#then before his feathers could grow back he was attacked by that dog and lost his tail and lots of his back feathers

[superfluffychickens]

Please look at my big shiny son. Behold him!

[icyowl]

Hawks’s wings have a mind of their own (headcanons)

A/N: some slight suggestive themes, so don’t like read this to your parents or anything.

You were about to step off a curb right into the path of a cyclist and suddenly you were mom-armed back onto the sidewalk. It was a powerful force that almost had you tripping back onto your butt. He was standing next to you with a smirk, so you thought this was his cheeky way of keeping you safe.

Internally though, this man is screaming. What the hell was that? This has never happened before with his other girlfriends. It wasn’t hero instinct either -- his wing had yanked him to you.

He gets flustered the next time. 

Once is a fluke, but twice is a pattern.

You hadn’t seen the old glass mason jar come off the top shelf along with whatever you were reaching for until it was heading straight down to your face. There was nothing to do other than brace for a painful impact. You were surprised at the large gust of wind and a deafening shatter of glass. Hawk’s wing had narrowly missed your head and full on backhanded that mason jar across the room. Wasn’t his fault the glass shattered when it hit the wall, but he did offer to clean it up.

Even his feathers will detach from their home and come to your aid. Can’t reach something? They’ve already scooped it up and are offering it to you. About to trip over a pair of shoes that got left out? They’re pushing them out of the way. Something’s heavy? Well now they’re carrying it for you.

Yes, they do unconsciously cover you from rain if you’re both caught outside. It’s cliche but damn if it doesn’t make your heart all big and mushy.

Weeks later it was snowing and the two of you were walking in a park because you insisted on seeing the beautiful new scenery. Even with all the clothes, gusts of wind burst through your layers and made you shiver a little. It wasn’t that bad, but suddenly there was one of his wings coming to your rescue. Not only did it wrap carefully around your waist, but his alula arced over your head so you weren’t just getting hugged, you were being surrounded by fuzz and fluff.

Hawks was looking ahead and hadn’t stopped talking, so it was clear he hadn’t realized what he’d done. It wasn’t until you carefully grabbed one of his primary feathers to further bring his wing around you that he broke consciousness and saw what was happening. Christ, he thought, I have to talk to someone about this.

He finally decided to share his findings with you when a particularly heavy makeout session gave his wings enough control to ever-so-carefully slip under your shirt before stiffening and -- rriiippp -- sending the shredded remains to the floor and causing you to cover yourself in utter surprise. Again, his wings had never done that before.

‘The talk’ has nothing to do with changing bodies or how to avoid pregnancy. No, this talk with Hawks involves him sitting you down and haphazardly trying to explain to you that his wings just do stuff when you’re around. He tried to get help from other animal-based quirk users after the day it snowed, and they all said they had experienced the same things: animalistic appendages moving on their own, instincts becoming overwhelmingly powerful for people they hold dear, even making strange noises during times of excitement for that special someone.

It can get embarrassing when others are around because he’s got a persona to maintain and now he can’t control his own limbs so what does that say about his abilities? Someone makes a joke that hits you the wrong way at a gala and suddenly a wing has placed itself in front of you and is pushing you back behind your date. Hawks’s wing had tried to place you under his protection by all but pinning you to his spine. People began to stare when they realized the almighty Hawks had subconsciously tried to protect your honor. That one had been fun to try and explain away.

Someone tried to attack Hawks and you out of the blue one day and triggered both his predatory and protective instincts. A wing lashed out and shoved you back and out of harm's reach. The force was powerful enough to make you fall and almost hit your head. Meanwhile Hawks had become an entirely different creature than the carefree one you had grown too accustomed to.

Now, Hawks isn’t a big guy. He’s average height and got a slim build. However, the sudden intensity of his presence was frightening and growing more powerful by the second as he all but stalked the man who had tried to come after you. Hawks was now an apex hunter cornering his prey with his animalistic gaze alone. Wings came up to make him larger than his opponent, furthering his status as a high ranking animal and crowning him king over his opponent.

Hawks didn’t speak -- he might have even lost the ability to -- and that made him even scarier. Instead he growled deep and powerful with a timber only a beast could perform. This wasn’t a person anymore.

Unbeknownst to you or Hawks, his eyes had constricted to onyx specs hooded by eyelids lowered in powerful contempt for the insufferable cretin that had dared harm his mate in such an underhanded method. At least face him head on like someone of power would do.

You could only see Hawks from the back, but he was still unsettling to watch. You’d never want to be frightened of him, but this was so unexpected.

It was only your scream that brought Hawks out of his hunt. It hadn’t occurred to you during the commotion that the assailant would have a compatriot. You were being dragged away for only a couple of feet before Hawks registered the threat and all but lunged at the woman who had the audacity to lay a hand on you.

Hawks came at you in one movement, so swift and violent you closed your eyes. A gust of wind disturbed your hair, and a weight settled gently over you. For all his ferocity, Hawks stopped on a dime over top of you, hunched low to the ground and incinerating the female attacker with just his eyes.

You weren’t scared now. Sure, Hawks was something entirely different right now, but the way he covered you and kept you close to the ground with his body could only be an action of protection. He had one knee and one foot on either side of your waist, with one hand planted firmly on the ground right next to your head and the other wielding a primary feather as a blade.

His wings fanned out to their maximum reach and skimmed the ground. They were covering any possible blind spots Hawks might have whilst protecting your sight from seeing any lethal damage their owner might cause in the next few seconds. Time slowed enough for one wing to lean down and barely brush your hand in a show of comfort. It was trying to convey to you that you were safe now, and wanted to see if you were okay. Hawks’s wings were sensitive enough to gauge the wellbeing of a person based on a second of contact, and you knew that was what he was unconsciously doing now.

Seeing their odds of success diminishing by the second, the two assailants took off with screams of apology thrown over their shoulders.

There was a pause while Hawks regained his mental acuity and composure. He slowly lowered his head onto your own and breathed in deeply. It was a deeply compassionate action that contrasted sharply with the man of instinct that had pinned you under him only a couple of seconds ago. “You’re okay?”

You were still too jarred to do much other than nod and hum an approval. “Thank you.”

It took him some time to convince himself the threats were gone and to get off of you.

You had a nightmare that same night. Hawks was still waking up when his wings pulled you over to him. You couldn’t remember much of the dream, but it must have been a bad one; you felt fine, but tears were clearly running down your face. Again his wing was there, gentler than a lamb as it wiped the paths of water from your cheeks and dried the corners of your eyes.

The next time you do the dirty, it becomes surprisingly intimate. He totally caught you off guard when his wings wrapped around him to slip under your body and basically hug you to him while you guys are getting down to business. You knew him well enough to see the uncertainty in his face: he’d never felt this way before, or done things like this. This part of him had never been this powerful before and it made him nervous. What if he was changing? What if he was losing himself?

His canines had grown and sharpened so talking was really difficult. All you had to go off of were his eyes of wariness and a hint of shame. For Christ’s sake, he couldn't even speak to you right now. What did that say of him? Hawks felt nothing like himself right now and it was quite unsettling.

The best and only thing you could think of to prove to him was to show that you accepted all of him, even the parts of him he tried not to show or didn’t understand. You manifested that affection in your mouth, and touched it gently to his own. That night was spent cocooned in his rumbling, chesty calls and easing him through the bouts of potent instinctual desire that almost consumed him. He didn’t want to hurt you, and he was worried he would cause you harm with all this emotion and intensity crashing through his blood. Your presence and comforting words helped him keep the worst of it at bay and work through it. After that night you achieved a closeness few could imagine.

If you’re ever in a combat situation, Hawks likes to put you between him and a wall and use his wings to stretch back and cage you in, in a sort of triangle of protection. He knows you’re not weak or anything, he knows that… but he can’t help himself.

You talk to his wings as if Hawks isn’t there. It’s a whole thing. He can’t meet your eyes ‘cause it's cute and he’s not supposed to enjoy it this much so he’s trying not to react. Thankfully you only do these kinds of antics in private. When you coo and gush over them they puff out without warning and rub into you like an overzealous dog.

--------

As a fellow birb I sympathize with this man. It’s okay to like shiny objects Hawks, no one will judge you.

[staticscreenwriting]

Love like the movies // Bucky Barnes

One - When Harry met Sally 

Synopsis: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. Growing  up, Bucky had not a doubt in his mind that his undeniable charm and his gorgeous smile would one day help him find the one. Now he realizes there’s so much more to romancing women, especially those from the 21st century. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is not a love story. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for EP1 of TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“ Now in the movies they make it look so perfect And in the background they're always playing the right song And in the ending there's always a resolution But real life is more than just two hours long “

Some Avett Brothers song sounds from the little radio that sits on the corner of the counter. Thick drops of rain pearl against the window, racing each other down the glass before meeting up eventually and becoming one with each other. 

(Y/N) refills the last of the mustard bottles, setting it on the counter next to the others. It’s a quiet night at the diner. The kitchen’s been closed for an hour now and usually, that’s when people stop coming in. While the Little Blue Diner is known for their hot dogs and burgers, neither their coffee nor their cold sandwiches are gonna win any prizes any time soon. 

And yet …

Sure enough, as her eyes lift towards the figure slouched down in the corner booth, his gloved hand is already outstretched, signaling his desire for yet another refill.

A mixture between a chuckle and a scoff tumbles from her lips at the thought of him wanting more of the slightly burned liquid. If there’s one thing (Y/N) can admit to being bad at, it’s brewing coffee. Where there should be a rich brown color, hers usually ends up with an inky black hue and instead of leaving a hint of warm caramelization on your tongue hers just tastes bitter. It doesn’t seem to face the man in the corner though. Not even a little bit. To say this worries her is a bit of an understatement. No one in their right mind would take 7 refills of her witch's brew.

“ You okay, my dude ? “ (Y/N) inquires as she steps up to his table, coffee pot in hand. 

The man doesn’t look up at her. He doesn’t have to. She’s acutely aware of the character currently occupying the corner booth. It’s a face she knows like the back of her hand. One that’s been staring at her from books and documentaries, one she’s been greeted by every time her dad took her with him to the Smithsonian. Though they do not dare look up at her, she’s so awfully familiar with the bright blue shade of his eyes, he might as well be a long-time friend. 

“ I’m fine. “ 

Of all the lies in the world, “I’m fine” must be the most unbelievable one and yet the one told most often. No one who’s actually fine ever says those words. Those two words are reserved for the lonely and broken only. It’s like getting “I’m not fine at all” tattooed across your goddamn forehead. 

“ Sure you are, that’s why you’re having the 7th refill of my god awful coffee. “ 

“ ‘s not that bad. “ 

“ Sure, if you’re into licking charcoal it’s probably not that bad. “

It’s just a split of a second, a fraction of a moment, but (Y/N) is sure she can see the corner of his lips lifting slightly. It falls back into the stoic scowl immediately but it was there. For a teeny tiny moment, there was the shadow of a smirk on his face and that’s a success in her book. 

“ Either way, here’s how we’re gonna do this. I’ll give you one last refill, after that, I’m cutting you off, my friend. I know I’m a waitress and it’s my job to bring you what you want but I do not fancy watching you suffer a caffeine-induced heart attack in this very diner. I am not equipped to handle a situation like that and quite honestly they don’t pay me enough to deal with that either. “ 

His eyes are still trained on the scratched-up white linoleum table but ever so faintly he nods his head in silent agreement. 

As promised, she pours him one last cup of coffee. A brew so dark it could rival the bubbling goo of a tar pit. 

“ Enjoy your last cup of the night, Mr. Barnes. “ 

It’s then, as she’s just about to walk back behind the counter, as those words leave her lips, that he looks up for the first time since he’s walked in. 

His eyes are the exact shade of blue she’s so familiar with but there’s something else about them. An infinite sadness haunts every spec of blue. Where she thought there would be a sparkle of adventure, a hint of mischief, there is just loneliness. This is not the man she’s read about in museums, heard about in stories. This man right here is completely and utterly lost.

“ I - I uh — “ 

He clears his throat, once, twice, then nervously brushes his hand across his face. 

“ I can go if you don’t want me here. “ 

“ Huh? “ 

“ I asked if you want me to leave. “ 

As those words escape him, his eyes seem to grow even more devastated. They glimmer with memories of a time long gone and a future uncertain. Shine with hurt and fear. 

“ Why would I ask you to leave? “ 

Bucky shrugs his shoulders in a way to make it look nonchalantly. It’s hard to seem casual though when you seem to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. 

“ People who recognize me usually aren’t so keen on having me around. I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m uh — I’m not people’s favorite person. “ 

It’s a sad thought, (Y/N) realizes, to be constantly bound to a past that is yours but never really belongs to you. To be forever linked with the horrible actions of a version of yourself you had no control over. And no matter how hard you try to set it all right and to repent for your wrongdoings, to some people it will never be enough.

“ No, you don’t have to leave, “ (Y/N) reassures before sliding into the booth opposite him. “ I don’t know you because of — because of what happened. I know you first and foremost as Sergeant Barnes, former officer of the 107th Infantry Regiment, part of the Howling Commandos, and best friend and brother to Steve Rogers. Everything else that’s — none of my business really. “ 

Bucky lifts his eyes off of the table again and while the sadness is still there, something else lingers for a moment. Curiosity, intrigue maybe, or just relief. 

“ Wow. Didn’t think I’d run into someone reciting my life to me. Huh. “ 

“ My dad used to be a curator at the Smithsonian. He was in charge of the Captain America exhibition. I’ve seen your face a million times, visiting him at work. I gotta say though, you look way more approachable and friendly on the picture they put up. “ 

This time, it’s more than a fleeting moment, this time she’s sure about it, this time he lets out an actual chuckle. 

“ I was a lot younger then, okay? Cut an old man some slack. “ 

“ Oh, you pulling the old man card now? “ 

“ Is it working? “ he asks, eyebrows raised in question. 

“ Not really. “ 

“ Ah, what a shame.” 

Silence settles upon them again like a thick duvet filled with feathers, it’s not uncomfortable but it’s smothering anyway.

“ Do you wanna talk about it? Your sour mood, I mean.” 

Bucky shrugs again “I have a therapist.” 

“ Does she make you draw your feelings? “ 

He smiles again at that question. His smile, (Y/N) thinks, ain’t the worst thing she’s ever seen. She wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“ No. Why? “ 

“ Mine did. She stopped pretty quickly though, I guess my drawings were too detailed and gory for her.” 

“ Huh. “ 

“ Mmmh.” 

After another sip of coffee, one he takes without grimacing, without showing any sign of disgust for the burnt brew, Bucky speaks up again.

“ Mine thinks I’m lying to her. “ 

“ Are you ?” 

“ Well yeah, but she doesn’t need to know that.” 

“ Maybe telling her the truth would help you. “ (Y/N) suggests only to be met with a determined head shake No from Bucky. 

The notification sound of a phone pulls them from their conversation and at the sight of the name on the display, Bucky lets an “oh shit” slip from his lips.

“ Don’t you sound excited about getting texts from your friends, “ (Y/N) jokes

“ I had a date last night. That’s her. “ 

“ Since she’s texting you I assume it went well. “ 

Bucky grimaces at her words, slightly shaking his head in disagreement.

“ No? “ 

“ I mean, I had fun and it went well — at first. She’s really sweet. But then we started talking and I may have run. “ 

“ Ran where? “ 

“ Away. “ 

“ Away as in you left. “ 

“ Mm-mmh” 

“ Just like that? “ 

“ Yup. “ 

“ Why? “ 

He throws up his arms in frustration and shakes his head again as if to gather all his thoughts and rattle them neatly back into place. 

“ I don’t know, okay? I haven’t been on a date since the 1940s. Everything I know about women and dating and romance seems antiquated. I’m overwhelmed and confused and I just don’t wanna do anything wrong.” 

“ Dude, you ran from your date without any explanation. How much worse could you have handled it? “ 

“ Yeah well, hindsight is 20/20. “ 

While his words try to sound light and nonchalant, his shoulders tense and his whole demeanor seems to shift back into the gloomy state he’s been in since he entered the diner. Like a big cloud that’s following him around, casting shadows at all times and hardly allowing any light to shine through.

“ Look, I don’t think any of us know what the heck we’re doing half the time. Like, trust me I know what I’m talking about. Online dating means I have to choose between men who think posing with a dead fish will make me want to sleep with them, men who think knowing obscure Star Wars facts can replace having an actual personality, and men who send me pictures of their … privates without me ever giving any indication of wanting to see those. So yeah — dating can really s - be frustrating. “ 

Bucky regards her for a second, the right corner of his lips pulled into a lazy lopsided smirk.

“ Did you just censor yourself because you don’t wanna swear around me ?” 

“ Maybe, but that’s beside the point. The point is, we’re all just human and in the end, we’re all just looking for someone to like us the way we are, all quirks and issues and baggage included. I know women might seem intimidating but really all we want is to be loved and appreciated. And not the over-the-top build-you-a-house, the notebook kind of love. More like the Harry and Sally kind.“ 

(Y/N) can almost see the gears working inside Bucky’s brain, the desperate attempt to make any sense of all the words and phrases she’s just thrown at him. A jumbled mess of pop culture references swirls through his head like a swarm of bees, chaotic and messy. 

“ I have no idea what you just said. “ 

“ When Harry met Sally? “

Bucky just shrugs and shakes his head.

“ You’ve never seen it? “ 

“ I’ve been a bit preoccupied with being blipped away into oblivion for the last 5 years. So I haven’t really had the time to get into movies yet. “ 

This time it’s the gears in her own head that start turning. 

“ What are you doing Friday night ? “ she asks, biting her lip in nervous anticipation.

“ I — I don’t know. “ 

That’s a bit of a lie, really. He does know. It’s the same thing he does pretty much every other day. He gets some takeout, brings it home, sits down in front of the tv, tries to get lost in whatever show they put on, fails at doing so, reads a few pages of a book, lays down to sleep, and then wakes up a little while later to yet another nightmare, tangled up in sweaty sheets, heart racing. 

(Y/N) doesn’t need to know any of that though. He doesn’t tell his therapist so why would he tell a random stranger.

“ Well, don’t make any plans. We’re gonna kill 2 birds with 1 stone. “ 

“ We are? “ 

“ Yeah. Trust me on this one. “ 

“ I don’t even know you. “ 

“ Sure you do. “ (Y/N) says and taps the tag pinned to her baby blue polo shirt with the diner’s logo on the back.  “ I’m the one who serves you just enough coffee to keep you happy but not have you die a painful and honestly mildly embarrassing death. “ 

Every part of him screams at him to say no. To stay away from her the way he does from most other people, even Sam. To get up and get out and not cause any more damage than he already has in other people’s life. But then he remembers his therapist's words, he remembers Leah’s face full of confusion and disappointment, he remembers the empty feeling in his chest. That feeling of pure and utter loneliness. 

“ Alright, Friday works for me, (Y/N). “ 

“ Perfect, Bucky. “ 

“ Bring a jacket. “ 

The address and “Bring a jacket” that’s all she’s texted him. No explanation, no plan, nothing. 

Bucks leans against the streetlamp, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. Anxiety is washing through his system like tidal waves on a stormy ocean. This whole being spontaneous thing was much easier back in the 40s. When his shoulders weren’t so heavy with guilt. When he didn’t have to constantly face the consequences of his actions. Consequences of a past he can never quite outrun no matter how far he goes and how hard he tries. 

Maybe this is good, he has to remind himself. Getting out of his comfort zone, if that even exists for him. Opening himself up to new opportunities. Maybe even make a friend. (Y/N) seem nice enough, if a bit peculiar. 

His shrink would be proud of him. Getting out there, talking to people, being approachable. This must for sure earn him some kind of gold star equivalent in her notebook. 

“ Hey there, Mr. Grumpyface. “ 

(Y/N)'s voice cuts through the chilly New York night like headlights through thick fog. She strolls towards him, lips pulled into a big bright smile. Leading up to tonight he’s spent quite a lot of time wondering if this is some kind of project for her, if maybe she sees him as a sort of charity case. Something to earn her karma points. It wouldn’t be the first time. But the genuine joy radiating from her face lets those worries melt away instantly. 

Maybe, Bucky thinks, she really just thinks he’ll make a good friend. And maybe he can. 

“ Hi, (Y/N). “

“ You brought a jacket” she points out, pinching the black leather between her fingers. Her nails are painted in various shades of red, each finger a different hue. 

“ I did. You told me to. “

“ And you listened! “ 

“ Why wouldn’t I ? “ Bucky inquires, a look of confusion settling on his face.

“ You wouldn’t believe how many men think wearing a jacket when it’s cold out somehow clashes with their need to demonstrate their masculinity. “ 

“ Wow. “ he exclaims.

“ Yeah. So anyway, you ready to go up? “ 

She nods her head towards the house across the street. It’s a slim multiple-story brick building with rusty fire escapes. It looks like a residential lot, not much else that could give away (Y/N)’s plan for the rest of the night.

“ Up? “ 

“ Mm-mh. “ (Y/N) nods and motions towards the top of the building. “ to the roof. “ 

“ The roof? You’re not planning to push me off or anything, right? I don’t usually spend time with strangers on rooftops. “ he tells her, a smirk lifting the sides of his lips.

She grants him a smile in return. One of those that you try so hard to suppress but despite your best efforts they find their way onto your face anyway. Because some smiles demand to be smiled. And her smile is pretty cute, he thinks, it deserves to be seen. 

“ Foiled again, damn Bucky. I’m a waitress with a useless degree in literature and creative writing but assassinating you was exactly what I had planned for tonight. Couldn’t let me have that one, huh? “ 

“ Sorry to spoil all the fun. “ 

She softly bumps her shoulder against his right side as she passes him and crosses the street. Her red skirt flutters around her knees like a ribbon of fire, bright and warm and —

“ You coming, grumpy ?” 

“ Yeah uh — yeah sure. “ 

The walk upstairs is filled with chatter from her and nodding from Bucky. It’s been like this most of the time since — well since he’s really back. Other people usually do the talking and Bucky listens. It works most of the time. Works with Yori. Sometimes though, sometimes it doesn’t. He can see people getting frustrated with him. Hell his own therapist does and she knows the baggage he has to carry around. 

This is different though, (Y/N) doesn’t seem to mind much. She’s a waterfall of words and topics and doesn’t seem to get bored or annoyed with him. It’s nice. 

A heavy iron door swings open as they reach the top of the building and as soon as they step out onto the rooftop balcony they get engulfed in an ocean of lights. They’re strung from one end of the roof to the other and back again. Next to the door, a little makeshift bar is set up, and a guy in a Star Wars shirt hands out beers to people. 

Multicolored deck chairs and beanbags are haphazardly placed across the entire roof, all pointing towards the corner furthest away from the door where a big white sheet hangs spanned between two poles. 

“ Sooo you gonna tell me what we’re doing here? “ Bucky asks again as (Y/N) steers him towards a cluster of chairs in the back. 

“ Some peeps I went to university with, set up movie screenings here every once in a while. I could pull some strings and got to choose the movie. “ 

“ We’re gonna watch a movie? “ 

“ Not just any movie, “ she exclaims and drops down onto one of the plastic deck chairs that looks like it used to be bright pink once but is now but a bleached blush colour from being exposed to the sun too much. “ We’re watching when Harry met Sally. “ 

Bucky slumps down on the chair next to her, a blue one with white daisy patterns. 

“ Me not knowing this movie really does bother you, huh? “ 

“ It’s a classic, might as well start with this one. And anyway, maybe this can help you get back into the dating game. Ya know, help you understand modern romance. “

“ You think so? “ 

She shrugs and starts fumbling around in her bag, “ I dunno. It might. And if it doesn’t at least you’ll spend your time watching a good movie and get to experience the blessing of my company. Ah-ha! There you go “ 

Her hand reaches out holding a bag of M&Ms.

“ I brought snacks. “ 

More and more people start occupying the chairs and bean bags and a few minutes later a guy steps up in front of the sheet. He’s wearing a shirt with a black and white bird pattern, huge glasses with a brown frame, and jeans that don’t cover his ankles. He’s tall and lanky and his hair is so messy, Bucky wonders if it’s intentional or if he just hasn’t brushed it in a while. 

“ Hi guys, I’m Andrew. For those of you who don’t know me, I live in apartment 2B and I just wanna say thank you for showing up and welcome you to our movie night under the stars. A few days ago we received a special request from one of our good friends and because she let me stay on her couch for several months back during our college days and I still owe her for that I couldn’t reject her request. So thanks to Miss (Y/N) over there in the pink chair you now get to spend the next 90 minutes watching Meg Ryan fall in love with Mike Wazowski. Enjoy. “ 

As he steps away from the sheet, the lights are turned off and the MGM logo pops up on the screen. 

“ Trust me, Bucky. This one’s so good.” (Y/N) assures before throwing some M&Ms into her mouth, now entirely focused on the movie.

It takes a while for Bucky to relax. Being around so many people and not having any fear of what’s lurking around the corner is still very new. Letting go is never as easy as it sounds. Eventually though, his nerves settle down a little and as the movie progresses, he finds himself relaxing more and more. Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Wakanda.

Exactly 46 minutes into the movie, (Y/N) lets her eyes wander to her left where Bucky, until now, sat slumped into his seat. Still perpetually grumpy but more chilled out and relaxed than she’s seen him before. Until now. A moaning Meg Ryan visible making him uncomfortable.

“ You okay, grumpy? “ 

He doesn’t grant her a real answer, just scoffs and rolls his eyes. There’s a smile though, she’s sure. Somewhere hidden there is another smile. 

“ So, what did we learn today? “ 

Bucky looks at (Y/N) who has her arms wrapped tightly around her middle shielding herself from the chilly night air. The movie night has ended a while ago and the two of them are slowly strolling along the New York City streets on the way back to (Y/N)’s apartment. 

“ To take your own advice and dress warmer for a movie night? “ 

(Y/N) chuckles. “ No, grumpy. I meant the movie. “ 

He shrugs at her question. Quite honestly he hasn’t learned anything new. Nothing about the movie seemed in any way revolutionary to him nor does he see any benefit for himself and his dating life going forward. But the way she looks at him right now, expecting something grand not from him really but some beautiful consequences to her ideas, that makes him reconsider. Sure he could tell her that it was just a silly little movie about people falling in love but that would no doubt hurt her, even a tiny little bit. And if there’s anything Bucky has enough of, it’s hurting others. 

“ I guess that men and women really can not be friends. “ 

“ Noooo! No. Is that really what you took from this movie? “ 

“ That’s literally what happened. “ 

“ Okay first of all it works, look at us! We’re friends! Second of all, that’s not what the movie is really about. It’s about love and vulnerability. It’s about overcoming all the tiny things that can work against you and your relationship. Like distance and timing and egotism. It’s about hiding who you are because really opening up to someone, being your authentic true self with all your faults and imperfections, that makes you vulnerable. And being vulnerable is fucking scary. But love is worth it anyway. That’s what the movie is about. “

As Bucky noticed before, some smiles demand to be smiled. They need to be smiled because they’re important and they mean something. The one gracing his face now, that’s one of those. One of those you remember because you feel them all the way in your heart.

“ You think we’re friends? “ 

“ Oh, are we — are we not? “ 

“ No. I — no, we are! I’d like to be friends. “ 

(Y/N) abruptly stops in her tracks, turns towards him, and holds out her hand. “ To friendship.” 

“ We’re shaking hands on it? What is this, a business deal? “ 

“ You know what, yeah now that you mention it that’s pretty lame. “ (Y/N) agrees, balling her hand into a fist “ how about a fist bump, bro? “ 

Bucky reluctantly knocks his right hand against hers before continuing his walk down the street. “You call me bro again I’m canceling the friendship. “ 

“ Alright. Noted. “ 

“ So have you talked to the girl again? “ 

“ Hmm? “ 

“ The one you went on a date with? “ 

“ Oh, Leah. Uh — no.” 

“ Why not? “ 

Bucky throws her a look. One that says “are you kidding me?”. One that says “ you know why.” 

“ Cause I ran out. That’s embarrassing. She’s gonna think I’m insane. She’s never gonna wanna see me again. “ 

“ I sincerely doubt that. You just gotta say sorry. I know in Love Story — that’s a novel and also a movie from the 70s — they say that ‘Love means never having to say you’re sorry but that’s a load of bull. Just say sorry and ask her for a do-over. “ 

“ And then what? We play a rematch of battleships and talk about my trauma? “ 

“ Well, what did you do on dates in the 40s? “ 

That time, his youth, that seems like a different life altogether now. So much happened between then and now and the man he is now, has no relation to the boy he was then. Sometimes looking back hurts, makes it painfully obvious what he’s lost. But sometimes, like tonight, he can feel a hint of fondness coursing through him at the thought of times long gone.

“ Dancing, mostly.” 

“ Like, ballroom dancing? “ 

“ Swing. “ 

“ You swing dance? “ 

“ I did. “ 

(Y/N) regards him through squinted eyes “ really? “ 

“ You don’t believe me? “

“ I don’t know. You don’t strike me as a dancer. “ 

Not a second later, Bucky’s gloved hand grabs onto her’s and twirls her towards him then away from him and back in. 

“ You twirled me! “ 

“ Mm-mh.”

“ I’ve never been twirled. That’s so fun. “ 

It’s like autopilot taking over as Bucky holds onto her, twirling her again then pulling her in and swaying them in a circle. It’s not swing dancing, not even close but there’s no music either, and anyway, his dancing days are over. But sometimes you gotta make a point and if that means slow dancing in the middle of an empty street then that’s that. 

The night wraps them in a blanket of comfort and intimacy as the stars and the New York skyline try to outshine each other. It’s a moment so peaceful, Bucky can’t remember the last time his heart felt so light, his mind felt so at ease, his entire being got to let go and just be alive and in the moment.

And then the shine of headlights rips them from their moment and makes them jump back onto the sidewalk. 

