card. That will be more than enough.”

Her throat was so tight, she didn’t think she could speak, so she nodded and embraced her again.

“Thank you for getting me out, for giving me time to run, too,” Claire whispered, her mouth close to Nesta’s ear. “I really didn’t… I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” The words were so quiet, Nesta doubted Cassian could hear them from where he sat on the couch, Sloan milk-drunk on his chest, fast asleep.

Nesta leaned back and took Claire’s hand in her own. “We’re here. We both made it out.”

Claire gave her a soft smile before leaving to continue her rounds.

When a knock came at the door less than an hour later, she was expecting her sisters, but instead, she was looking at Lucien Vanserra’s eldest brother.

“Eris,” she said, inclining her head in greeting.

He nodded to both she and Cassian. “First of all, congratulations.” He looked at the baby in Cassian’s arms. She looked so small. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to have to do this, but when you’re released, we’ll need a statement from both of you.” Cassian looked ready to object, but he quickly added, “We’re not going to be pursuing any charges, but we have...a lot of stories and timelines to sort through.”

Nesta slowly looked to Cassian, who was watching her with weary eyes.

“It’s okay,” Nesta said. “We’ll come to the station on Friday.”

Eris nodded, said his thanks, and was off again.

She didn’t want to, but she already knew she would have to make a statement, and the faster she got it all over with and behind her, the better. 

“I hate that guy,” Cassian mumbled, once the door was shut, and Nesta had no idea why, but she started to laugh.

Maybe it was because it was true - Eris Vanserra was a total prick, he always had been. Maybe it was because she hadn’t expected the comment, it had caught her off guard. Or, maybe it was because Cassian looked so cute in his new fatherly role, their newborn sound asleep with her mouth hanging open on his chest.

Maybe it was because she was exhausted, sore as shit, and amazed that she had actually lived through what she’d just gone through. 

Her bet was on the last one, but she didn’t care as she plopped her face into her hands and howled.

Cassian just stared at her like she’d gone absolutely mad.

And when her laughter became a mixture of laughter and a sob, he really looked concerned. Hell, Nesta was concerned for herself.

Maybe she was going mad.

Too many emotions. She had too many fucking emotions. Joy, comfort from the fact that her baby girl was here, healthy, thriving. Pain and misery from the trauma she had just gone through. Utter adoration at the sight of the love of her life, holding onto her baby girl with gentle, loving arms. Terror, complete terror from who Tomas was to her.

Over the fact that she’d killed him.

Yes, it was justified.

But she had still killed a man. A man that she had once thought she loved.

It certainly didn’t help that she had just given birth and her emotions were heightened. She wanted to scream, laugh, cry, run as fast as she could to nowhere in particular, while also staying right where she was, with Cassian and Sloan.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked, hand rubbing a gentle path along their newborn’s back.

She watched him, so in love with him, with Sloan, with her life. She chuckled quietly and said, “I’m perfect. Everything is perfect.”

But things weren’t perfect.

Things were complicated, surreal. She was living halfway in a dream, and halfway in a nightmare without fully knowing what the future held. She had survived mass chaos and her greatest fears, while simultaneously gaining what she never thought she’d be able to have - a child, a man that loved her.

She was unsure how to feel, unsure how to think.

But she had to believe that, in the end, it was all going to be okay.

Eventually.

__

The first night home, Cassian expected to have to get up to console a crying Sloan. The baby monitor was on his side of the bed and Nesta had fallen asleep before her head even hit the pillow. He’d stayed up with his baby girl for an hour or two before he’d decided to try and sleep as well. Sloan slept surprisingly well for a newborn, usually only waking two or three times a night to eat, if that.

So when Nesta began thrashing in her sleep, tears streaming down the sides of her face, silent screams contorting her expression into one of terror rather than peaceful sleep, Cassian was immediately trying to wake her.

But what she was experiencing was deeper than a simple dream. No, she was there again, tied to that chair, feeling her water break and her contractions felt just as real as they were that night.

“Babe,” he begged, taking her face into his hands, his face coming close to hers. “Nesta, sweetheart, wake up.”

She sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably as she clung to her blanket, but Cassian did not let her go.

He wrapped her into his arms and cried alongside her, guilt flooding his entire body, heartache controlling the depths of his soul. 

“Nesta.”

His voice was hard, demanding, comforting, controlled.

Her cries lessened, just a little bit as her body melted into his.

“Sweetheart.”

She became silent, her hands now gripping onto his old, holey shirt, instead of her comforter.

“I’m here,” he whispered, a plea for her to hear, to understand, to realize.

Her forehead leaned into his hard chest, and his arms tightened around her sore body. He didn’t move, nor did she, as they clung to one another in the night. 

“You’re safe,” he promised, his voice low, as his hands ran up and down her spine.

She opened her eyes.

She met his gaze.

They stared at one another, unblinking, for a moment, before Nesta breathed, “I’m scared.” 

Cassian’s heart broke at the whispered confession, his arms tightening around her shaking frame. “You’re safe,” he repeated. “Sloan is safe, you’re safe, our home is protected, my love, you’re safe.”

She nodded but her eyes slipped shut. She breathed, “I killed him and he still wins.”

He shook his head, letting his lips brush over her head. “He didn’t win, Nes. You’re still dealing with the shit he did to you, yes, but that’s only because it’s all so fresh.”

A small cry crackled over the speaker of the monitor on the bedside table. Cassian was about to throw back the covers, to trudge down the hall and rock Sloan back to sleep after a quick bottle. But Nesta was up, her dream and the wail making her nearly frantic, having to see her baby with her own two eyes to know she was okay.

Cassian sighed when he heard the door to Sloan’s nursery open, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’d been sleeping like shit, too, worrying about Nes and checking on Sloan. And there was the fact that hospital couches were not meant for anyone taller than five-foot-two much less someone six-foot-three. He’d stay in bed and when Nesta returned, he’d wrap her in his arms and scratch her back like she loved.

Except she didn’t come back to bed.

After a few minutes, Cass cautiously got up and stepped into the hall. He was halfway expecting to see Tomas creeping down the stairs with his daughter, regardless of the fact that his body was currently cooling in the county morgue. There was light coming through the cracked door to Sloan’s nursery and Cassian gently pushed it open.

Nesta was cradling Sloan in her arms, murmuring to her as she nursed. The baby’s eyes were wide open, staring up at her mother. The scene made Cassian’s heart melt.

He didn’t say a word, he kept completely silent as he watched the scene before him unfolded. Unable to keep himself from tearing up, he leaned against the threshold and stared. Nesta looked up at him, her eyes sad but full of wonder.

“She looks like you,” she whispered.

Cassian snorted, although it was half assed. “She’s perfect.”

Her eyes softened as she smiled up at him. “Yes, she is.”

Cassian went to the chair in which Nesta was rocking their daughter and sat against the wall beside them. He watched as Sloan fed, as Nesta watched her daughter lovingly. 

“I want her to stay in our room,” Nesta admitted, at last. “I can’t… I have to know she’s safe, I want to know that she’s safe.”

Cassian nodded, without argument. “In the morning, I’ll bring up the bassinet I made from the cabin. I’ll put it by the bed. She can sleep with us for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, relief evident on her face.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled and rubbed a hand up and down her leg.

She cringed and pulled it away. “Oh gods, please, no. It’s been, like, a solid five months since I’ve been able to shave my legs.”

He laughed. “I gave you a foot massage last week. I know what your legs feel like.”

She rolled her eyes, gently beginning to rock Sloan. “That was when I was pregnant. I’m not pregnant anymore. My excuse for not shaving my legs is officially gone.” She looked down at her precious little girl. “Well, I mean, guess she’s technically, officially here.”

Cassian laughed, watching her with adoration in his eyes. Nesta took to the role of being a mother so well, he wondered how she’d ever been able to give up the idea before, when she’d thought it was impossible.

She was gazing down at Sloan, softly brushing her finger over her cheek, when she caught Cassian’s gaze. She laughed awkwardly and blushed. She asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

He shrugged and stood up onto his knees. “Because I can.”

She snorted but leaned down to press her lips to his. “I love you.”

He didn’t stop kissing her, let his lips brush hers, as he said, “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 45: Shantytown

The flight wasn’t a long one given how surprisingly fast Frangipani was able to fly, and soon she descended down upon an ancient Aztec pyramid. Unlike the rest of the city, with its dazzling lights and colors, the pyramid was cold and void of anything magical. Pieces had chipped and crumbled off and there was an ominous presence in the air. For the first time since coming to the Land of the Dead, Héctor finally felt like he was in a place of devoid of life.

In a show of good grace Frangipani did not let Héctor make a fool of himself by trying to climb down her side since it was such a hassle getting up. Instead she slowly shrank herself like a deflating balloon until she was the size of housecat, prancing off between his and Leti’s legs with Dante happily trailing after and barking at his friend. Héctor was grateful for that, but Frangipani’s large mass had done it’s damage and he was left with a huge case of saddle soreness. He wobbled around bowlegged trying to work out the kinks in his legs, wincing and hissing with each step.

Hearing Leti giggle at his predicament, Héctor gave her a playful glare. “Don’t laugh. I’ve got old bones.”

Leti shook her head with a smile. “You’ve got old muscles. Once we get down to Shantytown, then you’ll really see some old bones.”

“Shantytown, eh?” Héctor asked warily, stretching his leg out one final time as he peered down into the dark shadows below. He could hear water splashing faintly against the rocks and could already smell the mildew from all the way up top. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Ernesto is down there?”

“Uh huh!” Leti nodded, “Every Dia de Muertos Tio Nesto always gives a portion of his offerings to the people of Shantytown. And he always makes a grand speech and visits with everyone. He’s definitely down there!”

Héctor remembered well how he could usually tell that his daughter was lying. She would always talk extra brightly, smile just a little too widely. This time was no exception, and her new skeletal grin just made her smile wore wider. Or rather, this time it was like a lie mixed with the truth. Apparently this would be something Ernesto would do; he was sometimes charitable in life. Not as much as he and Imelda were, but for Ernesto each charitable moment was a triumph in his opinion.

“Okay.” Héctor nodded, grimacing again at the bleak murkiness below. “Seems kind of shady though.”

“Oh, I’ve been here loads of times, Papá.” Leti reassured him. “It may look scary and depressing… well it is depressing, but the people here are more friendly than anyone else. You’ll see. And we’ll get down that way.”

Héctor looked over to where she was pointing and gave a soft ‘huh’ in surprise. There, situated at the top of this ancient pyramid, was an escalator. It stood out against it’s surrounding so badly that Héctor felt stupid for not noticing it sooner. Seeing her father’s confusion Leti explained. “Oh, Tio Nesto had that installed a few years ago. Comes in handy, especially those with brittle bones.”

Héctor was puzzled. “You can still get brittle bones after you’re dead?”

“Oh sure.” Leti said. “Brittle, broken, ground to powder, stolen, misplaced. Just depends on how long you’ve been dead of if you are being forgotten. But anyway, the escalator helps those kind of people in need. Come on!”

All four of them walked toward the top of the moving staircase, Frangipani shrinking even more to her initial tiny size before plopping down onto Leti’s shoulder. Before Leti could reach for the handrail, however, a high-pitched whine stopped them. Turning back around they saw Dante sitting several feet away from them, head lowered and eyes looking pitifully afraid. A click of the tongue could not get him to budge, nor did the gently nudge from behind when Héctor went to fetch him. Dante just kept looking wide-eyed at the grinding metal plates before him, just waiting to slice of sensitive pads of the feet.

“Aww, he’s afraid of the escalator Papá.” Leti cooed, and even Frangipani gave a simpering little toot of compassion. “Looks like you’re going to have to carry him the whole way down.”

“Wha-?” Héctor started to protest, but three pairs of huge pouting eyes stopped him from saying anymore. With a groan of disgust he reached down to pick up Dante, difficult to do due his bony limbs and squirming body, but finally was able to hold him in an awkward spooning position. “Happy now, pelón?” he asked, and his answer was a happy slurp across the cheek.

It must have been a sight to see: A guitar-wielding old man carrying a dog like a small child, while with his skeleton daughter had an elephant on her shoulder, all riding down an escalator in awkward silence. It actually was pretty funny of one thought about it. Luckily, no one was there to see them, at least until midway down the giant pyramid. On the opposite escalator going up Héctor could see two figures emerging from the mist. Leti did too and with a gasp of surprise she started to wave. “Mama Chavela! Mama Rocío! Como estas?!”

“Hola, nieta!”

As the two parties drew closer together, Héctor saw that they were two skeletal old ladies. Both were dressed in faded gowns that looks as though they had been patched and mended several times over the years. Both were holding two baskets each that were overflowing with breads, fruits and vegetables and one lady had a small guitar strapped to her back.

Even closer still Héctor could see that these ladies were not like the skeletons he had already seen. Instead of the clean pearly white bones he had come accustomed to, these bones were dull and gray. And, just like Leti had said before, some places were chipped off and scratched. One woman even had part on her jaw broken off and held in place with a strand of wire. Héctor was slightly taken aback by the ladies run down looks, but Leti paid them no mind.

“Looks like you both got a good haul this year!” she said.

“Oh yes! We’re on our way to the trade show right now while the good items are still out.” One of the ladies said, shifting the baskets onto her hipbones for more support.

“Who’s your handsome young friend, Leticia?” The other asked.

“This is my Papá! He’s been cursed and we need to get a blessing from Tio Nesto or else he’ll die at sunrise.”

“Oh that’s nice dear.”

“Have fun tonight!”

“Adios!” Leti waved them goodbye as they finally passed each other up. Continuing down on their journey, Leti shrugged a little. “They’re a little batty, but still very nice. And Mama Rocío makes the best Shantytown ponche for Los Posadas.”

“Why did they call you nieta?” Héctor asked.

“Oh, heh. It’s just a term of endearment.” Leti said. “See, Shantytown is full of the nearly forgotten. They have no family, no ofrendas, no homes. So they all bundled together and made their own family with each other. And I’m an honorary member since I’m not forgotten yet, but I come here all the time.”

“So those ladies looked like that because they’re nearly forgotten.”

“Si. This whole place runs on memories, Papá. The more well remembered you are the longer you get to stay here. But, in the end, if no one remembers you… You just… go…”

The way Leti trailed off, so sad all of a sudden, didn’t sit well with Héctor at all. In fact he was starting to grow afraid. “Go where?” he was hesitant to ask.

“No one knows.” she said. “It’s called the Final Death.”

“Wait a minute! You can die again?!” Héctor was appalled. “No! I… I couldn’t watch you die again! I can’t.”

“Everyone gets forgotten eventually, Papá.” Leti reassured, and then actually had the nerve to get a little cocky. “Besides, I’m the tragic daughter lost from one of the richest families in Mexico. I’ll stick around for a while yet.”

It didn’t seem to make sense to Héctor at all, the way everyone was so nonchalant about the fact that they were dead and could die again at the drop of a hat. Even his own daughter was making jokes about it. If he were the one on the verge of being forgotten he would be an inconsolable mess, probably unable to do anything other than curl up in a ball and wait for the inevitable.

But as they reached the end of the escalator he was surprised to see that Shantytown didn’t look like the wretched, miserable place that it looked from above the mists. There was loud music playing, unfortunately, and laughter and all other sorts of rabble. Behind the giant stone arch there were bright lights shining through and Héctor could see papel picado hung up. Confetti and golden flower petals were strewn about all over the ground.

