#she was wearing mismatched patterns and showing me her birds

[moncharrow]

cute girl at my job showed me 3 different pics of her birds. i kinda want her.

[smearsyd]

Safe in Your Arms | PCY | Part One

Lee Seoyun had scars.

Perhaps she had been saved from physical scars, but they were visible enough to her. Thick reminders stood out in her mind that made words like worthless, not good enough, not grateful enough, unloveable, feel like a second skin. She didn’t think she was capable of healing— her parents had told her that she would always be broken, and weren’t your parents the ones who were supposed to know you the best?

So years ago, when Seoyun tragically spilled her hot chocolate all over the front of poor Park Chanyeol’s winter sweater, she was expecting severe backlash— not a forgiving smile and definitely not a new friend. Muchless, Seoyun never in a million years would have imagined that Park Chanyeol would soon be falling in love with someone like her. To be the person who made her, for the first time, feel safe in his arms.

This is Seoyun healed, despite her scars.

characters:

+ park chanyeol (exo), you as lee seoyun (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + boyfriend!au + fluff and romance

length:

+ 3 parts, bonus drabbles + 25kish in total 

warnings:

+ sensitive topics + mentions of traumatic past + smut on part two

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ part one + part two + part three + bonus +  masterlist

author’s note:

+ this chapter always makes me smile, i hope you enjoy it ❄️ 

if you want to be tagged, please reply to this post!

@bbhmystar @itsmesa

A Week Before Christmas Day

Seoyun despises the mere act of a ‘good-bye.’ To her, it means walking away from what she has come to love— even if she knows she will eventually say ‘hello’ again. It’s simply the thought of the in-between that drives her nearly mad.

Despite that though, she finds a chuckle escaping her lips and a final wave coming from her raised hand to bid her best friend (who was currently leaning half-way out of her red Toyota to blow her an airy kiss and yell out a heartfelt call me tomorrow!) one of those good-bye’s. She watches her pull away from her driveway and waits for the resonating pang of loneliness to strike in her chest— she always seems to experience this when the two separate. Yet, Seoyun is shocked still when the ingrained claws of anxiety in fact never come. Some feelings are hard to stop remembering, she thinks, taking a grounding breath.

It feels silly, pathetic almost, that she could somehow be caught by the immense sensation of what the past once was, and yet, not by the past itself. The process of healing and the passage of time are ironic twins, you can struggle and struggle to do things your way, but nothing erases quite as well as time. Though, being around her best friend is like tripping the electrical switch of suppressed memories, forcing her right back to when they spent most of their time together— she can still feel the echoes of panicked ‘good-byes’ and reluctant glances. It was a time that left Seoyun achy from overthinking and bruised from words that never should have left the mouths of those she thought she could trust.

Seoyun once was made to recite that the wise believe that forgiving does not mean forgetting, but she doesn’t want to hold on anymore,forgiving and not forgetting is a cruel expression and she would give anything at this point to forget. Of course, though, that therapist also believed in sunbathing for depression relief and taking a nap when faced with anxiety. If she could sunbath to rid herself of degrading thoughts, Seoyun thinks she would be “cured” years ago. Either way, she’s learned to move on, because unlike then, when she was living in the pain of her memory, she has a future now and it happens to be one barren of good-bye’s.

She slips out a sigh in mild defeat of the uphill she still has to climb, but lets a secret smile find home on her face because regardless, she's been climbing for a while and that in itself is enough for her. She takes in the view of her forever home: the painted mailbox dripping with snow, the messy strings of lights basking the windows in the perfect kind of home-y warmth, his collection of mismatched bird houses hanging delicately from the trees— she decides to fill her mind with memories of this instead. It wasn't the biggest home in the world, nor was it magazine fancy, but it was comfortable in the best way and maybe more importantly, Seoyun didn't have to share it alone— mentally or physically.

A small window sits amongst the bricked wall, giving a beautiful view of the fading sun to the inside inhabitants, and to her, a view she imagines she’ll never tire of. He seemed to be looking for something, his hands perched on his wide hips and his head tilted into a slightly confused grimace. She thought he looked the best like this, unworried and unknowing of her watching eyes. He ran a hand through his thick silver hair, making the tendrils stick up in a mop-like configuration that had her hands tingling to fix it. His gaze moved through the kitchen and languidly out the window, finally coming to land on her.

Seoyun watched with a content beat to her heart as his eyes lit up in surprise, his hand falling from his hair and his mouth ajarring just enough for her to want to tease him. After a moment, his lips began to tug up into a brilliant smile— the one that seemed contagious and would soon transfer to her own lips if she wasn’t careful, which she never was with him.

He beckoned her towards the house, but Seoyun stood for a few more moments. She has a list of lessons to mind that she and Chanyeol came up with in the years they have been together. Admire the little and big things. This seemed like a big thing.

Seoyun made her way towards the house after she was satisfied, finding the door handle already unlocked for her. She unraveled her thick wool scarf (actually it was his that she stole from his side of the closet this morning) and hung her jacket onto the rack beside the door. She thought the house smelled divine, like sweet vanilla and rich milk chocolate.

“Seo…” His voice echoed through the kitchen and bounced around in her mind. His voice always reminded her of the crackling of a fire, or a warmth that was uniquely his. Her feet made the decision to follow this warmth without first checking in with her— not that she would have denied such a request. “Do you know where I last put the key to the shed? I’m pretty sure the decorations are in there, but I can’t seem to remember where we placed it last.”

Seoyun could hear the casual pout in his voice before she even turned the corner and took in his furrowed eyebrows as he rummaged the junk drawers next to the sink. The kitchen was a mess, storage baskets littered amongst the counter and random keys set out as if he had tried them all without success. She successfully hid her increasingly amused chuckle behind the soft material of her sweater, remembering their latest bickering about how he loses everything and him retorting that he only puts them in a safe spot, a too safe spot.  

He turned in question, his eyes turning to silvers at finding her infamous I told you so face fully on display for him to bake in. Seoyun thinks their relationship is framed around him getting into some kind of predicament and her having to come in and save the day, but then again, she also feels that he is the best at saving her. Once, there might have been a time she would not dare laugh at his downfalls— big or small, serious or joking— but there’s this certain kind of safety he radiates around her, even when he’s angry and frustrated with her, that she understands is his special way of saying that he cares. She thinks that no one else wears the look of comfort better than him.

“What?” He asked, an air of playfulness alighting in his eyes as he gradually let go of his irritation. He slowly reached out and pushed the drawer closed, a hand perching on his hip. “Ohh,” he dragged out in her silence, “you think this is funny, huh? Clumsy boyfriend, always losing everything.”

She nodded her head easily, and as his tongue poked through the soft side of his cheek, she knew she was about to get it. This didn’t stop her from egging him on however. “Clumsy boyfriend, not good for anything.”

He shook his head and her eyes grew as she followed his calculated footsteps towards her. She sucked in her breath as his large grip rounded her waist and ever so delicately backed her into the front of the refrigerator. His other hands came up to cup her cheek, the back of his thumb rubbing a soothing pattern on her velvety skin.

She could feel through his touch how patient he was, how each finger held an infinite amount of love for her. He liked to show himself like that, she knew. He liked to wrap her in his affection and tuck her away into the better things of life. Maybe it was this that made her give in so easily to him; he wanted her love almost as badly as she needed it— even if she didn’t know that at first.

“I’m good for this, aren’t I?” He teased, his eyes flickering down to her already parted lips with an endearing gaze.

Something bubbled up in need at his statement, need for him to be closer, need for her to keep him by her side, but she also wanted to savor this moment. “I told you that you’d forget where the keys are,” she said in an effort to ignore his previous statement. Though, his lips were beginning to distract her as they tugged up on the corners, coming impossibly close in collision to her own.

A deep chuckle emerged from his chest that she could feel radiating through him and into her, his laugh was simply like that. “What am I going to do about you always calling me out?” He mumbled more to himself than her, his eyes flickering down like baby candles to her already slightly parted lips. Seoyun simply hummed in defeat, giving in to her wants to tease him. She felt as her head tilted up in response towards him, her heels beginning to slowly inch so the two of them may finally meet— like two stars shooting together.

She held her breath as his lips finally molded against hers, and although it had only been a few hours since they last shared an embrace as such, it felt as if she had waited centuries. Chanyeol too, must have felt the same longing as her, his head turning down to deepen the kiss and his tongue jotting out to run effortlessly against her own.

They leaned in together, savoring one another in a manner she thought was only unique to them. He tasted of sweetened candy and a raw type of enticement that she has come to associate as purely Chanyeol. He let out a restrained noise of approval as her hands traced up his firm back and latched onto his neck, her roaming fingers tugging softly on the ends of his tangled locks.

She’s realized that no matter how many times she’s kissed him, or how long ago it’s been, each time is like a new shock of surprise, sending tingles of warmth through her body and reminding her how much she longs for him when away from his gentle, lingering touches. To her, Chanyeol was a sweet addiction, one she was sure boosted her health like that of a vitamin; once she had her first taste of what it felt like to be wanted, trusted, loved, she made sure to take her daily dose.

He pulled back from the kiss, his now swollen lips hovering in the almost non-existent space between hers, his breath fanning lightly against her nose. She gulped and leaned forward to brush another lasting peck on his lips, not yet willing to let him free. Seoyun felt him smile into the kiss at her actions, still not use to how much bolder she has gotten through the years. The mouse haven grown into the cat.

"I missed you," he whispers after she broke away, his nose rubbing against hers in a loving manner. "You were gone for so long today."

She internally snorted at his clinginess, pushing him lightly back despite her fluttering heart wanting him near, just so she could give him a pointed look. He didn’t approve of her friend, she parties too much Seoyun, hangs out with the wrong people, and it was showing in his voice and eyes. She’s the only consistent friend Seoyun’s ever had though, she’s family more than anything.

“You’re going to have to get over missing me every once in a while,” she retorted.

“Never.”

“And when you go on day trips with the boys? What do I do then?”

He stopped short, his head tilting lightly, “You tell us to have a good time.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah babe,” he quickly said as he fell deeper into her trap, “it’s different with the boys, though.”

“You keep saying that and find out what happens.”

He huffed, throwing her his scrunched nose I should be winning this look. She loved that look. “Regardless, it was a long time. I didn’t even see you this morning. I wanted to make pancakes.”

“And?”

“And?” He mimicked in a ‘girly voice’ that he has deemed to sound exactly like hers.

Seoyun let out a disbelieving laugh at his no-nonsense face, showing that he really doesn't care how long she was gone, it was always going to be too long. Although she would never give him the pleasure of admitting his affect on her, she felt the same way about him after barely being apart for the five years they have been dating. To Seoyun, Chanyeol is home, somewhere she didn't have to act like anyone else or smile just out of forced habit. Chanyeol took her heart for his and made it feel welcomed and safe.

She reached out and pinched him before he could say anymore, deciding to ignore his indignant yelp and instead, reach for the key that was so perfectly resting behind her. Seoyun turned around in Chanyeol's loose embrace and stretched her fingers over the top of the refrigerator until they closed on a small and cold object. Lowering her hand, she presented the key to Chanyeol with a teasing smile playing on her curling lips. He lets a loud groan out from the sight, his large hand clasping around her smaller one as his shoulders deflated from her playful giggles.

"I would have eventually found it..." He defends, purposely giving Seoyun that pouty look he knows will melt her insides.

"Uh, huh" She crinkles her nose at his antics for what feels like the tenth time this night, bumping her hip with his as the two of them walked from the kitchen, hand in hand.

Seoyun helped Chanyeol bring the Christmas decorations in, the four tubs lining the living room next to the big tree they bought yesterday evening at the city's Christmas Celebration. They’d been coming ever since they met six years ago, as a nod to whatever forces were smiling down on them that day. The past was present and fleshy to her then— Chanyeol, though, never seemed to mind her anxious actions. He was good like that, pushing her in the right direction with just enough pressure to make her realize her own potential. She feels that the tree and this time in general, helps her keep that in mind.

She stood with her hands on her hips, catching her breath as she looked up at the massive height of this tree. Seoyun felt Chanyeol come back to her side, his hand trailing to wrap around her small waist. "I can't believe you talked me into getting this tree..." She mumbled into his shoulder. "How are we even going to get the star on the top?"

Chanyeol's deep chuckle rumbled through her side. "Well, obviously you are too short to do it, but I, on the other hand, can easily reach the top." She turned out of his embrace at hearing his sly tone, taking notice of the few feet difference between Chanyeol's height compared to the tallness of the tree.

His in character sarcasm was bleeding through his loose grin and also per-normal, she had no response but to shake her head. She was, however, getting better at his game.

"Okay, Mr. Giant," she teased. "The star is all your job then— make it perfect or suffer the consequences!"

Chanyeol gave her a mock salute as she moved away, "Yes Ma'am!"

She moved to grab the box of decorations, eyeballing the variations of ornaments the two of them have collected together with a starry gaze. There was the shiny, store bought trinkets, ranging from glass cylinders to mini characters from the movie Zootopia (Chanyeol's pick, not hers). Then there were more special ones, like the one his mom sent them on their first anniversary, a snowflake with their names on it. Or the handmade heart displaying a picture of Chanyeol's best friend, Baekhyun, given by Baekhyun to them last Christmas— Seoyun could only describe him as a special person. Her favorite ornament, though, was the one Chanyeol and her made two Christmas years ago at her work's annual holiday party. It was a simple clear ball, but the two of them had taken turns writing their favorite memory with one another on opposite sides.

Chanyeol had written something incredibly cheesy like every moment with you is my favorite moment and she still smiles now when she sees it. Seoyun never stopped being amazed at all the small devotions of their relationship that they had managed to collect from their years together. He spoiled her with things her parents told her she wasn't worth enough to have. It was a stark reminder to her most of the time, but now, it just made her content and thankful to have someone who didn't mind reassuring her that words only hold meaning if you let them.

Chanyeol and her began hanging the decorations on the tree and around the house diligently, Chanyeol wrapping the lights and Seoyun setting out the countdown calendar like usual. By the time two hours had passed, the house was fully decked out in holiday gear. The wreath had been placed, the elves were on the shelves, candy canes littered the bowls on every table, cinnamon sticks and scented pine cones were filling the air with their holiday smell, and the tree was fully decorated— well, all except for the star.

Chanyeol fumbled with the brass star in his palms, looking between it and the tree with a scornful look. She busied herself with tidying up his work on the tree (he always seems to place all of his favorite ornaments on one side of the tree so he could easily see them, totally not caring how much this messes up the aesthetic balance she strives to create.)

"Ah ha!" Chanyeol exclaimed, making Seoyun jump in her spot. Before she could ask anything though, he was grabbing her by the hand while bouncing up and down on his heels.

"Okay so here is how we are going to do this," he starts, giving her a super serious look that she could only meet with furrowed eyebrows as she took in the large star.