“ Get off the road you fucking morons! “ 

“ Gotta love the big city folk. “ 

“ Yup. “ 

“ Hey, Bucky.” 

“ What? “ 

“ You really can dance.” 

“ Told you. “ 

“ Can I tell you a secret? “ 

“ Sure. “ 

“ I can’t dance for shit. “ 

“ That so? “

“ Yup. Which means you gotta teach me. “ 

“ Absolutely not.” 

“ Oh, 100%! “ 

“ We’ll see about that.” 

There are nights you try to forget. Nights that you wish to never ever remember. Ones that break you. That beat you down and leave you bruised and battered.

Then there are nights like this one that you want to hold onto for just a little bit longer. Those that fill you with joy and an immeasurable thirst for life. The ones that make you feel grateful to be alive right here and now. 

The inevitable end of the night creeps closer as they arrive at (Y/N)’s front door. Neither of them really want to say goodnight but both know there’s no use in delaying it.

“ I hope you didn’t hate the movie too much, “ (Y/N) speaks up, leaning against the front door of her apartment complex.

“ No. It was fun! Although I still don’t know who Mike Wazulsky is. “ 

“ Mike Wazowski, he’s — you know what? That’s a conversation for another time. “ 

“ Alright, if you say so. “ 

“ Thanks for walking me home. “ 

“ Oh, yeah no need to thank me. It’s the right thing to do. “ 

For a moment they just stand and smile, trying to cherish the last few moments of this night. 

“ We should do this more often. “ Bucky suggests, surprising even himself.

“ For sure. I still have so many movies to show you. “ 

“ Can’t wait. “ 

A slight sense of awkwardness falls over them as neither of them knows what to do. Go for a hug? Shakes hands? Wave goodbye? 

“ I uh — I should go. “ 

“ Yeah, of course. Have a good night, Bucky.” 

“ You too, (Y/N).” 

“ Oh and Bucky? “ 

“ Yes? “ 

“ Give Leah a call. “ 

Bucky nods his head before turning around and walking back into the night.

As he takes the way back to his own home, there are only two things on Bucky’s mind: the vulnerability of falling in love and the question of who the hell Mike Wazowski was. 

[merctrovert]

Ragnvindr || Chapter 3

"In the abandoned corridors of my heart, your footsteps still echo late at night.” - d.j

You couldn't help but be reminded of what was as the two of you sat, legs over the wall, watching the night.

The words you had prepared every night, rehearsing to the dark blank walls, until this moment in time, had disintegrated into foam. You remembered nothing you had spent hours pretending to speak to him about.

Seeing him next to you, there for your questioning felt so alien, you had lost everything you wanted to tell him. 

After imagining him in your mind, as who he used to be, now that you were faced with the reality, the images in your mind broke away and revealed the truth.

The truth that no matter when you met him or how you met him, you would never be able to tell him what was truly on your mind. 

"I don’t know what to ask you about." You spoke honestly, quietly.

Diluc had not spoken since he turned around. His mask lay on the ground next to his lap, his face bare.

He looked exhausted. Gone was the youthful, bright gaze in his eyes that you used to admire and treasure.

The man from beside you turned, meeting your gaze and raised a brow.

You turned back, a faint smile on your lips. "But we can stay like this for a little longer. It's been a long time."

Your last words faded into a whisper as you tucked your knees into yourself, resting your chin on your knees.

"I left."

You hummed, watching the moon. His voice had gotten deeper, darkened eyes more forlorn. But both of you had changed in ways you had never expected.

Diluc from beside you shuffled uncomfortably.

"What's with the whole Darknight thing?"

He stared at you as if he thought that was the last thing he'd be questioned about.

"I never thought you'd want to be a hero."

"It's a stupid name, there is no use in empty titles."

Your lips quirked at his comment.

"But the Knights are simply incompetent." His answers were short.

"That was how I knew it was you, you know. Be careful of what you say."

"Only you would know through such limited evidence like that."

"Not Kaeya?"

As if you had presented him with foul food, his eyes dulled, even more, his lips setting back into their line.

You had never been as close with Kaeya, but you were both on good terms. Whenever was possible, Kaeya would come with an arm slung around Diluc and a smile on his face.

But now, their relationship seemed different. You made a note to go see Kaeya too, whether that meant talking to him or not.

"How.. have you been?"

"Alright."

"Are you..." Taking care, was what you wanted to say, but instead frowned, letting your question drag out. It felt strange to be close to him again.

That wall you had felt before was back, an invisible barrier between you two. It felt like you couldn't even check up on him without feeling like a stranger.

"You haven't changed a bit."

You raised a brow at the man who stared back blankly. "You're always pestering me like you're my mother."

Shrugging innocently, you stood up, stretching your legs.

"How is... your family?"

You stopped stretching, lowering your arms. "They're okay. No one got severely hurt except..."

Except for your eldest brother's wife. You heard the news after you arrived back in Mondstadt. Your brother had shielded his wife, but it wasn't enough. She died after a blow to her head with the heavy crates on the carriages and not only that but... she had been with child too. And now your brother never showed his face.

Your heart clenched. You longed for his carefree jokes and laughter. But that was also missing from your life now.

"...?"

You looked down, blinking several times until you realised you had zoned out. Diluc looked up at you after calling your name and you looked away. "Sorry. Everyone's okay."

Silently, he picked himself up, clutching his mask in his hand. "I see. I'm... glad to hear then."

You stared down at your boots, the wind brushing your hair away from your face.

You had so many questions. If he got any of the letters you sent throughout those four years if things really were okay with him. And what had happened... even you didn't know clearly.

But you stayed quiet. You both had only met again after all. There was time.

You raised a hand, catching a stray dandelion in the wind.

"Hey... Diluc."

He turned, hair waving in the wind.

"I still have my questions. But I will wait for whenever you are ready to tell me the answers."

He nodded, following your gaze into the night. "As will I."

The silence was broken by a loud clattering nearly scaring you and Diluc whipped on his mask, immediately peering down.

"What was that?"

"There's been a lot of strange attacks lately." He spoke hurriedly as he dashed over the walls. You kept up, despite your aching legs from the long journey to Mondstadt. "Strange marks are left around... I think it has something to do with the Abyss Mages that keep showing up lately."

"Abyss Mages? Why would the Abyss Order be..." There was a louder crash and the sounds of dogs barking as you both got closer to the noise.

Diluc leapt down from the wall, your heart thudding in fear for him until his midnight gliders ripped open, letting him soar through the rooves of the sleeping city.

You didn't have one yourself, but you managed— clambering down chimneys and jumping across rooves just to follow the shadowy figure.

You had lost him for a second when a bright burst of red and orange came from below. Fire.

Leaping down onto the paths, you ran towards the conflict, shielding your face as a brighter, more powerful gust of fire erupted.

When the flash of flames had settled, you ran towards the spot, waving away the smell of burnt wood. Coughing, you found Diluc standing over a trembling figure, his claymore struck into the ground. Cracks ran through the ground, releasing steam.

"Is everything okay...?"

You shouldn't have shown your face then as Diluc turned, seemingly forgetting you were there. The figure, an Abyss Mage, leapt up, seizing its opportunity to escape.

It dove towards you but after years of training for self-defence in Liyue, your hands seized its neck before it could go anywhere and slammed it down into the ground, narrowly dodging an icy blast.

Diluc stared at you oddly, his claymore raised to hack it down, but you had already slammed the creature back into the ground.

He was still standing still, watching you. "Are you going to do something to it?"

For the first time, Diluc was speechless, lips parting and closing until he quickly regained himself, staring down at the unconscious mage.

"I apologise. I forgot I... had someone with me."

As he bound it tightly in ropes that magic could not penetrate through, Diluc stayed silent, though a frown was on his face. Finally, when he had hung up the Mage in front of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, he turned to you.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"You don't know what I can do now." You sent him a smile but his frown remained.

"I guess you really did change."

"It's been four years. I was a kid."

His frown deepened hearing this, heaving the claymore back onto his back. Something caught his attention as he bent down to assess it.

"Here, see. Marks like these."

Diluc handed you a blue, glowing feather about the size of your thumb and you raised it up, looking at it carefully. Purple incantations rippled around it when you held it, a slight burning sensation growing at the tips of your fingers. You dropped it quickly, watching the words fade.

"They're left every after Abyss attack. I can't help but think the Order is doing something..."

"I think I've seen this before."

"You have?" He stood up straight, turning to you, dark gloved hands holding your shoulders. His voice was filled with urgency.

Patting his hand, you slid out of his grasp, nodding. "The last four years... I've been travelling around. And these purple markings... I saw them once in Snezhnaya. But they weren't left by the Abyss Order. It was the Fatui."

Diluc's fist clenched. "I found these marks scattered across the seven nations. If what you're saying  is true.. but they couldn't have come together... they hate each other." He chuckled, but it was mirthless, ending in what sounded like a snarl. "If the Fatui are with them..."

"You know something don't you? Was it..." Your words were tentative. But his burning eyes were almost an answer already. "It was them that was involved in the attack four years ago wasn't it?"

He looked away. "I spent all this time not once ushering a word about my past. But now I must face it again..." He scoffed, fist clenching. "What a cruel world. If the Fatui are involved also... then this proves to be a bigger problem than I thought it would be."

"You said you went travelled across the seven nations too. Were you... searching for an answer?"

Crepus's death was a stark memory in your mind. It was sudden, so sudden and Diluc had looked at the Delusion as though he had never seen such a thing before.

"The truth..." His voice sounded far away. "I found it. It was a Delusion that killed him. And these counterfeit Visions lied in the hands of the Fatui. If they have the power to do this.. combined with the Abyss Order..."

A Delusion. You were right. Diluc's father had never received a Vision but... just how did he get his hands on a Vision?

"You knew."

You looked up at Diluc, who had noticed your unsurprised reaction. "I overheard one of our fathers' conversations once. I snuck around a lot which also meant I eavesdropped on many things without meaning to, never knowing if they were important or not."

"You didn't tell me."

"You disappeared."

He tilted his head, hiding his face in the shadows. Your eyes dropped down, feeling the heavy silence weigh down on your shoulders. Clearing your throat, you looked back up.

"You don't think they're planning to summon something just as dangerous as what happened four years ago?"

"It's hard to say for sure. But..." Diluc looked up, eyeing the horizon. A slow orange glow dissolved into the dark sky, chasing away the night. "They're planning something for sure."

"You intend to solve this on your own?"

He stayed quiet but you had received your answer. Before you could say anything, he spoke. "I can't let history repeat. It is better off on my own. I have faced things more dangerous than this."

You watched him stand up straight, facing the growing orange glow. The sun was beginning to rise behind him, giving him a halo of blazing fire.

"I know we may as well be strangers by now.” You fist clenched by your side. Thinking it was one thing, admitting it was another. “But I can help you."

"We are walking on too different paths. It would be better not to get involved with me." He leapt up, landing onto a roof, preparing to disappear into the shadows again before the sun had fully crept over the land of Mondstadt.

Why do you push me away, you wanted to ask as you looked up at him, at his silhouette as he turned, facing the sunrise. Was he afraid, you wondered, as you stared at his lone image. The halo of light around him growing brighter.

You were afraid too.

But when your lips opened, you spoke in a tumble of words, afraid he would leave before you had the chance to tell him everything you had ever thought about. 

"I think you'll find, Diluc, that I have been involved with you since the day I decided I'd search for you."

next

word count: 2K

Thank you so much for the support!! Be taking care <3

I haven’t figured out how to do a taglist D: (help is going to be v appreciated :sob) so for now, this is a temporary makeup. 

@fishyfish-y​

[vidalinav]

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 3

Chapter summary: Nesta worms her way into the infirmaries and friendships are started. 

I don't even know what to say right now because you know the state of the U.S. is still up in the air but (shrugs) happy reading I guess! 

Chapter List, Masterlist 

~

“You’re going to catch a cold, if you keep coming here looking like a wet dog,” the Illyrian said, raising a brow. “And I don’t treat animals.”

Nesta merely lifted her head in greeting, not at all concerned with the fiery depths of her glare or the deep, authoritative note of her voice. She’d heard harsher, been harsher than the female in front of her. She’d withstood colder days than this one, too.

“I am here to work.” She repeated and the Illyrian scoffed, rolling her eyes at the phrase she’d heard every day since last. Nesta raised her chin at the challenge.

The Illyrian’s shoulders squared, the brown pelt of fur shifting to reveal a plain shirt tucked into pleats, and Nesta noted the chain around her neck with an emblem to match. The necklace decorated in obsidian beads.  

“I have no job for you here.” 

“Then I’ll wait.” She said, leaning against the tent walls, already prepared with a book in her hand.

The female sniffed and Nesta gripped the book harder. Her knuckles tight against the pages even if she didn’t so much as grimace.

She knew that look. The prideful nonchalance. The I am better than you turn of her lips. Arrogance and conceit. It reminded her of her mother. That stern look that made Nesta remember wanting her room, her door ready to hide her behind its wood, behind the slam of its hinges. Such comforting, familiar anxiety. Nesta wished she had the talent to capture the look, even envied Feyre for her skill to keep memories on canvas and across frames.

Her wings painted the morning in crisp amber veins, and the female seemed to grow taller right before her eyes. Nesta's temper rose to the occasion as she took a step forward.

Her mother always did say her worst trait was that she was stubborn. If Nesta didn’t want the porridge, she wouldn’t eat it, no matter how many times the maids put it in front of her. If she didn’t want to learn to waltz, she would sit on the foyer, crossing her arms, and not even the prospects of extra dessert or the lure of new toys would make her get up from the ground.

Nesta’s father on the other hand had laughed. Her antics reminding him of successful business deals across the sea. This was her best trait, he’d said, because he worked with others less headstrong than her and only, she could come out with an outcome so lucrative. When he had told her this, Nesta had made it a point to be as stubborn as possible.

So, Nesta did not back down even if the female pointedly glared, huffing in annoyance as Nesta refused to leave from her idle threats. She merely walked through the tent flaps, wisps of her dark hair flying behind, untucked from her scarf.

Nesta resumed her position leaning against the green material and began reading once more. Suddenly lost in dreams of ships going out to sea and porridge getting colder.

~

The infirmary was run by an Illyrian named Ira, Nesta learned. She had hailed from Dunravar, on the coast of the Great Sea and moved to Windhaven when her sister had married. And she had always been like that—no nonsense and just a tad crass.

“I was scared of her when I was young.” Emerie spoke. “Her long witchy fingers, the pointed nose. She’d poke and prod at me and I was certain she was feeling how tender I was so she could cook me later.”

Nesta sighed, resting her chin in her palm. “Whether she’s scary or not, I still want to work there.”

But the look Emerie gave her did not fill her with confidence.

Nesta couldn’t say she was either. She had been sitting outside that tent for weeks and she had yet to be invited inside. The last time she did enter, all she heard were yells from the female about minding her own when she’d inadvertently run in on a rather thorough exam of some war-torn soldier. Nesta didn’t have the patience that day to continue waiting outside. 

“Are you still going to the kitchens later?”

She nodded her head, her lips forming a thin line. “Yes, I work in the evenings, now.”

Emerie reached up, dusting the tallest shelf and Nesta couldn’t help but grimace as the flecks of dust sprinkled down on the freshly polished floor.

“And you still have to walk back?” Emerie offered incredulously. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit late for you to work?”

“Why would it be?” Nesta asked, her voice not at all looking for an answer. She’d heard this argument before, and the thought of his voice made her want yell vulgar profanities. So, what if she worked all day? Wasn’t he always complaining that she’d slept all day? Or that she drank all night? It seemed that it didn’t matter what she did, Nesta did everything wrong by his standards, backwards by her sisters’ standards, and thoroughly disgraceful to her sister’s buffoon of friends.

She couldn’t win in any likelihood and so Nesta wouldn’t try. Their approval an impossible task.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of being out at all hours of the night? What if something were to happen to you?”

Nesta snickered, “Like a beast runs out of the forest and eats me.”

“Like a male waits for you to be alone and corners you in some alley.”

Been there, done that, Nesta wanted to say, but she swallowed the remark.

“So, a beast runs out of a tent and eats me? Interesting.”

Emerie jumped down from the chair, stepping towards her as she placed her hands on her hips. The grey feathers still sprinkling dust down and down. Nesta had to resist the urge to kick the trash bin under the brush.

“You should be more careful.” The Illyrian warned sternly. Grumbling as she said, “Why do you even work in the kitchens, it’s not like your obligated to do it?”

Nesta leaned back on the counter, tapping her fingers on the glass.

It was a good question, one Nesta had asked herself many times and one she didn’t think she had the right answer to even now. In the beginning, it had been a moment to get out of the house and in another it was to piss Cassian off, because she’d learned he hated the chores. The obligation of them, and Nesta knew all about obligation. It had been her life for years before it was deemed meaningless women’s work that she shouldn’t be happy to partake in. Not that Nesta ever really did.

“Because one day Lord Devlon had asked why I wasn’t upheld to chores if I lived in this camp and was expected to be treated the same… and Cassian, he had told him I was not like them and I had wondered what he meant by them. By me and... you all. What difference did he see between us?”

“You are not Illyrian.” Emerie stated simply. Suddenly serious and not that female who opened her door and left it wide open the next time, when Nesta pretended she’d lost her gloves. She could see the difference even as Emerie didn’t seem too different before her now. But Nesta could tell.

It was in the eyes, she thought, and Nesta wondered what it all meant to be looked at like that. With bright, furious eyes.

“Does that matter?” She asked lightly.

“It matters to them—to us.” Emerie corrected harshly. “It matters to us because tradition is more important than glory. It is more important than even war though the males are raised to yearn for it and the females to encourage it. Perhaps the males train because that too is a tradition.”

Emerie whipped the duster towards her, pointing it as if it was her finger. The dust sprinkled at her feet, falling like ash and snow and Nesta kicked the dust aside, refusing to be buried under it. She noted the red in her cheeks, the purse of Emerie’s lips. It was a look she’d before in a mirror or two. Something undeniably bitter and angry.

"I say this just in case you believe you can change their minds by being obstinate.”

Nesta huffed a laugh. “Because doing chores is such an honor.” She gestured to the walls, the leather. “And I suppose owning a shop is child’s play. Mother forbid you give it all up now to go boil water and skin tomorrow’s lamb.”

“Many beings here would rather die than give up their ways… Including Ira. She’s one of the oldest beings in this camp. People say she saw Devlon when he was in swaddling.”

Nesta stared at her questioning, wondering for whom Emerie was talking and what exactly she meant by it all.

“A High Fae learning what your kind has always called simple and archaic? If you weren’t standing right in front of me, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I took over this shop, what rightfully belonged to me based on my blood, and still they don’t want to visit. I have every cloth they might need, and no one is at my door. You may think you can go help in the kitchens or wait outside the infirmary at all hours of the day, but... don’t be disappointed if they still don’t let you in.”

Nesta felt the words settle in the pit of her stomach, felt them bubble up as she rose to stand. Emerie crossed her arms and Nesta glared, though she couldn’t say why the words agitated her so swiftly. But it made her nauseous and Nesta did not have time to swallow the bile that had risen up her throat.

“It’s not my fault they don’t want you.” She heard herself say.

Emerie’s gaze turned ferocious. The rims of her eyes turning red, and Nesta wanted to continue. To tell her that she looked equally as likely to cry as she did to attack. But Nesta did not get the chance to say this to the Illyrian whose chest was still heaving, her hands scrunched and shaking.

"Get out.” Emerie spoke. A quiet, stern phrase.

Nesta picked up her coat, as graceful as she could muster, her shoulders still poised and precise. She pretended to wipe the dust off it, though there was none that she could see, and Emerie merely watched her all the way to the door. Some vicious monster in her midst.

Nesta didn’t bother putting on her coat as she left the small shop, as she welcomed the frigid temperatures.

The cold had already become her dearest friend.

~

Nesta wasn’t sure why she always felt angry when she looked at Cassian. At first, he’d been nothing but a pebble in her shoe—irritating because he brought of things, he knew nothing about. And then, he became someone who made her temper swell into such fine-tuned fury that she’d wanted to scratch out his eyes and feed them to the crows she’d seen pecking away at Elain’s garden.

But somewhere between their cantankerous voices crescendoing into insults and ire, somewhere between all the noise... Cassian had been exciting. Finally, there was someone who could match her blow by blow and wipe it away like dust off an old book. He was in fact as bitter as she was. Even if he did smile and laugh like nothing at all was wrong.

He had cared for her then, promised things she never wanted to hear again, even if she heard those words incessantly. In her nightmares. In her dreams.

And Nesta had liked making him angry. The teasing turn of his lips filled with enough sensuality, she had wanted to reach up and find exactly what those words tasted like coming from his lips. It was fun to see his eyes burn when he looked at her—that look that made him seem to question whether he wanted to push her out the window or wanted to take her to bed. It made her feel... powerful, more so than any of the magic hidden in her veins. More so than even the bitter, rotting hate that allowed her to walk with a crown over her head, though it was indeed made of thorns.

She had gotten used to looking at Cassian, yearning for a glimpse of him. But now...

Now... as she looked him over sitting on the soft grey of the couch, his wings expanding behind as if he’d lounge there for eternity, Nesta could only think that she’d wished he’d suffered more. She didn’t know why she thought of such things, when she laid her body across his. Hadn’t she felt something then? Something other than her veins catching fire. But the thought itched all the way up to her ears, harmonized with the fire’s roar.

Nesta burned with it all, and quite enjoyed the warmth.

Cassian, turning his head to look at her, only wore a solemn face. A look she’d seen plenty.

“You okay?” He breathed.

Nesta didn’t answer his question. She looked at the walls, the shadows forming on the paint as if it oozed out of its crevices. The flames scratching up the wood. And the sound—gnarling animals and who knows what else devouring her whole, chewing on her bones. Emerie had been right to compare beasts and arrogant males.

Here sat one right in front of her. Tall and unknowingly malicious. Hungry, perhaps. Waiting for her to come back so he might just take one bite.

Her eyes scanned him head to toe, her hands bulging into fists, and something in her body snapped awake. Something in her body going, oh that’s right.

I’m here because of you.

~

Nesta could see her breath puff out before her. What she wouldn’t give to tell her father that she was made of smoke when he always believed she was fire incarnate. Living flames. Always burning. Angry to the core.

She held her palm out, collecting the flakes that settled on her gloves. Each speck of snow completely unaware that it had landed on someone without a home, without a job, and without any meaningful life. How it remained on the leather without melting to get away, Nesta would never know.

She had almost not come to the infirmary that morning, the words of yesterday blurring into tomorrows and she hadn’t gotten much sleep that night. With Emeries gaze still in her mind and Cassian’s... everything else.

It was always like this. It would always be like this, Nesta thought. How she wasn’t used to the disappointment by now, she didn't know. But it was the thought of forever's that made her stomach ache. Her hand pulling at her bodice when it was harder to breathe.

Eternity was a long time to hate oneself. She couldn’t imagine being a hundred, or two, or three, and still be here. Not this place, but in this body. In this head of hers that couldn’t move past yesterday. How she wished to take another one. Another face. Another name. Another being, entirely.

Nesta wondered if perhaps she was still drowning in that cauldron. If she had not actually emerged fae. Maybe she was still being pulled apart in its moving depths. Re-arranged. None of the pieces fitting back together but being stitched sideways and upside down and backwards.

Oh, how Nesta wished she’d only been made backwards. How easy it would be to rip herself open and sew herself correctly. A new name, a new face, a new being entirely.

But Nesta was here.

And though she often felt like she was sinking, the ground was solid as she stepped. The tent green and bright and not the dark, unknown parts of a world she could not hide from. Her toes might have been blue from where the snow seeped into her boots, but Nesta was not being grabbed by the feet, dragged further and further down.

This place was familiar.

Familiar she could handle. The sky a hue of blue with a single streak of orange? Nesta had seen that before. The tent flaps parted at the seams, Nesta recognized. But it was the light of the tent that had Nesta pacing forward. A sudden drop in her stomach that said she was late, late, late.

Ira must have been there already.

Nesta’s shoulders sunk at the thought.

This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to stand beside the entrance way, a book at the ready and a stubborn expression permanently painted on her face. Ira was supposed to give her a glare, followed by a snarky reply. Nesta would tell her she wanted to work, and Ira would tell her no. Just like every other day she had done this. A comfortable and familiar routine.

Ira was not supposed to get there before her, and Nesta cursed herself for not coming in early, for not anticipating the move of her opponent.

Ira had won this game, Nesta thought, for catching her by surprise.

She looked towards that spot, the spot she’d proclaimed as her own for how often she’d been there. Nesta expected to find it empty. The space eerily cold without her body to fill it, but when her gaze crossed the premises, a stool had taken her place.

Nesta rushed to greet it, her face warming in the frigid air.

Sure enough, a stool marked her position, and she wondered if Ira had put it there to stave her off. If you will stand, you will not stand here, she could imagine her saying with that twisted smirk. Her long fingers tapping away any chances of her being welcomed inside.  

But as a stool stood there, so did a book. The leather a deep shade of charcoal.

Nesta picked it up, feeling the symbol etched into the surface, trying to make out a title in a language she couldn’t read. She could hear the bustle coming from inside the tent, but Nesta didn’t care to go inside. She plopped on the stool instead, her own book forgotten as she shoved her bag to the floor.

Nesta flipped through the book, flowers blooming in every page. She traced her hand on the etchings and imagined the unknown words planting themselves like seeds in her mind. Growing such deep roots that Nesta could hear them being whispered in her ears. The language soothed a wound that Nesta could only bandage up, and where a fire once raged, having only left smoldering ash, wildflowers sprung from the dirt.

Try again, the words said. 

~

Emerie’s brows crinkled like crumbled paper and Nesta’s words were tossed to the ground in littered thoughts. She didn’t know what to say to the female who stood on the steps leading down from her room. Her hair tucked into a braid; a simple apron tied at her waist. Emerie didn’t say anything, either. For all intents, they could have been frozen there. The mountainous winds finally catching up with the frigid winter skies.

“I was in the area.” Nesta began, cursing at herself for sounding so odd to her ears.

Emerie only nodded, “Alright…”

Nesta looked towards the book in her hands, some part of her already dreading the idea that Emerie knew more than her. She knew that Nesta had not just walked by. She knew that she was unable to stay away, that she had enjoyed her company even if she wanted to forget it all.

And forget it all, she tried.

The emblem at the front depicted a sickle, the weapon carving away at a plant she couldn’t name growing from the leather. She held it up for Emerie to see.

 “I was wondering if you could help me with this.” She spoke, sliding it across the counter as Emerie caught it with little effort.

The Illyrian flipped through the pages, her hands grazing against each picture as if she were in the forest herself, picking them stem by stem. Nesta had done the same, such a mirrored image that she couldn’t help imagining a world where she had met this female earlier. When she’d not been so disastrous and had wanted someone to talk to, to laugh with. 

But Nesta knew... There had never been a time like that. She had never been soft.

“What language is it?” Nesta asked in spite of wandering thoughts. For she had not seen such a language before. The letters curving into loops and lines. Such beautiful print for how harsh Illyrians seemed to her.

“It’s called Divumar.” Emerie replied, shutting the book with a thump and passing it back to her. “It means... voice of the sky people. Roughly—In the Common Tongue.”

“Can you teach me to read it?” Nesta asked, her voice edged with enough excitement she could barely hold it in. Just the word Divumar made Nesta want to float in space and she repeated it silently to herself.  How amazing it must have been to be free amongst the clouds, so much that the language sounded holy to her ears.

But it was not freedom that had trailed after Emerie, as she went to stand near the window. The snow burdening the dirt. Her wings drooping to the ground.

“Why did you come back?” She asked, her voice reticent and small.

Nesta could only knock her fingers against the counter. The sound pounding in her ears. She’d never been good with talking, even now as out of practice as she was. Her sisters made friends so easily and Nesta couldn't very well now embody sweet, pretty Elain who only needed to bat her lashes, or Feyre whose laugh made people join in.

Even her sister’s rambunctious, elusive friends were able to hold on to each other. Mor with her bright, happy gaze. Too much like the sun Nesta had wanted to hold a hand across her face and shield herself away. Rhys—she'd wanted to roll her eyes at. Her sister’s mate much too flashy and extreme. Much too pig-headed, too, she’d come to learn. And Azriel had been quiet, studious, veiled in ways that Nesta could understand, but could not empathize with. She was sure it could not be easy making friends with him.

No, Nesta had only one person she’d called a friend—or someone close enough to visit—and Nesta had taught Amren to hate her too. She was so good at being cold most days.

Emerie was not like Amren, though. Not like the Inner Circle, or Feyre or Elain... Not like any of them because no one knew her at all.

The thought made Nesta want to keep her—hide her away from the Inner Circle’s antics, from their judging stares, their obligatory smiles. The one person who was similar to her in ways she had only begun to imagine, who would know her and not hate.

But Nesta had to win her over first and she thought of Cassian in that moment. Though on instinct she wanted to curse his name, she’d seen the way he acted. People liked him, she considered. Always teasing, hiding away everything he felt in the brightness of his grin.

She could do that, she supposed. She could laugh to cover heartbreaks, smile to cover fear...

“It must have been the delightful company,” Nesta joked, her voice strained and forced.

Emerie was not amused. Her mouth set in a stern line and Nesta had to force herself not to back away into a corner somewhere. No, she would keep her head raised until the final moment.

Nesta shrugged, gulping down the insecurity like a scratch in her throat.  

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She spoke, her words so quiet Emerie wouldn’t have heard them had she not been fae. Nesta almost wished she wasn’t.

“I can’t help you read it.” Emerie answered in turn, “I don’t know how.”

“To read?”

Emerie shook her head, “Not even in the common tongue.”

Nesta didn’t know what to say as Emerie shuffled back and forth, her hand clenched around the cream-colored apron. She turned over the book in her hands, the pages some of her finest jewels and Emerie watched her, a touch of envy in those furrowed brows. 

