#the new ones grow in. if you see a tree with pale bark and dead tan leaves that's my fagus grandifolia best tree

[wizardnuke]

you have the envisci majors who are visibly super into hiking/climbing and/or hunting you have the envisci majors with their bug print button ups and pins and you have me. some guy. cursed with tree knowledge

[zerun0]

Can you make a fanfic about spending time with Viktor in his greenhouse? 👉👈 Whether it will be more romantic or more spicy is your decision

"Ivy and Iron" — Viktor x Y/N (Gender-Neutral)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work. — !SFW! — Established relationship, Fluff, Flirting, Garden, kissing. — Word count: — 1,5k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The dome was alive... more alive than anyone had thought possible in a city like Zaun.

Viktor stood among the green area, just above him, fractured glass panes refracted sunlight into shimmering beams that danced across the greenery below. Nature had reclaimed this once-dead space, transforming the ruin into an oasis of color and vitality. Ivy wove intricate patterns along the cracks, mending the broken with threads of green. Flowering vines spilled over from high ledges, their blossoms in hues so vibrant they felt almost otherworldly. Beneath his feet, moss softened the worn stone path, and ferns swayed as if breathing. The air was warm, humid with the scent of earth and blossoms—a stark contrast to Zaun’s metallic chill and acrid fumes.

And in the center of it all was you.

Viktor’s kaleidoscopic eyes lingered on you as you knelt in the soil, gently tending a bed of seedlings. Your fingers moved with careful precision, coaxing life from the dirt with a tenderness that stirred something deep in him. You looked so at peace, surrounded by the vibrancy you had nurtured, your hands stained with earth, your lips curved in a small smile of satisfaction.

He hesitated at the edge of the clearing, his cane tapping lightly against the mossy stone. The sound drew your attention, and when you glanced up, your eyes brightened.

“Viktor,” — you greeted, rising to your feet. There was warmth in your voice, as though you were genuinely pleased to see him. — “You made it.”

He stood there gracefully, his cane tapping softly against the moss-covered stone. The sunlight streaming through the fractured glass dome above dappled his pale face, highlighting the faint glow of his enhancements. The plants had flourished far beyond what he had imagined. Yet, despite the brilliance of the paradise he’d created, it was you who held his attention.

“I could not stay away,” — he admitted, stepping closer. — “You care for this place with such devotion. I wished to see it through your eyes.”

Your lips quirked up in a soft smile. — “It’s your creation, Viktor. I’m just the gardener.”

“You are far more than that,” — he replied, his voice laced with quiet conviction. — “Without your hands, without your care, this place would be nothing compared to what it is now..."

You glanced around at the verdant space, the vibrant green leaves and radiant flowers whispering softly in the warm breeze. Birds flitted between the vines; insects hummed industriously over beds of herbs. Everywhere life teemed, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and fertile soil.

“It’s easy to care for something so full of potential,” — you said softly. — “But you’re the reason any of this exists in the first place. These plants wouldn’t have a chance in Zaun if it weren’t for you.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. — “Perhaps.”

The two of you wandered deeper into the dome, your pace unhurried. As you walked, you pointed out the various plants you’d been tending—climbing vines heavy with blossoms, patches of herbs growing in carefully arranged beds, fruit trees that had begun to bear their first harvest. Viktor listened intently, his sharp mind absorbing your every word.

“These fruit trees were the most stubborn,” — you said with a small laugh, brushing your hand against the rough bark of one. — “I had to trim back so much of the dead wood to give the new growth a chance. But once they took root, they grew faster than I expected.”

“You understand their needs well,” — Viktor said, studying the branches laden with ripe fruit. His colorful eyes lingered on your hands as you gently turned one of the leaves, inspecting its vibrant green color. — “Each decision you make, every care you offer, it shapes them. Guides them.”

“I’m just following what feels right,” — you replied, glancing over your shoulder at him. — “Plants are a lot like people, I think. They need support, patience... someone to believe in them.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. — “It is not something I have considered before"

You smiled, your eyes softening. — “Sometimes all it takes is a little faith.”

Viktor walked beside you in silence for a moment, his cane tapping lightly against the mossy path. The quiet hum of life surrounded you. The garden felt alive in every sense of the word, and it struck him how starkly it contrasted with the barren ruins this dome had once been.

“Tell me,” — he said at last, his voice quiet but curious. — “what made you decide to take this on? When I showed you the empty space, it must have seemed... hopeless.” — He asked, he seemed to be testing you.

You paused, turning to face him. — “It wasn’t hopeless. Just waiting. Waiting for someone to give it a chance.” — Your gaze swept over the flourishing greenery, the vibrant flowers, the lush grass beneath your feet. — “When I first saw this place, I saw what it could become. I couldn’t just leave it as it was.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a faint smile, the corners of his mouth softening. — “It seems I chose well, then.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. — “You didn’t choose anything, Viktor. You built this space, and I volunteered. If anything, this garden chose me.”

“That,” — he said, stepping closer. — “is precisely what I mean.”

You blinked up at him, your breath catching slightly at the intensity of his gaze. The distance between you seemed to shrink, the space filled with the heady scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves. The air felt charged, as though the garden itself was holding its breath.

“This place thrives because of you,” — Viktor said, his glistening eyes fixed on yours. — “When I imagined this garden, I thought only of potential. Of how life might reclaim what was lost. But it is more than I could have envisioned because you saw not just what it could be, but what it should be"

Your heart skipped a beat at the quiet reverence in his tone. — “And you ... You gave it the chance to exist. Maybe... maybe we both brought it to life, together.”

He stepped even closer. You could see the subtle lines of strain around his eyes, the weight he carried in every step, but here, surrounded by the haven you’d built together, he seemed lighter somehow. — “Together,” — he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with quiet certainty.

A breeze stirred the air. The moment felt suspended in time, the sounds of Zaun’s chaos beyond the dome fading into nothingness.

“You’ve been coming here more often,” you ventured, your voice gentle. — “Why?”

Viktor’s gaze dropped for a moment as though gathering his thoughts, his fingers tightening slightly around the head of his cane. When his kaleidoscopic eyes met yours again, there was a softness to them that made your chest ache. “Because,” — he began quietly, — “it is here that I feel closest to what I am searching for. Peace. Growth. Beauty.” He paused, his voice lowering. — “You.”

The words hit you like a quiet storm, their honesty stealing the breath from your lungs. The space between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. The hum of the garden, the soft rustle of leaves, all of it blurred into the background as Viktor’s focus remained solely on you.

“You mean that?” — you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I do,” — he said without hesitation.

His words unraveled something in you, a tether you hadn’t realized was holding you back. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand finding his where it rested on the cane. His fingers curled around yours instinctively, the calluses of his palm a sharp contrast to the softness of your touch.

His hand came up slowly, brushing against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with a tenderness that made your knees weak. You leaned into the touch, your heart thundering in your chest.

“I should not,” — he murmured, his voice trembling with restraint. — “But I cannot seem to stay away.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension. Then in a blink of a eye, Viktor leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both hesitant and searing. His touch was searching, as though he was afraid you might slip away.

But you did the contrary, you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. His cane fell to the ground with a soft thud, forgotten, as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and the world seemed to dissolve into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. His voice was a hoarse whisper. — “I have never felt this before.”

You brushed a strand of hair from his face. — “Then let’s not overthink it. Let’s just... be.” — Thank you for requesting it! Feel free to send more fic ideas !

[world-of-horrors-au]

Pruning Roses - Chapter 1

[Set in the post-apocalyptic/dystopian Horrors AU, see pinned post on this blog for more information]

A long day leads to a long night, and Briar, the youngest Horror and apprentice to Jeff Woods, grows worried about the silence from her friends. Against Jeff's warnings, Briar ventures into the Forest alone to find them. But it's not another Horror she finds within the Tall Man's supernatural domain...

CW: Violence, kidnapping

Note: As requested by my followers, I am reuploading this series in a more polished format. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this.

Her family wasn’t waiting for her when she got home from work. No texts from Ben, or Jeff, no notes from Eyeless or Laughing Jack. Never a good sign. Briar changed out of her work clothes into her normal attire, glancing out the window every few minutes to see if they were waiting. There was nothing. 

Jeff told her to never enter the Forest alone. The animals were the least of her worries. The Tall Man’s proxies were smarter than any animal, and far more inclined to cruelty. She was the youngest Horror, still coming into her power, easy pickings for the more aggressive of them. What they might do to her, Jeff never said, but the look in his eyes suggested he’d found out personally.

Still, as night fell and no one reached out, she worried. Did something happen? Had they been captured? Did a killing run go wrong? There was nothing on the news about it. Capturing such famous Horrors would be repeated everywhere, on national and local news. Something wasn’t right.

Briar took her bat and entered the Forest.

The Forest glowed at night, soft illumination coming from moss on the trees and midnight flowers. Stars like she'd never seen peaked through the interlocking canopy, and moonlight fought its way through. Part of her wondered if she should've brought a flashlight, but that would've definitely attracted unwanted attention. The last thing she needed was to catch the eye of a predator.

But luck had never been on her side.

He stood in the darkness, she almost missed him. Briar stopped, heart picking up, and pressed against a tree. It wasn’t the Thin Man, no, it was one of his army. The clothes gave him away, even though she couldn’t see the dark mask under the hood. She swallowed. That was the leader of the proxies, wasn’t it? They called him Hoodie. 

She teethed the inside of her lip. Had he heard her tramping through the Forest? She hadn't been quiet about it. Jeff thought it was more important for her to learn how to sneak through houses than the outdoors. What was he even doing out here, alone at night? Were the other Proxies around? The idea of meeting them churned her stomach. She'd heard stories about them all from the others. Masky's bad temper. Beastie's relentlessness. Kate scratching out eyes with her claws. Toby's… everything. The only one that wasn't feared was Skully, but even he killed without mercy or regret. And they’d said Hoodie was the strongest of them all.

The man wasn’t doing anything. He lingered by the tree, running a hand over its moonlit-paled bark. Briar tensed, preparing. She was a Horror, he wasn’t. If she had to, she could outrun him. That was how half of the encounters went, one side choosing to run instead of fight. She was going to be okay, she told herself. She could survive this.

Wood snapped not far away. Briar jerked towards the sound. Saw nothing, the Forest quieting again. She looked back to Hoodie, and he stared right back.

Briar ran.

Trees rushed by, plants and dead leaves crushing under her feet as she ran. She didn’t look back, she kept her eyes forward, her mind focused. Nothing mattered more than escape.  The Forest was quiet, her panting as loud as her footsteps to her ears. She couldn’t hear anyone following.

She thought, he must’ve decided to leave me alone. He must’ve had more important things to worry about. But she still didn’t stop. It was only when she reached a small clearing that she slowed down, the deer on the edges scattering at the sight of her.

Running through the undergrowth was a lot different than on concrete. Briar liked to think she was healthy, kept up good habits, exercised often, but she still fell forward, one hand grasping her knees, panting, panting. Was it really just exhaustion causing her to run low on air? Or was it the fear crawling up the back of her neck that made her ache so?

She must've lost him. She hoped she lost him. That he didn't follow her this far into the Forest. She'd heard nothing behind her, and no one could move that quietly, could they? Especially not in the dark like this. She was safe. She had to be safe. 

Briar looked behind her, in time to see the masked man aim the rifle at her body.

The bullets went over her head, Briar dropping into the dirt moments before it was too late. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. She heard the soft curse from him even at her distance, and scrambled back towards the safety of the trees. She couldn't outrun bullets. Like always, she'd have to out-think him.

Another shot, it grazed her arm but she barely felt the pain. She gripped the bat like the lifeline it was. A kind of plan formed in her mind, half-assed, more images than logical thought. Hiding in the trees, getting behind him, slamming the bat into his head. She couldn't run forever, she had to fight back.

Her heart clenched. What if the proxies had done something to her family?

Dirt under her nails, the trees pressing closer around her than they felt before. Now she could hear him, plant life crunching under his feet, eldritch growls leaving his hidden throat. He must want me dead, Briar thought, why else would he have that rifle? If Jeff were here, he'd know what to do. If she died here, none of them would find her body. Their faces passed through her mind, and her heart went cold. No, she wouldn't die here. She would kill Hoodie first.

She ducked behind a tree, held her breath. The longer she listened the louder the footsteps became. He must know something's wrong, she thought, knuckles white on the bat. He's waiting for me to break. They came from the side, boots crushing life under his frame, and she saw him so clear, so close, that she could see the texture of his signature clothing.

Briar struck.

Her bat hit the side of his face. He roared in pain, staggering. She didn't hold back, screaming herself as she swung the bat again. Hoodie twisted, she hit his torso, he raised an arm to block the next blow, she hit with all the strength she had. Oh god, she thought, he's as tough as me. Any normal human would have died on the first blow. I have to fight harder.

The rifle tumbled from his grip, but didn't go off again. Hoodie lunged. The bat missed. His larger form knocked her into the dirt. Briar screamed again, like a rabbit caught in a trap.

"Give up," Hoodie snapped. His fingers gripped her arm, she felt the bruises forming already. His other hand wrapped around the bat. "Let go."

"No!" She shouted.

Horrors were stronger than any human, but he was not a normal human either. His gloves brushed against her bare fingers, his grip better than hers. Briar cried out, the bat pulled free. Hoodie threw it aside, she heard it slam into wood.

"Give up!" Hoodie shouted.

"Go to hell!" She wouldn't die so easily. Briar jerked her knee up, burying it into his side. A gloved hand wrapped around one of her wrists, but with her other, she slammed the side of her hand into his throat. That worked, he gagged. With as much strength as she could summon, she shoved him off. She had to get her bat. 

Two paces away from it, her hand already reaching to snatch it from where it lay, something slammed into her back. Briar dropped. A boot pressed down on the small of her back, and the muzzle of the rifle pressed against her head. She knew then it was over.

"Give up?" Hoodie asked. Briar didn't answer, panting. Her body ached everywhere.

He nudged her with the muzzle. "Do you give up?" He said in a voice that would not be denied.

She nodded.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I give up," Briar whispered into the dirt.

"Louder," he said.

"I give up!" She shouted, and swallowed a sob. Hoodie grunted.

"Good." 

The pressure on her back increased, he was kneeling down. He took one of her wrists and pulled her arm behind her back. Something metal clicked.

"You have no idea the trouble you've caused us," Hoodie said. Briar swallowed. The handcuffs snapped on. "We're going to make sure you don't cause us any more trouble again."

"What did you do to my family?" She asked, voice shaking.

"The hell are you talking about?" Hoodie pulled her other arm behind her back. "We didn't do anything to them." And she heard the smile in his voice with his next words. "But we're gonna do a lot to you."

Her heart raced. What were they going to do to her? 

His hand fished in her pocket. Briar felt him pull her phone free, but said nothing. In the darkness, she couldn't see where it landed, but it sounded close to the tree her bat was by. She exhaled hard. She had to be brave.

"Alright you," he gripped both her arms. "Let's go."

Hoodie pulled her to her feet. Briar grunted, stumbling, but he gave her no mercy. With one hand he held the rifle, the other he gripped one of her arms.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said, and pulled her arm. Briar had no choice but to follow.

As their footsteps faded, Briar's phone lit up. A ringtone echoed through the trees, unheard by the two, now long gone. Jeff called, and kept calling, until Briar's phone died.

Want to be added to the tag list for this series? Let me know, and be the first notified when these stories go up!

[aizawasbedtimestories]

Hades!Aizawa x Persephone!reader?

Uff, I love greek mythology! Enjoy!

»—————————–—————————– 

There was a different feeling to it, as you two roamed the colorless gardens of the Underworld this time.

Even if this was your favorite place in his domain, Aizawa only ever saw you plant new greens into the earth here bitterly. As soon as they left the tender care of your hands, sought in the last touches you gave to them after setting them into the dirt, they’d wither away, turn black and brown, and finally, to ash. Times and times again, Aizawa told you to keep your expectations low as you brought back more plants from your mother’s domain. Yet, every time, you were bitterly disappointed to have one die again.

But not this time. This time, it would be different, and he made sure of it.

 It felt like forever since your last visit, the spring rolling around quicker than he anticipated. Besides work, you were the only thing in all the worlds that could keep him company, yet, he feared to have neglected you once again that winter. And once you were gone, you were gone; there was nothing he could do to change that.

All the more he treasured your return, your arms wrapped around his as you strolled through the Underworld’s garden. You weren’t scared to die from touching him. You weren’t even afraid to suffer by his hands. Even if the Underworld wasn’t a domain you could get accustomed to, you loved him, and Aizawa loved you, more than anything he ever possessed. No riches, no duties, no family could ever mean as much as you did to him. But it pained him even more that he couldn’t give you what you needed, while you gave up everything for six months every year just to be with him.

“It’s peaceful,” you admitted, taking a deep breath. “There was a lot of work this year. A lot of fields, great harvest, sunshine all the way.”

Yes, you didn’t want to hurt him with your words, but he knew that you loved your work even if you welcomed the break you were permitted. You were like a flower yourself, but for six months, you’d wither down here, leaned to an old, dead tree as Aizawa was.

“And I am glad to be with you again!” This time, you looked up at him as you spoke, eyes sparkling and a smile as happy as you could be. In truth, it was only ever him who worried and fretted. When you were with him, and when you were gone, Aizawa couldn’t let go of his regrets that he took the person he loved the most from the place you belonged and thrived in.

Yet, taking your hand to his lips, he kissed it, putting all his feelings into the affection before replying, “And I cherish your return.”

It was such a courteous gesture, but it made you smile even more, and he felt his heart swell with affection at that, leading you further and further into the gardens. True, they weren’t as vast as the ones on earth, but he hoped you’d notice the change. As you two walked on, you’d occasionally reach out, your hand brushing through the branches and petals that aligned next to the path, and soon enough, Aizawa had to cover his mouth to hide his grin as your brows furrowed.

“Did this all grow from the seeds I scattered?” you asked, confused as you found your garden full of flowers and plants you had never planted and never seen before. “Not quite,” he chuckled, and you turned to him full of curiosity, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“You see...” he mumbled, dropping your arm slowly in favor of reaching for your hand to pull you along. “I did some gardening in the few times I was resting, and that’s the outcome,” Aizawa revealed, gesturing over the grounds you were walking through to emphasize what he meant. You gasped, looking around quickly as if you had to take in as much as you could in a short time.

“All of this? That’s... That’s amazing, Shouta!”

“Well...” he replied, unnoticeably flustered by your compliment, and rubbed his chin. “But there’s one thing I really wanted to show you.”

Squeezing his hand, you gave him the go to lead the way, enthusiastically trotting along as he led you to the most center part of the gardens, a newly grown tree sprouting from a plot of sparkling dirt. You made a loud “Wow!” sound as you saw it in its full glory.

“How did you make it grow?” you asked the King of the Underworld, wholly amazed by the miracle. When your hand met its bark, you could feel it breathe in and out like you could feel any plant do, but this time, when you took your hand away, you were surprised to see it wasn’t withering from losing your blessing.

