#she likes their little quiet Tumblr cave

[evil-slopdoughnut]

Daily reminder that @slopdoughnut is a wonderful bean and you should go spam their notes because it annoys her

:]]

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #1

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

I may eventually throw these up on AO3, but for now, enjoy them on Tumblr in their roughly hewn form. (There's a second part/scene in progress but it's not directly related to this one.)

x~x~x

“No,” his son said, his first word and his favorite since.

His grey eyes were fixed on the spoon and its cargo of cooked peas in Daemon’s right hand. With his left, Daemon brought the other spoon to Rhaegar’s mouth, and his other son opened his mouth dutifully for a bite.

Daemon moved the full spoon back and forth, mimicking a roaring dragon descending, and brought it right up to Jon’s closed lips. His son’s stare found Daemon’s, deeply unimpressed.

“There are foods other than carrot,” Daemon informed him with a sigh.

He moved to feed the rejected peas to Rhaegar, but now his other son was in rebellion. Daemon tried another dragon maneuver, and his other son’s purple eyes sparked with delight, allowing access. Two more fiery whooshes of the dragon finished off the peas, and Daemon moved on to the finely-diced carrot, which Jon immediately demanded.

If Rhea were in the room, she would scold him for caving to Jon’s demands, but Daemon had never been able to deny them anything. She could be the villain instead, if she so desired. Jon made short work of the carrot, which Rhaegar ate more sparingly, his eyes drawn to the final bowl, which Daemon uncovered with a flourish.

“This,” Daemon said, dipping the spoons next into the gooey mass of blueberries cooked down to a thick, nearly jam-like consistency, “is blueberry.”

Blueberry was a new, messy favorite for both of them, Jon’s indignation over the insult of peas entirely forgotten as they finished the small bowl in record time. Rhaegar got fussy when he was left sticky, so Daemon was quick to wipe their faces with a damp cloth after.

With the completion of their meal came Rhaegar’s daily demand. “Zaldis!”

Zaldrīzes, the very first word his other son had decided to attempt. Far more ambitious than “no,” but certainly less intelligible.

“If we are to ride Caraxes, we will have to sneak past your mother,” he informed his sons.

She fretted about him taking them out in the waning last days of winter, which was a far bitterer cold here than they would have been in King’s Landing, but he had wanted his first year with them to be as safe as he could arrange. His brother had no reason to assign special guards for them at Daemon’s behest, though perhaps he would have.

At Runestone, he did not need to ask. Daemon had informed Rhea that the enemies he had made in the decisive victory over the Triarchy in the Stepstones might seek to target the twins, and they were promptly assigned their own knight to protect them, her cousin Willam.

It was not the Triarchy he feared, of course, but Volantis. The Free City seeking to steal his children as infants or toddlers now that they were known to the world from a young age was a possibility he would not risk ignoring.

“You must be at your most quiet,” he instructed, to solemn blinks from either. They were bright, even so young, at times seeming to understand him perfectly.

Daemon bundled them into thick furs, taking care to make sure their heads and ears were covered, until only small wisps of black and silver escaped along the sides of their round little faces. He grinned at the sight of them swallowed by the furs, nearly spherical in either arm, and crept out with his bounty, both utterly silent for the entirety of the walk to Caraxes’s enclosure.

There was a trace of warmth in the light breeze, a promise of spring, and the air lacked the bite of months before. When spring came, Daemon guessed, it would come quickly to melt the snow that remained on the ground.

Caraxes snuffed at his sons, and they both happily babbled at the dragon for the few minutes Daemon left them on the ground beside him to fetch his own personal saddle, as he’d taken to calling it. He secured them to it first before fastening the straps around his own chest, and when he was finished, he had one on either side of his back, peering over his shoulders.

Mindful of the maester’s many lectures on how much fresh air was acceptable for infants, he kept the flight short, guiding Caraxes along the northern shoreline before completing a wide circle around the outer perimeter of Runestone, landing back at the enclosure to a welcoming party of Ser Willam and his lady wife herself, her lips pursed in disapproval.

Daemon approached her unapologetically after dismounting, his two passengers giggling their glee at the ride, until her frown began to waver.

“I promised Jon he could have a dragon ride if he ate his peas,” Daemon said.

Rhea’s eyebrows crept up, her gaze shifting to his right shoulder. “And did you, Jon?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, expressing far too much merriment in his betrayal for Daemon to do anything but smile.

“Rhaegar ate his peas,” Daemon said. “I could hardly leave one of them behind.”

Rhea walked up to him, her intention plain, and Daemon crouched so that she could reach each of their cheeks for a kiss. “You must not encourage your father. He is more than capable of doing so of his own accord.”

Daemon begrudgingly surrendered them to her for the walk back to the castle, their destination his wife’s solar with its large hearth, already radiating heat into the chamber. Tea, piping hot, was brought up from the kitchens, and once Daemon had finished unwrapping his sons from their layers of fur, and set them upon it with their beloved dragon dolls within reach, he poured himself a cup and settled on the floor beside them.

“Did you seek me out for a particular reason?” Daemon asked, knowing that as much as Rhea might fret about the dragon excursions, she no longer believed he would endanger them in any way.

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.” She grabbed her own cup and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, tossing him a rolled up slip of parchment. “From the king himself.”

Ignoring the twist of apprehension in his stomach, Daemon broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning it quickly for any unwelcome surprises. The contents, however, though not particularly welcome, were not a surprise. “My brother has a new son. We are invited to King’s Landing.” He handed the letter to her. “He is still set on throwing a tourney for the twins, and plans to tie it with celebrations of his son’s birth.”

If there was one lesson his brother had learned at long last, it was not to celebrate births before they happened.

Rhaegar had crawled to Rhea’s chair to tug insistently at the laces of her boots. She scooped him onto her lap, holding him there as she read the letter herself. “Six moons. Spring will surely be upon us by then. The seas should be calmer.”

“Choppy water is little concern to a dragon,” Daemon said.

“It is to those of us who must travel by ship,” she retorted.

It would be at least two weeks by sea, and even in spring, not a pleasant voyage. Daemon hesitated, then said, “Come with us on Caraxes. The saddle seats two.”

The offer caught her off guard, her eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion as though she thought he was not being earnest. “You have not let me ride with you before.”

You have not asked, Daemon almost said, before remembering his very first arrival at Runestone—less than a decade ago to Rhea, but nearly two for him. He had been bitterly furious about the marriage, escorted there by his own father on Vhagar, as though he might try to flee otherwise. His new wife had borne the brunt of Daemon’s resentment, his interactions with her curt. When she had asked him if they might ride on Caraxes together, he had coldly informed her that such privileges were for Targaryens alone.

“Jon and Rhaegar will want you there,” Daemon said, by way of excuse.

“Zaldis,” Rhaegar said solemnly to her.

“Very well,” Rhea said, her expression now one she often wore in his company—as though she were not quite sure what to make of him. “It would be an honor.”

It was a matter of pragmatism as well. Rhea’s confession to treason on her deathbed had settled any doubts about her truly being his sons’ mother. Here, it was still possible that a whisper or two in King’s Landing about Lady Elys also being present at the family’s summer home at the time of birth could raise suspicion. The more amicable his relationship with Rhea in the eyes of the realm, the less likely anyone would be to question—or question successfully, at least.

Daemon retreated to the desk to write a response to his brother’s letter, a frown finding him midway through. His sons’ sworn shield, Ser Willam, would have to travel by ship, which meant they would be without protection for a time in King’s Landing. Viserys should be able to spare at least one of his Kingsguard until he’s arrived, he decided finally, including a request for such in his letter. He can have his damned tourney in return.

By the time he had finished, both of his sons had started fussing for their linens to be changed, which was one of the few tasks he happily let their nurse handle, taking a small meal of his own before rejoining them in the nursery. They were sleepy with milk when he arrived, fresh from the wetnurse’s breast, and he eagerly reclaimed them, kissing each soft cheek as he carried them back to the solar, where their cradle was kept.

It was an elaborate piece, with an intricate relief of two dragons perched vigilantly at the head of the cradle, sized for two babes, rather than one. He’d commissioned it the very day he had arrived back in Runestone to confront Rhea about Elys’s pregnancy, and if the woodworker had wondered about his confidence about having twins, he had kept his curiosity to himself.

It only saw use during the day, when his sons napped. At night, they slept with him. He had lain awake for most of the first few nights, terrified that he might somehow crush them in his sleep, but that fear had eventually subsided. The fear of someone taking them from him, however—that had not.

He watched them sleep from his chair by the hearth. They stalked you from the shadows before, and struck in broad daylight. Has it begun yet? Do they watch us even now?

One of the posts on his brother’s small council that he had not yet held—and subsequently been dismissed from—was that of master of whisperers. With the Stepstones claimed for now and its crown bestowed upon his brother, he had been promised a favor. A position on his small council would certainly be within reason.

But it would require moving his family to King’s Landing. Once, he would have wanted nothing more than to escape Runestone and return home. But even just the past year he had spent in the Vale, first anticipating his sons’ arrival and then raising them since, had shifted the castle from a hated prison to something almost like a sanctuary.

How do I protect you? He reached into the cradle, stroking the back of Jon’s small hand, which immediately curled around his forefinger in response, his grip strong. Daemon smiled. When will you first demand a dagger to wield?

He repeated the motion with his other hand on Rhaegar, who also instinctively grabbed for his finger. Daemon recalled the first few weeks after their birth, when his younger son would wail whenever he tried to hold him or even approach. That phase had fortunately passed. These days, Rhaegar happily demanded dragon rides and cuddles.

“You have trapped me,” he murmured, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake them.

He could feel Rhea’s eyes on him from where she worked at her desk. All their marriage, she had built him up as a monster in her head: selfish, cruel, ambitious. When he had hurried on Caraxes to Runestone to find both Rhea and her sister in the midst of drafting their proposal to Corwyn Redfort, he had nearly flown into a rage. Instead, he had confronted her about all that she sought to steal from him, every moment he had mourned since rescuing them from the Vale the first time, equal parts fury and grief.

She had not looked at him the same since. Daemon wondered if she struggled as he did when he tried to reconcile his own hatred for what she had done to him before with her newfound tolerance. That first exchange had been—heated. Daemon’s infidelity, after all, had been the very reason for the pregnancy. Yet she had been willing to hear his proposal and forgo her own honor to offer the twins a life free of the stain of bastardry.

“Do you regret your choice?” he asked, turning to her.

Rhea regarded him with a raised brow. “Have I given you cause to believe so?” She rose from her desk to approach the cradle, gazing down at the twins with a smile that did not fully reach her eyes. “I feel guilty that I may have them, and my sister may not. It is—difficult on her.”

Elys had been forced to stay behind at the summer estate after their departure with the twins, though they had remained there for the first week. Daemon’s jaw clenched, and he shifted his gaze back to the cradle. He did not regret taking them for his own, but the pain and loss in their true mother’s eyes as they had been plucked from her arms for the final time reminded him uncomfortably of his own grief at their childhood having been stolen from him.

“When enough time has passed, I do not see why they should not know the company of their aunt.”

But enough time could very well be another year or two. First she would need to be safely wed, perhaps with another child on the way that would be trueborn and hers to keep.

By the shake of her head, he guessed that Rhea was thinking the same. She reached out her hand toward Jon, only to pull back at the last moment. “I cannot help but feel that I have stolen them.”

And yet you felt no such guilt in taking them from me. He swallowed that old anger, then wondered if it had been her reason for only seeking them out twice a year. Whether they would always feel stolen to her.

“Do not let that stop you from loving them,” Daemon said, earning another of those uncertain looks. He fought back a frown, misliking the sense of being constantly evaluated and reevaluated. “They deserve a mother’s love.”

“Though you would rather it not be mine,” she said with a hint of challenge.

“It does not matter what I want,” Daemon replied, feeling himself grow heated. “It is a matter of what they need.”

Their raised voices had woken Rhaegar, who was peering upward at them now, his purple eyes fixed on Daemon. They had darkened some since birth, from a lilac that had immediately recalled his uncle Aemon, to something closer to the darker violet he remembered. Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, the beginning of a whimper forming in his throat, and Daemon quickly began humming a lullaby as he rocked the cradle back and forth.

Rhaegar settled eventually, snuggling into Jon’s side, and they sat in silence for several minutes as Daemon continued to rock and hum.

“I do love them,” Rhea said eventually, voice lowered to a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infants again. “I had grown resigned that I would never have children of my own. To have them, but in a manner so steeped in dishonor, both yours and mine own—”

“They live,” Daemon interrupted. “They breathe.” He leaned in to kiss their tiny foreheads. “How can there be dishonor in that?”

Rhea fell silent, watching them for a time, before leaning in to do the same. As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes opened to fix upon her. The hint of purple in them at birth had since faded, almost lost now within the pensive grey. Rhea stared at Jon, as though trapped by his gaze, then leaned in to kiss his cheek as well.

Daemon overcame his reluctance and rose to give her space. “It is your turn to sing.”

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

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[ksiondzkanexkiii]

I'll never leave you again | Angor Rot

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CHAPTER ONE

- Angor - The trolless called out as she entered the cave she and her husband inhabited. Their previous cave had been raided by Gunmar's evil forces and the whole village had to flee and wander to find a new place to live. Away from the wars so that the children could grow up in peace, so that the parents did not have to worry about whether their children would return home, or whether the older trolls would be thrown out of the house and beaten to death by Gummies who were looking for a moment's fun.