And there was one other thing.

Shantytown actually looked… nice.

It was on the water, which explained the musky smell, but the houses there were less like shanties and more like riverside condos. Several floors high and stacked as haphazardly as every other building in this realm, but much more sturdy. All painted a warm brown color and with beautiful murals on every other wall, high archways and clean clay tiles on the roofs.

The was a walkway that wove through the water and connected all of the houses together, made out of concrete and cobblestones with lamps illuminating the way down. All in all it looked like a very nice place to live and a realtor’s dream location.

Again, Héctor was confused. “Uh… Shanty-town?”

Leti nodded. “Yeah, the name has stuck but believe me that this place was worse years ago. Rotting wood and pallets, rusted sheet metal, garbage everywhere. It was a terrible place to spend the last few days before the Final Death. But Tio Nesto got several other celebrities and wealthy citizens to pitch in and completely remodel the place!”

“It’s very nice.” Héctor admitted as he put Dante down on the ground. As he released him Héctor grimaced when he looked at his hands. The were completely skeletal now and reaching well past the wrist.

Leti smiled appreciatively, but then sniffed the air like a snob. “Well, I still say it’s a work in progress.” And Héctor laughed at that.

Several skeletons wandered all over it, going to neighbors houses with arms full of the same offerings as the two old ladies. They all seemed to be converging onto one spot in the middle of town, though. It was a much larger area, but still too small to be considered a plaza, but big enough to hold a huge pile of offerings stacked as high as some of the buildings. An absolute mammoth amount of bread, vegetables and fruits, cooked meats and musical instruments piled in a somewhat strategic manner so that it didn’t topple into the water below. But it was clear that it had been slowly picked away as the minutes passed, and currently there were around a dozen other Shantytown skeletons situated around it passing out offerings.

“Oye, Paola. I managed to save you some grapefruit this time. I know you missed out on them last year.”

“Three guitars? What are you trying to do, Primo? Start a band? Have some more food instead.”

“Señor de la Cruz must hate bananas because we’ve got tons of them! Caramelize ‘em, mash ‘em, make ‘em into bread. A very versatile fruit, c’mon don’t be shy!”

‘He does hate bananas’ Héctor thought with a wry grin. ‘No wonder he’d give them all away-… Wait.’

“This is a lot of offerings.” Héctor said as he watched a small boy tuck in eagerly to the shiny red apple that was atop his own pile of goodies. “I’m surprised he’d just give it all away.”

“Nah, just a tiny bit.” Leti said. “But, in Tio Nesto’s case, a tiny bit means an entire mountain! Speaking of… Oye, Tío Jaime!”

One of the skeletons handing out offerings, who was no older than twenty but looked like he had osteoporosis in every visible bone, smiled as Leti came up to him. “Hola, Leti. You’re here awful early tonight. Did you already visit your family?”

“Si, but not as long as I would have liked. As you can see…” She gestured to Héctor, and when Jaime looked towards him his eyes bugged out a little. “…I have a bit of a problem.”

“Santa Maria…” Jaime breathed out, and soon every skeleton was looking at Héctor again astonishment. A couple of jaws even fell off and splashed into the water. Héctor just cringed out a smile and waved to them all. “Espera… Is that Héctor Rivera? Your papá?”

Leti walked to Héctor and grabbed him by the wrist to hold his hand up as high as she could, showing off the shiny white bones that were exposed. “My papá has been cursed, and he needs a blessing from Tio Nesto before sunrise. Is he still here?”

Jaime winced and shrugged his shoulder, making an unsettling crack and pop at the slight movement. “Sorry, Leti. He was here, but after he presented us with his offerings he left. That was about half an hour ago, so he’s probably off to the party at his mansion.”

Héctor felt his chest sink at the thought that the trip to Shantytown had been a complete waste of time and now he was more cursed than before. Rolling up his sleeve he groaned at the sight of his ulna and radius making an unwelcome appearance. Bending down to Leti’s height he whispered into her phantom ear. “Mija, the curse is spreading pretty quickly. Maybe we ought to hurry things up and-”

“Well shucks!” Leti placed her hands onto her hips and comically pouted. “Looks like he’s gone already! Isn’t that just the luck? Phooey!” Then she looked up and gave Héctor a cloyingly sweet smile with too many teeth. “Before we go though, can we go see a friend of mine?”

Héctor blinked in confusion, then held out his bare arm for Leti to see. “Leticia, I don’t have time to see anyone else. I need to see Ernesto.”

Grabbing his hand and already starting to tug him away from the pile, Leti just waved him off. “Sunrise isn’t for another five and a half hours, and this will only take a few minutes. While we’re here we might as well make the most of it. Kill two birds with one stone, si?

“Two birds? What’s the second bird? Wait a moment! Leticia!”

Despite the dangerous nature of the situation Héctor let himself be dragged a ways by Leti as well as pushed by Dante and Frangipani. Maybe it was because he had just been reunited with his long dead daughter and could refuse her nothing at the moment. Maybe he was slightly curious to see what other new discovery awaited him in this new and exciting environment. But the real reason, probably, was because Héctor was somewhat desperate for any excuse to not see Ernesto as soon as possible. He didn’t want to think what would happen if he did lay eyes on him.

As they continued on Héctor could see where the restoration of Shantytown had stopped. The pristine building transitioned to scaffolding, paint buckets and blocks of concrete with yellow warning tape wrapped around it. All abandoned in favor of the holiday, Héctor presumed.

And past that was the slum that Héctor had in mind.

It was just as Leti had said: Rotting wood and rusted metal. The only thing that had been completed and stood out like a sour thumb was the walkway they were on, but even then the shanties were connected to it by moldy, broken planks. Leti just shrugged up at Héctor. “I told you it was a work in progress.”

With a skip and a wobbly jump they all made it into one such shanty, Leti knocking on the wooden wall and pulling open a moth-eaten blanket that served as a divider to the one room home.

“Buenas noches, Nieve! I thought I might find you here!”

“Of course you found me here.” A sullen female voice said. “Where else would I be?”

Holding up one finger to tell Héctor to wait there, Leti walked further in with a giggle. “Well, you could be out there getting some of Tio Nesto’s offerings. You’d better hurry before all the grapes are gone. You love grapes.”

Now Héctor was really curious as to see who his daughter was talking to and why. Staying put he carefully pulled back the curtain slightly to peek out. Standing there with Leti was another young girl, a teenage one at that, standing by an open window looking out. She was wearing a tattered blue shirt, a gray skirt and a dingy straw hat. She was barefoot and a little dirty, but Héctor noticed that she didn’t seem as run down as everyone else in Shantytown. Her bones were still a nice cream color.

But her eyes. They looked so sad and angry all at once. And they held a wisdom in them that only came with either a rough life or, given her young stature the passage of time. Héctor knew that he was really looking at an old soul. An elderly woman trapped in the body of a child. She had been dead for quite a while.

“I don’t want any of that stuff, I just want to be alone tonight.” the girl, Nieve apparently, said. “Why are you here anyway? Why aren’t you with your family?”

Leti shuffled her shoes against the dirty floorboards and smiled. “Oh you know, some stuff happened. One thing led to another, that sort of thing. But I get it: You don’t want any of Tio Nesto’s offerings. But it is Dia de Muertos, and everyone deserves a little something, sooo… I brought you an offering of my own!”

Nieve then turned to her, and Héctor saw her look at Leti in anger. “You didn’t go to my ofrenda, did you? I told you I want nothing to do with that man or anything else he gives me.”

‘Ah, so that’s why she’s different.’ Héctor thought. ‘She’s not being forgotten. But then… why is she here?’

“No, no!” Leti reassured her. “I would never do that to you! No, but my offering is a man. Someone I know you’ve been dying to meet for years, figuratively speaking.” Walking back to the curtain Leti pulled it aside to show Héctor in full form. “Okay, you can come in now.”

Héctor walked slowly, not wanting to shock the poor girl with the sight of a living, fleshed out man. Nieve was slightly taken aback by his appearance at first, but then recognition kicked in and the girl’s eyes widened. She just stared at him in shock, not saying a word. Héctor shifted the guitar on his back awkwardly and gave a small grin. “Hola.”

She still said nothing. Just stared at him some more in amazement and a little fear.

“Nieve, let me introduce you to my Papá, Héctor Rivera.” Leti said as she pulled Héctor closer to Nieve. “Papá, this is Nieve Mendoza, and she is a very close friend of mine! And she’s always asking about you constantly!”

“Oh, I see.” “Héctor said. “Are you a fan?”

That seemed to jumpstart Nieve’s brain, and she croaked out. “N-no, I’m just… are you dead?”

“Nope, just cursed!” Leti said. “We have to get Tio Nesto’s blessing but sunrise or else he’ll be stuck here.” Raising up Héctor’s wrist again, she showed Nieve his bony hand. “See?”

Anger came back full force and Nieve hissed out, “You idiot! He’s on a timeclock and you waste his time by coming here. You need to get him to de la Cruz now before it’s too late!”

Leti was crushed. “But I thought you said you wanted to see him as soon as got here! Well now he’s here!”

“Never mind what I want! He needs to get a blessing now! So get out, both of you!”

“But don’t you want to talk to him?”

“No! I don’t!”

“Please, Abuelita! He’s your-”

“BASTA!”

……..

……..

There was a silence that hung heavy in the air now, both girls panting softly and both looking at Héctor with trepidation. Héctor was now shocked into silence, his mind not quite working out what was happening in such a short amount of time. Nieve pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed harshly. “Leticia…”

“I’m so sorry, Nieve!” Leti said. “I didn’t mean to call you Abuelita. It just slipped out!”

Nieve glared hard at Leti. “Oh really? Because this is the first time in twenty years that you have ever called me Abuelita.”

“Oh, is it? Well then… oops?” Leti smiled widely, in that way Héctor remembered she used to do when caught in a lie.

“You little…” Nieve growled.

“Another term of endearment, mija?” Héctor asked.

Both girls looked at him, and Héctor grinned nervously. “Th-that’s what that was right? Because everyone in Shantytown is just one big family with different rolls and such… And it’s funny! Because you called her your grandmother even though she’s so young, right? I mean… Why else would you call her… that?”

Nieve didn’t look him in the eye anymore, couldn’t. She just stared down at the floor, looking sad and thoroughly ashamed. Leti bit her bottom lip and also couldn’t meet his eyes. Héctor still felt the smile on his face, but he could also feel the blood draining from it too. And suddenly it was hard to breathe.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Leti whispered and rushed out of the shanty as fast as she could.

Héctor didn’t even notice. He just kept staring at this young girl in front of him, looking at every detail of her face to find… he didn’t exactly know what. Similarities? It was hard since she didn’t have any skin to look for dimples or curves of lips or anything like that.

She did have sharp cheekbones, though. Just like he did…

Finally Nieve looked up at him, her features schooled into a more neutral expression. Bending down she picked up an old wooden crate, walked over to him, and set it down in front of him. Then she turned back to the window and leaned against the railing. The exact same position that he first saw her in.

“Have a seat…”

[fletchphoenix]

Families Are Overrated

Chapter 2 of the Varigo Coffee Shop AU! 

Wow, an update today and yesterday! I’m absolutely loving this story and writing it, so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. Unfortunately, I start school soon so the schedule will most likely have to change (as much as I don’t want it to.)

Word Count - 3,705 

TW - Panic Attacks, Strong Language

--------------------------------------

Although it was only Wednesday, Thursday felt as though it was decades away. Up until now, the days had dragged on and on and on. In all honesty, Varian thought the universe itself was extending the length of each day just to taunt him. They all just seemed to merge together no matter what he did to take up his time, it never seemed to speed up. “Why can’t Thursday just hurry up…?” The raven haired boy thought as he picked up his backpack and headed out of the chemistry labs, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear and descending the stairs towards the town library.

  Corona was a rather large town, with most streets littered with stores, houses and parks. Oddly, it was almost always unbelievably sunny, the aforementioned rays of the blinding light burning his eyes as he remained on course to the building, causing him to be suddenly very interested in the floor. The town was rather peaceful and beautiful too in terms of crime and layout - though, he did live in the less beautiful, more run-down faction of the city called Old Corona, and ANY town would be better than Old Corona when it comes to crime rates or general beauty. 

  After around 10 minutes of walking, he found himself outside of the doors he knew so well - the doors to the Coronan Library. His mom used to joke, always calling it the “Eternal Library” because of its tremendous size. Before her and his dad split up. He missed her a lot. He let out a sigh at the unwanted memory and stepped forward. Instantly after he’d pushed open the heavy, oak doors, a tiny boy ran and wrapped his arms around his waist with a wide smile on his face. Varian let out a chuckle and leant down to ruffle his hair, prying the younger boy off him and heading to a 3 seating spruce table in the middle of the room. Various books, pens and stationary were littered about the surface with the wood underneath barely even visible at most points. Yong eagerly ran to take his seat, jittering in excitement. He could swear that kid was just a bundle of energy - somehow always able to run around or be doing something. 

  “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you bailed.” A voice rang out as he took his place at the table. He didn’t even have to look at her to know who it was, a distinct hair clip with a star on it made it very clear to him. Nuru looked at him, a smirk on her face and her eyebrow raised with her NASA shirt being covered by a violet bomber jacket. Her jeans were cuffed and little scribbles that were drawn in pen were dotted here and there. Sneakers that were the same colour as her jacket only just fell short of her ankle, black socks with stars peeking out of them only just visible from the top. He dramatically sighed and feigned annoyance, a mock expression of the emotion on his face while he flopped back into his chair.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry Nuru. I got sidetracked - that’s all. So, how are you today, Yong?” He questioned, finally taking time to look over at the boy sitting beside him. Covering him was a crimson hoodie - judging by the way it dwarfed him in size, it was his older brother’s that was given to him as a hand me down or some sort of gift. It was kind of cute - a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. On his feet were some worn, gold and red converse that were laced ridiculously tight, also a hand-me-down. A childish smile was on his face as he looked up at Varian.

  “I’m fine! We learnt about astronomy today and calculating percentage composition! We got assigned some questions though and I didn’t understand the equation…” He mumbled the last part and leant against the table, before pulling 2 notebooks out of his bag. “Is it okay if you two can help me with my homework though? Just so I can understand it better and stuff. You explain it really well.” 

  “Sure we can, buddy.” Varian replied and shuffled closer to him. “So the equation for percentage mass is the mass of the desired elements divided by the gram formula mass, and then multiply it by 100%, but you know that, right?” He paused, waiting for a nod of confirmation which he promptly got before continuing with his explanation. “So the question is to calculate the percentage composition of ammonium nitrate fertilizer. Right? So, the first step is to write out the formula,” he paused once again to allow Yong to follow his instructions, the younger boy giving a thumbs up when he was done. “Great. So then you need to work out the gram formula mass which is…?” 

  Yong stared at the paper quietly, leaning forward and holding his pen before chewing the lid.  “So it’s 14 add 4 add 14 add 48, so that’s gonna be...80?” he questioned, looking over at Varian and his face lighting up when he gave a nod of approval. 

