#he's not even a ghost of himself it's a veil upon a veil!!!! HELLO????

[wheretheresawyll]

'you can put distance between you and yesterday but you'll never leave it fully behind' father's words hard to argue with them florrick spoke true i'm a grand duke's son my story is one of two men the blade of frontiers a man hunting the fiends who prey on the weak and claw at the coast and wyll ravengard a memory of a memory a man who belongs to the past A MEMORY OF A MEMORY A MAN WHO BELONGS TO THE PAST

[bloodyymaryyy]

The fortunate one

Charles Leclerc x goddess reader

Side note : this took not as long as I expected but yeah it took a little under a week so I am proud of it for the time it took and the whole thing ,I like it and I hope you like it too . Please don't be a ghost reader if you like my work because it motivates me to write more and more with each like , comment or even a repost 💞

Also this is inspired by the one and only @strwbrryfire. Thanks for letting me do that , also hello

Warnings : gore and blood : in a scene I have it marked so if you want you can skip .

It was 16 October 1997 in Monte Carlo, Monaco where a baby was born , born to be a star for sure , they just didn't know it yet , it was way to early to tell either way. That boy had a great potential and a talent few got to have , he was destined for greatness, no matter what .

He didn't wait for long to discover his passion and talent , January 1st 2005 he started racing for a team and from that year he won his first title until 2008 . Moving on the year after January 1st 2009 won another title: the youngest ever french cadet champion.

Charles Leclerc wins Monaco Kart Cup in October 17th 2010 in 2010, Charles Leclerc moved up to the KF3 class and won the Junior Monaco Kart Cup.

Lorenzo's best friend Jules Bianchi was already mentoring him and helping him in his racing career while establishing his own which was cut short in 2015 when he sadly passed away without being able to carry on with his dream to drive for the elite team Scuderia Ferrari in formula one .

Sadnesses veiled all of the families in Monaco and especially the Bianchi's and the Leclerc's , being so close and with a bond like no other , grief took over them Charles significantly more in his family .

Grief t made him seek out for anything that could help him , he tried therapy which didn't work , tried so many things up until one is ay he happened to be in a library browsing through books that peaked his interest even a little because anyone that knew him could say he is not a person to read books especially non school related.

A book with a pretty cover grabbed his attention and took it off the shelf, upon further inspection he understood what it was , a book about a goddess ? They weren't really religious, also not learning it at school got him thinking that maybe it's fictional.

He did decide to buy it though just so he could see what it was about he had a proclivity towards it , a weird attraction like a magnet of sorts.

He delivered a powerful soliloquy reflecting his choice of buying that book which most likely will be left to collect dust in a shelf where all of his books were stored.

After he was done with the errands that holded him up from reading the heavy book that weighted his bag down and returned home , it was lunch time , helping his mum with the food they all it as a family and everyone separated to do their own thing and he did too .

Opening his new book he found that the pages were old , wrinkly , brown and a little torn up just enough so you will be able to read the contents of those pages , just because he had the day free of everything he sat down and read the book starting to believe in the goddess that the book was talking about , there was directions on how to find her , it was rumored that he brought luck , success and granted logical wishes at a cost .

He studied the steps of where to find her and how so he prepared himself and the stuff he had to take with him and a deep slumber took him after his head touched his soft pillow , with excitement for the next day's adventure on seeing if this goddess is actually in existence ,and dreaming of what he could ask her for .

When he awoke in the morning, he felt inexplicably rejuvenated and vivified, as if a whole decade had elapsed since he had experienced such a nourishing night's slumber.

Getting up and ready for a day full of adventure, he was excited to see it the book is real and had solid information on the divine being, it could be nice to see if it really is of existence or just a waste of time which won't really be a waste of time because he could connect with nature.

When he got downstairs to eat breakfast with his family he told them about him going to hang out with Pierre Gasly his best friend which was a lie , he was not about to let him know of the cosmic enchantress , if she didn't exist he would call him crazy or if she did exist he wanted to have her all to himself even tho it wasn't fair and he was being selfish for gatekeeping it , but what the world doesn't know can't hurt them .

After getting ready, preparing his backpack with a few last time things like tree bottles of water and some snacks , the book , his phone and his headphones because it would be a very long walk from his house to the forest where the little abandoned temple where the statue of the majestic empress is .

Normal people would just brush it off but not Charles young and stupid doesn't always work in your favor but the sixteen years old boy with nothing to do and what seems nothing to loose he went for it anyway because he was in line to get a Ferrari seat now , a few weeks ago winning the f2 championship and talking with haas in f1 for a seat which was his dream and legacy as Jules got quiescent and wanting Jules to live through him and live his dream also , because they were supposed to drive along side with each other but god and the universe had got another plans for him .

Drawing a map to where he needs to go in his head , he put on his headphones blasting his music , the walk was painful even for an athlete, the sun shown brightly and every second that past the sun got hotter , he was sweating by the time he got to the forest and now the actual problem began . Having to climb small mountains , jump over fallen trees , go down on the way and having to grab into trees to keep him for tumbling down but he somehow made it , worry overtook him for a while for how he is gonna get back up but the moment he felt something else more powerful in him the worry just left his body and something new came about .

Taking two turns and a few minutes in a straight.

There is was

Or so he thought, getting his book out just to be sure it was the correct building and it was ! He actually found it ! He jumped in place a few times in his excitement and headed to the door , knocking just to be sure nothing happened and so he just opened it putting on his whole body because it wouldn't budge and got in the first thing he saw was small pillars Greek like with the details and all there were a few skulls and different bones which freaked him out but didn't back down because that would mean he just did a three hour walk to just leave immediately so no either way he was not that much of a wuss to leave just because there was a few bones most likely humans.... Right?... No he had too much of adrenaline to leave .

Continuing further into the temple the door which he left open slammed shut with so much force that it woke the dead for sure , getting a glimpse of the statue of the beautiful woman that somehow radiated gold , her body glowing gold with a red cloth hiding the lower part of her body , her waist , her privet area and the back of her legs and pooling down at her feet.

She stood proudly with her hands open the left one pointing down and the other upwards , her eyes closed as if she was having a peaceful sleep , her hair fall beautifully around her , there was candles everywhere other lit with a soft glow and others half way done .

Opening up his book to the page where a few spells for summoning her were he thought of what he would ask her for .

In the book it said to kneel Infront of her and place your hands in her stomach and start chanting her name with pauses every three times and she started to move , her fingers started twitching , her eyelids Open and closing finally she opened her eyes and looked down at him , expecting an old creepy guy that had only greed in his heart and eyes but what you saw shocked you , it was a young man , a teenager, kneeling before you with brown hair , green eyes and a beautiful face in general, he finally looked up at her and saw that she was looking at him he jumped up and created space between them and he spoke up .

"You are actually real" he said in awe

" I am indeed" she said monotonously and continued " what is it that you need for me to call me up here ?" She questioned raising an eyebrow at him .

There was a long pause , " I actually don't know , I mean I could ask you for my friend back , but I won't be logical, can I ask you a question first ?"

" go ahead" and with the freedom of speech that she gave him he picked carefully his next words .

"what do you do actually?"

" I can do pretty much everything other than give you back your friend as you said "

"so if I asked you for a little help with my career would you do it ? "

"yes"

"okay that was easy, I will take that , I need it right now "

" Okay it will cost you mortal "

" Charles my name is Charles" there was again a pause and an awkward silence until he spoke again " what do you want ?"

" I want you to bring me a human alive here and sacrifice them so I can roam the earth again " as she said that her eyes glowed red and her voice got deeper " but for now I will take half of your soul so I can make sure you do that and then I will help you "

Fuck he thought it was gonna be something more simple that kidnapping a human so he could sacrifice it to her but he mentally agreed the moment she uttered the words but so he could make himself feel better he pretended to think about it .

" Okay I will do it , who do you want I will bring them"

" I want (whoever you want) and everything so desire will be yours "

" when ?"

"in a week , this exact hour and day "

" okay I will " as he said that and was about to take a step back to turn on his heel and leave a pain burst throughout his body and a shadow flow out of his body to hers .

" you will take your soul back when you bring her here "

He didn't say anything and left as fast as possible to make a research on the woman the radiant majesty wanted . A voice inside his head spoke that he knew it wasn't his .

" no need I will guide you to her and lend you invisibility for you to get it done without a trace back to you "

After getting home , nobody was at home because of different reasons and it was great so they couldn't see him like this , dirty clothes, mud everywhere and his hair wild but covered by a Ferrari cap .

He ate whatever was made for dinner because they always ate early dinner , he didn't like that but he had to eat it anyway his headphones on again trying to avoid the fact that he had to do all that and his soul was stolen, a piece of him was missing, it bothered him he didn't know what to do with himself so he sat and played video games until his family come home or until he feels like going to sleep which will be soon so he send a message to the family group chat that he is home for a while now and that he will go to sleep so he won't worry his family.

Tomorrow he had to train anyway so it was perfect, him going to sleep early, he could be well rested for the training. Falling asleep an hour after he thought of how is he going to get the woman because the guilt will eat him alive he knew it , he had this feeling for almost every, either he was in the wrong or not for things that didn't matter much it was like a big monster loitering around, weighting him down and with the urge to vomit out everything, secrets , sins , mistakes and regrets . But with the divine sovereign taking over his soul that monster has gone away and he almost didn't want her to leave at all.

He actually wanted to talk to her , ask her questions about her , everything but he was afraid.

His thoughts now are not his own anymore, there was someone listening to everything he thought, did , talked , it was gonna be hard to even talk to his family, but it wasn't like she is gonna talk to anyone about everything she heard but to have a person hear , see and feel the same thing as you it was one of the oodest experience of his life ever .

The week went by too fast for him so he was anxious about everything, the moment his family left in an early morning and he was at home he left too , seeking the woman that would be his victim.

He actually was a puppet, nothing he did was of his own move the spirit inside of him just guided him where to go and how to do something so in his conscience it wasn't like he did anything so he was not guilty.

(gore scene)

Getting again to the temple it went by a second or so he thought but it got done after lying her in the bed like piler the sovereign one did the rest , cut up her hands and gathering her blood for the ritual, drawing shapes in her body and crushing her skull with her hands, there was pieces everywhere of meat and blood scattered around the room and on her face , hands and body .

(end gore )

Her soul flew out of her and the timeless paragon left her place off the step and walked towards Charles the red soul left her body and flew right in into him , he felt something fantastic, he felt complete and something new , he couldn't describe what but it was amazing.

" I think we are good here mortal , it was a pleasure making business with you , you know where to find me if you want anything more "

" did you do what I asked ?"

"yes and a little more actually because you deserve it "

" like what ?" He said confused

" you will know when it's time , now leave "

Without uttering anything but a mind full of questions he left hoping it was actually what he wanted but time only will tell from now on .

2024

After years he thought of going to her again , he couldn't get rid of the thought of her standing in front of him all mighty and powerful, he thought of going to get some help again as he was about to race again for his home country and after years of misfortune either his own fault and many others of wrong calls and strategies from his team he actually found himself days before the race to the very place he stood ten years ago .

The door opened up without having to knock a random stranger that he found on the way there in his arms unconscious his white fireproof and his race suit pooling down in his hips , sweaty, hair messy he went in and laid the body the way he did that day a decade ago kneeling down again in front of her , placing his hands in her stomach as he did before this time with more confidence and determined he repeated her name three times then pausing , then again , then again , then again at this rate his heart beat picked up with the sight of her moving again back to life .

She woke up again , knowing exactly what he needed without having him say it by himself . After getting it done he sat on a bench and she actually sat down with him and talked about everything

After winning the race he sat in his car , thinking about everything while crying in his helmet, he got out of the car with a newfound strength. His family cheering and crying waiting to congratulate their son and brother, his newest girlfriend shedding a tear , his brothers crying and clapping .

It all was surreal

He done it !

He won

Getting out of his car he stood on his knees and looking up as if praying for her praying for y/n the one that helped him throughout his career, hitting his chest and opening his arms as if welcoming a hug which welcomed one but the world didn't have to know that it was his y/n .

Getting up he jumped into the arms of his family and team everyone celebrated his win even his rival max hugged him where the world didn't know that he had a close friendship with .

The end

[hellowhisperingstars]

HELLO/GOODBYE

Summary: On Halloween night, you convince Eddie to play a game after Steve's annual Halloween party.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Words: 1K

Warnings: 18+, No Y/N used, use of a ouija board, cussing, drugs, and alcohol. Eddie survived the upside-down, and everything is fine! Unedited.

A/N: Spooky season is upon us! Here is my first spooky one-shot! Please let me know what you think!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! <3

Masterlist

Eddie sat back on the overstuffed couch in Harrington's fancy living room. The former king of Hawkins High had thrown one hell of a Halloween party, and now it was just the usual suspects that had stayed behind to unwind. Taking a hit from the joint between his fingers, he passed it to the left to Jonathan, who took his own deep breath before he passed it to his left. Eddie felt you move as you got comfortable on the cushy soft carpet between his knees, your head leaning against his thigh as you spoke with Robin and Nancy about who knows what. Bringing his hand up, he placed it gently on the top of your head, letting his fingers get lost in your locks as he smiled at you. At some point during the party you had lost your halo topped headband and little wings so now you were just in your pretty white angel costume the opposite to his punk rock devil costume complete with horns and a dumb little tail connected to his belt. He even let you do his eyeliner tonight.

Pulling on a lock, he smiled down at you when you looked up at him. Your makeup was smudged a little, and you looked tired. Drinking did that to you. "We should go, baby. Get you into bed."

"Already?" You pouted at him. "Steve promised we'd play a game."

"We can play another time." He promised as he leaned forward, getting closer to you.

"But -" You started only to be interrupted by Steve as he came back down the stairs hand box in hand.

"Alright, who's ready to play?" He said as he put the box down on the coffee table.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at it. "Ouija board? Really? That shits so fake."

"Noooo!" You cried, turning around to cover Eddie's mouth with your small hands. You were still slightly drunk, so the action just made him smile at you. "Don't be mean, the spirits will hear you."

Pulling your hands from his lips, he rolled his eyes. "You really think ghosts exist?"

"After everything we've been through, are you really willing to say that they don't?" Steve asked, looking at Eddie with raised brows. "The upside down was real. Why not ghosts?"

"Don't be lame Eddie," Robin said while she moved to be closer to the coffee table. "It's just stupid fun."

"Plus!" You smiled as you crawled to the table. "It's Halloween, and the veil is thinner between our world and the spiritual world tonight. We might get a good one!"

Sighing, Eddie pushed himself up off the couch and moved to join you on the floor. Lifting your hips, he placed you in his lap, his arms coming up around you so you both could play. "Fine. But I still think this is dumb."

Nancy and Jonathan joined you all as Steve pulled the board and the planchette from the box to place it on the table. "Argyle, you wanna play?"

The long-haired boy shook his head as he let out some smoke from his lungs. "No thanks, brochacho. Learned from a young age not to mess with that shit."

Everyone nodded quietly, agreeing, but Eddie rolled his eyes again. "Really? You're making me play, but not Argyle? That's bullshit!"

"Please, baby?" You pouted at him over your shoulder. "I'll be scared if you don't play. Who will hold me and protect me from the ghosts?"

"That's not fair." He sighed, poking you in the side. "Using your wiles on me. You play dirty."

Smiling, you lean back, giving him a good kiss on the cheek that made him chuckle.

"Okay, first things first. Place one finger on the planchette," Steve said as he placed his finger on it. One by one, everyone else joined, too. "And now we say hello. Uhhh… hello spirits. If anyone would like to talk, could you please step forward and say hello?"

Everyone sat quietly waiting for something to happen, and when nothing did Eddie gave a little snort putting his forehead to the back of your head gently. "This is so stupid."

"Anyone?"

A jolt. Looking around your shoulder, Eddie narrowed his eyes at the planchette as it slowly, jerkily, moved towards the letters. The planchette started to move smoother now, the point of it stopping momentum as it spelled out, H.E.L.L.O

"Oh, what the fuck…" Eddie mumbled.

"Are you moving it?" You asked Steve as he looked at the board with wide eyes. He didn't think it was going to work.

"No." He shook his head, "Robs?"

"No." She said, her eyes wide staring at the board. "Holy shit."

"Someone say something," Jonathan whispered as they looked at each other.

"What's your name?" You asked, jumping slightly when Eddie placed his chin on your shoulder.

It moved again, gliding from letter to letter. S.E.Y.M.O.U.R

"Seymour?" You asked, "What's your last name?"

Again it moved, B.U.T.T.S

"Seymour Butts?" Steve asked, looking confused.

Giggling, Argyle looked over at them. "You my fine spooky friends got played."

With a quick hand over his shoulder everyone deflated as they saw the kids outside the window just losing it. Dustin was on the ground holding his stomach he was laughing so hard. Max was wiping at her eyes as she clung onto Lucas. El was standing at the center of the group, her hand out as she used her powers to move the planchette. Dropping her hand she laughed as she wiped the drop of blood from her nose.

Eddie laughs as he points at Steve. "I knew this was all bullshit!"

"They got us pretty good." Nancy said as she moved her hand to lean back on the carpet.

"Those dickheads." Steve muttered as he got up and moved towards the door. "Really?"

The rest of you all dropped your hands and moved away from the board, you let Eddie pull you up as he grabbed his keys to head home. It was late and that was enough excitement to last a lifetime.

No one paid attention to the board as they all started to pack up to leave. So no one noticed as the planchette moved again… gliding smoothly down the board.

GOODBYE.

[hongism]

tangled - k. yeosang 18+

day 2 of kinktober: blindfolds - kang yeosang warnings: blindfolds, sensory deprivation, sensation play, temperature play, wax play, brief mentions of yeosang being a vampire, biting, explicit smut, unprotected sex, vampire!yeosang wc: 1.8k genre/rating: pwp, smut, 18+ 

​​​​

Deft fingers fasten a tight knot in the silk band behind your head before trailing down the back of your neck and massaging the skin there. You’re expecting the touch, but nonetheless, you shiver at the sensation. The dark veil over your eyes prevents you from seeing anything beyond its silk confines.

“Is it too tight, precious?” Yeosang says, his cool tone breaching the silence and hitting your ears in a pleasant way. You merely shake your head in denial, which brings a chuckle from Yeosang before he trails his cold fingers down the slopes of your sides. You hear him shift behind you and wait with bated breath for whatever his next movements are going to be. They don��t happen right away; in fact, you count to twenty-three before he touches you again, then you’re being backed up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You wait for impact, for him to push you back and lay you out over the mattress, but that impact doesn’t come. Instead, his lips brush over yours. It’s the softest touch possible from lips that hold no warmth, yet your gut twists and churns with the coils of arousal.

