#other but they just cautiously sniffed each other and then laid down. it was fascinating to observe. daisy also responds really well yo

[skylarsblue]

Evangelical Affair

(This was brought on by being sleep deprived and being away at three AM, these are OC’s in an AU. Vaguely implied trans!Emmett, because I like trans au’s. Anyway, enjoy)

Content Warning; Mild-graphic smut(I don’t describe anything in super explicit detail but it’s there)

Damien couldn’t help but frown as his eyes took in the sight before him. An angel, one whom he’d bickered with consistently, claimed to loathe. For awhile, he did truly hate this being. When it had changed Damien was never sure. But what he was certain of, was that this sight was one painful and unbearable.  The blond evangelical rested on his knees, hunched over as sobs wracked his lungs, shaking his small shoulders. The plain white drapery was stained with red, dirty molten sand. Tears fell in large drops of agony as the angel now hugged himself on the floor of Hell. What he’d done to he officially cast down, Damien didn’t know, but he wouldn’t be surprised by any answer given. God always seemed unfair.  The eldritch prince sighed softly, feeling his artificial heart ache amongst his ribs. With his red horns standing tall and his thin tail laid closed to the ground, torn and tattered wings folded right to his body, he stepped forward. Pristine black shoes stood out amongst the sinful dirt. He always dressed so formally. Something Emmett poked at occasionally when they’d send each other snide comments, words never holding any true weight. Damien crouched as he reached Emmett’s shaking form. The small cherub’s wings had already begun their shift. While still being pearlescent white and grand, at their base, the feathers had begun to turn black. Emmett’s wings were ungroomed, leaving stray feathers sticking out messily.

Emmett hiccuped and flinched as a hand gently grasped his jaw. Charcoal black fingers pushed his chin up, and he allowed his eyes to open and look at the once perceived enemy. Damien’s pale face portrayed sympathetic sorrow. Emmett sniffed and hiccuped again, his throat burned from the ash that boiled up from the various pits of Hellfire. Damien’s red irises conveyed what the rest of his face didn’t. A plain expression hiding his sadness. Emmett whimpered as Damien stroked his cheek with his thumb, before taking Emmett’s hands, leading him to stand.

Damien didn’t make Emmett walk too far. It was clear the once divine was struggling to coordinate proper steps. The angel was swept up,  bridal style, allowing for him to wail against Damien’s suited shoulder. Damien made no complaints, merely holding Emmett a bit closer.

The Eveningstar’s home was odd amongst the rest of Hell. A grand mansion pulled straight from the Victorian Era, as if it’d been pulled underground. The inside matched Damien’s aesthetics perfectly. Black & red, elegant with a layer of intimidating. Pristine and well cared for. Emmett’s cries had turned into merely sniffles as he was cautiously set on top of Damien’s grand bed. The contrast of pale skin and glowing white amongst deep crimson and black was fascinating. Damien reminded himself not to stare for too long. Emmett blinked and looked up as Damien wiped a remaining tear from his face, cupping the blond’s cheek with sweetness not suited for a demon.

“Tell me.” Damien spoke softly.

Emmett’s lower lip wobbled and his eyes welled with tears again. He sniffled and tried to take in a shaky breath. “He told me I wasn’t worthy. God cast me down for something out of my control, I tried to rid myself of it, but it just wouldn’t go away.” He confessed. Damien leaned down and kissed the space just under Emmett’s eye, despite the tear stains. Emmett didn’t pull away. Damien placed another on Emmett’s cheekbone and one on his forehead. “Poor thing…” The demon whispered. “Tell me, amata. What was it that he found about you so undesirable.” He asked, stroking Emmett’s cheek.  The angel’s hands rose to grasp at Damien’s arm, leaning into the gentle affection shamelessly. Emmett’s stomach turned as the question was asked. He wasn’t sure he could admit it, for fear of Damien’s reaction. But, he wanted to answer, so as told. He took in a breath.

“My love. I have fallen for one I shouldn’t have. Fallen deep into love with a forbidden being.” 

Damien tilted his head up as Emmett admitted. He grasped Emmett’s jaw again, leaning a bit closer. “Go on…” He muttered. Emmett’s blue eyes were wide and innocent, sending fire through each of Damien’s veins. Sinless & delicate. Fragile, even. “I denied it with all of my being,” Emmett began again. “I didn’t want to partake in it. I know it’d be seen as wrong, as disgusting. I feared punishment, I feared rejection. But, it wouldn’t stop, no matter how much I tried to hate it. The longer he looked at me the more it grew. To a point it consumed me…” Voice hushed into a near whisper. Damien leaned in a bit more, knee rested on the mattress. “Consumed you?” He asked, Emmett nodded.

“How so?”

“It’s almost impossible to explain.”

Damien knew that well. While feeling it was one thing, trying to explain it with words was another. No vocabulary could truly encompass the reverence & devotion that seemed to blossom out of thin air. It was tiring and enthralling, Damien hadn’t liked it at first either. “And so, how did it grow?” Said the Dusk. The angel let out a shuddering sigh before speaking. “It was slow at first. I could hide it, easily forget about it, distract myself. But it reached a point where…it all flooded at once. I drowned in it so suddenly I’m not sure when the dam broke.” 

Damien’s nails grazed Emmett’s neck as his hand slowly fell, carefully pushing blond tresses over his shoulder. “And it pulls you under. The more you try to gasp for air, the more it fills every cavity of your body and mind. Until there’s nothing left.” He said. Emmett nodded slowly, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of Damien’s fingertips. “Nothing left but their image.” Emmett whispered. The demon’s hand trailed past apex of where Emmett’s neck met his shoulder, down his arm and then under. Face provocatively close to Emmett’s. He could smell Emmett’s scent of lavender & spring water.

Emmett felt a lump develop in his throat as he gazed over Damien’s features. Soft black hair, a bit unkempt naturally, almost resembling the consistency of duck fluff. Red horns that weren’t even done growing and decorated sharp eats. Steely ruby eyes with an expanded center. “They cast you down, sent you whirling from your home, and into the fire all for your love?” Damien asked. Emmett nodded somberly. “How cruel…to be treated so harshly for such adoration.” The prince’s tone sent a warmth through Emmett’s body. The angel let out the softest gasp as he felt gentle fingers graze where his wings met his back.

“My poor darling star. To be treated so brutishly, I’m so sorry.” Damien’s free hand cradled Emmett’s face, thumb coming to rest on Emmett’s plump bottom lip. Emmett’s breathing began to waver. “I’m sure you were frightened, terrified of many things through this ordeal. Of punishment, of rejection, the sense of something new & losing yourself in it. Perhaps…” Damien leaned every so slightly closer. He could hear Emmett’s near-silent shiver as he grazed more feathers. “Perhaps I scared you.”  Emmett’s thighs trembled. He could barely muster himself to shake his head slightly. Damien hummed in reply. “No?…then tell me dear…” The demon’s voice came to a low whisper as he slid his hand from Emmett’s back to the exposed portion of his thigh. “Why are you trembling?” 

Emmett couldn’t help but whine and try to lean a bit closer, a painful aching present in his limbs as Damien barely tilted back. Keeping the taunting distance. “If not with fear, then with what, stella mea? Anxiety? Exhaustion? Or have I done it again, what each archangel claimed I’m only capable of? Dear angel of mine…are you shaking with desire for the enemy?” Emmett’s hands and thighs clenched as Damien spoke against his lips. So close but not enough. The Eveningstar felt sadistic adoration bloom in his chest as the fallen failed to hide a small whimper. Damien clicked his tongue. “Oh dear…I have, haven’t I? Poor thing, look at you, I’ve gone and made a mess of you. Made you go against your creator and as a result, they send you to me. To face a cruel fate for the rest of eternity.”

Emmett’s eyes watered again as Damien’s hand traced its nails gently across his skin. So painfully slow. Damien let a smile grace his lips, soft and bordering mischievous. “Fools, truly. I always knew they were lacking intellect. To send you down here is no punishment, love. No…I would never harm such a beautiful being, so perfect and divine. I am no brute. This is a gift, whether they intended it or not. Your God claims to be made of love & kindness, and look what he does. But not me.” Damien’s eyes nearly fell shut as he leaned so close his lips just barely brushed Emmett’s. The small cherub’s hands clutched desperately at his top. “I will show you nothing but overwhelming, consuming, and unmatched devotion.” With that, Emmett melted completely as he finally received a kiss. Powerful as it was gentle. And he couldn’t stop himself from shivering uncontrollably.

Damien’s hands allowed themselves to wander across every expanse they could reach. Emmett desperately clung to him and nearly began to cry under the affection, though his whines were left muffled by a split tongue. Allowing the prince to send his fingers and palms across every piece of protruding bones from the blond’s thin frame, the smoothness of skin and the softness of once holy-bound wings. It took no time at all for Emmett to completely melt to his mercy, just as he’d hoped and dreamed. Emmett looked at divine now as he did in Heaven, if not more. Laid across fabrics made for Hell’s future king, wings spread said and stripped of the evangelical garments he fell in. Leaving only the sheer fabric socks that ran up his thighs and the oddly erotic design of underwear.

Damien hung on ever hitched breath and whine Emmett had. Running kisses and the muscles of his tongue over everything he could reach, painfully sweet but yet wretchedly sinful. Damien let himself grin at Emmett’s almost unintelligible pleads. He pulled Emmett close and dropped to his knees, hushing the blond sweetly, running his hands over the plushness of Emmett’s thighs. “Look what you’ve done, love.” Damien spoke.

“Brought the son of the Devil to his knees before you, to serve you. What a powerful deity you are…” Emmett bit down on his finger while his other hand clutched at the fabric he laid on. Embarrassed but entranced as he forced himself to watch Damien. Seeing the black claws run under the straps of his undergarments, pressing kindly at the bones of his hips, sending a kiss to the angel’s inner thigh. 

“Damien…” Emmett shivered. The demon hummed and ran his tongue across where Emmett’s pelvis connected to his thigh. “Shhh…no need to beg, as lovely as it sounds.” The blond yelped as he gained a playful nip of sharp teeth to his skin. Damien’s smile fell as his expression grew focused. Emmett forced himself to lay back and cover his face, unable to watch. Shame filled his nerves but it did nothing to stop him. Even if it burned as the fabric keeping his dignity was slowly pulled away. Emmett’s eyes flew open and he gasped with an arching spine when Damien’s tongue met where he remained undefiled. 