  “So then,” Varian added, “You need to do 14 divided by 2 multiplied by 100 to get the percentage of Nitrogen, then 4 divided by 80 and multiplied by 100 to get the percentage of hydrogen and finally 48 divided by 80 and multiplied by 100 to get the percentage of oxygen!” Varian concluded, smiling as Yong handed over his finished work. The older boy glanced over it, double checking before handing the worksheet back with a satisfied hum. “All correct! Well done, bud.”

  At that news, Yong gave a little cheer, moving over to Nuru and showing off his work, Varian sitting back as he watched the heartwarming scene from afar. He seemed so proud of himself, and he had every right to be. Still, after his little adrenaline rush, Nuru sat him down and listened attentively as Yong talked extensively about his astronomy homework. Satisfied that his job was done, Varian gazed out of the window. Hm. Still abnormally sunny - as per usual.

  A slight breeze made its way through the library as the door creaked open, prompting Varian to divert his attention towards it. He regretted it immediately. Standing in the doorway was none other than Hugo. He was wearing a green hoodie with jeans...god, he looked so good in green. Heat started to build in his face as he moved to look away from the older boy, his hands fidgeting in his lap and the tips of his ears turning red the longer he looked at him. He silently prayed Nuru and Yong hadn’t noticed...but the universe had other plans in its mission to screw him over.

  “Varian, are you okay? Your face is red. Are you too warm? Do you want me to ask the librarian to turn the fan on?” inquired Yong, already standing and beginning to walk away. Varian groaned and sunk back further into his chair, covering his still red face with his hands. Oh my god, why did he have to be here? He grimaced as the sound of Nuru’s laughter gradually got louder. “What.” he questioned, not daring to look up and betray just how flustered he was. This, however, only caused her to laugh even harder. 

    “Nothing! I just can’t believe Varian Ruddiger, my best friend, is simping for Hugo Atkinson aka one of the biggest playboys in human existence! It’s simply unbelievable!” Nuru cackled, Varian swiftly lunging and covering her mouth with his hand. 

  “Shut the fuck up, Nuru! If he even hears you!-” he flushed red as his eyes met Hugo’s from across the room. A smirk tugged at the corners of the blonde’s lips and he shot the younger boy a wink, bursting out into uncontrollable laughter as the other’s face went even redder (as if that was even possible) and he frantically tried to compose himself. Varian hurriedly stood up, shoving books into his bag and pushing the blue streak of hair out of his line of sight.

  “Oh would you look at the time! Eugene will be here to pick me up any minute now!” he declared rather loudly. The librarian looked up from her position behind the counter and shushed him, her eyes rolling as he repeatedly apologised. Cooling air hit his face as he dashed out of the library, passing Hugo at a speed he himself didn’t know he could reach. It was the relief he desperately needed - the flush of his face calming down and slowly retreating. Why was he so awkward? A blaring horn bought him back to reality, courtesy of his unofficial sister’s boyfriend. Involuntarily, he winced and stumbled back, bringing his hands up to cover his ears.

  “Hey Var! C’mon!” Eugene called out, a wide smile on his face as he waved him over. With a groan, Varian headed over and opened the door. He slumped into the passenger’s seat, fingers moving to roll down the window and allow the breeze to hit his face as Eugene drove. Varian silently observed the houses and stores as they sped past, steadily being swapped out with parks and fields leading up to his sister’s house.

  It always went like this ever since his mom left. On Wednesdays, Eugene would pick him up from his tutoring job and he’d go over to the couple’s house for dinner, before Eugene would drive him back home to Old Corona. Routine. A snug routine that no one disagreed with. They sat in a pleasant silence before the brunette decided to speak up.

  “So uh..how was your day, kiddo?” he implored, taking a second to glance over at the smaller boy as he stared out of the car window, charcoal locks blowing wildly in the wind, with the blue streaks still clearly defined. The response was a nod and faint hum as the boy kept his focus on the landscape beside them. The brunette bit his lip and relented on the questions. Clearly he wasn’t fine then.

  The ivory car pulled in outside of the small, ivy-walled cottage, both boys exiting the car after it had been parked. “There we go, Maximus. Good job.” Eugene mumbled under his breath, giving the hood a gentle tap before striding towards the wooden door and opening it. “Blondie! We’re here!” he exclaimed as the blonde-haired woman bounded out into the hallway, sprinting outside to pull the younger boy into a rib-crushing hug as her fiancé watched on in amusement. 

  “Varian! Hey!” she beamed as she took his wrist in a vice-like grip and pulled him along into the cottage. “It’s so good to see you! Cass, Lance and the girls are in the living room if you want to go see them!” Huh. Cass? That was new. Last thing he heard was that she was travelling the world after finishing her course at university. He put on the widest smile he could and slid open the sitting room’s door.

  Cassandra, Lance, Keira and Catalina all looked up from where they were sitting and waved. Varian made his way over to Cass, settling down beside her and allowing her to pull him into a side hug. “Hey co lady-in-waiting.” she chuckled and ruffled his hair. “How are you? How long has it been- what, 4 years?” 

  “Yep. 4 years.” Lance chimed in from his perch on the matching lilac sofa, a wide grin on his face as Cass tossed a pillow at him. Much to her dismay, he caught it and threw it right back at them. It hit Cass square in the face, her letting out a gasp of surprise and falling back against the plush cushions dotted all over the couch. The black haired boy let out a snort of laughter, covering his mouth and trying to suppress the small giggles that kept leaving his mouth. “I’m-oh fuck hold on,” he barely managed to pass the words through his lips, still in a fit of laughter. He took a deep breath. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. “That’s better. I’m fine. Studying chemistry at Corona University now.” he replied with a grin and leant against her, letting her warmth engulf him once again. 

  “No fuckin’ way. You’re a uni kid now?” she sat bolt upright, turning to look at him with wide eyes before resuming her original position. “Shit..it's been way too long since I’ve been here.” she let out a breathy laugh and looked down.

  “DINNER’S READY!” Rapunzel’s voice cried out from the kitchen, summoning everyone to sit down at the table. The meal of choice was a simple spaghetti, served on a purple porcelain plate. After settling everyone down, Rapunzel distributed the food. It was all going well, in all honesty. Everyone was talking about various topics: Eugene and Lance’s promotions, Kiera and Catalina joining high school soon, where Cass was travelling..that was until that all important question was asked - the one Varian dreaded the most.

  “So Varian,” Catalina asked innocently, looking up at him. “Have you got a girlfriend yet?”

  Varian froze, spoon raised to his mouth before dropping it back onto the plate. “I-I’m sorry, what?” he stuttered out, an awkward, forced smile taking over his face. Oh god, why were they asking this?

  “Yeah V, do you have a girlfriend?” Kiera repeated her sister’s question, her interest seemingly peaked by his response.

  Oh. Oh. Of course this question would come up eventually. Fuck. He’d never had a girlfriend in his life! The only girl who he’d ever had a crush on was Cassandra! What did he even like about girls? He tried to think back on all of his previous crushes..Flynn Rider, Cassandra, Vex (for about 2 minutes), and finally...Hugo.

   His mind drifted to Hugo much to his displeasure. To the wink at the library, the extensive texting sessions, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about...his sharp and defined features..his lips. He wondered how they’d taste..probably like cherries. Oh, he’d do anything to kiss Hugo-wait what? His face, for the umpteenth time flushed bright red as he narrowed his eyes to stare at the table cloth. “Um-no. No I don’t-” he began to protest before the others interrupted him again.

  “Aw, really? Our lovable Varian Ruddiger hasn’t captured the hearts of all the ladies he’s ever laid eyes on? I don’t believe it!” Cass exclaimed, taking a sip of the lemonade Rapunzel had made earlier. “Beautiful lemonade, by the way Raps. Good stuff.”

  “Yeah, especially when his brother-in-law is the infamous playboy Flynn Rider!” Lance pointed out with a vast smile on his face. “And Cass is right, this lemonade is the best I’ve ever had, Rapunzel.”

  “Look guys, can we just-stop talking about my relationship status?” Varian pleaded, his hands resting on the table and his breathing quickening. Oh god, was the room getting smaller? He felt like it was getting smaller. Tears welled up in his eyes as the others continued their teasing at his expense. 

“Just can’t believe it!-”

“I know a lovely girl! She’s Leona’s daughter!-”

“Varian?”

Too hot. It was too hot. No air. Why couldn’t he breathe? Was he dying? What was going on? Why was he shaking so much? He struggled and his chest heaved as he tried to take in more air. It’s too much. Please stop. 

“What happened to Vex? Don’t you like her anymore?-” 

Please stop.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

Stop.

“Varian?”

“STOP!” he screamed out, standing up fast and knocking his chair to the floor. Wet trails ran down his face as he harshly wiped his eyes and headed to the door. “Thanks for dinner, it was great.” he growled and shoved past the mass of worried people, throwing open the front door and falling to his knees outside. He gasped for breath, the oxygen being his saviour as it finally felt like he was getting enough. He was free. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. His body jolted as a hand cautiously rested on his shoulder, squeezing it softly before the mystery comforter sat by him.

  “Rapunzel I…”

  “Don’t. I get it. Just get yourself together, okay? In for 7, hold for 7, out for 7. Just like I taught you.” she commented with a reassuring smile, holding out her arms for him to fall into. He closed his eyes in the embrace, his hands holding on tight to the fabric of her dress to ground himself. Her perfume had the scent of lavender, calming his nerves and helping him relax further. It reminded him of the old house before the accident. Before his mom left. The good times.

  “Varian..I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have pushed you so far. It isn’t fair.” she finally admitted as her hand weaved through his hair in a motherly kind of way. “I’m so sorry we didn’t stop sooner. But just know that-well, you can always tell us if you aren’t comfortable. We’ll respect your choices no matter what.” 

  Varian smiled to himself at what his sister said. She always wanted what was best for him - especially after his dad went into a coma. “Thank you so much.” he muttered against her shoulder. “You have..no idea what this means to me.” he sighed, content in the moment before moving back. “I should go home, it’s gonna be really awkward for me to go back.”

  Rapunzel looked as though she’d been slapped in the face. “I-are you sure? I doubt the others mind, and I made cupcakes to celebrate you and Cass coming over.”

  “Thanks Rapunzel but I just want to go home-” he began to say. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, leaning against it on her upper arm. Cass looked down at the scene, a sympathetic smile on her face as the wind blew her hair about and she held out her hand. “Relax Raps. I’ll take him. I was just leaving anyway. The little twerp just needs to let me know the directions. Oh, and he’ll need this.” she remarked, throwing a helmet towards Varian who, with fumbling hands, caught it. But-why would he need a-

  His question was answered as Cass walked away, swinging her leg over the motorbike and sitting down. The bike was..wow. Black was the base coat for the vehicle - red streaks ran across the main body intermingling with blue streaks. He was taken aback, swinging his leg over after placing the helmet on his head. His arms wrapped around Cass’ waist as she started to drive.

  It was exhilarating. Wind whistled past his ears, houses merging together at the speed they were moving and the fields became mere blurs in the background. Eyes widened with wonder as he held on, cheering and filled with adrenaline. Cass’ face lit up at the sound of Varian’s childlike enjoyment and wonder as he marvelled at his surroundings. She brought the bike to a stop, smoothing down her hair and helping Varian off. As he trudged up his driveway, she kept her eyes on him. 

  “Hey V?” she said, him turning around almost immediately to meet her eyes. “Uh..you should come meet my girlfriend sometime. Her name’s Irene. You’d love her.” she commented, pulling her helmet on as Varian frantically nodded. She silently waved and rode off into the night, leaving Varian on the doorstep of his admittedly shabby house.

  Varian stood in silence for a second before a grin split onto his face. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Cass..of course. He knew she’d understand. Thank god he wasn’t alone. Cass knew..she knew what he was dealing with. He turned his head to the direction that her bike went. He’d thank her later, somehow. 

  After a few seconds, he strode into the house and made a left to the kitchen, a pearl-white sheet of paper placed onto the counter wedged under the fruit bowl sat in plain sight. Varian read it aloud before throwing it into the trash. “Brilliant. Dad’s working late.” he rolled his eyes, moving towards the cupboard and pouring out some cat food into a bowl. Ruddiger, the fat bastard, came sauntering in, rubbing himself against the boy’s leg before starting to eat. He laughed and started to head upstairs.

  He sat on his bed and gazed at the time on his phone. 7:32pm. Hugo should be online. He couldn’t help the stupid smile that cursed his face at the mere thought of the boy in question, pressing his name under messages.

Varian : Still on for 1 tomorrow?

  He sent the text, still high on the adrenaline rush from the motorbike. Tomorrow was weighing on his mind as he sat up, hurrying to his closet to pick out his clothes for their date. Or at least that’s what Hugo called it and Varian desperately hoped that wasn’t a joke. Extensive searching left him with deciding upon a cyan sweater over a white dress shirt, along with some jeans and his black vans. The infamous chime went off, with Varian essentially jumping over the frame of his bed to read it.

Hugo : Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetie pie <3

Hugo : You looked good in the library by the way, short stuff ;)

   Varian rolled his eyes at Hugo’s comment. What else had he expected, honestly. He snuck a glance at his mirror, only to see the same lovestruck grin as every other night before that. God, he loved this boy so much. It wasn’t fair how one person could have this effect on him. How everything felt better when they were talking. Hell, even coffee tasted better when he was drinking it with Hugo. 

Varian : Better than you, beanpole

Hugo : Ouch. Really know how to wound my pride, dontcha?

Hugo: Anyway, I’ve gotta study tonight so I’ll see you tomorrow. Same table.

Varian :  Eye eye, Captain. See you tomorrow.

  Setting his phone aside, Varian watched as Ruddiger crawled to sit on the bed beside him, cuddling under his arm and purring. “Ruddiger, I think i’m in love.” the boy whispered to his companion. 

“I think I’m in love with Hugo Atkinson.”

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for sjcatenacci

For @sjcatenacci <3

Read on AO3

*****

Last Love Song

He stands in the middle of a forest. The mist is so heavy that he can barely see the trees in front of him. It curls around him, icy fingers slipping along his ankles. His legs tremble with the need to run, to find his way back home. Turning his head reveals only more dark gnarled winter woods. The sun is lost to him, leaving him in a black and white world.

“A’Zhan!”

A voice calls to him, echoing through the trees. He spins around, his head snapping right, left. He wants to call back, ask for help, tell the voice how lost he is. As soon as he opens his mouth the mist swirls up his chest over his lips. His voice is trapped in his throat. He feels as if he is choking on it.

“A’Zhan, hurry! Let's play,” the voice tinkles merrily.

A musical laugh fills the woods, chasing the cold around his heart. A shadow moves at the corner of his eye. He is slow to turn. Too slow. By the time he looks, it’s only a hint of red weaving through the trees. He wants to follow. Somehow he knows that he has nothing to fear from the laughing shadow.

“A’Zhan, hurry up and find me, so we can play again.”

He closes his eyes and searches for the strength that gets him through each day. The strength to move, to call out, to find the playful voice in the woods. He takes a deep breath, pulling in the frozen air until it burns his lungs. He pushes out fire.

“A’Ying!”