You let him control the kiss, hands wandering to wrap around his neck, and he drags his tongue over your lower lip. He pushes the wet muscle into your mouth when your lips drop open for him, a hum of approval vibrating against your teeth. You relax your jaw and let him explore your mouth without resistance. The way he kisses you is almost addicting, as addicting as the chills that run down your spine when his fangs graze your neck or when he fucks you hard and fast.

Tonight though, his pace is languid and smooth. Part of it is due to the fact that he only just woke up not too long ago. On the other hand, he is taking full advantage of you being blindfolded right now, letting you feel every flexing muscle and ghosting breath. He must delight in the goosebumps that dance over your skin because he chuckles when he pulls away from your mouth. All you can do is wait for his next touch. It comes soon enough, thank goodness, but it catches you off-guard because the movement is much quicker and intense than the last. Yeosang slides his hands over your ass and hoists you up onto his waist. There’s a brief moment where it feels like you’ve entered a free fall, then the mattress cushions your fall. The air in your lungs escapes you with a whooshing oof, fanning over Yeosang’s face, no doubt, and he doesn’t even give you time to recover before his hands and lips are on you again.

This time, he lets his lips travel lower. He traces the edge of your jaw, tongue poking out to caress the skin, then he scoots down to the column of your neck. He always says that it’s his favorite part of you, and you always assumed that it was because he liked to feed from your neck rather than anywhere else. That is until one night he revealed that it was merely because you always put your neck on display, and the temptation to lay marks all over your skin never leaves his mind. Thus you aren’t all too surprised when he spends extra night lavishing the skin there. Thanks to the blindfold, your senses are heightened to a new extreme, and every little touch causes new shock waves of arousal to blossom in your gut.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only been deprived of one sense, yet it feels like your body is on fire. Yeosang continues to nip and tug at the skin of your neck. He slides lower to find the junction of your neck and shoulder, fangs slipping out only to tease not to make you bleed. When he pulls back, a small whine escapes you against your will. Yeosang huffs out a laugh and brings his hands up to cradle your face. You subconsciously nuzzle into the touch, pressing a kiss to the side of his palm.

Yeosang drags the flat of his hands down to your shoulder and continues onwards until he finds your wrists. He tugs them upwards one at a time, and even though you’re expecting the brush of silk, it still elicits a gasp from your lips. Yeosang continues to move at the same slow pace even as he ties your wrists to the bed frame with that soft silk. He leaves enough room for you to slip out of them, but you just twist the material around your palm and secure yourself to the bed frame. Yeosang chuckles at your eager movements and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist once he finishes tying the silk.

“You’re so so beautiful, my love,” Yeosang exhales after a moment of silence. His touch disappears before you have a chance to respond. You release a whine of complaint, tightening your grip on Yeosang’s neck to keep him from leaving you. “Shh, be patient, darling. Let me get the candle, okay?”

“Okay,” you mutter back as you wiggling a bit under Yeosang’s weight.

“Are you still certain about this?” Yeosang asks all of a sudden. You can’t see his gaze but you do feel it, sharp eyes trailing over your features and searching for an answer. You nod a few times. It must not be enough for Yeosang because he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and speaks again less than a second later. “I need you to use your words, precious.”

“Yes, I’m certain.”

Yeosang hums in approval, hands dropping to your thighs and pushing them apart in one swift movement. The pretty jeweled plug he put in you earlier still sits between your legs, and you push your hips up a little to show it off. Yeosang slaps his hand against the inside of your thigh, reveling in the soft gasp it pulls from your lips, then he closes his lithe fingers around the head of the plug. His movements are slow and deliberate as he tugs it out of your clenching walls. The sensation of being empty after so long brings a frown to your lips, but Yeosang doesn’t let you stay empty for long. He presses the head of his cock to your entrance, teasing you slightly with small thrusts, then he buries himself fully in your wet heat. A broken groan escapes him. Air hisses through gritted teeth as you clench hard around his member.

You expect him to start fucking you right away, but he doesn’t do anything. It takes a moment for you to catch onto what he’s doing. The only reason you catch on at all is because warm oil drips over your bare torso. You flinch at the unexpected impact, and Yeosang’s hands brush over your skin in an act of reassurance. He massages the oil into your body, rubbing in slow methodical circles until he’s pleased with the sight under him.

“Are you ready?” He asks again, still a breath of hesitation in his tone.

“Yes, baby, I’m ready,” you respond less than a second later. “Please.”

The plea is small yet impactful. Yeosang exhales a sharp hiss through his teeth, and you hear him shuffle around above you, cock twitching inside your tight walls. Finally, wax hits your skin. You release a drawn-out moan immediately upon contact, squeezing the silk around your palms tighter. Yeosang pulls his hips back. His cock drags against your velvet walls, and he revels in the way you tighten around him when he next pours wax across your body.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me, precious,” he groans. The bed dips on your right, and the angle of Yeosang’s hips against yours suddenly changes. His other hand doesn’t come down though; he must be keeping it up because wax dribbles closer to your collarbones. It hardens there almost immediately. You can feel the way it cakes on your skin, leaving a soothing burn atop the oil Yeosang rubbed over you earlier. Yeosang begins to build up a steady pace with his thrusts. His member hits the edge of your cervix with each swing of his hips, and the pleasant drag against your sweet spot causes moans to topple from your mouth without reservation. Your pleasured sounds only spur him on and cause him to move his hips faster.

It doesn’t take long for him to forget all about the candle and wax in favor of focusing on fucking you. His cock glides in and out of you, assisted by the abundance of arousal pooling between your legs. Yeosang hooks an arm under your leg and hoists it up over his shoulder, deepening the hit of his cock in you. The moans that tear through your chest are loud against the shell of Yeosang’s ear. He seems to enjoy them though, teeth grazing your neck without breaking the skin.

“Are you gonna cum for me, lovely?” He purrs, voice vibrating through your body.

“Y-Yes, yes, yes. Yeosang, I–”

“Shh, baby, cum for me, yeah?” His soft-spoken command is all you need to reach your climax. You cum hard, walls tightening hard around his cock, and a cry of pleasure falls from your lips. Yeosang leans in and presses a hot kiss to your mouth, eating up the moan in an instant. You fall still under his touch. Waves of pleasure ripple through you without cease. You don’t even realize when Yeosang reaches behind your head and unties the blindfold, eyes still squeezed shut and toes curled. Once it finally passes though, you open your eyes to find Yeosang’s sharp eyes blinking back at you with nothing but fondness. “Ready for a bath, my love?”

You almost nod right away before you notice that something is a bit different than usual. Then it hits you. Yeosang didn’t come.

“W-What about you?” You stammer out, motioning to where he’s still buried deep inside you. Yeosang teases his lower lip with his teeth then tucks your legs around his waist.

“That’s why I’m joining you in the bath, love.”

...

a/n: i tried something new with this one??? vampire yeosang is a sexc thought tho i couldn’t resist doing that, but i tried my best with the temperature play and did my research 👁👅👁

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter​ @daniblogs164​ @felixity​ @okokokok123-45​ @jeonartemis​ @crescent-hwa​ @jertazz​ @wheresmymoniat​ @nlost21​ @lonely10vely​ @monbecaratstayarmy​ @hello-its-ya-boi​ @onyxblade01​​ @kimnamshiks​​ @poutychangbinnie​​ @toothlessshiber​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @lokihoeforhyunjin​​ @ice-cold-taeyong​​ @essantial​​ @blueish-sun​​ @etaerealboy​​ @notbeforelong​​ @wideawakeficrecs​​ @adestinyuwu​​ @simpforhyunjin​​ @naajix​​ @seoha​

unable to be tagged: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale-addict 

[giggles-and-freckles]

Hello yes I'm here to collect some snips and skyguy angst? ❝ did you ever care about me ? ❞ seems like a solid Vader and Ahsoka thing maybe some haunting but I'll take whatever! :'))

(from these prompts)

Luke returns the beads.

Ahsoka isn't sure what he expected from her. Gratitude? Joy? Relief? She only feels emptiness.

Once upon a time, there may have been bitterness there, too. That Luke was able to accomplish what Ahsoka never could. That Luke got to see those eyes one last time before the light left them forever. That Luke got the closure she had been wanting since she was a teenager.

But she released those feelings to the Force long ago and now she feels empty.

Her padawan beads–the ones she had placed in his hand so long ago–hung at his waist under his cloak when he died. They'd been there all this time, apparently. It doesn't surprise her like it should.

Part of her wants to believe it was evidence that he was never truly gone—that he had clung to the beads and clung to her and clung to the light. But she knows the artifact served a different purpose: just one of the many instruments of masochism Vader inflicted on himself.

"Those deserve a better home," she hears as she shoves the beads back into the box by her bed. She can't quit taking them out and flipping them over in her hand.

Luke told her about Endor, when his father physically materialised in front of him. Obi-Wan and Master Yoda were there, too, he said. And their communication didn't end there. Luke has maintained communication with the Jedi of the past. He wants to rebuild the Order.

But that's not what this is. Somewhere, beyond her own Force veil, she knows that Anakin's probably tried to reach out. He's probably attempted to speak with her and she doesn't know what that requires on her behalf, but she's so entirely unopen to the idea at this point, she knows he won't be able to.

This isn't him, not really. But he's been in her mind every day since she walked down those steps and she doesn't need to see his Force ghost to hear him.

"Leave me alone," she spits at him.

His voice bounces all around her. "I took care of them," he says, referring to the padawan beads she supposes, but she's immediately transported to those same words being uttered over a different Jedi heirloom of her. "They're good as new."

She shoves the box into a drawer then stands and paces the room. "You desecrated them," she hisses. Bile builds in her throat and heat pools behind her eyes. "Those beads were supposed to represent something! They were important!"

"What do you care?" he says easily. He's not there but she can almost see him leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. "You left."

"Don't compare what my choices to yours. Don't you dare even begin to insinuate–"

"That you had a part in all of it?" he cuts her off. "Didn't you?"

She freezes. "No," she says lowly. "I would never–"

"Abandon the people you love? Leave behind your way of life in place of a selfish desire for more?" He continues shooting off assault after assault until she thinks she's going to collapse.

"No!" she screams over and over, but he doesn't relent until she's grabbing at her ears and kneeling on the floor.

Then–a whisper. It's like a mist, covering every part of her. "Did you ever care about me?"

Her eyes widen. "You know I did. I–"

"You left!" he bellows. "And do you know what I became? Do you know what I have done?"

"Yes," she manages, "but I didn't–"

"You could have saved me!" he yells and she feels the entire room reverberate with the sound. "I wanted to be saved, Ahsoka!"

"I tried!" she cries pathetically. Her hands drop to the floor in front of her. "I–"

"You're selfish," he growls. "And because of you, I'm dead."

[izzyhavilliard]

This is for all the Elriel stans out there, all the scenes between Elain & Azriel that we have so far (let me know if I missed any). To keep you going until we get a book an Elriel book (which I’m confident we will.)

”The silk skirts of her cobalt dress whispering over the parquet floor.”

It might be a coincidence that she was wearing this color the first time she and Az met but we all know how much Sarah loves foreshadowing.

”A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork.”

”Elain said, ”It’s all very disorienting.” ”I can imagine,” Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.”

”Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here. ”Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinkint. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, ”Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” ”That’s very beautiful,” she said. ”Is it not - frightening, though? To fly so high?” ”It is sometimes,” Azriel said.”

”Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slippering enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.”

”Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulder. He ser her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in trough the front door. Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. Azriel smiled faintly. ”Would you like me to show you the garden?” She seemes so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded - just once. Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, ”Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors of the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

”Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports - likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn city - the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it. ”Why not make them mates?” I mused.”

”I didn’t hear you.” Azriel stepped forward. ”But you heard something else.” Elain seemed about to nod, but only backed away. ”I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. [...] Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

”The two Illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow - while Cassian stalked for the dining table.”

It’s important to note that Az & Cassian had the same reaction to seeing Elain & Nesta.

””Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” ”I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but he kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.”

”But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, ”What other?” Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. ”The queen - with the feathers of flame.” The shadowsinger angled his head. Lucien murmured to me, eyes still fixed on Elain, ”Should we - does she need...?” ”She doesn’t need snything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now - unblinking. ”We’re the ones who need...” Azriel trailed off. ”A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. ”The Cauldron made you a seer.”

”It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not... Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

”While shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide eyed at the spymaster’s display.”

”Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her.”

I think this is a parallel to his pov in ACOSF when he thought his hands weren’t worthy of touching her.

”But Azriel asked softly, ”What about Elain?”

He was the first one to notice that she was missing, not Feyre, not Nesta, but him!

”From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoked debate, ”I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowes golden in the shadows. Nesta said, ”Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare. ”I’m getting her back.”

He was literally risking his life to get her back!

”Azriel slid back the curtain - Elain was in her nighgown. Gagged, wrists wrapped in steel that glowed violet. Her eyes went wide as she saw us - Azriel and me. I shifteb my face back into my own, raising a hand to my lips as Azriel knelt before her. [...] Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. ”Are you hurt?” She shook her head, devouring the sight of hom as if not quite believing it. ”You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.”

”As Azriel battled to keep them airborn, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast’s face. Its eye. Another. Another. It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home.”

”Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time - a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out. Contained only by the patches of power he’d slapped on it. Help - he needed a healer immediately.”

He held on to Elain despite that she was now safe while he was very injured!

”Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel raped ”swaying on his feet, ”We need Helion to get these chains off her.” Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek.”

Again, Az is injured but his first instinct is to get the chains off Elain.

”This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. ”I won’t be usung it today - so I want you to.” [...] It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. ”Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. ”It will serve you well.” [...] Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade - Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the only space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection ... that knife.”

Maybe Feyre will give that painting to Az & Elain in the future?

”Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary. I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. [...] ”I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.” ”Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. ”He is Elain’s mate.” I waited. ”It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.” To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together. ”You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the sea.”

Az gets very tense while talking about Lucien. He also doesn’t spy on him out of respect for Elain, I also think it’s because their bond hurts him too much (as mentioned in ACOSF).

”If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

He hates Graysen for what he did to Elain

””Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” ”No,” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief.”

He was nevous about getting Elain a gift, he does however give her one in ACOSF meaning their relationship has grown.

”In time to see Elain say to Azriel, ”Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, ”Sit. I’ll take care of it.” Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. ”I - I’ll be right back, she murmured.”

”There’s no going back to being human, girl,” Amren said, perhaps a tad gently. ”Amren,” I warned. Elain’s face reddened further , her back straightening. But she didn’t bolt. ”I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’d never heard Elain’s voice so cold. I glanced at the others. Rhys was frowning, Cassian and Mor were both grimacing, and Azriel... It was pity on his beautiful face. Pity and sorrow as he watched my sister. [...] ”Pick on someone your own size,” Cassian said to Amren, shoveling roast chicken into his mouth. ”I’d feel bad for the mice,” Azriel muttered. Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel and a grateful smile from Elain - and no short of scowling from Amren. But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.”

Azriel protectes Elain & made her feel better.

”I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it. The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s - the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphon atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footstept, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, ”Happy solstice.” Elain turned from the snow falling in the darkness beyond and smiled slightly. ”I’ve never participated in one of these.””

”It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” Silence again. The Azriel tipped back hus head and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys jouined him, the former grabbing the glass bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. ”Brilliant,” Cassian said. Elain smiled again, ducking her head. Azriel mastered himself enough to say, ”Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. ”This will be invaluable.””

”Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. ”What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. ”A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up”, he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.”

”Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

Az’s shadows are ready to defend Elain.

”Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, ”There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

He is protective over her.

”I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. ”She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel. Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.”

”Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it. ”I was just checking on desert,” Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shiften to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

”Why don’t you sit?” She leaned against the doorway beside the shadowsinger. ”My shadows don’t like the flames so much.” A pretty lie. She’d seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and knew the answer. ”Why did you come if it torments you so much?” ”Because Rhys wants me here. It’d hurt him if I didn’t come.” [...] Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn’t go near the fire. His secret to tell, never hers”

From the bonus chapter we know the reason he won’t go into the room is Elain and that her mating bond with Lucien hurts him too much. This really shows how much he loves Elain and how much pain it causes him that he can’t act on his feelings.

I decided not to add anything from the bonus chapter considering most of it is a scene between the two of them.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, sorry about any potential spelling errors.

[naruhearts]

It’s Happening.

Sorry I need to get this all out of my brain for a sec and review past stuff so warning for the rambly sloppiness-

A Key Concept: one can’t freely love another person(s) the way they deserve without first loving oneself. We know this is a vital aspect of interpersonal growth and healthy relational interdependence.

Dean Winchester now loves himself (LOVE YOURSELF, SPEAK YOURSELF, folks). He has forgiven the Ghost kid...unshackled him and let him dissipate into the ether of a toxic past (which was all smartly foreshadowed in the metanarrative throughout the past few years over and over again *gingerly cradles my Scoobynatural 13x16 meta* because HELLO, Cas the Honest Man truly was the interpersonal catalyst to saving Dean the Righteous Man. Cas saw the ghost underneath the monstrous shell, the wall, the barrier of unworthiness, and helped set him free. 2 years ago, I wrote: “Who was able to reach through—to communicate and see the little vulnerable ghost boy behind the monstrous facade? A facade created by authority abuse? A facade created to protect himself from a scary world? Who was able to lend him a sense of self-acceptance? CAS. Cas is the living antithesis of control. He’s freedom. He’s non-conformity. And Dean’s finally LETTING GO like Elsa. Releasing himself like Rowena in 13x12. Conquering his traumas. What’s by is by. Dean’s saying I was trapped, but now I’m free. I’m my own person—not Heaven’s tool, not Hell’s tool, not my Dad’s tool, not society’s tool, but my own tool, corroborated by Cas telling him he isn’t a talking dog at the end.”)

Indeed, all this DID come to pass. The baggage was FINALLY unloaded. We meta writers and everyone else who saw the same things, agreed with us, and basked with us in noting those things are still feeling so, so vindicated because we saw the unadulterated story Dabb & Co wanted to tell all along), I’m manifesting.

I’m manifesting that self-actualized and self-loving Dean, finally internalizing and processing Cas’ love confession of truth - finally accepting that he is WORTH Cas’ love - will find Cas and USE HIS WORDS at the growth!Becky end of the long, beautifully devastating, winding road.

I’m manifesting that Dean will finally tell Cas he loves him, too.

That he always did.

Again, I commented re: 15x19 here (I’m also too lazy now to “analyze” this ep in that there’s almost nothing to meta anymore!! Ahh! Common sense):

Dabb & co pulled a necessarily (lol) fast one on us tonight: a literary Bros-Only mirage, veiling the actual narrative underneath -> Love and...Love, in which the Winchesters of the modern age function and self-regulate poorly without their loved ones. Self-actualization and self-love — both of which currently manifest in the brothers’ life courses as facilitated by emotional-passionates Edlund-Thompson-Dabb and more — involves love for others. Of note, Dean Humanity Winchester finally understands his worth. The penultimate trigger for him to love himself was Cas’ unconditional love for him. Cas, the key of truth and free will, opened his heart completely. Dean’s heart, mind, and soul are finally congruent FOR LOVE.

