#scales all over my arms really tiny all of them and the colours were grey

[ariiii33]

How my brain feels after giving me the most grotesque dream that i will remember until i die

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: For The Love of Fests (Part 1)

Love at Second Sight January 2021:

Second Time's the Charm by floorcoaster - T, one-shot - The first time Hermione sees Draco Malfoy again, she's in for a surprise.

Influence by Misdemeanor1331 - G, one-shot - Draco and Hermione bump into each other at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Draco thinks it’s a chance encounter. Hermione knows it’s anything but.

The Love Boat by Seakays - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger and her two best friends are embarking on a week long "Divorced Magicals" Cruise. Hermione took advantage of the Cruise's pre cruise chat room, where she met Scorly1203. After six months of texting, she has agreed to meet him on the first day of the cruise. Could she really find a second chance at love on the Lido Deck?

Second Time Lucky by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - During a trip to Weasley Wizard Wheezes, what do you do when presented with a second chance?

In Vino Veritas by beautyberry - M, one-shot - "Granger?" he asked disbelievingly. "Malfoy?" she asked, "What are you doing here?" Rated M for mentions of sex.

The Art of Second Chances by Blessedindeed - not rated, one-shot - A chance encounter at the museum brings up unresolved feelings

What Lies Beyond the Light by SlytherinHermione - M, one-shot - The thing about prisons is that it tends to change a you. The person you were when you went in, will not be the person that comes out. Sometimes for the better, oftentimes for the worst. For Draco Malfoy, the scales were tipped when a certain lawyer forced themselves onto his case with the start of one letter. A letter that turned into the type of correspondence where you end up baring your soul to a stranger. A stranger that ends up knowing every little part of you, from the darkest corners, to the sunniest fields - while barely knowing you at all. But then again, Hermione Granger was never really a stranger to begin with.

Silly Love Songs February 2021:

This Beauty By My Side by Amarillis39 - M, one-shot - My entry to the Silly Love Songs Fest. ____ "But as he watched her glide through the crowd, he decided he would take every second she would give him. Worthy or not, he was still a selfish git." ___ It's another stuffy gala at the Ministry and Draco is overcome with conflicting feelings as he watches Hermione in her element.

The Light That You Shine by SlytherinHermione - M, one-shot - Draco was adrift. All around him was an endless, unforgiving ocean, dull and grey in colour.  The waves kept crashing in on him. Back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes he felt like he’d been cursed to remain like a graying tower, alone on the sea. This all changed on a random cold winter day and a bright light. Because what followed the light was as unexplainable as the feeling of calm that suddenly enveloped him. He felt a twinge of something that he couldn’t explain. On the other side of the sidewalk stood Hermione Granger, more beautiful than he could remember, locking eyes with him for a second, as if she herself was caught with him inside of this time bubble filled with light and large, fluffy snowflakes. And with a blink of an eye, she walked the other way, as if this was just another Monday. As if she hadn’t just turned Draco's world up-side down. The tumultuous oceans that surrounded his untethered soul were full of waves, but now of a different kind.

Discord by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - “I’ve seen your darkest, and it doesn’t scare me. You’ve become something so much more.” She placed a gentle kiss on his jaw. “I love you, dark and all.”

Time to Spare by Willowfairy - M, one-shot - Draco gets drunk enough to finally tell Hermione how he really feels, and once he starts talking he finds it impossible to stop.

Sometimes When We Touch by sodamnrad - T, one-shot - What if Hermione and Draco were dating when he took the Dark Mark? Submission for the Silly Loves Songs Mini-Fest One shot | Draco's POV | Sixth Year

To Be With You by Blessedindeed - not rated, one-shot - Her ability to show forgiveness intrigues him. Draco finds he has a soft spot for Hermione.

Masquerade March 2021:

Punch Line by tygermine - E, one-shot - Hermione seems to hide behind multiple masks.Draco wants to remove them all.

A Deadly Dance by MykEsprit - T, one-shot - An unexpected guest arrives at the ball. Dramione.

Ask it of Me by WritingFicariously - T, one-shot - Hermione has always had the ability to chase away demons, the darkness that twists his mind into believing he is not good, never enough. She sees and knows every part of him. But Draco has always kept one thing from her, one secret that he never dared say aloud. Until he did.

A Masquerade of Body and Soul by Annav94 - M, one-shot - She’s here to escape the reality, to break the rules. She is here to break the rules because all rules have only given her, is false hope. She turns her head and her eyes meet his. He’s there for the catch of the night. And while he finds himself smirking, smiling at the unforeseen turn of event, he wonders if truly Hermione Granger is flirting in a room full of witnesses with none other than himself - the infamous Draco Malfoy.

Imbolc by CosmicCthulhu - G, one-shot - Hermione celebrates the beginning of spring for the first time, years after the war. She's not the only one who wants a fresh start.

Suit Up by calico_kitten - M, 2 chapters - Gawain Robards has cooked up a new idea for the Departmental Hallowe'en Ball: comic book hero disguises!

This Mask I Wear by SlytherinHermione  - T, one-shot - This mask I wear feels cool on my skin. I slip it on, and the act is ready to begin.Safety. Protection. Freedom.

Lover of Fiction April 2021:

3 Words, 8 Letters by sodamnrad - T, 2 chapters - “Do you like me?” Draco’s flitty looks, his tart remarks about her feelings for Blaise, the way he’s following her around instead of chasing an eligible witch who isn’t pining over his friend is extremely telling.“Define like.”Her mouth unhinges. No effing way. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”“How do you think I feel?” He glares at her. “I haven’t slept. I feel sick like there’s something in my stomach, fluttering.” He presses a hand against his belly, as if he’s experiencing the sensation at this very moment.“Butterflies?” she deadpans. “No. No, no, no this cannot be happening.”“No one is more surprised or ashamed than I am.” He gestures to himself, lifting his chin tersely.“Draco, you know that I adore all of Earth’s creatures and the metaphors that they inspire,” she says as her hand forms a crushing fist, “but the butterflies have got to be murdered.”---Draco & Hermione: Their Story (2000s TV Drama Style)Dual POV | 2 Shot | Idiots in Love

The Ambition by In_Dreams - M, one-shot - After ten years at sea, Captain Hermione Granger has a ship and a crew of her own. But one of her new crew mates is a blacksmith from her past. Dramione Pirates AU.

Jitters by TheMourningMadam - M, one-shot - This was written for the Lovers of Fiction mini fest for April. Thank you to QuinTalon for being a gracious host in this fest.My prompt was Jamie and Claire Fraser from Outlander. If you have never seen Outlander, why not? You at least need to watch their first time to see some hot and bewildered Jamie. This is a tiny snapshot into what would be a much larger story, so please take it at face value.Also, I finished this story right at the wire, so didn't have time for a beta. All mistakes are obviously my own and I apologize. Bold sentences are word for word from the tv show.

I Meant Something Like That by CharliPetidei - M, WIP - “You know what’s funny?” said Hermione, crossing her ankles and leaning forwards on the slightly peeling leather sofa. “When I first saw your advert online… I thought you were Hufflepuffs.” The three men opposite her exchanged glances, and then the tall, platinum blond one (it had to be dyed, right?) with the funny name leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. Draco, that was it. “You thought we were what?” A New Girl Dramione AU.

The One Where Everyone Finds Out - Dramione Edition by Annav94 - T, WIP - Don’t we all know what happened when Phoebe finds out about Monica and Chandler in season 5 of Friends? Well, what would then happen if it was Draco and Hermione to be discovered by Pansy? Would then Theo try to calm her down, in the hope that she would stop screaming so his boyfriend (Harry bloody Potter, of all people) would be prevented from finding out about them is such crude way? And would Blaise go along with the scheme the two Slytherins would come up with to push the new couple to expose itself or will he be done with all the ‘pretending’ of not knowing, when he knew all along?Stay with me on this journey called: ‘The One Where Everyone Finds Out - Dramione Edition’.

The Dragon's Moving Castle by SlytherinHermione - T, WIP - Hermione Granger had accepted that her life wasn't going to be a great big adventure.She wasn't particularly beautiful, or interesting, and she hadn't been born with magic like her sisters. Really, she was just as plain as could be.One day though, a castle was seen rolling around the hills near her town.Not long after, she met a strange, handsome, and mysterious man.And she was cursed by the Wicked Witch of the Wasteland.Perhaps life was an adventure after all.

Lanky Brunettes with Wicked Jaws by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - “You’ve got types?”“Only you darling.” He put his hand under her chin and brought her around to face him. He pulled her close with his arm held tight against her.  His head to the side of her own, he grinned. “Lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.” A gentle kiss placed against her jaw. She smiled, a blush prettying her cheeks as she pulled back.

Reader, I Married Him by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - “Why must you?” he questioned as he pulled himself forward, using the rough pads of his fingers he gently touched under her chin, dragging her gaze to his own. “You know why!” She wrenched her chin from his grasp. “You are to be married, Malfoy.”

This fest is ongoing.

[jaskierswolf]

What Form Love Takes

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier return once again to Kaer Morhen, only this time they're travelling high in the skies.

- Can be read as stand-alone - Part 8 of my Shapeshifter!Jaskier AU

CW: Non-sexual/non-graphic nudity (they take a bath)

___________

The fire in Jaskier’s lungs burned as he flew over the mountains. Another year on the path had come and gone. Winter was creeping in, a slow frost carpeting the Continent, tendrils reaching further south with each day. Both Jaskier and Geralt were anxious to return to their home in the Blue Mountains. They’d spent most of the year searching for Yennefer of Vengerberg with no success. Sorceresses were funny people and hard to track down. Jaskier had no doubt that the witch would turn up when she was ready. He roared as the crumbling keep came into sight, a pillar of flames bursting free from his lungs. The colours of the flame danced in front of his eyes, more vibrant in this form than any other. He could see the heat haze rippling through the air and he had to resist the urge to dive and spin through the air, dancing in the waves his flame had created.

But he had a rather fragile witcher on his back who would not be able to hold on if he were to dive the way he wanted. Geralt’s arms already had a death grip around his neck and the flight had been pretty steady so far. He heard his mate groan and felt the slight pressure of Geralt’s head pressing into his scales.

He snorted a smoke ring and flew through it. Flying was a phenomenal feeling. Geralt was just whining for the sake of it.

“Jask…”

Jaskier snorted again. There wasn’t much else he could say to his darling mate in this form without using telepathy, and he had never quite mastered that skill. He had a habit of barrelling into memories instead of placing his thoughts in the other’s mind. So he preferred to avoid it. Instead he just sniffed the air. The scent of roasted venison hit his senses, making his stomach rumble. He peered out over the horizon, a small smoke stack was puffing above the keep. Vesemir already had dinner on the go. Jaskier let out a happy rumble, not too dissimilar to a purr, and he felt Geralt’s finger brush the scales of his neck.

“What have you seen?” Geralt asked, still sounding a little queasy from their flight from Oxenfurt.

He pointed his snout towards the keep that was growing larger the closer they approached. Geralt should be able to see it now with his witcher senses.

“Kaer Morhen,” Geralt hummed and Jaskier nodded. He resisted the urge to dive towards their home. Instead he started a slower descent. When they got closer he still he began to circle the keep, getting lower with every turn.

He roared when he spotted Eskel and Vesemir waiting for the in the courtyard, another pillar of fire tore through the sky before he landed with a heavy thud on the ground. The two witchers waved them down.

“Always a dramatic entrance, bard,” Eskel laughed, reaching out his hand so that Jaskier could bump his snout against the palm of Eskel’s hand.

“We were late setting off.”

“We were starting to worry,” Vesemir huffed, arms crossed in front of his chest. Jaskier felt a swell of bitter pride in his chest. How dare this witcher insinuate that he couldn’t look after his mate? He was a dragon! He let out a low snarl, warmth heating up in his lungs.

“Easy, Jask,” Geralt rubbed the back of his neck in a warning. It wasn’t enough to incapacitate him but it did send a slight ripple of warmth down his spine. He blinked, forcing down his more draconic urges, and focussed on the voice of his mate. “Where’s Lambert?” Geralt asked, not removing his grip from Jaskier’s neck.

“He got caught up in Nilfgaard with that cat of his,” Vesemir grunted “they’re alive.”

Jaskier snorted, tail flicking against the ground. He was looking forward to having his family back together again, the disappointment was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t fair. They already had to walk the path alone throughout the year and now he couldn’t even see them for winter. Geralt must have sensed his distressed as he nuzzled his face against Jaskier’s neck.

“Wintering in Nilfgaard seems pretty cushy to me,” Eskel noted. “A lot less cold.”

Jaskier hissed at the blond witcher, earning himself a laugh from Geralt. “We miss them too, Jask.”

“We’ll get together in the summer for one of the festivals?” Eskel suggested. “There’s always plenty of contracts around then, I think the wine gets to everyone’s head.”

“Good idea.”

Jaskier let out a rumble of agreement before shaking Geralt from his back. The smell of venison in this form was too much, it was making him hungry and he had to dig his craws into the stones to stop himself from charging through the keep to the kitchens. He needed to change from this form, and fast.

Geralt landed next to him and pulled off the makeshift saddlebags with their belongs. Jaskier closed his eyes, letting his magic loose, rippling out in waves over the shiny red scales until pink skin morphed back into view. He landed on his hands and knees on the stone, the chill of the mountainous winter breeze quickly seeping into his bones. “Bollocks,” he hissed and launched himself into Geralt’s waiting arms. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Geralt chuckled and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, shielding him from the wind. Jaskier felt the press of Geralt’s lips on his hair and he sighed happily. The wind might be like shards of ice cutting into his skin but his lover was attentive and Jaskier felt safe in his arms. “We’ve had a long journey, we’ll be down for dinner,” Geralt told the oldest witcher before pulling Jaskier inside the keep. They dumped their bags in the entrance hall before making a beeline for the hot springs that lay deep within the keep, the only part of the building that remained unscathed from the battles of so long ago.

Jaskier shivered violently in Geralt’s arms. He should have transformed into something with fur first but he’d been stuck without words as they flew over the continent for hours, barely taking a break.  His back and shoulder were aching from the journey, a phantom pain where his wings had been. The hot springs would do wonders for the aches. “H. Home,” he stammered through chattering teeth.

Geralt hummed, fingers rubbing circles into his upper arm as they walked. The corridors grew darker as they walked further down, soon the light from the windows and cracks in the wall faded away and the only light left was the glow from the torches along the wall. Geralt held his hand out in front of them, a tiny little ball of fire in his palm. It wasn’t much but the heat from the flames was blissful.

Fuck, humans really weren’t meant for the winters of Kaer Morhen. This year must have been colder than usual, as Jaskier could have sworn that he could usually at least stand outside long enough to strip out of his clothes, perhaps the weariness from the journey had worn him down more than he thought. Now that he thought about it he eyes were starting to droop and Geralt was practically carrying him through the corridors.

“‘M tired…”

“I know.”

Jaskier wanted to make a joke about Geralt’s ever eloquent ways but his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. Bath, food and a good sleep. That’s what he wanted.

The air was thick with steam as they pushed the door open into the springs. Jaskier sighed happily as the heat prickled against his skin. He took one look at the pools of water and shifted. Geralt’s hand reached up to hold his medallion as Jaskier’s magic whipped out around them, the crack of bones bouncing off the walls. The room grew bigger and he fell to the ground on four paws, scratching against the wet stones as he scurried to the water’s edge. He chosen this form well. He knew he was too tired to bathe without falling asleep and he would really rather not drown. He squeaked up at Geralt before diving into the water.

It was warm, hotter than the water he’d usually have liked in this form. The otters of this species were used to cold open sea water but he wanted to float. He swam under the water for a while, letting the warmth seep into his fur before breaching the surface. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, keeping his paws tucked into his chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled and Jaskier felt himself float a little further, the water rippling as Geralt finally joined him. “We can’t stay here for too long, love.”

Jaskier squeaked, not opening his eyes. He would stay here forever if he could.

“Are otters really that fluffy?”

Another squeak, and he cracked one eye open to glare at Geralt. His anger didn’t last long when he saw the look Geralt was giving him. It was unbearably fond, head tilted and a soft smile on his face. His hair had come loose from the leather hair tie on the back of his head, and water was clinging to his chest, caught in the dark grey tuffs of hair. Jaskier felt a swell of love in his heart, it was almost too much. He’d spent so many years worrying that he would never find a partner that would accept his true self, hiding his magic away like it was a dirty secret. If he felt himself falling in love then he would sneak out of the window in the dead of night, never to return.

He’d been convinced that no one would ever love him when they knew what he was, and he wasn’t willing to give his heart away to someone that couldn’t accept him. Geralt had blown past all those walls in an instant, and somehow Jaskier had managed to worm his way past the witcher’s own defences, finding both a lover and a new pack to call his own.

He pushed at the water with his paws and floated over to where Geralt was sat at the edge of the pools, he didn’t want to lose Geralt. He couldn’t loose Geralt. He reached out to his partner with his paws, with a quiet squeak.

“I love you too,” Geralt breathed in a soft voice, like he was in awe of Jaskier. As if the witcher wasn’t the most incredible creature on the whole Continent.

Geralt let Jaskier hold onto one of his fingers, tiny paws wrapping around the digit as if it were a lifeline. Jaskier chattered happily before closing his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion wash over him. He was safe, he was home, and Geralt wouldn’t let him float away.

He woke up to a gentle rocking movement, his face pressed against Geralt’s chest as the witcher carried him back to his room. He blinked, flicking his tail out behind him. It was only when he started purring that he realised he’d shifted forms in his sleep. His ears flicked out and he pawed at Geralt’s shirt.

“You only changed once I picked you up,” Geralt answered his unasked question, scratching him gently behind the ears. “I don’t think cats like the water very much.”

Jaskier meowed softly and nuzzled against Geralt’s chest. A gentle bite against Geralt’s collar was all the warning the witcher got before he let his magic ripple out over his skin. Geralt grunted under the sudden weight of the human in his arms, changing his hold so Jaskier was being carried bridal style up to their rooms. “Hey,” he mumbled sleepily “how long was I out?”

“Nearly an hour. Vesemir came to find us a few minutes ago. he’s keeping our food warm.”

Jaskier yawned and then pressed his lips to Geralt’s shoulder, sadly now covered by the tattered black shirt he wore under his armour. “I love you, darling.”

Geralt’s laughed rumbled in his chest and Jaskier smiled, still half asleep, as he buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s hand cradled the back of his neck, carding through his hair, and Jaskier was asleep again in seconds.

The next time he woke they were back in Geralt’s bedroom, the witcher was now fully dressed in his thick winter clothes that the witchers preferred to wear in the evenings once training was done for the day. Jaskier was buried under thick furs on their bed, still naked. A roaring fire was blazing in the hearth, filling the room with its heat. “Dinner?” he asked as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. His stomach rumbled as if to repeat his question.

Geralt chuckled and crossed the room to kiss him on the top of his head. “Ready when you are.”

His stomach growled again and he grinned sheepishly. “I’m starving,” he whined. “why did you let me sleep?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You just flew us halfway across the Continent, Jask, you needed the rest.”

“But I’m hungry,” he pouted.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Bloody bards, never win.”

Jaskier grinned and pulled his boyfriend into a kiss, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands. “Au contraire, my love, I think you win every single day.”

“So modest,” the witcher grumbled against his lips, rubbing their noses together.

“You love me,” he purred.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier giggled and kissed Geralt again, lazily, pouring all his love into the kiss, but he blasted stomach rumbled again before the kiss could get anywhere. He whined as he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s. The witcher laughed, stroking a thumb along his cheek. “Let’s go find the others,” Geralt suggested.

“Hmm,” Jaskier replied, still pouting then with a heavy sighed he pushed Geralt away. “fine, spoilsport. Just let me get dressed first.”

Both Eskel and Vesemir were finished with their food by the time Geralt and Jaskier made it downstairs. Jaskier was wrapped up in thick wool lined clothes, a vibrant turquoise compared to Geralt’s dark navy blue ones. It wasn’t as thick as the fur he could have but he really did want to say hello to his family properly. He’d not seen Vesemir since last winter and they’d only run into Eskel once on the path.

“Greetings,” he waved at the two witchers “sorry we’re late.”

“He fell asleep again.”

“Well I’m sorry! You’re the one that lost Roach in a game of Gwent. It’s not my fault we had to fly all the way here.”

Geralt’s growled at the reminder. He’d been so sure that he could beat the arsehole but the bastard had cheated and they’d practically been run out of town, leaving Roach behind. Eskel gave a full bellied laugh, his tankard of ale crashing onto the table. “I wondered what had happened to her, it was a little soon to be replacing her.”

“She’s not dead,” Geralt grumbled, shooting daggers at Jaskier.

“We’ll find you a new horse in the spring, dearest of hearts,” he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes at his lover in attempt to soothe his anger.

“Not the point.”

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier laughed, pulling his plate of food towards him. It was venison, of course, with thick gravy and roasted vegetables. On the side was a freshly baked roll, now a cold sadly but he really had needed to rest so he wasn’t too upset. “Grumpy witcher.”

Geralt growled again, which only made Jaskier laugh and this time Eskel and Vesemir joined in. Jaskier reached across the table to poked Geralt on the nose. “You know you don’t scare me, love.”

“Hmm.”

The dining hall echoed with the laughter of witchers, and for a brief moment Jaskier could imagine what Kaer Morhen had been like before the siege; full of witchers, brothers in arms, loyal friends and family. It made his heart ache. As much as he adored his pack, they didn’t deserve the pain of losing so many. Contrary to popular belief, these wonderfully kind beings were not meant to be alone.

He gazed around at his family, a pang of regret that Lambert and Aiden were not with them for the winter, and smiled fondly. He took Geralt’s hand under the table. The witcher raised an eyebrow at him but he shook his head. There were no words to describe this feeling, the warmth in his chest for finding the place that he belonged, the bitter pain of yearning. So many different and conflicting emotions in one single moment. How could he possibly find the words that could encompass all of that? He settled for holding Geralt’s hand under the table as they ate, joking and laughing with their family as if they’d never been away.

_____

Next

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (26) || atz

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Dreams flash through your mind, juxtaposed with reality and hallucinations. You can no longer tell what is true or not, simply choosing to accept them all as you continue falling endlessly into nothingness.

