#kindles definitely make you read faster it’s wild

[yvmoveon]

.

[barzzal]

close to you

summary: there’s nothing more excruciating than to lose someone you’ve never imagined losing. but what happens when they’ve already left right before you can even acknowledge them leaving? mathew is yet to find out.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: falling out and break ups 

↳ genre: angst.

↳ length: imagine; 1.3k

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: close to you by rihanna (listen to this it’s all that there is really)

note: unsolicited barzy angst fic because i was sad and listening to rihanna, (plus you guys know how much i love angst) this is totally unplanned and written in the past hour so im sorry if there’s sum typos bc i didn’t proofread this :<< hope u still like!! feedbacks are very much appreciated! <3

You were slipping away and he knew it. 

Mathew’s mind was running wild. His thoughts were coming in one after another and no matter how hard he tried to shut it out of his head — there it was again. 

The cyclical pattern of his seemingly endless misery. 

The thought of losing you. 

Days with you were spent either in total silence, eating lunch with the television on in the hopes of drowning out the numbing noise that was now in every corner of the home you have built with Mathew; or you know, the mandatory screaming match you indulge yourselves with even over the smallest of things.

Things only escalated the more you try to talk about it. Neither of you really knew how and when it started. And neither felt the need to say a word.

All that you and Mathew did was to watch your years crumble before your own eyes. Years that got shattered with each night spent in an ice cold bed, backs facing each other, not bothering to say a word.

“What happened to us?” his voice crisp and clear even when whispering.

You feel his gaze and you begin to resent yourself for staying up so late. You see him in the corner of your eye, patiently waiting — silently pleading that you’d look his way. 

You didn’t. 

Instead, you close the book you were reading and take your glasses off. You sigh just as you put it on the bedside table. Mat does nothing but watch you silently, all whilst ignoring his chest growing all the more heavy each time you push him away. 

You turn to him, still not meeting his eyes before you turn your night light off. You answer with a meek reply, “I’m tired, Mat.” 

“Y/N.” he calls you once but it seems like it’s been hundreds of times for him. He wanted nothing else but to reach out to you — to hold you. Maybe then he’d feel less insecure. Maybe then he’d feel less afraid of facing the fact that you’re slowly fading away farther off his reach. 

He knows you heard him but he doesn’t get a reply. And you know he’d be grateful to take on crumbs you’d be willing enough to spare. However, just like the other times he’s tried, your mind numbing quietude was all he had to hold onto. 

You try to drift away faster into sleep for you did not want to spend the night hearing him pick out on almost every meaningless thing you’ve done for the past couple of weeks. You were just tired. Insanely tired. And Mat had very little, perhaps almost nothing to do with it. You were lost.

“Do you still love me?” you hear a catch in his throat that instantly tugged strings in your chest. 

You fall silent, finding it hard to voice the words Mat had wanted to hear. 

Do you still love him?

You didn’t know. 

“Baby, please talk to me.” he pleads the longer he basks in your silence. Silence that Mat knew well enough to mean just one thing. 

“Please.”

Finally, as if it was the nearest he’s gotten to a win, he sees you shift, turning to face him. 

To say the least, you weren’t sure of how you feel towards Mathew. Being with him through all these years have been good, yes — but days weren’t always sunshine. It wasn’t always a calming afternoon walk holding each other’s hands, swaying it in the air, whilst you listen to birds chirping beautifully all year ‘round. Being with Mat came with its own sacrifices. Ones you cannot point out no matter how hard you tried and ones that just made him so hard to love. 

“I’m sorry.” you murmur. You avert his gaze, keeping your eyes low on the sheets you’ve once shared wrapped around your naked bodies in search of warmth in each other’s embrace. 

You never left Mat’s eyes because leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do. He hesitates to take a few strands that went astray to your face just so he could tuck it behind your ears like he always does. When you lean closer, nudging him to do just that, he feels a kindling fire in his chest. An all too familiar feeling he has deeply missed. 

His touch did not make you want to pull away nor did it burn you like it used to. A sad smile creeps up his lips once you finally take the leap and look in his eyes. 

“I know you are,” he says, clearing his throat. “And it’s okay. I understand.”

Mat wanted to. He truly does. He wanted to be selfish and just think about his own good. Letting you go wasn’t something he pictured doing because he knows that you know it has never crossed his mind. 

Mat wanted to do everything against what willed his heart. But he knew too that letting you keep him at bay just to spare his feelings would do more damage than it could fix and he just couldn’t afford having to lose you twice. He could barely walk through this conversation now. Therefore he’s certainly sure he wouldn’t be able to handle losing you more than once.

“I think I need to figure out some things on my own.” you tell him earnestly. A thing that you’ve wanted to let out ever since coming home to Mathew felt more work than it’s worth. 

“Are you gonna be gone for long?” he asks, voice thick and impending to break at any moment.

“I don’t know.” you answer with candor, an apologetic tone masking your words.

Nonetheless, no matter how much you did not want to spend the night breaking Mathew’s heart, he lets you rip one final bandage — exposing a long overdue wound that was without a doubt far from healing, “I won’t really know unless I try, right?”

“Okay.” he smiles, eyes softer than it ever was.

“I’ll be exactly where you left me.” 

The night grows deeper as the two of you sink in what seems to be the hardest falling-out you’ve yet to go through. A break up that would definitely stick around Mathew’s end for he has never loved someone as much as he loved you. Perhaps, even more to put himself in the most selfless position he would willingly let himself into. 

“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice low and on the brink of letting out a thick sob. 

Mat takes your hand and entwines it with his. He holds you tight. He lets his forehead rest on yours, breathing out the pain that’s successfully wrenched his heart in seconds. 

He pulls himself closer to you — pouring all he has left to give. Slowly, as he finally let himself pull away, he says, “We sleep.” 

No matter how much you wanted to say your piece, you just could not find the words that fit. And so, you do the sanest thing you could give him, leaning closer to every bit of his touch as if the clock had only started ticking. 

You see Mathew’s eyes glisten from the moonlight shining from across the room. If only you knew how bad you’re going to miss it. If only you’d appreciated it while you had the chance. If only you knew that the last thing Mat wanted was to see you right before he closed his eyes. 

“Good night, y/n.” he says, still holding your hand close to his chest.

God, if you had only known those eyes will be gone the moment you open yours, you would’ve held onto his hand a bit longer. Long enough before he emptied his closet the morning after. Long enough before he had the chance to wipe out every single trace he’s left your apartment. Perhaps even long enough for you to change your mind.

[hetopia]

SOULMATES

You asked for the breakdown, so here it is!

ANDREI was matched with BERWALD

They were paired together due to their shared love of knowledge, soft centres, and a desire for family life! It was thought that they could share quiet and cozy evening together.

Poem received by ANDREI: Town life is unique, but no fantasy, Wrap up warm with him! Giggle and delight In treats, make your dreams a reality Filled with love and child- that's a soulmate's might!

Poem received by BERWALD: Love's scientific; so expertly we Have selected, naturally, your match To be top dog, prime pick. Believe that he Reads you as well as he's read; let love hatch.

ASTRID was matched with OLENA

Both have interests that lean towards the outdoors. Astrid seems like someone who would be willing to listen to Olena’s more impassioned ventures, and Olena might find appreciation for someone who contrasts and compliments her more strong willed views and nature.

Poem received by ASTRID: Like a garden, with her you'll cultivate A love so true there'll be none that beats her! Sink into family life- it's a date! There's a whole new world I'm sure you'll prefer.

Poem received by OLENA: Seams to me your match ain't one to deride,  She is lovely if you read her heart well. You'll be in for a real wild ride With your lady love, it's sure to be swell!

ERIKA was matched with LISE

Erika’s friendly nature and Lise’s outgoing nature seemed like the perfect combination, and to be exactly what the two were looking for! Plus, that height difference should be something that all can appreciate

Poem received by ERIKA: Get ready for adventures of the heart! We climbed high to find your lady in white And black. Let her print on you, leave her mark Of love. Dive deep. Hearts will dance in delight. 

Poem received by LISE: Tied together with the red string of fate; Seeking out your love? It's smart to start! Reap what you two have sewn. There's no debate, You're the tall order that'll steal her heart!

FELICIANO was matched with HERACLES

Feliciano’s more fast paced personality could benefit from Heracles’ easygoing patience, and both could stand to gain an appreciation for a faster or slower paced walk of life. Opposites may attract, though the two can definitely agree on appreciating a nap!

Poem received by FELICIANO: A gentle love yours is destined to be, Let yourself slip in as you would to sleep. Although no tailor, soldier, or spy, he Has attention to detail- you'll fall deep. Poem received by HERACLES: Prepare to be whisked into a loving Frenzy! Your man is sure to be real great, To serve you well- let the wedding bells ring! Go paint yourself a picture-perfect date.

LAURA was matched with LUTHER

Both seem to be more drawn to someone they can get a good vibe from, and they have their own sets of insecurities that will have them wanting to (or be willing to) take things a little slow. Lutz loves children, and has a laid back nature that Laura might be willing to relax into.

