#lifted the story is in the soil if you keep your ear to the ground

[dead-loch]

now you’ve done it

reblog this and put in the tags what you think an absolutely gold star album is. every song hits, every song links thematically, the order of the songs feels purposeful, and just all round it feels just. so well made

[moon-my-beloved]

Run: (Eventual 141 x Vamp! Reader, but first let’s start from the beginning. 🕯️)

Bloodied, injured, and exhausted, Laswell finds herself in the last place she would like to be lost in: the woods. After escaping what was supposed to be her ultimate death, Kate wanders off into the wilderness in hopes of finding refuge. She is unlikely to make it out of this situation alive.. at least that’s what she thought.

TW: blood, mentions of a gun shot wound, reader can be considered as fem but anyone is welcomed to read it! that’s pretty much it babes. xoxo

— September 15, 1996. Location: Unknown

If you were to ask Kate Laswell where she would be in the last twenty-four hours, she wouldn’t even muster the thought of being in the most unpleasant and unfortunate positions. Nothing surprised her anymore, not when you were doing work that’s perceived as illegal, unethical, and dangerous. Kate knew this. She understood this job would bring unavoidable losses, sacrifices, and risks. She knew it as soon as she signed those papers to get her hands dirty. To keep the world safe from such cruelty she had and has to see. This was her life now and she was okay with it.. That was, until now.

Kate had no fucking idea where she was going. She had been running for god knows how long once she heard the sound of booming voices echoing through the hallway as they made their way into the small base. Slamming, kicking, and taking doors down to the ground from the other side of the building. She had been finishing up her last report when she and her team were ambushed. Things taking a dark turn before the gears in Laswell’s head could even process what was going on. ‘So much for being under high surveillance.’

She didn’t manage to get much. Just her laptop, a few files that read ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in red bold letters, an already messed up USB along with a crappy radio in hopes of getting in contact with the agency before she was bolting to the nearest exit she could find. Her colleagues were long gone, she knew it. She heard it.

She didn’t have much time, barely managing to escape bullets flying past her while throwing her leg over the sill of the window and deciding that it was a safe enough jump for a three-story building. Her ribs making immediate contact with the grass and soiled dirt in an attempt to shield her prized possessions from meeting their ultimate death.

Managing to catch her breath, she shot up. The denim of her jeans and shirt soaking up all the mud from the fall. It was uncomfortable the way the material stuck itself to her skin, but that was the least of her concerns at this point. The wet ground made an irking ‘squelch’ with each stride she took, sprinting through the trees mindlessly to wherever the woods would take her. If she even got far enough.

‘Just keep running Laswell. Run and find somewhere to hide.’

And that she did. Chanting those two sentences over and over again like it was a damn prayer. Running to the woods was probably a bad idea, but where else would she have gone? The base was just a small pebble in the middle of endless trees. It was pitch dark and it was getting cold. No noise at all except for the ringing in her ears and the rustling of leaves she left behind. You could only go so far with adrenaline running through your veins before it eventually runs out.

She must have been far away now. At least enough to catch her breath now that she feels her body crashing down from that pure bliss of epinephrine. Strands of hair sticking to her forehead from exhaustion. Not even noticing the big crimson spot forming on her thigh but hell could she feel it now. It was a miracle she wasn’t dead by now.

She must have gotten hit when she was trying to get out. ‘Shit. Okay, okay, everything’s going to be fine.’ Hissing through her teeth, she reaches out to inspect it. Leaning down against the trunk of one of the many trees and lifting her leg to get a better view. The glow of the moon blessing her with enough light for her to see the big gaping hole in her jeans. Did it go through? She had no idea. Too busy focusing on not face-planting on the dirty ground as her sight grew dim with the amount of blood she had lost. Skin glistening with all the sweat she was accumulating despite feeling more cold than usual. A shiver running down her spine and teeth clattering against each other. She felt like a whole bucket of ice just got dumped on her.

‘Getting eaten alive by nature wouldn’t be such a bad way to go,’ She thinks to herself. But before she could feed into the thought some more and become one with the food chain, she zeroes in on a roof. Seemingly making itself known from behind the leaves of the too tall trees.

‘She can make it. Just a little further.’

She takes a deep breath as she pushes herself off the trunk, biting down on her bottom lip to keep a cry from slipping into the night. The pain was getting worse. A hot, almost burning sensation spread throughout her thigh and body. She tries not to put too much pressure on her leg and slowly walks (more like drags) her way down the dark trail just enough to catch a better glimpse of the house. It’s big. It’s undeniably huge the more she gets closer to it. It’s not just a house, it’s a manor. What is a manor doing in the middle of the woods? Well, with how old and unkempt it looks, she wouldn’t blame anyone if they mistook it as one with the trees considering how roots, stems, vines, and leaves seem to be sprouting from every corner of the walls. It looks abandoned, that's for sure. No one would live in the middle of nowhere where there’s no food source let alone transportation.

Taking a look around, Kate sees nothing. No neighboring houses, cars, or bicycles that would hint at any sign of life. Not even a rolled-up piece of newspaper was left scattered on the ground. It’s secluded, but so out of place that it makes Laswell’s gut twist with uneasiness. Either no one lives here or nobody knows this place even exists. The thought alone just makes her more hesitant to try and figure out the truth. The unbearable pain only got worse the more she stood there thinking of what to do next.

‘Fuck it.’

If she was going to die, she would at least die with some dignity left in her. Mustering up all the strength she could, she limped her way towards the door. Dread filled her senses once she noticed that she would have to climb a few steps of stairs before she could finally reach the handle. Trying not to put too much pressure on her bad leg, she settles on hopping up the stairs with her good one. Her body must have decided that she had enough once she made it to the last step and before she knew it, she was falling into the abyss, her ears ringing endlessly until there was nothing but darkness.

⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟

The first thing Kate notices when she wakes up is the softness and warmth surrounding her. The smell of something sweet and earthy filling her nose as she ponders what it might be. Patchouli? Lavender? Maybe it’s vanilla bean.. whatever it is, it’s comforting. An overwhelming sense of tranquility washing over her body as she shifts onto the other side of the cushion– wait. Cushion?

The realization dawns on her as she sits up abruptly, eyes flying open in confusion and fear. She was on a couch, a nice one. Pillowy cushions with a smooth texture to them as she traced her palm against the velvet fabric. The ringing in her ear interrupted her yet again as a pained groan slipped past her lips now that she was fully conscious. She sits there for a while until the tinnitus stops, hand pressed up against her head as she frantically takes in her surroundings. She was inside the manor, in the living room from what it appeared to be. The interior of it was much more.. beautiful. A complete contrast to what it looked like from outside. A dim, golden glow cascading over the room with how the lamp beside her shined. Across from her there was a fireplace, freshly lit on that she could still feel the heat of it lingering in the air. In front of her there was a table, shiny wood reflecting on itself. Everything looked so antique. Whoever lived here was either filthy rich or was stuck in the eighteenth century.

Her train of thought was disrupted when she heard the sound of a voice, head whipping to see who was the source of it.

“Finally awake?” The figure asks, tray in your hand as you carefully inch closer to her. “Didn’t know what you prefer so I sett-”

“Don’t come closer,” Kate states, twisting the blanket around her fingers and pressing her back against the corner of the couch. “Who are you? Where am I?” She sputters out, a hint of demand in her tone. For all she knows, you could be someone out to kill her. Laswell couldn’t risk herself putting her trust on a complete stranger. Let alone one she couldn’t see. Your face was completely covered by a veil of some sorts, only managing to catch a small silhouette of your face with how the material pressed up against your features. Your choice of clothing was rather modest and old-fashioned. You weren’t one for color, Laswell assumed. The color black consuming your form from your long-sleeved shirt down to your long black skirt, boots barely peeking out from under the material.

“You mustn’t move too much, wouldn’t want you to open your wound after all my hard work.” You said, dismissing her questions while carefully setting the tray down against the table, and pouring her a cup of tea. “It’s herbal tea, it’s good.” You added, carefully pushing the porcelain cup towards her as you kept your distance. Wound? Oh. She must have hit her head pretty hard when she passed out, throwing the blanket off of her to reveal her bandaged thigh. It didn’t even hurt anymore, eyebrows furrowed and mouth gaping with bewilderment. It felt like she never even got shot. Had she come across a witch of some sort?

“Uh.. thank you?” She mutters, leaning a bit to grab the cup carefully to take a sip of the warm beverage. Mhm. It’s delicious. Usually, she preferred to drink coffee on days where missions like these kept her up until the crack of dawn. Yet, here she was drinking tea with an odd stranger after almost getting killed. An awkward silence filled the room, followed by the sound of her sips as you sat across from her in an armchair. Legs crossed with your hands placed in front of your lap, not particularly looking at her but your body language signaling that you were acknowledging her presence. “You were gone for quite some time. Thought you would never wake up,” You finally said. Head turning to face her. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Yeah.. I ran into some trouble..” It wasn’t a complete lie, she wasn’t about to spill private information to you just because you’ve been polite to her so far. It all could be an act. You can never be too sure.

You must have detected her uneasiness towards you, getting up suddenly to exit the room before coming back with her belongings. “I didn’t peek through your things if that’s what you’re worried about. Whatever your dilemma is, that is none of my concern,” You said rather abruptly, dropping her stuff beside her. Kate was ready to throw a glare at your direction for handling her things with no care just to see your covered face already facing her. She might not be able to see you how you look, but she can feel your eyes pinning her in place through the fabric like an unseen force. “I can take you to an area where your friends can come and pick you up,” You explain, reaching out to grab the radio and tapping your fingernail against it. “If you promise me one thing.” You say, tone eerily stoic. “Never come back here, understand?”

Feeling paralyzed under your gaze, she nodded. Clammy hands gripping onto her things as she threw her legs over the couch. Feet planting against the patterned carpet. ‘Where were her shoes?’ As if you read her mind, you drop her muddied boots next to her. “I’ll wait for you by the door. Hurry up.” Before she could even manage a word, you were rounding the corner of the living room and disappearing into the shadows of the enormous manor.

‘She needs to get the fuck out of here.’

Without a second thought, she hastily put her boots on, not even caring to properly tie her shoelaces. Her thoughts were all over the place. First, the mission was an absolute failure that cost the lives of people, and probably much worse for those who didn’t manage to escape. Second, she wanders off into the wilderness in hopes of finding an empty flat to hide in until she could contact the damn general only to faint and find herself inside someone else’s home. Now, she’s here. Struggling to get in contact with the intelligence unit. Just her luck.

“This is Kate Laswell, do you copy? Over.” Static. That’s all she’s been hearing for the past five minutes and her patience was wearing thin. “This is Kate Laswell, CIA communications analyst. Do you co—”

A voice from the other end of the line speaks. She recognizes that voice. Joseph Allen, chief of the communications department she works for within the agency. “Bravo-4, we hear you loud and clear Laswell. What’s your status?” Allen asks, a hint of concern laced in his tone that makes her feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “It’s good to hear you, Allen.. I-I’m doing okay. A bit roughed up, but alive and well,” She stammers a bit, clutching onto her things before taking a deep breath in. “Don’t worry Kate, we’ll get you out of there in no time. Sending a chopper your way. Hang tight.” The man reassures her, stating how there would be a few soldiers waiting to bring her back. With that, she bids her goodbyes to the chief, swiftly grabbing her things, and slowly approaching you.

The door was cracked open beside you as you waited for her arrival. Silently, you beckon her to go first. The bright light and melody of birds chirping greeting her as she takes her first steps. A new day has come. It was nighttime when she stumbled upon your house, but now that the sun has come up, she has a clear view of the environment. Trees as tall as ever, a bit less intimidating with light now. Her boots stepped on dried leaves with fall inching closer, a crisp, cold wind hitting her face sending shivers down Laswell’s spine. Everything was much brighter, more alive.

That feeling of peace was short-lived, hearing you close the door and start walking off into the woods without even looking back if she was following. You hadn’t mentioned where exactly you were taking her, doubt sending warning bells in her brain not to follow you. Burying her nerves, the woman caught up to you, keeping her distance as she trailed behind you with a wary look. This was probably the only chance for her to get home, she couldn’t risk losing it. ‘This job would bring unavoidable losses, sacrifices, and risks.’ She reminded herself.

⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟

Laswell didn’t know how long the two of you were walking for. An hour at least from how her feet were starting to get sore. This whole time, you haven’t said anything. Not a peep or glance her way. You were undeniably quiet. In fact, a little too quiet for her own comfort. With every step you took, it was like you were floating. Pristine and soundless. The crunch of leaves being heard by her own movements. Creepy.

Finding the courage, she spoke up. “How long have you been here for? It’s well hidden from the outside world.” She inquired, making a show of looking around to distract herself from her own self-consciousness. Shockingly, you halt in your steps, almost like you weren’t expecting her to ask questions, let alone about you.

“I’ve been here for most of my life. It was my family’s home originally. They’ve passed long ago now, leaving me with it.” You admit. Irritation lacing your tone at the mention of your parents. Must not have a good relationship with them. She couldn’t blame you, her relationship with hers was rather.. complicated. She barely saw them but on days she did, all she saw was disappointment and disgust. Partly because of her job, and the other half when they found out that their good daughter didn’t meet their traditional standards. She was fine with that. Sometimes she couldn’t bear to see their faces let alone hear them. It was for the best. Still, she felt bad for asking.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I did-” You wave a hand dismissively, turning around to face her. “No need.”

Laswell didn’t ask any more questions. A few minutes passed by before you stopped in your tracks. “We are here.” You announced. Nothing seemed to be too out of the ordinary, it was much more spacious, trees surrounding the empty land they were on, a few rocks covered in moss along with a few violets blooming in purples and whites. Perhaps this was a common area for hitchhikers to be rescued for those who got lost. ‘You probably encounter plenty of people carelessly wandering into the woods.’

“Well, this is where we go our separate ways.” You say, turning around without a goodbye and beginning to walk back into the endless path. Not putting too much thought into it, Laswell calls out for you. “Wait!” She shouts, watching you stop, and turn around to meet her nervous gaze. “I just wanted to say thank you.. for everything.” Laswell admits, a gust of wind passing between you two as you continue to stay silent. “I never got your name, I’m Kate, Kate Laswell.” She says, almost breathlessly. Anticipation filling her senses as you grab onto the corner of the piece of cloth and lift it up. Immediately, she’s struck by the void of your eyes. A small smile she could only describe as sad decorating your face before you opened your mouth.

“Don’t worry, you’ll forget.”

Laswell didn’t have the chance to ask what you meant before her knees buckled, making her lose her balance and fall to the ground. Black dots taking over her vision. She was immobile, unable to speak or move as she watched you disappear into the trees. Laswell felt herself being disassembled from her own body, a voice in the back of her mind begging her to get up. She couldn't. Her vision slowly dimmed, a force luring her into the abyss again until she couldn’t reach the top of the ocean and let the darkness consume her as a whole.

(A/N: I’ve had this whole idea planned out already for quite some time but never really could commit to it, until now!! I’m so happy I got to finish it after months. Hope you guys enjoy! <33)

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

All things considered, it was a nice night.

Fireheart was half-rolled onto his back, front paws tucked into his upturned chest while his rear end remained on its side. His tail tapped absentmindedly on the still-warm sand as he gazed up at the stars. The weather had loosened up, mercifully keeping the sky clear and even warming the air a little. It was still somewhat chilled, but the ground had softened from muddy slop to dense soil—still retaining a bit of moisture, but not enough to stick to a traveling cat’s paws—and the frost had barely made an appearance before shying away and melting again into dew.

Thank the Three for small miracles, Fireheart thought as his eyes lazily drifted from star to star. They know we needed it.

Caught up in the beauty of the sky and the grainy comfort of the sand, he was only somewhat registering cats talking around him. Faint squeals drifted out of the nursery’s entrance and his ear twitched at what he thought (hoped, really) was Goldenflower gently chiding the kits inside. Frostfur’s litter was already out, but in the past month they had calmed down considerably and come to prefer talking with the one cat in the apprentice’s den who would soon be a warrior, Swiftpaw, as he regaled them with stories of the territory and all the strange creatures they would see there.

Fireheart twisted his head back and to the side a bit—yes, there they were, listening to the black tom recounting his experience going to the Mother on the far side of the territories.

“And I know she looks scary,” he was saying, “but that’s kind of the point, I think. It makes you respect her even more. You just have to be brave and go into her mouth, trusting her. And Yellowfang will be there to guide you, so you’ll find your way.”

The sole molly of the litter, fluffy ginger-patched Brightkit, spoke up now. “I won’t be scared. The Mother wouldn’t hurt us—we’re her favorites.”

Thornkit, dark and golden-brown, frowned at her. “Still gotta be ‘spectful.”

Fireheart’s mouth twitched into a brief grimace in sympathy as the tom’s ears went back in embarrassment at the end of his sentence. Thornkit still slurred and stumbled over his words, even with as much as Frostfur had worked with him on speaking clearly, and he had been speaking shorter and shorter sentences recently, and at a much lower volume. His siblings understood him just fine, save one.

That one, the deaf little white tom directly in front of Swiftpaw, was Snowkit. His bright blue eyes, wide and vibrant, were fixed on Swiftpaw’s mouth as the apprentice said, “Yeah, it’s important to be quiet on the walk in and during the ceremony. Just wait until Yellowfang speaks to you.”

Brackenkit, a thinner and lighter version of Thornkit, tilted his head. “Will Cinderpaw be there?”

“She was when I went.” Swiftpaw’s eyes lifted upwards as he squinted a bit. “I mean, we did ours together, so that’s why, but I think she’d have to go anyway.” He turned to look at his dark grey sister as she limped out from the ferns by the meeting stump. “Hey, Cinderpaw! Are you going to be with these kits when they do their pilgrimage?”

Cinderpaw beamed with a hacking scoff very similar to her mentor’s. “Obviously! I have to learn how to do it myself, and there’s no way I’m missing out on Brighty getting blessed.” She swept her tail, crooked at the tip, in the direction of the toms. “And you guys, of course.”

Brackenkit seemed to take no offense. “I bet my blessing will be from Rokhar.”

Fireheart purred, rolling slowly onto his side. Of all the three gods, the Tiger was the one he understood the least. Then again, it seemed like everyone outside of the seer role had some trouble grasping exactly what Rokhar was all about. The first seer of Fireheart’s life in ThunderClan, Spottedleaf, had described him as being “in-between” and “all-encompassing”. Even after more than a year of being a Clan cat, Fireheart still had no idea what that meant.

“Why Rokhar?” Swiftpaw asked, sounding amused. “Because he’s the cool—?“

“Because he’s the cool one!” Brackenkit said, exactly in tandem with the apprentice. At another frown from Thornkit, he added, “I mean, they’re all cool, but Rokhar’s the coolest.”

Cinderpaw limped up to the little gathering of the young, her bad leg crumpled up towards her belly. “Knowing your dad, he’s probably telling Horoa right now to bless all of you with a Lion’s touch.”

While the kits all started babbling to each other about whether that was true or not, Fireheart’s heart clenched at the mention of Lionface. He had been the deputy of ThunderClan after Redtail, another first for Fireheart when he had joined the Clan from life as a house cat. Both of them had been great toms, Redtail kind and friendly and Lionface majestic and confident (even if he and Fireheart had clashed here and there). Both of them were gone, and both of them had been…

Fireheart’s claws sank into the sand. He eyed Cinderpaw’s crippled leg.

It had been around a month since the trial that shattered the Clan’s collective heart. No one had spoken of it after it happened, and even the mere implication of something that would link back to that night was hushed or ignored. Fireheart couldn’t stand this thing Clan cats had with refusing to acknowledge bad cats or the things they’d done; it didn’t help anyone feel better, it just made things awkward and sad. Supposedly, the spirits of these bad cats could come back if spoken about or named and haunt the territories, but as far as Fireheart had seen, the only thing they haunted was his dreams.

What he’d give to talk about this with Goldenflower.

But she was in the nursery now, and she needed peace and quiet to raise his adoptive siblings until they were big enough to come out and explore camp. Being forbidden from visiting, Fireheart just had to rely on news shared by Brindleface or Frostfur—mostly Brindleface, as Frostfur had left the nursery early to give the crowded den some room and now only came to check on her nearly-grown kits. Brindleface had been incredibly nervous and sensitive when she was stuck in the den, but now that she had been able to leave her kits for walks here and there…

“Fireheart! There you are!”

The ginger tom blinked and got to his feet, shaking off what sand had clung to his fur. The beautiful grey tortoiseshell in question had just climbed up and out of the nursery, her pale green eyes shining as Fireheart approached her.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said when he was close enough. “Well, two surprises.”

Fireheart perked up. “Really? Are they about Cloudkit?”

“They are.” Brindleface’s fluffy tail curled at the delight that must have immediately brightened up Fireheart’s face. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have come seen him before, but that makes this a little more interesting.”

Cloudkit had been adopted into the Clan, the same as his uncle. Fireheart had been given the kit by his frantic sister, Rosy, and ThunderClan took him in with only a bit of reluctance. The two of them did not look similar—Fireheart was skinny and shorthaired and Cloudkit was a ball of white fluff—and with the automatic distance of Fireheart not being able to visit to see his nephew and bond with him, he could only hope that they wouldn’t be so different that they could not find common ground besides being outsiders at birth, especially since Fireheart had promised to mentor Cloudkit once he became an apprentice.

“What is it, then?” he asked, trying not to sound overly-eager.

“Well, for one…” Brindleface turned and poked her head into the nursery. “Babies, do you want to come out now?”

Indistinct squeaks of excitement immediately followed this, and Brindleface purred before turning back to Fireheart, saying, “That’s the first surprise. They’re ready to meet you.”

Fireheart’s fur flared out and he beamed. “I can see him now!”

Brindleface nodded, her whiskers twitching. “And the second…”

She gestured with her paw just in time for the first kits to scramble out of the den: both grey with broken tabby markings, similar in every way except for the molly being both more delicate in the face and fluffier than her brother. They completely ignored Fireheart and bumbled out into the center of camp. Who followed them was—

Not the kit Fireheart had brought in.

This kit was fluffy and round, sure, but ginger covered his ears and nose and was steadily claiming his tail. His fur was quite long and puffed out, even if he was a bit small; if it weren’t for the unusual color, he would fit perfectly in with the rest of ThunderClan. By the way his deep blue eyes blinked owlishly at Fireheart, he was just as surprised at the reunion.

“Cloudkit,” Brindleface said with another paw-gesture, “this is your uncle, Fireheart. Remember how we talked about him?”

“Ohhh,” Cloudkit said loudly. He looked Fireheart up and down before announcing, “You’re short.”

“Cloudkit!” Brindleface scolded. “That’s rude.”

Fireheart chuffed and bent his head to meet his nephew’s eye-level. “And you’re pudgy.”

Cloudkit squinted at Fireheart. “What’s ‘pudgy’?”

“Fat!” Cinderpaw called from across the clearing.

Cloudkit squawked and slowly and clumsily swatted a paw in the direction of Fireheart’s nose. “’Mnot pudgy! You’re pudgy!”

Brindleface stared at the little tom in baffled embarrassment, but Fireheart pretended to be struck and rubbed his nose like it’d been scratched.

“Don’t beat me up, please,” he said, poorly hiding his amusement. “I’m sorry, you’re not.”

Cloudkit nodded in satisfaction—then, to Fireheart’s surprise, he toddled right up to his uncle and bumped their noses together. Him being so small, it didn’t hurt, but it was more of a punch than usual.

“Hi, uncle,” Cloudkit said, pulling back.

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. “Hi, nephew.”

“That’s better.” Brindleface stepped forward to lick Cloudkit’s ear. “Are you ready to meet your Clanmates now?”

The little puffball nearly jumped in place and waddled off after his siblings, who were currently interrupting the discussion between Frostfur’s litter and Swiftpaw. Fireheart watched him go, amazed at the strength of the flame of affection in his chest, even when he hadn’t seen the kit since he’d come to the Clan.

“How did his fur get like that?” He turned to Brindleface now. “He was white when I brought him in.”

Brindleface rolled a shoulder. “Kittypet blood, I’m guessing. I’ve never seen anything like that in the territories. I thought he was sick at first, but he’s been perfectly happy and healthy this whole time.” She gave Fireheart a cheeky squint. “Both of you stick out now.”

Fireheart sighed a chuff. “At least he’ll be warm this winter.”