“The plan goes as follows: first we are going to—”

She cut him off, placing her hand against his lips. “We?” She raised her eyebrows to further her point, to which he mirrored with what she could only describe as a mockingly annoyed look. “I thought I was too short to help with the star.”

Chanyeol's eyes faded to a sheepish smile around her fingers before she slowly dropped them. He pleads her name softly under his breath, so she would have to lean in to hear him. "You know I didn't mean it." He whispers, his lips coming together to form a cute pout and his eyes turning into that big puppy dog stare. "Please help out your poor Channie, please." He bats his eyelashes for extra support.

She pretended to fake gag, though really she knew she couldn’t hold out against that look and feared her insides turning to mush. “You’re gross.” She settled on saying, letting a drawn-out sigh escape her lips. Chanyeol beamed, bouncing down on his toes to scoop her up into a too tight hug. His lips left a trail of mushy kisses against her cheek that made her fidget in his grip, an 18+ warning leaving her tongue and causing him to promptly set her down.

"Okay, okay," Chanyeol started again, pulling her over to the Christmas tree. "You hop on my shoulders and I'll keep you steady as you put the star on top."

"What!?" Seoyun half yells, giving Chanyeol a look that screams that he must be out of his mind.

"What?" He repeats, seeing nothing wrong with the situation. "I won't let you fall, I promise." He quickly adds at seeing her unrelenting face. "You know I would never let you fall— unless it's for me, then fall all you want."

She hit Chanyeol in the chest as he let out a loud laugh, rubbing the place she hit him with a wince like she actually hurt him, even though they both know she didn't. He gives her an endearing look as she begins to contemplate his plan. She did trust Chanyeol not to let her fall and the only other option was to climb a chair which seemed like even more of a risk. Seoyun felt her eyebrows begin to come together in the middle as she sighed in defeat— hoping that her choice would come out to be the lesser of two evils.

"Fine," she jabbed a finger in his chest, which he caught between his and brought up to land a quick kiss on. "But you'll pay if you drop me."

Chanyeol easily agreed to her terms and before she could even think about changing her mind, he was hoisting her up like a weightless doll onto his shoulders, his hands coming to rest comfortingly around her thighs. She straightened out, gaining her wobbly balance before reaching out towards the tree with the star. Seoyun easily placed it on top with a smile, admiring the tree from the tall view. It was ever so slightly lopsided and despite her rearranging, the ornaments were a little all over the place. But that was okay, because it was cute and homey. Mostly, though, she and Chanyeol had made it together, so that alone made it worth it.

"Okay," She seemed to whisper, her hands going down to brush through the messy mop of hair on his forehead. "I am ready to be put down now Channie." Seoyun claimed, looking down at him underneath her.

"I don't know," he muttered with a distant look in his eyes, one she almost could recognize as trouble. "I think I am starting to get used to this view." Chanyeol swiftly turned his head and buried his face on the inside of her bare thigh, making Seoyun's eyes shoot open.

"Park Chanyeol!"

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[jamesmarlowe]

RADTASK002: A GIRL AND HER DOG

March was a month without a season. Couldn’t call it spring yet; most of the trees were still bare, their long, dark limbs scraping up against the sky. Temperatures hovered indecisively around the low-fifties, then plummeted steeply each night. But there was something stirring: a birth of new smells, a trace of green in the yellow grass. A feeling of change, or the very brink of it, which had possessed him like an infusion of fresh blood and driven him outdoors— despite his three-hour block of afternoon classes, despite all the half-finished projects waiting for him in the studio. Outside, clouds skimmed the blue sky and squirrels tightrope-walked the phone lines. Birds huddled on exposed branches, returned from their long winter vacations. There was a smell of mulch in the air, fertile and earthy. A warm wind was blowing— as he walked outside the art building, Marlowe could feel it blowing through him as if through an open window, airing out all the trapped gloom in his soul. 

Gloom could accumulate even in him, of all people. There was something elemental about his need for sun and fresh air and open space; it was a quality he shared with all the other wild creatures who, after several long months deprived of all these things, were now also emerging from their dens and burrows, hungry and restless, desperate to roam. 

Today he was wearing a paisley bandana fashioned around his head, Springsteen-style, and a silver hoop through his ear. Both of these accessories gave his appearance a swashbuckling, pirate-y effect. Marlowe seemed to embody the part as he cleared a railing one-handed like a rodeo clown, then took the rest of the stairs two-at-a-time to where a girl waited for him at the bottom, her blonde hair lifted by the breeze. She kept her head bowed over her hands, deeply engrossed in the cat’s cradle she was weaving. 

Spacey Kasey. She was a junior in the Comp-Sci program. Sometimes people reacted to this information with a slow raise of their brows, or an actual laugh— more out of surprise than anything else, but that didn’t make it any kinder. No one really knew what to make of her. She could write code like Mozart wrote symphonies, but might also ask you if you knew how pineapples got their name, since they looked nothing like apples? Marlowe had met her at a party where she’d wondered precisely that, out loud, before turning her wide eyes to him; she had a child’s inquisitive stare. Why not pinefruit? He’d been fascinated from that moment on. His love for her had been a product of that fascination; he’d sensed something dreamy and outcast in her, something rare, easily misunderstood. They’d coupled up in late September, lasted till early November, the days dwindling and the nights lengthening by the time his old restlessness caught up with him— not her fault or his, just the natural progression of these things. Now, their relationship had lapsed into something easy, casual. Friends, sometimes more. He still found her endlessly fascinating. It was just a matter of how many other things in this endlessly fascinating world were also competing for his attention.

At the sound of cowboy boots smacking the pavement, Kasey looked up. The thread between her fingers went slack and her blue eyes brightened the way they always did whenever she saw him coming. Marlowe could not prevent a smile in response. Blue, he’d once heard, was the true color of the sun.

He whistled a short, upwards swoop. “Kase the Ace! Right time, right place!”

She was wearing an outfit almost as egregious as his own, tie-dyed shirt in sorbet shades of pink, purple and blue with only a pair of Lycra bike shorts underneath, exposing legs pale and goosebumped. There was a face looking at him from the front of her shirt, sinister drippy eyes loaded with glamorous make-up. Kasey’s own face was bare, her fair eyelashes almost invisible. Her earrings were a pair of mismatched plastic dinosaurs— one a red triceratops, one green T-Rex. Marlowe watched with visible amusement as she struggled to untangle the knots around her fingers. 

“Jeez, I used to be so good at these! I once taught all the girls at my summer camp how to do a ten-step cradle and I was like, their guru.” 

Eventually the two of them set off for the trees that hemmed the edges of campus. He briefed her about the reason for today’s outing—  a hunt for materials, looking for found objects not yet found—  but knew it wasn’t necessary, because Kasey could always be counted on to show up when he invited her. She was always happy to tag along, if only he asked. The quad they passed looked soggy and matted down in parts, the streaming sunlight revealing all the bald patches of mud and first sprigs of dandelion shoots. Marlowe kept his gaze ahead, away from that wide expanse of grass, letting Kasey’s idle chatter filter pleasantly through one ear and out the other. His gait was lopey but brisk, hers uneven as she skipped ahead, long blonde hair streaming behind her like a scarf thrown to the wind. 

“So what are we looking for today?”

Marlowe angled his face up to the sky, watching a bird disappear into a cloudbank. “Y’know, the usual. Hidden treasure, lost artifacts. Ancient ruins. Maybe a secret Amazon warehouse deep in the woods, that’d be useful. Could steal a lifetime supply of bubble wrap.” Rarely did he embark on such expeditions with a specific item in mind; mostly he just wandered around, expecting unusual things to find him and reveal their significance. Maybe it’d be a loop of blue ribbon, snagged on a wire fence. Or a child’s plastic bucket abandoned by the side of the road, handle broken, too lost to find its way back to the nearest sandbox. He searched for these banal objects that existed somewhere between tenderness and neglect— overlooked by so many who passed them by without any idea what they might’ve been before, what they could be next.

Kasey had begun walking backwards. There was a white patch of vitiligo on her forehead. Combined with her skipping and prancing, she often reminded him of a painted palomino. “I brought granola bars! They’re a little stale, you’ll have to use your back teeth.”

Marlowe flashed her two-thirds of a grin, revealing teeth that were good and strong, if a little crooked. “What if I told you I don’t have any? Will you mash them into a pulp and spit ‘em in my mouth?” He mimed the open-mouthed, head-back position of a hungry fledgling.

Kasey made a retching sound, dissolving into a giggle.

Soon they were stepping off the paved campus sidewalk and crossing the marshy grass towards the surrounding woods. The trees were sparse, still just skinny bodies stripped in the cold, but slowly the forest became denser the deeper they went; thick-trunked oaks and dark beeches grew here, close together, their twigs sprouting tiny green buds and unfurling fists of leaves. Branches criss-crossed the sky. Marlowe led the way through the corridor between trunks, but Kasey immediately began crashing through the skeletal undergrowth off to the side. 

“How about this?” Marlowe looked to where she’d hiked her leg up onto a large boulder like a big-game hunter posing with a kill. The stone jutted out of the ground at an odd angle, making him think of a dislocated jawbone. Kasey looked down at it, her expression deeply pensive. She tapped the toe of her sneaker. “You could like, give it a face. Glue eyes on it!”

Marlowe imagined an oversized pet rock in the likeness of Rocky Balboa, Stallone’s heavy scowl painted on. Shaking his head, he rewarded her sincere effort with an equally sincere smile. “Babe, I’m flattered that you think of me as some kind of circus strongman, but I’d need like, triple my current muscle mass to carry that.”

They found other things. An empty gallon jug, the kind used to hold water or milk, split almost in half. A tattered piece of fabric too muddied to even tell the original color. And most interestingly, a thin sheet of metal with torn edges, sharp as shrapnel. It leaned against a tree like a large canvas; the patterns of corrosion on its surface— oxidized red, blue rings of mold— made it seem less like a raw material and more like an already-finished work. Marlowe stood back with one finger resting against his chin, head tipped to the side as he appraised it like an art collector at a gallery. But in the end, he decided not to carry it either. He wasn’t up-to-date with his tetanus shots. 

They began to follow their own trail, no map or compass, forging a path through the woodsy vegetation that grew close to the ground and left long, raking scratches on arms and legs, resisting intrusion. Kasey swept back the flexible branches of saplings and peered into rotted tree hollows. Marlowe was more inclined to follow a few steps behind her, no urgency in his loose-limbed stroll. He tilted his head back and admired how the naked branches looked like slats of a broken roof letting most of the sky in. By now, the chill on his face had turned itself inside out; he grew warm, renewed in some vital way. He wanted nothing more than to walk deeper and deeper through these woods and never turn around, never retrace his steps, never go back. If he had to, he could survive out here. He’d exist just like the wild birds and foxes, on a diet of small, hard berries and foraged mushrooms. 

It was often in these moments of complete distraction that discoveries happened. The trees stood back. A secret flagged him down from behind them, kept until today, confessed now in this partial glimpse. “Hey, I think I got somethin’,” he said out loud. He didn’t look to see if Kasey heard or noticed. Eyes fixed on the gap between trunks, Marlowe forced his way through a thicket of mulberries to get to the other side. 

In the clearing, there was a statue of a little girl. One arm outstretched, sunlight on the crown of her head. Her empty eyes grazed the sky. Some kind of moss crawled up her legs, giving her the appearance of wearing knee socks. There was a dog at her feet— a terrier with perked ears. 

“What did you find!” called Kasey, still wrestling her way through the brambles. The sound of snapping twigs and a soft ow! told him she was making slow progress of it.

“Something,” Marlowe replied. Unusual, he added only to himself. “Some kind of statue.”

The pose of the statue, he thought, must’ve been intended to look like the girl had just thrown a stick in a game of fetch, but there was something about the frozen gesture that told a different story. It was an open grasp, fingers straining; he almost turned around to see what she was reaching for.

“Woah.” Kasey exhaled the word in a single breath. She had finally spilled out into the clearing behind him, looking disheveled but no less enthused, tugging one checkered sock up around her ankle. “Who’s that?”

Marlowe was already crouched. He brushed dirt off the foot of the statue but there was no inscription; if there’d ever been one, time had worn it away. Now she was as nameless as the trees around her. Standing up, he slid hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked backwards, giving the girl the same look he’d given that piece of rusted sheet metal: eyes slant with a certain sharp curiosity, their color like a jar of dark honey with sunshine in it. “Don’t know. Maybe a memorial or something. Or,” He began to pace around the statue, boots leaving sunken footsteps in the loam. When his phone buzzed in his back pocket, he reached for it absently. “Maybe she got turned to stone by some wicked Baba Yaga ‘round these parts. Her, and her little dog, too.”

It was hard to read anything through the disaster of the cracked screen. His eyes scanned Syd’s incoming messages and when he got to the last two, Marlowe stopped walking. His heart stalled.

SYD: also ?? im at the studio and haven't seen my sculpture anywhere SYD: r u sure you dropped it off?

Of course she had noticed by now; of course she was looking for it.

“Who’re you texting?” Marlowe raised his eyes to find Kasey observing the standstill he’d come to; she was leaning down to give the little stone dog a scratch under his chin. “Syd,” he answered, simultaneously dropping his eyes back to his phone. “She named her cat Martin. I’m expressing my deep, deep disappointment with her lack of imagination.” I did, at the gallery, he texted back. forgot 2 text you but the eagle safely landed. 

The thing about lying was that it came so easily, so naturally, he usually felt no guilt doing it.

“Tell her I say hi!” Losing interest in the statue, Kasey had found a divining rod. She was sweeping it back and forth now with brisk efficiency, like a metal detector. “How ‘bout this? Look, it’s almost perfectly symmetrical,” she asked. 

Message sent, Marlowe let his hand drop back to his side. He used his laugh to distract them both. “Does that thing have a crude oil setting? Fuck making art, let’s start fracking. I’d rather be a Texas millionaire.” Kasey whipped around, face lit by a wide, genuine smile; but as another text from Syd arrived, his own smile barely skimmed the surface of his face, too distracted to really stick. He typed back another answer. 

i'm sure it's just misplaced syd don't sweat

worst comes to worst, we can case the frats and make sure no one stole it to be their new beer pong deity or whtever the fuck those guys do

Like any good liar, he prided himself on being truthful most of the time— which made it that much easier for a lie to slip through, unsuspected. A wolf in honesty’s clothing. No less convincing than everything else he said. And wasn’t it a little bit of a favor, in this case? Better that Syd think some hulking frat brothers had stolen into the art studio under the cover of night and carried off her sculpture for a ritual sacrifice, some dark summoning to help the university through its football championships. Better that than the truth. 