Poem received by LAURA: With a heart that is as big as his size,  Your guy's endeared by bikes and your smile.  A fixer upper, he can empathise,  Take care of you; let him in for a while?

Poem received by LUTHER: Simmering, hesitant and fumbling Puppy love; we gift you an ideal life With your soulmate. Let’s set you tumbling Into family life, with a cute wife.

RODERICH was matched with SYLVIA

Sylvia appreciates good humour and Roderich wants someone respectful; both have this to offer, especially when you catch them in the right mood for it. Both appear like they have a similar taste for things being a little more refined, and have hobbies that complement each other.

Poem received by RODERICH: Love is a gamble, and gambling's great! If you're taken in, you're sure to be dealt A fair hand- you're set not narrow, but straight And (as plann'd) her love for you will be felt.

Poem received by SYLVIA: The two of you make music together As a united couple, he'll be there Should you be in a stitch. For forever.  Your love's a concerto that can't compare.

AGATHA and LORENZO were matched with NATALIA

AGATHA has a sharp countenance that compliments Natalia, and the right kind of patience for Natalia’s ventures and hobbies. The two might have a good rapport.

LORENZO has a similar distaste for how things are about to play out, and they both have their own brands of crass or deadpan humour that could blend together quite nicely.

The poem they received:

Step up! She is the ice to your fire. You're one in three, but will still have a chance! Be a well knit pair; kindle a fresh desire.  She can Wait with you in your odd romance.

NATALIA was matched with LORENZO

Despite having good reason to match with both potential matched, Natalia was ultimately paired with Lorenzo…. purely for the drama! There’s nothing more interesting than to see a love triangle that’s fated to cause problems for all three of the parties involved!

The poem she received:

Like the man himself, we'll keep it brief; We've got a man who'll wait on you hand And foot! Cook you up a whole new belief In love. Draw up a new life to be plann'd.

If you want a specific breakdown of my thought process behind any of the poems, let me know and I’ll spill the details!

[royal-writer]

Irreplaceable

This was definitely supposed to be a mini wth why’d it get so long???

“What about Matilda?”

Essätha watched the contemplation shift over her Lord Amon’s face as he leaned into the sofa pillows. She loved the way his eyebrows furrowed; the creased lines of concentration in his expression as he thought deeply. It was a small thing among many that was so adorably irresistible about him. These little bodily quirks and tells; and the way his gaze went far off as he sank into another realm where everything around him seemed to fade off.

“It’s not my favorite,” he finally admitted. The circling motion of his pads continued to stroke against the back of her hand even as he pondered. She his anchor; and his touch a marvelous flame coaxing against her skin. Tingles raced after where he touched her so gently.

“Charlotte?” she prodded.

“I like that one. I’m not fond of the nicknames usually representative of Charlotte, though.”

“Like what? Carly?”

Amon’s expression shifted slowly, his eyes trailing back to her face. He wore a smile effortlessly as he gazed upon her through the dark pools of his regard. His fingers swept over her hand as he raised it gently, placing a kiss over the top of her knuckles.

“I often heard Charlie, actually.”

She stuck her tongue out slightly at the remark. Definitely not.

Her Lord sniggered at her distasteful expression, and lowered her hand back into his lap.

“Well we can’t just consider girl names,” Essie scolded, flipping her hand over to grasp his palm. “I know you’re adamant they’re a girl, but there is a possibility it’s a boy.”

It was impossible not to laugh at the snorted sound of disbelief that he gave now. She couldn’t tell if he was really so stubborn to believe himself incapable of being wrong, or if there was something unspoken in his certainty. He accepted her teasing with good-nature and understanding, but a small part of her couldn’t help wondering if perhaps his longing for a daughter was partly interweaved with the loss of the young Marie who he’d adopted as his own years ago.

After a deep brooded sigh, Amon finally relented with a grumble: “I do like the name Johnathan.”

She offered a playful little smile, cooing, “Not Amon?”

“Pelor no,” he chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“Mmm. Perhaps you are right,” Essie agreed. “The name is quite irreplaceable.”

He scoffed at her quietly. His free hand reaching up, framing the side of her face as he leaned in.

“Come here, you devious little flatterer.”

A wild grin of excitement flashed across her face. She held her breath with anticipation as she leaned forward. Eyes closed; listening rather than seeing. Feeling the faint billow of her husband’s breath fan over her as she shivered, and the way he hitched for air as he came short of her lips. The rasp of his beard against her; soft and well-groomed as he pressed a delicate kiss lightly to her mouth.

She shivered instinctively. A heavenly wreath surrounded him so close that smelled of all things that brought her home. Loving invitation curled in the ghost of a smile held to his face even as he held her steady and kissed her with such tenderness that everything else seemed to dissolve away.

Essätha exhaled slowly as he pulled away; aware of the shakiness in her lungs. Her eyes opened slowly to meet a gaze so familiar to her heart now that she adored with everything she had.

“You are cute,” he remarked with mirth, “but I am neither egotistical nor cruel. There is expectation enough, being born with noble blood. Being called the senior or second of a man’s name with a reputation such as I would be a cruel burden. Besides that, I like the challenge of picking out something special for our little one.”

Our little one. She could almost sob at those words. It was still such a new and fresh concept to her mind that it brought butterflies surging into her tummy. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. This was her life. Every day was a new day to love and appreciate; surrounded by people who cared about her, with friends and family on every side. An endless sense of support and devotion. A man who she loved and valued more than all life’s frill and gold; more than the air in her lungs or the beat of her heart.

They were sharing a life, together. And they had made life, together. There was nothing in the world she wanted more. She would exchange none of it, then or now, if it meant giving up an ounce of the endless happiness she had now.

“Johnathan’s nice,” she agreed, scooting across the sofa to lean further into her husband. “How do you feel about Rainier?”

“My honest opinion?” he inquired through a large grin.

“That bad?” She pouted, reaching up to guide her fingers through his mane of black hair.

“Atrocious.”

With a sharp inhale, she pulled away and wrinkled up her nose. The only link between them now was her fingers still wrapped between his, resting upon his leg.

“How callous of you.”

“You wanted honesty, my Lady.”

“Gandalf, then?”

“Sounds like a wizards name.”

“Willen?”

“He was a nice fellow, my darling Essätha, but it is a rather tasteless name.”

He was goading her. She could see it in the grin plastered on her face. A mocking taunt as her cheeks inflamed to glower at his amusement.

“Barnabus,” she countered proudly.

Amon gave pause, much to her pleasure. She leaned back further against the couch as the gears of his mind virtually seemed to turn before her.

“I think not,” he finally announced. “I do love the gesture, Essie, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue very well.”

They fell silent. Mulling in a mute void. Pondering names to themselves, where one would nearly open their mouth to a suggestion and a pointed finger before sinking back into their seat with a huff, the idea tossed aside. Filtering in the hush, and coming up blank.

Essätha hesitated. She clenched to Amon’s fingers, dragging his attention from the floor he’d been analyzing in a daze back up to her.

“… What about Fontane?”

The curious joy in his face collapsed faster than any catastrophe she’d ever seen in her life.

A taste of iron burned on her tongue. Whispers turned to roars in the back of her cascading thoughts. She could make little out from the wall he put up between them. She was shuttered out of her house; the window of his soul, quick as a jolt of lightning. A handsome mask stood between her, and her endearing husband.

Pain. Anger. Hurt. Repudiation. Vexation. More distress, and a quiet rage.

By the Gods, what had she done.

“M’lord-”

He released her hand, and a shard of ice plunged into her heart. She fell helplessly. Swallowed by darkness as she reached out for him, but even beside her he was already too far away to reach.

“No,” he bit out harshly; his voice thick as he began to rise up from the cushions.

“I will not name our child after that- that-”

He cast a glance her way, and she flinched. He was nearly unrecognizable.

With a curse in elvish muttered to himself, the Lord of Briarton turned away from her. His cloak whipped out; snapping in the air with finality. His boots were heavy on the floor. Each one a strike driving in the stake wedged between her ribs as she turned her head to watch his retreat for the door.

“M’lord, I’m sorry-”

She didn’t know if he heard the words, yanking the door open to step out.

It closed with ominous gentleness behind him.

Ashamed and drowning in guilt, she reached out for the pillow he’d been leaning against with trembling fingers. Placing it to her chest, she rested her chin against the plush fabric, trying to control the instability of her breathing as tears crowned the ends of her lashes. They wettened the top of the pillow as she buried her face within it, and the comforting smell of woody earthen cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled; choking into the pillow which gave no response to her apology.

She should have known better. Not all wounds ever healed. Not all things could be forgiven. It had been a terrible, awful presumption to think that maybe, just maybe he could try remembering the man’s name in good light if it was placed upon someone he already loved. A way to honor someone gone too soon.

Curling around the pillow, Essie dropped onto her side, sinking into the upholstery.

All she could do, was hope he would be okay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It would be supper soon. It was almost the same time, every day.

She saw Amon only once since earlier. Passing by the window, she spotted her beloved husband knelt down in the soil of the garden. He was ridding it of weeds in with more brutality than necessary. A grim line on his face; sweat and dirt speckling his brow. Though his eyes were too far away from the second story to read, she could imagine clearly the look upon them.

