#i always post about magic hour and never days after death let me have this

[rewritingcanon]

normal person in the fic realising they skipped promoting harry to auror status at the ceremony: huh omg they skipped harry potter how weird bcuz its harry potter and they literally skipped him

normal journalist realising they skipped harry: omg how juicy and weird they skipped harry potter how weird huh

normal spectator: huh they literally skipped harry potter don’t you think that’s really weird

harry whilst being skipped: i wish i was fucking DEAD (again)

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Twelve: All in Blue Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 21.2k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: frenemies dynamic, PTSD, nightmares, guilt, shame, Bridd isn't doing very well mentally, bickering, I loved Lily, Lily is such a stupid jerk and I love her for it, near death experience, flashbacks, minor character deaths, violence, blood, strong language, everyone at this point needs a hug, homesickness, illness, major character injured, trauma bonding, they definitely have a big-sis-little-sis dynamic going on, sarcasm, everyone in the fic has my sense of humor and I'm sorry I'm not funnier, fire magic, this is one of the more "boring" chapters depending on who you ask, mostly traveling and small arguments, until something changes, I just really like their dynamic and wanted to showcase it a lot, psychosis, learning more about Lustra's history, dumb bird jokes because why not?, I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I'm super ahead for TTW right now, and because of the long hiatus I thought posting an extra chapter before the year was over was a great present to those who love this story as much as I do.

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The days blurred together as we trudged through the forest. I couldn't tell when one ended and the next began—just this constant rhythm of exhaustion as we pushed on toward the mountains. The trees stretched high above us, thick and ancient, their branches weaving into a dark canopy that barely let in any light. Everything below was muted in mossy green, an eerie half-light that felt alive.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the path twisting in ways that kept us on edge, making every mile harder to bear. The silence between Lily and me only made it worse. It was a silence filled with tension, our brief moments of peace fragile enough to break—and sometimes they did. We’d snap at each other, sharp and heated, until there was nothing left but the hollow feeling that came after a fight. Then we’d go back to walking, simmering with everything we hadn’t said, unable to let it go.

Lily was a hurricane. Fierce, chin high, baby blue eyes blazing—she threw words like knives when she was mad enough. Never below the belt, but always enough to sting. And I was no better. I met her glare for glare, word for word, each exchange becoming a contest we both needed to win. It was like striking a flint, both of us desperate to spark something—just to feel anything besides the numbness that the blurred days brought us. But when the arguments faded, I’d catch a glimpse of something softer in her.

If I had a cough, she’d make me tea from whatever plants and herbs she could find. When I was tired, she’d insist we stop and rest. If I got stuck, eyes glazed over, flames and screams dancing across my vision like I was back home, she’d ask me what color the sky was, and we’d play I-Spy for a few hours.

It wasn’t all bad, but I could say with almost complete certainty that we were two hotheads trying our best to bite our tongues before we started another round of bickering.

The forest only made the tension worse. Shadows seemed to shift around us, almost as if they were laughing at our arguments, at our hopeless journey. I’d wondered a few times if it was the fae and their games. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for them, and very few were able to come out of the Hollow Below without first being summoned. The thought of them laughing at us only made me angrier, and my irritation would rise.

Unfortunately for me, Lily was far better at quick-witted insults, and I’d end up stewing alone, back to the campfire, pretending to sleep.

Each night, we’d set up camp with an invisible line drawn between us, both unwilling to cross it. The fire would flicker in the gap between us—warm, but never enough to thaw the wall we’d built. Yet, in those rare moments, when she looked at me without the bite in her eyes, it felt different. Softer. Like maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

I’d never asked her how old she was, but the few strands of silver in her black hair, the smile lines, and crow's feet told me she might be around Yoona or Thelma’s age. All of us lived long lives, witches the longest of the three, but I’d heard hybrids and shapeshifters had similar lifespans. Hybrids lived slightly longer since shifting took so much energy and strength.

I hoped that made Jimin and me evenly matched. I couldn’t imagine living a single second longer than him, and I was certain if I went first, he’d follow me soon after. Wolves couldn’t live without their mates. The thought of Jimin dying made me far more upset than I already was, so I pushed that thought to the back of my mind.

Finally, after days of endless trees and winding trails, the Ozryn Mountains appeared, jagged and dark against the horizon—so close, but still so far. Progress.

I looked over at Lily and found her already smiling back at me. Her smile softened her face, making her look so much younger. Her dimples shone prettily in the light, the diamond studs a soft baby pink. Her gold teeth hit the sun, and my eyes immediately locked on the two ruby gems on the other side of her mouth. Lily said she got them done as repayment for helping a jeweler’s family get their supplies back from a couple of thieves in Whopping. Reds and pinks were her favorite colors, and I thought they looked nice. She was a beautiful woman despite her scarring and less-than-appealing attitude.

“We won’t have much cover going through the desert,” she told me, her voice raspy. “We’ll need to stay vigilant. Keld’s Landing will be the next forest before we’re in the tundra.”

I nodded. “We’ll make it.”

Lily hummed and continued walking.

One afternoon, we came to a fork in the road, the trail splitting into two narrow paths. Lily glanced down one and nodded, her voice crisp and unwavering. “We take the left,” she said, pointing toward the path that disappeared into a curve. Her tone was clipped, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“No,” I said, feeling the familiar frustration build. I pulled out the map, unfolding it with more force than necessary. “The right leads straight to the mountains.” The paper crinkled loudly as I jabbed a finger at the marked trail.

The sun was beaming down, scorching the back of my neck. The desert wasn’t like the ones I’d heard of in Idris—not blisteringly hot, but with tall rocky cliffs, massive hills we had to climb through and around, and most of the paths covered in thick layers of red dirt and sand. We’d found the current path using the map in my hands, and it made Lily’s stubbornness even more frustrating. The map was obviously useful.

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “I’ve been this way before,” she said, her voice cold, dismissive. “The left is safer. Trust me.”

“And I’ve got the map,” I shot back, shaking it slightly for emphasis. We stood there, a silent standoff brewing between us, neither of us willing to back down.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “The right is quicker. We’ll save time.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe, but it’s a mess of dead ends and loose rocks. Do you want to make this harder? Don’t be naive, Y/N.”

My heart pounded, and my breathing grew shallow. I was going to explode if she kept this up. I wasn’t stupid.

“You were fine with the map before,” I argued.

“Because we weren’t sure where we were. I am now. The right trail is slightly faster, but there are rock warnings posted everywhere, and we’ll end up having to cut through even more dangerous areas trying to avoid the cliffs.”

I looked down at the map, doubt gnawing at the edges of my resolve. The lines blurred, exhaustion clouding my vision, and I glanced back at her, at her determined expression, her jaw set as if daring me to challenge her. Reluctantly, I felt my resolve waver.

“Fine,” I muttered, tucking the map away with a sigh. “We’ll go left. But if we get lost, it’s on you.”

A hint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes, and her tone softened. “We won’t get lost.”

The path was steep, lined with large, dead trees that closed in tighter as we moved. The silence still hung between us, but I could tell Lily was trying to soften me. She’d offer a hand when the trail got rough, and her voice lost a bit of its bite when she passed me a piece of bread. It didn’t help soften my resolve.

Call it pride or stubbornness, but I didn’t like being talked down to.

One night, we stopped to camp under a sky full of stars, the fire casting flickering shadows across the clearing. The cavern was still, the quiet wrapping around us, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. We sat across from each other, tired and sore, but the silence didn’t press down on us the way it usually did.

The firelight danced in Lily’s eyes, and for a brief moment, there was no hardness, no anger—just the two of us, two people stuck together on a journey neither of us could make alone. It was strange, almost surreal, like some part of me had been waiting for this moment, for the quiet to settle between us without all the tension.

Lily’s voice broke the silence, softer than I was used to. “I can’t believe I’m doing this all over again,” she muttered, her hands busy stacking more firewood. There was something weary in her tone, a softness that hadn’t been there before.

I leaned back, feeling the ache of the day’s travel settle into my bones. “You’re better at it than I am,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

She shot me a look, her eyes narrowing, but there was a glimmer of humor there. “Flattery won’t get you out of it next time,” she said, tossing a log onto the fire. The flames crackled, sending warmth into the cold night air.

I sighed, settling onto my bedroll as the warmth of the fire seeped into me. The sounds of the forest surrounded us—leaves rustling, faint calls in the distance, and bugs chirping. It felt almost peaceful.

“Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep the ire from my voice. That always meant she was going to say something that pissed me off. And she knew it. It was why she always tried to pretend it was in the name of honesty.

Really, it was her catch-all phrase for saying whatever she felt like and then acting all high and mighty when I got angry.

“Why ask?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice, no matter how hard I tried. “It’s never stopped you before.”

Lily’s voice came again, hesitant, in a way that caught me off guard. “Look, I don’t like arguing with you any more than you do,” she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. “We’re stuck together, whether we like it or not. So... I’ll try to cool it. But I need you to work with me.”

I scoffed, the words coming out before I could stop them. “You act like I’m the one who always starts it,” I snapped, irritation flaring up again. “Or should I remind you about how you caused this entire attitude issue you’re so mad about?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, folding her arms as her face hardened. “Oh, really?” she said, her tone thick with disbelief. “Care to explain that one?”

I felt the sting of her words, sharper than I wanted to admit. “You called me stupid,” I threw back, the memory still fresh and bitter. “I was trying to help, and you just... dismissed me. Didn’t even bother to apologize.”

She rolled her eyes, her voice sliding into that condescending edge that always got under my skin. “I did not call you stupid. I called you naive. There’s a difference. You’re out of your depth, and you’re too stubborn to admit it. If you’d just listen to me—”

“Naive, stupid—what’s the difference?” I shot back, getting to my feet, anger bubbling up. “You act like I don’t know anything, like I haven’t seen things, lived through things. You’ve known me for what, two weeks? You don’t know anything about me.”

For a split second, something shifted in her expression. The firelight flickered across her face, and her eyes softened, the harshness slipping away. “Then tell me,” she said quietly. “I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Her words lingered, raw and open, hovering between us. And for a second, I almost told her. Almost let it all spill out—the fears, the doubts, the parts of me I kept locked away. But the words tangled in my throat, too heavy, too real. I looked away, feeling the anger drain out of me, leaving only a dull ache behind.

“I need some air,” I muttered, turning before she could stop me, before she could ask me anything else.

“Wait,” she called after me, but I was already slipping into the darkness beyond the firelight, letting the shadows of the cliffs close around me.

A few minutes later, I was flying.

The days that followed were rough, each one feeling heavier than the last. Every step through that desert felt harder than the one before. We barely spoke, and when we did, the words were clipped, bordering on shouting each time we opened our mouths. Silence was easier than trying to find the right words—easier than pretending we were more than just two people stuck together out of necessity. It felt like a chasm had opened between us, growing wider each day.

But even in the silence, there were still those small moments that showed we still cared, even if we refused to say it. When the path got rough and I stumbled, her hand would still reach out, steadying me before I fell. When a fallen branch blocked our way, I’d offer my hand to help her over it. These moments were rare, but they were good reminders that we were still in this together. Whether we liked it or not.

The desert slowly began to give way, sand turning to dirt and mud, dying grass making way for glimpses of the Ozryn Mountains in the distance. They loomed closer, their dark, jagged peaks stark against the sky. We were getting closer, and I could already begin to smell the pine in the distance. We’d reach Keld’s Landing first, and then we’d finally be in the danger zone.

I was just as terrified as I was relieved.

Of course, the peace couldn’t last long. As we walked through the ever-thickening forest, I was thrown by the twists and turns the paths took—paths my map couldn’t always account for. I knew they were old, but how old didn’t really hit me until I found myself relying more on Lily’s judgment than the piece of parchment in my hands.

Then, we finally found a path that did line up with my map, and I was more than happy to jump at the chance to be useful. I stopped walking, looking up from the map. The path split into two directions, winding off into thicker areas of forest. We were still just barely on the outskirts, the aspens few and far between, many of them missing their pines. Lily stopped, studying the paths, her eyes narrowed.

I had a feeling we were about to have another argument and prepared myself to be willing to back off. Lily had been the bigger person during our last real spat, and I needed to learn to calm things down, too.

“Right,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for debate.

I took out the map, already feeling the tension coil between us. “This says left.”

She crossed her arms, her tone challenging. “I’ve been here before. The right path is safer.”

It only took a second for the argument to erupt, our voices bouncing off the trees, sharp and heated. But as we argued, something else crept in, a realization that was harder to ignore. We were fighting over nothing. I knew this map wasn’t the most reliable, and truthfully, Lily wasn’t saying anything to warrant my bad attitude. She was just trying to guide us—the only reason we were even traveling together. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to hold back the worst of my temper, even though I wanted nothing more than to tell her how right I was and how wrong she was.

Not to mention, we’d just had this fight a week ago.

“Fine,” I said, forcing the word out, each syllable heavy. “We’ll go right.”

She looked at me, surprise flickering across her face. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

We kept moving, the path winding through the ever-thickening forest. The grass was becoming greener, the trees fuller and more closely packed together. We were still a few miles out of Keld’s Landing, but I had a feeling we would get through it soon enough. If we were lucky, we could stay inside the forest long into the mountains, as it crossed throughout the southern regions of Ozryn. We’d have to cut across and start heading southeast eventually, but the trees would help protect us from the harshest winds the mountains had to offer.

That night, we made camp as stars began to prick through the deepening dusk. The silence between us wasn’t tense or uncomfortable; it was just... quiet. The fight from earlier was forgotten, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy or the desire to rehash it. We were adults—we needed to start acting like it. Liking each other was secondary to our mission. The fire cast warm light over us, softening Lily’s face. She looked more tired than I remembered, and a pang of guilt settled in my chest for the way I’d acted sometimes. Especially when it really didn’t matter who was right or wrong.

We were both going to the same place, and she was right—I was being naive and stupid if I thought I knew everything about surviving out here.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, each word carrying more weight than I intended.

“What for?”

I turned to look at her, her eyes staring into the flames. I wondered what she saw in them. I knew what they did to me. Some nights, I’d have to sleep as far away from the smoke as I could or else I couldn’t sleep. Cordelia would visit me in those moments, her eyes far away, that awful look on her face. Then I’d start to smell blood, and I’d need to get as far away from camp as I could without worrying Lily. I hoped nothing as horrible as that haunted her.

With the way she spoke about Duke, though, I wasn’t so sure.

“For putting up with me,” I sighed. “I’ve always been difficult and hard-headed. I’m just sorry you’re the one who has to deal with it.”

She glanced up at me, her eyes warm, a soft smile spreading across her face. “You don’t have to thank me. Let’s just get through this. Together.”

I nodded, and in that moment, something shifted inside me—a tiny ember of hope, barely there but undeniably real. It wasn’t much, but right now, it was enough.

“No need to apologize either,” she rasped, turning her gaze back to the fire. “I’m responsible for my own behavior, and I know I’m not the most accommodating. We’ll learn to get used to each other.”

“Don’t think we really have a choice.”

We both laughed softly.

The fire burned low, casting long shadows, and the forest around us was quiet, a peace settling over it that matched the calm between us. As Lily drifted off to sleep, I stayed by the fire, watching the embers glow in the darkness.

I thought of home, the wet grass and how it tickled my feet in the spring. The first time I met Yoongi. He was so small and tiny back then. A late bloomer, Aldara had called him. I couldn’t have been more than six at the time, and Yoongi was eight or nine. He’s only two years younger than Wendy and Jin, but at the time you’d have sworn we were the same age.

His hair was long, almost to his mid-back, puffing up in frizzy waves that floated everywhere. He was always shyer than me, but I remember the moment we locked eyes and how quickly I knew he’d be in my life forever. I chuckled to myself.

I had liked him when we were younger, but between Wendy and Nixie, I knew I didn’t want to push the boundaries of our friendship. The older I got, the more I saw him as a brother—the same way I saw Jin. Jimin’s reappearance in my life helped too. It was impossible to be in love with anyone else when those eyes locked on mine for the first time since that Yule night.

Yoongi knew, of course. Yoongi always knew everything. We talked about my crush and both came to the same conclusions. It was easy to fall in love with someone when you didn’t have any other options. That’s when he first told me about him and Delta. I never would’ve guessed Yoongi liked boys, but I also never would’ve thought he’d sneak around with Wendy’s sister behind her back.

God, the entire circle was so messed up. I hoped everyone was alright. I always kept them in check, and without that balance, I worried about how Jin would handle things.

Staring at the sky, I rolled my eyes. That boy…

He was like my little brother despite being four years older. We met when Hyolin came to the house to introduce herself to me. Jin always treated me like a pest back then, but that changed after I brought Wendy around a few years later. Things started with him using me to get closer to Wendy, but our friendship became more genuine than any other relationship he had. He had a bullying streak with Yoongi at the best of times due to his jealousy, and he was known to be selfish and immature even when he swore he wasn’t.

Wendy brought out the worst in him.

She always said it’s why she couldn’t stand being his girlfriend for more than a few weeks. He was suffocating and so hyper-fixated on the past that he couldn’t see what they had. When we were younger, in our teens, I laughed in her face and told her there wasn’t a past if she was still in love with Yoongi. Now, I felt for her more than I ever thought I could. They were both insanely selfish and put Yoongi in the middle of everything, but Wendy had always been clear and firm when it came to Seokjin. He just didn’t know when to quit, and she went out with him because it was easier than breaking his heart.

Love always had its way of complicating even the strongest of friend groups, and ours was no exception. It was a shame, really. We were always so good with one another back then...

When I left, it seemed like things were better between them this time around, but I knew things neither of them did. Things that would tear everything apart if they even heard the slightest whisper of it.

I didn’t know if Wendy could forgive Yoongi and me for keeping it from her, and I knew Jin would pick her side if it meant keeping her around. Nixie’s marriage could be at risk since many humans still held to the tradition of a woman being a virgin when wed, and Delta would be in a tight spot if word got out about him being gay. If it got back to his father, he’d risk losing his home.

Syrena was one of the least progressive parts of the magical world next to Foxglove. Even Viridi Gramine had more progress, and wolves were known for being as misogynistic and homophobic as they come. I hoped Yoongi was staying safe.

And Jimin, and Taehyung, and Callisto, and Mi-Jeong, and Hoseok, and Hyuna; and Yoona, and Enver, and Thelma; and...

I sighed, turning on my side. I needed to stretch my wings. My head was too crowded right now.

As the sky deepened into purples and golds, I got to my feet, drifting away from the fire until the shadows of the forest swallowed me up. I glanced back once, just to be sure—Lily was already asleep, her breathing steady, her shoulders rising and falling in a calm rhythm that was, oddly, comforting. A small smile tugged at my lips—part relief, part guilt. It was better this way, safer for her not to see this part of me.

It wasn’t that I thought she’d run off into the forest screaming, but I knew if she saw what I could do, she’d figure out what I was immediately. I was supposed to be dead, if the whispers from our time in those small human towns throughout Clarcton were anything to go by, and I wasn’t sure what an enemy would be able to get out of her if we were separated. I wasn’t ready to risk that. She didn’t need to know yet.

Maybe later, when things were calmer and we were closer to the mountains, I’d let her know. Out here, I was too afraid of who or what might see us together. Even if I didn’t particularly care for her, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her either. Secrets were safer. I think she’d understand. I was sure she had a few of her own.

With the moon high in the sky, I walked further and further away from camp. My heart felt heavy, and I didn’t really feel like doing much of anything, but I hoped feeling the breeze against my feathers would help soothe my growing headache. Finally, when I looked back and found that I could no longer see Lily, I relaxed and closed my eyes.

The transformation started slowly, like a ripple through my bones, a tingling that spread over my skin, a strange sensation that felt both sharp and ticklish. My bones felt like they were hollowing out, my skin prickling as feathers began to push through, soft and light, spreading across my arms as they stretched out into wings. My senses sharpened—the night seemed to grow brighter, the scent of the forest more vivid, the air more alive around me. The world grew bigger as I felt myself shrinking.

It felt so gentle and soft compared to the torturous process it used to be. It felt freeing.

Then, in an instant, I shifted—wings stretched wide, reaching into the night, ready to lift me. With one strong push, I took flight. The wind rushed past me, cool and crisp, and I kawed loudly into the silent night sky. So far, we hadn’t seen many birds in this area, and I wasn’t in the mood for socializing.

The first few flaps were exhilarating, my wings catching the air as I ascended higher, the forest below shrinking until the trees looked like tiny clusters of dark green. I let out a long whistle of joy, the sound escaping me unbidden, a sound so colorful and filled with so many different calls and notes that I wasn’t sure any passing bird could understand what was happening. The moon hung above me, round and silver, lighting my path, and I felt weightless, the cool night air rushing over my feathers as I twisted and turned. The stars above seemed close enough to touch, like a blanket of glittering diamonds spread across the sky, and I reveled in the vastness of it all.

I swooped low, skimming the treetops, the tips of my wings brushing the highest branches, sending a few leaves fluttering to the ground below. I darted upward again, spiraling in a lazy circle, my wings catching the wind and carrying me higher, spinning until the world blurred beneath me in shades of green and silver. There was a wildness in my heart that matched the thrill of the wind beneath my wings, a giddy kind of joy that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I raced the wind, diving down, then soaring up again. I glided over a small clearing, the grass glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air was cool, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth, and I breathed it in deeply, filling my lungs, feeling the cold in my hollow bones.

It didn’t bother me. This body could handle the chill better than my human one. I whistled again and dove down.

I darted between the trees, my wings folding close as I twisted through narrow gaps. There was nothing like this—nothing like the rush of the air against me, the world opening up beneath me, limitless and wide. I spun and twirled, playing with the wind, my heart soaring with every beat of my wings. For this moment, nothing else mattered. I was alive, and the world was mine.

Then, without warning, I glanced back up at the moon and thought of silver hair, and all that joy began to ebb.

My thoughts began to drift, unbidden, to Jimin. I could almost see his face in my mind—his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, that soft smile that always seemed to hold so much warmth. I thought of the way he’d hold me, his arms strong and comforting, his voice low as he whispered dreams of a future that now felt so far away.

The ache was sharp and hollow, and as the wind carried me higher, it seemed to grow, pressing into my chest until it was all I could feel. I missed him—missed him so much it hurt. I missed the quiet moments, the simple comfort of just being by his side. I let out a cry, sharp and raspy, swallowed by the wind as I banked, gliding above the treetops. I wished, with every part of me, that I could turn back to him, fly straight into his arms, tell him I loved him one more time.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while there was still so much to be done. I thought of the others—of my family and friends who I had left behind without much thought on that night. They had trusted me to take this path, to do what needed to be done, and I could only hope they understood—that they didn’t see my absence as abandonment. I was sure Yoongi and Wendy would understand. The elders as well. It was Jin and Taehyung I worried most about. They were both too sensitive and took most things to heart—even when they didn’t need to.

Jin would grow angry and revert back to that childish and angry boy I knew when I was fifteen. Taehyung… it was difficult to say. I knew him well enough, but I didn’t think anyone would allow him to wallow and cry for very long. It was unbecoming for their new Chief, and I had to imagine how frustrated and alone he would feel.

His mate went behind his back. His friend left him without much of a goodbye. The only reason people wanted him to come back was to make Sol happy. There was much on his plate, and I worried no one was there to hold him up. At least, no one he would really want to be there for him right now.

I hoped, at the very least, he and Namjoon were able to make up.

My wings beat steadily, carrying me over the dark expanse of the forest, the grass stretching endlessly below. I flew on, my heart heavy, the weight of longing pressing down on me. And yet, even in the sadness, there was something else—fierce determination. I would find my way back. One day, I would fly not just for the joy of it, but to return home, to the people who meant everything to me.

That one day came closer with each step we took towards those mountains.

With a sigh, I turned, folding my wings and gliding back toward our camp. The ground rose up to meet me, and I landed softly, feeling the transformation reverse itself—feathers vanishing, bones solidifying, skin reforming. I took a deep breath, letting it settle. But as I straightened up, I froze.

Lily was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at me, her eyes wide. For a second, neither of us moved, the forest around us holding its breath. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and something else I couldn’t name.

“You’re... a Bridd?” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur, filled with a mix of disbelief and wonder.

I swallowed, panic clawing at my throat, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Yes,” I said quietly, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered back, her eyes still wide. Her hair was down now, her hood tossed aside, exposing her ears. Looking at them now, it felt silly to keep this part of my life away from her. Even if she was captured—the elves would be more excited about her death than mine. I was a threat because of my magic. Lily was an abomination of nature according to their laws. Guilt ate away at me like a rabid dog. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? This is…”

She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

“It’s... not something I share easily. Or ever. Everyone I’ve ever known was aware. It didn’t feel all that important,” Then, because I knew I was partially lying, I threw in the real reason. “And I was nervous about one of us being captured. Didn’t think it would be good for you to see me.”

There was a silence, thick and heavy. My heart was lodged somewhere in my throat as I waited, bracing for whatever reaction might come. I couldn’t help but notice the way Lily’s black fox ears twitched, peeking out from beneath her hair, her big, fluffy burnt orange tail slowly unfurling behind her as she processed what I had said. Her eyes, wide with a mix of awe and curiosity, never left mine.

Her expression softened, awe giving way to something else—something almost... respectful. She took a step closer, her tail swishing slightly, her gaze unwavering.

“That’s... incredible,” she said, her voice filled with genuine wonder. Her ears perked up, her usual guarded demeanor slipping away, replaced by something far more open and intrigued. She moved a little closer, her curiosity evident.

“How does it work?” she asked, her tone brightening with interest. “Can you just... shift whenever you want?”

