#faye spills her guts!

[sunsburns]

i’m so normal about this

[sunsburns]

so specific but so real

me when the story is set in days of future past and the reader is dead in the present and logan sees them when he goes back to 1973 and it’s the most angsty shit I’ve ever read

[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 9

Prev | Masterpost | End [Bonus Rescue Scene]

CW: blood, dehumanization, captivity

-

With his spirit broken, Ash’s life as Ozmund’s prisoner gets significantly easier. His pile of hay is replaced with a small cot—with blankets and even a pillow. His meals get larger and heartier; some nights, he might even receive a sweet pastry or extra fruit. Some of his belongings are returned to him as well: his clothes, his boots, his books. For a moment, he begins to feel . . . almost human again.

There are reminders all around him of his station, though. Although he now follows every command to the letter—without complaint, without resistance, without even a shred of emotion—Ozmund is quick to point out that his compliance is the price of his comfort. Every time he does as he’s told, some kernel of dignity is returned to him, bit by bit. But every time he slips up, every time some wayward sentimentality rears its head, those privileges are revoked.

Although infrequent, Faye is permitted to visit him once again. Now that Ash is “domesticated,” Ozmund allows her to keep him company from time to time. Sometimes she “sneaks” him sweets from the kitchen, other times she puts his head in her lap and reads to him. Her kind disposition and gentleness are a relaxing reprieve; between the intense boredom and constant fighting, he appreciates these quiet moments. And though he knows her affection is limited, at least she respects him when he looks like a human.

“Just keep this our little secret,” she whispers in a giggle as she hands him a tiny slice of pumpkin bread. “I know it’s your favorite.” Of course, she’d never defy Ozmund; Ash suspects she was instructed to bring it, to see how he’d react.

Still, he takes it graciously. The smell plucks at strings of memory deep in his mind, but he forces a placid, stiff smile. As he nibbles on the moist, cake-like bread, a lump begins to form in his throat. Stop it, he chastises himself, but tears are already trickling down his cheeks and onto her lap. Look at what you are; look at where you are. All of that is in the past.

Just be good, and everything will be fine.

“. . . Do you miss them?” Faye asks quietly, a flicker of hurt in her voice. After a second of pause, he nods sheepishly; he’s never been a good liar. Despite all that he’s been through, all the pain he’s endured, it’s still hard to deny his love for his friends. His love for Evius.

She strokes his short, messy hair. “You have to put it behind you,” she murmurs in a monotone. “Just be good, and everything will be fine.”

After his outburst of emotion that day, Faye doesn’t come back. With that moment of weakness, he loses his only friend.

From then on, he remains a good, obedient pet, and Ozmund finally seems pleased. When Ash returns—unescorted, unrestrained—to his cell one afternoon, he finds a leather-bound journal placed neatly on his cot. On the front cover, the letters OZ are etched in a gold circle. He picks it up and flips to the inner cover. Written in shimmering emerald ink is a dedication:

This book belongs to Ash Apprentice of Ozmund Greenthorn

The black hole in his gut which he thought had swallowed every emotion suddenly bursts forth. Hatred swells in every cell of his body, spilling out from every pore. He grasps the book in each hand and tears it in half across the spine, rending the symbol in two. No matter how much he wants to live, no matter how desperate he becomes, it’s clear to him now: this is a line he will not cross.

When Ozmund finds the shredded book the next morning, his punishment is swift and brutal. Ash's eye swells and blood dribbles from his lip to the cold metal collar. Treated yet again as an animal, his nightmares only grow more and more vivid—he wonders if he will ever truly feel human again, and if it was foolish to hope in the first place.

[hellishchrissy]

Bound to

Yeah, no. She's just staying with me for a while. But she's cool. Fezco's voice and his casual words had been haunting her since then, eating her up. And it was fucking ridiculous! Lexi barely knew the guy. Fuck, she was pathetic. A guy showed her some attention, and she was losing her sleep over him, acting like a little girl over a little jealousy. For weeks, Lexi could not get the girl's face out of her head. Sitting crossed legged at the convenience store, staring at her, a shadow of a smile playing on her filled lips like it was the most normal thing for her to be there. Faye, that was her name - it still made Lexi grimace, the way her name had slipped off Fezco's lips with ease, like he did it often. And Lexi knew how insane she sounded, even in her own head, laying in her bed, sleepless. Night after night after night after night... "Fuck, enough!" Lexi slammed her hand on the edge of the sink she was leaning on, forcibly grounding herself back to reality and present day. "You need to stop. Right now. Stop it. Fuck." Lexi met her own brown eyes in the fogged bathroom mirror, taking a deep breath. Music was blaring on the other side of the locked door, the familiar noise of a drunken party ensuing on the other end of the house. To be honest, Lexi didn't even know whose house it was - but when the girls had suggested that they all needed some fun, Lexi had immediately agreed. If something, she needed a distraction. Something to pull her out of her own head and her crazed jealousy that made her feel like a 12-year-old, pining after a guy who had no interest in her. Fuck. The girl gave herself one more stern look in the mirror before exiting the bathroom, the smell of weed and spilled alcohol invading her nostrils the moment she did. A familiar song was echoing across the otherwise unfamiliar rooms, and Lexi was relieved to find her friends in the crowd. She could hear Maddy crying out her name, her voice loud enough to compete with the music. She could feel her own sister grabbing her hand, squeezing it. She could feel the bass of the music rattling her bones, filling her head. Making it impossible for Lexi to think - and for the first time in her life, she was grateful to lose herself in the moment. Hours passed in a blur. Blood was rushing in Lexi's veins, clouding her thoughts, rushing in her ears, blocking out all her own anxieties as she moved with the music. And it felt good to be detached from reality, floating on a cloud of denial. Lexi felt light, she felt warm - and for the first time in a while, she felt confident in her own skin. Oh, what a feeling it was. A pair of piercing light eyes met hers, and Lexi came crashing down. Fezco was standing by the glass doors that lead to the backyard, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Leaning against the frame of the door with such casual splendor it made Lexi freeze in her movements that had resembled dancing just a few seconds earlier. There was an unsure expression on the boy's face, twisting his features in a way that Lexi had never seen before; worry lines on his forehead, his lips slightly parted like he was trying to say something. All the while staring at her across the crowded room, frozen in place by the door, where darkness had already fallen behind him. Shit. Fezco's gaze felt like gut punch that left Lexi breathless, and she hear her own voice saying: "I need some air." Lexi saw her friends shooting her some troubled looks, Cassie's gaze following Lexi's to see what had cause her reaction. The blonde girl opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to tell her sister to stay, but Lexi was gone before any of them could say a word to her. Their eyes followed as Lexi stumbled her way across the room, through the crowd, away from the backyard doors where Fezco was still standing. Cassie could hear the front door opening and slamming shut, and for a moment she felt worried enough to follow her sister. She didn't. And for that Lexi was incredibly grateful. The front yard was illuminated by the golden hue of the porch lights, scattered with the occasional groups of people having a smoke. She made her way around them, silently praying that she wouldn't bump into anyone she knew as she scurried to the street. Away from the noise, away from Fez. "Yo, Lexi!" Fezco's voice echoed in the night, bringing the girl to a halt. She turned around to see the boy making his way after her, ignoring the people he bumped and shoved to reach her. His eyes were burning Lexi when he reached her, his voice breathless: "You like, fucking bolted when you saw me. Wassup with that, you mad at me or somethin'?" And as much as Lexi wanted to have a witty answer, she was blanking when Fezco was looking at her like that, his eyes piecing her with each blink. "I just.. I don't know. I needed some air." "You been needing some air for two weeks or some shit? I've been texting you, and you ain't answering. Got me out here feeling like some needy ass kid," Fezco retorted, his voice irritated as he stood there, the street lights painting him in strange shadows. "No," the words slipped off Lexi's lips without permission, and she crossed her arms across her chest. "I just... Fuck, I feel dumb. I don’t know what to say to you Fez, that’s how dumb I’ve been feeling for the past two weeks."

