#or at least the bridge pup does

[christian-kiwi]

There's a lot to love about this cover, but that rhythm guitar tone is to die for.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

No following; Planet of the apes fanfic Chap. 7

*Author's note*

Here we go readers, here we now enter the world of DAWN of the Planet of the Apes. Now here is where the warnings are bumped up to at least 3x mainly due to the level of swearing involved and certain words which I will point out in certain chapters. But I hope you all continue to enjoy this series and follow along as Lin navigates through a decade later and find out she's hiding secrets from her past that will be explained further on in the story.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@queen-paladin

@psychosupernatural

____________________________________________________

Ten years.  It almost doesn’t even seem that long ago, but in this day in age; one year can almost feel like 20-100 depending on who you ask.  After Caesar and the apes escaped into the Red Woods, the world went to shit known as the Simian Flu.  A global pandemic that swept over the entire world and in just six months there were over 5 million deaths worldwide.

I, however, was one of the unlucky ones to somehow be immune from getting the Simian flu.  Caroline and uncle Will—they weren’t.  Caroline got sick within a year of the outbreak and died just days later.  Uncle Will and I were forced into quarantine after she had gotten sick and I was told he died 2 months after he had passed away.

Being the sole survivor of your family…..it’s hard.  And it didn’t help when I came across a news feed of the government sending in the military to burn the Red Woods down.  If somehow Caesar had survived up until that point, I doubt he and the other apes made it out of that alive.

In this whole chaos, governments eventually shut down, nuclear power was cut off and civil unrest occurred on a daily basis.  Humanity was tearing itself apart and it’d only be a matter of time before I too might be killed off.  If I don’t eventually get the virus, I could end up on the wrong end of a war and end up being another civilian casualty, hell I got lucky last time.

I was awakened by a wet tongue and a loud howl before a yip finally forced my eyes opened and I saw a red wolf pup staring me right in the face.

“Good morning Toboe.” He let out a huffed bark before sniffing my face and licking it.  “Alright, alright, god you’ve got really bad breath.” I got out of bed and stretched myself out before heading downstairs.  As the wood creaked with each step, three more wolves perked up at my arrival.  A large dark grey wolf, a Mexican wolf, and a pure white wolf.  “Morning Hige, Tsume, Kiba. You boys ready for breakfast?”

At the mention of food, Hige stood up and wagged his bushy tail and let out a several loud barks.

“Okay, okay Hige no need to get your fur in a twist. Just let me get dressed and my supplies and we’ll head for the woods.” I headed over to the chest and headed for the bathroom and changed out of my sweats and into my hunting/scouting attire.  Some simple black leggings, a black tank-top and my old military camo-jacket (I’d rather not talk about my days in the military).

I also grabbed my bow and arrows that I handmade myself and ordered the boys to come and they followed right behind me.  We came out of the house and I unveiled my bike from under the tarp.  One can never be too careful, I’ve seen thieves from the colonies coming around this part of the neighborhood trying to get anything they can get their hands on.

I started up my bike and my wolves followed right behind me as we raced down the road and across the abandoned Golden gate bridge.  A place frozen in time from when the apes first made their escape a decade ago.

After arriving at the entrance path to the Red woods, I shut my bike off and pocketed the keys and whistled for the pack to scout ahead.  They took off running and disappeared into the forest.

If you’re wondering just how in the hell does a 28 year old know how to control four male wolves? Well I don’t.  Nor can I, for one thing I know they’re wild animals, just like Caesar was.  I respect them and let them be who they are.  They just choose whether or not they want to stay with me.  Hige had migrated from his normal home (since Mexican wolves were found near Arizona and not California) where I found him in a trap and I set him free.  After that he kinda just stuck around (I think it also helped that since he had tried to get back in the trap for the food that was in there and I had tossed it to him. That wolf can get in trouble for his stomach I’ll tell you what).

Kiba and Tsume I found together injured and barely alive especially Kiba.  Poor thing was covered in blood I almost had mistaken him for a red wolf.  Both of them suffering from what appeared to be animal attack wounds.  And I swore from the bite marks alone they looked like apes (since they were almost identical to human bites) but I brushed it aside as impossible.  No one’s seen any of the apes since the forest burning eight years ago.

It took a long while for Tsume and Kiba to come around but eventually they did even though there are times I do get bit or growled at.  And then there’s the pup of the pack, Toboe.  He was found abandoned in the woods during one of our hunts just a year ago.  Poor thing was so frail and skinny, I feared he wouldn’t make it.  But two weeks rest by the fire and after being given some water and food he started to come around.

In total. I’ve had these wolves at my side for almost 3 years now and they’ve kinda filled in a void that I thought was long gone after uncle Will had passed away.  I got up into the trees and perched myself on the first branch I could settle on and waited for food to come to me.

While it is true I grew up playing in these woods, lately with no human interference, there have been animals who were never native to this area had migrated their way down to California for the first time in hundreds of years.  Last I heard from when I was making trade with the nearby colony, I overhear someone saying that grizzly bears were found in these woods now, and that the mountain lion population was starting to make a comeback more than it ever had before.  So one can never be too cautious in these woods now.

I scanned the area and all I could hear were birds softly chirping or the occasional squirrel or two.  I heard a rustle of the trees and readied my bow and arrow when out popped out a doe and following short behind her was her fawn.  I lowered my bow and watched as the mother and baby walked across the woods and stopped right at the creek nearby for a drink of water.  Even though it had been over 20 years since my parents died, I still think about them every now and then but lately their faces have become nothing but a blur.

Another sound caught my attention and I turned to see two squirrels trying to get one acorn.  One squirrel already had the nut and was trying to chew it open but the other squirrel was trying to weasel it’s way in and steal the nut.  There was chittering exchanged before the second squirrel stole the nut and a chase soon commenced up one of the nearby trees.

Even in the animal kingdom there will always be thieves.  But seeing these two comical squirrels made me smile as I became invested in their little game of chase.  That was until the snapping of a twig caught my ear.  It was then I saw a large six point deer staring directly at me.  I stared right back at him and slowly raised my bow and he took off running back towards the woods.  But I released my arrow and just as he disappeared I heard him let out a pained yelp as my arrow managed to get him before he got too far into the trees.

I climbed down the tree and raced towards him taking out my hunting knife.  I saw the deer struggling to get up as my arrow had gotten him in the ribs.  I held my knife in my hand and said to him.

“I’m sorry.” I then stabbed him right in the back of the neck and gave it a twist and he immediately went still and ceased his screaming.  I took back my knife and my arrow and cleaned them off in the grass before readying the deer for travel.

After stringing him up and getting him into the side cart of my bike I turned back towards the woods and let out a single wolf howl, signaling to the boys that I was leaving for back home.  I started up the engine and drove back into town to get my meat ready for lunch and dinner.

After skinning and preparing the meat I dug into my deer meat and felt like I had died and gone to heaven.  Lately my hunting hasn’t had the best game, really only getting the smaller creatures, hell my last deer catch was well over 2 months ago so to finally get the richer meat that is deer, god I could die happy now.  After lunch and saving the rest of the meat for later tonight, the pack soon returned with four birds in their mouths.

Toboe was the first to set his bird down at my feet, I soon realized that they had all managed to catch some quail.  Hige then came up next and set his quail on top of Toboe’s.  Then finally, Tsume and Kiba set their quail before me.  I smiled and told them.

“Thank you boys.” Toboe’s and Hige’s tails wagged softly while Tsume and Kiba just sat down and stared at me.  “It’s time I went out and made a trade with the colony, who wants to come?” Hige and Toboe immediately back off and headed back for the living room leaving Tsume and Kiba with me.  “Seems like it’s the three of us, or are you two gonna ditch me too?” they stood up but they didn’t leave.

I went to the back and grabbed the supplies I managed to find further up in the city that no one dared to go since the riots a year ago.  I also went into my spare closet and took out my old sniper rifle.  I grimaced at it before putting it around my back as well as placed my gun holster belt around my waist.

“C’mon boys.” I grabbed my cloak and placed the hood over my head and once again readied my bike for the drive down to the SF Colony.  Tsume and Kiba running close beside me until we finally reached it within 10 minutes.

The colony was once the Quarantine center of San Fransico.  Anyone who had come into contact with someone who caught the Simian flu was sent here like Will and I were after Caroline got sick.  But this was no home, it felt more like solitary confinement.  A steal-enforced room that was most likely an 8x10 room (just like a jail cell) with lights always blaring down at you as your temperature, blood pressure and vitals were constantly being monitored.

Will and I couldn’t even share the same hallway as each other so I never got to say goodbye to my uncle.  Only be told that he had died after a nurse was going her daily checkup on me.  After a year with no symptoms, I was let go and finally felt the first beam of sunlight and fresh air on my face.

Nowadays this former quarantine cell now holds those in San Francisco that remain immune to the virus.  But when the colony was being forged and the two men who were running it had found me, I refused to be a part of this prison once again.  However hunting and fishing can only get me so far in life, so I made a deal with one of them.

If I could go out and find supplies whether it be weapons, food, a source of fresh water, or by some miracle an alternate power source, I would be given some portions of their food and drugs.  But there are some people who try to test me because I’m an outsider taking some of their portions but they eventually learned that if you attack someone with a sniper rifle and has wolves who walk calmly beside her, you don’t test her.

Once I came up to the gates, they immediately opened up and I walked inside along with Kiba and Tsume walking on either side of me.  The crowd already making room for us to walk through the colony.  I walked further in until I came up to the stairway leading up to the catwalk.

“No one’s seen you in two weeks Lin. Some were starting to think you were dead.” I turned my head and just on the other side of the catwalk was Malcolm.  He walked over to me and I said to him.

“A girl decides to hold off on her deal to get more supplies and people start spreading rumors about me.”

“I see that once again you brought your….backup.” he nervously looked down at Kiba and Tsume who both licked their chops and stood like two alpha wolves.

“You know they only bite when they want to. Or if I tell them it’s okay. Whichever comes first. Where’s Dreyfus?”

“In his office. C’mon.” he guided us towards his office and there at his desk sat Dreyfus holding a dead i-pad.  “Dreyfus, she’s here.” He stood up as I came in.

“Lin. This is a surprise, we thought…..”

“I was dead? Yeah, yeah Malcolm already filled me in on the rumors. Look I was scouting for more supplies so I could get more income. Last time you skipped out on me for food portions and I don’t take kindly to that. So this time, I’m making it worth your while.” I set the bag down on his desk and leaned against the door while the two men went through the sack.

There they found new reading material for the children, some ‘new’ cables and wires that they could use for their radios to get a signal out, several healing herbs I picked from the Red woods, and a few magazine clippings with live rounds inside taken from some of the police cars that still stood along the bridge.

“Lin, this is—”

“Don’t patronize me Dreyfus. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for those here that really need it. Now my portions and drugs.”

“Right, right. I’ll personally see to it that Scotty gets your portions correct this time around.” I then turned to Malcolm and asked.

“That girl of yours still have the strong stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll have Ellie give you whatever antibodies you need.”

“No antibodies this time, I want sleeping pills. The strong kind, not anything miniscule.” They both looked at me perplexed.  “It’s that or it’s no deal.” I threatened.

“We’ll go talk to Ellie.” He then escorted me out of Dreyfus’ office and we headed towards his corner of the quarantine zone where they used to store all the medicine for the fever and sore throats but now he had made it into his personal little one level home with his girl Ellie and his son, Alexander.

When we came in and Alexander saw Kiba and Tsume, he jumped back but Malcolm assured him.

“It’s okay Alex just don’t provoke them.”

“And don’t look them directly in the eyes. Wolves take that as a challenge, at least these two do.” I also warned.  The kid remained frozen where he stood until Ellie came around the corner and when she saw me she said my name. “Hey Ellie. Look I need sleeping pills, the strong kind and strongest you’ve got and I don’t mean no Nyquil or melatonin BS. Find whatever you’ve got and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll see what I have. It may not be much but I’ll just see what I’ve got.” She said turning back to look through her supplies.  I then turned to Malcolm who has been giving me the side-eyed downward look like he was figuring out what to say to me.

“Spit it out Malcolm.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Ever since you saw me, you’ve been meaning to ask me something so just say it!” I snarled lowly.  He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.

“We’re almost running out of power. We’ve tried to rewire and connect to any alternative sources but they’re all dried out. But we’ve discovered that hidden within the redwoods is a dam that could help us restore limited power. And being that you’re the only one with a clear expertise on navigating those woods, we were hoping you could lead a handful of us to the dam. Just to see if it still works.”

Kiba and Tsume huffed and lowly growled as I took my sniper rifle off my shoulder and admired it as I asked him.

“How many is a handful?” I asked brushing off my scope.

“About six of us. Ellie, me, Alex, Kemper, Foster, and Carver.”

“No.” I immediately said.  “I’ll take the rest of you but absolutely not Carver. That sniveling jellyfish can’t be trusted with a gun much less a knife.”