The woman's voice was strained and the slight breaking of her voice was audible to her husband. Nothing could be hidden from him he knew her too well however he did not avert his golden eyes from the preparations for the expedition - This is a bad idea - She interjected again the blue troll looked worriedly at her beloved sensing that his plan would not work out. She had always believed in her husband but now she doubted his idea undermining his authority as leader of the fallen village of Rot, some of the village managed to escape but some were not so lucky

Those who managed to escape followed the marriage worried, the little trolls cried and the mothers tried to soothe them the men tried to soothe the stressed women. However, the way towards the safe haven was long and hard and for this reason some trolls died on the way from exhaustion their loved ones were also tired, but they stubbornly went on - This is a very bad idea Angora - The woman pleaded the further her husband did not pay attention to her

Finally long light blue claws touched her husband's stony grey skin wrapping her hands around his biceps - Please listen to me - The woman almost begged him to listen to him walker for a moment, she did not trust the sorceress she wants to go to Rot.

- I cannot defend the village of Anoana - He finally spoke up seeing her beautiful green eyes in full view, she was not now wearing her familiar headband which has a tassel on the front covering her eyes and the back of her nose however the distinctive two black claws painted from the eye to the corner of her mouth were on her cheeks - This will help me gain more strength - He confessed facing his wife

Her eyes expressed great worry and concern at the same time exhaustion caused by the trek that had stopped two days ago. They were three days ahead of Gunmar's army, but nobody knew when they would find them again and kill everyone Angor did not want to let this happen again, he had to protect the people at all costs.

He could even give up his birthstone, his soul to protect his village, his people. He could give his life for the Anoana he loved in all worlds.

The light blue troll's lips parted slightly as she raised her hand to touch her husband's cheek, who almost immediately snuggled into her palm squinting and a quiet cat-like murmur issued from his throat - How am I supposed to defend my village when I can't even protect you? - He whispered opening his eyes to encounter cuts and bruises on her body most of the wounds were on her hands and arms, when those in need were helped to get up and walk on. She had a cut on her cheek from Gumm Gumm who attacked her when she tried to help a small troll escape from the village.

He let her out of his sight for a moment and when he heard her shrill scream he froze almost immediately, when he saw Gunmar's servant standing over her and aiming his sword at her wanting to kill her in one blow or inflict as much pain as he could before she would die, he raised his stone hand and ran his finger under the cut being careful not to inflict pain on her. He was worried too, but he did what he thought was right

- The expedition won't take more than two days, we'll still have a day's head start on Gunmar before he finds us - He whispered and his eyes jumped from the cuts on her body to her green eyes

She clenched her jaw tighter looking at him almost appraisingly - Why don't you let me swim with you? - She whispered, coming closer to him - Let me help you - she whispered even more quietly than before raising her other hand to take both stone hands on his cheeks she had to stand on tiptoe to reach, Anoana and Angor were similar in stature they were almost humanoid, their bodies were similar to human bodies more than other trolls they were tall and slim but Rot was taller than his wife.

She barely reached his shoulder however this did not stop them from indulging in affection every day, Anoana gently tilted her head to get a better look at him from a different angle, she wanted to know the answer to her question. She could see Angor's thoughts churning as he thought of an answer that would satisfy her, he sighed heavily through his nose - It's dangerous you know that - He whispered, the woman's hands clasped tighter on his cheeks, he knew she did not accept his words at that moment - Someone must take care of the serfs while I am away - he added after a while hoping that his wife would loosen the grip on his cheeks

- In that case, don't go," she persisted, not wanting to let him go, sensing that something bad would happen. She would be angry with herself if something happened to him she could even say that she would never forgive herself for not being beside him when he gets hurt and vice versa - Stay. Angora please - Anoana still begged him hoping that he would change her husband's mind but she knew him too well and for too long she knew that he was stubborn and wanted to do well, but the black nightmare was standing over her trying to warn her of the danger that was just waiting for her attention Angora

- It will be alright, love - he whispered lifting her chin gently to press his nose to her forehead - Before you know it I will be back with magic and we can live without fear of Gunmar finding us and killing us - he whispered into her forehead, she closed her eyes feeling his nose pressed against her forehead before she had time to respond or enjoy the touch that was meant to reassure her he moved away tucking the last things into the pouch in his belt.

- If I do not return in two days, find a market and stay there with our people - whispered Angor standing at the exit, he was worried about his wife, he could not imagine how she was worried about him but he would not like his nightmare to come true, if Gunmar attacked again he would not have enough strength to fight back. He would not want his wife to die in agony as well as his subjects, he was worried about everyone - It is safe in the market place, please go there with our subjects - he added after a while

- As soon as you are in the market place I will be waiting for us there - He confessed without giving her room for argument or any other words she looked at the ground when he said this without being brave enough to look at her worried green eyes. When he finally got the courage to look at her one last time she said nothing just watched him walk away.

As he looked ahead, as he walked through the middle of the temporary encampment his people had set up he could feel their gaze on him as they looked at him in awe of his courage and sacrifice, no one else would ever dare to look for Morgana. No one would ever dare to ask Morgane for the power she possessed.

As Angor passed through the camp every Troll when they saw the leader bowed gently but this time everyone knelt on one knee lowering their heads low in homage to him and silently conveying their gratitude that he was trying to help them even at the risk of his own life. Even if his wife does not like it and is forced to watch the stature of her beloved disappear somewhere over the horizon.

- I didn't believe you would let him go - A voice beside Anoana spoke up and footsteps approaching her made her realise that her best friend stood beside her as she stared dully at the horizon behind which Angor had disappeared, she didn't even know when the sun was slowly setting - How are you feeling? - Asked quietly Idun gently stroking her friend's shoulder looking with worried eyes as Anoana started to look around realising that she had been standing in one position for hours and was still looking at the path that Angor had followed

- Hopeless - Anoana wheezed, turning her head towards Idun she was young she had dark purple skin and her long black hair was tied in a high step that filled the space between her horns which curled at the ends in spirals. Idun stood out from the other girls, she wore dresses that had cuts on her thighs and on her shoulders she constantly wore a belt in which she had various vials of healing potions and poisons pinned. The time of war has caused the young troll to carry vials with her every time she will be able to defend herself however they are usually hidden in a pouch clipped to her belt. On her back was often a bow, which now lay safely in her temporary shelter but still close enough to the weapon to reach for it as quickly as possible during an attack.

Indun had violet eyes of exceptional beauty, however, she was personally ashamed of them, as it was rare for a troll to be born with violet eyes - I don't know how to feel - Mumbled the older woman after a while, Anoana was older than Indun by at least a hundred years but the two women were friends and were inseparable sometimes Angor claimed that Anoana adopted Indun, as the younger troll was more willing to be in the company of his wife than his own parents.

This made Angor feel jealous at times, however, he would not admit to wanting his wife's attention so much and not wanting to share it. It's not that he didn't like Indun hell he liked this kid he taught her how to hunt and cook good food optionally weaving in teachings on how to be a good leader and how to be a good troll. Anoana and Angor acted as parents in Indun's life without even knowing it the young troll suffered when they weren't there, the purple troll's parents weren't the best or the worst she herself didn't know at what level to define them as they didn't give her the attention the young troll needed

They were not interested in what she was doing all day long

They were not interested in what new things she learned from the village chief

Her parents lived their own lives and all she could do was feel like a fifth wheel but Angor and Anoana effectively made her find the light in her life again and every day she stood with new hope that Angor taught her something new and maybe Anoana would take her with her to look for ingredients for potions or they would learn new spells together.

- Do you think she will get what she wants? - asked Indun quietly, worrying about the older troll as much as Anoana who looked again at the horizon of trees behind which Angor had disappeared. The trolls had a problem with sunlight because as soon as the sun's rays fell on their stony skin it painfully burned their skin turning them into real stone taking away the colour of life that had previously shone in their eyes, which would later turn into grey and emotionless stone - Is Morgana even alive? Does she exist? - asked the younger troll, stopping from foot to foot

- They say that Morgana fell into the ocean because of King Arthur, there is no chance that she will survive - muttered Indun, looking at the trees, in whose shade they would hide to protect themselves from the world and the sunlight. Anoana shook her head - Don't believe these rumours sun - confessed quietly Anoana turning her body towards the younger troll putting her hand on her shoulder for Indun to turn towards her - You see, before Gunmar attacked our village we fished a man out of the sea - recalled the older woman correcting the belt that was wrapped around the younger troll's shoulder - We said a prayer for the man to survive and the goddesses of this world would make her still alive –

- Did they succeed? Did they bring her back to life? - Indun interjected by tilting her head tightly clenching her jaw. Anoana merely smiled and shook her head

- 'It was the decision of the goddesses we have not been able to see if they restored the soul of the woman from the sea,' Anoana confessed quietly, she lifted her hand from the younger troll's shoulder and embraced her cheek stroking the stony skin beneath her eye - 'But we believe that the woman found renewed peace in the world of the living or perhaps she only now knew peace in the world of the dead,' whispered the older troll, she leaned over to press her forehead against the younger troll's forehead - 'And you believe it,' she whispered closing her eyes

Indun looked for a moment at Anoana who presses her blue forehead against hers, the younger troll followed Anoana's lead and also closed her eyes - Of course - whispered the younger troll, after a few seconds they moved away from each other - So now you are in a leadership role? - asked the teenage troll curiously - You mean I can be your right hand? - Indun raised an eyebrow and Anoana dryly giggled while shaking her head

- 'You're too young to be my right hand,' the older trolless giggled as she headed towards the other subordinates Indun took one last look towards the forest sighing heavily at Angor's departure from the village, the young troll hoped that Rot would find what he needed and that the legend of Morgana would not be a mere fairy tale to keep the spirit of the children to believe that there was still magic. The young troll turned on its heel and with long and quick steps tried to catch up with Anoane without having to run up but failed.

- So what is the plan? - asked Indun as she followed the older woman, looking under her feet to avoid falling over tree roots

Anoana only sighed heavily - He instructed us to go to the market place - she confessed quietly - That is reasonable. He said that by the time we get there, he will be waiting for us there - with that the time leader muttered - It makes sense, it will take us two days to get to the market and he will have time to get the magic from Morgana and come back - Anoana shrugged her shoulders wanting to believe what he was saying but stress and uncertainty coursed through her veins as she thought about it more intensely

Indun followed Anoana seeing her shoulders tense and her back as she artificially straightened up pretending to be calm and everything was going according to plan however Indun knew that Angor's wife was worried about him and the expedition he had not taken her on with him. The younger troll watched as the blue trolless moved by the villagers ordering them to get ready to go to the market again, Indun only watched as Anoana began to rule this temporarily over the people of the fallen village of Rot.

The younger troll swallowed hard and went off on her own to pack up her belongings left over from Gunmar's raid on the village of Rot, it is not that Indun did not want to comfort Anoana or see that the older troll needed it, but she began to think that her words would be unnecessary and Anoana would not accept help anyway to calm her thoughts and satisfy the storm that was coursing through her veins.

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

L’appel Du Vide

you are here! - ch. ii - ch. iii - ch. iv - ch. v - ch. vi - ch. vii - ch. viii - ch. ix - ch. x

A/N: The notes on tumblr will be different than the ones on Ao3. I pulled this from within the pit in my heart. I made this for a reason. And I hope that you hate and enjoy it.

tags: Rook Hunt x fem!reader, aged up au (both characters are 20+), kidnapping and imprisonment wc: 2.8k+

Your janitorial equipment rattles slightly in its cart as you turn the door knob to the now vacant hospital room. The rays of daybreak peek through the curtains on your last room for this shift, your shoulders relaxing knowing you were so close to going home.  The man who once occupied this space had finally been discharged. You hadn’t ever seen him but apparently he had been asking about you. A lot. One of the on staff nurses wanted to gossip tonight. She told you about the oddball staying in the now desolate room. Apparently the patient had seen you come into the hospital before your shift started one night and hadn’t stopped talking about you until he was finally released. He claimed to have fallen madly in love with you, saying you looked exactly like a rabbit he was trying to catch in his recent dreams. However, he had come into the hospital a few days ago due to a bad head injury. The person that brought him in said he was fond of climbing trees and a branch he was sitting on snapped. 

It was strange knowing someone had been that hyper focused on you. You didn’t interact with patients at all. You only cleaned the empty rooms and the lounges late at night. But you couldn’t let yourself feel bothered by it. He was injured and confused. You never saw him, and the nurses would never give up important information to a stranger. You shook the thought away as you turned up the music on your airpods and finished cleaning the hospital room. The woman at the front desk wished you a good morning as you waved goodbye with your jingling keycard in hand. 6am on the dot. Now you could make a quick breakfast and head to sleep. You had the next three days off to recover and get the things done that you had been putting off. 

It was hard to juggle a night shift job and your normal life. But you always made it work somehow. You had to, you lived alone after all. You opened the door to your tiny apartment, slipping out of your shoes with a light kick of your feet. It was another day of proving your parents wrong. They didn’t believe you were capable of independence. They wanted you to stay where they could see you, regardless of how old you were. But being 21 meant that you should have all the freedom to do all of the adult things you could dream of. Drinking a cold beer under the summer sun, buying a strawberry flavored vape like your favorite coworkers, and even just owning your own apartment. You just wanted to finally be recognized as an adult. You packed up your things and surprised them with the announcement. Right before taking off the next morning with the last of your things. It has been six months since you’ve been on your own. You loved it. Decorating your apartment how you saw fit. Eating what you wanted when you wanted. Staying up late and sleeping all day. And complete privacy to do whatever you wanted in your rented space. 

You turned on the light with a quick squint of your eyes from the brightness. Your apartment was tiny. A neat little studio on the fourth floor of your complex. Usually you wouldn’t mind taking the stairs, but today you felt so tired that you caved and used the often desolate elevator to take you up. It was always quiet since you worked late night shifts cleaning at the hospital. You loved the peace and your neighbors did too. You bumped the door to your apartment shut with a yawn and stretched your arms over your head, causing your joints to pop. Entering the kitchen to make a slice of cheesy toast before you showered with your keys tossed haphazardly onto the resin coated counter. 