Damien exhaled and pushed his hands up Emmett’s torso, feeling each heaving breath under his palms. The twitching of Emmett’s thighs on his shoulders. The demon’s eyes nearly fluttered shut as he pressed his tongue deeper. Perhaps it was demonic nature, to destroy all that was divine & pure. But Damien couldn’t claim that was what this was. Though there was a thrill of being the first to truly touch something so sweet, it was rather than desperation displayed to him that fueled him.

It had felt like centuries that he’d been plagued with dreams and fantasies, something he hadn’t been bothered with before. Each time Emmett spoke, or even better, existed? Damien felt the need to crumble. It frustrated him to no end. At first, he was angry at being disarmed, over someone he’d once found so aggravating. And then, the boiling rage turned into sorrowful resentment as his entire being craved for an entity he couldn’t hold. Far beyond lust. It encompasses everything in Eros. This? This was merely an expression of everything at once. That being said though, the Dusk couldn’t deny the utter thrilling joy that filled his bones as he maneuvered his tongue, grasping at plush thighs that threatened to clasp around his skull, and the overwhelming saccharine taste. Damien couldn’t help but groan and let his hands fall away from Emmett’s legs, instead grasping at his hips to bring him closer. It was only law that Damien express greed, he was made of all the sins after all.

Emmett’s thighs wrapped tightly around Damien’s face didn���t deter him. Emmett heaved and bit back sobs as he grabbed at the demon’s hands at his hips. Accidentally digging in his nails. The prince’s eyes rolled back at the whimper of his name and he furrowed his brow in focus. How Heaven had made this seductress, Damien couldn’t fathom. Not a single succubus or aphrodisiac could pull this incomparable amount of need from him. Damien struggled to pull himself back from the consuming rush it all gave. And as he watched the angel’s spine arch taut like a bow string, he fought every atom in his body and pulled away. Making the blond let out a near pained cry. 

Damien stood on his feet, eyes sweeping over the form in front of him. Emmett’s cheeks now red with lust & embarrassment. Shame drained from the room and sorrow long forgotten. The Dawn whimpered at the sight of the forked tongue that ran over his sin’s lips, not wishing to waste anything. Emmett squeaked as he was pulled even closer to the edge of the bed, trembling violently as Damien loomed over him. The blond craned his neck as Damien’s hand ran up it delicately, feeling the rapid pulse. “How unfair…” The demon exhaled. “To be so irresistible.”

Emmett felt completely exposed, soul & all. A vulnerability that he’d never felt before. And for it to feel so addictive and pleasant was astounding. “Y-your highness…” Emmett choked out. Damien shook his head and hushed him again. “No dear, not to you. Only my name…be it Damien or be it Leviathan. If you truly want a title to call me…be it that shows your love for me.” He said. Emmett’s shaky hands grasped at Damien’s back. 

“Damien…” he whispered. 

Damien leaned down and kissed Emmett once more, relishing the way it sent sparks through his body. “Tell me, my darling. How can something supposedly made to be against me, meld so perfectly to my being?” He asked against Emmett’s mouth. Emmett moved his hands to Damien’s hair, boldly pushing his tongue to meet the demon’s rather than the other way around. The prince nearly melted but held his own long enough to begin ridding himself of his shirt. He pulled away and gently nipped at Emmett’s lip. “I swear, by all deities, unholy and otherwise…surely somewhere out there, there is something greater than even your former God. And I can only imagine,” He trailed kisses across Emmett’s cheek and to his ear. “They made you for me, and me for you.” He whispered.

Emmett whined and nodded frantically, hands running across the expanse of Damien’s now exposed back. Feeling the Dusk kiss the expanse of his throat adoringly. His chest tightened when he heard the slow slip of a loosening belt, and for once, the sound brought about excitement rather than fear. Damien moved to kiss Emmett properly once again, allowing himself to let out a satisfied noise as he did. With his pants cast aside, he allowed his hands to resume their previous positions. One holding him above the angel, the other still lovingly caressing whatever it could reach. Damien grinned at the blatant moan he received when running his fingers through the still pristine white feathers.

Damien pulled back just enough to look Emmett in the eye. The sight of sky blue full of so much desperation brought upon onslaughts of admiration and desire. “Be honest, love.” Damien spoke softly and seriously. “Do you wish for this as I do? I need to know, earnestly. Because I can only bond us if you are ready. I’d spend the rest of eternity with a heavy heart of guilt if I was selfish in a moment like this.” He admitted. He meant every word. Exposing his true emotions with each syllable. Emmett’s eyes widened for a moment before, finally, the blond gave a small smile. The first one since he’d fallen. He rose his hands to hold Damien’s face.

“I fell for you, dear prince. In more ways than one. And I couldn’t want anything more…so please, take me, and keep me, for yourself and away from anyone else who foolishly attempts to compare to you.” Emmett replied. Damien forced air into his lungs before he sent himself careening downward, hand tangling in Emmett’s hair as he pressed their mouths together again, more passionate than any kiss before it. 

It was more than lust, so much more. An unfathomable faithfulness. Damien felt himself shatter softly at every gasp Emmett gave. And he struggled not to completely crumble when he joined the two of them. Everything from the embrace Emmett gave, to the sound, to the warmth and ambrosia that filled the room. Brought to his knees and weak for the Dawn. Perhaps that was merely how it always was, the sun bowed to the moon when it was right. And the moon welcomed the sun to do the same. For it was mutual. 

Emmett couldn’t bother to recall everything he’d been taught as Damien moved. Every preaching sentiment to fear indulgence and pleasure of any kind. That evil was the enemy. To denounce it and loathe it. But how could he? How could he follow any of those teachings when it felt so wonderful? If it meant he’d never be welcome amongst the clouds again, then so be it, he was perfectly fine here. Among molten rock & fire, darkness and screams of the damned. But most importantly, amongst the Eveningstar. With gentle caresses turned into unintended rough holds at his hip bones, and the growing need to completely forgo the word slow.  Damien heaved as he trailed kisses and his teeth along Emmett’s body. The animalistic urge to mark what belonged to him, stifled by the need to be sweet and careful. It was so hard to stay composed with each whine he pulled from his lover beneath him. The sweetness of each kiss and the warmth that couldn’t compare to any fire. Damien wished he could’ve stayed that way forever, gazing upon the cherub’s flushed face and blissful expression. It was tempting to do just that. 

“I can’t fathom how…you’ve managed to destroy every wall I have.” Damien spoke, not slowing once. “I can’t believe we were ever enemies, hah, how in any realm could I ever hate you.” He panted. Emmett’s eyes pricked with tears and he sent flurries of kisses along Damien’s cheekbones. Stammering and unable to properly talk. Every sensation was new, it threatened to engulf him, drown him. He sobbed and pleaded for something he’d never had. Damien kissed away more tears and he felt the apex come far too close. He wanted it to last. Still, he couldn’t force himself to do anything to make it stop. Emmett begged against his kisses.

“Shh, I know…don’t fight it. Fall, my love. Fall with me again.” Damien whispered, clenching his teeth together. Emmett grasped at him, letting out sinful sounds that seemed so pure when they were made by him. Damien pressed his forehead to Emmett’s. The blond heaved a few breaths before finally, at last, a coherent moment of speech. 

“I love you, Leviathan.”

Damien’s soul snapped and he groaned, nearly falling over. Emmett let out a loud whine as everything hit its peak, almost suddenly. The demon prince hid his face in Emmett’s shoulder as the fallen dug his nails into Damien’s back. Panting breaths and full hearts. It took a moment for the waves to come to an end, almost too soon. Damien let his body lay closer to Emmett, much to the blond’s comfort. Damien sighed and finally lifted his head. He gazed right through Emmett’s being, into the most vulnerable portion of his core. He leaned down and pressed a saccharine kiss to Emmett’s lips, feather light and kind. 

“Let it be known…from this realm to the next. I belong to you, body and soul. With every fiber of my being and every moment my existence plagues this earth. And even after I bring the world to its knees, know this….” Damien exhaled. “You have brought the Devil to its knees before you, dear angel. Stripped him of his power and taken place in his chest.” Emmett sighed and Damien stroked his cheek.

Leviathan kissed the Evangelical again.

“And you are loved for it.”

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

Close to the Ground

Title: All In a Name

Word count: 4,204

Characters: Peter Parker, oc

Warnings: fluff? Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Sweet damn!!! This came out a lot longer than I intended for it to. Let me tell you. As I was writing I kept thinking of more ideas and the word count kept getting longer. I'll edit this when I have the time if I'm able, so forgive typos. There are so many typos. I'll change this when I've edited the story.

I came up with the idea years ago back when Civil War came out. But now I have time to headcanon and perfect it.

———

The little girl stared at Peter and he in turn stared back the two looked at each other as if they were deer caught in the head lights. That both sat criss cross, across from the other on May's living room sofa. Every time Peter even tried to make a move the little girl would flinch, a cold chill creeping up her spine so Peter tried to remain motionless.

While he appeared cool on the outside, inside his thoughts were spiraling out of control. What do I do!? What do I do!? Where's aunt May? One of my first real "rescues" as Spider-Man and I come home with a kid!? In the grip of silent panic his right foot beat uncontrollably against the cushion. It seemed to be the only acceptable action, as it didn't send the pipsqueak into a tizzy.

He had been doing a routine sweep of neighboring area swing through the cityscape when a scream as good as a a banshee's rent the air. Nobody screamed like that unless they were in fear for their life. It came from a darkened alley, and like a true hero he'd taken off toward it ready to take on whatever threat lied ahead. He shocked to find the alley seemingly empty though after a careful look around just to be safe he had found her. Lonely, buried beneath bags of trash, she laid out.

Peter wasn't sure what he'd been thinking back then, forty minutes ago. Scratch that, he knew damn well. The city streets were no place for child, especially one so young. It was going to be dark soon and thunder had been in the forecast for later that evening. He'd used his best judgement.

He mentally scoffed, best judgment.

Now here he sat just him and what could be more than a two-year-old. Her icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul unsure yet whether to consider him friend or foe. Her clothes were of the spring variety a season that would becoming to an end in following few weeks. They seemed kind small for her, which was saying something, stained with dirt, garbage, and other thing Peter didn't care to name. Her hair was knotted and tangled giving it a troll rat nest appearance. If he had to guess, she was brunette.

