#niamh so ??? at genuine kindness still

[boundlesschaos]

📔

I'm used to experiencing those who hide thorns within their kind words. It is one of the few things that I question my capability to use correctly myself, but I have seen others use it enough to recognize…some the common tells. But only some.

At first, I had thought him the same - but now, I get the impression that he is not like this. Even in a game where it was easy to take advantage of another, his words were genuine. I'm sure of this.

Therefore, I need to converse more with him. If I can recognize when someone is truthful, then it may prove useful when someone is trying to deceive me..

[dane-ffxiv]

Prompt #12: Quarry

The line between summer and autumn blurred; cicadas still sang in unison, yet chilled air swept through the trees. Dane salvaged these days if the sun presented itself, which brought her to this specific stump in the Shroud. She sat as a behaved child would, practicing embroidery patterns Niamh gifted her. Still awful at them, of course, but she kept at it so long as her patience remained.

“You're getting good at those!” Niamh chirped, peeking at Dane's progress between shots.

“Not… really,” she sighed, tilting her head to inspect her work. As if that would change her perception.

“Well, you're working faster than before. Still improvement!” Dane hadn't considered the thought. Too focused on her dodo that resembled a wet cotton boll instead of her favorite animal. It looked just like her crude drawings, which irritated the hells out of her. How could two pieces of art look identical using completely different tools?

“...That's true. Thank you.” Despite her differing opinion, it was still important to acknowledge the kind words of others. The behaved child comment was applicable to her in many ways. Which led Dane to her follow-up comment. “You haven't missed a single one.”

They sat in the forest's clearing, a favorable spot for both activities. Dane soaked up the season's remaining sunshine while fumbling with a needle and thread, and Niamh scoped out a variety of targets to hone her archery skills. Though it was hardly necessary since the Elezen had an excellent shot. Whether it be a squirrel, boar, or rabbit, she never missed. But never birds; she was too fond of them.

Dane knew when to watch. They conversed incessantly the entire afternoon, but a silent moment meant Niamh was focused. The bowstring stretched, arrow nocked, then released. A fluid motion that lasted mere seconds.

“I might just be lucky today.” She retrieved another arrow from her quiver, already anticipating the next shot. “But even if I missed a bunch, I still get to spend the day with you!” Dane dipped her head in agreement, sealing the sentiment with a genuine smile.

And that was how good days were measured. Not by missed shots or excellent needlework, but the moments shared with people who mattered.

[jades-typurriter]

Summer Costume Pre-Sale

A piece of fanfiction for my wives' novel, Ascension: Tales of Twin Tales. Coyotl, Fox & Violet, and Niamh are on the hunt for Radiant artifacts, and their latest search leads them to the lair of the embodiment of autumn.

This one's really self-indulgent and also takes a LOT of context from the book. It was written as a gift to her, so like, I didn't feel like it needed to "stand on its own" (and still don't), but I wanted to put it up somewhere anyway 'cause I had a lot of fun with it =^w^=

“So this is the place?” Fox asks, looking ahead and bouncing along one pace behind me, her usual spring in her step.

“Indeed,” I reply, stowing the Amazing Mirror beneath my cloak with a wave of my hand. No ordinary map could have led us to this place, a locus of autumnal transition that defies the mundane tracking of mortals.

“This isn’t the kind of place I’d expect to find a Radiant’s holdout…” the vixen muses, bringing a paw to her chin and stopping to look up at the building.

“It may not appear as mystical as some of the ruins we’ve plundered, but I assure you, this is a veritable treasure trove! Within these halls, a nigh-endless labyrinth of knowledge awaits us, full of facsimiles of the raiments of heroes of old. We’re quite fortunate to have found this place so quickly; as the seasons change, so too do these myths fall out of fashion or fade from memory entirely, and the Radiant we’ve been tracking–and his domain–are the embodiment of that transience.”

“He’s trans?”

“He–well, I’ve never met him,” I stammer as Fox snickers, her mischievous grin a familiar (and welcome) sight. “My family, however, visited him hundreds of times over the generations. Yearly, if they could manage it. They kept careful track of the locations his realm has opened to; The map in the manor’s library marked over fourteen hundred previous sites! They never brought me along, since indulging in all the history here was too great a privilege in their eyes, but I’ve imagined it over and over since I was young. And now, studying their notes has brought us straight to the most recent portal into his realm!” I can’t contain my excitement–the thought of finally being allowed to explore this Hall of Fame of the epic heroes of the past has me wagging my tail!!

Finally, we stop walking, looking up at the front of the building housing the entrance.

“This is a Spirit Halloween.”

“Not just ANY Spirit Halloween!” I cry, pivoting on my heel to face the Vixens, swishing my cloak and throwing out an arm for effect. “This place is occupied by THE spirit OF Halloween!! The King of Lanterns! The Harvest Reaper! A master of disguise so great that even his abode is able to exist in the open without drawing attention from those of the Land of Shade! Every so often, amidst the showpieces and recreations, a genuine article finds its way into his collection. It’s how my family acquired a good few of the artifacts under my custodianship, and it’s how today, we may just find a new one to bring home!”

“Wow, Coyo!!” Fox beams at me, clapping at the end of my speech. “This sounds like it’s gonna be INCREDIBLE!! How are we gonna find it? Or get it out once we do?” The glint in her eye grows as fierce as the points of her teeth; I can already see the gears turning in her head, eager to dig her claws into another heist.

“There won’t be any need for thieving today, alas. He’s something of a businessman. Agriculture has been the backbone of many an economy from the dawn of time, and in the last few centuries, the Radiant’s influence has grown even further with the yearly celebrations of the creepiest and most whimsical corners of our culture. Plus, he has a stake in the actual Spirit Halloween chain.”

“I see! It’s weird, y’know? Been a while since we had such an easy one,” she says, lacing her fingers together behind her head. “And with all the hoofin’ it we’ve been doing, it’s just so odd finding an important magic spot in the middle of a city, let alone a Radiant. I guess some of ‘em like Gepette set up shop in Subterfuge, but that’s still pretty out of the way. There were all those heists Cat and I went on right after we ascended, but–” She’s interrupted by a pomf as her darkness-dipped tail thumps her in the back, Violet seemingly having caught onto the impending faux pas before Fox’s brilliant puzzle brain catches up. She glances between her headmate and me, her ears falling a touch, but I shake my head.

“No, no, you’re as observant as ever!” I reassure her, knowing that she–and I–have long since forgiven my mistakes. “Radiant folk tend not to operate so brazenly; were they not under contract, and behind the veil of layers of concealing spells, they would not have faced you anywhere so densely-populated.”

“Oh, but some of us,” lilts a notable exception as she swoops down, “have a much greater flair for the dramatic~.” She touches down to stand at our side, my mentor soon following suit; I hadn’t witnessed Bomba’s dive from atop Niamh’s wings, but the form of her landing is as flawless as ever. “And of course, we all know how little regard for subtlety my old flame has~. It’s a wonder she hasn’t gotten herself found out again, shining as brightly as she does,” she sighs.

“Girls!! Didn’t realize you’d be joining us for this one!” Fox cheers.

“Oh, don’t fret, my little fox. You lovebirds will have your usual space for your latest dungeon date~,” the snake coos, putting a sheen of static on my face and eliciting a giggle from my… my lovebird. “The proprietor is an old friend of mine, and I was hoping to do some catching up. Bomba, for her part, wanted to study all the historic weapons for sale! Even if most of them are just replicas, she’s sure to pick up some new tricks. And hey, our champion may even find herself represented among the disguises~.”

“I am Bomba,” says Bomba, graciously accepting the compliment.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Violet asks, prodding us onward. “You said this place doesn’t sit still very long.”

“That’s right!” I say, striding forward toward the door. I throw them open, Fox bounding right along with me, Niamh and Bomba trailing behind, and as the storefront’s double doors open, we are greeted with pitch darkness. The only thing visible is a worn, dusty path, illuminated by a low, large moon that shines like a spotlight. It bears the hoofprints of beasts of burden and ruts that seem to have been carved into it by wagon wheels; it’s littered with dried husks, strewn straws of hay, scattered with chaff. This is the metaphorical road to market–the journey made by those who plow the field to ply their crop, and the route by which the Lord of the Harvest takes his due.

Though the light doesn’t extend far ahead of us, I stride bravely forward. Instead of stepping off into the shadowy underbrush at the end of the path, it seems to extend itself, winding further into the gloom as the moon strings us along. Pinpricks of flickering light emerge as we tread the old road. At first, they seem like stars, or fireflies, but as we approach our destination, they resolve themselves into the hungry, steely gazes of predators, lying motionless in wait as they might once have stalked fatted calves–or inattentive farmers–in the hopes of a harvest feast of their own.

The darkness shifts–however, it heralds the emergence of a different beast than the ones whose gazes line the path. Violet now stalks beside me as we continue, and I can see her hackles bristling in anticipation of a confrontation. Niamh, however, slithers forward before the tension in her shadowy form can snap into a pounce, and places a knowing hand on the wolf’s shoulder. She turns her head behind her, four eyes meeting three, and she seems less on edge for the gesture.

“That’s a good girl~,” the serpent encourages.

“Don’t make me maul you before THEY do,” Violet rumbles in response, her tail twitching. She has much better control of hers than I do, I think, smiling to myself. She huddles up her shoulders and furrows her brow, sulking, a different kind of guard up than the one she had had previously.

We don’t walk for much longer before another, massive pair of eyes opens in the darkness before us, a deep red fire burning within them. This is the Radiant we have sought, and when he opens his mouth to speak, it is as though the very gates of Hell have opened, casting flickering, dancing shadows all across the path:

“Do mortals once again seek to meet with the Year’s End himself?” he booms.

“That we do, Keeper of Campfire Tales!” I declare. “We have come in search of a boon amongst your bountiful stockpiles.”

“Have you, now?” he cackles, rattling my screen and standing Violet’s fur on end once again. “You DO realize, little traveler, that I reap more than STORIES from those who stray too far into the dark!”

“We will have what we came for!” I respond, not shying away from the threats of one of Death’s many envoys.

“Then you would do well to remember your manners. It has been a few years since one of you found your way to me; I wonder whether the old traditions of entreating the harvest gods have endured?”

It is as I read; he cannot harm us, his hands tied by ritual as strongly as humanity is tied to the tending of the land. I step forward, squaring my shoulders and puffing out my chest, to utter the phrase that will bind him:

“TRICK OR TREAT!!” Fox shouts, bursting forth from Violet’s protection, fists clenched with excitement and her grin as broad as the moon above. The darkness around us begins to swirl, a raging vortex filled with the cacophony of the Radiant’s laughter, as the fire from his deathly face grows brighter and hotter. Suddenly, as quickly as it had started to roil, the darkness clears entirely, revealing… well, the inside of a store.

We now stand at a checkout counter a mere few feet away from the double doors through which we entered; the space is adorned with a row of stands on either side of us, upon each of which sits a carved pumpkin bearing the visage of all manner of monster, from mundane woodland creature to mythical beast, lit from within by a plain candle. The counter itself is constructed from hay bales, and behind it sits a man in a pumpkin mask–also lit from behind–a flannel shirt, and a beaten-up pair of overalls.

“VERY good, lil’ lady!” He cheers, clapping for Fox, his echoing laughter having faded to hee-ing and haw-ing. “Nice ta see y’all ain’t forgotten your roots! Oh, but where’re MAH manners?” He doffs his mask respectfully, revealing a mirthful skull–also lit from behind, and which I suspect to be only one additional mask of many more. “Ah’m–”

“JACK, darling~!” Niamh squeals excitedly, blowing past me and Fox, arms outstretched.

“Well I’ll be! Jus’ how long’s it been since I seen YOU, missy?”

“Long enough that you’ve forgotten not to keep a lady waiting~. Honestly! All this pomp and circumstance scaring my little ones here, without so much as a hello,” she teased.

“HEE HEE HAW! Ya got me there, but you ain’t introduced your friends–my GUESTS–neither!”

“Well, you already met Violet,” said Fox, whose tail raised and formed a claw in a brusque greeting before lowering again. “And I’m Fox!”

“Coyotl,” I say, bowing slightly. “It is a pleasure.” He’d certainly recognize me if I added my family name, “moving on” doesn’t mean “wanting to have to hear about it”, and it isn’t the part of me that I care to make central, anyway.

“I am Bomba.”

“There! Quite polite, aren’t they, Jack? Now,” she says, waving us away like a starlet seeing off her fans. “Go ahead and let us catch up. I’ll keep this all-powerful Radiant busy while you all rob him for all he’s worth~.”

Bomba is already gone, and Fox grins as she snatches up my claw, weaving us between the stands making up the lantern-lined entryway and in the direction of whatever’s caught her treasure-hunter’s eye. Her enthusiasm is as infectious as ever, and the formality of introductions evaporates as I squeeze her paw in turn and our tails wag in our wake. Speaking of introductions…

“Fox, how on Earth did you know what to say to him? I only pieced that together after poring over the notes that had gone into the creation of my family’s map!”

“Well, while the two of you were talking, I figured it must’ve been some kind of riddle, but uh… Honestly? It was a gut feeling!” She winks at me.

Goddess, I love her.

She continues to lead the way through the winding aisles of the Pumpkin King’s vast market of myths. It has the air of a museum, but instead of being separated into wings, the eras and cultures from which these false artifacts were pulled blend together like the sections of a department store. The walkways are close, cramped, like the spaces between shelves in a library, snaking between racks of displays cramped end to end with faux regalia and mock weapons.

“Oh!! Wait!!” I dig my heels in, bringing me and the Vixens skidding to a halt as we pass an island of Transylvanian pieces. “What what what what!!”

Retracing a few steps and shuffling through one of the racks, I find a morningstar on a coiled, silver chain, with fine leather wrapped around the handle. A flick of my wrist sends its flanged metal head careening down the aisle, flying toward the full length of the chain with a rattle and a SNNK as the links stretch. Another flick pulls it back toward me, and I reach out to catch it around my forearm, whipping around and around until I catch the head in my palm.

“DAMN, COYO!!” Fox cheers, eyes shining. “I see you haven’t gotten rusty with your whips!”

“I suppose even an old Ends by Means remains in one’s muscle memory. Though, I must confess to having practiced with this specific piece before,” I add, scratching the back of my monitor. “My family collected the original some time ago, and it was one of the many I considered bringing with me for our escapades in Aspen Town.

“Goddess, you’ve got to show me around the collection once we can bring our haul back to it,” she marvels, sidling up next to me to get a better look at the fake in my hands. She wraps her tail around my waist, and I can already feel a green glow creeping onto my face. “Care to tell me more about this one?”

Goddess!! I LOVE her!!!

“W-well, this was the signature weapon of a line of monster hunters from eastern Europe! It was handed down from generation to generation in much the same way that my family tended to the artifacts in our care, except that this was several centuries ago, and given both the different culture surrounding magic and the rather dire circumstances, they actually put them to use!!” I place the fake back on the rack; knowing that we already have the real one safe and sound, I know it’s not what we’re here for. “They also collected a throwing axe, a consecrated boomerang, some very fine daggers… we even have the recipe for a special, flammable type of holy water!!”

