#i can barely be in my room during the day i should become nocturnal

[coldbloods]

i cant take this heat honestly and my room acts like an oven or smthn its so bad rn

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

[katsukikitten]

Back at it again since tumblr didnt want me in the tags the first time

Bakugou was irritable today. Not that his irritability was anything new but every little thing set his skill crawling. His forearms littered with threatening pops as he bared his teeth to anyone brave enough to look his way. 

He figured the only way to get his agitation out was to hit something, anything.

 So he headed to one of the two closest gyms from his small apartment to blow off some much needed steam. The local 24 hour gym that was open to the public was a no go, not just because it was always over crowded but also because he got banned after cussing out some damn extras who were snapping pictures of him instead of working out like one should. Leaving his only other option to be the agency's "gym". 

When he first set foot into the sorry excuse of a gym he demanded a better upgrade for it, if they expected to keep him and Kirishima in top shape. Otherwise he would begin to look elsewhere considering other agencies were dying to have the newest upcoming pro hero in their rankings. The agency obliged, delivering his expectations and more in less than a week. Guess being in the top five really did have its perks. 

The ash blonde pulls his shiny new coupe into the parking garage and finds a spot closest to the entrance. He grabs for his water bottle from the passenger seat before exiting the car, locking his black beauty as he made his way inside.  He swipes his fob over the keypad before it beeps while flashing green, allowing him entrance to the back door of the basement. Walking past the long corridor of support labs that had long since closed to get to the gym. The rooms illuminated by the low light of locked computers, secrets and redesigns stowed away behind bullet proof glass. 

Nearing the end of the dimly lit hall he spies harsh light flooding onto the linoleum floor, indicating that someone seemed to be collecting some major overtime. From his experiences at UA he figured each room would be filled to the brim with over eager support, eccentrically yelling at one another over specs and improvements, sharing their love of science at a volume much too high for Bakugou's taste. Shortly after his hero debut he discovered just how wrong he was about the support labs. He had needed a 2am, mid shift, costume adjustment so he came here, expecting the place to be brimming with brilliant minds only to find one person still working. 

So it should be no surprise that at 10:30 at night there was one room that was clearly occupied. Still a rare curiosity takes over the hot head as he peeks into the room while passing, wondering if he will catch a glimpse of you again. 

He found you odd, as you seemed to be nocturnal or better yet maybe you didn't sleep at all. No need for it as your hunger for knowledge seemed to outweigh any basic human need.

Bakugou had only seen you a handful of times, here and there in passing towards the gym at all hours of the day and night. Maybe it was just coincidence that he would find you hunched over something with this gleam in your eye as you destroyed and rebuilt the item over and over again.  

He shakes his head, he doesn't get it. Doesn't get why you dedicate so much time when no one else in your department seemed to give as much of a damn as you did. Or maybe he did get it, maybe it was similar to how he pushes himself so he can be number one, except yours was just for intellectual stimulation. 

After an hour and a half of throwing weights and punches around and becoming heavily drenched in sweat, Bakugou finally calls it a night. Gulping water from his water bottle before wiping at the sheen that collected on his forehead. He sighs out, before catching himself in the mirror. Smirking as he flexes, letting go a few pops. Admiring not only his improved physique but also his new hair style. Sides faded but top long, ash strands looking borderline messy, as if someone had just caught him and a lover kissing heavily in a dark hall during a house party, their fingers desperately pulling at his hair. 

He reaches for the ceiling in a grunting stretch as a yawn forces its way out. He leaves the gym, switching off the lights before making his way back to the parking garage. A furrow of his brow as he notices the light to your lab is still on, maybe you had forgotten to kill the light when you left or maybe you were still tinkering away.  Crimson eyes peer into the room, spying you as you begin to stretch. Your eyes latch onto his as he watches your expression go from concentrated to elated. You jump from your seat, causing Bakugou's brow to furrow more before you're flinging open the door and yanking at his wrist.

"Wow what are the odds?! Well I guess they would be around 4.64% considering you don't normally frequent this gym but I should also factor in your recent ban raising it up to.." 

"Oi, shitty woman, quit the nerd talk!" He yanks his wrist from your small, delicate hands. Totally unsure of what your name is and even if he did know it, he would sooner address you with an insult than your family name. 

"Ah I forget, not everyone loves numbers. But still I am quite lucky tonight." You beam up at him, hair threatening to fall loose from its haphazardly shaped bun, "You're just the man I needed to see, Bakugou." 

He isn't sure why but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks, was it your bright smile that threw him so off guard or was it the way your lips formed around his name?

He sucks his teeth, looking away from you with crossed arms. 

"Well I'm sweaty as fuck, so you really don't need me." He huffs but before he can turn on his heel you're clamping cool black metal to his forearms. You guide him to the door to the testing area of your lab, turning his arms this way and that to make sure your measurements are perfect as you ramble on. 

"No! No! That is the perfect condition for this experiment. I've been working on your winter costume since there are deficiencies with your current one. Since you, and I'm sure you already know, sweat less in the winter there needs to be some sort of counter balance to offset the possibility of little to no stored sweat. Preventive measures could be made sure and you collect sweat from previous activities but 'stale' sweat does not ignite as quickly or as violently as fresh sweat. One could argue that using heavier and denser materials could help aid in more sweat production but this risks overheating should a mission need you inside or a rapid change in environment all together outweight any benefit. So not only are these bracers less obnoxious than your gauntlets, no offense, but they collect 56 to even 62% more of expandable sweat compared to the normal 54% all while reducing the amount needed for ignition. Sure my colleagues could say that's a marginal improvement at best but…" Heat radiates off of him in waves, pulling your eye upwards. You're met with a red hot gaze that seems to rake over your skin. An odd chill runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. 

Nerd talk.  And rambling nerd talk at that. 

All the while Bakugou wonders why your hands are so damn cold and yet they feel good, soothing to his warmed skin. Refreshing even as it reminds him of a passing breeze in the summer or hiding in the shade from the sun.

A bit of heat rushes into your cheeks as you suddenly realize how close you are to THE Ground Zero. Someone who you knew so intimately through paper and yet knew nothing about all at the same time. You knew his measurements, the circumference of his head, his biceps, the number of inches around his thighs. Hell, you had them memorized since the big boss upstairs assigned you his costume and accessories well over a year ago. And yet you couldn't even fathom to name his favorite color or favorite food for that matter.

You swallow thickly, clearing your throat as you move on, dropping his deadly hands as you do.

"Ah, anyway, these bracers are designed to help with not only better sweat collection in both summer and winter but to aid in some stealth missions as they make no sound compared to your heavy gauntlets." You smile at him once more causing his stomach to flip before those small icy hands press harshly into his toned hot back, pushing him into the testing chamber behind diamond glass. 

"I just need you to test them. I need to make sure they can withstand your heat and power." With that you shut him away, quickly trotting to the mic on the other side. Pressing the button to speak as he turns his arms over looking at the smooth black material 

"Now, remember, it takes less sweat. So don't go all out!" At first you worry it falls on deaf ears before he gives a nod your way. Suddenly you are in awe of the power house that stands before you as his expression changes from utter agitation to complete determined focus, all with something as simple as a deep breath out. He focuses on producing enough sweat to ignite, calling on his quirk as if it were an extension of himself. Pooling it onto his skin, permeating the air with the slight smell of burnt sugar before he let's go a small pop. 

But the medium sized explosion he had expected was anything but what was produced.  Suddenly the brace on his arm explodes from the pressure as does the diamond glass in the room. Fear grips Bakugou as shards of glass go flying towards you before you flick your wrist harshly.  

The deadly shards bypass you, glistening shrapnel sinks deeply into the tile floor around you like a piece of jagged art.

And yet you seem unphased, delighted even as a manic smile paints your lips before it sours. Eyes noticing that the bracer barely stood up to the challenge. 

"Fuck…the density still cannot withstand the joules output or force that Bakugou is capable of…" A string of murmurs that remind him all too much of Deku as your fingers curl in the air, calling forth the failed experiment with unseen forces. The blonde long forgotten as you hunch over the workbench, going back to square one. 

Crimson eyes dissect your form and actions as you pull various books and tools towards you with the influence of your quirk, hovering around the work space. 

Suddenly you feel heat radiating behind you when normally you're enveloped in the cool air of the air conditioning, kept extra low in the labs to prevent overheating of parts. You look over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the Pro hero who's beginning to wonder why you're in support with a quirk like that. 

"I know, I know. The last bus and train left hours ago. I'll catch them in the morning." You guess at why he's lingering as you wave him off with your hand. He's caught off guard by your statement before he notices the clock, going to open his mouth to scold before snapping it shut. 

Why should he care if you work through the night? What was he gonna do? Offer you a ride when he didn't even know your name? 

He sucks his teeth biting out as he leaves. 

"Just call me when you're ready to test these again." 

Weeks pass and it's as you never left the lab. Glued to the same spot as he tests the product every other week only for you to grow more and more frustrated with each failure punctuated by shattered bracers. 

And every time he enters the lab room he learns something new about you. He can tell when or if you've left the lab for longer than a few minutes by how tidy the space is or lack thereof. A chaotic circle encompasses you filled with random items that you hope will ignite a spark of inspiration. Anything from books to thin sheets of metal and even to soft fabrics that haphazardly lay atop metal tools. Anything one could possibly imagine was probably there, sitting along-side several empty cups that once held iced coffee. He notices the bags beneath your eyes as they darken with each passing week and he's beginning to wonder if you've ever left as he leaves anywhere between 12 to 3am most nights. 

Tonight is no different as he makes his way to the gym at midnight while you're hunched over his bracers. A part of him wants to tell you to stop being an idiot, to rip you from your little stool and drag you to your bed or wherever the fuck you'll sleep as the other part points out 'why do you fucking care?' So he watches silently, eyes fixated on you until he runs out of glass to look through before he locks himself away in the gym. 

Bakugou puts in his black wireless earbuds before cranking his music up, tossing his phone onto a nearby workbench. He stretches this way and that, reaching for the sky as he looks at his form in the mirror, his hard earned V and bottom two abs wink at his reflection beneath his signature black tank top and his black hoodie. 

His fist connects easily with the heavy black bag suspended by a large chain. The sandbag swings back and forth with a creak with each heavy handed blow. Bakugou loses time with each kick and hit thrown at the bag, each passing song fueling his desire to melt his frustration until his hair is plastered to his forehead. He lets out a steadying breath as his heart roars in his chest,he rears his fist back for a final blow backed by a bit of his quirk. It connects with the well worn leather with such force a weak link in the chain snaps as the fabric obliterates, the 200lb bag flies into the mirror behind it. Shards of reflective glass glitter as they rain onto the matted floor. 

"Fuck." He huffs, stretching and turning to the opposite mirror. Sending a quick snap of his tongue out with the caption "Oops" as the background showcases the decimated gym to Kirishima. He picks up his bag, removing his ear buds to be met with the cool air of the hallway. 

Your light is still on causing him to grind his teeth as his phone reads 2:45am. He's angry enough he chooses to avoid looking into your enclosure as he walks past, fearful his sharp tongue will give him away. He misses you perk up, frantically waving for him to come in before you're at the door, flinging it open to yell out much too loudly in the empty halls. 

"Bakugou!" Your voice is hoarse and cracks from disuse before you clear your throat, lightly jogging to catch up to his large stride, "I've done it!" 

He ignores you, lips pursed in a tight line before your cold hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Pulling him back to the lab with eager steps. He rips away his wrist with a growl and follows you reluctantly, you seem unphased by his harsh actions. 

"I've finally perfected it. I'm sure this time. I was looking at it all wrong. Larger surface area does not always equate to better absorption. Not to mention the pressure for the explosions beneath the bracer is what was causing the failure in the first place. A marginal error that I should have caught earlier. This new design covers less than 15% of your skin but increases…." You ramble but it all falls on deaf ears. 

Bakugou sees that your hair is so loose in its ponytail it might as well be down. The bags beneath your eyes weigh heavy on your pretty features, your skin showing signs of dehydration as it seems to have lost some of its elasticity. Your lab coat is wrinkled and your nametag, that you're wearing for once, is pinned on upside down. He commits your name to memory although he finds it odd that it must be your first name instead of your family name, then again you do hail from overseas. As the two of you walk into your lab he realizes instantly that it has become your main living space. Shards of diamond glass still litter your floor, there is no rhyme or reason to the placement of objects.  Tools, and trash commingle in dangerous piles and stacks around the room. Something knits itself as it floats in the air, wavering a bit when you pause your rambling to yawn.

"Oi nerd!" Bakugou's voice is sharp, authoritative as he grips onto your wrist. Eyes still washing over the room before they land on you. Somehow you're too daft or too tired to pick up on his concern. 

"Yea yea nerd talk. I fucking get it." A half snap from your exhaustion, "Just…" 

You lose his grip before grabbing onto his arm, finding a mesh woven bracer somehow on that disastrous desk. It seems to be made of a soft, elastic fabric as you slip it over his thick forearm after shoving away his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Perfect, your sweat output was pretty close to max earlier. I could smell caramel from the gym. This is going to be so fucking great!" You giggle in delight as the other mesh bracer finishes itself, dropping before you frantically reach for it. He notices your faulty step, your under the breath curse and the long moment your eyes flutter. He almost bites his tongue clean off. 

Again your cool hands find his burning skin as you try to keep your tired brain focused on the task at hand and not how his forearms have grown nearly a half inch since your first encounter. It's difficult not to fall victim to his intoxicating smell as you force yourself to not sway on your feet and collapse into a lovely muscular man. His heat seems to have some sort of affect on you, causing an odd affinity between you both.

"Okay all done! Please give a medium sized blast!" You encourage, shoving him into the testing chamber as he glares down at you. He isn't sure why your chaotic state is bothering him but it does. He rolls his eyes as you slam the door shut. He brings clarity to his mind, focusing on his quirk and how the sweat feels against his skin. How it yearns to be something more, to explode into a whispering flame that may catch something ablaze. 

He gives in, just a little, giving it what it wants, igniting it with a simple thought. An explosion he would have considered large if he were still at UA but since all he's done is grow these past five years, earning him the number 3 rank, it comes to no surprise when the glass shatters yet again. 

Except this time you're too entranced with the smoke clearing, of seeing if your baby you've slaved over has made it through to comprehend the sharp threat. You notice the flying glass a moment too late, flicking your wrist to change the trajectory from what was supposed to be your entire body but your arms are grazed by the razor sharp shards. You grit your teeth, cursing to yourself calling forth a first aid kit. 

But nothing shows up in your peripheral except for a looming presence. One you give your back to in order to find the first aid kit with your gaze, when was the last time you ever had to look at something to summon it? 

Damn it, how could you be experiencing quirk failure from exhaustion right now? Sure it took a lot of brain power for your quirk but it takes weeks of no sleep for a failure plus you had been eating...your eyes glance around the room. You hadn't been eating, or so it says from the lack of any sort of plate or take out aside from your iced coffees with the added protein and carbohydrate shots your body needed to process your quirk with ease. 

Fuck, guess it really was quirk failure. You bite your lip, unable to find that damned kit hoping the hot head wouldn't catch on to your short coming. 

Vermillion eyes watch crimson spots bloom across the white fabric of your coat. He grinds his teeth, searching for the first aid kit only to find it knocked beneath a shelf. He rights himself, stalking your way with a grimace just to stop in his tracks. He watches you slip your oversize jacket off of strong shoulders, toned arms adorned with several thin slices that weep red, but what has really caught his attention was that body con dress. 

Sticking to you like a second skin, but looking somehow comfortable at the same time, he wonders for a moment if you've made it yourself. It's similar to the fabric used to make his shirts, breathable, soft, always smelling a bit sweet like you when they are fresh from the lab. His hand twitches as he can imagine how supple your curves would feel in the delicate yet sturdy material, palm already too familiar with the soft sensation. Red catches his eye once again pulling him from the trance that is your body. He sneers at the cuts as he grabs onto your cold shoulder, shoving you into your chair so he can work on you. You look up a bit shocked with a pinch of anger mixed in and a dash of hurt pride. He takes no notice as he wraps bandages tight around your arms, your eyes locked onto the bracers. The smile on your face cannot be helped as you stare proudly at your work, it was able to withstand so much power and remain not only in tact but unsinged. You grab onto his wrist turning it this way and that, a pen and pad float near by as you take notes. Bakugou cannot hide his astonishment as he watches the invisible hand borrow your neat yet rushed script as it is unable to keep up with your thoughts. You pull the bracers from his arms, fabric begins to tear itself thread by thread before spooling itself, wrapping around wood as if it were a snake. He pulls away, eyes hard as he talks himself out of whatever the stupid "heroic" side of him is saying. He takes a step back and with it taking his warmth. You shiver but you are too busy to notice, teeth chattering ever so slightly but you're too busy studying. He growls to himself. 

Suddenly you're enveloped in a dizzying sweet smell and warmth, it is then you realize that Bakugou had shoved his hoodie over your head. Slinking your arms into the holes to move the hood of the sweatshirt back, quickly realizing the material is not damp as you had once thought. It's warm from his quirks use, material dry as a bone, reminding you of pulling your favorite blanket fresh from the dryer just to wrap yourself in it as rain taps on the window of your apartment. 

Subconsciously you snuggle into it, opening your mouth to state how much work you have to do but instead you have to stifle a yawn. 

Had the cold of the lab always kept you awake, were you starting to actually feel the weight of your work only because you were warm? 

"I think it's time for bed, nerd." 

He places his hot palm on the back of your neck in a power move as he speaks. He enrages you and entices you all at once as your face snaps up to meet his gaze, your own eyes burning holes into him. He smirks down at you, deciding in this moment that he really likes you.  

"I'm taking you home. Get your shit." He squeezes your nape as a warning. He isn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll take the bus and train in the morning, three hours is child's play." Hitting his hand away, trying to return to your work. He scoffs in response. 

"You sure are oblivious for someone so smart. Tomorrow is Saturday." He crosses his exposed arms, unable to hide his smug smirk as realization washes over your stunning features, "That means the bus won't be in the business district til 10am." 

"I think I'll be okay." You say after a moment of silence, "I've waited longer. Or I could walk..." 

"Will you?" He retorts, "Your office says otherwise." 

You follow his gaze, your entire office in disarray, as if a bomb went off. 

You guess in a sense one had gone off. Biting your lip as you mull it over, eyes finding Bakugou's file shuffled across your desk, spying your own hand written cliff notes. 

Stubborn your script reads, you sigh admitting defeat as you wave your hand over the file. It tidies itself, papers folding neatly back into the Manila folder before you snap your fingers. 

Bakugou watches items soar around the room, books fighting and bickering over their order, pens and pencils long forgotten in corners of the room race back to their place on your desk. Papers flutter and fall into the trash or shredder in defeat as plastic cups sink into the plastic bin in the corner. The diamond glass follows suit as your own hands grab onto the bracers, giving them a gentle squeeze before you access an invisible drawer on your desk, hiding away your project before pushing it back. Wood flush against wood as if there were no drawer at all. 

A question burns on the tip of Bakugou's tongue, it dies in his throat for now as a new one is born. 

"That Kirishima's faceplate?" The question comes out in the form of a bite, for some reason the thought of his more likeable friend coming in here as often as Bakugou has set his blood boiling. 

"Ah yes, I just got this assignment from the big boss. Kirishima's new unbreakable breaks his faceplate everytime. Otto had it before me, which was odd. He is more of a reverse engineer. Taking an unknown material and figuring out how it works." Your eyes linger over the empty office across the way, "But he's been out and Kirishima can apparently no longer be on the back burner. Especially now that I've finished with the company's top hero." 

His heart melts just a bit as he watches a smidge of pride form in your dazzling eyes. He scoffs to change the topic.

"Come on, shitty woman." He guides you to the parking garage. 

Once there he acts out of character. At least what you would believe to be out of character as he holds open the door to his car for you, waiting for you to step in. 

"What?! I ain't fucking kidnapping you but I ain't letting you weasel out of this shit either." He growls, waiting impatiently by the door. You step in as he gently shuts the door behind you. He steps in himself, the engine purrs to life as you give him your address. 

"That far out? And you were gonna fucking walk?" He laughs, "Hell no, never again. You'll call me before you do that next time." 

"I don't have your number asshole." You grumble to yourself but he grabs your unlocked phone from your hands, plugging in his number and calling it. 

"There now you do." He locks it and puts it in his cup holder, demanding your attention. No longer can he keep that burning question to himself, "Why are you on support?" 

It puzzles you for a second before you realize he means it as a compliment to your quirk and not an insult to your intellect. 

"Oh that's easy. Being a hero wouldn't benefit me, it's too restrictive. I'm more of a…." You ponder on your words, vigilante was wrong, you wouldn't take justice into your own hands for the sake of others and villain was too strong, "Chaotic neutral. My moral compass is pretty grey and being in this lab benefits my need for knowledge." 

Bakugou glances your way, respectful of your honesty while your eyes become heavy watching the street lights blur, the hum of the engine pulling you deeper into relaxation.  There was something about a car ride that took you back to your childhood days in America.  The outskirts of the city would quickly wind into back roads lined with corn stalks that scrapped the sky. 

The street lights slowly became fewer and farther in between as the black coupe took you further from the heart of the city, soon more stars began to dot the sky.  You see just the tip of his zodiac constellation, it stirs a question within you. 

"So why do you want to be a hero?" You keep your eyes focused on the backdrop that lies beyond the tinted glass, missing Bakugou's knuckles turn stark white. 

He doesn't speak and that's answer enough for you.  

It took him an hour to get to your side of town, an hour. One you had said you would walk, one you mentioned you had walked before. He pulls up the sidewalk by your building, turning to you. 

"We're here…" His announcement turns into a sigh as he sees your slumped form. Head limp but thankfully not leaning on the glass as you're snuggled into his hoodie. You're murmuring how you need to update your measurements in your sleep causing Bakugou to roll his eyes. He pulls away to parallel park. He debates, should he wake you? 

No, who's to say you wouldn't attempt tor eturn to your work? He sighs, pocketing your phone and pulling the lanyard out of your purse that has, what he assumes,your house key on it. 

Katsuki's blood runs ice cold in his veins as realization sucker punches him square in the chest. He had NO fucking idea which apartment was yours. He turns your key over and over but why would that have the number on it? 

"Fuck." He would have to pray your mailbox was both clearly labeled and inside. He shoulders your purse before scooping you into his arms, sure to cradle you like the princess you are. 

He steps through the automatic doors, relief washes over him as a wall of mail boxes greet him. Better yet, they were neatly labeled with names AND apartment numbers.

But it is not long lived as his red eyes rake over the names, the family names, last names. He only knew your first and of course, of fucking course the Gods would laugh at him as panic rises in his throat. You had to have the most common first initial didn't you?  He had spotted it six times already but none of the last names seemed out of the ordinary, if anything they were all ordinary, run of the mill Japanese last names. Nothing foreign about them. 

"Fuck." He murmurs, plan B wouldn't work either, he can't just try out every fucking apartment with your first initial, how weird would that be, some guy shoving keys in random doors with a passed out woman in his arms. 

"Fuck." He cusses again. Was he going to have to take you to his apartment? Fuck, fuck fuck! He couldn't do that, the press slunk around his apartment like vultures, even at this hour.

"Oh you must be the guy that's been keeping her up so late at night." A voice sounds behind him, he turns towards the sound. A smaller young man smiles at him as if he and Bakugou share an inside joke. 

"Quite nice of you to bring her home, and get her mail." He laughs softly reaching for something in the desk, he approaches slowly, "But she must have forgotten to tell you she lost her key a couple of weeks ago. She always asks me to get the mail instead of paying the lost key fee. Don't blame her though." 

The desk clerk, Wantanabe, rambles on as Bakugou's sharp eyes watch closely. Silently thanking the Gods' for their blessing as he watches Watanabe slide the spare key into your mail slot. He commits your last name to memory, but more importantly 5C burns into his retinas. 