Lan Wangji's eyes snapped open. His throat was raw and the notes of a name lost to the past filled the Jingshi. He’d had the same dream for as long as he could remember. At first it was once in a while— normally after a long day of studies. The closer he came to his auspicious day, the more the dream haunted him. He brushed a hand over his damp face, wiping away the tear tracks. No matter what his subconscious and heart wanted, his mind knew that Wei Ying was gone.

His memories of Wei Ying were clouded by the long years. The last time he saw Wei Ying, he had watched him descend the stairs of Cloud Recesses with his parents. His small body half-turned, arm waving wildly with a promise to return soon. The grief of losing his mother, so soon after Wei Ying left, had further clouded his memories.

For a while he received pictures and letters in messy handwriting from Wei Ying. Until one day when Lan Wangji was eight the letters stopped. He begged Uncle and Brother to find Wei Ying and his parents. Sent letters to the last inn they had called home. But no matter how many letters he sent, no one had seen the Wei family. When he was ten, his Uncle informed him that Wei Ying's parents had died years ago and there was no sign of Wei Ying. Lan Wangji secluded himself from his family and the world. When he emerged he was an emotionless jade statue.  

Lan Wangji focused on his studies and training. He wanted to make his mind and body stronger so that he could start his own search for Wei Ying.

On the day he turned seventeen, his Uncle and elders sat him down and told him he was to be married to the Jiang sect’s head disciple. He was told he would be happy with his match.  It was for the good of the sect, the good of his family. It was his duty. He refused. It took months of silent arguments, of his Uncle’s anger, and a cold trail in Yilling for Lan Wangji to consent. He would do his duty.

As the years passed he refused to know anything about his betrothed. When his brother or Uncle invited the Jiang Sect to Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji would disappear into the back mountains until they were gone. While he had agreed to the marriage: he had no intention to court or familiarize himself with the stranger about to invade his life.

The closer the wedding grew  the more Wei Ying was on his mind. The dreams haunted him in his sleep and Wei Ying’s shadow followed him along during the day. He heard laughter in the trees. His name on the wind. He awoke day after day in tears calling out to his lost friend. He was so exhausted that he was unable to eat.

The Jiang sect would arrive the next day and the final wedding preparations were to commence the day after. He was out of time.

Lan Wangji would be married in two days' time and his heart and soul were screaming for him to stop it. To get away. His brother was busy and Uncle was caught up in preparation. If he was going to sneak away, it needed to be today.

It was easier than he expected to climb over the wall and get down the mountain without being seen. He wore a hooded cloak that covered his headband when he purchased a horse in town and rode south as fast and far as he could go until the horse needed to stop. The sun was setting by the time he reached the next town. He found an inn large enough to offer a stable for his horse. The tables inside were mostly full of locals. Lan Wangi found a small table toward the back, passing a man who held the attention of half the room telling stories and causing the room to explode with laughter.

“Hello, young master. Can I bring you a bottle of our house wine and a warm bowl of soup?” the server asked when he sat down.

The refusal was on the tip of his tongue; he’d never drank before. He had never understood the need to impair his mind. He had also never run away from his responsibilities before, so tonight was a time for firsts. He gave the server his consent and imagined what his family was doing at this time. Had they discovered his disappearance? Had they started to search? Was he far enough away that he could enjoy one last night with his memories before he gave in? Lan Wangji knew that he would return, but tonight he would finally say goodbye to his friend.

He quietly watched the room, blocking out the noise and watching the faces around him. The young man holding court in the middle of the room wore black robes, hair up in a ponytail wrapped with a red ribbon. Lan Wangji could only see the side of his face. When it seemed like he would turn in his direction, Lan Wangji’s server returned with his order.

The soup was a warm broth with fresh vegetables. It settled the unease in his stomach. He poured himself a cup of wine and held it in his hand. He was not sure if he was supposed to sip the drink or throw it back into his mouth as he saw the man in black do. Deciding on somewhere in the middle he lifted the drink to his mouth and tilted it back. Sweet fire burned down his throat. His lips tingled and the breath he’d unconsciously been holding escaped with an audible whoosh. It was sweeter than he preferred, but it wasn’t bad.  

His fingers brushed the bottle when he reached out to pour another round. He closed and opened his eyes, trying to concentrate on the bottle in front of him. The vision in front of him blurred and doubled. Lan Wangji shook his head and tried to reach out again. The second time he knocked the bottle to the side off the table; he followed it down. The hood covered him and blocked out the firelight creating a warm place to settle into. He decided the table was a perfect place to rest his head.

Lan Wangji didn’t not know how long he rested his eyes. When his arm was grasped and a warm voice was by his ear he rolled his head to the side, looking up. A hand lifted the corner of the hood. Silver eyes pulled him back to the moment. A wide smile across a beautiful face. Lan Wangji felt his heart skip and he blinked.

“Oh. There you are, Sleeping Beauty. Are you okay now?” The man’s voice was full of suppressed laughter.

The room shifted and his breath caught. Everything around him blurred and took on a hazy edge. All but the man in front of him. His features were sharp, the curve of his full lips upturned, the dark hair caressing his cheek. His dreams had never shown him Wei Ying as more than a blur. He could never have imagined the soft crinkle around his silver eyes. He never thought how his face would change through the years. Somehow on this last night he was able to see the possibility of Wei Ying.

Reaching out to the dream in front of him Lan Wangji hesitated. If he touched the man, would he be gone? Would Lan Wangji be left alone in a room too warm and heart empty? Could he take that risk? His hand hovered inches from the apparition's face; he even could feel the breath on his fingers.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji’s words were a whisper, the sounds slurring together.

Dream Wei Ying’s brows gathered with a look of confusion. He tilted his head and looked over Lan Wangji's face. Eyes drifted up his forehead and understanding dawned over his features.

“Ah, you are a Lan? You are a little far from home, little Lan.”

Lan Wangji pulled his hood down over his forehead and he couldn't fight the need to pout.

“Oh, no, don’t pout, I won’t tell. But maybe you should head on back to your room and sleep there.”

He watched in awed fascination as emotions played over Dream Wei Ying's face. Amusement, happiness, and a hint of sadness underneath it all. When his dream took his arm and broke him out of the clouded feeling Lan Wangji launched to his feet and stumbled back knocking into a solid mass of stench and sweaty flesh. He heard a shout behind him and felt a hand land on his shoulder. Without thinking, he grabbed the hand and twisted it away, his eyes never leaving the man he mistook for Wei Ying.

This man, so similar to his lost friend, was not a dream; he was a stranger and the first person to touch him in years. His lungs burned trying to catch the breath stolen from him. His heart raced and clutched painfully in his chest. Ice crawled up his fingers and the room darkened. Lan Wangji needed air and he needed away from the stranger with silver eyes. He pushed his way out of reaching hands and walked toward the door. He missed the tussle behind him, the arms swung in anger and the man protecting his retreating back.

He stood in the middle of the street waiting for the earth to stop moving before choosing his next move. It would be unwise to ride his horse with ground so unsteady. He’d hidden Bichen in his pouch, his sword so well known his identity would be instantly recognized. Also he remembered hearing sword riding under the influence was unadvised. He did not want to be impaled by a tree limb.

Lan Wangji decided to go left back toward Gusu but his feet went right and it took a moment for his upper body to follow. Resigned to a long walk he leaned forward determined to make Yilling before sunrise.

“Little Lan, hold on. Where are you going?” The stranger ran from the inn. “How did you get so far from the inn?”

Ignoring the man, Lan Wangji kept moving forward. The man jumped in front of him, his arms out wide.

“Hold on, you can’t just head out into the night like this. Come back to the inn, sleep a little, and I will make sure you get to where you are going.”

“No,” Lan Wangji snapped before he stepped around the man.

“Wait, come on. I know your people and they’d hate it if I left you alone. Just come back with me, drink some water, and rest. Once the wine wears off I’ll leave you alone. There's no need to get yourself killed walking off a cliff in the dark.”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji huffed. He blinked slowly, considering the other man’s words.

The man bent over in laughter. It filled the night and bounced off the quiet buildings. Lan Wangji closed his eyes and let the sound fill him up. He thought of a wild boy running through the woods of Cloud Recesses. Encouraging young Lan Zhan to break the rules, to play games, to enjoy life.

Wei Ying and his parents had spent a whole year at Cloud Recesses. His mother was a guest lecturer and during the day his father taught the young boys how to fish, to fight with swords and fists. For the first time in Lan Zhan’s life he was a child and each day seemed brighter than the last. He’d tell his mom of his latest adventure with Wei Ying by his side. He loved to see the way her eyes sparkled and how proud she was of his antics. He’d begged his Uncle to let Wei Ying come with him to meet his mother but he never allowed it.

As the year came to the end the boys begged to stay together with promises of future summers, future adventures. Wei Ying left with the summer and then his mother left him for good, freezing his world in a permanent winter. He set aside the boy he had been and became the perfect disciple.

He swayed to the sound of laughter, stumbled to the right. The stranger grabbed his arm but there was too much momentum to Lan Wangji’s movements. The two of them spun around. Lan Wangji enjoyed the way the stars danced so much that he tilted his head back and spun again. He remembered the way he and Wei Ying would spin around and around until they fell to the ground in a fit of giggles.

“I think there is a rule about dancing in the streets, little Lan. Maybe we should stop before you get sick.” His voice was rich with wonder.

Lan Wangji stopped spinning so he could look at the stranger. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Lan Wangji did not mind when the stranger reached out and brushed the stray hair on Lan Wangji’s face. This stranger might not be his Wei Ying, but he still liked the feeling of warmth that spread up his hands where he held him. The man tugged his hand and Lan Wangji let go of his restraint. He wanted to hold onto this feeling.

They stumbled back toward the inn; if Lan Wangji did most of the stumbling and the other man held him up, he wouldn’t bring it up. Walking through the crowded room, Lan Wangji felt heated glares aimed toward him. The man spoke quickly to the innkeeper and guided Lan Wangji through the room and up the stairs. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn’t follow this stranger.  Maybe it was the way his face reminded him of Wei Ying, maybe it was the laugh, or maybe the alcohol had allowed his mind to see what he wanted to see. The only thing Lan Wangji knew was he didn’t want the evening to end.  

The room was nothing special: two beds, a table, and a privacy screen hiding the tub. Lan Wangji stumbled forward, pulled off his hood and cloak, tossed it onto the bed. He sat at the table with a plop and stared at the other man, who brought over a water jug and poured him a cup. Lan Wangji stared at the cup and waited for it to drink. When the cup didn’t move he attempted to lift his arm which also seemed to not want to listen.

“Oh, no need to be sad, little Lan. Let me help you,” the man offered with a chuckle.

He lifted the cup to his lips, and the cool drink spilled into his mouth and down his chin. The other man patted his neck with his robe and cooed at him.

“I thought Lans were forbidden from drinking? It was one of the rules that I couldn’t understand. But now that I’ve seen a Lan disciple drunk, maybe it’s not such a bad rule. Why are you so far from Gusu and breaking the rules?”

Could he tell him the truth? Tell him about the boy who was his sun and last piece of happiness. Where would he start? How would he explain the nightmares? Would he tell him how alone he has felt over the years? How his family failed him? Where would he start? Would his voice even carry over the walls he’d built around himself?

“The perfect Lan disciple does what he is told no matter what he wants. I tried something I wanted before doing what I must.” They were the most words he had spoken in years.

“Ah, and what is the Lan sect going to make you do?”

“Forced marriage.” Lan Wangji said the words in revulsion.

The man gasped and fell back away from him with wide eyes. Lan Wangji tilted his head and watched him. The man tried to speak but only a shuddered breath came out.

“Do-does that make you Lan Wangji the second young master of the Gusu Lan Clan?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji gave a decisive nod.

“I take it the marriage was not your idea.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. It was the first time someone had asked what he wanted. His brother tried to talk to him about the wedding. He told him he’d be pleased with his betrothed. But as soon as talk of the wedding started he’d walk out of the room. He knew he disappointed his brother and disappointed his uncle but it didn’t matter.  

“Why did you agree if you didn’t want it?” the other man asked in a hollow voice.

“Lan’s do their duty. This is mine.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad?” He sounded hopeful.

“No,” Lan Wangji slapped a hand down the half empty cup on the table teetering dangerously under the force.

“What would you want instead, Young Master Lan? Do you have another? Some beautiful perfect woman that will give you a perfect life. Someone you truly want to marry, someone you love?”

Lan Wangji didn’t understand why the man was angry. Why he snapped out each question.

“Never wanted to marry. Never wanted any of this. I wanted to Night Hunt, travel the world, protect the innocent. Not this, not with my betrothed.”

“What does your betrothed want? Have you asked them?”

“No reason.”

There was no reason to ask his betrothed questions when they had nothing to offer him. Only Wei Ying could read him, could know him. Wei Ying and the man beside him. Could he leave his betrothed on the altar and run off with a stranger into the night? Never return to Gusu, never see his family. Lan Wangj shook his head, he could never do it. The man was nothing more than a whisper of the person he wished to spend his life beside. His friend, his soulmate, was gone.

“Why are you so sad, Young Master? Is it the wedding? Even your forehead ribbon is crooked.”

Long slender fingers reach up Lan Wangj smacked the hand aside before he can reach it.

“No one can touch.”

“I’m sorry. Of course, only your parents, and cultivation partner. Forgive me. How about you go lay down and I'll leave you alone?”

“Don't want.” Lan Wangji glowered.

“How would your betrothed feel about you spending the night with another person? Is this what they have to look forward to? A cranky child sneaking off to sleep with others?”

Lan Wangji brows drew together. “Doesn't matter.”

“Of course. Well, it matters to me. Go sleep.”

“Bad dream, don't want to sleep.”

“What, do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” the man said with a cynical laugh.

“Mm.”

Before the man could say anything further Lan Wangji got to his feet. He pulled off his outer robe, crawled on to the bed and waited. The man muttered and threw up his arms. He moved forward, and sat on the floor beside the bed.

“Close your eyes, Lan Wangji. I’ll sing you one last love song.”

Lan Wangji’e eyes were already closed, the lids heavy. He wanted to protest the other man’s familiarity. He couldn’t move. He felt a weight settle around him and pull him down into the mattress. The man hummed a soft tune, it filled Lan Wangji with mournful longing. He knew this song, had heard it before, but his mind was cloudy and he couldn’t place where he heard it before.

He kneels in front of his mother's house, snow falls around him. But he only feels numb and yet he still waits. He waits for the door to open, for his mother to welcome him in. He waits for Wei Ying.

“A’Zhan, A’Zhan, I’m here. It’s so cold. We need to go inside.”

Tiny fingers slip into his cold hand. Lan Zhan turns to the side, pulled against a thin chest. For the first time since the moment he was told his mother was gone he starts to cry. Wei Ying is here and he doesn’t have to hide anymore. Wei Ying holds him and starts to sing.

Morning came with a blurry memory and pounding headache. Lan Wangji groaned and his hand went to his forehead. He tried to piece together his night. He remembered the inn, remembered taking a drink of wine but that's when things became unfocused. A confusing vision of silver eyes and wide smiles. Spinning in the street. A song almost remembered.