“These guys sound like the heroes in a horror movie!!”

“Heroes indeed!! One of the better-known ones made his name by delivering dramatic speeches to the monsters he was about to fight. But, alas, we don’t have the time to stand around reciting monologues. We still have an artifact to hunt for!”

“But you could recite one of those monologues?”

“Most, of them.”

“Most~?” She presses further, her smile growing wider.

“All,” I reluctantly concede.

“Hehehee! Coyo, you are just so you~,” she teases, making me blush. “We can keep it moving, but I wanna hear ‘em when we get back to the truck!”

“I-if you wish!!” I stammer, though for my reluctance I cannot hide my antennae perking up with anticipation. She giggles again at the sight. It truly makes me happy that she takes such interest in not just our immediate quest, but in the history woven into all these figures and their belongings…

“Now!” She barks, hurrying down the aisle again. “I wanna see if I can find anything good!” I take off after her, watching as rows upon rows of hanging garments flutter in her wake, hearing the sound of crisp pages rustling as she calls upon the wind to help her skim the inventory fast enough to keep up with her excitement.

Eventually, her gale catches something–a robe whose hood is almost the cartoonish stereotype of a wizard’s hat, long, flowing, and coming to a point at the end. The blue, windsock-like garment piques her interest, and she stops to pull it off the rack, revealing that it is not in fact a robe, but a tunic and slacks embroidered with a motif of a meandering breeze.

“OooooOOOOoooo, now THIS looks like a fun one!” She says, pulling the tunic over her head. She leaves the pants on their hangar; she’s more of a shorts person, and honestly, I’d be surprised if they would go on over her hips either way. Trying not to dwell too much on thoughts of her hips, I watch as she twirls around in the tunic, enjoying the way it swishes as she uses her wind to toy with it. “You got a history lesson on this one for me, Coyo?”

“Hmm…” I ponder, bringing a claw to the bottom edge of my screen, furrowing my antennae. “Unfortunately, I don’t.” I look around the spot where she found it, hoping to glean some context from the related artifacts. “Ah!” I cry, reaching into a rack and pulling out a sword from next to a crimson tabard. “This, I recognize!”

She wonders at the gleaming, pearlescent blade, bouncing up and down on the pads of her paws, looking to me for elucidation. My tail wags as I meet her `ted gaze, and I rush into what I know, as eager to share as she is to hear.

“This is a recreation of a Welsh sword, said to be wielded by the old kings in the legends of the founding of their nation!” I exclaim, holding it dramatically aloft. “According to myth, it was hard enough to cleave stone in twain–so much so that it was left waiting in one for its eventual rightful user to claim it!”

“Wait, I thought Excalibur was a British sword?”

“The British believe everything belongs to them, do they not? They even presume to claim that their name for this blade is the correct one. The only correct one, anyway.”

“Fair enough! It’s never as simple as the stories with Radiants, is it? What’s that about, though?” She asks, ears swishing as she tilts her head, pointing at a pair of dark spectacles affixed to the sword with a plastic tie.

“I… haven’t a clue. Very cool, though.”

“You should try them on!” The vixen suggests, and I do, slipping the earpieces into my screen on either side of my eyes and holding them there. Holding them there is a bit like chewing on the ends, which at least gives me something to fidget with as I begin to squirm under her close inspection.

“Just like I thought,” she beams. “You look like a dork~!” I sputter, my face growing brighter behind the glasses, which do little to obscure my reaction. She reaches up and takes them off my face, standing on her toes to give me a peck on my screen. “You know I like you better when you aren’t hiding behind anything, Coyo~,” she adds, and though I feel exposed, I do not shy away this time as my screen burns.

“Now, you know what DID seem cool…” she says, taking my claw again and leading me toward something she had passed. As she bends over to rummage through the items, I notice Violet’s claw extending across the aisle to browse the opposite rack. “Here we go!” She says, straightening up, holding out a pair of bright red sneakers and a handful of thick, golden bangles.

“That jewelry seems quite heavy,” I observe.

“Not really! I don’t know if it’s ‘cause they’re fakes or if the magical originals were lighter than they looked, but I feel like I could hold a hundred of these!” She lines her arm with the rings to make her point, waving it around just as easily as if it were completely unburdened. “These shoes, though! Just looking at ‘em, I feel like I could run a mile a minute!”

“Coyotl,” Violet mutters, splitting off into Fox’s shadow, having apparently found what she was looking for. “I thought you said this place was stocked with things from ‘the heroes of old’. Why is there an uzi mixed in with all these rocks?” I look up at what she holds in her claws and see what appears to be an average firearm. In her other claw are a rainbow of diamond-cut jewels, each the size of my fist. G-goodness, I think, And she can hold seven of them in just the one hand…

“W-well,” I stammer, looking up at her and trying not to think about how much I have to look up at her, “New legends are made every day! I suppose it’s possible that this is a relic of a more recent escapade. Say, the last 25 years?”

“What, 2005?”

“No, maybe more recently than that. Probably a bit after ‘06.” The wolf hmphs in acknowledgement and, after we return everything to their places (save one of the jewels, which Fox finds to have impressive luster for a replica), walks alongside myself and Fox as we continue.

The glint of a shining, orange-gold blade poking out from among the displays catches my eye, and I stop to examine it more closely. It broadens at the end, almost to a cartoonish extent, and feels warm to the touch; with it is a winged helmet forged from the same metal, a form-fitting undergarment, and what is bluntly a dress. Not a robe, or tunic, or cloak, just a dress. An interesting change of pace! And certainly one to which I am not opposed. I pull the dark, snug piece over my head and wrap the flowing orange fabric around myself, then pose (quite valiantly) with the sword for the Vixens. Fox whistles, and Violet offers a restrained, appreciative clap.

“Me next, me next!!” Fox reaches into the same rack, coming away with a lightly-armored robe with sharp purple pauldrons and boots. There is a flap of fabric and, in a flash, she’s already changed into it, and is working to fit the similarly-pointy headpiece over her big, cute ears; once she has it comfortably on her head, she picks up a steel-blue staff and firmly taps it on the ground, full of playful faux-solemnity.

“You look a proper mage, beloved!”

“I want to try. Let me borrow that.” Violet sinks back into Fox’s shadow and slithers her way up along their body, The fabric of the robe melts into her darkness at the legs, resolidifying into coarse denim, the metal boots reconstituting themselves into the studs that line a handful of belts around her waist. Higher up, the robe becomes a simple shirt with the sleeves torn asunder to make way for the wolf’s powerful arms. The pauldrons form a coat, pinned around her neck beneath a spiked collar, hanging dramatically off her shoulders, emblazoned with an ankh on each cuff.

Her eyes change shape atop her snout, their outlines extending until they’re winged at the edges, a wedjat in the corner of each, and her wild mane teases itself up into several pointy locks. She crosses her arms and puffs out her chest, radiating an aura of self-assuredness rather than her usual imposing air. She looks herself up and down, pauses, and begins rooting around in the display once more. She finds a heavy chain bearing a pyramidal pendant, drapes it over her neck, and reassumes her stance, christening her new look with a nod of approval.

“You look FANTASTIC, Violet!!” I cheer. “Downright formidable! None could stand before you without flinching!” My wives are SO. COOL.

“Heeeheehehe,” Fox giggles, Violet’s maw peeling away so that her snout can poke out. “You’re just a big edgy goth girl, aren’t ya, Vi?”

“Alright, I’m done trying on clothes.” Violet retreats into Fox’s form, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor in her previous magician’s raiments.

“Oof. C’mon, Violet, you looked great in it!!”

“Mm,” she grunts from Fox’s tail, but I see her wagging nonetheless. “Let’s just blow this corn maze sometime before NEXT Halloween.”

And so we continue, doggedly scouring the maze of myths for any originals hidden amongst the forgeries. Of course, we do stop several more times, if not to step into the roles of old legends, then simply to revere them and delve into their histories.

We pass a massive suit of armor clutching a hammer larger than Violet is tall, with the visage of a lion sculpted into its left gauntlet, proudly displayed through the center of its shield. It is flanked on one side by a set of dark robes with a mask crafted from the skull of a barn owl, and on the other by a light leather jacket, complete with a pair of orange-tinted goggles and compartments in the sleeves for the discreet deployment of weapons. I see echoes of Sue and Zee in the likenesses of a child prodigy and her magnum opus, a mechanical centaur known for her extraordinary ability to stand her ground.

We enter a hall dedicated to the preservation of the forms of many great beasts: a hound with a scythe-like growth, said to bring disaster wherever it goes; a russet, shifty creature with a bushy tail and whiskers that evoke the facial hair of iconic feudal thieves and swashbucklers; and a lonely creature that hardens itself through hardship by shielding itself with the bones of its fallen ancestors. A purple-and-gray reptilian creature, known for manipulating whole communities of its own kind with its feminine wiles, reminds us of a certain traveling companion.

We come across somewhat more modern, certainly more formal clothes as well. A bright-red vest with a blue tie, accessorized with a bronze band around the wrist and a blue overcoat, catches our attention, as do a set of lavender-and-white robes that appear to belong to some sort of religious convent. They are adorned with a string of large beads and a magenta sash, and though they fit Fox quite nicely, they are… rather salacious, on Violet’s larger frame. A simple blue three-piece suit, a small gold badge glinting on its lapel, and a maroon-and-black ensemble with layers of frills at the neck, seem to stand in opposition to each other; they seem like they would complement Cat and Liz’s coats, we note, and move on.

Eventually, for all my and Fox’s avidity, we must concede that it would be impossible to assess the full inventory of this place, at least not in one day. We begin to work our way back towards the entrance, where we find Bomba waiting for us, and Niamh and Jack still laughing with each other.

“All shopped out~?” the serpent greets us.

“Indeed,” I reply. “I know we have other places to be, but we need rest. We’ll just have to come back tomorrow and keep searching–and the day after, and the day after, if that’s what it takes!”

“Haw!”

“Ahmmhmmhm~”

“What?”

“Oh, dearie,” Niamh explains, “We’ve already gotten what we’re looking for!”

“What do you mean? Did you find it yourself?”

“Of course not! Jack here went and dug it up for me. The Horn of Plenty will be arriving at Aspen Town in a matter of, oh… five to seven business days, was it?”

“Well, ma’am, that’s the standard ‘round here, but–”

“But you’re willing to rush an order for little ol’ Niamh, isn’t that right~?” Jack chuckles again and ambles off somewhere behind the counter, out of view. “He owed me a favor, you see.”

“How’s it gonna get to Aspen Town?” Fox asks.

“Fox, honey, Spirit Halloween has had online delivery for years, now!”

“Then why the hell did we just spend a WHOLE DAY digging around for it?!”

“You had fun, didn’t you~? I thought you all would enjoy a shopping spree~!”

That reply leaves Violet stunned, her maw hanging agape on the end of Fox’s tail. Fox, for her part, begins to crack up.

“Hehehe�� HAAHAHAHA! I MEAN… I did have fun!! Didn’t you, Coyo?”

“I… I most certainly did,” I mumble, shaking from my own shock. Nowhere in the notes did it mention… My thoughts are interrupted by Fox springing up and throwing her arms around my shoulders and planting a kiss on my monitor. “Well, I suppose that even if we could have saved the trip, it was well worth it!”

“It sure was!! Now come on,” Fox says. “You owe me a dramatic reading of some vampire-slayer taunts!” Niamh slithers past us, hollering a toodle-oo over her shoulder at Jack.

“Did any of you want to pick up some candy on our way out of town?” She suggests.

“I am Bomba.”

“I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth, master!”

“I betcha I can eat more than she can!!”

“It’s cheating if you get me to help.”

“Boooo! C’mon, Vi! We’re supposed to have each others’ backs!!!”

I love my wives.

And thus, we exit. The harvest moon now shines overhead instead of within Jack’s realm, lighting our way back to the truck, promising untold bounties; of magical pieces of history, of adventure, and of course, of candy.

I’m going to out-eat the rest of them combined.

[craneswings]

"My my, there's a face that I didn't expect to see."

An innocent encounter between two students of different classes who would seemingly have no reason to know each other betrays shared history to the few around them who might be listening. At this point, while Poe is surprised, she isn't floored—Emma and Niamh are both here, so Yuzu makes four. Half of the odd little mismatch of people from all corners of the universe. She's almost inclined to wonder if they might all reunite here, given a little more time.

"What a pleasure to see you here," She greets, her usual cordiality and pleasant smile coloring her every motion. Poe has no bone to pick with Yuzu, and so her pleasantness is genuine (if, as always, a touch off-putting). "Well, of all of you, you are perhaps the least surprising to have ended up here. Here to brush up on your combat prowess, I presume?"

The black eagle taps her chin, thinking deeply.

"I don't believe I've seen you at Garreg Mach any of the times I've studied here." Timelines, more like, but they are in the presence of others even if those others are not listening closely. "Well, I'd say I know the place better than most, so if you ever need a hand navigating anything..."

Politely, she smiles and doffs her hat.

"Don't be a stranger. I'll see you around, won't I?"

Yuzu is still making the rounds of this unfamiliar fortress of an academy when a much more familiar voice enters her ears, alongside a familiar flowery smell. When she turns, she is met with a face she is decently acquainted with in a place where she never expected many faces like such. Shock enters her face for only a moment before logic takes back control.

"Poe! Aye, my curiosity has bested me, as I do not want to be bested so easily."

Right, Poe has mentioned the land of Fódlan to her once before. It is one of the catalysts for why she finds herself here in her school uniform now, in fact. Though she is afraid to admit that Poe has her beat in the fashion department, looking as if those garments were made to fit her perfectly. Not that it bothers Yuzu, style has never been the trend she lusted for. Although, asking Poe for some advice sometime could be practical, seeing she has studied here before...

Wait, she has studied here before?

From the past, Yuzu almost has the feeling she understands what Poe is laying for her, but the pinkette in particular was always fickle with wording. At the moment, however, the new student has little reason to question her senior's implications. Yuzu believes it won't be long until they cross paths again to find out more, even if their house allegiance differs.

Yuzu warmly smiles at Poe, recognizing the genuine kindness in her proposal. "My legs are already used to the way to the training halls, but your offer will not go ignored."

Well, actually...

"Though now that you mention, is there a swift path to the dining area from here? Fie, I admit the greenery makes everything...look the same."

[boundlesschaos]

As the wind settles between the two, Niamh makes the effort to meet the rest of the way. As she does, her attention is briefly brought to the gloves, or lack thereof, that Nanna wears - should Niamh be wary? She reassures herself that everything will be ok, though. The flowers that surrounded the two were fragile things. They required upmost care, and none of them had the capacity to harm either of them.

(Or she hopes they don't, anyway.)

Niamh's fixation on the other's safety is soon interrupted by the gentle brush of a flower stem, with finds home in Niamh's hair. Her eyes meet Nanna's own, and the mask that looks back at her brings a soft, genuine smile to Niamh's face.

"So you picked one out..." There were so many kinds of masks that she's spotted this year. And, whether they were cute, scary, or even downright bizarre, Niamh had found enjoyment in each and every one of them.

A hand touches the edge of Nanna's mask, making note of the materials. "It's well made...the design work is exceptional..." It's wonderful, through and through. Niamh could spend the evening admiring the mask up close, but after some consideration, she decides to withdraw her hand.