“Look I know you two have a….history, but he did work for the water company before all this went down. He knows all the ins and outs of how to get it running.” I glared at him.  “Lin please. If we don’t try our luck with the dam, we’ll lose…..everything. More than we already have. You can’t tell me you’ll really let all these innocent civilians die.” I remained silent for a moment before telling him.

“I’ll let you know by sunset.” At that moment Ellie came back in and said as she held out two pill bottles.

“I had a quarter of Eszopiclone and half bottle of Zolpidem. Don’t take more than one pill a night and don’t…..”

“Don’t mix with alcohol yeah, yeah I know. I’ve been to health class.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” She demanded.  “These aren’t to be taken lightly.”

“That’s why I asked for them.” I said taking the pill bottles out of her hands and let out a whistle as I placed my rifle around my chest and Kiba and Tsume followed me out the door.

I saddled up on my bike as Dreyfus handed me my rations and I told him.

“And Dreyfus, next time you want to ask me for a personal favor, do it yourself don’t get Malcolm to do your dirty work for you.” I revved up my bike and took off with Kiba and Tsume running right behind me.

Time passed and it would be dark within an hour.  I had written my message for Malcolm about my decision to lead them to the Red Woods, I tied the note to a carrier pigeon and let it fly off to the colony base and I let out a deep sigh.

“You think I’m doing the right thing boys?” the four of them looked at me heads tilted.  “Yeah didn’t think so. But I can’t just let them die. Even if some of them are assholes who deserve it, particularly Carver. But if that base goes, so do I. Hunting can only get us so far boys, and we can’t really leave this city unfortunately. If there even is a chance at restoring power, we gotta take it.” I popped open one of the pills Ellie gave me and washed it down with just a bit of water before falling backwards onto my bed and shut my eyes as the sky went from grey to black.

[whitecreekvalley-if]

Care to tell some facts about the ROs?

Fun or serious? I'll do fun little tidbits. Hard hitting angsty facts later, when you least expect it aye 🤌🏼 (this is me trying not to get too angsty at once because that's what I usually doooo)

Mason

On a first name basis both at the clinic in town and the hospital in the city. No self-preservation instincts. Zero. It's actually saved a lot of other people, houses, and animals, so bonus points for that. The nurses still look unamused when he comes through.

Does not trust roosters. Will never get a rooster for the ranch. Won't be caught dead near one of those feathered devils. (He's not afraid of rooster. He's not. Please believe him.)

Has a real hard time saying no to people and it almost got him unintentionally engaged (TWICE) before his friends were like hold up wtf dude. Alcohol might've been involved during one of these moments. Boy gets silly when he's had mezcal.

Alice

Like spice? Not as much as Alice you don't, she could eat a Carolina Reaper and go for another in half a minute. It freaks people out. Don't eat the chili at the potluck if you treasure your insides.

Has the most amazing memory. Forgot what you did on June 18th, 2016? She remembers. Need a reminder what to do five months from now? Personal calendar, let the lady know. It's a curse of you don't want to relive drunken shenanigans.

Total dog person. Sheep are great, but dogs is where it's at. You'll always catch her bringing one or two of her pups to the bar on slow weekdays. She owns many. Like 12 many, and they're all vital for the sheep farm. Absolutely.

Judge

Always, always has to sit with his face towards the exit(s) and back against the wall, otherwise he'll be tense enough to feel like solid rock if touched. He'll deal with not facing a door though. Just prepare for extra grouch.

His nickname used to be Joe. Joe. No one uses it anymore, for their own good. If you really want to burn bridges (or get the coldest glare), start quoting Don't Fuck With Joe by The Blackwater Fever.

Don't go hiking with him, whatever you do. This is a fella who smashes those long distance trails for fun, and has gone out for weeks and even months on end during extended vacations. 100 miles minimum to make the big lug take a relaxed breath.

Sadie

A living, breathing lie detector. She has a deep, intense interest in body language analysis, and listens to tonal changes so hard it looks like she's lost in though. But there's a very, very slim chance for anyone to lie to her and get away with it, which is a freaky skill for a lawyer.

Has never touched an animal bigger than her. Sure she's seen a horse, a cow, a bull, but she'll keep her feet firmly planted on pavement while the animals are out there in the pasture. Equal minding of own businesses.

No one plays poker with Ms. Sadie because they always lose. If the lawyer thing won't work out, she definitely has a future as a card shark, professional players better shake in their boots. Don't watch her shuffle the deck too closely. Or ask why she knows card tricks.

[megan0013]

week 1 - dystopia

Arcadia’s defense systems are some of the best in the country. The walls around the town are high and sturdy, their arsenal of weapons well-stocked and diverse thanks to a successful raid on Area 49-B, and, oh yeah, they have advanced technology only aliens have ever seen before. Because there are aliens in Arcadia. And a coven of very capable witches and wizards. And a legion of gnomes that have sworn absolute fealty to The Town Council after some incredibly difficult negotiations involving dream houses, nougat nummies, and a full-time hat maker.

And there’s the Trollhunter

His warnings are the reason the citizens of Arcadia were able to defend themselves after Gunmar’s hoards had taken the east coast and started making their way west from New Jersey. Without him, they never would have built the wall in time or stockpiled munitions and non-perishable food. They wouldn’t have known anything about weak spots in gumm-gumm armor and how to take advantage of them, or the typical battle strategies the troll army employed. And they certainly couldn’t have designed the vast, complex system of tunnels and traps that had been used to obliterate whole legions in one fell swoop.

Of course, that’s probably because he’d once been a very prominent tactician in the Skullcrusher’s army.

Not that many Arcadians know this about him. His wife and stepson do, obviously, and a handful of close family friends, but to everyone else he’s just Walter – the guy who loves puns and used to teach history at the high school before everything went to hell. They don’t know he’s one of those scummy changelings or that his armor isn’t the real reason he can switch forms. And why should they? Most people have only ever seen him become a troll when Daylight is in his hand. If they want to believe his stone skin is just a byproduct of being named the Trollhunter, then so be it.

The trolls in Trollmarket, though... Well, they know exactly what he is.

It was a tough sell at first, being accepted, but gaining Vendel’s approval and introducing his small family had gone a long way in earning their respect. Draal loudly declaring he’d only had Jim for a day and half but if anything happened to him he would kill everyone in the room and then himself hadn’t hurt, either.

The few who remained wary of him eventually left for what they thought were greener pastures, or quickly changed their tune in the aftermath of Gunmar’s escape from the Darklands.

And now, after three years of successfully leading trolls and humans alike, the Trollhunter’s judgement has been called into question by his own wife.

At least, that’s what it feels like to him.

“Stalklings aren’t pets, Barbara! They are killing machines.”

Barbara, however, doesn’t look the least bit impressed by her husband’s outburst as she continues strolling through the stable of what was once a petting zoo but is now home to a clutch of brand new stalkling pups and their mother. “Just because you’ve had a few unfortunate encounters with them, doesn’t mean they’re all bad. I mean, seriously. Look at that cute little face.”

The stalkling in question does not have a cute little face. Not at all. In fact, she’s got blood-red eyes and an ugly gray head and terrifyingly large teeth.

“It literally tried to eat you at the supermarket,” Walter says, watching incredulously as Barbara takes the great winged beast’s beak into her hands for a scratch. “You still have the scar on your leg from where it bit you.”

“We surprised her, that’s all. Persephone would never hurt me on purpose. Would you, my sweet girl?”

“Persephone? You named it?” Walter huffs out a sigh, fingers going to pinch the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. “Darling, you can’t name them. Now we’ll never be rid of it.”

Barbara raises a brow. “That’s sorta the point, Walt.”

Persephone snorts in agreement.

“And, anyway,” his wife continues with a gentle peck to Persephone’s beak, “Jim wants a vespa or a puppy for his birthday, so…”

Walter blinks.

Barbara bats her eyelashes.

Walter frowns. “That’s not a vespa, nor is it a dog.”

“Oh, no, babe. Of course, not. But since all the scooters have been stripped for parts and I’m allergic to dog hair, I thought, well,” she grins and gestures to the five pups chirping away in the corner of the stall, “these little guys might be the perfect gift.”

The Trollhunter whimpers, knowing deep down in his heart that he’s already lost this particular battle and he's about to become the proud grandfather of not one, but five baby stalklings.

“Besides,” Barbara pats his cheek before pressing a kiss to it, “he can’t have Persephone. She’s my pet.”

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Remember that one Jon chapter in ACOK in which he wargs into Ghost for the first time and encounters a manifestation of Bran as a weirwood?

When he closed his eyes, he dreamed of direwolves [..]

Jon?

The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only...

A weirwood.

It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother's face. Had his brother always had three eyes?

Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.

He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.

Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I’ve always wondered about this but passage because the whole thing is so strange and a bit confusing.

So Bran reaches out and touches Ghost - we’re not sure where but I always just assumed between the eyes because he tells Jon that he must open his eyes and see.

People say that this was Bran awakening Jon’s warging powers but I’m not so sure. For starters, I think Jon was the first or the stark kids to warg; or at the very least, he was the first one to bond with his direwolf.

“Can’t you hear it?” Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else. “There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

- Bran I, AGOT

Plus, Jon is already warging into Ghost at the time of the encounter so it can’t be that. If that’s not the case then, what does this mean? What is Bran doing if he’s not triggering Jon’s already active warging powers?

There’s also something else that is quite confusing. So Bran touches Ghost and the scene changes.

And suddenly he was back in the mountains, his paws sunk deep in a drift of snow as he stood upon the edge of a great precipice. Before him the Skirling Pass opened up into airy emptiness, and a long vee-shaped valley lay spread beneath him like a quilt, awash in all the colors of an autumn afternoon.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I’m not too sure about what just happened here. Are we meant to believe that Ghost is physically transported to the mountains? Or is Ghost experiencing the world on two planes: one physical and one metaphysical? Ghost’s real body remains at the weirwood tree but his consciousness is transported to a different place? But then this conscious has a corporeal form? I don’t get it….

Another thing to note is that Ghost seems out off by Bran because he smells of death. We know that Bran is in the crypts of Winterfell when this is going down so that would explain why he smells that way. So is Ghost afraid of death? Is he afraid of the dark? How much of the metaphysical is Ghost able to sense? If memory serves me correct, Ghost was also scared at the Fist of the First men because he presumably smelled death there too. It might just be animal things or it might point to something deeper.

Anyway, Ghost shows some aversion to what’s going on but Bran then tells him not to be afraid of the dark. He must first embrace it. And this is when Bran reaches out and touches Jon to open his eyes.

Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

So this is all happening while Bran is experiencing a very physical journey to the underworld (an important part of a hero’s journey). So can this be taken as foreshadowing of something that will come to fruition when Jon has to go through his own brush with death? What will opening his eyes to “see” mean for Jon then? Is it similar to when Bran gets all those visions while he’s comatose in AGOT? Maybe this is what will happen to Jon. He will also get visions that remind him why life is worth living; and why life is worth fighting for.

While he’s in a coma, Bran sees past the curtain of light and peaks into the Heart of Winter. The three-eyed-crow tells him that this is why he must live, because winter is coming. Bran then wakes up and names his direwolf ‘Summer’ - as in opposition to Winter. I think it’s possible that we get something similar with Jon. He might have to see what death actually looks like and make the decision to live again so that he can bring about the spring.

And if Jon has to see beyond death, how does that relate to Ghost being, you know, a ‘ghost’? One who exists in the boundaries between life and death. So does he see the living and the dead because he is a part of both? Is this what is needed for Jon’s role as one who will defeat death once and for all? He has to see and conquer death so that new life (spring) can emerge? This could be another reason why Jon has to warg into Ghost after death.

This also brings forth questions of the innate power within Ghost. Namely, how he functions as a vessel of “seeing” and “watching”. To watch is a very prominent motif in Jon’s arc. He is someone who is constantly in the shadows, seeing and watching. He joins an order of men named the Night’s Watch. And even more poignant is that the NW’s primary purpose is to watch for winter - and winter means death. Ghost is a watcher and as one who exists in the boundaries between life and death. Let us remember that he is found with his eyes open when all the other direwolves have theirs closed….

His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.

- Bran I, AGOT

When Arya meets the Ghost of Hight Heart, she compares her eyes to Jon’s direwolf. And the Ghost of High Heart seems to be operating on some kind of magic that might be of the First Men- and the old gods. And the Ghost of High Heart can see things.

Arya spied the small pale shape creeping behind the horses, thin white hair flying wild as she leaned upon a gnarled cane. The woman could not have been more than three feet tall. The firelight made her eyes gleam as red as the eyes of Jon's wolf. He was a ghost too.

- Arya VIII, ASOS

Not to mention, Ghost the albino direwolf has an obvious connection to Bloodraven. Bloodraven is powerful in the magic of the Old Gods and can also see things. Bloodraven, like Jon, is a watcher as he too joined the Night’s Watch and served as its Lord Commander.