Seeing him like that brought back a strange wave of daje vu that made her stomach drop through the floor.

Not wanting to kindle the wrath of his sorrow, Essätha tasked herself with working on the crochet blanket she’d gathered supplies to make a few days ago. It was a mindless task, and so much easier than sewing up clothes or making a quilt. It held little rules or qualifications, and she’d had some practice working on place sitters to get the feel for it prior. She might not be the best artisan, but she was going to try her damndest to be the best mother she could be.

The pattern looped under and around with ease. Delicate pale colors woven together with the tug of each piece of yarn. She was thankful to keep her hands busy, and much of her mind. When she fell too absent of her work and began to wander back to the tension in the air as Amon had left, her careful work began to unravel and she was placed back into her focus once more.

It felt the opportune time to work on something new to her. She still had a lot of learning left to do, it seemed. A weight on her shoulders as much as her spirit.

The door to the sitting room creaked softly as she worked on the tapestry.

“I’ll be down shortly,” she uttered softly; her eyelids hanging low as she droned on the task.

Feet scuffled against the floor, and the door closed softly.

Her hands fumbled with the hook; feeling an unmistakable jolt in her heart.

Ignoring the painful twist in her gut, the Lady of the Emerald Expanse went back to her crocheting with quivering fingers. Her teeth clenched and released nervously and furiously on the blanket.

The thump of boots moved slowly through the room. The vibrations echoed into the soles of her shoes, and straight through her.

A large shadow moved past the sofa, quiet and slow. It approached the front of the coffee table, and leaned down slowly.

Essätha glanced up as the hourglass vase was sat upon the middle of the small stand before her. Sitting arranged in a tight bouquet within the vessel stood a mountain of flowers from the garden, all preened and picked at the peek of their bloom. Their scents wafted up to her nose; a mingling of sweet tones.

“I’m sorry.”

She lifted her head at the husky voice, sliding the folds of the blanket made so far off her lap and on the couch.

Her Amon’s eyes were downcast; shrouded in a cloud with eyebrows pulled low.

Slowly, he stepped around the table. She held her breath, wringing her hands as he came to sit beside her.

“You don’t-”

“No, I need to apologize,” he stated softly, reaching out for her hands. Her shaking stilled as he cupped them in his own. A firm grasp, but no less careful of her delicate features. His fingers caressed over the back of her hands as he brought them to his face, lacing kisses between her fingers and down her hands.

With a sad smile, she unfurled one of her fingers to stroke along the inside of his cheek.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” she disagreed. “I made a thoughtless suggestion without thinking of how it would affect you, or how you’d feel about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It wasn’t my place. If you’d had the idea, it would have been different. My love I’m so sorry, I never meant to cause you agony-”

“It’s okay,” Amon whispered softly against her hands; luminous eyes upon her. “I don’t hold it against you, Essie. I know that your intentions were in the right place. You don’t need to apologize.”

“You were only trying to mend and bring peace; to help people here and here no longer. I understand, because I know that is who you are. You care deeply about those around you. You want to build bridges, not tear them down. You were only trying to help.”

“But I do need to apologize. I should never have walked out on you as you did. It was a thoughtless action. I’m sorry if I worried you, my dear. I’m even more sorry if my brazen foolishness hurt you in anyway.”

Wearing the faintest smile, she continued to pet along the shape of his cheek as she murmured, “I would rather you take the space you needed in the moment, then say something difficult to take back later, my heart. I was worried; I am worried, but I understand that I pushed where I should not have. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Amon’s gaze dropped from hers, to their hands. His rough fingers sat wedged between hers; wriggling as though they could be any closer. The haze that lay upon his gaze still a lingering shadow of old wounds.

“You did not know Fontane as I did,” he stated. “I do not blame you for not understanding my reluctance and aversion to the name. The man; or ghost, you met was a mere short span in time compared to my years I lived with him. They are not memories I can simply forget, Essätha.”

“I am sorry I was so ill considerate of your feelings, and your past connections, m’lord,” she repeated, feeling the tug of remorse gnawing at her once more.

A waning smile grew on his face. “If it comforts you, you are forgiven my darling. Though know there is nothing to forgive.”

“I could say the very same,” she echoed, her smile growing by a fraction.

A deep hum resounded in Amon’s throat, and he released her hands. His body inclined towards her slowly as he reached out timidly for her.

She scooted closer, happy to sink into his warm embrace and strong arms once more. Breathing in the smell of sweat and woody notes on his skin. A blanket of light and warmth surrounding her once more, melting the aching shard of ice that felt like it had settled into her chest much of the day.

As rhythmic circles worked against her spine, a tender voice tickled close to her ear: “Let’s go share some dinner. I don’t want little Essie to get hungry, and start a fuss.”

Snorting with her giggles, Essätha gently swatted him upon the shoulder.

“We are not naming them Essätha.”

“You’re right,” he agreed; his voice almost proudly snotty as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. “That name is irreplaceable. Angels do not share names, after all.”

“Shush your mouth,” she scolded, her eyelashes fluttering as Amon pulled her slowly into his lap to hold her to chest.

“What about Hepsiba?” he mouthed against her throat, a smile searing into her skin.

Snickering as the brush of her husband’s whiskers teased her torso, Essie reached up to cradle his head beneath her chin. She hummed softly into his hair, a sudden wave of emotions prickling tears to the edge of her vision.

“I love it.”

[snowbellewells]

“Always Running”

Here’s the second “Once Upon a Time” story I ever wrote.  Once again, this is general cast of characters; mostly focusing on Ruby and a bit of her friendship with Snow.  It’s been pretty fun really digging back into my earliest OuaT fic writings lately.  Whoever started the whole #ouat fandom crescendo idea off - I’m really digging it! :).  Hope you all are having fun reading!  Tomorrow will be the first official CS ff I ever wrote, set on the way to Neverland…

Some of this obviously might not quite fit in with canon, but I still think it deals with some realistic and interesting feelings and motives for Ruby/Red’s character. I’d say it fits in somewhere between “Children of the Moon” and “The Outsider” during season two, but has some definite AU elements as well.

 “Always Running”

By: snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

             Run, run, run!... Faster…please…If I can just get as far away from here as possible… Her feet pound on the hard soil, branches whip through her long, dark hair and claw at her face as she flies in fear from the temptation to destroy.  She is panting, her heart racing, senses fully aware of the stench of terror and blood on the stormy night wind.  Only moments ago, everything had been perfect – blissfully so – she and Peter alone together under a gorgeous, full moon, making plans for the rest of their lives together, once she got him through this night.  Now, Red finds herself running like a startled rabbit or a leaf before a maelstrom.  Still, no matter how quickly she flees, it will never be swift enough to leave behind what she has done.

           She is the wolf!  How did she not know?!  So many things make sense now – now that it is too late.  It is suddenly clear why she has always been able to separate and follow certain scents, the way she hears things no one else can, why it has never frightened her to wander into the woods, even when the other children won’t.  Peter often says…

           Peter!  His name: the name she has called on since they were six years old and catching frogs in the creek or fetching kindling for his father’s forge; suddenly, it stabs a knife to the very core of her heart.  Vines and needled brush rip at her bare hands and catch at her skirt and cloak, her breath grows ragged – a sharp, aching pain settling under her ribs – but Red continues to race further into the black of night and the forest’s depths.  Images of his adoring gaze, his messy, tufted, black hair standing up in cowlicks he could never tame, his strong hands and warm smile, all flash through her mind in dizzying succession, battering her with the fleeting idyll their growing up together and brief young love had been. Peter has always been with her, for as long as she can remember.  What will she do now that he is gone?  How can she live with herself?  It’s all her fault.  She is the wolf!  The man she loves is dead, and she killed him!

           Red wonders if she will ever stop running now.  With what she has done, she will never belong anywhere, never be able to rest.  She cannot return to her sleepy little village, where her neighbors are still hunting the wolf, where she has lived a lie with her granny, where she played and snuck kisses and dreamed dreams with Peter and will now see his absence everywhere.

           The past hour still replays in vicious detail, looping through her mind. Peter’s trusting face resurfaces continually.  He let her chain him to a tree, thinking that she could keep him from turning into the dreaded monster.  Instead, she sentenced him to death and led him like a lamb to the slaughter.  It is too much to be forced to relive: hearing him beg for recognition, and then the animal growl in her other form’s throat, her reasoning mind not housed in the savage, primal body that stalked toward the boy she loves without care for his pleas.  She ripped him apart, and knows she will never have peace from the lurid, unsettling memories.

