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the-crows-typist · 4 years ago

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Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one.

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience.

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded. “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember. “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil��s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

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theoutcastrogue · 4 years ago

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A selection from Spoon River Anthology

Spoon River Anthology (1915), by Edgar Lee Masters, is a collection of short free verse poems that collectively narrates the epitaphs of the residents of Spoon River, a fictional small town. The aim of the poems is to demystify rural and small town American life. The collection includes 212 separate characters, in all providing 244 accounts of their lives, losses, and manner of death. Many of the poems contain cross-references that create an unabashed tapestry of the community. [x]

Paula Malcomson as Trixie in Deadwood (2004-2006)

Aner Clute

Over and over they used to ask me, While buying the wine or the beer, In Peoria first, and later in Chicago, Denver, Frisco, New York, wherever I lived How I happened to lead the life, And what was the start of it. Well, I told them a silk dress, And a promise of marriage from a rich man— (It was Lucius Atherton). But that was not really it at all. Suppose a boy steals an apple From the tray at the grocery store, And they all begin to call him a thief, The editor, minister, judge, and all the people— “A thief,” “a thief,” “a thief,” wherever he goes And he can’t get work, and he can’t get bread Without stealing it, why the boy will steal. It’s the way the people regard the theft of the apple That makes the boy what he is.

Before My Helpless Sight (Dulce et Decorum Est), relief engraving by Neil Bousfield

Knowlt Hoheimer

I was the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge. When I felt the bullet enter my heart I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary, Instead of running away and joining the army. Rather a thousand times the county jail Than to lie under this marble figure with wings, And this granite pedestal Bearing the words, “Pro Patria.” What do they mean, anyway?

Bird Cage poker table where the longest poker game was played [x]

“Ace” Shaw

I never saw any difference Between playing cards for money And selling real estate, Practicing law, banking, or anything else. For everything is chance. Nevertheless Seest thou a man diligent in business? He shall stand before Kings!

Tom Beatty

I was a lawyer like Harmon Whitney Or Kinsey Keene or Garrison Standard, For I tried the rights of property, Although by lamp-light, for thirty years, In that poker room in the opera house. And I say to you that Life’s a gambler Head and shoulders above us all. No mayor alive can close the house. And if you lose, you can squeal as you will; You’ll not get back your money. He makes the percentage hard to conquer; He stacks the cards to catch your weakness And not to meet your strength. And he gives you seventy years to play: For if you cannot win in seventy You cannot win at all. So, if you lose, get out of the room— Get out of the room when your time is up. It’s mean to sit and fumble the cards And curse your losses, leaden-eyed, Whining to try and try.

The Haymarket Martyrs by Flavio Costantini

Carl Hamblin

The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked, And I was tarred and feathered, For publishing this on the day the Anarchists were hanged in Chicago: “I saw a beautiful woman with bandaged eyes Standing on the steps of a marble temple. Great multitudes passed in front of her, Lifting their faces to her imploringly. In her left hand she held a sword. She was brandishing the sword, Sometimes striking a child, again a laborer, Again a slinking woman, again a lunatic. In her right hand she held a scale; Into the scale pieces of gold were tossed By those who dodged the strokes of the sword. A man in a black gown read from a manuscript: “She is no respecter of persons.” Then a youth wearing a red cap Leaped to her side and snatched away the bandage. And lo, the lashes had been eaten away From the oozy eye-lids; The eye-balls were seared with a milky mucus; The madness of a dying soul Was written on her face— But the multitude saw why she wore the bandage.”

An execution by hanging, Missouri, 1896

Hod Putt

Here I lie close to the grave Of Old Bill Piersol, Who grew rich trading with the Indians, and who Afterwards took the Bankrupt Law And emerged from it richer than ever Myself grown tired of toil and poverty And beholding how Old Bill and others grew in wealth Robbed a traveler one Night near Proctor’s Grove, Killing him unwittingly while doing so, For which I was tried and hanged. That was my way of going into bankruptcy. Now we who took the bankrupt law in our respective ways Sleep peacefully side by side.

The Circuit Judge

Take note, passers-by, of the sharp erosions Eaten in my head-stone by the wind and rain— Almost as if an intangible Nemesis or hatred Were marking scores against me, But to destroy, and not preserve, my memory. I in life was the Circuit judge, a maker of notches, Deciding cases on the points the lawyers scored, Not on the right of the matter. O wind and rain, leave my head-stone alone For worse than the anger of the wronged, The curses of the poor, Was to lie speechless, yet with vision clear, Seeing that even Hod Putt, the murderer, Hanged by my sentence, Was innocent in soul compared with me.

Illustration for Fiddler Jones by Michael Miller

Fiddler Jones

The earth keeps some vibration going There in your heart, and that is you. And if the people find you can fiddle, Why, fiddle you must, for all your life. What do you see, a harvest of clover? Or a meadow to walk through to the river? The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands For beeves hereafter ready for market; Or else you hear the rustle of skirts Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove. To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth; They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.” How could I till my forty acres Not to speak of getting more, With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos Stirred in my brain by crows and robins And the creak of a wind-mill—only these? And I never started to plow in my life That some one did not stop in the road And take me away to a dance or picnic. I ended up with forty acres; I ended up with a broken fiddle— And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, And not a single regret.

#long post #Edgar Lee Masters #poetry #rogues in fiction #the deserter #no tears for the creatures of the night #prison #the gambler's face cracks into a grin #the phantom of liberty #swinging from the gallows tree #big thief little thief #I fought the law

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years ago

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31 for any pair you want!

oh hey here’s that kind sort-of music man au no one ever asked for

The plan’s gone off without a hitch, has it has countless times before.

It’s a little masterpiece, Edward’s proud to say. Find a quaint, sleepy midwest town, populated by locals with more corn between their ears than brains. Send Nina and Deirdre ahead to cause a little mischief, then roll into town as Edward Nigma, Consulting Detective, and the answer to your security needs. Make a few thousand by redesigning the local bank vaults, sit back and watch Nina and Deirdre break-in and pocket a portion of that, then off to the next town of ignoramuses. He’s hit little towns in Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, and Illinois before he came here, to Athens Ohio.

It was a mistake, coming here to Athens Ohio. It’s a slightly larger town, 5,000 residents, big enough to be a city now, but Edward had been getting bored with the tiny backwaters, he wants to challenge himself, he wants bigger, more. It’s never been a problem before, but this time, there was a complication.

He’s standing outside her door.

There’s always at least one person who questions his credentials, one person who suspects that he’s up to no good. Usually, it’s a local copper or a self-important official. This time, it was a librarian, a Miss Penelope Young. He’d met her when at the library, seeking out the old bank’s original plans and schematics for his plan. He’d laid on the charm of course, but she’d responded with an icy disdain, which made him try harder, which led from the timeline for the job moving up from two weeks to four, to six, to eight. It was the tenth week since he’d arrived in Athens Ohio, and the girls were getting antsy. The job had to be tonight, they’d tarried too long, but he’d come to one, inescapable conclusion.

He’d tarried too long because he knew once the job was done, he’d move on, and he’d never see Miss Penelope Young again, and the thought of that was unbearable to him.

It’s dusk now, and her window light is on. She’s at the door and on her porch before he can even knock on her door, still in her prim and proper librarian garb. She looks up at him with those cold blue eyes of her, which over the last few weeks, have become warmer, with a look of resignation. “You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?”

For a conman, thief, and absolute scoundrel, Edward finds he can’t bring himself to lie to her. “Yes.”

Penelope wraps her dark blue shawl around her tighter, even though it’s not a chilly night. “I suppose tomorrow I’ll hear about the second national bank being robbed?”

“You might,” he quips. “But you’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Penelope looks down at her feet. “Yes.”

“And you never thought about turning me in?”

“I tried, the first week you were here, but Mayor Sharp told me to not ‘worry my little head’ about these matters, that I was spending too much time in my books.”

This dismissal of her abilities should be a relief to him but instead irritates him as much as it must her. “Well, he’s an idiot.” He wets his lip, and in the corner of his eye, vaguely sees fireflies. “Even after that though?”

Penelope shrugs her shoulders. “After that...I suppose I became fond of you. I’m not sure what that says about me.”

Edward feels his heart soar before it plummets again. “I’d say it says that you have impeccable taste.” She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “What if I said that I-”

“Don’t,” she says sharply.

Edward frowns. “Why?”

“You just said, you’re leaving.”

Edward sighs, then an idea strikes him. “Come with me.”

She takes a step back, her eyes wide. “What?” she shakes her head. “Edward, I can’t, I’m not a criminal-”

“Who says you have to be?” he asks. “I’ve made quite a bit of money, I could set you up somewhere-”

“I’m not a kept woman either,” she argues, with that fire he’s come to love.

“Alright, poor choice of words, I know. But Penny, you’re not like the other idiots in this town. You weren’t meant to spend your life shut away in your library and being looked down on by other people for being too smart to marry before you were twenty and pop out brats for the rest of your life instead of having ambitions of your own.” He waves his arms around them. “There’s a bigger world out there, one that will appreciate you the way that you deserve. I could take you to it...” he trails off. “Or I can leave, but I can’t go knowing that you’ll just stay here and let this town kill you inside.” He cups her face then, and she lets him, still looking up at him with those eyes. “Come with me,” he says again. “Please.”

She’s silent for a long time, then she seems to make a decision. She clasps his hand tightly and he knows her answer before she can speak.

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sneakend · 5 years ago

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Horror movie recs for Halloween ♡ Turned longer than anticipated so here’s part 1/3. [part 2] [part 3]

✄ ✄ ✄

Serial killers

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006) (x) (x)

“The next great psycho horror slasher has given a documentary crew exclusive access to his life as he plans his reign of terror over the sleepy town of Glen Echo.”

The Cabin by the Lake (2000) (x) (x)

“Stanley Caldwell is a screenwriter working on a story for a suspense film about a lunatic who kidnaps and murders young women. However, Stanley's research methods are more than a bit unusual -- he actually does kidnap women, and once he's learned as much as he thinks he can from them, he disposes of their bodies by drowning them in a nearby lake.”

Creep (2014) (x)

“A young videographer answers an online ad for a one-day job in a remote town to record the last messages of a dying man. When he notices the man's odd behavior, he starts to question his intentions.”

Creep 2 (2017) (x)

“A video artist looking for work drives to a remote house in the forest to meet a man claiming to be a serial killer. But after agreeing to spend the day with him, she soon realizes that she made a deadly mistake.”

The Last Horror Movie (2003) (x) (x)

“A serial killer uses a horror video rental to lure his next victim. What begins as a teen slasher transforms into a disturbing journey through the mind of Max Parry, a mild mannered wedding photographer with a taste for human flesh.”

Man Bites Dog (1992) (x) (x)

“A film crew follows a ruthless thief and heartless killer as he goes about his daily routine. But complications set in when the film crew lose their objectivity and begin lending a hand.”

Scream (1996) (x)

“A year after the murder of her mother, a teenage girl is terrorized by a new killer, who targets the girl and her friends by using horror films as part of a deadly game.”

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) (x)

“A young F.B.I. cadet must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims.”

Lady Killers

American Mary (2012) (x) (x)

“The allure of easy money sends Mary Mason, a medical student, into the world of underground surgeries which ends up leaving more marks on her than her so called "freakish" clients.”

Audition (1999) (x)

“A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.”

The Grudge (2004) (x)

“An American nurse living and working in Tokyo is exposed to a mysterious supernatural curse, one that locks a person in a powerful rage before claiming their life and spreading to another victim.”

May (2002) (x)

“A lonely young woman traumatized by a difficult childhood and unsuccessful attempts to connect with the people around her is sent into a murderous tailspin.”

A Slit-Mouthed Woman (2007) (x) (x)

“A suburban town in Japan is the victim of what is supposedly just an urban legend, a woman's spirit with a horribly disfigured face who is intent on kidnapping children for unknown reasons.”

Tomie: Forbidden Fruit (2002) (x)

“Tomie terrorizes an artistically inclined young girl and her widowed father, slowly integrating herself into the family.”

Tomie: Re-birth (2001) (x) (x)

“An art student disappears after murdering his model. Now his friends and family are being haunted by the resurrected woman, Tomie.”

Tomie: Unlimited (2011) (x)

“A photography student's life takes a turn for the worse when her dead sister is welcomed back into the family home.”

Creepy Children

Children of the Corn (1984) (x) (x)

“A young couple is trapped in a remote town where a dangerous religious cult of children believe everyone over the age of 18 must be killed.”

Mama (2013) (x)

“A young couple take in their two nieces only to suspect that a supernatural spirit named Mama has latched itself to their family.”

The Omen (1976) (x) (x)

“Mysterious deaths surround an American ambassador. Could the child that he is raising actually be the Antichrist? The Devil's own son?”

Orphan (2009) (x)

“A husband and wife who recently lost their baby adopt a 9 year-old girl who is not nearly as innocent as she claims to be.”

The Ring (2002) (x)

“A journalist must investigate a mysterious videotape which seems to cause the death of anyone one week to the day after they view it.”

Sinister (2012) (x)

“Washed-up true-crime writer Ellison Oswalt finds a box of super 8 home movies that suggest the murder he is currently researching is the work of a serial killer whose work dates back to the 1960s.”

A Group of Friends

Battle Royale (2000) (x) (x)

“In the future, the Japanese government captures a class of ninth-grade students and forces them to kill each other under the revolutionary "Battle Royale" act.”