I exhaled, letting go of some of the tension that had built up inside me. Her ears twitched as she waited for my answer, her tail swaying in slow, steady arcs. “Yes,” I replied. “It wasn’t always like that, but... yeah, I can shift whenever.”

Lily nodded, her ears tilting slightly as she took in my words. She seemed thoughtful, her eyes still wide with wonder. “But…How? When?” She shook her head, stepping closer to me, her tail wagging. “How?”

“It’s a long story,” I scratched the back of my neck, moving towards the fire. It was cold out here, and I no longer had feathers to insulate my body. “But the shortened version is I died and came back to life.”

“I can’t imagine…,” she murmured, her gaze softening. Her fox tail brushed against her leg, the fur catching the moonlight as she shifted her weight. “You had to be desperate. Are you alright now?”

I looked away, feeling a tightness in my chest as the words slipped out before I could stop them. “It’s been hard,” I admitted, my voice quieter. “I can admit I don’t know much about being normal, but I’m trying. I apologize for being a bad partner. It’s hard to trust someone who isn’t being honest.”

Lily was quiet for a moment, her ears flicking slightly, her gaze fixed on the ground. Then she looked up, her eyes meeting mine, steady and sincere. “I get it,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I’d have reacted well before. I-” She paused, her voice growing even softer, almost gentle. “Thanks for trusting me now.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, small but genuine. “Thanks for not freaking out,” I said, my voice carrying a note of humor.

She laughed quietly, her fox ears flattening slightly with amusement, her tail giving a small flick. The sound was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves, easing the tension I hadn’t even realized I was still holding. “Freaking out’s usually my first instinct,” she admitted, a hint of laughter in her eyes. “But... I think I’m getting better at this whole ‘not panicking’ thing.”

Her honesty made me laugh too, the sound light and freeing. Just like that, the tension that had hung between us for so long seemed to ease. It wasn’t gone—not completely—but it felt like we’d crossed a line, moved a little closer to something like understanding.

“Still haven’t quite gotten the hang of the bitch part, right?” I joked back.

“No,” she chuckled. “Don’t think I ever will. Unless you fix it first.”

I laughed, stretching my legs, bending down to touch my toes. Shifting always made me so stiff. I looked at the hybrid through the space between my legs.

Lily’s ears perked up again, her blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. She took another step closer, her tail swishing behind her, and I could see the genuine fascination in her gaze. “Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked. “Being able to shift, I mean. Or is it just... always like magic?”

I considered her question for a moment, my body snapping back upright. “It’s both, I think,” I said eventually. “Sometimes it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Other times, I hate being reminded about all of the responsibilities it gives me. Who I have to be because of it. But when I’m up there, when I’m flying...” I trailed off, a small smile touching my lips. “It’s worth it. It always feels like magic then.”

Lily nodded, her gaze softening. “I think I get that,” she said quietly. Her ears twitched, and she gave me a small smile. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fly. I had a friend who shifted before, and she could fly. I used to envy her. Always wished she could pick me up and take me with her.”

“Well, I’m a raven,” I said with a wry grin. “So unless you want to shrink down to about a tenth of your size, I’m afraid you’re a bit too heavy for me to carry around.”

She laughed, her ears tilting back slightly as her tail swished. “Yeah, I figured. Besides, I don’t think I’d trust you to fly straight if you had me dangling from your talons.”

I laughed too, the image ridiculous enough to make the tension in my chest ease a little more. “Fair enough. But maybe one of the dragons could give you a ride one day,” I added, my tone playful. “You know, if Khione ever decides she likes us enough not to drop you halfway through the sky.”

Lily snorted, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Khione?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The ice dragon who'd probably freeze my tail just for looking at her the wrong way? Yeah, I'll pass."

"Come on," I teased, nudging her arm lightly. "She can't be that bad. She's just... selectively friendly."

Lily shook her head, her ears twitching with laughter. "Right. Selectively friendly. I'm sure she'd love to have a hybrid hitching a ride on her back. I'll stick to the ground for now, thanks."

We both laughed, the sound echoing softly in the night air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. It was rare that we were so open and honest with one another since that first day together. But in that moment, it finally felt like we were in this together as friends. Her black fox ears flicked again, catching the light from the moon above us, and her gaze met mine, her eyes softening with a warmth that made my chest tighten, but in a good way this time.

"You know," she said after a moment, her voice quieter, almost as if she wasn't sure she should say it, "I'm glad you told me. It's like... I feel like I understand you a little better now."

"Yeah?" I asked, my own voice coming out softer. It wasn't easy for either of us to admit these kinds of things.

She nodded, her fox tail swishing slowly behind her, the big fluffy thing moving in gentle arcs. "Yeah. I mean, we're all carrying something, right? Secrets, fears... it's just part of who we are. And I guess it's nice to know I'm not the only one."

I smiled. "You're definitely not the only one," I said. "And I'm glad I told you too. Even if I thought you might freak out."

Lily rolled her eyes, her ears flattening in mock annoyance. "Oh please, I'm not that bad. Just because my first instinct is to act like a complete and utter diva doesn't mean I would have gone all psychobitch. I bite, but not that hard, jeez.”

I laughed, shaking my head. "Right, right. Totally calm and collected, that's you."

"Hey, I've gotten better," she shot back, a grin tugging at her lips. "Besides, you're the one who kept this big secret. Who knows, maybe I'm the one who should be freaking out that my supposed partner is actually a shapeshifting bird woman—who, by the way, is also one of the most sacred beings in the country. If not the world. Just a normal Tuesday."

"Not just any shapeshifting bird woman," I corrected, pointing a finger at her, unable to keep the smile off my face. "A Raven."

"Right, a raven," she teased, her eyes glinting mischievously. "I've seen ravens steal shiny things, you know. Might have to keep an eye on my stuff."

I snorted, shaking my head. "I can promise you, your belt buckles are safe from me."

Lily gave a mock sigh of relief, her tail swishing again. "Good to know. I'd hate to have to fend off a raven attack just to protect my piercings, crow brain."

The banter between us felt natural, easy, and the tension that had been there for so long seemed to fade into the background. There were still things we hadn't worked through, but in that moment, it felt like we were a little bit closer to being real friends.

Later, as we sat by the fire, the flames crackling and casting flickering shadows across the clearing, a more solemn mood seemed to settle between us. The warmth of the fire wrapped around us, and I could feel the chill of the night slowly being pushed back. Lily stared into the flames, her ears twitching slightly as she seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, her voice came, softer than usual, almost hesitant.

"I'm sorry," she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. "For everything I said before. I judged you without really knowing you. And I guess... I was scared, too. I didn't know if I could trust you."

I sighed, feeling affection for her growing in my chest. It wasn't easy for Lily to apologize—I knew that. She was stubborn and proud, and hearing her admit her mistakes made me feel like maybe we really were making progress. "I was being difficult too," I admitted, my eyes following the dance of the fire. "I’m sorry, and... I forgive you."

She glanced at me then, her ears perking up, and a real smile lit up her face, one that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Then I guess I forgive you, too," she said, her voice lighter, more like her usual self.

"Wow, forgiveness all around," I said, unable to resist the urge to tease. "Who knew we could be so mature?"

Lily snorted, her tail flicking behind her. "Don't get used to it. I'll go back to being a bitch tomorrow."

"Good to know," I said with a grin. "Wouldn't want things to get too friendly around here."

She gave me a playful shove, her smile widening. "Shut up. You're lucky I don't bite."

"Oh, I'm terrified," I replied, my voice dripping with mock fear. "Please, spare me, oh mighty fox warrior."

Lily rolled her eyes, but her laughter came easily, and it was a sound that made me feel lighter. The fire crackled between us, filling the silence that followed with warmth and a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time. There was a long road ahead, filled with challenges and dangers waiting for us both, but for the first time, I felt like we had a real shot. We could face it together—not as reluctant allies, but as something closer to friends.

The night stretched on, the stars twinkling above us, and the fire slowly burned down to embers. We sat there, the silence comfortable, the teasing smiles lingering on our faces. And as I looked at Lily, her fox ears twitching slightly as she listened to the sounds of the night, her tail curled around her, I felt something inside me settle. There was still so much left to do, so many obstacles to overcome, but at least now, I knew I didn't have to face it all alone.

"You know," I said after a while, my voice softer, almost thoughtful, "if we ever do find Khione and she doesn't try to freeze us, I think you should ask her for that ride. I'd love to see her face when you ask."

Lily snickered, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh yeah? And what makes you think she wouldn't drop me from the sky the first chance she gets?"

"She might," I admitted, unable to hide my grin. "But think of the look on her face. It'd be worth it."

"You're so bad," Lily said, shaking her head, though there was laughter in her voice. "But maybe I'll do it. Just to see if you're right."

"I'll be cheering you on from a safe distance," I replied, and she laughed again, her ears flicking with amusement.

We settled back into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the fire and the glow of the embers surrounding us. The challenges ahead seemed a little less daunting, the road a little less lonely. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we really could make it.

After that night, something between Lily and me softened. It wasn't sudden—no big moment, no dramatic shift. But it was there, a quiet sort of peace that settled over us. An unspoken truce.

We still argued, of course—there was no miracle fix for our tempers. But the fights felt different. Less about tearing each other down, and far fewer insults being hurled on either side. We were just stubborn and headstrong about our beliefs, and had a hard time looking past that. We were both making efforts, however, to see the value in our differences, learning how to exist side by side, and shutting up when we didn’t have anything nice to say. That was probably the best improvement we made thus far.

One day, we were navigating a particularly tough stretch of the trail. It was treacherous, the rocks slick with dew, the path steep and full of traps. Lily was ahead of me, her jaw tight with focus, when her foot slipped, her boot skidding over loose stones. Instinctively, I reached out to steady her, but she jerked her arm away, a fierce look in her eyes.

"I can do it myself," she snapped, frustration evident in her voice.

I let my hand fall, but I didn't look away. I had to try very hard not to yell back, but I knew underneath her attitude and anger was something gentle and sweet. I had to get better at being understanding. I took a short, quick gasp of air and hoped I softened my voice enough to not give away how irritated I felt inside my chest.

"Lily, you don't have to do everything alone. That’s why we’re doing this thing together—convenience."

She froze, her gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, I thought she'd snap again. My stomach coiled with anticipation. A part of me wanted her to. I had more than enough steam to blow off from the stress of everything. But then she sighed, the tension in her face melting as she reached out, slipping her hand into mine. I helped her up, her fingers holding tightly onto mine.

When we reached the top, I smirked a little, trying to lighten the mood. "See? Teamwork," I said, teasing but gentle.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a real smile there. "Maybe you're not entirely useless," she replied, her tone softened, almost playful.

That was just one thing that told me we were on the same side now. When the path turned steep or the rocks were too slick, one of us would offer a hand without a word. Lily didn’t even blink an eye at the contact anymore. At night by the fire, the silence wasn't stifling anymore; it was comfortable. We had even started sharing stories, things I hadn't expected to tell her. Things I would have never thought she’d tell me. It was a strange twist of fate—the only person I had ever admitted to not liking had become my favorite person I had ever (save Jimin and Yoongi) talked to within a week’s time.

Lily’s stories were so fascinating and out of the realm of anything I had ever heard before. Most of my friends and family had never known a life outside of Bangtan, Moland, or the southernmost parts of Clarcton. Never had much interaction with humans, and if they did, they rarely had good things to say. Lily, however, had seen almost every nook and cranny of Lustra outside of Alcona Island. Dragons didn’t like non-dragons, so it wasn’t really a possibility for her to get there unless she wanted to be burnt to a crisp.

From the ports of Whopping, to the monasteries in Idris, outfoxing goblins in Bangtan, fighting with Bunyips in Moland, and all the way to the smallest farming towns from Leeside and the capital of Northorn—Lily’s feet had touched the soil there. She earned her gold teeth when she was a teenager and still living with Duke. She’d left that life behind after meeting Dina, but had a few moments since her death. Money was valuable outside of the forests, and barding only stretched the coins so far. Her normal way of money-making lately had been through bounty hunting, but with the elves back, that well had run dry. No one had any money and were too afraid of risking being seen with someone who so obviously stood out from the humans. The tattoos and piercings were a dead giveaway that she was from the east and would draw suspicion from the elves.

Lily was barely surviving when we met. She had just completed a hit on a man who had stolen away a young girl from her father’s home. She was originally meant to be sold off for money and a goat, but the man hadn’t made good on his promise. The wedding never happened, but the girl had gone missing just two days later. When I asked her why she kept calling the bride a ‘girl,’ Lily turned to me and said.

“The peasants in Northorn sell their children so they can get by. The girl was 14 and the man who wanted her was rich enough to give her a large home and a small farm with a goat.”

“But why would anyone do that?” I nearly shouted, the thought of anyone so young being married off foreign. “It would hurt her. She’s so vulnerable to death giving birth to a child. What were they thinking?”

Lily’s look had turned to pity. That moment reminded me that she was right—I was naive and clueless. Nothing about this world made sense, and no one around me was informed enough to know anything different. If they were, they never told us.

“The only people who can afford to eat in Northorn are the nobles and monarchs,” her tone had taken on a softer tone, like she was explaining this to a small child. “Been like that ever since King Edward came into power. He and his queen enjoy the finer things in life, spoiled their children rotten, and stopped taxing their court money. Those who were already struggling turned to less… savory means of staying alive. I know a few boys who were sold to the church and… castrated so they can sing higher. They don’t allow girls into the theater there.”

I never asked about the children in Northorn again.

We weren't perfect. We still stumbled, still clashed. But there was a difference now—we realized we liked each other when we were fighting all of the damn time. And as we pushed onward, the peaks of Ozryn drawing closer each day, I felt the hopelessness I carried with me when I was flying to Clarcton fading away. We had come so far, and Lily seemed confident about our odds. I allowed myself to believe her.

I can’t remember what Yoongi said—if he even said anything—but I remember his voice. Or at least, something pretending to be his voice. I couldn’t remember anymore. It was wrong. Stretched, warped, shredded into something that didn’t fit. It filled the air, filled me, with a kind of terror I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been him.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The ground seemed to grab at me, holding me back, as if it knew I wasn’t supposed to get there. And he was there, but not there. His face was empty, his eyes hollow—erased. His body jerked unnaturally, like a puppet on strings, and when I reached for him, it was like trying to grab smoke. He slipped right through my fingers, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.

There was screaming—his, mine, I don’t know—but the sound ripped through me, splintered into pieces that never made sense. I think he shouted my name, begged me for something, but all I can remember is the way it sounded: broken. His voice cracked and splintered, sharp and desperate, and I wanted to say something back. I wanted to tell him I was there, that it was okay, but my voice was gone, frozen inside me, useless.

His hands. God, his hands weren’t his anymore. They were claws, tearing at his face, his skin, his eyes. "I can’t see!" he screamed, but it wasn’t even a scream. It was… other. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. My hands wouldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t move. I was stuck there, paralyzed, watching him disappear into a million little, bloody pieces.

Everything spun after that. The world tilted, and I couldn’t keep up. I kept trying to reach him, to grab hold of anything, but there was nothing. Just the thick, black smoke swallowing him whole. I don’t know if I screamed, if I begged him to stay, but I felt like I did. The ache in my chest, the burn in my throat—it had to mean something came out of me, right? But I can’t remember.

Then it all shifted, blurred into something worse. Smoke burned my lungs, stung my eyes. My feet stumbled over something I couldn’t see, and my name was being called—soft, urgent, but so far away. And that’s when I saw her.

Cordelia.

Her face is the only thing I can see clearly now. Gray and lifeless, her eyes staring at nothing. Dead. She was pinned under something heavy, and I—I tried to pull her free. My hands shook, clawed at the rubble, but it was useless. My strength was gone, and the weight of her stillness crushed me. I screamed her name, but it caught in my throat, tangled with the smoke and the tears. I knew she was gone even before I stopped trying. She was cold, heavy, already slipping away.

Hands grabbed me—pulled me back—but I fought them. Kicked, thrashed, anything to stay with her. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t. But they were stronger, and my body was too weak. And then I was holding her, somehow. I don’t remember how, but she was in my arms, and she wasn’t there. She was just… gone.

I don’t know what happened next. The shadows swallowed everything, and I was falling, slipping, screaming inside myself because I couldn’t do anything else. And then there were arms around me, warm and steady, holding me together when I was sure I’d shatter. I didn’t know who it was. I didn’t care. I just clung to them, because they were the only thing keeping me from falling completely into the dark.

"Y/N.”

My head snapped up. Without a word, Lily moved closer, her shoulder brushing against mine.

I am Y/N. The elves are gone. Foxglove is safe. Everyone is safe.

Not Cordelia. She was dead. My best friend’s mother was dead and I wasn’t there for her. I left. I let her die. I killed Cordelia. If I had been there, I could have stopped it. If I had spoken sooner. I am a guardian. I failed. I deserve to—

"Did you know that Bangtan used to be called something else?"

I blinked, snapped from my thoughts.

"No," I replied, robotically, eyes still staring at the dancing yellow and orange flames.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should have been me.

It should hav—

"Before humans were here and the land was filled with elementals, they all lived in harmony within their homeland. They didn’t believe in borders the way that humans do. They just used words to describe places."

I made a non-committal sound. I couldn’t manage much more. Lily continued as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

"Virdi Gramine was Lysander, and many of the water elementals lived there. Ozryn had always been home to Khione. Conláed named it. He was the only thing Khione ever respected more than Naida. He died during the war.

"Whopping is named after the human who conquered the east. Liam Whopping," Lily scoffed, her disdain for the man coloring every syllable of his name as she spoke it. "Conláed named it after his wife, Agni. She was a water nymph who lived in the northeast before the fae were sent to Hollow Below. She died of an illness, and he never left her grave. At least, not until the war. The elves enslaved him and the rest of the dragons, but Conláed was too powerful to be kept alive. They beheaded him and paraded it through the streets like some kind of trophy for the others to see. Disgusting."

Lily grew quiet. I could feel the anger rising in her, simmering just beneath the surface. She must've known that getting heated wouldn’t help when I was already feeling this way. She wasn’t exactly wrong either, so I kept my mouth shut. We sat like that for a long time—just the two of us, the fire crackling, the cool night air wrapping around us like a heavy blanket.

“Agni and Lysander,” I muttered, my voice weak, barely more than a whisper. “Is that it?”

“No,” she whispered back. “Ancola was Ryuu. That’s where the dragons originally came from. Conláed was the first and the most curious, so that’s why he ended up in so many stories. Northorn was the quietus kingdom of Betsalel. Briar Glen Beach was called something else before, but I don’t remember what. It’s a memorial site for King Omar Briar Glen. King Edward's great-great-uncle. Keld lives there.”

“Keld? Like Keld’s Landing?”

“Same guy—well, dragon. The humans enslaved the dragons to ride them, and Keld was given to King Omar. They grew close, and when Omar learned that the dragons could turn into people… he couldn’t let the torture go on. He helped start the dragon revolution with Keld and a few others. That’s the only reason Lustra won—when the dragons got out. Omar died. Keld didn’t want to leave him, so he’s estranged from the other dragons. No one goes there anymore. It’s a death sentence.”

“What about Bangtan?”

“Moland and Bangtan were fae territory, so less is known about them since the Hallow Rift, but I believe Witrial is what Hydra called it.”

“Who’s Hydra?” I asked, laying down and curling into a ball. Sitting up was taking too much effort. Lily watched me, her eyes squinted, reading my mood. She knew I was upset but chose not to call attention to it. I appreciated the effort.

“She’s Lindon’s guard. She’s the only person who can let people in and out. I’ve known her for a few years now.”

“Does she do ice magic?” I asked.

“No. Only the royal guard knows how to do that. She’s a water wielder.”

“Will she like me?”

“You’re impossible to dislike.”

I thought of Ji-Hyun and frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Well, whoever doesn’t has a few screws loose.”

Finally, I smiled.

“Thanks, Lily.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

As the stars spun slowly overhead and the fire crackled down to embers, I felt a strange, tentative peace creep in. The visions were getting worse, and I knew Lily was losing sleep because of my nightmares, but we’d never really talked about them before. I could feel myself slipping away each time, and every time I’d close my eyes, I’d wait for everything to stop. When my soul felt like it was five feet away from my body, watching everything from up above—that was the only time the thoughts stopped anymore.

Flying didn’t help.

Ignoring it didn’t help.

Food didn’t help.

Jokes didn’t help.

Nothing did.

It should have been me.

I hoped the nightmares would stay away tonight. I knew they wouldn’t.

We settled down in a small clearing that night, a patch of ground just large enough for the two of us and the small fire Lily had built. The trees rose up around us like silent witnesses, their branches catching the moonlight and splaying shadows over the mossy floor. It smelled like damp earth and pine sap, and every now and then you could hear a distant owl calling out, or something small scurrying through the brush. For a moment, I tried to focus on those sounds instead of the noise in my head. I tried to notice how the flames sent tiny sparks upward, how they danced into the darkness and disappeared. I thought if I could just pay attention to these details, maybe I wouldn’t get pulled back under—pulled back to that place where I heard the screams and felt the ground crumble under my feet.

Lily was by my side, close enough that the tips of our boots almost touched. She’d been watching me quietly for a while, giving me the kind of space you give a wild animal when you’re not sure if it’s going to bolt or lash out. After what felt like forever, she finally spoke.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice soft but steady. She curled a bit closer, arms around her knees, as if to show me she was no threat. “I always wonder where you go when you get so quiet.”

My heart twisted painfully. I knew she deserved more than a brush-off. This was Lily, after all—the person who’d pulled me out of the rubble more than once, who’d kept watch on nights I couldn’t sleep, who’d patched me up and told me that I’d make it through somehow. But I didn’t know how to put words to the ugly tangle in my head. The grief and guilt felt impossible to explain, like every time I tried, I’d end up showing her something so awful that she’d never see me the same way again.

“Just… how far we’ve come,” I said. The lie tasted bitter. I knew Lily could hear it in my voice, see it in how I stared into the fire instead of at her. I tried to swallow, to force the lump in my throat back down where it belonged. The night pressed in around us, too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

Lily shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. “You’re lying,” she said gently. There was no anger or disappointment, just this calm certainty. “Didn’t we agree not to lie to each other anymore?”

I closed my eyes for a second, remembering when we’d made that promise. We’d been tired and sore, leaning against a fallen log under a red sunset, swearing that if we trusted no one else in this world, we’d trust each other. If I broke that promise now, after all we’d been through, what kind of person did that make me? But telling her the truth felt like cutting open a wound that hadn’t healed right in the first place.

My voice came out small and shaky. “I have a past… things I’m not proud of.” I could feel the weight of the words pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

She didn’t flinch or roll her eyes or tell me to stop being dramatic. She just looked at me, those brown eyes like steady lanterns in the dark. “You don’t have to hide,” she said, her voice sure and quiet. “I’ve done terrible things, remember? I told you all about them. I’m not going to judge you.”

I pressed my hand against my thigh, grounding myself. She was making it sound simple, when I knew it wasn’t. “I—” My throat closed up again. I had to force the words out, bit by bit. “I made mistakes that got people killed. People who trusted me. People who…” I swallowed hard. “People who should still be here right now.”

The fire crackled in front of us, sparks whirling upward, and for a second I could almost see their faces in those sparks: Cordelia’s tired smile, Jimin’s kind eyes. I remembered the day I promised Thelma that I wouldn’t let anything happen, how certain I’d been. And then I remembered how it all fell apart.

Lily’s voice was steady, warm with understanding. “Keep going,” she said, touching my hand lightly. She didn’t push hard; she just let me know she was there.

I stared at my boots, because if I looked at her face I’d cry. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing. I really did,” I said. “I thought if I made this one decision, if I stood my ground at this one crucial moment, I could save everyone. I pictured this perfect outcome, where I’d come out a hero, where everyone survived, and we’d laugh about how tense it got. But that’s not what happened. Instead, I ended up watching everything crumble. They… they died, Lily. A lot of them.”

My voice cracked on the word “died.” The silence after that felt heavy, like a rock pressing against my chest. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my eye, trying to keep the tears in. It felt selfish to cry about it now, when they were the ones who’d lost their lives. What right did I have to weep when I was the one still breathing?

Lily reached out again, this time wrapping her fingers around mine, and I let her. Her hand was warm and a little rough, the hand of someone who’d wielded knives and swords, who’d known violence intimately. There was comfort in that, oddly. She wasn’t some gentle innocent who couldn’t understand darkness. She’d lived through her own nights of regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “That must weigh so heavily on you. I know what it’s like to carry that blame around. It changes the way you see yourself.”

I nodded, feeling something tighten in my chest. “Jimin and I fought a few days after everything settled,” I said quietly. “He didn’t want me to come here. He said I had lied to him and everyone else and was trying to play hero again.  He never said he hated me, but I could see something different in his eyes. Like he was just… empty when he looked at me. Or disappointed. I can’t forgive myself, and I’m pretty sure he can’t either.”

The memory of Jimin’s face stung. The way his shoulders slumped, the way he turned away from me. There had been this terrible silence, broken only by the wind, as if he was afraid that if he said a single word, he would break completely. And then I left. He never followed. I’d never known if he placed the blame on me or if I simply placed it on myself. But either way, I’d never shaken off the feeling that I deserved his anger.

Lily squeezed my hand, not letting go. “Forgiveness can take a long time,” she said. “Sometimes it never comes. But you’re doing what you can now, aren’t you? You didn’t run away. Even after all of that you’re here trying to save that village. That means something.”