His hair fell to his shoulders, long and white and straight, brushed forward so as to conceal his missing eye, the one that Bittersteel had plucked from him on the Redgrass Field. The eye that remained was very red. How many eyes has Bloodraven? A thousand eyes, and one.

- The Mystery Knight

It gets interesting when we consider the powers working within Ghost, and through him. The power of the Old Gods. See, Ghost is like a weirwood in wolf form. Literally.

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

- Jon VI, AGOT

And Jon thinks that Ghost belongs to the Old Gods.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

- Jon XII, AGOT

Ghost’s red eyes are those of a greenseer. Again, one who sees beyond what others can.

“Those you call the children of the forest have eyes as golden as the sun, but once in a great while one is born amongst them with eyes as red as blood, or green as the moss on a tree in the heart of the forest. By these signs do the gods mark those they have chosen to receive the gift. The chosen ones are not robust, and their quick years upon the earth are few, for every song must have its balance. But once inside the wood they linger long indeed. A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. Greenseers.”

- Bran III, ADWD

So does Ghost have the power of the old gods? Is he a vessel of the old gods? An emissary sent to aid Jon specifically? Ghost had red eyes that see, and Jon the watcher can tap into them to see as well. But what other power can Jon tap into, through Ghost’s red eyes that can see very far?

Direwolves, as we know from George R.R Martin, are magical creatures. But Ghost seems to be capable of much more than what is expected of a regular direwolf, even one bonded to a warg. I’m not just talking about his coloring but about certain ‘powers’ he seems to possess. For one, he is able to sense his siblings. He can sense whether they are alive or dead; he senses that Summer and Shaggy are alive, senses Nymeria is alive, senses Lady is dead, and also senses that Greywind is dead before Jon gets news of the Red Wedding.

There were five of them when there should have been six, and they were scattered, each apart from the others. He felt a deep ache of emptiness, a sense of incompleteness.

- Jon VII, ACOK

But that’s not all. There are instances of him going beyond just sensing his siblings. It’s almost like he can “see” them; not just “see” where they are but also “see” what they’re doing.

A wild rain lashed down upon his black brother as he tore at the flesh of an enormous goat, washing the blood from his side where the goat's long horn had raked him.

- Jon I, ADWD

His black brother was the closest, prowling over wet rocks and through dark holes in the ground. He had taken down a monstrous goat, a shaggy white goat as big as any elk with a long horn jutting from its brow, and he was gorging on its flesh, sharing the kill with his other half.

- Longer version from a deleted AFFC chapter; same scene as above but longer

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her. The hills were warmer where they were, and full of food. Many a night his sister’s pack gorged on the flesh of sheep and cows and horses, the prey of men, and sometimes even on the flesh of man himself.

- Jon I, ADWD

On the other side the wind was colder still, the wolf sensed. That was where his brother had gone, the grey brother who smelled of summer. With the cliff between them, he could not sense his brother, but sometimes when he padded down the long cold burrow under the ice and poked his nose through the hard black bars, he could feel him. The snow was falling where his brother was, covering all the woods in white. And there were hunters near, living men and dead men, and the ones who wore the shapes of men but smelled only of cold.

- Deleted Jon AFFC chapter

Is this what Bran awakened during the encounter with Jon? He awakened Ghost’s (and Jon’s) ability to “see” things like a weirwood can? And let’s remember that Bran was working through a weirwood…

Correct me if I’m wrong but ghost is the only direwolf that can do this, yes? Perhaps this is where Ghost being ��a ghost’ comes into play. Because he can straddle the boundary between life and death, then that means he can see who is on either side (dead - Lady and Greywind, alive - Summer, Shaggy, Nymeria); it could also explain how he knows Summer is alive even though he cannot actually sense him. This could also explain why Summer is the only other direwolf able to sense which of his siblings is alive or dead; because Bran made a journey to the underworld, both figuratively and literally.

It’s quite speculative, but I think another reason for why Ghost can “see” his siblings is because they are in near death situations, or are in situations where death hangs in the air. Like when he “sees” Shaggy in Skaagos, Shaggy is wounded from his fight with the unicorn (and the unicorn is dead). In the last quote I posted above, Ghost can “see” the Others and Wights who surround Bloodraven’s cave and can identify that some are dead. Note that Ghost can also “see” the Others and even though they wear the shapes of men, Ghost can see that they aren’t really men because they smell of cold (and also bring death in their wake).

Jon isn’t anywhere near his siblings but he can see all these things through Ghost. Does this mean that Ghost is able to see beyond Jon’s physical constraints? Or that Jon, through Ghost, can cast his eyes far and see? But how far does that go? Is it just something to do with the pack? Or can it be extended to other people/places? After all, after the encounter with Bran, Ghost saw the wildling camp and that had nothing to do with his litter mates.

I just can’t wait to see how Jon’s resurrection plays out because this ability to see is something that could potentially be made stronger after Jon’s resurrection. Jon, like Bran, will have journeyed to the underworld and emerged from it. Perhaps the encounter with Bran was sowing the seeds for things Jon could do in the future. But there is still the question: does he need to warg into Ghost for this or can he do it on his own? If his bond with Ghost is multiplied exponentially after death such that they share a soul, does Ghost’s power transfer over to Jon? What are the constraints here?

Another question that greatly interests me is, if Ghost is the one who not just senses but sees his siblings, is this indicative of a special place he has among the pack? Is he the pack leader maybe? Or perhaps the pack protector?

They arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until his white wolf moved to meet them. Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. Ghost, already larger than his litter mates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled back down.

[Jon] messed up her hair again and walked away from her, Ghost moving silently beside him. Nymeria started to follow too, then stopped and came back when she saw that Arya was not coming.

- Arya I, AGOT

Far off, he could hear his packmates calling to him, like to like. They were hunting too.

- Jon I, ADWD

He was no longer certain they were wrong. Every night Ghost prowled along the Wall, hunting for a way through, called by a brother he could not feel, a hunger he could not sate. And Jon ran with him, in the darkness of his dreams.

- Deleted Jon AFFC chapter

There’s obviously a weird power that’s active within Ghost that isn’t exhibited by the other direwolves. Not to mention his incredible intelligence which also isn’t seen in the other direwolves; the other direwolves are intelligent, but Ghost’s intelligence seems almost human.

A vast blue-white wall plugged one end of the vale, squeezing between the mountains as if it had shouldered them aside, and for a moment he thought he had dreamed himself back to Castle Black. Then he realized he was looking at a river of ice several thousand feet high. Under that glittering cold cliff was a great lake, its deep cobalt waters reflecting the snowcapped peaks that ringed it. There were men down in the valley, he saw now; many men, thousands, a huge host. Some were tearing great holes in the half-frozen ground, while others trained for war. He watched as a swarming mass of riders charged a shield wall, astride horses no larger than ants. The sound of their mock battle was a rustling of steel leaves, drifting faintly on the wind. Their encampment had no plan to it; he saw no ditches, no sharpened stakes, no neat rows of horse lines. Everywhere crude earthen shelters and hide tents sprouted haphazardly, like a pox on the face of the earth. He spied untidy mounds of hay, smelled goats and sheep, horses and pigs, dogs in great profusion. Tendrils of dark smoke rose from a thousand cookfires. This is no army, no more than it is a town. This is a whole people come together.

- Jon VII, ACOK

I get excited just thinking about how this could manifest with Jon as a commander of armies. He could very well become a commander who can see across enemy lines, can see their formations, who’s leading them, what sort of supplies they have, how big their numbers are, etc. It’s kind of a scary thing to have. Jon wouldn’t need to send so many scouts if he can just see things for himself. Plus it brings to mind Jon’s parallels with the Norse god Odin, who can see into all realms through his high seat Hlidskjalf.

One last thing to note, Bran says that Ghost was the only direwolf to have his eyes open when the wolf pups were found. This is obviously a nod to Jon being more mature than what is expected of him at the time, plus we must remember Maester Luwin asserting that bastard grow up faster than trueborns. But perhaps there is a magical explanation of that as well. It’s not just that Jon sees and understands the real threat from up north, but he can see on a metaphysical realm in a way that none of the others can.



[fountainpenguin]

"The world's smallest violin really needs an audience, so let me play my violin for you..." (x)

---

New Origin of the Pixies chapter today!

Chapter 43 - “Letters and Numbers”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

---

Since Sanderson came into his adult wings last chapter, it was only a matter of time before his younger coworkers did too. Tensions rise as Longwood and Smith begin to assert their dominance, and H.P. does what he can to ensure his position as Head Pixie remains secure.

Next time we see these kids, we'll be off to war...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Letters and Numbers

Spring of the Yellow Tailfeathers

---

Longwood hovered by the tram station, his shades pushed into his hair and his arms crossed. As I drifted up to join him, I raised an admittedly exaggerated brow. "And you're absolutely sure you don't want me to call your Refracted counterpart?"

"I am."

"You realize that after today, you can never enter a Daoist shrine again. Without her kiss as a juvenile, you're impure. Your window of opportunity will have closed. If you ever want in again, you'll have to travel to the High Kingdom and meet on her territory."

"I get it, H.P." He smiled thinly. "I'm Zodii. I'm all Zodii."

I suppressed my sigh. "All right. No ceremonial coming of age kiss. Well, if we're not going to be spending the evening witnessing a dance, I'm glad we're going out instead." I picked up my coat and pulled it on while Sanderson watched from the stairs. "Where do you fancy? Preferably someplace with soda."

Longwood sized me up with a rueful sideways glance. "H.P., I'm 164,000. Adult wings or not, I can't legally drink for 25,000 years."

"… Right. I knew that. So where do you want to go? Hawkins and I went hiking, and Wilcox and I spent the weekend soaring above the cloudlands as geese. You and I have to go somewhere- anywhere you want. A getaway for just the two of us. That's Pixie tradition."

"I want to go to the Leaves Temple and present myself before Thurmondo."

Oh. I wrinkled my nose. "Um. That place by the Frozen Garden Palace? That's what you want? Am I even allowed to go there?"

Longwood nodded. "You're allowed to be on the lower two levels. The echo chamber is on the top floor. H.P., I know you don't believe, but I want you to come and meditate with me. That's my birthday wish."

I watched his face for any hint of ulterior motives. "What exactly do you plan to do while I'm there?"

"Just pray, and think, and listen. It's the Temple of Curiosity. It's sort of a play area up front for the nymphs and pups, and more of a museum in the back. Lots of little puzzles to fiddle with and solve. You'll like it."

"Okay. If that's what you want." I glanced over my shoulder. "Sanderson, you're in charge. No parties."

"Yes, sir."

We took the pilgrimage without magic as best as we could. I would've been content to ping there and be done with it, but Longwood insisted on the trams. At least using magic on the way home wasn't against their self-imposed rules. Longwood and I arrived in Cornflower City on Wednesday, then paid the temple a visit in the morning. I'd glimpsed the temple in passing: lush plants that betray the frosty outdoors and all of that. I'd never been inside before. Longwood walked me to the door. We entered together.

The noise hit me first. Longwood led onward and we stepped from the hall into an enormous brightly lit room.

"Holy chaos…"

Everything was a puzzle. The floor. The walls. The tables and chairs. Puzzles of cloudland cities. Puzzles of the Rainbow Bridge. Puzzles of famous monuments. Puzzles of planets. Puzzles of farms, animals, factories…

I turned a full circle, sliding my hands up to grasp my hat. Mazes of wire. Mirrors that alter your appearance in nonsensical ways. Children's toys strewn all over the ground (Ah, so that's how the Zodii lure you in young). Fairy nymphs and Anti-Fairy pups raced and poofed back and forth, shrieking and chortling as they zipped from one place to another. Amused parents sat on benches along the walls.

Longwood looked at me, awaiting any further reaction on my part. "If it's too much, sir, on the other side of the room, there's a door that leads into the meditation hall. It's quieter there."

I squinted. There was laughter, and crying. Bright construction paper. Train sets with engines and tracks. Interactive wall panels. Tunnels. Slides. Climbing bars. Trampolines. Squishy blue mats. Ringing rainbow xylophones. Spinning hoops. Wooden blocks. Sports balls. Foam balls. Toy blasters to fire those foam balls. Adventure quests and target games you could work your way through with a pretend wand in hand. Scoreboards?

It was every doctor's office waiting room, playground, splash pad, nymph gymnasium, and socializing nursery I'd ever imagined contained under one roof. My awareness zinged in a thousand directions at once, trying to track every rapidly moving kid, shot ball, and thrown toy. Every toenail, every hair, every dust flake, every skin cell.

Howls of pain. Bruises? Blood? Snot? Barf? Pee? There was no way to know what wild kids did when ducking through the tunnels and enriching themselves where adults couldn't see them. I am almost positive everything in there was liable to give you some contagious disease at the simplest brush of your hand. Nothing in there was sanitary. Nothing in there was safe. It wasn't right.