Brindleface nodded. Then her eyes flicked to the side and narrowed a fraction before she walked off after her litter. Fireheart’s gaze followed where she’d looked.

Darkstripe. Of course. He was glaring at the now-wandering Cloudkit.

Fireheart contained another, much heavier sigh. Since the trial, the dark tabby had hardly said more than one word to anyone, and they had to speak to him first. Fireheart hadn’t dared start a conversation with him—Darkstripe had never liked him to begin with, but since the end result of the trial was largely on Fireheart’s shoulders, the hatred in Darkstripe’s eyes burned Fireheart’s back whenever the two had to cross paths. He’d done his best to give the older warrior space, which was difficult when they shared a den.

Anticipating the glare to turn on him, Fireheart prepared to look away and find something else to engage with. He was saved by the camp entrance rustling to reveal the pale brown tortoiseshell Speckletail leading a patrol in. As her followers trotted to the prey-pile, she approached Darkstripe and said something to him Fireheart didn’t catch. Darkstripe didn’t respond beyond a twitch of his lip, getting to his feet and stalking out of camp. Speckletail watched him go, huffed and shook her head before joining the rest of the patrol.

After the loss of the prior deputy—the one that trial had been all about��Speckletail had been selected to replace him. She hadn’t been the expected choice, but she had accepted the role and immediately went about keeping the Clan busy and organized for the first month of her tenure. Fireheart suspected that this was a tactical decision; giving everyone something to do kept them from stewing in their own thoughts over the events of the past fall. Things had finally slowed down, with the warmer weather gifting the Clan with more prey than Fireheart had been told showed up in the end seasons. This was one of the first nights in quite a while that Fireheart had gotten to stay home and just enjoy the peace of camp.

“Good evening,” he said to Speckletail as she walked past him with a woodrat.

She nodded to him, putting down her prey for a moment. “Any word while I was gone?”

Fireheart shook his head, ears going back sadly. “I haven’t spoken to her since a few days ago.”

Speckletail sighed through her nose. Her eyes were tired. “I’ll talk with her once I’ve eaten.” She picked up her prey again and continued on her way, sitting down with Willowpelt on the far side of camp.

Fireheart’s eyes drifted to the wall of briar that surrounded the sandy clearing. Though he couldn’t see it, his gaze landed on the area where the leader’s den was situated on the outside.

Where Bluestar was undoubtedly sleeping.

The trial and the near-murder preceding it had hurt everyone, but it had broken something in the Clan’s leader. Only a few days after the deputy’s execution, Bluestar had become a rare sight. She now walked alone in the forest or holed up in her den, only coming out to order patrols or respond to something Speckletail asked her about. It had been part of the quiet conversation for some time now, but no one dared to broach the topic to Bluestar—even Fireheart, her former apprentice, or Whitecloud, her nephew.

It wasn’t fair, Fireheart wanted to shout to the stars. Of all the cats suffering, why did their leader have to struggle the hardest? The pain and suspicion and fear clouded her eyes and silenced her voice. It had been her throat the deputy’s teeth nearly crushed, her friends and Clanmates he crippled and murdered to get to her. Now, whenever she looked at her charges, it seemed like she was gauging their intentions, how well they could be trusted. Even Fireheart had been under scrutiny more than once.

She really would benefit from being able to talk about this whole thing…

“Cloudkit, please!”

Fireheart blinked and was back in camp. He turned his head to see his nephew marching for the fallen log that was the elder’s den. The elders were already out—lanky and grey One-eye, dark brown Halftail, and black-and-white Patchpelt—but they were talking among themselves, completely unaware of the kit making his way towards them, his siblings trailing behind with curious looks on their faces. Brindleface was padding after them, calling for Cloudkit.

“Let them be—” she started, but Cloudkit broke into a clumsy imitation of a run and continued on. Just as he reached Patchpelt, he tried to slow down, only succeeding in crashing right into the elder and stumbling backwards, plopping into a sitting position.

Patchpelt coughed (as he had been lately) in surprise and looked round to see the kit. His faded eyes brightened. “Well, now! I don’t remember this one.”

“I’m Cloudkit.” The furball blinked up at him. “My sister is Aspenkit and my brother is Ashkit.”

Halftail tilted his head, eyes narrowed analytically.

“You’ve got some ginger on your face, little ant,” croaked One-eye, peering with her single eye at the kit. “Or you’ve been playing in the sand.”

“No, he’s supposed to look like that.” Brindleface hurried up to them. “I’m sorry he disturbed you.”

“You know we love being disturbed,” Patchpelt said fondly, looking at the grey kits as they approached. “Ah, and this must be Ashkit and Aspenkit.”

The tom kit nodded firmly, standing as tall as he could, while the molly lowered her nose and shyly regarded the ground. Cloudkit, meanwhile, was meeting One-eye’s gaze, looking completely unbothered by the marred face that every kit and new apprentice was a little taken aback by. Fireheart noted with pride that he didn’t broach the topic of One-eye’s accident, only chirping, “You’re tall.”

One-eye chortled. “And old, on top of that. Do you know what my name is?”

Cloudkit shook his head.

“I’m One-eye, unsurprisingly.” The pale molly nodded to her denmates. “That’s Halftail and Patchpelt. Can you guess which is which?”

“Um…” Cloudkit scrunched up his little face before answering slowly. “Patchpelt’s got patches, and Halftail’s brown, right?”

“Very good.” Patchpelt purred. “We have easy names to remember.”

Cloudkit brightened up and wagged his short little tail. “I did it!”

“Yes, you did it,” Brindleface said, touching her nose to her adopted son’s head, adding to the elders, “I can distract him if he starts to bother you.”

“Oh, he’s not a bother at all.” One-eye tilted her head comically at Cloudkit, who trilled in response. “I haven’t had a kit not flinch at my face since I became an elder.”

Fireheart watched on as Cloudkit made his way around to Halftail, who eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. An anxiety he didn’t know was in his stomach settled at the warm looks on the elders’ faces when Cloudkit loudly announced, “Fireheart’s my uncle!” and puffed out his little chest.

He’s bold, Fireheart thought affectionately, watching his nephew respond to Patchpelt’s kindly questions about life in the nursery. Rosy, whether or not you get to see him again, I know you’ll be proud.

[thetexasjerusalemcrossroads]

loose top 145 chart - list under the readmore

1. Neutral Milk Hotel - On Avery Island

2. Car Seat Headrest - How To Leave Town

3. The Microphones - The Glow, Pt. 2

4. Aphex Twin - Selected Ambient Works 85-92

5. Stereolab - Emperor Tomato Ketchup

6. Earl Sweatshirt - some rap songs

7. The Olivia Tremor Control - Black Foliage: Animation Music

8. Bladee - ICEDANCER

9. Prince - Purple Rain

10. The KLF - Chill Out

11. Cardiacs - A Little Man and a House and the Whole World Window

12. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

13. The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

14. Animal Collective - Feels

15. desert sand feels warm at night - 夢の砂漠 (Dream Desert)

16. Hiroshi Yoshimura - SURROUND

17. Duster - Stratosphere

18. bedbug - If I Got Smaller Grew Wings and Flew Away for Good

19. Prince - Prince and The Revolution: Live

20. Mike - WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

21. The Weeknd - After Hours

22. Guided by Voices - Alien Lanes

23. Radiohead - Kid A

24. of Montreal - Skeletal Lamping

25. of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

26. Guided by Voices - Bee Thousand

27. Car Seat Headrest - Teens Of Denial

28. The Microphones - Mount Eerie

29. Mew - Frengers

30. Thin Lizzy - Jailbreak

31. The Beatles - Abbey Road

32. Modest Mouse - The Lonesome Crowded West

33. Ride - Nowhere (Expanded)

34. Ween - The Pod

35. Radiohead - OK Computer

36. Fishmans - 宇宙 日本 世田谷

37. Fishmans - 98.12.28 男達の別れ (Live)

38. Massive Attack - Blue Lines

39. Stereolab - Dots and Loops

40. George Clanton - Slide

41. The Avalanches - Since I Left You

42. Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

43. Car Seat Headrest - Nervous Young Man

44. Indian Summer - Giving Birth to Thunder

45. Moss Icon - Lyburnum Wits End Liberation Fly

46. Jane Remover - frailty

47. Los Campesinos! - Romance is Boring

48. The Olivia Tremor Control - Dusk at Cubist Castle

49. Nine Inch Nails - The Fragile

50. My Bloody Valentine - You Made Me Realise

51. Bladee - Spiderr

52. 100 gecs - 10,000 gecs

53. Bomb the Music Industry! - Get Warmer

54. DJ Sprinkles - Midtown 120 Blues

55. Alvvays - Alvvays

56. The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium

57. Brave Little Abacus - Masked Dancers: Concern in So Many Things You Forget Where You Are

58. Julia Brown - An abundance of strawberries

59. DJ Shadow - Endtroducing.....

60. Modest Mouse - Building Nothing Out of Something

61. Tyler, the Creator - Igor

62. Tyler, the Creator - Flower Boy

63. David Bowie - Blackstar

64. Nine Inch Nails - Bad Witch

65. The Beach Boys - SMiLE

66. Animal Collective - Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished

67. Nana Grizol - Dancing Dogs

68. Nana Grizol - Love It Love It

69. Gorillaz - Gorillaz

70. Cocteau Twins - Heaven or Las Vegas

71. Pet Shop Boys - Introspective

72. Glass Beach - Plastic Death

73. Death Grips - the powers that b

74. Junior Delahaye - Showcase

75. Slowdive - Slowdive

76. Los Campesinos! - We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed

77. Global Communication - 76:14

78. Bright Eyes - Lifted or The Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground

79. Car Seat Headrest - 4

80. Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory

81. The Music Tapes - Mary's Voice

82. Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam

83. Ween - Quebec

84. Sufjan Stevens - The Age of Adz

85. Earl Sweatshirt - I Don't Like Shit, I Don't Go Outside: An Album by Earl Sweatshirt

86. Virtual Self - Virtual Self

87. Lil Ugly Mane - Singles

88. Sufjan Stevens - Carrie & Lowell

89. King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Polygondwanaland

90. King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Live in Brisbane '21

91. Boards of Canada - Music Has the Right to Children

92. Boards of Canada - Geogaddi

93. Frank Ocean - Blonde

94. The Cure - Disintegration

95. Nirvana - In Utero

96. Death Grips - Bottomless Pit

97. Mike - renaissance man

98. Dismemberment Plan - Emergency & I

99. The Microphones - It Was Hot, We Stayed In The Water

100. Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion

101. Cardiacs - The Seaside

102. Gorillaz - Demon Days

103. Duster - Duster

104. My Chemical Romance - I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love

105. Thursday - Full Collapse

106. My Bloody Valentine - m b v

107. Black Dresses - Peaceful as Hell

108. Porter Robinson - nurture

109. of Montreal - Paralytic Stalks

110. bob hund - Bob Hund

111. Teen Suicide - i will be my own hell because there is a devil inside my body

112. Slowdive - Souvlaki

113. Cursive - The Ugly Organ

114. Ween - God Ween Satan: The Oneness (Anniversary Edition)

115. Kleenex Girl Wonder - Ponyoak

116. Sweet Trip - Velocity: design: comfort.

117. Gorillaz - Plastic Beach

118. Guided by Voices - Under the Bushes Under the Stars

119. The Beatles - Revolver

120. Jane Remover - teen week

121. Glass Beach - the first glass beach album

122. blackwinterwells - Stone Ocean

123. The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die - Formlessness - EP

124. Grandaddy - The Sophtware Slump

125. Jordaan Mason - earth to ursa major

126. Weatherday - Come In

127. The pAper chAse - Hide the Kitchen Knives

128. Kylie Minogue - Aphrodite

129. Yung Lean - Starz

130. pilotredsun - Achievement

131. Bomb the Music Industry! - Album Minus Band

132. Wu-Tang Clan - Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)

133. Doss - Doss

134. Kitty - Frostbite

135. Bob Drake - Medallion Animal Carpet

136. Parannoul - After the Night (Live)

137. J Dilla - Donuts

138. Ashley Ninelives - Eagle Creek

139. Vangelis - Blade Runner - Esper Edition

140. Akira Yamaoka - SILENT HILL2 (Original Soundtrack)

141. C418 - Minecraft - Volume Alpha

142. C418 - Minecraft - Volume Beta

143. Disasterpeace - Fez

144. Toby Fox - UNDERTALE Soundtrack

145. Kero Kero Bonito - Time 'n' Place (background)

honorable mentions to round it off to 150:

146. Julius Eastman - Femenine

147. Radiohead - A Moon Shaped Pool

148. Dinosaur jr. - You're Living All Over Me

149. Flipper - Album Generic Flipper

150. DJ Rozwell - NONE OF THIS IS REAL

[d0gtag]

i love your blog - what is the source of the woodblock image in your header? are you the artist?

thank you! it's a pic i took of the vinyl artwork from one of my fave albums "Lifted or The Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground" by Bright Eyes. i believe the artist is zack nipper, here is his tumblr with his art: https://zacknipper.tumblr.com/

[awwhawk]

Music Enjoyed Released in 2022 Meet Me At The Altar - Model Citizen EP (acoustic version) Runnner - Always Repeating Demos + Vines To Make It All Worth It single Acceptance - Wild, Free (deluxe edition) Mutemath - Play Dead Live Georgia Maq - Live At Sydney Opera House Brutalligators - This House Is A Beautiful Place And I Am No Longer Afraid To Live In It Sun June - Somewhere (expanded edition) Spirit Of The Beehive - I Suck The Devil’s Cock (Nmesh’s Electric Ego Death Quadrathlon) Phantogram - Eyelid Movies (expanded edition) Slothrust - Parallel Timelines (Origins) Unwed Sailor - Live At CommVess EP Hot Hot Heat - Make Up The Breakdown (deluxe remastered edition) Bright Eyes - A Collection Of Songs Written And Recorded 1995-1997: A Companion + Letting Off The Happiness: A Companion + Fevers And Mirrors: A Companion + LIFTED Or The Story Is in The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground: A Companion + I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning: A Companion + Digital Ash In A Digital Urn: A Companion Audio Karate - ¡Otra! Clipping. - Clbbng + Remxing 2.1 + Remxing 2.2 + Remxing 2.3 + Remxing 2.4 Militarie Gun - All Roads Lead To The Gun (deluxe edition) + Militarie Gun & Dazy - Pressure Cooker single + What’s The Furthest Place From Here? #6 split - Gimme Some Truth (John Lennon cover) We Were Promised Jetpacks - A Complete One-Eighty Anti-Flag - The General Strike (10th anniversary edition) Spanish Love Songs - Brave Faces Etc. + I Miss You (Doom And Gloom) single Run The Jewels - RTJ Cu4tro Sigur Rós - ( ) [20th anniversary edition] The Armed - Ultrapop: Live At The Masonic Thrice - Dead Wake/Scavengers (acoustic) + Open Your Eyes And Dream single + Summer Set Fire To The Rain (acoustic) single Protest The Hero - Palimpsest - Instrumentals Hopelifter - Anthemology (discography) Samuel S.C. - 94-95 (remixed & remastered) Reagan Youth - New Aryans Jawbox - The Revisionist Wire - Not About To Die (Studio Demos 1977-1978) These Arms Are Snakes - Duct Tape & Shivering Crows (rarities & b-sides) Idles - Five Years Of Brutalism + Crawl (DGG edit) Rival Schools - United By Fate (20th anniversary deluxe edition) Now, Now - Threads (10th anniversary edition) Botch - We Are The Romans (remastered reissue) + One Twenty Two single Copeland - Revolving Doors: An Orchestral Best-Of Metz - Metz (deluxe edition) + Metz/Adulkt Life split + Come On Down single You Blew It! - Grow Up, Dude (demos) The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die - Thank You For Being Here  Cursive - Domestica (remastered deluxe edition + Braces EP) Lincoln - Repair And Reward (discography) Darkbird - Ballad Of A Junebug Esmerine - Everything Was Forever Until It Was No More Gladie - Don’t Know What You’re In Until You’re Out Daniel Romano’s Outfit - La Luna DK The Drummer - Lockers Volume One (not sure if this officially released yet, may just be a glut of singles) + I Can Do That original score Martin Courtney - Magic Sign Calexico - El Mirador Sondre Lerche - Avatars Of Love Abby Gundersen - Out Walking Cold Gawd - God Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here Suitable Miss - In Color Fuss - We’re Not Alone Bull Shannon - Chill Power!!!!! Greg Puciato - Mirrorcell Origami Angel - Re: Turn + Depart Crosses - Permanent.Radiant Young Prisms - Drifter The Early November - Twenty Soulside - A Brief Moment In The Sun Gogol Bordello - Solidaritine + Super Taranta! (15 year anniversary edition) + Forces Of Victory single + Teroborona single Elway - The Best Of All Possible Worlds Pixies - Doggerel El Ten Eleven - New Year’s Eve Tits Up - Greatest Tits + Gaffa single Lady Pills - What I Want Permanent Mistakes - Demo 2022 Kavinsky - Reborn Pinegrove - 11:11 Eels - Extreme Witchcraft Editors - EBM A Country Western - When Was Yesterday single + A Country Western/They Are Gutting A Body Of Water split - An Insult To The Sport Chris Farren - Death Won’t Wait (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) Stabbing Westward - Chasing Ghosts Craig’s Brother - Easily Won, Rarely Deserved  CF98 - This Is Fine Couplet - EP1 Sorry - Anywhere But Here Mint Green - All Girls Go To Heaven Kayleigh Goldsworthy - Learning To Be Happy + Live At Studio 4 Lannds - Lotus Deluxe + K-Town single Cliffdiver - Exercise Your Demons Pinch Points - Process Football, Etc. - Vision + Vision Remixes Slang - Cockroach In A Ghost Town The Flatliners - New Ruin City Of Caterpillar - Mystic Sisters Show Me The Body - Trouble The Water Punitive Damage - This Is The Blackout Knuckle Puck - Disposable Life Pinkshift - Love Me Forever Among Legends - Take Good Care With The Punches - Discontent Bayside - The Red EP + Rainbow (Kacey Musgraves cover) single + Go To Hell single Jeff Rosenstock & Laura Stevenson - Younger Still Pleasure Venom - Rebirth/Return After The Fall - Isolation Scott Sellers - 13 + Until It Hurts Sparta - Sparta Superchunk - Wild Loneliness Toro y Moi - Mahal Gregor Barnett - Don’t Go Throwing Roses In My Grave Katie Dey - Forever Music + The Kraken Kevin Devine - Nothing’s Real, So Nothing’s Wrong + Let Go, Be Dragged/Liar, Liar Voyag3r - New York Ninja - original motion picture soundtrack Thus Love - Memorial Jockstrap - I Love You Jennifer B The Tallest Man On Earth - Too Late For Edelweiss Archers Of Loaf - Reason In Decline Russian Circles - Gnosis Elder - Innate Passage Bedouin Soundclash - We Will Meet In A Hurricane Norma Jean - Deathrattle Sing For Me Animals As Leaders - Parrhesia Flogging Molly - Anthem Recreational Drugs - LP Andrew Bird - Inside Problems Purity Ring - Graves S. Carey - Break Me Open A Vulture Wake - Kingdom + Animal Future Teens - Self Help Too Bad Eugene - Distance The Album Leaf - Past And Future Tense + Say So single + Future Falling single + You Are single Cheekface - Too Much To Ask + Don’t Ask (b-sides) + Live At Baby’s All Right Smoke Or Fire - Beauty Fades Nervus - The Evil One + Microsmiling single White Lung - Premonition Momma - Household Name Tomberlin - I Don’t Know Who Needs To Hear This… Emma Ruth Rundle - Orpheus Looking Back + EG2: Dowsing Voice Moon Tooth - Phototroph + Carry Me Home (Blue Amp Version) single Frou Frou - Off Cuts (demos) Onelinedrawing - Tenderwild + Departure Ted Leo & The Pharmacists - Andy, Come Out + The Old 200 + For Coit And Killie Waxahatchee - El Deafo (soundtrack) + Waxahatchee & Wynonna Judd - Other Side single Praise - All In A Dream Breakup Haircut - Punk Dancing For Self Defence Mat Kerekes - Nova Soft Blue Shimmer - Love Lives In The Body Single Mothers - Everything You Need Ten Foot Pole - Winning Cigar - The Visitor Heart To Gold - Tom Sack - Ripper! Health - Disco4 :: Part II Ignite - Ignite Traams - Personal Best Angel Olsen - Big Time Dropkick Murphys - This Machine Still Kills Fascists (lyrics of Woody Guthrie) Nick Cave & Warren Ellis - Seven Psalms instrumental + Blonde soundtrack + Dahmer - Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story soundtrack John Carpenter, Cody Carpenter, & Daniel Davies - Firestarter (2022) soundtrack + Halloween Ends soundtrack Emperor X - The Lakes Of Zones B And C Tears For Fears - The Tipping Point The Smile - A Light For Attracting Attention Courting - Guitar Music The Mars Volta - The Mars Volta Coheed & Cambria - Vaxis Act II: A Window Of The Waking Mind Comeback Kid - Heavy Steps Bad Breeding - Human Capital Old Gods - Give Them Color Tiny Moving Parts - Tiny Moving Parts Yard Act - The Overload Bodega - Broken Equipment + Xtra Equipment Wet Leg - Wet Leg Regressive Left - On The Wrong Side Of History Fresh - Raise Hell + Fresh Comes Alive! Bitter Branches - Your Neighbors Are Failures Plains - I Walked With You A Ways Suck - Ribbit Pulley - The Golden Life Swami John Reis - Ride The Wild Night Greet Death - New Low The Bruce Lee Band - One Step Forward, Two Steps Back Ann Beretta - Rise + Ann Beretta/The Blacklist Royals split - In ReCOVERy The Suicide Machines/Coquettish split - Gebo Gomi Signals Midwest - Dent Metric - Formentera Skullcrusher - Quiet The Room 84 Tigers - Time In The Lighthouse Town Liar - Lies: One Through Seven Craig Finn - A Legacy Of Rentals Camp Trash - The Long Way, The Slow Way Joyce Manor - 40 Oz. To Fresno Mono - Scarlet Holiday + My Story, The Bukaru Story (An Original Soundtrack) Tangerine Dream - Raum Circa Survive - A Dream About Death And So I Watch You From Afar - Jettison Pom Poko - This Is Our House PUP - The Unraveling Of PUPtheband + Matilda/Robot Writes A Love Song (Live In Toronto 2022) Frank Turner - FTHC Flasher - Love Is Yours Camp Cope - Running With The Hurricane Bad Heaven Ltd. - In Our House Now Dry Cleaning - Stumpwork Just Mustard - Heart Under Porridge Radio - Waterslide, Diving Board, Ladder To The Sky TV Priest - My Other People Preoccupations - Arrangements Odesza - The Last Goodbye + The Last Goodbye Remixes No. 1 Cloakroom - Dissolution Wave Sadurn - Radiator Tigers Jaw - Old Clothes Pianos Become The Teeth - Drift The Wonder Years - The Hum Goes On Forever Stay Inside - Blight Jack White - Fear Of The Dawn + Entering Heaven Alive Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There (deluxe edition) David Knudson - The Only Thing You Have To Change Is Everything + Undo/Redo [EP] Ways Away - Torch Songs Young Jesus - Shepherd Head Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cool It Down Strategies - Strategies Anthony Green - Boom. Done. + When I Come Home single Thick - Happy Now +  Love You Forever single Anxious - Little Green House + Sunsign single A Wilhelm Scream - Lose Your Delusion Gleemer - Here At All Inside Voices - Liminal Space Glacier Veins - Lunar Reflection Pool Kids - Pool Kids Mt. Oriander - Then The Lightness Leaves And I Become Heavy Again Caracara - New Preoccupations Peregrine - The Awful Things We’ve Done Gilla Band - Most Normal A Place To Bury Strangers - See Through You + Dragged In A Hole (Glove remix) + Love Reaches Out (Gift remix) + My Head Is Bleeding (The Pleasure Majenta remix) Porcupine Tree - Closure/Continuation Weird Nightmare -  Weird Nightmare + Weird Nightmare/Ancient Shapes split + So Far Gone single + Our Love Will Still Be There (The Troggs cover) single Iron & Wine - Lori Fairweather - Deluge Anberlin - Silverline L.S. Dunes - Past Lives Oso Oso - Sore Thumb + De Facto single Death Cab For Cutie - Asphalt Meadows The Mountain Goats - Bleed Out + The Jordan Lake Sessions: Volume 5 Black Star - No Fear Of Time Zola Jesus - Arkhon Cave In - Heavy Pendulum Be Well - Hello Sun Jesus H. Chris - A Catastrophic Break With Consensus Reality Their/They’re/There -  Their/They’re/There + Their/They’re/There/Pacemaker split - Them Dogs Hot Water Music - Feel The Void Alex G - God Save The Animals + We’re All Going To The World’s Fair soundtrack Damien Jurado - Reggae Film Star Rocky Votolato - Wild Roots Tim Kasher - Welcome To… Middling Age Dan Andriano & The Bygones - Dear Darkness Spice - Viv NewDad - Banshee + ILY2 single Lande Hekt - House Without A View +  Romantic single Murder By Death - Spell/Bound Brutus - Unison Life Fontaines D.C. - Skinty Fia Cassels - A Gut Feeling Sprints - A Modern Job + Literary Mind single Dead Cross - II Rolo Tomassi - Where Myth Becomes Memory The Beths - Expert In A Dying Field + A Real Thing single The Darling Fire - Distortions FES - With Regards From Home Off! - Free LSD Crisis Man - Asleep In America Beach Rats - Rat Beat Short Fictions - Every Moment Of Every Day Lies - Blemishes/Echoes + Summer Somewhere single + Corbeau single + Camera Chimera single Black Midi - Hellfire + Cavalcovers Bartees Strange - Farm To Table Sharon Van Etten - We’ve Been Going About This All Wrong (deluxe edition) Pedro The Lion - Havasu Plosivs - Plosivs Drug Church - Hygiene Osees - A Foul Form