You sit on a rock in a small cove. Men and women clamour around you in the water, tails flickering in beautiful jewel tones as they eagerly offer you all sorts of precious gifts, mother of pearl, a beautiful bouquet of colourful anemone, a silvered shell. You laugh and accept them, your tail shimmering with silver scales under the sun.

You feel a hand holding yours, cool metal brushing your soft skin. A pair of lips, soft and warm, brushes against your temple.

“Wake up soon, alright?”

Storms rage all around you. The sea heaves with massive, turbulent waves, the water grey with froth and lightning flashes. You scream with rage, despair, absolute loneliness and the seas respond, swirling around you as if they’re alive with fury.

There’s someone next to you. He’s reading to you in a chair at your bedside, a book about essential oils distilled from natural plants.

“And the clary sage oil is colourless, with a nutty smell. People say its effects feel euphoric, you know, do you think it’s true?”

You’re at the beach of a small island, sitting in the sand. The blue sea stretches on for miles, not another ship in sight. A young boy smiles and asks for your name. You don’t have one, but you tell him what you are. He can’t repeat the word to you with his tongue.

“Please, be okay. Don’t go without letting me thank you.” Someone sobs, wetness soaking into your shoulder. Another person reassures him quietly, his voice a little more gruff and rough around the edges, but still soft.

A man with green hair, San, you think his name with, dances around the ship wearing nothing but two starfish and a skirt of seaweed.

Okay, that’s definitely just a nightmare.

Someone’s singing. His voice is beautiful, striking high notes with ease and pulling you into the melody of the song. The notes wrap around you like a lullaby.

You’re in a prison cell, the place dank and dirty. In your hands, you hold the cut crystal, running your fingers along the words inscribed into it until you find the catch that separates the chain from the gem. The crystal reveals itself to be a tiny vial, containing a mixture inside that sparkles like liquid diamonds. You close your eyes one last time, remembering the little boy’s face, and swallow the contents whole.

“Please wake up.” Someone whispers to you. He holds your hands against his forehead as he pleads with you, and your fingers brush cloth. “Please, Chin Hae, wake up.”

Chin Hae.

Is that your name?

No, it’s not. I don’t have a name. But I am ****.

Chin Hae?

Hurry and wake up, Ch*n H**.

Why are you calling me that? My name isn’t C*** H**.

Hurry up, hurry up, ****.

Your eyes fly open.

You’re in a bed, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, you stay like that, suddenly uncomprehending of who you are or what you are. Every limb feels heavy, as if you haven’t moved them in months, and when you finally muster the strength to turn your head sideways, there’s a head of green hair there.

You scream.

“Wassgoingon?” The head of green hair mumbles, lifting his head to look for the source of the commotion. His eyes are bleary, tired, until they meet yours, then he freezes in shock.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

A word forms on your lips instinctively. “M…” Your voice is rough and scratchy from disuse. “Master?”

The man continues staring at you in shock for another few seconds. Then his eyes widen and he finally lets out a massive scream.

“What’s going on?” A young man with dark hair bursts into the room with a club over his shoulder, looking around for the source of the green haired man’s discomfort. When his eyes fall on you, they widen almost comically.

The club drops to the ground.

“Jongho-hyung?” You ask, and suddenly memories come flooding back to you, sitting in the square with a cream puff in front of you, entering a fortune teller’s booth together. The maknae simply keeps staring at you, before he finally reaches forward to pinch your cheeks.

“Ow!” You shout in pain and bat his hand away, but it’s like trying to move a ship by blowing at its sails. “That hurts!”

His hand falls limply to the side, mouth hanging open in shock. “I’m not dreaming.” He turns to San, who still hasn’t moved from his seat, jaw dragging along the floor. “You’re not dreaming.”

San nods confirmation, just as shocked. You frown. Did you turn into a ghost or something?

Then Jongho tears out of the sickbay before you can ask his what the commotion is, and you can hear him screaming outside. “Everyone! Chin Hae is awake!”

You blink owlishly at them in confusion. Honestly, you just woke up. There’s nothing special about it.

San catches you in a crushing hug, so tight you can feel every rib creaking, but you simply put your arms around him. You’re stunned for a moment, but raise a hand to stroke his back to comfort him.

You feel him sob against you.

“Thank you. Thank you for being alive.” He wails into your sleeve, and your shoulder is damp with his tears. You can barely bring yourself to ask him why he’s crying, confused to as why everyone seems to be overly excited about you waking up. Then it comes back to you.

The whipping.

Captain.

Betrayal.

Wooyoung.

The gunshots.

Blood.

Yeosang.

You force yourself into a sitting position as fast as you can, glancing around the room desperately. It’s empty, except for you. Your heart sinks.

Yeosang isn’t there.

“What happened to Yeosang-hyung?” You demand, turning to your master. “Oh god, is he dead? Did I fail? Did he-”

San opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off from answering you when someone bursts in through the door of the sickbay, panting hard and hunched over on his knees. When he finally does catch his breath, he looks up, and then he sees you.

It’s Yeosang.

It’s Yeosang, still looking a little pale and ashen and weak. It’s Yeosang, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days. But it’s Yeosang, who’s blessedly and wonderfully alive, and that’s all the matters to you.

“Yeosang-hyung-”

He takes three steps to cross the room and wraps his arms around you, delicately and gently, as if he’s afraid you might dissolve into nothingness if he touches you too hard. San moves away so Yeosang can take his place, and the navigator stares at you in wonderment. You turn a little red in embarrassment.

“You’re alive.” He says, still stunned. You nod in reply, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a ghost.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m not dreaming?”

The way he says the last question, as if he’s so sure that you’re nothing but a figment of his imagination, how he doesn’t dare to trust what he sees in case it’s all a lie breaks your heart. You grip his hand earnestly, warm blood flowing under yours.

“You’re not.”

Then Yeosang is cradling you to him tightly, silent tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again, you dumbass.”

A laugh pulls at your lips. Yeosang is swearing, and maybe that’s a bigger miracle than you actually coming back.

“I won’t if you don’t save me the next time.”

Yeosang pulls away from you a little, just to look at you, sniffing as he wipes his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. “I can’t do that.”

“We’ll have a rotation.” You tell him, as you help him dab dry the tears, an amused smile on your face. “I’ll sacrifice myself for you on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and weekends. You can have the others.”

Yeosang hiccups a little through his smile and tears. “No fair, you get so many more days than I do…”

The two of you sit in silence, both of you having gone through the same trial together has forged a bond between the two of you no one else has. Yeosang is smiling so brightly, like a small sun, and you can’t help but laugh at how happy he looks.

Then San clears his throat. “Yeosangie, she needs to change.”

Yeosang glances down at you, only to realise that you’re wearing a thin white shirt over your bindings and nothing else. His face turns cherry red and he leaps away from you, scrambling to avert his eyes with his hands and immediately knocks his nose into the door frame.

“I’ll be going now!” He squeaks, and you laugh at how sweet he is. He glances back at you one last time, shyly peeking through his fingers as a real, genuine smile blooms across his face. “I’m really, really happy, Chin Hae.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I know.”

With one last smile, the navigator exits the room, leaving you and San in silence.

Your master stares at you for a long moment. Then he opens his mouth to speak.

“That should have killed you.”

You had known that the moment you’d started the link between you and him. What you were intending to do, what you were trying to get back, and the price you’d have to pay. You had known all of this, and you’d still gone ahead with it anyway.

“I know.”

He fixes you with a stern look, as if you’ve just made a mistake in your healing theory or you’ve done a bandage wrong. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve seen anyone do, and I live with Wooyoung and Yunho.”

A snort forces its way out of your mouth.

“But you did it anyway, and you’re still here.” San smiles gently, his strict facade cracking. He looks so relieved, as if he’s been carrying this weight on his shoulders ever since you attempted the healing. Then something strikes you.

“How long have I been out?”

“About a week or so.” Your master replies as he places a bundle of clothes on the bed. Your eyes fly open in shock. Exactly how close did you come to completely draining yourself that day?

Your master jabs a finger at you.

���I should expel you as my student.” Fear wells up in you for a moment at the thought, but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Get dressed, apprentice.”

With that, he leaves the room.

You change your clothes slowly, your muscles sore and limbs stiff. As you take off your shirt, your fingers brush the silver chain of your necklace.

The words inscribed on it leave your lips.

“I will be with you every step of the way.”

Suddenly, excitement wells in you as you fumble with the necklace, brushing your fingers across the silver, trying to find the hidden clasp. And as though it knows you are looking for it, you find it faster than you thought you would, and there’s a small clicking sound.

The tiny crystal vial falls to the bed.

I want a name, you hear a voice whisper around you, carried on the wind as it swirls around you and fades.

Your mouth falls open.

Because the voice was yours.

[bitchfitch]

Aleistar and Haze with grey to multi-coloured? :O (i am just really fond of the grey to multi-colored for some reason)

this one was just Sweet, Tooth Rotting, just Absolutely Delectable and it has Killed me.

zjsnnsnsns thank you for the prompt!

A Blue Armchair

There was a blue armchair in Aleistar's living room. It was his chair, more sonthan any of the others in his home. It was where he had gone to relax and read or to watch the city far below from his window for almost a decade now. A home within a home.

It was a blue armchair, but he only knew it was blue because the clerk at the furniture store had assured him it was blue when he bought it.

Aleistar had never really bemoaned the lack of color in his life. As far as he was concerned color didn't matter. Simply put, he'd never once in his 56 years of life seen color, so he couldn't exactly miss it. Couldn't morn it, or really notice that it wasnt there. He knew he was lacking color, of course he did, he saw it in the art works made to only be viewable by those who had found their soul mates, and he saw it in, as he got older, how everyone around him would look at him with some passive pitty. How his friends stopped inviting him out so that he might meet someone who would show him color, and how people had begun to whisper about him when they thought he wasn't listening.

Of course there were millions of people who never saw color, who's soulmates died before they met, or who died before they could bring color to their own soulmate, or who just never had one. 

For a while he had fancied himself one of the last types. He wasn’t a warm and caring man and he'd never felt the draw to find his other half that everyone described. But those types always said they felt complete as they were, that even without a soulmate they were truly happy. 

Aleistar thought he was one of them until he broke down, drunk and crying against his best friends shoulder. He didn’t remember much, of what he said the next day, just that now that he'd accidentally picked open this wound it was seeping constantly. 

///

Leonard had handed him the book as a joke. 

It was old and bound in a musty smelling leather but its pages were pristine. Leo said it's title translated something like "Desperation and Victory" but Aleistar couldn't make it out on the books front. The lettering was the same value as the leather it was printed on, and something about that felt like it was meant to be an insult.

///

He almost made it a week before he read the book for the first time. 

He sat in his old armchair that the clerk at the furniture shop had told him was blue, and put his feet up on his coffee table which was a deep brown according to Leo, and flicked through the pages that he suspected would be yellow if they weren't just as grey as everything else. 

///

The book had made it sound so effortless to trade his soul for the chance to have everything he could ever want. It listed wealth and riches and beauty or talent as examples of what someone might ask for, but all he wanted was to meet his soulmate. 

A fancy circle here and a few drops of blood there, and boom he'd have a demon who could find them for him. 

Was it worth it though? Was giving up his soul to meet someone he was already fated to meet worth it?

///

A month passed. he was 57 now.

Fifty-seven. 

That number hurt to think about. He wasn’t old old yet, but he had three years until his planned retirement, and an average of maybe eighteen more to follow, if he was lucky.

///

He spent a lot of nights crying in the armnchair he was told was blue with the book he thought of as yellow in his lap. He still remembered how badly he had wanted a family when he was young. Two kids. He'd always wanted two because it felt right to him. If they were both conceived today he was likely to be dead before they would be old enough to share a drink together at his favorite bar. 

Had he truly wasted his life? Had he let himself become so comfortable with the grey that he let a lifetime of color pass him by? 

He was 57. His college classmates were all probably starting to welcome grandchildren now. 

He was 57 and hed already been invited to so many funerals.

He dreaded that he might have already missed his soulmate's.

///

Aleistar habitually took notes at work, always had, but now they were more summoning circles than to-do lists.

///

He was 57, and he didn't care about having a soul anymore, because he desperately needed to find his soulmate and knew he would do whatever he needed to do to make that happen. 

///

The flash of the circle igniting all at once almost made him regret this decision. 

For a moment all that his senses could take in was the stark white light followed by a blurred buzzing of sensation as he struggled back onto his feet after having been thrown by the force of the demon entering his home. 

He was older, and his joints creaked under him as he finally got eyes on the hell beast who would own his soul in a scant few minutes.

He met the demon's eyes across the boundaries line of his summoning circle, his body going tight and rigid as the demon stared right back at him.

The demon's eyes were black and round and open wide. His lips were also black, and his teeth a sharp white where they showed in the slight gape mouthed expression the demon wore. The grey scale that Aleistar knew so well, that he had been so comfortable with for all these years, could hold only the demon's eyes and lips and teeth within itself.

Aleistar had heard that when someone finally found their soul mate they would be able to name one or two colors wothout being told what they were.

Maybe thats why he knew the demon's hair was blue. Deep dark blue. Like the sky at midnight if all the stars blinked out of existence. The ring around the demon's neck, along with its counter parts around his horns, and upper arms, and thighs had to be gold. True pure gold that could buy out everything he had ever owned and still be only a tiny fraction of the way through it's value.

Blue and gold were the colors he could name, Blue for the demons hair and lashes, gold for his markings, But the paled so much next to the color of the demon's skin. Warm and strange and beyond inhuman. Decadent, and bold and rare. and so... magic. So very magical. The color of this demon's skin would be his favorite from now on, and nothing would ever manage to compare to it again.

Nothing would ever again manage to compare to the demon who was slowly standing from where he had been knelt. The corners of his lips were up turned in a way that was almost a smile, more disbelieving than joyous but well on its way towards that destination.

"Hello-" the demon tried to speak, his voice smooth and low as he blurred at the edges, like a fog cloud barely forced into the shape of a man, but his voice cought in his throat as he swirled around the circle, to just look at everything, "Did… Did everything just get very… colorful for you?" the demon asked with a weak but hopeful smile as he pressed his hands up against the invisible boundry between them.

Aleistar thought he'd be scared to approach a demon, that this part would make his stomach turn. But he took the demon's hands in his own without hesitation and without flinching at the feeling of his soft and hell hot skin burning his own just that little bit.

Oh the demon was beautiful, not just his colors that felt so unearthly after of a lifetime of grey, but his fine and delicate features that buzzed around the edges like he might vanish if Aleistar stopped looking at him. 

Aleistar wanted to speak, wanted to say Something to the demon, but he was still struck dumb by the boiling joy and wonder in his own chest that bubbled over everything he met the demon's eyes again.

Some faint part of Aleistar's brain told him he should be panicked about how just holding this demon's hands made all the colors that much more intoxicatingly vibrant. That he shouldn't be on the verge of tears or laughter in this moment because all these colors could mean only one thing

"The silent type huh? Are you broody too?" the demon tried to joke before he caught himself even as his delicat fingers held onto Aleistar's a little tighter, "Oh, uh, the contract. You summoned me because you want me to find you your soulmate right? Uhm," the demon smiled and Aleistar knew he was grinning too. 

Finally, Aleistar understood all those people hed seen collide in the middle of the walkway. Desperate to just touch and hold their other half after far too long separated from them.

"Wow, ok, so I knew I was exceptionally good at my job, but this is a new record for me," The demon babbled on, "Uhm, I- You see the colors too right? I'm not just going crazy, and this is real, right?"

"It is, I- It really is isnt it?" Aleistar was laughing softly and he didn't know why, but the demon was laughing too now and pulling him closer and past the edge of the circle.

The book had been very specific about never being in the circle with an un named demon, said that the demon could use all sort of tricks against you if you made that mistake, but this one seemed perfectly content to just press up against him while burrying his face in the fabric of Aleistar's shirt. Still holding his hands and still chucking something that was almost a hiccups as he sought out his soulmate's touch.

Aleistar wrapped his arms around the demon, around his soulmate just to hold him close for the moment it took them both to stop giggling like school boys. There was something impossibly grounding about holding the demon, something that made him determined to never let his soulmate go

The demon's cute little horns bumped up against his chin every time either of them moved and there was something just immensely endearing about that to Aleistar, so he pressed a kiss to one, marveling at how his skin buzzed from such a little touch before doing it again and again until he was peppering his soulmate's face with kisses that carried all the emotions he couldn't put into words.

"I still need to make a contract with you," his soulmate said after Aleistar tried to kiss him properly for the first time, "I- I've already found you your soulmate, so you're going have to ask for something else… Something that will take very long for me to deliver on so I dont have to leave you," He looked up from where he was still pressed against Aleistar's chest, those coal black eyes so hopeful.

"Be mine," Aleistar said without thinking, "Stay with me and just- Just be mine," smiling this much was starting to hurt, "Please," he cupped either side of the demon's face in his hands to tilt him up just that little bit more, "Please," he repeated again, his breath tight and nervous in his chest like he was just a school boy confessing to his crush under the slide, light and nervwracking and desperate for things he didn't fully understand yet.

The demon grinned and nodded, "Give me a name and it will be done," his hands braced against Aleistar's chest, his fingers tangling in the fabric as he tried to ground himself there. 

Aleistar nodded and took a breath just to steady himself enough to not stutter. He remembered all the ways you could name a demon that the book had listed, all the ways you could bind one to yourself and all the ways those ways could fail, but there was only one he had any interest in trying in that moment.

"Haze," he said, a single syllable to describe his soulmate completely, it was all he needed. If the fervor with which Haze kissed him the moment the his new name was spoken was anything to go off of, then Aleistar felt confident in assuming he'd chosen correctly.

When they finally slowed to let Aleistar catch his breath after minutes of heavy petting and being too needy to let the other more than an inch or two away, they were sat in an armchair that Aleistar didn't need to be told was blue anymore.

[10blue10]

Wedding Day

Hiccup was...nervous, but also excited. Tonight’s the big night, he thought as he washed his face and cleaned his teeth. After months of anticipation, he was finally going to marry the person of his dreams. Just the thought of his lovers beautiful shining green eyes sent a shiver up his spine. Hiccup couldn’t wait.

First he had to prepare, however. He stripped off and dumped a bucket of water over himself, then scrubbed thoroughly until his skin was pink. Dried off, shaved and dressed in his underclothes. Now to put on his wedding outfit.

A pair of white trousers and a white long sleeved tunic, embroidered with thread dyed by the algae that glowed under Arvundil’s Fire. Intricate patterns looped around his cuffs and hems; coiled around his legs and arms, splayed over his chest. A single tiny emerald was sewn into the front of the tunic.

Then the cloak, a garment covered in dragon scales; black around his throat and shoulders, cascading down to grey, yellow, orange and crimson. It was like being wreathed in fire. Oh, the wreath! He’d almost forgotten. Hiccup placed it carefully on his head; smooth woven stems decorated with scarlet flowers.

Was it overly complicated? Maybe. Did the colours clash? Probably. Did he care? Of course not, and nor would his future husband. “Okay. This is it. I’m ready” he told himself firmly. “The best night of the rest of my life starts...now.”

“Hiccup?” a voice called, and there was a knock on the door, startling him. The door opened and his mother stepped in. “Oh my...” she pressed her hands against her mouth and beamed at him. “Look at you! Son, you look incredible.”

He swallowed. “Thanks, mom. Is the cloak too much? I feel like it’s too much.”

“No, it’s” -

“I really hope my idea with the algae dyed thread works...”

“I’m sure it” -

“Oh gods, what if this seems like too much trouble and they call it off...?”

Valka gripped his shoulders. “Son, you need to calm down. The cloak is fine, if your idea doesn’t work it’s not the end of the world, and of course Toothless isn’t going to call this wedding off. That dragon adores you. The fact is, you two are perfect for each other” she insisted, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

After a deep breath, Hiccup replied “Yeah. Sorry, I dunno what came over me.”

His mother smiled. “It’s your wedding. I can’t blame you for being nervous. But trust me, the moment you see him? Everything will fall into place” she assured him. They smiled at each other, tears in their eyes, and shared an embrace.

Cloudjumper called to them from outside. Valka went to the door and peered out. “The sun has set. Are you ready?” she asked Hiccup. He gave a nod.

They left the house, and hoisted themselves onto Cloud’s back. The sun had slipped beneath the horizon; the cloudless sky was a tapestry of starlight. After all, when better to wed a Night Fury than the middle of the night?

In what felt like no time at all, Cloudjumper was landing in the cove. This was where he and Toothless had first become friends; where Toothless had first offered a courting gift and confessed to being in love with him. There was no better place to be married to the dragon of his dreams. Hiccup let his mother help him down and straighten his clothes; then Cloudjumper moved aside.

The guests, dragon and human alike, were seated at the edge of the lake; but Hiccup only had eyes for Toothless, waiting in front of the roots of the largest tree overlooking the cove. The dragon’s scales had been groomed and buffed until they shone; his green orbs gleamed, brimming with love and trust. The short walk towards him, arm in arm with Valka, was still too long for his liking.

At last they were standing face to face; and with perfect timing, as if the gods themselves had planned it, Arvundil’s Fire illuminated the sky. There were gasps from the crowd, as Toothless and Hiccup both started to glow - literally. The dyed thread on Hiccup’s clothes, and the lines of paint on Toothless, were lit up by the aurora. Beautiful intricate patterns looped around and over them.

Toothless was pleased to see that emblazoned on the front of Hiccup’s tunic was a stylised Night Fury with one fin and one green emerald eye.  He loved it when Hiccup wore his scales too; it was like he’d marked him as his own. *You look beautiful* he purred. Hiccup’s smile grew even warmer. “You too, bud.”

He took one of Toothless’ paws in both of his own, rubbing his thumbs over the scutes. Gobber stepped forwards and began to loop a tapestried cloth around their joined hands. It showed their story in pictures - Toothless pressing his nose to Hiccup’s palm, a single tail fin curled around a missing foot, the two of them gliding together, when they challenged and defeated the Bewilderbeast...

The blacksmith, on Gothi’s behalf, read out some prayers to Frigg and Freyr. He mispronunced something, and the dimunitive elder whacked him on the head with her staff. Hiccup giggled. “Ow!” complained Gobber. “Eh, where was I? Oh, right. By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you...err....married!”

The couple beamed at each other, then shared a kiss as the crowd cheered. They rested their foreheads together, knowing all was right with their world.