Marlowe glanced over his shoulder in the same direction as the statue’s outstretched fingertips. Clouds worked across the sky, ragged and white, and behind them there was only blue, but now he felt like he could see what wasn’t there; a new, bad darkness, descending fast out of the western sky. Like those sudden thunderstorms in Virginia that rolled over the mountains, pouring like smoke over the lip of a bowl. The knowledge of the storm’s inevitable arrival sank low in his chest: present, but not yet fully understood. 

Even if she asked him in person, he’d deny it. He’d lie again. He’d help her look for a sculpture that he knew was already unsalvageable, dissolving with each cold rain that swept over the campus, turning to paste beneath the soil.

“Hey, c’mere.” Eager for distraction, Marlowe lowered himself down to the base of the statue, where there was deep cold beneath the velvety moss. Obediently, Kasey trudged closer, still holding the forked branch; when he pulled her down, she fell giggling and side-saddle across his lap. She circled his neck with her arms. He wrapped his own loosely around her waist.

“Would you ever hate me if I did something, like, really bad?”

Kasey pulled back to look at him, the wrinkle in her brow implying that she didn’t understand. “Like what?” 

Marlowe shrugged beneath the weight of her arms. “I don’t know, I don’t have an example. But like… bad. Something that really hurt you.”

Thoughtfully, she thumbed the silver hoop in his ear. The light was full on her face— she wore no make-up, and her lips were chapped. She must’ve been chewing them before, because he could see the faint bitemarks. His heart twinged, suddenly protective.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” Her expression went away for a moment. There was a soft vacancy in her eyes that he’d gotten used to in their time together. When she returned, the look she gave him was earnestly sweet. Whatever the imaginary hurt, she was looking at him like she’d already forgiven him for it. “Because I’d know you didn’t mean to.”

Because you wouldn’t mean it, Syd had said close to his ear that one night at Splatterhouse. He did things without thinking. Did them so often, it had become his defining trait. Marlowe knew he escaped accountability because of it; he was one of those people the world tended to forgive too easily, meaning he’d always be protected from himself, sheltered from the consequences of his actions, because there was no real intention to hurt behind them— and that alone absolved him. You couldn’t blame the tornado that destroyed your home, not when it was only doing what tornados did.

Marlowe kissed the stain on her forehead, where the skin was pinkish like a newborn’s. He kissed her between the eyebrows, then lower, just underneath the chin, on the pulse that beat like a hummingbird’s heart. Kasey pulled away to look at him again. Her hands had strayed to the back of his neck, toying with the hair curling up at the nape.

“Ew, Marlowe, in front of a little girl?” Her big eyes lifted up towards the statue. The shadow of that reaching arm fell over them both. 

“It’s spring,” he replied in a what-can-you-do tone, though it was still only the end of winter. It was only March. His eyes met hers, glinting with uncivilized suggestion. There was a faint smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “And y’know, considering how long she’s been here, she’s ancient. A withered old crone, hundreds of years old. If anything it’s weirder to have a dead dog watching us.”

She frowned. “Why’s the dog dead?”

“Dogs don’t live for hundreds of years.”

She pouted at it. Poor thing. It didn’t seem to occur to her that humans didn’t live for hundreds of years either. Then she leaned back in, meeting him in his daring with another kiss, hands twining into hair, one bare leg swinging over to straddle him. And all around there was the sound of unseen birds, calling to each other from the trees: mimicking, teasing, pleading. A riotous awakening of spring. The next text from Syd would go unread for several hours, left without an answer. The Burger King meal she’d promised him would be forgotten. And the encroaching darkness would also recede, withdrawing to the far-back reaches of his mind— for now, the coming storm was only a dim, gauzey threat on the horizon, rumbling with the promise of distant thunder.

[buttsonthebeach]

A Gilded Cage

I had so much fun writing this commission for @im-calling-the-lord! Thank you for trusting me with A. Grace and your vision of her time with Solas in Arlathan!

Pairing: A. Grace x Solas

Rating: Teen for cursing

The party, all things considered, was beautiful.

Of course, considering all things meant that Abby Grace had to consider the fact that she was essentially a prisoner at said beautiful party, surrounded by people who either wanted to use or murder her.

Which meant it really, really was a beautiful party.

Ghilan’nain was known for this sort of thing, Abby supposed. All the Evanuris were, but Abby had heard of Ghilan’nain’s parties even in the small village where she lived with her parents, where the most interesting thing to happen on a given day was usually a domestic spat or the appearance of an unusual kind of spirit. The gossip said that what made Ghilan’nain’s parties particularly special was her ability to create new animals, many of which would disappear come morning, or be taken away to one of her private estates, never to be seen again by anyone other than her and her slaves, and perhaps Andruil. Abby could see now that they were right. 

She knew logically that they were in a massive hall, likely made of white stone, but it was so full of lush greenery, and gold twinkling lights, that it might as well have been a forest. And each of those trees and bushes was surrounded by a cloud of songbirds, the likes of which Abby had certainly never seen, and, judging by the whispers of passing strangers, no one else had either. They had dazzling patterns that matched Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin, and long lacy wings, and fantastic crests. Higher above them, swooping from rafter to rafter, were even larger birds, some more like small feathered dragons than birds at all.

There were no cages, but it did not escape Abby that she was in a menagerie now - or that she was one of the animals in that menagerie.

That was how Ghilan’nain had looked at her when she happened upon Abby in a small village closer to Arlathan than the one Abby had grown up in, where she’d gone on an errand for her mother. Like Abby was a curious sort of animal. Far too tall, with mismatched eyes, rounded ears, and powers no one could explain. Powers she had not dared to tell anyone about - except for one person. 

Solas.

And he had not been there at her side when Ghilan’nain’s retinue appeared. Had not been at her side for years now.

“How very curious,” Ghilan’nain had said when they met, after she saw Abby use her ability to nullify magic to stop a small fire that an inexperienced mage had caused. “I do like curious things. I think you shall come with me.”

Abby was smart enough to know it was a command, even though it wasn’t quite phrased as one. And now she was here, at this too-beautiful party - one of the animals on display, and utterly alone.

She tried to keep moving from one stand of fantastical greenery to another, avoiding settling too long in one place so people wouldn’t strike up long conversations with her. She’d been introduced as an honored guest, after all. Given a beautiful blue dress that bared her shoulders and swept the floor. She wondered if Ghilan’nain would let her go after tonight if she didn’t inspire too much amusement in the guests. If she really was a guest. A brief shock of nerves ran through her body at the thought. She opened her mind, preparing to read the thoughts of those around her - just one of the powers that, if she was not careful, could get her killed tonight. She was just beginning to sort through the tangle of noise, clarifying individual voices, individual ideas, when someone’s voice broke in.

“Abby Grace, is it? A curious name.”

She opened her eyes. The man before her was tall, thin-lipped, golden-haired, with violet eyes -

Elgar’nan.

Chief among the Evanuris, and not a kind man, to hear the tales.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“So I have been told, my lord,” she said before the silence could stretch into awkwardness. He was staring at her. It was probably strange for him to be eye-to-eye with someone, especially a woman. His eyes drifted to her rounded ears, and then back.

“You were a foundling, yes? Adopted by parents who live in a village not far from here?”

Another chill ran through Abby’s body. That had not been part of Ghilan’nain’s introduction. It was not something she had shared with anyone here at this party. She steeled herself and used her power as quickly as she could, diving into Elgar’nan’s mind like it was a clear pool, so cold it hurt to touch.

Let us see if the information my agents gave me is good. If it is, this girl is an abomination, like all of Ghilan’nain’s others. Something that must be stopped. If I can draw Andruil into the open today, too - show proof of this madness she brought back from the Void - I can kill two birds with one stone.

She came back to the surface. As always, it hadn’t been more than a second or two, but it was dizzying to come back.

“It is true,” she said. “They found me in the forest. Abby Grace was the name pinned to my blanket. Is that the Lady Andruil entering the hall just now?”

Elgar’nan turned and followed the path of Abby’s eyes. She sensed the shift in his body, the sudden current that ran through it, when he saw the woman she’d just noticed. She’d been right. It was Andruil - or else someone else who could provoke such a strong reaction, cause Elgar’nan to manipulate the magic around him that way. Abby had no magic of her own, but everyone around her did, and so she was familiar with the way emotions caused people to use it, often unconsciously, like drawing in a sharp breath of surprise. 

Her own power - her own stupid, twice-damned, unexplained power - buzzed beneath the surface of her own skin. Longing to nullify the magic that haloed Elgar’nan’s retreating back. He was strong. The strongest mage Abby had ever been near.

But she knew, the same way she knew up from down, that she could nullify that power in an instant. And that was why she was here, at this too-beautiful party. She was something the powerful people in this room would either fight to control or fight to destroy. It was the thing her parents had feared (how she wished she could get word to them - she hoped someone who had seen Ghilan’nain pick her up would go to their village and tell them). It was the thing Solas had feared, too. But he had left her alone all those years ago to go and study his beloved magic, telling her he would be back, telling her to stay safe, to not let anyone find out about her abilities.

She could still picture him perfectly as he had been on that last day before he left. She let it distract her as she began to wander the hall, trying not to linger in one place too long, trying to stick to shadows, listening for more of this drama between Andruil and Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan. She learned that Andruil had some new kind of armor from what she could gather from conversation and from people’s minds - something to do with this Void place - but not everyone knew, not everyone was sure it was real, some said it was slander Elgar’nan himself had invented because he resented the growing power the two of them represented together. But as she walked and heard these terrible things, she saw every face as Solas’s. Her oldest friend. The blue of his eyes and the way he crinkled his nose in annoyance whenever she teased him for thinking she was a spirit when they first met. How serious he’d looked on that last day, warning her to be careful.

“Please, Abby,” he’d said softly. “Be safe.”

He’d taken her hand then. Squeezed it once. Rubbed his thumb absent-mindedly across the back of it in a way that made her heart flutter even now. There had been lingering glances before that, moments charged with words unsaid. She’d always thought - when he came back - that they would make good on the promise of that touch. 

The thought grew more and more remote as she wandered the party and saw the guards at every entrance and exit, the way they tracked her with their eyes, how all their thoughts sang of keeping her in the palace and not letting her out. She was not a guest after all. Even if Solas did come back - even if he had not forgotten her - he would never know where to go. The promise was broken forever. There was only one small chance - one rumor she’d heard of a new god, young and cocky and blue-eyed and calling himself the Dread Wolf - but she had no proof it was him. It was only wishful thinking.

Then Abby looked across the hall to the grand entrance, her eyes drawn by the sound of a sudden commotion, and saw him, as surely as if her thoughts had summoned him.

Solas.

Tall, smiling, flanked by soldiers wearing the same black and green as he was, parting the crowd as he entered. One of Ghilan’nain’s guards raised her sceptre and struck it against the marble floor.

“Lord Fen’Harel,” her voice rang out, amplified by magic, announcing his entrance.

Son of a bitch. The words rang out shocked and angry and affectionate within her own mind. She tamped them down quickly, not wanting to broadcast them into the minds of anyone nearby her. She could hardly breathe, watching him smile and nod and move through all of the people. He looked so much the same, and yet so different. Her casual suspicion had been right. He had been elevated to godhood in his time away from her.

No wonder he never bothered to come back.

Almost without thinking about it, she reached out to read his mind, to see if he really was the same man. She caught a buzz of other thoughts as she did so - Elgar’nan had brought some of his best warriors, told Ghilan’nain’s own servants to prepare the arena that lay outside the great hall for some type of contest, they’d been told that Ghilan’nain’s new pet was dangerous, look how tall she is and she is no elf - and there he was, his mind ringing out one thought over and over.

It cannot be her. It cannot be her. It cannot be her.

Their eyes met across the dance floor that separated them, and Abby’s whole body went hot. He was here. Really here. Solas. Her power rose within her and the hairs on the back of her neck rose too and if she wasn’t careful it would leech out of her and everything around her would rise, ascend skyward, because he was walking towards her and she didn’t know whether she was going to hit him or -

No. She had to focus. He was the one who’d left her, and she was the one who was in danger now. What mattered most was making it out of this party alive. That was all he needed to be to her right now. A way out. But the closer he got, the more her throat closed up, because it was him, and maybe she hadn’t even realized how much she had missed him - their long talks, the pranks they played, the arguments they had.

When Solas reached her, he bowed at the waist, his eyes not leaving hers, and then he was a stranger again. Abby curtsied, all that levitating feeling leaving her. She was heavy as stone now.

“I take it you are the Lady Ghilan’nain’s honored guest,” he said.

She stared at him a moment, opened her mouth to ask him who he thought he was, and then remembered where she was.

“I am indeed. And who are you, exactly?”

Solas’s lips quirked at her arch tone. “Forgive me. I am Lord Fen’Harel.”

His clothes would have made it obvious, of course. The wolf pelt over one shoulder, the patterning on his gold tunic, which looked like the six red eyes she had seen drawn on images of this new Dread Wolf in Mythal’s service. It was the detail that had given her a hint of this new god’s identity. Six eyes like a spirit of Pride. Like her friend’s namesake.

“You are dismissed,” Solas said to the two attendants who remained with him. “Please, enjoy the party. I would speak further with Miss Grace.”

His attendants bowed and left, casting a glance over their shoulders as they went. A songbird flitted between Solas and Abby, its feathers a brilliant vermillion that she had never seen in nature. All of their singing was acquiring a tune now, and an orchestra was joining them. It was eerie, rather than lovely, but people were still beginning to dance.

“You didn’t actually ask for my name, you know,” Abby said. “Your friends there will probably be suspicious of that.”

Solas’s jaw tightened. “There is enough else to be suspicious of here. I do not think that will be their main concern.”

“You got that right. The things I have heard tonight…”

Solas stepped closer to her and her breath caught, and again Abby wasn’t sure what her body wanted from him. To strike him, or to get even closer.

“Tell me. I fear -” Then he stepped away again, casting a wary glance to his left and right. People had noticed them talking, of course. Solas bowed and extended his hand, this time pitching his voice so that it carried to the others nearest to them. “Would you care to dance with me, Miss Grace? I fear Lady Ghilan’nain has been a poor host if she has not found you a dancing partner.”

There was a ripple of sound in the assembled nobles around them and the heat returned to Abby’s face and neck. What was he thinking? Insulting the only person here whose protection Abby could possibly claim?

Unless he had protection of his own to offer. That was all he needed to be to her, she reminded herself. A way out.

“I would like to dance,” she said, taking his hand, and then all the time and distance between them evaporated, and she was back there on that day that he was saying good-bye. His hand felt the exact same in hers. Like it belonged. Solas held onto it the entire way to the dance floor.

“I don’t know the steps,” she said as one song ended and they moved to find their place among the others.

“I will teach you,” he said. He let go of her hand, but then raised his own high between them. Abby saw the other dancing partners touching palms in that manner and mimicked him. “You have only to listen closely to what I say.”

He tilted his head towards her and there was something urgent in his eyes. She caught his drift at once. Her power could make it so that they were alone in a crowded room. But would anyone else catch on that she was using it?