           Eventually even supernatural endurance runs out, and Red falls to the wet, mossy ground, panting, curling into a ball and feeling tears wet her cheeks, neck, and chest as they pour silent and unchecked from her eyes.  If she were in her lupine form, she would be howling to the remorseless moon, cursed not by her werewolf other half, but by the knowledge of it which has come too late.  The moonlight bathes her pale skin, giving it an otherworldly glow, beautiful even in her sorrow.  Anyone who could see her would wish to hold her, to comfort her, but the only arms she longs for are gone now, never to return…

~0~                 ~0~                             ~0~                             ~0~                 ~0~                 ~0~

Sometime later, in Storybrooke, Maine…

           Each morning when Ruby Lucas wakes in her little apartment above Granny’s diner, she stares out the window peacefully for just a moment, letting herself bask happily in the dawn of a new day’s sun, smiling at its warmth on her face, stretching her arms above her head, working the kinks from her back and relishing the few blissful seconds of still-sleepy haze before it all returns to her. She does not get long until she remembers that she is also Red Riding Hood – and a werewolf – and though she lives in a town full of real-life fairy tale characters, True Love’s Kiss, and magical adventure, her handsome prince will never ride up to find her on his gleaming white horse; she lost her chance for a happily ever after long ago.

           Once that all floods back into her memory, there is nothing for Ruby to do but turn from the morning light at the window and dress for the day before heading down to the diner to work.  Wearing red, as she never fails to do, Ruby sighs, not sure if she means it as a warning sign or some sort of penitent self-reprisal.  She knows this day too will be the same as the day before and the endless procession of days to come.  She was once so blissfully naïve – still a little girl really, in her former existence – and unaware of the beast which had been lurking within all the time. Now that Emma has broken the curse, Ruby knows that people look at her as some sort of confusing curiosity. Those who knew her in their real home, as Red, cannot understand where the brazen, flirtatious, outrageously dressed siren of Storybrooke comes from, but Ruby doesn’t have the heart to explain. She isn’t so sure it can be explained, even if she were to try.  That carefree, innocent young girl in love is gone; she isn’t that sweet youth roaming the fields and meadows with her childhood best friend and sweetheart anymore.  She can never be that person again, and it feels to her that outwardly she shouldn’t pretend.  The difference needs to be clear, so that some other poor victim doesn’t get too close.

           Thank goodness for Granny – and even more for Snow!  Now that she knows Mary Margaret again for her long-lost friend, she is grateful for the other woman’s constancy and acceptance.  Snow did not abandon her on that horrible night Peter died, nor has she anytime since.  Snow had gotten her moving again, arm around her quaking shoulders in the darks woods so long ago, before the mob could catch her.  The two of them had found a cabin far out on its own, just as they had talked about, where both of them could hide away.  Sometimes, she still has to get away – to escape, to run – when she is afraid of herself and what she might do, as well as what she has already done. Those are the times when she heads for the woods on the edge of town, intending to shift and then run until she is so exhausted she couldn’t hurt the tiniest kitten.  Only then does she return, often to Mary Margaret’s apartment where she falls into an overstuffed chair next to her old friend, accepts the hot cocoa offered her, and marvels at the fact that Mary Margaret, her friend Snow White, doesn’t flinch at all despite what she knows, but instead picks bits of leaves and twigs out of her hair and listens to her countless fears and worries of what could happen if she ever slips again.  This comfort and companionship reminds her that they were happy once before as well, in their little cabin in the wild, until Charming, the Evil Queen, King George, and then the curse, brought the rest of the world right onto their doorstep.

           Ruby tries to push it all from her mind as she reaches her post behind the counter of the diner, ready for Leroy wanting his sausage and hash browns, Archie hoping for some French toast before he sees any patients for the day, and Emma coming in to pick up doughnuts for herself and David at the station.  Ruby squares her shoulders, ties on her miniscule apron, and aims to start fresh on this new day.  Granny passes by on her way to start a fresh pot of coffee brewing, and pats her kindly on the shoulder, as if knowing the thoughts that are circling in her granddaughter’s head.  The little smile the older woman graces her with seems to say, “Keep your chin up.”

           Also trying not to watch the clock creep from one endless minute to the next, Ruby refills several earlier guests’ mugs and glances out the window at the main street.  Just then, the glint of early morning sunlight on the metallic paint of an old pick-up truck which has just parked outside catches her eye.  Knowing pretty much every person in town – and what they drive – the unfamiliar vehicle arrests her attention.

           That intrigue only grows when a tall, dark-headed stranger wearing deep-tinted aviator sunglasses, a beat-up denim jacket, and work boots gets out and heads up the walk, through their door, and right to the counter where she stands waiting.  Ruby knows that she has never seen him before, but his mischievous, crooked smile envelopes her in his friendly mirth as if they are old friends.  Something familiar twinkles in his eyes and makes her stomach clench strangely, heart lurching into her throat as he takes off the shades and tucks the earpiece into his breast pocket.  It’s a feeling she has almost forgotten – that she has spent ages trying to forget – telling herself she will never be able to experience it again. And yet, she can’t help smiling back welcomingly, suddenly hoping that he won’t walk away.

           Granted, there aren’t usually newcomers to Storybrooke, but Emma came, and that has more than turned out alright.  Ruby finds that at this moment, she doesn’t even care where he is from, as long as he stays, talks to her, keeps smiling at her the way he is right now. “Welcome to Granny’s Diner,” she greets brightly.  “I’m Ruby. What can we get for you this morning?”

           “Pete,” he tells her, reaching out to shake hands and kindly pretending not to notice the sharp intake of breath she draws in surprise.  “I hear this is the place to eat, and it’s also where one figures out who’s who and what’s going on in this town.”  He winks at her slyly as he speaks, and Ruby’s poor dusty, disused heart flutters despite her.

           “You heard right,” she manages, flushing prettily as she nods to him, and batting her eyelashes without even realizing it.  She doesn’t want to go against her own rules which she has spent so long telling herself are for the best, but in the wake of this stranger’s charm and inexplicable familiarity, she’s helpless.  “This is the place.”

           “What do you recommend?” he tosses back playfully, and she blinks rapidly, stunned, as that stabbing pain in her heart, the one she has been shrinking from ever since that horrible night so long ago – the night the wolf emerged and Peter was lost – returns.

           “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, backing away from him, not meeting his eyes any longer and looking to the door into the back of the diner.  “I – I can’t…I’m sorry.”  Before he can protest or say anything more, she turns tail and flees for the kitchen.

           Slipping through the door and then leaning back against it to rest her beating heart, she tries to collect herself.  Her pulse is racing, and she forces herself to take several deep breaths. When she finally feels some semblance of calm, she turns to peek around the swinging door back out the way she has come.  Granny is helping the newcomer now, but he sees Ruby over Granny’s shoulder and holds her eyes.  There is something so playful in his gaze when he smirks at her, not letting her get away with hiding from him.  It is warm, comforting, and almost as though she remembers the touch of that gaze from long ago.  He smiles – a dare meant specifically for her.  If she didn’t know better, Ruby would think he knew everything: all her past, who she really is, and that none of it scared him at all.  It should make her want to run, but for some reason – it gives her hope.

           ~0~                 ~0~                             ~0~                             ~0~                 ~0~

           The next night finds her running again, but it is different this time. The light autumn breeze envelopes her like cool silk, ghosting over her skin pleasantly.  Ruby smiles, feeling powerful and in control, and allowing herself to enjoy being one with the night.  She had learned to control the wolf once upon a time long ago; she knows now that she can allow it to have a part is who she is without letting it tearing her in two.  The curse and this strange new land made her doubt her ability to be both safely at first, but both sides of her do still exist, and she must somehow embrace them both.

           She careens through the trees and the open clearings, with neither fatigue nor pain to slow her down, and she doesn’t stop until reaching the stream by the Troll Bridge.  For the first time in what she knows has been an age, she allows herself to feel that she may not always be running alone in the night.  Tipping back her head, Ruby howls with joy instead of pain at that round, white orb in the sky.  Somewhere still under this moon, there may be another who can run beside her.  She may always be running, but she doesn’t have to be running away, running from… Maybe there will at last be something, or someone, she can run to.  

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @flslp87 @captain-swan-coffee @branlovesouat @ilovemesomekillianjones @spartanguard @drowned-dreamer @midnightswans @singingisfun @ps1473-4 @jackieorioncat @blackwidownat2814 @jennjenn615 @lessawildmoon

[youngster-monster]

To love is to destroy

Read on AO3

Illidan faces Maiev’s forces with Kael’thas at his side.

It changes nothing.

Well, maybe it does. It’s notably harder to vanquish the demon hunter when every hit, every spell is met by an arcane shield or Kael’thas blade; the two fight like one, always one step ahead of their enemies as they move around wings and fireballs with an ease that spokes of many battles fought side by side.

But there is only so much two fighters can do, no matter how formidable. They slip; they stumble; slowly, they are worn down by a conflict with no respite in sight. Whenever they strike a soldier down another takes their place, whereas they only have each other to rely on. This, in the end, is their undoing — not the disadvantage of their number, but their reliance on each other.

Because exhaustion makes them reckless, makes them prone to taking risks, because in their desperate efforts to save each other they show a weakness that Maiev won’t hesitate to take advantage of.

“Target Kael’thas first,” She tells the group of mages to her left, the metallic echo of her helmet hiding the faint disgust their art inspires her. “Give it everything you have — without him, Illidan will be defenseless..”

Earlier in the battle she would be wrong, but now, as her two adversaries at starting to feel the drain of such a drawn-out fight, her plan is sound. Misinformed, but only in semantics: it’s not that Illidan can’t face all of them alone, it’s that he won’t

Magic crackles at the mages fingers as they intone together a spell sure to destroy the obstacle that Kael’thas represents. His death is sure to anger the blood elves, but she doesn’t care about those things. The only thing she sees is the fulfilling of her quest: killing Illidan once and for all.