"..if it is acceptable...can you close your eyes for a bit longer?" She asks, as her hands touch the sides of her own mask. Despite the initial unease that sets in, her warm smile still persists.

@boundlesschaos asked:

[garden] Though the garden holds a magical sense of wonder, it is, by all intents, safer than the labyrinth-like maze of plants that graced the ball last year. Still, the quiet atmosphere that comes from the open space is a welcome one by Niamh. It's the perfect place to rendezvous when she's run out of steam attempting to socialize. As she takes note of the various shapes and colors of the flowers throughout the garden, her eyes meet with another. At first, thought to be a stranger - but no, Niamh knows this person, doesn't she? This manages to net a soft laugh from her. "...what are the odds, meeting someplace like this?" With the sounds of the party drowned by the closed doors, she's able to listen to the wind as it brushes pass the flowers, and weaves through the strand of hair that Niamh's purposely left loose. It's a nice change of pace from the rowdy partygoing that's happening on the other side. And, on top of that; "...I'm wearing gloves this time..." Niamh says, showing off the gloves to make a point. Maybe this time, she won't immediately need some first aid.

Nanna gasped, hand flying up as her heart leapt to her mouth. "Ah! Ahhh! It's been so very long, Niamh!" Clutching her chest, she began to sprinkle the flowers with a pitter-patter of laughter. "Hahaha! Oh my goodness, you're quite right, this should be odd, should it not?" They are no longer the size of a thumb, nor are the flowers a daunting bell tower above them. But as the wind sends the field of flowers into an ocean of waves, Niamh feels like the right figure to part them.

"But when I look at flowers, I do also think of you."

She giggled, holding up one hand, fingers parsed like a flower. No gloves on her own. "Should I be the one that's careful this year?"

Pulling up her heavier, curtaining skirts, Nanna made her way to close their space down the middle. The slight draft encircles them both, pushing the flowers into a soft ebb and flow. "Can you believe that it has been a year? And now the theme suits your mask perfectly..."

She leaned over to pluck a flower and rest it in the girl's hair. Her fingers gently skim the ridges of the girl's mask, which to her surprise, remained the same. Year in and year out.

Nanna usually loves to keep a good secret. But for once, because she knew Niamh's mask like it was her friend's own face, she thought it wouldn't hurt to make the sentiment mutual. Pulling her mask out from her purse, she held it up over half her face and closed her eyes. A smile runs deeply on her lips. "Do you like it? Now I'm like you, too!"

[lioncunt]

any way the wind blows review!!!

gonna put it under a cut but tl;dr i really really loved it and even the things that i was on the fence about i’ve decided i love as well lmfao

so i kind of knew going into both this and wayward son that the plot wouldn’t really EVER be as narratively satisfying as carry on’s. it would definitely be interesting and have a lot of cool thematic elements, but in terms of being a grand deconstruction of the “chosen one” genre, it couldn’t ever get better than carry on. and i’m so happy rainbow didn’t try to MAKE it that. she didn’t pull a supernatural and up the stakes to impossible, outlandish degrees. both wayward son and awtwb had realistic, fascinating plots that served as a metaphor for the internal struggles of the characters.

the reason i’m beginning this review by talking about the plot is because it’s what i’ve seen the most criticism directed towards. and like i DO get it, i also was taken aback at first at how the actual plot is kind of background noise for the first couple hundred pages. but like...i think it WORKS. again, this whole trilogy is a deconstruction. that’s its PURPOSE. obviously it’s doing other things as well, but it started by taking this well-worn and well-loved trope and completely turning it on its head, giving us permission to acknowledge all the damage it causes and how our love of this type of story is honestly kind of harmful. we turn off that part of our brains when we read harry potter or something else with traumatized child protagonists, in order for us to actually enjoy it, but the simon snow trilogy has always said, “hey, this is kind of fucked up, huh? you’re allowed to think that.”

anyway, the way that translates to the plot here is that there’s not always some huge mystical big bad, or obviously evil antagonist. the horror can be going on in the world around you, in the background of your day-to-day life dealing with your own shit, creeping up on you until suddenly your loved ones are spouting off nonsense that is an absolutely CHILLING allegory for eugenics, by the way, which i’ve seen NOBODY talk about. the clear political parallels were so well done, but not heavy-handed, and they worked wonderfully as an ending to this story. simon at the end being a target for an angry mob, who are victims of intense ableism themselves (the metaphor of being a weak mage = having a disability), how these religious extremists will point at what they deem abnormal and use them as a scapegoat, the disgusting “survival of the fittest” mentality leading to “i can make this society great again” - it was all just incredibly well written, in my opinion. and the fact that it happened so slowly, in the background, made it all the better. you don’t really notice how bad it’s getting until it’s BAD.

it also, again, works so well as a manifestation of the characters’ inner strife. others have put it better than me already, so i won’t talk about it too much, but the fact that the book is saying you don’t need to be like everyone else in order to accomplish great things and have a good life, you don't need to have magic, you don’t need to be human, you don’t need to be neurotypical or able-bodied or straight or white or ANYTHING these people will have you believe in order to make you obedient to them and hateful to others -- it’s fantastic. 

this kind of segues into the other big criticism i’m seeing, which is simon and baz’s one-day breakup. again, this has already been analyzed well, so i won't ramble about it, but wayward son was their breakup. metaphorically speaking. and i’m glad that it didn’t take some big, grand moment for them to get back together, even though it would have been narratively cathartic. that’s not how life works - it was so much better and realistic to have simon face the harsh difficulties of TRYING than dragging out a separation plot line that would have added NOTHING to his character. or baz’s. the only thing about their entire relationship that i would have done a bit differently is shorten the timeline, because a year and a half is a very long and honestly unrealistic time to go in a relationship without talking about sexual history or going on dates, even if there’s a lot of baggage. but that’s not that big a deal and i’m easily able to look past it.

(as a side note I'm getting annoyed at seeing all these takes that there’s too much sexual content. like i get it because the first two books are solidly YA and this is being marketed as YA even though it’s definitely NA, but like....sex is important. sex scenes and sexual content are an extremely important part of depicting the human experience. and lack of sex as well!! every single intimate scene between them was NOT super graphic and had such incredibly important significance narratively and character-wise - and yeah that includes any kinks that were brought up, like jesus they’re in their 20s and have been in a non-sexual relationship for a year and a half i think it’s pretty fucking relevant that there are intimate scenes!!! anyway moving on.)

i really loved penny and shepard’s plot - their relationship was so wonderful and charming and excellent for their characters, and i only wish we could have gotten their demon plot threaded into the larger picture, because after shepard was cured it felt like they were just standing there. that’s one of my very few complaints about the book. but they’re such good characters and i love them SO MUCH.

AND THANK GOD FOR AGATHA AND NIAMH. like i cannot put into words how fucking happy i was when i realized where that was headed. the cinematic nature of agatha and niamh helping the goat give birth while simon’s flying in the chapel and being targeted by a mob was just. so cool like i can’t even describe it it was so coooooool and then agatha and niamh KISSING and agatha found her PLACE and I'm so happy for her.

just in general the characters and relationships were fucking exquisite. i can’t help but love the way RR writes, especially her dialogue. it’s so real and three dimensional and her characters truly come alive and i care about them and love them so much. i’m so happy they’re happy, i wouldn’t have been able to stand it if they weren’t.

and everything got wrapped up so well in my opinion!! i don’t know what the hell people are talking about when they say they still have questions, like girl what about??? simon found his family, simon got a sword that isn’t tied to trauma, baz found out that he’ll get to grow old with simon, all their families are okay, penny and shepard are in love, agatha’s herding goats and a lesbian, there will probably be new threats and antagonists but they'll be able to handle them, life will continue to be difficult but they’ll get through it like WHAT do you not understand what’s not clicking i genuinely want to know. 

ok actually i have ONE single question and that’s. did baz pick up the sword at the end. because the way it’s written it sounds like he did and i like do not understand that at all. someone answer please.

anyway that’s my review 10/10 would recommend

[moonlit-grove]

TRAHEARNE THOUGHTS BECAUSE I AM A SIMP

(Posted on mobile because I'm too tired to get on PC to format)

His magic is not like other Necromancers. He has, unknowing and passively, absorbed some Orrian magic, gaining access to unknown and lost forms of necromantic power. The ghosts of Orr have taught and protected him as he learned about them, thinking these were Normal Necromancer Things.

He did not know Sylvari came from Mordremoth. But if he did, many of his studies in restoring Orr from Zhaitan would have included trying to discover how to tap into the jungle dragon's magic, and if it would have any effect if he did.

He existed on the least amount of food and power naps he could while in Orr. Sometimes, he can still be found just napping for five minutes before something important. He tends to eat a lot if he can though.

While he feels Caithe is the only one of the Firstborn who was happy to see him, recently he has started noticing Niamh and Kahedins, at least, also getting super excited when he visits home.

When Mother was attacked in S2, he took all that fear and rage he felt in that moment, and all that he felt through the Dream, and bottled it up. He let it fester to white-hot fury in his stomach until the fleet was brought down. In that single moment, all the anger turned into mind-numbing terror.

There is knowledge about Orr that will be lost forever when he dies unless he writes it down. But he's so busy with Pact work, and he doesn't actually know which knowledge it is that will be lost.

He loves cats. All cats. Small cats, big cats, pet cats, wild cats. He loves all cats, and oddly seems able to calm all cats. Cats who usually hate people love him.

He and Sayeh met on his first trip into Orr, many years ago. She was still an apprentice and he barely knew anything about the risen that infested the land and waters. They are actually pretty good friends.

He tastes like kiwis when smooched. He loves smooches with his beloved(s).

Pan plant! He's had crushes on norn, sylvari, humans, charr, and asura, of various genders and sexes. It doesn't come to mind. He is also willing to be polygamous if both he and his beloved(s) want it.

He and Riannoc were sort of romantically involved, in the sense that they had a mutual infatuation, but Trahearne had never said it. Riannoc did, many times, but Trahearne thought he had a different kind of love. It was only after Riannoc's death did he realize.

He is one of the Firstborn who will readily go without so younger generations of sylvari can have something. Especially food. Back when the secondborn were new, their first winter was brutal. He went hungry for several days to make sure the saplings had enough to stay alive. Mother and Kahedins had to force him to eat.

In Orr, he liked to lay where he could see the stars. He was never good at reading them, but he knew his siblings were looking at the same stars. It brought comfort, despite being so far away.

That "pod" in the Grove with a vista and no way to it from the bottom? The one you have to jump over a rail to get to? That was his home. Caithe and Faolain lived together, and Riannoc's home was altered to be a nursery for young sylvari. But his home has been left alone for the day he will return and live among them. He promised the other Firstborn. So they leave it for him.

He sometimes talks out loud to himself. Many times quiet whispering, but if he thinks he's alone, just talking. As if he's talking to someone else. It's something he started doing in Orr, imagining he was talking to someone else. Just so he didn't lose his mind in the solitude... save for ghosts.

He can "speak" Krytan Sign. He learned when a thirdborn emerged from their pod unable to hear anything. He taught the sapling and their luminary. It is now a common language in the Grove.

If you let him, he can talk for hours about Orrian history. He visibly lights up and gets bouncy on his feet the longer you let him.

He genuinely likes the cold. He prefers the cold. Orr is a very chilly place, especially if you're there without coats or blankets. Shortly after the Personal Story, he was at a point where even 70 (21) was too hot for him.

He loves fully and passionately. When he falls in love, people know. Even if he's terrified to admit it. Even if he needs a push to admit it, people know. He wants to. He doesn't want to lose his chance. But he needs a push to take initiative on his own life.

[boundlesschaos]

Niamh has never, in her time analyzing the concept of 'parties', heard of someone capable of handling them back to back to back. She too wishes that this 'Pandreo' was present for her to witness these thought to be impossible feats. What sort of person would he be like? What sort of methods does he know to endure them that she does not?

She very clearly makes a note of his name. Both mentally, and with the small journal she reveals, physically, as she scribbles a few notes about the rumored 'king of parties'.

That said, though her expression remains thoughtful, the answer to Fogado's question actually only requires a little consideration. With an eager nod, she studies his face for a moment, taking note of the smile he sends her way.

It's always something she's had to practice. Smiling doesn't come naturally for her - and the rare times that she genuinely smiles are few and far between. There are many ways others can smile, too. To express or to hide, they have uses that Niamh struggles at times to tell the difference between.

So, what kind of smile was this?

"If we want to practice..." she places the notebook on the table, and picks out one of the sweets to try. "I wonder where would be better...there are customs I still do not understand. But the masquerade has provides the ability to test without being detected..."

She says this, but the mask she wears is one anyone knows. So is that really as true as she says?

what's the tea?

TOA ETHEREAL BALL -- thread 1

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Monsters of the Museum || Dakota and Morgan

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Dakota and Morgan try to open up to one another. Some things are scarier than glass-cased monstrosities.

CONTAINS: Mentions of alcoholism, parental abuse, death, and car accident

Despite the weird shit that happened when she and Morgan hung out last, Dakota still felt as though she needed to water this seed, because when it came to everyone else in town so far… Well, this was the only one that was growing. She felt a little bad about getting defensive, and she had already planned on apologizing again once she saw Morgan at the museum, but… Well, technically what she’d said had been true. Morgan knew a sensitive detail about Dakota, but she didn’t really know her. And if she was going to take her only friend’s advice when it came to making more friends, then she needed to know more about Morgan first.

The museum had been her own idea, and even as she sat on the steps waiting patiently for her company to arrive, she still thought it would be fun with or without her. In an effort to be a nicer person, though, she did have two coffees set by her side, her hands in her pockets. She hoped Morgan liked hot bean water sans cream and sugar.

Morgan’s nerves prickled like needles as she pulled up to the museum. For all the effort they’d put into their pop up display during the carnival, the actual building was kind of dull looking, like a refurbished old train station no one had ever cared about. She steadied herself, trying to narrate a version of this visit to herself that both didn’t end with more attempted theft, or factual education, and had her leave with her conscience intact. She couldn’t exactly coax Dakota into making a scene while she smashed her way through reclaiming some supernatural artifacts to restore to their rightful communities, like she had with Deirdre. Nothing came to mind, so maybe she would just ignore everything in the museum and focus on the conversation around them. They were here to get to know each other. She didn’t need to worry about corpses being disrespected by being called creations and elaborate hoaxes, or photographs of supernaturals who hadn’t wanted to be seen dismissed, or magic relics categorized as superstition. She would be fine, and the afternoon with Dakota would be a good one.

Morgan finally got out of her Subaru and jogged up to meet her friend. “Hey! It’s a great day to be inside where it’s warm, huh? Let’s go, yeah?” She offered a hand to help Dakota up. “I tried to come up with some kind of random fact like they make you come up with in cheesy ice breakers on the way but--” I was too distracted by knowing how much wrongful nonsense you’re about to fall for in here. “--I just couldn’t. I’ve had some memorable shitty jobs in the past? I used to have an online crystal shop? My cat that’s been with me the longest, Anya, liked to be walked on a leash and harness?” She held open the door for them as they went in. “What I’m trying to say is, I will try to be as much of an open book as possible, okay?” And as long as they kept talking, how hard could that be?

