#might wash the clump of fur and keep it

[weaselweaselweasel]

Found my cat playing with some of my old dead cat’s fur on the kitchen floor

Don’t know how to feel about that!!!

[genderfluid-insomniac]

A/N: I had fun with this one!

Behind the curtain// Six-Eared Macaque x reader (NSFW)

“Fuck!” You harshly whispered and tugged on Macaque's midnight black fur, clapping your hand on your mouth as your heart raced and hearing the soft murmurs of the audience. The cold brick wall of the backstage pressed against your bare back and jolts of pleasure shot through you causing your legs to tighten around his head, hearing a hiss and feeling him bite your inner thigh. “Close your thighs together anymore and I’ll make you scream my name.” Slowly teasing your clit with his tongue and brushing the sensitive nub with his fangs.

Oh, how he adored that sharp intake of breath and how you easily agreed to this risky little escapade. The confusion washed over your face as he hoisted you up so your thighs were on either side of his head and your cute blush appeared when you realized he planned to eat you out just before a show. He looked back up at you with a smirk, hands firmly wrapped around your hips to keep you up. “Any louder and the audience might think they’re seeing a different show. I think that’d be fun, showing everyone else that you’re mine and mine alone.” You whined softly and gave him a desperate expression. Your chest and thighs were covered in hickeys and bites for proof you were taken.

He went back to work, letting his tongue roam your walls and searching for which spots gave the best reactions. Every now and then Macaque would let one of his sharp teeth graze your bundle of nerves which made you closer to cumming. Of course, he couldn’t let you cum now. Sucking your pussy harshly as you muffled a loud moan with your hand and glared at him for edging you, smirking against your wet cunt. “Bastard.” You managed to spit out.

Slick dripped from his lips and was smeared on your thigh as he left a trail of kisses up to your vagina, biting your soft plush skin and licking the tiny pricks of blood popping up. “My own mate calling me a bastard? After all the pleasure I’ve given you I would’ve thought you’d be begging for me to fuck you.” He teased and pushed his tongue into your hole before you could finish your retort. Your hand grabbed clumps of his fur behind his head and pushed your pussy closer to his mouth, rolling your hips as you felt your orgasm about to come crashing over you.

”Not yet, lotus.” He clicked his tongue and carefully lowered you down, keeping you against his chest to stop you from collapsing and kissing your lips softly. You caught your breath and whimpered as you felt your walls clamp around nothing, feeling your high quickly fall till it was nothing. Nuzzling his nose against your cheek and whispering in your ear. “I’ll consider letting you cum if you don’t touch yourself until my performance is over. You can be my good mate, can’t you?” He chuckled richly.

You nodded and bit back a curse, not wanting to dig your grave even further. Carefully putting on your discarded clothes with his help and sitting on on table near the ropes for the curtains and lights. Macaque put his hood up along with his human disguise and began to walk towards the center of the stage, glancing back at you for one last smug grin.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Bath time

Daryl Dixon x reader

Daryl's early Alexandria era dislike for showers seems to be rubbing off on his kids..

🐺 🐺 🐺

"Oh my god.."

There in front of you stood your two adorable furred children, now entirely a muddy brown. And their father, less muddy brown but for sure in need of clean clothes.

"You." A stern finger pointed at Daryl. "Pups. Bathroom, now." You turned around to open doors and run the water in preperation. "And take your shoes off."

You heard Daryl kick his boots off and huff as he picked up the kids to carry them upstairs.

It wasn't difficult for them to realize where Daryl was taking then and started squirming in his grasp, trying with all their might to escape but in the end they failed and all four of you now stood in the large bathroom.

The shower was already running at a nice temperature to get the clumps of mud out of the kids' fur but it took both of your hands to keep one kid in place, let alone rinse them off and scrub their fur without having them jump out of the tub.

You needed Daryl's help. He was currently standing at the door, making sure no grubby paws grabbed at the handle and ran off, while said grubby hands were grabbing and pulling at his trousers in an attempt to escape.

"Dee, please be a dear and put her in the tub. I need help.." you admitted in defeat as Hunter slipped from your grasp and made it halfway out of the tub before Daryl's large hand had grabbed him and put him back under the shower stream together with his sister.

"Mmaaaaammm..." loud whines filled the room as they both fiercly protested.

Daryl held both pups far enough under the stream so you could rub at the clumps of mud slowly washing away.

Hunter seemed to have given up halfway through so cleaning him wasn't too much of a fuss, until the shampoo came out.

At the sight of the bottle of doggy wash he wormed out of Daryl's grip, who was more focused on keeping the ever feisty Rose under control with just one hand.

Hunter managed to hop up and out of the tub and slip on the edge, dropping his full, soaking wet body onto yours with a loud flop and sending you both to the ground.

"Ohw, come on!" You groaned as you grabbed at his slippery limbs and get yourself upright at the same time, while Daryl watched you with a shit eating grin on his face. "Looks like the lil' momma's boy weren' havin' it no more."

"Could have helped.." you mumbled as you sat your son back into the tub and shuddered at the gross wet shirt stuck to your skin.

When you got no response you looked over to him. Both his hands were on Rose, but he paid no attention to her chewing on his wrist and instead was clearly distracted by the fact you wore nothing underneath the thin, currently very see-through shirt.

"Hello? Assistance?" Struggling to keep Hunter in the tub you snapped Daryl out of his trance before he reached out to hold his son in place again.

A soft thanks was all he got before you got to rub the shampoo through Hunter's fur, making sure none got in his face. It was a huge struggle already with his paws shoving away your hands and his constant shaking, sending soapy water everywhere to the point of even getting Daryl to complain.

"Ya can't wash'em any quicker?"

Your head snapped to his side giving him a death glare before going back to make sure every inch of your son was covered in soapy bubbles and rinse him off again. "In case you forgo-- oh my god.." you spit out the soapy water that got info your mouth as Hunter shook out his fur again while still under the stream. "In case you forgot, I don't have wolf strength." You struggled to put Hunter back on his butt so you could properly rub the remaining shampoo from his fur. Maybe you overdid it a little, but he was so dirty..

"Wha? Ya can't even handle a kid?" A deep sigh left you before repeating yourself.

"No, Daryl." You state clearly. "Little human me can't handle a werewolf child with werewolf strength. Especially not when they're slippery and wet." An understanding grumble left him as he held onto Hunter's fur a bit tighter to keep him still.

His whines of protest only got more over time as Rose was still gnawing at Daryl's wrist that had bled and healed over a couple of times by now already.

Hunter's long drawn Nooo's and Mammaaa's combined with fake sniffles made an almost believable schtick if he hadn't pulled it so many times before.

"You're almost done, sit still for a minute and I'll let you out."

When he realized his tricks werent working he sulked under the water as you got rid of the last bits of soap bafore moving him out from underneath the stream.

The second he stopped feeling water on his head he full-body shook himself out, sending water all over the place.

"Oh thats just rude, baby." The towel you readied for him first went to your face to dry off before grabbing onto Hunter and wrapping him in a tight hug. It was the only way to get him out of the tub and dry him off at least a little bit.

Now that he was out of the tub and no longer a muddy threat you moved on to clean the more feral of your two children.

Daryl luckily had already moved her under the water entirely to remove large clumps while you prepared for shampooing.

With two hands holding her you were a little more confident in a quicker wash this time but wow were you wrong.

Within the first minute she had snapped at you twice.

Daryl only stared proudly at his daughter currently defending herself against the evil soap monster that was her mom. He cooed her a bit, hoping to bargain with some tasty meat as reward she'd be at least a little more calm.

But of course just as you were somewhat comfortable washing off her legs, Hunter threw his full weight into you to dry himself against your back and so shoving you forward enough to get your entire head under the water, soaking your hair.

You pushed back to sit on your heels again, throwing your head back to get your wet hair out of your face before sending an angry glare at your son out of reflex.

He quickly realized he was in the wrong and ran off, grabbing at the doorhandle and escaping the bathroom.

"Fuck.." you groaned as you turned back to cleaning off Rose, who had picked up her brother's moves and let out a laugh as she shook herself out every time your hands left her body.

"I'm taking a shower after this. You babysit and give them a treat or something."

With newly found strength you pulled through and got Rose cleaned in record time, letting Daryl handle the drying while you took off your soaked clothes and hopped into the tub.

You felt Daryl's gaze on you the entire time, complaining as Rose bit his finger when he wasn't watching her.

"Watch your kid." You pointed at her as you stepped over the tub's edge. "You can gawk at me all night long when they're asleep."

An agreeing tone sounded over the running water and a few moments later you finally got the bathroom to yourself, warming up and rinsing the shower walls off in the meantime.

It was times like these when you doubted yourself a bit, being a human raising two pups that could easily overpower you within the year. What if Rose bit you for real? Would she turn you? Can they do that at their age? The bathroom door opening caught you off guard, peeking tour head from behind the curtain you spotted Daryl standing there in clean clothes and with a worried look on his face.

He stepped up to the tub and questioned the sad emotions he was smelling all over the top floor.

You gave him a short version of your doubts as he helped you out of the shower and dried you off. "Yer a strong one, pups love ya." His hands on the towel lingered on your chest longer than needed when he leaned in for a kiss. "They jus' hate showers."

You huff out a laugh at that understatement when the door slammed against the wall and a still slightly damp Hunter clamped around your leg. "Wav momma."

"See?" Daryl gave you a smug 'told ya so' smile.

He easily wrapped you in the large towel and picked you up, careful to not smack Hunter with your foot.

Rose waddled past just as he walked through the doorway. She probably followed her big brother but her wobbly legs made climbing the stairs quite the challenge.

Once in the bedroom you were tossed onto the bed and clothes quickly followed as Daryl dug through the cabinet and threw a full outfit at your head.

You thanked him and got dressed, watching your kids try wrestle eachother to be the first one on the bed until Daryl picked them up and set them down onto the matress.

Without a second to spare the two jumped up against you for cuddles, their dad happily joining as well.

🐺 🐺 🐺

A/N: I hope you're not tired of kid content yet! I love the pups dearly and hope to be writing for them for a while longer ♡

[vertebrates-and-pieces]

... Man, I'm going to spam you with all kinds of Morgott things, and for that I apologize in advance. X3

I think we've all come to the conclusion that he is a man starved. Not just in terms for food, but for physical contact as well.

How did he take care of himself before? What was the maximum and minimum of his self-care routine?

What are things like with his little Tarnished? How have things changed?

No need to apologize! I have a whole bunch of thoughts and this gives me an excuse to share them!

Sometimes I may get a bit busy and be unable to respond right away, but I absolutely love when people ask me stuff like this! (I honestly look forward to seeing and answering asks haha)

Also shout out to my friend @cant-even-throw-straight on this one, because we've had several conversations about this very subject.

Morgott's appearance is unkempt, shabby, but despite that, he does not seem dirty. This is a man who washes himself regularly, who does not allow his wounds to fester. He keeps himself hygienic. Think about it, he grew up in the sewers. He is intimately familiar with filth and how it can seep into forgotten crevices and open cuts. He's seen literal babies, raw and bloody at the stumps of shorn horns, tossed into waste. Infection, mold, rotten teeth… He's seen it.

He makes an effort to keep clean.

He might not treat himself kindly, but affords himself at least this one luxury. Besides, he is the de facto caretaker for something great and holy, to sully it with grime would be disrespectful, disgraceful. He will never allow his dragging tail to leave trails down hallowed halls like a slug. Similarly, he eats enough to not be fully starved, sleeps enough to be properly alert. His job is important.

That being said, his bare minimum is still not enough for him to be anywhere close to healthy. His scant hours of sleep are fitful and shallow. He has never used a bed in all his life. He sleeps at the sealed entrance of the Erdtree, ever watchful, and when he wakes, body aching from the bare stone and night's chill, he prays his thanksgiving for being allowed to slumber beneath its light and not down below in the darkness, that his sealed blood only occasionally darkens his slumber with cries of the damned. He eats only the rations he provides for the troops, and then only enough to reduce the gnawing pangs of hunger to a tolerable level. He does not cook, and does not season his food. He's eaten roaches, slugs, the occasional dead bird washed in after a storm, and rats, so many rats. He remembers what it feels like to pick their fur from between his teeth.

When he bathes, he does not warm the water. He's never needed to before, so it would be a waste to do so. He scrubs himself with a harsh, simple soap and a stiff bristled brush meant for livestock. He air dries instead of using towels. He does his best to keep his hair from matting, but there are a few places where his horns make this impossible. He shears these clumps whenever they grow out enough. He only has one item of clothing.

Even with someone who cares about him in the picture, his habits will take a significant amount of time and effort to shake.

Some will be easier than others. It won't take much to convince him to let the Tarnished use their smaller hands to snip the difficult to reach matted areas and comb his hair between his horns. But, getting him to start using a bed is going to be a bit of a battle. He's terrified of shirking his duty. He is honestly terrified of sleeping in the dark too. He needs to feel that golden light in order to feel secure enough to rest now. Probably needs to start off with a bed outside to ease him into it, and even when he sleeps indoors, it will never be with drawn curtains. Sorry darkness enjoyers, Morgott needs his tree nightlight, you should probably invest in an eye mask (or shove your face into his chest).

One positive about him, though, is that even as he takes better care of himself, he will not be wasteful, which is honestly an admirable quality for a king to have.

Bonus Thoughts:

-As long as he keeps himself clean, he smells surprisingly good. A clean, earthy musk.

-If you have to, say, travel through Caelid together for a week or two though, without access to enough clean water to spare for baths… he gets pretty smelly. Not the worst in the world, but definitely ripe: sweat and a dog in the hot sun come to mind. He will be very self-conscious about this too. He is not a fan of being dirty or stinky. He's rinsing himself in the first clean river he comes across.

-His magical projection does not need to bathe. It tends to stay as mostly a snapshot of how he was when he conjured it. He cleverly created it in such a way that it appears injured as it is attacked though. Would be very suspicious if it didn't bleed.

-Even if he refuses to use towels and it can be frustrating, getting to see him dry in the open air, rivulets of water rolling down his bare back turned to glistening honey under golden light… yeah. Gorgeous view ahead.

-

[maxxmesii]

Why Fur Coats Require Extraordinary Care

Fur coats, be they made from common or engineered strands, are touchy to water and warm, contact. Fair like any other article of clothing, hide coats cannot be treated with the regular washing or dry cleaning. Water makes hide strands clump or lose their delicateness, whereas warm seem harm the pelt or lining. In specific, hide coats are treated in extraordinary solvents and procedures that do not uncover the hide to dampness or tall temperatures, which might alter the surface and structure of the jacket. Besides, hide coats are exceptionally regularly uncovered to different natural toxins, such as smoke, clean, and oils, which may quiet the shinning see of the hide for a few time. Customary cleaning anticipates buildups that may cause enduring harm and reestablishes brilliance to the hide whereas amplifying the jacket's life. Dry Cleaning for Fur Jackets Fur Jacket Dry Cleaning Hitchin will utilize a extraordinary cleaning handle to moderate the astuteness of the hide and the pelt underneath. Here is what can be anticipated amid a hide coat dry cleaning: ● Inspection: The dry cleaner will assess the hide coat altogether for any stains, zones of wear, or harm that may require uncommon attention. ● Pre-treatment: Men's solvents are connected to stains or issue ranges some time recently tanning to make beyond any doubt they are securely evacuated without discoloring the fur. ● Cleaning: Following, the hides go into a drum with specialized solvents for cleaning earth, oils, and odors. This is carefully done to maintain a strategic distance from any introduction to water or cruel chemicals. ● Conditioning: After cleaning, the hide may be treated with oils to grant it gloss and reestablish delicateness. This prepare is more imperative for common hide since it holds normal hide oil. ● Smoothing and Wrapping up: This is the final step, which incorporates hide brushing to clear all the tangles and donate it a common stream of surface. The lining and other subtle elements ought to be cleaned and pressed for the culminate appearance of the jacket. Tips for Fur Jacket Dry Cleaning Dunstable The legitimate care of your hide coat, between proficient dry cleanings, is pivotal for its toughness. Taking after are a few valuable tips: ● Storage: Your hide coat continuously ought to be kept in a cool, dull put, absent from coordinate daylight, as it will cause blurring. Putting away hide in plastic sacks is moreover not suggested since hide needs to breathe. A breathable piece of clothing pack is what you ought to utilize instead. ● Avoid Dampness: When your hide coat gets splashed, provide it a great shake to get freed of additional water and let it dry on its possess in the open discuss. Do not utilize things like blow dryers to dry hide - the warm can mess up the skin. ● Brushing: Stroke or smoothen hide with a soft-bristle brush and expel tangles. Dodge hide brushing or maybe enthusiastically, for it might harm the fur. ● Avoid Grinding: Pay additional consideration to over the top grinding whereas wearing your hide coat, as this will cause tangling in certain ranges, like the sleeves and underarms. Summing Up! Fur Jacket Dry Cleaning Bedfordshire is an imperative angle of hide coat support for keeping it as great as modern over the long time. Getting your hide coat cleaned by A&Z Dry Cleaners will protect your buy and guarantee the hide remains delicate, clean, and shinning. If you see after it well and keep up it, a hide coat will stay a classy and high-end basic in your closet.