"...she hasn't been home in four weeks,  so she has a lot of mail." That snaps Bakugou back to the present, a small stack of mail is presented to him. He stares down at your form unable to keep the scowl off of his face. The dark circles beneath your eyes seem to become darker by the second. 

"Thanks." He growls through gritted teeth, snatching the mail as best he can without disturbing you. He looks for an elevator and when he sees he will have to climb five flights of stairs he wonders if this is the reason you don't come home often. 

Soon enough 5C is staring Bakugou in the face. He is hesitant, even if he does bring you home safely he wonders if you would misread his actions. As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. Still his hands move quickly, sliding the key into the door and unlocking your mysteries. The apartment is sizable for the area, clean at least what he can see from the light of the hall flooding in. He flips on a switch with his elbow, he expected harsh light but instead ambient string lights that line the ceiling illuminate the space in a warm light. A three chair island with a marble water fall looks out into the living room, a large sectional couch swallows the space, a TV atop a nice entertainment table while books litter the coffee table and one part of the couch. The apartment feels as if it had been warmed by the sun through the drawn curtains but not overly hot, it feels cozy really.  As if Bakugou could imagine himself spread out on the grey sofa while you're curled against him, half dozing half reading your book. 

The thought jarrs him, he feels too close to you now, feverish almost as he rips your key from the door, shutting it softly before placing the lanyard onto the kitchen island. He spies a hall and passes a full bath, then a freshly vacant guest room to see a final door closed that he assumes is the master. He flips the switch and again light snakes around the ceiling washing the room in this comfort. He can understand the soft yellow lights considering you spend forty plus hours beneath harsh, bleaching white lights. He pulls back the comforter as best he can and lies you down gently. He removes your red bottom heels and praises the Kamisama when he sees you do not have on tights not that he would remove them anyway. You snuggle deeper into his hoodie, smiling as you do, dreaming of whatever little scientist's dream about. Katsuki imagines it's all math, measurements, molecular structures, nerd shit. You begin to murmur in your sleep.

"...gotta update his chart…" 

"Fucking nerd." Bakugou smiles to himself, you look peaceful even as your mind races with reminders. Another snuggle deeper into his hoodie, he goes to reach out to push hair from your face and stops himself. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" He growls aloud, he doesn't know you. Barely figured out your last name and that was by both chance and stupidity on the desk clerk's. He heads for your bedroom door, stopping with his hand gripping the handle. He peers over his shoulder before killing the switch, flooding your room with darkness. 

He shuts the door and with it the odd ache that's growing in his chest. 

[stvpidinlove]

[ ASLIHAN MALBORA, SHE/HER, CIS WOMAN ]  —  [ TALIA KAPLAN ]  is a child of  [ SELENE ]  with the power of  [ LUNAR HEALING & LUNAR AURA ] .  they were born in  [ 1996 ]  and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2015 ] .  with the change, they  [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ]  the  [ MEDICAL ]  role which makes sense since they’re usually  [ WORKING NIGHT SHIFTS AND BUYING CANDLES ] .  if you’d like to meet them try the  [ MOON ]  building .

my moon child has arrived <3

BASICS

hometown: alexandria, virginia

eye color: brown

hair color: brown

height: 5′3

sexuality: bisexual

birthday: october 18, 1996 ( libra )

BIO

talia’s father had always, in a certain sense, been in love with the moon. he was a painter who focused almost entirely on moonscapes, which meant he spent a lot of time out past sunset with his easel and palette down by the water. one of his favorite things about the moon was the way it reflected off the surface of the potomac river.

what her father didn’t know was that the moon had a similar fascination with him. he shared a striking resemblance to endymion, and as someone so often romanticized for her beauty, selene had a bad habit of doing the same to others. she fell in love with talia’s father because he looked so handsome bathed in her moonlight and watched him for a long time before finally making her presence known.

he was a man accustomed to staying up late, but one night he fell asleep mid-painting. he awoke to a beautiful woman standing over him and the mutual attraction was instant. it didn’t even occur to him to question how they always managed to see one another at night, without communicating or making plans, and if anything, he attributed it to fate.

they never saw one another during the daytime or in the regular places like restaurants or even his apartment. their relationship was strictly kept to nature under the cover of dark. for whatever reason, the moon always seemed to shine brighter when she was with him. their dates consisted of moonlit boat rides and midnight picnics.

it didn’t take very long for her to become pregnant with their daughter. it was sudden and he was ill-prepared for the task of parenthood, but with selene, he thought he might be ready. unfortunately, she was unable to be a mother in the way he had hoped, and he was left to care for talia by himself.

he was so heartbroken by this revelation that he never fell in love again, barely even dated or had the heart to attempt finding someone else. so for her entire life, it was always talia and her father. she never exactly longed for a mother figure and she had aunts who functioned in that capacity when necessary. but for the most part, talia taught herself how to do things, like buying training bras or how to cope with periods.

it’s not that her father wasn’t open to helping with these things, either, talia just felt bad asking. when she was really little, he did his best to braid her hair and keep it out of her face, but it tended to be wild until she learned how to french braid for herself.

for this reason, talia learned how to be very independent, and she also often felt it was her responsibility to look after her father. she regularly worried about him, whether or not he was happy, whether she reminded him too much of her mother. he never said as much, but sometimes the way he looked at her made her think it was unavoidable.

in a lot of ways, talia and and her father took care of one another. so when talia discovered she could heal with the assistance of moonlight, it just felt right. she’d always had a love for helping others and to her, this felt like a sign that she was on the right track.

she came to nl after finishing high school because it seemed like the right time. talia had never had a huge problem with monsters, because her other power, in almost direct opposition to her healing powers, made fighting back and protecting herself almost easy. in a way, it was second nature, and it helped that she had a way of being attacked after dark.

RANDOM FACTS

talia still feels a little bit guilty about working at nl, like she should have left after completing her studies so she could move back home and be with her father. they talk regularly but it’s not the same as being there for him in person.

her relationship with her mother is sort of complicated, but in a way that talia herself doesn’t really acknowledge. subconsciously she resents her for what she did to her father but she’s also thankful for her powers, because they’re a big part of who she is and the way she sees herself. and she appreciates being given the chance to help people in a more-than-mortal way.

talia works night shifts at the infirmary, because that’s when her healing powers are at their best, and she’s comfortable with staying up all night and sleeping during the day. it’s sort of hard for her to maintain relationships with this schedule but she doesn’t mind that much, it just gets a little lonely at times.

she keeps her room very dimly lit and the curtains are always open to let in the moonlight. her main source of lighting, aside from the moon, is candles.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

as always i humbly request a roommate. either someone who’s an early riser completely unlike talia or someone who is also basically nocturnal. so she either sees them every day or hardly ever lol

other infirmary buddies, esp if you think they also tend to work later hours??

someone training in medical who she can mentor!

talia spends a lot of time at the private beach late at night, so mb there’s someone else she tends to see a lot there and that might be the only time they really see each other like...her parents parallels <3 so there’d be a romantic current to the relationship Perhaps

[quinn-tessence]

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 1

In this frightening, destabilizing global pandemic, we all seek comfort. I found mine in Arthur, and I know many of you did too. This community has given me so much, I cannot express my gratitude enough. So here's something I can give back. A Nocturne for our beloved Clown, who still inspires us to this day, and will probably never stop. 🤡🖤

Summary: you stumble into an intriguing neighbor, a tragic, beautiful party clown named Carnival with jade eyes and cocoa hair. His meekness around you gets under your skin enough to lead you unconsciously into his path by accident.

Length: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of mental illness, alcohol use, nudity, playful flirting and light fluff. Pre smut intro, this is going places… 🤭🤡❤

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

You should have taken more bags, you could barely hold all these groceries as you opened the door to let yourself inside your block of flats. You greeted granny Mabel picking up her mail but swiftly turned your attention to the closing door of the elevator.

‘Wait, hold the lift, please!’

In your haste to catch the ride, a foot was lodged on the door, sliding it back open to let you in. Careful not to spill all the veggies on the floor, your attention fell onto the man sharing the ride with you only as he asked what floor you were going to.

‘5th please, thank you for holding the door'

‘Sure'

The lift shook in its slow ascent, your heart would have skipped a beat had it not been a part of your daily routine to feel that bump in your bones. His hair is really nice, the length and the curls around the edges. Hm. You couldn't help looking at him, he was all of your visual field after all, so you scrutinized, as you’d often do. He’d politely turned sideways, avoiding to keep his back to you, but you couldn't see his face clearly in the dim yellow light. He wasn't much taller than you, his complexion quite slim and fragile looking, his back slouched as if carrying the heaviest weight on his shoulders. Gotham made that easy, grey and gloomy by day even during good weather, a pile of construction and buildings with no defined identity, enough to fit all from the scourge to the wealthy.

‘This building's awful, isn't it?’ an uncharacteristic curiosity made you try out some small talk in the hopes you'd get a better glimpse.

You knew too few people in this building, and you were far from chatty in elevators with strangers. Usually. He looked so old fashioned wearing that shirt and the linen vest, but the ochre of his jacket heightened the cocoa brown of his hair, yellow light reflecting off the edges delicately. He was cute, in an oddly endearing sort of way. A pair of basil green eyes turned to your as he bit the bait, the sly grin cutting through his cheek a stark contradiction to everything else about him, the scar on his upper lip a peculiarity that only furthered your intrigue. There was a deep well of sadness in his eyes, overbearing, bone chilling. It prickled your skin as you noticed it, but the gaze under his eyelids was piercing. That unnerving feeling the striking contrast brought, you couldn't shake it off.

The joy ride on strings stopped just as your cheeks started to fluster. You bid him good night as you walked out, your awareness over your morning overuse of perfume now as acute as ever.

‘Hey!’ he shouted in a shy, husky voice as you stepped out.

You turned to him one last time to see him mimicking a gun shot to the head as a rather late comical attempt to reply to your earlier remark. Unconventional, yes, but not a sort of humor you didn't enjoy. The fact that you just couldn't make him out drew a puzzled smile on your face as the elevator door closed.

Hm. What was that? you wandered as you had one foot in stirring curiosity, the other guiding you to your door as if by reflex. You'd lived here for months already, yet you hadn't seen him before. He was quite handsome in an outlandish sort of way, you would not have let that go unnoticed had you seen him before.

Months had passed, yet you still had storing boxes around your living room. Your stay should have just been temporary, yet you'd started decorating it with your own sketches and it had suddenly become your home, your sanctuary, your oasis to recharge you after long days at the office close by. You'd stumbled into this place by accident while looking for a cozy place to stay, but you found no reason to leave it behind. Your own art gallery, with bright lights flooding the windows throughout the day that allowed you to paint during weekends without your eyes squinting, your safe space.

Not today though, your feet were sore and your arms hurt from carrying those groceries. All you wanted was a glass of white wine and an excessive bag of popcorn while you watched the Murray show, but you picked up Dostoyevsky to delve again into the question of the perfect murder while you waited. This book you could never grow tired of, and it rattled you to devour chapter after chapter, accompanying a tormented soul on a journey of falling into madness, its universe a silent revolt and escape from the reality of Gotham you'd craved deep down without ever voicing.

‘We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, that begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.' Hm. Go figure.

The deafening silence in the room would soon be filled by your own comments at the starting show, Murray’s humor making you roll your eyes at his lack of self awareness, quite versed he was in ridiculing one person or another. A comedy show, yes, but sometimes he would take it a bit too far even for your inappropriate taste in humor.

A few hours and half a bottle of wine later, the sweet taste of the wine still lingered on your lips, flooding your murky mind to a familiar place of solitary self indulgence. Not long after shutting your eyes, a recent memory took shape at the back of your eyelids, and you felt an irrational urge to trace a sketch of him. You were too tired to start drawing at this hour. Your fingers would be of much better use tracing those lines you were curious to feel off his own fingertips. You hadn't indulged yourself in a while, but the thought of this bewitching man flashing in the most vulgar parts of your mind soon changed that. Maybe you were blatantly objectifying your neighbor… but only a little… You'd been so busy with the new job, the long hours exhausting, the absence of a soul to keep you company a nuisance you'd learned to bury in piles of work. But the urges only amplified the more you'd stifle and ignore them, demanding to be satiated. So you gave into yourself, into him, into the sweet, intoxicating effect of your favorite wine, into the memory of the piercing green eyes that had you whimper in silence.

Something about him was out of place. You’d seen him from afar and he looked defenseless. But as you came closer, you could feel yourself swallow hard as you waited for his gaze to look to your direction. Odd, wasn't it? He hadn't said much, but the tension in the elevator had penetrated your bones to late night reminiscence. Something was not right about him, an 'I should be afraid, instead it turns me on' vibe to him had taken you right to the edge.

The next day you bumped into him after work at the corner store, he was buying cigarettes and a chocolate bar. With that level of nutrition, no wonder he was so feeble, yet there was something about him that had kept you up at night. You'd already developed a weakness for him, but that stifled your reaction instead of filling you with courage. He smiled shyly and walked out the door, his eyes counting his slouched steps. Shit. Next time.

One particular evening you noticed two blue diamonds peering meticulously through the store shelves, the greasepaint on the man's face rendering him almost unrecognizable lest for his unmistakable skinny complexion and beautiful cocoa hair. Your freight of clowns had shaped your life since childhood, yet that terror had somehow melted instantly at the sight of his jade eyes underneath the white blue makeup. He'd shied away as you noticed him, stealing a smile that got your feet walking into an opposite reaction, trying to hide your pleasant surprise at his creepy, endearing stares. You wondered if that was his job, it would be absurd to just walk around in a clown costume, stalking women. Not to mention, horrifying and nightmare inducing, as even you would have felt until a moment ago if it hadn't been him wearing the clown costume.

Fumbling around the store, shying behind the counters as you paid for your groceries, you couldn't resist glancing at him one more time. You'd missed your chance before and you regretted it. All it took was to reach for one item from the isle he was hiding in, even if you had no use for it. Startling him was the last of your intentions, so you mimicked his behavior peering at him through the shelves, perhaps that would open him up to you. As you both walked in the same direction towards the corridor, he stopped shy in his tracks, eyes now as big as the clown shoes on his feet, scanning the floors, anxiously facing the inevitable.

‘Hi there. I've seen you around, haven't I?'

You'd planned on being more casual in your approach, yet the tone of your voice evoked a warm intimacy built over nights of having him wander purposefully in the depths of your fantasies. The clown costume should have helped alienate that feeling, instead it only burned deeper. The youthful innocence draped across his face contrasted strikingly with the furrows in his forehead betraying his age. He couldn't be younger than 35 at least, yet the spark of his almond shaped eyes took 15 years off his complexion. He cleared his throat before being able to speak.

‘Hi! Yes, we met in the elevator last week. I didn't think you'd recognize me in my work outfit.’

‘I thought that was you. You could frighten ladies if you keep peering at them while wearing a clown costume, you know? Not a lot of good press on them in the past years’

A nervous chuckle escaped his throat, he couldn't have missed that connection himself but he seemed caught red handed.

‘Well I haven't even pulled my gun yet. I was waiting for the store to clear out a bit before I robbed the place and kidnapped you'

There was that dark humor, but damn him for making you smile like a teenager.

‘A clown with a gun and a plan, not at all frightening. You're funny! Pass me that pasta sauce, would you?’

He quickly reached for the item on his counter and reached over it to hand it to you. The gawkiness in his hasty moves was proof enough he wasn't used to being approached by women, you were sure his cheeks were as flaming red under the white makeup as the flower pinned to his colorful checkered blazer. You shook your head and pointed at the end of the counter, your feet moving in the direction where you wanted him. He followed shyly, dragging his oversized clown shoes.

As he handed you the item, you thanked him kindly and immediately put it back up on the shelf. His gaze fell to his feet again, surely flustered by the subtext of your action. Yet within a split of a second, his eyes pierced back at yours and you'd forgotten all words.

‘Why don't I walk you home instead? I'll keep the gun and kidnapping for another occasion. Let me help you with those' he reached for your groceries, his proximity to you feeding the fire. You gladly agreed and walked the couple blocks with him, curious of his day job and adoring the purr of his soothing voice, it tore you up every time you heard it falter. His suit and makeup should have kept you a mile away, yet he seemed to be the most welcome companion to comfort you through your biggest irrational fear. As you reached the apartment complex sooner than you'd wished, he stopped and let out a complicit chuckle.

‘I… seem to have forgotten to do my own groceries, I’ll have to go back now, somehow I got distracted…’

‘And I thought you were there just to kidnap me.’ You just couldn't help continuing his apropos, hoping deep down he'd actually do it. ‘Thank you for walking me home, that was sweet of you'

‘You're very welcome. I'm Arthur, by the way, or Carnival if you prefer the party clown'

‘Nice to meet you, Arthur. I'm Y/N.’

‘Y/N…’ the sound of your name off his lips jolted you shamelessly to the point where you needed to take that step back, and yet you didn't. ‘I'll see you around?’

The smile on his painted face a ray of sunshine in an otherwise wretched day. Carnival, you cheekily thought to yourself, never had you wanted to experience one as badly as you did seeing him light up a cigarette and inhale it wantonly almost halfway through, walking back a few steps, then turning and making his way back to the store.

Days at work had flown by rapidly in your constant distraction with a lingering image of a colorful clown. Not even the new guy everyone was talking about could catch your attention, even if your girlfriends kept mentioning a stunning pair of black eyes and a charming swagger. Had he been a smoker, you'd perhaps get a glimpse of him during your breaks, at least. The Fridays hardly ever felt like the weekend, and this one made you want to smash some bones, your own sorrows bubbling up inside you, like a mint candy in a bottle of Cola. You were more of an indoors cat, but your really couldn't pass on a 3rd invitation for a night out, your buddies would think you were willfully ditching them. Fine I'll go! Just one drink though.

Mixing gin and tequila hadn't been up there among your smartest choices. You should have stopped after the 3rd shot, but you hadn't had so much fun in months. Hah! I feel dizzy. But this feels good, your thoughts pieces of a puzzle you were too drunk to make out. As your feet moved out of the taxi and into the cold early morning air, you were finally back home. You must have remembered to pay the fare otherwise the cabby would have chased you down. You drifted in your scrambled thoughts as your feet walked out of reflex, your mind miles away, preoccupied with a certain pair of turquoise eyes. Perhaps you had a propensity for dark hues, but those had always just been mere dust in front of green shades. I’m not in my own mind anymore… I’m in someone else's... And I’m touching myself, I’m licking my lips, the tip of my tongue grazes over the scar on my upper lip, the heat of my breath comes from within a boiling body, my skin sizzles. I hum and I moan and I... hah, fuck, I think I just broke my heel, I’m so fekkin drunk. You dragged yourself to the elevator, your mind desperately hoping you were managing to keep yourself composed so the sweet old doorman wouldn't judge you as a drunken failure in life.

Why did you do this to yourself? And can you just not redirect all your remaining fluids to where they're not required before you're at least in your bed? Fuck, I can't... you'd been pushing the elevator button for a minute before you growled a tad too loud at the drunken realization you’d have to climb all 5 storeys in this wretched state you'd put yourself into.

Fine, just get your sorry ass up before you make a fool of yourself clowning around. Just one more and you're there. Fumbling for your keys in your bag, you leaned on the door and, to your surprise and annoyance, it opened. What the fuck, was I drunk before I left my apartment? How could I have forgotten to lock the damn door?

You felt sick to your stomach, you couldn't walk to the bed. You hadn't drunk so much for over a year, you’d forgotten how useless you were in this state. The couch would do for tonight. You almost dropped yourself to the floor, the couch not in the same position as you'd left it, but who cared. I'm never drinking again, you thought as you coiled around the pillow, a shoe dropping on the floor while the other hung half way. It smelled of cigarettes, most probably from your clothes.

A familiar enticing aftertaste of alcohol clawed its way out once again, you should have known this was coming. You wished he'd be there so you could release yourself to him, as frail as he was he'd surely handle you gently, and mmm wouldn't that feel sweet. The alcohol had just been a low end substitute to bury your frustrations and aches. Hah, even if he was here, you'd be useless. But that didn't stop you from dozing off to the thought of his gentle fingers strolling down your neck to your breasts, drawing circles on your waist before goin... down lo...

There was too much light in the room, as drunk as you’d been you’d forgotten to draw the curtains. You couldn't open your eyes, the headache was throbbing, so you rubbed your temples and turned your led limbs from the aching position you'd landed on as the most shameful drunk in this city.

Your mind thought you could take opening your eyes, and as you did you felt the alcohol pressuring your Adam's apple, a deep breath a flimsy stronghold to keep everything down. A deep breath that turned swiftly to a high pitched shriek at the sight of this man walking towards you dripping water off his naked body, a towel being rubbed onto his hair with both hands. You shrieked as you fell to the floor, hitting yourself against an unfamiliar coffee table, flagons of pills spilling all over it.

Oh shit, you heard him say as he hid behind the wall, peering at you but quieting his anxiety the more he looked.

'What are you... Y/N, you're in the wrong apartment! Shit, I need to put something on'

Oh god what had you done?? A sous chef could have mistaken you for a lobster and thrown you in a bucket of boiling water, you’d surely been simmering in that since the realization of how much of an idiot you were at walking into his apartment, of all damn places.

‘Oh my god, I am SO SORRY, I had a few too many drinks with my friends and I must have... I surely have climbed too many storeys to my place. I'll be out of your hair, I am so sorry!!!’ He'd been hopping throughout your dreams for the past weeks, you'd seen him naked so many times before, but not once in the flesh. You were flustered at the brazen realization of how far off you'd been as you fantasized about him bare before you. It was nerve wrecking, you wished you could just disintegrate into a million atoms and let the ground swallow you whole.

He chuckled as he returned in a half clothed state, clearly having shortened the process just to catch you before you shut the door behind you.

‘Yeah, the elevator was out of order yesterday. Hey, it's ok. You just really scared me, I wasn't expecting to find you on my couch, you know? You're... welcome to... stay a bit longer if you want. You look like you've had a rough night, I could whip out some breakfast and get you back on your feet. If you wish…’

He'd whipped out more than you'd thought he would a couple minutes ago, thank you very much for the extra sleepless nights.

‘Oh my god, no, I couldn't take advantage of you like that, I just slept on your couch uninvited, I am so horrible. Please excuse me, and thank you for not calling the cops on me.’

He'd smiled at you in the elevator before your heels had started flaming for him a few weeks back, but this was different. His whole face had lit up, his eyes sparkling as if emerald and jade had caught a reflection of the sun, his crooked tooth a tantalizing new discovery, especially as the scar on his lip etched itself deeper into your psyche. You were in his house, after all, where else would he feel most comfortable if not in his private, intimate home, one that you'd shamefully invaded and found him completely naked and wet.

‘They're on their way actually, I’m just stalling before they show up to escort you from my property.’

You chuckled as you held your temple, you must have been a disgusting mess, your makeup all smudged, on your face a decrepit layer of last nights overindulgence, and yet he made you laugh.

‘You're funny, Arthur... I'll take care of that myself, tell them it was a false alarm...’

As you opened the door to remove yourself from this torrent of shame, his voice stopped you in the doorstep.

‘Hey, you wanna… grab a coffee later tonight? It might help with that hangover’

‘You really want to go out after all this?’

‘Yeah!’ his eyebrow twitched in reflex, startling you at its sudden air of impertinence. You couldn't tell if your limbs had mellowed from alcohol, or his facial expressivity had been the melting catalyst. ‘Pajama night, I'll take you to the best Donut diner in town. 9 PM?’

You really wished you could process everything clearly, but he wasn't making it easier at all. ‘Alright then, pajama night it is!’

‘Great! Are you sure I can't help you to your place?’

‘Sorry to ask, what floor is this?’

‘6th.’

‘Oh, I’m right downstairs, maybe going down a flight of stairs will shake off this horrid hangover. Thanks again for... hosting me I guess, nice to see you again, Arthur. I'll see you later!’