The music began, and then there was no time to worry about it. She just had to follow Solas’s lead - stepping forward while maintaining the contact of their hands, dipping down slightly as they did so. Turning, pressing their palms together again, walking in a slow circle, their eyes meeting. Abby let herself find the rhythm, and then she slipped into his mind again.

Are you unharmed? He asked at once.

Yes, she said, projecting the thought into his mind. But I don’t know how long it’s going to stay that way. Elgar’nan is not happy with Andruil or Ghilan’nain. He thinks they have been committing unnatural acts with their magic. Everyone keeps talking - or thinking - about some armor related to the Void.

He is not entirely wrong, Solas thought. About Andruil and the Void at least. But if we are not careful, you will get mixed up in that. Another sign of their supposed transgressions. I do not think Elgar’nan would even want you as a weapon. He would see you only as a threat.

I’m glad you’ve become such an expert in the Evanuris over the last few years. You’ll have to tell me sometime about all the adventures you’ve had with them. Considering I never even got a letter.

Even though they were not spoken aloud, Abby knew her words sounded caustic. And it was at that moment, of course, that the dance became more intimate - partners facing each other now, bodies nearly touching, one pair of arms arched overhead, the other clasping each other around the waist. Solas felt warm against her and Abby’s hand trembled before she could stop it.

I am sorry, Solas thought. There were - considerations. I did not stay away out of malice.

So formal. Did Mythal teach you to talk like that? It’s just us in here, you know.

You cannot know how much I have missed that.

Abby didn’t have a stinging retort for that. They were still close, spinning slowly, their eyes locked. There was something in Solas’s that Abby feared to name, even in the privacy of her own mind. There were hundreds of other eyes here, too. Many of them trained on the pair of them as they danced. But for a moment, all of that dropped away, and there was only them, the slow turning of their bodies, the pressure of Solas’s hand on her waist.

I missed you, too, she thought, but she did not project it into his mind. She kept that thought safe and close within herself. Swallowed it down, like she could protect it from this whole crazed world. Then she listened for his thoughts again.

I think I can get you out of here, he thought. It’s why I came here tonight. When I heard that Ghilan’nain had found someone with strange abilities in one of the villages on the outskirts of Arlathan, I feared it was you. Ghilan’nain hasn’t asked you to swear any oaths, has she? Or declared you formally under her protection, or part of her household?

No. She just introduced me as an honored guest.

She is hedging her bets, then. If she really wanted to claim you, she could have, but that makes her vulnerable to anyone who would do you harm as much as it protects you. If we have no other option, I can do that instead. But it would tie you to me forever, at least in the eyes of the people here.

There was something tentative in that last thought. Fragile.

Well, I’m going to assume that you aren’t going to kill me, unless you really have changed a lot over the last few years. So it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me tonight.

Solas laughed, out loud this time, as they broke apart and then twirled away from each other, and then came back. Abby was always a step or two behind the other dancers, but Solas always managed to meet her exactly, matching her pace, anticipating where she would hesitate or fumble a step.

You can’t laugh at things that only happen in our minds, she scolded. People will think you’re crazy - or worse, guess what’s happening.

He was still chuckling, and the smile he turned on her warmed her all the way to her toes.

Let them think I’m crazy. I’ll find a way to handle it.

I see you haven’t lost any confidence in the time you’ve been away.

Maybe you’re simply bringing it out in me again.

With that, the dance ended, and Solas bowed low to her, never once taking his eyes off hers, still smiling that wicked, cocky smile.

White-haired Ghilan’nain was near the edge of the crowd that had watched the dance. The impressive spires of her halla horn crown had several of the smaller songbird-like creatures resting on them. She was the most otherworldly thing in the room, and Abby did not like how she was watching the two of them.

“There you are,” Ghilan’nain said coolly as they left the dance floor, Solas still holding up Abby’s hand in the most courtly fashion possible. “I had hoped to introduce you to some of my followers who are curious about your abilities. Perhaps you can give a demonstration of them, now that you are not busy dancing.”

“I think Miss Grace is still well occupied,” Solas said, his tone airy, his smile still not fading. “As you should be, with Elgar’nan here. Tell me - how was Andruil’s last trip? What gifts has she brought back for you this time?”

Ghilan’nain’s mouth thinned to a narrow red slash in her pale face.

“I am not at all sure what you mean.”

“Oh, is the armor she brought a surprise?” Abby asked, as innocently as she could.

Ghilan’nain’s eyes widened and Abby saw one fist clench at her side. Her own heart raced. She saw from Solas’s easy smirk and light tone that this was how threats were done here. She was threatening one of the Evanuris.

“You must mean this old thing,” Ghilan’nain said, making a sweeping gesture to encompass everything she was wearing. She did indeed have a silverite breastplate over her long, flowing white dress. “She brought this for me from Mythal’s court. Tell me - how was your trip with Mythal deep into the mountains? Did you find what you sought there, despite the risk?”

Solas’s hand tightened on Abby’s for one instant. She listened to his thoughts immediately.

She is trying to bait me. Mythal and I did nothing wrong. Nothing that all of them haven’t done. The heart of a Titan is what it takes to make a new god. We still have the upper hand.

“Of course we did. Mythal and I never lose.” Solas turned to Abby. “Were you not saying that it is hot here? Let us go and get some fresh air.”

He bowed to Ghilan’nain - but not as low as he had bowed to Abby when their dance ended. That was no doubt an insult. Then he led her away without waiting for Ghilan’nain’s reply. They walked swiftly to one of the doors that led off of the hall, nodding to Ghilan’nain’s guards, and then exiting through it into blissfully cool night air, a vaulted sky dotted with a thousand stars, and a garden drenched in moonlight. The plants were lush, tropical, with glossy green leaves and bright spiky flowers.

“We have certainly bought ourselves some time,” Solas said. “Possibly enough time to simply leave unnoticed, although Ghilan’nain may not take that well. We should wait until Elgar’nan makes his move on her. When she has larger things to concern herself with, she will not mind so much that her new pet is asking to leave with someone else.”

“New pet? You keep truly charming company now, Solas.”

“That is not how I see you,” he said. His voice was softer and lower now. “You know that. It is how they see you.”

“And they are the company you keep now. The company you chose to join. The company you left me for.”

Abby hadn’t meant that last part to slip out, but it did, and with it she felt a rush of anger and hurt and confusion that closed up her throat. She turned away from Solas, looking out at the garden instead. It didn’t matter. He was going to help her get out of this situation. He could probably help her get word to her parents that all was well, and then help her get away from Ghilan’nain. That was all that mattered. Not the past. Not the way he’d bowed to her, smiled at her, held her hand on this day or on any other.

“Abby,” Solas said softly. “I - ”

She was not looking at him, so the touch of his fingertips on the back of her bare arm, even as soft as it was, came as a surprise that made her skin prickle. She still did not turn back to him, did not trust herself to.

“I stayed away because I wanted to protect you from this world,” he said finally. “Because once I got away from our village - I saw how the world would treat you. What any of the Evanuris would do to you. I thought that if I played their games, listened carefully for any rumors that sounded like you, I could keep you safe. I am watched like a hawk now as Mythal’s new right hand. I feared that if even went to you to tell you what I knew, you would be marked as a target. Something they could use against me, regardless of your abilities. That was why I never came back.”

She did turn back to him now, and there was a rawness in his face, a softness, that she had never seen before.

Or that she had seen only once before.

On the day that he left, the day he held her hand and looked at her like there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t. The day she felt those same unsaid words rising to her own lips, and then dying there.

“You were my best friend,” she said.

“You still are mine,” he replied.

Their eyes met and that electric current was there again, real as magic, something that wanted to leap to life between them - maybe it wasn’t electricity after all, but a fire that had been banked down, one that still concealed a single glowing ember within it, waiting to spring back into flames.

“Would you dance with me again?” Abby asked. “Not just so other people see us, but because you want to?”

“Of course,” he said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. But his hands were outstretched, and that was all that mattered.

They danced a slower dance this time, his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, their other hands clasped. They could just barely hear the strains of music coming from within the hall. They were haunting sounds like this, and beautiful too. Like they’d managed to slip into another world. One that was only theirs. They twirled slowly, their eyes not meeting, their cheeks very nearly touching. Abby could feel her heart in her throat. She remembered all the times her eyes had lingered on Solas as he read a book or cast a spell or walked ahead of her down the village lane - all the times someone had teased that they would get married and the two of them had been outraged by the suggestion - all the times she’d thought that Solas’s eyes were lingering on her.

“Solas?” she began quietly.

“Yes?”

“I - ”

She’d pulled back far enough to look him in the eye, and now it felt inevitable - realized that it always had been inevitable. That she had to lean in kiss him, that he had to kiss her back. That this was where all the roads were always going.

And it was a perfect place to land - there, in his arms, his lips soft and warm on hers, his hands strong and gentle on her back - there, in the quiet murmuring sound he made as they kissed. There, in the moment when he drew back, looked at her, traced the curve of her jaw, and then kissed her again. There, with the person she’d always loved, always longed for.

“Solas.” Abby breathed the word more than she said it when they parted again. Solas smiled at her, his grin turning wicked again.

“It took you long enough to do that.”

“It took you long enough to do that, ass.”

“Then let’s do it again.”

“Don’t we need to plan our escape?”

“Later. For now, we will dance as long as the music plays. We have a lot of time to make up for, you and I.”

Abby could not disagree.

They kissed, and they still danced, slowly, to no one’s music but their own.

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 05: Ugly Sweaters

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.

-/

Weeks ago, she'd asked him.

"Do you think you could make me a sweater? Y'know, one of those tacky ones, for the Dawning?"

"Are you insinuating something about my craft?" Blue eyes hold hers, not an ounce of amusement present in their depths.

"No! Not at all!" She frowns and glowers when he shows amusement at her immediate retcon. "Wait, are you pulling my leg? You are!" She hops up off the sofa, scandalized. "I'm hurt. That's low."

He rolls his eyes. "Sit back down, Suraya." Ever reasonable, he informs her, "There's not enough time to make you a sweater."

She tucks herself back against him, making her irritation known. "Look... Don't I get priority? Special treatment?"

"You get plenty of special treatment," He reminds her, eyebrows dipping into something suggestive. "But I only make three sweaters a year. One for Amanda, and then two for whomever else asks me first." 

"And you didn't think that I'd want one?!"

"You have a poncho. I didn't know that you'd participate."

"You're kidding me, right? Me. The person who is throwing all of you a holiday bash?" She pulls back to look at him properly. "Tell me you at least have an old one I can borrow!"

"No. I wear the same one each year."

She sighs. Minimalist bastard, she thinks, but there’s no anger behind it. "Alright, well who else did you make an ugly Sweater for?"

"Jalaal and Eva."

"You're kidding me." She slaps her thighs. "Eva I get. But Jalaal? Really?"

"I've already handed them out. Ask me next year."

Suraya scoffs, but she knows that if he said no, it's not that he doesn't want to, but that he won't commit to something he can't do. "I'm asking you right now. I want one."

"For next year?"

"Yeah. With a bird on it."

He swings his gaze over to the falcon near the window, napping comfortably upon his perch. He nods, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'll see what I can do."

That, in Zavala speak, is an agreement, and she hums in approval before returning to her initial issue. "I have no idea where to get an ugly sweater."

"You could wear mismatching colors," Zavala suggests, but it’s not as though either of them really pay attention to what colors match versus mismatch, anyway.

She shrugs, burrowing into his side. It isn't often they get to enjoy each other's company during the day when they're not at work. "I don't want to win Amanda's contest, but I'd like to at least have something festive, y'know?"

"I understand. You could try Tess-"

"And pay a million glimmer for something itchy and polyester? No."

Zavala chuckles. "I thought you refused to become a ‘textile snob,’” He airquotes, “As you so kindly told me the last time I expressed my disdain for synthetics."

Blowing a raspberry - that should be enough of a concession, she supposes, she says, "I like being comfortable. I'll leave the specifics to you, but I wouldn’t consider myself a snob." She taps a finger to her lips. "Unless we're talking alpaca. That stuff is amazing and I wish it was waterproof."

"It is water resistant," He points out, to her amusement. Textile snob. "But I do know what you mean."

-/

One thing she notices more and more as the season goes on is that the Guardians really get into the holiday. It's good for them, Suraya thinks. They're all wearing festively patterned cloaks and robes, she's even seen some very tacky and incredibly oversized jazzed-up pauldrons on a Titan. She slips her hands under the billowing flaps of her poncho and continues through the Courtyard. It's been very cold, and she's been spoiled to have relief from the elements a vast majority of the time since moving back to the City.

Her hood blows back and off and she rolls her eyes. The winds up here are far worse than on the ground. Up ahead, she sees a shivering figure and sighs.

When he notices her, she cannot help herself, shouting, "What were you thinking? I told you to wait for me at the bottom of the elevator!"

He holds up his hands placatingly and only then does she see the figure beside him. 

"What're you doing here?"

Zavala smiles, looking first to make sure no one is around, then presses a quick, chaste kiss to her lips. "I was going into the City to get you something, but since ran into Marc. He said you are heading down to do some shopping, so I'll have you pick it up yourself."

The confusion that crosses her face makes Marc laugh. "Come on, darling, we have things to do to prepare." He takes Suraya's hand but looks to Zavala. "You're sure you don't want to join us?"

"I'm sure. You two have fun. I am going to try and get ahead on my work for the evening, when Amanda inevitably rounds us up for judging." He smiles at Suraya. "Perhaps make some reservations for dinner afterward, assuming we can sneak away."

"Psh, just wine and dine a girl, why don't you?" Her tone clashes with the wide grin that lights up her face.

"I know, I know." He nods to Marc, feigning exasperation. It lacks heat. "I will leave you to it."

"See you soon," Marc calls after him, before fixing Suraya with a thrilled look. "Okay. Lunch first or shopping?"

Suraya's stomach answers for her, and they laugh their way into the elevator. The snow flurries about in that magical festive way and Marc coos about how lovely the City looks from above as the lift carries them down. Never once does he let go of her hand. It reminds her of being younger, a child in braids wearing little red mittens, clomping through the snow behind her adoptive parents. It's something both novel and bittersweet to be back here now, to step out into the massive holiday bazaar that sets up at the foot of the new Tower. She might still feel a little bit like a sell out, but the City carries more and more of her heart every day.

After all, it houses so many of the people she's come to love, and is a testament to the people she does her best to lead and represent.

Marc leads her away from the Dawning market the moment they're on the ground, and instead takes her through a shoveled alley and down to the front of food stands that warm the surrounding street. Together they get street tacos and Marc babbles on about his decorations and plans for the main event, their big holiday soiree.

"Everyone is coming," Suraya reports. "Zavala got Saladin on board. Now all we have to do is make sure he and Shaxx play nice."

