#especially when you’re growing as a golden child of the family

[n1daehodefender]

Their reactions of you telling them you want to start trying for a baby!

Contains: Kang dae-ho, Nam gyu, thanos

A/N: This is inspired by @svetamillss post about their headcanons of you telling them you want a baby so creditis to them!!!

Warnings: Discussions about starting a family, emotional vulnerability, mentions of trauma, and varying reactions to the concept of having children.

Kang Dae-ho

Golden Retriever Boyfriend Energy: Kang Dae-ho is the type of boyfriend who radiates warmth, kindness, and endless patience. He grew up in a household with four sisters, so he’s very attuned to emotional cues and naturally supportive. He adores you, always making sure you feel loved and safe, and he frequently daydreams about your future together.

Initial Reaction to You Asking About a Baby: When you bring up the idea of starting a family, Dae-ho freezes mid-bite of his food (because you’re probably asking during a casual, comfortable moment at home). His first instinct is to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Wait… like a baby? As in… a mini-you or me running around the house?” His voice wavers slightly, caught between surprise and excitement.

Once he processes what you’re asking, his face lights up with a mixture of joy and nervousness. He’s wanted this, but he never wanted to pressure you.

Vulnerability and Deep Conversations: That evening, he sits you down for a heartfelt talk. Dae-ho takes the idea seriously, wanting to ensure that you’re both ready for the challenges and joys of parenthood.

“You know I’d love nothing more than to be a dad… but I need to know how you’re feeling about it. Are you scared? Excited? Both?” He wants to make sure you’ve thought about every angle, not because he doubts you, but because he cares so deeply.

He also opens up about his past, talking about how his sisters shaped his view of family. “Growing up, I always thought about what kind of parent I’d want to be. And my dad-,… I don’t ever want to be that kind of dad.”

Planning and Reassurance: Dae-ho is the type to throw himself wholeheartedly into the idea once he knows you’re on the same page. He starts researching baby books, looks into parenting classes, and even asks his sisters for advice.

He’s also incredibly tender and protective of you, ensuring you feel supported every step of the way. “You know I’m here, right? Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

Moments of Humor and Excitement: He’s already imagining what your child might look like, joking about how he hopes they get your eyes or your laugh. He gets especially sentimental at night, cuddling you close and whispering, “Can you imagine how much we’re going to love them?”

Nam Gyu

Nam Gyu is thoughtful and introspective, the kind of partner who expresses his love through actions more than words. He’s fiercely protective of you, always ensuring your needs are met, and though he isn’t outwardly affectionate, his love for you runs deep.

When you bring it up, Nam Gyu’s face remains stoic, but his hands clench slightly on the table. He’s taken aback—not because he doesn’t want children, but because the idea forces him to confront his own fears and insecurities.

“You want… a child? With me?” His voice is low, almost hesitant. He’s struggling to process what this means for both of you.

Nam Gyu worries about the world you’d bring a child into, especially given his experiences. He’s seen how cruel life can be, and the thought of exposing a child to that terrifies him.

“I don’t want them to grow up feeling… helpless,” he confesses later that night. “I’ve seen too much. What if I can’t protect them? What if I fail them?”

Despite his fears, he can’t help but picture a future where your child inherits your strength and his quiet resilience.

Nam Gyu takes time to process the idea, but he eventually comes to you with a clear decision.

“If this is what you want, I’ll do everything in my power to be the best father I can be. I just… need you to be patient with me.”

He’s cautious but willing, showing his commitment through small actions: building a crib, researching schools, and learning how to cook meals for a growing family.

Nam Gyu becomes even more attentive and protective of you, always keeping a hand on your back when you’re out together and ensuring you’re never overexerting yourself. His love deepens in ways he didn’t think were possible

Thanos (Su-bong)

Thanos is the life of the party, always cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. But beneath his humor is a man who has endured pain and loss, which makes him cherish you all the more. He’s your biggest cheerleader, constantly reminding you how amazing you are.

When you bring up the idea, Thanos immediately bursts into laughter—not because he’s mocking you, but because he’s genuinely shocked and unsure how to process his emotions.

“You’re serious? Like… you want a little Thanos running around? Or maybe a mini-you with your brains and my charm?”

Emotional Vulnerability: Later, when the reality sinks in, he becomes more serious. Thanos isn’t afraid to admit his fears, and he opens up about his past struggles.

“I’ve lost so much, you know? The idea of having something—someone—so precious… it scares the hell out of me. But you… you make me believe it’s possible.”

He confesses his deepest fear: losing you or the child. “I don’t know what I’d do if something went wrong, but if this is what you want… I’m in. No questions asked.”

Thanos approaches the idea of parenthood with his signature humor, making you laugh during otherwise emotional moments.

“Do you think they’ll inherit my good looks or your stubbornness? Or maybe both—poor kid’s doomed either way.”

He starts brainstorming ridiculous baby names and jokingly practices “dad jokes” to prepare for the role.

Beneath his playful exterior, Thanos shows a side of himself that’s deeply emotional and committed. He talks to your belly long before you’re even pregnant, promising the baby a life filled with love, laughter, and bad jokes.

“They’re going to have the best life because they’ll have you as a mom. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure they know how much they’re loved.”

[jerzwriter]

Thanks for this ask - I'll be making a series of little drabbles to see what Tobias does with the pumpkin pie throughout different periods of his life (and in some different worlds, too!) I hope you enjoy it as much as Tobias (and I) love pumpkin pie!

Book: Open Heart (pre-series) Characters: Tobias Carrick (child), Charles x Vivian Carrick Rating: General Words: 911 Summary: It's Thanksgiving, and 6-year-old Tobias wishes the guests would go home so he could get comfy and dig into his favorite treat. When it seems like that will never happen, he jumps on an opportunity to make his dream come true.

A/N: Participating in @choicesholidays Winter Event - "You did what with the pumpkin pie?" and @choicesdecember2024 - Sweets

Thanksgiving Day at the Carrick’s Georgetown townhome was always an elegant affair, and this year was no exception. The house was abuzz with activity as the scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and roast turkey wafted through the air. While the grown-ups were content, enjoying some laughs and conversation, six-year-old Tobias's patience was running thin.

He was still sitting patiently in his chair, but his swinging legs indicated that wouldn't be the case much longer. His patent leather shoes made a squeaking sound every time they rubbed together and, on a typical day, this would have driven his mother, Vivian, nuts, but today, she was too busy to notice at first...

“Tobias!” She finally shouted over her shoulder. “Stop fidgeting.”

“But, Mom!” he whined, tugging at the tie of his tiny suit. “You said I could change after dinner, and dinner was a long time ago.”

Vivian scrunched down beside him. “I know, dear, but dessert hasn’t been served yet. I promise you can change out of your suit as soon as we eat dessert.”

Dessert.

Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face. He looked forward to Thanksgiving dessert all year, especially the pumpkin pie and he didn't think it was fair that he had to wait any longer.

His father, Charles, entered the room, laughing heartily at a joke his brother Phillip had just told. Charles was in his element, playing the gracious host, but when he caught sight of a dejected Tobias, he raised a brow.

“What’s the matter, son?” He asked. “You’re not your usual happy self.”

Tobias crossed his arms, a frown spreading across his pudgy little face. “I’m tired of being in a suit, Daddy! I want pie, and I want comfy clothes!”

Charles chuckled softly. “Well, you’ll have both of those things very soon,” he assured.

“But it’s taking forever!” Tobias groaned.

Before Charles had a chance to answer, a loud noise came from the kitchen, and Scout, the family’s golden retriever puppy, came rushing into the dining room with Mrs. Johnson, the family's cook, in hot pursuit. The puppy, had Mrs. Johnson's favorite spatula clamped in its mouth and wagged its tail in triumph.

“Scout! Get back here! You little thief!” she yelled.

Unaware of any wrongdoing, Scout continued to circle the room with glee, amusing the grown-ups. That's when a lightbulb went off in Tobias’s head. Even at his tender age, he knew an opportunity when it was presented, and he wasn’t about to let this one go.

With his parents under the table trying to retrieve the spatula from Scout, he slipped off his chair, grinning as he rushed to the sideboard. He licked his lips, staring at the golden pie. Victory was about to be his!

He reached up and grabbed the edge of the crystal cake stand, tugging it closer to the edge when the pie began to wobble precariously, but Tobias steadied it, his heart pounding as he grabbed a fork and dug in.

He was in heaven. The smile on his face growing as he shoveled the sweet, creamy treat into his mouth. A happy sigh of relief escaped him, and his earlier frustration now gone. But his momentary bliss came screeching to an end when...

“Tobias!” his mother's voice echoed through the room. Startled, Tobias jumped up, his elbow plowing into the cake stand, sending the pie tumbling to the floor with a wet splat. Scout came running and made a valiant attempt to lunge for it, but Tobias grabbed her just in time.

“No, Scout!” he cried. “Dogs can’t eat pumpkin pie!”

“No, they shouldn’t,” Mrs. Johnson scolded. “But little boys shouldn’t eat it before they’re told to either.”

Vivian stood there, her mouth hanging open. Charles and the rest of the family stood behind her, peering in amusement.

“Tobias Charles Carrick!” Vivian hollered. “What on earth have you done?”

“I—I just wanted a bite!” he stammered, his bright blue eyes pleading for forgiveness. “I've been waiting a really long time, Mom.”

Vivian pressed a hand to her temple, her patience wearing thin. Charles stepped forward, crouching beside his son to survey the pumpkin pie carnage.

“Well,” he said, tapping his son’s shoulder. “At least he’s got good taste.”

Vivian shot her husband a look. “Charles! This isn’t the time!”

But little Tobias tugged his mother’s hand, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just really, really wanted pie…”

Vivian couldn’t help but smile. “I know, sweetheart. But you can’t just take things because you’re impatient. Dessert is meant to be shared, not sneaked, and it’s certainly not meant to be splattered on the floor.”

Tobias nodded. “I know. I won’t do it again, Mommy. I promise.”

Vivian gave him a big hug. “Alright. Let’s clean this up, and I’ll see if there’s another pie in the kitchen.”

Tobias’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Really!” Vivian replied, ruffling his hair. “But why don’t you go up to your room and put on your jammies first. I think you've suffered enough.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. “All right!” he hollered, rushing down the hall and shedding his suit, piece by piece along the way with Scout yapping behind him.

Charles wrapped his arm around his wife as they watched their son’s impromptu striptease from a distance.

“That boy is going to drive us crazy when he’s in college,” he laughed.

Vivian looked up at her husband quizzically. “In college?” She questioned. “He’s driving us crazy right now!”

“Yes, he is,” Charles laughed, placing a kiss on Vivian's head. “But we wouldn’t have it any other way.”  

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[fandomsnrambles]

The spinjitzu family has recently become my roman empire for some reason, you’re all going to see so much of them 😭

Anyway, i’ve been thinking about his relationships with his sons recently. And I know he doesn’t have a good relationship with any of them.

I know people argue ‘Wu was his favourite’ but i think if we actually look at how he acts, you realise he didn’t really have a favourite. I also feel personally inclined to respectfully mention that just because Garmadon said it, doesn’t make it true. Characters have biases that mess with their worldviews after all. It’s like saying Wu’s to blame for the devourer’s bite because he said he was. Even though he was like seven, maybe nine and had no idea that snake even existed.

Thats why you should take everything they say with a grain of salt and then consider their actions.

Wu’s relationship with his father is complicated. In the spinjitzu books he mentions how he wants his father’s approval, but doesn’t know how to start with getting it. We also get hints of the FSM’s (flawed) parenting methods in the show. I’ve noticed he’s emotionally distant even if he’s physically there. I mean, Wu says his father talked to them (Garmadon and Wu) less after the Aspheera incident. Makes me think that the FSM was definitely not there emotionally.

Due to this, Wu’s emotional needs as a child weren’t really met. His fathers distance hurt him and the FSM (maybe accidentally) neglected him. I say accidentally because i’m pretty sure the FSM is a traumatised child soldier who doesn’t know how to properly cope with everything so they just shut down/dissociate.

Wu was also raised with high expectations (alongside Garmadon.) This probably put him under a lot of stress to keep up. I’m thinking gifted child who got burnt out and more depressed as he aged.

I also think the FSM has trust and paranoia issues. You can look at Nineko and the way they went about dying for this. This guy really hands their son a script of where he died without telling him he gave it to him and mentions the bare minimum details. (I wonder if mentioning too much details got the FSM hurt. Maybe thats why he’s so distant.) Of course, trauma doesn’t really excuse being a flawed parent.

I also feel the need to mention that Wu unintentionally copies his father’s trauma responses. Heck, we could even talk about how Garmadon does the same, and later Lloyd. They all bottle their emotions and issues and hope nothing bad ever happens with that ever. Too bad for them though, we know how this ends

(Oof this is ✨generational trauma✨ at work)

Moving on to Garmadon, we know that after he got bitten by the devourer, the FSM helped him through his episodes and tries his best to find a cure. From this i can honestly say that the FSM did love and care for his sons. But this doesn’t mean they knew how to properly show that they did (especially because he doesn’t have a proper basis for what parent-child relationships should even look like.)

We see this when we get to know of Garmadon’s insecurities as a child. He doesn’t think there was anything wrong with him and seems to hate how the FSM tries to find a cure for him. Maybe because he doesn’t like the implication that he needs ‘fixing’ more than anything else. Garmadon’s also different than Wu in the sense that he grows more resentful of his father as he grows older whilst Wu clings to his father’s attention to get approval/praise.

I also want to mention how this resentment built up also affects how his perception of Wu’s relationship with their dad. He thinks Wu is favoured probably because Wu doesn’t have the venom and is the good one (because the venom apparently makes Garmadon the ‘bad’ one) and he sees his younger brother as the golden child. This probably built to jealousy and then guilt for the jealousy because Garmadon does love his brother a lot.

The high expectations also come’s into play here. It probably puts a lot of weight on Garmadon’s shoulders. Which doesn’t make his growing feelings of resentment better nor does it make his insecurities about his venom any better.

What makes this whole situation worse is that NO ONE in this family knows how to communicate. Wu doesn’t tell his dad or his brother how he feels, Garmadon doesn’t as well and FSM wouldn’t be caught breathing a word of his feelings to be honest.

This whole family would rather die than communicate ffs.

In conclusion:

[coralinnii]

Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy feat: Floyd genre: humor, budding romance note: set in the same universe as previous works (Azul’s and Jade’s ver specifically), no pronouns were used, villain/ess!reader is not a merfolk, 1.6k word count, use of non-canon family name (I’ve officially adopted you),

My wifi is on the fritz again so going online hasn’t been easy but hopefully I can get it working again soon. I’ve been hiding in cafes but my wallet isn’t appreciative because I don’t like going into a cafe and not order anything T_T. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy our number 1 crazy eel boi

Series masterlist

You’re contemplating your life choices as you wonder what on Earth you did to deserve this. You can’t remember what happened that brought you into this world you once thought fictional but you were aware of how you’re probably gonna leave this world if the story stays in its original path.

You were a nameless mob character who was caught in the crossfire of your imbecile brother. During a party, your brother started bragging about your father who was a famous knight and started a knight training program after being given the title of baron, which grabbed the attention of the dangerous son of a marquis family, the Floyd Leech. Since then, the merman would suddenly visit your home to curiously watch the training while your brother continues to brag and even starts talking about how close he is to the notorious Leech family son who, while not the heir, was in line to inherit a great bit of land and some “business assets” from his father.

Your younger brother didn’t think that associating yourself with a family of suspicious background was too bad…until a rival of the Leech family invaded their home and proceeded to interrogate your family for information on the Leech household. Obviously knowing nothing, the rival family ended you and your mother’s future in anger. Your father, heartbroken and weakened by the lost of his beloved and one of his children, collapsed and became bedridden.

Still, you couldn’t hate your brother no matter how foolish he was, especially when he begged Floyd in tears to avenge his family, only to be ignored by the eel merman. “How is it my problem?” He cruelly said as he dismissed your brother to deal with his broken family.

You grew cautious, wary of people associated with the Leech household and any other noblemen that aligned themselves with them, which included the Golden Count Ashengrotto with his new partner, and that family that recently arranged an engagement with the Leech family heir with their only child.

You also taught your younger brother to learn when to hold his tongue, your family’s business is your own and avoid excessively bragging to others as it lures unpleasant leeches (he thought you meant metaphorically).

Then you explicitly told him not to interact with anyone from the Leech family, especially Floyd. You were willing to smack him over the head to get that warning across, telling him, “To him, we’re just toys. Not friends”

This was a clear solution, just don’t meet Floyd…or Jade…and have anything to do with that crazy eel family and your future is secured. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Then one day, at a party…

The night was going well. Your younger brother found a clique of his own to interact with so you didn’t have to worry about catching the attention of a certain someone. Although, while you saw Jade mingling with the crowd, you haven’t seen even the shadow of the other Leech which worries you somewhat. However, you chose to let your guard down to enjoy the ambiance of the party. You deserve to have some fun too.

Some time has passed and soon you felt your body growing tired of all the socialising. You wandered around alone to find a secluded room to rest while contemplating whether you should call it a night. Typically you stay behind until your brother was ready to leave together as to keep a watchful eye over him. But since he’s been on his best behaviour, you wondered if you’re really needed. But then, voices then disrupted your train of thought as you heard someone speaking from the other side of the closed doors of the room you were occupying.

“If you need some time to rest, Sir Leech. I suggest one of these rooms my master has prepared” someone whom you assumed to be a servant spoke but that’s not what concerned you. Did he say Leech?!

A mental battle was going in your head as you assess your situation. Which Leech was it? (Does that matter?) Should you stay? (No!) How would you get out?? (!!)

You looked around in panic as you prayed for maybe a door to a conjoining room, maybe a bathroom to hide in until he leaves. You then looked to the balcony and without a second thought, pulled the doors open. You were on the second floor which wasn’t too bad. The balcony faced the back of the house towards the back garden which meant no one should be there to witness you climbing down. You’ve seen enough parkour videos that you figured you could come of this unscathed.

But the logical part of your brain is pulling you back, telling you that this absolutely reckless, stupid really. You can imagine your dumb brother doing this but your parents urge you to be the level-headed one of the two of you (which you like to argue on, why do you have to be the responsible one?).

But before your senses could come to you, you heard the knobs of the room door shaking, and you decided that you only live once.

So jumping, it is.

Without looking down (in fear of your nerves winning), you leapt off the railings of the balcony and braced for impact. Your clothes flutter loudly in the air as you try to push the fabric from your eyes to watch your landing. But instead of the marbled flooring, you were met with a pair of surprised heterocromatic eyes.

Floyd was sighing in irritation as schools of bottom feeders noblemen rushed over to him and his brother (mainly his brother) in hopes to find themselves in good graces with the Leech household. Jade may have a better facade going but Floyd was having a harder time not to snarl and squeeze the living souls out of these suck ups. In this pompous tank, no one was worth his attention. So, Floyd figured he could kill some time away from the mindless minnows and walk towards the backyard of the mansion, maybe chill out in a tree until his brother finds him.

In no imagination he had thought of for today did he expect to see something - or someone - flying down towards him in a mass of fabric fluttering in the wind. With quick reflexes, the ocean-haired man raised his arms and swiftly caught your waist through the mess of your clothing but momentum still won against the two of you as Floyd fell backwards with you, crashing onto the ground rather unceremoniously. His anger building quickly, Floyd raised his head about to take a good look at the crazy human he’s about to squeeze. But like how quickly his anger started, it immediately extinguished when he did take a good look at you.

He saw you, a flushing mess slightly shaking from your reckless decision to literally take a plunge off the second floor. Your hair in a disarray from the wind and likely the landing as well. And your eyes that Floyd found himself watching in intrigue as a swirling range of emotion was evident in your expressive face. Most visually present was your look of fearful realization.

Floyd Leech. Out of the billions of people you could ever meet, you ended up bumping…ah no crashing into the most unpredictably violent man in this world. Granted, you’re glad you survived your frankly dumb behavior but to be saved by the man that would be your future downfall was just proof that the world was messing with you for sh*ts and giggles.

“Hey you” you let out a small shriek as you hear Floyd call out to you slowly, reminding you of a shark slowly swimming its way to you for a meal, though really what difference is there? “What’s your nam-“

In an act of reckless desperation (your second one already), you didn’t let Floyd finish his question as you rolled over to the side, twisting your body out from the merman’s grip. Disregarding your absolute messy appearance, you sprinted your way away from Floyd who was still on the ground, rounding the corner of the manor to dash towards your carriage. You’ll tell a servant to inform your brother of your early departure later. You just needed to disappear from the menace’s sight immediately.

Though there was no real hurry as the menace in question chose not to pursue as he preferred to watch you flee in such a cute manner, entertained by the way you sped off like a prey in chase.

“Floyd, are you alright?” a familiar voice called out to him from above to which he then recognised and looked up to see his brother on the second floor balcony, the same general area you appeared from, immediately understanding where you came from.

Huh, you just got more interesting.

Floyd ignored his brother’s concern and asked a question back, “Hey Jade, you got any idea who that flying fishie was?”

The Marquis heir, who noticed the opened balcony doors, managed to glimpse upon the fascinating human who not only took a chance at jumping off the second floor, but also managed to intrigue his brother enough to escape his grasp…for now.

“I cannot be certain but I believe that was the first born of the Linni family. The youngest child is still here if you would like a chat with him” Jade oh so generously offered his knowledge to his brother, knowing full well that Floyd has started itching to sink into something fun. And what kind of brother would he be to interfere in his brother’s joy?