She stepped onto the shiny tile floor and came face to face with half a dozen dull-eyed, incorporeal school children in their uniforms. She squealed, covering her mouth a second too late and jumped back close to Dakota. “Sorry! This place is just--” Haunted. Full to the brim and fucking haunted within an inch of its life. Morgan couldn’t look in any direction without catching sight of at least two spirits hovering near the display cases. Shit, shit, shit. “--so impressive! Like, way more than I thought it would be!”

Dakota was a little bit more excited than she wanted to admit, especially when Morgan showed up. She wasn’t the kind of person she ever thought she’d be friends with -- she was quirky, and weird, and confusing… But she was bright and bubbly and seemed to be this kind of oddly positive, always “chipper” sort of person. Which, as anyone could see, was the complete opposite of herself. But it made her happy to see that even if she was such a cynic, the people around her could still exist in this sort of.. Care-free innocence, it seemed. Of course, that was all her own perception, but she still firmly believed that Morgan did have some sort of sweet innocence to her, whether or not that was actually true. And she was also a firm believer that being friends with someone like Morgan was the closest she’d ever come to being that bright and bubbly and kind and sweet.

“Hey,” she greeted, but within a short amount of time she was bombarded with words. She forgot that Morgan did that, but this time it was slightly more endearing than the last. From a crystal shop to her cat, she did realize that all she was trying to do was tell her that she was going to be as genuine as possible. Whether or not Dakota chose to believe whatever she was about to say for the next few hours was up for discussion, but who would lie about a cat being walked on a harness? “Right, yeah -- Um. I guess I just wanted to know more about who you are as a person, you know?” she began, holding the door for the both of them to shuffle in. “So, let’s start with --” she began, but was quickly shut up by Morgan’s reaction to the museum.

While Dakota was impressed by the tile and artwork, Morgan seemed to have jumped back only a few moments after being inside -- as if she’d just seen a scary bug. This forced Dakota’s brows to knit together, looking at her in pure confusion. “Uh.. Yeah, I guess so..” It’s not that impressive. “I mean, it’s just a museum -- in my opinion. Have you been to the MET? I heard it’s crazy nice in there.”

“Uh…” Morgan winced with genuine embarrassment. “Sorry. I think my bar was just set really low. I mean, stars, they even have headsets! Not that I want one, you can’t really be with someone when you’re doing that.” Another nervous smile. She glared at the school children floating in front of them in a way that she hoped said, get lost. But they only glanced at Dakota with their cataract eyes and floated, dripping, back to the display case they seemed bound to. Morgan side stepped them carefully as she started down the nearest open corridor. “I did go to the MET actually! It’s so incredible, I didn’t even get to see half of it. It was just a few hours, when I took that trip to New York City with my girlfriend. We wanted our second day to be more chill and get back to our room before Times Square got too crowded, so we just walked the parts of the MET together that we could, popped out and found a bakery, and walked to a historical cemetery after. But here was this great collection of Dutch and German renaissance art and some pottery from indigenous tribes from the southwest. You should go, if you ever get the chance. I just, you know, didn’t think it would be this nice or roomy here.” She cleared her throat, hiding the impulse to seize up at the sight of a headless woman drifting up and down the corridor with them, phasing through half the patrons as she did.

“I’m not really sure how to define what kind of person I am,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to gather herself better. “I feel like I’m in a state of flux. I’m afraid you really will just have to play detective on that one.”

In the spirit of trying to make friends, Dakota tried her best to ignore the way Morgan was acting at the moment. If she’d been to the MET, she shouldn’t have been this surprised by the roominess of the museum… But, of course, she had to remind herself of Morgan’s excitability, and simply dismissed the issue. You can’t dismiss everything entirely, though can you? She didn’t want to think about that. The Nordica was weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen anything other than a big open showfloor with a few intrigued patrons wandering. All who seemed normal, all who seemed human, and no sign of anything with horns, so.. Maybe that’s just how Morgan was. Excitable. A little strange. Definitely weird. All true statements, sure, but she was also a friend.

“Everyone’s always in flux, Morgan. That’s sort of what life does to people. So tell me about your stages, and… I guess I’ll tell you mine.” she stated -- not in a malicious or rude manner, because to Dakota, she was just stating facts. If she listed all the changes she’s been through in the last 30 years of her life, she was sure she could come up with a way she was changing even now, approaching 40 in the next three years. Ooh, don’t think about that, either. They started at the Mutated Dog Remains exhibit, which was really just a bunch of old bones reassembled that showed minor mutations, but she had to admit they all looked rather large. The plaque below a particularly strange looking resemblance of a creature that must have died a while ago mentioned the word hellhound, but debunked the term by stating it was an urban legend, a made-up story, folklore.

“I know that you’re a lesbian, and a wiccan, and that you like deathly stuff. I know you had a best friend when you were younger that made you realize you were gay, and I know you have a girlfriend, and I know you’ve been to New York City. I also know that you have a cat. I guess the reason we’re here is because -- I mean, if you want to talk to me about letting people get to know me, least of all Marley Stryder, then I think it’s fair that I get to know the person who’s giving this crazy advice. So what’s the stuff you never tell anybody? Or were your parents like, happy when you were a kid?”

“Well, I flux more or harder than most people,” Morgan said with a low laugh. “And that’s three cats, total. I got Anya in Houston, and my girlfriend and I got Moira together, and we took in Niamh when her owner, a friend of ours, died suddenly late last year.” She couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking her head ruefully now as the suggestion that her parents were happy. “Oh, stars above, no. I mean, we tried. They tried. And we had moments, like most families, and that’s what I try to focus on but…” Another dry laugh. How did you explain, ‘well my mom was magically cursed with true suffering and shared that curse with me when I was born, so!’ “It was really complicated. My mother was…a really hurt woman. She did what she thought was best, but by the time she had me, her perception of ‘best’ had been warped by a lot of fear and bad experiences. She was really accepting of me when I came out, but that didn't really make all the times she dragged me screaming to my room and locked me in for awhile go away, you know?” Morgan winced, wondering if this was already oversharing. “I’m okay now, obviously,” she hastened to say. “I was just raised under some really specific circumstances that are hard for a lot of people to understand.”

“More or harder than most people?” Dakota repeated, trying her best not to sound judgmental. Lord knows she was the last person to judge, but.. It still came somewhat natural to her. Gotta work on that. She listened, though, about the cats -- reading plaque after plaque of random artifacts that didn’t look more or less interesting than what she could find at Pottery Barn. The place was probably filled with hoaxes, but she wasn’t about to comment, because.. God, wasn’t she so tired of being cynical all the time? Despite her overall standoffishness, Dakota really did care about what Morgan had to say. She could relate in a lot of ways to the story she told -- the half truths she was narrating. She’d been locked in her room before, but probably not for too long, because she always found a way out. And the more she thought about it, it was probably because dad was angry, and nobody wanted to be around when he started yelling. He never hit, though. If she loved him for anything other than ABBA, it was because he never hit. But she wasn’t going to tell Morgan any of that. Fucking hypocrite, she thought to herself. Asking this woman to bare her deepest darkest secrets while you can’t even tell her the truth. If there was one good intention of Dakota’s, though, it was that she cared about Morgan, and if she wanted to get any closer than an arm’s length, she’d need to read the footnotes. “Kind of sounds like Sparknotes there, Beck.” she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of the coat she was wearing while they aimlessly strolled the museum. “You don’t have to go any deeper than that if you don’t want. I’m just.. Saying that you can. If that’s what you want.”

“Wow,” Morgan said, laughing unsteadily. “And here I thought I was oversharing.” She shifted a little closer to Dakota, dodging the spectre of a man with burnt, twisted limbs. He glowered at her, condemning her denial of him. “I’m sorry,” she hissed under her breath. And she was. But smashing glass and striking up conversation with the air in a room full of normies wasn’t going to fix anything. “Um, if you pick a number that’s a multiple of three I can give you the Nightline Edition of some quality trauma. We can pull up one of those number generators on my phone if we really want to play with fate.” She laughed at her own bad joke. No one knew better than her that fate didn’t let you play when she’d made up her mind. It had only been, what, fifteen minutes from the banshee scream on her life to the rebar pole skewering her insides? “Last year counts too,” she added. “I’m not trying to be cagey on purpose. Shockingly, I am actually trying not to scare you off by dumping too much all at once.”

She stopped in front of a framed photograph of the Bachman House, now a pile of rubble in the bend. The placard mentioned the number of unusual deaths on the property, with the usual highlights of trampled by own horse, impaled by own farm tools, unlucky trip down stairs, and those were just the ones that could be ruled by accidents. On the other balcony, she could see teeth in glass boxes and a singular framed wing. “Can I ask you something first?” Morgan asked, her eyes settling into an empty middle distance where there was nothing to see, nothing to hide, no problem. “Where do you think all this stuff comes from? The stories, the pain around it all. What do you believe about it?”

“A multiple of three, huh?” Dakota inquired, mainly just to amuse her. If she was going to be friends with Morgan, it was quite obvious that she was going to have to play by her rules -- meaning that she probably would have to settle for the goofiness, or the kindness, or the sunshine and rainbows of it all. Weirdest part about all of that was the fact that Dakota usually scoffed at people who seemed to be full of so much joy. What the fuck was there to be joyful about, ever? You’re born, you live, you work for fifty years or so, and you die. The monotony of life… The mundanity of it all. So what the fuck was Morgan Beck even smiling about, even if she did have a Nightlife Edition highlight reel of her trauma ready to share? Jesus, dude, go to therapy.

Morgan caught her off guard, just a tad, with her next question. Where did she think all of this stuff came from? What does she believe about all of it? Dakota simply shrugged, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, which was a first. “I.. Guess the bones come from a bunch of different animals. Some of the artifacts have to be mass produced or ordered off, like, Etsy. The pictures and stuff? Well, anyone can go up to a creepy looking house that hasn’t had any tender love and care for a few decades and make up a story.” Dakota paused, bringing her attention back to the Bachman house. “I guess that’s what it is, in a nutshell. People wanting to believe things bad enough. People wanting other people to believe them bad enough. But the key is in making up the story -- because you can’t spell believe without L-I-E.”

Dakota let a lull in the conversation pass, tucking her hands back into her pockets, wandering off from the picture.“I pick 27, by the way. For the multiples thing.” she tossed over her shoulder.

Morgan nodded along. She couldn’t fault Dakota for speaking so callously without knowing how it all tied to Morgan. And there was some kind of awful experience sitting under her stiffness, something  that made her mistrust goodness and acceptance. “I’ll give you a two for one special,” she said quietly. “The house in that picture is mine. And everything in that placard is true. I have the documents from the town archives to prove it. And there’s a few more deaths that happened off the property tied to my family. There was a servant girl named Constance who wanted to run away with one of the Bachman daughters, Agnes. They were found out by  Agnes’ mother, Hannah Bachman, and the story suddenly went from a desperate romantic getaway to coercion. Constance didn’t have any family or friends to stick up for her, so word of her preying upon the innocent Bachman daughter spread, and she spent about a month living in the woods like an animal until she finally died.” Died because she surrendered her form to power a generational curse, but Morgan didn’t feel like arguing those particulars with a skeptic. “There are some truly horrible, inexplicable things that happen here that are just as real as the morning weather.”

She turned to Dakota, smiling sadly. “When I was twenty-seven, I was supposed to be finishing up my Masters’ in literature. I was living in this nice apartment with some other students and one of them was in my program. And she was so beautiful, and I would’ve done anything for her except say I liked her. One day I’m making sun tea and she pulls me aside about something, how behind on my share of the rent I am, and it’s going okay, but I decide to start opening up about--” The curse. Stupidly, she’d tried to tell her about the curse. “Some of the smaller crises that were going on, and she didn’t believe me and got really upset. And...okay, so the super swore later on that he had replaced all the windows so they were double insulated. This one windowpane had been missed. So when the girl threw one of my plants at the window, the whole thing shattered. I went to pick up the glass and she wanted me to stay away from her, and she pushed me, but because of the glass around her, she also cut herself and slipped and she went backwards just right out the window and fell through what was left of it. We were on the fourth floor, so…” Morgan winced. “Everyone heard us screaming before then, and my standing over the window-- I mean, it was so fast I was too late before I even tried to get close enough to catch her-- it didn’t look good, and they made me re-hash everything we’d been talking about and they didn’t like or believe it either, so I spent the evening answering questions from the authorities, and being yelled at by my roommates, and packing up my stuff. Then came the psych evaluation, which I was too anxious and scared to refuse, and that was pretty scary. And by that time it was eight o’clock or something, so I holed up in a Whataburger for a little bit and then drove around our college town trying to figure out where I was supposed to go next. I got a shitty little Motel 6 place for a few months before I could get leave of absence paperwork going and do depressed 20-something shit until I could start back again with a cohort that didn’t know me.” She thought back on that day, shivering at the memory of the body ragdolled on the gravel, the blood framing her and soaking her hair, the glare of the sun on her empty face… “Sometimes things just happen.” Sometimes they happened because the neutrality of the universe could hurt, and sometimes they happened because you were cursed to carry your great-great grandmother’s crimes on your shoulders.

Dakota had fully intended on continuing to browse the museum, already halfway to the next display whenever Morgan spoke up about the Bachman house. She listened, of course, but part of her didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. But she remembered something Erin had said a few weeks ago, something about how she herself had nothing to gain from lying to her, and Dakota couldn’t help but wonder if the same was true for Morgan. What would she have gained by lying to her? What would she get out of a story like that? Unless the woman standing before her was severely mentally ill, suffering from some sort of psychosis or a personality disorder, then what was Morgan getting out of lying about a picture of a house? She stopped in her path, turned back to look at her, and just as she was about to grill her for the evidence, she started talking about grad school.

Morgan shared, and after she’d finished, the exhibit they’d been standing in had been emptied of all people, most of whom had gone on to go see whatever else this place had to offer. Dakota didn’t mean to stare, but she was looking at Morgan for what felt like forever, and suddenly, deciding on whether or not the Bachman story was true wasn’t exactly the most pressing issue anymore. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured, because it was the only thing she really knew to say. She almost wanted to give Morgan a hug, but she wasn’t a touchy person, and she wasn’t even sure if they were close enough for that anyways, so she refrained. “Not sure I can follow that. You win on the trauma stories.”

“It’s not a contest,” Morgan said softly. “Honestly, it’s…” She exhaled slowly. It had been awful, yes. And it had taken her longer than usual to bounce back, to make friends without wanting to run or panic. She didn’t bother telling anyone about the curse at all after that, at least until White Crest. It was the kind of hurt you didn’t think about too much. Besides, there was always another one three years ahead. On and on until the day she died. “I’ve had worse. And it was over ten years ago. I don’t really, you know, think about it that much in the grand scheme of things. I have other, bigger things to worry about.” She did her best to brush it off as no big deal, but in the wake of the confession, she mostly felt bewilderment at her forming any attachments in White Crest at all. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, huh? I mean, I know you’ve shared a lot already, and I don’t mind talking more, I just don’t want to take all the air in here, either.” She looked sidelong at Dakota, unsure at how she was really taking all this. Did she think she was making this up? Did she think she was crazy?