"Sounds like a family Dawning to me," Marc muses wryly. "It's never a family affair without someone at odds."

"I mean, ours were always pretty tame."

"Yes, dear, because we are a statistical outlier. And a smaller unit. You never got to experience the family gatherings Devrim's mum had. Someone was always out fighting in the garden, even in a blizzard." He laughs. "Hopefully it won’t come to that, though it’s okay to be a little nervous about it."

She thinks on it, munching through a few more bites of her taco. "Honestly?" The look on her face conveys her own surprise, "Crazy as it sounds - for me, anyway - I'm not."

"And here I was worried you'd be embarrassed about me doting on your work family," He smiles all the same, teasing. "Guess I'll have to step up my game. I just wish your father could be here."

"I know," She agrees, trying not to let the mood fall flat. "Zavala tried. And you know him, he's not the kind to do anything in half measures."

"That's for sure." Marc claps his hands, holding them in front of his face lest she see his smile. "Okay. No moping. Zavala said the shop he'd picked out some sweaters from is near here, and if his taste in wool is anything to go by, I'm going to need to do some shopping, too."

"Sweaters?"

"For the contest. He said he didn't have time to make you one, and that you'd want some nice things to wear for the holiday anyway." He elbows her. "You really lucked out with him, you know."

Suraya rolls her eyes promptly. "Shouldn't you be saying he's the lucky one?"

Marc hums, but pats her arm. "Oh, Suraya, he knows."

-/

"You're sure."

"It's taken care of." Zavala meets his eyes through the screen in front of him. "You'll be covered for the last week of the Dawning. Everyone knows not to speak to Suraya about it, and I've kept the Guardians in the dark on the matter."

Devrim's forehead crinkles when his eyebrows knit closer. "I thought it from the day of the get together through the end of the celebration? Did I miss something?"

"I didn't think it would be fair to usher you home and then force you to host right away. I hadn't told Marc, that was the only piece I was not sure I'd be able to make happen."

"I appreciate it, Commander." His eyes are softer than usual. He clears his throat. "More than you know. This is going to be quite the holiday." He smirks, though it's lessened by the gratefulness in his gaze. "Marc has bought at least four cases of champagne since last we spoke. His letter was especially manic." 

"Well, hopefully for good reason," Zavala trails off. Devrim hums, knowingly. Marc didn’t give him enough credit. He knew some things about some things.

"You've already gotten her to agree to the hard question." Zavala frowns. "She's there, isn't she?" Devrim fixes him with a confident, intent gaze through the screen. "This one is merely a formality, Zavala. She won't refuse you."

"I hope you're right."

"That's the nerves talking." Devrim crosses his arms, looks away for a moment, pensive. "When I asked Marc, I swore my mind went blank. I had a speech, you see, and it didn't matter how many times I'd practiced. It's a big moment." Zavala swallows hard, well aware. "But, you'll look up at her and none of it will matter." Devrim's cold-water eyes brighten. "There's no perfect proposal. It won't all go to plan. The best advice I can give you is to go with your gut."

"You don't think it'll overwhelm her?"

"It will. You'll likely put her to tears," Devrim nods, unable to help the optimistic twist to his lips, "But she won't say no." He pauses. "That won't stop you from worrying, I'm sure. I was a wreck, too."

Zavala can't help but agree. "I don't think I know how not to worry."

"We'll be drinking champagne and celebrating before you know it." An explosion somewhere off in the distance makes the feed shake and fuzz in static. "That sounds like my cue."

"It would seem so. We'll talk soon."

"We will. And, ah, don't... tell Marc yet, about those extra days. Suraya isn't the only one who could stand to be surprised."

"Understood." Zavala taps the end toggle.

-/

Marc waves the bag in front of her face. "He literally picked out everything you'd like so you didn't have to browse. If that's not love, Suraya-"

"I know," She looks down into the second bag, the one she's carrying. The snow-white sweater on top has a smattering of tinsel-like silver woven throughout the bottom half. "He gets me," She tells him. 

"Yeah, clearly. And he called them back to make sure I got this scarf." Marc runs his free hand down the front of it. "It's a really nice scarf."

"Alpaca is amazing, right? I got him some skeins of yarn from a place that raises their own herd of 'em so he can make us a blanket." She reaches out and touches the end. "Oh, wait. Not alpaca. That's cashmere. Fancier than alpaca and really, really soft."

Marc smirks. "You're so knowledgeable."

"He's very… informative?" She waves the word away. "Easy to listen to." She shrugs. "That's all it is."

"So," He loops his arm with hers. "Is he it?"

"It?" She pulls a face. "What does that mean?"

"You know." He smirks. "The one."

She looks away. "I-not all Guardians are into that," She admits, tone dipping lower. 

They come into the holiday market once more and Marc stops, their entwined arms keeping her with him. "Huh. I don't know enough about Guardian culture. Have you talked about it?"

"Not really. We're," She taps her foot and whether it's from nervousness or impatience to get past the conversation, Marc isn't sure. "We just work well together. Simple as that. I'm obviously not going to live as long, but he says he doesn't care about. He wants to be with me as long as he can be and I believe him." She holds her father's gaze. "It's enough."

"Still, I mean, he could ask you. Then what?"

She rolls her eyes. "If he ever asks, I'll let you and Eva fight to the death over stationary and color schemes," She deadpans, tugging his arm. It's as close to a yes as she'll give him. "Can we please get moving?

Marc ducks his head to hide his grin. There won't be much arguing about stationary. Traditionally the bride's family makes the call, but Marc supposes he'll consider Eva's opinion as a courtesy.

-/

Everyone is gathered in the Hangar. Amanda is literally dragging some Warlock in by the arm, one she knows from the very unofficial SRL league that's started up since the war. At no point - according to what Hawthorne's heard - has this "contest" ever had reasonably fair judging. Amanda brings in anyone she can find to judge the upper echelon's holiday sweater choices.

Suraya slips in late, managing to creep around Amanda to sit on a sparrow frame that's unoccupied near her workspace. It's as close as she'll get to one of those death traps without the fate of humanity at stake. Her shopping, set beside her on the ground, shimmers away. She barely catches the culprit, but manages to murmur a kind word of gratitude before meeting Zavala's gaze across the open space. His gaze dips for just a second, refocusing on her face a blink later.

His Ghost appears beside her for a moment once more, quick, like a dragonfly. Her shell spins, nearly silent.

"He says you look good."

Suraya hums. "Thanks. I'd say the same for him but I can't even see his sweater for everyone crowded in front of him."

The white-shelled droid chitters with a small laugh. "He planned it that way," She says, positioned just beside her partner's significant other's ear. The Shipwright prattles on, judging everyone herself, in addition to those she's rustled up to help her. "He'll ask me next if you found everything shopping."

"I did," Suraya whispers back. "New Monarchy charged me five times market value for Hideo's secret santa present. That was the bottle you transmatted."

Zavala's Ghost scoffs. "That's ridiculous. The Executor will only dump it out-"

"I had them wrap it and confirm the seal before I took it out of the store. I figured I'd try. Even if it's going to blow up in my face."

She hums, pensive. "If nothing else, he'll appreciate your attempt." The Ghost isn't referring to the Executor.

"Yeah. The hatchet will probably never get buried, and that's fine, I don't think he particularly deserves it." She crosses her arms and the Ghost rests on her shoulder, delicate, tentative. "But, maybe we can survive the rest of the winter without warfare at the roundtable."

"I think it'll last for as long as the wine does," She drones, "But you've always surpassed expectations."

Suraya covers the laugh with her hand. "Have I? I think I've come in with the bar set so low-"

"Nonsense." She clicks in a synthesized tone that conveys her annoyance. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I think you're biased," Hawthorne states, soft and even.

"And I think I've told you that I've tried very hard to think of every reason why my Guardian shouldn't be with you," She hisses, irritated. It fades quickly. The little bot has had plenty of experience with this; Both her charge and his intended are more similar than they realize. "Why you aren't good enough. And I can't."

They fall silent, watching Amanda fuss over Jalaal's very monotone and very personalized holiday threads. Figures he'd somehow win. They'll never hear the end of it, that's for sure. He'll be asking Eva for depressing decorations in black and gray next.

Barely audible, the Ghost whispers, "No one knows him like I do."

Like clockwork that blue gaze falls over them. Though there's no smile, the spark in those luminous eyes is obvious. Something about the two of them finding common ground, even if it's just over him (it isn't) brings him joy.

Hoarsely, Suraya replies, "I know."

The Ghost shivers. "But I could say the same for you," She imparts, honest. Where many Ghosts seem cute or shy by nature, Zavala's is regal and confident, a counterbalance for the hidden doubt and anxiety lurking beneath the Commander’s stoic facade. "I'm grateful."

"Me, too."

Back to Main Fic Post

[thepetulantpen]

Circus/Class Swap

(Here’s barbarian Molly and bloodhunter Yasha for day 2 of @mollymauklivesfest !)

The first day Molly and Yasha meet, Bo and Gustav are dragging his heavily bleeding body towards camp.

He looks like he tried to take on a pack of gnolls by himself and paid the price in a collection of bite and claw marks. Even bleeding and clearly in pain, he struggles against their help, something bright and restless and untrusting in his eyes as he fights mindlessly against them. Yasha has to hold him down to let Ornna do some first aid and she strains to do so when he puts all his strength against hers. She thinks she only wins because he’s lost a lot of blood.

His first words to her are a series of angry growls and her first words to him are “Stop fucking scratching me.”

It gets a little better, after that. After they’ve stopped the bleeding, after the anger has faded from his eyes and left him exhausted by the campfire.

They eat in silence, Yasha having been tasked with watching him since she’s the only one who could hold him if he decided to lash out again; he has freakish strength for someone as lanky and probably underfed as he is. He devours whatever is placed in front of him, despite Ornna’s cooking being incredibly shitty, and Yasha feels she understands him a little better, seeing all the signs of a traveler who’s been alone on the road for far too long.

They don’t speak- him because he can’t and Yasha because she doesn’t want to- and that works for them, creating a language of grunts and gestures for the days it takes for his voice to return.

They’re walking together, off into the forest and away from the troupe, and hunting down rabbits or any other edible meat when she hears it first.

“Watch out,” he grabs Yasha’s arm, getting her attention in case his quiet, raspy voice couldn’t, and gestures to the ground, “Ivy.”

She nods and walks around it. They don’t talk anymore, and her new friend seems grateful for the lack of questions.

He’s a good hunter, they both are, and it’s a lucky thing for the troupe, since rations can only go so far when they get lost between towns and everyone else is too squeamish to hunt their own food. Yasha has been living off the land for as long as she can remember- which is, admittedly, not long- and the tiefling seems just as experienced, easily falling into a pattern with Yasha.

She’s glad the rest of the troupe doesn’t join them when they’re out here, so no one is around to insist that they make small talk or answer personal questions. Or have manners or stop being creepy or-

Be normal. It’s easier to breathe out in the open air with only the sounds of the forest and their own footsteps to accompany them.

The sound of crunching leaves- many crunching leaves- ahead of them and to their right makes Yasha and the tiefling tense at the same time, moving behind the nearest cover and crouching. Yasha takes out her swords and hands one to the tiefling. He weighs it in his hand and frowns but holds it ready anyway; Yasha assumes, from the strength she’s seen him display so far, that he’s more accustomed to heavy weapons.

They watch the silhouette of something in the near distance lumbering around, flattening bushes and knocking into trees. Yasha hopes it’ll pass them by and shifts to press herself flatter against the tree. The tiefling moves to do the same but he must trip over a root because he nearly topples over and has to grab a low hanging branch to keep from landing on his ass.

It snaps, of course, and lands in the bush underneath it, shaking the leaves loudly and releasing several startled insects.

The shadow turns toward the sound, giving Yasha an opportunity to see it properly: the head of an owl affixed to a massive bear shaped body. It must see her as well, forgetting its meandering path and making a beeline for their position.

Yasha curses under her breath and stands to meet it, but the tiefling is a few steps ahead of her, leaping over underbrush and bounding into the creature’s space.

He holds his borrowed sword in two hands- though it’s so lightweight the stance is unnecessary- and it spans the space between him and the owlbear, it’s point just brushing the beast’s beak.

The bear roars with the shriek of an angered bird, but louder, sharper than a single owl could ever be, so loud it makes Yasha wince, even from beyond the combat. The tiefling seems unbothered, not flinching when the air from the sound blows his hair back, and his face contorts into something definitely angry but also... passionate, energetic, thrilled.

Enraged.

He roars back at the beast and Yasha expects it to come out just as hoarse as his voice was earlier, but he surprises her with a strong, steady cry that carries a sharp edge in a hiss as it trails off, like a snake with doubled lung capacity.

He bears his fangs in what could be considered a grin, if one were to be generous, and lunges forward, sword clashing against claw. The tiefling fights like a wild animal, striking recklessly at every opportunity and taking hits without hesitating. None of the owlbear’s strikes, most of which hit the tiefling’s unarmored form, seem to do as much damage as they should and only make the tiefling angrier, bouncing back from every hit with twice as much energy to put into the next one.

Yasha hoped the owlbear would have left by now, figuring they weren’t worth the trouble, but it seems intent on staying, on finishing this, so she should take it seriously too. She spins her sword around and slides it against the back of her neck, where many other scars from similar moves are engraved. It glows, crackling with energy, and, when she concentrates, forms a line of ice shards, stronger and sharper than they look.

She wields the jagged thing deftly, moving fluidly to lunge at every unguarded spot she sees. It’s different than the tiefling’s brute force approach but ultimately gets them the same thing: more strikes against the owlbear than it is able to get on them.

In a last ditch effort, the beast throws its body at the tiefling, choosing to focus on taking at least one of them down. It would have succeeded in tackling him to the ground if Yasha’s quiet arcane words hadn’t made its blood boil and leak out over its eyes, blinding it and sending it off course enough for the tiefling to step out of the way.

The owlbear crashes to the ground and the tiefling spins, slamming his sword down in a killing blow with enough force that it dents and bends the blade.

Definitely used to heavier weapons.

He turns towards Yasha with a smile, that feral rage in his deep red eyes lighting up his face. It’s a deeply violent and slightly disturbed expression; blood speckled on his cheeks that rise with his wide smile of sharp teeth.

Yasha gets it, sort of, supposing it’s a bit like the thrill of her magic in her blood, thrumming out a forbidden rhythm she doesn’t fully understand.

The light fades from the tiefling’s eyes as the poise of battle leaves his tense shoulders, adrenaline and rage draining. He hands her back the sword, bent at an angle that makes it more useful as scrap metal than as a blade.

“Sorry.” His voice is even more scratchy now, abused from his earlier battle cry, and he tries to dampen his smile enough to look guilty.

He fails, but Yasha accepts the sword and the apology anyway.

“That’s alright. I’ve been meaning to get a new one.”

...