And here:

**And by proxy the greatest love story ever told is entrenched in free will; every action Cas performed after saving Dean Winchester from Hell has been executed with Dean’s influence, character, human essence. Cas and Dean further lit, enhanced, stoked the flames of free will within the other upon first contact -> “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!!” ...[shakes S8 & the Naomi storyline under your nose; take a wonderful storytelling whiff]. They met in the middle on their own accord. Dean and Cas trusting each other, choosing each other, believing in the other, all literally + figuratively threw Chuck’s authority off the rails.** In other words, it’s almost like we can state, with potential certainty, that a love story, a love story of various iterations and multifaceted forms — platonic (Sam, Dean, and Cas welcoming Jack into their non-nuclear Found Family) and romantic ([sub]textual: Dean and the Angel of Humanity Cas) — has again led, all this time, to Chuck’s downfall.

^I wrote this during 15x17. OF COURSE, it’s not subtextual anymore!!

To reiterate:

 Free will is love. Love is free will. Love isn’t bound by anything, isn’t trapped nor suppressed by universal rules. It doesn’t exist in a singular vacuum. It controls and frees itself. Love ebbs and flows and transcends even “the veil of death and saves the day.” 

In fact, “Love can only be genuine if it’s freely chosen. Which means, unless a personal agent has the capacity to choose against love, they don’t really have the capacity to choose for it...[i]n a world that is centered on love, even God can’t be guaranteed to always get what he wants.” x

Dean and Cas’ love for each other, unexpected, unpredictable, unprecedented and autonomous, permeating the fabric of natural predetermined order, again caused Chuck’s downfall. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. 

It’s been building, building, building, waxing, waxing, waxing into a full bright moon from S8-12, then underwent another fundamental narrative shift into textual endgame territory from S13-15 that encompassed the self, the transcendental merging of Jungian Persona and Shadow, that all gathered to the textual surface, Who Am I (I mean, I WROTE THIS FOR @profoundzine​ within the context of mirror self S14 about DEAN AND CAS GAINING INTERDEPENDENCE which also came true!!); the show is finally going there. 

15x19 closed the door to Ye Olde SPN. 

It seems to me that 15x20 is going to open another door: one truly for the history books, one of Rebirth, embodying Free Will and Love and...Love, uncensored and raw in 2020, evoking the winds of social change and humanistic positive character arc growth that will topple all of us over into elation.

Endgame Destiel.

I keep saying it, but if 15x20 goes bad bad, I’m with you all in marching up to the offices and raging. However, everything thus far storytelling-wise was constructed to finish the picture they started painting since S7/8.

Goddamn, I’m HYPED FOR NEXT WEEK!!! 

[amixiifish]

Heat- Chapter 9: The Painted Lady

Zuko walked into the town with the rest of them this time, finally accepting it wasn’t his fault these people were suffering. As they walked by the stalls, they were shocked to see people actually laughing, many were healed, and some even had food and clean water. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Katara slightly puff up with pride at the development. The corner of his lips quirks up. He knew she was going to do something like this. She knew she could’ve helped these people, and she followed through with it. 

“Hey Dock, is Shoe around?” Sokka asks, referring to his supposed “brother.” Dock walks around the back of his shop and comes back wearing a different hat. 

“Hey there. Back again, aren’t ya?” he asks. Sokka goes to say something, but Toph pushes him out of the way. 

“We need more food. Our friend is sick and we can’t leave until he gets better,” she says, slamming some money onto the table. After bantering with the shopkeeper, the gang takes their food and walks to the town center.

“Can you believe how much a village can be affected by just one lady?” Katara says, “I mean, spirit?” The townspeople are putting up a statue in honor of the Painted Lady, and Zuko watches with awe. 

Sokka scoffs. “Well, I hope she returns every night,” Zuko glances at Katara to gauge her reaction; her expression gets angrier every second he speaks. “Otherwise, this place would go right back to the way it was.” 

Katara whips around to face him, a scowl etched into her face. Zuko flinches back, and Katara glances over at him with an expression of motherly concern before facing her brother again.“Why would you say that? Look at how much better off these people are.” Her face brightens slowly but surely as she talks. 

“Yeah, now, but without her, they wouldn’t be able to fend for themselves.” Katara folds her arms over her chest. “If she really wanted to help, she would use her spirit magic to blow up the factory.” He imitates an explosion, and Aang, being the child he is, joins in. Katara, though, looks thoughtful and looks over to Zuko, almost as if asking for his permission. He shrugs. 

Later, when Katara’s about to sneak out, Zuko grabs her hand as she gets up. 

“Can I come with you?” An expression of surprise flits across her face, but she nods. 

He stuffs both of their sleeping bags with Appa’s shed fur, and silently watches Katara do her makeup. She’s going to impersonate the painted lady, Zuko realizes. They get up to leave, and Katara realizes they have a problem- how was Zuko going to cross the water? She hesitates before deftly scooping him up in her arms. He yelps quietly but slowly settles as she crosses. Zuko tensed in her arms when he hears Momo chittering behind them, then sees Aang following them. He presses himself into Katara’s robes, trying to hide, and Katara holds him in such a way that he’s completely hidden by her robes. Aang doesn’t relent and continues chasing them, even at the great speed that Katara was going at. 

“I know Hei Bai, we’re close personal friends!” He calls after them, using his water-bending skills to chase them. Katara goes faster. They reach the land in record time yet Aang still trails them.

Katara and Zuko stop behind a ledge, and Katara glances over to see if they’ve lost him. They’re safe- ah, nope, surprise, bitch. 

“My name’s Aang,” he says from above them. Katara startles. “I’m the Avatar.” He pulls his headband down, revealing his arrow. Zuko rolls his eyes. We know that, genius. You really don’t recognize your friend? 

“Why, hello, Avatar. I wish I could talk, but I am very busy.” Katara modulates her voice so that it sounds different and older. Zuko stifles a laugh, and she pinches him under her robe. 

Aang casts his eyes down to the ground. “ Yeah, me too. I hate that.” Zuko assumes he’s talking about Sokka’s master plan.

“Hey, you’re really pretty for a spirit,” Aang says earnestly to Katara. Zuko actually does laugh then, quietly. She pinches him again. Aang, thankfully, doesn’t notice. 

“I don’t get to meet too many spirits, but the ones I do… not very attractive.” He tells her. Zuko bookmarks this conversation in his head to tease Katara within the near future. 

“Thank you, but…” She trails off. 

“You seem familiar, too.” He tries to peek into her veil, and Katara shifts uncomfortably.

“A lot of people say that,” she tries. 

“No, you really seem familiar.” Aang creases his eyebrows. 

“Look, I really should get going,” Katara turns away and starts to walk away before Aang hits her with a blast of air. Her hat and veil fly up, exposing her face.

“Katara?” He asks. 

“Hi, Aang,” she sighs. Zuko takes this as his cue to get out. 

“Hey, Aang,” he greets. Aang’s jaw drops. 

“Zuko?!” He all but screeches. Both Zuko and Katara shush him. “You were in there? How?!”

Zuko shrugs. “How are you the painted lady?” He asks, pointing to Katara. 

“She put on makeup and helped people. Not that hard,” Zuko snarked.

Katara hits him on the back of his head. “I need to help these people, Aang. I can’t just sit and watch them suffer.” 

Aang sighs, then brightens. “You’re like a secret hero! Can I help too?”

“If you want to help, there’s one more thing we have to do.” 

They go down to the factory. Muck flows out of the vents, and Katara waterbends it so the three of them can crawl through. Katara starts looking around to assess the weakest points of the structure. 

“You want to destroy this factory?” Aang asks incredulously. 

“Yes. Sokka was just kidding, but he was right,” she explains.

“For once in his life,” Zuko mutters. Katara hits him again, and he rubs the back of his head.

“Getting rid of this factory is the only way to help these people permanently.”

Katara, Aang, and Zuko make quick work of the factory between the three of them and their bending. Katara slices the chains of the molten metal holders, and Zuko and Aang tip them, along with generally wreaking havoc upon the factory. Katara calls on a huge wave of water from the river just outside and floods the whole place, which results in some things breaking and exploding. They run out of it and make it back to camp just as the sun is starting to come up. On their walk back, Zuko watches amusedly as Aang recounts what the explosion looked like.

“Shh, Aang! We don’t want to wake Sokka or Jet up!” Katara chides quietly.

They turn the corner to their campsite, only to see Sokka, Jet, and Toph standing in a line, their arms crossed.  

“Hi… Sokka.” 

Katara sighs and Aang flinches. “I think it’s a bit too late,” he mumbles.

“No, really?” Katara whispers back, deadpan.

“You! You’re the Painted Lady! You’ve been helping those people! You faked Appa’s sickness! You put our mission in jeopardy, Katara!” Sokka fumes. Toph sticks her tongue out to show her purple tongue and holds up the bag of berries.

“Guys,” Zuko says looking with alarm at the water. 

“No!” Katara shoots back. “I will never turn my back on people in need that I can help! If you don’t want to, then fuck you!”

“Guys!” Toph yells. “The fire nation army is going to the town!”

“They must think the townspeople destroyed the factory,” Aang said, horror etched on his face.

“You destroyed the factory!” Jet exclaims, surprised.

“Sokka said to!” Katara counters.

“I also said use ghost noises! No one listens to me! Especially not you!” Sokka shrieks.

“Guys, shut up and focus. Katara, go turn into the painted lady and help! Aang, you’re going to help, but secretly.” Zuko directs. “Fine, but I’m helping,” Sokka says. “Let’s do this,” Jet says with a grin.Toph cracks her knuckles. A smirk was found on Katara’s usually kind face.“Let’s show them what we can do.”After destroying the army, Katara revealed herself to the townspeople. They were affronted, at first, but realized slowly that they needed the help. They cleared the water, slowly but surely, and a freshwater lake was formed all around the quaint little town. They said their goodbyes and Katara’s content smile made the trip all the worthwhile.Later, if the Gaang learns that Katara and Zuko were visited by the original Painted Lady while washing clothes, they decide to withhold comments.

[oddtornadoproductionsofficial]

D5 Lost Episode!

Hello everyone! Those who have been following us for a long while may remember that the D5 team as of last year, DragonsHubris and Austinfreak123, had come together for a Halloween special episode! However after months of searching following a computer error, the episode has sadly been lost to the void. To preserve the hard work of those involved, a synopsis of the sessions has been recorded via text under the cut! Feel free to read, and tune in to catch us live at 9:30 CST!

D5 Halloween Mysteries #1: The Scarecrow of Stonesworth Farms!

Happy Halloween, to both our players...and the denizens of Fortemica, across the world, an ocean away from Tortage and Levant where our usual Party (at the time) had their adventures long ago. It is late into the 4th Age now, what some are calling the Age of Iron. It is a time of violent turmoil and political conflict and subterfuge. Two world wars have come and gone, with a third currently underway. Magic...no longer exists, exterminated long ago by a united human front in what many call...The Adamant Wars. The supernatural is long gone...or is it? Behind the veil of politicians and countries who rip each other apart for personal gain, exist a great many individuals and organizations dedicated to the study, containment and protection of the supernatural. One such organization...is ARC. Anomaly Research and Combat, an organization that while funded by Fortemica acts independently of them to avoid political conflicts of interest. This organization locates supernatural objects and creatures, contains them in state of the art facilities granted by their generous government funding, and studies them in an effort to understand their powers and render them safe to the general public. Their missions take them all over the war torn country, sometimes to even the most desolate corners of it. And it is on one such mission, in one such isolated corner...that our story begins. A small beat up van, a grey and black diamond logo decorating the side in peeling paint, drives down a dusty trail trailing between a dense pine forest. It is isolated here, quiet as the agents mission takes them the quiet farming town of Village, where rumor has it that shortly after Stonesworth Farms bought out their rival Tangurn Farms following the farmers mysterious death, the farmers ghost has taken to haunting the nearby town. Objects come to life and attack their owners, dark shadows with scratchy voices roam the streets at night, and a shady van from a shadowy organization comes from far away to this quiet villa to investigate the rumors.

Our investigation team, ARC Investigation Unit 116, consists of Agent 726, Shelby, a half elf sorcerer and Agent 198, Grendel Burningfist, a tiefling monk. Together they arrived on Halloween night, investigating rumors that the late Farmer Tangurn's ghost haunted the streets at midnight every night, bringing objects to life who would then attack their owners. They investigated Stonesworth farms, a rival farm who has since purchased the land. Local rumors point to the farmer and a mysterious book he aquired, but along with his wife, he denies any involvement with the case. They investigated Tangurn farms and found the dead body of Farmer Tangurn, sliced across the chest and left by the police force who could not spare the time to bury him. The local villagers have since taken to storing the haunted objects in his old farmhouse, safely stored behind a poorly made salt circle. After questioning Ms. Judy Mayye on any information, the duo parted for now. Shelby going to question Wallace, the local general store owner, about the haunted items; While Grendel is heading back to Stonesworth Farms for reasons he is for now keeping mum. It is currently 4 in the afternoon, with 8 hours till midnight. Shelby’s questioning of Wallace reveals that the townsfolk would see mysterious shambling figures, skinny with mumbling scratchy voices, wandering the town at night before objects would come to life and attack their owners, anything from pocket watches to teddy bears. While they have no idea the cause, they locked away items that got “possessed” just to be safe. Through more questioning, Shelby manages to get Wallace to admit that things started to take a turn after Nick Stonesworth found a mysterious book on their recently purchased land, his interest in it unusual given that the man (according to the gossiping townsfolk) lacks a real education. Shelby leaves to catch up with Grendel. Meanwhile on Stonesworth Farms, Grendel questions the farmhands, who are nervous and evasive, and contemplates breaking into the home to investigate directly. But upon Shelby’s return, they spot Edgar Stonesworth, the younger brother of Dedos (the wife of Nick Stonesworth) skulking the cornfields. They pursue him to the barn, where they find many scarecrows and the tools to mass produce them, as well as several college level reading material that looks untouched. Suddenly the Barn is attacked by a bear, forcing the Party to fight their way out. However, upon being felled, the bear...is a stuffed bear despite being animate just a moment ago. The two investigators confirm their suspicions, and demand to investigate the Stonesworth Residence directly. Despite the families protests, the two head inside, Grendel distracting the family while Shelby investigates the back room. Edgar stops them from investigating his room, becoming aggressive when they insist, but nothing turns up...until they check the abode of Nick Stonesworth, finding a spellbook hidden among some other literature. Returning to confront the man himself, he breaks down and confesses the truth. As a college dropout who had married into the Stonesworth family, he was incredibly insecure about his intelligence and felt becoming a wizard through reading the spellbook would prove to himself and the townsfolk that he was not dumb. His family admit to protecting him despite not approving of his actions and that Nick had been obsessively reading and using the Animate Objects spell on the farms scarecrows and other items in the town, and Nick is brought into ARC custody along with his book. The two investigators begin their return to base as the clock strikes midnight, the town safe at last to celebrate Halloween in peace. Nick desperately mumbles to himself that he isn’t dumb, along with some mysterious words that the two don’t understand. Unbeknownst to the team and their prisoner, an animate scarecrow slowly follows the ARC van down the road.

[artificialqueens]

Until the Flavor's Gone (16/?) (Biadore) - Kitschy Pixel

A/N: So. It’s been awhile, hey there, hi there, and hello. Now, here’s the deal of what is going down. This is not the original chapter 16 that I planned to give you guys and this chapter was not the chapter that I’ve been laboriously toiling away at for… an ungoldly number of months.

What happened was, the original chapter 16 was starting to climb into the 20 page mark. So for the sake of just about everyone, I had to split it up, and for the sake of giving you guys an update – I’m posting it now and I think I can promise you guys that you won’t be waiting another seven months for chapter 17. I hope you all can forgive me. Feel free to wander to my sideblog @kitschypixel and let me hear about it.

In this chapter, Danny deals with where they are now, Roy texts the wrong person, and Shane becomes the only audience to the mess that’s on the horizon – for now.

Warnings for language, sexually suggestive text messages, excessive alcoholism, and everyone’s a tease. Including me.

Chapter 16

In the months following Danny’s return from New York, he and Roy barely spoke. Danny blamed a busy schedule, but there was an inexplicable bitterness that still clung onto his chest that he didn’t want to acknowledge. They’d left on good terms, he reasoned, so it shouldn’t be there.

“It’s that one rejection,” Shane remarked off hand as Danny reclined on his couch and tried to describe said feeling to someone who wasn’t himself, “Not to say that you’re the type to be mad at someone for saying ‘no’ to sex, it’s just the principle of the thing. You’re used to him giving you what you want…”

“Thanks a lot, Jiminy,” Danny drawled out, scowling a little at the thought, “So why do I still care? I mean… we talked about the whole thing. It should be good now.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a moral judgement, so that doesn’t make me your conscience. But, if we’re going to bring it up, I am far more qualified to be one than a cricket – who was horrible at his job to begin with, I might add! – and, my dear Danny, you don’t actually need me to explain to you why you still care, because you already know. You just don’t want to admit just how much you still crave his approval because that’s scary.”

“And you say you’d a better conscience than Jiminy…”

“I would be! Have you even watched that movie? Jiminy was promoted to conscience simply by being at the right place and the right time. Also? I’m right. You just need to listen to me better.”

“I don’t have anything to prove to him.”

“And you are absolutely right, now you just got to believe that.”

Danny started singing When You Wish Upon a Star in response, mumbling over the words that he didn’t know, laughing at Shane’s glare in his direction all the while. The song dissolved into a mess of giggles and Danny curled up on his side, staring off into space for a minute before he pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“You think he’s dating that guy who keeps popping up in his feed?”

“Oh, totally. They are definitely fucking…” Shane tilted his head tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “You okay with that?”

“Honestly?” Danny hummed and pressed his fingers to his lip, a ghost of a smile dancing there before he turned back to Shane. “I really am. I mean… good for him, you know?” He waited a moment to see if that bitterness moved from his chest to bleed into what he was saying. There was a slight sense of relief when it didn’t. “Hey… if he can find someone, there’s hope for me, right?”

“There’s hope for us all!” Shane held his arms out wide in a dramatic gesture before grinning and settling back into his seat with a wistful sigh, crinkling his nose a little at nothing in particular. “Is it bad taste to start a betting pool on how long this is going to last?”

“Yup. How much do you have in it?”

“Ten.”

“Twenty.”

“High roller.”

“Let Courtney make out with me on camera in a hot tub and you could be too.”

Shane snorted before he reached over to search for his drink. “Is that your master plan? Peddle thinly veiled soft core lesbian porn as a music video for popularity?”