You waved at him more in a futile attempt to cover your face as you stepped back out of that bubble of shame, feeling soaked to the bone. The droplets on his skin, he'd just gotten out of the shower, that routine gesture to slick back his hair, that wide morning gaze were mere special mentions as you went down the stairs, one other morning factor keeping your mind fully flustered as you unlocked your own front door this time.

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

Thank you for reading this far! 🤡🖤

A special thank you to a few wonderful people who inspire me daily ❤❤❤

@littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @ralugraphics @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @bustafatclownnut @jokers-doll @rommies @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @lesbianearrings @arthurflecc @iartsometimes @arthurflecksgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 @wuika @mollyxlyla-rosex @impulsiveclown @jokerlicious @jokergirl10491 @jokeconic @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @softyash @arthurflecc

[andromedarune]

[Vampire!Leon/Witch!Reader] “A Night of Tricks and Treats” (Halloween Fic~!)

A/N: HAHA, I did it! It’s later than I wanted to post this, but it’s here! So enjoy the story that y’all voted for: A Vampire!Leon AU, with cute/fun elements, and a black dahlia thrown into the mix (along with other creative liberties). Thanks to everyone who voted on that poll - this one’s for you!

Vampire!Leon x Witch!Reader - “A Night of Tricks and Treats”

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: Teen (mild blood, reference to death, adult language, spooky stuff)

The third set of feverish knocks on your front door pulled a frustrated groan from your lips. You were finally drifting off to sleep when some rando decided to assault your door at some ungodly time in the night (or morning, since you checked your phone to see that it was a quarter past three). Pouted lips set on your face, you groggily slip out of bed, hardly bothering to grab the cardigan that you kept slung over your desk chair. Another fit of knocks was just starting up when you threw open the door, ready to say a few choice words to your unfortunate visitor.

But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t just any visitor.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Leon gave a cheery smile, oblivious as ever.

Ah. Maybe you should have put on some better clothes. But you’re already this far in - you decide to just play along like nothing’s wrong. Knowing him, you’d at least have a couple of minutes before the awkward sets in.

“Uh, yeah… You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?”

Leon shrugged.

“I’m aware, but it’s so much easier getting here at night. You have no idea how annoying paparazzi can be…” You sink in your hip a bit, watching his eyes flit down past your head for the briefest of moments. He tries to meet your gaze again, but the awkward smile twitching with some odd emotion that settled onto his face cues you in that he most definitely noticed.

The weather’s been oddly warm despite it already being autumn, so you were still wearing your summer pajamas. Which, of course, were a simple set of purple Wooloo PJs. Short-shorts that were baggy and comfy, a tank top that was equally baggy and comfy. Nothing scandalous, but definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

You can practically hear the dial-up sounds going on in Leon’s mind as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, one hand tangling itself around a strand of that obnoxiously long purple hair, him just desperate to find something to distract himself with. It’s kind of fun to watch, actually.

“Did you need something?” you eventually sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as a hint of self-consciousness rumbles through your gut.

“A-ah, right!” he snaps out of it and lifts up his arm. Carefully pulling back the sleeve of his casual red hoodie, he reveals to you his forearm. A large, dark-colored burn covers most of the arm, even reaching down to his fingertips. You can’t help but wince, leaning forward for a closer look. “I, um, could use some of your help with this, if you don’t mind.”

“Again, really, Leon?” you can’t help but scold him a bit. He laughs, anyways. “This is the third time this month - one of these days there’s not gonna be much of you left to heal.”

He mutters a soft apology, but you’re still playing like you’re irritated with him and spin around into your living room. You don’t make it far before you realize that Leon’s still standing just before the threshold.

“Oh, right - you can come in.”

“Thanks,” Leon sighs in relief, still holding his arm with a smile.

Just like always, you guide him through your house, leading the significantly taller man down the halls towards a dark down just at the opposite end of your little cottage house. Expertly, you unlock the mystical mechanism that you yourself created (probably seven or eight years ago now? Man, how time flies) to reveal the ominous, shadowy basement. The two of you descend down the steps; you pass by a set of candles and light them with a snap of the fingers, a sight that surely puts stars in Leon’s eyes. He’s always been a sucker for parlor tricks like that.

Leon waddles over to the simple wooden chair you have waiting near the center of the room, taking a seat to watch as you tugged on your long black cloak (the one you made a habit to keep hanging down here for these very instances) and began pulling out various ingredients from one of the numerous cabinets that lined the upper walls of the room.

“Wish you’d just commit to being nocturnal, already,” you couldn’t help but sigh, checking the date you had written on the little jar of beeswax you were inspecting. “If you keep getting injured like this, your healing abilities might become permanently disabled.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still champion,” he laughed, seeming more amused by your reaction than anything. “I can’t just step down for no reason.”

“Sure you can.” You climbed up onto a lower shelf to dig further into a cabinet. You left that jar of chamomile here somewhere. “Gym leaders do it all the time.”

“It’s different for champions. We’re the best of the best, the image of the ideal trainer for our region. Galar isn’t known for giving up, so that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.”

You almost settle for the bag of rosemary, only to quickly set it back in the cabinet. That would be bad, using rosemary on Leon. You were trying to heal him, here, not destroy the guy. You decide to check another cabinet.

“I know, I know, Mr. Unbeatable Champion. I’m just saying that it hasn’t even been a year since you’ve turned and now I’ve basically become your primary medical provider. And you don’t even pay me!”

“I pay you!” He whines a bit before pausing, no doubt trying to think of instances of proper “payment”. “I, um… Well, I’ll pay you back this time!”

You finally find the chamomile, and even stumble upon that jar of honey you were looking for earlier today (of course, they were both behind the several jars of cinnamon sticks). So you throw the man a perked eyebrow while walking over to your giant black cauldron, which rested within a rustic brick fireplace.

“Oh yeah? What have you, Good Sir Champion, have to offer to the likes of me?”

“Name your price and I’ll double it.”

You snicker, lighting the fire with a clap of the hands rather than snapping. You can barely catch Leon’s amazed smile from this far away. How is any of that exciting for someone like you, you can help but wonder. Champion, genuinely cool guy, recently-turned vampire… still gets amused at basic baby magic. Same ol’ Lee.

“Hm, that’s a bold offer, young man,” you muse, adding a dramatic raspiness that makes you sound like some aged witch from a shitty Blockbuster horror film. “A wise man would think twice before dealing with a witch~.”

“Please,” he snickered, “you still call me to catch baby Joltiks that wander into your house. Don’t even try.”

A playfully sour look from you spurs a booming fit of laughter from your old friend. You hide your smile by turning away, focusing more on getting some dandelions to add to the mix. A small bag of garlic slumps over in the cabinet, so of course you grab it and reveal it to the man. He instinctively leans back a bit, a nervous grin settling onto his face.

“Hey, maybe this’ll add some extra zing to your salve, huh?”

“Uh, n-no thanks…”

“That’s what I thought,” you cackle, tossing the garlic away. Thoroughly satisfied with what you have, you dump a shit-ton of beeswax into the cauldron, watching it slowly melt before adding in the other items. While all that boils away, you wander over to your other writing desk, skipping past your grimoire in favor of digging into a drawer. There, you retrieve a small glass vial and a bag of jumbo marshmallows; those in hand, you walk back over to where Leon resides.

“Time for the secret ingredient.”

“It’s not really a secret ingredient if I already know what it is,” he frowned.

“Shut up and open wide.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but does as he’s told. If you didn’t already know the truth here, you might have not seen anything unhuman about his teeth. Overly white from years of meticulous care and likely bleaching or whitening strips (though the thought of Leon walking around at night with whitening strips on his teeth nearly made you choke on your spit), but otherwise normal-looking human teeth. However, you knew better, and peered a little closer to his canines. Sure enough, you could see it; a slight shimmer, something like seeing heat rising off the earth during the summer, wavy and hardly noticeable. You took a marshmallow in one hand, the vial in the other; expertly, you stabbed the treat into one fang and simultaneously propped up the vial against the other tooth. Leon flinched a bit (“It feels really weird,” he had told you one time, following the same procedure the night he needed a quick fix after accidentally grabbing one of his grandmother’s rosaries when cleaning up his mother’s house, “kinda like I’m spitting with my teeth. Yuck.”). In seconds, small spurts of a dark, sort-of maroon-colored liquid fills up most of the vial. You give it a few seconds more before pulling away, taking a moment to drain the liquid from the marshmallow before offering the remains to the champion. He childishly takes it with glee, stuffing it into his mouth with that stupid smile on his face (goddamn his smile was gorgeous, but it’s way easier to just say that it was stupid, instead).

With the last and most important ingredient, you return to your work, carefully pouring the vial’s sibylline contents into the concoction. You pick up the large wooden spoon that hangs over the fireplace and give a few generous stirs.

“Y’know,” you hear Leon’s footsteps creeping up behind you, keeping a slow, leisurely pace as he meanders around the room, “this really wasn’t the future I thought for us when we were kids.”

You exhale a chuckle from your nose. You almost say that you feel the same, but the fear of him inquiring further about what you did envision makes you choose a different set of words.

“Don’t even think about getting all Byronic on me,” you peered over your shoulder. He simply smiles at you - an even stupider smile - hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way towards you. “I’m not going to listen to you moan and groan about your tragic fate for all eternity.”

He chuckles, something surprising soft instead of his regular bone-shattered laugh.

“Of course not. I’m just saying that I figured we’d be, y’know, doing other things.” You try not to think about what he could mean by that. “But I’m not really against this. I don’t think I would’ve found out about your little shop of horrors down here, otherwise.”

He’s got a good point there. Literally the only reason you admitted to your secret life as a decently skilled witch was the night he turned. You could still remember it all; he stumbled into your house, desperately holding his wound with that terrified look in his eye, as if he was looking at Death, itself. You’d never personally treated a victim of vampire’s night out (not a live one, anyway), but you did everything in your power to keep Leon alive. But you knew that it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to wake up the next morning, having survived a night of literal death in slow-motion. Not so many victims were so fortunate to make it through the process, but like hell you were about to let your childhood friend die like that. So now he knew your secret, and you protected his. At least you didn’t have to worry about the two of you drifting apart any time soon, especially with him always forgetting basic vampyric flaws like sunlight all the time.

He settles beside you, offering a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really grateful to know someone like you. You’ve got better things to be doing, and yet you always make time to bring me back after I do something stupid again and again.”

You look into his eyes a moment too long before looking back into your task. The gooey mixture, now dyed a deep red, bubbled down below, seeming almost alive.

“You make it sound like I just started doing this. I’ve been patching you up since kindergarten.”

“Fair enough. But still… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.”

He’s got that look in his eyes again, golden irises burning brighter than ever, and he’s far too close for you to be comfortable. So, logically, you look even deeper into your cauldron, grateful that the darkness of the room likely hides your ever-burning cheeks. Thankfully, the brew looks just about ready. You reach over and grab a small bowl from the table nearby, spooning some of the waxy goo into its hold.

From birth, it had been decided that you would carry on your mother’s family tradition of witchcraft. And you have - with much pride - and it’s become your greatest secret that would spell disaster should it be learned by the wrong people. You didn’t make many friends, but Leon’s dumb smile was so infectious that you were always drawn to him, even if he drove you bat-shit with his innocent antics. The two of you were close for so long, but after he became champion, things became a bit more strained. You figured that it wouldn’t be long before he forgot about you altogether - but then last year’s “incident” happened, and now a whole new understanding unknown to much of the world had formed between you both. You knew it was far too late to ever consider confessing any of your possible feelings for him (feelings of annoyance, you always told yourself - what an unfortunate lie that’s come to be), but now here you were, likely stuck as his clandestine nurse for the rest of your mortal life. And then what? You’d be reincarnated, would likely stumble upon memories of your past lives (such is the fate of those who take on the witch’s mantle), and see the man you once loved (or loathed, as you’d rather say) finding someone else to take care of him in your absence. For him, it’d hardly feel like a change. But for you, it’d truly be a fate beyond that of death or eternal damnation. You should be happy that he has a reason to stay with you for the rest of your life, but instead, all you can feel is a bitter aftertaste that you have no choice but to suffer through.

“I can’t say I believe in fate,” you shrug your shoulders, “but every now and then the stars align in such a way that has us thinking that God has a sense of humor.”

Leon chuckles again, but you don’t really know. He doesn’t really know what you’re referring to. Right?

You shuffle him back over to the chair, sitting him down and resting his arm across the armrest. As gentle as possible, you spread the salve across the burn area, letting it soak in a bit before applying a second coating that you massage into his skin. Leon watches with that dumb, stupid, bothersome smile of his; you make a point never to meet those eyes, not when you’re so close to him like this.

After a few minutes, you give an affirmative nod and pull back, inspecting the injury. Sure enough, it’s already starting to lighten up.

“Looks like we got power in the healing department,” you smirk. “You’re all ready to go, Good Sir Champion.”

“Not quite.” You must’ve made a weird face, because he’s quickly backtracking, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “I mean, uh, I still have to pay you back double, right? You never said what kind of payment you want.”

You don’t like the way he phrased that. No, you hate the way he phrased that. It’s got your mind in all sorts of a jumble, now. So as quick as you can (before you accidentally say something stupid), you make up a response.

“Flowers.”

Okay that’s really fucking dumb.

Leon quirks his eyebrows at you, seeming amused once more.

“I, uh, I mean,” you stumble for words, hoping to dig yourself out of this hole you’ve thrown yourself into with one stupid word. “What I mean is… I’ve been looking for a specific set of flowers for this spell I’m working on, but they don’t really sell them in stores nearby. So, uh, yeah. Get me flowers.”

“Flowers? For a spell?”

“For a spell,” you affirm.

“Okay,” there’s a strange tone to his voice that you don’t really want to try and decipher, “I can do that. What, uh… what kind of flowers do you want - er, what kind do you need? For the spell?”

You run through a mental list of all the most non-romantic flowers you can think of. Unfortunately, you like flowers, so all of them kinda felt romantic. God fucking dammit.

“Uh… dahlia’s? Black dahlia’s - yeah, those’ll be good. For the spell.”

“Right, the spell,” he nods, glancing off to the side for a millisecond. “I think I can do that, yeah. For a second, I was kind of scared you were gonna make me get a bunch of super poisonous flowers. Not sure how I would explain that one to my bank.”

“Y-yeah, right.”

A brief (and awkward) silence settles over the two of you. Eventually, Leon moves to get up; you shuffle a few steps back to give him enough space to stretch.

“Well, thanks again for helping me - I feel a thousand times better. I swear, you’re a better doctor than, well, actual doctors.”

You smirk with a smidge of pride. “Magic is just a science that hasn’t been accepted yet. And it looks cooler, too.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few things, some time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, playfully glaring in such a way that has him laughing just at the sight of it.

“That’ll cost you more flowers, Lee - are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want - any kind you want.”

You wait a minute for him to backtrack, or to say “For the spell” in a rushed manner like always. But that’s it, the end of the sentence. He just stands there, smiling in that stupid way evermore, eyes focused entirely on you.

It’s a look that you can hardly describe, the look in his eyes at that moment. It pulls something from your chest that you had spent years keeping locked up tight.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You don’t know what scares you more - the fact that you said that, or the fact that he grins even brighter.

You’re the witch here, and yet he’s the one trapping you in this terrible enthrallmetn that has you seeing stars with just that stupid-dumb smile of his. It’s hard to blame it on his status or his altered state of humanity when this has always been the case. No, that’s just the kind of person Leon has always been and (hopefully) always will be. And you would likely be stuck with this (gorgeous) idiot for the rest of your mortal life.

It’s got your heart beating faster - you can’t tell if it’s from fear or from excitement. Maybe both. Most likely both.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 29: Sasha

Nobody in the Archives says anything, but a subtle change starts coming over the team after Michael’s unexpected visit. Jon starts spending more and more of his time in his office and seems tense and fidgety whenever they go in to talk to him, or he comes out to talk to them. Tim’s body language becomes more and more closed-off and his jokes become rarer and with an edge to them that’s never been there before. Martin seems mostly himself, but there’s a desperate, almost frantic eagerness to please about him that hasn’t been there since the first few months they were all in the Archives when he was trying desperately to earn Jon’s tolerance, if not approval.

Sasha makes it three weeks before she cracks.

It’s Tim that’s the final straw, Tim and the look he puts on Martin’s face. They’re winding down for the evening, tidying up their desks and the statements they’ve been dealing with—mostly false, to be honest—and Martin ducks into Jon’s office to remind him of the time, then comes back and informs Tim that Jon is “finishing something up” and won’t be ready to leave for a bit.

Tim shoves a drawer shut. “Fine. He knows the way home then.” He snatches up his files and stomps off to put them back on the shelf.

For just a second, Martin lets his emotions loose from behind the placid look he’s had plastered there lately, and Sasha sees the genuine shock and devastation in his eyes. Tim’s only left Jon behind once in the almost six months since the infestation of the Archives, and she still remembers Martin’s mock-stern look, Tim’s teasing smirk, and Jon’s sheepish grin as they told her about having to literally talk him out of the building. Hell, he barely lets—or let, anyway—Sasha walk out of the Archives alone after she stopped living with them; his protective-slash-herding instincts have been in overdrive. And both he and Martin worry about Jon’s health and safety, a lot. Bad enough that Tim is—seemingly—willing to leave Jon behind. Worse that he’s essentially making Martin choose between them. Sasha actually can’t guess which way he’ll go.

“Right, that does it,” she says abruptly. She looks at Martin and waves at Jon’s office. “Go get Jon out of his office.”

“He’s in the middle of—”

“He’ll come if you ask him,” Sasha says certainly. “But you’ll have to ask him.”

Martin frowns. “Why?”

“Because you’re the one he trusts most right now.” For a second, Sasha feels a little…not lightheaded, exactly, but the same sensation she gets when she drinks a glass of champagne too fast. It’s a feeling that’s been increasingly common lately, so as usual, she ignores it and keeps talking. “The only recording he has of Tim from before that table was delivered is the one we did the night after Jane Prentiss attacked, and he can’t bring himself to relisten to it, so he’s got no real proof Tim hasn’t been taken over by that thing the Primes mentioned. And even though he knows you and I are still ourselves, he’s a little on edge around me because I’ve been more distant than the two of you have been. So while he doesn’t really think any of us are out to get him, you’re definitely the only one who’s going to be able to pry him out of his shell like the stubborn mollusk he is.”

Martin stares at her for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says quietly.

He gets up from his desk and goes over to Jon’s office. Sasha gets up, too, puts on her jacket, and then goes over to the trapdoor and unearths the handle, but doesn’t open it yet. Instead, she heads back to their cluster of desks, grabs a torch out her drawer, and waits.

Martin, accompanied by Jon, comes towards her just as Tim comes back out of the shelves. Sasha doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Tim’s arm in an iron grip and jerks her head at Martin. “Come on. This way.”

“Sasha, what the hell—” Tim begins, but Sasha doesn’t give him a chance to argue further. She drags Tim over to the trapdoor, yanks it open, and half-shoves him down ahead of her.

“Come on,” she repeats over her shoulder, then starts down the steps herself. Behind her, she can hear Martin coaxing Jon into heading down under the floor, and then the door shuts behind them, leaving them in darkness for a split second before Sasha clicks on her torch.

She doesn’t bother knocking on the first door they come to, just turns the knob and opens it. The Primes start up from a nest of blankets, blinking sleep out of their eyes, which, okay, she should have expected. They aren’t exactly nocturnal, but they also don’t have cell phones anymore—not that there’s service in the tunnels anyway—so they tend to sleep when they feel like and get up when they want, and since they can’t come out into the Archives safely during business hours, they ordinarily don’t wake up until close to the time the team is usually packing up to leave. All of which is something they’ve certainly told her at some point and she’s filed away for later use and just never thought about until now. They both look slightly panicked, likely because neither one of them has the slightest clue who just barged in.

“This,” Sasha announces, releasing Tim’s arm and pulling the door shut behind Jon and Martin, “is an intervention.”

“Sasha, Christ, you scared the piss out of us.” Martin Prime sighs.

“Sorry,” Sasha says, even though she isn’t particularly. “I just thought we ought to do this somewhere the Ceaseless Watcher…couldn’t.”

Jon Prime feels about and locates two pairs of glasses. He slides one of them onto his face, then hands the other to Martin Prime before getting to his feet. “An intervention for what?” he asks, sounding weary.

“Yeah, an intervention for what?” Tim echoes. He sounds pissed. Tough.

Sasha folds her arms over her chest and glares at him. “That’s part of it. You’re acting like the world has personally offended you and you’re taking it out on the three of us. And you”—she turns her glare on Jon and waves a finger at him, which he flinches back from like she’s flung a knife at him—“are twitchier than the most neurotic statement-givers we’ve ever had down here. It’s getting ridiculous and it stops now.”

“Oh, does it?” Tim snarls. “What makes you think it works like that?”

“It’s going to work like that if I have to knock your fool heads together,” Sasha snaps back. “You can’t keep going on like this. We don’t deserve your attitude—”

“My attitude?”

“—and you don’t need to be so suspicious—”

“I beg your pardon?” Jon bristles at her.

“—so enough is enough—”

“You expect me to believe—” Jon’s voice is rising with every word.

“—anything to worry about—” Tim is waving a finger at her.

“Guys, come on,” Martin says pleadingly, but it gets lost under the flurry of words from the others.

“I’ve got one of those, too.” Sasha brandishes her own finger at Tim. “You can’t—”

“—what you’re hiding—”

“—all calm down and—”

“—don’t even care—”

“—trying to work while you—”

“—never see what you’re—”

“—lack of oversight—”

“Everybody shut up!” Martin Prime shouts.

The silence is almost deafening as all four of them turn to look at Martin Prime. His eyes are closed and he’s massaging his temples. “Look, if you’re in here having this talk, it’s because you want us to be involved in it, and I cannot follow the conversation if you’re all talking at once. Frankly, I doubt any of you can either, but I can’t focus on who’s saying what and it all blends together. If you don’t want us involved, fine, go find another room to argue in, but if you’re going to do this in here, knock it off. You are going to have to take turns.”

Sasha’s never actually heard Martin—either Martin—raise his voice, which definitely serves to make her pause. They all stand in silence for a long moment before Tim speaks. “Fine. I’ll start. You want to talk about my attitude? Let’s talk about my attitude. Or better yet, let’s talk about your attitudes, towards this whole…situation.”

“What?” Martin and Jon speak at the same time, Martin sounding confused and worried and Jon deadly calm.

“We are working for the evil embodiment of knowledge,” Tim grates out. “You know that. You know the more we learn about this shit, the deeper we go! And none of you are even hesitating—”

“Tim, it’s our job,” Martin tries. “We—”

“You’re not even trying to resist it!” Tim shouts, wheeling around to face Martin as he clenches his hands into tight fists.

Martin flinches. No, that’s too mild a word for it. Martin recoils, cringing back away from Tim and curling inward on himself, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped protectively around his midsection, head turned sharply to one side, eyes screwed shut, lips pressed tightly together. He looks up just as quickly as he looked away, eyes wide and wet. His pupils are so blown out they almost swallow his irises whole, and his skin is paper white, throwing every freckle into relief so stark they look almost three-dimensional. It obviously costs him a great deal to make eye contact with Tim, but he manages it, and something about his posture…

It hits Sasha in the same moment it hits Tim, judging by the sudden shift in Tim’s expression. Martin has braced himself to take a blow. He actually expects Tim—Tim—to lay a hand on him. Since Sasha knows it’s not anything Tim has ever done in the past that makes Martin think that, it must be something from further back, and she’s struck with a sudden, powerful desire to take a trip up to Devon and find out if all the true crime stuff she reads in her spare time will make it easier for her to commit a homicide and not get caught.