Floyd grinned, his sharp teeth visually showing. He got back onto his feet and with one more look towards the path you fled to, walked the other way, back into the manor and towards the party area where he was giddy to have a chat with your brother. You can flee for now, Floyd loves a worthwhile chase.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hi can request a not-yandere Yoriichi X Dying! Reader? Reader got a terrible illness that basically has no cure and they lay in bed losing all motivation to do anything while the illness slowly takes away their life. When Yorichi came to visit them again, they were gone and there was only an empty bed. (means they are already gone/dead.)

(A bit about Yoriichi and reader's past, reader is one of Yoriichi and Michikatsu/kokushibo's childhood friend and was friend with them until reader dies, reader was always there for Yoriichi whenever he is in a rough time/shape and always comforts him like when his mom died, Uta and his unborn child died, Michikatsu gone and more. Yoriichi fell in love with reader a few months after Uta died but never confessed. Reader got their ill a few months after Michikatsu became a demon.)

Aaah! That’s sooooo sad! Why Yoriichi, he doesn’t deserve more pain! But okay, okay. I’ll write this as I cry

Tsugikuni Yoriichi- Terminal Heartbreak

The only thing Yoriichi could lay his eyes on was a empty, hollow futon with the blankets flipped back. The house the futon belonged in was just as dull and lifeless. It broke his soul as he slowly approached the futon, kneeling down and sitting on his knees before it. He just stared down at the creased cooling fabric as his eyes swelled in tears, unable to keep himself composed any longer

First his beloved mother disappeared from his life, his incredible wife and unborn child was taken away, his brother abanonded his humanity to turn to the darkness and now, you can’t even be here for him to say goodbye to… why was this world so cruel to him? You were with him from the very beginning, even as childhood

You weren’t necessarily either of the Tsugikuni Twins’ assigned bride. No, your parents are extremely wealthy and have been business partners with the Tsugikuni family before you were even born. Throughout most of your childhood, you were pretty healthy and kicking but then. Tragically, you contracted a strange disease your hysterical parents couldn’t find the cure for and you were truly dissipating each day. It got so bad that it drifted your past closeness with the Tsugikuni Twins

Michikatsu was furious, you couldn’t play with him and Yoriichi like you use to. You were basically useless in this state and it drove him away whilst Yoriichi stayed. He never left, he never walked away. He sat besides you and did everything he possibly could for you, as he grew up, he was determined to try find… something to help you. Every disease has a cure, they’re must be a cure! Yoriichi always told himself before he tucked you into bed and left the house to continue his fruitless search

In exchange, you adored Yoriichi. He wasn’t that rotten selfish anomaly Michikatsu made him out to be, he was a pure loving man with a golden heart and your view never changed, despite how bad your condition grew. Even though you could barely walk, you always got up to be besides Yoriichi, you basically crawled your way to him when he founded the Demon Slayer Corps and you were there to defend him when he ran into Kibutsuji Muzan but failed to dispose of him

Yoriichi, despite being married to the lovely woman Uta, felt himself falling deep in love with you. It was wrong, he knew it. Especially since he lost Uta and his unborn child only a few months ago, but he can’t help himself. You were one of the first people who ever truly loved Yoriichi, and the fact that you’re gone now hurts his soul tremendously. He can’t do anything to save you, he always did everything right… on his first try!

Yoriichi always suffered and suffered and suffered, and for what did he suffer for? Everything he loved in his life is taken away from him and it’s growing unbearable, is he really suppose to be with anybody? Illness takes away all the people he devotes his life too. It seems that he is a plague among people and anybody who associates with him will end up dead or immoral

Yoriichi stared at the empty futon silently, his calloused fists curled up on his own thighs as his kind screamed at the outrage. Why couldn’t he save you? Your sickness ruined your life and it took away your will to continue forward with genuinely living, to do anything as you laid down and stared blankly. Yoriichi could tell how much you struggled and his heart broke for you over and over

If he could, he’d trade places with you. He’d happily die for you so you could walk and run outside freely with no problems. He’d be livid to give you the freedom of perfect health again… but he just can’t. Yoriichi gave up on medley hopping you’d return back to your home, anytime you came out, he was by your side and helping you. He left for a few hours and your gone, nobody has helped you. He doesn’t know where you could have gone

Yoriichi does want to look for you, you could still be alive somewhere but then again. You could have taken the easy way out when his back was turned, to get away from all the pain your illness tortures you will. He wouldn’t be able to stop it if he wasn’t around and that could be the case as he gently grabs the futon blanket, lifting it to his chest whilst tears poured down his defined cheeks

He couldn’t keep himself together any longer as he cried, his head dropped down to brush over the blanket as his heart shattered before him. Yoriichi fell into a deep slumber by the futon, he cried himself to exhaustion as his emotions were truly haywire now. It was too early. You left him too early… he never even got the chance to tell you…

That he loves you

[nightowlwriting]

summary: (he never kisses her left hand, always her right, because she once told him that she’s nothing more than the anchor on her hand and the history of the fight with the archdemon so many years earlier.)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: subdrop, mentions of past child abuse, torture, and allusions to past almost-sexual assault (no assault occurred or is described in the fic)

note: i haven't written in a long time, so this is me easing myself into ktober24. also this takes place in MY canon for the dragon age series which heavily diverges from bioware's canon. eventually i'll get around to novelizing the warriorverse (my warrior playthroughs of the game) but with veilguard coming out in less than thirty days that will have to wait.

title credit: sufjan stevens

kinktober masterlist: here

amalia cousland: here

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Cullen Rutherford is a strategist at heart and a man of his word. Born from a lineage of farmers, put through trials and tribulations that most men can only imagine - all to rise to the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Not without struggle, of course, especially as he falls deeper into his Lyrium withdrawal. But those struggles, the demons that come for him at night, and the gnarled roots of addiction inside of him don’t stop him from being the man that Amalia always knew he would grow into.

She remembers being a child in Honnleath, before the blight and before Ves and before shedding the heavy Sulzbacher name for the equally heavy Cousland name. She remembers being friends with Rosalie first, one year her senior, and then Branson next. Branson was a few years younger than Amalia, but she got along with him fine. Mia came next and then, finally, Cullen Rutherford.

She remembers that he was three years older than her and golden. Golden hair, skin touched by the long hours with his father and farm hands in the fields, and fundamentally benevolent. She first saw him through a curtain of her then-black hair after Branson had tripped her as she trotted alongside Rosalie, smiling down at her. She was only six at the time, to Cullen’s nine, but she knew. She knew that he’d go on to do great things, knew that he’d escape Honnleath like she wished that she could, that he would find a great love like in the stories her mother used to tell.

The world seems so simple when you’re less than a decade old.

Now, though, nothing has really changed. Amalia is still friends with Rosalie and Branson, though only by the letters she sends and receives from the South Reach. Cullen is still all of those things he was as a child, except now he’s been tested by the Maker in tragedy, war, and now one of the Magisters who first entered the Golden City. Selfishly, she’s glad that it’s Cullen. She’s almost thankful to the Maker and Andraste for all of the shit they’ve mucked Cullen through - and the shit that they’ve mucked her through - because it brings the two of them to now, this exact moment in time.

The truth of what nearly happened at Fort Drakon ten years ago had come out at the war table, but Cullen hadn’t looked at her any differently. They’d had the night together at the Winter Palace, after Amalia’s disastrous decision to dule that Duchess in front of the entire court, and Cullen remained stalwartly at her side. And then, when she’d gone up to his office to try and escape her meddling family he’d asked her to go back with him.

To Ferelden. To the Redcliffe arling.

To Honnleath.

She had been hesitant. Matthias surely wasn’t still there, but Amalia also didn’t want to risk seeing her father again, no matter the circumstances. She also didn’t want to see where so many of her happiest childhood memories took place - always at the Rutherford farm or sitting underneath the shade that Shale provided and never inside of her home - after the blight and after ten years of abandonment. But Cullen smiled so sweetly at her, took her right hand and pressed a kiss to her scarred knuckles, and said please.

(He never kisses her left hand, always her right, because she once told him that she’s nothing more than the Anchor on her hand and the history of the fight with the archdemon so many years earlier.)

Cullen had taken her to the lake, had given her his coin, and then taken her back to Honnleath where the bulk of the force they’d traveled with had finished the job they set out to do. Amalia doesn’t mind that they’ve gone through the small home, and dungeon beneath it, that had been her childhood abode. Doesn’t mind that they’ve taken her grandfather’s writings and research and loaded them in heavy boxes on the back of the bronto-drawn carts. She’s not a mage, just mage-blooded enough to pull off rituals as seen by the time she spent with Morrigan’s grimoire and the survival of her Grey Warden siblings. Amalia, at heart, is a warrior. If her grandfather’s works will help the Inquisition mages, then they shall be taken back to Skyhold.

It helps that Wilhelm Sulzbacher was a bastard of a man to everyone in his life, including his elven wife and golem. Amalia has nothing left for him, or her father, Matthias. It helps that he was also a bastard of a man to his elven wife, and elfblooded daughter. It’s almost cathartic to see the Inquisition soldiers - Amalia’s soldiers - carting everything up out of the dank basement she was so terrified of.

Cullen had let her watch for a few moments, standing in the spot that Shale used to stand in, before he took her back to the Rutherford house. It had been cleaned, probably at his request, and then…

Well, and then Cullen made good on his promise.

When she’d been nervous at the Winter Palace, he hadn’t pushed her into sex. They’d shared pleasure, yes, but not sex. Amalia hadn’t wanted their first time to be because of a duel and she agreed with Cullen’s sentiment: neither wanted their first time laying together to be in Orlais. They’re Ferelden at heart, and no amount of satin bedding or hearty foods could convince them otherwise. He’d promised her as he brought her off on his fingers that she’d know nothing but pleasure from him. He’d take her back across the border into Ferelden, he’d find a place comfortable for both of them, and if she wished it they would lay together.

Of course, being in the throes of an orgasm made Amalia agree to anything he was saying. Cullen Rutherford is a strategist at heart and a man of his word. As soon as the missive had crossed his desk about needing Wilhelm’s research, he knew that it was of the upmost importance that Wilhelm’s granddaughter, Amalia, be there when it was retrieved.

The fact that he had his childhood bedroom prepared, cleaned, and fitted with more expensive sheets before their arrival is none of anyone’s concern.

Except Amalia’s, but she’s not very concerned about that. She’s more focused on the way his skin feels against hers, hot and slick, and the way that pleasure still lays heavy in her limbs. Cullen has her pulled as closely as possible to him, legs tangled, as his hands roam up and down her bare back. He has been right when he’d told her that she needn’t worry with him. When Cullen had tried to press into her body for the first time and Amalia had flinched - barely noticeable but she knows that he notices everything about her - they’d prepared more.

(Prepared, of course, meaning that he’d put his mouth on her again until she peaked once more.)

There was never a moment in which Amalia Cousland felt like Cullen Rutherford was just fucking her to own her or taking what he wanted without considering what she wanted. His body over hers, so broad and muscular and golden, hadn’t felt like those moments before Alistair had kicked the door to the machine room down. Cullen’s hands handn’t felt like brands upon her skin - well, they had, but the good kind of brands. The kind of brands Amalia can see herself becoming addicted to. The way Cullen held her as he pressed into her hadn’t made her panic with claustrophobia or cry out in terror.

Amalia isn’t even sure she can call what they did fucking. That seems too… Primal of a word for what they shared. Love-making, maybe. It had felt like love, and she knows that she loves Cullen but can he love her? If he doesn’t, could he? Her past weighs heavy on her shoulders, and she can’t even escape it. Everyone knows the story of the girl who took the final strike on the archdemon at Denerim, of the Grey Warden who refused to let her die, of the Ashes that brought the girl back to life. The scar on the left side of her jaw, from just below her mouth to underneath her ear, is proof that she did die at the hands of the archdemon, that when Ves used the Ashes of Andraste leftover from healing the Arl of Redcliffe that they not only brought Amalia back to life but darned her face back together and left a mottled line of proof.

And now she’s the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. She half believes it herself, because why else would the Ashes have worked? Why else would the Joining not have taken?

Why else would Ves and Alistair, both set on keeping her away from the Conclave and the fact that their Calling was shouting at them to be there, sent her with Bethany and Carver to see if they could find the other Wardens?

Why else would she have been the only survivor? Another moment of death and loss, and Amalia is still standing.

Before she knows it, she’s crying. She doesn’t want to worry Cullen, he already carries so much on his shoulders, but she can’t stop. Before long the heady, heavenly feeling of being in his arms, of knowing him and his body, twists and sours into panic and sorrow.

“Amalia?” Cullen asks, pulling only slightly away from her. Just enough to see her face, really, and she wonders what she looks like. Hair and eyes leeched of color because of her brush with death, scarred face, Anchor… She can’t possibly be the woman he thought he’d be in bed with. The woman that he thought he’d end up betrothed to. “Amalia, darling, what’s wrong?” His voice shakes and he cups her face with one hand, tilting her head up until she’s looking at him.

And, well, she can’t let him think he’s done something wrong.

“I am,” She finally warbles, shaking her head as best she can when she’s laying on her side tangled up in him, “I’m wrong. I should have died in Denerim, and I should have died during the Joining, and I should have died at the Conclave. How can you stand to look at me, Cullen?” Her voice breaks as she begins to cry in earnest, tears blurring his face as he looks at her.

“Oh, darling,” He whispers, bringing her close enough that his lips can press against her forehead, and then her nose, and finally on the jagged scar that reminds her of what she was willing to give up to protect Ves and Alistair. “I don’t care what should have happened,” Cullen finally says, pressing himself as close as possible, “I only care what has happened. Everything leading up to this moment, with you in my arms, is all that matters.”

“But we’ll never be free of it,” Amalia allows herself to sink into him, to press her nose against the side of his neck and drown in oakflower, eldermoss, and the faint scent of leather. “We’ll never be free from people knowing who I am, what I’ve done. I don’t care if it’s all good, if they think that I’m the Herald of Andraste. I just want a normal life. I want you to have a normal life, and I can’t give you that.”

Cullen shifts and for a brief second, Amalia is afraid that she’s chased him away. He only sets her down on the mattress and disentangles himself so that he can prop himself up over top of her. His hand cups her neck, large enough that his thumb can press and lightly rub back and forth over her scar. He smiles down at her, his own scar pulling slightly as he does so.

“You needn’t worry about me,” Cullen kisses her briefly, “Especially not about whether or not I want normal. I don’t care about normal, Amalia. Maker’s breath, the only thing I care about having is you. That’s all that matters to me.” She hiccups, tears still trailing over the sides of her face as she looks up at Cullen, and tries to believe him.

“But would you be happy with me?” Amalia asks, voice pitifully quiet. “If we were to stay together past the Inquisition, I mean.”

“If?” He asks instead of answering, “If? Amalia, I am in love with you. I would lay down my life for you. I don’t know what will happen past the Inquisition, I don’t know what will happen in ten years or twenty, but I know that I want you by my side.” He looks so serious, golden, that Amalia’s breath is taken away. “I want to be by your side.” He says, softer than he spoke before.

“You love me?” She asks, reaching for his face, “You love me?”

Cullen smiles crookedly, and it’s like the sun. It almost fully chases away the storm clouds that had settled in her chest. They’ll never truly be gone, not with what she’s seen and what she’s been through, but in Cullen’s arms and his bed, they don’t seem so scary. They don’t seem so all-consuming like they had been only moments before.

“Of course I love you,” Cullen says, “I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t love you.”

Amalia beams, then, even though her smile only reaches half of her mouth. It doesn’t bother her like it normally does because Cullen is kissing her, surging against her, pressing her into the soft cushion of the mattress underneath her. She lets him take her again, or maybe she shares herself with him again, and for a moment the world doesn’t seem so scary.

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Forever Together~ Kaeya

featuring:- Kaeya tags:-fluff, a teeny bit of angst if you squint, semi-modern au(?), soulmate au where you get a golden band on your 18th birthday which changes into a silver bracelet like thingy when you properly meet your soulmate, kaeya calls you princess once a/n:- this is my entry for the summer santa event by @solarisfortuneia , thanks for letting me take part and sorry for being so late! this one is dedicated to @satoruxx i hope both you and mika like this :)

word count:- 1.3k

masterlist

You grow more excited as the clock nears midnight. “Only five more minutes, Kaeya!” You exclaim, tugging his hand and pointing at the clock. Your childhood best friend shakes his head, amused at your unusual excitement. “You’re really that excited just for your soulmate band? How funny. I mean, you’ve always been a soft romantic, so I’m not really surprised.” He chuckled, the sound filling your room. Both of you glance towards the golden band already present on Kaeya’s wrist, showing that he hadn’t met his soulmate yet. It had appeared, as it always does for everyone, on his 18th birthday. 

None of you said it, none of you knew the other was thinking the same thing. But both of you wondered, if… If you two could possibly be each other’s soulmates.

Both of you had harboured feelings for each other since you were children. It was cute at first. But then as time passed, as you two started to notice each other more, grow up side by side, saw all sides of each other, that harmless puppy love started growing into ‘small’ crushes, even as you two were content to remain best friends. Best friends who were practically attached at the hip, frequently did sleepovers and study sessions, hung out a lot, and always took advantage of the couples discount system. Deep down, both of you wondered if you could ever be more.

The chance of Kaeya being your soulmate was a one in a thousand. So, what harm did it do to imagine the what-ifs of a nearly impossible situation, you both thought, allowing your minds to wander.

The thought of being Kaeya’s soulmate excited you. But it scared Kaeya. 

It wouldn’t be easy to love you officially. It’s not because he couldn’t or didn’t want to. He had no idea what the future would bring, but for now, he really did love you, the way you did. But he was terrified what a relationship would bring, not just to you, but to any possible partner of his, which is why he wanted to avoid meeting his soulmate. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to maintain a relationship with his ways. And he was scared of his past.

Kaeya and his dad had fled from their home nation, Khaenriah, when it was on the brink of utter ruin because of the wars that had ravaged the world. Fled to Mondstadt, a stable country with abundant beauty, one that had already risen up after the war. There, his father had disappeared, leaving him with a caring adoptive family. 

It had been hard for him to adjust and adapt to this new life, especially since he had just been a mere child when all this happened. And he wouldn’t have been able to, if not for you.

You were his neighbour- still are, in fact. He remembered when he’d timidly ventured out into the gardens of his new house a few days after his life had been uprooted. You had noticed him wandering alone very quickly from your own garden, tugging at your mom’s hand to point at him. He’d been scared then, but then you ran ever to him, eyes sparkling, asking him if he was new here, and if he wanted to play with them, adding that their family were very good friends with his new family.

That was the beginning of their friendship, the one that had led them here, staring at the clock at night, waiting for it to strike twelve. And Kaeya was scared, scared because he’d heard many rumours of whatever remained of the Khaenri’ans searching. Searching for what, he didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t even real. 

But he was still afraid of the possibilities.

And yet, a part of him wished to love you freely, without fear, be with you, be your soulmate. 

The internal conflict was tearing him apart.

The clock struck twelve, signifying the start of your birthday.

You grinned excitedly, holding up your hand, on which a golden band had materialised. But then both your eyes widened, as it turned silver, before reshaping into a swirling silver pattern, almost like a bracelet, with a half heart in the middle. 

The same happened to Kaeya’s band, the formerly gold band having changed into a silver bracelet, same as yours, with the other half of the heart.

It was confirmed- you two were soulmates.

You two stared at each other, eyes wide and confused. It was silent in the room for a while, as you two let the fact sink in.

I suppose it was to be expected, after all, you two had stuck with each other from the moment you met.

A part of you was incredibly happy, now that you didn’t have to hide your feelings any more. However, another part of you was worried for Kaeya and how he’d take this. I mean, what sort of best friends- soulmates- would you two be, if you didn’t know each others’ deepest fears? You knew what he was afraid of. And you didn’t blame him for it in any way whatsoever.

You were the first to speak up, gently taking both his hands in yours. Something you had done a thousand times before, and yet, it felt different this time. “You alright, Kaeya?”

He slowly nodded, eyes staring off. You understood his internal turmoil and the fact that he’d need time, and didn’t press him. “Do you need space?” you asked softly. “To process this? I don’t mind if you do.” Finally he looked at you. There were a multitude of emotions swirling in those beautiful periwinkle eyes of his- confusion, surprise, shock, fear, and more, as they met yours. “You won’t be upset?” He asked quietly. You shook your head almost immediately. “No, Kae, I won’t. I understand why.” You said reassuringly, squeezing his hands with yours to reaffirm your statement. 

“I’ll see you later then..?Once I’ve sorted everything out?” “Sure, take as much time as you want, don’t rush, I’m always here for you, ‘kay? Now let me drop you off home.” You smiled at him.

The next evening, Kaeya texts you to meet him in your regular meeting spot- the swings in the park next to your houses. On text, he sounded like he’d made up his mind, causing you to be a bit nervous as you headed over, albeit a bit early.

You were just swinging gently, lost in your thoughts, when Kaeya walks up to you. He seems to be holding something behind his back, as you look at him curiously. “You alright now?” You question. “Yup.” he grinned back, that easygoing, charming smile that was reserved specifically for you back on his pretty face. “Got everything figured out now, and I have something for you too.” He smiles, bringing out the gift-wrapped package he had been holding behind his back. You chuckle, relieved, as you quickly open it. You stop short when you see what it is that he has given you.

“Forgot to say this, but happy birthday, [Y/N].” He said softly, bending down a bit to take the beautiful silver necklace that had your engraved to put it around your neck. “There.” he said, leaning back to admire you. “Now it matched with our bracelets.” He added, his words meaningful.

This was his way of giving you confirmation. “Let’s give this thing a try, huh? After all, if anything ever happens, I’ll be here to protect my beloved princess, won’t I?” He smirked at his successful attempt to make you flustered as he pulled you up from the swing, holding one of your hands gently in his.