"Hold up. Are you trippin' over Faye?" Fezco asked sternly, staring the girl down with no mercy. "I told you, she ain't a thing." Was there any point in lying anymore? It was obvious that Fezco was much more attentive than Lexi had ever realized, and even know, staring at her, it felt like he could see right through her. There was a sharpness in his eyes that was new to her, and for a moment she was afraid that he could actually read her thoughts. "Well what was I supposed to think?" Lexi argued like a child, and she hated herself for it. She tried to block her own voice from her ears as she watched Fezco grimace and slap his hand on his forehead in a frustrated gesture. "Faye doesn't fucking matter! I don't give a fuck about her, alright?" Fez almost bellowed, spreading his arms. Lexi flinched at the sound of his voice rising slightly, his expression twisting in a way that she had never seen. "Fuck, Lexi. You been fucking me over for weeks now, ignoring my messages. Shit ain't fair, y'know?" Lexi tried to speak, but all air inside her lungs seemed to disappear. She wanted to scream, she wanted to answer, she wanted to ask why Fezco was this bothered by her these past few weeks. But all she could do was stand there for a moment, gathering herself in the silence that was like a wall between them. Fezco's words were hanging in the air like a physical weight, and Lexi could feel her heartbeat pounding. "Alright. Sorry." The girl said eventually, nodding. She was far too scared to ask the questions she wanted to ask, and the thought of answering any more of Fezco's questions felt overwhelming. "Listen, Fez, I think I'll just go home. I'm really tired and I just..." Her voice faded into silence, and eventually Lexi shrugged to signify that she had no idea what to say anymore. Before Lexi had a chance to take a step to leave, Fezco had gotten rid of the distance between them. His fingers wrapped around Lexi's wrist, pulling her slight movement to halt with a firm but gentle tug - he was close enough for the girl to feel the heat emitting from him, and Lexi could feel blood rushing to her cheeks, spreading its redness like wildfire as she inhaled Fezco's familiar scent. "Listen," he said in a mellow tone, looking down at the girl he was holding onto as he took a deep breath. "I ain't the typa guy you want fucking up your life, y'know? You way too good for me, Lexi." There was a moment of silence between them, during which the entire world around them seemed to disappear. There was only Fezco and Lexi, out of all the people, his hand holding onto her wrist, desperate to keep her close yet at the same time just as desperate to make her understand why she shouldn't be there. But when he felt her eyes on his, for a moment he forgot all about the reasons he wanted to explain to her. For a moment it felt like the most natural thing, having her there. Having her.

And then, Lexi broke the silence: "You don't get to decide that. I'm not a kid, I know what I'm getting into."

"You sure?" Fezco asked, slightly breathless. He was staring at her intensely, waiting for her to say what she wanted. What she needed. "I ain't doing anythin' before you say it, Lexi."

"Yes."

And like he had been waiting for it, Fezco's grip on her wrist tightened, and he pulled her to him. Their bodies slammed together in the dark, and it didn't take long for Fezco's lips to find Lexi's; he kissed her like a desperate man, like it had been the most inevitable thing bound to happen. Maybe it had been, fuck if he knew. All he knew was that Lexi's tasted sweet on his tongue and her skin was soft under his touch as his right hand cupped her face, pulling her closer.

 All Fezco knew was that from that moment onward, nothing else but her made sense.

[mercurial-muses]

Darkness and Light

Valdyss can’t think of a time in the past when she didn’t feel buoyant while walking the halls of Stoneheart Keep, but tonight she feels as though she is dragging an anchor. Perhaps it’s because she has always felt like an equal in this place before- bringing affection, support, ideas, and a willingness to put in the work that will see Frostfall become stronger than it already is. Tonight Val only brings need, though, and it slows her stride as she makes her way from Faye’s workshop to her personal quarters.

That she hadn’t found the huntress working in these early hours is unexpected and, on this particular night, a relief for more than one reason. Val worries about what seem to be frequent bouts of insomnia that Faye suffers, so the idea that she’s sleeping brings a measure of peace to an otherwise chaotic swirl of emotions the mage is experiencing. Solace is also found in the idea of setting all of that aside for now by hiding away under the comforting weight of soft furs, curled up against the gentle strength of the woman she seeks.

Val enters the bedroom and closes the door quickly, hoping the light briefly spilling in from the adjoining room doesn’t wake Faye. She draws in a hiss of breath between clenched teeth when removing her boots scrapes the soft leather against the sore tops of her feet. There’s a similar sting when removing her socks, jacket, and trousers. The idea of pulling her undershirt over the line of fire along her spine has her tensing in anticipation of more discomfort, so she strips no further and climbs into bed still wearing a silken tank and panties. Moving carefully, Valdyss follows the pull of the warmth of the woman sprawled beneath the covers.

Faye is indeed buried underneath the furs she prefers over sheets, sprawled out in the bed with her hair spread out just as wildly. The light is what began to stir her, but it was the hisses of pain that drew her out of her slumber. There were pros and cons to light sleeping.

With a small shift and a low murmur, a soft warm light blooms from the carved bedside table just as Valdyss is reaching the covers. Faye is similarly dressed down to best enjoy the feel of the furs, and squints across at Valdyss as the mage gets in.

There are a few questions that bubble up into her mind. Yet, for the time being, Faye opens an arm towards Valdyss, inviting her in just as much as she sought her out.

Valdyss is quick to cover herself with the furs before she carefully shifts closer to the huntress. Laying on her side, facing her, Val slides her arm around Faye's waist and curls into the protective curve of her body. She finally seems to settle once she’s rested her head on the larger woman's shoulder and tucked her head beneath Faye’s chin.

"Go back to sleep," comes a whispered command.

Faye likewise wraps an arm around Valdyss and settles her more snugly against her body. The baroness relaxes, pressing a kiss to the top of the mage's head. But she doesn't obey.

"Tell me what's wrong first," comes her murmured reply instead. "I heard you hissing."

"I'm a little sore," Val answers softly. She tightens her grasp for a brief squeeze. "Feeling better already." She closes her eyes and hopes that's enough.

Faye's eyes narrow and she studies Valdyss for a few moments. But eventually the baroness just stretches out again to murmur another word to put the light rune out.

"Show me where tomorrow, alright?" Faye compromises instead, tucking them both back under the furs as she settles against the mage.

"I'm worried that you'll be upset." The confession comes easier in the dark. "I have some minor burns." She swallows thickly against the unwanted tears that threaten to spill, frustrated that they steal the strength from her voice. "It was an accident and I'll be okay."

Faye pauses at that. Despite being unable to see the other woman in the dark, her eyes open and dart down to where she knows Valdyss is.

"....do you think I'll be upset at you?" she asks softly.

Val shakes her head. "I was hurt by another mage. And although she was irresponsible, the harm that came to me was unintentional." She pauses and takes a shaky breath. "Light, Faye, it could have been so much worse."

"Ah. Upset with her." Faye corrects softly. She lies there for a time, drumming her fingers along the other woman's hip. Not teasingly, but rather in thought.

There is a fire that lights within her at that confession. A slow bubbling roil that wants to churn into something else. Something deadlier. Faye could let it, obviously.

But there is something more important to focus on at the moment.

"...I admit, I don't much like the idea of someone hurting you, intentional or not," she confesses after a while. "I am glad things aren't worse, however. That you're here and relatively alright. That's what's important. I promise I won't stampede out of here, Ludwig and Rom in tow, to hunt someone down," she assures with a soft chuckle. Tempting, however. "But I do want to tend to your burns tomorrow."

"I'm weighing challenging the hold you have on your feelings and just... needing someone, just one person, to understand." Valdyss tilts her face up to kiss the line of Faye’s jaw, noting the tension there. "Promise you'll let me handle it?" She leaves unspoken the warning that the answer the huntress gives will mold her own.

Faye let’s out a rumbling hum at that, shifting her face so she can find Valdyss’ and press a kiss to the other woman’s forehead before settling again.

She thinks for a little while before exhaling deeply. “I trust you,” she answered eventually. “Just… please let me at least tend to the burns as well. That’s all I’ll ask. Otherwise I promise to leave this to you.”

Valdyss nods. "I still don't fully understand how or why it happened, but this other mage, Grayce, had built up a reserve of arcane energy within herself that she was unable to contain." There's a far away, almost hollow quality to Val's tone as her retelling takes her back to the moment. "She was scared, and drunk and…" The arm around the huntress' waist tightens again. "Light, Faye, she was like a little mana bomb." The mage shudders at the thought.

"And I was frightened enough that everything I remember is just a jumble of her asking for help and someone else- Alexandria maybe - saying that I would before I even knew if I safely could. But I did, and taking Grayce's hand was… violent."

Warmth pools against Faye’s shoulder as the mage’s tears finally come. "I've done this for most of my life," Valdyss begins, pausing for a hitch in her breath. "Channeled energy, focused and cast it, but neither Grayce nor I had any control over this exchange and she just pushed the energy into me." She squeezes her eyes shut. "It was almost too much."

Wrath.

Anger swells up in Faye before she has the sense to push it back down again. An ugly, sinister little thing that prickles beneath her skin like growing frost. She can feel the dribbles of tears streaking down her shoulder as Valdyss finally lets them out. Focus on that. Wrath could come another day. After all, she had just promised, hadn't she?

So rather than plot or scheme some form of payback, Faye holds the other woman tight and gives her something solid to anchor to. Rather than talk right away, she opts to let Valdyss ride it out while she shows support in small rubs along the mage's arm and shoulders, and another kiss placed atop her head.

Valdyss feels the huntress' body grow tense in her half embrace. "Faye, no," she mutters against her neck. "Everything I need from you, you're giving me now."

Faye has to close her eyes and will her body to relax again as she gives up the anger. That, or at least set it aside fully for now. She kisses Valdyss again as the tension wears away.

"I'm sorry you had to feel that scared, Valdyss. I wish you'd never have had to be put in that position in the first place. That must have been terrifying."

"At first, yeah." The mage utters the word to illuminate the bedside rune as she pushes up on one elbow so she can meet Faye’s gaze. "But as I was running away to cast the energy off in a safe place, what I felt strongest was regret." She shakes her head and releases a sharp breath.

