#i love the curdle sisters i should draw them more

[vellichorom]

i was SO excited at the idea of a third curdle nurse ( because believe it or not given my reputation as a jay enjoyer, i REALLY like the curdle bag sisters ), that- whilst we wait for their debut, i made MY OWN IDEA of what they would be like !!!!!

& my idea is surely! entirely off the mark & strange by all means but this is awful hospital so HERE GOES;

miss miley curdle - if she's not been horribly changed by the current decaying state of the hospital, is the third, " younger " sister to the curdle nurse siblings & currently the only one in a relatively okay state of operation; known as a nurse who... really doesn't want to BE a nurse - but took the job anyway because that's what her sisters were doing - & would much RATHER be living it up between zones, " partying " & having a good time, she administers less-than-reputable treatment to her patients ( usually those injured or sickened by living the life she'd rather have, lo the irony ) & does her job with all the reluctance of a spoiled brat teenager doing the bare minimum of what's asked of her. her sisters have TRIED to coach & better her, but it's been an oil to water type of process & she just refuses to listen & does whatever she wants, usually. however, with the hospital going under & with her sisters nowhere to be found ( as they're currently busy being fused together & spitting out horrible trash babies ), the terrified miley has taken to cleaning her act up & actually taking her job seriously, in the hopes that her feeble attempts at tending to the still-stable patients may somehow save the day & fix whatever's going on... or at least aid in keep things running smoothly. fruitlessly, as though she tries her HARDEST, she's forsaken the majority of what she's been taught, & while she's not necessarily making things horribly Worse....... you know. putting a piece of duct tape on a crumbling ceiling can't fix a whole lot,

so do you guys like my cool soon to be awful hospital oc /silly

[eddysocs]

Volumes (Amara x OC)

Summary: Chuck wants to do away with humanity, but Amara has grown fond of humans, one in particular, so Chuck will just have to start with her.

Word Count: 1,001

Warnings: Angst, threats of violence

Chuck didn’t have to lay a finger on her in order to kill her. Both he and Amara knew that, yet he’d chosen to take her hostage, holding an angel blade across her throat, barring her against him. He could have just snapped his fingers and it all would have been over, but to him this was personal, as if it were some sort of betrayal. Maybe that’s how he saw it. But that’s not how Amara saw things.

Lena had been a wake up call to Amara, a light within the darkness she was made of, and lately, her very reason for being. Now it was left to her to save her light before her brother could snuff it out. With Lena as his prisoner, Amara froze, unsure of her next move. Chuck wasn’t often entirely ruthless, but he was smart and calculating, so she’d have to take that into consideration. This wasn’t about killing Lena. If it was, she’d be dead already. What Amara had to figure out was what this was really about for him.

"Let her go," she finally said, her voice rumbling low as she conveyed the threat behind her words. Let her go and this doesn’t have to end in blood. Chuck shifted the blade in response, now angling its tip upwards, pointing it directly at her throat. He could run it through and leave Amara to watch her sputter and gurgle her way to a slow death, drowning in her own blood. Part of him wanted to. He’d love to see his sister fall apart at witnessing the death of her beloved human. Humans were his creation, not hers, and he’d never been one to share.

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you," Chuck finally said. "Humanity is mine, Amara. When it comes to them, I can do anything I want. All you can do is destroy. That’s all you’ve ever done. And yet you wonder why I locked you away, why I wouldn’t let you play with my toys?"

Amara let out a dry laugh. "Humans aren’t toys," she argued. Chuck cocked an eyebrow. This was the stance she was going to take? Surely not. But Amara didn’t waver. She’d meant it. She was ultimate power and destruction personified and yet she cared about life forms far beneath her. "You may have created them, but they’re not your puppets, Chuck."

The way she had said his chosen name, it stung a little. It was the most human part about him. He wasn’t Light, wasn’t God, but Chuck, a dreadfully human moniker which had been entirely of his own choosing. She really knew how to rub salt in a wound, but all he wanted was to start fresh, recreate everything in a new image. He couldn’t do that if Amara was unwilling to help him. She couldn’t have any attachments. And she may hate him for a while, but he had infinite amounts of time on his hands, so what was he waiting for?

He pressed the blade closer to Lena's throat, now pricking her skin and drawing blood, which trailed down her neck. Amara held her ground. Did she not believe he’d do it? Kill her in cold blood? How foolish. She should know him better than that.

Chuck removed the blade from Lena's throat, her hand reflexively going to the small wound to cover it. So delicate, humans. If he wanted Amara to ever forgive him, he better make Lena's death a quick one.

Just as Lena let go of her mounting fear at her own seemingly imminent demise, Chuck moved to deliver his final —fatal— blow. Lena had barely any time to react. She’d only glimpsed the blade as it caught the light. The same one that had been at her throat was now speeding towards her heart. This was it. Lena braced herself for whatever death would bring, but it all came to a halt with a scream.

This was no horror-movie-heroine scream, but something altogether more guttural, a blood curdling noise that in and of itself felt like it had the power to kill. Lena covered her ears, but even that could not drown it out. The mere force of it sent ripples through the air strong enough to actually feel as they made their way past her. It was then she realized this sound, this inhuman warning call, it was coming from Amara.

When it finally ceased, the silence somehow felt more deafening than the scream itself. Lena had fallen to her knees, shaken, but alive. Chuck was gone, the angel blade dropped in the dirt a few inches from Lena. That feral, banshee cry had been her saving grace. However Amara had managed it, Lena found herself eternally thankful.

With the threat gone and the dust settling, Amara ran to Lena, clutching her up in a hug and pulling her to her feet. Lena clung to Amara as she regained her footing, her arms around her waist, her cheek pressed against Amara's chest as she tried to stop the tears from falling. Amara held her tighter with one arm, while she brought her other hand up to Lena's hair, stroking it in a reassuring manner. "I will never let him hurt you," she promised. The calmness in her tone held an underlying ferocity and protectiveness to it that, had Lena not known her better, she would have found frightening.

Finally, Lena let out her tears. Soft sobs were now the only sound in the clearing where the two of them stood and Lena thought for a moment that perhaps this place would forever be silent because of Amara. Maybe that was as it should be. When her tears began to dry, Lena looked up at Amara. "Take me away from here," she said. Amara smiled softly, nodded and kissed the top of Lena's head. In a blink, they were gone, just the supernaturally disturbed land was left behind, a marker of a showdown where love had triumphed over hate.

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @baubeautyandthegeek, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @fawera, @themaradaniels, @that-demigirl, @iloveocs, @bossyladies

[something-inside-me-came-to-life]

Hi there! This will be my first original post on this side blog I have reserved for Disney Channel related things. So this is just a little drabble I wrote out for this fic idea I have for Zombies. I’ll most likely never write this story in its completion, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to share here.

Feedback is appreciated����

She could feel the fear coursing through her bones. She knew Zed. She knew he would never ever hurt her. But this wasn’t Zed she was facing. But maybe, just maybe, she could draw the real him out.

Or die trying. She will not leave here without him.

The feral creature was surveying the back wall, as if he was looking for an escape route. She saw him twist his head to the side, sniff the air, and turned toward her scent. The scent of his next meal.

It took everything in her to make herself calm when she called to him. “Zed.”

At the sound of his prey, he fully turned his body around, his blood-curdling snarl growing louder. His eyes were so sunken in, so dark around the edges, she could barely make out his brown eyes in the dark. The veins on his arms and neck were so distinct, they looked like someone had taken a black marker and scribbled on his skin. The chains on his wrists clattered as he took a single step forward, almost as if he was giving her a warning.

“Zed.” She couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice now. She was terrified. Not of him, never of him. She was terrified of losing him. Of losing that sweet boy she’d known for years now. So scared that if she took one wrong step, said one wrong word, he’d be gone forever. “Zed, please.”

He took another step forward, unfazed by her obvious terror. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if the scent of her fear was fueling his monster side. He bared his teeth and growled louder.

“Zed, it’s me. It’s Addison.” Her tone became the most gentle it had ever been. “You know me.”

At her inflected voice, the group had noticed she had strayed back to him. Back to the deadly predator their friend had became. Eliza’s eyes widened. “Addison!”

At the sudden harsh noise, Zed roared in anger and lunged at Addison. She was standing just far enough away that the chains yanked him back. She didn’t even flinch, but she worried the chains were making him so much worse. She held her hands out to him in a placating manner.

“Shh shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Zed,” she said softly. Again, she was worried that any sudden movement would cause him to slip further and further away, his zombie consuming everything Zed ever was.

“Addison,” Eliza said again, a little softer this time. “Get back! You can’t help him. He’ll hurt you!”

Addison ignored her, her eyes and attention still focused on Zed. “Zed. It’s okay. Just listen to me. Listen to my voice, okay?”

After being yanked by the chains, Zed had sunk to his knees in defeat, but still letting out long, low growls. Even as a monster, Addison could tell he was tired. Tired of fighting or tired of being so furious, she wasn’t sure. But she could tell he was in pain and it made her heart hurt for him even more.

“Zed,” she started. “What happened earlier today. That was not your fault.”

The zombie looked up at her now. He was still snarling at her, but it seemed like he was listening. She continued, “They made you do it. That was not you.”

His growling seemed to go a little quieter. Every gentle word she spoke seemed to make him understand a little more clearly.

With a surge of bravery, she took one small step forward. When his growls didn’t get any louder, she took another one, her hands still outstretched to him.

“I know you Zed,” she asserts. She shook her head. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not on purpose. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s not you.”

Even with his sharp teeth still bared at her, his low, threatening snarls were barely audible now. The frown on his face seemed more confused than angry now. He looked as if he was trying to peel her apart with his eyes, trying to figure out why this human wasn’t running away from him.

“I know you Zed,” she repeated in a whisper. She crouched down on his level and continued to slowly move forward. “You care so much for the people you love. Like your dad and your sister. Your friends. Me.” Her voice was starting to break, she had to stop and swallow a sob that was threatening to escape her throat.

His small growls were gone now and his face switched from a look of confusion to slight apprehension. He didn’t know this girl, but he didn’t want her near him. He didn’t know why though. He could smell her from here and she smelled delicious. He wanted to rip her apart and savor every bite of her warm flesh.

But...no. She needs to stay away. Somewhere, deep down, something was telling him not to attack.

“The Zed that I know,” she continued, still speaking so softly to him. “Is loyal. And sweet and kind.” She gave him a small, weak smile. “And funny. And he’s brave. So stupidly brave.”

She was now close enough to touch him. She slowly reached out her hand toward him.

He seemed to panic and gave a low threatening growl. He tried to scramble backward but the clattering chains scared him and he looked down at them in a panic. She was coming closer, and didn’t know what he should do. Part of him was wanting to lunge at her again and plunge his teeth into her. Another part was wanting to clutch her tight to him and never let go. And another, the loudest part of him, was telling him to get her away. Make her run far, far away from the monster that he was.

“The Zed that I know,” she still spoke to him. She was still trying to get through to him. She couldn’t stop now. Not when she’s so close. “Would never give up on anything. Once your mind is made up on something, whether it be joining the football team or running for school president, it would take a whole fleet of people to stop you.”

She was smiling, but she could feel her eyes welling up. She loved this zombie boy so much. And it took him almost losing himself for her to realize it. She promised herself that if he made it out of this, she would never take him for granted again.

Addison, who was now close enough to Zed for their knees to be touching, gently placed her hands on either side of his face. Zed stilled at her touch as he was finally forced to look at her. Her eyes were so blue. He knows those eyes...

“The same Zed,” she paused, tears streaming freely down her face now. “Who saw a broken, lonely girl, and still chose to be with her.” Her lip started quivering with her next words. “Even when I never came close to deserving it. Because that’s who you are Zed. You never give up.”

Something seemed to finally click in his head. Some distant memories flickered in his zombie brain. His lips pressed against someone’s forehead. Fingers running through luminescent white hair. A small, pale hand clasped in his, their fingers intertwined. A silhouette in a high school safe room, the human girl’s blonde hair visible in the low light.

No...she didn’t have blonde hair. And she wasn’t just a human girl. Not to him. She was...

“Addison?” He said in his zombie growl.

She gave him a wide, teary grin. “Yes,” she cried. “It’s Addison. And your my Zed. And I’m yours.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. And the two stayed there for a long moment, knowing that whatever comes next, no matter how difficult, they would get through it. Together.

Just like they always have.

[skiller0dani]

Briefly Lovers | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut | vampire au part 1 requested requests info wanna be on my Timmy taglist? click here sorry if it takes me a hot second to write your request, I’m kinda being flooded with them rn xx thanks for all the love and support guys!

It was harder than he was expecting, almost ten times harder than the last time he’d had to do this. Timothee had settled into his new life easily enough, it was always easy for him to assimilate, he’d sure done it enough times. This time he’d picked a house on the countryside of a small city he’d forgotten the name of. It reminded him of his own childhood home, though he could barely remember anymore. Those memories were locked somewhere deep in his mind, stored away in a lifetime from over 250 years ago. He was no longer that carefree child, throwing seed to the chickens. It doesn’t feel like him anymore, now he spent every waking hour resisting his blood lust and now trying to push you from his mind. His chest constricted just at the mere thought of you, and his heart seized if he heard your name fall off a strangers lips. Why did you have to have a name so commonly used? He heard it everywhere. On mens lips that didn’t deserve to say it. You awakened something from deep within his heart he had not yet mustered up the courage to face. It was raw, it was wild, it was passion, it was so painfully human. Something he had not been for longer than he could remember. 

He thought about returning to the man he used to be, to the prowling monster clinging to the darkness that loomed as the sun set. There certainly wasn’t a compelling reason to try to reclaim the man he used to be. Timothee never asked for this, he never asked to be turned. He would have rather been left to die in that hospital bed. Timothee knew she thought she was helping him, but dear Susanna was subjecting him to a lifetime of loneliness. All of that melted away when he was in your embrace, and he hated that he could still feel your nails dragging down his back. Your lips against his neck, your arms around him, the warmth you helped blossom in his chest. This sort of emotion was dangerous, it means that Timothee could start to care. The more he cared, the more he lost. Better to have nothing to lose, leaving your enemies with nothing to take away. So Timothee stayed holed up in his new home, far from other people. Far from you. 

If Timothee thought you’d let him go without a fight then he was sorely mistaken. While it was true that you didn’t know exactly how to find him, you were certain you could find a way to bring him to you. Now the plan you were beginning to concoct in your head was 7 flavors of crazy, but you’d fallen in love with a vampire. A vampire. You thought crazy was exactly you needed right now. If keeping you safe is what drove him away, then keeping you safe would also bring him back to you. Right? You chose not to question yourself or talk yourself out of what you were about to do. You couldn’t go another second without him, every time you close your eyes you see him. His messy chocolate curls that he managed to tame, those eyes that shined like emeralds, his smooth voice he could use to coax you to orgasm. A shudder ran down your spin upon remembering that wild night you shared, no barriers between your bodies. No hesitation, no sadness, just you and him. Your body craved for that again, and what scared you more was that your heart craved it too. 

This was crazy, it was beyond crazy. Mainly because of the fact that since Timothee up and left, your Dad has been borderline unhinged in his desperate search for him. He hadn’t even attempted to hide the truth of the situation from you or your sister, practically saying it plain. You had no idea how he was going to react to what you were about to say as you descended the stairs. All you knew was that you needed to draw Timothee out, you needed him. When you rounded the corner into the kitchen you saw your Dad where he usually was. Hunched over the counter, with maps and books sprawled out in front of him. “Still looking for the runaway neighbor?” You ask as you move to stand next to him. He groaned, his eyes looking tired but his expression tight and he could do nothing more but nod curtly. You nibbled on your lower lip, the anxiety in your gut beginning to take over as your blood practically curdled in your veins at the level your anxiety had risen to. You straightened your back and reached for the sleeve of your shirt, you’d been practicing this for quite sometime. You wanted it to look perfect, and more than that you wanted it to look convincing. 

“Dad I have something to tell you.” You began, effectively drawing his attention as you rolled up your sleeve. You had sculpted a convincing enough bite on your forearm, using the powers of horror movie makeup and a bottle of fake blood. Your Dad immediately grabbed your arm and yanked it over towards him, a rekindled flame of rage in his eyes. “Was it him?” He asks and your body trembles from the sheer intensity of his voice. You nod, your palms beginning to shake- this might not have been a very good idea. “He bit you?” Your Dad asks for further clarification, and by now it was unspoken between the two of you that you were aware of vampires. And that you were also aware that your neighbor is one. “Yes he bit me, he said he wanted me to be his forever...” You lied, turning your eyes to the tiles of your kitchen floor. Your Dad releases you before turning to a kitchen drawer, yanking it open and searching for something inside it. When he turns around, he’s jamming a needle into your neck. 

“Sorry sweetheart but when the blood lust takes over I won’t be able to trust you. Don’t worry- I’ll fix this.” He whispers as the world around you begins to blur. You reach out to grab him, but your movements are sluggish. His arms wrap around you to prevent you from falling as blackness spots at the corners of your eyes. He holds you to his chest when your body has slumped fully against him, and he lifts you into his arms before swiftly carrying you out to his van. He knew leaving the monster across the street unattended to would bite him in the ass, and it did. Except it bit his daughter, in the goddamn arm. Thankfully, as long as you haven’t drank human blood- there was still a way to fix this. The bite on your  arm looked pretty fresh, and your eyes hadn’t turned quite yet so he knows you haven’t had your first drink yet. As long as he can get a hold of Timothee, this can still be fixed. He just needs the blood of the vampire who bit you, and then this will all be over. If he couldn’t cure you, then he’ll do what needs to be done. By then, you won’t be his daughter anymore. Just another monster walking the Earth wearing his daughters face. 

The contacts your Dad knew spread their ivy vines, probing for information regarding the young handsome vampire who’d bitten his daughter. The drive to the warehouse just outside town was a longer drive then he’d anticipated but you couldn’t be around people. He should have driven a stake through Timothee’s chest when he first had the chance, it’s time to end this once and for all. Why did you never listen to him? He told you to stay away from Timothee and you disobeyed him, and now this is the position you’re in. His eyes flashed to you through the rear view mirror. Your arms are strapped to the wall of the van, and your ankles are held to the floor. Your head is slumped low and he can only hope you won’t wake before you arrive. When you arrived at the warehouse, you were still- thankfully, asleep. Your Dad lifted you into his arms and brought you to the warehouse, strapping you up inside it and placing a leather strap over your mouth. “We found him.” A man says approaching your Dad’s right side. Your Dad pulls out a Polaroid camera and snaps a photo of you, handing it to the man. “Give him this, and the address.” He instructs and the other man nods before taking the photo and heading for the exit of the warehouse.

Timothee sat near his fireplace, his stubborn mind once again drifting to you. For the first few weeks his thoughts were purely animalistic, thinking of bending you over the back of his couch. Or on your knees in front of him, dick in your mouth and tears down your cheeks. But now, he thinks of nothing but your smile, how radiant and full of life it is. He thinks of the way you say his name, so soft, so intense, it runs shivers down his back. He thinks of your fingertips trailing down his arms, holding him so tenderly that you almost convinced him that he deserves a happiness like that. Timothee understands a truth that you do not, he understands that monsters like him don’t deserve happiness like that. He didn’t want to sully your pure heart with the darkness looming in his soul. He leans back in his chair, beginning to be consumed by his thoughts when a pounding on his door draws his attention. Timothee is on his feet, slowly making his way towards his front door but when he swings it open there’s no one standing there. Out of the corner of his eye, something nailed to his door catches his attention. When he pulls the photo free, his entire world stops. It’s you, tied up and gagged but it’s what’s on your arm that constricts his heart the most. You were bit. At the bottom of the photo is an address written in sharpie, and he’s out the door. 

Your vision is bleary as you slowly open your eyes, flood lights pointed straight at you. The lights blind you, hurting your eyes as you struggle to adjust to it. Behind the lights you see a figure sitting in a chair and when you feel the leather binds holding you to the wall, and the one placed around your mouth you know you made a mistake. Your vision clear enough to see your Dad sitting and observing you carefully, a dangerously detached look in his eyes. “Soon this whole mess will be behind us sweetheart. Timothee is on his way, and as soon as he arrives I’m going to drive a stake through his heart and drain his body of every drop of blood in his veins.” He says smoothly and tears build in your eyes as panic rises in your chest. You begin to cry out against the leather strap, tears in your eyes as your desperate words come out muffled. You pull and yank your limbs against the restraints, your desperate cries ripping through your throat. Your Dad nods to someone to his left and soon the leather strap is removed from your mouth. You gasp for breath as you continue struggling against the straps. “Dad, please don’t hurt him! You don’t have to hurt him!” You beg, tears staining your cheeks. 

“I know he’s infected your heart, you think you care for him but it’s not real Y/N. He’s bitten you, all you feel is loyalty because his blood runs through your veins.” Your Dad explains in an even voice and you pull harder, the straps cutting into your wrists. “I love him! I’ve loved him since the first second I saw him. Please don’t hurt him please!” You plead, your eyes begging him as he stands and takes a few careful steps towards you. Your Dad kneels in front of you and brushes tears off your cheeks, “I’ll never see him again I promise. I’ll do whatever you ask but please don’t hurt him.” You cry, your voice hoarse as you look up at your Dad. He smiles, but the emotion doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks down at you. “This is not love, this is infatuation. Forced blood loyalty. That’s all it is, and once he’s dead you will be cured of the weakness in your heart.” He says softly, pressing a kiss to your head before securing the strap around your mouth again. You scream and try to bite at the leather strap as he turns and walks away. A flash of lights flood the room and a smile slides onto your Dad’s face as he reaches for a wooden stake. “He’s here.” Another man says and your panic sky rockets. You sob, pulling as hard as you can even though you know you’re breaking skin. 

Everything moves in slow motion as the door to the warehouse open and you’re trying to cry warnings to him through your muffled gag. When Timothee walks in, his eyes are on you before you see a stake driving through the middle of his chest. You scream, your eyes locked on him as you slump against your restrains- sobbing. Blood runs down the stake and wets his shirt as he looks at your father, and you can see the life leaving his eyes. Your Dad walks over to him, grabbing him by the neck before cutting his neck open and draining his blood into a bucket. You feel hollow as your eyes stay fixed on the cement floors of the warehouse, and you just feel numb. You close your eyes to will the tears to stop but they just keep coming. This isn’t real, this isn’t happening. Your Dad didn’t just kill Timothee right in front of you because you pretended to be bit. Oh God this whole thing is your fault, and you choke through your sobs. Suddenly you feel your arm and leg restrains being torn and when you look over, your heart stops. 

Timothee is crouched beside you, his eyes glancing towards your Father and the other men surrounding what you thought was him. When he pulls your mouth restraint off his palm is over your mouth, “shh.” He says and helps you silently stand. Your eyes stay trained on him, tears steadily flowing down your cheeks as you follow him through the building. You stay in the shadows, following his every step as his hand stays securely wrapped around yours. His eyes flicker to the bite on your arm and his heart breaks in his chest, he didn’t want this life for you. Your other hand holds his arm, still not fully believing that this is real, that he’s stood in front of you. Eventually you make it to a side door and slip out into the night where you can breathe as you take a step away from him. “I- I just watched my Dad kill you, how are you..?” Your voice trails off, your heart hammering against your chest as you reach for him. Your hands smooth down his chest and his arms are around your waist. “It’s called astral projection. Something Vampires can do. Not very often, but it’s a useful distraction.” He says, his voice hurried as he grabs your arm- observing the bite. 

“Who was it? Baby who bit you?” Timothee asks, his hands cradling your face as he looks into your eyes. There is panic in his eyes, and an immeasurable amount of fear behind them as he studies your face. “Nobody Tim-” You start but he shakes his head as his hands gently wipe away the drying tears. “I will find whoever did this and I will kill them. Have you drank from anybody yet? I promise baby, I’ll fix this.” He stammers, holding you tightly. You reach your hand towards your arm and begin lifting the makeup, effectively pulling the ‘bite’ off your arm. Timothee falters, his eyes studying your arm- no bite anywhere to be seen. “It’s make up Timothee. I just- I needed to see you badly and I didn’t know how else to draw you out...” You trail off and he releases you, taking a few steps away from you. There is an unreadable expression on his face as he looks at you, “are you insane? You could have gotten yourself killed! Jesus you could have gotten yourself killed Y/N.” Timothee gasps, running a hand through his curls. Your throat closes in embarrassment as you avoid his gaze. “What the hell were you thinking? Have you ever considered that maybe it’s better for you, if I’m not around? Look at what’s happened to your life since you met me!” Timothee says, his voice strained as he watches you. 

“I don’t care! I love you.” You exclaim, catching both him and you by surprise. Tears are pushing at the corners of your eyes again as you look up to meet his gaze. “I love you Timothee, I don’t care about how dangerous it is I just want to be with you. Please take me with you,” You plead as you take a slow step towards him. He looks up at you, his hands coming up to gently cradle your face again as he presses his forehead to yours. “You’d choose a life on the run, a life like this...for me?” Timothee asks as your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders. You nod immediately, “yes. I want to be with you.” You whisper, your hands holding him tightly. Timothee pressed his lips against yours, salty tears mixing in as tears rush down both of your cheeks. “I love you, are you sure this is what you want?” Timothee asks, his eyes searching yours as he looks at you. You smile as your fingers tangle in his hair, “I want this- I want you.” You breathe and his hand wraps around yours before pulling you away from the warehouse. 

When you arrive at his house, your back is immediately pressed against the wall as soon as the door closes. He grinds his hardening cock against you and you gasp. “Baby, if we do this there’s one condition.” He whispers in your ear, and you nod desperately wanting him to just keep kissing and touching you. “I’ll let you come with me, but I will never bite you. Ever.” Timothee says, his voice tight as he looks down at you. Your heart drops, the thought of spending forever with him is far too tempting to pass up. If he won’t bite you, you’ll just have to find another Vampire who will. “Fine.” You huff, your lips moving to find his again. Timothee hums, satisfied by your answer as his lips press to yours again. Your mouths move together, languid and slow as his hands reach up to pull your lips for firmly against his. You grind your hips against him, needing to soothe the throbbing between your legs. Timothee takes the hint and slides his hand down your front, under your jeans. His fingers find your slick lips and he smiles against you, “soaked already baby? You’re so ready for me aren’t you?” He asks, his voice low and you nod frantically. His fingers gently toy with your clit, moving too slowly for your liking as he lazily rolls circles over your bundle of nerves. Your hips roll with his movements as you whine against his lips. 

“Please Timmy, more.” You plead and you hear him groan under his breath as he takes his hand from your jeans. Before you can protest he’s lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist as his hands hold you up by your ass. Timothee walks you through the house before gently laying you back against his bed. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you baby,” Timothee whispers as his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans. He pulls your jeans down your legs, “couldn’t stop thinking about your perfect little pussy.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Timothee slides his hands up your bare legs, another groan escaping his mouth when he sees the black thong you’re wearing. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to be inside you, so warm and so goddamn wet.” He breathes, his voice husky as his pupils dilate as he looks at you. Timothee continues pressing kisses up your thigh, pressing one light kiss to your clit over the fabric of your thong before moving to kiss down your other leg. “Fuck,” You whine, your hips beginning to wriggle as the heat builds in your stomach. “But mostly, I couldn’t stop thinking about your smile, your laugh. Your beautiful eyes, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking much I missed you.” Timothee admits, his eyes looking vulnerable as he looks up at you. 

Finally his fingers pull your thong down and he groans loudly seeing your pussy glistening for him. “God, I missed you so much baby.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. He presses his tongue into you then, his fingers rubbing at your clit. Your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan falls from your lips. “Fuck baby,” You moan loudly, your fingers winding into his hair to pull him against you more firmly. Timothee continues to push his tongue into you, moaning softly at your taste. Your cries come out more strangled as he continues to wind that coil tighter in your stomach. His cock is pressed against his pants so hard it’s beginning to hurt. No matter how much he jerked himself off, he could never cum. Only you can make him cum. He replaces his fingers with his mouth over your clit as he slides 2 fingers into you. Timothee changes the frantic desperate pace he just had for a much slower one. He very gently and sensually pushes his fingers into you and draws them out slowly, causing you to whine as the pressure in your pelvis builds. “Please don’t stop, please please,” You plead, your voice almost coming out as a cry. Timothee doesn’t stop, he keeps his slow languid pace as he gently builds you up until you’re squeezing around his fingers. You cry out as you throw your head to the side, feeling your cum gush around his fingers. 

Your heart races and your eyes are closed when you feel Timothee slide up your body, his nose brushing against yours. You open your eyes and your arms wrap around his shoulders, “please baby. Make love to me.” You whisper against his lips and you feel him smile. His hands reach down to push his pants down his legs and off his ankles before he’s lining himself up at your entrance. You spread your thighs wider for him as he presses the head of his cock into you. Your face buries in his neck as Timothee gently slides into you, the warmth and tightness of your pussy overwhelming him as he releases a shaky breath. One of his hands cups your cheek and the other slides under your back as he slowly pulls out of you so that only the tip was inside you before pushing back in. The pace was slow, long deep strokes that reached places inside you that you didn’t know existed. Your legs open further for him as he continues so slowly thrust into you, and you feel the heat spreading through your veins like fire. “I love you.” You whisper into his neck and you feel goosebumps spread over his skin as a shiver runs down his back. “Say it again baby,” Timothee groans, his pace increasing a little as your orgasms approach. You look into his eyes, “I love you Timothee,” You say again and he drops his head to your chest- taking a nipple in his mouth. In an instant that coil snaps and you cry out, squeezing around him and effectively sending him over the edge. He cums into you as you cum around his cock. 

Both of your hearts are racing as he pulls out of you and lays beside you. Your breaths are heaving as he reaches over and pulls you into his chest. “I love you too baby.” Timothee says, his eyes closed as he squeezes you against him. You nuzzle against him, peppering soft kisses across his chest. “You’re not gonna leave again are you?” You ask as your eyes begin to droop and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Baby I promise I’ll still be right here when you wake up.” He promises and you relax completely against him, all anxiety leaving your body. You feel sleep beginning to take you as you cuddle into his side more. “I know you don’t want me to be turned, but I want to spend forever with you.” You breathe into the silence and you feel his body tense. Fear courses through him as he presses another soft kiss into your hair, “sleep my love. We can talk about this in the morning.” He says and you nod, finally letting sleep take you. 

***taglist*** @sflowervol6​ @90sthemedsunsets​ @newletas​

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XI

(Author’s Notes: Warning! Things will get slightly spicy in this section. No spicer than The Whispering Room scene (don’t get too excited), but it is definitely heating up. I missed writing the romance and I’m excited to be moving back into that-- even if it does end jarringly. Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely father’s day! Stay safe. Stay healthy! And thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this: please give it a like, reblog, comment, and hit follow for more updates. Next update will be here Sunday, 6/28)

All the other parts:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Part XI

Cordelia stood in the center of her room back at her home in London. The walls were still adorned with silver paper, decorated with old Persian artwork that her grandfather had painted himself and given to Sona to decorate their house with to remind her of home. The four poster bed was turned down; a thin white vail hung from each poster. The only light in the room came from the enchanting blue flames that burned in the grate; though, Cordelia could not feel the heat from it and she seemed to be deathly chilled.

She couldn’t recall how she’d arrived there. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember much of anything before and searching for the memories was like hitting a tall, very broad wall whenever she tried. She studied the books on the walls, drawing her index finger along the delicate gold letters stamped into the spines of the leather, but they were all written in a language she couldn’t understand. The letters were familiar, but rearranged and jumbled around.

“Daisy?”

Cordelia turned around and her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of James standing in the doorway. He was dressed casually in a white button up collar shirt, black trousers, and navy suspenders over each of his shoulders. The shirt hugged the shape of his arms as he clasped his hands behind his back. The twists of his willful dark curls were pushed back away from his face, but still fell carelessly around his ears and grazed his neck. He smiled at her intake of breath and took a step closer towards her.

“James,” Cordelia sighed and stepped towards him. “James, I’m afraid something terrible has happened. I can’t seem to remember how I got here.”