[monstersandmaw]

Winter Solstice - Fae Prince, Part Three

Here’s Part Three of Winter Solstice for you! Patreon folks have had access to it for a little while, and now it’s time to share it here. Hope you enjoy! If you do, don’t forget to reblog or let me know with a comment etc. It really is fuel for us writers!!

There’s also artwork of our boy Círdan now too, which you can find over on the Shadows tier ($1) on Patreon!

Finally, Trope Tuesdays are starting over on Patreon (only), with the poll for the first trope going up on 31st January. Both the poll and the resulting story will be available for all patrons from $1 upwards.

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Content: exploration of the castle, some time with Mirana, a creepy Librarian, and a bit of our one winged angel uh, I mean, Fae...! Wordcount: 3361

After waking up in the Fae Realm after her ordeal with the tainted creature, in the frozen Court of Winter no less, our human met the prince and the closest members of his court, and learns that she has to remain there for a while. This time, we see a bit of the palace, and get to know a couple more of those closest advisors a tiny bit better... 

As one lovely patreon commenter said, ‘our human really knows how to make friends’... or... uh... not.

“Shall I at least give you a little tour?” Mirana said politely as the throne room doors closed with a surprisingly soft whisper behind them, shutting Prince Círdan in and them out with barely a sound.

Narrowing her eyes, she nodded and said tartly, “Show me the places I’m permitted to explore?”

“And the ones you’re not, if you’d like to see them,” Mirana said with a glint in her eyes.

“Yeah, how about I don’t piss off my captor on my first day?” she snorted and Mirana laughed openly, a sound like tinkling glass.

The castle - the House of Winter - was larger than any keep she’d ever even imagined. The only building she had for reference was the king’s palace in Caer Grauth, which, although ancient, had nothing on this place. The walls, as they walked down corridors with lace-like plasterwork, were white as the fresh-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside beyond the crystal windows, and the pale floors were polished to a high sheen and patterned with forking fronds of frost like rare plant fossils.

“Let’s begin with the ballroom,” she crooned, seeming almost to float down a winding staircase with a gently curved banister. The halls and rooms seemed oddly empty as they walked in silence, and when she brought this up, Mirana sighed. “Most of our High Fae in the court live in their own holds,” she explained. “It’s tough living up here.”

She looked around at the opulence as they stepped into the ballroom and snorted sarcastically, “I can see that.”

Mirana rolled her eyes and turned to face her. “Nothing lives here save for brambles inland and seals on the coast. Almost everything we eat we have to trade for.”

That was interesting. “Can’t your magic grow things?”

“Not on a large enough scale to feed an entire nation, which is what the Court of Winter amounts to. The gardens here have the crystal houses, of course, but that is only for the high table and the royal family to enjoy.”

“So what’s your export then?”

The Fae’s eyes brightened at her question and she jutted one hip out as she stood surveying her new human companion thoughtfully. With pretty lips just revealing the hint of a smile at one corner, she said, “These mountains have some of the richest veins of gold, silver, and gemstones. Not to mention that we are the only place that stellarite has been uncovered.”

She frowned, unfamiliar with the word, and Mirana giggled, filling the room with a playful noise that was completely at odds with the solemn, empty ballroom. Mirrors lined each wall, framed by white arboreal columns, slender as saplings, with branches reaching up and over the glass to become the vaults of the ceiling so that it felt like standing in a silver birch forest at dusk, the crystal chandeliers unlit but still sparkling like frozen leaves above.

“Stellarite is the metal from which we make our crowns and jewellery,” she purred, raising her hand and rippling her fingers to show off the three delicate rings she wore on each hand. The metal looked like white gold, but it had a speckled quality to it, like starlight. “A single gram of it costs more than most Fae here earn in a year, and Círdan’s mask is made of an even rarer alloy of stellarite and inlustrium.”

Her lip curled. “What’s wrong with a plain old wooden one?” she muttered, turning on her heel and pacing from the ballroom.

Growing up on the edge of the small village, they’d not been precisely poor, but they’d certainly struggled at times. She remembered vividly in that moment the winter when her mother had hurt her back, having been kicked by a crazy, savage horse that should have been put down years earlier, and she’d not been able to work for months. They’d tried their best, with their father making the journey into the city to sell his turned wooden bowls and carved spoons, but it hadn’t been enough. The boys had only been eight and six at the time, so it had fallen to her to hunt in the forest with arrows that she and her mother had made. They’d got by, and her mother had gone back to work once her mother’s back had healed, but it had been one of the harshest winters she’d ever experienced. And here these creatures were, gloating about some useless precious metal that cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. Her stomach churned.

Mirana had adopted her frosty veneer again when she followed her out of the ballroom, and she marched her down corridors, waving her elegant, jewelled hand briefly to indicate one state room or other, until finally she paused at the top of a staircase. “This is the East Wing,” she said. “The prince, Ahrin, Raeth and I all have our rooms in that part of the castle. I suspect you would not be welcome wandering here, human…”

“What on earth makes you think I’d willingly go looking for any of your bedrooms?” she said and Mirana pouted slightly, as if affronted and trying not to show it.

“Fine,” she said. “Since none of this has been to your liking, perhaps you could tell me what you would actually like to see?”

“Does any of you read?” she asked acerbically. “Do you have a library I can lose myself in while I’m stuck here as your prisoner?”

Returning the venom in the human’s gaze, Mirana crooned, “Oh, I assumed a simple peasant like you couldn’t read. Now that I know that’s not the case, let’s go.”

‘Bitch’, she thought but wisely kept that to herself.

The library was beyond what she’d expected. Like the rest of the palace, it was sculpted from smooth stone, the colour of bleached bones, and it was as cold as everywhere else in the castle, but the three-storey high room was lined with books and scrolls. The light was muted; the enormous windows on the left hand side of the room that stretched from floor to ceiling had had their white shutters drawn halfway, and each panel had, like a child’s cut-out snowflake, twisting voids in the woodwork which let in a pale, muted shafts of light.

A yelp escaped her, however, when someone emerged through a slender, pointed archway in the wall opposite the windows, and she took an involuntary step back in alarm as the strange, inhuman figure approached.

Stoop-shouldered, with iron grey skin and opalescent wings like a dragonfly’s folded neatly behind them, the creature had a gaunt, skull-like face with its leathery skin stretched tightly over harsh cheekbones and deep eye sockets. They were slender in the extreme, walking on legs like a bird’s with deadly jet black talons, their body swathed in a piece of fabric reminiscent of a toga, and, she noted with a swirl of fearful unease, they had four arms. Their head was bald, and their two huge eyes were a startling, blood red.

She had never seen anything like this creature, but, despite the fact that the sight of them brought back memories of the tainted horror that had attacked her, she refused to look away or to be intimidated by them.

When they saw Mirana standing there, they bowed low, wings buzzing a quick, terse salute, and straightened, asking, “Your Highness, what can I do for you today?”

“Nothing, Librarian,” she smiled. “I am just showing our new guest around. Apparently the human can read.”

“Human…” the Librarian hissed, drawing themselves up defensively, lips peeling back to reveal a maw full of needle-sharp teeth. It brought to mind the curiosities which sometimes appeared at the marketplace when a fisherman dredged up something unspeakable from the deep, and she staved off the urge to reach for a belt knife.

Mirana only laughed again, the steel-hard edge creeping back into it that set goosebumps shivering along her skin to hear it. “I know!” she purred in feigned shock. “My dear brother has said she’s not to be harmed though. I’ve grown bored with her inane company, and thought I might just leave her here for a while, if you don’t object.”

There was clearly no way that the Librarian could have objected, even if they’d really rather not have had a human wandering the hallowed halls of their collection. They simply bobbed their head, red eyes blinking softly, and backed away. “The human will make sure its hands are clean before touching anything,” they spat as their parting shot.

“Well, how does that sound then?” Mirana said in that brassy, overly-bright tone that made her want to punch the Fae in the face. Obviously sensing her intentions, said princess’ face morphed into an unmasked expression of deep loathing and she snarled, “I don’t like you being here any more than the next of my kin do, human. I’m not sure what possessed my brother to leave you alive, but do not think for a single heartbeat that I will not do whatever I deem necessary to protect this Court and this family. If you try anything…”

“I have no doubt,” she interrupted softly, trying to keep the fear from her voice. The only salvation she felt, like an anchor on a tiny craft, was the cold iron pendant she still wore under her shirt. It had clearly not been touched when she’d been divested on arrival, and she wondered why they’d left it with her. Perhaps they’d feared to touch it. Fighting the urge to clutch it in her fingers - or, even better, to ram it straight into Mirana’s forehead - she stood tall and stared the princess down.

A soft knock on the wood of the open door behind them drew their attention away from one another, and she watched a servant approach on deferential feet, head bowed low. This one looked almost human, save for the pointed ears and unnatural grace. His hair was black, long - as seemed to be the fashion in the Winter Court if the male Fae she’d encountered so far were anything to go by - plaited back off his face, and his skin was a warm, rich brown. When he rose from his bow, she saw that he had freckles all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and bright green eyes.

“Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” he said in a soft, heavily accented voice. “The Prince has asked for your presence. He is in his private study.”

Message delivered, the Fae waited for a dismissal, which came in the form of a flicked wrist, before he bowed once more, shooting the human a quick, nervous glance before backing away a few paces and then turning to leave.

“Well,” Mirana sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll leave you here. You know how to get back to your rooms? Good.” The princess didn’t wait to find out the answer, and in fact, she didn’t know how to get back at all; their route had been so winding and circuitous that she had lost all sense of direction, but she was damned if she was going to let on that she was disorientated.

Mirana swept from the library and left her alone with the creepy looking Fae Librarian, who buzzed their wings menacingly from the shadows nearby, a stack of books now in their lower set of arms. There was something insectoid and unsettling about those emaciated limbs that made her think of a patient mantis, with the tightly stretched, grey-brown skin, that made her shiver. Still, not one to let herself be outfaced by a situation, she chirped, “So, what’s the system here?”

“Excuse me?” the Fae asked, half turning back to look at her.

“The system. This is a huge collection - it must be ordered, so I’m just wondering how I find out what’s where, without… how to put it…? Putting my ‘grubby little hands all over everything’ until I find something that attracts my attention…”

Those teeth flashed momentarily before the Fae reined themselves in. They set their small pile of books reverently down on a nearby table and turned back to face her. “History,” they began, pointing a three-fingered, clawed hand at the nearest section and then gesturing along a huge swathe of bookshelves. “Magic,” they added, pointing through another elegant, pointed archway into a separate section of the library. “Fiction,” they sneered, pointing upwards at a shadowy gallery that honestly didn’t look like it got much foot traffic, and finally they indicated, “Music, Nature, Travel Journals and -” here they buzzed their wings again, “- The Mortal Realm.”

She bowed her head and smiled, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that it was insulting for a human to ‘thank’ a Fae explicitly, given that it implied that they had offered the human some kind of favour. The Fae were a prideful lot, if legend was to be believed, and none would willingly offer anything without thought of something in return. Whether it was impolite for another Fae to offer their thanks was a different quandary for another day.

“I’ll head up there then,” she said, nodding at the dusty fiction section. “Nice and out of the way…”

“You do that,” the Fae rasped and a cold shiver thrummed down her spine as they bared all those needle-sharp teeth again in a grimace.

With a false smile of her own plastered to her face, she scampered up to one of the polished wooden ladders and climbed nimbly, almost daring to pretend she was back in the hay loft at their little smallholding and not in the enormous library of a Fae Prince, held there until goodness knew when, completely at the mercy of their every petty whim… Blinking back the prickling in her eyes as panic welled in her chest, she licked her lips and looked around at this part of the library, pacing along the catwalk as if it were a minstrel’s gallery in a lord’s hall.

She’d been right about the fiction section not getting much attention. Leather bound books with brittle, crumbled spines beckoned her closer and, curling up on the floor of a gallery and leaning her weight against the end wall, she drew out one called, ‘The Lay of The Ember Knight’. It was a ballad, written in verse and hand-scribed onto the pale, pristine velum of the book, and as she carefully turned each folio, she lost herself in the lilting rhythm of the lines. Someone had loved this book once, she realised, seeing that the spine was worn and the velum bore the marks of fingers in the corners of each folio.

Swept up in the action as the Ember Knight - actually one of the Unseelie Royal Princesses in disguise - did furious battle with a raging fire drake on the ruined, volcanic landscape of some distant mountain range, the voice calling her from below didn’t rouse her from the story. When someone materialised directly in front of her with a soft ‘whoosh’ and a theatrical rush of odourless smoke, however, she screamed in surprise and dropped the book into her lap.

The six foot six figure in front of her was that of Ahrin, his one remaining wing hanging behind him like a darker shadow in the already dim gallery. And he was laughing softly at her.

“Fuck, you scared me,” she growled, gripping the end-boards of the book in her fingers until her knuckles went white, and staring up at him without standing. “What do you want?”

Still chuckling, he reached his rough-palmed hand out to her and held it there, clearly expecting her to take it and help herself to her feet. When she didn’t, he rolled his amber eyes and withdrew the offer, folding his muscular arms again. “Thought you might want some food… You’ve been in here for hours.”

“You expect me to eat Fae Realm food? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

Again, the hulking Fae showed his amusement freely, shrugging too as he laughed. The sound was rich and warm, with no artifice or pretence to it. He seemed as open as the book in her lap, and even easier to read. “We have access to human food too,” he said. “In fact, Círdan sent me off to the Mortal Realm to get something for you so that you didn’t have to eat our food.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she blurted before she recalled that Fae were supposedly not able to lie. Then again, he hadn’t explicitly said that the food she would be offered would be from the Mortal Realm. ‘Tricksy fucking Fae’, she thought darkly.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he said, turning around and shifting into black mist that swirled like a drop of ink in a glass of water. The darkness shot away like smoke pulled by a draft, and he reappeared heartbeat later on the main floor of the library.

“Guess ladders are too mundane for you lot,” she grumbled, easing herself to her feet, stretching her spine until each vertebra had popped satisfyingly, and sliding the book back into the case.

As she descended the ladder, she heard Ahrin say, “You try squeezing through that small gap in the railings with one big wing and broad shoulders.”

“Oh what a terrible burden it must be to be so muscular,” she sarcastically, and he tipped his head back and crowed another laugh.

“I like you,” he said, eyes flashing gold. “Come on. I’ll escort you back to your rooms if you’d like to eat there.”

Deciding not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth since she didn’t actually know the way herself, she accepted, deciding that she could always refuse the food when they got there, and the two of them left the library together. As Ahrin stood politely back at the doorway to usher her through first, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the creepy Librarian staring after them.

Once outside, with the doors closed, Ahrin leaned down and hissed in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Don’t worry; they give me the creeps too. I think Círdan only hired them so that no one would dare walk off with one of his precious books…”

“He likes to read?” she asked, astonished.

“Sure,” he said. “But only the really boring stuff…”

“Figures,” she retorted, unable to forgive herself for warming to the enormous brute of a Fae. He carried a straight sword at each hip, their pommels a simple half-moon of what looked like silver but she couldn’t be sure, and he had another smaller knife hanging just in front of those on a frog from the belt. Frankly, he looked a bit rough around the edges compared to the other pristine Fae she’d encountered, with stubble on his anvil of a jaw, and rough, practical leathers instead of fancy silk tunics; Ahrin was definitely a warrior, and she wondered if he was the prince’s personal bodyguard or something. The two had certainly seemed close back in the great hall.

“So Mirana tells me we’re still calling you ‘human’…?” Ahrin ventured.

“You think I’m just going to give you my name?”

“You could at least give us another name,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Seems better than ‘human’…”

“We’ll see about that,” she hedged and he tossed her a roguish, lopsided grin.

A second later, she shot his ruined wings a cautiously curious glance, and all the mirth drained out of his handsome face when he saw where her eyes had landed. He didn’t utter another word to her, even when they reached the vaguely familiar corridor which led to her rooms. He simply stopped outside the door, nodded tersely, and stalked off, shadows roiling around his leather boots until he vanished in a rush of darkness, leaving her alone in the pale hallway with only her pounding heartbeat for company.

Blowing the air out of puffed cheeks, she set her fingers to the door handle and pushed it open to find that she had company waiting inside.

To be continued…

Other Fae Realm Stories on Tumblr...

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

—

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[let-me-breathe3]

What We Leave Behind

So I decided not to do nanowrimo this year (when november 1st happened and I did absolutely nothing) but I thought it would be fun to share this short story I’ve been working on for a while. 

Its based on the myth of Pandora’s Box. I hope you like it!

The grey shine in the sky above me was a mockery of real sunlight, but it was enough to wake me up. I winced in pain - not from the light, but a stinging pain in my left hand. I rolled my head to the side to look at it. There was a rose lying in my palm. It had grown from the ground, it’s roots wrapping around my wrist. It’s thorns were lodged in my palm. The base of the flower was bright crimson, but the colour bleached the further it got from me; the tips were completely white. 

I awkwardly pushed myself into a sitting position, careful not to move the hand too much. I began to remove the flower. I started by tearing away the roots. It wasn’t difficult; they had sprouted from a crack in the ground. It was too dry to hold them properly. Removing the thorns was harder. I bit my lip as I pulled the rose out of my hand. I curled my hand into a fist to ignore the beads of blood rolling down my skin.

I ran my clean hand over my aching back, dislodging the small rocks embedded in my skin. My hand came away covered in dust. I wiped it down on my front. It was an unfortunate consequence of sleeping on the ground, but better than the alternative. The night in this place was starless. Every time the light faded, I faced the same choice; stumble through the complete black and hope I didn’t run into one of the monsters, or lie down where I stood and pray that none of them stumbled upon me. I made the same choice every time. 

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my head on my knees, wishing I hadn’t woken up here. The lands were ravaged, devoid of all life. The dry, cracked ground was bleached of colour. Debris was scattered across the ground as far as I could see, the remnants of something great. The emptiness was all there really was. I walked every day, trying to find a way out. I had lost count of the days I was in this wasteland. Before, I was in a barren forest. The trees were tall enough to throw shade over the land, but they had no leaves, no blossoms, no fruits. The bark had peeled away, leaving only grey husks. Worse, still, were the bodies that were rotting on the forest floor. When the monsters fell, none came back for them, unless it was to tear into the already rotting flesh. If there was one upside to the wasteland, it was that it was easier to run if I needed too. In the forest I was always one misstep away from a brutal death. 

Closing my eyes was a tiny refuge. I could imagine green fields that stretched over the horizon. I could feel the soft grass wrapping around my arms as I laid down. When I woke, there would be no rose thorns; instead, there would be wildflowers. I would wake with the glory of the rising sun. The red of dawn against the pale blue would be enough to bring tears to my eyes. I would welcome the rain. I would tilt my head back, and laugh for the storm clouds. I would dance to the music of thunder. 

Claws dragged against rock, and my eyes flew open. My heartbeat kicked out of control. I turned slowly, taking deep steady breaths. I grabbed the nearest stone. It wasn’t much, but at least I wasn’t completely defenceless. 

The monster was hunched over an oddly large boulder. From what I could tell, its skin was grey, but it was stained dark brown from old blood. Its back was spiny. I cringed as the monster moved and the skin stretched over its bones. It had long thin arms, which ended in disproportionately large claws. They were pure black, as if they had been carved from obsidian. Dust was gathering on their tips as the monster scratched at the rock and the ground. Whatever its intentions, it hadn’t noticed me yet. Trying not to panic, I pushed myself to my feet. 

Rock scraped against rock, and I froze. The monster stilled, before snapping its head up. Its grey face was covered in dark spines. Its nose was as flat as a snake’s, but its ears were long and pointed. I stared into its cold black eyes. It let out a low growl. I swallowed my fear, and took a step back. That was a mistake. 

The monster screamed - a blood-curdling, harrowing cry - and pounced at me. I threw the rock, and it hit the creature squarely in the face. I ran, not bothering to see if the monster had stayed down. Only a few seconds passed before I could hear it growling behind me. I didn’t dare turn, but I knew it wasn’t far behind. 

It crashed into me, knocking me to the ground. It scratched at my arms, snarled in my ear. I tried to push it off, to no avail. I scrambled away from it, but it pinned my arms to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, and waited for the end. 

But the end didn’t come. 

Instead, the monster peeled itself away from me. I sat up, confused. 

In front of me, there was a man in a long black robe.

*

He had tan skin and golden eyes. He looked young, but I knew he wasn’t. I blinked slowly. In all the time I’d been trapped here, I’d never seen anyone like me. And yet, there he was, as solid and real as the monster that had just tried to kill me. The monster in question had slunk over to the man’s side. A chill ran down my spine as he ran a hand over its head. As if it were some sort of pet. He tilted his head. 

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice as gentle as an ocean breeze. 

“Who are you?” I asked, rather than answering. I knew I had a name, but I’d forgotten it long ago. The man smiled. 

“I am Death.” Oh. Maybe the monster hadn’t retreated after all. Maybe this was the end. “Are you alright?” 

“I think you’d fare better answering that question yourself,” I said. “Does the monster answer to you?” 

His eyes hardened, and his smile faded. He removed his robe, and I flinched. 

There were dozens of monsters clinging to him. Some of them looked like animals, some looked like hybrids, and others looked like nothing at all. A green and sickly ghoul with hollow grey eyes was wrapped around his left leg. One that was only white skin and bones was hanging around his neck. I wondered how I hadn’t seen its arms before. Another was a rotting corpse, clinging to his waist. It was a surprise he was standing upright, with all of them weighing on him. A few of them took an interest in me, but they didn’t come near. The monster that attacked me handed Death’s robe back to him. It swallowed the monsters, as if they were nothing but shadows. 

“They are drawn to me,” said Death, coldly. “I don’t know why, and I don’t enjoy it, but they don’t harm me, so I put up with it. For now.”

I frowned. “If you’ll fight them later, why wait?”

“Because here, it appears there is nowhere else for them to go. When we escape, they will leave. I think.” 

I straightened. “Do you know of a way out of here?” 

“I have heard rumours, whispers, of a gate. A gate waiting to be opened.” My heart stuttered. A laugh bubbled through my chest. There was a way out of this place. If I could find it, I could leave and forget about this hell. 

“Do you know where it is?” Death shook his head.

“We could look for it together,” he offered. I considered it, but I had survived this long by avoiding the monsters. They may not harm him, but they did harm me. I couldn’t risk being near him if he attracted them. I shook my head. “Very well. If I make it to the gate, I will see you there.” 