[semixfenz]

Why Fur Jackets Need Special Care

Fur jackets, be they made from natural or synthetic fibers, are sensitive to water and heat, friction. Just like any other garment, fur jackets cannot be treated with the usual washing or dry cleaning. Water makes fur fibers clump or lose their softness, while heat could damage the pelt or lining. In particular, fur jackets are treated in special solvents and techniques that do not expose the fur to moisture or high temperatures, which could change the texture and structure of the jacket.

Besides, fur jackets are very frequently exposed to various environmental pollutants, such as smoke, dust, and oils, which may mute the bright look of the fur for some time. Regular cleaning prevents buildups that may cause lasting damage and restores brilliance to the fur while extending the jacket's life.

Dry Cleaning for Fur Jackets

Professional Fur Jacket Dry Cleaning near me will employ a special cleaning process to conserve the integrity of the fur and the pelt underneath. Here is what can be expected during a fur jacket dry cleaning:

Inspection: The dry cleaner will inspect the fur jacket thoroughly for any stains, areas of wear, or damage that may need special attention.

Pre-treatment: Men's solvents are applied to stains or problem areas before tanning to make sure they are safely removed without discoloring the fur.

Cleaning: Next, the furs go into a drum with specialized solvents for cleaning dirt, oils, and odors. This is carefully done to avoid any exposure to water or harsh chemicals.

Conditioning: After cleaning, the fur may be treated with oils to give it luster and restore softness. This process is more important for natural fur since it retains natural fur oil.

Smoothing and Finishing: This is the last step, which includes fur brushing to clear all the tangles and give it a natural flow of texture. The lining and other details should be cleaned and ironed for the perfect appearance of the jacket.

Tips for Fur Jacket Care between Cleanings

The proper care of your fur jacket, between professional dry cleanings, is crucial for its durability. Following are some useful tips:

Storage: Your fur jacket always should be kept in a cool, dark place, away from direct sunlight, as it will cause fading. Storing fur in plastic bags is also not recommended because fur needs to breathe. A breathable garment bag is what you should use instead.

Avoid Moisture: When your fur coat gets soaked, give it a good shake to get rid of extra water and let it dry on its own in the open air. Don't use things like blow dryers to dry fur - the heat can mess up the skin.

Brushing: Stroke or smoothen fur with a soft-bristle brush and remove tangles. Avoid fur brushing rather vigorously, for it might damage the fur.

Avoid Friction: Pay extra attention to excessive friction while wearing your fur jacket, as this will cause matting in certain areas, like the cuffs and underarms.

Summing Up!

Fur Jacket Dry Cleaning Luton is an important aspect of fur jacket maintenance for keeping it as good as new over the years. Getting your fur jacket cleaned by A&Z Dry Cleaners will safeguard your purchase and ensure the fur stays soft, clean, and bright. If you look after it well and maintain it, a fur jacket will remain a classy and high-end essential in your closet.

[wyatt-06]

HOW TO GROOM PERSIAN CATS?

Despite its royal appearance, the Persian cat is a breed with simple requirements: regular meals and a few minutes of playing. If you provide these, your cat will adore you. The Persian breed has a particularly long and silky fur that must be maintained regularly to attain the breed's renowned glossy locks. Persian Cats are well-known for their excessive grooming needs. Grooming is required on a regular basis, and not simply to keep this cat's gorgeous hair in good condition. Grooming on a regular basis might also benefit this feline's hygiene and well-being., You should also pay special attention to its nails, eyes, and ears.

GROOMING TIPS FOR PERSIAN CATS:

Aside from brushing and combing, you will also need to bathe your cat on a regular basis, at least every two to six weeks. Brushing and washing, in addition to maintaining the fur in good condition, may help keep illnesses, parasites, and hairballs at bay.

BRUSHING:

Brush your Persian's coat at least once a day. If this is not possible, brush your pet's fur every other day, or at least once a week. Begin each daily grooming procedure by gently brushing your Persian's fur. Many experts advise against using nylon combs because they create static electricity. Combing is necessary for a few reasons. For beginners, it aids in the prevention of tangle development. Second, brushing and cleaning your pet's coat will be easier. Aside from paying careful attention to the fur on the cat's body, you should not overlook the fur on the cat's face. However, when combing your feline's face, be delicate because it has sensitive areas.

REMOVING MATS/TANGLES:

Combing and brushing on a daily basis eliminates and prevents tangled and matted fur. Mats can build on your cat's coat if you don't groom it. Mats are essentially clumps of fur that have become excessively knotted. When your cat's fur becomes matted, he or she is more susceptible to skin irritation and illness. To deal with matted fur, use your fingers to pull the knotted fur loose. Make sure to move slowly, otherwise your Persian may become agitated. After removing the tangled fur and separating it, comb the afflicted regions. You will need to clip your Persian's backside from time to time. Because of his thick coat, fecal debris might accumulate on the hairs in this location.

BATHING:

Bathing your Persian cat on a regular basis is another important aspect of maintenance. Persians, like most cats, detest bathing. However, if you begin washing your cat as a kitten, you can make bath time more bearable for both of you. Finding the best shampoo for your cat may be a trial and error process, and you may need to explore before you discover the finest brand for him. When applying shampoo to your cat, be sure to massage it gently. You may also use a sponge for this activity. Avoid getting your cat's face and ears wet as much as possible. Otherwise, they will be put off by the prospect of bathing.

TRIMMING NAILS:

You will need to clip your Persian's nails every few weeks. Despite the difficulty of the process, trimming is necessary to protect your cat, yourself, and your furnishings from scratches. The main difficulty in cutting a cat's nails is that cats detest having their paws handled for lengthy periods of time. Fortunately, you do not have to cut all of your nails at once. When your cat indicates that he's had enough, you may pause and return to the remaining nails on another day. Maintain your composure if bleeding happens. Apply pressure to the claw before dipping it in styptic powder or cornstarch. Typically, you will need to trim the nails on the front paws more frequently than the claws on the back paws since they do the most harm. Remember that you do not have to cut your cat's nails completely at once. When your cat becomes impatient, it signifies that the session is coming to an end.

EAR AND EYE CARE:

The Persian breed is prone to eye discharge because of its face shape. The face form puts excessive strain on the tear ducts, resulting in ocular leakage. Wipe away the drainage on your Persian's face on a regular basis to prevent discoloration on the facial fur. All you need for this task are cotton pads and a non-toxic cleaning solution. Make careful to use separate cotton pads for each eye. Ear wax might accumulate on your Persian's ears from time to time. Excess ear wax may be removed with cotton balls and cleaning products designed specifically for cat ears.

YOU CAN USE THESE OUTSTANDING PRODUCTS TO KEEP YOUR PERSIAN HEALTHY AND BEAUTIFUL.

TRIXIE FLEA AND DUST COMB:

Metal-based Trixie Flea and Dust Comb designed for the detection of fleas and lice. It's critical to examine your dogs for parasites on a regular basis. Grooming is essential for all cats and cat breeds. Whether they need to be clipped, brushed, combed, or washed on a regular basis. We have bred dogs and cats with a wide range of coats and hair, including thick double coats, thin single non-shedding coats, wiry brittle coats, smooth thin short coats, and so on. 

ANDIS STANDARD PIN BRUSH:

The Andis standard pin brush eliminates knots, dirt and stray hair while dispersing the whole of the coat of natural oils. This helps you to develop your hair while keeping your hair healthy. The simple to hold anti-slip handle makes it safer, easier to groom. A special stick pad on this brush prohibits a continuous usage of the brush teeth.

HYDRA GROOMERS ODOR NEUTRALIZING SHAMPOO:

Pic Credit: TIPS HOW TO

Hydra Odor Neutralizing Shampoo is a professional-grade shampoo that moisturises and soothes the skin and coat of dogs and cats with grape seed oil and oat extract. During the odor neutralization process, the cuticle is partially exposed, making dirt removal simpler and stimulating thorough coat washing. The unique properties of this shampoo make it easier to rinse and allows for faster coat drying. This shampoo was developed by groomers for groomers, and it is safe for all dog and cat breeds. It is cost-effective when used correctly.

ANDIS STANDARD FIRM SLICKER BRUSH:

 The Andis Standard Firm Slicker Brush features a soft-grip design that is ideal for pet grooming. It eliminates knots and matting while also increasing performance by reducing shedding by 90%. This device is beneficial to both tiny and large animals. For safe and speedy grooming, it includes an easy-to-grasp grip. As a result, your pet will seem tidy and clean. It eliminates stray hairs and cleans the coat. It moisturizes the hair and provides a glossy shine to it.

ANDIS STANDARD DEMATTING RAKE:

The Andis Standard Dematting Rake is specifically designed to brush your pet's undercoat while keeping the topcoat smooth and healthy. This rake is ideal for groomers and pet owners who have hairy dogs, cats, or pets who shed a lot. You and your cat will have a pleasant, enjoyable, and simple grooming session thanks to the easy-grip, anti-slip handle. It's also helpful for getting rid of dead hair from your pet's coat.

TRIXIE FUR CARE GLOVE:

 Trixie Fur Care Glove nourishes the coat while brushing it, promotes blood flow, and removes dead hair and dust from the coat. Grooming is essential for all dog and cat breeds. Whether they need to be clipped, brushed, combed, or washed on a regular basis. We have bred dogs and cats with a wide range of coats and hair, including thick double coats, Taking care of your pets fur and combing your pets hair on a regular basis is especially beneficial during the seasonal changes of coat in the spring. This not only makes your four-legged companion feel better, but it also means that less dead hairs are dispersed throughout the house.

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

[tenspontaneite]

I will be gaming, caught in something challenging. The cat will chirrup at me and demand attention and knock the controller from my hands when they jump to my lap. I will take a fireball to the face and the run will end. I will complain into the fuzzy visage of the precious little creature that does not understand the world I engage with beyond the screen; they only understand that my hand should be scritching at their ears. I will oblige.

I expect to be paranoid, cooking on my electric stove with its slow-to-heat hotplates. Even when I'm done the surface will be hot enough to burn delicate paws. I will conspire to find a cover to soothe my fears; lids with holes to allow the heat to escape, and keep away the unwary creature with whom I share my life. The shape of my self-care will bend around the shape of the cat's safety. A slow expansion of my habits, one by one.

I expect to banish the cat from the living room when I go to use the treadmill. There is a soft and comfortable sofa there; some days, the cat will be sleeping, and I will feel monstrous to peel this soft and restful creature from their slumber. But I will not risk their curiosity when I run like I do, thudding on the belt at a pace that would eat miles were I outside, and shall not risk the harm that my feet might visit should they stray too close.

I will have forgotten the erstwhile consequences of leaving food on the counters. The cat will remind me, nosing at the butter I forgot to put away. The house will be cleaner; not because I have become a cleaner person, but that this creature needs it thus to be safe.

I will leave the laundry in piles on the floor, clean but forgotten. The cat will find it a fine place for sleeping, and the clumps of pale shed fur will lead me ruefully back to the washing machine again. An armoury of lint rollers will assemble in the drawers I keep near the door.

My windows will be guarded and my doors secure; summer shall not admit an escapee to the world outside. The cat toys will litter my floor.

I have not lived with a cat for eight years. In the night, I'll wake again and again at the sounds of something moving in the house, cold adrenaline leaving me still and alert in the dead of night for those seconds before I remember. But time will pass, and I will know again what it is to live with a warm living creature with a beating heart and curious eyes, and no longer shall I stir when the cat goes bump in the night.

[angelicyoongie]

desolate (3)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x  reader

— genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut

— word count: 4.3k

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou @ladymidnightt @cheese123344 @xanny91 @dinorahrodriguez @best-space-boy @dulcaet @moccahobi @keijaycreates​ @staytrillswag​ @xsmilebitesx @serendipityoreuphoria @jiminot7

Part one Part two Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen (M)

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” Jihyo’s head suddenly pops up over her computer screen, voice barely above a whisper as she sneaks a few looks around the office. The atmosphere is tenser than normal today, and it seems like your co-workers are almost afraid to breathe every time your boss storms through the open office.

You think you overheard someone talking about a few computers being hacked into from inside the company, but you’re not sure. Either way, you figure it’s a good idea to stay on the low and out of your boss' way as much as possible, unless you want to get chewed up and spit out for literally just existing.

You give Jihyo a thumbs up, eyes glued to your screen just in case someone is watching. The thought of having a girl’s night with Jihyo and Sana definitely brightens your mood enough to make it through until lunch. You already have a few movies picked out that you’ve been meaning to watch for ages, and you can’t wait to just relax and spend some time with your friend and her hybrid.

You and Jihyo both decide to eat lunch outside, braving the cold autumn winds to escape the stifling mood of the office. You find a little coffee shop that isn’t too far away, giving you decent time to eat and talk before you need to head back.

“So, how’s your little black menace doing?” Jihyo asks with a small laugh as she places a few pastries on her plate. You shrug, reacting out for a stuffed croissant. Your sore back definitely seems to point to your kitty warming up to you, considering you ended up sleeping on the couch all night with him curled up on top of your stomach. But then again, he scurried off underneath the couch with a low grumble as soon as you woke up, so you feel like it’s hard to say. You’ve never met a cat before that’s so hot and cold.

“I don’t know,” You admit, moving behind Jihyo in line to pay for your food.

“He seems to tolerate me one second and then hate me the next .. It’s hard to say,” You frown.

“Y/N ..” Jihyo pauses, her shoulders tensing before she continues, “Maybe you should consider giving him back to the shelter? Not to be mean, but you look horrible. You seem sadder than you were before you even got a cat, and news flash, you’re supposed to feel happier - not miserable,” Jihyo throws you a look over her shoulder as she moves to pay, concerned eyes briefly locking onto yours.

You feel the clump in your stomach grow, the anxious feeling you haven’t been able to shake off completely since you brought your cat home becoming bigger. Maybe you aren’t the right home for him. Maybe Jihyo is right ..

“I guess,” You mutter as Jihyo steps aside to let you pay. You can almost feel the soft fur against your fingers as you pick up your plate, uncertainty gnawing away at your thoughts as you both find a table to share.