"Longwood," I whispered, "I can't do this. I can't stay in here. Nothing in here is organized. I'm going to have a meltdown. In front of all these people."

"Really?" He looked again around the Temple. "I thought you'd like solving the puzzles and filling in the coloring sheets."

"I will. Oh, I will. Longwood, I'm glad you have the ability to focus on just one thing at a time. To set up just three of a hundred dominos, to rotate a wheel filled with beads just half a turn, to flip an hourglass over when it hasn't timed out, to roll a play cloudcar a short ways across the floor, and then move on with your life."

I met his gaze, tugging my hat lower. "But if you start me on this, I swear I am not leaving until every one of these puzzles is done at the same time, and stabilized that way. And I do not care how many nymphs or full-grown adults I have to bowl over to do so. Either let me absolutely loose, or get me out of here- now."

[Cnt'd on FFN / AO3 - Links at top]

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork heart pt6

Part 5 here

———

Wyrm: *dragging his feet up the stairs and into the arcanum, the lessons of Vivec now safely back in his possession and Ancanos questions answered for today* I’m back…

Urag: *looks up from his desk* I?! Where have you been?! Have you been collecting that book this whole time?

Wyrm: *worried he might get in trouble and have to give the gauntlets back if he tells the truth* I-u-um I sat in the dorms and read it while Ogmund and J’zargo practiced their homework.

Urag: *sighs with mild annoyance, believing him knowing his relationship with the students around his mental and emotional age group* You know I don’t like you hanging around that Khajiit. He’s one step away from burning this whole place to the ground. And that Onmund never returns his books on time!

Wyrm: *relieved his fib was convincing enough* b-but they’re my friends papa… *sheepishly walks over and signs the return and borrow paperwork*

Urag: I know son, it’s rare you get any friends you fit with coming through these doors just… I don’t want them getting you into trouble. Or hurt. You know you’re dangerous when even Faralda is too afraid to teach you.

Wyrm: *giggles* her eyebrows only just grew back in didnt they. Well at least J’Zargo isn’t as bad as those mages down in the midden who nearly levelled the tunnels entirely with that ritual they were attempting.

Urag: and you’ll be smart not to speak of that to anybody while that ancano is around.

Wyrm: Yes papa. And to never go into the midden. Or to go into the village after dark. Or to run across the bridge in case I slip and fall. Or to-

Urag: *taps him on the head with a roll of paper gently making the dunmer giggle and scurry by* Cheeky.

Wyrm: *giggling as he walks to his door* I’ll keep it secret papa, I promise.

Urag: *shakes his head chuckling* I’ll bring dinner in shortly pup. Go have a bath before you throw yourself into your projects again alright?

Wyrm: *groans rolling his eye dramatically just wanting to finally read his book* yeeees papa. *walks into his room, closing the door with a smile hearing Urag laugh at his playful mood… so happy to hear his father laugh… and feeling terrible for lying* … *sighs and sets the book down before stripping off his robe and removing his arm, sitting it by the book as he kicks off the rest of his clothes making his way to the small washroom ensuite*

“Why did he ask me so many strange questions? Can’t everybody make a spectral version of themselves? Why did he care about my childhood so much?… does he really think I’m that pretty?… have I been too mean to him?…”

Wyrm: *sighs thinking to himself as he sinks into the tub of hot water, remembering the conversation and how it seemed to go on for forever, and how distracted he was by the thalmor agents hands all over him* …is… is this what love feels like?…………… I don’t… think I like it…

*a few hours later*

Wyrm: *finally ate a full meal after missing breakfast and only getting a few bites out of his lunch, now sitting on his bed reading and scribing notes from his childhood book with amazement as it finally reveals its secrets to him* “If you find yourself reading this story, know that I am sorry. For I have failed in my ultimate task and I now burden it to you. I know not what name you will take, what face you will bare, or what race you will be born of, but you will be born of my hands as a fragment of me. You may walk your own path in life if you so choose, but I ask now for you to read this if you can, my plea to you. To me… Don’t let our mistakes be in vain… Follow the doom drum… put him back together… complete my work… come find me. You. Us… Sotha Sil” *Sits back in surprise and reads it again* Sotha Sil… wrote this?…

“I wrote this.”

Wyrm: *blinks and shakes his head* malacaths mercy I’m tired, what time is it? *yawns looking at the clock he’d built on his bedside table to see 2am staring back at him as the hands tick slowly* …Aw biscuits I did it again… *sighs and looks back at his book, Pearl eyeball nearly popping out of his head in shock to see the page now completely blank, and the notes he’d written in his note pad utterly illegible* what?! No no no no!! That’s not fair!! *flips through his notes frantically to see the same scribbles all through his book except the now blank page* What about the poisoned robes being a lie?! The foul murder! Something about a waterfall and stars?! *flips through all his notes before dropping the pad and frantically putting on the gauntlets again* no no come on come back! Come back please! *grabs the book and notes getting no reaction* take me back to the vision! Anything plea- *face going pale seeing the notes he’d written literally disappear turning the notepad into a blank page, as if the knowledge could never be shared ever again* … n-no *tears up and chokes out a pained sob dropping back into the large pillows of his bed as he just breaks into a full meltdown* wh-what did I do wrong? I- is it because I lied to papa?…

*a few hours later*

???: s-…seht… why?…

Wyrm: *blinks open his eyes and screams seeing a handsome mers face inches from his own, beautiful golden skin now red and bleeding as another golden skinned mer guides his hand with a blade, slicing off their face* I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry! *blinks realising it’s a dream and he’s seeing through the eyes of somebody else*

???: Ayem! His feet! Cut off his feet!

Wyrm: *looks to his side to see the two masked figures from his vision, now realising them to be Vivec and Almalexia, and himself seeing through the eyes of sotha sil* No don’t! Please we can stop this! It’s not too la- *looks down at the handsome mer beneath him as he screams in agony as his feet are severed*

???: *screaming and writhing in pain looking up at him with pleading eyes* s-seht- m-my friend- p-please

Wyrm: *wanting to look away but unable to, forced to watch the scene before him as the knife slices through the flesh of his face, and Vivec’s hands grasp sotha sils, forcing him to peel the mers face from his flesh* please forgive me nerevar!!

Nerevar: *screaming in agony as he stares up at him in horror* PLEASE NO-

Wyrm: *suddenly shoots up in his bed, tears pouring down his cheek from his one eye as he fumbles across the covers. Just sobbing as he pulls the gauntlets from his hands, throwing his books to the side as he falls from his bed and onto the floor before running out of his room and to Urags* p-papa! Papa! *sobs opening the door and running inside climbing into his bed*

Urag: *jolts awake to find his son crawling into bed with him like he used to when he was very little* pup?

Wyrm: *incoherent through his sobs as he clings to him* I don’t want to know what’s in my book anymore! I don’t want to! I watched sotha sil skin nerevar alive! I watched vivec stab him! I saw Almalexia cut off his feet! It felt so real! It felt real!

Urag: shhhh… *gently hugs him close tucking him under the blanket* it was just a nightmare pup… it wasn’t real… *furrows his brow deciding it’s best to not press him for details while he’s like this but knowing this isn’t normal even for him* it can’t hurt you son… *gently strokes his face before removing his sons Pearl eye and his mechanical arm, placing both on his nightstand so Wyrm can sleep comfortably beside him, safe and sound*

Wyrm: *let’s his father remove them before resuming nuzzling into him for safety as if he were still a child* he kept begging me to stop, he kept calling me Seht, he spoke to me like I was sotha sil, like I was him, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t!

Urag: *heart breaking seeing his son so distressed, wondering what could have possibly triggered this* shhh Wyrm, it’s okay son, it’s alright… *pats his hair and hugs him close, not knowing how to help the situation beyond just being present* nothing can hurt you while I’m here…

*Meanwhile*

Ancano: *quietly enters the Arcanum, unable to sleep and deciding to make it Wyrms problem… only to see his bedroom door wide open* hm?… *walks to it and peers in to see his bed a mess, and covered in notes and several books, with no little Pearl in sight* ……… *walks in and inspects the room quietly before looking at the blank notepad, then at the books* why was he so desperate to read this drivel? *picks up the 36 lessons of vivec before tossing it to the side and picking up Wyrms book* hm?… *opens it only to see what everyone else did, utterly intangible notes and writings in a language nobody can understand. And several blank pages at the front of the book* … *slides it into his robe and walks out quietly as if he was never there*

[sarahfeliciam]

The Ultimatum Ch 11

Chapter Eleven - GOF

When Emeline stepped off the Hogwarts Express, she wasn’t sure what to expect. But there he was, flashing her a large smile and walking briskly toward her when they spotted eachother. She pushed through the crowd and ran to him with a hug that nearly sent him flying backwards.

“You came!” She grinned, Saffron flying to catch up and perch on her shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’m looking forward to hearing some exam grades from you.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets after a flick of his wand set her luggage trailing after them as they began to walk. 

Emeline rolled her eyes. “Can’t summer break start for even a second before you ask about finals? Or perhaps you can ask when I go back Fourth Year. Or even better, perhaps not at all.” She ended cheerfully. 

“You failed Potions, didn’t you?”

“Dismally.” 

“At least we know what to focus on this break.”

“I’m spending the summer in Potions class? In my own home?”

“Just to catch you up. Least I can do, you know: the whole disrupting your life bit.” He chuckled playfully while Emeline sulked. 

“Dad! Not fair!”

“So fair.”

•

When they arrived at the garden gate to their little cottage flat, Emeline basked in the scent of the flowers that were still blooming and even felt a familiar comfort at the site of the front door. 

“Em,” Remus stopped halfway up the gravel walk. “There is one thing we need to discu-“

Before he could finish, Emeline felt shag fur run by her leg and she let out an excited howl of laughter.

“-No. Way. We’ve got to take this ghastly stray in, eh? I’m sure he’d love a flea bath and to listen to the Weird Sisters!” 

A disagreeing bark met Emeline’s ears and Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a quick sigh. 

“Despite the headaches I am certain are on their way, yes. This is what I would’ve liked to tell you, Emeline, before our mangy mutt intruded first.”

An angrier bark came now and Remus laughed, letting them all inside. 

“I resent that, Moony. I really do.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Emeline hugged Sirius in full human form now. He was wearing a grey shirt a size too large for him and old denim that hung loosely as well. His hair was still quite long and unkempt, but it was clean. He looked fresh and happy. 

“It’s great to see you, Padfoot. If I’m allowed to join in on that name calling, anyway.”

She took off her cloak and tossed it on the couch, collapsing down on it with the sweet sigh of summer relaxation escaping her lips.

“I doubt Moony minds. I certainly don’t.” 

Remus shrugged in response, grinning.

“Be our guest, Em.” He took a seat on the chair opposite her and Sirius took the arm of the couch.

“However, there is one condition.” Sirius added quickly.

“Merlin,” she groaned. “If it’s that bloody Potions final tutoring, I swear.”

“Tutoring? In this house? Over summer?” He offered Remus a jokingly incredulous glare. “I would never allow it. But we do need a nickname for Remus’ newest member. Our pup, one could say.”

Remus mumbled something under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose yet again. 

“She isn’t ours, Sirius. And thank Merlin she is no dog like either of us, at that! Would it kill you to be more original?”

“I should have a say.” Emeline mused wistfully, picking at her fingernails.

Remus and Sirius waited for a follow up comment, but when none came, they urged her: “And?”

“And I haven’t a clue. However, if I was an animagus I’d like to be something dainty and majestic. Like a deer.”

“We already had Prongs.” Sirius quipped.

“Well, I’m a female.” Emeline responded, insulted. 

“What difference does that make?” Sirius asked, annoyed. 

Remus laughed, flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet lazily. “Fawn. It’s perfect.”

Emeline smiled and stuck her tongue out at Sirius. 

“How come you’ve got all the answers, Moony?”

“He’s educated.” Emeline laughed, jumping up before he could swat her on the back of the head. 

“Shall we fix something to eat? I’m rather good at heating leftovers.”

•

When evening fell in the Lupin household, it found Emeline and Sirius losing miserably to Remus at Gobstones. 

“Aren’t I supposed to get one free pass to win? Like a daughter’s credit or something?”

“First no summer tutoring, now you want to win by association? I thought I’d come to know you this year, Emeline.” Remus joked back, taking yet another win for himself as they reset the game.

“Theres plenty to learn, I reckon.” She mused, before divulging: “I can be a sore loser, for one.”

“Well, I look forward to it.” He grinned. “But I am surprised at that.”

“Me being a sore loser?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I can’t imagine someone just ‘looks like’ a sore loser from the outside.” She joked back; Sirius snorted.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Remus responded, smiling up at her after his move. “It’s just that usually sore losers care when they fail a class.”

“That’s low even for you, dad!” Taking her turn to beat him the first round, she huffed triumphantly. “I’ll have you know I was very afraid of failing class when you pulled me aside for the first time.”