James reached up and brushed a curl that had fallen from her braid back behind her ear. His calloused fingers grazed around the shell of her ear and down her neck sending prickles across her skin. His eyes were nearly solid black with just a circle of gold around the blown iris.

Before she could say anything, James drew her against him. His cheek pressed against hers, the skin already burning where they were connected. His mouth was not gentle, it became possessive and devastating in a way that she had never been kissed before.

Cordelia reached out and slid her hands over his chest so she could feel the rhythm of his heart against her palms.

There was fire everywhere, because he was everywhere. His hands traced her skin, burning it. His lips tasted every inch of her face. The bookshelf slammed into her back, but there was no pain. She couldn’t feel anything beside the burning.

Her hands continued to knot in his hair, pulling him towards her as if there were any possible way for them to be closer. With his help, she wrapped her legs around his waist, the wall giving her the leverage that she needed. The sound of fabric ripping was vague in her mind as his tongue twisted with hers, and there was no part of her mind that was not invaded by the insane desire that possessed her.

He pulled his mouth free and pressed his lips to her ear. “Cordelia.” It was soft, barely a whisper. “You must come back to me. Allow me the chance to win your heart properly.”

Cordelia gasped, it’s yours.

She wasn’t sure if she just thought the words or if she had said them, but before she could, his mouth captured hers again.

Her hands fisted around the fabric of James’ t-shirt, yanking it up from the hem of his trousers. She could feel the muscles of his stomach under her palms, her hands crushed between them. James’ pulse jumped; his hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back so he could access the fragrant delicate skin of her neck.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue slid over the curve of her jaw.

Somewhere at the surface of her consciousness, she knew this wasn’t real. She knew it was only a memory. A way for her mind to torment her. Or maybe this was her judgement day; she was being forced to relive the most sinful moments of her past. If that were true, then the pleasure of the memory vastly outweighed the punishment.

He moved them away from the bookcase, half-carrying her, his mouth never leaving hers. He stumbled across the broad colorful rug, hands and lips frantic as he leaned over her on the bed. Cordelia arched upwards, her elbows supporting some of her weight, as James stepped away to shrug off his suspenders, letting them hang down from his hips.

When he came back to her, he picked up her bare foot and placed it on his shoulder, and began pressing light kisses to the inside of her smooth calf. Cordelia gasped, relishing in the new sensation and also terrified by it. Her empty hands clenched the thick down comforter as his lips traced a line up her inner thigh to her hip and continued over the fabric of her night dress.

All Cordelia could think to do was breath. Her mind felt cloudy as the heat and flames threatened to consume her to a point where it was almost painful. Beads of sweat formed along her brow and pooled in the dip at the base of her throat.

James continued to press sweet, delicate kisses up her stomach, over her breasts, and up her throat.

When he reached her ear, a voice that did not belong to James whispered into her ear. “It’s time to wake up, Miss Carstairs. There is still a need for you yet.”

Cordelia gasped and leaned away from James. His eyes remained wild and dark with desire but the color had changed to silver.

Cordelia screamed.

James grimaced at the sound of Cordelia’s screams coming from underneath the door. He’d been pacing the hallway for some time and was now standing outside the door with his forehead pressed against the cold wood listening to the blood curdling cries for help from the room inside. His hands tightened into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for the door handle again. He’d already failed several times and he didn’t want to risk Matthew and Thomas making good on their promise to tie him to a chair and lock him in there indefinitely.

“Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?” asked Matthew, who sat across from Thomas on the floor. “We should all be getting some rest. None of us had any sleep last night and I believe it’s beginning to impair our judgement.”

“Go get some sleep then,” said Thomas without looking up from the spot on the floor that has held his attention for the last fifteen minutes. “No one is stopping you.”

“Tell me again, Thomas,” said Matthew accusatoryly, “what are you doing here exactly? You’re not particularly close to either of the Carstairs and yet you look about as distraught as James.”

“I’m just tired,” said Thomas.

“Precisely why we should all go get some rest.” Matthew reiterated. “We can’t do anything standing out here with little to no sleep. I suggest a quick hour nap and we reconvene in the game room with some fresh pastries and tea.”

Both James and Thomas looked to Matthew. Before either of them could say anything, the door to the infirmary opened and Brother Zachariah nearly stepped into James.

“Matthew is right,” said Jem and placed a scarred hand on James’ shoulder. “You should get some rest. Cordelia and Alastair have a long and difficult road ahead of them. There is no saying how long it might be or when the tide might change.”

“She’s in pain,” said James, his voice broke on the last word. “What are they doing to her to make her sound like that? She sounds like she’s getting worse, not getting better.”

Jem hummed in James’ mind. “She fractured two of her ribs and punctured a lung that slowly filled with her own blood that was compromised with demon venom from the tail of Diggoron demon. We have no idea how long it has been in her system, but long enough for it to spread throughout her entire body and compromise her heart.” Jem cupped James’ face with a scarred hand. “James, it is time to start preparing yourself—“

“James?” said his mother’s voice from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to find her out of her night gown now and in a soft Oriental dress with her hair pinned back halfway. Her gloved hand held softly to Sona beside her. Their guest wore white as if she were already in mourning. The thought made James furious, but he put his head down and stepped out from in front of the door.

Sona held a handkerchief to her face. Her large round eyes, so similar to Cordelia’s, were rimmed with red. She clung to Tessa as if to keep herself straight and if she’d let go, she’d fall over instantly like a structure that has had its bottom half completely taken out from underneath it. She’d always reminded James somehow of a plastic bird, beautiful and elegant on the outside, but with even the slightest pressure she’d crumble apart. So unlike Cordelia, who appeared soft on the outside, but could withstand holding the weight of his sister for hours until help came. Who fought through the pain of a broken leg to help James escape his grandfather. Who stood up in front of their cohorts and peers and declared herself ruined to provide him with an albeit. She could not be easily crushed.

Tessa handed Sona to Jem who showed her inside. Before the door slid closed, James caught a quick glimpse of Cordelia’s hair spilling over the pillow: a shock of red against the white of the linens. Her face and body were hidden by Silent Brothers gathered around her.

“James,” said Tessa as she slid her hand over his shoulder. “Have you eaten anything? Have you had any rest?”

The door slid closed again just as Sona made it to Cordelia’s bedside.

“I’m not hungry,” said James and stepped out from underneath his mother’s hand to lean against the wall.

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

There was quiet and for a moment James thought that she had left which seemed so unlike his mother, but then her voice cut through the silence. “Matthew, Thomas,” she said gently, “why don’t you go to the kitchens and have some pork pies Bridget just made. I wish to speak with my son a moment.”

Matthew helped Thomas to his feet and the two left the hallway quietly.

Tessa came to lean against the wall beside her son.  It had never bothered James that his mother was perpetually stuck in a certain state that made them appear almost the same age, except for the intelligence behind her gray eyes that showed to the strength of her character. Her hair retained a youthful spring as it threatened to escape from its carefully pinned rolls. Her skin remained flawless without any threat of cracking. For a while, Tessa tried to dress in a manner that she felt made her look older. She went to beauty shops and allowed the artists to paint her face in makeup to appear more aged, and no one said anything to her, because she thought that it made her somehow ‘fit in’ with the other mothers that had been touched by time. The truth was that James had always thought his mother was the most beautiful first thing in the morning. When her hair would spill down her back and her face pale and not yet painted. When she would smother Lucie and him with kisses without fear of smudging their face with lipstick.

One day, not too long ago, she threw out all of her makeup and changed her wardrobe to dresses that she liked. James wasn’t sure what had changed and he never asked, but he was grateful. Even if the snide remarks returned about his mother's appearance from his peers around him. He’d fight anyone that turned a bad word against his mother. She’d never say if someone offended her; she’d barely bat an eye, but James would fill the Thames with anyone who tried.

“I know you must feel as if this is all my fault,” she said. “Most children hate their parents for normal reasons: they are too strict, they’re controlling or absent, they won’t buy the latest things. To add to all of those things, you and Lucie must resent us terribly for having children knowing that I am the child of a monster.”

“Mam,” James reached out and took her hand. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t resent you or Da. You are not Belial. Believe me, you are the farthest thing from him. The only ones that I blame for what happened to Cordelia and Alastair is Belial and myself.”

“You?” Tessa tightened her grip on James’ hand. “What did you do?

James felt the quickening in his chest as the memory of Cordelia standing at the top of the stairs outside of Grace’s bedroom. The way the tears fell from her eyes when she told him how he’d broken a promise to her. A promise he’d intended to keep.

He knew almost immediately what his mother would say if he were to tell her what he had done to make Cordelia flee from the Institute that night. He knew that she’d try to console him by telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He was under the bracelet’s curse. He had nothing to feel guilty about. And she would be right.

But he didn’t want to feel better. He didn’t want to be absolved of his guilt just yet. Because his guilt fueled his anger and his will for Cordelia to live, so that when she did wake up, he could beg her for forgiveness. He could make her see that he wasn’t entirely himself that night.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was also a level of shame.

So he lied. “I should have gotten to her sooner. I should have been the one to go into the shadow realm, not Lucie. I should have killed Belial when I had the chance. I won’t fail next time.”

Tessa took a deep breath through her nose. “I’ll tell you what I told your sister. I don’t want you children involved in this anymore. Your father and I will manage it from here. We will conduct a search and find Belial. It is our responsibility, our burden, not yours.”

And as terribly as he wanted to give into the small child within himself and allow his parents to take the anxiety away from him, he knew that he could not. Belial wanted a fight. James would bring him a fight, but this time he’d be prepared to end it.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

and I cough up my lungs (but I leave in my heart)

Summary: Adaine rolls a nat one on her panic attack check after Aelwyn hits her with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter in episode one. Title from Organs by Of Monsters and Men. 

Something changes when Aelwyn redirects her sister’s spell back at her. She doesn't know exactly what yet.

Something changes after Aelwyn throws Adaine’s Tasha’s Hideous Laughter back at her. Adaine doubles over, howling with mirth. Aelwyn’s lips tug up into a smug smirk. She’s about to lord it over her sister, about to talk about irony and good spellcasting and why she’s the only sister who can hold up the family name. Adaine raises her head, though, and the words die in her throat because--because Adaine is crying. 

“A--Adaine?” She forces out through suddenly numb lips. “Sister?”

Sure, crying doesn’t amount to much since Tasha’s Hideous Laughter is uncontrollable for a reason. But her sister’s eyes are darting around--looking for an exit, Aelwyn’s mind supplies--and her pupils contract to pinpoints, the white showing all the way around. There’s sweat beading on her forehead. Her hands are trembling, grasping around air. 

She’s seen her sister have panic attacks before. She’s never been the reason, though. 

“Adaine, really, this display is very gauche.” Aelwyn says, groping for levity. She drops the spell with a twitch of her fingertips, the old, familiar sting of guilt snaking up her spine. Adaine will be fine now. The spell is over. She’s fine. “I simply must ask you to stop.”

“Hah--hah--” Adaine gasps. She tries to take in a great breath as the spell fades, but her chest hitches violently and she clutches at her blazer with both hands, gagging. Her shoulders hunch up around her ears and she half turns from Aelwyn, looking ready to fall. She inhales again but can’t seem to force any air past the back of her throat; Aelwyn watches the tendons in her neck begin to stand out as she struggles. She’s trembling harder now, like a leaf in a gale of wind and Aelwyn--doesn’t know what to do. “Ah--I--”

This isn’t going to plan. She’s supposed to be convincing Adaine to steal the book from Aguefort’s restricted section. She’s supposed to be making sure she’ll take the next step on her way to being the elven oracle. Adaine isn’t supposed to be having trouble breathing. 

“I--I can’t--” Adaine forces out, just to make Aelwyn’s life all the harder. “I--can’t--breathe.”

She’s curling in on herself, shaking so hard it’s almost like she’s having a seizure, like she’s convulsing. Panic attacks aren’t usually like this, are they? Adaine usually just looks pale and upset, breathing hard but not like she’s going to hyperventilate her way to unconsciousness. Hell, their mother had sent her into a second attack right after she failed the entrance exam and she hadn’t been this bad. Exhausted and frail looking--she’s so small, Aelwyn thinks, and tears at herself for it--but not like this. 

It must be the spell then. But Aelwyn got rid of it! This shouldn’t--this couldn’t be--but Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, taking away Adaine’s ability to breathe after their father’s treatment and on the first day of school? It’s enough to make even Aelwyn’s breath short. It’s no small wonder it's taken Adaine this long to snap. 

“I--” She stops. Vitriol is always easier to access these days. It has been for a long time. But Adaine is curling in on herself and, against her better judgement, abjuration magic curls at Aelwyn’s fingertips. Instinctively she glances around, searching for something, anything, some outside danger she can hex into oblivion to get rid of this feeling. She has to make this better.

You did this, you did this to her, whispers Aelwyn’s mind. She snarls and steps forward. When she raises her hands, Adaine flinches slightly and Aelwyn’s stomach drops to the soles of her feet. Why--

She’s never seen their parents strike her sister. She’s made herself watch what they have done to her, guilt not letting her turn away. It’s all the penance she can offer--but she’s never seen anything physical. She would know. She would know.

She tells herself it’s just the fear that comes with the attacks and slows her approach. 

“Adaine? Adaine, It’s me. It’s your sister, Aelwyn. You’re having a panic attack.” The words feel clunky, too heavy and strange on her tongue. She knows she’s having a panic attack, you dolt. Obvious, much? “You’re having a panic attack, okay? But it’s okay, you’re alright. You--”

You’re the elven oracle, you’re the strongest wizard I know, you’re going to save the world some day, I can tell. You’re my sister and I never saved you when I should have and now I’m going to throw everything we ever could have had away because Mother and Father say I have to. I learned abjuration magic for you. I love you. 

“You’re alright.” She finishes lamely. “I’m--I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” Not yet. Her stomach curdles, acid rising in her throat. She swallows it down. 

Adaine gasps again, but she’s not curled so tightly into herself anymore. Her chest heaves as she raises her head, wide eyes searching Aelwyn’s face. She struggles not to smooth her expression on reflex. It’s a weird feeling to let her worry crease her brow naturally.  “Wh--what?”

“I’m right here,” Aelwyn repeats. She feels stupid and bumbling and useless. She raises her hands just a hair. “I’m going to touch you now. I--I should guide your breathing. It will help the attack pass. You can follow me.”

Adaine is still skittish, looking ready to bolt at the first wrong move. Aelwyn telegraphs her movements as much as she can and manages to lay one hand lightly on her sister’s shoulder. She guides her sister’s hand to her own chest and lays it over her heartbeat. She mirrors this with her other hand, feels Adaine’s heartbeat fluttering wildly under her palm. Aelwyn suppresses a wince. She hopes her own heart is holding steady. It doesn’t feel like it. “Listen. You need to breathe normally, Adaine. I heard those videos you looked up--you’ve got breathing exercises, yes?”

Even if she doesn’t know any, Aelwyn does. Aelwyn spent four hours looking them up after Adaine’s first panic attack. She’s had them memorized for years. 

Adaine nods jerkily and Aelwyn makes herself nod back. Her mouth is filled with cotton. Her ears are ringing. She takes a deep, deep breath, exaggerates as much as she can, and begins to count. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. After a few moments, it starts to calm even her, and Aelwyn’s eyes become half-lidded. The process is hypnotic and she breathes deliberately rhythmically, trying to push her calm into her sister through touch contact alone. Is there magic for situations like this? She’ll have to learn it if there is.

“Come along now, sister,” she murmurs on her fourth exhale. “Come along.”

Adaine’s ribs aren’t hitching anymore by the sixth exhale. By the eighth, her shoulders are relaxing. By the ninth, her pupils have expanded again and she’s not clutching at her blazer’s collar like it’s choking her. By the tenth round, she pulls away.

The sense of loss Aelwyn feels is idiotic, and so she chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks,” her sister whispers. Aelwyn feels her walls crumble just a bit more and has to bite her lip against the rush of emotions it brings. “Even--I mean, you're the reason it started but. You didn’t mean to, so. Thanks.”

At least Adaine feels as awkward as she does. Aelwyn nods stiffly and adjusts her own uniform. Her pride is in tatters but she clings to the scraps. She has work to get done. A sister to manipulate. A dragon to trick. Parents to impress.

Adaine turns her face away and Aelwyn knows she’s trying to wipe her tears away surreptitiously. She sees anyway. There’s a lump in her throat. Even as she lets the words flow from her mouth, as she draws Adaine into the web Goldenhoard and their parents have weaved around her all summer, Aelwyn feels the phantom beat of her sister’s heart under her fingers. She mentions the book and almost tells Adaine to keep it for herself. As Adaine turns her back and marches away, something broken and cold and long dead in Aelwyn’s chest perks its head up and watches her sister leave with--dare she say it--a warm protective feeling growing inside. 

Something changes when Aelwyn redirects her sister’s spell back at her. She doesn't know exactly what yet.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1062]

"Did you think it would be easy?” Mahanon pauses and corrects himself. "Did you think she would be easy?”

Bull doesn’t need Mahanon to clarify what he means.

Loving Ellana isn’t easy. It seems easy in the way that a rip tide seems calm. If you aren’t vigilant, if you aren’t careful, if you aren't constantly looking out for it and monitoring yourself, you’ll be caught. And if you're caught you’ll drown. You’ll drown looking at the shore, wondering where you went wrong and why you didn’t notice until it was too late.

It seems easy and painless and the most natural thing in the world. Ellana doesn’t ask for anything you can’t give. And when she asks it feels like the most natural thing in the world to respond, yes, anything.

Until now it had been harmless things.

Well. In context.

In context of this -- everything she had ever asked of him before can be considered harmless. Nothing at all. She might as well have asked him for air to breathe or sun to stand in. Compared to this?

Bull has had the privilege of knowing Ellana Lavellan for a few short years. And the honor of loving her even less than that.

He wonders what Ellana’s love has taken out of Mahanon. Does he feel as hollow and untethered as Bull does without it?

Only a few years of having it and Bull feels drained and empty. An entire lifetime without it stretches ahead of him.

It seems very dramatic for him to be so deeply effected by one person’s death. How many people has he loved and lost forever? How many people has he loved and called kadan died? How many did he strike down himself? How many did he willingly surrender? How many simply walked away?

He is stone. He is marble. He is statue made flesh made mountain made man. He should be used to this sort of loss. He should know how to anticipate the curdling of his guts and the cold ice-water dread that fills the spine. He should know how to take a hit like this.

It is an understatement to say that it hurts.

Hurt is not a word capable of encompassing the future stretching indolently ahead of him, mocking him with uncaring eyes and indifferent fingers.

“Did you think it would ever be this hard?” Bull asks, forcing his throat to become flesh instead of the unyielding stone it wants to be. Doesn’t he owe Mahanon this much?

They air of the cellar is cold and damp. The lights of the candles bring no warmth. Gold turns to rust.

Bull wants his mind to trick him into thinking that the white shroud is moving, that underneath it there is a body that draws breath. A body that contains a soul. A body that contains, specifically, the soul of Ellana Lavellan.

But that is already gone. All that survives of her is memory. His, Mahanon’s — the rest of her friends and family. The people she’s helped save. The people she’s helped ruin.

Ellana Lavellan no longer exists in this world except as scraps and strands of memory. Tinted and dyed by bias and the wear of time.

He turns his eye to Mahanon, a living record of his sister. The closest Bull will ever find to the record that exists within himself.

Bull wants to ask him —

Would he forgive Solas this?

It was what Ellana had wanted before. What she had asked. And it seemed like such a tall order. Such an incredible thing to ask for.

If they had given into her then, even if it was just the two of them who could do nothing by themselves, would it have changed anything?

Or would her body still be lying on this stone table before them, waiting for burial?

Bull wants to ask, but cannot.

Mahanon would turn the words back onto him and ask it. And Bull would be ashamed to admit his answer —

Yes. He would forgive Solas if it meant Ellana would not be dead right now. He would forgive Solas and clasp his arm and welcome him into his life. If that was what it would take to keep Ellana in this world, he would do it. He would hate it. He would be furious with himself and seethe and probably resent both Solas and Ellana a little. But ultimately he would swallow his pride and his anger and he would do it.

It’s such a fucking humiliating thing to admit. How weak he is. How vulnerable.

What stupid, stupid things he would do and what foolish depths he would sink to in order to keep Ellana Lavellan alive — too late.

Now, though?

Even if Ellana were to suddenly sit up and breathe and look him in the eye — sitting right there wrapped in her burial shroud — and ask him —

Do you forgive him for this?

He would say no. He cannot.

Even if it would bring Ellana back. The damage has been done.

Bull could never forgive this.

And —

He doesn’t know if he could ever forgive Ellana for this, either. It is improper to blame the deceased, the murdered, for being murdered. The guilt lies with the one who did the killing.

But —

Fuck. It could have been prevented. It could have been avoided.

Ellana didn’t have to —

Bull closes his eye. He has the rest of his life to think about what Ellana could have done, should have done. He has the rest of his damned life ahead of him to try and puzzle out the thoughts of a dead woman.

But he only has these few moments with her brother in front of him, and her body between them.

He shouldn’t spoil this. The anger and the frustration and the guilt and the shame — all of that can be unpacked later. When the wound isn’t so fresh.

“Every time I think she can’t become more difficult,” Mahanon says slowly, speaking as if his mouth was full of blood that he desperately doesn’t want to spill, “She has to pull the rug out from under me and shatter the ceiling. And some part of me thinks — well. Now that she’s dead there can no longer be any more surprises, can there? Is that a cruel thing to think, the Iron Bull?”

Bull traces the shadows that hint at what was once Ellana’s face, created by the dim candle light and the drape of cloth.

“Take the relief where you can,” Bull replies. “It’s the least you can do.”

[highdollarroller]

Welcome Back

INVOLVED: Roller Husser, Jennifer Husser, Desna Simms, Polly Marks, & Annalise Zayas  LOCATION: D & D Salon; Sarasota, Florida TIME FRAME: - NOTES: Roller comes back to town, scoping out the business nearby the clinic and inadvertently Polly is arrested during his visit.

Roller stepped foot in D & D Nail Salon, which subsequently sat in the same plaza as Suncoast Clinic. He walked into the salon much like he owned it taking a look around at the staff, whistling softly at them. “Who open for a manicure?” he asked them as he stood in the doorway. 

Jennifer looked up hearing the chime of the door and she smirked seeing her brother-in-law stroll in. She got up from her chair chuckling lightly at the man and said “this is Bryce’s brother” hugging him gently to her side. “What are you doin’ here?” she asked amused. “When did you get back from Tallahassee?” 

Polly turned and smirked as a well muscled man entered the salon. “Well… well, we're all open sugar." She commented, the southern charmer accent strong in the red headed woman.  Eyes rolling over the man, she laid her hand on the flat of her check swishing her hips softly to invisible music. She moved forward and offered the not so unfamiliar stranger the back of her hand.  "I'm Polly. Enchanté." She said, dropping into the perfect curtsey. 

Desna chuckled as she  held her hair back away from her chest, allowing Quiet Ann to spritz her liberally with water. Her  laughter melted into a puddle, the moment the mini giant walked in.   Posing ass youngsters, she thought rolling her eyes. There was nothing worse than a white boy who had aspirations of being a rapper. Eh. Rolling back into an upright position,  her back arched. Oh lord, she thought picking up a towel. It was worse than she thought. He was a Husser. 

Quiet Ann lowered the spray bottle, slowly her lip curdling into a perfect scowl. She sized the newcomer up, Versace down. Gym rat. Cock sure. HUSSIER. Je vais devoir tirer sur ce gars dans les couilles. She thought moving back to her station. 

“Just got back in town” Roller said, paying Jenn no real attention as he eyed the thick framed woman picking up a towel before him. He walked forward a bit and licked his lips “you gon’ take care of me baby?” He asked the chocolate skinned woman, smirking all the while. 

Desna patted her neck then dabbed down deliberately across her chest before drying her hands with the towel. "Sure my station is right here." She said using the towel to point toward her spot.  She tossed the towel in the cleaning bag and swayed over to take her seat. 

“Uncle daddy got you working at that clinic already?” Jennifer asked Roller, moving to follow up behind him as he sat down at Desna’s station. 

Roller licked his lips slowly as he moved towards the woman’s station. Hearing his sister-in-law he looked back at her as he pulled his pants leg up a bit and sat down in the chair. “Yeah, he needed someone with my talents to run the business” he said smoothly. He turned to the pretty chocolate thing in front of him and smirked “y’all take cash or credit?” He asked her.

Desna hummed, taking the younger man's hand in her's. She ran her hand over his knuckles, the feel of them confirmed his Hussier lineage. While the massage of his palm proved more unclear. Smooth yet calloused. She grabbed the file, surveying him at his comment. Credit card this nigga was fresh out the joint… "We prefer cash and avoiding felonies".

Smirking lightly Jennifer walked past the two and said “this is Desna” gesturing the woman, as she looked at Roller. 

Roller smirked a little and said “all right Desna” in a calm tone. “Mind if I call you D?” He asked her curiously.

Desna raised her eyebrows. Holding his hand in her's. "Honey, you can call me whatever you want. As long as you tip big" she said with a roll of her neck. "Okay.." 

Polly snapped her finger, "oka_ah!" She said rolling her tongue. 

Jennifer chimed with a “okay” back to Desna as she sat in her station cleaning up the space. 

Roller looked at Desna and then to the other women behind her chiming in. “Shh shh” he said slyly, telling the other women to shut up. “A lady ‘bout her paper” he said looking back down at Desna “I like that”.

Desna rolled her eyes, lips twisted into a pout. She smooth the file over his fingernails filing them down. "So." She said glancing up at the man. "What were  you doing in Tallahassee? Is that where you're from?"

Roller watched the woman file his nails before he looked at her. “Self evaluating” he replied back to her slyly. “9 months of self evaluation and isolation” he said, looking up at Jennifer. “It was therapeutic.”

Jennifer looked at Roller and chuckled “is that what y’all do in the pen?” She asked him, giving him a knowing look as she moved to place various bottles of nail polish back where they belong. 

Desna slowed listening then stopped her filing, cackling with amusement.  Her chest rose and fell "Is that so?" She said, catching her breath. "Boy you play three much." 

Roller eyes snapped towards Jennifer “aye, chill” he said to her knowingly. She was telling too much of his business to the streets right now. He looked over at Desna “a smile” he commented. “This is light work, I usually play harder on dates.”

Desna pursed her lips.  "On a date?" She resumed her filing, finishing his thumb she places his hand in the soaking bowl. "I thought you were on an isolated retreat." she said sticking out her tongue. Chucking as she started, his other had. 

“Was” Roller reminded her “my mind was freed” he told her so “so it’s open to wander” he explained as his eyes rolled over her mounds and curves again. He sat up a bit checking her out on the other side before he looked back down at her work. 

Desna nodded her understanding, moving to pick up the cuticle pusher.  She laid his hand in the bowl, then retrieved the one that had been soaking.  “So you out here wildin now. Already a working Hussier and living your best life. This explains the party Uncle daddy is throwing tonight.” She said, shaking her ass in the seat.  “After the morning I’ve had I can wait.” 

Polly moved over to her chair bumping Desna’s shoulder with a bony hip. “Ohhh… I wasn’t sure you were going to go sugar.  But I have this new dress from Vera Wang.  I’ve been dying to wear.” He squealed both hands going to her chest. 

Roller chuckled “I’m pretty tamed actually” he corrected her, lying through his teeth. “Oh you gone come and shake yo thing huh?” He asked her with a smirk. “Good,” he said with a deep voice. As Polly moved over he looked up at her with a smirk on his face, Vera Wang, sure.

Jennifer chuckled as she moved around the salon freely. Shaking her head a little at Polly’s comment. 

Desna stilled her hand, and tried to keep the bitch please look off her face. “I can’t wait to see you wearing either poly bird. Or shaking it, girl.” She said swatting the woman on the side.   Head shaking she went back to work on the younger man’s hands.  “Tame as a barracuda I bet.” Desna quipped, pushing back the cuticles on his ring.  The deep rumble of his voice, viberated up through his large hands. Desna thought again how laughable the word tame was in reference to the grown boy in front of her. Giggling, swirling her more than ample hips in the chair again. “I’mma do a little something… something.” She winked.  “And if it's an open bar we might teach the dancers a thing or three.”

Polly smiled warmly down at Desna.  With a look of shock, “You know Vera Wang?” She asked Roller, with a smile.  “A man of many interests, I see.” She said moving over to speak with Quiet Ann. 

“I should be asking you that Polly” Roller replied back to her, licking his lips slowly. At her comment he dipped his head hiding his dimples and amusement before he leaned his head back up, playing it cool. He nodded his head slowly. “We will see,” he said to her. 

Polly laughed, “Roller…”  She said exhaudrating his name.  “It's a  fashion designer, silly.” 

Desna moved on to trimming his nails.  She laid his hand out in front of her, and dug around in the alcohol solution for the clippers. “Love and Hate” she read from off the knuckles of his fingers.  “Which one hits harder?” She asked, drawing up his right hand to begin the trim. 

Laying his hand out for her he smirked at Polly nodding his head, duh bitch, swirling in Roller’s mind. Looking back at Desna he looked at his knuckles “about the same” he said easily “especially these days” he replied. 

“He has a mean right hook” Jennifer tossed out, as she began to file her own nails gently looking them over. 

“Mhm” Desna hummed, doubting with her entire soul this man loved anything but himself.  At Jenn’s comment, her head swiveled in her direction and rolled her eyes so hard the socket of her eyes hurt. “Shut up!” She said, before laughing loudly again. “No, no now every tattoo has a story.  So..”  she said, eyeing her new client, “Was there a reason for these?” She asked,  tracing his tattoos with her nails.

Roller looked at Jenn, looking around Desna then back at the woman. “Um” he said, moving his shoulders from side to side before he said “the two things that drive and divide the world” he shrugged. “Doesn’t need an explanation honestly. Whose Dean?” He asked looking into her eyes. 

Desna clipped his thumb and pointer finger then paused to listen to his explanation. “Untrue. It does need an explanation. Unless your dumb ass that just likes have random shit drawn into your skin” she levied a searching look, then smiled sweetly.  “But there is some depth to your reason.  You’re not lying  But -For a Hussier - I would have thought you would have put love and money. If that’s not Uncle Daddies montra it should be.” She went back to work snipping down the rest of his nails. “Dean is the love of my life.” She said with a moment of hesitation. 

Roller listened to the woman as she spoke and he continued to watch her face as well. “Money is good, yeah” he agreed, leaving off his other thoughts about the topic. “I ain’t uncle daddy” he clarified with her simply. “Lucky dude, Dean,” he said, eyeing her tattoo. “Must be a cool dude, you done tattooed his name and shit” he breathed. 

“Preach!” Desna chanted, “Give me enough cash and at this point I can buy love” She laughed. “No,” She said, squinting at the man as she moved to his other hand. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. And like you and I both know.  Money is important. Getting it and keeping it.” As the words came from her mouth, Polly said the words allowed while Quiet Ann mouth along. “I should hope he knows so.” Desna went on after a moment. “Literally the best man I’ve ever known. Second to none.  Giving, takes care of me, and has always been my biggest supporter.” 

Jennifer looked to Quiet-Ann and Polly, smirking a little at the thought of Dean. Over the years he’d managed to become someone special to all of them actually. 

Roller nodded his head at her “it’s cool” he said ignoring everything else she’d said “yeah keeping it can be a bitch and a half, I guess that’s why people shouldn’t bank so much on it” he said. As she explained to him who Dean is he nodded slowly at her “hope he stays that way” he said sensibly. 

“Touche’” Desna said, with a heavy and sober sigh . His words were a fever dream of the rich. “And easier said than done for most of us.”  She said honestly, picking up the file again she evened out her tips, “He has been that way for the better part of 20 years. I should be safe.”  

“Twenty-Years?” Roller questioned “marry that bitch” he replied simply. “Fuck y’all waitin’ on, God to return?” he asked her. 

Desna burst out laughing. "Sir, who says I'm not married? She said side-eying him.  "No. Dean is my brother. D and D in the shop name stands for us. Desna and Dean."  