“But I still need to try a little longer. I’m sure he’s had a rough time before he came to the shelter, stuff like that isn’t cured over night,” You reason, the tension in your body loosing up just a tad. You will take him back to the shelter if it doesn’t get better between you two, but you need to at least try first.

“A month then,” Jihyo proposes.

“If things haven’t improved between you in a month, then you take him back to the shelter. I hate seeing you so down,” She pouts, hand reaching out to squeeze yours before she starts eating her lunch.

You take a bite of your own pastry, mulling the idea over in your head as you eat. A month seems reasonable. It’ll give your cat time to settle down a little, and if he’s still so afraid that he hides from you after all those weeks, then it’s probably for the best to bring him back.

“Alright, deal. One month,” You give Jihyo a nod, your mind already racing to come up with plans of how to make your cat feel more at home.  

.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the workday is just as stiff as the first half.

“I never thought this day would end,” You groan as you and Jihyo step outside, your shoulders aching from how tense you’ve been all day.

“Tell me about it,” Jihyo huffs. Her face lights up as she spots the waiting car, probably eager to get inside and remove those god awful heels the company forces you to wear as part of your unofficial uniform.

“I’ll head off now. Text me what kind of snacks you want me to bring, okay?” Jihyo flashes you a bright smile and a wave before she’s off, climbing into the passenger seat of the car as fast as she can manage.

“I’ll be at your place at seven!” Jihyo yells out of the window as the car takes off, leaving you behind in whirlwind of dust and fallen leaves. You sigh as you turn, beginning your journey home. Your apartment is around a thirty-minute walk from work if you’re wearing good shoes, but with these heels it's probably closer to forty-five.

You would normally take the bus, but since you need to stop by a mart and get groceries, it’s honestly better to just sacrifice your feet and take a more direct route home. Thankfully the mart isn’t too busy when you get there, and you quickly find all the things you need for the dinner tonight, as well as some food to get you through the rest of the weekend.

You pause as you pass by the chicken section; hand reaching out for the chicken breasts your cat enjoyed so much before you even realize what you’re doing.

“He’ll probably be angry at me after tonight,” You reason, and food seems like the best bribery for a cat that doesn’t like to be pet.

Your arms are shaking by the time you’ve made it up the stairs to your apartment, shirt clinging uncomfortably to your back from the light sweat you’ve managed to work up.

You quickly unlock your door and step inside, bags falling to the ground with a heavy thump as you turn around. The first thing you see in the dark hallway is golden eyes staring straight at you, the black fur almost blending into the shadows. You let out a startled squeak, hand flying to your chest to calm your racing heart.

“I know I’m late kitty, I’m sorry,” You say after taking a deep breath, a small smile on your face as you try to convey just how bad you feel for delaying his dinner. You see him give a small flick of his tail, the only indicator that he’s actually listening to you as you reach down to bring your bags to the kitchen.

You don't hear him follow you, but you can feel those golden eyes tracking you as you move around the kitchen putting your groceries away. You throw a quick glance at the clock hanging over your stove as you shove the rest of the food inside the fridge.

“Shit!” You only have half an hour until your guests arrive, and you desperately need a quick shower before you do anything else. You rush towards your bathroom, just narrowly missing bumping into your cat that’s peaking at you around the corner. He hisses at the close proximity, and you let a string of sorry’s hang in the air behind you as you hurry inside, wrestling with the buttons on your shirt as you go.

You’re practically out of breath as you wrap a towel around your damp body, holding it in place as you scurry to your bedroom to find some clothes to wear. You don’t remember leaving your door open before you left for work, but you probably just didn’t close it properly. You pay it no mind as you quickly grab some fresh underwear and sweats from your closet, it’s not that big of a deal anyway.

You slip your underwear on under your towel, throwing the pants behind you on to the bed as your search for your favourite hoodie. You frown as you rummage through your clothes, hoodie nowhere in sight. You’re sure you washed it a few days ago, so it doesn’t make sense that it’s just gone. You huff, settling for throwing on a cosy sweater instead. Your hoodie search will have to be resumed later.

You can see a black ball of fur out of the corner of your eye as you tug on your pants, your cat having moved to scowl at you from the hallway, golden eyes narrowed as they watch you get dressed.

“I promise I’m making your food now kitty,” Your cat glares at you before he turns around and leaves, the motion a little weird and eerily inhuman. You could’ve sworn it almost rolled its eyes at you .. But you don’t have time to think about it, the encounter already being pushed into the back of your mind as you hurry to start making dinner.

You get the chicken ready first, setting some aside to cool as you add the rest to the dish you’re making. Jihyo sent you a recipe that apparently Sana loves, and since you figure you’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other from now on, you really want to make your friend’s hybrid like you.

“Kitty?” You call out as you place in the dish in the oven. You hear a soft disgruntled meow coming from the living room, and it’s not that hard to guess where he might be hiding. You only have a few minutes until your guests arrive, but it should be enough time for your cat to finish eating.

You bring the plate out into the living room, placing it down a little further away from the couch than you did last time. There’s a few seconds where nothing happens, the apartment quiet aside from the soft noise outside of your window.

You hear another annoyed meow before your cat emerges, and he practically gives you the cat equivalent of the stink eye as he crouches down to eat. He must’ve realized that you’re trying to coax him out from under the couch, and it seems like he isn’t too happy about it.

You busy yourself with straightening out the pillows on the couch as he eats, trying to make your small living room look a little less cramped and more put together.

“Kitty, you need to be on your best behaviour tonight,” You see a fluffy ear swivel your way as you speak.

“My friend Jihyo and her hybrid are coming over, so please don’t hiss at them, okay? Jihyo seems to dislike you enough already, and I’m sure she’ll force me to give you up if she thinks you’re dangerous,” You grimace as you fluff out the last pillow, missing how your cat’s head snaps up to look at you with wide eyes just as the door bell rings.

“Please behave kitty,” You murmur softly as you pick up the empty plate from the floor, your cat scurrying back under the couch as you drop the plate off in the kitchen. You really hope he won’t react too badly to Sana considering she’s a dog hybrid, but as long as she appears in her human form you’re sure your cat won’t mind it too much.

But of course you should’ve known that was too much to ask for.

As soon as you open the door, a fluffy white ball of fur flies through the opening, Jihyo stumbling in behind it. The little Pomeranian takes off down the hallway, feet clicking against the hardwood floor as she runs through your apartment.

“Sana!” Jihyo calls out, bags of snacks stuffed under her arms as she hurries in after her. You quickly lock the door and follow them, a bad feeling settling in your stomach as the apartment grows too quiet again. You freeze beside Jihyo as you reach the living room, eyes widening in horror as you see Sana and your cat growling at each other near the couch.

Your cat is seemingly furious, black fur standing on edge and teeth barred to mimic the look on Sana’s face. The low hiss rumbling in his chest seem to grow louder and louder, and you see Sana’s posture turning more and more rigid the longer they keep eye contact. They seem to be squaring up to fight, and you have absolutely no intention on letting that happen.

“Jihyo!” You hiss, elbowing her in the side. “Do something about Sana!”

“I don’t know what to do! She’s never been like this before!” She hisses back, not daring to tear her eyes away from the increasingly more agitated animals.

“I’ll grab her,” You say, the dog hybrid too busy growling to notice what you’re saying. Jihyo nods, a nervous expression on her face as you take a step closer. Sana doesn’t see you, but your cat does, and that brief second his eyes flicker to you seems to be enough of an opening for Sana to attack.

You lurch forward, barely managing to scoop Sana up before she has the chance to snap after your cat. You can tell your cat isn’t ready to give up the fight, its golden eyes narrowing in on you and the squirming dog in your arms.

“No kitty!” You give him a glare, but it’s like he isn’t seeing you at all, just the white fluff that seems to be threating his territory. You quickly pass Sana on to Jihyo; bags of snacks falling to the floor as she hurriedly brings her hybrid into your room to separate them. At the sound of the door clicking shut, your cat visibly relaxes, eyes finally seeing you instead of burning right through.

“Kitty,” You warn, voice stern and your hands on your hips as you stare down at him. Your cat holds your stare for a short while before it almost sounds like he huffs in annoyance. He ignores your attempt at a scolding, and instead chooses to lick his paw and clean his face while you watch in disbelief.

“Fine. Why am I even trying, you’re just a cat,” You tut. You feel a little silly, especially since you’re trying to scold an animal that doesn’t even understand what you’re saying.

“Y/N?” Jihyo’s voice calls out to you from behind the closed door. “Can we come out? Sana’s shifted.”

“Yeah, come on out,” As soon as the words leave your lips, the door flies open. You barely get a glimpse of Sana before she crashes into your arms, arms wound around your body so tightly it almost hurts to breathe.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be a bad dog,” Sana buries her face in your chest, tears staining your sweater as she trembles. Jihyo sends you a sad look over her shoulder, a little pout on her lips that seems to be begging you to forgive her. You manage to free your arms enough to wrap them around her, awkwardly patting her back as she cries.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” You say, but that only seems to make Sana cry harder.

“You’re so nice! And I’m such a bad dog, I’m so sorry!”

“Sana ..” Jihyo tries, but her voice only makes Sana cling harder to you.

“I just wanted to protect you! I smelled him inside and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Sana pulls back enough to look up at you with her big glossy puppy eyes, fluffy ears glued down against her light hair.

“It’s okay, he’s just a kitty Sana, he won’t hurt me,” You smile, reaching up to pat her head affectionately.

“No! He’s not! He’s–” A loud hiss suddenly interrupts Sana, the sound scaring her enough to make her run back to Jihyo. She cowers behind her back, cheek pressed against Jihyo's shoulder as she refuses to look at your cat.

You’re about to scold him again for scaring her, but the words get caught in your throat as you feel something brush against your legs. You look down in shock to find your cat rubbing himself against your sweats, tail curling around your leg as he moves around.

“Uhm, does he normally do that?” Jihyo raises an eyebrow, the conversation you two had earlier in the day fresh in her mind.

“No?” You look at her with wide eyes as your cat raises its back, eyes blinking up at you. Does it want you to .. You slowly reach down with your hand, hesitating before your fingers can brush against the black fur.

Your cat doesn’t seem to mind your hand coming closer, but you still hold your breath as your fingers finally touches the silky fur, running a few fingers along his spine in a quick pat. Your cat freezes at the contact, body locking up underneath your fingertips as they run along his back.

“Sorry kitty,” You snatch your hand away, stepping back to give your cat some space. Sana is still hiding behind a dumbfound Jihyo, and you feel terrible that your evening started out in the way that it did.

“Let’s grab some dinner, it should be done by now! I made your favourite,” You smile kindly at Sana as her eyes hesitantly meet yours.

“Really?” You can see her tail wagging slowly back and forth, a small smile spreading across her lips at the thought of food.

“Yeah, let’s eat in the kitchen,” You laugh as Sana starts pushing Jihyo sideways in the direction of the kitchen, using her owner as a shield against your cat the whole way. Thankfully your cat stays in the living room during dinner, but you can see Sana’s apprehension returning the moment you suggest watching a movie. However as you walk into the living room, he’s nowhere to be found. You even sneak a quick peak under the couch, and there’s no kitty hiding there either.

You shrug, quickly getting the snacks the girls brought ready, and putting on the movie all of you decided you want to watch. You and Jihyo have taken over the small couch while Sana has curled up in the chair next to it.

“Sana?” You call out, “You know there’s room on the couch if you want to sit here?” You see her ears perk up, tail wagging as she looks at Jihyo for permission.

“Can I?” She asks, eyes bright at the thought of being allowed to snuggle up to the both of you.

You hear a dull thud from your bedroom, your cat quickly shimmying out between the crack in the door. So that’s where he was, you think.

He bolts over to the couch before Jihyo can even open her mouth, quickly jumping up into your lap and making himself at home. Your hands are frozen by your side, mouth hanging open in surprise as you watch him lie down and start kneading your shirt.

“Kitty?” You ask, but the only response you get is an ear twitching in your direction. You can tell that your cat’s eyes are trained on Sana, golden eyes barely blinking as his claws dig deeper into the fabric of your sweater. Maybe he understands a little more than you first thought.

“Kitty?” Jihyo snaps your attention to her, a questioning look on her face. “You haven’t named him yet?”

You shrug, lowering a hand to gently scratch across your cat’s head. This time he doesn’t freeze up, and your smile grows a little goofy as you feel him snuggle closer to your hand.

“No? I don’t know, none of the names I’ve thought of seems to fit him.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s gonna tell you himself,” Jihyo snorts, reaching out for the popcorn that’s placed on the table in front of you.

“I guess not,” You giggle, amused by how pliant your cat has gone in your hands. You’re practically supporting his head in your hand, and it’s obvious that he’s enjoying the petting by the low slightly broken attempts at purring your hear coming from his chest. But he’s still refusing to look away from Sana, eyes never closing fully despite how sleepy he seems.

“Yeah .. That would be weird,” Sana gives you both an uncomfortable chuckle, eyes flickering between your cat and the TV. You spend most of the movie mesmerized at the black fur beneath your fingertips, eyes hardly straying from the cat in your lap. He seems much nicer and softer like this, and you can hardly believe that it’s the same cat that attacked your arm just a week ago.

As the movie goes on, you often find yourself chiming in a beat too late when the two other laugh, earning you a few weird looks and eye rolls. But how can they fault you for not paying attention when you’ve got a lap full of a black fluffycuddly cat? It would be a crime to not pay attention to him.

The movie slowly comes to an end, the snacks on the table half eaten, and Sana’s ears drooping down sleepily. You’re about to suggest putting on another one, feeling a little bad that you basically ignored the whole movie aspect of a movienight, but Jihyo waves you off before you can even speak.

“We’ve all had a rough day, maybe it’s better to call it a night?” She reaches over to run her fingers through Sana’s hair, a tender smile on her lips that makes something ache inside your chest.

“Sure,” Come to think of it, you are pretty tired yourself. Work was stressful and almost having your kitty and Sana fight definitely didn’t lessen the tension you’ve been feeling in your body all day either. You gently ease your cat off your lap, but despite its sleepy protests it quickly settles down on the couch as it realizes that your guests are leaving.

“I had a nice evening despite .. the little hiccup at the beginning,” You smile, reaching up to ruffle Sana’s hair. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as she suddenly scoops you up in another hug. She rubs her face against your neck as you pat her head, the dog hybrid really being too cute for her own good.

“Please be careful okay? You don’t know– I-I don’t trust him,” Sana shoots a glare in the direction of the living room, and your building amusement at her distain for your cat dies down as you see the seriousness in her eyes.

“Of course,” You give her hand a squeeze, the tone of her voice making something weird tug in your stomach.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” You give Jihyo a quick hug before you wave them off, a sigh leaving your lips as you lock the door behind you. Sana’s expression keeps floating around in your head, and you can’t seem to shake it no matter how hard you try.

You pause as you enter the living room, your cat blinking sleepily at you from the couch. You don’t really see how he can do anything bad aside from being moody and a little mean, but Sana does have actual animal genes and you don’t. You’re just not sure if hers are extra sceptical because she’s a dog and your cat is well, a cat.

“Night kitty,” You murmur as you turn off the lights, leaving the clean up for tomorrow. You hear a low hiss behind you just as you turn to close the door, a black paw scratching through the crack. Your cat has never shown any interest in your bedroom before, so you open the door, curious to see what he wants.

Your cat doesn’t even spare you a second glance as he prances inside, he just head directly for your bed and curls up in the middle of it. You roll your eyes at his shift in personality, quickly tugging off your clothes to find a shirt to sleep in.

You suddenly feel oddly exposed in your room, like someone’s gaze is watching you intently. A quick look back at the bed confirms that your cat is already asleep, eyes closed and tail tucked up over them, but you still tug on your shirt before you remove your bra, the weird notion not really going away.