I swallowed hard. She was trying to give me something to hold onto—some piece of grace I couldn’t give myself. “They’re still gone,” I managed, voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes I think I’d give anything to go back and change what I did. But I can’t. And at night… at night I can’t sleep. I see it all happening again. I see Cordelia’s eyes, empty as the life drained out of her. I see the others, crushed under debris or struck down by those monsters, and I keep thinking, ‘If only I had listened, if only I’d moved sooner, if only I’d been stronger.’ I keep thinking it should have been me down there, not them.”

I felt my shoulders shake. Saying it out loud made it ache more, but also felt like I was lancing a wound, letting the poison out. Lily moved closer, until our knees touched. There was no pity in her eyes, just a steady sympathy that made me feel anchored. “You tried,” she said gently. “You thought you were doing what was right. No one can ask for more than that. The world threw something terrible at you. The blame doesn’t all land on your shoulders.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t find the words. All these months, I had run the scenario in my mind. If I’d just drawn a different line in the dirt, if I’d told them I knew something was coming, if I’d allowed the others to carry the burden with me for a little while, maybe the outcome would have changed. Maybe not. But I would never know, and that not knowing haunted me.

“It doesn’t make it hurt less,” I said finally, voice thick. “But it… I don’t know. It helps to say it out loud, I guess. To know I’m not talking to a wall. To know someone else can see me as more than just… a killer.”

At that, Lily’s mouth tightened, and her eyes glinted in the firelight. “You’re not a killer,” she said firmly. “We’ve both done things that will haunt us. But here you are, heartbroken and torn up, wishing you could have saved them. Doesn’t that tell you something about who you really are?”

I forced myself to meet her eyes—really meet them, bracing for a flicker of disgust or something worse. But there was none of that. Just Lily, looking worn and earnest and so completely herself, as if she’d never considered seeing me as anything but a human being who tried her best. She let her hands rest on my shoulders, her grip gentle but steady, like she needed me to understand this. All of it.

“You didn’t kill anyone,” she said softly, and I could feel her words more than hear them—warm little sparks in the dark. “Aladia and her troops did that. Gawen set the men on Foxglove. And one day, when it happens again, it’ll be General Khiloas carrying out her orders, and Aladia controlling her. This was always going to be awful, no matter what you did. Once those women reach the shorelines, there’ll be blood. Thousands, maybe. Even Etelin’s most loyal don’t really get what’s coming.”

The wind chose that moment to sigh through the branches, sending a scattering of sparks into the night. I watched one drift upward, glowing for just a second longer than seemed possible, before winking out. Somehow, I still felt like the same knot of nerves and regrets I’d always been—but I could also feel something else blooming underneath. Gratitude that Lily hadn’t looked away. Relief that maybe I didn’t have to wear every bad choice around my neck like a chain.

I leaned a fraction closer to her, letting the warmth of her palm ground me. “Thank you,” I whispered. It was all I could manage, but it felt real and big enough, right now.

Lily just nodded, letting the silence spread out between us. Not the tense, suffocating quiet I was used to, but something gentler. Something that said we’d both been hurt, both done things we’d carry around forever—yet here we were, still breathing, still trying. The fire’s glow brushed my face, and Lily’s presence felt like a reminder that while I might still be lost in my own guilt, I didn’t have to be alone in it.

That was enough, at least for tonight.

In the days that followed, I tried to convince myself that I could breathe again. The night Lily and I had sat by the fire, my voice raw from finally letting all my secrets out—well, I’d been certain I’d never say those things to anyone, ever. But I did. I told Lily everything, and she didn’t spit at my feet or turn away. She stayed. She told me it wasn’t all on me, that I wasn’t carrying the world’s sins alone. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel like I was drowning in guilt.

But “lighter” was such a small thing. It was like going from a hundred-pound weight in my chest to ninety-nine. The burden was still there. Every quiet moment, every sudden rustle of wind, let the memories slip back in, dragging their claws along my spine. I’d breathe in, and the ghosts of those who died would breathe out, lingering right behind my shoulder. I could almost feel their eyes on me.

I kept hearing their voices in my head—tired, helpless whispers from the past. Over and over: Why didn’t you save us? You could’ve done something different. And I’d agree, my stomach twisting into knots, my brain screaming that I should have died instead. At night, I’d press my face into the crook of my arm and try not to shake too loudly, afraid Lily would hear and feel obligated to fix me when I knew no one could.

We went deeper into the forest anyway, step by cautious step. The trees grew taller and closer together until it felt like they were eavesdropping on us, branches stooping down to listen to my pounding heart. Everything was damp and quiet, the sort of silence that makes you feel like you’re trespassing, like nature will punish you for being there. I wanted to shrink into myself, to go unnoticed—my existence felt like an offense.

I kept my head down, watching the patches of sunlight drip through the leaves. My heart was still heavy, even if Lily’s words had loosened a few knots. I’d learned something that night: there was no off-switch for this kind of guilt. All I could do was try not to let it swallow me whole. But that was already harder than I’d imagined. My mind would catch on a memory—Cordelia’s eyes, the way they’d gone empty when I failed her—and I’d start unraveling again, feeling the panic bubble under my ribs. Was I shaking right now? Was Lily seeing it?

The forest got quieter the further we went. That was the first sign. The birds stopped fussing. The breeze barely breathed. I felt it before I saw it—some terrible tension like a string pulled too tight. Lily slowed, her hand drifting to her dagger, and I stiffened, every muscle screaming that something was wrong. My stomach flipped. Whoever was out there, they were watching us, and I was already picturing them dead at my feet, because that’s what always happened, right? Everyone who got close to me ended up twisted and broken. It was a sickening thought, hot tears threatening to blur the trees around me, but I swallowed them down, forcing myself to stay steady. Lily needed me steady.

When the five figures stepped out of the shadows, I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. They spread out, circling us, their eyes cold and hungry. One man stepped forward, scar slashed across his cheek, holding a blade that looked old and mean. He sneered at us like we were nothing more than a sack of potatoes he planned to haul away.

“Two little travelers,” he said. His voice was thick with mockery. “Far from home, I’d wager.” My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. I remembered the last time I’d faced men like this and how people who mattered had ended up dead. My fault, my fault, my fault. My knees threatened to buckle. I had to be strong, or Lily would pay the price. But what if I messed up again? What if I hesitated or said the wrong thing and the forest ended up soaked in blood?

I risked a glance at Lily. She was tense but focused, her shoulders back, her jaw set. She looked strong. I wanted to be that strong. But the roar of memory was deafening inside me—voices telling me I’d fail again. I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck. Another death, another regret. Could I survive adding more ghosts to the legion already haunting me?

“Hand over your packs,” the leader said. “Or you can join the wolves’ dinner menu, your choice.”

Behind me, Lily’s breath caught, and I wondered: Should I just give them everything? Would that save Lily this time? I was already imagining how wrong it could go. I was remembering someone else’s blood on my hands, and my chest tightened so hard it hurt. I was seeing Cordelia again, the way her head lolled, how I’d knelt beside her and begged her not to die—but she did anyway, leaving me behind like an unwanted afterthought.

“Please,” I managed, my voice cracking. My throat felt like I’d swallowed briars. “We don’t want trouble.” I hated how pathetic I sounded, how easily I showed my fear. But maybe showing it would help? Maybe they’d see how pathetic I was and decide I wasn’t worth killing. Or maybe it would just make them laugh. My nails dug into my palms, and I pressed my lips together to keep from crying. Don’t cry. Not now. Not when Lily needs you.

They closed in, slow and deliberate. I could smell their sweat and old leather. The leader flicked his blade, and the scrape of metal turned my bones to ice. In that moment, I was sure I’d fail again. That people would die on my watch—maybe Lily, maybe me—and it would all be my fault. The realization made me dizzy. The forest spun. I couldn’t seem to catch a full breath.

Lily looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw that she still believed in me. She must’ve seen something in my face, in the way I trembled, because she shifted closer, her elbow just brushing mine. It was a tiny point of contact, but it grounded me, reminded me that not everyone was gone. Not yet.

But I could feel my grip on reality loosening, like I was holding onto the edge of a cliff with just my fingertips. My whole body wanted to fold in on itself and disappear. The leader barked something I didn’t quite catch, and the men laughed—harsh and hollow. Lily’s knuckles went white around her dagger’s hilt, and I tried to do the same with my own weapon, but my hand was shaking too much. I could almost hear Lily’s voice in my head, telling me I could do this, that I wasn’t alone, that I’d done what I could before. But I couldn’t tell which of us was lying.

The world shrank to this circle of strangers, this moment. No one coming to save us, no mercy in their eyes. I realized, with a sick kind of certainty, that this forest was about to rewrite everything I’d tried to believe since Lily and I left that last clearing. I’d thought I could carry on, thought maybe I was worth something after all. But right now, I couldn’t see how any of this ended without more blood on my hands.

“Listen,” I said, voice trembling, “can we—can we just talk about this?” My own words sounded thin and desperate. The leader smirked, as if this was exactly what he’d wanted. More prey cowering and begging. Maybe he collected pleas the way other people collected coins.

Lily tensed, and I knew it wouldn’t be words that got us out of this. It’d be action, and I’d have to take it. If I failed… if I messed up again… the thought made me nauseous.

In that breath of silence, I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. I tried to remember the warmth of Lily’s hand on mine the other night, tried to believe it still mattered. Maybe I could fight for that feeling. Maybe I could get us both out of here alive, and if I did, maybe that would mean I wasn’t a monster. Maybe.

It was all I had. And it would have to be enough.

“Now!” the leader barked, his voice slicing through the dark like a razor, and I moved.

At first, it wasn’t even me moving—it was something else, something buried deep inside my chest, something coiled and waiting. My heart slammed against my ribs, pounding so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. Heat flared beneath my skin, and I felt sparks hiss at the ends of my fingertips, bright and wild, like they’d been waiting for this moment of pure panic.

I blinked, and suddenly they were everywhere—these men blocking our path, their eyes hungry and hollow. I knew they weren’t elves, not really, but my mind wouldn’t listen to reason. I saw pointed ears where there were none. I saw cruel, pale faces with that smug sneer I could never forget. Elves had taken everything from me—my home, my friend, my life. They’d stolen my future and left me holding the wreckage. And now, facing these strangers in the dark, my mind insisted they were the same. The same as the ones who made me watch Cordelia die. The same as the ones I failed to save anyone from.

It should’ve been me who died. It should’ve been me pinned underneath that debris, crushed and silent, not Cordelia. The weight of that thought pressed against my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I was supposed to protect everyone—and I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d watched them fall, and I’d watched the light go out of Cordelia’s eyes, and now that memory clawed at me, shoving itself right into the present. Every scream I’d heard that night echoed in my skull. Every time I blinked, I saw her face.

I swore I’d never hesitate again. I swore I’d never let anyone hurt me or the people I cared about without burning the whole damn world down first.

So I let the fire loose.

It roared out of me, lighting up the forest, painting our attackers in harsh, flickering gold. For a second, I thought I saw Cordelia’s face reflected in the flames, and my throat tightened. Guilt and fury tangled in my chest, and I threw my hands forward, sending a bloom of fire rushing straight into the leader’s path. He screamed—a raw, ragged sound that I felt in my teeth. The smell was awful, searing my nose and making my stomach lurch, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to stop anymore. This violence felt like the only way to keep my head above water, the only way to make sure I never failed again. They would never take anyone from me again. Never.

I barely registered the blow that slammed into my side, only that suddenly the ground tilted and my vision blurred. My ribs ached, and I sucked in a jagged breath, coughing on smoke and sparks. Through the haze, I saw Lily—her dagger flashing, her hair whipping around her face as she fought. She looked like some kind of fierce angel, her eyes narrowed in determination. She was fighting for me, for us, even when I was half out of my mind.

I tried to focus on her, tried to ground myself in the curve of her shoulder, the set of her jaw—but then another attacker loomed over me, swinging a fist that landed hard against my cheek. Pain burst behind my eyes, bright spots dancing in my vision. My mind started to drift, sliding into that place where the past and present tangled up. Was this the night Cordelia died? Was I back there, helpless and screaming and begging the elves to show mercy? I’d never found a way to rewrite that story. It always ended with everyone dead but me. I always ended up alone.

My hands shook as I tried to gather the sparks again. I tasted blood in my mouth. It was metallic and hot, and it fueled the fire inside me. Another man charged, and I lashed out with flame, watching him vanish into a screaming silhouette of light and heat. This time, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t allow myself to feel sorry. They were all elves to me now—all monsters who wanted me broken, wanted Lily dead, wanted to rip apart everything I still cared about. If I stopped, if I softened, if I hesitated, I’d fail Lily the way I failed Cordelia. I’d lose someone else. And I couldn’t survive that. Not again.

I could feel myself unraveling. Every scream sounded like Cordelia’s. Every face twisted in pain reminded me of my own failure. I wanted them gone. I wanted them all gone. Better them than me. Better them than Lily. Better them than anyone I might still be able to save.

The flames danced higher, brighter, and I let them feed on my fear and rage until the men were just ashes on the forest floor. The fight ended as abruptly as it began, leaving the night stained with smoke and something darker—something I couldn’t quite name but felt staining my lungs.

My knees buckled, and I sank down, gripping the dirt with trembling fingers. My side throbbed, my chest heaved, and the smell of burnt flesh clung to my clothes. I’d done it again. I’d survived. I’d kept Lily safe. But at what cost? Was I any better than them? What was the difference between my violence and theirs?

My thoughts were spiraling, and I couldn’t catch my breath. The trees swayed overhead, the stars winking in and out, and I felt like the world was tilting on its axis, about to throw me off. I pressed a hand to my side, feeling something wet and warm. Blood. My blood. Pain shimmered behind my eyes, and I tried to focus on that sensation—at least it was real. At least it meant I was alive.

“Hey,” Lily’s voice reached me through the smoke and fear. She knelt beside me, her expression unexpectedly soft. She pressed her hands against my wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. I hissed, pain slicing through me, but I was grateful for it in a weird way. Pain was honest. Pain didn’t lie, didn’t trick me into thinking I could’ve saved Cordelia if I’d just tried harder.

Lily’s eyes met mine. Gone was the warrior who’d been dancing through blades and fire. Now she looked worried, human, her brows pinched together. She said something like, “Stay with me,” and I tried to latch onto her words, to let them anchor me here and now, and not in that horrible memory I kept reliving.

But my head felt heavy and full of static. My vision blurred at the edges, and I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears. You failed them, it whispered. You always fail. Cordelia’s eyes were everywhere, accusing me, asking why I survived when she did not.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said, and her voice cracked just a little. I wondered what she was sorry for. Maybe she could see that I was disappearing inside myself, slipping into the old fear and shame. Maybe she knew I was too far gone to claw my way back. She pressed harder on the wound, her touch firm but careful, and I tried to focus on that, on her voice and her hands and the fact that she was still here, that we were still here.

I closed my eyes. The world faded to the sound of Lily’s breathing and the throb of pain in my side. I was drifting, lost between past and present, guilt and survival. My mind screamed that I should’ve died back then, that I should’ve traded my life for Cordelia’s. My heart thudded, reminding me I was still alive anyway, still sucking in smoke-filled air.

I thought I felt Lily’s hand in my hair, gentle and strange. For a moment, it felt safe, like a lullaby humming at the edge of a nightmare. I tried to hold onto that feeling, tried to believe that maybe not everyone I touched was doomed. Maybe Lily would be okay. Maybe I hadn’t destroyed everything yet.

I tried to speak, but I couldn’t form words. My body was too tired, my mind too battered. I let the darkness take over, sinking into it with the taste of blood and ash on my tongue, Lily’s voice echoing in my memory. And as I drifted, I could still see Cordelia’s face, just beyond the flames, whispering something I couldn’t make out. Something that might’ve been forgiveness—or maybe just the wind in the trees.

When I opened my eyes, the night had settled into something deeper and quieter. The sky was a dark, velvety blue—so rich it almost looked soft—dotted with stars that felt hand-stitched into the fabric of the universe. The campfire flickered at my side, its glow tugging at the edges of the shadows, and I blinked, trying to coax my eyes to focus in the dim light.

Lily was pacing near the fire, arms folded across her chest, her boots scuffing at the ground. She tossed another log on, muttering under her breath, “Can’t believe I’m stuck doing this again.” She sounded annoyed, but it was a different brand of annoyance than before—less feral, more… familiar. Almost like an inside joke, if we’d ever bothered to share one.

I managed a dry cough that was supposed to be a laugh. “You’re better at it than me,” I croaked. My throat felt like it had been sanded down, but I was smiling. Actually smiling.

She turned to face me, one eyebrow arched, her mouth curving into something that didn’t quite reach the level of a grin but was way friendlier than a scowl. “Don’t get too pleased with yourself just because you survived a stabbing,” she said. There was a teasing lilt in her voice, like maybe she wanted to be mad but couldn’t quite commit to the part. “Think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”

“Hilarious is my middle name,” I said, wincing as I tried an actual laugh. It hurt—everything hurt—but it was still better than silence. Funny how pain could feel like progress after the last few days. At least now I was here, alive, making dumb jokes instead of drowning in old ghosts.

Lily moved closer, settling down next to me. She kept one eye on the tree line, but the other eye—a warm brown, crinkled a bit at the corner—lingered on me. “You’re tougher than you look,” she said, nudging my arm lightly, as if that could be considered a kind of compliment.

I looked at the fire, felt its warmth creep up my cheeks. “Maybe I had a decent teacher,” I said, and I hoped she heard the gratitude in my voice, even if I didn’t say thank you outright. Somehow, “thanks for saving my life and also maybe my sanity a little bit” felt too big to say out loud right now.

A hush settled between us, not the sharp kind of silence we used to wade through, thick with all the words we weren’t saying. This was different—easier, like we’d earned it. We just listened to the night: the pop of the fire, the gentle sway of branches, distant whispers of something wild and green.

“You know,” Lily said at last, eyes still on the flames, “you did well today. Didn’t back down. Even when it got ugly.”

I swallowed, remembering sparks, screams, and the way my chest tightened at the memory of Cordelia and all the what-ifs. My heart felt heavy, but I tried to breathe past it. “I had to,” I said softly, meaning a thousand things. I had to save Lily. I had to prove I could still stand my ground. I had to not crumble into pieces again.

She nodded like she understood—maybe not everything, but enough. “We do what we must,” she said, and her voice sounded gentler than I’d ever heard it. It made me brave enough to glance at her, to meet her gaze. For a split second, something passed between us: understanding, respect, the kind of quiet warmth that comes from surviving something horrible together.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice low and genuinely concerned. It caught me off guard—the directness, the compassion. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing on my bandaged side. “How’s the wound?”

I tried to shift, but pain flared. My body complained about every single movement. “It hurts,” I admitted, feeling strangely proud of myself for the honesty. “But I’ll live. Today was… a mess.”

That made her snort softly. “Understatement of the year,” she said, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “We made it, though.”

When she looked at me like that, all the lines of her face softened, and I realized how relieved she must have been that I was awake, talking, breathing. She reached for the canteen and held it out, her touch careful as she checked the cloth bound around my torso. Her fussing felt different now—like it was allowed, like maybe we were on the same side of something intangible.

“You’re the bird everyone’s been talking about,” she said quietly, her voice dipping lower than the rustle of the leaves. “The one who… who died without an heir, right? The one the elves celebrated killing?”

I nodded, my throat too tight to add anything else. It was still strange hearing it put so plainly, my whole story condensed to a few ugly facts.

Lily studied me, her expression complicated. Then she offered a small, crooked smile. “Well,” she said, “dead or alive, you’re stuck with me.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I guess I can live with that,” I said, and for the first time, the words didn’t feel like another wall going up. They felt like a small door opening, letting in a bit of light.

She went quiet, staring off into the trees. The fire sent shadows dancing over her face, making her look both younger and older at the same time. I couldn’t figure her out, but maybe I didn’t have to, not tonight. Tonight, it was enough that she was here, that we were both breathing and bruised and not running away.

I eased back, my body protesting, and let the hush surround us again. The stars overhead were brighter than I remembered, scattered like crumbs of light. The forest hummed softly around us, like it approved of this fragile peace we’d built. Lily glanced up at the sky, and for a moment, she looked almost content. Almost hopeful.

And me? I felt that tiny ember of hope I’d guarded so carefully flicker warmer, brighter. Maybe we didn’t have all the answers, and maybe tomorrow would be hard and strange and violent again. But in this moment, sharing a quiet fire and the barest hints of trust, it felt like the world could be kind for a while.

I closed my eyes, letting the ache in my bones remind me I was alive and not alone. We were friends, or something close enough to count. And that, right now, was everything.

I woke up feeling worse than before, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Everything felt heavy and out of place—my body, the night air, even the quiet forest around us. The trees, usually a comfort, seemed distant and unimpressed. My skin prickled with fever, and my clothes clung uncomfortably to my sweat-dampened skin. I tried to swallow and found my throat scratchy, dry as old paper.

The fire was low, just a faint orange glow, and Lily was sitting on the other side of it, arms crossed, staring off into the trees. She must’ve heard me shift because she turned right away, her eyes narrowing in concern. She looked tired—like she’d been waiting for me to wake up and hadn’t gotten any sleep herself. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks smudged with dirt, and something about seeing her this unguarded made my chest tighten.

“Hey,” she said quietly, getting up and coming over before I even tried to speak. She crouched next to me, her hand hovering over my forehead, like she was worried she’d hurt me just by touching. “How are you feeling?”

It took me a second to find my voice, and even then, it came out cracked and too quiet. “I’m fine,” I said, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. But we both knew I wasn’t. I could see it in the way her mouth tightened. My stomach twisted with guilt for lying, even though I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You feel like a furnace,” she said, pressing her palm to my forehead anyway. Her hand was calloused and cool against my skin. I wanted to lean into that coolness, let it chase away the fever burning behind my eyes. “You’ve been out for a while.”

“Sorry,” I managed, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. Maybe for making her worry, maybe for needing her help.

She shook her head, then grabbed the canteen from where it lay near the fire, unscrewing the cap. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, but there was no bite to it. She slipped an arm under my shoulders and helped me sit up just enough to drink. The water tasted slightly metallic, probably from the canteen, but it was cool and wet, and I almost sighed out loud with relief.

“Better?” she asked, her face close enough that I could see the lines of exhaustion around her eyes. The night smelled like damp earth and woodsmoke, and now that I was upright, I noticed my entire body ached, like I’d run ten miles or fought off a bear or something equally ridiculous.

I nodded, though my head felt floaty. “Thanks,” I said, and I meant it. She was being gentle, careful. This was Lily, who so often spoke in clipped words and sideways glances, who’d killed men without flinching. Now she was tucking a blanket around my shoulders, like I was something fragile.

She settled back on her heels, assessing me. “You’ve got a fever,” she said plainly. “You need to rest.”

“I have been resting,” I pointed out weakly. It came out sounding like an attempt at humor, and her mouth lifted at one corner. A smile, almost.

“Yeah, well, do it more,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the forest, scanning for threats, I guess. When she turned back, there was something careful in her expression. “I’ll keep watch.”

It hit me then that she was worried about more than just my fever—she was worried about us being vulnerable, about someone stumbling upon our little camp and finding me half-dead. That protective edge in her eyes, it settled something in my chest, made me feel less alone. Less like a burden.

I tried to relax, but my muscles felt tense, my side hurt, and my mind kept drifting, half-awake, to jumbled images I couldn’t quite piece together. I kept seeing faces—people I’d lost—blinking in and out of my memory like fireflies. It made my heart ache. I pressed a hand to my chest, tried to focus on something real, something solid.

Lily noticed. She leaned in and took my hand—not in a dramatic way, just kind of scooped it up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t go all strange on me,” she said softly, and I thought I heard a hint of teasing in her voice. “You’re allowed to be sick. You’re allowed to feel bad. No one’s judging you here.”

I exhaled, the sound shaky. “I don’t want to drag you down,” I admitted. It felt silly as soon as I said it, but it was true. I hated feeling useless. She’d done so much—fought, protected, fussed over me like some cranky nursemaid—and I was just lying here, sweating and shaking.

Her eyes softened, the fire’s light catching flecks of gold in them. “You’re not dragging me anywhere,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “This is what people do. They help each other. Besides, you’d do it for me.”

I thought about that. Would I? Yeah, I would. Even before we’d trusted each other, something about Lily made me want to step up, to be braver. She had that effect—pushing me toward the kind of person I wanted to be. I swallowed, tried to muster a real smile. “I would,” I said.

She nodded, like we were settling an argument I didn’t realize we’d been having. Then, as if deciding I looked stable enough not to keel over, she released my hand and reached for a piece of cloth. She dipped it in water and pressed it to my forehead. The coolness was heaven, and I closed my eyes, letting it soothe the heat pulsing beneath my skin.

In the quiet that followed, I felt the night envelop us. The distant chirps of insects, the gentle rustle of leaves, the slow crackle of dying embers—it all threaded together into something calm and steady. And Lily was right here, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her arm when she leaned forward to adjust the cloth, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of sweat and travel and fire smoke that clung to us both.

“I owe you,” I managed after a few minutes of silence, my voice a rasp against the hush of the woods.

“No, you don’t,” she said. Not snappy or sarcastic—just kind. Like maybe this was what she’d needed too, to know she could be here for someone, and they’d actually let her in.

It was quiet for a long time after that. Not tense quiet, not that uneasy hush where you’re both looking for an exit. More like a kind of gentleness neither of us wanted to ruin. The fire popped softly, and a stray ember danced up into the night. I could hear my own breathing, and Lily’s too, and it felt like we were sharing something personal without needing to say it out loud.

After a while, I swallowed and said, “Tell me more about your daughter.” My voice sounded small, but not timid—more like I was stepping carefully, out of respect.