Your appetite dwindled significantly in favor of sleep the longer you stood in the kitchen space. The ‘after work high’ never lasted as long as you wished it would. But you could always clean and make a snack when you woke up in a few hours. You finished your toast and slowly undressed, dropping your clothes to the floor as you entered your bathroom for a quick rinse. 

Your skin always lingered with the scent of lemony cleaner and Lysol spray. It used to make you nauseous when you first started cleaning overnight. But after a few months you stopped gagging at the overwhelming aroma. You lathered yourself in soap, making sure to watch your hair and face. You brushed your teeth with heavy eyelids as your hair started to coil at the ends, dripping with water. You finished up, drying yourself with a towel and shutting off the light to your bathroom. You slipped into your comfortable pajamas and made sure your curtains were drawn tightly as you eased into bed. Your blankets hugging your body as you sighed with content. When you woke up, your days off would begin. You could wash your laundry, go grocery shopping, make plans to see your friends when the sun came back up, whatever you wanted to do. Your parents always fussed over the world being scary and dangerous but you always saw them as just paranoid because of social media telling them there are monsters and fiends that live online. They didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. But they were just too overbearing. You could take care of yourself just fine.

You’re fine. 

You were fine. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep at all when you settled into bed. 

You remember a haunting dream. Or maybe it was a terrifying memory considering what was happening now. 

The feeling of being folded into an impossible shape and crammed into a wooden box. Your wrists and ankles are bound with plastic zip ties that dug against your skin, something soft and cottony was stuffed in your mouth with an adhesive you assumed to be tape covering your lips. You were staring up at the orange and purple sky with exhausted eyes that never seemed to close. You watched the sky devoid of soft, white, cottony clouds go from the orange sunrise, to the delicate blue of the day. Soon transitioning to the violet and orange sunset, then pitch black with not a single star to be seen. All of this was witnessed through a tiny, circle shaped hole above you. Your body remained folded like origami paper into that impossible shape. Aching painfully to be freed from the suffocating wooden box you were stuck in. Slowly drifting and rocking to an unknown place before you had closed your eyes again. The smell of salt water, the sound of crashing waves. This was supposed to be an odd dream. A very uncomfortable and traumatizing one. Not a memory. You wished it wasn’t a memory.  

A crunching sound caused your eyes to snap open. Like something being cut. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the new scenery around you. It was an unfinished basement, completely empty. Wooden steps leading upwards to a doorway you couldn’t see. A small window where pale yellow light came pooling in, and a dim, orange lightbulb above to illuminate what the natural lighting couldn’t. Dust particles floated around the air, giving an odd feeling of normalcy. 

The oddest part was the man sitting only a few feet away. He sat on a wooden chair, balancing a white ceramic plate on his knee with a hum as he carved an apple slice into the shape of a bunny with long, apple skin ears. He looked strong. Pale, muscular arms exposed, lightly speckled in pale brown freckles. His black t-shirt pulled taut over his chest. Khaki cargo pants that stretched over his strong thighs. He was wearing black combat boots and he would occasionally tap his foot as he hummed and carved. His hair was short and blond, pulled back into a ponytail as he worked with those same light brown freckles spotting the bridge of his nose. The oddest part was that he was doing this with his eyes closed. 

This was a skill he practiced enough to do without being able to see. 

Your expression became troubled as you noticed the difficulty of moving your body. Your arms were bound behind your back and so were your ankles. Thick, scratchy rope dug into your skin, replacing the plastic zip ties. It rubbed the flesh raw and bruised as you laid on your side against a hard cement floor. The part that made you actually panic was the fact that you were completely nude. You wriggled around, trying to sit up on your knees as the cutting sound halted. “Vous êtes maintenant réveillé.” It was the man not too far from you. “Bonjour, mon lapin.” You didn’t speak French. 

Tears of panic welled in your eyes as you lifted your gaze to meet the strange man. “I-I’m sorry do you speak english? Do you know what’s going on?” You wanted to reason him as you pulled your knees up towards your stomach the best you could. At least for some form of modesty. His eyes opened. A vibrant green, something that would usually entrance you with the soft and hypnotizing shade. But they held no light. No warmth. Empty and hollow. The man didn’t see you. 

He saw ‘mon lapin’. 

“Ugly American-English,” He chuckled and pointed the knife at you, bobbing it in his hand with a soft tsk of disapproval. “I teach you, eh, comment dire mes objets préférés.” His accent was a little thick. But you could understand him enough to not ask him to repeat. He didn’t seem much older than you which made this all the more frightening. “To have you imported was difficult. I feed you now.” He beamed happily and tucked the knife into the belt of his cargo pants. He grabbed the plate and moved to stand from the wooden chair as he approached you. Imported? “N-No there’s a misunderstanding-”

“Non, no misunderstandings. You are… Rabbit! You look just alike.” He chuckled as he stood over you, looking down at your naked body bound with rope as you struggled not to tremble and burst into tears. You wanted to go home. You wanted to go home now. Tears started to roll down your cheeks as he kneeled, setting the plate gently on the floor with a clack. He reached around to roughly tug you by your bound arms into a sitting position. You yelped and cried, stress sweat collecting on the back of your knees and under your arms. You tried to kick away from him out of fear with a shake of your head but he softly shushed you as he picked up the plate and showed it to you with another tug on your bare body. Pristine, lined in rabbit cut apple slices and stray pieces of dark red skin. “You eat, or you die.” He continued to smile as he took one of the slices between his pointer and thumb. “Ouvrir.” He instructed sweetly. 

Your eyes darted anxiously from his fingers to his face. Eat or die. Not an intentional threat. It didn’t feel like a threat, just him genuinely saying you needed to eat. “Ahhhh.” He sang as he pressed the sliced fruit towards your lips. Your body was shaking, tears continued to fall as you awkwardly parted your lips and looked downwards. You accepted the sliced fruit. It was sweet and slightly bitter on your tongue. The odd man seemed to be pleased with your response as he watched you slowly chew and look around the basement with a meek sniffle. 

You’re playing house with a disturbed person. If you could earn his trust, you could get out of here. You finished and swallowed, looking sadly at the plate and then the smiling man. “I… I can feed myself…” You didn’t want the stranger’s fingers so close to your mouth. “Non, I do it for you. For now.” His tone was still kind, yet firm. He would feed you this time, and probably the next before you would be allowed to eat with your hands. He pressed another slice to your lips and watched you eat. The process continued until you had finished all of his little carvings. You felt full and a little calmer now. But that didn’t change the fact you were still a captive. The man rubbed the top of your head and gave you two small pats before moving to stand with the now empty plate. “I will bring water.” He assured as he turned and walked away, heading towards the wooden stairs with a soft hum. 

You listened to each step and counted silently. Following along with the pounding of your heart. You counted 18 steps in total before you heard a door swing open and shut. Your mouth was cotton dry now as you blinked away the last remaining tears you had. You used your feet to push you towards the wall until your back was flat against the cool, stone surface. You didn’t hear any voices from upstairs. For now, you assumed the stranger lived alone. 

He didn’t seem upset with you asking him questions. But if you were too invasive that could change. You weren’t in a position to make demands yet either. You could only wait for now even if you felt like you wanted to vomit from anxiety. All of the survival skills you had seen online and in thriller movies had faded away like a worn shirt print. You had no idea what to do except stay calm and think. He seemed familiar somehow. But you didn’t remember ever meeting someone who spoke French the way he did. In Highschool you had friends that took a class, saying it was such a stupid language. None of the words sounded the way they were spelled. You would have better luck understanding Morse Code before you could learn French. The door swung open again, then shut. You counted 18 steps before the man appeared again. He was holding a glass of water in one hand, and a yellow book in the other. “Je suis revenu! Je t’ai manqué, mon lapin?” He was cheerful as he approached you slowly, mindful of his speed so as to not startle you. But you could see he was thrilled to interact. It was extremely odd. You really were playing house with this guy. He kneeled again, placing the book in front of you. “French for dummies?” You read the cover out loud, wanting to force an amused laugh. But you could only guess your captor was growing sick of using English. “Relationships need, eh, communication? We speak your Ugly American English, we speak mon romantique françias.” He cooed as you nodded slowly in understanding. “It’ll be hard to read with my hands tied.” You joked awkwardly as he cupped your chin in his hand and showed you the clear glass with a delicate shake to swish the see through liquid inside. “Not poison. It is water.” He was clearly trying to gain your trust as well.

This whole situation felt bizarre. You had read books, watched TV shows and movies, even listened to TrueCrime podcasts about how kidnappers were willing to throw you in a basement and leave you for days. Torturing you for fun and doing whatever they pleased with your body. But the worst you’ve experienced so far is being tied up and naked. He hasn’t threatened to hit you or kill you yet. It really feels like he sees you as a pet and not his captive. If he wanted to rape and kill you he already would have. Unless this is just a fucked up mind game?

He repeated the phrase ‘Ouvrir’ and you parted your lips. He helped you drink, allowing you moments to catch your breath before giving you more. “I will make hands useable. After you finish water. You may read.” He explained as you went to get another sip. “You will eat again and drink again when I am, eh, returned? When I come back to you. You eat your lunch.” He was having trouble explaining in english. This could be why he also needs you to learn French. Usually captors don’t care about stuff like that right? You finished the glass still craving more water. “You’re leaving me here?” You tried to sound anxious. Hoping to be as convincing as possible. “Oui,” He nodded with a grin as he began to grab you by your arms again. “to get lunch.” He explained with a chuckle before raising your bound legs and twisting your body around until your hands were no longer tucked behind your back. “Please be good while I am away. I will leave you more water.” He offered kindly before rubbing the top of your head and giving you two firm pats. He took the glass as he climbed the 18 steps and closed the door. 

You refused to sit and wait for him to come back. You needed to get out of here one way or another.

[sisitrip]

"As Sweet and Soft"

Gallavich A.U.gust 2024

Smell her. She makes an event deadline on time lol.

For Gallavich A.U.gust @gallavichthings 'free week', I'm pulling out something a little different.

A/N and TW: The title of this story is a misnomer of sorts. This is a story that deals with themes of loss, regret, a retelling of an unaliving attempt, abandonment, and unburdening of harmful secrets. But, it also includes, above all, love of family, reconnection and the humorous ways we all try to overcome massive pain because there’s just no right way to do that. Here, there be comedy too (I hope) and moments so special (hoping again), I smiled the entire time I wrote it. 

So, lovely readers, the both of you lol, if the themes I mentioned will bring you harm in any way, feel free to skip this one and peruse other works that will keep you safe. Besides AO3, check out some other Tumblr accounts in the Gallavich fandom that might have offerings for you. This fandom is jammed with phenomenal creatives and I’m so happy they let me say “I go here.” 

With that, please enjoy "As Sweet and Soft."

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

Ian walked him to the front and sat him down carefully as if settling a delicate piece of rice paper. With a kiss and a promise to be back after his ‘errand’, Ian left him alone and reeling.

Mickey sat in the loudest quiet he’s ever been unlucky enough to sit in. Churches, somehow more massive inside than out, always seem to bestow their attendees the power to hear the smallest sound; an apologetic peace offering for its chilly welcome.

Mickey flexed that bestowed power to catch a tiny sniffle. The scritch of nails on stockinged legs. A softly sobbed “42 is so young.” He hid behind this cataloging of sounds, all while wrinkling the most threadbare eulogy ever crafted. Panic rising, he stalled, cataloging absences too. His brothers were here, but his father was not. An aunt he’d never met was here, but Ian was not. 

His mother would never be anywhere again.  

“I’m sorry Mr. Milkovich, but we’ll need to get started. We have a wedding scheduled for later,” the priest murmured regretfully, having materialized like a ghost. He should be regretful. The celebration of death shouldn’t be rushed. 

At the lectern, he looked for Ian’s face in the small crowd, but he still wasn’t back. He needed Ian to keep the world from caving in. What errand could be more important than that? 

He smoothed out his speech on the polished, lemon scented wood. But, tears, fat and blinding, made it impossible to read. At sea, he crumpled the eulogy, struggling to articulate this tectonic cut into his life. He cleared his throat, blinking hard, and gave up on doing this justice. He’ll just do it his way.

“I don’t have a lifetime of memories with her to tell you about,” he began, talking to a pillar instead of the people watching him. 

“She left-” He swallowed hard. “She escaped when I was five. It wasn't as dramatic as that sounds. Her disappearance was actually kind of unremarkable, at first.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “For something that rocked us hard, I somehow managed to miss it.”

He pressed his fingers into the wood, grounding himself. 

“It wasn’t until I hurt myself that it finally sank in. Like a lot of five year olds, I thought she’d feel it if I got hurt. Like physically feel my pain. Dumb, I know. But, she always used to magically appear to comfort me and bandage me up whenever I got hurt.”

He cleared his throat, fighting against the drain of tears building up. 

“When my cut went on bleeding and she didn't show up, I knew. I knew without a doubt that she wasn’t coming back. She couldn’t feel me anymore, I told my five year old self. So, I put a paper towel around the cut and I broke every toy car I had. That’s how I was able to let her go. I didn't know it would be harder to let her go this time.” 

A door opened somewhere and footsteps approached softly behind him. He refused to give the priest the benefit of his attention. He was almost done anyway.

“But, I didn’t let go of what I remembered about her. How she always smelled like dryer sheets and mercurochrome. How her blue eyes dilated to near black whenever she laughed too hard, which wasn’t often.”

He couldn’t see the pillar now and the soft sobbing from the attendees was wrecking his ability to get through this. He went on, nearly whispering as he fought his own sobs. 

“I didn’t let go of the memory of her sneaking up behind me, when I was drawing or coloring, and blowing kisses into the back of my neck to make me laugh. To make me feel like … somebody loved me.”

His eyes were streaming freely now and the pillar was a shapeless waterfall of gray. He doesn’t think he can finish. But, a small hand, bearing chipped, black nail polish squeezed his arm. 