You just chalk it up to Sana’s words making you a little paranoid, and you shake your head as you carefully slide into bed.

You end up practically curled around your cat, the position not very comfortable, but you’re unwilling to disturb him now that he's has finally fallen asleep. You guess all those memes about people letting their animals hog their beds had some truth to them after all.

It doesn’t take long for the exhaustion of the day to catch up with you, quickly pulling you under into a restful sleep.

There’s a wet sensation of something cold dragging against your skin, not really enough to wake you up, but it still drags you out of the dream you had. You feel it moving across your neck and collar bones, and your sleep-riddled brain barely makes the connection that it seems to be covering up the areas that Sana rubbed her face against earlier.

You huff, snuggling your face deeper into your pillow.

You’re pretty sure you fall back asleep, because the last thing you remember from your dream is a hot breath spilling against your ear, and a low gruff voice whispering Yoongi.

- - - - Hello! Hope you enjoyed the third chapter of desolate! I know things are building up a little slow, but we're getting there! The next chapter will have some surprises :)

My inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon!

[themagicmistress]

He finds her in a back alley dumpster, head down, fur matted in ugly, spotted clumps that speak of long, hungry months and too few meals.

When Magnus fishes out a piece of jerky from his front pocket, she doesn’t even growl at him. Instead, her tail wags lightly, shifting the dust around behind her.

“Hey, buddy,” he mutters, approaching slow. “What’re you doing all alone out here?”

There’s a flash of tooth that has him retracting his fingers, and the jerky is scarfed down as she tears into it, messy. Her muzzle is grey, he notes, the fur around her scruff shot through with thin lines of silver. She sniffs after finishing and then growls when he reaches his hand out.

Magnus freezes. “Hey,” he starts, “it’s okay. I’m alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She gives him dubious eyes, pupils big and black, cautious in a way that hurts his soul. “Really,” he promises.

She leans her wet doggy nose forward and sniffs the palm of his hand, leaning her head down and giving him permission to scratch the back of her ears.

Well, he’d always wanted a dog, right? Magnus still wanted a dog, in fact. It’d been ages since he’d gotten to take care of one. Since he’s woken up to paws on his chest, a tail bouncing against his legs. It’d been a long time. Maybe too long.

She doesn’t resist when he picks her up and brings her to the vet either.

The first thing she does when Magnus brings her home is bound across his home. He runs in after her. “Julia!” he calls out, half-laughing despite himself. “I’ve got a surprise! Make sure the studio is closed.” God, he hopes he closed it before leaving.

He rushes into the kitchen to find her with an armful of German Shepherd, hands awkwardly wrapped around fur and a pattern of muddy pawprints up the side of her skirt. Julia turns to him, eyes alight, a delighted little grin dancing across her face. Her fingers are stained with wood polish and the sunlight makes her deep brown skin glow through the kitchen window.

“Is this delightful little lady the surprise?” Julia coos to her, and the dog in her arms licks the side of her face, flat pink tongue leaving a streak of saliva behind. She laughs in bright peals. “Hi, honey, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“You don’t mind?” Magnus edges awkwardly. “Ah, I’m sorry, I know I didn’t ask and this is your home too.” He falters and doesn’t continue. He doesn’t want to bring her back.

Given the mock-offended look she gives him, his girlfriend doesn’t either.

“This cutie? Absolutely not,” Julia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Mine now. But maybe yours for a couple seconds. Can you take her? My fingers are sticky and I don’t want to get anymore polish in her fur.”

“Oh! Yeah, here,” Magnus helps the no-longer stray to the ground.

He finally manages to tear his eyes away from Julia and sees a row of wooden bows on the kitchen counter, carefully propped up on long planks as to not get any polish on the table. Reality doesn’t quite come crashing down, because the rebellion is an ever-present weight in the back of his mind, but his chest tightens at the reminder.

Their new dog sniffs slightly at his side. “Just trying to bulk up for the final push against Kalen,” Julia says, turning to wash her hands in the sink. “I have about thirty more in the studio. What do you think?”

Magnus plucks one of the strings. It twangs under his fingers. “Jules?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s gonna be able to fire these?” He says unsurely. “I mean, the workmanship is excellent, and they look great, but…”

Julia frowns at them, tapping at one near the end of the counter to check for tackiness before holding it up. Careful, she pulls back the string and her biceps flex as it draws back with ease. Magnus gulps. Her eyes dance, mischievous and knowing as she puts it back down before she draws a breath.

“Yeah,” Julia grimaces at the row of bows, “I see what you mean. I’ll re-string them a bit later. Forget about work for now, did you have a name in mind for her?”

The dog jumps up onto his legs, paws on his pants and Magnus reaches down a fond hand to scratch between her ears. “I was thinking,” he hesitates, “what do you think about ‘Star?’”

It’s not quite right. It doesn’t feel wrong, but it’s just shy of the goalpost, like biting into banana bread without chocolate chips in it: not bad, but weird. Julia still nods, face warming as she looks at the new addition to their home.

“I like it.”

~

He’ll find them together on their off-days, few and far between, Star curled in Julia’s lap as she takes the time to read one of those detective novels she loves, but never has the chance to look at.

Star will look at her with pleading eyes whenever his girlfriend strays too far to the door, leash dragging after her. Star follows her around the house too, so much that they’ve had to install another, gated door in the entrance to the workshop because she’ll try to wander in if they’ve forgotten to close it behind them. During strategic meetings for the rebellion, Magnus will look around the planning room and Star will be around Julia’s legs because everyone they know is at the meeting too and they can’t leave her home alone.

The revolution is no place for a dog. It’s no place to have a life either, but then, he plans to do something about that.

It’s apparent to both of them who the favourite is. “Who’s the best girl in the whole wide world?” Julia says to Star, a goopy grinning mess on her feet in their bed.

“Love you,” Magnus says: to Star, to Julia. To whatever gave him a home, a better future on the horizon, a family he loves, and a ring with a wooden rose carved on top, tucked away in the second drawer of their bedside table.

She shifts closer to him, a warm weight at his side.

Julia pulls his chin to her and plants a kiss on his lips, warm and soft. Then, she pulls back and Magnus blinks, dazed but happy.

“Say that again,” She tells him, eyebrow quirked. “But this time, don’t make it sound like a goodbye, alright?” 

Magnus grins, a little sheepish. “I love you, Jules.”

A pleased grin spreads across her face. “I love you too.”

The week after Governor Kalen goes down, they take some time off to go to the park, toss around a ball. Magnus actually brought five balls, because he keeps throwing them a little too enthusiastically and they go bouncing outside the gates of the park.

“No, girl,” Julia giggles as Star jumps up onto her pants, “bring it back to Magnus, okay? Oh, alright, fine.” She seems to begrudgingly add another stick to her pile.

A guy nearby grumbles about the lack of sticks in the park and Magnus raises his voice. “Hey, Jules? Didja know they’ve been calling me ‘hero of the people?’” Magnus watches him pale and proceed to fuck off with no small amount of petty satisfaction.

“Yeah, babe! I know!”

“Isn’t that a great name!”

“I like ‘Maggie’ better!” Jules yells back and throws a stick. Magnus gets knocked over as a ball of fur collides hard with him and when he manages to push himself up, she’s laughing so hard her hands are wrapped around her stomach and her face is red.

“Just stand there,” Magnus shouts back, grinning too, “see if I care. Our dog loves me more than you and I’m pretty sure she just gave me a concussion!”

Julia throws another stick and they have learned nothing from their mistakes because this time Magnus really does get a concussion.

~

He finds her across the bridge that once connected to the Craftsmens’ Corridor, snout between her paws, fur coated in dust so thick she looks like a grey dog instead of a brown and black one. Magnus searches for Julia, upturns every outcropping of Raven’s Roost just in case there’s some chance she might have made it out, that she might have survived. Then, he does the same for Kalen, but for very different reasons. When he can’t find either of them, Magnus cries into Star’s fur.

He sets up a camp on the outside of town, just a little tent, something to put a roof over Star’s head. Magnus sleeps with her at his side and he is always cold, with the damp forest grass soaking through the thin layer between him and the ground, the clothes on his back that do nothing to warm his fingers, and each breath calcifying in his lungs like liquid nitrogen. Star becomes the only warm thing about him.

The first day after he sets up camp, Magnus wakes up to find her gone.

“Star?” he calls out, instantly alert. “Star?” Magnus bounds out of the tent, having slept in his clothes, and yells out to the forest. “Star? Girl, are you out there?” He searches, half-blind and panicked, not realizing where his feet are taking him until he’s there.

She’s at the edge of the cliff again, staring hopefully out over the two posts where a bridge once connected to his home. There is no bridge anymore. There’s no Craftsmens’ Corridor and instead there lies the open ocean, stretching in front of him for endless miles.

He walks to her side in a daze, a dream-like state. The horizon’s wrong, he thinks. From Hammer and Tongs, he could see the ocean, breathtaking and unending. Here, the other stone outcroppings lay scattered and empty to his right, marring his fantasy that for just a second, he’s home again.

“C’mon, Star,” Magnus mutters. She doesn’t move or look at him, just staring out over the water. He can’t find it in himself to tear her away, so he doesn’t. They sit there together until the sun goes down.

The next day, he wakes to find Star gone again.

Magnus keeps going there with her, leaving only to find them food. He goes to the cliffside in his dreams until there is no difference between his waking hours and sleeping hours. He always wakes up, disappointed that his wife’s never in them.

Eventually, he has to drag himself away. Star needs food, actual dog food and that takes money. 

At first, he leaves her with the Burringters, a family with a little girl that shrieks in delight at the sight of Star. They’re some of the last stragglers on their way out of town.

“Make sure she has her ball when she’s feeling nippy,” Magnus tells Mrs. Burringter and places a ratty green ball in her hand with long tooth marks gouged into its sides. “Sometimes she forgets how much she weighs, so just— be aware. Of that.”

“Of course,” the halfling woman says, hair done up into a high ponytail, belly swelled with many months of pregnancy. “Where’re you looking to find work?”

“Oh, uh, Birchmore.”

She nods. “I think Greg’s got a cousin up there if you needed help finding something to do. He’s got a little business importing leathers.”

Magnus blinks at the bit of unexpected generosity. “I’m good, thanks. Nice of you to offer, but I’m alright by myself for now.”

Mrs. Burrington eyes him and all of a sudden he’s small again, being stared down by his mother and he almost thinks she’s going to lick her finger and wipe off a bit of dust from his cheek. “You know, if you need something, we’re always here.”

“That’s—”

“Not just us,” She puts a hand to her chest. “Anyone from Raven’s Roost, Magnus. Any of us.”

Magnus isn’t sure what to say. He settles for, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The sun rises and sets on the ocean and the two of them are there to watch it every time. Or, almost every time. Eventually, people leave Raven’s Roost and he can’t leave Star alone by herself so he brings her with him when he needs to find work, to buy food and essentials.

A part of him thinks Star needs to grieve, to take that time before moving on with him. Another knows that isn’t the reason he stays. 

She’s all he has left of her.

One day Magnus wakes up and Star hasn’t gone, and there is nothing warm about her presence at all. Her paws are on his chest, eyes closed and he knew she wasn’t a young dog, but somehow he’d still managed to miss the rapidly greying hair of her muzzle, the way she dragged her feet back to the tent.

Or maybe Star hadn’t died of old age. Maybe it had just been a broken heart.

He buries her beside Julia’s empty grave, makes her a wooden marker with simple lettering. She loved and was loved, he scrawls across it and the writing is crooked, far too messy for what she’d deserved, but it’s the best he can do.

The next day, Magnus packs up his bag and his tent, hefts his ax over his shoulder, and leaves the sea behind. A part of him already misses it and still, he knows it’s not the town he misses. 

Magnus doesn’t turn back when he leaves Raven’s Roost for the last time.

He knows he’ll see them again.

~

Link to A03 version here.

[sugarsnap-caely]

A Cozy Winter’s Day

Large flakes fluttered and fell between the bare branches of snow-covered trees. It had been snowing for quite sometime earlier and there had to have been at least a foot of the white crystals on the ground.

A window fogged up as a very large fluffy dog leaned up against the back of a chair, it’s nose nearly touching the glass as it looked outside with big longing eyes.

Marvin leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he watched the dog yearn. “Hey, Jackie,” he called, tilting his head back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, Marvie?” Jackie poked his head around the corner of the hallway.

“I think someone wants to go outside and play.”

Jackie stepped fully around the corner, still holding on to a holiday decoration he had been in the process of hanging up. He stood just behind his boyfriend, listening to his death omen doggie give a small whine. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He put down the decoration on the coffee table as he stepped over to the door to grab his coat and a leash.

As his owner passed him, the dog turned in his direction, panting affectionately. Once he noticed that Jackie was grabbing for the leash he immediately bounded off the couch, his tail wagging as he bounced at Jackie’s feet.

“You ready to go outside, boy? You wanna go outside?!” Jackie leaned down, pulling a hat on his head as he baby-talked the dog.

The dog let out a very loud, Broof!

That was all the answer Jackie needed as he hooked up the leash and opened up the front door, running out with his companion.

Marvin smiled, watching his boyfriend through the window as he and the dog ran across the yard. He sat down on the couch, admiring the view. The dog bounded and jumped, trying to nip at the flakes falling from the sky. In turn, Jackie stuck out his tongue, trying to catch them as well. However, he failed to notice the leash slowly beginning to wrap around his legs. Marvin, on the other hand, did not miss this detail as he bit his lip in anticipation.

Sure enough, the dog jumped up in the air, and in one sudden movement, Jackie found his face planted in the snow.

Marvin howled with laughter, nearly falling off the couch as he hugged his sides.

Just outside, Jackie was wiping the snow off his nose but having a difficult time between laughing and his dog trying to lick it off himself. “Down, boy!” He ruffled the dog’s fur, kissing him on the top of his head as he picked himself back up.  As he dusted the snow off his hair he looked around. He breathed a sigh of contentment, watching as the light made the snow glisten and sparkle. “If only Marvie were out here to see this.”

“Right behind you, silly!” The next thing Jackie knew, something cold and wet pelted the back of his neck. He whipped around, seeing Marvin wearing his cape and chuckling as several snowballs floated around him.

Jackie beamed, laughing. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who wanted to play outside!”

“Damn straight!”

Jackie just barely managed to dodge another snowball as he ran for the cover of the tree, his dog bounding behind him. He swiftly crouched on the ground, beginning to create his own line of icy ammunition. Marvin may have had magic on his side, but Jackie certainly outdid him when it came to agility and strength. Peeking from around the tree he lobbed one of his snowballs at his boyfriend, managing to pelt him in the shoulder. He ducked back around, pumping his fist in celebration.

“You can’t hide behind that tree forever!” Marvin called, creeping closer.

“Try me!” Jackie regretted it immediately as snowballs fell from the air above him. He threw his arms over his head, running out from behind the tree. “Hey! That’s cheating!!” The smile on his face betrayed the anger in his voice.

“You call it cheating, I call it an advantage!” Marvin laughed, chasing after his boyfriend as he dodged the snowballs being thrown back at him. He was on his tail. 

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. The dog was now barreling towards him. He yelped, turning around and running the other way.

“Now who’s got the advantage!” Jackie yelled as he chased after Marvin. With one final leap, he tackled him sending the both of them into the snow.

Once again, they found themselves laughing heartedly.

“I guess it was my turn to get a face full of snow, huh?” Marvin chuckled, doing his best to shake the hair out of his snow like a dog.

Jackie didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a small sigh, a lopsided smile on his face as he stared at Marvin. The snow stuck to his boyfriend’s lashes, and the sunlight was causing them to sparkle and twinkle. Combined with the blue irises, Marvin’s eyes looked like the night sky. It matched perfectly with the inside of his cape. How did a dope like him end up with someone so pretty?