The anger drains out of Tim’s face, replaced with shock and remorse. “Oh, God,” he chokes out. “Martin, I—I didn’t—” He starts to reach out, then evidently realizes that won’t help and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I’ve been watching all three of you. I-I told you the other day, I see your face—all your faces—when you’re looking into some of this stuff, and…I’m scared. I’ve already lost one person I care about to this. I don’t want to lose anyone else.” He takes a deep breath. “And—I feel like I’m watching you all die right in front of me.”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon Prime murmurs. He sounds—and looks—heartbroken, and Sasha remembers the careful way the Primes picked around talking about Tim that first day. She wonders if Tim Prime felt the same way, and if they ever got this conversation. From the pinched look on Martin Prime’s face as he wraps his arm around Jon Prime’s waist, she somehow doubts it.

Martin’s lip trembles, and he swallows twice before he manages to speak in a small, shaking voice. “It’s not—i-it’s hard, Tim. I’m t-trying, but…I think it’s too late for me. Even before…even before we knew, I was…” He closes his eyes and turns his head away for a moment, evidently fighting back the tears. “I thought it was just wanting to prove myself. Now I don’t know. But i-if I don’t dig into things deep enough, it hurts. And I don’t know how to stop it.” He looks up and turns to Martin Prime, but without, Sasha notices, relaxing his protective posture. “Was it…was it like that for you?”

Martin Prime hesitates, then nods. “I think so. It’s hard to be sure, since, you know, I didn’t know what we were up against for longer, but by the time I started thinking maybe this wasn’t a great idea and I should stop…I couldn’t.”

“My God,” Jon Prime breathes. “I-I didn’t realize…was it like that for the others?”

“Maybe? It’s not like we sat around and compared notes. And I was definitely in it deeper than everyone else, even before things got bad.”

“Jesus.” Tim tugs at his hair for a moment, then lets his hands drop to his sides. “I am sorry, Martin. A-and you, too,” he adds, looking at Jon, then at Sasha. “You’re right, you don’t deserve…I just, it’s always been an issue with me. I get scared and it comes out as anger. I’m not angry at you. Not really. I mean…maybe I was, a little, but mostly it’s the whole…situation. I feel so damned helpless. I didn’t know anything about what Danny was involved in, so I couldn’t do anything to save him, and I lost him. Now I do know what’s going on, and I still can’t do anything to stop it.” He takes a deep breath. “I—I’ll try to talk it out before it gets this bad again.”

“Thank you,” Martin says softly.

“That helps,” Jon mutters. “A bit.”

“Right, your turn,” Sasha says, turning to face him. “What’s got you so on edge?”

Jon stiffens. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come on, Jon. You’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory. I half expect to go into your office and see you with a map covered in pins and string. And I don’t get it.” Sasha ticks off points on her fingers. “You know who killed Gertrude Robinson, so it isn’t like you suspect one of us, let alone suspect us of trying to kill you. You’ve been obsessively playing every tape you can find from before that table got delivered that has one of us on it, over and over, so you know our voices by heart and know we haven’t been taken over, except for Tim because you can’t bring yourself to re-listen to the tape you made after Jane Prentiss attacked, but you’ve got that Polaroid we took on your birthday last year stuck in the bottom drawer with your backup recorder, so—”

“How do you know that?” Jon interrupts, a slight edge to his voice and his eyes widening.

Sasha stops, runs through what she just said, and covers her mouth with one hand. “Oh, shit.”

“You say things like this and I’m supposed to, what, not be suspicious? Not worry that I’m just…hearing what I want to hear on the tapes and you’re not—” Jon waves a hand at her.

“No, I’m—I haven’t been snooping through your office or anything. I just—” Sasha winces and glances at Tim. “I guess I’m…in too deep, too.”

A despairing look flits through Tim’s eyes. “I was afraid of that.”

“Jon, I swear to you, nobody in this room has it out for you,” Sasha says, turning back to her boss. “And I think the evidence is on the side of ‘I would know’. You know that, too. I told Martin earlier you don’t really suspect any of us, I know you don’t. I’d even go so far as to say I capital-K Know it. The Not-Them isn’t in the Archives. We don’t even have any real evidence that it’s anywhere, that it’s taken over anyone, and if it has it isn’t bothering us—”

“But we don’t know that!” Jon bursts out, gesturing in a way that has Martin taking a half-step back to avoid his flailing hands. “There’s no—it could be anyone in the Institute, it’s not like any of us went around gathering tape recordings or taking Polaroids or anything, so how would we know? How could any of us know? I-it could be anywhere, it could—and it’s not just that thing. Michael just appeared in my office, and even if he was after Helen Richardson, he could come in at any time. Jane Prentiss was living in the walls, my God, she—she was right here all that time, for all those weeks, a-and she could have come in at any time and we never would have known. Breekon and Hope just appeared—Rosie said she had no idea how they got in to deliver the table, and then they came down here and—they could have done anything and I wasn’t even here—” He draws in a sharp breath. “You think you can’t—I-I’m supposed to be in charge. If, if these things can just waltz in whenever they please and I can’t even detect them before it’s too late…it’s bad enough when they come after me, I-I almost want them to come after me, because that means they aren’t going after you. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t keep any of you safe.”

Jon Prime closes his eyes and turns his head towards Martin Prime’s shoulder. The tears brim up in Martin’s eyes, but he blinks them back fiercely. Tim lets out a hiss between his teeth. “And you think we’re going to be okay if you get hurt?”

“No! No, but—God.” Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m scared, too. A-and I’ve never—I’ve always had to deal with this sort of thing alone. So I—I suppose I went too far that way. I was trying to handle it all myself, and…” He looks up and looks at the other three. “I am sorry. I never meant—I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t realize I was—”

“Shutting us out?” Sasha supplies.

“Folding in on myself. Scared of things getting down into the Archives, and it started translating into being scared of what was already here. I-it all…compounded.” Jon gives a small, bitter laugh. “I was so desperate to protect you all that I didn’t realize I was making things worse. I-I’ll try to open up a bit more, too.”

Martin’s shoulders sag slightly in evident relief. Tim manages a smile. “Tell you what, boss. I’ll let you know if you’re being an asshole if you’ll do the same for me, deal?”

Jon actually smiles back, a little. “Deal.” The smile fades, though, as he turns to Sasha. “I—while we’re being honest, Sasha…I’m not sure how much I trust you these days. It’s—it’s not that I think you’re…I know you’re still you. You’re right. I know that. But…you’re keeping secrets. I-I’m not saying you’re not allowed to, but…the way you avoid us, it makes me worry about why. What you’re up to.”

A stab of panic hits Sasha, for no real reason. It’s not like it’s a dangerous secret or anything, it’s just…she doesn’t tell her secrets. “It’s not about the job, Jon. I promise.”

“I believe you, but…that doesn’t mean it can’t hurt us. Or you, for that matter. I worry that you’re involved in something that might be…” Jon gestures vaguely at the universe.

“You’re the one with the ability to just know things about people,” Tim points out. “Which means our ability to keep secrets from you has just gone down drastically, not that you weren’t the type to dig them out anyway. Hardly seems fair that you’re the only one who gets to have secrets.”

“Wow, okay.” Sasha frowns at him.

“Sorry, I don’t—” Tim closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “That wasn’t nice. I’m sorry.” He pauses. “Or at least, I’m sorry for how I said it. I think I meant it. Maybe not that harshly, but…”

“Sasha,” Jon Prime says quietly. “Take it from someone who’s been there. It will be a lot easier on you—on all of you—if you trust them with…whatever it is now.”

Sasha is about to say that he doesn’t have to be cagey when she realizes that he doesn’t know either. Her counterpart never told them, and then she was dead and it didn’t matter. Which means their Sasha took her secret to the grave. Something else occurs to her about that, and she can’t hold back a gasp at the sudden lance of pain, covering her mouth with her hand. Oh, God, that means…

“My uncle,” she half-whispers through her fingers. She closes her eyes for a minute, takes a shaky breath, then lowers her hand and tries to speak in a more normal tone. “My mother’s baby brother—he’s only about ten years older than I am. My parents died when I was six and he…he raised me. He taught me everything I know—especially about computers and, well, hacking and all that.” She takes a deep breath. “He’s in prison. Something to do with something he unearthed that he wasn’t supposed to. I don’t know all the details, he won’t tell me and I haven’t wanted to risk digging for them, but he’s been there since 2010. It’s why I came to London in the first place, and it’s why I live where I do—so I can be closer to him.”

“Sash.” Tim sounds shocked and sad. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ve always been like that, I suppose. Uncle Wade used to tease me about the way I would dig up secrets, he’d say I should have been named Harriet instead of Sasha. I never did anything with them, I just…liked having them, I guess. But I’ve also always been big on keeping them. It’s like…like it wasn’t a good secret if anyone but me knew it.” Sasha lets out a blow of frustration. “I can’t explain it, Tim. The only answer I can come up with is that I didn’t tell you because then it wouldn’t be a secret. And it’s stupid, and I know that. I should have told you all a long time ago and I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and looks over at the Primes, who both look stricken. “I…I’m guessing, um, Sasha Prime never told you that.”

“No,” Martin Prime says softly. “She never talked about her family. We never knew…” He trails off.

Which means Uncle Wade, in their time, probably never knew what happened to her, Sasha thinks miserably. She suspected as much before, but to have it confirmed…it’s painful. She presses her lips together for a moment, then looks at the others. “If anything happens to me—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Jon says sharply, a flash of panic in his eyes.

“But if it does—you’ll make sure he knows?” Sasha swallows. “Wade Copper. HMP Pentonville. Just…promise me that if something happens to me, one of you will tell him. Please.”

Tim swallows, but nods. “Cross my heart.”

Sasha relaxes. “Thank you.” She looks back to the Primes. “I’m sorry. I know I’m technically not the one who didn’t tell you, but…I kind of am? So I’m sorry I never told you, either. I—I don’t know if that would have made things better or worse.”

“Worse, probably,” Jon Prime says, a little distantly. “The Not-Them never went to visit him, or at least not on days when I was…well, stalking it, instead of Tim or Martin. But if I’d known…if I’d thought for a minute about…” He sighs. “There was a lot going on, and I’m afraid I didn’t give a lot of thought to who might need to be notified of our Sasha’s death.”

“Think Elias would have told him?” Tim asks. Sasha can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I doubt it,” Jon Prime answers. He sounds bitter. “He probably got more delight out of the uncertainty and fear and anguish your uncle felt, not knowing why you’d suddenly stopped coming to visit, not understanding why no one would talk to him about—”

“Jon,” Martin Prime warns.

Jon Prime pulls up short. “Sorry.”

Sasha shakes her head, not sure what she’s denying. Maybe that he needs to apologize at all. She thinks she’s starting to get it. It’s probably not going to be uncommon for any of them to suddenly blurt out a truth that has the potential to hurt at least one other person in the room, because that’s what the Eye thrives on, is the fear of knowledge. The fear of secrets exposed.

“Is that why I’ve got that aspect of it?” she asks aloud, surprised by the direction her thoughts are trending.

“What?” Jon Prime frowns at her.

“The—you told us that you’ve got all sorts of…weird Archivist powers. You can compel people to tell you things and sense when people have statements for you and sometimes you just Know things without knowing how you know them, right?” Jon Prime nods cautiously, and Sasha continues. “I haven’t noticed me being able to compel anyone, I don’t think I can force people to tell me things or anything like that, but I-I think I’m developing the ability to just…Know things. Like about that Polaroid. I get this weird…fizzy feeling in my mind? Like it’s full of bubbles, or—”

“Or static?” Jon Prime supplies.

Sasha closes her eyes briefly. “God, how did I not think of that?”

“Probably because it never would have occurred to either of us that you might…that that might happen.” Jon Prime glances up at Martin Prime, then back at Sasha. “You’re right. If you’ve all been sharing the recording duties as well as the research duties…well, Jon is still the Archivist and still going to get the lion’s share, but I suspect the rest of you will at least develop something. Possibly not you, Tim, if you stop now.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Tim says, sounding reluctant. “I might not like it, but now that I know…I’m not going to leave my family to do this alone. I’ll help. Damn the consequences.”

Jon manages a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

Sasha smiles, too, then turns to Martin. “What about you?”

Martin blinks, evidently surprised. “Me?”

Sasha gestures around them. “We’ve all been…acting like this. You’ve been acting like yourself, or more accurately like you did when we all started out in the Archives, when none of us knew you yet and you thought you had to prove you belonged here. I don’t need freaky Eye powers to know that you’re trying too hard. We put the burden of…everything on you, and none of us thought about how the way we were behaving might have affected you. So, it’s your turn. What do you need from us?”

Martin stares at her, then at the other two. Tim’s face is still ashen, Jon’s eyes still wide, but they’re both looking at Martin intently—like they can see something about him that Sasha can’t. Which they quite possibly can. Sasha may have been given the gift, or curse, of being able to ferret out secrets and hidden knowledge, but the friendship these three have developed, especially living in such close proximity to one another, has probably given them an understanding of one another that is beyond anything an entity of fear can see. His shoulders slump slightly, his protective posture eases back, and he actually smiles—it’s small, but it’s genuine.

“Actually,” he says, and while his voice shakes, it’s not as bad, “just you having asked means a lot.” He takes a shuddering, steadying breath. “I-it’s just, well, I don’t…do so well alone anymore? I-I mean, I’m trying, but…I don’t think I can actually…” He trails off and doesn’t finish.

“You’re not alone, Martin,” Jon says, his voice cracking slightly. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

All the tension seems to seep out of Martin in one rush, and his arms drop to his sides as he straightens, like a burden has just dropped off his back. Sasha isn’t sure who moves first, Tim or Jon, but they both reach Martin in almost the same instant and wrap him tightly in a hug. Martin hugs them back, his eyes squeezing shut, but Sasha sees the tear force its way out of the corner and the relief in his face. She realizes he’s been suffering these last few weeks and wonders—have any of them touched him, even briefly? Have any of them touched one another, or have they all been keeping separate and distant?

Whatever the case, Sasha decides that, just this once, she wants to be a part of it. She lets the torch fall heedlessly to the ground and crosses the floor to join the group hug. Someone’s hand curls around her arm, she’s not sure who, but she feels the warmth of her friends—her boys—soak into her body and wonders why she’s gone so long without this.

She raises her head briefly and looks in the direction of the Primes. She can just see them in the torch light glowing up from below; Jon Prime is watching them with a look of mingled warmth and longing. Giving in to impulse, she jerks her head to indicate that they should come closer.

And, for a wonder, he does. They both do, and suddenly there are more arms joining the pile and six people instead of four. Six broken, lonely pieces slotting together to make a single picture. Not quite complete. It may never be complete. But at least there aren’t any holes. Not anymore.

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 38: Nocturnal

[Am I procrastinating by writing yet another chapter? Yes I am. Pls send help.]

I wake up only a couple hours later to find Arthur is gone. He must have gone back to write in is room. I don something comfortable and pick up my blood soaked clothes from the bathroom floor to wash them. Though Sebastian knows what I did, I don’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night for this. He has done enough already, and I can deal with the stains myself.

I fetch a bucket and a jar of salt from the kitchen and bring it back to my bedroom before filling it with cold water. I then proceed to scrub as much as I can off the clothes inside the shower, using a thick salt paste, and when the water stops running red, I lather them in soap and leave them to soak in the bucket. The stains are fairly fresh, so hopefully they will come out in a day or two.

After drying myself off, I leave to aimlessly roam around the mansion. I need to do something, anything, to keep my mind occupied. I eventually end up in the attic, crawling onto the roof through the dormer window. I am pleased to find Jean is there. I don’t think I could handle being alone with my thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, knocking on the window frame. Jean turns to glance at me before shuffling over, making space for me beside him on the edge. “This is becoming a habit, huh?”

“It’s not one I’m opposed to,” he shrugs. I light a cigarillo, and he looks at it disapprovingly. “Unlike that one.”

“Sorry.” Before I can smother the flame on the roof tiles, he holds my hand to stop me.

“I was joking...” he mutters. “I don’t mind if you smoke.”

I... did not think Jean had a sense of humor. His is a lot like Mozart’s, I think, in the sense that it’s hard to tell when they’re kidding. I chuckle and look up at the sky. The sun is still nowhere near the horizon. It must be around 3 in the morning.

After exhaling a cloud of smoke, I glance at Jean to notice him staring at my arm. My sleeves are still rolled up from the laundry, and most of my tattoos are fully exposed.

“Is that some sort of plant?” he shyly asks. I nod.

“A monstera adansonii. I used to work in a flower shop, and this is my favorite plant that we sold,” I explain. Though it is commonly referred to as ‘Swiss cheese plant’, the holes on its leaves have always reminded me of the craters on the moon.

“I own a shop too,” he quietly informs me, catching me by surprise. “I sell weapons.”

“Sounds about right,” I chuckle. His fascination with the objects is evident in his bedroom. “Do you make them yourself?”

“Only some of them. I mostly just make slight alterations.”

“Must be a lot of work, if you also own the place,” I ponder out loud. “No wonder I rarely see you during the day, you must be so busy.”

“Napoleon helps me with the paperwork. I wouldn’t be able to manage without him.” I tilt my head, wondering what he means by that. “I, uh... I can’t read or write,” he explains.

“Oh.” It makes sense, given the time that he lived in. Most people back then were illiterate. I open my mouth when a thought occurs to me, but quickly close it and sink down against the chimney, resigned.

“What is it?”

“I was going to offer to teach you, but I’m not much better off myself,” I chuckle. “I could not spell in French if my life depended on it. I can kind of read it, though. That, I might be able to help you with.”

“... Thank you,” he murmurs after a brief pause, before turning to look at me with his good eye. “I am glad that you are staying here, Anaïs.”

“Yeah, about that...” I mutter. “I think I understand how you felt that night. These baby vampire impulses are... a bit too much to handle. It’s rough.”

Jean nods slowly and looks away from me, as if thinking about something. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer than usual.

“You slipped, didn’t you?” His unexpected question makes me tense beside him. I guess he feels it, because he continues. “I was up here when you came back. I saw you.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I sigh. “It was bad. I mean, it was self defence, but that doesn’t make it any less awful...”

“It does,” he declares. “Do you think that person would have died if they hadn’t attacked you?”

“Not really, but-”

“Then they deserved it and their blood is not on your hands,” he cuts me off. “Not literally, at least.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. The logic in his argument is not exactly airtight, but it’s better than blaming myself for what I did. I helped Jean hate himself a little less, it’s time to let him do the same for me. Satisfied with my new mindset, I bring the cigarillo to my lips and inhale a deep puff.

“... People,” I finally correct him after I blow out the smoke. He looks at me, confusion in his ocean blue eye. “There were two people.”

“And you took them down on your own?” he inquires. I shrug. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. “Impressive. I didn’t think a frail little woman like you could defeat one, even as a vampire.”

“Hey, I’m stronger than I look,” I laugh. I am still not sure whether he was teasing me or not, but I chose to take it that way. He looks at me before shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t believe that.” Yeah, he is definitely messing with me this time.

“I am, I swear!” I play along, gently smacking his muscular arm. “Wanna take this to the training room?”

Instead of replying, he gets up and offers me his hand. I take it, letting him effortlessly pull me to my feet, and follow him back inside.

“You know,” I say on the way there, “I’ve been wanting to learn how to fight properly for a while. Ever since I saw you and Napoleon on my first day here.”

“How about I teach you that, and you teach me how to read?” he suggests. I smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

When we enter the training room, Jean turns the switch on the wall, making the lights turn on with a flicker. I wonder how he feels about all this new technology, so unfamiliar to him. He seems to have gotten somewhat used to electricity and running water, at least. Although I’m pretty sure his brain would implode if he saw the things that are common in my time.

He exchanges his rapier for a wooden version of it he takes from the rack in the corner, and hands me another one, identical to his. It’s heavier than I expected. I hold it between my thighs to tie my hair up as Jean expertly waves his sword around with a flourish, getting accustomed to the different handle in his hand. What did I just get myself into? Whatever it is, it’s going to be fun.

“En garde!” He takes a stance, and I try to mimic it, but my thin right arm is unused to the weight of the weapon, so my left hand instinctually joins to support it. “No, use only one hand,” he instructs. “Like this.”

I am surprised to see I can easily hold it up once I get past the mental barrier of what my human body was capable of. I am stronger and more resilient than I have ever been, though I think I’ll need some time to get used to that.

“Alright, I’m going to attack now. Try to block it,” he warns be before lunging forward and thrusting his sword towards my stomach. The movement is deliberately slow to give me time to deflect it, which I successfully do. 

He slashes at me again, stepping closer. I push his sword to the side with my own, but it comes back in full force. I barely manage to block it this time, reeling backwards.

“Focus,” he orders me. “There is more than one way to avoid being hit.”

I nod, taking the hint. When he attacks again, I am quick to dodge his sword, focusing on agility rather than strength. While I struggled significantly to parry Jean’s hits, I can effortlessly jump and twist out of the way without ever having to lift my own sword. His movements accelerate, and I follow along, resulting in a graceful dance between us. It reminds me of waltz with Mozart, how he had spun me around the ballroom until my vision blurred and I struggled to keep up with his quick footwork.

“Ow!” I cry out in pain when Jean’s sword hits my hand, right on my knuckles.

“Désolé! (Sorry)” he apologizes, lowering his weapon. “Not bad, Anaïs. How come you’re so fast? You’ve never trained before.”

I simply point at my skates across the room, the red suede boots having become part of the training room’s vast collection of equipment over time. I started leaving them here, on the floor near a corner, when I realized I could never use them outside of the mansion.

“When you’re falling from a triple spin in the air, you gotta be quick or you end up breaking your leg, or something,” I chuckle. Jean nods, his eyebrows raised, as if he just considered that possibility for the first time. He probably did, but to be fair, he has been watching me skate for a month now. He should know better.

I slowly flex my fingers over the sword’s handle, but wince in pain when I try to move my pinky. It’s too sore for me to continue training.

“Are you hurt?” Jean asks, concerned. I shake my head.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just my pinky,” I brush it off. “It will be healed in a day or so.”

“We should continue another day, then.”

I want to argue, but he’s right. I can barely hold the sword straight. My pinky might have taken the brunt of it, but the dull ache expands through my entire hand.

“Okay, but I’m gonna skate instead, if you don’t mind,” I finally give in, walking to ‘my’ corner of the room, before kicking my shoes off. “I have way too much energy. I fear I’ll end up eating someone again if I don’t get rid of it somehow.”

As I struggle to tie my laces with a semi-numb hand, I remember something. I look up at Jean and stare at him for a few seconds before voicing my thoughts.

“Do you know any songs?”

“Yes, why?” he asks, confused.

“My headphones are dead.”

“Headphones?” He sits on the floor beside me and tilts his head.

“Yeah, you know those little things I wear in my ears sometimes?” I remind him. “They play music. And, well, it’s kinda weird for me to skate without music, so I was wondering if you could sing something...”

“Did I accidentally hit your head?”

I snort at his genuine question. Of course, he seems even more confused by my explanation. It is then that I remember my phone still works. I turned it off after my first night here to preserve the battery. It must be in my room somewhere, along with my wireless earplugs.

“Wait here,” I tell him, quickly pulling off my skates. “I’m just gonna show you. I’ll be right back.”

That said, I jump up and run barefoot out of the training room. I have no idea how I’m gonna explain this to Jean without him thinking it’s witchcraft, but it might be better if I just let him see it for himself.

[hibiki-the-beast-archived]

All of the nsfw asks, kitten. Because I want to know everything~ -your lately absent tiger

1:When did you lose your virginity?Mh, I don't have any memories left of this event. But when it comes to the anal virginity: I lost it just only around a year and a half ago.

2: Rough sex or soft sex?Rough is my preference in general and what I am in the mood for most of the time, although if feelings are included I believe a soft vanilla session can make me purr as well. However, when my part is the dominant one I so far can only imagine me being very rough.

3: Do you have any unusual kinks/fetishes?If menophilia and even pet play are not unusual then I don't know. So I say yes to this.

4: Weirdest place you’ve had sex?In the woods perhaps.

5: Favourite sex position?Sounds actually boring, but I like missionary. Second favorite is doggy style though.