[wilhelmina-tepes]

This man makes me think and write things I've never written about before. Praise kink, sorta kinda breeding kink if you squint your eyes, female receiving oral sex, mentions of other sexual positions, reader insert. I haven't posted smutty fanfic in a long time so please forgive me.

You had never considered it. As Adrian had spoken about wanting a family you initially dismissed the idea. Having children was not something you had wanted, ever. The vague idea had been there but never with other lovers, more the fact that everyone expected you to have children because you had the parts for it. But after spending months with Adrian and the way he talked to the children of the village, your body deeply imagined it, pressing your consciousness to not dismiss the idea and the blossoming desire in you. 

“ Do you want to have a baby with me? His deep voice was soothing and gentle, as his golden eyes peered into your soul pleading while he sipped his wine at dinner.

The question was honest. His eyes said it all. He loved you and for him, that love surpassed all else but he would always wonder what life would be like were you carrying his seed in your womb.

“I’m sorry.” He looked as if you had already denied him yet you hadn’t said a thing. “ But I would love to make you a mother but if you don’t want….I know the world we live in is not safe but I dare to imagine it so with you.”

Your body reacted in a surprising way. It warmed to the idea of a child…his child… growing inside you. You interrupted his clearly practiced request with a kiss and begged him to breed you right there on the spot. Why did it feel so right with him? He was so eager that the dinner dishes were thrown into the floor as he laid you out on the dinner table and fucked you properly all while resisting the urge to nip at your neck but you encouraged him to… if you were going to have his child you wanted all of him.

  Lovemaking for the next few months had become a passionate endeavor not just to fuck and be satisfied with one another, though there was plenty of that evident in the bite marks that covered your body, especially the ones on the insides of your thighs. He enjoyed devouring you regardless of who took the lead that night. Promises to take care of you, give you whatever you needed, to ensure that you were safe and happy carrying the life inside you were daily prayers from him. 

So it shouldn’t have surprised you that when penetration became uncomfortable in the last months of your pregnancy he was more than happy to forgo his own pleasure just to see you unravel. He would take his time exploring your body. Slowly parting your folds, fingers, and tongue working so diligently to please you. Adrian would kiss you and tease you until you were begging him. His sharp teeth running across your skin but never sinking into you, the fear of hurting you while with child was a hard rule for him so you forwent love bites for the time being. But his mouth made up for it in so many other ways, kissing down your chest slowing only to suck at your nipples even when your breasts had become full with milk. He wouldn’t drink but he was not concerned if a little dribbled out on his tongue. The look in his eyes said he enjoyed it but would never ask.

  Long elegant fingers slid across the tight skin of your swollen belly followed by his soft lips and a gentle drag of his sharp nails. A tiny reminder of how your days of animalistic sex weren’t over. Just on pause.

“ God I love watching you come.” Golden eyes praising you in his loving gaze. His warm breath across your mound, a delicate kiss right above the places aching for him the most.

“You’re so beautiful. The way your back arches as if you are possessed by pleasure. I love knowing that I am the cause of that possession….” 

He would stop and resume his attention across your thighs until you melted. Which was part of the plan. He loved the taste of you. You were now very aware of his desire to pleasure you, you opened to him and let him drink his fill not of your blood but your nectar. He would run his tongue slowly across the most inner and intimate folds before dipping inside you to lap at your core. His name would echo through the halls of the castle as you cried out clutching his hand as he reached for yours knowing that you wanted to touch him in some small way. 

“ The way you look splayed out for me, your skin blushing down your face and neck to those delicious plump breasts.” He would urge you toward oblivion with the sound of his voice. 

Pulling away from where he had been tonguing your clit to speak his words of encouragement. His fingers would replace his lips as he pulled you against his lean naked form to sit in his lap while he slowly and reverently finger fucked you. But he was always gentle, never too deep, and if it was too much to bear he would run loving circles around your clit until you cried out his name. 

 “Be a good girl and come for me, that’s it.” He would pull you up until you stared into his eyes. “ Let me watch.” He would whisper as if he wasn’t the one causing you the most intense pleasure. His hard cock would be against your ass, the tip covered in his arousal and still he would beg you. “I want to feel you spasm on my fingers.” 

And as you climaxed pulling at his long, pale hair he would continue. 

“ My god you are ravishing like this, absolutely undone. I don’t want to stop.”

Sometimes he would finish himself while you watched, occasionally you would licking the tip, but once again though he was afraid that any undo stress would be bad for you and the baby. Other times he seemed content just to see you climax in his arms. His last words were always the same as you drifted off to sleep in orgasmic bliss. 

“ I promise to kiss away the pain whenever you wish…. even after you have given birth.”

You knew he meant it too. He would wait patiently until he you were ready but did not want to miss the opportunity to pleasure you with his mouth. 

“ I love making you come. I think it might be my favorite thing.”

As your daughter was asleep in his childhood room, he would lay you out in front of the fireplace in your bedroom, eager to lick the soreness away until he could be inside you again.

[hiimweird3]

Random Ethgoesboom head canons

I know I mostly post Sams/laes stuff but damnit Ethgoesboom is a channel that will live in my heart and mind rent free forever so here's head cannons I made at work not all characters though some will have more then others

Everyone: every character who's possessed by a childs spirit lost big parts of their personalities after they were killed and when Afton was confronted by them for the first time he didn't recognize them as the kids he killed at first

Freddy: Freddy sometimes wants to give his microphone to Bonnie Chica and even foxy somedays because he really wants to give them the chance to shine in the spotlight, once when candy tied both of them up Freddy tried calling everyone for help because he wasn’t in the mood react to anything that day but when bonnie foxy and chica came to check on them they just laughed and took pictures before leaving, the big part of Gabriel's personality that got lost after his death was that he was someone who couldn't ever be in the spotlight because he was afraid that people would laugh at him but he would look up to Freddy because of how confident he was so when he possessed Freddy he gained that confidence

Foxy: foxy is banned from playing bored games after he threw the monopoly board and broke the window of the office,the big part of Fritz's personality that was lost was that he was extremely smart when it came to marine biology and would always say if he couldn't be a pirate when he grew up he was at least going to do something involving the sea so he can always be with it had he grow he would've done anything he could to clean the ocean

BB: BB is possessed by the soul of the biological little brother of Fritz so he and foxy are actually siblings and when alive both saw the soul in JJ as a little sister, actually no personality was lost from him because he died extra young so there wasn’t much to lose

Bonnie: Bonnie is banned from playing Uno with foxy for his own safety after he annoyed foxy so much that foxy punched him very hard and broke one of his teeth and to answer the question they both lost to cupcake and had to make Chica and cupcake pizza for a week, the big part of Jeremy's personality that was lost is that he was very much a fighter yes he was a comedic child but pick on his friends and family and he will break your nose (yes this is based on the theory that Jeremy died fighting)

You’re probably thinking that chica is next but I believe in saving the best for last so she will be last, love you chica :3 💛

Golden Freddy: Goldie has dreams of if he and everyone were never killed by Afton and sometimes he would wake up crying because of how much he wished it was real, Goldie also had nightmares of not being able to protect everyone from the nightmares or springtrap (I have honestly no idea what part of his soul’s personality would be lost since idk if eth’s doing the two soul theory or not so unfortunately he won’t have that part puppet too)

The puppet: much like Goldie puppet had dreams where no one was killed and also has nightmares of not being able to protect them but something different is that they also dream of the day everyone’s souls are finally free and they can have fun and finally relax with their families and other friends in the afterlife

The cupcake crew: whenever the cupcakes are extra protective especially to their chica’s they growl and bark since they’re possessed by dogs (watch the movie again and try telling me that cupcake isn’t a dog I f🐬king dare you) ,the reason chica can understand the cupcakes/ all small food animatronics is because of how much Susie loved animals especially her own dog when they were killed their souls connected in a way that allows her to finally understand what her bestiest friend and it allowed her to understand other animatronic possessed by pets

(Sorry toys, phantoms, nightmares, etc I got nothing for y’all)

Main fowa together: due to how long they’ve been with each other they all see each other as siblings chica being the youngest of them but in life some of them had actual siblings (like bb) and the ones with siblings will sit with each other and talk about what they remember about said sibling, very rarely they would refer to each other by their real names especially when talking about something serious (example:

Foxy: Freddy you need to talk to us something is clearly upsetting you

Freddy:guys I’m fine…

Bonnie:but you’re clearly not Freddy..

Freddy:…I’m fine i swear-

Chica: Fred-…Gabriel!..please talk to us we want to help you with whatever is hurting you..)

Chica 💛: chica has pizza hidden in vents all over the pizzeria that she eats though out the day and she eats all of them and surprisingly none gets spoiled because she always remembers where they are, she’s terrified of bugs and actually sprays herself with bug spray after her cockroach infestation, (had to give some happyish ones before the main point sorry long and kinda sad) Susie lost basically all of her personality when she died due to her A. Possessing a animatronic who’s supposed to be gluttonous and B. Being killed on a empty stomach she didn’t eat breakfast because she was saving room for pizza and birthday cake then her dog got hit by a car and she was too sad to eat anything before being killed, when alive Susie was very smart, and if she wasn’t going to be a veteran when she grew she could’ve been a amazing actress where she’d get the spotlight but now she doesn’t get the spotlight and her knowledge is gone due to being in constant pain from a empty stomach that can never be filled (this also is my own FNAF theory for Susie too not just for egb)

That’s all I got fowa now I’ll try thinking of more later thanks fowa reading

[sorenxdavenport]

[cisman,he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [SOREN DAVENPORT]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [ANDREW GARFIELD]. You must be the [FORTY-ONE] year old [VETERINARIAN ]. Word is you’re [INTELLIGENT] but can also be a bit [UP-TIGHT] and your favorite song is [PROTECTOR BY BEYONCE]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [SEABROOK QUARTER]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

Family: 

Father: Nicholas Davenport

Mother: Heather Davenport

Ex-wife: wc

Eldest daughter: Seren Davenport 

Youngest Daughter: Sydney Davenport

Pet(s): Panini (golden retriever)

Bio

tw: divorce, pregnancy, animal death

Nicholas Davenport was a famous author who moved from England to Aurora Bay after one of his best sellers was adapted into a film, it was there that his wife, Heather, gave birth to their firstborn son, Soren. Soren had a wonderful childhood growing up on Aurora Bay Drive with the beach practically in his backyard, and he was close with his parents and eventually with his younger brothers. Nicholas and Heather were both supportive of their children pursuing their own dreams rather than following in their footsteps, which is part of what finally led Soren to becoming a veterinarian. 

Soren had always loved animals but when he rescued a dog from an awful homelife when he was just fourteen, his love for animals grew. The poor dog didn’t make it through the night but Soren had to remind himself that he at least tried to help the poor creature. It was then that he decided he would want to spend the rest of his life helping animals. When he was fifteen he got a part-time job at Seaside Animal Rescue, where he worked even through college, and during college he started school to become a veterinarian. It was during his college years that he met his, now ex-wife, and they hit it off. 

It was hard to balance a relationship and school but the two managed, and before they graduated they were engaged and eventually eloped. Not long after graduation, the two found out they were pregnant with their first child, Seren. They loved her so much and, while it was a huge learning curve to figure out how to balance parenthood and their careers, they worked hard to do so. Several years later, they had their second and last daughter. 

Life was stressful but it was good, but once Soren started working towards opening his own vet office, the two’s relationship became strained, which inevitably ended in divorce. It was upsetting, to say the least, especially with children involved, but they were now looking at trying to make separation with children work. Soren gave up his pursuit of making his own vet office and instead works at the one in Aurora Bay.

Now with a teenager and another young daughter, he’s trying to find a way to balance his career, fatherhood, and trying to get back out there.

Wanted connections:

High school teacher to talk to him about Seren and how she’s been acting out

Patients at the vet’s office

Ex- wife

Neighbors

Blind date

Tinder date

Friends

Parent friends

Hiking buddy

Friends to play poker with

Drinking buddies

Therapist

[nvrcissasm]

in front of my  m o t h e r  and my sisters, i pretend  L O V E  is cheap and  VULGAR. i act like it’s a  s i n  - i pretend that  l o v e  is for women on a dark path. but at night i  D R E A M  of a love so heavy it makes my spine throb - i dream up a LOVER who makes love like he is separating  s a l t  from water…

Full Name: Narcissa Elladora Malfoy Name Origin: Unlike her sisters and most of her relatives, Narcissa was not named after a star or constellation, instead after the Greeks. Narcissa is a name of Greek origin meaning daffodil. It is feminine of Narcisse, which comes from the legend of the beautiful Greek youth Narcissus, who became enamoured of his own reflection - hence “narcissism”. Nicknames: Cissa or Cissy, but only to those closest to her. She does prefer Cissa over Cissy though, as it sounds less childish. Age: Twenty Six Birthday: 23rd December, Capricorn Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman, She/Her Sexuality: Heterosexual Relationship Status: Married to Lucius Malfoy Patronus: Narcissa’s Patronus would take the form of a Tiger Boggart: Narcissa’s Boggart is Death Wand Type: 13″, Elm Wood with a Dragon Heartstring Core Occupation: Socialite and Philanthropist, Dark Artefacts Curator Affiliation: Death Eater Ally Face Claim: Florence Pugh Key Information: Please see below the cut

𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 ;;   can be found by clicking here

𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝘽𝙊𝘼𝙍𝘿 ;;   can be found by clicking here

𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙊𝘾𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 / 𝘼𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙏𝙄𝘾𝙎 ;;   ears that are always listening, rooms with high ceilings, the stony features of a face unwilling to give away any information, ‘clever as the devil and twice as pretty’, summer evenings and winter mornings, perfect paper creases, stargazing, ‘you’re like snow, beautiful but cold’, white linen, black roses protected by their thorns, the underestimated sister, the sweetest of smiles and eyes that are always watching.

𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙇𝙔 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙐𝙋𝘽𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙂 ;;   The youngest of three daughters, Narcissa was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and an appearance that would instantly set her apart from the rest of her immediate family. With her golden locks and piercing blue eyes, she was destined to stand out in photographs, contrasting the raven hair and dark features that were commonly associated with the Black family. At no point did this ever put her at a disadvantage however. Only a moment spent in her company is enough to see that the Black blood runs deep in her veins.

As a child, she was the princess of the family, in her fathers eyes especially, and it was from a very young age that she started being taught all that there was to know about how to be the perfect young woman. Narcissa picked everything up easily, whilst continuing to enjoy the finer things in life, and that was exactly what Cygnus and Druella wanted for their daughter - to become a respected Pureblood woman with the world at her disposal.

Growing up as part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was, of course, not all sunshine and rainbows. Like many of the other families in their society, the Black home is full of secrets, scandal and betrayal. You name it, and chances are at least one of them have been accused of it. Of course they have their own way of dealing with it - Narcissa has already lived to witness one of her cousins and her own sister be disowned completely and she knows it is not the first time that it has happened. The fear of this happening to her for not being good enough, or for doing something wrong was instilled early in her life and it continues to hang over her to this very day.

𝘼𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙃𝙊𝙂𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙎 ;;   When it came to attending Hogwarts, there was no doubt that Narcissa would be sorted in to Slytherin House. The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before making its decision, and it was with her fellow snakes that she thrived. She worked hard to achieve good grades, and being away from the watchful eyes of her parents, she was able to find her own independence and sense of identity. Of course it never strayed far from what her parents wanted for her, but she was determined to ensure things were done on her terms as well.

𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙀𝙀𝙍 ;;   Although Narcissa is unemployed and has no need to find herself a job, she has always had a passion for dark artefacts and cursed objects, and has found herself to be somewhat of a collector of both. Only a small handful of people know about her collection, but it is something she takes pride in expanding. She has also been known to source and sell on a few objects here or there. When she is not expanding her collection, Narcissa considers herself as a proud socialite and philanthropist, publicly supporting a number of causes.

𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙍 ;;   When it comes to the war, Narcissa has always followed suit with the majority of her family and naturally agreed with the ideals of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Most of the company she kept was often from the inner circle, but she knew very early on that she would never agree to take the dark mark, despite being encouraged on numerous occasions to do so.

[marybatson]

Hello!! As one of THE best marvel family bloggers on this whole website I was wondering about your thoughts on if you'd want a story about the MF as adults (original group of N52 group). Current DC is soooo averse to anything that might have consequences or change the status quo so it's probably moot. I just think Billy in particular (with his loner tendencies and inherent, almost untouchable goodness) has the potential for some very interesting stories around identity after he's been Captain-ing for a decade-plus as he becomes less and less grounded? On the other hand, I could see the argument that the kid- to-adult-hero is so essential to the premise to be removed. Also, would your answer change based on which version of the character(s) we're talking about. Like is it more or less interesting in the versions where B and CM are seperate entities? Anyway love your takes on the MF and DC in general!!!💜

first of all that’s the sweetest thing thank u for even thinking of me ;; I swear I talk out of my ass all the time but im glad u can enjoy this nonsense!

second! that is a very good question and one that ive definitely asked myself before. before i answer i hope its ok if i go on a small tangent first lol. its the tism in me.. UNDER THE CUT BC I HAVE RAMBLING PROBLEMS

the inherent problem with hero comics is that there is no definite thing like a “post-series” or epilogue type of story because, typically, they just never end. that’s something that can be compelling but also pretty detrimental imo especially when a good story or arc has a fully satisfying ending, complete with characters and storylines developed in just the way you wanted. that can all obvs change in a matter of years depending on the next writer or event. next chapter-type stories are difficult to achieve unless you’re a legacy of some kind. if these were characters in a novel or something much more linear, i think we wouldn’t even have to ask these questions.

im just saying all this bc it kind of informs how I like to speculate about comic characters - what is the ideal plot to development to ending for x character? for billy and his family, if you want a legitimate answer it’s just that I wish anything plot-worthy they achieve would only be in their time as they are now, as kids. bc im insane ofc ive turned this particular sentiment around in my head, and I really do think that the story itself at its core, the general magic of it, is way more compelling when they’re children going through tasks an adult would usually undertake. it’s a story where a child who has a limited amount of power bc of their situation at the sound of a word receives more power he ever really needs. it isnt necessarily a jaime reyes or young justice type of story about realistic kid hero interpretations, it’s simply a child’s fairytale fantasy. at inception captain marvel’s appeal was because while he was a kid, he was also respected as an adult and as competent as one. that’s why dc’s own evolution from the golden age (for children) to where it is now as a predominantly adult hobby can never seem to place captain marvel and his family in the right place.

tbh i wouldn’t really be interested in a story where billy and the others were grown up at all, because then they would just be. adult heros. ive always thought the “ideal” end is the one where they willingly somehow choose to relieve themselves of the power and grow up happily and content without it because it’s not needed once they’re adults. the “wendy darling chooses to grow up and not stay in neverland bc she wants more than what magic can give her” kinda deal. but that’s definitely not a compelling hero story…maybe.

im trying not to let this be such a cop out answer, but if what I just said were written as a story, and if I wanted it to be a story that included the marvel fam as adults - it would be the classic coming of age story. im thinking any plot in the world with crazy world-ending villain(s) story complete with a misc hero team-up could happen, and the real story begins maybe halfway in that where the kids realize that this is the end all be all. and the point is that they’d be okay with it. so what happens happens and maybe there are developments in-between coming to terms with the end of it but the perfect end is them, together, and being okay. there are no consequences to having had the power or having lost them. everything they’d gone through while having the power could have been tumultuous and difficult, but the children are always protected. in the end, we don’t know what age they live up to, or if they decide to become nonpowered heroes or if they stay a family. I really believe in the power of an open ending once everything is resolved. and for the marvel family, I think their best ending is an uneventful adulthood after such a wild childhood. it’s the typical kind of ending i think every chosen one child deserves in fiction (rip to percy jackson)

again…this is just me and my own thoughts. and im sorry it is SO lame and predictable. other more interesting routes than this if they just continued having the power till adulthood is that they can be pretty public and free with their identities. the power is intertwined with them. but it’s not like they’re particularly important in-universe or special, more than others anyway. they just have more experience now.

(idk if it would necessarily make much of a difference depending on the versions of the characters we’re talking abt either!! I think in general I just talk about them like my preferred combination of all iterations so it becomes just a question in personality atp! lately I have really liked the separate entity thing with cap/billy but somehow I prefer it with him than with the others.. another long tangent I could go on abt LOL)

[taricdarkmorn]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 3 - Consequence

Going along with this storyline: Prologue -> Here Fio Day 1 -> Here Xylaes Day 1 -> Here Pyraelia Day 1 -> Here

"Hey. Weird question. Do you have some time this week to come out to an Estate in Quel'thalas and get rid of a soul that's taken up shop in the body of the noblewoman that lives here? Hers is elsewhere at the moment, but I think this other one probably has to be out before the other one can go back in? No rush. I've got plenty of sedatives. Lmk."

The ridiculing snort-laugh that came out of Red’s mouth when he was shown the comm message from Lynesse made Taric smirk. Yes, he was well aware how this sounded. No, this was not his first time, nor Red’s first time,  in dealing with a wealthy person's body being inhabited by another soul - most likely brought on by said wealthy person’s desire to mess with cursed objects or locations. They weren’t exactly known for considering the consequences of their actions. He didn’t know the specifics yet, but a lot of assumptions could be made.

It wasn’t widespread knowledge, but those closer to Taric or Red would know that they have connections to the spirit world. A trait that runs in the male side of the Darkmorn family; being able to see and speak with spirits was the surface level trait, and the simplest explanation that would be given to anyone wanting details. But it went much deeper than that. They could traverse through the veil with ease, allow themselves to become possessed, trap souls, free souls…destroy souls, and more.