“Right. Well, it doesn’t do if you’re only worried about one subject, now does it?” 

With a roll of her eyes she threw her stones to Sirius. 

“Finish him off.” With an annoyed groan, she flopped back against the couch and crossed her arms.

“A sore loser, indeed.” Remus smiled. 

•

Just before bed, Remus slipped off for a shower and left Emeline and Sirius to their own devices. They spent some time tossing back and forth ideas for pranks that Sirius desperately wanted to unleash, which Emeline found highly amusing at his age. 

She laughed continually at his outlandish ideas and childish excitement as she tidied up for her dad, already realizing what a tornado aftermath she’d been leaving around with the help of her ex-convict, honorary ‘uncle’. 

As they settled down for the night and Emeline was pleased with the living quarter’s cleanliness, she curled herself into her dad’s seat. Sirius took a seat on the coffee table to be closer to her and took in an unusually steadying breath for him. She knew he was ready to say something important, and the switch from his fun loving demeanor stirred up some anxiety in her.

“You know, Fawn - if we are really calling you that.” He winked. She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that night.” 

A lump formed in her throat and stopping short in the hallway, Remus pocketed the chocolate he’d brought out for them and listened silently. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Emeline said softly. 

“It’s very necessary. You can’t do that ever again, Emeline. You should count yourself lucky.”

“I don’t plan to, Sirius. I’ve already promised dad.” She replied, toying with a strand of hair absentmindedly. 

“Oh,” Sirius started, surprised, still hearing Remus as ‘dad’ creating a foreign buzzing in his brain. “Right then, that’s a relief.” 

Upon closer inspection of Emeline’s face, he realized he was missing something. 

“What is it?”

Appearing increasingly uncomfortable, Emeline shook her head. “Nothing.”

“No, there’s something. It’s eating at you. What is it?” Sirius’ voice hosted some of his young hearted wonder again. He certainly felt the part of cool uncle, but Emeline was too distracted by her relentless stomach upset to care. 

“I- well,” as she began, Remus felt a similar lump forming in his throat. He sunk to the floor to sit in the hall, waiting to hear his daughter’s cause for distress. “I’ve been having nightmares; at school. Madame Pomfrey has been giving me a memory draught to try and help. Sleep aids. Nothing has worked. I’m afraid to have those nightmares over summer. It’ll break his heart.”

Remus hung his head sadly, wanting desperately to hold her.

“Emeline, what about your heart?”

Her and her father were surprised at this. Emeline for a thought that had never crossed her mind and Remus for his best friend’s wisdom. He took a calming breath, knowing she was in good hands for such a delicate conversation.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well,” Sirius looked at her closely. “Your father is a grown man; a grown man who’s been a werewolf nearly his entire life. A grown man who has known about you and the haunting pain of losing you your entire life. And here you are, a mere months into knowing him as your dad, as a werewolf. You’ve got to give yourself some credit. I’m not sure I could’ve even settled in with such ease so quickly. You’re painfully devoted and very kind. And you have his playful sarcasm that only ever made all of us love him more. It’s like you’ve had this family all together for years already. But you haven’t. You’ve just found eachother and- well truthfully, you could’ve been killed.” Emeline’s eyes flashed with terror and she closed them briefly. 

Remus swallowed painfully.

“I need you to understand Emeline, he had no idea who you were. When I say you could’ve been killed, I say this with the utmost love for Moony and respect for werewolves… I mean it. He was ready to hurt you. You could be a werewolf, too. Or dead.”

All the blood left Remus’ head and he felt cold as his heart raced.

“No. No.” She responded frantically, shaking her head. “He knew me!” 

His heart was shredding in two at her voice. 

“He didn’t. He couldn’t have.”

“He did! You saw it! For one second after he transformed, he knew me! He gave me as much time as he could!”

Tears stung at his eyes. 

“And that split second would never have been enough! There’s no way you’d have survived!” Sirius and Emeline were both on their feet now, his voice towering over hers. 

“Mind your tone.” She shot back. “You may know my dad, but you haven’t the first clue about me or our relationship. I won’t tempt fate again, but he spared me that night! I could care less whatever the hell you think it was.”

“Your ‘die on this hill’ belief is dangerous, Emeline. I hope you mean what you say when you promise you’d never remain with him during a moon again.”

“You don’t strike me as the sensible type, so I have to ask if you’re doing this on his behalf.”

“He never set me out to this. But he’s been a nervous wreck over wondering if you were certain you’d never pull a stunt like this again, so I thought I’d secure the knowledge for him.” 

“First of all, this was no stunt of mine!”

Remus’ face fell. 

“He came out that time of night; he forgot his potion, and he didn’t run back to the shack when I gave him the best notice I could. He knows all of this! And I know that he kept his sensibilities in tact for as long as he could to try and rectify every poor decision that night. I can’t imagine how hard that was to fight. But despite the comfort I take from that, I assure you, I wouldn’t seek him out on purpose.” 

Tears were gathering in her eyes now and her whole resolve started to melt away. 

“Sirius, my nightmares are haunting. I can feel the pain of that night going differently. I’ve played it all over and over again: him not recognizing me, the other howl never coming, Professor Snape never grabbing me.” She looked up at him. “You not putting yourself between us to jumpstart any last ounce of sense I had left. I am destroyed in these nightmares and I watch him see what he’s done and - and it’s terrifying!” Her tears were flowing now and Remus jumped to his feet. 

In a second’s time, she was in his arms, the familiar smell of chocolate and parchment encompassing her, and trembling. Tears stained his nightclothes and she sunk to the floor as he followed her to sit beside her. Sirius knelt behind them and put a hand on each of them.

‘I’m sorry’ he mouthed to Remus silently. Remus shook his head gently and offered him a pained smile in acknowledgment.

‘No, I am.’

“Em,” he started softly, pushing her tear soaked hair from her face and beckoning her to look up at him. “Breathe. Watch me. Breathe.” 

“I c- can’t!” Her sobs were loud and wrenching. Her body still shook as she pictured the imaginary attack that had been haunting her.

“You can; we’ve done it before,” he assured her quietly. She was missing from her gaze, her mind nowhere near their small spot on the living room floor. “Emeline,” he reiterated, stronger. “You’re home. You’re safe. There’s no moon. No pain. It’s all in your mind.”

She chanced a glance up at him and rested her hand on his chest. He laid his hand over top hers and nodded. 

“Slow down, darling.” 

Breathing in rhythm with her father, the nightmare began to fade and reality set in. When all was well, she fell asleep slowly against Remus, who looked at his friend with sadness. 

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said quietly, moving to sit criss cross in front of them. “You’re wonderful with her. I’m impressed.” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Sirius.” He murmured. “I’m just loving her and hoping it’s enough.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment as Remus looked back down at his sleeping daughter, moving to lean against the coffee table for support and stroking her hair. 

“I have to ask, Moony. I’m sorry, bu-“

“- yes. I knew her. I haven’t a clue how without Wolfsbane and it was terrifying.” 

Sirius nodded with a smile. 

“Well, as you said. Love and all that nonsense.”

With a sigh, he leapt to his feet. “I’ll be taking your bed since you lot have the floor tonight.”

He retired to sleep and Remus whispered ‘nox’. Conjuring a blanket close to them, he draped it over Emeline and leaned back into the wood of the table. 

For the first night in months, her nightmares were at bay. 

[h0ney-dames]

🌟 ARLO 🦴| MENACING SHIFTER

(Redacted oc)

*************************************************

*************************************************

You were laying in bed after having spent the entire day on your laptop, doing your work, you had finally gotten Arlo to sleep after about 20 minutes of intense struggle and letting him watch half a movie until he eventually drifted off.

It was about 1 am when you were woken up, you sleepily opened your eyes only to see a small, sometimes annoying, always active, menace of a shifter holding your arm and shaking it

“H-hey. Wake. Wakey.. wake up..”

It was hard to hear Arlo over

1, the rain outside, and 2, the fact you were exhausted

“..what's up pup..” you rubbed your eyes and sat up on your elbows

You felt Arlo looking at you as if to ask “the fuck you mean what up”

He crawled in next to you in the bed, hugging you like you were a human plushie.

“I-“

“You say anything.. a-and and I'll shift and bite you.”

“..pup you do not know how to properly shift yet-…“

“.. I still could bite you.”

He was also holding Richy, as tough as he tried to act, he still had attachments to the plush toy.

“..why were you in your room all day..”

“I had work pup..”

“Weirdo..”

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around Arlo and rolling over so he wasn't lying on the edge of the bed

“Weh-“ he wasn't used to being completely spun around

“..does being sleepy make you like.. super strong of something?..” he yawned, there was a lightning strike outside the house, you could feel Arlo’s body tense up, and he leaned his head against your chest

You looked down at him.. maybe he was scared? You wouldn't have expected someone who acted like they were raised in a barn to be scared of thunder

“Pup you ok-“

“I'll bite.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his little “I'll bite” Even if he did bite you, it was doubtful he would bite through the skin, or damage anything, his teeth were far too blunt… maybe you needed to take him to a dentist…

“I-.. 'm not scared. If that's what you wanna kn-“

Another thunder clapped outside, causing Arlo to jump and lean in closer to you..

“Mhm.. not scared.. just a big tough little scared-y pup..”

“Th-.. what?..” he was completely taken off guard by the contradicting sentence..

You laughed softly, gently stroking his hair, and lightly running a finger down the bridge of his nose before booping it

he growled softly at the boop.. “Don't..” he tried to seem annoyed by the affection, but it felt nice..

“Dont worry pup.. tons of people are scared of lightning and thunder-“

“Well-.. w-well I'm not. So shut up..”

You kept stroking his hair, if he was going to freak out you could at least try to make the freak out less like a tantrum and more like he just watched a sad movie

The silence filled the room quickly, the only sounds being your breathing and Arlo’s, one shaky with no regularity, and one calm..

There was a lightning strike, then thunder, and Arlo curled up against you, almost like he was trying to disappear.. you kept quiet..

“..p-please k-keep talkin’..”

He whined softly, he sounded terrified, and another lightning struck overhead

“The scientific term.. for brain freeze is sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia..” he seemed to pause at the strange fact

“Sp.. sp he-.. no… palatin.. gang.. lion… neu- what?..” he was too confused to be scared.

“Mhm.. and.. you can't hum if you hold your nose”

You watched as Arlo slowly pinched his nose and tried to hum, failing. There was another lightning strike, followed by thunder..

Arlo made a little squeak and curled up against you. “I-it too lo-loud..”

You gently covered Arlo’s ears, it was the least you could do to try to stop him from having a complete breakdown over the sound

You had learnt, over the last couple of weeks, that Arlo’s hearing was rather sensitive, and he also seemed constantly aware of all the sounds around him.

“Shhh…” it's not like he could currently hear you, but gently whispering “shh” seemed like the parental thing to do.

He kept hugging onto you as you stroked his hair, covering his ears in case of thunder..

“M-my room scary.. ca.. can I sleep here..” it was such a small request, and he already seemed so comfortable in your bed.. you could hardly deny such a small request..

“OK, pup.. you dont need to ask..” you gently kissed his forehead, tucking the blanket up around Arlo and themself

“Get some sleep pup.. we can get you a nightlight tomorrow.. and maybe some headphones..”

“..okay…” he probably wouldn’t remember anything, as he slowly drifted back to sleep in your arms

[brooklynislandgirl]

Shippy-memey-thing: Ron and Beth

Come Together || Accepting

RATE: NOTP | Ew | Nah | Alright | Cute | I LOVE them | They are perfect | OTP | THEY ARE MY BEAUTIFUL, SWEET CHILDREN AND I SHALL PROTECT THEM AS THEIR MOTHER

Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon?