[mykidself]

96 Albums I listened to, and was deeply into or deeply impacted by, age 5-18, in (roughly) chronological order. Made with Topsters.

List of artists and album titles behind the cut.

1. The Beatles - With The Beatles

2. Peter Gabriel - Shaking the Tree

3. Various Artists - The Lion King

4. Elton John - Elton John's Greatest Hits

5. Original London Cast - Phantom Of The Opera

6. Hanson - Middle Of Nowhere

7. The Wallflowers - Bringing Down The Horse

8. Smash Mouth - Astro Lounge

9. Sugar Ray - 14:59

10. Third Eye Blind - Third Eye Blind

11. Third Eye Blind - Blue

12. Vertical Horizon - Everything You Want

13. Green Day - Dookie

14. blink-182 - The Mark, Tom And Travis Show

15. Built to Spill - Keep It Like a Secret

16. Our Lady Peace - Clumsy

17. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Californication

18. Foo Fighters - The Colour and the Shape

19. Nirvana - Nevermind

20. Goo Goo Dolls - Dizzy Up the Girl

21. Limp Bizkit - Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water

22. Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory

23. Papa Roach - Infest

24. Staind - Break the Cycle

25. Alien Ant Farm - Anthology

26. Sum 41 - All Killer No Filler

27. P.O.D. - Satellite

28. System of a Down - Toxicity

29. Howard Shore - The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

30. System of a Down - System of a Down

31. Staind - Dysfunction

32. R.E.M. - Automatic for the People

33. Jimmy Eat World - Bleed American

34. Sum 41 - Does This Look Infected?

35. System of a Down - Steal This Album!

36. blink-182 - Take Off Your Pants and Jacket

37. Tool - Lateralus

38. Tool - Ænima

39. Tool - Undertow

40. Deftones - White Pony

41. Evanescence - Fallen

42. 36 Crazyfists - Bitterness the Star

43. A Perfect Circle - Thirteenth Step

44. A Perfect Circle - Mer De Noms

45. Porcupine Tree - In Absentia

46. dredg - El Cielo

47. Pink Floyd - The Dark Side Of The Moon

48. Pink Floyd - The Wall

49. Radiohead - Kid A

50. Depeche Mode - Violator

51. Opeth - Blackwater Park

52. Opeth - Damnation

53. Opeth - Deliverance

54. The Ataris - So Long, Astoria

55. The Ataris - Blue Skies, Broken Hearts...Next 12 Exits

56. The Ataris - End Is Forever

57. Box Car Racer - Box Car Racer

58. Jimmy Eat World - Clarity

59. The Early November - The Room's Too Cold

60. Further Seems Forever - The Moon is Down

61. Finch - What It Is to Burn

62. Thursday - War All The Time

63. Modest Mouse - Good News For People Who Love Bad News

64. Staind - 14 Shades of Grey

65. Bright Eyes - Lifted or The Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground

66. Bright Eyes - Fevers and Mirrors

67. Elliott Smith - XO

68. Elliott Smith - Either/Or

69. Radiohead - Hail to the Thief

70. Radiohead - The Bends

71. Coheed and Cambria - In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3

72. Coheed and Cambria - The Second Stage Turbine Blade

73. Queen - Greatest Hits

74. The Decemberists - Picaresque

75. The Decemberists - Castaways and Cutouts

76. The Decemberists - Her Majesty the Decemberists

77. Jonathan Larson - Rent

78. The Dresden Dolls - The Dresden Dolls

79. Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous

80. AFI - Sing the Sorrow

81. Regina Spektor - Soviet Kitsch

82. Green Day - American Idiot

83. Jimmy Eat World - Futures

84. System of a Down - Hypnotize

85. System of a Down - Mezmerize

86. The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs

87. Nine Inch Nails - With Teeth

88. The Beatles - Love

89. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

90. Arcade Fire - Funeral

91. Death Cab for Cutie - Transatlanticism

92. Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank

93. Radiohead - OK Computer

94. Elliott Smith - Figure 8

95. Elliott Smith - From a Basement on the Hill

96. Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here

[casual-writing]

Feedback Welcome :)

This is a short little story I wrote a while back about a little boy that meets something in the woods. Feel free to give feedback on anything you want, whether that be the style or anything else. Word count: 837

The clearing was brighter than the rest of the forest. The sunlight shone on the long grass flowing in the wind, making it shine slightly. Damian stumbled towards the field, his mind focused on it as though it could save him from the creatures roaming the woods.

He fell to his knees a few steps in and pressed his forehead against the cool, moist dirt. His muscles ached from the rush from the town, and he sighed quietly as he took a moment to rest, his hands pressed to the ground below him. A worm wriggled against the palm of his hand, its little body writhing desperately as he accidentally squished it a little. He lifted his hand, blinking down at the sight of the pink body slithering away, towards the cover of the wildflowers.

Damian pushed himself to his feet, his throat feeling strangely tight. When he looked up, he froze. A man was standing in the middle of the clearing, a few steps away from him. Damian took a few panicked steps backwards. He hadn’t heard a thing, hadn’t noticed anything that would have clued him to the fact that someone had snuck up on him.

“Hello,” the intruder said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into an elegant smile. “Are you lost?”

Damian swallowed. There was something in him that was panicking, making his heart race. Instinct, maybe, that the man wasn’t to be trusted.

“Hi.” Damian cleared his throat when his voice trembled. “No, I’m not.”

The man tilted his head to the side. He stood perfectly straight, like a wooden pole had replaced the lower half of his spine. “You’re not? What are you doing here, then? You’re quite far away from the closest towns.”

Damian shook his head, taking another step back. “I was—I was out exploring. I should head home now, though.”

The man’s eyes widened a little and he made a little motion with his hand, as though he wanted to stop Damian from leaving. His smile was a little too wide. “No, please. I want to keep chatting with you.”

“No, I’m sorry, I really need to get home. My mother will be worried.”

Something changed in the man’s face. His eyes narrowed a little and his smile became… different for half a moment, almost too short for Damian to notice. Then, he laughed, as though the child had just made a joke.

“Your mother is dead, though. Stay for a few minutes and I’ll give you a gift, how about that?”

Damian felt a shudder run down his spine. He blinked and stopped walking backwards. Did this man know who he was? What other possibility was there, for him to know that Damian’s mother was dead?

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay. But just for a little while.”

The man held out a hand, gesturing for Damian to come and take it. The boy took a few steps forward until he was only a handful of meters away from him, then stopped. Now that he was closer, he could see the intricate detailing of the stranger’s white cloak, the way the golden details reflected the sunlight and how the lower part was unstained of any dirt. In comparison, Damian felt soiled. After his trek through the woods, his clothes were covered in mood and his hands were bleeding. He wiped his hand on his trousers, hesitating to step forward and take the man’s hand, but finally shook his head. 

He didn’t seem to take any offense, just smiled sweetly and lowered his offered hand. 

“How old are you, child?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“Nine,” Damian mumbled, looking down at his bare feet. 

“And what’s your name?”

Damian looked up. The stranger was tall, taller than most adults he knew, but he looked so kind. The corners of his eyes were a little crinkled from his smile and his dark hair was tucked behind his long ears like Damian’s mother’s hair had always been.

“Damian.”

The man’s smile grew. “Damian. Do you want to work for me?”

The boy frowned and he inhaled sharply. “Work for you? What would I do?”

The stranger shrugged, looking up into the clouds as though they could give him some answers. “I don’t know. What do you do best?”

“I’m better at reading than the other kids in my class.”

“Then you’ll read to me,” the man said, crouching down to be on Damian’s level. He beckoned the boy forward again. “And I’ll feed you and take care of you in exchange. I’ve always liked your kind.”

Damian stepped forward and the stranger put his hand on his shoulder. “Do we have a deal?”

The boy hesitated. He really did. He knew not to trust strangers in the woods, but he was so hungry and he’d been so cold ever since his mother had died. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to work for him. He wasn’t asking for much in exchange. 

“Yes,” Damian finally said, nodding once. "We do."

[djlyer]

Felicity Fawn, May 21, 2024

The Burlesque in this city is top notch and Felicity Fawn is a major played in these events.  If you missed tickets for this weekend’s Burlesque in the Basement that they were talking make sure you check into Prairie Divas for their upcoming shows, they always sell out these events so be on top of it!  Felicity Fawn will free the nipple for many participants on June 15th at the Bulldog Event Exchange centre you can catch a bit of Burlesque as well as Paint some figures, participate in a wet t-shirt contest and strut your best beach wear.  There will be note pads and ways to sketch some nudes, or bring your own! $30 in advance, doors at 7pm show at 8pm!

Bright Eyes - Lifted Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear To The Ground - Lover I don’t Have To Love  Something Corporate - Leaving Through the Window- Hurricane The Weakerthans - Reconstruction Site - Plea From a Cat Named Virtute

Red Hot Chili Peppers - The Getaway - Feasting on the flowers

The Tragically Hip -  May 21, 2021 - Saskadelphia - Crack my Spine

Surfragettes - single - Toxic  Supertramp - Crime of The Century - School K-man and the 45s - Self titled - Poppy's Back In Town 

[mareinaplaylist]

Bright Eyes - June 17 2022

Seattle, Washington

Dance and Sing

Lover I Don’t Have to Love

Four Winds

Bowl of Oranges

Something Vague

Mariana Trench

One and Done

Old Soul Song (for the New World Order)

Tilt‐A‐Whirl

Poison Oak

Haile Selassie

Persona non grata

Another Travelin’ Song

To Death’s Heart (in Three Parts)

The Calendar Hung Itself…

Ladder Song

First Day of My Life

I Believe in Symmetry

One for You, One for Me

[astrangerlately]

[tsuukirana]

𝟎𝟎 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Return to 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Inspired by Aponia, the Third Flame-Chaser by Honkai Impact 3rd.

Discipline will help you overcome fears, and raise your willpower to survive. Guiding the younger woman in front of you, your hand stayed hovering over her figure. She grits her teeth in a brutal struggle against her relenting legs, her fingers tightening the handlebars as tightly as she could. She trembled, her breaths becoming heavy alongside your heartbeat. The chirping birds echo their songs through the hospital walls, guiding lost souls to salvation. Sweat dripped slowly down the side of her temple, trickling like new rain as she grunted. Her legs felt numb and she hardly found the strength to bring herself to straighten her back. Though from underneath your guidance, she found herself forcing herself to move. Her legs buckled underneath the weight of her body before she caught herself using the steel walker. You can do it, I believe in you.