Taric had been ‘lucky’ enough to inherit the generation-skipping trait that gifted him sectoral heterochromia, causing his right eye to be half blue, half golden. ‘Half-in, half-out’ as he would describe it, being able to see whatever was beyond the veil and into the real world at the same time. Two planes of existence stacked atop each other. Not understanding what was happening as a child made for an extremely difficult time growing up, but now that he was older, this was simply his norm.

“So what do you think? I’m heading over today and you’re welcome to join. But uhh..this is more your wheelhouse.” The forcible removal of a foreign soul from a body, that is. Taric could do it, but Red was more experienced and much more apathetic about the souls and the people from which they would be removed.

“Is it anyone we know?” ‘Noblewoman’ meant money, but it also meant secrecy and having easy blackmail to hold over someone’s head should the need arise. 

“I don’t know yet. I won’t be given an address until I’m on my way.” Taric was just as in the dark, although he was well aware that Red might be familiar with whomever it may be, given the older man’s own time spent as a noble within Quel’thalas decades ago. Especially if they were of an elder bloodline, like the Darkmorns themselves.

“Well I can’t let you go by yourself on your birthday, now can I?”

Taric blinked a few times. Huh. How time flies and skews when you’re out in ‘the field’. He hadn’t even realized that his birthday was approaching, and now it was suddenly here. “Right. I guess it just slipped my mind. So that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

At least this birthday would be interesting!

@tristennedarkmorn @gloamingdawn @fio-renze @daily-writing-challenge

[inamindfarfaraway]

The Golden Queen

Why would they think she wanted the gold?

Tens, hundreds of years later. When her name was written in books of history or legend and spoken offhandedly in streets and homes, her story retold countless times. When everyone knew of her; what would they think of her?

Base greed? Delusions of superiority? No, no. The queen smiled to herself as she flexed her fingers, taking her first breath as a divinity in her own right. Her court and political peers were never able to conceive of anything they themselves didn’t possess. She stood up straighter, though she almost swayed with the heady rush that streaked and jolted through her veins, dancing, lightning striking her bones and setting her alight from the inside out. The surge she’d felt when she’d gripped the goddess’s hand seemed a spark compared to this.

“Your wish is granted,” said the goddess of wealth, singsong as ever. “All things you touch, except yourself of course, shall turn to gold. You’re welcome!” Her smile was easy and serene, but her eyes were full of emptiness. There was a shine to them a little too bright. Uncanny, especially in a face so similar to hers. Her skirts and sleeves were so translucent, their stitches so fine, one moment they might’ve just been sunlight caught in the air. She disappeared the same way she’d come - in a blink, the subtlest ripple of light. Like perhaps she’d never been there at all.

The queen shrugged the curt exit off and turned away. Her own smile widened.

She may not have looked like it, true. Underestimating her was a terrible habit of everyone. Always had been. A quiet girl, the people had never loved or trusted her much. Born a younger daughter, the throne had never been meant for her, and how stiffly and awkwardly she’d sat on it at her coronation, while the crown had weighed on her head as if hoping to slip off it. She was quite literally the last option. Her destiny hadn’t been sovereign gold, but bridal white - and as luck had had it, funeral black. Her family had left her, one by one. Now all she had was her young daughter, her only child.

Now her beauty was fading, but age had sharpened her eyes and her wits. She’d been growing her hair out for years, long and thick, and after all her textile lessons she could have weaved a new pair of gloves in her sleep. They itched. She didn’t care. It felt nice, to have her face no longer in her forelock’s shadow.

The court’s murmurs about her altered appearance fell silent the instant she poked a finger through the strands and touched a candlestick on the table. And there it was… the lightning, the rush… and the brass was gleaming gold to the core.

Thus began the Golden Age. In scarcely two decades, the kingdom rose the richest and most advanced in the known world with cautious and judicious application of its ruler’s magic touch: the toxic lead pipes became incorruptibly harmless, and nobody could plunder them lest they unearth the whole land; the economy was revitalized; the crooked, squalid streets rebuilt into places where life could be truly lived. Droplets sprayed solid and glittering over shrieking children from a fountain jet that the queen’s fabled hand interrupted.

Likewise, the citizens’ distrust melted away. The queen was the best ruler they’d ever had. The princess was expected to be even better. With a radiant smile and dependable heart, she’d always been beloved. All her mother had was given to her. The best tutors, in higher thought and science and other classes she’d had to scrounge for her brothers’ leftovers of. The princess’s destiny was sovereign gold, she would see to that. In public they were perfect, the venerated goddess-queen and tomorrow’s shining protector.

In private they were long, playful battles of wits over breakfast and souls bared raw in arguments and exchanges of articulate analyses of books in the evenings and heart-to-hearts on the bed. You got good at words, when you couldn’t touch. The queen’s gift wouldn’t change the living, only objects, but gold was heavy. A gown that large and layered on such a slim girl, the risk that it could affect organic hair… well, it wouldn’t do to be careless.

At last the queen announced she would be abdicating, and her worthy heir would take the throne. The kingdom swore to honour her in her retirement and never forget her wisdom or kindness. But how they rejoiced for the princess! The Golden Age was just beginning!

The throne awaited. The queen felt tears prick her eyes. She took her daughter’s hands in hers, gloves now soft silk lined with hair and no longer itching.

“I am so proud of you,” she said.

Before she could proceed with the speech she’d planned, the princess’s face crumpled, rivers down running her cheeks. She threw herself forward -

and for the first time since she was a little girl -

hugged her mother. Her arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hands reached and clutched with the boldness of unbridled love and elation, and slipped under the layered fabric of the queen’s dress. For the first time in twenty years, the queen felt human warmth on her skin.

And there it was. The lightning. The rush. And the crowd gathered for the coronation heard a death-knell wail, as a woman twisted out of her child’s corpse’s arms.

She didn’t know how long she was crying. Only that she’d stopped by the time she found the goddess. Her eyes were still red and stinging.

“You lied to me,” she snarled, body trembling but mind a steady blade. “I asked - you said - it would work only on things, not people!”

The goddess laughed. “I don’t see any difference. People are made, perform specific functions, can break and be fixed sometimes, inevitably break down for good and are disposed of. How are they not things?”

The queen stared at her.

Then she ripped off her gloves, tore them to shreds and strands and seized the goddess’s hands. That serene smile shattered. Those chill bright eyes burned like the purest ice. The lightning died.

Hundreds of years later, her name is written in books of legend and spoken offhandedly in streets and homes, her story retold countless times. Fewer hundreds of years later, she is invoked to demonstrate the self-destructiveness of base greed and delusions of superiority. Tens of years later, the kingdom’s people shake their heads in the capital’s primary square, wondering how the Golden Age could have ended in such tragedy.

Before them stand two solid gold statues: one labelled the queen, the other the princess. The second is known to be the girl’s true body. But the first is definitely an effigy; the queen couldn’t have transformed herself and the statue looks different from her contemporary portraits. Yet it wears no crown. Its clothing is lighter and significantly older, without the queen’s iconic gloves. And every now and then, someone remarks that they saw its eyes glint when no light was shining on them…

[sapphicslaylist]

[STP] On Borrowed Paths Chapter 8 - Under Capture, Under Siege

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Sleeping through a tumultuous night after the fact won’t come easily for either party. With one left alone to settle on his thoughts and another given help to linger away from them, perhaps they’ll all grow to understand each other and the world around them better.

After all, it’s much harder to piece together your past when every person only has the scattered pieces. (Pt 1/2)

TWs: Attempted child sacrifice, mithridatism/self-poisoning with minor peril, childhood trauma, discussions of & attempted cannibalism & vampiric tendencies, Razor-typical slasher imagery (toned down), prisoners of war camp allusions, overdose/magic trickery associated with OD, starvation. There are also segments which can be read as suicidal ideation but are not intended to be, and the male figures involved may invoke imagery associated with sexual harassment.

Retiring for bed that night was troublesome. Left without spouse or soul to guide him, Quiet was left alone to stew with his thoughts and fears. ‘Omen of Death.’ That was right - the way people regarded creatures like the Echo multiplied tenfold when in his presence, scattering much like the Borrowers before him. At the time, he almost pitied them, with their sorrowful eyes as he crossed their paths. But now each and every story from the Fae confirmed who the humans were, what he always knew about them deep down: there was no sympathy left to give.

He had seen more than enough to confirm that. His own knife knew the taste of their flesh and blood, no matter how passive he was around this neck of the woods. Quiet fished into his nightside drawer, looking for that golden headpiece from a winter afternoon not long ago. As he found it, he rolled back onto the bed, finally permitting himself to close his eyes. But whether he would get any sleep was uncertain in these conditions.

You know what they see you as, a familiar voice rang out. A Monster. A Bad Omen. A mere vessel for a blade against your throat. At some point, this forest probably had hundreds of your kind out roaming free, but as they made their shapes known with flourish and grandeur, humanity capitalized on your differences to weave a Fallen Angel fable and cut down your populations one by one. Do you even remember who bore you? Your family? Your ancestors? Or was it merely a case of finding a ransacked human nest on this path in the woods to hide and finding your way through it all alone to survive?

Quiet breathed heavily, feeling those lingering memories begin to stir from the back of his mind.

No; that’s wrong, Quiet bit back. I wasn’t alone. I had them.

Yes, the secondary voice in his head corrected itself. I supposed you did have “them.” The Wildlife and fellow Cryptids who found you young and at their own most vulnerable - escapees of their own traps and miseries. Some of them you found on your hunts, some spared, some assisting you in gathering tools - some even trying to take from you. You found uses for all of them. Including those who were too scared to approach, wouldn’t come with you until you bested them in combat, head-on. What did they decide to call themselves again?

Quiet chuckled. The Voices of the Woods. They work in the service of the Wild, and I suppose they got bored waiting for her to come back. The majority seem to be fairly familiar with - wait, you don’t think…?

The secondary voice scoffed. What; fancy yourself the clumsy protector of a couple princesses? I would’ve expected that your matchmaker would’ve pinpointed an heiress on the spot.

There was a threatening amount of curiosity in that voice that made Quiet know so much as thinking it was a dangerous blunder. It seemed to only nestle at the edges of his thoughts when he was alone, so he knew to be careful in responding - especially when he knew what it was after and why. He would’ve; you’re correct. Besides, I doubt you’d know any more than I do.

Another chuckle resonated in response. I know many things, but perhaps my memory is a bit flawed. It was around the shift in the seasons that you met, wasn’t it?

Quiet permitted the memory to take hold instead of responding directly. Drinking in the silence was easier than speaking the whole thing aloud once more, so he let it be.

It had been three years past; a few after Spectre’s presence had shaken his resolve - a time where instead of vengeance, he was left entwined in their sacred vows of phantasmic matrimony. A time where Borrowers were still new to him, cryptid markets were scarce, and his haunts led out of the forest only when necessary to hunt and scour for items he could find nowhere else. But upon doing so, he gained knowledge of the same damning practice the other voice reminded him of. Humanity saw the unusual as a burden, mere fodder for the pyre of a higher god to save them from these roaming “monsters.” It was better not to get too close.

Sacrifices of blood and gore from “lesser animals” were commonplace, yes. Cryptids, monsters, quadrupeds of unusual stature - these were the awful practices that Quiet expected to see while passing Tower’s shrine on his way through the woods, but the current was worse than even he thought them capable.

Human sacrifices were a rare sighting, and the crowd around it was exquisite. Clearly, the people who had shown up were in their worshiper’s best attire, as if this were some holy ceremony opposed to a murder they were about to watch taking place.

There was a stage in the center, with a bolted shackle against it. Desperately, a singular black and white creature muttered curses under his breath, working to bite it free. The crowd masked most details except for a marred and stained blue dress, this woman’s blond hair - 

Quiet felt his heart stop.

…Not a woman. That was a child .

“Remember why we’re here,” echoed the priest. “To bring an end to one whose rule conspires with Fae. Tower’s might struck her down, and they rewound her from a merciful end. Now she claims that we should let those meddlesome fiends go. What do you think?”

“Slay the witch!”

“Cut her throat! I want to be the first to see her bleed!”

The crowd’s clamoring got louder and louder. Quiet’s cloaked form stepped behind them, feathers bristling. Somehow, he had to get up there.

A kingdom surrounded with an absent king. Was no one doing anything about this? It wasn’t as though the monarchy was his favorite, but slaying a child - this was evil. 

And it only grew worse hearing her voice: desperate, hypnotic and pleading. This crowd could not deny their sins when she cried out just the same as any girl her age.

“You have to believe me; they’re lying to you! The Fae aren’t trying to hurt anyone-“

But yet again, it was drowned out with no remorse.

“I would expect just as much nonsense from a changeling.”

A red-clad figure snuck behind her with a chuckle, roughly tossing her head to one side. As the blonde strands parted, there it was: a singular elven ear. So that explained the rough treatment; if the Fae had lent magic to the Royal family to conceive, no doubt someone would be watching for signs as she came into her power.

Quiet felt his grip drift into the pocket of his cloak. Intentions were clear enough; he didn't have to see anything else as an even more hideous thing escaped the Priest’s mouth:

“Now, who would like to slay her?”

Bravado was often welcomed at these unholy performances - people who believed that by purging particularly dangerous “evils,” Tower would reward them handsomely upon death. Quiet had been ready the whole time.

“I would.”

Quiet’s voice echoed deep and gruff, pushing and shoving through any other volunteers with a specific sense of purpose. He was easily towering over the usual head of a person, cryptid features hidden awkwardly as he stepped up to the stage.

“Well, sir, I-“

The priest urged the red-cloaked figure to hand him over a weapon: a small steel blade, more cleanly polished than the hunting implement he was planning on and with further reach.

“Here you go,” the priest chuckled. “Feel free to take our holiest weapon for this riteous task, the Pristine Bla-“

There was a shriek, and an awful squelch as Quiet ripped straight through his belly. The priest locked his dying gaze on the bird as Quiet ripped it out, letting the blood drain out through the wooden grates. As the supposed executioner tried for a vengeful blow, Quiet was quicker; a quick slice aligned against the throat. Cold, calculated rage emanated through every fiber of his being, making sure each one got a good look at him first. Then he let him fall, deliberately stepping over this horrid man with a crunch of his skull as he spread his wings to the increasing horror of the crowd.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Leave, before your own judgment comes.”

Screaming. What a hideous sight from a crowd that knew well they would inflict worse onto a child . Nevertheless, the chaos was welcome as he approached the shaken fourteen year old girl, protected only by a snarling badger familiar. And with one silent slash of the blade-

The chains unwound from her trembling form. The startled teen looked up, breathless.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Quiet mumbled, kneeling to her side. A taloned hand extended towards her, noticing the hesitation for just a moment. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“Oh, are you with them?”  

There was a hopeful spark in her eyes as the Princess spoke, but it faded quickly as confusion set into those blank eyes.

“I’m just a wanderer, I’m afraid. But from one cryptid to another, you’d best get out of here as soon as possible.“

“Absolutely. But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

Quiet blinked as nimble hands stole the blade from his hands, running foolishly towards the direction of the very castle which was under siege.

“What is she-?”

There was a laugh from beside him. The badger looked up with more than a glint of interest, tail raised inquisitively.

“Ah, young love,” he chortled. “She’s off to rescue her fair maiden, from what I’ve heard; unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll make it much further than we did before without a proper mercenary.”

Smitten’s next words set the course of the kingdom’s fate.

“So, what have you? Feeling up for a side quest and really stick it to those subjugating scoundrels?”

———

As if sensing his own inner turmoil, there was plodding of a squat form in the hallway. Nobody had heard him come in, but that was typical. The house had plenty of hidden burrows and doors even Quiet didn’t fully understand that allowed them to come and please, and judging by the small nudge of a grate beside him it’d come from the air shafts.

The voice in his head was gone. Good riddance.

“I heard about what you did tonight,” the badger crooned, closing his path with a small click. “Sounds like you received some points in the young lady’s favor.”

“She hates me,” Quiet grumbled. He gave a flick of his palm, showing the various wounds run rampant. “She nearly made me kill her to prove it.”

Smitten turned his head and chuckled. “Oh my. Spiteful lover; I see. Well, you know what they say; every rose has its thorns,” he continued, unphased. “And usually the ones who put up briars guard the most beautiful blooms of all. Better to let them rise on their own than yank them out.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, the badger leapt up and circled the foot of the bed.

“That wasn’t my intention; yanking her out. I was just trying to be courteous; it seems that I can't even do that right.”

“They prefer to stay hidden, dear fellow,” Smitten chided playfully. “That was a fool’s errand, and you know it. Coaxing out the Fae is even more challenging than your dearest - but, at the very least, it seems she did indeed get her dying wish. They seem snug and cozy out there, all bundled up…”

A wistful sigh escaped the badger’s mouth. “So you might still get a chance to reconcile.”

“The fact that Spectre’s taken to another in her fold doesn’t automatically mean she’ll make it into mine,” Quiet reminded. “I just… I wish that either of them would take this with stride.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t logical to expect it from the refugees. While unfair to him to bear their sins, it was at least understandable from every word that Thorn had barked and slashed across his skin. But why, still, was he left to deal with all the aftermath alone when his other half knew better than that?

Smitten blinked. “Oh. So it’s not just the newcomer that’s giving you trouble.”

Quiet sighed, gesturing to the side. “The bed is warmer than usual; does that not cue you in enough?”

“Oh no, I’m well aware.” The badger crept forward. “Sometimes the excitement of being understood in a way that no other can may lead to, well… The accidental offcast of the other. That doesn’t mean her frigid curtains don’t long to drape around your heart where they belong. Love and longing are complicated matters, and the dead have even more complex desires lingering on the edge of their tangibilities.” 

Smitten’s eyes met compassionately with his, dark and unblinking. “Talk with her tomorrow and see what she says. But in the meantime,” Smitten grunted, shifting forward, “you seem like you might need some company tonight. Mind if I stay?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Matters of the heart are my speciality,” Smitten chuckled, “and I could sense yours was a little disturbed. Alright, then, move over-“

The badger nosed over against Quiet’s back, folding himself between the corvid’s massive, splayed-out wings. “Till tomorrow, old friend,” he chirped, curling into a ball. “I suspect your mourning dove is more than obliged to talk. And who knows; perhaps you’ll have more than one bird in the hand by the end of-“

“- I think that’s enough right now,” Quiet grumbled. “I’d rather just sleep.”

“Very well, dear fellow,” Smitten huffed, reclining by his pulse. “Very well indeed.”

And while the warmer body of an old friend didn’t nearly match up to what was absent, it was enough to keep the noise out of his mind and finally get some peace that night.

The kitchen’s scene was just as restless as Quiet’s own. By now, Witch had settled comfortably in her spot beside her sister, returning to dormouse sleeping position. Only a tail twitch or hum seemed to disturb her otherwise silent sleep, leaving Thorn to linger on the cusp of yet another insomniac’s nightmare. One didn’t get darkened circles under the eyes for nothing, after all; every attempt was awoken by a burst of vivid memory she couldn’t shake.

A lingering chill swept over her; instinctively, she grabbed for her blade, thrusting it upwards. There was a soft sigh of disappointment as the cold touch merely went through it to stroke her palm. A trickle of embarrassment crept up as Thorn returned it to her side.

“… Ghost. Right.”

“Your reflexes are getting better,” rumbled a voice from down below. Thorn didn’t need to turn her head to know that was Beast. Better to explain to her what’d happened.

“Look, I’m sorry about -“

“Sorry?” Beast scoffed. “A Queen does not apologize for a bold act of self defense.”

Thorn’s eyes widened. That was the first time Beast had actually acknowledged anything but scorn towards her inheritance.

“I read the lingering trails of mana once you were done. A bit of overuse on the block-off, but a fine, fearsome hunt. You’ve finally begun to understand what we are and what we’re up against.” Then, with a bit of remorse:

“I was wrong to question your methods. You have been learning rather well, kit.”

Kit. Not Prey. This was a step up.

“What made you change your mind?”

Beast shifted upon her spot down below, tail twitching. “Read my next move.”

“You’re crouching; about to pounce.”

No sooner had Thorn answered that the massive creature leapt up onto the counter beside them, leaving enough room to leave the basket undisturbed. Witch, impressively, remained asleep through the whole ordeal.

“My point exactly,” Beast rumbled. “You’re finally understanding that pain is part of the consequence of your rule. That nature cannot exist without the ties between the survivors and the deceased, and it is the bonds between them that keep us humble.” As if on cue, she gave a nod of respect towards Spectre, lying down beside the basket. “It seems you’ve formed a very unique one indeed.”

Spectre turned towards Beast, returning the gesture. Having a chimera in the vicinity was scarcely new, but Den was a creature of no words, and communicated exclusively with Quiet unless prompted. Beast was, well, far more traditional in the ways of that natural bond between Borrowers; a little strange, but not unwelcome. More company was far better than less.

“I’m sure any other ghost would do the same,” Spectre replied softly. “All we’ve ever done is try to survive. It’s no skin off our back to relay the paths which lead to tragedy - not as if we have any left to give.” The final note was left in morbid whimsy, giving a shrug of her shoulders. “Even though I may not need them, staying within the bounds of this house has its perks in still knowing where the safe spots are to gather food and find shelter within - you can’t sleep, can you?”

Spectre turned towards her prickly counterpart, who lay beside her restlessly. Clearly, the attempt had been made over and over in vain, but it wasn’t the talking which had been keeping her awake.

Thorn didn’t respond. Only a single look of utter distress seemed to cross her, struggling for words.

Spectre tutted. “That’s what I thought; I expected you’d be already out by now. Well, if you do want help-“

A gentle hand reached over, brushing gently at a few stray locks of hair.

“I can always take that little nightmare away from you, but you’d have to let me in.”