"Reg would never allow that," Frances says. More often than not there are multiple bodies in their bed, and honestly Beth cannot imagine what not having at least one of the great pups tucked in beside them, whether it's Claude or Noe, Duchess or Topper, or Mo, or Bruce and Marley and Juno. More often than not, some combination of all of them through the night make their rest in the bed. Which of course reminds her again to bring up to Ron that perhaps they should splurge and get their hands on an Alaska King size bed. But she does have to bite back a nasty comment about Reg, something along the lines of Frances getting better sleep kicking Reg to the curb and getting her own dog or cat or anything that has a chance of bonding with her. "Hones'ly? We bo'd sleep mo' beddah havin' da dogs wi' us. So sometimes we cuddle wi' dem, sometimes each oddah. Ron's very careful not to trap me. I tend to toss an' turn a lot." She doesn't speak about Ron's comfort in the privacy of his own bed, it's not her place to share that information and Beth guards his public face like the Sphinx. {Some nights, she will be Ron's big spoon. Some nights, he will be her spoon. The dogs more often than not end up if not spoons, than large portable heaters. They also perfectly understand and accept when the other requires being allowed to sleep {or in Beth's case…not} on their own.}

2. Adult!verse Heights

'Look'a th'size'a you 'n look'a th'size'a me.' It was the first, tenth, and twenty-third thing she's ever noticed about him. He's standing there barefoot, hands on his hips and legs slightly apart. He might not see it, but his muscles are well defined. Thick in the thighs, but he doesn't have what she's come to think of as chicken legs, where his calves barely look like they could support her, much less him. His feet tell her a story of a largely English background by the well formed toes and accompanying bridge. Lean through the hips, and the moment she crosses a certain threshold her cheeks bloom chery blossom pink before she moves on to his middle after so lingering a glance. That thick trunk gives way to shoulders that ought to come with maps for how broad they are and the only thing she hates is the inability to admire the ink she knows lurks beneath the shell of his clothes. "I mean, I might need f' use apple box t' reach dat handsome face, but…wor't it." 'You shouldn't mess abaht wiv boys what're biggah than yah..' He offers a devilish grin that also shows his mouth guard. Makes reading his lips ~criminal in the best ways~ a little harder but she catches almost all of it by virtue of long association. "Bu' if y'must, make sure i's one tha'll bite as 'ard as y'like it." The wink is murder. She pops her own mouth guard in, and squares up on the mat. "Jus' remembah dat when I'm chokin' you wi' my t'ighs." {Ron comes in around 5ft9, 5ft10. Which is still nearly a foot on Beth, and he definitely has her by nearly twice as many stone, thanks to muscle, good bone structure and those bricks she slipped into his pockets}

3. Who falls asleep while watching romcoms?

It's the twentieth time in all their years that he's been 'treated' to a viewing of the Princess Bride. Reg and the rest of them would mock him incessantly if they knew, or at least offer up their condolences but it's because they don't understand quite the way Ron does. It's a ritual; part self-soothing, part joy and comfort, part staving away those little things that signal a shift in her currents. In many ways the film and the book which she might prefer by slight margin is a many-faceted thing, alive and breathing where some grief isn't. It's not unlike listening to the same stirring Churchill speech or listening to a dozen documentaries about the same battle. Maybe more than that, he well knows her demons by name; the insomnia, the restlessness just under the skin, the nameless grief that won't spill from the eyes, the doubts, fears, and the simply Too Much that has no end or beginning but is far vaster than one person. And so, if she can rest her head in his lap and let that rest she's so desperate for wash over her because she feels safe with him? There is no greater symbol of love or trust. And in a pinch, if he can't be that rock as he promised, Duchess and Claude are always close at hand. {I think the fiction speaks for itself, and this is one of those soul-deep understandings of theirs, one they share even if the 'romcom' in question is anything else that might ease the spirit.}

4. Who suggests watching romcoms?

Beth practically vibrates when he walks in the door. Waves of excitement roll off of her the same way the smell of salt tang clings to the nose at the seaside. In her hands is a little battered looking dvd case with what appears to be a bland medley of white suburban teenagers. "Jus' came in da post from my hanai sistah! I got choke aloha for dis movie. But even mo' beddah?! IT'S REX MANNING DAY!" {It's less about watching specific romcoms but sharing things that she loved growing up. It could be Empire Records, it could be Disney's Little Mermaid, it could be a fifty-seven part documentary about Phoenician funerary rites, Beth just wants to share. Plus, she's willing to give Ron the same courtesy and share things he loves.}

5. Who makes all the decisions? Them Upstairs have the power in the relationship, but she certainly isn't about to let Reg in on that fact. He's grown up with Ron from the Womb and still his brother, his twin is sometimes a stranger. Reg doesn't ever seem to understand what drives Ron, and more to the point, doesn't have the patience required to be willing. The conversation started innocently enough when Reg asked if they had weekend plans, and Beth mentioned travelling to Wales. Something about the cider place that they'd been to before, a working holiday perhaps. But the more pointed the questions became, the more sour his cactus face, Beth realises he isn't making small talk. He's digging for dirt, somehow. Beth won't throw Ron under the bus. It is no business of his twin's how they come about making decisions, or how they plan their lives together. They do make room for their mental health. They have to, as it isn't going to be cured overnight, and they are of similar enough a bent that allowing those divergences to affect each other could potentially be disastrous. And it's just plain cruel. There is also something inherently toxic to the question itself, and once again Beth's heart breaks for Frances.

"We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week, but all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting by a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more major--"

And just like that Reginald Kray makes himself a dead king.

{In a system of checks and balances, decisions are made by both Ron and Beth in equal measure, with support from the other person. In some cases they have enough love, trust, and understanding of one another to generally have an idea what the other wishes, even if they aren't capable of expressing it at any given time.}

6. Who carries the other one to bed when they fall asleep on the couch?

She isn't asleep, but rather in that sullen sort of twilight where her eyes dart furtively beneath three-quarters closed lids. Where her mouth might open and close like a fish drowning on dry land but no real sound comes out. The shut-down comes in gradual stages, it's never the way it is portrayed in media. She is small and she is unable to connect to the world. Ron understands this. He saw it coming; A sword day…a Hat Day. And into his arms ~strong and sturdy and built just for this, never a violent whim when it comes to her~ she goes, carried deftly upstairs and into their bed. A few moments later there's a magickal cup of tea on the night stand ~she says water cures everything, after all~ and the slender nose of a wee Duchess nuzzling into her palm. He's never far, checking in on her at intervals that won't drive her further inward, while all of him aches. She has her own ritual in this way. She'll never be able to carry him in body, and even if she could he'd not be comfortable with it, but oft of a time she's brought him a cardigan or eaten bits of a meal before sharing. She doesn't flinch when his voice varies in volume, tempo, pitch. {Ron is clearly far larger and far stronger than Beth, and is the one more inclined to move her physically. Beth does her best to comfort him in a similar situation. They both can see the treacherous currents of emotional/mental rip-tides. }

7. Who Proposes?

{This will be written in real time as it happens..or doesn't, mwahahahahahahaha}

8. Will they have a big wedding?

They could have a wedding the likes that would outshine every Royal that ever existed, combined, and not feel one ounce of stress or poverty over it. However, Beth's circle of intimate people is limited, and despite his brother and their friends, she could say the same for Ron. But in the interest of fair play, she merely raises a brow, and tilts her head. But even before they've had a chance to make plans, speak to parents, or even brush the idea past one another, his mother has a question. There are different parts to her voice; joy for her son, fear for how things may turn out, uncertainty whether Beth knows what she'd be getting into ~the later more obvious than not~ and a host of other things that gives her tone something thin and papery to it. Beth sighs internally for an eternity. Outwardly, she smiles like the sun and pours his mother another cuppa. "Wha' did you have in mind, Miss Violet?"

{Likely Ron and Beth could not handle the emotional burden of a large affair.}

9. Who accidentally eats all the popcorn while sharing a box?

10. Who pays for dates?

The bill comes at the end of the evening. Beth watches Ron as he slips a few of those gorgeous notes into the black leather, not having bothered even looking at the tally for dinner, drinks, and coffee afterwards. He doesn't have to, because there isn't a cost to the sumptuous meal. That money is a gratuity for their server, a fluttery and nervous young man as star-struck by him as she is. She rises from her seat and he helps her on with her wrap before escorting her out the door. As they stroll through the West End, not exactly as comfortable as the East, but with its own charms, she spies a little coffee place. "Dessert's on me." He leans in and murmurs at her ear that it will be, soon as they get home. She could light up the London skyline with the heat from her blush but she giggles and doesn't deny it. {They have a shared account for basic household needs, and their individual ones. When it comes to joint purchases, they discuss and shop together. They equally attempt to spoil the other rotten. The only time Ron ever shepherds her spending habits is when she is at the full height of an Upswing, and decides she wants Costa Rican coffee….by virtue of booking thirty tickets for them and the dogs, or buying the plantation.}

11. Who is the most romantic?

"Define…romantic. Because I haf tell ya, Frankie, what I see mebbe not wha' you'd call it. He doesn't bring me dead flowers. He doesn't say I love you wi' words every minute of da day, but you know wha' he does do? He nevah make fun of me. He nevah minimise somet'ing dat upsets me for wha'evah reason, even if it make no sense. He respects my choices, offers advice if I aks him but more often, he supports. He nevah talk down when I no undahstan' some kine. He learned my language, pidgin an' American haole. An' he nevah, evah make me feel small as a person. She takes a breath. "I learn, an' I lissen t' him. I learn t' speak his language, even when words no part of it. What makes him feel seen an' heard, not jus' wha' make me look good. I accept dem kine about him dat even he no like, because it part of him an' good or bad, no can be changed. No need to be. He is da loveliest an' mos' gentle soul I know, and if ya only gonna lissen ya husband got to say about him…migh' wanna tell Reg he should move out his own glass house." {Ron's romanticism is as deep as the Marianas Trench, and maybe to others, just as unfathomable, but in every way it matters, Beth can see his love languages. She also isn't deluded as to his struggles and sometimes his inability to get across what he wants. But even these imperfections of self are loved for being a part of him}

Random Headcanon:

Beth will absolutely never let Ron watch Kitchen Nightmares/Hotel Hell or any of those 'rescue' shows that may or may not have Gordon Ramsey on there. Not because she'd be jealous of whether or not Ron would find Gordon handsome, but because she knows the things he sees will put him off eating. Same way Ron takes out the trash, walks the dog, and meets her at the Hospital once the sun is set so she doesn't traverse the dark alone, frittered away from nerves.

[master-john-uk]

My old German Shepherd bitch, Carly is now getting fairly elderly. While she is still fit and healthy, for at least a year now she no longer wants to go for long walks. She makes this clear by sitting down and refusing to move when we are about to leave my Kent estate... and when I am wearing my usual hiking boots.

Carly is loyal and sensible... and in recent years, sometimes grumpy. I can trust her to find her own way home, when she decides that she does not want to walk any further... but, only when we are still within the boundaries of my property.

When my trusted companion for about 14 years, German Shepherd dog Brutus crossed the Rainbow Bridge, I dared not visit the local animal rescue centre... as I would have probably taken all the dogs home with me!

A former police dog trainer who lives in Tunbridge Wells became ill and was about to spend an extended time in hospital. He asked me to look after his six month old German Shepherd pup, Joe Boy.

Well... I adopted Joe Boy. Three years old now... Joe is very energetic and enthusiastic. We visited his "real" dad in Tunbridge Wells recently. Joe Boy went crazy! (In a good way.) When I shouted, "Time to go home. Back to the car." , Joe Boy looked at his real dad... who just pointed a finger, and the dog did as he was told. Bless them both!

With Carly getting old and cantankerous, I am now thinking about adopting another young canine. But I am still afraid to visit Last Chance Animal Rescue near Hever, Kent... in case I decide to take all the dogs and cats home with me! (I support them financially, in a small way.)

I think it is wrong to pay the exhorbitant prices that Kennel Club breeders charge. I will find a new dog who deserves a good home somehow.

[i-sea-fiera]

Mechs and daemons part 2

This one has some takes on backstories as well as their daemons.

Brian and Aisling

Aisling was first a Merlin falcon, calm, focused, tolerant, and decisive. On Brian's planet of origin witches were quite common, their daemons free to go as far as they pleased from their people. That didn't bode well when they ended up where they did with amnesia. She escaped the execution and remained on planet, pushing their connection to the edge (a daemon can't survive without their person after all). When Carmilla mechanized him, she feared she went too far, his daemon was nowhere to be found on Aurora, had she made him an empty, soulless husk of the person he'd been? When they went planet side to resupply the doc had been nearly hit by a blur of blue-grey feathers streaking through the ship to her lab. By the time she’d caught up there was a Lynx curled but on Brian's chest.

Aisling is Brian's rock. Whenever he's spent too much time on the bridge disassociating she'll jump on his lap and press close to his heart to remind him that he's still a person no matter what he looks like.

The Toy Soldier and SongBird

Song Bird, much like TS, is exactly what the name implies, a clockwork song bird. What kind of bird depends on the day and their mood. Songbird understands that it is not real, but it can't help but pretend otherwise. Why else does it know exactly what TS is thinking? Why else does TS react like it's been burned when someone touches Songbird? Why else would the rest of the crew treat it like any other daemon on board, if it wasn't real? I mean, if Borealis is a real daemon, why not Songbird?

Tim and Lucy

Tim had always believed that he and Lucy would settle as some kind of cat, everyone around them had thought so as well, so imagine their surprise when the time came, she ended up as a chocolate coloured retriever. Honest, caring, and loyal to a fault. They had a good few years, but those times never last, do they. The thing about war is that it changes people for better or worse. Many don't recognize themselves after they return, it wasn't all that uncommon to see a solider with an unsettled daemon. After losing Bertie, Tim lost himself. But what hurt the most was that neither of them knew at first. It was only after Jonny dragged them to a fox hole during a microwave attack that they figured it out. Tim's face was buried in much thicker fur then he remembered, in the dim light he saw that Lucy's features were sharper as well, not only that but she was larger all the way around, not by much but just enough to be noticed. Still thin due to years of depleting rations, but no longer a gentle domestic dog, Lucy was a wolf, much better suited to a fight. They both wept that night for everything they'd lost, not knowing that the next day they'd leave the moon no more than space debris. Mechanization simply proved that the boy and pup from London were long lost, and they'd have to make something new of themselves in that new wide universe they were stuck in.