The ringing for the apartments land line went of like a school bell. The two caught off guard both flinched at the sudden noise, the little girl letting out a high pitched yelp as she did. Second ring. Peter shared a look with toddler at the other end of the couch. He needed to answer the phone, but he didn't want to trigger a panic. Third ring. She whimpers bring her knees up into her chest. Fourth ring.

"I need to answer the phone," Peter said. His words were clear and concise, carefully spoken as to not spook her. "Please, I promise that's all I'm going to do." Her icy eyes softened, not by much but enough to convince him she would allow him to get up and move across the room.

He moved in at brisk walking pace very aware of the fact that with each step he was silently being judged. Once in the kitchen her scooped up the land line and spoke into it. "Parker residence. Hey this..." he listened for a moment.

"Hey, May... I'm- I'm fine. I could really use your help though... Can it wait?" He looked over to the child now staring out the window, from the couch, with wide eyed fascination at the rain outside. "It's kind of important... Oh I see... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... But still... Uh-huh. Okay... Later? Sure... Okay... No, no I got it... okay, see you then... I love you too...bye." He hung up the phone, placing it back on it charging stand.

With a sigh he ran his hands across his face. The child immediately turned her focus back to him eyes darting up and down to discern his current emotional state. He wouldn't cuss in front of her, at least not a loud. Inside his head he was Kenny McCormick.

He gave a feeble smile to the toddler when he noticed she was watching his every move, as if she were studying him. "What am I going to do with you?" he laughed somewhat dryly. She obviously didn't like that lowering her head so only her eye and above peeked out from behind the couch's back.

Indeed what would he do with her?

........................................................................................................................................................

It seemed there was nothing he could do to make her budge. She was't interested in his action figured, books, or legos— Probably a good thing she wasn't to keen on the legos kind of a choking hazard — she ignored his funny faces and attempts to make her laugh. She just stared on, gnawing on her fingers, curled up at one end of the couch. She had moved when Peter accidentally came too close to her but he wasn't about to do that again. It would be cruel to use her spacial fears against her.

"Okay I give up," Peter declared. "You can just sit there on the couch and do nothing." He was laid out across the rug surrounded by various items he'd pulled from his room in an effort to entertain the emotionless youngling.

At Peter declaration she raised a brow, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. As quickly as it came it went, Peter was none the wiser.

Grrbbrggfgrr

She hadn't meant to do that, Peter could tell by the light pink pink color flushing her cheeks. Her stomach rumbles again making her squirm in her seat.

Peter raced to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge, digging past the left over takeout none of which he figured she'd like, he found a box with leftover chicken nuggets from a meal he'd made himself a few days prior. He took out the remaining seven nuggets and quickly placed them in the microwave for 49 seconds before coming back to the living room.

He sat back down, set the plate out on the coffee table in front of the child and asked.

"Are you hungry?" A lick of the lips was all he got in response. She carefully eyed the plate, focus switching from,Peter to the tenders on a loop. "It's okay, the foods fine," he tried nudging the plate a bit closer to her. "It's chicken nuggets. Do you like chicken nuggets?" She curiously dropped her head to one side eyebrows drawing together as if to ask 'what are chicken nuggets?'

"There really good," Peter coaxed taking a piece for himself to demonstrate. "It's okay, they're not poisoned or anything." He took a bite and smiled.

Hesitantly she reached an arm out but was quick to realize her arms were to short. Cautiously, carefully she slid herself off the couch cushion, eye never leaving Peter. Feet firmly on the ground she let herself relax a little. She finally took one of the nuggets off the plate and sat her little bum on the rug. She sniffed the meat then just barely touched it to her small tongue.

She cooed, kicking her legging up and down, as she'd just been hut by a stoke of lightning. Her eye dilated losing there icy sheen as she devoured the chicken nuggets. Eyes shining with new found life she looked to Peter. Clicking her feet together she held out the plate, making series of inaudible noises.

Peter bit back a laugh, "do you want some more." There was bag in the freezer, they would actually require more than a microwave to bake. But she was happy, maybe more would make her smile.

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Making more chicken nuggets had clearly been the right decision. She chattered and observed everything with a newfound curiosity. He still hadn't seen her smile but that didn't bother him too much.

He sat on the couch watching her wander around the apartment reaching for and looking at everything. Every now and again she'd find something so interesting to her that she'd pick it up and bring it over to show Peter. She chatter and babble nonsensically then leave at his feet and amble of to continue exploring.

Peter was keeping a list in his head of where she was finding everything so he could later put them back. So far she'd gifted him nine items; an electronic candle, the tv remote, one fuzzy sock, his Mathematics of Astronomy textbook, a spare set of keys, a decorative flower, an orange, a quarter and two nickels, and his Wicket the Ewok action figure.

There was pull from under him. He looked over the back of the couch to see the little girl tugging atone end of the throw blanket, the other end firmly lodged underneath him. "Whatcha doin'?" She briefly stared at him, then continued to tug at the soft blanket.

"I don't think I can keep pretending you don't have a name." He said suddenly, lifting himself off his end of the throw blanket.

With no one else home it was easy to ignore the fact that he didn't know her name but it was starting to feel rude. She knew his name, he just thought she couldn't yet say it. Either out of shyness or verbal development.

"Do you have a name?" He asked. She blinked a few times before draping the blanket over her head. "Can you tell me what it is?" He tried. From beneath the blanket she chattered and honked at Peter stomping her feet against the floor.

"Really?" Peter smiled, pretending he knew just what she'd said. "Well, how about I give you a nickname?" she babbled some more craning her head to one side. "Okay cool," he pulled out his phone and brought up a cite for nickname recommendations. "Let's see... cutie? You are pretty cute," Peter teased. He couldn't see her face but he heard her blow a raspberry. "So that's a no... monkey?" she was curious. Another raspberry. "Bee?" This time she shook her head, her interest fading.

Blanket still over her head she traveled around the room like a ghost. A cute ghost. An unnerving tingle ran up Peter's spine making the hairs on his skin stand on end. He immediately looked to the toddler. "Ooah," she squeaked. She hadn't gotten far before bumping into one of the apartment's ceiling support beams. His eyes flew wide and his muscles went all rigid.

He surprised himself, he was at her side in seconds, still maintaining an arms length distance. Her arm length not. "Hey, hey are you okay?" He softly cooed, cautiously lifting the blanket off her head. He looked her over, as best he could from where he was, for any bruises or marks. She nodded.

"Yep? You're okay?" She continued to nod making clicking noises with her tongue. There was this twinge feeling in Peter that just wasn't convinced. Not a spidey-sense feeling just a fEeLiNg.

She affirmatively nods, struggling to stand up in the blanket tangle she'd created. Peter couldn't help but laugh softly watching her struggle to stand. She reminded him of the videos of newborn calves standing for the first time. She sneezed tripping backwards back down on her bum.

His muscles went stiff, he had to stop himself from touching her. "Hey, be careful. Clumsy." He laughed dryly. "You alright?" She turned her head to him, wiping the snot dribbling down her nose away with her sleeve and nodded.

Peter crinkled his nose in disgust, he was compiled by sheer grossed outness to peel her arm away by the sleeve. She flinched at the sudden contact, her face washed blank with confusion. Then she remembered, and her muscles relaxed.

"Let's use a Kleenex," Peter suggested bringing her arm away from her boogered nose. Her clothes were already coated in a thin layer of grime. "Maybe... take a bath?" He added. She was in desperate need of one, he was getting used to it but she reeked. And he was curious to know what she looked like without the filth layer.

That being said, this was the first time he'd been allowed to contact her in anyway since he'd brought her home and she still seemed agitated. So bath would be hers and his summit.

........................................................................................................................................................

"Okay look it's just a little water."

He managed to coax her into the bathroom and fill up the tub before she'd put two and two together. She stood back against the one door and shook her head. He'd been at this for fifteen minutes, though her trust in him had grown she refused to enter the bath. Peter wasn't about to make her that'd just undo her confidence in him.

"Hold on I'll show you." Peter dunked his head into the mildly warm water. Her nervous became frazzled jumping all together in a frazzled panic. Heart rate spiking, she speeds across the room to the edge of the tub. It wasn't long before Peter brought his head back up, he'd only been under for a couple of seconds. His hair lies plaster about his forehead beads of water dripping down from the tips. "See? Perfectly fine?"

Looking to her his smile fell. Gripping tightly the edge of the tub, her eyes held a sweet amount of concern. Lower lip drawn back in her, eyes brimmed with watery tear threading to fall. Guilt hit him like a fright train. "I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He apologized. She shakily sniffled, gnawing on her middle, index, and ring fingers as she sat her bum on the tile. She needed to calm her nerves.

So bath was a no go. Something about the water unnerved her.

"How about a shower?" He offered. Sure the toddler was small but she wouldn't fit in any of the sinks for a baby style bath. It was after all a small apartment. So a shower seemed like the next option. Peter pulled the the drain stopper out, to let the water run down.

Her blues curiously watched the water drain until the base of the tub was bare. "I promise a shower isn't bad." She looked at him, monitoring his movements as he stood and took off the handheld shower head. "Promise, promise," he joked sending a reassuring smile her way.

He turned the nob over the water nozzle, activating the hot water. "It's just like a rain...shower." He explained spraying the shower head toward the bath's back wall.

Eyebrows arching toward the sky, her eyes widened. She chirped and squeaked pointing — with the hand not in her mouth — toward the watery spray.

"See?" He held his hand out in front of the gentle spray. She moved close to him, so close her shoulder brushed against his. She held out her own hand, the warm droplets tickled her skin.

"There you go," Peter beamed. She babbled about, looking between him and the spray, her senseless words ran into one another. Peter reached over her head and took out rubber duck from the shower caddy. "Ducky will even be your shower buddy." It hadn't had purpose until then, previously nothing more than a decoration.

"Quack-quack quack," he teased tickle the duck against her side. She hummed, crumpling up. Her mouth formed what wasn't quite a smile but also not a frown. She poked at the rubber duck, attempting to mimic Peter's quacking. Peter laughed, she sounded like a chick.

"Ducky?" He tried.

She crinkled her nose making a stank face. Another raspberry.