The look of unease widened. This was only the second night here, and seeing what she could do to someone as immense as Quiet -

“A-Are you asking to…?”

“It’d be temporary. If you need me to leave or it gets to be too much, you can always tell me.”

Thorn hesitated. “And I wouldn’t be paralyzed like-?“

“Quiet and I have a… System. But no. Control is given, not taken away. I can’t access anything without your permission.”

“Shouldn’t you be with him? This is usually the time when I thought you retired for the night.”

The ghost’s pattern was hard to read, but even from a distance there was an obvious rift that the newer presence in the house had caused. The last thing that she wanted was to make it worse - especially after seeing what had happened with his prior panic after the fact. Was the strange bird man okay? How was he faring now?

And why did she suddenly care so much?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave while you’re in this state, additional support or not,” Spectre replied. “Quiet seemed like he needed some time alone to process. Much in the same way that there are parts of my life he cannot fathom, the same applies to him.”

“I see.” A part of her told Thorn there was an additional, more selfish reason for Spectre’s lingering, but it wasn’t one that she blamed her for in the slightest. A ghost left to linger away from any contact got to be selfish when it came to the first signs of common life, right?

There was a moment before Thorn spoke. “… If you’re okay with that. But fair warning: you’re not going to like what you see.”

“I think I can rest fine with that. I have been for quite a while now, after all - even if not in peace,” Spectre purred, placing a careful hand along Thorn’s cheek. For a moment, their eyes met, before Thorn broke the contact. “There’s much I can learn from the two of you; lives I never lived, no matter how unpleasant.”

“Your mother would be proud of you,” Beast purred. “Respect for the dead was one of her main tenants.”

So it wasn’t just hollow encouragement after a failed hunt. Beast was proud of her. It seemed that alone set the course of action, even if already decided, ebbing away the final stressors of the night.

Thorn’s body relaxed, extending a hand towards Spectre’s. This was taken in kind, looking over her expectantly.

“So, is that a ‘yes?’”

Final confirmation. She wasn’t making any moves without complete consent; it was unfamiliar after so long trapped in cages like livestock. But she still didn’t know if the confirmation was more for her sake or Spectre’s or both:

“Yes. I want it to stop.”

The soft gaze swam in weary, tired eyes. The frigid touch against Thorn’s skin grew immeasurable, taking up pinpricks to stabbing icy pain along hand, arm, torso and neck as Spectre began to settle. It was hard at first to resist the urge to cry out, but held it in for fear of waking up Witch a few paces away. 

It was agony, then a soft, spectacular numbing as it shifted along nerves in spirals and massaged out phantom pains which shouldn’t have existed. Tender muscles seemed to ease as it sunk in, vision clouding over with the fractals. Then, finally:

Finally a place where there isn’t so much empty space. This is much more comfortable; thank you.

That did get a jolt from Thorn. Of course, the expectation was that it would be sudden-

-Right. I should’ve given you some warning. Well, in any case, I suppose you can tell now that I’m here. How do you feel?

Heavy. There was no other way to describe this sensation than a numbing, dull ache of cold that began to smooth out all nerve tissue like a strange ethereal massage. It was like the sensation of trying to get out of bed in the morning and being unable to -

So that’s perfect! Now, just close your eyes, and leave everything else to me.

… I’m not getting another word out, am I? Fine. In any case, sleep sounds pretty nice about now. Might as well go ahead and just -

But the next words didn’t seem to process. By the time that any form of coherent thought could formulate, it seemed that Thorn had crashed, finally lulled to sleep by the comforting drone of hushed whispers and cold blankets enveloping all else and stealing away the horrendous memories.

But not the case for an all too curious voyeur, watching the horrors of the past unwind once more in lieu of this wounded, potential lover. The gift of a memory was immense for a soul this guarded, and Spectre knew well to honor it.

______

Hazy, blurred vision began to stir from a drug-induced sleep. A desperate form on the outside, tail twitching upon tap after tap. It seemed that the effects of Beast’s dark magic had indeed rendered obsolete on Witch as she attempted to rouse her sister, growing more frightened by the moment. But slumped in the corner of a metallic cage, it was hard to sit up, let alone stand while the magic ran rampant through Thorn’s system.

Voices seemed to bellow from the room behind them as that traitorous chimera paced, her shadow twitching like a hound in waiting. She stopped right beside their own cage, as though expecting a sign of life from her so-expected heiress to spring back to life. 

A growl rose in her throat. Thorn blinked, raising a weary hand in her direction.

“Are you… Trying to tell me something?” The words from the Fae came out choked, and Beast scoffed in disgust.

“I shouldn’t have to instruct Wild’s daughter on what to do when her future subjects are caught,” Beast lamented, looking over one shoulder as she turned her back. “This is your kingdom in danger. It’s in your blood; seize your opportunity and escape. Then find me if you’re still alive thereafter. I expected more of you, Heiress.”

“No, wait-“

A pathetic gesture, really. But in the daze of sleep, it was all that Thorn could really muster.

Witch, however, wasn’t going to give up so easily. Scuttling towards the front of the cage, she leapt up and shook its bars with a frightful hiss. Beast stopped for a moment to catch her eye. A singular roar emanated back, before continuing away from the pair of them.

“Great; we lost he alliance,” Witch huffed. “And she must’ve been our way out of here.”

“And our way in,” Thorn reminded ruefully. “But I'll take that over being torn apart by the others in her pack.”

“You might change your mind once you see what it’s actually like here.” 

An unfamiliar voice piped up this time - calmer than seemed practical, with the clank of heavy chains. Looking across a few paces, it was clear the way that these cubic cages were organized was no accident; a microcosmic prison yard, with each space facing the other across. But the walls on all sides except facing out towards the front blocked off contact to the neighbor. If math was correct, there were at least six of these structures - maybe one or two on top of each other. It was hard to see above.

“Who are you?”

“What does it matter who anyone is? I’m just another prisoner here.” The voice sounded bored; tired. “But while you’re stuck, I might as well fill you in on the basics, Your Highness. That is, if you plan on there being a world left after this.”

So more than just the chimeras has sensed the Network awakening. Thorn brushed her palm, deciding now was not the time to question it.

“I should be right across from you,” the voice conceded. “That way, we can talk face to face.” 

Looking over, it seemed that this was indeed correct; the figure sat bound by the wrists - and good god, neck too?! -  to the back of the cage, her air of calm skepticism. A single look into those deadened eyes told Thorn that she had seen more than enough of this place, but information came with a cost. 

“Good. So the effects of the fog wore off in time. Thankfully, it seems that most of your enclave made it out; they mostly had their targets set on a select few based on who they dragged in while you were asleep. But even still, they seem to have been foolish in their roommate assignments. Your friend here looks about ready to go.”

Thorn paused. Roommate? It seemed like this borrower was alone at first -

“Damn right I am. Like I said, I could rip those chains out, easy. Heck, I could crush this tin can and split the bones of those bedraggled human ha - oh no.”

The boldened visage of Adversary shrank immediately upon noticing the cage across from her, the spaded tail tucking awkwardly around one leg.

“Okay… Spleens. We’re talking more like ripping out their spleens now.”

This got at least a smile out of the adjacent captive. As dismaying as it was to see that anyone from the territories joined in this miserable fate, at least it was of the boldest of their fleet.

“Briar,” Adversary breathed, “I thought you shredded your way through.” Absent, distressed hands crushed the cage bars between her fists. Indeed, a little more pressure would’ve ripped them clean off.

In usual circumstances, that nickname alone stirred their usual courting dance; a bold swish of tufted tail, a spark of mischief as clawed fingertips sank into shoulderblade in the strong embrace a few inches away. But right now, all passions of the heart faded, giving way for sweeping guilt and rank, chilling fear.

The once-boldened voice of the Heiress came off choked and strained, as though from lack of use.

“I had to go back for this one,” Thorn grumbled, lifting one of Witch’s elongated ears.

“Oh.” There was a disappointed shake of Adversary’s head, her broad shoulder flexing as she shrugged. “Let me guess -“

“Human interaction.”

The red sheen of the draconic Fae’s skin paled momentarily. Then, flashing a grin in an attempt to recover -

“She try to fight off Her Royal Pain at least?”

“Can you two knock it off?” Witch twitched in Thorn’s lap, draped over like a sad rug more than a living being. Her head turned away from the jeers from her other community member, tail lashing as it whipped deliberately into her sister’s face. “Next time I see her, I’ll do it right. I won’t hesitate.” 

With eyes, impossibly, dimmer than Thorn’s, Witch lifted up a clawed hand stained with dried blood. There was a soft, sick smile as she looked over at Adversary.

“Gave the girl a nasty cut to remember me by. Wouldn’t let me touch it; won’t heal properly. She’ll remember what she’s done.”

Adversary chuckled. “Good. So long as we’ve left our mark, that’s damning enough for me. If they think I’m going down easy, ohh, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“You’ll probably make it out alive,” Thorn noted, giving a nod. “As for the rest of us…”

Adversary scoffed. “Now, don’t talk like that. You think I’m going to just leave you two-“

Witch stopped listening. Curling inwards, she instead retired to her spot, fishing into the only possessions she’d been grabbed with. Spare twine, a few barbs, a blown out torch - the Tonic. She lifted it from the worn burlap sack, giving a hesitant tilt of her head.

It was risky. Possibly lethal at her age. Scorpion’s Tonic was considered a “coming of age” spell for Fae above fifteen, and presently she was a year or two short. But surely, in the situation they were in, this was more important, right?

Usually, she would’ve consulted Thorn first, but right now, that didn’t seem like an option as she looked over the squabbling crowd with a furrowed brow. Tentatively, she uncorked the bottle and began to drink.

“- Besides, just think about it,” Adversary continued. “They have that whole Arena thing, right? Think about it, Rose. Just you and me, kicking ass and taking names-“

Witch rolled her eyes as her attention briefly came back into conversation. “Briar Rose-“ that goofy little petname of hers for Thorn - it worked every time in charming her, but this was scarcely the time. They needed to get out.

“I don’t know,” Thorn admitted. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to take on the hounds they usually put into that circle. I don’t think anyone is.”

“That’s the point,” piped up the unfamiliar… Prisoner. “They don’t want you to win . The Ring is rigged against you.”

Adversary waved a hand dismissively. “Pssht. As if more talon wounds and bites are going to deter me; the more they make me bleed, the stronger I’ll fight back! They really think they can-“

“- Drain your mana clean away,” the borrower murmured, shrugging in her chains. She shifted, avoiding eye contact as she counted a few variables: “possibly rendering a few nerves obsolete - and oh, you’re lucky if that’s all they’re taking.”

There was a darkening look on this prisoner’s face, somewhere between twisted amusement and anguish. Thorn couldn’t tell, tail bristling. She didn’t want to know, but at the same time had to for any chance to survive.

“Wait… What do you mean?”

“Do you know how wine is made here?” There was a clank of the chains around her neck as the Prisoner looked over. “Do you know why it’s so dark compared to your own made out in the woods?”

There was an onlook of horror as Prisoner continued.

Okay. Witch knew that taking the Tonic was worth it, whether she lived through it or not.

“Or perhaps you’ve heard the rumors about how in order to obtain a Fae’s magic-“

“You’re fucking kidding me.”  

The growl of disbelief came out a hiss of horror, catlike features returning to Thorn’s aid. The shuffle from place to place was bad enough, and Adversary was right; there were technically ways to brute through gladiatorial combat, so long as the youngest parties weren’t tossed in as sacrifices. But the mere notion of what this disturbingly calm Borrower was suggesting…

Hesitantly, Thorn scanned the room. Giving a tap to Witch to get off her lap, the Heiress peered through tiny tears in the thin sheet metal and enlarged them with the aid of her claws.

This was definitely the Royal cellar; barrels of wine, expensive cuts of hanging meat, cheeses, and jerkies were lingering on the scene. The stone of the basement was polished nicely, but still had the lingering stench of a familiar scent above the glowing sconces on the wall:

“It smells like… Iron?“

“Smell closer, Fae,” the Prisoner instructed.

A singular squint at one of the wine barrels seemed to confirm the damning suspicion:

‘FAE SPIRITS.’

Thorn stumbled back. Witch clumsily nudged her back up, giving a grunt of frustrated alarm.

“What? What is it?!”

“Oh no no - we have to get out of here.”

“I would say ‘good luck with that,’” the Prisoner scoffed, “but I think your friend over here is about ready to take this whole place down with her. If you alert the guards, though, they won’t care if you drown first before chugging the whole bottle. They’re impatient; greedy . Be careful with how you proceed.”

“You’ll need some of this, too,” Witch choked, handing over the half-empty bottle of Tonic. Her steps were woozy, eyesight unfocused as she struggled to stand. “First dose after a while poisons them , too, doesn’t it?”

Thorn stared at the poison-drunk Borrower. “What di- whe- no. Heal - heal, now!” Thrusting herself forward, Thorn rammed her sister to the ground, pressing Witch’s hand over her chest. With the other, she grabbed the Tonic from her hand, fur bristling. “Please tell me you didn’t chug this-“

“Had to,” Witch chuckled weakly. “Our two options are taking a potion or becoming one. Do you really think that the guards are going to sit around and let us wait around while we slowly down an entire vial of this?”

 Thankfully, it seemed the healing glow took. A few sparse marigold blooms entwined under the pulse, ebbing away at the toxic flow. So at the very least Witch wasn’t fighting the assistance Thorn snaked in place with a softer vine of her own. 

“What you did was really stupid,” Thorn growled, breathless. “Just… Hang in there, okay? Once we get out of here-“

There was a broady laugh from the other cage. “Come on; she reminds me of us when we were her age,” Adversary grinned. “You were dying to get your hands on Tonic at seven. I could handle the stuff earlier than that. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and I spat up half of it the first time we tried.” There was a soft huff as Thorn rolled her eyes back, grateful for the distraction. By now, Witch had already propped herself up; the worst of the symptoms were ebbing away. Good. “Scorpion’s Tonic isn’t something to mess with haphazard; it’s a safeguard from them.”

“It sounds like she has the right idea,” Prisoner answered. “They usually test your blood first to check if you’re Fae or not. And if they detect poison, they’re less likely to throw you in. And at best… We could even kill them and get out of here.” Glancing to the side, there was a quick scan for the guards. “I don’t suppose either of you have poison in your blood already, do you? Perhaps a spell or two?”

“Just endurance, I’m afraid,” Adversary shrugged. “And I think Witch is a little young to be doing the whole ‘jailbreak from hell’ routine.”

Prisoner squinted as she watched Thorn kneel beside the squirming, protesting Borrower, growling as she placed a few red speckled blooms across her sister’s chest.

“No, I don’t care if you’re not hurting now,” Thorn insisted. “Your first dose of Scorpion does hurt, high tolerance or not. Even Adversary can vouch for this. Now take it.”

“Oh man,” Adversary replied with a shake of her head. “Does it ever-“

“That’ll work.”

“What?” 

Both older Borrowers looked up, leaving only Witch to grumble meekly as they addressed the more experienced hostage.

“Opioids,” Prisoner stated clearly. “Those are poppies, aren’t they?”

“They’re mostly for situations like this,” Thorn explained, noticing Witch batting aimlessly at the air. That would be the medicine, not the Tonic’s effect. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a lethal poison.”

“Not at the doses you’re giving it,” Prisoner uttered darkly. “But I think you and I both know it’s fatal if you double that amount. Humans do it to themselves all the time. You’ve been measuring carefully; I can tell. And if you’re worried it won't be enough, I believe the shelves in there have some things that’ll mix nicely with it.”

“But how would I ever get that to them? Magic isn’t taken like they seem to think, it’s gi-“

The darkening smile on Prisoner’s face confirmed it. Thorn, apprehensively, lowered her tail, voice raising with an edge of instability.

“You want me to walk out and offer it open-handed to a pack of cannibals?!”

“It’s your duty as rising Queen to protect your subjects,” Prisoner reminded with a simple brush of her hand. “You’re the only one who has a strong enough toxin on you to complete the task unhindered, and in either case we’re not sending you in there alone. You’ll have help.” Prisoner turned her head, glancing up to an unseen figure. “I’m presuming you’ve been waiting long enough for this moment.”

The ceiling above the royal siblings buckled with leadened steps. There was a scraping that made both them flinch.

“You need my help? Now what would you need with a sweet little thing like me?” This voice somewhere above was deceiving, grating in every syllable. “I can’t think of what you would want with a poor, unarmed little-“

“Drop it, Razor. Save it for when you’re inside the room.” Prisoner’s eyes squinted, indicating disinterest.

“Oh! Well, in that case-“

A horrible squelch erupted from the cage above. There was a shout of awe and delight as Adversary slammed her fists together - that was generally not a good sign. And sure enough, a flash of red and blonde streaks catapulted from the bindings and leapt down to the other side of the cages below. A nimble Borrower surely wasn’t unwelcome here.

“Thank goodness,” Razor whined, tossing her hands haphazardly to her side by Prisoner’s cage. “It was so boring up there.”

Then, almost as if tempting fate… Thorn squinted. Was she holding a knife? And what, precisely, was the reddened mess dangling by her side? Did she want to know?

“Put that away,” Prisoner scoffed. “You don’t need to be wasting it.”

“You’re no fun.” There was a shink, and it blended clean into the crimson of her dress. Which, frankly, seemed to also have blades jutting out of it on the silvery edges -

Okay, maybe it was better to stop staring and concentrate.

“We found the queen.”

Razor looked over to where Prisoner’s gaze led, blinking in gleeful surprise as she put up a bloodied hand.

“Hmm? Oh hi! We’ve been waiting some time for you.“ Razor’s eyes scanned the cage in dismay. “You don’t belong in there. Let me help.”

“No no, wait-“ But Prisoner’s grumbles of annoyance fell on an apathetic target as the figure raced towards them all at once. It was too late.

Thorn tensed as rapid footsteps began to approach, giving way for a form with immensely sharp teeth. An entire arm appeared to be missing in place of a - why was there a knife in place of an entire arm?! That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t even normal for Fae. Oh no, and they were stuck here, too…

On instinct, her own hackles raised and ducked, bracing for impact. She knew she couldn’t hope to outpace a speed like that cornered like a trapped rodent. Better to just close her eyes and wait. This was clearly the end.

The cage bar clicked, padlock snapping clean off. The door swung open, watching her step back. Bemused, Thorn took a cautious step back as she looked over this…

Was she Fae? The sword slotted for an arm and pointed ears indicated yes, but there was no tail in sight. The sharpened teeth would’ve distinguished wild descent, but no; they seemed to be aligned with her power. So maybe she was domestic after all. Fae who mastered household equipment in their magic weren’t uncommon with domestic cousins, but manipulating limbs into them took it a step further. And this one had a dangerous air to her, smile disappearing.

“What? Did you want me to stab you?” The Fae’s voice was unsettlingly eager as she waved her bladed arm. “Come ooooon.”

To be honest, Thorn didn’t exactly want to leave her sister unprotected with this strange being lurking right outside. Thankfully, she didn’t need to think about it too long.

“Alright; like it or not, I’m snapping this thing off,” came the gruff voice of Adversary, following the swift tear of metal from the outer wall. Judging by the three different snaps that followed, it didn’t take long to figure out whose it was as the pair of handcuffs across snapped off, along with the longer chain.

“Don’t bother with getting closer,” Prisoner huffed, slapping her hand away as it brushed against her throat. “The only way to get that one off is surgical removal.”

“Nonsense-“

“We have more important things to deal with.”

Prisoner’s gaze hinted at their current dilemma. Razor crossed her arms as Thorn circled like a trap-happy animal, impossibly resigning to the darkness of the prison cell beside the sleepy ginger body. This was unbelievable.

“She’s going to get all of us killed,” Prisoner huffed. “That’s presuming Razor doesn’t lose her temper first-“

“It’s my turn with the baby, Thorn.” Adversary grunted as she pushed the cage bars aside and stepped out into the fray. She gave an appreciative nod towards Razor’s implement as she passed before stepping forward, practically hauling the thinner Borrower into her grasp.

Adversary always smelt of sweat and peat. There was a natural aroma of home that had been bitterly ripped from them that flexed through her biceps and slammed down roughly on her skull against Thorn’s own; that growling sigh where you could practically taste the smoke billowing from her nostrils.

“We talked about this, remember?” Adversary’s gruff voice continued as her textured palms took Thorn’s, tracing the budding scars from the chimera attack with interest. “If you had to go out to fight, I’d babysit. And vice versa. That was always the deal. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Then, softer: 

“And I’ll be the first to greet the new tattoos you pick up. Maybe punch yourself out a new earring, huh?”

There was a giggle that followed which sounded stupid even to Thorn herself. Despite her rigid exterior, Adversary was quite the charmer - and those threads of young love weren’t lost on either teenager now. Giving a rough kiss, Adversary swept Thorn from behind with a tap below the tail, tossing her out of the cage towards destiny. Flustered, Thorn dared look back, wagging her tail almost expectantly.

“Knock ‘em dead, Briar,” Adversary roared, boasting her shark-like teeth. “You know how to make them bleed.” Once Adversary had swooped in and picked up the tiny, restless form of the healing Borrower, Thorn finally redirected attention towards the sharper Fae in question.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to get caught, and then you follow,” Razor stated matter-of-factly. Her bladed forearm sheathed itself, rewinding the lacerated skin around it. “You should go hide.”

There was a tense air that spread over the surrounding cellar at the realization. Being caught meant that people would come back out here, and chanced the others being caught - and with the ripped up cages front and center, that put everyone at risk. Surely, they had noticed that? Or were they too preoccupied to care? There weren’t a lot of spaces to hide in this place, and with the wreckage to boot they would tear this place to shreds to find any stragglers. Bolts would be replaced, the escapees and ransackers punished…

Razor squinted at the damage, frowning. A few thin curtains tapped at the cage bars and shredded platinum wiring, enclosing ocular ribbons over the mess.  That was, at least, if they could see it. Ohh. So she could do glamours too?