6: Do you like to be dominant or submissive?This is a question that is not as easy to answer for me as it may seem. Technically I have tendencies to both sides, but my dominant side is very rough and linked to the creature lurking inside of me which I have troubles keeping the upper hand over. That is the reason why I am more comfortable to be submissive. Back then I had the feeling I had the need to be submissive because I wanted to punish myself for the bad things I do while my inner beast has the power, but lately I think it is just what I am and only a facet I needed to get to know. However, if I feel comfortable with someone and I know the person adores my dominant side while knowing how to lure it I might show it to them.

7: Have you ever had any one night stands?For the sake of my inner beast that likes to stimulate itself sexually while feeding, yes, of course. Apart from that not really. I am not the kind of type who goes to a club, gets drunk and drags someone off. This kind of sex is never worth it I think.

8: Sex on the bed, couch or the floor?Couch and floor are rather uncomfortable places so I definitely prefer the bed. But being creative when it comes to places for mating sessions is appreciated as well.

9: Have you ever had sex in a public place?The forest is a public place, so yes. But I have happened to engulf a fan behind the concert location as well. And once I even had it in a church.

10: Have you ever been caught masturbating?No.

11: What does your favourite sexy underwear look like?I don't have a thing for lingerie on others and neither did I wear something fancy myself yet, but I would cherish everything my partner would enjoy to see on me. Something made out of leather would perhaps be pleasant to wear.

12: How often do you have sex?Sometimes almost every day, sometimes just twice a month I think, at least lately. There had been many months during which I was not sexually active at all. I have never paid attention to the duration of the abstinence though, but fact is it is mostly too seldom for my high libido, mhmh.

13: Is there anybody right now you’d like to have sex with?Two persons, to be exact.

14: Do you prefer giving or receiving oral sex?This is easy: Giving.

15: Most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you during sex?Perhaps not getting an erection or losing it. My libido may be high, but when I get involved with a person thanks to my blood lust that may be an easy prey to satisfy my hunger I tend to get turned off by their passivity. As I always say, a prey that does not moves is a dead prey. And since I only have hetero phases every now and then I might get limp around women, too.

16: A song you’d listen to during hard/rough/kinky sex?Easy as well: Blood Honey and Pistol Whipped from Marilyn Manson

17: A song you’d listen to during soft/slow/passionate sex?The only thing that comes to my mind is Aphrodisia from Nocturnal Bloodlust.

18: Are you into dressing up for sex?I think so. As above, I would like to wear everything my partner enjoys seeing on me, even if I may react embarrassed beforehand. This should not stop them from making me wear the things they think as fitting for me.

19: Would you prefer sex in the bath or sex in the shower?In the bath tub? I am water-shy actually, but as soon as I overcome it I really enjoy this element. Bathing with someone sounds fabulous. In the shower things might become even more uncomfortable than in a tiny bath tub.

20: If you could have sex with anyone right now, who would it be?Hazuki or Hiro probably. But with Aki I have lots of fun as well usually.

21: Have you ever had a threesome? If not, would you?This is a topic I lately discussed, and right at this time I saw a wonderful threesome in a manga as well. Yes, I want to experience a threesome one day. Perhaps as a switch with a dominant and a submissive or as a submissive for two men. Both would have its charms, but it is hard to accomplish something like this, isn't it?

22: Do you/would you use sex toys?I do, although I don't masturbate often. With a partner I have more fun using them.

23: Have you ever sent someone a dirty text/picture?Dirty texts for sure in one way or another, but to get me to send a dirty picture I need to be really desperate, thus being in mating season. Instead there had been a poster of me shirtless in an old German magazine, I consider this definitely more erotic than any bad amateurish picture I shot with my phone camera. Yes, maybe I would do an erotic photo shooting for someone special. Mh, now I have ideas.

24: Would you have sex with your best friend?There is not much better than being friends with benefits I suppose.

25: Is there anything you do after sex? (for example, smoke, eat, drink)I may relax, I may smoke, I may be in need for aftercare...there are many possibilities. Sometimes I have the strong need to listen to music after I had an orgasm. It just depends.

26: Something that will never fail to get you horny?A person who knows how to talk dirty.

27: Early morning sex or late night sex?At night I am usually the most active and vivid feeling, so I prefer the latter. But everything can has its charms. The former may be only turning into a wonderful thing to do with a person I am very close to in an emotional way.

28: Favourite body part on the opposite sex?I don't really have one. But lately I happened to find rather small boobs as appealing. However, I like lips, too. Probably I don't even mean the ones in the face...

29: Favourite body part on the same sex?Hands. Arms in general. What I am talking about, I in fact adore genitals.

30: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:Probably some gay Manga. I mean, I might tell people about it, but I don't want them to find them on accident, just like certain sex toys.

31: Weirdest sexual act some has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:I once had sex while wearing a chastity cage, maybe this was the weirdest so far.

32: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]I have done so and I don't think of it as a bad thing. It is just a body fluid. I would like to lick it off somewhere as a degrading act as well.

33: Is it ever okay to not use a condom:Probably it is not advisable in most cases, but I can't remember ever using a condom.

34: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience:Blood is a food, right? I could think of honey as interesting, but in general I doubt it is necessary to play around with any food.

35: Worst possible time to get horny:Before a gig perhaps. Or while having a music video shooting. Or while standing on stage.

36: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans?I enjoy every feral noise they may utter.

37: How much fapping is too much fapping:When it begins to hurt it probably has been too much. But I think three times a day should be the limit, at least for me.

38: Best sexual complement you ever got:Have I ever gotten one? However I know there are at least two people who like getting intimate with me and can compete with my sexual deviance.

39: Favorite foreplay activities:To be honest, foreplay and teasing are considered to be the most important parts of sex for me. If someone is very good at dirty talking they barely need to do something else to get me in the mood though. But I enjoy to get my nipples sucked as well...not to mention how much it would make me melt if I got my feet played with or even my toes sucked. Mhmh. In exchange I suck your fingers, this seduces me, too. However, a physical fight can be foreplay for me as well. Or a bath. And from a dominant's point of view I enjoy a really bratty attitude.

40: What do you wear to bed?Most of the time underwear and a shirt, sometimes just underwear and for very rare occasions I have a pajama...in which I look very cute!

41: When was the first time you masturbated:I really can't recall this.

42: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself?I don't think I would be able to record this myself, but that does not mean I would not allow someone else to do this...

43: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?Three months ago probably?

44: Have/would you ever have sex in public?How often will this question appear in here? Yes, I had sex in public and I would do it again, especially when it takes place in mother nature's lap or in an old building.

45: Have/would you ever had a threesome?Already answered above I suppose.

46: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate?Pillow.

47: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? why/why not?I did this so seldom that it is almost not worth mentioning. Pornography is not able to fulfill my needs, first because I am not that voyeuristic and second because I most of the time need an emotional connection to the person I get sexually involved with. Looking at strangers performing those things is not really appealing to me. However there are - a very few - manga I enjoy to read.

48: Do you like oral sex? (why/why not)Everything I can use my tongue and mouth to is a big turn on to me. So I like it very much naturally. As for receiving, I prefer rimjobs over blowjobs. Any anal stimulation is a bliss to me.

49: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in?I have a really big foible for men with tattoos. Although I enjoy piercings as well not only because they look fabulous but because my skin reacts very sensitive to metal - but in a good way. But coming back to tattoos, I perhaps would get turned off if my partner had some really weird/childish tattoos or the face of their grandpa on their arm or wherever.

50: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?My inner beast would not care for sure, but in general I don't expect me to be the right person to lose your virginity to. It would not turn out as pleasing for the both of us probably. I have high standards and need someone with experience. I don't have a special foible for it just like some others may perhaps have.

51: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter?I don't have experience with human food in a sexual way, but I suppose most food will make a complete mess in a way I would not enjoy.

52: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?A private pornstar for a special person. A year ago I would have probably agreed to take money for sex, but not anymore.

53: Do you watch porn?Same as above.

54: Have you ever been called a freak? Why?The fans of my former band had been called 'Freaks', so...yes, I am almost sure I have been called a freak. I mean, there could be worse descriptions for me. In fact it is a name I would wear with pride, mhmh. I like to be odd and deviant.

55: Do you feel comfortable going “commando”?If the fabric of my pants is soft enough I might be okay with it in situations where it does not matter that much.

56: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn’t shaved their pubic hair?Not at all. I tend to stay unshaved as well most of the time, especially when I aim to get the dominant part. As a submissive I enjoy to be all smooth so chances are higher I will receive my rimjob...

57: If you could give yourself head, would you?Probably yes.

58: Booty or Boobs?Booty.

59: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?)No. I never had been in a monogamous relationship and always make clear if I get involved with someone I would like to get intimate with others, too.

60: If you were the other sex for a day, what are five things you would do?I always had been thinking about how it would be like to have a vagina, perhaps it would convey a completely other feeling of being submissive for me. And since I enjoy to get treated like a female in sexual matters I probably would like to get bred all day long. Better stop it here until I begin to like this thought too much. Because well, I would be able to wear my tail plug during the intercourse, how could I not like this imagination?

61: have you ever watched someone masturbate?Probably not. It would be a good way to make me all greedy in a submissive way though.

62: has anyone ever watched you masturbate?No, but I would really, really enjoy this...especially when the one watching me keeps a very unfazed expression while talking dirty to me...

63. Have you ever had an erection and someone noticed?I can't remember this ever happened.

64. What is your method of masturbation? (ie. toys, clitorial, prostate)Laying on stomach, thrusting into pillow or fleshlight, but anal/prostate stimulation is essential meanwhile, either with a toy or with fingers.

65. What is your bra/penis size?I am not really flat-chested, an a-cup would fit me for sure. And measuring my penis for this questionnaire is just degrading. Let us say it is 11,5 cm while being erected. You can't expect a tiny beast to have a huge cock.

66. What is the strangest thing you have ever put up your vagina/anus?There is actually nothing too unusual I can remember.

67. When was the last time you masturbated?Four or five days ago.

68. When was the last time you had sex?A week ago perhaps.

69. When was the last time you watched porn?Maybe last year.

70. Have you ever bought a sex toy? If so, which one did you buy last? First sex toy? If not, which one do you plan on buying when you do?The last I bought online was a prostate vibrator, I think I have enough now for being satisfied with my masturbation experience. My first one was the fleshlight, I bought it before I discovered I am absolutely keen on anal stimulation.

71. Guys:Circumsized?No.

72. Which not-genital part of your body do you like being touched?Feet, neck, head.

73. Which genital part of your body do you like being touched?Everything, but butt is always the first choice.

74. Girls:Are you able to achieve orgasm just through breast stimulation?Who says you need to be a girl to be able to do this? I would like to try out if my nipples are sensitive enough.

75. Have you anonymously sent a sexual ask to someone on tumblr?Yes, just lately, but it was someone I am close to. Before I may have done so as well, but it is nothing I regularly do.

76. When was the last time you have had a wet dream?It must have been a while. Maybe I just can't remember. But when I don't orgasm for a week I may release in my sleep during a wet dream.

77. Which wet dream was your favorite?I was on a hunt in the forest and found a man who at first wanted to shoot me because he thought I was a dangerous creature, but I held my naked butt in front of the barrel instead. The thrill of the whole situation was intense and arousing, however I got what I needed thanks to my clear way of 'telling'...

78. Is there a friend you would willingly have sex with?I think I had already sex with those I more or less would consider as friend.

79. Is there a celebrity/character you would willingly have sex with?Atsushi Sakurai perhaps...there are some musicians from bands who are active since the eighties or nineties who are handsome, and those are the ones who are celebrities in my eyes as they are my idols in some way.

80. Favorite sexual position? Didn't I already answer this? Missionary, probably while I am tied up.

81. Do you like being called a slut or whore in bed?No need to even ask this question actually. It drives me crazy.

82. Are you into any BDSM?Obviously.

83. Have you ever wanted to have sex with someone but knew you couldnt for any reason? Why?For sure. Well, I sometimes spot a person who is handsome and interesting enough, but approaching others is not easy so nothing will happen in the end (especially because I almost never get approached). And if a talk should come about it often does not lead to a sexual direction immediately because things like this need time and a certain chemistry. But to be honest, sometimes I am just too much of a pussy to open up my mouth. So I actually like people who have the courage to get something started.

84. Do you like dirty talk?And how!

85. Are you loud or quiet during sex? Masturbation?Loud. Even during masturbation I sometimes, when I am especially in heat, have the need to be loud. To some amount my own noises arouse me even, especially because I sound very submissive, whining and whimpering. Occasionally I suck my fingers while doing it because I enjoy the noises it makes.

86. Have you ever been inturrepted during sex or masturbation? Who/what?By the telephone ringing, for example. Or by the postman. Or by bandmembers stepping into the backstage room...

87. What kind of porn do you like to watch?None.

88. Have you ever confessed to someone that you got an erection over them? What about masturbated to them?I don't think I would go to a handsome stranger and directly tell them those things. I rather keep it to myself that I have done something like that, even if I know the person better. I would feel pathetic if I told them straightly.

89. Have you ever masturbated because your sexual partner wasn’t there when you needed them?This is the most likely reason for me to start masturbating, so yes.

90. Have you ever had a one night stand? Do you still keep in contact with them?I don't think so. However, if I had an one night stand and it had been satisfying I would definitely try to stay in contact with them and try to become friends.

91. Have you ever had a friends with benefits? Are they still beneficial?I more or less have something like this, and yes, the naughty fun continues...

As soon as I am not feeling this mentally drained anymore the kitten will transform into a horrible beast and insists on sharping its claws on your back to abreact, tiger...you can call yourself lucky I am immortal so it is not /that/ bad that I have needed three hours of my precious life to get tortured by this questionnaire. At least you could brew me a coffee once you dare to come around again. I am waiting for you...

[fal-carrington]

On my own [2/??]

Pairing: KamilahxMc

Disclaimer: The characters belongs to PB

Prompt: Love can happen on unexpected occasions, people fall in love when they least expect, bringing feelings that they thought they had buried long ago within themselves. Falling in love with mortals was off Kamilah's to-do list until a certain stubborn mortal emerges and changes the CEO's heart. When Kamilah finally admits being in love, an unexpected event happens, but can love survive death?

Kamilah’s penthouse 19h15pm

"Mrs Sayeed?" Karen's voice echoed in Kamilah's ears. No reply.

Kamilah kept staring at the window. The rain kept pouring out without mercy. Two weeks. It was the days that have passed since the accident. Her accident. It was incredible how the days continued to pass naturally, making it the last time Kamilah had last seen her ever more distant.

Adrian made an appropriate funeral. He made a point of paying the bills and telling Hayley's family. The Connell's were a very private family, but they were grateful for the sympathy of their daughter's friends. Kamilah could see some of Hayley’s childhood and college friends at the funeral. Lily did not stop crying for a minute. If she closed her eyes, Kamilah could still see the tombstone with her name engraved.

The worst came later. The mourning. The pain. Knowing that she would never see her again, besides having to console Adrian, who was unhappy with the death of the girl they were both in love with.

"Mrs? Should I leave the reports here, or would you rather I take them back to the office? Karl Hawkins called. He wants to know if you’re still interested in his proposal.” Karen said looking closely at her boss.

It was the first time in years that the young assistant had seen her boss that way, Kamilah was sitting in an armchair facing the window with a glass of whiskey in her hands. A bottle left on the rug beside the armchair. Kamilah still wore the same suit she wore at the funeral. Her shirt with a few buttons open, barefoot.

"Leave the papers on the table. Please.” Kamilah gestured without looking at her.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" Karen asked.

"The whiskey is over. If you can please buy more. The money is in my wallet in the office.”

Karen nodded. She wanted to ask how her boss was, wanted to help her in some way. But Kamilah could become inaccessible and extremely reserved when she wanted to.

"I heard what happened. I'm so sorry for her death.” Karen said causing Kamilah to look at her for the first time that day. "I liked her a lot."

"Me too," Kamilah said. "Oh... And Karen? Please, bring me some blood too. I have not feed in two weeks. I need blood.”

"Yes, ma'am," Karen said.

Lily’s and Hayley apartment 20h30 pm.

"Kamilah, hey." Lily greeted her as soon as she opened the door and saw the vampire queen standing on the other side.

"Lily," Kamilah replied.

"I thought you were at work," Lily said giving her some space to enter.

"I needed to see a familiar face," Kamilah said looking around. That environment, everything about reminded of her.

"I can see you took some bourbons," Lily said. Noticing the scent of whiskey on Kamilah's clothes. "You were at Priya's club? Are you okay?" Lily said approaching.

"I'm fine," Kamilah said. "Far from me to go to that hedonistic place. My house has a much larger stock of drinks than that.” Kamilah set the wine bottle on the table and noticed a small box beside it. "What is it?"

"I found it in the closet. It's some Hayley stuff, photo albums, sweatshirts, college stuff.” Lily said with her arms crossed peering over Kamilah's shoulder.

"Are you giving her things?" Kamilah asked with a grimace.

"No! I... I was just checking it out. I could barely get into her room. Uh, I do not know... it still does not seem real to me. I have this feeling she's going to call me or come in through that door any minute."

Kamilah smiled sadly.

"Me too. All the time,” Kamilah said.

Lily sat down at the table and Kamilah did the same. Kamilah took off a blue cap from the Yankees, her favorite cap.

"She wore it all the time in Boston. I remember once at a picnic that she accidentally wetted him, she was so angry.” Lily smiled remembering the day. Kamilah smiled. Lily got up to retrieve the wine glasses, while Kamilah peered inside, pulling a sweatshirt from within. The college sweater she wore to sleep.

Kamilah can not help but squeeze the cloth in her hands and bring it to her face, feeling the scent of it.

"I miss her, but I can not imagine how you must be feeling," Lily said from behind her.

"What do you mean?" Kamilah looked at her.

"I know about you guys.” Lily shrugged.

"She... did she tell you?"

"Well... It was kind of obvious after I heard her say your name while she slept. And the nocturnal exits she'd brought back with your scent in her clothes. At last she told me."

Kamilah sighed with a sadly look on her brown eyes.

"I suppose there is no reason to hide from you. After all you were her best friend”

Lily studied Kamilah, who was staring at the sweatshirt that was still in her hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lily asked.

"No. Thank you." Kamilah replied.

"Have you thought about telling Adrian? I know he's in love with her, too.”

"Of course not." Kamilah said looking at her, then she took a deep breath and ran her hand over her face. "It does not matter anymore. Adrian is in great pain with her death, just like me. I have no reason to reveal anything even more painful to him. And she... She's gone. All I know is that my whole life I've been losing people, people that I care about. For diseases, in the hands of enemies... It does not matter. And then Hayley appeared and she was different from everyone I had ever met, and one day she was gone... she was gone. I'll never see her again, she'll never come back. I can’t deal with the fact that I will never be able to see her again.”

"Kamilah, Hayley was in love with you," Lily said drawing her attention. "I know that, I saw her eyes every time she looked at you. You both were good to each other and I know you know that."

"I do not want to talk about her, Lily. Talking about her is worse than thinking about her.” Kamilah said with a serious expression on her face.

"Talk help." Lily tried.

"Talking about her will not bring her back."

"What are you going to do then?"

"I'm going to hunt Gaius. I'll make him pay for killing her. I'll make him regret it.” Kamilah responded with clenched fists.

“I just... I can not believe we've lost her”

Friday 2h30am

Kamilah sighed as she felt that familiar scent at her side, unable to contain a smile escaped her lips. She felt the light touch on her face and a warm and incredibly cute laugh.

"So lazy today, huh? I wonder if the council meeting was so boring.” Hayley laughed, running her fingers around Kamilah's shirt, playing with the buttons.

Kamilah opened one of her eyes, peering at the green-eyed blonde who was looking at her with an amused smile on her lips.

"You're a bad influence," Kamilah said and Hayley laughed in response.

"You're even worse. Inviting me to sleep here,” Hayley said with a provocative smile.

"And you did not hesitate to accept it," Kamilah said.

"I never got a chance to sleep in your wonderful bed." Hayley shrugged.

"For a moment I thought you were here for me."

"Sorry to disappoint." Hayley responded with a beak and Kamilah smiled pulling her into her arms, squeezing the girl against her. Taking advantage of the sound of heartbeat and that vanilla scent of her blond hair.

"What's that smile?" Hayley asked, touching the vampire queen face.

"I'm happy." Kamilah smiled with her face next to the girl. "You mean so much to me."

"Kamilah—“ Hayley tried to speak.

"Let me finish. I wanted to tell you how much our time together has changed what I felt about everything around me, you are...” Kamilah held the girl's hand in an attempt to make her listen, but Hayley looked distant and one faint smell of burning hung in the air.

"Kamilah—"

"Just let me tell you how I feel about you." Kamilah said touching the girl's face, but she pulled her hand away instantly as Hayley's skin burned. Suddenly she was on fire.

"Now it's too late." Hayley replied with a sad look on her face, in a desperate attempt to extinguish the fire that consumed her, Kamilah tried to wrap her in the sheets.

"HAYLEY!" She shouted, standing up. Her chest came down and up alternately. Kamilah looked around.

She was in her room, sitting on her bed. The clock on the side told that it was 2:30 in the morning. Kamilah ran a hand through her hair and looked at the right side of the bed. Her side. Empty.

Now It's too late. Hayley's voice echoed in her mind as a daily reminder of how Kamilah had failed her.

“I’m so sorry” Kamilah said rubbing her face with one of her hands, with the other she touched lightly Hayley’s side of the bed.

Crimson Veil, Thursday 22h30pm. Eight months later

"I will not accept any proposal with threats in my club!" Priya folded her arms and looked closely at Baron and Lester who were staring at her.

Adrian sighed. Hours of bargaining had been spent in vain, it was hard to try to negotiate with people who were better able to start a war than to go down the path of pacification. Kamilah was staring intently at a bare wire from Priya's living room rug, which was definitely the thing that most attracted her attention during the four hours of trading.

"Shut up, Lacroix. The only thing you were able to do all this time was wasting our time.” The Baron grunted angrily.

"Finally something we agreed on," Lester said. Priya rolled her eyes, fingering a lock of her hair with one finger.

"Whatever" She shrugged.

"If nobody has anything else to add I think we're done for today," Kamilah said for the first time since the meeting had begun. Baron and Lester rose, being the firsts to leave. Adrian and Kamilah did the same. Before Kamilah could reach the door, she heard Priya's voice behind her.

"Oh, Kami?" Priya called her lazily. Kamilah still sighed on her back.

"What is it?"

"Nothing much, I just thought we could catch up. You know talk about social media, our clans... Love life.” Priya gave a wicked laugh. Kamilah rolled her eyes and kept walking. "We have to talk," Priya said.

"I already said I'm not going to fund your strip club," Kamilah said and Priya smiled with a provocative smile.

"It's not about that, gramps," she said. "I believe there's something you'd like to see." Kamilah rolled her eyes and went back inside, sitting in the same chair that sat in the meeting, studying Priya intently, waiting for her to speak.

"Speak. And do not waste my time, Lacroix,” Kamilah said.

"So bossy!" Priya chuckled as she poured bourbon into two glasses and handed one to Kamilah. "I think maybe that will interest you." Priya approached, pulling a gold necklace from her pocket. Her necklace. Kamilah's eyes went to that piece of gold, she had given that necklace. Hayley was with him... the night she died.

"Where did you find that ?!" Kamilah asked between her teeth.

"Now you're interested, huh? I believe it belonged to my sweet Hayley. May the heavens have it. The only thing I wonder is why your initial is inside the medallion, I did not know you were such besties.” Priya smiled leaning forward with a wicked look in her eyes.

"She was a good friend," Kamilah said.

"Nah, nah, I do not believe that was the case."

"Where did you find that?" Kamilah asked patiently.

"That's the interesting part. One of my clan's was with it. And before you get up to kill me, no. I did not kill your girlfriend."

"She wasn’t my..."

"Cut it out, Kami. The sexual tension between you two was very evident and that exchange of looks between you both... Oh god. I have to admit, my ego is hurt to know that my favorite snack, preferred you instead of me. Of course my case would be one night stand, if she survived. But still..."