“Took a while,” he admitted as he stepped up to you, laying his hand down against the bark as well. “But I might have found a way to infuse the dirt with ambrosia, and that seems enough to make the plants finally grow, even if--”

Taking a deep breath, he hesitated, looking up at the black leaves, the occasional purple shining in them at best. “They are probably not as pretty as the ones you raise up there.”

“Shouta...” you mumbled, but before you could scold him for putting down the groundbreaking work he did just to compare it with his regret, he surprised you with a smile, catching your attention with his deep, dark eyes you could get lost in for all eternity. “Come, I want to show you the best thing about it.”

Without waiting, Shouta rounded the tree, and you quickly followed, only to find a swing hanging from a thick branch on the back of the tree. He gripped its sturdy ropes as he smiled at you, motioning you to sit, and you didn’t let him ask twice before taking your seat, feeling him push your back to rock it.

Laughing - a rare sound in the Underworld - filled the gardens as you swung back and forth, Aizawa giving you the occasional push and watching the non-existing wind - you two created with your motions - flow through your hair and clothes. There was rarely ever the time for you two to be playful and frolic around like this, and all the more was he overjoyed that he was able to bring this into your lives.

“You must have worked really hard for this,” you thought out loud as you two rested in the underworldly grass growing around the roots of the enormous tree. “I am sure it would have been easier for you,” Aizawa replied, a smile still playing around his lips.

“Why?” you asked, and he looked at you questioningly. “Why did you do it? You never cared much about the garden before.”

For a moment, Aizawa remained silent, his eyes fixating a point far in the distance. “But I care for you. I wanted to make this home for you too. And you are home where there are plants, right?”

Leaning against him, you shook your head slowly. “Wrong,” you corrected him, and he was surprised over the answer. “Home is where my family is. And you are my family, Shouta.”

Kissing the top of your head, he hid the warmth spreading through him and over his pale cheeks from your sight, holding your hand in his tenderly. He knew this moment had to end, but he also knew it wouldn’t have to end right away, so he could enjoy it some more.

Especially now that you had, yet again, lifted some weight off his shoulders, simply by loving him as well.

[the-barlo-daily-journal]

The time has come to tell you of the younger queen, for her story is of bone and shadow, pine and forest floor - of time lost and purpose found, with a beginning hidden inside an ending.

You see, it’s thought the younger died in childbirth when she was about twelve. She and her babe were buried on the far side of the hill on the other side of the road; far from where any decent folk might go. No one would ever say who the babe’s daddy was, cause it would cost too much - but his blood did things to the girl and the child best not discussed in the light of day... nor in the black of night, come to that.

Beneath the soil the girl continued to age and grow, as unnatural as a voiceless bird. Near her twentieth birthday she crawled from her makeshift grave, the husk of the babe still latched to her breast, skin pale and flaking, eyes alight with a malice and a hunger for vengeance. See, there is not enough death in this world to let her heart truly know peace. The earth that surrounds what was once her grave is devoid of life, and every plant or tree that sprung from it is dead. That place is watched by both grannies and haints with equal fear and trepidation.

Her half of the wood is dried and singing poplar; the wind always a soft song of burial. The things that walk these woods are worse than dead; sometimes rotten things made of flesh, but other creatures - born of the sinews of trees, formed of tangled roots and mottled bark, forgotten bones long buried in the palace of the green, raised up and dressed in new raiment of vine and briar, leaves and shadow - carefully crafted into wondrous and horrible new forms to do the bidding of their dark mother, their matriarch, their monarch.

We call her the Dead Queen.

Old Gods of Appalachia / Episode 12: The Other Queen

[arts-and-drafts]

Reconnaissance (Hermit Tommy AU)

(hooo boy here comes the start of a very long project, in which wrongs try to be righted in more worlds than one. This is a slight continuation of the fic Vulnerable, so maybe check that out of you're confused. Enjoy!)

TW: Death

-

Legend has it that the End connects all worlds.

There is countless spawns, countless new worlds created every second, but there is only one End. The End connects all threads of the wide, wide universe, and if you go far enough, you can see the start of other civilizations on pale islands farther out than the fabled badlands. If you go far enough, if you traverse the End more than any have before, you can start to see beginnings.

Xisuma knows this is all talk. But all legends start in truth. The End is where the admin begins his search.

He's surprised to find Tommy's old world very quickly.

There are few worlds that are completely closed off from the End, and of those few only one is still actively inhabited.

The Dream SMP. The name can't be a coincidence.

Xisuma turns to the world's history now, the hardest part of locating the world now over. It's then that Xisuma learns the best news; the world is regularly open to MCC, and that means a way in.

He tells only Tango of his plan, prepares him for the worst. If Xisuma leaves and doesn't return, Hermitcraft won't have an admin, and the world will die. It would be irresponsible to leave with that much responsibility on his shoulders, but Xisuma would not ask any of his hermits to go in his place, and he reminds Tango firmly of this when the mod protests his decision.

Xisuma spends the next month teaching Tango how to take up the mantle of admin while Xisuma is gone, and before the night of MCC he relinquishes the power in its entirety to his closest confidant. The transfer of administrator leaves both Xisuma and Tango out of commission for quite a while, Xisuma's body struggling through the sudden withdrawal of magic and Tango's attempting to adjust to the influx of power that came too quickly for him to process.

Xisuma departs while Tango rests, leaving the unsure promise of return in his wake in a book and quill before he steps through the portal to MCC.

Xisuma knows where to go. The portal to the Dream SMP has been reignited since the scare last time, and the former admin easily slips through the gateway during the hubbub of the event.

xisumavoid joined the game

<FoolishG> o/

<Ranboo> who

<ItsFundy> wait what

<xisumavoid> Hello. Do any of you know a Dream?

<awesamdude> Who are you?

Xisuma stared at his communicator screen. He chose to not disclose his reasoning for his arrival, on edge because of Tommy's state he was in when he found Hermitcraft. These people could be extremely dangerous.

<xisumavoid> I'm Xisuma, I'm not going to stay long. I just need to speak with Dream. This is his world, correct?

Silence.

Xisuma nervously tucked his communicator away. This world had set him on edge enough; his ability of perception was not as heightened as it used to be since his admin abilities were passed over, but he could still feel that the magic of this world was strained and warped.

The magic of Hermitcraft that he was used to felt light, warm, like a summer breeze on a perfect day, with small snaps of explosive energy that came from volatile and powerful players all in one space. It was generally pleasant.

This world felt...dull. Dull and stretched out too far, as if there wasn't enough magic to go around. What little there was felt tainted somehow, wrong in a way that Xisuma could not describe.

It was suffocating. Xisuma wanted to be out of there as quickly as he could.

The former admin looked around, cringing slightly at the awful mess of cobblestone and dirt and wood planks that made up a wall all around spawn. Besides the crude structure, spawn was abandoned and uninhabited.

Odd.

Xisuma chose not to dwell on it too much, and turned to a crack in the wall where he could leave the box.

He ventured out to a forest of spruce, nothing to be seen for 10 chunks in every direction. All that was in Xisuma's render distance was untouched trees.

The hermit tried his communicator again.

<xisumavoid> Where is everyone? There are no structures close to spawn. Can someone offer coordinates?

"Why are you here." Came a voice in response. Xisuma jumped out of his skin, whipping around so fast he nearly fell off the wall.

A creeper hybrid stood a few blocks from him, clad in ornate golden armor that Xisuma could tell was imbued with enchanted netherite. The look on his face was as cold and intimidating as his netherite sword clutched firmly in one of his paws.

"Uh--hello! I'm here to see Dream." Xisuma replied warily. "What's your name?"

"Sam." The hybrid offered bluntly. "And I can't let you see him."

A flicker of confusion disrupted the growing unease in Xisuma's mind. "I'm unarmed, I promise-"

"It's not for him." Sam cut him off, and Xisuma swallowed his words.

"...I don't understand." Xisuma said, getting the feeling that his wariness of the new server was not nearly enough as it should be. It was then that the hermit noticed Sam deflate, only barely, but enough for Xisuma to see that the hybrid was crushed with guilt.

"...He killed the last person that tried to talk to him." Sam explained lowly. Xisuma blinked. "For your safety and the server's, I can't let you see him. I don't know you, and I don't know if you're here to break him out."

"I'm not worried about dying, I--why is it a big deal?" Xisuma asked carefully. Sam's head snapped up to stare at him with hollow eyes, sending a shiver down the hermit's spine despite how close he was with Doc.

"...It was his last life." Sam said, slowly and deliberately, speaking as if it was terrible taboo to utter the words.

"You can't respawn here?" Xisuma asked, his unease pitching. There was respawn magic here, he could feel it, this wasn't a hardcore world.

"We can." Sam explained curtly. "But if we die and it's important, it's...that's it. We only get three lives."

Sam then looked down, and Xisuma noticed how tired the hybrid suddenly seemed. His paw clenched the hilt of his sword so tight that it shook in his grip.

"Tubbo only had one left." Sam muttered thickly, his voice full of regret and bitterness. Xisuma's stomach dropped.

"...Tubbo is dead?" The hermit realized, slowly. Sam looked up, his eyes now very suspicious as he looked Xisuma over again.

"Who are you? Why are you talking like you know Tubbo and Dream?" Sam interrogated, lifting his blade. Xisuma didn't even blink, his mind fuzzy with the static of shock and disbelief. Tubbo...was dead.

"I...came here for Tommy." Xisuma answered distantly. "He...I wanted to bring Tubbo back to him."

The color drained from Sam's face, but in Xisuma's state he really didn't have the energy to process the look of shock.

"Tommy's alive?"

_

"Tango, look into my eyes, only my eyes."

"No, nope." Tango jerked away from Keralis's hypnotizing stare. "Nice try."

"Tango," Keralis said again, his voice a disappointed purr. He really was laying it on thick. "I just want to know where Shishwammy is."

"He's doing important admin stuff, I told you!" Tango said, his bark having no real bite. Xisuma instructed him exactly; no one was to know where he went. X didn't want any of his hermits to follow him into that world of destruction.

Tango kept it locked, just as he promised, but Keralis was making it so difficult.

"Look, Keralis, I'm really tired. Can I please go back to resting." Tango tried. Keralis's huge eyes stared through him for a couple seconds, but then the hermit visibly backed off. Tango breathed a sigh of relief.

"...Get well soon, sweetface." Keralis hummed reluctantly, turning and shooting out the opening to Toon Towers. Tango watched his silhouette get smaller and smaller on the horizon before turning back to his bed.

What he told Keralis wasn't a lie. His bones felt like they'd been individually hit by a ravager from all the magic that now flowed through him. The humming of every life force in Hermitcraft had been giving him a nonstop headache.

He'd definitely gained more respect for Xisuma's role in their world after experiencing what that truly meant, but he always worryingly came back to the reason the power was given to him in the first place.

It'd been radio silence from Xisuma's end since he left for the SMP, but Tango could still feel his life force pulling at his mind, distantly. It was a very odd sensation, but knowing his friend was still alive and connected to Hermitcraft gave him comfort.

Still. Tango was out of his element, and he hoped Xisuma would return as soon as possible.

Splashing sounds of water gradually became louder and louder to Tango, making him throw an arm over his face in annoyance. He just wanted to sleep, void's sake.

"Tango, my friend! How are you, big man!" A punch to the arm startled Tango into nearly falling out of bed, Tommy's signature loud 'pah-HAH' following his scrambling attempt to get upright.

"Oh, shut up!" Tango said, a traitorous smile growing on his face while Tommy giggled.

"What do you want, Tommy." Tango sighed exaggeratedly. Tommy shuffled in place, a poorly hidden look of mischief in his eyes.

"...You have any TNT?" Tommy reached, and Tango pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. "What for."

"I wanna scare Zedaph when he goes to bed with an explosion noise!" Tommy grinned, all coyness instantly abandoned. Tango locked eyes with the excited kid.

"Tommy, get your shulker boxes." Tango ordered, and Tommy gave a cheer, bolting for the ender chest in the corner. "All right! Gonna do fucked up shit, we're wrongens!"

"Hey, no swearing in front of the kids." Tango chastised goodnaturedly, prepared to say "you" when Tommy asked what children were around.

The question never came. Tango turned away from digging through his chests of gunpowder to check if Tommy had heard him, all humor fading away when he noticed the kid frozen in place looking down at the contents of his ender chest.

"Tom?" Tango asked, approaching with enough speed to not startle the boy. He peered over Tommy's head when there was no response, and found what looked to be a lodestone compass gripped in Tommy's scarred hand.

"...Tommy?" Tango tried again, hesitantly laying a hand on the kid's shoulder. "What's up?"

"It's." Tommy choked, and Tango tensed in alarm when he noticed tears threatening the boy's eyes. "It's not moving-"

"What?" Tango asked, and a stake was driven right through his chest when Tommy looked up with the most crushing expression of despair Tango has ever seen in his life.

"Tubbo's--" Tommy's face screwed up, the tears finally falling. He turned back to the still compass, caving in on himself to press it to his chest. A pitiful, grueling wail grew in the boy's throat, and Tango's eyes widened as he put the pieces together all at once.

That was a soul compass, and it was still. Whoever was on the other end was still as well.

Tommy's best friend was dead.

[softinkshadows]

battlefield encounters (gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna) (part 3)

Some short vignettes of jjk men x female reader imagined scenarios, where reader meets them for the first time in the middle of a fight (all taking place within the same world and timeline of the manga/anime, although as parallel storylines). Geto Suguru “You disgust me.” His voice is hot against your ear as his strong hands slam you against the wall, nails digging into your flesh. “What is a filthy human like you doing here at this hour?” You try to turn and speak, but your face is pressed hard to the crushed stone wall, and you can feel a thin trickle of blood dripping down the side of your cheek. On most days, Geto would not even deign to touch a human trespasser, preferring to unleash one of his low-level curses on them instead. But today, he is in the mood to get his hands dirty. 10 hours ago, you had received a tip-off at the agency that some nefarious dealings might be underway at a temple on the outskirts of Chiba prefecture. Some suspicious deaths and probable connection to the Star Religious group, the report had said. Now, it is night, and here you are unceremoniously pinned to the outer façade of the main temple by a stranger, your hands held behind your back, agonisingly out of reach from the gun on your holster. “Talk.” His tone is sharp and dominant. A rough grip twists your head to the side, allowing you to finally catch your breath. Lessons from your years of training begin to swarm your mind. Play dumb. “I-I’m a fellow devotee,” you stutter nervously, praying whoever is behind you won’t notice the gun at your belt, and quietly thanking the gods that you wore a long coat to hide it today. “I’m a new joiner, and I heard from a friend inside that there were night sessions as well.” You are spun around, back to the wall. Your hands, still caught in the vice-like hold of his pale arms, are starting to feel bruised. A man with long black hair stands inches away from you, dark locks falling over his face, his flowing robes brushing up against your thighs. His black eyes are terrifyingly cold, piercing, and you catch them glancing to the wound on your head. For a moment, he looks pleased. A shudder runs through you. “A devotee, hmm?” he murmurs thoughtfully, though his eyes never leave yours. There’s something about his gaze, the way he’s holding you, that suddenly fills you with vertigo, as if you’ve tumbled off the edge of the universe and found yourself on its flip side, a darker, frightening world that no one should ever have to encounter. You feel your guise slipping away. Oh god, he knows. Your body tenses. His fingers now stroke the inside of your palms, running them lightly across your heavily calloused skin, the scars from all the combat you’ve faced throughout your time at the agency. The hands of an experienced fighter. His mouth turns up in a slight smirk. “You’re not a very good liar.” ---- Ryomen Sukuna “Hurry up, Itadori,” you yell over your shoulder, scaling the large stone boulders dotting the forest path, moving deeper into the trees. The sun is setting, and the way downhill will be getting dark. But the pink-haired brat is still at the clearing, gawking loudly and admiring the cityscape of Tokyo from the viewing point. So much for babysitting a small-town bumpkin, you groan inwardly, pausing to wait for him. The day before, Gojo had called in a favour. As always, that smart-mouthed ass didn’t bother to give much information. The boy known as Sukuna’s vessel was recovering from a fight with some “patchwork curse,” and both him and Nanami would be busy with jobs the next day, so “would you please look after him, being the independent ‘window’ that jujutsu society doesn’t know about, and oh, by the way everyone thinks he’s dead!” Bewildered, you didn’t have much of a choice but to accept, given how Gojo had been helping to keep your identity under wraps for the last few years. Thus resulting in you having to entertain the boy with a low-key sightseeing tour of Tokyo. “Sorry Y/N-san!” Finally, you hear Itadori’s light footsteps approach from a distance. He catches up with you easily, his physical prowess allowing him to leap from boulder to boulder with ease, even in the growing darkness. You don’t hear the chant that follows next, and neither does Itadori. “Enchain.” The forest grows cold. You feel the cursed energy leaking out from behind you like a frothing pit, curling and extending its tendrils towards your feet. The hairs on the back of your neck stand frigid. You turn around fast, knowing that the person in front of you is no longer the annoyingly cheerful brat you spent the afternoon taking care of. Why now? “Sukuna,” you hiss, moving into a defensive stance. This is a troublesome scenario. In the worst case… your eyes flit to the set of bronze cursed rings on your fingers. You may even have to use it. Not even Gojo, bearer of the Six Eyes, knew about that. He emerges from the shadows into the faint moonlight, torso bared, revealing the black tattoos running across his body. He stretches his arms as if they have stiffened from a long slumber. Now he’s awake and ready. The glint in his eye unsettles you. “I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you,” Sukuna says. His voice is flippant, though edged with curiosity. Like a king seated on his throne casting a second glance beneath him out of amusement. “To what do I owe this honour?” you scoff sarcastically, gritting your teeth. Then, sharp pain courses through you, and the air is knocked out of your lungs. You feel yourself crashing through tree bark, the wood splintering and scraping your skin. When you come to on your knees, slightly dazed and mouth tasting of blood, you realize Sukuna is already standing over you. A strong hand grabs you by the throat, lifting your body off the ground. “Now, I don’t have much time.” You can feel the pressure building in your chest, as you grasp the thick hands around your neck. In most cases, you’d have kicked your way out by now, but Sukuna’s cursed energy is so immense it paralyzes you, especially in your current state. He continues. “Gojo Satoru thinks you’re just a non-sorcerer who can see curses, but that’s not the case, isn’t it?” He rams your body against the tree, making you gasp in pain and cough from his hold earlier. Blood trickles over your eyelids. He leans close to you, nose almost touching, eyes boring into yours. His left hand remains closed over your throat. His right grabs your left hand forcefully, raising it close to his face. “This…” he smirks, pressing so hard on the cursed rings on your fingers that you wince, “has a pretty interesting ability, after all.” Your eyes widen, then narrow in irritation. Shit. Of all the people who could know about this, it has to be him. Then again it makes sense, given how long the king of curses has been around. He strokes your cheek with a finger, making you grimace. You feel his punishing fingers about to pull the rings loose. Your heart hammers wildly. “Show me my dear,” he whispers slowly, “what you’re hiding.” ---- Notes: The Sukuna portion makes some references to the binding vow made between him and Itadori Yuuji. A ‘window’, like Ijichi-san, refers to non-sorcerers at Jujutsu Tech who can see curses and help to report curse sightings/missions. Hope you guys liked this one and hope it tingled your imaginations~~ --- Taglist (っ˘ω˘ς ) : @encrytpta @wilddreamer98

[amchara]

Road to Hell (Wait for Me, I'm Coming) Pt 1 - Kit / Ty fanfic

An expanded version of this Orpheus and Eurydice post

Part one tonight, fingers crossed part two tomorrow!