The Cabin in the Woods (2011) (x)

“Five friends go for a break at a remote cabin, where they get more than they bargained for, discovering the truth behind the cabin in the woods.”

The Descent (2005) (x) (x)

“A caving expedition goes horribly wrong, as the explorers become trapped and ultimately pursued by a strange breed of predators.”

Final Destination (2000) (x)

“After a teenager has a terrifying vision of him and his friends dying in a plane crash, he prevents the accident only to have Death hunt them down, one by one.”

Fritt Vilt (2006) (x)

“5 young Norwegians head up to the mountains to snowboard. One breaks his leg and it's getting dark soon, so they spend the night in a big, abandoned hotel, closed 30 years ago. They are not alone.”

House of Wax (2005) (x)

“A group of unwitting teens are stranded near a strange wax museum and soon must fight to survive and keep from becoming the next exhibit.”

Nightmare (2000) (x)

“Seven friends will die one by one for protecting a terrible secret. Can a vengeful spirit be stopped?”

When They Cry (2008) (x) (x)

“Early summer, Keiichi has just moved to a remote mountain village and becomes close friends with a group of girls. However, when he starts to become suspicious that Rena, Mion and the others he’s befriended may be deeply involved in the successive murders that occur every summer, the situation around Keiichi gradually starts to turn.”

A Group of Strangers

Botched (2007) (x)

“During a heist in Russia, a professional thief finds himself dealing with serial killers, insane hostages, double-crossing psycho Russian hardmen and the real possibility of a horrible death.”

Cube (1997) (x)

“6 complete strangers of widely varying characteristics are involuntarily placed in an endless maze containing deadly traps.”

Downrange (2017) (x)

“Stranded at the side of the road after a tire blowout, a group of new carpooling friends become targets for an enigmatic sniper.”

The Mist (2007) (x) (x)

“A freak storm unleashes a species of bloodthirsty creatures on a small town, where a small band of citizens hole up in a supermarket and fight for their lives.”

Saw (2004) (x)

“Two strangers, who awaken in a room with no recollection of how they got there, soon discover they're pawns in a deadly game perpetrated by a notorious serial killer.”

Family

Funny Games (2007) (x) (x)

“Two psychopathic young men take a family hostage in their cabin.”

Hereditary (2018) (x)

“After the family matriarch passes away, a grieving family is haunted by tragic and disturbing occurrences, and begin to unravel dark secrets.”

The Hills Have Eyes (2006) (x)

“A family falls victim to a group of mutated cannibals in a desert far away from civilization.”

The Lodge (2019) (x)

“A soon-to-be stepmom is snowed in with her fiancé's two children at a remote holiday village. Just as relations begin to thaw between the trio, some strange and frightening events take place.”

Pet Sematary (1989) (x)

“After tragedy strikes, a grieving father discovers an ancient burial ground behind his home with the power to raise the dead.”

#horror movies #movie recs #horror #halloween #horror movie recs #horror recs #movies

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Till We Meet Again

TITLE: Till We Meet Again

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 17/?

AUTHOR: marvelgirlonamarvelworld (side blog)

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being mesmerized by a girl whose eyes remind him of the Bifrost

Imagine that Loki would visit you when you were a child, persuading you into mischief and cheering you up with his magic tricks, you assumed he was imaginary.

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: ANGST, mentions of past life-threatening illness, mentions of past trauma (?), language.

A/N 2: really crossing my fingers the format doesn’t mess up. Finally got a computer and am now able to post the whole chapter! Thanks for reading!

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Luna’s voice was raspy, distant to her ears, an octave lower as her jaw clenched and tensed. Paled-faced and trembling legs, her head became a mess. Felt vulnerable to be standing before Loki and those papers between them.

She recognized Loki shouldn’t even be peering at those documents. Didn’t feel ready for her whole identity and past to be brought to light. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

Luna gawked as the god of lies lifted his head to meet her fearful yet hardened glare. She watched him stand right away, his broad posture doing nothing to hide his nerves as his hands rested on the edge of the desk.

She could read his face as plainly he could read hers; his once cherry lips were now pale blue and his eyes took on the form of those of a child caught sneaking around. But being the god of lies, the master of deceit, all that vanished just as quick.

Luna opened her mouth, but no words came out. She was a gaping fish. Drowning, asphyxiating with all that she wished to voice aloud. “You…” her voice was unrecognizable even to her ears, “You shouldn’t be looking at those papers,” her eyes the fixated on his hand clutching one of the many papers after those seven words were pronounced. “Why are you looking at those papers.”

His eyes drifted to his hand and raised right back to met her eyes. Loki remained silent, his hands still pressed against the edge as if to keep himself from falling due to his weight. He was unable to find his voice, incapable of finding a way to deflect.

The stuffiness of the old unopened room was no relief either, no comfort, no mediator to dissipate the coiling heaviness settling between. No, not at all. Not while the two lovers stood frozen in place as if one were the hunter and the other the hunted. Not when the atmosphere hung with the souls and ghosts of hidden truths and uncovered lies.

One move made, one step ahead, one slight twitch or tilt of the head, and Luna feared it all would fall like a house of cards. Thus the two stood there, nailed to the ground, with shallow breathing and pulses racing.

“How much do you know?” Luna questioned. Her darkened eyes tried to penetrate through his gaze, to distract herself and glance away to those old forgotten photos and newspaper sheets from Boston. Those same papers which incriminated the Norse deity as to how far had gone his findings. Especially those medical sheets he was gripping and was once obliviously examining in her presence.

“Luna,” Loki rounded the desk, one step in front of the other, his voice tight and gruff as he called for his lover and once upon a time acquaintance.

“I said,” Luna fisted her hands and closed her eyes momentarily, feeling that familiar knot in her throat constricting her words, “how much did you read.”

Loki stood before her, a meager few feet away, hesitant, conflicted. Whatever he knew or uncovered mustn’t have been pleasing and that frightened Luna.

Nonetheless, it was his intrusion that bothered her most; made her blood boil; brought about a burn and ache from her nails digging in her palms and piercing her flesh. Loki had gone behind her back searching for a piece of herself she was yet to even face. To grow enough strength to even remember.

“I can explain.”

“Loki,” Luna growled through gritted teeth and flashed him a warning glare.

Loki fell silent, letting his head lower momentarily before meeting her piercing glare again. “I know enough,” was his only response, his lips remaining pursed, in a horizontal line. “I know enough.”

But just how much was enough?!

“Luna,” Loki said her name again with sorrow shadowing his stare. Yet all Luna could hear were echoes, distant ricochets, ripples of her past slowly coming back to life. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her lip trembled. And her once Bifrost eyes twinkling with rage glazed at the growing vulnerability. Luna felt herself become the prey, the helpless thing forced to a corned with no way to flee. But she swallowed it all, drowned out that wish to run to his arms and confess. Loki went behind her back.

Loki trailed closer, trying to dissipate the gap between them, yet…Luna backed away wearily, heaving, struggling to breathe. Fear was constricting her chest, striking her violently awake as the heartbreaking realization sunk: enough meant anything and everything yet nothing in the same stance. Loki had dissected her to the bone, undressed her just as he would, before making love and claiming her as his own.

And it shook Luna to her core just as much as she felt small before his form. Oh, silver-tongued, liar of all liars, betrayers of all betrayers. He should’ve known better.

“Speak to me,” Loki pleaded. Desperation tainted every word. Luna almost bought his little act. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And Luna was repulsed. Angered and bitter to watch her hopes be strangled by his curiosity for his findings would only mean her demise, his distancing, starting from zero. Made her realize: who would ever want to be with someone whose identity was one and million other; a missing child, a parentless daughter, a wanted criminal, a con artist, a thief, a grifter, a shitty best friend, the villain of the tale? Nobody.

“Why? You’re asking me why?” Her face reddened and contorted, taciturnly allowing self-preservation and avoidance to take over. His demands were a pure slap, a stab to her heart. “The one asking why here is me! Not you, Loki! What the hell!” Luna raised her voice as an overwhelming itch and prickle nestled on her palms. “Who gave you the right to fucking go behind my back?! How could you?!”

Luna took the second stride forward and snatched the papers from his hands and dissipated them into nothing but a shimmer of light.

She never even once tried to glimpse into Loki’s past, let alone behind his back! She had waited, never once forced her way into his life. Never pressed for him to undress his soul, to let her peek into his heart.

“Please, calm down,” Loki tried to reason and attempted to step closer again. “I will explain, I promise.”

“Oh, really? Calm down?!” Luna sneered, briskly stepping away from his desperate reaching hand, “And you’re gonna explain what exactly? what?” the girl laughed, scorned, and closed her prickling eyes. She was feeling herself losing her breath, feeling unable to inhale at all. “That you were invading my privacy and searching through my past behind my back?” Luna paused and painfully exhaled, “That while you were investigating me, you were also promising the moon and the stars…and then fucking me to sleep so I wouldn’t suspect a thing? Which one, Loki? Which one?”

Her voice was a mere heaving whisper as the bitter irony showered her whole existence: the invader became the invaded. Luna was bitterly aware she was at the other end.

And what if…Loki’s whole plan was this; rack through her past, use what he had to his will and like?

“I trusted you,” her voice broke, achingly dissipated in the awful sour taste of betrayal. “I never asked you to open yourself to me, I waited for you to willingly do it, for you to come to me and you…you…I trusted you.”

Never again, however. That was for certain. Never again.

And those three words seemed to be the trigger, the catalyst of his face becoming a racing wind of emotions. The vocal cords to his mutiny. Luna saw it all in his face, especially saw his mistake.

“Luna,” she staggered back once again just as Loki strode closer. Panic was the host of his eyes, the one speaking to her now. “No please…Luna, dear, please…”

Never again, she reminded herself.

“Don’t.” Her jaw was clenched and felt her muscles pull taut; ready to defend herself, willing to strike back. Yet…her eyes and her trembling lips gave away her sentiment, her fondness, the adoration she still had towards Loki and was yet to lose. But there was nothing to be said, nothing to be explained; this was all bound to happen anyway. Luna was just not ready for it, for their forever to last one split heartbeat.

Never again…the decision was made. Trust was severed.

With such a decision made, her body seemed light as a feather as her feet turned and approached the door. Luna was floating, drifting through a current of clashing sentiment, a whirlwind of daze, a battle between the mind and the heart. Fighting against her own self. Forbidding that weaker side of her to run to his arms and cry and confess it all; narrate to him her life; who she was; the identity stolen from her; the lie she lived in for what appeared an endless forever. But she was just as proud as he was, or rather, as he used to be. Luna could not forget, and forgive…that was another thing.

“I recognize my mistake,” Luna continued her trail heavy-heartedly, “but I also know you better than anybody else on this earth. Cursed will be I because I do. I know you’re the kind to hush and suffer in silence. Never once cry out for help. You’re too frightened to open yourself,” his voice grounded her feet, gave strength to her blind heart, that weaker side which did not wish to leave him at all. “I will not apologize, because I am not. I will never be. If this had to be the way to see you, then so be it.”

Luna turned around, witnessing the world paralyze and lose color before her eyes, and faced the god of lies whose face raised vainly. In ownership of who he was and the trail of red his presence left. And she continued to contemplate him go on, knowing damn well she shouldn’t if she still wished to avoid facing the past.

“Nor will I ever pardon how you were never going to mention you were once ill, dying from your sickness,” Loki did not hesitate to ambush and declare. His glazed eyes, now bloodshot and shadowed, gleamed with his discoveries. “And you nearly did. We almost did not meet.”

Luna bit down her tongue, the fine taste of her crimson blood danced through her throat. Yet she did not respond, didn’t know how to do so.

“I don’t see how’s that of any relevance. It doesn’t matter. It never did,” her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable even to her own self, defensive yet unemotional. Because it did matter. It still did for flashes still sprung to her mind. It mattered. “Why should it now? I’m alive after all.” She scoffed. “Death doesn’t want me.”

Loki clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his head while he paced. A grimace plastered on his face. It seemed to Luna she was in the presence of a wild captive creature; one who was growing anxious and aggressive. She knew he was displeased with her reply. But it was all he’ll ever get from her.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Loki ridiculed, his tone dry, lacking any emotions but that of disdain. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Her silent motives, regardless, were a contrast to her claims and his repetitions:

For to voice all failed trials, the lack of aid and rejects, the number of times a needle stuck in her arm as all known cures, drainages and transfusions of blood did not do a thing to better her being were all too painful to recollect. A chapter Luna wished to erase.

And to this day… it still charred her heart like brasses tortuously burning her inside out, the memory of seeing Richard, the man she once called “father”, sit every single night since that dreaded diagnosis stating her little girl, the child he loved as his own flesh and blood, was withering due to her own poisoned blood. Leukemia, simply called by most and instead of mentioning the severe kind or form. For it would only omen what was to come last.

“Because it doesn’t matter.” Luna followed Loki’s back and forth, trying to ignore the surfacing ghosts and their hardened sunken eyes drilling holes in her soul. Trying not to panic at their judgmental eyes and purpled-lip sorry smiles. Trying to ignore that itch, that ticking time bomb coiling in her palms.

It pained Luna, oh did it ache to remember how she would sneak right before dawn for another bedtime story, and see him sit there in the dim yellow light, covered in shadows and clouds of exhaustion. His face would always find refuge on his palms before his fingers ran through his locks as the weight of his distress hung under the cloud his blue eyes had become. Yet what hurt most, was the tender smile he’d give her child self every time he discovered her.