He chuckled softly, she really is cute

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't believe it. Under all that dirt and grime the toddler was actually quite adorable. She was cute before but now that she was cleaned up she had this new glow to her. The toddler was Celtic looking, fair skin, sharp eyes, spotty dotty freckles that shifted with her cheeks and beautiful strawberry blonde locks.

"And blue," Peter called out.

The two were back in the living room. They spent the better half of an hour sorting Peter's stuff by color, something he thought she wouldn't be interested in but took to quite naturally. They'd run out of stuff from Peter's pile on the floor to sort twenty minutes ago. He wasn't quite sure how it started but now all he had to do was call out a color and she'd toddle off to find a match, then return so he could add it to the corresponding color pile.

No completely clean she'd certainly perked up even more so then before. She wore a pink black-squared tank hooded capri romper, hair still damp it fell loosely on to her shoulders.

Prepping for her a shower he'd discovered she wore pull-ups. Shouldn't have surprised him. This however made him realize there weren't any clothes suited for her in the apartment. Luckily one of the neighbors a floor below had a child close to her assumed age. The mother was confused as to why he needed some of her child's old clothes and pull-ups. Peter had just said he was babysitting and the child didn't bring an extra pair of clothes. Which wasn't a total lie.

The patter of little feet filled the room as the toddler waddled over to Peter from where ever she had been. She held out a blue sandal, not a pair sandals, just the one. "Is there another shoe," Peter asked raining a single brow. She drew in her lip, rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet, and nodded hesitantly.

"Can you go get it for the blue pile?"

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless complied, scuffling off to retrieve the other sandal. She was really enjoyable to be around, a bit of goof ball.

It wasn't long before she came barreling in sandal in hand, a blue metallic 1966 model Chevrolet chevelle clamped between her teeth.

"Hey what did I say?" Peter asked adopting a stern tone. She blinked a few times before remembering. She widened her mouth allowing the car to drop to the floor. "Little gum monster."

This earned him a raspberry.

Peter was certain she was still teething. If she wasn't gnawing/gumming on her own fingers she was gumming on some object. She'd gnawed on the rubber duck, a spatula head, four of the gifts she'd given Peter and now a metal model car. He'd have to get her a teething ring.

Peter shook his head mentally hitting himself. She's not staying.

Peter had to found himself forgetting that fact a couple times in the past two hours.

"Okay go find..." he wanted to challenge her this time. "Yellow." She chirped and squeaked before toddling off. She was a little scout, obtaining articles and returning them to Peter.

This time it too, her bit longer to find something of a yellow color. The duck had already been used so she need to find something else. She found herself in what could only be Peter's room. She sifted and searched, eyes on the lookout for some yellow.

Bingo

He heard it... again. The litter patter of little feet approaching. Heart swelled as he saw her round the corner of the couch, proudly clutching a mustard yellow cloth. "You found yellow," he commended holding a hand out for her to give him the cloth. Peter couldn't help but laugh as he spread out what was actually his mustard yellow tee with the words 'Bacteria. The only culture some people have' printed on in bold black lettering.

The little girl tried mimicking his laughter, but sounded more like a dolphin or chipmunk. This only made Peter laugh more.

"Thanks Gummy."

The name just slipped out. Her eyes sparkled like freshly fallen snow. He could tell by her body language and lack of raspberry that she at the very least didn't hate the name. In fact Her babbling happily like spring brook suggested she liked the name.

"Gummy," he repeated.

There was something about the nickname that just... suited her.

........................................................................................................................................................

When this kid, Gummy at as Peter now called her, got her energy she made the most of it. He never wanted to hear the Hokey-Pokey or the Baby Shark songs again. His muscles were tight from the childish motions. Simon says had been much more his speed for the night, at least until it was Gummy's turn be Simon. Hide-and-Seek nearly gave him a panic attack.

He could no longer deny the fact that he cared about her. Her bright eyes, bubbly chirps, and button nose. Her in all her quirkinesses.

"Okay Gummy, behold one of the greatest movies ever!..." He exclaimed holding up a colorful dvd box. Gummy did her cute curious head tilt, crinkling up her nose. "That we own." Peter murmured somewhat sourly.

Peter had the room set up for comfy movie watching. She'd burned out after four rounds of hide-and-seeks, showing clear signs of tiredness. Now she sat tired-eyed rather sluggishly on the couch. Peter himself was sort of tired too, she'd drain a lot of his energy. A movie seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He wasn't sure how long she'd last, her eyes already glazing over, but he'd enjoy himself even when she inevitably fell asleep.

Gummy reached for the box making grabby hands. Peter took out the dvd and handed it's case to the two-year-old. "It doesn't go in your mouth." He emphasized before turning his back on her. She tried to play with the thin plastic case but quickly discovered the only thing interesting about it was the sound it made when she opened and shut it.

"My Neighbor Totoro. It has animals I really think you'll like." After getting the dvd ready, he sat beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions.

They sat, brains off, engrossed. Peter would peel his eyes away every few minutes to check if Gummy was still awake. Though the television blared her eyes were half closed and her fingers were back in her mouth. She'd yawn, little tongue curling as she did. Her eyes lit up when the first Ghibli creature appeared on screen but there was still a tiredness behind them.

She'd be out like a light soon. Peter returned his focus to the movie.

Some time passed and he suddenly felt a weight increase against his side. He looked down and his eyes immediately softened. Gummy had curled against him. He gave her a side hug and brushed her wispy bangs back. She hugged her little arms around his, nuzzling her face against it, the softest smile gracing her lips.

Peter's heart melted. She's not staying. She's not staying.

He watched her chest rise and fall. The two's combined body heats, tethered with the bump-bump-buh beat of Peter's heart sent the sweet girl off to dreamland. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his top, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her, he wasn't going anywhere. Peter using his other arm brought her onto his lap, protectively holding her against himself.

She's not going anywhere.

........................................................................................................................................................

EXT. Ending

The apartment was dark. The only sources of light came from the one lamp still lit down the hall, and the frequent passing of street cars. Their lights shining through the apartment windows. There was shuffling of feet out in the hall, a muttering of a curse, a jangle of key, and finally a satisfying click. The door swung open. In the door way, the silhouette of a woman shaking the rain off her umbrella.

"Peter?" She whispered quietly entering in. Just barely making out some movement on the couch she shook her head. Her nephew most have fallen asleep on the couch again. "Peter," she called out. At the second call of his name Peter awoke, his hold around the still sleeping baby in his arms tightening.

"Hey Pete sorry I had to work late." May apologized tussling her nephew's hair. "A coworker had leave suddenly, his wife went into labor. And it was my turn to cover." She headed to the kitchen.

Peter pushed a hand through his hair fixing the tussled up areas. "Yeah it's fine May," He assured looking back at her from over his shoulder. "Something huge happened after school." He began.

He didn't get a chance to finish as his aunt held up the dirty pair of clothes Gummy had been wearing earlier. Their apartment didn't have a washing machine so he'd simply discarded them in the sink until they could be washed. "Peter who's clothes are these? Who's Emilia?"

"Emilia?”

May held up the shirt tag. While he was seated too far to see what was written, he had to guess it was the word 'Emilia'.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, mentally kicking himself. Her name was on her shirt tag! As the full realization, sank in, he threw his head back. From the pit of his stomach, came all his emotion, and a loud groan passed through his lips.

"Damn it."

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Marigold

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

Summary:

Rus is adjusting to his new home and new ways

The story so far:

Crimson

Yellow

Blue

Blush

Sallow

Russet

Spice

Whiteout

Sable

Blue on Black

Midnight

Ebony Falling

Golden

Magenta

~~*~~

Read ‘Marigold’ on AO3

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Read More here

For the first couple days in his new home, Rus spent most of his time resting in bed. Being locked up in a chilly room for days on top of traveling through the snowy woods hadn’t done him well. He wasn’t precisely ill, but weariness gripped him, demanding long hours of sleep. Drowsy as he was, Rus couldn’t help his guilt at not being able to help keep house. His feeble attempts were firmly dismissed by Edge any time he tried to rise on shaky legs, and he was forced to meekly remain, guiltily enjoying his rest. Their pallet had no bedstead and instead was a cushiony pile, lush with furs and blankets. More comfortable even than his feather tick at home and considerably larger. Sleeping in a pallet of furs was a decadence he hadn’t even known existed, snuggled into silky warmth and drowsed away the hours, waking only to eat or bathe. His brother would have scolded him for his indulgence, but he was newly married. Surely a bit of spoiling was to be expected. And spoil him Edge did, often bringing him meals in bed, a seedy sort of porridge or soup like the Mother Dog served. His concern was charming, but even Rus was having enough of it. On the third day, he slipped out of bed while he was alone, ignoring the wobble to his legs as he quickly dressed. His clothes were freshly washed, laid out on a nearby outcropping. When Rus plucked up his shirtfront and sniffed it, he smelled not the clean soap his brother made for laundry, but a warmer spicy fragrance, reminiscent of mulled cider. It was a bit like Edge himself and perhaps it was shameful, the little thrill it gave him thinking about smelling like Edge. He didn’t care, the ideas about shame that were preached back at the village could stay in their prayer meetings. Edge hadn’t returned yet, so Rus took the opportunity to explore a bit. He admired the paintings on the walls of the bedchamber, the glowing swirls done in soothing blues and greens, with scattering of flowers between them. A tentative hand held above it confirmed that they radiated heat. It was fascinating and perhaps a trifle unnerving. Not that Rus was about to complain, his own home with Blue tended towards chilly in the winter months and he was often forced to spent his days sitting by the stove, bundled in blankets. No, no, it was not his home, not any longer, Rus reminded himself sternly. His home was here and he was going to have to stop being wishy-washy about it. Thinking of Blue made tears prickle, though, and Rus hastily distracted himself with the rest of the room. The low table he’d seen before was oddly close to the ground, made of a solid slab of wood that was sanded down until the wood was silky. Instead of chairs, there were cushions arranged around it, and he decided it was meant for sitting on the floor. A little alcove was nearly hidden in a corner and a peek inside reveal a sort of wardrobe, crimson cloaks hanging alongside the dark one he’d fled in. Some of his own things were neatly folded and set along the rocky outcroppings and it gave him a sort of warmth to see his belongings alongside Edge’s. A sense that he truly did belong here. Blue would have liked it, this order. A place for everything and everything it its place. Come to think of it, there was a sort of fresh-scrubbed appearance to the room and some things seemed quite new. The cushions around the table, for example, were bright with color, not at all worn from use. It occurred to Rus that Edge had likely been gussying things up in preparation of bringing him here, the way the bachelors in the village prepared their homes for the coming of a bride or bearing groom. Imagining Edge returning here alone, bereft, seeing those new cushions and well-scrubbed floors after Rus turned him away made his soul ache. Well, no matter now. He was here and he was going to prove that he wasn’t a burden. Cautiously, Rus peered out of the entrance to the chamber. He’d only been out the past few days to bathe, carried by Edge both times. There was little chance of being lost, the painted stars led the way. Even the floor seemed warm to his stocking feet; his boots weren’t with the rest of his clothing, perhaps they were at the cave entrance? In any case, Rus tiptoed his way down the tunnel, partly searching for Edge, mostly indulging in curiosity. He paused at the cave mouth to the pantry, wavering between exploring and continuing his search. In the end, that curiosity got the best of him and if Edge were to end up looking for him, he would be easily found. As pantries went, it was, well, rustic, surely a cave in the woods fell into that category. Even so, Rus imagined that seeing it would soothe any concerns his brother might have had about sending Rus to live here. He might well be delighted to have one like it himself. There weren’t any of the familiar sacks of flour and sugar, but instead many cleverly woven baskets in various sized crowded together. A curious touch revealed them to be made of reeds and each one was brimming with grains and dried fruit. Long ropes of dried fish and meat hung from the ceiling, interspersed with braids of herbs and onions, and the space was filled with a rich, smoky aroma that made hunger growl in his soul. The sight of such largess was soothing, to know they would be well-fed during the long, cold months of winter. Rus filched a slice of dried apple from one basket with the same mischievous nature that sent him plucking a cookie hot from a cooling rack, chased away by the tune of his brother’s scolding. Honestly, he needed to stop thinking of Blue. Hopefully, he would be seeing him in just over a week, there was no need to keep dredging up unhappiness. Rus was firmly putting thoughts of his brother aside as he turned back to the entryway…and directly into Edge who was standing behind him. Rus yelped, nearly choking on his pilfered apple slice and he chewed with frantic guilt, hoping his sheepish unspoken apologies were visible on his face. Edge only seemed amused, and his fingers were gentle on Rus’s chin as he urged him to tip his head up. It took Rus a moment to realize Edge’s searching gaze was to decide if he were well and Rus batted his hand aside impatiently. “i’m fine! i can’t be a layabout all winter, can i.” From Edge’s look, he supposed Edge thought he could very well lie about and take whatever spoiling came his way. Well, Edge was about to learn he couldn’t have his way all the time, Rus decided, and that was when he caught sight of Edge’s other hand. He held what looked like a few plump partridges, likely the last of the season. “oh, here, let me—" Rus reached for them and Edge held them away with a frown. “come now, i’m not much of a cook, but i’m perfectly capable of dressing out game. let me help!” It was always difficult for him to guess precisely what Edge understood, but in this case, Rus’s intentions must’ve been clear enough. Edge handed over the partridges with reluctance. Now that he had his feathery burden, Rus realized there was a different problem. “oh. um, i need a knife. and a table, i’m not sure.” Involuntarily, Rus glanced at the ground, reluctant to prepare food on it for a number of reasons. One corner of Edge’s mouth twitched up in amusement and he silently led Rus deeper into the pantry. On the back wall was a sort of preparation area, a rocky outcropping polished carefully smooth. A variety of utensils were in another woven basket at the back of the shelf and from it Rus plucked a knife. He inspected it curiously. It seemed to be made of stone rather than steel, beautiful shaped, and the handle was of antler or horn. Well, knife was a knife. It felt a bit awkward to clean and dress the birds under Edge’s scrutiny, but his hands had done this enough times that they hardly needed his guidance.

Triumphantly, he set the cleaned birds at the end of the stone shelf, allowing Edge to inspect his work. He was about to go wash his hands when strong arms surrounded him from behind. Rus squeaked in surprise as Edge buzzed a ticklish kiss against his cheekbone, laughing helplessly as he squirmed in his embrace. “let me go, fool, i need to wash,” Rus scolded. But the obvious pride in Edge’s gaze followed him through to the washroom and Rus scrubbed his hands quickly, eager to return. When he came back, Edge was sitting by a large stone similar to the one Mother Dog had used, light and heat beginning to rise from it. He gestured for Rus to sit next to him and with more patience than even Blue had ever shown him, guided him through seasoning one of the birds with herbs and wild onions. Both were set directing atop the stone, sizzling loudly, and soon mouthwatering aromas rose. In no little time both partridges were cooked, set into an earthenware dish and taken to the low table in their room. Rus ate his portion proudly with his bare fingers, licking away the grease. His brother would have been horrified at his manners, but sitting here with Edge, one of the plush cushions under him, eating a tasty meal that he’d helped make was a previously unknown delight. After that, Edge often included him in cooking, teaching him to make the morning porridge and even those flat, round breads that Mother Dog had fed them. Cooking seemed less intimidating with Edge teaching him and it was rather thrilling to be able to contribute. The first morning he successfully made porridge without Edge, he brought it proudly to their room, ladling out a bowlful for his husband. Under his uncertain scrutiny, Edge lifted his bowl, bowing over it in a solemn sort of gesture before he dug in. After a single spoonful, he quickly pronouncing it, “Good.” That one simple word swelled in Rus’s soul, and he grinned shamelessly, ladling out a bowl of his own. And there it was, he could be useful for Edge. He wouldn’t be a burden on his new spouse with little to offer. That was one problem solved. The next problem he had wasn’t so simple. Rus never would have guessed a home made of rock could hold such warmth and life. His own home back in the village held some of that. But it also held silences of loved ones who would never speak again. It held lonely winters where he spent his days alone, waiting for his brother to come home to him. He spent some time on his own here, true. Edge went out every morning and evening, but he was never gone terribly long. Checking snares wasn’t nearly as time consuming as tending to ill patients and whether his traps yielded anything or not, they weren’t about to starve. Whenever he was gone, Rus kept busy with a new and unexpected hobby. On his fourth day here, Edge led him through to a part of the cave Rus hadn’t yet seen. The starry path guiding from above dwindled as they went into an alcove that was darker and cool. Rus hardly had a chance to shiver before Edge moved away from him, crouching nearby. With a low murmur, a large, rounded stone filled with a reddish glow, unlike the brighter shine of their flat cooking rock. What was once frightening now seemed almost commonplace and Rus sat by the glowing stone, waiting for the cave to warm. It was then he saw the bowls, small, roughly hewn crockery and a peek within showed a different color in each. Paints, Rus realized, and he watched in fascination as Edge picked up a brush and began dabbing at one of the walls. More of the carefree swirls that graced the cave entrance, in deep, rich shades of crimson. He’d hardly added to it before setting the brush aside, selecting another from a small pouch and offering it to Rus. “oh, i couldn’t possibly,” Rus protested. “i’m no artist, i’ll ruin it.” A scoffing sound from Edge made it clear what he thought of that. Again, he offered the brush, urging softly, “Rus, pretty.” Well, how could he refuse that invitation, Rus thought ruefully. Whether he meant anything Rus painted would be such or simply Rus himself was anyone’s guess. Edge turned back to his own artwork, leaving Rus to hesitantly inspect the paint pots. Somehow, the thought of using crimson still made him uncomfortable. He’d grown accustomed to it, but it was Edge’s color, not his own. The rich blue was tempting, but Rus set it firmly aside. Something different then, something for himself. A bright orange caught his gaze, the same deep color of autumn marigolds and that shade called to him. He gathered up the little pot, then held up his brush, studying it curiously. The paintbrush was not the horsehair one he was used to from springtime whitewashing, but some sort of fibrous plant material, the stem braided into a sort of handle. He dipped his brush into the pot and walked over to an empty expanse of wall, hesitating with his brush close to the stone. The wild, glorious swirls and comets that Edge decorated the walls with were lovely, but they didn’t speak to him. With cautious daubs, Rus painted instead a triangle, then another at its tip. Slowly, he worked, gaining confidence with each sweep of his paintbrush. He switched colors, adding a bright yellow and a vibrant green, precise geometric shapes. It was almost like piecing a quilt, finding patterns within that traveled down the length of his brush to the stone. Time passed unnoticed and Rus was rinsing his brush for another color change when a soft touch on his wrist startled him. “are we finished for the day?” Rus groaned and stretched, joints popping. They must have been painting for hours, he’d covered a section of wall nearly as tall as he was! The hours had slipped away from him while he focused on his pattern. Edge was standing by the wall, studying his work closely and Rus waited nervously for his pronouncements. But instead of a declaration, Edge leaned in and carefully breathed against it. From the point of his breath, light branched out, following along the lines of his painting until all of it was illuminating. It filled with formerly dark alcove with light and warmth. “Good,” Edge announced, and Rus swore he felt that same glow of warmth in his soul. After that, Rus often returned on his own, branching out with new patterns that met and twined with Edge’s, artwork that was uniquely theirs.

And so, they kept their days busy with work and amusements.

Their nights they slept cozied together in their comfortable pallet, buried within furs and blankets, with Edge stripped to his bare bones and Rus in his nightshirt.

That bed was where Rus’s problem lay. Their bed, but it couldn’t quite be called a marital bed yet. For all that Edge held him close before sleeping, murmuring silky words that Rus knew along with ones he didn’t, his hands did not stray, only rested chastely upon him. The kindness of it brought tears to his sockets, all of Edge’s gentle care. Without words, Edge understood that something had happened to send Rus fleeing into the wood and he hadn’t implied in the slightest that he was growing impatient for any of the traditional spousal rights.

That caring was what drew Rus’s affections from the beginning. But that one terrible night was fading into memory, best left in the past, and Rus was beginning to think more on their earlier days, the teasing touches and flirtation. He wanted that back. He ached for Edge’s hands to stray, for his kisses to deepen. He wanted to touch and be touched in return, and when he woke from heated dreams, a hand pressed between his legs where he was damp and throbbing, he longed to be able to turn to Edge and demand his own rights. He was beginning to suspect Edge would never ask. Well, if Edge wasn’t going to step forward with a claim, then Rus would, and he’d find a way that was clear in any language.

He only needed to decide how.