Roller jerked his neck “your brother” he repeated “oh I see” he said nodding his head. “Dean is your brother…” he said again. “So I guess you not married” he said. 

"Not yet. I don't have time for a husband." Desna said, reviewing her handy work.  "Did you want a clear top coat?"

Roller nodded his head at her and said “is the work complete without it?” 

Desna placed oil in the palm of her hand and began to massage the man's arms.  She needed his forearms lightly, reading the word as she went. "Nope." She said, shaking her head.  "Carpe DIEM? What does that mean?" 

At her question Roller looked at the tattoo and then to her “seize the day” he said to her, giving her it’s simplest meaning. His phone buzzed and he looked down before he looked back up at her. 

Desna reapplied oil to her hands and nodded "okay" She thought, moving over to his free hand. "I like that…" she finished then laid his hand down  and used a cotton ball to go over his fingernails. picking up the bottle of clear top coat she knocked in the palm of her hand before twisting the top off the bottles.

“Oh yeah” Roller said to her as he looked around the place, it wasn’t bad but it could have been better. “You the boss huh?” he asked her. 

Desna started with his pinky and lovingly began to apply an even coat of polish. She glared up and looked around the shop and the women in it, before going back to her labors. "Yes sir." She sang with a proud smirk. "It's our place.  But yes, I'm the boss." 

Roller around again nodding his head at her as she explained that she in fact owns the stop and that the other women worked for her. Just taking note of that in his own head. 

Desna worked in silence for a while. Taking care not to get polish on the flesh around his fingertip. "Would you like a pedicure as well."  

“Why not” Roller said to her simply “you kinda good with your hands” he complimented. 

Desna grimaced, rolling her eyes.   "Mhm" she mouthed, finishing his nails. "Quiet Ann, would you set him up for me?"  

Roller looked over at the dyke and he tilted his head, looking back at Desna. He pursed his lips however, it would do he guessed. 

Quiet Ann flexed her chin towards Desna acknowledging her request.  She rose to her feet, returning Roller’s gaze. Trouble. Was written all over this Eminem what to be. The quicker he was out the shop the more comfortable she would be.  Ann unshouldered the bat,  resting it by door, then cracked her knuckles. She moved to the pedicure chair, turning on the tap. She would normally do the pedicures herself, but look at the undercarriage of a set of balls wasn’t on her to do list for the day.  She let the water run over her hands, checking the temperature, then smirked as she threw in two over large handfuls of tavender scented water softener.  Hell, he might actually like. 

“Desna.” Polly sung, a wide smirk on her face, she rubbed her hands together. “I have got something for you. I picked up last night. I saw it and it had your name written all over it” 

Desna rose from her station, smoother her hands over her waist, beaconing Roller to follow her over to the pedicure station. She swayed across to the bowl, bending to check the temperature herself. “I hope you like it hot?” She threw back at the man, but for turning to face Polly. “Polly, I don't need anything -” She said matter of fact knowing the wicked ways of her friend. “What do you mean it had my name written on it? They haven’t started making Desna dollars yet?”

“Desna Dollar, Sug. That will be the day. No.. It’s an air conditioner for Dean.” She giggled. 

“Oh…” Desna said voice lighting, she moved to Roller’s side to help him remove his shoes. She went down easily in the stilettos, she wore, undoing his laces.  “Thank you Polly. Do I even want to ask where you found it?” 

Roller followed behind the thicker framed woman, watching her as she assisted in preparation of his pedicure. He looked at the woman who was assigned the job again before he stroked his beard and looked towards the owner and the redhead. As she moved to unlace his shoes he lowered himself in the chair stretching his long legs. 

“It just happened to be a gift from one of the seniors I work with.” Polly rang her hands together, eyes shift noticeably under Desna’s questions.    

Desna removed the man’s shoe and sock. The cupped the foot in her hand, rubbing over it lightly then, worked his pant leg up over his well formed calves. She had to give it to the boy. He worked out.  Lowering his foot in the water, she chuckled darkly, pivoting on her heels, she glanced over at Polly.  “I had it right.  I don’t want to know.” She interjected, cutting off any further explanation. “Thank you, Polly. Dean will love it. You know how hot his room gets at night.”  “Be careful your nails are still wet.” She chastised, returning her attention to her client, She patted the side of his leg softly, then repeated the process of removing his foot wear and added his other leg to the water. She went back up to a standing position easily, “Shit Polly, you know I have to pick up my car. Where is the air conditioner? Did you need me to pick it up?” She adjusted the arm of Roller’s chair, laying his arms on the rest, as she inspected his fingers, “massage?” She asked the over-sized man satisfied he hand messed his nails. 

Roller watched the attentive way the woman removed his shoes and rolled up his pants and he smirked to himself. He only looked up to Polly when he really started to overhear the conversation they were having with one another. He looked around slowly before he looked back at Polly amused. When Desna asked him if he wanted a massage he said “why not” easily. 

Polly swatted her hand dismissively at Desna.  “Sug.  I’ll keep at my house until you can get by. “By the way… how much you think it’s going to cost to get your car running- ”

Desna smirked, pushing the buttons of the massage chair the man was seated in.  “The magic finger will take good care of you.” The chair came to life, the mechanisms behind the leather cover, moving up the man’s back.  “No-” Desna turned, snapping her sharpened manicured nails at her longtime friend.  she turned and snapped her perfectly sculpted nails, “No- Not today, yesterday or tomorrow.  You want to help me Pual?  Let’s see how we can get more but in these empty seats.” 

Roller smirked at the woman lightly, offering her a head nod as the seat began to do its job. He began to relax a little more as he looked down at the one they called Quiet Ann. He looked back up at the other women as they spoke, intensely listening. 

Jennifer looked between Polly and Desna, shaking her head a bit as she stood upright from her chair, sitting her nail file down against her station. “Come over here” she said, gesturing the women towards the office, before ushering them towards it. 

Quiet Ann eyes widened with an innocent that seemed real enough to the untrained eye. "What?" She asked a dainty run towards the private office entrances. 

Desna rolled her eyes and sighed as Jenn stepped in to meditate.  She moved over to her station grabbing her bag before swaying into the close space of intersacom.  "Jenn what was all that about?" She asked, dropping her bag by the corner of her desk.  She picked up the huge pile of past due stamped bills. She riffled through the mail playing her favorite game of who gets paid this week. Settling on the light bill, she dropped the rest and slid into her office chair. 

“We can’t get people in chairs because of conversations like that” Jennifer said to the two women as she sat down in a chair looking out at the nearly empty establishment. She looked at her brother-in-law and said “besides, I really wanted to say that Roller” she smirked looking at Desna then back at her brother-in-law “sees something he wants…” 

Quiet Ann entered the office. The insistent ushering hadn’t included her directly but when did it ever.  She closed the door to the room, with a firm push, then moved over to the blinds, raising them up to better keep an eye on the salon floor.  The best idea she ever had.  The one way glass let them see out while keeping prying eyes at bay. She thought folding her arms over her chest, she kept her eyes firmly planted on Roller. 

Desna cackled, clucking her tongue.  “Please- that is a lie from the pits of hell.  Most of these heffas love some good gossip.”  She said, opening the check book on her desk. She wrote of the check, pausing over the date line as she contemplated putting the wrong date on the check on purpose. She felt more than saw Jenn looking towards her, she pursed her lips and mumbled, “A mix tape…”  

Polly moved over to stand beside Quiet Ann. Surveying the new addition to the strip mall.  “Mhm..” She said with a sly smirk, agreeing with Jenn.  “He’s a big boy Desna… A real big boy.”

Jennifer looked at Polly and chuckled “mhm, a real big boy” she replied back to her. “And I am not even going to comment back to that mixtape jab” she said pointing a perfectly manicured nail at Desna. “What’s wrong with roller?” she asked her. 

Desna groaned, then filled in the correct date. The bill had to be paid, there was no use in dodging it. She cut her eyes at Jenn. ”A Hussier through and through.  For starters his name is Roller.” She said, shaking his head. 

Polly folded over laughing. “Oh.. Desna. I can’t believe you. It’s the pnk dick. Isn’t it.” She said her tone smug. 

“What’s wrong with a pink dick?” Jennifer asked looking over at Polly. 

Ann dropped her arms, eyes still on the younger man.  “She wants a black dick.” She said, once again having to state the obvious. 

“Woah .. Woah.” Desna said, waving her hands.  “I am right here.  I can hear y'all. And don’t tell me what kind of dick I want.” She told them, “I just don’t have time for thug love wanna be.” 

“As a woman who has experienced a rainbow of pensises” she said with a sly chuckle. “All of them are black once you turn the lights off” she mused, before she began to laugh. 

Desna gave Jenn a withering look as she rose to her feet. “That maybe but I am a business woman. And in the cold light of day. That wanna to be Hussier ain’t gonna take me where I wanna go.” She told the girls, eyeing the man suspiciously. 

“We could double date,” Jennifer said playfully back to Desna.

“Or we could not.”  Desna said back, turning on her friend, as she moved back towards the door. 

“I’d snuggle to that pink dick, if it got me a gold watch.” Polly told the room, no hint of playfulness in her voice. 

Desna swat her with the papers in her hand and chuckled as she pulled the office door open. 

Quiet Ann shook her head. Sighing as she stepped up and lowered the binds. Hiding the one way glass from sight. No one knew about it and she wanted to keep it that way.  

“Polly” Jennifer said with a shake of her head as they walked out of the office. She moved back to her station and began to organize to pass time. 

Roller looked up as the woman returned, shifting in his seat as he looked Desna up and down slowly. He needed her, preferably in his bed but in a perfect world at his side and beckoning call like the other chicks in his life. 

Polly smirked looking back at Desna as she moved past her.  Eye going back to the salon floor she ran directly into the over predatory stare Roller.  She chuckled a bit more, licking her lips as she slipped back into her perfect southern accent, “Did you need anything sugar?” She asked Roller looking towards her best friend and boss. 

Quiet Ann smiled at the woman’s antics as she left the office. She took the Newports from her top pocket, slipping one of the squares between her lips.  She was almost to her perch by the door when she caught sight of the 3 black and white cruisers just outside the shop's doors. “5 - 0.” She hissed, pointing at the windows.  

There was only one person they could be here for.  Desna rushed towards the door, eyes widening. She didn’t even look back as she barked instructions. “Polly Go!” She yelled, pointing towards the back of the shop.  “Get out of here now.” She ordered, only concern heavy in her voice. 

Polly’s hand covered her mouth as cold recognition came over her. “I’m sorry…” She said, apologize eyes watering as she looked between the women. Quiet Ann, Jenn, then back to Desna.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Polly Go!” Both Desna and Anne screamed trying to get the woman to move. 

Polly started, and rushed towards the back door.  Only she was too late.  Two large cops came in the back way. “Polly Marks, you are under arrest.”  The biggest of the two cops said, taking the woman by the arm.  Polly squirmed  and turned futally to go back the other way,  Only the cops were coming in the front of the shop by this point, pushing past Desna and Quiet Ann. Hot tears were falling now as a bone deep fear set in. 

Desna yelled,  move towards her friend, “you don’t have to grab her like that. Polly. Don’t struggle.” She said, trying to calm the woman. “Don’t worry Polly I’m going to get you out. Okay.” She said, trying to keep the woman’s attention focused on her and not the men pulling her out of the shop. “I promise Polly we are coming to get you.” She promised again, even as they bodily pushed her out of the shop door. 

Roller looked at some of the items that were displayed near him and he sat a bottle back down before he looked up hearing the words “5-0” leave one of the women. He watched as the officer drug the red hair out of the building and he said “damn” with a headshake. “Y’all some real gangster up in here” a smirk on his face. 

Desna hand went to the side of her head. How was she going to get Polly out of jail? Was already the most pressing thought on her mind.  She swirled back to look at the smirking giant still propped up in the pedicure chair.  “Shut up!” She hissed, not finding a damn thing funny. 

Jennifer licked her lips “what are we going to do?” she asked her curiously, eyes moving over to Roller and the few other people in the building. “You and quiet Ann should go..” she suggested “and I’ll stay and run things” she told them. They all couldn’t go and leave the shop closed for the day they needed whatever they’d make. 

Desna moved towards Jennifer grabbing her hand for support. “I don’t know Jenn. “Ummm” She said, hand going to her forehead. “They have to set her bond first. Then we can get her out. If I can find the money..” She tossed around her option mentally for a moment, sighed, frowning as she made the only decision she could.  Squeezing Jenn hand, she let the woman go and moved off towards her office.  “For right now, Ann, take me to Willy,I need to ask his ass for a favor.  

Jennifer looked at the woman and nodded “okay” she told her simply what else could there have been said in the moment. At Desna’s words she moved before Roller and sat down, she placed a pair of gloves on and looked up at him. “Here, let me get you out of here” she breathed as she prepared to complete his pedicure herself. 

“You know they ain’t let her ass go” Roller said looking down at Jenn, he relaxed more. “Not off that shit y’all was talking ‘bout” he told her in a gruff voice. “Damn I need one of these chairs at home” he said looking down at it. “Hit me up with you girl tho” he added looking back down. “Let me take her up out this tied ass shit” he said gesturing to the building. 

Jennifer looked up at Roller and she sighed “do you think I need that right now?” she asked him seriously. She smacked her teeth at him and shook her head “I tried, she’s not biting. She knows whose family you belong to” she told him as she began to scrub his feet. “Besides we will be out of this building one day and into another, watch” she replied. 

Roller chuckled at that “hard to get” he said to him as he stroked his beard and leaned his head back. “I like a chase” he smirked to himself as he thought about it. “We’ll see….” 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF + OH - Fallen Owls pt.1

Summary: What happens when the milf of The Owl House meets the dilf of Gravity Falls? Find out in this multi-chapter crossover fic.

pt.2

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement:

GF = after finale (S3?) OH = between S1E5 and E6 It was late, passed the gremlins’ bedtime, but it was summer, meaning the term “bedtime” had very little meaning unless Stan was tired and needed to make the kids quiet. But as of right now he was content sitting in his old armchair, boxers and undershirt and slippers and all, munching on popcorn with his family, sitting around telling stories. Stan and his twin brother, Ford, had just finished telling Dipper and Mabel more about the sirens they had faced a few months ago. While sailing around the world was a dream come true, it was nice to take a break to spend the summer with the niblings.

Dipper, having just heard how Stan had been charmed by the sirens’ song, chuckled and asked, “So, did you ever have any luck finding ‘babes’?” Stan rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Nah, but there’s always next year.” “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel said as she popped some popcorn into her mouth. “You’ll find some pretty girl that is everything you deserve!” Stan, turning red, waved the subject away. “Thanks, sweetie, but it’s fine.” Ford, sitting on the dino-skull, elbowed him lightly and teased, “He’s still heartbroken over Carla McCorckle.” Mabel blew a raspberry. “If I ever find her I’m gonna give her a left-hook and break her nose!” Stan laughed and ruffled her hair. “That’s not necessary, kid. I’m over her.” “And it only took you forty years.” Ford added, earning him a punch on the shoulder. “I’ll have you know I’ve been with plenty of gals after Carla!” Stan quipped. “Heck, I was married once when I was traveling the country!” “Wait, what?!” The whole room gasped at the same time. Ford blinked like a confused owl. “I… I didn’t know that.” “Me, neither.” Mabel said and leaned on Stan’s knee. Dipper, meanwhile, was silent, a memory coming to mind. “Truth is I’ve been divorced once and slapped more times than I can remember.” “What happened? GASP! Do I have a secret Graunty you never told me about?!” Stan barked a laugh. “Hah! No, sorry pumpkin. I was actually married for less than a day. Vegan situation. We reached for the same slot machine handle and it was love at first sight. Marilyn. Had hair like a airline stordis and a neon pink shirt that said ‘Over thirty and very flirty’. Man I was, I was putty in her hands.” Stan said lightly, recalling the most romantic evening he ever had. “You should’ve seen the way she threw dice. One time right at my head. Turns out she only married me to distract me while she stole my car and my winnings. I guess her name was fake and, hair was fake. But ya know, the love was real.” Stan added with a casual shrug. “She was really the one that got away. Like, literally, it was a proper get away. She was chased by cop cars for a mile out of Vegas before ducking out of a door and into a canyon and making off with my loot. Sometimes I still think of her.” The old conman admitted. “That pale bingo hall skin. That one weirdly sharp tooth.” Stan’s face dropped at the sight of his family and he quickly said, “Sorry, I’m getting nostalgic.” “More like love-sick.” Dipper teased. “AW!” Mabel squealed. “That’s so sweet! Maybe you’ll find her one day!” Stan laughed and shook his head. “I doubt it, sweetie, but hey. Who needs stealing babes when I’ve got you three, right?” Mabel yawned and stretched her arms over her head. Ford chuckled and stood up, popping his back. “I think you two should head to bed. It’s getting late and we’re going camping tomorrow, remember?” Mabel gasped happily and stood. “You’re right!” She hugged both her uncles and wished them goodnight and then walked with her brother up the stairs for the attic, then Ford left to go finish packing, leaving Stan alone. He leaned on his knuckles, elbow on his armchair, and he remembered Marilyn. ~~~~~~~~~~ Mabel was grinning from ear to ear as she skipped ahead on the trail in the woods. “Finally, a real family camping trip!” Grunkle Ford, Dipper, and Grunkle Stan were right behind her, the Pines family heading back to the Mystery Shack after a fun night sleeping under the stars around a campfire. They were all smiling and happy to be reunited for the summer. While some things drastically changed and some things hardly changed at all, the Pines in appearance changed a little since Dipper and Mabel and turned thirteen. Mabel had always been nothing but smiles in the past, but if it was even possible she grinned even more now, proud to show off her braces-free white teeth. She still sported amazing sweaters with colorful headbands and skirts, today wearing a brown skirt and a yellow headband with a light-brown sweater with an owl on it, claiming she wanted to match the woods and her Grunkle Ford; he only proved her point when he blushed. Dipper and Wendy switched hats again when they saw each other when the twins came off the bus, but over his orange t-shirt he wore a green flannel unbuttoned and he matched it with blue jeans. No longer out in the freezing Arctic, Stan left behind his long coat, but he kept his white t-shirt, dark pants, red beanie, and water-proof boots for the hiking trip. Ford, the easily cold twin, still wore red turtleneck and dark pants and boots, but his smile was much more genuine and the crack in his glasses was gone. Grunkle Ford patted his niece’s shoulder. “It is nice to have some quality family bonding.” “Next time I say we go fishing.” Stan injected. “Not as many creepy spider-fires or whatever.” “Scampfires.” “I still say whatever.” Dipper chuckled and continued to sketch in his pinetree journal, shading in trees of his drawing of the woods. But he was pulled from his pleasant thoughts by his great-uncle. “Seriously, kid, you’re gonna walk into a tree and then I’m gonna laugh. You need to get your head outta book and see the rest of the world.” “Grunkle Stan, how do you think people shared the world back in your day? You know, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth?” Dipper quipped. “Oh, ho! Wise guy, huh?” Stan wrapped an arm around his neck and rubbed his knuckles on the top of his head. “Alright, Poindexter Jr…” “No! No nuggies!” “Yes nuggies!” “Ford!” Dipper laughed, calling for backup. Mabel, meanwhile, was slowly being pulled away mentally from the touching scene of guys being dudes as the internet would have called it. Distracting her, a tiny brown owl with cute round eyes was hopping. Not just hopping, appearing from behind one oak tree to the neck, but hopping with a sack clamped by the beak. Mabel watched it with wide eyes, hoping for another look, and the second glance she got of it was so brief she didn’t know how much faith she should have in her eyes, but it looked like that sack had things like a Cubic Cube, a newspaper, a floppy disk, a basketball, and other items that could be classified as junk. Mabel decided not to wait for another glance at the owl and to go look at it for herself. Mabel wandered off the path animals had made and moved in between trees and bushes quietly. Her brown eyes eventually landed on the little owl and she followed it; the clattering of the owl or it’s determination to finish it’s job must have been the reason why it didn’t hear Mabel and try to hide or lose her. The young Pines lady watched, walking farther and farther away from her family, and the owl hopped behind a tree and never emerged. Mabel smiled, thinking she was about to find an owl’s nest in the tree or a stash of human things by the tree’s roots, but when she turned to look behind the tree, she gasped to find a doorway that glowed white. Mabel looked around her for anyone that might have an answer or for any clue as to why this doorway was here, but she was alone. Gravity Falls certainly was where this sort of thing might happen, but that did not guarantee that this was safe. Maybe she should have the guys look at this thing. Mabel turned around, her back to the doorway, to leave, but she saw something above her and took in a sharp breath. Stan had Dipper pinned on the grass now, both of them laughing, with Ford shaking his head and scolding lightly. “Stanley, that’s enough.” “Don’t worry, Grunkle Ford, I promise not to break such an old man.” Dipper teased as he lightly fought back, “Old man?!” Stan repeated in pretend offense. They were interrupted by a blood curdling scream that made their hearts drop. Stan immediately got off of his nephew and stared ahead, terrified. “Mabel…” And he ran for the direction he heard the scream with Ford and Dipper at his heels. Mabel pulled her grappling hook out of her hiking-backpack and tried to calm down, but it was hard to with the dangerous anomaly liking it’s chops at the sight of her. It was like a gray lizard, but ten feet long, including the tail, and only on it’s four legs it was seven feet tall. It’s eyes were red and narrow and cold, and it had long sharp claws like a dragon’s and a long snout like a crocodile. Mabel shot her grappling hook at the monster and it hit it on the snout, tossing its head back. The lizard hissed but did not back down. It advanced, getting closer to Mabel, and she wanted to back away, but she was careful not to touch the spooky doorway. Stan saw the scene first, appearing out of the corner of Mabel’s eye. “Mabel!” “Grunkle Stan, what do I do?!” She asked, her eyes glued to the giant lizard. Ford and Dipper caught up. The younger moved to jump between his sister and the monster, but Ford stopped him with a firm six-fingered hand. “No! Listen to me, Mabel. That thing is called a Stone-Reptilian. They're excellent at camouflaging into mountains and can hang onto a one-hundred-and-eighty degree wall for hours, waiting for its prey. It actually has two tongues: one for licking its eyes since it doesn't have eyelids, and one for paralyzing it’s dinner and dragging the meal into its mouth.” “So what do I do?!” Mabel begged, shaking a little at the idea of being paralyzed and then eaten alive. “Mabel, stay calm, it’s alright.” Ford soothed with a voice as soft as silk. “Stone-Reptilians have excellent eyesight, but they’re deaf. Notice how it’s isn’t reacting to us. Now, I want you to…” The Stone-Reptilian suddenly whipped out it’s long, thorn-covered tongue to paralyze Mabel, but she was too quick and leaped through the doorway to survive. As she did, it disappeared, and the Pines men were left to scream and then fight for their own lives. ~~~~~~~~~~ “Whoops, can’t have another stowaway, can I?” A voice said, and then before Mabel knew it, her way back home was gone. She observed her new surroundings. Misfit things like a refrigerator, a grandfather clock, an old mattress, and cardboard boxes full of items cluttered what looked like a big tent, judging by the cloth walls and such. Mabel smiled with wonder at the things. “Wow. What a collection.” She whispered. Her eyes landed on a small glass ballerina on top of a music box. She turned the ballerina around with a finger to catch a few music notes. Mabel smiled, but was once again distracted. “Right, let’s see here… Nope. Garbage. Garbage. Another one of these? Oh, well. Good thing the potions have been selling. I should really thank Luz for helping me take out that competitor. Or not.” Mabel covered her mouth with both hands to keep from snorting; that sounded like something her Grunkle Stan would say. Her heart sagged a little and she turned to look back at where the magical doorway once was. Despite what he might pretend, Mabel knew Stan would be really worried about her. She needed to find a way back home. She crawled on her hands and knees out from under the tent and then got up to explore. “Okay, let’s see…” Mabel looked around to find herself outside in the open air. She raised an eyebrow. “The… Crawlspace? I thought it was underground? Maybe there’s more to it! Won’t Grunkle Ford be surprised!” Mabel cheered and looked around for anything familiar, but the longer she looked, the more she realized nothing was like back in Gravity Falls. She stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking an odd city of some kind. Giant monster hands with no body stood like trees. Smoke rose from chimneys of medieval-looking houses. A small herd of cat-sized dragons flocked by the clouds. A mammoth roared like a lion and then walked into the ocean. Something resembling an orange nun was selling bags of oozing red stuff to tiny red monsters with teeth and fangs for a face. People were riding a giant caterpillar from inside its mouth and then kissing it for a toll. Mabel’s heart was racing from excitement and fear. Nothing here was familiar, but she was familiar with the unfamiliar. She grasped the straps of her backpack and took a deep breath. “Okay, Mabel, you’ve obviously discovered another rift and came to another dimension. Just remember what your grunkles taught you. Don’t touch this dimension's version of yourself or everything will explode. I just gotta live long enough for them to find me. Easy.” Her stomach suddenly growled. Mabel clenched her stomach on reflex, but then remembered her bag of marshmallows, pulled them out, and began to munch on her fluffy sugar pillows. She turned around and walked away from the tent she had left, saw she was in some sort of market, and walked down the street to explore calmly. ~~~~~~~~~~ “And remember to apply it twice a day for the best results.” Luz said friendly to a blue monster made out of goo as she handed her the small bag of dust and the customer closed the door on the human. Luz wiped her sweaty forehead with her wrist and groaned. “Man, it’s so hot today. Ready to head home, King? King?” She looked down to find that the king of demons had found the perfect spot on the porch to nap in the sunshine. Luz smiled, scratched his back, and scooped him up one-armed while her other hand carried the empty sack. “Eh?” King woke up, angry and cute. “Luz! I was having the perfect dream!” “About what?” “What could be more perfect than sleeping?!” “You were dreaming about sleeping?” Luz clarified with a confused smile. “Don’t you?” Luz snorted a laugh and walked through Bonesburrow. Compared to the rest of the Boiling Isles, the apprentice had learned that this was the quietest neck of the woods. King’s nose caught a delightful scent, but the demon was unsure if he should believe it. He sat up in Luz’s arm and smelled the air. “What is it?” Luz asked. “Hm, it’s sweet. Really sweet.” King commented and shivered. “Like, really sweet. So sweet it’ll put anyone in a sugar-induced coma.” “Well, why don’t we just go home and we can have some of Eda’s strawberry jelly instead.” Luz suggested as they turned a corner. She immediately saw the one really really weird thing in the Boiling Isles, apart from her. Another human. After being away from home for about three weeks, Luz didn’t think she would be so happy to see another human girl or see human food that wasn’t red, but here she was, eyes sparkling with happy tears over the sight. Mabel’s eye eventually landed on Luz and the two stared at each other, a good twenty feet away from each other. After a few moments, however, they both shouted, “ANOTHER HUMAN!” And ran towards each other, King clinging onto Luz’s arms in order not to fall. “Wait,” The brunette said and looked worried. “Is this your first time seeing another human here? How long have you been trapped here?!” She apparently had drawn the conclusion that there was no way out of this place. “Oh, no,” The Latino smiled and shook her head. “I’m not trapped here; I can leave whenever I want, I just choose not to.” “Oh. Cool! Hi! I’m Mabel!” “Hi, Mabel.” Luz greeted. “I’m Luz! So… how did you get here?” Mabel’s face dropped a little and she looked around. “You know, I’m not really sure. One minute I was camping with my family and the next I’m falling through a door that disappears and takes me here.” Luz giggled and shook her head. “You must have fallen through Eda’s door. Don’t worry, I can get you back home.” “You can?!” Mabel hugged her tightly, squishing King in between the two girls. “ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!” Luz, who was quite the hugger but lived with two hug-haters, grinned and relished in the hug, until a high-voice yelled, “AH! What is with you humans and this tight holding ritual?!” Mabel’s eyes got wide and she jumped away, looking around wildly; that voice sounded too familiar for comfort, but when she saw the king of demons, she gasped with a huge grin and shining eyes. “OH MY GOSH! How cute!!!” She squealed. “Thanks.” Luz giggled and rubbed his belly. “This is the King of Demons.” “This little bundle of joy?” Mabel asked, happily smoothing over his skull and scratching his back. “That’s what I said!” “Hey, hey, easy with the merchandise!” King complained. “What makes you think you can… oh! Oh! Right there, yup, right there.” Mabel had found the right scratching spot, just between his shoulder-blades, and King relaxed in Luz’s arms, almost asleep he was so comfortable. Mabel giggled and asked, “So, how can you get me back to my family?” Luz gave it a moment’s thought and said, “Well, I guess we could take you to Eda and have her send you home, but she’ll be going home soon and it’s kinda…” The girls screamed as a huge guard jumped in front of them. He glared down at the humans and said, “Human previously associated with Eda the Owl Lady, you’re hereby under arrest!” “Not today, sucka!” Luz yelled, threw down one of Eda’s smoke bombs, and grabbed Mabel’s wrist. “Come on! I know where to go!” “Crazy monsters, criminals, smoke bombs, demons… I LOVE IT HERE!” Mabel cheered as she was fleeing with her new friends. ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan huffed, catching his breath, with his hands on his knees. Ford helped Dipper up cautiously, scanning him over for broken bones from when the monster swung his tail at the boy and slammed him against a tree, but apart from being shaken up, he was fine. Now that the Stone-Reptilian was gone, the Pines men were free to worry about the most important thing in their whole world. “MABEL?!” Stan screamed and looked around wildly for the rift that took her away. “MABEL! MABEL, SWEETIE!” “Mabel!” Ford called out. “Mabel, can you hear us?!” “MABEL! MABEL!” Stan screamed and ignored his stinging eyes. Dipper’s own brown eyes were aching, too, but he refused to be seen as weak and he powered through. “Did… did that thing… g-g-get her?” “No.” Ford said firmly. “I saw it. She fell through… some sort of door, or a rift.” “A-A door?” “It was rectangular like one, but it was hard to tell.” “The Crawlspace!” Dipper gasped and slapped his forehead. “Don’t the entrances change randomly through Gravity Falls? What if she fell through and is down at the black market?” “What, you mean she’s probably surrounded by dangerous monsters in some freaky market?” Stan asked. “It’s a likely possibility.” Ford speculated, holding his cleft chin. “Scour the area. If it was an entrance to the Crawlspace, one will show up again soon.” The three men split up, relatively close, and searched for an anomaly. Maybe a hole in a tree or in the ground, what might have been passed as a bird’s nest or a groundhog’s home could actually be an entrance. Stan was checking some bushes when he thought he heard a strange noise and he looked ahead. A rectangular white light appeared on an oak tree and soon an owl with an empty sack in its beak hopped out. Stan gasped and thought that this was the doorway that took his little girl. Ford saw his twin run out of the corner of his eye and then disappear through the hole. “Stanley, wait!” He called and ran towards him, disappearing, too. Then the doorway was gone. Dipper looked around nervously. “Hello? Guys?” He paused, letting it sink in that, once again, he was alone. “I swear if she’s at MAB3L again…” ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan had stopped. Ford then accidently ran into him and they both fell forward. “Sixer, get off!” “Shh!” Ford slapped a polydactyl hand over his brother’s mouth, which made him grumble, but before Stan could lick his hand in response, he heard what Ford was hearing. “I’ll give you fifty snails for the whole lot.” A laugh-filled snort followed. “It’s seventy-five, kid. Take it or leave it.” That voice… something was familiar about that laugh. There was grumbling and what sounded like items being collected. Stan and Ford exchanged looks and slowly got up. After looking around the tent, they peered out of the crack in the curtains to see an odd market. They awed at the sight of dozens of weird creatures. One looked like a turquoise hairless-cat. One looked like a pig with green eyes and it breathed fire on a piece of meat on a stick to cook it for a snack. A kid with pointy ears dropped a basket full of eyeballs and scrambled to pick them up. Ford grinned excitedly like a dork while Stan winced at the sight of an ice-cream eating a customer. Stan glanced to his left and he had to hold his breath to keep from gasping and blowing their cover. Wearing a tight-fitted, torn maroon dress and matching boots, gold on her chest and ears and fingers and a sharp tooth, her eyes sparkling like gold coins, a woman with big gray hair and pointy ears leaned against a table full human things and flicked through a Gold Chains for Old Men magazine with a skeptical look on her face. Stan was nearly as pale as she was when she snorted another laugh and flipped a page. “Hah! Not a bad read. Better than that kindling Luz keeps around.” She mumbled and made herself comfortable in her chair, waiting for another customer, one leg crossed over the other and she lightly kicked it as she read. Stan swallowed. There was no way. No possible way… then again, given everything weird that’s happened to him, from freaky portal, to demon triangles, to gnomes and unicorns and sirens and krakens, even to a full-blown Weirdmageddon, should he really be all that surprised that faith would bite him in the butt like this? Ford glanced down at his twin and found he could read him like an open book. “Stanley…” He hissed. The lady straightened in her seat and looked up from the magazine, listening. Now it was Stan’s turn to cover Ford’s mouth. They were still, waiting for the ady to find them, but she shrugged casually and continued to read. The men backed away, out of sight, and were each on one knee, facing each other, as they whispered. “Sixer, where the heck are we? The Crawlspace?” “I’m not sure.” Ford hissed. “I have never seen these types of anomalies before. I suppose it’s possible they hide here during the day and I had never seen them at night, but… this place feels off. To summarize, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” “Fine, but when what do we do about Mabel?” “Our objection is still the same. Let’s just keep a low profile and try to find her.” The twins froze when the curtain was thrown open and the lady stood before them. She immediately sneered down at them. “If you amateur pickpockets think you can…” But then she stopped, for several reasons. One: these creatures were clearly old, about her age, and so unless they had a sudden career change, they were not amateurs. Two: as a human expert and a teacher and hostess of a human, she instantly recognized these two big-eared creatures as humans. Three: something about the one in the white shirt and red hat was very familiar. “No… way…” She narrowed her golden eyes. Stan was now confident that his memory wasn’t flawed; the way she reacted to seeing him, recognizing him, confirmed that he knew her. Before he could do anything, she grabbed each twin by the ear and pinched; they were at her mercy and receiving flashbacks from when their mother was angry with them. “You two got some explaining to do.” The lady sneered. “Gah! Let us go, crazy old bat!” Stan barked as she dragged them out from the tent and made them sit on barrels for stools. “Who are you calling old, human?” The lady sneered and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just tell me what you think you’re doing here.” “Begging your pardon on our introduction,” Ford said coldly, but then softened as he and his brother did have an important mission. “But our grandniece is missing. We believe she came through here.” And he pulled out a picture of Mabel hugging a stuffed-penguin from his wallet and showed it to her. The lady peered down at the photo and said, “Sorry, old-timers, I haven’t seen anyone like that around here.” “Now, how can we trust you, Marilyn.” Stan sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. Ford’s eyes widened as he pocketed his picture. He was rendered speechless for a moment. “Oh, like you’re one to talk about honesty, Stan.” She deride. “You two know each other?!” Ford gasped, looking from his brother to the stranger rapidly like a game of tennis. “She’s your ex-wife?!” The lady snorted a laugh and sighed happily. “Ah, good times, huh?” “Not really.” Stan sneered and stood. “You still owe me five hundred bucks!” “At least you got your car back, Grumpy.” The lady teased and patted his cheek; he swatted her hand away in response and growled like an angry pitbull. “If you want my help finding your girl then play nice.” “So, you honestly didn’t see her.” Stan repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, I may be a conwoman, a pickpocket, and the most powerful witch you’ll ever meet, but I wouldn’t lie if it was gonna endanger some kid.” The lady snapped her fingers and all of the human collectibles floated and gathered into a green cloth, tied up like a hobo’s luggage. She pulled out a staff and put the bag through it, making it easy to carry. Eda whistled and the little owl flew to her and landed on her staff and turned into wood. “Come along, humans, we’ll find your niece and get you two home.” Ford followed the lady and decided to be the “nice” one since Stan was obviously too salty to be one; someone had to be nice to the lady that was going to help them find Mabel. “Thank you, Marilyn.” “Oh, right. That’s not my real name…” “Knew it.” “... you’re a fool to give your real name to a casino in Vegas. It’s Edalyn, but just call me Eda. Or your worst nightmare.” “Whatever you say, toots.” Stan growled as they walked down the street. “So, Eda,” Ford cut in to try to cut the tension between the two. “What exactly is this place, and what are you?” Eda stopped suddenly and turned around, wearing a proud grin. She stabbed her staff on the ground with a small bang, making the owl come to life, the sack hanging by her fist, and she proclaimed, “I am known as the Owl Lady, the most powerful witch here on the Boiling Isles!” “A witch?” Stan laughed. “More like a b…” “I am a feared, respected, vigorous force to be reckoned with!” Eda went on and let go of the staff so it floated like a witch’s broomstick. “Come on, old-timers, let’s get a bird’s eye-view to find your girl.” They each grabbed the staff when Eda sat upon it and yelled with fear as she had them fly up in the air, leaving the old twins to dangle in the air. “GAAAAAAAH!” “EDA!” Stan yelled. “Put us down!” “That can be arranged.” Eda said cunningly and swooped down quickly. With the air drying Eda’s eyes and forming tears and the brother holding onto the staff (and each other) for dear life, all three were yelling, one with delight, two with fright. “STANLEY!” Ford shouted. “PLEASE try not to piss off your ex-wife!” Eda laughed and at the very last second, right before the men would crash into the ground, she flew them up into the sky. “Ah, don’t worry, I won’t let you two knuckleheads get hurt.” They flew softer and calmer above the Boiling Isles and the humans awed at the scene. In the carcass of a monster, by the sea, the Bones of the Isles sat snug in the midst of chaos. Eda floated to allow the men a moment to take in the scenery, smiling down at their round brown eyes. “It’s beautiful.” Ford admired. “Yup, not too shabby.” Eda commented casually. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” “We know what that’s like.” Stan muttered. “Speaking of which,” Eda said casually. “Where did you two say you were from?” “We didn’t. Gravity Falls, Oregon.” Ford answered, keeping an eye out for Mabel. “Oh, I’ve heard rumors about that place.” Eda said as she flew calmly over the town. “My door has a bad habit of appearing there way too often. I need more variety in my human collectibles.” “So, you steal our junk and try to sell it for a great price?” Stan asked; he sounded a little impressed. “That and I sell potions on the weekdays. When I’m not mentoring my student. Enough chit-chat, see your girl down there?” The men took a few more minutes to look, as well as Eda, but there was no sign of her. “No.” Ford’s voice dripped with concern. “Eda, what are the chances she was kidnapped or hurt?” “Oh, that probably didn’t happen to her.” The witch said calmly. “If she’s not safe she probably got eaten or taken by Warden Wrath.” “WHAT?!” “Relax, Sixer,” Stan said, confident in his pumpkin. “She’s our little fighter, she’ll be fine.” Eda snorted. “Sixer?” “It’s Stanford, actually.” His face was a little red over the fact that he couldn’t hide his six-fingered hands, too busy holding the magic staff to keep from falling. “Meh, I’ve seen weirder.” Eda looked like she truly didn’t care how many fingers he had; Ford appreciated that. “Well, I’ve got a great tracker at home.” The Owl Lady said and started to fly towards the red forest. “Why don’t we go pick him up and see if he can help us out. Got anything the girl held?” “Yes,” When the men landed on their feet and Eda hopped next to them, Ford pulled out his wallet again and took out a folded-up, hand-drawn picture of Stan and Ford on a boat, a gift from Mabel while they were apart that she had mailed to them. “Aw, that’s so cute.” The witch cooed. “Who knew all Pines men were putty in girls’ hands.” She laughed at her own joke and shook her head. “Ah, keep moving, boys.” Stan hurried to catch up and he walked next to Eda with narrow eyes, ignoring the way her odd golden fang sparkled, how her eyes gleamed with spunk, how she held herself up high with pride. “So, you’re gonna answer some questions for me…” “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” “If you’re a witch, what were you doing in Las Vegas?” “Hey, a witch’s gotta make some gold, too.” Eda shrugged as she smiled. “I haven’t exactly kept a clean record here so making a living takes a bit of extra effort, but it’s much for fun and unpredictable, the way life's supposed to be.” Stan raised an eyebrow at two things: the fact his ex was a criminal in this world too, and her philosophy. “I can respect that, seeing how I was there for the same reasons.” “I know.” Eda rolled her eyes teasingly. “You wouldn’t shut up about how you were gonna make it big and show the world what this big lug could do.” And she elbowed Stan, which he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh. Yeah, what can I say, I’m a real loud-mouth. Say what’s on my mind.” “Hey, nothing wrong with being brutally honest to make up for lying, am I right?” Eda said with a shrug. “So, was your hair fake back then, or…” “No, no, it was real. I was really proud of my hair back in the day, flaming red and wild.” “Looks pretty good now. Love it, in fact. Big and bold, hard to miss.” “Hey, you aged pretty well yourself, handsome.” Ford smiled as he watched the exes tease and pick on each other. If a compliment was given, it dripped with sarcasm and there was no guarantee that it was sincere, but they must have seen a gleam in their eyes or felt a “vibe” that Ford didn’t experience, because the conversation progressed well as they walked through the forest. Ford was happy to see Stan get along fairly well with this woman and wondered if this would go exceptionally better than the whole McCorkle incident. They emerged from the woods and found a large house standing by some cliffs leading to an ocean. It was about as far from the seas as Pines Pawns was all those years ago. The house was big, maybe bigger than the Mystery Shack (probably not if counting the basement-floors) with a big stain-glass window that reminded Stan of a cat’s eye and Ford of Bill’s eye, but then they both individually remembered Eda’s title and realized it was probably representing an owl’s eye. A weather-vane with an owl sat on top of the house, a broken-down tower stood behind, and an owl’s head was on the door. The humans were startled, but they quickly recovered, again having experienced much weirder than a live owl-head on a door. “Girl knows how to keep a theme going.” Stan commented as they approached. “Oh, boy!” The owl on the door hooted. “More company! Maybe they wanna hear some of my stories!” “Not a chance, Hooty.” Eda quipped. “Is King still home? We need his help, and we might want Luz’s too while we’re at it.” “They’re both telling stories to that new human. The one with the pretty owl sweater.” “Wait, what?!” The three old people asked and Hooty swung open the door. Luz was holding King on her lap on the couch, sitting with Mabel as all three were laughing. Even King was rolling around and holding his little fluffy body with glee. Mabel’s back was to the door and she resumed her storytelling as she wiped a tear under her eye. “So then I look down at Dipper and see that he’s still got his socks on!” Luz cackled a laugh and held her head one-handed, her other arm still holding King, but it was to no avail as the demon fell off from all the laughing. Eda, Ford, and Stan smiled as the girls were having fun. They had no idea how they found each other, but it was better for them to be here, safe and happy, than to have the newbie be someone’s meal. Luz fanned her reddening face and finally noticed the company. “Hi, Eda. Sorry, but she was lost and needs our help.” Mabel turned, on her knees on the couch, but grinned with a gasp. “GUYS!” And she hopped over the arm of the couch for her grunkles. “Mabel!” They opened their arms and got on one knee for their girl. Mabel ran into their hold and they hugged her tightly, relieved to be with her again and to find her more than okay. “What did I tell you about scaring me like that, pumpkin?!” Stan asked as he held her with all of his might. “You didn’t tell me, Grunkle Stan.” “Oh, right.” “We’re just so happy to find you alright, my dear.” Ford loosened his grip just enough to look up at Luz, who was smiling admirably at the reunion. “And I see you’ve made some friends.” Mabel let go and nodded. “Yeah! That’s Luz! Luz, these are my grunkles! Stan and Ford!” “Nice to meet you guys.” Luz said and waved politely. “Mabel said you’d come, but how did you two survive out there?” “They nearly didn’t.” Eda lied easily. “Were in the mouths of a giant giraffe when I saved their butts.” “Yeah right!” Stan barked a laugh. “Anyways, we’ve been through worse, kid.” Luz gasped excitedly. “Worse than giant bugs and centaurs with eyes on their chest and man-eating slugs and fire-breathing eye-less fangs and jealous witches?!” “Worse. I’ve punched a pterodactyl in the face and a few zombies, fallen down a Bottomless Pit, lost my hands to a witch, fought off eagles and explosions, survived giant man-eating spiders…” “Stanley, that is all impressive, but have you fought a talking chair, battled in four wars, conned an abominable snowman, outran a volcano, examined floating eyebats, been turned to gold…” “I find that hard to believe.” Eda snorted. “I believe them.” Luz said with a shrug. “You always said weird stuff leaks from this world into theirs.” “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Ford said, stepping forward. “What exactly is this place? I’ve heard rumors of a place called the Boiling Isles, but I just thought it was a little hiding place like the Crawlspace, not an entirely new dimension.” “Nope!” Eda corrected happily. “This whole world is the Boiling Isles, a world full of despair, monsters, gross-stuff, demons, and magic.” “This place sounds so cool!” Mabel cheered. She looked at Luz and said, “No wonder you wanted to stay here. Wait! Do you have your own room?!” “Yeah! C’mon, I’ll show you!” And the girls ran off with Luz scratching King’s tummy and leaving him to nap on the floor, tired from laughing. Eda plopped down on the couch and gestured for the men to do the same. “I’d offer refreshments but all we have is apple blood and some disgusting beverage Luz likes called orange juice.” Stan looked up at the wanted poster of Eda and the reward promised for her capture. He smiled, impressed and interested. “We’re okay, thank you, Eda.” Ford said. “If you don’t mind me asking, our niece said something about Luz choosing to stay here?” “Yeah, that’s right.” Eda reached under her couch-cushion and rummaged as she spoke. “Kid came through my door when Owlbert brought over some little treasures to sell. Sweet girl. Kinda naive and gullible, but clever in her own right and she’s a fast learner. Stubborn with the forces of positivity.” Stan snorted. “Heh. We know someone like that.” “She said she didn’t fit in at home.” Eda finally found what she was looking for and pulled out a wrinkled, crumpled up pamphlet at read, Reality Check Summer Camp: Think Inside the Box. “Don’t really understand some of this human stuff, but I figured it must be pretty bad if it made a kid not wanna go home, so I read over it and this place sounds awful! Totally squandered any creativity or individualism! Her own mother was sending her here!” Eda let Ford look it over and she shrugged off the rant. “Anyway, she said she wanted to stay and she was willing to work for it, so I took her in as my apprentice for the summer and now she’s learning how to be a witch.” “Hm, sounds a lot better than kidnapping.” Stan approved with his arms crossed over his chest. “This place is completely horrible.” Ford commented about the summer camp. “They teach kids how to appropriate public radio!” “AM or FM?” “Both.” “Ouch.” “So, what exactly are you doing with such a cute girl, Eight-Ball?” Eda asked, getting Stan’s attention. “And what is a grunkle?” She snorted with a smile. “She’s our grandniece.” Stan said proudly, puffing out his chest. “We’re her great-uncles. Her grunkles.” “Aw, who knew you were such a softie?” “I am not!” “You watched over five hours of video-tutorials on how to braid hair.” Ford said behind the pamphlet. “She asked me to braid her hair and it bothered me that I couldn’t do it!” Eda cackled and touched Stan’s shoulder. His eyes followed and he smiled at her cute laugh. “Aw, you’re worse than King.” King peeked an eye at her and sneered, “One more passive aggressive comment and I’ll…” “That’s not a passive aggressive comment.” Eda said as she picked up the little goofball. “I can do better than that.” “Huh, and here I was thinking that was just one of Luz’s toys.” Stan teased. “Hey!” King stood on the couch by Eda’s side and pointed a bony paw at the old man. “Since you’re a human, I’ll let you walk away with a warning, but have it be known that I’m the King of Demons and shall one day drink the fear of those who mock me!” Ford folded the pamphlet and observed King cautiously. He didn’t like… his voice. His voice sent shivers down the old scientist’s spine. Stan snorted. “Sorry, pipsqueak, but I’ve faced worse demons than you.” “Oh, yeah, like what?” King asked. The girls came back, smiling and holding hands, and Luz asked, “Eda, can we please please PLEASE have a sleepover?! I want to show Mabel the new light spell I learned and show her how to properly scratch a demon’s tummy.” Ford chuckled and stood. “I’m sorry, ladies, but we really should be heading back. I’m sure Dipper is worried sick.” Mabel gasped with horror. “Oh, NO! Dipper!” “Oh, hey, don’t worry.” Luz eased. “You two are totally welcome here anytime you want.” “Aw, thanks, Luz.” Mabel hugged her and said, “I promise I’ll bring Dip-Dip next time. He’d love it here! And he could tell you all about the Manotaurs and the weird copy-machine.” Eda and Stan stood up, too, and the Owl Lady had her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, looks like we’ll be seeing each other again pretty soon. You okay with them hanging out?” Stan shrugged and pocketed his hands in his jeans. “Yeah, sure. Good friends are kinda rare these days. Gotta hold onto ‘em and never let ‘em go.” “Agreed.” Eda said and saw them exchanging those odd codes on their glowing rectangles. “Well, have your girl tell my girl when to open the door and I’ll see what I can do.” And she held out a hand to Stan. He hesitated (not just because of whose hand it was, but because shaking hands always seemed to lead to something bad, but maybe this time will be different), but he took it and shook it gently. “Yeah, and if your girl never needs a break in the human world, have her tell my girl.” Eda smiled at Stan and shook Ford’s hand, as well. She pulled the key out of her hair and unlocked the door, making it appear and swing open. Mabel skipped to her great-uncles and waved goodbye to Luz, who waved back, and she went with Ford through the door for home. Stan stole one last look at Eda, who winked at him, and he disappeared with a pink face.