--

The silence in the Faerie wood was deafening.

Ty stared at the spot in the clearing where Kit had just been standing. His last words echoed in Ty’s mind, as he lifted up his chin and said. “Take me instead.” He had spared a glance at Ty, clear blue eyes burning with purpose and another message that Ty was still trying to decipher before he had vanished.

Dru and Anush came rushing over and Ty allowed Dru to help him up. Ty could feel his muscles aching from where he had been thrown but he barely paid attention.

“What just happened?” Dru asked, her freckles standing out her pale face. “Where’s Kit gone?”

A giggle erupted from a pocket of thick bushes nearby. Ty didn’t even stop to think, he plunged in, a knife appearing by instinct in his hand as he hauled out the short, wiggling goblin and shoved him up against the nearest tree.

“Where did that Faerie take him?” he spat out, his mind spinning as he suddenly struggled to deal with the fact that Kit. Was gone.

The goblin stopped giggling; its voice sing-song in its malice as it said: “To Hades. You’ll never see him again, Nephilim.”

The world narrowed to a pinprick, on its horrible face and mocking smile. Ty could see the splash of red on the goblin’s throat growing, as his knife started carving in, before Anush’s hand wrenched it out of his hand, as he pulled Ty away.

The goblin snarled, its shark teeth flashing in the fading sunlight as it scurried away.

“What the hell, Ty?” Anush was shaking from the effort, and Ty stopped fighting him, allowing his knife to fall on the ground.

His mind latched on what Anush had just said. “Hell… I know where he’s gone.”

He whirled around and started walking out of the clearing, already starting to connect the dots of the plan, his fingers tapping out a pattern on his weapons belt as he thought.

*

The audience with the Unseelie King was held in a smaller, private room, rather than the grey throne room, strewn with boulders. Kieran looked grave. “I have no authority over Hades and his realm… it is an ancient part of Faerie that has never ceded to either Seelie or Unseelie rule. There are tales that it is a remnant of the original demon realm from the demon who helped sire the Fae.”

He paused, as he took in Ty, and his voice softened. “Hades is one of his eldest children, it is said. I have never heard of anyone who has returned from his realm-- it is said they are as good as… dead.”

Ty could feel Mark’s gaze on him, from where he was standing beside Kieran and he surged forward, as if to touch Ty on the shoulder or give him a hug.

Ty neatly sidestepped him and Mark stopped short. “Ty- we can keep looking but…” and in his voice Ty could hear the truth - and Mark would not sugarcoat it for him. He thought Kit was gone.

“I see,” Ty said, and for the second time that day, he started walking away. Distantly, he knew that he should be more polite and continue the conversation but he couldn’t. Not while Kit was in the literal underworld and he was out here. Not when he had failed before with Livvy. That wasn’t about to happen again.

Ty searched out the Herondale necklace that he wore below Livvy’s locket, stroking it as he thought. This time… this time would be different.

*

The Underworld was… not what Kit had expected. But maybe that was on him, as despite not being religious, he still pictured hell as a fiery pit filled with demons, torturing the souls of wicked people.

This was not that - but it was still hot, Kit admitted. The weak fluorescent lights showed grey and brown walls rising up twenty feet or more, the roof barely visible with no light shining in from the dirty windows, while machinery and sparks flew around and workers with dull, lifeless faces walked past.

The Faerie guard pushed him down another corridor and Kit felt trepidation as they neared a heavy-looking wooden door, with a sign spelling out the word: BOSS in stark black lettering.

“Good to know I’m important enough to be taken to the person in charge,” Kit said, but he felt his heart sinking. He knew it had been a stupid plan but he had panicked - he knew currently he had one ace - that he was the heir of the First Descendent - but that was as likely to get him killed as get him out of a sticky situation.

The Faerie guard smirked, as he shoved Kit through the door. “The Boss sees all new workers.”

And then he closed the door, leaving Kit to stand face to face with Hades.

Kit wasn’t that up on his mythology but Hades wasn’t what he had expected - no Disney villain with grey skin and burning flames for hair or a toga-ed bronzed man with the abs of a literal Greek God, but make no mistake- this version was still impressive.

He looked at Kit from where he was sitting behind a rich mahogany desk, a burly man in his sixties, in a sharply-cut black suit and a full head and beard of snow white hair.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve caught a pretty angel bird in my trap,” he said, his deep voice almost crooning, as he laid down a fountain pen and folded his hands in front of him.

Kit cleared his throat. “Yeah- well, I came of my own free will- to protect my friends,” he said.

Hades took in Kit, from his torn and dirty gear to the unhealed cuts on his face when Kit had still attempted to escape when they first arrived at the underworld’s gates. “Is that so?” he said, his amused chuckle almost a rumble.

He pulled out some sheaves of paper from a drawer and pushed them across his desk in front of Kit. He held out his pen. “In that case, I’m sure you’re happy to sign the contract.”

Contract… something in Kit’s memory screamed out a warning but he found himself mesmerized by Hades’ eyes - there were the flames, he thought - burning like a fire’s dying embers. He walked towards the desk and he felt his hand pick up the pen, almost of its own volition and moving towards the papers.

Behind him, the door opened and a woman’s musical voice rang out, cutting through the spell. “Hades? Are you almost finished with your work?”

Kit jerked back and he dropped the pen, the ink spilling out on the page.

The woman came around to stand beside Hades, her full figure brushing past Kit as she walked past, and her green eyes burned brightly in her dark face as she examined him.

Hades stood and he placed a possessive arm around the woman, whose small wince was so fleeting that Kit wasn’t sure he had seen it.

“Almost, my darling,” Hades said. His voice was sharp as he barked at Kit, who was surreptitiously trying to find an escape or at least, a weapon. “Stop.”

His compulsion was strong but Kit tried fighting back anyway. He summoned the brief training he had had with Tessa on his fae powers. It might have worked too, if the woman hadn’t looked at him, a slow smile emerging on her face. “Oh, he is a pretty one…” She reached out and grabbed Kit’s hand. “You must stay here.”

“Sign the contract,” Hades commanded.

Kit signed.

(Part Two)

@dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @thechangeling @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid @jesse-is-spiraling

(let me know if you don't want to be tagged! Or if anyone else wants to be tagged - no worries either way)

[mxvladdy]

Lucifer- True Form

Went ham. Had fun. Here is some angst (minor) and fluff and stuff.

Next up: Plot twist! Diavolo 

He wears the heaviest glamour out of all of the brothers. The rage and pain from being cast from heaven has warped his angelic body. Turning him into a husk of his former divine glory. He is massive. His body is tall and gaunt. His large form towers over the oak trees of the Devildom forest, each step of his gnarled feet leaving chard prints in their wake. Lucifer is deceptively strong for as emaciated as he looks.

After the war his body is in a constant state of trying to heal itself. His skin hardens into a thick scab before flaking off, only to reform moments later. His body trying to reform to its old self, even after he had fallen. It gives him an almost dripping look. When larger pieces flack off you can see stark white bones underneath for the briefest of moments before the darkness swallows it whole again. It is a continuous breaking and mending, a maddening itch and perpetual soul deep ache.

The halo that once sat righteously atop his crown is now embedded in it. It is buried deep into his skull and shattered after his fall to the Devildom. In a vain attempt to make it look better he filed and broke pieces away styling them the best his broken pride could. They resemble large branching antlers now, sharp and lethal. Ancient hymns lost to time that were engraved by his father when he was young are now worn and dingy, the text indistinguishable in part. It was a tarnished holy relic that only the foolish would try to take (And many souls from all three realms have tried). A few centuries ago he got the jagged edges capped and adorned with gold. Bright red garnet and jewels are interwoven in thin, but strong, gold chains drape over the distorted halo. It was a gift from Diavolo, as the prince somehow finds this form beautiful.

Like Mammon, he is littered with scars from battle not even his healing magic can mend. They have made him slower, the constant mending of his tattered flesh has made it grow stiff and subsequently stunts his range and movement. Scars layer upon scars across his body. Twisting in on themselves like bark. His own personal chains. The holes where he discarded his wings in an act of defiance are now blackened craters in his back. He is unable to heal those that are self inflicted.

You can hypothesize his inability to heal this form as a battle of will. His own mind and body in inner-turmoil, parts of him wanting to continue a torture he doesn’t deserve.  

It is fine, it is his burden to bear.

On the rare rainy days you can hear his joints creak and groan as his skin tears and reform. His bones grind together chillingly. He believes it is symbolic. His body groaning under the strain over-encumbered by the weight of his sins. All the brothers know to give him space on those days.

Even in his human glamour he wears stiff fabrics and corsets to help brace his body and give him an air of dignity even when he just wants to crumple at his desk.

He knew his actions in the celestial realm would have severe repercussions; but he never could have imagined it to be this abhorrent. This was truly the cruelest punishment his father could have ever bestowed on him. A form he can find no pride in.

Mini fic

Ugh. Everything hurt.

If the knot in your neck got any bigger you doubt you’d be about to move out of your chair. You close your textbook with a quick snap, done for the day. Any more drawn out paragraphs from magicians long since dead and you were going to scream. The hours in the school study hall had been beneficial but draining. The tutor on duty that day, a low-level demon named Drath, had taken a shine to your eagerness to learn and was more than willing to sit with you to talk out some of the more advanced runes you were struggling with. They had moved on to help a few more students after a while, pleased with your new understanding of Devildom magic. You stretch out in your seat, grunting softly as your spine pops. Tired of your studies you rise to perch at the window of the large room. The large windowsill overlooked the courtyard of the campus. A few students and professors run out in the courtyard trying to find shelter from the rain.

The sudden downpour had hit during lunch. The torrential downpour hammers at the windows and roof of the school. Trees and bushes tossed about in the high winds, flattened by the rain. Bright flashes of lighting blinding your eyes every so often making you blink the spots from your eyes to see the white board. Truthfully, the storm looked like it had settled on the school, happy to howl and pelt any unlocky souls with oversized raindrops. Shoot, you had hoped it would have waned by the end of classes. You hadn’t grabbed your raincoat or umbrella that morning. Cloudy days were common enough here, but rain? Has it ever rained while you were here? You peak at your phone, debating if you should text one of the brothers to come bring you an umbrella. Hmmm- you still had thirty minutes left before your study time was officially over. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would lighten up before you were forced to head back to the dorms.

You had made plans to go to the new outdoor cafe with Asmo and Beel after dinner. A little something to take you collective minds off the daunting midterms looming over you all. Lucifer’s warnings had been very clear. All residents of the house had to get good grades, no exceptions. His sharp eyes had lingered on Mammon and Asmodeus a little longer than the rest. You could feel the heat of his dark eyes even from your chair across the table. You weren’t a horrible study, but somethings just weren’t clicking like they should. It was a little stressful (a lot stressful). After a few nights of stress sobbing with Beel you had finally gone with Solomon to his study group. A few weeks of lessons and you felt much better. Good enough to celebrate. If the damn weather would take the hint.

As if the weather was attuned to your thoughts a huge flash of bright orange lightning cracked across the sky. It rattled the stained glass window, the light blinding you. Great. Blinking the white dots from your vision you turn back to your desk. Looks like you were just going to have to make a run for it.

“Forgot something?”

“Lucifer!” You smile accepting the large umbrella from his gloved hand. “Thanks! I didn’t know you were still on campus.”

“Yes. I had a few errands and meetings with Diavolo cramped in.” He looks down at you with a tight-lipped smile. In the bright light of the room you noticed beads of sweat forming on his smooth brow trailing down his temples. His eyelid pulsed, fluttering with his heart beat. If you hadn’t been staring you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You look at him, noticing how despondent his normal ridged prideful aura was. He stares blankly down at one of your large tomes struggling with the large clasps.

“Are you well?” Lucifer blinks, dropping the metal bindings as if burned. He licks his pale lips for a moment in contemplation. Something just on the verge of slipping out. But, it is quickly lost shuttered away behind his normal lofty expression.  

“What makes you say that?” He asks. Lucifer turns away from you to collect your things. “Come, We’ll be taking the back way to the house. It has better coverage and the storm has yet to reach it.” You follow behind quietly, waving a quick goodbye to Solomon and Drath.

The silence around Lucifer was different today. Normally he hid his agitation from you, only bringing it out if it was directed towards you. You’d only seen him like this when Mammon had done something foolish. “Lucifer, what’s wrong.” You try again catching his sleeve to pull him back. It all happened so fast. A sharp inhalation of breath, his arm jerked from yours. His whole being repelled by your touch. He rounds on you, eyes flashing dangerously. He never minded when you touched him before. “Luci?”

“Please,” He cuts you off with a trembling hand. “I am fine. Let’s get home before the storm worsens.”  He drops you off at the front stairs and excuses himself, muttering about other business to attend to. You stare after him deeply perturbed. He was never the most touchy-feely of the seven, but he was always straight with you after what happened with Belphie. To be so physically distant worried you.

He wasn’t at dinner. The head of the table was devoid of his strong presence. The other brothers seemed to be making an unusually strong effort not to look at the vacant spot. Even Satan, who you thought would be smirking at the fact the eldest had broken his own rules, sat eyes glued to a book perched in his lap. His golden spoon paused midway to his mouth. It was almost like nothing was amiss. “Is Lucifer o.k?” You turn to Levi, his head buried in his handheld, food halfway eaten. His fingers pause for a moment over his screen.

“Ye, he’s fine. Just doesn’t like the rain is all.” Oh. It doesn’t settle your worries but if no one else was stressing…

The storm lasted well into the night. The rolling thunder keeps you up well past when you should be sleeping. That and the annoying creaking that echoed out from your unlit fireplace. Or was it your window? The groaning and grinding sounds permeated the air of your room, picking up intensity at odd intervals. It reminded you of a swaying tree caught in a hurricane. Limbs twisting and snapping in the wind as it is battered from all angles, its thick trunk losing the fight to stay upright. The low grinding of it all resonating in your chest, deep and palpable. It was so loud, and the forest was so far away. Irritated, you push yourself out of bed, determined to find a place where the noise couldn’t reach you.

Pacing the long desolate hallways you try to retrace your steps to a lesser used room. Maybe steal one of Belphie’s favorite sleeping nooks. As you make your way down the hallways you begin to notice the sounds of the trees getting louder. Like you had suddenly found yourself in a grove of winding and dancing trees.  You take a sharp left determined to find the cause of the noise and put an end to it. In your frustration you almost missed the door left ajar. Mid stride you stop. Who would be up at this hour? Coming closer you recognize the door.

It was Lilith’s room. The warm glow of firelight pulsing on the velvet of the hallway rug. The groaning sound of trees comes from behind the ornate door. You bristle, if one of the brothers was setting up stupid prank this late at night you’d kill them.

The eldest of the brothers stood staring into the pits of the roaring hearth. His dark eyes were glassy. The reds of his iris reflect the dancing flames. He was completely obvious to your intrusion. Clothes lay scattered about the floor haphazardly, his shirt, vest and overcoat were thrown across the floor, pants hanging low on his narrow waist. Lucifer moves closer to the roaring flames with less then his usual grace. His left leg seems stiff, the knee unwilling to bend fully as he walks. In the magically created sunlight of the room you notice his alabaster skin shift and flicker, like a TV with a bad connection. One second it was smooth, the next chard rough patches litter his skin. The black welts and molting flesh flash before you then disappear. He croons deep in the back of his throat as the flames lick at his outstretched hand. Again the sounds of tree limbs snap assault your ears as he flexes his fingers.  

You stand rooted to the spot unsure of what to do. This was a very vulnerable moment for him you were sure. When was the last time you saw him with his body fully uncovered? Never. You really should give him some privacy. This was clearly not something he wished for anyone to see. Yet your heart wept for him. Lucifer was clearly in pain. Bare fingers digging large groves into the stone of the fireplace. His jaw twitching as sharp pains rack his body. “I know you're there.” He pins you in place with his husky voice. “It’s rude to stare.”

You stumble in, legs trembling. You could feel the rant coming. Bracing yourself you squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the torrent. Whatever he was going to say was cut short, a hitched breath making you look up. He is gripping at his side, unable to look at you. “Lucifer?” He raises his free hand to you, ignoring you to limp to the overstuffed armchair. He hunches over shielding his face in his large palms.

“It’s best if you forget you saw this. Please leave.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Leave.” He repeats again more firmly. “I wish to be alone.” He waves you off. You hear the creaking again. It moves with him.

“Is that you?” You ask. Watching him adjust himself in his seat. The sound of twigs bending to their max before snapping answer your question.

“Astute observation as always.” He grunts rubbing at his knee. “One would think Mammon is rubbing off on you.” His biting jab is dry. His eyes dart to the rainfall outside. His insult completely lacks his usual sting. But then again his barbs were always softened with you.

“It’s the rain isn’t it?” You ignore his blatant want for solitude, feed up with his stupid broodiness and unwilling to let a friend hurt. “My granddad was that same way. His joints would just ache and pop during really bad weather.” He puffs up for a second, comparing him to an old man twisted sourly in his gut. “Let me help?”

“How?” He whispers beyond tired suddenly. He had talked to Barbatos earlier that day. The storm was here to stay for the time being. A day or two at most. To him it would be an eternity. You approach, hands raised as if to a cornered animal. In a way he felt like it. He sits still, allowing you to approach. Lucifer chokes back a small whimper of bliss as you touch him. Your palms were so warm, resting and rubbing on his aching shoulder. He could feel his old bones settle; a brief moment of bliss.

“What do you need?”

He leads you to his quarters, letting you stop by your room to grab a few things on the way. You reappear from your room, shaking your rucksack at him with a smile. “I think some of these things might help!” Lucifer appreciated the sentiment but doubted it highly.

You were used to nights spent in his office, and a few rare occasions that he invited you to his bed chambers. That is where he led you now. His hand is large and warm on your back as he shuffles you past his bed and towards his walk in closet. You look about, confused at his vast collection of historical clothes and why you were in his closet to begin with. He smiles weary at your question but stays silent coming to stop at his wardrobe. He takes you through to another hidden room. The magic of the vast space making your skin tingle. Goosebumps blossoming on your arms and neck.

It was an unused part of the catacombs. Eons ago Lucifer had stumbled upon it in his explorations of his new home. It had long since become a mini sanctuary from when the odd storm got to his bones, or a brother had gotten under his skin. Large orbs float lazily across the vaulted ceiling. Knocking into each other with a soft tinkle of chimes. Their warmth was reminiscent of spring time back in the celestial realm. Already his old bones felt better. His mind unclouding.