“Cuz you’re a handsome dope.”

Jackie blinked, blushing as he realized he’d said that out loud. “I--well...uhhhh,” he stammered, trying to hide his head in his coat like a turtle.

Marvin chuckled. “Come on,” the magician said as he got to his feet, holding out his hand to help his boyfriend up. “While you might think the snow looks pretty on me, it’s freezing out here, and I’d like to be warm and toasty.”

“Well, that’s what you get when you don’t wear a coat or hat, Marvie.” Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder, his face still red like a cherry. “Besides, you’re doing a great job of keeping me warm.”

Marvin picked up the dog’s leash. “Oh, hush. Let’s just go back in and make some hot cocoa.” Although, now his face was a little warmer as a blush of his own dusted his cheeks.

~~~~

The two of them curled up on the couch, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands as the fireplace gently crackled. Marvin’s head leaned against Jackie’s shoulder as the two of them watched a movie start-up on the television. His hand gently stroked and scratched his cat’s ears as he purred at his feet.

He had traded his pants, shirt, vest, and cape for a pair of Jackie’s sweats. Once again, he had forgotten to do laundry and was left with almost no clothes. Thankfully, Jackie had let him borrow some of his own. Marvin rubbed his face affectionately against the hood of the sweatshirt. Where would he be without his big, strong hero?

Beside him, Jackie took a sip of cocoa from his mug. He sighed, setting down his mug and wrapping an arm around Marvin, giving him a light squeeze.

Marvin turned his head at the contact, pursing his lips and trying to hold back a laugh. However, he couldn’t hold back the red hue that spread across his face.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jackie raised an eyebrow, an amused chuckle escaping his lips as he turned to look at him.

That did it. Marvin giggled nearly spilling the contents of his mug as he did his best to set it down. “You--you’ve got--” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he caught the confusion on Jackie’s face and a new wave of giggles washed over him.

“Well come on, spit it out, or your cat’s gonna leave his spot, and I know how much you hate that.”

Marvin wiped the tears prickling at the corner of his eye as his giggle fit died down. “Alright, alright.” He pulled his cat back towards the couch, causing the feline to let out a slightly annoyed mewl. He grinned, the laughter still lingering in his voice as he continued. “Jackie, you’ve got whipped cream for a mustache, and it’s on your nose, dumbass.”

Jackie crossed his eyes as he looked down at his nose. Sure enough, there was a generous coating of sugary cream. He licked it off his lips, wiping his hand across his face.

Marvin’s giggles came back for a moment and he covered his mouth with his hand. “Hey, Jackie.”

“What is it now, Marvie?” Jackie was nervous. How else was he going to embarrass himself today?

Marvin glanced up, smiling. “Look.”

Jackie looked up. Dangling above their heads was a small clump of mistletoe. He could just barely see the whisps of Marvin’s magic disappearing into the air around it. “Oh no.”

Marvin’s grin widened. He was blushing full force now as Jackie looked back at him. “Oh yes.”

“Must you be so cliche?” Jackie said, giving Marvin’s shoulder another squeeze.

“Only if it gets a reaction like that out of you.” He poked Jackie’s cheek indicating the tomato red tone.

Jackie chuckled as he cradled Marvin’s face with his hand. “Speak for yourself. You’re redder than my sweatshirt.”

Marvin leaned into Jackie’s hand, humming contentedly. “I love you so much, Jackie.”

Jackie craned his head closer to Marvin’s as the two of them looked into each other’s eyes. “I love you too, Marvie.”

The two of them locked their lips together, embracing as the fireplace crackled and burned like the fire they shared in their hearts for each other. And that was all the warmth they needed.

~~~~

AN: This story is based on @inspiredrawaw’s Death Omen AU (seriously go check them out). The Marvelspeticeye ship is so cute I can’t. I wanted to do something for this amazing AU but I’m not as confident in my drawing skills as I am in my writing skills. But anyway, I’ve been thinking about writing something like this for a little while now. It finally started snowing today, and so this just POPPED into my head. I couldn’t resist.  (I would have had it done earlier but I had to go to work...)

This is my first time really writing something romantic, and I hope I did well. I also hope that I got the characterization right, and I hope not too much of my own versions bled into this story. All in all though, this was very fun to write. ^^

Also, this is a bit of a holiday gift for them, so I hope you like it. ^^

[charlotte-balfours-garden]

a memory

cw: graphic description of a dead body, death in general

[everything's on ao3 too]

-1880-

It was when his mother called him back to the house with an unfamiliar urgency in her voice that Eli knew he was now without a father.

He’d been playing out in the meadows with his dog for most of the day and was now resting in the shadow of the great oak tree, plucking daisies apart and tossing pebbles over the neighbor’s fence as far as he could.

He knew he should have been there by his side, but it was so, so hard.

Dad had already looked horrible when they had washed him and changed the sheets that morning, pale and drained, and he’d been too weak to even groan when they had rolled him onto his side.

After breakfast, Eli’s mother had gathered his sisters and him in the kitchen and carefully explained that daddy would likely be gone by nightfall, maybe sooner, and that they should try and make his last hours as pleasant as possible.

She had then sat down by his bedside and held her husband’s hand while Millie and Ada settled on the other side of the mattress and took turns telling him about their adventures down by the creek or in the neighbor’s garden. Eli had dropped in every now and then, but truth be told he found it unbearable to see his father like this, the man who had always been full of energy and kindness reduced to a sickly, sweating, empty shell, neither fully conscious nor fully unconscious.

So when he heard his mother’s call now, this was all the confirmation he needed. She wouldn’t have left his side if he was still alive. Eli told Sammy to stay put and hesitantly made his way over to the house, kicking off his too-big shoes by the door.

The bedroom door was open, the stink of sickness still heavy in the air.

It was too loud in the room. Ada sat weeping in a corner, his mother was sniffing into her handkerchief, bombarded with questions by Millie, who was far too young to fully grasp what was going on.

They shouldn’t be this loud. Barefoot, Eli walked up to the bed. Despite being a coffinmaker’s son, he hadn’t seen a great deal of dead bodies before, and especially not those of people he held dear. First thing he saw was a strangely shriveled hand resting on the white sheets. Eli could still make out some wood dust under the fingernails from when his dad had labored in his workshop a mere week ago, and in that moment he knew that this image would follow him for the rest of his life.

Eli thought that he looked very lonely in the big bed.

And why was his hand so wrinkly? He was barely 30. Granted, the rest of his father looked older too, the greyish skin pulled tightly over his skull, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes half open still, a flash of blue in the light of the afternoon sun seeping through the window.

Eli slowly reached out and followed the outline of his dad’s index finger with his own. A few days ago he would have sworn that he knew this hand by touch alone, anywhere, anytime, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“And now?” he asked into the room, too loud, every sound was too loud.

His mother went and opened the window (“For his soul to go on.”), then took Eli’s right hand and Millie his left, and like this they quietly stood in front of the bed for a while, until Millie grew bored and joined her sister in the corner, attempting to make her laugh through the tears, to little avail. Eli looked up to his mother. She held her head low, eyes closed, black braid falling over her shoulder. Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t make out what she said, and he didn’t want to. Maybe she was praying, though he had never known his parents to be particularly religious. Maybe she was just saying her farewells. She squeezed his hand a few times as if to make sure he was still there, and Eli didn’t know what to do. What to say to his mother, to his father, the soul was surely gone by now anyway? How long could it take one to float the short distance from the bed over to the window?

He watched some dust specks dance in the sun, watched his sisters, anything to not look at the gaunt figure on the bed again, until the feeling of nausea he had successfully suppressed until now threatened to overcome him. Gasping, he broke free from his mother’s grip and made for the door, ran barefoot out into the fields, ran, ran, ran until his sides ached and his lungs felt like they might burst any moment.

Then he bent over and threw up his breakfast and the weight of a hundred stones in his stomach was finally gone.

He wiped his mouth and called for Sammy and together they made their way back to the old oak. In the distance he could see the neighbors working away in their vegetable garden and for a moment he wondered if he should tell them, but why would they care, and what could he say to make them understand?

He sat down on one of the tree’s knobby roots and began picking at his nail beds until they bled. He had heard from some classmates the final words of advice their dying fathers had given them: You’re the man of the house now, and take care of your mother, or alternatively the baby, or the business.

His father had said no such things.

He hadn’t said anything at all.

Within a week he had wasted away, and here Eli sat and would give anything for a handful of words from him, hoarsely uttered into his ear, preferably I’ve some gold buried up in the hills, or I never told you about your millionaire auntie in Saint Denis, or I’m proud of you, son.

It didn’t even matter, he just wanted to hear his voice one more time.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to focus on the tickling of grass between his toes, or the birdsong, or the flock of ravens over by the scarecrow, and eventually he resorted to scratching Sammy’s ears, made the soft fur his anchor.

What was a town without its coffinmaker?

Soon someone else would come and step in, a total stranger, and Eli wondered if his family would be allowed to stay in the little house that was connected to the workshop, but he knew it was unlikely.

Just last night he had dreamt that his father had bought him his first pocket watch at the general store, a beautiful silver thing, engraved with all kinds of flowers and vines. That would never happen now, but it reminded him of something.

“Come on,” he said more to himself than to Sammy, and in the warm light of the setting sun boy and dog ran down to the creek.

***

When Eli returned to the house, it was already dark.

He found the bedroom empty except for Millie, who sat on the floor and played with a wooden horse figurine.

“Where’s dad?” he asked.

“Mom and the doctor brought him to the workshop.”

Of course they did. They had no immediate family nearby that would want to come and see him, so why keep him in the bedroom any longer than necessary. He could see the reasoning behind that, he really could, but the fact that he was just gone so quickly and now laying in the cool, dark workshop all alone still felt like a slap in the face.

Eli looked down at the bluebells he had picked by the stream and laid them out on the nightstand when a strange thought struck him.

He will be buried in one of his own coffins.

Nausea clumped his intestines again. What if it would be one of the coffins he, Eli, had so eagerly helped to build? Had he polished a coffin lid, unsuspecting that it would later rot together with the ruins of his father, the ruins of his childhood?

Business had been going well lately, not good enough to put a significant amount of money aside, but good enough to feed a family of five, a dog and a mule, and Eli had often skipped school to help out in the workshop. A few weeks back, his father had even started to make allusions to Eli continuing the business one day, making him beam with pride.

But not so soon!

He was ten years old (though eleven next month) and could barely count to 100, let alone spell out more than his and his sisters’ names. He couldn’t build a coffin, he couldn’t even lift a plank of wood on his own. He was scared of the saws and the hammers and the nails, because he had seen what had happened to his dad’s left hand.

On the nightstand next to the flowers he saw his father’s old pocket watch, ticking on despite all. The chain was twisted, but the case was as polished as ever. He reached out to it but pulled back before the cool metal could touch his fingertips. He should wash his hands first.

“Where’s mom?” he asked, but Millie was lost in a world of her own.

He found his mother by the kitchen fire, cradling Ada in her lap and swinging gently back and forth in the rocking chair dad had built for her as a wedding gift. Ada was half asleep, exhausted from crying, and his mother had buried her face in her daughter’s curly hair, eyes closed, soft.

“Mom?” Eli stopped in the doorway, not wanting to disrupt.

She looked up, her eyes puffy and red, her braid mostly undone.

“Oh Elijah. I’m so sorry. Where have you been?” Her voice was too much.

“I--” he shrugged.

“Come here,” she said, and he did, slowly, the floor was like sand, like it wanted to swallow him whole.

And when he finally made it, when he fell into his mother’s warm arms, huddling against his little sister, something deep inside of him came loose, and he began to sob and shake and couldn’t make it stop.

And his mother stroked his narrow back and kissed the crown of his head and said It’s gonna be all right, we’ll be fine again and again and again, and as much as he wanted to, Eli didn’t believe a single word.

[justablobfish]

Holding out in a snowstorm together/Getting snowed in together

Day 15 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

______

What a prick, Lambert thinks as he urges his horse to go faster. 

He has to hurry if he still wants to make it to Kaer Morhen before the mountain pass snows over. 

Who the fuck takes on a contract this close to the beginning of winter? You're supposed to find a safe place to hibernate, just like the monsters do. What point is there in tracking into the mountains and slaying a beast, that won't do anything but sleep for the next three months anyway? It'll still be there in spring, so why bother with it now? 

"It's good coin, Lambert," he can hear Aiden's voice echo in his head. 

What a moron. It's not his problem if Aiden wants to be stranded for the winter. Just because they did a few jobs together in the past couple of months Lambert doesn't owe him anything. 

Soon enough he's going to enjoy the hot springs and the crazy Cat can lie dead in a ditch for all he cares. 

It's not like Aiden had asked him to stay. Instead he'd given Lambert a choice; stay to help with the contract or head to Kaer Morhen. And Lambert had chosen the sensible option, thank you very much. 

Aiden had only shrugged and let him get on his way. 

That's the worst part of it. 

Why had he just accepted it? Why hadn't he asked Lambert to stay?

What an asshole. Lambert doesn't need him. 

Only when his horse whinnies in protest, does he realise that he's spurred her on to a gallop. He sighs and allows her to slow down and pick the pace herself. No point in taking his sour mood out on her, when Aiden is the target of his ire. 

He looks up to the sky to determine how much time he still has to make it to the place he can't quite call his home. And freezes. He’d been too busy being stuck in his own head and hadn’t noticed the weather changing. The wind has picked up and so has the soft snowfall, to the point that Lambert can’t actually see the sky anymore. If this keeps up, he’ll have a full blown blizzard on his hands soon.

There’s still enough time for Lambert to make it to the next town and find shelter. Aiden on the other hand is trailing the monster on the far side of the mountain range and won't even notice the storm until it's immediately upon him. 

But that's not his problem. Aiden hadn’t cared when Lambert left. Why should he care about Aiden's fate, then? 

"Fucking bastard," Lambert mumbles under his breath and turns his horse around. 

He still remembers what the Alderman said about the creature. It's not like he had paid attention or anything, but he was in the same room when Aiden had taken the contract. From the description it sounds a lot like a Yeti. Which means it must have a lair somewhere up in the mountains, a natural cave or cavern probably. 

The track up is risky and treacherous, Lambert remembers as much from when he hunted here in the height of summer. With the snow, it's going to be even worse, so he decides to leave his horse at the local inn's stables. It'll only hinder him in his search for the crazy Cat. 

Then he heads up the steep mountain path. 

The bad news is, the storm hits before he can find Aiden. 

The good news don't exist. Just like with every other goddamn thing in his life. 

Everything around him is white. He can barely see his own hand when he holds it in front of his face. The wind pulls on his clothes and pushes against him. More than once does he stumble over a loose rock and nearly falls down the steep cliff going down right next to the narrow path. 

There's no fucking way he'll be able to find anyone in these conditions. He might very well walk right past Aiden without seeing him. 

The smart thing to do would be to turn around and save his own hide. Aiden's a lost cause and it's his own fucking fault, anyway. 

Lambert presses on. 

The cold seems to seep into his bones and every step forward becomes a conscious effort. 

"Aiden!" he screams, but the wind tears the words from his lips and drowns them in the howling of the storm. 

Just one step in front of the other. Just a little further. Just a little bit more before he'll give up and turn back around. Just one more step. 

He barely notices when the path becomes wider. Nothing changes, except that he isn't in constant danger of falling over the edge anymore, even though the wind has become stronger still, and he barely manages to walk in a straight line. 

He almost doesn’t notice the flash of light somewhere diagonally in front of him, like a flash of fire that flares up and immediately extinguishes again. He thinks it's just a trick of his mind, at first. 