"And anger. Then back to fear of a different kind, because it occurred to me how many times I've stopped myself recently from telling you that I'm in love with you, out of worry that it might be too much or too soon. And in that moment, what scared me more than the burn of the arcane was the idea that I'd never get to tell you at all."

Faye has to squint for a time as her eyes grow re-accustomed to the new light. She stays as she was on her back, but idly reaches up to toy with some of the mage's hair.

That motion freezes as Faye looks at her in slight shock. It takes the baroness a while to process those words, heartfelt as they are, and to really gather just what they mean.

A few beats pass before Faye's expression changes. She reaches up to loop a hand around Valdyss's neck, pulling her close to press her own forehead to the mage's in a silent gesture of affection. She stays that way and closes her eyes for a little while.

"It's a lot." Faye admits quietly after a few minutes. "But I'm touched to hear it. I've... long since learned that Drustvar doesn't care much about pacing. It'll take ones you love without a second thought. I may not be saying 'I love you' back right now, but I know in my heart I will be soon. Especially if you keep being the way you are," Faye admits with a breathy little chuckle.

A small part of Val waits for the sinking in her gut that disappointment brings and her lips part to speak the word that will plunge the room into darkness again, but the feeling never comes and her features brighten with a smile instead. “I would do a rotten job of being anyone but who I am,” she replies with a chuckle.

Her expression sobers a little, but there is still joy in her eyes. “And I’ll never need to hear those words so long as you keep showing me as you have every time I see you.” The mage’s words are punctuated with a kiss before she snuggles into Faye’s side again and calls for a darkness that holds nothing foreboding, only comfort and warmth.

tagging @arcane-sunlight and @alexandriawilliams for mentions and @tyra-greydawn, @saferemercer, @terezascania and @merelliahallewell because they were there (I know I'm still missing folks, but I can't remember who... sorry!)

[sunsburns]

THEY JUST KEEP COMNNG!!!

charlie bushnell the man you are

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 8

Part VII here

Rosie stared up the TV screen in horror. Eight months. Eight months in New York and her life was suddenly unravelling all around her.

“Rosie.”

She turned, seeing Marshall by the doorway. How wonderful that he’d been there to witness the glass smashing; her mouth opening and closing like a fish left out of water for too long.

He crossed to her, tiny fragments of glass crunching under his heavy work boots. She looked up into his blue, blue eyes and wondered how it felt like days, not hours, since she’d stood under a hot spray with him, touched him intimately, heard the catch in his breath as he came.

“Are you okay?” he cupped her elbows. Rosie glanced around. No one was looking at them; everyone still engrossed in the news story told by the classically pretty anchor on the screen.

“I….”

Suddenly the news finished and just like that, someone pressed an invisible PLAY button on everyone in the diner.

“Rosie! Jesus, you okay?” Her fellow server, Arlo, came over with a dustpan and broom. “What happened?”

“I - low blood pressure.” She closed her eyes momentarily. It wasn’t a lie to say that she felt faint. Faint was a kind word for what she felt. “Happens, sometimes.”

She felt Marshall and Arlo’s eyes on her. What were they thinking? Right now, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Marshall drew his coat back; flashed the badge of his belt. “NYPD - Rosie’s a friend. I’ll take her outside for some air.”

“Sure. I’ll get this.” Arlo gestured with the broom.

Rosie sent him a grateful smile. Arlo’s cheeks flushed briefly, and then he bent to his task.

With a last glance back to her colleague, Rosie stepped over the scattering of glass, and Marshall pushed the door open. The cold air whipped in, and he shrugged out of his thick black parka and wrapped it around her shoulders, leading her around the deli so they wouldn’t be in view of the windows.

Inside, the news report had finished and the patrons went back to the business of eating, gossiping, drinking coffee, bitching about the cabs in New York.

Rosie couldn’t help it; she snuggled into Marshall’s coat, into the scent of black coffee, warm bread, and cedarwood.

His blue, blue eyes searched hers as he fairly towered over her. The wind whipped at her hair, pulling stray locks from her messy bun.

“What happened in there?”

Hesitation made her bite her lip. His gaze followed the movement, and despite what had just happened, a jolt of heat speared her and she thought of this morning.

“The sketch on the TV. It’s of my ex-husband.”

Marshall’s brows rose, but other than that he gave no other indication of surprise. She guessed the police had to be good at that - a decent poker face was surely Detective 101.

“You’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure, Walter, I was married to him.”

Something passed over his handsome face, his expression unreadable. Finally, he folded his arms over his broad chest. A stray curl of his hair flopped over his face and she stuffed her hands in the pocket of her apron to stop the urge to stroke it back into place.

“He’s who we think is responsible for a spate of robberies in the city.”

“Really.”

“Really.” He held her gaze. She deliberately didn’t look away. She had nothing to hide. “Rosie, I’m going to need you to come into the precinct, help me out with some questions.”

Alarm threaded through her, but she swallowed; lifted her chin. “Not now.”

“No. Tomorrow?”

“It’s my day off.” The thought of spending it with law enforcement didn’t make her feel great, but what alternative was there?

“Good.” He reached into his back pocket, tugged out a small green notebook and pencil, flipped the cover open to reveal dog-eared pages. “I can be free at ten. Ask for me when you arrive at the station.”

Rosie swallowed, and nodded. “Fine.”

They stood opposite each other like two strangers who hadn’t spent a searing, orgasmic night together. A cab sailed past, the driver leaning on the horn to complain about a tourist jaywalking, and Rosie startled.

Marshall gently gripped her shoulder. “You okay?”

Not at all. “Sure.” She glanced inside. Arlo had finished sweeping up the mess she’d made. “I need to get back to work.” She shrugged his coat off her shoulders.

“Keep it.”

“No, no, thanks.” It felt too personal now. This morning she imagined she’d probably never see him again, now she’d see him tomorrow for reasons that made her sick to her stomach. “I’ve got a coat to go home in.”

He took it from her, his blue eyes unfathomable, his mouth a stern, serious line in his strong, bearded jaw. “Thanks. For returning the jumper.”

“You’re welcome.”

“See you tomorrow,” he said gruffly, and then he held open the deli door for her. Heat curled out, reaching for her, and Rosie stepped inside.

When she looked back, he’d gone.

******

A pang of guilt settled in Marshall’s stomach, sour, as he opened the door to his apartment. It was clean, but no one would ever accuse the space of being homely or comforting. It was somewhere he came to shower, eat, sleep, and if he missed female company, jack off. That was all.

But sometimes, like tonight, it hosted pizza parties.

He eyed the couch as Faye dumped her overnight stuff in his bedroom. The lumpy cushions wouldn’t be kind to him, but he didn’t feel particularly tired. He hadn’t lied to Rosie this morning in the shower; he’d slept better last night than he had in months.

Maybe longer.

“Ready to order, Dad?” Faye plopped down on the couch, automatically reaching for the throw he kept there just for her. She loved to be warm, and whether that warmth came from his towelling robe, an oversized jumper, or a throw, didn’t matter. He gazed at her for a moment and remembered cradling her in his arms at three a.m, a silent newborn with big, watchful blue eyes, looking at him as if he held all the secrets to the universe.

He felt he’d failed her, sometimes.

“Sure.” He snagged a menu from the drawer in the creaky coffee table and passed it to her. “Hawaiian?” he asked, deliberately making a face, because she knew what he thought of pineapple.

“You know it,” she grinned. “Wanna share?”

“Christ, no.”

She laughed delightedly. Something around Marshall’s heart eased. There was a time, after things had gone south with her mother, that he’d worried that Faye would never smile or laugh again. But she was stronger than he gave her credit for. “You choose.”

He took the menu from her and she leaned against his shoulder. She smelled of something overly sweet - teenage spray perfume from the drugstore, no doubt. “What do you think I should have? You’ll eat half of it anyway.”

She grinned up at him. “Nothing with slimy mushrooms.”

He called the order in on his phone. Faye wrinkled her nose as he hung up. “Dad, what did we decide about you getting a TV?”

He frowned. “That I don’t need one?”

“What kind of Dad doesn’t have a TV?”

His mood sank like a stone thrown into a deep, listless pond. “The kind that works in the police.” Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

She cuddled into him again, the throw around her shoulders, her eyes big in her heart-shaped face. That look in her gaze could bring him to his knees. “What’s up?”

He drew in a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”

Faye rolled her eyes and sighed in a way that only a teenage girl could. “Yeah. That’s what adults say when they don’t want to tell kids stuff.”

Fuck, she was right. “Okay, okay.” He held a hand up in mock surrender. “I think I met someone.”

Her excited squeal was interrupted by the doorbell, and he stood up to receive the pizza. So much for playing it cool with Rosie. It had been twelve hours since he’d left her apartment and here he was, spilling his guts to a thirteen year old.

Smooth.

And of course, there was no guarantee that Rosie would want to be anywhere near him, after they talked tomorrow.

Thanks to my lovely beta, @ly--canthrope​ !