Stories had been her solace all these years. The voices, her many friends. It had always seemed a shame that she couldn’t see what worlds lied beyond the sea, but Nesta had books at least. Her world had not been so small.

The deep sorrow in her bones rivaled the feeling of when Feyre told her the same. A heavy weight like sigh drawing from every crevice. Her sister could not share in her joy, and Nesta didn’t remember ever offering her the chance. All the stories lost in their poverty.

There was no beautiful way to say she was sorry for their lives, that there were so many ways that freedom could be taken away from them. Starting from the first story to the simplest cut.

So instead, Nesta extended a hand, Emerie looking at it. A strange proposition in the midst of them that Nesta wasn’t exactly sure she was making.

“Even exchange of services.” She said, smiling as the Illyrian reached out cautiously. “You teach me to speak and I’ll teach you to read.”

~

Nesta stood outside the tent when two Illyrians were taken into the infirmary. Carried by a group of males, they were lugged through the open, awaiting tent. They groaned charnel tunes, and Nesta smelled the blood before she saw it drip two trails in the perfect snow. 

The wind blew harsh around them as if the sky, itself, knew who had made the wreckage, but the Illyrians paid no mind. One simply commanding orders as another nodded swiftly, hitching the male’s body up higher.

Nesta stepped far away.

The first male, clothed in leathers and fur, looked as pale as the winter morning. His foot pouring blood where it was caught in a trap, the mechanics still biting away at his limb. The second, though not making as much noise, hung dazed in his ragged clothing. His eyes empty and lost. Nesta had to cover her mouth as she took in the arrows logged into his back. His wings torn in places that brought back bad memories.

She wanted to throw up, wanted to huddle in the corner and rock herself as she closed her eyes. The picture of broken limbs and snapped necks, and headless bodies following her even now.

But Nesta did none of those things. She merely stood there, watching as she blinked. The world slowing down enough that even the noise was silenced.

She took a seat, the stool still planted by the entrance way, and picked up the book again. The words for plant, herb, and healing still floating through her mind. She repeated the words. Nabata, traven, and saluber. Nabata, traven, and saluber. 

It wasn’t long before the space was quiet again, the wind howling but unable to reach her where she sat. Nesta pointedly ignored the shouts from inside the tent, pretending that it was covered by music. The notes playing some tune she could barely remember.

She was lost to it all.

Until Ira walked out the room… a towel tinged pink in her hands. Nesta stood straighter at the female who grimaced but did not shy away from her gaze.

“You,” She pointed, her wings flaring and wide. Her back straight and indignant. She tapped her foot on the ground and Nesta thought she saw regret in her eyes, but Ira still parted the tent flap. “Do not get in the way.”

Nesta simply pursed her lips, raised her nose dismissively and followed her inside.

~

@my-fan-side  @ekaterinakostrova  @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan 

(Let me know if you want to be tagged, I forgot to tag, or you don’t want to be tagged)

~

I plan to update every Tuesday btw. So far so good. Also more Nesta/Cassian contact in the next chapter, and some Azriel I think. YAY!

Anyways, like, comment, reblog, if you happened to enjoy and want to read more. :D

[trashyswitch]

The Angel By His Side

Agarus and Virgil are best friends. One day while they're hanging out, Virgil grows curious of Agarus's wings and not only discovers Agarus is ticklish, but also unlocks some more of Agarus's puppy-like behaviour!

Agarus Lershal is an OC that belongs to @agarus-fallen-lershal. I hope I wrote the character right! And of course, I hope you like it!

Agarus and Virgil have been best friends for a long while. Despite the many differences between the two, Virgil and Agarus got along really well. They were both somewhat shy individuals who struggled in the social department. They both loved halloween, they both loved listening to music, they both enjoyed dressing up in darker outfits (Though, Agarus will go for a brighter palette sometimes) and both adults enjoyed being in comfort clothing most often. Though, there were some differences between the two. Specifically, where they came from.

Virgil was the anxious side of Thomas sanders, who lived his days in the mind palace or in the living room helping Thomas. Agarus was a fallen angel who was brought to earth. They soon got used to the earthly values, and still loved to fly around better than walk. Funnily enough, Agarus can recall a time when Virgil downright told them: “Whoa, you’re part bat? Cool.” Agarus found that assumption to be hilarious, and let the man know that they weren’t a bat.

“Hey Agarus. You okay?” Virgil asked.

Agarus left their thoughts. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Agarus replied. “Why?” They asked back.

“You...seem lost in thought.” Virgil explained.

Agarus nodded in understanding. “Yeah...I was.” Agarus admitted. “But I’m completely down to earth now.” Agarus added.

Virgil snickered. “Really? I thought you were still in heaven?” Virgil joked.

“Hey!” Agarus yelled with a smirk, pushing him down and making him giggle.

Agarus went back to their drawing while Virgil continued listening to music. Virgil didn’t really get much farther into his playlist though, thanks to Agarus’s black wings. The wings were flapping and moving around while Agarus was drawing. Have their wings always moved whenever they were distracted? Or is that a new thing?

Virgil soon got off his bed and walked up to the wings. He started watching the wings curiously as they flapped like a fan. The wings were made out of multi-layered feathers that transitioned from black to bright red near the tips. It was very pretty to see upon multiple glances. The feathery look was always familiar to him. But...did they feel as feathery as they looked? If so, how soft?

Virgil decided to feel Agarus’s wings. What he DIDN’T expect from Agarus, was a guffaw and a snort to come out of their mouth! Virgil quickly retreated his fingers and giggled at the funny reaction. “Yohohou ohokahahay?” Virgil asked.

Agarus grabbed the touched wing and brushed off it with their hand. “What were you doing?” Agarus asked.

“I was just trying to feel your wings! But you can snort?!” Virgil reacted.

Agarus shrunk their body down and hid their face behind their hands and wings. Virgil just found the use of their wings for defense, super ironic in this situation. So, to show this, Virgil poked and scratched the very red tips of the wings.

“EEEEEK!” Agarus squealed, hugging their fists against their chest and flapping their wings as far back as possible.

Virgil just giggled like crazy from this reaction! “Oh my gosh that was so cute!” Virgil reacted.

Agarus grumbled at first, but soon made a smile and blepped at him. Virgil gasped. “You DARE blep to me like that?!” Virgil joked.

Agarus doubled over and fell into a fit of giggles. “Yohohohou’re sohohoho weheheird!” Agarus told him.

“Mm hmm...mhm, okay. So, you think you can get away with being this adorable?” Virgil asked, playing around.

“YYYYES!” Agarus replied proudly.

Virgil quickly jumped onto them and started squeezing their sides. “AAEEEEEEhehehehehe!” Agarus squealed yet again. Agarus started wiggling around letting out tons of squeaky giggles.

“Ooooh! We have ourselves a squeaky little mouse!” Virgil declared.

“Nohohohohoho! Nahahat ahaha mohohohouhuse!” Agarus giggled more.

“Oooooh...Then what ARE you?” Virgil asked, moving his fingers to their belly.

Agarus bursted into a brand new fit of laughter. “Ihihihi’m ahahahaha bahahahahat!” Patton declared happily.

“Oooooh! Another squeaky being. So, you’re a cute little puppy baby bat fly fly baby dog?” Virgil asked.

Agarus just laughed even more at that! “SUHUhuhure!” Agarus replied.

“Ooooooh! Then perhaps my special baby dog likes raspberries?” Virgil suggested.

Agarus’s eyes widened. “RAHASPBERRIHIES?!” They yelled.

“Aaaand here they come!” Virgil teased, leaning down. “In 1...2…” Virgil took in a big breath and blew a big raspberry on their sides!

“eeEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” Agarus squeaked and laughed. “VIHIHIRGIHIHIL!” Agarus yelled.

“Yes, my baby bat fly fly baby dog?” Virgil teased.

Agarus just laughed more! “CAHAHAN YOHOHOHOU-” Agarus paused their words when Virgil blew another raspberry right on their belly! Agarus squealed and laughed somewhat hysterically again! “YAHAHAHAHAY!” Agarus reacted.

Virgil lifted his head up. “Did...did you just openly celebrate being raspberried?” Virgil asked.

Agarus fell into a fit of nervous giggles this time, and covered up their mouth before nodding their head.

Virgil tilted his head to the side curiously. “Why?” He asked.

Agarus looked just about everywhere but Virgil’s face. They had no clue what to really say to him. But thankfully, it didn’t take long for Virgil to catch up on his own.

“Ooooooh…You...you like it, don’t you?” Virgil realized very soon.

Agarus folded their wings in front and covered up their own face even more. Virgil giggled. “You know that covering your face with one of your most ticklish spots just proves my point, right?” Virgil added.

Agarus uncovered one eye and looked at Virgil. Not sure what else to say, Agarus nodded their head.

Virgil smirked excitedly. “Oooooh! This is quite the breakthrough to Agarus’s hidden identity!” Virgil told them! “Do you want more tickles?” Virgil asked.

Agarus uncovered everything and nodded like a super excited dog.

Virgil chuckled. “Okay!” Virgil started skittering his fingers on Agarus’s ribs. “How about your ribs? Do you like your ribs being tickled?” Virgil asked.

Agarus shrieked almost immediately and started laughing and wiggling around under Virgil’s grasp. If it weren’t for the tickle attack they were being succumbed to, Agarus would’ve probably said ‘Yes! I love it! Please keep going!’. But, they were too busy laughing. So, they showed it in their cheerful laughter and their need to lean into the ticklish fingers.

“I’ll happily take that as a yes!” Virgil answered his own question. “Now, what about...HERE?” Virgil started drilling his fingers into Agarus’s hips.

“VIRGILl- NOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHA!” Agarus bursted out laughing, just giving up the small bit of struggle they had left.

“Yes, Agarus?” Virgil replied.

“NAHAHAT MYHYHYHY HIHIHIHIPS!” Agarus yelled back at him.

Virgil let out a long sigh. “Fiiiiine.” He replied before retreating his fingers. “Guess I’m going for your wings then!” Virgil declared bluntly.

“Okay, go- WAITWHAT?!” Agarus snorted and covered their mouth as slightly muffled cackles left their lungs.

Virgil was lightly stretching a wing out and skittering his fingers all over the upper and middle parts of the wing. Agarus flapped their free wing and aggressively kicked their feet as they cackled and snorted uncontrollably. Their wings were a SUPER bad spot on them! So Virgil stretching out their wings and taking advantage of how ticklish they were, was a SUPER BOLD MOVE! HOW DARE HE PULL AN ILLEGAL ACT LIKE THIS!?

Virgil continued to tickle their wings for a while, and mentally took note of the wing spots that tickled more than others. The upper wings and the red tips seemed to be a bad spot that got Agarus wiggling and cackling the most! But the moment Virgil even slightly scratched the inner wing that connected to their back, Agarus SCREAMED! It sounded like it just about killed their vocal cords as well! It was pretty much the human equivalent of an alarm sound that told Virgil to not even ATTEMPT that spot! LEAVE THAT SPOT ALONE!

And leave it, he did! Virgil let go of Agarus’s wings, pulled his hands up in arrest, and quickly caught Agarus as they fell into his arms. “I’m so sorry if I took it too far.” Virgil apologized, scared he may have overdid it.

Agarus was a giggling, snorting mess. Their breathing was super interrupted by giggles and snorts, meaning talking was also temporarily off the list. Virgil did all he could to calm Agarus down. He removed their sweater to reveal their undershirt, he rolled up their pants, he moved their bangs off their forehead and he also gave them some water. Agarus happily took the water and mentally thanked him for trying to cool them down.

But when Virgil was about to stand back up with the empty cup, Agarus grabbed his wrist. Agarus looked up at Virgil in almost desperation and yearning for something. “Yes Agarus?” Virgil replied.

Agarus stretched their hands out to him and opened and closed them. This was Agarus’s childish version of ‘I want cuddles’. Virgil smiled and chuckled at Agarus’s child-like personality, and wrapped his arms around them. Agarus smiled and snuggled themself happily into Virgil’s warm embrace. He’s always nice and warm with his sweater on. That made him automatically comfy to snuggle.

They snuggled for a little while. Virgil laid beside them and kept them from leaving his tight grasp. But Agarus started to crave some more tickles. But not the heavy, breath-taking tickles. Agarus craved some feather-light tickles. Agarus decided to take the feather aspect of the tickles to heart, and plucked a long feather off their own wing. Even though a black feather was missing, Agarus’s wings were so multi-layered that you couldn’t tell that a feather had been plucked from their wings.

Agarus fluttered the feather on Virgil’s cheek to wake him up, and put the feather in his hand. “Hm? What-” Virgil looked down and saw the feather in his hand. “Is this...one of your own?” Virgil asked. Agarus gave a nod in reply, before pointing to their own ears. Virgil smiled as he started to understand the body language. “You want me to tickle your ears with the feather?” Virgil translated out loud. Agarus smiled happily and nodded, even wagging their bone tail to show their eager attitude.

Virgil chuckled to himself and quickly started fluttering the feather around on their ear. Agarus’s mouth quickly widened as giggles left their mouth. They snuggled closer to Virgil and gratefully enjoyed the tickles. Virgil quickly started to enjoy tickling Agarus with the feather. Their cute little giggles, their wide, contagious smile and their flustered face was an absolute treasure to behold.

“Do you realize just how adorable you are?” Virgil asked them. Agarus’s blush filled their face and their nose a little more. But despite how embarrassed they felt, Agarus nodded. “Wow! And you’re happily admitting it?” Virgil reacted. Agarus started giggling more at his reaction. “I think this may be a first! Ladies and gentlemen, an adorable bean who takes compliments! Please give Agarus a hand!” Virgil declared.

Agarus bursted into laughter from that. “Yohohou’re suhuhuch aha dohohork!” Agarus told him.

“Oh? I’m a dork now? Hmm...Maybe I should go for one of your melt spots then.” Virgil suggested.

Virgil moved his hands to their back and started lightly scratching and rubbing their back. Agarus started to smile as they practically melted to the touch. It felt amazing. It was such a nice spot to be tickled on. Agarus’s eyes quickly started to droop from heaviness. It was growing impossible to keep their eyes open while their back was being scratched and massaged.

To make things even better, Virgil moved to the fallen angel’s bone tail. Agarus’s bone tail was a few extra vertebrae that were connected to their spine and narrowed down to a point near the end. The moment the tail was scratched, Agarus practically started purring. The back was a really good spot to go for, but it was nothing compared to their tail. Their tail was the perfect go-to spot for putting the angel to sleep. And boy, did it work.

It didn’t take long at all for Agarus to fall into a deep sleep within Virgil’s grasp. Virgil smiled and watched Agarus sleep for a bit. It was times like these that made their friendship so worthwhile. Seeing the angel sleeping in his arms, was like seeing a baby sleep in his arms. It was so peaceful to watch, that it started to make the holder fall asleep as well.

Soon enough, Virgil’s eyes began to get droopy too. It was hard to fight off the sudden need for sleep. So, Virgil succumbed to it. Virgil fell into a deep sleep with Agarus. But just before he fell into REM sleep, Virgil summoned a thin blanket for the two of them.

[ragewerthers]

Pond Memories

Summary: Gladio talks Ignis into being a bit rebellious and joining him for a bit of skinny dipping.  However, there may be more than a handsome Shield in the waters of this unassuming pond.

A/n: This is another fun prompt for my friend @bgn846​!  

She asked for:'Skinny dipping -- “Something just brushed up against my leg!” '

I instantly had dialogue in my head, but I'll admit that the ending was something I hadn't planned XD  

Hopefully it's not too silly an something that will get a good laugh!

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25596553

Enjoy, my friends! :D

Word Count: 2303

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

Ignis couldn’t believe what they had decided to do.  This was ridiculous, juvenile, possibly a bit unsanitary and… thrilling.

“Come on, Iggy, there’s nothin’ to worry about,” Gladio had offered only about an hour earlier as Ignis tidied up his cook station from lunch.  “Prompto and Noct are out fishing and taking pictures and we still have plenty of daylight left.  We’re allowed to have a little fun as well aren’t we?”  As he spoke he moved to stand behind Ignis, his arms wrapping around the lithe Adviser, resting his chin on his shoulder.  “It’ll add a little danger to our day!”

Ignis couldn’t help snorting at the ridiculous comment, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth and hide his smile.  “Darling, our days are literally filled with danger or have you forgotten in your old ag-ah!  Stahpit!” Ignis squeaked as Gladio wriggled his fingers against his sides where they rested, interrupting his teasing with a bout of hysterical giggles.

The attack didn’t last long though and Gladio couldn’t help smiling as Ignis relaxed back in his arms.  “But it’s not the fun sort of danger!  This is… rebellious.  Don’t you ever want to be a wild man?  Live life on the edge?  Go against the norm?”

“I kiss you after you eat garula steak and beans… if that’s not living life on the edge I don’t know wha-ahahaht ihihihis!  S-stop!  I yeheheheild!” Ignis frantically apologized as those teasing fingers found his sides once more and honestly, trapped in the bearhug of his partners arms there was no way he could get free easily.

“You’re just full of piss and vinegar today, aren’t ya?” Gladio chuckled, stopping once more and pressing a few kisses against Ignis’s shoulder as the Adviser caught his breath.  “Come on, Iggy.  Let loose a little!”

And so that was how Ignis found himself standing on the edge of a small pond, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and wondering just how he’d become so easy to sway.

However, as he glanced over to the side and watched Gladio tossing his grey tank top over a low hanging branch and showing off every inch of his well muscled and tattooed torso the answer became abundantly clear.

It didn’t take long for Gladio to notice that he was being watched, however, and as he turned around Ignis felt his cheeks instantly heat up.  Quickly he looked away, taking off his glasses and putting them on top of his shirt which he had folded and set nearby.

“Enjoying the show, Iggy?” Gladio murmured, walking closer and making Ignis feel butterflies bloom in his stomach.

“Don’t be smug.  Smugness doesn’t suit you,” Ignis lied because oh how it suited the man.

Gladio’s wicked smile proved that he knew it as well and he gave a little chuckle before turning back around.  “Uh huh.  Your blush says different,” he teased and Ignis could feel his cheeks growing redder.  “But you better hurry up before the terror twins show back up and wonder where we went.” Ignis gave a little snort at the nickname he had for the two and shook his head.  “We literally left them a note saying that we were going for a swim.  They’ll know to come down here regardless,” he said, taking off his belt and shoes.

Glancing over he saw Gladio scowling at him as he stood as brazen as ever in just his moogle print boxers.  “Yeah, but they don’t know that this little dip is extra rebellious… and what would the kids think if they saw mama Ignis in all his glory?” he teased, making Ignis growl and throw one of his socks at the man who ducked with a laugh.

“First of all, do not refer to me as mama Ignis.  That is for Prompto and Prompto alone.  He is exempt,” Ignis warned before tucking his other sock into one of his shoes.  “And they wouldn’t think anything.  We’ve all had to bathe at least once out here as we’ve roughed it and honestly, if they can look at your hairy arse and not be scarred for li-IFE!”

Ignis had only just stepped out of his trousers and boxers when he felt himself hoisted into the air and unceremoniously tossed into the less then warm waters of their little pond.

Upon resurfacing with a splutter, Ignis only had a moment to try and right himself before he found his rather large and immature partner rushing toward the water.  With a manic grin, moogle print boxers fluttering in the breeze as he tossed them behind himself, Gladio lept toward the water.

“Cannonball!!!” he shouted, launching himself in Ignis direction.  The man couldn’t suppress a  shout of surprise as his darling's ridiculousness sent a massive tidal wave crashing over him.

After resurfacing for a second time, Ignis spat out whatever water had made its way into his windpipe when he’d shouted and wiped the water from his eyes.  Blinking blearily he found Gladio’s smug and smiling face a few inches from his own, a lily pad resting atop his head.

“You were sayin’?” he asked and Ignis reacted on pure, feral instinct and adrenaline.

With a growl and shout he launched himself at Gladio, trying to push the behemoth of a man under water though Gladio was absolutely unphased.

“You are a terrible human being!  How could you just toss me in!?” Ignis growled, still attempting to push Gladio under, but only managing to make the Shield wobble slightly as all he was really accomplishing was climbing him.

“I’m terrible?” Gladio chuckled, wrapping his arms around Ignis and hugging him close as the man struggled half-heartedly to get away.  “You said I had a hairy butt.  That is being terrible.”

“Then use your words to tell me that… don’t toss me into a pond!” Ignis grumbled, attempting to pout before finding his cheeks under a barrage of soft pecks and kisses.  His lips instantly started to quirk up into a smile and he brought his hands up, gently pushing at Gladio’s stubbly face.  “St-stahpit!  I’m… I’m trying to be dihihifficult!”

“Yeah well… this is me apologizing so deal with it,” Gladio chuckled, continuing to pepper kisses against Ignis cheeks until the poor Adviser could barely utter a word through his ridiculous giggles and snorts.

“So… do you forgive me?” Gladio asked as he finally stopped the barrage of kisses, giving Ignis his best puppy dog eyes as the retainer slowly calmed down from the loving attention.

“Astrals save me… yes.  I forgive you.  Now unhand me you lovable brute,” Ignis chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to Gladio’s brow and reaching up to remove the lily pad from his partners head.  After tossing it aside like a frisbee he looked back to his partner, a light smile on his lips.  “So… I’m afraid I’m not sure what a true rebellious skinny dipping experience should entail.”

Gladio chuckled at that, leaning back slightly and doing a little backstroke away from Ignis.  “The rebellious part is that we aren’t wearing swim trunks.  Apart from that it’s just… enjoying a little swim and a little naked solitude away from the other two,” he said lightly, closing his eyes and floating on his back.

Ignis felt his cheeks heating up again, but decided to follow his partner’s example and try to enjoy their ‘naked solitude’ as Gladio had so eloquently put it.

However, as he was debating whether to swim toward the low hanging branches of a nearby willow or toward some black rocks near the edge of the pond he felt something slimy touch or rather slither against his leg…

… and the normally stoic man lost it.

Ignis shouted, instantly kicking his legs and swimming quickly away from the spot, turning back to stare at it with a look of abject horror.

“Something just brushed up against my leg!” he rasped, reaching down to touch said leg to see if there were any traces left of what it might have been.  Glancing up he saw Gladio seven feet away from him, smirking and giving a little quirk of his eyebrow.

Ignis glared daggers at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, darling…. I love you, but I wouldn’t let you near me with a ten foot pole if that were the case.”

Gladio’s shit eating grin only grew at that.  “I mean…”

“I heard it as soon as I said it!  Don’t you dare say anything else!” Ignis amended quickly, knowing that keeping up with this line of banter would only lead to Gladio becoming insufferable.  “But I’m being serious, Gladiolus!  Something… something is in here and it touched me.”

Gladio lost the smugness when he heard his full name being used, his expression softening as he made his way closer.  “Could it have been a fish?  Some reeds or stems from the lily pads?” he offered, looking down into the water, trying to pinpoint what it was that would have made his normally unflappable partner react like that.

Ignis felt his cheeks heating up as he heard that, wondering if perhaps it had been in his imagination that something slithered against him when it could’ve been as simple as a reed.

At least that’s what he had started to try and tell himself until Gladio turned his back toward him… and Ignis saw the man’s tattoo move.

Ignis stood stock still for a moment, eyes unblinking as he stared at the expanse of Gladio’s back.  He knew every plain of muscle and had traced every feather imprinted on his skin.  There was nothing there that would ever or should ever surprise him.  Blinking rapidly he ran a hand over his face and as he focused on Gladio’s shoulder he saw it again, a little wobble… and then all hell broke loose.

“LEECHES!  IT’S FUCKING LEECHES, GLADIO!” Ignis bellowed, making a mad swim for the edge of the pond as Gladio looked at an Ignis shaped streak race toward shore.

“What?!” Gladio called back, bringing his arm out of the water and finding three of the mother suckers attached to his forearm.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”

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

“I can’t believe mama Ignis and Gladio would just leave us to fend for ourselves!” Prompto gasped dramatically, fighting a smile as he and Noct looked over the note the Adviser had left at his cook station.

“Right?  How will we ever survive?” Noct deadpanned, rolling his eyes and laughing as Prompto nudged his shoulder lightly.

“No, but honestly.  It’s cool that Gladio got Ignis to go and have a little fun,” Prompto said as he moved away, setting aside his camera on a small table near their camp chairs.

“What makes you think it was Gla-... nevermind, I heard it as soon as I sa-...,” Noct instantly stopped talking.  His eyes turned toward the treeline of their haven as blood curdling screams could be heard echoing in the distance.

Prompto was by Nocts side in an instant, his pistols already drawn as Noct called forth his sword from the armiger.  Both men braced themselves as the sounds of snapping twigs and underbrush could be heard getting louder and closer.

“W-was that…?” Prompto stammered, as Nocts hands tightened on his sword, fear taking over his heart in an icy grip.

“Get ready, Prompto… it’s almost here,” Noct grit out, knowing that whatever was hurtling toward them at breakneck speed had to be dealt with first before they could get into the words and search for their missing friends.

However, nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out into the clearing.

“I CAN FEEL THEM IN MY HAIR!” Gladio shouted, dropping to the ground as he and Ignis burst from the trees, naked as the day they were born.  The Shield instantly began rolling around like a  man possessed as Ignis ruffled his own hair like a maniac, kicking his legs and swatting at them in turn.

“YOU DESERVE IT!  YOU TERRIBLE MAN!” Ignis shouted back, picking something off of himself and throwing it at Gladio with all the accuracy his years of daggers training allowed.  Even in the midst of madness his aim was perfect.

“IT WASN’T MY FAULT!”

“YOU FOUND THE LOCATION!?”

“AND I WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW SWIMMING VAMPIRES LIVED THERE?!”

Prompto and Noct watched the chaos unfolding before them, their weapons now held limply at their sides.

“Uh… Prom?” Noct whispered, watching as Ignis swatted at his back, picking off another little something and sending it flying toward the Shield.  The larger man still doing an impeccable job of imitating a floundering garula.

“On it!” Prompto shouted, dismissing his pistols and rushing behind Noct.  He returned only a few moments later, camera in hand and snapping as many pictures as his trigger finger could manage.

Noct dismissed his sword as well, watching as Gladio and Ignis continued to shout and rave like crazy swamp people.

“So,” Prompto asked, pausing in his pictures to look over at Noct, his voice strained in an effort to not laugh outright at the sight.  “Do you think we should go and help them?”

Noct glanced from Prompto back to his two retainers.

“HOLD STILL, GLADIOLUS!”

“I CAN’T!”

“YOU HAVE TO IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WALK AROUND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH A LEECH ATTACHED TO YOUR ARSE!”

Looking back at Prompto with a quirked eyebrow, Prompto finally couldn’t stop himself from falling into a giggle fit and nodded.  “Good point,” he giggled, turning his camera lens back on the mayhem.

“We’ll at least wait for them to sort out Gladio’s butt.  Then we’ll go help,” the young Prince said, taking a seat on the edge of the haven and listening to the shutter of Prompto’s camera capturing this magical moment.  “I think once Ignis decides not to kill Gladio they’ll appreciate what we’re doing.  It’ll be some… ‘pond’ memories for them.”

[kibybun]

Can I Get a undertale au where hawks is chara and hawks just hate when y/n (frisk) talk other people Hawks so he Manipulate into thinking everyone is against her finally boss sans (Dabi ) where she literally told that nobody against her After Murdering Dabi meet hawks “now we finally together nobody will help since murder everyone “ Or any plot be fine Hawks ( chara) Dabi ( sans ) Y/n (frisk ) Or you could change Around But please make hawks the main love Interest thanks so much

Yesss I love this idea so much! Thank you so much for requesting!

Yandere Hawks x reader

Undertale au!

Tw: Yandere, manipulation, murder

Enjoy!

❤Everything goes down in a blur as the wind whips past you. You hasn't mean to fall, you tripped even though there was nothing there to trip on. You try and reach out to catch something but everything went black.

❤You open your eyes and a circle of light so far up. You try and sit up back is stopped due to the excruciating pain coursing through your head. You look around and find yourself in a patch of golden buttercups within a large cave.

❤That's when you were greeted by a echo like voice. It was masculine and had curiosity as it questioned who you were and how you came to be down here.

❤You don't answer, simply thinking it was the ringing in your head from the fall. Instead you slowly stand and make your way to a large purple door hidden away in the shadows with strange encryptions on it.

❤The voice follows you with a annoyed tone. You still ignore it and push through the door and spot a line buttercup sitting in a patch of sun.

❤You jump when the flower starts speaking and explaining what a soul is. The voice was grumbling about something but fell silent as your red soul floated out in front of you.

❤You could swear that you felt someone touching your soul.

❤The flower continues speaking and says something about friendliness pellets. White petals floated towards you and you were tempted to touch the but the voice strongly demanded you didn't.

❤You don't know what compelled you to listen but you did. As you dodge the flower grows angry yet tries to keep its composure and sends another wave of petals. You dodge again and the flower snaps.

❤Its face contorts and it let's out a demonic laugh as you shrink back and bump into something that isnt there.

❤You cover your face in a attempt to hide from the pain about to happen but a gentle femal voice speaks. She says soothing words to calm your racing heart but you refuse to look out of her due to fear and the voice who says not to.

❤It helped you before so why wouldn't it help you now?

❤The lady asks you questions but you dont answer. She goes to touch you but you feel something push you out of the way of her touch.

❤She understands you dont want to be touched and simply asks you to follow. You wait for the voice to give you instructions before you make any decision. You feel something grab your hand and lead you behind the lady, saying they'll take care of everything if you listened.

❤You continue on with your head down until she leads you to a beaten up dummy. She asks you to make polite conversation with it but your guiding voice said otherwise.

❤You use a stick to give it a firm wacking causing the fabric to rip and for stuffing to fall out. The lady pauses and awkwardly clears her throat before walking on. Before you follow you were showered with praise by the voice that, oddly, made your heart warm.