“What do you want?"

"Oh yeah! I forgot to say that. I was wondering how Adrian would be devastated to know that his best friend was betraying his confidence by fucking the girl he was so in love with." Priya said smiling widely.

"Give me the necklace, Priya." Kamilah stood with her hand outstretched. She was not going to be blackmailed by someone as futile as Priya, the only thing that ran through her head was how that necklace had come in her hands.

"Not so fast, my queen. You and I are now in a position to help each other, I know you put the price of million in Gaius's head, and still hunting him for causing her accident. I'll give you the necklace, but first you have to do something for me.”

[azurexalacrity]

Care Package: A red scarf, some blueberry muffins from Tattletales along with a thermos filled to the brim with her homemade hot chocolate, a drawing Bails had done from school, and a photo. Wasn't just any photo though; a polaroid, in Abadat. With a little light gaia in the foreground... and a werehog in the background. Written on the back? 'I've been hanging onto this cuz I didnt want u to throw it away since its past tense now and all. Call it a souviner. H.Z. 🔥'

Send me “Care Package” and include items you would give my muse to cheer them up! | @kildriia

 The door to the apartment room opened with an uneasy creak, but not one to show of some intruder waltzing in the place (or, at least, a harmless intruder). Sneakers were dragged across the floorboards, not caring in the slightest for getting leaves and possible grains of dirt to coat the flooring. Normally, this visitor would have the common courtesy for that, but oddly enough, he didn’t for this particular day.

His sneakers were kicked off to the side, now having their straps hang loosely off the sides of them. They were placed right beside the couch. The same couch where the hedgehog flopped right on top of it and buried his face into a nearby cushion.

All ten of his fingertips drilled into the cushion, beginning to poke tiny holes into the fabric and cotton. They shake slightly as the hero facepalmed himself with the pillow before just allowing his body to lay flat. The grip on the pillow eventually loosened and the usually proud hero became quiet. Quiet enough to raise some eyebrows, that’s for sure.

It was a rough day. A rough day that was nothing more but a discussion about his mental health. About his consistent nightmares, about his sudden spike of anxiety, and probably plenty of other things that he didn’t want to talk about. He knew he had to, though. He knew he had to talk with somebody about this. He knew it could get him to feel better.

But… he didn’t understand. Why isn’t he getting better?

He flipped to where his back is now on the couch. His hands clasped together as he stared at the ceiling and seeing all the dust that’s on it. He would rather watch that than to constantly have his thoughts nag him.

An irritated sigh emitted from him and he rammed his forehead against the couch. He curled himself up. Arms around his legs and legs close to his chest. He was now just a blue spec on the couch. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to be bothered anyway, and keeping himself hidden this way was the key to that.

“I thought I was gettin’ better…” he muttered; his voice barely audible and raw with emotion, “Why… aren’t I gettin’ better? I made it this far… so why aren’t I gettin’ better?”

Tears started pricking his eyes. He always hated that about himself; becoming emotional no matter what is thrown at him. If he can nearly break down at the expense of having a bad day, then… he’s not so sure how on Earth that he will get better.

He’s not so sure how he can be as strong as people make him up to be.

Before he knew it, he passed out on the couch. He was still in his curled position, just like a harmless little hoglet that’s snoring almost as loud as a bear’s roar. His feet twitched from time to time, antsy to move, but unlike his said feet, he didn’t respond to that movement. Instead, he was kept on the couch. No sleepwalking or sleep running involved.

Despite that, however, he still heard things outside of his dream world. There were faint whispers, the noise of handling objects, and Sonic could have sworn his nostrils caught something sweet. Whatever it was, he cannot tell.

He didn’t let it sit there, though. He wanted to find out what was going on. Bad day or no bad day.

His eyes, now raw from whatever tears he spilled from earlier, opened in a heartbeat. Slowly but surely, he pushed himself up from the cushions, rubbing one of his eyes as he raspily yawned.

“Mmm… guys? Wha… what’s goin’ on?” He questioned in between another yawn, stretching out his stiff limbs, “Don’t tell me ya made all da goodies without… me?”

No one was there to answer him. No one was there to tell him what was happening. The only thing that gave him any answers… was the box that sat on the table.

It was covered by about a wad of scotch tape. It taped the corners, the sides, everything except for the flaps that will open the box. It made Sonic tilt his head to the side, squinting in suspicion.

That’s odd. He didn’t ask for a package today. Heck, he didn’t even order a package. Maybe Harper did, but he doesn’t see why it should be on the table and untouched. If anything, it should be opened.

Sonic blinked. His fingers gingerly took a hold of the flaps of the box, eagerly waiting to open the darn thing.

Well… it couldn’t hurt to take a little peek, now wouldn’t it?

And like a child opening a Christmas present, Sonic opened the flaps and poked his head into the box.

What he found inside was anything and everything he didn’t expect to come from an ordered box. Nothing like all those weird little styrofoam-like thingies that he used to play with when he was little. What was there instead of that was a whole assortment of things.

A red scarf was stuffed in the corner. It was made of wool and it looked brand new. Brand new as in someone knitting it pretty early. Alongside it was a paper bag filled with muffins. Blueberry muffins. His favorite muffins. The kind that made his stomach rumble.

Okaaay, what’s going on here?

He brought out the scarf and took out the muffins. Of course, he bit a chunk of it before getting through the rest of this box. And Chaos, it’s a big box.

He attempted to be extra careful when grabbing the thermos. It steamed with that rich scent of chocolate and reminded Sonic of the coldest days of winter. If it wasn’t beginning to warm up right now during the season, he wouldn’t have minded it one bit. Now to say that he would mind it now, but he can’t help but wonder what brought this on.

Usually getting care packages like this weren’t common (unless they’re from Amy… or a fan).

The one thing that didn’t make him question was the drawing. A drawing that was made entirely with crayon. It almost reminded him of Cream in a sense, and he can’t help but chuckle fondly at the thought. He kept the drawing close to him and make sure it won’t get stained by hot chocolate.

He’s not sure where to put it up, but he’ll definitely keep it in mind.

And just when he thought he was done… a photo was the last thing in the box. A photo that came from a polaroid. It was kind of old-fashioned, yet colored in a way that looked like it came from this day of age. And without a moment of hesitation, Sonic grabbed it.

He leaned back against one of the cushions, using it as support in case he would collapse from spiraling emotions. He held the photo close to his chest, blinking. He blinked so many times that he’s not so sure that he can even blink anymore.

Small huts and wooden flooring was what surrounded the two individuals in the photo, with them staring out into the distance of the island. One of them was what Sonic recognized the most: His nocturnal form. The werehog. The werehog that stood there, taking in the view of the night. Sonic wasn’t sure what he was exactly doing that night. He guessed that maybe he was just taking in the scenery, but that wasn’t what was important to him right now.

Nope. It was the little chihuahua in the picture. The one who would flap around with those ridiculously short wings and would offer bars of chocolate at the most sudden of times. The one who created a golem out of the Gaia Temples and did whatever it took to defeat his counterpart: Dark Gaia.

Not once did Sonic look away from the photo. He didn’t even take a glimpse at the amulet he’s wearing. The same amulet that Chip had. Rather, he reached a hand to the photo, touching it and dragging his fingers across it.

“Chip…” His voice came out in a way that was foreign. Soft-spoken, light, and nearly choking from tears. He sniffled, keeping the photo as close to him as humanly possible.

He didn’t break down, despite how he looked he was about to. A smile adorned his muzzle and he stared at the photo fondly, finding something special about this photo. Something special that was the words imprinted on the back of it.

He… didn’t know what to say about it. Heck, he didn’t know how to respond to all of this. He didn’t know what to say to his freckled friend who helped him out on this rough day.

But what better way to do it then to show it?

Show it by having that Polaroid photo framed up in his room.

It was one thing that the speedster will never forget. Not in a million years.

[radiant-flutterbun]

Gods Without a Purpose

Previously (but not required reading to understand this chapter)

[Brief recap of previous events: Sepulchral, Sonder and Muerto are all gods from another world that are currently living in my clan. They didn’t have the best lives back in their world for a bunch of complicated reasons I won’t get into now]

[Content warning: brief mention of attempted suicide, alcoholism and abuse]

Sunset at the Sunbeam Ruins was a contradiction that Sonder still didn’t understand. If this was supposed to be the land of Light, and was ruled by a goddess who could control the sun, then why didn’t she just keep the sun out all during the night? Perhaps to comfort the dragons who were used to a night and day cycle from other lands? Or maybe it was to appease her neighbor, the goddess of shadows? Whatever the reason, Sonder was thankful for the gradual darkness.

She rested her scaley head against the feathered chest of her boyfriend, Sepulchral Solstice. Being a nocturne, she was much smaller than him, but she was used to being small. In her true form, her form from her homeworld, she was always teased for being barely over four feet tall. Meanwhile Sepulchral had always towered over just about everyone.

“It’s pretty,” Sepulchral said with a smile “I’ve always loved sunsets.”

“Yeah, it is nice. Just wish our sun wasn’t controlled by such a bitch.”

Sepulchral flinched and Sonder regretted her words.

“Sorry babe,” She said “Didn’t mean to bring up your… family problems.”

“No. It’s ok. My mother is a bitch.”

Sonder lifted her head to stare at Sepulchral “Wow. Never expected to hear you say that before.”

“I’m just. Finally accepting certain things. Therapy has been a big help.”

“I’m glad.” Sonder snuggled back against his chest.

“You should go sometime too. I think you’ll like my therapist. She’s really nice.”

“Yeah… I probably should but… Nah.”

“I had a feeling that’s what you’d say.”

‘It’s just… I don’t know. I’m not good at talking to people, especially not about my feelings and shit. I’d rather just deal with my shit on my own. It’s my shit, so I should handle it.”

“You saw a specialist for your drinking problem though.”

“Yeah. But that was different. First of all I made a promise to you. Second of all It wasn’t fair to you to keep finding me passed the fuck out and having to clean up after me, and third that shit was dangerous and stupid of me. My asshole of a brain? Yeah I probably have some shit going on up there that should be addressed but, it can wait. I’m done trying to throw myself off roofs. I know I still have problems, but I’m not ready to open that can of worms just yet.”

“Yeah I get it. I was hesitant to start therapy too. But I’m glad you’re at least thinking about it. I love you, and I really want you to be happy.”

“Love you too Seppy. And don’t worry, you make me happy.”

Sepulchral smiled “That’s good, because you make me happy too!”

Sonder laughed “C’mere ya doofus!” She nuzzled her forehead against his and kissed him. Sepulchral wrapped his arms around her, and then his wings.

“Goodnight, Sonder.”

“Night Seppy.”

She fell asleep, feeling safe and warm.

***

The next morning she woke feeling sunlight splash across her face. She untangled herself from Sepulchral’s arms and stretched. Sepulchral opened his eyes not long after her.

“Good morning, Sonder!”

“Morning, Sep-” the words stopped in her throat “Sep. Don’t panic but… your wings are gone.”

“My wings? Sonder don’t be s-” Sepulchral turned his head and his jaw dropped. It was just as Sonder said, his once white feathered wings were no more. His back was bare and there was no evidence of the magnificent wings that were connected to it just the night before.

“No. No this can’t be real. This CANNOT be fucking real. Wings don’t. They don’t just fall off!” Sepulchral chuckled “No, that would be… that would be absolutely ludicrous wouldn’t it?”

“Babe? You ok?” “Ahahaha yes I’m absolutely fine because obviously this must just be a dream. Wow and I thought my nightmares were getting better! I really would rather relive Match fucking stabbing me again! Alright brain I’m ready to see that dream again! Bring it on! Just stop with this fucking bullshit!”

“Sep, it’s ok-”

“HOW IS THIS OK SONDER?! MY WINGS ARE FUCKING GONE!”

“Exactly and wings don’t just fucking fall off without a trace! There has to be some reason for this, which makes me think there has to be a way to reverse this. Just stop panicking and we’ll figure something out!”

Sepulchral took a deep breath “Ok. Ok. OK. O. K. You’re right. There has to be a reason for this. Maybe… Maybe the magic here is messing with my natural magic? Maybe that’s what’s wrong? Maybe if we return home my wings will return?”

“Maybe. It’s worth a shot. I’ll go look for Inky. Just stay here, and remember, it’s going to be ok, alright?”

Sepulchral nodded.

Sonder glided down to the lobby to see if she could spot the black nocturne, Inkdrop. It wasn’t an easy feat considering Inkdrop was capable of not only shapeshifting, but also dimension hopping.

“Inky! You around here? Anyone seen Inkdrop around?”

The dragons around Sonder all shook their heads.

“Shit,” Sonder knocked on the clan leader’s door.

Nike, the clan leader soon opened it while yawning “Eh? What’s up?”

“Do you know where Inky is?”

“Hmm. No. I haven't seen her in a while actually. Why? Are you going back to your world?”

“Yeah and it’s a bit of an emergency.”

“Why?”

“Well… Sep’s wings are… Gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean they’re gone?”

“They’re just gone! It’s like they never existed at all.”

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah I know. It’s fucking weird. And he’s freaking out, but maybe they’ll be back if we go back to our world?”

“I mean it’s worth a shot. I’ll go find Hecate too. She’s good with magic and this sounds like a magic thing. Maybe she knows what’s up.”

“Good idea. Thanks Nike.”

“No prob. I’ll try to contact Inky too, but she’s been harder to find lately.”

“Yeah I get it. She’s probably in some alternate universe right now doing who knows what. Anyway, I’m going to go comfort Sep.” Sonder entered her and Sepulchral’s room again, and found her boyfriend whimpering in the corner.

“Babe?”

Sepulchral turned his head toward her “Did you find Inky?”

“No but Hecate is going to go take a look at you. Hopefully she’ll be able to do something.”

“She better!” Sepulchral snapped and then frowned “I’m sorry. I’m taking this out on you. That’s not fair.”

“It’s alright. You’re just upset. But if we really can’t get your wings back, then maybe Alaria could make you some mechanical wings? That’s always a possibility.”

“I don’t want mechanical wings. I want my wings back and I want them now! If I can’t fly then who the fuck am I? I’m the winged god. I need my wings.”

There was a knock on their door.

“May I come in?”

Sonder opened the door and in came a green tundra with Arcane eyes.

“Hello Selpulchral,” Hecate said “Mind if I take a look?”

Sepulchral moved so that she could look at his back. The scars that Match carved into him a little over a hundred years ago were more visible than ever without his wings to block them.

Hecate brushed her paws against his shoulder blades and over the area where his wings would normally connect to his back.

“This is bizarre. There’s not even any evidence of flight muscles. It’s as if you’ve never had wings at all. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“That means it has to be magical then, right?” Sonder asked “Is there anything you can do to sense that?”

“Maybe. I don’t know about your kind, but magic flows through the veins of dragons. I might be able to trace where the magic that was once stored in your wings went off to.”

Hecate closed her eyes and pink smoke rose from her nostrils. It circled Sepulchral’s back and disappeared.

“Huh. It’s telling me that your wings no longer exist. Not in this world ar least.”

“I need to find Inky. I need to go back home. That’ll have to fix things, right?” Sepulchral asked.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry Sepulchral,” Hecate gave him a hug and then exited the room.

Sepulchral covered his face with his paws.

“Hey, maybe some breakfast will cheer you up,” Sonder suggested “I’ll go get you something, ok?”

Sepulchral didn’t answer and Sonder sighed.

“I’ll get you some breakfast anyway.”

Sonder traveled down to the kitchen where she heard a commotion.

“Hiraeth no!”

A little black nocturne flew out of the kitchen, an entire turkey in their jaws.

“That’s for the entire clan, not just you!” Another black nocturne followed the smaller one out of the kitchen “Firespitter is going to be mad at us!”

“Inkdrop! There you are!” Sonder called to the bigger nocturne who stopped in her tracks.

“Sonder!” The younger dragon gave Sonder a hug.

“Hey Inky. Good to see you but there’s a bit of an emergency-”

“Sorry I can’t talk! I gotta stop Hireath from eating all of the clan’s food! They’re being bad today!”

Hiraeth, the smaller nocturne was happily tearing apart the raw turkey meat on the lobby floor, smearing blood everywhere. This had become a common occurrence within the clan ever since Inkdrop rescued Hiraeth from a pocket of void surrounding two different universes.

“Hiraeth can wait. Sep needs you right now.”

“Seppy? What’s wrong with Sep?”

“Well… you’ll see.”

Inkdrop didn’t wait to hear anymore. She created a portal and disappeared into it. Sonder sighed, and marched up the stairs where she found Inkdrop had teleported into her and Sep’s room.

“You really couldn’t have just used the stairs?”

“You said it was an emergency so I wanted to be quick!” Inkdrop protested. Her portal was still swirling behind her.

“Ok fine. Just close that before someone else gets trapped in some otherworldly dimension.”

“I didn’t trap Hiraeth in the void! The Lightweaver did!”

“And I believe you, but Hiraeth isn’t what we should be talking about right now, Sepulchral is.”

Sonder pointed to his wingless back.

“Oh,” Inkdrop stared wide eyed “What happened?”

“We don’t know. But we think his wings will come back if you take us back to our world.”

“Oh ok sure! I can do that!” Inkdrop wooshed away her old portal and then snapped her claws to create a new one “Tada! One portal to Selcouth!”

“Selcouth?”

“That’s what your universe is called! King Ludicrous told me!”

“Huh,” Sonder said “I never knew that.”

***

They hopped through the portal and Sepulchral and Sonder changed into their true forms. They had a humanoid appearance, with feline ears, tails and three taloned feet.

But Sepulchral’s wings did not return. His back was as barren as Sonder’s. He slumped onto his knees, crying now.

“Hey, hey, It’s ok Sep! We can still go to Alaria-”

“You don’t get it! Alaria isn’t going to be able to make my wings! Metal won’t replace my feathers, and will she be able to construct a device that can shapeshift from my skydancer form to this one? No! I don’t think so! My wings are gone and I’m never going to be able to fly ever again!”

“So then you won’t be able to fly again! Big deal! That’s how the rest of us live, when we’re not turning ourselves into dragons anyway, and we’re all just fine! You can live without your wings, Sep!”

“No I can’t! What’s the point of anything if I can’t fly? I’m nothing that’s what! My wings are who I am!”

“Dear Spirits, now you’re just sounding like a big baby. Get a grip.”

“Get a fucking grip? Get a grip? I CANNOT believe you just said that to me. How the fuck is that helping anything?”

“Well how is you being a blubbering mess helping anything? I tried to help, but I don’t know what else we can do! Maybe there isn’t anything that can be done with your wings. But At least you’re not hurt, so what’s the big deal?”

“I want my wings! That’s the big deal!”

“Uh. You guys want me to take you back to Sornieth or…?” Inkdrop asked, her eyes nervously flickering back and forth to Sepulchral and Sonder.

“Might as well. At least we have some place to stay the night there.” Sonder said.

Inkdrop nodded and created a new portal. Sepulchral immediately went back to the room to pout and Sonder sighed.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t get it. So he lost his wings. But it’s not like someone just hacked them off! He’s fine. What’s there to cry about?”

Inkdrop shrugged “I don’t know, but I should really make sure Hiraeth doesn’t get into anymore trouble.”

Inkdrop wandered off and Sonder was left alone in the lobby to think.

What could have happened to remove Sepulchral’s wings overnight? And what was she to do to comfort him? He was clearly upset, but she couldn’t understand why. Wings were only a part of him, and there were other ways to fly.

As she delved into her thoughts she almost didn’t notice Muerto approach her.

The little grey coatl had a worried expression on his face.

“Hey Sonder, you wouldn’t have happened to have seen my necklace anywhere have you? I don’t know where it could be but… I- I can’t find it.”

“Nah, sorry kid.”

“Shit. I don’t know where else it could have gone then…” He pawed at his neck where the necklace usually rested “It feels wrong without it.”

“Can’t you get a new one from Niossa? She made it for you, right?”

“But that necklace was what allowed me to bond with Bubonic!”

“Yeah and you and Bubonic already got a strong bond, so you don’t need the necklace’s magic anymore.”

“You don’t get it. I need my necklace. If it’s lost forever, I… I don’t know what I’ll do!”

“You’re right I don’t get it. I don’t get why a necklace could be so important! And I don’t get why Sep is freaking out over his wings! You don’t need those things, so why be so upset?”

“Wait what about Sep’s wings?”

“They’re gone.”

“They’re gone?!”

“Yeah. Just. Gone. No sign they were ever there.”

A purple red and gold pearlcatcher ran into the lobby so fast that she slid and dropped her pearl. The pearl rolled over toward Sonder and she picked it up and handed it back to the pearlcatcher.

“You ok Ammy?” Sonder asked.

“I’m fine! But Izzy isn’t! He’s been tearing our room apart looking for his journal but he can’t find it! I don’t know what to do with him. He’s been extremely anxious, and I can’t seem to get him to calm down.”

“Oh I’ve been going through the same thing with Sep. His wings just went poof gone. It’s weird.”

“Wait a minute,” Muerto said “My necklace, Sep’s wings, Isra’s journal. All missing. Is… is any other dragon missing anything? Something’s going on here.”

“Huh. that is rather strange,” Ammy said “Maybe someone snuck inside the tower and robbed us!”

“But Sepulchral’s wings are gone. How the fuck did that happen?” Sonder said.

“Hmm I don’t know!” Ammy said “But this has to be someone’s doing. It seems very purposeful, doesn’t it? Isra, Sepulchral, and Muerto are all upset now. Three gods, having something very precious stolen from them. It has to mean something, right?”

Sonder clicked her tongue “Hmm you might be on to something.”

“Hiraeth! Hiraeth where are you?” Inkdrop called and rushed back into the lobby looking around desperately “I don’t know where they went off to! It’s as if they just disappeared!”

“Ok that’s it,” Sonder got to her feet “Someone or something is fucking with us here. I’m getting Nike.”

[hedgehogsofasgard]

How to tame your hedgehog

African pygmy hedgehogs are becoming more popular as pets and with this rises the question on how to handle them. A quick glance at hedgehog fora and Facebook groups shows threads and posts titled “my hedgehog doesn’t like me” or “my hedgehog hates me”, “anti-social hedgehog”, “very angry hedgehog” and so on.

In order to understand the behaviour of our pets we have to look at the animal itself. What kind of animal is the hedgehog?

First off, hedgehogs do not “hate” people, nor are they “angry”. They are physically incapable of feeling such a human emotion. When handling hedgehogs we need to be careful not to project our own emotions and feelings onto the animal; this does not help us understand the needs of our pets. Instead, we need to go back to the root of it all: the natural instincts and behaviour of the hedgehog.

African pygmy hedgehogs (Atelerix albiventris) became more widely available to the exotic pet trade around the late 80′s/early 90′s in the US (and a decade or more later to other parts of the world). This isn’t that long ago. We need to realize our pet hedgehogs are not fully domesticated yet - in fact, they’re basically still the same (behaviour-wise, at least) as their wild cousins. I have seen wild caught animals which were more “social” than captive bred ones, and the other way around. This is also why I chose the word tame for the title of this post. While they might be captive born, our pets are still quite wild. We cannot compare hedgehogs to animals we share an extensive, sometimes thousands of years old relationship with. But besides that, hedgehogs will most likely never become like a dog or a guinea pig simply because certain behavioural treats are not in their nature. Learning how to handle your hedgehog starts with having the right expectations of its behaviour.

Hedgehog behaviour

Hedgehogs are relatively small prey animals. They are nocturnal, spend the nights foraging for food and sleep in their burrows during the day. They are solitary animals and only come together to mate. They are not aggressive by nature but have a marvellous defence instead: thousands of sharp quills. When threatened, they roll into a tight ball and wait until the predator has left (or in rare cases, fight, but only if they’re forced to).

So what does this mean for someone who has a pet hedgehog? 