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: OKAY, first things first, when it comes to fic, I personally don't really like crossovers. Crossovers can be a fun NON-CANON crossover for animation or actors. I get more enjoyment over fun fanart than I so of fics, because I like mine more plot-driven and it's hard to get a good story going just because you wants certain characters to mingle. HOWEVER, I find Gravity Falls and The Owl House just fit so well together! Why? #1: Alex Hirsch and Dana Terrace (the creators) are dating and Dana Terrace is responsible for the awesome Ducktakes reboot (season 1, anyway) AND the famous Not What He Seems scene. So having such a strong connection creativity wise of the shows is very apparent, more so than the other shows. #2: Evidence that supports these connections. Both shows have referenced each other and a theory goes that Eda and Stan were once married for less than a day. (plz check this video for more) And #3: ... I ship it pretty damn hard, okay? So I hope you guys will enjoy this fun little crossover as much as me! And thank you so much for reading!

[pitterpatterpot]

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Twenty-Three

25.    

It would be a lie to say that Aedion isn’t nervous, not that he would ever admit it. His pack is heavy over his shoulder, filled with unnecessary items that Gavriel demanded he’d bring. The forest rustles around them, the sounds of the camp drawing closer. Caius’s letter crinkles in his pocket as a thin and creased warning.

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s warm voice, tinged with humor, rings out. “You do realize that I am not marching you to your death, yes?”

The Lion receives a piercing glare in return. “I’m meeting a fae army.”

“My fae army.”

“You say that as if it’s supposed to calm me,” Aedion growls. “Your brothers and Caius will be there, along with all your soldiers. These males have marched under your command. I have followed your every order. And now they’ll be meeting me.”

“You are a general,” Gavriel says with strong certainty. “Many of them will try to push you, yes, but I believe you will more than be able to hold your own.”

“And if I’m not?”

Gavriel sends him a dry look. Aedion chuckles and flashes a sharp grin.

~~~

“You’re a little short, aren’t you?”

Aedion blinks at the slightly grey-haired fae female in front of him. Her hands are planted on her hips, frowning as she looks up at him. Gavriel himself cocks his head in question, Caius snorting from his position from the fire.

“You come up to my chest,” Aedion flicks his brows up.

“Still,” the female clicks her tongue. “Compared to the Rowan and Gavriel you’re not exactly the longest stick. Do you eat enough? I’ll get you some dinner. Sit down by your father.”

Aedion blinks once again, watching the female stride off in the direction of food. Both Caius and Gavriel cover their mouths to hide their amusement, obviously enjoying the commentary.

“Who,” Aedion turns back to Gavriel, “was that?”

“That was Caius’s sister,” Gavriel chuckles, easing himself down onto a log besides Caius. “Terella.”

“Be prepared to be pampered,” Caius grins. “She’s been desperate to meet you.”

Aedion rolls his eyes, settling onto the log beside Gavriel. They chat for a few minutes, a circle on warriors gathering around their fire. At one point Terrella manages to wedge herself between Aedion and some fae male that decided to join them. She and Aedion quickly sparked a conversation between the differences in their amour and weaponry. Gavriel watches them chatter with a smile sneaking up, eyes glinting in amusement and pride as several males lean forward to hear Aedion’s stories.

“You do know that your brothers are coming, yes?” Caius murmurs, leaning in. “They should be arriving tomorrow at daybreak.”

“I’m aware,” Gavriel nods. “They had the forethought to send an early message this time. Aedion and I look forward to seeing them.”

“That’s good,” Caius lowers his voice further. “There’s something I would like to discuss with you in my tent first.”

Gavriel flicks his eyes over to examine his friend. An unusually grave look has settled upon Caius’s face, the usually dapper male solemn and grim as he stares at Gavriel. Then his eyes flicker to Aedion, something like rage and fear appearing. The change makes something in Gavriel’s chest jolt and in response, he immediately nods and stands.

Aedion looks up at them and grins. “Tired already?”

“Caius is going to show me where our tent is,” Gavriel smiles easily. “It should be right by his. I’ll be back later.”

The night is loud. Half from the warriors laughing around their sporadic fires and half from the crunch of twigs and leaves snapping under the feet of invisible creatures. Gavriel steadily follows Caius to his tent, golden eyes scanning the area and glad to see it devoid of company. Most have set up their fires by the lake off to the side, one of the many rivers that flow from Doranelle. Caius ducks under the tent flap, Gavriel following suit. Inside is a simple chest and bedroll. Both males opt to stand.

“Some bastard has been using ‘Adarlan’s Whore’ an awful lot,” Caius reports bluntly. “Most of the army dismisses it since Aedion’s true alliances to Terrasen are now well known. Many respect him for going to such lengths to revenge his court. However, some believe it would have been… expected of someone like him.”

Of course. The sick knowledge rises up in Gavriel’s throat like a curdled mass of tar. That twisted sense of loyalty that so many fae and courts still have. That he once had to Maeve. So many would nod their heads at the idea of a demi-fae doing such a thing. It would be expected that such a half-breed would be used that way. Unimaginable for a pureblood fae, such a thing would be a disgrace. But a demi-fae? Expandable. A sick way of thinking that Gavriel has encountered many times over the years and never ceased to be disgusted by.

“It’s not only that,” Caius continues. “While some see it as an expectation, others see it as a disgrace. They believe Aedion has no honor, whoring himself to a country he takes an oath to while all along planning to stab them in the back. They see the deceit as dishonorable.”

The words clang through Gavriel’s chest. “He was a child. He did what he needed to do to survive.”

Caius hesitates. “Yes. But he also swore himself to a king he continuously betrayed and plotted to kill.”

“You agree with this?” Gavriel bares his teeth, anger cracking through his usually endless resolve.

“No!” Caius holds up his hands, horror flicking across his features. “Gods above, no. You know me better than that, Gavriel. I’m just trying to make the situation clear to you. To many of the people here, in terms of fae culture-“

“Aedion is dishonest, disloyal, dishonorable and…” Gavriel trails off, the words ticking through his mind like a persistent clock, ever-steady and unending.

“And used,” Caius adds quietly, flinching at Gavriel’s growl. “I’m sorry! I dislike this situation as well, Gavriel. But being whored out, used, taking an oath under false claims and planning betrayal against the king whom he offered services… We know Aedion. I justify everything he has done and your child I see him only in the best light. But there are people here who do not know him. Who only see him as a weak, dishonorable male. I needed to warn you of this before you heard anything yourself.”

“I… I understand,” Gavriel swallows back his anger, hands clenching at his sides and shoulders squaring. “Thank you for alerting me of this.”

“Will you tell Aedion?” Caius eyes the male.

“No,” Gavriel slowly shakes his head. “I will allow Aedion to defend himself if the need arises. The people here shall face the Wolf of the North if they wish to slander Adarlan’s Whore.”

~~~

“I’m not sharing a bedroll with you.”

Gavriel huffs a small breath of laughter as he and Aedion walk towards their tent. “We each have one, Aedion. Caius isn’t that cruel.”

“I am, actually,” the male clicks his tongue, stopping outside his own tent. “Either way, if you bastards hate each other by the end of the night then one of you is sleeping outside because I’m not allowing anyone in my tent.”

With that he ducks inside, the flap falling shut behind him. Aedion blinks.

“He reminds me of Kyllian,” Aedion murmurs to Gavriel, eyes narrowed.

Brows raised, Gavriel turns away. “He reminds me more of you, and I more of Kyllian. I’d have to say that the positions are reversed in this situation, son.”

Snorting, Aedion follows after Gavriel, chuckling quietly. “You think you’re more like Kyllian? Kyllian, who once fell off a tree while drunk?”

“You didn’t know me in my youth,” Gavriel clicks his tongue, holding open the flap of their tent as Aedion ducks inside. “You can ask your uncles once they arrive.”

“I fully intend to,” Aedion smirks, collapsing on his bedroll. “Well, goodnight.”

“Take off your shoes first, and your knives”

“We’re in a war camp. Everyone is armed.”

“Fine,” Gavriel relents. “Just don’t accidentally stab one of your uncles if they come early tomorrow and sneak in.”

They settle down, both familiar with sleeping in tents and on bedrolls. In some cases just sleeping on the bare earth. The heat of Wendlyn presses upon them in a way the cold chill in Terrasen never did. Unlike the quick, sharp knives of frost and ice, the heavy humidity bears down on them like a blanket coated in cement. Smothering their breaths and collecting sweat at the napes of their neck.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel murmurs, noticing Aedion’s displeasure. “I don’t know how you survive with this humidity,” Aedion sighs, wiping the back of his hand against his face.

Gavriel hums. “I’m interested in seeing how you will handle training in it. The environment here is wholly different from Terrasen.”

“Here I’m drowning in my own sweat,” Aedion snorts, shifting.

A comfortable silence drifts across both of them. Gavriel closes his eyes.

“So, does it snow during winter here?”

The corner of Gavriel’s mouth turns up no matter how hard he tries to repress it. “No, it does not.”

“I see.”

Gavriel waits a moment.

“Teralla is nice.”

“She’s lovely.”

“She gave me a knife.”

It takes Gavriel a moment to process the words. Another to compute the happy, simple tone Aedion states this in. A final moment is needed to contain a sigh. Of course, his son would be given weaponry. If he was five years old they would all probably still be handing him swords and shield and the gods know what else.

“And Caius gave me a mace. But that’s not here right now.”

There it is.

“Would you like to show me?” Gavriel asks wryly, asking the question Aedion was obviously waiting for.

His son immediately hands him the blade from Teralla. Gavriel carefully pulls it out of its sheath, even in the darkness of the tent the iron gleaming with its menacing edge. Constellations have been etched into the blade, small and simple yet adding a piece of the night sky into the weapon.

“It’s beautiful,” Gavriel hands it back. “Very finely made.”

“In return, I gave her a knife from the fangs,” Aedion tucks the blade away. “While common in Terrasen they seem to be quite rare here.”

“She would have loved that,” Gavriel closes his eyes. “Tomorrow be sure to tell her about your shields history.”

Aedion hums in agreement. Silence bestows them once more.

“There was also this female that told me she once-“

They stay up for at least another two hours, Gavriel listening attentively to the stories and interjecting when appropriate. He couldn’t help but smile at certain parts, his chest flooding with warmth. Yet when sleep finally came it was a blessing.

~~~

“Why are you so tired?” Caius frowns at Gavriel and the marks under his eyes. “Aedion is awake. You knew you’d be up early.”

“My son contains an ungodly amount of energy that I cannot fathom,” Gavriel rubs at his face. “The youth of today is terrifying.”

“You sound old.”

“We are old, Caius,” Gavriel raises a brow. “We’re two of the oldest individuals here.”

The other male mutters denials under his breath, squinting into the distance. Gavriel smiles at the reaction, turning to watch where Aedion sits atop a boulder to watch for his uncles' arrival.

“Are you sure you won’t tell him?” Caius mutters.

“I’m sure. He’s already impressed half the people here.”

“Yet the more… old-fashioned fae are still stuck in their ways.”

“I don’t care,” Gavriel swallows back a growl. “Aedion can and will handle himself. I’ll only step in if necessary.”

Caius raises his brows yet says nothing. Gavriel ignores the incredulous look, choosing instead to focus as Aedion jumps to the ground. He flings out an arm to point towards a cluster of trees. Two lions prowl forwards from the undergrowth, their muscles sliding under their golden coats and claws sinking into the earth. As soon as they clear the trees a flash of light shines out, two males standing in their place. Marco and Heiral both grin, striding towards them with a purpose. Heiral immediately breaks away to sling an arm around Aedion’s shoulder.

“There’s my favorite nephew,” Heiral grins, jostling Aedion. “How are you holding up with the warriors?”

“Nothing compared to the Bane,” Aedion smirks. “I thought the lot down here would be harder to handle.”

Marco watches them bicker and shakes his head. “How have things really been?”

“Some tension, but otherwise fine,” Gavriel crosses his arms. “The holiday season is repressing conflict.”

“Yet sometimes,” Marco hums, “it put extra pressure on that conflict.”

Gavriel eyes his brother, uncomfortable with the truth in the words. “Are you here to stir that conflict, brother?”

“No,” Marco admits silently. “Not at all. But I’ve heard the rumors. Heiral hasn’t.”

Surprise springs from Gavriel. He glances at Aedion and Heiral, at how they laugh and jostle at each other. If Heiral were to find out blood would spill, not just on the land they are standing on but in Terrasen also. There is no doubt to Gavriel that Heiral would gladly hunt down all offenders that dared to lay their hands on Aedion. If Heiral did decide to hunt so would Marco. Gavriel would have hesitation, if only because he would need Dorian and Aelin’s permission to kill members of their nations. He doubts they would hesitate to give him clearance.

“Keep Heiral away from the dissent creators,” Gavriel orders quietly. “We need to avoid as much confrontation as possible.”

Marco nods, yet doubt clouds his eyes. Gavriel understands, really he does. How long will it take before the strain in the camp snap? He’s seen the way Aedion’s shoulders stiffen at times when his son’s smirk turns threatening instead of jovial. No doubt insults have already been flung. All that can be hoped is that they avoid a full out brawl.

~~~

The answer to Gavriel’s previous question is seven hours. Seven hours later, into midday, is when the shouts ring out and Heiral roars with blood covering his fist and spraying across his chin.

It took three minutes for word to reach Gavriel on the other side of the camp.

One minute for him to tear through the crowds to his brother.

Thirty seconds to haul Heiral off the cursing fae guard.

And ten seconds to register Aedion’s shocked expression, his son standing off to the side.

“What happened?” Gavriel growls, spinning Heiral to face him as soldiers drag the injured fae away.

“He said that Aedion whored himself for the king of Adarlan,” Heiral trembles with his rage, spitting the words. “That he lay with whoever he needed to succeed.”

“Heiral-“

“Those lies-“

“Just-“

“It’s true,” Aedion’s voice slices through them, the younger male pushing forward to claps Heiral’s bicep. “I was Adarlan’s Whore. I had to sleep with many people, both by choice and otherwise.”

Stuttering in his movements, Heiral turns to look at Aedion, something in his eyes softening immeasurably. “Oh, boyo. I’m-“

“We need to go somewhere more private,” Marco interrupts, eyeing the muttering fae around them. “In case you all forgot, everyone here can hear you quite clearly.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Aedion shrugs one shoulder. “They’ve heard the stories and come to their own conclusions. They don’t deserve any concern.”

“Damn right,” Heiral growls, tawny eyes flickering over to the bleeding fae. “Just let me-“

“Now, Heiral,” Gavriel tugs his brother’s arm. “To the tent. We need to keep a full fight from fermenting.”