His stride falters for a moment, polished dress shoes squeaking on the opulent marble. What was he going to do? Show you himself? “Lucifer?” He feels you turn to him, sliding his arm away from your back to grip it in your small hands. “Let me help you? Please?” You make eye contact and smile reassuringly.

His resolve breaks. Damn, when had he gotten so soft? “Help me with my jacket.” His words were muddled but clear. It was getting hard to rotate his right shoulder again. The storm was raging right over the house now and his body protested. He had redressed hastily in Lilith’s room. You may have seen him at his most vulnerable, but he would never let the brothers. If Satan saw, he’d never hear the end of it. You nod and walk behind him. Standing on tiptoes you help him shrug off his coat and fold it neatly to side with your belongings. The corset beneath was a little trickier for you. It was an ingeniously designed brace that doubled as a designer corset. You never noticed, but up close the silk of his corset was brocade. The black of the fabric was decorated with a subtle shiny black thread. To the naked eye one couldn’t see it. But you could feel it as you brushed your fingers along his waist. In the bright light of the room the thread shimmered in all of its intricacies.  

“They are runes.” He answers your silent question refusing to look at you as you worked, hyper aware of your fingers tracing the stitching. “It helps with-” the pain, the humiliation, my pride? “Everything.” You nod accepting his words and unlace it gently. He shivers at the soft caress, it was like his body gravitated towards your touch. His actual skin buzzing with want.

“Does this happen a lot?” You come to his front and begin on the buttons of his dress shirt.

“No, rainstorms like this are rare. Once every couple of centuries it gets- bad.” Lucifer leans some of his massive weight on you while you lift his arm out of the sleeve. “You are good at this.” He eyes you skeptically. How many people had the luxury of your undivided attention?

You chuckle turning to fold his shirt neatly. “Why thanks, I guess? Like I said my granddad had bad bones. I used to help him on the bad days.” You eye his pants and flush. “I won’t help with those though.”

“Pity. Give me a moment would you?”  The demon chuckles turning to give himself an illusion of privacy. Already being out of the cold and drafty halls made him feel better already. This room had been meticulously built to help him. Artificial sun, warm, and not too humid. A light draft in the rafters getting the air circulating. Spending the night down here, and he’d be able to function for tomorrow's numerous meetings. Closing his eyes he releases his glamour.

Shifting felt like breaching water. A slight resistance then a cool wave of relief as he breaches the surface. Resting on his hunches his rumbles low, feeling his broken halo scrap the vaulted ceiling. His little human gasps looking up, and up, and up till they meet his hollow skull like face. He holds his breath, gut and hearts clenching in fear. What must you think of him? He watches with trepidation knowing this body was a lot to comprehend. “Wow. I thought you were tall before.” You grab at your satchel digging into the depths. “I’m afraid my little jar won’t go far now, but I’d still like to try.” He leans down looking at the jar posed at the tips of your fingers.

“Tiger balm?” His voice was abrasive and jagged. The multilayered lilt scrapped your eardrums like metal on bone. You flinch. A slight twinge of your shoulders barely noticeable, but it makes him recoil nonetheless. It's jarring, but not as scary as you originally thought.

“Sorry,sorry.” You placate the giant beast. “Took me by surprise.” You creak a reassuring grin. “This whole day has. But that’s ok.” You meet his gaze, his oblong head cocked to the side to stare at you. Up close you could see that his eye sockets weren’t hollow as they originally appeared. Deep within the bone and flaking flesh you could see a faint pure white glow, a little pinprick in the abyss flickering like a candle. Taking his stillness as permission you wonder back over to his large taloned feet. The constant healing and chaffing of his skin creates a foul vapor around him. The plumes of it blocking out the sunning orbs in waves. It smelled awful, like burning hair, skin and sulfur. But you push through taking small breaths through your mouth till your body adjusted. You glance at the tiny jar in your hand feeling stupid. “I’ll have to order some more but I hope this helps.” Lucifer looks at your outstretched hand at a complete loss of what you expected him to do. “Well,” You gestate at him to come closer. “Where does it hurt the most?” He laughs. A dry clicking in the back of his many vocal chords. His back hurt the most, it always did. A consistent little reminder of what his past actions cost him. Though, there were some things he wasn’t ready to divulge to you.Yet.

“That little jar will do nothing. But-” He continues trying to cover for his snappishness. He hated the frown drawing tight on your lips. “I will be signing a lot of paperwork tomorrow.” He brings a massive hand down and places it on the cool marble in front of you. The joints were bare to you, the flesh unable to encompass the swelling. His phalanges felt cold and hot all at once. Sudden spasms making the exposed nerves light up and twitch. “If you could?”

Clambering up his table sized finger with his approval you straddle it and rub some of your ointment on your palms to warm it. “Let me know if I hurt you.” With that you sink your hands through the mist and begin to work at his tender joints. The great beast rumbles in enjoyment. His keen nose picking up the spicy scent of the balm and your naturally pleasant musk. Within minutes the warming ointment began to soothe him. Leaving you to your ministrations Lucifer arches his neck up to the sky and begins to sun himself. The tension of the rain storm rolling off his body as the sun globs begin to orbit around his massive frame. Your little hums of happiness as you worked made this almost worth the humiliation of you seeing him at his lowest.

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh (A SquirrelCrow AU) - Chapter 20.

For the first time in moons, Crowpaw was hungry.

Hunting had been as pointless as Tallstar had claimed. With the roar of monsters, as well as the lingering stink of Twolegs, prey was impossible to find. Worse than that, Crowpaw had seen those pale fleshed creatures skulking around the ruins of his home, carrying their storm of destruction with them.

They would mark the few trees left with a haze of red mist, and then bite into the thick bark with long silver claws. The crash of the wood as it slammed into the torn ground sent a tremble over Windclan. Every collision caused Crowpaw’s heart to tremble.

At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the whole forest fell.

Hunting had been a fruitless effort. Crowpaw was the only one who had caught anything, but two withered shrew was not going to help the clans. Onewhisker had looked relieved at the mere sight of prey, and the way he praised Crowpaw was like he had caught a dozen hares.

“Well done, Crowpaw.” Onewhisker purred weakly as the hunting patrol made their way back. “That catch will help feed the kits another night.”

Nightcloud had mewed in agreement, her own face brightened at the stale scent of the shrews. Crowpaw had expected Webfoot to snarl the group back to reality, but the tom didn’t have a word to say, just a small grave nod.

Crowpaw attempted a small meow of thanks, but his throat instantly felt dry. The shrews hardly made up enough space to fill his mouth. Was this really all they could rely on to feed the starving kits and elders? He tried to not let this realisation mark his face with horror. It would do no good for anyone. Despite everything, the group was trying to keep some kind of determination; Crowpaw couldn’t kill that.

“Looks like all that travelling did some good for you, hey?” Nightcloud meowed, tapping his side with her tail. Under the darkening sky, her eyes lit up like pink embers. “You almost look like a natural hunter.”

Crowpaw nodded mildly, hoping the sound his throat made sounded more like a laugh than a groan.

“Don’t tease him, Nightcloud.” Onewhisker sighed tiredly, “We need all the prey we can find.”

“I was being serious.” The black molly insisted. “I wasn’t making fun of him.”

Onewhisker muttered something incoherent. Just looking at his back, it was clear that the tom had been discouraged by the hunt. As thankful as he was that some prey was caught for the kits that needed it so desperately, it was clear it would be a while before the thinning bodies of the Warriors got any end to their slow suffering.

Looking back at his still firm body, Crowpaw felt his growing hunger twist into guilt. He was nowhere near in the right to complain about prey.

Even standing besides the group, Crowpaw felt like he didn’t belong, didn’t deserve, to be there. By all means, he was able enough to get through the night without prey. Just how many queens, kits and elders had been forced to resign themselves to that fate.

The night air refused to respond to his question, it just scratched him with its freezing claws.

Once he’d taken the prey back, he’d have to find Tallstar. The time was approaching. Soon he would have to stand beside his…acquaintances from the other clans, hoping that they would receive a sign that told them where to go from here.

Crowpaw had never been so desperate to know an answer in all his life.

If any of the clans waited any longer, Crowpaw was certain that Windclan wouldn’t survive the next moon. Hunger, dehydration, and destruction was all that they would find here. Tallstar understood that, thankfully; Crowpaw could only hope the other clans would as well.

Unfortunately, the apprentice didn’t know whether they would share his clan’s sentiments.

He thought about what Tawnypelt and Stormfur would have to deal with when it came to their leaders. It didn’t matter how much they screamed the truth to their clans, ultimately it was up to Blackstar and Leopardstar if their clans moved or not. The Shadowclan leader would not be swayed easily. His pride was significantly excruciating from what Crowpaw remembered from previous gatherings.

And Leopardstar. At the thought of her, Crowpaw couldn’t help but feel fury prickle over his pelt. Tallstar had openly pleaded, putting all of his pride aside for his clan, the Riverclan leader to let them use the lake to drink. They hadn’t done that for nothing! Cats had needed that water then, it was essential now! Crowpaw thought the clans had reached an understanding.

Apparently not.

Leopardstar, based on the word of some no-clan stray who had sauntered his way into Riverclan, had pretty much left Windclan for dead. She had left every one of them to suffer on their own. Crowpaw knew that Windclan had taken some prey every now and then, but it certainly wasn’t enough that Riverclan would notice it was gone! Windclan needed to survive too!

But no. Whoever this Hawkfrost was, he had convinced Leopardstar that Windclan had earnt such a punishment! Did they not have cats of their own that were feeling the strains of these horrors? Could they really look at those cats and feed them, knowing that they had refused another clan such a necessity?! Crowpaw knew that Leopardstar was a cat who was frosty on her best days, but could she really be that cruel? If she trusted Windclan so little, who was to say she wouldn’t refuse to follow them to a new home?

Could Stormfur even convince her? He hadn’t even been the one who was…

Oh.

Oh Stars… no.

Crowpaw almost paused where he stood. Only walking on when he saw a concerned glint in Nightcloud’s eyes as he wobbled forward.

“Are you okay?”

Well, let’s see. He had left his clan to suffer, including his mother, while the home their entire clan had been rooted in for eons was being torn apart like it was nothing but sand, he had disgraced his father’s trust and was reminded of that with every disapproving flare of the stars above, and he might have ruined the clans hopes of getting Riverclan to follow them on their journey, destroying the history of the four clans themselves with a single paw, all because he hadn’t been the one who had rightfully died on that journey.

Did he mention it was his fault that an innocent cat, one of his best friends, had died to save his worthless pelt?

Crowpaw dipped his head at Nightcloud and she took that as a yes.

“Of course he’s okay.” Webfoot muttered, an audible curl on his lip. “He’s gotten everything he wanted.”

Crowpaw’s eyes snapped open.

“Webfoot!” Onewhisker turned his head to the tom with a warning growl. “Don’t you start any trouble.”

Webfoot grunted, “Why? He’s allowed to because he’s an apprentice.”

Crowpaw spat the shrews out of mouth, erupting with a snarl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded. There was a monster at the back of his head screaming at him to get into the tom’s face. “Gotten what I wanted? Are you trying to say that I wanted two-legs to come here?”

Nightcloud ran her tail over Crowpaw’s back. “Calm down.” Crowpaw ignored her, his eyes caught in a glare with the tom ahead of him.

Webfoot ignored the death stare that Onewhisker sent him. His eyes slid away from Crowpaw, disgusted. “No. But you got Tallstar to believe your stories. I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.” He sounded like he was spitting out muck as he spoke.

Now, the demands to cause harm raced into a roar. Crowpaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did Webfoot really think he was that shallow? “This isn’t about that at all, you piece of fox-dung!” Crowpaw’s shouting echoed over the hills. “It’s about-”

“Enough!” Onewhisker got between the two toms, hissing. “Both of you!”

Crowpaw was affronted, “He’s the one who-”

“I know that!” Onewhisker snapped, his stern snarl made Crowpaw cower away. “But Windclan doesn’t need the two of you fighting! If we have any hope of getting through this, we need to work together as a clan!” He turned back to Webfoot, his backfur prickling. “And we certainly don’t need any cats questioning the decisions of their leader!”

Webfoot frowned, one fang slipping over his lip. “That’s not what I was-”

“Quiet!” Onewhisker ordered. “Listen to me, Webfoot! I don’t care if you, or any cat for that matter, doesn’t believe in Crowpaw’s sign! If Tallstar decides that Windclan needs to move, that is what we will be doing!” The skinny tom took a pounding step towards Webfoot. “If you have an issue with that, then I’d be happy to take you to discuss it with Tallstar.” He dared with a snap of his teeth. It sounded like breaking a rabbit’s neck.

The panic Webfoot displayed was brief, but it was telling. His tail sank to the floor like a bird falling out of its nest. To his, limited, credit he kept his face straight. That was just all the more infuriating for Crowpaw.

“There’s no need for that.” Webfoot drawled. He lashed a look at Crowpaw. “And please don’t misunderstand, I hope that Crowpaw is right in what he says.” His eyes narrowed snakily. “If he’s wrong, who knows what would happen to Windclan.”

Crowpaw growled to not show weakness.

Like most things he did these days, it repressed the way his body shook at the words.

“Well then,” Nightcloud stepped forward, her claws unsheathed. “Why don’t you shut up and believe in him like Tallstar does, you waste of fur!”

“Nightcloud!” Onewhisker hissed, “What did I just say about fighting?”

The molly scoffed, muttering a fake apology as she looked away. Webfoot didn’t reply, he had apparently decided he’d said enough.

And it was enough that Crowpaw got the point.

Onewhisker maintained a strained silence between the cats, before he let out a croaky sigh. He sounded like he was releasing the pain from his weakening joints. “Let’s not waste anymore time.” He frowned over at Crowpaw. “Pick up those shrews. There are cats who need them.”

Crowpaw looked down to where he’d spat out the sorry excuses for prey, and his heart dropped with disgrace. Those shrews could be what separated a cat from life and death, and he’d spat them out like some kittypet sulking at a two-leg. A horrible, regretful embarrassment clouded over the cat. He stuttered over his own selfishness.

“I-I’m sorry, Onewhisker.”

Onewhisker gave him a hard look that was hard to describe. It made Crowpaw uneasy. The older cat’s whiskers shook with a grunt. “Sorry doesn’t feed cats. Now pick up that prey and make sure you don’t drop it again until you’re in front of someone who needs it!”

Crowpaw dipped his head. The knowledge that his actions made him a liability sent him cold. “Yes, Onewhisker.” Carefully, he picked the shrews up again. When he looked up, Onewhisker was already strolling off, soon followed by Webfoot. The tom made sure to swipe his tail at Crowpaw before he turned away with a malicious scoff.

Crowpaw stared in their direction, then he began to follow them. What else could he do? He couldn’t blame Onewhisker for his fury, the cat had been struggling to make sure Windclan didn’t fall. If Crowpaw didn’t know any better he could have assumed that the cat was the Deputy.

He couldn’t even blame Webfoot really. Well… no. The cat was a fox-heart who had no right to claim those things about him. Crowpaw would never want any of this. But he could see how it looked. An apprentice that had ran away and come back without a reason he could prove and had convinced their leader to follow his advice. It made sense that Webfoot wouldn’t trust him.

That just worked to make Crowpaw feel worse.

If it made sense, then just how much could his clan trust him? How much could he trust himself to save them from an agonising fate?

Searching for those answers was like swimming through fog and ice.

A sympathetic purr rumbled at his side. Nightcloud was looking at him softly. “Don’t pay any attention to Webfoot. He’s always been a burr-furred mange pelt.”

If Crowpaw could open his mouth, he might have muttered a thanks to her. He kept silent. It didn’t matter really. He still ended up thinking, ‘Just because he’s a mange pelt, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong.’ Webfoot’s intentions, no matter what mouse-bile he spewed, were clear. He didn’t forgive Crowpaw for abandoning Windclan. He wanted to punish the apprentice, however he could.

Crowpaw had done everything he thought was right.

Crowpaw had done everything for the purpose of helping Windclan.

But that didn’t exclude the idea that maybe… he deserved to be punished.

“Hey?” Nightcloud murmured, “Do you want me to carry one of those for you?”

She was offering to help him carry some measly shrews?

Did he actually look that pathetic?

He shook his head. She watched him patiently, as if hopeful he would change his mind, before turning away with a sigh. She didn’t need to help him. Any burden for the clan was one Crowpaw deserved to carry.

The thought didn’t leave Crowpaw even when he returned to the ‘camp’ Windclan had fashioned, not when Nightcloud pointed to him the tattered base of an old rabbit warren where they were sheltering the kits, not when the dark molly gave him a well-natured touch with her muzzle, and not when he slowly walked past his clanmates, all scarred, starving, or both, trying their best to get some rest in this terrible place.

His good intentions did not change everything that had happened because of him. Even as he walked by his clanmates, he could hear the gravelly whispers all around him. They didn’t sound happy. Crowpaw almost looked like he was trying to hide his head between his shoulders, unspeakably afraid to catch any cat’s gaze. If he turned and saw every cat view him with hatred, he didn’t know if he could carry on walking.

He cursed himself for looking so pathetic. He could only imagine what cats were thinking. He didn’t want to picture what they’d think when Tallstar revealed why he’d truly been gone. This shaking, moody apprentice was what their fates rested on.

Perhaps the forest would be the more honourable way to die.

Unlatching himself from these thoughts was like scratching at a rock. The truth came on him, refusing to let him go. He deserved the looks. He deserved the hate. And if he was being honest, he would have deserved Webfoot finishing him off with a bite to his throat. Admitting these things was almost relieving for the cat, like he was finally facing the inevitable.

He had given Windclan the message they needed.

What use – what good - was he to them anymore?

“Where are you going?”

Crowpaw jolted where he stood, his ears drifting back fearfully. He slowly met the eyes of his mentor. Mudclaw was looking down at him irritably, the night made his amber eyes flicker. Crowpaw could barely move as he remembered how the Deputy had been earlier. How he had not believed Crowpaw’s explanation and had looked betrayed when his leader did.

Mudclaw growled into the silence. “You should drop what you have in your mouth if you’re going to answer.”

Crowpaw could barely meet Mudclaw’s gaze as he gently dropped the shrews. “I was… I was going to take these to the Queens. That way the kits can get some milk.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes, “I’m aware of how feeding kits works, Crowpaw.” He sounded as gruff as he looked. His back wasn’t spiked, but it still looked jagged and rough, like sand under a blistering sun. His face was dull with fatigue. “Good hunting I see?” He said, his voice dreadfully sarcastic.

Crowpaw dropped his head again. Even before leaving for the journey, there was nothing that made him curl up like the disappointment of his mentor. “There wasn’t much to catch.”

“I know that as well.” Mudclaw said, “I suppose that’s another reason we need to leave, hmm?” The sarcasm swiped again.

Crowpaw didn’t say anything. There would be no good response to that.