1. Do not expect a similar bond as with e.g. a dog. Dogs are social animals that were bred from an animal that lives in packs. Hedgehogs are solitary. They are not social by nature. They do not need you and while they might get used to you being around, you’re mainly the Food Bringer and the Warm Thing To Sleep On but little more. There will not be much interaction. Your hedgehog will not come up to you when you call its name nor will it “love” you as its owner, simply because it can’t.

2. Being defensive prey animals, you can seem threatening to them. Balling up is an automatic response to a possible threat. This is totally normal hedgehog behaviour.

3. Since they’re nocturnal all they want to do during the day is sleep, not interact with you. And they do not interact or play the way some other mammals do. Most of the time you’re spending together will consist of the hedgehog either running around and doing stuff on its own, or sleeping on your lap.

These things are all very important in helping you understand the behaviour of your hedgehog. There are reasons your hedgehog is displaying these behaviours and if you know those reasons, you can use them to make your hedgehog feel more comfortable around you. Arguably, other than looking cute hedgehogs don’t really have much going for them when it comes to being what most people think of as a “good pet”. They are definitely not suitable for everyone, but if they’re your type of pet they can be very interesting and wonderful animals to have!

Tips on handling/taming your hedgehog

Before I start I’d like to point out that every hedgehog is different and there’s not just one right way when it comes to handling. This is how I do it, coming from my experience with captive bred and wild caught (as well as actual wild hedgehogs) and from well socialized to not socialized at all. Besides the socialization of hoglets by the breeder, character plays a major part in hedgehog behaviour. Some hedgehogs seem to be naturally social and more open towards interaction (or at least let you interact with them) while others will remain more defensive for their entire lives. The key with hedgehogs is patience. Do not expect a hedgehog to stop huffing and balling up within a week. If you just got a hedgehog it will need to get used to its new environment and owner, which takes time. How much time varies. Some will get used to you within a few weeks, others take months. “Used to you” is also relative, as this doesn’t necessarily mean your hedgehog will stop balling up or quit huffing at you entirely - that’s very unlikely, since this is normal hedgehog behaviour.

Hedgehogs have bad eyesight and rely mainly on their excellent noses. You can make use of this by giving your hedgehog an old, worn t-shirt which has your scent on it. Alternatively, if you don’t have an old shirt, you can sleep with a piece of fleece in your bed for a day or two and give that to your hedgehog. By putting this in the enclosure for the hedgehog to sleep in it will get more used to your scent.

The more you handle your hedgehog, the faster it’ll get used to handling. Don’t be afraid to handle your hedgehog; use your bare hands or a piece of fleece but no (leather) gloves, because then your hedgehog won’t be able to smell you properly. Do not reward unwanted behaviour (such as biting or extensive huffing/clicking) by putting the hedgehog back into its enclosure. Instead, enforce positive behaviour, e.g. by offering treats like live insects (I always use tongs so they do not mistake my hands for food).

Some people prefer a more “manhandling” way when handling hedgehogs, I personally don’t really like this for most hedgehogs but it’s a thin line: after all, you’re always forcing your pet to be with you when you get it out. If a hedgehog clearly shows it doesn’t like to be petted on the quills, I don’t go on petting it that way. But I don’t put it back either. Instead, I try to search for a way of handling with which this particular hedgehog is more comfortable right now. And yes, sometimes you have to do something they don’t particularly like, but be sure to reward positive behaviours - you don’t always need to reward with food, but it could also be simply “releasing pressure” (like giving them some space for themselves for a bit instead of continuously petting them, for example). Handling should be seen in a very broad sense. Some hedgehogs prefer to sleep when out while others are active explorers. Try to adjust your ways of handling accordingly. Because hedgehogs are nocturnal, some do much better when you take them out in the evening and/or when there’s dim lightning in the room.

When I have a new hedgehog which isn’t well socialized or simply has to get used to me and its new surroundings first I like to start by having it explore the (hedgehog safe) room or play area. I sit down on the ground and let the hedgehog do its own thing. If it likes to explore it can explore, if it likes to sleep it can sleep on my lap (most hedgehogs don’t like to sleep out in the open so a fleece bonding bag works great for this). In the following days I will start to move around more. First still in a sitting position, then walking around, so the hedgehog gets used to my movements and me simply being there without me really interacting with it directly. You can do this both when the hedgehog is exploring or in its cuddle bag on you lap. For many hedgehogs it’s a combination of the two, some explore time and then back to sleep (especially during the day). Depending on how much time I feel the hedgehog needs I keep repeating this for the following days or even weeks. With some, the slightest movement causes them to raise their quills. Others don’t react at all and could do fine with skipping these steps.

After that I start doing more “hands on” interaction, touching them more, trying to see if they mind petting on the quills or not, or the face, belly etc. Again rewarding wanted behaviour. It’s a constant search for what they really don’t like, what they tolerate, and what I think is necessary for the process. This is something you can’t just know without experience, it’s something you will have to learn and that’s completely fine! And simply being around them, having them sleep on your lap is bonding too. You might not be really doing much but the hedgehog will get used to your presence. Even if you bought a hedgehog with the intention of not handling it much (which should be fine, as long as it gets enough enrichment from its habitat) handling should be a part of hedgehog ownership. You need to be able to check for injuries, clip the nails, etc. These “medical checks” are part of my handling routine: I hold the feet, check the hedgehog all over including their teeth (if possible). Your vet will thank you for this as well! Even when I have no intention of clipping their nails I still hold their feet, not only to check them over but also to make them comfortable with me holding them, which makes for easier nail clipping.

So it all boils down to this: have lots of patience, take small steps, and don’t have expectations a hedgehog simply cannot live up to. Accept that some hedgehogs, even with extensive handling, will never be “cuddly” simply because that’s how they are. All those hedgehogs you see on the internet, the ones that are getting belly rubs and petted while looking extremely chill: these are not the majority. This is rare. And even if you see a hedgehog that tame, remember there’s a lot you’re not seeing: possibly many weeks, months or even years working towards that moment, and it still is just a few minutes out of the hedgehog’s life. They don’t show you the times the hedgehog is huffing and clicking and balling up. Don’t feel bad if yours is, be open and willing to learn about hedgehog behaviour and never stop asking questions. And most importantly, listen to your hedgehog by watching its body language, because that’s going to tell you more about your hedgehog than my posts about general hedgehog behaviour ever could!

[wouldyoulikeasidewiththat]

Crush

Virgil getting help from the others to figure out, and come to terms with, his giant ass crush on Roman. Patton saves the day. 

Prinxiety, little bits of Logicality. Lots and lots of platonic bonding. Roman literally isn’t even in this, its basically just Patton, Logan, and Thomas helping Virgil through his Stuff.

“VIRGIL!”

Oh, dear God, the puppy had arrived. Virgil was laying down, reading, trying to unwind for once, but now he was shouting and falling off the bed.

“Patton! What th-” Virgil stopped, taking a shaky breath. “We talked about this. What do you not do to the embodiment of anxiety?”

“… Make you more anxious by sneaking up on you?”

“Exactly. Is something wrong? Why are you- what’s up?” Virgil sat up, sighing. He didn’t bother to get off the floor, though Patton invited himself to sit on the bed. He could never really stay mad at that one.

“I wanted to talk to you! Listen, we’re friends, right?” Patton asked, eyes and smile wide and open. Virgil resisted the impulse to shrug. Normally, he’d not be sure, but Patton was … Reassuring.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Patton clapped, reaching to pat Virgil’s head but he dodged it, looking up in warning. Patton didn’t push it, thankfully. The sides didn’t always get personal boundaries, but at least Patton got basic empathy.

“So! We can gossip like friends! For example, I stole Logan’s glasses!”

There was a long moment of quiet, before Virgil had to cover a snort with his hand. “Uh, why?”

“Oh! He’s been staying up all night reading, you know him, but he hasn’t been sleeping as much as he should! He’s been keeping Thomas up. He thinks the more logical train of thought is to study now, catch up on sleep later. So, now he can’t read all night!”

“Patton … while I do appreciate the, uh, sentiment. I think maybe you should give him back his, you know, general eyesight. He could fall, or like, something.” Virgil scolded, trying still to reign in his own amusement. He didn’t mention he’d already known, feeling, and unintentionally fueling, the general anxiety Thomas had been holding about increasing his own book intelligence, without actual classes to keep him on the ball.

Patton pouted for a moment, but then nodded, a slow smile coming over his face. “That sounded a little … Concerned.”

Virgil looked up again, confused. “Patton, that’s kind of my whole thing.”

“Pshh, yeah, but you can’t deny it! You’re starting to like us all more.” Patton said, a little too loud.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, scoffed. But Patton was right, he couldn’t deny it. Patton just squealed in delight when Virgil didn’t argue.

“So, you’re just here to gossip about the other two?”

“Um, of course not. I’m also here to gossip about you! But you know, in a nice way!”

Vigil felt something get tight in his chest, and he stood, finally. “Do you … Do that a lot?”

“Gossip about you?” Patton asked, before it clicked, and he gasped,  jumping up as well. “No, nonono! Oh, goodness. Don’t worry, I’m just using this as an excuse to hang out! And also maybe ask you about your crush! Crush! What a weird drink, right? Pretty great! Am I talking too much again?” And, surely, dark rings began under Patton’s eyes. It always too him a bit longer than the others.

“My wh-?”

“PATTON?!” Logan’s voice echoed, calling from his own room in Thomas’ mind, the way it did when they’d call each other out for a video. Patton winked, grabbing the extra glasses from where they were in his collar, and popped out.

Virgil, alone, finally sat back on his bed.

Crush?

Patton stopped back in later in the night, but only to sent Virgil to bed.

“You know, now I’m just going to toss and turn all night wondering what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll do that anyway, kiddo, but at least this topic isn’t all gloom and doom. It might be good to think about it, even!”

Didn’t Patton know? It wasn’t good to think about anything at night.

It was about 4AM when Virgil bolted upright in bed. “Oh, oh no. No. Not- no.” He didn’t pull back on his jacket, which he’d shrugged off before bed, he just popped over to Patton’s room.

It was dark, the other side sleeping, but a nightlight glowed from the corner. Even with so little light, Virgil could make out just how comfortable, the room seemed. It felt warm. He felt strangely, firmly, at ease. He even felt a bit …  giddy?

Gross.

He didn’t bother waking the moral side, knowing then exactly how the conversation would go, and knowing the persuading comfort of the room could cause some bad conclusions. He popped into Logan’s room instead.

Logan sat, awake, on a stiff looking cot. He barely jolted when Virgil showed up, but he did suck in a breath and press a hand to his chest. “Why does nobody in this head know the basic concept of knocking?”

“You would’ve pretended to be asleep.” Virgil pointed out, knowing Logan the best out of the other sides. They got along decently well, surprisingly. Turns out you can reason yourself into the worst of conclusions pretty easily.

“ … Fair point. What do you need, Virgil?”

“Apparently Heartboy thinks I have  an, er, crush.”

Logan paused, a slight smile coming over his face, and he sat up to look at Virgil more fully. Did he still have his shoes on? Wow.

“Normally, I’d suggest his sentimental spirit to be getting the best of him, and this to be a figment of his imagination,”

“But?”

“You’d not be here if it weren’t true.”

Virgil swallowed, rolling his eyes, trying to muster indignanty. “Chill it, Sherlock, maybe I’m just trying to figure out the logic behind Patton’s crap.”

“Maybe, but you would be able to wait until morning, wouldn’t you?”

And with that, Virgil plopped down to sit on the floor, resting his head in his hands.

“Shut up.”

“So, obviously it’s not me,” Logan began, and Virgil’s head whipped up, giving a warning look. “And it’s not Patton,”

“I really, really don’t need your help with this par-”

“So that leaves two. There’s Thomas, while you two have certainly gotten along well lately, he does not seem a likely candidate considering our unusual connection, and concern, for his wellbeing. It would likely cloud anything beyond platonic affection,”

“Logic,” Virgil hissed, using the title for the first time in awhile, but Logan’s eyes only lit up with victory.

“It may be one of his friends, perhaps Talyn being your similar aesthetic, but circumstances bar one on one interaction with them. So, I’m guessing, perhaps, Roman.”

Virgil prompty covered his face again, face heating up under his hands.

“It makes absolutely no sense.”

“No, none. And yet, here we are. Perhaps, maybe, it is a consequence of your low self worth?”

“What? Oh. I dislike myself so I seek out a  … Romantic interest, who mirrors my deprecation of my worth? He seems incapable of managing even a sincere compliment towards me, but I’m intrigued for some reason by both our banter and his way of presenting. Also he see- oh my god, your room is making me more stressed out than mine.”

“You get used to it. Perhaps, though, it is more a matter of Roman’s recent change in behavior, seeking to show you compassion, reigning in his own vocal clumsiness to attempt civil conversation. Maybe, in your low self esteem, you see Roman as a figure of confidence. With his affection, and therefore validation, perhaps you could emulate his ego and readjust your self-perception. However, there is an issue of dependency, and it would become a drastically unhealthy coping mechanism for underlying issues that would remain unaddressed.”

Then, both sides jumped.  Thomas, it felt, was awake. They were pulled to the common area without a word.

Thomas looked haggard, rough from an uneasy attempt at sleep. Virgil immediately felt a wave of guilt. 

“Who let you two alone together in the middle of the night?” He groaned, shaking his head.

“My apologies, Thomas, it’s only that dark, gloomy, and bothersome-”

“Oi!” Thomas scolded sharply, and feeling more at ease without the weight of logic, Virgil almost smiled. Almost.

“Came into my room, concerned about his little cru-”

“Crush, weird drink, huh? I’m gonna, you know, let you get back to bed. Sorry for keeping you up again. Gotta head out, night.”

“You get your butt back in here, right now, Virgil. Crush? On Roman, right?”

Virgil threw his hands up, exasperated. “Did everyone know before me?”

Thomas and Logan looked at each other, then back at Virgil.

In sync, they shrugged, “Yeah.”

“I mean, you did kind of check him out, that time.” Thomas pointed out.

“Which time?” Logan chimed in, laughing at his own joke, while Thomas had the manners to only repress a grin.

“Well. I’m moving to the space under my bed, see you guys never.” Virgil excused, going to slip out again, but Thomas caught his arm. 

It was unusual to touch in the common room, only possible with stand ins during the videos, as all the sides did technically only manifest as a convenient way to express certain emotions, usually. Still, here it was, Thomas reaching out.

“No way are any of us getting any sleep until we address this, Verge.”

“I did not okay that nickname.”

“What were you two talking about, anyway?”

Logan stepped forward, straightening his perpetual tie. Virgil wondered if he ever took it off, even to sleep. Out of all the sides, the only one who had any actual excuse to be nocturnal was Roman, conjuring up the adventures Thomas would travel in his dreams, but luckily, the side’s activity cycle fell in line with Thomas’, attributes working even as they rested.

Would Roman be awake anyway, now? Would the commotion of emotion wake him up? Wake Patton up?

What if they popped in?

“Ah, well, for starters, the likelyhood all young adults will cling to any affection presented by one we, even secretly, admire, but that it does not realistically always work out.”

“Oh, goodness, we’re sitting down for this one. Do not speak until I get back. Sit.” Thomas demanded, and the sides shared a look while both going to protest. Thomas held up a single finger, quieting them, and went to the kitchen.

He came back with hot chocolate for the three of them, and Virgil plopped down on the last stair, while Logan commandeered the couch.

“Thanks, I guess.” Virgil mumbled, reluctantly sipping. 

He loved it.

“So, let me get this right. You think your crush may be a result of your low self confidence, making you interested in Roman because he’s been being nice?”

“Yeah. I mean, that or because he sucks at being nice.”

“Oh boy. Listen, I know you’re not going to like this, but I don’t think we can have this discussion without Patton here.”

“What? Why? What could he possibly contribute to the conversation we can’t?” Logan asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Emotional intelligence! I love you guys, I do, and you both are invaluable to my wellbeing, but there is a reason there is more than one or two of you! You may fight, you may cause conflict in me, but at the end of the day, you balance each other out. You balance me out, when I’m too far one way or another about an issue! I think you guys forget, you’re not competing, you all have your place in any conversation. So, of course I think Patton should be here for this. It’s discussion of something he understands better than any of us can, but I’ll respect if you don’t want him involved.”

It was quiet for a beat, Logan sighed, “He is right. Patton isn’t always the most logical, per say, but he does far surpass either of us in matters of the heart. He’d be … A valuable asset to the conversation. ”

Virgil took a breath, sipped his drink, and nodded solemnly. “Fine. Bring on Cupid.”

Without being called, Patton popped in.

“How-?” Thomas began, but Patton, grinning widely, put a finger to his lips.

“I come when I’m needed.” Patton said, waving his hand dismissively. “Now. Let’s talk about this, kiddo.”

Virgil didn’t speak, only shrugged, suddenly hyper aware he was without his hoodie when his hand couldn’t be enveloped in his sleeve as he ran a hand through his hair, pulling his mused bangs into place. Patton, going to sit next to the other, quietly offered the cardigan from around his neck. Virgil ducked his head as he accepted it, pulling it over his T-shirt. Patton cooed fondly.

“So, Virgil is nervous his feelings for Roman are a result of his low self esteem, as either Roman is a figure he admires who is showing him affection and validating him, or he’s being cruel, which falls in line with Virgil’s own skewed self perception.” Thomas explained, and Patton was uncharacteristically quiet, thinking for a while.

“It is what makes the most logical sense, as there seems very little reason for their personalities to capture any hint of romantic chemistry.”

Patton looked up at Logan, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Logan looked taken aback, cocked his head. “What, what?”

“It’s … A crush. Haven’t you ever-?” Patton took a breath, gathering his patience, and grinned. “Have you ever had a crush before?”

And, abruptly, Logan was flustered, pushing his glasses up his face, stuttering and checking his watch, “Me? Wh- of cour- what? It’s getting late- I-”

“So! You have!” Patton announced, delighted. Thomas laughed.

“That- yeah, I guess you have a point.”

“What point?” Virgil finally spoke, slouched enough to look up at everyone in the room.

“These things aren’t logical. They’re not supposed to make sense. We rarely have feelings for only the people it makes sense for us to, kiddo, we’re not magnets, we’re not only attracted to what we think we should be. You are … So complex, so full of emotions you have barely began to understand, and while you absolutely might be, on some level, seeking validation, it’s not because you’re attracted to him! It’s not why you’re attracted to him! It’s just how you react to all of us, because you want to be a part of something, but you need a response to understand you are sometimes. And that’s okay! Listen, hasn’t Logan been nearly as insulting as Roman at all junctures? Even when you’re on the same side of an argument, you two still manage to fight!”

Virgil felt himself loosen a fist he hadn’t noticed he’d made, muscles in his arms relaxing. Oh.

“I mean, he and I don’t get along perfectly.” Virgil admitted, and Logan looked to be contemplating. 

“So, if Virgil was only seeking to be treated badly to reflect his own self worth,”

“He’d seek you out. Especially as, while Roman can be more childish, you tend to have some sort of reasoning behind why you’re arguing, or insulting. It always hurts to be insulted, but when you can’t argue it,” Thomas filled in, and Virgil pipped up,

“It’s way worse. I mean, I think it bothers me more when you insult me, because you’re the one I’ve always felt kinda, you know, gets me. More than the others, at least.” He admitted, and Logan looked stricken, straightening up where he sat but his eyes falling. 

“I’m- I’ve never thought nearly enough about that.” Logan said, voice quiet, and Virgil shrugged.

“I just mean, I dunno, at the start it always felt like it was me against the world. But when you started to side with me, it made me feel like I might actually, well, belong. Like we were friends.”

Logan looked up, shaking his head. “Virgil, I may stand at odds with you on certain issues, and I may not always watch what I say enough, but we are absolutely friends.”

Virgil flushed, and had to try to hide a smile that broke out on his face. “Mutual … bud.”

Logan smiled back, surprisingly soft and sincere.

Patton, grinning wide and ecstatic, clapped. “Oh! That! Was! So! Good! You guysss!” he was shouting, so the others all shushed him, and he went quiet abruptly. They waited for a moment, thankfully without Roman coming to see what all the noise was about.

“So, okay, pure self hate ruled out. But-” Virgil began.

“But you also aren’t only seeking his approval. We all, in different measures and different stages, seek approval of those we admire. Of course we do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel genuine, healthy emotion for someone despite this, or alongside this. If this crush had only sparked because Roman had began to be nice to you, it wouldn’t make sense for it to have been an ongoing, quiet part of the way you communicate with him!”

“… Has it been?”

“Gosh, you guys are bad at this.” Patton said, sounding positively endeared. “Of course it has. For you to seek his approval, first would have to come the attraction and admiration. You wish you could be more cheery sometimes, sure, but you don’t wish yourself reckless, or so headstrong, you don’t wish yourself loud, you don’t wish you were more imaginative, you’re not just seeking out qualities you wish you had. In fact, you and Roman actually share quite a few traits! You are just as imaginative as he is, just because you’re more nightmare than daydream doesn’t mean you don’t have an ability for incredible wonder. You both are the most motivating assets of Thomas’ personality, working together to push his ambition, his skill, his dreams. If you weren’t there to keep from the backslide, Roman wouldn’t be able to move Thomas forward towards his goals alone! And, of course, Logan and I contribute, but that’s a part of Thomas that you two are best at pushing to be the best it can be! You admire Roman for everything about him, even the things that occasionally frustrate you, because you two are so much more compatible than you’d imagine!”

Virgil was staring off, thinking, and hummed. “ … So I just … Like Roman?”

Logan, looking impressed, merely nodded. “Seems like it.”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Thomas agreed, proud smile only as subdued as he could make it.

Virgil nodded in response. “Huh. Strange.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Logan admitted, but then looked up with a sly grin, and Thomas pointed at him, O'ing.

“Nice.”

“How is that reference even related?” Virgil asked, finally looking around.

“Because you’re just chalk full of spooky, young man!” Patton teased, back to his regular playfulness, and he shared a nod with Logan, who was finally taking a sip of his hot (now warm) chocolate.

Then, in the midst of laughing, Patton went dead quiet, eyes narrowing.

“Uh, Patton?” Thomas asked, concerned, and Virgil and Logan froze like deers caught in the headlights.

“Did you guys … Have hot chocolate without me?”

Patton sounded some strange mix of heartbroken and vengeful, and Logan was across the room in moments.

“Here, here, have mine. You deserve it.” Logan offered, handing over the mug, his brain emblem stamped on the side. Patton hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded, pacified.

“We can share.” Patton insisted, getting up now to stretch and walk towards the couch, and Logan pushed his glasses up, muttering an agreement, hiding his face behind his hand.

When both were across the room, Thomas sat with Virgil.

“You okay?”

“Honestly? I think so. I was so stressed about the why of it, you know? It’s nice to feel like I can just … Feel it, like it doesn’t need a reason.”

Thomas nodded in understanding. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Virgil looked, all things considered, surprisingly at ease. “No idea. Probably nothing, just pine from afar until it’s unavoidable or someone inevitable and embarrassingly spills the beans. Seems … Kinda Roman-tic right?”

Thomas wheezed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no, they’re influencing you.”

Virgil scrunched his nose up, smiling crookedly, and with great affection said, “Yeah, I guess they are.”

[coreshorts]

Behind

Three large crates sat outside of her room, all stuffed with her most treasured possessions. Her dolls, two of her four lavender plants, a wealth of books and notebooks, cat toys, blankets, clothes, pictures, and more had been placed lovingly in each wooden crate, ready to make the long trip to Hingashi. On top of one sat her idiot cousin. Fortunately, she thought, the crates were sturdy. She’d kill him if he broke anything, and had told him as much.

They stood outside her door as she reactivated the strange runic markings on her door, causing them to turn a dark black and then fade, as if absorbed into the wood. A scratching brought her attention to the door, followed by a mewl that never failed to make her heart jump into her throat.

Finn hated when she left, and he’d always, she knew, sit at the door and cry for a few minutes. The thought made Hali tear up every time, her heart breaking that she had no way to take the cat everywhere with her.