Indeed, many of the fae are teetering amongst themselves. Whispering stories and rumors to another, some starting small arguments as they look to Aedion than away again. Gavriel mutters a quick word to Caius, who calls out to the warriors and starts to disband them, making his way to the bleeding fae and leading him away. Relenting, Heiral allows his brothers and Aedion to drag him to where their tents stand.

“I didn’t realise there’d be such a fuss over me,” Aedion leans against a tree, arms crossed. “In Terrasen most people just mutter about this shit then move on.”

Gavriel almost feels like calling Aedion out on the lie, on pointing out all the slurs and accusations his son's faces but stays silent. The bravado is there for a reason.

“No one here blames you for what happened in Adarlan,” Marco holds Aedion’s gaze. “None of us do.”

“Some of it was my choice, you know,” Aedion flicks his brows up. “I did make the conscious decision to fuck my way up the ranks at times.”

Gavriel captures his breath in his chest, waiting for his brother’s reactions.

“Of course you damn did,” Heiral frowns. “Who wouldn’t? I remember when Gavriel first started in the military and had a tizzy with his commander, a lovely female named-“

The Lion is immediately shooting his brother a ferocious growl, cutting him off as Aedion whirls around to stare at his father. Marco shakes his head, sending his eyes upwards to the stars.

“What Heiral means,” Marco drags back the conversation, “is that we accept everything that occurred. We are proud of you, not ashamed. For the things that were your choices and the things that weren’t.”

Aedion looks away, mouth set into a hard line as a not-quite-steady breath flows through his chest. All males stand in silence, allowing the weight and emotion of those words to pass through them all before continuing.

“That’s the reason for distaste in the camp,” Heiral shakes his head. “Some people here feel for you while others scorn you. “

“Like usual,” Aedion snorts. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the words leave Gavriel in a rush. “Many here already love you. Terella dotes on you, and Caius sees you as a nephew already.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Aedion’s mouth, joy sparkling in his blue eyes. Gavriel knows that they aren’t the only fae Aedion had connected with, his son meeting many young demi-fae like himself, finding solace in being around people with the same abilities as his for once. It’s been a joy to find his son sparring with others so similar to him in species, build and abilities.

Yet in Gavriel’s opinion his son outweighs them all.

“Caius and Terella are taking care of the male,” Gavriel frowns at Heiral. “They will sort out the situation. For now, it’s best that everyone retires for the night and we allow all this to rest.”

Thoughts swirl so violently through Gavriel’s head that he barely registers how quiet Aedion is. His son collapses on the bedroll and stares at the roof of the tent in contemplation. Gavriel finally notices this when he sits down, realising after five minutes that Aedion hasn’t started a conversation right when they are about to sleep.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel asks quietly.

“I was foolish enough to think it would be different here,” Aedion snorts, folding his hands on his stomach. “The only place I don’t have to put up with this bullshit is when I’m with the Bane.”

“We can go back if you want,” Gavriel ignores the pang in his chest, at the idea that his son is as uncomfortable around his father’s own army, own comrades, as he is everywhere else.

“No,” Aedion frowns, sitting up. “Fuck, no. I’m enjoying myself. It’s just a few bastards pissing me off.”

“Your language becomes appaling when you’re in a war camp,” Gavriel allows a scolding tone to seep into his voice.

Aedion seems to turn just a little sheepish under Gavriel’s stare. “Force of habit.”

“Break that habit.”

“I will when you’re around,” Aedion grins. “So… Caius and Terella are looking after that fae male?”

“They are,” Gavriel agrees. “All though I wouldn’t say they are ‘looking after’ him. No doubt Terella is tearing into him.”

“She’s terrifying,” Aedion agrees happily. “She taught me yesterday how to remove a person's spleen and spine in the same move.”

“Really?” Gavriel perks up. “Did she show you with the dagger she gave you?”

“She did,” Aedion smiles widely. “We should invite her to Terrasen for the holidays next week. Caius too.”