Taglist: @pinkzsugar​ @brokenthelovely​ @hopelessromanticspoonie​ @mary-ann84​ @leapingoveroblivion​ @boiled-onionrings​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​

[sunsburns]

frat boy!luke you will always be loved!!!

[sunsburns]

when he has pretty eyes and curly hair… yeah i’m doomed

……me next week when luke turns evil

[weslynnegoldmeadow]

"The Scourge don't usually mesh well with major population centers."

Weslynne Goldmeadow wished she hadn't made the joke those few weeks ago. Stormwind City was so much worse than she ever could've imagined. The Silver Hand had been coordinating efforts to assist refugees from all over Elwynn, Redridge, and Westfall as the poor, tired, and beaten down poured into the city en masse. She'd volunteered to patrol the roads between Northshire Abbey and Stormwind almost every night for a week now. Sleeping in shifts with her fellows to better provide aid, healing, and shelter to those in need. It just meant she was already tired when the worst came to pass.

Old Town is -- after the battle, at least -- thankfully deserted. It meant that Wes could smoke what might be her last cigarette in peace. She presses a calloused hand to her stomach -- the wadded up Silver Hand tabard serving a very different purpose than it usually did -- in a vain attempt to staunch the blood flow as it soaks through her gambeson. The old Paladin strikes a match against the cobbled street, pressing it to the tip of her cigarette. The bloodstained roll of tobacco hangs loosely from the corner of her mouth, but she manages to get the thing lit after only a small struggle, and a soft ember glow bathes her features orange in the shadowy alley.

Honestly, it hadn't even been gallantry that lead her here. No hordes of clawing ghouls had piled atop the Paladin. She hadn't heroically intercepted a fatal blow that was aimed at another. No. A scared citizen with terrible aim had fired his blunderbuss at the oncoming Scourge, and a fistful of pellets had blasted a wooden barricade to pieces. Wes had taken cover behind it, and the stray shot sent splinters of sharpened wooden shrapnel and buckshot spraying over her. Light armor is good for many things. Protecting it's wearer from friendly gunfire is not one of them.

The flood of nicotine helps to steady her hands just as the colors of her Order help to keep her guts from spilling over the cobble. One by one, she undoes the clasps on her quilted armor, slowly but surely stripping free of her gambeson, then the arming doublet, then her undershirt. She shifts the cigarette to one side of her mouth, trying desperately to clear a stray strand of hair from her sweat-and-grime-slicked forehead with a puff of air before giving up.

"Holy Light!" Wes rasps, and thick crimson bubbles over her sculpted abdomen from a wound that would've surely proven fatal to anyone but a Paladin. "You fucking dragged me away from my peaceful home. My garden, my dog, my memories, and my beautiful sunrise..."

Weslynne presses both bare hands against the wound, praying for -- perhaps demanding -- that her faith bring aid.

"I swear by all that I hold dear -- my faith, my fury, my passion and spite -- that you will never hear the fucking end of it if you leave me to die in fucking Old Town after I already had to outlive Faye, and William, and Hildira. I am your humble servant, and I have seen your will done without complaint or aid these past years, so if you ever gave a single shit about me..." A coughing fit overtakes her, and she gasps for breath. "Well. Now's the fucking time to show it."

The old Paladin's words are still echoing through the alleyway as she closes her eyes. The Light's warmth radiates forth from her palms as she concentrates, and the ragged flesh beneath her fingers slowly begins to knit itself closed. Pellets and splinters are pushed to the surface, and spit out -- and her hands begin to glow with multi-colored Light. Like the sheen atop an oil slick in bright sunlight. It grows and grows, until it threatens to drown out the darkness entirely, and then...

The night air is silent until Weslynne Goldmeadow takes a deep, ragged, gasping breath. She sputters, coughing so violently that she loses her cigarette to the filthy Stormwind Street.

"Fuck," her voice is ragged and low. "Finally."

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 30

“Think on it,” Ansgar said. “Maybe even talk to your sister about it. She knows me. She knows how I work.”

Elias’ face fell into an odd, unreadable expression. He kept silent for a long moment, and when he smiled, the light did not reach his eyes. When he spoke, his words were a whisper - not angry, but intent. “She knows how you… work, eh?” His eyes narrowed. “Does she now?”

A shard of ice stabbed down Ansgar’s back - a familiar jolt, one that, as it melted, brought back a wave of memory. A memory of Rufus Valentine, of Faye’s brother, when he’d made a similar challenge. A similar challenge which had led to a deep friendship while he was married to Faye. A similar challenge which, when things fell away, had led to a threat of death upon their next meeting - should they ever meet again. Which Ansgar hoped they would not.

He hated the idea of having to kill the man.

And now, he saw the beginnings of the same from Elias. The natal spark. It froze Ansgar, his beer glass hovering, his hand unmoving, his facial muscles stiff, eyes rock hard and boring into the other man. It took a moment before Ansgar moved, but what made the shell of ice break away was the sudden flash of fear in the other man’s eyes. Ansgar lowered his mug and set his hands flat upon the table, considering, thinking.

And finally, he let his breath out. Here we go again…  He relaxed. He smiled, the alcohol in his blood easing him. He spoke. “Look, friend….”

But Elias cut him off. “Answer my question, Martinsson. Exactly what knowledge does… does my sister have about you?”

Ansgar smirked, glaring at Elias through the sides of his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Careful, Elias. I see that nasty little question just sitting there on the tip of your tongue,” he sneered. “If you’re as buzzed as I am, you might just ask it. You might just say something stupid, something you’ll regret. And believe me, you’ll regret it.”

“I deserve to know. I’m her brother.”

Ansgar sighed. “Listen, man. My sister is four years younger than me. Her name is Leda. She lives here in Stockholm. Works as an interior designer and she’s talented as fuck. In fact, I use her on my own projects from time to time. She’s a bit of an entitled, spoilt little bitch, but I love her dearly. Anyway, my brother and I, we are both fully involved in her life. I know, at any time, who she’s seeing. I know who she’s dating. I know who she’s fucking. Follow me?”

Elias’ eyes widened. “I do,” he spat.

“Good,” Ansgar squinted and gave a curt nod. “So, know this. Should anyone, any man, or any woman for that matter, ever hurt her, in any way, shape or form, I will hunt that person down and put a bullet in their brain, and don’t think I am speaking in hyperbole because I am most certainly not.”

He paused, then, letting the sentiment sink in, glaring at Elias through lowered, narrowed eyes. He relished in the renewed wash of apprehension that slid over Elias’ features. He knew he was frightening him - but moreso in gaining the man’s respect rather than driving him to somehow forbid Ansgar’s relationship with Joline.

It was a fine line that Ansgar trod. And he knew it.

He took a sip of beer. “The only reason I know the identity of those persons who fuck my sister is because she tells me. She’s honest with me and… and… and open with me, and that honesty comes only in her own time and on her own terms. I neither force her to tell me these things nor do I ask those whom I suspect have carnal knowledge of her. Do you see where I’m going with this, Elias?”

Elias nodded and swallowed.

Ansgar smiled. “Good, I’m glad you do. So then,” he instructed, “the first lesson learnt is that I understand entirely where you’re coming from. I get you. I’m an older brother, too. I respect your feelings about me, about Joline, about this whole situation.”

“Fine. And the second lesson?”  

“If you want to know whether Joline and I are…,” he cleared his throat, pulled a face, and and gestured with a subtle vulgarity, “… well, don’t you think you ought to ask her, instead of me? Or simply wait for her to tell you? Out of respect for your sister and out of respect for your own career.”

Elias frowned, confused. “My… c-career?”

Ansgar nodded slowly, humming a tight lipped “mmm hmmm,” prodding the man to think. He kept his eyes on Elias but hid his face behind a long pull of his beer.

“Oh,” Elias nodded sagely. “I get it. You just laid the possibility of this lucrative, cushy job right at my feet, and now I’m… I’m….”

“Acting the unappreciative arsehole big brother,” Ansgar chuckled. His next words were sharp and cutting, but he spoke them with a smile and a lighthearted air. “I can elevate your career to new heights, my friend. But at the same time, if you somehow end up on my bad side… I can ruin it.”

Elias laughed nervously. “Look, Ansgar,” he leaned forward, elbows rest heavily upon the table. “All I want to know is… is… is what your intentions are toward my sister. You’ve been in the news lately, with your wife and –”

Ansgar lifted a hand. “Don’t you dare mention her. Not now. Not ever.”

Elias slinked back into his chair and sipped absently at his beer. “Fair enough,” he said, “but I… I can’t help but be concerned. I’ve heard… things about you.”

“That’s in the past,” Ansgar declared. “Far, far in the past. Things… circumstances… hardships have changed me. Enlightened me, so to speak. I can assure… assure you that my intentions toward your sister are nothing but honorable. I like her a great deal, and I care for her.” He swallowed down a belch. “I’d do anything for her, anything.”

“Even hire her unappreciative arsehole big brother?”

“If it means that I get the benefit of your talents, then yes. If it means giving you a path to more income, to give Joline some reprieve from taking care of your mother, then yes. If it means giving your boys more opportunities, more for their education, more time with their… their father, then yes.”

