#sounds like manner of death + laws of attraction

[mysterygrl20]

NEW GL SERIES!!

The romantic investigative sapphic novel Cranium has been announced as a series. 📺

“This story is a fun detective story that combines the relationship of two female doctors who used to be enemies since school. But because of a major tragic plane crash, it makes both of them have to come together to prove who the victims are in this plane and 'who' is behind it!”

[shaisuki]

📌 day thirteen: hand kink + trafalgar law

law's hands are god's work.

his long digits are thick with the reasonable amount of calluses. rough to touch but there's the smoothness of it despite the sword he wields and the medical apparatus tiny to his hold, even a needle is a stray of hair. it amazes you how skilled those fingers are and you can't seem to tear your gaze away from them. the tattoos also added to the appeal of his sculpted hands.

the thought of the things his hands can do runs through your head. similar to a clock running after a cog is placed and if only.....

“(y/n)-ya.�� the former shichibukai snaps at you. breaking your trance that were not so innocent and there's his hands again. so inviting and you can only bite your lip in wanting those fingers to be inside you. you didn't even hide your attraction towards his hands.

the surgeon of death chuckles at your action, amused at how you find his hands distracting — attractive. blatantly following every movement that even in the smallest of ministration like how he holds his books leaves you bothered.

“you like my hands this much, (y/n)-ya.” his tone low and gravelly sending shivers down your spine. he cups your soft jaw with his hand and a familiar heat settling in the pit of your stomach engulfs you. it doesn't sound a question when he asks you that, more like it's confirming this unnatural attraction towards a certain body part of his.

your face burns in embarrassment from how he casually said that. swallowing, you slowly nod. confirming your attraction towards his hands and he's smirking. you might be as well attracted to his smile but screw that, you like all of him. you like your captain that much that you were getting bold from the attention he was giving you.

he leans down to face you, his breath hot. tickling your face and then his pointer finger brushes to your lips before holding your chin with his thumb and index finger. “why don't you sit down, (y/n)-ya. as a doctor we need to check up on you.” his tone suggestive and his smirk grew wider.

he might as well be damned at this. your expression leaves nothing to his imagination. your round face was devoid of anything that suggests that you're uncomfortable, you were at ease. might as well be hazy while soft moans leaves your mouth while he traces your voluptuous body with his hands. making sure it grazes, a featherlight touch that sends you in pure ecstacy.

“i thought you were one of the good ones, (y/n)-ya. spending time with me did revealed your desires, eh.” he comments. caressing your round cheeks with the back of his finger. marvelling at the softness and bounciness of it in his touch and it brushes to your lower lip. his thumb pressing gently to watch your lips flatten against his touch.

“suck.” he orders and you did it without hesitation. opening your mouth before engulfing his finger with your lips. softly moaning as your tongue swirls around his thick digit. law sharply inhales. he slowly take out his finger. a wet pop can be heard from how your lips pursed into an o manner.

his hands slowly descends cupping your chest and then to your round belly before it stops to your fat mound. his grin teasing and you buck your hips in anticipation.

“patience, (y/n)-ya, i'm not done with you.”

[thed4rkhand]

planets through the first house

Planets through the first house

Ready for yet another astrology post? We’ll be covering the results of different planets when placed in the first house of a birth chart. Remember that astrology is super fickle and changes dramatically with sign placement, aspects and conjunctions. So without any further delay, lets get into it! Do reblog and like, it took me a lot of effort to compile my observations! Feel free to leave feedback!

Trigger warning- too many, these are just my observations. Also i didn’t proof read, so spelling mistkes could be there.

for Rahu, look at the saturn part. (north node)

for ketu, look at the mars part. (south node)

Sun in the first house-

When sun is in the first house of a birth chart, the person may be heavily influenced by their father. They may look like their father or have a similar personality. Such people tend to be perfectionists, its their way or the highway. They may have a tendency to gain weight easily, however if its in scorpio then they’ll dramatically shed it and gain it, in a loop. They are extremely magnetic people. They may deal with foreigners on a regular basis, or speak a foreign language. They may deal with the government very often and may work for the government as diplomats. They may obtain their higher education abroad. They can remain quite childlike till much older. They can be very protective of their community, traditions and religion, and aim to spread awareness about it. These people are actually rarely concerned with someone’s exterior, because often times such people have such good intuition and spiritual powers (some are literally called mystics because of this), they can literally see through someone. For this reason, they actually don’t like associating with too many people, despite having a very charming personality. These are the kind of people that keep searching for ‘the one’. People may approach them regarding projects first, and they may work for the government. They may have extremely powerful enemies, but they shall defeat them. They may be closer to their mother’s family and culture. They may have a peculiar accent when talking, and many people will compliment their speech. They may have frizzy and big hair. They’ll have heavy acne in their younger years. They’ll have small squinted eyes, often accompanied by crows feet. They’ll appear much younger, and so will their mother. Their mother might be very short. They hate being indebted and like paying off loans quickly. They’ll have beautiful hands, and they have a habit of growing their nails. Many of them like to sing. Their father could’ve been a teacher or worked in heavy research based fields, maybe even a musician or doctor. Their life may go through rapid ups and down throughout. They may be extremely fond of cattle and horses, and hate flying. They may interject and cut people off in conversations. They will fall for married people or people in relationships, they will be good cooks and feel alienated by their mothers. They may wear glasses early on, and also they’re into fire rituals or fire. (pyromaniacs?). you will critique people and say terrible things you don’t mean when angry. You will have a large forehead or a receding hairline. You’ll have nightmares and premonitions about death and illness. You might be very very fond of gold or golden colours. You will be argumentative.

Moon in the first house-

When moon is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their mother. They may resemble their mother or have a similar personality. Such people are extremely moody and are always preoccupied with other’s opinion of them. They may have a tendency to fluctuate between their body weight, and are likely to have body dysmorphia. They have short necks and generally are short in height too. They’re very critical and over-analyze everything and everyone. Sometimes, even unconsciously, they manipulate people to suit their needs and whims. They get side tracked too often and have difficulty focussing on one task at hand, often amounting to laziness in other people’s eyes, even if the native is extremely hardworking in reality. However when in comes to personal care, they tend to do things in a very half-hearted manner. These people are also prone to isolating themselves from others, especially when things get hard. Such  people tend to be famous or popular in friend circles, or at the very least well known. They can be extremely picky people and often can be obsessive in their thoughts. They may follow their mother’s footpath professionally, and may want to pursue fields related to law, beauty/architecture and biology. Their mother’s were very involved in their life. Such people are always on the internet trying to look up astrology posts, tarot, etc. They like knowing whats going to happen and like to be prepared for it. They can be extremely manipulative when they want to be. They may see a lot of prophetic dreams, and their mother or them often have pressure buildup in their ears or can hear random sounds or voices. They enjoy looking at stars and the night sky. They enjoy a strange fascination for water and looking at people’s eyes. They could be into massaging people or have ‘healing hands’, or their mother could.

Venus in the first house-

When Venus is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their colleagues, significant others, or their families. They’re extremely swayed by people’s opinions of them, and often because of this are very unsure in their abilities. Big doe-like yes are often seen with this, and an inmate ability to gain beer-blotches on their face. They attract people to them. They may have bad relationships with their families, and their mother could have had a miscarriage just before them. They can be hyper sensitive regarding taste, smell and sound. They may be excellent singers or play musical instruments. They dress up glamorously for parties, but when at home or alone, they’re usually roaming around like they’re homeless. They suffer depression if they’re not looking their best even, heavily into working out and grooming. They may be extremely religious or spiritual and may mediate a lot. They explain concepts very well and can be some of the best teachers around. They usually attract female friends. They love the smell of musk and love digging deep and researching, even stalking. They could be into ancient civilizations and history, photography and art, gardening and plants, fascinated with concepts of violence and death. They sit on their bed and work, they love the sound of fire crackling and fireplaces, they gain when in relationships and love asmr sounds. The most competitive people ever and so very possessive of their own goods, also back and forth with morality (eg. One day spiritual and the next they love material goods, one day vegan and then back to being a non-vegetarian)

Mercury in the first house-

When mercury is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by what extended family or acquaintances think of them. Such people are also very concerned about their health, and can be hypochondriacs. They may also at all times think that people hate them, without any reason. They could be great speakers or orators or writers. They can have a great imagination, that is extremely vivid and unique, especially as a kid. They may want to pursue careers related to beauty with such a positioning, or even theatre or music. They may have a very unique appearance, and may appear androgynous. For women, they could look like their fathers, and for men, they can look like their mothers. They may be into research and like getting to the bottom of a matter. They may always have this appearance of half-closed eyes, they never open them fully. This gives them this drowsy look. They love making spread-sheets and calculating their expenses. They could have liver or kidney issues. They may get into occult due to their siblings. A lot of transformation comes into their life due to their family and pets. They may want to live abroad. They may have addiction issues to substances like alcohol and drugs. They may have troubles with their father. May cause rifts between your mother and your father too, causes them to have a love-less marriage. They may be called snake-like, dream of snakes and walk with a very purposeful walk, they kind of sway alot. They may be extremely secretive in life. You may have lactose intolerance, and may be envious of other people’s success. You or your parents have a lot of unaccounted wealth. Such people could hear voices in their heads, see prophetic dreams and have fears of the deep water. This could make someone very tall as well. May be fond of children and old people. Either extremely thick eyebrows or no eyebrows. Dimples are very common. Long necks and dark circles, deep sunken eyes. Very cutesy appearance. Skin is discolored and if the position is afflicted, skin diseases are common. Long hands and loves instruments like the piano. You can separately raise your eyebrows and the most, I mean the most, theatrical ones.

Mars in the first house-

When mars is in the first house of a birth chart, they’re very conscious of their own opinion, or are always thinking that someone may be watching them, like paranormally. Also, they’re largely confident in themselves, for they don’t really pay that much attention to others. In fact they’ll go out of their way to rebel. They could have suffered through acne, heat boils and other skin diseases. They have frizzy or curly hair, and very reddish complexions. These are the people who blush so easily and prominently. You may have skin scarring with this, as simple as acne marks and freckles, to larger scars and burns. So expressive, the type of people who can separately raise their eyebrows. They tend to be the type who change their appearance so very often, from weight fluctuations, to piercings, to hair colors, wardrobe rehauls, and all. They can have an element of looking foreign or different. They may have huge eyes and they’re almost protruding or absolutely sunken, massive cheekbones or hallowed out cheeks. They may have this mysterious look to their eyes, and this always sad or lost look. Eyes are very red, and often they have issues like sinus or nose is always blocked or watering. They may have hidden wealth, also the type of people to have the type of personality where you would never suspect they’re into occult. They are very close or have some karmic relationship (could be negative) with their father’s brothers. They also always think about escaping, largely to forests and retreating there for a bit. Very into finding cures and deep research. Also love dears, might worship shiva and are addicted to coffee. Also fasination with the moon. People might attract stalkers with this. Hoarders and so critical everything and everyone, especially hoarders of photos. Photographs memory and love for photography and art. Love for music and music instruments, and may own one and keep it in their room. Fidget by tapping pens or feet, have to make a sound. Can be argumentative and terrible tempers. They love garlic and onion and root vegetable stuff honestly. Also weird affinity for horses and speed. Also they love seats with hand-rests, the comfy sink into ones. They’re the types who go for the head of the table seat. Also we’re you born via a c-section and not natural birth? Something is off about your birth, could be the only child.

Saturn in the first house-

When Saturn is in the first house of a birth chart, it makes people extremely unconventional and almost a social outcaste. They can sometimes have these half shut lazy eyes, where their eyelid is heavy and big, and they always appear to be drowsy. They may be alarmingly fond of animals, especially large wild animals. Also they’re absolute perfectionists, they just get up and destroy the things they created and don’t like. Also rain or thunder ASMR. They’re also neat freaks, they like their stuff kept a particular way and don’t go around cleaning their room or touching stuff. They are usually influenced by their mother and are quite close to them, unless you’re born in the evening or night time, then you’re absolutely like your father, resemble him and act like him. They may hear a lot of sounds very regularly, in their head. Could be schizophrenic or just hear loud thumping sounds. Possible love having musically instruments in their house and could play one, or they know a lot of musicians. They may be the youngest in their peer groups or colleagues, sometimes oldest. They do have old-soul personalities though. They love doing volunteer work at shelters and looking out for the underprivileged. Their upbringing could have been strict. They make friends from around the world, you’ll actually notice that they might have a lot of middle-eastern friends or be intrigued by their culture. They could have problems with their backs and legs. Further, they may be very no-nonsense strict teacher kind of person. They can also alternatively be the life of the party person, or both really. They could either be extremely happy and jumpy in public and really broody in private, or the other way around. They work so hard yet rarely get results. They suffer through a lot of ups and downs in life. Usually this gives an innate ability to lose weight and appear rather slender, also tall. This usually gives some kind of unique features to the face, large eyebrows, pointy cheekbones, small mouths, exaggerated features and this kind of drugged up look in their eyes. For women, this gives a curvy look to the body, with great breasts (in relation to proportions). People love cheese here, also they are great with children. They get blamed for cheating or other issues when they haven’t done it. You go against dogmatic thinking. You may attract men and women. Great looking feet and omg the obsession with shoes? Stop it already, you don’t need more. Also stop looking at the watch and making schedules, stop being obsessed with time, or really stop procrastinating.

Jupiter in the first house-

When Jupiter is in the first house of a chart, one is usually undeniably lucky in life. People with this placement tend to be tall, and if not then they have a big bone structure. They will have beautiful feet. They gain weight easily. They are heavily influenced by their fathers and spouses. They like scholarly debates and discussions and dislike arguments. They are fond of foreign cultures and the other dimensions, they believe in religious interventions and god. They can be a bit conservative in nature. They were either born in a comfortably rich household or will have it later. They or their parents own more than one property. Their mother has bad health, and could’ve fallen sick after giving birth to them or never had children after them. Their mother is spiritual. They could obtain higher education abroad. They could be into fields of liberal arts, especially law and academics (like wanting to become professors), they could alternatively also be musically inclined. They will have an enchanting speech and aura, and people will commend their oration. They can be into writing. They could enjoy traveling a lot. They keep looking for love, it is one of their priorities even from a young age. They feel connected to spirits or gods, and often feel that there is something off or unique about them. They may have clairvoyant abilities and may practice activities of the occult or astrology. They usually have on and off relationships in life. You chase people you like. You need intellectual compatibility in a relationship. Very choosy about clothes, friends, vacations and all. Don’t wake them up from sleep, they love sleeping, or alternatively never get enough sleep. You do things smartly, not with hardwork. You may be interested in real-estate. They get into spirituality very young, around 16 when Jupiter matures. They pretend to be more knowledgable than they are in certain areas, might fib. They’re proud of their occult knowledge. Their is a polarity in their personality that everyone sees and what their close friends see. Maybe they’re extroverted outside and very introverted inside. Or maybe they have family issues and never speak about it. Could be anything. Also a polarity in wanting material gains like status, success and money, and wanting liberation and wanting to become spiritual. They keep going back and forth. Also they keep changing their opinions on things. Notice they have good hands too. Also acne and scarring. Terrible tempers, and can be asexual or aromatic, or just don’t like to show that side to themselves. The letter ’t’ may be relevant to them, either in their name, their family, or their spouse. Don’t invoke spirits of the dead please, don’t keep trying to shift realities either, chill. They keep their nails long. People usually don’t know that a native is into occult, as they have a very different outside persona.

[scapegrace74-blog]

In Dreams

A/N  I don’t do Twitter, but roughly once a year I wish I did.  A few weeks back, some clever Outlander writers there came up with the idea of the Eye Sex Chronicles, in which various pre-relationship scenes between Jamie and Claire are re-imagined in a less PG way.  I asked Catrin Writes if I could join the party, and she kindly agreed.  And because I like nothing more than a challenge, the scene I chose is when Jamie comes for Claire after the Redcoat ambush in 1x01.  Rated mildly M, in case you care about that sort of thing.

Since he was a lad, Jamie had been visited by a recurring dream.  In it, he was chasing a figure through a forest.  His quarry materialized and dissolved like mist in the dappled light, with limbs as pale as bone and a thundercloud about its head.  A sidhe, perhaps, come to deceive him.

The details of the dream shifted, but the ending was always the same.  At the edge of a burn, he caught up with the apparition.  Staring into her peculiar golden eyes (for it was indeed a woman), the dirt beneath his feet gave way and he fell headlong into a bottomless unknown.  Then, he woke.

***

She had to be dreaming, Claire rationalized.  Or at least hallucinating.  It was the only explanation that fit the facts.  Redcoat soldiers wielding muskets.  Coarse ruffians speaking Gaelic and tossing her from horseback like a sack of laundry.  A Frank doppelganger trying to rape her.  Her subconscious must have muddled together her husband’s obsession with Scottish history and the emotional turmoil of their second honeymoon to produce this elaborate fantasy.  Sigmund Freud would rub his hands together with glee.

It didn’t explain, however, why she could feel every nettle and branch as they lashed against her limbs, or why the icy water of the stream she was following numbed her toes.  If she was only dreaming, she should stand still and wait for consciousness to return.  And if she were hallucinating, she doubted she’d be capable of analyzing her circumstances.  She ran because she was afraid to find out what might happen if she was wrong.   She ran because it was only a matter of time before her captors gave chase.

***

The ambush by a small patrol of Redcoats ended abruptly in the way of most skirmishes.  One minute he was fighting for his life, and the next he was leaning on his sword, sharing a flask of whisky with his brothers in arms.

Dougal had a ribald glint in his eye as he ordered Jamie to round up the Sassenach lass.  He thought he’d kept his reaction to her lovely face and near-nakedness well hidden in the dim firelight of the croft, but his uncle’s smirk said otherwise.  The men hooted as though it was a great joke - sending the virgin after the mettlesome wench.

It was only as he was retracing his steps to the strath where he’d thrown their captive from Donas’ back that he realized he was injured.  The muscles of his shoulder joint were still tender, just as she’d predicted after she’d manipulated the bones back into place.  This new pain was sharper and accompanied by the coppery tang of blood.  Compounded by the fact that he hadn’t slept or eaten more than a crust of bread in nigh on a day, it was no surprise that his head was feeling light and empty as a cloud, with a persistent buzzing sound filling his ears.  He continued his search, determined to find the lass before continuing on their way.  She’d mended him.  He at least owed her that much.

An ivory figure dashed between the trees, bringing to mind his dream.  Deja vu, the French called it.  The sense that he had lived this moment before, perhaps countless times.  Reality tilted sideways, and he could no longer discern what was true and what was illusion.  The memory of both his dream and his objective compelled him to give chase. He spurred his horse forward.

***

Damn it!  For a figment of her imagination, the tall red-headed Scot was annoyingly persistent.  Seumas.  Jamie.  Mowgli.  She’d heard the other men call him by many names, further evidence that this illogical adventure was just an inventive delusion.  She’d certainly conjured an attractive antagonist, with his raw potency and soulful blue eyes.  He was a bit too chiseled for her taste, and good lord he was gigantesque, but somehow he pulled it off without seeming a brute.  Despite the driving rain, the night spent on horseback wrapped together in his plaid hadn’t been unpleasant.  Unlike every other character in this illusion, he didn’t feel threatening.

He leapt from his horse and was approaching with his arms spread wide, a bloodied sword dangling from one hand in an offhand way.  She’d seen men approach unbroken horses in much the same manner.  Well, she was no docile mare, willing to accept the bit.  If he thought he could subdue her with sonorous words from his pretty lips, he had another thing coming.  She lifted her chin defiantly.  Maybe the way out of this nightmare was to refuse to play along.  She spat defiance in his direction, daring him to accost her.

***

Christ, she was beautiful.  It hadn’t escaped his notice when they’d first met, despite his dislocated shoulder.  But out here in the forest, with smudges of dirt marring her luminous skin and cockleburs matting her hair, she was every cautionary tale he’d learned at his father’s knee.  A bewitching siren come to lure his soul to sin.

If her foreign ways and total lack of meekness wasn’t evidence enough that she was the otherworldly creature from his dream, the violent mystery of her agate eyes confirmed it.  They were unforgettable, calling to him from across the ages.

Despite his better judgment, he stepped closer, saying something daft about throwing her over his shoulder, as though he’d ever demean her in that way.  Her breath came into short pants that caused her unbound breasts to rise and fall beneath her thin shift.  His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, to confirm that she was real.  Some lucid corner of his brain that wasn’t starved of blood and delirious with bloodlust argued that he’d spent many hours pressed up against her very mortal and lovely arse.  He ignored it in favour of another step in her direction.  Like a mindless beast, he sniffed the air.  She smelled like his mate.

***

She’d spent enough time around soldiers returning from the front to recognize the half-crazed look, the dilated pupils, the waves of sexual energy wafting off his skin.  The male animal confronted death and procreation with much the same physical response, opposite sides of the same coin.

She should have been frightened by his proximity, but instead she drew back her shoulders and stared directly into his marine gaze, daring him to take another step.  Delirious with disorientation and lack of sleep, she flirted with the combustible element that arced between them from the first.  She’d never behave so wantonly if she thought for a moment this was real. It was a harmless fantasy, made all the more appealing by the combination of artlessness and virility exuded by the man in question.

***

He dropped his sword, a useless defence against temptation.  His feet carried him forward of their own volition, answering the urgent summons in her eyes.  So close now, skirting the very edge of a precipice.  Surely his dream had been a prophecy, a foretelling of a critical juncture in his life.  Temptress or Sassenach healer, their paths were fated to cross.  There was nothing he could do to deny the hand of fate.

She’d backed against a tree and his palms came to rest on the ample swell of her hips.  He’d never touched a woman so close to her skin.  It was intoxicating, warm and supple.  She was no longer speaking, watching him instead with those predator’s eyes, wary but not afraid.  Her lips were pressed together, and he longed to pry them apart with his tongue, to taste her soul and share his own.  Bending slowly forward, the muscle in his beleaguered shoulder seized in sudden pain.  Bubbles of dizziness flooded his vision and he slumped forward, momentarily boneless, landing against her lush curves.

***

Christ, he was heavy.  One moment she had been certain he was about to kiss her senseless, and then he sagged forward, pinning her between his bloodstained torso and a tree.  Her nursing instincts sprang to life as she attempted to soothe him.  She ran her fingers through his tangled curls and over the abutments of his face, searching for a contusion and finding only tacky blood and prickly stubble.  She could feel his deep breaths echoing against her breastbone.  He groaned a word in Gaelic that made her wish she understood the tongue.

***

Pressed against her as he was, he marveled at the brilliance of God’s design.  She was soft where he was hard, a perfect counterpoint that answered the question his body had been asking since adolescence.   He wasn’t ignorant of carnal matters, but nor had he imagined that he could derive such pleasure merely from cleaving his body to hers.  In his previous trysts with with the young maids of his youth, it had never been so.

Her hands were surprisingly strong as they prodded his skin, seemingly drawn to the places that called out for her touch.   They skimmed gently over his shoulders.  The lancing pangs had faded like the morning mist, leaving him conscious only of the pulsing ache radiating from his groin.  He’d been hard beneath his plaid since fighting the Redcoats, but it had progressed to the brink of pain.   Certainly she could feel it, barely clad as she was, but he felt no shame in the knowledge.  There was a deeper magic at work here, far outside the laws of propriety.

***

Her fingertips touched the bands of muscle along his flank, having snuck unawares beneath his filthy shirt.  Her arms opened to span his torso, no longer pretending to minister to his wounds and instead holding him tight, in case he was considering retreat.  It helped that she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beyond her hair, but she could read the impulse on his dewy skin and through the vibration of his every sinew.  He wanted her.  Not only because she was a female body close at hand, but on some more fundamental level.  She wanted him as well, but that was the dream talking.

***

The thinnest filament held back the raging storm inside of him.  What few thoughts he could maintain circled around the inscrutable riddle of her identity.  If she truly was the vision from his dream, then what was her purpose?  And if she was flesh and blood, then why did she tolerate his trespass?  His answer came in the form of a whimper, sneaking from her lips to his ear and straight to his cock.  The cord snapped, and he began to rut against her in earnest, the coarse wool of his plaid scratching his swollen flesh.  