“Ok, you got it? One, two, three... lift!”

Yasha grunts as she takes up the other side of the pole, one of the heavy pillars that’ll hold up their tent. She’s strong, but not quite as strong as Molly, who lifts it onto his shoulder easily.

Now that they’ve been in town for a few days, he’s back to full health and full strength, decent food and a real bed making him feel better than he has in a long time. As intimidating as he can be when he’s ticked off, everyone seems to enjoy having a barbarian around to set up circus tents and move supplies from the carts.

They’ve made him a part of the family, no longer a dangerous stranger or a charity case. He’s gained a voice- courtesy of plenty of practice with Yasha- and a name- courtesy of Toya.

It takes Yasha and Molly half as long to set up the tent as it took Yasha when she was doing it alone, which gives them plenty of time to relax in the afternoon. When everyone else is practicing their acts, they sit on the banks of a nearby stream, washing clothes in the clear water.

Molly takes off his coat, the one he’s having specially made of those bright fabrics he’s become so fond of, and takes extra care in washing it. It leaves his arms bare, exposing the scars that litter his arms and torso, some from battles he remembers and others from battles he wasn’t around for.

Molly’s scars are varied, clearly from distinct enemies he came across in his travels- both before and after his memory cuts out. Yasha’s are different, all straight lines from the same cut of the same sort of blade, crisscrossing over every available surface.

Despite the differences, seeing the scars makes Yasha and Molly feel at home, a little less like freaks and more like warriors. They’ve lived through so much and they wear it on their skin as they fight side by side.

Molly looks up at Yasha with those unnerving red, pupil-less eyes and Yasha looks back with her mismatched, too bright eyes. They both smile, happy to be in each other’s company and feel at once understood and undisturbed. There are no secrets between them because they’d never ask, and there’s no shame because they’ve walked such similar paths.

Anybody who’d look at them would think they’re opposites- colorful, happy, angry Molly and dark, calm, creepy Yasha- but they fit together perfectly, totally at peace.

“You ready for the show tomorrow?”

Molly is slowly drying his coat as he talks, testing out his voice more and more these days. Yasha doesn’t mind, not like she thought she might, since helping out her friend has started to outweigh her need for silence.

“Yeah, you know, it’ll be fun. Your first show, it’s quite the experience.”

“So I’ve heard,” he pauses, thinking, then says, “I suppose we’ll be the muscle then?”

“That, and I do a bit of juggling at the beginning.”

Molly puts down his coat and stares for a second at the tall goth at his side, trying to determine if she’s joking. Her face doesn’t move to indicate she’s messing with him, remaining as deadpan as it always is.

“What, really?”

Yasha laughs and bundles her laundry up, standing as Molly scrambles to follow her.

“Yes, really.”

“You have to show me.”

Yasha bites her lip, not wanting to show off but... Molly looks so hopeful, tail swaying back and forth behind him.

“Alright, alright, take these.”

Molly takes the laundry easily, shifting the piles so they don’t obscure his view. Yasha unsheathes both of her swords, takes a few paces back and tosses themin the air, settling into a simple rhythm for a few rounds before dropping them back into her hands and bowing dramatically.

Molly’s eyes are shiny with wonder and Yasha thinks he would clap if he didn’t have his hands full.

“You should teach me sometime!”

Yasha smiles and takes some of the laundry back, looking off into the distance, where the other performers are gathering for the procession. This is just the first show of many with Molly and Yasha hopes every one of them feels as special as this one.

They’ve got a long journey ahead and she’s glad to take Molly along with her. Once a traveler, always a traveler.

“Definitely.”

[authorkimberlygrey]

I write Flight Rising stuff now I guess?

So I joined FR last year, played for about two weeks and got bored because I need some sort of goal or story to keep my attention and I was working on my novel Ascendant. Then this year @prayforelves started playing so I dusted off my account and joined her. Then she started making her own story for her dragons and again I followed in her footsteps. 

I’m still coming up with my main conflict and the majority of the world building and plot points but I did write a couple of character origins for my favorite Pearlcatcher father-and-son duo. 

This first one is for my probably-MC BogDrowned 

They tell him that his father is beautiful, that his mother is powerful. They croon that he will unite their greatness and bring it forth in countless generations. They whisper that though his father is a light dragon, he will be shadow, he will bring power and prestige to their clan, to their god.

Beside him, his siblings chirp eager replies. He joins and his voice makes the whisperers quiet. For a moment, he thinks that perhaps he has done something wrong, then warmth wraps around the shell of his world.

They tell him his voice is beautiful, the most beautiful they have ever heard. They tell him he will be Magnificent. He sings to them that he can’t wait.  

The world grows small and cramped, he presses against the walls and feels them buckle. The voices are singing encouragement, and he sings determination in return. Light floods his eyes and the world grows ten million times in size with one single crack.

“I’m here!” he sings, “I’m here! Look at me, aren’t I beautiful as you said?” He must be, for his scales shine, blacks and browns and greens. The same colors as the beautiful, beautiful world around him. He puffs his chest forward and looks up to see the singers at last.

They are speaking to a towering white dragon, though they are all towering to him. His lip curls, surely this dragon is ugly. Blisteringly bright, and not at all like the world around them.

“Ah,” says one of them, “that’s that I suppose.” This one is colored with bright greens and pinks. Ugly he thinks, surely this is what ugly looks like.

“Don’t worry,” says another, “you get some like this in every batch, its no reflection on you.” Her scales are glittering and bright, is she ugly too?

“Too bad about that voice though,” says a third. This one is colored in purples and blues.

“He will use it to sing praises to the Shadowbinder,” the final speaker is looming over him, nudging him with his polished muzzle. Colored blue and red. It is striking it is bright, surely this is an ugly dragon.

“Aren’t I beautiful?” he asks, even as the ancient dragon nudges him away from the shattered remnants of his tiny, dark world.

The ancient dragon doesn’t answer, only herds him to a small gathering of other hatchlings. Their colors are dull, or mismatched. One has a wing that hangs oddly from her side. They, he realizes, are not beautiful. He is not beautiful.

He casts a glance back at his tiny shattered world and wishes he could go back. Back to the dark where the beauty of his colors did not matter, only the beauty of his voice. He wishes that he’d never come into the light, into this massive world that somehow, manages to be smaller than the one he came from.

***

They do not call him beautiful at the temple. They call him singer, they call him tithe, they call him servant. Here, at least, his colors do not matter, only his voice. They do not want him to speak, only to sing with his beautiful voice. Songs of shadows and praise for their mistress.

So he sings. He sings of her beauty, of the shining of her luminous eyes, of the strength of her wings. He lifts his beautiful voice from his ugly throat and sings praise to the goddess that is so so beautiful.

He sings day and night, his voice echoing over the river, over the clouded scrying pool, over the shadows and the moon. The nameless priests stop on their endless patrols and sacrifices to hear him sing and they call his voice beautiful.

It tastes bitter, it tastes like mockery and derision though he knows they don’t mean it that way.

***

Once, his father comes to the temple. Even the highest priests scrape and bow to be visited by these shining beautiful dragons. Whose eyes glint with health and life, whose colors swirl in mesmerizing patterns, whose scales are polished and cleaned with pride.  

They call his father healer. They call him a servant of Light. They call him beautiful.

It burns in the back of his throat like acid, more bitter than anything else he has tasted.

His father, he learns, was a Light dragon who, for one reason or another, left his clan. No one can agree if it was a trade of pedigrees or if he was captured in a raid, or if he was outcast. No one cares though, because Zephyr is beautiful and powerful, and his healing has saved countless lives.

He learns that his father is considered one of the most beautiful in the clan, even without his healing powers. His scales shine in the darkness, whites and golds and blue-greens that swirl over his shoulders and wings. The delicate grey of his paws. He is beauty incarnate.

He looks at his father and he looks at his own muddy colors and he wonders, how could something so ugly come from someone so beautiful? He sees the way the other priests look at him and wonder the same thing.

He is a stain on his father’s legacy and it tastes bitter on the back of this throat. How dare he seek to make someone like Zephyr lesser? How dare he be born so ugly.

His father speaks to the priests and they show him the newest arrival, who is sickly and weak even to the temple. The hatchling is ugly. With a dull purple coat and random patches of brilliant orange that give the impression that someone has thrown up on her.

Zephyr heals her anyway. Touches her ugly scales with his beautiful ones and speaks to her gently.

He is surprised to learn that his father’s voice is nothing special. It is not ugly, nothing about Zephyr could be ugly, but it isn’t as beautiful as his own voice.

His father glances at him once, and his beautiful yellow eyes, smiling down at the hatchling he has healed, dim with disappointment.

Then he leaves.

That night, when he raises his voice to sing of the Shadowbinder’s beauty, his voice has a bitter, mocking edge to it. How beautiful is his goddess, more beautiful than the sun and the light, more beautiful than the glittering ice and the raging storms.

How beautiful. He laughs. So beautiful. He mocks with derision. As if beauty means anything. Why should it? Here in the darkness where no one can see clearly anyway.

He laughs himself sick and sobs himself sicker. He rakes his claws over ancient trees, twisted and gnarled. Lashes his tail and disturbs the scrying mirror, muddled and murky. There is no beauty here.

“Do not destroy the temple,” the head priest says, she doesn’t admonish the anger, only the expression of it in the temple.

He flies over the walls and unleashes his anger beyond them. His roars shake the trees, send animals fleeing and flying away from him. His claws tear through plant and rock and the water churns around him.

When his anger is spent, he collapses in the shallow water and can’t bring himself to move. His eyes close.

…...No….that is not a proper end at all…..

His eyes open and he stares into the face of his goddess. She is not beautiful. She is horrifying. He has spent his years singing of the shine in her eyes, the glittering sleekness of her scales, the delicate colors of her mighty wings.

Her eyes shine like the eyes of long-dead things. Glassy and milky and somehow, staring right through him.

Her scales glitter wetly, melting down her body. Thick and viscous, creeping through the water. Dead fish float up in its wake.

Her wings are torn and limp at her sides. Her colors are muddy and muted: murky purple, dull green, muddy brown and watery black.

She laughs at his horror. It is rasping and rattling, as though it might shake her entire, melting, rotting body apart to make such a sound. “....so surprised to see me…..am I not beautiful, my son?”

He dares not reply because the only possible answer is No.

She shakes her head. “Such foolishness….that my children have fallen to….such pointless vanity….Not you though….little ugly thing…..” She laughs again. It sounds more like a death rattle. She looms over him, the sickly shadows that melt off of her skin swirl around his paws. “I could use someone like you.”

He wakes to water in his nose, in his mouth, in his lungs. He coughs and chokes for hours, for days, it seems. When he can finally breathe again, he opens his eyes to find the world changed. The shadows remain as deep and dark as always, perhaps even darker, but he sees what they hide as though it is right in front of his muzzle.

He doesn't see the world as though it is daylight, he sees the darkness and the shadows as he always has, but they do not hide things from him anymore. They easily offer up their secrets to him and him alone.

“What--” he begins, and then stops, touching his throat with horror. His voice, his beautiful voice is as raspy and rattling as Hers had been. “What did you do to me?” he asks with his creaking, rattling, rasping voice. It sounds like claws against stone, like trees creaking in the night wind, like the death rattle of prey and foes.

It is not beautiful. Nothing about him is beautiful now.

“A gift,” the shadows snicker in a rasping voice. “For my most devoted worshiper.”   

He doesn’t return to the temple. His goddess isn’t there, in the pale shadow of beauty. She lives in the bog where he drowned, She lives in the black tears that drip from his eyes, in the gnarled, twisted branches of the trees, in the deepest, darkest shadows.

She gives him her gift and she slips back into the shadows to see what he will do with it.

He finds a bird with golden feathers and slaughters it. Cleans its skull and wears its beautiful golden feathers around his head and laughs at the idea of his father’s beauty. It is an ugly sound, but he is an ugly dragon, so at last, it fits.

[cinemaocd]

I dreamed that I was working writing advertising copy for a company called Pretty Please Pumps. Pretty Please Pumps makes dowdy “dress comfort” shoes that haven’t been restyled since the early 80s. They really only have one shoe style which is a white patent leatherette pump with a shiny teal and silver buckle. Their ad campaign is ripping off the old Easy Spirit commercial where the ladies play basketball in the pumps, only they have women playing tennis in Pretty Please Pumps.

One of my first tasks working for them is to hire a new tennis model so I get my Facebook friend Stella from high school who is 48 now and was the top seeded player in North Dakota in 1988. (In my mind she counts as a tennis celebrity.)

That went over OK, but then the owner of the company got everyone together and said that Pretty Please Pumps was going to be updating their image. And I’m thinking to myself: finally they are going to re-design these ugly ass shoes. He gets us all together to tell us that “Pretty Please Pumps is going couture.” Again, I’m thinking redesign the SHOES or get, I don’t know, a SECOND DESIGN. But nope, what he means is that we all have to wear these crazy outfits with all these ruffles and mismatched patterns and textures, designed by his wife. This thing is like a ruffled mini dress with a drop waist and over the elbow gold lame gloves. And the shoes are exactly the fucking SAME as before only now, all sales people AND staff have to wear the OUTFIT at all times. Also there is going to be a Pretty Please FASHION SHOW and I have to be in it as do all the employees. Never mind that I’m 5 foot 4 and look GOD AWFUL in the drop waist ruffle atrocity.

So we are preparing for the fashion show and we are dressed in our hideous outfits and I’m wearing the Pretty Please Pumps for the first time and ya know they are DAMN COMFY but so, so ugly. STILL. And this guy comes in wearing an African print shirt. He’s a white guy, but he is trying to rock that Wakandan vibe and he’s carrying a tray of large eggs. These are the biggest eggs I’ve ever seen, like five or six times the size of a regular chicken egg. And he demonstrates for us, what we’re all going to be doing at the fashion show. We are going to remove the top of the egg with a spoon, scoop out the baby bird inside and swallow it whole, taking care to first bite off the beak so we don’t choke to death. He takes care to reiterate that as it’s an important safety tip. He proceeds to demonstrate for us and I’m completely horrified. Like I think I might throw up just watching him, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else at Pretty Please Pumps.Everyone just like steps up and grabs their egg to get practicing. I

I reluctantly take mine and first of all, it’s not so easy to get the top off an egg with a spoon, especially while walking down a runway in high heels. That seemingly simple activity is enough for me, I don’t need to be doing a complicated kitchen maneuver, but anyway, I manage to get my egg open and I’m thinking  maybe I’ll just put a little egg white in my mouth and no one will notice, but I can’t help but think back to the whole earlier thing with the dude swallowing the whole baby bird and I just start vomiting right there on the stage and everyone is standing around comforting me saying, “that’s ok, that happens to everyone the first time...”