He bowed his head in farewell, and walked away, in the direction I had come from. I watched him until he was a shadow on the grey horizon, before I turned to start my own search. 

*

After three days of walking, the wasteland stopped - with a cliff. It stretched across as far as I could see. My heart sank. I had three choices ahead of me. 

One - turn back, and find another way out of the wasteland. That would take days, and there was no guarantee I would find something new. The only likely option was I would find the forest again. I never wanted to go back there. I may never even make it out again. I could end up spending eternity wandering the lifeless land. Or be struck down by a monster searching for the gate. 

Two - walk along the cliff edge, and wish for another way down, or another way out of the wasteland. Walk until I realised it was futile and was faced with another set of bad decisions. There could be another way down at some point, but it was just as likely that I found something worse. Even more likely, knowing this place and my luck. 

Three - scale the cliff. 

I grimaced, and peered over the cliffside. It was a treacherous drop. All I could see beneath was fog. There could be anything below - or nothing. I glanced over my shoulder. There were no good options. Each had a multitude of risks and dangers. But, looking down, there was opportunity for something new. I sighed heavily, and prayed the unknown was better than the known. 

I sat on the edge, and gently eased myself down. My feet reached out for footholds. My left foot touched on something, and I carefully rested myself on it. I twisted, gripping the cliff’s face as hard as I could. Slowly, but surely, I began climbing down. 

When my legs were weak, my hands were sore and my aching arms were shaking with the effort to hold on, the sky started to darken. I peered down, but there was no sign of ground. A cry tore through the growing darkness. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Fear burned in my throat. My breathing quickened. I should never have tried to scale this damned wall. My grip on the rocks weakened. My foot slipped. I let out a yelp, but managed to find my footing again. I leaned my head against the cliffside. Blinking tears and dust out of my eyes, I attempted to clear my mind. I hadn’t run into any monsters since meeting Death, and I’d made it this far. Climbing would be hard enough in the dark, without terror clouding my mind. I took three deep breaths, steeled my nerves, and continued my descent. 

As it grew darker, I relied on my instincts and senses more. I fell into a simple rhythm. Though there were more monstrous calls, I ignored them, focusing only on my climb. I had to reach the ground soon. I had to. 

Right? 

As exhaustion tugged on my eyelids, and I sincerely believed my limbs were about to drop off, the darkness began to fade. The light was brighter than it had ever been. I almost smiled upon seeing it. I glanced down, and whatever joy I had vanished. There was still no sign of the ground. 

A soft groan echoed below me. I tensed, but continued climbing. It wasn’t like the violent shrieks of the monsters. It was gentle, almost peaceful. 

Rocks gave way to sand. I didn’t have time to think before I was sliding down, plummeting to whatever lay beneath. I screamed. My entire body burned as it scraped against the rough sand. My feet slammed against something hard, sending a shock up my spine. I crumpled to my knees. I gasped for breath. I was alive. By some miracle, I had survived, and made it to the ground. 

The fog wasn’t as thick as it seemed from above. I could see quite far ahead of me, but for the first time since I’d been here, I couldn’t see the sky. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or afraid. I heard that gentle moan again - louder this time. There were shadows shifting in the mist, but they didn’t come close. I ventured forwards. 

The further I walked, the more the ground reminded me of the wasteland. It was flat, lifeless and seemingly endless. It was colder, though, and the ground was softer. 

When night came, it was sudden. I considered wandering through the night, but in the darkness, the fog was far more ominous. The gentle calls were replaced with scratching and scuttling. I felt something brush against my leg, and gave up. I laid down to sleep. 

*

I blinked sleep out of my eyes. I tried to sit up, but found my arms tied to the ground. They were chained with seaweed, this time. At least it was less painful than rose thorns. I struggled out of my bonds, and continued my journey. 

My mind drifted to the gate as I walked. I wondered what it would look like. I imagined a grand, ornate gate, towering above everything. It would stand out against the bleak surroundings, and when it opened, warm sunlight would wash over the land. For a moment, I saw this world coming back to life. I saw the wasteland turning green, a lush forest - an ocean. When I blinked, that world disappeared, and all I could see was the huge skeleton a few feet ahead of me. I shivered, but there was nothing I could do. I walked around it. 

Doubt crept into my mind. I was trusting the word of a stranger. A stranger called Death. He said he’d heard whispers - those must have come from other monsters. If they were to be trusted, I may as well have stayed put when I first woke up here. And even if these whispers were true, all of the monsters were heading for the gate too. This journey was towards everything I had been running from. 

I paused. Far ahead, there was a faint glow in the mist. I forgot all my fears and doubts and broke into a run. The fog thinned the further I ran. The light burned brighter. 

I skidded to a halt. The light was coming from a cave. Now that I was close, I knew it was firelight. I could hear roars from inside.  The monsters had gathered. I was in the right place, that much was clear. Whether or not I should go further was another matter entirely. 

“You made it.” I whirled around. Death was standing behind me. “I’m glad.” I nodded. 

“Me too,” I said. He held out a hand. I didn’t take it. 

“Aren’t you going in?” he asked. I opened my mouth, and shut it again. There was no answer I could give. Death shrugged leisurely. “Suit yourself.” 

He strolled past me. The monsters barely reacted, too distracted by the gate. I clenched my fists, and marched in. 

My heartbeat slowed. I had never seen this many monsters, nor been so close to any that weren’t trying to kill me. Even more were slinking in, from tunnels in every direction. They were climbing over the walls, screeching and yelling, or feeding the huge roaring fire in the middle of the cave. The ground shook with their movement. 

The gate was above. It was completely different to what I had imagined. It was circular, simple. The only patterns it had were made with claws. Monsters trying to break out. It must open from the outside. 

Please open, I thought. Please. 

The gate twisted slightly, and stopped. For a moment, silence rang through the cave. The monsters were frozen in anticipation. I held my breath. 

The gate twisted again. This time, it kept twisting. The noise resumed, louder than before. It didn’t bother me. Nothing could, because sunlight - real, beautiful sunlight - was seeping into the cave. It was more perfect than I remembered. It was warmth and happiness and safety. I grinned. It washed over my face and I laughed.

The gate - more like a lid - was lifted away. I shielded my eyes from the brightness. 

When I lowered my arms, the monsters were pouring out, any way they could. Some grew wings and shot out faster than I could blink. Some floated towards the light, or climbed and jumped out. Some simply vanished. They were free. So was I. 

But as I watched them all disappear, I didn’t move. I clung to the nearest wall, and stared at the hole in the roof of the cave. I shook my head. I couldn’t go. 

“Changed your mind?” I jumped at Death’s voice. 

“Yes,” I said. He frowned. 

“Why?” 

“Because I remember my name.” It had returned to me with the sun. “I am Hope.” In the corner of my eye, I saw him smile.

“Then surely you will be needed, on the other side,” he said. 

“No.” I faced him. “No, because on the other side, the world may as well be new. There is hope abound. The future needs it, but only if the past is bleak.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” 

I smiled sadly. “It is not just how we go forward that matters - it is what we leave behind. And what we have left behind needs me - needs Hope. Outside will have me too, because they will know that Hope will never abandon that which needs it most.” 

Above, a shadow grew. The gate was closing. The prison would be shut once more. Death nodded slowly. 

“Then this is goodbye, Hope.” 

I bowed my head. “Goodbye, Death.” 

He didn’t fly or jump or vanish in the blink of an eye. He faded into the shade. A soft thud sounded through the cave. The sunlight was gone - the gate twisted shut. 

*

I left the cave from a different tunnel than I’d come in from. Though I must have spent days wandering through the tunnels, it was never that dark. When I slept, I was at peace. When I woke, I was unafraid. 

But glory came when I ventured outside. The sky was no longer grey, but a bright and brilliant blue. The ground was not dry or dead, but covered in soft green grass. I tilted my head up and laughed. I danced, spinning in circles. I rolled in the grass, pressing my face against the earth. And when I walked away, I left wildflowers in my footsteps. 

[jayne-hecate-writer]

Ducati and Lego...

Things are getting weird with Lego of late, from bad decisions regarding the sources of Technic models, to crunchy gear boxes and then this, the Ducati Panigale V4 R…

From the get go, I was really excited by the prospect of the Technic Ducati. The box looked great, with the model on the front looking really exciting, thanks to the clever and beautiful photography. I had to have one and I argued with myself for several days about spending a significant amount of my severely limited resources on what is in effect a silly, children’s toy. When it came to ordering, we were in the middle of Covid lockdown, Lego were sold out and Amazon was stating that toy orders would take six to eight weeks to deliver, it was not looking good. However, through on line shopping and a little bit of time on google, I found me a toy shop in Northern England that had one in stock and for a good price too.

Now let me tell you a little story, several years ago I was working part time for a national bicycle franchise here in the UK, it was the busy pre-Christmas, super busy sales time and I was on my own in the bike department. I sold a kids bike and the new owner wanted to take it away in a box. I went out the back to the storeroom and tried to retrieve the bike box from a pile stacked up on a shelf, which collapsed on me, crushing a nerve in my neck and right arm. The pain did not not start right away, instead it built up in intensity until I was struggling to take deep breaths had to ask my boss to take me to hospital. I was X-Rayed, poked, prodded and suddenly strapped down hard to a table when a Doctor found shadow across one of my vertebrate that indicated that I had broken my neck! Luckily, it was not broken and I have no idea what that little dark line on the X-Ray image of my tiny bone was. The damage was done though and the nerve that runs from my neck, down my arm and through my elbow was permanently damaged. I was given a lot of medical treatment, went through an awful lot of pain and I was off work for three months because of the injury and grew extremely bored and depressed. The relief to my suffering came in a surprising fashion, when my partner picked up for me, a Lego Technic motorbike to build.

That little Lego motorbike was a revelation, it looked great, it worked brilliantly and it came with instructions to build a second model from the same kit. The kit came with stickers and the whole thing was a bright orange colour that resembled a KTM motocross bike. Days later, e-Bay brought me a bright green one that despite not being as good, was still fabulous and my addiction to Lego, a hobby I started as a child and had put aside as an adult, came back and bit me hard. For me, Lego Technic motorbikes will always be a little bit special because when I cannot ride my own, I can at least build one out of Lego which I enjoy rather than wasting a couple of hours watching brain dead TV or feeling worthless and bored.

Which brings me right up to date. My injured arm and hand never fully recovered, despite hours of physio and exercise. Other injuries came and I was soon left disabled and with a rapidly growing Lego Technic collection. These days, I am an AFOL spend my time building MOC ( Adult Fan of Lego and My Own Creation for non Lego people) machines of varying kinds, although I really enjoy big heavy trucks for some reason. I rarely buy a Technic kit these days, preferring to buy the parts I want in order to construct a particular model. So for me to buy a whole set, means that it is special.

The box of the Ducati does an awesome job of selling the model, it has a photo of the real bike on the back and they go to great lengths to take photos of the Lego model from all of its very best angles. They have also made some new parts specifically for this set and they are pretty good. The new USD suspension forks look amazing and they actually work. The disk rotors look cool. The new wide rear tyres is awesome and looks the part and it is not hard to imagine this machine riding around a race track, but we will come to that later.

However, on closer inspection, there are some gaping holes in the Ducati that in my opinion leave it looking unfinished. The front forks really are great, but with out a front hugger or even brake calipers it just looks wrong, like there is a big chunk missing from the front of the model. Then we come to the windscreen, which is a soft piece of fogged up plastic film that fits so badly, it is a wonder it was ever signed off by the Ducati engineers! The V-4 engine and working gear box do nothing simply because you cannot see them, rendering the visual impact of the moving engine parts pointless. The final drive for the fake motor from the rear wheel is by a little white elastic band which to my view is a bit disappointing. Then came my biggest bugbear of all. The sheer number of stickers the builder needs to attach. I will make no secret of the fact that I thoroughly hate stickers on Lego parts for the following reasons. Firstly, they can be an absolute bastard to fit accurately. Secondly, they tend to peel off over time or lift a corner and get furry with dust which makes them look even worse. Finally, heavily stickered up pieces prevent you from using the pieces in other MOC constructions. At least with printed pieces, the final model actually looks great for display, even if you cannot use the printed parts elsewhere. Stickers are just a massive pain in the arse and some of the stickers on this set are tiny, so I refused to fit them, meaning that the final model looks a bit flat and dull. Yes, this is my fault for not using the stickers, but we get onto a circular argument here.

With the model finished and sat on my desk, I was, I have to admit, feeling a little disappointed. Then it fell over. Unlike other Technic bikes that have gone before, this bike has no side stand. Instead it comes with a paddock stand, which does not fit well or work properly. The finished model is so unstable that it has to be balanced just right to stop it falling over, meaning that it is also not a good model for display for both the practical and aesthetic reasons. The handle bars are designed to look like real clip on bars, they are very prettily done and there is even a brake fluid reservoir for the front brake… But no brake lever. Similarly, the rear fluid reservoir is present, but again, no brake pedal. Yes, I know that these are small points to make, but when the designer has gone to the effort to add tiny details, why omit the actual main bits that require the small details?

Sadly, this model is deeply flawed and the front screen is the final insult. This scrap of plastic film is held in place by two bright red Ninjago swords, leaving a five millimetre gap on either side. No matter what I tried, I could not get it to sit nicely and the foggy plastic looked awful anyway. The under engine exhaust gets a similar lacklustre treatment and the huge double bend pipe work looks out of scale. The real shame here is that the actual front fairing of this model is a thing of beauty that looks suitably menacing. But with the lack of front guard below and the pathetic screen above, it ends up looking like a nasty custom from a bad biker build off show. There was so much potential for this model to be amazing and Lego seemed to cut too many corners with the final result. For example, the front disk rotors are beautifully designed, but why are they moulded in standard light stone grey? They should have been done in a beautiful pearl silver. The bad screen is simply unforgivable, but there is a fix to this and it involves a clear plastic bottle, a pair of scissors and fifteen minutes to get it to sit just right! The useless paddock stand is annoying and having built my own in the past for custom models, I know how much easier they are to make.

What about the bikes that came before this one? To be honest, the not quite a Triumph Street Triple is still my favourite. It is so clearly a model of the Triumph modern classic, one has to ask why it did not have an official endorsement, especially given that it was and remains one of the most beautiful motorbikes in the Technic range. It also comes with some printed pieces too, making the final model even more beautiful.

The big BMW GS1200 is an ugly brute of a bike in reality, but the Lego model of it is fabulous with the unique telelever suspension and huge pannier boxes... even if the flat twin engine is a bit lame looking with a huge gap between cylinder and head.

The truth is that no Technic motorbike will ever be perfect, although the Street triple does come very close. Compared to these, the Ducati feels like a rushed and unfinished model, which is a real shame given (and I say this a dedicated Suzuki owner) the absolute beauty of the real thing.

So, what can I do next with this bloody thing, it’s not like I can chuck a motor on it and set it off across the car park like I can do with the Corvette they released this year, is it? Wellllllll…. It would be rude not to try and this has been for a while now, an on going project for me to build an actual working Lego Motorbike, running on Technic Power functions kit. To date and prior to this new Ducati, I have had a single working prototype model that was able to ride and steer just like a real motorcycle. A moving weighted brick causes the bike to lean over, which steers the bike. As the weight moves back, the bike stands up again and continues in a straight line. It is not yet perfect and I have lost it under a couple of cars as I experiment. I tried to modify the Ducati chassis to accept this steering and drive set up of a pair of motors and a battery pack and the result was more ugly than me with a post migraine hangover, having woken up with my head covered in drool!

Sadly, the chain drive could not deliver the power needed to spin the wheel fast enough with enough torque to propel the bike, so I had to resort to a shaft drive on both sides of the wheel replacing the swing arm. By the time I was finished, the final bike looked like a cheap Fake Lego rip off and when I tested it on the smooth tarmac of the car park, it fell over after moving less than a foot!

So that is it for me. I give up. I have tried time and time again and I simply cannot make a working model Ducati motorcycle using Power Functions. If you look on You Tube, others have made working models  and I have no idea how they have done it. One person has used a Buwhizz unit, which over volts the motors giving the bike a real blast of speed. But for those of you with a Physics mind, the way a bike works is super intricate and has nothing at all to do with centrifugal force (yes, I am aware that this is a misnomer, but it has been used for decades to explain a complicated process). Do go and look up how motorbikes steer and balance because the in-depth science of it is fascinating. No really, it is fantastic and for years I have thought so wrongly about how it all works. In the mean time, if any of you out there can figure out how to make a Power Functions controlled motorbike, I shall take my hat off to you. You are clearly a better builder than I.

[lihikainanea]

I...I may re-write this at some point. Because I hate it. Let’s be clear, I just want these two to bang each other’s brains out again like right the fuck now but I feel like I had to ~set it up~ properly and just...look, this what you get when a horndog of an author with 2987548695659 kink buttons is in A Mood(TM) to get all of them SLAMMED AT ONCE but instead has to write ~fluff~ because it’s what makes sense for the story right now. If you need me, I’ll be in my little corner flipping this story off while my kink buttons very much do not get slammed. Fuck you BFF!Bill. I'm so mad at you right now.

Part 1 + 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Credit my rage to @ill-skillsgard and that nani who ruined my life with the original ask in Parts 1+2 there.

I dunno how many parts left I got to this, the part below really discouraged me. I  feel like I got carried away in their story line and I’m all self-conscious about it now because I really just....I want to write all the sexy times. That’s it. I liked the shorter drabbles of these two that I did more towards the beginning. 

BLERGH, shut up Leilani. 

***

In hindsight, the ice cream was a terrible mistake. 

To your credit, it had taken awhile for things to get awkward. A good few weeks. And to Bill’s credit, he really made it near impossible to be awkward around him.The awkwardness had littered your friendship to varying degrees, but no matter how mortifying the events were, Bill just never seemed plussed about any of it. There had been the time he had gotten food poisoning on a camping trip in the woods, pitifully crawling his way on all fours to your tent in the middle of the night. You had woken up to what you thought was a wounded animal, unzipping your tent and seeing Bill’s curled up form on the ground in front of you. It had taken over an hour to help him crawl just a hundred feet to the communal washrooms, where you stayed with him on the floor for the entire night. It was nothing short of contortion, the way he folded his large body in on himself in the tiny stall, groaning in pain and discomfort. Your heart bled for him that night, he was so sick he had gone grey and the only thing you could do to help was stroke his soaked back and keep wetting paper towels to hold on his neck while he wretched. He had eventually passed out, thunking his head hard right onto your chest, and in your sleep-deprived hysteria, you thought he was dead. Mutual friends still tell the tale over beers, now a great source of laughter, of how you had emerged from the washrooms in the wee hours of the morning screaming for help with Bill--all 6′4 of him--slung over your shoulders in a fireman carry. Bill’s feet still dragged on the ground and his upper body hung limp over your shoulder, but you didn’t care. You just knew he needed help. When he eventually came to, hooked up to an IV and still looking grey, he didn't seem at all shocked when he was told how he made it to the medical centre.

Then there was the time during a traditional movie night at his place, when you felt the tell-tale cramp--that deep cramp low in your belly that had you folding in on yourself briefly. Your cycle wasn’t due for another 3 more days, but your body had other plans. You hadn’t even brought a purse to Bill’s, and looking frantically at your light coloured jeans, you knew you were in trouble. Bill stared at your form, gradually closing in on itself as another cramp hit.

“You okay?” he asked, putting a hand on your back.

“Yeah I uh...I have to go. Sorry, forgot I needed to do something tonight..” you trailed off, tossing the blanket and slowly shifting to stand in a way that would attempt to minimize the flow that you could now feel starting between your legs. Bill eyed you cautiously, then rolled his eyes. Grabbing another slice of pizza from the box in front of him, he stood and grabbed your elbow.

“C’mon,” he said, leading you to the bathroom.

“What are you--” your sentence was cut off when he reached an arm up, opening the cupboard. Inside, you stared in confusion when you spotted a small box of tampons, a few pads, even a little bottle of Midol. He turned to you, shoving another bite of pizza in his mouth.

“If there’s something in here you need, just take it,” he said, his mouth full as he chewed loudly.

“Bill why the fuck do you have these in your bathroom?”

He shrugged, blasé.

“Because I’m a grown ass man and I have grown ass women in my life,” he said, as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

“Take whatever you need and get your ass back on the couch, the best part is coming up,” he turned to leave before calling over his shoulder “or if you need something else or whatever, just write it down and I’ll pick it up next time I’m out.”

When you emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, a pair of sweatpants hit you smack in the face.

“In case you’re bloated or whatever,” was the explanation.

You changed. The pants were comically large, with a ton of material still pooling around your feet even after you had rolled the waistband a dozen times.

Joining him back on the couch, he covered the two of you with a blanket again before reaching behind him for something. He tucked a hot water bottle against your stomach and you moaned slightly at how good it felt, then he put his arm back around you and pulled you into his side, restarting the movie. Not another word was spoken.

So compared to a lot of what had happened in the past, having sex with him should have paled in comparison on the scale of awkward. If the sex had been terrible, perhaps a certain degree of awkwardness would be expected. But incredible sex? Incredible sex should be celebrated. And you were on board with that, for awhile.

Until the ice cream.

You had almost forgotten, in fact as the days went on you became more and more able to downplay what had happened, and the level of pleasure you experienced which seemed to have put your body in shock for more than a few days after. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of Bill being so good in bed, feeling so safe with him, and more a matter of just....how pent up you had been. You were almost convinced, almost certain that this was fact. Bill was probably just average, at best. But you did trust him a whole ton more than any of the Tinder dates you had met so combined with your hair trigger for needing a release at that time, it had all just culminated into three delightful explosions.

Until the ice cream.

It had been a longstanding tradition of yours, no matter the season, of going for ice cream the day before Bill left on another shoot. He had a sweet tooth that was completely unrivalled but he had stayed away from sweets for the few months leading up to his new gig, having to take some weight off his already slim frame for his new role.  But as you sat beside him, a banana split for you and an extra large vanilla soft serve for him, you realized what a terrible mistake this was.

“Oh my god,” he groaned in pleasure and you stilled, memories of that groan flooding your mind. You turned to him just in time to see his long tongue snake out, licking slowly from the the cone to the tip of his ice cream.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned again, “it’s been so long.” His mouth closed around the peak of it, making a small slurping noise as he sucked part of it into his mouth. You felt the heat immediately rising to your cheeks. He moaned again, swirling his tongue around the cone.

“How’s yours?” he asked. 