It was still vivid in Luna, how he would lift her in the air and sit her on his lap as he continued to read and revise. His soothing voice always making up little white lies any time she wondered about the papers on his hands. And other times, when his responses did not satisfy her little mind, he would quiet it all with a quivering coo.

“I’m trying to find a way to make you better, sweetheart, so we can go to the ocean with mommy and watch the dolphins dance in the water.” He would say.

And her once chocolate eyes would spark and she would excitedly ask: “What about whale sharks? How do you think they dance?”

His eyes would water every time before he said: “When we go,” then a kiss would bless her crown, hiding his trembling lips, “you’ll see they waltz. And you’ll love the way the starfishes sway their arms against the tide, cheering for their comrades. I’ll make you better, and you’ll see them when we go. You’ll see them…I promise.”

But every night was the same night repeated once over. Tears would stream down his face as all test results would turn out the same, over and over again. That was, however, until one day…by some miracle from the heavens, the blue-eyed would stumble upon a science article, praising the work of an individual and his contributions to successfully recreating some god-damned serum which would change it all.

“You’re lying,” Loki stood in front of Luna, his hands still clasped behind his back as a bitter chuckle escaped his mouth. It did not surprise her to realize he’d seen right through her act. “It matters. As much as it matters to me matters to you. It matters to me what has, is and will happen to you.”

“Stop,” Luna warned, fluttering her eyes struggling to hold back the overgrowing sob pressing her throat. “It’s not your business. Back. Off. Loki.”

“I WILL NOT BACK OFF!” Loki snapped. Red-faced and with veins pronounced on his neck, the trickster heaved and clenched his jaw. His maddened glare forced Luna to flinch swallow all her say. “NORNS, YOU ARE MY BUSINESS BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU CAN’T YOU SEE,” His nose flared and took deep breaths, trying to regain his wits. “It concerns me because you are a part of me now can’t you see that?” His voice lowered the moment he noticed the first tear rolling down her cheek. “Why did you never tell me they were not your real parents? Why did you choose to suffer in silence all along, love?”

Why suffer in silence?! Luna stood before the god, wide-eyed, feeling a child again, small, frightened, shocked at his snap. Overwhelmed to see the ghosts of her past hadn’t withered at all and were now standing behind the god.

Loki had no right to reproach! Luna did try to call for him when it all crumbled down yet he never once answered. Besides, there were many reasons and none mattered.

None were as startling important and frightening as his penultimate question.

“What?” she mumbled, feeling her throat dry and her hands tremble. The itch was becoming unbearable. “How did you…”

A broken smile plastered on his face as a glint of compassion nestled on his softening features, “I still find it hard to believe, how they bought me,” Loki recited brokenly. “How they made me their own.”

Luna’s blood ran cold upon the echo of his voice. That couldn’t be…

Shaking her head and hiding her fear behind a nonchalant smile, Luna averted his eyes. “That could mean anything and nothing at the same time.”

“If I hand discovered their lies, the truth of who I was, how I came to be, maybe they’d still be here. Life would have been different.” Loki repeated the same heartbreaking lines that’d burned in his memory. “We would’ve been a happy family.”

Oh no. No no no no no…

“You wrote this as a young girl,” Loki acknowledged. Suddenly his face had become a puzzle she could not decipher; Luna could not read him any longer, could not see through his layered persona, was unable to even note the slightest of…compassion? Reflected on his face. She was unable to glimpse beyond the cloud of his betray. “What else would one want at that age more than affection and attention, Elise?”

And that stupid nickname…

Her eyes lost focus momentarily and vaguely stared at her surroundings. All of a sudden the library and father’s office seemed much smaller than she remembered. The fine wood and carvings were old and lacking color, missing that glint of elegance. And dust lay omnipresent, it could even be savored. Tasted like time when it was frozen and forgotten…

Trust was severed.

“You…you…read my diary,” Luna concluded as all colors drained from her face and lightheadedness embraced her with cold arms. It was the last straw drawn, the drop that’d spilled the glass. “You read my diary.”

It was hard to come around, but Luna regained her wits just as fast. Loki he…he was many things she refused to believe. It was heartbreaking. One of them being chaos incarnate, a force who left a trail of woe wherever he’d gone. And to witness such upheaval was unbearable, heartbreaking, shook Luna to the bone. She could not stand there any longer, not when she’d fallen victim to this air of calamity Loki carried with him.

Luna raised her head and acknowledged there was no regret on his face nor in his eyes. She’d liked to believe it all was an act, that there was something deep inside his heart. Something, anything. “Now you know it all huh?” Another tear trailed mournfully before dissipating between her curved lips; displaying a trembling smile. “I guess, now you know why I hate my eyes then,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice for the fear she’d break even more. A cloud of blue formed and danced along and over her hands as her eyes watered.

Luna needed to flee. Had to find a place to breathe and think. Had to be away from him; the intruder who’d pushed his way through her seams.

“Luna…” Loki’s face was a poem of agony and acknowledgment as she spun and bolted out. Yet the broken girl of breathtaking polychromatic eyes did not witness it at all. Did not see the abrupt resurfacing of the Loki she’d come to know, the one she’d fallen for, the prince whose heart was broken but was untainted by avarice.

The walls were caving in as her feet strode at their own accord through the hall. Luna hiccuped and violently wiped away the tears as eyes grew out of the walls and glared accusatorially…funnily enough, though, they were his eyes. His emerald glare ghosted over just like a penitent soul would as Luna made it to the stairs before pausing and turning wearily.

His aura was calling her, screaming, pleading. She could feel the tugs and pulls; the sudden desperation growing and tainting the walls, his silent cry out.

“Luna!”

Loki was a few steps behind, and Luna was well aware he could and would outrun her. Yet she continued on down the stairs and onward until her sweaty palms grasped the cold door handle and flung the door open. Alas, the way out!

Unfortunately, it seemed the world deemed her cluster of revived emotions nothing but a passing thing as her body collided with a semi-solid surface.

“Well, hello there.”

As if things weren’t already shitty.

Luna’s blood ran cold at the recognition of that voice. Oh, that teasing and sarcastic tone she’d heard and known for so long. Another wolf disguised as sheep.

“Oh…Matt!” Luna stepped back and blurted out, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. Petrified. She was standing before the man she once considered a friend, the savior from her own self. Oh, she’d been so wrong.

The brown-eyed smiled, relaxed, charming, sympathetic. As if nothing happened, as if he was untainted. It was like staring at the sun at midday in the vastest-driest desert. Words alone could not encase the fury and rage flaring inside Luna. Even her tongue had tied at his unwanted presence, not knowing if it’d be wiser to speak or keep quiet.

Luna swallowed her nerves and smiled nervously. “What…Umm, what…hi! How are you? What..what are you doing here?” Luna stammered, holding back her rage by biting down the inside of her cheek as to her luck, Loki’s words maintained her grounded while she spoke.

“I’m okay, I would ask you the same thing,” Matt hid his hands inside his front pockets and shifted his weight to his right leg. The frown and one-sided beam reflecting worry Luna would have long ago believed though not anymore. “You look upset.”

“Oh!” Luna tucked a stray lock behind her ear, “It’s nothing, I’m fine. Just…stressed I guess. Wanna come in?”

“Sure,” his brows raised in unison with his smile.

Luna gulped and meekly stepped aside and allowed her eyes to wander through the small hall leading to the kitchen and living room, hoping Loki hadn’t come down chasing after her.

“Want something to drink?” Luna proposed while Matt trailed behind. She was relieved to notice there was no sign of the god.

But the fact she could not see him did not mean the trickster was not present. Nope. His aura flared and swayed restlessly. Embraced them, clung to Luna as if to drag her as far from Matt as it desired.

For while Luna led the traitor to the living room, Loki keenly witnessed it all, with a twisted and starstruck look on his face, all the way from the bottom of the stair; with his shoulder against the wall and his hands balled into fists upon recognizing who the intruder was. He’d seen his face before, on a briefing prior to a mission to be exact.

Just as fast Loki realized, this was worst than he thought.

“I’m fine, just thought to quickly drop by,” Matt commented with such casualness, Luna almost flung her hand across his face. His hypocrisy made her skin crawl. “When did you come back?”

“Two days ago,” Luna noted dryly, feeling her hands sweat and itch again from the nerves and bottled anger. She shifted her weight to her left leg and cocked her brow upon reaching the living room couch she’d been sitting early on. Right away she leaned and clutched the notepad from the table. “Why? You planning on lifting my time out?”

Matt sighed and lowered his head in defeat. A smile bloomed on his lips. “Luna, you know I couldn’t just allow you to continue on. You know I care about you, you’re my friend, and also my best agent.” He flattered and sat on the single couch. “It would’ve been inconsiderate form my part.”

Bull shit, Luna told herself. It was clear as water all he ever cared about was the gain that would come his way through her.

“I know,” those two words burned her tongue as she sat on the same spot from before; still clutching the sketchpad. “But I still could’ve gotten the briefcase.”

“Luna, you had almost, if not, your whole body fractured,” Matt retorted and sat on the other couch. “You had a punctured lung and were unconscious for two weeks.”

“You could’ve made a move in those two weeks, now that I think about it.”

“It would’ve been too suspicious,” Matt deadpanned.

“If you say so,” Luna averted her gaze. “Why couldn’t you intervene after the accident so I could’ve been transferred and treated somewhere else anyway? I’m surprised they didn’t dig deep in me.”

“We could not risk it,” was his only response. It only made Luna’s urges to punch his face tenfold. “And I doubt the blond would’ve allowed it. He’s fond of you.”

“Thor? It’s still no comfort to me,” Luna crossed her arms, “what if I was made? And Thor doesn’t know entirely who I am. You know well my friendship’s on the line.”

Well, it was as good as gone now.

“You wouldn’t have,” Matt reassured with regards to her snark. “Even if you had been made, you would’ve known how to handle it. And for this job, you have to make sacrifices. For the greater good, remember?”

“I know,” Luna muttered. Agreeing with his lies was disrespecting to her.

“Besides,” Matte added, “Thor is head over heels for you. He wouldn’t have believed any of it if anything was said.”

His reminder only added to her rising guilt and overbearing pressure on her shoulders. For her only wish now was to find him and apologize.

“So,” Luna changed the subject, “did you guys get the briefcase?”

Luna noticed as the features of her once friend shadowed and his stance changed. “No.”

It took a brief moment for Luna to gather enough strength to pretend and not laugh on his face. To know she’d outsmarted them, that she was a few steps ahead of the traitors…it was like her much needed cup of satisfaction and victory on a chilly Sunday morning. Her consolation price per se after it all had gone to hell.

“What?!” Luna shook her head and stared at Matt with fake perplexity. “Are you kidding me? Why not?”

“We don’t know,” Matt leaned forward and rested his shoulders on his thighs as his lips pursed. “By the time we entered the vault,” he paused before proceeding to unveil his obvious loss, “the briefcase was gone.” Again, Luna had the desire to cackle but covered her face instead, before her fingers slid and brushed through her hair. “The weird thing is…we had some of our men working security and they noticed nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What?” Luna narrowed her eyes, feeling her pulse hitch and echo against her ears. “But that’s impossible. I…I…it doesn’t register in my head how we could have lost it when our people were already infiltrated. It doesn’t make sense, so all the shit I went through was for nothing.”

“Believe me,” said Matt, staring blankly at the coffee table, “I’m just as disappointed as you are.”

Matt’s subliminal comment did not go unnoticed by the trickster god. Loki continued to pry and hide behind the wall shared with the living room and the stairs. That man was disappointed the girl continued to be their loose end. Luna was just as aware as Loki was.

“I can’t understand how it slipped away without anybody noticing,” Matt fell silent momentarily just before raising his head. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary in the last few days?”

Luna fell silent. Her heart hammered deafeningly against her eardrums, bothered her, made her grow anxious. Her cheeks were now cherry red. And the world stilled for a seemingly never-ending minute.

“No,” she said with her best poker face. “Everything was pretty quiet. I never went any further down than the marketing and financing departments. And let me tell you, Stark spends way too much money on unnecessary press coverages and leisure.”

An airy chuckle left his mouth. “I know, and you did obey my orders too,” Matt added. “You kept yourself pretty busy with that other guy…uh, the one from the whole New York thing,” Matt gestured smirking, “I think you were undercover in Europe when it happened, so you might not remember.”

Luna’s throat went dry, as did Loki’s, upon registering Matt’s implication. Thoughts raced through each other’s heads as a sinking feeling nestled on their stomachs. All of a sudden the brief silence nestling in the room seemed far too raucous and startling than words alone.

“You mean Loki?” Luna suggested cryptically.

“That one,” Matt beamed. “I always saw him sneak to your room or steal a smile or two from you. Saw some hand-holding too,” Matt smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh stop it,” Luna chuckled, feeling her voice pitch and tremble in the process.

Her uneasy laughter reached Loki’s ears as both realized this was bad. But they had been careful not to draw any attention! Besides, Luna had been utilizing her magic to shield herself, and Loki at times, to avoid being caught by the naked eyed and surveillance. Especially that night she snuck to his living space and the vault.

“So, how serious was it?” Matt asked, still smirking and flashing Luna his knowing eyes.