Danny grinned a bit, “Why not? It worked for Britney and Madonna,” he quipped before he crawled over to the side of the couch that was closer to where Shane was sitting, eyes wide and pout ready. “And it’ll only work if you say ye~es…” He cocked his head to the side and offered a wide grin, “ Come on, You know you want to be a skank with me.”

Shane tapped his chin with a thoughtful expression and his eyes twinkled with mischief before he hummed, “Is it going to be tasteful?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I’m in!”

–––––––––––––––––––––

The first text Danny got from Roy was about a week after Jump the Gun made its debut on Youtube, and he was about 90% sure that it wasn’t meant for him.

I’m fucking you so hard when I get there, you asshole.

Maybe 98%. Either way, he was not about to let the opportunity to give Roy shit for something pass, so he carefully considered his response before finally typing out,

Wow. Promise? Let me buy a ticket real quick and I’ll meet you.

There was a predictably long pause and Danny continued to check his phone periodically for the inevitable response. He was getting caught up in a vortex of Youtube hell when his phone finally buzzed beside him. He smirked at the reply.

That wasn’t for you.

Simplistic, definitive, and without further explanation – classic and in no way acceptable. He knew Roy knew it too, because there was a long sigh when Roy answered the follow-up phone call.

“You could have just texted me.”

“And miss hearing your sex voice? No chance in hell,” Danny grinned at the cracks in Roy’s softer than normal words, “Is he still there?”

“No. He just left.”

“Damn. No cuddle clause in your dating arrangements either?”

“Fuck off, we both have work in the morning,” the finality in his voice meant that Danny would have to try a lot harder than usual to pry anything further from him on that particular subject, so he opted not to try tonight. Instead, he let Roy take the lead. “So what’d you need?”

“Nothing, really,” Danny admitted, “Just needed to give you shit. Why does he get dirty text messages and not me?”

“We’re dating.”

“Rude. Does he get all your best dick pics too?” Danny laughed at the repeated ‘fuck off’ before he set his laptop aside to pick at the pilling on his sheets like some nervous school girl. He chewed on his lip before he finally spoke up again, “You know… I kind of missed hearing from you,” he managed. That bitter feeling, the one he’d been toting since he got back home, began to squirm a little, making his heart jump a few times. There was a pause and Danny waited anxiously for some kind of response to fill in the silent spaces. There was an uplifting hitch in the sigh that followed – a kind of half formed chuckle let out in a breath.

“Yeah,” he croaked before clearing his throat, “Shut up,” he remarked, cutting off Danny’s snickering, “Things kind of got… serious. Sorry.”

Danny bit back the snarky ‘no shit’ and kept the flippant ‘I figured’ from rolling off his tongue. Instead, he replied with a blissful, “Don’t be. You actually look happy.”

“And what about you?”

“Me? I’m…” A small smile started to curl as Danny pressed his lips together. He could feel his cheeks burn, which was a bit absurd, but no one was around to see it so he didn’t really care. “Can I get back to you on that?” His voice had pitched higher towards the end and he felt a bit giddy.

“Mmmhm… yeah, sure. Just enjoy yourself, kid.”

“Oh gross, don’t do that. It makes you sound old.”

The serenity broke with a cackle and Danny could hear the smile through the phone, “Fucking bitch.”

They chatted lightly before the conversation slowly petered out and left them with nothing left than to say ‘goodbye’. When they hung up, Danny shifted a few time, pressing his fingers just below his sternum to settle the butterflies that began to rustle around in his gut as he stared at his phone and opened up a freshly saved contact from the other night.

–––––––––––––––––––––

It was easy to talk to Roy when everything was fine. They didn’t talk everyday (they didn’t have time) but when they did it was nice. It was normal.

When things became decidedly less fine and then spiraled down into absolutely miserable for Danny, talking to Roy wasn’t easy anymore. In fact, Danny found it downright agonizing. That leftover bit of bitterness that held onto his chest for months – the one that didn’t grow or begin to bite, just sat there benign but incredibly present – felt like it had lumped and hardened. He’d stopped following him on social media. Just for now. So it wouldn’t get worse and turn to jealousy as he saw Roy still be happy.

Hey, are you okay?

Danny hadn’t replied for fear of lying – or worse, telling the absolute truth and having Roy try desperately to turn it into a joke to make him smile. Instead, he clung to Shane in some kind of blind desperation to stay emotionally afloat. So far, it was allowed and led to Danny, curled up pathetically on Shane’s couch, consistently losing track of the drink that he never put down to begin with.

But Shane was beginning to start to grow a little weary from playing babysitter as he watched his friend stumble from the casual drinking, into the deeper the pits of alcoholism and whatever else Danny was finding comfort in these days. Don’t judge, he reminded himself, you’re not his moral compass. This had become his mantra whenever they spent time together.

He nudged Danny with his foot to see if he’d passed out yet. There was a drowsy ‘mmmm?’ in response.

“You know, he’s been asking me about you. He almost seems worried. It’s… weird.”

“Who?” Danny muttered as he tried to blink himself into some kind of semblance of consciousness.

“Your long distance husband.”

“Ugh…” He would have rolled his eyes if the thought of it hadn’t made him feel dizzy. “Shut up… we never acted married.”

“By whose definition?” Shane challenged. It wasn’t fair. Danny was at least six drinks ahead of Shane, which made it harder for him to argue. He settled on a weak ‘we didn’t’ as he tried to throw a decorative pillow at Shane and missed. Shane stared at the offending pillow for a minute before picking it up and holding it to his chest, looking thoughtful as he replied, “Well I would say ‘dad’… but given your history, that’s a bit gross.”

Danny erupted in what was probably his first giggle fit of the evening as he scrunched up his face and exclaimed a long, drawn out ‘ewwww’ and Shane replied in kind with a grimace, “Though I suppose making the comparison of spouse and parent similar is concerning within itself….”

“Oh my god, shut up…” Danny groaned as Shane quipped something about if Roy were there, he’d make a joke about it being kinky. He mimed gagging before waving his arms to try to get Shane to cease talking. “Ugh! No! All of that! No to all fucking that!” Danny flopped back and pressed his palms into his eyes, thinking the conversation was over before it was finally placed back on the tracks it’d derailed from when Shane quietly asked,

“So what do I tell him?”

“Huh?” Danny squinted a little as he tried to remember what they were talking about before he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, “Oh… right… fuck.” He wiped his hand across his eyes before waving the whole thing off. “I’m fine.”

With a quiet, ‘right, okay’, Shane let the subject drop. His hands fidgeted for a moment before he finally picked up his phone, the wheels turning in his head a fraction slower, but still enough for him to start a plan.

I think I’m going to need your help soon.

He hit send and waited, tapping short nails on the back of his phone as he watched Danny just curl up on himself, trying to cocoon into his jacket without much luck. The minutes rolled by before finally, there was a reply.

What’s going on?

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirteen (the city of roses)

“Sing a lie, ghost of the night Give yourself to me The road is long and winding still And these bonds will stay to fray But another day.” -Opeth, “I Feel the Dark” 🌹🌺🌙🖤

October 15, 1988. Oswego, New York.

I’ve completely forgotten that Lars is laying with his back to me there in bed, so when I wake up the next morning, I feel something hitting me right in the back. For a second, I think it’s Vera trying to get my attention because of the Man in Black looming about inside of the house but then I feel something wiggle against me. Something small and minute, like toes. I crack open my eyes to behold the sight of bluish gray morning light filtering through the blinds covering my bedroom window. I feel it again and I roll my head over on the surface of my pillow.

The sound of him snoring catches my ear. I glance back to my nightstand and the clock next to the copy of Tropic of Capricorn.

He never told me what time we would leave for Portland, but I figure it would be nice if we left sooner rather than later, given Maya’s condition and everything.

“Hey--” my voice breaks upon speaking.

“Hrm?”

“Wake up.” I shuffle my legs together and pat him in the back of the head with my ankles. He groans and stirs, but his whole face is covered with the blankets down by my feet.

“Wake up. Do you think maybe we could get to Portland early enough?”

“Maybe,” his voice croaks from sleep. “What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen.”

“Then it’s a quarter past five there right now, man. We can wait a while, maybe half an hour or something like that. Besides, it’s Saturday. Olivia works every other weekend and Ashley likes to sleep in on days like this with school and everything.”

“Oh. Oh, right, right, right, time zones and all that. And besides you’re the one taking me there.”

“Right, and--I couldn’t hardly sleep, either, you kept smacking me in the back of the head with your--fucking calves. You can get up if you like, but I want to lay here for another five minutes or something like that.”

And I still have hardly anything to eat for myself. But I get up anyways because I don’t want to kick him in the head anymore. I peel the blankets off of me and sit upright with my legs pulled up towards my chest. I then climb over him onto the cold carpet. Once I’m up, I push the covers back over him so he’ll keep the warmth within him.

When I leave the room, I feel a curtain of sheer cold fall upon my head and shoulders. The hair on my arms stands on end. God, don’t let it be the Man in Black again.

I glance to my right to make out the wispy but darkened silhouette of a man, hunched over from his progressed age. His head takes the shape of a balded one and lined with drooping skin: he has on a black trilby hat and a heavy mahogany coat with his wings on his sleeves. His hollow sunken eyes stare back at me from the nothing that he’s emerging from, but he’s not nearly as chilling as the Man in the Black.

“Hey, Mr. Lang,” I greet the old man.

“Hello, son,” he says in a squeaky, high pitched voice. “Care for an apple?” He reaches into his coat pocket for a big ripe red apple as big as mine and Lars’ fists combined.

“Oh, please. I’m starving.”

“Here.” He takes two steps towards me, each one a light drift like the fog over Lake Ontario over the cold carpet, and hands me the apple.

“It’s clean, so go on and have a bite.”

I take a rather large bite. Such bliss! It’s sweet and full of water

“I heard what happened last night with you and the boy in there.”

“Oh, with Lars and the Man in Black?” I repeat with my mouth full.

“Mm-hmm. You know, you should be more wary about those malevolent ghosts, especially when you have guests over.”

“I’m aware, Mr. Lang,” I assure him. “It’s just... you know, sometimes I forget. This is a really good apple, by the way. Thank you for this.”

“I spoke to the young lady who was here earlier.”

“Maya?” I cover my mouth full with the palm of my hand.

“Her. She’s very wise, much like how you are. She was willing to converse with me like she would a live man. Very intelligent, too. Wise, intelligent, and in touch with herself, but not like how you are.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, she’s not as frightened of Mrs. Snow as you are.”

“Well, that’s because Mrs. Snow always wants to smack me up side the head and then punch me right in the family jewels for touching myself.”

“But she seemed a little more easygoing with her and the fact she can be rather frightening. It was interesting to watch her interact with Mrs. Snow like she would with a live woman.”

I pause for a moment, right as I’m about to take another bite of apple.

“Really?”

“Yes, she—seemed pretty comfortable towards her and the fact she can in fact be in a snit sometimes. The blond gentleman in all black, too.”

“The Man in Black?” I’m stunned by that.

“Yes. And that was like watching a little girl come closer to an untamed wild beast.”

I gaze on at Mr. Lang with intent as he drifts in and out of the morning light surrounding us. Now I’m more curious about Maya than before and I feel more apt to wake up Lars and go to Portland.

“The man said something to her, but I couldn’t exactly tell what he was saying to her.”

“What was the tone in his voice?” I press on before taking another bite.

“I don’t really know, son. But she is without a doubt an interesting character you brought home with you.”

“Brought home?’ She’s not my girlfriend. she’s a girl I found laying in a gutter the other night and the other alternative was leaving her there to freeze or drown.”

“Trip the darkness with her, son. Figure her out, because I can only leave with so much. I left with the noose around my neck and nothing more. All I can give is the values of flesh.” I take some more bites of that apple, all the way around and down to the core. He eyes me intently before the corners of his mouth curl up into a thoughtful smile.

“I had a sense that you would enjoy that apple.”

“Oh yeah. It was like perfect, and I feel a lot better, too.” I pat my stomach with my free hand. “Thank you, Mr. Lang.”

“Take care of yourself, son. Take care of yourself the way I never could. You are raw, untouched beauty if I ever saw it among the living.”

And without another word, he bows his head and vanishes into wisps of vapor and then into nothing. I hurry into the kitchen to rid of the apple core, and double back to my room to change my clothes and wake up Lars. I don’t know how cold it’s gonna be in Oregon but I’m putting on my sleeveless David Bowie shirt underneath my black velvet vest and underneath my leather jacket.

Once I have my jeans on and my Chucks laced up, I give my hair a toss back and then lunge for my bed. I set a hand on Lars’ hip covered with the blanket and I shake him back and forth.

“Hey, hey—wake up.”

“Hm?”

“Wake up. We gotta go.”

“Where?”

“Portland.”

“Five more minutes.”

“No. Fuck that. Get up.”

“Five more minutes!”

“No—get the hell out of my bed.” I push back the covers to find him laying face down.

“Get out of my fucking bed—” I demand him.

“No,” he argues. I slide my arms underneath him and lift with my knees and my hips. Holy shit, he’s heavy!

“Get out—of—my fucking—bed!” I grunt out as I lift him out of my bed. He sticks out his legs but I have the upper hand. I lay him down on the carpet and lunge back to the bed to fix the covers.

“What the fock, man?” I turn around right as he scrambles back to me.

“No.” I hold out my arm to bar him from laying down again. “Get dressed, we’re going to Portland.”

“Wait, we’re going to Portland now?”

“Yes. We have to go.”

“Dude, it’s still probably like five in the morning there.”

“So? That doesn’t mean we can’t get a head start on the whole shebang.”

He blinks several times and rubs his eyes, and right then I let go of him. He lets out a low whistle as he runs his fingers through his hair and wipes his hands together.

“Okay, fine, give me a minute.”

“Alright.” I pass him and return to the hallway to wash my hands because I think he drooled on me. I can hear him cursing to himself across the hall even over the trickle of cold water out of the faucet. I dry off with the hand towel and head into the front room to lock the door; I return right back as he’s buttoning up his velvet vest and tugging on his overcoat.

“Okay,” he says, wiping his hands together again. He holds onto the arrowhead around his neck at the base and does the same waving motions as he did that night in Black Orchid with it. A thin lacy veil appears right before me out of the thin air.

Just as before, I crawl in head first and suck in my stomach. I reach out into the darkness and drag myself to the other end of the tunnel. I stumble out onto my side this time, onto a patch of grass.

The air is clear and crisp, about how it is back in upstate, but there’s something else. I have no idea what time it is and I can feel we’ve made our way over to the other side of the country even if it felt like I just crawled against a sheet of darkness upon my stomach only a few inches. I smell the salt and feel the rush of the cool breeze from the ocean against the back of my head. I roll over onto my back to find there even within the violet morning light, Lars laying on his back there in the grass next to me with his eyes closed.

“Hey--” I shake him again.

“Hm--”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice breaking. He reaches up to rub his eyes when he winces in pain.

“What happened?” I hoist myself up on my elbows.

“I think something bit me,” he answers again, clutching his right hand and stroking the inside with the pad of his thumb. I glance about the patch of grass we landed upon.

“Where are we?”

“My house. One of them, anyways.”

I sit upright to better peer behind me at the cute little pale brick house with a stark black roof and a Christmas cactus on the front porch.

“My wife’s not home so we can go inside,” he continues as I stand to my feet. I reach down to help him up and then we amble up the little walkway to the front step. He takes out a small ring of keys from the interior of his coat; I watch unlock the front door and we’re met with a cramped front den and a small looking kitchen tacked onto the other side of the room.

“I’ll call them,” he says once I shut the door behind us.

“So where’s this box of books you were telling us about?” I ask him, taking off my jacket and draping it over my forearm.

“Next to the silly putty sofa there. Like I said, we have to sign a release form because the whole thing is technically evidence.” He strides into the kitchen for the phone on the wall. I watch him dial a number on the keypad and then I take a seat there on the plush looking couch up against the wall. I lay my jacket on the arm: meanwhile, the couch cushions feel like they’re swallowing me whole. It’s like reclining on a couple of marshmallows: my knees rise up and I know I’m almost laying flat on my back.

I hear Lars saying something but I can’t hardly hear him because the damn couch cushions are covering up my ears. I’m sinking back into it. I’m not even doing anything and yet it’s tugging me back. I trying to fight back but it keeps holding me down, much like a wad of silly putty.

“Okay, buh-bye--” is the last thing I hear Lars say on the phone in the next room. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him running towards me. But I don’t see what’s next.

Instead, I feel him grip onto my wrists and yank me out of the cushions. It makes a sucking noise as I’m pulled out and thrown onto him: he falls back onto the shag carpet, and I land on his chest. But I scramble up onto my feet before he can say anything. I run my fingers through my hair and let out a low whistle.

“Shit, I really gotta do something about that damned thing,” he mutters under his breath.

“What the hell was that?” I demand from him.

“Silly putty couch. When I first got it back home in Denmark, it was like the best thing to sleep on ever. Made by the same scientists who craft some hydrogen drones you’ll see back in New York City and up in Seattle soon enough. Thing is after a while it gets incredibly sensitive to different shapes and weights with time. I might have thirty pounds on you, but you’re taller than me. So it doesn’t like anyone taller than five foot six.”

He eyes me with a slight little smirk on his face.

“Okay, so,” he starts again, rising his hands before him, “on a scale of one to pissed, how frustrated would you feel if I told you what’s up?”

“Not... very?” Really, it’s the least of my problems now that a couch almost sucked me inside of itself.

“Ashley and Olivia should be here soon,” he tells me.

“Okay. How soon is soon, though?”

“Seattle is about an hour and a half away, and they live in a neighborhood called Queen Anne. Hopefully there’s not a lot of traffic. I have to make a couple more calls, including one to my wife. This is also my house.”

“What should I do?”

He hesitates for a moment, and then he sits up, and stands to his feet, and he reaches forward to stroke either side of my face.

“Relax,” he tells me in a near breathy voice. “Go take a walk. We’re in downtown Portland after all. There are a few bars and coffee houses right down the block from here and people here aren’t nearly as judge-y as they can be in the real remote parts of upstate New York where you’re from. So here--” He reaches into his interior coat pocket for his black leather wallet and opens it up, thus revealing a big fat stack of cash money. He takes out several of the bills and hands them to me. I gape at the sheer amount he just handed to me.

“Jesus, Lars, I can’t take all of this,” I wince at the very sight of it.

“Nonsense. I make a fair amount, Joey. Don’t worry about it.” He closes his wallet and stuffs it back into his coat pocket.

“Really, take it. Get yourself something nice, my friend. Treat yourself. A cup of coffee for your sleepy head and a bite of scone for your rumbling belly. It’s not Seattle but I assure you that you are in a very lovely place to be.”

I glance down at the money again. I don’t know how I feel about it. He sets a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re in the City of Roses, my indigenous friend,” he says aloud. “Go and smell the reddest of roses you can find down by the rose gardens--we’re about three blocks from there.”