Lily’s expression changed the moment I mentioned her daughter, like I’d just turned on a light in a dark room. Her face softened, and the set of her shoulders relaxed. “She’s seventeen now,” she said, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Seventeen and convinced she knows everything, and maybe she does. She’s... unstoppable. She was trying to climb trees before she could walk, you know?” She shook her head, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Stubborn as hell, thinks the world exists for her to explore. She reminds me a lot of myself, and that’s both wonderful and terrifying.”

I tried to picture it—this stubborn, fearless kid. “She sounds… intense,” I said softly, hoping that came across as admiration and not judgment.

Lily snorted softly. “Oh, she is. She never stops moving. Always pushing back if you try to hold her down.” Her voice had that warm, proud note that parents get when they talk about their kids doing something that both annoys and impresses them.

I let the silence settle for a beat before asking, “Where is she now?” I didn’t want to pry, but I also felt like we were onto something real here, something I wanted to know more about.

Lily’s gaze drifted away, and the brightness in her face dimmed. “Up north, with some friends. Good people who know how to keep her safe and grounded.” She licked her lips, as if choosing her words carefully. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t give her that stability. Not with the way I live. I wanted to, but I just…” She shrugged, her voice catching. “She deserves better than what I could offer.”

I nodded, my chest feeling heavier. I knew that kind of regret, the way it tastes bitter on your tongue. “You did what you thought was right,” I said quietly. “That’s all anyone can do.”

When she looked back at me, I saw something in her eyes—something vulnerable and honest. She gave a small nod, and though she tried to smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Still, it was real. “Yeah,” she said, voice low. “I hope so.”

We let the night hold us for a while, the fire shrinking down to glowing coals. In that silence, I felt like we understood each other more than we did a few minutes ago. Not in some big, dramatic way. Just... better.

I cleared my throat softly, almost reluctant to break the quiet. “What about you?” I asked, my voice gentle. “You’ve been all over. What’s that like?”

Lily’s gaze moved up, past the trees, like she was searching the stars for her memories. “It’s been a lot of things,” she said, voice going distant. “Exciting, lonely, dangerous. I’ve seen places so beautiful they made my chest ache, and I’ve seen things I wish I could erase from my mind. I’ve met people who changed me, people I still miss, and people I’m glad I never saw again.” She let out a short laugh. “It’s not always glamorous, being rootless. It can wear you down.”

I tried to imagine that life—never staying still, never letting anyone in too close. It must’ve felt like carrying a heavy pack you could never put down. “Any fun stories?” I asked, hoping to give her a moment of pride, something that didn’t hurt.

A real smile flickered across her face. “There was this village up north. They were dealing with these bandits—nothing but bullies, really—and I decided I’d had enough of them pushing decent people around.” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but I saw the spark in her eyes. “I cornered their leaders, made them see reason.” She paused, then snorted. “They ran off so fast I’m surprised their pants didn’t catch fire.”

Despite everything, I grinned. “You’re kind of a badass, you know.”

Lily rolled her eyes, but I could tell the compliment landed somewhere good. “I just do what needs to be done,” she said. But there was a gentleness in how she said it this time.

The fire cracked softly, and I could feel something hanging between us, something heavier. I took a breath and asked the question that had been on my mind. “You mentioned someone once—your first love. What happened?”

Her whole body went a little still, and I almost regretted asking. Almost. But then she started to speak, voice quieter now, like she was talking around a lump in her throat. “We were kids, basically. We had all these plans... We thought nothing could touch us.” She looked into the coals, as if the answers were there. “But life took a turn. She died. Just like that. And I was left wondering how I was supposed to keep breathing when half of me was gone.”

My own throat tightened at that. It was such a simple, brutal truth. I reached out, placing my hand over hers. She didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I said, because what else could I say?

Lily nodded, staring at the fire, her eyes wet but not spilling over. “I never really got over it,” she confessed quietly. “I told myself it was safer not to let anyone in. That maybe I wouldn’t hurt so bad if I kept everyone at a distance.” She swallowed hard. “But sometimes, especially when it’s quiet, I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I could have found happiness again, if I just… tried.”

The pain in her voice was so human, so recognizable. I’d carried a different kind of loneliness, but I knew the shape of it. “It’s never too late,” I said softly, hoping she could feel how much I meant it.

She turned, meeting my eyes. I could see the battle going on inside her—the old habits telling her to slam the door shut, the new hope telling her to leave it open. Then she let out a breath and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Maybe,” she said, and I believed her.

I asked about Tinka’s father, not to pry, but because it seemed like something else she needed to say. She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Just a fling. I found out I was pregnant after he was gone. I raised her the best I could, alone. Told myself we didn’t need him. And we managed. But…” She sighed, looking at her boots. “Sometimes I wonder if I robbed her of something. If I should’ve tried to find him.”

My heart ached for her, for the weight of all these what-ifs. “From what you’ve said, Tinka’s strong and fearless. She’s going to be okay. And she knows you love her, right?”

Lily looked at me then, and something in her eyes eased. “Yeah,” she said, voice just above a whisper. “I think she does.”

We walked on for a while, not needing to fill the silence. The sun had started its slow descent, turning the fields and trees a softer shade of gold. A warm breeze brushed over us, carrying the smell of wildflowers and hay, as if the world was trying to tell us it wasn’t all bad. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there were quiet moments of kindness, even when everything else felt impossible.

I kept sneaking glances at Lily, noticing how her posture eased as we settled into the quiet, her shoulders not quite as tense. Without the fire or the night sky, without the urgent need to survive hanging right over our heads, I could see her more clearly now. She wasn’t just scars and stories or that wary look in her eye. She was a person who’d been hurt—and who’d kept going anyway. It made me feel protective and in awe, all at once.

She caught me looking once, and I half expected her to roll her eyes or make some snarky comment. But instead, her lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile, just shy of it, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to feel okay. I smiled back, just a small tilt of my mouth, letting her know I wasn’t judging, just glad to be there.

Eventually, the questions I’d been dancing around couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I took a breath and asked about the scars—softly, carefully. I didn’t want to poke at old wounds, but I wanted to understand. I wanted to know the things that shaped her, the memories that echoed when she was quiet.

Her answer came slowly, like it hurt to push the words out. A wolf shapeshifter, a fight in the woods, someone named Dina who she tried to save and couldn’t. Her voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it, and each syllable felt like it carried a weight of its own. She didn’t look at me while she talked, and I understood why. This wasn’t just a story, it was something lodged inside her, something raw and personal.

I listened, not moving, not daring to break the moment with some empty reassurance. The way her voice trembled on Dina’s name said more than I could ever fix with words. I knew what it was like to carry that kind of regret, to hold someone’s memory too close.

When she finished, I found myself speaking just as softly. “I’m sorry.” It felt like the only thing worth saying, because it was true. Hearing about Dina—and about the scars and what they stood for—made my chest tighten. I thought of Aldara, and how I’d never really healed from losing her, either. The loss just learned to sit quietly inside me, like a passenger I’d stopped trying to kick out.

Lily turned to me, her eyes meeting mine this time, and I saw something there that hadn’t been before. Maybe recognition, or understanding. Maybe just relief that she wasn’t the only one who knew what it felt like to fail someone you loved. We didn’t talk about it much, but in that look, we said everything: I know it hurts. I know you’re still carrying it. Me too.

After that, the heaviness between us changed shape. It wasn’t gone, but it was shared now. We walked a bit farther in silence, letting the quiet settle. The birds kept singing, and the sun kept dipping lower, and the world didn’t stop because of our grief. Somehow, that made it easier to keep moving forward.

At some point, I tried for a smile, something small and hopeful. “If we ever run into trouble again,” I said lightly, “I’ll do my best. I may not be the best fighter, but I’m stubborn enough to slow something down, at least.”

That coaxed a snort of amusement out of her, and I realized how much I liked the sound. “You’d better,” she said, her tone almost playful. “I’m counting on you to distract whatever’s out there while I do the hard work.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. The banter felt good, like stretching a sore muscle that was finally starting to heal. We kept walking, side by side, our shadows growing long across the dirt road. The fields swayed gently, the forest rustled softly, and somewhere in the distance, the sky was folding itself into dusk.

We didn’t have all the answers. We didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. But right now, we were here, walking together. And that felt human in all the best ways—imperfect and hopeful, painful and comforting, all at once. It made me think that maybe, against all odds, we were going to be okay.

We kept walking, the sky turning all those colors I used to love back home—pale oranges, warm pinks, the kind of colors that make you feel like everything might be okay, just for a minute. I don’t know what made me speak up then—maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was the way Lily felt like someone who could actually hear me. But suddenly I was talking, my voice soft under that wide-open sky.

“I miss my friends back home,” I said, surprising myself with how raw it sounded. The words came out quieter than I intended, like I was testing them in the air. Lily glanced over, and I could feel her attention land on me, steady and kind. She didn’t push, didn’t rush me. Just waited, the way a good friend does.

So I told her about them—about Yoongi, who was like the world’s most reliable anchor, keeping me steady when everything else felt like it was slipping. About Jin, who could find the funny in anything, who could make us laugh even when we were scared or tired or heartbroken. And Wendy—bright, restless Wendy with her wild ideas and big plans, always dragging us off on some adventure. I could almost see them as I spoke, like they were walking beside me again, their laughter drifting on the breeze.

Lily nodded at all the right times, and when she smiled, it didn’t feel forced. “They sound like a pretty unforgettable group,” she said softly, and just hearing that was enough to loosen some knot in my chest.

I tried to paint the picture for her: the bonfires on the beach near Syrena, the nights we stayed up way too late teasing each other and making grand plans. There’d been complications, too—Wendy’s unreturned crush on Yoongi, her eventual relationship with Jin—but somehow, we always found a way through. I told Lily about how our families and covens intertwined, how the celebrations felt like home in a way words couldn’t really describe.

My voice caught a little when I admitted how much I missed them. “Do you think they remember me?” I asked, my gaze dropping to the gravel road under our boots. It was a silly question, maybe, but I couldn’t help it. The world felt so different now, and the idea that maybe I’d faded in their memories hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Lily nudged me, her shoulder against mine. “They haven’t forgotten,” she said simply. “People don’t just forget someone they love. One day you’ll see them again, and it’ll feel like you never left.”

I looked at her, and there was something about the way she said it—so matter-of-fact and sincere—that made it easier to breathe. I smiled, small but real. “You think so?”

She grinned, a soft twinkle in her eye. “I know so. Besides, you’re kind of hard to forget.” She winked, and I laughed, feeling lighter.

It was like, for a second, I could let myself imagine that future—coming home, stepping back into my old life, picking berries in my garden, laughing with Wendy, teasing Yoongi, rolling my eyes at Jin’s jokes. It didn’t feel so impossible when Lily said it out loud.

Then I told her about Taehyung, how he hid at my cottage for a summer after his pack rejected him. How he’d become like family to me, full of jokes and life, shrugging off pain like it was nothing. And Jimin—just saying his name made my throat tighten. I whispered how much I missed him, how I hoped we could be together again someday, even though I was scared I might not live long enough to see that day come.

Lily’s hand found my arm, a gentle, human touch. “You’ve made it this far,” she said quietly, “you can keep going. And I’m right here.”

That did something to me—put a crack in the walls I’d built to keep the fear in. I nodded, my eyes stinging a little. Her belief felt like a gift I didn’t know I needed.

I let myself talk about Cadoc, the air elemental who’d helped me escape when things got bad. How he was distant and weird and not really what I’d call a friend at first, but when it counted, he showed up. It made me ache in a good way, remembering all these people, all these pieces of home.

“God, I’m homesick,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest like I could hold the feeling in place. The fields and forests around us were beautiful, sure, but they weren’t mine. They weren’t my cottage, my garden, my friends. They weren’t the place where I felt safe and seen.

Lily understood—at least, as much as anyone could. She nodded, her expression softening. “I get it,” she said. “But you’re not alone right now. You’ve got me, and I’m sticking around.”

I smiled at her, gratitude swelling inside me. It felt strange and comforting at the same time, to find a friend here and now, on this dusty road far from home.

So I told her more. I described my cottage in the woods, the tiny garden where I grew strawberries and herbs, the little bird named Patto who sang at my window every morning, and the doe, Delinah, who sneaked in to nibble at my plants. I tried to show Lily that part of me—the quiet mornings, the light filtering through the branches, the feeling that maybe the world wasn’t such a hard place after all.

She listened like it mattered, like these details helped her understand me. “It sounds perfect,” she said softly, and I could tell she meant it.

“I just want to go back,” I admitted, my voice catching. “I want to feel that peace again, sit in my garden, and just… be home.”

Lily’s hand on my shoulder again, a small squeeze. “We’ll get you there,” she said, her voice steady. “I promise.”

I looked at her, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. “You should come with me,” I said impulsively, imagining how she’d fit into that picture—Lily talking to Wendy, bantering with Jin, rolling her eyes at Yoongi’s calm demeanor. “You belong there, too. Or at least… I’d like you there.”

She raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “I think I’d like that. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?”

I laughed, and it came out easy. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry every burden alone. The sun dipped lower, its light softer now, painting the world in gentle hues. We kept walking, our pace unhurried, the road stretching ahead. And as the day gave way to twilight, I realized something: I wasn’t just hoping for home anymore—I was starting to believe I might actually find it. And when I did, I wouldn’t be alone.

We walked in a kind of hush that wasn’t uncomfortable at all—just quiet, like the world around us was catching its breath. The trees arched overhead, the sky softened into evening, and somewhere a bird was singing a last, sweet note before settling in for the night. When Lily spoke, it was almost surprising, but not unwelcome. It felt like we were in a safe place now—somewhere we could let the past peek through the cracks.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “I had a place like that once. Not quite a cottage, but… it was an old cabin by a pond. More like a shack, really. Dina and I used to hide out there, away from her mother. We’d fish in the mornings, sit by the fire at night, and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt like ours.”

I glanced over at her, half expecting the usual guarded look, but what I found was something gentler. Her gaze was distant, aimed somewhere past the horizon. “That sounds amazing,” I said softly, meaning it. I could almost picture it: the quiet water reflecting the sky, the hush of two friends passing time without any hurry. “Do you ever think about going back?”

Lily’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Sometimes. But it’s not the same without her.” Her voice had that quiet tremor people get when they talk about someone they lost long ago but still miss every day. “I just keep the memories now. They’re easier to carry than trying to hold onto the place itself.”

My hand reached out almost on its own, my fingers brushing her arm. The contact felt real and kind of important, but also so normal. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, not wanting to stir up old pain. “I didn’t mean—”

She shook her head, a sad but understanding smile on her lips. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. And places like that—they never really leave you, you know? They get inside you. Like your cottage is inside you, shaping who you are.”

I nodded, something tight in my chest easing a little. “I think so, too. Those places become part of us. They give us strength when everything else is falling apart.”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes less distant now and more… present. “And maybe when this is over, we can find new places. Make new memories. Together.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of that word—together—spread through me like a gentle flame. “I’d like that,” I whispered, almost too quietly, but I knew she heard.

We kept walking. The road stretched out and out, but it didn’t feel endless in a bad way anymore. More like a promise than a threat. I thought about my old home, and about Lily’s cabin, and about all the strange, in-between times that had led us here. Maybe somewhere ahead there was a new home waiting for both of us—one that smelled like fresh earth and summer flowers, where laughter and conversation felt effortless. Maybe Tinka would be there, too. Maybe it’d be bright and warm, the birds singing in the trees, and maybe it’d be summer so we could celebrate Litha together, the way old friends and new friends do.

The sky was sliding into night, one star after another winking into place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash across the darkness, quick and bright.

“Look,” Lily said, pointing up. “A shooting star.”

I tilted my head back just in time to catch the tail end of it. I closed my eyes and made a wish—several wishes, actually. For home, for peace, for the life I longed to return to, and for a future where Lily and Tinka could settle into my old cottage while I moved into Jimin’s place nearby. Where the hybrids would live close enough to visit for dinner, and the birds would sing every morning. Where the first Litha we spent together tasted of smreka and hope. I held those wishes close, like seeds I wanted to plant in my heart.

When I opened my eyes, Lily was watching me with a half-smile. “Did you make a wish?”

I nodded, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” she said, turning her gaze to the sky, her voice lighter now. “I made one too. I have a feeling they’ll come true.”

And just like that, the world felt a bit kinder. We walked on, guided by starlight and the quiet certainty that we weren’t walking alone anymore. The future still felt big and uncertain, but I had hope like a steady pulse in my chest. I had Lily’s hand close enough to reach for if I stumbled. I had the memory of my old home inside me, and I had the promise that maybe we’d find something just as special in the days to come.

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live@jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795 @yunki-yunki-yunki

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[briarfox13]

So after 80+ hours I've finally finished Dragon Age: The Veilguard! And boy do I have some thoughts (it's going to be a long post, sorry)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Firstly what an incredible journey from start to finish, I laughed, rejoiced and cried along the way. I loved it so much! The main story was engaging, and some of the side quests are the best Bioware has ever made.

However, I do have some criticisms with the writing and some lore. The beginning feels rushed, I wish we had more time before shit hit the fan. The faction backgrounds sound awesome and I wish we'd played those as a prologue and met Varric through those rather that tiny scene we got.

And I do wish the game was darker in some aspects. It felt weird that as an Elf I could just wander around Minrathous without a single problem, even the Venatori didn't comment on my race? Which felt off. Never thought I'd say this, but I miss the dark political plot points that the other games had (Looking at DA II here).

Expect The Blight, that was incredible, disgusting was just what I wanted to see.

I also don't like the concept of Ancient Elvhen magic being like advanced tech? I'm not fond of that. I play DA for the fantasy not the sci-fi. But that's a minor nit-pick.

But damn, Act 3? That was an explosive, incredible set of quests, and those twists broke my heart 😭 IYKYK

Honestly though, it's hands down one of the prettiest game I've played since probably Metro Exodus.

The environments, the lights and atmosphere is top notch; I know it wont happen but I'd kill for an Origins remaster with this engine (and combat system). The combat is my favourite so far.

Music is pretty but kind of unremarkable, Trevor Morris' Inquisition music was a 100% times better and more memorable, they should have stuck with him.

No offence to Mr. Zimmer but all his music sounds the same to me 🙈

The Grey Wardens, my babies are back ❤️ They've been my favourite faction in gaming since Origins and I'm so happy to finally play another Warden.

The reactivity was just amazing, I felt so connected to the plot by playing as one, especially with the Blight plotlines. Declaring for the Wardens at the end made me cry 😭 In War, Victory!!

And finally some good Grey warden armour!! XD I hated DA II and DAI's armour for them with a passion XD

Emmrich my love 💚

While I think it's too short (please Bioware add more romance content, I'm begging 🥺) I haven't loved a Bioware romance like this since Garrus'. (Sorry Alistair I still love you but, you're now joint second with Emmrich)

His romance was so sweet and charming, it felt so real. And so beautifully written; as someone who finds necromancy and death in religion fascinating but the reality of death terrifying, Emmrich was perfect for me.

I just adore it so much, I'm way too attached to him and my Rook 💚🥹 And obviously Manfred my son

To let you all in on a secret, even before I booted up Origins for the first time (2015) I was originally a Solas girlie (thanks to the internet) and now just under 10 years later I am so happy to have a happy ending to his and Zephyr's story 🥹❤️

I wish they interacted more with each other, and we'd got more about Solas' love for the Inky but ultimately I am happy with what we got. After all it wasn't entirely their story.

But, what I am not happy about is the Inky's personality. I respect it's kind of a soft reboot, but only 3 choices and none of them about how the Inky was like? Zephyr would never in a million years work with Morrigan (even with her Mythal fragment). It just didn't feel quite like my girl (even though I was happy to see her).

I do wish we'd got a couple more choices when making the Inky to make them feel more ours than slightly generic.

So finally, I will say that personally I adore this game, it's not perfect by any mile but I had fun, and that's important to me. It might even be joint top with Origins as my favourite DA game!

I've always been a Mass Effect girlie, but Dragon Age is important to me too. And I'm so happy to finally see a new DA release that has somewhat succeeded.

Now I'm done, do expect Tabitha spam! I'll make sure to tag them with spoilers for those who haven't finished/played!

And to my non DA followers, I'm very sorry about my current hyper-fixation (blame the ADHD) but bear with me! I have some tasty Halo art pieces cooking in the background 👀

[hyperfixationstation128]

Through Blaze of Fire, I'll Find My Way. A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfiction.

Hello! This is my first fanfiction that I've written in over 11 years and I'm very excited to share it with you all! A quick note before you read, this is the first of many chapters to come about my Tav, Arcane. This first chapter depicts the very beginning of her story, so it'll be some time before you see an in-game character, but I hope you all stick around and join me as we explore! Small CW for non-canon character death.

This fanfiction does have some Irish Gaelic words and phrases, and all pronunciations and translations will be posted at the end of the story. I've tried my best to translate all phrases as accurately as I could!

Big shoutout to @galeorderbride for giving me the courage and motivation to pick up writing again. I had so much fun writing and hearing what you had to say!

The day was cold and overcast. It always seemed to rain in Daggerford, soaking the grey stone beaches and casting a saddening hue over the town, like the ever-breaking tide threatened to swallow you whole, keeping you tied to this land forever. But it wasn’t so, not for Arcane. To her, this town was home; this town that kept her and her younger siblings safe; this town where she, her mother, and grandfather practiced magic ‘til the sun sunk behind the heavy, dark sea.

Just outside the town walls, not far from the mighty moat that encompassed it, sat their quaint little home on the water. Her father Lorcan, a fisherman, was rarely home as he often set sail on his tiny sailboat for his daily catch to sell at the market. Her mother, ever-beautiful Suil, stayed home and watched after the children with the help of Arcane’s beloved grandfather Ruairí. It was Arcane’s birthday, she was turning 9 years old!

‘A very important age for a budding young sorceress’, her grandfather had explained. His words rang in her ears, filling her with excitement for the festivities to come. Mother had warned her, though, not to get too excited or expect too many gifts, but with her grandfather being all too willing to rile up her excitement, Arcane elected to ignore her mother’s words.

“Can I have my gift now, grandda?” Arcane chirped, her seafoam eyes blinking up at him. She held his hand as they walked along the stony beach, the spray from both rain and sea wetting their faces. Grandfather let out a soft chuckle that rumbled like thunder.

“You’re an impatient little one, aren’t ya?” He lifted her hand and bent down to plant a loving kiss over her knuckles, patting it lightly. “Not yet, dove. When yer father returns from his catch, then you will have your gift.”

Arcane huffed and rolled her eyes, cheeks puffing out as she pouted.

They continued their walk, they seemed to always take these walks, just her and grandfather. He would talk to her about magic, show her spells, and give lessons in the form of games. From the moment Arcane’s abilities formed, her grandfather had taken a special interest in her, a rumor setting in amongst the townspeople that he had either blessed or cursed her from the moment she was born. The way he described it, her father was nowhere to be found when her mother went into labor, so he was the one who delivered her. According to the stories about her birth, grandfather lifted the crying babe above his head and proclaimed her “Arcane, Daughter of the Weave”. Her name never really meant much to her, not in the way it mattered to her mum and grandfather, but either way, she loved hearing the story.

It had seemed like hours had passed since they set off of their trek, the sunshower slowly letting up as the sun sank behind the dark sea. On their way back, the sight of white, patched-over sails caught Arcane’s eye and she released her grandfather’s hand to bound down the shore. Her father had returned!

“Papa! Papa!” She cried, arms outstretched as he stepped onto the dock and tied his sailboat to port. Upon reaching him, she threw her arms around his leg, holding him tightly. Her father grunted and dismissed her with a ruffle of her hair before turning to unload his catch. Arcane took a step to help her father but was stopped by her grandfather’s firm hand on her shoulder.

“Good catch today, Lorcan? Or has Umberlee found you unworthy of one?” Grandfather chuckled, and Father grumbled, muttering curses under his breath. It was always this way between them, but Arcane didn’t mind it, she was just happy to have her father there to celebrate. Arcane whined and tugged at her grandfather’s pant leg, practically vibrating with anticipation.  looked down at her and smiled his warm smile, he knelt, groaning with effort as he lifted her in his arms.

“Arcane and I are heading back to the house to celebrate her birthday. If you’ve a mind for your wee one’s heart, you’ll join us.” Father didn’t respond, and as they walked back home, Arcane stared after him over her grandfather’s shoulder.

Back at home, it was practically chaos, with her brother Caelan chasing after her sisters Naoisa and Maira with a wooden sword. Arcane practically leaped from her grandfather’s arms and rushed in to defend her poor sisters. “Caelan Villarelah, you are an impossibly naughty boy!” Arcane parroted the words of her mother, wagging her finger at him with her hand on her hip.

Caelan rolled his eyes at Arcane and dropped the sword on the floor. “Just ‘cause you're older, doesn’t mean you make the rules, Caney!” He stuck out his tongue, before running to their grandfather. “Grandda, tell Caney she’s not the boss!” He begged, pointing his finger accusingly at Arcane.

Grandfather looked at her, shrugging slightly. “Well, you heard the boy, dove. You don’t make the rules.” he chuckled, offering her a knowing wink. Arcane stifled a giggle before bounding into the kitchen, where her mother, heavy with her newest sibling, swayed in front of her large cookbook, her hands dancing in the air, her magic stirring whatever delicious meal she was cooking for supper.

“Mammy! It’s my birthday, Mammy, did ya hear? I’m 9 years old and Grandda says he has a special gift for me!” Mother turned to look at her daughter, her brow cocked in a confused expression.

“Yer birthday? No, no, we celebrated that last year, remember?” The corners of her lips quivered in an attempt to mask her smile.