A crack in their defense, a slight opening in their battle dance— there. The mages were all trained by the battlefield as much as they were trained for it, and they see the opportunity at the same time as she does. The spell goes in a flash of light, too bright to describe in colors— she can feel its warmth on her skin even through her armor. Without, it must be scorching hot.

Kael’thas sees it too late to summon a shield, and he can only look with grim acceptance as the magical flames surge toward him. At least, he thinks, he dies fighting: there are worse ways to go. It’s not quite peace, the way he is ready to meet his fate, but it’s close enough.

Of course the spell doesn’t hit him. That would be too easy, now, wouldn’t it?

No, instead, Illidan turns his head just in time— maybe he feels the heat, the arcane energy, maybe he wonders why Kael’thas wasn’t where he expected him to be just then. Whatever the case, he sees the spell and Illidan, perhaps for the first time since he saw the rampage of the Legion and swore to take it down, doesn’t think it through. He doesn’t plan, doesn’t wonder what the consequences will be— no, he reacts on pure instincts and flings himself forward, putting himself between Kael’thas and everyone else.

The spell collides with his back in a flash of too-bright fire before Kael’thas has the time to swear.

(It’s a little known fact that Kael’thas, when stressed, swear like a sailor: it’s an habit he got from Rommath and it definitely hasn’t gotten better with his time passed amongst orcs and demon hunters.)

Great, dark wings curl around him as the flames roar around them, and all Kael’thas can feel is their faint warmth through his strange shelter and Illidan’s arms around his shoulders. Some part of him notes every detail, every wound smearing hot blood on his skin, as it does each time Illidan touches him— as if it were the last time he ever would.

This time, it might.

The last of the fire dissipates into shimmering smoke and, ever so slowly, Illidan lets his wings fall, but it’s less of a conscious thought than a slow fall forward, and Kael’thas wounds his arms around Illidan’s chest to keep him upright. Smaller as he is, it’s mostly useless: Illidan falls to his knees, and Kael’thas now bears most of his weight as he seems to lose the strenght to do so himself. His hands rests on something wet and still hot— blood, raw flesh, what might be bare bones at the tip of his fingers. This is not the kind of wound you recover from, not even for a demon hunter as formidable as Illidan Stormrage.

Illidan flinches at the touch. Kael’thas shushes him soothingly and lets what little healing magic he knows imbues his hands. It’s useless, and he’s well are of it, but Illidan nonetheless relaxes slightly in his hold.

“Why?” He asks, too low for any of the stunnen warriors to hear. “Your plans, the Legion— why me? Why now?”

Illidan looks at Kael’thas, too calm and too peaceful for someone so fierce, usually a breath away from feral. He smirks despite the fel-green blood that runs down his chin and says, not quite an answer, “Don’t worry, Kael. It’ll be alright.”

He repeats it— don’t worry, it’s alright, please, don’t cry, in a voice so low it’s a whisper, his clawed fingers trailing lightly down Kael’thas face and leaving a smudge of dark green blood there. It’s the only thing he says, as if it were Kael’thas who was in need of reassurance, until he runs out of breath to say it and his eyes dim.

Kael’thas’s hands curl where they rest on his shoulders. His fingers dig into Illidan’s skin, blood already drying under his nails. For a long moment, he doesn’t move.

By then the soldiers have had all the time in the world to wonder what happened, as well as to decide that Kael’thas would be better taken alive— something the few blood elves scattered through the band of adventurers strongly advocated for.

They expect him to come quietly. They expect him to cry. They don’t know what they expect, only that it isn’t what they get.

Kael’thas gently rests Illidan on the scorched ground before he rises. There’s blood on his face, on his tongue, dripping down his chin, green and red war paint circling his burning eyes. Felo’melorn glows golden-red in his hand.

The blood elves stop, take a step back as one; a few of them have fought at his side before, and they fear this look more than the Legion itself.

(There’s a common thing between all natural disaster — they are greater than themselves, announced by the way things bend around their coming. The sea retreats in front of a tidal wave; the wind stops before a thunderstorm. For a second, everything is still: this, more than anything, should have warned them.)

He doesn’t say a word — there is no warning, except the slight itch in his breathing, the twitch of his bloody fingers.

But suddenly flames surround them, the roar deafening, scorching heat that reduces a champion to ashes before he can take a step away from the edge of the battlefield. Hell awakes and Kael’thas stands at its heart, embers trailing in his steps, blood dripping from his fingers. It dissipates as it its the ground, hissing like water on a hot pan.

(The Sunstrider dynasty has chosen a phoenix as emblem — it is no mere coincidence. Few things burn hotter than they do, and none in quite the same destructive fashion.)

The flames cast his shadow on the smoke in wavering edges and sharp corners, a crown of molten gold upon his brow and blade sharper than the shards of his broken heart. Things like him shouldn’t grieve; they are, after all, the kind who take the world down with them, fire and ash and the acrid taste of burning flesh.

They didn’t know that but it doesn’t matter. Knowledge couldn’t have saved them; nothing will.

They killed Illidan and Kael’thas Sunstrider stands above his body, burning in the way only volcanoes burn  — smoke and ashes and fire, burning your breath out of the cage of your charred ribs.

(The battle will be carved into the minds of all those fighting here, but none will ever talk about it; if asked, they will speak of fire and screams and the visceral terror of waking horros that are better left sleeping, and they will not shiver but it will be a close thing.)

They don’t kill him, but it’s not a mercy.

The only thing keeping him upright is the instinctual knowledge that he’ll die if he falls, and it’s the only thing he can understand through the rage. If he stops, he dies, and then Illidan’s sacrifice will have been for nothing.

His robes snaps around him, blacked and torn; the air smells of copper and sulfur; when he breathes in, one of his ribs dig into his lung, and the roar of his flames cannot entirely hide the way his chest rattles like a bone chimes. He’s on his last leg and they know it, those few soldiers still alive and figthing more for their lives than the fate of their world.

Deep down, at the heart of the inferno, the only thing he remembers are a few words carried on a dying breat.

Don’t worry. It will be alright. Please don’t cry. He lost himself except for those words, and he clings to them like a lifeline.

This, in the end, is his undoing.

Maiev doesn’t quite manage to dodge his sword and the tip of the blade catch her helmet, leaving a long, bloody trail on its path. It goes flying, rolling on the crumbling floor until it hits a body and stops. Immediately, Kael’thas’s eyes are drawn to her; the source of the hatred burning like kindling in his chest.

Here, he is a beast; a wild thing, carried forward by a remembered voice and little else. Pushed beyond his limits, he knows — better than he knows his own name, now — that he won’t last much longer, and the part of him that rages and rampages throw him toward the warden like a storm of gold and fire, sword shining barely brighter than his eyes.

That’s the opening they were waiting for. Maiev dodges; she’s faster, less tired — although not by much — and he crashes in the empty space she left. The remaining soldiers jump on him, ready a the killing blow that they hold off for one inexplicable, breathless second.

Kael’thas looks oddly small, bloodied and ragged, panting on the ground with his fingers curled like claws in a puddle of Maiev’s blood. He turns toward them, teeth barred like he’s still bigger than himself, but his arms aren’t strong enough to bear his weight anymore and he falls to the ground, too weak to do much more than growl.

Maiev wants to kill him on the spot; stab him in the heart and be done with the whole thing once and for all. She should; no one would blame her for it. But blood elves are loyal to the death, even to those who would harm them; they drag their surviving companions to their feet, bloodied and beaten, and then Kael’thas as well. He doesn’t fight them. The fight has gone out of his eyes, nothing remaining of his previous rage but smoke and slow-burning flames scattered on the dark stone. He blinks slowly, face expressionless, and only moves to keep Illidan’s body in his sight — but even then, his movements are weak, and he simply goes limp in their hold when they drag him away from it.

Many died on that day. Whether Kael’thas is one of them is anyone’s guess.

--

Some would have him hanged. Some want the Alliance to judge him, or the people of Silvermoon — no one wants to be responsible for his acts or those of his master, but all want the right to put him on trial for whichever crimes they accuse him of.

The Kirin Tor want to judge him as one of their; Maiev doesn’t trust them to punish him as she see fit; the Silvermoon triumvirate fears either one would give their prince the death penalty, despite the fact that the Sunstrider are supposed to live and die for and by their people and no one else.

They reach a compromise, eventually. Kael’thas is sent under Silvermoon, deep under their streets, and locked in a cell designed by the Kirin Tor — there is so much magic in his chains alone it burns his skin. Two of Maiev’s wardens guard the doors; their sight is the only thing that can drag a reaction out of their prisoner, although it is only the faint sharpening of his gaze as he follows their movements until they disappear from view.

Apart from that, nothing. He isn’t peaceful as much as he’s devoid of anything beyond sheer apathy, as if he was only alive in body and not in mind.