❤The lady leaves you and the voice tells you to persist on, so you do. Along the way the voice directs you the harm the monsters along the way. You listen and make it on your way barely harmed.

❤At one point you even felt feathers brush against your skin in a protective and delicate way. It was comforting and ominous at the same time but you brush it off, continuing to hold the invisible hand that guided you.

❤You finally make it to a small house. Inside was the lady who you still refuse to look at. She leads you to a room and tells you to rest. You crawl into bed and a pair of arms wrap around you tightly.

❤When you wake up you find a piece of pie laying on the ground in front of you. You cautiously eat it and venture out the room to find the lady reading. The voice tells you to head into the kitchen and grab a knife. You do as your told.

❤You then sneak past the lady and down a set of stairs and make it to another large door before the lady comes and begs you to go back. When you refuse your soul shows its self and the battle begins.

❤The voice helps you dodge and tells you to wait before you attack.

❤ Finally the lady crumbles and starts to cry. She explains how she only wants to take care of you, how she lost her family and how she wanted to start a new and take care of you. She opens her arms for you and the voice tells you to hug her. You do and you feel your grip around the knife tighter as you're told to stab her. You do as you're told.

❤Her body turns to dust and you walk out the door to see the flower. The flower says something about her death and disappeares with a evil laugh.

❤No matter, your invisible hand leads you out the door and through the chilling winter forrest. You barely noticed the branch cracking in half with blue ash falling around it.

❤You almost didn't notice the person standing in front of you. You try and lift your head to look at them but something shoved you head down, preventing that. Either way the person introduces themselves and holds out a hand.

❤You couldn't hear their name due to something whispering static in your ears and when you went to shake their hand your hand was pulled back down. You were also given a strict warning not to interact with the person in front of you.

❤You try to walk past but the person grabs your elbow and spins you so you're facing them. They then try and lift your chin so you would look at them but once again your head was being pushed down to prevent it. You could tell that the person in front of you was male.

❤The fight over your head stops as footsteps approached through the snow. The man quickly pulls you and hides you behind a oddly shaped lamp.

❤The new person arrives and you were forbidden from looking up it seemed. You listen and determine how the new person behaves due to the way he speaks. He sounds like a brat that can't stand not having his way, spoken with a raspy voice.

❤They leave and instantly you're dragged off before the man before could say anything to you.

❤You are thrown into more fights that you win, staining the snow with grey. You're also challenged with puzzles that your invisible guide helps with. It also makes sure you leave no survivors.

❤You obey.

❤It hurt watching the dogs whimper as you cut them with the dull kitchen knife but the voice was the only thing you trusted. It was right about the flower so it must be trying to help you all around. It was protecting you so you trusted it, more than yourself.

❤You reach the end of Snowdin leaving no obstacles in your wake, except the tall bratty fellow. They demanded you take them on, saying that you could change and how he'd forgive you. You fight him without hurting him as instructed by the voice. He does his final move and opens his arms to you just as the lady did. You again jump onto his arms but this time you're instructed to go for the head. With a fatal blow of betrayal and your knife his head falls to the ground.

❤You walk into the waterfall, not caring to watch the head turn to dust as well as his body.

❤You again get led by a invisible hand that showers you in praise and helps you eliminate everything in sight. You even meet a little kid along the way.

❤They blab on and on about a certain hero who's name was blurred from your hearing. You honestly thought the voice would instantly tell you to eliminate them but it said to wait. So you did.

❤Along the way you got attacked by someone with blue spears and the voice simply advised you to run. This causes you to fall down the waterfall.

❤You wake up in garbage with a sore body but your invisible companion doesn't care. You're pulled from the garage and thrown into more and more fights.

❤You see the man from before a few more times, seeing that he has multiple dark burn marks that are hard to see in the dark. At one point you wanted to go interact with him because he had a telescope but you were pulled away.

❤You find a little cove of cat like creatures that let out the saddest of cries as your knife ended them. You couldn't do anything to help them, that's what the voice wanted.

❤You meet back up with the kid from before and started getting chased by the same person with the spears. The kid slips and holds onto the side of the cliff, calling out for help. The voice tells you to make them fall. You walk over and bend down before plucking at their fingers, making them fall.

❤The hero instantly jumps down and saves them. The hand takes the time to drag you along and run.

❤Unfortunately the hero catches up and fights you. Due to their fall they were badly hurt, making the fight end a lot faster. But then the kid before confronts you, demanding you fight them. It was a lazy swipe of your blade that ended their life.

❤Everything went by quickly after that. You had managed to kill the lizard that was spying on you and complete the puzzles with ease. You even brought that cute couple's life to an end, atleast they were together.

❤You had made it to a restaurant and the guy was there too. He didn't hesitate to grab you and teleport you to a table with him. The restaurant was near empty yet the atmosphere was still lively.

❤The man's voice was muffled to you and it was hard to even pay attention to you as you were violently being yanked out of your chair. The man noticed this and yanked you back into his arms. You stood uncomfortable, feeling the rage of your invisible friend grow.

❤Your knife starts floating and darts at the man. Before he disappears he tells you to run. Sadly, it was impossible to ran as your hand was trapped in a bone crushing grip that dragged you along the way.

❤Dust coated your clothing as you entered a dark room with a spotlight. Someone with a robotic voice then started to monologue so you decided to simply attack to get the battle over with.

❤The battle fully begins and cameras float around and broadcast your fight to the very few people still alive. Your invisible friend grows irritated and seemingly possessed you. Your movements weren't your own and the thoughts in your head were playing out in a different voice.

❤The battle ended quickly and your body runs off but you didn't object or fight back. It was only trying to help you... right?

❤Your body charges though a monochrome area very similar to the ladies house from before. Your body only stops once to pick up a much sharper knife that gleamed before exiting the place. That's when you entered a large hall with stained glass decorating the walls with a line person standing in the middle, waiting.

❤There stood the man from before, but this time you could actually see his face. His face was decorated with burn marks yet he was still very attractive.

❤You started talking but it wasnt in your voice. It held malace towards the man for being in the way. The man held a calm expression before attacking. Blue flames and bones erupted from the ground, aiming to kill you.

❤Somehow your body dodges all attacks thrown at it and so does the man. It was almost like they've fought countless times before with different stories behind each time but this time was different. Someone didnt follow the rules, someone got involved when they shouldn't have.

❤This would be their last fight together.

❤The man started sweating as your body continued at the same incredibly fast pace. You didn't want the man to die but if your guide said so it must happen.

❤The final blow was dealt and the man felt to the ground clutching his bleeding chest. You felt as if in a different timeline or universe the two of you could've been great friends, lovers even, but this wasn't one of them.

❤You continue to be a passenger in your own body and it pushes on through another set of doors. Not before hearing the man say a final and heartfelt goodbye to the world he called home.

❤That's when the final battle of your journey starts. It was the king this time. You barely had time to look at his face before he was dust.

❤A final push through some doors and you're back in a dark room with the only light falling on a lone flower. You regain control over your body as the flower starts talking but it was interrupted by something invisible cutting it at the stem.

❤That's when you see him. Your guide with the cold eyes and blood red wings.

❤He happily turns to you and grabs you. You felt an unbearable amount of unease as he whispers how he'll take care of you, how no one will hurt you, how he'll always love you, how you could never leave him now.

💔Then everything went black.

💔GAME OVER.

Kiby~💚

[slippinmickeys]

Release Valve (2/10): Fi Follet

When the moon circles the Earth, it pulls with it the ocean. She used to lie in bed and think about it. How the world can be your compass -- moss growing on one side of a tree, the North Star, sunsets on the horizon. Even if you can’t see it, you know the moon is above you when the tide is high. She felt that with him. When he was near, her blood would sing, rising to meet him whenever he passed. Standing in the doorway of their office, she can feel him even now, her skin prickling and flushing on the high tide of love. “You’re here early,” he said as he walked in. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, moving over to the cabinets behind his desk. “We’ve got a case?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t caught her mooning over him. She watched his movements with some trepidation. She hadn’t seen him since Friday and the new agents started today. He turned from the cabinets, unveiling his slide projector with fanfare. She made a show of rolling her eyes. “The kids are going to love this,” he said.

“Are they?” “You did.” “Did I?” Mulder gestured around the office. “The X-Files Headquarters: Where Fun Goes To Die.” He said. “If you’re going to make fun of my slideshow, you can wait in the hallway.” “Sorry, Mulder,” she said, grinning. “I’ll try not to ruin it.” “Thank you,” he said, earnestly.

On that, Stone and Isaacs walked in, chatting.

“Morning,” Stone said, his excitement palpable. He had a doofy grin pasted on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. Isaacs was more subdued. She was tall, taller than Mulder remembered. He had met her last week on a long lunch with Scully where they’d talked about her past cases and what she might expect. There’d been a 15 minute stretch where she’d kept cutting her eyes to Scully, obviously expecting her to tell her they were kidding, an elaborate hazing for rookies at the top of their class. Even now she looked as though she expected people to jump out of the woodwork shouting “Gotcha!” Despite that, there was a quiet confidence about her. She looked at Mulder and nodded to the desk annex. “Anywhere in particular?” she asked. Mulder shook his head. “Anywhere you like.” She put her things down on the desk in the middle and went about unpacking her few belongings. Mulder looked to Stone. “The computer you wanted,” he said, “the requisition got approved. Should be here next week.” Stone pumped a fist in the air and dropped down at the further-most desk, the wheeled chair coasting a few inches before coming to a stop. He looked at Mulder, suddenly pensive. “Can you…” he started to say, then, with more confidence, “have Purchasing bring it down here as soon as it arrives. In the box, sealed. I’ll do the set up myself.” Mulder leaned back against his desk and shot Stone an approving look. “Look at him, Scully,” he said, “not in the basement five minutes and already he’s achieved a level of paranoia it took me 2 years to get to myself.” “You forget he’s read all your files,” she responded. “Our files,” Mulder said, giving her a meaningful look. “Speaking of the files,” Isaacs said from her desk, “I’ve read the Greatest Hits you sent me over the weekend. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the rest.” “You’ll have some reading time,” Mulder said, turning to the projector and hitting the lights, “you two are flying to Cajun Country this afternoon.” “We’ve got a case?” Stone asked, excitedly. “We’ve got a case,” Mulder said, punching in the first slide. A picture of a small lake took up a wall of the office. It was slightly out of focus and a few degrees off being perfectly horizontal. It was close to either dawn or dusk, the water an inky grey, the trees in the background reaching up toward a new moon. In the far right of the picture a small green glow floated a few feet above the water, its twin reflecting off the lake below it. “This picture was taken about three months ago in Vermilion Parish, Louisiana,” Mulder started. “Anybody know what we’re looking at here?” “Will-o’-the-wisp?” Stone offered. “Two points to the kid,” Mulder said, then turned back to the slide, “Will-o’-the-wisp, also known as a hinkypunk, spook light or ignis fatuus in Latin, meaning ‘foolish fire.’ It’s an atmospheric ghost light, which, according to English folklore is usually seen by travelers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to recede if approached, drawing travelers from safe paths. “This,” Mulder went on, pointing to the picture, “was published in a local paper around the time it was taken and became quite the sensation. Locals, particularly teens, started going out to the swamp at night, trying to catch a glimpse. It was all fun and games until three weeks ago, when it took its first victim.” Mulder switched the slide and the picture of a teenage girl came up. She was all smiles, looking directly into the camera as if daring it to take the picture. She had sky-high bangs and dangly gold earrings. “Vanessa Glassie, fifteen years old. Disappeared while out with friends on wisp hunt. They’d just seen the ghost light when she told friends she had to pee and that was the last they saw of her. Local authorities have yet to find a trace of her.” He clicked to the next slide. Another young girl, with dark pixie hair and a shy smile. “Then last week, Marcie Vincent, a friend of Vanessa’s, went missing as well, from the same area. Friends said she’d talked about going out and looking for her friend. She told her parents she was going to bed one night, and they found her room empty the next morning. The window open and shoeprints in Marcie’s size heading away from the house. The will-o’-the-wisp was seen in the area the same night. The local PD asked the FBI to investigate.” Mulder cut back to the first picture of the ghost light. “And they think what, the lights took her?” Scully said. “Not exactly,” he said, “there’s a more geographically targeted legend about the lights in that area of the south, called—“ “Fi follet,” Isaacs finished for him. Mulder cut her an impressed look. She shrugged. “My mom was born and bred in Louisiana,” she said. “But the fi follet is said to mostly play harmless pranks.” “And in some cases attacking people for vengeance and sucking the blood of children.” From Mulder, who dramatically flipped to the slide of Vanessa Glassie. The room was silent for a moment but for the hum of the projector. Then Mulder went for the lights. “Your flight leaves in four hours,” he said, dismissing them, “you should pack.” They both stood to leave. “I want updates twice daily,” he said, “even if there’s nothing to report, you call me.” They nodded and left. Scully leveled a look at him, “Will-o’-the-wisp, Mulder?” she asked, incredulous. “You heard Isaacs,” Mulder countered, “it’s called fi follet.” “It’s swamp gas!” “We’ve got two missing kids, Scully,” he said, “and authorities asking for help. Isaacs could do this one in her sleep and Stone needs seasoning.” “So you’re saying you don’t think the lights took those girls,” she asked, looking for clarity. “No,” he said, finally, “I think it’s probably swamp gas.” “I wish I had that on tape,” Scully said to no one in particular. XxXxXxXxX “You should take lead on this,” Stone said, as the wheels touched down on their flight from DC. “You’ve got seniority,” Isaacs replied. “I’ve also got fuck-all for field experience,” he said, “you should take lead.” Isaacs nodded. Same shit, different town. She knew she wasn’t going to get much different as a Fed, but the pay was better, the resources infinitely superior, and this paranormal stuff was the first work-related thing that had piqued her interest in years. You could have knocked her over with a feather when Agent Scully called her into her office her the last week of class and proposed the job. “That’s some crazy intense white people shit,” her boyfriend had said to her when she told him about it.

She’d had a tendency to agree until she’d read the files. For the first time in her adult life, maybe she wouldn’t be bored. XxXxXxXxX It was coming on evening when they followed the sheriff through the woods to the last place Vanessa Glassie had been seen. It was a tiny clearing in the swamp, the damp ground covered with brown pine needles and empty beer bottles. The air was thick with the scent of pitch and the dull whine of insects. The five of them, Stone, Isaacs, the sheriff and two of his deputies barely fit into the open area once they trampled in, and one of the deputies, McLaren, the tall one, nearly toppled into a tree. He kicked a beer bottle into the brush in frustration as he righted himself, his mood dark. “Fucking kids,” he muttered. McLaren hadn’t been very welcoming since their arrival. Whether he was pissed that the Feds had taken over the investigation or the fact that the lead Fed was black, Isaacs wasn’t quite sure. She smacked a mosquito as it landed on her neck and turned toward the sheriff. She really fucking hated the South. The sheriff caught her eye and nodded toward the empty bottles and cans. “The lights are just an excuse,” he said, “the kids mostly just come out here to party.” “Who owns the land?” Isaacs asked. “The State,” he replied. “I don’t really have the resources to stop these kids. They’d just find somewhere else.” He pointed to the brush off to their left. “That’s where she was last seen,” he said. Isaacs took a look, turning on a flashlight and running it over the area. “We swept it good,” the younger deputy, Miller, said, clearly trying to be helpful. Isaacs gave him a small smile. “There’s probably not much to find. I’m sure you guys were thorough.” She turned back to the Sheriff. “You had dogs out?”

He nodded.

“For both girls. They couldn’t find anything here. The dogs at the Vincent girl’s house lost her scent about a quarter of a mile from home. We’ve just come up empty.”

“I’d like to talk to Vanessa Glassie’s parents right away if you don’t mind. Marcie’s too.” “I’ll take you over there in the morning, first thing.” She nodded. Stone spoke up then. “And the lights?” He said, indicating toward the water on their right. “This is where they were seen?” “This is where the picture that ran in the paper was taken,” said the Sheriff in the affirmative. He narrowed his eyes at Stone. “You really think the lights had something to do with this?” Stone shrugged. “You never know.” McLaren huffed out an audible sigh. “And the lights were reportedly seen the night the Vincent girl went missing last week?” Stone went on, ignoring him. “We had a few people call in,” the Sheriff said, pointing East. “Her family’s house is about a mile and a half that way.” “There anything else around here?” Isaacs followed up, “other than the road and the Vincent residence? Any businesses or facilities?” “None,” he said, “this is all State land until it hits the Vincent property and they’ve got about 500 acres.” Isaacs nodded. “Thanks for bringing us out.” XxXxXxXxX The next morning came too soon for Isaacs. After checking in with Agent Mulder, she and Stone had stayed out in the swamp for hours waiting to see lights. They’d bagged out at about 2am, with nothing to show for it but bug bites and pine sap on their ass. “This is my best suit,” Stone said dejectedly as he took another swipe at his backside and unlocked the door to his motel room. He came out of the same door at 7:00am with a pillow crease in his cheek, carrying a small cup of steaming coffee. They were dinky motel rooms, but at least each one had a coffee maker. Isaacs slid into the driver’s seat. “You get any sleep?” she asked him. “A little,” he replied, on a yawn. “And I’ll tell you, my enthusiasm for field work is rapidly waning.” Isaacs smiled at him.

They pulled up to the Glassie residence at the same time as the Sheriff and were quickly ushered inside. Mrs. Glassie was short with frizzy black hair. She was pale and when she asked them to please sit, her smile was hollow. Her clothes hung off her loosely, like she’d lost a lot of weight. Mr. Glassie was of medium height and build, and quiet – he wouldn’t meet their eyes. Isaacs decided to just jump right into the questions. “Had Vanessa been acting strangely before she disappeared? Talking about any new friends or activities?” “We’ve already told the Sheriff everything we can think of,” Mrs. Glassie said. “And tell them too, if you don’t mind, Doris,” the Sheriff said, “they’re here to help.” “Nothing like that,” Mrs. Glassie said to Isaacs. “She’s a good girl.” “Did she have a job?”

“She wanted to, but I told her school was her job now, that she could get one next summer.” “How about a boyfriend?” On that, Mr. and Mrs. Glassie shared a look. “No,” Mr. Glassie said, short. Something about that was off, and Isaacs decided not to reply, to see if they filled in the silence themselves. It only took about ten seconds for Mrs. Glassie to jump in. “She wasn’t supposed to,” she said, “she’s only 15.” “But she did anyway?” “No,” again, from Mr. Glassie. “Bill,” from his wife. “He’s not good enough for her.” Ah. So there was a boyfriend. “What’s his name?” Isaacs asked quietly. “Martin Dubois,” said Mrs. Glassie. “We talked to him,” the Sheriff said then, “he didn’t give us much, but he seems like a good kid.” “He’s a goddamn dropout!” Mr. Glassie practically shouted. Stone cut in then. “Mr. Glassie, did Vanessa have a computer?” The question seemed to shake him out of it. “Yes,” he said, with a touch of pride, “a good one.” “Mind if I take a look?” “We didn’t find anything on it,” the Sheriff said. “Just covering all our bases,” Stone said with a smile. Mr. Glassie led him upstairs. Mrs. Glassie looked to Isaacs. “The neighbors are all saying it was fi follet,” she said, on a sniff, “isn’t that silly?” “Will you show me her room?” Isaacs said, not wanting to answer. Mrs. Glassie led her up the staircase and into a bright green room. It was covered with posters. Boys, soccer, Dave Matthews Band. Stone was sitting at her computer, typing, Mr. Glassie hovering nearby. There was a phone on the bedside table, one of the clear ones that showed the working parts inside. Isaacs pointed to the phone and looked at Mr. Glassie. “Does she have her own line?” “No,” he said, “she kept asking for one though.” Isaacs looked to Stone, then addressed Mrs. Glassie. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes?” Mrs. Glassie turned to leave, then looked to her husband, who didn’t budge. “Bill?” They both slowly shuffled out. Isaacs came up behind Stone. “Anything?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said, “Nothing on AIM or ICQ. No email or anything like that. But,” he said, continuing to type as he spoke, “her history did get wiped the afternoon before she went missing.” “Think you can recover it?” Stone looked at her. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” he said. She snorted a short laugh. About 90 seconds later, he leaned back and pointed to the screen. “There we go,” he said. “’DuBoy’ to ‘SoccerStar22’ in an unlinked chat room. Check it out.”

Isaacs leaned in. “I’ll be damned.”

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 12

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6 ; Chap 7 ; Chap 8 ; Chap 9 ; Chap 10 ; Chap 11

Masterlist : here

AN : Hello ! In this (longer) chapter, you get to sketch and paint Jake, but both fail to really focus on your work... and things get messy. Also features awkward moments, silliness, unspoken words, and a slight bit of angst. As always, I hope you like it, feel free to share your thoughts and/or criticism, thanks for reading me ! (Also, another AN at the end)

Chapter 12 : Would you model for me ?

Around 1 pm Mandy took off, saying she had to go downtown to buy some fabric, taking a reluctant Josh with her with the excuse that he'll help her carry everything. Everything froze when she winked at me before closing the door, letting me alone with Jake. Just sitting together at the table felt awkward, but I was afraid my heart was gonna leap from my lips if I opened my mouth to say something. Jake got rid of his ponytail, helping me putting the dishes in the sink before clapping his hands together.

- Should we start ?

Nervousness began slowly fading away as minutes passed. Quietly, he sat on the chair, legs crossed and hands resting on his lap, intently watching my every move as I was preparing my easel, turning the vises to adjust it to my height. Definitely curious about the whole thing, Jake popped from behind it, handling me my worn out pencils.

- Isn't one enough ?

I couldn't help but smile at this.

- They don't all have the same lead.

Jake frowned ever so slightly and I instinctively took his hand in mine while he let me.

- Look, I said as I traced a noticeable line on his skin. This pencil has a B lead, which means it's kinda greasy contrary to the H leads, that's why it left a mark. See, I explained while tracing another line on his hand with another pencil, this is a 6B, the higher the number, the greasier the lead. For H leads it's the other way around, feel how this one is hard and dry ? We use H leads to sketch and B leads to draw details.

It suddenly came to me that I was rambling and a rush of embarrassment came over me as I let go of his hand, apologizing.

- Don't be sorry, I learned something. And it's really cool seeing you so passionate.

Jake smiled and our eyes met, making me aware of how close he was. Reporting my attention to the pencils and faking being busy, I circled him to open my laptop.

- Since you won't be able to move I'll at least let you choose the music.

I heard his laugh behind my back and let him tap something into the search bar. Soon, the sound of a guitar blared through the speakers as he bopped his head playfully, enjoying his pick. Jake took his seat, placing his hair behind his shoulders and ears and looking straight in front of him, in my direction, dead serious like I was about to take his mugshot. He didn't seem awkward nor stressed at all, taking this way more seriously than his brother did. Standing up from my spot, I came to him in order to place him the way I needed him to be.

- I already have this angle, I mumbled as he let me put my hands on his jaw to lightly turn his face to the left. Let's try this one, please raise your chin and look in my direction.

He didn't answer nor moved, just kept his pose as I started quickly sketching, trying not to think of how powerful he looked. Face halfway turned to the side, chin raised proudly, head lightly titled backwards, a rebel strand of hair resting on his cheek while he looked down at me, unimpressed. He was a really good model, standing still with patience and understanding fast what I wanted and how he needed to pose. I let him took breaks between every portraits, telling him earlier that he could move while I kept drawing the small details on his face that I had left unpolished, so he could rest longer. Jake was feeling at home, and doing so. By the time I finished the last pencil portrait, he found his way to the kitchen, bringing us two beers that he took from the fridge, opening mine for me and placing it at my feet where it wasn't risky to stain any piece of work. Sipping his, he stayed behind me, incredibly stressing me out just by staring at my hand put some more shading on the paper version of himself.

- Damn you're talented, he exclaimed next to my shoulder. Do I really look this good ?

His face got just next to mine, between the portrait and me, and I rolled my eyes playfully to hide my bashfulness. He was too close, too close and too pretty, and too in a relationship.

- Fishing for compliments, Kiszka ? Aren't your ego fed enough with these ?

Ignoring him to report my attention to the canvas didn't cut it because Jake faked having a heart attack and let himself fall on Mandy's bed. Finishing the last details, I took a look at my work, pleased with myself. This day had be great, work wise. Some days your hand just refuse to obey, and others it's the exact oppositive, you feel like you have the power to draw anything that crosses your mind. Jake being the model might have helped with that, because it was fairly obvious (at least to me) that his portraits were the best of the series. There was something to them, they seemed to stand out, to glow while the others looked dull in comparision. And I feared my classmates were going to notice it. Clueless as he was, there was no chance Jake will, though.

- Come on, we still have one to do and I'll set you free.

The December sun had already declined a while ago but even if the day was still young I wanted us both to have a free evening, I couldn't monopolize all of his spare time. Behind me, the brunette still lied unmoving on the bed, playing dead. I couldn't help a smile from tugging at the corners of my lips while I rolled my eyes at the sight, gently pushing his foot with mine.

- C'mon Jake, let's go.

He didn't move, body lying on his side, face buried in the covers.

- Jake ?, I called softly.

Did he fell asleep ? I took a step forward to see but could only notice his chest rising peacefully. Was he that tired ? Should I wake him up or let him nap for an hour ? My hand slithered to his knee, pushing it gingerly, but he kept still. He couldn't sleep here, I didn't know when Mandy would come back, and his sleep schedule might get messed up if he slept too much at once. So I knelt on the mattress slowly, sinking on it as it took in my weight. My fingers wrapped around his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.

- Jake.

Out of the blue, the boy jumped, grabbing my hand and screaming at me, making my heart pang with panic. That jerk burst into laughter, proud of his joke while my brain was barely figuring out what just happened. When it did, Jake was rolling on his back with a hand holding his belly, letting me slap his arms repeatedly while I showered him with insults for scaring me, completely unabashed and unbothered. When he finally had calmed down, he grabbed my wrist, starting a battle between us where I tried to make him let go of me, struggling to get my arm back, but it wasn’t difficult for him to handle me. Swiftly, he took my other wrist in his free arm and sat on the bed, capturing my waist and lifting me like I was as light as a feather. Ignoring my complaints and yelling in his ear, he placed me on his shoulder before dropping me unceremoniously on the mattress, making it dangerously bend under both of our weights. Both giggling like madmen, I continued trying to escape his hold but it was all too easy for him to block my legs with his when I kicked, and secure both of my wrists in his hand, making it impossible for me to move.

- Okay, I forfeit ! How can you even do that ?

- I did some wrestling in highschool.

Jake's proud smile nearly reached his ears, cheeks flushed and hair completely disheleved. It instantly calmed me down, replacing my laugh by the infamous fast tempo of my heart beating hard against my chest. My smile slowly began to fade away, nervousness taking its place, a tension I didn't know was there making itself way too present now, filling the heavy and warm air between the two of us. Jake seemed to have noticed too, because he lost his smile. For several seconds we just looked at each other in the eye, exchanging out of breath pants and unsure stares. My legs were still locked around his, and my wrists deeply burried in the pillow above my head where his hand kept them in place. The intimate proximity of his wrestling hold kept us close, connecting his pelvis to mine, the realization sending a pleasant wave of heat through my loins, butterflies fluttering their way in my stomach, making me shiver. It seemed to last forever, and yet it was over in an instant. I felt my hands being released slowly and the next thing I knew he was on his feet, back turned to me, straightening his locks. What the fuck had just happened, my brain kept repeating while I imitated him, mouth suddenly dry.

- Should we do the last one ?, Jake offered.

He was back at his seat, and his bright tone, whether it was forced or not, made me feel less awkward for a moment. It didn't last, though. As I stood behind the canvas with my brushes in hand, the intense staring was unavoidable. He had to look my way, so I had no choice but to endure it, trying to be as quick as possible while painting his eyes to avert being more awkward than I already was. I didn't know what he was thinking about, but his eyes were glaring holes through me, making my fingers shake as I tried to concentrate on the purple lines I was tracing, gulping down my beer to give me some confidence. These hours were probably the longest of my life, as painting Jake's face let plenty of time to my mind to run wild and ask a hundred of questions. The music didn't help at all either, the playlist Jake had chosen reaching its end in the middle of our session, abandonning us to the unwelcoming arms of silence. I was growing more uncomfortable as time passed, and Jake whose job was just to motionlessly look at me must without a doubt have noticed the way my face fell.

- Can I ask you a question ?

- Yeah, of course, you can talk I finished your mouth, I replied without looking up.

- Are you and Josh an item or something ?

His voice seemed to echo in the deafening silence of the room. It actually made me put down my brushes, body stiffening, standing still. Did I hear that well ? My head raised up from behind the easle, studying Jake's features for any sign of a joke. What really put me in a panic state was that he was dead serious.

- I'm sorry ?, was all I managed to say.

Boy oh boy did I needed another beer. Jake looked downright awkward now, shifting uncomfortably on his chair and rubbing the palms of his hands on his jean's.

- Are you like, y'know... dating ? Maybe it's not my place to ask, he added quickly, but I always see you guys together these days and you barely answer my texts anymore so I figured-

- We're not.

Me cutting him abruptly took him aback but he closed his mouth and nodded, taking that as his clue to not pursue this conversation. Jake looked apologetic now and I sighed through my nose, putting down my brushes once again.

- I like Josh, I said sincerely. Like a brother. And I know he feels the same.

There was absolutely no doubt about it, I could feel it. And even if I was wrong, if Josh was interested he would've made his move a long time ago, the boy had plenty of occasions, starting with the first time he crashed in our dorm when we were drunk. Now that I was thinking about it, I was relieved he didn't see Mandy and I as more than friends, and even so thankful that he was this kind and safe boy because inviting someone to sleep over after drinking had not been my smartest idea. Josh may have looked soft and cute, but he was still a man, not a child.

- Sorry I was being nosy.