Dhia, it was a thousand times greater than any pleasure his own hand could inflict, and yet it was woefully deficient. His hips pressed forward with more force, grinding their bones together, seeking a home inside her warmth.  Rather than retreat, she answered with advances of her own.  She shuddered and moaned, her nails biting into the scars across his back.  He had no language to describe what her body was demanding.  He hurtled towards an unknowable point, both hunter and prey in a breathless pursuit.  It was bottomless and inescapable, just as in his dream.

***

She’d lost all sense of herself.  There was no Claire.  No Frank.  No everlasting dream about Scottish outlaws.  Even the rough bark of the tree against which she was pinned was gone.  All that remained was the bitter agony of incompletion and the solid male form that could deliver her from it.  She whimpered, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.  She wanted... no, she needed more.  More contact.  More friction.  More of his sublime body that answered every question she asked it wordlessly.

Broad palms slipped down to cup her ass, then lifted her as though she was made of feathers.  At that first perfect moment of connection, she cried out.  The depths opened up beneath them and her only fear was that she would fall alone.  Clamping her thighs around his hips, she circled and writhed directly over the defined prominence of his cock.  They both groaned as twin spasms spun outward from where they were fused together.  The hot rush of his eruption warmed her belly, shaking from the force of her own contractions.

The fever crept away as inexplicably as it came, leaving her stippled in gooseflesh and drowning in turmoil.  What had just happened?  Had she really allowed this stranger, this walking paradox, to bring her to gratification, fully clothed, against the trunk of some bloody Scottish tree?  And oh, when would she wake up and return to the mundane struggles of her real life? This, whatever it was, was too much to endure.

***

At the first twitch of her body after endless moments of utter stillness, he lowered her gently to her feet.  He could feel his release trickling down his thigh.  Rather than address him, if only to slap him as he deserved, she turned towards the burn.  She knelt for a long time, drinking from her cupped palm and splashing water over her face.  Doubtless, she was also rinsing his seed from her skin.  He burned with remorse.  Sidhe or not, he’d treated her contemptibly.  

The rush of blood between his ears was slowing, leaving him shaky and weak.  He bent to retrieve his sword and the ground tilted aslant beneath him.  By the time she returned from the burn, her eyes demurely focused downwards, he had mounted Donas and was able to lift her over the withers with his good arm.  He tried in vain to keep from pressing up against her, trying to atone for his previous behaviour.  They set off in search of Dougal and the others without another word.

***

The further they rode, the more Claire became convinced she had hallucinated the entire thing.  The young Scot named Jamie was still kind and solicitous, offering her a slug of whisky and sharing his plaid as the night air grew cold, but he betrayed no proof of their intimate encounter.  Along with everything else that was happening, it was too much to contemplate, so she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Well past midnight, she felt his bulk behind her slide sideways as he started to topple to the ground.

“Stop!  Help, he’s going over!”

Leaping to the ground and ordering the other men about like a petty general, she poured whisky into the newly discovered wound that pierced the trapezius muscle.  Yet more evidence, if she was looking for it, that their union in the forest had all been in her head.  Who could please a lover while bleeding out from a gunshot?

Jamie sputtered back to consciousness beneath her hands.

“Welcome back,” she commented pertly.

***

The blank screen in front of his eyes reassembled around the familiar faces of Murtagh, Dougal, Angus and the others, peering down at him in the gloom.  He must have fallen deep asleep while they fled to Leoch.  His memories were foggy, but he recalled a dream of chasing a mysterious woman through a wooded strath, catching her by the edge of a burn, and then...  well, it wouldn’t be the first time his sleeping mind brought him gratification, although generally not on horseback.

“I’m all right.  Just a wee bit dizzy,” he tried to convince the assemblage, eager to get back on his horse.  They couldn’t afford a delay.

“You're not all right,” an oddly familiar English voice pronounced.   Without waiting for him to respond, she launched into a tirade.

“Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not dead, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

He stared up in disbelief at her fiercely beautiful face, the one he recognized from his dreams.

She was here.

[smile-watches-the-untamed]

untitled student co-op AU ficbit

this is dedicated to everyone who failed to stop me. this is on your conscience. 

(also, a quick note if you’re not familiar with student co-ops: picture a self-governing, budget-conscious, socially progressive frat house. that is basically a student co-op.)

It's been a grueling afternoon of fencing practice. All Lan Zhan wants to do is return to the peace and quiet of his co-op house, put away the groceries he picked up for tomorrow night, eat a sensible dinner, ice his shoulder, and get a head start on Monday's homework.

When he reaches the familiar white brick building, he is confronted with the sight of an unfamiliar black-clad figure trying to ring the doorbell while juggling two bottles of wine.

“Oh, great!” says the stranger. “Can you give me a hand here? Or better yet, let me in?”

Lan Zhan stares at him.

“Hi!” the stranger adds, now trying to juggle the bottles and wave. He has an unfortunately attractive face and the manic charm of a man trying to con a favor. “Wei Ying, from Lotus Pier co-op. I'm here for the conference? I'm not, just, like, a very polite burglar. Or a vampire, for that matter, I guess that could also be a concern with the whole needing-an-invitation thing? Just a regular, reasonably law-abiding human boy looking for an assist with the door.” One of the bottles is slipping. He catches it by the neck, fingers deft.

“You can't have that here,” says Lan Zhan.

“What?”

Lan Zhan cannot believe he needs to explain this. It's on the website. “No alcohol in Cloud Recesses.”

The man—Wei Ying—laughs. It's light and happy-sounding, which is an inane thought. Laughter is, as a rule, a happy sound. Wei Ying is hardly worth noting in this regard. “Funny,” says Wei Ying. “Can you please get the door?”

“You can't have that here,” Lan Zhan repeats.

“But,” Wei Ying stammers, eyes wide, “but you're vegetarians! No way would a bunch of hippies ban alcohol, too, it's inhumane! Nobody can deny themselves in that many directions at once. Next you're going to tell me we're not allowed to have sex here either!”

The rule banning physical fraternization between co-op members at Cloud Recesses was struck down in 1979, but Wei Ying is clearly not actually asking for information, and anyway Lan Zhan can't think it will help anything to voice this out loud. He has the horrible sense it might somehow sound like, well, an invitation.

“We are,” says Lan Zhan, because Wei Ying has still made no move to dispose of the alcohol and is still on co-op property, “a vegetarian, substance-free co-op.”

“Substance free,” Wei Ying repeats, as if this wasn't a relatively common phrase. “But like, technically what isn't a substance? We're all made of star stuff, right?” He makes for the doorbell again. Lan Zhan, who covered a lot of ground during Wei Ying's histrionics, cuts him off. Wei Ying makes an outraged face, or possibly a mock-outraged face, it's hard to tell.

“I can't believe this,” says Wei Ying. “I genuinely can't—what am I supposed to do, drink both bottles myself on the front step in one go? I'll die of alcohol poisoning, do you really want that on your conscience? The death of a fellow co-oper?”

“There's a garbage can down the street,” says Lan Zhan.

“I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer,” says Wei Ying. “A garbage can? This is local, artesanal stuff! It would be disrespecting your entire town to throw it away.” He bites his lip in thought—as though his lips needed to be more noticeable, Lan Zhan thinks, irritated. “Here, how's this,” Wei Ying continues. “We go across the street so we're not on co-op property. I take a bottle, you take a bottle, we toast to communal living, nobody's liver is destroyed, nobody's organic, ethically sourced, and not particularly cheap wine goes to waste, and we strengthen the bonds of siblinghood between our houses, all in one fell swoop.”

Wei Ying smiles in what he has probably been told is a very winning manner. Lan Zhan refuses to be swayed.

Anyway, an entire bottle of wine is still a lot. Also, consuming alcohol in the middle of the sidewalk is almost certainly against the law. Also, Lan Zhan doesn't drink.

Also, from the way Wei Ying is now grinning, he might not have even meant it in the first place.

'What an irritating person,' thinks Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying makes another feint towards the doorbell. Lan Zhan, halfway through adjusting the bag of groceries on his shoulder, reacts purely on instinct, primed from hours of fencing practice: he grabs the first roughly fencing foil-shaped object and uses it to extend his reach, blocking Wei Ying from the house and leveling his weapon at Wei Ying's chin.

Unfortunately, that weapon is a baguette. Lan Zhan belatedly feels his ears go warm.

Wei Ying's entire face lights up. “Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god. This is the greatest thing ever to happen.” What's unmooring is that Wei Ying genuinely doesn't appear to be laughing at Lan Zhan. His look is one of pure, unmitigated delight. “Are we about to have a duel over two bottles of wine?” says Wei Ying. He actually hops up and down. “Oh man, please please please tell me that's what's happening. Tell me you have a second baguette inside that tote, I am begging you. My whole life has been in preparation for this moment.”

Wei Ying is luminous. There's no other word for it. Even his chin seems to glow with happiness.

Lan Zhan notices a feeling rising in his chest. He blinks. The warmth in his ears has spread to his eyes, his face.

“All I want in the world is to get into a dashing bread-based swordfight with a sexy stranger, are you kidding me,” Wei Ying is saying.

At the word sexy, something in Lan Zhan's brain disconnects. Or rather, it reconnects, and Lan Zhan remembers that Wei Ying is ridiculous, Wei Ying just wants to break rules, Wei Ying thinks the entire situation is a joke. 

Lan Zhan still has the baguette trained on him. He is not one for superlatives, but this may qualify as the single most awkward moment of his existence.

He returns the bread back into the tote bag, unlocks the door with his key, slips inside, and shuts the door in Wei Ying's face.

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Among the Wild Things: Chapter Eleven

Read it on AO3: Among the Wild Things: Chapter Eleven: Confrontation

The royal mausoleum was dim and a little dank; the solid stone walls and the flickering torches did little to keep out the dark chill of death.

Adrien led the way down into the crypt where the kings and queens of the past slept underneath the floor tiles and life-size statues in niches along the walls were the chief markers of which tenants rested where.

Luka found himself more than a little unsettled. He was just waiting for one of the statues to move, and he could swear he felt their eyes on him.

Adrien, however, made his way through the tomb seemingly unbothered by the images of his deceased forebearers. He also appeared to know exactly where he was going, quickly heading to the end of the row.

Luka guessed that Adrien had been to visit his mother many times over the years and was well accustomed to the place.

“Maman,” Adrien breathed, voice filled with emotion as he went up to the statue of a lovely young woman posed seated on a stone bench. She smiled tranquilly, her sightless eyes giving off a dreamy quality.

Adrien sank to his knees at her feet, placing his hand on top of her folded ones and resting his head in her lap.

“I missed you,” he whimpered. “It was so hard not even having a picture of you. I was afraid I was going to forget your face just like I’m forgetting your voice.”

Luka bit his lip, tempted to go kneel beside Adrien and wrap his arms around his mate to hold him together. At the same time, though, he didn’t want to interrupt the clearly personal moment.

Before Luka could decide, Adrien regained his composure and rose to his feet, turning his attention to the statue standing behind his mother’s with his hand possessively resting on her shoulder.

Luka had no trouble recognizing King Gabriel from the portrait Adrien had pulled out of the desk drawer in his mother’s room the night before. Surprisingly, Gabriel’s statue didn’t look new. It showed the same wear and weathering as his wife’s, indicating that the King had probably ordered the two made as a pair when the Queen had died.

“Father,” Adrien levelly addressed Gabriel’s imposing image as it scowled severely in judgment. “…I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodbye…. I’ve regretted that, but you made me feel trapped, so I didn’t think I had the option. I had to escape while I could without looking back. I hope you can at least appreciate the decisiveness of my actions.”

Predictably, Gabriel made no reply.

Adrien took a step back with a sigh, now addressing both parents as he continued, “I’m sorry that I was never really the son you’d hoped for. I’m sorry for all the disappointments.”

He then turned to look at Luka, holding out his hand for his husband to come take.

Luka swiftly answered the entreaty, coming to stand by his mate’s side, holding his hand as they presented a united front.

“I think you two always knew I wasn’t interested in women,” Adrien snorted softly. “Maybe you knew even before I did and that’s why you always said disparaging things about people who experience homosexual attraction. Maybe you thought it was some kind of choice I could un-make or an urge I could fight if I were strong enough…but it’s not.”

Luka inched in closer so that his shoulder pressed supportively against Adrien’s.

“I tried,” Adrien pleaded, his voice strained by building tears. “I tried really hard to be the son and heir you wanted. I just couldn’t make myself, quote-unquote, ‘normal’…and I’ve learned now in the past six months that that illusory ‘normal’ doesn’t exist. I don’t have to fix myself,” Adrien asserted, the tears leaving his voice to be replaced by strength and conviction.

“There’s nothing wrong with me that needs fixing. It’s okay to be gay. It’s actually something really beautiful and special…something that makes me me,” he tried to explain as a sad-but-daring-to-hope smile shyly tilted up the corners of his lips. “And I’ve found someone who loves and treasures me just the way I am.”

He nervously smiled at Luka before looking back to his parents’ statues. “Maman, Father…this is Luc…my husband.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesties,” Luka greeted, crossing his left arm over his chest and inclining forward into a slight bow, not really sure what the protocol was for meeting deceased royal in-laws.

“Maman, you would have loved him,” Adrien insisted excitedly, but then his expression sobered, and he amended, tempering his remark, “…at least…I’m sure you would have loved him if you could see past him being fae and married to your son.”

Luka squeezed Adrien’s hand, signaling that he was right there beside Adrien no matter what.

“I hope you would have eventually seen past all that,” Adrien added softly. “He takes good care of me, Maman. He’s a good person, and his love and support help me get a little closer to my full potential and being the person I want to be,” he testified, praying that his assurances would have been enough if she’d still been living.

“I have the kind of love you told me fairy stories about, Maman,” he informed her pleadingly. “Please don’t despise me just because I couldn’t find that kind of happiness with a mortal woman.”

Next, Adrien turned back to his father, a wry smile sliding into place on his lips as he chuckled, “Sometimes you did things that made me think, ‘See? He really does love me after all’. …I know you would never approve of this marriage,” he admitted with a melancholy shake of his head, “but there’s a part of me that hopes that my happiness with a fae man wouldn’t kill that little spark of affection you felt for me.”

With a tearful choke, Adrien retreated into Luka’s arms, burying his face in his mate’s chest. “I guess we’ll never know, though.”

Luka shook his head in disagreement, insisting, “They would have come around. Maybe they would have resented me for a while, and I’m sure they wouldn’t have approved of our union, but, after some time passed, they would see how happy we are together. They wouldn’t be able to begrudge a marriage that made their son happy.”

“I think you’re a bit too naïve, My Love,” Adrien sighed, but Luka’s assertions did make the tears stop. “My world can be cruel and uncaring.”

“Yes, but I refuse to believe that any parents who managed to produce a sweet, compassionate, loving person like you could reject their son because of who he loves,” Luka continued to fight Adrien’s assumptions.

“…Maybe.” Adrien finally allowed the possibility to germinated and take root in his mind. “Maybe they would come around after a while.”

“You’d win them over eventually,” Luka assured, squeezing his beloved tightly, happy to see Adrien through all the ups and downs that came with facing the demons of the life he’d left behind.

 Once Adrien regained his composure and bade his goodbyes to his parents, they headed back to the Queen’s chambers where they found Alya and Nino waiting for them, making themselves comfortable in the sitting area of the room on the settee.

“Dri!” Alya trilled in delight when she saw him, scrambling to her feet and dashing across the room to envelope him in a hug that knocked the air out of his lungs.

“It’s good to see you, Alya,” Adrien chuckled as best as he could without the benefit of oxygen. “Thank you for coming.”

She pulled back so that she was at arms’ length, holding him by the biceps to study him better. “Sunshine, you never told me you were the crown prince of the Kingdom of Agreste!” she accused.

Adrien shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. “I mean…you knew I was a prince. I told you that.”

She rolled her hazel eyes and snorted impatiently. “Yeah, but you took Luc for your mate—no offence.”

Luka smiled wryly, lifting and lowering his eyebrows in a manner that clearly stated that he was used to this kind of abuse and didn’t take it to heart.

“I thought you were the prince of some backwater, no-name kingdom,” Alya explained, “but here it turns out that you’re, like, the prince!”

“Technically, he’s the king now,” Luka pointed out helpfully.

A blush of embarrassment sparked to life on Alya’s cheeks, and her lips rounded into an “O” as she remembered the whole reason Adrien had come to the palace in the first place.

“I’m really sorry about your father, by the way,” she offered sheepishly, suddenly feeling bad for the way she’d been gossiping just the day before about the news of King Gabriel’s death and what the kingdom was going to do what with their prince missing.

She remembered the way she’d caught wind of the Queen’s death six years prior and had spent a prodigious amount of time and energy feeding on the conspiracy theories surrounding it. All at once, she felt ill because she’d treated her dear friend’s tragedy as a form of entertainment.

“I’m really sorry, Dri,” she repeated it earnestly, knowing as she squeezed his arm in support that she could never make any of it up to him.

Adrien nodded, looking down at the floor as he whispered a tired, “Thank you.”

Luka and Nino were at his side at once, resting comforting hands on shoulders and giving his hair loving tussles.

A thin smile spread across Adrien’s lips, and he looked back up at Alya with a deep weariness in his eyes. “It’s been difficult, but I’m making it through somehow. Having Luc by my side has been a blessing.”

Alya nodded, feeling awkward and, for once, unsure of what to say.

“But let’s focus on happier things, shall we?” Adrien forced himself to smile wider, trying to inject an air of levity into the conversation. “Did you hear about the wedding and the coronation scheduled for this evening?”

Alya’s eyes lit up, and she latched onto the new topic with unfeigned enthusiasm. “Oh, yes! I was just pumping Nino for information when you came in. It sounds so exciting! The pomp and the ceremony and the big feast afterwards!” She gave a vulpine bark of delight. “I wish I could see it all for myself. I’ve always dreamed of human celebrations like this.”

“You can come,” Adrien informed with a shrug that suggested it was as nothing for him to make her wildest, most cherished dreams come true.

“Really?” She almost stopped breathing.

Adrien nodded and shrugged again. “I’m king. If I say you can come, you can come, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can get over it because my word is literally law,” he assured, taking a heady pleasure in his newfound control. “…I mean, until I can foist the leadership of this kingdom upon someone else, but…”

“I would literally die of happiness,” Alya whined, near tears as she squirmed in excitement.

“Nino will have to chaperon you,” Adrien laid out the conditions.

“I can do that,” Nino gladly volunteered, looking forward to having more time to chat with the interesting fae woman.

“Just for safety,” Adrien explained. “My subjects can be a little…backward…when it comes to issues of embracing diversity. Some of them might be a bit uncomfortable if they knew you were a fox spirit, so I think it’s best if you stay close to Nino so he can help you out and keep you safe.”

“No complaints here!” Alya assured chipperly.

“And we’ll have to see about getting you a suitable dress for the event so that you fit in,” Adrien continued, voicing items of concern as they came to mind. “Nino, could you take her to see Marinette about that?”

Nino gave a snort, shaking his head as he grinned. “Marinette is going to kill you.”

Adrien waved away Nino’s assertion. “Marinette won’t kill me. Marinette loves me. She’s got at least twenty dresses just sitting around that she could make some quick adjustments to for Alya.”

“Marinette is going to kill you,” Luka snickered, imagining the seamstress’s face when Nino arrived with the request from the young king, her eyes bloodshot from working through the night on the coronation/wedding outfits. “She’s going to be livid.”

“It’ll be fine,” Adrien insisted, unconcerned. “I have faith in the supernatural abilities of my Royal Court Seamstress. There’s a reason she’s the youngest person ever to hold the title.”

“There will be shrieking,” Nino chuckled. “She’s going to take me by the shoulders and throttle me in your place.”

“You’ll survive,” Adrien promised with a wink, going over to where the decadent breakfast Alya had brought was spread out on the coffee table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m starving.”

“You’re going to be able to hear the shrieking all the way in town. People are going to think a demon has descended upon the land,” Nino muttered resignedly.

“They already think that about me,” Luka hummed as he followed Adrien over to the sitting area.

Alya arched an eyebrow in confusion. “How could they confuse you with an oni? Have they never seen one before? Don’t they have picture books? Didn’t you tell them you’re a kelpie?”

 By the time Adrien and Luka returned from their morning out and sat down to breakfast, the rest of the castle inhabitants were starting to get up and move about, getting on with their day.

Nathalie soon appeared to give them their first briefing of the day, and then it was a flurry of servants and advisors coming in and out, checking about this, asking about that, all working together (or at odds with one another) to prepare for the day’s events.

It reminded Luka of watching his mother in action at a town hall where everyone gathered to make their concerns and desires known. It boggled Luka’s mind how many different decisions Adrien had to make, how many people’s concerns he had to deal with, all the orders there were to give.

Luka wondered if the daily life of a king was always like that or if it were just because of the last-minute nature of the wedding-slash-coronation.

Everyone seemed to be in a rush, and everyone was vying for Adrien’s time and attention.

“I hate you,” Marinette announced as she came in just after noon for a fitting.

“You love me,” Adrien corrected, encircling her in a warm hug.

“No, I really think I hate you,” Marinette snorted, even as she squeezed him back. “I love Alya, however, so I’m definitely keeping her. I’m not so sure about you.”

“Were you able to find a dress that could be modified for her?” Adrien inquired as they pulled apart and Marinette went to the rack she had brought in to get the garments for Luka and Adrien to try on.

“Yes, I actually have a gorgeous orange dress that’s going to look ravishing on her. I did the measurements and marked it up for alterations. Manon’s working on it now,” Marinette informed.

“Nino’s going to faint when he sees her,” Luka hummed happily. He had been pleased with the chemistry between them that he had witnessed during breakfast, and he had high expectations for Alya in formalwear.

“Are you shipping them now?” Adrien snickered as he accepted the garment bag from Marinette.

“Nino is a good man; he deserves happiness, and I think Alya could be a good fit,” Luka replied with an innocent shrug, as if he weren’t actively scheming to get them together.

“I’m in favor of this pairing,” Marinette reported. “Nino’s been a mopey mess since you’ve been gone, leaving him with no one to moon over. If you’re going to be going back home to the fair folk before long, it would be nice if he had someone to take a romantic interest in so that he didn’t feel so lonely.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed, feeling guilty. “It would be nice if he had someone. I don’t want him to feel left out, especially now that both of us are going to have partners.”

“He’ll find the right person in time,” Marinette tried to assure with an encouraging smile. “Nino is a great guy; he’s bound to find love…so go on and try your suit out, and don’t worry so much about Nino.”

Adrien nodded, going behind the screen to change.

Luka nearly overheated when Adrien came out wearing a three-piece suit. The jacket was a long, royal blue tailcoat with striking silver embroidery tastefully done down the front of the jacket and around the sleeves. White pants and an ascot completed the look, and, as much as Luka loved his husband in his everyday clothes, Luka found that expensive clothing really suited Adrien.

“I think he’s speechless,” Adrien chuckled, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “Excellent job, Marinette.”

“I don’t know if I can really take the credit,” Marinette snickered. “My suit wouldn’t be half as stunning if you weren’t smoking hot.”

“True,” Adrien laughed, giving a spin to make the coattails fan out.

Luka gulped.

“All right.” Marinette gave Luka a clap on the back as she pushed a second garment bag into Luka’s arms. “Your turn, if you think you can walk.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Luka cleared his throat and held the garment bag in front of himself to preserve his modesty as he slunk uncomfortably across the room to the changing screen.

His own outfit was nearly identical to Adrien’s saving for the colour scheme which was inversed. Luka’s jacket and vest were white while his pants, ascot, and the embroidery on his jacket were a beautiful blue to match Adrien.

“If you need help putting anything on, just ask,” Marinette called out helpfully. “I’ve dressed plenty of people in my line of work, so you won’t scandalize me or anything. Most nobles have people who dress them, so it’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m good, but thank you very much,” Luka assured as he fought a little with the innumerable buttons.

When he was content that he looked presentable, he stepped out from behind the screen and was more than satisfied with the effect his appearance had on his mate.

Adrien’s eyes dilated, and his mouth dropped open slightly as a hearty blush spread across the bridge of his nose from one cheek to the other.

Luka zeroed in on Adrien’s throat as he swallowed hard.