“That’s right,” Gavriel realises it suddenly. “We’re going back tomorrow…. I’ll ask if they want to come with us.”

~~~

That’s how, five days later, the great hall in Terrasen is filled to the brim. Tinsel across the windows, taels laden with food and fine clothes flashing as people dance to the musicians. Evangeline laughs as she dances with other children, Fleetfoot running around her feet and flowers are woven into her hair courtesy of Aedion.

The cadre members, Lorcan, Vaughan and Fenrys all talk by a large fireplace, drinks in hand as Lorcan scowls and Vaughan smiles slightly at Fenrys’s story, the male drawing in a crowd with his tales. Off to the side, on the dance floor, Rowan and Aelin sway together. The queen keeps one hand on her mates chest, the other holding his own as his broad palm presses against her waits. His silver and green suit matches perfectly with her dress that flourishes out from the waist. Aelin mutters things in his ears that cause him to smirk and others to drift away.

Elide stands next to the buffet with a group of witches and Manon, laughing loudly with her friend. The balcony where Abraxos resides is right next to the table, the giant beast sticking his head in to sniff at the meat only for Manon to growl him away. From time to time Lorcan glances over at them, drifting over to allow Elide to pull him onto the dance floor. He glares at everyone’s laughs, only smiling when Elide tips her head back and booms out laughter when he swings her into the air, pounding in mock anger at his shoulders.

Caius, Terella, Marco, and Heiral stand with Aedion and Lysandra. The shifter holds a deep conversation with Terella, the two of them debating furiously over the benefits of claws versus knives. Marco watches on in fascination as Gavriel and watches Heiral and Aedion poke and prod at the giant pile of presents piled in the corner of the room. The two go so far as to pick some up, Gavriel’s gaze the only thing stopping them from shaking the boxes.

Five days until Yulemas. Yet the party, and company, is already flourishing.

______

Special notice: So it’s been about two years and Lion’s Pride has gone on for so long. On AO3 it’s just reached over 10,000 hits, making it one of the most popular fics in the fandom on the site. All of that is because of how well received it was by tog lovers, and I can’t thank you guys enough. This was my first fic and it honestly wouldn't have made it past the first chapter if it wasn’t for you all xxx ❤️

[fire-the-headcanons]

Lionheart chuckled. "No, you're supposed to respect them as dangerous opponents to the work we do. Five of these tribes still operate in Anima today, though their influence is nowhere near what it once was. You may find this lesson a little more… practical than most."

Gods. It had to come up eventually—Huntsmen didn't just fight Grimm. They knew when they signed up there would be lessons on… on killing bandits… But the second month of school? Some luck.

Qrow watched the professor through his bangs as Lionheart set the chalk on the tray and folded his arms behind his back, tail swishing slowly behind him as always.

"They're just bandits," the same girl said.

Follow the Beacon Qrow—Doomed to Repeat It

[Link to Masterpost]

[TW: child abuse, abuse, PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks. A lot happens here. I think I got all relevant warnings. Summary at the bottom as always.]

[In Volume 5, Yang mopped the floor with the cousins Branwens without breaking a sweat, but in World of Remnant Qrow also described the bandits as being surprisingly competent. This is why I have a few good fighters leading the tribe, and the rest are just opportunistic a*holes. 

 Anyways, here you go! Have a pile of my angstiest headcanons...]

"…letting Vale rebuild the southern wall. On to Anima—does anyone know what was happening in Mistral during the Xan Era?" Lionheart asked, glancing over his shoulder as his chalk hovered an inch from the board.

"The Bandit Queen!" someone shouted. "I love that movie!"

Qrow's pen froze in his notebook. Had he misheard? But no, Raven stopped too. 

"Yes, well, I'm afraid the film embellishes some details," Lionheart chuckled, writing THE GREATER BANDIT WAR on the board. "But yes, that is the general idea. Bandits have always been a problem in Anima, much more than in Sanus. Any ideas as to why?"

"…Well, Anima has a lot more villages outside the main kingdom than Sanus." 

"It does. Anima’s climate is far milder and more predictable. Homesteading outside of the kingdom has always been easier, and sadly in the case of banditry more prey means more predators."

The pen shook in Qrow's hand as he copied what Lionheart was writing on the board. He'd been having an okay day until now...

"Historians agree it was actually a drought that began the war. Crops failed, and people began to congregate in the cities—especially in Mistral. As Marin mentioned, there were six major tribes roaming Anima at the time, and they quickly found themselves with no one to take food from."

"What, are we supposed to feel sorry for them?" someone grumbled from the third row.

Lionheart chuckled. "No, you're supposed to respect them as dangerous opponents to the work we do. Five of these tribes still operate in Anima today, though their influence is nowhere near what it once was. You may find this lesson a little more… practical than most."

Gods. It had to come up eventually—Huntsmen didn't just fight Grimm. They knew when they signed up there would be lessons on… on killing bandits… But the second month of school? Some luck.

Qrow watched the professor through his bangs as Lionheart set the chalk on the tray and folded his arms behind his back, tail swishing slowly behind him as always.

"They're just bandits," the same girl said. Tiffany? That was her name, right?

"Bandit tribes are the second-best fighters on Remnant, after Huntsmen," Lionheart warned. "And you cannot afford to take them lightly. I am from Anima, I fought plenty before I took up teaching."

"What makes them so dangerous?" someone else asked.

Lionheart smiled. "That is precisely the sort of question you should be asking to get the most from this subject. But to answer it—bandits are just as practiced in the use of aura as any Huntsman or Huntress, and every single one has had their Semblance unlocked since the age of five."

The class broke into astonished mutters and whispers, and Qrow looked down at his notes again. "How's that possible?"

"The tribes have some… unique practices. Some anthropologists go so far as to call it a religion—they justify their actions through a simple code: 'the strong live, the weak die'."

Qrow's stomach curdled.

"Most of you found your Semblances in a moment of need, or intense emotion, correct?" Lionheart continued. "In order to make their people stronger, they do not train their children to generate a defensive aura until after their Semblance is unlocked." More shocked whispers from the students. "As Semblances frequently manifest during times of duress… if a bandit has not found theirs by the age of five, they face a trial of some kind—most often beatings—until they do, or die trying.”

He dropped the pen and folded his hands under the desk so no one would see them shaking. Next to him Raven continued to scratch out notes. But it had been easier for her—Raven’s portals were obvious, showy, and manifested within a few minutes. It hadn't taken the tribe any time at all to figure out what she could do. 

...Maybe if he'd been allowed to discover his Semblance naturally, he'd be able to control it.

“That’s barbaric!”

"True, but remember their code, 'the strong live, the weak die'." Lionheart's voice dragged his attention back to the current danger. "If a bandit does not have a Semblance, the tribesmen see them as unfit to survive. And while cruel, it is effective—the practice is one reason the tribes persist to this day.” 

His tail lashed as he began to pace in front of his desk. "Another is their hit-and-run tactics… raiding a village generates a lot of negative emotions, and will almost always draw in the Creatures of Grimm. Huntsmen sent to aid the town are frequently too occupied fending them off to catch the bandits before they disappear into the wilderness."

He turned to the other chalkboard, the one with the permanent map of Remnant, and began to draw lines across Anima. "The tribes each have their own territory, bordered by natural barriers just like the kingdoms, preventing them from fighting with each other too much. Since the Great War and the founding of the Huntsman academies, the territory that contains Mistral was cleared when the Mathon tribe was wiped out."

Bones had been furious. The tribe burned three villages to the ground without even taking anything, and Qrow and Raven earned their brands a year early.

Please. Please, just let the bell ring.

"The other tribes have weakened considerably as well, particularly those close to Mistral. As technology has improved, so have our response times. The current council is hopeful that the rest of the tribes will fall before the end of this era, and have dedicated significant resources to fighting them. …Mister and Miss Taupe, you are from Anima, correct?" 

Qrow's blood froze. Every eye in the room was staring directly at them.

"Do you know which tribe was active near your home?"

He didn't look up. The question hung in the air, demanding an answer. Raven was shaking, he could feel through the bench. He swallowed and croaked out, "Branwen."

"Ah, hem, yes," Lionheart said. "In the Xan Era, the Branwen tribe was the largest of the six…"

* * *

The bell rang, mercifully cutting off the discussion of battle tactics during the sacking of Mistral. Lionheart glanced at the clock in surprise, finally returning to the present. "We got a little off-track there, didn't we?" he chuckled, finally setting down his chalk. 

Qrow and Raven hurriedly shoved their things into their bags as he continued. "Make sure you've read chapter three in the textbook. Instead of a write-up, let's do an essay comparing the modern tribes to their Xan Era counterparts—you'll find some information on the contemporary tribes in chapter seventy-eight, but use at least a few additional sources and cite them appropriately. I’ll set the due date at the end of the month—"

"How about after Halloween?"

"Ah, yes. I'll post the specifics online tonight. Class dismissed."

Raven took off, almost running for the door and disappearing through. None of the other students seemed to notice as they gathered their things, but Lionheart was staring. Qrow just busied himself with writing the assignment down.

"I'm sorry." Qrow jumped—the professor had moved right in front of his desk. "I didn't consider whether you may have encountered the tribes before."

Qrow stared at him, frozen, uncomprehending.

“But, I suppose everyone in Anima's lost someone to bandits or the Grimm attacks they cause. Particularly the Huntsmen…“

"…Our parents,"  he lied.

He nodded, eyes closing for a moment. "The Branwens are particularly vicious.” Qrow’s hand tightened on his bag. “If I may offer a word of advice, young man… if you came here to get revenge, do not underestimate them."

His mouth went bitterly dry. "Have you…met…"

"A very long time ago. Probably before you were born. Please, pass my apology on to your sister?"

"Yes, sir." Qrow slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down the stairs, but Lionheart caught him as he passed.

"It's good to have you here with us." He gently squeezed before letting go and turning toward his desk.

Qrow forced himself not to run from the room, and went to find Raven.

[Summary— Lionheart has a history lesson on the bandit tribes of Anima and triggers Qrow's PTSD while also terrifying Raven. Bones was not a good person. Lionheart assigns an essay, due at the end of the month, on the difference between the historical tribes and the modern ones.]

Next Chapter: Taiyang—HATCHING a Plan

[have-each-others-six]

face to the wind, eyes to the sun (pt. five)

part one

part two

part three

part four

so today is the day.

october 13th.

the sad day.

here’s some angst to exacerbate your sadness.

***

two.

Anne looks up at the grey sky as they walk through the park on the way back home.

The snow has started to fall in earnest now, wet, heavy flakes falling down from above.

It likely won’t last. In London, snow never really stays, it typically melts within the day.

Anne remembers when she was very little, at her family castle near Kent, there was always at least one huge snowfall a year. She’d sneak outside after dark with her brother and sister, and together all three of them would play games in the snow, the vast grounds lit in sparkling silver by the moonlight.

She can remember seeing her older sister Mary, walking just ahead of her, raising a finger to her lips to signal that they should keep quiet as they went inside, because their father was throwing a party. Giggling when they slipped past the open door to the drawing room, filled with extravagant ladies and gentlemen. Carrying an exhausted George and brushing the snow from his hair.

She smiles at the memory, but another one, unbidden, floats up from some dark recesses of Anne’s mind, and she can see Mary’s face, twisted with disgust and shame as she’s roughly shoved into a kneeling position. The executioner adjusts his grip on his sword, and she can hear his gloves rubbing against the leather handle.

It’s like she’s back there, kneeling on the scaffold, trying not to let her fear show even as her heart pounds in her chest, her prayer book clenched in her fists, the slight breeze blowing her hair into her face.

She remembers everyone claiming she had slept with George, but that wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, and disgust curdled in her gut at the mere thought of it, so why did everyone believe it so easily?

She can feel her breathing getting shallower and her eyes getting glassy, both telltale signs that she’s disappearing into a panic attack, but at this point she doesn’t know how to save herself.

Adrenaline spikes in her body, rushing through her veins and causing her heart to race while her limbs lose feeling.

As the demons in her subconscious get closer and she falls further and further away from reality, Anne becomes aware of someone holding her hand.

“I need you to breathe for me. In and out, okay?”

The voice is faint, and Anne can barely hear it from the numbness she’s trapped in, but she tries to comply anyway.

“Easy, right? In and out. Everything’s all right, Anne. You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

Her vision slowly clears, but her heart is still beating at approximately eighty million times its normal rate and she’s numb all over.

She registers that she’s sitting on a bench on the edge of the park. All of the queens are watching her with concerned looks on their faces, giving her a bit of space so she doesn’t feel crowded by all of them at once.

“How bad is it, scale of 1 to 10?” the voice that had brought Anne back asks.

“6,” Anne answers quietly.

“She’s coming out of it,” the voice says, and when Anne looks to her left, it’s Parr who’s talking, resting a gentle, steadying hand on her knee.

Fuck, she curses internally. Anne tries not to let anyone see her panic attacks. She knows that in her old life, her symptoms would have gotten her locked away for good, or even executed.

And even though it’s been 500 years and things have certainly changed, a part of her still feels deeply flawed whenever she has a flashback in public. An even smaller part wonders if maybe the other queens will abandon her if she shows them all of her darkest moments.

She remembers one night at a hole-in-the-wall bar after a show, when she’d had to sprint out the side door after it got too loud and sweaty and cramped.

Jane had found her after a while, sitting against the wall of the alley next to the dumpster with smeared mascara.

“What are you doing here?” Anne had asked softly, feeling pathetic and tiny when she looked up at the blonde woman.

“I noticed you weren’t at the table anymore,” Jane said gently, sitting down next to Anne on the sticky concrete and pushing her hair out of her face. “It wasn’t hard to guess where you’d gone.”

“I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t-”

“Anne, sweetheart, slow down,” Jane had said, effectively cutting off Anne’s rambling apology. “You don’t have to apologize, darling. You should never have to apologize for recognizing when you need to remove yourself from a situation.”

They’d gone back inside after a while. Jane had given Anne a pack of tissues and sat next to her all night, keeping a grounding arm around her shoulder.

Anne never talked to her about it again. Jane clearly wanted her to, and had even tried bringing it up to her a few times, but every time Anne just changed the subject.

Hiding her true feelings has been a survival strategy all of her life. If she stops now, the people closest to her might abandon her when she needs them most.

Realizing this, she stands up abruptly, jolting out of Cathy’s space.

“We should get home,” she announces, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Come on, slowpokes.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, love?” Jane asks, and Anne loves Jane with all her heart but that is a very stupid question to ask right now.

She’s dying in twelve hours and something minutes (Cathy could probably tell her the exact number, but knowing that won’t really help anything). She’s definitely not all right.

But she nods anyway, forcing a grin. “I’m fine. Geez, Janey, don’t smother me.” She groans dramatically for effect, walking forwards with her back to the group so that they won’t see her bite her lip to keep from crying.

Her bloody animal crackers are still in her pocket for some reason, so she eats handfuls of those as she walks.

She hears quick footsteps behind her, and then Katherine’s there, falling into step with her.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Anne says, knowing her tone’s too harsh even as she starts talking. “I don’t know if I even can.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Kat replies gently. “I just wanted to walk with you.”

They fall into silence after that, and Anne knows the other queens are following a bit further back, but she’s glad they aren’t trying to interrupt the quiet.

The branches overhead form a sort of vaulted ceiling, a breeze coming through every few minutes and shaking down a dusting of snow.

“It kind of looks like we’re getting cocaine dumped on us,” Anne jokes, ruining the stillness of the moment.

It was purposeful, though. If she was left alone in the silence, she might have another panic attack, and two of those so close together might leave her spent and vulnerable.

It was better to sabotage your own life before anyone or anything else could do it for you.

Katherine nudges Anne with her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts,” she says, and she looks so young in her multicolored scarf and pink hat, but Anne thinks her little cousin might be the smartest out of all of them.

“They’re not worth that much, Kitty,” Anne says softly, kicking up some old leaves into the gutter, where the slushy snow has started to pile up.

“Well, they are to me,” Katherine responds, making eye contact with Anne so she can tell she means it. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just… considering some things, that’s all,” Anne replies vaguely, shoving her hands in her pockets. She should’ve brought gloves.

“I think we all are. Today’s certainly a day for considering things.”

Anne appreciates that she doesn’t interrogate her about her feelings, like some of the others might’ve done.

“Do you believe in an afterlife?” she asks, looking determinedly at the sky and not at Kat next to her, trying not to cry. “Maybe not heaven or hell, but something? Like, was there one when you died the first time?”

“I want there to be one,” Katherine says, running her mittened hand over the slats in a fence as she walks next to Anne. “I don’t want to say goodbye to any of you tonight, and I can’t lose-” Her voice breaks before completing the sentence, but Anne knows she’s talking about Jane. Katherine takes a shaky breath and continues. “But no matter how much I want there to be an afterlife, believing in it is a different story entirely. I don’t remember anything happening after the first time I died, so why should something happen now?”

Anne nods, and then she laughs, causing Katherine to look confused and a little hurt, so she rushes to amend it.

“Sorry, it’s just- you put it in words. Exactly. That’s how I feel too. A few more fucks sprinkled in there, maybe, but you just somehow vocalized what I’m feeling right now. Thank you, Kitty.”

“You’re welcome, Annie,” Katherine says, smiling.

They make easy conversation for the rest of the walk, the rest of the queens catching up to them for the last few blocks. Jane looks up every so often at Anne, clearly still worried, and Anne tries to be as jovial as possible to alleviate her concern.

The effort is tiring, though, so she heads straight to her bedroom when they get back to the flat and shuts the door behind her, sinking to the floor and sitting with her back to the wood.

At that exact moment, though, pulling her knees up to her chest to make herself smaller, Anne sees blood on her hand.

It’s a small cut, really. She probably got it in her rush to take her shoes off, or might’ve scraped her hand against something accidentally.

But the sight of blood sends her plunging into memories, and her scar throbs, and for the second time that day Anne Boleyn is left helpless, completely at the mercy of her past.

Some time later, the door opens, but it’s not Kitty this time.

It’s Jane.

“Hey, love,” she says, coming over to the bed, where Anne had moved once she realized she was slipping into an anxiety attack.

“Hi,” Anne replies, and it takes an immense amount of effort to get the word out. She doesn’t turn away from the wall.

“You don’t have to talk if that’s too much. I just wanted to check up on you,” Jane explains softly. “I brought you some water, it’s here on your nightstand when you want it.”

Anne nods. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice near-silent.

“The rest of them are very worried about you, darling. Can I tell them they can come up?” Jane asks. “They just want to know that you’re all right.”

Anne gives another small nod, feeling guilt at having worried them over something so trivial.

The door closes, then opens, then closes again, and Anne can hear the shuffling sounds that mean someone’s sat down on the rug.

“1 to 10?”

Anne recognizes Cathy’s voice and hesitates, but chooses to be truthful.

“8. Maybe 9.”

“Oh, Anne,” Cathy murmurs.

“I’ve had worse,” Anne responds, in a hurry to ease Parr’s mind. It’s true. Their first week of reincarnation, she didn’t leave her room, constantly trapped in a state of complete terror.

“Just because you’ve gone through something worse than this doesn’t mean that this doesn’t matter,” Cathy states firmly.

The door opens again, and light footsteps enter into the room.

Still curled up and facing the wall, she hears the bedsprings creak as Jane sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, and in her peripheral vision Anne can see Jane reach out and lightly rest a hand on her back, making sure that Anne can track her movements and pull away if she needs to.

“Yes,” Anne whispers, feeling the tension in her shoulders relax at the contact.

Cathy sits there for a few more minutes before moving to stand up and walk away, and Anne whimpers before she’s even aware that she’s doing it.

“Please don’t leave,” she says in a small voice as she finally turns to look at Cathy, hating herself for how cowardly she sounds.

Jane hears her first, and because Jane is Jane, and because at this point she probably knows Anne better than anyone else alive, she lays down on the bed next to her and pulls Anne close, making sure not to grip her too tightly.

It’s exactly what Anne needs. She can feel herself melting into the hug, clinging to Jane like she’s about to get swept away in a flood. Cathy lays on the other side of her, so Anne is sandwiched between two of her best friends as she finally lets herself break.

She starts crying, whispering “please don’t leave” over and over again, and she feels absolutely pathetic but Cathy’s still there, rubbing a hand up and down her back and telling her to breathe.

“I won’t leave, I promise you, Anne,” she replies softly. “I won’t ever leave, don’t worry. None of us will.”

“But you will,” Anne protests, sitting up, panic overtaking her again. “You’re leaving me tonight, and so are you-”-she looks at Jane-“and so is everyone else, and I don’t know what I’m going to-” She breaks off, afraid of revealing too much, but Cathy’s looking at her with some sort of understanding in her eyes.

Anne breathes in, and breathes out, and decides something.

A survival strategy doesn’t really matter if you’re going to die anyway.

“I’m scared,” she says honestly, letting the tears she’s been holding in for so long finally fall.

Catherine nods, giving her a smile laced with worry. “I am too,” she replies softly.

It gets quiet again, but then there’s a light knock on the door and Katherine comes in.

“Are you okay, Annie?” she asks, trembling a little bit as she stands in the doorway.

Anne shifts her position on the bed so Kitty can join them, gesturing for her to come closer, because she knows that Katherine does best when she’s got some sort of grounding contact in these situations. So does Anne, honestly.

She never gives an answer to Katherine’s question, and neither does Parr or Jane, because the response is fairly obvious.

They sit together on Anne’s bed, two-thirds of Henry’s wives, trying not to fall apart.

[kingludoavarius]

@ludogivemebabies @victoriaz2002

This is based on an old fan-fiction I wrote a couple years ago called “Ludo and the Lost Laser Puppy”. It takes place in season 3.

8 were made, conjured by magic, meant to be loved. But one was lost, sucked into a black hole, forgotten by time, space, and most of all, his creator. Alone for almost a year, this pup drifted the void, the longest occupant of deep space to be challenged only by one other. It’s only inevitable, even in the vastness of space that they meet.

Ludo: I spy with my little eye… something ummm… I don’t know, black.– Is it space?– YES! For the forty-thousandth time yes!– Well you don’t have to yell at me– Well maybe if you’d listen for once maybe I wouldn’t have to!– Gee, I wonder why nobody listens to you– Oh don’t you give me that sarcasm!… You know, I’m starting to think coming back here was a bad idea.– Sigh, you came back here to find yourself remember? Well yeah, but it’s not just that. I feel like I’m supposed to be here for a reason, like something more important is out here.– Hey wait, what time is it?– How the heck am I supposed to know?– Well, you’ve been going by that comet that circulates about every once a day.– It’s late.– HOW DARE IT BE LATE I RELY ON THAT! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KEEP UP WITH MY BUSY SCHEDULE WITHOUT A TRACK OF TIME?… Oh wait there it is… waitaminute, that’s no comet… that’s a MOON!

Ludo could feel the gravitational forces on his body. He was getting sucked towards a massive moon’s orbit. As he descended, he toppled over a hill, bumping his head, knees and ribs before landing on flat surface where he fell unconscious.

A few hours later, Ludo is pulled back towards consciousness by a few weird sensations, first, pitter patters of what sounded like tiny little feet softly tapping against the moon rock, followed by what sounded somewhat like quick sniffing, all around his body, working it’s way from Ludo’s toes all the way up to his beak, the small creature sniffing his breath, Ludo could smell the creatures’ breath as well, not particularly pleasant as it reeked of the digestion of things that we’re once alive that Ludo wasn’t particularly familiar with. The being climbs on him, tiny, but sharp paws digging into his rib cage as the creature licks to taste him.

Ludo jolts awake, started and startling the small creature, a ragged, skinny, angry puppy. The dog stood there, gritting small but ridiculously sharp teeth at Ludo and growling at him. There was no love in this creatures eyes, only primal instincts.

Ludo: Pff, oh really? What are you gonna do pipsqueak? Nibble at my ankles?

Ludo mocks the dog only to receive a laser beam to the chest. Ludo falls right on his back, stunned by the laser. The ground starts to shake around them and out of a small crater at Ludo’s head shoots a purple tentacle. It turns out, the moon was ALIVE, and it was angry for being disturbed once again. More tentacles emerged. Angered by the fact that Ludo had awakened the beast in the moon. The tentacle grabs Ludo and starts squeezing the life out of him. The puppy shoots the tentacle with the laser, loosening the grip on Ludo causing him to fall to the ground. The dog grabs his ankles with sharp teeth, rag-dolling the bird against sharp rocks as he dodged rocks and tentacles. Ludo had greatly underestimated his strength as the dog drug him nearly a mile into a cave where the moon ceased it’s attack.

Ludo: You… you saved me from that thing. Thank you.

The dog ignored as it angrily began to groom itself and mend to the scabs all over it’s body. Ludo reaches out to touch him but is met with retreat and a savage rearing of hungry yellowed teeth. This was when Ludo noticed just how tortured the poor dog was. His gut as drawn from the water left in oases that was meant for the moon itself and nutrition he received by eating the tentacles he had to fight to obtain, his eyes, where once bubbly and pure, now weary. What was once soft fur had become overgrown, shaggy and dirty. By all nature’s rights the dog should have died long ago, but whether it was by magic, or sheer will of determination to survive and see it’s masters, brother and sisters someday, the dog trooped on every day for over a year. The dog approaches, as if ready to pounce Ludo and devour him when he remembers.

Ludo: Oh yeah!

From inside his own back he pulls another similar back of potato chips, filled to the brim. This was the magic bag Star had given to Ludo to feed himself. It would regenerate chips so that Ludo would not go without food once again. He quickly opens the bag and pushes it towards the puppies’s face. The dog pulls back, but then sniffs the bag, realizing it’s food. He lunges into the bag and starts devouring chips, eating faster than the chips could come back.

Ludo: Hey remember to save me some of those.

Content, the dog walks away from the bag.

Ludo: I hope you enjoyed yourself.

The dog ignores him and goes to sleep in the corner taking short, quick breaths as it sleeps.

Ludo: You’re quite a soldier there little fella. I get that. I’m small, and honestly after all I’ve been through I have no right to be alive, but you. You’re a whole another level aren’t you? How long have you been here? How long has this nightmare been your life?

Ludo goes to sleep in the cave, awakened only a few hours later by faint whimpering. The dog looks at him.

Ludo: What?

Ludo is generally confused. The dog runs outside, prancing.

Ludo: Well if you need to go, just go. I don’t care where. Your house… er cave… your rules.

The dog walks off. Rolling his eyes in frustration, Ludo follows. They tread with caution, trying not to reawaken the moon. The dog does his business, burying it, Ludo realizing how disturbing it must be to be alive and having smaller creatures release their excrement all over you. The puppy barks at Ludo, signalling him to follow. The dog trails Ludo to a river. Ludo takes a canteen out of his bag, filling it with the water from the moon, taking a drink before doing a spit-take, the water had an unnatural taste to it, but of course, it was weird moon water. The dog had grown accustomed to it. Who knew what the water held, but for mysterious reasons, Ludo felt invigorated even though he had no actual sustenence. The experience was weird, but could perhaps explain why the dog had not dehydrated, for he rarely ever had to go there, which really, was the only bit of mercy the Pup took from his stay on the moon.

A lingering smell caught Ludo’s beak. He couldn’t put his finger on it but it was amazing. Enamored by the alure, Ludo walked towards the smell, practically entranced by it. The puppy follows him, curious. The strange smell was leading Ludo to a small crater in the moon, filled with red liquid, and bubbling the ooze tempted Ludo. The puppy panicked, dragging at Ludo’s bag and barking as Ludo kept moving. he swayed at the dog’s face, causing him to release a laser from his eye by mistake and hitting the crater, spilling the red liquid. The moon was angry as it’s bait for Ludo had been thwarted, the tentacles burst through the ground once again, Ludo running in fear while the puppy stays to fight it with lasers. As Ludo flees the tentacles he hears a sharp yelp, the puppy is getting strangled by the tentacle. Angered, Ludo rushes in. The tentacle slaps Ludo, causing him to land near an assortment of rocks. Ludo scrambles for the sharpest one, finding one as edged as he could get, and rushes towards the swaying beast, letting out a blood-curdling warcry as he lunges towards the tentacle, stabbing it as hard as he could, the tentacle writhes in agony as the pup falls. Ludo leaps in to catch the small pup and grabs him just before hitting the ground. He runs with the hurt dog as far as he could. The angry tentacle grabs both of them. Thinking it’s their doom, they look at each other, closing their eyes. But instead of killing the two, the moon decides to toss the two as far out of the planet’s orbit as possible. The puppy looks in a state of half-despair as the bitter place he knew as “home” faded into the distance.

Ludo: It’s okay puppy. A home’s not a home if you’re not welcome. I would know.

He reaches his hand out to pet the dog, and for the first time, it finally gives in and lets him.

As Ludo finds himself relieved to be away from the killer moon, the puppy continues to look distraught.

Ludo: You’re an amazing little puppy. Hey now, don’t be sad. We’ll find a place… together… you and me. We’re not that different. You had to learn everything on your own, so did I.

He looks at the puppy, smiling, but the dog returns nothing but a face of remorse.

Ludo: Why are you looking at me like that?

They make eye contact. Somehow Ludo feels like he can read the dog’s thoughts just from his expression. Ludo starts to sob, feeling somewhat rejected, but he draws back his feelings, taking one large breath.

Ludo: I get it. You miss your people. Who were they? I feel like I know you… but I don’t. It’s so faint… think, think… ow.

Ludo conks his noggin, before realizing.

Ludo: Waitaminute, normal puppies don’t have laser eyes. Puppies with laser eyes, cute and deadly. Deadly and cute… NO… it can’t be… are you… one of Princess Butterfly’s dogs? Well, only one way to find out.

Ludo lifts the dog, awkwardly looking outward, Ludo looks at the dog’s butt.

Ludo: Yup, a heart, I knew it. Of course… of all the goshblasted people why her! How could she?! How could that Princess be so careless as to leave a puppy alone in the void for all this time?… Ennhhh… I guess she misses you… If she even remembers you. I think she had like 7 or 8 of you at some point. So what do you say? Wanna go see your old master?

The dog lifts his head in curiosity.

Ludo: Now uhh… hmmm. How are we gonna get outta here?

Out in the distance, he sees a Star, golden bright, hurdling through the reaches of space.

Ludo: Wow what convenience. We’re gonna go see your master, puppy! I need you to do one thing. FIRE THAT LASER!

The dog smooshes his eyes together, preparing the most focused laser beam he could, it jettisons Ludo and puppy through space.

Ludo: Faster, puppy, or she’ll get away!

The puppy then fires a laser as hard as it can, cannon balling Ludo and the puppy through space towards Star, in her Butterfly form having one of her nightly travels through the void. She opens a portal.

Ludo: Hurry puppy! She’s getting away!

The dog can feel itself running out of energy, but then Ludo gets a plan, he plucks one of his feathers out his head and tickles the dog’s nose, causing it to sneeze, releasing one more burst of laser, and slamming Ludo and the puppy right into Star and she escapes through the portal, closing behind all three of them. Knocking Star, whose reverted back to regular form, face-first into the floor and waking Marco from his rather uncomfortable sleep on the chair.

Star: What the heck!

Marco: Who? What? No I wasn’t sleeping. Huh?

Star: Ludo? And uhhh… a scrappy looking puppy?

Ludo: I believe this is yours.

Star: Mine? But I have all ei-WAITAMINUTE! Lemme see that dog.

She picks up the puppy. Looking at him. She then turns it over.

Star: Awww It has a cute little heart on it’s booty Marco! It is mine!

Marco: Wait… we have all our dogs.

Star: OMG! Marco, you rememeber when we first met, and that one time I made a black hole in your room and it sucked one of the laser puppies in?

Marco: Oh yeah! I uhh… I forgot about that one. And then we just made another 8th… oh.

Marco looks at the puppy, feeling ultra guilty.

Marco: Ohh jeez we left a little pup out in the middle of who knows where and never went looking for him.

Star: Yeah… I guess he just fell off our radar, being as how busy we were with… you know… being teens.

Ludo: How could you two be so reckless?! Allowing things to get thrown into the darkness of space? Something so small, and helpless… and… scared.

Star: Are you ok?

Ludo: I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I might as well just get going. I know I’m not exactly welcome here.

Star: You obviously care alot about this little guy. I think it’d only be fair if you get to say your goodbyes.

The dog runs to Ludo, standing on his hind legs pressing his paws into Ludo looking at him, begging him not to leave.

Ludo: Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.

The dog proceeds and he just can’t handle himself. He wraps his arms all the way around the laser puppy, weeping profusely. After nearly a minute in silence he puts the dog down and walks out the bedroom door.

Star: Ludo… thank you for bringing him back. If you’d like. I could give you another toss into the_

Ludo: No, I think I’ll make due here. It’s about time I stopped neglecting things too.

Star: Good luck.

Marco: Major props tonight Ludo.

He leaves by the main stairway, being sure not to be seen by the guards. The puppy approaches it’s brothers and sisters, all playfully bouncing small lasers aimlessly. At first he’s excited, but then it fades. He is worried. What if his sisters don’t like him, or they forgot about him too. He approaches, and the other puppies retreat, afraid of the more gruesome and worn puppy. The puppy looks as his brothers and sisters play. Tries to get in the action and play too, to be a pup, but he doesn’t feel it. After what seems like an hour with his brothers and sisters he just gives up. He’s just not the same dog as the others. His world isn’t the same as theirs. He’s become too much like Ludo, young at heart but far too old for his own good, an outcast, a freak.

Star looks at the puppy, watching him sit in the corner by himself, looking miserable, hoping all he needs is more time. But she too is in denial. Marco walks up to the dog in an attempt to play with him. The dog won’t even engage in so much as pounce at a toy. Marco holds the puppy close. It gives him a small lick on the nose.

Marco: You and I both know what you really want, don’t we.

He stares at Marco. Marco takes off the dog’s collar and leash and Star looks at him like he’s gone mad.

Star: Marco? What are you doing?

Marco: The right thing. Go on. You know where you want to go little fella. The dog looks up at Marco and smiles before jolting at top speed, sprinting down the castle steps, skipping entire stairs on the way down. He never seen a dog run so fast.

Star: Puppy come back! I love you… you just came back…

Marco puts his hand on her shoulders

Marco: Star, let him go. This is what he wants.

Star: He’s just a puppy, Marco!

Marco: Never stopped him before.

Star wraps her arms around Marco, Star looking somewhat worried while Marco gives a proud smile.

The dog searches for Ludo, sniffing his scent for miles, the scent of Gold N’ Crisp potato chips fresh in the dog’s memory. Through forests he trekked, through insurmountable danger he did not fear he tracked Ludo until he could see a small golden glint in the corner of his eye. The moon reflecting off of Ludo’s laminated plastic bag was indistinguishable from any shrubbery that could be produced. Ludo continued to walk, aimlessly, thoroughly defeated and uncaring as to what happened to him next. In the distance he thought he heard barking, simply brushing it off as his imagination, or tiredness. But the sound grew louder. Believing he was going mad, he looked all over. He squinted, widening his eyes when much to his surprise the puppy came like a boulder towards him faster than those scrawny legs made possible. Ludo swelled with joy as the puppy drew closer. The dog leaps into the air as he gets near Ludo as he outstretches his arms. The dog totally pulverizes Ludo, knocking him to the ground and showering Ludo with more love than he ever received in his entire life, and returned to the pup in equal amounts. It was destiny. Two broken souls, fitting together to make something whole. Ludo wondered why the puppy didn’t stay with Star and Marco, but it didn’t last too long cause it was the happiest he’d ever been in his entire life.

Ludo decides he wants to try to build a house out in the woods, deciding in an almost gutsy way to build it within a reasonable distance from his awful family,  Thinking of Dennis. However. He wanted to try his hand at some of the newfound hope he’d received with his new best friend. The house he erected with the help of the puppy wasn’t a particularly perfect house. In fact it was rather flawed, but after three or four tries, he managed to make some chairs without them breaking under his rump, and even learned to eventually make a house that didn’t straight up fall apart just from opening the door. Ludo knew he wasn’t the best at particularly anything, but he didn’t care, and kept trying and trying to be the best he could be at being him every day from then on out.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 11/26(?) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Dragon Age: Awakening Ensemble Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself, after. She never asked.

But that was later, much later. For a long time, everything was fine.

After the bloody clearing, Loriel fell into her work the way one might fall down the stairs—not all at once, but once the process had begun, it became almost impossible to stop.

It was almost like being back in Kinloch. She spent all day surrounded by stone, studying magic. Only now it was on her own terms, something she was doing because she wanted to. Her freedom looked an awful lot like her prison, but it didn’t matter what it looked like. What mattered was what it was.

And of course she still had Yvanne.

Most days she woke later than she liked, with the whole morning having slipped away from her. The guilt of having done that was enough to rattle her out of any desire for breakfast, so she would go without. She would spend the day at her work, following one idea and then another. It went intolerably slow. Sometimes she couldn’t tell if an experiment had failed because her idea was bad, or because she’d done something wrong. It was just so hard to do this alone. But asking Yvanne to help was unthinkable (though she had promised, hadn’t she? She had promised to help.)

And when she could no longer stand going back and forth with herself about whether her ideas or her methods were bad, she would go back to her bedchambers. Yvanne would be there, along with a dinner in any possible condition between ‘slightly cooled’ and ‘stone cold and beginning to curdle.’ They would talk, or rather, Yvanne would talk. Loriel would nod along and eat her congealing meal, hardly tasting it. Her mind would be on the project she’d abandoned downstairs, churning with ideas for new ways to try it, if maybe she should return to an earlier form, if maybe she was struggling fruitlessly and Avernus had figured it out decades ago and it would have been faster simply to ask him.

Yvanne would finish telling her about her day, and ask her about hers, and Loriel would shrug and report that it had been pretty uneventful, really. Just work. And they’d maybe break out an aged bottle of red, and go to bed, and have sex, and afterwards Loriel would lie awake and think of blight and blood and spirit, and eventually, often when the dawn rays were already beginning to break over the horizon, she would sleep.

And then it would begin again. And again. And again.

—

Her library grew, as she requisitioned books from distant libraries, or else copied treatises herself. Her quantity of notes multiplied precipitously, until she could no longer easily keep track of them herself—and it wasn’t as though she could hire an assistant. Nobody else could understand her shorthand, anyway.

Letters from Avernus weren’t frequent, but always illuminating. Rarest of all were cryptic scrawls coming from the Architect. These generally raised more questions than they answered. She wondered if he wrote them himself, or if Utha or Seranni scribed for him. Perhaps Velanna would recognize her sister’s handwriting if she saw it—but Loriel never showed her. The thought of going out and talking to people, of being seen by them, turned her stomach.

She still had the opaque black crystal the Architect had delivered to her with Velanna. It had seemed so exciting at first, like it was surely the answer to everything. But the longer she tried to puzzle out its secrets the less she understood it. The rare times she had contact with the Architect, he was less than helpful. He kept assuming that she knew all sorts of things that she didn’t. When she asked in writing, his response WOULD explain the parts she already thought were obvious. Useless. Avernus, being nearly two centuries old, was bad enough, but the Architect was not old but ancient, and his humanity was further behind him.

She left the crystal on her desk, until looking at it made her sick with anger at herself. Then she shoved it in a drawer where she couldn’t see it anymore.

Probably she would have made more progress if she kept things better organized, but she’d never needed to be particularly organized before, and now she had no idea how to do it. Nobody had ever taught it to her. Every time it occurred to her that today would be the day she put things in order, it only took a minute of looking around at the mess for her to despair and give up.

It was pathetic. It wasn’t as though she’d never done original magical research before, but the Calling was another beast altogether. There were so many moving parts, and the more she learned the more confused she got. She needed a break, but a break simply wasn’t possible.

Because the clock was ticking. Every day she didn’t understand the Calling was another day that the unthinkable might happen. That one of them might begin to hear the song.

Alistair had said thirty years, but that had been at most thirty years. And even if the average was twenty, twenty-five, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be as few as five, for some people. Was it written down somewhere, how long each Warden lasted before the Calling claimed them? Where would she find such a document, if it was?

Yvanne still had awful darkspawn dreams. Did that mean she was more vulnerable to the Blight than other Wardens? Did that mean the Calling would come to her sooner? Did sooner mean twenty years rather than thirty—or as few as five? How much time did they have?

What made one person vulnerable to the Blight, and another one hardy to it? What made one person survive the Joining, and another one perish? What made one person’s blood different from another’s?

Or was it in the blood at all? Maybe it was something else. Some quality of the spirit, the same thing that made some children mages and spared others, perhaps. What made spirits different? Maybe Justice would have known, but Justice was gone. Justice was gone because of her. She and Yvanne pretended like it was because of Anders, but really it was because of her. Anders was gone because of her, too. What a farce. What a ridiculous, ugly farce. It was a wonder Yvanne didn’t hate her. It was all such a wonder, the fact that they still loved each other, such a wonder. It made her exhausted.

But what else was she going to do, with the time left to her? This was all she was good at.

Death’s child could do this one thing. She couldn’t do everything that was asked of her, not even most things. But maybe she could do this. Just this one thing. Just this one.

—

The thing about their arguments was that they really weren’t all that frequent. Most of the time they got along fine. Most of the time they lay down together, and rose up together, and kissed each other fondly. And it was not the most exciting of all possible lives, but wasn’t that what they’d fought for? Most days, when she was with Yvanne, Loriel could half-believe herself happy.