She heaved, gasping with every breath as the air around her grew tense. Your eyebrows furrowed in response, turning your attention to her form, your eyes gazing at her with empty pity. Struggle now but do not let it overcome you. It wouldn’t be the first time this happened, despite that, you were desperate to seek hope. Your hollow appearance failed to convey the sense of upbringing that many sought after. The color of (e/c) that had once glimmered underneath the shining moonlight had now dulled, their sparkle was no longer as prevalent as they once were. Several thousand years of rain only brought you closer to the shade of gray that you’ve seen through windows. Did the people of Snezhnaya even see the sun or was it simply an illusion created by Celestia? Holding your breath, you soothe the woman with your soft voice, letting her ears fill with the gentle melody as she readjusted her position. I’ll always be by your side until you are reborn. Her dark-brown hair fluttered as she sucked in one deep breath, her head lifting in determination as her eyes glistened with tears. Her foot moved forward slightly, creating a proud smile that she wore happily: there was progress being made.

Mother (Y/n), when can I leave the hospital? Brushing through his golden locks, you silently allowed him to cough violently against your chest. You wiped away the thin droplets of blood from his lips, your handkerchief soiled with the ominous telling. He only glanced up at you with an innocent look. What was it like to live outside the walls? He pressed his fingers together, his lips curving into a small frown. It is cold but beautiful, you said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, though worry not, you will be able to see it soon enough. And while you’ve told him these ideas many times, he continues to look back at you with satisfaction, as if you were there to only reassure him that despite his health and displeasures, he may one day see the outside as you promised. You’ll get to see a lot more children and play with them, so try to keep your head up, it is the best thing you can do right now. A smile forms on his face. He knows that you were lying through the skin of your teeth, yet he trusts you anyway, hoping that what you told him would come true, even if it was a lie. You can do it a hundred times over and he’ll put his faith in you.

My wounds don’t hurt as much anymore! At her words, you choose to hold your tongue, allowing her to wave at you with her bandaged arms. Thank you, Mother (Y/n)! The fabric drooped from her shoulders, loosening up as she smiled gleefully. She who was once a soldier of Mondastadt left the field in a bloody mess, coming to your shelter for assistance before her body collapsed to the ground. The woman winced as she forced her body to move forward. Despite her limping form, her infectious laughter filled the gray halls, happiness overflowing through her veins. How strange must it be to see her now than for who she once was. She who had once fought against the evil of Teyvat returned to your side as a desperate beggar, now revitalized as a young woman with ambition. You shift your body to the side, your feet standing close together as you hold your breath. She tells you about the things she had discovered while exploring the shelter’s halls, a blossom forming deep within her hazel eyes. 

You wish to understand more about her ambitions. What brought her so much fuel to keep pushing forward, is the desire that leads her to continue fighting for what she describes to be the beauty in life truly worth the sight? Could you even describe what you saw outside the window as beautiful, or would you rather say that it was pitiful? Rain that freezes into icicles as sharp as blades, snow so thick you find your steps slowing to a steep halt, and dreary sky that is loveless to even the ones who worship them, is that her definition of beauty? Perhaps her aspirations could bring her great fortune. Her wishes that burn as brightly as the stars above may come to fruition, planting their seeds throughout the land as she brings upon the world everlasting joy. Though you find yourself coming to the strict reality that was Teyvat and Celestia. Humans were much too fragile to last, especially not for eternity as they wish. The war that they bring was not of each other, but a battle to rebel against time and the existence of a powerful, all-seeing God that rests upon the throne of the divine. Whether they committed to the act of survival for themselves was merely volatile in your eyes. Dreaming of something that may never come true left you with a sour taste.

Now I can return to the battlefield! And while you hoped that a bud of hope may form at the base of your heart, you refused to take pride in her words. When I come back, I hope to show you what I find! You averted your eyes away from her sonorous voice, shielding her from the painful expression that lies on your face. Nothing good ever comes out of war, and you knew that nothing will ever change if everyone is at the mercy of fate itself. Pressing your lips tightly to form a thin line, you gaze out the stained windows, remembering the smell of lit fires that sat upon old, withering blocks of wood. A memory that lingers within yourself for as long as time persists. Perhaps, you said to yourself, letting your shoes click against the icy cold grounds, what brings people to continue fighting is a memory they wish to relive and create. And while you may not understand fully how hot that flame may burn, you can only wish to see it rest amongst the constellations. 

Thank you for taking care of me all this time. The older woman shivered as she leaned back against the snow-colored beds, letting her wrinkled fingers crinkle the pristine sheets. You knew her as a loving and tender woman, who many had always turned to for a sense of wisdom and advice. She would wave to the children early in the morning before leaving to the garden, always tending to the plants as if she was nothing more than a watering plant destined to give others life. You’ve done so much for the people in this town, are you taking care of yourself? It’s not like me to scold you like this but it would be nice for you to take time to yourself. Her hands would always be holding onto flowers, whether by the tips of her fingers or by the handful, she would always have a smile stretching alongside her aged cheeks, her hands lifting the fruits of her labor. I assure you that everything will be fine, please don’t force yourself to talk, you are still recovering. You commended her for such strength and vigor. It is not common to see someone of her age so full of youth. 

Yet as you hold onto her hands, looking into her eyes with deep admiration, you are reminded of her fragility. Her back was now much too weak to bend over with her wheelchair, fingers no longer clutching onto flowers that miraculously bloomed underneath the Snezhnayan night. To see her as fragile as her age made your heart ache with a great deal of despair. You wish that she didn’t strain herself for the mundane. Deary, you don’t always need to think about others. What you’ve done for all of us is more than enough, and you should feel proud. It’s not easy. From her words did your hands flinch against hers, unsure of what to say. Her wise words had never struck a chord, yet her voice caused your lips to quiver alongside the shaken leaves. It’s never easy.

You wouldn’t describe your simple actions to be as grand as she or anyone made them out to be. You were merely doing your duty as a devoted Church follower, always doing it for the sake of the people and never for yourself. It was hardly anything to be proud of and yet the look in her eyes made you think that perhaps the work that you produced was something of more importance. Those few words of encouragement gave hope to thousands of people struggling to get out of bed, their souls much too weary and tired to continue going until they were brought forth by a guiding hand. I can assure you that everything will be okay and that I will be fine. You slide your tongue across the edges of your teeth, finding the numbing sensation to be a common trait amongst liars. Guided by Celestia herself, everything will be fine.

You don’t have to go this far to help others, you are doing enough. She reaches out for you briefly, attempting to break you from the spell. You disdain her words, shifting your body away from her as you tinker with the ends of your rosary, clutching tightly to its edges. Instead of looking at her eyes, you stare towards the cathedral windows, the beautiful stained glass structure becoming muddy and lacking color. Vague figures of snow fade into the background, and what you could only describe as passing melancholy runs past you, a cold breeze drifting alongside your skin. It is never enough, you argued, squeezing onto the black beads as your fingers trembled. If you had tried a bit harder with your powers, you could have at least given salvation to a few more people. They could have made it out of the Church, able to witness children skating along frozen lakes, pick flowers off of the ground when spring came, and see the rest of Teyvat resting. You could have given them the life you had promised. It was never enough, and you’d be a fool to think that there was hope.

The world around you becomes colder, the winds billowing against the window, knocking ever so eagerly. What could you have done to guide such ruined souls? Could you have salvaged what was damned and condemned to a life of solitude with nothing more than a figment of what you call power? Even the fantasy of Celestia cannot pour water into a well whose emptiness spans millennia. With nothing but a candle illuminating the darkened room, you sit along at your desk, holding your head within your arms. What could you have done to fight against fate itself? If humans were destined to fulfill a short-lived life, there wasn’t much for you to combat the growing darkness. You insist that there is another way around it, praying late at night to a shrine that holds little promise to you. Your fear of dissolving faith leads you to a path many dare not to tread.

“La Strega1,” a voice calls, her icy tone holding little shield to her apathetic nature. The Tsaritsa brings forth her right hand, ushering the room to be pin-drop silent and still as to hear your soft-spoken sound. “Let us hear of your suggestion of this. . . Traveler. Share with us your vision so that we may tread lightly.” 

You glanced up from the table, finally recognizing your surroundings as you watched your fellow associates rearrange their notes together, pens settled down on the cool surface with arched brows. You are reminded that you were seated for a meeting called upon by the Cryo Archon herself, a relic of what you can only say is the old times. She wishes to dispel any sort of suspicion amongst the people, while not drawing attention to her desire to obtain all the pieces of her game of chess. Tilting your head towards her, you allowed her to stare deep within the empty irises that you hold. To preserve the inevitable dangers that lie ahead, you suppose that you have become great use to her after a momentary demonstration of your ability. You wordlessly rest your fingers amongst each other, interlacing them. 

“I see that the world will experience. . . change,” You started, “This Traveler you speak of. . . is in search for something rather. . . unobtainable as of this moment.”

You failed to change anything in the end. The church that you had devoted your life to had dissolved into icy waters, their people unable to raise their crosses high enough to praise a being other than the loveless Archon they once adored. Murals and decorated stones were left to rot amongst each other, withering away as the harsh weather grew stronger. No matter how long it may have been, you cannot wash away the years of torment that you have faced. The callous look in your eyes was unmatched by any of the cold-hearted, battle-hungry seekers that you sit beside. Being alive was a curse. Being sightful gave you only the chance to see what could have been, and you swore one day that you wished you had been born blind. Humanity was destined to crumble at the hands of time and destiny, and that was all. That was all it was made for. 

You ask yourself if ‘choice’ was merely an empty lie. Grazing the ends of your finger, letting your nails glide against the surface, you come to terms that you had resigned from the desire to create change. You cannot change what was steadfast and starving. You are tired of the same failure from a game that you couldn’t play. 

“It will be no concern to us. . if you give us the chance to pursue. . . the Traveler.”

[cannibal-witchh]

Reader(Fem) X Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 1)

Written by cannibal_witchh

⛓Trigger Warning⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes:

I am not the most confident writer so bare with me if theres some flaws floating around the story. I also have very minimal general knowledge to Alcina right now due just demos only being out. Please, be considerate that there's only so much information released on her so most of what I'm writing is not canon. Let's keep it positive and real, we all are thirsting after Lady D so here's a a fanfiction. Also couldn't condense it in one story so going to make this adleast a two or three parter.

It can get confusing with a lot of female characters so the reader is of course:

Y/N - your name

Her/she- i wanted to refer to the female reader in italics and bold

Y/L/N- your last name

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Thunder echoed along the well decorated corridor walls . Hints of lightning occasionally flashed between fluttering curtains. Beyond the curtains was an open window, below that was a critical drop into snow and shards of large rocks. That was definitely not worth risking. Y/N had been held in captivity for what felt like a legitimate eternity. Confinded to a small well kempt room, it seemed as though it had once been a guest room according to the furnishing. All the basic necessities of a bedroom were present here. The fabrics that dressed the bed were of a fine quality, and the boards that held all of it up were of incredible carpentry. Gentle embers flickered from the candlewicks that rose tall on the golden girandoles. Despite captivity the room was comfortable, it was illuminated with warm colors, although still dim and feint.