Then a large, looming shadow appears, seemingly out of nowhere, nothing but a dark outline against the contrast of the white snow swirling around him. 

Before Lambert's frozen brain can process that information, let alone attack, the shadow raises a giant paw and swipes down on something right in front of it. Lambert draws his sword and charges. 

Hidden by the storm he almost doesn't see the creature's other paw coming down on him. He throws himself into the snow at the last moment, rolls over the icy ground and comes back up standing in front of the creature's broad chest. 

Slowly, he looks up at the face hovering above him. This close he can make out more details than just a vague outline. Small beady eyes glare down at him. 

The creature draws the blackened flesh of its lip back into a snarl, revealing a giant maw full of razor sharp teeth. Foul, rotten breath washes over Lambert despite the storm's best efforts. 

One of the horns protruding from the thing's ugly visage is broken off at the base, but the other still looks sturdy and, judging by the discoloration of dried blood at the top half it, pointy enough to gore right through a person. 

He takes a swipe at the creature's chest but his sword barely scrapes through the thick fur that covers its body. 

Black goo flows out of the shallow wound and closes it up immediately. 

Several more clumps of black ichor are matted into the thing's yellowed fur here and there and as the creature raises its thick paw once again, Lambert can see a severely cinched area on its elbow. 

Aiden has gotten a few hits in, then. It must've been him, who else would have created the Igni sign Lambert saw flaring up earlier? 

So where is the bastard? 

Lambert purposefully doesn't think too much about the bright red color that’s covering the dagger-like claws of the monster and dyeing its fur a crimson hue. 

He dodges again and hacks at the burnt elbow, but other than making the creature angry, it doesn't seem to have much of an effect. 

He'll have to find a weak spot on that damn thing, and fast. He can already feel his limbs growing heavy with the cold.

"Hey, ugly!" he taunts, but the wind tears his words away once again. He can only hear the raging of the storm around him. Or maybe that's just the sound of his pounding heartbeat. 

He'll have to attack somewhere that isn't covered in fur, which means he'll have to get up close and personal with the bastard. 

Lambert draws a sigil into the snow with the tip of his sword. This time when the creature paws at him, he doesn't roll out the way, simply jumps backwards a bit. The claws get caught in his Yrden sign and the creature furiously tries to pull free. 

Lambert can feel his magic weaken already from the sheer force of the monster, but it should hold long enough for his purposes. He jumps on top of the creature's wrist and runs up the arm as fast as he can while dodging below a swipe from the other claw. 

As he reaches the shoulder, the monster swats at him like he's a bothersome mosquito. Lambert jumps before he can be flattened under the giant limb. 

He grabs onto the first thing that comes into reach and a moment later he's dangling from the intact horn. 

Not quite according to plan. And he lost his sword in an effort not to fall to his death. But he can work with this. He's been in worse situations. 

The creature opens its maw in an angry roar and throws its head to the side to shake Lambert off. 

Perfect. As he loses his grip on the horn, Lambert forms both his hands into the sign for Igni and aims at the exposed inside of the creature's throat. 

There's no time to check if he hit his mark. His next sign, Quen, flickers to life a split-second before he hits the ground hard. 

His groan as he scrambles to his feet is swallowed by the raging storm. As are his calls for Aiden. Where is the fucking Cat? The only thing he can see is the giant heap of monster fur a few feet away. It's not moving. At least that. 

Lambert stumbles to what he thinks is the spot where he saw the monster attacking Aiden earlier. He drops to his knees and frantically rifles through the snow. 

Finally, his hand brushes against something solid. He pushes more snow aside until Aiden's face comes into view. Thick snowflakes hang on his lashes and his lips have taken on a blue tint, but his chest still rises in irregular intervals. 

Aiden doesn't react when Lambert shakes him. The snow underneath him is soaked red, but with the snow constantly blowing into his face Lambert can't make out where Aiden is wounded. They'll have to find shelter. 

He drapes Aiden's arm over his shoulder and grabs him around the waist. Aiden hangs by his side like a sack of potatoes, still not stirring in the slightest. 

Lambert looks around and realizes that he has no idea anymore which way he came from. Everywhere around him is the same unforgiving white. 

He picks a direction at random and drags Aiden along with him. With his luck he'll most likely just fall over the edge of the mountain path and kill them both, but staying put isn't an option either. 

Just one step after the other. Just keep pushing forward. 

His grip on Aiden becomes slippery after a while. He rearranges the weight and tries not to think about how much blood he must have already lost. 

One more step. And another. He can do this. Just one more step. No matter how much his knees want to buckle underneath him. No matter how much he wants to give up and just become part of the ever-present snow. Just one more step. 

The storm cuts off abruptly and Lambert's ears ring from the sudden lack of deafening noise. It takes an insane effort to look up. Around him is grey stone, the inside of a cave. The color of the rock seems to be the most vibrant thing he's ever seen compared to all the snow outside. 

Tufts of white-ish fur stick to the walls here and there and there's a small pile of bones stacked in the far corner. He must have stumbled upon the monster's lair by accident. 

He drags Aiden's lifeless body a little further inside before he drops him carelessly to the ground and falls to his knees next to him. 

It's still bitterly cold in the cave but at least they're mostly protected from the biting winds here. 

He leans down next to Aiden and finally manages to make out the wound. The monster's claws have cut deeply into his shoulder and scratched over his chest. Blood oozes out of it sluggishly. The cold has probably kept him from dying of blood loss so far, but that won't help him survive if he freezes to death instead. 

Lambert drops his bag to the floor and takes out his medical equipment, then goes about stitching the wound up and wrapping it in bandages. 

A red spot immediately forms on the wound dressings around the deepest part of the gash. He's not certain that Aiden will heal fast enough, even with his enhanced Witcher abilities. Despite Lambert's best efforts, Aiden might not make it through the night. 

"If you die on me, after all this trouble I went through," he threatens, "I will drag you out of hell and kick your ass right back to oblivion." 

The only response Lambert gets is that his own teeth start to chatter. 

He'll have to do something against the cold. Good thing he still has some Summer's Kiss potions with him. That'll warm them until the stupid storm is over and they can head back to the village. 

He rifles through his bag once more and pulls out one of the flasks with the bright orange liquid inside. 

Then he goes searching for the other. His fist closes around the neck of the bottle and his hand shoots upwards. 

Something's wrong. The potion is too light. 

He examines what he produced from his bag. Below his fist the bottle neck ends in sharp edges. 

Broken. The second bottle broke and leaked the potion into his bag. 

It must have happened when he dodged the monster's attacks and rolled over the frozen ground to regain his balance. 

Lambert stares at the sad piece in his hand for a full minute, as if the concoction would magically reappear if he only waited long enough. 

Finally, he curses and throws the shard away before carefully turning his bag inside out. A few more bottles are broken and he's left with two Cats and some Black Blood. Nothing that will even remotely help him in this situation. Then again, he already knew that he only had two Summer's Kiss left. 

He grabs the intact potion and turns back to Aiden. His face is sickly pale and his lips are more purple than blue now. He's close to freezing to death. 

Lambert kneels down and pulls Aiden's head into his lap. Then he feeds him the potion, bit by bit. 

That's all he can do for now, though. There's no fire wood or anything else to maintain a flame and going back out into the storm is definitely out of the question. It's a miracle he found the cave in the first place, he'll never make it back in the blizzard. 

So he sits down with crossed legs and watches the slow rise and fall of Aiden's chest. 

Lambert usually struggles with meditation, but today, for some reason, his mind drifts away momentarily. It's just so much easier not to move anymore. To just let his aching limbs rest… 

"… bert…" 

"...leave me…"

"Lambert, wake up!" 

"Woah!" 

Lambert tears his eyes open, breaking the thin layer of frost that has formed on them. The first thing he sees once his eyes adjust to the dim light is Aiden staring back at him. 

He's still lying on the ground where Lambert left him, arm reached out in his direction, and his face is still far too pale for Lambert's liking, but he's awake. That's more than Lambert could have hoped for. 

"N-n-n-no need to yell at me," he snaps back, his chattering teeth taking away the edge of his annoyance. "W-w-what do you want? Go back to s-sleep". 

The storm is still raging outside but now there's even less sunlight coming through. It must be getting close to dusk. How long was he out for? 

He should definitely check on Aiden's bandages, see if he needs to redo them. But the idea of moving seems like such an enormous effort. He'll just rest for another five minutes. Yeah, that's a good plan. His eyes slowly drop closed again. 

"Lambert! Stay with me you idiot!" Aiden snarls. 

"What?" Lambert shouts back. "L-leave me alone!" 

He opens his eyes once more and watches a number of different emotions pass over Aiden's face, too quick to follow. He'd almost say there's concern in the mix, but that would be silly. He's not the one who almost bled out today. 

"Lambert," Aiden repeats, now in a whiny tone. He still manages to sound teasing, though. 

"What d-do you want, Cat?" Lambert grunts, annoyed. 

"I'm cold," he replies with a pout. 

"You have got to be k-kidding me," Lambert deadpans. "I gave you a p-potion!" 

"Must be some weak ass shit you brewed together if I'm already freezing again," Aiden grins. 

"W-weak?" he huffs in indignation and jumps to his feet. "Ungrateful piece of shit! And what do you want m-me to do about it?" 

"Come cuddle with me!" Aiden demands and bats his eyelashes. 

"H-hell no!" Lambert returns and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't cuddle." 

"But I'm oh so c-c-cold," Aiden taunts, his smirk growing wider. "Don't you want to keep me from freezing?" 

"Urgh," Lambert groans as he drops down next to Aiden, who wraps his uninjured arm around his waist and pulls him closer. 

"How can you be cold?" Lambert complains. "You're like a furnace! My potion is working fine!" 

"Stop wiggling!" Aiden orders. "You're such a baby!" 

"My legs are tingling," he snaps back. "You try to hold still after your legs fall asleep!" 

"Thank the gods," Aiden mumbles under his breath. 

"What?" Lambert huffs. 

"Nothing," Aiden sighs. "Just stay close, alright?" 

"This never happened," Lambert bites back. "He's cold, he says. Needy bastard." 

Soon enough, sleep overcomes him. There's little to do but wait, after all, and the warm weight at his back is far more comforting than he'd ever admit. 

When he wakes up next there's bright, unfiltered light shining in from the entrance of the cave. The storm has passed over night. 

The weight of an arm draped over his waist is gone, though. Alarmed, Lambert sits up. 

Aiden is kneeling in the far corner of the room, re-bandaging his wound. 

"Morning, sunshine," he greets with his ever-present smirk. "Missing my sweet embrace already?" 

"Fuck off," Lambert growls and gets up to stretch his aching limbs. 

"What happened to the monster, by the way?" Aiden prompts conversationally. "The Alderman wants proof of death or he won't pay." 

"Are you insane?" Lambert yells, his patience finally gone for good. "Why are you so obsessed with this? You nearly died and for what? You could've just waited till spring! Nobody takes a contract that late in the year!" 

"Nobody survives the winter with an empty purse," Aiden returns, suddenly serious and without looking up from where he's packing Lambert's medical kit back together. "There's no place to stay for a Cat. Not like you have." 

Lambert just gapes at him, open mouth and all. 

"You risked your life because you're broke?" he manages finally. "Why didn't you say something?" 

Aiden is still not looking at him. He's done packing the little medical bag, but he's fidgeting with the buttons. 

"Careful now, Wolf," Aiden teases. "One could almost get the idea that you care about me." 

"Certainly not," Lambert huffs. "Anyway, next year you're coming with me to Kaer Morhen. I'm not running after your sorry ass again!"

[kettlequills]

prisoner of the skein 3

A03. TW: Morning After, post rough non-explicit sex. Consensual kink, biting, injury, some suicidal ideation, spiders, force-feeding, possessiveness and control, and unhealthy relationships, minors dni. FDB! Laat/LDB! Miraak: a morning in Whiterun.

Miraak woke with a groan. His body was a giant bruise. Sharp pain had him pressing his back flat into the furs before he got too adventurous about moving. Breezehome was dark and still, though Miraak could hear distantly the sounds of another busy spring day in Whiterun through the wooden walls. His silencing spells must have expired and jolted him from his rest, short though his gritty eyes told him it had been.

“Laataaz?” Miraak called weakly. He could not see the First Dragonborn lurking nearby, but that did not mean they weren’t there. It was unlike them to leave him if he was injured, even – especially – when they were the one who had done it.

His voice was raspy and his throat felt shredded. He remembered fragments of their activities, mostly overshadowed by the intensity of the sensations and how close he’d been to repeatedly passing out, but he didn’t remember screaming that much. Or whatever Laataaz had done to him was the sort of thing that felt like an excellent idea at the time, and when morning came, the consequences on his mortal body swiftly corrected the illusion. Well, until Laataaz looked at him that certain way again, all power and command and strength, and Miraak’s better judgement folded like a house of cards to kneel worshipfully at their feet.

With a crumpling sigh, the darkness stepped forward until it resolved into Laataaz, dim, dusty, robed thickly in cobwebs and expression hidden beneath their mournful mask. Miraak’s flicker at relief at the proof they had not left him alone in his vulnerability made his smile when he saw them bright, and Laataaz’s blurry shape wavered towards him like a moth craving the sun.

The bed dimpled under their heavy frame when they sat beside him, and his face turned towards the warmth of their thigh like a comet in orbit. He already knew to breathe through his mouth; no matter how much they washed, Laataaz’s perfume was one of dust, decay, and the strange, foul scent of poison. No matter how much he … felt for them, it was not a pleasant one.

He heard the soft clink of them working off their ancient gauntlets, then their bare hand placed in his hair. Too many fingers smoothed through it, untangling the knots that gritted there with the utmost delicacy. The strands almost seemed to pull loose without their touching them at all, and he shivered as he felt soft brushes against his ear that could have been hair dampened by sweat, or close clinging cobwebs feathered free of Laataaz’s sleeves.

“Can you walk?” Laataaz asked him, and though they spoke in no louder than a whisper Miraak heard the reverberations of their power in their Voice.

"I don't think so," he said. “I certainly don’t want to.”

"Poor dragon-fly," they sighed. They were very careful with how they touched him, using only the pads of their fingers in the lightest of caresses. It was a little ticklish, like the tiny feet of insects on his skin. It made the bruises they had left ache sweetly, and Miraak closed his eyes in longing. "You will have to travel today."

Miraak thought about it and then swore. Yes, he had promised to make another pilgrimage up to High Hrothgar. They’d been waiting for the weather to turn, but Balgruuf had begun to get a little impatient as Miraak’s craving for books read him out of house and hall, and his gentle reminders had become increasingly frequent. So Miraak had told Lydia to get ready, and they were set to leave that afternoon.

“What time is it?”

Laataaz ran their fingertips over the lit nerves of his neck, fascinated, as always, by the way the apple of his throat bobbed in a swallow. It was red and ripe from a sucked kiss and stung with the faint itchiness of venom that had escaped their cleaning efforts.

“Do I have time?” he pressed, and they nodded a slow assurance.

Miraak cursed himself for his indulgence in agreeing to have sex last night. Laataaz was never gentle (and when they were, it was worse) and had been loudly clear about their desire to push him far. It had been thrilling, at the time, as Miraak wondered with the vague excitement of sub-drop whether they were actually planning to kill him, or whether it might simply be a side-effect of whatever torturous pleasure brewing behind their onyx-chip eyes. He’d known they’d needed to leave the next day. And yet.

"Could you bring me some potions?" he asked, feeling very sorry for himself indeed and certainly not in a hurry to face Lydia’s judgemental gaze. Oh, she’d never said a word about this bad habit of Miraak’s, but a simple stern look was enough to redden his cheeks.