Morgan was right. It wasn’t a competition. But if you did compare the two stories -- Dakota’s entire life and then the one incident that happened to Morgan when she was 27 -- Dakota would look like a spoiled goddamned brat. Of course, she could tell her about The Nordica… But she was still in denial about the events that unfolded that night. Erin was the only one she trusted enough to talk about that with because she was the only one she knew that had seen the event take place. She was the only one she really felt safe enough with to talk about the possibility that maybe that thing wasn’t just some rare animal, and maybe it was a monster. Regardless of that, though, it didn’t matter how many times Dakota showed up at Erin’s place to talk about it, because denial was more than just a river in Egypt. Dakota took the opportunity to lean against the railing that blocked museum goers from getting too close to any artifacts that weren’t held behind plexiglass, folded her arms over her chest and let out a little sigh. “I don’t feel like going by multiples of any particular number, so I’m just going to tell you everything, so try to keep up.” Here goes nothing. Or everything.

“I was born and raised in Detroit, but you knew that. It wasn’t the nice part of Detroit because we were really fucking poor. My mom worked at Valentino’s Diner on 8 Mile Road and I never saw her because she was always working -- double shifts, almost every day. I literally remember being a kid and dipping into the drug store to buy her cigarettes and dropping them off on my way home from school. My dad was an alcoholic. I still don’t really know much about him, but I know that he fell asleep in his recliner every night with old ass tv shows on with usually some type of scotch or brandy at his side. One time our house almost burnt down because he blacked out with a lit cigar in his hand -- he must’ve dropped it, because there was a huge cinched patch in our living room that we had to cut out of the carpet.” You’re really going for it, huh? “They fought… A lot. Because mom was doing the double shifts I told you about, and Dad bled their savings dry for booze, and they were always yelling at each other about money. When I was younger I remember asking my mom who “Bill” was. I used to think that we must have just had a lot of thunderstorms because the power kept going out, but really the power just kept getting shut off. Dad referred to her as a “ball and chain” to his buddies, but I think it was the other way around, because my mom was smart. And really fucking brave. And he knew that if he ever hit her, he’d be a dead man, because she wasn’t afraid to fight back. So I know what it’s like to be locked in your room. I didn’t understand then, but I know now that really she was just trying to protect me from seeing things I didn’t need to see, but must’ve forgot that I had ears. When I got older, I started sneaking out of my bedroom window when shit like that happened. Went and rode my bike, that sort of thing. I remember always being so pissed that I never knew what was going on, which is probably why I do what I do. I hate it when nobody knows what’s going on. All that misinformation..” she trailed off. Yeah, you’re one to talk. “Anyways, I was the poor kid with really greasy hair and hand-me-down clothes, and people talked. Kids are fucking assholes. But I took after my mom, because I’m pretty smart, too, and I worked my ass off and got to college. Chris -- my, uh, ex that I told you about -- he followed me. He was going to be a big businessman or whatever the fuck, and really I just wanted the stability, so.. I stayed. For a while. Then I ended up here. And you’d think that the bullshit would’ve stopped, but I know what it feels like to see someone die now, so.. I guess we’re on the same page there.”

“Oh, Dakota…” Morgan pulled her into her arms as best she could. “That’s not something you should have to know. Sorry doesn’t change anything, but… I am. And I don’t--I don’t think it’s too late for you to leave, if that’s what you want. This place is violent. Whatever, whoever you saw die...it’s just a lot more common here than it is in some other places. This place is violent and cruel and you have definitely suffered enough.” From Dakota’s expression, the same could maybe be said for her, but there was too much here. She felt bound to it, or maybe she was just mired and didn’t realize. “I know you’re just starting to find your way, but no one would blame you if you went.”

She pulled back, still touching the woman’s arm, lingering there. “Listen...if you…” Morgan hesitated. Dakota had made herself so vulnerable and Morgan knew exactly what she really wanted to know about her, and who was she to push Dakota to be more vulnerable and open with new people if she couldn’t even try to offer this? “Do you still really want to know what’s...why my body is the way that it is? Because I can tell you, or I can try to. But we should probably find somewhere to sit first.”

Can’t leave yet. “Yeah, but if I skipped town now, who would I cry to about personal shit in the middle of a museum full of hoaxes? Seriously, this is invaluable.” Dakota sounded a bit sarcastic, but she did mean it -- if she were to get the next plane ticket outta this place, she would most definitely be losing one of the only relationships she ever cared about in her life and leaving it behind. Even if White Crest was a cursed place, she’d still feel bad for leaving Morgan.

After she had pulled back from the hug -- which was accepted but not necessarily invited -- something was offered that had piqued her interest. An actual explanation as to why Morgan was the way that Morgan was. At least… Why her blood looked like tar and her skin healed at a superhuman speed. She was ready for the vegan preaching, and now a little more prepared for a cyborg arm than she had been before. If you can see Krampus in a movie theater, I’m sure doctors can create a superhuman arm. “I mean, I’d love to know, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she offered politely, even though she was practically crawling out of her skin with anticipation. “I think there’s a cafe near the entrance, if you wanna..?

Morgan glanced quickly at the cafe area and thought better of it. Too many people. If this went badly, she didn’t want to be the center of a scene. She looked around the gallery and found a relatively empty bench. Well, empty of living people. There was a rather large group of ghost pirates floating around a piece of a ship encased in glass. Morgan made her way toward them, making a face she hoped indicated that she wanted some privacy. The pirates, however, had been dead long enough to not care and just cleared the bench so no one would be sitting through their ghostly bodies.

Morgan shouldered off her jacket and sat very close to Dakota, who she pulled down with her. “So, last April I was kind of in an accident. There was this light malfunction and that caused this huge wreck and it was so fast there was debris everywhere. And I was um…” She winced, remembering. “I was on the sidewalk. I was supposed to go home after work, but I stopped for ice cream with my friend, at this little stand. And it was just some terrible Final Destination bullshit, but my foot was caught and I couldn’t run and then I was on the ground, and there was this…” That pole. That fucking pole of rebar. Morgan had seen it almost every night during those magic nightmares. She couldn’t talk about that, not without knowing how Dakota would take the truth. “It was really bad,” she said. “I don’t know what the best way to explain is, but you can track the….change in my pulse, my heartbeat.” She rolled up her sleeve and held out her wrist. “Will you see? Please?” Her voice trembled with trepidation. Already, she was scrambling to brace herself for the worst; trouble was, she didn’t really know what ‘worst’ looked like yet.

As Morgan ushered them over to a nearby bench, Dakota started to realize that maybe this was a bigger deal than just some blood disorder or bionic arm thing. Whatever it was, she still thought that Morgan would be a friend regardless, because you’re not friends with people just because their bodies function normally. Besides, even if it freaked her out, Morgan was the closest thing to a friend Dakota had ever had -- and she didn’t mean that lightly. Not when she’d grown up the outcast, and not when fitting in always felt like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t fit. As far as she was concerned, Morgan could admit she’d committed several murders and partook in some shady drug lord businesses and she’d probably still be her friend.

As they sat, and Morgan spoke about an accident, Dakota just listened. She was good at listening, but it was more of the “getting it” part she hadn’t mastered -- at least...not when it came to people. The accident she’d described seemed horrific enough. Something Dakota prayed to a God she didn’t believe in that would never happen to her. At first, she was confused as to why she needed to feel her pulse, but her voice trembled, and she could tell this was important to her, so.. She gave it a shot, even though she didn’t quite understand. Placing two fingers on her wrist, Dakota searched for her pulse. She tried several different spots, but she didn’t feel a single beat, and her skin was still ice cold. “So… You have a weak pulse? Because of the accident?” she asked.

“You have to hold it for longer than that,” Morgan hissed. “Here.” She took Dakota by the sleeve and pressed her hand over her heart, firmly, where it would’ve been easy for anyone to feel at least a faint impression of a heartbeat. Morgan held it, and held it, and held it. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t have one anymore,” she whispered. “But I’m trying to prove it to you first. You need to understand that this is real.” She drew in a deep breath (In. Hold. Out.) and made sure Dakota felt it. Her chest expanded, the air flowed, but only because she willed it consciously. There was nothing in her that regulated her existence, no internal rhythm to keep up. Her will and her steady feeding were the only things maintaining her existence. “You can try checking on my neck, you can ask me to hold my breath, whatever you feel like you need to do, but I am trying, very hard, to show you the truth.”

Maybe laughing was a knee-jerk response. Actually, she knew exactly why she started to laugh -- because people laugh when they need to project dignity and control during times of stress and anxiety. In situations like this one, right here and right now, when Dakota was confused on all fronts, and anxious because she knew the truth was that Morgan didn’t have a pulse, or a heartbeat, nor was there even the faintest thumb against the palm of her hand through her chest, her response was to laugh. If there was no pulse -- if there was no beat, no rhythm rattling around in her ribcage, then she must have been… She had to be… Dead. Right? People usually laugh in a subconscious attempt to reduce stress and calm down. However, for Dakota, it often works otherwise.

It took a few moments, but she retracted her hand as if recoiling from a hot flame, and stood up immediately. She didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. She could make a break for it and get the hell out of there, but that depended solely on whether or not her legs would move, because they felt made of lead at the moment. She could continue the awkward, anxious laughter that had first bubbled up but has since dissipated to breathing somewhat shallow, quick breaths. Her thoughts raced, so much so that her words wouldn’t come out, and when they finally did, she sputtered. “Am I -- Am I fucking crazy?”

Morgan let Dakota withdraw her hand and grabbed her jacket, started double checking her pockets and bags to make sure she wouldn’t leave anything behind when she made her hasty exit.

“Them’s the breaks,” One of the pirates said. “Head empty as prawns, these humans.”

“Yes, thank you,” Morgan hissed. He was trying to be comforting, but she didn’t want to hear any of it.

She didn’t meet Dakota’s eyes or look in her vicinity as the woman continued to laugh (laugh) deliriously at what she was being shown. “No, you’re not fucking crazy. What’s fucking crazy is having to spend most of my daylight hours pretending to be alive when I’m not. We don’t have to keep doing this. I can go. You can stay and enjoy the--whatever.”

Dakota realized Morgan was moving quickly, like she was ready to flee the scene of a terrible accident. Pun most definitely not intended. She swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came, not for a few moments that felt like an eternity when Morgan was getting ready to run. “Morgan, wait, I --” she cut herself off, because she didn’t know what she was asking her to wait for. It was like her mind had shutdown, only functioning on the essentials. “I didn’t mean to -- I just -- I don’t -- It’s not possible, which means you’re a -- You’re dead, but that.. You’re...” she was probably sounding like a basket case at this point, and she decided at that moment to stand up a little straighter, brush the hair out of her eyes. “I… I’ve got to go.” And with that, she practically ran to her car, fired up the engine, and got the hell out of there.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘zombie’,” Morgan said, grumbled between Dakota’s desperate stutters for understanding. She was ready to run right there, but Dakota beat her to it, and she had just enough pride not to race her out of this stupid, stupid idea of an afternoon. Slowly, she pulled on her jacket and arranged her hair over the collar just so, and put on her scarf. There was no need to rush anymore and no one curious enough to see her furiously blink back the sting in her eyes and swallow the lump forming in her throat. “Fucking humans, am I right?” She rasped.

The ghosts agreed, but only in silence.

[fourmarksmage]

@intothewildsea​ asked: fives time kissed pls 🥺♥️

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed | selectively accepting

Surely, it must have been magic. That she had yearned so hard for the one person she could still hold out to show her gentleness and kindness, she had managed to manifest a perfect memory of her into reality. But she knew that wasn’t what magic was. It was more than pure desire, or she would have gotten her way a long time ago - a memorable court mage, a child, some way of securing a legacy. But here they were, speaking quietly in her room. Not out of consideration for the neighboring rooms, but there was simply an intimacy there as if there weren’t any years apart. The conversation manages to hit a pause, even though Yennefer knew she had told Niamh more than she had told anyone else in years and still had more words to fill the silence with. But instead, she let the quiet wrap around them like a warm blanket, pressing her lips to the other’s, sighing softly. “Just had to be sure this was all still real. That I’m still waking.” She pressed her lips against Niamh’s again for good measure.

*****

Yennefer tried her best to cover her shiver by pulling Niamh in closer as she watched the flames on the tall bonfire flicker and dance like the people around them. She disliked her birthday. Which was a shame, since she did enjoy the particular festivities of Belleteyn. While humans had a chance to transform and change, move through their cycles with the turning of the year, she could only persist on, straight forward rather than the circle. She turned her head, nuzzling her head into the selkie’s hair. She kept her face hidden there for a moment before she felt fingertips beneath her chin, tilting her face to meet Niamh’s. A grin, small but one of her rare, truly genuine ones lifted before their lips met. “I hope you know that I do expect more than a single kiss as a birthday present.”

*****

The sorceress stretched, feeling the morning (though perhaps it was afternoon by now) sun warming her back. As nice as the sensation was, she still moved away from the light, not quite ready to fully awaken quite yet. Instead, she just grumbled something unintelligible, burying herself deeper in the covers. Still, she relented in her determination to stay asleep as she felt Niamh’s arms slip around her and their legs tangle with hers. Her head lifted, trying to blink away her bleary sleepiness, allowing herself to indulge in the image of her lover in this particular light until she couldn’t take it anymore and had to deepen the moment with a kiss, giving a surprising heat and intensity for having just woken up.

*****

Yennefer giggled. A giggle escaped from the lips of Yennefer of Vengerberg. A hand lifted to cover her mouth, though it did little to slow the sound.

“I haven’t enjoyed some boring old feast like this in some time.” She paused for a moment. “In fact, I’m not sure I could say I’ve enjoyed any of them quite so well.”

Her hand slipped into Niamh’s, pulling her out from the crowded ballroom to the estate’s sprawling gardens, with secret corners for only the stars to spy on them. She tugged her close, letting the kiss start slow. Her hand wound into their blonde curls as the kiss deepened and she felt her emotions heighten.

“Definitely the best party I’ve been to by far.”

*****

The sorceress let out a sharp scoff of protest as she felt the water splash towards her. She’d carefully piled her raven curls on top of her head, carefully dipping into the lake to avoid getting it wet as best as she could. But she should have known what a far flung dream that was considering her lover was a selkie -- leaving Niamh far too adept in the water and knowledgeable about all the ways to gently push her. She turned her back on them, pretending to be so stubbornly perturbed that she was ignoring her teasing. But she heard the splash of water again (and she couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful that it wasn’t aimed at her), and turned, catching Niamh in a kiss to prove there wasn’t all that much harm done.

“No complaining if I take twice as long at my vanity tonight. That’s the condition to get me on board for your little games,” she teased, nipping at the other’s lip.

[houseofcameliard]

Three Years Later: The Crown Prince

Now to check in on how our Crown Prince has been doing over the past 3 years. 3 years in the life of a young man has got to be filled with stories and sorts, and the Crown Prince is no different. 

Shortly after we left off, His Royal Highness became a University Graduate! Graduating with soaring marks from Brichester University, HRH gained a Bachelor of Language and Literature. It is believed that the Prince can now speak 4 languages. English, Gaelic, French, and Latin! 