Luna’s cheeks flared, they were warm as if the sun itself had sunk into them. Yet she maintained her face tainted by sheer hypocrisy as her throat burned from the words she was about to say: “It meant nothing.”

No, it meant nothing. It meant more than it. It meant the world to Luna; Loki’s touch and gentle love were her home, where he heart belonged, the oxygen to her lungs…

A shame it all was ruined so suddenly.

“Had to pass the time someway somehow,” Luna couldn’t recognize her voice. She hated herself even more. “Doubt he’ll even remember me tomorrow.”

A pang struck Loki’s heart, cracking the ice ever so slightly, allowing pain and dread to sneak through the cracks. And the prince couldn’t help but exhale shakily and rest his head against the wall. Physical pain was nothing to the tender sharpness of her mouth.

Loki was appalled, completely overwhelmed and aching as he continued to listen to their conversation. To realize the once upon a time sweet girl had meddled with the worst of the worst players was a striking surprise. She was the second most wanted criminal, the face, not even the Avengers had even discovered. And to realize that made his stone-cold heart swell with worry and…pride?

However, her words, though they held no meaning, had crippled his soul even more. He was sure the girl of Bifrost eyes loved him so.

Then the melody of dings and chimes resonated in the vicinity, drawing both Luna’s and Loki’s attention back to reality. Shutting their minds as they focused on what would be said next.

“Everything all right?” Luna cautiously asked as she studied Matt’s face while he stared at the screen of his phone.

“As alright as things can be right now that it all has derailed,” Matt aimlessly said before lifting his focus and making eye contact with Luna, his lips pouting in regret. “I know you already have plans and I’m really sorry. But I’m gonna need you back asap.”

Luna’s eyes widened ever so slightly and her lips parted. There was no response from her part. Her mind was screaming, booming with refusal; yet that urge to escape from her surging nightmares stirred her agreeing. That desire of unreachable normalcy drew her.

“Uh…alright,” she finally answered, deciding for the latter. “Let me just run upstairs quickly to put on some shoes?”

Matt nodded and stood before turning around. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

Waiting for Matt to see himself out, Luna spun on her heels (though not before grabbing the sketchpad) and rushed to and up the stairs. She was quite out of breath once she reached the second floor, and an exasperated growl left her mouth as her legs and inner thighs ached evermore.

Luna strode through the hall, with the sketchpad under her arm, and pushed the door of her bedroom open. With a slight kick and the door closed just as fast. The curtains swayed and danced against the drift of cool air seeping through the balcony. Yet that hint of tenseness and sorrow still clung in the atmosphere. Never withered away with the current.

Making her way to the closet a pair of cold hands gripped her arms and pinned her body against the wall. A painful grunt escaped her throat as a cold nose ghosted over her right cheek, breathing in erratically. She knew it was him.

“Let go, Loki!” Luna growled and attempted to thrash her way out of his painful grasp. Yet the trickster god was stronger than she was. He’d already proven it far too many times in the past.

And somehow this whole situation gave Luna a rendezvous fling. Loki had done the very same thing in the library of the tower. To pin her and cage her intimidatingly. Though the rolls and reason were all far from different.

“You’re not leaving with him!” Loki hissed, incrementing his grip and making Luna bite the inside of her cheek. A little more pressure and he’d break her arms completely. His face was hidden from her eyes, shielded from their close encounter. “I will not allow you to walk out that door with that bastard!”

Luna fell silent, shadows danced and dissipated on her face, as she registered his statement. From their closeness, their breaths percolated. She was inebriated by his familiar scent. She could not glimpse properly his eyes, yet from her limited posture it dawned there was worry reflected in them; they were no longer green-pine but a darker shade of rotting musk. Toxic dread. Of what?

“Watch me,” Luna spat menacingly and thrashed violently but to no avail yet again. She huffed and murderously glared at Loki. “Wasn’t this your plan?! To play pretend?! You wanted me to continue as if nothing ever happened and that’s what I’m doing!”

“They’re dangerous people, Luna!” Loki scandalized and shook her with crazed wide eyes. But there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think I already know that you idiot! Have you forgotten I’ve worked alongside them!” Luna barked. “He was my friend. I know him. I can defend myself!”

“You won’t leave,” Loki deadpanned, his tone changing to a much lower and grim; one which made Luna shudder. “I will not allow you to leave me. I forbid it. You. won’t. leave me.”

And there it was.

Luna stared at Loki, almost losing herself in the sea of his glimmering irises. The more she contemplated them, the more his statement resonated and grew louder; violently stroke her chest, and woke her body with an untiring wave of saddening sentiment. Luna understood his worry, especially his misplaced fear…of losing.

She didn’t buy any of it. Loki was a great actor, better than Matt or anybody else. Creator of deceit was he, a liar in all its expertise. And as much as her heart pleaded her to believe, she couldn’t. Thus, Luna straightened her postured and displayed no emotion. No mercy.

“Wanna bet on that?” Her eyes welled again, blue sapphire enveloped her hands as she pushed Loki with renewed strengths. She’d successfully managed to force him away a few steps, his grip had gone away, which was the important thing. “I can leave whenever I say I can leave,” Luna stood her ground and bore her teeth, the lump in her throat, swallowed and diminished into nothing but courage. “You don’t own me. You never did.”

Her defying glare matched that of Loki’s as she trailed to her vanity from where she retrieved a gun, while her comfortable clothing diminished into a white tee and a pair of jeans accompanied by a bomber jacket.

“What in the Norns do you think you’re doing?!” Loki followed behind, his blood turning to ice upon witnessing her delicate hands handling such a weapon with grace. “Listen to me, Luna!”

Loki received nothing but silence as a response. All he could do was helplessly watch as Luna hid the weapon inside the garment before reaching to pick up the sketchpad that’d fallen to the floor.

“Here’s your stupid drawing. Nock yourself out.” Luna shoved her collection against his chest before sliding away and slamming the door.

Luna was gone. Her footsteps rapidly turned to nothing but distant thumps. She was gone. And such words did not sit well with Loki.

Silence perpetuated heavily as the shadows resting on the corners seemed to come to life, and fed on judgment and guilt, as the dawning of Loki’s own mistakes frighted him to death. The echo of Luna’s words brought clarity to his soul.

“I trusted you…”

Oh, those three words.

Oh, his beloved dove. He had broken her even more. Forced her to walk away from his arms. And now Loki cursed himself for he should have waited for her to reveal it all, instead of opening wounds so mercilessly as he’d done.

Loki ambled to the couch near the balcony and slumped on the plush cushion. His body seemed lighter, cold, livid. He’d been so inconsiderate. A fool! His curiosity, his avarice had gotten the best of him; the call of the past had enthralled his mind and wound up biting more than he could chew as it was.

Luna, Luna, Luna.

“Luna.” Yes, that’s how he’d known her. That’s who Loki knew, who he knows, who he met. The once child who was named after his mirthful twilight friend.

Loki shakily exhaled, feeling the embrace of loneliness again. Now her name sounded foreign to him. She used to be somebody else. Someone else’s child. A newborn with another name.

His eyes drifted to the sketchpad resting on his lap. Right away, he flipped the pages to a random one. He was more than perplexed to find his face imprinted in lead. He was mesmerized, he appeared so much younger, much livelier; his hair was shorter, his smile…brighter, his eyes…glinting with mischief with life…hope.

Noelle, Noelle, Noelle.

“Noelle.” The name trailed out of his mouth. It didn’t suit her. Didn’t have the same melody. Loki didn’t know her, never knew her. That used to be her.

Loki proceeded to flip through the pages, finding lost treasures as he went on. He noticed there were some notes along with some. Most of them were descriptions of memories that’d come to her as mistaken dreams, from back when Luna refused to remember. When she refused to believe.

His beloved dove. She would forgive him, that slightly irrational side of his mind assured him so. Luna would forgive him, she would come around. Would pardon his intrusion. After all, they only had each other now. They both had lost it all to lies.

Yes. Loki clung to that and ignored his sanity claiming otherwise.

Her drawings were breathtaking. Though there were some he did not comprehend. It made him wish and want to create a background tale for each of these just like he’d accustomed to way back when he was a young prince; however, Loki turned the pages aimlessly until his eyes encountered a drawing which already had a tale. Such he had experienced himself.

It made a shudder run down his spine as all air vacated his lungs. The drawing was extremely real for his liking. Too…vivid, painful. And although his mind forbade him to, Loki brushed the tip of his fingers along the point of the lead blade And pictured the feel of its sharpness. Imagining the silver blade guarding the coveted and familiar gem while he continued to trace and imagine the coolness of the golden staff against his palm.

The drawing was no other than his ever-present failure. The present once gifted to him by The Other. His way of reclaiming power.

It was…his long lost scepter.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #till we meet again #marvelgirlonamarvelworld #chapter 17

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mundxngus · 5 years ago

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MISTREAT YOUR ALTAR BOYS & THIS IS WHAT YOU GET

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he'll keep to any deal you strike with him.” — Six of Crows, Leigh Bardugo. “Courage has never been a chameleon’s best attribute and some days, it’s not mine either.” — Rudy Francisco “It’s my money. I stole it.” — From Dusk til Dawn. “The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well.” — Sourcery, Terry Pratchett.

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Mundungus Proinsias Fletcher NICKNAMES: Dung, Fletcher, (many a variation on the truly horrific name he was gifted with.) AGE: 29 BIRTHDAY: August 3, 1950. GENDER: CisMale PRONOUNS: he/his

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Agnes Mary Fletcher nee Duffy (deceased) muggle. FATHER: Proinsias Rafferty Fletcher (54, estranged) wizard. SIBLINGS: Harriet (Hatty) Duffy (33), Noreen Duffy (32) (estranged). muggles.

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: DJ Cotrona. BUILD: Short, athletic, surprisingly strong and scrappy. HAIR: Kept cropped short, noticeably longer than usual due to a falling out with Knockturn’s resident barber. HAIR COLOR: Black. EYE COLOR: Dark brown. SKIN COLOR: Olive-toned. DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous, though he favours his left hand as a rule. ANOMALIES: There is heavy scarring up his right arm which he has made an effort to cover with tattoos. Notably amongst these tattoos is nestled a compass (which will aways find the right direction in a bind), a swallow on the back of either hand to signify an accomplished traveller, a black cat wearing a hat on his bicep, a murder of crows dominate his right forearm and a ship across his ribs. SCENT: Tobacco, whiskey and something that hits the back of the nose like a kick of pepper. ACCENT: A strong Belfast accent that has failed to soften no matter how long he stays away. ALLERGIES: Deeply allergic to Mandrake Root and, as a result, a great many potions that are used as antidotes to various ailments. DISORDERS: A much denied and buried case of PTSD that will emerge in the presence of explosions or fire. FASHION: Estate Sale-chic, as the kids would say. Dung is fond of a good bargain, though how good the bargains he finds amongst dead people’s things is .. often questionable. He dresses nicely, but always slightly oddly, as if the clothes he’s wearing weren’t meant for him or have been heavily modified (usually with a few dozen extra pockets for .. reasons). A permanent fixture of his wardrobe is a silver pendant of Saint Jude on a chain, gifted to him by his mother. It is perhaps the only thing he has ever been sentimental about. NERVOUS TICS: Picking at his nails. He’ll often play with coins or cards when restless - silly sleight of hand and card-tricks that promote dexterity. Playing with the pendant he wears on a chain around his neck. Smoking is usually a fair sign of stress. QUIRKS: Very expressive with his hands while talking, quick on his feet, talks fast and mercilessly, usually as a form of distraction.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: In the flat above The White Wyvern, Knockturn Alley. BORN: Belfast, Ireland. RAISED: Holyland, Belfast, Ireland. PETS: None. He is a big hit with the stray cats of Knockturn Alley though.

CAREER: Professional thief, part-time Bartender, fight club Bookie, jack of all crimes. EXPERIENCE: A long and colourful rap sheet, much maligned by the Auror’s Department. EMPLOYER: Officially, Frederick “Fat Freddie” Gamp, owner of the White Wyvern & Billy “Black Cap” Nightshade, owner of the Spiny Serpent. Unofficially? Himself, or whoever requires his services.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix, technically. BELIEFS: A pragmatist at heart, Mundungus aligns himself with the people who are least likely to kill him for the state of his blood. Survival and profit have always been his key motivators. MISDEMEANORS: Look. FELONIES: Don’t @ him. DRUGS: Recreationally. SMOKES: Fitfully. Usually when stressed. ALCOHOL: Is he permanently just this side of drunk or is it all an act? We just don’t know. DIET: Does he exist solely on cigarettes, alcohol and bacon butties? Scientifically unproven.

LANGUAGES: English, smidgens still of Gaeilge.

PHOBIAS: Fire, explosions, being trapped or confined. HOBBIES: Stealing from the rich, romantic moonlight graverobbing, banter with the locals at the Wyvern. Mundungus is never not on the grift. TRAITS: { + }: Resourceful, Quick-Witted, Silver-Tongued, Dynamic, Cunning. { - }: Opportunistic, Self-Serving, Callous, Disloyal, Boastful.