As if the situation weren’t stressful enough, my mother is at the fashion show and she is complaining to my boss that he is making me wear a mini skirt, not because she thinks it’s sexist, but because she thinks my legs are too fat. When my friend Stella jumps in to defend me, her father (who has been dear for like 5 years IRL) pops up in the audience to point out loudly that “he didn’t raise a whore” and neither did my mother and insists that we be allowed to wear longer skirts. It was at this point that I woke up.

[dontshootmespence]

The Perfect Gift

A/N: Day 4 of the 25 Days of BAU Christmas. This is an AU piece where Spencer and the reader are in high school. They are best friends who’ve always wanted more but never confessed (obviously), so they decide to use the paychecks from their first jobs to buy each other something they’ve always wanted and use that as a doorway to open up to the other one. Just Christmas fluff.

Spencer had saved over $1000 from his first job. His mother had wanted him to get a job in addition to school. All the money would be his to do with as he pleased, no bills to pay, but she wanted him to have the experience. “You need to be able to walk in someone else’s shoes,” she’d said. At first, he hated it. Being overloaded by school, homework and work wasn’t a lot of fun, but now it wasn’t so bad. He had over $1000 to buy Christmas presents this year, and he only had three people to buy for - his mother, his twin sister Ally, and his best friend, Y/N.

After deliberating for nearly a month, he figured out the perfect presents for his sister and his mother; they were expensive, but he wanted to spend his money freely just once before prioritizing with it. Plus, he and Ally were going to split their mother’s gift, considering she’d also just gotten her first job.

Now he just had to find something perfect for Y/N. What did you get for the person you loved? He thought he’d never be able to live without Ally, but that was a given. She knew him inside and out. Spencer had never expected to feel like he did for Y/N, and he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.

“I already know what I’m getting you,” Y/N said to Ally as she paced the latter’s room. “What do I get for Spence? What the fuck do I get for my best friend?”

Ally smirked, her legs crossed on the bed as her and Spencer’s best friend danced around the subject. “I don’t know. It depends on what you’re trying to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it depends if you want to keep your status as best friends or if you want to confess your undying love for him.” 

Ally chuckled as Y/N stopped in her tracks. “What makes you think I’m in love with your brother?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Simple biology. The fact that your eyes dilate when you’re around him. You stutter, which you never do. You can barely look him in the eye lately and when you do you blush. It’s fairly obvious. I may not be a genius like Spencer, but I can tell.” If anyone was good enough for her “little” brother, it was Y/N. “Ironically, Spencer is the only one who doesn’t know. Even Mom knows.”

Diana knew? “What?”

“Yea, she always talks about what an amazing daughter-in-law you’re going to be.” Y/N blushed all over as she sat down on the bed.

Why fight it? Ally was her best friend too. She knew, and it felt nice to have that secret lifted, at least a little bit. “I don’t know what to get him. I want it to be something he’s always wanted. Or take him to do something he’s always wanted to do. Any ideas?”

“Lemme think,” she said, stroking her chin, deep in thought over what would send the right and overt message to Spencer, because he needed overt in the face of love. “I already got him the complete works of Carl Sagan.”

“Of course you did.” He was one of Spencer’s heroes.

Ally got up and started pacing the floors of her room, leaving Y/N to rack her brain. All of a sudden, she stopped in the middle of the room. “I’ve got it!”

“Please. Grace me with your wisdom,” Y/N implored. “This needs to be good.”

“When Spencer and I were little, he wanted to know everything-”

“And that differs from now how?”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, he said that once he learned everything there was to know on Earth, he wanted to explore space.”

Spencer as an astronaut. She could see it, and she could see little Spencer playing astronaut even more so. “The planetarium down the street from school!”  Suddenly, it dawned on her. The night guard could be bribed to let someone into the planetarium at night for a little extra cash. If she could ask him how to work the equipment for the presentations, they could be alone. “Ally, you brilliant, beautiful being you!” Y/N ran from the bed and wrapped her arms around Ally. “Perfect!”

“I try. That’s what happens when you’re the older one. More experience.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re twins!”

“I’m older by six minutes!”

Spencer beamed with pride as he purchased the figure from the local comic shop. After thinking on it for so long, he didn’t what else could more perfect for her. Luke Skywalker was always one of her two favorite Star Wars characters, in addition to Princess Leia of course. The comic shop had sixth-scale figures of the Star Wars characters that looked perfectly detailed. He was a little afraid because it was a figure; it didn’t have any actual purpose, but he thought it was perfect.

On top of that, he and Ally had already purchased a vintage copy of The Wizard of Oz, which she used to read to them while they were kids. Ally insisted it be read to them every night because she wanted to go to the Emerald City. On free days after school, he’d take her into the park amongst the trees and tell her that it was the way to Emerald City, the foliage reminiscent of the castle of glimmering emeralds. 

Now for Y/N. He’d been thinking about this for months. After her father left, she’d been raised by her mother up until a few years ago, when she passed away. Thankfully, her mom had a sister, so she didn't get pulled from the life she’d always known, but she and her mother were close, like he and Ally were with each other. Shortly after she died, Y/N had told him about a necklace her mother used to wear; it was the shape of a bird wreathed in diamonds that her mother had gotten from her own mother. And then it was stolen. When Spencer passed the similar looking necklace in a window, he knew that was it.

“This must be for someone really special,” the man said with a smile. 

Spencer nodded. “She is.”

“Have you heard of knocking?” Spencer blurted out when Ally entered the room. “I’m wrapping gifts in here.” He tried to move Ally’s gift off the bed before she turned around to face him, but he was too late. Her eyes fixated on it. “Look, I know we’re not kids anymore, and you may not be into that stuff, but it’s all I could think of.”

“Is that Luke Skywalker?” She asked softly. 

“Yes.” He was suddenly very self-conscious of his choice. 

Ally started to tear up. When she was a little kid, all she wanted to do was travel to the Emerald City, and subsequently, to a galaxy far, far away. Luke and Leia were her heroes. “Spencer, I love it! Luke’s my favorite! Even more than Leia.”

“Really?” He asked incredulously. “Even more than Leia?”

“Just a little bit, but yea.” “Why?”

“Because he reminds me of you,” she replied. She wrapped him in an enormous hug and glanced down at the necklace he’d bought for Y/N, immediately realizing what it was. “She’s going to love that by the way.”

“Y/N, where are you taking me?” Spencer laughed. Blindfolds did not hold a great memory for him, so she’d insisted he keep his eyes closed as the taxi driver started them on their journey. “You said this is my Christmas present?”

“Yes, now shut up and keep your eyes closed.”

Within 10 minutes, the driver dropped them off, smiling as she handed him a $20 tip. She was too excited. The day before she’d dropped off $100 to the night guard at the planetarium and just asked that he not allow anyone else in. Inside was the pizza she’d ordered and a small wrapped gift. “Okay, now you can open your eyes.”

As he opened his eyes, the stars lit up before him. But it was too warm to be outside. Glancing around, he saw the seats. “We’re at the planetarium.” 

“Yea,” she replied, feeling the heat rise in her face. “Ally told me that you wanted to be an astronaut as a kid. I figured this was the closest you’d get to space.”

“Y/N, I...this is perfect.”

“Merry Christmas, Spence.”

She hugged him awkwardly and then sat down to eat, listening to the presentation as they did. They were both on their second slice when she remembered the small item she’d purchased. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got this too.” 

“These are perfect.” He snorted when he opened the box. It was two pairs of socks, already mismatched, with space patterns on them. Now was the time; he had to tell her. It was now or never. “I-I-I got this for you.”

Y/N couldn’t even imagine what it was. There wasn’t a whole lot that she wanted. She had what she needed, besides her mother, but that wasn’t something she was ever going to get back. Her breath caught in her throat when she opened the box. “Spence,” she whispered. “This is...this is...”

“Like the one your mom used to wear. I think. The way you described it made it seem like that’s what it looked like. I’m sorry if it’s not exactly-” He was cut off when she sat up and pressed a kiss to his lips. It felt exactly like he imagined it would, but better. 

She sat back on her heels, and brought her hand up to her mouth, as if only now realizing what she’d done. “Sorry, I just...Spencer, this is amazing. Thank you.”

“Y/N, I can’t imagine what it’s like not having your mother around anymore, but I hope this helps. And I...I just needed you to know how s-special you are to me.”

A tear fell from her eye and onto her sleeve. “Spence, I know we’ve been best friends forever, and I don’t ever want to lose that, but I like you as...more than just a friend.”

His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. “I do too.” He reached over and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

@unstoppableangel8 @coveofmemories  @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @jamiemelyn @sexualemobitch @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @reddie-for-mileven @hogwarts-konoha @original-criminal-fanfics @sassygeek77 @rt8815 @amarislestrange @sarahkay-19 @bagelsofdoom @xxfeelmylovexx @psychoticantisepticeye @emllyprentiss @dsgirl4987 @captainreid @teatimewithtiya @queenanneslace4 @the-awesome-one-with-pigtails @tippy06 @ultrarebelheart @static-001 @remember-me-forever-silent-angel

[theragamuffininitiative]

11 Questions Tag Post - again! :D

I was tagged this time by @aceofstars16 Thanks, Ace’o! ^_^

Rules: Always post the rules Answer the questions given to you Write 11 questions of your own Tag 11 people

1. If you could have the life of any superhero (including their super powers and everything else their life entails), who would you pick?

... the thing is, superheroes all seem to have pretty crappy lives. XD I’m way more into the best friend sidekicks anyhow. I already relate to Clint too much to actually want his life. XD Every time I think “oooh, that one!” I remember their friends who have died and the things they’ve destroyed and their relationships that have soured, so I’m pretty content with mine?

2. What’s your favorite type of pancake (chocolate chip, blueberry, etc.)?

I love me just a hot fresh plain pancake with warm buttery goodness on top, but blueberries and strawberries are delish. ^_^ Fun story: my mum sometimes put food coloring in the batter on holidays and birthdays: blue and red (pink lol) for 4th of July, green and red around Christmas, etc. Except one year she did green ones on St. Patrick’s Day and my weird little bro had no concept of this and somehow it resulted in him calling them Orc Flesh and that’s my family in a nut shell.

3. Do you have any pets? If so, do you have any silly nicknames for them?

I miss my peeettttttssss! I have a crazy old pupper named O’Riley, but we just call her Riley for short. And a white tom cat with stripe-patterned spots whose name is now Mo but it was Molly as a kitten before...we knew any better, and he has been called anything that has that letter combination: Moses, Monster, Moby, Mowgli, Mouse (irony), Morris, Mopey, Mo-Mo, Mozart, Monkey, etc. They live with my folks because my apartment doesn’t allow pets.

4. What is your favorite pair of socks?

I have so many happy socks! ^_^ Right now I have two pairs that I mismatch: one is gray and blue with lots of little shiny white stars, and the other is complimentary shades of blue with blue-and-yellow large outlined stars. They were very nice to wear on Independence Day. ;)

5. Do you prefer swimming or skiing?

I have sadly never been skiing in my life, so, swimming.

6. Do you read webcomics? If so, which one is your favorite?

I don’t actually! D: Except for the snippets that come across my dash, I just haven’t gotten into them. I know Silver Eye is good and I adore Heather Dixon’s blog Story Monster, she’s got great tales there. :)

7. Would you rather be youtube famous or a movie actor who is not very well known?

Hmmmm, excellent question! I have no desire to be in the spotlight at all, so a movie actor who is not very well known. Unless I got my youtube fame from doing things with other celebrities, like interviews and games and stuff. That’d be cool. :)

8. Favorite type of bird?

*gasp* Do I have a favorite type of bird??? I love birds of prey, honestly, they’re just so heckin cool. I love peacocks and the sounds they make lol. I love ravens and crows. Oh! I love oowwwwllsss. All owls, that’s my answer: owls.

9. Would you rather be able to memorize things very well, but only be able to have the knowledge and not be able to do the things you learned, or be able to learn how to do anything, but forget how to do it once you stop?

D: What kind of world is this??! It would be hopelessly frustrating to learn how to do something amazing with the knowledge that once I do it I may never be able to do it again. :( I think I would rather have the knowledge and lack the ability, because if I was really smart about the things I learned and memorized I could help other people accomplish them. I could be YouTube famous ;) for my tutorials where I have specialists come on for demonstrations.

10. Favorite sport to watch?

Baseball! :D :D :D :D And the Olympics. Especially the winter ones.

11. Favorite athlete?

Adrian Gonzales of the Dodgers. "I don't want to be remembered in baseball. I want to be remembered as a good witness for Christ.” I mean, look at this recent article. He’s just a top notch guy, and I hope he recovers soon and his career continues, but I’m glad he’s not the sort to let this stuff get him down. :)

My turn!

Ugh, coming up with questions is hard. XD

Your opinion on pizza crusts: are they to be eaten, do you eat them first, what about stuffed crust, is dipping sauce a viable option?

Your opinion on fairy lights and accent lights?

What are three things that should always go on a cheeseburger and three that should never?

In your dream kitchen, how large is it approximately, what do the cabinets look like, what type of oven is there, and do you want an island?

If you enjoy concerts do you prefer big spectacle shows or more intimate performances?

What is your current favorite pair of shoes?

First three songs on your playlist right now?

That Tumblr Meme you keep seeing and wish would stop?

That Tumblr Meme you keep seeing and it just keeps getting better?

Do you dump liquids out of disposable cups before tossing them or *cutting glance* do you throw the whole thing away?

Current favorite snack? :D

Tag time! Gonna pester some of my new followers:

@psalmpurplepaladi-n, @lorettajoy99, @song-of-the-moon-1025, @eponniia, @power-of-the-press, @kitty-thekitten, @thylovelylionheart, @supercrossdisneykeeper, @leaf-on-the-wind15, @yes-hi-im-here, @takeabreatheandsmile

[whoinwhoville]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Additional Tags: Bikini - Freeform, Swimming, jaaaaaaack, embarassed ten Series: Part 3 of Whoville's Follower Milestone Celebration Summary:

The Doctor promises Rose a visit to the best beach in the universe. But then he sees her in a brilliant bikini.

Written for  @goingtothetardis who won my follower milestone celebration ficlet for Ten x Rose canon ficlet. Prompt: Ten sees Rose in a bathing suit for the first time since he regenerated.

Rose bit her thumb. Trying to decide was proving harder than it ever should be.

“That’s what I get for owning twenty swimsuits. Who even has twenty swimsuits? This is ridiculous.”

She pawed through the pile of mismatched tops, bottoms, and one-piece water-wear.

She picked up a one-piece red suit and then tossed it aside remembering that the wrap-style top part was too big and gaped open.

Then the two-piece green tankini - an unfortunate neon phase when she was seventeen.

She picked up a very flattering white bikini - Shireen had convinced her to buy it. The minute she’d jumped into the public pool, she’d heard catcalls. It had gone see-thru. She hadn’t spoken to Shireen for a week. “I didn’t pack this? Why’s this one here?” She heard the TARDIS giggle.