Elias shook his head quickly, blinking in surprise. “You know… about our mother?”

Ansgar nodded. “I know she’s ill, and gravely so. I know Joline’s caring for her. She hasn’t told me as much, hasn’t shared that with me, but I know it nonetheless. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, I’m sure of it, but if there are things I can do behind the scenes to make her life easier, make things better for your mother, then I’ll do it.”

Elias stared, as stiff as Ansgar had been earlier. Only the thing that pierced him was not a shard of ice down his back. Rather, it was a warmth to his heart, a shock to his mind as he attempted to process what Ansgar had just told him.

And the gobsmacked look of him made Ansgar laugh. “Come on, man,” Ansgar guffawed. “I’m not that much of a dick. My reputation isn’t that terrible, is it?”

Elias chewed his bottom lip. “I guess not,” he said. “I just never expected you to be so… so generous.”

“Funny,” he mused. “Joline said the same thing.” He paused for a moment, and the two men considered each other, sussed out the truths of each other, bolstered a new found respect for each other. A respect which Ansgar wanted to seal up, hold tight to, and commemorate. He lifted his hand, and with a quick gesture, summoned the server.

And the server responded immediately, bringing a bottle of Akvavit and two small, stemmed glasses. Ansgar thanked the man, and turned to Elias, gesturing at the setup on the table before them. “Please,” he said. “Do the honors. Pour for us. Pour, and we’ll sing and we’ll drink to our new friendship.”

“I’m not sure I can do this. These fancy to-dos, I’ve always been removed from them… at the theatre, I mean. As house manager, even though I plan these events, I’m not really involved, other than looking to make money for the theatre.”

Rose looked at her new friend with compassion, “You’re unsure because this is personal… and you like him.”

Joline wanted to deny it, wanted to preserve herself, wanted to maintain her dignity and save face. She threw barrier after barrier after stonewall after obstacle to keep Ansgar at, the very least, arm’s length away from her emotions. But if Rose read her that well, she’d already failed to keep him at a safe distance.

“Shit,” she muttered to her feet, her chin dropped to her chest. She kicked at a pebble in the grass with her summer blue heels. Where had she gone wrong? When did intense sexual attraction and chemistry become ‘it’s personal… and you like him’?

Rose chuckled again when she saw Joline’s reaction. She took a shot at what she thought she saw in Joline and the woman all but confirmed it. “Hey there, girl… honey. It’s happened to the best of us.” She caught Joline’s eyes. “We need to rub one out, satisfy Mother Nature’s physical itch to guarantee that the human race continues. Turn to the first person who… wets,” she winked, nodding to the conversation the previous night, “our female bits.”

“That happen to you?” Joline pulled out of her pout. Away from the scrutinizing looks and gossiping whispers, she felt more herself.

“You met Jacqui. She was my summer love affair… four years ago.” Rose linked her arm through Joline’s at the woman’s look of surprise. She followed the curve of the party setup, taking her friend with her. “Don’t be so shocked.”

Joline leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder, their pace leisure and unhurried despite the heavy beat from the rock music coming for the arcade area of the picnic. “How clichéd to catch the feelings for my partner.”

“I shudder to think,” Rose laughed at Joline’s statement, sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

“Tell me, tell me about you and Jacqui,” Joline begged, wanting the distraction more than to spill her guts to her friend about what was happening with her.

“An intern, she was, my Jacqui. We tried to hate each other. I hazed her shamefully.” Rose yanked Joline along to a shelter to sit down. “Let’s sit and chat. The sun is lobstering my face, I can feel it.” The two women stepped under the safety of the natural shade of the all wood gazebo.

Joline pulled her skirt down as she folded herself onto the bench that lined the inside. “So what happened? How did you turn up the temperature?”

Rose leaned back, stretched her legs out in front of her, and stacked one ankle over the other. “Jacqui looks delicious in green.”

“Huh?”

“A heated argument over some basic risotto ended her in wearing the shit. I… ahem… licked—you can fill in the rest. We kept it under wraps for a bit, but feelings can’t be contained… or shoved in a freezer.”

Joline furrowed her brow and then burst out a laugh. “Her or you?”

Rose smiled, fully committing to the memory of it. “Me. A self-inflicted punishment to,” she raised her hands to demonstrate air quotes, “’cool down.’”

“Did it work?” Joline crossed one long leg over the other and crossed her arms.

“For those eleven minutes, it did. But here I am, four years later, just as hot for her now as I was after that time out.” Rose pursed her lips, reading Joline’s defensive body language, sensing her need to hear just why this story applied to her current situation. “Honey, it’s not cliché. It’s wonderful and awful, it’s amazing and terrifying, it’s empowering and painful. It’s all those things when you open up to something—ah! Someone new.”

Joline looked away, scanning the park away from the Martinsson Construction festivities, over the lawn and the trees and the everyday people milling around being normal. She sighed. “I was married before. I met him at university and married him a week after we graduated. I dated him for two years, married him at twenty-one, and divorced him ten years later.”

Rose studied her friend’s face for a long moment. The woman didn’t blink, her eyes glued to the horizon, steeled and dark as she relived her ancient history. “I get it now,” Rose announced with a sympathetic tile of her head. “You had your chance. Is that it? So what happens now? What happens to you now?”

“Secret hidden affairs that last a week, maybe a month at best,” Joline admitted sadly.

“Because you’ve… what? Decided?”

“It’s what I know to be true.” At least it had been since her divorce two years ago. “Nobody wants a divorcee.”

Rose clicked her tongue in her mouth in disdain, disappointed that Joline didn’t see the double standard in her own generalization. “You do. Ansgar is too.” She threw her hands up in frustration, in disgust.

“It’s different for men. He… I’m his lover, but there’s nothing more to it than that.”

The breeze made the trees sound of rain, but it didn’t reach the tense air within the gazebo. Their blue eyes warred over the truth, their own personal truths setting them on opposite sides. Joline knew her empty love affairs of the past two years. Rose had seen Ansgar’s previous marriage and how his dynamic with Joline appeared differently than any relationship that came before.

“He brought you here! His first public appearance since returning to Stockholm. That’s worth more than few tumbles in bed.”

Joline sat forward on the bench, hooking her hands over the edge, and hunching her shoulders in disbelief. “Or maybe it was easier for him not to answer questions about his ex-wife.”

“If that were true, you’d be plastered to his side. Where is your temporary lover?” Another heavy dose of sarcasm with so much emphasis on her pronunciation of temporary.

Jutting her chin in the other direction, Joline didn’t unfurl from her hunched, shell like position. “The VIP tent, with my brother.”

“Your brother?”

Joline confirmed it, shuffling her feet along the wood planks of the floor, wishing she knew what kept them so long. “He invited my brother, his wife and their kids, because he knew I’d object to it.”

Rose burst out a humor filled laugh, shattering the tension in the gazebo. She pushed to her feet, using her momentum to get up into Joline’s face. She pulled the woman out of her prickly, protective and neurotic pose onto her feet. “Honey, that’s foreplay!!” She tucked Joline’s hand under her own arm this time to get her in the center of the party.

“Wha—what do you mean?”

“He’s bringing your people closer into his circle. Schmoozing them, charming them… marking his territory around you, sweet cheeks. It’s all foreplay and pillow talk. You can take your maudlin nobody wants a divorcee crap elsewhere, honey. There’s no room for it here, not with his bullhead around.”

Joline stumbled to keep up with Rose as she made a beeline for the VIP tent, peeking in the windows to get a glimpse inside. The butterflies in Joline’s belly beat a southbound flight, making her slightly nauseous. Rose led them round to the flap inside and dragged her unwilling friend behind her into the tabled area.

Ansgar and Elias sat in the center, clinking their shot glasses together and knocking them back. Their raucous laughter drowned out the other ambient noise of the beer tent. And then there was the singing…. Out of tune, louder than sin and so much less melodic than any song that either woman ever had the displeasure of listening.

[wildcard--muses]

Not the Norm ☄

@ranger-c17

Aludra was just going about her day the way she normally would, getting breakfast before work as usual.... But the odds weren’t in her favor that morning. An alpha that was going right into a rut passed by her in a hurry, their scent irresistible as they bumped into her, spilling their drink down the front of her sweater. The other alpha apologized and was somehow in a decent enough state of mind to offer paying for Aludra’s own drink and kept rambling about how they ‘weren’t their self this morning’.... But Lu was not. As the alpha went on and on about trying to make it up to her, all she could think about was the scent now filling the small cafe, warmth and fire, her gut coiled uncomfortably and she swore she could cum from the scent that reminded her of her partner alone. She babbled her own string of short sorrys before backing out the doors, everyone in line staring her way as she left so abruptly. It wasn’t conventional. An alpha lusting after an out her alpha, getting turned on by their scent. She’d been dating Faye for about a year now and everyone they’d ever told was judgemental and concerned for their wellbeing. Sure it wasn’t common, but Aludra couldn’t control it! And Faye had always been a rarity among other alphas, only rough with her when she wanted it and if she didn’t she kept her hands to herself, respected her space. It was refreshing. She’d made so many mistakes with other alphas growing up. But as she got older, she realized all the shit she dealt with was worth it to find her. A quick phone call to work that she wouldn’t be in for a few days and she stumbled into their apartment, rushing over to Faye and straddling her on the sofa, growling low in her throat, pupils dilated as she gripped her shirt roughly, tugging at her clothes and clawing at her skin. “Need you. NOW.”