Mudclaw peered down at the shrews, sitting down and stretching his forelegs with a groan. “Truth be told, it is not easy to find prey around here. I had hoped that after a few days we would know where we could find some again.” His voice dimmed. “Regretfully, there hasn’t been much success.” He sniffed at the shrews and, to Crowpaw’s surprise, his mentor let out a laugh that almost sounded glad. “Not much of a mouthful, but at least they’re fresh.”

Whether it was the bleak praise of his mentor, or the idea that his actions could have been of any good in the first place, a calm purr rumbled in Crowpaw’s throat.

“Luckily,” Mudclaw started again, grooming his shoulder with snappy bites. “You won’t have to choose between a Queen to feed. Only Whitetail hasn’t received prey since yesterday. Thankfully, you’ve changed that.”

Whitetail. Realisation rushed through the apprentice. So that was why Onewhisker looked so happy to see the prey. His own mate could finally get the kill she needed for their kits.

“I’m… I’m glad I could help somehow.”

“Was there really nothing else to find?”

Crowpaw mewed sadly, “Nothing. And we won’t be able to scent anything now. The only smell around here is the stink of those monsters.”

Mudclaw hissed behind his teeth. “Fox-dung to it all.” Crowpaw could have been frightened by how grave his mentor sounded. Defeat was not something he had ever been able to associate with his leader. The older cat grumbled a moment more, before he stumbled over to his apprentice. Crowpaw tried not to flinch as the cat smelt his pelt.

“Well,” Mudclaw’s voice was low, but not hard. “At the very least, you saw more of this territory.” He scoffed humourlessly, “You almost smell like Windclan again.”

Crowpaw knew better than to show how much those words sank into him.

Mudclaw padded back, studying his apprentice with a narrowed expression. “I was thinking about what Webfoot said earlier.” He said slowly, “What did he mean when he mentioned that Thunderclan cat. Owlpaw sought me out to tell me that she…” Mudclaw let his words loosen as his stare hardened. Crowpaw knew what Mudclaw was going to ask about and a sheer sense of fear stalked into his chest. “Embraced you. Is that right?”

The night air was growing too cold for Crowpaw. Why else would his paws shake so much?

It wasn’t fair! He had nothing to feel guilty about! He never asked her to do that! He had tried to say goodbye without igniting any suspicion among the clans, he had been loyal and fair about it! It wasn’t his fault if she couldn’t take that. It wasn’t his paws that had pulled her so close to him! It wasn’t him who had left her scent all over him! He wasn’t to blame! She was!

And yet, despite all these things, he couldn’t find it in his chest to be angry at Squirrelpaw.

He knew he should. He knew that if he allowed the rage of how she had made him look disloyal compel him to just a hiss, it would retain the normalcy that he had to reclaim.

For both their sakes.

Fox-dung! Why were his thoughts on her side? Why was he still brought to concern over her?

“Yes.” Crowpaw said, his voice as strong as a cloud.

Mudclaw eased back slightly, but his gaze still burned. “Why would she do that? Are you two ‘friends’?” Mudclaw’s tail thumped down at the word.

Say no. That’s all he had to do.

“We were allies.” Crowpaw said. The feeling in his chest was softening the race of his brain. Something inside him told him to tell the truth, but to not give too much away. The worry in his heart was not for himself. “We had to be. We travelled together that long, after all.”

Mudclaw did not look satisfied. “That doesn’t answer why she did that once you were on Windclan territory.”

Crowpaw kept fixed on his mentor, but he thought he could see a twitch under the moonlight. Was it the refletion of a claw? Crowpaw breathed in softly. “She was just saying goodbye. She was wishing me luck.” He shrugged innocently, “I guess that’s just her way of doing that.”

Mudclaw sniffed, “Interesting way, if you ask me.” His stare still prickled on Crowpaw’s skin for a long time. Crowpaw held onto the grass under his feet, begging that somehow he wasn’t showing any weakness. If Mudclaw suspected something else, who knew what he would do? Crowpaw didn’t want to know what the cat did with cats he suspected were traitors.

Crowpaw wasn’t a traitor!

But… neither was Squirrelpaw.

Crowpaw knew, he just knew, that Squirrelpaw wouldn’t have done that if she thought she would get Crowpaw in trouble. They had been like that, close, throughout the journey. She wouldn’t have thought she was doing anything wrong by just hugging him one last time.

Suddenly, Crowpaw’s tongue felt dry. Of course, she wouldn’t have thought that. Because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had just hugged a friend. Besides, Crowpaw, all those moons ago, had been the one to do it first, when the fear of losing her had made his eyes water. It had been him that had told her he wished to keep seeing her once this was all over.

His heart sank again.

Maybe… this was also his fault. If he had given her the idea that it was okay, even when they had returned, then could he blame her. If he’d had any sense, he would have shut the idea down there and then!

The idea of doing that filled his head again. The normal strain resolved. Clan life resumed. The disappointment that would have stung her expression. The way that saying no would make his own heart break.

Crowpaw’s closed his eyes with a quiet hiss. What was wrong with him?!

He swiftly looked up at his mentor again, ignoring the way he had risen a brow. If he wasn’t careful he would have given his friendship with Squirrelpaw away. And that would be a disaster for the both of them.

But didn’t he want to be punished? If he was truthful, and accepted responsibility, then wouldn’t that make him a real Warrior?

It was the idea of having Squirrelpaw punished as well that made him silence that thought.

She didn’t deserve that. Only he did.

“After she’d done that, I got her off me and told her to go back to Thunderclan where she was needed.” Crowpaw explained stonily. “That was it. Or did Owlpaw tell you differently?”

The stink of the monsters wafted over Windclan, as venomous as Mudclaw’s silence. The Deputy drummed his claws into the grass, fire still pure in his stare. “And that was all?” It sounded more like a threat than a question.

“That was all.”

Crowpaw must have sounded convincing, because Mudclaw blinked and he looked satisfied. “I see. And no, that does match what Owlpaw told me.” Crowpaw was kind of thankful that the apprentice had been truthful, at least. “That’s good. I was concerned that you’d forgotten your place.”

Place.

Not Clan.

Crowpaw shook his head, trying to look prideful. “Of course not, Mudclaw. The journey is over now, the only concern I have is for Windclan. The other’s will need to look out for their own clans.”

He hoped they could do that easier than he was finding it.

Mudclaw nodded, “I’m glad you know that, Crowpaw.” He let out a bitter chuckle, “If Thunderclan is lucky, maybe that molly realise the same.”

Crowpaw hoped that she did too. But that didn’t stop his claws from tensing unconsciously. He drew them back in before his mentor noticed, screaming inwardly to follow his own words.

“Hopefully.” Crowpaw managed to say. “If the Clans are to survive the journey, they’ll need to.”

Mudclaw looked irritable again. “Ah yes. You’ll need to find Tallstar soon, won’t you?”

Crowpaw grit his teeth as he realised his stupidity. He’d forgotten Mudclaw’s feelings about their travels. “I-I swear that this is the right decision, Mudclaw.” He meowed. The older cat didn’t look his way, his neck fur swaying in the icy breeze. “Windclan will survive if we do this, I promise.”

Mudclaw shrugged with a scoff, “Well, you’ve convinced Tallstar of that. I suppose that’s all that matters!” Crowpaw tried to be sympathetic to the Deputy as he remembered the way Tallstar had shut Mudclaw’s objections down. Crowpaw believed that Mudclaw’s suspicions were driven by his concern for Windclan, and it wouldn’t be easy for any cat to abandon their home when they didn’t see a need to.

Still, Mudclaw needed to trust in Starclan. Trust in Crow… Trust in Tallstar’s decision.

“I’m not lying to you.” Crowpaw meowed, “There is a better place somewhere.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Crowpaw drew back sharply, taken aback. Mudclaw stared out, as if over the whole of the clan. His jaw was tight as his eyes creased with frustration. “I can see that our home is being destroyed. Of course, there is some place where we can go. Silverpelt does not shine over just the flowers, after all. But it’s whether we can make such a journey that bothers me!”

Crowpaw’s jaw slowly dipped from his mouth. It was rare he heard such apprehension from his mentor. He almost sounded pained.

“Cats haven’t eaten or drank for close to a moon, and when we have it’s just been those kind of catches,” He lashed his tail to the dirty shrews, “Everywhere I look, my clanmates are suffering and I can’t see how telling them to wander through the forest will help them in anyway!”

Crowpaw now saw the real mortification on his mentor’s face. Windclan was the only thing in Mudclaw’s mind. “If we stay here, we’ll all die.” Crowpaw said morosely, “I know it sounds crazy, but there isn’t anything else we can do.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes. “I think there are many options we have, Crowpaw.” The older cat drawled, “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now. Tallstar agrees with you, and if he decides to go then I will have to follow my leader to the end.”

Crowpaw may have felt hope if not for the grave frown on the Deputy’s face.

“However,” His voice was low, “I fear that Tallstar may be approaching that end already.”

His words were like being torn apart limb from limb. Freezing horror wrapped all over Crowpaw. Surely Mudclaw wasn’t suggesting what he thought he was. “What do you mean?”

Mudclaw narrowed his eyes, but his muzzle creased with upset. “Crowpaw, you’re not a mouse-brain. You have seen Tallstar since you came back here, and you and I both know that he is not… well.”

Truthfully, Crowpaw had noticed it. He was sure any cat would. The way the leader coughed after a mere sentence, the way he had relied on Onewhisker’s side to walk strong, how when he spoke it sounded as if rocks were cutting into his throat. It was true. Tallstar did not look well at all.

“He may keep strong for now, but he is not getting stronger with every moon that passes.” Mudclaw gazed up at the hollow light of the moon above them, his eyes bleak with thought. “If he can’t do that in his own clan, I fail to see how travelling would not make things worse. Additionally, if the other clans saw him in that state they would use it for their own advantage, of that I’m certain.” His teeth grit with the last line.

Crowpaw’s mouth opened but he couldn’t find the correct words. The idea that this journey could cause his leader to… His gaze found the ground again, dilated and afraid. “The…The other clans wouldn’t do that.” He hated how uncertain he sounded. “We have to work together if we…”

“Your logic makes sense, Crowpaw.” Mudclaw cut him off, stepping forward with a sigh. There was such a sense of authority in his step that Crowpaw had to step back. “But you cannot speak for the other clans or how they think. No matter how much you may have trusted those cats on your journey, there will always be those…” A low growl rumbled in his chest, “That will grin at the sight of weakness. Without a strong leader, we are vulnerable, and when that happens we can’t afford to lose our freedom for the sake of some temporary peace!” He stepped beside Crowpaw, pressing his tail hard into his side. “It may be the worst scenario, but it is there nonetheless. Windclan needs its Warriors to remember what side they’re on, they need to be willing to fight for that. Can I trust you to do that if the time comes?”

He spoke of a future that no one could truly understand. No one knew what was on its way.

But, by the Stars, Crowpaw was scared of how convincing Mudclaw sounded.

It made perfect sense after all. The clans had been rivals for generations. Before the journey, if Crowpaw had known that a leader from the enemy was sick, he would have howled with laughter at the idea of that clan becoming weaker. He could expect as much from them. Those feelings surely couldn’t just disappear because they were forced into this terrible partnership.

But when he thought of the journey. When he imagined the faces of his… He couldn’t, didn’t want to, imagine that they would do something like that after everything they’d been through.

But then… maybe that was the problem.

Maybe that showed how backwards Crowpaw had become.

It was time to face facts. There was no hope that anything real could survive with the cats he’d known. Their very nature wouldn’t allow it. Besides, Crowpaw had not been of any real use to them.

Feathertail hadn’t come home because of him.

No, with them… It would be better if they just never saw him again once all this was done.

He’d forgotten his loyalty, the loyalty ingrained in his blood, and he knew Windclan would not hesitate to remind him of that in the future. And that was fine.

He deserved to pay for everything he’d done. To every clan.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be of use while he awaited that punishment.

Windclan deserved better than him, and they could get better than he ever was, but he still needed to work for them when they needed it. This was his one chance to do some real good in his life.

He needed to make sure Windclan knew he was loyal. He needed to make sure his previous friends knew where his loyalty really was. If they couldn’t grasp that, then he needed to remind them of it. They had all hated him at the start. He needed to make sure it was like that once again.

Even though… he didn’t think he could ever hate them again.

But that was why he needed to keep the line clear. Once they were all back to normal in their clans, it had to get better for them. They deserved that kind of ending.

That was why they couldn’t be friends anymore.

So when he suddenly found himself thinking of Squirrelpaw and her cheeky, amazing smile, he let the guilt and self-revulsion take him over. He accepted the sickness in his stomach and called it disloyalty.

If he wanted her to be safe, he needed to shut her away.

Even when the thought of that made his sickness worse.

“Yes, Mudclaw.” Crowpaw said, his voice hollow and found.

Mudclaw stepped away, his eyes never leaving Crowpaw. His eyes blazed like an owl’s. “Good. It’s important you understand what’s right if we find ourselves in that situation.”

“I understand.” Crowpaw said, dipping his head.

A real sound of contentment left Mudclaw. Crowpaw tried to let it ease him. “Excellent.” There was a long silence after that. Then a heavy exhale exited the Deputy and Crowpaw felt a tail smooth over his back. “I do hope that you’re right about this journey, Crowpaw. There is nothing I want more than for my clan to survive.”

Crowpaw sensed a ‘but’ so he didn’t take that as acceptance.

“But, just remember where your real allies are if the time comes. Understand?”

Crowpaw hated that he was right. He couldn’t speak this time so he just nodded his head.

Mudclaw made a pleased mrrow. “Now, take your prey to Whitetail and then go and find Tallstar. The sooner we have a real plan, the better. No matter what happens.” Something was hidden in how he said that, but he was gone before the chill had found Crowpaw’s tail.

He realised it was stupid to think about that.

Mudclaw was his Deputy. Mudclaw was Windclan. That made him an ally. That was where his trust needed to be.

Crowpaw picked up the prey again and strode quickly to the stinking, damaged warren. Sure enough, Whitetail was there. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion and sorrow as she listened to the three small kits at her belly cry hungrily as they suckled for milk that wasn’t there.

Crowpaw’s heart ached. No wonder Onewhisker accepted his story so easily. Anything was better than this.

Whitetail slowly lifted her head as Crowpaw approached. Suddenly, her eyes flickered open as a high mew of relief escaped her mouth. “Crowpaw!” She cried. “You have prey!”

Crowpaw dropped the shrews beside the molly, he tried not to look at how her ribs jutted when she moved to grab them. “That’s all we could find. I’m sorry there isn’t more.”

Whitetail shot him a wide-eyed glance, purring happily. “Don’t be mouse-brained! This is wondeful!” She stared down at the shrews like they were a pile of hares, then she nuzzled the kits closer to her belly. “Just wait a little longer, my darlings. I’ll soon have some milk for you.” Her eyes shone with love and when she smiled it looked like something she had almost forgotten how to do. “What do we say to Crowpaw?”

The kits mewed again, huddling to their mother for warmth.

Whitetail let out a soft mutter, laughing was too difficult these days. “They say thank you.”

Crowpaw dipped his head respectfully, “Tell them that they don’t need to. Any Warrior would do the same.” His eyes gently lifted to the white molly’s. “Also, let them know that whatever prey is given to me will be yours.”

An incredible gasp erupted from the Queen. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t accept that!”

“Yes you can.” Crowpaw said simply, “They need it more than me.”

“Crowpaw, that’s honourable of you to say so. But you are still an apprentice.” Her face was pure with gratitude. “You need your strength as well.”

“I’m strong enough as I am.” I don’t deserve to eat. “You look like you haven’t eaten for moons. You need to eat, I can survive without food for a few days.”

“Crowpaw, I-”

“With all due respect, Whitetail.” The apprentice said softly, lightly brushing his tail over the kits. “I’ve made up my mind. You won’t change it.”

Whitetail was silent with shock. Her face was a mix of awe and uncertainty. Crowpaw didn’t give her  the chance to argue further. “Sleep well.” He said, to her and her kits. Then he rose up and turned away. He needed to find Tallstar now. Moonhigh was not far away.

“Crowpaw!”

Crowpaw sighed, but he kept calm as he turned back to the starving mother.

Her smile was a white as her fur, and notably overcome with joyful appreciation. She took a bite out of her shrew and then ran her tongue slowly over her kit’s small pelts, happier than she had been in moons. “I’m glad you’re back. Windclan missed you.”

That wasn’t true, Crowpaw thought. But he nodded, feeling underserving of such kindness.

“I’ll do anything for Windclan.”

What else could he do?

If he didn’t he might as well not be alive.

[sadoeuphemist]

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment 

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2)  to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order. 

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

[damn-stark]

Hunter

Jesse x Reader

Requested by anon “Hey! Can you do a Jesse request where the reader is a hunter and they meet Jesse whilst he’s out on patrol? I love your writing :)”

Warning- mentions of blood, slight violence

———-

Very quietly and slowly you breathe in a deep inhale, lining up the rifle correctly and pointing it past the trees to a deer that was feeding on the surrounding vegetation. It’s head suddenly snapped up as it caught noise of something in the distance.

Probably just another animal, you think to yourself, exhaling slowly as you took one more careful step forward and managed to hide part of yourself behind a tree, the only thing showing was the tip of the rifle, hearing only yourself whisper. “Sorry.” Before you pressed the trigger and the bullet flew out, hitting the deer, but seeming to puncture straight through it and flying out to hit what sounded to you was the cause of the previous noise that almost cost you your meal.

Whatever it was made more noise, a pained groan. What sounded to be a human groan—in a hasty move you hang the rifle’s strap over your shoulder and quickly make your way over to what you heard, being a bit more careful when you seemed to get closer.

An obvious clue due to the fact that the groans got louder—and you thought just to take your collected meal back to your cabin and forget about the pained human, remembering the advice given to you many times before ‘avoid strangers’ but you knew that you would never be able to peacefully rest if you did such an act. So ignoring the repeated given advice you continue moving forward, stopping as the tip of your boots touch the fresh blood pooling on the ground.

“Oh, shoot.” You cringe, your eyes slowly shifting upwards to see a single man laying on the ground, raven black hair on his head, skin pale and turning whiter at the loss of blood; while his eyes were a deep, beautiful brown you might add that matched the earth beneath. Not like his obvious attractiveness mattered at the moment that the wound on his side still had blood spilling from it. His attention wavering and barely catching sight of you, his only response to what he saw was to speak in a raspy whisper. A pained plead.

“Please..”

It takes you a moment to react, your eyes focused on the wound you inflicted, running thoughts of guilt and worry racing through your mind at the sight the young man hurt. Only able to react when the man pleaded again, his eyes following you as you fell by his side and began to whisper ‘I’m so sorry’, hissing once you wrapped your jacket wrapped around his waist to stop the wound from spilling anymore blood. And when you tried to stand him up his legs gave in and he began to fall back, almost taking you with him, but coming out lucky when you managed to catch him and pull him up, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to begin to take him to your cabin.