"Why not?" Laataaz murmured, and rose slowly, so the movement did not jostle him. They left their gauntlet by his side. Putting his hand under the blanket, Miraak edged it away from himself until the empty fingerholes punching through the gauntlet, where Laataaz’s knuckles should have been, stopped staring at him soullessly like dilapidated windows.

While they were gone, Miraak cast healing spells on himself. Even his magicka felt tired, and Miraak felt the tips of his ears warming as he recalled Laataaz commanding him to exert his magic to keep himself conscious through increasing overwhelm until he was so full, so flooded with it, that every nerve in his body thrummed gold and sharp. When they sunk their teeth into him then, it felt like their poison burned his very soul and he’d howled until he’d tasted iron. How they’d smiled with his blood running down their lips, and bit down harder.

Miraak wanted more than anything to feel it again.

Laataaz was worth any amount of Lydia’s stern looks. Who else could surprise him so consistently, teach him the things his body was capable of, time after time? It was like Laataaz had a secret map to the limits a Dragonborn’s body could reach.

Some souls do not take to the eating lightly, they told him when he dared to ask once, and he hadn’t known enough of what to do with that to bring it up afterwards.

Miraak bundled the blankets around his hips and sat up, cautiously. He flexed his magic and his wrists and hoped he’d remembered to pay the cart-driver in advance. He heard Laataaz’s heavy step before he saw them, and he was smiling again as they came in the door.

Pausing there, hands full of bottles and more dangling from threads of web, Laataaz looked at him for a long moment. They had to squint to make him out, he could tell from the way their body bent forward, the searching sadness of the mask’s face hiding their narrowed, light-stung eyes. They still hadn’t really recovered their vision, struggling to see in any-place brighter than candlelit caves, and Miraak suspected that whatever distance vision they once might have had was gone.

“Over here, and take that mask off,” he said, “Why are you in all that anyway? I thought you liked the other clothes I got you. You have worn them before.”

It came out a little more insecure than Miraak wanted it to, and Laataaz only tilted their head in response.

They approached the end of the bed and let their arms fall open so the bottles rolled free there, tussling with Miraak’s feet among the blankets. The slits of their mask never leaving his eyes, they lifted one hand and slowly, deliberately, unmasked themselves.

Miraak felt himself hold his breath, like he did every time, when the fabric of the hood slipped away down the slope of the horns and bared them to him.

Uncovered, Laataaz blinked rapidly, their eyes stinging with tears even with no candles lit. He ignored the scurrying speck of a spider hiding itself hurriedly under their collar and drank in the sight of them. Their face was taut with scars, their skin was ashen, and their eyes glittered with a cold violet darkness that reminded him of the frigid gaps between the stars. They had one brown eye left among the six on their face, their middle left. It was solemn in the dimness. The other four, two below, two above, normally kept closed as simply shadows, delicate bumps Miraak would feel if he traced over their scarred face. There were still clumps of hair nestled around the spearing wattle of the horns that ridged from their skull, but it was all so thickly matted with cobwebs that it seemed even unmasked they wore a grey veil between them and the world.

He leant forward to grab one of the bottles, but Laataaz stopped him with a small gesture. Instead, they moved to his side and with one hand cupped the back of his head, the other taking a bottle of healing potion from the bed, all without looking away from him. They popped the cork with their teeth and Miraak felt himself bite his tongue at the look of their enigmatic gaze.

“I can drink it myself,” he said in something even smaller than a whisper. A whimper, possibly, though Miraak would rather die than admit it.

Laataaz’s eyes narrowed, and their hold on the nape of his neck brushed to encircle his jaw instead. Firmly in place, Miraak hissed a breath that Laataaz leant forward to draw into their own lungs.

With that stolen breath, they agreed, “It would be a shame to lose this.” Their thumb dug into the knot of his jaw muscle and Miraak gulped around a moan.

Meaning clear, Laataaz held the cool glass of the bottle against his lips and encouraged his head to fall limply against their other hand. Miraak’s eyelids fluttered halfway shut as he yielded to it. His hands clenched and then smoothed in the blanket, rhythmically, like they belonged to someone else.

Staring up at them through his eyelashes as Laataaz fed him the potions, tipping them so he had to swallow quickly or choke, he lost himself in the searing galaxies of red, violet, black and brown of their eyes. He could see a droplet of welling venom at the corner of their parted lips, knew there must be more pooled in their mouth, for Miraak, from the picture he made as he obeyed them, and felt his own dry out. He wanted the burn of their kiss so badly he wanted to weep.

When the potion was gone, the last of it warming through his body, they tilted their head back to the potion bottles covering the bed as if to ask if he wanted more. He shook his head, then pressed the back of his hand against his eyes, struggling not to cry.

It was such a quintessentially Laataaz way to fulfil his request that it made him feel strange and dizzy, distant, like the soft cotton of their power had come over him and peeled him back to the creature Laataaz could always find in him, desperate, sensitive, longing. But it was not that which overwhelmed him, no, it was the way they knew exactly how far to tip the bottle so he could keep up, how patiently they watched him, the caution in how their hand left his hair without pulling out a single feather-fine strand on their ancient edges. It was odd look on their face, vaguely pained in a stunted echo of something he could only call care.

Miraak did not know why it brought tears to his eyes to see the ancient Dragon Priest attempt it, but he swallowed them manfully, and cleared his throat when Laataaz exhaled a sharp breath.

Pride forbade him to show them his face when they settled down on the bed next to him, soft and solid and warm where he was small and shaky. They reached out, and when Miraak’s stiff body only twisted away from them with unbearable embarrassment, Laataaz’s spine softened and they chased him with their own. Nuzzling their forehead into the crook of his neck, they surely parted their mouth, because Miraak felt venom drip sparks against the edge of his collarbone.

He gasped, and pinpointed the moment they absorbed the sound by the strange rumble of their chest. Their lips dragged in long, ragged, open-mouthed kisses that smeared searing fresh venom over his reddening skin. It burned like tingling fire-ants under the flesh, and he writhed, eyes screwed shut in the discomfort-near-pain that he prayed would never become easier to bear.

“No, Laataaz,” Miraak managed to get out, “No – we have to leave today, and neither of us will want to stop.”

Laataaz withdrew, but not far, an unreadable look in their eyes. Their arms curled round him and their veils kissed his cheek as they rested the side of their head against his own, pressing into him part of their weight. He closed his eyes and tentatively placed his hands over their shoulders. Laataaz tensed, and he held his breath. They exhaled in a silent puff of air. Very slightly, they leant into his touch, in tacit permission.

Feeling like he was petting a wild creature, Miraak stroked curiously, but carefully, along the lines of their neck, the tangle of the webs, the horns. After a moment, Laataaz pushed into him like an affectionate cat, and he squeezed the bony tips of the crest of horns. They were smoother than they looked, and felt neither cold, nor warm, like the tusks of mammoths. The leathery webbing between them was tough but flexible. He felt small spiders dance around his hands and kept his movements slow, not wanting to hurt any of them or provoke them to bite him.

Miraak still wasn’t sure to what extent Laataaz was connected to the spiders that lived on, and sometimes, he thought, in, their body. It was better, he felt, to err on the side of caution. Just in case, there was antivenom in the dresser table. He had learnt that lesson very quickly.

He had just begun to relax, thinking pleasantly of how nice it felt to have their warmth against him, the soothing burn of the venom on his neck, when they spoke. Still cheek-to-cheek, their voice made his tongue vibrate distractingly in his mouth.

“You should leave me here.”

“Leave you?” Miraak pulled back to look at them. They went unwillingly, shoulders stiff under his hands, and did not meet his gaze. “Why would I do that?”

“Your allies will not hearten to see me,” Laataaz said, quiet as web in the wind, “You will lose their loyalty if they know you resist consuming my soul.”

“The Greybeards won’t say anything, and I certainly don’t care if they do,” Miraak told them firmly.

He grasped their chin, thinking to redirect their eyes to meet his to reinforce his point, but their grip leapt to his wrist. They squeezed his wrist, too tight to be playful – painful enough to warn. All six of their eyes opened and stared at him, dared him. The intensity of the sight too much, Miraak let them go. Their face glittered like it was set with jewels with all six eyes open, chasms to the void where the spidersnare waited, and Miraak found himself focusing on the brown eye he secretly thought of as their human eye to avoid looking away entirely. He was not foolish – but he would not be weak either.

“Paarthurnax and his monks yet believe me dead, and none will be pleased to be corrected. My bloody hands are traitor to all they stand for. Friend he was once, but I do not believe Paarthurnax, of all Dov, mourned my fate.”

“You don’t know that,” Miraak insisted. Laataaz’s glimmering eyes drew him in, in, until he almost forgot to watch their mouth, curving in a bitter smile lips wet with poison.

“I would also kill them for their disrespect of you,” Laataaz added.

“They do listen to me,” Miraak pointed out, feeling compelled to defend, if nothing else, himself. “Most of the time. They called me Ysmir.”

Laataaz’s smile grew more secretive, more genuine. Four of their eyes closed, and Miraak’s lungs unclenched. “Yet,” they murmured, “I have tasted your Voice.”

“Are you calling me weak?!”

“No,” punitively, they squeezed his wrist, as if to forbid the very notion, “inexperienced. They chain you with rules that were never made for your dovahsil. You will be strong in spite of them, hunter of Al-Du-In. But if I hear them chastise you for your might when by right they should be at your knee, not even blood will remain to mark their fate.”

Miraak’s lips pursed into an unhappy line. “Will… you be safe while I am gone?”

“I will not kill the ones you love,” Laataaz promised, and now they were definitely amused, “unless their death wins great reward. My Prince lingers here, I would see her work.”

Miraak scowled at the rumpled blankets. “Why are you still loyal to her after this? You’re free now. You don’t have a Prince anymore.”

“For now,” Laataaz agreed. They tilted their head, catching his attention, and asked him then in a voice that could have been, if it was anyone else, tender. “Could you kill me, little fly?”

“No,” said Miraak at once, aghast, then rethought and added, defensively, “I could. But I wouldn’t!”

Laataaz breathed out a laugh at his pride. “Then if you will not, one day I will belong to my Prince again.”

Their grip loosened enough for Miraak to pull his wrist free, but he left his hand on theirs. He wanted to hold, to grab on, to reach into Laataaz and shake the part of them that did not believe, for all their words, that Miraak could protect them from the Princes that wished to use them. But he forced himself to leave his hand lax. Laataaz observed the movement, then sighed, silently. Their humour drained, left them with a sudden great weariness, as if they felt, all at once, every hour of their tremendous age.

“I have lived for a long time, against my will,” Laataaz told him as heavy as they were sincere, “All paths lead back to the Webspinner.”

“Not this one,” Miraak insisted, and he couldn’t resist grabbing their hand then, feeling the bones beneath it, the muscle, the surprise that nearly jerked it free, their wide eyes. “This one stays with me.”

Surging towards him, Laataaz kissed him. It was more a bite than a kiss, more punch than bite, and barely had he choked on the venom that flooded his mouth then they had withdrawn, forehead pressed fiercely to his.

Like a love confession, Laataaz whispered, “I pray my soul dies in yours, I pray you kill me.” Their touch roved over his body, digging in nails, had Miraak fighting not to hiss. “I would like to think of nourishing you. How close we would be, in the same chest, trapped no longer by these… mortal forms.”

Impossibly, Laataaz pushed even closer into him, their veils falling around his face, their bodies, and Miraak bit down on a groan, a plea. His skin was awakened by their touch, their closeness, their desire. The venom he had inadvertently swallowed was working on his empty stomach, nausea clenching in the pit of embers there.

“Must we fight?” he said, thinking of the look on their face as they tried to care for him, “Is it truly so inevitable that we kill each other? Why do you always talk of death?”

“Why does the spider snare the fly?” Laataaz answered his question with another. “Hunger, of course.”

“There are other ways to learn the shape of a person,” he said, meaning to quote them, but the double-meaning of it with their marks bold on his body wrecked with the aftermath of Laataaz exercising exactly that hunger hit him, and he blushed.

“It is what I am,” Laataaz said, and soothed the red marks they’d scratched with cool lines of silk. “I am Laataaz, executioner, soul eater. We did not have a word for Dragonborn when I walked Nirn. I understood only that I hungered, and when I struck something, it stayed down. I learnt the lust of inevitability. Is it the end, that gives us our meaning, I wondered, but I did not know. All I knew was no food would sate me. My hunger is as much a part of me as your questioning mind.”

Laataaz tilted their lips against his, and all six eyes opened to watch his face. Greedy for Miraak, and he could not pretend their attention did not make him preen, warm, thirst for the pain of their kiss. With how sweetly they called him to endure the agony of their poisonous touch, their sadism, how could he pretend that anything else ever mattered?

“We are dragons, sweet little fly. We desire, or we die.”

---

And so it was Miraak turned up at the stables, very late, pink-cheeked, and limping. Lydia was already waiting, arms crossed over her sturdy chest, perpetually-foul expression not relenting in the least when a guilty Miraak skid to a stop next to her with a spray of pebbles. There it was, the look.

Miraak wilted.

“Where is he?” Lydia said, “That creepy fellow. We need to leave, my Thane.”

“Oh,” said Miraak. His shaking arms gave out and he dropped his bag with a thunderous thud. Lydia eyed it suspiciously and he fought the urge to rub the back of his neck. “Laat’s not coming.”

Lydia reflected on this, hefting Miraak’s heavy bag one-handed and threw it up on the back of the cart. There was no sign of the driver, but the horse was already hitched, grazing calmly at the tuft of weeds lining the cobblestones.

Miraak skirted the horse with a shudder. These burly-shouldered beasts always looked at him with malice in their eyes. Lydia had tried to get him to learn to ride, but Miraak wasn’t that stupid. Give him a good chaurus any day.

“It will be good to not have to fight everything from here to Ivarstead,” said Lydia, “we will make better time. I did tell Farkas we were leaving this morning. …All of us.”

She extended a hand to help him into the back of the cart, and yanked him up bodily when he took it. Miraak rubbed his burning shoulder and tugged his hood down further over his face. The sun was fierce. He glanced back at Whiterun, a little regretful, imagining Laataaz alone in Breezehome. There was going to be so many spiders in his house when he got back.

“Well,” said Miraak, weakly, “… He’s a Companion, he’ll be fine.”

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS: “A Cottage by the Sea” /// Part Four

I’m terribly sorry once again for the delay, but I can see the end in sight on this on now, and I have a good vision for where the rest of this story is going. I hope you will enjoy some of the happy developments in this installment, and (as always) I’d love to hear what you think!

~***~ Excessive thanks and flails once more to @searchingwardrobes​ for this lovely cover art! ~***~

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…

Previous installments, from the beginning, on TUMBLR and on AO3

Part Four

Princess Emma had not been alone at sea for long when self-doubt and questions began to gnaw at her confidence and left her wondering if she should really have set out on her own. She was keeping the small vessel afloat and on course (she couldn’t wait to show Killian she really had been listening to his scattered lessons in their moments alone, even if she had been trying to steal glancing touches and quick glimpses at his unknowing features at the same time), but all the same, once the sun was overhead, beating down hot and unmercifully and she could see only unbroken ocean as far as the horizon in any direction, some of her fearless resolve left her. Why had she not tried to convince or bribe someone who knew more about navigation to come along? What if she were sailing further away from her beloved, instead of closer to him? How would she even get them back if she did locate Killian? What if he were hurt and she didn’t know how to help? She should have brought a healer!