Raphaella and Davino

Nearly everyone on Raphaellas home planet had settled as some kind of flying animal, so it was no surprise when she settled as a white tailed kite, prideful, ambitious, but somewhat distractible. She rose up quickly in the scientific community there, at least as much as she'd been allowed, and then due to dissatisfaction in the work she'd been given, she pushed farther. When one flies too close to the torches of power they tend to be set aflame. The government made her punishment a public spectacle; her wings torn from her in payment for her hubris, Davino shrieking in the cage they'd placed him in, dust sloughing off his wings, unable to keep the form they loved.

They spent years trying to get her wings back only to be met with failed experiment after failed experiment. So when a beautiful and mysterious doctor offered to help, who was Raphaella to refuse?

During this time Davino had to get comfortable as a bengal cat so he could stay close to Raphaella, seeing as he could only fly so far before it started to hurt them.

Marius and Darla

Darla settled as a ferret out of necessity, small, easy to hide, and crafty. Growing up on a war torn planet will do that to a person, necessity over self, survival over truth. Darla did her best to help, scouting out decent hiding places, food and other supplies while keeping close and unseen. Marius had resented her form and himself for a while after they settled, it didn't feel quite right, the skin too small to show who they wanted to be. He never resented her though, he couldn't bear the thought of hating her.

The events leading up to their mechanization are blurry and fairly unimportant to this particular story. When Marius woke up on Raphaellas shuttle afterwards he was greeted by a massive head resting on his cot, a cow moose was dosing on his lap.

The entire crew of the Aurora make a scene of how impractical a moose on a spaceship is, but the two take no mind, this form suits them just fine. Darla will still become a ferret most of the time for ease of movement, but she relishes being a nuisance when she wants.

Aurora and Borealis

Borealis didn't really exist at first. But after so much time spent with other beings with coexisting souls, Aurora developed one as well. No one is quite sure how, not even Nastya or Aurora herself, but one day Borealis made himself known and wove himself into the comings and goings of the crew. Made of metal and cybernetics, similar to Songbird, but a lot more complex in engineering. He first took up the appearance of a fox after observing Kassian and after that Ember. It seemed like a good and common shape, seeing as how at least two of their crew's souls took that shape as well at any given time. There was also something appealing about felines as well, so there might be a automaton cat prowling the hall, stalking stray spiders or messing with the octokittens. Aurora will be the first to admit that she loves being able to participate with the crew on a whole other level through Borealis, and this includes crew daemon cuddle puddles.

The next post will have Scuzz, Doctor Carmilla and at least one other that doesn't fit in any other category

[goddessofroyalty]

I’m back (hopefully). I have some other stuff that I need to type up as well so hopefully won’t be another massive break before the next thing is up.

This is kind of based on the request to have Silco and Vander talking about the adjustments they’ll have to make with the girls joining the family as well but it veered off into plot stuff.

Verse: Zaun Family

Pairing: Vander/Silco

Tags: omegaverse, past-mpreg

-------------

“The girls seem to be settling in,” Vander says as Silco gets ready to join him in the bed for what is probably the first time in what feels like too long that they have actually had time to be in each other’s company not to immediately fall asleep. Five kids to look after and the settling dust of their failed rebellion keeping their days and nights full.

“They are.” It had been hard at first. The girls were traumatized after what happened on the bridge Vander had found them on. And while Viktor didn’t seem that bothered by two new younger siblings, Claggor and Mylo were taking a bit longer. Mylo clearly and openly unhappy about his new sisters, suddenly possessive of his position as baby. “We will need to expand to make room for more bedrooms."

Four pups were quickly going to outgrow the former storage room turned extra bedroom. The way Viktor had filled the space of the second true bedroom that had been his since they moved into the apartment under the Drop proof of that fact.

Silco had hated having to share his room with a handful of siblings when he was younger. Especially after he presented and wanted more privacy than merely bedsheets provided.

What was the point of all their work if not to give their children better lives than they had?

The Topsiders gave their children rooms the size of apartments each and Silco’s own deserved as good as they did.

“I know,” Vander says, bowing his head like he’s trying to quell Silco’s temper off not that Silco knows why. “I’m sure you already have ideas of how we’re doing it?”

“Some,” Silco says, stripping off his shirt and replacing it with one of Vander’s. There are other storage rooms that could be taken into the living space if they found suitable replacement storage options.

“’course you do,” Vander says, letting silence take over.

At first it’s just silence – Vander idly watching as Silco works himself out of his pants as well, his mate’s shirt ample to cover what needs to be covered if any of the pups decide to join them in the night. But then he starts clearing his throat and shifting on the bed.

After all these years of matehood Silco would have been a fool not to know what it means – his alpha wants to say something but is worried how it would be received.

He was the same every time Silco stopped requesting the bitter tea after any of his heats.

The possibility of a pregnancy is not the topic this time though.

“Can you believe they expect us to believe that the Head of their Council will come all the way down here to talk to us?” Silco had expected Enforcers at their door after that night. Not a letter on fancy Piltite stationary from Councilor Heimerdinger himself requesting an audience with them at their center of operations. It didn’t feel like a trap but Silco still didn’t feel like they should take it at face value.

“They were casualties on their side too,” Vander says, slowly enough that he clearly has been thinking about it. “Maybe they want to have peace too.”

“They want to know what they need to have us submit again,” Silco reminds, coming over to stand next to Vander’s side of the bed. Clearly a relaxing night isn’t in store for them now.

“So we’ll tell them we won’t. We’ve never had an opportunity like this before Sil. Isn’t it at least worth giving it a shot?”

Vander wasn’t one to be blinded by optimism or possibilities. He knows the risks as well as Silco does – both for themselves and their pups. The girls an all-too recent reminder of it. His alpha had never shied away from what is necessary to protect their family and carve out a better life for them or Zaun before.

The idea of surrendering under any circumstance feels like a betrayal to the sacrifices made so far.

“If we don’t our pups might grow up in a war that could have been prevented,” Vander adds meeting Silco’s eyes.

“Don’t bring them into this.” His children are not here to be used for their sire’s arguments. Not when Silco had been the one to go through the hell to have them.

“This is all for them at the end of the day,” Vander says, refusing to break their gaze. “Fighting was only ever going to get us so far.”

Silco had always known that. Independence was only half the battle. They needed resources and money to close the gap between them and the Topsiders. Hospitals so they wouldn’t die of curable diseases, schools so all their children could read.

Was it worth it selling one to possibly gain the other?

“They’ll try and screw us over the first chance they get. “It’s the only way Piltites know how to operate.

“So we beat them at their own game for once,” Vander says like it’s so easy and they aren’t playing at a disadvantage. Like they can presume they are going to even be allowed to play at all.

“Fine. We will meet the Councilor and see what he has to offer. But I am not selling our children’s futures away on maybes. It has to be real change or we’re out.” Silco had put in too much effort to see it go to waste.

“We won’t,” Vander promises as if it is at all his choice to make.

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST VI

The softness got me like 😩 I hope you enjoy it! ♥

@maddi-bug & @chelseareferenced & @actual-trash-goblin

Chapter 6

Heisenberg is gone for longer than usual. It's to be expected, given how swift and intense the explosion was, only this time you're aware of just how much you miss him when he's not there. It’s cathartic, no longer having your feelings hidden in the deepest parts of yourself. Upon reflection, you realize that you enjoy the power struggle between the two of you and that there is no shame in it. Pleasure, you had come to learn, wouldn’t compromise your dignity or pride in yourself, and wasn’t something to be demonized or resented. Weightless from this revelation, your mind drifts to the last words he spoke before leaving you; we aren’t done here . Fire blooms in your stomach, dripping lower until you’re squirming where you sit cross-legged on Heisenberg's bed. Your skin still tingles from where he held you in his rough grasp, white noise erupting all over your body. It’s clear just what the phrase implies , but at the same time you have no exact idea what to expect when he returns and that’s part of what makes this all so thrilling . Though even with all the positive feelings that come with this, you can’t help but still feel conflicted. You find yourself lost in the moment, sent adrift in a vast ocean with no lifeline.

Now, it wasn’t as though you hadn’t had sex before, because you had. It was only once, in the hayloft of the village stables with a young man named Nicolai that you were fond of. He worked in the fields and you often saw him on your way to Church, where he’d smile and wink at you. He’d happened upon you when you’d lingered near the edge of the fields one day after morning Mass, bashfully accepting when he proposed that you go somewhere quieter together. You remember that his kisses were soft, but he was a little pushy, and once he was done that was it. No real connection, no real passion, just motion until you were both done, and even then you weren’t completely sure if you were done. Then a week later he was dead, mauled to death in that very same hayloft by a Lycan, along with a girl from your congregation named Irina. You can only imagine the reason why she was there with him that day. It sat, bitter like poison, within you for some time after their deaths, knowing that this hadn’t been the special thing you had been led to believe; this divine virtue that needed to be protected until you were lawfully wed, where all would finally make sense. Then you met Lord Karl Heisenberg and everything was suddenly turned on its head. Since you had come to the Factor you had been exposed to a more sexually charged and free environment, with Heisenberg's flirtatious teasing a regular occurrence, as well as his sarcasm and moods, culminating in the spark that set all this motion when he had you pinned to the desk in his office. You were given no room to avoid it, no chance to hide behind demureness and virtue, and because of that you were able to grow . You now embraced what this freedom could give you and it was all because of his pushing. At first it didn’t sit well with you, it squirmed and fought, but the disquieting sensation dissipated easily and you were left with an insatiable hunger for all things you had been denied, scandalous or otherwise. Biting your lip, a devious little thought fills your head; you needed to thank him when he came back.

When Heisenberg does come back to you it's already well into the night, and in anticipation of his return he finds that you’re not in your room when he looks, instead, amusingly, you’re actually in his . Sound asleep, you’re curled up on his bed with the sheets clutched in your dainty fingers up to your face. He watches from the doorway the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe and the way your long lashes kiss your cheeks. You’ve clearly been busy while he was gone, having ordered the disheveled work desk to semi-neatness so he can at least still find his things. Straightened papers, pens put in the holder, lined his tools up for easy access. It’s something he doesn’t outwardly thank you for, but  has most certainly come to value. You don’t overstep, you merely aid, and it’s in these quiet moments of downtime that he realizes how much he appreciates the little things you do for him. Yes, it began with your faith and devotion to Mother Miranda and her decree for you to serve him, but he isn’t naive enough to believe that’s all there is to it. Not now, anyway. You don’t have to be caring towards him in your servitude, in your own little ways, like becoming annoyed with him when he tells you he hasn’t eaten all day or hasn't drunk enough water while working. Soft, kind-hearted things; things he isn’t used to. Trying to be as quiet as he can, Heisenberg walks over to where you lay, settling on the edge of the bed by your side. You squirm in your sleep as his weight dips the mattress but you don’t wake up, merely curling up tighter with a soft sigh. He watches your sleeping form with pinched brows, the uncomfortable intensity of yearning twisting knots within him. A hesitant hand comes to brush your cheek with his thumb, cupping it gently. Such tender affections were not something the Lord was known for, or used to receiving from others, given the magnitude of sins he had performed at the behest of his hatred for Miranda, her manipulations and betrayals, and his insatiable need to be free of the confinement he was forced into. Ulterior motives were second nature in his world, the lesson that kindness and affection were a means to an end instilled in him from an early age. Yet the compulsion, new and alarming, to give in to your motiveless warmth had wormed its way deep inside, threatening to shatter him from within. Not that he wasn’t trying to fight it, he was . Like a wild mustang refusing to yield to anyone, he twisted and pulled and snapped at the feeling, it’s tendrils repelled as much as he could, but he was slowly weakening to its constant attacks. It just wouldn’t leave him be . The realization was harsh and unforgiving that you are well on your way to becoming someone that would, in time, serve to weaken him, grinding down his walls just as the sea wears away the rocks on its shores until they resemble nothing of their former selves. The thought irks him and in a childish display of spitefulness he pulls his hand back from your face, lips curling into a snarl. His fingers burst with static, punishing him for prematurely cutting the contact, and he tries to smother the sensation by tightening his hand into a fist. It doesn’t help. He can still feel it and he hates that he misses it, like some love-sick pup! It ties his stomach in knots and sets his blood aflame. He’s hyper aware of you laying behind him, overwhelmed when you turn over and your knees press against his back. Lulled by your gentle, slumbering breaths, a calming serenade, Heisenberg’s hand slowly unfurls to rest on his leg. Though he’s still very much on edge. The dizzying free-fall into such conflicting emotions sends him nauseous, reeling from the sudden severity of it. You were just a weak, pathetic human , for fucks sake! You had no right to come barging into his life and start wrecking shit up with your pretty smiles and warm eyes! All those selfless moments he tries so desperately to poke holes in, only to find that they’re as sound as a concrete wall. It has him doubting, however minutely, the thought that everyone was out to get