Lan Wangji sat up and looked around. On the table was a warm bowl of congee and fresh pot of tea. The room was empty. He ate breakfast, drank the tea, and felt better. Taking time for the bath and meditation, he felt more rested than he had for a long time. He brushed his hair, tied on his ribbon, and pulled on his robes. The main room was empty but for one man in black by the door. Lan Wangji pulled his hood down and made his way to the innkeeper. He placed a few pieces of silver on the counter, but before he could turn away, the man covered his hand and pushed the pieces back toward him.

“Everything has been covered, young master,” the innkeeper informed him.

“By who?” Lan Wangji was sure his money was all accounted for.

“By the young master by the door.”

Lan Wangji turned toward the door and took in the slouching man. His head was down, his feet crossed on the chair in front of him. A purple bruise on the corner of his mouth and a Jiang sect clarity bell tied to his waist. This man was a Jiang disciple and he must know his betrothed. Did he know who Lan Wangji was?

He moved closer to the man and stood over him. The man slowly lifted his head and his eyes wandered up Lan Wangji’s tall form.

"You look better this morning. Was the food and tea helpful?"

"Mn."

"Good, good. I  am sure your family is looking for you, so we should part here."

"How shall I address you so that I may repay you?"

The man looked away, his nose scrunched up.

"There is no need to repay me, but you may call me Wei Wuxian, head disciple of Jiang Sect. I am nothing but a servant to my sect and a burden to my betrothed. I offer you freedom and a chance to live the life you want. Please tell my Shijie, I will write."

Wei Wuxian bowed and left the inn turning south before Lan Wangji processed what he said. That man had been a Wei and his betrothed. Was he related to Wei Ying? He walked out and in the opposite direction of Gusu. Did that mean he was breaking the arrangement? Was the wedding off?

Lan Wangji pulled his cloak tight around his chest. He felt a cold wind blowing from the north and pictured his uncle’s rage. He slipped a hand in his pocket to fight the chill and found two pieces of paper.

One was a drawing of two boys' arms slung over each other and the other was a letter. He stared at the picture and his hands started to shake. His stomach rolled as he turned to the letter.

Lan Wangji,

Forgive me for causing you so much grief and suffering over the years. I knew you were resistant, no matter what your uncle and brother told me. I thought once we talked we'd be able to come to an understanding. Develop a friendship again. I never would have demanded your love, only wanted to live beside you once again. I am sorry it took so long for me to come home to you and our friendship has suffered.

I can not abide being the cause of your suffering and I wish to end our betrothal. I wish for you to find the life you want, without the pain of duty. Don't forget to look up and watch the stars spin.

Your Friend,

Wei Ying

Lan Wangji crushed the letter in his hands and started to run. Wei Ying couldn't have gone far unless he took off by sword. He'd been so close, been inches away and he let him go.

Lan Wangji had been a fool.

More of the night played through his head as he ran through the town. He watched Wei Ying smile at him, chase after him, care for him, and sing him to sleep. He should have known he had been Wei Ying; no one had ever treated him the way Wei Ying did. No one cared for him the way Wei Ying did.

Why did he not realize sooner? Was he too late?

The trees around him blurred and morning mist curled around him. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't be dreaming—the mist was warm and his body was on fire. Did he dare call out?

A flash of red had Lan Wangji turning in time to see Wei Ying watching him from a tree.

"Wei Ying," his voice caught on a sob.

"Why did you follow me?"

"I finally found you."

"We've been betrothed since we were seventeen. It's been three years since your uncle pulled me aside at my first discussion conference. He told me you've been waiting for me to return. Said the best way to get me back to the Cloud Recesses was marriage." Wei Ying looked away from him.

Lan Wangji walked slowly through the trees, afraid he would disappear in front of him.

"I came back but you were always gone. I figured it would take time but we would figure it out together. But last night I finally understood what you were going through. The dark circles under your eyes, the gaunt face. I once thought you were my soulmate.” Wei Ying cut himself off as emotions clouded his face.

"I still am," Lan Wangji answered with hope. "I thought you were dead. That you were a dream sent to haunt me, punish me.  I wasn't sure about half of what I said or did, but maybe I knew it was you. Knew that you wouldn't leave me again."

"Oh, I didn't know you knew so many words. Even as a kid you were quiet. My father used to tell me I had enough words for both of us."

His knees threatened to buckle and his hand clenched. This really was his Wei Ying, his friend and his soulmate. Only he knew of what his father teased them about.

"Wei Ying, how?"

How is he here? How are they betrothed? How did he get that bruise on his face? It didn't matter; as long as he was here they could figure out the rest.

"I never asked, never cared until now. I've been looking for you since I was first allowed out of Cloud Recesses. I never stopped looking."

Wei Ying leaned closer, "A'Zhan?"

Lan Wangi closed his eyes and felt the sun burst over him. Warmth and summer blossoms blooming in the air. This was the key to his heart. This was the missing piece.

"Wei Ying, will you still marry me? We can figure it out later but if we marry no one can separate us again."

"You said you didn't want to marry."

"I didn't want to marry a stranger, but you are Wei Ying. I will night hunt with Wei Ying, travel with Wei Ying, and stay by Wei Ying’s side. As long as Wei Ying will have me."

His ears burned and his mouth was dry. He could have been courting him for years. Could have spent years learning how he came to Jiang Sect. Learning everything about this man. He vowed to spend the rest of his life making up for it.

"There is nobody but you. I want to do that with Lan Zhan." Wei Ying reached out and took his hand.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji sighed. "Nobody but you."

Wei Ying's hand brushed over his hair and he started to hum a familiar song. A happier version unlike the dream. Or was it a memory?

"Wei Ying, were you there when my mother died?"

"Of course. I was by your side by the second day. I was so angry at you Uncle for leaving you outside, allowing you to catch a cold. So I kicked him and ran off. He was so surprised he didn't even punish me later. But I sang to you until you fell asleep every night for a week."

The worst moment of his life and Wei Ying had held him together, had stayed until the smile returned to his face. By the time Lan Wangji’s emerged from his sick bed, over a week was lost and Wei Ying was still gone.

"I had no idea you were there."

"I wanted to stay longer but my parents were called to Yiling and then they were gone and I had no idea where to find you. Uncle Jiang found me a few years later and took me in. I trained every day to get stronger. But then your Uncle found me."

His family knew, his brother and Uncle had tried to tell him. But he shut them out. Shut out the information. He’d had no faith and he lost years due to his childish behavior.

"I am sorry I did not court you."

"No, ha, imagine that. It is unnecessary. I do not need gifts or presents. I only want to get to know you again."

"Mm, I have one more question. What happened to your face?"

"Oh, this. Last night on my way to Gusu I stopped into an inn for a drink. When a beautiful man entered the room. He tried to hide but he stood out. For some reason he drank and fell asleep. I graciously checked on him and when he startled he knocked wine onto the biggest guy in the room. So to protect the young Lan disciple in honor of my betrothed, I defended him and got caught in the jaw for my troubles. You should take responsibility and kiss it better."

Lan Wangji ears burned. "Mm."

"Lan Zhan, you are too cute."

Lan Wangji stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s soft cheek, sending him a little bit of spiritual energy for healing.

"Lan Zhan, so shameless."

"Mm, I will take responsibility. We must hurry to Gusu—the wedding is tomorrow."

Wei Ying yelped as Lan Zhan grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the tree. He pulled his sword from his pouch, climbed on board, and tugged on his hand.

"Will you ride with me?

Wei Ying stepped on the blade and wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan. They smiled softly at each other. They had a wedding to get to and a life to start living.

Lan Zhan hummed a new song and watched as summer returned to Gusu-Lan and his heart.

[dreamcatcherfication]

Stargazing

So anon asked for Anne getting hurt and needing the help of the other queens (you can read the full request here), and here it is! I wanted to do a balance of everything because I love getting into Anne’s trauma. Don’t have much to say about this fic, but I hope you all enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I’m multitasking with an adult coloring book and it’s pissing me off. 

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Nightmares, blood, descriptions of pain

There were so many voices, all of them too loud to fully register. Only stray words could be heard from the masses around her. “Witch!” One man yelled. “Unholy!” Another. “Temptress!” They continued to shout. Anne wanted nothing more than to claw her ears off so she wouldn’t have to hear their voices. She knew she had made mistakes, she knew there would be consequences, but how could they do this to her?

The guards holding her arms shoved her to her knees, forcing her head down towards the chopping block. Weren’t they supposed to blindfold her first? But Anne could still clearly see everything around her. The jeering of the commoners, the dried blood on the block, the blade on the executioner’s shoulder. Oh God, have mercy, Anne prayed, reliving her worst trauma. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

She wasn’t supposed to see the blade being raised. Terror bubbled in her stomach as it seemed to descend on her in slow motion, the sword glinting as it sliced through the air. The cheers only got louder as the blade grew closer and closer to her bare neck. “Please no!” Anne screamed right as the sword touched her neck, a fiery pain enveloping her body. 

Jerking out of her bed, Anne fell to the floor in a tangle of sheets. Her head made a soft banging sound against the hardwood floor, loud enough to jar Anne, but soft enough that no one else would hear it. As she adjusted to her surroundings, Anne put a hand to her forehead and softly groaned. Her head was a jumbled mess, her eyes blurring the walls together until her room looked like one giant circle. Every little thing around her was so stifling, choking the breath out of Anne. 

Untangling herself from her sheets, Anne struggled to her feet and stumbled out of her room. The house was dark, but Anne didn’t care. It wasn’t like her head was clear enough to make sense of anything she would see. Making her way down the stairs and to the front door, Anne grabbed the nearest coat. Putting it on, she realized it was small on her - most likely Kat’s jacket - but she didn’t shrug it off for another.

Leaving the house, Anne didn’t bother to lock the door behind her. She would be back soon, and no one was going to try and break in. The streets were silent, not even the occasional midnight car driving by. It must have been two in the morning, she guessed, with how akin everything was to a ghost town. Still, Anne let her feet guide her wherever they decided to take her.

The bright lights of the town began to fade away as the wilderness started to creep in around Anne. As trees started popping up instead of stop signs, Anne realized where she was. “The old tree house,” she murmured, staring up at the rotted tree house above her. She didn’t know who built it or how long it had been there, but one day she and Kat had found it whilst playing hide and seek in the woods. It became a safe haven for all the queens when they needed silence and a place to hide from the world. It was always the old tree house.

If there wasn’t such a sense of sentimentality attached to the structure, Anne would’ve never considered climbing up it. The wood was rotted and there were leaves growing around the boards, but it still held the old feeling of safety that Anne longed for. The ladder up to the tree house was just a bunch of wood planks that had been nailed to the tree, so Anne was able to hoist herself onto the floor of the house pretty easily. Once she was stable on the boards, Anne leaned back and stared up at the stars.

She had never considered stargazing before. It took too much time and it was so simplistic that Anne couldn’t focus long enough to grasp the beauty of it. But being able to watch the blank sky, so simple and constant, Anne started to understand the appeal. The way her mind quieted to take in the black and white blanket was such an inexplicable relief. As if some hidden switch had been flipped, Anne started to notice the twinkling of the stars and their formations. It no longer looked like a bunch of far away dots, but a masterpiece created by God himself for her and her only.

Anne wasn’t used to thinking so deeply. She enjoyed reading and knowledge, but she wasn’t usually a philosopher who dived into the moral questions of humanity. Slowly, her body fell into a state of numbness as everything faded away except for the sky above her. 

Maybe if Anne wasn’t so enraptured by the sky, she would’ve noticed the way the wood started to bend beneath her. Perhaps she would have heard the snapping sounds before it was too late. But Anne was blissfully unaware of anything wrong, her mind fixed on the faraway points in the sky. And then she was falling.

It took a moment for Anne’s mind to register that she was no longer on the floorboards of the tree house, but rather falling quickly to the ground. Reaching her hands out, Anne tried to grab anything that would stop her fall. Instead, her leg went flailing into the side of the tree, one of the wooden boards catching on her skin. The giant nail tore at her skin, leaving a giant gash as Anne passed it.

Landing on the side of her body, Anne let out a shrill screech of agony as her leg twisted at an awkward angle. The pain that shot throughout her body was like a rake being dragged over her skin, leaving behind scratches that itched like hellfire. Opening her eyes slowly, Anne glanced quickly at her leg, praying it wasn’t broken. By some miracle it wasn’t, the bone still perfectly in place. She couldn’t say the same for her skin though. Her leg was covered in blood, the muscles twitching and spasming as Anne whimpered in pain.

“Help,” Anne croaked out, hoping that someone would come. “Help?” She should’ve known coming to the middle of the woods at night was a bad idea. 

A thought struck Anne and she froze. She was wearing Kat’s jacket, wasn’t she? Shoving her hands into the pockets, Anne silently begged there to be a phone somewhere in the pockets. Kat had a tendency to put things in her pockets and forget they were there. More than once she had come to the queens apologizing for losing something important only for the thing to be in her coat pockets the whole time. 

Gasping in relief when she found the phone, Anne turned it on, knowing Kat’s password (6-2-5-6, in honor of her and the queens), and pressed the first contact she could find. The phone rang, almost going to voicemail before the other person picked up. “Kat, why in the world are you calling me at 2:30 AM?”

“Anna!” Anne shouted, her heartbeat picking up. “Thank God, okay, I need you to come get me.”

Anne could feel Anna’s confusion through the phone. “Anne? Why do you have Kat’s phone?”

“It was in her pocket,” Anne replied, “And I’m wearing her jacket. Look, I’m,” she hissed in pain, her leg twitching again, “I’m at the old tree house and I hurt myself - ah - really badly. You gotta come help me,” Anne pleaded.

“Okay, okay,” Anna agreed. The beheaded queen could hear shuffling on her side of the line as Anna presumably got ready to come find Anne. “I’m going to bring Cathy and we’ll help you.”

Wincing, Anne asked, “Don’t tell anyone other than Cathy.”

“Hang in there, Anne,” the German queen made no promises, and then she hung up the phone. Breathing heavily, Anne attempted to right herself. Every movement was another shot of pain through her leg, but she ignored it.

Dragging herself over to the tree, Anne sighed in relief when she leaned against it. Her muscles kept clenching in pain, begging her to do something to fix her leg, but Anne had nothing. Her hands were dirty, so she couldn’t cover the wound with them unless she wanted to risk infection. She had no cloth to cover her leg with and stay the bleeding. All she could do was wait for Anna and Cathy.

It felt like an eternity before two shadows appeared in the treeline. “Anne!” Cathy called, rushing forward to help Anne. Cathy was still in her clothes from earlier that day, having been awake all night. Anna was in a flannel top and pajama pants, her hair unkempt and sticking up in different places. 

Both queens kneeled down beside Anne, cringing at her cut. “How did this happen?” Anna asked as Cathy pulled out a cloth she had brought, wrapping it around Anne’s leg.

Pointing upwards, Anne hissed and shifted when Cathy put too much pressure on a soft spot. “The tree house,” Anne breathed in heavily, “it broke when I was up there. One of the nails scratched me when I came down.”

Scoffing, Cathy squeezed Anne’s leg with her makeshift tourniquet. “Scratched is an understatement.”

“We need to get you home,” Anna stood up from her kneeling position. She put a hand under Anne’s arm and started to lift her. Cathy followed, taking Anne’s other arm so that she and Anna could equally support the beheaded queen. Practically dragging Anne between them, the three queens slowly made their way out of the trees. It was a long walk back to the house, but none of the girls had any other way of returning.