“Mammy! We talked about this! Birthdays happen every year!” Arcane giggled, her hands reaching up to touch her mother’s stomach. “Don’t you worry, Niamh, when you’re born I’ll remind Mammy of all of your birthdays!” Arcane planted a kiss on her mother’s stomach, pressing her cheek to the swollen bump, and as if to say they agreed, Niamh kicked.

Her mother brushed her fingers through Arcane’s wind-tousled hair, gently detangling the knots that had worked their way in there. “Of course you will, A stór(meaning: “my treasure”), because you’re the best big sister any child could dream of having,” She gave Arcane a gentle nudge, “Now go on! Mammy’s just about finished with your supper.”

And so the night continued, Arcane corralling her brother and sisters while Mother finished cooking. The children had gone through the phases of chasing one another, playing “Silence Greatshout”, to finally settling down at the table and wolfing down the long-awaited stew. Notably, Father was absent from the meal and the celebration, he wasn’t even there when Arcane blew out her candle on her sweet cake. But the feeling of missing him was easily overshadowed by uproarious applause from her family, her grandfather giving her a loving shake. The night continued, Arcane sharing the small sweet cake with her siblings, despite her mother saying she could have it all to herself. In mere seconds, the cake was gone, all evidence of its existence now reduced to crumbs and frosting smeared on the children’s faces.

“Well, now! That was a lovely celebration!” Grandfather groaned as he stood and started up the stairs, “But it is getting late. We should all start heading to bed.”

“Grandda!!” The children yelled in unison.

“You a’got Caney’s birfday present!” Maira stood on her chair and stomped her foot, her chubby face red.

Grandfather turned, dramatically clutching his chest with his hand to his head. “Ahh, my wee darlin’, ya caught me! How could I forget?” He scooped Maira into his arms and waved for the children to follow him into their living room and sit in front of him. “You, sweet Maira, ya keep me an honest man.” Grandfather made a show of waving his hands in the air, his deep voice seeming to echo off of the walls as he cited an incantation.

Silence. The children listened close, pointed ears pricked for the slightest change in sound.

“Hmm, I don’t think it worked. Perhaps if the birthday girl were to help me.” Grandfather gave a knowing look to Arcane, who excitedly hopped up and stood in front of him. “Now, dove, hold yer hands out in front of you. Remember to keep yer mind clear, yer heart open, and speak clearly.”

Arcane nodded, her brow furrowing to a concentrated frown and her eyes closing tightly. Her hands, though a little unpracticed, waved gracefully in the air, a blue glow emanating from her fingertips as she repeated the encantation clearly. Her heart swelled, her nerves stood on edge, and with a soft fizzz and woosh, her arms suddenly felt heavy and.... Was that.... Fur?

Arcane peeked an eye open. There, in her arms, lay a small kitten, his gorgeous white fur and silver stripes bristled as his fiery blue eyes darted back and forth. “Wha.... where am I? Mum?” the kitten mewed, clearly frightened by his sudden appearance within the family home.

“A kitten? And he talks! Oh, Grandda, he’s perfect!” Arcane tucked the kitten close and leaped into her Grandther’s arms, hugging him tightly.

“Not just any kitten, dove. This here creature is a careful cross between an Elven Cat and a Cath Shee.” He gently stroked the kitten’s head which settled under his touch. “There’s a breeder in Evermeet who breeds these kittens specifically for their magical abilities. He will be yer loyal companion.”

Arcane gazed warmly at the kitten, gently stroking his fur and scratching his chin. He seemed to settle somewhat, his whole body vibrating as he began to purr. Enchanted by the adorable ball of fluff, Maira and Naoisa huddled closer to get a better look, tentatively brushing their fingers against his soft fur.

“He’s so cute! What will you call him, Caney?” Naoisa piped up.

Arcane thought for a spell, biting her knuckle as she thought. “Ah, I know! Pangur Bán! After the anomnimous monk who wrote poems about his cat!” Arcane beamed up at her grandfather and mother, who smiled proudly back at her.

“He’s all yours, A stór. You be sure to take good care of him, yes?” Mother raised her eyebrows expectantly, her smile strained as if she didn’t entirely care for the idea of having a magical, teleporting cat in her home.

“I will, Mammy! I will!” Arcane placed a gentle kiss on Pangur’s head before making her way to her bedroom. She and her new friend had a lot to talk about.

Two years later

It had been two years since Arcane’s wonderful 9th birthday; she was 11 now, practically a woman, her mother would say. Mother had given birth to Naimh, her new baby brother during the Spring that followed Arcane’s birthday, Father had begun to leave port less and less over the years, it seemed, and Grandfather was as wonderful and doting as ever. Although, with age, came the dark cloud of true sight. It became rather clear that Father and Grandfather didn’t get along, constantly bickering with one another over things like rent, supporting the children, and caring for Mother, who’d recently fallen ill. With things as they were, it fell to Arcane to care for her siblings, having to forsake her daily lessons with Grandfather.

Despite how busy her days had become, there were moments - however brief - when Arcane would have a little time for herself. Late at night, after the children were all tucked in their beds, Arcane would rummage around in Grandfather’s room and steal away with his tomes, hiding away by the rocky cliff faces near her town. That is where she found herself this night, with Pangur, now grown, curled in her lap. The bright white glow of her dancing lights illuminated the pair as Arcane read and practiced her new incantations.

‘Come on, Arcane, if you can summon a magical cat, you can easily project a magic missile!’ Arcane chastised herself in her mind.

“I heard that,” Pangur mumbled, his head still resting on her lap. Damn that cat for hearing her thoughts! He sat up and stretched, tail quivering as he did so. “Yer never going to get better at your spells if you keep putting yerself down like that!”

Arcane sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. “I know, I’m just not used to these kinds of spells! These would be so much easier if Grandda were here to help me.” Her teeth clenched and her frown crinkled her nose, “But with Papa not bringing in any fish to sell, he’s had to start working again to help pay for Mammy’s medicine.” She lazily petted Pangur, making sure to scratch between his shoulders just how he liked.

Pangur leaned into her touch, a deep purr rumbling in his chest. “Don’t you worry yer wee head. Pretty soon, all of our troubles will be a thing of the past and everything will go back to normal.”

Arcane heaved a hefty sigh, standing to her feet. She was tired of having to wait for things to return to normal! She wanted her Grandfather back! She wanted her Mother back! She wanted to spend all her free time practicing her magic, not looking after her siblings. As much as it pained her to think it, the bitter taste of resentment for her father burned in the back of her mind like bile. Why did he have to be so selfish? Why was he always so selfish? Favoring the drink over his wife and children? Why wasn’t he ever involved in anything they did?

Her eyes trailed down to the book in her hands, her fingers dancing over the ornate binding, tracing the inlaid gold leaf that highlighted the title on the cover. Another heavy sigh fell from her lips. No matter how much she didn’t want this, no matter how much she wished to be elsewhere, this was her life, like it or not. She had to keep going. For her Grandfather, for her siblings.... For her Mother.

The night had become pitch black, darkened by the heavy grey cloud that rumbled overhead; Definitely time to be heading back. Arcane waved for Pangur to follow as she carefully climbed her way down the rocky cliff back toward home. She had spent far too long out there already, and if she wanted to have any energy to watch the children tomorrow, she had to get some rest. The walk back home was quiet, save for the gentle rolls of thunder and the lapping of the waves as they crashed upon the rocks. It was a sound Arcane had forsaken as a younger child. After all, how could one miss something that became a part of her daily routine?

After finally making it home, Arcane slowly made her way inside, careful not to trigger the squeaky hinge that groaned when disturbed. Inside, her father sat in his rickety chair sound asleep, a tattered book about pirates hung loosely from his fingers while he held a bottle of whisky tightly to his chest. Arcane rolled her eyes and flicked her hand, a nearby blanket folding itself over her father at her command. Her dreary legs carried her up the whining steps until he made it to her shared bedroom with the other girls. Naoisa and Maira were long since asleep, arms and legs splayed freely across the shared mattress. Arcane was careful not to wake them as she took off her boots and lifted the mattress to stash away her Grandfather’s tome.

It took some detangling of the girls’ limbs to make enough room for her to lie down, but after she did, it didn’t take long for sleep to find her.

The next morning arrived like a banging drum, startling Arcane from her sweet dreams. The girls were awake and jostling her, begging for breakfast. She barely had time to rub the sleep from her eyes before the girls were pulling her out of bed and onto her feet, their cries for food making Arcane’s head pound.

“Alright, alright, ye diabhal beag!” Arcane shooed her sisters out the door, promising them breakfast after she saw to their mother’s morning treatment. As the girls bounded down the steps, Arcane rounded the corner, grabbing the medicine on the table in the hall. With a gentle knock, Arcane entered the bedroom. It was eerily quiet.

“Mammy? Good morning, Mammy. It’s time for your medicine.” No response. She must’ve been especially drained today. Arcane sat on the edge of the bed, pouring the poultice into a little serving spoon. “Mammy? You gotta wake up. It’s time for your medicine.” Once more, silence. This didn’t seem quite right. Mother was usually quiet, save for the gentle rasp of her breathing.

Arcane placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder, giving her a little shake. “Mammy~ wake up!” She cooed. She looked down at her hand. Mother was cold. Why was Mother cold? And why wasn’t she breathing? Arcane shook her mother harder, dropping the spoon with a clatter.

“Mammy? Mammy, wake up! Mammy, please, you’re scaring me! Mammy!” Her desperate cries fell on deaf ears. Mother wasn’t waking up, no matter how much Arcane shook her. Fear gripped her heart like an icy spear, her throat tightened and her eyes burned. No, it couldn’t happen like this! It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

“Grandda!! Papa!! Help!” Arcane cried, tears now streaming her face as she continued to shake her Mother. “Help me, please! Mammy, wake up!” Footsteps bounded down the hall and the bedroom door swung open. Grandfather! He could help! He could do anything! He could wake Mother up!

“What is it, dove? What’s wrong?”

Arcane sobbed. “It’s Mammy! She won’t wake up! Grandda, please help!”

Her grandfather gently pushed her aside, taking a seat next to his daughter and stroking her hair. “A leanbh? Ye’ve gotta wake up now. Arcane’s here, you’re scaring her. Suil? Suil, sweetheart?” Grandfather’s words wavered and caught in his throat. A quiet moment passed, Grandfather curled around Mother, his hands stroking her hair as he muttered to himself, perhaps a spell to wake her! Yes, that’s it! Grandfather would cast a spell, Mother would wake and be better than ever! Right?

Arcane waited, breathless, waiting for something - anything - to happen. Without another word, Grandfather stood and walked her out into the hall, motioning for her to head downstairs with her siblings. Arcane looked up at him, confused, her eyes bloodshot from tears. Grandfather’s face was grim, his face stained by his own tears.

“Go, now, dove. Go take care of your brothers and sisters. And send your father upstairs.” His voice was somber, his words barely above a whisper.

Arcane nodded, trudging down the stairs as her eyes stared blankly ahead. In the living room, her father sat in his chair, eyes fixated on his book as she approached.

“Papa? Grandda needs to see you upstairs.” She mumbled, shock setting in. “It’s about Mammy.... I- I think she-” Arcane’s words were cut off as her father barreled past her, footsteps quickly retreating upstairs. She, however, remained frozen, eyes staring dead-eyed in front of her. All sound fell away, all feeling lost, all time stopped. A moment felt like an eternity, the roaring silence in her mind nearly driving the young girl to madness. And then-

“No! No! It can’t be! You bastard, what did you do?! What did you do to my sweet Suil?!” Father’s voice rang throughout the house. The children stopped their ruckus. Only the sound of Father’s wailing and the crashing of his tirade filled the children’s ears.

Niamh and Maira began to screech, startled by their father’s rage. Arcane ran to their side and held them both in her arms. Father stormed down the stairs, bursting through the door into the stormy morning that awaited them. And he cried. Gods, did he cry. He wailed and shouted like a child throwing a tantrum, breaking and throwing anything unlucky enough to get in his hands.

It wasn’t long until Grandfather made his way downstairs, all light cast out of his once cheerful eyes. The children turned to face him, fear, confusion, and worry filled their eyes as they stared. Grandfather sucked in a shaky breath, before saying the words every child wishes to never hear.

“Your mother is dead.”

The day was cold and overcast. It always seemed to rain in Daggerford, soaking the grey stone beaches and casting a saddening hue over the town, like the ever-breaking tide threatened to swallow you whole, keeping you tied to this land forever. And it was just so, ever true for Arcane. This town, her home, once a place filled with laughter and joy, was now empty and cold. The tide crashed against the stony shore, rain soaking through Arcane’s cloak, setting a dark chill in her bones. It was the darkest day to end all dark days.

Her Mother was dead.

Her Mother, Suil, a once beautiful, shining light in the world, was now reduced to a cold, stiff corpse that lay wrapped in cloth and heavy stone. Her mother, Suil, a beautiful elven woman, who taught her words of her and her father’s people, who always made the best meals, who saw the good in every situation, now lay dead in the little rowboat on the shore.

It didn’t take long for word of her passing to spread through the town. Word travelled fast in Daggerford. Those whose lives were touched, even for a moment, by Mother’s bright light showed up for the funeral, offering condolences and leaving letters or small trinkets in what would be Mother’s casket. Their words rang hollow in Arcane’s ears. No amount of “I’m so sorry for your loss” or “She’s in a better place” would ever replace the fact that she’s not here! It made her angry, it filled her mind with blazing rage! They didn’t know Mother! They didn’t know how she liked her tea! They didn’t see how she sang like a ringing bell while she cooked! They didn’t see how much she cared and supported Arcane with her magic. They didn’t see her at the end! No one came to visit! It was Arcane who was with her! It was she who walked in to find her dead! And all they could say was, “I’m sorry”?!

Arcane could’ve sworn she was steaming with all the white-hot rage that burned inside of her! She wanted all of them to go away! She wanted everything to stop!

Grandfather knelt down to plant one last kiss on his daughter’s head.

‘Wait, stop!’

He began to push the little boat onto the water, knees shaking as he did so.

‘Stop! Please!! Don’t!’

With one last push, he clambered into the boat, rowing away. Rowing away from shore, away from home!

‘Stop it! Don’t take my Mammy!’ Arcane ripped herself from her father’s side, racing down the shore.

“Arcane! Get back here!” Father called after her. She would not. She would never stop trying to get her mother back! She was hers! How dare the gods take Mother from her! How dare they!

“Mammy!!” Arcane cried out, pushing through the heavy waves that crashed against her legs as if the sea itself was refusing her entry. “Mammy!! Come back!” The cloud began to darken, nearly blocking out the sun, deep, growling thunder like a hungry beast.

Further, she pushed, the hungry waters beating against her small frame, daring to drag her under. She cried, gods, did she cry. Calling for her mother, only to be met by claps of thunder, only to be silenced by mouthfuls of salty water. She refused to give up! She couldn’t! That was her mother! Her arms slapped against the water, helplessly reaching for her mother as waves forced her down with such strength only nature could possess. It didn’t take much for the sea to subvert its dominance over the young girl, thrusting her head deeper, ever deeper, into the black depths, filling her mouth and lungs with its sanguine drink. For if she wanted to be with her mother, the water would take Arcane down with her.

In the moment, Arcane was okay with this. She was okay with being dragged deeper underwater, down to sunless fathoms below. If this was how she would see her mother again.... She was okay with dying.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans for her. Desperate hands fisted her cloak and from the murky water, she was brought back to the air, breaking to the surface with such a sharp gasp, her lungs threatened to burst. Arcane clawed desperately at the water, hands outstretched, reaching for the little rowboat that had now shrunk in size. Her frantic eyes darted behind her, who would dare take her back to shore?! It was her father! He hauled the drenched girl back to shore, slapping her hands away as she threw them back to hit him. She hated him! She hated what he was doing! She couldn’t go back to land!

With one last hard shove, her father practically threw her onto the rocks, her knees left bloody by the impact. Arcane ran to push past him, but he grabbed her, holding her tightly in his arms. She struggled against her father, slapping his face, kicking his stomach, fighting with everything she had to get back to the water.

“Arcane. Arcane! That’s enough!!” He fell to his knees and practically throttled her, grabbing her shoulders roughly and shaking her. “Enough of this, you hear me?! She’s gone! Your mother is dead! She’s fuckin’ dead!” The sound of his screaming left a ringing in her ears and sent daggers into her heart. She stared back at him, the same seafoam eyes she’d inherited filled with so much rage, dare she say it - hate.

Arcane opened her mouth to argue back, yet all she could muster was a pitiful half-whimper, half-strangled gasp. Her eyes peered over her father’s shoulders, just in time to see her grandfather tipping her mother’s corpse into the sea, sinking quickly from the heavy rocks, dragging her down to her final, watery grave.

It was too much! All of this was far too much for any little girl to bear! All the shock, the rage, the drowning grief balled itself inside her chest. She felt her fingers burn with electric fire, every nerve from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head roared like a monster against its cage. And with a deep, resounding inhale that seemed to suck all air from the sky.... She screamed.

Her cries echoed towards the Heavens. Her heartbreak shook the very ground she stood on. Her body burned with white-hot swirls of pure Weave that emanated from the very core of her soul, enveloping her in the purest, rapturous glow of magic. Her eyes were aflame with a blue light. She heard her father yelp in pain and snatch his hands away from her, recoiling at the sight of his wailing child. She continued to scream ‘til the very earth beneath her feet cracked and split. And then.... Darkness took her.

Translations and pronunciations:

Súil: Pronounced like "shool", taken from the song Siúil a Rúin, meaning "hurry, my love"

Lorcan: Pronounced like "Law-kuhn"

Ruairí: Pronounced like "Rory"

Naoisa: Pronounced like "Nee-Shuh"

Maira: Pronounced like "My-ruh" (literally just Maria with the I moved)

Naimh: Pronounced like "Nayve" or "Neev"

"A stór": Pronounced like "Uh Stohr", meaning "My treasure"

"diabhal beag": Pronounced like "Dee-uh-bool" "Bee-uh-g", meaning "little devil"

"A leanbh": Pronounced like "Uh Lan-uv", meaning "my child"

[bookwormlover10]

hear me out her name is robin and her god father is batman

befor i forget here is one of by dc oc Robin J. jones

Her father name is Ralph dove. Jones and her name is Lola Jones. ( She was a ballerina)

Ralph will get his own post but all you need to know about him is that Ralph is childhood best friend with Bruce Wayne because his parents worked as a cook and Baker for the Wayne. Him and Bruce are like brothers. He knows that Bruce is Batman but never told him because he thought it was funny and he's a mechanic and also the best uncle a Robin could ask for

After her father dies from an sickness since her grandmother wasn’t able to take care of her, she went to live with her godfather bruce wayne aka batman and his family ( the bat family)

She was named robin in the first place because tim drake's robin helped deliver her with the help of nightwing( dick grayson.) Ralph was so grateful for his nephews ( even though they didn’t know he knew) so he named her after them. He also give her middle name Jason after Bruce's second son that he lost not too long ago.

Opposite to her fathers personality Robins is somewhat reserved. I say that her personality is in the middle but more inverted. She well talk about anything fashion for hours. She is sass and will trash talk about your outfit..

A thing about her is that she has a passion for fashion. She's been obsessed with clothes and sewing ever since her mother taught her how to sew at a young age. She would sew clothes for dolls, and make stuffed toys. Her dream is to one day become a fashion designer.

She is very close to Tim. He has been someone she could always rely on for everything. Especially with the death of her father.

Other things

Her friend( love interest ) is Michael Lane ( an other oc)

She is friends to michel. They meet through tim and Kon dering

young justice 98

Friends with magical girls

Has a weird pet

She eventually grows close to Damien

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

I do want to acknowledge that I read very little batman comics most of my batman knowledge is from other meda and the webtoon but I know it's not the full representation of the Batfamily but my interpretation is from there. In my defense I was to busy reading flash comics ( and most of Young justice 98) just wanted to let you know

If you do want to hear about Michael I have to warn you I have read like 8 issues of the 90s Superboy comic and my mane experience with kon is from the young justice 98 most of it anyway) I'm still trying to fut him into kons backstory. But this is what he looks like if you're curious.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #102

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

Reggie barged in unannounced as Clint sat on the couch with his laptop, drafting an email.

“Clint! Clint! You’re not gonna believe this!”

“What?”

“They’re back!” He dumped a grocery bag onto the coffee table, forming a mountain of snacks.

“Oh my God,” Clint said, sorting through the pile. He pulled out a flat, rigid package. “Cereal Straws! I always loved these!”

“And Oreo Cakesters! Remember them?”

“Yeah, weren’t they banned for being full of trans fat?”

“I think so, yeah,” he took a large bite of one. “But I’m pretty sure they just use palm oil now.”

“Nice!” Clint crunched into a Froot Loop Straw. “This takes me back, man. Even the way it coats the roof of my mouth in some kinda wax.”

“For real, dude. Classic.”

Clint searched the pile again. “Hey, weren’t there any of the Apple Jacks ones? Those were my favorite.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see any.”

“The Cocoa Krispies ones weren’t even that good. Why’d they bring back those instead of the Apple Jacks ones?”

Reggie shrugged.

Clint leaned back and pondered. “You know what I wish they’d bring back? Yogos. Remember those?”

“Aw, hell yeah! Those were the best! My mom used to put them in my lunch every day back in Elementary school. But you know what was even better?”

“What?”

“Chocodiles.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“You - what?!? Bro, you missed out! Okay, listen, basically it’s a Twinkie, right? But they cover it in chocolate.”

“So?”

“It stays moist, man! The chocolate holds in all the moisture so it doesn’t get stale!”

“Don’t Twinkies last forever?”

“That’s a myth. They start going stale right out of the factory. But Chocodiles don’t. They were goddamn magic. I’d kill for one right now.”

“So… they’re like, your chocolate-covered white whale, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“I get it. Life hasn’t been the same for me since Altoids Sours were discontinued.”

“Now that I think about it, though…” Reggie stared off into the distance. “There was one snack that really had an impact on me.”

“What was it?”

“Goldfish-flavored Goldfish.”

“You mean… the original flavor? The plain ones? They still make those.”

“No. Goldfish-flavored. They tasted like goldfish. Like the pet, the actual fish.”

Clint grimaced and squinted at Reggie. “You’re fucking with me, right?”any

“No. No, I definitely had them. My mom got them for me after my goldfish died. She said we had to mail him to the Pepperidge Farm upstate so they could turn him into crackers. So he could live forever inside me.”

Clint muttered under his breath. “What the fuck…”

“The crackers came in a package shaped like a coffin. But it was made out of paper, and it had that foil on the inside - you know the foil, right? On the inside of a bag of Goldfish?”

Clint nodded, his eyes wide.

“I opened the package and the first thing I remember was the smell. That smell will stick with me for the rest of my days. It’s almost like walking into a fish market, or a sushi restaurant, but with something else mixed in. Maybe the flour, or the riboflavin…”

“Death?” Clint asked.

“Maybe. Anyway… I ate the whole package, then and there. It took me an hour. My mom wouldn’t let me have water, because she said it might wake him up inside my belly if I drank it. And we couldn’t wake him up before he was all together in my stomach. So I kept eating the crackers.”

“Dude…”

“I began to feel ill halfway through. I wanted to stop, to give up. I thought I might vomit. But then, my goldfish would have been gone forever. Trapped in the void between life and death, wedged between worlds, somewhere in the space between. I started hallucinating - the crackers swam in front of me like I was swimming in a fish tank myself. I realized I was smiling, and the snacks smiled back.”

Clint held his stomach. He too felt ill.

“Tears rolled down my face as I chomped down on each and every last cracker. That was the last of him. My goldfish was gone. He would be part of me forever. Forever, Clint! Have you any idea how long that is to go without something?!?”

“What do you mean?”

“For long years, I have hungered for it! For that missing essence, that exotic flavor I only ever tasted in those Goldfish-flavored Goldfish! I need it! If you think that flavor was death…? Then I must taste death!”

“You - y- you’re scaring me, man!” Clint wedged himself in the corner of the couch. He’d never been this terrified.

Reggie shook his head and grinned, chuckling as tears formed in his eyes. “Don’t be scared, Clint.” He pulled out his pocket knife. “You’ll like it at the Pepperidge Farm.”

[dollyyyhouse]

I'm back! I'm back! I'm baaackk! Sorry I've been gone so long, I kept telling myself to write but I'd get so lazy to do anything 😭 This is the third part of my previous fan-fictions! I hope you guys enjoy <3

Trigger warnings for mentions of suicide, please be careful!!!!

The bustling nightlife of the Devildom had continued like usual, it seemed like everyone had turned a blind eye to the death of the infamous human exchange student. It was always like this, with all the commotion you caused while living with the Avatars of Hell— you were constantly in some sort of issue. Rumors would spread like a wild fire, only to be forgotten days later, you knew that all the demons in Devildom saw you as nothing more than a pawn in a game or a troublesome fly.

You were tired of mimicking someone you never even knew, tired of spending hours trying to imitate everything about her, tired of never being able to express your true emotions, and tired of being tossed around like a useless ragdoll. Day by day, you could slowly yet surely feel yourself losing grip on the true reality of the situation you were in.

It felt like a sick joke when you suddenly awoke, laying on a random bench not too far from RAD. You quickly realized you were in the exact same state as before, but your dress was still in perfect condition; you couldn't see the resemblance that you and the fallen angel shared. It drove you insane, you no longer knew who you were. Are you MC? Lilith? Nothing felt real.