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Almost any part of Knockturn Alley, but in particular the rooftop of the White Wyvern is a favourite haunt when he does not wish to be around people. SPORTS TEAM: The Ballycastle Bats, out of some lingering loyalty to his hometown. GAME: Betting. Though he’s always been a fan of boxing. MUSIC: Will listen to almost anything and is a big fan of the enchanted jukebox in the White Wyvern (cursed to only ever play one song), but he is vehemently not a fan of Celestina Warbeck. MOVIES: He has vivid memories of his sisters watching movies while they were growing up, but he’d never had the patience required to sit down and watch them. FOOD: Ulster Fry. BEVERAGE: Firewhiskey, on a discerning day. A pint on any other. COLOR: Black. It doesn’t show the stains.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Slytherin. WAND: 14 1/4″, surprisingly swishy, spruce & dragon heartstring. AMORTENTIA: Whiskey, the smell of bacon frying, votive candles and incense. PATRONUS: Ferret — curious, mischievous and high energy, ferrets manifest for people with playful spirits and calculating minds. They represent resourcefulness, self-reliance, and ingenuity. BOGGART: His mother, burning.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral. MBTI: ESTP-A MBTI ROLE: The Entrepreneur ENNEAGRAM: 7 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Enthusiast TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo CHINESE ZODIAC: Tiger PRIMAL SIGN: Wolverine TAROT CARD: The Magician, The Devil. TV TROPES: The Punch Clock Hero, Magnificent Bastard, Jerkass Has A Point, Loveable Rogue, Opportunistic Bastard, Karma Houdini, Deadpan Snarker, Honour Among Thieves, Not In This For Your Revolution. SONGS: The Calling by The Killers, From the Ritz to the Rubble by Arctic Monkeys, Lucky Penny by JD McPherson.

IDEOLOGIES: Would sell his own (dead) mother to satan for a corn-chip. That was a lie, he loved his mother. (Two corn-chips.) Has been banned from The Hog’s Head since 1975 after an unfortunate falling out with Aberforth Dumbledore. Up until the travel restrictions, he still regularly (with varying success) attempted to find his way in, not out of any particular want to be there, but mostly to prove that he could. Goatfucker. The point being that the surest way to get Dung to do something is to tell him that he can’t do it. Is morally opposed to the musical stylings of Celestina Warbeck. Conversely, is not morally opposed to grave-robbery. Believes that cats are both a) the closest thing to demonic activity he has encountered on God’s Green Earth and b) feels spiritually attuned to them. Survival is the only thing that truly matters, everything else is just pocket-change.

#dulcetask #& mistreat your altar boys and this is what you get { development }#& the punch clock hero { about }

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pettyelves · 5 years ago

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our Fallback to freedom

With the foresight of a literal blind man, and Eilithe too eager to leave the leagues of relatives behind-- neither of the couple had thought to bring their weapons, a change of clothes, coins, not even a stolen bottle from the party.

Not that they weren’t already sloshed by the time they landed in Pandaria, nearly an hour’s flight from Dead Sun. When they landed, he had told her they could see what the local inn keeper had-- or they could steal from a local farmer.

This brought an eruption of chuckling as Eilithe realized that all she had on her was a silver cigarette case and matching light, tucked up under her left breast in her dress.

It was much to Eilithe’s suspicion that Kurel volunteered himself to be the one that would ..hunt the chicken, leaving her to rip and tie her dress in a way that would make her very expensive bride’s maid gown into an unfashionable romper. They went to work-- and she’d suggested to quickly snap the chicken’s neck. Which he had-- mostly done, though not to perfection as the chickens clucked and flapped enough to rouse the farmer.

Before she knew what happened, she watched Kurel-- knees to chest, haul-assing from the back of the farm a soon-to-be-dead chicken jerking around in his massive hands. She had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Eilithe made her escape without such hang ups-- which, thought she did not say so aloud, meant she thought herself the better thief of the two. They rendezvoused some distance from the farm laughing at the whole thing.

No one could say they never had fun together.

"You know I bough' this farm with all the intention of retirin' to it. Tried to give i' away half a dozen times when all thin's didn't go as I'd planned. Come in handy havin' a time or three."

One of which times was some three or four years before, when he had hidden Eilonwy away there.And when the threat had passed, he had taken Eilithe to the house to be reunited with her daughter-- who, at some point not long after had grown into his daughter too.

"Now that I can't picture-- Kur'elnth An'diel, retired to a farm to live out the rest of his days. Old man chopping wood for his hearth, wiping his brow and listening to naught but the shift of goats and wind through rows of corn. No, I can't imagine being where your life might have stopped." Her fingers curled on his hip once more, "Guess my plan was no better-- nor was it anymore realistic."

He would have defended that plan with every breath he had left in him- -and Eilithe might’ve bought it if he wasn’t choking on chuckles while he did it. "Ou' with i' then. Wha' was your unrealistic retiremen' ?" He asked her with a nudge.

It took her time to work the courage to really answer the question. After all, this conversation would only loop around in a circle they’d been going in for a long time now.

"For the longest time I wasn't going to retire, I was terribly afflicted with wanderlust as my grandmother calls it. So when I was of age, myself and my ..eventual first mate took jobs in our order that allowed us to leave. And we'd split up for a few centuries, come back together and so on." She paused her digression. "I don't think it was until I first was pregnant, which was.. mmm.. thirty or so years ago now, that the idea of retiring crossed my mind. And that unrealistic retirement was being someone's wife, which I think is why Flithune and I ended up parting and never joining again. A mother, with a house-- somewhere back near my home village. Doing as my mother did before everything." She looked off at nothing, recollecting, "Then I was voted into leadership and that retirement got further, then closer at other times, then further again."

"Wife is jus' a title. Like... Queen an' Criminal." He licked his lips. "While you are far from retired. You are a mother. With far more than a house an' while Dead Sun ain't necessarily your home village. It is yours. I think you've been connin' us all livin' retiremen' for a' leas' a decade."

"Never wanted to lead the village," she said with a chuckle-- it was a longing for simplicity and freedom that she did not possess. At the risk of breaking down to arguing, she followed with a soft retort.

"A Queen, an Arbiter-- will, so long as she holds the title be looked to for answers, for protection, for counsel-- and she will always be held, a hand higher and admired for her title. It is the same way, a Captain-- if he is trusted, if he makes his men richer, will always sit in the cabin-- he will always be looked to for the next move, he will always be, in part, feared as much as he is respected." She wet her lips, "A wife is much the same-- regarded as above all lovers, concubines, whatevers that came before her. She is given the title of wife because, in a bay of choices, she was chosen. And to call her wife means that for her husband, there can be no other. And for her? There is no other. She is his end-all, as he is hers."

He never answered with anything-- which meant that he likely understood, now, why his name beside hers made so much a difference to her. They didn’t linger long in that quiet before they were walking up the steps and into the Museum of Dust and Kurel An’Diel’s Shit™

It was simple, as he’d planned his retirement to be. No magical lighting, no running water, and a wood burning stove. Everything was covered in dust as it had been three years since anyone had set foot inside.

A coat of arms, photographs, boxes and a books--his treasures. Among them was a golden chastity belt, enchanted-- and Eilithe learned some very long time ago that Kurel had earned the belt by way of marrying the woman who’d been locked away it in. Despite the fact that the woman symbolized the tradition Eilithe was so cross with, she found the story hilarious and snorted when she saw the prize mounted on the wall. She snorted more he he suggested they ought replicate the design and sell them to Noble Lords who’d protect their daughters from ending up in Eilithe’s brothel, or in the arms of men like Kurel.

"Fucking men like you is good for a woman," she said, leaning into him more. "Maybe not the first time--then again, a rough first time does wonders for durability too." She cleared her throat, "Either or, really-- effect is the same. She learns a strong man from a weak one with men like you."

“Men like me.” He invited her to explain the meaning without so much as uttering more than those three words.

"Men like you" she repeated, reaching to grab his free hand with a free hand while the other held her propped up. "Men with rough hands," she said, drawing his palm to her lips-- where she kissed, with soft lips, each of his fingers before she guided the hand from her cheek, down her long neck, to be abandoned to its own desire to travel her form. "Hands that chop wood, and pull ropes. Hands that swing swords with force enough to strike sparks against steel of their enemies. Hands that guide, or punish, or please. Hands which can be gentle on the small of woman's back, as easily as they can squeeze the last breath from a grown man.Dangerous men, with ambition. Hard men, immovable and unconquerable."

His hand always flinched on her throat, and he listened with distinct attention before he stole a kiss and made suggestion that the broken vanity in their home ought be included in a museum alongside the chastity belt with a sign that read Keep Off. Extremely Unstable. Fuck At Your Own Risk. And Eilithe returned that she would make use of their vanity until it was broken into pieces, at which time she said: “I'll frame the pieces and hang it in my madame's office with a plaque that reads None fuck harder than An'Diels."

When no wall nor surface did not have a swipe of one of their hands, on imprint of their backs in the dusted surface-- when they had managed to crack the vanity in the lofted bedroom the same as they had the one at home. Only then did she find a few moment’s sleep.

At dawn, her hands held a single on of his, tracing every line with delicacy she’d not shown in the hours before. When he stirred his fingers curled with he’s passing over each digit on her left hand until he could slide a thumb over the scarab beetle between her first and second knuckle.

“This hasn't been here." He said quietly.

“No, it hasn’t.”

There came silent resignation there, over the name An’Diel. It was not an outright victory, nor was Eilithe likely any closer to hearing a quiet confirmation for her to take what she wanted. But it was confirmation.

This was not going away for him.

They spent the rest of the day distracting one another. From cooking and cleaning up their fallback, from worries that were only a stretch across the ocean, and from designs that there was anything more in the world than the two of them.

[ @kurel-andiel @deadsunharbor ]

#we take it all #our fallback

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somecorn-thief · 5 months ago

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Mesmerizer but with Candy and Cindy because I was bored

[eye strain warning]

Transparent ver:

#the corn thief strikes #fnaf #fnac #fnac candy #fnac cindy #candy the cat #cindy the cat #five nights at candy's #mesmerizer #eyestrain #tw eyestrain #cw eyestrain #please don’t steal/copy/trace my art 😭

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almarchive · 6 years ago

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hello, its nora bringing yet another problematic character. this is a spoiled daddy’s bitch, raised in a farmhouse in vermont, who’s never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. has a twin brother called otto who is basically guy bellingfield from the riot club and tbh knowing my lack of self control i‘ll probs end up bringing him here too.

bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages x

it might be HER SOPHOMORE year but I still think ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM looks exactly like ALICE PAGANI and sometimes I think the FEMALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they’re 20 and studying CLASSICAL CIVILISATION while living in AUDAX here at Lockwood. The TAURUS can be rather TENACIOUS and MAGNETIC, but also kind of FANCIFUL and DOUBLE-CROSSING. Their most played song on Spotify was LAISSE TOMBER LES FILLES by FRANCE GALL, so I think that says a lot.

THE SHORT FORM.

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immagrant and worked on a plantation, made his wa up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had Large Personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit Wise Beyond Her Years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. frida prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. LOVES poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very Intelligent and Beautiful and knows both of those facts. vocal feminist. soapbox sadie. Very Passionate about Issues. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. — just wants to be Loved By All. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she Should enjoy it. — tries to be an Enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women Desirable and Interesting and Cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

PLOTS.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

FULL BIOGRAPHY.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

The girl is a knife. Razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. Silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. You’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. A mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. Bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. To have the power to control that is to be a God. It’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. Small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. You cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “Mama, when will I be a Queen?” As soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? In the beginning, you never knew hunger. Twins, born under the same star, you first, him second -- a nuclear family. Never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. Raven-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. The townhouse in Vermont and the summer house in Lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

At eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “Alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your Mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody Mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

Your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather Wolfgang Hildegarde a German immigrant, great-grandmother Maura Lisbon a prairie girl. They fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the Indians, vacations to Calcutta, your father Todd Putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. He worked hard so that you’d never have to. Your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? That blood money had no business raising a child. You look far back enough, Edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a Civil War to silence, and I think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

Language was never fickle on your tongue, French dinner time talk by the time you were out of your Hush Puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. You learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. By eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. Loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. That was how magnetic you wanted to feel. But mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to English boarding school.

Fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. You were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. Wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed Harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. Tell us what it’s like in the States, Alma. They’d coo, enamoured by your Hollywood drawl. Does your father own a gun? You hardly knew. Barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. When you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

The road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. Bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. There was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. In leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were Helen of Troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. But there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. Hockey helped. There was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. Sweat. Stiff knuckles. Feet pounding the earth. The smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “Slipped, sorry.” Hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. On the pitch, you feel alive.