“It’s uh, it’s good,” you said.

“Might be better if you took a bite, tiger,” he teased. Looking down, your spoon was clenched tightly in your fist and your sundae was untouched. Shaking your head slightly, you lifted the cherry off and popped it in your mouth. You nearly choked when Bill let go another groan that was nothing short of sexual.

“I’m in fucking heaven,” another long lick of his cone from bottom to top,  he sighed happily and closed his mouth over the top again to suck another bite in. Your thighs clenched as you couldn’t get rid of the images that flooded your brain. Bill’s green eyes, peering up at you from between your legs, asking permission. Bill’s eyes closed, moaning in content as he ran his mouth and his nose over your panties. The hum and suckling noise when he pursed his lips around your clit, dragging it into his mouth. That sinful tongue--that long, skilled tongue slowly lapping at his ice cream--and the way he slowly lapped at you, savouring every single lick as if it was giving him as much pleasure as it was giving you.

You watched as he stuck his tongue out to lick at some of the ice cream that had dribbled on his chin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He had done that too, once he was done turning you into a quivering, moaning mess beneath his mouth. You remembered how he raised up on his haunches, his eyes a blaze of fiery green, as he licked at his bottom lip and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You had almost started to sweat, feeling the flush creeping up your chest.

“You look weird, kid,” his voice interrupted your thoughts, “You okay?”

You cleared your throat, begging your voice not to crack. Begging--you had begged him, too, begged him to make you feel good. And he did. He promised you he would, and oh God, he did. You ran a hand over your face, resisting to urge to knock the side of your head in an attempt to force the images out of your thoughts.

“I’m good,” you lied. You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, as you felt that ache deep in your gut start again. Your legs shook slightly, your thighs trembling, remembering how good it felt. How good he felt, and how good he made you feel. The way he seemed completely focused on your pleasure, on making sure any little movement he made gave you pleasure. How he had checked in on you, made sure you were feeling good, before continuing anything. How he had made you cry out, clinging to him, gasping for air not one, but three earth shattering times.

Suddenly, you needed air. You needed air, and you needed space. Distance. 

You stood, abruptly. Bill looked up mid-lick, his tongue still on his ice cream as his eyes peered up at you. That look. You closed your eyes, pinching your brow with your fingers.

“Finish tongue-fucking that ice cream, I have a lot of work to do tonight ” you said. Your tone had come out much, much harsher than you had intended, but you turned before you could catch the confused look on his face. 

He dropped you off that night, the car ride home was a one-sided conversation as he talked about the new project and how long he’d be gone, what he was excited for, what his character would do. Walking you to your door, he wrapped his arms around you tightly and laid a wet smack of a kiss on your cheek.

“Let me know when you’re free to FaceTime,” he had said, his face tucked into your neck, “There’s not too many night shoots so our schedules should sync up.”

“ ‘kay.” 

“And hopefully you can come out for a weekend, you’d probably like it there. New Tinder material for you,” he chuckled.

“ ‘kay.”

He pulled away, keeping his hands on your shoulders. You stared at his chest, but felt his eyes boring into you.

“Tiger,” he commanded, “look at me.”

When you shifted uncomfortably, he moved one hand to under your chin and tilted it up to meet his eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. You looked away, your chin still resting on his hand, and gave a half-hearted shrug. Images from before still clouded your brain, your pleasure receptors still firing on all cylinders at the memory of that mouth, those hands all over you. You let out a ragged breath, and his thumb and forefinger moved to pinch your chin.

“Are you getting awkward about what happened between us?” he asked and your eyes widened in surprise--sometimes his direct and straight-forward approach still caught you off guard.

“Jesus Bill,” you tried to move your chin away but he opened his hand, cupping your jaw.

“Answer me.”

“No, I’m not getting fucking awkward about it.”

“Eyes, kid.”

You dragged your eyes back to his and he saw right through you, raising his eyebrows in challenge. You pouted.

“Don’t lie to me, tiger,” his tone softened and he sighed, “Look, that night--did it feel good? Did you feel good?”

“Uh....yes,” you responded quietly. He bent at the knees, tilting his head to maintain eye contact with you when you tried to look away.

“And do you feel better now, after you got what you needed?” he asked. You hated this. You hated every part of how honest he was, how comfortable he was at having these insanely uncomfortable conversations.

“Ugh, Bill, I can’t--”

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whispered, heat blazing your cheeks. There was nothing but kindness in his eyes though, genuine honesty to his questions.

“You deserve to feel good. You needed to feel good. And you trusted me with that. And I helped?” he looked to you for confirmation.

“Yeah. Yeah you helped,” you confirmed. He smiled, stroking your cheek.

“And I was happy to. You’re my best friend, kid. I love you, and I wanted to help you. That’s it, okay? We promised it wouldn’t get awkward,” he looped an arm around you again, bringing you back in for a hug. ‘It’s just sex.”

“Fucking phenomenal sex,” you muttered into his chest.You felt his boisterous laugh, his arms squeezing you tighter.

“It was fucking phenomenal sex,” he pulled away and smiled at you.  You tugged his jacket collar down, silently beckoning him to bend and you kissed his cheek.

“Have fun, Billy Goat,” you said.

“Be safe, tiger” he responded, “Stay outta trouble while I’m gone.”

And with a final wave as you shut your door, you watched him pull out into the street. He’d text you tomorrow morning from the airport, you knew, and again when he landed.

But tonight, tonight you still had an ache in your gut, a tremble in your thighs that you knew wouldn’t let you sleep until those pleasure receptors--ones that remembered all too well--were satiated again.

[dimensionwriter]

Deadliest Friend

Gender Neutral Monster x Genderless Reader

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I don't know why I've been struggling to write lately. I would start something and struggle to finish it. So, I apologize of this doesn't reach the standard. I just wanted to try to write SOMETHING to try to break this writer block. So, enjoy.

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You're use to a lot of things happening in your life. But sometimes, something just wear you out completly. A great example will be this week you just had.

It started off Sunday with you simply going down to the bakery to get something nice to eat on a lovely afternoon. When this old woman decided to crossed the road without looking both ways. And guess what happen to be speeding down the road? A tiny kitten, nah. More like a 18 wheeler carrying stacks and stacks of logs. In a moment of blind panic, you ran within an inch of you life and shoved the woman out of the way. The two of you crashed down on the side walk as the 18 wheeler sped past.

Even in your dazed state, you felt proud that you saved someone life. But that feeling quickly vanished when she started beating you with her cane while screaming at you to get off her. She then proceeded to walk away while grumbling how she's lived through more wars that you could count and how she was perfectly able to help herself. Not a single thank you came out of her mouth.

Then Monday came and your phone somehow died in the middle of the night, while still being plugged in. Meaning, not a single lovely melody drifted from your phone to wake you from your peaceful slumber. So when you woke up with the sun blazing through your window, you knew you messed up.

You proceed to do the entire olympic course within your house as you got ready for work, not even grabbing breakfast or lunch. You barely had a shoe on when you exited your house, it wasn't the time to think about food. But two hours in your job made you wonder if it would be okay to eat your shoe from how hard your stomach was trying to digest itself.

Tuesday was pretty decent, well, except for your closet's railing deciding to snap in the middle of the night waking you up into a fearful frantic state. You couldn't call in becuase it was late at night, so that was something future you was going to have to worry about.

Wednesday was the defintion of hell on earth. Your phone had died completely, not just the battery. Your phone didn't respond to any thing, only showing a cracked black glossy screen that reflected how much of a mess you were. So you had to drive to your cellphone company to get a new one. And then call up your residence manager to send someone over to fix the poles in your closet. You tried not to think about your piles of clothes laying everywhere on the ground.

Thursday was a little better with only all you electricity in your house being cut off. There was a storm that apparently happen during the night that knocked out all of the electricity in only one house, yours. You had to navigate your house with a flashlight and the sight of a blind person.

And all that leads up to today, Friday. You had the day off since the repair people should be coming over to fix the railing later in the afternoon. And your lights should be back on by night time, hopefully if nothing else goes wrong.

With rough sandy texture under your fingers, you slowly flipped through novel, soaking up each word. Your house was lit up from the multiple of candles you have recieved as gift during the holiday from coworker who barely knew you. But as a bonus, your house smell absolutely divine.

"….." You stopped reading to look up around at the living room you were in. It sounded like something was mumbling to you. "…turn.."

You felt chills go down your back as you were able to make out a single word out of the mumbling around you. "Turn?" You asked into the open air with a small hope that nothing would respond back to you.

"The page," it whispered in your ear. You spun your head around to see nothing but shadows. You thought it was the shadows from the candle light, but some of it remain unmoved.

"Who are you?" You asked slamming the book shut, just in case you would have to run as fast as you could out of your door. This week just had to get worse, didn't it.

"I am the beginning of the end. I am the face you see in your last breath. I am-" you cut whatever it was about to continue rambling about by holding your hand up. The shadows around the flames seem to stopped moving allowing you to get a shape out of the thing.

It was a tall broaded creature that was really blending itself into the shadow, almost like it was feeding off of them.

"I asked who you are. Not your backstory," you grumbled scooting to the edge of your sofa. Your feet touched the cool carpet. Trying to easy away the panic, you slowly ran your toes through the strands of carpet.

"Oh, well," they mumbled their voice sounding odd. It was like it was unusually high and extremely low, forming this grey inbetween. "I'm Death."

"Death?" You asked raising your eyebrow to look at them. You imagine death to be a lot more different than what is infront of you. Well, from what you can see.

"Show me yourself then Death," you taunted not believing them. It was probably just the kid next door trying to prank you. From the zombie fiasco, you wouldn't be surprise if he did this.

"Wait, you want see me?" They said in shock causing your smirk to rise up. They didn't expect that now did they. It was probably them that were cutting off the light.

"Yes, I want to see what Death looks like in the flesh," you said not even trying to cover up your heavy sarcastic tone.

"If you insist. But please reframe from screaming, for you humans are fragile and.. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Your eyebrows dropped down at the tone of that sentence. The word chocies was odd and their voice dropped down to a thick grumble at the end almost making it impossible to understand them.

You didnt have long to question the meaning of their sentence when all the candles started burning higher and brighter. You jumped up in shock as the candle infront of you became a roaring fire.

The entire room lit up making you squint your eyes at the new light source. You turned your head around to see all the candles were like that

"What the.." You sentence was cut off as you turned to where your neighbor's child should have been, but something entirely different was there.

The creature was something past anything your imagination could come up with. They seem to be towering above you, even though they were only barely touching your roof.

The body looked wrong. There looked to be a midnight black torso covered with dark silver veins twirling around like intricate designs. But there was a set of ribs bone ontop of the skin that were a blood red.

The legs were similar to what you imagine for a dragon with glimmering black scales. They turned into sharp talons that seemed to be digging deep into your carpet.

Your eyes slowly drifted upwards again at the bone covered toroso to see the arms. They too big to be proportional with his body and seem to dangle at his side, brushing the back sides of his calves. His fingers went from the black flesh colour to talon like sharp nails that looked like they could pull your heart out just by simply poking you.

They had long flowing black hair that reached farther than their arms. The hair seem to form a cloak around them with something white peaking through at the top.

You were a curious creature. And maybe just a little bit stupid. You lean over to the creature and pushed the hair back.

Instead of a human face, there seem to be a mask ontop. The mask was of antelope skull with its horns painting to a dark red, same as the ribs on their torso.

"So, you're death," you said looking at the eye holes of the skull. If you stared hard enough, you can see something moving behind the skull.

"I am death," they stated leaning forward a little. The skull pressed gently into your finger making you realize that the skull was too cool to be made of bones. It was probably crystals or somrthing.

"I imagine you to be different," you said looking down at the body again. Their form was sleek but still had some muscles in it.

"Humans have a limited imagination. It quite funny seeing your version of me. The only noticable thing being a black cloak and a scythe," they said and a small thing of laughter came out of them, shaking their frame.

"So death, why are you in my home? And if you say for me, I am booking it out of here," you said pushing the hair back trying to see any emotions present on their face, well mask you guess.

"No of course not. I couldn't bear taking such a thing from this horrific world," they said lifting their arm up. You glanced down to see their arm laying on the arm rest.

"They why are you here?" You asked dropping your eyebrows in suspicious. They seem to freeze at the question. You felt something brush past your knee and looked down to see that their talons were pushing into your couch.

"Oh, why am I here?" They mumbled looking down causing their hair to fall out of your hand. "I'm here because… well... you see."

You noticed that their mask was turning from a white to a light pink. Is the make part of their face? Wait, that means death is blushing right now.

"Calm down. You acting like I'm accusing you of being the reason all this stuff happen," you joked trying to calm them down. But their mask turned a bright red as they brough their head down in shame.

"Wait, are you serious? How did you manage to kill my phone? I got in trouble with my boss for being late," you yelled getting angry. You lean over the arm rest to get closer to death. You don't know the consequences of fighting death, but you are about to find out.

Their arms shot out to hold you in place causing their hair to swing back. Allowing you to see their mask was now pure red, matching the horns. But you noticed that there was now a pair of golden spheres in the eye socket. They were shaking slightly, as if working as their eyes.

"I didn't mean to. I was trying to walk past it, but the talon accidently touched it and it died. And I sincerely apologize for your closet. I-I slide in there to hide in there when you kept moving in your sleep and my shoulder put too much pressure on it," they rambled quickly with their voice jumping on random octaves. You blinked as you processed the information.

You let out a gasp and jumped out of their reach. You stood ontop of you couch as you looked at them with fear. "Where you watching me while I was asleep?"

"No!" They squeaked backing away. Their arms shot up to cover their face, clearly embarrassed. But it was obvious they were lying to you.

"You were. I don't care if you're human or not, but that's weird. How would you feel I were to watch you sleep," you yelled jumping on the couch.

"That would be kind of nice." They grumbled something but you couldn't understand them. "I mean, I know it was wrong, but that was the only way to see you without you seeing me."

The anger kind of subsided, but there was still some there. "Why?" You asked confused.

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't be please with someone like this," their hand displayed their definetly not human body to you," appearing to you. So, I tried to stick to the shadows, which is hard when you humans are light based."

Light based? You glanced around at the numerous candles burning through your house. Oh, before your electricity went out, your lights were always on. Guess would have been hard for them to navigate.

"But you still didn't answer my question. Why are you here? Why are you trying to see me?" You asked splaying your hand against your chest. They started playing with the bottom of their hair as if they were trying to distract yourself.

"Well, Sunday, I was schedule to retrieve an old woman soul. She was schedule to get hit by an 18 wheeler around noon. But this human stopped it somehow and I was… well curious. So I started following you around, which I knew was creepy, but humans can't see us when we don't want them to, so I was just gonna stay for a little bit. But then I became fascinated by how you lived your normal human life. And so, I continued to watch. I didn't plan on staying for too long or causing too much trouble."

"If you wanted to get to know me, you could have just simply talked to me, like we are doing now. I'm sure you thought I would scream my head off, but I didn't, did I?" You sat down on the back out your couch. It was kind of uncomfortable, but it will have to due for now.

"I guess not. So your not scared of me," they asked talking a step forward, slowly sinking their talons into the carpet. The high burning candles casted an eerie light over the creature beside you. But the light pink blush on their mask and the way the talons on their hands were twirling the ends of their hair, made them seem like the least threating thing in the world.

"As long as you stop staring at me while I sleep," the blush returned back heavier," and don't lurk in the shadow. I'll say we could be good friends."

"Friends," they whispered as if testing the word. "I've never had a friend before." You jumped off the back of the couch. You slowly made your way over to the creature. They truly did tower over you.

"Well, there's a first for everything," you said sticking your hand out towards them. They looked down at your hand before slowly lifting their owns and laying it gently into yours. Their skin was slightly cooler than yours, but it felt pleasant. Their skin felt like silky and flawless. "You can now say you got yourself a friend Death."

Part 2

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Tadaaa. Yeah, I didn't have the usual things I like to include, but at the same I time I really hope y'all like it. Please comment on any of my works, I love reading them. Tell me what you would like to see more of or if you interested in seeing me write somrthing new. I'm also interested in writing headcanons, so start requesting some. Any way, enjoy your the rest of your day or night.

[harleyquilt]

Through The Years

Summary: A trip through the many years of the Kaneki family at snapshots of their lives whilst Touken watch their family mature. 

Words: 4144

Notes: So this is for my really wonderful and perfect friend @beneybunny. I actually wrote this as thanks to a favour, but since I’m a lazy and terrible friend, this is now her late birthday present. The fic itself is just really fluffy and silly and I hope you enjoy it! 

It was a quiet morning, as tranquil and lazy as any morning could be really. Kaneki opened his eyes slowly to find himself alone in his bed and sitting up, rubbing his eyes, he heard Touka’s soft whisperings from Ichika’s room. He smiled to himself and leaned back, eyes glancing to his opened window where he could see the wide and vast countryside field nearby. The almost picturesque scenery was nothing compared to the city, which was still in shambles from the attack almost a year ago. He visited there often, the image of the ruins and crumbled buildings and roads were engraved into his mind as a reminder of his actions and despite the pain it brought to remind him of the damage he afflicted, it also reminded him of what he had now; a chance to start again and redeem himself with a beautiful family to support him whenever. Whether he deserved it or not he wasn’t sure, he just knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass because he was busy wallowing in self-pity.

“Oh, you’re awake, sleepyhead.” Touka smiled and she leaned against the doorframe to their room, cradling their small baby girl in her arms. “I was just feeding our little sleepyhead here, I’ll make you some coffee in a minute.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” He insisted as he got up, heading over to her side where he gave her a quick peck on her cheek and leaned down to do the same to Ichika. He caressed Touka’s cheek and she smiled warmly, their eyes on each others. He then looked down, feeling Ichika tug at his shirt and carefully taking her from Touka’s arms, he lifted her up, watching her give him a wide toothless smile.

“What a beautiful smile our princess has!” Kaneki beamed and lowering her, she pinched his cheeks, giggling. “It’s as beautiful as the queens’.”

Touka slapped his shoulder lightly, heading off to make his coffee as he continued to play with Ichika. She was so perfect, a mix of both him and Touka in her features: she had Touka’s eyes and his grey colour, Touka’s face with those chubby cheeks and his...hair? Actually, the hair left him baffled more than anything. He knew Haise was his own person in a sense, but this simply didn’t make sense. Touka seemed completely fine, if anything more amused, at the ‘sesame pudding’ hair she ended up having, yet Kaneki couldn’t help but consider this as Haise’s last act of revenge for disposing him back into the tormenting depths of his own mind. Nonetheless, he loved her regardless of her looks - she’d be perfect no matter the appearance.

At the minute, she was only a few months old, and Kaneki was always chuffed at how tiny she turned out to be. He never held a baby before - never had the opportunity to - and when he held Ichika for the first time...He almost squealed at the sight of her. Everything about her was so tiny, especially her hands that’d barely wrap around his pinkie finger. She was so warm too and he felt completely at peace when he simply sat and held her in his arms, talking to her softly about how much he loved her and of all the things he’d do for her once she grew up some more. She watched him with wide eyes as he headed over to Touka, showering his child with kisses as he smelled the sweet fragrance of the coffee Touka made for him.

“She’s such a happy baby.” Touka commented, taking a sip of her own coffee and she leaned against the counter. “She especially loves that apple mush Yoriko told me to feed her. She threw it all over me yesterday.” She shuddered at the memory. “I can still smell that disgusting scent of it even now.”

“Hey, you eat apples too.” Kaneki chuckled as he set down Ichika onto her cushioned seat nearby, giving her a toy to chew on. He gathered Touka into his arms and embraced her tightly, pressing his lip to the top of her head. “If you want I can give you more of that cake again. Kimi did say we had to adapt our palates if we want to change our diets. I’ll do it with you if you want.”

“Please, it’s enough just smelling the stuff as it if. Give me a break.” They stayed still for a brief moment, Touka letting out a low sigh as she listened to his slow heartbeat. After a quiet moment like this, she looked up to watch the scar that went down from his eyes, like black tears had stained his cheeks. “Hm, they’re not fading it seems. Or at least not completely.” His smile dropped then and her fingers lightly traced the marks, her eyes wide and curious. “Not that I’m complaining, they look pretty cool. They don’t hurt, do they?”

He shook his head and turned to kiss each finger tip. He knew she’d have no issues with his appearance. As she said, she’d love him even if his hands were covered in scales or if he had no arms at all. Still, he wanted to be proud to stand by someone as elegant and beautiful as her, even if his insecurities were simply silly concerns. Ah, but no matter; her words always gave him the comfort he needed and he took a deep breath, his smile returning as he allowed himself to take in those words.

“I wonder how I'll explain it to Ichika.” They both looked back at their daughter, who was banging her toy against her seat with some annoyance. “Don't worry so much about it.” Touka reassured, pulling away and patting his head. “She'll think they're cool too.”

“You really think so?” Kaneki chuckled, grabbing his drink.

“I know so.”

. . .

Ichika stuck her tongue out as she concentrated on her reflection. Her mother's makeup bag was tipped over and all the different brushes and ‘clippy boxes’ (as she liked to call them) were scattered across the dresser table. She held the black pencil in her hand, turning it this way and that. She really didn't understand how this wasn't used for colouring, but considering how she saw her mama draw with it under her eyes, it must be to draw pictures on skin instead of paper. With a confirmed nod and smile, she silently christened this pencil as the ‘body drawer thingy.’

Touka sat besides Kaneki at the dining table as they looked through different holiday locations through the travel magazine they held between them. They were in the midst of arguing whether to go with Kaneki's suggestion and go to Rome for a romantic getaway or to go with Touka's choice of Disney World.

“Look, maybe we can go to both.” Touka suggested with some mild frustration. “We're getting Tsukiyama to pay anyway.”

“Touka-chan, we can't make him pay for us for the sixth time.” Touka raised a brow in confusion as to why they couldn't. He sighed and was and was about to protest once again before they heard a loud tumble in their room. “Ichika! What are you doing?”

She came running in quickly, a slight skip in her step and a beaming smile. There were dark streaks of black pencil across her cheek under her ghoul eye, mimicking Kaneki's scars. She also drew a nice flower on her other cheek and head with lipstick, her artist skills apparent.

“I'm just like papa! I'm just like papa!” She jumped onto his lap, knocking the air out of him and both he and Touka looked at one another - they didn't know whether to feel heartwarmed or angry at their child. Touka was now growing more concerned at the noise she heard in her room just before.