The plan was clearer now as Thorn hunkered down beside one piece of sheet metal that had courteously vanished from human sight. From here, she could easily keep track of Witch by earshot alone until it was time to go.

Remember what’s at stake. What’s at stake for everyone. You still have a chance to make things right for the ones who got caught.

Just for good measure, better to take a revitalizing swig of that Tonic in case these bastards did try anything. Hitting them with a nasty bite of poison sounded pretty good about now.

————

The evening of the castle’s siege, not far above the horrors in the winery below, was one that no party would ever scrape from their minds. A breathless corvid mercenary, a panting badger, and a damsel’s armed ire storming in with every twitching muscle laid chase - a young woman, much like the Rising Wild, still coming into her power that'd been thrust violently onto shoulders far too young. As priests in ill-fitting armor attempted to block the path, the Princess aimed a blow; it clanged awkwardly, still squeaking out a small “sorry!” by nothing but habit.

The race back into the palace was certainly more challenging for the Princess with everything else under siege. Broken glass and splattered paints of blood - the Divine Order certainly hadn’t left a single part of this castle go to waste. Nevertheless, the Princess clutched the Pristine Blade tightly in her hand as she trudged forward, grimacing at the sight laid strewn about her.

This was where they’d been overtaken. Imposter guards laid in wait and tasters which slipped through poisoned wine had offered up a fine feast - taking out the comatose and making allies out of those who succumbed to the luxuries they brought instead. Those who choked on them were often the ones who they had wanted to assassinate to begin with; all the way up to the the Royal chambers. A single vial of Scorpion’s Tonic; a foolish toast to undying love; had revealed its hidden toxins and warned the Princess herself from partaking. 

She knew exactly why they’d left this place to rot in decay. The townsfolk had grown weary over the frequent poachings of the mythical folk out in the woods, but Tower’s Order had grown a cultlike presence over the lands years ago that was too great to stifle. Rumors kept from their firstborn daughter indicated their desires were selfish; that benefits of the forest’s survival were to the monarchs alone as they hid their monstrous daughter away within. Naturally, any self-respecting creature would seek revenge for what humanity had done, and so the best thing to do was to cut both down: from the root. And thus the tie between Princess and Wild would be set to burn, unbeknownst that neither would go down without a fight.

The woods had ears. Twenty-two of them, to be precise. And for this specific occasion, it seemed a desperate lover’s hand had beckoned the Voice of the Smitten to drop the chalice from the table.

“Oh, Tower’s ingrace,” the Badger staggered back, horrified as the crimson spray howled as it landed on a lighter carpet. “That’s blood!”

“Not just any blood,” the Princess shuddered, kneeling down to investigate. “ Fae blood.”

By now, Quiet had managed to yank a broadsword from the stiffened hand of a dead guard, kneeling down to the bottle. “It’s what? Oh, shit. Thank the Wilds my wife is safe dead at home-“

Smitten squinted in amusement. “You’re an odd fellow, aren’t you?” Then, returning to the topic: “I don’t know how, or why, but yes. Highly toxic when drunk to excess; single drop is a mighty weapon on its own in the right context. Poisons their own, and - hey!”

There was a shriek as Quiet dipped his fingers into the reddening stain, smearing the red streak across the fuming badger’s fur.

“You absolute heathen! This is beyond barbaric, insolent, i… this stain won’t come out of the white patches for weeks!”

“We need to hide our scent if there’s chimeras in the vicinity, and it’s better if we all smell the same to confuse them,” Quiet explained. Then, looking over apologetically towards the Princess: “I’m so sorry you have to witness all of this. Are you able to, or…? I don’t want to smear it on if it’ll actually hurt you.”

It seemed the chokehold of shock had taken over those pale blue eyes as she stared into Quiet’s. But nevertheless she leaned forward and allowed his fingers to glide across her cheek to apply the smear of blood accordingly.

“I’ll be fine so long as I don’t ingest it. Just be careful not to cut me when you apply it.”

Scent deterrents. Now that she’d begun to grow a little more familiarized with her own Fae origins, the reek of them was more potent. Better to just get as used to this as she possibly could, and be thankful that her bloodline was domestic opposed to wild. Whatever was going on with her own betrothed, it was probably ten times worse with a nose that keen.

Once they had all been slathered in a proper layer of the viscous wine, the Princess rose from her crouched position.

“We need to keep moving. There’s one more place we need to go before we can figure out where they’re keeping her-“

“And then it’s off to your beloved!” Smitten practically trilled the words, tail wagging with delight. “She deserves a true knight in shining armor; oh, please tell me we’re stopping for some good equipment! Can you imagine popping open your helmet to reveal your golden glory?”

“Not the time,” Quiet chided. “I’m sure whatever this is, it’s more important.”

As they descended a nearby staircase, there was a pinprick of a tiny knife and hostile male voices as it shattered an adjacent cellar’s glass. 

————-

“Hey! What’s the big idea?!”

There was a growl as one man shot out of one chair, shadow now coming into clear view as the frosted window parted.

“I thought I told you to lock ‘em down good, Jim.” A skinny fellow held up a deck of cards, sifting through them with an air of disinterest. “Not our fault the middleman got stalled. But it sure will be if we lose their prize.”

“Ugh,” grumbled the first voice. “We were just supposed to be here for the fun part, not dealing with these pixies in the aftermath.”

“Fae. They’re Fae, knucklehead.” The card dealer shrugged, handing a few to the man seat across from him. “And that’s too bad. If one of them is causing a ruckus, well… We’ve got all night. Bottle’s still full. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss a single troublemaker, right? So why don’t you go see to it?” 

There was a greed - no, hunger in these sleazeball’s words as they poked and prodded each other forward. It was clear they didn’t intend for their pacing little culprit to survive as one man stepped out to investigate the commotion.

“There you are,” Razor grinned. “I was hoping someone would finally come back. My cage came unlocked. I figured you would want to know the materials aren’t the sturdiest.”

The Borrower in question waved a hand over to the savaged bars, catching an obvious look of unease as the man rubbed the back of his head. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. Are you asking if we should get you another compartment so that you’re more secure for departure?”

There was an excited gasp as Razor clapped both hands together, jumping up and down. If she wasn’t such a blatantly ominous actress, she would be adorable. “That’s a thought! Would you mind?” Her gaze narrowed, smile threatening.

“Not at all,” the man responded, reaching for a falconer’s glove in the corner. “But now, you’ll have to come with me while I see what we have. That thing looks like it’s toast.”

That was a strange thing to have lying around. Why a falconer’s glove? There didn’t seem to be many raptors kept in the kingdom walls or else they’d have seen them. That was ignoring the fact this man could tell this woman was armed and dangerous, but nevertheless. Hawks, eagles, maybe phoenixes if it was fireproof? It was hard to think of what else could possibly be the intended familiar of that specific garment. What over birds were there in the kingdom?

A bleeding blur of taloned feet and a tall corvid’s head was visible from the darkened cracks in the ceiling. Far too big to be falconed, a sword in the mouth, lunging forward - by the graces above, what was that?! 

It’d thrown her off concentration was what; stupid thing. The last thing the heiress saw properly was a hand waving back in the palm of this human’s hand as those bladed teeth resurfaced. An index finger switched to knife, stabbing a tiny incision into the hand through the glove as he walked away.

Perfect. Now she had a blood trail to follow.

The cue was clear enough. Thorn took it to move.

If there was one thing Borrowers were not lacking, it was mobility. No loss of limb nor limitation of one specific sense would slow their ability to get around, adapting by mere seconds in the heat of the moment to get around. Testing the structure of the table’s wood indicated that it shredded down, and clawing it would leave few marks. It was worth the risk of a silent sliding descent without wasting any magic.

There was a twitch of one ear beside the table as the chimera seemed to notice her escape. This time, when they turned to face her, Thorn was ready. A quick slash across the face made the Beast shake her head. Lips now formed into a calm smile of approval.

“Reactive. Good.” The Beast’s head shifted to a hole in the wall, giving a flick of the tail. Then, she stood up and waited for the heiress to cross before pawing at the door herself.

“The cat wants in,” one of them grumbled, giving it a quick unlatch. The padding of footsteps followed suit with the creaking of chairs as Thorn made her way through the cellar walls in a wary hunker.

This was a prison. The feeling of dirt and rust between the slats in each part of this pipe confirmed it. No one had used the inner workings of this chamber in some time, collecting hints of mica and permeating sod. It was hard to take in a breath as she clambered forward. Parts of the ruptured pipe seemed to be fraying to the touch. Thankfully, Fae were scarcely victims of tetanus.

I would hope this at least makes me less appetizing. I doubt it, though - not against an enemy like this.

But soon enough, the sloppy construction work did indeed lead out to the other side behind some shelving units - vials, jars, and specimen contaminants which had been knocked over. This honestly looked like it had been a medical lab before the triad of brutes took over. Supposedly, they’d never know with all this fancy equipment smashed and records torn apart.

Presently, a vial which marked itself as “snake oil” was her current haunt. A bluff medicine, but combined with real poison it could be manipulated into something worse. Maybe while Razor worked she could see if this lab had something she could combine her own handiwork with for an instant knock-out; insect wings, dragon claws…

“Thank you so much for bringing me away from that awful compartment,” Razor’s voice echoed from down below. “ Someone ripped the whole thing open while I was in there, picked the locks and then left before you could even get there!”

She was being melodramatic in the gloved hand of this captor, and Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if this strange new Fae was trying or deliberately failing in her act of composure. Either way, it seemed that she was indeed keeping them distracted, and that’s what she needed right now as she searched the shelves.

“So the little lady wants a new little cage, is that right?” One of the other men seemed to speak up from down below, setting their cards down. Two figures leered over with a look of intrigue that did not belong on human faces. “We’ll see what we can do. Why don’t you stay out here with us a little while until we find something suitable?”

Already, the words were sending chills up Thorn’s spine. Perhaps this whole “nice girl” act actually was smart, watching Razor pause a moment and place a hand to her cheek. The singular bladed finger she kept behind her back. More were threatening to press to the surface.

“Hmmmm…”

Razor circled the open desk of cards and sat down on top of one the man was clearly reaching to play. There was a noticeable frustration as they locked eyes.

The jig was up. Either this coy little Borrower pried malfeasance upfront and center, or else he pretended not to see. That was… Clever. Perhaps one for her own book.

“What do you really want? You got some kind of trick up your sleeve? Got a weapon on you?”

It seemed the man had chosen violence, and got an even response of a shake of the head. “Nope! I just figured I would see what you were up to. So many of the others have been waiting a long time and seen no one home. And besides, where would I even put a weapon that could hurt any of you? It would be so strange to assume I had more than a needle on me. You would see a needle, wouldn’t you?”

Oh boy, here we go. Better to just grab the closest thing before someone got the idea to start snooping. These jars were glass, after all. Powdered scales and chimera teeth - those would be perfect, but too locked up. A small crack seemed to be viable in one jar - this had better work.

“Do you see anything?” Razor’s voice gained that cutting edge as the lies got fiercer. “See these? Hands! Perfectly norma-“

“There’s a blade embedded in her fist,” the second onlooker pointed out. “Several of them, actually. Right between the digits.”

Razor looked down and blinked. “You know, I’d forgotten those were there. It’s easy to forget when I’m so small and you’re so big and sliceable-“

Those bladed teeth were back. It took no effort looking down as she snuck into the glass for Thorn to confirm that as the tiny blademaster advanced, lead forth by the shrieks of sadists getting a taste of their own medicine.

Nightshade. A classic if she could get just a few leaves and get out. Of course, going in to begin with was risky but it seemed that with the current fight the captor’s minds were… well, preoccupied. A single look over confirmed as much as Razor yanked her hand away from - yeah, okay. That was enough information. Fight handled, distraction dealt with, and at least someone here was having fun. Because even after succeeding with enfolding the nightshade berries within the poppy petals, that was certainly not her.

So far, so good. An entire situation handled, and still not caught. This would typically be the perfect time to head back unannounced and wait for another chance, but no. There was a mission to be had, and that required revealing herself by choice.

Thorn winced as she pushed the glass from the shelf and watched it shatter. It scarcely took a second for two rough, suffocatingly tight hands to rip her frantically clawing body from the shelving unit and dump her on the table with a huff of exhaustion.

Two of the three men seemed near the point of collapse as they staggered back, attacked by a flurry of more than paper cuts. A fierce yet gleeful borrower grinned at her from behind bloody, needle-sharp teeth.

“Ladies,” crooned the third, giving a shake of his head. He reached into his back pocket to light a cigarette, letting the whole room fill with noxious smoke. “We don’t have to fight, now, do we?”

Good. So trial by intoxication would be easy.

“Let’s just play this nice and simple. What can we get for ya?”

Retiring for bed that night was troublesome. Left without spouse or soul to guide him, Quiet was left alone to stew with his thoughts and fears. ‘Omen of Death.’ That was right - the way people regarded creatures like the Echo multiplied tenfold when in his presence, scattering much like the Borrowers before him. At the time, he almost pitied them, with their sorrowful eyes as he crossed their paths. But now each and every story from the Fae confirmed who the humans were, what he always knew about them deep down: there was no sympathy left to give.

He had seen more than enough to confirm that. His own knife knew the taste of their flesh and blood, no matter how passive he was around this neck of the woods. Quiet fished into his nightside drawer, looking for that golden headpiece from a winter afternoon not long ago. As he found it, he rolled back onto the bed, finally permitting himself to close his eyes. But whether he would get any sleep was uncertain in these conditions.

You know what they see you as, a familiar voice rang out. A Monster. A Bad Omen. A mere vessel for a blade against your throat. At some point, this forest probably had hundreds of your kind out roaming free, but as they made their shapes known with flourish and grandeur, humanity capitalized on your differences to weave a Fallen Angel fable and cut down your populations one by one. Do you even remember who bore you? Your family? Your ancestors? Or was it merely a case of finding a ransacked human nest on this path in the woods to hide and finding your way through it all alone to survive?

Quiet breathed heavily, feeling those lingering memories begin to stir from the back of his mind.

No; that’s wrong, Quiet bit back. I wasn’t alone. I had them.

Yes, the secondary voice in his head corrected itself. I supposed you did have “them.” The Wildlife and fellow Cryptids who found you young and at their own most vulnerable - escapees of their own traps and miseries. Some of them you found on your hunts, some spared, some assisting you in gathering tools - some even trying to take from you. You found uses for all of them. Including those who were too scared to approach, wouldn’t come with you until you bested them in combat, head-on. What did they decide to call themselves again?

Quiet chuckled. The Voices of the Woods. They work in the service of the Wild, and I suppose they got bored waiting for her to come back. The majority seem to be fairly familiar with - wait, you don’t think…?

The secondary voice scoffed. What; fancy yourself the clumsy protector of a couple princesses? I would’ve expected that your matchmaker would’ve pinpointed an heiress on the spot.

There was a threatening amount of curiosity in that voice that made Quiet know so much as thinking it was a dangerous blunder. It seemed to only nestle at the edges of his thoughts when he was alone, so he knew to be careful in responding - especially when he knew what it was after and why. He would’ve; you’re correct. Besides, I doubt you’d know any more than I do.

Another chuckle resonated in response. I know many things, but perhaps my memory is a bit flawed. It was around the shift in the seasons that you met, wasn’t it?

Quiet permitted the memory to take hold instead of responding directly. Drinking in the silence was easier than speaking the whole thing aloud once more, so he let it be.

It had been three years past; a few after Spectre’s presence had shaken his resolve - a time where instead of vengeance, he was left entwined in their sacred vows of phantasmic matrimony. A time where Borrowers were still new to him, cryptid markets were scarce, and his haunts led out of the forest only when necessary to hunt and scour for items he could find nowhere else. But upon doing so, he gained knowledge of the same damning practice the other voice reminded him of. Humanity saw the unusual as a burden, mere fodder for the pyre of a higher god to save them from these roaming “monsters.” It was better not to get too close.

Sacrifices of blood and gore from “lesser animals” were commonplace, yes. Cryptids, monsters, quadrupeds of unusual stature - these were the awful practices that Quiet expected to see while passing Tower’s shrine on his way through the woods, but the current was worse than even he thought them capable.

Human sacrifices were a rare sighting, and the crowd around it was exquisite. Clearly, the people who had shown up were in their worshiper’s best attire, as if this were some holy ceremony opposed to a murder they were about to watch taking place.

There was a stage in the center, with a bolted shackle against it. Desperately, a singular black and white creature muttered curses under his breath, working to bite it free. The crowd masked most details except for a marred and stained blue dress, this woman’s blond hair - 

Quiet felt his heart stop.

…Not a woman. That was a child .

“Remember why we’re here,” echoed the priest. “To bring an end to one whose rule conspires with Fae. Tower’s might struck her down, and they rewound her from a merciful end. Now she claims that we should let those meddlesome fiends go. What do you think?”

“Slay the witch!”

“Cut her throat! I want to be the first to see her bleed!”

The crowd’s clamoring got louder and louder. Quiet’s cloaked form stepped behind them, feathers bristling. Somehow, he had to get up there.

A kingdom surrounded with an absent king. Was no one doing anything about this? It wasn’t as though the monarchy was his favorite, but slaying a child - this was evil. 

And it only grew worse hearing her voice: desperate, hypnotic and pleading. This crowd could not deny their sins when she cried out just the same as any girl her age.

“You have to believe me; they’re lying to you! The Fae aren’t trying to hurt anyone-“

But yet again, it was drowned out with no remorse.

“I would expect just as much nonsense from a changeling.”

A red-clad figure snuck behind her with a chuckle, roughly tossing her head to one side. As the blonde strands parted, there it was: a singular elven ear. So that explained the rough treatment; if the Fae had lent magic to the Royal family to conceive, no doubt someone would be watching for signs as she came into her power.

Quiet felt his grip drift into the pocket of his cloak. Intentions were clear enough; he didn't have to see anything else as an even more hideous thing escaped the Priest’s mouth:

“Now, who would like to slay her?”

Bravado was often welcomed at these unholy performances - people who believed that by purging particularly dangerous “evils,” Tower would reward them handsomely upon death. Quiet had been ready the whole time.

“I would.”

Quiet’s voice echoed deep and gruff, pushing and shoving through any other volunteers with a specific sense of purpose. He was easily towering over the usual head of a person, cryptid features hidden awkwardly as he stepped up to the stage.

“Well, sir, I-“

The priest urged the red-cloaked figure to hand him over a weapon: a small steel blade, more cleanly polished than the hunting implement he was planning on and with further reach.

“Here you go,” the priest chuckled. “Feel free to take our holiest weapon for this riteous task, the Pristine Bla-“

There was a shriek, and an awful squelch as Quiet ripped straight through his belly. The priest locked his dying gaze on the bird as Quiet ripped it out, letting the blood drain out through the wooden grates. As the supposed executioner tried for a vengeful blow, Quiet was quicker; a quick slice aligned against the throat. Cold, calculated rage emanated through every fiber of his being, making sure each one got a good look at him first. Then he let him fall, deliberately stepping over this horrid man with a crunch of his skull as he spread his wings to the increasing horror of the crowd.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Leave, before your own judgment comes.”

Screaming. What a hideous sight from a crowd that knew well they would inflict worse onto a child . Nevertheless, the chaos was welcome as he approached the shaken fourteen year old girl, protected only by a snarling badger familiar. And with one silent slash of the blade-

The chains unwound from her trembling form. The startled teen looked up, breathless.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Quiet mumbled, kneeling to her side. A taloned hand extended towards her, noticing the hesitation for just a moment. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“Oh, are you with them?”  

There was a hopeful spark in her eyes as the Princess spoke, but it faded quickly as confusion set into those blank eyes.

“I’m just a wanderer, I’m afraid. But from one cryptid to another, you’d best get out of here as soon as possible.“

“Absolutely. But there’s just one thing I need to do first.”

Quiet blinked as nimble hands stole the blade from his hands, running foolishly towards the direction of the very castle which was under siege.

“What is she-?”

There was a laugh from beside him. The badger looked up with more than a glint of interest, tail raised inquisitively.

“Ah, young love,” he chortled. “She’s off to rescue her fair maiden, from what I’ve heard; unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll make it much further than we did before without a proper mercenary.”

Smitten’s next words set the course of the kingdom’s fate.

“So, what have you? Feeling up for a side quest and really stick it to those subjugating scoundrels?”

———

As if sensing his own inner turmoil, there was plodding of a squat form in the hallway. Nobody had heard him come in, but that was typical. The house had plenty of hidden burrows and doors even Quiet didn’t fully understand that allowed them to come and please, and judging by the small nudge of a grate beside him it’d come from the air shafts.

The voice in his head was gone. Good riddance.

“I heard about what you did tonight,” the badger crooned, closing his path with a small click. “Sounds like you received some points in the young lady’s favor.”

“She hates me,” Quiet grumbled. He gave a flick of his palm, showing the various wounds run rampant. “She nearly made me kill her to prove it.”

Smitten turned his head and chuckled. “Oh my. Spiteful lover; I see. Well, you know what they say; every rose has its thorns,” he continued, unphased. “And usually the ones who put up briars guard the most beautiful blooms of all. Better to let them rise on their own than yank them out.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, the badger leapt up and circled the foot of the bed.

“That wasn’t my intention; yanking her out. I was just trying to be courteous; it seems that I can't even do that right.”