- It's alright, I see where you're coming from.

And I meant it. In retrospect, Jake had reasons to misunderstand. With the whole « he's taken » situation I started spending more time with Josh and less with him, without him knowing why and just seeing the visible tip of the iceberg. It was no wonder he jumped to that conclusion, Josh was a very touchy-feely boy and it was so easy to give in and mimic his behavior, showing our affection towards each other with gestures on a daily basis. And his flirty self didn't seem to be that popular with the ladies with the exception of Mandy and I who found him and his pickup lines hilarious. Add to the mix the whole situation with Jake's girlfriend and Josh's protective attitude and you'll had the perfect misunderstanding. Briefly, I wondered if any other people saw us like that. Sam and Danny for example, or just students we passed by on the halls while being obnoxiously loud.

- It's cool you two get along so much.

I didn't know what to respond to that except a confused affirmative sound. Now was it just me or was Jake beating around the bush ?

- Okay, we're done, you can come take a look at yourself.

The brunette jumped to his feet, taking a few long steps to stand by my side, admiring my work with a shocked yet delighted expression on his face. And while he studied the painting, I studied him, his happy expression making me smile from ear to ear, eyes unable to look away from his face, like they didn't have enough doing so for the whole afternoon. Jake was excitedly pointing to small details, amazed by the fact that I had caught them, noticing in the process things he never witnessed himself on his own head. His fingers hovered dangerously over the fresh paint so I took his hand away as a reflex to prevent him from messing up.

- Easy boy, let it dry first. Hold on, I said before giving him his hand back, what happened to your middle finger ?

- It's silly, I dropped my amp on it. What's funny is that Josh wasn't even the one worrying about it, it was Sam. He was running everywhere saying we had to call a doctor over, he thought my nail was gonna fall off it made him freak out.

The memory of it made him chuckle, and his cheerful expression warmed my heart.

- You really have a beautiful smile.

Jake's laughter came to an abrupt stop and it was his time to observe me now, probably noticing how fast my face changed color to a darker shade while I realized I just complimented him out loud.

- Oh yeah ?, he replied with a smirk. You really have a beautiful stain.

Oh no, I thought I had been extra careful this time, acrylic painting was a pain to get rid off. My clothes would be possibly ruined now and it was starting to be difficult to find an unstained outfit to wear, as I refused to put on an apron. While I was squirming to find paint on me, Jake took a step closer.

- Here.

The moment I raised my head he booped my nose, making me blink a few times before I realized something wasn't right. The tip of my nose felt strangely cold and if I crossed my eyes I could see a purple stain on it. Fucker just put some paint on my face.

- Oh you wanna play that game with me ?

Next thing he knew, a purple line was crossing his cheek and the glare he gave me at that moment while I could barely contain my laughter made me run for my life. Jake was quick to chase me, wooden palette in one hand, the other dodging the different items I threw his way in an attempt to slow him down. We looked positively crazy, running around the kitchen table shouting and screaming with a mix of fear and excitment. It was exhilirating and some memories of our race in the hallways a few weeks ago flashed through my mind. Jake caught me between the sink and the table, blocking the way out with his body, holding the palette full of several nuances of purple in the air like a weapon of mass destruction.

- You thought you were gonna get away with it ?

- Pleasepleaseplease, I laughed out of breath, not my clothes !

- You're lucky I'm feeling merciful today.

Two of his fingers dug deeply in the paint before spreading themselves on my forehead, other hand keeping my face in place while I slipped to the floor in order to escape. When my butt hit the ground Jake's did the same, smudging the paint on my forehead and even wipping his fingers on my cheeks. Quick to reach the palette, my tainted fingers caughed his jaw area, leaving four distinct lines of paint on his mouth and chin, shaking with laughter as his eyes widen as big as they could. In a desperate attempt to run away, I climbed over his leg, crawling my way back to the bedroom before I felt myself being pulled backwards, crying for help.

He went as far as lifting my sweater' sleeves to mark my arms too, and we laid on the kitched floor completely spent, giggling stupidly and playfully elbowing each other in the ribs.

- I missed it, sighed Jake.

- Body painting ?

- Spending time together.

That made my heart constrict painfully, and my smile drop. Jake didn't see, as we were both staring at the ceiling, exhausted. I never expected that he would enjoy hanging out with me enough to miss it. Guilt invited itself to the party, causing me to shift awkwardly on the ground.

- Me too.

I replied with a low, shy voice, barely a whisper, but I knew he was close enough to hear it. It was sincere, I had missed it every single day. And I could only wish for us to spend moments like these for the rest of our lives. But it remained and will remain a dream. And as it all came with a price, sobs began coming down my throat as soon as Jake had left the dorms.

The week passed quietly, with me succeeding in handling all of my homework to my teachers and earning some praises in the process. We were Friday, after our last lecture together with the twins before Christmas Holidays came in. Lunch took place in the staircase because Josh thought it was an important date or something about returning to our roots before not seeing each other for two weeks or something. To be fair, we didn't care as long as we were together for our last meal of the year, having ordered fries and burgers to mark the occasion, chatting excitedly about our plans.

- Christmas Holidays are for stuffing your stomach and drinking to endure family gatherings, stated Mandy while stealing some fries from Jake before he handed them over.

- And here I thought Christmas was about sharing, to think I did it wrong all those years.

Jake's sass earned him a flying frie that he grabbed and ate while Josh took the opportunity to explain his long list of things he wanted to do, speaking with his hands and nearly slapping his brother multiple times in the process.

- First I'm going hiking, then I want us to play some music at home with our family, he added looking at Jake, then I'll decore the tree and put the star on top, and then bake some Christmas cookies, and OH we'll sing some songs in front of the fireplace, and exchange gifts, I already have Ronnie's one she's gonna love it, you stand no chance in being her favorite brother this year Jake.

Squinting my eyes, I kept listening as he rambled on about some gigantic Christmas market in their city that you have to be careful not to get lost in it, and wearing animal sweaters and drinking eggnog and I just... lost track. Some part of me really hoped Christmas was his favorite holiday and that he wasn't that enthusiastic about every single one because then I'd start sending « get well soon » cards to their family.

- What about you ?, I asked Jake, completely ignoring Josh's endless monologue now a background noise.

A sheepish smile played across his face while he idly played with his food.

- Mina's birthday is around the corner so I already made a reservation at a local restaurant. Then I want to bring her to a spot near the mountains I found one day when we were hiking. If the sky is clear enough we'll be able to see the stars. I'll give her her present there.

- It's the perfect plan !, encouraged Mandy.

- Right ? Last time we spoke on the phone she said she had something to tell me so I can't wait to go home.

I could see we were all uncomfortable and that she was faking cheerfulness for his sake, because none of us were excited about it, not even Josh who took a bite of one of his fries only to immediately put it down with the others. Contrary to him, I forced a smile, not wanting to spoil Jake's enthusiasm. To be fair it was a fantastic date idea, and somehow it made me feel worse. I just genuinely hoped that girl knew how lucky she was.

AN² : Next chapter will be in a week or more because I have some stuff to do work-wise, also to give me time to write more, but mainly so that you really experience that Christmas Holiday without Jake. Now am I a bitch ? Maaaaybe, but I thought it’d be interesting to do! See you!

[drops-of-moonlights]

“Oh. You got an unicorn. You realize we’re all cramped in this place, right?” - Kiko to Bloom, done with sharing space with 5 other animals

Next helper redesigns are the Magic Animals! I NEVER WANT TO DRAW THEM EVER AGAIN I LOVE HOW THEY ENDED UP BUT IT WAS PAIN

Changes to their purpose and lore and their species and all that stuff below!

Magic Animals are the result of the firsts bursts of Wild Magic a very very long time ago, which mutated different species according to their surroundings, and most of the animals that live today have carried on with evolution, the wild magic an intrinsic part of them. They populate most worlds, and special Sanctuaries are for species that are in risk or whose natural habitat was lost to either development or nature. As an example, the Alfea Sanctuary was made for Digmoles, a small rodent species able to mold the earth rather than just digging in it that got hunt to almost extinction several centuries ago.

Wild Magic is pure, raw natural magic given a physical form, and they were once believed to be the sources of magic in each region, being considered sacred. Its effects are random and possibly dangerous, and only Silvestrix magi seem to be able to handle it, as its theorized Wild Magic is the origin of the form, given its link to Magic Animals. It’s been proven that constant, passive exposure to Wild Magic is completely harmless, but it’s the sudden bursts of it that can be dangerous, as they can interfere with the normal flow of Aura of a being. Wild Magic usually takes the forms of trees, rocks and bodies of water, but it has been known to take the form of different elements and occasionally, even the forms of other animals. There is also a persistent rumor about the Primordial Wild Source, the point of origin of all Wild Magic that’s protected by the Six Sign Animals, six species from different realms that, when gathered, will open the way to the Source.

On to the individual animals!

Kiko, the Fae Rabbit - Kiko becomes friends with Bloom all the way back in S1, having been rescued by her in the Blackmud Swamp. He follows the girls to Alfea, and after a three-day battle with the girl’s dorm manager, Kiko starts living with them. Fae Rabbits are herbivorous, and seem to prefer the fruit from very high trees. They also seem to be able to help with pollinization, and are native to Magix. They can fold and hide their wings in their fur. Kiko specifically is a Swamp Fae Rabbit, meaning he has minor water and earth magic. He’s capable of speech, and seems to also be able to understand talking plants. He’s very attached to Bloom and can be a jealous little flying fuzzball.

Amarok, the Petal Magiwolf - Amarok has been with Flora since she was a kid. Her parents run an animal sanctuary, and they specialize in the care of injured wild Magic Animals, to release them into the wild once they’re cured. Amarok was brought in as a puppy, and when he was released, he came back after a few hours. They tried to make him leave again, but he simply stood there, tail wagging, before nuzzling Flora’s dad. Right then, Amarok became the dog of the family. They have a license to handle wild Magic Animals, and since Amarok still counts as one despite being somewhat domesticated, they were able to keep him. He’s a Petal Magiwolf, being able to grow plants and flowers, and his pink fur also emits a sweet aroma that Flora’s mom later uses to calm down patients. Amarok was the first of the Six Sign Animals the girls found, a set of animals from different realms which are supposed to protect the Fountain of Wild Magic. They’re omnivorous.

Squonk, the Wingless Snow Gryphon - Squonk approached the Winx very hurt during a short travel to the Andros mountains, having been attacked by Kalshara who’s trying to hunt him. The girls defend him, and after being protected from an attack by Aisha, he helps the girls fight off Kalshara with his own powers. He sticks around with the girls, as he seems to be one of the Six Sign Animals the girls need to find. Wingless Gryphons favor the lower mountain ladders, unlike winged ones who live almost exclusively at peaks. Snow gryphons are common in Domino and Andros, being able to freeze with their touch and bring snow and hail. Their diet is mainly consistent of minerals and metals, as well as meat.

Critty, the Quillcat - Critty was actually captured by Kalshara and Brafilius, and they were out in the open seeing if with her, they could lure the Winx out and steal Amarok and Squonk. She managed to escape thanks to Musa, however, and after she’s rescued fully, she seems very attached to her, even if she’s still hostile to the other girls... and everyone else. Quillcats seem to be part mountain cat, part hedgehog, with their quills covering their back and part of their chest. The tips secrate a paralizing substance, which was once used to make morphine. Their diet is composed of bugs and small birds, as well as fish.

Shiny, the Lumibird - Shiny appeared to the Winx during their attempts at rescuing Critty, and guided Stella (who had gotten separated) to a secret passageway, where she managed to get at the siblings first. Shiny likes Stella a lot, but seems lukewarm to the other girls and animals. Lumibirds have bioluminiscent feathers in their wings and tail, and their migrations are famous for producing beautiful sky spectacles. Their diet is based on minerals as well as bugs and certain plants.

Flitter, the Lectrosquirrel - Flitter is one of the lectrosquirrels that maintain the inner heat and currents of the capital of Zenith’s main computer. After heavy malfunctioning, the girls access the core, and with Tecna and Flitter joining magic, they manage to restore the place. Flitter ends up close to Tecna, and seeing that the core can work without her, she leaves and joins the Winx, as the 5th Sign Animal. Lectrosquirrels manage to stay afloat with magnetic pulses, and seem to be able to control and redirect electrical currents. They leave a trail of sparks behind when flying at fast speeds. They eat mostly different types of nuts, though small fruit is also an option.

Elas, the Unicorn - Elas is the last Sign Animal the girls acquire, having been cursed under a rage spell and causing mayhem in rural China. Bloom manages to calm him down enough for Roxy and Flora to lift the curse, and he becomes attached to her as a result. He seems very prideful, and has a small rivalry with Kiko. Unicorns were hunted for their horns, which have healing properties, in almost all the realms, but that was thankfully stopped a long time ago. Their coat and mane color tend to determine what their magic affinity is; Elas is an unicorn with the power of gems. They’re mostly herbivores, but have been seen to eat some bugs.

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch IV - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 4 / ?? - In which Emma hears Liam and Elsa's tale

    Ingrid, Elsa, and Anna wasted no time at all, Emma appearing in the shop front slightly past noon. The older ladies buying bread and a teenage boy carrying several boxes of pastries noticed her first, their eyes snapping to the door she came from. The teenager made a noise between a wheeze and a gulp as the old women tutted, causing Killian to look up with his ever permanent annoyance. The smile under the loose waves of her hair was shy, and in the sundress of coral and cream, Emma was a captured ray of sunshine. Or she would be, if the smile reached her tired and slightly puffy eyes.

  They walked to the park together, Killian’s annoyance tempered by her fascination with everything in the many touristy shop fronts. She marveled at stones and crystals that were marked as magical, whispering how clever they were if they'd gotten them right, and how sneaky they were if they tried to trick others. In another shop she questioned a well meaning sales clerk about corduroy and a peculiar blouse with capped sleeves that read ubiquitously, "Summer of Love", asking what other summers they observed. 

  When the shop clerk laughed her off, Emma shrugged and joined in. People loved her instantly, as if they had known her their entire lives; the Fae thrall of old that she unknowingly employed was a matter of charisma, combined with her natural beauty, an unerring grace, and her rapturous attention on every word spoken to her. Killian watched her in fascination as well, the Darkness puzzling over their observations. Emma shot him a happy grin, but beneath it was a foundation of the old world decorum that he had once adhered to religiously - she was weary, and the cracks in her undetectable armor were there. There was no reason for her to be doing this, he realized, especially with him of all people. It was a facade, and a very well polished one. 

  Moving to pull her away, they escaped from a store front caller who had been talking to her about the "future of sound" that was coming on eight different tracks, a large, flat, black circle in his hand. Killian could feel her sway towards him in gratitude, bumping him to the side. As sudden as her playfulness was in the gentle push, her mask was back up as they entered the gates of the park. 

  It took Emma all of four minutes to raise his hackles. He'd forgotten about the bloody fountain; one second she was by his side, then the next she was wading into the coin filled bottom of the pool, a geyser shooting from rocks above her. 

"What the seven hells are you doing?" he’d called sharply over the roar of the water. Emma shrugged kicking a bit of water at him, looking for a minute absolutely impishly spiteful. "Just who are you, Swan? What sort of princess goes wading into fountains, especially those most definitely used for decor?" 

  She glared at him, but it was tempered by tiredness. "Wouldn't you like to know."

  Perhaps . 

  "Perhaps I would, darling." 

  She hummed for a moment, watching another geyser shoot towards the sky. "I am not your love, or your darling." Emma fumed, eyes cast down at her feet, her face falling fractionally, allowing only the tiniest slip of her mask to happen quickly before she wiped water from her face with a pressed on smile. Anger gone, forced down to be forgotten behind thick walls. 

  Picking up a few more coins as she made her way back to him, she examined them in her palm. "These coins feel like… Are they enchanted?" 

  Killian shook his head, looking at a silver coin with the engraving 1967. "They're wishes."

  Emma's eyes lit up brightly, and before he could stop her, Emma dipped a finger in the water. Several bubbles rose around coins, popping in a burst of pink sparkles. 

  "Do not use your magic -" he hissed, lunging forward into the water, eyes wild. 

  "Stop worrying, old man. I used only a tiny bit of magic. I only granted wishes for people who are here, and ones that wouldn't take a lot of power. A tiny bit will be fine."

  She had to be insane, wet from the fountain and laughing at him, her walls as high as ever. 

  "No -" A bubble the size of a hippo floated past. "Bloody hell -" 

  “Isn't this what humans do here? Have fun in the park?” Her smile was pure happiness and joy, as bright as the midday sun. 

  He thought back to Milah, Elsa, Anna, and their schoolmates in ladies’ refinement courses. There had been a turn of phrase they parroted: 'Fake it until you can make it'. 

  The Darkness wasn't the only one perplexed by her willingness to push her other emotions down, at least; Killian found it vexing in its own right. Moreover, he hated that it reminded him of Milah, like a stab to the charcoal lump that had once been his heart. 

  “They don't wade into fountains, or do magic in front of unsuspecting passersby. They walk or read a book -”

  “Show me, then!” Emma grabbed his hand. Instantaneously, two things happened within him, both unsettling. First, the Darkness shrunk back like a wild animal, practically spitting. Secondly, and more worrying, her touch lit something long buried that spread through his body, filling his chest with heat. Her magic pushed the Darkness down, while a sort of levity  flooded his veins in its place, as if someone had thrown open a window to let in fresh air - and he could breathe easier than he had in a long time. 

  When she stopped to pet a dog, letting go of him, the feeling didn't fade. Instead, her laugh as she watched the dog wag its tail fueled it, and he felt…

  “They don't talk here,” Emma murmured, leaving the dog's owner looking perturbed. “How peculiar.” She scratched under its chin, as Killian exchanged a nervous glance at the owner. 

  “Always joking, this one,” Killian laughed, trying to assuage the strange looks the owner gave them. Pulling Emma away, she spotted something else that caught her eye. She quickly led him through the dappled sunshine. 

  Following Emma around as she smelled flowers, describing the palace garden, or rolled down a grass hill, her laughter infectious, he felt a connection with her that he couldn't explain. Kinship due to nobility? Unlikely, and he hadn't been much of a noble in his own right. That was Liam, with his regimens and regiment, living up to long-standing expectations to fulfill the duties of their lineage. 

  When she reached for him, her hand outstretched and head cocked as the wind blew through her hair, he took it to test his theory. Resting his hand in hers she ran, pulling him across the park, the Darkness knotted itself up in hatred. It occurred to him that maybe she was sent by Ingrid to accompany him, some ploy in which to get them both away from the shop. It wasn't a bad plan at all, in retrospect. 

  All the while, even as it was caged, the Darkness puzzled at her actions. It squirmed in confusion as to why she was acting like she didn’t have a care in the world when it was obvious that her sadness and anger must lie right below the surface. Hiding her emotions with set shoulders, she blew raspberries at a baby that played in the grass near its parents, much to the small child's delight and the Darkness' displeasure. 

  In a secluded alcove off a deserted trail, she stepped barefoot into a meadow, letting flowers grow around her in the tall grass. Emma did cartwheels as people seemed to follow her, a group coming shortly to begin a drum circle, a small gaggle of girls making flower crowns, and another group doing cartwheels with Emma, their skirts all tucked in as much as possible. Even in its lessened noise, Killian could hear the ticking way the Darkness thought, and felt it grapple with hiding its ploys.

  They fed ducks, and she made him smile as she made sure the ducklings got their fair share of the cabbage they had bought. While most creatures stayed away from him, a quick glimpse in her direction showed a menagerie of water fowl, along with two peacocks, all vying for her attention. Even brightly colored fish nibbled at her toes and for a moment, it was easy to forget the turmoil her life was in, until she looked up and the light hit her just so. There was no denying that her pain was there, but well camouflaged; there was a familiarity to it that made Killian uneasy. The Darkness retreated further, a sure sign that it would be back with a vengeance later. If he had learned anything from years alone with it in his prison, it was that its quiet was never good news.

  A bubble blower showed her how to use a rope, and soon she'd created giant bubbles that chased the breeze in detailed, impossible shapes, the wish of a child that she had granted. A band performed in a pavilion, and Killian let her convince him to dance together for a song. She seemed skittish around other men without his company. 

  Killian tripped a few times, actually feeling shy with embarrassment and frustration when she winced at his attempts to lead. 

  “I'm sorry, it has been a while,” he mumbled. 

  “You're doing fine. This is fun, the music here is so wonderful!” Emma giggled in bubbly cheer, but her eyes were somewhere else. 

  The song continued, and he found his footing, leading her with ease. Emma floated in his arms, sundress flaring out beneath the hand resting at her waist with each turn about the plaza. She seemed to drift away into her thoughts for a moment, enjoying a simple waltz. 

  Another man interrupted and asked her to dance, but Killian found watching them brought another kind of heat that was unpleasant: something he’d almost call jealousy , if he didn’t know better. He didn't like the way the other man touched her, hands too low and his body too close to hers. The lewdness didn’t go unnoticed, and Emma removed his hand, whispering something that made the man quickly end their dance. If it rattled her, she only showed the slightest bit of distaste as she watched him walk away, her chin held slightly higher and fingers slowly relaxing from clenching. Her step was slower after, a little strain evident. 

  Interesting.

  Killian suggested they eat when she returned to him, his mood suddenly soured as she waved goodbye to the band and the man she had danced with disappeared back into the crowd.

  At a concession cart, he bought her some fairy floss and himself a dark chocolate ice cream.

  They sat on a bench, Emma greedily picking the candy floss from its cone, bare feet swinging like they itched to be back on the earth. The princess hadn't said much since the man had groped far too low for her comfort. The Darkness made its tentative play. 

  "So, how many suitors did you have?" he asked, ignoring the beginning of his ice cream’s melted trail down his fingers. “I mean, before all this…” He made a gesture with his hand.

  Emma looked at him doe-eyed.

  "Suitors?" she laughed incredulously, head turned to the side. "None, I am not even allowed to be courted by anyone, let alone having -"

  "So they don't just pair you off with someone in the court like you're chattel any longer?" He grinned when her lips thinned and her eyes slit into a glare.

  "No." She looked down at the giant colored monstrosity in her hands. "I don't suppose they do. If I'm honest… I'm glad for it. My experiences thus far with men have been…" She trailed off, picking at the fluff. 

  “I suppose I don’t see why your charming parents didn’t marry you off to some honor bound Lordling then. Let him get you with child. It would have sorted this mess right out.” He crossed his legs, looking up at the flowering bushes around them. Emma picked at the fluff further, refusing to look anywhere else. 

  “They want me - they wanted me to marry for love. Like they did. Just not until I was ready, until I was safe. Although people say their marriage was a matter of ending the war or joining the realms, they loved each other first. They want… wanted that for me. Just without the constant threat of danger.”

  “Want,” he gritted out on a laugh. The Darkness backed down, and Killian felt the tension within himself ease up . “They’ll be alright, Princess.” She pushed her hair back, and nodded without looking up. He was surprised at his desire to soothe her, but that impulse faded as the Darkness pushed back again.

  Don't give her sympathy. You owe her nothing; she should feel guilty. Soothing her? You're a pathetic, hapless, meager imbecile - she deserves the pain! 

  The breeze blew through where they sat, and neither spoke for some time. He broke the silence with quiet bitterness in his tone. “They most likely would have killed your husband anyway, I suppose. Goblins don’t really care about sacrament or love.”

  “I am sorry, truly. I -” She met his eyes, and he could see the sincerity. The Darkness in him wriggled under his skin and he looked away from her. “I don’t have words to say how truly sorry I am. You and Elsa both deserved happiness.” He felt his shoulders tighten, his body going taut. A warm hand touched his forearm, and he looked up to meet her eyes, the light of the summer sun making them viridescent. “You still deserve happiness. Dark One or not.” Sincerity underlined every word she spoke.

  The Darkness under his skin shrieked, repeating its song. 

  You are nothing, nothing, you deserve nothing, to be pulled into nothingness. You will never find happiness, you will live an eternity of nothing!

  Her thumb stroked gently, leaving the tiniest smear of pink from her sweet treat on his shirt. Everything was quiet except for the breeze, the birds around them, and the far off chatter of others in the park. He took a bite of his ice cream and she smiled thinly, pulling away and crossing her legs underneath her body.

  "If I could change what happened, if I could have stopped all of this, I would have done everything in my power. I'm sorry the war ruined so many lives. I'm sorry I didn't know," Emma whispered quietly, the paper cone in her hands picked clean. 

  He felt his lips upturn slightly, the ghost of a smile starting as they sat in the sun. The Darkness was quiet, outmaneuvered by the princess' unexpected kindness. 

  “It's really beautiful here. It's so much more vibrant than the palace, and I feel so much more…” The sun started to set, thick swirls of pink and purple melting into orange lined with gold in the sky as she searched for the right word. 

  “Free,” Killian finished. 

  The Darkness laughed inside his mind. 

  She looked up at him, her head cocked. “Yes. Free. I feel free.”

  The wind caught her hair and dress, making her laugh brightly. For him, it was a moment of strange lucidity and brought her into sharp focus: gentle curves, the soft Cupid's bow of her lips stained by sugar, long eyelashes that lay above blushing cheeks. The sea was a ways off, but he could smell the salty spray mixing with the warmed sugar. 

  “What would you do if you were king, Killian?” Emma asked softly, distracted, as her mind drifted no doubt to where her family lay. 

  He did not need to pause or think, the Darkness rising up to strike as he responded. “I would get revenge on everyone who ever crossed me.”

  Despite how roughly his voice came out, Emma didn't flinch, only turned to stare back at him - through him, really - in a way that made him feel small. Even the Darkness squirmed under her scrutiny, as if she could see the half truth there, the fear that drove this vessel, and how much omission lay in that vast fracture. 

  Emma touched his hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze, looking at him again with those eyes that saw far too much. “And after that?”

  Killian swallowed hard, unable to find words. 

  “Do you think… Do you think it gets easier over time, or harder?” she continued. “Do you think you learn how to stop feeling anything when you learn of atrocities, of people left behind, of people forgotten, of the hurt and of the people who set out to hurt you? How do you ever reconcile it all? Because I can’t - I can’t - ” Emma stood, taking a deep breath and walking stiffly to throw the fairy floss cone away. When she returned, the smile was back and firmly in place.

  “Are you alright, love?”

  She nodded, and he waited for her retort on his pet name. The desire to push her simmered to a boil, and he pressed her again. 

  "To answer your question: you don't forget. Actions have consequences, regardless of if they are necessary or of whether they look good on paper. Regardless of how you push them away by hiding in your palace, you don't forget or reconcile.” Abruptly, his understanding evaporated as the Darkness seized control once more. “Is the real world outside of your fairytale not living up to expectations, darling? A bit too much? Hm, love?" His tone turned mocking in its faux concern, but she only stiffened further, her fists balling and then unclenching as she let out a breath. 

  When no retort came as a response to his provocation, he threw his melted ice cream away, their silence in view of the sun’s last rays following them home. 

Emma retreated to her room immediately upon their return, brushing past Elsa and Anna on her way up the stairs. Anna followed shortly after, calling her name, while Elsa just rolled her eyes, smiling slightly at Killian.

“What, did you make her cry again?” she asked sarcastically. 

  “I may have.” Killian grinned, stretching to look up the stairs, Anna staring back while giving him an angry glare. “She deserved it though if I did. She asked the most bloody ridiculous questions before we left -”

Ingrid’s voice came from behind them, icy and unamused. “Like what?”

  Elsa froze, but Killian chuckled lightly. “Are you going to lecture me if I tell you, Ingrid?”

  Ingrid stepped closer, standing toe to toe with him, a clear challenge in her stature. “No. I wouldn’t waste my breath if I had to lecture you after I specifically asked you to act with some humanity for a few hours. I’d expect you would know what bad form was without needing a lecture. So, what did she say to you?”

  Killian’s jaw muscles clenched, and the two glared at one another. He scrubbed a hand over his face, letting it rest between them in the air as he started talking. “She asked me what I would do if I were king, and I told her I’d get my revenge on anyone who ever crossed me and the Darkness. She asked what I’d do after and when I didn’t answer, she asked if it gets easier for things. I didn’t answer that, so she walked off.”

  “If what gets easier?” Elsa asked, no longer amused.

  “I don’t bloody know, tons of things, the whiny brat.” Killian shrugged. 

  “What exactly did she ask, Killian?” Ingrid repeated, her low voice like gravel against glass.

  “She asked if it gets easier or harder to rule when you lose people, and if you learn to stop having emotion about it. Then she kept saying, ‘I can’t do this!’ and walked away after I asked if this was not up to her expectations. What was I supposed to say, that like her magical fairytale castle life, it will be easy again? Let her suffer for a while. Let her feel the vice grip of reality.”

  “You foul, rude, son of a bitch. What would your brother say?” Ingrid hissed, pushing past him to run up the stairs, the door of Emma’s room slamming shut behind her. 

  Elsa sat on the staircase in shock at Ingrid’s rebuke. Killian only grimaced and chuckled darkly. “Well, that’s an interesting way to thank me for keeping her out of your hair all day. What would Liam say? Probably that she should grow up, or that she sent him to his death.”

“Do you really have nothing else you’d do as a king but seek revenge?” Elsa asked quietly. 

  “Oh, come on now, love. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. Do you know how hard it was for me when I didn’t know if Liam was dead or alive? When we didn’t know if anyone survived at all besides us? With death you can at least gain closure. I waited for decades for our family, for Liam, for you without this hatred -”

  Killian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not hatred. I tolerate the princess because I have to. Make no mistake, though, I’m not making these ‘fun’ little day trips and tolerating this cohabitation by any sort of choice.”