[angeldcgs]

of all the time they'd spent together so far, faye felt as though their relationship had progressed more in the last few minutes than it had in the past week or two. it seemed as though privacy was just the catalyst they needed to properly open up and bare their souls to one another, and it only confirmed that she'd made the right decision by coming to see him that afternoon. things could still turn sour somewhere down the line, but she had a hard time believing his intentions with her were anything but honorable, especially with the way he began to confess even more intimate thoughts, such that she was certain no one else was privy to. he was trusting her enough to allow such vulnerability, proving that he was just as physically affected by having her feel his heartbeat, and so she had to put her trust in him in return. "i apologize... i do not mean to doubt your affections." a soft pink found its way to her cheeks once again as she cast her gaze to her lap sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't be cross with her. instead, he continued to spill yet more secrets, softening her up so she had no choice but to sympathize with his plight. she had no idea he felt that way—whatever turmoil he was harboring inside, lord ryland was adept at projecting a self assured aura, the sort of man who seemed unafraid to pursue whatever and whoever struck his fancy, because he knew he had the ability to achieve anything he set his mind to. to know that he was harboring such uncertainty— insecurity, even— faye couldn't help but be endeared to him even further. her attention was stolen momentarily by the hand wrapped around her thigh, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes darted down to the point of connection before meeting his gaze yet again. it took a concerted effort for her to continue breathing, forcing every inhale and exhale at the risk of properly fainting. "i... i do not know what to say," she admitted, lips pressing together while she searched his eyes as if they would give her the answer. "whatever picture you are painting while in my company— whichever version of yourself you find you have become... i cannot imagine a more pleasing presentation than what i see before me today." it sounded hyperbolic, but it was true. faye didn't think it was possible to be any more taken with him. slowly, almost imperceptibly, she'd begun to lean in, inexplicably pulled into his orbit as he brought his lips back to her hand. they were just as soft as she imagined them to be, and she couldn't help but yearn to feel them elsewhere, a thought that filled her gut with that peculiar fluttery feeling. "maxwell," she breathed, testing the name out on her tongue. "you may call me whatever you like."

it was a delicate thing, corrupting a polite young woman. the line between seductive and overbearing was so thin, that max often found himself overstepping and pivoting to damage control. other times, the young women surprised him by making the first move. he had no such expectation of miss sanderson, but she had also allowed him far more leniency than he expected. the first meeting, the testing of their boundaries, had always been the most nerve-wracking, and that's what the young lord told himself was the primary source of his anxiety. however, there was no mistaking the way her eyes seemed to bore into him as though she were seeing through his facade. she wasn't, of course. her starry eyed gaze told him as much, but nevertheless her gaze made him feel.... vulnerable. "i am! do you still not know how you affect me?" still cradling her hand between his, he lifted her palm and set it against his chest so she could feel the elevated thumping of his heartbeat. "i have worked most of my life to perfect the statuesque persona my family is known for.... never shaken, ceaselessly confident, always in control...." his hand slipped further up her leg, fingers curling along the curve of her thigh as he held her gaze. "being near you puts that all at risk. i find when i am with you i— and, please do not mistake this as anything but the highest praise— but i find that your presence unravels the pretty picture my family worked so hard to mold me into." this was where he caught them: just enough truth, just enough of his shackled childhood to make his conquest feel as though he were opening himself up to them. it was important that the young woman not only feel seen, but also feel as though she were allowed to see parts of him reserved for only the closest of confidants. her reassurances prompted a small smile as he took her hand from his chest and lifted it to his lips again. "i do so like when you call me my lord." sure, it was his title, but there was a lilt to the way she said it. an emphasis on my that he found endearing. "but i suspect i would like to hear you call me my given name just as well. or even max, if you felt so inclined."

[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 5

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: torture (burning, freezing, stabbing, shocking, the works), vomit, blood, gaslighting?, restraints, imaginary death, just tw for everything honestly, this chapter is rough and quite long

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

Ash clamps his mouth around his yelp, fighting to contain the white-hot pain shooting up his arm. Slowly, Ozmund removes the blade, twisting and ripping as he goes. Sweat erupts from every pore—but still, he holds on to his form. He’s come this far; he won’t let go yet.

With each new terror, Ozmund grows crueler and crueler. After Ash is cut and bleeding, he tries another approach. Ash catches his breath, sputtering blood from the long slash down his face, and realizes the metal restraints are steadily getting warmer and warmer. Not just warm, but hot. He tries to wriggle away from them, to spare his skin at least a little, but he simply has no room to move. Worse yet, every little movement presses his neck more and more into the blistering-hot collar; within seconds, searing welts cover both wrists, ankles, and his neck.

Tears and wails of agony start to spill out of Ash, but still he holds on. Even as Ozmund ends the spell and douses him with cold water, he holds on. Shivering and nearly frostbitten from Ozmund’s freezing grasp, he holds on. Shocked with electricity and convulsing until he’s covered in his own bile . . . he holds on.

It seems like hours before Ozmund relents. Faye has begged Ash a dozen times to let go and make it stop, but he fiercely clings to his pitiful form. At a point, she can’t even watch; she merely huddles against the cabinets, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. He isn't numb to the pain—it never goes away, not entirely—but whatever part of him cared has long faded into the background. Even Hsa has gone dormant. Ultimately, Ozmund is only truly wounding Ash’s flesh; despite the screams wrenched from his body, his spirit is in hiding—along with his hybrid rage.

The violence finally stops, and Faye is allowed to tend to Ash’s wounds. Ash is still checked out; his eyes glaze over, barely wincing as Faye, still silently weeping, cleans and dresses his injuries. All the while, Ozmund paces in circles around the laboratory. But when Faye has only just stopped the last of the bleeding, he rushes back, a manic gleam in his eye.

“I know what we’ve been missing,” he muses, a sick grin curling his lips. He removes his glove and places his hand on Ash’s head.

A drowsy fog descends upon Ash, and he stirs within his mind. He wonders if he’s dreaming; the laboratory has been replaced with a beautiful clearing in a forest. From a distance, he can hear the laughter and conversation of friendly, familiar voices. He can feel a presence behind him—he turns to find . . . Evius?

Evvy? Is this real? Are you . . . here?

Evius smirks, the one-sided coy smile Ash adores so much. It’s him, it must be—perfect, ethereal Evius! Euphoric relief floods his veins, flushing out the tarry anguish held inside him. But his joy doesn't last long. He reaches out to Evius, desperate for his comforting touch, but Evius shakes his head and backs away.

Wh–why? Where are you going?

From the misty stand of trees behind Evius, the slender figure of Ozmund emerges. Evius runs to him, clinging to his side with the doe-eyed admiration he once had. Ozmund tips Evius’ chin up to kiss him, and the two tangle in an eager embrace. Ozmund’s wicked gaze slides to Ash, and dark clouds condense over the bright meadow. With one sharp motion, he drives his long blade into Evius’ gut.

Evius sinks to his knees, blood dribbling out of his mouth as he wheezes. He clutches desperately at the wound; his golden eyes are wide open, but they quickly grow dull and pale. Through forced, choking breaths, he mouths words that simply won’t come out. Even so, Ash knows what he’s saying:

Why did you do this to me? Ash, why didn’t you save me?

When Ash awakens from the dream, his body is exploding into a hulking mass of fur and claws. He knows it can’t have been real, but he’s lost all control; his rational mind is locked away. The tight metal shackles holding him strain against his expanding form, but some other force seems to hold him in place. As his bones settle into the new form and his eyes stop swimming, the laboratory comes back into focus. Faye, her face pale and mouth agape, hides against the far wall.

“Faye!” Ozmund barks. “Quickly, now! We don’t know how long this will hold!”

Through the hazy tinge of his rage, Ash can almost see her soul return to her body as she focuses on the task ahead of her. She repeats the same exam she performed days ago, detailing his every measurement; this time, however, Ash can’t help but notice how she recoils at touching him.

He feels like a bystander in his own body—normally, he still has some control over himself, even in his rage-fueled state. Whatever magic has locked down his muscles also seems to be suspending him in this form; he should have been able to shift back already, but for some reason . . . he can't. His brain floods over and over again with adrenaline, his heart thumping faster and faster against his chest. Black spots speckle his vision, and he struggles to catch his breath—if he can't calm down soon, he fears he might—

Some time later, he gasps back into consciousness, still bound on the stone table. His fingers twitch—twitch? I can move again? A cool, gentle hand presses onto his forehead, and his skin—skin, not fur!—seems to burst to life. He groans, finally keenly aware of his injuries.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Faye sighs—mostly to herself—as he wakes. "It's alright, it's almost over."

Almost?

Weak and exhausted, Ash hardly has the strength to be afraid as Ozmund’s sharp footsteps approach.