~~*~~

[reenvhai]

Tokotas Exploration - fairy hunting sorta thing

Those ducks were huge, Silya thought. Although they were more than a hundred meters away, she was able to clearly see their figures, and glimpse the greenish shimmer of their feathers. She decided to get up from the pasture she was hidden into. Three or four of the wild ducks that were in the lake took flight, frightened by her wolf figure, but most of the flock just looked at her without much interest. The tokota was far from them, on the shore, and it did not seem to have intentions of attacking. Though Silya had hunter blood, she decided not to try catching those ducks at that time. Days ago, she had eaten a piece that had left her very satisfied. So she did not pay much attention and focused again on her task for that day: she was going to explore new mysterious lands.

So far, she had remained in known territories. Around her it extended a golden pasture, occasionally interrupted with pines and small trees, presaging the beginning of the forest. The terrain was slightly rolling, which favored the appearance of lakes and lagoons not very deep, but enough for a tokota to be completely submerged. The summer was gone, and autumn strengthened its presence: the leaves were dyed with a nice red color, the last summer flowers began to disappear. Surely there would be foxes and rabbits wandering around. Maybe she would try to hunt some after returning from the forest. Well, this forest was not totally unexplored. Many tokotas had visited before. But what made it special were the rumors circulating about it. “Fairies? Pah! Fairies do not exist. There’s nothing there.” “I tell you, those are fairies! I saw them. They fly, sometimes go out for a stroll in the forest.” “Those aren’t fairies, they are demons. The souls of those who got lost there, and are searching for more victims…” "Fairies, demons? Bet ya both are talking ‘bout just a couple of fireflies or somethin’…” “That forest? Don’t kid on, dude, there’s nothing there. These are all stories for newbies.” A lot was said… but nothing was convincing enough. The only way, Silya concluded, to find out what really was in that forest, would be seeing it herself. Without wasting a second more, she headed to the mass of trees yonder, whose forms obscured the grassland. The small pines that cut the meadow became more frequent, until she reached the definitive forest start line. Silya took one last glance of the meadow, that glinted as gold in the afternoon sunlight. The shade of the pines covered the forest, giving it a mysterious appearance compared to the transparent meadow. She entered slowly, feeling the temperature change when passing from sunlight to the coolness of the shadow. The ground was humid, and the scent of pine needles became stronger than before. The forest seemed to have nothing out of the ordinary. The wolf moved step by step at first, and then more confidently. The smells were coming slowly to her nose: moss and fungus, tracks of small animals, a berry bush that she decided not to taste. Above her, a group of small birds jumping from branch to branch, calling themselves with shrill trills. After walking for a while, Silya ducked to pass under the lower branches of a broken pine. She crawled until she managed to overcome the knots of the roots and the tips of the branches. And then she found herself in a small glade, where some herbs grew. In a nearby pine, a squirrel dropped something that it had been gnawing, gave Silya a frightened look and disappeared among the leaves. The tokota sat on the soft ground of the glade. She looked at the sky: it had darkened since she had entered the forest, although there was still some sunlight. For what she had seen of the forest until then, it was nothing out of the ordinary. No fairies, nor spirits, not even interesting animals to hunt. Perhaps there was nothing there, after all. Silya began to get bored and impatient for the disappointment that place gave her. She got up and shook off, not by some physical discomfort, but to get rid of the feeling of frustration someway. She started walking back to the meadow. She was a little angry, and throwing bites to the branches of pine trees, ripping the needles and spitting them down. On that she was distracted, until she stumbled with something that looked like a fallen log. She staggered and, trying to keep the balance, her leg entangled. She fell headlong, her hind legs rising in the air, and the tug teared off the tangled branches. The wolf saw with horror that her fall wouldn’t stop there: after the log there was a slope that went at least five meters down to a hole formed by tree roots. Though she tried to nail the claws on the ground and writhed in an effort to stop the fall, she slid inevitably to the dark cleft. By the time she reached the bottom, her white fur was completely stained with brown and green. When she attempted to get up, she hit her head with one last root. Growling angry by the pain and embarrassment of having fallen, Silya got up with some difficulty, and inspected the place where she was. It was like a crack in the ground, maybe three meters deep, and wide only enough to barely handle her giant shoulders. The roots of trees jutted from the earth walls, forming a kind of net over her head. It was darker than on the surface, and the little sunlight seeped in the form of diffuse glows. There was some moss and fungus on the walls of the well. The tokota started thinking about how could she get out of there. She couldn’t move back: the space was narrow, and however much she tried she wouldn’t be able to climb the damp earth. Clamber trough the roots was neither an option. Silya decided to go ahead, crossing that sort of tunnel. She slipped and stumbled constantly in the mud, and the roots scratching her loin didn’t put the things easier. To make things worse, she could not see how long the crack was, and when would she find the way out. Finally she reached a mass of roots, too tangled to cross them. But she was so irked that she teared off many of them with several rabid bites, making enough space to pass under them. She crawled, scraping the ground with the claws. Her head finally broke through the mass and she kept shaking off to make room for her large chest. Silya breathed calm only when her tail crossed the busted roots knot. And then she found herself in a hollow without trees, where clover and other damp plants grew in. The land elevated softly beyond the glade. She turned around: the crack that she had just crossed divided the earthen wall. The tokota couldn’t say how it would have formed, or why the abrupt declivity of land remained as firm: Shouldn’t it have been worn or washed by rain? And the soil of the fissure just had fallen out of nothing? Either way, Silya was too upset to start thinking about geological changes. She sat in the grass, and then laid down plump, huffing. The plants released their characteristic bitter smell. She looked at the sky: it was almost completely dark, she had spent more time stuck in the crack of what she had thought. The first stars showed off dimly. The giant wolf closed her eyes. She was starting to notice how exhausted she was, after struggling with the roots and soil. Overall, the forelegs where burning of fatigue. She didn’t want to sleep, she had to return. Opened her eyes. The forest was still and silent; but the air seemed to be saying something without a sound. But she was so tired. Closed her eyes. She should return. Opened her eyes. A little light shining through the nearby trees. Closed her eyes. It was night, wanted to sleep, but had to return. She opened her eyes again. No, it wasn’t a mistake: sheltered in the shadows of the trees, floating almost shyly, shone a little light. Silya straightened, suddenly awake: pricked up her ears, sniffed the air, but perceived nothing but silence and night air. The small light flickered. The stained tokota got up and approached cautiously, both for fear of any danger and for the possibility of scaring the shiny thing. But she managed to approach to a step far from it without anything happening. The little light was white, like a fallen star, but a little fuzzier. It floated almost a meter above the ground. With more confidence, she raised her snout to sniff. But as soon as she touched it, the little flame flew off backwards; got some meters away and stayed there. It twinkled provocatively. Silya starting running after it, her curiosity was already bitten. The light fled floating, and Silya chased it trough the trees. She was totally focused on not losing it of sight; she didn’t see the other little sparkles that started to peek through the leaves, joined the race and formed a cloud of light behind her. Suddenly the trees disappeared: they had reached an huge glade, a kind of hole in the mass of treetops, where grew the grass and herbs. The wolf stopped abruptly, letting the little light escape from her, and the cloud coming from behind surpassed her, momentarily surrounding her in a sea of light. A little dazed, she watched more light clouds arising from all the corners of the glade, flying in rolling ways towards the center of the meadow, and from there, up at the sky. Her legs were shaking, and her fur bristled, but Silya was fascinated. She moved to the center of the glade. The flames that had risen higher mingled with the stars; the others continued to fly and then spread in a circle. Now they were moving a little slower than before, and dancing in spirals around her. They seemed to be thousands, millions. But there came a time when they ended the ascension; the last ones rose to the sky and scattered all over the place. They were quiet now, and more spaced, distributed in every grass blade, in the branches of the trees around, some still floating in the sky. Then, from the spot where each one had landed, they began scintillating. First one or two, then more, until them all were shining and fading at different times, drawing lines and waves effects. Silya ceased to be surprised. No, she never in her life had seen anything as strange as those lights… yet something seemed familiar, perhaps like fireflies. Whatever they were, she realized that they were part of the forest, something as normal as air or trees. Seeing the glade brightening by sectors, here a mass of grass, there an entire tree, a wave of light running from side to side, she thought that the movement of light could be the woods playing a game, a tree telling secrets to another. She laid down on the grass. She had found what the magical and mysterious thing of the forest was. She didn’t know what it was, but she was more than satisfied with everything she had seen. A little flame approached and floated up to her foreleg. The tokota felt no heat, nor weight, nor anything. The light seemed pleased, flickering from its new point.

Silya knew not when did she closed her eyes, lulled by the nocturnal breeze and the hypnotic patterns of light waves. She thought she had opened them for a moment in dreams, see the sky lightening up with the dawn colors, and the flames disappearing in the daylight. When she woke up completely, the sun had risen, and there was no sign of the little lights and their night celebration. Looked at her foreleg: the muddy paw with the coffee-with-milk colored mark didn’t look any different. She sat up, smiling to herself. If she told what she had seen to other tokotas, no one would believe her; They’d say that she was exaggerating, flying lil’lights dancing and playing in the woods? Other disbelievers and curious should explore the forest to discover the lights themselves… if they were lucky. Maybe, in order to find them, they should be caught in a crack before.

[stlgeekgirl]

Let me just start by saying: Yes, I originally reblogged the tumblr post thinking it would be cute for some sort of prompt.  Then @mikosarthouse spoke, my bunnies  (who adore her) listened, somehow Tad got involved and well...  2,600 words later, this is what happened.

“Explain to me exactly why you two oddballs want to go to IKEA?”  Rhonda asked, one eyebrow arched up in question. 

The idiots in question; namely Thaddeus Gumblethorpe and his partner in crime, Helga Pataki, were grinning widely. 

“Because,” Tad started as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.  “IKEA is like the Disney Land of home furnishing stores.  “It’s a day trip Rhon.  One Helga and I are planning to partake in.”

Rhonda’s gaze flicked between the two cautiously.  “I don’t trust the two of you together in an IKEA.  Separately, maybe but definitely not together.”

“Then come with us cupcake.”  Tad suggested.  Helga elbowed his side. 

“We’re going to explore,” she stated.  “She won’t let us explore.”

“If by explore you mean get kicked out within twenty minutes of getting in the building, then no, I won’t let you explore.  Neither will I go with both of you without backup.”  She pulled out her phone and began texting.  “I’m calling Arnold for backup.”