Mandy. Beautiful, and here and here and here, filling the crater of his grief with her light and love. She gave him a curved smile through her tears. 

Weakened by surprise and gratitude, he leaned into her, pressing his forehead to hers. A pressing warmth on his other side was unmistakably Ian who held him up with an arm around his back. He could finish now. He could do anything. But, more than anything, he wanted to honor his mother. He took a deep breath.

“Like I said when I started, I don’t have a lifetime of memories to share with you about my mother. But, I have the ones I just told you about and I will treasure them until I die. When she could be m-my mother, she was everything.” 

He broke. His harsh, raw sobs escaped unchecked and the church saw fit to amplify them with heartbreaking clarity. Mandy and Ian pressed in close and helped him back to his seat where he couldn’t let go of their hands. Not even long enough to wipe his face of tears. Mandy took care of that. Face just as wet, she cleaned his cheeks without bothering to clean her own. That hadn’t changed in all the years they grew up together. Ian held his other hand between his own, sleeving it in safety and warmth.

The awful, anxiety ridden part is over. He did what he could to honor someone he’d lost a long time ago and he’s at peace with it. As at peace as anyone could be whose mother died. It’s a fitful kind of peace that settles uneasily like a misshapen shroud you never wanted to wear.

The rest of the service was quick and when Mandy inclined her head to the side door, he and Ian followed her, leaving the receiving line of strangers for the small, grassy graveyard out back. They sat amongst the sunshine and crooked tombstones, faces upturned to a cloudless sky the color of his mother’s eyes. 

“How’d you know?” he asked Mandy, taking in her shaggy black hair and pierced septum.

“Your hubby tracked me down a few days ago, bought me a ticket. Got me here to the church in record time.” She threw grass at Ian who just smiled softly at her. “He drives like a criminal.”

He caught Ian’s gaze, heart burning inside him. 

“Errand, huh?” he asked, chin trembling. He will never do anything better than marrying this man. 

Ian winked at him then turned to Mandy.

“You’re staying with us for a few days,” Ian said, cleaning grass off his pants. 

He and Mandy exchanged amused looks. Ian had used his “argue with me and find out” voice. 

“Eww, on the Westside? Do I need to get my shots before they let me in?” Mandy teased. 

Ian stood and yanked her to her feet with a smile. “No shots required for family,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His mother’s dark hair.

They laughed, easy and comfortable, as if no time had passed. He wished his mother could see this enduring friendship between his sister and the man she wouldn’t let him give up on. 

Ian and Mandy held out their hands to him and he squinted against the sun and their openly loving expressions, blinded by both. He’s going to remember this moment forever. His favorite people are smiling down at him and it was as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck. 

When he’s pulled to his feet, he can’t help the impulsive kiss to each of their cheeks, surprising them. He shrugs. It’s that kind of day. 

“You want to go to the repass?” Ian asked, arms around the both of them as they walk through the shrines of people who will keep his mother company. 

“No,” he said, looking at Mandy. “You?” 

She gave the graveyard a sad, final look. “No. Let’s just get out of here. We’re disturbing the sleepers.”

They found Iggy and Colin shuffling around in front of the church, looking uncomfortable in their ill fitting suits. He’d told them not to bother dressing up, and was touched that they hadn’t listened. When his brothers saw Mandy, they broke into twin grins. 

“Dickhead 1 and 2, what’s good?” Mandy called, grinning too. Before they answered, she dropped her purse and took a run at them, arms wide. If there was anything good to be had from this awful day, it was his brothers happiness at seeing their sister. 

Iggy and Colin caught her and lifted her between them in a hug that at first was full of smiles then descended into tears. Mandy wiped their faces with the sleeve of her jacket and they touched her hair, trying to smile through their tears. Another moment as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck.

“What’s this shag shit?” Iggy husked as she cleaned his face.  

“Wolf cut. Easier to take care of.” Mandy cleaned Colin’s face next as he flipped a hank of her hair. 

“Call it whatever you want. It’s a mullet,” Colin said fondly while very gently cleaning her face with his tie and pressing a kiss into her cheek. “You look butch. I like it.”

“Ian,” Mandy called, smiling at Colin. “Can I bring these two weepy little bitches?” 

Ian picked up Mandy’s bag and looked at him with a soft, questioning smile. He shrugged. It would feel good to have his siblings in the house tonight. 

“Alright, listen up. Anyone of you fart, and I mean one damn fart, and everybody is getting kicked out except Mickey and Mandy,” Ian warned with a smile, linking hands with him. 

At their place, Colin ordered a ton of UberEats from every restaurant within a mile and they got comfortable down to their t-shirts and boxers. He knows the circumstances are different, but it felt like it did when Terry left for long stretches and they’d buy fast food with the money they pooled together. It’s how they celebrated the gift of peaceful days and no fresh bruises.

He smiled when Mandy padded out of their bathroom wearing one of Ian’s shirts, looking adorable and small. With a burger in her mouth, she whipped out a bottle of black nail polish and shook it while eyeing her brothers meaningfully. He knows what’s coming and her habit, born out of a need to self soothe, is exactly what they need.

He and his brothers took off their socks and while they ate, laughed and drank, Mandy painted their toes. It broke his heart a little to see her shoulders relax with each painted toe, a reminder of how she used to cope.

Ian bounced questioning eyebrows at him while Mandy painted Iggy’s toes.

“Mandy would paint our toes when she was upset,” he explained. “Been doing it since she was like what, Col?

“Four?” Colin answered. 

“Three,” Iggy chimed in, pointing a drumstick at Mandy. “I had more paint in between my toes than my actual fucking toenails.”

Mandy threw a french fry at him.

“Better than what you got between your goblin toes now. Was that dryer lint in there?” she asked, moving on to start on Colin’s toes.

“Could be. Or it could be cat hair. I like the mystery.” Iggy wiggled his now black-painted toenails. “Speaking of mystery, what’s up with your bare toes? Never saw you go one day without painted toes when you were home.”

Mandy smiled. “Stopped needing to do it. That should tell you something about my level of peace, yeah?” She started painting Mickey’s toes next. “Who wants to play Dead Body?” 

Ian swallowed his bite of cheeseburger, eyes popped wide. “Dead body?” he parroted weakly.

“Yeah. When we were little, we used to compare the times we all saw a dead body,” Iggy said, eating a slice of pizza. 

“You did this, why?” Ian asked. 

“Because, it was better than comparing bruises,” Mickey murmured, forking into his burrito bowl, toenails painted coffin black now. He doesn’t hate it.

Ian gave him such a soft, sad look, Colin scoffed.

“Of all the brutal shit we endured, seeing a dead body was like getting hit in the face with a pillow. Don’t sweat it, Ian,” Colin dismissed. “I’m going first. Mattara, alley. Gut stuck.”

“My turn,” Iggy said. “Lipotzik, train tracks. Froze to death. They had to crack his ass in half.”

“Don’t know her name,” Mandy said, “But, the girl who OD’d in the massage parlor. I saw them taking her out.”

He wasn’t going to join this game, especially because he’d never told anyone about it. But, now that his mother was truly gone, it didn’t feel like telling someone else’s secret. Not anymore.

“I saw Mom dead once. I mean before this time. She died twice.” 

His quiet comment silenced the room. Poor Ian. His face crumpled when he realized that Mickey wasn’t joking. 

“What are you talking about?” Mandy asked, sticking the nail polish brush back in the bottle. 

He looked at his painted toes while he spoke. 

“I got up one night. Had to pee real bad. I used to hold it because even a toilet flushing would set off Terry if he was trying to outsleep a hangover.”

Mandy scooted closer. Iggy and Colin did the same, food forgotten. He went on, speaking from a place of surreal memory. 

“I couldn’t hold it though, so I went into the bathroom. The first thing I saw were her feet. They were pruney and blue looking. Wet too. She was all wet.”

Ian got up and sat behind him, tucking him into the vee of his legs. 

“She wasn’t moving and Terry was kissing her. Or, I thought it was kissing at the time. I realized later he was giving her, you know, mouth to mouth or whatever. See, he’d … he’d pulled her out of the tub where she’d drowned herself.” 

Of all the heavy things he’d wanted to lay to rest today, this secret had to be heaviest.

“Terry kept giving her mouth-to-mouth. He didn’t even notice me standing there. I … I pissed myself when I saw her face.” He inhaled shakily. “Her eyes were open and she wasn’t blinking. She was just … blue.”

Colin and Iggy exchanged grim looks, but said nothing. 

“I must’ve said something. Maybe called her name. Terry kept pressing on her chest and snarled at me to get out. I couldn’t leave so I kind of squatted down and grabbed her cold foot thinking I could help him. Maybe help her.” 

Ian entwined his arms around his waist, and leaned him back into his chest while he finished in a rush, wanting it out and over. 

“She eventually blinked, coughed up a shit ton of water and started breathing again. She saw me and the first thing she did was shove Terry away, told him to get out. When he did, she put me in the same water that she’d drowned herself in, crying the entire time she washed me. Later, Terry told me if I said anything about what happened, everyone would know it was my fault. I knew that wasn’t true, but it felt like it was. At the time. Eventually I didn’t have to say anything because she left a month after that.”

He didn’t cry with the memory. Maybe because it hadn’t felt like a memory at all. It was more like a dream. Blue, cold and unreal in all its horrible detail. 

Colin broke the hold the memory had on him. “Christ, if I could bring Terry back to beat him to death, I would.” 

Iggy took an emotional swig of the Jack Daniels he was clutching, face red and working. “Me first, you second. That fucking fuck.” 

Mandy tossed back the rest of her wine. “Me first and the two of you can hold him.” 

“I’m calling the roster,” Ian interrupted, squeezing Mickey tight. “Mickey gets the first punch, then Iggy and Colin can hold him after they’re done so Mandy can kick him in those two shriveled things he used to call his nuts.” Ian gave his temple a hard kiss. “Me last so I can be the one to wiggle my big, gay dick at him in farewell.”

His brothers and sister held their silence for a single beat before falling into wild laughter. But, instead of laughing himself, he gave Ian a soft, sad kiss of understanding. Ian looked a little pale despite his effort to joke. The story had affected him too. He can see it in the tightness around Ian’s eyes. His story was one of the horrible things they had in common - children of mothers who got a second chance after giving up completely, but who had to leave their children to survive.

“You okay?” he asked Ian, cupping his face. “I probably shouldn’t have brought that up. I wasn’t trying to trigger whatev-” 

Ian pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, his eyes and his mouth last. 

“There. That worry right there. That’s how I know I couldn’t have picked a better husband.” Ian kissed his nose. “I’m good, baby.”

The Milkovich siblings watched this exchange silently, but exploded into gagging noises when Mickey kissed Ian three times in succession, surprising him. Again, today was that kind of day.

“Death makes both of you literal pussies,” Iggy said, laying down to put his head on Mandy’s lap.

“Seeing as how all you do is chase and admire pussy, what you’re really saying is that you want what they have,” Mandy retorted, bouncing Iggy’s head. 

Iggy opened his mouth to argue, but shrugged instead and settled for stealing a fry off Mandy’s plate.

“He definitely wants what they got. But, it takes him twice as long to chase pussy, and when he finally gets some, he’s in that shit for like a minute,” Colin said, slapping Iggy’s foot. “One minute, motherfucker.”

That’s all it takes. Iggy’s up and wrestling Colin while Mandy laughs and picks up her wine to avoid its destruction. Ian calls out a foul hold every now and then, tucking Mickey into his chest to avoid the wild foot swings. 

He smiled, watching it all from the safety of Ian’s arms. This wasn’t a repass that anyone would find dignified and he doesn’t give a shit. This was healing. As healing as any monotone gathering where cookie cutter condolences just made you feel oily and ill at ease.

This was what his mother would’ve wanted. Food, laughter. Love. No eulogy could've honored her more than this.

They stayed up late enough to finish the booze and food. Mandy claimed the couch and the boys curled up on the armchair and floor in front of the fireplace. He checked on them a few times before letting himself be pulled to bed where he lay, eyes hot and unblinking. 

The story he’d told had shaken something loose inside him that he couldn’t quite knit back together. His mother was gone for real. No pruney toes. No gout of coughed up water. No tears as she cleaned him in the water of her death.

She was gone.

Ian settled close to him, and the small lump in his throat became a boulder. It forced him to cry to alleviate the pressure, or so he told his cowardly soul. His tears turned into sniffling. Soft sobs, helplessly cried into Ian’s chest, followed. The quiet crying became harsh barks of pain and he curled into Ian trying to escape it all. Ian took him in his arms and cupped the back of his head to murmur nonsensical sounds of comfort. If only it was as simple as that. Soft words and a firm hug to clear away the pain. God, he wished it was that easy.

A soft knock on their bedroom door preceded Mandy padding in. His crying must’ve called her. It always did. Even when it meant she might catch a beating, Mandy always slipped into his bed  and hugged him until he stopped crying.

She did the same thing now, climbing over Ian to lay on his other side. She put an arm around his waist and he cried harder. For her, for his mother. For all of them.

Another soft knock. Iggy and Colin padded in with pillows and blankets. They settled down on the floor on either side of the bed without saying a word. Ian, God bless him, just smiled into his hair and gave him a squeeze, letting him know it was alright. 

After everyone settled down, the room was quiet and filled with the blue-tinged light of the moon and their collective breathing. 

“I think it goes without saying that we expect y’all not to fuck while we’re in here,” Colin said quietly from the floor. 

Iggy snorted from the other side of the bed. Soon, they were all laughing. 

Ian leaned over, kissed Mandy on the cheek, leaned down over her to slap Iggy on the chest then leaned all the way back to slap Colin on the top of his head. When he settled back down, he gave Mickey the softest, sweetest kiss. It was exactly what he needed. This closeness is what they all needed. 