“Don't I look just like him?” Ichika asked her mum with bright eyes, shaking her dad by the shoulders. “Don't I look cool?”

Kaneki felt his eyes water with tears and he lifted her up, a sappy smile on his quivering lips. She giggled as he hugged her tightly, all anger vanished with his pride and relief. Cool! She called him cool! She was truly the most perfect daughter.

“Don't coddle her! Do you even realise-”

“You, my beautiful princess, are getting cookies today.” Kaneki declared, Ichika and him cheering loudly whilst he stood up. Touka only stared in disgust. “And the queen gets cookies too!”

“We all get cookies!”

Kaneki, despite the joy he had felt in that moment, had not considered the lecture he would receive that night as his wife punished him by making him clean up all the mess in their room. And no, she didn't forgive him even after the cookies.

. . .

“He's so small.” Ichika cocked her head to one side as she stared perplexed at her baby brother her mother held in her arms. His face scrunched up every now and again, his tiny pouty lips opening and closing with quiet whimpers. “Is he even alive?”

“Of course he is, silly.” Kaneki sat besides Touka, admiring their newly born child with his daughter. He couldn't seem to stop hugging his wife, kissing her all over with his head leaned against hers.

Ichika, with her eyes narrowing, leaned forward to examine her brother's face. He wasn't quite exactly how she imagined him to be. After all, she did write that letter to the baby factory with specific instructions on how to design him. However, when she felt her brother squeeze her finger, which seemed so much larger compared to his whole hand, her lips parted and she smiled a gappy smile. Kissing his head, she commented how he would make an ‘adeequit’ brother for her, Touka and Kaneki offering her warm smiles.

“What's his name?” Ichika asked, knowing how her parents were still indecisive, even as they were going out the door to the hospital, otherwise known as the baby factory.

Touka smiled smugly at her husband, who nudged her playfully, knowing she was all too proud at being the one to pick the name.

“Well, it's-

. . .

Asuka!” Ichika stormed down the hallway to his room, slamming her fist against her brother's door. “Get the hell out of there, you rat! I know you're the one who broke my ant farm. Open up!”

“I didn't mean to, they just scared me and I panicked!” His usually small and timid voice yelled back, his back against the door. He knew she could, and probably would, easily break it down though. “It's not my fault you're a weirdo!”

“You shouldn't have even went into my room.” She hissed, slamming his door again. “You won't know fear until I get my hands on-”

Touka cleared her throat behind Ichika, who froze with her body now tensed up. Slowly, the girl turned around with an apologetic smile and her hands raised in hopes that her surrender would elicit mercy. Her mother had this cold stare that chilled Ichika to the bone and her arms remained crossed, an unnerved frown on her face. Asuka started to chuckle when he heard her silence, but continued to keep his door locked.

Touka took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. “Now.” Ichika almost flinched, her lips pressed together. “What's happening here?”

“W-Well, you see, mama-”

“She threatened to kill me. Her own flesh and blood!” Asuka yelled from behind his door, Ichika’s head turning back with an appalled scowl at her snitch of a brother. “He broke my ant farm!” Ichika quickly added, pointing accusingly at his door.

And just like that, they broke out into another argument. Touka sighed as she rubbed her temples, Kaneki soon joining her. He stared for a moment, feeling a sense of deja vu from seeing this sceme from only a few hours ago.

“Alright!” Touka yelled, making them all jump. “Asuka, you better get your ass out here and apologise to your sister and Ichika!” Ichika flinched, silently pleading for her father's aid. But he was already whistling and walking off, minding his own business. “You're fifteen now, there's no need to act like this. You can always get another ant farm after you clean up the one that broke. And you!” She pointed straight at Kaneki, who was so close to retreating to their room. He stared, with wide, terrified eyes at her aggressive tone. “I'm not done with you either!”

She stormed over to his side and practically dragged him into their room, shutting the door behind her - though not before giving one last glare at her daughter. With Ichika sighing and moving back to her room, Touka she dumped herself onto their bed. Kaneki sat besides her, pulling her deadweight body onto her lap.

“I'm guessing you want me to continue the massage now.” Kaneki chuckled, kissing her neck lightly as his hands moved up to her shoulders. She made a noise of confirmation and nodded slowly, leaning into his touch.

She glanced over to the picture that stood on their bedside table; it was a family photo, with a slightly younger Ichika and Asuka stood besides her and Kaneki, along with Yomo, Ayato and Hinami, with her and Ayato’s baby in her arms. It's been a year or two since that picture was taken and it always brought warm memories whenever Touka set her eyes on it. Their family has grown so much after the tension from the Dragon War cooled down. Ichika stood proudly, clinging to her dad's arm. Her hair was tied up in a cute messy bun, her clothes a lot like Touka's when she was younger - baggy and boyish, though she did like her bright colours. Asuka was hiding partially behind Touka's leg, his wavy, thick dark hair partially hiding his big blue eyes, his face still a little chubby and body slim and petite. He didn't have the brash boldness his sister had; he was much more tame like his father, though he was surprisingly hot headed like...well, it doesn't matter who he got that from.

“Hm, they really have grown.” Kaneki said quietly when he caught her staring at the picture. He pulled her against him, squeezing her tightly and rested his head on her shoulder. “In more ways than I'm comfortable with.” He chuckled afterwards.

“It's weird.” Touka added, turning her head to face Kaneki. “Every now and again, it just strikes me that all of this is actually happening. It's...overwhelming.”

He smiled, understanding her completely. It still felt like a dream sometimes and even if it was, they never wanted to let it go. Even with the squabbles and petty fights, even with the glum and moody days, all of it just seemed too perfect to be true. Kaneki pushed Touka's hair to one shoulder, trailing kisses from her bite mark to her ear, where he nuzzled her and pulled her down onto the bed. She giggled as he started to her kiss her softly, whispering her name as he did so, until another loud yell interrupted their moment.

“THERESANTSINMYBED-” Asuka shrieked, along with Ichika laughing loudly. “ICHIKA, YOU DID THIS, DIDN'T YOU-”

“Kaneki, hold this.” She tossed him the cardigan she was wearing. “I don't want my kagune to ruin it.”

“Touka-chan, no!”

. . .

There were butterflies in her stomach and she clutched the hem of her shirt, staring nervously at her reflection. Ichika was dressed in her best casual outfit, with her white shirt that hung off her shoulders and light blue jeans, her hair in a side bun with a white flower clip on one side. She kept the makeup simple, even though that was the only way she knew how to do it, and looked over to the clock to check the time. That was when she heard the doorbell.

She rushed out of the room in an attempt to stop anyone opening the door, but she knew it was too late when she saw her mum and dad already there, greeting their guest warmly. This was terrible! She heard the chipper voice of her date nervously respond to Ichika’s parents, her dad turning to wave over his nervous daughter to the door. With little success, she tried to put up her best smile and forced herself to her dad's side.

And there she was. Ichika’s date. She was beautiful, like she always was, with her long black hair and gentle face. She had these big, dark brown eyes that complimented her soft features and she stood nervously, dressed in a cute, light blue sundress and sandals.

“What a beautiful girl you are!” Touka complimented warmly, inviting the guest inside. “We've heard so much about you, Emi.”

She blushed and Ichika felt her own cheeks heat up, her dad nudging her with his own smile. He squeezed her hand, trying to calm her nerves he knew she had. Touka continued with her gushing compliments, which only embarrassed the two of them further, until Kaneki decided now was the time to save her.  

“Come now, Touka-chan.” He took his wife's hand, tugging her to his side. “You've had your fun, let them go and enjoy their date.” She mumbled that he was a killjoy with a smirk, but nodded with a sigh. Ichika kept her focus on Emi though.

“Hey, you should be careful.” Ichika’s teenaged brother warned as he passed by, playing a game in his hands. His hair was still as bad as it was in the morning, with it all ruffled and sticking out in odd places and he looked up with his dorky round glasses slipping down his nose. “The last boy she dated ran away crying when she nearly bit his tongue off-”

Ichika let out an odd noise that was half a shriek and half gibberish. He chuckled and with and disapproving look from his parents, he ran off to the next room, Touka mentioning how this was somehow Kaneki's fault.

“Ichika-chan, it's fine!” Emi grabbed her hand, making her freeze with her becoming all flustered. “Everyone knows that story.”

“H-How...is that supposed to make it any be-”

“Come on, you dunce, don't keep her waiting.” Touka started nudging her forward, prompting her to take the lead. “Don't be like your dad.”

“Hey, that's not fair.” Kaneki whined, but Ichika sighed and did as her mother told, finally smiling and bidding her goodbyes. Once the door shut, Kaneki took her hand into his and gave her a quick kiss.

“She reminds me of our first date.” He said, his voice low and soft. “Even though we were already married then.”

“Hm, maybe she'll learn from you then.” Touka teased and when he gave her that usual pout she was very familiar with. She pulled him in for another kiss. “But if she doesn't,” she continued, pulling away only slightly, “then everything would still turn out perfect.”

Asuka walked in and made a gagging sound at his parent's sap, hating, though always secretly admiring, how romantic they were to one another. They both amusingly turned to him with their own knowing smirks, Kaneki being the first to tease him.

“I don't know why you're reacting like that when we had to watch you get all cute with that Hitomu girl.” He then made his own high pitched protesting sound, his voice cracking, before he stormed off to his room, his face bright red.

. . .

Asuka checked his watch, half running to his parent's home in realisation of how late he was getting. With him now in Kamii, it was hard to keep track of time sometimes, but he did promise to meet with the family during his break. Besides, he missed his dad's apple pie he always baked for him and Ichika. Well, he'd be lying if he said that was the only reason - he loved his family after all.

Jogging down the street, he finally saw his old home, which was still the same as ever in his eyes. With a warm smile, he went up the small steps and rang the doorbell a few times. He was more than overjoyed to see his mum behind the door and immediately gave her a tight hug.

She was still the gorgeous woman she always was, along with the stray grey hair and crease beneath her eyes. Her hair was shorter again, but he always thought that suited her better. She welcomed him inside, where his dad stood with his pink frilly apron.

“You're too tall!” He exclaimed as he gave him a hug, Asuka almost suffocating. Pulling back, he saw his dad also kept his young looks, even with the few wrinkles around the eyes. “You were shorter than me when you left.”

“Damn, what have you been taking, Asuka-chan? Well, at least you cut off that fugly mullet you had before.” Ichika teased and Asuka smirked, staring at his sister. She has changed herself, though not entirely; her hair was longer, her black roots almost capping her head, and she was dressed quite professionally. She must've just returned from work. “Aren't you going to give me a hug too, brat?”

They share a brief hug and they all sit in the living room, catching up after the few months they last saw each other and sharing the news they’ve heard around Tokyo. It seemed the older members of the TLC were now making their retirements and picking their replacements from the new generation and Kaneki had seemingly no more duties to attend to with Tokyo now fully repaired. Hide had made his last rotation around the continents with his plans of peace and it held some effect with more countries opening their doors to ghouls, though some still saw them as a threat that needed to be eradicated.

They then moved on to their personal lives. Touka and Kaneki were thinking of their retirement themselves, with Kaneki tying loose ends and Touka thinking of handing the cafe to her neice and they hoped to move to a more peaceful and remote area afterwards before travelling to the different countries they had wanted to see. They also planned on spending more time with their friends whilst also taking care of Renji. Ichika seemed to be doing well in the labs, Kimi continuing to teach her as always and Nishiki kept her company every now and again with his son. Asuka always admired his sister for her intellect - he could never pass biology - and she was always so passionate about her being a half ghoul like him and their dad. Asuka never had much an opinion for such a thing and so he instead wanted to refine his writing skills, since his dad wrote such an inspiring book about his messy life. He hoped he could perhaps encourage peace between species through words, like Kaneki and Hide, since he couldn't do so with science.

“What happened to that Emi girl, Ichika-chan?” Kaneki asked with a bright smile, though Ichika could only offer a wry one.

“It didn't work out.” She admitted, all of them offering their own apologies. “It's fine though! It wasn't anything dramatic - it just sorta drifted apart. Besides, I have my work to distract me.” She laughed it off, but Asuka took her hand and squeezed it tightly, both him and their parents offering sympathetic looks.

“Well, it's a good thing I made us apple pie!” Kaneki got up, clapping his hands together. Ichika jumped up excitedly, asking if she could have a big piece like she always did and Asuka and Touka followed behind them to the dining room.

“I always love these moments.” Touka confessed, linking her arm through Asuka’s. He glanced over at her curiously, her gaze fondly watching her lovey dovey husband and enthusiastic daughter. “Isn't it amazing how everything turned out so perfectly.”

He laughed lightly at her comment, nodding. “Well, my hair is still fucked up. It's so thick and knotty.”

“You can blame your dad for that. Or...well...a part of him.”

“W-Wha-”

“It doesn't matter.” She reassured and reached up to kiss his cheek, pinching it. “You're still a handsome boy. Invite Hitomu next time too, you're always polite when she's here.”

As he let out loud protests, they sat around the table, all of them taking a slice of the delicious looking pie. Touka reached beneath the table and held Kaneki's hand. He glanced over at her, her cheeks bright and her eyes crinkled. Of course, that left him smiling all goofy too and neither had to utter a word for them to know the gratitude they both felt. With their children bickering with their own inside banter whilst they both joked with them, and with Kaneki still by her side just as he was twenty years ago, nothing could've felt better than this moment.

Nothing could've felt better with any of their moments.

[straytexts]

NCT Fantasy AU Intro

Genre: Fluffy, humor

Summary: You meet the NCT boys in an unexpected manner..

Word count: 3530

A/n: I went a little ham with this and it’s not even very good lmao. It was mainly to just sorta explain what creatures they are?? More specific character development and background stories are gonna be done in the separate writings. Hopefully y’all enjoy this at least a little bit 🖤 I need to add a break in it but I don’t have my laptop at the moment, so sorry for those of you who have to scroll past the whole thing!!

You sigh in relief, approaching the only building you’ve seen in miles. Getting caught in a storm wasn’t your most ideal plan of action, and heading into a tavern in the forest of Lorlake as a human of all things? Well… That was a last resort. Inhabitants of Lorlake’s forest ranges from the smallest of faeries to a family of giants, but no humans. Never a human. As you walk under the shelter of the roofing, you pull down your raincoat hood and shake stray water from your hair. You reach up for the door handle and tug. The door doesn’t budge due to it being so heavy and the wind forcing it closed, so you plant your feet and pull as hard as you can.

After a few minutes of struggling, you finally manage to open it enough to slip in, being as quiet as possible. Right as your second foot lands onto the tavern’s wooden floors, a big gust of wind blows in and slams the door shut. Everyone turns to look at you. Oh gosh.

Murmurs erupt throughout the tavern. You cautiously take off your raincoat and haphazardly toss it on the loaded coat rack. As you spin around to walk deeper into the tavern, you are greeted by everyone still intensely staring at you. Your thoughts are cut off by the clicking of hooves, looking up to be met with the side of a horse.

“Quit staring at them,” the horse bellows. You looked higher to view the human torso extending from where the head of the horse should be. “I’m sure they’re just as bewildered as you all are. Go back to your drinks.”

There was a pregnant pause as the creatures all process what the man had said. “Now!” Authority was clear in his voice, all of the creatures turning back to their previous conversations, though you were surely an added topic.

You turn to properly look at the man. “Thank you..” You mutter quietly. Though he was a centaur, he might as well have been a giant. If he was a human, he definitely would have been over six foot, with sleek brown hair and brown eyes. He cranes his neck down to look at you, a charming smile plastered on his face.

“No problem, Tiny! My name’s Johnny, nice to meet you.” Johnny extends his long arm down to shake yours.

His hand engulfs yours as you exchange names. “Y/n,” You say while scanning the interior. Though the tavern was clearly sectioned off for the diversity of Lorlake’s inhabitants, many of varying sizes and needs mingled together. To the right is a section scaled down for the faeries, to the left is a ‘normal’ sized seating area. In the back resides a bar, the area storing alcohol completely overrun by water, mermaids and mermen serving and lounging about. Johnny gives a lopsided grin and puts his hand on the top of your back to lead you.

“C’mon, you can sit and chat with me and my friends. We’re a pretty diverse group… Kumihos, faeries, mermen, yeah. You get my point. We have lots of people.” You nod at his words. The bar must connect to the main lake, You think. That’s the only way they could get here, right? You both stop in front of a gaggle of 17. They all pause to look at the visitor Johnny has brought over.

In front of you sits two kumihos, four mermen, four faeries, two fawns, two sets of what you assumed were wizards and familiars, and one werewolf. Johnny greets the group.

“Hey guys, this is Y/n! She’s gonna hang out with us until the storm passes. Say hi.” The group gives a collective respectful ‘hello’ before breaking off to return to their chaos. A couple of the mermen, a familiar, the two fawns, and a faerie bursts out and attacks you with piles of questions.

“Are you a human?”

“How old are you?”

“Do you know what chicken is?”

“Where are you from?”

“How did you get here?”

Johnny laughs at your bewildered face before guiding you to sit in their circle. A deep rumble comes from across you to the left.

“Calm down guys, they’re probably worn out already. And yes, Lucas, humans know what chicken is. They have farms.” You snap your head to look at who spoke, spotting a man with white-pink hair and fox ears along with matching tails and black eyes, specks of blood littered near his mouth. You squeak at the half eaten heart in his and his brown haired companion’s hands. He glances down at his hand, chuckling idly.

“Relax, we refrain from eating human. Us at least. Some other rogues still run around wildly. Anyways, I’m Taeyong and this is Jaehyun.” Taeyong gives a warm close mouthed smile and Jaehyun waves his bloody hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/n.” You nod in a silent response.

To your right, behind the bar and in the water, a laugh that pierces your ears sounds off. Your eyes widen, frozen in shock. Was that a dolphin? A girl?? There was no girl in the circle when you approached, though, you think. Finally, you turn. Floating in the water are four mermen, one of which is leaning heavily on the counter, laughing his ass off. Highlighter purple hair flopped on the top his head, scattering across his forehead completely dry. Sitting slightly under his eyes, are shiny lavender markings, barely visible to the human eye. Similar coloured markings swirl across his hand and up his wrist, similar to henna.

Though he is very obviously a boy, he sounds like a dolphin or an alarm. You flinch as he starts up with the brown and blue haired merman again, raising you hand to your ear to block out the sound. The grey merman beside the other three notices your struggle and flicks the dolphin boy’s forehead, effectively shutting him up.

“Calm yourself, it wasn’t even that funny. You’re hurting the poor kid’s ears,” He says sharply to the two very loud laughers. The other guy next to the purple boy, also laughing but not quite as high as his friend, has chocolate brown hair and dark blue highlights that were barely noticeable upon first glance. Similar to the purple boy, the blue boy has markings on his body. A deep tattoo-like navy blue, basically black, litters his bicep in the shape of an arm cuff. Intricate designs scrawl from his collar bone to his shoulders, wrapping around to somewhere on his back.

The purple boy stops his laughing and gasps overdramatically. Letting out a concerned scream (that you suppose is a common theme with these two), he frantically reaches over the bar to grab at your hands even though he actually grabs your wrists to apologize. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to, I swear! Please forgive me!”

The blue boy lets out a laugh. “I don’t think they forgive you, LeLe. Tsk Tsk, good going.” The purple boy, who you now assume is named LeLe, lets out a defeated scream and slams his head into your arm, going limp and flopping down onto the bar. You cringe at the noise.

“It’s ok, really. Just please stop yelling…” You say, patting his head awkwardly. LeLe’s head pops up in surprise before you’re pulled into a bone crushing hug, his face smushing against yours. The light grey and bright red mermen watching from the side snicker at the two’s antics.

“Yes, please stop screaming so our eardrums are spared.” LeLe ignores the grey merman and starts helf yelling, half speaking.

“Really?! Thank you, thank you! I’m sorry I hurt your ears, I didn’t mean to!” Suddenly, LeLe’s grasp on you is torn. You peer behind you to see a fluffy brown haired boy, who mostly resembles a human. The wand in his hand pointing in LeLe’s direction indicates otherwise. He reminds you of a puppy.

The fluffy boy let out a half annoyed, half relieved sigh. “Sorry about Chenle. He’s loud and proud. The blue loud guy is Lucas,-”

“Hi!!”

A sigh. “The grey merman is Ten, the red kid is Renjun, and this is my familiar, Haechan.” The fluffy boy gestures to the orange haired cat boy, who you didn’t notice before, beside him. He waves silently, a smirk on his face as he gazes at Chenle struggling behind the bar, arms still magically raised by the fluffy boy. “And my name is Mark. I’m a wizard.”

“Ah, that’s why you looked normal.” You say, awkwardly folding your hands in your lap. Johnny chuckles at you and leans down.

“Do you want some food or a drink to keep your hands busy?” You nod, muttering a quick thanks. Meanwhile, Chenle lets out a pitiful whine.

“Maaark! Please put my hands down??” He says, shaking against the restraint. Quiet giggles are heard as four tiny figures hop on Chenle’s shoulders and head. Two of the boys tug at Chenle’s highlighter hair as the other two bounce about on his shoulders. Mark snickers and finally lets Chenle’s wrists free, splashing water over his head and onto the faeries.

Tiny high pitched shrieks are heard. “Dude, watch the water! Drowning is not my goal for today.” A laugh bubbles up from your throat, dragging your hand up to cover your grin. The faeries’ heads snap to look at you.

“Oh yeah! The human,” One with what looks like dark purple colours says. He weakly flutters to the counter from Chenle’s right shoulder. “Hi, I’m Doyoung.” His tiny hand waves quite wildly as he gestures to the other figures still residing on Chenle’s head and left shoulder. “The soft boy on LeLe’s left shoulder is WinWin,” WinWin has soft pink and yellow hair and a colour palette to match for his wings. He waves gently while carefully climbing down Chenle’s arm.

“And the two trouble makers are on LeLe’s head. The one with a deathwish is Yuta,” Between the two faeries left, you assume the one calmly sitting on Chenle’s head was not Yuta. The other faerie swinging from Chenle’s bangs as LeLe cries out in pain? Now, that was most definitely Yuta. He has dark brick red hair with dark pink wings, flecks of dark bluey purple embedded without it. “The smart calm one is Taeil.”

Taeil waves before diverting his attention to Yuta. “You’re gonna lose your grip and then you’re gonna die and then you’re gonna whine about us not caring.” Taeil has ashy blue hair and wings, a bolder blue around the edges. Yuta lets out a laugh.