#lw:intro #i shd probs have done a bullet point version of this but cba #see also: rich bitch with daddy issues - loves attention - wants to have a villa and wear nice dressing gowns and drink wine all day

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rhianna · 3 years ago

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I must mention now that the pasture-lands of my native village lay alongside of territory of a score of square miles which in some years were all planted in corn. During the months of August and September these vast corn-fields were like deep forests. Not far from Idvor and to the east of the corn-fields was a Rumanian settlement which was notorious for its cattle-thieves. The trick of these thieves was to hide in the corn-fields at night and to wait until some cattle strayed into these fields, when they would drive them away and hide them somewhere in their own corn-fields on the other side of their own village. To prevent the herd from straying into the corn-fields at night was a great task, for the performance of which the boys had to be trained in daytime by their experienced leader. It goes without saying that each day we boys first worked off our superfluous energy in wrestling, swimming, hockey, and other strenuous games, and then settled down to the training in the arts of a herdsman which we had to practise at night. One of these arts was signalling through the ground. Each boy had a knife with a long wooden handle. This knife was stuck deep into the ground. A sound was made by striking against the wooden handle, and the boys, lying down and pressing their ears close to the ground, had to estimate the direction and the distance of the origin of sound. Practice made us quite expert in this form of signalling. We knew at that time that the sound travelled through the ground far better than through the air, and that a hard and solid ground transmitted sound much better than the ploughed-up ground. We knew, therefore, that the sound produced this way near the edge of the pasture-land could not be heard in the soft ground16 of the corn-fields stretching along the edge. A Rumanian cattle-thief, hidden at night in the corn-fields, could not hear our ground signals and could not locate us. Kos, the Slovenian, my teacher and interpreter of physical phenomena, could not explain this, and I doubt very much whether the average physicist of Europe at that time could have explained it. It is the basis of a discovery which I made about twenty-five years after my novel experiences in that herdsmen’s summer school in Idvor. [15-16]

Source: From Immigrant to Inventor by Michael Pupin

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lordstarkitty · 6 years ago

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In Skyrim, its alluded in game that the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild are on more or less on friendly terms with one another, yet never delve into the other's business even if it calls for the other's specialties. But, what happens when two quarrelsome siblings on opposing sides have an argument. (Warning! Strong Language Under Cut!)

"Let go of me you psychopathic Newt-Brain!" Kristi cried, failing miserably at escaping from the headlock. "Not until you say the Brotherhood is better, Sewer-Rat!" Torv laughed, who had the upper hand to his sister for the past sixteen minutes. Everything was supposed to be calm in the Ragged Flagon today... but an odd visitor changed that plan. As thief and assassin butt heads on the other side of the moon pool, A few thieves and patrons were placing bets on who would leave the quarrel the victor. Seems those who favored the assassin were going to be reaping their reward sooner than they expected. Kristi grabbed Torv's snout and pulled him back, forcing him to loose balance and let go of the headlock. Torv seized a large lock oh her hair and pulled her down with him, and let her topple over onto his foot. He lifted his boot up up as Kristi was about to strike his groin, she narrowly missed. Torv held an iron fist on her hair as she pinched his snout. "Ow! That's my fucking hair you bitch-lizard!" "Stop Pinching my damn snout then!" "No!" Kristi steadied her weight with one hand on his leg, while the other was pushing away his nose. They sat in that position for a minute, lightly panting. Neither one moved a centimeter, just glaring at each other. Kristi's nails digging into his scales and Torv's hand pulling her hair. Was it a stalemate? Or were they preparing to go at it even more? The flagon might as well popped a few sun dried corn kernels in the pot and sold a bag of that to the patrons who were invested in this family squabble. Torv rolled his weight and pushed Kristi into the moon pool. Kristi out stretched her arm and took a good swipe with her claw-like nails, drawing blood, before plunging into the freezing water. Rendering them both defeated. Kristi slapped a sopping wet hand on the rim of the pool and dragged her body onto the walkaway, coughing. Torv was laying on the floor cradling his new facial scar. "Damn," Sighed Delvin who was tucking away his end of the bet, "never thought 'bout that outcome, eh?" Everyone returned grudgingly to their drinks, as the thief and assassin wallowed on the other side of the Flagon.

There are good reason's why you don't draw stupid ideas you have at midnight. (I would recommend clicking the photo to get a better resolution... maybe) Kristiana All-Wolf©Lordstarkitty Torv Blood-Scale All-Wolf©Lordstarkitty Thank Bethesda for the Elder Scrolls, amiright?

#skyrim #skyrim elder scrolls #es #elder scrolls #Dark brotherhood #Skyrim Dark Brotherhood #Thieves Guild #Skyrim Thieves Guild #Art #Digital Art #Digital #autodesksketchbook #ragged flagon #ragged flagon cistern #thieves guild cistern #Drawing #bethesda

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years ago

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Essays in Existentialism: Scars II

Can you please do another scars one but this time with Lexa discovering all of Clarke's ones?

Previously on Scars

The noise that came in the middle of the afternoon was addictive. It made the bed an entire galaxy, with the bodies wrapped in clouds of sheets, with leaves and branches lazing through fingertips, and the low rocking of hips and palms orchestrating entire maps and landscapes with deft, god-like movements.

Outside, that quiet kind of winter snow fell. The kind that existed only to cover the world, that snuck in like a thief, tiptoed through the streets, hung heavy and slowly accumulated on the edge of leaves and created those tiny, gentle kinds of drifts and piles that became mountain ranges after being traversed by daring feet. It was a curtain that further hid the rest of the universe.

In the bed, none of it mattered, not cartography or the blizzard that rolled through the hills and froze the streams and suffocated the valleys and would leave a tundra come morning. All that existed was two bodies and the sheets.

“What about this one?” Lexa murmured, dragging her lips along the two inch scar near Clarke’s hip.

Pink and almost childlike against the paler skin that rarely saw the sun, it sat there, almost perfectly straight and very much different than Lexa’s jagged and misshapen accidents. She kissed there before placing her cheek on Clarke’s hip and tracing it with her fingers.

“Shh,” Clarke whispered, eyes still shut despite their duties awaiting.

It was dangerous, to steal time alone, and yet they did it with reckless abandon because there was nothing better than the feeling of the warm sheets and lips and escaping, the freedom each provided for the other to shirk all else and exist solely for pleasure and gratification.

“Tell me.”

“I had my appendix removed when I was a seven. Nothing too exciting.”

“What happened?”

“There’s a little part inside of you that can sometimes go bad, and they opened me up and took it out. Nothing traumatizing.”

“What were you like when you were six?”

Clarke furrowed and her hand that raked through Lexa’s messy stock of hair paused at the question, because it was so intimate, she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t remember being six, and whoever she was then, was so far removed, it wasn’t even possible that she existed anymore.

Instead, she just played with Lexa’s hair a little more, because she knew that the Commander of the Thirteen Clans enjoyed it more than any other feeling on the planet. She knew that.

But Lexa kissed her scar once again and though Clarke forgot about the mark, she swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I was perfect,” Clarke decided. “I was polite and quiet and I read a lot. I played with friends and hated corn. There wasn’t even one second that I could have imagined I’d end up here, in this moment.”

All she earned was a small nod and an almost purr of contentment with her answer. The fire crackled in the fireplace while a candle reached the end of its wick, making one corner a little darker, though the room barely noticed or stopped to say anything else on the matter.

The only acknowledgement of time, of however long it’d been, was when Lexa shifted and languidly moved her body. To Clarke, she was a lion, all muscle beneath a shaggy coat, poised to strike at any moment, full of power and not wasteful with movements. The Commander lazed in her bones, aware of her own abilities, not fearing much else. The sinews of her muscles and bones all worked in perfect harmony so that she constantly looked like she prowled, and still, Clarke felt like prey in the most unbelievable sense of the word.

“What about this one?” she asked, kissing toward a long winding slash on calf muscle with little dots on each side where the sutures had been.

Clarke stretched her toes and bit her lip as Lexa lifted her leg slightly, settling her own hips between them, and kissed there, a lazy kind of sex in her eyes and messy mane.

“Curious now, all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

“I’m quite familiar with your body, Clarke,” Lexa grinned, putting the leg back down. “I know what it does. I want to know its hows.”

Completely naked, she sat there, unperturbed and unknowing of how distracting she was.

“There was an accident when the drop ship landed a second time, part flew off and sliced me. I had a pretty good piece of metal sticking out.”

There was no purr this time, nor was there any kind of movement save for Lexa furrowing and thinking a little deeper than before. But Clarke slid her leg up, ran it along her hip and made her bend back to a kiss. She knew how her body worked, and she knew how Lexa’s did as well.

She liked the way Lexa kissed, which was so out of character from the girl she once met twirling a dagger. Stoic and unyielding on a throne, in bed, Lexa was passionate and fire, she was soft and graceful and did this thing with her tongue and teeth on Clarke’s neck that made her body catch on fire. To say she was powerful before was unfair; in bed, she had all of the power of a myth.

Lips slid along sternum and then captured nipple while hips pushed harder into the bed, pinning the map there.

“What about this one?” Lexa whispered against shoulder.

“An arrow, from my first year on the ground.”

Tenderly, Lexa kissed there once again, gentle as she could. Hands raked along her back, distracted and disinterested in the history of a body and instead eager to continue with the exploring.

The mapper was disinterested in it though. Instead, she moved toward neck and jaw, kissing there, knowing it all by lips alone.

“And this one?” she asked, nudging ribs with nose as she moved once more.

“The Mountain,” was all Clarke had to say and Lexa froze, her body growing tense.

“What… what happened…?” Lexa tried, sitting up slightly and clearing her throat.

Clarke watched her jaw grow tight. But there were eyes on her that she couldn’t even fight, especially in a winter afternoon like that. And so she nodded and lifted her head.

“I tried to break out,” she explained, pointing to the thin pale line along her forearm, over the bone of her wrist. “I broke a window and the glass got me. I turned out to be one of the more unruly prisoners. And so I was the first on the block. A tube was placed into my chest--”

“Enough,” Lexa shook her head and looked away wildly, unable to hear anymore of it despite the honor and duty and guilt to it that made her feel as if she deserved it.

A sick kind of pain dug up through her stomach as she refused to meet Clarke’s eyes and instead stared at the circle of matted scar tissue on her skin. This body was pristine before the ground came, before Lexa.

“It’s okay,” Clarke promised, running her hands along naked shoulders and scars she knew well herself.

She ran a knuckle along Lexa’s cheek, cupped her palm there until the face turned slightly and kissed her there before the tension slackened enough for the Commander to breathe again. She was very human for Clarke, and it was still very new.

“I like this one best,” Lexa decided, moving back to Clarke’s hip, settling her chin near her belly button.

“Why’s that?”

Clarke watched her play with the tiny, two-inch scar from her appendix, tracing the tiny, downy white hairs that surrounded it sparsely.

“It’s the only one you got before you landed here. The only one I didn’t somehow give you.”

The girl beneath her smiled despite herself at the description. Her skin was going to burst with love for the leader of their world. Lexa dug her face into Clarke’s stomach, hiding there, holding her breath and not wanting to move. Once more, the girl from the sky played with her hair, pushing around the knot of mane.

“I’m quite partial to this one,” Clarke smiled and shifted, pointing to one on the backside of her hip.

“Where is this from?” Lexa asked, unfamiliar with the still new mark.

“When you pushed me against the table and the candle burned me,” she laughed, earning a rare shade of blush.

“Oh good. I really have been the sole source of marks on your body.”

“You haven’t. You didn’t shoot an arrow into me, or tie me to a chair to experiment on me,” Clarke promised, rolling over slightly to allow Lexa to explore the new twist of road. “And as far as I’m concerned, the only scar you’ve given me is my favorite on my body.”

“No more,” she swore.

“You can’t promise that. Not with your knack for candles and pushing me against things.”

“Stop looking so delectable.”

“No,” Clarke decided defiantly. “Because I don’t want you to stop.”

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theresah331 · 4 years ago

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Audible Sun Born

Sun Born : People of the Morning star (2) (North America's Forgotten Past, #23) by W. Michael Gear

Narrated by: Charlie Thurston

Charlie Thurston has a way of adding life to the characters words on the page. Its a way to bring out the nuances in the beloved story.