  “It’s a choice to blame her for Milah, who I haven’t seen you mourn or mention besides to compare to Liam and I. Like we weren’t anywhere as devoted to each other. Like I should want you to rip Emma apart, just because she can get you this built up idea of your revenge -”

“You don’t understand - the war is her fault, her family's fault. Without the war, we'd have - "

  "Killian, I can't imagine how different our lives would be, but that's not what happened. We reacted to a war, we all tried to survive and help others to survive - The Goblins did something terrible because they believed they could, that they deserved to have that right of dominion because women were lesser, because power and blood magic was more important. How is that Emma's fault? What happened to you?"

  "Her family kept me rotting for centuries, Elsa! Milah and I had enchanted ink in our tattoos, a parting token when the Royal family sent Liam and I to the front. It let us hear the other's heartbeat as a steady rhythm when we were apart, her at home and I at sea. When they took her, that was the only thing - that was the only way I measured time in my days waiting in that cell, until I found that I could make the tiny portals to you and Ingrid. The heart on my arm grew slower until the day she died, when it turned black. I refused to believe it, to give her up, to admit that she… I lost myself in rage. I took it out on you, and on anybody who had more freedom than I. I thought we could save her. If I'm honest, I suppose I've known she was gone for centuries, known that crocodile-skinned rapist killed her while royalty locked me away so I couldn't do anything. I just couldn't…”

  “It's fine to grieve, Killian. I still grieve, for Liam and his future, for our future. Revenge after this much time though? And revenge on them? No one could get to the Goblins’ realm; that was the purpose of locking them there, so they could not get out. The princess does not deserve to be a pawn in your scheme - ”

  “You’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being used," Killian hissed at her. Elsa's eyes widened as he smiled maliciously."And you - you will never know how it feels to be so powerful and yet so helpless. Liam died almost instantly, and do you know how I know? Because I killed him. Milah took years to die, years I could have saved her, years where she was alive. I'd have gone to hell and back knowing she was waiting. Instead I was imprisoned there like some sick form of insurance for the royal family for centuries. You still have a school girl crush on the ghost of the man who didn't marry you after, what, eight months?”

  Elsa didn't say anything, opening her mouth but not making noise as her eyes filled with anger. He realized his overstep too late, Elsa's head shaking in what looked like shame or pity. Pushing past him, he caught her wrist. 

  “Elsa, I'm sorry, I didn't think before I spoke and the Dar-”

  “The Darkness is not you, Killian Jones. You have drilled that into our minds, and we… It wasn't only you who lost someone. We lost our parents, our brother, your parents, Uncle Nemo… Olaf was just a child, a child who had no idea what was happening. I lost a brother too, you know. We even lost you! I forgave you for what happened to Liam. I forgave you because you said it wasn't you, begged me to understand that you would never. Do you know how much I wanted you to be wrong? You were in love with Milah for longer, and she was alive longer. I understand that. But I still know he meant it when he said he loved me. I still love him and miss him every day. When I'm ready, I'll move on, but…” Elsa took a heavy breath that shook, “Reminders like this set me back, and I haven't found anyone remotely as wonderful as him.”

  “I -”

  They were startled when they heard Ingrid and Anna leaving Emma’s room, each heading to their own chambers as Elsa climbed the stairs. 

  “That was the end of our conversation. Good night, Dark One, if that is truly what still remains.”

  Elsa entered her room, her door closing with a click, ignoring Killian as he whispered curses to himself. The whispers almost sounded like a conversation, two voices overlapping, hatred in each one. In a shifting mass of black he was gone, the hallway empty and quiet except for the ticking of a clock. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  Emma let herself slide down her own door, ashamed of her eavesdropping, ashamed of too many things she could not control. Angry at the events of the day, angry at whatever it was - Dark One or man - that toyed with them like a bored housecat. And if it wasn't his presence, it was hers causing distress. 

  How was she supposed to save her kingdom, her parents, everything she cared about, when her presence only brought chaos? 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  Elsa struggled to sleep after she fought with Killian, deciding instead to get a head start on the day's baking. She was often the earliest up of the three, starting her days on only a few hours of sleep. 

  She was surprised to hear a soft singing voice in the bakery and the sounds of a working kitchen. Poking her head inside, Elsa watched with awe as Emma baked with masterful efficiency and flitted around cutting shapes or pulling pans out to replace another. 

  The door squeaked slightly, Elsa and Emma meeting eyes. 

  "Um… Hi, and good morning - " Emma yawned. 

  Elsa pointed around before talking again. "You actually did all this?"

  "I - Yes. I couldn't sleep, and my tutors always drilled into me that if I was going to do something, I should do it well and learn it fast. Moving around, keeping busy, it's all I know. It keeps my worst thoughts at bay, and I think clearer. I've also had several cups of your coffee, which is wonderful by the way. This isn't much different than my calisthenics or arithmetic after learning your measurements. I did experiment a bit with some of the recipes, adding ingredients while using the alchemical method of like things in small batches. I made an amazing tea cake of honey, some of the mint from the tea I recommended, rose, and lavender, if you'd like to try it, oh and - "

  "You're… You're actually smart."          

  Emma hesitated, nervous and uneasy around Elsa. “Well. In some ways, yes. I'm well educated about my realm and its many subjects. Here, I'm nothing but some hapless - ”

  “Emma.” Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose, then shook her head as she scooped up Emma's hands in her own pale palms. “The Killian I knew would never have called you spoiled or hapless. I shouldn't have called you spoiled or hapless. I'm sorry, and I beg your forgiveness. The things I said were terrible and out of anger, but Killian… The thing inside of him, controlling him, it's not what was - is - underneath. It's scared of you.”

  Scoffing, Emma laughed, trying to pull away. “Oh, don't tease -” 

  “If there is still the man I knew under what he has become, he is lucky to have someone as clever as you in his care.”

  "Thank you?" 

  "No, enough of that. I was a… I was awful to you and I don't need thanks for telling you what's true. We're family, and disagreements happen. I want to throw Anna three times a day, it's just what we do." 

  "Yes, it's wonderful to watch. I grew up very alone. That's why…" Emma trailed off, biting her lip. 

  "Tell me. You aren't alone now, alright?" 

  "That's why I… um. That's why I spoke to Liam's portrait. He kept me company."

  "Ah."

  Silence filled the bakery for a long stretching moment, Elsa looking down at her hands. 

  "I suppose, if there ever was a person to haunt people, it would not only be a Jones man, but Liam specifically. He couldn't go two feet without questioning someone's choices, or chasing them down to force them to be better. He expected perfection without sacrificing humanity and goodness. You'd hear his praises of 'good form' all over their ships, with Killian repeating it." Elsa looked lost in thought, smiling wistfully. 

  "To the ladies of the court it was a joke, they'd yell it down on the beaches at each other while wrapping a kerchief around their eyes, and we'd all echo it back for them to find. The Brothers Jones of Blackwater found it funny. Or Liam did at least. Killian may have been a bit sore, I suppose, but Liam joined us to play, which made it funnier. I always hoped Liam would find me; that was my secret fantasy.” She sighed, closing her eyes as if to savor the memory, then laughed lightly. “He never did. Always ended up with someone else, and I resigned myself. I was always shy outside of our kingdom, and kept to the gaggle of girls I grew up with.

  "Killian struck up conversation with us first, because Ingrid helped tend to his mother before she passed, and our father and the Lord of Blackwater traded before the Lord abandoned his station to avoid war. Anna and Killian got along well, and then Anna, Milah, and Killian, and I all became friends. Liam always stood awkwardly and stared at me, just clammed up, and I was nice to him but he fled from me as if I offended him by my presence." Emma laughed with her, surprised to hear she had been shy, but more surprised by the cadence of her voice talking about Liam. 

  Rolling her eyes and using her hands, she continued. "Killian went on and on about his brother's love of debate, politics, theatre, the sciences… most of all, their mutual love of the sea and their keep. All things I adored, and what drew me to Liam at our primary sessions in the courts."

  "Primary sessions?" Asking quietly, Emma looked at Elsa with confusion. 

  "Oh yes, we all, as in all the Fae nobility, used to take primary sessions of basic courtly education in the summers so the Lords could meet. It wasn't as segregated then, at least for the children and women. The ladies of the court had no roles in most things outside of the household, so they made good with those who lived nearby, were well titled, or were especially interesting." 

  Emma wrinkled her nose. "Oh."

  Elsa straightened, explaining with precision. "It was before the population decline and finding the fundamentals of time and dimensional energies, creation of the pocket realms was just an idea back then. That changed so much, and truly allowed many more women to rule, lessening disputes about purity of lineage. Ironically, the best contributions to the Fae are exactly what sparked the war."

  "Yes, I just... I never knew that world."

  "I did. It was wonderful, while it was. It just took so much…" Elsa trailed off, until Emma touched her elbow gently, bring her back to the present with a question. 

  "You said Liam loved debates?"

  "Oh, yes - Killian told me all these things and he just idolized his brother, who hated me. Would be around anyone else but me. So, I iced him out, and iced them all out in the process. By the time they realized something was wrong, Killian and Milah were done with their poor job of hiding their relationship from everyone, and I guess they realized that Liam was an absolute ass around me. It seems to be a Jones men trait.

  "So one day, Liam stomps over to me as I sewed in our courtyard, and hands me a pair of gloves. Beautiful, soft suede leather, dyed blue. Periwinkle. My favorite. He grumbled something about meeting all of them back at the beach. So I met him and a few others, wearing the gloves, and we played a round of that silly game. Liam found me right away, and stayed by me the entire night. I was beyond confused and thought it was a joke, or a lost bet they put him up to."

  "He kept asking if I was cold, because I was crossing my arms, and I finally yelled at him: 'The cold doesn't bother me, anyway!' It was time to end whatever this thing was. Liam sputtered out something akin to “You bloody Ice Queen!”, which had my sister, Killian, and Milah angry, and eventually the lumbering fool came to find me crying at the docks. 

  "He refused to leave, and told me that I'd trounced him soundly as a school girl, and he was terrified of me because he thought I was lovely and brilliant. He would have chosen me during that good form game, but could only see skirts and fingertips, and was unable to find mine before being mobbed. He liked the subjects I liked, and begged for tutoring in them on top of his rigorous Naval training. Killian had guessed, and hatched a plan with Anna, and then Milah, to push us together - but Liam had blundered every task horribly out of nerves.

  "We admitted our feelings that night after pining for years. Only a few months later, whispers of war started. He bought a ring immediately, and told me it was insurance so he'd always make it back to me, jokingly begging me to wait for him to get back before running off with another suitor. It became a jest in his letters to me, and we'd count the days in our signatures. ‘Waited 32 days for your return. Waited 56 days for your return. Waited 110 days for your return.’ 

  "Then it happened. The war hit a fever pitch with the Goblins capture of Fae women at a courtier function. Anna and I were there when the attack happened, but Milah was taken, our world was plunged into chaos, the Darkness destroyed the navy in one swoop. Suddenly, everyone was dying; we were fleeing, and my family was separated, but Ingrid refused to let us stop running until we were safe. We were never safe, so we never stopped. We didn't find out everyone's fate until we realized that there were no Fae besides us in most places. We returned home, but the changes were… There was nothing salvageable that wasn't subsequently destroyed by the shifting realms. So we took the gold we had, settled down here in Nemo’s summer home, and finally mourned. Put up pictures when we were able. Drew and painted what we needed to remember. Grew things. Learned how this new world works. 

  "Liam never returned, and we only heard of Killian’s betrayal after he visited us and told us of his imprisonment."

  "How could he visit you? He had nothing there, and that cell was enchanted -" 

  "He was never able to truly leave that cell, but occasionally could make a portal big enough for us to speak through. Almost like a magic mirror. He was broken by losing Liam, desperate for news of Milah, and angrier than we'd ever seen him. Manic even. Lost and torn apart by that thing possessing him. Killian finally told me what he had done after he learned of Milah’s marriage, screamed his part in Liam's death at me because I couldn't help free his stolen love. We didn't speak again until years later, hundreds of years to him."

  "Slowly, we grieved together again. The Darkness has so much control, but when he fights it, or it quiets, you can tell. There is a man still in there, a good man. The Killian I know, my only living brother, he is in there. Learn to read him, Emma. It may serve your cleverness yet."

  "Elsa, I - " 

  "Save it, especially if it is any sort of apology. I… I'm tired." She wiped tears from her eyes, smudging trails of them off of her face. "I just… did you make pie today? I really need some pie. Or chocolate cake." 

  "Or? That is not the Elsa spirit I heard about! And!" 

  "And? Emma, what are you - " 

  "Pie and cake."

  "Oh. Oh, Emma. I did mention you were terribly clever, did I not?" Elsa giggled, and Emma allowed herself a rarely held sly smile. 

  "If you'd like to mention it again, I'm certain it will not hurt."

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The Palace, Great Hall

  Nil sat at the head of a long table with his father, Goblins on either side of them like some bastardized version of a royal feast. Carcasses of animals and Anisapi alike graced the long oak boards, with food ladled sloppily as the horde ate their fill. Various Fae struggled in their leg shackles to haul trays of potatoes and broken gnawed bones, their bodies aching for rest.

  The large doors opened with a splintery creak, an axe that had been lodged in the jamb clattering to the stone floor. Pann stood in the dim shadow that was cast, straightening himself and gathering his nerve. 

  "Come forward, Pann." Nil gestured toward him, grinning. "Don't be scared now, or shy. Come, come! We're feasting." He gestured to the various meats laid out, Pann's blood going cold as he looked at what once was a female Satyr, now picked clean to just past the ribcage. Large wings and haunches rested on other platters, Goblins chewing and slurping loudly. 

  "I find I have no appetite, M'lord, but instead bring grand news." Pann smiled his reedy grin, the Goblin King waving a hand with a grunt at him. 

  "Whatever you want, my son. Just get the dagger piece; I'm tired of having to try to parlay with the dwarves. Their tribal names are as stupid as they are." He took a large swig of wine, splashing some on the Fae woman behind him. Pann shifted uncomfortably at the thought of either of them being with a woman, let alone a wife. 

  "What is this good news then? Have you found my betrothed?" Nil asked excitedly. When Pann nodded, the prince practically bounced in his chair. "Finally, I'd begun to think I’d never own her -" 

  "We have set a trap for them, baiting the Dark One with a contact I now control. Tink Rebel, a siren from near the Blackwater. She played her part beautifully."

  "I don't care, tell me specifically how you'll catch my wife, how does she fit into your plans!" Nil raged, slamming aside glasses. His eyes bulged, a vein in his forehead visible even under scales. Pann took a calming breath. 

  "Not only will I capture her and the shard, M'lord," The Goblin King's eyes slid to look at the satyr, while Nil let his fingernails dig into the table in a long gash, but Pann continued faster, "I will give her to you completely docile and under your control." 

  Nil laughed, staring at Pann incredulously. "Impossible. You cannot tame that dragon bitch. I am glad you joined us, are you sure you’re not hungry?" Clapping his hands, Nil smiled a dangerous smirk as a great swath of Fae struggled to carry out a platter, still sizzling with crackling fat. Pann swallowed down his revulsion as the once great body of the King of the Anisapi lay before him, the great forest boar Heston reduced to being served with a watermelon in his maw instead of an apple.

  "I swear it, I swear I can get her to break. I have a hiding place, a place I keep my… Human, Fae, and Anisapi menagerie. A discotheque club in the old realm. I make a potion that keeps them young and compliant, even the Fae. I have hundreds of them in my fairy circle, and they don't even know - "

  Nil's eyes lit up. "You're luring them to Never-Wonder Land? Even I know of its debauchery." 

  "You and I know. The Dark One has no idea; he's missed every secret deal and smuggling scam while under lock and key. And the Princess? She is so sheltered I know she'll fall." Pann flashed a smile and after a moment, Nil and the Goblin King returned their own relaxed grins. "Your queen will drink some Ambrosia pollen and Nostras water, then listen to and obey every command you ask of her, like your own personal pet, in no time."

  Nil gave a cry of glee, laughing as he ripped off a chunk of meat with his fork, happily tearing at it with his sharp teeth. 

  The Goblin King raised his glass, and lazily licked his lips with his viper tongue. "Begone now, Anisapi."

  Pann practically ran from the room, his own magic wavering for a moment before his portal appeared. He landed in Greece, adjusting his glamor to fit his human disguise, leisure suit zipped halfway up as he stalked inside his club. No music was on in the warehouse space, but bodies writhed to invisible songs while his golden nectar flowed freely. 

  Yes, this was his home, and with luck he would escape the Fae political world all together with Nil as his ally. Now, it all rested on Princess Emma, the Dark One, and if they could survive Never-Wonder Land. 

[megadara999]

The Crimson Gala - Chapter 3: No Hard Feelings?

I’d very much appreciate it if you head on over to AO3 to read my stories, but you don’t have to. They’re just much more up to date and better formatted there. You can also leave comments which I love to read. Click here to be taken to the AO3 page.

This chapter jumps between past and present via little ~~~~~ ____________________

The scent of blood was in the air. As enticing as it was Charlie had her sights set on a bigger prize than just a meal. She planned to take care of the current king. Vampire culture was much more different to humans; they lived, ate, felt and governed differently. One vampire governed all, Dracula. But only a select few ever heard from him. He was a myth, a legend, the idol of their people. It took hard work to be noticed, even harder work to gain an audience with him. Maxwell stood in her way. He was a good little lap-dog, doing everything he was told. They had been friends once, but that was almost a thousand years ago. It started with friendly intention, growing into something more and then...

~~~~~

The night was frigid, snow whirling like a ravenous swarm of insects. Charlotte could feel it through her layers of clothing. The box in her arms was beginning to weigh her down. “May I help you ma’am?” She turned to see a taller man with rounded glasses holding his arms out toward her.

“O-oh. I’m almost where I need to be. Could you perhaps open the door for me?”

“Of course. Maybe you’ll invite me in for a meal too?”

“Depends how you act mister.” He laughed and folded his arms behind his back.

“Of course.” The pair soon arrived at the tavern, the man holding the door open for her. As she walked in the door warmth greeted her, making her sigh in relief.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Come inside, I’ll be sure to make get you a small something as a thank you.”

“You’re far too kind.” They stepped in and headed towards a front desk.

“Just tell them Charlie sent you for helping me. The chef will take care of things.”

“Thank you again.” She beamed and headed into the back area, away from the customers.

“Charlie! I was beginning to think you got lost in the storm!” A larger woman came her way, bringing Charlotte's smaller form into her arms. It brought a smile to Charlotte’s face and a chuckle from her throat.

“You and me both Winona, I honestly can’t believe how fierce the weather is already.”

“Not your typical November that’s for sure! Here, let me take those off your hands.” Winona took the crate from her younger sister, carrying it for her. Charlotte followed, glancing at the crowd for the night.

“It’s quite busy tonight.”

“I blame the cold. Brings in all the travellers. Good for business though!” Charlotte couldn’t help but smile in her sister’s presence, she was so much more independent and charming than her. Winona felt the exact same way about her sister however, grinning more than she had in the two days she was gone. The duo went to a workshop located at the back of the complex; the whinnying of horses coming from the stables outside. “I’m sorry to have sent you out there Charlie.”

“I told you before I left that I wanted to go! Stop apologising!”

“I know, I know! I just... I’ve not made you go on your own before. Then this damn snowstorm hits us? I should have gone.” Rolling her eyes, Charlotte headed towards the stairs that lead to her bedroom.

“I took care of myself! Besides, I got your supplies and you didn’t have to stop working. Now we’ll hopefully be able to put that little bit of extra cash towards the extension!” Winona chuckles and messily ruffles her sister’s hair before she can abscond up the staircase.

“You deserve it Charlie. Really.” She could only blush and squirm out of her sister’s grasp.

“Thanks Winona. I’m going to get changed into my attire for tonight’s little performance. I’ll come tell you about my trip after.”

“Alright. I expect to hear all the details.”

The sisters were part of the staff for an establishment called ‘Feathers and Iron’. It was a place owned by a lumberjack and his wife, but they had all become one big family. The tavern wasn’t only a place to spend the night or have a drink; it was also a place to fortify yourself. There were plenty of beasts one had to be weary of. From goblins to dire wolves, vandals to vampires. Winona was a skilled blacksmith and her craft had kept the tavern safe from attack for two years now; that and Wolfgang. He was a skilled fighter, the guardian of the town. Their little town was a safe-haven for weary travellers and families alike. The tavern was a popular spot for all kinds of people for miles.

The extension was going to be a workshop for Charlotte; a place she could practice her own craft. While Winona was fantastic with some metal and hot coals, Charlotte preferred plants and books. She hoped to become well-versed in witchcraft and perhaps even become the local apothecary. Feathers and Iron would become a key location on anyone’s map; a place to stock up on supplies and a good night’s rest.

Charlotte’s primary drive right now was entertainment. It was a way for her to practice her spells and lighten the hearts of all those who stayed the night. Every other day she would stand up on stage, looking over the visitors as they drank and ate. A few words and fire appeared out of thin air, earning a pleased gasp from all those watching.

Magic wasn’t common, at least not in humans. There were a few who were able to teach themselves and even less who were gifted with it. Charlotte was one of the lucky ones, a gift passed down through the generations, allowing her to learn without the rigorous academics usually associated with those who desired magical abilities. It warmed her heart to see people smile as she practised making rings of fire, shards of ice, crackles of electricity, turning a seed into a sprout within seconds. Occasionally another wizard or witch would approach her after and they would talk and learn from one another. She loved it when children were in the audience however, she would pour all her energy into making them smile. At the end of her performance she would thank everyone for coming to the Feathers and Iron. It was more than enough to make her happy.

Charlotte found herself lost in thought as someone tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, turning to them. The man in rounded glasses from earlier stood behind her, a warm smile on his face.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am but I wanted to complement your performance tonight.” A flush of heat came to her cheeks.

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you a seat?” She gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. The man gave his thanks and sat down, glancing over the books she had on the table.

“Are you self-taught?”

“Yes. I am.”

“That’s quite spectacular. Not many people can do that.”

“It’s a gift. I’m lucky is all.”

“And I’m lucky to have been in this establishment and see you perform.” The heat deepened, causing her to fidget with her hair. “Might I ask your name?”

“It’s Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to meet you-” She cocked an eyebrow with a smile.

“William.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you William.”

~~~~~

Where was he? The wind whistled past as she soared overhead, looking for Maxwell in the light of the full-moon. Her eyes fell upon him, he had someone against a wall, wings folded, claws deep in their flesh. He was exposed, preoccupied feeding. Excellent. Her plan was simple, drug him and let him die as the morning sun rose.

No foul-play, merely a tragic accident.

Her magic no longer worked; it faded along with her blood many centuries ago. Her knowledge however... A concoction composed of rare ingredients that had the ability to trap a vampire in one of its transformations. If she administered it now, her plan wouldn’t work. No. He needed to change into something smaller; more manageable. She needed him to take his bat form, something small enough wrap her fingers around. Charlie landed next to him, dusting herself of imperfections.

“Excuse me Maxy, I had my eye on that one.” He pulled away, chuckling.

“Well I’m afraid I got to them first, I may be willing to perhaps share.”

“Such a generous King~” She gave a laugh, sauntering closer to him, eyes half-laden. Arrogant idiot. ‘King’. Most of the ruling vampires didn’t pick something so absurdly egotistical. A count, lord or governor were common. But no. He had to be a king. “It’s been a while since I last talked to you one on one. We had a short one at the last gala meeting. What was that… fifty years ago? How lucky, that you and Countess Wickerbottom were chosen to host this year’s gala together.”

"I was hoping we would get a chance to speak in private actually."

"You and me both Maxy."

~~~~~

She had been waiting for William in the cold air for quite some time now. Where was he? He said to meet her here at eight, so her she was on the dot. Maybe she was too zealous…

“Charlie! I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting!” The taller man hurried over, a thick coat of what seemed to be wolf fur.

“I was just about to go blue! What took you so long?”

“I had to ensure I wasn’t followed.”

“Such a mysterious man~” She smirked at him, the gesture usually getting a smile in response. Not this time. “What’s wrong Wil?” He seemed solemn. That couldn’t be good. With a sigh he looked over his shoulder before turning his gaze to her own.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you Charlie. I need to tell you something, but you must promise not to tell another soul.” A feeling of dread began to fill the air between them.

“Of course, Wil. I won’t tell anyone.” Charlotte had her suspicions about what this was about. There were little things about him that made her think. The way she never saw him eat in front of her, swearing he had sharp teeth, only appearing in the later hours of the day. She didn’t want to believe it though; didn’t want to believe he could be one of them.

“For starters Charlotte... My name is Maxwell, not William.” He took her hands in his, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “And I’m not human. Not anymore.” Charlotte let out a sigh, looking into his eyes.

“I was afraid you were going to say that. Please tell me you’re not a...” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“Vampire? Yes. I’m sorry.” Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fall against his chest, he in turn wrapped his arms around her.

“Damn it William... You shouldn’t be here... Wolfgang will kill you if he finds out.”

“I know. That’s why I felt I needed to tell you. You’re my confidant Charlie.” His hand lifted her cheek. She opened her eyes, once again looking into his. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too... It’ll be our little secret. I promise.”

“There’s a good girl.” He gave a smile, leaning closer. “I don’t want this to change things between us.”

“It won’t. Do you prefer Maxwell or William?”

“Maxwell. But keep using William for now, I don’t want you accidentally saying Maxwell.”

“Alright. William it is.”

“I have something to ask of you... It’s a big favour...”

“What?”

“I haven’t fed in days. I’ve been too worried about getting caught. Normally I would drift from town to town but I didn’t want to leave because you’re here. I don’t expect you to say yes...”The action in question didn't need to be mentioned, it was fairly clear what he wanted.

“You want to... feed... from me?” He was silent for a moment, but silence can speak volumes. She hesitated a moment before opening the top of her coat, pulling the collar of her dress away to expose her neck.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know honestly but I want to help. So... maybe hurry before I change my mind.” With a nod he moved closer, pushing on her clothing to expose lower. Charlotte flinched as he pierced the skin near her collarbone, but a gentle hand on her cheek kept her focus. It didn’t take long for him to pull away and place his hand over the wound.

“Thank you Charlie.”

“It’s nothing... really... You’re not a monster... You don’t deserve to be treated like one...” He gave another smile, keeping her close.

“I didn’t think I could be in love with a mortal.” Heat rushed to her cheeks, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I... I’m flattered William.” He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against hers. Charlotte was taken back at first but soon wrapped her arms around him, returning the gesture. She didn’t see why they couldn’t be happy together. She was absolutely taken by his charm and manners, he seemed genuine. She’d see how things went...

Maxwell couldn’t believe how sweet she tasted. It was true, magic mortals did taste better. She was a delicacy, a rare delight. He was lucky to have her all to himself, he just had to regulate how often he fed and keep her interested in sweet little William. He couldn't allow him to grow more attached than he already had...

~~~~~

Maxwell gave Charlie a smile, moving to the side. “Perhaps we can chat over a meal?” The prey’s arm weakly twitched as Charlie approached, placing her hands on their shoulder.

“I’d love to.” The apprentice ran her tongue over the wounds Maxwell had left on its neck, maintaining eye contact with him.

“I see Wicker is teaching you well.”

“What can I say, I’ve always been gifted.” He chuckled, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Indeed you have Charlie.” The pair feed upon the increasingly limp prey. She decided to make her move, taking the concoction in her mouth as she turned her head away from him, mixing it with the prey’s blood. She then made quick work, manipulating her body language and meeting his eyes, allowing her hand to slip on top of his, faces moving closer. The prey fell, forgotten, unneeded. It was easy to get the first kiss started, exchanging the fluid in her mouth for his tongue as she clung to him. Seems he was just as lustful as ever.

Maxwell pulled away, suspicious of her activity. The last time they had been alone was under... unpleasant circumstances on her side. “What are you attempting to gain out of this Charlie?” She slipped her hand from his shoulder to his chest.

“Nothing Maxy. I’ve waited a thousand years to finally see you again. I missed you.”

“You’ve had centuries to approach me.”

“I had no idea whether you’ve been dead or alive. For all I know you were killed by hunters. I’ve only been an apprentice for a handful of centuries. Only now am I allowed to participate in gala arrangements!” He was still weary, but couldn’t deny his fondness for her. She was the most attractive human he’d come across in his time on Earth. A combination of body, personality, taste and gumption had drawn him in. He was distraught when he couldn’t stay with her; alas he didn’t have the authority to turn her and wished to continue rising in the ranks. He had to let her go.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“I’ve had centuries to get over it, I’ve moved on. Well.. Not entirely... I can’t forget the magical time we spent together before you left.”

“Why not at the gala meeting? Why now?”

“I didn’t know how to feel at first Maxy. Now I do.” She pressed their bodies together, letting her wings rest on his waist. “Come with me. Let’s leave the hunt to the rest of your faction. I would much rather speak to you in private. We can catch up.”

“Can it not wait until after my dear?”