He resisted at first, struggled to talk to protest against you taking him, but you were quick to reassure him. “It’s okay, I’m going to help by taking you to place and clean and stitch that wound.” You tried to shoot him a reassuring smile, but his ability to barely keep his eyes open was beginning to worry you. “It’s okay, I can leave the deer.”

He shakes his head and manages a soft amused huff.

“What’s your name, huh?”

He swallows thickly and reveals his answer in a mutter. “Jesse...what about yours?”

You smile, “y/n.” You briefly shoot him a worried glance before you look ahead and see your cabin coming to sight, the dog you had running to the fence to greet you with excited barks. Sniffing the air as you presumed caught the scent of the blood. “Don’t worry he doesn’t bite.” Again you looked to Jesse and saw his eyes began to droop, causing your heart to drop your mind to race faster. “Stay with me. Jesse, hey.”

Said man nods slowly, his weight beginning to get heavier the more you knew he was falling into unconsciousness. Giving no reaction to the dog following him all the way to the inside of your small but cozy cabin, any pained noise he would express silenced as you gently placed him on your bed. Worrying you that much more.

“Oh shoot, I’ve killed him newt.” You whisper in a high panic to the all black dog, “he’s dead. He’s dead.” You begin to bite your nails, checking the pulse on his neck. At first finding nothing, not until a very faint pulse was felt on his neck. ��Ok. Good.” You spin around your heels and follow after your dog as it guides you to your medical cabinet, helping you in the best way it could by taking out what he usually saw you grab when someone was hurt. Hurrying before you to rush back to Jesse.

You sigh after you finish washing your hands and take the small needle. Pulling off the blood damned shirt from the young man and inhaling a deep breath at the sight of the bloodied mess. Breathing out once you begin to feel your hands tremble as you begin to clean it as best as you could before you retake the needle and loop the thread through. Expressing another sigh before assuring yourself.

“He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” Again you let out another deep breath and press your hand closer. “Here we go.”

——

The sound of the bed creaking and a soft groan proceeding to follow makes you look over your shoulder to notice Jesse had woken up and was trying to slowly sit it, his hand on the now stitched and patched wound. His eyes scanning the area until they landed on you, a narrowed look shot as you began to head his way with a cup of water in hand, a shy smile tugged on your lips.

“You feeling better?” You question softly.

Jesse hesitates for a moment and nods. “Yeah.” His eyes drift to the dog that is walking at your side. The curiosity obviously growing in his eyes. “Where am I?”

Setting the cup down on the nightstand you go around the bed to open the curtains to welcome the natural light, answering once you could meet his gaze. “My cabin, I didn’t know where you came from so I couldn’t take you sorry.” You then quirk your eyebrow to question him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jesse's eyes drift the new shirt on him that he knew he didn’t wear before. Letting that curiosity slip for later. “Uhh, I was about to shoot the deer, but you ended up shooting me. I saw you and the last thing I saw was just woods.”

A warmth grows on your cheeks at the mention of your mistake, lightly biting your bottom as spoken memory races through your mind. “About that, I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be a hunter you know and now what with you, I don’t think I’m as great as I like to think.”

Jesse chuckled softly, shifting to sit up higher. “Well if it wasn’t for you helping me, I would be dead, so thank you.” A very soft groan left his lips at the sharp pain felt at his side making him pause and what he was going to finish with. “And as much as this stay has been pleasant, people are going to be worried. I was on patrol so they’ll be looking.” He suddenly moves to try to stand up, making you quickly move over to him and stop his movements.

“I wouldn’t, you’re still healing. Any harsh movements and your stitches will open up. I can go get someone if you want. To let them know you’re okay, but I suggest you staying here for a day or two.”

Jesse hesitates for a long moment, scratching the back of his head as his eyes bounce to the window to ponder over your suggestion. The sudden pain caused his breath to hitch ultimately deciding for him.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he turned to finally meet your gaze once again, offering a short nod before verbally answering as well. “Fine, I’ll stay. But only for a day or two.”

A wide smile grew on your lips. A sudden joy traveled through your body. It was weird, the sudden emotion for an acceptance from a young handsome man you just met. But it was also something you also couldn’t help but feel.

You nod and grin this time, a warmth growing on your cheeks. “Good.”

[mileycyprus-hill]

A Simple Kindness

Kieran x Reader 

Had this on the back burner for a while and realized I haven’t written a Kieran x reader fic. So here’s a bit of fluff.  

Summary: You begin to sympathize with the new O’Driscoll prisoner, and decide to give him a little help. 

Warnings: none.

You weren’t exactly sure why this O’Driscoll was in your camp, but you didn’t bother to question it. You were taught to despise any member of Colm’s gang and you thought to do the same to this poor man. 

That poor man. 

He didn’t seem up to par to the common O’Driscoll, sniveling and begging for mercy while tied to that tree. He never cursed at any passerby. Never threatened death upon anyone once he would be free. 

He only begged for mercy. 

You never met a man that soft. 

Was this man really an O’Driscoll? A member of a ruthless, bloodthirsty, thieving, murdering gang? 

Hardly. 

It had been a week since Arthur had brought him back to that cold barn in Colter. He was tied up in the back of a wagon during the trip to Horseshoe Overlook like some prisoner. 

Well, he is a prisoner. 

Left to blister in the sun on this high bluff with no food and what little water he could swallow from the passing rain. That poor man sat there, his arms tied behind him on that birch tree. The papery bark scratched against his tender forearms while the thick hemp of his binds cut into his wrists. Blood red cuts and rash marks painted his pale arms that lay exposed beyond his rolled up sleeves. 

The past few days, you watched him struggle to stand against the tree, his head dropped to his chest in exhaustion and self-pity. Sitting from the table across the way, you’d watch his legs tremble and buckle beneath him as he’d struggle to hold his own weight. He’d squiggle and squirm and whimper to get just a little more comfortable. 

You had half a mind to shout at him, tell him to ‘man up’ and be strong. But watching him pull against his binds was like watching a stray dog pull against a short leash. 

Frightened. Alone. Starving. The only attention came from the daily beatings and tongue-lashings. 

A scrap of bread would be tossed at his feet. Barely enough to satisfy a hungry dog. It’d lay there, taunting him as he’d struggle to kick it closer to himself. Even if he could, how could he grasp it with his arms bound behind him? 

You’d watch him struggle for it anyway, his will driven by hunger. Day by day, that piece of bread would lay there. What was left behind by the pecking chickens would turn to mold and only the flys would claim it.  

How much longer would Dutch allow this to continue? Until the man dies? Or when he gives information that he deems satisfactory? 

From what you’ve heard while eavesdropping, this young man wouldn’t know anything reliable, being Colm O’Driscoll’s abused stable boy. 

You began to fear for him. Truly. 

What would he know, being a newly initiated member of Colm’s circle? For all you knew, he was excluded. Cast onto the edge of the social circle of the gang, left to chat only with the horses and other members of the lowest caste. 

Day by day, you struggled. What was it your mother always taught you? 

“If you watch an evil being done unto someone and don’t stop it, you will be judged for the same crime by doing nothing.” She would say. 

Could you stand there and do nothing? What kind of a person were you? The men around would say you’re a survivor. But is this surviving—torturing a man for information in a petty rivalry? 

When you reach those golden gates and are asked, ‘Why have you done nothing?’, what would you say? 

Because it wasn’t your place to interfere? Because you didn’t want to get in trouble? 

...........

You awake just as a the sun rises and decide this is enough. Only a select few gang members are awake as they stayed up too late and too drunk the previous night. Those who’re up are tending to their own business or had already left.

Walking towards the back of the provisions wagon, you notice he’s alone. Looks like no one’s started the torturing ritual yet. Bill’s talking to Arthur about some stagecoach job over by the horses and Dutch remains shut in his tent with Molly. 

You step briskly as you saw your chance, walking towards the small cooking fire and grabbing a tin cup that rests on the ground next to the warm percolator. 

Looks like Pearson just finished making the coffee. You peek over to his work station and find him deeply focused on preparing today’s stew.

“Psst!” You hear from your right. 

You dare not to look towards the source to avoid suspicion. Discreetly, you turn your head only slightly, pretending to check the hem of your skirt and peek from the corners of your eyes. 

From your downward gaze, you catch Kieran staring at you. You watch him desperately try to get your attention without alerting anyone else. 

Pretending not to hear him, you walk past him with your cup full of coffee and ignore his whispering pleas for water. You stop at the back of the food wagon, hiding yourself behind its large wooden panels. A bucket of rain water sits by a steel dish tub on the table, waiting to be dumped into the tub and used as dishwater. 

You hear Kieran drop his head in defeat behind you. An aching, heavy weight pulls downward in your chest. 

Taking a sip of your coffee, you fake a look of disgust. You take another sip and repeat your act before dumping the contents from your cup. 

Quickly, you dip your cup into the water bucket to rinse the taste from your mouth. 

The cool water touches your lips but you don’t sip, keeping your lips tight against the rim of the cup. 

The coast seems to be clear. No one’s watching or noticing. Checking around you, you dart over to Kieran. He hears your quick steps against the grass and almost yelps in fear. He looks up and sees your face close to his, causing him to drop his eyes and cringe in submission like a beaten dog. He pants pathetically and waits for you to strike him. 

Avoiding eye contact, you grasp his chin and gently prop his head up. He lets out a tiny whimper until you bring the cup to his lips. His eyes grow wide at this merciful gift. The cold metal clanks against his teeth and the cool water rushes through his chapped lips. He feels his throat expand as the water flows like a spring flood rushing through a dry desert canyon, washing away the dirt and dust.  

You continue watching around you for anyone who may come walking and hear him slurp from your hand.  

No one seems to notice, so you move your eyes over to watch him. He sips greedily from your cup, making you tilt it towards him so he can gain every last drop. His Adam’s apple protrudes from his throat in a sharp angle and bobs with every gulp. 

With a final gulp, he exhales in relief and attempts to breathe a ‘thank you’, to which you quickly silence with a finger to his moistened lips. 

“Nothing happened.” You stare at him with such intensity, it’s almost threatening. 

You step away with your dry cup and hear him speak to you in the softest whisper. He mumbles a sweet “thank you” under his breath, nearly undetectable. You smile softly on your way back to your tent until you see a pair of eyes watching you. 

Shit.  

Mary Beth. 

She stands by the rounded table, her hands paused from opening the domino box and watching you curiously. You freeze in place and plead her with wide eyes and upturned brows. 

Please don’t tell. You beg with a silent, sorrowful look. You don’t know what would happen if the others found out, but you’re sure it won’t be pleasant for you. 

A tight-lipped smile grows on her face and she gestures with an open palm towards the dominos. Her invitation is met with hesitation. Can you trust Mary Beth? You haven’t known her for that long and have kept your secrets to yourself. But the look in her eyes show comforting sympathy, not judgement. 

Stepping with bated breath, you bring yourself to the chair across from her. 

Neither of you speak while she shuffles the dominos on the table. The gentle clicking of the ivory rectangles seem so deafeningly loud compared to the unspoken words you pass to each other. 

Mary Beth gives an understanding nod and looks into your eyes with a sweet smile. No doubt she’s gushing at how romantic and noble your simple gesture was to the prisoner. 

You didn’t realize how long you had been holding your breath until you let out a relieved sigh through your nose. You sincerely hope Mary Beth can keep a secret. Sitting here with her, you begin to believe she’s more trusting compared to the others. 

However, you still worry she may not be the only witness to your act of kindness.

.........

Another day passes by and you hear a startled cry followed by angry shouts. The eruption startles you and the grooming brush drops from your hands. Your horse beside you immediately senses your alarm and reacts with a twitch of her muscles and a jerk of her head. She promptly resumes to grazing while you bend to pick the brush off the ground. Holding the brush against your chest, your fingers run against its thick bristles. Your heart rate quickens and you step over to look towards the dead birch tree. A sickening unease washes over you as you watch Arthur, Bill and Dutch surround the Duffy boy. 

You stop in your tracks as you watch Bill hold a pair of iron tongs with a sadistic look on his face. The edges of the tongs are glowing red and sparks fly with every metallic snap Bill makes. Arthur’s broad frame blocks your view of Kieran, but you can barely see his trousers that pool around his ankles. 

Your feet remain frozen in place. You hear Dutch’s voice but your mind doesn’t process his words as you’re too focused on what torturous act is about to happen. 

Tongue fat and lips glued shut, you stand there in the open, unable to prevent Kieran’s frightened pleas from entering your ears.

Just talk, boy. C’mon. Your thoughts scream. An internal conflict burns within you: desperate to intervene but the paranoia warns you’ll be ostracized and labeled a traitor for defending an O’Driscoll boy. 

“All right, I’ll talk!” He cries. 

It’s as if Kieran heard your thoughts. He spills everything. Colm...Six Point Cabin. 

But you don’t feel relief just yet, eyeing a disappointed Bill who still holds the hot tongs close to Kieran’s naked bottom half. 

It isn’t until you see Arthur cut his bonds that you finally loosen the tight fists at your sides. Your fingernails leave marks against the skin of your palms.

Pulling his trousers up to hide his shame, Kieran’s eyes catch you across the way. He sees the fear wash from your face as he follows the men to their horses. He still looks deeply terrified, unsure of whether this ride with John, Arthur and Bill will lead to his execution. 

“Be safe, boys!’ You call to them. 

The four of them, including Kieran who sits behind a disgruntled John, turn to you in their saddles. They look at you as if hearing a babe say its first word. The slight surprise mutes them for a moment until Arthur finally speaks. 

“We’ll be fine, (Y/N)” he says, “Don’tchu worry.”

You watch them ride off down the hill to Six Point Cabin, the location Kieran mentioned. You may not read people as well as others in this gang, but his words seemed true and genuine. You can only hope your instinct is true until the men return, and then you wonder if Kieran will be turned loose...or killed after the job is done. 

You sincerely hope it’s the former.

...........

It’s late afternoon and supper is just ready. The men have been gone for several hours now and your thoughts are no longer kept at bay by busy chores. You don’t hear the subtle hoof beats entering camp, nor the teasing remarks passed between the riders. 

Until a shrill voice startles you from behind, causing you to early spill your dinner. 

“Get this man a bowl!” Bill’s voice yells behind you, “We ain’t found Colm, but this lucky bastard here saved Arthur from gettin’ a bullet in the head!” 

Mumbled voices around the fire exclaim in shock and relief for Arthur’s sake, but little ‘thank-you’s are expressed to Kieran. He steps behind you as you turn to smile at him and Bill, grateful for their safe return. 

You watch him happily grab a bowl of stew and sit on a log next to Uncle, who makes a grimaced look of disgust and moves to a different spot—preferably upwind. 

“Thank you Kieran,” you gently call over, “For saving Arthur.”

He looks to you with those big doe eyes and smiles awkwardly at your statement of gratitude. 

Standing and rubbing your sore hip with one hand, you walk over and extend your bowl to him. He scarfed his food so quickly that his bowl looks almost sparkling clean. 

“Here,” you offer the rest of your dinner, “You sure look like you could eat.”

Kieran stammers, “Oh, no ma’am. I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I’m not that hungry anyway...Hate for it to go to waste. And Pearson never makes enough for everyone.” You give a gentle smirk. 

“Thank you miss,” Kieran blinks. “That’s very kind of you.” 

He holds his bowl steady with his eyes darting nervously across your face as you transfer your leftovers. You nod and start to walk away until he stops you.

“Oh, and miss?” He whispers.

You turn to him, an eyebrow slightly arched at his politeness.

“Thank you for...yesterday.” 

“Don’t mention it,” you smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

Little do you know when you leave, Kieran feels eternally blessed by your act of kindness. It may not seem like much to you, but to him that showed your true soul. This world is brutal and unforgiving, but your empathy and tenderness is what gives him hope and comfort. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

[oddlyhale]

IronQrow Villains AU

Ironwood and Qrow as villains in the RWBY show AU.

Ironwood is based off of the Three Snake Leaves fairytale, a story about a man who revived his dead wife with Three Snake Leaves. However, reviving her only brought him betrayal, as she lost love for him and tried to kill him with her lover. Able to survive, the man went to the King and told everything the Princess had done. She was then punished with her lover to be drown in sea on a sinking ship.

Qrow is now based on The Juniper Tree fairytale, a story about a young boy who was killed by his greedy step-mother that wanted the inheritance he would get from his father. She killed him, cut him up and served him as dinner to his unknowingly father, and forced her daughter to bury his bones under a juniper tree next to his real mother. The boy became a bird, singing about his story and received three gifts from strangers that listened. He gave the gifts to his family: his father got a gold necklace. His sister got lovely red shoes. And his evil step-mother got crushed under a millstone.

In this AU, for Ironwood:

He fakes being a good headmaster, only to reveal his true identity once the fall begins.

He is a man masked under oxygen, for his first death caused him breathing problems.

His semblance is to revive the dead, however he tries not to use it often, as it causes him immense pain and can run his aura dry.

HIs goal is to find his wretched ex-wife and murder her for what she did to him (she’s not dead in this one.)

In this AU, for Qrow:

Qrow is a bit psychotic. Not theatrically insane, like Tyrian, but he’s on a level of kalopsia (delusions of seeing things more beautiful than what they are.) He is quietly energized by mayhem and distress.

His semblance is shapeshifter, accommodating by being handsy with building his own crazy weapons. HIs favourite weapon is a giant hammer made of millstone.

He plays the ‘nice uncle, playful drunk’ for a while, under the Fall hits. Turns out his ‘drunkard antics’ were just him covering up his manic laughters and bursts of rage.

He doesn’t try to kill Ruby or her friends, but he warns her to not come for him, or he will kill them without hesitation.

His goal is to live ‘beautifully’ and die in the deepest pit of bliss. By that, he wants to live to cause harm and art, and die a masterpiece himself.

About the relationship:

Ironwood and Qrow are married (James proposed.)

Qrow is utterly in love with Ironwood, as is James for Qrow.

James finds Qrow to be the most endearing psycho he’s ever met, figuring out how Qrow has a hidden humanity about himself, as he cares deeply for music and art.

Qrow was smitten the first time he met James, immediately wanting to be his.

The two men met each other years ago, back when James was to be happily wed to his queen. He was thrown off the ship by the crazy woman and her secret lover, nearly drowning, had it not been for the single loyal servant that saved him. James’ semblance unlocked that day out of panic, thoughts of dying only fueling his semblance to be released. His body revived itself, waking James on the raft that the servant was on, but the act left James badly injured.

The servant was weeping, both in joy to see their master was alive, but in horror as to what had happened to James’ body. His right arm, his right leg, gnawed off by the active sea beasts in the water. His hip was chewed at, nearly severing him in two. Despite being alive, the only thing his semblance couldn’t do was regenerate some new body parts. And yet James was conscious, despite the bleeding and pain. Alive and pissed.

His lungs were filled with water, only a dead person could carry so much. Once they arrived at shore, finding no persons in sight to help, the servant ran out to the land to see if there was any civilization nearby. James laid in the raft in pain, waiting for the servant to return.