“Jokes on you, Chenle’s gonna go underwater and you’re gonna drown.” He sticks his tongue out at Taeil and flies down to the countertop next to the other two. “Anyways, welcome to our terrible group of friends, half of us are idiots and the other half are done with life brain cells. You’ve met 8 of the sensible ones and 4 of the stupid ones. Goodluck, it’s all downhill from here.” You snicker at his statement before nodding.

“I see,” you say as you watch Doyoung return to the other faeries. Suddenly, you feel a delicate tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you’re surprised to see the other familiar sending you a gentle smile. On the top of the boy’s head of grey-blue hair sat a pair of floppy bunny ears, similarly coloured and when he turns to gesture you over, you catch sight of a soft cotton tail.

“Come over with me! I’ll introduce you to the rest of the kids.” You shrug and follow the pure looking boy. Two things catch your attention immediately. One is the tired looking brunette supervising half of the younger boys who reminds you of an exhausted uncle watching his brother’s bratty kids. He looks fairly normal, at least at first glance, so you assume he was the familiar’s wizard. The second is the werewolf sitting silently in the midst of the chaos, black hair and fuzzy ears adorning his head, as well as a fluffy tail curled around the back of his chair. He has an impossibly sharp jawline but now that you think about it, most of the boys did and a stone cold resting face, black-looking eyes staring at nothing in particular as he spaces out.

Before you can acknowledge the other three boys, the bunny familiar interrupts your thoughts. “Where’s NaNa?” He asks his wizard, a frown splaying across his face. The wizard shrugs.

“Think he went to the bathroom? I don’t know and honestly, I don’t care too much at this point.” He says, sighing in defeat and closing his eyes.

So you were right. He was essentially a tired uncle.

“Hmm. Well fine,” The familiar says. “I’ll just introduce you to who’s here and NaNa can suffer.” You let out a airy laugh, pulling your shirt’s sleeves down your arms in an attempt to keep your hands busy. He smiles gently at you again as he continues, “My name is Jungwoo! My wizard’s name is Kun.” He gestures in the uncle’s direction briefly before he lines his body with the other boys. “The fawn over there is Jisung, he’s the youngest. He’s pretty quiet unless he’s with the Dreamies, then he just becomes a savage. We just call him Ji.”

The fawn, now known as Jisung, turns from his conversation with Haechan, LeLe and Renjun at the mention of his name. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights pun fully intended. A soft pink colour rises to his cheeks before he carefully whips his head back to his loud friends.

Jisung has fluffy, mousy brown hair atop his head that you have the intense urge to ruffle. Decent sized antlers sprout from his temples, nearly hidden by his bangs, with ears as big as your hand and a cute little deer tail.

Your stare is broke when you hear a door shut and footsteps booming in the groups direction. Startled, you look with Jungwoo to see yet another fawn sprinting over, his eyes locked on the spaced-out werewolf. Before you can even react, the fawn glomps the werewolf in a full on cuddle, burying his head into the other boy’s neck.

The werewolf lets out a little squeak as he’s tugged from staring into the abyss and blushes heavily, retracting from nothing in particular other than his own awkwardness.

Your jaw is slack as Jungwoo laughs at you and the wolf. “That’s Jeno. He looks intimidating but really he’s awkward and likes making lame jokes. The other fawn is NaNa, he likes affection a little bit too much. Thanks for so graciously joining us, NaNa!” He said sarcastically.

You fumble as you attempt to get the words out of your mouth, pointing accusingly at Jeno. “But.. He’s so..- What?”

NaNa lets out a loud laugh at your bumbling. You turn to glare at the boy, but also to scan him over. Similar to Jisung, NaNa has deer ears, antlers, and a tail, as well as light brown hair and chocolatey eyes. The main difference between the boys is that NaNa is overall fluffier than Jisung, as well as the gleaming gold markings near his cheeks and up his arms. But now that you really look.. Jisung has similar marks in a pearlescent colour that you weren’t able to see prior.

Jeno, ears now downturned out of embarrassment, mutters lowly to the boy snuggling up to him. “Get off me, there’s a different person here…” You are appalled. The wolf has a completely different personality than you had anticipated.

Jungwoo clears his throat to gain the attention of you and the other boys before gesturing for you to reintroduce yourself. You cough awkwardly to clear your throat as Haechan snickers.

“Uhh.. I’m Y/n.” Your hand raises quickly for an uncomfortable wave. A laugh bubbles from Jungwoo’s throat before he shoves you into the boys’ circle. LeLe gives you a bright grin and tries to ring you into their conversation.

“Do you have any questions?” He asks, propping himself up on his forearms on the counter and half out of the water. NaNa and Jisung nod in agreement, the other three boys turning to stare at you. Your eyes widen in panic.

“Uhh. Yeah? I guess?” You say frantically as NaNa tugs you to sit on a chair next to them. “How did this little group get created? Aren’t different species supposed to not get along? Are all of your faeries and fawns and mermaids and kumihos related to each other? What about the wizards?”

LeLe, NaNa, and Haechan laugh at your schpiel. “First of all, no. None of us are related, that’s just a bad stereotype,” LeLe’s the quickest to answer.

“Same with the thing about different species’ not getting along. Totally not true,” NaNa cuts in. LeLe nods in agreement before continuing his sentence.

“As for us becoming friends, I personally first met Jisung on the surface of the lake. Then NaNa found out and introduced me to his friends while I made my only merman friends meet them all.”

You tilt your head in questioning. “Oh. Did you not meet each other in here? I thought that was probable.” Jeno lets out a small laugh.

“Actually our group made this place. Technically Johnny and Jaehyun own it, but everyone in our group helped and partially own it.”

You let out a very long, “Ohhhh.”

Haechan snickers again. “I don’t know why you all stayed, they’re all idiots.” Jisung scoffs at his statement.

“You’re still here. So are you part of the idiots or the other idiots?” He says. Jeno and NaNa snort while LeLe lets out his loud dolphin laugh. You just sit there, mildly shocked. Though you should’ve expected it; Jungwoo had warned you. Haechan lightly smacks the boy’s arm.

“So are you, so shut up!” He yells quite loudly. Jisung immediately snaps back.

“I’m friends with LeLe, it’s to be expected of me to stay with idiots.” It turns to chaos, the boys laughing and clapping while LeLe yells a “Hey!” at him. You have to admit, that was a pretty good one. Poor LeLe probably doesn’t have any ego left in him. At that point, you hear hooves clicking. Looking up, you spot Johnny walking over with a cup of hot chocolate milk and some cookies.

“Sorry about that, I got caught up talking to Jaehyun and Taeyong.” You stare at the food in his hands. Had you asked for it? You didn’t have any money so you couldn’t pay for it, which means you probably didn’t. Unless you had somehow forgotten? Johnny laughs at your confused face. “I asked you earlier if you wanted some food. And I got you some hot chocolate, since you must be freezing. It was really storming hard when you got here.” He carefully hands you the food as NaNa whines.

“You never give any of us free food!” He falls dramatically on Jeno’s lap towards Johnny for emphasis. Johnny simply laughs and waves him off.

“You all run the place, of course you have to pay,” Johnny fold his legs beneath the horse part of his body and sits down on the floor, leaning his arms against the counter. “What were you all talking about?”

“We were talking about how we’re all idio-” NaNa cuts Jisung off with a nervous laugh and a step on the foot.

“We were just talking about how cool all of us were to become friends and create this place! LeLe was just gonna explain how the water bar works!” NaNa yells.

“I was?” He asks. NaNa nods frantically gesturing for him to talk before Jisung does. “Oh!! Yeah totally! Ha ha…” He laughs nervously for a while before Renjun swims over and cuts him off.

“The water bar has an underground tunnel we dug out that attaches to the lake. Don’t know how we managed to do that but whatever works, y’know?” He explains.

You laugh softly. “Is interrupting each other just a theme in this friend group?”

Johnny nods, “Pretty much.”

You all talk for a while, the older boys joining the conversation, and soon enough, you’ve gotten to befriend and learn about every single one of them.

Johnny pauses, the other boys falling silent. “Do you all hear that?” They all tilt their heads at him as he grins. “Exactly. It means the storm stopped.”

Your eyes widen. “Really? How long has it been?” You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you’ve been here for more than two hours. “Oh my god, I have to leave! My family is gonna kill me for being out in the storm so late!” You quickly bounce up and run to grab your coat.

“You’re always welcome back anytime!” Jaehyun yells across the tavern. You nod and give a thumbs up.

“I’ll make sure to come back and visit soon!”

And so you did.

Got yelled at heavily by your parents and overprotective sibling… but also visited the tavern again and again to see the boys.

[afinedoll]

MH: Dragon and Werewolf CAM

Time for another CAM review! A word of warning, these two were given to me incomplete, and try as I might I have been totally unable to replace the missing limbs - so I have had to make do.

Here they are! I have named the dragon Wyverna George and the werewolf Roma Lupine, because ‘dragon CAM’ is no name for anyone. Wyverna is missing her left hand and is using one from the Colour-Me-Creepy Design Lab CAM, who is the right shade of pink but has a tendency to revert to dirty grey, sadly. And Roma had to borrow her lower left forearm from the mummy CAM, Isis Von Thebes, and it’s not quite a perfect match. Since they only have one wig and one pair of shoes between them, I’m using Isis’s wig and a pair of Wydowna Spyder’s shoes so they don’t have to share.

This is what they look like after they’ve traded wigs - note that the wigs match their lipstick now. For the purposes of this review I’m going to have Roma wear the violet wig and review her first, but there’s something I wanted to get out of the way first. Anyone noticed anything missing on Roma?

I took this before I left the house so I wouldn’t have to take these ear clips out of the house and risk losing them. I hate them, this is a stupid way to do it. They should be on a headband like Bunny Blanc’s rabbit ears. They slide around, you can see the clips and they absolutely had to be put in this wig because the smooth, slippery strands of the violet wig wouldn’t hold them at all - in fact this one barely does. Eh, you know what, I’m going to ditch these ears entirely, say she’s a vampire instead and call her Camilla Bluthaven instead. Objections? No? Good.

She’s clearly got makeup meant to match the red wig. Her lips are the same shade of red and her eyeshadow is the same hue, only paler. I like the pale blue eyes - she’s kind of got husky eyes, especially with the grey skin and brown eyebrows. On the whole, though, without the context of the wig, all the red is slightly baffling.

Her face shape is, on the whole, not terribly remarkable for a Monster High doll, and nothing really stood out to me. Kinda sad, but they can’t all be winners and it’s not as though she’s a named character. Sorry, Roma.

She looks a lot better in the wig, and as you can see it matches her makeup and skin tone perfectly. The wig itself is very coarse and difficult to manage, and the silver streak is kind of spread out a bit so it’s hard to get into one stripe - and if you don’t do that, it kind of looks as if she’s going grey.

I only have her left forearm - anyone who can help me out here, I would really appreciate it, I will pay and pay postage and everything, no matter where you are in the world - but I do have both hands, and you can see that they’re standard clawed hands. They’re not even curled like Clawdeen’s usually are.

The boots - like the wig - seem like they were made with Roma in mind, not Wyverna. Peep-toe ankle cowboy boots with moon decoration definitely says ‘werewolf’ to me, not dragon. I mean I guess I can see a flame motif over the front if I squint but I’m still getting mostly werewolf.

I really don’t like this dress, or at least, not on its own. The pattern is OK, although I can’t quite make out what those Skullettes are, but the shape of it is all wrong. It rides up on the skirt, so Roma has this odd ridge on her hips, and down at the bust, so she keeps getting exposed. Just... no. Bad dress.

With the jacket on it’s better - you can see how in the picture up top - but this is how it looks off the doll. As you can see it has a weird cutout at the back, in case you want to use the wings. And if you don’t? Well, sucks to be you.

We’re not going to examine the purple wig because we already did that in the other review. This is how this burgundy-and-silver wig looks on Wyverna - I think the wild cut is a good look but the fringe is too deep for her and hides her funky eye makeup. So let’s take it off and have a look.

Holy cheekbones Batman. Look at this face, this is way more striking than Roma’s. First of all I love the scaly eyeshadow and spiky brows, although I’m not sure how I feel about the lilac lipstick - it corresponds with literally nothing else in the outfit, although it would make Roma’s things suit her better.

As I mentioned she has a very angular face - especially the upper half, sharp, well-defined lines pointing towards the tip of the nose to suggest a snout even though she doesn’t actually have one.

She has the fin ear cast - not pierced, of course, this is a CAM we’re talking about, which is kind of a shame, dragons should wear some awesome jewellery. From this angle you can see the extent to which her eyeshadow wings out, I think this may be some of the most elaborate MH eyeshadow I’ve seen. I love it.

So let’s have a look at this outfit. It’s a two-piece outfit, which is neat, although that skirt is seriously short. Here you can also see the front of the wings, which we’ll examine in a bit.

This is not in fact a print of two different patterns - it’s two different patterns sewn together, with actual ribbons and real hems, which is way more effort that even the main MH dolls have these days. I miss these days. We have the teensy miniskirt, which in addition to being tiny, hitches up on the left side for Design Reasons. The halter top has a slightly paler shade of the spotted print - which is a much more elegant way of fixing the wing issue than a honking great hole in the back of the jacket.

So here’s Wyverna from the back with the wig off so you can see the wings. They’re actually some kind of hard translucent rubber-type plastic, so you can see light through them, and they’re textured a bit like leather. Very bat-wing.

Wyverna nude - she has scaly arms and legs, and parts of them are painted. The fins don’t come out of her calves like Lagoona’s do, but that’s not really an issue because, of course, the knee joint pops apart.

On reflection I think pink is an odd colour for a dragon. Why not green?

On the left side, she has green scales painted on her hip. This is the reason her skirt hitches up on the left, although in my opinion it’s not a good reason. Like, they could have painted it lower.

On the right side her leg is bare but she has scales on her bicep. Fashionable asymmetry FTW.

Finally, her hand is the standard claw hand, only with scale texture and fins on the forearm.

In conclusion, we have one pretty dull doll and one rather interesting one - so as far as CAMs go, that’s not too bad!

[knives-out20]

Magnetic Pull - Erik Lehnsherr x Male!OC - Part 12

Fandom: X-Men: First Class (2011)

Pairing: Karmel Rosenstein (OC) x Erik Lehnsherr

Warnings: Spoilers for X-Men: First Class, Swearing, Internalized homophobia, Repressed homosexuality, Mentions of suicide (attempted), Angsty backstory,

Notes: I mention a piece of Karmel’s backstory that we’ve touched on before. A bit of a touchy subject, speaking of, so just an FYI. Hannibal references inside. Also I only have a limited amount of Karmel gifs (his faceclaim being Brad Pitt as Detective David Mills in the 1995 movie Se7en) so don’t be confused/surprised/etc if I happen to reuse gifs.

Karmel stood wearing a grey hoodie and matching sweatpants, which strayed far from his usual outdoor attire. Him and Charles stood outside the mansion, in front of a wall of the mansion with the least windows."What'd'ya need me to fuckin’ do, again?"

Charles sighed."You've gotten the hand of using your vines when they grow from out of your own body. I'd like to get you to practice having them grow from out the ground, is all. We can start off small, and work our way up somehow. I need you to grow your vines out the ground, and up this wall- careful to go around the windows."

"Like I'm drawing a line in a maze in some kids activity book?"

Charles paused. He shrugged, "strange comparison, but, yes, that's the gist. Unless you wish to make them form a picture of something. Easy enough?"

Karmel chuckled, "yea, I'll just shoot them up the wall, though."

"By all means, go ahead."

Karmel cleared his throat, slowly raising his hands, palms facing the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, never really being a fan of seeing his powers in action. Especially since twice in his life, they were -nearly- the death of him. Literally.

Charles exhaled, a look of concern on his face."Think I'll be able to teach you to face your vines in motion?"

"I'd like to s-see you try" Karmel stuttered.

"I understand what your powers almost caused twice...I'm sorry that your powers are integrated with these memories" Charles apologized, weeding his way through this pep-talk.

A quick glimpse through Karmel's mind at that moment brought him to the afterwards of Karmel's second attempt: Karmel in his twenties, crying in the back of his car with a blood-soaked patch on one side of his forehead. He was covered in marks and tiny scars that came from the thorns on his vines.

Charles saw tears forming in Karmel's eyes due to the flashback, like Erik earlier when he had a flashback of his mother."But, I do hope you know that you're stronger now, more than ever. Certainly more than you were in those dark moments of your life. You have me, the team, Moira...Erik-" he smiled when he noticed that saying Erik's name made Karmel sprout vines from out of the ground."So that's it." Charles thought, looking back over at Karmel. He now knew that Erik's powers would mostly spring from anger, and Karmel's would at the thought, mention, or sight of Erik. Why didn't he come to this conclusion earlier?

"I keep a lot of things in my head in fear of people like you- telepaths- existing and finding out. And...judging" Karmel started, wiping his eyes quickly.

"I'm not one to judge things that shouldn't be judged in the first place, Kar" Charles shrugged.

"My outburst at the base...over Erik," the vines latched onto the brick wall, slowly crawling upwards."Words can't describe how glad I am that Moira 'n' you didn't fire backlash at me, backlash I've lived in fear of my entire life. It just...I don't wanna talk about it right now."

"And you don't need to, Karmel. We can focus on this wall right now" Charles nodded, turning to the wall.

Karmel didn't look at his vines as they curled their ways up the brick wall, quick to dodge around any windows in their paths.

Charles' eyebrows knitted together as his head slowly panned up, noticing that the vines were making line art of...a face?

"Is it going up?"

"It's going up, alright" Charles answered, recognizing the shape of the jaw anywhere."What's something you like about Erik, then?" He pushed, most likely to test his theory from earlier about Karmel's powers when Erik's in mind.

Karmel exhaled through his nose."His eyes. Erik's eyes are like...two moons, I dunno. With blue-green pools in them- I don't know, man, they're beautiful, alright?" He kissed his teeth in slight frustration, not really that good at sappy stuff. But, his vines sped up, so that meant Charles was right.

"And what about his hair?" Charles suggested.

"Oh, his hair, fuck m-" Karmel opened a wide eye to glance at Charles, humming the 'm' he was so close to using to say 'me.'

Charles tilted his head, looking at Karmel as if he were saying "really, bitch? Seriously?"

Karmel continued humming the 'm', racking his brain for a way to save himself."-Mmman, I dunno, his hairs cool too-"

Charles rolled his eyes playfully, Karmel peacefully closing his eye.

Karmel grunted a bit, hands quivering as his vines looped around the wall, forming a jawline, a pair of thin lips, a perfect nose, and creases around a pair of eyes. His fingers bent a bit as the vines formed the archway of a hairline around a prominent forehead, the vines even spiking up in some places in the shape of hair. This was all unbeknownst to Karmel, that's the best part. He thought his vines were simply going straight up, and around the windows.

"It's reached the top."

"Finally-" Karmel panted, dropping his hands. He slowly looked up at the big brick wall, colour draining from his face when he could easily make out line art (or in this case, vine art) of Erik Lehnsherr's face. Karmel's head snapped in Charles' direction as his blue eyes went huge.

Charles chuckled simply."If you wanted to do someone instead of something, you could have just said so."

"No, no, no, it was an accident- I didn't- I wasn't- I wasn't even thinking of him, I- I just wanted the fucking vines to grow" Karmel stuttered, frantically waving his arms.

"Karmel, Karmel-" Charles called, putting a hand on Karmel's shoulder."It's okay."

Karmel slowly dropped his hands, raising an eyebrow. His vine art of Erik grew purple flowers, which bloomed quickly. Karmel's breath hitched at that.

"It's okay now, remember? I know, you know, we both know here. And I'm a hundred percent okay with what I know. As of our quick trip to Russia, so are you. It's okay, you're safe here. You can be who you truly are."

Karmel took slow, deep breaths, nodding."Yea, I- I just...I guess I'm gonna forget sometimes, that it's okay. But it's hard to forget that on a scale of one to ten, he's a certified twenty. I'm...I love Erik, man."

"Which is okay" Charles cracked a comforting smile."I'll be around to remind you. It's a slow process."

Karmel looked up at Erik’s face on the wall.”I have to deal with you,” he groaned, pointing up at it.”And my feelings about you.”

Charles looked up at the vines.”You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.”

Karmel turned to Charles. He donned a look of inner fear, as if he were still slightly afraid of his love for Erik. In reality, Karmel was just unsure of how long it would take him to get used to it.

Charles pat Karmel’s shoulder.”No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love, we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloveds potential comes true” he explained.

"Hey, you two!" Erik's voice rang from a way's behind the two of them.

"Fuck-" Karmel swore, and gestured his hands downwards. The vines shot back down into the ground, a couple purple flower petals and a singular flower itself hanging around. 

The wall was blank again.

"Hi, Erik!" Karmel nervously greeted. He wondered why Erik smiled like that the moment he saw him.

"I saw that-" Charles grinned as he waved.

"Shut it, Charlie Chaplin" Karmel spoke through grit teeth as he checked out Erik wearing clothes identical to his."Goddamn..." he thought, biting the edge of his lip.

Erik put his hands on his hips, looking up at the wall like it was missing something."What happened to the green lines on the wall?"

Karmel almost choked on his own spit."My, uh, my vines. Charlie Chaplin here wants me to practice making my vines grow out from places that aren't my body. And- And wants me to practice making them move certain ways, up walls 'n' shit, so that I can control them better. They didn't go up the way I wanted-"

"I'd say otherwise-"

"Shut up, Charles. Anyways, they- they didn't go up the way I wanted, so I'm trying again" Karmel explained.

"Those flowers weren't there before" Erik pointed out, literally pointing down at them.

"Oh, yea, I can grow flowers from my vines. Not just leaves, or thorns. They could also have this weird poison effect. Ivy, too. Poison ivy, even. That's a thing" Karmel recalled, his whole body going rigid at what Erik then asked.

"Can I watch?"

"Uhm-"

"Sure!" Charles answered for him.

Karmel shot Charles a glare, slowly turning around to face the wall again. He raised his arms, forcing himself to pay close attention to the way his vines curved up the wall.

"Also, uh, Karmel" Erik called.

"Yep?"

"I'm sorry about what I said to Charles and you the day we arrived here. I remembered what you've told me about your parents, but it didn't dwell on me on how deep it really went, no matter how long ago it was. So...my apologies" Erik apologized.