“Women are fickle Maxy~ I might change my mind~ Lets sneak away while whimsy is still in the air!~” She shrunk, down allowing her wings and fur to consume her form. Within moments she was a fraction of her size, beating her wings hard to keep elevated. Making her way towards the sky she checked to ensure he was following her. A feeling of pure ecstasy flooded her system as another bat approached her, Maxwell no longer standing below. This was it! Centuries of planning, locating, experimenting and waiting, all coming together on this absolutely gorgeous night.

~~~~~

He couldn’t bring himself to do it, to tell her he had to move on. He’d grown closer to her as they spent more time together. It was just a feeding thing at first, but Maxwell soon found himself feeling for the mortal woman. It would be easier for her just to fear him. So... he did what he had to.

A spring storm had come through, thunder rumbling loudly throughout the night. Maxwell made his way through the building from Charlie’s room. The strongman was his biggest threat, so it was only natural he would be the one to turn. His snores could be heard from the hall, rivalling the thunder outside. He would have to be quick or the man would alert the others before turning. Maxwell bit into the man’s neck, causing him to jolt awake. There was a shout, silenced by leathery wings in his mouth. Crimson splattered onto the bed, a fist connecting with the side of Maxwell’s head. The dazed vampire dodged another oncoming attack, lightning highlighting the terror in the mortal’s eyes. He lunged again, the larger man hitting the ground with a heavy thump. Maxwell did his best to drain some blood, making room for his own and weakening the man’s retaliation. Taking his own hand, Maxwell ran it along his fangs, a deep wound across the palm. He then pressed his would against the mortal’s mouth, forcing it down their throat. After a few moments the struggle was over and the transformation started. Maxwell allowed his wings to fold neatly behind him as the man convulsed, fur and leather covering his one human form. The ghoul rose from the ground, a beastly face in its wake. “You’re to scare Charlotte. Not harm her. Do you understand?” The beast snarled.

“Others”

“Expendable.”

Charlotte awake to the sound of screaming; she looked for William. He was gone. There’s no way he would... She threw off the sheets, forming a small flame in her hand to see. “William?!” Stepping out into the hall she hesitated, there was noise coming from the visitor’s wing. (Horrible, horrible noise.) Winona suddenly burst from her room across from hers, panic in her eyes.

“Stay here Charlie. I’ll find out what’s going on.” She ran down the hall, a blade in hand. No way she was letting Winona go by herself! Charlotte ran after her sister, only coming to a stop when they reached the rooms. A hulking beast stood in the hallway, its figure hardly standing straight, wings half-folded. It turned to face them, bat-faced, blood dripping from its maw. Half a torso lay on the ground...

Winona was frozen, trying to assess her odds. She needed help; this wasn’t something she could take on her own. How did one of the turned get into city limits? They had knights for this reason! It screeched at them, causing Charlotte to cover her ears, the small flame going out. Winona pushed her sister back without thinking, heading back the way they came. The ghoul thundered right behind them, heavy footsteps falling closer and closer. It screamed as something collided with its back. A moment to think. “Charlotte! There's a silver spear in the workshop. I want you to get it, lock the doors and stay put. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not going to leave you here! I can help!”

“Charlie!”

“Winona!” There was determination in her little sister’s eyes. She would rather die than see her sister hurt but she was right. She was gifted. Maybe they could at least scare it off. Winona turned to see the owner of the establishment brandishing an axe against the ghoul in the dining room. Now or never she supposed. With a nod they headed back towards the beast. Winona drove her short sword into its thigh, its hand swinging around and winding her. Turning, it bared its teeth. Charlotte pushed the air in front of her, small shards of ice flying forward and embedding into its torso. As it turned to her the owner, Woodie, hacked at it with his axe again. An ear-piercing screech sounded out, the creature outstretching its wings. Charlotte launched another volley of ice at it, this time the shards blown out of their trajectory by a beat of its wings. Winona dove for her sword, pulling it out of the creature’s leg and this time slashing the blade at it. The leathery wings came up, a large hole appearing in the webbing, beast unphased. Its hand swung around, grabbing Winona by the arm and throwing her into Woodie. Fire. They needed fire. Focusing Charlotte summoned a volley of flames this time, casting it at the beast.

“You cannot defeat the mighty Wolfgang!” Again, its wings came up and took the damage for him. Charlotte couldn’t believe her ears. Did it just say Wolfgang? Their Wolfgang?

Suddenly Winona was grabbing Charlotte and pulling her to the door, Woodie screaming at the creature. Once in the street Winona looked to the sky, then she continued pulling her sister towards the barracks.

“Winona! We can’t run! Woodie is in there!”

“Charlie! We’re not going to fight him! We’re going to let the knights do their job!”

“But Wolfgang-”

“But nothing Charlie! Wolfgang is gone! Do you know what’s happened here?! Your damn naivety did!”

“Hey!”

“No! I told you that guy was bad news! You can’t trust vampires!”

“You don’t know it was him!”

“I should have just said no. Told you, you can’t see him. This is my own damn fault.”

“We can find him and ask him if he did it!”

“Who else would have Charlie?! What other vampire have we invited into our lives?!”

“H-he wouldn’t have.”

“He’s a vampire! You’re lucky you’re not dead! You let him bite you!”

“He didn’t want to hurt anyone!”

“Look at what he’s done!”

“It wasn’t him!” A whistle sounded out, the sisters both turning their attention to its source. William stood on the roof of the tavern, pointing at them. Wolfgang burst through the door, wood splintering under the pressure. Dark red streamed from wounds all over his body, he glanced at his master and then to the sisters. The hulking beast ran at them, Winona grabbed her sister, pulling her away yet again. “WILLIAM!” Tears formed in her eyes. He couldn’t have. She trusted him.

Winona’s leg came out from underneath her, causing the sisters both to topple over. Charlotte could only watch as Wolfgang dragged her sister towards him by her leg, plunging their teeth into her waist. Winona screamed and so did Charlotte. It shook its head violently, as a wolf would do to tear flesh from bone. The younger sister stood, running at the beast and muttering an enchantment, a ball of fire hitting it in the face. Her dress tore as she skidded to a halt on her knees, muttering another spell. This time thick vines erupted from the earth to surround them. Wolfgang wailed, pounding on the roots. Blood soaked into Charlotte’s clothing as she scooped her sister up in her arms, deep teeth marks streaked across her side.

“I... I’m sorry for yelling at you Charlie.”

“No, no. You were right. I was stupid.”

“Nah... you’re... you’re the clever one out of us.” Winona hissed in pain, breathing becoming more and more laboured.

“Hang on Winona. I... I’ll fix you up... okay? Just hold on.” There was a scream from somewhere in the street, moments later the church bell could be heard. Maxwell took this as his cue to leave; that was more than enough to ensure Charlie would never seek him again. “The knights are coming Winona. You’re going to be okay.”

“Don’t put these vines down... until... until you know... its dead.” Wolfgang’s claws were beginning to tear through the roots as a crossbow bolt hit him in the shoulder. He let out a screech and beat his wings, unable to lift himself off the ground as the membranes were littered with tears. Another bolt tore through the air, impacting on the ghoul's chest. Charlotte clung to her sister, putting her hand over the wound, muttering a spell to cauterise the bite marks. She could hear the scuffle outside their little nest, the rattle of knight armour, the cries of their former friend. It didn’t take too long before the sounds stopped and someone told her it was okay to lower the vines. Her legs were too shaky to stand. Exhausted and in shock she cried out to the knights to get the town healer. Winona put her arm around her younger sister, telling her how much she loved her. Charlotte told her to tell her once she was better, to hang on just a little longer.

She didn’t survive to see the sunrise.

[chille-tid-universe]

Heart of the Hidden Forge

As the murals along the wall slid upwards, three creatures stepped into the lair. Two appeared to be mechanical canines with enlarged jaws. The third was a humanoid, armed and armored,  whose abrupt motions betrayed it as another automaton. The walls began to slide back down. As they stepped toward Nissa, the gnome jumped back to the rest of the group. The animated suit of armor covered half the distance to the cave’s entrance and readied its sword, visored face sweeping back and forth as it searched for enemies. The slower direwolf-shaped machines lumbered behind it, vestigial tongues lolling comically between jagged steel teeth.

Brienne slipped Mjolnir from her belt and ran further into the room, tossing the hammer mid stride for it to collide with one of the canines before zooming back to her outstretched hand. In her next step, she tossed it again, a heavy metal clangor sounding as the canine was struck again. Brienne stopped before the armored automaton, Mjolnir ready in her hand once more, shielding the way to her allies. Two dents in the canine’s exterior sparked slightly with errant electricity.

“Guess we can call you Sparky!” Melpomene cried out, layering her voice with spellwork. The hound continued to pad forward, seemingly unfazed by the spell. The aasimar tsked. “Deaf as a dog.” At this point, the hounds had drawn even with the armored automaton. With the three in a neat line, Wun Way gestured, muttering an incantation, and the air around them filled with rapidly flashing patterns. The two hounds’ heads jerked back and forth, caught off guard by the influx of sensory data, but the dented one managed to refocus on the foreign intruders. The other hound, however, simply sat back on its haunches and, head tilted to the side, stared off at the afterimage of the blinking lights. The armored automaton had not so much as glanced at the glowing display, and stood perfectly still, sword still poised to strike.

The unstunned hound jumped back into a run, its razor claws scrabbling for purchase against the slick stone, and it darted past Brienne, marbled eyes fixed on Nissa. Brienne swung her warhammer out as it passed, clipping the side of its head. Unrelenting, the hound snapped at the fighter as it continued, skidding to a halt before the cluster of adventurers. Its large jaws parted, and a moment later a cone of frosty breath burst out from the construct’s mouth. The moment had been enough, though - no one was caught in the worst of the stream. The adventurers, shaking off sudden chills, settled around the hound and laid into it, with Pock summoning a glowing, spectral warhammer to swing into the beast’s side. Wun Way had lost concentration on her hypnotic pattern spell, and the other hound was shaking its head, looking around the crowded chamber.

The automaton had broken its guarded stance, striking out at Brienne. She knocked aside the first two blows, but the third found its mark beneath her shield. The automaton then straightened and raised a gauntleted hand toward a hound. A sound of whirring gears filled the air around it, and frosty breath began to spill from its mouth once more. “Watch out!” Brienne cried out, turning to address the mechanical canine. The automaton stepped quickly, interposing itself between Brienne and her friends. Grimacing in annoyance, the fighter turned her warhammer on the bronze chestplate.

The adventurers began spreading out from the chilled machine, wary of its breath attack. Wun Way turned her attention on the suit of armor, pulling forth magical energy to fuel a powerful spell. She unleashed a barrage of pure light, almost a half dozen missiles flying through the air and honing in on the clockwork foe. As they struck, however, the energy seemed to fade against the bronze metal, and the automaton failed to even acknowledge the attack. “Oh for two,” the bard mumbled.

The newly unenchanted hound turned its attention on Brienne and ran up to the automaton’s side. As it stepped in range, Brienne could hear the clockwork machinations within it ticking faster, could practically hear the pistons and enhanced machinery pumping harder. The automaton was having some sort of effect on the hound. Emboldened, the metal canine bit ferociously at the heroine, metal jaws clanging as they hit her magical armor.

Pock had extricated himself, and his floating warhammer, from the other hound, and was circling around the animated armor’s other side. He attempted to strike at it, but his blows were deflected with miniscule parries, the automaton’s blade never moving more than it needed to in order to intercept an attack. Taking advantage of Pock’s diversion, Brienne hammered away at the side of the automaton, and in a flurry of ticking gears the construct whirled around and struck back.

Melpomene threw herself at the other hound, blades dripping with psychic venom as she dragged them along its armored shell. Though it might not be able to hear her, it certainly had enough sentience to suffer from the aasimar’s blow. “Ah, a message you can understand!” she called out.

Wun Way’s eyes grew wide as the hounds and automaton paused for a moment, and in her mind’s eye she saw the perfect placement for a shattering spell. She made a few gestures and pulled up her magic, triggering a concussive blast across the room. The mechanical hounds appeared particularly shaken, with one of them literally falling to pieces as the blast reverberated in its carefully built body. The other still stood, but its jaw seemed partially unhinged, and a springy coil was all that was left of its tail. Like before, however, the automaton was unaffected, its bronze form seemingly impervious to magical tampering.

The remaining hound opened its askew jaws, and a torrent of lightning poured forth, falling in cascades over Brienne and Pock. The two were able to keep their footing, however, and a well placed shot from Nissa brought the canine down, a feathered bolt impaling its metal plated cranium.

With just the armored automaton remaining, Brienne pushed it forward with her shield, knocking it off guard as she struck with a flurry of blows. As the last hit, the helmeted head flew off its shoulders, revealing a bundle of sparking cables. The rest of the body stood for a moment before Pock gingerly tapped it with his own hammer, sending it toppling to the ground.

Finally getting a chance to look around, the group realized that one of the hidden door murals had not closed properly. Brienne was able to pull it back open, revealing a large room beyond it. Murals decorated the walls, depicting scenes of Moradin and the creation of the world according to dwarvish tradition. Around each mural were the sturdy letters of dwarven script.

Most of the room was taken up by bellows and a forge, along with an anvil and hammer beside them. The room appeared untouched for countless years; a thick layer of dust covered every available surface. Pock squinted at the anvil, then turned to the forge, a frown growing on his face. Meanwhile, Brienne walked the length of the wall, glancing at the script around each mural.

“What’s it say?” Melpomene asked, strumming on a lyre quietly as she settled into a comfortable position.

“Captions, mostly,” Brienne said, without turning, “descriptions of the murals. Some have prayers, giving thanks to Moradin, asking for his blessing, you know the like.” She paused at one of the murals. “There’s a proper noun that keeps coming up.” She turned to Pock. “A clan name, perhaps?”

Pock looked up from the bellows, which he had been testing, causing a puff of dust to explode out into the air. “Yes, most likely,” he coughed. “Signature, maybe?”

Brienne ran her finger along a series of runes. “If it’s a signature, then why is it misspelled here?” she mused, almost to herself.

There was a loud clang, making everyone jump, as Pock brought the hammer down on the anvil. The others stared as he moved the hammer, examining the fresh mark. “It’s never been used,” he said, then repeated himself louder. “It’s never been used. I don’t think anything here has been used to smith, or forge, or temper anything.” He indicated the tools and structures around him. Though dust covered all, the hammer was sturdy. Its edges were sharp, while a well-used forge hammer grew rounded around the corners. Likewise, the anvil was, underneath the veneer of dust, immaculate, save the one marring from Pock’s strike. “Anvils should be pitted and dented,” Pock muttered, tenderness in his voice, “Not sitting gathering dust, never knowing the heat of slag.” He gestured at the forge. “And there’s not a single sign of soot or charcoal.” He looked up at the others, finally noticing their stares. “It’s never been used,” he finished quietly.

Brienne turned back to the misspelled segment of wall, and noticed a faint scuff mark by the bottom corner of the mural. To either side of the carving, the wall was flush, and she could see no sign of doorway or other entrance, but the clue caused her to pour over the mural once more. After a few minutes, she cried out in triumph. There was a small sigil of an anvil halfway up the mural with the barest hint of an outline around it. It could have been just a few extra deep chisel marks, but Brienne felt around the anvil and finally pressed on the carving with her finger.

There was a clicking sound as the button depressed followed by a deep shudder in the floor, and then the mural spun on its center, pushing Brienne to the other side of the wall. “Hey!” Brienne heard from the other side of the wall, and a few seconds later the wall spun back. Brienne was back in the forge room, but Melpomene and Nissa were on the other side.

“Stand back!” Brienne shouted through the rock as she motioned for the others to join her at the mural. A few seconds later, they were all gathered on the other side of the hidden door.

Beyond, a natural cavern descended. As the floor sloped more, a steep wooden staircase began, covered in cobwebs and dust. Their descent was filled with creaks and cracks as the long disused stairs protested the sudden weight. Their journey brought them deeper into the heart of the mountains, and the air grew warmer further down. Minutes passed, until suddenly the stairs ended, and the cavern appeared to level out. Though a few torches were held among the party, a dull red glow could be seen from up ahead.

The remainder of the tunnel ended in a large portal, around which was carved runes praising Moradin for his skill, and thanking him for whatever this place was. The red glow came from within the wide passageway. Beyond was a perfectly round chamber, sixty feet across, carved seamlessly from the surrounding rock. A lattice of canals and qanats textured the smooth floor, with regular walking bridges crossing over the larger indentations. These met to form troughs and channels that fed into a central structure.

About the room, small wells were dotted, covered with odd bronze plates, presumably to keep in the moisture in this sweltering room. Sluice gates were placed regularly along the walls, and the air around them seemed to shimmer with heat.

At the center was an enormous structure, unlike anything anyone gathered had ever seen. There was a large anvil at its base, and Pock could tell from the entrance that this anvil bore the marks of fervent craftsmanship on its surface. Behind it stood a monstrous furnace, sitting atop the largest of the channels and smoldering with unquenchable heat, though there was no visible flame. The omnipresent red glow radiated from the grated opening of the furnace.

The most remarkable aspect of it all hung overhead, though. From a central spire hung dozens of mechanical arms, equipped with all manner of smithing tools and dextrous appendages. Laid bare from any sort of casing or cover, the intricate inner workings were visible and gleamed in the furnace’s eerie glow. The group was amazed to see the arms, so still in totality, humming with the whizzing of gears and ticking of other, more complicated parts. Gyroscopes spun ceaselessly at hinged corners, rotating propellers sat snugly against wires and cables, machines that they could only begin to guess at clicked and whirred and thrummed. 

For all this miniscule motion, though, the monstrous and foreign forge lay dormant.

Holding back at the wide entry, the group began discussing how to proceed. Without meaning to, they pitched their voices low, muting their arguments and moving as little as possible. Somehow, the aura of magnitude exuding from the machinery was almost tangible, and it weighed on them.

A few moments into the discussion, they looked around and realized Nissa was nowhere to be seen. As one, they turned to the glowing furnace room.

~~

Nissa, wearing her ring of invisibility, ducked under a low-hanging bifurcated arm, careful not to let her cloak catch on the delicate appendages that jutted out from it. She made her way across a series of short bridges and came before the central contraption. She let her eyes pass over the mind numbing array of wires woven into the central spire, over the solid metal shell of the furnace, over the large block of the anvil. There did not appear to be anything stealable, much to the gnome’s dismay. One portion caught her attention, though. There was a small table attached to the main anvil, slanted and with a sunken panel. 

A stack of thick papers in an attached leather pouch told her this was some sort of schematics table, which on normal forges would allow a smith to visualize the completed piece as they worked. Strange pulsing gems in the corners of this schematics table indicated this one probably worked differently.

On a whim, the gnome reached into her satchel and removed one of the gems she had secreted away. She placed it in the middle of the schematics table, then, when nothing happened, she added a crowbar from her bag. Still, the forge remained silent.

Thinking there might be some verbal command to start the whole thing, Nissa deactivated her ring of invisibility. As soon as her form blinked into view, she felt a tendril of foreign thought tentatively pressing on her mind. The gentle prod manifested as a voice in her head, rumbling and deep, clearly asking a question, though Nissa did not understand the words. Unless she missed her guess, it was speaking to her - rather, thinking to her - in dwarvish.

Nissa fumbled mentally to try and recall something - anything - she had learned in dwarvish from her companions, but nothing came to mind. She opened her mouth to ask the sentience to wait for her to go grab her friends, but apparently her delay was as good as a wrong answer. There was a metallic scraping noise from around the room as the sluice gates, long unused, began to open. Slowly, the lava they had held back began to pour into the channels along the floor. The dull red glow in the room grew brighter as the molten streams spread out.

While the lava was beginning to fill into the room, the many mechanical arms hanging over Nissa began to animate. With much clicking and whirring, many-segmented arms swung into action, pincers and hammers and all sorts of tools flying through the air, affixed to the now mobile appendages. They struck out at Nissa, clearly unimpressed with her lack of mastery of the dwarvish tongue, and the gnome was forced to retreat, hands over her head, back to the entryway.

As Nissa passed her, Brienne stepped into the active room and called out in dwarvish, “Is this the fire that forged my armor?” She held a hand to her breastplate, keeping her other hand on Mjolnir’s handle.

At her question, the room shuddered, and the lava seemed to glow brighter. The tendril of thought swept over the party, and everyone who could understand dwarvish heard in their minds, “Lord Dornlan, deceiver, you will die here.” The party leapt aside as the lava in the troughs around them became agitated, spilling parts of itself up onto the ground.

Wun Way pressed a hand to the coatl egg, tucked safely in its sling, and reached out with her mind, asking if it had any ideas. She felt the feathery presence of the unhatched coatl, and it replied, “This is a place of great anger. A temper this hot will never cool.”

While Brienne was shouting at the room, and Nissa was ducking beneath Ravain and Melpomene, and Wun Way was clutching her magic stone again, Pock peered around Brienne to take in the room. In the brighter lighting, he was able to make out a series of panels, each depicting one of eight murals around the room. Below each was signed in large runes the clan name from the previous room, spelled properly each time. The murals captured the discovery of the Hidden Forge, as well as several singular works of smithing, from helms and greataxes to intricate machinery and a brilliant crown.

The final panel had a carving of Brienne’s armor. There was no mistaking it - Pock could pick out those intricate silvered etchings in a room full of enchanted armor. The carving on the wall matched the piece Brienne was wearing exactly. Whoever had carved this last panel either knew the armor by heart - or had the piece with them as the panel was carved.

He turned to Brienne, pointing at the last panel, but the fighter was preoccupied dodging the globs of lava that were being thrown from the channels at her. When she proved too agile for the random sprays, the channels around her began to fill with more and more lava as a deep bubbling filled the air. Heat began to roll off the channels, and everyone began to sweat a marked amount more. Except for Pock, who had grown up around forges, and was only now starting to find the temperature a bit much.

The voice from before echoed in their minds once more, a deep tone filled with burning anger: “Lord Dornlan, your malice will never be welcome here.” The searing heat rose from the filling channels, and the group split up into different quadrants of the room, where the lava was lower and temperatures cooler (but certainly not cool). Nissa fired a bolt at the central mechanism of the forge, but the bolt clanged against a panel of wires and into a lava trough. There was a slight sparking, and a pair of bronze plates began to close off the entryway. Nissa’s eyes darted from the passage behind her to her friends, jumping over streams of lava. The gnome shrugged and sighed, then jumped back into the room as the thick doors clanged shut.

Melpomene crouched atop one of the foot bridges, ducking under one of the swinging arms that were rotating around the room. She had cast a spell of tongues on herself as soon as she felt the foreign thought, and was now crying out in dwarvish, trying to convince the forge that they were not associated with this Lord Dornlan. Wun Way echoed her sentiments, interceding on Brienne’s behalf. “This is Brienne of Tarth, God-Grappler, wielder of Mjolnir, savior of-” She was cut off as a pair of pliers whizzed by her ear. Checking around herself before continuing, she said, “Savior of Orlane! We do not know this Dornlan, but you are mistaken!”

As the chaos continued, Pock fended off a blow from a forge hammer with his shield as he muttered a prayer to Moradin. The lava ebbed from the area around the door and flowed to fill the channels around Brienne again. She batted a grabbing hand aside with her hammer and remembered the spell Elminster had cast for them:

Deep within a mountain spine

Where fire and stone become entwined

Dwelled a skilled but vengeful smith

Who made armor to mete justice with.

And for that act, who must atone?

The Hidden Forge, left all alone.

Find Xanderos and search his lair.

Your journey will begin there.

She cried out, “I am truly not Dornlan! But I know you atone for the injustice your works have caused. How can we help?”

“Lies!” the voice echoed, though it was not as indignant as it had been. There was a tinge of doubt around the corners of its tone, as if it could almost be heard as a question.

Sensing its will wavering, Melpomene cast a zone of truth around Brienne, motioning for her to repeat herself. This time, there was an audible ring of truth to her words, and she added, “How can we help you pay for the sins of your creations?” Lava bubbled up from the channels near Melpomene, but she stood firm, concentrating on maintaining the glowing white circle around Brienne.

Gradually, the spinning arms began to slow, and the lava started to seep back into the crevices in the floor. It was still very hot in the room, but perhaps it was growing cooler. After a long minute, the voice returned, this time tinged with regret, an old mind driven to wistfulness: “I suffer from lack of use.”

Pock hopped over a few steaming rivers of lava to the central contraption, heedless of the shimmering heat in the air. “As a forge cleric, it pains me to see such a good forge go to waste.” He placed a hand on the forge hammer, resting on the great anvil. “I would be honored if you would allow me to work upon you.”

There was a momentary pause, then the menacing red glow seemed to shift imperceptibly into the cheery red of a long-burning fire. Flames licked up in the belly of the furnace. The voice rumbled in their minds, and Nissa recognized the initial query she had failed: “What would you create?”

Pock thought for a brief second, head tilting to the side. Then, he said, “How about a badass sword?”

“A fine choice,” came the answer, and then the arms shifted back into sudden and purposeful motion. No longer twirling around the room, the arms began the intricate dance of maintaining the massive furnace, feeding it and operating the bellows, pulling chunks of ore from hidden areas around the room and heating them in the great fire. As the movements began, the door of the entryway slid back open, and the rest of the group happily left the sweltering room for the still-warm-but-not-overwhelmingly-so passageway beyond.

It was the most efficient and pleasing time Pock had ever spent with a forge, and he had spent countless hours before a wide variety of setups. The forge seemed to be in flow with him, from start to finish, which might have been partially explained by the constant caress of its consciousness on Pock’s. In any event, the forge was completely in sync with his actions and needs throughout the process, adding heat before the gnome could even think to ask, pre-forming the molten clump of slag as it left the furnace, offering tools Pock did not recognize but whose purpose and usage was instantly clear to him. Pock always enjoyed his time before a forge, but this was easily the most enjoyment he had pulled from his craft in a long time.

All too soon (though possibly not for those waiting in the heat of the middle of the mountain), the metal arms slowed to a halt, and Pock felt a tinge of pride from the forge’s consciousness. He held aloft a flawless longsword, shaped from sudden inspiration and sharp as a razor. It’s odd form was beautiful and efficient, and it cut through the air with a slight whistle as Pock gave it a swing.

“I have misjudged you…” the voice said to Pock; no one else was in the room to hear. Suddenly, the gnome’s vision went dark, and he felt the presence of the forge’s sentience grow stronger as memories flooded his awareness.

~~

A dwarf was laboring at the Hidden Forge, day in and day out. Though he smiled at the ring of his hammer on the great anvil, there was bitterness in his eyes, and it was clear this was the only thing that brought him joy. He finished the sword he had been working on, quenching it and laying it atop a growing pile of weaponry. The dwarf looked to the exit of the Forge and sighed, clearly dreading his return to the company of others, and one in particular. Outside of this forge, the dwarf was sad and angry, a blight on the otherwise well-knit community.

The dwarf returned to the forge, a cold, hard glint in his eye. Over a span of time, hours, days, weeks, it was impossible to tell, he crafted a wonderful suit of armor, etched with intricate silvered patterns. Into this armor the dwarf poured his malice, hatred, and vengeance. The dark thoughts of the dwarf seeped into the mind of the forge, which grew increasingly saddened as the scene continued.

Finally, the piece was done; the dwarf could finally add his own panel to the murals that surrounded the forge. It took all night and the next day to carve his magnum opus into the wall, beside those works of his predecessors. With the exact image of the armor immortalized in the walls of the forge, the dwarf scribbled upon the back of a schematic and wrapped his masterpiece in an oilskin. Without so much as a final glance, the heavy hearted dwarf left the forge for the last time…

~~

As Pock felt his own senses returning to him, he heard a gentle whirring. Above him, a spindly arm draped down, a sealed scroll case clipped to it. The arm stopped before the gnome, clearly offering the scroll. Pock removed the case and broke the seal, pulling out a rolled schematic for a sluice gate. On the back side was a note, scribbled in dwarvish runes.

“I have smithed my last piece. I will no longer tolerate the injustices of Lorn Dornlan. I will present my piece to him as a gift on Shieldmeet. As ‘thanks’ for all he does for me. Then I will leave the Forge forever and run as far as I can, for his vengeance will be swift and implacable.”

The note was unsigned.

Pock nodded humbly toward the central contraption, then repeated the nod in various directions around the room. He wasn’t quite sure where the forge’s mind lived. “Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me. May you slumber in peace.”

As he turned to bring the letter to Brienne and the others, the Forge’s voice echoed in his mind one last time, “Do not let me be forgotten again…”

[royalcordelia]

shy daydreams & stardust (2/3)

Summary: He can’t help how he makes her magic spiral out of control whenever he’s around, but maybe she can help him when his own abilities bloom out of nowhere like a lily pad in a teacup. Shirbert Magic!AU. 

Especially dedicated to the kind anon who delivered me back my muse. Sweetie, this one's for you! ♥

• 4.7k words • Read Part 1 • Read on ao3 •

She told him everything.

“So the ice on the pond, the flowers randomly growing out of my floor, and the lily pad in my tea...That was all you?” Gilbert asked carefully. Anne nodded as she handed him a new cup of tea, hoping that the hot liquid would cool down his restlessness. He’d been clutching his fingers the same way you hold back a barking dog begging to unleashed, and she knew the feeling. Suddenly having a power you didn’t want and couldn’t control at first seemed like a curse, but Anne knew that with time, he would accept it as a part of him.

Not to mention, he had Life magic. Magic that could restore and revitalize. It could take things that never had an ounce of spirit and fill them so completely with life that they’d rise and chase him around the room. Surely there was no true curse in that.

“The candles must have been you,” Anne added. “Fire has never been within my control.”

“That’s ironic,” he muttered, taking a sip of tea. Something humorous in his mind was making him chuckle, causing her to look at him suspiciously. “What with your hair and all.” Anne rolled her eyes, settling on the couch beside him. Some of the color had returned to his face, but he still kept looking up at her forehead where she’d been bleeding as if he expected the wound to open right back up. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Of course, Gil. It’s my own fault I got hurt, anyways. I should have been able to control it better.”

“Can you control it now?” he asked, and for a moment, Anne wondered if he was afraid of her. Then, she met the light in his eyes with her own and saw no fear. He was intrigued, dipping his toes into unfamiliar water with a burst of bravery that came from trusting her.

“Yes, I think so.” The unwanted tingling of her magic behind her skin had stopped after the explosion of the window. It now simmered in the background, just tangible enough that she knew it was there, but subdued enough behind her rigid control that she wasn’t concerned about breaking any more windows. “Would you like me to show you?”