Each step was painful for Anne, but she said nothing. Biting her tongue so she wouldn’t let out any noise of distress, Anne internally cursed herself for getting into such a bad situation. It was her fault they were struggling to get back to the queens’ house.

As they were limping down the street, a car drove up beside them, its light blinding. For a moment, Anne feared that her executioner would step out with his blade and Anna and Cathy would hold her down unsympathetically. But when the door to the car opened, it was Aragon in the driver’s seat, her expression neutral. “Get in, I’ll drive us home.”

Without protest, the three queens piled into the back of the car, Anne sitting between Cathy and Anna. Aragon didn’t ask for an explanation, she just drove steadily and calmly, occasionally checking on Anne through her mirror. The only sounds in the car were the grunts of pain Anne tried to stifle in order to keep the others from worrying about her.

When Aragon pulled up to the street beside their house, she parked the car and turned around in her seat. “Jane and Kat are awake, but they don’t know what’s happened. You know how they’ll react when they see you, Anne, so be prepared.”

Nodding, Anne wrapped her arm around Anna’s neck, leaning on her in order to get out of the car. Cathy came around the car and took her place at Anne’s other side. With a nod, Anne let them lead her to the door and into the house where Kat and Jane were waiting. 

As soon as the door was open, Kat was standing in front of Anne. “Annie!” she gasped, her face going white, “What happened?”

Anna and Cathy pushed past Kat and laid Anne on the couch, elevating her leg with some of the throw pillows Jane had bought. “She fell from the old tree house,” Cathy answered, checking her makeshift tourniquet.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Jane asked, wrapping her arms around Kat. Everyone knew the teen was sensitive to blood, and seeing her cousin’s leg covered in it wasn’t a welcome sight.

Aragon shook her head, entering the room. “No, the bleeding isn't that bad. Once we clean her up, I’ll drive her to the emergency room.”

Biting her lip, Jane agreed and went to the kitchen to pull out the first aid kit. As Anna and Cathy made sure Anne was comfortable, Kat approached her cousin. “Anne, you’re going to be alright,” she whispered, holding Anne’s hand. She brought it to her chest and held it there so that Anne could feel her warmth.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily Kat,” Anne chuckled, then scrunched her face in pain. “It hurts more than it should,” Anne grumbled, closing her eyes and rolling her neck. She opened her eyes and stared directly into Kat’s worried ones. Glancing around at the other distressed queens, Anne sighed. “I’m sorry for going out and not telling you,” she addressed them all. “I was stupid, like usual, and I paid the price.”

Standing up, Cathy towered over Anne. “That’s not true. Sure, you got hurt, but you don’t have to apologize for it. You’re going to be fine, and that’s what matters.”

Jane reentered the room, carrying the first aid kit under her arm. She set it down and pulled out rubbing alcohol for Anne’s leg. Before Jane could start applying it, Anne spoke again. “But I am sorry. It’s two in the morning and I’ve pushed you all to the edge of your wits.” The soft gazes of her friends made Anne’s heart start to calm down. “I… just - thank you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“Anne,” Jane put her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Family always comes.”

“No matter what dangerous situations you find yourself in,” Anna added.

“Or how many stupid things you do,” Aragon tacked on.

“Family is here for you,” Cathy whispered, her voice soothing Anne’s nerves.

“We love you Annie,” Kat finished, her eyes twinkling like the stars Anne admired so much.

Feeling tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes, Anne hastily wiped her face. No one was laughing at her or cheering for her pain. None of them grinned with malice at her bloody leg. They weren’t cruel like all the people Anne once knew. No, they were like stars, all shining down upon her, reminding her of true love and beauty.

For the first time, Anne finally understood the meaning of stargazing.

-----------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon

[dickwheelie]

Meat Cute

This is all thanks to my good friend @kirkwallers​ who got me into the Magnus Archives in the first place. Credit to her for the idea and the title, and for this amazing drawing she did to accompany this fic like a fine wine:

The summary is that Jon and Martin have a dinner date, which goes really well and is totally normal.

___________

“Slowly, slowly, I crept down the creaking staircase. And I might have been imagining it, but the stairs almost seemed . . . softer than they had been before. As though the wood had begun to decay, though the house was relatively new and there was not a speck of mold to be seen. Still, as I descended the staircase, and the basement door came into view, the cold, wet, sickening feeling of mush beneath my feet only grew more apparent.

“It was then that I began to smell it, emanating from the basement door like the haze of a radioactive mound. I recoiled, disgust racking my body, as the smell seemed to quite literally hit me. Its impact sent me nearly gagging. It did not smell like mold.

“When I was a child, I grew up in the poor part of town. My family’s home was downwind and downriver from a meatpacking plant. On Friday afternoons, they would take all of the old or otherwise unusable cuts of meat, and put them out in a great gravel pit in the back of the facility. Trucks would arrive before evening and take them away, but for a few hours every Friday afternoon, that meat would sit out in the elements, rotting away. In the winter it wasn’t so bad, but in the summer. Oh, the summer at its height. You could smell the stench for miles. Our little community always got the worst of it. No matter how hot it was, no matter how still the air, every window would be shuttered, every door bolted closed. Even then, that rotting, fetid smell would cloy its way between the cracks.”

Martin stopped chewing, and looked up from his pork chop. Jon sat across the kitchen table, deep in the throes of the statement he held in his hands, and didn’t seem to notice. Martin opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out, Jon went on, undeterred:

“That was what the basement smelled like as I approached. Worse: it was magnified, as though that very same pile of hot, rotting meat was sitting directly behind the door. My eyes began to water. My stomach began to turn.

“And yet I was unable to slow my descent. Some dark, demented power seemed to be drawing me ever closer to the basement, and the scent of whatever it was that awaited me within.

“It was then that I finally saw it: around the edges of the basement door, oozing from the cracks in the walls surrounding it as though it was trying to claw its way out, came the unmistakable pale red matter of the meat.”

Martin took another uneasy swallow of his food. He glanced down at the glistening surface of the pork, ringed with grey and slightly pink in the middle. Just like he liked it. At least, it used to be.

“Jon,” Martin said mildly, “how are you enjoying your—erm—statement, tonight?”

“I might have screamed. I don’t remember. All I can remember is the inexorable movement of my legs, continuing down the staircase, which was now squishing between my toes, towards the basement door. And the stench. I do not think I will ever be able to forget the stench.”

“That’s nice,” said Martin. He took a drink of water, and decided to move on to the baked potatoes. “The pork is . . . er, delicious. Thanks for the recipe, it really came out nicely.”

“I seized the doorknob, which was sticky and wet. Though every fiber of my being wished to let go, I found myself turning it, the bolt of the door not so much sliding home as it was sloshing. I opened the basement door, and . . .”

“Next time we go down to the village,” Martin said, cutting thoughtfully into one of the potatoes, “we’ll have to find some wine. What pairs well with a Flesh statement, I wonder?”

“There it was. That same pile of meat. The stinking, rotting, fetid mass that had haunted my childhood.”

“Hmm. Yeah, you’re right,” said Martin. “Probably a red.”

“You could never have contained it within the basement. It was seeping through the walls, upwards through the ceiling and into the first floor rooms, and . . . and around my feet, where I stood in the doorway, powerless to move. It seemed to flood out into the hallway behind me, a pink-red-grey mass which expanded into the newfound space with each passing second.”

Martin, who had been preparing to return to his pork chop, looked down at it and then gently nudged his plate away.

“I remember screaming then. I screamed and screamed and screamed, and finally I was . . . released, I think. Finally my feet and legs were my own again. I tried to run upstairs, to where my wife still lay sleeping, but the staircase was too slippery to climb. I screamed upstairs to wake her, to warn her there was something wrong and that she needed to use the fire escape.

“But she didn’t come down. No sound came from upstairs. The meat was almost crushing me against the wall, and I had nowhere else to go. I had to flee the house.

“Can’t you see? I would have died. I had no choice!”

Jon banged his fist on the table, scattering the cutlery that Martin had set at his place, even though he didn’t need it, making Martin jump. He knew Jon was still entranced by the statement, but really, did he need to be so dramatic about it? Sometimes he suspected that Jon was just looking for an excuse to actually use the minor in Theater he got at Oxford.

“When she finally escaped that house, she . . . she was . . . she was like it. The meat. It had—taken her, as it had taken the rest of that cursed place. There was nothing left of her smooth, soft skin, her pale blue eyes . . . all that there was, was the pink, and the red, and the grey . . . and the stench.”

“Oh my god,” said Martin, who had never been gladder that he had stopped eating. He put a hand over his mouth. “Jon, really, that’s . . . even for a Flesh statement, that’s pretty disgusting.”

“But I couldn’t just leave her. We’d taken our vows: till death do us part. And . . . as strange as it sounds, you have to understand, it was still her, underneath all the meat. She was still the woman I’d fallen in love with. And to this day, I love her still.

“We have never returned to that house. But we are, in a strange kind of way, still just as happy as we were before. We’re together, after all.

“We just go through a lot of air freshener.

“Statement ends.” Jon leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head luxuriously. “Ahh. Now that was a meal.”

Martin, who was still a bit green around the gills, said, “If you say so, Jon.”

Jon beamed at him. “What’s not to like?” He gestured at the abandoned pork chops. “You had your meat, and I had mine.”

“Riiiight. Yep. Sure.”

“And how fortunate was it that that statement had such a romantic ending? I didn’t even plan that.”

“Lucky me,” said Martin, who was very pointedly trying not to look at his cold, half-eaten pork chops.

Jon raised his glass of water, which was still full from when Martin had first poured it. “Here’s to our first successful romantic dinner.”

Martin raised his own glass wearily. “Cheers,” he said.

“And to many, many more.”

“God, I hope not,” Martin muttered to himself as they clinked glasses.

“Oh,” said Jon, “I almost forgot, I bought a dessert for us to share.”

Martin perked up. “You did?”

“Yes, a pie, from the bakery in the village.” Jon rose from his seat and went over to the fridge.

“Oh, well, that sounds lovely,” said Martin, as he unceremoniously dumped the remains of his dinner into the bin and set about washing the dishes. “That’s very sweet of you, Jon.” He meant it; sometimes Jon could really come through. Perhaps the evening wasn’t totally shot, after all. He was already starting to feel less queasy. “What kind is it?” he said, turning back to the table.

Martin felt himself go pale again. Sitting on the table was a circle of red. “Cherry,” said Jon proudly, smiling at Martin as though all was right with the world.

The smile quickly disappeared when he was chased out of the kitchen by Martin, wielding a fork and yelling about inconsiderate boyfriends.

In the end, the pie didn’t get thrown away. Jon snuck into the kitchen later that night and ate it alone by the light of the microwave clock. Ah, he thought, feeling a strange kinship with the man whose statement he’d just consumed. The things we do for love.

[justlightlysedated]

14. what if the love you deserve is love you never find & Malex pls darling

14. what if the love you deserve is love you never find?

"Can we talk?" Alex asks with a serious expression that immediately puts Michael on the defensive.

Michael had been looking for some peace and quiet away from the reception in the living room, even though it had been plenty quiet in there. The silence had been so oppressing that Michael had needed some air.

But of course, he should've known better, Alex has been looking for an excuse to get him alone the whole day, and Michael just didn't feel like dealing with whatever Alex wanted to talk about, on top of dealing with the fact that all of Isobel's guests are mourning for a murderer, and not for the one who saved them all.

Michael exhales roughly, and looks at Alex, quirking an eyebrow and raising one hand in the air before letting it drop back down on his lap.

"If you're here to talk about Maria-"

Alex cuts him off.

"You're the last person that I would talk about Maria with," Alex says, voice like a machine, words precise and said with enough disdain to put Michael in his place. "This has nothing to do with that."

Michael doesn't say anything as he swallows hard and looks away.

Alex doesn't wait for him to respond.

"I came here to support you," he says, voice still maddeningly calm, but the words tear at Michael's already tattered grip on his anger. "But also, I'm going to need you to check up on the files at the Project Shepherd bunker, because I'm going to be out of town for a few days."

Michael's gaze snaps back to Alex's at that, but before he can ask him where he's going, Alex keeps talking.

"It's not a big thing, just once it goes through a file, it will send a message to your phone, if the file has any of the information I flagged in the code then it will send a call, you just have to go to the bunker and check it out to see if it's something that we can use. If you need me to walk you through it just call me."

Michael thinks that there are lots of problems with that plan, but the immediate one has to be addressed first.

"I don't even have a phone," Michael says, slowly. "I lost mine."

More like he threw it out of the window after hearing the multitude of messages that Isobel had left while he'd been in Caulfield.

Alex doesn't miss a beat as he slides his hands into his pocket and pulls out a phone that looks more expensive than the sum cost of the entirety of Michael's belongings.

The only reason that Michael knows that the phone isn't Alex's is because Alex's phone has a protective cover.

He places the phone down on the tailgate right beside Michael's leg.

Michael doesn't touch the phone as he continues to look at Alex.

"Where are you going?"

Alex inhales deeply, eyes closing, and then he looks back at Michael the mask on his face is impenetrable and Michael wishes more than anything that Alex didn't have to hide himself in order to have a conversation with him.

"Washington, I have to get through a performance review, and then an evaluation to see if I'm fit to re-enlist."

Michael feels suddenly as though the whole world, just slipped away from beneath his feet, and even though he's sitting on the tailgate of his truck, he feels like he's free falling in slow motion.

"You're going to re-enlist," he says, and hates the way his voice sounds, like he's not getting enough air, when Alex sounds like this is all just an inconvenience that he has to get through.

Alex doesn't say anything, looking at Michael like nothing is going to get through to him, but tough luck for him, Michael knows exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of Alex, especially when he's fighting so hard not to give him one.

Michael clears his throat and then scoffs. "Of course you are. I really don't know what else I expected. Things are getting difficult here, so of course you're going to run away. Say hi to your Daddy for me when you see him at your new post."

Alex's eyes flare, and Michael feels a stab of satisfaction in his stomach.

"I'm doing this for you," he snaps, and his voice shakes, and Michael's expression melts from the cocky look he'd painted on to piss Alex off more to a slightly shocked expression, eyes a little wide, lips parted slightly.

"If I'm not a member of the service then I don't have the clearance necessary to be able to get the information that we need. Project Shepherd goes deeper than just a vendetta that my father has. And for your information, my father is in a coma, at the hospital, and the only reason I'm not leaving Kyle with the responsibility of checking the files is because he has too much on his plate right now."

He inhales deeply, breath shuddering and Michael can't find any words to say to anything that Alex just said.

"It's only going to be a couple of days," Alex says, and he sounds tired, and the more that Michael stares and really looks, he can see how exhausted Alex is.

"You might not even get a call. I'm just trying to cover all of my bases, and at the moment you're the only one that I trust with this."

Michael swallows hard and nods his head once before he puts his hand over the phone.

"Okay," he says, "I'll keep an eye on it."

Alex exhales in relief and nods his head sharply once, and then turns like he's about to walk away without even really saying goodbye.

"You're really doing this for me?"

Alex stops in his tracks and Michael sees the way his shoulders move as he breathes deeply a few times before turning to look back at Michael.

"Yes," he says shortly.

"Why?" He asks, because he wants to know, wants to see if Alex will tell him the truth.