“Marinette, if you don’t mind, I think I need half an hour alone with my husband to discuss important marriage stuff,” Adrien informed as he strode across the room, grabbed Luka, and dipped him into a hungry kiss.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Marinette protested with an exasperated huff, watching futilely as Adrien pulled Luka back up only to escort him over to the bed (stealing breathy kisses the whole way) and push Luka down onto it.

“Adrien, I swear, if you harm so much as a button on those outfits, I will assassinate you myself,” she growled, lamenting the fact that she had done too good of a job making both grooms look incredibly handsome.

“I love you, Marinette, but get out,” Adrien hummed happily. “That’s an order.”

Stewing and clenching her fists and jaw, Marinette stormed towards the exit, threatening over her shoulder, “Don’t you dare rip his clothes off with your teeth, Adrien! I will kill you. Take them off like civilized people and hang them up on the rack in their bags. Then copulate like bunnies. I don’t care, but don’t you dare—”

Marinette nearly got hit by the door as Nathalie entered the room.

“—Oh! Lady Sancoeur! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Marinette hastened to curtsy.

Adrien rolled off of Luka with a startled yelp, looking very much like a chastened schoolboy caught by his mother.

“…Am I interrupting?” Nathalie inquired blandly, her eyebrow arching upwards.

“Marinette was just making sure our clothes fit for the ceremony,” Adrien explained sheepishly.

Luka—who had been inoculated to this brand of embarrassment by being walked in on by or walking in himself on his mother, Rose, and Juleka—tried to stifle his laughter and an amused grin with varying degrees of success.

Adrien was adorable as he blushed and fidgeted nervously.

Luka leaned in and pressed a comforting kiss to his temple. “Everything seems to fit wonderfully, so we were just about to change back into our regular clothes until it gets closer to time for the ceremony,” Luka added to lend Adrien’s story credibility. “Marinette is truly amazing to have completed such a daunting task so quickly and so well. I’m extremely impressed.”

“Oh, well,” Marinette laughed bashfully, breaking out into a wide grin of pleasure at his lavish praises. “I couldn’t have done it without the help of my team. I’m very lucky to work with many talented people I can trust implicitly.”

“And we’re very lucky to have you to lead them,” Nathalie added, nodding her approval (a rare commodity).

Then, Nathalie was back to business, getting to the point. “The rings have just arrived from the jeweler, and we need to make sure they fit and meet with your approval so that there’s enough time to make corrections, if there are issues.”

“Oh. Right,” Adrien responded as one coming out of a reverie. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips as he got up and came over to inspect the rings which Nathalie had fished out of little satin bags.

“Sorry. I know we talked about getting rings for the ceremony this morning, but…” He nervously began to twist the ring Luka had made for him around his finger.

It didn’t feel right to replace it or even to take it off. His subjects might not consider the ceremony that Anarka had officiated at or the private rituals Luka and Adrien had exchanged in their room that first day they committed themselves to one another to be legitimate or legally binding, but Adrien did.

The makeshift ring Luka had placed on Adrien’s finger that day was a real wedding ring to him, and it felt wrong to renounce it like this.

Luka came up behind Adrien, wrapping his arms around him to give him a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, My Love,” he assured, gingerly taking Adrien’s hand and slipping off the ring, moving it over to the ring finger of Adrien’s right hand. “It doesn’t really matter which finger it’s on, does it? Isn’t the important thing that I put it there?”

Adrien hummed thoughtfully, studying the effect of this new placement.

“…Yeah,” he finally sighed, nodding decisively. “I guess you’re right, but this is only for the ceremony. Tonight, we’re switching them back. My real wedding ring gets pride of place.”

“As you wish,” Luka easily agreed, letting Adrien switch Luka’s ring from his left hand to his right as well so that they could try on the new rings.

Luka reached out for the one that Nathalie indicated was Adrien’s but then stopped, looking uncertainly at the advisor. “I remembered to tell you about my iron allergy…right?”

Nathalie gave him the vaguest hint of a smile as she assured, “You did, and I triple checked with the jeweler, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thank you.” Luka smiled nervously as he hesitantly picked up the ring, poking it with the tip of one finger first to test it before taking hold of it with confidence.

Both of the rings fit comfortably, and the fitting ended without incident.

Marinette finished inspecting both outfits and identified small details that could be improved while Nathalie gave the boys what felt like their dozenth briefing of the day.

Even after Nathalie and Marinette were both satisfied and left, that didn’t end the whirlwind of people coming in and out of the Queen’s chambers, needing Adrien’s approval or input on this or that.

Luka felt like he barely had time to breathe as the day quickly slipped away and, suddenly, it was time for the ceremony.

[readyourimgaines]

Hanahaki

Fandom: Merlin

Ship: Gwaine/Percival

This short one-shot was part of a deal I made with @dollophead-merlin​. I’m proud of all your hard work, and I hope you enjoy this, my friend! 

Summary:  Hanahaki: A fictional disease causing someone suffering from unrequited love to cough up flower petals as their lungs grow flowers. If the love is unreturned for long enough, the flowers make breathing impossible.

Percival didn’t get sick often, but when he did, the illness usually had him laid up in bed for as long as two weeks. This time was a little different. So when he stumbled into Gaius’s chambers with a hacking cough, Merlin grew worried. 

“Are you okay?” Merlin rushed up from the table where he was sitting and the gentle giant to sit down on the patients’ cot. 

“I can’t-” Percival broke out coughing again. When the coughing subsided, the knight opened his hand and frowned at the flower petal in his palm. “What…”

“I’ll find Gaius,” Merlin offered. “He’ll know what’s wrong and what to do. I’ll be back soon.” He patted the man’s shoulder and tore out of the room at a dead sprint.

*****

Gaius sat back from listening to Percival’s breathing with a furrowed brow and a frown. 

“What is it?” Merlin asked. 

“It’s a very rare disease,” Gaius sighed. “Hanahaki, they call it. There’s only one cure for it, and it isn’t always a guarantee.” 

“Well what is it?” Merlin asked. “I’ll-”

“You can’t.” Percival hung his head. 

“What are you talking about?” Merlin looked between the two. “What does Hanahaki do?” 

“It causes flowers to grow in the lungs until the love isn’t unrequited anymore,” Gaius answered when Percival didn’t open his mouth. “The only one who can stop the disease is the one who’s love Percival’s heart desires.”

“That’s why the cure isn’t guaranteed… But-but you’re in love with Gwaine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Percival whispered. 

“But he loves you as well- I know he does. He can cure you.” 

“He doesn’t, Merlin,” Percival offered a small smile. “You’ve seen the way he flirts with women. He’d have no interest in someone like me.” 

“Flirting is just words,” Merlin protested. 

“You musn't say a word of this to him, Merlin,” the knight begged. “He’ll blame himself and my death is not something he needs on his conscience.”

*****

A week went by and Percival’s breathing became shallower by the day. There wasn’t an hour when the man wasn’t light headed from lack of oxygen. He found himself wishing he had the strength to pick up a knife and end everything rather than slowly wasting away. He wasn’t even coughing anymore. 

Each member of the round table would come to Gaius’s chambers and visit with the man daily. Arthur would come and pray for him to get better, Gwaine would swear at the sight of his best friend so ill. But Gwaine was determined to find a cure for his friend. He had been told the story about Merlin’s life having been saved from a poison with a simple- yet rare flower. If he had to go to the ends of the Earth for some herb, he’d do it.

*****

“It’s not that kind of illness.” Merlin shook his head while polishing Arthur’s sword in the armory. “There is a cure, but it’s said to be an unlikely one.” 

“Well what is?” Gwaine threw the dagger he was sharpening on the  floor, making Merlin jump- almost cutting his hand on the blade in his own hands. “Merlin, please. If you know it, tell me. I have to try something. My best friend is dying and I can’t sit by and watch any longer when there’s something I could be doing.” 

“He requested I not you. If the cure doesn’t work, he doesn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“Then at least I tried and I didn’t let my friend die without a chance.”

Merlin sighed, running a hand through his hair. The long haired knight had a solid point. Even if the cure wasn’t within reach, Gwaine deserved to know and Percival deserved the chance. 

And so, with a gentle tone and deliberate word choices, Merlin told Gwaine the truth. How someone falls ill to the disease, how and why it kills, how it can be cured. As Merlin finished the explanation, as though the fates aligned, Gwen burst through the door.  

“Gwen-”

“It’s Percival. Gaius says he’ll be dead within the hour.” 

Merlin and Gwaine bolted up and followed Gwen out of the armoury and back to Gaius’s chambers. When they entered the room, Gwaine sat on the side of Percival’s cot and took the other man’s larger hand in his own, holding it tightly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gwaine begged, tears threatening to spill. “You oaf. Why didn’t you say a word of this to me?”

All Percival could do was shake his head, and even that simple action seemed to cause him pain in some manner. His breaths were now short wheezes that could be heard from across without straining one’s ears. 

Gwaine rested his forehead on Percival’s. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “I do love you. I do. Just don’t leave me. Please.” 

Percival’s breathing slowed and quieted. Everyone in the room knew what was coming. The slow rise and fall of Percival’s chest stopped and a feral sob tore from Gwaine’s throat and the sound was the tipping point of Gwen’s tears. 

“Go dtí go mbuailfimid le chéile arís, is féidir le Dia tú a shealbhú i pailme a lámh,” Merlin whispered with his eyes closed and head bowed. Percival had been raised by Druids; Merlin thought the blessing was fitting for the gentle man. 

In a final attempt to do something for the man, Gwaine pressed his lips to Percival’s. He needed his best friend alive. He loved the man and didn’t want to see him go. There was so much good for the man to do in the world. He couldn’t be taken so young. Not after everything he’d been through to get to where he was. 

As Gwaine pulled away, all hope lost, Percival took a deep, gasping breath. The painful wheezing was gone, the soft fluttering sound left too. He opened his eyes and looked at Gwaine with shock and confusion. 

“It worked!” Gwaine sobbed. He cupped Percival’s face in his hands and kissed the man again, deeper this time. Percival didn’t waste a second in returning the kiss. 

“How did you know?” Percival asked, still catching his breath from being days without it.   

“A little bird told me,” was the only answer Gwaine gave. “I begged him to- he was hesitant but I got it out of him. I need to try whatever the cure was. I love you and seeing you go so slowly- so painfully- It couldn’t be the end.” 

“You love me?” Percival asked. 

“Would you be alive if I didn’t?” Gwaine asked. “You should have told me.” 

“I didn’t think you were…” 

“You can be attracted to both, Percy. But attraction isn’t the same as love. I flirted so often to hide. My cowardice nearly cost you your life- It did cost you your life.”

“Yet your love brought me back,” Percival smiled. “That takes bravery I didn’t have.” 

“Didn’t?” 

“I don’t want to hide anymore.” 

“Then we won’t,” Gwaine vowed. “Arthur’s Camelot is different. Merlin’s not hiding anymore...Arthur’s engaged to Gwen...I don’t think he’ll deny us the same right.” 

The king had been standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe unnoticed since the two kissed and now made his presence known. “I won’t. I’ll write the law tonight.” 

“Which means I’ll be writing it and he’ll stamp it,” Merlin pointed out, drawing laughs from the room. 

“There are going to be more changes to come. I can only make the changes if the need is brought to my attention,” Arthur said. “Don’t worry. Pick the day and it shall be done.”

[gingermcl]

Raising personal frequency and why it matters.

I am not a love and light person. As in we must be positive all the time and negative feelings can’t exist. No. As someone who can literally feel a persons energy, I will say that negatively charged energy has a heavier feel to it. You literally can feel the density in the air in a room shift when an extremely negative person walks in. There is some truth in all programming. Even in psychological operations like the new age movement. The new cage movement. Earth is a realm of duality; good and bad exist here. In a realm of duality, the goal is balance. One must innerstand darkness does exist in all of us and that is ok! Too many people want to pretend darkness doesn’t exist and by ignoring evil, it grows. Don’t let the darkness control you. Anyone pushing that we have to make the darkness go completely away or that it shouldn’t exist is misinformed and I would be cautious listening to advice from said person. I would be leery of anyone attempting to tell another how to live. Pushing your will on another is the definition of black magic. With anything I ever discuss, if you don’t agree that’s cool. I’m always open to hearing new ideas and perspectives; please don’t approach me in a nasty manner. I won’t engage someone unable to have an calm conversation. Engaging and regularly interacting with negativity or negative people is a good way to lower your own frequency. We often tend to carry a frequency similar to our friends, this is why so many outgrow friends after having a spiritual awakening. We literally outgrow people on an energetic level. 

Raising personal frequency is important. Lower vibrational energies literally cannot affect folks on a higher frequency. I made a conscious effort 7 years ago to change who I was. A girl in a rehab therapy group told me about myself and I did not like what I heard. She said I was one of the most negative people she had ever met and as I began to examine my behaviors and my words, I realized she was right. It took a couple years of conscious effort to change my mindset from negative to positive. I can say today the results have been priceless. I am very appreciative of her giving me a wake up call.

If what we are told is correct and atoms are in fact what compose matter; everything in this universe is sound. Atoms are said to be made of waves and vibrations. At the molecular level atoms don’t actually touch. Atoms get extremely close to one another but they never fully touch. They’re independent energy fields and when densely packed together atoms form matter. Matter is dense....which goes along with my observation of negatively charged energy being heavier. Higher dimensions are said to be heavenly and they also do not have dense physical matter. I’m not entirely certain that physical existence isn’t a prison for the spirit. Our bodies are made of cells, prisoners are put in cells. It is blatantly obvious that those in control of this realm would like humanity on the lowest frequency possible. One intention of mind control programming is to lower the frequency of mankind, keep man in a angry, fearful, depressed, lower vibrational state. It is highly likely there are malevolent beings harvesting humanity’s soul energy. This energy is called loosh. All emotions create loosh; for some reason negative emotions generate more or more desirable energy.

The negative humans and other unseen beings/energies who have been in control of this realm for thousands of years now feed on what is known as loosh. Loosh is the life force energy created by humans when they experience emotions. Low vibrational emotions such as anger, sadness, depression, and even apathy are preferred by these negative energies than the loosh generated by positive emotions. Feeding these malevolent energies is why so much programming is done to divide the people, to make us hate our lives and ourselves, to blame mankind for the evil here, and many other trauma based mind control tactics are in place to keep humanity in a lowered state of existence. There are individuals who feel a deep seeded guilt in the heart just for being born due to this programming! The moon is thought to be emitting a low frequency in order to mind control humanity. Hence why when at full power a.k.a. a full moon humans act crazier and even violent. A full moon is when the Saturn moon matrix broadcasts the strongest signal.

If you are a person who has discovered that evil is running this realm, the best thing you can do is to do the exact opposite of what the controllers want; work on making your life peaceful, exposing the evil, healing your trauma and reprogramming yourself, disengage from the “matrix” every way you can. Be mindful of where you spend money, try not to use money, watch your words, push out negative thoughts, and love yourself. Anyone “awake” should absolutely strive for a higher frequency, honestly everyone should strive for a higher frequency. Existence is much more enjoyable and calmer when you are on a higher frequency. The law of attraction is legitimate. We attract back to us exactly what we put out into this world. Putting out positivity attracts pleasant situations and focusing on negativity creates unpleasantries.

Extremely high and extremely low vibrations do not mix, they tend to separate themselves from one another instead. Society is currently being divided. Those who are fearful are going one way and those of us who want unity are going another. How this ultimately will play out, time will tell.  

Sleep paralysis is potentially based solely on frequency. Sleep paralysis occurs when your frequency is too low. I’ve heard folks say sleep paralysis is necessary for astral projection; that is not true. Sleep paralysis is unnatural and caused by a weapon of some kind. A frequency weapon. Those on a too high frequency cannot be manipulated by such technology.

In my opinion being on a higher frequency is better is because you have access to more spiritual information and any metaphysical ability you possess functions exponentially better on a higher frequency. When my frequency goes too low, certain abilities vanish. Frequency fluctuates regularly. It typically stays in a a range normal for you, but extraordinary events like a crisis or confrontation can dramatically drop one’s frequency; it can take days, weeks, or even months to recover from some circumstances. Recognizing how important frequency is and learning how to raise your frequency are important to spiritual development. When on a higher frequency you have a better connection with your intuition, are less susceptible to mind control programming, and psychic attack.

How to raise frequency.

Meditate regularly - at least three times a week for 15 minutes to start

Spend as much time as possible outside in nature

Daily Grounding/Earthing. Walking barefoot on the earth for 15 minutes every day. Weather permitting.

Positive thoughts, actions, words, and deeds. Developing positive mantras to repeat throughout the day is helpful.

Breath work

Engage in as little conflict and negativity as you can.

Avoid alcohol and prescription drugs.

Don’t be too serious or have too many expectations for this will create resentments. Events will never unfold as we expect them to, people are much better served by going with the flow and observing how events unfold as they happen; don’t anticipate events ahead of them occurring.

Work on conquering fears. Especially the fear of death.

Practice compassion, empathy, and kindness towards everyone. Humans are equal; one isn’t better than another. Our life choices and luck is often the only thing that separates us.

Laugh

Exercise. Make sure you do something you find fun, not something you dread. Any kind of physical activity where one is having fun will raise his vibe. Dancing is a personal favorite.

Take a break from technology

Be mindful of how much time you spend on technology. Put the phone down during dinner or when you should be engaging with the people literally in front of you.

Wear and decorate with crystals. Black tourmaline and obsidian are good for negativity.

Decorate with high vibrational plants jasmine, aloe vera, or a snake plant

Be mindful of what information you watch and listen to. Movies, TV, music, social media, etc. It is best to just turn off the TV for good. Television is a weapon. Be very conscious of what information you allow to enter your mind.

Minimize interaction with toxic people. Keep conversations short, topics shallow, and have an exit plan if at an event where the environment may get unpleasant. For example drive your own car, have a friend or the babysitter call and oops I have to go….boundaries to protect your energy aren’t bad.😉

Thank your food for its life and sustenance prior to consuming it (plant or animal.) Doing this changes the food into higher vibrational intake.

Regularly cleanse negative energy from your personal spaces. Energy cleansing methods are decluttering, letting fresh air and light in, clapping loudly in the corners of a room to move stagnant energy, smudging, epsom salt baths.

Aura cleansing, visualization, cord cutting meditations

The above tips will have a positive effect on your frequency. Remember your thoughts create your reality and you get back what you put out into the universe. If your thoughts are consistently negative be prepared to have negative experiences. If you are hopeful, have faith in your ability to manifest & the universe’s ability to make things happen for you, have generally positive and laid-back nature, you will reap great rewards and experience feelings of happiness, contentment, and abundance.

I feel it is obvious by the state of the world today that humanity has been in a very negative state of mind for quite some time. There are millions of us (if not billions) that are here to change this reality, not to adapt to it. We have been called Starseeds, indigo children, and light workers; regardless of label the intent is the same - to create a positive reality on earth, to rid this place of evil, to liberate humanity from enslavement, and teach them a new way to think. We are here to help humanity realize humans are powerful creator beings and these powers have been stripped away by literal genetic manipulation. It is time for the devolution of mankind to end and for humanity to begin ascending back to the higher dimensional consciousness we once were.

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors 

Chapter 7: Ron II - The Game (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones

Word Count: 5K words

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD/Strong Violence

Ron vacantly studied the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

It had been almost nine months since the three of them had infiltrated the building, yet it felt like it happened so long ago it might as well have been in another lifetime.

The Magic is Might statue had been destroyed in the days following You Know Who’s fall – and in its place stood a gigantic memorial in tribute of all those who lost their lives to defeat him.

There wasn’t quite the same hustle and bustle that Ron was used to seeing when he’d visited the Ministry in the past with his Dad, but there was still a considerable work-force back to help run Wizarding Britain - and Ron, Hermione and Harry were attracting lots of attention from those who did walk past them.

Ron caught the eye of one of Kingsley’s aides and flagged him down.

“Is Kingsl– the Minister for Magic around?” he asked hopefully.

“The Minister is booked out for the next fortnight,” the young man replied nervously. “But I’m sure he might make an exception to see you,” he quickly added, before scurrying off quickly.

“And you wanted to come and see him on your own Hermione,” Ron said sarcastically. “That guy took one look at the famous Ron Weasley and-

“Ronald!” Hermione grumbled, as Harry laughed slightly.

“Well I’m sure Ron’s dad is technically his boss now,” Harry added.

Ron was pleased his dad had eventually relented and accepted Kingsley’s offer to be Permanent secretary to help run the Ministry, but even after just three days in the job he’d barely seen him at home, such was the vast workload.

It had made the three of them feel guilty about not getting involved in helping themselves, but they had been busy packing for their potentially long summer-trip around Australia to help Hermione find her parents.

“Ah. Mister Potter, we meet again.”

Ron saw the stern-faced Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Gawain Robards, who they’d met at Hogwarts in the aftermath of the battle.

“Mister Weasley. Miss Granger,” he said politely, as he shook both of their hands after Harry’s.

“Have to say the Minister and I thought the three of you might have taken a longer break before getting back into the swing of things. Certainly earned it. Nothing wrong with a strong work-ethic though, I like that,” he said, as Ron pondered the prospect of taking a break.

If he was honest it was one that was in-fact very appealing to him, especially given his nightmares and struggles with grief, but he would never admit it to Harry or Hermione.

He had to put on a brave face.

“We are going on a break Mister Robards. Well sort of,” Harry said.

“Oh. I see,” the Head of Magical Law Enforcement responded with a slightly disappointed look on his face.

“I did have some information I thought could be of use to you though, you know, in your hunt for the escaped Death Eaters,” Harry added.

Gawain’s eyes lit up and Ron thought it looked like the Head of Magical Law Enforcement’s mind was racing. Robards ran his hand through the beard on the bottom of his chin.

“Follow me to my office,” he barked quietly. “Can’t be too sure about what you say even in the hallways and corridors,” Gawain added, as his eyes shifted around the large open space.

“Constant vigilance,” Ron uttered in his best Alastor Moody impression.

Hermione and Harry laughed softly and even Gawain raised a brief smile.

“I miss that mad bastard,” Robards muttered as he and Harry swiftly walked away.

“What do you make of him, Ron?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Who? Mister Robards? I dunno, seems pretty alright I guess,” Ron replied.

“Do you not think it’s a little odd though? I was under the impression he was always a Scrimgeour man. Kingsley seems to be placing an awful lot of trust in him. If he was such good friends with Mad-Eye why was he never in The Order?” she reasoned, with a concerned look on her face.

“I don’t know, but I know Dad said it was never a good move politically to be a known member if you worked here. Didn’t give you a particularly long life expectancy either, especially in the old days.”

“I still don’t think we should trust him,” Hermione countered.

“Perhaps not. But I think we should play our cards a bit closer to our chest. We’re part of it now… aren’t we?” Ron asked rhetorically.

“Part of what… the Ministry?”

“The Game,” Ron whispered. “We’re pieces on the board now. Dad said working here is like one big game of chess. It’s like we’re back in that chamber in our first year. We might not want to be – but we’re pieces now, whether we like it or not. It’s time to start playing.”

“Ooh, what are you playing? Can I join?”

Ron and Hermione turned round in surprise at being interrupted by the female voice.

Ron almost didn’t recognize her at first. He’d only ever seen Hestia Jones in casual clothes before, but the dark-haired witch looked very smart in her black robes, which complimented her mocha skin and piercing brown eyes.

“Hi guys. Fancy seeing you here, ehh?” Hestia said warmly, before giving them both a quick hug.

Ron felt quite awkward when she gave him a slight kiss on the cheek, but he relaxed slightly when he saw her do the same to Hermione. He thought he caught a slight raised eyebrow from Hermione, but maybe he just imagined it.

“First day at work in the Auror office is it?” she asked.

“Not just yet,” Ron replied. “We’re just here to see Kingsl- the Minister,” he fumbled, as he corrected himself for the second time in the space of a few minutes. He felt his cheeks blushing slightly as Hestia smiled at his error.

“Well you’ll be lucky, Ron,” Hestia said sarcastically. “I’m waiting to see him myself later. We’re quite short staffed up in Obliviator HQ. Even just a few extra trainees to help with inbound news would really lift the workload. I don’t suppose you two know any half-decent muggle-borns or half-bloods that are looking for a job? They wouldn’t see much action, but the pay isn’t bad for what you have to do,” Hestia asked in a slightly jokey manner, but Ron could sense there may well have been serious undertones in her request for suggestions.