As seen from the pictures above, His long-term Girlfriend Lucy Prescott graduated right alongside him! Ms Prescott graduated top of her class with a Bachelor of Nursing, and is rumoured to be starting her Grad Year at St Finneas Hospital in the new year! Above, the photo on the left was posted on the Offical Royal Family Simstagram, and the left, the photo that just slightly breaks Royal protocols, was posted by Ms Prescott on her private Simstagram story.

Since Graduating, His Royal Highness has truly jumped into his responsibilities as a Working Royal. He has eased the working load for his Mother and Father, by taking on a few patronages of his own. On appearances, the Prince surprised Culloden Citizens with just how kind and genuine he is. 

The Prince has received countless amounts of praise in his tact and ability to make each person he speaks to feel heard and important. The love for our Crown Prince grows with each appearance, and Culloden residents are buzzing with the knowledge that the Crown will be passed down to someone who truly understands what it means to be a Monarch.

So His Royal Highness and Lucy Prescott are still together? Including their time in high school, this means the pair have been dating for nearly 5 years! 6 if you include their breakup back in high school. It seems that Prince Michael didn't have to search very hard to find the love of his life. If time is anything to go by, we may be seeing an engagement any day now! 

The pair are seen walking together quite often around their shared home! The Crown Prince broke Royal Protocol himself when it was found out that last year, he was moving into Glenfinnan Cottage. A Georgian style cottage owned by the Royal Family an equal distance from the City and Brichester University. It is believed that Ms Prescott and the Prince do pay rent on this property.

Next up in our catch up? HRH Niamh Princess Royal, and boy do we have a lot to catch up on! Keep an eye out!

[theofficialdramallama]

Peter/Assumpta 1,8,12

Send me a ship and some numbers!

Ship: Peter and Assumpta from Ballykissangel

1. How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

It’s never said between the two of them, but they each know how lucky they are to be together, so it’s become a little tradition between them to share a short but sweet kiss just before they go to sleep. It’s their secret code, as they’re both still too stubborn to actually say their feelings sometimes. Every Sunday, Peter wakes early to attend Mass, happy to go as just a parishioner as it means that he has the pleasure to witness a sleepy Assumpta, complete with tousled bed-hair and dopey expressions. He kisses her forehead and reminds himself to make a stop at Kathleen’s shop on the way back after Mass to buy those cakes she likes…

8. What do they like best about their partner?

For Peter, it’s the little things. Like how Assumpta genuinely laughs at his silly attempts of humour, or how she amazing she is when she smiles. For Assumpta, it’s Peter’s ability to make her feel safe. That if she’s having a bad day, and she can’t keep up the act of being ‘sassy Assumpta’, he’ll be there, ready to catch her, whether she wants to talk about it or not.

12. Is there a wedding? What was the proposal like? Any kind of honeymoon?

Peter waits just long enough for the gossip of the priest who left the priesthood for a woman to die down before he proposes. He takes her to the lake, where he told her his true feelings not so long ago. He gets down on one knee, offering Assumpta the ring that he had secretly saved for. He lets out a shaky breath when she says yes, rare tears in her eyes. The wedding is officiated by Father MacAnally, who begrudgingly accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to stop the two of them from doing whatever they wanted. It’s a small wedding, with all the usual suspects in attendance. Brendan is Peter’s best man, whilst Niamh is Assumpta’s bridesmaid. The reception is held at Fitzgerald’s, everyone chipping in as a thank you for Assumpta’s years of service behind the bar. The happy couple spend a week in a cottage in the remote West of Ireland, taking advantage of every second of their new-found freedom…

Hope this is okay @beautywithin16~! Also tagging @alaskanna @flashsil @stoplookingup @hvkunst and @wednesdaygilfillian in case you guys are interested~

[queenofcats17]

Two Doofs In Love

@randomwriteronline answered an ask of mine and now I have to write it. 

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Joey Drew had been in love with his brother-in-law for a long time now. He’d kept it on the down-low, though, partially because Sonja was such a raging bitch. He’d been terrified of what would happen if she found out about his crush on her ex-husband. Even when she was gone, though, he refused to act on his feelings. 

There was no way Malcolm would actually accept his feelings, he thought. Malcolm was a good man. A genuinely good and kind and wonderful man who made the world a brighter place simply by existing. He had his shit together. He was a functioning human being. There was no way he’d be interested in Joey romantically.

Joey knew he wasn’t exactly a prize. He was fake and awful. He wasn’t a good person. Not like Malcolm was. They could be friends, yes, and ex-brother-in-laws, but not romantic partners. So, he resigned himself to just pine after Malcolm from afar. 

But Malcolm did love him. He did return his feelings. And Henry was forced to watch these two idiots dance around each other. Pretty much everyone could see Malcolm and Joey were head over heels for each other, but Henry was about the only one with a direct connection to both of them who had to listen to them gush about each other. 

Even now, he was listening to Joey dither about whether or not to propose to Malcolm. 

“I just don’t know,” Joey said, drumming his fingers on the table. “What if he says no?”

“He’s not going to say no,” Henry said. 

“Out of everyone, he couldn't possibly choose me.”

“Joey, he’s not going to say no.”

“I mean, he’s smart and handsome and has his shit together. He couldn’t possibly be interested in someone as fake and terrible as me.”

“He won’t say no.” Henry was face down on the table. Joey wasn’t even listening to him. He probably could have said Malcolm wanted to throw him against the table and do him right there and Joey wouldn’t even acknowledge he’d heard him.

“Hey, Joey?” The door to the kitchen opened and Malcolm stuck his head in. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Oh, sure.” Joey gave him a nervous smile. 

Henry lifted his head to see the expression on Malcolm’s face. He was praying that at least Malcolm had finally managed to get up the courage to act on his feelings. To his absolute delight, he could see determination and a bit of nervousness painted on the other man’s features. He knew what was about to go down. 

“I’ll give you guys some privacy.” He quickly got up and left the room, giving Malcolm a wink as he did so. Malcolm remained calm as Henry did this, keeping his gaze on Joey. 

“So, uh, what did you want to talk about?” Joey asked, leaning awkwardly on the table. 

“Joey.” Malcolm crossed the kitchen, getting down on one knee in front of him. “I want you to marry me.”

Joey froze, staring at him. For a moment or two, he just watched Malcolm, eyes wide. Then he began to cry. Not sad tears, but tears of joy. He had an adorable lopsided smile. Well, Malcolm thought it was adorable. 

“Ah...Ahah...” He laughed weakly. “You...You got me good. Henry told you, didn’t he? Ahaha...This is...Very funny....” He was dangerously close to starting to cry out of sadness. Because this couldn’t possibly be real. It had to be a joke. Malcolm wouldn’t actually love him. 

Malcolm smiled softly, taking Joey’s hands in his. He didn’t say anything, just holding Joey’s hands and smiling at him. Slowly...Slowly it dawned on Joey that this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a joke and Malcolm absolutely meant every word. 

“Really?” He whispered. 

“Really,” Malcolm said. 

He’d made sure to ask Charlie’s permission before doing this, just to make sure it was alright. It was, after all, a little weird to suddenly have your uncle become your dad. Charlie had, thankfully, been delighted by this idea.

“Yes!” Joey wrapped his arms around Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm grinned, hugging Joey back. 

From the living room, Henry smiled to himself. It was about time. 

.

Joey went out and told everyone he could the very next day. After he’d asked Henry to be his best man, of course. He wanted his best friend to be at his side for this, something Henry was more than happy to do. 

Kim and Niamh were first, mostly because Malcolm had mentioned Niamh might be able to officiate and Joey wanted to ask if she could. 

Kim, sufficiently surprised by this announcement, blurted out, “Condolences.” He then slapped a hand over his mouth, his face going as red as it could from embarrassment. 

“Did you mean congratulations?” Malcolm asked, trying to stifle a snicker. Joey just stared at them blankly, his head tilted adorably to the side. Malcolm wrapped an arm around his waist, briefly distracted by how cute Joey was. 

“No no, he meant what he said,” Niamh said, nodding solemnly as she put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.

“Niamh, no.”

“Condolences, Malcolm.”

“Niamh, stop that.” Kim groaned. 

“Um...Anyway, I was hoping you could officiate the wedding, Niamh,” Joey said, managing to shake himself from his confusion. “Malcolm said you could do that?” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Niamh nodded, already beginning to grin. She’d heard from Thaische how much Charlie adored his duncle. Giving that boy a Whole New Loving Dad would be more than worth it. Plus, it would probably make Joey less sad and mopey.

“Is Charlie alright with it?” Kim asked. “It must be kind of a weird situation.”

“I made sure to ask him first,” Malcolm assured him. “He’s very excited.” Joey smiled to himself, feeling warm inside at the knowledge that Charlie was excited to have him as his new dad. 

“Hell yeah!” Niamh pumped her fist in the air. “I’ll do it!”

“Thank you,” Malcolm chuckled. “I appreciate your excitement.”

“Well, congratulations,” Kim said with a gentle smile. “For real this time. We’re really happy for you two.” Especially Joey, he thought as he glanced at his boss. Everyone at the studio worried about Joey. 

“Thank you.” Joey murmured, leaning on Malcolm. His cheeks were turning a bit pink. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“We’ll talk to you later about the details,” Malcolm said. “But right now we need to tell everyone else.”

“Alright. Best of luck!” Kim waved as they exited. Niamh was already planning her speech. 

When the Music Department heard the news, they all clambered to volunteer their musical services for the wedding. Both Malcolm and Joey told them they really didn’t have to but the musicians had all made up their mind that they were going to do this. However, they needed direction, which meant they turned to Sammy. Who did not want to do it. 

“Aw, c’mon, Sammy. Please?” They begged. 

“I have work I need to do,” Sammy said, gesturing to the stacks of paper on his desk. “Actual work. That doesn’t involve weddings.” 

The musicians of his department visibly deflated, all incredibly disappointed by his refusal. Yeah, they probably could do this without him, but they wanted him involved. They were all about to disperse, but Wally put a hand up. 

“Don’t worry guys, I got this,” he said. He walked up to Sammy, turning on the cuteness and giving him the biggest most adorable puppy eyes he was capable of. Sammy tried to resist. He really did. But Wally’s puppy eyes were just too strong. He was too cute. 

Sammy let out a long-suffering sigh, hanging his head. “Alright. Fine.”

The department cheered and Wally threw himself onto Sammy in a big hug. Sammy blushed, muttering something about how this was going to be a big pain. He seemed perfectly happy to be hugged by Wally, though.

.

The months leading up to the wedding were rather hectic. There was a lot of planning to be done, which Henry was more than happy to help with. As the best man, it was his job to help in any way he could. He wanted to make this day the best he could for Malcolm and Joey. They deserved to be happy. 

Sammy made a big deal about not wanting to do this whole music thing, but he’d dedicated himself to it so he was going to do the best damn job he could. Sammy Lawrence did not do anything halfway. Some of the Music Department regretted asking his help because of his perfectionism. Still, they knew he was going to do a good job.

When the day came, everyone was rather excited. Charlie especially was practically bouncing out of his chair. Seeing his delight made everyone involved even more dedicated to make this wedding the best they possibly could. No one was allowed to make that child cry. 

Everyone was running around, trying to get everything set up. The Music Department had brought their own instruments, rentals in some cases because they didn’t want to damage their personal ones, which were a nightmare to transport in some cases. Especially when it came to the larger instruments like the cellos and tubas. 

Malcolm and Joey were getting ready in the back, both helped by Henry. Malcolm, being the goth he was, had gone for an all-black tux. He looked very stylish, especially to Joey. Joey looked like he came out of one of the Bendy cartoons, at least in his color scheme. Well, he always looked like that, but he looked particularly nice in his fancy tux.

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?” Henry asked as he fussed with Joey’s bowtie.

“I don’t really think that applies when we’re both the groom,” Malcolm said. “Besides, I’d hate to deprive Joey of a sneak peek of his future husband.” He winked at Joey, who started to giggle. 

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining.” Joey winked right back. “Any chance to see you in a suit.”

“You two are such dorks.” Henry rolled his eyes.

Outside, most of the guests had been seated and Niamh was testing the microphone, clothed in a long aggressively magenta dress. 

“Can I get a wahoo!” She yelled. There was a loud wahoo from somewhere in the treeline, presumably from Eska. 

Eska had been strangely absent from the area. That wahoo had been the only sign he was around. No one had so much as seen his face since arriving. Joey was rather glad of this, due to how terrifying he found the factotum, but it was still strange. Eska was usually never far from Thaische’s side. 

Speaking of Thaische, he was sitting beside Charlie in the front row. Both children were dressed in their best. Charlie was wearing a nifty little suit, while Thaische wore a dress. The dress didn’t necessarily fit with the theme, but no one minded. He was wearing his poncho too anyway.

“This all looks real nice,” Wally said, leaning back in his chair. He’d chosen to sit beside the band in order to be close to Sammy. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Sammy conceded, allowing himself a small smile. 

“Give you any ideas?” Wally wiggled his eyebrows at his boyfriend. 

Sammy gave him a deadpan stare. “Do you want me to ask you to marry me?”

“I mean, I dunno. Maybe?” Wally shrugged slightly, fiddling with his tie. “Do you wanna get married?”

“We can talk about it after this.” Sammy turned back to his sheet music. He knew that if he was ever going to propose, it would 100% be after Wally did something monumentally stupid. He was fully prepared to see Wally do something dumb at the reception and just propose to him right there.

Eventually, the grooms and Henry appeared, and they got everything started. Norman had set up shop in the back, having volunteered to tape the whole thing for the happy couple. 

“If anyone here has any objections,” Niamh began, before putting her mouth right on the microphone. “SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Everyone winced at the shrieking feedback and the boom of her voice from the speakers. Niamh was a very loud person naturally, and when her voice was amplified by a microphone it was near deafening. 

“THAT BOY IS GETTING A WHOLE NEW LOVING DAD,” she pointed to the vibrating Charlie in the front row. “AND I WILL FUCKING MURDER ANYONE WHO TRIES TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HIM!”

No one objected. No one wanted to object, but also no one wanted to have their back broken by Niamh. Because she would do that. They all knew she would do that. 

“Alright, good!” Niamh nodded. “Let’s do this!”

The wedding went off without a hitch. Malcolm and Joey exchanged some very heartfelt vows and Niamh pronounced them husband and husband. They didn’t need much prompting to kiss. The collected guests erupted into applause. Charlie was bouncing up and down in his wheelchair and Thaische was doing happy flaps with his arms because Charlie was so excited. 

Once the couple had stopped kissing, and it did take a while, everyone moved to the reception area for food.

That was when Eska appeared.

He showed up when Malcolm and Joey were getting congratulated by the guests, appearing out of the crowd in his usual overalls and shirt. Joey immediately tensed. This wasn’t going to end well. He just knew it. But Eska didn’t yell or do any of the things he usually did. Instead, he picked Joey and Malcolm up in a big bear hug. 

“Oh, thank you, Eska,” Malcolm said once Eska had put them down. 

“Ah, um, yes. Thank you, Eska.” Joey echoed.