Alex's brow furrows, and he looks at Michael like he can't believe that Michael is actually asking him that.

Alex scoffs and shakes his head. "Isn't it bad enough that my family is trying to build a bomb to perform mass genocide on your entire species?"

Michael shakes his head, "That's not what I asked."

Alex's brow furrows in confusion this time, and Michael sees it when Alex realizes what Michael is really asking.

He licks his lips and looks away, like he's searching for the answer, before he looks back at Michael with a decisive expression.

"I love you," he says, and once again Michael feels like he's free falling. "But it doesn't matter. It's not enough when compared to the damage that my family has done to yours."

Michael looks at Alex, and Alex's eyes are wide and honest. He looks like he actually believes that.

"And when it comes to me, I've hurt you too many times, and I get it, okay?"

Michael's brow furrows, and Alex shakes his head a little, taking a deep breath, and stares at him with a determined expression.

"I still want to be a part of your life," he continues. "If you want me to. I meant what I told you. I want to get to know you. And that doesn't really work if we act like strangers. So just think about it while I'm gone, okay?"

Michael finds himself nodding before he can actually think about it, feeling a little bit like he's got whiplash.

Alex gives him a brief smile, and points towards the phone. "Don't toss that one out of the window, okay?"

Michael rolls his eyes, but he still feels a little bit like the ground is going to fall if he tries to stand up.

The whole conversation has him feeling like he's on a rollercoaster, which is normal when it comes to having a conversation with Alex.

Alex nods his head once again and starts to walk, "I'll see you in a few days."

He takes a few backward steps as though he's waiting for an answer, and Michael sends him a mock salute.

Alex rolls his eyes and turns around, walking away, and Michael just sits and watches until he rounds the corner of the house and disappears from sight. 

Michael exhales long and low, and picks his new phone up. He presses a button and the lock screen pops up, and there's a picture of him and Isobel and Max, with their arms wrapped around each other, taken back when Michael had first gotten to Roswell.

Michael feels the tears stinging behind his eyelids, and he puts the phone down, and looks down at the ground sightlessly.

Michael is incredibly angry with Max for many things, but he misses him so much, and especially the boy that he was when Michael had found his way back to him and Isobel.

It would be just like Alex to know something like that.

Michael feels like screaming and tearing his hair out, and begging someone to please tell him why the person that he loves the most is the descendant of the people who have hurt him the most.

It's a sick sort of irony that Alex is nothing like his family, and yet he's hurt Michael in ways that no one ever has.

Michael doesn't notice Isobel until she sits down beside him.

"Hey," he says, and looks at her as she turns to look at him, giving him a sad small smile.

"Hey," she says back. "I'm so tired of receiving condolences for my loss, when I actually want to yell that I'm free from the rooftops, so I figured I'd come find you."

Michael nods his head once and turns back towards the front, watching the lights of the town in the distance.

"You got a new phone," she says grabbing it before Michael can stop her. 

She looks at the picture on the lockscreen and Michael stares at her, holding his breath.

"I remember this day," she says voice soft. "I could feel you the moment you crossed into the town lines. Max didn't believe me until you got even closer, and then he could feel you too. It wasn't that hard to find you after that. The social worker was a bit taken aback at our reaction to each other, but she was the one who offered to take the picture."

Michael nods his head, because he remembers all of that too, and how Max had dragged them both to the Crashdown because Michael had never had a milkshake in his life, and he had to try the best.

Sometimes Michael can still feel the tight grip of Max's hand from that day, as though he was afraid to let go of Michael.

"We're going to get him back," Isobel says after a moment of silence. "We're going to train and unlock all of our potential and we're going to get him back."

Michael turns back towards her, and looks at her determined expression.

Michael just nods his head, and Isobel slides her hand into his, holding on to his hand tightly.

"We're going to get him back," he repeats, and she squeezes his fingers tighter, like she's afraid that she'll lose him if she lets go.

Michael squeezes back just as tight.

[jacklyn-flynn]

Sneak peek Sunday! Space Trash!

Sorry everyone! Yesterday was bonkers and I never got around to posting this. Here is the first ever sneak peek of my brand new project, Space Trash. It might be a little long for a WIP teaser (hence the cut), but it’s my favorite part of the first chapter I think. Hopefully you enjoy it! I’m so excited to finally be getting this out after months of obsessive planning. h

Special thanks to @sarenkascrawls, @kemvee, @ranawaytothedas, @cornfedcryptid, @faerieavalon and @kittimau for all your support and title help! For anyone else that I missed, I’m so sorry but I love you too! 💖

“How does everything look?” He asked her curiously.

“Like I worked on it all yesterday. There are no signs of neglect anywhere, let alone 60 years of it. There’s not a thing wrong with them. They’re just sleeping right now.” He was surprised at the drastic change in her confidence when she spoke of the ship. It was rather endearing, as if she spoke of a beloved pet. 

The Commander nodded. “Well, that's something anyway.” He said with a slight smile.  

“Did your friend depart already?” She asked, stuffing the tool into one of her jumpsuit pockets.

“Yes. She had to head down to the shuttle hanger with two others. We need to get up to the Temple and determine what happened.”  He explained. “We were hoping you could help us, actually.” He broached carefully. 

As if on cue, his comm chirped softly and she recognized Cassandra’s accent. 

“To anybody available near the valley, we need reinforcements. Now! A rift has opened and we're under attack. Pinned down.” They could hear the sounds of battle in the background and the horrible screeching of demons.  

“I need to go.” He said immediately. 

“Wait. Do you have a vehicle?” He shook his head grimly. Walking, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. “How far is the valley?” She asked, walking to a large panel on the wall. It brightened at her approach and a map of the terrain around Haven appeared. He didn’t question how she got such up to date information, he just pointed to the location.  

“You’ll never get there in time if you have to run back to Haven first. It’s in the opposite direction.” He was surprised to find her staring into his eyes. She’d hardly made eye contact the entire day. It was like she was trying to see something in his eyes, or perhaps his soul. Whatever she was looking for, she found. “Follow me.” She sprinted toward the engine room doors.

He found it difficult to keep up. Maker, she was quick. No wonder he and Cassandra hadn’t been able to catch up to her. She took a sharp right turn and he hesitated. “The garage is to the left!” He called after her.

She stopped and turned. “I know! Please, trust me!” Jules pleaded. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, but it was only momentary. 

She led him to a large, heavy bulkhead. ARMORY was painted on it. She laid her hand on the glowing panel by the door but it made a dull thumping noise back at her, the panel dimming and then returning again. 

She immediately took a few steps back down the hallway, bent and pulled a metal panel off the wall near the floor. She tossed it aside and stuck her hand inside. “Cover your ears.” She said, her voice flat and emotionless. 

“Why?” He asked, though he raised his hands anyway. 

“I’m going to make her think we’ve been boarded by hostiles. When her security protocols are in place I have access to more places.” She said pulling out a bundle of wires and quickly sifting them through her fingers. They were impossibly small and though there were dozens of colors and even patterns, many of them were repeated. There must have been hundreds in the wrist sized bundle. He noticed as she touched them, dim blue points of light glowed from the fingertips of her right hand. 

She separated one, then after a moment of searching, two more. With a small tool from one of the pockets of her jumpsuit, she cut the two in half and cross connected them. Immediately, a klaxon blared through the hallway. She’d been right. It was incredibly loud. A red light flashed in intervals along the ceiling of the hallway. He covered his ears and watched as she ripped the other single wire out completely. It resisted at first but she wrapped it around one hand and gave it a vicious yank.

The alarm stopped but the red lights continued to strobe. She dropped the wire on the floor and sprinted back to the armory door and touched the panel. “Take what you need. Quickly!” She told him, standing aside as the door slid open with the occasional scrape of metal against metal. 

He wasted no time selecting a pistol, strapping the holster around his waist and thigh. He snatched up a hydrogen blade and met her back at the door. Without word, she started sprinting toward the garage and he once again struggled to keep up. Luckily he was confident he could get back himself if she got too far ahead.  

She shot through the door into the garage, grabbing the frame to swing herself around quickly. Her hand slapped on a panel and the ramp started to descend. “Take vehicle two!” She made it to the vehicle far before he did and released the cables securing it to the deck. They wound back into the floor. 

He looked inside. “I don't know how to drive this.” The Commander's words made her heart sink. She stared at him, frozen. She would have to leave the ship, she realized. Then, once again, her steely determination took over. 

“Fine.” She said simply, climbing behind the wheel. 

He knew he was wrong to let her do this. She didn’t know him, any of them, beyond her experience in the Chantry cell. He had seen her fear, her utter terror. Worse, he knew that horror and still he got in the other side and pulled the door closed.

The vehicle seemed to respond to her thoughts alone. The engine rumbled to life and then purred contentedly while displays lit up in the cabin. Jules was pulling two straps over her shoulders, buckling them into the strap she’d secured over her lap. 

“Buckle.” She reminded absently. He did so as well. 

“We need to head south of Haven. There's a route through the forest.” He told her, securing his own belts. She slammed the vehicle into gear and jerked forward, shooting out of the Herald  and onto the snowy terrain. 

She took a sharp turn away from the town of Haven and found the path he was indicating. Cullen wished that he had something to hold onto. She seemed to be a competent driver, but the breakneck speed had him concerned. 

He questioned, perhaps belatedly, how she had learned to drive so well never leaving the Herald . He glanced over but her face was determined, both hands on the wheel of the vehicle. She wasn’t paying any attention to him, her entire focus on moving forward.

The road ran along a ridge overlooking the valley. “That must be it.” Cullen said. “Outside your window.” She chanced a look and saw green crackling mass in air above the valley. It was nearly at eye level. Crystalline formations jutting out, exploding and returning into itself. 

She could see the fight down below against creatures she couldn't imagine in her worst nightmares. They still had to make it to the far side of the valley and down the water-worn slope. A shift of her foot and hand pushed the vehicle even faster. 

“The turn is just ahead.” Cullen said. He waited a moment and then glanced over at her. “You need to slow down, there’s a turn up ahead.” He warned, trying to hide his alarm. 

Still, she didn’t respond. Not even a look in his direction. Her hand moved between them, grabbing a horizontal lever. He didn’t know what it did, but he knew he was going to wish he had something to hold onto. 

“Maker’s breath.” He let out, reaching behind him to grab the headrest of his seat, his other arm bracing against the dash in front of him.

When he was sure they were going to die, she spun the wheel and a mere moment later, lifted the lever. He was thrown against the side of the vehicle and for a time, it seemed like they were going lift off the ground  on the driver’s side and slam into the wall. 

Cullen had always believed that if you couldn’t trust someone completely, you couldn’t trust them at all. The only thing that he trusted in that moment was that his death would be instantaneous if that happened. But if she made this turn, he would absolutely trust her with his life for however long that would be.

She slammed the lever back down and cut the wheel. Amazingly, the vehicle straightened out and regained it’s momentum. They tore down the deep embankment and she belatedly realized that the valley floor was a frozen lake when the back end started to slide to the right. She hit a button on the dash in front of her and the vehicle corrected itself with a jerk. He could hear ice crunching and grinding under the wheels now.

She slowed when she saw a bald elf with a staff. Energy just seemed to erupt from both his hand and his weapon. As they drew closer, she saw the dark-haired woman again, hydrogen blade cutting at a hunched demon that lumbered toward her, sending a screech through the air that she could hear in the cabin, even from that distance. 

The vehicle skittered to a stop, throwing up ice. Cullen threw open the door and was gone. Jules gripped the steering wheel and focused on not hyperventilating. She didn’t plan on getting out of the vehicle. She just wanted him to be able to help his friends. She could feel her hands shaking so she gripped the steering wheel tighter, until her knuckles turned white. 

Jules peeler her eyes from the dash and looked at the chaos in front of her. The dark haired woman she remembered as the Seeker, was facing away from her, engaging one demon. She glanced over and saw another approaching from behind. It’s odd, gangly gait made her shiver with disgust. She managed to release her iron grip on the wheel and laid on the horn. 

The sound echoed through the frozen valley, but the woman wasn’t able to disengage from her current enemy. The demon drew closer and closer, the entirety of its focus on the woman. Unaware, or perhaps uncaring that the opposite door was still open, she released the clutch and slammed down the accelerator. The tire studs had a hard time finding their grip, but when they did she shot forward. 

She managed to gain a considerable amount of speed and momentum in a very short distance. The Seeker dispatched her enemy and spun. She didn’t see the demon that was nearly upon her, she only saw Jules hurtling toward her. There was no time to move or react, but she didn’t have to. She wasn’t the vehicles target.

She slammed into the demon and heard it roll over the roof of the vehicle. It landed in a heap near the stunned Seeker, screeching and scrambling to stand. She finished it quickly and sprinted to the still open passenger side door. 

Jules gaze was straight ahead and when the Seeker spoke, her head turned, startled. “Thank you.” The Seeker said with an appreciative nod. Her voice was grave and apologetic. There was weight behind her words and Jules was sure she meant it. She nodded in response and swallowed hard.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

The Winn in the Woods

Full moon nights were the best nights of the month. It meant Kaden was guaranteed to find a wolf or two. At least in theory. So far that night, nothing. This was bullshit. He’d been hunting at the high parts of the hills just outside of town all night and he hadn’t even felt a tinge of werewolf sense nearby. It was getting closer to dawn than he liked to show up empty handed. He had another night, he’d have to try a new spot then. Still, the thought of a wasted evening tore him up inside in ways he couldn’t begin to verbalize. He sighed and started to pack up his gear. The easiest night of the month to hunt, to cleanse this town of vermin and he couldn’t even manage it. He was beginning to wonder if this town had cursed him.

Then he heard it. A howl. A glorious fucking howl.

Kaden took off running in its direction. He darted through trees and jumped over roots. It wasn’t long before he saw it, down in a clearing. He dropped down to one knee and loaded his crossbow with a silver tipped arrow in one swift, seamless motion. Normally a gun was his first choice but he didn’t have time to get the rifle off his back and it was hard to beat the silent approach that a crossbow offered. 

The wolf was pacing, clearly stressed. Wouldn’t be for much longer, though. Kaden looked down the length of the crossbow, exhaled, aimed. Fired.

The yelp-- no, scream from down below put a grin on Kaden’s face.

It faltered when he saw the wolf got up and started running away. Putain. 

He took off running down the side of the hill, skidding and trying his best to keep his balance and not tumble down face first into the rocks and fallen branches while keeping his pace up. The scum wasn’t going to get away, he wouldn’t let it see another sunrise, wouldn’t give hit another day to infect more humans and create more monsters like it. Not on his watch. 

Kaden heard the water before he saw it. He picked up his speed as the incline leveled out. His lungs burned, his weapons clattered on his back. He considered dropping them but he didn’t want to risk the time it would take. There was no time to waste, not with that water coming closer. Kaden couldn’t be sure how deep it was, how swift, if he could cross it. It sure didn’t sound promising. He had to get to the wolf before it crossed the water.

All the mornings of running at sunrise paid off and he saw the flashes of fur up ahead. He was gaining on it. Maybe there was a chance... No. Fuck that. There was a chance. More than that. There was a certainty. Kaden would kill this monster. Even if it was the last thing he did. 