Ron mused slightly.

“Well I don’t know if they’re planning to go back to Hogwarts next year, but you could always try Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They both fought in the battle. They’re good guys.”

“They must be very good guys to have Ron Weasley speak so highly of them,” Hestia replied with a wink, which made Ron blush further. Hermione shot him a funny look.

“I best be off. Very busy up there. They’ll all be wondering where I’ve got to!” she added, sounding quite rushed.

“There was just one thing, Hestia. If you could spare another minute,” Hermione blurted quickly.

“Of course!” Hestia replied instantly, smiling at her.

“It’s just… I’ve read a lot about bewitching and memory charms, but I was wondering, if you would know… if you bewitch someone’s memory… does the length of time that they’re bewitched have any impact on being able to reverse the spell?” Hermione asked.

Hestia pondered for a moment.

“Well…” she began softly. “There’s no exact science to it, Hermione... there’s lots of extenuating factors that can influence it. If someone’s mind is vehemently opposed to the idea or memory being implanted on them, then, depending on the strength of the person’s mind, sometimes over a prolonged period of time the mind can slowly fight back and resist it-

“Sort of like when someone’s fighting back against the Imperius curse?” Ron blurted out.

“Yes, Ron. Exactly like that,” replied Hestia.

Hermione looked at Hestia hopefully.

“That’s why when implanting or removing a memory via bewitching or obliviation it is best to do so in a way that the person’s mind wouldn’t naturally resist to. For example, it is often quite easy to obliviate the memory of a muggle who has seen something they shouldn’t… like a dragon or a giant… because their mind thinks that seeing something like that is impossible to start with. If you are altering or implanting a memory in someone’s mind… it’s always best to alter it to something very similar, or if you’re implanting a memory or a thought in someone’s mind… it’s much less difficult if it’s something that that person’s mind would want to or has previously seen. To bewitch someone to have a completely independent thought or memory as if it was their own… inception… that is a very difficult art, which very few witches or wizards have ever successfully mastered. That’s why so many dark wizards just use the Imperius curse if they want to take control of someone’s mind. ”

“That’s why I bewitched my parents to move to Australia. I read that it was easier to bewitch people into doing or thinking something that they’d thought of before – and they always said they wanted to retire to Australia after I finished school. So it made perfect sense. It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll be able to reverse the bewitching of their memory to forget I existed,” she said with a worrying look on her face.

Hestia studied her for a few moments.

“It’s very difficult to make somebody permanently forget about people that they love, or have loved, even with obliviation. You can bewitch or obliviate someone’s conscious mind and memory of someone, but if it is someone very important to them, who they have known for years… then the memory of that person will still exist in their subconscious… in their dreams… and one little dream can trigger an avalanche of memories in that person’s mind. I think even just seeing you again could break part of the enchantment you cast on them, Hermione. I’m sure it will all work out just fine.”

Hermione thanked Hestia, who gave her a slight hug and smiled at Ron before rushing off back to work.

“See,” Ron began. “Nothing to worry about. I told you.”

“I’m still not totally convinced, Ron. I’m sure Hestia knows a lot more about bewitching and memory charms than I do, but when she tried to alter The Dursley’s memory so that they’d respect and love Harry-

“But that’s just what she said, isn’t it? Their minds were probably so adverse to the idea of loving Harry after hating him all his life that it backfired and went wrong. And I still reckon she did him a favour if you ask me…”

“Ronald!” Hermione groaned.

The aide that Harry had flagged down earlier was now sprinting over to them, looking completely out of breath.

“The Min…ist….er….can…see…see you now!” he panted, as he doubled over.

They thanked him before he began leading them to Kingsley’s office.

“I think Harry should stay here… if he wants to,” Hermione said quietly, as she tried to speak to Ron without Kingsley’s aide hearing her.

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Ron began. “He wants to come and help. Besides… you’ve just spent the best part of a year on the run living in a tent to help Harry defeat You Know Who. The least he can do to return the favour is come with us to Australia to help find your par-

“But Ron, don’t you see? I didn’t do all of that as a big favour to Harry… it was to help defeat You Know Who, yes, of course, that helped Harry, but that benefitted me too…and you… and everyone in the wizarding world – and the muggle one too. It would be different if they’d all been caught… but…

Hermione looked at him fearfully as she lowered her voice even lower.

“…there’s still Death Eaters out there, Ron. Murderers. And Harry can help catch them better than anyone… you know that. Whilst they’re still out there nobody is safe, not really. Not me… you… or-

“Ernie!!” Ron uttered excitedly as he saw his former Hufflepuff classmate heading out of Kingsley’s office door with a tall man, who judging by his long ponytail Ron thought must be the Auror, Robert Williamson.

“Good to see you both looking so well!” Ernie exclaimed in his typical bombastic manner. “No doubt you’ve both been recruited to join the ranks of the Aurors too…” he said knowingly. “My Uncle would be so proud that I’ve been personally head-hunted to-

“Now, now, Mister MacMillan,” Willamson tutted. “Your Uncle Albert was indeed a very proud man… and a very talented Auror… but if he taught me anything when I was a young recruit it was the fundamental importance of both modesty and respect. I endeavour to teach you both of those traits, if it’s the last thing that I do…”

Ernie made a comical face that said just what he thought of Williamson’s suggestion, before bidding Ron and Hermione farewell as he flanked his large companion.

Ron gave Hermione a bemused look as they entered Kingsley’s chambers.

The room itself was fairly dimly lit, quite large and appeared to have had a makeover since Kingsley had taken office.

There were many large moving portraits of magical creatures dotted around the walls, with the most impressive being of a giant Thunderbird flying around what Ron assumed was an African desert. Ron also shuddered slightly at an Acromantula skeleton that was transfixed on the ceiling – and noted in the far corner of the room a giant triangular grey flag with a squawking black falcon on it.

“I never knew you were a Falmouth fan!” Ron exclaimed, as Kingsley looked up from the piece of parchment he had been studying.

“Let us win, but if we cannot win… let us break a few heads,” Kingsley uttered the Falmouth Falcons’ motto, which caused Hermione to raise her eyebrow a bit, presumably not understanding the reference.

Ron noted there were moving pictures of several famous Falcons players dotted near the flag too. He recognized the infamous beaters, Karl and Kevin, the infamously brutal Broadmoor brothers of the 1960s, yet he did not recognize the fairly youthful looking dark-skinned man with dreadlocks aloft a broom on a separate picture above them.

“You’ll be pleased to know that is purely my attitude to Quidditch and not to politics, Miss Granger,” the Minister for Magic laughed, which seemed to reassure her a bit. “Although if the rumours are to be believed politics and Quidditch may well be intertwining in the coming months.”

Ron was unsure what to make of that last remark, but Kingsley quickly pressed on and changed the subject before he could think too deeply into it.

“Now… to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You’ve not changed your mind about my offer have you?” Kingsley asked as he addressed Hermione.

Ron saw his girlfriend hesitate slightly.

“It’s not… it’s not that I don’t want to… it’s just… my… I need to…”

“I totally understand if you kids want to take some time off. You of all people deserve it more than anyone. You shouldn’t rush into-

“I need to find my parents!” Hermione blurted out. “I bewitched them to move to Australia and forget they ever had a daughter. All I know is the names I gave them and that they flew out to Sydney…I thought if I knew anything more about where they were going it could be tortured out of me. It could take weeks, if not months, years even to find them. I don’t know if I’ll ever find them and if they’ll even remember me when I do and-

Ron held Hermione tight to him as she broke down slightly. Kingsley looked on with quite a concerned look on his face.

“Do you have a picture of your parents, Hermione?” Kingsley asked calmly.

“Not…not on me. I didn’t take one with me when we were on the run… just in-case. But I put a lot of our belongings and family things in a safe place. I could easily get a picture from there.”

“Then don’t worry, Hermione. I have a connection or two in the Australian ministry. If you can get me a picture of your parents by tonight, then I can get their faces on every muggle television and magical newspaper in Australia by the time the sun comes up down under. I can probably even sort you out a Portkey from here to Sydney… we’ll have you reunited within a few days,” Kingsley said calmly.

“You… you can do all of that? Just like that?” Hermione’s voice cracked slightly as Ron saw what he thought were tears of joy.

“Hey, it pays to have a friend as Minister for Magic, ehh? You got nothing to worry about, Hermione,” Kingsley replied, with a wink.

“But…but how could I ever repay you?” she said, sniffing slightly.

“The wizarding world is already forever in your debt, more than most will ever know. Consider this a thank-you for everything you have done,” he said solemnly. “There are far inferior witches and wizards who have deemed themselves worthy of far higher rewards than simply having some help in tracking down lost parents.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“So let me get this straight, Hermione,” Ron began as the two of them walked out from The Big Yellow Self Storage facility where Hermione had retrieved a few family photos.

“Some muggles have so much stuff that they pay other muggles to hold onto all of the stuff that they want, but don’t have room in their house for? I thought that was what lofts or sheds were for? Do muggles not have lofts or sheds?”

Ron really couldn’t get his head around it.

“Yes. Yes they do have lofts and sheds, but sometimes there’s not enough room in them,” Hermione began, pausing slightly as she noticed Ron’s bemused expression. “Most of the time people don’t put things into these storage units for very long. It’s usually just when they’re in the middle of moving house or have had a divorce or something.”

The idea of a divorce was just as foreign to Ron as the self-storage facility.

They were extremely rare in the wizarding world – so much so that a wizarding couple getting a divorce in Britain was practically a front-page news story every time it happened.

The only example Ron could think of was the divorce of Dolores Umbridge’s parents, which had happened well before he was born – perhaps that had been part of the reason why she grew up to be such an evil cow.

“Where are we walking to?” Ron asked, as he noticed Hermione was leading them down a side-street. He had been under the impression they were going to apparate straight back to the Ministry.

“My Mum and Dad’s isn’t far from here. Only a five minute walk or so. I thought we could stop by, not necessarily pop in, but just have a look outside perhaps. I’m just curious, that’s all,” Hermione replied and Ron muttered in agreement. He’d never actually been to Hermione’s house before, so it would be interesting even just to see it from the outside.

Ron couldn’t help but notice that the cul-de-sac wasn’t a million miles away from Privet Drive in appearance. He wondered if all muggle neighbourhoods had this same sort of generic template. Every single house on the street looked exactly the same. There was sometimes a different colour door or garage, but for the most part they were all absolutely identical.

The street itself was practically deserted. There was an old man in the distance walking a little dog – and a stray cat chasing a bird in someone’s front garden, but other than that it was very quiet.

Almost too quiet.  

“But. That’s impossible. How can-

“What is it?” Ron asked, a bit worried at the sound of concern in Hermione’s tone.

“There’s a ‘For Sale’ sign outside their house. But they would’ve only moved out less than a year ago. It took absolutely ages to sort out selling their house, what with the onward chains and what not… even then I had to use a bit of magic to speed it all up. Why would the new owners already want to… Oh Ron you don’t think-

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed as he chased after his girlfriend who had now sped up, almost into a full sprint to the house she had grown up in.

“Maybe the new owners just didn’t like the area,” Ron mused. “I don’t like it much. Gardens can’t be that big, can they? Be a struggle to have a proper game of Quidditch in one of those.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione began. “For once in your life could you please think about something other than Quidditch,” she pleaded loudly.

“Quid ditch? What’s that, then? New slang word for money is it? Old codger like me can nevva keep up.”

The two of them had been caught off guard by the interruption, but Ron noticed at once that it was the little old muggle he’d seen walking the yappy little dog who had addressed them.

“What do you two make of it, then? I’m guessing that’s why you’re ‘ere, ain’t it? ‘aving a butchers at the ‘ouse where the Twickenham Torturer made his name for ‘is-self?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged confused looks.

“I’m sorry… we don’t know what you mean. We’re just here to look at the-” Hermione begun, before the old man butted in.

“You don’t mean you’re actually ‘ere to view the ‘ouse for sale?! Christ. I know they must be selling it quite cheap by now to try and flog it, but bloomin’ ‘eck, surely you wouldn’t actually wanna live in a place where four people were murdered?!”

“Mu-mu…murdered?” Hermione gasped.

“Yeah. You two been living under a rock or something, ‘ave ya? It was a national story. Put us on the map it did. Bloody nightmare. Taken about 10 grand off the value of my ‘ouse, that has. ‘appened about 7 or 8 months ago. A family of four bought the ‘ouse off this nice couple who moved to Australia. ‘ad the right idea they did – this country’s gone to the dogs now anyway, what with Labour in they’ll have all the bloody foreigners coming ova’ now. But yeah nice young couple moved in…Mum and a Dad…two lovely young kids… little boy and a little girl, think the youngest was only 3.”

“And they…. They were murdered?! The children too?!” Hermione asked, utterly horrified. Ron too was bewildered by what he was hearing.

“Oh yeah! Nasty business it was, but ‘ere’s the thing that nobody could figure out. They’d all been tortured they had. The wife… the ‘usband… especially the little girl and the little boy. But none of the doctors or police could figure out ‘ow they died. None of them ‘ad any stab wounds or blunt force trauma to the ‘ead… nothing. The coroners all concluded that the torture alone should not ‘ave been enough to kill ‘em.”

“So they never found out who did it?” Ron asked.

“You what? Never found out who did it?! Corr blimey you two ‘ave been living under a rock, ain’t ya! The police were stumped for weeks weren’t they, but then they found out the bloke’s brother had a spare set of keys, didn’t he?”

“And so he…” Ron began, but the old man was too eager to finish his story.

“So one day ‘e just lost it, didn’t ‘e? ‘e’d only just been discharged from Iraq for a few months, they reckon ‘e was struggling to get back to civilian life. Post-traumatic stress or whatever it is they call it. ‘is missus left ‘im and they reckon ‘e walked in one day and just went nuts at them. Ain’t sure if ‘e was ‘aving visions or flashbacks or whatever… but ‘e tortured them all and then managed to kill them all. That’s the funny part though… police couldn’t actually find ‘is DNA on any of them, but course ‘is DNA was all over their gaff where ‘e sometimes popped in and out.”

“So they convicted him? Even though there was no concrete evidence that he did it?” Hermione asked in horror.

“It couldn’t ‘ave been anyone else though. No sign of a break in. ‘e’s the only person with a key. ‘ad to be ‘im. ‘ad to be,” the old man concluded.

“What if it wasn’t him? He’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit and-

"Won’t be much danger of that. Fella ‘ung ‘imself the night he got convicted. Spent the whole trial in  tears adamant that ‘e didn’t do it. Felt bad for ‘im in a way. Probably didn’t even remember doing it. Anyway I best be off, won’t keep you kids no longer, ‘er at ‘ome will ‘ave me guts for garters if I’m not back soon.”

The old man sauntered off down the road merrily as if he’d been cheerily discussing the weather, rather than a brutal homicide.

Hermione looked haunted by what he had told them.

Of course it was obvious what had really happened.

Ron had thought Hermione had perhaps been a bit over-cautious in hiding her parents on the other side of the world, but she had been very clever- and very right in what she had chosen to do.

She always was.  

[syntheticsoulmates]

Day 17- Director

Tom was expecting the air raid sirens. The bombs. The orphanage shaking down to the foundations as they all crammed in the bomb shelter besides the eyed potatoes. He was expecting the stale fear sweat scent as they all huddled together. He was even expecting Mrs. Cole to down a flask of gin without even sharing with the other matrons.

He was not expecting a polite rap against the bomb shelter door, and an even voice calling “Hello?”

The whole room hunkered down further. They couldn’t open doors during a raid. No matter that they shouldn’t even be able to hear that mild mannered voice.

The orphanage shook again. “Well, that won’t do,” the voice said, sounding cross, and then Tom felt a huge wave of magic course through the room, through him, enveloping everything. Suddenly the orphanage was terribly still and quiet, the air raid sirens gone. Tom hissed at the sheer power of the shield charm as it fizzled and sparked inside him.

The Muggles around him side-eyed him. They couldn’t feel that wash of pure power.

“I’m terribly sorry,” came the voice, completely unassuming considering what Tom had just felt. “I know this is alarming, but I’m afraid I’ll have to come in.”

Mrs. Cole, surprisingly, put down her flask. “‘Ain’t no one coming in, no how!” She called.

“Er, yes, apologies, but, er, I’m afraid there’s a time constraint?” And then the door and the cross bar just unfurled themselves, exposing a slight man wearing a hideous maroon jumper with a big goldenrod ‘H’ and a short black wand in his hand.

Magic. The orphanage turned as one to stare at Tom. Tom put his chin up under the scrutiny, refusing to be intimidated.

“I’m looking for a Tom Marvolo Riddle?” called the man, smiling crooked and self-deprecatory, obviously trying to put them all at ease. He was utterly clean, too clean to have been wandering around London. He pushed thick black (what material was that?) spectacles up his nose and peered around, looking slightly anxious and embarrassed for having broken in. Tom could tell it was an act to case the entirety of the room. 

Amy shoved Tom in front, even as he hissed at her, uncaring. He hadn’t quite hit his final growth spurt and she was still stronger than him from all the time she spent making bread with the matrons. He straightened his clothes best he could. He did not pick at the holes on the sleeves of his depressingly grey jumper.  He pretended like he’d meant to step forward and gave his best cool, unconcerned look.  

“Ah!” The man obviously knew Tom on sight, smile tinging with relief. His shoulders dropped a little. “Oh good! You’re still alive.” Tom’s gut chilled and he carefully did not snarl, did not let himself fall into the well of that familiar rage. Yes, he was still alive, no thanks to the goddamned magical world, or these bleeding Muggles, so determined to kill themselves and take him with them.

But then Tom stopped, and re-regarded the man in the doorway. Obviously a wizard, although not as tone deaf as Dumbledore in his banana yellow suit. Tom’s heart skipped a beat. Had they sent someone to rescue him? His throat felt tight.

The man strode forward, broad, confident strides. He held out his hand, although kept his wand ready in his left. “Harry Potter, Director of Magical Law Enforcement.” He paused. “Well, I will be, I suppose. Or won’t, maybe, if this goes right.” He murmured to himself, almost inaudibly. Then, a brightened: “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Potter wasn’t directly looking at him, scanning the room still, almost for a threat. Was this a trick, trying to get him to violate the Statute of Secrecy and get him kicked out of Hogwarts? Had Dumbledore sent this man? Tom looked at Mrs. Cole, who was gaping at Potter. Would it be worth it, anyway, to get out of this sad excuse of a bomb shelter and away from these bombs?

Tom held out his hand, tentatively, not sure how to take that pronouncement. Potter’s hand was small, but warm, and the heat sapped into his cold hands and made joints he didn’t even know were aching stop. The buzzing strength of Potter’s magic pulsed obviously under the skin. Potter pumped his hand, once, twice. “Pleasure,” Tom forced out, running this scenario through his head. Could he dare to hope for a rescue?

Potter kept his face smiling, but his slight eyebrow twitched, like he could tell Tom was lying. “Well, anyway, we need to get out of here right now,” Potter said, urgent. He started to herd Tom to the door. “I cast a shield, but it will only work against Muggle weaponry. Do you have your wand?” He looked Tom up and down. “Pull it out. Don’t worry about the Trace. I’m giving you dispensation to-”

Then Mrs. Cole. Melted.

���Traitor!” The melted morass of Mrs. Cole shrieked, growing taller, eyes glowing. A thick rope of stuff reached out and grabbed Tom around the wrist.

“Bugger!” Potter shouted, and sent a burst of spell-fire at Mrs. Cole, catching her across the torso and arm, blowing Tom free. The top half of the Mrs. Cole-that-wasn’t splattered across the wall and Billy Stubbs like so much mud. The bottom of half of Mrs. Cole kept moving, and Tom felt a pull in the air, like being squeezed, and the bottom of Mrs. Cole seemed to attract itself back in.

Billy Stubbs screamed and then choked as the sludge of Mrs. Cole sucked itself out of his mouth and reformed.

Potter grabbed Tom by the shoulder and yanked him towards the door. Tom blinked like an idiot, watching Mrs. Cole’s flesh writhe and restructure itself. Her chin opened, a giant maw, revealing a morass of uneven jagged teeth and a thick black pulpy tongue. Potter made an exasperated sound, and then seized Tom by the back of the neck and physically hauled him out the door.

Potter sent the door crashing shut with an non-verbal flick of his wand, and Tom caught up to himself enough to draw his own wand out of his pocket.

Potter didn’t stop, continuing to pull Tom out of the orphanage basement roughly. Tom could see the thick sludge that comprised Mrs. Cole squeezing itself out through the door’s sill and almost gagged.

“What the hell is that?!” Tom shrieked.

Potter grunted, and hauled him bodily up the stairs. Tom tried to get his legs underneath him, but they felt like a baby faun’s, struggling but still collapsing.  “Homunculus of some sort, I imagine. It’s been sent to kill you. Keep up.”

Tom looked down at his wrist, a bright red from the not!Mrs. Cole’s grip, and puzzled that over. He hardly seemed important enough to kill, as much as that pronouncement flattered. “And you?” Tom asked, feeling crazed.

“I’m here to help,” Potter clipped. “Which would be easier if you would move on your own.” Tom flushed red with embarrassment and anger, but managed to get his legs underneath him and keep pace.

The morass of Mrs. Cole appeared on the stairs, stretching unnaturally like pulled taffy, and Potter flicked his wand again. She froze, literal icicles dripping from her. Tom shivered at the sudden drop of temperature. The mass of Mrs. Cole began to crack. He wondered whether to shatter her, if that would help or hurt after she’d drawn herself back together. He did nothing.

Potter got them to the door of the orphanage, and Tom pulled up short, suddenly washed with cold fear, more than the mess that wasn’t Mrs. Cole could ever hope to inspire.  

“There’s an air raid out there,” Tom hissed.

“I am aware,” Potter clipped, as he threw Tom through the doorway into the utterly empty street. Tom fought like a cat being thrown into a bath, but it was no use. How could a man so small be so Merlin-damned strong? 

“Can’t we just Apparate?” Tom asked, terrified. He knew the second they’d stepped out of the protective shield of Potter’s casting. Potter’s magic left his skin with a sensation not unlike a soft kiss, and the blaring of the air raid sirens took up again.  They were deafening him after that thick safe quiet. Tom heard the thick crash and boom of bombs in the distance, and the thunder of planes. The scent of burning was thick in his nose. His skin crawled, exposed, and he burst into sweat. The very sky was terrifying.

“Can’t. That thing has proximity wards. We need to get far enough away.” Potter said, too utterly blasé at the death awaiting them all around. “Hurry.” He paused, looked at Tom, did a double take. He drew Tom close to him, close enough to sort of knock their foreheads together. Tom felt his sweaty skin press up against the man’s forehead and fought to breathe. “Relax. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He said. His breath smelled slightly of mint. “I swear.”

Tom nodded and stumbled behind, shell-shocked and shaking.

[artificialqueens]

wild flower, chapter one (shalaska) 1/10 - freyja

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting here, so please be gentle! All I know is that no one was going to write my shalaska cowboy AU for me. Also if anyone is interested in betaing… please. Let me know.

🌼

“Wild women are an unexplainable spark of life. They ooze freedom and seek awareness, they belong to nobody but themselves, yet give a piece of who they are to everyone they meet. If you have met one, hold on to her, she’ll allow you into her chaos, but she’ll also show you her magic.”

🌼

Alaska has always been fascinated with bandits.

Bandits, criminals, gangs - anyone with a bounty on their head. Not that the bounty or even the criminality of it all attracted her - no, it was the freedom.

Alaska has also always been wealthy.

These two constants do not go well together.

As a child, the contrast was easier to navigate, as her only duties were her lessons, and the rest of her time was spent however she wanted to spend it. Her wildness was enacted through imaginary horses and people to shoot, drawing from the tales of her father’s friends from the West. She had grass stains on her skirts constantly, and although her mother berated her for her unladylike play, it could be chalked up to just that: play.