The problem was that it was always the same argument.

Yvanne would drink too much, and Loriel wouldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t her place. Yvanne would always do exactly what Yvanne wanted, and all attempts to prevent her would be ultimately fruitless. It still put Loriel on edge. So every time Yvanne brought it up—she only did it when she was drunk—Loriel was already on edge, so who could fault her for reacting the way she did?

“We could leave all this behind,” Yvanne would say. It was what she always said, as though wheedling would do it, as though she could wear her down. And usually Loriel would demure and conciliate. She’d always been so good at it.

But today she lost her temper. “That is not an option,” she snapped. “I’m not like you. I don’t give up on things.”

As soon as she said it she held her breath, waiting to see Yvanne draw back in hurt and offense. But instead she just rolled her eyes.

“That’s not even true,” Yvanne said. “You’ve given up on lots of things. You’ve given up on almost everything.”

Loriel stiffened. “Just what, exactly, have I given up on?”

Yvanne made a broad, flicking gesture around the room. “What haven’t you given up on?” She started counting off on her fingers. “The rest of the world. This Keep. Everyone we ever knew.”

Her mind went instantly to Anders. You gave up on him, too,  she thought poisonously. Faster than I did. But Yvanne wasn’t done.

“You know you keep accusing me of running away,” she said sardonically. “But notice how I’m still here. I stayed. I never ran, I always stayed with you. It was always, only, ever, you.”

You wanted to run, though, Loriel thought. You wanted to.

“All I ever wanted was a home in the world, with you,” Yvanne said. She’d said it before. Many times. “But you’re not with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loriel said, exasperated. It was a lie. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You have, though.”

No more than you have, she thought. It was almost as though Yvanne didn’t see her at all, when she looked at her. What did she see?

“All I ever wanted was to be with you,” Yvanne repeated distantly. “There wasn’t room for anything else.”

But I am with you! She had to say it out loud, but her throat was so tight. She had to say it. She had to. If she could just— “But I am with you,” she echoed. “I’m here. I’m not gone.”

“Not yet.” Yvanne put her hands over her face. “Maker, I’m so afraid. All the time I’m afraid.”

A cold pit of ice dropped into Loriel’s stomach. This was not a standard part of The Argument. “Afraid. You’re afraid of me.” Was it so shocking? Everyone else was afraid of her. She had made herself frightening. She had done it on purpose.

Yvanne’s head snapped up. “ Of you? You bloody idiot—I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able to bring you back. I’ve researched so many advanced healing spells, just in case, but it might not end up mattering. You can’t bring back the dead.”

“I’m not going to die,” Loriel scoffed. “Not any time soon, anyway.”

“You can’t know that.”

As many as thirty? As few as five?

“I know it as much as anyone can know anything,” she retorted. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not taking any undue risks.”

“Now that’s rich!” Yvanne said scornfully. “That might be the boldest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Now that got under Loriel’s skin. What right did she have to say that? And to say it as though it was self-evident. As though Loriel were simply being obstinate in not acknowledging it. As though it were anyone’s business but her own what she did with her own life and her own body.

“You don’t own me,” she said, too harshly. “I own me.”

“Wasn’t saying I did,” Yvanne muttered.

“No, I rather think you were,” Loriel said icily. “It isn’t what you said, but it is what you meant.”

Yvanne huffed, threw her hands up slightly. “Excuse me for suggesting that people with lives as tangled up together as ours might owe each other something!”

Then maybe they shouldn’t have gotten so tangled.

“And I owe you what, exactly?” she said instead. “To do with myself as you will, simply because you don’t trust me?”

Yvanne took a long time to respond. Then, quietly, “I don’t often ask you for things. But I’m asking you for this. Please.”

Loriel wanted to ask her what in the Maker-forsaken void she was talking about. Did Yvanne think Loriel would be any different outside the comfortable confines of Vigil’s Keep? Did she think the poison was in the flagstones?

For a brief moment she considered it. Abandoning her work, come what may. The Calling would take them some day, and she would never know which day—only that when it took one of them, it would take them both.

She thought about the great wide worlds, its endless sky, its infinite varieties. It choked her with its vastness. Who would she be out there?

“No,” she said eventually. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“Right,” Yvanne muttered, in the tone that meant the argument was over. It was the answer she’d been expecting. “Course you can’t.”

Loriel shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t. She was sorry, she was. But she really, really couldn’t.

—

Her newest idea was to test everything on rats. Surely it would have better results than trying to recreate the Blight in a glass vial. The Wardens had a vial of Archdemon blood, which had to be added dropwise to darkspawn blood, along with a dozen other things, to function in the Joining. She could infect the rats, and study them, try to cure them. She would regret their deaths, but it would all be worth it in the end.

A part of her knew she didn’t understand the Blight well enough to even bother with the rats. But she was so tired of failing. After all, Avernus had most of his success with live subjects.

Catching the rats was the hard part, requiring an elaborate series of paralysis glyphs and sense crystals. Then there was the matter of keeping them contained, fed, and watered. She spent weeks figuring out some way to manage the rats, all the time her mind wandering, such that the work of a few hours stretched into a full week.

In the end it didn’t matter. All the rats she infected with Blight died right away, and she didn’t know why. Had she miscalculated the dose? Were rats fundamentally different from people, in some way? But animals could be blighted, so that couldn’t be the case. Could one of the lower animals be made into a broodmother? Could rat-darkspawn be created?

The thought of trying to get more rats to try and find out was more than she could bear. She sat splayed in her chair, wondering if perhaps she could find a breeding pair and have them produce offspring for her, but in order to make that work she would need to figure out some kind of accelerated growth spell. It was surely doable, in theory, but it would involve creation magic, a field she knew nearly nothing about.

(Yvanne knew about creation magic. Yvanne had promised to help her with this, once. She had promised.)

So she abandoned the idea entirely, and returned to glass vials. Months of effort, wasted.

She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes. Tired. So tired.

You don’t have to do this, Yvanne had said. I’m doing this for you, Loriel had said. So many times she had said that.

And it was true. It was! She was doing this for her, for the both of them. For all the Wardens. For all the people of Thedas. Because she was the Hero of Ferelden, and a piss-poor one at that, and she owed this to them. And to her Wardens. And to Yvanne, and to herself.

It was true. Wasn’t it? It was. It was! She was doing this for her. For everyone, but really just for the two of them. Who gave a damn about anyone else? The world had turned its back on them, over and over. Loriel had struggled so hard to save them, and were they grateful? They weren’t. Was it so wrong to want to do something for the one she loved?

(If Yvanne really loved her she would have been grateful. If she really loved her she would have supported her. If she really loved her she would have been able to see—)

—

That year had been a late winter followed by an early summer, and Loriel nearly missed the whole spring.

Months later (who knew how many). The same argument.

Yvanne had said: How do you think I feel?

How you feel, Loriel thought scornfully. “How you feel!” she said, not nearly as scornfully. “It’s always about you, somehow. Always about Yvanne and what Yvanne wants and how I can give it to her, that’s always been the story. Maybe if you really loved me—”

She broke off. That wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair and it wasn't true. Yvanne loved her. Loriel loved her back. That much was true. That was the one eternal constant of the universe.

It wasn’t fair and it wasn't true, and when Loriel could think straight she remembered it. But she was so tired, so exhausted that the world bent and twisted before her eyes and she couldn't tell truth from darkspawn blood.

She pinched the bridge of her nose . “I’m...I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t mean that.”

Yvanne seemed to soften. More than anything Loriel ached for comfort. Not even magic. A touch would do. She was reminded of the time at Redcliffe, when she had first done blood magic, and all she had wanted was reassurance that everything could be alright. Yvanne hadn’t given it then.

“You’re right. You aren’t thinking straight,” she said, not giving it now. “So let me know when you are.”

Usually at this point Loriel would storm off in a huff to go work, and in a few hours she would come back and everything would be forgiven. Because that was what love was about, wasn’t it? It was about pain. It was about forgiveness despite the pain. It was about the choice to love and forgive and forget the pain. But this time it was Yvanne who managed to storm away first, except she didn’t storm. She walked calmly and closed the door quietly, not in anger, but resignation. Loriel was left alone in their chambers, the last place where they still shared a life.

(Maybe if you really loved me—)

No, that wasn’t true, Yvanne loved her. ( But she couldn’t see her anymore .)

Loriel needed to sit down, but there were so many articles of clothing on the nearest chair that she sat on the bed (their well-used bed, that had so delighted her when this had all begun) instead. And even sitting took too much energy, so she lay back. Maybe she could sleep for a while. Just a little while, so she could think straight.

But sleep didn’t come. Her racing thoughts were wide awake, and hungry, and had no pity for her.

She had always been afraid that she wasn’t good enough for beautiful, vivacious, lovely Yvanne. That one of these days Yvanne was going to figure it out and leave her. For a long time she’d been holding her breath, waiting for the blow.

But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t good enough for Yvanne. Maybe it was that she was just all wrong for her ( wrong wrong wrong, it slithered through her mind like crawling worms in the dirt), maybe they only fit together at all because they’d grown together like the intertwining roots of trees. She thought of vines twisted together so tightly they had fused ( parasites, living off each other, sucking the life out of each other, unable to survive any other way)

Now they’d traded the Circle for the Wardens. And love born of terror, perpetuated in bondage, what was that worth?

What did they have in common, anyway? Their whole lives. Their magic. What else?

She stared into the darkness, wishing she knew some spell to end all thought.

(What else? What else? What else?)

—

It wasn’t about the blood. It was about the sacrifice.

In that sense, to call it blood magic was a misnomer.

You can’t get something for nothing. This was the oldest rule in the book, from back before there were books, before writing, before language. It was as simple as anything, and it was as true of entropy magic as of blood magic.

Loriel knew all about entropy. The rule of entropy was this: you can’t get something for nothing.

That was why it was impossible to draw her own blood, store it, restore herself, and use it later. Blood stored in a vial, divorced from the pain and loss it had caused, had no power. The blood itself was inert. It was the pain that mattered.

She had to suffer. It had to be this way. It could never have been any other way.

Life was pain. It wasn’t all pain. But it was pain, sure enough. And pain was life, for only living things could suffer. For every sting of the blade, she knew herself to be alive. Here she was in the depths of the underground, nearer to the deep roads (the darkspawn) than to the sunlight, but while she hurt she lived.

Yvanne didn’t understand that. Yvanne was a healer. She didn’t understand the necessity of pain. She never had.

But you can’t get something for nothing. That was the rule. (Loriel knew all about rules. She had always been so good at following the rules. So, so good, and what had it gotten her?)

Her current project involved attempts to refine blight from blood—her own, a darkspawn’s, and an archdemon’s. Each Warden-Commander was entrusted with a vial of Archdemon blood, a single drop of which was used in the Joining cup. Loriel had it here, a measly quantity of it. It ought to have been refilled when Urthemiel had fallen, but nobody had been there to tell her to take its blood. She hadn’t known she was supposed to do that, and now here she was wasting the small quantity she had away on her useless experiments. (But that could be a good thing, that could mean that when she used it all up there would be no more Wardens and if there were no Wardens that meant there was no Warden-Commander and if there was no need for a Warden-Commander then Loriel could—go where? Do what?)

She wanted to understand what made Warden’s blood different from darkspawn blood, and what made both of them different from archdemon’s blood. She had for days now been heating, distilling, refluxing, heating again, countless hours spent staring at glassware full of the murky stuff, ( half-wondering what it would feel like to take the vials and smash them on the table and feel the shards of glass in her skin ), because surely it couldn’t be a matter of mere concentration. Darkspawn were not Wardens with more Blight inside them. And Archdemons were something different entirely.

Why were all the archdemons dragons? What did dragons have to do with Blight? But no, not dragons—old gods. But why were the old gods in the form of dragons? The Chantry would say that they were false gods of no significance, but even if that were true, why would beings clearly much more powerful than mere animals take those forms? Urthemiel had been the god of beauty; the Architect had been his high priest. Loriel had slain Urthemiel. She had driven a sword—

( she barely knew how to use it, it should have been Yvanne, it should have been her, none of this was meant for her, that was why she was down here in the dark, because she had taken what rightfully ought to have been somebody else’s, because she had transgressed, and now she was being rightfully punished )

—through its skull. She remembered how its bones had cracked. It had already been most of the way to dead by the time she finished it off. She’d hardly contributed to its killing at all.

(she’d picked up the sword, nearly as long as she was tall, because she happened to be nearby, it had just happened, she hadn’t meant to—)

Did the Architect know that? Did he know she had slain his god? Did he still regard the archdemon to be his god? It was no more corrupted than he was. (Would that be Loriel’s fate? Was that the fate of every Warden, to someday become the monsters they fought? What was the difference between them and the monsters, anyway? That wasn’t so bad. She’d been a monster all her life, what would be the difference?)

The bright blade bit into her scarred skin. The veins there were weakening. She would have to pick a new place to cut, soon. Her blood ran hot and warm down her skin. Loriel incanted. Nothing happened.

(What was the Architect’s name? What had he looked like? Who had he been when he had been a man?)

She changed the words of the incantation, then the pronunciation. She changed how she held her fingers. She cast again and again. Nothing happened.

(He deserved it though, that’s what he got, for breaking the rules. Rule-breakers had to be punished, that was the rule. That’s what he, what she deserved. That’s what she deserved, for expecting something for nothing.)

Her blood clotted and the flow stopped. It still hurt, but was that enough? No, it wasn’t, she could tell. The pain was necessary but not sufficient. She needed to bleed to cast spells like this, or else they’d always fail, and she’d have no one but herself to blame.

The knife bit into her flesh again.

(Yvanne didn’t understand, of course she didn’t, how could she?)

She didn’t feel the knife slip from her numb fingers, and though she felt herself slipping, felt herself fall, by the time she hit the floor she had already slipped into something like sleep—but not peace.

She dreamt herself in the Black City, wandering its winding streets and high towers. She knew only that she was desperately searching for something—someone?—that she couldn’t find. When she looked down at her hands they were claws, the bulging veins there black with the same Blight that ran through the gutters and oozed down the walls. It flooded the streets and rose higher and higher, up to her hips and shoulders, in her mouth and her eyes and over her head, and all was black.

—

Loriel woke slowly. First she became aware of her body and the bed it was lying in. At first she didn’t notice anything unusual, and then she did—the absence of pain. Nothing ached or throbbed or stung. She felt better than she’d felt in many months. She was suffused with the vague sense that whatever dreadful thing had been happening, it was over now, if it had ever even happened. Perhaps it had only been a terrible dream.

For a while she let herself float peacefully in the dim twilight of half-sleep, aware enough to relish the glorious lack-of-pain. But finally she had no choice but to open her eyes, and remember everything.

Yvanne sat sleeping in the wooden chair besides the bed. Her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her chin on her chest. It looked singularly uncomfortable.  Loriel wondered why she’d sat there instead of getting into bed with her. She reached out and touched her gently on the elbow.

Yvanne started, her eyes flying open, then relaxing. There were dark circles under her eyes, and they were red-rimmed; she’d been crying, but had stopped some hours ago, presumably when she’d fallen asleep.

“You’re awake,” she managed, “That’s good.”

Loriel coughed hoarsely. Her throat was dry. “How long was I…?”

Yvanne glanced out the window. It was dark, with no trace of either daybreak or sunset. The candles were all extinguished, and all that illuminated the room was a trio of Fade-wisps fluttering around Yvanne’s head like a halo, casting her in an eerie greenish light. “I don’t know. Most of a full day, I think.”

A glass of water stood on the bedside table. Loriel drained it, leaning on her elbow. She opened her mouth to ask what happened, and then closed it. Some of her memory was trickling back, as though after a hard night of drinking. You bloody idiot, I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able—

Instead she lay back. She knew better than to insult her by apologizing. The fact that she was even thinking of apologizing annoyed her. I’m the one that almost died, and somehow I need to comfort her ?

Eventually Yvanne said, “How do you feel?”

Loriel thought about it. “Good, actually,” she said. “Better than I’ve been. Much better.” Whatever exact combination of healing spells and potions Yvanne had administered, it had really done the trick. She felt like she could think clearly for the first time in...she didn’t even know how long. She was herself again.

She had the sudden traitorous thought—all along Yvanne could have helped her like this, and for whatever reason, she hadn’t.

“That’s good.”

What a funny path life took. Only a handful of years ago their positions had been reversed, and it had been Loriel sitting and fretting at the bedside, feeling helpless and afraid. She didn’t feel helpless or afraid now. She just felt tired—clear-eyed, but so tired.

“Thank you.”

At that Yvanne couldn’t take it anymore. She drew a rattled half-sob of a breath, and suppressed a hiccup. “‘ Thank you’? What was I supposed to do, leave you there?”

It occurred to Loriel how exhausted Yvanne looked. Not just tired, but...older. It could have been only the flickering Fade-light, but—some of the lines on her face looked new. Were they really new, or had Loriel just not been paying attention? Would she have turned to her, years down the road, and been surprised to see an aged face looking back at her?

All at once the guilt crashed over her, so intense it made her nauseous.

It would have been easier if she’d loved her any less.

Did you love me for me , she thought, or because there was no one else? And that thought hurt.

Then she thought, did I love you for you? And that thought hurt much worse.

“Loriel, I…” Yvanne swallowed, staring at her laced fingers between her knees. “Loriel, I can’t do this anymore. Something has to change.”

You’re right, Loriel thought, deciding. It does.

She struggled into a sitting position, and then realized it wasn’t much of a struggle. She was only stiff from sleeping so long. She scooted out of bed and found herself shivering in only a billowing nightgown. She didn’t have to look long for her robe; Yvanne had put it in the top drawer of the northmost chest of drawers. Her feet were cold on the stone floor, but she could live with that.

She went to her desk, rummaged for parchment and ink and quill. It was really more Yvanne’s desk these days, and she kept it in order. She stood as she wrote; the document would not need to be long. It only required her signature, and her seal.

“Do you know where my signet ring is?” Loriel asked.

“Upper right drawer,” Yvanne said automatically. She hadn’t spoken or moved, had only watched Loriel move about the room with uncertain eyes.

She found the ring. “Thank you.” Sealing wax lay in the same container, dark burgundy stuff; blue was more fitting for the Warden-Commander, but red would do. She dripped the wax onto the bottom of the document and pressed her ring into it, leaving an impression of the double-headed griffon symbol of the Wardens. The ink had had time to dry while she’d fumbled with the wax.

She read over what she wrote, once, twice, thrice, just to make sure. But her mind was clear, and short of letting it sit overnight—not an option—she was sure she’d covered all her legal bases.

Yvanne finally rose. “Loriel?” she said hesitantly. “What is that?”

Loriel rolled up the parchment and handed it to her before she had a chance to lose her nerve.

“It is a legal document, signed and sealed by the lawfully appointed Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Lady of Soldier’s Peak,” said Loriel. “It states that Warden-Lieutenant Yvanne Amell is abroad on official Grey Warden business of highest priority, and that any attempts to impede her free movements will be met with swift reprisal by the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and the Ferelden Crown. And there’s some more legal jargon at the bottom if you want to review that.” She raised her chin. “I can’t promise it will keep you safe from anything out there, far from it, but it should make public life as a mage on her own a much easier prospect.”

I can’t do this anymore, Yvanne had said. It was her favorite gambit. It meant— I’m doing as I’ve decided. Do whatever you want, but my course is set. Most times in their life it had been a bluff—until Amaranthine.

Well, no more.

“I don’t...what?” Yvanne looked at the parchment, then at her. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Loriel said tiredly. “You don’t understand. And you never will.”

She knew it for the truth as she said it. For the nearly twenty years that they had known each other, for all the things they shared, for all that they had walked within each other's very souls, Yvanne would never understand. What did Yvanne know about darkness, about decay? Yvanne grew gardens and built castles in the sky, content to pretend that the world ( their bodies (them)) weren’t falling apart. Yvanne would never understand Loriel, and Loriel—it had become now blindingly obvious—would never understand Yvanne.

Loriel would never understand Yvanne, and she was tired of trying.

For an endless, awful moment they stood suspended in time. Yvanne stared at the parchment, the wheels in her head turning and creaking as it dawned on her, the full significance of what Loriel meant. In that long moment, it dawned on Loriel, too, the magnitude of it. She was standing on a shore, beholding a massive wave rising up to swallow all that she knew, and it had not crashed down on her head yet, but it would, any second now, it would.

“Are you telling me to go?” Yvanne said. Just to make sure. Just in case she’d misunderstood.

Ask me to come with you, Loriel thought then, desperately, as though that was going to save them. If she only asked, Loriel’s resolve would break, and she would have said yes. She would have followed her to the ends of the earth, if only because the prospect of living without her had now become terrifyingly real.

But Yvanne didn’t ask.

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself later. She never asked.

Loriel would remember for the rest of her life the sight of Yvanne clutching the parchment and tearing out of the room. Loriel didn’t know why she would go after this—only that it would be far away, and that she was unlikely to ever see her again. Because she understood as well as Loriel did, what this meant for them—that the farce was finally over, the soap-bubble of their shared dreams well and truly popped. As it had always been destined to be.

For Loriel’s basic nature was that of entropy, and that meant she understood the nature of all things was to, eventually, cease. Every mechanism must someday wind down, and every life must eventually extinguish, and every love must eventually fizzle. You could run and run and run, but entropy would always get you in the end. Loriel had tried denying it, had tried cheating it, but it was no good.

Because you couldn’t get something for nothing. That was what Yvanne couldn’t seem to understand.

And that was why it had to be this way. That was why it had to end.

[keyofjetwolf]

The Chosen: All the notes and answers to shit you wondered about for years

Hey. Hi there. How are you? I’m good, thanks for asking.

So, you remember when, at the beginning of the year, I said I was officially retiring my Buffy the Vampire Slayer continuation, The Chosen? If this is the first you’re hearing of it, a) SORRY TO DROP THAT ON YOU, and b) you may want to read this post first.

All caught up? Awesome.

I told you guys I’d share my stuff. This right here is that. I’ve searched through countless backups, terabytes of data, the remnants of three computers, AND MY SOUL (not really my soul; it doesn’t have a convenient find option), and I think this is everything. If there’s anything left of The Chosen that isn’t contained here, then it’s almost certainly lost to time and I wave it a fond farewell.

But don’t worry. There’s a lot here.

What I have for you are all the notes, plans, and ideas that I had written during the time when The Chosen was pretty much my entire world. From late 2003 to mid 2005, I was on my Buffy creative shit, and OH THE PLACES I WANTED TO GO. I’m not sure I’ll ever not be sad that, in the end, I couldn’t do it the way I wanted. Still, I’m glad to finally be showing you where we were heading.

I’ll try to give this as much order as I can, but my notes were strewn across a mass of files, and in some cases, I straight up can’t remember what the fuck I even meant any more. Feel free to ask if you have questions! Just be prepared that the answer may have to be an apologetic shrug.

I’m not sure what to wish for you all in the reading here. Closure, of some kind, I suppose is what we’re really all after. So closure it is! Happy closing, friends.

Thank you so much for allowing me to have captured your interest and attention, and for accompanying me and these characters I loved on the journey toward the ending I hoped for them.

** Any comments from present-me will be marked in this format. Otherwise, everything is untouched from how I wrote it whenever-the-fuck ago. Section headers are either as I named them at the time, or taken from the file name.

S8 Ideas

General Ideas

Rogue Slayer girl ' 'Full Circle'; Faith-centric.

Possessing demons ' personification of control ' W&K breakup episode.

Xander gets powers, but in exchange for his humanity. Comes to realize that his humanity is what his friends need, and he gives up the power.

Dawn's key powers are reawakened ' ability to unlock and enter doorways to parallel dimensions/realities and back again. Episode where this happens and she visits a parallel world (where she is the Slayer?). Possibly triggered by Doc, seeking to reawaken Glory?

Monster that eats body parts to rejuvenate them.

Emotion sucker.

Incubus that tries to seduce Buffy in her dreams.

Siren/rock group ' playing in club.

Faith/Buffy/other Slayers hunted for sport.

Super Slayer, enhanced by the DC. Big Bad? Guinea pig.

Legion of Super Slayers, created from life force of girls who reject the offer to join the DC.

Things to Name and Figure Out

The name of the new town.

New town is in center of three-Hellmouth triangle, consisting of Cleveland, Ohio, Syracuse, NY, and Washington DC. The gang is settled in a fictitious town in Pennsylvania, not far from Williamsport.

Name derived from three? Trinity, Trillium, etc.

The name of the Bronze replacement. (The Vortex?)

The name (and personality) of Kennedy's new Watcher.

The name (and personality) of the turncoat (the girl Giles talks to in Ep #1)

The name (and personality) of the girl Faith recruits (future cannon fodder)

Better name for the Dark Council.

Better name for the Dark Coven.

Assorted Ideas and Quotes

Scene: Someone shopping at a local bulk warehouse place. How much to Slayers eat? A LOT.

Possible use for the drug from "Helpless" that neutralizes Slayer powers?

Scene: Junior Slayers fighting monster. One says "You ARE the weakest link... Goodbye!" The others make fun of her for using such an outdated pop culture reference. She pouts that they should add a class about banter to the Slayer curriculum.

QUOTE: "D'you ever think sometime we should, you know, run AWAY from the blood curdling screams?"

QUOTE: Buffy doubts Tara's return. Willow: "What, you hold exclusive resurrection rights?"

QUOTE: Tara and Dark Coven guy. Tara: "She'll kill me. After I do this...Buffy will kill me." DC: "After you do this, will you care?"

QUOTE: "Excessive? I think you and excessive have already met in a head-on collision and exchanged insurance information."

QUOTE: Tara talking about doing stuff with Dawn: "You know, shopping, getting our hair done ... girl things." Willow: "I like your girl things."

QUOTE: Someone's sick, but denying it. They cough, get an accusing glance. "I just have something stuck in my throat." "Yeah, it's called ILLNESS."

QUOTE: Faith to somebody, possibly a young Slayer, who goes on at length about what they're going to do to a bad guy or deal with some serious challenge or something similar. "You're full of crap, you've got no idea what you're talking about. (beat) But you mean what you say, so that's gotta count for something."

Notes

1st ep

fate of SS's

Dawn's powers

X taking Watcher's courses

G distancing

W going to grad school

B/T going back to school

prophecy bits

G gets ring

Buffy bit - blood

Ante released

Season 9 Ideas

based on 7 samurai - group of people want to come in and hire the seven to clean something out

something happens where buffy or dawn disappears and the other goes to find them

core four have notoriety as evil forces (four horsemen) with some other community

sdhs reunion episode

"Demon that draws strength from guilt, hate, love, etc. Especially bad if it gets hold of Faith..."

---

I had a really cool thought about Buffy and relationships while I was in there though, which I think I'll have to work into The Chosen.

A common thread in each of her big relationships (Angel, Riley, Spike) is that when she tells them she loves them, they don't believe her.

Well Angel does, but he doesn't think she loves him enough. When he leaves, it's despite her telling him over and over that she loves him enough that him being a vampire and them not being able to do "normal" things doesn't matter. He doesn't believe her, and so leaves.

Riley tells Buffy during their big pre-him-leaving fight, that when she says she loves him, he "doesn't feel it". His disbelief in her and her words causes him to leave.

Then there's Spike. Final episode, Buffy finally tells him that she loves him. "No you don't. But thanks for saying it." And then he dies.

At this point in Buffy's life, there are a lot of reasons why Buffy wouldn't want a relationship in my opinion. But not the least of which is the fact that she MUST be able to answer the question of why none of these guys she loves ever believe her? (Even if you don't think she did love Spike, to Buffy I doubt that would matter -- HE didn't believe her EITHER [and how dare he not believe me, by the way!]).

It's a concept I just managed to sort out (in the shower, of course), and I don't think it's an "obvious" connection, but I do think it's an extremely valid one. I think before I'm done, I'll have to work this into the story somehow. And not resolve it, because I don't think it's easily resolved, and I think it's an issue outside the scope of what I'm trying to do, but I think the issue should be raised.

Season 9 Episode Ideas

Episode where everybody speaks in rhymes. Possible reintroduction for Faerie character?

De-aging episode, Giles' 50th birthday. Courtesy of Ethan Rayne. ("Many Happy Returns"?) Zaps Giles, Willow, Buffy and Xander back to four or five or so, leaving Tara, Faith and Dawn to look after them.

Episode dealing with the murderers in the group: Faith, Willow and Giles. Finch's son/daughter hunts down Faith to (confront? get revenge?) for his death. Sub-plots for Willow/Warren and Giles/Ben. Interesting to note that Faith is the only one who has ever shown any regret for her murder.

Herculean labors parallel. Xander? ("Labor Day"?)

Seven deadly sins with each main character embodying one of the sins? The one least like themselves?

Buffy: Greed

Willow: Sloth

Xander: Pride

Giles: Envy

Tara: Wrath

Dawn: Lust

Faith: Gluttony

Some other Slayer in the past, fighting an enemy that arises today. The gang have to read through the old Watcher's diaries to learn about him and how she defeated it. Shows this old Slayer and her Watcher via flashback. Maybe our Big Bads?

The characters get sent into Faerie Tales where they're forced to sort of act out the tales they're in.

Inanimate creation of some sort (puppet like) who makes other inanimate objects come to life. Specifically mannequins, by switching them out for real people. Some Scoobies, of course, fall victim to this.

Xander getting set up on blind dates. Amusing segment where Xander explains to date after date about what happened to his eye, each reason becoming more and more outlandish. Finally he just gives up and tells the truth - "It was gouged out by a crazy preacher man." The date laughs: "You're so funny!" Could end with Xander getting fixed up with the girl we introduced in S8 and possibly have seen a few times since then - Xander's love interest.

Revisit ideas: nameless, faceless army for the good guys, what are we doing with our army?

Tara dealing with family issues. Why am I back? Madrigan as new father.

Banan the collector

Alt world where Core4 seen like 4 horsemen (Title: "The Four"?)

Conversation where some characters are guessing who would've been the next successor to the Slayer line.

"Other side" episode with dead characters

Buffy/Dawn ep about Buffy's role in Dawn's life. Seeing the others intreract with her, wondering what her place is in Dawn's life. Parallel with flashbacks about VS and her sister. Starts with Buffy finding Grip and Dawn making out, leads to Buffy giving Dawn "the talk" and failing miserably. ("Sometimes, after you and a guy ...... they CHANGE.") Dawn learns nothing, goes to Tara from there, who knows nothing about having sex with a guy, but is supportive and encouraging. Buffy overhears and then begins to try to find how she fits into Dawn's life. We learn at the end that although B/D are vastly different from the VS and her sis, the bond is still just as strong.

Willow (and Tara) meeting up with Willow's parents again.

Big Bads

Vampires, return to the simpler times a bit. Not apocalyptic, but personal. Female vamp with a real mad-on for Buffy. Pissed because Buffy failed to save her? Also possibly some sort of vampire army. Fem is a modern-day Sun Tzu, right hand to this guy in charge of everything.

Addition (3Jul04): After some discussion, we're leaning toward making the femvamp a Slayer who was turned waaaay the heck back when. Possibly held or captured by some other vampire later on in life, and she was released by the head of the army, thus earning her allegiance. Maybe she's Japanese and thus very honourable? If we take her from 1600 or 1700's Japan, that might work out well. Might also give added weight to why her soul has no bearing on halting her quest for vengeance - honor demands that her sister's death be avenged. Possible imagery: maybe she was tortured by whoever held her? The mental image of big ol' cross scar over her eye is intriguing.

Season 9 Episode Chart

Notes

Need to work out (soon!) everybody's hell stuff so it can be incorporated into earlier episodes.

Willow versus hacker vamp idea. Why? What's at stake? Possible fill for humour ep at 9x16?

Corollary: Replot Willow's arc through S9 and possibly into S10.

Get new prophecy for Giles.

Work in at least one other prophecy stanza this season. Important to figure out soon. Who, when, how?

** This was a chart which doesn’t translate well to Tumblr, so I’ll break the cells apart and show column separation with ||

Updated - 22 June 2005

Ep # || Monster/Conflict || Plot Developments || Focus

9x01 || Vamps || Buffy kills Hitakno || Group

9x02 || Dante || Faith comes home || Faith

9x03 || Slone || Sunnydale HS reunion in LA || Group

9x04 || Vamps/Demons || Yuugana arrives in Trillium, Xander quits the Council || Xander

9x05 || Belastung || Tara goes home. || Tara

9x06 || Ethan || Giles birthday, Scoobies regressed  || Giles

----------------- NOT YET AIRED -----------------

9x07 || Slayer || Demon girl on run from Slayer. Buffy and Slayer at moral odds. Dawn key powers awaken fully. || Buffy/Dawn

9x08 || Amy || Amy cashes in on Willow's debt. (Fake) Buffy accompanies. || Willow

9x09 || D'Hoffryn || Xander makes a wish that Anya hadn't died. || Xander

9x10 || The Furies || The Furies drive Finch's child to revenge. While they're here, they decide to spread the love. || Faith/Giles

9x11 || ??? || Funny episode - Camping trip? || Group(??)

9x12 || Yuugana || Faith visits Hazel's parents (Xander accompanies). Upon return to Trillium, is attacked and nearly killed by Yuugana. || Faith/Xander

9x13 || Yuugana/General || Sister's parallel. Buffy and Dawn, Yuugana and Hitanko. Yuu's backstory. General arrives, drains Willow and Dawn. || Yuugana/Buffy

9x14 || Yuugana/General || Buffy insists that the gang re-ensoul Yuugana. They do so; it makes no difference. Buffy attacked, put in coma. || Buffy/Group

9x15 || Antediluvian || In an effort to save Buffy, Tara, Xander, Dawn and Kennedy go in search of Ruth, and the Antediluvian. || Tara/Group

9x16 || ??? || Funny episode - ??? || Willow(??)

9x17 || The General || The General's plans come to fruition. || Group

9x18 || Giles' Demon || A demon Giles thought defeated years ago comes back to continue their arrangement. || Giles

9x19 || 7 Sins || The Seven Sins are unleashed on the Scoobies. || Group

9x20 || The General/Yuugana || The General releases Yuugana and they formulate a new plan involving Dawn. Yuugana kills the General and takes Dawn as bait. || Group(?)

9x21 || Yuugana || Part 1. Yuugana takes Dawn into the Private Hell place where she was recently kept. The Scoobies must follow. || Group

9x22 || Yuugana || Part 2. The Scoobies fight their way through their personal hell. Buffy vs Yuugana. || Group

Original Chart

** “VS” stands for “vampiric slayer”, so Yuugana before she had a name.

Ep # || Monster/Conflict || Plot Developments || Focus

9x01 || Vamps || Buffy kills the VS's sister || Group

9x02 || Serial killer || Faith comes home??

9x03 || ?? || Sunnydale HS reunion in LA || ??/Group(?)

9x04 || ?? (vamps?) || VS arrives in Trillium || ??/Group(?)

9x05 || ?? || Tara goes home. VS denied immediate revenge. || Tara

9x06 || Amy || Amy collects on debt. Wants Will to help her get a book. ||  Willow/Buffy

9x07 || Ethan Rayne || Giles birthday/regression || Giles

9x08 || Doc || Dawn & Doc - Key powers fully awoken || Dawn

9x09 || Finch's child (furies?) || Murderers haunted by past || Faith (lesser: W, G)

9x10 || D'Hoffryn || Xander's wish (Anya) || Xander

9x11 || VS/?? || Sister's parallel episode || Buffy/Dawn

9x12 || Monster in woods || Camping trip (Tara and blade of grass) || Group

9x13 || VS || Buffy vs. VS -- VS ensouled, Buffy drained || Buffy

9x14 || VS minions(?) || Buffy injured. Group goes after Antediluvian || Tara/Group

9x15 || ?? || "Labor Day" (Kenn still around) || Xander

9x16 || artifact || 7 Deadly Sins || Group

9x17 || Computer Program || Willow and the computer program || Willow

9x18 || ?? || Faith visits Hazel's parents || Faith/Xander

9x19 || Demon || Demon that's possessed Giles. Comes every 10(?) years. || Giles

9x20 || General || Fight with General - General loses || Group

9x21 || Demon Dimension || Four Horsemen ("Four"?) [Abortive attempt by VS to separate Buffy from her strongest allies?] || B/W/X/G

9x22 || VS || Big battle -- Buffy vs. VS || Buffy/Group

Yuugana

need: how does Buffy come to believe what she does about Yuu? Conversation beforehand? Difficult. Why doesn't Yuu just kill her? Could make threat, but then Buffy is gambling with everyone, and makes no sense why Yuu nearly kills Buffy later. (Especially as threat will come when Buffy falls unconscious.)

Buffy must be able to draw conclusions ahead of time. Paint picture of Yuu that Buffy will be privvy to. Draw parallels b/w Buffy's life and Yuugana's life. Buffy will internalize.

NEED: When/How will gang find out that she is Yuugana? When will this name be dropped? How? May be good if we can draw General as being very, very powerful. They're afraid of him. Getting Yuu on their side would be huge in fighting him.

Idea: General nearly kills Dawn, draining key powers. Yuu saves her. Buffy thinks it is because Yuu knows what it's like to lose a sister. In truth, Yuu isn't ready for Dawn to die yet - that will be the most painful blow of all.

buffy believes -- utterly believes -- that Yuugana will be good if given her soul. Spike was good, Angel was good ... maybe all vampires can do good if given the chance? Who is she to be judge, jury and executioner?

Internalized: this could be me. What would I do if someone killed Dawn?

** I found two sets of Season 9 character arc notes. The first set are what I think what I was mainly working from, but I’m not 100%.

Character Emotional/Plot Arcs – Season 9

Season Theme: Consequences

Buffy

Will be target of the Big Bad’s wrath as a consequence of killing the BB’s sister early in the season. Buffy’s primary emotional arc will be in the realization that every action, even the most seemingly natural or inconsequential, has far-reaching repercussions, that affect not just Buffy but those she loves.

Willow

Willow’s emotional arc returns to one that was never resolved or given enough attention (or mangled thanks to magic=crack) – control issues. Throughout Willow’s history on BtVS, she’s exhibited time and again a deep NEED to control the things around her. Her need for this never changed, save for her becoming so paranoid she was afraid to breath for fear of killing everyone in S7. Her catalyst for these deep-seeded emotional problems re-emerging stem from a few basic changes. 1) Tara’s back, and Willow doesn’t think she can take losing her again. 2) The Big Bad has made things very, very personal. And Willow remembers only too well what happened last time a Big Bad vampire took things personal. 3) This Big Bad is smart. Really smart. In some ways, even smarter than Willow. And for all the enemies they’ve faced, Will’s never had to go against someone who’s been able to out think her before. And she freaks.

We’re going to have to be careful with this one, though, because we don’t want a return to “Willow Uses Way Too Much Magick” again. We’re therefore going to have to find others ways in which Willow exercises that control trigger finger. Her computer skills could certainly help out to a degree, as well as her smarts, but we’re going to have to be careful. We definitely don’t want a rehash of S6’s problems. Willow is – or very much should be – wiser than that now. And while Will has sort of always had a bad case of “the ends justify the means”, we don’t want a rehash. So care is needed.

We could help to show this by maybe having Willow do something like casting a really powerful protection spell that somehow backfires. What will be vitally important here is taking care to make it very clear that Willow isn’t relying on magick for every little thing (no spells for decoration or closing curtains) … the magick is simply her most powerful tool for keeping everyone safe. This should NOT be about black magick, but about a need for control.

NOTE (4Jul04): After discussions, will probably meld Will's character arc with the fact that Buffy and others (Tara and Giles probably excepted) don't fully appreciate or realize the pressures they put on Willow to come up with the answers and be the big gun, while simultaneously not wanting her to go too far. Magick is bad, except when they need it. They don't accept their own consequences for the actions they push her toward. This still feeds into Willow's character flaws above - her need to protect everyone, to be the best, to keep the nasty stuff at bay.

Xander

Xander, being the human element, will have the root of his emotional arc derive from one of the most basic of human desires: to live forever. Not in the biologically immortal sense, but by wanting to live on long after he’s died. Xander realizes that of all his friends, he is the one that history is least likely to remember. The odds on him being studied in school centuries from now are next to nothing. Buffy will be recalled as the world’s most successful Slayer. Willow as the witch whose spell changed the world. Giles as the founder of the new Watcher’s Council (and new world order?) Any history mentioning Willow is almost guaranteed to include Tara as well. Dawn and her Key potential is fascinating and going to be mentioned … but Xander? There’s nothing so remarkable about Xander, he feels, and thus begins his quest to somehow ensure his own immortality to history.

This might somehow be triggered by the emergence of a new sort of threat. With Slayers all over the world, there’s absolutely no way that NOBODY is going to notice them. Even if people in the Buffyverse have shown time and again that they’ll simply ignore what they either can’t or are unwilling to understand (gang related, PCP), not everybody is so willing to pull down the veil. Thus begins the emergence of a conspiracy theorist, someone who somehow has managed to trace his story to Slayer Central. In doing so, he somehow manages to put a level of importance on each of the Scoobies … except Xander. Which stings.

Xander would eventually come to realize that while history may not remember him, those he loves certainly will, and when all’s said and done, that’s enough for him.

Giles

Giles’ arc will come out of an inevitability – his age. One of the earliest episodes will be reflecting on the fact that Giles is now 50. He’s done such a good job with the Council that much of the bureaucracy continues without his direct involvement. He’s not really keen on that side of things anyway, so he’s not sorry to see it go. But what he does want to do instead is get into the thick of things physically. But, unfortunately, he simply can’t anymore, and it’s a lesson he very much doesn’t want to learn. Giles will ultimately come to realize, however, that while he can’t swing a sword to match the Slayer, what he DOES have is his incredible mind, which will certainly be put to great use in the confrontations with the Sun Tzu-like Big Bad. The fight could not be won without Giles’ intellectual input.

Tara

Tara will spend much of her arc wondering about her place. When she was alive, she had some difficulty in fitting in. And it wasn’t until just before her death that she really started to come into her own. A year and a half has passed now, however, and things and people have changed. Tara aspires to be more than just an extension of Willow, and as voiced in “Family”, she wants very much to feel useful to the Scoobies.