The wolf seemed to slow, circling a tree. Fuck if Kaden knew, why it didn’t matter. He slowed just enough to fumble with the crossbow, load it again. He stopped and fired off towards the wolf. Missed. Thunk. Right into the tree. Merde. Kaden reached for another bolt. He’d reload and try again. He had to win. Had to hit his mark. 

Then he heard the creak and then a groan of wood and roots. Putain de merde. He looked up and saw a mass of branches descending right towards him, picking up speed as it fell. Kaden ducked and rolled away as the tree slammed into the earth in front of him.

He clawed himself up, scrambling to his feet as quick as he could manage with all his gear and tried to climb over the fallen tree. But his chest was heaving and his hands slipped with sweat and he fell back down to his knees. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming the crossbow against the tree in frustration. It shattered in his hands. Just his fucking luck. 

He screamed and cursed some more, pulling himself up off the ground and catching his breath. He had to admit defeat. For now. The wolf had to be long gone and the sun was almost up. He rested his hands on his knees, head held down as he took deep breaths, trying to calm down and get his thoughts together. Control, control. That’s what he was taught. All about control. It was fine. This was fine. He had another night. And in the meantime, maybe he could try the ER on his way home. See about any strange crossbow related injuries that came in.

[authorsofparadiseroleplay]

Dark Days, Chapter 2

This is a crossover fan novel featuring my own characters and world of The Authors of Paradise, blended with those of Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. This derivative crossover work is being written for the sheer fun of it, with no financial gain. Jim Butcher owns Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files, and all associated characters. I own Evelyn Alvar, Arabella Thorne, Thornebridge Manor, The Authors of Paradise, and all associated characters. I’ve taken the two worlds, mashed them together, and whipped up this meandering thingamabob. Mmm, tasty.

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

ii. Harry

The entire world exploded into panic, and it completely ruined my lunch at Burger King. I have all the luck.

Hey, I didn’t say it was good luck.

I had just returned from a grueling weekend in rural Louisiana, helping a psychic Paranetter who had found herself unwittingly being used as a conduit for a demonic spirit attempting to take form in the world, care of an object that had been used as a vessel for housing and transporting the spirit in the physical world. That sort of thing doesn’t just randomly happen; somebody had to have called it up and put it there, but I hadn’t quite figured out who, or why. I did know one thing, though– these sorts of incidents were becoming more and more prevalent lately, and widespread. If it was the work of a single person or group, they were throwing one hell of a wide net.

I had gone and returned by train, disembarking a little after one in the afternoon, hungry and unwashed and exhausted. I hadn’t felt like making anything at Molly’s apartment (I still couldn’t bring myself to call it home. It was borrowed. It wasn’t mine) so I decided to make a grub stop at Burger King.

I ordered. I sat. I started to eat. The sun went out.

Figures.

Burger in hand, I stepped outside to see what was happening, then staggered under the sudden, vicious psychic assault that swept over me like a particularly nasty tidal wave. Before I could even register what was happening, something cold and furious had surged to life inside me with icy fury to press back against the assault. The Mantle of the Winter Knight, taken on after a deal struck out of sheer desperation with Mab, the Queen of the Winter Court of Faerie, came with its own set of perks, which more often than not looked a hell of a lot more like curses to me. The battle seemed to wage for hours, but when the assault lifted, I was sure it had only been minutes.

I lifted my head and looked around, breathing heavily through flared nostrils, every muscle wound tight and ready to spring into action the instant I saw something to attack. I didn’t feel beaten down or defeated. I felt feral. I felt enraged that something would dare encroach on my space, on my person. All around me, I could see people recovering, still panicked but apparently not under the influence of… whatever that had been. They sprawled on the pavement, some of them sobbing, others stricken to horrified silence, still others clinging to one another as they looked around in vain for what could have caused their sudden collective panic.

They all looked like prey to me. Easy pickings. Vulnerable, confused, weak. It would be so easy to…

Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began reciting multiplication tables in my head. It took a minute or two, but the influence of the Mantle waned, and I felt a bit more like myself again.

Whatever that meant these days.

Dragging my thoughts kicking and screaming back into focus, I rose to my feet, letting my eyes travel around in search of anything that could shed light on the situation. I knew I hadn’t been the one to send the psychic attack packing; I’d barely been able to weather it as it was, even with the Winter Mantle leading the defense. Maybe it was on a timer or something. Maybe their favorite show came on T.V. and they just couldn’t stand to miss it.

Maybe it was a test run, and something bigger and badder was on the way.

“Dammit,” I muttered, and gave a last, mournful look at my burger before tossing it in a nearby trash can. Lunch would have to wait.

The world wasn’t completely dark, despite the lack of power everywhere, and when I looked up, I saw that the sun was actually obstructed by something, ringed by a brilliant red halo that illuminated the streets below with a dim, dusk-like light. I returned to the car, the World War II-era Cadillac hearse provided for me by the Winter Court, and which I had dubbed the Munstermobile, and retrieved my staff from where I had stashed it in the backseat.

As I slammed the door, I saw the woman. She approached the restaurant’s parking lot slowly, a pair of thin silver rods crossed in an X in front of her, as if she were dowsing for water. It was hard to make out a lot of detail in the darkness, but I could see that she was short, maybe three or four inches taller than Murphy, with a wild mass of shoulder-length waves and some enticing curves visible beneath her sweater, jacket, and jeans.

I watched as she disappeared around a building across the street, dowsing rods practically dragging her along behind them, and I began to follow.

As I traced her steps around the building, I became aware of something that reminded me a little bit of Molly’s One Woman Rave, a wash of strobing lights in pink and yellow and red and blue dancing across the brick of the building. I didn’t need to stretch out my wizard’s senses to feel the power gathered there.

Rounding the bend, I saw the woman standing silhouetted before a massive swirling, pulsing vortex of color hovering a couple feet above the pavement. She looked tiny and vulnerable in front of that ocean of energy, as if she could be consumed by it any minute, vanishing into its depths. Cautiously, I moved closer, around to her side, and saw her eyes wide and unblinking as they gazed into the light. An ever-shifting spectrum of color danced across her fair features, giving her an otherworldly cast, making her seem immaterial, almost as if she was made of the light itself. Her eyes stayed locked on the vortex. She wasn’t just seeing; she was Seeing. Her Sight was wide open. God knew what she was seeing in there.

She whirled and anchored those wide, dark eyes on mine. I had to shift my gaze slightly to the side to prevent the start of a soulgaze; that was the last thing I needed right then. She stared for a few seconds, then blinked several times, shaking her head as she evidently closed her third eye. Then she looked up at me again, her features shadowed with suspicion.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” I said, full of eloquence and wit.

She took a step towards me. She was more than a foot shorter than me, maybe just a few inches taller than Murphy, but she leaned forward, jutted her jaw, and glared at me.

“Well,” I said, finally deigning to answer her question (but only after a stubborn delay), “I’m Harry, and I was out here going about my day when I thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any big, colorful vortexes to see in town. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

“Vortices,” she said.

“What?”

“Not vortexes. Vortices. The plural is vortices.”

I raised an eyebrow and regarded her for a few seconds, then said, “I also thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any grammar Nazis hanging around those vortexes. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

She rolled her eyes at me and turned back to the vortex. “Okay. I don’t have time for this.” Casting a sideways glance at me, she flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Shoo.”

A wave of icy fury swept over me, that this woman would presume to dismiss me like that, but I had gotten pretty good at discerning the difference between my own emotions and the sharper, colder, more visceral effects of the Winter Mantle. I took a breath, reining in the violent instincts of the Mantle before they could start calling the shots, and regained control.

The woman tensed and turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as if she had sensed the danger. But before either of us could react further, something came out of the vortex.

It was a nebulous, translucent mass at first, with no real static shape. It seemed to shift and warp as it moved past the swirling colors of the vortex, as if it couldn’t quite decide what shape it wanted to be.

Then it emerged into the cool autumn air and solidified. Muscles rippled as they formed under black, leathery skin, and huge wings unfurled and whipped downward, creating an air current for the creature to hold itself aloft with. The batlike creature turned its head and glared down at us with red eyes, and my first thought was that it was some sort of vampire, but larger. Much larger.

Its long, wolflike muzzle opened and presented us with a hungry smile full of sharp teeth. And then it shrieked, long and loud, and another wave of soul-rending horror descended on the world.

[memoirsverse]

Dresden Files/The Authors of Paradise: Dark Days, Chapter 2

This is a crossover fan novel featuring my own characters and world of The Authors of Paradise, blended with those of Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. This derivative crossover work is being written for the sheer fun of it, with no financial gain. Jim Butcher owns Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files, and all associated characters. I own Evelyn Alvar, Arabella Thorne, Thornebridge Manor, The Authors of Paradise, and all associated characters. I’ve taken the two worlds, mashed them together, and whipped up this meandering thingamabob. Mmm, tasty.

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

ii. Harry

The entire world exploded into panic, and it completely ruined my lunch at Burger King. I have all the luck.

Hey, I didn’t say it was good luck.

I had just returned from a grueling weekend in rural Louisiana, helping a psychic Paranetter who had found herself unwittingly being used as a conduit for a demonic spirit attempting to take form in the world, care of an object that had been used as a vessel for housing and transporting the spirit in the physical world. That sort of thing doesn’t just randomly happen; somebody had to have called it up and put it there, but I hadn’t quite figured out who, or why. I did know one thing, though– these sorts of incidents were becoming more and more prevalent lately, and widespread. If it was the work of a single person or group, they were throwing one hell of a wide net.

I had gone and returned by train, disembarking a little after one in the afternoon, hungry and unwashed and exhausted. I hadn’t felt like making anything at Molly’s apartment (I still couldn’t bring myself to call it home. It was borrowed. It wasn’t mine) so I decided to make a grub stop at Burger King.

I ordered. I sat. I started to eat. The sun went out.

Figures.

Burger in hand, I stepped outside to see what was happening, then staggered under the sudden, vicious psychic assault that swept over me like a particularly nasty tidal wave. Before I could even register what was happening, something cold and furious had surged to life inside me with icy fury to press back against the assault. The Mantle of the Winter Knight, taken on after a deal struck out of sheer desperation with Mab, the Queen of the Winter Court of Faerie, came with its own set of perks, which more often than not looked a hell of a lot more like curses to me. The battle seemed to wage for hours, but when the assault lifted, I was sure it had only been minutes.

I lifted my head and looked around, breathing heavily through flared nostrils, every muscle wound tight and ready to spring into action the instant I saw something to attack. I didn’t feel beaten down or defeated. I felt feral. I felt enraged that something would dare encroach on my space, on my person. All around me, I could see people recovering, still panicked but apparently not under the influence of… whatever that had been. They sprawled on the pavement, some of them sobbing, others stricken to horrified silence, still others clinging to one another as they looked around in vain for what could have caused their sudden collective panic.

They all looked like prey to me. Easy pickings. Vulnerable, confused, weak. It would be so easy to…

Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began reciting multiplication tables in my head. It took a minute or two, but the influence of the Mantle waned, and I felt a bit more like myself again.

Whatever that meant these days.

Dragging my thoughts kicking and screaming back into focus, I rose to my feet, letting my eyes travel around in search of anything that could shed light on the situation. I knew I hadn’t been the one to send the psychic attack packing; I’d barely been able to weather it as it was, even with the Winter Mantle leading the defense. Maybe it was on a timer or something. Maybe their favorite show came on T.V. and they just couldn’t stand to miss it.

Maybe it was a test run, and something bigger and badder was on the way.

“Dammit,” I muttered, and gave a last, mournful look at my burger before tossing it in a nearby trash can. Lunch would have to wait.

The world wasn’t completely dark, despite the lack of power everywhere, and when I looked up, I saw that the sun was actually obstructed by something, ringed by a brilliant red halo that illuminated the streets below with a dim, dusk-like light. I returned to the car, the World War II-era Cadillac hearse provided for me by the Winter Court, and which I had dubbed the Munstermobile, and retrieved my staff from where I had stashed it in the backseat. 

As I slammed the door, I saw the woman. She approached the restaurant’s parking lot slowly, a pair of thin silver rods crossed in an X in front of her, as if she were dowsing for water. It was hard to make out a lot of detail in the darkness, but I could see that she was short, maybe three or four inches taller than Murphy, with a wild mass of shoulder-length waves and some enticing curves visible beneath her sweater, jacket, and jeans.

I watched as she disappeared around a building across the street, dowsing rods practically dragging her along behind them, and I began to follow.

As I traced her steps around the building, I became aware of something that reminded me a little bit of Molly’s One Woman Rave, a wash of strobing lights in pink and yellow and red and blue dancing across the brick of the building. I didn’t need to stretch out my wizard’s senses to feel the power gathered there.

Rounding the bend, I saw the woman standing silhouetted before a massive swirling, pulsing vortex of color hovering a couple feet above the pavement. She looked tiny and vulnerable in front of that ocean of energy, as if she could be consumed by it any minute, vanishing into its depths. Cautiously, I moved closer, around to her side, and saw her eyes wide and unblinking as they gazed into the light. An ever-shifting spectrum of color danced across her fair features, giving her an otherworldly cast, making her seem immaterial, almost as if she was made of the light itself. Her eyes stayed locked on the vortex. She wasn’t just seeing; she was Seeing. Her Sight was wide open. God knew what she was seeing in there.

She whirled and anchored those wide, dark eyes on mine. I had to shift my gaze slightly to the side to prevent the start of a soulgaze; that was the last thing I needed right then. She stared for a few seconds, then blinked several times, shaking her head as she evidently closed her third eye. Then she looked up at me again, her features shadowed with suspicion.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” I said, full of eloquence and wit. 

She took a step towards me. She was more than a foot shorter than me, maybe just a few inches taller than Murphy, but she leaned forward, jutted her jaw, and glared at me.

“Well,” I said, finally deigning to answer her question (but only after a stubborn delay), “I’m Harry, and I was out here going about my day when I thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any big, colorful vortexes to see in town. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

“Vortices,” she said.

“What?”

“Not vortexes. Vortices. The plural is vortices.”

I raised an eyebrow and regarded her for a few seconds, then said, “I also thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any grammar Nazis hanging around those vortexes. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

She rolled her eyes at me and turned back to the vortex. “Okay. I don’t have time for this.” Casting a sideways glance at me, she flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Shoo.”

A wave of icy fury swept over me, that this woman would presume to dismiss me like that, but I had gotten pretty good at discerning the difference between my own emotions and the sharper, colder, more visceral effects of the Winter Mantle. I took a breath, reining in the violent instincts of the Mantle before they could start calling the shots, and regained control.

The woman tensed and turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as if she had sensed the danger. But before either of us could react further, something came out of the vortex.

It was a nebulous, translucent mass at first, with no real static shape. It seemed to shift and warp as it moved past the swirling colors of the vortex, as if it couldn’t quite decide what shape it wanted to be.

Then it emerged into the cool autumn air and solidified. Muscles rippled as they formed under black, leathery skin, and huge wings unfurled and whipped downward, creating an air current for the creature to hold itself aloft with. The batlike creature turned its head and glared down at us with red eyes, and my first thought was that it was some sort of vampire, but larger. Much larger.

Its long, wolflike muzzle opened and presented us with a hungry smile full of sharp teeth. And then it shrieked, long and loud, and another wave of soul-rending horror descended on the world.