She was so focused on texting Arnold in order to forestall any possible problems that she missed Helga and Tad giving each other a subversive low five.

Arnold looked pensively at the ginormous blue and yellow square behemoth of a building. 

“I’m not sure about this.” 

Beside him Helga grinned at the approaching building.  “Did we mention it has a restaurant in it?  A restaurant Arnold!”

Tad spread his arms.  “Swedish meatballs…far as the eye can see.”

“And its own grocery store if you need even more Swedish meatballs.”  Helga added.  Tad nodded. 

“Because on cannot have enough Swedish meatballs.”

“Enough with the Swedish meatballs, you two!”  Rhonda exclaimed as she pulled into the closest parking space, which was still a long walk from the building. 

“They need a tram system.”  Helga remarked as they got of Rhonda’s car. 

“Nah, how would they fit all the packages on the tram system?”

“Take one person and have them come back with the car?”

Tad held up a finger but stopped.  “Hmmm.  You make a compelling point.”

Walking behind them, Arnold glance at Rhonda.  “Why did we agree to this again?”

“The two of them.  Alone.  In an IKEA.  Unsupervised.”

“Ah.  Right.”

They walked the half length of the parking lot to finally reach the front of the building.  As they took the escalator to the main entrance, Rhonda gave both Tad and Helga a hard look. 

“Behave yourselves.  Both of you.” 

The two looked at each other and then at Rhonda and Arnold. 

“It’s just an IKEA.  What could we possibly get into trouble over?”

“I suddenly feel an ominous feeling lingering around us.”  Arnold stated. 

  They reached the top of the second escalator and looked around. 

“Well?  Where to first?”  Arnold asked.  Helga and Tad barely glanced at the restaurant takin gin instead the marked walls and the signage above the entrances directing people in which way to go. 

“Backwards?”  Tad asked.  Helga grinned. 

“Backwards.”

The two headed the complete opposite direction of the arrows, heading towards the end of the store where the stairs that led to more department’s lay.  Arnold and Rhonda, not expecting the sudden change, hurried after them. 

“Wait!” 

They finally caught up with Tad and Helga in the bed area.  Helga was pushing down on mattress pads, fascinated with the slow rise and disappearance of her hand print.  Tad was perusing beds, stopping every once in a while to bounce on one.

“You think my parents would freak if I came home with several large boxes?”  he yelled out to Helga across the room. 

“You have to get one of these mattress pads.”  She yelled back, pushing down on another pad.  “These things are supposed to mold against your body, right?” 

“That’s the idea, yeah.”  Tad bounced on another bed before laying down on it. 

“So…if you have sex on it, does it hold the shape?  Like would anyone know just by looking at your mattress pad what your favorite position is?”

“Oh my God!”  Arnold rushed past a giggling Rhonda to pull Helga away from the mattress pads and more than one family giving her dirty looks.  “Helga!”

“That is a damn good question.”  Tad mused hopping off of one bed and heading towards another.  Rhonda sighed as she followed passing Arnold who was still tugging at Helga.   

“I thought sure mine would’ve been the first one to embarrass us.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hey Helga!”  Tad suddenly poked his head around a corner.  “You totally belong here.  Your name fits in perfectly with the entire store.  You’re like, the ultimate accessory.”

Helga suddenly grinned.  “I’m gonna go look at furniture.”  She said, easily slipping out of Arnold’s grasp and rushing-against the flow of foot traffic- towards the wardrobes.  Arnold gave Rhonda a helpless glance before following her. 

“And…I’m on my own.”  Rhonda muttered as she wandered around the corner in an effort to find Tad.  She turned another corner and stopped. 

He was lounging on one of the king-sized beds, arm propping up his head and giving her the come hither look.  Grinning mischievously, he lightly patted the mattress in front of him. 

“Honey, come join me.”

She huffed, folding her arms. 

“Thaddeus, if you don’t put your shirt on right now, I’m legitimately going to leave you here.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Last night was not in the middle of an IKEA store and no!”  she held up a finger as his eyes brightened at her comment.  “I am not coming here after hours to sleep with you.”

“Has the magic died cupcake?”

“Shirt. On. Now.”  She hissed.  Laughing, he pulled on his tee shirt and laid back down just as a sales person stepped around the corner. 

“Hi.  You two have any questions?”

Tad grinned at the man as Rhonda covered her face with a hand.  “No.  Just testing out the softness of the mattresses, trying to figure out if I could get away with a king-sized bedframe or not in my room.”

“We have several loft sized bed frames that will quite comfortably fit two people but can be fit into a loft sized apartment.”

Tad’s eyes sparkled as he jumped off the bed.  “Lead the way good man!”

  Arnold found Helga in a maze of wardrobes and dressers, muttering under her breath as she checked each tag, sometimes backtracking to look at one she’s just walked away from. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Trying to find the wardrobe that leads to Narnia.”  She said as she passed him for the fifth time.  He sighed, letting his head fall back so he could look at the ceiling.    She opened a wardrobe and stuck the entire top half of her body inside.

“Helga!”  he groaned.  She popped out and shut the door, eyes wide with excitement.  As she passed him this time, she grabbed his arm and tugged him along. 

“Now what are we doing?”  he asked, exasperated. 

“Looking.  Did you know I can’t pronounce a one of these names?”  She lifted the tag on a wardrobe.  “Like this.  Brimnes. Okay…well, that one was easy.  But there’s one around her called a Koppigges.”

“A…what?”

“A kopinhagenshiga.”  She shrugged and pulled him towards a dresser, picking up the tag.  He read it. 

“Helga, it says Koppang.”

“These words.  These are not American words.”

“Possibly because they’re Swedish?”

She wandered around, looking at more tags.  “New plan.  I’m gonna choose a random tag and whatever unfathomable word is on it, I’m gonna name our kid that.”

“Please stop.”  He begged.  She stopped in front of a wardrobe and picked up the tag. 

“Our first child will be named.”  She read the tag.  “Kullen.”

He frowned.  “That…actually isn’t too horrible.”

“Nope.”  Letting go of the tag, she headed back towards the dressers.  “Sounds too much like a Twilight name, I’m not naming my imaginary kid after a Twilight character.”

“Wait.  You’ll name our firstborn after a piece of Swedish made furniture but you won’t name them after a character in a book?”

“I have standards Arnold.  Ah ha!”  She stopped at a white dresser and picked up the tag.  “How about…Trysil.”

“Again.  Not horrible.”

“Kind of Game of Thrones.  I could work with it.  Oh wait.”  Turning, she picked up another tag.  “Dyfjord!  Perfect!”

“No!”

“But Arnold…”

“I am not going to name our imaginary first born Dyfjord!  And why am I even arguing this point with you?”  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the furniture section.  “I’ve half a mind to just lock you in one of the wardrobes…”

“Oh!  Maybe that way the doorway to Narnia will open.  Let’s do it!”

“Helga!”

  She lost him around design room number three.  He took one look at the kitchen area and looked heartbroken, his lower lip wobbling before he rushed out and headed towards one of the design children’s rooms.  She could hear him wailing further down the path and for once was torn between looking at the design rooms, honestly, some of the rooms were just amazing and she’d love to own a kitchen exactly like it or trying to find her darling little madman. 

She did a little of both.  Halfway through the room, she finally found him in the loft living rooms- how to make an entire design plan home out of 700 square feet- sitting on a couch with a book in his hand, looking devastated.    Sighing, she sat on the couch next to him. 

“What?”

He merely looked at her, lower lip stuck out and quivering.  She merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

“Tad, you have got to stop crying about all the rooms.”

He sniffed once before wailing.  “I can’t help it!  Most of them don’t have windows and all their books are in Swedish, it’s so tragic!”

He fell onto his side onto the couch, sending a couple of people in the room looking into titters.  Rhonda just sighed again, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Tad, they’re design rooms.”  She said. 

“They never even got the chance to be real rooms!”  he wailed from his spot on the couch, still clutching the book to his chest.  “Maybe they don’t want to be pretend rooms, maybe all they want is to have real people living in them to make them feel whole.”

“I can’t believe I’m feeling bad for a design room.”  One person muttered to his partner as they passed the couch.  Tad stroked the couch beneath his cheek. 

“Don’t worry, you’re a real room to me.”  He said to the couch.  “I’ll make you real, you’ll see.”

“Oh for Godssake!”  Rhonda exclaimed, standing up. 

Tad sniffed again.  “Helga would understand me.”

Rhonda whipped out her phone and began texting.  “And I’m going to get Helga up here right now to sort this out.  This is just getting ridiculous.”

   Somehow they’d made it downstairs.

Arnold had no idea where Tad and Rhonda were, but he currently found himself staring at a college dorm desk set up that he might have been slightly jealous of.  He should really text Rhonda to see where they’d run off too but he really liked this desk.  And Helga had since gone quiet and wasn’t running around like a woman on a mission as she had been upstairs so he was counting it as a temporary win.

However…

It had been really quiet.

Leaving his dream desk set up, he wandered around the other design rooms trying to find Helga.  He finally found her in the middle of six or seven desks, studying each one as if trying to weigh a decision. 

“Hey,” he said, sliding up behind her and dropping a kiss on her cheek.  “What are you doing?”

Her eyes narrowed in thought for a moment before she answered.  “I’m wondering which of them you’d look best pinned aga-“

His eyes widened and he jumped forward, slapping his hand over her mouth before she could finish her sentence.  Her own gaze widened as she stared at him over his hand.  He could feel the blush rising on his cheeks from her words.  The blush deepened when he felt her smile against his hand and suddenly realized that in his haste to shut her up before she could finish that sentence, he’d inadvertently placed himself between her and a desk and had effectively given her an answer to her query.  She moved his hand from her mouth, not letting it go, the smile still on her lips. 

“While you do look good in this position, this is not the desk.”

His phone rang in his pocket, interrupting any further comments and he gratefully pulled it from his pocket, moving away from the desk as he read the text.

 Get over to the loft design rooms!  Tad’s distraught over imaginary rooms!

 “Come on, we have to go save Rhonda from a distraught Tad.”

“But I have six more desks to test.”  Helga protested as he pulled her through the kitchenware section. 

“Later,” he said absently, blushing again when he realized what he’d just agreed to.  Helga chuckled. 

“I’m holding you to that football head.”