I let out a low sigh because I figure he means well, so I pocket the money.

“Alright, I’ll be back.” I pick my jacket off of the putty couch and slip it back on before I head out to the chilly morning. The sky is still that rich purple color but I can tell the city will come alive soon enough, that is if it hasn’t already. I have no clue where I’m headed but I’ll follow this sidewalk where it takes me. He said there’s a rose garden near here, but I don’t where exactly this place could be as I’m walking towards an intersection. I peer both ways before crossing.

The light from the rising sun on my right paints the sky into a more royal blue color over my head: I drop my gaze to the large scraggly oak trees lining the block, most of them having lost their leaves at this point; but I can make out some large rain clouds to the north of here. Maybe I’ll get experience my first true Pacific Northwest rain soon enough?

I overhear two ladies on the other side of the street talking about pie and a place called Lake Oswego. Both of those things pique my interest as I come across a tiny little brick cafe called Junior’s. I duck through the front door and take a seat at the counter near the cash register. I run my fingers through my hair when the young, chubby waitress walks up to me from around the corner to my right.

“’Morning, doll. What can I get for ya?”

“A stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee, please.”

“What would you like on your pancakes? Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, Marion berries?”

“Marion berries?” Never heard of them.

“Yeah.” She pauses, gazing at me with a thoughtful look upon her face. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Upstate New York.”

“Wow. That’s a ways out. So how do you like Oregon?”

“I just got here. So I know there’s... you know, tons to experience around here.” I show her a shy little smile and she gives me a light little chuckle.

“Tons indeed. I’ll get that up for you.”

“Sure thing, uh—” I notice the bronze name tag above her breast pocket. “—Nancy. Also, is it true there’s a Lake Oswego near here?”

“There is! I don’t know much about it, though. I’m actually from Seattle but I’m working here because there’s not much up north.”

“Man, that blows.”

“Eh, I have to do what I have to do, between starting school again this week and supporting myself and my boyfriend. He’s in a band but who knows what’s going to happen there.”

“I hear that. I used to be in a band and then I got kicked out.”

“Aw, I’m real sorry to hear that! What instruments do you play?”

“I was the lead singer but I’m also a drummer.”

She gasps at that as she pours me a cup of coffee.

“He’s the lead singer, too! And he drums, too.”

“I should meet this guy,” I suggest to her. She sets down the mug in front of me and then leans upon the counter.

“Where’re you staying?” she asks me.

“I’m staying with a friend at the moment. Right up the block.”

“I get off work at noon. Stand out on the sidewalk and I’ll come meet up with you. Now, onto those pancakes with Marion berries...”

[zandali-dominion]

Chatting with a Shadow

(Written by Zin’Vik (as the DM/Zuljaraal) and Tol’chakatl!)

Upon the night of Zul'Bahati, the pyres lit over the entirety of the archipelago, the sounds of the wilds from across the reef. Everything was as it was: Peaceful. The Temple of the Five Pillars within the Grove of Ghost Trees, it was quiet, and here no shadows spoke. It was quiet. Absolutely controlled. The stones of the Temple of the Five Pillar, a ruin of a grand temple nowadays, so the name is more of a reference to what it used to stand for than any real grandeur it held. Still, there was always a power here, quiet and unyielding. Possibly just like the Seer themselves.

It wasn't out of the ordinary that Tol couldn't sleep. What was out of the ordinary was that instead of just laying awake under the stars, waiting for sleep to take him, he started to wander. And ended up where they had been at a ritual just the other day. The strange man had found himself needing to leave before he could really ask the questions he had for the strange shadow. Once again he was struck by the weird broken-whisper he could hear every so often, no shadows whispering words of doom and death in his ears. He paused at the base of the stairs, holding his raptor tightly in one hand and taking a glance behind him before ascending to the circle where they'd stood before. Sleepless nights, the island of Zul'Bahati used to be known as Zul'rokh, Island of the Great Apocalypse. Why? It was deemed that way due to a vision on the very /first/ day arriving here. Bad visions, an eagle soaring over the island, only to be struck down blind by a wave of shadow, but that was long gone now. Nothing is here anymore. Nothing that would harm him here. But it was definitely anything but chance that brought him here, the stars were quite beautiful within the Grove of Ghost Willows, the name may turn people away (and the mosquitos) but it was truly a place to take in the island. The island had a few good hours of rain over the last two nights, the veve on the ground was washed clean of any mixture of chalk or blood. The arches between the pillars glowed with a thin shimmer, like beautiful webs yet to form a picture within the moonlight that has yet to shine at a certain point in the sky. The doomcaller stood for a moment near the circle, wondering if he would be able to call the entity foreward just by himself. Last time everyone had been here - but Taz'ju had mentioned talking to it also, over by the white trees. Turning he peered down at them for a moment, wondering...But he turned back soon, deciding to just do what had been done last time - at least, what he REMEMBERED had been done. Giving his raptor one last squeeze he set it down carefully along the edge, taking a step back and staring into the circle. "Are you there? Um. Shadow troll...I don't remember your name," He said, voice sounding rather small among all this open space. Already he found himself winding a hand into his hair - what if the entity was offended at his forgetfulness?

He had remembered the offering, a way to bring him forward, but there was no veve- And there was no blood. Whatever else he may recall, he may also notice that he asked for a better offering. All of things did occur, but rattling down and through it all, Tol'chakatl did the right thing. As he placed the raptor down onto the stone, opposite of where he was last time, as he was winding his hand into his hair - He would notice the raptor plushie moved a little bit across the stone. In the silence of the night, this was easily heard, a short burst of movement, about just an inch towards the center. If he placed an eye on it, or a few moments without him doing so, it would then seemingly be thrown into the center of the Temple of the Five Pillars. A certain quietness came about, a chill followed through the ruins, and it snuck up Tol'chakatl's neck. A tap on his left shoulder, as if something behind him was asking him to turn around.

Tol stood for a few moments in silence - oh, he must have forgotten something, Zin drew on the stones beforehand, maybe he'd need to do that too? As he was wracking his brain to try and remember the veve placed he heard the scratch of his raptor moving. Ears flicking forward he looked down at it, even bending slightly to look closer. Had he imagined? But then it was thrown, and he jumped, startled, a hand reaching after it - but he squeezed it into a fist and let it drop. 'It will be okay,' he thought to himself, slowly turning to face the direction he had felt the tap come from.

As Tol'chakatl had turned around, he would be greeted with --- Nothing. Literally nothing -- But there was a very audible drumming of boney fingers against one another behind him once more. And so, when if he would turn around, what he would be greeted with was the sudden disappearing of the stars above, the air about him was stagnant and there was no breeze, and the only beat he would feel was the automated drum of his heart. "Tsk, tsk, tsk..." He was greeted with, Zuljaraal present and ethereal in a shadow veil, soon all around him shadows would begin to close in and shut out all light. It was as if he was standing in the center of a storm made of billowing soot and ash. All that was still visible was the circle around him, but the endless storm of shadow would encompass the entirety of anything beyond the most outer perimeter of the temple. This shadowy entity comprised of the same material of what was surrounding him, and he was no taller than he was. However, he sat upon a throne constructed of many things - That of death, bone and sinew, three masks binded together - That of light, with golden pieces of metal that seems as if it was forced apart, and crystals of pure golden amber - That of the elements, with all four turned into the very frame of what he sat upon. Zuljaraal pulled up his hand, ethereal and it was easy to see he couldn't possibly hold any physical form, right? However, as he did so, the raptor plushy of Tol'chakatl would be seen being carefully held upon his palm in extension to Tol'chakatl. "I am Zuljaraal, Keeper of Killers and Smith of Sleep, Little One." He'd say to him, and then lower the plushy onto his lap, where it would seem to almost float. "What do you want from this sleepless shadow?" He'd inquire, his face tilted up to him - But he would note something different than the others have before, and it was that he did have a face beneath all of that shadow - But to him, it was seen, to others it was never seen. And so, if he would recognize this with shock or pause, he may react.

Tol was quite confused at first, taking a moment to register the new sound behind him. He'd turn again, of course, ears drooping a little bit in anxiety as the air around him became dark and clouded with shadow. A moment of staring would be had as he took in the sight of the shadow-form on the throne of many things, simultaneously relieved that he'd managed it and worried about what might come. "Hello," he said, voice even smaller than before. "Zuljaraal. I'm sorry I forgot your name," he added in an even more shy tone, very intent to cause no offense. The shadows spoke to him often, but it was rare he was able to speak back. If this was even the same type as the ones who showed him the bad ends. Momentarily he was distracted by the sight of a face under the swirling shadow, and he tilted his head, almost seeming to relax only slightly at this revelation. An odd reaction, maybe, but Tol was really anything but ordinary.

Zuljaraal would be sat upon this throne, the face beneath being seen for a moment, and he would know he saw it. "Oh.. Interesting." He'd tilt his head back to sit up straight against the throne. The face he saw prior was obviously Zandalari, but much much older, the features were considered archaic by their modern Zandalari appearances. As he leaned back the face he held would be seen melding into the shadow again until it was no longer seen. The only thing of note he would see before this was that its eyes were a pure white as opposed to the common blue of what many of them hold. "No, no, Little One, we have not been appropriately introduced!" He'd say, laughing to himself a low rumbling laugh - It did not sound natural or from a body of flesh and bone - Then he'd hold up the raptor plushy, toying with the flower crown, the rock, and the mask. "This is a powerful relic, do you know that?" He'd ask, now standing up from his throne. The throne would begin to meld with the shadow and almost seem to melt into the stone. As he walked, he could hear the sound of fleshy footsteps walking against the stone. Each step sounded heavy, and it almost felt as if it carried weight with it. "Tell me who you are, Little One." He'd say, standing within five feet of him, now holding out the plushy to him.

Tol'chakatl took note of this, feeling somewhere deep inside that he had just seen something special - or at least rare. He blinked tearing his gaze from the face as it disappeared back into the shadows. "Powerful?" He replied, brow furrowing just a little bit. He wondered why - it was just a keepsake. Perhaps the mask that Nar'zuul had given him to hold onto until his return held something? But he didn't inquire beyond that. Slowly he reached out, taking the raptor plush in hand, waiting for a moment before slowly holding it close to himself once again. "I'm Tol'chakatl. You can just call me Tol," he added - his usual introduction. His voice had gained a little strength - he still sounded rather shy, but no longer quite as soft as the first time he spoke. "I'm. Nobody special, really."

Zuljaraal stood at the /exact/ same height that Tol'chakatl stood at. "Powerful." He'd repeat, then extend it out to him to take. There was a sense of calmness, like as long as he stood here, nothing can harm him from the outside. A safety within the center of the storm, as no one may dare cross it. No one like him. He could sense a pair of unflinching eyes beneath the dark pits of shadow upon where eyes should be upon a regular person of their humanoid troll shape. "You are Tol the Sleepless One." He'd voice. "I am Zuljaraal, Smith of Sleep." He'd claim. "And you are someone - Maybe not someone special now, but you were once." A low voice came about him, the last part rang out like a hissing fog.

Tol watched the shadow with his bigger-than-average eyes, squeezing his raptor to his chest. Powerful...the next statement drew him from his thoughts once again, and his brow furrowed once more. "I...no, I was never anyone special. I'm just me." Tol's past was shrouded to him, a mess of broken memories and snatches of scenes he saw some days at night. "I'm just me," He said again, his hand subconsciously going to the fabric he wrapped around his chest. The broken, scratched golden tattoos he covered though he didn't quite know why, other than that they were ugly and the people on the streets of the Zocalo would oftentimes look at them with pure disgust or shift their gazes away quickly out of pity. He hated those gazes.

Zuljaraal would stand before him and he would be looking into his eyes. He would see the slow breaking of light as the dark pits of shadow would begin to break forth with beaming white eyes that seemed like intense fog lights within the dark around them. And that it was. Pure, perfect darkness. Afterwards, he would see nothing before him - But there was no drowning, nothing - Until he sensed the ground beneath him give away, and he fell.. Fell.. Fell... The feeling of air brushing past his hair, into his eyes, and the sense of the absolute freedom. Then, suddenly, there would be a sound of a body hitting the ground, and the sensation of his heart bouncing up into his throat and then down into his chest. Beating at a pace no drummer can meet. "You were something special, Tol'chakatl. You dream of it every night, do you not?" He'd inquire, whether true or not. "It is why you are afraid of the dream - Not the shadows, the shadows bend to my will. You are something else. Someone who knows the shadow around him more than the light within." He'd claim, all around him, but soon he would appear in front of him again. Tol was thrown off balance by the sudden blackness, the feeling of falling - he buried his face in the raptor, squeezing his eyes closed. But still he listened to every word Zuljaraal said. The sound of a body hitting the ground was unmistakable and sent a jolt of fear through him - it was familiar, familiar in a terrible way. He looked up, visibly tearing. "I don't know. I don't...remember. My dreams show me lots of things," He murmured, trying to fight the inevitable waterworks. "I see the end. I see my end, I see...I see things I don't understand. Just...pieces. It scares me," He had grown quiet again, shoulders shrinking forward and hair falling into his face. "The light is blinding. The shadows...they're scary. But all they do is talk. It doesn't hurt as bad as looking..." He shook his head, falling silent for a moment. "Inside."

Zuljaraal appeared before him, taking a deep breath, the billow of shadow sent forth and they'd seem to collect at his feet. It was warm, like a pillow of cooling ash from a distant fire, but it was as it was. After, he'd extend his other hand forward, and a shadowy form would walk forth from the twisting walls around them. Moving towards where both stood, exactly like Tol'chakatl, but it was seen differently. Taller and prouder, then a reaction was being gauged. After, a sound of snapping fingers came - And the shadowy figure melted into the ground. Zuljaraal then extending a hand to one of his, making sure he doesn't drop the raptor, then turned it up to the sky - So he may look up into the eye of the shadowy storm. "Where there is shadow there is light. Where there is light there is shadow." He'd claim. After, the light above would be coveted by a cloud of ash and soot, that which began to fall upon them like a bastardous snow. However, it fell through Zuljaraal, and when met upon Tol'chakatl he would see it stick upon his skin. "You don't remember, Little Bright One. I know that too." He'd claim. "You don't see an end," He paused, then turned his back towards him. His hand moving towards the shadowy veil, and he would pull it aside. "I can help you remember, Tol'chakatl, or forget them... But I only ask one thing." He'd say to him softly, but there was always the voice of something there that was never going to be of this world.

The seer recoiled a little at the sight of the shadow - he felt its familarity, and he didn't like it. He gazed upwards as gently directed, staring into the eye of the storm. He was silent once again, listening, thinking - trying desperately to understand. Turning his gaze back to Zuljaraal he looked past the shadowy being to the veil pulled aside, his ears drooping. Silence pervaded for many moments. "I... don't want to remember," he said quietly. "It... things would be different if I did. I don't...I don't want things to be different. I finally found people who like me, just like this. I want to keep being just like this." He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, clearing them if only just for the moment. "But... what is it? That you want me to do?" he asked in return.

Zuljaraal waited for him to ask that very same expected question: "What do you want me to do?" is what he waited for. So, once he heard it, he would pull take a deep breath and exhale towards the veil that was slowly parting. Before it was seen the place between everything he knew. The island had a veil, a place between the shadowlands and where the others would be found. Currently, they stood in that place between - And when the veil touched the water of the sea, it would stop - The stars ahead and Tol'chakatl would shine upon them. The moon casted its white light towards them. The moonlight shredding away at the ethereal shadow that is Zuljaraal, revealing what was beneath, a tall handsome man, with the appearance akin to that of a Zandalari of darker skin, like if it was stained with the very shadow it lived in. Eyes were as white as ash, and they let off a light as bright as day. There was a cryptic, ominious feeling about him, his hands behind his back and his eyes towards the moon. He wore regalia akin to that of an old, old Priest of ancient times. A Priest to the Loa of Death himself. "Tend.. To my grove. The Witch Doctor is good at doing so, but you live in shadow now, my son." He'd say with a soft tone. His voice as natural as any other voice can be. His hair was as white as ash too, and it fell to his lower back. Old would be difficult to say, as it looks as if he was no older than Tol'chakatl. Now, finally, turning to look at Tol'chakatl, letting him take in the sight of the moon breaking into the veil or on himself, his true form, he would smile brightly at him. A warm chuckle from his chest. "Be as who you are, but do not fear the shadows. Not mine, at least." He'd claim, then extend a hand out to him. "Do we have a deal, Bright One?" He asked, a thin almost boney hand extended to him now.

Tol squinted a little as the veil was pulled back, watching - and as Zuljaraal's form was revealed he could not hide the surprise blooming in his expression, enough so that even the tears clinging still to his eyelashes stopped threatening to spill over any minute. The ominious feeling was not lost on Tol, but somehow with the revelation came a sense of something akin to security. He stared for a few moments after the man was finished speaking - then remembered his manners and flushed a little up in the cheeks, averting his gaze to the side. "I can do that," He said with a small little smile, the apprehension on his face fading as he accepted the hand in his own. "I'll make sure the trees are okay. And that nothing bad comes in."

Zuljaraal took his hand in turn, and Tol'chakatl would feel a supposedly real and fleshy hand. A beat of a heart was felt. When he pulled his hand away, Tol'chakatl would see a mark of a circle of eyes. It would however fade into his skin after a few moments. "This Grove used to be my home, I was able to see valleys of green, all sorts of things. This used to be a mountaintop, you know." He'd say, then laugh to himself. "Tend to them well, as I know you will." He would say, then within an instant, the shadowy veil would pull away. Just leaving Tol'chakatl with himself, beneath the night sky, and the chill breeze of the sea.

He looked down at his hand and watched the eyes fade away, looking up once more in time to catch a last glimpse of the troll before the shadow was pulled away - and he couldn't really help but smile once again. Better than expected? Most definately. "I will," he replied to the empty sky, hugging his raptor close. Finally feeling like he would be able to sleep, he descended the stairs away from the circle after one last look back.

[thatboomerkid]

Wishing Day

Wishing Day

Pathfinder Fiction by Clinton J. Boomer

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Old Wishtwister Shadibriri was having himself a truly lovely day.

The barren sky hung still, sullen and gray like a pool of seething lead, low and dark upon the horizon without a ghost of sunlight behind it. Stinging snow, much of it now clumped into hard, cruel shards of ice, sifted and spattered through the black and leafless trees, filling the forest path with a drifting, bony whiteness, which crunched delightfully underfoot.

A cry of killing wind cut, crackling, through the ice-coated branches, and a smile crept unto the lips of the Wishtwister.

Such good sport, he thought with a quiet laugh. And what a day!

It was a day that promised to be delightful, and productive, and most of all simply a well-fulfilling damned enterprise. After all, he thought: it’s Wishing Day!