Somebody finally came, but it was not the servant. It was a lithe and tall man with dark hair and pale skin, eyes bright red like rubies. He stumbled onto the beach after seeing the frantic servant run into the village nearby, curiously wanting to see what the fuss was about.

“My,” Qrow smirked down at James. “You look like you need a hand.”

James stared blankly at the man, as if he were incredibly unamused. Until he replied, “are you pulling my leg?”

Qrow couldn’t help but burst into a short fit of laughter. James did too, but not for long as he was cut short. His back was killing him.

“I can get you a new body. And some.” Qrow assured. “Come with me. I know somebody.”

“At this point? Fine.” James huffed. After being betrayed by his queen and almost eaten alive by sea beasts, he could hardly imagine this stranger could make anything worse.

Qrow took James to the Whale, to Salem. After some convincing, Salem allowed Qrow to let James stay, so long as he was the one watching their new guest. Qrow agreed happily.

Qrow’s story was only filled with pain. He learnt from a young age that he was never loved by his step-mother, and being left behind by his sister. His step-mother murdered him in his sleep, cutting him up and serving his flesh like he was grade-A beef. His soul took the form of a crow, fueled by the rage he had for his step-mother. He wanted her dead, and by luck, he met Salem. She granted him the wish to have his vengeance, helping him turn back into a human. He was only a little boy still when he met Salem, growing up to look to her as his new mother.

After killing his step-mother, Salem took him in and had been at her side since.

James was soon recovering, but his rage was building deep within. All he could think of was his wretched wife, who was almost successful in killing him. She knew he couldn’t swim. How the sharp teeth of the massive sea monsters would eat at his body. He was ready to kill her, avenge himself.

James’ internal injuries couldn’t be fixed. He had to constantly wear a breathing-mask to help inhale more oxygen that his fragile lungs couldn’t take in normally. It was pain, feeling like he aged 50 years, even though he was only 20 at the time. From what he learned, Qrow was also the same age, at least feeling comfort in knowing somebody his age was around.

During James’ recovery - while Salem was mildly interested in this loner - it was Qrow who was the most intrigued. He loved coming to see James, see his progress so far. A new robotic arm, a new robotic leg, and some new parts had to be added in. Unfortunately, it meant much of James’ lower-half had to be remade, Half of his waist was not salvageable, meaning he’d have to lose a hip and his genital area. James didn’t care, wanting to be fixed already, and out of the stupid medical bed. Wanting to be strong again.

Though, he made a joke about giving him a massive metal cock, barking out laughter when he saw Qrow’s reaction of giggling like an embarrassed old woman. But, his wish was curiously granted.

As James was back up on his feet and trying to adjust to this new body, it was still Qrow who helped him. To the others that were residents of the Whale, they were surprised at how much time Qrow spent with James. Knowing the guy, Qrow could hardly process empathy. He would laugh at burning houses full of orphans, and dance on a dying man while he’s down.

But now, he was the most gentle, tender and kind to this perfect stranger.

Would you believe it when this story ends with the two marrying? After knowing each other for 5 years? Well, that’s how the story went. The two men fell in love, not caring for how crazy their lives would become. James loved this psychopath. And Qrow loved this vengeful man.

James was quick to become compliant in Salem’s plans, to start a new world and have their wishes granted. What he wanted was that bitch of a wife dead, and anybody else that associated with her existence. He didn’t care anymore if they were innocents, they had to be taken out. Feeling the same pain he felt.

Qrow had no goals, other than to live and serve Salem. To be the perfect little dog and grant her every wish. But now, his devotion turned to James. He loved him to bits, and would kill anybody for him. Already, James had killed quite a few people for Qrow, and that was probably one of the most romantic things he’s ever received. The only painful thing he could think is to live a life without James. Even his devotion for Salem couldn’t keep him alive.

Despite their chaotic life, the two surprisingly had a well-adjusted marriage and relationship. It was contentment, understanding and fun. They adored each other the same way they first met, and it seems that their honeymoon phase never ended, after 15 years together. They’d have a wedding dance next to a pile of dead bodies if they could, and they’d still be completely enamored by one another.

During the years together, the two had begun building their false identities among the people. Qrow had contact with his family, still there as Ruby and Yang were young and had grown to attend Beacon Academy. Ironwood had stolen the identity of a previous soldier of Atlas, taking their place and soon becoming the headmaster and general of Atlas. Their appearance was nothing to be judged, coming off as noble and normal.

When the time came for Beacon’s Fall, Qrow was the first to act. After the death of Penny 1.0, he had gone to murder the others in the Beacon Vault. He was successful in killing Glynda, Ozpin and the Maiden (transferring her powers to Cinder who is still in the gang), but he pretends to have no success in killing Ironwood, giving false hope to the heroes that at least one of their own is OK.

After that, he went out to go kill some more civilians of the Academy. Ruby and Yang realized their uncle was part of the evil team, and are broken by the betrayal. Qrow was quick to dismiss them as his family, skipping off merrily back to Salem.

When time passed and it was time to arrive at Atlas, it would be Ironwood’s turn to betray the teams. While cooperative and kind, Ironwood legitimately had no remorse for any of the kids. Quite frankly he wanted them dead, as well as the Ace Ops.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #11: Chances

Words: ca. 5,000 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: Brief mention of blood

“Sarge, where are you?” Anna shouted as she ducked beneath a low-hanging tree branch.  She cursed beneath her breath when one of her braids caught on the branch  As she pulled herself free from the offending limb, another clap of thunder echoed from the ominous clouds that painted the afternoon sky.  Her ears strained to catch any signs of the large canine bounding through the forest.  The only sounds Anna was met with were the rustling of the trees as heavy currents blew through them.

This weather wasn’t supposed to be a possibility.  Anna had triple checked the forecasts before they had left this morning.  It was supposed to be a simple nature get-away.  She had planned the trip for her and Sarge to get away from the city for a while.  The two had been inseparable since Anna had adopted the retired Saint Bernard from one of the local shelters.  She knew the congested city life was something that Sarge wasn’t used to and when she had mentioned this to her Uncle Kai, he offered to let them use his hunting cabin for the weekend.

The cabin had more than enough space for Anna and Sarge.  It was only a few hours from Anna’s house with a scenic drive.  Sarge’s tail wagged nonstop during the drive and as soon as they had arrived, he leapt out from Anna’s jeep and eagerly explored his new surroundings.  After Anna had finished unloading the vehicle and threw on a proper hiking outfit, they had set off on a lengthy hike.

Sarge was ecstatic as he raced down the trail ahead of the freckled woman, sniffing here and there.  It was around 4 in the afternoon when Anna noticed the brightness and various sounds of the forest were both dimming.  They paused in a clearing for a quick break.  As Anna drank steadily from her canteen, she realized that dark clouds were moving in.  They were full of rain and quickly covering the peaceful blue sky.  With a deep frown, she had replaced her canteen and lowered her gaze to call Sarge back to her side, but discovered she stood alone in the clearing.

After that, the wind had suddenly picked up as Anna began to frantically search for her four-legged friend.  Now, here she was, stumbling through the brush with her heart racing and panic settling deep within her chest as the thunder grew and lightning accompanied it.  Anna groaned as a light rain began and she grabbed her hood, pulling it up over her red hair before shouting for Sarge.

A new sound caused her to freeze as she cupped a hand around her ear, desperately hoping it would repeat.  There it was; Sarge’s signature low bark reverberating throughout the trees.  Anna bolted in the direction she assumed it was coming from.  A grin split her freckled face as the barking grew louder.  She avoided another branch and pushed through a particularly thick cluster of trees, wincing as the branches added a few more cuts to the steadily growing number that now resided on her limbs.  Anna wiped the moisture from her face before peering out into the area she now stood in.

It was another clearing but smaller.  Sarge was pacing back and forth on the other side, whimpering.  Anna breathed a sigh of relief, even as a cloud of confusion settled above her head.

“What’s wrong, Sarge?” she asked, as she began to cross the clearing.  The canine whined in response with a slight wag of his tail.  Anna neared Sarge and saw that he was standing on the edge of a ravine.  The rain fell steadily now as she stopped next to Sarge.  She ran a hand through his wet fur, not caring in the slightest that a good chunk of it would adhere to her palm.

“What riled you-” Anna cut herself off while peering over the edge of the ravine.  A flash of lightning lit up their surroundings and revealed a muddy human shape at the bottom.  Anna slipped off her pack and rummaged through it, retrieving a flashlight and shining it down.  The circle of soft light revealed an unconscious woman with striking platinum hair.  Anna chewed her lip while a million thoughts raced through her head.  Another large gust of wind nearly knocked Anna over the edge but Sarge braced his large body against her knees.  She steadied herself, knowing she had to act quickly.

“Alright, buddy,” Anna said, as she delved into her pack once more.  “We’ll get her, don’t worry.” She slid a coiled rope from her bag and rose to her feet.  The employees at the shelter had thoroughly explained Sarge’s training from his previous life.  He had been a search and rescue pup, and an amazing one at that.  In the month Anna had had him in her life, she had tested out various commands that her research revealed are common when training search and rescue dogs.  Even though he was an older dog, he was in great shape and showed no signs of slowing down.  Anna didn’t see any harm in refreshing his training because who knew if there’d ever be a time to rely on it?  And here we are.

Mud splashed beneath her boots, splattering across her toned legs as she trudged toward the nearest tree.  Uncoiling the rope, she secured one end around the trunk and the other around her slender waist.  Another drawn out whine from Sarge as she made her way back to the ledge of the ravine.  Another glance proved her previous theory that it wasn’t all that deep.  She scratched Sarge’s head lovingly and placed a gentle kiss on his furry forehead.

“Okay, big guy, I’m going down to grab her.  Best case, I’ll be able to rouse her so it’ll be a bit easier.  If not… I’ll get creative.  I’ve got more rope in the pack.”  The young woman took a few deep breaths while Sarge stood off to the side.  Another clap of thunder shook the trees as Anna gripped the coarse rope tightly and spun around with her back to the pit below.  Remember your climbing techniques.

Another deep breath and Anna began the journey down the ravine.  Slow, but steadily, she climbed down.  Her foot slipped on a soft spot in the wall and she cried out.  A loud, worried bark came from Sarge in response while Anna quickly regained her footing and attempted to slow her racing heart.

“I’m good, buddy,” she called up, before continuing downward.  After what felt like ages, Anna’s feet finally planted on the firm, although extremely muddy, floor of the ravine.  She sputtered when the rain began to pour, and she swiped her face before pulling out her flashlight and flicking it on.  She swept the light across the woman, revealing an extremely pale, mostly mud-covered face.  Anna clicked her tongue with the light shined on a large gash in the woman’s forehead.  The lean 25 year-old squatted while reaching out to gently shake the woman.  Anna’s hand had barely clasped around the woman’s bare, dirty shoulder when the figure stirred, and eyelids fluttered.  Thunder continued to roar above their heads, so Anna leaned closer, placing her mouth inches from the woman’s ear.

“Ma’am?  Can you hear me?  My name’s Anna.  You’re hurt and at the bott-” She was cut off as the woman’s eyes suddenly flew open, revealing the most striking sapphire-esque irises that Anna had ever seen.  Anna found herself paralyzed as the woman blinked.  She began to stir and slowly sat up.  She groaned and lifted a pale hand to her head, wincing as she felt the gash there.  Anna observed the many emotions that crossed the woman’s face: confusion, pain, fear.  The muddy woman spun around suddenly, as if registering that Anna was with her.  She shrieked, and began to scoot away from Anna as fast as she could.  It was effective, though odd, and Anna found herself having to suppress a giggle at the sight before her.

“W-who are you?” The woman croaked out, her voice hoarse and raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.  Anna blinked, attempting to formulate a coherent thought.

“My name is Anna, and I’m here to help you out of this ravine,” she spat out, and was finally ripped from her stupor as lightning slashed the sky and a howl rang from Sarge above.  The woman began shaking at the sound of the dog, her eyes darting to the top of the ravine.

“W-what was that?” she cried out, curling in on herself and hugging her knees to her chest.  Anna could tell that she wasn’t just shaking from Sarge; the woman had to be freezing.  She was so caked in mud that Anna wasn’t even sure if she had clothing.  The hiker had to force this thought from her mind before it averted her from the task at hand.

“That’s just my dog.  Listen, I’m very sorry, but we really don’t have time to do full introductions here.  The storm hasn’t even fully hit.  I need to get you out of here.  You’re wounded and we should find shelter.  Can you stand?” Anna shouted to make herself heard over the rain.  The pale woman’s jaw dropped, as if to protest, but the next clap of thunder halted her.  With a grimace, she unfolded herself, and rose shakily to her feet.  Anna could see that the wound was still bleeding as red mixed with brown.  She thrust out her hand, offering it to the other woman, who stared at it with a dead-pan expression.

“Please, let me help you,” Anna insisted, wiggling her fingers.  The woman met her gaze, sapphire eyes dancing with teal, before nodding and grabbing Anna’s hand.  Anna inhaled sharply when the cool touch of the woman’s hand ignited a new sensation within Anna, but dismissed it as she pulled the woman toward her.  Anna didn’t fail to notice the way the woman was shivering. She shuffled through the contents of her pack once and thrust a poncho out toward the woman, who stared at it blankly.

“Here, wear this.  You’re probably in shock, and don’t feel the cold,” Anna insisted, pressing the poncho against the woman’s chest.  Gingerly, the stranger accepted the poncho, slipping it around her shoulders.

“T-thank you,” she told Anna as her pale lips curled slightly with the ghost of a smile.  Anna felt her face heat up and waved her hand nonchalantly as she stepped up to the wall of the ravine.  Weighing the pack in her hands, she eyed the ledge, and made a quick assessment before tossing the container into the air.  She wasn’t expecting Sarge to jump up and snatch it out of the air, but it brought an enormous grin to her face.  She rubbed her hands together.

“Okay, here’s how we’ll do this.  Climb onto my back,” Anna instructed while squatting.  When there was no sound of responding movement, Anna straightened and turned to face the damsel once more.   The stranger’s posture was rigid, as if standing with defiance.  Anna cocked her head and wondered if the woman had issues with trust.  Would I willingly trust some random person in the middle of a forest, though?  Anna thought.

“Hey, I know this is a lot at once, but it’ll be okay.  I’ll keep you safe.  You can trust me…” Anna’s pep talk faltered when she realized she didn’t know the woman’s name.  There was a deep breath and then one of those cool hands was squeezing her own.

“Elsa.  My name is Elsa,” was the reply, as she motioned for Anna to take the position again.  The name reverberated in Anna’s head, with that hoarse, yet pleasing voice causing her pulse to race.  The woman’s -Elsa’s- weight settled on her back as cold arms fell on her shoulders.  Long legs wrapped around Anna’s hips as she stood.  Warm breath skittered along her neck as Elsa’s face rested against her warmth.  Anna suppressed the fluttering in her chest.

“Hold on tight, okay?  It will feel like forever, but I promise you the climb isn’t long.  And once we reach the top, we’ll head straight toward my cabin.  It isn’t far from here,” Anna told Elsa, who nodded against Anna’s neck.  The pale limbs tightened around her torso as Anna held the rope taut and began to slowly scale the wall.  For a few moments, the sky was free of the lightning and thunder that had been plaguing it, and the two women listened to the heavy rain.  A breath that Anna hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped as Sarge came into view.  He was barking and running around excitedly.  She couldn’t help the grin that crossed her face.  It quickly disappeared though, as lightning struck the tree in which the rope was secured to, slicing the trunk in half.  Anna’s eyes widened when she registered what had occurred, and she cried out as the rope grew slack and she felt herself tip backward.

She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing herself for the imminent crashing that was about to happen.  Seconds that felt like years passed until she came to her senses and realized she wasn’t moving at all.  Her eyes snapped open to find that Sarge was gripping the rope in his mouth and jerking back his head, desperate to pull his owner up.  Before she allowed herself to revel in this moment, Anna snatched the rope and hauled them up the rest of the way, collapsing on the ledge.  Her chest heaved as Sarge’s large nose nudged her everywhere in an attempt to get Anna up.  Adrenaline coursed through her, though she was still as a statue as she tried to comprehend how close to death she just was.

A cool hand curled around her wrist, bringing Anna back to earth.  She opened her eyes and once more was struck with the beauty of those sapphires that lived within Elsa’s head.  Anna couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering.  Rain chipped away at the mud that covered a majority of Elsa, revealing more of her body.  The poncho Anna had lent her was see-through, and Anna could just barely make out the light fabric of a tank top that clung to the woman’s slender torso.  Swallowing heavily, Anna shook her head and brought her attention back to Elsa’s face.  She couldn’t help but briefly admire the symmetrical planes of Elsa’s face.  From the dainty button-like nose, to the high risen cheekbones, and finally onto the lush, yet pale lips.  Lips that were moving, forming words that Anna couldn’t hear over the rush of blood through her veins.  She honed her focus and tried instead to read the words.

“We should find shelter now, right?” That brought Anna back down and she sprang to her feet, gathering her senses.  Anna found it odd that she couldn’t dismiss the fact that the damsel she’d rescued was a few inches taller in height.  Snatching her pack, she grabbed Elsa’s hand and pulled her into the brush so she could gather her bearings.  The hiker shielded her eyes from the rain and attempted to locate shelter.  There was a loud bark from Sarge and Anna glanced over.  His tail was wagging and he was jumping around, signaling for Anna to follow.  She couldn’t help the pride that swelled within her chest.

“Okay, Sarge.  We’re gonna follow Sarge, okay, Elsa?  Are you able to walk, or would you like my help?” Anna offered, earning a look of concern from Elsa, who was currently attempting to release her hair from the band that held together the destroyed braid on her head.  Anna’s eyes flickered to the wound, knowing that she needed to attend to it ASAP, but couldn’t properly perform the task in the eye of a storm.

“We’re going to follow your…dog?” Elsa asked, not sounding particularly amused.  Anna nodded.

“He used to be a search and rescue pup.  He knows what he’s doing,” Anna replied, and Sarge barked in agreement.  Elsa sighed, fingertips gingerly brushing her head.  She winced, and Anna figured the shock was wearing off and the pain was beginning.

“I can walk,” Elsa said, almost with a huff.  Anna quizzically raised a brow, but didn’t comment as she turned to Sarge.

“Lead the way, buddy,” Anna said, and Sarge took off.  They stomped through the wet earth and piles of leaves, circled around fallen trees, and ducked beneath reaching limbs.  For a bit, it was silent, save for the rain, until a particularly loud rumble of thunder disrupted the silence.  Anna nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Elsa’s cool hand slip over her own.  Anna cast a sideways glance at the woman, but she was staring straight ahead with a clenched jaw.  Anna squeezed the hand reassuringly, and watched as Elsa’s face softened.

Moments later they arrived at a cave and the trio ducked inside.  Luckily the cave had enough scattered twigs for Anna to collect and get a small fire started while Sarge stayed near Elsa.  Finally satisfied, Anna left the fire to warm up the small area and walked over to Elsa, who was absently petting Sarge.  Anna grabbed her First Aid kit and knelt before Elsa.