Sun Born : People of the Morning star (2) (North America's Forgotten Past, #23) by W. Michael Gear Sun Born, the second book in the eye opening new series featuring one of the most remarkable archaeological sites in North America will entice readers to learn more about its history and mythology. Cahokia was at its pinnacle over a thousand years ago, it a remarkable rise in trade and prestige would be the focus of Power and North American mythological Gods. The Morning Star is the reborn embodiment of the cross culturally renown Twin God whose influence and connection throughout the North American world laid the foundation of many of the cultures throughout North and Central America. His story of rebirth would spread far and wide and would gain interest in far flung places like Mayan empires. How would the two great powers of the prehistory world share their mutual mythology, and influence? What would be the outcome of these two Cultures colliding in a clandestine nova of subterfuge and intrigue? The internal conflicts within Cahokia is not prepared for the advent of a new Powerful players into the world. The the Four Winds clan, and its contenting conflicts within Cahokia and its neighboring communities are ripe for exploitation. Blue Heron has just the ex-husband who could stir up the entire boiling pot of power and conflict. Can the tenuous connections brought together to save Cahokia in People of the Morning Star find a solution to this new and contemptuous advisory? Can Seven Skull Shield, “that rascal” find a way to save his world, his friends and his people? Lady Night Sun Morning Star will face a new dilemma right on the heels of her new found freedom. Can she sacrifice her ideals, her prestige and her heart in a way that will bring Power into balance? Or will Thirteen Sacred Jaguar the lord of the Itza bring this magnificent city and its culture to heal, and making the Four Winds Clan Neal at his feet? Character List Morning Star/ Chunkey Boy: of the Four Winds Clan, the reincarnated Morning Star, the reborn leader of the Four Winds clan, is struggling with personal concepts of his own belief. He has found that power and prestige are not all they are reputed to be. The internal conflict within Cahokia, the Four Winds Clans, and the Earth Clans has worn away the polish of the Ideal. Lady Night Shadow Star: of the Four Winds Clan, eldest of the Morning Star’s sister. She is said to be a great beauty, and tempestuous young woman of remarkable abilities and passions. Finds that her heart has its own rules, and she is forced to choose between her people and the man she has come reluctantly to love. Clan Keeper Blue Heron: Keeper of the Four Winds Clan, a strong political leader of the Cahokia world. Her desperate love connections have come to haunt her again. She must face the insufferable heartache and retribution of her ex-husband’s advantageous return. Fire Cat: High War Chief , Red Wing Nation, slave of Lady Night Shadow Star. He takes an oath to protect Lady Night Shadow Star, but his oath has come at an enormous personal cost. Seven Skull Shield: thief, and trades man who is a loud, aggressive fighter, and the only possibility to stop the exploits of this invading horde of subterfuge and intrigue. He will find that his connections are frayde by his loyalty to the Four Winds Clan. Hunted and captured by his friends and enemies he must find how to help his new associates survive the coming of a new power to Cahokia. Tonk’tazi Wind: adviser and living sister to Blue Heron, one of the leading powers in the Four winds Clan. Meets with contingent and trade agreements with other nations. Nine Strikes: the Little Sun, hereditary second of the rulers of the Natchez. Killed in Cahokia after being honored by the Morning Star for his dancing and costume used at the celebration. Horn Lance: of the horned serpents house of the Four Winds Clan, Cousin of high chief Green Chunkney, Ex-husband of Blue Heron, exiled for his failed coup of the Four Winds Clan matrons, returned from extended trade adventures that lead to the Mayan civilization and the orchestrator of the massive contemptuous plot to overthrow the Four Winds Clan and rake havoc on his enemies. Thirteen Sacred Jaguar: son of the yitah Four Fire Shield, one of the multepal, the ruling brothers of the mighty empire of Chichen Itza. Come to Cahokia, to spread the jin the true history of the hero twins, and take this rural outpost to the heights of the Mayan empire. Lichen: Dreamer as a young girl went to tutor under an Wanderer, the keeper of the Tortoise bundle. Animal characters/ gods: Hunga ahuito: the two headed Creator eagle who dwelt above the Rainbow realm in the sky, about the middle waters of the earth, and the four realms of the Underworld clear down to were first woman lived in her cave beneath the roots of the world tree. First woman or Old-woman-who-never-dies: ruler of the Underworld lives in a cave down below the World tree’s roots. There she dreamed the patterns and Powers of the underworld. He realm was portage by the color red, indicative of fertility, creativity, war and chaos. She had dominion over the waters and plants. She is the daughter of Corn Mother, gave birth to Morning Star and his twin wild One. Piasa: the Water Panther giving it a female body with serpent tail; sometimes isn't directly named lest it be aroused. (America before the European Invasion pg 48) Piasa, a mythological beast/god that prowled the depths, attaching the people in the swamps and waterways. Horned serpent: the flying snake “ his voice is sibilant and terrible; Sunlight glistened in tiny rainbows from the scales that armored his skull. The horns that jutted from his head were forked and might have been made to translucent red jasper that almost glowed. Awesome crystalline eyes stared down at me in glittering splendor, like faceted quartz. And in their gaze resonated a Power that sent it waves through my souls. Chevrons dots and dark centered circles decorated the length of his huge body. Each consisted of a symbol of the first days drawn upon his hide by breath giver during the creation. Those mighty wings rose from the center of back and spread above in large patterned feathers almost transparent in the sunlight.” (description from Coming of the storm) Snapping turtle: to whom fish and frogs answered. Tie Snakes: who guarded springs, lurked in the depths of the rivers and invoked the rains, The Thunderbirds mythological gods who make thunder and show messages of the gods. Morning Star: the good twin, loved by his mother Corn woman and raised by Old-woman who never dies. Kukul: the powerful Kukulkán (also K'uk'ulkan or K'uk'ul-chon) is a god of Mayan mytholoogy. Kukulkan is known to the K’iche’ group of Maya as Gukumatz. The name Kukulkan means “feathered serpent”, like his Aztec equivalent Quetzacoatl. The text of the Popol Vuh tells of the Mayan creation myth, followed by stories of a set of heroic twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanqué. The text ends with the mythical history of the K'iche' Kingdom itself, giving its rulers an association with the divine.

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tatteredthought · 7 years ago

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Reaver 4 (Talkus)

His dreams were vivid. It was good to dream again. He hadn’t slept in so long…

He walked through a verdant countryside. He had come out of the dense woods and all at once been greeted by waving rows of crops. He scared some crows out of a field of young corn as he made his way down the road.

He waved to a family toiling in the fields. He strolled up to their house along the lane. He walked out to the field.

“Hail good sir!”

The eldest man stopped his work and stood, placing his hands on the small of his back. He moved toward the stranger. “Hail yerself!” He closed the distance fairly quickly as they were walking to each other. “And what can I do for ya traveler?”

“I was wondering about the name of this place.”

The old man straightened his hat. “Garth, my friend.”

The traveler nodded his head imperceptibly. So, I’ve come farther south than I planned. “So I take it there’s a proper town down the road?”

“Oh, aye. Ya just keep goin for a few miles and y’ll be in Garth proper.” He turned back to his family and gave them some pointed remarks before turning back to the traveler. “Have ya got business in town mister…?”

“Hiiri.” The traveler stuck out his hand and the farmer clasped it firmly before letting go.

“Mister Hiiri then.”

“No, I have no business there per se. Just curious as to where I’d be spending the night. Thank you for the information. I’ll leave you to your work.” He turned to leave.

The farmer watched him go. The traveler kept to the lane and road. His son asked when the farmer’d be back to working. The old man turned, scowling and went back to work. He smacked his son good on the shoulder for his joking. It was returned with a laugh.

Hiiri walked the miles to Garth. He met no one else.

No gates. Interesting. A small hamlet indeed.

He ran into a young boy carrying a faggot on his back, the boy having been looking at his feet and not in front of him. He helped the lad up.

“Would you know where the boarding house is?”

The boy looked over his bundle before shouldering it. “Aye sir. If you’ll follow me I’ll take ya right to it. Me father owns the place.” They set off down the road.

Boarding house was the politest term Hiiri knew for tavern. The place he followed the boy to was rather large, most likely the largest building in town. Nice place. Hope the man’s not a thief.

“Well here it is sir. Speak ta me father for room and food.” The boy's face took a grim turn, “Mind ya don’t go messin with me sister. I may not be very big, but I’ll take the light from yer eyes I will.”

Hiiri chuckled and tousled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the sort.” His smile seemed to take the grimness from the boy’s face. He carried his bundle around the corner hollering for someone to help him with the kindling.

Hmm, reminds me of him at that age.

Hiiri stepped thru the open doorway. A large common room set with four large benched tables and two fireplaces on either side greeted him. It was just after midday and the place wasn’t half filled. One table held a roaring match of over-the-top. Men tossed coins on the table for wager before locking in single armed combat. He noted a young woman of striking features carrying mugs and a platter to the table. The men not engaged handed her coin for the meal. As she turned away she bit each coin in turn.

Shrewd and lovely. That must be the boy’s sister. I see why he would want to keep the wrong sort away from her. She was tall, taller than Hiiri by a head at least. Her figure was not what would be considered lacking in any way. Her hair was brown like a chestnut. He watched her glide back behind the bar. And that must be her father.

The man she passed behind the bar was Hiiri’s height. He was broad and somewhat large of frame. He busied himself with cleaning. A man from a table addressed him. Hiiri sat at a table near the fireplace on the north wall.

“Could I get another ale Einion? The fields are callin, but my back is barking today.”

Einion’s voice was lighter than Hiiri had expected. It wasn’t high of pitch, but it seemed a voice more fitted for laughing than anything else. “Aye ya can get one Trevan, but don’t let yer boss come in here givin me the railin because you’re too drunk ta work.” He made to go back and fill the order, but the young woman slid past him. She had two mugs in her hand.

Einion called after her, “And where are ya going with both of those Blodwen?”

“You know Trevan wanted two da.” She sent him a wink and glided to the table.

“Yer drinks good sir.”

“Thank ya girl. Here, take an extra for yerself seeing as how ya know me so well.” He flipped the extra coin in the air and she caught it at the top of its arc.

The sound of an arm hitting the table was followed by many curses, none directed at the game or the girl. The men downed their ales as quickly as possible. An old woman had entered and was telling them to get on with what she paid them for. The men filed out after they’d made certain of their tabs with the young woman. Then she turned her attention to the newest arrival.

She had not seen the likes of this one before. She dwarfed him in height. He looked like a bundle of wires under a taut white sheet. His hair was the color of new darkness. His eyes burned with an intensity at once off-putting and alluring. She had never seen eyes like that before.

“And what will be yer pleasure sir?” She looked into his eyes.

Blue. “I’d like a drink or three, maybe a large game foul to go with them.”

She took a moment to reply, “I think we have somethin for that sir. You have the coin I’m sure.” She held her hand out.

Hard worker. Hiiri reached into his belt pouch and dropped three small lumps on the table. “This should suffice for my meal and the room I’m going to need for the night.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Ya mean ta pay with rocks?”

Hiiri picked up the lumps and held them up to her. The firelight played off of the rough cuts in them. They shone the same color as his eyes.

“You can’t be meaning to spend all that here? That’s worth more than a meal and room for the night. Ya could take and cut one in half and still be overpayin.”

Honest as well. Hmmm, makes me wonder.

He placed two of the nuggets back in his pouch and flicked the other into the air. She caught it. She stood there a moment looking at him. “Are ya sure you want ta pay this for what we offer?”

Hiiri smiled, “Blodwen, just let your father know I need the food and a room for the night.” He folded his hands on the table and looked into the fire. “If I need anything else I’ll ask for it.” He turned to look at her again. She was going back to the bar.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re worth protecting?”

She stopped. He watched her. It’s like watching a deer freeze. She turned where she stood and gave him a quizzical look. “What do ya mean?”

His eyes were catching the firelight. They seemed to hold small sparks in them. “I understand that the usual compliments include exhortations of beauty and grace. Most men do that because they are overcome by you. I am overcome, but I’d rather be to the point about it. Has any man ever told you that he would protect you with his dying breath?”

She stared. He looks unreal. The way the firelight plays over him. It’s like I’m lookin at a demon. She shook her head fiercely. Calm down girl, it’s not but a man and a trick of the light.

“No. Can’t say that I have.”

“Shame…” He looked back into the fire.

She turned and moved back behind the bar. Her father had watched that scene.

“What did he say to ya just now girl? Is he gonna be trouble?”

She gathered some clean mugs and went into the kitchen. He followed her.

“He’s not gonna be any trouble da. He wants a room for the night, three ales, and a game bird for himself ta eat.”

Einion harrumphed, “And I assume he paid with promises eh?”

She dipped the first mug into an open barrel. “No. He paid with a nugget of silver.” She held it out to him and he goggled.

“He handed ya that? For a room and vittles?” He looked it over. It was a good size. “The man is touched in the head I’d say.”

She turned and went back out. Her father set the nugget down on the counter. “Finn, get in here a moment.” The boy that Hiiri had met on the road came in through a back door with a taller young man. The tall one spoke as he slung his axe into a resting position.

“You needed something master?” The boy had some kindling in his hands. He moved to the large stove and tossed it in. He leaned near it.

Einion addressed the young man. “I need ya ta look after Blod. That traveler out there seems a nice enough sort, but if he gets rowdy you know what ta do with him.”

“Yes sir.” Finn turned on his heel, axe over his shoulder, and exited the room. The sound of wood being split echoed behind the inn.

Einion rounded on the boy, “And don’t ya be getting any ideas there Iowan. I asked Finn ta watch him, not you.”

The boy only smiled as he slid around the cutting table. “I know da. I heard ya. Worry yerself not for me. I’ll keep an eye on the stranger.” He slid out the door before Einion could get a word in. Einion placed his hand over his face.

“The boys got heart, but not half any brains. I fear he came through as mostly me.” He looked to a portrait hung over the door to the common. He looked wistfully at it before returning to work. He had a bird to prepare.

“Here’s yer round sir. I hope ya wanted them all at once.” She slid the mugs down with practiced ease.

“I did want them all at once.” He arranged them on the table.

“Well the bird may be a little while, but ya’ve paid more than enough. I’ll let ya know if we need more payin for what you’re gettin.” She turned round and walked to another table not far away. She took a cloth from her sash and began wiping it down.

Hiiri watched for a moment. I’ll bet she’s the typical ‘barmaid with a pining man’. He quaffed an ale while she worked. No others entered the place. He felt like he was being watched though. He scanned the room and noticed a shadow in one of the back doorways.

“Excuse me Blodwen, but is it common for men to lurk behind door frames in this city?”

She turned to look at him, then to where his eyes were going. She didn’t see anything, but then a shadow shifted. It faded away like a man sliding down a corridor. She thought she knew who it had been and why.

“It’s not normal sir. But sometimes me brother and the hired man are about. I know that Finn can be a bit quiet. Maybe he was just lookin ta see what was goin on in here, it bein so quiet and all.” She went back to her cleaning.

Impressive answer. A truly remarkable female. A shame my partner isn’t here to see her. Hiiri drank another ale, this one more slowly than the first. The shadow didn’t come back.

He drank the last ale at a draught. He stood from his bench.

“I need to see a smith about some things. I assume there is one in town.”

She had moved to another table as he was drinking. She answered without looking up. “Aye there is one. He was part of that group a short while ago. He’s set up a few alleys down. Take a right out the door and follow the smell of horses and heated iron.” She finished with the table and moved to clear away the mugs. Hiiri walked out, one eye on her. She noticed.