Thirty miles south by south-east of Gralton, soiled jewel of the River Kingdoms, the whistling Wishtwister cut through the nameless woods to his destination: a blackened little circle of seven stumps ringing ’round a jut of bloodstained and rune-carved rock dating back to the time of the old Sarkoris Binding-Witches. The creeping grin which began, split the Wishgiver’s face at the thought of those old hags and what had become of them was colder than even the ice-choked wind.

His smile brightened, and his pace quickened. He was, of course, wearing a potent glamour, painted pleasant, bright and ruddy-cheeked as he always did when amongst humans, but the spring in his step was all real. It had simply been too long, by his delighted accounting, since Wishing Day had last come to Gralton.

Has it really been only a year?

Gralton had been a lucky find, all things considered during that winter of 4668 – the year all the wishing started. Once the old aristocracy of Galt had fled from the Red Revolution and settled into their rotting river estates just long enough to hate themselves for cowardice, it had been all too easy to put the right words in the right ears; on the 11th of Kuthona, when all the faithful of Cayden Cailean were gathered by a roaring hearth, spinning tall-tales and raising a tongue-tied toast to their hero’s bold ascension, the bitter and the vengeance-minded were to be found upon a very cold and lonely holiday indeed.

A dozen souls attended that first, inaugural Wishing Day.

This year, for his 42nd anniversary, Shadibriri expected a crowd of near fifty.

In truth, it should be said, there were more profitable opportunities than Gralton scattered around the great, wide world with all its mysteries: the early weeks of Gozran were always exciting, coming as they did in the very shadow of Taxfest. And the endless, aching middle of Calistril invariably saw the burning agony of some youth’s heart in the desperate need of an immediate fulfillment. Strangest of all, perhaps, the last gasps of Lamashan always seemed to writhe around an artist who had lost his muse or a soldier staggering home, sick to their stomach of war. Yes, all twelve months had very special and wonderful reasons to be in the right place at the right time, with sharp ears tuned to the right desires. And when there were no temptations to sow or bargains to make, no words to massage or dull-tongued desires to bring forth into hideous life, there was always killing to be done.

Yes, always killing, and blood and fear and the bursting of hot flesh in one’s sharp, slick hands. And the cries of accusations and sorcerer-burning. And the souls caught up in the shuffle, of course, and carried out into the Abyss. Delightful, all.

But for old Wishtwister Shadibriri, nothing was quite as sweet as today, perhaps because it was his – and his alone. No one else yet had a Wishing Day: ripe with those looks of pure, panicked, docile, tragic, terrified, wasted hope wreathed in angry, spiteful, blood-thrumming need. A crowd, squirming, willing to wrestle and claw and kill for the right to sell their soul short.

No wonder he loved Wishing Day.

A wandering, tuneless hum began to bounce right along with Shadibriri’s mirth, and the old demon turned his thoughts, quite idly, to how he might go about conducting this day’s most unique symphony of wants and promises and weeping betrayals. Would he make his supplicants fight for his favor? Fornicate, perhaps, in ugly couplings? Strip naked and race through the cold woods on frozen feet? Perhaps a wine-drinking competition, full to bursting and puking, or a teeth-pulling challenge, yanking gaping gums bare and bloody, or some other contest of trembling self-mutilation.

Each of those had always been joyous in the past.

And then the wish, of course, was the best part of all.

The old Wishtwister had never been one for plans. Ever the artist, never the engineer. An improviser: for him, a single second’s spark of spontaneity was worth well more than a dull decade’s dusty design; a moment of madness would always out-pace a century of contemplation.

But he did like to wonder.

And then, with a twinkle in his eye and a slick, savage parting of the strings of conjuration which bind the Astral spaces, the Wishtwister arrived at his destination.

There were four dozen there, all told, huddled against the cloying chill that strikes the River Kingdoms with a vengeful howl each winter and refuses to let go. Ice in their beards, hands fisted into numbs clumps at their sides, wet, crimson misery in their eyes; these abandoned and shifting souls were wrapped in finery and peasant’s rags alike. Some had surely rode six days out of Daggermark for this occasion, in sumptuous carriages crafted of darkwood and cold iron; others had no doubt begun the bleak march out of South Gralton’s gray farmland at nightfall wrapped in all they owned. And all were here, balancing dread against obsession.

With a ringing laugh, the Wishtwister leapt up upon the tallest stump of the clearing, and his warm voice carried against the wind: “Welcome, welcome, welcome all! And let our Wishing Day … commence!”

His sparkling smile washed over the crowd, and his gaze picked at their worried faces shining with unknown needs. He made a thousand, thousand guesses, and discarded all of them just as quickly.

Who, today, would leave with their heart’s desire?

He did not know, and the joy was in the learning of it. There was, for a moment, a heat within him so fierce that it was almost overwhelming; a wild mania, a rage to pick each and every one of the gathered throng apart with his bare hands and drink their piping blood down in gasping gulps.

“Hello, hello and hello! I am the old Shadibriri, friends, who hearkens close to those in greatest need, and by the ancient pacts of these old woods I come in this hour to hear your wants and whispers. I am no god, and I seek no prayers; I am no man, and I seek no gold; I am only a spirit of hoping and of wishing and of having, and I come expecting … gifts! Who, then, has brought me a treat, a taste, a tickle or a tithe?”

One woman, all-too-young, barefooted, dressed in rag and pushing forward through the crowd: “I … I bring you fresh milk.”

A grin: “Oh, and indeed I do treasure a drink of sweet milk! Is it warm, may I inquire?”

A look of terrified uncertainty: “I’m afraid … well, the … the cold … ”

“Huh. You did not think to clutch it next to your body, and to keep it warm?”

“I … I tucked it close as I could, against the wind, but … ”

“Oh, no. Then, perhaps next year you will remember to hide it beneath your cloak, against your bare and secret skin.”

The woman blushed, and stammered.

“… I …”

“No matter, young lady! ‘Tis but a bit of teasing from an old man, is all. You are bold, to speak first, and I do admire boldness. You may stay, for your milk is a fine gift. Pour it, now, on the ground, and abide awhile. If I may ask, then, little one, what will you wish for if the wishing be made yours this day?”

A soft gasp against the wind: “The … love of … ”

“Eh? What’s that, my little lamb, my little lark?”

“The love of a certain … certain person.”

“Hm. Oh, but I am afraid that I cannot give you the love of another.”

Red eyes startled, staring, disappointed.

A grin, as the ruined and muddy milk began to freeze upon the ground: “But I can give you this person, rest you assured. This person, their life, their body, their mind, their very heart, still hot, if you wish. All the things which make them, which is better than love. To thee, young lady, I wish the best of luck!”

Her eyes turned downward, humiliated and on the verge of tears.

“Now, who is next with gifts?”

A man stepped forward: “I bring you, master, a brick of solid silver.”

“Hm. And what need has a spirit for silver, lad?”

“… taken from my grandfather’s store without his knowledge.”

“Ah! Then you guess at my nature, boy!”

“I remember you of years past, my master.”

“Quite well, son! Well indeed, and I see your gift and am pleased, and beg of you to stay. If I may ask, my shivering and cunning friend, what shall you wish for today if the wish is made yours?”

“Revenge.”

“Oh, delightful! Come close, and drop your gift at my feet! Now, of these gathered lords and ladies, who else has a thing to offer me?”

A black-cloaked figure pushed forward: “I offer you only death, monster.”

The crowd drew back in time with the unsheathing of a blade.

A delighted gasp: “You offer me … death? So few have ever done so, and in truth I have never had it. And, then, what would your wish be, friend?”

With a scarred and battle-worn voice: “That you face me.”

“Indeed!”

Screams roiled through the crowd, as some few saw, for the briefest moment, the Old Wishtwister for what he truly was. A great and gnarled limb, like the claw of some misshapen crab vomited out of the Lake of Mists and Veils, snapped forward and severed the swordsman in twain. With a gush of steaming blood, his corpse twitched upon the scarlet snows and then lay still.

“There. A wish is granted.”

A mummer of panic roiled through the audience.

“Oh, fear not, friends! His request was a trifling thing, no great difficulty in granting. In truth, he deserved much more than that for which he asked; I could have given him strength beyond the mortal, or a blade more swift than blackness itself, or the insight to know his enemy’s heart and the vision to see foes all around him. A pity, then, that he chose so foolishly. Now, then … who else has brought me a gift?”

And there, as the supplication went on, and trophies piled before him, and the crowd began to turn spiteful and desperate, the Old Wishtwister decided upon the final task which would decide the victor of Wishing Day: the supplicant willing to devour, in gasps, the greatest portion of the fallen swordsman would be granted their dearest wish.

Oh yes, that would be fun. And then, and then, and THEN the very wish itself, and the new horrors dawned from it.

Ah, the joys of Wishing Day!

—

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[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Winter Veil’s Tale

Year 33, after Orphans of the Forest.

Eshy’la swept past the tree tops as swiftly as a stone skimming water. Fast, elegant and silent she flew, eager to catch up with the beast she’d seen run beneath her. A panther of sorts - yet a moment or two before it began to dash between bushes and leafy giants, it had been something else. Her eyes narrowed, scanning between the foliage. There - she saw it. Without taking a pause she took a complete dive down and burst through the forest canopy to take a good luck at her prey. No longer a cat, but a kaldorei. She scowled and glared at it. 

Verda was unaware of the fact that he was being hunted, though he was keenly aware of the wildlife around him. Such was his gift as a Green Dragon, being so in tune with the balance of life and nature. He stretched as he had shifted to his kaldorei guise, approaching one of the sentinel scouts he knew to report his findings for the night and where he was planning to set up camp in case he was needed. Eshy’la’s eyes narrowed again. Sentinels were not enemies and he was not being attacked. With a single flap her jade wings, she took flight and sailed away in the other direction to inform the others of what she’d seen.

Not but an hour later she found herself travelling back in the same direction only this time her sharp talons curled around a carefully stamped scroll. 

“Return to him,” her mistress had told her, “and deliver this.” Eshy’la did not enjoy the prospect of leaving her alone twice in a night but obeyed without protest. Again, her keen eyesight scoured the forest floor, trying to find where she had turned tail to report. She flew onward until she noted a Sentinel or two she had seen before patrolling the direction where the elf-cat had encountered them. Gently, she lowered herself to a sturdy treetop and listened meticulously. Owls of course do not possess a sense of smell: instead they have sharp eyes and an intensely precise sense of hearing. So, she did as she gathered the sound of every twig snapped and every leaf crunching under foot, every critter tutting and squeaking. No tree stood in the way and no bush sheltered the noises being picked up by the owl’s notice. Nothing. The one her mistress had ordered her to find wasn’t in range or was extremely quiet. In response, Eshy’la gave a short, frustrated squawk, she began hopping down the branches and thudding to the forest ground. And that’s when she noticed just off to the distance, a looming cave entrance. One or two flaps brought her to another collapsed trunk that lay before its gaping entrance. And now she could hear movement. Not Horde, no, there’d be more than one. A single figure dwelled within. She almost coughed, as if to clear her throat, and gave two short hoots followed by another two. Then a third. When nothing approached, she did so one last time in a pointed manner, letting the one inside know that this was no idle bird chatter. 

Verda heard the owl approaching, closer, closer. He had given it no real mind, just accepting it as a curious owl. They were intelligent creatures though, and he assumed it would just realize the cave was not a place it would find food with a larger predator there and would leave. When it persisted, he realized it was certainly no typical owl that could be found in the forest, and with that produced himself from the deep shadows of the cave. "Are you looking for me?" He asked. Taking in the spectral appearance of the owl, he assumed it was someone's spirit animal. Eshy’la let the scroll out of her grasp, allowing it to roll over and stop by Verda’s feet. She looked at it and then looked at him, then repeated the action.

“That’s for you,” she seemed to say. He was careful in his approach, not wanting to startle the owl nor make it think he was a threatening thing.  

"You brought me something?" He asked gently as he stooped carefully to pick it up. Simply sitting there where he picked it up, he would begin to open it. "Thank you, friend. I appreciate your delivery. If I had spare food, I would give you a reward for it."

 “Eshy’la indicated to me that she’d seen someone of your description so if this letter reaches you then I do hope very much that it is you, Verda. She belongs to me, Mywin, and has been with me since I was an infant and she was a chick. She is grumpy and snappy, but she won’t bite. I hope that when she returns, she’ll come back with confirmation of my hopes.

 Elune-adore, Mywin.”

 Verda smiled. "One moment, Eshy'la. Let me scroll a quick reply and I will let you on your way." He said to the owl, before disappearing back into the cave. A few moments would pass before he would return with a scroll, a little hastily tied, but secure none-the-less. Within was a letter that read:

"Ishnu-alah Mywin,

It is a surprise to hear from you, but also a relief to know that you are well! Eshy'la is beautiful, you must be proud to have forged such a friendship with a strong, independant beast. I will keep this short, as to not keep you or Eshy'la waiting. I will be here for a few more moons at least. The air is thick with anticipation, and I am eager to watch what may come...and help our people however I can.

Elune'adore,

Verdanikus."

 The owl accepted the scroll into her talons and gave the dragon a curt nod before ascending into the heavens. While she didn’t appreciate becoming an in-flight mailing system, the feeling that she would be performing this role more and more as the weeks went by started to sink in. Verda would watch as she left, before moving back into the back of the cavern to get some rest. The light didn't quite reach back there, and while he could see those who may try to enter, they wouldn't see him til it was too late. He wouldn't sleep deeply, but he'd get enough to feel rested unless he was woken otherwise.

Yet again, Eshy’la found herself in flight. This time she whirled around Stormwind’s highest spires, darted past the tallest towers: her ever sharp vision searching for the recipient of the letter clasped between her claws. She swooped up and down until she saw him. The tall blue skinned being with intricate dreads unknowingly making his way around the shop just by a mailbox. She dived down and perched herself upon it as he passed and gave a quick hoot. He took one extra step before pausing and backstepping.  

"Eshy'la? Well, hello there friend." He said in his quiet gentle way, bending down to be more eye-level with the owl. "I hope you and Mywin are both well." The owl dropped the scroll near his feet and awkwardly hopped from one leg to another, trying to warm them up. Her gloriously green translucent feathers looked delicate and thin yet kept her warm throughout the chilliest months. The same could not be said for her bare legs. Verda stooped to pick it up, then caught her hopping like that. "My things are with my friend. If you don't mind coming with me, you can warm yourself by the fire while I read this and make my reply." He offered. Eshy’la perked up, taking a few flaps of her wings, hovering beside him. “Take me to warmth”, she seemed to say. He offered his arm to her if she would want to climb on it, if not, he'd simply walk toward 'home' which was a tent just outside the gates of Stormwind in the forests of Elwynn. It was still close enough that they weren't in Goldshire and the city guard regularly patrolled. A few refugees had spilled out toward that way to settle how they could when there wasn't room in the city, and Verda's friends were no different. Eshy’la eyed the arm and reluctantly took it as a perch as Verda acted as a living vehicle for her. He shifted his gait so that he glided softly in his steps, giving Eshy'la a gentler ride as he headed out. 

They'd come across a modestly sized tent outside the city, a fire burning bright already, the dinner pot freshly removed from it. As they approached, a little face popped out of the tent, a fairly young void elf just at the end of their toddler years with deep blue skin and a shock of wild blonde hair. A moment later, another identical face popped out next to theirs. They looked to one another before hurriedly disappearing into the tent, whispering in Thalassian to one another until an older void elf stuck her head out and chuckled. "Verda, the children were saying you had a pet ghost." He smiled a little sheepishly.

"Sorry for the fright. This is Mywin's companion Eshy'la. Eshy'la, this is Raineigh." Eshy’la bounced down onto the nearest flat service and flexed her wings, head slowly circling the area, flashing her eyes at the inhabitants and tapped her claws to indicate she was waiting.  Being outside the tent, all there really was, was a single stool near the fire and a rock on the other side of it. The twins poked their heads out again, little white horns poking out from their blonde hair. Raineigh chuckled some looking back at them. "Alright, alright. It's just a spirit animal, little ones. It's quite a bit different than a ghost. Come, let's read a story while Verda visits with his friend." She said, heading into the tent with them, returning only to give Verda his pack. "Thank you, Raineigh. Sorry to interrupt Nathaniel and Tokemi's learning time," he whispered. "Don't be. They've been bored all day. At least now they had a little excitement," she smiled, slipping back within. "Alright, Eshy'la, let's see what this letter says that you brought me," Verda said, sitting down to read it finally.

 “Dearest Verda, 

 It has been pleasant to be able to write to you these last few weeks. As the nights draw in sooner and become much colder, my shan’do has given us much needed rest bite. Winter’s Veil approaches - I’m sure you know of the funny little dwarven custom - and I am taking my leave to see my beloved parents’ memorial in Hyjal. However, I will be in Stormwind to visit a dear friend tomorrow evening. I know you are staying nearby and I would love to see you. If you would like to meet, I shall be finishing skating at the frozen lake at 7 sharp. 

 I hope to see you there!”

 "Dearest Mywin,

I have enjoyed our discourse as well these past moons. It has been a wonderful reprieve from all that has gone on, and I'll admit, your letters always bring a smile to my lips. Eshy'la even rode on my arm today as I headed to where I've been staying, so I think she's starting to warm up to me. I have heard of Winter's Veil, but this is honestly the closest I've been to it. I've been curious, and my friend has been attempting to teach me more about it since her twins are eager for it. I would love to see you as well. I will make my way to the frozen lake by 7.  -Verda"  He would dust it as always, and dry the ink, before rolling and sealing the letter once more to hand to the owl. 

Mywin stretched her arms wide and allowed the freezing breeze to rush against her face as she made a fast spinning whirl on the ice before taking a sprint to slide from one side of the lake to the other. She enjoyed skating upon the crystalline surface just as much as she adored to soar through the air and did so with an equal amount of elegant precision. As a youngling her father would take her upon his shoulders before she herself could even walk, cutting the frozen ground into swirling patterns with his boots as the infant Mywin would clap and demand he go faster and faster. By the time they were done, Sanctuary of Malorne that overlooked the lake would see the spirals and turns carved into the thick ice. When she could safely run through Hyjal’s forests by herself she was presented with her own tiny skating boots. Much like a newborn deer, her ascent onto the ice was clumsy: many a fall and slip were taken before she managed to stand by herself and shuffle about between her parents, one hand in each of theirs. A near century later, she took to the iced over water like a ballerina to the stage, able to perform various turns and spins for hours upon end. It was a most peaceful time. 