"Shit-" Karmel cursed under his breath, Erik taking accountability of his actions only making Karmel fall in love with him even more. He moved his hands to the sides, vines smoothly darting out of the way of a window."It's fine, Erik. I don't bare any ill will towards you 'cause of it. Joking like I did was just...an automatic response."

"A coping mechanism?" Charles suggested.

"What are you, my therapist?" Karmel scoffed, getting slightly defensive."Yea, that, whatever" he agreed. Karmel watched his vines lurch this way and that way, recognizing what was now his own face, made up of vine-line-art. Once he finished, he eagerly dropped his arms."I felt like I'd look good up here."

"You thought otherwise just a moment ago-" Charles snickered.

"Shut up, Charlie" Karmel groaned. He waved an arm at the wall, purple flowers blooming on the vines that etched his face around the wall. Karmel turned back around to Erik, who grinned slightly.

"Impressive as always" Erik coughed.

"Beware, it goeth before the fall. How many times I gotta tell you guys?" Karmel joked, Erik and him gigging softly.

Charles arched a brow, looking between Karmel and Erik."I gotta go find Raven. I'll see you two inside later" he bade them goodbye, jogging off and around the corner, disappearing from sight.

Karmel and Erik kept, somehow comfortable, eye contact, Karmel cracking a small smile as he looked down, then turned away.

"So, uh, Karmel" Erik piped up.

"Hmm?" Karmel hummed, walking towards the wall. He knelt down, picking up a whole, purple flower.

"I have something."

Karmel stood back up, and walked back over to Erik."You have something? What? A flu?"

Erik shook his head."No, no, like...physically. I picked it up for you- don't ask when- and I thought you'd like it."

Karmel’s smile broke out into a bigger one.”No one’s ever done that for me...not even Grace. That’s real nice of you” he cooed.

Erik pulled his lips into a sheepish smile.”Don’t think too much of it, though. A simple gesture can only go so far sometimes” he told, digging into his pocket and pulling out a bracelet. It was made out of braided, brown leather, and bore a silver, metal clasp. Erik held it up, holding back a smile when Karmel cautiously took it.

”It’s so cool” Karmel gasped, gently putting it on his left wrist.”Thank you, Erik- I feel bad, I don’t have shit for you-“

Erik held up a hand.”Nonsense, Karmel. I don’t need anything in return.”

Karmel’s smile was glued to his lips, as he remade eye contact with Erik. 

Erik rubbed the back of his neck, a faint smile of his own on his face, thanks to Karmel. 

“Y’know, actually-“ Karmel looked down at the flower in his hand.”I do have something.”

Erik followed his gaze.”The flower?”

Karmel hummed.”A flower from my own vines, Erik. That’s super fucking personal” he said, reaching up to tuck it behind Erik’s ear.

Erik exhaled through his nose, glancing up at it.”How do I look?”

”Breathtaking, man” Karmel giggled, definitely in love at this point. Not even that ‘in love’ love with Erik’s body; Karmel was in love with Erik as a person, the whole idea of him sparked joy. At first he thought it was merely physical. But the more time they spent around each other, the deeper it grew. Now Karmel just wishes he could act on his feelings.

Erik glanced down, stricken by a sense of shyness.

“See, Erik-” Karmel started, pointing at the bracelet.”There’s so much more to you than you know, Erik. Not just pain and anger, like me. There’s good in you, Erik, I can feel it. I know it. I’ve fucking seen it, now.”

Erik looked up at him, surprised at what was said. Did Karmel really think that of him?

The two held eye contact again, standing in comfortable silence.

Karmel was the first to break his gaze, quick to sneak a glance at Erik's lips beforehand.”I should, uh- get going, though. Hank wanted to show me the library in this place.”

”Yea” Erik nodded, doing the same before looking down.”You’re a librarian after all.”

”Best one in the country” Karmel puffed out his chest, making Erik laugh. He sighed softly, privileged enough to earn a look of genuine happiness and innocence from the man. It felt rare. It felt good. It made Karmel feel like he was on top of the world.”C’mon, let- let’s, uh, let’s go back inside.”

Erik nodded, leading the way.

Karmel watched Erik walk, and groaned softly to himself. He threw the hood of his hoodie over his head and violently pulled on the strings, cocooning his face in the hood.”Stupid fuckin’ faggot fuck” Karmel cursed himself, his feelings for Erik only growing stronger by the second.

[reekierevelator]

Across the Tracks in a Different Direction

a short story

The three-unit diesel wheezed to a stop at the moorland halt with a concluding grunt. Only one set of doors slid open and a gentleman with piercing eyes and nose pointed at the sky stepped on to the platform in a well-cut blue suit, felt hat, and black brogues with matching leather briefcase. He looked neither left nor right, for the scrub land with its buttercups and daisies and the distant snow-capped peaks were things he had seen too many times before.  As the train’s door automatically closed again he strode briskly through the tiny unmanned ticket office towards the miniature car park, almost filled to capacity by its sole occupant, a traditional canvas-covered dark green Land Rover of uncertain vintage.  

A small man in a flat tweed cap and waxed green jacket emerged from the vehicle, and unnecessarily aimed to attract the traveller’s attention by waving a newspaper, its bold headline announcing ‘Falklands Invaded’. As the traveller approached he threw down the newspaper, saying ‘Inspector Jessel, back again eh? Here to collect the Chantelle lassie, right? Well, jump in. Maybe springtime’s as good a time as any for a bad one like that to be starting over again. I’ll be getting you up to the school then.’

           As the train pulled away there was a movement behind the gorse bushes on the far side of the tracks, the rustling unnoticed by either man. The Land Rover’s engine fired into life and the car was soon off along the narrow road in a cloud of dust.

Chantelle emerged from the bushes in her blue shirt and grey skirt, a brown backpack over her shoulder. She hurried across the rough scrubland, her frizzy hair, cut in a peculiar way that only someone with no say in the matter could countenance, lightly bouncing on top of her head.

It was almost an hour later, after changing into jeans and old boots and climbing through foothills into a low valley beyond, that she was shocked to find herself staring once again at a railway line. Lonely and despairing, she puzzled over how she could have managed to hike round in a circle. But then it registered that this railway had rusty rails and tall weeds, even small hawthorn bushes with may blossom, growing up through the stones between the sleepers. Chantelle perked up and decided to follow the disused line as it snaked along between the ribbons of gnarled old Scots pine trees forming a guard of honour.

But after a further hour of trudging along this track the spring sunshine clouded over and a mist descended. She had to admit to herself she was lost and her abiding fear of being lost forever, of being abandoned, returned. A sickening feeling of panic rose in her stomach.

           Desperately telling herself that railways always went somewhere, to one place or another, even those no longer used, she adjusted the backpack she’d stolen from the school – the shoplifting skills mastered on city streets still came in useful - which felt heavier with each step she took, and gamely trudged on.

           When it came to her that the people of any settlement that the defunct line happened to pass through would already be forewarned to look out for her, to report her, to have her promptly picked up and returned, she sighed and plopped down to the ground, both brain and legs demanding a focillation. As she sat cross-legged on the rough stones tears formed in her round brown eyes, glistening as they rolled round the dark pouches beneath her eyes. She was assailed by the overpowering aroma of wild garlic, its growing season almost past and now falling back in stretches between the crooked little silvery trees.

She was almost sixteen but felt five again, remembering the day her mother had lifted her from her bed and hurried across city street lights to the place she called ‘a proper house’ where she’d have a ‘new daddy’.  She could barely remember her ‘old daddy’, a man who sometimes had pockets full of apples or nuts, an agathist, always telling her she had a bright future ahead. The one event she recalled clearly was when he had given her a punnet of the sweetest brambles and, laughing, had asked how she would pay for them, and she’d offered a biscuit and a shiny piece of quartz stone she’d found that day. He had been an irregular visitor anyway and he wasn’t there that day they left. And after the move she’d never seen her him again. The ‘proper house’ was a cramped single room in which the ‘new daddy’ hit them both, and her mother had died less than a year later with a needle still pointing to the tracks on her arm.

That was when she’d been taken into care. And now the scale of difficulty in what she had yesterday imagined was a simple straightforward plan - returning to the city, and finding somewhere to squat while she tried to locate some distant relation or other who must surely exist - seemed to multiply exponentially. It was suddenly and completely overwhelming. In front of her the railway line seemed endless and her train of thought hurtled down a dark tunnel on a one-way track.

           Her weeping head sagged, but out of the corner of a tearful eye she glimpsed a small patch of unusual colour tangled up amid a clump of ferns and dandelions.  Stretching over she picked up a crumpled piece of mauve paper, dampened by the mist. She pulled it straight, held it up to the sky, and turned it over twice. There could be no doubt. Wiping away the tears she broke into a smile and pocketed this peeled egg of a twenty pound note.

Rising with a renewed energy she continued on to the next bend of the railway tracks. Just beyond the bend, merging into the mist, she spied a man shuffling around and took him for a tramp. His long anorak type coat was quite shabby. On his head there was a battered camouflage fisherman’s hat and he was bending over thick-soled army-style boots, anxiously grubbing around amongst the weeds and stones with grimy fingers. As he turned, still staring at the ground, beginning slowly walking back in Chantelle’s direction, she gathered her courage, advanced warily, and called out ‘Have you lost something mister?’

           The man’s head jerked up in surprise, revealing a swarthy, lined face, embellished by a full grey beard and sparkling dark eyes. The eyes darted this way and that as if to check she was alone.

           ‘Aye lassie,’ he said, his voice at once gravelly and despondent, ‘I had some money a minute ago and now I don’t. Five hours cutting a gadgie’s hedges and nothing to show for it. Ah well, that’s life, eh? There’s still water in the loch and sun in the sky.’

           Chantelle recognised someone who seemed in as much trouble as herself, but was under no illusions about her safety. She pulled the note from her pocket and gingerly held it out towards him as she approached. ‘I think this must be what you’re after,’ she said, ‘you dropped it a little way back.’ Her gesture was borne more of heterocentricity than altruism, more empathy than honesty.

           The man’s agitation visibly eased and what passed for a grin animated his face. ‘My, but that’s barry lassie,’ he said, his gravelly voice suffused with gratitude. ‘You’re a grand one so you are, quite the good luck charm.’

‘Not so lucky really.’ She hesitated before admitting, ‘I’m not sure where I am.’

‘Well, one good turn deserves another. I can point you to wherever.’

The man clearly knew exactly where he was. Soon Chantelle was level with him, but cautiously keeping a few feet apart.  He picked up a cloth shoulder bag that he’d left lying on the track and after a while they fell into step. Chantelle’s fear gradually left her as they followed the rails together. The man was friendly, thoughtful rather than aggressive, and talked to her as an equal rather than a child. Before long she had the feeling they were kindred spirits. Though she could not express it in words Chantelle quickly gained an impression of a man more steeped in xenodochy than xenophobia.  

           ‘Where do these tracks lead?’ she asked.

           ‘They lead wherever you want to go, lassie. But I suppose the first stop, if you’re interested, is in a mile or two, a place called Invermalloch.’

           ‘Will there be many people there?’

           ‘A few.’ Seeing Chantelle bite her lip he continued, ‘Oh, I see, there’s a problem is there? You’re worried about the people?’ He paused. ‘I’m thinking no doubt it’ll be the big school you’ve left in a hurry, leaving before they expected you to. Is that it?’

When Chantelle nodded he thought for a moment before saying ‘Oh well, maybe we can take a wee detour round Invermalloch.’ As if noticing the smears on Chantelle’s plump young face for the first time he said, ‘You’ve been crying lass.  We can’t have that.  No, I can see that for today’s bummel we should definitely change direction before Invermalloch.  No need to be bound by hard lines or the beaten path. Ach, the yellow’s been on the broom for weeks now, there’ll be a camp set up we can join over Glentilloch way. ’

           Chantelle couldn’t fault this wanderer’s powers of perception. When she asked his name he answered simply ‘Malcolm’, before expanding this to ‘Malky McPhee, but they call me Malky the Book.’

‘I’m Chantelle,’ she said. ‘Back back there they had fun calling me Chanty; girls called me Piss-Pot. That place, the residential school, it wasn’t the kind of secure place I’m really looking for.’

Malcolm absorbed this and replied, like a genuine yahrsider, ‘Well, you know, I had a similar experience. I decided that working for a boss all the hours of the day just so that I could eat, pay rent, and have two weeks’ holiday a year, wasn’t what I was really looking for. I ran away from that.’

‘But I’ll soon be sixteen,’ said Chantelle, ‘and they want rid of me. I broke into a storeroom and stole a rucksack to carry my stuff in. If they catch me it’ll be juve prison the next time. And what would happen to me after that?

‘I don’t know. What would happen?’ Malcolm answered.

‘Well no-one can get a proper job after juve. So much unemployment anyway. All that’s left is stealing or drugs. Everyone says it’s just in and out of prison after that.’

‘Oh well, no choreying then; a pity since I believe everything belongs to everyone, so long as you only take what you need. Some gadgies don’t see it like that though. So I suppose we better make sure there’s not a next time, eh?’

‘I… did borrow a few other things. I’ve got some apples and porridge oats and cartons of milk in my bag,’

‘You’ll not starve then. And I’ve got food for the mind in mine,’ Malcolm smiled and stopped to show her the books he carried in his shoulder bag, strange books with authors like Zeno of Citium and titles like Zen Buddhism.’

They laughed at their own incongruence, an odd couple but nevertheless coming to enjoy each other’s company.

‘Ataraxia, that’s what you want,’ he uttered gnostically, and Chantelle laughed at the sound of the word, wondering what it meant and whether Malcolm might not be a bit off kilter.

‘Do you have friends camping at Glentilloch?’ she asked.

‘Aye, a few. Well, family really - uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins and so on. And some maybe some that are just friends.’

‘And your children?’

‘No,’ said Malcolm sadly, ‘no wife, no children…. There was a time…’ But he trailed off and suddenly changed the subject.

‘How did you end up there anyway? Surely they don’t put youngsters away for stealing apples these days, do they?’

It was Chantelle who then became quiet and subdued.

‘I often run away. I’m not sure why. Some of the foster parents were good to me. Really, I suppose it was because I was in town with my foster mother one day and I recognised the ‘new daddy’, the evil little man who destroyed my mum with drugs and afterwards denied knowing anything about me.  A terrible rage came over me. I went for him. Would have torn his eyes out, killed him if I could. Just as well I didn’t have a knife or a gun. Then they said I was violent, attacking strangers, and wrote some sort of report card saying I was out of control, unmanageable.’

‘Ach, that’s shain.’ Malcolm shook his head, obviously upset by these details.

When they reached the travellers camp it wasn’t the sort girl guides camp Chantelle had vaguely imagined.  There were a couple of queer bow shaped tents, a horse tied to a tree, an odd assortment of maybe half a dozen cars and vans, three old caravans, and several young children running around playing.  The tents and vehicles lay higgledy-piggledy around an open fire on a patch of waste ground. She could hear water gurgling in a burn somewhere not too far away.

‘Wow, this mad!’ exclaimed Chantelle, finding the sight quite laetificating.

Malcolm gave her a stern look, saying ‘I suppose it’s what they call “unconventional”.

He was promptly welcomed as several people emerged from caravans, and introduced Chantelle to Josie, who jokingly asked Malcolm if he’d been away stealing babies. Malcolm explained that Josie collected and recycled old metal. Then there was Michael the wattle fence-maker, and grandad Boy, whose skin was dark and cracked like bone dry earth, and who knew all about horses. There were others who made pictures with dried wild flowers to sell at market stalls. Then several young nephews appeared saying they were about to set off for the summer to a fairground further south. Some of their people had taken ill and they needed help erecting and operating the waltzers and dodgems.

‘We’ll be travelling with the showmen,’ one explained excitedly, just as their mother emerged, who told Chantelle she was a traditional singer and was going off with her sons on their travels, planning to sing her ancient songs in the pubs and folk clubs of places they passed through.

Everyone treated Chantelle as an equal, happy to make friends with her. Within a couple of days Chantelle had relaxed, enjoying the informality of the open air life, and when the travellers decided to decamp to a new site further west she didn’t hesitate to move on with them.  

In the days and months that followed, Malcolm taught her not only ideas from his books, but how to follow tracks, catch fish, and more about edible plants and herbs, birds and wild animals, places to find shelter, and ways to occasionally earn money than she ever thought possible. Always treating her more as a daughter than just as a travelling companion he had become her jamb-friend. He passed on all he knew about the natural world and living by your wits, everything that he’d learned over all his years on the road. Having escaped the residential school Chantelle slowly grasped that she was finally receiving an education, learning to become independent.

In time she was counted just one of the family and learned to speak the Cant, the beurla-reagaird, as well as anyone. She asked Malcolm where the travellers came from.

‘Oh, everywhere and nowhere so the songs say – ‘the pilgrims in the mist’. The old books talk of us here in Scotland in the eleven hundreds. Some say we lost a war a long time ago and set off on a never-ending journey. Some say we used to be farmers until sheep took our land. Some say we were a religious people given the hills for our worship. It’s a never-ending story. For centuries gadgies have just called us tinkers.’

‘Tinkers?’ queried Chantelle, rolling the word over in her mouth.

‘Aye, the Gaelic tinceard, tin-smiths; for centuries the Gaels have called us the luchd siubhail, the people who travel. The gadgies know nothing of us and care less. Our people have never wanted or claimed the land of other people as exclusively ours. We’re always happy to wander. So we meet and mix with other wanderers like the showmen, or sometimes to the south the Romani, and even the Romanichal – the Borders gypsies with their kings and queens and royal palace at Kirk Yetholm. But I won’t pretend it doesn’t get harder for us every year. The world is closing around us. There aren’t so many of us left.’  

In the spring and summer Malcolm would sometimes want weeks or months away when they would wander on their own. They did odd jobs, gardening or picking fruit when they needed a little money, making nettle soup and elderberry wine. They helped with potato roguing, Malcolm showing Chantelle the skills required and soon she could identify infection as much by the smell as the discoloured shaw. Then in autumn he taught her the fungi to collect, their different tastes, and which ones were most valued by greengrocers and restaurants. In the winter Malcolm introduced her various safe camps, gellies, even some permanent sites run by local authorities, as well as factories that took on casual labour. He showed her how to make cheap hot nourishing soups, how to avoid hostile thugs who didn’t understand their way of life, and how to steer clear of drugs which destroyed any way of life. He was one of the few who encouraged her to read books too. And always he showed her how to appreciate nature, the interdependent oneness of everything. Even in the shortest days and darkest nights Malcolm’s goodwill towards her was interfulgent.

It was over a year later that Chantelle discovered from a faded poster in a police station that she had been listed as a missing person and a brief, inconclusive search conducted at the time of her disappearance. She wasn’t the first runaway and she wouldn’t be the last so it wasn’t surprising that the search hadn’t lasted too long.  But in finding Malcolm her inchoate search for family had in fact turned out to be quite successful. She treated him as a surrogate father, and he acted in that role for many years, an omnibenevolent man whom she honoured and trusted.

Growing up a true countrywoman, a traveller living on and with the land, she evolved as a meliorist, coming to share, understand, and spread the culture of the travelling people she had encountered; people who had themselves developed a full understanding of the ways to live with and preserve nature rather than merely exploiting and destroying it to the extent that the whole world was threatened. And her dolorifuge was finding in herself no particular need or desire for material possessions in excess of genuine need.

One autumn day Malcolm found himself high up a ladder, helping a gadgie pick apples. He stretched out for fruit just a little too far away, the ladder slipped and he crashed down, his head meeting the ground with a sickening thud, and blood poured from his temple.

As others fretted, staring down the road and willing the ambulance to arrive from the nearby town, Chantelle crouched over him, comforting him, at once distraught and desperate to help in any way.

Through his pain all he asked was that she listen closely while he whispered, ‘Once, when I was young and foolish I fell in love with a non-gypsy girl. I even attempted to settle down with her in her city. We had a child, a girl. But the lure of the country was inevitably too strong for me. It had no attraction for her at all, the thought repelled her. To her, travellers were the lowest of the low, - apart from me of course, the only traveller she’d ever actually met. She wouldn’t come with me and when she grasped that I could never settle permanently in the city, that we could never be together all the time, she looked elsewhere. One day she decided to just slip away, taking the child with her. I never found her again.

‘Hush,’ pleaded Chantelle, ‘save your energy, the ambulance will be hear soon.’

But he paid no heed, straining to continue talking. ‘I never told you this before because, having once tried to coax a city girl into travelling, and seeing the disaster that resulted, I didn’t want to put another girl in the same position.’

As his breathing became fainter and more laboured Chantelle could barely hear him as he said, ‘In my pocket, it’s in my pocket. Ach, the apple, it never falls far from the tree.’ With trembling hands Chantelle searched his pockets but located no apple. Through a veil of tears she found herself staring instead at the piece of quartz she recognised from long ago.

‘Ataraxia.’ It was Malcolm’s last word.

Somehow the quartz didn’t shock her. It didn’t even come as such a searing surprise. In a way she had somehow almost expected it. Her father was her father after all. She had long since ceased being the little girl from a tragic family background who had been ‘looked after’ and passed from foster parents to a secure residential school. She had been educated and had grown up in a peculiarly different way, a kind of traumatropism.

She never did return to the city or ever had any desire to do so. But her opinions and her philosophy of life became valued in later years by many of those coming into contact with her. They were often earnest young ecologists inspired by Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis, the Earth as a single living organism, who managed to search out where she was temporarily encamped with her children and extended family. Her bow-tent, one of the last, was likened to a kind of moveable Temple of Artemis. People disenchanted with mainstream society travelled long distances, over hills and across water trying to locate her. Some were disappointed that her children’s father was seldom to be found, that she didn’t tell fortunes, read tarot cards, or offer crystals with healing powers. But they found a spirituality in the ideas she shared on the preservation of natural resources, ideas offering desperately needed hope to a world seemingly bent on self-destruction, a world being managed like a runaway train, a train in danger of leaving the tracks altogether.

Yet for all the attention she didn’t take herself too seriously, knowing she couldn’t change the world or even much alleviate the increasing pressure put on her own little band of travellers by gadgies and bureaucrats. She laughed at the idea she might be some kind of sage or philosopher. Rather she saw her life more as a piece of good fortune, as a kind of extended villeggiatura.