“They prefer to stay hidden, dear fellow,” Smitten chided playfully. “That was a fool’s errand, and you know it. Coaxing out the Fae is even more challenging than your dearest - but, at the very least, it seems she did indeed get her dying wish. They seem snug and cozy out there, all bundled up…”

A wistful sigh escaped the badger’s mouth. “So you might still get a chance to reconcile.”

“The fact that Spectre’s taken to another in her fold doesn’t automatically mean she’ll make it into mine,” Quiet reminded. “I just… I wish that either of them would take this with stride.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t logical to expect it from the refugees. While unfair to him to bear their sins, it was at least understandable from every word that Thorn had barked and slashed across his skin. But why, still, was he left to deal with all the aftermath alone when his other half knew better than that?

Smitten blinked. “Oh. So it’s not just the newcomer that’s giving you trouble.”

Quiet sighed, gesturing to the side. “The bed is warmer than usual; does that not cue you in enough?”

“Oh no, I’m well aware.” The badger crept forward. “Sometimes the excitement of being understood in a way that no other can may lead to, well… The accidental offcast of the other. That doesn’t mean her frigid curtains don’t long to drape around your heart where they belong. Love and longing are complicated matters, and the dead have even more complex desires lingering on the edge of their tangibilities.” 

Smitten’s eyes met compassionately with his, dark and unblinking. “Talk with her tomorrow and see what she says. But in the meantime,” Smitten grunted, shifting forward, “you seem like you might need some company tonight. Mind if I stay?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Matters of the heart are my speciality,” Smitten chuckled, “and I could sense yours was a little disturbed. Alright, then, move over-“

The badger nosed over against Quiet’s back, folding himself between the corvid’s massive, splayed-out wings. “Till tomorrow, old friend,” he chirped, curling into a ball. “I suspect your mourning dove is more than obliged to talk. And who knows; perhaps you’ll have more than one bird in the hand by the end of-“

“- I think that’s enough right now,” Quiet grumbled. “I’d rather just sleep.”

“Very well, dear fellow,” Smitten huffed, reclining by his pulse. “Very well indeed.”

And while the warmer body of an old friend didn’t nearly match up to what was absent, it was enough to keep the noise out of his mind and finally get some peace that night.

The kitchen’s scene was just as restless as Quiet’s own. By now, Witch had settled comfortably in her spot beside her sister, returning to dormouse sleeping position. Only a tail twitch or hum seemed to disturb her otherwise silent sleep, leaving Thorn to linger on the cusp of yet another insomniac’s nightmare. One didn’t get darkened circles under the eyes for nothing, after all; every attempt was awoken by a burst of vivid memory she couldn’t shake.

A lingering chill swept over her; instinctively, she grabbed for her blade, thrusting it upwards. There was a soft sigh of disappointment as the cold touch merely went through it to stroke her palm. A trickle of embarrassment crept up as Thorn returned it to her side.

“… Ghost. Right.”

“Your reflexes are getting better,” rumbled a voice from down below. Thorn didn’t need to turn her head to know that was Beast. Better to explain to her what’d happened.

“Look, I’m sorry about -“

“Sorry?” Beast scoffed. “A Queen does not apologize for a bold act of self defense.”

Thorn’s eyes widened. That was the first time Beast had actually acknowledged anything but scorn towards her inheritance.

“I read the lingering trails of mana once you were done. A bit of overuse on the block-off, but a fine, fearsome hunt. You’ve finally begun to understand what we are and what we’re up against.” Then, with a bit of remorse:

“I was wrong to question your methods. You have been learning rather well, kit.”

Kit. Not Prey. This was a step up.

“What made you change your mind?”

Beast shifted upon her spot down below, tail twitching. “Read my next move.”

“You’re crouching; about to pounce.”

No sooner had Thorn answered that the massive creature leapt up onto the counter beside them, leaving enough room to leave the basket undisturbed. Witch, impressively, remained asleep through the whole ordeal.

“My point exactly,” Beast rumbled. “You’re finally understanding that pain is part of the consequence of your rule. That nature cannot exist without the ties between the survivors and the deceased, and it is the bonds between them that keep us humble.” As if on cue, she gave a nod of respect towards Spectre, lying down beside the basket. “It seems you’ve formed a very unique one indeed.”

Spectre turned towards Beast, returning the gesture. Having a chimera in the vicinity was scarcely new, but Den was a creature of no words, and communicated exclusively with Quiet unless prompted. Beast was, well, far more traditional in the ways of that natural bond between Borrowers; a little strange, but not unwelcome. More company was far better than less.

“I’m sure any other ghost would do the same,” Spectre replied softly. “All we’ve ever done is try to survive. It’s no skin off our back to relay the paths which lead to tragedy - not as if we have any left to give.” The final note was left in morbid whimsy, giving a shrug of her shoulders. “Even though I may not need them, staying within the bounds of this house has its perks in still knowing where the safe spots are to gather food and find shelter within - you can’t sleep, can you?”

Spectre turned towards her prickly counterpart, who lay beside her restlessly. Clearly, the attempt had been made over and over in vain, but it wasn’t the talking which had been keeping her awake.

Thorn didn’t respond. Only a single look of utter distress seemed to cross her, struggling for words.

Spectre tutted. “That’s what I thought; I expected you’d be already out by now. Well, if you do want help-“

A gentle hand reached over, brushing gently at a few stray locks of hair.

“I can always take that little nightmare away from you, but you’d have to let me in.”

The look of unease widened. This was only the second night here, and seeing what she could do to someone as immense as Quiet -

“A-Are you asking to…?”

“It’d be temporary. If you need me to leave or it gets to be too much, you can always tell me.”

Thorn hesitated. “And I wouldn’t be paralyzed like-?“

“Quiet and I have a… System. But no. Control is given, not taken away. I can’t access anything without your permission.”

“Shouldn’t you be with him? This is usually the time when I thought you retired for the night.”

The ghost’s pattern was hard to read, but even from a distance there was an obvious rift that the newer presence in the house had caused. The last thing that she wanted was to make it worse - especially after seeing what had happened with his prior panic after the fact. Was the strange bird man okay? How was he faring now?

And why did she suddenly care so much?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave while you’re in this state, additional support or not,” Spectre replied. “Quiet seemed like he needed some time alone to process. Much in the same way that there are parts of my life he cannot fathom, the same applies to him.”

“I see.” A part of her told Thorn there was an additional, more selfish reason for Spectre’s lingering, but it wasn’t one that she blamed her for in the slightest. A ghost left to linger away from any contact got to be selfish when it came to the first signs of common life, right?

There was a moment before Thorn spoke. “… If you’re okay with that. But fair warning: you’re not going to like what you see.”

“I think I can rest fine with that. I have been for quite a while now, after all - even if not in peace,” Spectre purred, placing a careful hand along Thorn’s cheek. For a moment, their eyes met, before Thorn broke the contact. “There’s much I can learn from the two of you; lives I never lived, no matter how unpleasant.”

“Your mother would be proud of you,” Beast purred. “Respect for the dead was one of her main tenants.”

So it wasn’t just hollow encouragement after a failed hunt. Beast was proud of her. It seemed that alone set the course of action, even if already decided, ebbing away the final stressors of the night.

Thorn’s body relaxed, extending a hand towards Spectre’s. This was taken in kind, looking over her expectantly.

“So, is that a ‘yes?’”

Final confirmation. She wasn’t making any moves without complete consent; it was unfamiliar after so long trapped in cages like livestock. But she still didn’t know if the confirmation was more for her sake or Spectre’s or both:

“Yes. I want it to stop.”

The soft gaze swam in weary, tired eyes. The frigid touch against Thorn’s skin grew immeasurable, taking up pinpricks to stabbing icy pain along hand, arm, torso and neck as Spectre began to settle. It was hard at first to resist the urge to cry out, but held it in for fear of waking up Witch a few paces away. 

It was agony, then a soft, spectacular numbing as it shifted along nerves in spirals and massaged out phantom pains which shouldn’t have existed. Tender muscles seemed to ease as it sunk in, vision clouding over with the fractals. Then, finally:

Finally a place where there isn’t so much empty space. This is much more comfortable; thank you.

That did get a jolt from Thorn. Of course, the expectation was that it would be sudden-

-Right. I should’ve given you some warning. Well, in any case, I suppose you can tell now that I’m here. How do you feel?

Heavy. There was no other way to describe this sensation than a numbing, dull ache of cold that began to smooth out all nerve tissue like a strange ethereal massage. It was like the sensation of trying to get out of bed in the morning and being unable to -

So that’s perfect! Now, just close your eyes, and leave everything else to me.

… I’m not getting another word out, am I? Fine. In any case, sleep sounds pretty nice about now. Might as well go ahead and just -

But the next words didn’t seem to process. By the time that any form of coherent thought could formulate, it seemed that Thorn had crashed, finally lulled to sleep by the comforting drone of hushed whispers and cold blankets enveloping all else and stealing away the horrendous memories.

But not the case for an all too curious voyeur, watching the horrors of the past unwind once more in lieu of this wounded, potential lover. The gift of a memory was immense for a soul this guarded, and Spectre knew well to honor it.

______

Hazy, blurred vision began to stir from a drug-induced sleep. A desperate form on the outside, tail twitching upon tap after tap. It seemed that the effects of Beast’s dark magic had indeed rendered obsolete on Witch as she attempted to rouse her sister, growing more frightened by the moment. But slumped in the corner of a metallic cage, it was hard to sit up, let alone stand while the magic ran rampant through Thorn’s system.

Voices seemed to bellow from the room behind them as that traitorous chimera paced, her shadow twitching like a hound in waiting. She stopped right beside their own cage, as though expecting a sign of life from her so-expected heiress to spring back to life. 

A growl rose in her throat. Thorn blinked, raising a weary hand in her direction.

“Are you… Trying to tell me something?” The words from the Fae came out choked, and Beast scoffed in disgust.

“I shouldn’t have to instruct Wild’s daughter on what to do when her future subjects are caught,” Beast lamented, looking over one shoulder as she turned her back. “This is your kingdom in danger. It’s in your blood; seize your opportunity and escape. Then find me if you’re still alive thereafter. I expected more of you, Heiress.”

“No, wait-“

A pathetic gesture, really. But in the daze of sleep, it was all that Thorn could really muster.

Witch, however, wasn’t going to give up so easily. Scuttling towards the front of the cage, she leapt up and shook its bars with a frightful hiss. Beast stopped for a moment to catch her eye. A singular roar emanated back, before continuing away from the pair of them.

“Great; we lost he alliance,” Witch huffed. “And she must’ve been our way out of here.”

“And our way in,” Thorn reminded ruefully. “But I'll take that over being torn apart by the others in her pack.”

“You might change your mind once you see what it’s actually like here.” 

An unfamiliar voice piped up this time - calmer than seemed practical, with the clank of heavy chains. Looking across a few paces, it was clear the way that these cubic cages were organized was no accident; a microcosmic prison yard, with each space facing the other across. But the walls on all sides except facing out towards the front blocked off contact to the neighbor. If math was correct, there were at least six of these structures - maybe one or two on top of each other. It was hard to see above.

“Who are you?”

“What does it matter who anyone is? I’m just another prisoner here.” The voice sounded bored; tired. “But while you’re stuck, I might as well fill you in on the basics, Your Highness. That is, if you plan on there being a world left after this.”

So more than just the chimeras has sensed the Network awakening. Thorn brushed her palm, deciding now was not the time to question it.

“I should be right across from you,” the voice conceded. “That way, we can talk face to face.” 

Looking over, it seemed that this was indeed correct; the figure sat bound by the wrists - and good god, neck too?! -  to the back of the cage, her air of calm skepticism. A single look into those deadened eyes told Thorn that she had seen more than enough of this place, but information came with a cost. 

“Good. So the effects of the fog wore off in time. Thankfully, it seems that most of your enclave made it out; they mostly had their targets set on a select few based on who they dragged in while you were asleep. But even still, they seem to have been foolish in their roommate assignments. Your friend here looks about ready to go.”

Thorn paused. Roommate? It seemed like this borrower was alone at first -

“Damn right I am. Like I said, I could rip those chains out, easy. Heck, I could crush this tin can and split the bones of those bedraggled human ha - oh no.”

The boldened visage of Adversary shrank immediately upon noticing the cage across from her, the spaded tail tucking awkwardly around one leg.

“Okay… Spleens. We’re talking more like ripping out their spleens now.”

This got at least a smile out of the adjacent captive. As dismaying as it was to see that anyone from the territories joined in this miserable fate, at least it was of the boldest of their fleet.

“Briar,” Adversary breathed, “I thought you shredded your way through.” Absent, distressed hands crushed the cage bars between her fists. Indeed, a little more pressure would’ve ripped them clean off.

In usual circumstances, that nickname alone stirred their usual courting dance; a bold swish of tufted tail, a spark of mischief as clawed fingertips sank into shoulderblade in the strong embrace a few inches away. But right now, all passions of the heart faded, giving way for sweeping guilt and rank, chilling fear.

The once-boldened voice of the Heiress came off choked and strained, as though from lack of use.

“I had to go back for this one,” Thorn grumbled, lifting one of Witch’s elongated ears.

“Oh.” There was a disappointed shake of Adversary’s head, her broad shoulder flexing as she shrugged. “Let me guess -“

“Human interaction.”

The red sheen of the draconic Fae’s skin paled momentarily. Then, flashing a grin in an attempt to recover -

“She try to fight off Her Royal Pain at least?”

“Can you two knock it off?” Witch twitched in Thorn’s lap, draped over like a sad rug more than a living being. Her head turned away from the jeers from her other community member, tail lashing as it whipped deliberately into her sister’s face. “Next time I see her, I’ll do it right. I won’t hesitate.” 

With eyes, impossibly, dimmer than Thorn’s, Witch lifted up a clawed hand stained with dried blood. There was a soft, sick smile as she looked over at Adversary.

“Gave the girl a nasty cut to remember me by. Wouldn’t let me touch it; won’t heal properly. She’ll remember what she’s done.”

Adversary chuckled. “Good. So long as we’ve left our mark, that’s damning enough for me. If they think I’m going down easy, ohh, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“You’ll probably make it out alive,” Thorn noted, giving a nod. “As for the rest of us…”

Adversary scoffed. “Now, don’t talk like that. You think I’m going to just leave you two-“

Witch stopped listening. Curling inwards, she instead retired to her spot, fishing into the only possessions she’d been grabbed with. Spare twine, a few barbs, a blown out torch - the Tonic. She lifted it from the worn burlap sack, giving a hesitant tilt of her head.

It was risky. Possibly lethal at her age. Scorpion’s Tonic was considered a “coming of age” spell for Fae above fifteen, and presently she was a year or two short. But surely, in the situation they were in, this was more important, right?

Usually, she would’ve consulted Thorn first, but right now, that didn’t seem like an option as she looked over the squabbling crowd with a furrowed brow. Tentatively, she uncorked the bottle and began to drink.

“- Besides, just think about it,” Adversary continued. “They have that whole Arena thing, right? Think about it, Rose. Just you and me, kicking ass and taking names-“

Witch rolled her eyes as her attention briefly came back into conversation. “Briar Rose-“ that goofy little petname of hers for Thorn - it worked every time in charming her, but this was scarcely the time. They needed to get out.

“I don’t know,” Thorn admitted. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to take on the hounds they usually put into that circle. I don’t think anyone is.”

“That’s the point,” piped up the unfamiliar… Prisoner. “They don’t want you to win . The Ring is rigged against you.”

Adversary waved a hand dismissively. “Pssht. As if more talon wounds and bites are going to deter me; the more they make me bleed, the stronger I’ll fight back! They really think they can-“

“- Drain your mana clean away,” the borrower murmured, shrugging in her chains. She shifted, avoiding eye contact as she counted a few variables: “possibly rendering a few nerves obsolete - and oh, you’re lucky if that’s all they’re taking.”

There was a darkening look on this prisoner’s face, somewhere between twisted amusement and anguish. Thorn couldn’t tell, tail bristling. She didn’t want to know, but at the same time had to for any chance to survive.

“Wait… What do you mean?”

“Do you know how wine is made here?” There was a clank of the chains around her neck as the Prisoner looked over. “Do you know why it’s so dark compared to your own made out in the woods?”

There was an onlook of horror as Prisoner continued.

Okay. Witch knew that taking the Tonic was worth it, whether she lived through it or not.

“Or perhaps you’ve heard the rumors about how in order to obtain a Fae’s magic-“

“You’re fucking kidding me.”  

The growl of disbelief came out a hiss of horror, catlike features returning to Thorn’s aid. The shuffle from place to place was bad enough, and Adversary was right; there were technically ways to brute through gladiatorial combat, so long as the youngest parties weren’t tossed in as sacrifices. But the mere notion of what this disturbingly calm Borrower was suggesting…

Hesitantly, Thorn scanned the room. Giving a tap to Witch to get off her lap, the Heiress peered through tiny tears in the thin sheet metal and enlarged them with the aid of her claws.

This was definitely the Royal cellar; barrels of wine, expensive cuts of hanging meat, cheeses, and jerkies were lingering on the scene. The stone of the basement was polished nicely, but still had the lingering stench of a familiar scent above the glowing sconces on the wall:

“It smells like… Iron?“

“Smell closer, Fae,” the Prisoner instructed.

A singular squint at one of the wine barrels seemed to confirm the damning suspicion:

‘FAE SPIRITS.’

Thorn stumbled back. Witch clumsily nudged her back up, giving a grunt of frustrated alarm.

“What? What is it?!”

“Oh no no - we have to get out of here.”

“I would say ‘good luck with that,’” the Prisoner scoffed, “but I think your friend over here is about ready to take this whole place down with her. If you alert the guards, though, they won’t care if you drown first before chugging the whole bottle. They’re impatient; greedy . Be careful with how you proceed.”

“You’ll need some of this, too,” Witch choked, handing over the half-empty bottle of Tonic. Her steps were woozy, eyesight unfocused as she struggled to stand. “First dose after a while poisons them , too, doesn’t it?”

Thorn stared at the poison-drunk Borrower. “What di- whe- no. Heal - heal, now!” Thrusting herself forward, Thorn rammed her sister to the ground, pressing Witch’s hand over her chest. With the other, she grabbed the Tonic from her hand, fur bristling. “Please tell me you didn’t chug this-“

“Had to,” Witch chuckled weakly. “Our two options are taking a potion or becoming one. Do you really think that the guards are going to sit around and let us wait around while we slowly down an entire vial of this?”

 Thankfully, it seemed the healing glow took. A few sparse marigold blooms entwined under the pulse, ebbing away at the toxic flow. So at the very least Witch wasn’t fighting the assistance Thorn snaked in place with a softer vine of her own. 

“What you did was really stupid,” Thorn growled, breathless. “Just… Hang in there, okay? Once we get out of here-“

There was a broady laugh from the other cage. “Come on; she reminds me of us when we were her age,” Adversary grinned. “You were dying to get your hands on Tonic at seven. I could handle the stuff earlier than that. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and I spat up half of it the first time we tried.” There was a soft huff as Thorn rolled her eyes back, grateful for the distraction. By now, Witch had already propped herself up; the worst of the symptoms were ebbing away. Good. “Scorpion’s Tonic isn’t something to mess with haphazard; it’s a safeguard from them.”

“It sounds like she has the right idea,” Prisoner answered. “They usually test your blood first to check if you’re Fae or not. And if they detect poison, they’re less likely to throw you in. And at best… We could even kill them and get out of here.” Glancing to the side, there was a quick scan for the guards. “I don’t suppose either of you have poison in your blood already, do you? Perhaps a spell or two?”

“Just endurance, I’m afraid,” Adversary shrugged. “And I think Witch is a little young to be doing the whole ‘jailbreak from hell’ routine.”

Prisoner squinted as she watched Thorn kneel beside the squirming, protesting Borrower, growling as she placed a few red speckled blooms across her sister’s chest.

“No, I don’t care if you’re not hurting now,” Thorn insisted. “Your first dose of Scorpion does hurt, high tolerance or not. Even Adversary can vouch for this. Now take it.”

“Oh man,” Adversary replied with a shake of her head. “Does it ever-“

“That’ll work.”

“What?” 

Both older Borrowers looked up, leaving only Witch to grumble meekly as they addressed the more experienced hostage.

“Opioids,” Prisoner stated clearly. “Those are poppies, aren’t they?”

“They’re mostly for situations like this,” Thorn explained, noticing Witch batting aimlessly at the air. That would be the medicine, not the Tonic’s effect. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a lethal poison.”

“Not at the doses you’re giving it,” Prisoner uttered darkly. “But I think you and I both know it’s fatal if you double that amount. Humans do it to themselves all the time. You’ve been measuring carefully; I can tell. And if you’re worried it won't be enough, I believe the shelves in there have some things that’ll mix nicely with it.”

“But how would I ever get that to them? Magic isn’t taken like they seem to think, it’s gi-“

The darkening smile on Prisoner’s face confirmed it. Thorn, apprehensively, lowered her tail, voice raising with an edge of instability.

“You want me to walk out and offer it open-handed to a pack of cannibals?!”

“It’s your duty as rising Queen to protect your subjects,” Prisoner reminded with a simple brush of her hand. “You’re the only one who has a strong enough toxin on you to complete the task unhindered, and in either case we’re not sending you in there alone. You’ll have help.” Prisoner turned her head, glancing up to an unseen figure. “I’m presuming you’ve been waiting long enough for this moment.”

The ceiling above the royal siblings buckled with leadened steps. There was a scraping that made both them flinch.

“You need my help? Now what would you need with a sweet little thing like me?” This voice somewhere above was deceiving, grating in every syllable. “I can’t think of what you would want with a poor, unarmed little-“

“Drop it, Razor. Save it for when you’re inside the room.” Prisoner’s eyes squinted, indicating disinterest.