The bells within the Cathedral of Light rang out loudly as the clock hit 7, darkness already falling, and the streetlights were well underway of being lit. Verda was prompt, however, wearing a knitted Winter's Veil sweater but the same old ragged pants, as he stepped barefoot to the edge of the lake. He would just stand and watch her, a soft smile on his lips to see how free she looked skating. Within, his heart skipped a bit. Mywin was completely lost in the dance. As she sailed upon the surface, she let slight wisps of astral magic fall from her fingertips, as if stars were snowing upon herself and she basked in their faint glimmer. A small pair of kaldorei children had stopped skidding around to watch her small performance and it took her a moment to realise she was being watched at all. She gave the pair a kind smile before reaching out, another cascade of silvery magic forming above them and even more stars fell down in an ethereal shower. They giggled, trying to catch the pieces of sky like snowflakes. 

“Shaha lor’ma,” the taller and presumably older child beamed as he looked up at her. 

“Elune-adore, dorei,” Mywin replied. She scanned the area, looking out for any adults that may have accompanied two younger elves, yet none seemed to be watching them. “Will you able to go home safe? It is getting late, it should be your bedtime soon.” The shorter one gestured to the refugee camp just over the wall.

“We live there, miss, with the other children.” Her heart dropped instantly. Orphans. Too many orphans. She shook her head, giving a gentle smile. 

“Go, they’ll wonder where you’ve been now that the sun has been set for hours.” The pair scurried off towards the camp, Mywin watching solemnly as they did. Looking over her shoulder she saw Verda approach towards the edge of the frozen lake: she gave a large wave and reversed herself, gliding from the centre of the rink to bring herself to his side. Verda was entirely patient while she continued, and once he saw her wave, returned an enthusiastic one of his own. Skating wasn't something he attempted to do ever, more than because he didn't care for wearing shoes, but because he worried he'd forget to mask his weight when on ice. 

She steadily made her way to a nearby bench where she’d placed her satchel. She unlaced the pair of skates, replacing them with thick leathery ones without a blade at its base and tucked her hands into a pair of fine fur-lined gloves. Much better. She stood again, pulling her cloak round her tighter and addressed Verda.

“There,” she smiled, “I shall not fall over in those now!” 

"You're very good," Verda smiled, not seeming too bothered by the cold at all in as little as he wore. "It was a pleasure to watch you." Mywin flushed red before changing the subject. 

“Aleeia and her falore live in a little apartment just by the cathedral.” She allowed her feet to crunch upon the fresh snow that had begun to fall from the heavens and began to walk towards the place she sought. 

"I hope my presence won't be a bother. I'll try not to be in the way," he said a bit shyly. 

“Not at all,” she assured. She marched forward making light conversation as they twisted around the alleyways and skinny streets of the Dwarven District until they reached the housing near the Cathedral. Mywin skipped up some side stairs to a first story floor, unhooked the latch and swung the sturdy door wide open. Verda was fine with the light conversation, a good deal more relaxed around her than he was the first time. He was, however, far more reserved when they got to the house, unsure how he would be received. 

 The door swept a warmth upon then and Mywin called out in the pleasant tongue of Eredun. The room was a modest size: fireplace cracking with hot flame, a thick knitted rug laying before it, a large leather couch piled with cushions sat to one end beside the entryway to a tiny kitchen with a single bed tucked itself away at the other end. In the very corner an impressive fern tree towered, just about fitting with its tip brushing the ceiling. A moment or two later, a female draenei popped out from behind the tree, hands tangled in a silvery tinsel. She was shorter than most draeneis of her age: silver hair swept over to one side, ghostly light blue eyes glowing. She ran over to give the elf an embrace, her height allowing Mywin could rest her chin upon her head. 

“Greetings,” the draenei smiled and gave a wave, her fingers entwined with tinsel.

“Where is your sister, Imeyah?” 

“She went to the blacksmith. She will be back soon.” She looked upon Verda and smiled again. He gave her a bit of a bashful smile, towering over her at his full 7 foot.

"Merry Winter's Veil, Miss Imeyah. I am Verda. I am honored to meet you," he said softly, giving her a little awkward bow.

“I do not understand much of the customs,” Imeyah admitted, “most of what I have gathered is through my men in the Silver Hand. Perhaps we will make sense of this festival together!” Mywin had hung her cloak up on a nearby hook, pocked her gloves within it, revealing an outfit far more suitable for the magical time of year: an ivory dress made of the most fabulous shimmering material glinted off of the baubles upon the tree,  twinkling alike most of the decorations. Backless with a hem cut to the knee, it seemed the most perfect ice skating dress. Imeyah blinked in confusion.

“You are wearing a dress?” Mywin blushed a bright red.

“It was a gift from the Sisters. It seemed rude not to wear it.” Imeyah shrugged. 

“Well, let’s get these baubles on the tree! Now you elves are here, you can reach the top branches!” Verda looked entirely frumpy in comparison, still barefoot with those age old tattered pants. The sweater was new and made with love, even if it was one of those Titans-awful looking ugly Winter's Veil sweaters. He had a faint hint of pink on his cheeks to see Mywin in that dress. He would wait to be shown where the baubles were before he'd attempt to help with the tree, watching how they spaced things to try to match it. Imeyah produced a box full to the brim of ornaments: bright red baubles, fragile glass icicles, tiny wooden figurines carved into various races of Azeroth. She set them before the pair.  “I’ll make us some tea. Just put whatever you want on the tree, wherever! We’re not too fussy!” Mywin delicately selected a few before carefully arranging them upon the tree. Verda would take a few as well, very careful with his strength as he put them high on the tree with ease. He was smiling ear to ear the whole while. Mywin took a stool to try and reach the highest points, stepping on and off to see her work for a distance and returning to arrange them.

Imeyah brought out a steaming pot of tea and four large mugs, filling each one with the warming liquid beside a little bowl of a sugar cubes and small jug of milk. 

“Help yourselves, my akiri'eras will be home soon.” Verda would always stop what he was doing when she was stepping on and off that stool, a little worried that he might have to catch her if she tripped, which entirely slowed down the amount of work he was doing. No that he minded, her safety was more important to him than being productive.

"Thank you," he said as he came to retrieve a mug once full. "Excuse me, but what is an akiri'eras?" He asked, likely mispronouncing it. Imeyah went red.

“Forgive me, my Common is not as good as I’d like. I usually have a translator. It is Eredun for sister.” 

"Oh! Sorry, I've only learned a few words here and there of Eredun. It's a little harder for me to learn than other languages from the younger races." He said honestly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Imeyah laughed.

“On the contrary, I am 24, 971 years old. New to Azeroth, old to the universe.”

 “Too old,” a grumble came from the doorway as another female draenei stepped through. Pure white hair similar to her kin but clad in shiny plated armour that tucked in a Lion of Azeroth tabard. Newly sharpened swords hung at her waist. Her eyes were heavy with her exhaustion. Imeyah shook her head and tutted as she poured the second a mug of tea. 

“Kathtonai, chako sister. We have a guest.” Aleeia studied Verda up and down as she gave a nod of acknowledgement. 

“Sevaston,” she noted aloud, accepting a beverage from her sister. Imeyah coughed.

“Common, sister, Common.” Again, Aleeia nodded. 

“I shall dress properly upstairs.” As she walked to the kitchen and up to the attic, Imeyah tutted for the second time.

“She isn’t the most joyous after she trains her soldiers.” 

"Sevaston," Verda repeated, getting that one correct. "I at least know what that one means. It would be easier if I were one of the Blue flight. Their arcane knowledge makes it so they understand all languages." He said sheepishly. "She is just fine. My shan'do wasn't the most jovial outwardly...ever. Stoic is a good term for how he was when he was happy. Vaguely annoyed most other times."

“He and Aleeia would have gotten in well. As well as either of them could have, but the sound of it.” Imeyah sipped her tea and turned her attention to Mywin. 

“Kalo korah, how are the Sisters?” Mywin gave a sad smile.

“Alive, my friend. Some of them. They dwell by the refugees, some moving to Hyjal.” Imeyah nodded.

“A happy thing your mother’s and father’s resting place was spared from the flames. Your mother’s statue also. It is well your family’s honour was not burned also.”

“Please, Imeyah, let us not dwell on sad things, it is Winter’s Veil after all!” Mywin stood again as Aleeia reappeared, now dressed in a simple white tunic and brown leathers. “Come everyone, let’s continue with our work!” Verda stayed quiet, not able to fully follow the conversation, but understanding enough of it. He was thankful to get back to decorating, hoping the mood wouldn't turn too sad. 

 And the four of them gathered round the tree again: sparkling tinsel lacing bare branches, baubles hanging like little orbs of colour, tiny wood figurines of warriors marching to the top. Miniature hunters swung below, and druids climbed upward. As they worked, conversation struck many a time. Old friends catching up, new strangers being asked questions and answering as they bonded. Where was he from, did he have family? How did he meet Mywin? Had he met draenei before? It took an hour or two until the great tree was decked completely. They would find that Verda had no secrets and would answer any questions they asked of him. That his egg had been found on Teldrassil, that he had been raised by a man he really only referred to as shan'do who had been cold and distant, but Verda had learned that he had cared about him in his own way. He had no family that he knew of, but dragon bloodlines weren't as easy to trace as mortal ones as they were, well, animals and animals didn't really care about the purity of bloodlines that much. He'd recount Mywin saving his life with such a wide smile on his face and the letters they've shared, and that he'd only ever saw a few Draenei here and there since most just came through the port of Teldrassil on their way to Stormwind or for supplies, but most never really hung around. Imeyah looked at Verda, and then to Mywin, and then to Verda again, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“My, what a long way you’ve come. Pardon however, I have a couple of errands to run outside. I’ll be back shortly, please excuse me.” She grabbed a bag from behind the couch and rushed out. Aleeia cocked her head at the dragon but said nothing.

“Aleeia,” Mywin muttered, “it’s rude to stare.” 

“I’m not staring, I’m studying. There was no word for “dragon” in my tongue until we arrived on Azeroth. So many strange races. Humans with no horns, elves with no hooves,” she shook her head in disbelief, “incredible.” 

Mywin shifted before laughing. “All this time travelling, and you aren’t used to the natives?” Aleeia gave a sheepish grin. 

“I am not lost in the irony of us celebrating an alien festival. The tree does however look satisfactory.” The three took a moment to gaze upon the adorned piece of the forest. Aleeia reached for a sack, fishing out several parcelled goods. There were six identical wrapped gifts all addressed to her, a large soft one for Imeyah and two boxes. She handed one each to her guests. 

“Naaru’s blessing.”

“Thank you, dear friend. What are the others?” Mywin gestured towards the six. Aleeia’s eyes softened, a rare expression of tenderness filling her face.

“Before I fled Shattrath, I made sure I took six of my people’s children with me. They are all grown now and due to this planet’s refuge, they took up their customs. I receive six presents each year.” Her eyes darkened. “Light forbid that this current war takes that number down by even one.” Mywin touched her friend on the shoulder. 

“Elune and the Light have not abandoned us. It is by their grace that we have this rest bite today. We shall treasure your gifts.”

"Thank you for the gift. I...have nothing for which to give you...um..." Verda paused a moment. "Unless you would like to fly on a dragon? I could give you a flight over the bay." He offered. Aleeia raised an eyebrow. 

“A kind offer, but I will pass. Imeyah may wish to. I prefer to keep my feet quite solidly on the ground.” 

“She’s scared of heights,” Imeyah’s voice sounded from behind the door before her head popped around it. 

“I am not scared of heights,” Aleeia insisted defensively. Imeyah simply laughed. 

“I am to return to my men in at the Chapel. It was lovely to see you Mywin and meet you Verda. I’ve left you both a gift over the doorframe.” She gave a quick wave before disappearing again. Verda smiled.

"It's understandable. A friend of mine is terrified of flying though her husband is a Bronze Dragon." He waved to her as she left, though canted his head at the idea of a gift over the door frame. Thinking nothing of it, he turned his attention to the gift in his lap and began to open it slowly. Aleeia had wrapped an emerald crystal carefully in tissue, protecting its hard surface from chips and scratches. Not paying attention, his emerald tail slipped out, wagging slowly as he purred finding the gem. He was extra careful in pulling it out, eying it in the light. "This is beautiful, thank you."

“It is from Argus, crafted by my vakeri'eras, my mother, who curated precious artifacts. The ore was formed millions of years before my race existed and has been cut as it is for over 26,000 years. It is to remind the owner that from dust comes life.” She nodded proudly. Mywin produced a smooth peddle-like gem from her own parcel, a dark navy with silver specks that sparkled from the dark form. “And that is a stone that represents friendship. Seven years is nothing to an immortal but accounts for a priceless bond formed.” Mywin could feel a few tears well up in her waterline, yet she held them back and instead embraced Aleeia tightly. 

“Thank you, my dear, dear friend.” 

"Echada," Verda said carefully, making sure he pronounced the thank you correctly. "I will keep it with me always. A perfect gift. He didn't hug her, but had he known her better, he might have. Aleeia bowed her head.

“I believe I will be seeing a lot more of you in the months to come.” Mywin glanced at the clock in the corner that had just passed half nine. 

“We should head back. You’ll be up at dawn, no doubt.” Aleeia nodded at the two.

“It was a pleasure. When the new year arrives, I will be reunited with you both.”

Mywin slipped on her cloak and hugged her friend farewell. 

"It was an honor meeting you, Aleeia," Verda said, standing and bowing to her, standing beside Mywin so he could prepare to walk her home. 

As Mywin closed the door behind her, she looked up. 

“I wonder what Imeyah meant by a present up there.” Her eyes traced the top door frame and stopped on a bunch of dark green leaves, tied in red ribbon hunting above their heads. “Oh,” she sighed, “Imeyah.” Verda followed her, canting his head a bit as he looked it it. He was darn near eye-level with it as tall as he was. He stared a moment.

"Mistletoe?" He questioned, looking down at Mywin, hoping she understood better than he. Mywin went red.

“Mortals... hang it up... to signal a couple to kiss.” That certainly got him blushing too, glancing shyly away before peeking between his dreads at her.

"Is it...a prank or...is it a serious thing?" He asked. "I've...never kissed anyone before." 

“It’s a sort of courting ritual. I believe Imeyah has placed it as a very unsubtle hint.” She clasped her hands behind her back and shyly hesitated. “We can just go if you would like.”

"You didn't want to kiss?" He asked before mentally thumping himself in the brain. "Of course, she doesn't, Verda. You're just being weird." He thought to himself. 

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Mywin paused before leaning her face up to Verda’s and gently rubbing her nose again his a few times, surprising herself at the spontaneously direct yet diplomatic approach. She gazed into his eyes with quiet affection.  “I think they call this, um, Tuskarr kissing. If you are not ready.”

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he said before blushing as she brushed her nose against his a couple times. It got a purr rumbling loud in him. "Dragons do this to scent one another though...it's more like.." he gently brushed his nose against hers but continued the movement to brush his cheek against hers too. "Dragon kisses." He whispered, practically purple with blush.

“I like dragon kisses,” she whispered back. No one passed the door as they stood beneath the bouquet and they were in complete solitude. As if the rest of the world didn’t even exist. As if a war wasn’t raging just a flight path away: it was peaceful, it was calming. With each letter that came from Verda she felt a connection she hadn’t felt in a long time. Someone who knew her pain as fully and as intensely as she did herself. Someone who fought to protect what she loved as she did. Taking a short breath in the silence, she moved in and carefully gave the dragon-elf a gentle kiss. Likewise, Mywin had gotten to learn the solitude that Verda had lived in, willingly so, and the calmness of his soul. The fire with which he fought now was new, something he struggled with and found himself accepting it as well as learning more about himself with every further letter he wrote. Despite his solitude, he had never been much for self-reflection, just sitting back and watching the world to learn instead. But when he had looked inside, he had found a whelp that longed for a home, friends, and most of all... Mywin's kind heart. He purred some as he stared back into her eyes, the sound interrupted only when her lips first touched his as his breath caught. It took a moment before he gently cupped her cheek and pressed his more to hers. She sank completely into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and gripping on tightly. He was warm, so very warm. Although she couldn’t see, the burst of happiness flushed from her heart and surrounded her in a bold energy that materialised as a ring of beautiful flowers circling them. As the pair embraced in the doorway, snowy Peaceblooms, crimson Mageroyals, deep indigo Kingsbloods and golden Sungrass sprouted beneath them as a glorious miracle in the midst of a bitter winter. It had done much the same with Verda in the form of vines that entwined and tangled as they climbed up the side of the door frames, white roses, Khadgar's Whiskers, and lilies sprouting from it, the two of them encircled in a glow of green life magic. His hand rested warm at the small of her back, the other still at her cheek as he lost himself in her. How much time passed, Mywin didn’t know. She only stopped when an icy sensation took over near Verda’s hand upon her face. She opened her eyes to discover that it had begun to snow.

 Verda pulled away, his breath steaming in the air as he looked to see what had caught her attention. The snow fell, beginning to dust the life that had sprouted white. "Sweet Titans," he whispered as he remembered to breathe.

“I think Elune approves,” Mywin chuckled, her own breath turning to vapour as she stared up. 

"I think so as well." He agreed, smiling wide. "This was a welcome gift." Mywin reached for his hand and gripped it tightly.

“I should get back to the refugees.” He brushed his thumb against her skin, squeezing her hand back affectionately.

"I should return to Raineigh and her twins. I've been guarding them while her husband is away." They wandered back through the empty city streets. Children had long been tucked into bed with the promise of Father Winter visiting with lots of presents, parents were probably still up wrapping gifts and would be late into the night. Hand in hand, they manoeuvred the cold streets towards the refugee camp.

“So,” Mywin grinned, “are you courting me Verdanikus?”

That blush creeped right back up onto his cheeks. "I am," he said a bit bashfully. "I um...I am clumsily courting you but doing the best I can on all fronts." He couldn't help but chuckle a bit embarrassed. She leant her head against her shoulder as they strolled forward. They eventually reached the entrance of the camp and she pulled away to lean against him and kiss once more. He stooped some to meet her lips, sliding his arms around her to hug her close, though he was entirely gentle with his touch. "I hope I see you again soon." He whispered against her lips.

“You have my word,” she replied before untangling herself and making her way into the camp for the rest of the night. 

He would wait until she was safely within before heading back out of Stormwind to shift into his panther form and sleep outside Raineigh's tent.

 Darnassian

*Kaldorei - “Children of the Stars”, night elf.

 *Falore – “Sister”.

*Shaha lor’ma - “Thank you”

*Elune-adore - “Elune be with you”

*Dorei - “Born of”, children.

*Shan’do – “Honoured teacher”.

 Eredun

 *Akiri'eras - “sister”.

*Kathtonia - “sit”.

*Chako - “drink”.

*Sevaston - “dragon”.

*Kalo korah “dear friend”.

*Vakeri'eras - mother.

*Echada - Thank you.

Co-written by Verda’s owner @fullelven. 

Continues with Just After Midnight.