But Tara’s need to find where she fits extends beyond simply within the Scoobs. Tara has a very definite sense of nature and balance, and her being brought back from the dead is something of an abhorrence to her. She can’t quite shake the feeling that in order for her to have been brought back, something had to go out in her place to keep the balance. What that may have been disturbs her beyond words.

How exactly these issues become resolved is currently unclear. Tara should certainly remain the moral and emotional center of the Scoobies. She has more power now, but power was always Willow’s contribution, not Tara’s. On the death thing, perhaps something mystical helps her? Maybe the big Wicca chick we bring in at the end of S8 can help somehow? Show that Tara’s coming back was, in its own way, as natural as her passing was UNnatural. Her return is, in and of itself, a righting of the scales.

Dawn

This is a big year for Dawn. She’s a senior in high school. She’s turning 18. She’s becoming an adult. Oh, yeah, and she’ll finally figure out that she’s got all those Key powers still. Dawn’s story will be about transitions. From childhood to adulthood, from being just a normal (as normal as she could be) girl to having all those powers as the Key and whatever that implies for her. We will also need to decide this year where Dawn’s going to college (her awakening Key powers could be a good excuse to keep her local).

Faith

Faith’s story is going to be about guilt. Hazel’s death at the end of the previous season happened right before we ended the whole thing, so at that point we will have gotten to see precious little carryover. This is the time to dwell on that. Faith would feel tremendous guilt over Hazel’s death – Faith is the one who recruited Hazel, who brought her there. She was Hazel’s mentor, and Hazel sacrificed herself for Faith. We don’t want to retread over the “do I belong here?” line, since we’re dealing with that in S8, but Faith should certainly be questioning whether or not she should be leading little girls into dangerous battles. It’s one thing for Faith to risk her life night after night, but another entirely to be responsible for the lives and deaths of others. Unsure how this will resolve, but it seems the logical arc for Faith given the closing of the previous season.

Big Bad

NOTE: We’re going to have to come up with a really good reason why Willow just doesn’t ensoul the vamp chick … or she does and it makes no difference at all. Could be an interesting commentary about vampires and souls. Hm.

The more we’re discussing this, the more we’re liking this idea. The notion of souls in the Buffyverse has always been sort of hazy at best. Loosely, they seemed to be of the opinion that getting a soul somehow made you good … but there are countless number of humans in the world (and the Buffyverse – look at Warren) who are human and, one therefore assumes, have a soul. Yet they are still capable of great evil. Even more so than some demons that they encounter. So despite however neat and pat Buffy likes to make it sometimes, a soul does NOT automatically mean that someone is going to be good. And maybe that throws her for a hell of a loop. Willow ensouls the BB, but it doesn’t make one bit of difference. Vengeance is, after all, as much a human emotion as anything else, and the BB still wants Buffy to suffer horribly for what she’s done. At most, the BB may feel some measure of guilt for the people that she’s had to kill over the past 300 or 400 years (however long she’s been vamped), but as it turns out, she doesn’t. She looks at it with the detached, cold impracticality possessed by Slayers – she did what she had to in order to survive. Maybe she wasn’t a fan of torture (we’re painting her very logical and such, so this should work okay), and simply did what she needed to. The Slayer in and of itself is very predatorial and most definitely a survivor – there’s not necessarily much difference between them, and this will further demonstrate that fact.

This could also further add to Willow’s continued feeling of being out of control. This SHOULD have worked and didn’t.

Season 9 Character Arcs

Buffy:

Buffy's arc will deal with a continuing gray area between what is good and what is evil. What is a soul really? Does having a soul make you good by default? The vampiric Slayer will prove that's not necessarily the case. Additionally, Buffy will be trying to sort out a few things about her life. What does she ultimately want to do? She could very well be the first Slayer in history to die of old age. Does she want to be involved with that all her life, or does she want more? Would Buffy maybe like to return to school? (Might be fun to have her and Tara going back to school together.) Around midway point, Buffy is nearly drained to death by vamp Slayer, she must rely on others to take care of her - doesn't always have to be the strong one.

Willow:

Willow will come to the realization that her magick is of no use against the Big Bad this year. What is Willow without her magick? What else can she contribute? Progressively, other things may fail as well, so that Willow is systematically deconstructed and having to find her true purpose and how she can contribute outside of her raw power.

Xander:

Xander will explore his roles this season. He's said that he won't be forgotten or shoved aside, so then the question becomes, how will he contribute? It's up to Xander to answer this question. He tries his hand at a variety of roles - maybe a Watcher, maybe a husband (though he's already "failed" at that one). Come the end, he realizes that his role is support, and it's the role he's always fallen into naturally.

Giles:

Giles is pulling away from the others. He's beginning to see the Slayers as nameless, faceless people. He realizes that he'll have to sacrifice them - and some part of himself - again at some point in the future, so he's subconsciously distancing himself from the pain. He's slowly becoming the Old Council. Comes to realize that while he may have to distance himself from the body as a whole, it doesn't mean he shouldn't have any attachments at all. And that he can be those two people - the one that can love them, but still sacrifice them for the greater good if necessary (which will work, as Giles will ultimately sacrifice himself, NOT for the greater good but because he doesn't want them to die).  ** Which may be a good time to point out that I was going to kill Giles next season, kisses.

Tara:

Tara's quest this year will be for her place. She's died and come back, but this isn't "right". There is a balance in things, and she feels she's upset that balance. She'll explore her past and her family to find out why, in a grander sense, she's back and how she fits in now.

Tara and Willow:

Tara discovers that Willow has somewhat enshrined her as a result of her death and return. Willow caves to Tara almost constantly, and it's beginning to affect them both, but Willow can't bring herself to fight with Tara as a result of what happens every time they fight. She doesn't want Tara to go away again. They must fight, they have to learn that it's okay. Tara pushes it with Willow and makes it happen. Maybe when Tara goes to visit her family, that's the catalyst.

Dawn:

Dawn becomes victim of the time-old adage, "be careful what you wish for". She's always wanted to be a Scooby, but now that's beginning to conflict with her other desire to be a regular teenaged girl and her other big desire: to be an adult. All these worlds are colliding and Dawn's not sure which is more important. Blows off Scooby things for friend-things sometimes. Blows off friend-things for Scooby-things.

Re Grip: They're getting closer, but she keeps having to put off things with him due to Scooby situations. Grip notices and (kindly) confronts her, wondering if she really just doesn't want to see him anymore but doesn't know how to tell him. When he finds out about the baddies, he'll back away, needing time to process. Poor Dawnie.

Faith:

Faith will spend the season getting back onto the redemptive path she's been on for years. She doesn't feel bad that she killed Judith and is wondering what the means (somewhat like when her mother died). She'll learn that just because she's stumbled doesn't mean she's fallen. She begins in England, hiding out from Trillium. Thinking she should go solo, it was easier when she didn't have anyone else to worry about. Doesn't want to go back, but Kennedy pushes her. Once back, Faith avoids everyone. Should Giles maybe get Faith into therapy?

Buffy agitated that Faith isn't really being punished. Faith points out that a lot of people around Buffy are killers and they've never been punished either. Buffy needs things black and white, Faith is another shade of grey and it's getting harder and harder for her to do her job.

Xander gets to the heart of things too much, and Faith doesn't want to deal with that. Finally it's Willow who lets Faith know that there's someone who DOES understand. It's the first step in getting Faith back into things, but she still doesn't want to teach.

Maybe at some point in the season, Faith takes off? If so, Xander should probably pursue. (Might tie in nicely to Xander's "what's my role?" arc. Perhaps he has a job interview or something that he can't miss out on that will further define him, but he misses it because he has to help Faith, and that's the choice he makes) Could be where Hazel's death gets resolved. Goes to Hazel's house and parents for that?

Faith's murder issue will probably come to a head when she's face-to-face with Finch's child. Kid wants revenge, and Faith understands that. States how it won't make anything better, but gives up and says that if s/he wants it so bad, just take it. S/he doesn't, of course, which would probably disappoint Faith to a degree.

Maybe show Faith just starting to teach again at the end of the season, rather than some big culmination. Maybe she's forced into it when the VS keeps the other Slayers occupied? Buffy would be elsewhere at the time.

  The Big Bad

** These are some of my earliest notes, as reflected in how I’m using my placeholder names like “Dark Coven”. A lot of it deals with what happened in S8, but it outlines the larger arc, which would have come to a head in S10.

What the Bad Guys Want

The Dark Coven is seeking to reawaken The Old Ones. As per Giles in “Welcome to the Hellmouth", the Old Ones were driven out when the lost their "purchase" on this reality. The last vestiges of the Old Ones fed on a human, mixed their blood, and created the first vampire. This proves that humans were around during the time of the Old Ones. He also states that vamps, demons and some magicks are leftovers from the time of the Old Ones.

The Dark Coven is a group that has been around since the time of the Old Ones. They are in allegiance with them, and are currently seeking to free them. In their current incarnation, they are very, very close (comparatively speaking). The Old Ones are sealed away somewhere by a series of extremely intricate locks, well nigh impenetrable. But they actually are already well on their way to opening them.

More than anything else, the DC is a master of manipulation with OODLES of patience. They've been working on freeing the Old Ones since their imprisonment. As is eventually revealed, they have been twisting events with the Scoobies for years, bringing them to the point where the Old Ones are ready to be freed.

When the Old Ones Roamed

They were, quite simply, lords of their domain. They are few in number, but unfathomably powerful. As with many nigh-omnipotent beings, however, they became bored and complacent. They began to tinker with things and began creating demons, unleashing them on the world. The demons, however, were little more than slaves, and no matter how evil, nothing much likes being enslaved. The demons, together with humans (quite possibly including the Shadow Men from "Get it Done") were able to ensnare the Old Ones -- you can't kill them, but they were imprisoned. Once the Old Ones were gone, their power slowly vanished, diminishing their partners/lackies/etc. (like the DC), and leaving the created demons and humans to fight over the rest of the land.

Season 6 Manipulation

The DC, although powerful, are themselves, collectively, unable to open the remaining locks (if they could ever open any at all). However they soon discovered one girl, Willow Rosenberg, who had the innate ability to channel the energies necessary to set things into motion. She just needed the right motivation to get the power.

Exactly how far their manipulation into these events goes, we don't know. What is for certain is that they fixed it so that Tara would be shot and killed by Warren's stray bullet. (The reasoning for this idea: there's absolutely no way the bullet could have possibly killed Tara in the way it did. Warren was in the backyard, running away and shooting upwards. Tara was standing by the bedroom window on the second story. The bullet shot through the glass, and through her, at no angle at all. Obviously in-show this was done for dramatic purposes, but they left a door open for outside creative interpretation and I’m going through it.)

As they knew it would, this prompts Willow to become hell-bent on revenge and absorb enough power to destroy the world. She goes to Kingman's Bluff, raises the effigy of Proserpexa, and begins to funnel her energies into it. Had she done this enough, she would have raised one of the Old Ones herself (or Proserpexa could have take the next step in unlocking one of the doors), however Xander interceded and saved Willow before this could happen.

NOTE: Perhaps Xander's interception is what was actually needed here? I always found it interesting that he completely blocked and seemingly absorbed all that power Willow was throwing at the effigy without even blinking. Was this maybe super-charging him for something? Could this maybe be key to what they will need to save him from later on? (S10 stuff.)

The Proserpexa angle maybe have been removed, but the DC didn't mind -- Willow had now unlocked enough of the power within herself to open another lock.

Season 7 Manipulation

This stems from a whole lot of S7 never really standing up to much scrutiny. Take, for example, the scythe. Caleb and the First spend SO much time and energy in uncovering the scythe, claiming to know how very important it was to NOT allow Buffy & Co. to get it -- when if they hadn't even been trying to get it, Buffy wouldn't have ever known it was there. This in and of itself seems to make ZERO sense, particularly since it never seemed to be that the First could use the scythe himself -- it was all about keeping it from the Slayer. So, very stupid to not only sit on the darned thing, but to ACTIVELY BRING YOUR ENEMIES TO IT (the "trap" in "Dirty Girls" leads Buffy and the Slayers to the vineyard, They never would have bothered going there otherwise).

My reasoning: The First is also an Old One. And he set his plan up specifically to fail. He himself is immortal, he cannot die. And he doesn't really give a crap about ubervamps and Bringers. Their plan all along was to make the Scoobies unleash the scythe to awaken all the Slayers.

Why? As mentioned in "Get it Done", there is a well of Slayer power. That well is usually filled nearly to capacity. It was, after all, only being used by Buffy, and then Faith. The fact that the emergence of a second Slayer did nothing to diminish either's power indicates that it's not shared on that kind of level. In addition, the awakening of all the Slayers at the end of "Chosen" didn't seem to cause any sort of power drain. Instead, we theorize that the well is deep, but has a finite capacity. When Willow did the spell, she in essence pulled the stopper on the well and drained it dry. This well, however, happens to be one of the keys to freeing the Old Ones, and once it drops to a certain level, the "door" that it locks is open.

Moving on -- The Chosen

When Slayers die now, one is not called in their place. There is a finite number of Slayers in the world now. When they die, their Slayerness returns to the well. Only once it reaches a certain level (presumably it's "default" state, pre-spell) will the "natural" process resume. The DC obviously don't want this to happen, as once it "refills" to a certain point, the door will close again. Hence their working with the Assemblage of Merodoch (previously, "Dark Council"); by harnessing and funneling the Slayerness into an already existing Slayer, it does not return to the well, hence no refill.

But that isn't the only reason the DC are working with the Assemblage. The AoM also has another key: an angel that they're keeping chained up in the deepest sublevel of their headquarters. This angel has, perhaps, been around as long as the Old Ones themselves. Perhaps he even aided in imprisoning them. He was captured shortly thereafter, however, and has remained that way ever since (we're talking pretty close to pre-recorded history here, as long as the Slayer line has been in existence, possibly longer).

Idea: The angel can only be freed by a descendant of one who imprisoned him in the first place. Maybe a Giles?

He is a key -- maybe something he says? His true name, perhaps? The DC want him, but the AoM have him and won't give him up. They have said, however, that once Order is restored to the world, they will provide the DC with the means to do whatever they need to do with him. The DC is okay with this -- they're currently getting something from the Council (someone to alert them to the need to funnel Slayer energy and someone to keep all that tiresome business together while they focus on the really important stuff).

Like good ol' Willow Rosenberg.

They call Willow "The Sangerand" ("the bloody"), and they should absolutely not be done with her yet. Willow's independent further role, we don't yet know, but she commands their greatest amount of attention. Her, and Tara. ("The Curat", or "the pure"?)

When they resurrect Tara, it is ostensibly under the guise of killing Willow. However the true reason is to fulfill Tara's part of this prophecy (which includes her death, resurrection and making the choice to not kill Willow), possibly including the sharing of power that Willow will need to do to save them.

Thinking on it, it would be cool to have each Scooby play an important role somehow in all of this. Sort of like their being together in this way was a fated thing. "The Chosen" indeed.

**ADDENDUM** I really like this idea of each Scooby playing a particular role. This could still lead up to the eventual death of Giles, which in and of itself will provide the beginnings of the Coven's downfall. They do whatever they're doing to Xander, which will kill him - but that won't matter because his role in unlocking the door will be done. Will is going to be doing the spell to save him, which will kill her in turn, but that's okay too because her part is also played in releasing the Old Ones. Giles, however, has NOT yet done his part, and he completely surprises everyone when he takes Willow's place, thereby saving both Will and Xander. This totally throws the Coven for a loop, though obviously they must still be able to do what they need to without Giles, else their plans are over with right then and there. It's crucial that his sacrifice NOT be part of the DC's plans, else it takes away from its poignancy.

Will need some sort of prophecy-type thing detailing what is needed to be done to release the Old Ones. Should be nice and vague, but with meaning once you figure it out.

Scooby Designations

Willow: The Sangerand ("the bloody")

Tara: The Curat ("the pure")

Xander: The Vedere ("the sight"), The Asar ("all-seeing eye") -- "The Baani" ("The Architect" - Urdu)

Buffy: The Kusari ("the chain"), The Revenire ("the returned"), The Gula or The Bau ("Lady Who the Dead Bring Back to Life")

Giles: The Verhaal ("the history"), The Shoukin/The Infria, ("redemption"), The Shin'ar ("Land of the Watchers")

Faith: ("the dark"), ("the restrained"), ("the wild")

Dawn: ("the cherished"), ("the gateway"), ("the portal"), ("the key")

The Prophecy

Opening Quatrain

Buffy :: The Trimarga :: Three Path A heartbeat thrice begun A death mark thrice given All roads lead to the town of three When her spilled blood shall spill again

Willow :: The Sangerand :: The Bloody Blood flowing, blood taken Forces awoken, decline and ascent Blood given, life exchanged Freely, she will fall

Xander :: The Baani :: The Builder Grief and rage, life's destruction Mind and body, life's cohesion Heart and spirit, life's devotion Melding, merging; essence anew

Giles :: The Tezan :: The Way Forger of paths, the first and his kin The demon wields the plague of black Summoner, banisher Pierce the barrier, paths renewed

Tara :: The Curat :: The Pure Birth and rebirth, the cycle complete Connected to evil, untainted Power innate and power borrowed Through the light she will free the ancient one

Dawn :: The Amelatu :: The Gatekeeper Living energy made flesh and form Younger in life, older than death Truth altered, life shed And the walls will fall

The Slayer Well Solitary hunter, night's enemy She alone will stand When the well is drained and strength is shared One becomes Many

Closing Quatrain And so it is written Seven locks hold fast The masters expelled, the world cleansed Until the Chosen play their part

Seven keys for seven locks From the first to fall, five score and one If all locks turn, the door lay open And the Old Ones shall reclaim the Earth

Buffy: The Trimarga ("three path" :: the triple path of Knowledge [jnanayoga], Devotion [bhaktiyoga] and Action [karmayoga]). Three times her heart has started beating, three times she's been marked by a vampire (Angel, Dracula and the Vamp Slayer [yet to happen) and in town of threes(??). Something to do with blood - some of it needed to open the lock. Blood of a Slayer is already potent, and Buffy's was obviously enough to close the portal in place of Dawn.

Willow: The Sangerand ("the bloody"). Willow will cast a blood-sacrifice spell, that will enable her to willingly exchange her life for another. It has to be this spell based upon how Mads and the others are killing Xander. Very, very powerful, only she can do it. The flow of the energies will open the lock.

Xander: The Baani ('the builder"). Xander is the "incuabator" for two very powerful magicks. They don't impact him directly, but it is his nature - his very self - that will enable them to merge within him to create something new. The first blast came from Willow on Kingman's Bluff. The second, from the orb destroyed in "Win, Lose or Draw". Madrigan will take Xander around the mid-point of S10 to extract the magicks from him. It will kill him in the process, but that's of little concern.

Giles: The Tezan ("the way"). Giles' role is to obtain a ring that has been in his family for generations upon generations. Unknown to those recently, the jewel of the ring actually contains a demon - a demon that was the original cause of the Black Plague in the 1330's. Giles' ancestor, a powerful warlock for the Council, was the first human to pierce the barrier between this dimension and a demon dimension where he summoned a demon and bound it to his service. The demon was sent to China, where it was supposed to take out a group of other demonic creatures trying to open a Hellmouth there. It did indeed do that, but not before starting the plague. The Council, rather than destroy the ring and banish the creature, said "We'll control it better next time." The ring's purpose was eventually lost,. Giles is supposed to release and then banish the demon, again piercing the dimensional barrier and opening that lock. ** He dies instead, sacrificing himself to save both Willow and Xander. Oops.

Tara: The Curat ("the pure"). Tara's lock will open upon her freeing the Antediluvian. The Antediluvian is an angelic creature that was captured by Robespierre's ancestors. Its imprisonment means the lock is sealed - its freedom opens it. Tara is able to free it due to her lineage as a witch, her purity of spirit, her completed cycle of birth and rebirth, and (by binding with Willow) her immense white magick power creating the necessary conditions. Ruth, Tara's grandmother or great-grandmother, was also thought at one time to have been the Curat, but was not. However she does recognize the qualities within Tara. (Perhaps the Antediluvian, despite its imprisonment being a good thing, can do great good if it's released?)  ** Later in S9, Tara and Co. would have freed the Antediluvian to save Buffy after Yuugana’s attack.

Dawn: The Amelatu ("the gatekeeper"). Dawn herself is able to open the lock. Not a lot of detail here. We'll need to sort out somehow or another that Dawn will do this ... or perhaps she already has? There seems to be little better time for Dawn to have opened the necessary lock than when all the dimensional walls were coming down.

Additional Lock: The well of Slayer power being drained. This was done by Willow in S7, but is not Willow's specific key.

Additional Info: Once any lock falls, there is a "timer" of 100 years for the rest to fall, or they all lock again.

** It may not escape notice that Faith is not part of this prophecy. That became by design, not oversight. I loved how this idea of “The Chosen” worked into the larger series theme, but I also hate the ideas of fate and destiny being controlling factors. Faith was going to be my argument against all that. When all the prophecy pieces were revealed, Faith would (rather defeatedly in her Faith way) note that she had no part to play. But she is the embodiment of being Chosen, as the characters choose to have Faith by their side and fuck prophecy anyway. Their unreserved acceptance of Faith, and Faith’s acceptance of THAT, would have been the culmination of her character arc in S10 (and my series).

S10 Ideas

Something to do with tarot cards, with each member maybe being a particular card?

Several characters get thrown back in time to an earlier season. Dawn especially should go, as she wasn't around then.

stained glass idea. couples. Buffy left free. Valentine's day ep.

"The Impossible Dream" - Man of La Mancha lyrics

Faith having conversation with Kendra -- result of illness, injury, or prophetic dream

** An episode I was definitely going to do, but frustratingly can’t find any notes for (making me feel there must be SOMETHING else out there somewhere but fuck me if I know where) had Willow and Tara going to Los Angels and visiting Lorne’s bar, Caritas.

S10 Ending

Everyone ends on a thematic note, their actions in the final battle bringing together 10 years of development:

Giles's sacrifice makes victory possible - by finally following his heart rather than his duty he saves the world.

Xander, by virtue (and surprise) of simply being Xander, strikes the final blow.

Willow succeeds only by keeping herself in check, refusing to break and believing that she can win.

Buffy's victories come from not only sharing herself (mentally to Willow and physically to Faith and Kennedy) but truly, finally, accepting that she's not in this alone.

Dawn makes the sacrifice she was destined to make from the moment she was created.

Tara is the touchstone, giving the strength and support to everyone else and the lifeline that ultimately saves Dawn.

Faith has no greater role handed to her by fate -- but she's here and kicking ass so screw you, fate.

(work on Kennedy, she ends up fighting w/ Buff and Faith, but does she start there? maybe she and Faith start with Tara and Dawn?)

IDEAS

Seneca final battle. He's winning. Standing over Buffy, gloating smile. Then he finally speaks. Something like, "I've waited a long time to--" Then he gets skewered (Faith or Kennedy, maybe both.) He can't say anything else, just gurgle.  He dies, and the Slayers stand over him.

Buffy: "Blah blah blah. You know, just once I'd like to meet a bad guy who knows how to keep his mouth shut."

Kennedy: "No lie. Still, I wonder what he was going to say?"

Faith: "Who the hell cares?"

Buffy HAS to be part of final Madrigan fight. She goes initially with Xander and Willow. Xander gets struck down by Mads, seemingly dead. Buffy gets nailed too. Willow needs Buffy to get through this though, and Buff gives Will her strength (flashback to "Same Time Same Place" as well as early Chosen w/ Willow and Buffy being so attuned -- see, not a throw-away plot point! Planned all along!) Leads to good "final" conversation/bonding with them as they search for Madrigan in the mental plane.

Earlier in the season, Madrigan extracting the magick from Xander. Very painful for Xander. Madrigan talking to him though, very chatty, very casual. Xander trying to dig for info, Madrigan clearly seeing through it. He likes the cliche though (exposition while acknowledging how clunky and stupid it is to have exposition here). Mads being real bastard (passively though) to Xander this whole time, noting how Xander isn't even really important in and of himself, it's only what others do with him that counts (maybe include little side wink-nudge point, it's what's inside Xander that matters). Mads ends the conversation by apologizing. "Sorry dude, this has gotta suck for you. Hey, you know what I like to do when I'm down? TV! You like 'Murphy Brown'? I've been Netflixing it." He and Seneca proceed to sit down and watch while Xander is essentially tortured behind them. Mads just turns up the volume.

Season 10 Final Fight

Buffy, Kennedy and Faith will go after Seneca.

Willow and Tara will be walking along in the facility when they're attacked. Tara is thrown away from Willow, who is then going to be caught behind an impenetrable shield with Madrigan. He wants to face her alone on an astral plane of sorts. Tara can't join her. Willow is depowered somewhat as a result of the spell she was casting to save Xander. Madrigan wants to fight her, however. Will surprises him - she thought like him and figured he would do this. As a result, Xander is piggy-backing with her, and she's not alone. Madrigan says that he knows Xander, and Xander won't kill him. He's wrong. X: "He don't know me very well, do he?"

Meanwhile, the door to release the Old Ones is opening and they can't stop it. Or they think they can't. Dawn realizes that she, being the Key, can. She begins to do so, but it's taking so much power, it's essentially killing her. Dawn is reverting to pure energy form. Buffy screams at her, tells her not to, but Dawn says she's spent the past five years wondering - feeling, even - that she should've died on that tower. Now she knows that she wasn't supposed to die, she was supposed to live to do this. "This is the job that I have to do." Buffy can't stop her. Tara fights though, won't let Dawn go. Tara eventually passes out and Dawn disappears. The energy is gone and so is Dawn, but the door is closed and locked again.

Not long after, Buffy goes home. Willow and Xander are with Tara at the hospital (she’s drained but okay). Buffy seems to be alone. She's completely dispirited - Dawn is dead. She enters her room, only to find Dawn there. B: "What are you doing here?" Shades of Dawn's first appearance. Turns out (as we'll learn in the final episode) that Dawn has given up all of her Key powers - for real this time. She is now, completely and utterly, a very real, very normal girl.

** And finally, I give you all with this. It’s a rough sketch of the scene after Giles has died, so would have come about 2/3rd of the way through Season 10. I wrote this in 2004, about a week after the death of my grandfather. I like to think that, if I’d gotten that far, this would have been one of those moments that would have stuck with you. I certainly would’ve tried.

Giles Death Reactions

These are a sequence of silent scenes.

We first see Faith in a darkened training room. She's punching a punching bag.

We're in Giles loft, the lights all dark. The door opens, and Hannah's standing there, on the threshold. She doesn’t enter.

We're in a hospital, private room. There are two beds. The one on the far left contains Xander. He looks gaunt, pale, near death. But breathing. His heart monitor gives a steady readout. Dawn sits next to him, inbetween the two beds. Tears are streaming down her cheeks – simply falling, she's not sobbing. She watches Xander with a fearful, worried expression, then turns to the next bed. There's Willow, also pale and drawn. She doesn't look well either, though not quite as bad as Xander. Tara sits on the other side of the bed, as close to it as she can possibly get. One of Willow's hands is held up in both of hers, Willow's fingers resting on Tara's lips. Tara's eyes are red – she's obviously been crying too. She meets Dawn's gaze. Neither smile.

We're in Giles' office. Buffy is standing in the doorway. Her face is blank.

We're back in the loft, Hannah's position mirroring Buffy's. She walks inside and finds herself drawn toward Giles' stereo system. She runs her hands over the CD collection, full of albums and songs from their past.

Faith's punching of the bag increases. She's venting, her jabs more vicious, more focused. Over her shoulder, we see Kennedy watching.

The hospital. Dawn runs a hand through her hair and wipes her eyes after watching Xander intently. She turns to Willow and watches as Willow opens her eyes and blinks. Dawn watches in surprise, and Willow seems to sense the scrutiny. She turns to Dawn and smiles – just a small smile, a pained one, but it's something. Dawn's face breaks into an expression of pure joy and relief, and she says something. Tara has either been locked in thought or asleep, Willow's hand clutched to her forehead, but her head jerks up at Dawn's words. She focuses on Dawn for the briefest of moments before her eyes go back to Willow. Willow is already looking at her, and she smiles again, a bit stronger this time. Willow says something too, and it causes Tara to laugh. The laugh turns into a sob of relief though, and Tara kisses Willow's hand several times then leans over and kisses her forehead. Will is weak, but is able to give Tara a one-armed hug, kissing her on the cheek, then turning to Dawn and extending her other arm. Dawn is there in a heartbeat, also crying in relief.

Giles' office. Almost trancelike, Buffy moves further into the darkened office, which is lit only by the lamp on the desk. As she walks, her eyes are drawn to things. The rows and rows of books that Giles surrounded himself with. The bookcases that Xander built, not only filled with books but also decorated with knickknacks – various small statues and effigies and an Owl plushie. She looks to the opposite wall, where hangs a variety of pictures, but dominating them all, easily the biggest and with the proudest placement, is a picture of Giles, snapped at a moment none of them were expecting. He was obviously the victim of a random group hug attack – Buffy, Willow, Xander, Tara and Dawn, all hugging him fiercely. Giles has that look on his face where he's trying hard to be annoyed with them, but is secretly loving every moment. Buffy's movement into the office hasn't halted, hasn't slowed from its already snail's pace. She's at the desk now. Bathed in the warm glow of the lamp, she sees a cup of tea, only half-drunk, as though Giles will be returning any moment to finish it. Most prominent, however, are the sealed envelopes on the desk, several of them, each bearing a name. We see Buffy's name on the top one, and can see hints of other's beneath: Willow, Xander, etc. Giles' glasses rest nearby.

Faith is almost in a frenzy of kicks and punches now. Her teeth are clenched and she looks like she wants nothing more than to have the bag turn into the Grim Reaper himself so she can pound the crap out of him. A hand rests on her shoulder, and Faith whirls around to see Kennedy there. Faith looks like she might just start beating the shit out of Kennedy as well, but then Kennedy takes Faith's hand and puts a stake in it. Faith looks down at it questioningly, then looks to Kennedy. Kennedy holds up her own stake. Faith's eyes narrow and she nods, just slightly.

Hannah's by the window in Giles' loft, simply looking out, looking at nothing in particular. She hugs herself and her head drops as she starts to softly cry.

In the hospital room, Willow casts an anxious look at Xander still motionless in his bed. She looks first to Dawn, then Tara, who says something that causes Willow to relax considerably. She smiles, but soon realizes her smiles aren't being returned. She again looks questioningly from one to the other, but neither speak. She's getting really worked up now, scared, and Dawn starts to say something. She doesn't get far, though, before she can't speak any more. Willow turns immediately to Tara, who picks up where Dawn left off. Willow watches, still afraid. Then the fear turns to disbelief. She's starting to cry now and she shakes her head in denial. She looks to Dawn, looking for someone to tell her that what she's heard isn't true, but Dawn can only cry. Willow looks back to Tara again and says something, begging for it not to be true. Tara can only look at her with sympathy and matching pain as Willow dissolves into tears.

Giles office. Buffy is sitting in the corner, her back against the wall, curled in on herself. We can't see her face, but her shaking shoulders tell us all we need to know. She's hugging the Owl plushie for dear life. 

CUT TO BLACK

** And that, my friends, is that.

[timetravelingarchaeologist]

Title: This Time Author: @timetravelingarchaeologist  Fandom: Game of Thrones / A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark Rating: G Word Count: 2216 Summary: This time things are different. Notes:  Unbetaed and posted far later than I meant to. Secret Santa gift for @thatgirlnevershutsup for the @asoiafrarepairs Secret Santa. I’m so sorry this wasn’t posted on time. I hope it hits the mark nonetheless.

-

He is tied to her through his oaths, but even if he were not, she has his sword and his affection.

He wasn’t supposed to want her as he did. More than just having sworn an oath against such things. Lyanna Stark was his princess, wed to his prince… his once would be king. He was sworn to her by extension. Protector to her and the Targaryen child that she carried. But Rhaegar left her there in Dorne, with Arthur and two of his brothers, and Rhaegar never returned. Cut down by Robert Baratheon, usurper of the crown, and with that Lyanna could never go home. It didn’t matter that she had made her own decision to leave, had her own plan and alliances made, her fate was sealed the moment Rhaegar fell dead on a muddy riverbank, and again the moment the boy she delivered came screaming into the world.

But it happened without warning, and without permission anyway. In the countless days between ravens, with few others for company. They’d shared stories for their childhoods and siblings, and their dreams and fears. Finally, they shared sorrow. Somewhere in between it all they’d found a common ground and a friendship, and something that Arthur would not name, could not allow, for it had no place in the lift of a man who had sworn Kingsguard vows.

-

Lyanna stood at the window and looked at the dry landscape of Dorne. This was never a tower filled with true joy, in Rhaegar’s absence, it should have been even less so. And yet, it was the start of something that she had not known would bloom, and for that, she would forever remember it fondly.

-

She had wanted nothing to do with marrying Robert Baratheon, though what she wanted mattered little where most men were concerned. It was a good match as far as the alliances it would make and that had already been made. Robert seemed devoted to their betrothal, to her, but she could not help but think that it wasn’t her he was devoted to at all. Lyanna was simply the closest thing there was to Ned who was closer to Robert than his own blood brothers. But he would never appreciate her for the woman that she truly was, a wild northern girl with dreams or her own and the determination to make her own fate. She was nothing like her brother at all.

Her hands cupped her belly, the weight of pregnancy strained her back and tight ripples of labour coursed through her all that morning. She was already exhausted, but the midwife that had come with the wet nurse from Starfall, the one that Arthur had finally argued to send for, had told her that pacing the room would help, and so she stayed on her feet as long as she could manage.

They’d had little fresh news of the war, one started for her, made of lies she’d never intended to create, but then she hadn’t anticipated Rhaegar’s actions. When she had left and married him she had seen an opportunity for a future she couldn’t have had otherwise. Rhaegar found delight in their shared disinterest in what the world thought they should be,  he had shared with her his secrets and plans to take the throne from his mad father , and though she did not love him as a wife should love a husband, she was captivated by  all of this and of his stories of prophecy. It was the easiest choice for her to make, to offer him herself as the wife he’d need to give life to a third child with his blood. To play a part in his story, and to decide the fate of her own. As a second wife she could have the freedom she would never have with another, she’d build an alliance of her own, stronger than any other, and with a man who did not paint her as someone she was not. And Robert would never be able to go against his prince, his king. But she had not accounted for so many things.

Rhaegar setting aside Elia, though few would know that still.  Robert’s claims that she had been kidnapped, the deaths of her father and brother as they demanded she be returned. Not that she had known at the time. She had been in Dorne already, likely abed with Rhaegar as they made the babe she had offered him with such hope. A babe he had left her with while he marched to meet his death on a muddy riverbank.

It was selfish and it was not and none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was that she could never go home now. To go home would mean that her child would likely be taken or slaughtered like the rest of the Targaryens had been and that she’d be marked ruined.

-

When Eddard Stark and his companion showed up with swords in hand and demanded his sister back, Arthur could not stand by and let him take her. Not just because Lyanna did not wish it or because it would be dangerous for her, but because the babe she carried was his king. Arthur would give his life to protect the child, ensure that Baratheon never could do what he knew a usurper must. And he nearly did give it, he didn’t realise how close he had come to doing so until he heard the clatter of a blade behind him as a blood-curdling scream filled the air.

He was faster than Stark as he ran towards the sound, though the man was on his heels the whole way up the stone steps, both leaving Stark’s companion in the dust.

Inside the room at the top of the tower, the heavy copper scent of blood did not abate. He moved to the head of the bed, even though he knew there was little that he could do besides stand. But the midwife was too busy to shoo him away and so he stood guard without the ability to truly protect either of those he must from the situation they were in.

When he looked back to the door, Dawn in hand, Stark had frozen at the threshold. It had become clear that the screams were not of torture, but of a woman in the birthing bed. Lyanna screamed again, and this time she reached out and grabbed his hand, and the look that Stark gives him is one of pained confusion.

They make a truce.

-

Lyanna barely could recall the final hour that it took to push her son out. Dizzy from the pain and only wanting for it to be over. She had nearly assumed that Ned’s sudden appearance was a fever dream. One moment she had been alone with the midwife and the next her hand had found Arthur’s, and then Ned’s. Ridiculous because men did not attend births, and Ned wasn’t in Dorne. And then the babe finally slipped from her body. She was so exhausted and cold, and she closed her eyes.

When she woke she felt as cold as before, weak-limbed and as if she hadn’t slept at all. The midwife would later tell her that she had lost too much blood and that she may never bear another child. And it is a surprise to find that Ned was real after all.

-

Ned had tried to talk Lyanna into returning home. He’d claim her baby as his own bastard, Robert will never find out the truth and she could have a life as queen. Instead, she makes her confessions about everything. And knowing what Robert has done already, and Lyanna’s truths, eventually they agree to part ways. Ned will spread the news of their deaths and Lyanna and Arthur will take her son away and raise him far from Robert’s reach and knowledge.

The babe is named Jon, not what Rhaegar would have chosen, but it’s what she likes. He will never be a Targaryen king, but she will name him after a Stark king. When a few days have passed and she is strong enough, they leave the tower and Dorne thereafter.

-

They avoid news of Westeros as best they can and eventually they settle outside of Braavos. Near enough to the city, but far enough to draw minimal attention. They tell people very little about who they are when they can, and when they have to Lyanna and Jon pose as Arthur’s wife and son. When their coin runs thin Arthur find’s work on the docks, and then there are no questions at all. They are simply like any other family as far as those they interact with are concerned.

-

No, he's not supposed to want her. And perhaps that would have mattered more if things were any other way. If she hadn't wanted him back.

At first, it was easy to ignore, there were more immediate concerns, worries of where they were going to go, the journey they’d taken to get there, their basic needs once they did settle, countless things to occupy them both. But it was just them and the babe and he could not help the overwhelming feeling of want for them both.  He wanted her love, not just her body, wanting everything else she is, and to claim Jon as his own for real too, not just pretending. The brave and bold woman he has come to know. And the babe that is his king and almost his son. Perhaps he would never hold a throne, but he held as much of his heart as Lyanna has come to.

-

It would be impossible to not have developed a closeness. They do not live the way they once had. In their modest dwelling, they have little else but each other. No servants to discover who they once were, and one another for the bulk of their company. If they thought that they had gotten to know one another in the tower in Dorne, they find that they barely had known each other at all.

They have no more secrets. It’s no secret that they care for one another and that they both want more. Arthur still makes no moves and Lyanna knows that he never will.

-

When Jon was just past his first name day Lyanna pressed the first of her kisses to Arthur’s mouth. He reluctantly pulled away with a sigh.

“I took vows to-” Lyanna cut him off. “You took vows for a king and a prince that are no more.”

Arthur looked at Jon where he lay sleeping in his cradle and took in his tiny pink lips and dark curls. “Jon has my vow now.”

Lyanna let out a laugh that lacked humour. “He’ll never be king, Arthur. He doesn’t need a Kingsguard. He needs a father. And I need you.” Her eyes were sad and she left him alone in the room and didn’t return until it was nearly dawn. He sat there thinking about what could be his, and when Lyanna returned he prayed that the gods would understand and forgive him for his choice.

-

They’re already married as far as anyone they know are concerned, but on a warm morning, Arthur and Lyanna took vows in a temple in front of a god that neither were raised with. They followed rituals that were not their own, and as they drip blood into a brazier the priestess dressed in red gripped their hands and gave them a sharp look.

“The Lord of Light blesses your union. Your son’s birth was foretold in the flames by R’hllor. When we meet again he will do great things. One day he will wield the dawn and vanquish the dark night.”

She let go just as strangely abrupt and finished her ritual. Lyanna held Jon closer, wary of prophecy even as ridiculous at that had seemed. When it was over Arthur pressed a kiss to her face and then Jon’s too. The priestess was forgotten soon after.

And then, though they lack a heart tree, they take vows again in the privacy of their home, speaking those familiar to Lyanna and hope that her gods will hear them.

-

When he first went to Lyanna’s bed he was hesitant, not because either was unsure of each other or inexperienced, but because it was far too much like a dream he could wake from.  Nothing tasted so sweet or as much like home as Lyanna’s lips on his, their bodies laid out on rough homespun bedding, in a tiny home on the shore of a foreign land.

She quickly chased away all hesitancy with the boldness that he had come to love so easily.

It did not matter that their love had sprung up in a tragedy. That their paths had been altered in ways they hadn’t originally chosen. As a husband and a father, he found a greater service, one that he thought was gods given after all. And Lyanna was never forced into anything she had not sought out of her own will.

-

In the flames, the red priestess watched a young man, a prince, wield a sword made of light, of the Dawn, and knew that she’d gotten it right this time.