“Oh! Well, in that case-“

A horrible squelch erupted from the cage above. There was a shout of awe and delight as Adversary slammed her fists together - that was generally not a good sign. And sure enough, a flash of red and blonde streaks catapulted from the bindings and leapt down to the other side of the cages below. A nimble Borrower surely wasn’t unwelcome here.

“Thank goodness,” Razor whined, tossing her hands haphazardly to her side by Prisoner’s cage. “It was so boring up there.”

Then, almost as if tempting fate… Thorn squinted. Was she holding a knife? And what, precisely, was the reddened mess dangling by her side? Did she want to know?

“Put that away,” Prisoner scoffed. “You don’t need to be wasting it.”

“You’re no fun.” There was a shink, and it blended clean into the crimson of her dress. Which, frankly, seemed to also have blades jutting out of it on the silvery edges -

Okay, maybe it was better to stop staring and concentrate.

“We found the queen.”

Razor looked over to where Prisoner’s gaze led, blinking in gleeful surprise as she put up a bloodied hand.

“Hmm? Oh hi! We’ve been waiting some time for you.“ Razor’s eyes scanned the cage in dismay. “You don’t belong in there. Let me help.”

“No no, wait-“ But Prisoner’s grumbles of annoyance fell on an apathetic target as the figure raced towards them all at once. It was too late.

Thorn tensed as rapid footsteps began to approach, giving way for a form with immensely sharp teeth. An entire arm appeared to be missing in place of a - why was there a knife in place of an entire arm?! That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t even normal for Fae. Oh no, and they were stuck here, too…

On instinct, her own hackles raised and ducked, bracing for impact. She knew she couldn’t hope to outpace a speed like that cornered like a trapped rodent. Better to just close her eyes and wait. This was clearly the end.

The cage bar clicked, padlock snapping clean off. The door swung open, watching her step back. Bemused, Thorn took a cautious step back as she looked over this…

Was she Fae? The sword slotted for an arm and pointed ears indicated yes, but there was no tail in sight. The sharpened teeth would’ve distinguished wild descent, but no; they seemed to be aligned with her power. So maybe she was domestic after all. Fae who mastered household equipment in their magic weren’t uncommon with domestic cousins, but manipulating limbs into them took it a step further. And this one had a dangerous air to her, smile disappearing.

“What? Did you want me to stab you?” The Fae’s voice was unsettlingly eager as she waved her bladed arm. “Come ooooon.”

To be honest, Thorn didn’t exactly want to leave her sister unprotected with this strange being lurking right outside. Thankfully, she didn’t need to think about it too long.

“Alright; like it or not, I’m snapping this thing off,” came the gruff voice of Adversary, following the swift tear of metal from the outer wall. Judging by the three different snaps that followed, it didn’t take long to figure out whose it was as the pair of handcuffs across snapped off, along with the longer chain.

“Don’t bother with getting closer,” Prisoner huffed, slapping her hand away as it brushed against her throat. “The only way to get that one off is surgical removal.”

“Nonsense-“

“We have more important things to deal with.”

Prisoner’s gaze hinted at their current dilemma. Razor crossed her arms as Thorn circled like a trap-happy animal, impossibly resigning to the darkness of the prison cell beside the sleepy ginger body. This was unbelievable.

“She’s going to get all of us killed,” Prisoner huffed. “That’s presuming Razor doesn’t lose her temper first-“

“It’s my turn with the baby, Thorn.” Adversary grunted as she pushed the cage bars aside and stepped out into the fray. She gave an appreciative nod towards Razor’s implement as she passed before stepping forward, practically hauling the thinner Borrower into her grasp.

Adversary always smelt of sweat and peat. There was a natural aroma of home that had been bitterly ripped from them that flexed through her biceps and slammed down roughly on her skull against Thorn’s own; that growling sigh where you could practically taste the smoke billowing from her nostrils.

“We talked about this, remember?” Adversary’s gruff voice continued as her textured palms took Thorn’s, tracing the budding scars from the chimera attack with interest. “If you had to go out to fight, I’d babysit. And vice versa. That was always the deal. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Then, softer: 

“And I’ll be the first to greet the new tattoos you pick up. Maybe punch yourself out a new earring, huh?”

There was a giggle that followed which sounded stupid even to Thorn herself. Despite her rigid exterior, Adversary was quite the charmer - and those threads of young love weren’t lost on either teenager now. Giving a rough kiss, Adversary swept Thorn from behind with a tap below the tail, tossing her out of the cage towards destiny. Flustered, Thorn dared look back, wagging her tail almost expectantly.

“Knock ‘em dead, Briar,” Adversary roared, boasting her shark-like teeth. “You know how to make them bleed.” Once Adversary had swooped in and picked up the tiny, restless form of the healing Borrower, Thorn finally redirected attention towards the sharper Fae in question.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to get caught, and then you follow,” Razor stated matter-of-factly. Her bladed forearm sheathed itself, rewinding the lacerated skin around it. “You should go hide.”

There was a tense air that spread over the surrounding cellar at the realization. Being caught meant that people would come back out here, and chanced the others being caught - and with the ripped up cages front and center, that put everyone at risk. Surely, they had noticed that? Or were they too preoccupied to care? There weren’t a lot of spaces to hide in this place, and with the wreckage to boot they would tear this place to shreds to find any stragglers. Bolts would be replaced, the escapees and ransackers punished…

Razor squinted at the damage, frowning. A few thin curtains tapped at the cage bars and shredded platinum wiring, enclosing ocular ribbons over the mess.  That was, at least, if they could see it. Ohh. So she could do glamours too?

The plan was clearer now as Thorn hunkered down beside one piece of sheet metal that had courteously vanished from human sight. From here, she could easily keep track of Witch by earshot alone until it was time to go.

Remember what’s at stake. What’s at stake for everyone. You still have a chance to make things right for the ones who got caught.

Just for good measure, better to take a revitalizing swig of that Tonic in case these bastards did try anything. Hitting them with a nasty bite of poison sounded pretty good about now.

————

The evening of the castle’s siege, not far above the horrors in the winery below, was one that no party would ever scrape from their minds. A breathless corvid mercenary, a panting badger, and a damsel’s armed ire storming in with every twitching muscle laid chase - a young woman, much like the Rising Wild, still coming into her power that'd been thrust violently onto shoulders far too young. As priests in ill-fitting armor attempted to block the path, the Princess aimed a blow; it clanged awkwardly, still squeaking out a small “sorry!” by nothing but habit.

The race back into the palace was certainly more challenging for the Princess with everything else under siege. Broken glass and splattered paints of blood - the Divine Order certainly hadn’t left a single part of this castle go to waste. Nevertheless, the Princess clutched the Pristine Blade tightly in her hand as she trudged forward, grimacing at the sight laid strewn about her.

This was where they’d been overtaken. Imposter guards laid in wait and tasters which slipped through poisoned wine had offered up a fine feast - taking out the comatose and making allies out of those who succumbed to the luxuries they brought instead. Those who choked on them were often the ones who they had wanted to assassinate to begin with; all the way up to the the Royal chambers. A single vial of Scorpion’s Tonic; a foolish toast to undying love; had revealed its hidden toxins and warned the Princess herself from partaking. 

She knew exactly why they’d left this place to rot in decay. The townsfolk had grown weary over the frequent poachings of the mythical folk out in the woods, but Tower’s Order had grown a cultlike presence over the lands years ago that was too great to stifle. Rumors kept from their firstborn daughter indicated their desires were selfish; that benefits of the forest’s survival were to the monarchs alone as they hid their monstrous daughter away within. Naturally, any self-respecting creature would seek revenge for what humanity had done, and so the best thing to do was to cut both down: from the root. And thus the tie between Princess and Wild would be set to burn, unbeknownst that neither would go down without a fight.

The woods had ears. Twenty-two of them, to be precise. And for this specific occasion, it seemed a desperate lover’s hand had beckoned the Voice of the Smitten to drop the chalice from the table.

“Oh, Tower’s ingrace,” the Badger staggered back, horrified as the crimson spray howled as it landed on a lighter carpet. “That’s blood!”

“Not just any blood,” the Princess shuddered, kneeling down to investigate. “ Fae blood.”

By now, Quiet had managed to yank a broadsword from the stiffened hand of a dead guard, kneeling down to the bottle. “It’s what? Oh, shit. Thank the Wilds my wife is safe dead at home-“

Smitten squinted in amusement. “You’re an odd fellow, aren’t you?” Then, returning to the topic: “I don’t know how, or why, but yes. Highly toxic when drunk to excess; single drop is a mighty weapon on its own in the right context. Poisons their own, and - hey!”

There was a shriek as Quiet dipped his fingers into the reddening stain, smearing the red streak across the fuming badger’s fur.

“You absolute heathen! This is beyond barbaric, insolent, i… this stain won’t come out of the white patches for weeks!”

“We need to hide our scent if there’s chimeras in the vicinity, and it’s better if we all smell the same to confuse them,” Quiet explained. Then, looking over apologetically towards the Princess: “I’m so sorry you have to witness all of this. Are you able to, or…? I don’t want to smear it on if it’ll actually hurt you.”

It seemed the chokehold of shock had taken over those pale blue eyes as she stared into Quiet’s. But nevertheless she leaned forward and allowed his fingers to glide across her cheek to apply the smear of blood accordingly.

“I’ll be fine so long as I don’t ingest it. Just be careful not to cut me when you apply it.”

Scent deterrents. Now that she’d begun to grow a little more familiarized with her own Fae origins, the reek of them was more potent. Better to just get as used to this as she possibly could, and be thankful that her bloodline was domestic opposed to wild. Whatever was going on with her own betrothed, it was probably ten times worse with a nose that keen.

Once they had all been slathered in a proper layer of the viscous wine, the Princess rose from her crouched position.

“We need to keep moving. There’s one more place we need to go before we can figure out where they’re keeping her-“

“And then it’s off to your beloved!” Smitten practically trilled the words, tail wagging with delight. “She deserves a true knight in shining armor; oh, please tell me we’re stopping for some good equipment! Can you imagine popping open your helmet to reveal your golden glory?”

“Not the time,” Quiet chided. “I’m sure whatever this is, it’s more important.”

As they descended a nearby staircase, there was a pinprick of a tiny knife and hostile male voices as it shattered an adjacent cellar’s glass. 

————-

“Hey! What’s the big idea?!”

There was a growl as one man shot out of one chair, shadow now coming into clear view as the frosted window parted.

“I thought I told you to lock ‘em down good, Jim.” A skinny fellow held up a deck of cards, sifting through them with an air of disinterest. “Not our fault the middleman got stalled. But it sure will be if we lose their prize.”

“Ugh,” grumbled the first voice. “We were just supposed to be here for the fun part, not dealing with these pixies in the aftermath.”

“Fae. They’re Fae, knucklehead.” The card dealer shrugged, handing a few to the man seat across from him. “And that’s too bad. If one of them is causing a ruckus, well… We’ve got all night. Bottle’s still full. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss a single troublemaker, right? So why don’t you go see to it?” 

There was a greed - no, hunger in these sleazeball’s words as they poked and prodded each other forward. It was clear they didn’t intend for their pacing little culprit to survive as one man stepped out to investigate the commotion.

“There you are,” Razor grinned. “I was hoping someone would finally come back. My cage came unlocked. I figured you would want to know the materials aren’t the sturdiest.”

The Borrower in question waved a hand over to the savaged bars, catching an obvious look of unease as the man rubbed the back of his head. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. Are you asking if we should get you another compartment so that you’re more secure for departure?”

There was an excited gasp as Razor clapped both hands together, jumping up and down. If she wasn’t such a blatantly ominous actress, she would be adorable. “That’s a thought! Would you mind?” Her gaze narrowed, smile threatening.

“Not at all,” the man responded, reaching for a falconer’s glove in the corner. “But now, you’ll have to come with me while I see what we have. That thing looks like it’s toast.”

That was a strange thing to have lying around. Why a falconer’s glove? There didn’t seem to be many raptors kept in the kingdom walls or else they’d have seen them. That was ignoring the fact this man could tell this woman was armed and dangerous, but nevertheless. Hawks, eagles, maybe phoenixes if it was fireproof? It was hard to think of what else could possibly be the intended familiar of that specific garment. What over birds were there in the kingdom?

A bleeding blur of taloned feet and a tall corvid’s head was visible from the darkened cracks in the ceiling. Far too big to be falconed, a sword in the mouth, lunging forward - by the graces above, what was that?! 

It’d thrown her off concentration was what; stupid thing. The last thing the heiress saw properly was a hand waving back in the palm of this human’s hand as those bladed teeth resurfaced. An index finger switched to knife, stabbing a tiny incision into the hand through the glove as he walked away.

Perfect. Now she had a blood trail to follow.

The cue was clear enough. Thorn took it to move.

If there was one thing Borrowers were not lacking, it was mobility. No loss of limb nor limitation of one specific sense would slow their ability to get around, adapting by mere seconds in the heat of the moment to get around. Testing the structure of the table’s wood indicated that it shredded down, and clawing it would leave few marks. It was worth the risk of a silent sliding descent without wasting any magic.

There was a twitch of one ear beside the table as the chimera seemed to notice her escape. This time, when they turned to face her, Thorn was ready. A quick slash across the face made the Beast shake her head. Lips now formed into a calm smile of approval.

“Reactive. Good.” The Beast’s head shifted to a hole in the wall, giving a flick of the tail. Then, she stood up and waited for the heiress to cross before pawing at the door herself.

“The cat wants in,” one of them grumbled, giving it a quick unlatch. The padding of footsteps followed suit with the creaking of chairs as Thorn made her way through the cellar walls in a wary hunker.

This was a prison. The feeling of dirt and rust between the slats in each part of this pipe confirmed it. No one had used the inner workings of this chamber in some time, collecting hints of mica and permeating sod. It was hard to take in a breath as she clambered forward. Parts of the ruptured pipe seemed to be fraying to the touch. Thankfully, Fae were scarcely victims of tetanus.

I would hope this at least makes me less appetizing. I doubt it, though - not against an enemy like this.

But soon enough, the sloppy construction work did indeed lead out to the other side behind some shelving units - vials, jars, and specimen contaminants which had been knocked over. This honestly looked like it had been a medical lab before the triad of brutes took over. Supposedly, they’d never know with all this fancy equipment smashed and records torn apart.

Presently, a vial which marked itself as “snake oil” was her current haunt. A bluff medicine, but combined with real poison it could be manipulated into something worse. Maybe while Razor worked she could see if this lab had something she could combine her own handiwork with for an instant knock-out; insect wings, dragon claws…

“Thank you so much for bringing me away from that awful compartment,” Razor’s voice echoed from down below. “ Someone ripped the whole thing open while I was in there, picked the locks and then left before you could even get there!”

She was being melodramatic in the gloved hand of this captor, and Thorn wasn’t entirely sure if this strange new Fae was trying or deliberately failing in her act of composure. Either way, it seemed that she was indeed keeping them distracted, and that’s what she needed right now as she searched the shelves.

“So the little lady wants a new little cage, is that right?” One of the other men seemed to speak up from down below, setting their cards down. Two figures leered over with a look of intrigue that did not belong on human faces. “We’ll see what we can do. Why don’t you stay out here with us a little while until we find something suitable?”

Already, the words were sending chills up Thorn’s spine. Perhaps this whole “nice girl” act actually was smart, watching Razor pause a moment and place a hand to her cheek. The singular bladed finger she kept behind her back. More were threatening to press to the surface.

“Hmmmm…”

Razor circled the open desk of cards and sat down on top of one the man was clearly reaching to play. There was a noticeable frustration as they locked eyes.

The jig was up. Either this coy little Borrower pried malfeasance upfront and center, or else he pretended not to see. That was… Clever. Perhaps one for her own book.

“What do you really want? You got some kind of trick up your sleeve? Got a weapon on you?”

It seemed the man had chosen violence, and got an even response of a shake of the head. “Nope! I just figured I would see what you were up to. So many of the others have been waiting a long time and seen no one home. And besides, where would I even put a weapon that could hurt any of you? It would be so strange to assume I had more than a needle on me. You would see a needle, wouldn’t you?”

Oh boy, here we go. Better to just grab the closest thing before someone got the idea to start snooping. These jars were glass, after all. Powdered scales and chimera teeth - those would be perfect, but too locked up. A small crack seemed to be viable in one jar - this had better work.

“Do you see anything?” Razor’s voice gained that cutting edge as the lies got fiercer. “See these? Hands! Perfectly norma-“

“There’s a blade embedded in her fist,” the second onlooker pointed out. “Several of them, actually. Right between the digits.”

Razor looked down and blinked. “You know, I’d forgotten those were there. It’s easy to forget when I’m so small and you’re so big and sliceable-“

Those bladed teeth were back. It took no effort looking down as she snuck into the glass for Thorn to confirm that as the tiny blademaster advanced, lead forth by the shrieks of sadists getting a taste of their own medicine.

Nightshade. A classic if she could get just a few leaves and get out. Of course, going in to begin with was risky but it seemed that with the current fight the captor’s minds were… well, preoccupied. A single look over confirmed as much as Razor yanked her hand away from - yeah, okay. That was enough information. Fight handled, distraction dealt with, and at least someone here was having fun. Because even after succeeding with enfolding the nightshade berries within the poppy petals, that was certainly not her.

So far, so good. An entire situation handled, and still not caught. This would typically be the perfect time to head back unannounced and wait for another chance, but no. There was a mission to be had, and that required revealing herself by choice.

Thorn winced as she pushed the glass from the shelf and watched it shatter. It scarcely took a second for two rough, suffocatingly tight hands to rip her frantically clawing body from the shelving unit and dump her on the table with a huff of exhaustion.

Two of the three men seemed near the point of collapse as they staggered back, attacked by a flurry of more than paper cuts. A fierce yet gleeful borrower grinned at her from behind bloody, needle-sharp teeth.

“Ladies,” crooned the third, giving a shake of his head. He reached into his back pocket to light a cigarette, letting the whole room fill with noxious smoke. “We don’t have to fight, now, do we?”

Good. So trial by intoxication would be easy.

“Let’s just play this nice and simple. What can we get for ya?”

[taimio]

Essential Tips for Successfully Growing Jicama at Home

Jicama is a root vegetable popular in Mexican cuisine, also known as Mexican turnip or yam bean. It is native to Mexico and Central America but is now widely cultivated and enjoyed in many other countries. It has a round, brownish-white skin, crispy white flesh, and a mild sweet taste. Jicama is often enjoyed raw in salads, but it can also be cooked and added to soups, stews, and stir-fries. ```html

How to Grow Jicama: A Surprisingly Fun and Rewarding Adventure

There’s something magical about growing your own food, especially when it’s a curious, underappreciated veggie like jicama. If you’ve never tried it, jicama is a crunchy, sweet root veggie that’s like if an apple and a potato had a love child. Intrigued? Good—because growing jicama is not only possible, it’s ridiculously satisfying.

Why Grow Jicama? Because It’s Awesome

“Growing jicama is like going on a treasure hunt—except instead of gold, you get a delicious, versatile root that’s amazing in salads, slaws, and snacks.”

Jicama is packed with fiber, vitamins, and best of all, it’s low-maintenance. Plus, let’s be real, not many people grow it, so you’ll feel like a garden pioneer. And when you proudly bite into your first homegrown jicama, trust me—your taste buds will thank you.

What You’ll Need

Before you dig in (pun intended), here’s a quick checklist of what’s essential:

Jicama seeds – You can find these online or at specialty garden shops.

Warm weather – Jicama thrives in tropical or subtropical climates.

Space and patience – This root veggie takes about 6-9 months to mature, so it’s a slow burn.

Don’t worry if you don’t live in the tropics—you can still grow jicama in pots. Just make sure it gets plenty of sunlight and warmth.

How to Plant Jicama

I’ll be honest: jicama isn’t the fastest-growing plant, but that makes the harvest feel even sweeter. Here’s how to get started:

Plant seeds in well-draining soil with lots of organic matter. Depth: about 1 inch.

Space plants at least 12 inches apart to give them room to sprawl.

Water consistently, but don’t swamp them. Think moist, not soggy.

Pro tip: Jicama is a vining plant, so consider giving it a trellis to climb. The vines don’t produce roots, but they’ll make your garden look gorgeous.

Patience: The Hardest Part

Here’s the thing: jicama takes its sweet time. The tuber develops underground while the plant produces pretty white flowers above. But those flowers? They need to be removed if you want big, juicy roots. Sad, I know, but necessary.

To keep myself entertained while waiting, I grew some quick veggies like radishes nearby. It’s like binge-watching a series to kill time before the season finale. Trust me, the payoff is worth it.

Harvest Time: The Best Day Ever

After 6-9 months, the wait is over. When the vines start to die back, it’s time to dig up your jicama treasure. Use a spade or your hands to carefully unearth the tubers—don’t stab them, or you’ll regret it later.

My first harvest felt like Christmas morning. The tubers were huge, crisp, and absolutely delicious. I made jicama fries that same night, and they were a hit with my family.

The Jicama Commandments

Let me leave you with a few golden rules:

Don’t eat the seeds, leaves, or pods—only the tuber is edible.

Be patient. Good things take time (and jicama is no exception).

Share your harvest. Everyone loves a crunchy snack, and jicama is an excellent conversation starter.

Final Thoughts

Growing jicama taught me more than just gardening—it taught me patience, perseverance, and the joy of creating something unique. Whether you’re a seasoned gardener or a newbie, jicama is a worthwhile challenge that rewards you handsomely in taste and experience. So, why not give it a try? Your garden—and your taste buds—will thank you.

``` Learn more about gardening with Taim.io!