The door swung open, a black swarm of insects swirled infront of the door as it begun to quickly form a figure. It revealed a small vampiric woman, hooded with golden locks peaking from under it. She flashed her teeth with an enthusiastic smile, as she revealed blood stained teeth, lips, as well as her chin. " Oh, goody! You are awake. I always feel bad feeding when someone is asleep.", She shut the door as she advanced closer to Y/N. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins, hair on her body standing up, and her palms perspiring. She was covered in scabbed bite marks, and bruises - it didn't take long for her to recall the abrupt painful puncture of teeth break through her skin. The old bites began to twitch with pain at the idea a new addition would be welcomed. " I just prefer blood thats been in shock, y'know, awake? It gives it a nice acidic flavor, plus,", she towered over Y/N breathing in her aroma. " It smells wonderful.", she giggled in soft whispers. "Enough.", Y/N demanded as she attempted to cease her trembling. Her body was returning to anxiety because it was clear what was about to happen. A feeding. The vampire didn't seem to express offense, strangely her face bore amusement. "Oh ok, how about this!", she excitedly brought out her sickle and swung at her. With one swift swing the sickle hooked right under her knee cap. A shriek was released from Y/N's lips, agonizing pain radiating everywhere, and blood began to river out from the site. The vampire dragged her with the sickle through the corridor as everything seemed like a blurr from the shock. Hallways seemed like a stretched out haze, and noises seemed to be loud echoes one would hear in a juvenile cafeteria. "Whe-where are you taking me...?", she barely mustered as she felt the sickle dig through muscle and actually brush against the back of her knee cap. Fuck. The sickle was released quickly from her skin as she heard the sound of blood fly onto the ground. That abrupt removal felt worse for minutes compared to the weapon actually being present in Y/N's knee. The monstrous woman lifted the sickle to her crimson stained lips, inhaling the aroma deep, and then proceeding to lick the sickle of the blood it had collected. Sounds of ecstasy escaped her satin black lips, her eyes darted over at Y/N as she felt like she was on the verge of fainting from shock. " I love blood that has some acidicity to it. It gives it a nice kick. You know how that works? For example, your blood could still have more of that taste. One who is in a flight or fright scenario, where they are in absolute fear and adrenaline kicks in...thats when the meat and blood have a sour flavor. Mmm, thats why we are going to play a game." , she licked her lips as her eyes flickered with hunger and passion. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her body gasp from the fevered pain beating in her knee. " I propose we play hide and go seek! You already know who's hiding. I will give you to the count of 100." , her eyes shimmered from this fucked up idea, she quickly turned her back and covered her eyes. Slowly the sickle in her hand vanished within dark smoke, damn it, Y/N within fading in and out had thought perhaps of stealing that and killing her there. Not anymore. She rose up with wobbling knees, just like a new born dear barely capable of using its legs, she began to hobble as fast as she could away.

"Oh, and I can smell your blood. So hide well, Y/L/N."

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Y/N consistently looked back, watching if the vampire had cheated the game. She was indeed honoring the game, that was adleast something about this blonde one she liked. She seemed to honor things she said, " 89...70...", her voice echoed loudly through the halls. The numbers lowering as Y/N felt her adrenaline spike even higher.

Y/N managed to find a door unlocked in a different wing of the manor. She adleast went through 10 locked doors before fleeing to another location of the manor. With pure luck, she discovered this door, it was unlocked and she took her gamble and entered quietly. With trembling gore soiled hands, she locked the door, and sunk to the ground. Very little energy existed in her, she anticipated for dear life the blonde vampire wouldn't smell her here.

The sound of gentle humming danced along the walls of this room, very melodic, sad, and eerie. Lonely, perhaps. With Y/N's quick realization, this resembled a garden bath house. The windows stretched tall in this room, revealing bleeding light from the full moon, there were plants of vibrant emeralds surrounding the large mass of water that centered the room. The water was decorated with rose petals and red spider lilies. The room was architecturally structured with several stones of marble, and looked almost like a Greek bath house . Gentle sounds of rushing water followed between stones which flowed into the big pool of water. Little ripples scattered across the water causing the red flowers to bob up and down.

The humming persisted as Y/N felt her heart drop, she quickly scurried to the nearest marble pillar to conceal herself. The humming was growing louder and louder, could it be the hungry vampire? She wasn't certain if it was worse but it certainly felt like it, Lady Dimitrescu emerged from the shadows of the room, and strided to the water. She was only wrapped in the finest silk, a tight sheer white robe that hugged tightly against her hips. She definitely had a full figure, the robe delivered a silhouette of her motherly figure. It certainly complimented, the low cut of the robe teased her deep cleavage, the sheer silk revealed faint color and the shape of her puffy areolas. Even in the predicament Y/N was in, it was still hard not to appreciate Alcina's physical beauty.

Alcina continued her melodic hum for a few more moments as she admired the undulations of the floral water. " Y/N Y/L/N, you believe me to be foolish?", she broke from her tune as her eyes looked directly at Y/N. She gulped hard as she submitted to the acceptance Alcina would more than likely kill her. She continued to lay her back against the cold pillar, one hand applying pressure to her bleeding knee, the other containing the fear that was trying to escape her lips. " I could smell that delicious blood from here.", she chucked lightly, "Come here, now.", she demanded with her arms crossing. Y/N did not obey the command, she remained quiet behind the pillar. For minutes it consisted of painful sharp silence, only the sound of her terrified heart beats could be heard. Her ears burned and rung, it desperately needed the assurance Alcina was still idle. Did Y/N dare look beyond the pillar? She peeked over and Alcina was no where to be found. Consternation filled her as there wasn't even a trace of evidence to signify the direction Alcina went. Unexpectedly, Y/N felt a hard blow and collapsed on her side. Her hands releasing themselves, and a gasp of air evacuated her mouth. " Oh, I see. ", Alcina had kicked her, her foot pressed hard against her side. Her smooth leg exposed, tracing all the way to her innermost thigh. Her skin looked smooth like porcelain, but certainly felt the weight of heavy boulders as it rested on her. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her foot dig deep into her. "Bleeding out on my perfect floors. Oh, what a mess. Although, it does certainly smells of of tart berries, yes, what a wonderful aroma.", Alcina breathed in the cold air, inhaling hints of Y/N's blood. She moaned in intoxication to the alluring smell of fresh blood. Alcina removed her foot from Y/N, she gasped for air in relief, and tried to attempt to sit up. Alcina quickly lunged forward without even a blink, and her long hand wrapped around Y/N's throat. "No, I don't think so.", Alcina smirked as her hand squeezed around her throat. She fell onto her back, the large vampress towering over, her large hand pressing into her throat.She was capable of breathing but it was incredibly taxing especially with the critical condition she was in. Desperate wheezing filled the air, it burned and stung inside of Y/N's throat. Alcina stared into her eyes, a long red smile stretched upon her pale white face. "Hmm, this is quite boring already. I am quite famished too.", she released her grip, ascended and brought her arms to her bosom to cross them. Y/N began to violently cough and gag as proper air flow returned to her lungs. After several minutes of constant heaving, she finally managed to collect herself. "Come.", Alcina ordered as she turned on the balls of her feet and waltzed to the bath. Y/N submitted, too exhausted to resist any longer. She barely could stand but managed, she approached Alcina with her eyes fixed on her every move. " My little one lacks control. Just as I would suspect with her age. If she doesn't stop stabbing you, you'll die. And I really have grown addicted to your flavor as well. I really would hate for you to bleed out one day because of her reckless actions.", she expressed with a sigh of annoyance. Suddenly, a knock interrupted her rambling, " Lady Dimitrescu,", it was the blonde vampire. Alcina let out another sigh in annoyance. "Yes?", she responded with a disinterested tone, as she crossed her arms a little more snug. Revealing a distracting amount of cleavage being pressed together. " Is Y/N in there?", she sniffed loudly as she strived to rattle the door knob open. " Yes, but I require her. I will discuss with you later some important matters. For the mean time, please do not disturb me and I'll return to you soon.", Alcina said sternly as her fingers drummed the top of her arms impatiently. "Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. ", the blonde vampire responded with pure disappointment in her tone.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've decided you will become my little feeding pet. My daughters do not know how to handle food without killing it. So you are now only mine. Clear?", she lowered herself and grabbed Y/N by the face. Turning her face side to side to examine the condition she was in. Y/N nodded to the best of her abilities, and quickly, Alcina released her. "Good. I'm glad you are willing. I want you to undress now." Embarassment flooded Y/N's mind, her cheeks buzzing with warmth. Why would she even demand that? " I intend on drinking the blood thats already spilling out of you. But I won't drink it while its been dragged around by a rusty sickle and pressed against the dirty floor.", her refined side was definitely exposed. She was different from her daughters, she wanted her meals much more virtuous. " Oh, now, now. I will even join you. They say when two are bathing they are equals.", she added as she disrobed herself. Gently she slide the robe off her shoulders and down her large breasts, as the robe began to flutter down to the marble. Her naked body exposed, and remarkable. Her large breasts sitting perky, her puffy areolas a light grey, and her waist down was incredibly curvy. Absolutely, a full figured silhouette. She dipped her feet in and followed by submerging her body into the bathwater. She let out a sound of relaxation as she smirked and beckoned Y/N. "Come, now."

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To be continued...

[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[redux-iterum]

A Kindling: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.  

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

[mellointheory]

The Woven and the Residence

It feels like the trees don’t want them there. They tower overhead, vast limbs casting the mossy floor in shadow. Whenever Karl steps on a branch it sets Sapnap on edge. He keeps his eyes on the ferns at the base of the massive trees, the roots ridging out of the dark soil, the moss that gives under every step he takes.

It smells…old. If there was any place rumored to be the resting ground of an ancient, immortal power, it was here. Sapnap isn't frightened by the forest, exactly, but he can sense there’s something here that if it takes a dislike to him, even he would have trouble handling it. And that’s exactly what he’s looking for: something stronger than men. Something powerful enough to save his kingdom.

Gold, the old book said. Gold to revive him, gold to fuel whatever power lies here. Sapnap is the prince of Kinoko Kingdom; he has gold aplenty to spare. It’s military strength that he lacks.

“Do you see that?” Karl asks, voice hushed. Sapnap turns to see where he points. There’s something in the distance between the trees, something pale and motionless. He pushes Karl behind him with one arm as they approach it.

It’s a skeleton.

The thing lies amidst the ferns, twice as large as any horse or carriage Sapnap has ever seen. Cornflowers bloom in the sockets of its skull; moss grows along the ridges of its ribs. He could fit his entire head inside just one of those eye sockets; his whole body inside the massive ribcage. The bones of a long tail are curled around the creature, twined around with poison ivy that crawls all the way up through its spine, replacing what would have been a spinal cord years and years ago.

“What do you think it is?” Karl keeps his voice low, as if too much noise might wake the thing up.

“I don’t know,” Sapnap replies, tone softened by the same irrational caution that he can sense in Karl’s.

The blue flowers inside the eyes flicker, and for a minute it seems like the skull blinks at them. Sapnap takes a step back, watching the little azure blossoms bob without the presence of wind.

The skeleton lifts its head.

They both jump back and Sapnap draws his sword without hesitation. The skeleton swings its head towards them, skull supported impossibly by the vines wrapped around its yellow-white bones. It unfolds its legs from beneath it, rising to its feet and arching its back. The tail whips around in the air and suddenly Sapnap can glimpse what kind of creature this is; its nature that even bones bely. It’s a cat.

The cat’s lower jaw swings open in a yawn and it sits down on its hindquarters, the blue flowers within its sockets seeming to stare at them. It doesn’t move for a moment, merely watching them with blossoms moved by a wind of its own making.

“Can you understand me?” Sapnap asks, lowering his sword.

The cat opens its mouth and it speaks.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice furred with a sleep that most likely lasted longer than Sapnap has been alive.

Sapnap exhales, sheathing his sword to address the strange spirit. “I’m looking for a warrior that lives on gold.”

“Of course you are.” The cat shakes himself, plants rearranging on his body to form a sort of makeshift skin, ears twined out of vines and clothed in moss perking from the nakedness of his skull. “You won’t get near him without me.”

“Hello, good sir,” Karl steps forward beside Sapnap, hooking his thumbs into the pack on his back. “May I ask your name?”

The cat scratches behind its ear with a forepaw, bone claws grating on bone. “Antfrost.”

“Well, Antfrost, my colleague—“

“Prince,” Sapnap interrupts.

“My colleague and I,” Karl continues undeterred, “kinda need the guy. Will you help us?”

Antfrost stares down at them. “What do you need?”

“Our kingdom is under attack and we don’t have enough power to fight them,” Sapnap says for Karl. “My dad used to tell me stories about this forest. He said there was power here if I could ever find it.”

“He wasn’t lying.” Antfrost folds his forepaws up under his chest. “So you need Punz, huh?”

“Is that his name?” Karl asks. “Punz?”

“He sleeps for longer than I do.” Antfrost extends his neck, sniffing at the pack Karl carries. “Is that gold?”

Karl nods, and the cat rises to his feet. “Follow me, then. I hope you have enough. He doesn’t like waking up.”

They follow the bone cat. He walks slowly, naked paws silent on the forest floor. The trees feel different when they’re with him, as if they don’t fully distrust Sapnap anymore. The faint scent of cornflowers reaches him, and something else that’s growing on the cat. Honeysuckle, he thinks.