Being in Devildom already felt like madness, but after dying twice and becoming an eerie ghost; you could no longer tell the difference between a cruel nightmare or the bitter reality you often faced. When demons walked past you they could sense your gloomy presence but continued on with their day— hardly any of them could see you in the first place. You had nothing to do, you refused to go anywhere near the Demon Lord's Castle or the House of Lamentation, so you usually walked through alleyways; moaning and wailing like a little kid.

But one day, a simple conversation with a drunk demon had unintentionally caused you to spiral once again.

"Ghh.. quit your crying, it's a pain in the ass." Your usual routine was interrupted by a random demon who was very clearly intoxicated, you were shocked to see that someone finally heard your cries; every other demon tuned your moaning out and continued on with their day, they were all fed up with troublesome ghost.

"You can hear me..?" You tried to hide your tear-stained face with your hands but it was already too late, he had already acknowledged the entirety of your presence. "Of course I- hngh! Ugh.. can!" He clutched a bottle of Demonus in his hands as if it were gold, he seemed like the exact depiction of a drunk man that you imagined in your head— tired eyes, wobbly steps, and a shaky yet dramatic voice.

"I didn't think any demon would notice me.. I hardly have a presence." The demon let out a loud laugh, seeming oddly amused. "Those are some weak demonsss! I doubt they h.. have much magical abilities." When you heard the demon say that you couldn't help but think to yourself, that maybe what if you found a demon, or anyone with magical abilities they could help you out with the situation you were in. You had no clue how you were gonna approach this, you didn't study much in RAD so you didn't know if there was anything that could save your pitiful soul.

"Demon.. magical abiliti.. s!" The words the demon next to you went in through one ear and out the other— quickly losing focus on what the conversation was actually about when you were reminded of the day you successfully ended your life. A frown formed on your face as you thought of all of the possibilities, you weren't sure if your new plan was going to work but you had hope.

You were cursed to wear the same dress Lilith wore even after your death, you wanted to seperate yourself from her but knew you could never do it with anybody in the past inner circle. The angels, the demons and the wizard all knew about the fallen angel, when you were with them you could never go a minute without hearing her name. But you craved to disconnect yourself from her, hate grew inside of you the more you heard her name or even saw a photo of her.

When you looked to your side— where the demon was you noticed he was quickly dozing off. A sigh fell from your lips as you stood up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the demonus bottle. "Do I remind you of a past angel..?" The words fell from your lips, you knew that all of the demons you'd ask that would most likely say no— and you yearned for that.

@0that-tired-writer @shan-jia-mo-li @lavendereii @xiaopleasecomehome

[writer-akihiko]

hiii! can I get a similar scenario like this but with vice dorm leaders and floyd? I love your works!!! I hope you have a nice week <3

Vice Dorm Leaders + Floyd + Valentine's Jealousy

Thank you for this request! It was a while to post this because I kinda forgot the prompt for the previous one, but I hope you enjoy some equally jealous Vice Dorm Leaders and Floyd!

Lilia Vanrouge

Many knew that you were quite famous, and he was well aware of how others saw you too. You weren't one to accept the presents because you had Lilia, but it was hard to reject them most of the time when they'd all gang up on you.

From the day started, you planned out the day. You planned to take an alternate route back to the dorms, but through every step, some student would stop you with a present. With so many eyes on you, it was overwhelming.

A couple of Savanaclaw boys stopped you in your tracks, with the supposed leader of the pack holding a box of chocolates towards you.

"YN! Please accept my gift!"

The sudden approach made you trip and fall on your butt, but before a hand could reach out to help you, the wall of students collapsed. You smelled smoke, supposedly from something burning, but as you looked over it more, it was the students that were burning…

Lilia stood over them, sneering at the other students that looked on. He gave a deep bow, and you noticed that one of his heels dug into the side of the one who wanted to give you a gift.

"Ara ara... as Vice Dorm Leader, there shouldn't be any fleas disturbing the peace."

The bodies of those students were well stepped and pranced over as Lilia prattled on about 'appropriate' rules for a NRC student. His lecture was done, but you found it odd that Lilia cared about the rules at all...

"Now that you get my point, leave."

All students, burnt and normal, scattered when Lilia said that. You were the only one left, and you began to get anxious once more. Surely... Surely your lover wouldn’t punish you too?

As your boyfriend stepped closer, he got on one knee, somehow conjuring a bouquet of flowers? On further inspection, the flower buds appeared to be your favourite snacks on sticks in... a bouquet. Lilia had his mysterious ways, but the silly bouquet got a giggle out of you.

He got up, pulling you by the waist. "I take it as you love your snack bouquet~" He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Happy Valentine's Day YN."

Trey Clover

Trey didn't want you to know that you were well-known so instead of doing anything to the other students, he tells you to stay in your room instead as you wait for him to pick you up for a romantic Valentine's date.

As the morning of Valentine started, he could watch in envy at the other students with present clearly meant for you. He did ask Vil for a favour to doll you up for the date, but he wasn't sure if you were going to stay put with Grim around...

He had to curse himself for getting caught up in one of Professor Crewel's ramblings, but he wouldn't be so rude to get up and leave. If he had to be honest, it was very tempting to do so.

It was finally over, and he tried not to let out a sigh of relief. The moment he walked out of the classroom, he was already frowning at the sight that he saw.

Many surrounded you, but particularly those with sweet treats caught your attention the most. They begged you to try their treats, but you never thought it as anything romantic. As someone who was fond of making sweet treats like Trey, you thought that they were asking for your input instead.

One of the students dared to hand-feed you a piece of the sweet he made. Trey being pissed off was an understatement. Cater, who was busy filming the decorations and vlogging, paused when his camera neared Trey's line of view.

Trey knew he wasn't going to get to you in time, so as he saw the treat inch closer to your mouth, he used his magic to alter the flavour of it. You winced at the bitter flavour unlike the sweet flavour before you expected.

You coughed out the piece you had in your mouth, dropping the food. Your head bumped against someone, and an arm wrapped around you. You relaxed once you felt Trey's familiar scent, but with your ear pressed against his chest, the sound of his thumping heart rang through your ears.

"You really dared to poison YN..."

The students backed away, but with a teacher nearby, they were quickly taken away. Trey didn't mind his little lie, after all, you were adorably blushing in his arms.

"Are you okay my love?" He patted your head, checking you for any injuries. It was only then he realised that you were dolled up, and your cheeks were flushed whenever hi fingers touched your skin.

Trey wasn't usually tongue-tied, but the way you just looked made him speechless.

"H-Happy Valentine's... my gorgeous YN."

Jamil Viper

He was an observant man, so the day before Valentine's he knew who was targeting to give you gifts, even if they hadn't made their intentions public. He never made your relationship public, but he targeted those who thought they were the 'perfect' candidate for your love.

It all began with spreading rumours, particularly about how someone was going to be your fiancé. He only had to wait for the rumours to settle in, and then the chaos would commence...

By the morning of Valentine's, many had gathered at your doorstep leaving gifts but some insisted on waiting for you... like a stalker... Oh well, Jamil could remedy that easily.

He couldn't hypnotise to most due to the limitations of his magic, but he was still good at manipulating those around him. He couldn't help but feel such jealousy towards the other students for getting you such expensive gifts, especially when he could never get those gifts for you himself.

He was so distracted with his jealous thoughts that he missed the moment that you walked out of your room. You were hopeful that your boyfriend Jamil was waiting, but you couldn't hide your disappointment when it wasn't.

The more aggressive 'suitors' caught on to your disappointment, and you shrunk in fear as they approached you.

"Hoi, why are you making that fa-"

BLAM!

Before any insulting things were said, a basketball went flying and hit the student in the head, knocking him flat.

"Get away from her."

Jamil's piercing gaze sent a shiver down everyone's spine, causing them to scram. Even those who had the strength to beat Jamil were outmatched by the sheer bloodlust and the objective authority he had, which was better not to mess with if they valued their school life.

It wasn't long before you jumped into Jamil's arms, which caused both of you to topple over. Your large grin was fitting for Jamil's flustered state, as you bestowed your hero a loving kiss.

Jade Leech

If any student in NRC were to say to their fellow friends that they wanted to confess to YN on Valentine's Day, their friends would ask them if they wanted a death wish. This was because it was a well-known fact that you were dating Jade Leech.

And in NRC, you'd never want to mess with the Leech brothers.

Jade wouldn't want to scare you, but he may have overheard some other people talking about giving you a Valentine's gift. Even if it was out of obligation, he wouldn't allow that.

He could personally alter the ingredients of their drinks so that they'd... fall asleep before any present giving...

You always hung around the Lounge but this time around, Jade didn't allow you to walk out onto the floor, so you accompanied Azul with helping him with his papers. He waited for the serum to kick in, and when they were asleep he informed Azul of some loiterers in the Lounge.

Before they fell asleep, Jade couldn't help himself from revealing his tiny plan to the victims.

"Don't try your chances."

They were quickly disposed of, thanks to Floyd. It'd be better not to mention specifics.

Jade did promise you a romantic date, so you were surprised how much the Lounge changed after hours. The simple candlelight shone on the extravagant meal with Jade's specially brewed tea.

You felt the merman's arms wrap around you, as he leaned down, whispering in your ear. "YN, thank you for being my Valentine."

Floyd Leech

Whoever had the idea to confess to you besides Floyd Leech was asking to die by getting squeezed by a merman.

He wasn't sure how did you gain so much attention, but then he remembered that he'd always glomp you whenever he saw you... and then he remembered that Valentine's was today. Oh well, he'll figure something out.

The person Floyd had his eyes on though, was a student who was part of a band that Azul drove into debt. The entire band then on went to work for the Lounge as entertainters, but how could Floyd trust such a scheming bass player?

He heard from Jade that they were going to practice, but he had an inkling that it would be a confession to you. Only when it comes to you, he's observant.

"Hey YN! I just wanna show you-"

You shrugged off the bassist's enthusiasm. "Sorry... I'm a bit worn out. A lot of people have been giving me presents today."

He still took your hand. "Well... um if it helps you relax, I wrote a song for you!"

"A song?" You inched away since he was too close for comfort, but you'd doubt he'd listen to you since those other students didn't listen to you anyway...

"Hands off my Shrimpy."

Floyd couldn't hold it, watching from the sidelines. Jade told him to stay put, but it was impossible. He grabbed the student by the shoulders, squeezing him until he screamed. Once Floyd saw your worried face, he abandoned every thought of 'torturing' the boy and flung him across the room instead.

It was just his luck that the boy landed in your pile of presents, destroying about half of them. That was the presents dealt with...

You eagerly hugged Floyd, finally seeing him after a long day. Floyd couldn't help but twirl his Shrimpy around, joy filling him from your giggles. Oh well, Valentine's was too materialistic anyway. If he could get a laugh out of you just like this, that was all that mattered to him.

"Love ya Shrimpy~"

Ruggie Bucchi

Having so much responsibility in Savanaclaw meant that he had the slimmest of chances to be with you during Valentine's. Sure, most knew that you were his but there would be those idiots that would approach you regardless of your relationship status.

He gritted his teeth as he thought of all the possible presents he couldn't give you, and others could. The moment he stepped out his body simply shook with envy at how lucky those students were to have the spare money to get you something nice.

It honestly made him feel terrible that he couldn't provide those for you. It really did.

He wasn't one to lash out, but he was a hyena beastman after all. He had his limits. The moment he spotted you, he couldn't stop his tail from wagging. What pissed him off though was the idiocity of the students who can't comprehend that you didn't want to deal with them.

A Scarabia student had been following you around, and it was getting on your nerves. He showed off his 'assets' in front of you, which was embarrassing enough but it really struck a chord when the said student disregarded your beloved Ruggie.

"Surely you have better chances with me than some filthy beastman like him..."

You huffed, your fists shaking. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

The student, of course disregarded you entirely. He grabbed you by the wrist, but in the blink of an eye, his palm was bleeding. There Ruggie was, claws out and holding you in one arm.

"She said she has a boyfriend, scum."

He didn't care how much he'd get punished. Knowing how much the teachers favoured you, they might let it pass... He didn't want to deal with the aftermath, so he lifted you up bridal style and ran with you to the Savanaclaw dorm.

"W-Wait Ruggie! I might be heavy..."

"You're not," He bluntly said, angling his face so he could check you for any injuries. His chest swelled up with pride with how much you defended him. "YN, it's okay though. You didn't have to defend me that much..."

You were not one to stand for your boyfriend to insult himself. You kissed him, surprising him to the point he almost dropped you. As you stared at your confused Ruggie, you comforted him with words he needed to hear the most.

"Ruggie, you're my one and only love."

Rook Hunt

This man had a plan. He had a plan and he planned it the moment he realised Valentine's Day was coming which was roughly after the first few months of dating. He never realised that it would be such a meticulous operation.

He runs the grapevine of gossip, so he knows exactly who to target. Sure... some methods were not as graceful as the Pomefiore standard but he had to do what he had to do.

Valentine's rolled around. D-Day. The D stood for Date... as he highlighted in notes. He'd leave you be, because you were the main star of his plan. His star, his moon, his every- Oh and he caught himself before getting sidetracked...

The first mistake was leaving their presents unattended. The second mistake was going to talk to you.

In a sudden moment, many shrieked at their presents getting vandalised by someone's arrow. It wasn't a humble mistake. Someone was doing this on purpose.

While other students panicked, you had stooped to your knees, observing the words on the shaft of the arrow...

'From YN's boyfriend~'

Oh... Oh Rook... How adorable of you... You thought to yourself. You were surprised that none had caught on so far, but you were sorely mistaken as the person who was about to gift you a bouquet of flowers grabbed you in fear.

"Y-Your boyfriend?! Who is he-" The student shrieked and fell to the ground as an arrow flew past his head, cutting off some of his locks. Then and there, Rook stepped out, bow in hand, bowing to his lady.

"My apologies. I was aiming for your head."

Rook was quick to take you in his arms, but that was not before he oh so graciously stepped on the student's hand. You didn't expect him to-

"You didn't think I would get jealous, Mademoiselle," He laughed, getting on one knee with a rose in hand that you were sure was from another student's bouquet. "Ah, I take it you enjoyed my gift!~"

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before Rook was scolded by some teachers and Vil himself. As much as you thought he would put up with the punishment, that didn't stop the hunter from bringing you to the final date spot, a quiet, peaceful forest date with your favourite hunter.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Friday Kiss Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @jessica-writes22! :D

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

Considering my chronic inability to write romance, I decided to go with familial. Here’s a side-story/bonus chapter (that became much longer than I expected) for The Power and the Glory (set somewhere in the flashback at the start of book four, after Imrahil starts messing with necromancer but before the attempted fratricide incident):

Hartanna and Mihasrin’s oldest son had been a very well-behaved baby. Their youngest daughter was another matter entirely.

Imrahil had never spent much time around his full-siblings. They were younger than him, and younger had always meant unimportant. He was too busy playing at being the perfect son; he’d go mad if he had to play the perfect brother too. Most of the time he ignored them, and they were wise enough to ignore him too. Maybe Gilreon had told them something about him. Maybe they sensed something off. He didn’t particularly care either way. Gilreon, insufferable do-gooder that he was, volunteered for baby-sitting duties, and Imrahil found he could go for days without having to even see his siblings,

Unfortunately, he couldn’t get away with this forever.

One rainy afternoon he’d retreated to a distant corner of the library -- his youngest siblings, Arafaren and Abihira, had been screaming at each other all day -- and tried to study his geography textbook. At last the distant yelling stopped. Imrahil’s relief was short-lived, because the next thing he knew his mother was bearing down on him. Her face was grim and in her arms she held a toddler who was busy trying to escape. She placed the toddler on the chair beside an astonished Imrahil.

“Look after Abi for an hour or two,” Hartanna ordered, and swept out without giving Imrahil a chance to reply.

For a moment Imrahil stared blankly at the toddler. She looked up at him curiously. Then she reached for his book. He snatched it out of her reach. Next she tried to grab his sleeve, then his hair, and finally she tried to climb onto the back of the chair. Imrahil grabbed her before she fell.

He’d faced corpses, dark magic, and Death herself, but he’d never been so out of his depth as he was now. Imrahil held Abihira at arm’s length and looked around helplessly for somewhere to put her. She couldn’t run around the library; there were too many ornaments for her to break. He couldn’t foist her off onto one of the servants; his mother would be furious. He also couldn’t keep her here; she wouldn’t let him study in peace.

He carried her over to the toy train set Gilreon had bought for someone’s birthday. Abi looked at it curiously. Then she picked up the train and threw it across the room.

“No!” Imrahil yelped.

He retrieved the train and set it down on the tracks. Then he promptly had to pick it up again, because Abi tried to grab it again.

Next he tried reading her a fairy-tale. Children liked fairy-tales, didn’t they? Either he’d been misinformed or Abi was the exception. She listened for exactly four minutes and twelve seconds before losing interest.

Imrahil picked her up, carried her into their mother’s study adjoining the library, and turned on the record player. Abi finally settled down and seemed content to sit and listen. Imrahil retrieved his textbook and continued reading, occasionally looking up to see what she was doing.

The record ended. Imrahil put down his book, then got a shock when he realised Abi was gone. He searched the study. Next he searched the library. One of the windows was open. He looked out and got a horrible shock. Abi was out in the garden, climbing a tree.

He opened the window fully, jumped to the ground, and ran to the tree. Abi had found her way onto the first branch and was pulling leaves off the twigs. Imrahil was tall enough to reach her without having to climb. He picked her up, ignoring her complaints, and began to carry her back to the house.

Then he noticed Abi was holding something that seemed to be moving. He stopped to see what it was. Their parents would be furious if he allowed her to bring an insect inside.

When she opened her hand he blinked and did a double take. It was a leaf, but it fluttered like a butterfly. It took off and flew around his head before landing in Abi’s hand again.

Imrahil stared at it, then at Abi. She was now staring at it intently as it hopped up and down like a rabbit. Then it slithered across her palm like a snake.

“Are you doing that?” he asked incredulously.

Toddlers should not be able to use any magic at all. They certainly shouldn’t be able to telekinetically move a leaf. (At least he hoped she was using telekinesis. The alternative -- that she’d somehow brought a leaf to life -- was too insane to consider.)

Abi nodded happily. She held out her hand. The leaf flew up, fluttering like a butterfly again. It sailed around Abi’s head. Then a gust of wind blew it away. When it landed on the ground it was just an ordinary leaf.

Imrahil stared at it, oblivious to Abi’s disconsolate wailing. He tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened and what it meant for how much magic Abi had.

“You are going to cause so much trouble,” he told her.

Her sobs stopped as he carried her back to the window. By the time he placed her in front of the fire -- it was still raining lightly, and their mother would be furious if he let Abi catch a cold -- she’d cheered up and started talking incomprehensible nonsense in his general direction. Imrahil nodded and made vague sounds of agreement at random intervals. He found a colouring book and some crayons, and gave them to her while he continued reading.

At last the library door opened. Hartanna looked relieved to see Abi happily scribbling and not getting into mischief. Imrahil wisely decided not to tell her about the garden incident.

“Come on, Abi, time for your nap,” Hartanna said, kneeling down to pick up the toddler.

Abi wriggled out of her arms. To Imrahil’s surprise she ran to him, gave him a hug, then kissed his cheek.

“I like you!” she proclaimed, then ran back to their mother.

Imrahil gawked after her as she was carried out of the room. No one hugged or kissed him. Even his aunts and great-aunts had never been inclined to show the same affection towards him that they did towards his siblings. He didn’t like people touching him, anyway.

He rubbed his face to wipe away the discomforting feeling of Abi’s kiss. If she ever tried that again he’d... he’d... Well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but it would make her understand that he didn’t welcome hugs or kisses.

A year later Imrahil attended his grandmother’s birthday party, tried to kill Gilreon, and was exiled for using dark magic. It was many years before he saw Abi again.

Tagging @eccaiia, @fearofahumanplanet, @pluttskutt, @butahumbleguest, @lightgriffinsect, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

Adding TPATG’s taglist: @ajbrooks-writes, @mjmnorwood, @houser-of-stories, @time-space-and-the-muses, @lothloriien, @aliensmoon, @rataltouille, @thescatteredscribbles, @alexwritesfiction, @moth-with-a-pen, @thelaughingstag, @diphthongsfordays, @athenswrites, @ladydawnxx, @talesfromaurea, @jacquesfindswritingandadvice

[thedeadhandofseldon]

The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and  worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

[tippedbykreider]

it’s all coming back to me | c. kreider (i)

Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: Slow burn, exes to friends to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol mention. Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting for this to be brought back! The consensus was that you’d rather have it in smaller chunks so I’ll be posting each new part weekly and they’ll come in between 6 & 9k per chapter. Not only is it more manageable for you guys but it also gives me chance to keep writing new content for it 💖 There is a playlist for this fic which I posted separately, it gives a chronological feel for their relationship and their story. This has been a tonne of fun to write so far and I can’t wait to tell the rest of their story. Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten? Tagging: @danglesnipecelly - this girl deserves a writing credit on this thing because she’s pushed me to keep going with this and her input and advice has been invaluable. Thank you for all the support on this one, K 💖

*Italics indicates a flashback*

The notion of fresh starts is often something that is associated with the arrival of the New Year. People use the turning of the calendar to turn over a new leaf, to learn a new skill, to challenge themselves to be better than the year before and to let go of all that was and focus on all that will be. There’s something inherently magical about a new beginning, a fresh start; sometimes it’s the excitement of what might lie ahead and other times it’s the comfort in knowing that you can seize the opportunity be whoever you want to be and to reinvent yourself. It’s the line in the sand and the final full stop at the end of the chapter and it’s the anticipation of picking up the pen and writing those first few words on the new page.

For Chris Kreider this feeling wasn’t one that was brought about by the strike of the clock at midnight on New Year’s Eve because while the date on the calendar changed and while he still spent the next couple of weeks dating things with the wrong year just like everybody else, it still often felt like nothing really changed for him. Chris could only feel like the year was truly coming to an end when the first petals of spring exploded like fireworks in a symphony of technicolour blooms and he found himself giving the locker-room clearout interview. That was the end of the year, the full stop, the line and the warmer days and the balmy nights would give him the opportunity to decompress ready for the turning of the page come September when his focus would once again turn back to hockey.

Chris loved New York; that much was undeniably true. He loved the vibrancy of the city but he also loved the way that he could melt into the background or enjoy the feeling of quiet solace his apartment gave him. It was oftentimes a bolthole, an oasis of peace during an otherwise hectic few months between September and May but the end of the hockey season and the arrival of summer had him seeking the cry of gulls on the breath of a gentle breeze and that crisp, purifying sea air that always managed to fill his lungs differently. Rowayton wasn’t far, a little over an hour on a good day but with its coastal Connecticut charm, slower pace and pretty houses, especially the ones that overlooked the water, it was a world away from NYC and exactly what Chris needed to reset and recharge.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-July and for the first time in a long time, longer than Chris could recall, he allowed himself to sleep in. His bedroom window had been open all night and the welcome breeze snaked through the slats in the blinds and carried on it the faintest smell of salt and sunshine. Chris stretched his muscles in big pulls around the bed before he settled on his back and inhaled deeply, the fresh air clearing his mind and filling his body as the last remnants of sleep slipped away on the exhale of breath. Imbued with energy, he climbed out of bed and pulled the blinds all the way up, flooding the bedroom with beautiful incandescence born out of a cloudless sky. He didn’t make his bed though, not yet, because while he had left his room and was padding down the stairs, he had every intention of returning to the still warm sheets to read a chapter or two of the book on his nightstand with a fresh cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin bagel, that invigorating coastal air and the oceanscape outside as the soundtrack.

One chapter turned into two and two became three and before Chris knew it, the sun was high in the sky and lunchtime beckoned. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in Rowayton and Chris thought it would be a crying shame to spend his time at home, even if the page-turner he’d held in his hands moments ago seemed incredibly appealing out on the back deck overlooking the water. It was then he decided to take advantage of that gorgeous sunshine, take in the scenery and stretch his legs by going for a walk into town to pick up a few essentials at Rowayton Market. For all it was a small, it contained everything he would need to keep him going for a few more days until he’d finally need to drive into Norwalk to do a more substantial grocery shop, something that he’d admittedly been putting off. The Market also had some of the best baked goods and fresh coffee in the village and if you asked Chris it would be pretty rude to not take advantage – it was right there, after all, and Chris never could say no to a still-warm Danish and Americano.

He walked slower than he usually would, a conscious effort on his part due to the fact that his legs seemed to want to go into an auto-pilot primed for life in New York City. He was in no rush though, he never was whenever he came here and even though it was a route he’d walked hundreds of times before, and one he would walk hundreds more, Chris still wanted to soak in all the pretty trees and shrubs that were nestled in amongst those classical New England style homes, all shingled exteriors and white, gridded windows in soft muted colours that mirrored the coastal landscape of the village. It was a world away from the brick and the concrete and the bright lights of the city and while Chris loved all of those things about New York and loved wandering through the streets of Tribeca and Soho, getting lost in bookstores and hole-in-the-wall cafes, he also loved the sand, shale and stars and those were things that he just couldn’t find in the city that never slept.

There were quite a few people out and about, Chris noted, most of them he recognised as being residents with their friendly smiles and waved greetings, but there were a handful of tourists too; there always was on weekends during the summer. Not that Chris minded, of course, because for all the village was a popular escape for those seeking a break from the metropolitan life of the nearby hub of cities, it never succumbed to the all-too-often inevitability of commercialisation and still managed to hold on to its peaceful charm, despite it not quite being the quaint fishing village it once was back in the days before the Civil War.