He sits crosslegged in the middle of  the circular stone chamber that is his cell, his shackled hands resting between his legs, his dim eyes lost in the distance. There is nothing dignified or noble about the way he acts, no trace of his royalty. His shoulders are low, his head bent, his once-bright golden hair fall over his face. He barely eats or sleeps: like this, he is more alike to a ghost than a prisoner and, were he in any other state, he would be horrified by himself.

It’s as if Illidan’s death had broken something in him. Rommath brings him books and scrolls, anything that could interest him, bring back some kind of light to his features, but they pile up next to the doors, collecting dust. When he and Lor’themar manage to coax words out of him, Kael’thas sounds hollow and tired, and his answers are few and far in-between.

Sylvanas comes to visit, sometimes, mostly to rant about how pathetic he looks and how awful everything is. She appears more irate each time, perhaps annoyed at his lack of reaction. He barely looks at her when she comes, uncaring of the familiar disdain and annoyance in her eyes, and never replies to her biting comments like he used to.

“Don’t you have better things to do than mope?” She aks, the fourth of fifth time, curling her lips in distaste.

He shrugs. It’s more than she usually gets, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy her.

He thinks she enjoys his silence, a bit, if only because it gives her a reason to rant at lenght about how little she likes the idea of making peace with the Alliance.

“The Alliance has taken everything from me,” He explains to Lor’themar when the regent asks him about the ceasefire, in this odd way of his, slow and devoid of feelings, although he does make a small pause before saying everything, as if he wants to put emphasis on the word but doesn’t find the will in himself to do so. “Yet I cannot find it in myself to hate them for it.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but Lor’themar hears it as: do what you must. So he shakes Varian’s hand, and doesn’t ask Malfurion why he isn’t the one grieving for his fallen brother.

--

And then, one day, Lor’themar says ‘enough’. He has watched his friend fade away for years now. No more.

To hell with the wardens, the mages, the factions, whoever thought this was a kinder fate than death. He opens the door and says, “Come with me.”

Kael’thas doesn’t argue. He hasn’t uttered a word in weeks; his grief has only worsened with time, the loss still a raw wound after a decade in the dark. All he does is hold up his hands, for Lor’themar to free or take to help him stand. He does both.

They make their way through the twisting corridors of the castle in silence and Lor’themar doesn’t stop once to reconsider his plan. He marches forward, nods to Rommath, and drags Kael’thas through the portal the achmage summoned without thinking, because this— this spectre, this empty shell of a man — isn’t the prince he has served for so long, isn’t the friend he has fought with.

There is no fire to fear there, nothing of the threat Maiev painted him at. All he is is nothing but a whispered voice in a dark cell that says, I miss him, and hollow eyes that can’t even cry anymore.

So he has no qualms manhandling Kael’thas through a rather rough teleportation that takes them Light-knows-where. The destination doesn’t matter all that much and, for all he knows, it might as well be Stormwind or Argus, for the difference it makes.

(Either way, inhabitants want Kael’thas’s head on a plate; just not enough to cut it themselves.)

Maybe it’s the familiar magic running over his skin that wakes him enough to look around, or maybe it’s some distant knowledge, some primal instinct that tells him to look up. Kael’thas, whatever his reason may be, lets his head tilts sideways, enough that the strands of hair that usually shadow his face fall out of his eyes.

Green meets green as, not too far away that he should have been able to feel him were he in any other state, Illidan meets his gaze.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

Then the silence snaps like a rubber band stretched thin, and both surge forward without a glance at those assemble around them.

They meet somewhere halfway, Illidan’s arms curling around Kael’thas too-thin frame as he lets himself falls forward and into the hold. Kael’thas lets his shackled hands fall between them and rests his forehead in the crook between Illidan’s neck and shoulder, feeling like he’s been holding his breath for a decade and, finally, has breatherdout.

“It’s okay,” Illidan whispers next to his hear, grinning almost despite himself. “I’m back.”

“I’ve missed you,” Kael’thas replies, and his smile echoes Illidan’s own.

Embers swirl around their feet as, deep in his chest, fire burns once again.

[disciplineandpunnish]

THIS OR THAT BOOK TAG

This was posted by @whilereadingandwalking and I thought it was v cool and did it as well.

1. Hardback or paperback - I mostly love hardbacks. I used to never buy hardbacks when I was a kid because they were more expensive and now I just really want more hardbacks. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t buy a paperback if a hardback isn’t available. Or that I have any qualms of having paperbacks and hardbacks in one series. 
2. Borrow or buy - Buy. As much as I like borrowing from friends and libraries, I also love owning my own books. 
3. Buy in a bookstore or online - Online might be easier for me, but I also absolutely love the presence of bookstores and the walking around in a bookstore and not being distracted by anything escpect finding books. But, being in Kuwait right now, online might be a better option. 
4. Amazon or Book Depository - Neither. Indie bookstores like Powell’s and AbeBooks. I haven’t tried to The Book Depository yet. I have an account and haven’t tried it yet, but I’ve heard it delivers to Kuwait... or something? I don’t understand it 😳 
5. Fantasy or sci-fi - Fantasy, although I am becoming a fan of a certain type of science fiction, like V. E. Schwab’s Vicious. But, definitely, fantasy over science fiction. 
6. Love-triangle or love at first sight - I will say that both have potential and I won’t knock something down -- even as a cautionary tale, love triangles and love at first sight can be educational and interesting. But I will say that I will probably tolerate love at first sight more than love triangles at this time.  
8. Mass market paper backs or large print books - Large print books. Mass market books annoy me and I only buy them when I’m out of money but really want a book. I need larger font, my eyesight is dreadful. 
9. Bad plot with good characters or good plot with bad characters - Good plot with bad characters. I can, maybe, deal with boring characters. Bad, uninteresting, meaningless plot, I cannot forgive. 
10. Booklr or Bookstagram - Booklr. I want more substance than pretty pictures and thirty hashtags. 
11. Booklr or Booktube - I would have previously said Booklr immediately, but I recently just watched a couple videos on Booktube done by LilyC, so I may be slowly changing my one-track Booklr-loving mind. 
12. Contemporary or Fantasy - Fantasy, all the way. I do love contemporary, but fantasy can come set in a contemporary setting, which I am all for. 
13. Fiction or non-fiction - Fiction. It takes me a very long time to finish non-fiction because, no matter how interesting the topic is, I start to think of it as a chore and get lazy. 
14. Buy a book based on the cover or the description - Description. Covers rarely sway me. In fact, they make me very wary. I sometimes wonder if publishers are overcompensating for bad plot with pretty pictures. 
15. Alphabetical shelves or colour coordinated - Alphabetically, by height. To each his own, and I know it isn’t as aesthetically pleasing, but it is less anxiety inducing for me! 
16. Different sized books or matching sizes - I like matching sizes, but I also will always buy whichever book is available if I really want it, so I don't really mind different sizes. 
17. Matching covers / spines or non-matching covers / spines - Again, this used to not bother me; my Harry Potter comes are in three different formats and covers. However, when possible, I prefer matching covers and spines... but again, it’s not a deal breaker. I am starting to realize from this survey that I am very liberal minded when it comes to other bookworms.  
18. Marathon a series or read as released - I AM LEAVING @whilereadingandwalking​‘s ANSWER BECAUSE IT IS 👌🏽: I sometimes read as released, because what are you going to do after all, but it drives me wild. I prefer to marathon, like I did with both of Schwab’s series this year. That said, I’m also very wary of spoilers, which makes it tricky. 
19. Movie or TV adaptation - I’m very confused but I will maybe say TV adaptation. I liked Pride and Prejudice in movie form more than in tv series form. I liked the ASOUE movie but also see the pros of having it as a tv adaptation. I don’t know. 
20. Perfect adaption of a bad book or bad adaption of a perfect book - Perfect adaption of a bad book. Maybe that will make for a better story! 
21. Zombies or Vampires - Vampires. I hate zombies. Never read a good zombie story. 
22. Vampires or Werewolves - Vampires. I don't feel quite as strongly against werewolves, but still, vampires feel more interesting. 
23. Vampire or Fae - Fae. Give me more fairies, evil, good, smart, cunning. Compared to what I said about zombies, I don’t think I have personally read a bad fae story. 
24. Reading inside or outside - Inside, with legs stretched, maybe something to drink and a pen in hand to mark things. I get too many allergies to want to spend time outside, I don’t like the wind, and the sun gives me a headache. 
25. Coffee or Tea - Tea. If I were ever to drink coffee it would have to be iced, and even then I’ll only force it down. Chai lattes are so lovely and warm and it comes to fruit flavors, too 😋 
26. Eating while reading or not eating - Not eating. Drinking, yes, but I am way too uncoordinated to eat while reading. Unless I’m reading a PDF or a book on my kindle and not paper, maybe. 
27. Bookmarks or random objects - Bookmarks. I guy pretty ones from lots of places, and I get gifted them a lot, so I’m trying to always use them. 
28. Dog-earing or bookmark - Bookmarks, but to each their own! 
29. Be your favorite character or be their best friend - Be my favorite character. My favorite characters are rogues and rebels, and I know, as a reader, that they’re a hassle to deal with. I would much rather be them. 
30. Be your favorite character or date your favorite character - Date my favorite character. I’m thinking of Kell in A Darker Shade of Magic... 😍 
31. Physical or E-book - Physical books. I use my kindle at times. Fro examples, when I wanted to read A Conjuring of Light, I bought it on my kindle and sometimes there are free books, etc. but I am a hoarder at heart and I love physically holding and manhandling and marking all my books. 
32. Audiobook or ebook - Ebooks, but this is a really close one since I have really gotten in audiobooks in the last few months. But ebooks ultimately win, because I am more likely to read a book faster than an audiobook. But audiobooks are great and can be so emotional. Changing my answer to both. 
33. Read in bed or on a chair - Chair. I need to not read in bed, because I will ultimately fall asleep. 
34. Series or stand-alones - Stand-alones. I used to love series as a kid, and I will still read a good series, but there is definitely something to be said for a story that knows where it is going and gets its message across in one book. Also, too many series’ start off strong and falter by the second or third book and feel like a time waste. 
35. Duology or Trilogy - Trilogies, mostly because that feels the most normal. I don’t even know how many duologies I’ve encountered let alone read. 
36. Reading in winter or reading in summer - I’m less busy in the summer, but reading in winter also means getting to drink lots of hot drinks and not feeling weird about it. Reading in all seasons, I say. 
37. Read with music or without music - Without. I get distracted by the music and stop focusing on the story and only on the lyrics. 
38. Finish reading books you hate or stop reading mid-way - Finish reading the books I hate. I first started reviewing books in Goodreads, I think, because I hated books so much and got angry enough at the book to write a review. Not healthy, but very cathartic. 
39. Yearly book challenge or no book challenge - Yearly book challenge, but I don’t care how well I finish it. My Goodreads books are 52 books, which I knew I could surpass, and I am following the PopSugar reading challenge by reading books and then seeing if they fit into the categories rather than the other way around. 
40. Classics or modern books - Modern books. I have to be in such a specific mood to read classics, but can usually get into modern books immediately.