“Can… Can I clean your wound?” Anna asked quietly as she brushed her hand against Elsa’s arm.  The other woman started, blinking rapidly before meeting Anna’s worried gaze.  Anna didn’t like the way Elsa’s eyes were darkening and glassy.  Hopefully she doesn’t have a concussion.  Elsa nodded.  Anna opened her kit and set out everything she’d need to take care of it.

Anna wasn’t all that surprised that Elsa wasn’t open about her pain.  The stoic stranger didn’t even flinch when Anna gently cleaned the gash with alcohol.  Anna secretly admired that ability; she was so obvious with her pain, and emotions, and, well, everything about herself.

“So… what were you doing in the forest by yourself?” Anna asked, trying to make light conversation.  If the woman did have a concussion, Anna knew it wouldn’t be best for her to sleep for a bit.  Elsa shrugged, her eyes glued to the orange and yellow glow of the fire.  Anna clicked her teeth together.  

“Well, Sarge and I are here on a weekend get-away.  See, I adopted him about a month ago, but I know the city isn’t something he really loves.  He loves being in nature, and so do I.  So, my uncle offered his cabin for the weekend.  We went on all these really neat scenic trails today.  Was hoping to get a pic of Sarge and I at this one spot, but we didn’t make it there.  Which is totally fine because there’s always tomorrow,“ Anna rambled, unaware she was doing so as she finished cleaning Elsa’s forehead.  She turned away to search for the proper bandage.

“My friend Kristoff really wanted to come.  But I had to convince him we could go another weekend, because I wanted to spend time with Sarge.”  The dog barked at the sound of his name.  “He pouted quite a bit, but I bought him some pizza and he was fine,” Anna finished with a giggle as she situated herself in front of Elsa again.

“You’re quite an optimistic person, aren’t you?” Elsa murmured, so quiet that Anna had to pause her task and glance at the pale woman below her to make sure she had actually said something.  Anna’s face grew warm when she realized Elsa was staring intently at the smaller woman.

“Y-yeah.  I mean, there’s always something to look forward to.  Even in this situation,” Anna responded, placing the bandage.  Elsa laughed dryly.

“I fell down a ravine and bashed my head open.  My supplies are gone.  My car is nowhere near here.  All because I was startled by an animal.  God, I just came out here to get away from… everything… everyone…” Elsa said with a tired voice.  Anna pondered this as she finished doctoring Elsa’s wound, knowing much couldn’t be done about the swelling until they could go back to the cabin.

“City life suffocating you as well?” Anna asked as she scooted back.  Sarge heaved a sigh as he rested his head in Elsa’s lap.  For some reason, Anna didn’t think Elsa was much of an animal person, but that didn’t seem to matter now as those pale hands ran through thick, white fur.

“Something like that,” Elsa responded.

“Were you planning on spending the weekend in the forest?”  Elsa shook her head.

“I just wanted to take a day off and try a nature thing.  You know, you always hear people talking about how relaxing and soothing hiking is.  No one ever mentions freak storms or ravines or deer scaring the shit out of you,” Elsa grumbled, nearly pouting.  Anna couldn’t hold back the giggle and Elsa’s eyes fell on her, studying.  Anna’s giggle turned into a cough as she quickly turned to face the fire.

“Well, if you actually let yourself relax, it definitely is.  Try taking in the sounds, the smells, the sights.  It’s usually so peaceful,” Anna said with a sigh.  Elsa huffed.

“That has always been one of my weaknesses: relaxation,” Elsa said.  Anna wasn’t all that shocked.  Ever since they had arrived at the cave, Elsa’s posture had been stiff and her face composed.  Sarge groaned, rolling over onto his back, not-so-subtly hinting for belly rubs.  Elsa cocked a brow, but obliged, unable to deny the cute canine.

“Well… it seems like you could use more help.  I can take you back to your car in the morning, if you’d like.  The storm doesn’t appear to be letting up and we should rest soon,” Anna said.  As if in response, clouds crashed together above them.  Elsa chewed the inside of her cheek as she contemplated.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” she finally said.  Wind leaked into the cave, swirling around them and causing both women to shiver.  Anna searched through her pack once more, and removed a sleeping bag and dry clothes. She smirked, mentally patting herself on the back coming, for once, overprepared. Anna tossed clothes over to Elsa, who just stared at them.

“Won’t do you any good to sleep in wet clothes.  Change into those,” Anna instructed, as she took her own set and wandered to the back of the cave.  She could feel Elsa’s eyes on her, and heard a choking sound as she began to peel off her soaked clothes.

“H-how can you just strip in front of a stranger?” Elsa managed to say.  Anna shrugged, stepping out of her shorts and into the sweats.

“We’re both adults aren’t we?” she replied.  There was silence, except for the sound of rustling clothes.  Anna finished sliding the dry t-shirt over her head with a sigh and spun around, expecting Elsa to have finished.  Her jaw nearly hit the floor when her eyes caught flashes of pale, flawless skin and the flexing of toned back muscles before her brain reconnected to her body and she quickly faced the wall.  Her heart thudded and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to erase the images that seemed to be seared into her eyelids.

“You can turn around now, Anna,” Elsa said, seemingly unaware of Anna’s mistake.  Anna took a deep breath and returned to the fire.  She glanced at her watch, and couldn’t believe it was already nearing midnight.  She tossed Elsa a protein bar and ripped open one for Sarge as well.  Elsa observed it a moment, before delicately opening the packaging.

“So, I’ve only got one sleeping bag, because, well, obviously I’m only one person.  And you know, I didn’t really think I’d need two.  So uhm,” Anna’s face flushed but her heart skipped a beat when Elsa’s melodic laughter flowed through her ears.  Oh, man, I want to hear more of that.

“Do you always ramble?” Elsa questioned, her eyes lidded as a yawn tumbled out from between her lips, which had grown darker as she warmed up.  Anna grumbled beneath her breath as she began to busy herself with taking apart her braids.

“Yeah, I tend to do it because I don’t like silence.  And, well, when I’m ner- anyway,” Anna quickly caught herself as she raked her fingers through her thick red locks.  “You take the sleeping bag and I’ll just cuddle Sarge.  He gives off enough heat to warm an RV,” Anna commented.  Another ripple of laughter from Elsa and Anna watched as a brilliant smile stuck on the pale woman’s face.  Elsa ran a hand through her tangled platinum hair, wincing as it caught on some snarls.  She sighed.

“I must look like an absolute wreck right now,” Elsa said.  Anna scoffed, earning a puzzled look.  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I obviously don’t know you, but I doubt there’s any way you could look terrible.  Even covered in mud, you still have the appearance of royalty,” Anna blurted and mentally slapped herself.  She felt the blush spread down her entire neck as she avoided meeting Elsa’s gaze.  Anna rose to her feet and tossed the sleeping bag over to the other woman.  She snapped her fingers and Sarge trotted over.

“Anyway, we should get some rest.  It’s been quite the day,” Anna said, settling against her beloved companion.  She could feel Elsa’s eyes on her as she buried her face in Sarge’s fur.

“Goodnight, Anna,” Elsa’s voice floated across the small space.  Anna’s mind took quite a while to shut off as it was playing the day’s events on a running loop.  When she finally toppled off the cliff of consciousness, she didn’t move for hours.

Anna was unsure of what had dragged her from the depths of sleep as she stirred, rolling over onto her back and prying her eyes open.  She blinked a few times, trying to remember where she was as she stared at the dull colored roof above her that shone with the reflection of early morning sun.  She spotted a few stalactites and her memories of the previous night flooded back.  With a groan she sat up, wincing from a spike of pain in her lower back.  A soft weight settled in her lap and she glanced down, noticing the sleeping bag that covered her thighs.  She stood, rolling up the bag and stuffing it in her pack.  As she straightened and stretched her limbs, she took a gander around the cave.  Anna was a bit surprised to see Elsa and Sarge huddled near the entrance.  Elsa’s head turned, catching Anna’s eye.

“Morning,” she said, flashing Anna a heart-stopping smile.  Anna’s lips twitched and she gave a small wave as she walked toward her.  Sarge turned around as well and leapt at Anna as she approached.  She laughed, nearly toppling over.  She gave the dog a hug as she settled down beside Elsa.

“Morning, you two.  You seem to be getting along with Sarge,” Anna commented, as the Saint Bernard flopped down on the other side of Elsa, who hummed, scratching beneath his chin.

“I’ve never really been much of an animal person,” she said.  Called it.  “But this guy has a calming aura.”  Anna grinned at her.

“Yeah, that’s why I brought him home with me.  He’s my rock.” A comfortable silence fell over the trio as they both turned to gaze out into the dawn filled forest.  The ground was still wet from the storm and there was evidence everywhere; from the broken tree branches to the puddles of water that were scattered along the forest floor.  Sun shone through the trees, flushing the forest with hues of orange, yellow, and a soft blue tint.

“Alright, let’s head toward my cabin so we can get cleaned up.  Then I’ll take you to your vehicle,” Anna said, climbing to her feet and extending a hand toward Elsa.  With a quick tug at the snarled mess of her blonde locks, Elsa nodded in agreement and accepted Anna’s hand.

_____________________________

A few hours later, the three were piled in Anna’s jeep as they headed to where Elsa had left her own vehicle.  They were both freshly showered and sated with a breakfast that Anna had insisted on making.  As they rounded a corner and pulled into the lot where Elsa’s car sat, they got out and Sarge ran circles around them, barking excitedly.

The two women watched him in silence for a few moments.  Anna’s mind ran rampant with thoughts until finally Elsa turned to face the shorter woman.

“I’d like to thank you once again for helping me.  I’d probably still be stuck at the bottom of that ravine had you not come along,” she said, flashing Anna a dazzling smile. Anna felt her face warm as she nervously ran a hand through her red hair, which currently rested against her chest.

“Y-yeah no problem!  I-I mean it wasn’t any trouble at all!” Anna stammered out.  She could feel her palms sweating as she paused, trying to work up the courage to ask the question on her mind.  Sarge came bounding up, running into the back of Anna’s knees, causing her to stumble forward.    She squeaked as she fell, only to be caught by Elsa’s surprisingly strong arms.  Anna felt her heart pummel her ribcage as she stared into those sapphire eyes.  There was another nudge in her side from Sarge’s muzzle, as if sending her encouragement.  Anna swallowed, casting her gaze downward as she stepped back a bit.

“So, I was wondering.  You know how you said you’d like to learn to appreciate nature and try to relax, but you just couldn’t seem to get it right?” Anna said quietly, rubbing an arm.  Elsa tilted her head as she peered at Anna curiously.

“Yes.  I couldn’t crack that code,” she replied.  Anna nodded.

“Well, I was thinking that maybe we could hang out and, you know, get to know each other a bit?  And, maybe, the next time I come out here I’d invite you and… I could show you some things that work for me and…” Anna’s voice trailed off.

“Hmmm.  Well, I suppose I never properly thanked you for coming to my rescue.  So, how about I buy you dinner and we’ll see where that leads us?” Elsa offered with a grin.  Anna’s eyes shot up to meet Elsa’s once more.  She felt her own lips curled upward in a returning smile.

“I’d like that,” Anna said.  A bark sounded from Sarge, as if agreeing with them.  The women laughed as they kneeled to pet the large canine.  A single thought ran through Anna’s mind as she buried her hands in Sarge’s thick fur: What are the chances?

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Before you read: This is a short-ish snippet from Veratrum K’Ron’s POV, and happens about 1000 years before the events of Firebreathers. It’s probably going to be an interlude chapter between parts of the book, though this isn’t the whole thing. I just wanted to share it, since I’m proud of this piece, and hopefully you guys like it, too!!

Content warning for death. Let me know if any other warnings apply, too!

--

Tieling stands at the Godwood altar, back as straight as his hair, gazing over the city below as only a born leader could, his expression as stoic and blank as stone. Arthur stands beside me, to Tieling’s right, hand resting gently on the rim of his shield, tapping the plated surface incessantly, stage fright radiating off of him in waves. They’re both young - too young to be crowned, as Tieling is about to be. A few years ago, I would have even said they were too young to be on such public display, in front of a crowd of tens of thousands.

Then again, a few years ago, I thought the magic flowing through my veins would have been gone by now.

Tieling’s aides pour his commissioned potion into three wooden goblets on the altar, then hand each of us one. With a nod from their new king, they step away. He takes a deep breath, and for the first time today, I sense an anxiety about the boy. A tense, fearful silence.

He downs the potion quickly - there is not much to drink - and gestures surreptitiously for Arthur and I to drink as well. I take it like a shot, swirling the coppery - bloody - taste in my mouth for an instant before swallowing the disgusting mixture.

Arthur is slow to reach for it. As his lips graze the edge of the goblet, he lets out a pained gasp. I think little of it, for a moment, but the gasp quickly becomes a scream, and more join him, and soon, there is too much noise for me to think.

I fall to my knees, cursing, gripping my ears, trying to halt the cacophony. My skull - no, my brain feels like it’s splitting, like an axe has been buried to the handle in my head. The screams of agony start wailing up from the crowd, children’s screeches piercing through the muffling of my palms. The tree beneath me begins to shake, the Life wailing in hellish notes through my bones, and swathes of broken, brittle wood come pouring down on us, splinters shattering against my head, and all I can think is I’m going to die here.

Tieling Evergreen, you snake-tongued bastard, I’ll take you with me.

As the screams closest to us fade, I’m able to open my eyes slightly, and everything I see is bathed in the furious heat of rage. The unholy prince is the first thing I see, panicked, pouring the last potion down Arthur’s throat, desperation clear as day on his usually calm face.

Through gritted teeth and the worst pain of my life, I rise as well as I can - one knee still firm on the ground, one foot bracing, ready to launch me across the room at this devilish child - and relinquish my grip on my right ear, reaching for a spear one of the guards dropped.

“What... Have you... done?” I can barely hear my own voice, though my throat sears in a pain that tells me I’m screaming harder than I did when birthing my child.

Tieling looks up, eyes wide and full of terror, his rosy skin now as pale as paper and marble and bone and somewhere deep, behind the rage, beneath the fear, at the very core of my being, I know he did not mean to do this.

The excruciating screams down below start dying off as the realization hits, but the tree around us is creaking, dust still raining down on our backs, and further in, a large portion of the ceiling falls. In the seconds it takes me to gain my balance, Tieling has found his feet again, and has started to drag Arthur’s barely-conscious form towards the opening beyond the altar.

He is weak, and as much as I wish to leave him here, beneath the collapsing Godwood, Arthur does not deserve that fate. And he would be devastated if Tieling were left behind.

I leap across the room, grabbing Tieling around the waist in a tackle, and shove him towards the opening. The shock on his face as he stumbles back over the sheer drop is satisfying, for the moment I see it before I turn back to Arthur.

He’s heavier, of course, and wearing thick plated armor. It’s all I can do to heave him over the edge, too, in the hopes that Tieling’s senses have come back to him in time to catch the boy.

I cast one last glance back into the chamber, into the tree, taking note of the corpses that have gone from living, breathing people to decaying skeletons in the last - how long? Minute? It had to be more, it had to be.

It wasn’t.

I take a running leap out into the open air below, and as I fall, I reach for the Life that should be all around - and I find nothing. None of the vines that would have swarmed to my aid, no grasping branches of the trees that would have responded to my call - there is a void around me unlike anything I have ever experienced. There is nothing left to catch me as I fall.

Am I truly to die among the Godtrees, away from my home, away from my people?

I was promised eternity, and this is what I get instead? Betrayal, pain, death - the corpses of my kin strewn everywhere. Every living thing in sight, my Magic, gone.

He said he would stop it.

Tieling Evergreen, I will be wringing your ichor from my hair when I’m done with you.

The silent oath is punctuated by the sudden howling of wind around me, as the boy calls on his Magic - he traded mine to keep his, didn’t he? - too late to catch me.

I land flat-footed on the roof of what was once a guild hall, momentum sending me into a somersault as the bones in my ankle snap and my shoulder hits the shingles with a crunch and I lose consciousness when my back hits the ground below, a final curse on Tieling dying on my lips.

I don’t see the guiding hand of Libin waiting in the darkness. Luma does not shine a gentle light upon my soul. Not even Erra, to whom I have dedicated my very existence, seems to want to help me, for her children do not rise from the soil to bring me home.

Instead, when I open my eyes next, I’m greeted with the sight of the Godtree branch nearest to me crumbling.

I don’t stop to think, to care, about the fact I just landed on my spine, that I dislocated a shoulder, that my ankles can’t carry my weight - I roll to my feet and run. It’s not until minutes later, when Tieling finds me, Arthur hanging from his arm like a child, that I realise I’ve somehow healed from my fall.

When Tieling extends his other hand, I stare at it, and the baby fat that keeps it fleshy still, and the flecks of gold that remain from the potion he forced into Arthur. And I understand.

His face is covered in sawdust and sweat and soot and the paths of tears that still stream from his eyes as he begs me to come with him, to get away. His face, that’s still round with youth and pale with fear.

And a new rage blossoms, one which I cannot ignore, and which will be sated with blood, when the time comes.

“Which one?” My voice rasps with the stick of a dry mouth, and the boy’s confusion grows.

“What? I - please, Queen K’Ron, we need to get to safety.” His voice cracks.

I take his hand. Let him summon the Wind, and whisk us to the cover of the Godtrees that still live. To the outskirts of the city that now burns and collapses and rots in front of our eyes.

We three stand silent, staring, for what feels like hours as Fahrial falls.

Arthur vomits, when the realization hits him. Tieling turns away, tries to leave. Falls to his knees and starts sobbing after a few steps.

I cannot rip my eyes from the destruction. Buildings burn, smoke billowing out from beneath the gargantuan husks of what once were Godwood branches. On the edges of the once-great city, charred bones still reach out from the wave of debris that was unleashed when the tree collapsed. Reach towards us, grasping, frozen in their finite desperation.

At the center of it all, the hollow, rotten bark of the Godtree stands tall and jagged and dead. A single, smoldering shell standing among it’s eternal kin.

Arthur is still heaving, though nothing remains to expel. Tieling has fallen silent, but for his choking breaths. I continue to watch the smoke, even as it begins to die.

The last embers slip away as the evening sun begins to turn golden. As Arthur curls into a ball, holding himself by the knees. As Tieling starts calming himself down.

As I find my voice, finally.

“Which one chose you, Tieling?”

His voice is fragile and hesitant. “Those of Nimia have no names.”

“Do you know her face?” I turn away, at last.

“Yes.” He watches me, eyes hollow, as I step up to Arthur. Knits his brows, when I take the knight’s shield and sword from where they lay beside him. “Why?”

“We will find the nearest town, and bring news of this tragedy. Send a portion of their guard to search for survivors. Recover as much of our wits as possible.” I tighten the shield to my arm with a tug.

”And then you will take me to Nimia, and show me the abomination who chose a child to be the Savior.”