As she got older, the contrast was too much. She was in polite society, she needed to find a husband, and she was the lady of the household. She had to give up one, wealth or freedom, and only one made sense to let go of. It wasn’t a hard choice, anyway - she’d stopped believing in running wild on the frontier somewhere around her mother’s death.

Which is why, when her father tells her she’ll be visiting her uncle in Colorado for the summer, the thrill she might have gotten as a child is absent in the place of a sickening dread that sits in her stomach like a dead weight.

“He’s invited you,” he’d said to a stunned Alaska over breakfast one morning. “And I thought you could use the fresh air - God knows this city is starting to smell now that it’s thawing.”

Alaska had pressed her lips together, frowning at him. “I don’t–”

“I told him you would love to go,” her father had interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “This is a great way to find someone wealthy to marry, since the options here clearly aren’t up to your standards.”

The snide comment hadn’t gone past her, and she’d lapsed back into silence, unable to argue and tell him that her ‘standards’ won’t ever be met, so tough luck. That wasn’t an option, especially considering her father’s newspaper wasn’t selling as much now that the war was over.

This visit is her last chance to find a husband wealthy enough to make it worth it, and she knows that she needs to return to her father with a ring on her finger.

Now, she sits on the train to Coady, heart heavy with her resolution. She looks out the window to take her mind off of the sick feeling in her stomach, clenching her fist in the folds of her skirt. It’s easy to get lost in the pale browns and greens of the plains, easy to feel comfort in the mountains that look blue in the distance. It’s easier to think that maybe she’ll find a man she really loves if he comes from a place that looks like this.

She nearly laughs at herself. Unlikely.

🌸

Alaska has been in Colorado a week, and there has been no mention of a ball, or even of a dinner. She hasn’t seen another person besides her uncle and his servants - and even then, it’s mostly been his servants. If it isn’t mealtime, her uncle is locked in his office, going over papers and sending out letters at least twice a day.

Alaska has picked up enough of the servants’ whispered gossip to understand that his plantation has been slowly going under in the eight years it’s been since the war, and her uncle has now been reduced to scraping the bottom of the barrel for his income. She isn’t sympathetic - it’s deserved.

Things, however, are getting a little boring.

She sighs, turning over in bed and staring at the stars through the large window in her room, the wind blowing the linen curtains in a hypnotizing manner. Three months of nothing, and she won’t even get a husband out of it.

No husband. She allows herself a moment to pretend like it was a possibility, something like longing trapping itself in her throat.

She’s just closing her eyes to sleep when the sound of a horse galloping towards the house makes them shoot open, a man shouting her uncle’s name as the horse’s hoofbeats slow to a stop.

“Thunder!” the man bellows. He begins pounding on the door, each knock seemingly louder than the last. “Philip Thunder, get your ass out here!”

Alaska slips out of bed, heart pounding, and kneels beside the window. She’s at a decent enough angle that she can see the man clearly, his horse standing a few feet behind him. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but it’s clear he isn’t a gentleman, with a dusty gallon hat on his head that shields his face and a dirty jacket to match. There’s a long rifle hooked onto his horse, and her eyes widen at the sight.

The door swings open, and her uncle emerges with a lantern, looking hunted. “Be quiet!” he snaps in a hushed whisper, and Alaska has to strain to hear him. “You’re going to wake the whole household.”

“They know,” the man says simply, ignoring her uncle. He has a thick accent, and it’s jarring next to her uncle’s harsh New York vowels. Her uncle’s arm sags at the news, lowering the lantern so that their faces are barely lit. Alaska hisses in frustration, narrowing her eyes to try and read their expressions.

“Needles?” her uncle says, voice even quieter. Alaska risks poking her head out the window a little bit in order to hear better, holding her breath in fear of being caught.

“No, the fuckin’ Pope,” the man sneers. “Who the fuck else?”

Her uncle’s response is drowned out by the locusts buzzing in the trees. There’s a long period of silence, and Alaska can hear her heart beating in her ears, adrenaline running through her veins in response to listening to a conversation she shouldn’t. What the hell was going on?

“So?” the man prompts, stepping closer to her uncle. “What do you suggest we do?”

There’s a pause as her uncle visibly takes a breath. “Come here tomorrow at supper,” he says, voice a little stronger now. “Bring Solomon. We can make a plan then.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Needles is onto us, which means–”

“I know!” Her uncle snaps, posture stiffening. “Trust me, I’m well aware. I can’t make a plan right now. Give me a day, and we’ll discuss the rest tomorrow. I promise we’ll get out of this.”

“If we don’t,” the man says, voice low, “Needles isn’t the one you need to watch out for.” And with that, he steps back, walking back to his horse. “Expect us at six,” he says as he swings up on his horse, and with that, he gallops away, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Her uncle stands there for a long time, staring in the direction he went even after he’s no longer visible. All Alaska can hear is the locusts’ chirping.

Her uncle, finally, turns to go inside, and she ducks under the window sill as the lantern light swings over the side of the house. She listens as he opens the door, muttering something incomprehensible, and shuts it behind him. The stairs creak as he returns to his room, and she doesn’t let herself relax until she hears his door close quietly.

She sags against the wall, brushing the hair sticking to her face away and plucking at her nightgown, battling the humidity and her own sweat. She looks at the bed, but she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to sleep, not with the heat and certainly not after what just happened.

It was a gang. It couldn’t be anything else - it wasn’t any sort of legal business, judging by the other man’s appearance. Her uncle was dealing with bandits and criminals, probably to help him out of whatever debt he’s put himself into in order to keep this place afloat.

A fission of excitement runs through her even through the fear and apprehension, and she can’t help but think that at least something is happening. Even if it’s putting everyone in the house’s lives at risk.

You can’t trust a bandit. They’re lawless, and the law exists for a reason: to keep people sane. Who knows what these men will do to her uncle if this Needles ends up finding them?

Who knows what Needles is going to do to them if he ends up finding them?

The thrill is fading away now, giving way to real fear. This is real. Bandits are real, but they’re not like what Alaska dreamed them up to be as a child. They kill people, innocent or not, and they steal whatever they want. They live like animals and call it freedom.

They’re all these things, and they’re coming to dine with them at her uncle’s like they’re family friends.

Alaska is definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

🌼

Dinner is awkward.

It’s spent in silence, the dirty, roughed up men clearly unsure of how to behave at a proper dining table and her uncle silent with embarrassment over it. There are four of them, all with scruffy beards and pistols on their belts, with the clear leader sitting to her uncle’s right.

One of the men coughs, and Alaska jumps at the sudden noise.

“Jesus,” she mutters to herself, ignoring her uncle’s sharp look and instead setting down her fork. She looks at Philip, plastering as pleasant and unassuming a smile she can muster over her face. “May I be excused?”

The leader of the group, Cassidy, slumps in relief. “Thank God,” he says loudly, and she recognizes his voice as the man her uncle had spoken to last night. “We can get some business done.”

Her uncle gives him a disbelieving look, and Alaska tries to look like she doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. Cassidy raises his hands in silent apology, and her uncle sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks stressed out of his mind.

“You can go, Alaska,” he says, having lost any sense of decorum with Cassidy’s language.

Alaska nods at him, and then she’s out of the dining room in a second.

She slips out the door with a quiet notice to one of the servants, intent on walking her anxieties out around the grounds and hoping that she’ll tire herself out to the point of becoming calm. With half a mind to ride a little before the sun sets, she decides to head towards the stables, well away from anything happening inside the house.

Expecting to be alone once she reaches the stables, Alaska nearly screams as she runs into a woman leaning against one of the stalls, petting Poundcake’s nose.

“Jesus!” Alaska yelps, and the woman snaps to attention, hand at her hip in the blink of an eye. She lets her hand hover there, eyes wary as she stares at Alaska.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaska says, raising her hands up in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman frowns at her, seemingly confused. Her hand drifts away from her hip, and Alaska’s eyes follow it, briefly distracted by the tight pants she’s wearing. It’s scandalous, and Alaska is beginning to understand why.

“I really didn’t mean to interrupt,” Alaska says into the tense silence, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the woman’s hips and to her face.

“Interrupt?” The woman asks, still frowning. She’s relaxing, however, and Alaska feels strangely gratified by it.

“Your stable work,” Alaska says. “You’re the stablehand, right?”

The woman’s eyebrows twitch up before her lips twist up into a smirk. The expression suits her. “Right. Well, I’m not bothered.” She gives Alaska a clear once over, her smirk only growing. “Not at all.”

Alaska feels a flush crawl up her neck, her dress suddenly feeling a little warm. “Great,” she says, awkward. “I came - I just needed to get out of the house.”

“Let me guess: a man?”

Alaska snorts, even as the reminder makes something unpleasant churn in her stomach. “More like several.” The woman just smiles, revealing a small gap between her teeth. It’s strangely endearing. Alaska quickly shoves the thought away, afraid of it leading to more dangerous ones, and instead takes the opportunity to examine the woman’s strange outfit.

She looks more like a cattle rustler than a stablehand, with her wide brimmed hat and dark overcoat, but Alaska supposes things are different out west. Her hair is down, reaching the middle of her shoulder blades and blowing attractively in the wind. It’s so dark that, when paired with her dark hat, her face appears almost ghostly.

She’s beautiful, with her high cheekbones and plump lips, but there’s something about her that puts Alaska on edge.

“What?” the woman says, tilting her head. “Is there something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful,” Alaska blurts out, and then her heart stops. “I mean no, wait, no, I mean–”

“What’s your name?” the woman cuts in, and Alaska grabs onto the question like a lifeline.

“Alaska,” she says in relief.

“Pleasure,” the woman says, smirking again. There’s a brief pause before she lets out a huff of laughter. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Alaska laughs. “Knowing the stablehands isn’t exactly my priority,” she says, allowing her own smirk to come through. “But now it seems like it should have been.”

The woman smiles slowly, her expression softening. Alaska feels something flutter in her stomach at the thought that she may have caused the shift. “You sure know how to flatter a girl,” the woman says. There’s a moment in which she just looks at Alaska, eyes darting across her face. “Sharon Needles.”

Alaska’s heart stops, smirk falling off of her face in an instant. “Needles?” she repeats faintly, even though Sharon had been perfectly clear. “You’re Needles? I thought–”

“I was a man?” Sharon says archly, annoyance flickering across her face. “You’re not the first.”

“Your poster,” Alaska says slowly, feeling incredibly stupid. The stablehand? Really? “It was hanging at the train station.”

Sharon sighs, eyes rolling up to the sky. “Stupid,” she mutters, seemingly to herself, and then, louder: “I’ll never rob an artist again. Those bastards have no fucking money and an eye for detail.”

“I don’t know, that chin is pretty memorable,” Alaska says before she can think about it, and there’s a second of frozen shock before Sharon starts to laugh.

“I like you,” Sharon says approvingly. “You’ve got balls.”

Alaska really, really shouldn’t be flattered. “Thanks,” she drawls, and she takes a step back. Her sense of danger is heightening, despite Sharon’s calm and her surprising humor. With the stories Alaska had heard, she had pictured bandits to be no-nonsense men with hearts of steel, cold blooded killers and thieves that were too good to be caught. Sharon doesn’t seem to be fitting any of those descriptors.

She should really run, warn her uncle while she still has some time. But some sick part of her is intrigued, attracted to this woman, and she can’t bring herself to shout like she should.

“Why are you here?” she asks again, even though she already knows the answer.

“We have some business with Mr. Solomon ____” Sharon says, and it’s like a curtain’s been drawn over her face. The twinkle in her eyes has turned into something like a spark of anger. “He’s been plotting something, and I intend to nip it in the fucking bud.” She shifts a little, her coat moving to reveal a leather holster at her hip. It feels like the air gets twenty degrees colder.

Alaska feels like she can barely breathe. She takes a step back.

The ‘Solomon isn’t here’ gets caught in her throat, another part of the sentence catching her attention. “‘We’?”

A slow smirk spreads across Sharon’s face. “Oops,” she says. “I’ve always had a hard time keeping secrets.” And quick as a rattlesnake, she draws her pistol and fires it once into the air. Alaska flinches violently at the sound of it, breath coming in strange stutters as adrenaline rushes through her. A responding gunshot sounds somewhere in the distance, along with growing shouts.

Alaska runs.

She flies up the hill, Sharon’s laugh chasing her like some sort of nightmare, whoops and hollers echoing off of the valley walls from all directions. She’s halfway to the house when a horse suddenly shoots past her, and she trips over her skirt in shock, falling to her hands and knees with a painful jolt. She looks up to see Sharon riding it, heading somewhere to the left of the house.

It’s stupid to feel betrayed. She’d talked to Sharon for less than ten minutes, and Sharon hadn’t even tried to hide who she was. Hell, Alaska had given her the only lie she told.

It’s stupid, and Alaska shoves the feeling aside. There are more important things to be worrying about.

She scrambles to her feet and keeps running, ignoring the temptation to flee the other way.

She bursts into the house, turning and slamming the door shut behind her, locking it. She turns to see her uncle, Cassidy, and the other men all emerging from the office, guns drawn and looking hunted.

“Alaska?” her uncle says, frowning. “Did you see something out there?”

“No,” she lies, because she can’t tell him that she was too fucking entranced by Sharon Needles to do anything. “But I heard something.”

“We all fucking heard something,” one of the men snaps, referring to the sound of pounding hooves, and distant shouts surrounding the house.

“Jesus Christ,” Cassidy says, pointing his gun alternately between the windows and the door. He sounds accusatory, like he blames her uncle for what’s going down, and Alaska finds herself half agreeing.

She shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t - her uncle shouldn’t have invited her here when he was at risk. It was - it was wrong. Anger boils up within her, and it feels better than fear, so she grabs onto it. “What were you guys even doing?” she cries.

Her uncle looks at her, wide eyed. He looks guilty, but Alaska is far past forgiveness, not when gunshots can be heard just outside the house. “I’m sorry, Alaska,” he says, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think it would get this out of hand.”

“You had wanted criminals over for dinner,” Alaska snaps. “How can you - how - ?” She’s tripping over her words, just like she always does when she’s upset, and it’s only making her angrier.

Her uncle grimaces, but before he can respond a sudden pounding on the door has everyone falling into a tense silence. The hoofbeats have stopped - it’s completely silent. They all point their guns at the door.

“Open up, motherfuckers!” a voice shouts.

Someone shoots the lock off, and the door slowly swings open. They all wait with baited breath. Cassidy steps forward, lining his gun up. Alaska takes several steps back, nearly going into the office, breathing so hard she feels like she’s going to be sick.

There are two beats of silence.

Her uncle frowns, gun lowering a little in his confusion. “Wh–”

Two deafening shots echo from the windows on either side of them, shattering the glass, and two of the five men drop dead. Alaska can’t help the scream she lets out, flinching wildly.

“Fuck!” Cassidy shouts, making an aborted attempt to go towards one of the bodies before remembering that he still needs to be on his guard. “Jesus shit!”

The door is kicked open suddenly, making Alaska jump. The woman that stands in the doorway is tall, with sharp features and an amused smirk. Alaska recognizes her from the other poster that had been beside Sharon’s, the unusual name catching her attention more than Sharon’s.

Detox.

“Where’s Solomon?” Detox says, pointing right back at Cassidy.

He doesn’t answer, and she takes another step forward. “I said–”

“He’s not here.” Sharon steps out from behind Detox, gun drawn and smug smirk still firmly in place. “He’s smarter than that.”

“Surprising,” Detox says, and Sharon snorts. She hasn’t bothered to raise her gun, and Alaska wants to scream at her uncle or the other man to do something.

“He wouldn’t be the annoyance that he is if he wasn’t.” Sharon says before pointing her gun at Alaska’s uncle almost lazily, like it had been an afterthought. It makes Alaska’s blood boil, both at Sharon’s arrogance and her uncle for feeding into it by being an idiot.

Sharon glances at the right window and jerks her head.

A shot rings out, and Cassidy’s last man drops nearly instantaneously with a cry of pain, and Alaska jumps again, unable to keep herself from squeaking, a little. It’s a harsh reminder of the steel trap that Sharon has them in, and Alaska hates that she needed her memory jogged.

Two women slide into the house through the windows, one hispanic and a little heavier, and the other white and stick thin, face covered in freckles. They both wear their hair in two braids, honey blonde and brown respectively, and they both look like they’re having the time of their lives.

“Alright,��� Sharon says, using her gun to talk like an extension of her hand. Her blasé tone is disconcerting, and Alaska shrinks further into the office. “You’ve got two choices: tell us where Solomon is, or,” she holds up her gun and shrugs.

Both Cassidy and Alaska’s uncle remain silent, Cassidy staring Sharon in the face and her uncle twisting around to look at Alaska.

She wills him to turn back around, to stop drawing attention to her already mediocre hiding spot, but he starts to mouth something instead, nodding his head towards the office. After two times, she understands: burn it.

“What are you doing?” the woman with brown braids asks, voice harsher that Alaska would have guessed.

Sharon looks at her for the first time since she’s entered the house. Alaska feels frozen under her stare.

“Alaska!” her uncle snaps, and it works: she snaps out of it, adrenaline flooding her body and moving as quickly as she possibly can.

She steps back into the office and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with shaking hands. Terrifying shouts and bangs immediately start as soon as the lock slides into place, but they’re muffled, and Alaska knows she has limited time to do what her uncle needs before they find a way in.

She turns to the desk, eyes moving from place to place without direction before finally landing on the map lying across the desk, ink marks scattered all over it. She rushes to the desk to pick it up, and after a moment of examining it, she knows that what her uncle needs her to do is destroy it.

It’s a map detailing the location of a camp, presumably Solomon’s, and possible escape routes and alternate locations. If Sharon got her hands on this, the camp would be completely fucked. She would win whatever rivalry is going on between the two gangs with ease, and Solomon and her uncle would have no chance.

Alaska reaches for the lantern to burn the map in, but she hesitates. Would it be terrible if they got the map? It would end the rivalry, and it isn’t like her uncle isn’t already in as much danger as he could be in. He isn’t living in this camp, and Alaska couldn’t give a fuck about Solomon or Cassidy.

But does she want Sharon to win?

She stares at it, doing her best to memorize the map and the twisting ink paths. Keeping the map whole isn’t an option, but she thinks - she needs to have some leverage, here. If something should happen to her, who she wants to win regardless, she needs to have something that makes her useful.

She isn’t nearly as familiar with it as she’d like to be when a thud suddenly rattles the door to the office, making her jump nearly ten feet in the air. The door thuds again, the hinges rattling, and Alaska starts folding the map so that it can fit into the lantern, shoving it into the flame just as the door flies open and strong hands grab her from behind.

Alaska screams, kicking and trying to hit her assailant with her elbows.

“Jesus Christ,” someone hisses, and Alaska thinks she recognizes the voice as Detox’s. She flings her elbow back again, newly desperate, only to have it caught by one of Detox’s hands. Detox grabs her other arm as well, and Alaska’s arms are soon twisted around her back in such a way that she can’t move them no matter how hard she tries.

It’s utterly terrifying, and Alaska can’t help but let out a little sob as Detox forces her out of the office and into the parlor, where the brunette woman with the twin braids has Cassidy on his knees. Her uncle is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is–” she starts, voice growing into a shout, but Sharon cuts her off, her own tone surprisingly heated.

“Bastard got away,” she says, scowling. “I’m not sure how, considering how many of us there are, but he’s fucking gone.”

“Thank God,” Alaska says, relieved. She ignores the feeling of being abandoned. One of them had to get away, had to be able to get the law. It just happened to be him. “Thank fucking God.”

Sharon’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s no way a lady should speak,” she says, and the blonde woman snickers. Alaska glares at her.

“I’m not exactly going to give you the respect of polite society,” she snarls. “Now let me go!” She jerks fruitlessly at Detox’s grip, and Sharon laughs, coming closer. Alaska wants to hurt her, wants to make her feel as scared and angry as she is right now.

“We can’t let you go,” Sharon says, fake pouting. “Sorry. But your uncle had you do something in that office, and with him gone, you’re our only shot at finding out just what it was.”

Alaska falls silent, unable to think of a comeback that won’t put her at risk in one way or another. She needs to know something to prove herself too valuable to kill. But because she knows something, she’s going to be taken away. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Sharon is both Charbydis and Scylla.

Alaska settles for glaring at Sharon, who only grins back. Alaska does not think about how the gap in her teeth still makes her stomach flutter.

Sharon turns away, smile fading in favor of a more serious look. She looks at the brunette woman. “Morgan, shoot Cassidy. We need to leave.”

“What?” Cassidy splutters, eyes wide. Alaska is surprised to see him reduced to such a mess. “I don’t–”

“Shut up,” Sharon sneers, walking over to and kicking him in the stomach. He curls in on himself, wheezing, and Alaska winces in sympathy. “We don’t need to hear your side of the story. I’ve already heard three different girls’, and frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Morgan suddenly pistol whips Cassidy across the face, and he drops like a brick, groaning. She spits on him.

“Make it quick, Morgan,” Sharon says sharply. “The law’s already crawling up my ass as it is, and Thunder’s gonna return with the entire fucking Union.”

“No problem,” Morgan says, and she shoots him twice.

They’re not kind shots - one in the knee and the other in his stomach. The scream he lets out raises the hair on Alaska’s arms, and she feels a terror like she’s never known before. She thinks briefly about jerking away and running, but she feels rooted to the spot, staring down at Cassidy’s writhing body. Not like she’d actually escape Detox, anyway.

Another shot makes her jump, and Cassidy falls limp. “I said make it quick,” Sharon says, tucking her gun back into her belt. Alaska hadn’t even seen her move.

“I missed,” Morgan shrugs, but she doesn’t sound apologetic about it.

“Sure,” Sharon says doubtfully, but there’s a strange affection in her tone that undermines any reprimand. Her gaze suddenly lands on Alaska, and she’s back to smirking. “Excuse her,” she says. “She hasn’t been out in a while.”

“Rude,” Morgan snorts. She tucks her two pistols into their holsters, spinning them as she does.

“We need to go,” Detox says. Alaska tries not to cringe away from the voice close to her ear. She wants to retain at least some dignity.

“You’re right,” Sharon says. “Sorry. Got distracted.” She winks at Alaska, and Alaska’s stomach squirms with hatred and an unwilling attraction. She blames her childhood fanaticism.

They exit the house quickly, swinging up onto their horses, Morgan and the other woman speeding away immediately. Detox and Alaska still remain on foot, Alaska’s arms beginning to go numb with how far they’re strained behind her.

“Detox,” Sharon calls from on top of an enormous black Friesian. “She can go with me.”

“What? Why?” Alaska asks harshly as Detox leads her over.

“A little bonding never hurt anyone,” Sharon answers, smirking. Detox swings Alaska up behind her with an alarming ease, and Alaska balances herself, nearly falling off immediately.

Sharon looks at the house and then at Detox, and as Alaska is debating the pros and cons of sliding off the horse and running, she says something that makes Alaska’s blood run cold.

“Burn it.”

“No,” Alaska breathes. But something in her can’t wait to see it in flames.

Sharon eggs her horse into a gallop just as the flames catch onto one of the windowsills, and Alaska stares at the house until she can’t anymore, the orange of the flames burned into the backs of her eyelids.

Loss and relief shouldn’t be felt so soon after one another.

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3

The first few pieces of the puzzle are discovered, much to the dismay of everyone involved.

By the time Lan Wangji and A-Yuan reached the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen had long left for Lanling. It would have been easy to wait for his return to ask about that altered version of Cleansing which Nie Huaisang shared, easier still to forget entirely about this matter.

Instead, while A-Yuan was in class, Lan Wangji started perusing the restricted parts of Gusu Lan’s library. There was no need to bother checking more ordinary scores, he had quickly decided. If it had been a common song, he would have recognised it. Thus, it had to be one not ordinarily used.

The notion of a genuine mistake did cross his mind, of course. He did not linger on it. The melody, while clearly different from Cleansing, fit with it well enough to not bring direct attention to itself. There was a purposefulness to this that he did not like.

Day after day, Lan Wangji checked collections of songs that, for one reason or another, had to be kept out of reach of ordinary disciples. Aside from his investigation, it proved a rather fascinating exploration of his sect’s history, and of the different ways musical cultivation had been used over the years.

Between this, the morning reading of the rules to the juniors, and time spent with A-Yuan, his days were so well filled that he usually fell asleep easily, long before the hour where he felt the impulse to reach for Wei Wuxian’s soul.