[mothergamerwriter]

Shadow and Ice (Gods of War #1) by Gena Showalter | Review & Excerpt

I received this book for free from the mentioned source in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book nor the content of my review.

This book may be unsuitable for people under 17 years of age due to its use of sexual content, drug and alcohol use, and/or violence.

Shadow and Ice by Gena Showalter Series: Gods of War #1 Published by: HQN on October 23, 2018 Genres: Adult, 18+, Paranormal Romance, PNR, Romance Pages: 384 Format: eARC Source: Blog Tour, NetGalley View on: Goodreads Grab it: Buy on Amazon Review Score:

About the Book:

Gena Showalter, the New York Times bestselling author who brought you the Lords of the Underworld, introduces a scorching new paranormal romance series… Gods of War.

Knox of Iviland has spent his life competing in the All Wars, where vicious warriors with supernatural powers fight to the death to claim new realms. One winner takes everything—and all losers die. Enslaved as a child for his ability to control shadows, the most ruthless champion in history will stop at nothing to kill his king. But first he must win the battle for Earth. When a fearsome weapon imprisons every combatant in ice, centuries pass without progress…until she walks in.

Vale London craves a fun arctic getaway with her foster sister before settling down to open a bakery. Street-tough but vulnerable, she is unprepared to find ancient gods escaping a frozen cave—merciless beings who target her when she inadvertently enters their war.

Though Vale is now his enemy, Knox is consumed with lust and a fierce need to protect her. But only one combatant can prove victorious, and he will have to choose: live for freedom, or die for love.

        Lights, camera, and tons of satisfying action!

  As a long time Gena Showalter fan, I was so delighted when I learned she would be coming out with another adult paranormal romance series. I mean, the Lords of the Underworld, is the series that hooked me on this genre. Showalter is an expert when it comes to writing breathtaking scenes, witty characters, and alpha males who will dominate your thoughts all night long. And Shadow and Ice did not disappoint.

  Forced to compete in a competition for realm supremacy, Knox is not just a warrior, he is the warrior. Every time a new realm is discovered, immortal slaves fight to the death in order to claim the realm for their rulers. This is Knox’s fifth All War, and hopefully his final war. To gain his freedom from his slave bands and avenge his daughter’s death, Knox must win this war — at any cost. No friend, no lover, no potential ally, or silly emotion would stand in his way, or so he thought. Unfortunately during the war for Earth, he and his fellow immortal warriors were imprisoned in ice for hundreds of years, unable to break free from its magical hold. But Knox is not the type of man to let a little — or a lot — of anything get in his way. And as he continues to try and break free and win the All War, something unexpected walks right up to his frozen cage.

  Vale is human who’s on vacation with her sister, completing an epic bucket list before they start their own business. Abandoned in the frozen Russian wilderness by their tour guide, Vale and her sister Nola have no choice but to venture out into the frozen wonderland in search of civilization. However, when all hope seems lost, the girls stumble upon a cave with life-size statues of people — which couldn’t possibly be real right? Things quickly escalate for the duo when the ice starts to break and the immortal All Warriors emerge blades swinging, magical  weapons blazing, and with their killer instincts intact.

  Even though all hell is breaking loose, Vale and Knox are instantly attracted to each other. A classic sign of a Showalter novel, claim first and ask questions second. Stuck in the middle of the carnage, Vale loses track of her sister. Knox, having his own agenda, takes Vale for information and in turn she makes a deal to get her sister back from another warrior. Which in turn, sets the stage for a whirlwind love/hate relationship between our main characters.

  Overall, I enjoyed the classic Showalter humor between the characters and the brutal battles that take place page after page. Even though the pacing was slow in some parts, which happens sometime with the first book in a new series, I found the overall world to be one of intrigue and excitement. There is a laundry list of characters, some last longer than others, and a lot of twists and turns that may not appeal to some readers. But, if you like epic wars, hardcore romance, and laugh out loud banter, Shadow and Ice will not disappoint.

  My Rating

          As they continued trudging through the snow, she asked, “What are we going to call our donut shop, any­way?”

Nola had suggested The Donut Bar and Drunkin’ Donuts, since their sweet treats paid homage to dif­ferent alcoholic beverages, but both names had been taken already.

“What about Tricks and Treats? Oh! I’ve got it.” Nola clapped her gloved hands. “Happy Hour Donuts.”

“Cute, but neither one says high end. Or revs my motor. I’m sorry!”

“Well, frick.”

Frick—Carrie’s favorite “curse” word. “We could simplify and go with Lee and London,” Vale said.

“I love it, but no one will know what we’re selling.”

“Maybe not at first, but we can leverage social media to spread the word.”

“True. What about Lady Carrie’s.”

Excitement instantly sparked. “Duuuude. Lady Car­rie’s is perfect.”

“Well sprinkle sugar on my butt and call me a gour­met donut. Did we just name our shop?”

Vale was just about to reply—Our timing is impecca­ble, as always—when she spotted an ice hill up ahead. There was something about it… something odd. But what, exactly? Her eyes and brain said Nothing’s out of place.

Heart and legs picking up speed, she crossed the dis­tance, gasped. A perfect six-foot hole had been cut into the side, leading to a perfect hollowed-out tunnel with a perfect upward tilt. Definitely man-made. What was inside? Or better yet, who was inside?

A whimper of anticipation broke free. If the tun­nel led to a cavern—occupied or unoccupied, it didn’t matter—she could get Nola out of the elements sooner rather than later.

“Wait here,” she said when her sister reached the hill. “I’ll check out—”

“Nope, sorry. We go in together.”

“If there’s a wild animal squatting inside, only one of us should be its dinner.” Mmm. Dinner.

“You’re right. The other one will be dessert.”

Stubborn girl. “Fine.” Vale withdrew a long coil of rope from her pack, knotted one end around her sister’s waist and the other around her own. Nola isn’t falling to her death on my watch. Next, she withdrew ice axes. Two for each of them. “We’ll find a cavern, or drop. Whichever comes first.”

After zipping and adjusting her bag, she swung an ax, walked her spiked boots up several jagged steps, then swung the other ax. Rinse, repeat. Again and again. Nola did the same, below and to the right of her.

The higher they climbed, the darker the enclosure became, and the more her muscles protested.

Drip, drip. Drip, drip.

Ironically enough, the steady chorus of water drops tasted like melted vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day. Like hope. Hope gave her strength. Up, up. Higher still.

“I’m not sure… I can go…much farther,” Nola said heaving from exertion.

“You can. You will.” If they stopped now, they’d end up right back where they’d started. When a soft, warm—well, warmer—breeze caressed a patch of ex­posed skin, she gasped. “There’s something ahead, so move your butt!”

The tunnel curved to the right and—

A small pinprick of light caught her attention. “I see something!” Vale climbed faster, closing in.

The light expanded, the tunnel leveling out, opening into…a cavern! Massive ice pillars propped up a domed  ceiling at least eight feet high. There was enough space between each pillar to stretch out and get comfortable.

Trembling with relief, Vale crawled out of the tun­nel, dropped her tools and bag, and helped her sister over the ledge.

As Nola sank to the ground, panting, Vale pulled the logs and kindling from her pack, and used a match to start a fire. Instant heat. Oh, such glorious heat. Smoke billowed, curling upward, and she removed her goggles and face mask.