"So the cockroach still lives," he says. He thwacks at Ash's joints with the hilt of his knife, watching as they flinch in response. "I thought we lost you for a minute there—would've been a shame, really. I have so much more planned for you."

One by one, he pokes and drags the point of the blade on each of Ash's fingers and toes. The sensation makes Ash fidget and twitch, but this seems to be Ozmund’s goal; he nods to himself before tucking the knife away.

As he wanders to a cabinet of potions, he says, "I must say, I'm almost impressed. You lasted much longer than either of your siblings. And now . . . I know all your little secrets."

Ash is too tired to even process Ozmund’s taunt; the small part of him still functioning doubts it's even true.

"Shall we let him rest, sir?" Faye cautiously asks, reaching out for the potion in Ozmund’s hand.

He pauses for a moment, then magically floats a pair of shears towards her, which she plucks out of the air. "Hm. He's got sick all over him—see it in his hair? Clean him up and just cut it all off; it’ll only get in the way. Then you can dismiss him."

"Right. Of course."

As he leaves the room, Ash swears he can see a wry smirk crawling across Ozmund’s face. He wants to be angry—desperately, a need gnawing in his belly—but he simply can't find the will. By the time Faye has washed the filth off of him and clumsily cropped his hair, he hardly needs the aid of a potion to sleep.

When he's finally freed of his bindings and settled into his pile of hay, he stares at the stone floor, watching dust moats swim in the lantern light. He doesn’t want to think about any of this. He wants to drown this memory deep in a well—board it up and bury it beneath the earth.

But when he shifts in his sleep, the scars still ache. When he closes his eyes, the images are still there. This won’t be forever, he promises himself. It just can’t be.

His eyes burn and his throat tightens, but he's run out of tears.

[thesplintering]

As January rolled in, my thought and reflection took me back into the past- reminiscing of all the oldies but goodies in everything… from movies to music, to classic books, and of course, manga. I was craving to rediscover the past by reading some of these oldies, so I grabbed my Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austin, and Mighty Atom (a.k.a. Astro Boy) and enjoyed hours of reminiscing. But I also found a few other oldies that turned out to be great reads that need to be shared with others.

Mighty Atom (A.K.A. Astro Boy) by Osamu Tezuka

Mighty Atom began spilling out its fun and adventures on to the pages known as Astro Boy in 1957. Similar to a modern-day Pinocchio, it is about a powerful android created by the head of the Ministry of Science, Doctor Tenma to replace his son Tobio who died in a car accident. This manga is about the adventures of a mighty boy and all the troubles that come his way after they discover his seven superpowers to fight crime. These powers consist of 100K horsepower strength, jet flight, high-intensity lights in his eyes, adjustable hearing, instant language translation, a retractable machine gun in his hip, high I.Q. with the ability to determine if a person was good or evil. Later, he learns that he has another power, the power of human emotions.

Golgo 13 – by Akihiro Tago

Having started in 1968, Golgo 13 is one of the oldest manga out there that is still being read. It is a story about a professional sniper assassin, Duke Togo. He is neither a hero nor a villain – instead does missions for his clients.

Warning: It can be offensive sometimes with all the killing and political references. The fact that some people might not know is that the reference of Golgo 13 is short for Golgotha, the place of Jesus’ crucifixion, and the number 13, which is considered to be unlucky.

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures by Hirohiko Arki

The joy of JoJo’s adventures while fighting the vampire world and other villains was a trigger to send me to the classics. JoJolion has supernatural abilities to help battle powerful family villains like Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando, her adopted brother who has an ancient stone mask that transforms him into a killer vampire. If you were looking for family love and loyalty, then this is not the manga for you.

Jojo, kick some family ass!

Detective Conan (A.K.A. Case Closed) by Gosho Aoyama

Detective Edogawa Conan feels like a young Japanese version of a young Sherlock Holmes. Conan is a junior detective that solves crimes faster than the police. This manga started as a weekly serialized manga in Shonen Jump magazine from 1987 -2004. Then they moved it to Ultra Jump in 2005. This manga made it to Crunchy Roll in 2012 -2014 for two seasons.

Berserk by Kentaro Miura

Berserk (1989) is not for the squeamish or easily offended, since it is an adult dark fantasy set in a medieval Europe-inspired world. Think a manga world clashing with Game of Thrones. Berserk explores both the best and worst of human nature and uses violence and sexual content to express the adventures of the two main characters, Guts and Griffith. Guts, a lone mercenary that was found by a corpse and raised to be a mercenary. Griffith, the leader of a mercenary band called the “Band of the Hawk.” This Tudor-like period set with turmoil and uprising members that challenge the characters in friendship, trust, and betrayal.

One Piece by Eiichiro Oda

Then I went from modern manga to converging the Japanese and western world with a few good oldies. Monkey D. Luffy and his crew of pirates the “Straw Hat pirates” explore the Grand Lime Island for the world’s ultimate treasure known as “One Piece.” To be the next pirate king, he needs to possess the One Piece.

Oh, two facts about One Piece you might not know: his body is like rubber after eating a Devil Fruit, and this adventure is distributed over 89 volumes.

Cowboy Bebop by Hajime Yatate

Cowboy Bebop is where classic space bounty hunter meets cyberpunk, William Gibson. The Bebop is an old fishing starship that roams the hyperspace highways, trying to keep the peace since the police are overwhelmed with the crime, so they hire bounty hunters to help. The list of main characters is long, including Spike Spiegal, an exiled former hitman of the criminal Red Dragon Syndicate and his partner Jet Black, a former ISSP officer. Then there is his deadly rival, Vicious, a member of the Red Dragon Syndicate. There was Faye Valentine, an amnesiac con artist and Edward Wong, an eccentric skilled hacker.

And of course, who could forget Ein, a genetically-engineered Pembroke Welsh Corgi with human-like intelligence.

D’awww!

In this new year, disappear in the world of manga, with some oldies that you have on your shelf. It is a lovely escape that I hope you get to experience!

Thanks for reading!

Manga - Reminiscing For the Oldies #manga #OnePiece #CowboyBebop As January rolled in, my thought and reflection took me back into the past- reminiscing of all the oldies but goodies in everything...

[fayegracexo]

How I Discovered Witchcraft & the Paranormal

I figured the best way to kick off this blog, would be to introduce myself, and briefly discuss my own history in the craft, and how I came to having this blog and Instagram account to discuss such things in the first place! If I end up being unclear, or you have a question, or are curious about something I didn’t cover here, please feel free to message me on Instagram, Twitter, or here on Tumblr and I'll be happy to help out! (Here or Instagram preferably!)

To begin, I go by Faye, and I knew I was a strange kid from the get-go. I had my first paranormal experience at age 4, I finished other peoples sentences, or said what they were thinking. My dreams ended up happening, I saw my deceased Aunt and Grandfather after they passed. I grew up in a haunted house where a murder/suicide occurred, so I saw shadows and objects move regularly. I figured out this wasn’t normal behavior of other kids my age. I was more vocal, connected, somehow...older? than the other children. But at this time, I knew nothing of magick and didn’t know spiritual gifts existed. Little did I know what a big part of my life this would end up being. Little did I know how many more strange things were awaiting me in life! 

I was first introduced to witchcraft at a very young age, at, of all places, girl scout camp! I remember it was summer, and I was at Camp Grove Point. I was a brownie at the time, so I was between the ages of 7-9. I made friends with another girl my age, her name was Tara. Tara told me her Mother was a witch, and knew magick. I remember first thinking she was just imaginative, and her Mother must have supported it. She told me her Mother worked with herbs and spells, and could make things move...and so could she. Before I realized the difference between ‘Magick” and “Magic”, I was assuming this girl meant her and her mother practiced stage magic, tricks. I didn’t believe her, until I saw her prove it. She was right, she didn’t mean “Fairy Godmother from Cinderella” type magic at all. I remember my initial repulsion at the word ‘witch’. I thought it was bad, sinful, wrong! I had no idea how wrong I was, or that this was my first step to reclaiming the word for my own.

Tara wasn’t lying, she really could move things. Not far, but they moved. Yes, I realize it’s nuts to say and I sound crazy, but you can’t deny what you’ve seen with your own eyes. I remember how my entire world lit up, watching the impossible. We’d sit hidden somewhere, away from the other campers, and I’d balance sticks, leaves and small stones for her to wiggle, or slide. She always told me her Mother was better at it, and she was still learning. I watched her ‘hex’ people, she’d call it ‘sending bad luck’. She’d pick a poor victim around the campfire and make them fall off the logs we were all sitting on, over and over again. I’ll never forget the look of confusion on their face as they couldn't figure out why they couldn't stay seated on this log. They’d look around, blame the person beside them, trying to figure out the trick, while her and I were in fits of laughter.

Of course at the time I didn’t realize that what Tara was doing was really energy manipulation, not Harry Potter type spells, but whatever it was, I knew it worked, and I needed to learn it. I asked her to teach me, and she did, but after a strong warning that I've always remembered. She grabbed both my hands, and looked in me in the eyes seriously, “I’ll teach you, but you can’t EVER tell anyone.” I hadn’t planned on it, who would believe me?. “If you tell, they’ll kill us. we’ll get experimented on, or locked up. My mom says they’ll hurt us.”