 They found Rhonda standing just outside the design room for loft living, looking frustrated. 

“What the…”  Arnold asked as Helga wandered into the design room.   “I have no idea, I found him in here clutching a book and wailing about how these never got a chance to be real rooms.”  She said as they entered in after Helga.  The blonde sat on the couch next to the still sniffling Tad and handed him a melon baller. 

“Here.  I found you something.”

Rhonda and Arnold just looked at each other helplessly.  Tad looked at the silver instrument and took it, sitting up. 

“That’s so sweet.  Where did you find this?”

“Downstairs.”

His eyes widened.  “There’s a downstairs?”

“Yep.  With desks and all sorts of utensils and an entire area with pillows and towels I didn’t even get to.”

“Hey, how about meatballs?’  Rhonda interrupted, not about to allow either of them into an accessories area, especially if there were pillows involved.  They’d managed not to get kicked out so far.  Arnold looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. 

“Would you prefer the two of them in an area with decorative pillows?” she hissed.  His eyes widened and he looked back at them grinning. 

“All the meatballs.  And Lingonberry juice.”

Helga and Tad looked at each other. 

“What about my melon baller?”

“Take it with you.”

“Okay.”

The book was tossed haphazardly onto the couch as Tad stood up, melon baller in hand, following Helga, Rhonda and Arnold towards the restaurant. 

    “Today was the best day ever!”  Helga announced as they headed back to the car.  After several hours inside the story they managed to leave with only one melon baller for Tad and three large bars of Swedish chocolate for Helga.   After eating lunch in the restaurant, Rhonda and Arnold managed to get the other two past the accessories area and only had to go through the lighting area- where they got held up while Helga and Tad played with rope lights- before making it to the checkout and out the door. 

“Sadly, there were a couple of things that caught my eye.”  Rhonda told Arnold quietly while keeping an eye on the two people in front of them who were discussing the practical purposes of a melon baller.  “I wouldn’t mind coming back here…without those two.”

Arnold nodded.  “Truth be told, I kind of covet this entire dorm desk setup they have that I would love to have in my room.  You think maybe we could sneak back here one day?”

“I think that could be arraigned.”  She looked at the Tad and Helga who were now sharing one of Helga’s chocolate bars.  “I’d ask why we bother with these two when they act like children sometimes.”

“Because our lives would be boring without them.”  Arnold answered.  Rhonda smiled. 

“Hey Arnold,”  Helga said as they approached.  “I need to take a look at your desk.”

He could feel the blush come back.  “We’ll talk about it later.”

[pun-master-logan]

Travelers’ Cave

Summary: Theia au, Logan, Patton, Virgil, and Janus are travelers picked up by Roman before a big storm, taking them back to the cave he and Remus reside in for the night

***

"Remus," Roman called out as he entered the cave. "Guess what? I picked up a couple wonders outside."

"Really?" Remus said as he saw Roman and four strangers moving towards the warm fire. He observed the newcomers with curiosity. There was a werewolf, an alf, a dwarf, and a sprite. "Not a lot of people come here this close to the deep snow, in less than a cycle, you'll be trapped here until the thaw."

"I'm well aware," the alf said. "I was on a supply run to Veven's Peak when I...ran into trouble."

"Looters?" Remus assumed based on the lack of supplies.

"Yes," the alf said.

"Is it just you two here?" the sprite asked.

"This old cave has been mined for all it's worth if that's what your asking," Roman said.

"Why stay here then? I thought you people were all about community," the sprite said.

"Vampires?" the dwarf asked, confused.

"White Landers," the sprite said, seeming just as confused.

"An avalanche buried our crew, this was the closest shelter," Roman said.

"I'm so sorry," the werewolf said.

"At least we're alive," Remus said.

"Are you hungry, we have food and water to spare," Roman said.

"I really should be going," the werewolf said. "I joining up with a small crew a fere of mine told me about."

"You aren't traveling in this weather," the alf said. "There's going to be massive snowfall soon."

"The alf is right," Roman said.

"Logan," the alf said.

"Roman."

"I'm Patton," the werewolf said.

"Virgil," the dwarf said, a bit quiet.

They all looked at the sprite, who stayed silent.

"You Plains Tribe or something?" Remus asked.

The sprite looked at Remus, studying him. Slowly, he shifted his form to match the vampire. Virgil took a step back.

"A changeling, cool," Remus said. "I always wished I was born a changeling."

"I never tried vampire on before," the sprite said.

"You never told us your name," Virgil said. "Are you Plains Tribe then? You people don't share names, right?"

The sprite looked at Virgil, shifting into his form briefly, before shifting back to his original self.

"Not a fan," he said.

"If you don't have a name, can I name you?" Remus asked. "I'm thinking Deceit because of the whole changeling thing."

"Is it fun changing into other people Deceit?" Roman asked.

"No, not doing this, just call me by my name, Janus," the sprite said. "Deceit is the dumbest name I've ever heard."

"So you aren't from the plains then?" Virgil asked.

"That much was obvious," Logan said. "He has a northern accent, it slips through, though he tries to cover it."

Janus looked him over. "I don't like you."

"I would assume not, your people are prepping for war against mine, and considering your a changeling, I'm guess you're in the south spying."

Janus morphed into an alf sized shape, standing slightly taller than Logan. "Say that again."

Patton got in between them. "Let's not fight, we're all stuck here until the snow stops, so let's try and get along until then."

"That won't be until morning," Roman said.

"Until morning then." Patton took a step back. "We're all travelers here, well most of us, lets sit by the fire, eat, and tell our tales of how we got here to entertain each other."

"I love that idea," Roman said.

They all gathered by the fire.

"I'll go first," Patton said. "I'm from one of the Plains Tribes actually, a small western tribe near the Great Forest, semi-nomadic, we aren't like the eastern tribes, people names aren’t sacred, only the gods. A fere of mine, who I grew up with, he came to the White Lands looking for riches like a lot of people do, my tribe, it's poor, a lot of suffering, he returned, oh, a cycle, cycle and a half ago, told us how well he was doing, invited us to join him, I had things I needed to get in order, but I said I'd be up before the deep snow."

"Fascinating," Janus said sarcastically.

"Thank you," Patton said.

"I don't have much of a tale," Logan said. "My village trades with the various villages here, like I said before, I was on my way to Veven's Peak when I was hit by looters."

“At least you weren’t hurt,” Patton said.

“Yes, that is a fortunate thing,” Logan said.

“What about you two?” Patton asked.

"Remus and I," Roman began. "We were born in a small village somewhere up here, who knows where, like most people in The White Lands, our parents didn't stay in one place very long, always moving."

"We joined up with our crew, what, three harvests ago?" Remus said.

"Four."

"Right."

"You were born here?" Virgil said.

"Yeah," Remus said.

"I didn't think people stayed here permanently," Virgil said.

"Some do, some don't," Roman said. "Same can be say for any place."

"Well, expect the Delta," Remus said.

Virgil suck into himself. "You know."

"We've run into a couple Deltans here and there, not many, but the accent, it's distinct."

"What got you to leave? Aren't you all taught to believe us outsiders are bad?" Patton asked.

"That's why I left," Virgil said. "I didn't think that was true."

"But don't you?" Janus said. "I saw you cower when I shifted, every Deltan I've ever met has, and I've seen the way you look at Patton, you're scared of werewolves, aren't you?"

"Are you?" Patton asked.

"You can't blame Virgil for that," Logan said. "Bad teachings can linger, but they're here, so clearly they're fighting against it."

"They're? What does that mean?" Virgil asked.

"It's a pronoun, like he or she or xe," Logan said.

"But who's it for?" Virgil asked.

"I don't understand the question," Logan said.

"Who does the word refer to?"

"Anyone," Logan said.

"You have a lot to learn, dwarf," Janus said.

"And why are you here?" Roman asked.

"That's my business," Janus said.

"We told you our stories," Patton said.

"That doesn't mean I have to tell you mine."

"I knew it, you are a spy," Logan said.

Janus expression turned stone.

"Ow," Patton said, pulling everyone's attention.

"Something wrong?" Logan asked.

"It's nothing, just pain from shifting,” Patton said.

“It hurts?” Janus was surprised to hear that.

Patton groaned in pain. “Choosing to shift and your body forcing you into a shift are very different.”

“Wait, so you’re turning into a wolf like right now,” Virgil said, tensing.

“It’s early for me, but yeah, probably.”

“I bet he eats you first, dwarf,” Remus said with a laugh.

Roman smacked Remus over the head. “Knock it off.”

“Werewolves don’t eat people, I’m as gentle in my wolf form as I am in this form.” Patton grimaced. “I’m going  to go be alone for a moment.”

Patton walked deeper into the cave. Everyone stayed close to the fire to stay warm.

“He’s definitely safe to be around?” Virgil asked.

“Werewolf is as violent in wolf form as they are in normal form and Patton doesn’t seem violent,” Logan said.

They didn’t do much for a while. Small talk that didn’t go anywhere. Nibbled on food that tasted stale. Listen to the storm roar outside.

After a while, they heard footsteps down the cave. They looked to see Patton, now a large black wolf, with white tuffs on his chest. He sniffed the air, walking closer to the group. Virgil back up to a corner. Logan got up and walked over to him.

“Feeling better?” he asked, putting out a hand. Patton rubbed against. Logan turned to Virgil. “See, not dangerous.”

Patton took a few steps towards the mouth of the cave.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Remus said. “Storm’s really roaring, even with all that fur, it’s too cold.”

Patton whimpered and turned away from the exit. He looked over to Virgil. Virgil watched him as he took a step forward. Patton then laid down, watching Virgil. It took Virgil a moment to realize what Patton was doing. He was inviting Virgil to come closer.

Cautiously, Virgil stood up. He was slow walking over. Patton was much bigger than him.

“Hello Patton,” Virgil said.

Patton’s ears perked up. Virgil put out his hand like Logan had. Patton rubbed against it. He felt soft and warm. He was very gentle too.

“We should probably sleep,” Logan said. “Patton, do you mind if we sleep next to you for warmth?”

Patton barked and wagged his tail. Everyone laid down next to him, falling asleep to the sound of the raging storm.

***

Like Theia? It’s the setting of an original series of mine, you can check out the tag for it on my main blog or you can go to World Anvil, where there are character sheets, setting descriptions, and original stories!

I take constructive criticism