It came as little surprise to discover that his time in the library had attracted his uncle’s attention. Lan Qiren was always interested in any research happening in the Cloud Recesses, and he still had little trust in his youngest nephew. The only odd thing, as far as Lan Wangji was concerned, was the fact that it took his uncle over a month to come see him in the restricted section of the library. Even then, he only did it under the pretext that Lan Xichen had sent a letter from Lanling, and some of the news concerned Lan Wangji.

Lan Xichen wrote to explain that he would be staying in Lanling longer than intended, to help Jin Guangyao settle in his new position. That his friend should be accepted as new head of Lanling Jin happened with surprising ease, which he guessed was due both to Jin Guangyao’s undeniable skills and his impeccable rhetoric. It also helped, of course, that the only alternative was a toddler. Jin Guangshan’s other recognised bastard, Mo Xuanyu, was apparently known all over Lanling as a particularly weak willed fool, and besides he was so utterly devoted to Jin Guangyao that he would never have gone against him even if he had understood what was at stake.

He mentioned, also, how worried he was once again about Nie Huaisang. The young sect leader had departed for Qinghe the instant the ceremonies were over. But while in Lanling, he had behaved very oddly, acting very panicked every time someone asked him his opinion about the situation and never really taking sides. Lan Xichen understood that his brother-in-law was still struggling to find his footing after being thrown into his position, but he still regretted that behaviour. He knew that Nie Huaisang was capable of being quite shrewd when needed, that he had a good head for politics, and so he hoped that Lan Wangji would continue supporting his husband and encouraging him to come into his own.

This struck Lan Wangji as peculiar. After the news of Jin Guangshan’s death, Nie Huaisang had immediately started analysing the situation and wondering how to support Jin Guangyao. It seemed that Lan Wangji was not the only one made suspicious by this very odd version of Cleansing.

When he was done reading, Lan Wangji returned the letter to his uncle, and waited for him to leave so he could continue his research. Instead, Lan Qiren picked up one of the scores he had been inspecting.

“You have been coming here a lot lately, Wangji. I encourage your will to study, but your material of choice seems rather inappropriate. There are no songs here you should ever use.”

“Hm.”

“I was happy to see you start to do better,” Lan Qiren said, dropping the score impatiently. “I rejoiced too fast. It seems your interest for darkness has not relented after all.”

“Hm.”

The accusation glided on Lan Wangji like water off a duck’s back. And yet, as his uncle turned to leave, he felt an impulse to stop him. Not because his opinion still mattered on a personal level. But whether Lan Wangji liked it or not, his uncle was a renowned scholar and an expert on musical techniques. If Lan Xichen was to remain absent, then it might be wise to turn to someone else for advice.

“A certain melody has been brought to my attention,” Lan Wangji explained as his uncle was about to pass the threshold. “I have never heard it before. It could be innocuous, but the circumstances were unusual.”

Lan Qiren stopped in his tracks.

“What circumstances were those?”

A logical question, but one Lan Wangji hesitated to answer in full until he had a better understanding of the situation. There was little point in throwing accusations at the moment.

“At a certain time, a certain cultivator used a spiritual melody that I know. I was not here to hear it, but a person I trust did. When later I played that melody for that person, they remarked that it was different from what they had heard from that other cultivator.”

“And you do not think it was a mistake,” Lan Qiren noted, walking back toward his nephew now that his curiosity was picked. “What was the original melody?”

“A Lan healing song.”

“I could have guessed that much,” his uncle retorted. “That person, were they able to describe what had been changed?”

Lan Wangji nodded, and hummed the song fragment that Nie Huaisang had shared with him. When he finished, his uncle was frowning. Without a word, Lan Qiren sat down and easily put on paper the notes of that song, his scowl deepening as he inspected it.

“I have never heard that played, but I have seen it before,” he announced. “It is definitely something that we have in our collection, but I cannot remember what it is exactly. Do you know if it had any specific effects when played?”

After careful consideration, Lan Wangji nodded.

“The healing song’s effect might have been cancelled by it,” he explained, recalling how little Nie Mingjue’s mood had improved after Cleansing was played to him. “It is possible it even inverted the effects. I cannot be sure. I am not close enough to the person on whom it was used to judge if their temperament was affected by this, or other events.”

“It might be interesting to interrogate that person. It is difficult to say for sure, not without the original score to show the manner in which the song must be imbued with spiritual energy, but it appears to me as though it could easily be used for nefarious purposes.”

“The person has died since then, and cannot be interrogated.”

His uncle’s eyes narrowed at the news, and he glared at the score.

“I see. If the person you are speaking off is the one I think… this could be a dangerous situation, Wangji. Continue your investigation, but do not speak of it to anyone until things are certain. Does your husband know?”

“Hm.”

Lan Qiren nodded and stroked his beard, as if that confirmed some of his suspicions.

“Tell me if you find out what that song is, do not make rash decisions and do not let your husband make them either. If there is need for action, your brother and I will do what is necessary.”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji replied, letting that simple sound carry all of his doubt. Even if that song truly had the effect suspected, the only proof that it had been used was Nie Huaisang’s memory of it, which was hardly any proof at all, considering whose word they would need to go against.

Still, he supposed he should have been grateful that his uncle was offering to help at all.

He refused to be.

-

It took a few more days after this chat with his uncle for Lan Wangji to finally learn more about the corrupted melody, and even then he very nearly missed it entirely. As he was browsing a collection of foreign songs, Lan Wangji encountered a passage that made little sense, with a score starting in a certain style and ending in a very different one. He almost dismissed it as being due to the very unusual nature of that particular anthology, filled with music that aimed only to disorient, hurt, or straight out kill those upon whom it was inflicted. Of course songs such as these might not follow the usual rules of harmony.

Luckily, one of the passages still caught his attention enough to be worth comparing to his uncle’s transcription of the corrupted song. It was not a match, not exactly, but there was a certain harmony between the two, a similarity that made it perfectly possible for the two to be part of the same piece. Indeed, after close inspection, Lan Wangji realised that a part of this particular book, named The Collection of Turmoil, had been very carefully removed, leaving almost no trace of the now missing page.

In such circumstances, it was too big of a coincidence to be ignored. Lan Wangji put back every other material he had prepared to research that day, keeping only the Collection of Turmoil with him and leaving with it.

His plans of showing the incomplete song to his uncle was, unfortunately, thwarted when he learned that Lan Qiren had left the Cloud Recesses, called by some urgent business in Gusu. The elder he had left in charge assured Lan Wangji that his uncle would return in a matter of days. It was inconvenient, but not overtly so. Lan Wangji did not mind waiting a little longer, and would use that delay to further study the broken melody.

The rest of the day passed rather pleasantly. His mind no longer so taken by his research, Lan Wangji was able to better play with A-Yuan when his son’s classes finished. They fed the rabbits together and, since the weather was pleasant, stayed a long while in their pen, watching them hop around. A-Yuan had given names to all of them and although they all looked very similar, he was particularly good at distinguishing between them and noticing their personalities. Due to his age he was still sometimes a little clumsy when catching and holding them, but it was obvious that A-Yuan was trying very hard to be kind to the rabbits. Lan Wangji hoped the animals knew how much they were loved. He hoped, also, that A-Yuan knew how loved he was. He doubted that it would ever be easy for him to say it with words, so all he had were actions.

On the way back to the Jingshi, he picked up A-Yuan in his arms and carried him, holding him with as much gentleness as his son had tried to show to the rabbits.

He hoped it was enough to show how much he cared.

Judging by the way A-Yuan smiled, it might have been enough.

The evening passed just as pleasantly. They had dinner alone in the Jingshi, as they often did when Lan Qiren wasn’t around to complain about Lan Wangji spoiling his son. When that was over, Lan Wangji tried to read a story to his son, only for A-Yuan to interrupt at nearly every sentence because he too wanted to try reading. He was starting to know quite a few characters, and Lan Wangji patiently provided him with those he could not yet recognise. When the story was over, A-Yuan went to bed and, owing to that sunny afternoon with the rabbits, quickly fell asleep. Lan Wangji, now alone, put order to a few things inside the house. He was thinking of joining his son and ending the day when there was an urgent knock on the door.

Lan Wangji barely had time to take a step toward the door before Nie Huaisang barged in, breathless and disheveled, as if he had run there. No, not just run. For the first time since his days as a student in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang had a saber at his hip, which meant he might have flown all the way from Qinghe.

“Huaisang?”

“They took him,” his husband hissed, his face distorted in a terrible grimace, his limbs trembling from both rage and exhaustion.

“Him?”

“Mingjue! Someone took him! His grave is empty!”

Lan Wangji threw a quick look toward the bed, where A-Yuan was fast asleep. He would not stay so if he heard Nie Huaisang’s voice, and his husband did not look in a state to control his volume.

“Outside.”

They went to the rabbits’ pen, where they were least likely to be disturbed by anyone, especially at such an hour. Lan Wangji sat down and gestured for his husband to do the same, but Nie Huaisang refused and instead started pacing in the grass.

“I kept thinking about that song,” he explained. “How you said there’s only one version of Cleansing. And as I was travelling toward Lanling and became more nervous, I kept thinking how when you played it, Cleansing always calmed me down perfectly well. I was a mess before you came to visit, but then you arrived, played a little music, and I started feeling better. So why didn’t it work for Da-ge?”

“Hm. On that matter…”

“It doesn’t make sense that he was so angry!” Nie Huaisang insisted, ignoring the attempt to interrupt him. “It doesn’t make sense that I was so angry! I know we’ve always argued a lot, but never like this, we were never so vicious toward each other! It makes no sense at all, but everything hurt so much after losing him, I was so upset all the time, I didn’t even notice until you started playing the song for me. And so I thought… I thought if something had been done to him, maybe his body would bear the trace. It’s not been so long, I was hoping if I checked, I might find something.”

He stopped his pacing and shuddered.

“I found something for sure. Or rather, I found nothing. The coffin was… it had been weighted down with stones, but that’s it. There was no body inside. Wangji, they stole his body! They… no. Not they. He. It has to be him. Who else would have had the occasion? He was the one taking care of the coffin and the tomb, we let him have free rein over that. He… I trusted him!” Nie Huaisang exploded, before breaking into tears and falling to his knees on the grass. “I trusted him, I fought with Da-ge on his behalf! I trusted him so much and he did this to him, to us!”

Awkwardly, Lan Wangji shuffled closer and patted his husband's shoulder. There were no words of comfort for a moment like this one. The best Lan Wangji could offer was validation.

“Cleansing was corrupted with a fragment of another song,” he announced. “I have found the work from which it comes, but the score itself was torn away. The book was in a restricted session. Even among disciples, few people are allowed there. But there are two strangers to our sect who were given unlimited access to all of Cloud Recesses, owing to their ties to Zewu-Jun.”

“And my brother wouldn’t have done this,” Nie Huaisang sniffled. “He… he did this. He really did this. He killed my brother and he took his body! He… I thought he was my friend. I thought he was our friend!”

Without warning, Nie Huaisang let himself fall into Lan Wangji arms, hugging him tight and sobbing against his shoulder. His first instinct was to push him away, disgusted as he often was by unwanted contact. Instead, Lan Wangji forced himself to relax and tolerate it. There was not much he could do for Nie Huaisang at the moment, but if his husband needed this, he would make an effort.

After a long while, Nie Huaisang’s sobs calmed down. He pulled back, dried his tears, and sighed.

“I must find Da-ge’s body,” he announced. “If it was taken, it must be because it contains proof of what was done to him. Jin Guangyao is many things, but not a fool. He would not have done something so risky if he had not been forced to. If I find the body, I might be able to demand justice. But first, I must find it…”

“It will not be easy.”

“Might not be so hard either,” Nie Huaisang replied, a little more collected already. “The Nie sect has always had an ideal of justice, so we have a few techniques for finding missing bodies. I’m not an expert at any of them, and with my cultivation being what it is, it’ll take some effort, but I’ll manage. I’ll find him.”

“We will find him.”

Nie Huaisang stared at Lan Wangji with wide eyes and shook his head.

“That’s not your business. I… I shouldn’t even have come here, really. I should have kept this to myself. Jin Guangyao has just become the most powerful man in the country, to have him as an enemy is… It’s better if you stay out of this, Wangji. I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”

“You are my husband,” Lan Wangji retorted. “You are my friend. I already left one friend to fend for himself against Lanling Jin. I will not make that mistake again.”

For a brief moment, it looked as if Nie Huaisang might start crying again, but he managed to contain his emotions and smiled instead.

“You are a good man, Wangji. If you are really willing to help, I’ll be selfish and accept it.”

“I would not have let you refuse.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile widened, and he even managed a short laugh.

“Rude. Very rude. I can’t see why people call you a gentleman when you’re so rude to this poor husband of yours.”

Lan Wangji smiled back. He knew better than to take Nie Huaisang’s laughter as a sign he was well, but if he could at least use his usual defence mechanism again, he had to at least be better.

Still, as they walked back toward the Jingshi, Nie Huaisang fell into deep silence, which he only broke when they reached the door of their home.

“Wangji, if you come with me to Qinghe to investigate, what do we do with A-Yuan?”

“He comes as well,” Lan Wangji replied, although he did not particularly like the idea of dragging his son into this.

“But it could be dangerous,” Nie Huaisang protested. “I don’t know Guangyao as well as I thought I did, but I still think I have a good grasp of who he is. If it really is him who stole Da-ge’s body, he’ll have taken every step necessary to ensure it is never found again, so there can be no proof of what he did. He’s learned the hard way to be careful about things like that.”

“Hm. We leave him here with Hou Tianjian?”

“It’s a better option, but won’t that bring attention to us? It is well known that you never part from him. It could be explained when we went to Qinghe together because you’ve never bothered to hide that you disliked my brother. But now that he's gone? If we travel together, people will find it very odd that we did not take him with us. We're known as quite the happy little family after all.”

“You said it was too dangerous,” Lan Wangji pointed out.

Nie Huaisang sighed in frustration.

“It is! But if he stays here, we need to find a good excuse to feed Hou Tianjian. This is too delicate to tell her the truth, I’m not trusting anyone except you. What to do… it’s really too bad you’re such a poor liar, or it’d be easy.”

“Hm.”

Again, Nie Huaisang sighed, and he started pacing in front of the door.

“How to make it work… the guard on duty at the entrance saw me, as did a few servants probably. I’ve been flying for a week straight, so I must look like a mess. And everyone knows I’m just a little idiot who’s good for nothing aside from badly painting landscapes.”

“You are not…”

“Hush, hush, I am, I don’t mind, I don’t care. I’ve worked hard to make sure I’d never be anything more than that. So here I am, an absolute mess, knocking at your door in the middle of the night, causing a scene… and I did, don’t deny it. I caused such a scene we had to go talk among rabbits, Wangji! That’s true, and that’s what you’re going to tell Hou Tianjian when you leave A-Yuan with her.”

Nie Huaisang finally stopped pacing, and instead played with the hem of his sleeve.

“You can tell her that I have been unwell since my brother’s death, which is also true. You can tell her that I’m faced with problems I can’t handle alone which…” he snickered. “It certainly is true, isn’t it? And if you tell her that right now you don’t think it’s safe for A-Yuan to be around me, that’s true as well.”

“Hm. I will do that.”

It would be unpleasant to paint such a portrait of his husband, no matter how true each individual statement was. It would be even more unpleasant to do it for  Hou Tianjian, with whom Nie Huaisang had a certain friendship and who always seemed to have a good opinion of him. But if he was willing to sacrifice that for A-Yuan's safety, Lan Wangji would play his part.

“Great. And I’ll… find somewhere to spend the night,” Nie Huaisang decided. “It’s probably better if A-Yuan doesn’t see me, it’ll upset him if I’m here only to steal you away, won’t it?”

That, unfortunately, was true. A-Yuan very frequently asked when they would return to Qinghe, wanting to check both on Nie Huaisang and on the garden they had planted together. It would be difficult for him to understand that for a time, the adults in his life needed to have other priorities.

As to where Nie Huaisang might spend the night...

“Brother is still in Lanling. His house is empty.”

Nie Huaisang startled at the suggestion, and laughed nervously.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll sleep better if I go back to the rabbit’s pen,” he said. “The night isn’t so cold anyway. I’ll hide there until you come pick me up, when you have dropped A-Yuan with Hou Tianjian and Jingyi.”

“Your choice.”

“I never get much of a choice,” Nie Huaisang chuckled. “Not for this, not for anything else. Ah, well… good night, husband. Please hug A-Yuan for me tomorrow morning.”

“I will.”

Nie Huaisang smirked at his answer, but made no comment as he turned back toward the path that led to the rabbits’ pen.

[snekatiemmlpnf]

bradley for the character thing!!!!!

“tell us about bradley!”

Thank you dear anons for asking me about bradley for the character thing, because I want to talk about bradley.

(This ended up being the longest one so far, I think...)

Favorite thing about them:

He’s kind of a ridiculous character and I love it? Every single delivery of his lines too are just fantastic.

I can relate to him, most of all. I don’t know, just in The Undergrounders when he’s trying to talk about the museum and stuff, and everyone keeps interrupting him. Sometimes I like to talk about things and it’s not a great feeling when people interrupt or ignore me. (Shout out to my mom who’s stuck at home with me during quarantine and lets me ramble on about cartoons for fifteen minutes straight, even though she has no idea what I’m talking about.)

I also like that even though he’s portrayed as kind of the mean kid, he actually isn’t all that bad? Like he seems to get along pretty well with everyone, he hangs out with Mort in the Undergrounders, Mort and Joni in Milo’s World, and Chad in Dog Walker, Runner, Screamer. Nobody actually dislikes him, and he doesn’t really dislike anyone else (except Milo, but I don’t think Bradley actually hates Milo, he’s just not a fan of Murphy’s Law, and he’s still under the assumption that Milo is doing everything for attention, as he says in Milo’s World. Another reason why I want them to talk things out lol.)

Plus, he generally seems pretty willing to go along with the others? Like in Safety First, he’s there in the park to help Zack and Melissa, even though Milo is also going to (or was supposed to) be there. In Mid-Afternoon Snack Club, he’s the first one to recognize the cliche and is super quick to fit into his role as “the angry malcontent who masks his pain by lashing out at the others,” and he happily joins in the shenanigans later that episode.

(I also find it interesting that he was going to be on the death and destruction debate team with Melissa and Lydia, so he also likes debate and extreme sports, apparently. I don’t know, just a thing to note.)

Least favorite thing about them:

He’s mean! Not like incredibly mean, but he does have quite a few comments about Milo, and he blames Milo for things that he doesn’t even have control over. And he’s just sort of a negative person in general. (But as @pastel-player​ said, it is one of the things that makes him a great foil for Milo)

Favorite Line

Oh boy, he has a lot of great lines. The one I mentioned in Snack Club:

“Zack, would you get with the program? This is like one of those 80′s movies, where a bunch of kids are forced to have detention, and then they all learn something about themselves at the end. But one of us has to be the angry malcontent who masks his pain by lashing out at the others!” (I also like how this implies that he was fully prepared to learn something new about himself by the end of detention. Also he totally watches 80′s teen movies)

Also in Sunny Side Up: “Yeah! In your face, other people!” (Also, side note, he sounds like Phineas when her says “yeah”, just noticed that as I was rewatching that part.)

Brotp

Since I am a ginormous sucker for friendships, I’d say pretty much everyone. Mort, because Bradley seems to hang out with Mort more than his other classmates. Melissa, because they seem to be on pretty good terms and they have that friendly rivalry thing going on. Amanda, also, because they were partners in Sunny Side Up and I just really like the idea of them being buddies? They can bond over being stressed about Murphy’s Law, and maybe when Bradley sees that Amanda no longer thinks Murphy’s Law is all that bad, he’d be more willing to get closer to Milo, too, as well as the fact that Melissa is best friends with Milo, too. Which brings us to our last one: Milo! I really, really want them to be friends. To talk things through, clear things up, clarify that Milo definitely isn’t doing anything for attention, and maybe Bradley will realise that hanging out with Milo isn’t all that bad.

Otp:

Bradley x Carla, duh. #Carley4Life. (Fun fact, I completely forgot about Carla until I was rewatching the Yacht episode today, and I forgot how great and also highly unusual that moment was. One of the top Bradley Moments.)

Seriously though, like most other characters, I don’t really ship him with anyone.

Notp

Again, I prefer platonic ships anyways. I don’t have anything that grinds my gears, but any Bradley ship is just “meh” to me, but I don’t actually mind any of them.

Random headcanon:

He eventually learns to use his arm to its full abilities. He can switch it between the vine and an actual hand, extend it, and use the sleeping pollen. He’s also very strong in that arm, too. (Related, I’ve seen art of his arm growing flowers during the spring, attracting bees, etc. and I really love those.) The full extent of what he can do is a little scary, and it worries a couple people, but he wouldn’t actually purposely hurt anyone. (Hmm... I’ve just had a couple idea of him developing Pistachion-esque mannerisms...)

As an additional, less serious headcanon that just came to mind right now: He can cook, and quite well, too. Not a lot of people know that, but he really does enjoy making dishes. He’s best at improvising over following an exact recipe, and he always knows exactly what to add or change to make something taste that much better, too. (And just because I’m biased, I’m going to say his favorite dish is stroganoff, because I really like stroganoff.)

Unpopular opinion

I don’t know if this is unpopular or not, but he did end up one of my absolute favorite characters, even though he was definitely meant to be a character you’re not supposed to like. I just think he’s neat.

Song I associate with them:

This is always one of the hardest questions, but I always had a vague idea of what to put, but... I have no clue? Maybe I’ll think of one eventually. Apologies

Favorite picture of them:

I have two! Baby Bradley, and one of the reasons Snack Club is a fantastic episode.

[fangirlsovertoomanythings]

Dear Trevor

Sherlock Holmes, CW's: DEATH MENTION, it is literally just a giant-ass letter; I felt like writting something simple :,}

-----------

Dear Trevor,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Who writes is your old friend, Sherlock S. Holmes. You may not remember me, but we were intimate nearly 5 years ago. I heard you are doing fantastic in your tea business at India and, in a nostalgia moment, I have decided to write to you how things are doing for me in particular.

I got myself a friend, although I beg you not to be jealous of him. He has won my respect and my friendship, however, and is now my companion of all time. His name is dr. John Watson, and he is a veteran of war. I tell you of him because, someday, you may hear of him again - he is drafting a dreadful thing of our last adventure, that he dares calling it A Study in Scarlet and treat it like it's his own writting project. I know I sound rather nitpicky, but the young gentleman is writting my own biography and I fear this is, therefore, of my great interest. If you ignore his romantic tendencies, though, he proves to be a man of great value and I could not have been luckier even if I had tried.

You must remember the time I spent with you during our holidays, and thus must remember the suggestion your father gave me when my assumptions nearly took his life. He said I could be an investigator and, at that time, I did not take it seriously. However, after his passing, I need to admit that the idea came back to me. After all, we could find out what he was up to in his youthful days with just a few clues and it is not like I had any other ideas of what to work with. I am still avoiding the countryside for personal reasons, therefore I wouldn't be able to follow my parent's profession; I, too, know of the horrors workers are now facing in industries and I do not wish to meet said horrors personally. I don't feel like a lawyer because even law fails from time to time, and I never felt I would make a competent doctor, so what was there to loose?

You may be thinking now that I am an inspetor or a private detective, and both of those hypotesis are wrong. I have considered both until I realized that something was off. I entered the Yard many times in the past and saw how people work there, and what I hate about it is that they are blinded by the same unfair law this entire country has submitted itself to. Not even little boys are free from hanging if they stole a loaf of bread. Now, I know you may be surprised of this position I take, but you must know that some motives are strong enough to justify the crime that has happened - I myself tried to let go many criminal men and women in the past and will continue to do so. What matters here is that I would endorse such treatment if I entered the Yard and could loose my job if I ever tried to object any action. As a private detective, on the other hand, I'd have even more restrictions and would take those smaller cases - perhaps spying would be the best perspective I would have, and I would need to work for whoever appeared at my frontdoor.