“Congrats,” Eska mumbled before vanishing once more. 

Joey stood there for a moment or two, stunned by the fact that Eska had actually done something nice to him. 

“Hey.” Malcolm nudged him gently with his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Joey glanced over at him, suddenly aware of the fact that their hands were entwined. He could feel the gold band now resting on his finger. 

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling his adorably gap-toothed smile. Malcolm smiled back.

“I love you.” He leaned in and kissed Joey’s cheek. 

“I love you too,” Joey whispered. 

“Dads!!” Charlie rolled up, tugging at their hands. “Come dance with me!” His smile made Joey feel warm inside all over again. And being called ‘Dad’. 

“Alright, alright.” Malcolm laughed.  

Together, they made their way out onto the dance floor, completely oblivious to everything going on around them. They were a family, well and truly now.

[sevenseasofrog]

Lads ‘n Lasses

pairing: highschool!ben x fem!reader

summary: single sex schools are never boring

word count: 2982

a/n: wagwan gs, this might not be to everyone’s taste but i’ll see how it goes, this is the first time i’ve imagined myself as the reader while writing ?? not as someone else reading it ?? it’s also set in a manchesterish sort of place bc i had a major mind block trying to write about anywhere else other than where i actually live ,, that probably sounds weird idk aha, it’s defo an au where ben basically is still in education and all sorts of chaos takes place as the year moves forward ,, anyway ,, enjoy !! if you have any questions or likewise feel free to send an ask bc i see how it could be semi confusing ,, love u all a lotta :) ❤️

here’s also some stuff that could make it less confusing (especially if you’re not familiar with lingo from north west england, i’ll maybe add to this with each new chapter that comes out :)

St. Mary’s/ Mary’s- the all girls school the reader attends, quite middle class and full of students who like to make drama for their own entertainment, strong focus on languages and arts

St. Peter’s/ St. Pete’s - the all boys ‘brother’ school to St. Mary’s, very laddish with a focus on sports and science

Niamh & Maria - the reader’s two closest and longest friends

Tram/Met - British version of an overground subway?

Shout - another word for a houseparty

Snide - unfair

Swear down - saying you are telling the truth

also, the reader and ben are between the ages of like 17 and 18ish, the whole thing isn’t very accurate to the uk school system but it works a little better like that so yall are gonna have to go with it aha

ps, this chapter is spilt in two bc i got very carried away when writing it and tumblr has a word limit, hmph. however, that does technically mean that i can say i’ve written two chapters not just one ?? go me !!

Chapter 1: September

4th of September, the night before a new term, new academic year and a nearly fresh start. Your last year at St Mary’s had not been something you were dreading so to speak, and now it was finally here. Thanks to upcoming exams, you only had a little over five months to get through before freedom, and eventually, a completely clean slate at a new, far less intimidating school environment. Anticipation building, you called it a night

6:15am. You woke up to the painful sound of your alarm clock, early morning sun peeking through the split between the curtains. Eager to silence the blaring noise you crawled out of the comfort of the duvet and hastily clicked the stop button in the centre of your phone screen. You made your way into the bathroom, careful not to wake your parents, brushed your teeth and quickly got undressed before stepping into the shower, letting the cool water run down your back without getting your hair wet, since you had it cut and washed yesterday afternoon. Slipping on your school uniform you caught eye of yourself in the mirror and decided that you had nothing to lose by putting on a little makeup, you had time after all. It was about 7am when you made your way downstairs, the house still quiet with only you awake. These mornings were the ones you liked best, just you and your own thoughts, with no one to bother you other than the dogs. It was still relatively warm during the September days so you chose to leave your jumper hung over a chair in the kitchen, putting just your blazer over your crisp, white blouse. Throwing an apple and cereal bar into your bag for later in the day, you figured that you might as well also pack some paracetamol and chewing gum for good measure, knowing it would come in handy eventually. You headed into the hallway to sit on the bottom step of the stairs to put your shoes on, tying the laces as tight as you possibly could, slung the black tote over your shoulder and grabbed your set of keys, which were usually on a hook which your dad had attached to the wall earlier in the year.

The walk to the tram stop was pleasant enough. There was no real breeze and you walked with your hands in you pockets to the beat of the music. Skipping down the steps to the platform to buy a ticket for the week, the change rattled in your pocket, and you had to cover it to stop anything flying out. Once you had finally managed to get the machine to produce a ticket after it spat out the coins you tried to use a few times, you spun round and walked towards the sheltered seats down the further end of the stop. It was only 7:45 by this stage and there were still very few people around. Missing the school rush was certainly worth it for you, and it also meant there was time to grab a coffee on the way to school with Niamh and Maria, who both got on at later stops anyway. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, deciding to text your parents, as you did every morning to let them know you were okay. You skipped a few songs before slipping your phone back into your pocket and looking up to examine your surroundings, following a good few weeks of not coming to the somewhat grimy metro stop, nothing had changed. The ground was still caked in chewing gum, graffiti littered the ticket machines, and the bin was, as ever, overflowing.

There was one thing different though, slightly odd too. A blonde haired boy who you had never seen before was stood on the opposite platform. Weird. It was then that you noticed he was in the uniform for St. Peter’s, with a backpack hung on one shoulder and a gym bag on the floor- grim move from the newbie. It suddenly hit you however. He was on the wrong platform, and could end up getting on a tram further into the city centre rather than away from it. God, this was awkward. You could leave him? it would be kind of funny? but also a bit snide.

No.

Don’t do that you told yourself. Deciding to ‘start the new term right’ you cleared your throat before shouting across

“You going to St. Pete’s mate?”

He looked up from the ground, obviously somewhat confused, checking to see whoever the person who had shouted was talking too. Luckily, this was quite easy, given that he then noticed that he was in fact the only person on the platform. You gave a wave and as friendly a smile as you could muster given it wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet, in a desperate attempt to get his attention, which just so happened to work.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“Because given that you’re on the wrong platform, you’re gonna have a very hard time getting there”. His jaw dropped a little

“You are joking, right?”

“Nope!”, you popped the ‘p’, just for emphasis, “So... are you just gonna stand there like a lemon or change platforms then?”. He quickly picked his bag off the ground and jogged up the steps to the bridge. As he crossed you rolled the waistband of your skirt up, realising that you previously looked a little to nun-ish for your liking. By the time you had finished fixing up your appearance the mysterious blonde was plodding down the steps, towards you. Shit. Now what?

You had just about composed yourself by the time he reached you.

“Ben. Ben Jones” he spoke, before offering his hand to shake.

“You’re very proper aren’t you!?”, you thought out loud “guessing you're not from up here then hm? Name’s y/n l/n by the way, I go to St. Mary’s”, you said, trying to remain friendly.

“Yeah, moved up from Bournemouth at the start of summer. My parents wanted to come up here so I had a chance of getting some sort of sports scholarship or something for rugby, y’know, for uni and that”. He spoke with quite a low, quiet voice, but definitely had a southern accent that you couldn’t imagine going any time soon. Now he was stood nearer, you had managed to get a clearer picture of Ben; he was very well built and had the physique of a genuine sportsman, He wasn’t too tall- but still taller than you by a considerable amount. His facial features were mostly soft, although his nose looked like it could have been broken in past games and he had the most striking green eyes.

“Well, you’d have had a pretty difficult time getting anywhere if you were stuck in the centre of town.” you both let out a laugh.

“Honestly, I’m such a melt, only I could do that on one of the few days that being on time actually matters”. You broke eye contact momentarily to see that a tram was approaching.

“Right then” you said, stepping towards the edge of the platform. “We’re a bit early but I normally get a coffee anyway, you can come if you want? I mean, you don’t have to get this one if you don’t want but if you do then the offer’s there..” You trailed off, noticing that you had waffled on a bit.

“Aha, no it’s fine! I’d be happy to get this one, you’re literally the first person I’ve spoken to who’s like, my age so it’s not like I have anyone to wait for. Plus, I’ll probably get lost if you abandon me now.” He looked up with puppy dog eyes after picking his gym bag off the floor again.

Stepping on the tram, you decided to offer him your first piece of valuable advice; “Right… Well. If we’re gonna be mates I better give you the rules of the road up here”.

“Go on then, local expert”, he said with a smirk.

“First things first. Don’t put your bag on the floor. It’s crusty and makes you look like a gimp”.

“Noted”, he spoke as the pair of you sat on the grey seats.

“Second. Most of the boys are maniacs and the girls are awful bitches, I’d say that I’d help you figure out who’s who but you’ll probably be able to decide for yourself”.

“Hm, you’re really selling it to me. The brutal honesty is a nice touch”. You gave a playful punch to the side of his arm, with a grin smeared across your face.

“Swear down mate, you’ll thank me later for this though.”

The journey passed in a flash, the pair of you talking like friends reunited. You learnt that he had a beagle named Frankie, lived not too far from you, he played rugby for teams but also enjoyed drama and music.

“You’re quite the character aren’t you! can’t say I took you for a performing arts kinda guy”

“Well… What kind of person did you take me as then, all knowing-y/n”

“Well Ben from Bournemouth.. that would be telling wouldn’t it, I can tell you however that this is our stop though”. You both stood up, grabbing your bags and heading for the doors of the carriage. You had a text from Niamh and Maria earlier on in the journey saying they’d be late and there was no point waiting for them, so you carried on the walk alone with Ben.

“If I left you here right now, would you have any clue where to go?” you questioned, genuinely intrigued.

“Erm.. no… I would have to stand around for a bit and hope someone takes pity on me”

“What about google maps though??”

“Hmm.. Let’s just say that there’s a reason I don’t take geography”

The coffee shop was about the same distance from the tram stop as is was from school, and it was about 20 past 8 when you pushed open the door with a small chime. It was a cosy little café, situated on the corner of the market street with wicker chairs outside and brown leather sofas inside. You never stayed in however, much preferring to enjoy whatever you brought during the rest of the walk to school. Today was a latte day, no questions asked. You liked to rotate throughout a few different drinks, depending on your mood. Ben stood close by as you explained how you’d most definitely be on black coffee by this time next week, but you might have the odd pumpkin spiced latte as September moved into October, just for novelty really. He gave out a small chuckle,

“You really are in a league of your own aren’t you? I’ve known you like an hour and I’m convinced you hold the secrets of the universe or some shit”. You liked Ben. He was good company and you had a fair bit in common;

“and what if I did hold the secrets of the universe huh?”

“I’d use the black market to sell you to a looney philosopher somewhere or other and make myself some fat stacks.” You both doubled over in complete hysterics. Would it be weird to say that you’d never bonded so quickly with someone? yeah, probably you thought, brushing the idea away quickly. Your giggle fit was quickly broken up however when the barista announced that your drink was ready, you fished the loose change out of your pocket and handed it over moments later,

“keep the change mate” you said politely, turning on your heel towards the door once again.

“You really are quite the angel aren’t you?” the boy walking next to you said “ooooo, keep the change mate, I’m y/n and I am the source of all life and joy” he mocked.

“You know it blondie”, you retorted with a smirk.

You had walked a fair deal further, now following the main road and considerably nearer to school when Ben reached into his inside pocket .pulling out a cigarette and lighter. You silently watched out of the corner of your eye as he held the stick in his mouth and lit one end, he inhaled deeply before taking it from between his lips to exhale. Before his could bring his hand back up however, you plucked it from his fingers and drew a breath from it yourself before throwing it down and stamping on it. Ben simply stood with his mouth hung open looking dumbfounded. “Whoa steady on...What the fuck was that about then? Oh… and for the record, you owe me a cig now!”, he spoke with a tone of shock mixed with annoyance

“Boo-Hoo”, you spoke back, “But neither of us can have a first day back if we get excluded before we even get to school you dimwit. There’s teachers stood by the traffic lights down there”, you pointed further down the pavement. “See for yourself if you want…” you trailed off. Ben looked a little guilty, realising that he could have got you both in a good deal of trouble,

“Ah, Right, Okay… Sorry about that..”

“Don’t worry about it. Honestly. It’s fine, you’re new! You’ve got a lot to learn still”, you gave him a reassuring smile, but you could tell that he still felt a twinge of regret.

The pair of you carried on the walk in a comfortable silence, and as you approached St. Peter’s a thought struck you. “Right. After school, wait for me here, I don’t really want you being lost in a new town stuck on my conscience all night”

“How noble of you, Miss y/l/n! How will I ever repay you for this selfless act of charity!” He exaggerated, running his hands through his hair as he spoke.

“We’ll have to see about that one won’t we, I guess”, You hitched your bag back onto your shoulder properly. Before he turned into the courtyard of his new school he grabbed your arm,

“Wait a minute... you give off way too much chaotic energy for things to run smoothly. What’s your snap or your number or something incase something goes horribly wrong” He spoke again, with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Hm, go on then, I’ll give you my number then you can just add me on snapchat with it too if you really want. Two birds with one stone ‘n all that”, you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen. “Gimmie something to write on, chop chop matey!” you spoke hurridley, realising that you only had 10 minutes before you needed to be sat down in your first registration of the academic year. In a panic, he stuck out his hand, and you began to scribble down the first few digits.

“Fucking hell! I thought you were writing it down not tattooing it!”, he took in a sharp breath.

“Hm.. What.. Wait! Shit, sorry.. I’m a bit heavy handed”. You finished writing the numbers down with a conscious attempt not to press quite so hard and then threw the pen back into your bag.

“Aight then, I’ll see you later yeah?” He looked up at you,

“See ya later lemon boy”. You shot another smile before continuing on a few meters further down the path and approached the gates of St. Mary’s.

Hello old friend, you thought before taking a deep breath and turning into the school, with no way out for the next few hours at least. You stepped hurriedly through the labyrinth of corridors before reaching the room where you’d be registered. Throwing your bag onto your usual desk you could feel two sets of eyes on you.

“y/n l/n, You have some explaining to do! go on then, who’s the boy?” Niamh began, a devilish grin on her face.

“Gimme a second to sort my life out yeah? I just need to get my bearings then you can interrogate me”, you spoke, followed by a heavy sigh. After you put your bag in your new locker you returned to the desk where you were greeted by your long time friends once again. “Wait a minute, how do you even know? started hiring government spies or some shit?”

“Erm, no. But that’s quite a good idea actually. If you’re that desperate to know, Lewis sent me a message asking if you’d got a boyfriend over summer..” You let out a scoff before Maria could continue. “He still really likes you ya know?”

“Yes mum, I do know, you remind me most days” You all let out a laugh, attracting some attention from the neighboring tables.

“We’re off topic, you still need to explain yourself and we have like, 3 minutes until the bell goes” Niamh interrupted, she had always been the most conscious member of the group, as much as both you and Maria hated to admit.

“Right, I’ll keep it simple. I was at the met stop and he was stood on the wrong side so I told him to switch otherwise he’d never make it to school then he told me that his name’s Ben and he’s new and he’s in our year and then we got on the tram and then we went to get coffee then he decided he wanted a smoke and then I told him off and then we got to school and then I told him I’d meet him after school then I walked into school and now I’m here with you two” You barely paused for breath and gasped before either of your friends could continue, both of them looking shocked and rather confused.

“Right. You can explain that all again later in a bit only at least 76 times slower. ok? thanks? nice” is all Maria managed to respond before the door swung open and your teacher walked in...