It was one of the reasons why Chris found himself retreating here in the summer and not making the trip back home to spend the off-season in Massachusetts. He would go back to Boxford for a couple of weeks, naturally, because family was something that had always been important to Chris and he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with his parents and sister, but if he had the choice between spending his entire summer being bitten to death by mosquitoes back home (his father always did say that they were the town bird, after all) or feeling the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze against his skin, there was no real contest. Rowayton would always win.

The main street through town was busier, which wasn’t exactly unexpected and if anything it only seemed to add to the charm of the village. Chris decided to head straight to the market to pick up his groceries, if only to facilitate the Danish eating in a more timely-fashion. He picked up a basket as he entered and proceeded to add only the essentials he’d need to get him through the next couple of days. He’d pay for his shopping before going to the coffee bar, because trying to pack his reusable grocery bag with a full takeout cup was a mistake he’d made once before and was sure to never repeat again.

With his groceries purchased and bags packed in such a way that the couple of bottles of wine he’d picked up wouldn’t clink together when he walked (it was three to be exact but after seeing the selection of cured meats, cheeses and olives available he thought it’d be a crime if they didn’t find their way into his basket to come home with him, and if there was cheese there had to be wine), Chris made his way to the coffee counter situated near the Market entrance.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a trip away without the company of anyone else but the last couple of months at work had been incredibly stressful, with projects seemingly coming out of your ears and while you knew your mother had been worried by your suggestion of taking off somewhere alone for the weekend, she also knew better than to fight you on something you’d quite clearly already set your mind to. If you were being completely honest, your plans for the first full weekend you’d had off in months would have consisted of not setting foot outside of your apartment or engaging in any kind of unnecessary conversation had you decided to stay home in Hartford, at least this way you’d be getting some fresh air and the sun on your face.

It was just shy of a two hour drive down to Rowayton, which had the dual benefit of being close enough to home that it didn’t feel like a huge trek just to get there, but also being far enough away that you would be a complete stranger in this town and could take the time to decompress and recharge while blending into the background, and the place was pretty to boot. You’d found a little studio Airbnb not too far away in South Norwalk, figuring that you’d only be using it as somewhere to sleep as you’d planned on spending as much of your time as possible being right by that ocean with the wind in your hair and the warm sun on your skin.

That’s how you’d planned on spending your Saturday afternoon, sat on the sand of Bayley Beach with a good book and a cup of coffee. It was set to be a balmy day, with temperatures sitting in the mid-eighties and the last thing you wanted to be doing in the heat was any amount of excessive walking. So with that in mind, you’d spent your morning exploring the village and taking in the sights and sounds. The gentle protest of your stomach told you it was lunchtime before you’d even taken the opportunity to glance down at your watch and a quick Google search pointed you in the direction of somewhere to get that all important cup of coffee and a small bite to eat.

Rowayton Market didn’t look like much from the outside in the sense that it was a little on the petite side, but the reviews were great and the coffee was allegedly some of the best in the village and that was good enough for you. You were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods and ground coffee, which was welcoming enough before you even saw the bright smile of the girl behind the counter. Your eyes drifted over the selection of pastries, each one more delicious looking than the last and you knew that you were going to have a hard time choosing just one. You knew you’d have to make a decision, though, suddenly aware of the small line that had seemingly materialised right out of thin air behind you and while you were sure that these people were more accustomed to a slower pace of life, the city girl in you, who was so used to living life in the fast lane, didn’t want to keep these good people waiting while you deliberated. You’d go with your usual and that would be that.

Chris’s attention was fixed out of the large glass windows at the front of the shop, watching as people milled in the street and went about their daily business. It was something he quite often did, whether he was here or back home in New York. There was something oddly soothing about watching the world go by, he thought, and occasionally he’d catch something that would quirk his lips up into a smile, like the sight before him now of a rather large gull in the process of committing larceny against what he could only assume was an unsuspecting tourist. Their sandwich was held high above their head while their free hand attempted to shoo the bird away with little success. He chuckled quietly to himself then, not least because the gulls seemed to get more brazen with each year that passed and he was sure that one of these days he’d see someone’s lunch get snatched right out of their hand by the feathered menaces.

Chris had no reason at all to believe as he stood in that line that everything was about to change. Why would he? The day had started like any other. He’d picked up his groceries in this store more times than he could count, he’d waited in a line just like this one for his coffee and Danish and yet, in that moment, something as innocuous as a woman’s voice would bring feelings that he thought he was done with, and memories he thought had strayed out of his mind for good, flooding back to the surface. But it wasn’t just any woman’s voice, no, it wasn’t as detached and neutral as that. It was your voice; a voice he hadn’t heard in nine years and it was something as simple as a coffee order, an order that he now knew to have remained the same since the day you’d first met at Boston College all those years ago, that blew the dam wide open and every word the two of you had ever spoken, from day one to the last thing you ever said to him, came rushing back.

The sound of Chris’s voice calling your name was something you never thought you’d hear out loud again. It was a voice you’d only heard in your dreams for many years after he walked out of your life, but even that had faded beyond memory to where you weren’t a hundred percent certain that you’d be able to remember what it sounded like anymore. And yet, in the middle of a tiny supermarket in Rowayton, you heard him clear as day with his tongue rolling around the syllables of your name with the same fondness, even after all this time and it was like you’d never forgotten the sound at all.

*

Autumn was beginning to make her presence felt in Boston. The palette on campus had shifted from a spectrum of vivid greens to shades of deep russet, amber, ochre and vermillion; but even above the changing leaves, the turning of the calendar brought a slight chill to the air that had you reaching for your jacket on a morning as you left your dorm.

Today was no different. The temperature had dropped again overnight as November creeped ever closer and it was chilly enough that you had to draw your coat tighter around you as you walked across campus towards class. Your brisk pace had bought you enough time to make a stop at the coffee stand just outside of Campion where your first class of the day was being held. There was a decent selection on offer, but it wasn’t enough to sway you from ordering your usual.

You rooted around your backpack for your wallet while the barista prepared your coffee and grabbed you your cinnamon roll, unaware of the new presence to your right, before handing over the money and taking the coffee and pastry bag from the young man’s hands.

“Coffee and cinnamon roll, eh? Now that’s the breakfast of champions.”

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of the stranger beside you who looked to be not much older than you were, incredibly tall and broad for his apparent age but not for his height. He was grinning at you with a fullness that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and gave him a unique kind of softness.

“My mom would disagree,” you replied with a smirk. “If she found out I was having this for breakfast she’d be in her car so fast and dragging my ass back to Hartford.”

He laughed at that, loud and bright with his head tipped back slightly before running a hand through his dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides but had the faintest hint of a curl at the longer strands on top.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not telling her,” you grinned as you swung your backpack over one shoulder. “So looks like you’re sworn to secrecy.”

You studied him for a brief moment, with the way he was still grinning at you and his eyes that seemed to sparkle behind his dark lashes before your brain gently reminded you that you, in fact, had somewhere you needed to be. “Well, I hate to impose a vow of silence on you like some sort of mafia boss and then immediately split but I uh I gotta head to class.”

“No problem at all and hey, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ve forgotten already. What were we talking about?”

There it was again, that smile of his that made you want to stay rooted right where you were standing and look at it all day, but class beckoned and so you gave an awkward wave of your hand and a soft laugh before you turned and headed into the building behind you without another glance back. If you had you’d have seen the stranger from the coffee stand watch until you’d disappeared from view, with that smile still on his face.

This little routine of yours would continue over the course of the next few weeks. Every Tuesday morning, at around 8:45am, you’d find yourself stood at that coffee stand outside of Campion to get your coffee and cinnamon roll, and every Tuesday morning, at around 8:46am, the tall stranger would appear beside you with his kind eyes and his bright smile. You’d exchange a ‘hello’ and a friendly grin and you’d laugh more often than not too while you made pleasant small talk before you both said your goodbyes and went to your respective classes, though you would always leave first and he would watch you go until you’d disappeared into the building.

It was mid-November, now, and the campus of Boston College was firmly in autumn’s frigid grasp. The temperatures continued to drop, seemingly overnight, which had you bundled up in your hat and scarf and the trees had shed their branches of leaves, crunching underfoot with the slight frost as you made your way towards Campion. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to ward off the gnawing chill and you were looking forward to being able to warm them around your coffee cup.

You approached the stand as normal, rooting through your backpack for your wallet ready to order.

“Hey!”

You looked up, your features fixed in a state of mild confusion while you looked for the source of the voice you recognised but couldn’t quite place. It was then you saw him though, all bright eyed and bushy tailed with a medium coffee and pastry bag held up in one of his large hands as if on display. He was grinning at you and cocked his head, beckoning you over with the wordless gesture.

“Hey, yourself,” you smiled as you approached. “What’s this then?” You tilted your head slightly at the items in his hand as he offered them to you.

“Breakfast of champions.”

Your eyebrow quirked as you took the coffee from him before taking a tentative sip, smiling while the warm liquid slid down your throat.

“You got my coffee order right.”

“It wasn’t hard,” he smirked. “You order the same thing every week and if you open that little paper bag I think you’ll find a cinnamon roll in there.”

Sure enough, as you opened the bag you were greeted with the sight of a perfectly formed cinnamon roll and you couldn’t help the grin that sparked at your lips and spread the full width of your face.

“I don’t order the same thing every week.”

“You do,” he replied with a laugh. “Every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks you’ve come to this coffee stand and ordered a medium Americano with half and half and a cinnamon roll and every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks I’ve been meaning to ask you your name.”

Your face flushed warm at that, not only at his words but at the sure little smile he was giving you and the way his eyes were sparkling. In fact, now that you were really looking at him properly, you were knocked back a bit by the perpetual kindness that seemed to rest in them and you couldn’t help but notice how they really were the perfect shade of hazel, like a forest with a deep bark heart surrounded by leaves that were every shade of green. You’d been quiet a little too long though and so you took a settling sip of coffee to give you enough time to find your voice again and tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he offered you his hand, which was large and warm as you shook it.

“And who should I thank for the coffee?” you asked.

His smile grew into a grin then, the kind that you’d noticed over the course of the last few weeks that made his eyes crinkle and happiness radiate from him, before simply replying:

“Chris.”

*

“Chris?”

It was as if time had stood still in that little Market in Rowayton, where your surroundings become a still-frame and there’s nothing but static in your ears. You’d often thought about what it would have been like to see him again. Those first couple of years after he’d left Boston College had you imagining all kinds of scenarios, much like the one you were in right now where you’d bump into each other in a supermarket or a pharmacy, anywhere really, but now that you were living it, seeing it, breathing it, there was nothing you could have conjured up in your imagination that would have prepared you for what it would really feel like to see him again. If you were to be completely honest, you were glad that your coffee and cinnamon roll were still on the top of the counter because you were certain that they would have fallen right out of your hands and onto the Market floor.

He abandoned his position in the line then, as if you speaking his name was a call to him, and maybe it was, on some level, but the truth and simplicity of it was that you were suspended in a state of pure disbelief and even in the short time it took for him to close the distance between you both, you were still yet to move and fix your features to something more neutral.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting that he gave you and logically you knew that there wasn’t really any tangible meaning behind that single word he spoke and yet there was something about the look in his eyes and the warmth in the smile he gave you.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “You look, you look good.”

It wasn’t a lie either, he did look good. The tall college boy you remembered, who was just a little too slight for his height, had filled out; you could tell that just from the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across the broad plains of his chest and strained around his biceps, and he was no longer clean shaven, which was something that had always made him look quite baby-faced. Instead he was sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and while he had kept his hair short on the sides, just like you’d remembered it, it was longer on the top than it had been in college and the curls were sweeping in a way that reminded you of the waves just beyond the Market door. He looked older, yes, which is exactly what you would have expected in the nine years since you’d last seen him but his eyes were still exactly the same, sparkling and full of mischief , yet still soft, perhaps even softer than before on account of the faint lines around them drawn by time’s fair hand.

“So do you,” he grinned. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” you looked down as your face flushed with warmth, unsure exactly what you were supposed to say to him.

It was something you’d thought about during those imagined scenarios where you’d magically bump into each other again and you’d thought about all of the things that you would say to him. You would tell him about how much you’d cried when he left you behind to live out his boyhood dream and how angry you were that he didn’t want you to be a part of that, how it felt like all the plans you’d ever talked about were nothing more than empty words and how hurt that had made you feel. You felt like you at least deserved that, especially given that it was never just a casual fling between you both. After all, you’d been practically inseparable for two years. You’d been inseparable ever since he’d said those three words that mean so much. But now that he was here in front of you, all those words that had swirled around in your head and in your chest like a hurricane for so long, dissipated into nothing and you found yourself clutching at straws to find something, anything, to say.

Chris could sense this though. Of course he could because he was Chris and he had always been so in tune with you and your emotions and the fact that he was still able to read you so well was both a comfort and a knife in your chest, and while he internally grimaced at the fact he was having to fall back on using small talk between you both, he felt like it was what you needed in the moment. He wouldn’t expect things to go back to how they were after all this time, he couldn’t, and so he started with something simple, something he knew you would be able give him an answer to.

“So, what brings you to sunny Rowayton?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied.

“Ah,” Chris grinned, trying to keep the mood light. “See I asked you first and also, I live here so therefore the ‘question answering’ responsibility falls back to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, at both his words and the silly little expression he was wearing and despite all the years that sat between you both like a void and all of your hurt that was held within it, it all seemed to briefly melt away and in that moment it was like you were back at that little coffee stand outside of Campion.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation. Wait is this one of those little weird cult towns? Should I be worried?”

Chris knew by the little smirk you were wearing that you meant no malice behind your words and so he responded by sucking in air through his teeth before speaking again with one of those smiles that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Watch it, Pickle.”

Your stomach fell right into your shoes in that moment, that name he used only for you slipped from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, like he’d never stopped calling you it and like it hadn’t been nine years since you’d last spoke a word to one another. Chris knew all this of course and he didn’t need to rely on intuition either because he could see every emotion written all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly on the exhale of a breath. “I um.. Force of habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Although not exactly ‘habit’, it’s been how long?”

Chris winced at that, the reality of how he left things between you both slapping him in the face and he was filled with the guilt that he’d spent almost a decade pushing out of his chest and shoving into the darkest corner of his memory where he would hope it would rest undisturbed. He knew that you were angry at him for leaving things the way he did, how could you not be? After all, he was the one who had broken your heart and left you in Boston, but it was never as simple as that, even back then there was so much he should have said but that was something he wouldn’t realise until much later when it was too late to repair the damage. The thinly veiled hurt in your eyes and the way your mouth was downturned was demonstrative of that fact.

“I know,” he all but whispered. “It just-“

“It’s fine, Chris. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

He nodded, watching with a quiet kind of sadness on his features as you turned to finally pick your coffee and cinnamon roll up off the counter before he cleared his throat softly to continue speaking.

“You never did say what brought you into town.”

You took a sip of coffee to give yourself long enough to settle the thundering in your chest before answering him, because for all your heart felt like it was about to burst from all the hurt you’d managed to hide away up until now, there was also a weird sense of nostalgia that came with seeing him and hearing his voice again, and even though he’d shattered your heart completely when he decided he no longer wanted you in his life, your mother had raised you right and you knew the proper thing to do was to indulge him in a little small talk, even if for nothing more than old time’s sake.

“Just here for the weekend,” you replied. “Work has been nuts lately and I needed some time away from home.”

Chris shuffled on his feet for a moment as you spoke while his eyes darted between you and the door that would lead to the outside world and the possibility of the two of you parting once more. It was an unexpected pull that he felt in his chest at that thought, you reappearing in his life out of the blue only to slip out of it just as suddenly by doing something as simple as walking out of that supermarket back out into the wide world. For nine years he’d thought about where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy and with each year that passed without seeing your face or hearing your voice, he’d resigned himself to the fact that you were lost to him, drifting out there in the seas of life never to see you again. He didn’t know why you’d suddenly come back to him now, whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, although Chris couldn’t have cared less which one it was. All he cared about was the fact that you were here at all and it was an opportunity that he was sure he wasn’t going to waste. He didn’t even know for certain that you would want to give him any of your time after what had happened when he left Boston, but he wanted to at least give you what he should have all those years ago and that was an explanation and an opportunity for you to tell him how his actions had made you feel.

“Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

“Not much,” you shrugged. “I was just going to sit on Bayley Beach and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Would you mind some company? No pressure, of course, I understand if you… I understand if you’d rather not want to spend any time with me.”

You exhaled then and Chris’s shoulders visibly sagged, bracing himself for your polite refusal, but your response was not one that he was expecting and truthfully, it wasn’t one that you had expected either.

“Honestly?” you started, getting swept up in the nostalgia of seeing him again before the rational part of your brain could catch up. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he smiled in what you could see was pure relief. “Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we head out?”

“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

You headed out the door and were sure to stand where Chris could see you, knowing him well enough to realise that he’d be worrying, at least on some level, that you’d slip off into the crowd. You’d never do that to him, of course, even after everything, because while he had broken your heart, he was also the first person you’d ever truly loved and when you’d put the pieces back together, you couldn’t help but keep a part of him wrapped up amongst the tape and string holding those pieces together while you healed. It was in doing that that you understood that he would always have a special place in your heart and honestly? You were kind of okay with that because while the ending hadn’t exactly been perfect, the two years you’d spent together were and you wouldn’t have changed that time for anything.

*

You weren’t sure what exactly had possessed you to let Chris talk you into venturing off campus and out in the early-February snow to get burgers at Eagle’s Deli but you were cursing those sparkling eyes and that roguish grin of his for wearing down your sensibilities as you righted yourself after what felt like the hundredth near-fall. It was slushy underfoot, the kind that’s a twisted ankle or sprained knee waiting to happen and while you’d dressed weather appropriately in your winter boots and heavy parka, you were still very newborn lamb-like in your movements which was amusing Chris to no end.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he called from up ahead as he grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Not all of us can be hockey prodigies and thrive in this kind of inclement weather,” you grumbled, shuffling slowly so as not to slip.

Chris laughed as he came back towards you with confident and purposeful steps, surprising you when he offered his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Now, I’m no expert in geography or meteorology but it snows in Hartford, no?”

He was grinning at you, the kind of grin that you had to fight with every fibre of your being not to reciprocate because you’d already committed to your grumpy act and you couldn’t have him thinking he’d cracked you already, even if he, in fact, had.

“Yes,” you stressed. “But I don’t make a habit of going out in it to get burgers like a crazy person.”

The cackle you received from him in reply was loud and a little wild and you couldn’t help but be completely captivated by the way his cheeks were ruddy from the cold and the snowflakes clinging to the curls on top of his head and long eyelashes. Tuesday morning coffees with him outside of Campion before class had turned into coffees in actual cafes during free periods and getting lunch together. It was even dragging your body out into the cold to the Alumni Stadium with your blanket and your thermos to watch Chris play with the BC Eagles because you couldn’t say no to that damn smile and those damn eyes and even now, as you looked at him taking in the scenery along the Chestnut Hill Reservoir pathway, you knew that they were going to be the death of you.

“It’s really pretty along here,” he spoke, more quietly than before; softer too. “You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of Boston.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice walk,” you agreed before shooting him a smirk and a look. “Would be nice in the spring sunshine too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Little Miss Chilly.”

“I don’t know what you have against being warm, Kreider. Warm is good, warm is nice-“

You shrieked as your feet went out from under you, courtesy of a patch of black ice hidden under slushy snow and you squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for the impact of your ass hitting the cold, hard ground. But it never came.

“It’s okay,” Chris spoke reassuringly, one hand tight around your bicep while his other arm was curled around your waist, holding you upright. “I’ve got you.”

You opened your eyes then to be met with Chris’s looking right at you, all moss and bark and warm. He was smiling at you but it was different to the easy grin he usually wore around you, this was softer somehow and all rational thought was replaced by one of those monkeys playing the cymbals. For the briefest of seconds, and for reasons completely unknown to you, the monkey tried to take the wheel and the idea of kissing him right there, in the middle of the pathway that had made an attempt on your life, flashed into your head.

Maybe it was the snow and how perfect and picturesque the scene around you felt? Maybe it was the fact he’d just saved you from slipping? But the reality of it was that those eyes and that smile held some sort of power over you that you couldn’t yet fully understand. You shook your head quickly, if only to take back control of the situation before you did something more embarrassing than almost falling on your ass.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you regained your composure. “This damn pathway.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chris grinned as he turned so his back was to you and stooped slightly. “Hop on.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I never joke about piggy-backs,” he replied in a faux solemn tone with the face to match. “Come on, we’ll get you to the Deli in one piece one way or another.”

And that was how you ended up with your arms looped around Chris’s shoulders and his strong hands holding the backs of your legs as he carried you on his back to Eagle’s Deli.

Not twenty minutes later, the pair of you were shuffling into a booth as you shed your coats, gloves and scarves, Chris grinning at you while you blew on your fingers in an attempt to restore warmth into them.

“See, told you I’d get you here in one piece.”

You scoffed at him and shot a playful glance across the table separating you both.

“You’re not human, that is the only explanation for how you’re able to walk in that,” you nodded towards the window where the snow was still falling to illustrate your point before continuing, “and not fall flat on your face.”

“Or my ass,” he added with a grin.

“Hey, that never actually happened!”

Chris’s face split into an even bigger smile at your little protest and the pout that had formed on your lips and while the gentle teasing between you was simply a part of the dynamic of your friendship, Chris would have been lying if he didn’t admit that the reason he did it so often was because you always looked so adorable trying to rebut him.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t,” he mused with a smirk, not needing to remind you that it was him who had come to your rescue judging from the unimpressed look you were throwing his way.

“All I’m saying is that we could’ve just gone to Hillside for lunch.”

“But the burgers here are superior,” he countered, smiling at you. “And you got to enjoy a beautiful walk in the snow with me so who’s the real winner he- mmpf!”

Chris was cut off by your damp mitten hitting his face, brows knitting into a slight frown before laughing at the proud grin you wore at the accuracy of your throw.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said with mock hurt.

“Maybe I’m not a very nice person.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” he replied, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, only the kind of sincerity that had your face flushing warm and had you reaching for the menu to hide behind under the pretence of looking at the choices available.

He couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness with which you were trying and failing to hide from him but soon joined you in picking up a menu and perusing it, despite already knowing what he was going to order.

It was a few moments before the waitress came over and while neither of you spoke the silence between you both wasn’t exactly awkward even though Chris knew there was something about his last words that had had some kind of effect on you. He was right, of course, because despite the fact that you’d had hold of this menu for a good couple of minutes already, you hadn’t actually looked at a single thing on it even though you’d made such a show of doing just that and now that Chris had ordered, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, the waitress was looking at you expectantly. Unable to form any kind of rational thought under that kind of pressure, you found yourself simply saying “same” and soon enough it was just you and Chris at the table once more.

Chris was looking at you like he had something he wanted to say and the unreadable expression on his face had you feeling somewhat uneasy for reasons you hadn’t quite ascertained but probably understood on some level if you let yourself think about it for more than a second. He could feel the nervous energy radiating from you though and so rather than pursue his current train of thought, he picked a topic of conversation that was much safer and knew you’d be comfortable with: school.

You talked about your classes and upcoming assignments while he listened intently and you returned the favour while he spoke earnestly about hockey and his own academic workload. It was so easy to settle into a natural rhythm with Chris whenever you talked, as if you’d been having conversations like these for years when in fact it had only been a few months of knowing him and a few weeks of meeting up like this. None of that seemed to really matter though, not when the conversation was good and the chemistry felt right and especially not when it was clear that you were both on the same page when it came to your friendship. There was something else there though, something that was beyond being purely platonic, that much was becoming crystal clear and yet despite the ease in which it was to talk to him about literally anything else, there was something that had you stumbling over the thought of bringing it up.

You were saved from falling down that particular rabbit hole by the reappearance of the waitress, two burgers that were big enough to have your eyes popping out of your head in her hands. Chris chuckled from behind his milkshake at the look of disbelief on your face as your burger was set down in front of you before he reached for the bottle of ketchup between you both. You took the top of your burger bun off, nose immediately wrinkling at the sight of four pickle slices resting on top of the lettuce and tomato.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask for no pickles.”

Chris looked up from where he was squirting ketchup onto his bun, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his face split into a grin.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you began to pick the offensive green menaces off your food and set them at the edge of your plate. “I like what I like.”

Chris reached across and began to transfer the pickles from your plate to his burger, smiling widely at you as he did so.

“Well, I might have found a solution to this particular pickle you find yourself in,” he chuckled at the exaggerated groan and roll of your eyes at the expense of his joke. “You see, I love pickles.”

“You love anything,” you countered. “You’re like a human dumpster.”

“Hurtful,” he replied as he clutched at his chest. “But also true so I’ll allow it.”

You picked up a fry from your plate and threw it at him, immediately filled with equal parts surprise and a strange sense of awe as he reflexively moved and caught it in his mouth.

“You really are a dumpster,” you grinned as you shook your head at the proud little smile he was giving you.

“I am, so how about you don’t ask for no pickles on your burgers and you just give ‘em to me instead?”

It was easy to agree to his proposal, not least because his logic actually made a lot of sense when you thought about it, but mostly because of the way his eyes were sparkling and the way his smile made you feel warm all over, like the falling snow and freezing air outside didn’t exist, like your fingers and toes hadn’t been numbed by the biting cold during your walk here, like there had only ever been sunshine. It was also why you’d agreed to let him carry you back through the snow to your dorm, his large hands hooked around the backs of your thighs and your arms draped over his shoulders much like during the walk to the diner. You’d protested initially, of course, not wanting to burden Chris or put you both at risk of an injury due to the slippery conditions, but he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise and remained unperturbed by the weather, gently reminding you that he had in fact got you to the diner in one piece in the first instance at your objections.