I apologise for taking so long to say it, but I believe that my lack of news of you is making me speak more than usual, for there are so many things that have happened to me since we last saw each other. I created my own profession - I called it consultant detective. I am unknown for the public eye and only a few people out of the Yard come to have my advice, and I should thank mr. Musgrave for talking too much for even having any out-of-Yard client at all. Dr. Watson says that this fact will soon change, as previously stated, and the only thing I can hope for given the manner he treats my poor biography is that all this romantic exagerated bits will attract clients that will not waste my time.

Apart from now appearing less anxious than I once did and being more experiences, I haven't changed much as people still describe as distant for some reason. Must be because I spend most of my time alone. I started smoking and, as many men my age, sometimes adventure myself with other vices. I believe dr. Watson does not like that and, sometimes when he talks to me, I feel compelled to change these habits but they grew to help me even if he says the consequences in the long-run will not.

I have not heard of you in a very long time, must be three years now. I oftentimes wonder if you are still in this world and if you are, I would be pleased to recieve a reply if you are not bothered by the perspective of writting one.

You will probably not answer this, and only God knows why I am sending this overseas. Either way, I sincerely hope you are doing fine.

Your old fellow,

Sherlock Holmes

[heartwoodventures]

Where the Wind Blows

Falcon’s Nest. A modest hamlet located in the western highlands of Coerthas. A monochromatic world of ice and snow, of gray skies and bitter winds. A far cry from the idyllic, sun-drenched shores on which Heartwood had played mere suns earlier. Now, a trio met at the town’s central aetheryte, informed by a missive that Momori Mori, the odd lalafell who had agreed to help one of their own, had uncovered new information. 

Arriving at the aetheryte, Aislinn burrowed deeper into the warmth of her jacket as she cast her gaze about the agreed upon meeting place. Spying Lumarto and Rolanda she wandered over and gave the miqo’te and au ra both a nod. 

"Any sign of Momori yet?" she asked.

Lumarto stared at her, his hands brought together to try and retain some warmth. "I think she's comin' around shortly; it shouldn't be hard to spot anyone here at the Nest-- oh, see?" Luma said, pointing towards the welcomed sight.

The lalafell stepped out from behind the Aetheryte. She was lugging over a large, black contraption. Whatever it was, it was producing a lot of noise...and heat.

Aislinn followed his gaze and set sight on the business like lalafell. Her brow furrowed in confusion, however, as to what the woman could possibly be toting along with her. "Ahh." she stamped her feet against the frigid air. The trick was to keep moving, she had learned. 

"Hello there. A bit jarring, to go from warm sands to blustering cold." Momori shivered.

"Yes, I never quite got used to these crystals... Glad you made it! What have you got with you there?" Rolanda asked as she pointed at the contraption Momori was lugging along.

"Takes some getting used to, but I'm sure it will feel natural after a while." Luma said, as he approached before staring down at the contraption. "I was just about to ask the same thing; it's radiating... heat? A heater?"

"Oh, this is..." Momori looked side to side. This area was too open for her. "Let's find somewhere more discrete to talk about it, yes? Follow me."

Aislinn slid a questioning glance to the others but then shrugged and followed along.

The lalafell led them down the ice-covered street and then down a darkened alley. Had the trio not been seasoned mercenaries, armed with all manner of weapons and devices, they might have been more concerned. This was the kind of thing that happened to unsuspecting victims in the less-than savory part of town right before they were set upon.

"Much better. Away from prying eyes." Momori slapped the hood of the black contraption. "This here...is an encryptor. Specifically, it will guard the messages that we send with these."

She turned and placed a device that vaguely resembled a linkpearl in each of their hands. It was larger than usual, and contained a lens on the front. Due to its size, it couldn’t fit in a person’s ear, but its clip suggested that it should be worn on one’s clothing.

"So precautions... I understand." Luma muttered a bit, gazing at the object in question before clipping it to the side of his collar; not in the way of his hood or neck. "Rather fancy device, isn't it?".

"Enctor. Sounds.. fancy" Roland clipped the device to her hip.

"Very fancy. You won't find these in the common markets." Momori replied. 

Aislinn was clearly intrigued by the premise of the encryptor, turning the offered device this way and that in her hands. She wondered, after all this is said and done, if Momori would let her take one of these apart to see how it works. For now though, she clipped it to her coat.

"Three of you...That's good. A small party won't attract too much attention." Momori hummed to herself. "....Well, first and foremost, they look very nice on you all. Very fashionable."

Aislinn shot the lalafell a dubious look.

“These devices are known as aetheric snapshots. They're capable of recording both visual and aetheric information in high fidelity, which I can process later. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably wondering why I have this.” Momori explained. 

"It had crossed my mind." Aislinn replied. "Just what sort of trouble are you expecting us to run up against, here?"

"I suppose asking why you have this is the next step in deduction, yes." Luma stated, looking at the object on his collar before looking back to Momori. "Why do you have something like this?"

“Let's start at the beginning. Red Argos is here, somewhere. And they likely have us outgunned. A frontal assault would be suicide, and that's low on my list of favorite things." Momori began. 

"Makes sense." Aislinn nodded. 

Momori noddded back. “We don’t know where they’re holed up, what they’re doing in Coerthas, and what...or rather, if, Wyda is connected to all this. While rushing into a death trap with weapons drawn is still your prerogative, I’d propose we instead use today’s outing to collect intelligence, and work towards answers to our questions.”

"So is this based on speculation and not fact? Or is there something to go off of?" Luma asked, raising an eyebrow mildly.

"Fact. Seawolf pirates, members of Red Argos, have been spotted here. Going to and fro, up to no good. They're capable of razing entire villages, so..." Momori looked over the trio in front of her. "A sizeable crew. Not one to tussle with head on."

"Enough for a small squabble but not a full on fight? Sounds reasonable..." Lumarto admitted. 

Momori nodded to Lumarto. "Exactly.”

Rolanda shared a look with Lumarto and Aislinn. "I just can't imagine Wyda being involved in something like that. We have to find out what's going on!"

Aislinn nodded in agreement with Rolanda. Despite what she knew of the Seawolf's trouble with missing time, she couldn’t really believe Wyda would be a pirate at any juncture. "No, seems completely out of character."

"Expand your imagination, as it IS a possibility. I would like to debrief you all on what I've uncovered so far. Some good, some bad." Momori countered. "Starting with Wyda. She has yet to say anything pertinent to Red Argos...But I believe her mind is compromised. Did you know she WAS part of a pirate crew? And that she claims to have no memory of this?”

Aislinn tipped her head. "How'd you come by that bit of information?"

Lumarto stared at the group while Momori spoke, resting his hand on his hip while she debriefed them. "Seems like something awful to forget..."

"One hears a lot in Aleport taverns. That, and some had much to say when presented with her bounty portrait." Momori replied. 

Rolanda paused. "For my own part, I can only say we met recently and I don't know her past. But she did not seem to have the demeanor of a pirate to me."

Aislinn shared a glance with Lumarto. "I thought we agreed, it's not -her- portrait. For all we know those sods in the taverns are getting her confused with someone else."

Lumarto nodded to Aislinn's point. "Anyone could share a face, but rumors could spread like wild fire."

"True. There is a non-zero chance of her having an identical twin." Momori shrugged. "Just as there is a non-zero chance of Bahamut coming to roast us on the spot! Haha." She chuckled at her own joke, then cleared her throat. "Anyway."

Aislinn gave the lalafell a flat look. There was also a non-zero chance of Momori ending up headfirst in a snowbank by the time this was through. "Fine. Let's pretend she was a pirate. ‘Was’, being the operative word."

"Wyda..." Momori made air quotes as she said the name. "Used to be part of a pirate crew known as the 'Ruddy Hounds,' which disappeared over a year ago. After some matching, I determined that some ex-members of the Hounds are in Argos. These are sea pirates we're talking about. So unless they suddenly got an airship...AND learned to fly the thing..." Momori frowned.

Aislinn shrugged one shoulder. "Suppose that's also not unheard of."

"Or thought there would be no competition in a frozen tundra?" Luma remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes. That brings me to my next point. They don't seem concerned in coin, and only in 'booty.' Spoken booty, that is!" Another one of her godawful jokes. "They've kept up their kidnapping habits here. Three have gone missing in Coerthas."

What sort of pirates weren't interested in coin? 

"To what end? Ransom? Trafficking?" Aislinn asked. 

"If its Coerthas, it could be ransom; trying to take the coin of the wealthy for the exchange of the stolen?" Lumarto suggested. 

"Perhaps. Though no victims have shown up in...the markets, so to speak. Nor have they reached out to anyone for ransom. Maybe it's their first time with this sort of thing." Momori stated. 

"I'd guess the law is preoccupied, but that would be surprising if it had been someone of high class who had been kidnapped; they jumped at the chance to be saviours then." Lumarto all but snorted. 

"No. But I do believe if we find the victims, we'll find Red Argos. I have some items  here from the kidnapped victims, if that could help you in tracking them down.” Momori handed Lumarto a dirty sock, a ribbon, and a bracelet. "If somehow you're, like, a bloodhound. Lumarto, none of the kidnapped are particularly rich, which could explain the inaction."

Lumarto stared at the items. "So they aren't of high class... so people like ourselves are going to have to do the work; figures..." Luma said, looking back to Momori. "Do we have any idea of the age of those who had been stolen?"

"Two adults, one child." she answered.

"A family out of their house, mayhaps."

Aislinn eyed the belongings in Lumarto’s hands. "-Were- they related? Do we know?" she asked, looking back to Momori.

"Mother and child. The other adult wasn't related." Momori nodded. "You know what they say. A family that eats together, is..." She stopped. Perhaps it isn't time to joke around.

Rolanda narrowed her eyes at Momori. "No, probably not the time to joke..."

"There aren't many places to hide in Coerthas... it isn't like they can openly hole up in the city..." Luma thought, pacing slightly.

Aislinn shook her head. "No, you're right. More than likely, they're out holed up in one of the deserted villages around here."

Momori coughed. "I would like to bring up the reason I'm here.” Now seemed as good a time as any. “They've stolen an artifact known as 'The Helm' from me. A wheel of six spokes, decorated with six elementally aspected crystals at each end. If you happen to see it, I would be much obliged."

“I wish I could tell you what it does. Unfortunately, it has a reputation for being useless. The Helm was recovered between Doma and the Azim Steppe nearly fifty years ago. It was immediately recognized as being unworkable and incomplete, and thus spent decades as a royal, broken bauble. There are rumors that it was used as a toy at some point. As a flying disc for children.”

Lumarto stared for a moment at Momori. "So we are really going after this 'Helm', while on the side potentially uncovering and helping those who had been kidnapped?" Luma asked, crossing his arms.

Aislinn eyed Momori quietly for a moment. Something about that didn't sound right to her and honestly, she wasn't entirely sure she trusted the lalafell. She spoke neither one way or another on the matter of the 'Helm'.

"Well, it is why I'm here. And the kidnapped are to simply lead us to Red Argos, so that you may free your jailed companion." Momori replied. "The Helm being useless is a boon. You shadn't worry about anything crazy happening, outside of pirates and guns."

Aislinn let go a wry, humorless smile. "Somehow, I've never found that to be the case."

"What will we be doing now then for this? Surely not stand here with frost building up on our feet; do we have a location in mind for a search?" Lumarto said. The quicker they got moving, the better. 

“Ah, of course not. But quickly, let me explain these devices.” Momori said, referring to one she held in her hand. “"If you see anything interesting, you can snap a photo of it with this. It can only hold one photo, so make it count. You can also safely communicate with each other, or me, through it. I won’t be joining in person since I’m just a civilian."

Aislinn took a closer look at her device, following along and making sure she understood it before they headed out.

"As for places to start looking, I have two leads. There’s an abandoned settlement that not many pass by - a potential hideout for the pirates. Secondly, herds of Steinbock have been on the move recently. Perhaps being spooked by increased activity from our pirates? It may be worth taking a look at their grazing grounds."

"I'd say the settlement personally... spooked steinbock could be anything from wild life territorial issues or mishaps with adventurers, so I wouldn't see that as anything to jump at." Luma said, glancing at the others. "What are your thoughts?"

Satisfied she understood how to work the new device, Aislinn looked up at Luma. "Can't say I know much about what will or won't spook a steinbock. But the settlement seems like a good place to start.”

Lumarto nodded.

"Why don't you test out your devices? Hope they aren't broken." Momori said. 

Lumarto stared down at the object on his collar. "I'd rather not play around with something like this... just assume it does the job right and get down to business."

Unlike Lumarto, Aislinn took a moment to point the device at Rolanda, and hit the button. She had no problem messing with things to see if they'll break. 

Rolanda struck a stunning pose when Aislinn pointed the pearl her way.

Referring back to the device, Aislinn gave a thumbs up. "Seems to be in order. Let’s head out."

The trio turned on their heels and left Momori to huddle in the alleyway next to the encryptor and listen for word of their excursion over the linkpearl. The three rode out and arrived at the settlement, finding it just as Momori had stated. The abandoned buildings sat, long frozen. A testament to an earlier time when the land around them was verdant and farmable. Now it lay buried under fulms of snow, likely never to see the light of day again. They landed at its fringes, and almost immediately heard a buzzing sound emanating from their clothing. 

"Hello? Is this thing on?" Momori was calling through the linkpearls.

Rolanda slapped the pearl on her hip out of fear as it crackled suddenly to life. Its image shifts to one of pure white. "Dag nabbit.. lousy thing!"

Aislinn scanned the area as she dismounted and waved her carbuncle out of existence. She jolted a bit as the disembodied voice floated from her jacket. Luckily Lumarto responded so she didn’t have to. 

Lumarto listened, cocking his head to a side upon hearing Momori's voice. "Aye its on. We've arrived at the settlement; its in tatters."

The Highlander continued to take stock of the settlement, looking for any sign of recent activity.

"At least it'll be hard to cover their tracks in snow?” she offered. 

"On the contrary, the constant blizzards would pile their tracks up; so it might be difficult unless they’re fresh." Luma said to Aislinn, taking a few steps towards the buildings and gazing upon the structure.

He was right. Fresh snow covered any potential footprints and fallen items. At first glance, it simply appeared a lonely, cold wasteland. No sign of life or recent activity. But the three fanned out, determined to search anyroads. 

With a hum of consideration, Aislinn wandered off towards the buildings on the north side of the settlement. 

Rolanda dug through the rubble and found a small can of beans that appeared to be untouched. "Found some beans."

"Beans? Rolanda, focus. Now's not the time to be eating things off the floor." Momori’s voice crackled.

"Was there a fire here earlier?..." Luma spoke to himself, crouching down to gaze at the bottom near one of the doors on the building to the south, looking for any signs of ware-and-tear, or skid marks from the opening.

Across the way, Aislinn put a hand on the door of one of the buildings, it was cold from the outside, obviously. The building was made of solid, rough hewn rock, its door shut against the wind. But she focused on sensing any aetheric signature within. The cold, biting wind and stinging snow made it hard for her to concentrate. Maybe she felt something. It was ever so faint. She strained a bit harder, leaning against the door now but after a few moments longer, she shook her head and finally pushed away. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

Lumarto caught a whiff of gunpowder when he crouched down, wiping away the small layers of frost and revealing a trail of the stuff. "Where does this lead?..." the miqo’te muttered, pressing against the door as he stood up and began to pursue the trail.

As Aislinn moved to turn away from the northern building, she stopped again. No. There was definitely something. But as she glanced across the way, she caught sight of Luma’s form wandering off into the blowing snow. Splitting up in a blizzard when there might be pirates about sat ill at ease with her and so, she made to follow but Rolanda approached and stopped her. 

"Hmm, I'm a bit of an expert on beans... and this can seems to be recently sealed, likely from nearby Limsa Lominsa. This could be a bean-clue." the au ra handed the can to Aislinn. "What do you think?"

Hesitating in her desire to follow after Lumarto, Aislinn looked at Rolanda and her beans. "Ahh." she paused and eyed the legumes in question, taking a moment to consider them.

"New....beans?" Momori sounded confused. "A ration by some travelers?"

"Does seem an odd thing to be here. And they look a lot more recent than the rest of this place. But...I can't say whether pirates or some hunter might have left them." the woman said with an apologetic look to Rolanda.

Rolanda nodded. "That conclusion seems logical. Perhaps someone traveled through here that came through Limsa first."

"Bring it back all the same. If it's irrelevant, we can split the beans fourway. Nothing like floor food to fill the gut." Momori advised. 

Aislinn passed Rolanda a dry look. "Well...you heard the woman. Bring it along. It's either a clue or floor food." she turned to look for Luma but he was nowhere to be found. Her anxiety had just begun to rise when his voice came over the linkpearl. 

"Beans are going to have to wait. You both might wanna check this out." Luma said, awaiting for them to join him. 

They found him at the edge of a cliff behind one of the buildings, staring down into the gully below as Aislinn appeared behind him. 

"Take a look at this." Luma said, pointing down towards the snow beneath the cliff.

Gazing down at the white snow; something odd protruded from it. Not the solid white of snow, of powder and the like-- an off white, bone. A skeleton had been off the cliff's edge and covered in snow. "That doesn't look fresh... it can't be any of the ones who were kidnapped..." Luma muttered.

"What is it? What's fresh?" With only voice communication, Momori wasn’t able to follow what was happening. "Something juicy?"

Aislinn followed his gaze, confused for a moment as she sought what he was pointing out. But then, all at once it took shape for her. A skeleton against the snow. "Nymeia's Blood." she swore softly. "We need to get closer. Try and see if we can ascertain how long it's been here. And, bring it back, if we can. No one should be left out here like that."

"Lumarto found a skeleton." she said into the device.

"You're right, but mind your step. I found Ceruleum here as well, so anything could be hidden beneath the snow or otherwise; I don't feel like that body is here unintentionally." Lumarto warned her. 

"Ceruleum....That's odd. A popular fuel for garlean magitek, but...hm. Go forth with the utmost caution." Momori added. 

Rolanda came up behind them, breathless. "Sorry the cold got to me for a moment there. Brought the beans."

With that, Luma carefully got some footing on the slope of the cliff, and slid down; his heels keeping a firm grip on the rock before taking a short leap onto the snow below; gazing just for a moment if there was anything else in question to see before moving forward.

Aislinn nodded in reply to the warning as she pulled a battered gemstone from her hip pack. Tossing it in the air, with a bit of calculated manipulation on her part, it became her carbuncle. She headed down to join Lumarto.

Rolanda pocketed the beans and looked down the cliff face. "Well, no time like the present! HUP!" and with that, began her way down.

"I don't see anything..." Luma said, as he approached the skeleton before kneeling down before it. "Does it look like an adult's frame? Child?" Luma asked, wanting the others’ opinion.

The wind suddenly picked up, revealing more frozen snow coated with a mixture of gunpowder and ceruleum. The way the ice had formed...signs of struggle. It was soon apparent the skeleton was that of an adult. 

"I don't think I'm going to be eating these beans now.." Rolanda covered her mouth.

Aislinn knelt down and brushed some of the snow away from the skeleton, trying to get a clearer picture of it. As her hands grazed the bones, that familiar buzzing pressure started in her ears. Aether. A lot of it. She looked to Lumarto and Rolanda. "Ahh...help me move the bones. We'll have to pack them up and bring them back anyroads."

Lumarto shook his head at Rolanda "It's not about eating right no--" Luma paused, the sensation of fire aether causing the hairs on his back to stand on end; his tail to shoot up before nonchalantly returning to a rested state. 

He shifted his attention to Aislinn, albeit with something else on his mind. "Wh-- ah, yeah...yeah..." Luma said, staring down at the skeleton and slowly taking bone by bone, his hands visibly hesitating with each time he reached towards that source of aether.

Rolanda nodded and bent down to help. Using her bow to dig out around the bones, she made them easier to pick up.

Aislinn slid a glance to Lumarto. Judging from his reaction, she wasn't the only one who noticed the aether. "You feel that too, aye?" she said, relieved it wasn't just her.

Lumarto stared at her, before quickly looking away to hide his gaze, still shaken. "Aye its... potent; and unpleasant..." he said, gazing down at the pieces of arm bone he had picked up; noticing an odd brand on it. 

The aether burned brightest around the wrist bone he held. And the brand. A black mark, a crude symbol of the fire element surrounded by six intricate wings. Additionally, frozen flower petals resembling those of a lily, a light lavender color.

The aether seemed to seethe and he immediately dropped it, taking a sudden step back.

Aislinn startled a bit as the miqo'te dropped one of the bones as if it had burned him. Her eyes dart from him to the bone and back.

Just then, Momori’s voice broke the silence. "Sounds like you guys hit paydirt. Though a skeleton would be hard to bring back. Maybe bring back just what matters for now, and come back for the rest later?" 

"Alright, there Lumarto?" Aislinn asked. 

She leaned forward, reaching for the bone. Before she even touched it, she felt the aether coming from the strange symbol. "Ahh...this is where it's coming from." she sat back and spoke into the device. 

"Right." She didn't like the idea of leaving the remains out here but Momori made sense. 

Lumarto looked towards the skeleton and then up at Aislinn. "I'm... f-fine. I'm not good with fire; unpleasant memories..." Luma muttered, as his wobbly legs slowly attempted another step. "There is that symbol on its wrist, and it's almost like that in itself is an active fire crystal. It's important from the looks of it." Luma said, though hesitated in coming closer to the mark. "Can you retrieve it? Sending a picture for Momori would probably be ideal."

Aislinn pulled a cloth from her pack and reached for the bone, turning it about in the snow. "It has an odd symbol. -Burned- into the bone by the looks of it. I can't...done before or after death, I can't say." she said into the device. She nodded to Lumarto.

Rolanda didn’t notice any of this heat that everyone kept talking about. She reached down and grabbed a hold of the wrist bone. "Is this the one we need?"

"Aye, can you carry that back for us?" she asks the Au Ra. Truthfully, she didn't want to handle it either. 

Lumarto nodded at that. With the Au Ra not realizing its potential and properties, it would be the safest bet. "Please carry it for us." Luma said without skipping a beat.

"It does not appear to affect me as it does all of you. I will happily transport it if it makes you all more comfortable." Rolanda shrugged.

Aislinn spared her a grateful look before eyeing the rest of the bones. "These...I suppose they'll have to wait."

"Well, if that's taken care off, I happen to have an odd...lead for you all." Momori's voice popped and crackled. "From where I'm at, I just saw an airship fly by. Garlean."

Garlean. Aislinn swiftly lifted her head to the skies.

"Is it headed anywhere this direction? Considering the ceruleum and all." Luma said, looking up at the sky while one hand was on his collar; his right hand gripping his sleeve to try and relieve some of the burning sensation.

"It was seen heading eastward. Odd thing about it, kept flashing in and out of view." Momori reported. 

"Are you saying it was cloaking in some way, or hidden by the weather?" Luma asked, taking a few more steps towards the more open part of the cliff, trying to get a clearer look at the sky.

Aislinn looked back up the cliff in the direction of the building she had been inspecting. She couldn't shake the feeling there was something there. No matter how faint. She quietly continued to listen to the exchange between Lumarto and Momori.

"Potentially. If so, then their system must be broken...I was only able to spot it briefly and from afar, so I couldn't tell what they were using. "

"Copy that." Lumarto replied, turning to the group. "I'd say we try and look for things while we leave the premises; there is no telling if they are headed here or not." he said, glancing between the other two. "What say you both?"

"We should make haste to see if we can find this ship. If we can get there quickly, perhaps we can see if it is our culprits." Rolanda said, decisively

"If it was heading eastward from Falcon's Nest, it might head this way. But...I want to look at one of the building's up there. I sensed something coming from beyond it." Aislinn countered. 

"I have a whale that can carry me quite swiftly. Perhaps I could take flight and see if I can get a snapshot of this ship - from a distance of course" Rolanda offered. 

No one seemed surprised the au ra had a skywhale at her beckon call. Rolanda always had a trick up her sleeve. 

Lumarto nodded to Aislinn. "Show us the building, and we'll see if there are any more leads before we get an unexpected arrival." Luma said, then held his hand to his collar, activating the pearl. "We're going to take a look at a lead from Aislinn before returning." Luma reported, turning to Rolanda. "If you could do so quietly and discreetly, then by all means; but don't take risks."