I realized then what a big deal it was for her to even tell me, her Mother had obviously put the fear of God in her about revealing their secret. Tara really believed this was so rare that her and her Mother would be taken, and experimented on like science projects if anyone ever found out. Of course at the time I didn’t realize that others could do such things either, so I believed this, stayed fearful for myself as well, and always kept the secret, until my later years when I had more knowledge. I still have my journals from childhood, with many pages of small, fearful me, writing about experimenting with such things, but always being mindful of being found out. I wish I’d have realized sooner people would only think I was nuts, and I didn’t need to worry about being trapped in a lab ;) We weren’t aliens after all, just women who found their power again.

For the rest of that camp, Tara taught me to meditate, connect with the earth, and manipulate energy. We were always off doing our own things, whispering conversations and secrets others wouldn’t understand. That summer changed my life, and I think about Tara a lot, I always hoped I’d reconnect with her someday.

As I grew older and kept writing about this in my journals, the need to tell someone and not be so alone grew. I needed someone to understand. I remember once, and only once, I tried talking to my Dad about it. I told him some things I could do, and he stopped cooking, looked at me, very calmly, and said “You know, it’s a family thing, your Grandmother used to be able to bend spoons, but then got into church and got scared of it, now she doesn’t and we don’t talk about it anymore”. I tried to ask more questions, but he wouldn’t let us keep talking about it. Problem here is, my pops is a pathological liar, so whether this is truth, or him being him, I’ll never know. I tried bringing it up years later, but he wouldn’t talk about it then either. He either pretended he didn’t know what I was talking about ,or really didn’t remember that conversation we had, I’m not sure which is the truth.

Later I tried telling my Mother. I told her about the shadow man in a hat, with the collar of his trench coat flipped up, who would walk around my room at night, or stand outside the door. I told her how I’d walk into my playroom and see my Barbies stand up on their own, spin, then fall back down. I told her I heard things fall off my bookshelf but nothing was there, or sometimes there was a book on the other side of the room. She told me she didn’t believe me. I didn’t think she did for years. Finally the day we moved out of that house, when I was older, she told me the truth. Two people actually died in that house. She took me through the home and showed me the bullet holes through the house. A few in the kitchen, another in the living room, back to my playroom and bedroom, then finally one more in my Mother’s room, underneath the light on the ceiling. The story was, a couple lived there, the man was an angry drunk, a family member of the landlord we rented from. He got angry (over what I don’t remember) and chased his wife (or girlfriend, unclear, landlord didn’t like talking about it for obvious reasons.) through the house with a gun, shooting at her, starting in the kitchen. She ran to get out through my room and the playroom (there was an exit door to the porch here, the house was like a loop) but didn’t make it, she died in my playroom, the man then went into my Mother’s room, sat on the edge of the bed, and put the gun in his mouth, committing suicide, thus the bullet hole straight up in the ceiling, and why it was now covered by a ceiling light.

So, clearly, this house was kind of a hot spot, with a lot of bad energy, but somehow I was never scared, nothing ever tried to hurt me there. (Also, I like to point out I think this energy was made worse by the fact that my landlord very sadly allowed KKK meetings to be held in our backyard in the 50′s, I found a sign saying “KKK Whites Only” and two hoods buried in the leaves while playing back there as a child. Our landlord was old, Southern, and unfortunately racist and behind the times.)

More interesting, my sister and her boyfriend moved into that house immediately after my mom and I left moved. I was thrilled to hear she also experienced activity while living there (tweezers flying from the bathroom sink, into the living room, things being ‘misplaced’, moving on there own, strange sounds). We both noticed the activity seemed worse around a particular time of year, I believe it was in the winter around Christmas, our theory was always that maybe that’s when the murders occurred.

Fast forward to the new house, starting in 6th grade I began attending a Christian school, it was here I learned that many things I and others could do, weren’t “magick” at all, but spiritual gifts. Christians like to leave spiritual gifts out of the conversation, and pretend they are no longer around, but they are. Prophecy, healing, speaking in tongues, intuition, these and more are all discussed in the Bible, and given by God, but we see them being condemned by the same faith, and these healers, being called witches by their own people. In 6th grade I was having many confusing and strange things happen to me. The ghost encounters were stranger, the dreams more vivid and true, I always knew things I shouldn’t, and felt like I was being watched and followed. I saw deceased family members and animals. I was a bit of a hub for ‘strange’, but didn’t know what to do to control what was happening around me, or even if I could. I knew I needed to talk to someone but I didn’t know who. After revealing all this to a close friend, she said maybe I should talk to our Headmaster about it. I decided it was the best option. I remembering crying in his office, because I was ‘scared I was a witch’ and I thought I was going to hell for being ‘sinful’, or worse, maybe I was just nuts. I told him about Tara, and spilled my guts on what I've been doing. He hugged me, and told me I wasn’t bad, or sinful, that instead, God wanted me to do these things, and they were in the bible. It was the first I'd heard of this. I left that day feeling recharged, confident.

Since then I’ve learned ‘witch’ wasn’t a bad word at all, I also wasn’t nuts, or alone. As I grew into my own I realized I’d best be classified as an ‘eclectic witch’, meaning I am eclectic in my practice and pull from various sources and cultures to create magick that is completely my own. I’m a unique blend of intuition based magick, Celtic witchery, Buddhism, kitchen witchery and everything in between. However I do like to point out that NO I am not Wiccan ;) Wicca I consider to be a religion of Witchcraft and it’s not for me; I like to clarify as it’s one of the most asked questions witches get, especially when people aren't familiar with the differences of religion or spirituality and the variations of witches and witchcraft.

(I’d like to briefly point out here that RELIGION and WITCHCRAFT/ SPIRITUALITY or ENERGY WORK do NOT have to go hand in hand. Spirituality is not always a religion to people, but it can be. Witchcraft is not a religion, but it can be! this all depends on YOUR practice. I am a practicing witch, but consider my ‘religion’ to be spirituality. I would not say my craft is my religion or a religious belief, I see it as energy work, which I find to be rooted in electrical workings of the earth, which is science to me.)

As for what I specifically believe, I’m all over the place and open to many ideas and theories on that as well. I don’t call myself a Christian any longer, as I don’t wish to be associated with their beliefs, but I do still believe in the Christian God and Jesus, and some of the bible, but I have LOTS of thoughts about all of it. Also I’d be a hypocrite Christian, as I have reached out to or felt a call by other Goddesses/Deities, and been answered. Kali Ma, Hekate, Freya, Kwan Yin, Persephone, The Morrigan, just to name a few favorites.

I don’t have an explanation for this yet! I also accept I may never have that answer until I’m dead. I believe in God, the universe, aliens, that dragons existed, I believe in the Fae, in myths and legends, manifestation, energy work, I believe everything may have some truth, I believe in many things, with many theories on all of it. I’m open to the idea of past lives, as I’ve had strange experiences myself; But at the end of the day, all I am 100% certain on, is that when I pray, work with energy, or put out into the universe, things happen that I cannot explain. Whether it is God answering, The universe answering, or If God and the universe are on the in the same, I don’t know! and don’t claim to know. I just know I am heard, and it works. I’ve just seen things that have no explanation, both light and dark, and all I know, is that more exists in this world that what we can see and put our hands on. I don't claim to have all the answers or know everything, and I think anyone that does is frankly, full of shit. I find myself thinking of new theories and ‘what if’s’ on a regular basis, and it would be nothing but arrogance and ego for me to claim I know everything I’m talking about. Part of the craft, is learning as we go, and never having all the answers. If someone claims they're all-knowing, then they're no witch. So I’d like to make it clear, that while I’m not a beginner, I’m also by no means an expert, and I am always learning, and evolving, as every witch should.

I notice all the Goddesses I am called to have similar themes, sometimes I wonder if they’re all the same energy, just with different faces for each culture. I also know of many Gods who have a ‘rose after three days’ story. I wonder if these too could perhaps be the same God? I wonder if God even has a sex? Is there really Gods/Goddesses or is it sexless energy? or energy combined with power from both sexes? I believe not being set in one way or another allows me to keep my mind open and see things and theories from all angles.

So now in my practice, I pray, I manifest, I meditate, I look to Goddesses for inspiration and strength, I stay focused on putting good out into the universe, and not bad. I practice candle magick, manipulating energy, I work with runes, tarot and other forms of divination. I sage my house, work with astrology, crystals and crystal grids and do my spellwork by the moon, and celebrate my Sabbats on the wheel of the year. My beliefs and practice are simple, yet complicated, just like I too am a paradox.

I hope this explained a little more about my background and beliefs, for more, check out my neck blog post “What ‘Witch’ Means to Me”, as I explain why I call myself such, and what ‘witch’ even means!

For more witchy goodness and self care tips, be sure to check out my Instagram page that connects with this blog @selfcarewitchxo

Forever your sister witch,

~ Faye ~