As he started to fall into sleep, a gentle, almost melodic fart rang out. The bed shook as he, Ian and Mandy struggled not to be the first to laugh aloud.

“I can still stay, right Ian?” Iggy whispered from the floor, his plea a confession. 

They all dissolved into giggles, hissed softly between teeth. It was cleansing, this infantile humor. It was also a way for motherless children to find comfort and laughter in the dark.

“Yeah,” Ian said, breathing soft laughter into Mickey’s hair. “You can stay.”

He hid his face in Ian’s neck to let the warm pulse there soothe him towards sleep. He faded to the sound of the occasional laugh from his family, glad he was surrounded by the people who love him. 

And he can’t be sure, but just as he made his final descent into sleep, he felt something that eased his pain enough for him to sink into unconsciousness. 

A kiss, soft and sweet, pressed into the back of his neck.

[wisteriasymphony]

posting this to the tumblr so y'all see it too. also on ao3 tho

There was something addictive to the way he would hold her.

The way his hand held onto her thigh like he was about to die; Looking into her eyes like she was the only cure. Perhaps she was lucky, she supposed, that the person she’d seen look at her like this was someone like him. 

Does he even realize that he’s using her? …If she’s the only one who feels that way, is it even real? He sure seemed genuine about it, with every finger that pulled against her skin, every kiss, every chemical. Hell, he probably was entirely genuine about it, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be something fake about it.. Right? 

”You really are beautiful,” he said—he would always say—with that strange look in his eyes. Claudia supposed it was a look of adoration. No, that wasn’t all of it. It was worship. Did she really deserve to be worshipped? Did anything? 

“Thanks… I guess.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. He didn’t grip onto her the way she deserved to be: He was clinging to her like she was a precious jewel and not… well, what she was. Someone else needed to be filling his hands. Someone else needed to be the person tearing through her with their fingers. …Because he wasn’t tearing, really. Not even close.  

Adrien started to place another constellation of kisses all over Claudia’s stomach, hips, legs… “Do you not believe me?” He asked, resting his chin on the pouch of her abdomen right below her navel. “I really do think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Claudia. Truly.” 

Finally, something she could pick apart. 

“I don’t know if I could really call myself a ‘woman’,” Claudia sighed, running a lazy hand through Adrien’s hair. She was only 19, really—20 in less than half a year—and she felt that was a word she still needed to grow into; If she ever grew into it, that is. If it was ever the right word to begin with. 

Adrien laughed at himself, the sound short and quiet as it passed his lips. “The most beautiful man, then. Or person, or even the most beautiful thing. That’s not the important part. I’m willing to call you whatever you like, because the sentiment will still be true.” 

A light touch from Adrien’s hand suddenly caused all the muscles on her back to tense up; She balled up her fist in Adrien’s hair, perhaps even a little too hard. 

“You know,” he added, “There’s a word I think you’d like: ‘grotesque’. You’ve heard of it before, haven’t you?” 

Claudia nodded. Grotesque meant a lot of things; In English, it carried connotations of the gross and gory, of slime and of mold and the generally unpleasant or unsightly. In French, it instead meant something ludicrous or strange, sometimes even ridiculous. 

“What’s interesting about the word is its etymology. It comes from the Italian ‘grottesca’, or ‘of the cave’, and referred to a very particular style of ancient Roman paintings, specifically a style of ornamentation on frescoes.” Adrien kept his other hand still on the back her thigh, perhaps holding on a little tighter now. “For a while, it meant something much closer to ‘extravagant’ or ‘highly detailed’. And, in my own opinion… you could perhaps say even ‘gorgeous’.” 

“Are you saying you think I’m grotesque?” Claudia smiled, before Adrien pulled her in closer again. 

“Maybe. I’m just wondering if you would prefer I call you that instead. That way you can always interpret the word in the way you like, and I can interpret it in mine.” 

Claudia thought for a minute about it. Surely, in some sense of the word, there was something grotesque about all of this. She was ‘grotesque’ as in unpleasant… he was ‘grotesque’ as in extravagant… And together? ‘Grotesque’ as in strange. It was easier to accept the way he looked at her now, though, for some odd reason; Now that it conjured the image of him worshipping a statue of Medusa rather than one of a goddess. Even if it was wrong, she liked the idea that he adored her as a monster than as an idol. That, in her eyes, felt actually genuine. Maybe it was the idea that she inspired a little fear in him, too, that sold it. 

claudrien nation tags (like 4 of you have already read it but idc you get it again as a gift for me mwah): @wuhuislandconspiracy @dayochoco @mxacegrey @joshua-the-phoeinx @everything163 @myriadmi @cutepastelstarsalior @xxcresentmoonxx @nocturnal-notes @pyrusinc @moondancer35 @bluesoulblueheart @foxgloveciara

[phoenix-writez]

I deadass forgot about this tumblr account LMAOOO

HI YEAH YALL ON TUMBLR ARE WAAAAYYY BEHIND

SORRY I'LL FIX THAT

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

Entry #3

[CUBFAN]

I'm drenched in some weird black substance, and I can see eyes peering out of the walls.

I had just recently jumped down after revealing a hole in the ground, deciding that chaos truly was an answer that needed calling. Of course, I don't actually know where I'm headed.

But, man, who needs to figure that out? I have a sense that where I'm headed is full to the brim with anger. That just gets me going.

After walking through sludge and eye soup, I find a button. Normally, I wouldn't really press just any button out in the open. But this felt like it needed to happen.

So I pressed it. It opened a large door, kinda felt sci-fi. I slid to the wall, hiding behind the doorway that coincidentally hid me perfectly. I looked inside the room, there were two people chatting up a storm.

“You have no idea what's happening down here, do you?!”

The voice sounded like a woman, but I don't assume. The other voice sounded almost like a gremlin, but with a deep and intimidating voice. That I didn't actually care for, because I've heard worse from Tango.

“Oh, Shrub… you're naïve. Theatre of course is an act, but they all act like children.” The other one said.

Shrub, I guess, began shouting. “They are children! A bunch of teenagers trapped inside of this time capsule! Xornoth, for the gods' sakes, you're so aggravating!”

Xornoth snickered with a sinister hiss of breath as he leaned down towards the mushroom lady, “I am? Awh, a shame.” He pat her on the head, “I pity you. Stuck here with no idea on anything. There, there, little one. I'll be here to save you in your time of need.”

Shrub frowned, she glared at the ground. “No… you've controlled my life far too much already, Xornoth. I can't let you just save me just because I'm stuck in the basement of a maze.”

My eyes widened and I guess I forgot to be quiet, as I quickly gasped and slammed myself back onto the wall so I could be well hidden. Xornoth slammed his hand onto Shrub’s mouth. “Did you bring someone here?!”

Her expression was wild, as she tried to shake her head in refute. She muffled an attempted shout and Xornoth grumbled under his breath, lifting his hand from her face. “NO!” Shrub yelled.

She took a deep breath and veered towards the doorway. “There's no one here. You probably heard wind, or maybe someone else is in this stupid maze trying to get out. Who knows?! There's so many people in this damned building!”

“Damned is not the word I would use.”

“Of course! You'd use perfection! This building is extravagant to you! The best thing that could ever even exist in your plane of life!” Shrub held herself, her fingers tightening on her arms as her face scrunched up with every shout she made.

Xornoth couldn't help but laugh, he began walking away. I heard it, the stomping of his boots against the wooden floorboards. It had been headed away from me, I finally let out my breath.

Arguing fuels me, my mother is the god of chaos and strife after all. But this argument felt oddly draining, like all of my energy was being sapped away as they spoke. I sat down and tried not to be seen.

Of course, that failed.

As the mushroom lady herself hung around the hallway, then marched towards the door. Towards me.

She leaned on the doorway, hands grasping the walls like she was depending on it to keep her steady so the wind didn't blow her away.

She was rather petite, I looked up at this mushroom lady and immediately was frightened. When I said mushroom lady, I didn't exactly mean she had fungus growing in her hair. I saw a mushroom cap on her head, but I assumed it was a funky little hat, and she even wore an outfit that fit her cottagecore yet definitely-lives-in-a-cave aesthetic.

“I almost didn't notice you here,” Shrub smiled nervously. “Nice, uh, glasses, I think? Is that how you talk to people?”

“Weren't you just talking to someone?” I tilted my head as she began laughing. Quickly, she sat next to me and spoke so gently, “That man I just spoke to is Xornoth, I have no idea where he'd come from, or what he's doing here. I'm sorry you heard all of that, or if you don't understand half of what we said.”

“Exactly what do you think I don't understand?”

“The… time stuff? About this place?”

The corner of my lips lifted, only one though. It's a smirk, I never realized I had to explain one before. I snickered and leaned back, “I came here to assist in breaking an important group out of this place. Unfortunately, only one made it through. I'm fully aware this place is one giant time and space continuum joke. I have no idea what's causing it.”

Shrub fidgeted around with her hands. I watched as grass grew from the floorboards, flowers even began to sprout from the wood. She smiled, “Will you call me crazy if I talked about gods?”

“Would you call me crazy if I said I was the son of one?”

Shrub’s eyes widened and her whole body whipped around towards me. I've never seen a smile so bright and innocent before, it made me feel a little guilty. After all, I'd just eavesdropped on an argument.

“NO WAY!” She shouted, “I'm the daughter of Ceres!”

I paused, “Ceres? Like…”

“Oh you know, some Roman god.” Shrub’s hand flapped and went limp, as if she were shoving her words away because they meant nothing. “What about you?!”

“Uh, Eris.”

—

I think I began losing track of time around thirty minutes within that maze. We walked around for so long, avoided Xornoth like the plague, and trapped ourselves in dead ends.

Shrub whined for a while, I guess the mushrooms in her body began to hurt. Because at one point, I glanced at her to figure out the issue and I found a fungus digging its way through her skin.

We made it to a hallway that was splattered in reds, greens, and blues. I scratched the back of my head and stifled a giggle. “Looks like some computer artwork failed here.”

“Computer…” Shrub thought for a moment, “Wait, Cub!” She grabbed me by the shoulder. I turned towards her, “Yeah?”

“Vulcan!”

“...Please speak in terms we can both understand.” My brows lower as I suck air through my teeth, “I can't exactly, y'know, translate Latin to Greek in three seconds.”

“Vulcan is literally Hephaestus! Don't be dumb!” Shrub groaned. “Oh, buddy, if you wanna see dumb, you should see my friends back at camp. Especially the Hermes cabin, good lords.” I look away, back at the RGB modern art on the walls.

“If we're gonna theorize Hephaestus, the best we can do is figure out what this was made for.” I waltzed around, taking samples of the paint and anything I could find.

Shrub shivered, “You think this was just sheer pettiness on his part?”

“Of course it was, everything he does is petty. Should've been the god of being petty, but all the gods are.” I tapped on the walls and felt a pressure change immediately. “Uh,”

“WE'RE FALLING!!” Shrub held onto the nearest thing. Unfortunately, that was me. And we fell faster, because I'm no parachute.

—

We woke up in a ditch, and there we saw him. Laying on his side, my eyes widened in fear and surprise. “Who is that?” Shrub whispered. “Are they dead?”

I got up and walked towards him, poking him. “Cub! What are you doing?!” Shrub stood up.

“...Impulse? I thought you left with the rest of them. What's going on? Why are you…” I looked to my right. A wrench, I picked it up quickly and stared at Impulse. “Your gift is here, buddy. What's going on?”

I pulled him to where he now laid on his back. His lips were covered in fuzz and blood, and his head was a mess. I looked back at the wrench and found blood sticking to it, “This is hours old. Probably days.” I dropped it.

“Cub, what's going on here?” Shrub walked towards me, the concern living on her face along with all the dread.

I sighed, “Remember how you brought up Vulcan?”

“Yeah…?”

“Impulse is his son. Not Vulcan’s, but Hephaestus’ son,” I turn to look at her. “He brought us here for a reason. He told us to find Impulse.”

Shrub got lost in thought, I watched as she peered down at the floor once again. The floor this time was concrete, dry and painful to even step on. She seemed to count the lost pebbles that mixed in with the concrete. Her eyes closed.

“The fate of machine will be washed away by hands that prey on the day.”

“...Hey, I heard that prophecy.” I frowned. “Just before I got here.”

“So did I.” Shrub sat down next to Impulse, “Prey on the day…?”

“Is there some type of Apollo kid here?” I looked around, “Don't see one.”

“I'm the closest we have to day. I'm the feast… the farm, the crops, the nature.” Shrub planted her face on her hands. I glared down at Impulse. “We'll find the answer soon enough, I think I know who's doing the preying.”

Impulse never moved from his spot.

I didn't know if he was ever gonna move again.

[percyweas1ey]

Coming back to tumblr after forever so I thought screw it, I’ll make a new blog (and like eventually RT over a load of stuff from my old main and tag that as well)

Anyway my introduction to Percy Weasleyblr is this snippet from my Trans Percy WIP

His first day back home, Percy had spent an unusual amount of time sat in front of the small mirror besides his desk, staring into it examining himself. He’s started to let his hair grow longer at the end of the school year, watching as his thick red curls begin to tickle his cheekbones, a small feeling of warmth beginning to bloom in his chest as it slowly grown inch by inch. Knowing what his Mother would say, he’d caved and cut it back to his usual length at the end of the year out of cowardice. The same could be said for the chipped remains of red nail polish, nearly entirely gone except for small patches at the base of his nail bed. Penelope had painted them for him, quiet whispers in an abandoned classroom agreeing that he could make feigned arguments of house pride if questioned. Penelope always helped to solve things like this. She was the only person in Percy’s life who truly saw him for who he was, even when that scared him.

There’d been many conversations like that, conspiratorial whispers engaged out of fear, his fear, that some suspecting person was sat on the other side of the door, waiting to burst through with a cry of “Aha!” Should Percy say too much, say the things that he refused to admit even to himself. Penelope had whispered back to him without any of the judgement he reserved for himself.