"Whatever you do, be careful. Don't want them pointing their guns at you." Momori voice crackled back in reply. 

Aislinn seemed torn for a moment. "Alright...that seems best. But aye, as Lumarto says, be careful."

Rolanda nodded and called her skywhale down from the clouds. "Easy now, Eustice. We have to be stealthy today". She hopped on the back of her whale, and headed back into the clouds in search of the airship.

Aislinn led Luma back across the settlement to the building in question. She trailed her hand along its rough hewn facade as she moved away from the front. Her brow furrowed in concentration, as she tried to focus. "It feels like it's coming from behind the building." she said. "Do you feel anything?" she asked Lumarto as she moved along.

High in the sky above, Rolanda caught sight of the ship approaching from a distance. It appeared to be heading straight for them! She hurriedly snapped a photo with the linkpearl and then headed down to the rest of the party to warn them about the approaching ship.

"It does feel odd around here, I guess this place really does have something about it." Luma said, turning as he noticed Rolanda coming back from her pseudo-mission.

"The ship is headed this way! I'm not sure of its intentions, but I managed to get a linkpearl of it before I had to flee.” 

Rolanda's announcement placed a sense of urgency in Aislinn that momentarily disrupted her concentration. "Right...okay. Let's be quick about this. Momori said we're outgunned and I don't want to be caught out like this."

Both Aislinn and Lumarto could feel it. Earth aether. Weak, but present, and foreign to the environment. The source coming from beyond the building, toward the rocky outcropping. 

Aislinn wordlessly followed her senses, the world narrowing down to this aether and getting out. As they moved around a boulder, they found the source. Incredibly, it was a child! A young midlander girl, huddled against the rock and shivering.

A child was the last thing Aislinn expected to find. She rocked back a step in surprise. "I..oh!"

"Gods... how long has she been out here for?" Luma said, quickly approaching behind Aislinn before crouching down and getting a better look at the girl.

The girl weakly turned to look at Lumarto, and flinched, scrambling further into the rock. "I-I...you're not...one of them, are you?"

Aislinn quickly recovered and slowly reached out for the child but stopped, realizing that might be perceived as a threat. Instead, she turned to her device. "Momori, I think we find the child that was missing."

"One of them?..." Luma asked, looking at her expression, he finally put two and two together. "No, no no... me and these two were lucky enough to even find you shivering out here." Luma said, crouching down and holding his hand out slowly to the girl, keeping it steady to not show hostility. "Are you hurt? Hungry? Rolanda, get the beans." Luma said, his gaze darting to the Au Ra.

"Nice." Momori pauses. "She's an elezen, right?"

Rolanda pulled out the can. "Ah yes, the groun- uh.. er... the beans! Here you are."

Aislinn looked the girl over. "Ahh...no. She's a hyur."

The girl looked towards the can of beans, then at Luma. "You...you don't look like one of them." She quickly grabbed the beans and immediately tried to pry the can open. As she did so, they all saw it as plain as day. A tattoo. The mark of earth, surrounded by six wings.

Lumarto watched the girl, his heart aching. Being a father, he couldn't help but feel worry upon finding a girl here in the cold. He noticed the mark, and his eyes widened. "Here..." Luma said, carefully reaching for the can of beans and, using a knife from his hip, pried it open before handing it back to the girl. "Slowly-- don't choke."

The girl watched the miqo’te, stars in her eyes. However, despite his advice, she did in fact inhale those beans. As if on cue, a garlean airship touched down at the center of the abandoned settlement. From a distance, the trio could hear the sound of metal armor. “Come! We don’t have much time to find her,” a voice called from the distance.

Aislinn snapped her attention to the sound of the airship. "Right. Time to go." she murmured. She looked down at the girl. "Ready to head home?" she asks gently. "We're here to bring you back."

"I have a whale that could easily accommodate both of us" Rolanda said with a smile. 

The girl's eyes widen and her head swiftly turned to stare at the docking airship. "Thass them! The bad guys." Her mouth is still stuffed full with beans.

Lumarto stared at Aislinn, and then to the girl; the state she was in, taking her home immediately sounded like a risk. "You're being... tracked, they are trying to find you?" Luma asked, carefully approaching the girl and removing one layer from his coat; covering the small girl in it.

Aislinn shot a glance at Lumarto. "We can't leave her here and at the end of all of this...." she inhaled. They had to move. Now. Debating the finer points of where the child would go could be done later. "We don't have time."

"I'm not saying to leave her here, but rather get her away before we ourselves get caught." Luma said, staring around at the group before looking back at the Garlean ship dock. "We need to go north like I said, and loop around back to Falcon's Nest."

From here, they could see several figures moving here and there in the settlement. They were searching fervently. Interestingly, there were those dressed in garlean armor mixed in with the Sea Wolves. A detail to be mulled over at another time. 

Aislinn nodded quickly along with Lumarto, turning to keep an eye out as she groaned under her breath. "Right. Then are you reading to get away from here?"

"I can take the girl to safety and meet up with you afterwards. I can keep in touch with the link pearls." Rolanda said, calling the whale down once more. 

Lumarto turned to Rolanda. "We can use the whale to head north and try to stay low before making our way to the nest; can it fit all four of us?" Luma asked, glancing down at the little girl. "You're going to be fine; we'll keep you safe. Go along with Rolanda and we'll meet with you in a bit, ok? Hopefully that coat keeps you warm."

Aislinn kept an eye out while Rolanda and Lumarto go about securing the child safely up on the whale.

The girl looked unsure, but then caught sight of someone coming around the corner. “It’s her!” Frightened, it’s enough to send the girl scrabbling to get onto the whale. Lumarto hurried after her with ease. Aislinn on the other hand…

Lumarto reached down from the whale to help Aislinn up. "Come on, we have to go now!" Luma stated, clearly not willing to simply abandon her. 

The Sea Wolf who came around the corner of the building was Wyda. She was identical. She dashed towards the slowly embarking whale. Fists drawn to attack, sea foam hair whipped back from momentum.

Aislinn was momentarily caught off guard by the sight of the Wyda look alike and for a moment, it appeared as if she didn't even hear Lumarto urging her to get on. After a tense, stunned moment, she waves the whale off, signaling Rolanda to just go.

As the skywhale takes off, several other pirates and those donning garlean uniforms pour from around the corner of the building, ready to back up the Wyda look-alike. They began to fire their weapons at the whale.

The sound of gunfire snapped Aislinn back into motion. Slamming the snapshot function of the device to get a shot of the pirate angrily hurtling towards her, she then turned and ran for cover along the boulders that rimmed the settlement. In a rush, she tossed her battered gem into the sky and launched herself on the carbuncle that popped into existence.

The gunfire hit their mark! Several shots buried themselves in the whale’s belly, and it lurched to the side, losing altitude with a bellow. 

"Eustice! nooo". Rolanda cried out. She pulled sharply on the reins, trying to get out of the line of fire.

The girl clung to Luma, holding on for dear life as the creature began to roll. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Aislinn cursed as she saw the great whale listing. Hurriedly reaching into her pack, she withdrew one of her incendiary nodes. Twisting the sphere to arm it, she hurls it down below in the midst of the pack of attackers. 

The incendiary blossomed as it detonated, flames shooting forth across the white landscape. It provided a good distraction, and the firing squad below were suddenly more preoccupied with getting out of the way of the explosion. However, they were quick to regroup,  and collect themselves, continuing to shoot. But Rolanda had managed to coax the whale higher into the sky, escaping the reach of the bullets below. 

"Wow. Whatever you're doing, you better get out, stat." Momori's voice came out deadpan.

This bloody lalafell. Aislinn bit back a retort and simply, curtly answered. "On it."

Rolanda continued pulling up on the reins, aiming to get out of there as fast as possible and head back to safety.

"Head north and keep us under the bridge for some tics, we can't let them see us go back to the nest immediately!" Lumarto called out to the au ra while he held the girl safe.

Despite its injuries, the whale flew quickly through the sky, but they could all hear it...the roar of a magitek engine, somewhere behind them. Thankfully, in the blizzard, the noise eventually faded.

Aislinn and her carbuncle kept themselves in the shadow of the whale, turning back to peer through the blizzard. Hopefully they had lost them for good.

Lumarto sighed, glancing around. "That was reckless; we could have gotten into much worse if we didn't get out of there in time... but now they know a whale took the girl." he said, carefully releasing his hold on the little one. "You alright?" He asked her.

"Lots of people have whales right? ha ha.. ha.." Rolanda looked around worriedly. She hadn't noticed many whales around lately.

The girl opened an eye. “I...I’m alright. Ugh...” She keeled over slightly, in pain, and in conjunction with a strange light emanating from directly below them. The feeling of aether...moving. It was palpable to even those with the dullest senses.

"What the..." From under the whale, she leaned over her carbuncle to stare down below them. Whatever was causing this pressure in her head was strong. She drifted her mount lower to see if she could find the source.

Lumarto held his hand to his head, the other keeping the girl from falling off the whale. "Whatever it is, it's affecting us all... get us grounded."

Rolanda hurried to oblige, banking the whale into a shadowy ravine below with Aislinn in tow. Once back on solid ground, the group made their way out from the deep ravine where it opened onto what must have been, at one time, a lake bed. As they drew closer to the center of this opening...this Bed of Bones, they could see a figure brandishing something circular in its hands. Six burn spots are roasted into the icy floor, and a crowd of other figures - garleans and seawolves alike, are just behind the lone figure.

"What in the devils have we wandered into..." Rolanda whispered, trying to make herself small.

Lumarto gestured to everyone. "We're getting into something deep... lay low. Rolanda, you're the only one without a solid picture; take one here if anything stands out." Luma said, crouching down with the others.

Momori’s voice came out in a hush through the linkpearl. "There was an earthquake just now! And that light...did you see that?"

"I got a picture of the ship, I can replace it if we find something more useful here." Rolanda said, brandishing her pearl.

"I'll try and take one if things seem rather... important. Though any of these moments seem like it." Luma said, keeping a hand near the pearl just in case he needs to snap a quick one.

They watched as the central figure spun the artifact, as though it were a ship’s wheel. Six lights, coming from the burn marks, dart about, then sink into the ground. A moment of silence, and then the wind coalesces, partitioned into even sections of highly concentrated aether. 

Lumarto watched as the figure used the artifact with ease; then he recalled Momori's words. Something of a disc, 6 points; it fit the description oddly enough. "I'm going to step closer for a picture..." Luma said, carefully setting the girl beside Aislinn before readying the pearl.

Aislinn watched the strange ritual without having one any idea as to what the purpose may have been. A summoning? But she recognized that artifact. The Helm Momori had described. Apparently not so useless after all. Why was she not surprised? As Lumarto set the girl beside her, she laid a comforting hand on the girl's arm.

From the sections of aether, wind sprites form, and with the unrelenting fury of Llymlaen herself, a great gale of wind blows. It was strong enough to knock the viewing party off their feet. Lumarto had clipped the enhanced linkpearl off his collar, aiming it at the figure as the artifact was beginning to spew aetheric wind around them. He snapped a photo of the impact, of the sprites forming around the group. Just as fast as the photo was taken, the wind shot him back towards his group; slamming against the rock behind them before falling to the snow. With a long exhale, he sighed. "Lets... Lets get out. This is getting dangerous.."

As Lumarto came hurtling back towards them, Aislinn pulled the girl towards her and leaned back out of the way, wincing as the miqo'te made landfall. But as he speaks, she let go a breath. He was battered, but alright. Nodding in agreement she speaks. "Aye, let's get this little one taken care of."

The garlean airship lifted off, and the cloaking device finally kicked in. After much flickering, it disappeared in a blur. Gone.

"Well, that was.. something! Is everyone alright?" Rolanda looked around at her windswept companions.

The girl seemed to be in a daze. She looked especially weak, and at this point was pretty much as active as a sack of popotos.

Lumarto coughed some. "I don't very much like the idea of being battered, so let's try and head back; I need a drink..." he said, offering the lightest chuckle to try and make light of the situation before looking to the small girl. "She needs to rest and a bed... lets return to the nest; carefully this time."

Arriving back at Falcon’s Nest, the exhausted trio found Momori right where they had left her, by the device, donning a headpiece. She turned to the party as they arrived. “Oh. Hi.”

Lumarto held a hand to his gut, clearly worn out a bit before taking a seat on the alley steps. "Gods, that's enough for today..." the miqo’te muttered.

Aislinn North let go a long exhalation by way of reply. She had the girl in her arms, giving Lumarto  a chance to rest. She doesn't look like she entirely knows how to hold or comfort a child.

"Good to see everyone in one piece. And...this must be the child you picked up along the way." She makes an odd face at the girl, who is just. Collapsed in Aislinn’s arms.

The lalafell held out her hand. "If you could hand me the augmented linkpearls. I'll need to process the photos you took."

Lumarto held out the pearl, reluctant to budge from his spot. Aislinn knelt down to allow Momori to pluck the device from her coat.

"Thanks all. Hm, that child...You don't suppose you can keep her holed up at Heartwood for now? I haven't the faintest idea who she is, and I don't think she can tell us now." Momori said, observing the child at a distance, as if she were on exhibit.

Lumarto turned to Momo and then to Aislinn. "I'm sure we can, she needs someplace warm and a hot meal; my space at the house should be a decent place. I can feed her when I'm free too." Luma said, holding out his arms to Aislinn. "Give her here; I need my coat back later anyways."

"Good. Now, if there's anything else you need to give to me, I'd ask you to hand it over now. There is much for me to look into." the lalafell said briskly. 

Aislinn’s instinct was to try and heal the child but recalling the aetheric brand, she was hesitant to add any of her own aetheric formulas to the mix. The girl appeared worn out. A warm bed and a few good meals should go a long way to helping her recover. She nodded to Lumarto and gingerly passed the child off to him.

“Ah yes, I nearly forgot, this strange bone that everyone said felt warm". Rolanda said as she handed over the wrist bone to Momori.

Lumarto nodded in kind to Aislinn, holding the girl close and making sure she was warm. Clearly he had experience with kids, her face looked pale, but her hands were warming up to the touch a bit. Upon seeing the bone that Rolanda held out once more, he flinched and looked away before making sure once more that the girl was fine.

“Very gross. Thank you.” Momori accepted the wrist bone. She paused. “...I will send payment in the mail after I have reviewed the footage you’ve brought back. Farewell for now.”

Rolanda seemed glad to be rid of the bone and linkpearl both. "Until next time." She glanced down at the child. "Let me know if you need anything for the child."

Lumarto stared at Aislinn, taking a moment to slowly stand as he held the girl carefully. "I'm going to take her back, but any help would be appreciated. I'll pearl you if need be." he said, carefully patting the little one. "See you back at the company." 

"I'll head back with you." Aislinn said suddenly, falling into step with him. 

Bones, artifacts, Garleans, and one lost child. For the immediate moment, they all had a lot to consider.

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

can you do a ship prompt for polypie but like mission goes super wrong and one actually dies for like real and,,, sadnesss

(First of all, I just wanna apologize to anon for how long this took?? I kept forgetting to take my medicine because I was off my medicine,,,It literally only took a few hours to write I was just too busy procrastinating and being gay (also adhd but shh.))

The Asylum Case

Rating: PG-13, SFW

Ship: Poly P.I.E. (Ghost/Toast/Spooker/Colon)

Warnings: Lots of angst, Major Character Death, Descriptions of intense pain, Sadness >:3 (Tell me if I missed anything!)

Summary: Ghost recounts exactly how he got into his current predicament, which is dying.

Word Count: 1,829

They’re approximately 30 minutes into the investigation when everything, in Ghost’s humble opinion, goes to shit. “But every P.I.E. investigation goes to shit!” you say. Yes, that is, in fact, true, but Ghost has decided that bleeding out on the floor - very slowly, might he add, which is decidedly not fun - constitutes the creation of a new category of “gone to shit”. “But,” you say, “Why not just respawn?” and again, usually, Ghost would do just that - but there’s just one issue; he can’t. Let’s rewind.

They entered the decrepit asylum, joking and teasing and generally enjoying each other’s company - unsuspecting of the horrors yet to come. Once they were inside, the ghost wasted no time in introducing itself; it screamed its sob-story from nowhere in particular, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing down each corridor, all lined with empty cells. Ghost thought he heard sobbing from the one beside him, and so, using the keys the caretaker - who had been the one to call them to investigate, and who looked about as old and decrepit as the asylum - had given him, unlocked the door and (ignoring the disapproving sigh from Toast, and the alarmed yelps from the other two) entered. A girl sat huddled in the corner, long, matted, black hair cascading over her small form, blocking her face. Her tattered white dress hung loosely, and one sleeve slid from her small trembling shoulder as he approached and knelt down. A familiar dread washed over Ghost as he gently asked, “K-Katrina?”

Abruptly, the girl stopped shaking, before giggling once, twice, and then, neck cracking violently, her head shot up and she stared into his eyes with a wide, manic smile. He edged away, wondering why the others hadn’t entered, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even made a sound since he’d approached Katrina, but he couldn’t look back, not now, because when he stumbled to his feet, backing away, she followed, neck craning oddly to one side. “Katrina-” he started, pleading, “Kat, hey, it’s me, Johnny! Remember?” He fumbled for the door handle, careening into the hall when it opened. No one else was there.

“Yessssss,” Katrina hissed, drawling, “I remember youuuu…” but she didn’t slow her advance; instead, she just kept hurtling towards him. As he ducked beneath a wild swing of her claw, he glimpsed it - the small, red, rope-pattern lines wrapping around her neck, exposed by its unnatural angle - and choked back a sob. “God, Kat, I’m sorry - I’m so sorry!” he heard himself plead. She didn’t seem to hear him, only muttered, “Johnny, Johnny, I remember, yes I remember Johnny. Johnny!” and took another swing. He scrambled back, gritting his teeth when a razor nail clipped his shoulder, and Katrina’s crazed grin widened. Something inside Ghost twitched at the sight, but he pushed it down, he didn’t have time to panic. “Toast?” he called as he scrambled down the empty hallways, “Spook? Colon?!”

No one answered, and Ghost felt his heart sink.

He fumbled with the keyring, detached it from his belt loop - which proved to be much more difficult while his hands shook violently - and jammed a key into the first lock he came across, throwing open the cell door and slamming it behind him, locking it back.

The old door’s hinges creaked dangerously with the force of Katrina’s hands slamming against it, and Johnny could only pray they didn’t give out under the stress. Slowly, the banging subsided and, hand over heart, he sighed in relief. Pulling out his phone, he hit Toast’s contact, and pulled the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. It clicked, and Toast’s blurted in a near-shout, “Sir, where the fuck are you?!” in the background he heard a short hysterical laugh, and Ghost felt one of his own bubble out past the tightness in his chest and the burning in his shoulder. “Just getting chased by a murderous vision from the past - you know, the usual.”

“Are you injured?”

“She nicked me, but its nothing serious.”

“Don’t do anything dangerous,” Spooker said in the background, “A ghost said we can’t respawn here and we don’t want to chance them being right.”

“Where are you, Sir? We’ll come find you.”

“Er,” Ghost muttered, trying to recall where he was, “I’m in a locked cell right now, not sure what floor - I think it’s B-hall though, so first floor probably,” he paused, putting on a cheery, guide-like voice, “Just follow the sounds of screeching and growling, and you should see a crazy lady pacing outside the door,” he said peeking through the small, barred window. Katrina spotted him and slammed a palm against the door, snarling. “take a sharp turn there and - remember this step because it is crucial okay? - sock her right in the face.”

Toast barked out a sharp, brittle laugh, “We’ll do our best.”

“I’ll see you in a few, I’m gonna hang up now because I don’t want to attract too much attention - these ancient hinges don’t exactly appreciate the abuse we’re putting them through.”

“Alright Sir, be careful.”

And careful he was, but you can’t exactly count on ghosts to obey the laws of physics, or even manners, really, because out of the blue, there was the caretaker, and boy did he look smug. “What a lovely reunion between old friends,” he croaked, “It’s almost enough to warm my cold, dead heart!” then cackled wildly. When Ghost didn’t so much as blink in surprise, he sobered, snapping at him, “Why aren’t you surprised? Everything went perfectly, none of you suspected a thing!”

“Dude, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I hunt ghosts for a living; this plot-twist happens every other week.”

“Damn! Well, either way, you’re gonna die here, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Dead men tell no tales and all that.”

“Again, hate to do this, but literally every case a ghost says something along the lines of “Ohohoho you’re gonna die anyway, so it doesn’t really matter!” and here I am, alive and only slightly harmed.” Another bang reverberated around the room, and Ghost shuffled uncomfortably but couldn’t look away from the immediate threat.

“Oh, uh, exactly how many cases have you done?”

“Dunno,” Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been doing this since I was like, sixteen, and our schedule’s kinda all over the place because you can’t really predict when a ghost is gonna show up, but we get at least three to seven cases a week, and about half of them are real.” Another slam, followed by creaking and a final loud rattling sound.

“Huh, half, really?”

“Yeah, people are stupid.”

“Agreed. Speaking of stupid, you let your guard down.”

“Oh.” Things seemed to slow down, a sharp pain stabbing through his back. He looked down, watching three claw-like fingers withdraw from his chest, leaving three little holes all the way through. He collapsed, head falling to the side as he coughed wetly, tasting iron. Almost calmly, he watched as blood pooled around him, before glancing up to the doorway, where the door had been ripped open, and now teetered ominously on its hinges. Katrina loomed over him, blood coating her claws.

And that’s it, that’s how he got here. Seconds later, he hears someone shout his name, and he feels the caretaker’s presence vanish. Katrina glances back, but it doesn’t give her enough time to react before a bullet rips through her solid form, followed by another, then another. She screeches and stumbles back, blindly tripping over the lump of Ghost while trying to shield herself from the incoming bullets. He groans as she falls over him, kicking his wounds. The puddle beneath him ripples, blood traveling in tiny rivers through the imperfections in the concrete floor. Absently, Ghost notes that his sight has gone fuzzy at the edges, and black static is creeping in. Katrina lets out one last screech before disappearing, and as soon as she’s gone Toast, Spooker, and Colon all rush to his side. He smiles weakly as Colon pulls his head into his lap, eyes watery. The other two looked similarly panicked, and Ghost finds himself wheezing, “Hey, it’s really not that bad, okay? You guys can just carry me out of here and I can respawn.” Blood bubbles in his throat as he speaks, and he has to turn to the side to cough it up when it scratches at his throat.

The others glance at each other and Ghost frowns, confused. “What?”

“If we moved you now,” Spooker explains, chewing his lip, “you’d probably die of blood loss before we got outside. And I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure you have a punctured lung.”

Ghost’s brows furrow and he laughs sadly. “Sucks to be me I guess…” he ignores the liquid gathering in the back of his mouth, swallowing. “Anybody here magically know first aid?”

They all grimace, shaking their heads. “Ah, well, worth a shot,” he rasps. He feels a tear drip down, catching on his jaw. His chest burns; a hot-cold sensation that tears through him every time he breathes. He can’t focus his eyes anymore, but he looks at the blurry figures he knows are his closest companions - the loves of his life - and smiles, even as more tears follow and he chokes down a gasp of pain. Someone’s holding his face and speaking to him gently, and he can’t understand the words, but he thinks it might be Colon, so he looks up at him. At the same time as a pair of lips meet his temple, and then again and again, until he’s being peppered with kisses. He can feel the body under him shaking now, and through the white-hot burning and the growing ringing in his ears, he makes out stammered apologies and ‘I-love-you’s, and he feels it aching in his bones because it’s not their fault, he did this, and he wishes all the way down to his core that he could go back, that he could undo the pain he knows paints their faces, but he can’t - he’s going to die here, slowly, painfully. The ringing is piercing now and the black static has spread to cover most of his vision, and he thinks he might be screaming, or apologizing, saying goodbye, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing so it’s possible that when he tries to tell them “I love you too” it comes out garbled and incomprehensible. His throat is raw now so he must be screaming, and it’s all so loud until suddenly everything stops.

There’s no ringing, or panic, or crying, or pain. Just empty blackness and total silence. He can’t move, because there’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing here, there’s only void. That is, until the sound of a single raindrop, followed by another, then another, breaks the silence, and like waking up, Ghost blinks, and finds himself standing in front of a grave.