The walk to the smith was short, but Hiiri was sure he was being watched. He heard the scuffing of booted feet nearby. The streets weren’t crowded, but the general din was enough to make the sound almost imperceptible. Reaver heard it.

A deep voice bellowed from the back of the smith as Hiiri rang the bell. “And what do you need on this glorious day?”

“I need to see a man about a sword.”

A horse whinnied out back. The smith tried to soothe the beast.

“Whoa there boy. Nothin here to spook a big charger like you.”

“Shall I come back later then?”

“No, no. Come on around the side here and let’s have a talk. I can shoe a horse and jaw at the same time.”

Hiiri walked out and around. The building was roughly square. The shoeing area had two stalls in it. One was currently occupied.

The man with a horse leg bent between his knees looked up. “Ah, a new face.” He went at the bent nail in the shoe with tenacity. His face turned slightly red. “Been a while since I seen your kind around here. You from the south then?”

Hiiri cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. I’m from the southern reaches. Why do you ask?”

“Same reason I ask anyone,” The nail flew past Hiiri and knocked into the other stall. The smith watched its arc before looking at Hiiri, “I’m curious.”

The man spit a nail into his hand and began tapping. The horse wasn’t being very cooperative. The nail went flush and the smith dropped the leg.

“Damnation will ya stand still? You’d think the beast smelled a wolf or something.”

Hiiri hid a smile. “Maybe I can help.”

“If you could I’d be very grateful.”

Hiiri stepped up to the animals flank. The creature seemed like it was going to bolt thru the partition. He laid his hand on the horse’s neck, and gripped. The beast immediately began bucking. The smith was nearly hit by the first convulsive kick. He fell to the side and scrambled up near the opposite wall.

The traveler seemed to be talking to the animal. The creature stopped bucking and stood frozen. When the traveler let go it didn’t move.

Hiiri retreated a few steps. “That should keep him quiet until I leave.”

The smith gave a nod. “You were saying something about a blade?” He inched back to the animal and gingerly lifted its leg, expecting a kick. None came.

“I was wondering if you knew something about the sword of Berahild.”

The smith looked up as he finished the last shoe. “Can’t say that I have. Any particular reason?”

“It’s supposed to have special properties against magic, specifically the magic of demons.”

The smith hung his nails, hammer, and an extra shoe on the stall’s partition and motioned for Hiiri to follow him. “Nope, don’t know that one.” He shrugged, “Sorry I can’t be more help.”

Hiiri gave a dismissive gesture. “That’s all right. I had hoped you’d know, but I’ve been disappointed before.” Hiiri turned to leave the storefront.

“Is that all ya needed then?”

Hiiri kept walking, talking over his shoulder. “I don’t ride horses and I have all the weapons and armor I need. So, yes I’m afraid. Good day to you.”

The smith went at a plowshare he’d been heating. After a few minutes of beating it looked fair to set aside in the fire again. He went to check on the horse. It was still standing there, stock still.

As he went back to the inn Hiiri heard a scuffle in a nearby street.

Ah, a dispute come to blows. Might as well take a look.

He ventured around a corner and found two boys locked in a grapple. Some of their friends were standing by, egging them on. They saw Hiiri and the whole scene stopped.

Hiiri made a circular motion with his hand. “Continue. No need to stop because you have a spectator.”

The two that had been grappling looked at each other. They’d not heard an adult talk that way before. The towheaded one spoke.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone we was fightin?”

The taller brown haired boy piped in, “No way Gwyn. He’ll tattle us fer shur.”

Hiiri smiled at them, all of them. Some of the spectators moved away from him.

“Boys. You have my word as a warrior against evil that I won’t tell anyone.”

The two looked back at each other. They separated. The towhead turned to Hiiri while the others watched.

“Warrior against evil? You sound like an old storybook.”

Hiiri laughed. “An old storybook? No I assure you I have earned that title.” He knelt down and began looking into each boy’s eyes in turn as he spoke.

“I have rescued damsels from corrupt priests. I have stolen precious goods out from under the noses of unseeing officials. I have defended myself against bandits. I dealt harshly with a group of supposed tax collectors. Now I am here.”

The boys were semi awestruck. The stranger’s words were captivating. Somehow they knew he was telling the truth. Something in his eyes sang to them.

One of the spectators shook his head, almost like he had cobwebs in his hair.

“All well and good sir, but I think I hear me mum callin. Don’t you lads too?” He thumped the nearest boys on their backs and they agreed sheepishly. The only one left with Hiiri was the towheaded boy. The sun was beginning to set.

Hiiri reached out and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. He locked eyes with him for a long moment before speaking. “You ought to run home son. No telling what things might find you in the dark.” His voice had a soothing quality.

The boy seemed in a daze. “You might be right sir. I should get home now.” He turned and stumbled down the alley. His eyes glassy and vacant.

Hiiri walked into the inn shortly thereafter. The sun had just gone down. The rosy light cast his shadow on the floor. He called for Einion. The reply came from the kitchen.

“Is that the sir that ordered the bird earlier?”

“It is indeed friend. Bring it out if it’s ready, and a few more mugs.” He sat near the bar. Einion came from the kitchen. The platter he carried steamed gently and held what looked to be a fair sized pheasant. Hiiri thanked the man for the viands.

He devoured the platter in a few short minutes. He did not bother with the bones, but merely tossed them into the fire. Finn was in the doorway opposite. The traveler wasn’t crude in his manners, but there was something that didn’t sit right.

Hiiri dropped a leg bone in the fire. “Young man in the door. Would you mind coming out and helping me with something?”

Finn froze. When did he?

“Oh come now.” The traveler stood up. “Your boots gave you away. I just need help with something very small.” Finn stepped out into the open and saw the traveler holding forth…a wishbone?

The traveler shook the bone lightly. “I can’t throw this in the fire without breaking it first. Ill luck comes from unbroken wishbones.” The traveler sat back down and indicated Finn sit across from him.

Finn crossed the room warily and sat down.

“Is this what you wanted me for?”

The traveler smiled. “Why else would I call you? You’re not the cook, the cleaner, the barmaid, nor the kindling fetcher.” He held the bone up and Finn grasped the other end.

“To your wish young Finn, may it be true sooner than you think.”

Did Blodwen tell him my name? No, couldn’t be. They pulled as one and Finn got the upper part. Oh, whoever’s listening, let Blodwen see me as a worthy man and not just another vagrant her father hired out of pity. Hiiri sat back and tossed his part into the fire. “Ah well. I was hoping for a free night here, but I guess that’s not going to happen.” He held his hand out and Finn gave him the bone. Hiiri threw it into the fire.

“Any chance you know where Blodwen is?”

The question caught Finn off guard.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well your wish was about her I assume. You had the faraway look of a man with desires.”

Finn turned red, his face hardened, he stood and looked the stranger in the eye. “What do you mean by that?”

Hiiri cocked his head slightly. “Never told her?”

Finn looked ready to smash the table. “What did you mean by that?”

The traveler mocked him with a smile. “Only that you love the girl and wish that she would see you as a worthy man and not just another vagrant her father hired out of pity.”

Finn’s head of steam suddenly grew cold. He looked like he’d seen a dead man walk into the room. “What?”

The traveler stood with the platter. As he spoke Finn grew more at ease, but not totally. “Don’t be silly man. I can tell you’re not from around here. You don’t have the native accent. Odds are you floated into town and got a job at the inn, as most travelers do. The woman is striking. You thought her the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Then you watched her work and live and found yourself smitten. I doubt you’ve told her of this. You lack courage in only that; you believe you won’t measure up to her standards, or her father’s. Why not try?”

Finn’s jaw fell open slightly. How did he? His mouth closed slowly. He righted himself mentally before speaking.

“You’re right stranger. I don’t know how, but you are.” He sat down again, heavily. “I just can’t get the words out when she’s around.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

“What? Are you going tell her for me then?”

“No. You will tell her yourself. Oh Blodwen!”

Finn started. “Now?”

The traveler looked down with a grim countenance. “You have a better plan?”

In a corner now…or maybe not. Blodwen came down the stairs. She was finishing tying her sash.

“And what do ya need sir?” She looked at the mess on the table. “Oh, and why didn’t,” she turned to the kitchen door, “me father take care of that for ya?” Hiiri put the platter down and she placed the mugs on it.

“Tell her.”

Blodwen slowed down. Tell me what?

Finn looked angrily at Hiiri. “I have nothing to say.”

Hiiri shook his head and dropped onto the bench. He looked into Blodwen’s eyes. “He has a confession to make.”

Blodwen looked at Finn. I’ve never seen him so anxious. Confession?

Finn looked down. “I have nothing to say.”

Hiiri kicked Finn’s leg under the table. Finn yelped and stood, looking with something akin to murder at Hiiri.

Hiiri spoke in the interim. “He has had certain feelings for you for quite some time." He smiled that mocking smile at Finn, “He’d be better to tell it. I’m not the one in love.”

She gaped at Finn. “What?”

Finn’s words came out like a bursting dam. His eyes never left the floor.

“From the day I first arrived you made it difficult for me to look in your direction. I could no sooner see you than be struck dumb, numb, and utterly brain dead. I was enchanted by your beauty before I asked for the job and ever since I have been in even greater pains.” He paused to catch his breath and raise his eyes. “Watching you…be you, is tortuous to me. I can’t take a moment’s peace from the sound of your voice or the sight of your face. They haunt my dreams in the sweetest of ways.” Blodwen was obviously stunned. Finn missed this and continued. “I told myself that I could not do this. There is no way that you would ever accept a penniless wanderer who chops firewood and does odd jobs around town as a potential husband.”

Blodwen’s eyes grew large. Her voice was barely audible. “Husband?”

Finn heard and latched on to the word. “Yes, husband. I could think of nothing else this past month. I have been unable to sleep for wanting you, but I could not ask.”

Hiiri rolled his eyes. “Poetry he has, courage he has not.”

They both turned to Hiiri. They seemed to just be remembering he was there. Hiiri looked over to the kitchen door. “Got all that Einion?”

The other’s turned as the door opened. Einion’s face was a mask of red fury. He held a cleaver in his hand and jumped the bar much easier than could be expected. He charged Finn.

“Marry…my…DAUGHTER!?”

The cleaver hit the table with a resounding crack. Einion left the tool quivering in the wood. He grabbed Finn and lifted him from the floor in a crushing hug. “Why didn’t ya ask me sooner boy?”

Finn sounded like he couldn’t breathe, “What?”

Einion set the man down. “Aye! I’d have let her go with ya at less than a thought. You’re a good man, and she needs one.”

Blodwen regained herself. Her face became hard. “And what says I want ta marry him?”

Finn looked devastated. Hiiri broke in.

“Because he’s always been there. You never see him, but he is. Think about it and you’ll see, hear, and know the truth.”

Blodwen looked at Hiiri. She thought back and couldn’t think of a time he’d been around.

Hiiri tried to jog her memory. “The wolf, the man in the road, remember?”

“There was a wolf once. Iowan was sick and I went ta get wood for the fire. I found it lyin next ta the road. It was dead.”

“And the man?”

She had to think again. “There was the one propped against a tree. I thought he was asleep, but he had a horrid wound in his chest. I ran back to town after that.”

Finn had his head down. Einion had taken a seat. He spoke now.

“You didn’t think about the dressing on Finn’s arms and leg that day did ya?”

She looked incredulous. “He said he’d gotten into a fight with someone.”

Einion nodded. “He didn’t lie.”

Hiiri stood up and slapped Finn on the back of the head. Finn pitched forward and stumbled into Blodwen. She caught him.

Hiiri punctuated his slap with words. “Tell the woman fool!”

Finn had no choice but to look into her eyes as he spoke. He couldn’t well keep his head buried in her shoulder.

“The wolf was alone and sick. I was following you to make sure you’d make it back safely. The thing didn’t howl when it caught your trail. I saw it. It didn’t run either. It was walking after you. I split its head and dragged it into the woods as best I could.”

His eyes had tears in them from the sting in his head. Hers for a different reason.

“The man had seen me following you and wanted to know if I’d share you. I shared my axe with his breast. I left him where he fell.”

Hiiri stood. “And that, as they say, is that.” He patted Finn on the shoulder as he walked past. “On that heartwarming note I’m going to get some sleep. I will see you all on the morrow.” He climbed the stairs. He opened his door, flopped on the bed, and dropped away into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke to the smell of burning. What’s going on?

His first instinct was to jump up, but he was already on his feet.

He stood in the center of a small town. Everything was ablaze. He had something in his hands. He looked down to see the face of Einion. He dropped the head and it was laughing.

Sleep well?

He tried to grasp what was happening. He remembered that man. Was it a dream or… What have you done?

You were asleep my dear. I had to take us somewhere other than that blasted forest. I found this nice little hamlet called,

Garth…

Yes! That’s the name. I met some fine people here and well…you know how it goes. I got hungry and they all looked sooo tasty. I didn’t leave any for you I'm afraid.

Reaver slowly turned. His dreams hadn’t been dreams at all…but this…

The blacksmith…

I ate his heart while he still drew breath.

The children…

Such young, tender souls. If you listen you can hear them screaming.

The innkeeper…

Off with his head!

Finn…

Torn limb from limb for raising a hand against us.

The woman…

Defiled and dead next to the one who tried to save her.

Hiiri screamed…and screamed…and screamed…

Shahjolka laughed.

#fiction

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