In the distance he sees a spot of sunlight. A clearing. Perhaps the scent of flowers is coming from there, for he can catch sight of a meadow with spots of color blooming all over it. The sweet smell is thicker now, almost heavy in his nostrils. There’s a rising hum, a lazy one that grows louder as they approach.

At the edge of the trees Antfrost stops. He turns around, the sunlight from the meadow striking through the gaps in his body and turning the ground beneath him green with light filtered through leaves.

“Stay here,” the cat says in a voice woven from vines. “He may not be awake, but the bees are.”

Karl and Sapnap stand at the edge of the trees’ cover. The meadow is, indeed, full of flowers. And bees are everywhere, slender, yellow-furred bodies dipping into the bulbs of blossoms and carrying loads of pollen through the air.

While Sapnap is still looking at the bees Antfrost shrinks, somehow. It’s like watching a fern furl up when you touch it, or a morning glory close as day drags on. It happens gradually and naturally, but a simple blink and suddenly the bone cat padding through the grass is the same size as any housecat Sapnap would see around the palace.

Antfrost disappears into the grass. It’s too tall to see where he’s gone, or what he’s doing. For all Sapnap knows he’s just lain down in the sun slanting through and gone to sleep. Sapnap almost wants to, himself. There’s something about that light and that heat that beckons him to rest.

He glances beside him, at Karl. His advisor was the one who found the books leading them here. They wouldn’t have made it this far without the brunette currently turning his face to the sky, eyes closed, inhaling the smell of flowers. A wandering bee lands on Karl’s cheek and the man blinks his eyes open, holding still and letting it explore his face until it figures out that he isn’t a flower and flies away. Sapnap smiles despite himself.

“Come on,” Antfrost’s voice calls. Sapnap turns his attention back to the situation at hand, the as-yet unexplored meadow full of bees. He hesitates briefly, then reaches out for Karl’s hand. His advisor takes it and they step into the sun together.

The bees are curious. They begin to fly towards Sapnap and Karl, landing on their arms and heads. The closer they get to the center of the meadow the more the insects congregate, until it seems like they’re almost covered in them. Then they take one more step and every bee lifts off and flies down to the ground.

They see Antfrost first, a cat-shape stitched from bones and vines and flowers. He is sitting in the grass waiting for them. In front of him is a shape covered in bees, swarmed with the striped insects. Sapnap watches in a mixture of curiosity and horror as the small creatures begin disappearing somewhere, slowly flowing down from the face of the person.

Golden hair in the sun is the first thing Sapnap notices. The man’s eyes are closed. He seems whole, unlike the cat of bones and plants, until the bees withdraw from the rest of his body. His neck and shoulders are complete but the skin on his chest…it’s tattered. Sapnap can see straight into his ribcage in places, and the entire cavity of his stomach is exposed.

It’s full of bees.

The man’s inside is filled with a hive; wax and honey and crawling insects visible in the gap of his stomach. He’s not breathing, but Sapnap can just catch a glimpse of his heart surrounded by beeswax. It’s beating.

“Gold.” Antfrost says patiently, nodding at the man. Karl, who has one hand over his mouth as he stares at the swarm of insects, turns around so Sapnap can access the pack.

Sapnap moves slowly, his attention still caught by the not-dead body on the ground and the bees inside of it. He unties the top of the pack and pulls out a golden chain with a medallion hanging off it. It dangles from his fingers, reflecting the sun and the grass. He kneels and slowly, careful not to disturb the bees, slides it over the man’s neck. The medallion rests on the man’s chest, covering up the place where Sapnap could glimpse the steady beat of his heart. They wait in silence. Antfrost bends his head down to sniff the man’s forehead, nudging him gently.

Blue eyes open up.

The warrior’s eyes are the color of the sky, clear and bright blue. It only takes a brief second for Sapnap to figure out what’s off about them: he has no pupils. They’re framed by long lashes and the man stares at the sky for a minute before his eyes turn to the cat sitting above him. He reaches up with one hand, resting a palm on the back of the cat’s head.

“Hi, Punzo,” Antfrost says. He’s purring now, somehow.

“Good morning, Antfrost,” Punz says softly. His voice rasps like it’s built from the buzz of insect wings and the smoothness of honey. When he breathes Sapnap can see golden honey ooze from in between his ribs, like he bleeds the liquid sun. “How long has it been?”

“No clue. Some prince is here for your help.” Antfrost sets one paw on Punz’s forehead, leaning over him and sniffing at his hair. It’s longer than his shoulders, not surprisingly.

The blue eyes turn to Sapnap and linger on him sleepily. Punz takes a deep breath and sits up, slowly. The medallion clinks against his chest, and the humming of bees grows indignant from within his ribcage.

“Oh.” Punz looks down, at the strata of honeycombs inside him, the slow ooze of honey from between his ribs every time his lungs contract. “You all need to go. Move, please.”

They swarm.

Sapnap ducks as the entire hive’s worth of bees comes pouring out of the man’s rib cage. They head for the trees, one of which looks like it was struck by lightning. He watches them flow like a river of yellow-dark fur, searching for a handy crevice inside the trunk.

“You want my help?” When Sapnap turns back, Punz's eyes are watching him. He nods, a little too shy to say anything.

Punz reaches a hand inside his ribcage, still staring Sapnap in the eyes. He can hear the sound of wet, honey-filled wax breaking as Punz quests for something. Please, Sapnap prays, XD, please don’t let him want me to eat it.

“Here.” Punz reaches up with a hand dripping in liquid sunlight. A large bee is curled up in his palm.

“It’s the queen,” Punz explains as Sapnap stares down at him. “They need her, so take her to them.”

Sapnap hesitates, then reaches his hand out for the queen. She crawls into his palm and he glances worriedly at Karl, then starts towards the tree the bees have chosen. He’s not the best with keeping animals alive, never has been, but he can sense how much this man cares about his bees. It’s probably a good choice to treat this one well.

He reaches the tree and holds his hand out, tilting it so the queen bee can crawl onto the bark. She left sticky trails on his palm and he almost goes to lick it before he remembers where, exactly, that honey was grown.

When he turns around Punz is standing in the sunlight. For a man who loves gold, it sure looks like he grows his own. The honeycombs in his chest cavity and stomach are clear enough for the light to shine through, turning them rich amber. Honey drips from between his ribs and down on the tattered cloth wrapped around his waist. His hair is long and shaggy and the color of the sun, reaching down to his shoulder blades. Antfrost has reassumed his larger form now, sitting calmly behind Punz. The flowers in his eye sockets seem to have bloomed a little more and a little brighter near his friend.

Sapnap wonders how old those two are, how long they’ve known each other, how many times they have woken one another up from years desiccating on a forest floor. He wonders exactly how powerful they are, and if they can save his kingdom.

“Prince Sapnap,” Punz says when he reaches them. His voice doesn’t sound human, it sounds like something combining to mimic a human voice. So does Antfrost’s, although his is made from the rustle of wind on leaves and the creak of wood while Punz’s is the hum of a bee’s wing and the sound of a honeycomb breaking apart. “I hear you need help.”

“So you'll help us?” Karl asks excitedly.

Punz twines his fingers into the chain Sapnap put around his throat. “For the gold you offer, I’ll save your people.”

“You will?” Sapnap can’t help the relief that rushes across him. For a bag of gold, the saving of his people and his kingdom? It would be worth every single drop.

“Of course.” Punz reaches up a hand to rub under Antfrost’s chin. “What kind of man would I be if I refused?”

Sapnap can’t answer that question. Punz’s eyes seem impossibly old in the emptiness of their blue. The man sounds genuine in what he says, but there’s something to his speech that screams different.

The immortal latches a hand on the vines at Antfrost’s shoulder and swings astride the massive cat.

“So this is a deal, right?” Sapnap demands. “You’ll stop them? All of them?”

“We don’t do things halfway,” Antfrost purrs. His tail, vertebrae all woven together by poison ivy, lashes.

“Go back to your kingdom,” Punz says patiently. “Be safe, Sapnap. And don’t try to cheat us.”

Sapnap nods slowly and holds a hand out to Karl. His advisor takes it, and they venture out of the meadow and back into the forest.

It’s easier to find their way back than it was to get there. Sapnap returns to his kingdom within a few days, to a court full of nobles who believe he’s done nothing to save them. They grow rebellious when he orders them to withdraw their armies and he knows they conspire against him. Quackity did his best to hold the efforts together while Sapnap and Karl were gone, but the dissension and the fear of the nobles in Sapnap’s court…it’s hard to deal with.

Be safe, Sapnap. The immortal man had said.

Do your job and I will. Sapnap thought. Sometimes he lost sleep wondering if it had all been a lie to get Karl and him to leave the strange pair alone. But there was the one chain that still must hang around Punz’s neck. If he accepted that, then he owes Sapnap something.

Then the reports begin to come in. Enemy troops withdrawing. Occupied towns suddenly cleared of the soldiers within them. Vines in streets where they shouldn’t be, swarms of bees that hunted aggressors out of the homes they had stolen. The nobles began to quiet their whispers.

Two months after that first visit he saw them again.

The guards weren’t fools enough to stop them. Not a man with shattered honeycombs inside his chest, riding a skeleton cat. The people were wise enough to know they were the saviors. They hailed them with roses and cheers, though they didn’t know their names.

When Punz walks into Sapnap’s throne room he is carrying the skeleton cat in his arms. Antfrost’s purr manages to fill the entire room, somehow amplified by his floral lungs. The flowers in his eyes are different ones. Irises, Sapnap thinks. Ironic.

Punz is wearing the enemy’s crown.

It sits lopsided on his head, a simple golden circlet atop his head. Someone braided his hair back behind his head, twined it through with flowers, and the crown rests sloppily on top of the braids. Punz smiles when he sees Sapnap looking and reaches up, hooking one finger through it. He tosses it to him. Sapnap reaches forward to catch it, but the throw doesn’t reach that far and instead it hits the ground and rolls until it bounces off the foot of his throne.

“All done.” Punz says into the silence. He seems even less human than he did last time they met; one of his shoulders replaced entirely with wax and honey, his throat open and revealing the bees inside as well. He’s still wearing the chain Sapnap gave him.

Sapnap reaches over and picks up the crown of the enemy king. It reflects his own face back at him, and he can read some measure of surprise in his eyes. Perhaps he didn’t expect them to save him, not entirely.

He stands up and picks up the bag of gold beside the throne. He hauls it down the steps to where Punz stands, watching him through pupil-less eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” Sapnap asks, almost uncertainly. He wants to sound braver, sound like he’s driving a bargain, but he’s speaking to a man unable to die and a cat made of bones.

Punz nods and opens his arms, letting Antfrost jump down. He takes off the chain Sapnap handed him and reaches down to hand it to Antfrost. It falls down around the cat’s neck. Punz kneels and opens the bag of gold.

“It’s enough,” the man says slowly. He reaches out with the arm that’s partially made of wax and plunges it inside.

The gold begins to melt. Where it touches Punz’s skin it turns liquid, melding and flowing against itself. It flows up his arm, rippling through his body. The man closes his eyes and exhales one last time, honey oozing from his sides.

Sapnap watches him remake himself.

The gold washes across his body and knits new skin and muscle in places that were full of wax and honey. It leaves seams of metal in his skin, building up organs and intestines and skin to cover them before Sapnap’s eyes. It ripples across his skin like it’s alive, searching for where he needs it next. There’s still the greater part of his payment left, and he’s all healed. Sapnap wonders what the man will do until the gold begins to arc out behind him, accumulating layers of down formed by gold spun so thin it looks soft. Then larger feathers on top of that, the smooth ones that give flight. And when Punz opens his eyes, he’s given himself wings.

“I haven’t been able to fly in a long time,” he says, voice a little purer and clearer now. His blue eyes crinkle up when he smiles at Sapnap, and Sapnap catches a glimpse of freckles on his skin. It’s so incongruous on the face of a man built of gold and unable to die that, even when confronted with someone with gold skin and wings and no pupils, that’s what stands out to him. The little flecks of brown across his face.

“Call me if you need me,” Punz says, reaching down and letting Antfrost jump up into his arms. He turns and spreads his wings, then beats them once.

There’s a draft of air that stirs Sapnap’s robes and makes him grab his crown to keep it from falling off. When he opens them again the two are gone, nothing but a fleck of light in the sky.

Sapnap thanks them under his breath before he turns away.