Trans Percy is unapologetically one of my fav headcanons but there’s so little content (and even less that’s quality) thanks to the chronic under appreciation of my fav so be the change etc etc

[cutekittenlady]

Tumblr Plays Pokemon White 2 - Part 8

((So i actually had to go back and fight a bunch of trainers to get money for more pokeballs to try and catch pokemon with.))

Well hanging out in the lot was a lot of fun but now I think I'll head back down into the sewers and get to the pokemon center. I need to prepare.

Yeah I think he's feeling a little... frustrated. Look its this whole revenge thing, I don't really wanna get into it.

Iris then asks what I'm going to do now, and honestly? While I'm aiming to fight in the gym I think I need to train some first. Get a gas mask, complete a bit more of the pokdedex. Yada yada.

Also I'm actually nearly out of the pokeballs. I've only got, like, four. And three of those I dont wanna use yet.

Guess that means one thing. I gotta fight some trainers for cash.

I start in the sewers. I opt to not use healing items like potions. I'd rather not spend money trying to buy more so instead my team and I are just going to have the train the difficult way by healing at the pokemon center for free. Once we have enough money and balls saved up we can try to fill out more of the pokedex.

Besides I wanna make sure I'm strong enough to beat Burgh and this as good of an excuse as any to train up.

I actually try to avoid most of the wild pokemon, saving up our energy for the trianers.

Turns out one of the trainers I beat is a doctor so i was able to get my pokemon healed up! And immediately after that I found a scientist who gave me a super potion! Dang things are looking up! I found a few items in the sewer I might be able use or sell as well.

Place still reeks though.

Getting curious I choose to check out that gaping hole in the sewers and find myself in a cave system (relic passage) rather than explore further I opt to leave it alone for now and return later.

((I actually completely forgot about Relic passage when making the poll. XD I think I'll include it amongst the potential places to catch mons after we get our eevee encounter once we get enough money for more pokeballs.))

AAAnd that rare bone I found in the sewer sold for fifty bucks

NICE

And I spend ALL my money on great balls. I decide it'll be a good idea to head to that little hidden park to start some training.

I wonder around in the grass a bit and run into an Eevee. A friggin EEVEE! A wild one! I can't believe this! Those are insanely rare in Unova!

EVERY trainer wants an eevee!

Bentley! Aries! Do NOT screw this up!

I swap Bentley out for Molly both to take down Petilil sooner, and to avoid Bentleys old habits from kicking in.

Don't look at me like that Bentley you know what you did!

After that it was a matter of being insanely cautious with the damage.

Once I got eevee down to a reasonable health level I decided that now, now was the time to use that Ultra ball I was given back in Aspertia.

Ultra ball dont fail me now!

I select.

I throw.

aaaaaand

Eevee on the team!!!

Ohhhhh he is just so CUTE!

What shall I name him? I mean he was the first pokemon in this whole thing to win, more or less, by a massive landslide. So I feel like I should incorporate that in the name.

I asked my sister what I should name this Eevee and she suggest Pollemachus in reference to him winning the poll. That sounded werid so I was considering Champ but while we were discussing it and even seeing if Pollemachus would fit into the pokemon nickname section (it did not) we wound up coming across the name Pollux. Which apparently means "very sweet" some sources claimed it also meant "crown"? I'm not sure but given this pokemon by a Poll that was absolutely no contest I think it only seems right to give him a name in reference to it.

So after a LOT of debate the little Eevees name became Polux.

And now for the moment of truth.

The nature check.

I spent so much time looking for this Eevee. I can only hope the pokmeon challenge gods look favorably upon me.

Okay

Bentley. Quiet Nature.

Aries. Hasty Nature.

Molly. Hardy Nature.

Polux.

...

DOCILE NATURE

YES.

Now of course Polux is gonna need training but I think I may be okay to challenge the bug type gym!

There will be a set of new polls soon!

[gryptids]

do all your ocs know each other or do they have subgroups?

EEE thank u for asking!! The OCs I tag for on Tumblr generally fall into three universes/stories. (Also I had to rewrite this like 3 times bcuz Tumblr's ctrl+z function is broken and I kept doing it reflexively, so apologies if this makes no sense lol)

As The World Caves In (#culecore): A 70s-inspired eldritch horror romcom about a woman on the verge of a nervous breakthrough. When a one-night stand leads to world-shattering revelations about her connection to a distant eldritch god, Cara (far left) must confront love, loss, forgiveness, and her community in order to halt an impending apocalypse. Dealing with centuries of relationship drama from her demigod paramours is just the icing on the cake. Messy, queer, and unapologetically indulgent, this is essentially a creative sandbox that I play in almost 24/7!! I love smashing together these terrible little bitches like dolls :]

From left to right we have Carolyn Klein (main character, cuntress supreme, can easily whip a dish that will bring you to tears), Saoirse Ross (not-really-tortured artist, grappling with the world's most protracted identity crisis, eldritch splinter of Chaos), Jude Collins (walking Leyendecker illustration, Captain Autismo, eldritch splinter of Light), and Victor Ward (depressed line cook energy, massive flirt, eldritch splinter of Void).

Threads of Gossamer and Glass (#tgg): A high fantasy political thriller about what comes after survival, reinventing your mind upon meeting someone new, and trying to not break the world in half a second time. This is a novel-length work I'm currently working on, which means I have a novel-style blurb for it LOL:

"Maria has worked her entire life to secure a seat in the Artea Crea, an artist's guild that serves as the highest governing body in her home nation of Trevigi. But when her sister's illegal magical abilities are discovered, she's given an impossible choice; play diplomat in a suicide mission to a land of savage mages, or see her sister hanged. However, Maria quickly discovers that there's more to Peykangraz that meets the eye; deadly games of magic and politics, a mountain range that appears to be shifting, and a powerful mage who is as confounding as he is alluring. With every new ally, deal, and discovery, she begins to glimpse the buried truth that lies between the land and her mission. But what is she willing to risk -- and to lose -- in pursuing what she believes in?"

(art by the lovely @dying_anniris on Twitter!!)

&Lavender (#&lav): In a story that extrapolates the machinations of the fae courts onto high-class mob politics, Lav finds themself walking the razor edge between worlds when their quiet life collides with the unknown. As a jeweler specializing in intricate gem faceting, Lav creates flashy pieces for humans and fae alike, performing humanity for their clients through a combination of glamour magic and ascerbic wit. The Courts ignore them, and they ignore them right back. As a wyldfae -- too unimportant to be considered Seelie or Unseelie -- they're used to the lack of interest. But when a dangerous artifact comes into their possession, they must risk everything and forge an alliance with a member of the Unseelie Court to protect it. What follows is a saga of lust, destruction, and all the terrible things that happen when you understand how much you're truly worth.

Plus, I've got a few miscellaneous OCs (including Beverly, a waifish Texas cannibal, and Ariadne, a vampiric Oath of Conquest paladin) who fall into their own individual universes! Together they form the Insane Blood-Splattered Women Brigade <3

TYSM for asking!!! I love the chance to talk abt my guys... feel free 2 ask more questions abt them if you're curious!!!!

[vannahfanfics]

Hello, this is anonymous commissioner 🍄! This is my information for my One Piece matchup. Thank you for writing it!

I’m a bi/pan woman. 5’1��/155cm with short blue hair (naturally dark brown, but I like experimenting with different colors), gray eyes, and I guess kind of a cozy femme style.

My personality is free-spirited, even-tempered, independent, and adventurous. I love learning new things, and I’ll try anything once - as long as it’s not too dangerous or obviously harmful to someone else. As a partner (or friend) I’m loyal, supportive, and fun, but not the most romantic or verbally affectionate. It’s actually pretty hard for me to say “I love you,” and I even feel a little awkward hearing it tbh. My biggest flaw is probably that I can be a little self-centered - not in a diva-ish way, but prone to getting caught up in my own thoughts and goals sometimes. My hobbies/interests are reading (mostly horror, science fiction, and science history), gardening, swimming, knitting, traveling, and games of all kinds.

In a partner I’m attracted to confidence, creativity, and passion. My favorite dates are ones where we visit a new place (whether that’s a new restaurant or a whole new city) or learn a new skill together. When meeting someone for the first time, I start out a bit quiet and withdrawn, but I warm up quickly once we find a good topic of conversation or an activity to work on together.

At long last, here is your match-up, Anon! I apologize for how terribly long this took me; medical school has kept me so busy, and I suffered a pretty prolonged period of writer's block as well. Things are finally settling down, though, and I have my creative groove back! I hope you find this worth the wait, and thank you again for commissioning! :)

P.S. Someone please tell me to stop trying to use Ctrl+Z on Tumblr so that I stop accidentally deleting entire drafts with no way to recover them! >:(

I match you with...

Vivi Nefertari from One Piece!

There are a lot of amazing characters in One Piece that I could have matched you with, but the first one that came to mind was one of the best girls in the series: the lovely princess Vivi! It wasn't just because she also has blue hair, LMAO; I think she's a great fit for you. Let's delve into why:

Free-spirited, even-tempered, independent, adventurous: these are all qualities that Vivi shares with you. She is also very much someone who seeks new experiences and is willing to try anything at least once; however, danger is not something that Vivi shies away from! I could easily see her being one of those daredevil thrillseekers—skydiving, bungee jumping, deep sea/underwater cave diving, you name it! Naturally, she would want to enjoy these experiences with you, but she would be totally understanding if you aren't quite as keen to try. She'd never push you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. She's happy to undertake said venture by herself or with a more enthusiastic companion, then tell you all about the fun she had afterward! Of course, when it comes to anything that you are willing to try, Vivi wants to be a part of it. She's the type to want to memorialize the adventure; expect to get lots of pictures that Vivi will immediately pore over after all is said and done so that she can gush about how much fun you both had and what great memories you made!

Vivi is also a loyal and supportive partner, so it doesn't bother her in the slightest that you aren't "openly" romantic. Vivi has high emotional intelligence when it comes to those who she is close to, and, therefore, she doesn't need to rely on words or overt physical gestures to understand what they are feeling or trying to express; that would certainly be the case with you, too! You may not be easily able to say "I love you" in words, but there are certainly ways that you do say it, and Vivi will be able to perceive these with no problem. Vivi is a bit more open in this regard, but she is more than willing to operate at your comfort level. Again, she knows that there is more than one way to express affection than by just saying it; she will express her feelings in any way that you are receptive to!

Vivi is not quiet or withdrawn like you are, but her more outgoing nature certainly wouldn't get in the way of the two of you hitting it off. In fact, it aids it! Vivi is like you in the fact that she immediately lights up when the topic of conversation turns interesting—especially if it is something she enjoys. Vivi is definitely one of those to start excitedly gushing once she realizes that the other person(s) is similarly interested in a topic. She'll talk your ear off, and she'll gladly let you do the same to hers! Her interests are similarly varied like yours, so this would also present a good basis for establishing a rapport with Vivi. Mutual interests are the foundation of any strong relationship, and you certainly have plenty with Vivi!

It goes without saying that Vivi is extremely passionate, and she's certainly creative, too. Your ideas of dates are Vivi's idea of dates; it ties into her sense of adventure! She loves to visit new places. If you have any inclinations of being a globetrotter, then dating Vivi is certainly a way to realize those aspirations. She has a lengthy list of historic and otherwise famous places that she would like to visit at least once in her life—not that she'll stop there! Anywhere she goes, she's eager to explore from top to bottom and sideways so that she can not only get a well-rounded experience but also discover places and things she wouldn't have otherwise! She is also always willing to try new skills, too, whether it's associated with a trip or not. Quite a few of your fond memories would be the two of you trying your hands at some obscure art or cooking form or what have you. Whether your results are successful or comically terrible, Vivi is all-smiles; not only is it fun for her just to be experiencing something different, she's just happy to be doing so with you!

I really feel that the greatest trait that you and Vivi would share is a love of travel, so here are some headcanons on that!:

Seriously, Vivi loves to travel. She'd jump at every opportunity to journey somewhere new, and she's the type of person to have a collection of things from her travels—postcards, magnets, novelty mugs. She loves all kinds of souvenirs!

If you are the type of person who also collects things from places you visit, not only will it send her over the moon, but she'll also be more than happy to indulge you! Whatever you collect, you can bet that Vivi will be buying something for you on a trip, whether you are on it together or not. In the same vein, if you do the same for her, it will make her the happiest person alive!

Some people have specific kinds of places that they like to travel to, but not Vivi. She'll happily go on any kind of trip, whether it's a relaxing beach trip, a rustic mountain retreat, a jaunt through a historic landmark, or an adventure like an extended hike or diving experience. The world is a vast place full of countless wonderful things, places, and peoples, and life is too short to experience them all—but by golly, Vivi is going to experience as many as she can!

As I mentioned earlier, Vivi is very much into photographs as mementos, so you'll be taking a lot of them together! Don't worry, though, they won't just sit in your phones' photo libraries; Vivi will put her creativity to work and make a scrapbook! To her, it's almost more fun than the trip itself. She loves to dive right into the newest scrapbook pages as soon as the trip is done, sometimes with so much zeal that she has them finished the day she returns home! Her favorite part is sharing them with you, of course, and reminiscing, whether it was a solo trip on her part or one you both went on together!

Obviously, life is never a dull moment with Vivi. This go-getting gal is sure to drag you along for countless adventures, whether it's a spontaneous lunch at a new restaurant or a hike into the thick of a rainforest—and she's going to be sure to immortalize every amazing moment that she shares with you. For all the amazing things that Vivi's seen and done, nothing compares to the way that you enrich her life!

Finally, I'd like to highlight the one un-adventurous aspect of Vivi... her disdain for horror movies, LOL! I just don't see her enjoying the genre at all because the poor thing is terribly prone to jump scares! Despite that, she'd love to support your interests and would watch them with you... well, what little bit she sees through her fingers! So, here's a drabble on the topic:

"Eeeeeeeek!"