“We sh’make a stop afore aught else, y’know,” Dail’a mused aloud, picking his teeth with the tip of a dagger to try and make himself look like some kind of hardened rogue. The plump shinobi stared at her miqo’te cousin for a long moment.

“I... um, I’m... not sure w-what you mean.”

“Yer goin’ t’yer new’ome ain’t ye?” he asked, getting a nod in response, “Jus’ seems right te give yer first’un a visit.” She stared. He meant go find the Naras clan and her parents.

“I... I already said g-goodbye,” she muttered, pursing her dark maroon-coloured lips and looking away, “M-more than... ten years ago, now.”

“Ain’t a goodbye, Hals!” he said, “Y’still work’ere, aye? And y’are fair often. Jus’ changin’ things up a bit. Puttin’ yer treasures where yer’eart is. Ain’t nothin’ amiss wivvat. I jus’think, is all, ‘at ye been through a lot - ‘ells, more’n y’even know - an’, well, yer folks miss ye.”

“I’m... I’m h-hardly-”

“Hardly what? A Keeper n’more? Don’t tell me y’aint a Naras. In or out the clan, ye still got Naras blood, no ma’er if ye got fur’r scales. It ain’like when we left, y’know.”

“I know... I... I know. J-just,” she started, her voice soft and timid, “I’m... a-afraid. Do they know?”

“Nope.”

Hali’s heart sank. She’d been born a Keeper of the Moon - a miqo’te, like her cousin - but thanks to the strange events that unfolded after the Iron Chef Eorzea competition, she’d been drugged by a mysterious man and permanently altered, her body that of an Auri woman, her ears and fur gone, replaced by the large, fin-like horns on the sides of her head and cream-coloured scales. She had taken to the changes, even begun to enjoy her new life, but it drove her, she felt, so much further away from the old one and all those in it, the Naras clan included.

“Dail’a, I- I don’t kn-know if I can,” she said, shaking her head.

“Y’can. Y’should. They miss ye,” he replied stoically, “Seein’ow far ye come... it’ll do good fer their’earts. Ye’re their girl, no ma’er what. Wish me own folks were still about fer me to show off te. So don’go pushin’em aside. ‘S’been long enough. An’ if ye don’t, ye’re on yer own for ‘is.” He patted the crate he was sitting on, smiling brightly.

The Raen sank against the door, causing runes to shine softly where her body touched them, as if providing a barrier between her and the door before giving a soft, “Okay.”

Dail’a always knew where the clan had set up camp, and knew how to lead her straight to them. After the better part of an afternoon’s travel, they came upon a clearing in the western Shroud, a short walk beyond Sorrel Haven and the Haukke estate.

Tents were set up in the clearing, made of interwoven skins, furs, and textiles. Before each stood a male Keeper of the Moon, all watching and waiting for signs of trouble, some accompanied by trained coeurls. For the nocturnal clan, it was early, yet, many having only just finished their first meal. One tent in particular caught Hali’s attention: decorated with pink textiles bought through trade and made of well-worked and worn hides, a large tent with a grey and white coeurl sleeping outside of it, her parents’ home, stood out to her, even amongst all the other colours and variations around.

“Dail’a,” one of the men greeted, approaching him and Hali with a bone spear held lazily in one hand, “It’s good to see you, but who’s this?” He, like many others of the Naras clan, had lighter hair, streaked with naturally-occurring silver. Pale green eyes peered at the Raen, dressed in her new shinobi armour for the sake of safety during travel - and because she liked it quite a bit - and frowned, no recognition in his face, his gaze level with the barely-taller Auri girl’s.

“What, y’don’t see? Yer eyes busted?” Dail’a teased the man, who only looked at Hali closer and with more confusion in his eyes.

“...how’s she have hair like that? I thought that was a... thing,” the guard said, gesturing back toward the village. Dail’a grinned.

“Uh... i-it... it is,” Hali said timidly, looking away, “It... um...” The guard stopped, peering at her in disbelief.

“Menphina’s grace... you’re Cina and Edoh’a’s girl,” he said in astonishment, “What the hells happened to you?”

“Aye, aye. Long story, mate, but we came for’er folks, so if ye don’mind,” Dail’a said with a smirk. The guard nodded and returned to his post and the two proceeded into the village.

Miqo’te meandered about, tending to their clan duties, cleaning, cooking, socialising, and more. Some prepared for a hunt, more prepared to make a trading run to Gridania, and yet more simply remained, tending to their duties. Among one such hunting party was an older male miqo’te, light brown hair cut short and, like many others, tinged with silver. His features were somewhat rough, but kind all the same, a well-trimmed goatee ringing his mouth, just below his nose.

“Uncle Edoh’a,” Dail’a called, causing Hali to pull up her hood in anxiety, “Need ye fer a bit! Got summat for ye!” The man looked up from fletching a new arrow and gave the blond male a skeptical look.

“Alright,” he said, setting his tools aside, “But I hope this is quick, Dail’a. We need to go soon.” His tone was calm and kind, though with the already-waning patience one might have with a notorious trouble child. He gave Hali a curious look and a small smile in greeting, which she returned with a silent nod, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Before he could ask, Dail’a grinned and said, “I’ll explain me scaly friend’ere in just a mo’. 'Eadin’ fer Gan’s tent. Need te see Aunt Cina too.” Edoh’a nodded with some hesitation and curiosity, following the two in silence.

“Oy! Gan!” Dail’a called as he entered the large, central tent in the village. It was particularly ornate, decorated with baubles and brightly-coloured silks, both inside and out.

“Hello, brother,” came a serene, calm voice from the middle of the tent. Upon a mound of pillows and surrounded by plates of slowly smoking incense sat a purple-and-silver-haired woman, pale as the moon itself and with radiant violet eyes that spoke of an endless patience and benevolence. Gandrae, Dail’a’s sister, had, in recent years, become Clan Matriarch after a violent clash with a force of Garleans that left many of the Naras clan dead. She sat in the midst of the pillows and incense, having been roused from her meditation, a few women - her Handmaidens - giving her brother a deadpan stare.

She looked toward Hali, her eyes seeming almost knowing, and she smiled softly before turning her gaze to a blond woman who looked to be no more than thirty years of age, though some small wrinkles and lines showed her to be a bit older than that. Cina Naras, Hali’s mother and one of the appointed Handmaidens to the Matriarch, despite being older than she was, was busying herself with preparing offerings to Menphina at a small altar at the back of the tent.

“Cina,” Gandrae said to the green-eyed woman, who looked up with a silent and questioning stare, “I believe Dail’a is going to need your attention. You may have the evening to yourself.”

“Of... course,” the older woman said with an air of confusion to her voice, expression mirror it, especially when she saw her mate accompanying Dail’a and the odd, hooded Raen with them. She stood from the altar and made her way around the centre of the room to stand by Edoh’a with a questioning glance that he could only mirror in return with a shrug.

“Dail’a,” the Matriarch said as the group departed, leaving only him at the entrance to the tent, her tone cautious and a look of concern in her eyes, “I hope this was the right decision. I cannot say for certain whether it is or not.”

“I’s a’right, Gan,” the blond man replied with a smile, “Trust me, aye?” His sister nodded slowly and patiently.

The walk back to the tent belonging to Hali’s parents was short and silent, but it dragged on in her mind. It was torturous. She wanted to say something, anything, to them but she trusted Dail’a, instead, to start what would probably be a landslide of terrible decisions that day. She could hardly look at her parents. Doing so filled her with so many different emotions that she became very quickly overwhelmed.

“So,” Edoh’a said, sitting around the small fire pit in the centre of their tent after closing the front flap and opening the vent at the top, “Who is this, Dail’a? It’s unusual for an Au Ra to have business with us.”

Cina, meanwhile, sat next to Edoh’a, attempting to peer under Hali’s hood, her face drawn in an expression of concern and curiosity as she added, “I’d like to know, as well. Young lady, why do you avoid my gaze? Must you hide yourself under that hood?”

“Oh, take it off,” Dail’a chided with a smirk, elbowing Hali and causing her to let out a startled squeak that made both of her parents pause, “Uncle, Auntie, I figgered... maybe it’s time ye met sum’un.”

Hali gulped, slowly pulling her hood back, her blonde and silver hair falling free over her scarf and shoulders, and she slowly looked up at Edoh’a and Cina from behind her glasses, deep blue eyes glassy with yet-unshed tears. Before she could say anything, however, Cina had lunged across the floor to embrace her, immediately bursting into tears. Edoh’a looked confused, and Dail’a, though surprised at the quickness, seemed fairly pleased with himself.

“Cina? What’s...?” Edoh’a asked.

Cina pulled back a bit, hands cupping the Raen’s face, fingers tracing the ridges of her scales and running gently over the edges of her horns, asking in a soft, yet choked voice, “My baby... my Hali. What’s happened to you? Is this why you were gone for so long?”

“Wait. What...?!” her father started, looking around to peer at her in utter disbelief.

Hali couldn’t help herself. The sudden influx of emotions that were so far beyond her, the sound and sight of someone else - her mother, no less - crying was all too much for her to manage and she broke down into wracking sobs, teeth grit against them as if to stop the coming flood of tears from ruining her makeup completely. It was no use, however. Black streaked her face from carefully-applied mascara, those tears not caught in it washing away the foundation and concealer that covered up the soft red rashes at her cheeks in wavy lines.

“...Menphina help me,” Edoh’a muttered to himself, eyes wide with shock, “What... happened to her?”

She barely registered as Dail’a retold the events that had happened to her in his Limsan-warped drawl. She simply sat there crying as Cina whispered comfortingly to her. It was as if she were a child again, wrapped in her mother’s arms, the words lost on her but the soothing sound of her voice helping to quell the chaos of emotion and anxiety that had begun to threaten her mind as so many feelings came rushing back from oblivion.

“Bastard,” Edoh’a muttered, “I can’t believe someone would stoop so low to drug her over something like that.”

“But she’s okay,” Cina said with a soft smile, “That’s what matters. It’s... one thing to hear it. But it’s another to have her here. Gods... we missed you, so, so much. How could you think your own mother wouldn’t recognise you? I love you no matter how you look or what you are. Understand?” A hand rose to Hali’s sodden cheek and, quivering as she tried to stop crying, the Raen nodded.

“Ye need a tic?” Dail’a asked, placing a hand on Hali’s shoulder, “I can go’n'arass Gan. Make sure ye say hi to’er, too. She looks out for ye jus’ like yer other dumb-shite cousin.” He winked, standing, then left.

“I-I’m sorry,” Hali choked through her tears, “I’m so... s-so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Shhh,” her mother cooed, “You’re here, now. You’re home.” She looked away. Home was what this wasn’t. She missed her parents, she found, but this could never be her home. Her home was on an island across the sea with her best friend in all the world, in their budding village.

“I... I need t-to... talk... t-to you guys,” she said with a cracking, sob-strained voice, “I’m... I-I’m, um... I’m moving out o-of Eorzea.”

Her mother looked taken aback for a moment, and her father eyed her cautiously, asking, “Where to...?”

“H-hingashi. Across the sea,” Hali muttered in response, “B-but I... I still... work in Thanalan. I’m... I-I’m a chef. A good one. B-but... I’m... I’m more th-than that, now, too. I... I have a p-place I really... feel is a home to me n-now. S-so... that’s... where I’ll be. Wh-when I’m not cooking at the B-bountfiul Chest... anyroad...”

“Home is where your mother is,” joked Cina, dabbing Hali’s cheeks with a handkerchief to dry her tears. Hali had always hated hearing that, mistaking it for a serious sentiment, though, this time, it made her laugh.

“I know,” she said, “J-just... I’ve... I’m... making my way. I’m d-doing... better.”

“Well, you sure look it,” said her father, a small bit of pride colouring his tone, “And I don’t mean the horns. That’s a fancy outfit.”

“I-I’ve, um... I’m... I’ve been training. F-for moons, now. Really hard,” she explained, “T-to be something great. A really, r-really good. um, friend has been helping me since w-we met at work... she’s done... j-just so much for me...” Her voice softened as she trailed off, a small smile creeping over her face.

“A girl? Like a girlfriend?” asked her mother, teasing. Hali had always, when she was young, gushed to her mother about the pretty girls in the village. She didn’t know why she liked them, or what business she really had with them, but she just found herself wanting to be around them. None had ever really enjoyed the awkward girl’s presence in return, however.

“N-no... no,” Hali said, the smile remaining, though she looked away in embarrassment, “I-I mean... not for lack of, um... t-trying, at one point, which was stupid, but... just... a really, really g-good friend. My best friend... a-and teacher now, too. Heh.”

“She means a lot to you, though. It’s all over your face,” Cina said, smiling, “Do you love her?”

She sat for a moment. Love was an odd, and, she thought, wholly incorrect, term. She never really understood the concept, and still didn’t. Kel was, however, the single source of stability in her life at that point. Everything she had, she owed to her, and, in kind, she would do anything for her. A relationship, though, was something that she knew was not possible, nor was it something she really wanted, despite her misinterpretation of her own feelings at one time. Kel had told her that people could be important to each other without things such as relationships. She didn’t understand at the time, but she didn’t quite understand anything that had been going on in her head. As time went on, however, she decided that that was fine, though. She was still important in Kel’s life, she found, and though it wouldn’t be expressed in ways she’d seen before, she still knew that she was appreciated and wanted, that she wasn’t a nuisance or burden to her. She had the best friend she could have ever asked for, and that was all she needed. There was no need to look for a concept that she couldn’t place or even understand when what she had was already everything she wanted, anyway.

“...I dunno,” was her muttered reply, though her smile grew softly, cheeks reddening, “That’s... n-never really, um... been my th-thing. Remember? We... we’re just close. Th-that’s all. A-and that’s good. It’s what I want.”

Cina nodded, chuckling and brushing a hand through her hair, “That is good. I’m glad you have friends, now, Hali. Especially ones as good as this girl seems to be to you.”

Hali nodded, smiling, her thoughts turning also to Hanaru and T’rahven, and of those people who had taken on such positive meaning for her also by simply being there for her time and again, and she said, softly, “Yeah. I’m... making a, uh... a f-few. They’re... they’re good people. I... they, um, it’s... weird. They actually... mean something.” 

Another thought occurred to her as her mind settled. Her parents, she felt for years, had lost their meaning, somehow, but it was only time and distance that dulled the feeling. It hadn’t gone away, and she found it resurfacing now. It was oddly comforting, she thought, to have it back, even if the emotions she was feeling were far too much for her to grasp.

She was hugged again, and Cina said, “I’m so happy for you. You have no idea how much I worried about you until Dail’a started visiting again, bringing all these stories about you... I’m so proud of you.” Edoh’a smiled and gave a single nod, sitting next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“We both are, kiddo,” he said, giving her a hug of his own, “And no matter where you go, you’re always welcome back with your folks. Remember that. We still love you, and that won’t change.”

“O-okay,” Hali said, sniffling as tears welled in her eyes again, “I’ll... I’ll try to come... say hi w-when... Dail’a comes, s-sometimes.”

“When you can,” Edoh’a corrected, his tone compassionate and understanding.

“R-right,” she muttered. A bout of raucous laughter from the Matriarch’s tent distracted her for a moment. Dail’a seemed to be having a good time with his sister. They’d always been close. She never had anything like that, not counting her parents, here. Even Dail’a was busy with his own things when they were young.

The rest of the night would be spent with her parents, in their tent. It was an emotional night that left her exhausted as she told her own versions of her stories - both good and bad - since she’d left. There was so much to tell, and so much, she found, that was worthy of pride and praise - the sort of which she so seldom offered herself - from her parents and cousins, the latter two of whom had arrived later into the night. Eventually, she had to retire for the night, and her parents set about to their business, letting her sleep. It was mildly uncomfortable sleeping on a cot on the ground again, but she managed.

She’d never expected to come back, let alone be so warmly welcomed if she ever did. She left the clan feeling like a useless husk of a girl, but came back, after so many trials and tribulations, after victories and successes, and after so much to think over, and she came to a realisation.

No matter where she went, she never really had to truly leave anyone or anything behind.

[lostinthestarstrand]

Starwood Clan Lore - Pt1 History for the Hatchlings

With a deep sigh and a patient smile on his face, Fable lightly pushes his spectacles back up with a thin claw. A large group of hatchlings were gathered around him, some staring with wide eyes and excited grins while others were looking at everything else in the library but him and the giant volume in his lap. Clearing his throat brought all of their attention back on him. “Now little ones… it’s time to learn the clan history. Regardless of where you go from here, it’s important to know where you’re from and how things came to be that you could be here before me.”

Flipping through the pages he stopped at a section near the front of the thick tome. “Get comfortable dear hatchlings, as this is a bit of a long tale...” Fable adjusted his position on the thick pillows supporting him and the book, watching the hatchlings settle in and a few resting their heads upon their front paws.

“Now, we don’t truly know the origin of our founder as he’s never shared it but one day Rory arrived here in the Starfall Isles as he told me. He clawed a home out of very crystal spines that climb out of the sea. Not long after he met Alva and they became our founders. They shared their first clutch and like many clans back in those days they struggled to make their way in the world.” Fable flipped a page, keeping his account of the past short for the young dragons who’s attention would quickly divert to something else in the room given the chance.

“In time the clan grew slowly, some of you may already know Raisa or Crest, as they have been here since those early times. If it wasn’t for our founders taking them in it is unlikely they would have been with us today and would never have had the chance to help in the clan’s expansion as they did.” A few gasps and whines came from the hatchlings but Fable continued. “Many dragons passed through the clan, some onwards to new clans or striking out alone while many others went to serve the Arcanist himself or other gods. But every now and then some would stay, growing the clan’s numbers and helping assure our survival.” Fable let out a soft sigh, “I remember those days, how we practically carved that spike of crystal completely hollow trying to fit everyone.” He chuckled and smiled down at the hatchlings. “It’s nothing like we have here, so much room. You could go all the way to the top of the spire and look out over the Starwood Strand, such a gorgeous sight at night.” A few hatchlings cooed, curious about the namesake location of their clan. Fable waved a claw in dismissal, “I’ll get to the Starwood, worry not little ones.”

He flipped through a few more pages, mostly details about life in the clan at the time and certainly not immediately important information. “Now where was I… ah here we go. Our clan could only live for so long within the ever decreasing space of the crystal. During this time dear Fran and Sophiya left to expand their horizons, in time finding a clan that would become our ally for what feels like such a brief amount of time now.” Fable’s face dipped into a frown as memories flooded back but he would reach that part of the story soon. “With their departure it was not long before the first great Night of the Nocturne was upon us. Back then nocturnes were unknown, only a few scattered stories believed to be made up myths had existed. This great reveal lead to the discovery of Azura’s egg.” A few small gasps rose up from the hatchlings before him, it was a cute, curious reaction and his smile curled back up on his face once more.

“Yes indeed, before we even moved forth from our original lair Azura joined the clan. In fact she had her own observatory, she was always our founder’s adopted daughter.” Fable let out another soft chuckle. “One of my favorite helpers back then too...” he smiled, happy old memories flooded back of an excited little nocturne fluttering about his tiny library trying to learn all she could on the stars. “Mello joined us near the end of that long night, she latched onto Azura like a little sister...” He hummed softly in thought before getting back on track.

“We lasted quite a while in that first lair… but Rory and Alva were weary of sole leadership, they never planned for their clan to grow bigger than their little family after all. With Fran’s absence still from the clan, they named Azura our leader and as you all know she maintains that title to this very day. By then she and Daedra were already displaying great potential to take the mantle up and of course Rory and Alva continue to support them to this day.” Fable continued flipping through the pages, pausing as he reached the part about the beginning burrow that would grow into the Starwood Lair.

“Now after Azura took up head leadership with Daedra as our knight captain, they looked for a more suitable home for our still growing clan. Of course with her wonderful view of the Strand, Azura knew immediately where we would be going next. After scouting out a good area the burrowing began.” Fable gently turned the book around, displaying an illustration made of the early version of the lair that would become their beloved home in those days. Soft coos and noises of interest rose from the hatchlings, a few chittering amongst themselves “It took many days, in fact weeks before we even had the rough shape of our lair built. But it was quite beautiful… Alva even had her own underground garden, if we have time after I can show you more paintings that were made and survived the… um… ahem, the move.” He coughed and a few hatchlings looked concerned and confused. Fable flicked through a few pages showing the progress of the burrow, well documented thanks to him.

“Truly the clan prospered while in the Starwood as it is our namesake.” Fable put a claw to his cheek, grinning. “Of course it wasn’t the most original name… but the whole clan adored our home and whispers quickly spread of our knowledge and findings in magic. From such a humble source compared to the larger clans and schools out across not only the Starfall Isles but the rest of Sornieth. ‘Go to the clan in the Starwood,’ they would say, ‘if they can’t find a solution then no one can.’” Fable’s claws curled affectionately around the book as he pulled it close. “It was a brief moment where we were almost famous, maybe not across the entire land, or even within our own domain… but within the inner circles of experimental magic users, those testing the limits and bounds of combining magic and technology, our clan’s name was spoken.” He flipped through a few more pages, showing illustrations of Rory’s inventions in particular as well as experimental golems and other interesting creations made by the clan’s members at the time. “We spent many, many years in that lair, far more than in the crystal spine but...” he took a deep breath, not enjoying telling this part of the tale despite some hatchlings expressing quite a bit of interest now and then. “Unfortunately, it was not meant to last dear little ones.”

Pulling the hefty tome back up onto his large pillow he flicked ahead to the next section. “Something had shifted in our alliance with Nyx’s clan, a tundra at the time who had been training Fran from their Whispwillow lair. Fran has told me in depth of the changes that occurred to the clan leader following the first Night of the Nocturne but that is another story for another day. We still don’t quite understand what changed but many of us hold the opinion that she never was the way she original portrayed herself. The kind and generous soul we were initially met with flickered out like a candle in the wind on the day she… her… clan attacked us.” Fable swallowed, shutting his eyes as the hatchlings gasped around him and a few let out soft whines. The memories were painful as they came back, he had been there and barely survived.

“I… I won’t go into depth, that is a story for when you are all much older but I will say, we never expected the attack. If it wasn’t for Azura’s sudden burst of power and our small guard troop’s determined efforts we could very well have been wiped out.” Fable opened his eyes to look out at the hatchlings,a few looked worried, some scared and curled up against each other. “Now, no need to dwell on that my little ones, we are here and we have all survived so much. Following the attack we somehow scraped by with only injuries and a broken lair. Fran, her mate and Sophiya returned not long after the attack, unable to deliver the message of the attack in time. We were just glad to find them safe and sound though.” Fable nodded before flipping forward in his history book. “It wasn’t terribly long after that Azura received the letter inviting us to live here. Of course many of us were suspicious of such an invite, from the Arcanist himself indeed. But our home was in ruins, we could barely scavenge much and we had nowhere to go. It was decided we would make the journey up the focal point to the Observatory. There are many more details on that journey but again, I leave that to when you all are much older. It was difficult and dangerous, a long and quite slow trip as not only did the entire clan move but any of our remaining belongs as well in a caravan the whole way there.”

Fable turned the pages, skipping much of the history of the journey as it was for another time and many aspects were better for an older audience. “Despite our traveling we still gained many new clan members, some were additional guards during our rather vulnerable time traveling. Others traveled alongside us, deciding to call our clan home even if they moved on in their travels or duties, returning now and then to rest and socialize with old friends.”

“Now I reach the end of our history lesson, as you all should know we of course made it to the Observatory, our wing being a curiously recently renovated section. The entire clan settled in quite well and to commemorate our hopefully final home we planted a single starwood sapling that had survived both the loss of our original lair as well as the entire journey. A symbol of our clan’s first prosperous time and where we had come from.” With that Fable gently shut the tome, a few of the hatchlings seemed to have fallen asleep but those who had been wide-eyed form the start let out a small ‘aw’ as the lesson ended. “For those of you interested you may return to my library for more lessons, I have much to teach on the subject of our clan’s history and the history of those who within it.”