Hope you enjoy !!❤️

Let me know if you want adding to the taglist !! :)

[insane-control-room]

@randomwriteronline

well SHIT

use this er not idk tis a mess an i wrote it bc it was bothering me

Kim was… graceful. Beautiful, in a way. Shawn stared at him as they twirled together. He was soft like Willy. Kind and funny like him, too. Sweet and handsome as well. Shawn could not get the thoughts out of his head, despite his judgement telling him to put them out before something bad happened. He tried to ignore both halves. He looked at Kim’s eyes, and his hair, and his smile. All things so similar yet so different to Willy. Kim spun with him, not noticing the way his hands were starting to clam up. Shawn leaned toward him, his heart pounding and his eyes half closed, his cheeks filled with a flush. Kim’s smile faltered, and he was right about to open his mouth to ask Shawn what was wrong when… he kissed him.

Kim stared for a moment before Shawn pulled back, his eyes unfocused and desirous. Kim let out a yelp as Shawn shoved him back over the large middle work station counter, his mouth pressing against his, his tongue pushing into his mouth, and Shawn felt so good against his body, and that was the problem. His hips between Kim’s long legs, keeping him in place as he sucked at his lips. Shawn decided Kim tasted like chocolate and cream, groaning as he removed his tongue from the other’s delicious mouth.

“So feckin’ handsome,” he breathed against his lips. Kim’s breath hitched. Shawn’s hands trailed his body and he was so amazing, knowing exactly what to touch and how. The way his teeth weren’t perfect, much like Niamh’s, his eyes the same color and skin the same tone, and voice the same accent and wording. “So smooth and sexy, shite, Kim… look how yer makin’ me feel, yer turnin’ me into a feckin’ bitch o’ ah mess….”

He rubbed against Kim, his breath hot and panting as he kissed him. Kim would be lying if he didn’t admit he felt warmth fluttering at his insides as well.

“Are ye gettin’ wet, Kim?” he chuckled deeply and Kim wanted to damn the Irishman. Damn him and his flashing smile and lusting eyes, because he wasn’t wrong. Shawn’s lips moved against his again before diving back into his mouth; “‘Cause yer gettin’ me hard as hell….”

Kim moaned. Shawn pulled back with a sudden jerk, staring with wide and clear eyes. He swore, slapping a hand to his face. Kim shakily pushed himself off the counter.

“Shit,” Shawn remarked again, his face morphing into pure regret as he rubbed it. “Shit!”

Niamh’s fist met his face, and he looked like he was glad to have been punched by her as he stumbled back. She grabbed him by his vest.

“YE ALREADY HAVE A BOYFRIEND,” she thundered, referring to the man who had quickly left as soon as Kim began dancing with the members of the studio. Shawn’s shoulders fell. “Jesus FUCK, leave the man ALONE, FLYNN!”

“I know,” he answered miserably. “I fuckin’ know. Shit. Can you punch me again? Because I sure as hell know Willy won’t even though I deserve it. I fucked up… so bad.”

He started crying, his knees buckling under him. Kim swallowed roughly, looking at the woman holding Shawn up and staring at the Irishman awkwardly. Kim felt the wish for death build within him. Niamh, the woman he loved more that anyone in the world, fucking saw Shawn making out with him, and him being turned on by the senior toymaker. Hell, half the studio did! Now they were watching him apologize incessantly for it. Kim turned red, biting his nails to avoid the high pitched yell building in his throat. Niamh dropped Shawn, the man collapsing to his knees with his mortified and ashamed face in his hands.

He gulped down tears, getting off the floor and turning to Kim.

“Th-there are extra pants in the third drawer to the left, i-if you need,” he quietly told him, low to prevent anyone else from hearing. Louder, he said, “I’m really fucking sorry, Kim.”

“Just shut the fuck up, please,” Kim answered through gritted teeth. Shawn lowered his head in shame, pulling down his cap, the cap Willy usually wore and lent to him, trying to mask the large tears running down his face. “Just… shut up, go, and do your job.”

Shawn nodded slowly, dragging his feet to his workstation, sitting heavily and rubbing at his face with one hand, and grabbing materials with the other. No one ever saw a sadder man painting toys, his tears of guilt dripping onto the table as he made a smile on a doll. If this batch was shaky, Joey said nothing of it.

Kim discreetly snatched the pants Shawn had referred to while everyone looked on at the toymaker with pity and stole out of the room while they remained distracted.

He changed quickly, placing his totally not moist clothes into a bag, planning on putting it in a room that no one would go into so he could pick them up later… or so he thought. Even as his hand was on the knob, he heard the little noises. He pressed his ear to the door. What was that?

He entered.

“Worthless piece of shit,” was uttered to his left, and there was Willy, his hands gripping his elbows and his head on his knees. “Can’t make him happy. Useless, stupid, fucking deadweight.”

Kim stared as the man hissed curse after curse and defamation after defamation about himself.

“He deserves better than me,” he whimpered, trembling. “Fuck, anyone is better than me….”

“That’s not true,” Kim said, kneeling down to see the man… whose boyfriend nearly had sex with him at work. If Kim was being truthful, Willy and Shawn never really were very intimate in public or at work. Sure, they kissed, but there was only one time they had done anything remotely more than that, and even that Kim had put a brutal end to. “You’re a good person.”

“Well, newsflash, obviously not good enough,” he hiccuped back. Then he seemed to realize his place, a smile forming on his face as he stood. Kim stared. Willy’s smile was so real but entirely fake. How many times had Willy falsely grinned but no one saw through the mask? “Kim… Kim, I’m fine. Sorry ya had ta see me like that.”

“Stop,” Kim told him. His smile twitched. “Stop pretending you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” Willy insisted, smile widening. “See!? I’m happy! I’m fine!”

“Don’t do this, Wilbur,” Kim sharply retorted. “I know when someone’s bottling their emotions.”

“I’m not bottling, I’m redirecting,” Willy replied easily. His smile still faded. He grabbed Kim into a tight hug. “Kim, you’re so good… you deserve the best. You deserve everything to be perfect.”

“H-hey, Willy, I don’t, uh…” Kim felt a cold sweat break out on his back. “I don’t have a thing f-for Shawn, you know, and uh, he doesn’t have one for m-”

“I know, you…!” he sighed, hugging him harder. “If ever you did something that would normally piss someone off, know that I’m not goin’ ta be mad at ya. Got it?”

He wasn’t mad at him.

He wasn’t upset with him.

He just genuinely believed Kim deserved the best and he didn’t.

Kim’s heart hurt, wondering if he just ruined a marriage.

Willy pulled back from the rather one sided hug, smiling at Kim.

He left, and Kim couldn’t think of a word to stop him with, because he was sad now and hurting always and never told anyone either. Kim had stumbled upon it on accident, when he had come to his home to ask for Shawn or Sammy, coming in without knocking, gasping when he saw the red blood on the stark white kitchen tile of the old apartment, and Willy had spun round to face him with a bloody knife sharply yanked from the dark and gory flesh of his arm and hidden behind his back with a taut, anxious smile.

He was always smiling.

Not always, Kim discovered when he re entered the toyshop.

Willy’s arms were wrapped around Shawn’s shoulders from behind. The toymaker was shaking with silent sobs and his face in his hands, the very picture of guilt incarnate. Willy’s face was pressed to the back of Shawn’s head, his lips kissing him gently and his eyes closed and his eyebrows knit slightly, his lips moving in a desperate prayer to whatever listened or calming words to his beloved. Kim had never seen a more melancholic and sad scene. Here was a couple who could not even be completely intimate even if they tried their damn hardest, and they were trying to hold it together the best they could. Yet despite all their trying, they still had trips and bumps and bruises and scars and anything that no two people in love should have to endure, this incident adding another scratch to the tally. But by god, they’d get through this.

“I love you,” Kim could make out Shawn mumble in his tears. Willy’s arms tightened around him and his brow furrowed more in pain, eyes clenching shut to avoid having tears spilling out. He was failing in this. “I love you, Willy, so much, I’m so sorry….”

“I love you, too, Shawn,” Willy choked out, and his voice was drenched in such self loathing. Shawn’s hands folded over Willy’s on his chest, leaning his head back to be on Willy’s shoulder. Willy kissed his cheek softly, and Shawn kissed his tenderly. They then kissed each other together, both crying and both upset with themselves. Kim’s mind asked if Willy could taste him on Shawn. The idea of it was heart wrenching, and he quickly set himself to find another thing to distract himself with, maybe even with more dancing. As he left, he could hear Willy’s receding voice. “I forgive you, of course I do, how could I not… but… please, Shawn, please… please say you love me again. I… I love you Shawn, but… please tell me.”

“I love you, I love you, Willy, oh God knows how much I love you, I love you, I love you….”

[caeca-iustitia]

The Tale of the Sun and Moon

There once lay a kingdom amongst the clouds, a place of unparalleled beauty and elegance but never of arrogance. They lived and loved peacefully under the watchful gaze of a kind Queen and her benevolent King. The Queen, Niamh, had golden hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of pure light and eyes so blue that they could be mistaken for the sky on a clear day. She was blessed with the gift of a breathtaking kingdom and a loving family, ascending to be Queen when she was only 19 after the tragic passing of her father.

She soon met and married a man made of darkness- or so it appeared- with brown hair that was like silky chocolate, tied at the base of his neck and a pair of piercing golden eyes. He wore clothes of black satin and had a voice so deep it was said to rattle the windows and cause earthquakes. Nevertheless, despite his outwards appearance, he was a kind and generous man who gave back to his kingdom as much as it gave to him. For he did not command their respect, he earned it and was awarded the admiration of those who he ruled over. He was their King, the man that married their Queen and ruled by her side. The King, Aidan, was considered as benevolent as his Queen.

Many moons passed as the couple tried desperately for a baby, always failing and losing hope. For as blessed as they may be, they lacked one thing and that was a child. The Queen prayed and begged to the Gods high above even them, did all she could for the blessings of a child. Many years came and went before her pitiful pleas bore fruit. She was finally gifted what she wanted, two beautiful children of light that she cherished so much.

The twins were contradictions in every possible way. The boy being born of the sun, the girl the moon. Though these differences never impacted their relationship and they grew alongside each other harmoniously. Their parents were overjoyed, lavishing them in all the attention they could give, granting them whatever they wished while disciplining them just right so that they were never privileged. The boy gained the power to heal the sick, to cure the incurable. The girl gained the power to protect her brother, the kingdom and the fierceness of warriors long passed. They lived off of each other's weaknesses and protected them when the other could not.

Eventually, and tragically, the Queen fell ill. Her once radiant appearance slowly fading like the last fluttering embers in a fire. And though her son tried desperately to heal her, pushing himself beyond his limits and staying by her side nearly all the time, it was all for nought. On the eve of the twins' 18th birthday, the Queen passed peacefully in the arms of her son while her husband and daughter watched on in tears.

The kingdom mourned their Queen, even the weather seeming to be mourning her. The clouds no longer were pearly white, instead they were of a harsh gray colour, whipping around the kingdom and striking the surrounding lands with lightning so potent it shattered the Earth. It didn't take long for the King, who was in such a fit of profound grief that he could no longer leave his chambers, to throw himself from the highest tower. His body was never recovered from the shimmering rivers around the palace, drifting off into the world and allowing his bereaved soul to reunite with his beloved wife.

This left only the children of the sun and moon, who were so inexperienced at ruling that they found themselves fighting more over trivial things. The son was always a peacemaker, approaching his sister when he was calm to apologise and seek her forgiveness, which she eagerly gave. For even when they fought, they still loved each other dearly. Try as they might, they could not soothe the storms surrounding their kingdom- no matter how much the son sang or the daughter pleaded.

The storm, angered by the death of the exalted Queen, soon turned its attention inwards and began striking down those living in the kingdom itself, tearing mighty holes through the ground and burning down whole villages of innocent people. The sun and moon fought for their kingdom but were overpowered by the anger of the storm. Try as they might, they could not stop the final bolt from striking their kingdom, tearing it into shards and plummeting it towards the ground below. Knowing they could not save their citizens, they fled the palace and watched in abject horror as their homes, their livelihoods and their people were sent careening into the unforgiving Earth below.

There were no survivors, only remains to be buried. Unable to endure it, the sun was soon driven to silence and spoke only when directly addressed by the moon. He worked in silence every day, cleaning up what remained of their home and burying the millions of innocent people who had fallen victim to the storm. The moon was worried, though was also driven to silence as it felt lonely speaking to herself; knowing her brother wouldn't answer.

They did all they could, performing ritual after ritual to grant their people safe passage to the Holy Land. The Gods, enraged by their inability to protect their people, cursed them with immortality so that they may not ever escape the clutches of what they had done. The sun was cursed with inescapable nightmares while the moon had her emotions all but torn away. Then, they were thrown from their world as one would discard garbage, unable to return. They travelled for thousands of years, visiting new worlds but never staying long- unable to find a new home.

Along the way, they encountered hardships and fought tiring battles. The sun was injured quite severely one time, forcing them to rest in a world for many moons before he could stand and many more before he could walk. The moon begged him to heal himself, the world they found themselves in was unsettling, but he refused. After his failure to save his mother, he never once wanted to use his healing powers again. Despite her pleading, he never gave in and swallowed his pride to ask for help.

They soon got back to travelling for hundreds more years before they landed in a curious little world called Teyvat. There, they encountered a God- or so she called herself- and were unprepared to be halted in their travels and wanted to merely leave and forget the world.

Unfortunately, they were unable to and were forced to do battle. The sun and moon were quickly captured and their powers sealed away as they were thrust towards the land below, where they lay dormant for several months before awakening briefly to the sight of the world around them crumbling. Managing to just about escape, the siblings were struck by a mechanical creature that knocked them to the ground, them not getting back up.  

One sibling was stolen away to the inky abyss below, twisted and shaped into a ruler of an order that they had no idea existed. The other returns to consciousness slowly and began their long journey to the lands outside the ruins of a forgotten kingdom. They travelled far and wide, eventually encountering a small pixie that called itself Paimon. With Paimon's help, they navigated to the City of Wind and Freedom- Mondstadt. They made friends there, fought dragons and saved a centuries-long friendship. Though they were forced to watch as the very person they were there to find had his power stolen, torn from his chest by a strange woman surrounded by ice. They continued their journey anyway, meeting another Archon without even knowing and encountering enemies beyond their wildest imagination. They were forced to watch as the Archon they sought died in front of them, only to later discover the truth.

A man surrounded by pain, water and lightning fought them but lost. He nearly destroyed innocent people, all in a vain attempt to draw out the God he sought. He failed again and retreated, promising to return once a week so they could relive their battle. Then, they continued on with their journey to lands beyond the sea. Fighting Gods and against all odds to finally reunite with their sibling.

With sun and moon reunited, they realised that they had found a home here. That they had people with whom they had bonded and thusly considered them friends and family. They stayed and found love, genuine love that caused their eyes to fill with the stars and clouds. Happiness was to be had here, where they could have missed it if they hadn't looked. The sun and moon lost one family but found another, as not all family is related by blood.

This is the tale of the sun and moon, two siblings who lost each other but gained the world.