The one-piece black halter had strings that went around her neck. But it had bad habit of coming untied, usually after diving into the pool. Great for tanning, terrible for having fun in the water.

Another black one — a bikini. The bottoms were a wee bit too close to thong territory.

And yet another black one - for exercise. And it felt like a compression suit.

A red bikini. She smiled wickedly and put it in the maybe pile. “Gotta love Miracle Bra.”

A metallic gold bikini — Mickey had bought it after marathoning Star Wars for the umpteenth time. (She crinkled her nose) and tossed it aside.

Pink bikini with a ruffled skirt. “What was I thinking? Am I eight?”

Pink one-piece with teeny white dots — cute pattern, but the leg holes were too low and made her feel like a granny.

White. Not see-thru. Strange smashed mono-boob thing.

She held up a navy blue one-piece. Too small.

She glanced at a sky-blue bikini. “Too much side-boob.”

“And this one is just ugly. Oh yeah, it was on the 85% discount rack at Henrik’s. Does it even fit anymore?” She held it up. “Yeah, it fits. Ugh. I hate throwing out stuff that fits.”

She picked up the red maybe suit and examined it again. “He does seem to like red. He’s always staring at my mouth when I wear that red lipstick. And the red jacket on Satellite Five — I got some good looks up and down in that outfit. But that was then. What about now? I don’t even know what his favorite color is now! Although I could guess it’s brown. I like the brown. I really like the brown. Do I have a brown one? No, I don’t look good in brown. Why would I ever wear a brown bathing suit?” Rose groaned, and fell face-forward into her fluffy comforter.

She lifted her head, and then she saw a suit that she didn’t recognize. It was hanging on the doorknob.

Rose crinkled her forehead as she pulled it off of the shiny silver handle. She held up the top by the bra straps.

“Ooh La La. Never heard of that brand. Cute name. Right size, too.”

There was nothing special about the design of the suit. No embellishments. Just a classic bikini. The color was nice and cheerful. She quickly stripped off her clothing and put it on, and then went into the bathroom to take a look.

She tugged the top, adjusting it so that it covered the parts that needed covering, but showed off the parts that she wanted to show off.

The bottoms fit well and didn’t need to any adjustment.

Rose turned this way and that, looking at her reflection. She smiled. “This makes my bum look good.” With a bite of the lip she tugged the straps, enhancing the push-up effect just slightly. Not too skimpy, not too plain. Just the right bit of oomph.

“And… we have a winner.” She let out a little hooray and quickly gathered the rest of her things and headed out to the console room.

oOo

“Time’s a ticking, Rose Tyler. Chop chop. I promise, you don’t want to miss— the… uh…”

“I’m ready. Let’s go. I can hardly wait to jump into the water.”

The Doctor stood statue-still, feet glued to the grating.

“Something wrong? Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

He tugged his ear. He clasped his hands behind his back. He shoved one hand into a coat pocket, and then the other into the pocket of his trousers, striking an awkward, uneven pose.

“Something must be wrong to got you so tongue-tied. So go on, spit it out.”

“That’s the swimsuit you’re wearing?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s my ballgown. My bikini’s in my bag.”

He blew air through is lips. “Right. Of course. Ha! Your bathing costume. Cossie. Your swim togs. Togs. Toggies. Cozzy. Bathing suit. Definitely not a ballgown. Definitely. Nope. You are a very funny human, Rose Tyler. Very, very funny. And I’ve met some humans who, and I promise you, are very very veeeery funny.” The Doctor gritted a smile. “You know who’s funny? Lucille Ball. Lovely woman. And ginger.” He sighed.

“What are you nattering on about?” she laughed, looping her arm through the acrylic hoops of her pink mesh beach bag.

“Well,” he tugged on his ear, “it’s, you know…” He waved his finger around. “Flattering.”

She smiled slyly. “That’s sorta the point, isn’t it?”

“I think you should change. Might be too… flattering for where we’re going.”

“You said this place was uninhabited. Do the birds have hangups about skin?” she joked.

He cringed.

“I’m not changing, Doctor.”

“The Victorians wore black bathing costumes over big ol’ billowing black bloomers. Ha! Awfully awesome alliteration. Ha HA! I did it again! You’da thought the undertow would have claimed more lives. I never knew how—“

“We aren’t going swimming with Queen Victoria, are we?”

“No! No. Definitely not. She’d would’ve had our heads. Or drawn and quartered. Very unpleasant. Or will take our heads. Or could. She thought you were naked before…” he trailed off.

“So then, what’s the problem, Doctor. You’re turning all red.”

Rose took a step forward.

The Doctor took a step back.

“Oh come off it. You’ve seen me in a million bikinis. What’s wrong with this one? Don’t you like yellow?”

“Yellow is absolutely brilliant. Completely and absolutely outstandingly perfect.”

“I’m going out there. You coming? Or are you just gonna stand there with your gob going nonstop?”

Rose brushed passed the Doctor and pushed the door open, illuminating the TARDIS with cheerful sunlight and the smell of salt air.

The Doctor put on his sunglasses, and slowly dragged his coat from its standard storage spot.

“Maybe it’s not the one. I did throw it away.”

He could swear he heard the TARDIS laugh.

oOo

Rose looked out towards the horizon. Small islands dotted the azure water. The beach was deserted, save the occasional sea bird flying overhead.

“So no people on this planet?”

“Nope.”

“Any dangerous animals?”

“Nope.”

“You coming? I want to get in.”

“Nope.”

“Isn’t it safe? Giant sharks with poisonous fangs? Enormous stinging jellyfish?”

“Nope.”

“Why’d we come then? You told me this was the most beautiful beach in the universe.”

The Doctor swallowed hard.

“Doctor…?” Rose crossed her arms. “What’s going on?”

“Uh… Rose, where’d you get that uh… garment you’re wearing?”

“Garment?” She snorted. “It’s a bikini. Since when did you become such a prude?”

He dragged his hands down his face. “Just answer the question.”

“It was hanging on my doorknob. I don’t know where it came from. The TARDIS must’ve put it there.” She frowned. “Why? Is it poisoned or something? Alien tech that shoots darts out of the bikini top?”

The Doctor blushed fiercely.

“You are so easy to wind up! Come on, tell me! What’s the problem?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

A slow, lopsided grin appeared. “You know what, Doctor? I think you like it. You’ve been looking.” She bit her lower lip. “New New Doctor.” Rose swung her hips as she approached him.

He squeaked.

She was now a hair-breadths away.

“You did say it was flattering.”

“Yes. Very.” He nodded, eyes closed.

Rose laughed and shook her head. “Whatever. Race you to the water!”

She took off, sprinting over the sand.

“Rose!” he bellowed. “Stop! Don’t go in the water!”

“No way!” she called over her shoulder. “You brought me swimming, so I’m gonna swim.”

The Doctor dropped onto his bum, and buried his face in his hands.

He heard her squeal as she dove into the cool, but refreshing surf.

But then she screamed.

And she screamed again. Louder.

“I’m so sorry!” he yelled hiding his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she screeched. “You put this thing in my room, didn’t you? Thought you’d play a joke?”

The Doctor pulled his lanky frame off of the sand and slowly walked backwards to the edge of the water.

“It wasn’t me, Rose. I promise. I thought the thing was gone.”

But then he heard laughing.

And then he heard sloshing.

Louder and louder. Closer and closer.

He ran up the beach, and again walked backwards, this time carrying his long, brown, full-coverage coat.

“Here. Put this on.” He held it out to her behind his back.

“Nope.” Splash, splash.

“It wasn’t my fault. Do you believe me?”

“Nope.” Splash, splash, splash, splash.

“It was Jack!” he exclaimed. “He bought it! Thought it’d be funny. You know his sense of humour. I put it in the rubbish bin. Thought the TARDIS incinerated it.”

“Apparently not,” she purred.

“Come on Rose, take the coat,” he begged.

“Nope.”

She was right behind him now. He could feel her breath on his neck. And he could feel her skin on his back. Her wet, uncovered, soft, and very bare skin.

And then Rose took the coat and slipped it on.

“You can turn around now,” she purred.

“You know what I think?”

“Nope.”

“I think you wanted me to wear the bikini. You didn’t tell me about it, because you knew what was gonna happen and wanted it to happen.”

“Nope.”

“But you did know what would happen?”

He was quiet. “Yep.”

“I am a bit disappointed, though.”

The Doctor turned around.

“Why?”

“Best bikini I’ve ever had. And now it’s gone. Dissolved straight away.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, did Jack buy you a pair of swim trunks?”

[perzival]

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More milk than cereal (nothing worse than dry cereal)
2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? Yes (but I don’t like the feeling of cold air in my ears)
3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Pens
4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Both with milk and sugar
5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Yes very
6: do you keep plants? I have some dying roses but that’s it
7: do you name your plants? Dying roses
8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? Dad dancing
9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Yes
10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Side, people who sleep on their back are weird and people who sleep on their stomach must not have boobs
11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? “Happy woof dog walker"
12: what’s your favorite planet? Pluto. Fight me. 
13: what’s something that made you smile today? @loadsofutternonsense
14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? The friend would look like @loadsofutternonsense the flat would look like an idea showroom (also I really want a bed sunken into the floor) and the city would look like London 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! You can get lightning in space
16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? Spaghetti carbonara 
17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Really dark red/brown 
18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Once I stuck a pencil in my eyebrow (I was really young) in an attempt to skip school and the lead broke off in my head and there’s still a visible blue dot above my eyebrow!
19: do you keep a journal? What do you write/draw/ in it? Nope but if I did I would try and draw the best bird I saw each day
20: what’s your favorite eye color? Green
21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. I don’t have a favourite bag!
22: are you a morning person? Yeah sure if the morning starts at 1pm
23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? @loadsofutternonsense
24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? @loadsofutternonsense
25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? What no I’m a well behaved citizen 
26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? My mum always throws away shoes when I’m getting attached to them (when they get gross)
27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? Bubblegum.
28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset 
29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? @loadsofutternonsense has the cutest smile
30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? Yes, I’m fairly pathetic
31: what is your opinion of socks? Do you like wearing weird socks? Do you sleep with socks? Do you confine yourself to white sock hell? Really, just talk about socks. I LOVE SOCKS I LOVE ALL SOCKS I LOVE MISMATCHING MY SOCKS I LOVE NEW SOCKS I LOVE PATTERNED SOCKS I REALLY WANT ALL THE SOCKS
32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3am when you were with friends. I’m really not that cool I don’t get out that often
33: what’s your fave pastry? APPLE PIE
34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. What is it called? What does it look like? Do you still keep it? As a kid????? I still have tons but my special one is an owl called Psusu (the P is silent) he’s super cool and has loads of jumpers my granny knitted him
35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? Do you use them often? YES but I don’t use them that often
36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? The 1975 kinda have songs for all my moods so…
37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? I like keeping it clean I just never manage to
38: tell us about your pet peeves! People in general
39: what color do you wear the most? Grey
40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? Does it have any meaning to you? A silver ring with my school crest on and the date of our final year.
41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? How we’ll live on Mars by Stephen Petranek
42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? Describe it! Lady Dinah’s Cat Emporium! A cat cafe that @loadsofutternonsense took me to 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? No one 
44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? I’m constantly anxious
45: do you trust your instincts a lot? No
46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. You can drive but do you avocado….yeah awful
47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? Avocados
48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? Is it the same today? YES, the sea in general I absolutely hate it
49: do you like buying cds and records? What was the last one you bought? Yasssss so much! A head full of dreams- coldplay
50: what’s an odd thing you collect? Tickets but that’s not that odd
51: think of a person. What song do you associate with them? @loadsofutternonsense
Loving somwone- the 197552: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? Orange cheeto
53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? Heathers? Beetlejuice? Pulp fiction? What do you think of them? No actually never watched any of these 
54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? “Yourself in the mirror” - @loadsofutternonsense
55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? I’m so dramatic and now I can’t think of anything!
56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Letting me pet their dogs. 
57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. How did it make you feel? Did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? It just made me miss my friend Lucy
58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? Why? @loadsofutternonsense only because I’ve offended him in saying so
59: what’s your favorite myth? My love life (jk)
60: do you like poetry? What are some of your faves? No I don’t like poetry at all
61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? The stupidest one you’ve ever received? I gave my friend a shirt I knew she hated just to annoy her. She gave me three odd socks in return. 
62: do you drink juice in the morning? Which kind? No I drink coffee because I’m weak
63: are you fussy about your books and music? Do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? No not really my CDs are scattered around my car and my books are all on various different shelves in my parents’ house 
64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Black
65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? Unsure actually
66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Dying roses ;)
67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? They make me feel less guilty about staying inside and playing video games
68: what’s winter like where you live? Cold it’s England, not snowy enough
69: what are your favorite board games? Risk, harry potter cluedo, diplomacy, the game of life, settlers of catan
70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope
71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? Peach iced 
72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? Yes but in denial about it
73: what are some of your worst habits? Having no emotions (I kid I have some)
74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Complete idiot who I love very much 
75: tell us about your pets! I HAVE TOO MANY AND I LOVE THEM ALL TOO MUCH
76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? Maths or @loadsofutternonsense77: pink or yellow lemonade? Pink
78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? Somewhere in the middle
79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? @loadsofutternonsense
once surprised me after class which was adorable, he’s also surprised me with roses (currently dying)80: what color are your bedroom walls? Did you choose that color? If so, why? Boring white I didn’t choose that colour my parents did.
81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. This requires imagination which I don’t have
82: are/were you good in school? Not really 
83: what’s some of your favorite album art? Death of a bachelor- panic! At the disco
84: are you planning on getting tattoos? Which ones? No but if I saw a tattoo I really really liked I might consider it
85: do you read comics? What are your faves? Not anymore but I used to read captain America ones
86: do you like concept albums? Which ones? Unsure
87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? BRIDGET JONES (all 3), LOVE ACTUALLY, STAR WARS AND CLOUD ATLAS
88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? No
89: are you close to your parents? No
90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. I’m not a fan of cities 
91: where do you plan on traveling this year? Hopefully Scotland in the summer and I’m going to Norway next week
92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? Somewhere between (cheese is great)
93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? 
My hair does its own thing no one can stop it94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My friend Lauren
95: what are your plans for this weekend? Falconry, packing for norway and visiting my granny
96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? My. Laptop. Is. Broken. Would if I could 
97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? Can’t remember. Gemini. Hufflepuff. 
98: when’s the last time you went hiking? Did you enjoy it? 2015 I went to Madagascar I loved it and hated it
99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Chocolate - the 1975, Black me out - against me!
100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? Why? 5 years in the future! Because hopefully I’ll have more freedom then and also @loadsofutternonsense will be there, he wouldn’t be if I went back 5 years

@loadsofutternonsense is an idiot and I did not enjoy answering all 100 questions