him and that scared him. Quickly standing, he decides even being in the same room as you is too much. Everything is suddenly stifling, the heat cloying and making his throat burn. He doesn’t even check to see if he’s disturbed you as he exits the room, head throbbing mercilessly. There’s nowhere left in the factory that’s safe from your influence; the rooms smell of you, the hallways echo with your voice, his things marked by your touch — you’re everywhere , encasing him. And he doesn’t help that fact when he finds himself standing in the middle of your room. His keen senses are overwhelmed by the space, your space, but it isn’t so disarming this time. No, now he’s growing to like it against his better judgement. You’ll ruin him and he’s slowly coming around to the idea of letting you do it, too. It makes him sick, that thought, but it doesn’t really matter as he sits down on the couch where you sleep, fingers smoothing over the sheets you’ve neatly folded over it. There’s a twisted sense of irony in how he finds comfort in being surrounded by your things, as little as they are, when trying so desperately trying to get away from you. It doesn’t make sense, but since when did anything in his fucked up life? "Fuck," he moaned, the word drawn-out in his frustration as he laid his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"Heisenberg?" The Lord tilts his head to look at where you stand in the doorway, your tender question alerting him to your presence. You're a picture of post-slumber beauty; hair dishevelled and fluffed up on one side from where you had been laying, eyes hazy with sleep, your top languidly slipping down one shoulder, creased from your rest. Your brow is pinched as you regard him, gently padding over to where he sits. "Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up, huh?" He chuckles, casually slinging his arm over the back of the couch. “Did you enjoy sleeping in my bed?” He teases with a smirk. “You were gone too long,” you retorted, fixing him with a tired glare, pulling your legs up as you settle down beside him, “and you don’t let me down into the lower levels with you, do you?” “I know, but this was serious,” Heisenberg sighed, his free hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut in frustration, “one of the fucking conveyor lines decided to go ka-pow !” He punctuates his statement with a mimic of the explosion, both hands involved before dropping down limply. “It was jammed. I got it under control but the fallout was, well, messy ,” he explained, taking off his glasses and putting them aside on the couch arm, along with his tossed coat and gloves. You frown at the way he drags his hands down his face, sighing deeply. He’s exhausted and there’s nothing you can really do that you haven’t already tried. “At least it’s fixed now, yes?” You ask softly as you turn to sit cross-legged, facing him. You have a look of worry creasing your features and Heisenberg is quick to hide the rising emotion with his usual swagger. “Of course it is, why do you think I’ve been gone so long?” He scoffs, shaking his head. His leg begins to jiggle under the weight of your wary gaze, knowing that he’s not fooling you in the slightest. You’ve seen enough of him, the vulnerability he has, to know an act of bravado when he’s conjuring it. It’s unsettling to know that you have a means of undermining his power over you now, that you can call his bluff with somewhat decent accuracy, and he fully expects you to embrace that power. So when you gingerly move to nestle into his side, back resting against him with your head leaning against his arm where it lays slung across the back of the couch he’s pleasantly surprised. He should know better, you’ve always been soft . Even when you’re being fierce towards him and you blaze like a thousand suns it comes from a place of tenderness and care, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly understand about you. “I missed you.” It’s barely a whisper and even his keen hearing is strained to pick it up. There are a million sarcastic and teasing responses that he could choose from to say, and very much would have, if not for the fact that you’re right there , disarming him with a distant, non-threatening kind of affection that has him weak. It’s easier, he assumes, for you to not look at him when you tell him your truth and he’s grateful. Those big doe eyes, filled with gentle fondness, that you have when you’re being this way might just send him into overdrive at this point and he hasn’t yet come up with a game plan on how to deal with it. “Yeah?” It’s a simple response, but there’s a slight break to his voice that betrays the tempest of emotions swirling within. The air is charged with anticipation, a prickling static that is so close to erupting, all because you’ve got him going fucking soft . “Mhm,” you hum, pressing your feet into the cushions to distract yourself. Your face is ablaze with colour, your skin burning. To be so open, so raw , in such an intimate setting as this was completely foreign to you, and it didn’t help that the one you were experiencing it with was Lord Karl Heisenberg . A silence, pregnant with the onset of a coming storm, rolls over you both and you sit, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the hummingbird threatening to break free. White noise suddenly erupts across your body when you feel him shift, ever so slightly,

and his arm comes across your front to pull you closer. The movement is awkward, marred by a lack of experience with this kind of action, and you too have to move in order to be comfortable. It takes a moment or two but soon you both find a happy medium.You rest your cheek against his arm, nose lovingly brushing against one of the many raised, white scars that littered his skin. If only he could be so bold in this way. His body stiffens instinctively when you continue with your ministrations, resisting the urge to pull back, to push you away. His scars were a source of contention for him, among many other things, some known to you and some not, given how he had come to have them. But you didn’t seem to mind. That he now knew for sure from the way you lavished them with gentle attention, carefully tracing the lines with your dainty fingers. You even dare to press a gentle kiss to one that curls into his wrist, feeling the way his pulse jumps wildly under your lips. “I didn’t realise you had so many,” you murmur, looking over his arm with interest. He’s never spoken outright about them, but they were hard to miss. There was nary a patch of skin, seen or unseen, that didn’t have one of some kind, or so you presumed. You had no doubts in your mind that he would keep their origins from you and you wouldn’t presume to have leave to ask, but in this moment anything could be possible. Stranger things had already happened, after all. However, when he remains quiet you frown, pressing a lingering kiss to the spot, a silent apology for having been so prying. His pulse jumps again and suddenly you're pulled in closer, tighter. You gasp at the sudden shift, feeling him lean in, nosing your hair, taking in it’s scent. “You’re pretty brave tonight, huh?” He rumbled low into your ear, making you stiffen. He wanted to touch you, only this time it was different from before. It was driven by an unfamiliar desire to give intimacy as he had been given, to gain back the power you had taken. Or so he told himself. You were his, Mother Miranda had said as much when she gave you to him, but now he wanted to be yours , too. “I—” You swallow your nerves, turning so that you could look up at him with wide eyes, “—did I go too far?” It was hard to know when you had crossed a line until you were already well beyond it, incurring his wrath, so you were understandably wary, and it irked him to know that he was the source of your constant insecurity. He really was a shitty person, like you had said before. “Not at all,” he stated, lips quirking in a smile at the way your gaze softened, a bashful smile crossing your face. This thing, whatever it was that you had, was a delicate, fragile little bloom that he was striving to keep, to protect . In his mind he knew there may not ever be another chance for something like this for someone like him and so he was determined not to lose it. Not to his siblings, not to that bitch Miranda, not to anything or anyone . This time the silence is more comfortable for the both of you, his fingers drumming a nonsensical tune on your arm as you rest against him — the last vestige of his anxiousness and nerves. You don’t hold it against him, instead allowing it to lull you into a peaceful doze. Your weight, like an anchor to his wayward ship, is pleasant and he finds that quietness can indeed be peaceful. With you at his side he’s grounded, electrified but contained. It’s surreal, but he’s addicted to the odd sensations your affection gives him. It’s nothing like the sexually charged tension of before but in some ways it’s even better . He doesn’t ever want it to end, you and him, in this still, secret moment, and that worries him to no end.

[theshapeshifter100]

Wolf and Raven: Anchor

Wolf and Raven

Wolf and Raven: Old Friends

Masterlist

And also the Fanfiction page on my blag because tumblr won’t let me edit my Masterpost!

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Despite the title, Raven, or Raven of Old, are not mentioned once 

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Wolf and Flow sat in front of Flow’s house, watching the people of old Alaunus go by, smelling smoke drifting from roofs and listening to the many voices of people living. How many of them remembered now? Did these children playing with sticks listen to stories of Alaunus? Did they dream of it? Did they even care?

“Some things do not change,” Flow chuckled, watching a pair of children pretend that their sticks were swords.

“Aye, they do not,” Wolf smiled.

“You used to bite me when we did that.”

“I had been a wolf longer than I had been a human at that point. Wolf pups bite. And if recall, you bit me back.”

Flow let out a bark of laughter. “Ah yes! I got in a lot of trouble for that with my parents.”

“As did I. Lowf still has the scars from when I bit him.”

“As do I!” Flow rolled up her sleeve, revealing an old, tiny, bite scar. Wolf winced.

“My apologies.”

Flow waved it off. “Water under the bridge, my friend. We were not even ten summers; children play rough, that is how they learn.”

“Aye,” Wolf watched the children now. One of them was pretending to scythe grass, while another might have been dancing to music only they could hear, thudding the stick into the ground rhythmically.

“Most of the children our age were afraid of me, I think,” Wolf remembered, half a smile curling on her lips. “I cannot imagine why they were afraid of the half wild girl who lived in the woods,” she chuckled.

“I was afraid of you too,” Flow admitted. “I used to hide behind my mother’s skirts when you and Lowf came into the village.”

Wolf placed her hand to chest in mock horror. “You wound me, Flow!” she mock gasped, before grinning. “I know, I saw. I thought you were going to be terrible at hunting if you kept doing that.”

“I never had your patience for hunting,” Flow tilted her head to the side. “Fighting on the other hand.”

“You could probably still beat me in a sparring match.”

“Do not doubt it!” Flow laughed, lifting a crutch into the air. “I come with weaponry included!”

“As do I!” Wolf allowed her fangs to grow as she grinned, before shrinking them back.

“On the forest edge at dawn?”

“Naturally.”

The two fell into another bout of laughter, not serious about the fight.

“That said, I grew to love you like a sister,” Flow said once the laughter had faded. “Although, I think you wished for the love to be different?”

All the humour drained from Wolf, and she glanced at Flow before finding the horizon.

“…Aye. For a time. You did not feel the same, so the matter rested.”

“… I did. Feel the same,” Flow clarified. Wolf slowly turned to look at her.

“Then why did you not say?”

“I did not realise until… until Cyrus came, and I realised that I was going to lose you. I was too much of a coward to speak.”

Wolf stared. “And… when I returned?”

“I was still a coward,” Flow chuckled, but there was little humour. “I had the courage to throw myself into battle, no matter who asked, but to admit to one of my oldest friends that I had romantic feelings for them? That was too much of an ask.”

“Flow, you have never been a coward.”

“You do not have to lie to me.”

“I am not. You are at least telling me now.”

“There is that,” Flow winced and shifted her position slightly. “One day my leg will realise it has gone,” she grumbled. “Besides, you were destined for things greater than me.”

“Do not say that!”

“I am not wrong,” Flow looked at Wolf. “I would have been an anchor, holding you in the harbour. When you should have been sailing free.”

“Forgive me if I am wrong, but is an anchor not always part of the ship? An anchor does not hold a ship back, but merely prevents it from drifting to unsafe waters.”

“The Royal Fortress was not dangerous,” Flow countered. “You would have been a grand ship, languishing in the harbour.”

“Or my anchor could have come with me.”

“Truly?” Flow raised an eyebrow. “Cyrus would not have allowed me, surely you understand that.”

“An agreement could have been made.”

“You do not believe that any more than I do. A commoner with two born shifters and the princess? Be realistic, Wolf. Apart or together, if you had known it would only have hurt us both.”

“You think it did not hurt to leave you behind?”

“Then the pain would have been sharper.”

“If you had been able to join me, then perhaps…”

“Perhaps what? Perhaps I would not have lost my leg? And perhaps you would not have been exiled? We all have our pain to harp on, Wolf. You know this.”

“The what-if’s, could-have-been’s, I am aware.”

Flow blew out of her cheeks. “Perhaps I should not have told you this.”

“No. I am glad you told me. Whether events would have gone differently if you had told me sooner, is impossible to know for certain.”

“Aye,” Flow sighed. “And, I have certainly moved on from that. We were young, we are not the same people now as we were then.”

“Aye. I still hold great fondness for you, but my romantic feelings for you have subsided.”

“I am glad we can agree,” Flow glanced at Wolf. “You know, I was not entirely joking about fighting at dawn.”

“Were you not?” a smile grew on Wolf’s face. “Then your request shall be honoured,” she held her hand out, mostly upright.

Flow looked at it, and with her own grin she clasped Wolf’s hand in her own.

--

While I had always planned that Wolf would have had a childhood crush, I always intended for it to be some unnamned character, not Flow. This is what happens when you listen 'Never Love an Anchor' by the Crane Wives on repeat!

And would you look at that, I'm back! Kinda. I got a burst of inspiration listening to that song, and I got a few pieces out of it, but after a few weeks I will most likely disappear into the ether again

Thank you to @fairyofsomething for always being up for beta read even if it’s completely out of the blue