You can't help but laugh at the piercing shriek that tears from Vivi's mouth when your television's speakers thunder with the crescendo of the suspenseful music and the very predictable jump-scare scene of the horror movie you and your girlfriend are watching flashes across the screen. Could you even call Vivi's terrified, fragmented peering through the gaps in her fingers watching, actually? The dubious nature of Vivi's movie experience just makes it all the more comical, prompting you to laugh again just as she flops over onto her side and curls into the fetal position with a mournful moan.

"How can you be so stoic while watching this?" she laments, her voice muffled from how tightly her hands are plastered to her face. "That ghost popping out of nowhere like that—I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest!"

"I saw it coming from a mile away," you explain with a little laugh. Really, there was a formula to these things. The protagonist goes creeping through a dark, dusty attic; it's practically horror movie law for something scary to happen, whether it's furniture being knocked to the floor with a tremendous crash or some spooky specter to suddenly appear from the darkness. You've watched enough horror films to recognize the tell-tale patterns of an impending jump scare or at least a subverting de-escalation of tension. Vivi, despite watching several of them with you now, had apparently not quite acquired said skill. Hence, she was terrified out of her wits each time.

You really ought to make more effort to reassure her that she doesn't need to watch them with you, but you can't bring yourself to because her exaggerated reactions are just so darn cute!

That, and the way that Vivi always comes crawling back for more because she simply can't stand to leave a story unfinished. Even as she lay beside you on the sofa with her knees tucked to her chest and her quivering hands pressed to her face, she parts her fingers to stare apprehensively at the television screen with a squeak of, "Did I miss anything important?!"

"She just dashed down the attic ladder so fast that she lost her footing, fell, and hit her head on the floor so hard that she was dazed for a bit. As she was in and out of consciousness, she saw the ghost peering out of the attic opening at her and smiling creepily," you explain, calm despite describing an absolutely nightmarish scenario.

Just the description of the event gives Vivi the good ol' heebie-jeebies; she is gripped with a full-body shudder, then hastily snaps her fingers back shut with a frightened squeak of "No, thank you!"

You laugh, then give her a reassuring rub of her back while returning your gaze to the television screen.

"I guess this means that you'll never visit a haunted graveyard or something with me, huh?" you tease. You've yet to find a challenge that Vivi will shy away from, but a haunted locale just might be the line drawn in the sand, you consider then.

To your surprise, however, Vivi shoots up into a sitting position to look at you with a resolute glower.

"It doesn't matter if it's haunted! If it's a place that you want to visit, then I want to visit it, too!" she asserts with a conviction that shocks you so deeply that you pause the movie and turn completely sideways to gape at her in utter incredulity. Vivi's bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are shaking with fear, but there is no mistaking the resolve in her expression. She totally meant it!

Still, you're so amazed by the notion that you can't help but ask, "Really?"

"Really!" Vivi insists with an emphatic nod. "I won't let something silly like fear get in the way of enjoying an experience with you! Even if it's scary then, it'll probably be really funny in hindsight, you know?"

It was one-hundred-percent Vivi logic, and you couldn't help but smile at her assertion. Before you could respond, however, Vivi continues:

"Kind of like this." She gestures vaguely at the television with a little chuckle. "I keep watching scary movies with you because it's always fun to laugh about how worked up I get later! The fright I get from the jump scares and stuff is temporary... but the joy of spending time with you, and the giddiness at how funny we both find my reactions are permanent." She smiles in a mixture of adoration and bashfulness. "A-anyway, what I'm trying to say is, what's the difference between watching a scary movie with you and going somewhere haunted, really? I'm happy to do this, so I'm happy to do that, too! Just say when!"

You are so struck by the sudden emotional outpouring that you can only stare at her in shocked silence for a second. Then, the utter insanity of her logic strikes you, and you burst into laughter.

"Vivi...! Ahahaha, y-you... you really are a-a... a masochist, you know that?!" you exclaim between frantic giggling. Vivi blushes brightly at your explosive laughter, but only smiles sheepishly and offers a small shrug in response.

The amusement quickly gives way to a rush of affection, prompting you to smile breathlessly at Vivi while you use the heels of your palms to wipe away the tears that had sprung to your eyes from laughing so hard. It takes a minute for you to regain the ability to speak, but when you do, you take her hands in yours and give them a squeeze.

"In all seriousness, thank you, Vivi. Not everybody would be willing to waltz into a haunted house, let alone those who don't even like scary stuff. You really are amazing... or out of your mind." You can't help but tack on the jibe at the end, but Vivi doesn't resent you for it; she just laughs and nods in agreement.

"I'm definitely out of my mind," she giggles. Her expression then softens and she looks at you in pure adulation that can only be love. "But I'll happily sacrifice a little bit of my sanity if it means that I can experience as many amazing things with you as I can."

"Vivi..." You breathe her name as warmth floods your entire being. You nibble on your bottom lip as a big grin tugs at the corner of your lips, but it does little to keep it from stretching from ear to ear. You give her hands another squeeze, then release a half-sigh, half-laugh as you let go and settle back against the couch. "Let's get you to where you can make it through a horror movie without dying of fright, and then we can talk about trips to haunted places, all right?"

"I don't know if we'll ever take a trip to a haunted place, then, because I don't think I can!" Vivi groans even as she flops against you and looks at the television screen with mounting anxiety. You laugh and press play on the remote, and it's only a few seconds before Vivi is clutching onto you for dear life and burying her face into your shoulder. It's admittedly a pretty frightening scene, but there's no way that you can feel fear right now, not when you're full to the brim with love for your amazing girlfriend.

That's okay, you think. I could spend the rest of my life never going anywhere else, and I'd be just fine as long as I'm with you... because you make every day an adventure no matter where we go or what we do.

Interested in a commission? Check out this post!

[frozenjokes]

WoF/Third Life Crossover Fic Chapter Four - Great Idea!

NOTE: I use italics to indicate thoughts with the mind reading shenanigans. Italics don’t copy/paste onto tumblr and I am lazy. Ao3 version has italics and you can read that here

Pearl looked around her second period class as the rest of the students filed in, tail twitching. BigB and her walked  in together, Ren came in a couple minutes later with a few other dragons, and last in was Scar as usual. Still no Grian. 

“Did you see Grian this morning? I didn’t even think to check if he was up in the Nightwing nook,” she asked, turning to BigB. The Seawing looked around the classroom, as if noticing for the first time that something was missing.

“Ah, I did think it was quiet in history today. No, I haven’t seen him. You think he’s still asleep?”

“I don’t see how anyone could sleep through Ren’s little morning ballad,” she snorted, causing Ren to turn around.

“Hey! You were already awake anyway!” He shot back in mock outrage, “My Bigwings always made sure we started the morning properly energized before anything else, and I’ll see to it that tradition is carried on. Just you see, you guys will join me in no time.”

“Apparently Grian wasn’t,” BigB murmured thoughtfully, “Or maybe he wasn’t in the cave at all. Have you seen him, Ren?”

“Huh? Whatdya mean? Isn’t he..” Ren swung his broad head back and forth.

“You guys are awful,” Pearl chuckled, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated motion.

“Well maybe you Icewings have strict morning routines and schedules, but I’m not used to getting up this early yet,” BigB yawned, but his dark eyes shining with amusement.

“Yeah, that,” Ren waved his talons, “Have you asked Scar yet? He’s been all over the place today, maybe he’s seen Grian around.”

“No, I haven’t- Hey Scar!” Pearl called, but just as he turned around, their teacher called the class to attention. Pearl deflated, disappointed, but lightened up at an encouraging shoulder bump from BigB. The Seawing had such a kind smile that always seemed to say everything is gonna be alright. Pearl nodded, settling down for class. She just hoped Grian hadn’t run off after whatever had happened yesterday. Something odd is up with that dragon. If only I could read minds and figure out exactly what’s going on.

…

The first thing Grian noticed as his dream began to fade was the warmth of the sun on his wings and back. The second was an odd scuffling sound that abruptly halted as he opened his groggy eyes. The third was four other dragons standing over him with wide eyes. Grian screamed, leaping to his feet and staggering backwards, wings flapping wildly as he attempted a wild escape.

Well we should have seen that coming. Pearl. As the other three stared regretfully, Scar burst out in a fit of laughter so strong, he knocked himself off his own feet and onto his back. 

“Oh-oh my- If only you could’ve seen your face!” Scar gasped, holding his chest. Grian could, in fact, see his face, plastered in Scar’s mind. Was.. was that paint? Ren couldn’t help but let out a little snort, and even BigB and Pearl were smiling.

“Sorry Grian. We didn’t mean to scare you. At least.. I didn’t..” Pearl said, looking sheepishly away, but her smile remained.

“Aw, but he’s being quite the pRoPeR gEnTlemAn about it!” Scar wheezed in an exaggerated accent that sounded uncannily like some of the Nightwatcher council. Ren couldn’t help himself from laughing now, and Grian once again saw a flash of his own face in Ren’s mind. Grian let his wings relax now, more confused than startled. He ran a talon across his face, and found it covered in blue paint.

“No! Not your monocle!” Ren bounded forward, grabbing Grian’s paint covered talon.

“My-my what?”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that, you two are gonna kill him at this rate.” BigB stepped forward with a wet rag, handing it to Grian. “You can wash your face with this, and we can get those two back later.” Grian’s mind whirled.

“Get.. them back?”

“Shh, we don’t want to discuss retaliation while Ren and Scar are right here!” BigB chuckled, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, you can try!” Ren declared, launching himself at BigB and sending both of them rolling across the rock. Grian looked to Pearl, expecting her to be equally bewildered by their roughhousing, but instead, she let out a loud battle cry in BigB’s defense, jumping into the scuffle.

Grian found himself backpedaling towards Scar, who was watching with uncharacteristic tranquility. Grian settled, eyes wide.

“That’s a bit childish isn’t it?” he asked, quietly mesmerized. Scar gave him a warm look, similar to one of the ones his mother would give him when he was a dragonet. Before she permanently covered her eyes…

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” he stated, nodding a little to himself, “If adults aren’t allowed to have any fun, then I’m okay staying a dragonet.”

Grian blinked. He had forgotten these dragons were still so young, not just old dragons hiding in a dragonet’s body. It’s not like I’m treated like an older dragon anyway. Would he ever be allowed to grow up? He wiped his face as Pearl declared victory over Ren. However, after she turned her back, he leapt on her once more, leaving BigB to chase the two rolling dragons around.

As he set down the rag, he noticed a little picnic blanket set out across part of the rock. It was full of fruit from the rainforest as well as a couple prey items from the Prey Hall.

“Did.. did you guys do this for me?” Emotion swelled in Grian’s stomach, spilling out in quick breaths.

“Oh- yeah! You missed a spot on your horns by the way,” Scar said, picking up the rag and pushing it to the spot with leftover paint. Grian took it from him, grateful. Scar continued as Grian wiped away the rest of the paint. “I figured you probably had a lot on your plate.. I mean if I were in your position I think I’d be pretty overwhelmed..We just wanted to let you know we’re here for you! Oh- and I talked to the Headmaster and told him about your sleeping thing- and he totally understood! There’ll be an extra pad on the ground during Sun Time if you want to join the Rainwings while you adjust to your new sleep schedule.”

Grian could have cried. In fact, he might have if it wasn’t for one thing. He jumped to his feet, panic pulsing through his muscles. “Class- did I miss class??” He looked to the sun, which was high in the sky by now. He felt a talon against his leg.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Pearl got that sorted out for you, just lay down.”

“But-“

“Grian. It’s taken care of.” The firmness in his voice reminded Grian of a command. He laid back down, almost automatically, but his heart still raced. Scar removed his hand from his forearm, and reached for a piece of fruit.

“Just enjoy the show,” Scar murmured, peeling the banana he grabbed as Pearl, BigB, and Ren tussled.

Now… that’s an idea..

Grian whipped around, heart racing faster. Was that a Nightwatcher? There was something distinctly malicious about that thought that sent his mind spiraling. What were they saying? Are they angry I’m talking with a Rainwing? He couldn’t hear anything else, but that didn’t mean no one was there. Some Nightwatchers were particularly talented at shielding their thoughts from mind readers. They wouldn’t hurt my winglet would they? 

“Whoa- Hey- are you okay?” Scar was looking at him with intense alarm, and Grian realized his talons were shaking. Even the other three dragons had stopped fighting, looking at him with various levels of concern. Grian folded his shaking limbs underneath himself and tucked his wings close. 

“Grian?” Scar again. He must not have responded. Scar began scanning the rock behind them, looking for what had scared him.

“Sorry,” was all he could manage, eyes glued to the ground. His ears were still pricked, searching for any other crumb of information. Anything at all to alleviate this fear. The silence was deafening. He felt Scar scoot in beside him, leaning in a gesture of comfort.

Only then, Grian was sure he heard a dragon behind him breathe in. Strong. Deep. Purposeful. He shivered. Please don’t. He whimpered, a silent plea to whoever was there, drinking him in. Grian felt an aura of deep satisfaction on his back, and maybe even the breeze of a dragon taking off. He felt nauseous.

Please don’t take this away from me.

[fountainpenguin]

Could we see a lil explanation of Poof and Goldie’s first kiss? As well as Foop and Anti-Marigold? :D

Hello, thank you so much for this Ask! I apologize for letting it sit in my inbox so long; I was on Tumblr / Fairly OddParents hiatus last year <3

[Long post, still annoyed with the "Adding a Read More might just totally delete your stuff" situation]

Officially Poof and Goldie had their first kiss in the episode "Love Triangle." They kissed during the play as Mr. Cookie and Princess Sunshine and they kiss again when they slip out for ice cream at the end.