[excellynt]

Multiverse Sans [v1.4.2] (Updated 5/17/2019)

Hello! Welcome to ukagaka ghost Multiverse Sans v1.4.2! *Earlier versions can still Network Update for the latest patch.

(download latest ghost .nar) (download balloon .nar)

Install the custom Sans & Papyrus Font balloon before booting up MVSans and he’ll automatically use the correct one!

Ghost Installation Instructions

What is an ukagaka ghost? A ghost is a character who lives on your desktop and talks to you, and has various levels of interactivity. MVSans is effectively an AI, with visual novel aspects involving Papyrus phone calls. He recognizes other ghosts (mostly Undertale ukagaka) and will occasionally comment on them or have a special event. 

Check the Dev Plan for future updates. Make sure to run Network Updates regularly for smaller frequent patches! Dev builds might be a little wonky but you'll be notified upon download what to look out for.

Features:

Many ghost developers are satisfied to give their ghost a shell and some random dialogue and call it a day. That’s not me. MVSans is not designed as a passive ghost, though he has enough dialogue to fill that role if it’s all you want. He’s programmed to learn and have feelings and opinions about you, depending on how you treat him. Once he gets to know you, his demeanor and conversations will change accordingly. He gets very salty when you ruin his knock-knock jokes and will even counter-troll YOU if ya keep it up. In the future he may notice and comment on sudden changes in your behavior. See Player Traits section for details.

MVSans’ dialogue has a robust architecture that modifies even the most common phrases into a slightly different message every time, just like a real person’s conversation. Since multiple AUs are supported, care has been taken to acknowledge the dialect and lexicon differences of each universe. Unlike classic and geno Sans, UF!Sans likes mustard, swearing, and refers to Paps as Boss. The differences run much deeper than these examples, check this dialect comparison:

↑ That’s the same line of dialogue, different dialect.

Clothing:

MVSans currently has three “Clothing” items. A Sansta hat, the Dapperblook hat, and an unlockable tongue. The tongue's an optional piece because not everyone wants their skele to have a tongue. The Dapperblook hat was an April Fools Day exclusive event reward. 

Shells:

Multiverse Sans has 5 AUs and 6 shells supported. You can change shells via his Options Menu or the right-click menu. Multiverse Sans aims to support as many AUs as possibly. View this post for information on shell submission guidelines, and a poll to vote on the next shell's AU.

Hitboxes:

MVSans has 4 hitboxes with 3 types of interactions; Double-clicks, rubbing the pointer, and mousewheel. Double-clicking on a non-hitbox will pull up his Main Menu. 

Head - Stroke his head repeatedly to pet him. * skeles love pets! 

Face - It’s rude to put your fingers in someone’s face holes.  * no booping either, bucko.

Ribs - Tickling is good silly fun, but not too much!  * i need to breathe too, kid.

Bonezone - That’s a private place, ya pervs.  * sorry pal, bonezone’s closed. 

↓Tickling messages escalate as he approaches his limit! 

↑ Give him a sec to breathe!

Main Menu: 

Open the main menu by double-clicking a non-hitbox zone. The first 1-2 options prompt his standard random dialogue. You can ask for a knock-knock joke, or a thinly veiled threat from the BudTime Generator. Ruining his knock-knock jokes makes him salty!

BudTime Generator  Based on the hilarious “hey there buddy chum pal” meme, Sans will generate a whole randomized paragraph of glorious passive-aggressive threat dialogue for you. There are over 200 variants on “crummy juncture”/”bad time” alone!

Self-Care Advice Having a bad day? Tell Sans what’s on your mind and he’ll try to cheer you up. This feature is courtesy of @huskalis and their Geno Sans ukagaka that I used as the base for MVSans. 

Compliment and Thank Sans  Tell Sans he’s cute, and thank him for all his hard work sitting on your desktop. These functions are courtesy of @characteroulette via their Sans & Papyrus duo ghost, one of my favorite ghosts to this day.

User Config, Sans Options, System Functions  Check status and adjust settings for yourself and Sans. Check email, run updates, and User Reports from Functions. 

User Reports: 

 Once they’re unlocked, you’ll be able to screenshot a set of menus and send them to me to give me information on how people play with MVSans, since I have no idea how most people use him. Getting this information is important for balancing the weight of actions for determining Player Traits!

Player Traits & Sans Mood/Relationship: 

The way you interact with Sans affects your Player Traits, which are stats that describe what Sans thinks of you as a person. You can check your dominant and secondary traits under the User Config menu. Player Traits include: Sweet, Rude, Silly, Naughty. This post has more detailed information on these stats. 

Player Traits:

Sweet - If you treat him nicely (mainly through pets, and confiding your worries in him), he’ll comment about how sweet you are and that you deserve hugs and other kind things. Rude - If you poke him in the eyes, tickle him beyond what he’s comfortable, repeatedly ruin his jokes, and other impolite things, he’ll consider you pretty rude and be equally irritable with you. He’s likely to drop lowkey death threats and other dark humor. Silly - Tickling him and asking for jokes a lot tells him you’re very silly, and since you’re so goofy he’ll share some jokes he saves only for his best audiences. Naughty - If you keep going after the bonezone, or barrage him with pickup lines, he’ll consider you pretty naughty and tell you as such. He’ll tell you dirty jokes you wouldn’t otherwise hear, since your mind is apparently in the gutter already.

Sans’ Feelings Stats

Affection (Sweet) – How much Sans cares for you, on a platonic level. —Against his better judgement, he’s started to care about you.

Enmity (Rude) – How upset Sans is with you, or how much of your shit he’s willing to put up with. Contributes to “Bad Mood.”  —Under other circumstances, this human would be having a Very Bad Time.

Humor (Silly) – How entertained Sans is, affects likelihood of pranks and jokes. Contributes to “Good Mood.” —Is he actually having fun, or is he just humoring you?

Amour (Naughty) – How boldly romantic or lewd Sans may feel toward you. (The nature of his attraction varies by traits and Affection stat)  —Papyrus may be onto something with that “secret datemate” idea. 

Your relationship with Sans determines your progression in unlocking content not specific to Traits such as the Papyrus phone calls. Sans’ mood depends on a number of variables, particularly recent interactions. You can check how he’s feeling under the Sans Options menu. 

Installation: 

If you’ve never used a ghost before, you’ll need software first. I recommend using SSP. Ghost guru @zarla-s​ has a great guide written on installing ghosts, and their Gaster ghost is awesome. I highly recommend downloading it.

(download latest ghost .nar) 

(download latest ghost .zip)

Install the custom Sans & Papyrus Font balloon before booting up MVSans and he’ll automatically use the correct one!

(download balloon .nar)

(download balloon .zip)

To install, just drag the .nar or .zip files onto an existing ghost’s face. Right-click to Call Ghost and select him. 

Join the Ukagaka Dream Team Discord if you wanna talk about ukagaka and Undertale!

Credits 

(aka dear god Ukagaka credits are a friggin spiderweb of sources)

Sans himself belongs to Toby Fox’s @undertale obviously. Additionally, all audio assets are pulled straight from the game. 

@zarla-s is behind PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING UKAGAKA. The core templates, tutorials, and much inspiration is from this talented individual. She created the black Undertale themed balloons that I modified to be proper fonts for Sans & Paps that MVSans uses.  

@gr33nbeen made the original sans ghost, which was based on @zarla-s ghost template. I edited him to have pink slippers and be shirtless. 

My coding started from the Geno Sans ghost by @huskalis which was in turn based on @gr33nbeen Sans ghost. Geno Sans is from @loverofpiggies‘s AfterTale comics. 

I swiped some dialogue (with permission) from @characteroulette‘s Sans & Papyrus duo, which is the Sans of @gr33nbeen and the Papyrus of @cuddlyhawk. It’s @characteroulette‘s fault that MVSans exists because I loved these guys so much I had to make a balloon to give both of them their appropriate font, and then I decided to make my own lil ghostie after having so much fun digging in the code. 

***Up-To-Date Shell Credits maintained at the bottom of this post.*** 

[brightlybound]

In Every Universe: Erased

Prologue

Chapter 1

Read on FFN or AO3

CHAPTER 2: SALT

PART I (Ginny)

When Ginny arrived at her pitch black flat, she grappled with the light switch, the front door opened wide for easy escape. Only after the living room’s ceiling light illuminated did she fully enter, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. Something could be hiding in the shadows…

She’d been terrified of the dark since the accident. Since the car crash. Since Tom Riddle.

Oh, Christ. Oh, God. Oh,… Merlin, she thought wildly, slamming the door shut and throwing every lock into place. She ripped off her coat, pawed at her constricting scarf, and took huge gulps of air.

Finally, finally. Something was happening. His name was a trigger, a burst, a crack of lightning igniting hundreds upon thousands of nerve endings and neurons so that little pieces of her memories were reconstructing. She was nauseous, dizzy, and a headache like never before hammered at her temples as she began to remember a different darkness now, of being swathed in hellish green. Had it happened in a badly lit garage or car park, maybe? And the dripping, dripping, dripping, right beside her. What was that? And the hissing? It no longer sounded quite like rain on steaming pavement or burning metal...

And then there was Tom. She paused midway to the kitchen as the image of him flared in her mind’s eye. He was handsome, but cold, and ghostly white, as if behind some kind of veil…

She dropped her bag, her keys, and tried to shake the vision, but again and again it resurfaced. She stumbled half-blind around her apartment, feeling sick, disoriented. Riddle’s ghost followed her, flickering in and out of focus, smirking at her the entire time. What a joke her brain decided to play. What a nightmare.

This must have been why they’d sent her away. Had her parents told her what had happened? Had she gone mad with the knowledge of it? It would make some amount of sense, because now she felt the impression of starch sheets wrapped tightly around her legs, smelled strong antiseptic.

She staggered to the bathroom and vomited in the sink.

Sink, sink, sink. I could slide down the sink.

She heard herself laugh deliriously. It echoed back, high-pitched and not her own. Her insides froze. Again, she struggled to take a substantial breath.

She threw herself into her bath fully dressed, tipped the knobs on, and was immediately sprayed by ice water. She shrieked and spluttered but did not move away. The incessant whirling of her brain was quick to focus on the uncomfortable cold seeping through her jumper and onto her skin.

Ginny hadn’t had a minute of peace since she’d walked away from Harry’s calming aura just three hours ago. Work was slow and torturous as memory after memory pounded away at her, making little to no sense, jumbled up as they were. She’d tried to divert her attention hundreds of times, but ended up spilling two cups of coffee, hers and a colleague’s- how she hadn’t burned herself was still beyond comprehension- when a vision of Harry, covered in blood and mud and grime, materialized in the forefront of her mind. After that, she’d given up hope.

Why hadn’t she asked for Harry’s number when she’d given him hers? She had so much to ask him, so much to say. He’d been so nice to her, listened to her intently, promised not to seek out her family, family that had been kinder to him than to her. And now she was alone in her flat, fighting off a panic attack. Why was she always alone?

Because no one likes you, little girl, a voice whispered from the depths of her mind.

Ginny choked on a sob.

Sometime later, she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a threadbare towel, leaving her clothes draped over the shower curtain rod, heavy and waterlogged. Her feet dragged, her arms hung limp from her shoulders, and her head was fit to explode. She turned on the overhead light of her bedroom, then the tiny lamp with a fringed shade that sat upon her wobbly nightstand, and collapsed into bed.

Shivering against the chilly sheets, Ginny shut her eyes and was instantly transported back in time, where she was immersed in darkness and there was a strange something ebbing further and further away from her. She reached out for it, wanting it desperately, but her heartbeat was slowing, pulse weakening, and the fight she’d wrought was dying. She was dying.

There was an explosion of light, and Ginny sat up in bed with a gasp and the image of a great, scaly monster with bloodied eyes burned into her retinas.

The sound of her phone ringing from the living room streamed into her consciousness, and Ginny tripped out of bed, heart in her throat because she knew exactly who was calling. She searched for the mobile, saw it glowing through the thin fabric of her purse, and fell to her knees to wrestle it out of the bag.

“Hello?” she said, clinging the phone to her face.

“Ginny?”

Relief swept through her very bones at the sound of Harry’s voice, and she pressed her back against the entryway to the kitchen, resisting the urge to cry. It was dark here, and the faucet was leaking… She hovered between the present and past.

“You called me,” she said, concentrating hard on the light switch just feet away.

“I said I would,” he responded.

There was an irrepressible tug up at the corners of her mouth, and a warm, fluttery feeling beneath her ribcage. Ginny tucked the mobile between her shoulder and ear, freeing the hand that wasn’t clutching at her uncomfortably damp towel. She hadn’t had such a good excuse in a long time.

Without looking at it, without touching it, Ginny waved her hand sharply...

The light switch flickered up, and the kitchen lit up in fluorescence.

“Good. I’ve got a few questions.”

PART II (Harry)

He got no more than a raised eyebrow from Ron when he raced into the Auror office twenty minutes late from lunch, and an “alright?” was his acknowledgment when Harry arrived at Grimmauld just before 7 rather than minutes past 5 o’clock.

Hermione was not so easy to bypass.

“Where were you today?” she said as they gathered in the basement kitchen for dinner.

“Hi to you, too,” Harry said, hoping the new mobile phone he’d purchased roughly an hour ago was completely shut off. If his pocket started ringing, he’d be in for it.

Hermione shook her head. “Sorry, it’s just… Ron said-”

“Mentioned in brief passing!” Ron interjected, throwing him an apologetic grimace.

“-that you were late coming back from lunch. Is everything okay?”

“Great,” Harry said. “How was the fitting?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Hermione said at once, gimlet-eyed as she helped herself to a generous heap of shepherd’s pie. “But… if you must know, it went amazing. Better than last time! The sleeves were actually cuffed correctly, and the bodice…”

Harry zoned out and thought instead about Ginny and how relieved she sounded when he’d phoned her less than an hour ago. They were meeting at her flat tomorrow evening upon her insistence, promising her that he would not seek out her parents and divulge her location to them when she provided him with her address. She’d asked it of him so desperately that the stab of guilt at keeping her a secret was negligible; he found himself unable to deny her.

Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her earlier that afternoon, convincing her to come around, to reconnect with the Weasleys and bring them light after so much darkness was at the forefront of Harry’s mind. It was going to be tricky. Ginny did not seem the type to be easily cajoled. But he held himself accountable for the torn family, and he owed them so much. He wanted this for them. And if it took him a day, a week, or a century to bring together such a family reunion, so be it.

PART III (Ginny)

A sleepless, dizzying night. An unproductive, migraine-encumbered workday. Ginny was spent by the time she arrived home, more than ready to collapse into bed and never get up again. But Harry was coming over, so she forced herself to move, and did so sluggishly, with the sky like black treacle behind her gauzy curtains.

He’ll be here soon.

She went about picking up shoes, wayward articles of clothing, tidying her awful, threadbare couch and dusting her bookshelf. She started a pot of water to boil instantly, just with a twitch of her fingers, and stared through the steam, wondering when she’d gotten so comfortable doing this… whatever this was.

Things tended to move for her when she wanted them to. The first time it had happened, she’d just been sent off to live with Matilda, and her mug of tea, sat on her nightstand, jumped several inches over into her outstretched fingertips. She had screamed then, but now it was almost second nature; flipping switches from across the room, heating food just by willing it, summoning the television remote to float into her beckoning hand. Ginny liked to blame it on her animal magnetism (ha!) because she thought she was clever, but she always figured the car crash was the turning point. Maybe she’d been injected with metals and magnets by the doctors who had seen to her after the accident. Maybe she was an experiment gone wrong. Maybe she was a monster, and had killed a man, a man named Tom Riddle, because he’d taken advantage of her, a foolish, lonely child.

Crack!

A car backfired just outside her building, and Ginny jumped and accidentally dumped an entire box of dried spaghetti into the water merrily boiling away of its own accord. She grimaced, added a generous dash of salt to the pot, and hurried to her door to peer through the spyhole.

A minute later, Harry’s form obscured her view, and before he could even raise his hand to knock, Ginny swung the door open and managed not to throw herself at him like a common hussy.

Sometimes she surprised even herself.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly.

Harry stood before her dressed in dark wash jeans, a thick cable knit jumper, and black coat.

Correction: Harry stood before her, looking to be fucking devoured.

“Alright?” he said, slanting a smile at her.

Now, yes.

She swallowed her words, nodded, and stood aside for him to enter, only just realizing that she hadn’t changed from her usual Friday work attire of faded, company logoed shirt and plain denim trousers, that she probably smelled of old coffee and ink, that her hair must have looked like a ragged mess, piled as it was in a messy bun held up by a single pencil.

Heart sunk, she led him through the small, near freezing sitting room, grateful for its semi-darkness as her cheeks heated in embarrassment, and into the kitchen, where she took a deep breath in hopes of soothing the sick feeling that had been blooming in the pit of her stomach since yesterday.

Once she needlessly checked on the spaghetti, and felt her blush mostly recede, Ginny turned to Harry.

“I can hang your coat. And you can take off your shoes, if you want. Make yourself comfortable.”

Harry shrugged off his coat and handed it off to her, and she scurried to the hall closet to put it up. She opened it quickly, hoping for the best… but an old football rolled out and a stack of books came tumbling onto her sock clad feet. Ginny gritted her teeth, hissing at the sting of pain.

What a disaster.

She set everything right as speedily as she could, and when she walked back into the kitchen, Harry was standing in the middle of the room, holding a bottle of wine by the neck and staring quizzically at the stove.

“I don’t drink,” she announced upon her entrance.

Harry whipped around to look at her. “What?”

She nodded towards the bottle. “Wine. Or anything alcoholic. I never fancied the idea of losing control of myself, you know?”

“Right,” Harry said. He placed the bottle down on the Formica countertop. “That makes sense. It was Hermione’s idea, anyway, not-”

Dread spread through her chest like a spilled ink bottle. Ginny pressed a hand to her heart as it began a quick staccato against her ribcage.

“Hermione? You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”

“I haven’t told anyone anything,” he said hurriedly, taking a step towards her, worry marring his face. “Hermione thought… she thought I was meeting up with a girl.”

She managed to glare at him. “What the fuck am I then?”

Harry blanched. “I know you’re a girl. I just meant, you know…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, feeling only marginally better now that Harry had confirmed he hadn’t revealed her to her family, albeit worse, too, since he had inadvertently ripped open a metaphorical cut that’d healed over long ago, and rubbed salt all over it like he was born for it. “I get it.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re very pretty.”

Suddenly, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the flat.

Ginny stared at him. His cheeks were ruddy. “Excuse me?”

“Is something wrong with your stove?”

Thrown by the subject change, Ginny said, “I- what?”

“Your stove. It’s not on, but the water’s been boiling all this time.”

.

.

.

.

“Who, who can I look to? ‘Cause I'm not like you, you. And I don't believe in the truth, truth, ‘Cause all of my life's built on lies.”

Salt- Bad Suns