Truthfully, despite the mild embarrassment you felt at your complete ineptitude when it came to walking on ice, you couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed at Chris’s sheer strength. You wondered then, about how hard he must work in the gym to develop such a strong core because while you knew from first-hand experience how slippery it was underfoot, he didn’t falter once throughout the entire walk home and with the way he was talking amiably about his favourite places in the city he called home, and how his hands were holding your legs so surely and securely, you felt safe as houses with your chest pressed into his back – even with your thick coats and layers of winter clothing between you.

He walked with you on his back right up to the entrance of your dorm, setting you down carefully on the pathway that looked to have been newly shovelled before he turned to face you, his cheeks once again ruddy from the cold and your walk home.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ twice in one day,” he grinned, sucking air in through his teeth and shaking his head slightly. “But didn’t I say that I’d get you home safely?”

“So what if you were right twice?” you rebutted with a playful nudge. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna happen again.”

“Watch it, Pickle. I’ll have you know that I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Pickle?” you barked out a laugh, watching as Chris walked slowly backwards down the path away from you with that smile still on his face. “What kind of a name is that? I don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” he called out into the growing distance between you both. “But I do, remember?”

You shook your head at him, chuckling to yourself with a smile on your lips that mirrored his as you watched him.

“See ya Tuesday then, Trash Can!” you hollered.

His raucous cackle cut through the silent flurry as he continued to walk slowly backwards, his grin clear as day even through the falling snowflakes.

“Trash Can! Fucking, Trash Can! Man, you got some serious chirps, Pickle. Can you throw hands too? I mean, I know you suck at keeping your balance on the ice but we could use an enforcer! I could push you around?”

“Anytime, anywhere!” you laughed, watching him with a grin until he had waved his goodbye and turned away before he retreated into the heavy snow.

Part ii

[symphonyofthewrite]

If These Walls Could Talk 

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

[dessarious]

How the Sirens Adopted a Ladybug Pt1

So when I was writing the last chapter of How to Not Get a Date it went full blown angst. Since that wasn’t what I wanted for that story and rewrote the chapter that I posted but the other idea decided to blow up into yet another story so here we go again.

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“I don’t suppose I could convince you not to steal that?” Catwoman spun around to find a girl in what looked like a dark red armored suit with black spots. In the Louvre at two in the morning. What the hell?

“And just what are you supposed to be?” The girl just gave her a sardonic smile and Catwoman couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked.

“I’m Ladybug. Hero of Paris.” The sarcastic tone was unexpected and it took her a minute to actually process the words.

“Since when does Paris have Heroes?”

“Since some megalomaniac found a Miraculous and decided to use it for his own selfish desires. If not for the fact that he targets people with strong negative emotions I wouldn’t care what you do. But since the last time the curator of this exhibit was Akumatized it was a three day battle, I would really like to avoid it if I can.” She just continued to frown at the girl. That couldn’t be real.

“Did Harley and Ivy put you up to this?” That just got her confused frown mirrored back at her. She was either a really good actress or she wasn’t lying.

“Look, this exhibit is moving to London in under two weeks. Could you please just wait until it leaves Paris to take whatever it is you’re after?” This was so strange. She claimed to be a hero but didn’t seem to care that Catwoman was stealing, just that it would become her problem. Even most of the bats frowned upon that sort of thing.

“So you’re just going to let me walk out of here like nothing happened?” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, refusing to make eye contact.

“The police have made it clear that it is not my job to apprehend criminals.” There was a lot of anger under those words. Catwoman walked up to the girl and gently lifted her head so she could study her. Seriously, what was it with black hair and blue eyes? Between the bats and Superman she was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence.

“When was the last time you slept?” She watched Ladybug’s eyes unfocus as she searched for the answer. “How about the last time you ate?” That produced a flinch.

“I can take care of myself.” Well that wasn’t a good reaction. The girl reminded her a bit of Tim and Jason. The sleep deprivation was all the baby CEO but the amorality screamed mister gun nut.

“I’m sure you can. I’ll tell you what; I’ll do what you want but in return you’ll come with me to meet a couple of my friends and let us feed you.” She hesitated but Catwoman didn’t see any worry in her expression. She wasn’t scared of being alone with criminals so it was likely pride holding her back. “I want to talk to you more about the situation here. It’s odd that I haven’t heard about it.”

“No it’s not. The Miraculous magic is very good at containing itself. Very few people outside of Paris have any idea what is going on.” That tone was odd. There was a trace of bitterness but it was mostly resigned.

“How old are you?” The way she held herself said she was experienced in what she did, but everything else screamed that she was still just a kid.

“Old enough to do what must be done.”  Yep, she was dealing with a baby.

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“Will you quit worrying? I’m sure everything’s just fine.” Ivy just shot Harley an annoyed glance. She loved the woman to death but she really needed to take things a bit more seriously sometimes.

“She’s two hours late Harls, that’s a time frame for worry. Not to mention I’ve felt off ever since we got here. There’s something wrong with this city and I don’t like it.” She was constantly on edge and her skin felt like it was trying to crawl off her body. Ivy wanted nothing more than for Selina to get back so they could leave. Sightseeing be damned.

“As always your instincts are dead on.” She let out a relieved breath and turned to yell at Selina for trying to give her a heart attack but couldn’t manage to speak once she saw the person with her. Or rather once she felt the power coming off of them. She pulled Harley behind her and prepared for the worst. Selina was just looking at her like she was insane but the girl was studying her.

“Seriously, you’re scared of a kid?” Harley’s words made her really look at the person and that just made her more worried. Given what she felt this girl was capable of destroying the world without even trying.

“How can you not feel that? The energy radiating from her should be enough that even you should feel it.” Harley and Selina both just looked confused but the girl looked surprised.

“You can actually feel it?” Ivy just nodded. “I’ve never met anyone who could sense the Miraculous before. Whatever you sense though, I assure you I don’t mean any harm. There’s only one person I actually want to maim and I have a feeling when the time comes I won’t even be able to do that.” Well that was… odd. Even Harley was eyeing the girl like she had a screw loose.

“This is Ladybug. She’s a hero here in Paris.” Well that at least explained why she was late. “She’s asked me to hold off on my transaction until it leaves Paris.”

“And you agreed? She’s just going to go to the cops and make things more difficult for you later.” Harley’s words caused anger and hurt to flash across her expression before she controlled it.

“I said I wouldn’t. They wouldn’t take me seriously if I did anyway.” Now she saw why Selina brought her back with her. The girl looked like a stray cat. The stiff way she held herself was exactly like a cat who’d learned that people can’t be trusted, but she refused to run or show fear either. Then Ivy noticed the girls hair and eyes and almost groaned out loud. Selina had been spending so much time with her boyfriend that she was picking up his adoption preferences.

“I wanted to talk with her more about what’s going on here in Paris. We should order food since I have a feeling it’s going to be a long discussion.” Ivy saw the girl's cheeks turn pink and took the time to really look at her. She was the kind of thin that came from not eating rather than just being fit. Her mask hid any bags that might be under her eyes, but even standing still her body was swaying a little. The girl looked like she was about to pass out.

“Of course. Here, have a seat.” Ivy made chairs out of plants for everyone and the girl's face went completely blank before she turned to Selina.

“Is that normal for her?” Harley just started giggling but Selina gave Ladybug a sympathetic smile.

“Yes, Ivy has the power to control plants.” Ladybug let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank Kwami. I don’t think I’m up for another Akuma today.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley. What the hell was an Akuma?

“You’re fighting people that control plants?” The girl blinked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned.

“No, it’s complicated. I haven’t had to explain this to someone in a long time so I might not make much sense.” She sat while Harley went to order food. Ivy sat across from her and noticed how she melted into the seat. She obviously wasn’t used to being comfortable. When Harley came back in the room they were about to start asking questions when a little black cat shaped creature appeared. It was emitting just as much power as the girl.

“I don’t suppose any of you are willing to spring for camembert?” Harley gave out a squeak of surprise but Catwoman just looked stunned.

“Plagg! Are you out of your mind? Not to mention how rude it is.” Ladybug couldn’t seem to decide whether to be annoyed or embarrassed.

“Given that this one steals for a living I doubt they stand on good manners. Besides, you don’t know if you don’t ask.” The cheeky tone caused an eye twitch in the girl.

“What exactly is that?” Selina hadn’t stopped staring at the creature.

“I’m Plagg, Kwami of Destruction. I power the Black Cat Miraculous.” The girl actually threw her hands up in frustration.

“Tikki’s going to kill us both. Of all the people you could have decided to come out for why would you choose criminals?” Poor kid sounded close to tears and the creature flew up under her chin and started purring. Selina was grinning like a mad woman. Ivy had a feeling things were about to get a lot more complicated.

“Everything will be fine Bug, you’ll see. I’m the Kwami of bad luck and I can feel yours shifting.”

“I thought you said you were the Kwami of Destruction?” Selina sounded far too amused. Ivy shook her head at the woman. She still didn’t understand how no one else could feel the danger here.

“I’m both, just as Tikki is the Kwami of Creation and Good Luck, which is the Miraculous that gives Ladybug her powers.” The Kwami suddenly flew right up to Ivy to study her. “You’re an interesting being. Your abilities are inherently creation but you use them to destroy as well. She could be a good influence for you Bug.” Ladybug let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not using your powers to smite the people you think have wronged me Plagg. And I would really like to stop having this argument.”  

“You act like it’s an opinion rather than a fact. Even Tikki agrees with me there.” The Kwami sounded indignant and more than a little angry. The energy around it was getting steadily stronger. They really needed to divert it’s attention.

“What were you saying about camembert?” The Kwami perked up immediately but Ladybug cringed.

“Kwami need food to recharge and while just about anything will do in a pinch they each have favorites. Plagg’s favorite is extremely smelly and extremely pricy cheese. Which I haven’t been able to provide for awhile now.” Plagg’s expression dropped at her tone.

“Oh kit, it’s not your fault.” The creature flew back to her and began purring again. Ladybug wouldn’t look anyone in the eye but Ivy could feel the guilt and worry coming from her. Whatever was going on this kid needed a break.

“I just need to go change. Then I can run to the store while we wait for the rest of the food.” Plagg looked ecstatic at Selina’s announcement. Ladybug looked mostly worried but there was a bit of relief under that.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was expensive. I feel bad enough, don’t let them guilt you into buying something that isn’t really necessary.” Selina scoffed.

“I know exactly how temperamental some creatures are about food and given Ivy’s reaction I’d like to stay on their good side for the moment. Besides, the money isn’t an issue.” She was walking out of the room before the girl could respond. Instead she frowned at Plagg who was still looking after Selina.

“I thought we agreed no more surprises.”

“Tikki and Wayzz agreed, I didn’t. Besides, an opportunity is presenting itself that we don’t want to miss.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley, who just shrugged at her. Ladybug seemed just as clueless about what they meant. That couldn’t be a good thing.

AO3      Next

[babbushka]

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences 

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :) 

Available on AO3

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine. 

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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

The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway. 

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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

Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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

Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat  conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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

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

The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.  

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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

Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

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

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target. 

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

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

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”  

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

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

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.  

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!”                                                  ---------------------

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

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl​ @loverofallthings​ 

[cultofbeatles]

parts of pete shotton’s book “john lennon: in my life” that stood out to me

(this is semi long and contains book spoilers)

john and pete being the first people ever to get banned from their church 

pete saying john would always share any candy he had with everyone around, but that he would maybe give john one piece of candy 

they held a competition to see who could go the longest without swearing and they both spent so much time focusing on not swearing that they sat in silence 

tw blood/cutting: wanting to do a blood oath and cut their wrists to be “blood brothers” but john brought a dull knife that wouldn't cut so they pretended to do it 

being pyromaniacs (seriously)

john crawling out of all fours and groaning after being canned and making pete get canned even worse because he was laughing 

john being known to pee himself when laughing 

john daydreaming while he was riding his bike, crashing into a parked car, catapulted into the air, hurt his arm pretty bad, but his main concern was the damage to his bike 

they once had a serious fight where pete was about to step on john’s glasses but intentionally missed just to tease john 

persuading their classmates to wear white dog collars that they made in class 

eleven year old john making pete watch him orgasm 

pete and john having sex with their girlfriends in the same bed 

john going through great lengths to avoid dancing because he was horrible at it 

john and paul’s first introduction being awkward as they both just stood there 

pete asking paul if he’ll join the band: “a full minute passed while paul pretended to give the matter careful thought: “oh, all right.” he finally shrugged.”

mimi slamming the door in paul’s face whenever john wasn't there to stop her 

george just pushing himself into the band because he wanted to be there 

paul, george, and john wearing buckets on their head and marching around on paul’s roof to make fun of pete’s cadet graduation ceremony 

one night after julia’s death pete found john completely passed out drunk on a bus and found out that he had been on it for hours. he took him home and tucked him into bed. 

john saying that he wrote in my life with pete and stuart in mind 

cynthia scolding john for saying something outrageous and then john saying something even more outrageous 

the quote, “john bamboozled his new soulmate” in reference to making stuart use his art show money to buy a bass 

brian epstein asking if pete wanted to come back to his house for sex and pete turning him down but following with, “no offense taken. actually, i take it as a compliment!”

calling ringo a runt 

“what’s a fucking wank between friends anyways?” - pete shotton

brian having a reminder of “haircut for george” on his desk because he was in charge of their grooming needs 

john giving pete one of his big beatles paychecks so he had money for christmas

john asking pete “isn't he lovely?” when first meeting julian 

john screaming “hi pete!” at a show because he told the staff to let him know whenever pete arrived 

john hated to be touched and especially by strangers 

john wanted to open his book in his own write with a dedication to pete saying “to pete, who got it first.” but didn't want to hurt mimi’s feelings so he drew a caricature of pete at the beginning and that’s how he dedicated it to him secretly 

pete telling john he would never go to a interviewer and talk about john for money. (he only talked to two authors about john. hunter davies, who he asked john for permission for, and philip norman. who told pete that he was only writing a book about liverpool pop music)

cynthia and john getting in an argument because she wanted a porsche and john said they're too dangerous 

paul was the beatle that was the hardest to get close to 

george’s proudest possession was a painting by bob dylan and he had a guitar shaped pool 

“there never was, and probably never will be, a group more self contained or tightly knit than the beatles were in those days..”

john loved a good pun joke 

john loved hanging out with the monkees and micky dolenz was the craziest one 

“the only thing john hated more than going to bed at night was getting out of it the next day.” MOOD.

john would literally read every single page of the newspaper 

he once saw a tv program talking about autistic kids and donated 1,000 pounds to an autistic foundation 

john making a random guest give him their sgt pepper album so pete could get one 

the beatles almost showed up to brian’s memorial service in bright colorful clothes for “good vibes”

tw suicide: john was convinced brian committed suicide 

george telling pete he use to think he was a “bad influence” on john 

paul thought magical mystery tour was going to be a big masterpiece 

at beatles financial meetings: paul doodling, john high on lsd, ringo asleep in the corner, george actually paying attention 

bill turner (childhood friend of theirs) telling paul he didn't like hello, goodbye and paul being taken back by that

the beatles bought pete a car (jaguar to be specific)

john was very insecure around girls and never knew if they liked him or not 

john thinking his housekeeper would assume him and pete were having sex because they were laying next to each other 

pete was actually happy at first when john and yoko got together because john was happy 

any time john and pete would be laughing together yoko would silence John 

the beatles had to constantly tell ringo he was the best rock drummer in the world before he agreed to join the band again 

paul asking pete if hey jude or revolution should be on the A side, pete saying hey jude, and then paul immediately screaming to john that pete picked his song over john’s. 

there was so many arguments with yoko that would have to be another post itself but i will say it’s awful 

george running after the press in his backyard because he took a photo of him while the police chase george around to arrest him for possession of drugs 

“remember pete, they can't kill you for speaking your mind.” - john lennon

when pete found out about john’s death he went to visit george 

“on the drive back home, memories of john flooded into my head. what a life, i thought.” <3

[vidalinav]

Letting Things Get too Far: (One-shot) *Contains ACOSF spoilers

This is not the fic I was going to post and I am on the fence now about posting “Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue.” I might still do it, but I don’t know, because I don’t want the six chapters to influence my perception, but OMG I am so mad. I have to laugh because I’ve never been this mad before. And I know eventually it will be okay with the rest of the book, but I cannot deal NOW with what we’ve got. I will not be unbiased, no reader in the world is unbiased when they love a book, but oooo this is a little too much. Like if you’re not deeply enraged are you even a fan? Lol

The only way I deal with emotions is writing because I get really obsessive and I cannot stop thinking about something until I change my mind about it, so I wrote a fic based on those chapters to change my mind. 

So Please don’t read this fic if you haven’t read the 5.5 chapters that were released (legally) to the world yesterday. I do have to say that I wrote this based on Italian translation and not of the one that was translated by someone here in English. But the general concept it the same. 

Summary: Nesta gets threatening (some time after she’s “healed”) 

~

Nesta could tell they were watching her. She supposed it must have seemed off to them that she was sitting in the dining room, reading a newspaper, a toast with jam and cup of tea to the side of her. Too casual, they must have thought. So very much unlike the Nesta they knew.

But one by one they sat—to the side of her of course since she’d chosen the head of the table. Nesta knew of only one other person who would dare sit across from her. She smirked behind the letters, the paper smelling of ink.

First Elain, sweet Elain with her soft, cautious good morning.

Then Feyre with her ruffled hair, matted and imperfect. Nothing like the High Lady she was supposed to be. How embarrassing, she thought, that Feyre had not yet learned that queens were to be perfect in every instance. Every circumstance.

Mor yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head. The billowy blonde looked to Feyre as Nesta sipped a bit of tea. Green with a slice of lemon.

Amren was shushed as she came barreling in. Loudly and grumpy. Tired, perhaps, from her days going over the law books of Velaris code.

Rhysand kissed the apple of Feyre’s cheek, her little sister’s skin turning red. A honeyed gesture that made the rest gag mockingly for the way Rhys then bit down on the soft flesh and playfully pulled. He indeed sat where she thought he was going to—the only seat left closest to Feyre. His brows furrowed when he noticed her across from him, but Nesta didn’t give him the light of day.

The game had not begun.

Nesta waited for the missing player, ruffling the newspaper, the sound harsh in this room where all remained quiet. As if they were waiting for something.

Waiting for someone.

Azriel walked in, sitting to the side of her. He peered up at her. Wary and assessing. What are you up to?

She blinked at him surprised, not at all expecting that he’d be here for this—that he’d come down from the House of Wind to grace them with his presence. No matter. This talk wasn’t particularly for him, but she supposed he’d learn something too. As they all could.

The last one of them arrived with a flourish down the stairs. Bright and loud, stomping on the wood as if soldiers had been set loose in this house and not merely one male who made her smile sweetly despite herself.

He kissed her on the lips, a small peck. Something new for the others to witness. They looked at each other, mirth in their eyes—shock. But not from her happiness, Nesta thought, from their triumph. This broken girl who’d been mended when her heart was full.

“Sit down,” Nesta commanded softly, pointing her chin to the seat beside her—across from Azriel. She watched him look towards his brother, but Azriel merely shrugged.

“You waited for me?” Cassian laughed, the sound off even to her. His eyes squinting with concern… or was that vigilance she saw?

Oh, how dangerous he must know her to be to look at her like that.

Nesta smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d always for wait for you.”

Cassian lips set into a fine line at the sickly-sweet tone.

“In fact, I couldn’t have done this without you,” she gestured to the room, shrugging at the last moment. A strained laugh on her voice, “Or so they’ll say.”

Nesta set her newspaper down. The paper rumbling. Distantly she could hear the yells of soldiers, the clash of swords calling to her in her memory.

But none of that noise was here. No one said a gods-damned thing.

She sighed, sitting back in her chair, surveying them all. She could scent their fear, but Nesta didn’t know who it was coming from as she looked to food in the center. Vibrant jellies, eggs, and bacon. Much more food than any she’d consumed in her months away. She’d been reduced to plain porridge.

“Just say what you need to say, girl,” Amren said, gripping the table with her hands. Small and powerless.

Not as powerful as her anyway.

“You’re right of course, dear friend. I should get on with it as any other.”

Nesta lilted her head in a nod. “Consider this meeting long overdue. It was my fault really, for having been in such a low place. I suppose being constantly faced with death and brutality is a regular occurrence to the fae.”

She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, huffing a laugh as Cassian’s gaze went to the skin of her collarbone from where her robe had slipped off from her shoulder. “Or so I’ve been endearingly reminded of for the past four months… It was my bad of course for letting things get too far.”

Nesta leaned forward, laying her head delicately on her hand. “Isn’t that what you said Feyre? I want to get the exact words right.”

But Feyre didn’t speak only stared at her with those blue eyes so much like hers but so different. They were made from different parts she supposed—different parts of their mother. Feyre got the stomach, and Nesta got her cold, melodic heart.

Queen indeed.

“Letting things get too far?” Nesta laughed, the sound loud even to her own ears. “Yes, I suppose that was true… But you know, this amazing thing happened when I was forced to follow this routine of yours. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Over and over until I thought the monotony might kill me itself.”

Nesta smiled brightly to all of them, her eyes rolling over their gazes. Elain didn’t dare look at her. Nesta was not in the mood to comfort. What were older sisters for but to lead by example?

“If the magic and the trauma didn’t do it first,” she added.

 She lowered her voice as if she were about to tell a story, engaging her audience until all they could do was listen.

“And then—like a miracle—Cassian was called to Vallahan and I went with him. Screw the rules, he said…” Nesta patted him in the shoulder. A good little soldier. “So easy for you to say that when the rules were not made for you.”

“You know what I discovered?” She sang.

Nesta waited for an answer, but no one would meet her gaze.

She looked to the one who knew so much about the outside world. The one who could never leave the one inside her head. “What did I discover Mor?”

Mor took a sip of her mimosa, cringing as she swallowed. “People fear you.”

“People fear me,” Nesta said, proudly.

She laughed, shaking her head at these beings in pajamas who thought so highly of themselves.

She lifted a shoulder, “for good reason of course. I certainly convinced the council of Vallahan. I always knew I had this power, but to wield it—to not let it control me but to be controlled—Glorious.”

“And you know what I learned in those two weeks?” Nesta lowered her voice, the words slipping out of her in a sneer. “That I have more power in my little pinky then you have in your entire body. All of you.”

She flipped her hair back, where a stray piece had fallen forward, “I got your little treaty signed of course. That was simple. You’d be surprised how easy it is for people to give up their will when they are pissing their pants. But no matter, all’s fair right?”

“Why are you tell us this?” Rhys asked. “What do you want?”

Her eyes went to his, those violent storms of subdued rage.

Tell me again to sit like a dog High Lord, she whispered into his mind. Rhys sat straight up, Feyre grasping his arm.

Nesta simply picked up her newspaper once more. The image in the center showing a great depiction of Velaris’s royal family.

“You ever make a decision on my behalf again,” her voice turning to soft silk. As sweet as a poison apple, “I will burn this city to the ground.”

Nesta tilted her head up, noting the marbled leaves engrained in the ceiling. The opulence. The fraudulent comfort of a house too large for two.

“I think I’ll start with this estate.”

She tutted. “Paints are usually flammable, aren’t they Feyre?”

She watched her sister swallow, the light of Rhysand’s eyes dimming to a darkness she thought might engulf them all.

Nesta could smell his fear…

She lifted the cup to her lips, “Understood?”

“Duly noted.”

The rest mumbled their assent.

And Nesta turned to the toast at her side, already spread with apricot jam. She picked up the bread and set it on Cassian’s plate. “I quite like these jams. We should get some before we go.”

“Too much sugar,” he replied slowly, as if he was getting used to the switch from her being threatening to caring. “You eat this, and you’ll be tired within the hour.”

Nesta pouted in response, wrinkling her nose, “You know, you really need to lighten up. Maybe you’ve gotten harsher in your old age.”

Cassian gave her a hard look.

“I mean, you’re in your 500s. You can barely keep up with the times,” She teased. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t keep up… in other areas.”

Cassian scoffed, lifting his lips in an outrageous laugh.

“Wait” Feyre called, holding her hands up in surrender. Nesta turned to her, lifting a curious brow. Her little sister blinked back, unsure if Nesta still wanted to destroy their home.

She would never destroy her little sister’s home...

But then Nesta thought of her shabby apartment laying in rubbles, ready to be rebuilt.

Oh, right.

“Will you continue to be our emissary?”

That was a question Nesta was not expecting…

“Oh, I don’t know,” She flourished. “I suppose we’ll see how it goes.”

She shrugged dramatically, “You follow these rules… and after a couple of months, I’ll re-assess your behavior. We can revisit me working with you all after some time has passed.”

“I don’t see how you’re allowed to do whatever you please, just by being threatening,” Amren noted.

Nesta smiled at the hypocrisy.

“Subsection B, Line 84 says I can,” Nesta sang, “As long as were making up rules.”

~

I’m laughing as I type this. This book is about to be a cathartic experience. It actually did make me feel better to write this. 

I wish someone would release an epub already. Like fuck this shit, we’ve bought three versions, two versions, one versions, multiple versions. There’s only a week left. It hardly matters, release the PDF! The book was supposed to be out last month anyway. I’m not into self-righteousness right now, like the release of books is mostly about money. Sara has earned her part. I’m sure she’s happy. These are the people who hardly cared about promoting it at all. I think they threw this book out the window a long time ago and you know what they saved money on promotions too. They’ll be fine. 

I’m clearly displacing my anger... But I cant handle this anymore... But I cant stay away.