They're kids so they have a very playful view of everything, but they're always super close as they get older. I definitely see them having the vibe of "lifelong neighbors who genuinely care about each other and they're physically affectionate and play board games and snuggle on the couch watching movies all the time."

The Poof / Goldie relationship is definitely something that adults looked at and went "Aw, how cute, these innocent kids don't know any better" [read: will o' the wisp possessiveness]. People tolerated them hanging out when they were super young, but the older they got, the more uncomfortable people got with it. Things started morphing from "Cute neighborhood kids" to "Um, Cosmo and Wanda, why are you letting your son hang out with a girl who will get the ability to paralyze him with her saliva after puberty and who will probably drag him underground as her captive :/ ?"

Cosmo and Wanda were always a little uneasy about Goldie, not entirely sure how to approach that situation. They didn't want to judge Goldie for the biology and history of her entire species, but they got increasingly nervous as Poof got older and she became a serious romantic option for him instead of just a friend.

-> Cosmo and Wanda tried to set some boundaries (as seen in the 130 Prompt "Opinion" when they tell him not to take Goldie to the dance (For extra context, this takes place during the war era where Fairy and Anti-Fairy World were divided). I do think I wrote Wanda as a little too harsh in this piece, but it was years and years ago so I'm okay with that.

In the end however, she and Cosmo do talk about it and agree that they would rather Poof choose who he wants to be with and that they aren't going to decide for him if his relationship will hurt him. After all they eloped and cut ties with their families for 10k years because of it. They don't want Poof to cut ties with them... Things just get increasingly complicated for a lot of reasons that aren't just "Goldie could be a dangerous wisp" and are more along the lines of "No, Goldie blatantly is stressing Poof out to the point that he's regularly crying and hiding and freaking out, that's the issue here."

Teen years are really rough for Poof, he's a sensitive kid.

So as for the question, I'd say that if they remember it, Poof and Goldie would consider the play to be the setting of their first kiss, but those memories are probably suuuuper blurry by the time they're older. I don't think they tightly define their relationship with milestones like kisses, but they do have them:

According to my notes, one of the big moments in their relationship was when the power went out at school and Goldie comforted him until it came back on

There's another note that they were working on a school project together once when it started storming so they had to stay in a dark cave overnight.

I've always headcanoned Poof with a fear of the dark that never quite went away after the "Lights Out" episode. I think being tormented regularly as a kid by Foop and Crocker didn't make it any easier; he gets some pretty scary things in his head when it's quiet and he's left to his thoughts.

I also write him with insomnia. Poof has it rough sometimes sldkfj.

Officially, Poof and Goldie both consider their first real romantic relationship kiss to be at the saucerbee dugout. Just kind of went for an evening walk, got some snacks, and wandered over to the school's field while talking, then shared a few kisses there. They've snuck back to have a lot of kisses there over the years; lots of good memories for them.

Things are complicated because Poof and Goldie really like each other but they both have really bad anxiety and they're also celebrity kids under constant judgment from the public </3 They'd like to stay together, they're just confused and unsure how feasible it is in the long-term, so they tend to speedrun the relationship out of fear that it will fall apart and they'll miss out if they don't.

Goldie's constantly walking the tightrope of trying to be her people's ambassador and follow wisp culture as a respectable thing, but also confused and torn because wisp culture hasn't been around for very long and also it seems to stress people out so she's constantly confused about whether it's okay to be part of that culture and she's always questioning herself and her instincts and it's rough. I love them tho :')

-------

In the 130 Prompt "Temptation," Anti-Marigold claims she and Foop shared their first kiss in the cupboard under Crocker's kitchen sink. The backstory for this is that Foop came to help Crocker set up a Valentine's Day trap for Cupid. Foop's heart was never actually in it and he just wanted to hang out with Crocker because Crocker is his friend. Anti-Marigold [Kelsia under age 150k] tagged along as a friend, but in typical V-day episode fashion, Foop's lack of interest in the project and the presence of his friend in a romantic environment got him a little distracted and he kissed her.

It was a pretty simple situation for a simple kiss, but it's definitely that moment that he made the official mental shift towards "Maybe Kelsia can be MY close friend because Goldie isn't that nice to me anyway."

He never told anyone, especially not Poof or his parents, but I like to think Kelsia told Goldie. Goldie's never cared much about Kelsia - As in, Poof has to care about Foop and keep mental tabs on him because of Foop's role in politics and because Foop has tried to kill him on multiple occasions, but Kelsia is just Some Girl In The Woods to Goldie - but Kelsia definitely looks up to Goldie and is slightly desperate for her approval. Adult Anti-Marigold would never admit that, but it's one of her character traits that haunts her actions... She'd like to be a "good girl" in the hopes that Goldie will tell her thanks someday for like... being normal and not trying to kill her.

Foop and Anti-Marigold are aware of each other as they grow up. They went to school together for a while, but she dropped out and got a job at a sandwich shop on the border of Fairy and Anti-Fairy World. Foop makes an effort to say hi to her when he sees her and they hang out on occasion, but she was raised by her sister Anti-Zinnia [and sister's infrequent boyfriends] and didn't exactly have parents who could help schedule playdates or anything like that, so their interactions are kind of sporadic. They definitely saw each other mostly at school and everything after she dropped out was a deliberate effort. She brought him sandwiches sometimes.

Anti-Marigold deals with a lot of imposter syndrome and just general feelings that she's not good enough for Foop and that he's not interested in her (She's also ace and he's aro but they live in a world where they didn't really get exposed to those terms or concepts so they have to figure things out on their own). She's a little stubborn and doesn't like to bend over backwards for him, but she can be coerced because she's pretty soft and doesn't like upsetting anyone. She grew up without solid parental figures, so Anti-Marigold's entire life is about teaching herself how she feels, what her boundaries are, and if it's okay to talk about those things tbh.

I'd say that their first kiss when they're older took place after a sweet outing they went on together, probably something like rotten caramel apples and bitter chocolate drinks, before he walks her home and kisses her on the doorstep. A little more old-fashioned and dignified, which is fitting for an upper-class kid compared to Poof's rough and tumble dugout kisses. tbh they probably went grocery shopping too, they're pretty chill and comfortable around each other... with sprinkles of discomfort when they hit certain topics they don't like discussing. Foop really dislikes speaking directly about their relationship and he'll avoid it as much as possible.

Foop and Anti-Marigold have a completely different vibe than Poof and Goldie do, but they have a lot of their own struggles. They like each other, but Foop absolutely sees her as more of a secret girlfriend than a public girlfriend. When he's with her then he wants them to be boyfriend/girlfriend (Holding hands when they walk, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company), but he also doesn't want to take her out on dates. He'll totally binge-watch shows with her and will absolutely get groceries with her, but he'll bolt if he gets the sense that there's an expectation to take her out and entertain her or give her the chance to reject him... He has a complicated relationship with being admired, hated, and rejected.

Foop never actually gets over his crush on Goldie and it's something he struggles with throughout his post-puberty years. There's a scene in the upcoming story "Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Pixies" where teen Goldie seeks Foop out to confess that she feels like she's wasting her time in school, she feels heavily judged by everyone because of her culture, and she's considering dropping out like her counterpart did. She deliberately went to him instead of Poof because she did feel like she could be a little more open about it with him... They are friends from similar touchy-feely cultures. Foop genuinely does see their relationship as platonic... He just occasionally has moments where he stares at her like "Dang, she's cute" and then he has to remind himself she's not interested in him.

-> There's a scene in an upcoming 130 Prompt ("Denial") where he does confess some of his feelings. Goldie points out that it's a completely normal part of fae biology to fantasize about your crush's counterpart - having counterparts often leads to you wondering what your "other self" is doing and that's just an accepted part of Fairy life - and Foop reflects that his real crush might be on Goldie and he might only like Anti-Marigold because of that, instead of the "more traditional" assumption that Anti-Marigold would be more to his preferences. Rough.

-> In "Temptation," Foop tries explaining this to Anti-Marigold but she starts feeling sick when she tries imagining herself falling for Poof. She sees Poof as a sweaty jock and she can't imagine herself with him. Which is pretty funny because she and Poof are actually great friends- he did a painkiller charm on her in "All I Ever Wanted" and we'll get to see some more of their dynamic in later 130 Prompts like "Happy Holidays." I have a lot of prompts partially written and I'd love to share them, but sadly stories need to go at least a little in order for proper context, even when it's for a one-shot project that jumps around the timeline. Someday...

I love writing the celebrity teens arc because every single dynamic is gold. You've got:

Poof and Foop, counterparts who tolerate each other only out of mutually assured destruction

Poof and Goldie, doomed lovers juggling celebrity expectations, species stereotypes, and constant anxiety

Goldie and Anti-Marigold, the wild go-getter and her quiet shadow who takes the brunt of consequences without speaking up

Foop and Anti-Marigold, a reluctant royal and his mistress of convenience in a relationship he has to maintain to prevent future awkwardness in case their counterparts have a kid

Foop and Goldie, tragically similar in cultural background and political expectations but drastically different in their emotional needs and personal goals

Poof and Anti-Marigold, laid-back BFFs who have nothing in common background-wise but everything in common with those personal goals and emotional needs. Bro / soul sister energy.

And then on top of this there's Hiccup who has his own views on everything, so that's complicated

Also Whistle exists too but he's not much of a celebrity and he's just there because he wants their attention; it's funny

I love these kids, love my takes on them and the worldbuilding I get to play with there <3

[smiegrin]

regarding the identity ask post, I ask you Question 3!!

3: list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

OOGH man I've had so many over the years... lemme just lay out the ones I can remember:

Cave Story (Before I was even REALLY on the internet): It might be kind of basic, but I really like Curly. I also really liked Sue, but mostly because I was like "who wouldn't wanna become a cute fluffy mimiga!?"

MLP:FiM (Brony to Pegasister Pipeline): It's a constant tossup between Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy. Can't ever settle on whether the nerd horse or the shy horse inside me is more powerful.

Voltron: Legendary Defenders (didn't finish it, heard it was bad): I was lowkey obsessed with Pidge. Something about "this boyish character is, despite that exterior, really a girl" fascinated me. Of course I just chalked it up to "I just think she's smart and cute" at the time. (and I'm sure there are all kinds of gender headcanons for Pidge that have formed since then)

UNDERTALE (Baby's first Tumblr Fandom): There's lots of great characters, but I think I have to pick Alphys because I thought she was the coolest "main" character until I heard a youtuber use her specifically as an example for "making characters annoying can be a good thing sometimes." (I think he oversimplifying for his point, but like... looking back I think I was missing the tone of her character at the time.)

Steven Universe (I even had a post go 50+ notes once): Peridot. As soon as she was separated from her limb enhancers I was like "short pajama queen. Loves tech just like me." (I will note to keep the gender thread going that I felt a LOT of things when Stevonnie shaved with their sword in that Alone Together episode. I didn't have words for any of it at the time of course.)

OneShot (the one by Nightmargin): Silver. (look I just like robot girls, alright? If I considered myself a fan of My Life as a Teenage Robot I'd have Jenny Wakemen here too in a heartbeat).

Homestuck (I came in around Act 7): It was really funny that for the run of the entire comic I was like "I really like John Eggbert. He's like the token normal straight kid in a story full of off-the-wall-wild gay people. =]" and then all the other things I related to were quickly adapted into June Eggbert headcanons. (my egg did not survive this) (and I'm all the better for it)

Little Witch Academia (Still my Favorite Anime): LOTTE JENSON my beloved! Quiet little bookish girl with big glasses who learns to stand up for herself and her friends!!! (I would later base a whole DnD character on her personality, character design, and flavor of magic)

Spare Parts (go play it): How much therapy do I need if I say Lucy? Helpful to a fault? Self-sacrificial? Gender(tm)? The prognosis doesn't get any better if I pick Unit-01 instead, right?

BONUS ROUND (all the OC's I make for Dungeons and Dragons type games): (genderqueer changeling with faith trauma) (gifted kid with helicopter parents) (secretly a teifling because of town bullies) (death cult child super soldier reaching for her inner creativity after millennia of deathlessness) (armorer artificer obstinately optimistic in face of cynical cataclysms)

[violetsystems]

Not talking to myself has taught me a lot. You know other than moaning seductively when I bang my knee awkwardly against the kitchen table taking a corner too fast. It is kind of an annoying habit. Kind of like Tom Hanks talking to Wilson on the island instead of the smoke monster. Tumblr being the smoke monster. I managed a guy who would constantly rattle off in English just to hear himself think. Nothing about work. I’m sure that’d be annoying to deal with in a relationship. Some guy who doesn’t know how to keep quiet. I was always a quiet kid. Ask my mom. Although she doesn’t remember some of the traumatic shit that happened to me. Thank god LinkedIn in does. I don’t know if I have anything left to say to myself after learning the algorithms try to close caption the instrumental portions of my music. I’m sure I’ll get back to that soon. Might change my name a little bit if I release anything further on bandcamp only two people will buy. Don’t want the neo marxists to have another talking point for their knitting circles. Just been listening to music in the stereo cabinet mostly. The one with the clicking glass door. I do have really bad nightmares. That is where I still hear myself speak to a brick wall of people who don’t really listen. One last night was that someone tricked me into a zoom interview to have a improv performance group berate me with a Saturday night live sketch turned government funded PSA about earned income. I woke up to silence. The psychic interior of my apartment is a lot less crowded with my own questions that I cannot answer. I know enough to not worry about it. Trying to figure it out out loud just gives people within an earshot ideas or a big headache. I like the fact people get used to me talking and then one day silence. Like I know it makes them edgy. They don’t deal with change well. Neither do they grow. Always stuck in an idea of me in the past that they can manipulate. Grunts worked for the cave people. Maybe I can sell MP3’s of me moaning through a toilet paper roll. Beats singing in the shower. 💭