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.” Nola removed each piece of headgear, as well, reveal­ing a face so perfect she looked airbrushed. Dark eyes, a delicate nose, and model-plump lips, all surrounded by flawless brown skin and a fall of straight black hair.

Nola had no idea who her parents were. As an infant, someone left her near a Dumpster, with a note pinned to her shirt. All the note had said? “My name is Mag­nolia Lee and I need a home.”

Frowning, Nola pointed to one of the walls. “Is that…ice graffiti?”

Vale used the axes and rope to create a hanging line to dry her hat and coat before approaching the wall. Hello. Images had been carved throughout, like ancient hieroglyphs or something, and depicted some kind of battle. Twenty giant men and four women held various types of weapons, and surrounded a taller cloaked fig­ure—the grim reaper, maybe? He clutched a scythe.

In front of the group was a headless body. She shud­dered.

      Gena Showalter’s SHADOW AND ICE – Review & Excerpt Tour Schedule:

October 22nd

All Things Dark & Dirty – Review & Excerpt

Beneath The Covers – Review & Excerpt

Diane’s Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

Evermore Books – Review & Excerpt

It’s All About the Romance – Excerpt

Little Red Reading Hood +1 – Excerpt

NallaReads – Review & Excerpt

Read more sleep less – Review & Excerpt

October 23rd

A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog – Review

Book Reader Chronicles – Review & Excerpt

Ceres Books World – Review

Declarations of a Fangirl – Review & Excerpt

For The Love of Fictional Worlds – Excerpt

Little Shop of Readers – Review & Excerpt

Moonlight Rendezvous – Review & Excerpt

October 24th

@reads_romance – Review

Bout-a-Book blog – Review

Crazii Bitches Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

Lo’s Lo-Down on Books – Review & Excerpt

Milky Way of Books – Review

Romancing the Laser Pistol – Review & Excerpt

Somewhere Lost in Books – Review & Excerpt

October 25th

Bambi Unbridled – Review

Caitlin’s World – Review & Excerpt

Feel the Book – Excerpt

Jen’s Reading Obsession – Excerpt

Kay Daniels Romance – Review & Excerpt

Reading in Pajamas – Review & Excerpt

Reese’s Reviews – Excerpt

October 26th

Cinta Garcia de la Rosa – Excerpt

Feeling Fictional – Review & Excerpt

Incidental Inspiration – Review & Excerpt

My Book Filled Life – Review & Excerpt

Nicole’s Book Musings – Review

Sip Read Love – Review

The Ink Spell – Review

October 27th

Another Book Hangover – Excerpt

Bookgasms Book Blog – Review

Booknerd1107 – Review

Family, Books and Food – Excerpt

Rantings of a Reading Addict – Excerpt

The Reading Cafe – Review & Excerpt

October 28th

Bingeworthy Book Blog – Review

Clare & Lou’s Mad About Books – Review

Jax’s Book Magic – Excerpt

Ginreads – Review & Excerpt

Mother/Gamer/Writer – Review & Excerpt

NC 2 DC – Review & Excerpt

Red’s Midnight Readers – Review & Excerpt

October 29th

3 degrees of fiction – Review & Excerpt

Avephoenix Naughty Readings – Review & Excerpt

Books 2 Blog – Review & Excerpt

Just Reading Book Blog – Excerpt

Sharing Inspired Kreations – Review & Excerpt

The Book Dutchesses – Review & Excerpt

October 30th

Dirty Girl Romance – Review

Nerdy Dirty & flirty – Review & Excerpt

Reads All the Books – Review & Excerpt

Romancing the Readers – Review

Sassy Book Lovers – Review & Excerpt

Total Book Geek – Excerpt

Writes Forward – Review

October 31st

Book Lovers Hangout – Review & Excerpt

KDRBCK – Review & Excerpt

Mean Girls Luv Books – Review & Excerpt

Movies, Shows, & Books – Excerpt

Reviews from the Heart – Review & Excerpt

Shameless Book Club – Review & Excerpt

November 1st

Book Nook Nuts – Review & Excerpt

Busy Bumble Bee Book Reviews – Review & Excerpt

Dreamer’s Book Blog – Excerpt

Jeri’s Book Attic – Review

Romance Schmomance – Review & Excerpt

Smut Book Junkie Book Reviews – Excerpt

Up All Night w/ Books Blog – Review & Excerpt

November 2nd

Book Addict – Excerpt

Fundinmental – Review

Reading Between the Wines Book Club – Excerpt

Ruby’s Books – Excerpt

Southern Vixens Book Obsessions – Review

The Book Maven – Review & Excerpt

    Shadow and Ice (Gods of War #1) by Gena Showalter | Review & Excerpt was originally published on Mother/Gamer/Writer

[learnfunfacts]

Random Ramblings

The Worst Possible Superpowers

This is inspired by Masercot’s fun post with the same title.

— The sporadic ability to run through walls.

— The psychic power to break any of your own bone with just a thought.

— The power to steal anyone’s superpower in a world where no one possesses any superpower.

— The psychic ability to cause automatic doors to open a second faster than they normally would.

— The ability to make any situation awkward.

— The power to stop time without being immune to your own power.

— You turn bald every time you get angry.

— The ability to turn into a tapeworm every full moon.

— You have superhearing which only activates when you feel sleepy.

— The ability to communicate with mammoths.

E-Book Reader

Until a few years ago, I read my e-books on my smartphone, tablet or computer. It’s mostly all right but after reading for some time, my eyes would begin to tire out. On the other hand, if I am reading physical books, I could read them for a long period of time without any difficulty. Sometimes, when doing research, I could read for a whole day and a whole night, and I’m still fine the next day.

I’ve heard that e-readers cause less strain to the eyes, but hadn’t bought one since e-readers were (and still are) not popular here in Hong Kong, and thus, hard to find. Well, that’s not actually a good reason as I could easily order one online or I can buy one during my travels to overseas. The main reason I didn’t purchase an e-reader earlier is I thought there’s not much point in buying a gadget that performs a function that can be performed by my smartphone.

But then, after some research, I decided to buy an e-reader, specifically Kindle Paperwhite HD, from Amazon. It’s like staring at a real book… well, but really, but it’s a lot better than staring at a smartphone.

While I still prefer real books, I can’t deny that it’s good to have an e-book reader.

Monthly Likes

Art

Almost every day for the duration of March 2013, Malaysian artist Hong Yi played with her food. However, she wasn’t simply playing with her food, she turned them into art. Her backdrop was only a white plate and the images depicted were entirely composed of food. There’s a large variety of designs including simple illustrations of objects, animals, landscapes, and references to popular culture. They were posted on her Facebook and Instagram.

Here are some examples:

Curiosity

In mid-1960’s, Rival Dog Company conducted a press conference to promote their new dog food. The president company brought with him a pedigreed collie and placed the dog at the main table next to him. As a publicity stunt, he served the dog their new product called “all-beef dinner”, but for some reason, the dog didn’t eat it. In fact, the dog completely ignored the food.

Not knowing what to do, the Rival president himself ate the dog food to the exuberance of the reporters. the next day, headlines like “Rival President Eats Dog Food, But Dog Won’t!” were all over the newspapers.

“I have used an animal since,” the chairman of Rival’s PR remarked.

He was fired the following day.

Curious Links

Incredible Double Exposures Merge Wondrous Wild Animals with Stunning Scenery (My Modern Met)

Liu Bei: China’s Warlord who Teaches Good Management (BBC News)

There was Once a Woman who had Immortal Cells (Today I Found Out)

Bam Citadel (Sacred Sites)

Benford’s Law (Data Genetics)

Literature

Philip of Macedon

Je ne puis rien nommer si ce n’est par son nom; J’appelle un chat un chat, et Rollet un fripon.

— Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux, Satire I, l. 51, 1716

This couplet translates to “I can call nothing by name if that is not his name. I call a cat a cat, and Rollet a rogue.” It is an allusion to a response provided by Philip II of Macedon to a foreign ambassador, who expressed his disapproval of some of the King’s subjects for calling him a traitor.

“My subjects are very uncouth,” Philip replied, “that they only know how to call things by their true names.”

Mathematics

Julian Lowell Coolidge (1873-1954), a renowned geometer, and professor at Harvard University in the early twentieth-century was known for his sharp wit and humor during his lectures. He once said, “I definitely try, when I teach, to make the students laugh. And while their mouths are open, I put something in for them to chew on.”

○○○

One time, while thinking about numbers, the following occurred to me:

12 = 3 × 4; 56 = 7 × 8

I’m sure that someone must have observed this way earlier. Nonetheless, I think that this little curiosity is worth noting here.

Music 

I like most of Kenny Roger’s song, but I think that The Gambler is one of my most favorite ones.

Quote

“It is better to be deceived by one’s friends than to deceive them.” — Goethe

Video

This is a short video of some of the best bowling tricks of Andy Varipapa filmed in 1948. Anyway, the commentary is quite entertaining.

Learn Fun Facts' Monthly Miscellany, March 2018 #blog Random Ramblings The Worst Possible Superpowers This is inspired by Masercot's fun post with the same title.