The plaguing worries circled round and round, wreathing her head like a swarm of gnats, and Emma was unable to bat them away. Though she felt the gentle rhythm of the waves beneath her small craft, and knew that they were moving, there was no sign that she was closer to land - or any living thing at all. If she hadn’t been so desperate, so swept up in her emotions and determined recklessness, she would have brought more food and fresh drinking water than the couple of jugs and the bread and cheese she had grabbed. She could be out here for days or weeks, unable to find her way back - or to locate where Killian might be.

By the time the sun had fully risen, and she was well out of sight of Misthaven’s shore, and any other in any direction, Emma had worked herself into enough of a state that the adrenaline which had propelled her down the side of the castle walls, to the docks, and out to sea, was flagging in earnest and she sunk to the rough planks of her vessel, finally feeling the need for rest which had completely eluded her all the previous night. Despite that, she fought valiantly to keep her eyes open and to stay alert. She was sure she couldn’t even imagine all the danger she might face if she didn’t remain on her guard. Still, as time crawled forward, the steady rise and fall of the calm waters served to nearly rock her gently closer to slumber, her eyelids continually growing more and more weighted, until they fell closed and she leaned against the boat’s side in a doze.

For some time, the princess was lost to her surroundings, regaining the peace she had lost upon the moment she learned Killian was missing. But, ever-so-slowly, then gaining speed and clarity, images began to swirl in her mind’s eye, even as she slept. At first there were only blurs of color and flashes of hazy light, then the pictures playing in her head sharpened, allowing her to focus and understand.

Stirring fitfully, Emma began to wake, brought back to awareness by her effort to take in the vision as it came to her. When she clearly saw Killian, his dearly beloved face caught at her breath and caused her to shoot upright in excitement, she was fully roused once more. It seemed she was receiving some message - both not to give up as he still lived, just as her heart had known, and also as some guide to where he might be.

This Killian in her mind’s eye looked distinctly more bedraggled than she had ever seen him willing to appear in his uniform before - the material ripped and stained, and his hair half-dried and standing up in salt-clumped tufts. He walked along a beach strewn at intervals with pieces of what Emma knew must be his ship, and inwardly she cringed, knowing it would pain him to see it destroyed, and also at the thought of all the other lives which must be utterly lost as they had believed. Killian seemd completely alone in his surroundings. 

Emma noticed that the image before her was beginning to go hazy about the edges and fade, but she clung to it for every second she could, drinking in the view of him in a way she had never seen her straight-laced lieutenant before. A traitorous blush colored her cheeks as her eyes trailed along his bared collarbone from where he had removed his uniform jacket, and she itched to run her fingers along his forearms and feel the muscles she hadn’t been able to look at before on display from his rolled-up sleeves. She was almost ashamed to admit the way she was feasting on the view of his chest and the dark hair smattered generously across it. Emma had never seen his shirt fully opened like that since they had entered young adulthood; Killian was much too considerate of her station and sensibilities, plus self-conscious as well, to show off so much skin in her presence. Still, Emma could not seem to pull her gaze away, her palms sweating with the heat as she even imagined touching those unexplored planes of her sailor’s body.

When the image before her faded and re-formed, returning to her again in a slightly different setting, his reappearance nearly bowled her over. Killian wore no shirt at all; all tanned skin over strapping shoulders and darkly furred chest narrowing down to a trim waist. Though stained with dirt and sand, and ripped in places, Killian still wore the breeches and boots of his uniform as he fought his way through what looked like a jungle of island vegetation. Sweat trickled down his brow, and Emma wished desperately to be there at his side to wipe it away for him, to venture forward shoulder-to-shoulder toward whatever he was seeking.

Abruptly, he reached the end of the thick trees and undergrowth he had been fighting his way through, stumbling out of the dense tangle of leaves and vine into a large, quiet clearing, housing a calm, turquoise pool, green grass and a large rock near the water’s edge. It was a tranquil little oasis after the terrain Killian had just left behind, and Emma found herself wondering again just where this could be and how she might reach him there. In her vision, Killian hurried forward to the water’s edge, bringing hands up to splash his overheated face and neck then drinking greedily from his cupped hands as well.

As much as she wanted to linger there with him - in her mind, at least, if not in actual reality - this scene too began to disintegrate and vanish before Emma was ready. She strained her eyes to see him even a few seconds longer, or in hopes of another scene appearing, but soon all she could see was unending ocean and sky all around her once more. Rousing fully from the sort of trance she had entered at the vision’s arrival, Emma found that one thing did remain in the forefront of her awareness - as cearly and definitely as if it had been spelled out across her retinas. ‘Ogygia,’ a quiet, melodious voice seemed to whisper impossibly in her ear, ‘You may find him on Ogygia.’

Princess Emma’s brow furrowed, recognizing the name, but confused by the implication. She had studied folklore, legends, and mythology in her schooling - quite avidly in fact.  It was was one of the few subjects that genuinely interested her, memory and understanding coming easily, and she remembered the place. But, Calypso’s island? It was real? And how was she to find it?

Even as she wondered this, the same voice which had whispered the name into her consciousness now spoke again, offering Emma direction she wordlessly followed, plotting her course as this unknown entity directed. Indeed, such impulsive trust might be folly. She might live to regret listening to the siren song that led her forward - if she lived at all and was not lost upon the rising waves. All the same, she had no other directions to follow, no other way of knowing how to seek her missing love, and, for good or ill, she sensed this being speaking to her so sweetly and with such gentle care, meant her no harm.

She carried on the way she had chosen; better to take action and face the resulting consequences than to simply bob along the surface indefinitely until hunger, thirst or exposure took her while she waited. That would do Killian no good, wherever this island was that he had landed upon, and it would bring her no closer to him. These efforts at steering in a fixed direction might. Keeping her gaze ever forward, searching the horizon hopefully as the surface glittered at the noonday touch of the blazing sun as though strewn by diamonds, Emma forced herself to calmly follow through, to listen and obey the continued calm voice, which now felt as though it lodged within her own chest, at home, a thrumming part of her, and welcome as such.

Though she knew thirst and exhaustion, and the heat that began to weigh on her head and shoulders like a heavy cloak, made the time seem longer, she still felt the strain. It seemed as though hours had passed when finally, at the furthest reach of her sight, Emma thought she could make out a piece of land, rising like a beautiful mirage from the ocean stretched before her. Blinking, she leaned forward, even as she slumped with relief against her vessel’s wooden side, praying she was not mistaken. 

‘No, my dear,’ the soothing voice assured her, a subtle breath of cool air accompanying it as though the phantom blew by her ear on enchanted wings. ‘You’ve done it, Princess. Ogygia is straight ahead now.’

And with that, the mysterious presence which had served as her guiding companion was gone. As suddenly as it had appeared, Emma also knew in an instant it was with her no longer. 

Grateful all the same, she didn’t have it in her to be troubled. As this new shore drew ever closer, she felt a burst of endurance. She had no doubt now; she was about to look upon her sailor’s face again.

~~***~~

Killian, meanwhile, had been far from idle since his reunion with his mother, his purging of his grief and loss, and the long talk and reacquaintance they’d had after. When she had left him, Calypso (It was still nigh impossible to fathom (the goddess Calypso - his mother!) had vowed to return that evening so they could speak further, and he had made his way back to the beach where he’d washed ashore.

Though admittedly, Killian no longer felt as shaken, alone, or desperate as he had when first awaking on the strange spit of land, seemingly its own little world in the surrounding deep, he still intended to make his way back to his adopted home and kingdom. Not only was it his duty as a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, but he was the only surviving member of his ill-fated crew. How else could Misthaven’s royals and his fellow sailors’ loved ones know what had befallen them and pay their sacrificial struggle due homage? Beyond the demands of his honor, however, Killian also knew that his adopted family - monarchs though they might be and unworthy as he had always somewhat felt himself - would be grieving him along with his lost ship and comrades. And Emma… though he had long marveled at how it could be true, she loved him. He could see the depth of her feelings in her eyes as soon as she had confessed it at his departure. Perhaps it had always been there - even as they had played tag and crawled under the hedge to hide huddled together in the Royal Gardens, as they had curried their ponies after a ride and sloshed buckets of cold water at each other before they helped in the animals’ bathing, when they had watched Granny at her baking in the kitchens and Emma had nicked bits of chocolate or minced dates and offered him part of her prize with a gleam in her lively green gaze. He knew she would be mourning; her heartbreak on his account was nearly unbearable to consider. He knew that were he in her place, and he believed her lost, there would be no recovery. And that knowledge lent urgency to his actions.

Upon returning to the sandy shoreline, it had taken no time at all to salvage various wooden pieces and parts of the ship that he began to stack in a pile. Always able to make do resourcefully, Killian used shoots and vines in the surrounding vegetation to begin binding the boards together as he needed - working swiftly. It wasn’t long until he had fashioned a sturdy raft with a reasonably straight mainsail near the water’s edge. It was certainly no vessel like the one which had been lost to the stormy deep when he had landed on this beach, but he was both determined and impatient enough to take his chances. He also knew enough of the sea and of sailing to recognize that the tempest which had sunk Misthaven’s finest ship had been unnaturally malevolent - as if summoned with evil intent for their specific destruction. The strength and size of the ship in a gale such as that would have made no difference, and if one blew again as he attempted to find his way home, he would be every bit as lost, regardless of his craft. All things remaining as they should though, his makeshift vessel ought to prove seaworthy, despite not being much to look at.

As Killian had focused on his task, the time had slipped away almost without his notice. He obviously would never have left his mother after finding her again without speaking to her more and saying goodbye, but at the same time, he was anxious to be starting, to reach his princess’ side once more. So, when he fastened the last slat of wood in place, tying off the knot as securely as he possibly could, and stood to mop his brow, Killian was rather surprised to realize that the bright sun had slipped toward evening and he had not even started on his way back toward the lagoon where he had met Calypso that morning.

Just as he was wondering how to make his way there with the most haste, he felt the brush of a light breeze and sensed her presence nearby. He would have guessed that she needed to stay within water, but clearly that was not a requirement, as soon, soft, gentle fingers brushed over his shoulder like a refreshing trickle of cool water, and his mother appeared, unassumingly human, beside him.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” she murmured lightly, a tinge of melancholy in her sweetly hypnotic voice, but no judgement or condemnation, only the regret of one soon to be separated from her child.

Killian bobbed the briefest of stiff nods before turning his head to face her, reaching to take her hand in his own and press it tightly, only hoping he could make her understand. “I’m sorry, but… I must,” he replied huskily.

The unearthly grace bestowed her by her nature shone through in the benevolent smile she offered him, leaning in to brush a kiss upon his forehead, just as if he were still a little boy, a gesture barely remembered but immediately soothing. Her elegant fingertips caressed the faded scar running high across his cheekbone, as if having not been there to patch it when it happened, she wished to take it from him. “You love her,” she answered simply, “the Princess. And since you do, of course you wish to return to her.”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, “I do.” He was grateful that she seemed to grasp his dilemma and did not blame him or begrudge him the choice he had to make. “And she loves me as well, wonder of wonders. I have no claim to court a Princess, but while she wants me, I will not fail her.”

“That is as it should be, my son,” Calypso assured, pulling him close to hug him once more to her chest. “But bear in mind that you are more worthy than you know - a sort of royalty in your own way…” She winked as she pulled back again to look him in the eyes with a mischeivous twinkle in her own. “You have never failed to be a man of honor, just as I would have wanted, just as your dear brother did all he knew to teach you, and so I knew you would desire to do no less. In fact, if you look out into the distance, you will see I have helped someone along on her way to you, making your raft rather unnecessary.”

Lightly placing her hands on his shoulders, his mother turned him to face out on the waves, where just at the horizon, he could see the sails of an oncoming ship appear. Still quite far out, it sailed closer with each passing moment - almost as if granted unnatural speed - but his heart genuinely leapt when the waning light caught the glint of gold atop the head of the form he could now see at the vessel’s wheel. Emma!

“Is that…?” he asked, gawking and struggling to believe it could be so. “Did you bring her?... But how…?” His curiosity and awe made the words trip over each other, but the grin that broke across his face unawares told Calypso all she needed to know.

Smiling back at her little boy, now a man grown, the sea nymph nodded sagely. “She was already on the water; I merely granted her eyes to see the way forward. This place is generally cloaked from outside discovery, to keep out Davy and his minions. But clearly, your Princess - this Emma of Misthaven - is bold and true and every bit as in love with you as you are her.”

Killian felt the warmth flooding his cheeks even beneath the growth of unshaven stubble as he dipped his head in slight embarrassment. Though it felt wonderful to hear confirmation from another of the glorious truth he had only very lately begun to accept, it was also a bit daunting to see that his feelings were so crystal clear, even to one he had just met. When he glanced back again, he could only smile at his mother, beaming from the joy in his heart at seeing his princess again and knowing she had not given in to despair. “Thank you,” he managed to croak through a throat tightly closing. “Truly. For saving me… and then for bringing her safely.”

As if allowing herself one last precious caress, Calypso brought her cooling hand to glide along her son’s forehead and brush aside the dark fringe of his hair. “You are most welcome, my love.” Her understanding smile barely wavered as she added quietly. “Now, go to her, as I know you wish to do.”

Killian caught his mother’s hand where it had come to rest at the side of his face, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm, squeezing it tightly in gratitude. Then, he gave her a bright, crooked smile before turning to dash down to the water’s edge, where Misthaven’s princess and her pilfered boat were drawing near.

~~***~~

Calypso lingered, looking on fondly as her son dashed into the tide when the boat reached the shallows. Despite the twinge in her own chest at the brief reunion she had been allowed drawing to a close, an indulgent smile still curved her full lips at how eagerly the Princess leaned over her little ship’s prow, trying to reach Killian sooner. She looked ready to dive in and swim to him if it would get her there faster.

Killian meanwhile had splashed into the gentle swells, nearly reaching the tiny craft where it bobbed on the waves. Water kicked up all around him, soaking his weathered clothing and flattening his hair to his skull, but none of that dampened his thrilled exuberance in the slightest. He was waist-deep when, lungeing forward, he caught the side of Emma’s boat, hauling it forward on the next rise, and then Emma was catapaulting over the edge and into his arms with a cry of delight that couldn’t help but warm the watching sea nymph’s weary soul.

Yes, all was as it should be again. Seeing the two reunited made their belonging to each other undeniable. Somehow, even in the ebb and flow around them, Killian kept his feet - barely - as Emma wrapped herself around him tightly, her hair whipping hin the breeze and hiding their faces behind its curtain as they placed frantic kisses all across each other’s cheeks and noses, and her royal gown trailed unheeded behind her in the water. Their lips broke from each other’s only to laugh in stunned joy and exclaim fragmented greetings, their voices overlapping each other front he soft echoes of the sound Calyps could catch on the wind from where she stood.

Joining hands, they began to tow the boat in the rest of the way to shore, each of their free hands holding to a side. However, about the time the water was only lapping at their calves, a larger swell swept up behind them, sending the boat knocking into them with force, and both Killian and Emma tumbling headlong into the water. 

Coming up spluttering and laughing harder, they merely caught their tiny craft once more as it bobbed nearby, and carried on cavorting and splashing each other with more quick kisses and caresses stolen in youthful bliss at being together again. And in some ways, in that moment they were more free together than ever before; free of conventions, rules, propriety and disapproving stares. It was then, with that lovely, bone-deep happiness to remember on his face, that Calypso slipped away as well, leaving them to their well-earned privacy and celebration, darting and playing in the sand and foam.

She could give them this moment in her protected haven; wished truly that they could stay forever with her. But they could not remain hidden on Ogygia indefinitely; both had a destiny to fulfill back in Misthaven and too much sense of their duty to shirk it. The goddess could only hope fervently that their worst trial was now behind them - even if her better judgement warned her that Davy Jones would not yet be ready to admit that his second son had escaped his grasp.

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