He replied in one captivated, breathy, “Yes.”

 If mother nature existed, she was walking before Gilbert, bare toes getting caught between wildgrass as they made their way to the desolate garden. With each step Anne took, the grass around them grew taller, the leafy trees grew ever more verdant, and little toadstools sprouted to mark the way.

The earth wanted to consume her, wrap around her legs, and turn her into another tigerlily, returning her from whence she came.

“Don’t mind all of that,” Anne murmured sheepishly, kicking some of the spare grass from between her toes. “I want to start your garden completely unrestrained. This is what it looks like when I’m not holding back any of my magic. Bits of it trickle over, like a boiling pot.”

To prove her point, she caught a handful of daisy petals that had been floating around her like an aura. She opened her palm, and the petals blew in his direction, carried on the soft touch of the breeze.

“Is this too much?” she asked. “You look a bit pale.”

Truthfully, maybe it was too much. Too much admiration for her loving touch as she plucked the petals from mid air, and the graceful strength in her stride that made the earth grow up from nothing to touch her. If he had adored her before, now it was a tornado unleashed on himself, wreaking destruction on everything he thought he knew.

But one thought stayed the same, an irrefutable fact that that remained true since the first day.

He loved her - the same romantic love that made his magic turn into flames and consume him alive with unavoidable sensation. It was Anne. How could he not love the girl whose words and smile were forged with gold?

“It isn’t too much,” he answered finally, small smile lifting his lips. “Show me.”

Anne crept forward, lifting the skirts of her dress as to not sully the pale colors as she dug her toes into the loose soil.

“You raked everything already?” she asked, focused as she pressed some of the dirt between her fingers.

“More like the rake did the work for me,” he replied a bit sheepishly. This broke Anne out of her focus and she met Gilbert’s eyes with her own storm cloud ones.  In the daylight sun, she read him like a book. Each wrinkle around his eye, each hidden message in his expression - they were all words that she comprehended.

“This whole time, you’ve been going through it alone,” she murmured, the words floating from her heart like feathers in water. “You lost your father, traveled the world, made a new family, and had to weather the strangeness of developing magic all at once?”

Gilbert looked at her funny as the muscles in his face constricted, the raw exhaustion of the past year from making itself visible to her. A gust of wind swept past him, wisping bits of Anne’s floral fragrance along with it. Of course she saw right through him. Her soul had known his intimately before they even met.

When he didn’t respond, Anne smoothed her hands down the skirts of her dress and nodded.

“Alright, Gilbert. Your abilities might seem scary now, but I assure you as your trusted confidant…” She knelt down in the dirt, digging her fingertips into the soil. “Magic is nothing to fear. It’s love and grace at its warmest and kindest. And those are all things that you are. You can make great things happen, you just have to trust yourself.”

The rows of the barren garden suddenly sprouted to life. Tiny blossoms of green stems and leaves popped up as if several days of time had passed in a mere few seconds. Gilbert knelt down, struck with amazement as he watched the new buds flourish into a thick patch of what he recognized as carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. Sunflowers, roses, peonies - an entire array of greenery that she’d brought to life with just the feelings in her heart and the thoughts in her head.

Anne had done it all. Heaven above , she was exquisite.

His shaky fingers reached out and took hers, soft skin tangling in the soil and roots. Their magic sparked when they touched, but neither let go.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” she asked quietly.

His grasp tightened in hers and he bit contained a grin into a small smile before saying, “Not even a little.”

* * *

Gilbert spent the next several weeks practicing. He practiced and practiced and practiced, until his nerves were raw with streaming magic and his muscles were achy from the strain. He worked alone in his barn when Bash was out, extending his hand to rain magic down on watering jugs, wrenches, stray wagon wheels. The inanimate objects careened into his touch, renewed with life and vigor. This time, they didn’t chase after him or attack him. They simply bustled about quietly and awaited instructions.

He did have Life magic, it seemed, because his powers worked wonders on a sick apple tree suffering from blight. The dark disease that had consumed the long branches and fruit dissipated with Gilbert’s careful touch, and the leaves suddenly shone with bright, new verdance. As where Anne’s magic was radiant, Gilbert’s was calm, like a soothing balm on a burn.

Whenever he felt like he was losing control, he thought of Anne. And if she was with him, he’d reach back for her hand, feeling the relief of her support almost immediately when she took it.

A strange, lonely part of him worried about what would become of him and his abilities if she ever left him. He voiced this to her one day, trying to leave out any hints of his longing for her.

“That would never happen,” answered Anne firmly. “But I agree. It’s nice to have a small handful of people supporting you. Even I have Marilla.”

“You told Marilla?” Gilbert asked, astonished. Fuschia settled over Anne’s cheeks, and she shrugged.

“It was an accident, really. She caught me practicing with deer behind the barn.”

“What were you doing?”

“Giving them flower wreaths,” she answered honestly. “Oh, they were the most majestic creatures I ever saw, auburn beauties with their white spots. I thought they were much like me in that way, so I wanted to speak with them. When Marilla found me, I was laying against the mother deer, adorning her baby with the most beautiful queen anne’s lace on the island - quite out of thin air. I had to explain myself.”

“I can’t even imagine what that must have been like,” Gilbert replied. “How did she react?” A content smile flitted across Anne’s face and she turned her face up the blowing breeze.

“Love makes people accept the things they don’t understand, Gil. Marilla loves me, magic and all. She calls it my gift from the Almighty, and I say it is the best thing he ever gave me.” Anne threw him a side glance. “That and my family and friends. And you, of course.”

They stopped walking at the gate of Green Gables, and Gilbert leaned an arm against the wooden post. Anne waited, knowing there was something weighing on his mind.

“Do you think I should tell Bash and Mary?”

Anne considered this for a few moments, kicking a small pebble underneath the toes of her shoes.

“I think if there’s anyone that understands what it feels like to be different and misunderstood, it’s Bash and Mary. Whether or not you decide to tell them is completely up to you. Only you can predict how they’ll truly react.”

Gilbert knew Sebastian. There was nothing he could say, or do, to make Bash leave him for good. They were family - a bit messy, a bit unconventional, but a family nonetheless.

He would tell him tomorrow. 

* * *

Except Gilbert did not tell Bash the next day, nor the day after, nor the day after that. But the delay wasn’t out of fear. In fact, Gilbert was anxious to voice his news to someone who wasn’t Anne.

“I just want it to be right when I tell them,” he explained to Anne one day in the meadow. “I thought maybe I could offer them some sort of peace offering. Like proof that it’s real that doesn’t involve bringing any of our cutlery to life.”

The grass had grown tall around Anne, and she allowed it to. If anyone looked down into the valley at them, they’d only see Gilbert whispering his secrets into a thicket of wild grass high enough to hide the elusive Anne. She looped her fingers through the verdant strands and bit her lip. This was one of the pleasures of discovering his new skill, Gilbert reflected. Getting to know the graceful quirks of her personality up close and intimately.

He even dared to say that they were kindred spirits now. Perhaps they always had been.

“You know, I might know just the thing to help you,” she said to herself, eyes locked on the Avonlea hilltops. Snapping out of her reverie, she jutted a finger into Gilbert’s face and glared at him with serious daggers in her eyes. “But you cannot tell anyone about what you see. I mean it, Gilbert Blythe, not a soul!”

“I believe I can handle one more secret.” She wasn’t convinced until he matched her solemn expression and said, “On my honor, Anne. Wild horses couldn't drag the secret from me.”

And it was settled. Gilbert was to meet Anne the next day at that same hour at the predetermined destination - “The edge of the woods, right by Green Gables. You know the path, don’t you?” He knew exactly the spot of land she meant, for it was the beginning of the path Anne traversed to school on. The same path where they met. With a heart of anticipation, he counted the hours until their meeting.

The sun was stooping lower and lower when he found her there, sitting on a fallen log beside a wild raspberry bush. She was focused on the bush, arms folded comfortably in her lap. As he drew nearer, Gilbert realized that the blossoms and berry fruits were changing color - first to a startling fuschia, then a snow white, followed by a sunrise yellow, settling on the rosy red that the fruits began as.

“Oh, there you are!” Anne exclaimed once she caught sight of  him. She shot to her feet, scurrying over beside him. She tugged on his wrist, then linked their elbows together, leading him down the trodden path. “I’m so terribly excited to show you this. It’s something that only Diana, Cole, Ruby, and I know about. There is something thrilling about having a secret like this. It isn’t like the secret of having magic. That one is heavy, because if you tell it to the wrong person, you know it could cost you your life. But this one...Knowing this secret and sharing it with those you lov-” she paused, glancing nervously up at Gilbert. “Your dear friends doesn’t have any consequences. But it’s all yours just the same. And now I’ll share it with you, Gil.”

“I wish I had something to share with you in return,” he admitted, reaching up with his free hand to hold hers locked in his elbow.

“Oh, you already did share something with me, you goose!” she laughed. “The day you asked me if I believed in magic.”

“I guess you’re right. That’s something for just you and me, Anne-girl.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she admitted quietly. “But I hope you’re willing to allow one more person into the mix.”

And then it came into sight, a hut amidst the browns and the greens of the forest. It was built of scrap wood, adorned with Anne’s trademark flowers and greenery. Gilbert could easily see why she would want to keep this a secret. The tiny fortress was only big enough to fit a handful of people inside, but was big enough to offer respite away from the real world and its difficulties.

“Watch where you step,” Anne instructed sharply. Gilbert looked under him and found a small clay person held up by a twig. They were all around the hut, in fact, fairy sized sculptures of figures frozen in movement. Then it clicked.

“Cole did these, didn’t he? After his accide-”

“Anne? Is that you out there?” a voice called out from inside the hut. Her grin was toothy.

“Yes! Although, I didn’t come alone. I brought-”

“Gilbert!” Cole  finished for her, sticking his head out from around the small entrance, feathery pieces of auburnish blonde hair falling in his eyes. At first, he eyed Gilbert with slight distrust, but then he noticed Anne’s arm sweetly against Gilbert’s and raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, don’t go getting any of your silly ideas,” Anne sneered, tearing herself away from Gilbert and stomping into the tiny cottage. “Come on, Gilbert. Cole started a fire.”

Suddenly feeling like an outsider, Gilbert followed her instructions and ducked into the small hideout. It was everything and nothing as he expected to find. Humankind and nature seemed to live together in harmony within the crooked walls - the ground revealing earthy soil and trodden leaves, the walls decorated with more wreaths that Anne had probably made with her magic. He settled on a chopped stump that had been placed there as a makeshift stool.

“I tried to light a fire,” Cole explained, fog coming out of his mouth in big huffs. He rubbed his hands together, then gestured down at the charless pile of wood in the middle of the ground. “As you can see, my efforts were fruitless.”

“Oh well that’s not a problem. Gilbert can just -”

She paused when Gilbert’s head spun at her, but he said nothing. His eyes held all the meaning, unspoken words that she understood immediately. What are you doing? A smile crossed her lips and she placed her hand on his. “Cole is one of us” she explained in a gentle voice, the same way she might speak to a startled deer. “He has magic, too.”

Magic - the word was sweet to taste and held so much power over him just to hear. Just by speaking it one time, Anne could alter his path, change his fate. He was painfully aware of all of this as he waited for Cole to say something, but the artist’s eyes were only filled with joy and pride.

“Welcome to our mystical little club!” Cole said finally, reaching out his hand for Gilbert to shake. Sure enough, he felt the same spark of magic that he felt whenever he touched Anne. It wasn’t as warm or potent as it was with her, and he wondered if it had anything to do with how he felt for the strong redhead beside him.

“It’s a pleasure,” Gilbert responded politely. “Truly. For weeks I had thought someone had cursed me, but Anne...Well, she helped me see there’s nothing wrong with me at all.” Cole glanced between the pair before him and tried, to no avail, to bite back an amused smile.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured. Gilbert could already see why Anne felt so safe around Cole.

“May I ask… What is it your magic, uh, does exactly?” he asked.

Amusement danced across Cole’s face. Sketch papers at his toes began to flutter as subtle as a hummingbird’s flight, and with the same sweep of his hand that Anne always used to guide her magic, the papers lifted into the air. Gilbert watched in amazement as the parchment folded upon itself, crinkling and contorting into complex shapes of birds, horses, and flowers. Color exploded onto them from out of nowhere, and suddenly Gilbert could hardly believe they had come from plain, white paper just moments ago.

“Art. My magic makes art,” Cole said in a loving voice. “I think it’s always been there, but I didn’t discover it completely until after my accident. My magic does what my hands can’t, bringing to life all the beauty I see in my mind. Look at this one.”

He reached out and grabbed one of the origami birds, unfolding it to reveal a sketch of Anne. It was every bit as beautiful as the real thing, drawn in mystical, soft charcoal. With a tug in his chest, Gilbert realized that it was so breathtaking because it made literal the way he saw her - every starry freckle, the wideness of her eyes, the joy in her smile.

There must’ve been a strange, reverent expression on his face, because Cole whispered - “Like that one, don’t you?”

“It’s very lovely,” Gilbert openly admitted, smiling in adoration over at Anne, who blushed at the compliment. “I suppose it’s only fair to show you mine, though I don’t believe it’ll be quite as impressive.” “Gilbert Blythe, that is a lie and you know it,” Anne scolded. She crossed her over her chest and leaned her arms on folded knees, nodding for him to continue.

Her encouragement was all it took for the magic in his bones to spur to life. With her gentle spirit at his side supporting him, he reigned the wonderful current into his control. In the way she’d taught him, he held his fingers over the fire, and snapped.

Immediately, a flame burst from the heart of the wood pile into a comfortable blaze that warmed the hut nearly instantaneously.

“Fire magic?” Cole asked in amazement.

“Close. Gilbert has Life magic. He can breathe life into just about anything. Lifeless objects, bloody wounds,” Anne supplied.

“Sitting room furniture,” Gilbert added bitterly. “Garden rakes…”

“Fire seems to be one of the odd additions, and I’m willing to bet there’s more.” Anne concluded, ignoring his utterances. “Maybe he adds life to a spark, and that’s how the fires are lit?”

Cole turned back to the piece he’d been working on a few moments ago, using the strength in his hand to mold a small figure out of auburn clay. Gilbert warmed his hands by the fire as he watched Cole work, noticing how some of the creation came from the artist’s hands, and other parts seemed to happen completely on their own.

“That must be an interesting story - you know, about how you two spilled secrets?”

Anne turned her sunny warms eyes over to Gilbert and smiled when his embarrassed cheeks turned to the ground.  

“It was mostly my fault,” she admitted. “For some reason, I couldn’t get ahold of my magic and it put Gilbert’s own powers in a state of distress. I think both of us were relieved to discover the truth.”

Cole nodded in understanding, his gentle eyes gazing down at his sculpture, but seeing something entirely different. What, Gilbert didn’t know. With a friendly smile, Cole placed the figure in front of Gilbert and nodded a head down toward it.

“Why don’t you practice on this? See, it even looks like you.”

Sure enough, the creation Cole had pressed in his tender figures was a small, clay Gilbert, complete with curly hair and big eyes.

“That’s incredible, Cole,” Gilbert admitted, stunned by the amount of detail possible in such a small sculpture. It reminded him of the ancient greek statues he’d read about in his history books.

“It’ll be even more incredible when you get him up and walking,” Cole prodded gently.

Gilbert’s breath hitched in his breath as the magic started to boil in his veins as hot as the fire. With each tense second that passed as Cole and Anne waited for Gilbert to make his move, he felt the tingling grow hotter and hotter, until it was agony to keep it restrained. Opening his palm over the figure, he released the building magic into the earthy clay.

The figure sat right up, looking around and blinking his eyes. Anne laughed when he rubbed his sleepy eyes and peered curiously at Gilbert. He rose onto his shaky clay feet, moving closer to the startled magician and placed a hand on his knee. Then, with a comforting smile, he patted Gilbert’s knee, to which the boy could only offer an awkward smile back.

It was then that the small Gilbert heard the music of Anne’s laughter and turned to her. It froze solid, stunned by something that Gilbert felt in his heart. The figure approached Anne, and she reached down a hand so he could climb on top of it. A tender smile fell on her lips when she let lifted her hand to her face.

Gilbert could feel what the figurine was going to do before he did it, but was unable to stop smaller Gilbert from reaching out a clay hand to caress Anne’s cheek. The expression in its eyes was the exact same one she saw when Gilbert looked at her, but she wasn’t expecting the figurine to lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek. Tiny fireworks lit under her skin where the magic transferred to her, turning her cheeks a pale pink color.

Cole let out a jolting guffaw and Gilbert reached forward and swatted the clay figure out of her hands, in turn knocking all the magic out of it. Unable to look Gilbert in the eye, Anne waved a flustered hand over the clay figure, and it turned back into malleable clump of earth. Eyes darting back between the two blushing friends, Cole took the ball in his hand and began pressing into it the outlines of a different shape.

“I think you’ll have the hang of it in no time,” Cole said with a smile. “It takes practice and patience, sure, but you have to know who you’re learning magic for, why you’re learning it. Do you know why you’re learning magic, Gilbert?”

Before he could catch himself, Gilbert’s eyes fell on Anne. Her focus was fixed to vibrant emerald vines bursting from the soil. She had begun braiding them into a crown, rubbing the soft leaves between her fingers to adorn the wreath with flowers, clover, and even a butterfly. When she realized Gilbert hadn’t answered - and instead was looking at her - she turned her face up to him and gave him an embarrassed expression of confusion. Gilbert only smiled at her, fighting back the urge to reach out and smooth the hair away from her face.

“I think I do,” he answered finally.

 A few hours later, Anne and Gilbert walked shoulder-to-shoulder towards Green Gables in complete silence. Anne was content in the soundlessness, closing her eyes to listen to songs on the wind that Gilbert wasn’t privy to. She’d let her magic loose, the usual telltale signs sprouting at their feets and growing from the forest tree roots.

“So, Mr. Blythe, you’ve had magic for quite some time now. Do you intend to keep it?”

Gilbert glanced down at the auburn clay figure in his hands. He’d taken one of the more simple ones from the hut in hopes of using it to show Bash and Mary the extent of his abilities. There was time to change his mind, yet. All he had to do was crush the figure into a clump and throw it into the stream. None would be any the wiser for it. But if he kept the tiny figure, used it to tell the LaCroix’s the truth, there’d be no going back.

“Could I even abandon it?”

Anne took a breath of the cool air.

“It’s not likely. You could certainly avoid and ignore it if you truly wanted to.”

“I don’t think I do. It’s a part of me,” he admitted. And he meant it, too. There was a certain thrill that came with letting loose the power that built to a peak underneath his touch, releasing the surge for the sake of doing good. Besides, certainly his magic could aid him somehow in his pursuit to be a doctor. With a touch of pain relief and restoration, it was no wonder he aspired so passionately to be a doctor. “You know, though, Anne...My magic ended the days of scorn between us. We could have been friendly enemies for easily another four years.”

“‘The days of scorn’ as you so call them were over as soon as they began,” Anne said, rolling her eyes at her own past foolishness. Gilbert’s pace lessened to a slow amble and tilted his head toward her shyly.

“So then what does that make us now? Kindred spirits?”

Anne gave him another cheerful grin, grabbing his head and squeezing it between her freckled fingers.

“The kindred-est, Gilbert Blythe! Whether you like it or not!”

 When they had made it back to the Green Gables homestead, Anne stood looking down at Gilbert with his one foot on the ground, the other on the second step. Strands of her hair grazed across her cheeks, and she handed him a gray, wool flat cap.

“You left this a few days ago,” she murmured, suddenly shy.

Gilbert took the proffered hat, a speck of green catching his eyes.

“Looks like I’ll be having some good luck soon,” he joked, pointing at a four-leaf clover that had grown near the brim. Anne blushed, shrugging.

“I didn’t think you’d want a daisy or rose blossom. Besides, everyone can always use a little good luck in their lives.”

He swung the cap upon his head, barely noticing the slight upturn of her lips when he did before her face was neutral again. Glancing down at the old wooden steps of the porch, Gilbert saw a small patch of dying red clover. The delicate weeds had been hidden from the sun, browning at the stem and in some of the long purple petals. With a small wave of his hand over them, they straightened back to life with a sparkling saturation, even when Gilbert plucked them from the ground and held them out to her.

“Today was nice,” was all he said.

“It was,” she agreed. “Would you like to practice some more soon?”

A chance to see Anne again? Laughing, speaking, using her magic? Gilbert bit his lip. 

“Of course. How’s tomorrow?” And the day after, and the day after, and the day after?  - his mind asked. Anne merely turned a wine color and nodded. 

"That'll be nice," she replied, a few red rose petals somehow getting stuck between the strands of her hair. Gilbert plucked one out and handed it to her, making her turn even brighter. 

"Be seeing you, then, Anne." 

As he walked up the lane, he could feel her eyes burning into his back and his magic singeing the tips of the grass along the side of the road. They smoked like blown candles, thousands of little smoke puffs billowing into fairy sized clouds as he walked. But Gilbert did not notice. He only clasped his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and listened to the songs that she heard on the wind. 

Oh, how Anne made him burn, but he'd be damned if she didn't make him live either.

[tremendouspeachduck]

2 Things You Must Know About  the REPUBLICAN, AMERICAN INDIAN

No.  Really?

above car - 1933 Chevy 3-window coup w/rumble seat

Do you think Pres. Trump is a bully, I don’t.  Why?

Talking about the “War on Men” …  5 touchy subjects   …

Abortion – should the man have an opinion and be able to voice it?

Free Birth Control    HERE    and    HERE   ***   Please notice, abortion is not listed as a birth control option

Pres Trump would have never won if it weren’t for the black vote  

See Video                                  and this video too       don’t forget this one

Men seem to take it to a whole other level.  The Bible has something to reveal about name calling.  Also, the systematic criticism and self-doubt are what takes it from name calling to verbal abuse – it’s a repeated pattern that, over time, can make the victim believe the insults, making it harder for them to leave (“no one will love me because they said so”).

Beyond name calling, abusers may belittle their partner, either privately publicly, or disguise disparaging comments in jokes. This can be followed up by more judgment and criticism (“You’re too sensitive”) or acting as those what they’ve said is trivial (“I was only joking”). Other examples of name calling include putting someone down, making them feel guilty, or embarrassing and humiliating them.

Healthy relationships don’t use name calling to resolve conflict or express love. Both partners make the other one feel good about themselves. It’s relaxing and fun, and neither tries to “prove” they are the only ones that will ever love them. Instead, each partner sets boundaries on what’s acceptable behavior, including what nicknames or jokes are okay.

Can you think of a great sight to see walking in the city? Click to see it

Recognizing these early warning signs can make the difference between staying in an unhealthy relationship that worsens over time, or ending it and being in one that’s healthy.

Should men care about your makeup?  The correct answer is “yes,”  if it makes the woman happy.  Lips and the smile are what is very appealing to a man.

How to support a woman’s period?  No rude comments about what’s in the trash bin, about her being moody… no jokes, no nothing.  It’s ok to make her laugh, laughter is good medicine BUT do not joke about it being “that time of the month again”.

By knowing her cycle, you can be more aware and sensitive to her changing moods and physical discomfort. This develops a deeper trust as your woman knows you are really present with what she is experiencing. Put it in your calendar so you have a heads up.

Interestingly, having an orgasm can relieve menstrual cramps, though your attitude during the whole cycle will determine whether or not she’s willing to explore this. Again , this is probably best to bring up when she isn’t in the middle of it.

She may act like she doesn’t want you there, but remember she may actually desire some TLC. Your full presence is the best medicine. She will love you for this!

Help create a cozy environment for her, and cook her comfort food. Hugs are also great.  The main thing is to not be an ass. (closing down and or not wanting to deal is being an ass)

Finding ways to be positive is the key to building a healthy body image and positive self-esteem.  What we read and watch has a huge impact on how we feel about ourselves. Because of this, we should be very particular about the magazines and websites we will look at.  We might love reading about the interesting things that people, and women in particular, accomplish.  Shopping centers aren’t only sucking your money, they are also sink holes for body confidence. Getting caught up in a conversation about the way someone else looks, whether they have put on weight and so on, inevitably leads to thoughts on our own appearance.  Don’t participate.  Touch is an incredibly powerful way of reinforcing the way you feel about your body. And if you’re touched gently, with love and care, you will feel incredible. So, try to practice gentle love and care with yourself. Wash your hair the way the hairdresser did. Wash your face the way a beauty therapist would. Give yourself a massage when you’re applying moisturizer. It feels good. And it reinforces a positive, kind relationship with your body.  Meditation is an incredibly effective tool for clearing away unhelpful thought cycles. 10 minutes. 5 minutes. 1. Whatever. Just sit, close your eyes and breathe.

Eating respectfully means accepting and being mindful of the nutrients that your body requires to function. It means eating plenty of good food and ditching sugary and pretend foods that compromise our digestive health, our hormonal balance, our mood and energy levels.  The flip side of eating respectfully is to move past the binge-fast guilt cycle. If you eat something unhealthy, please don’t punish yourself or try to restrict caloric intake. Healthy eating and body respect is not about food deprivation. It’s about food celebration.  When you look in the mirror, try to replace any negative thoughts that are pushing their way through with an affirming thought about the way you look or feel.

People who have purpose are too busy getting stuff done to worry about how they look. In the end, creative expression, passionate parenting, effective leadership and growing the best-goddamn-tomatoes-in-the-neighborhood is far more satisfying than making sure you look good in an outfit at all times.

Positive self-image is a habit, not an attribute and your partner can be helpful.

This is an excerpt from my post: THE IROQUOIS CONFEDERACY: THE “SAVAGE” EMPIRE.

The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois: Mohawk, Seneca, Oneida, Onondaga and Cayuga) really cherished population stability. Being that their population was so limited and ever diminishing due to disease outbreaks and near constant conflicts, the Haudenosaunee highly preferred losing as few men as possible. They usually evaded fighting armies that outnumbered theirs as well as avoiding fortified enemy positions and fighting pitched battles. The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) preferred instead to employ ambushes, strike preemptively, and launch lightning fast raids under the cover of darkness. The Haudenosaunee would travel deep into enemy territory in very large numbers to scare off potential enemies from attacking them before breaking up into smaller war parties, after which these war parties would utilize swift and stealthy attacks usually in the form of ambushes or night raids.

Closer Look by Doug Hall.

Another tactic the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) employed was after traveling by way of canoes under the cover of night they would place rocks in the canoes to weigh them down and cause them to sink out of sight They would then speedily assault the enemy in coordinated attacks, vanish back into the wilderness and return to their canoes before the enemy had enough time to recuperate, assemble and counterattack. With the deadliness of firearms introduced into the equation, the Natives learned to fire at enemies from behind the cover of trees instead of the European practice of firing coordinated volleys from fixed formations.

One Step at a Time by Doug Hall.

One disadvantage the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) had over the Euro-American colonies was that Native populations were constantly diminishing and fluctuating. The Euro-American colonies surrounding them, on he other hand, were growing and receiving a constant flow of immigrants with the occasional military reinforcement from Europe. The limited number of Natives as well as their fear of dying and becoming lost souls, urged them to retreat from battle more readily than Euro-American forces – even after just a few casualties. They used safer methods of combat like the previously mentioned ambushes, night raids, espionage, and scorched earth tactics: destroying their settlements or crops in order to retreat and deprive the enemy of shelter or resources.

A Quick Glance by Doug Hall.

The Natives that wanted to lead a proposed raid against a perceived enemy would send a messenger with tobacco tasked with expressing the purpose and details of the mission, asking them to join their cause. The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) who decided to engage in said raid would first take part in the smoking of a pipe filled with tobacco. Before leaving for the raid there would be a feast and dancing, during the ‘Dog (War) Feast’ the warriors would engage in a ceremony called the ‘striking-the-warpost’ where they would sing war songs, dance, and boast about their military exploits. After each achievement is mentioned the warrior strikes a red-painted post with their weapon (club or hatchet), the young Natives that had yet to have achieved any great feats simply danced and struck the warpost once.

A Moment Away by David Wright.

If these young Natives had proven themselves to be brave warriors during their expedition they would be seen as men and accepted as a warrior by being given their first feather. These young braves could also attain higher status, honor and prestige. I read of one story of an elder who joined in but in place of dancing he performed an awe inspiring passionate reenactment of his life as a warrior, a deep performance that displayed an array of emotions as he described all that he had experienced and accomplished throughout his lifetime.

man on right - Carson Cooper is a member of the Tlingit and Haida tribes and an Alaska native. Lee Redeye (on left) is a member of the Seneca tribe and was raised on the reservation in Irving and in New Mexico. Both attorneys are relatively new to the law firm Lippes Mathias Wexler Friedman LLP , with Cooper having joined in 2017 and Redeye earlier this year.  

Another attorney, Owen Herne, branched out on his own after beginning his career in corporate counsel for a tribe. He is a member of the Mohawk tribe and runs Herne Law PLLC.

These  three local attorneys in Buffalo, NY took different paths to focus on Indian law, but they share a bond in the desire to build careers around their ancestry.

The Jogah, or Jungies, are a race of small humanoid nature spirits from Iroquois folklore, sometimes referred to in English as “dwarves” or “pygmies.” They are usually invisible but sometimes reveal themselves to humans

After nightfall, the call of the Whip-poor-will signals their arrival.  It is important to leave baskets of food, such as corn cakes and berries, or even meat in the woods for them. Those who see the Little People should not look directly at them, they think it’s rude. If they catch you staring, they might point a finger at you, rooting you to the ground, while they take your belongings. Another rule is don’t speak of them in the summer, when they are most active.

At this time of Bad Spirits, there lived a medicine woman. One night, during a terrible storm, she heard the whip-poor-will. When she looked outside, the bird wasn’t to be found, but a small boy stood in the rain on her doorstep. It turned out he was a grown Jogah, who told her to come help someone who was sick. Though the storm was fierce, he led her through the woods a long way.

Suddenly, the storm seemed to stop as they began to descend into the ground. They were in the realm of the Little People. Weegun led her to a beehive shaped chamber of rocks. Inside, a very old woman lay in bed, very ill. The Makiawisug told the medicine woman that this was Granny Squannit, who must be made well. Granny Squannit is very powerful, and she is known to cause storms when she argues with her husband. Her illness was the reason for this storm. Worse, healers often look to Granny Squannit when the need is dire for help in healing, and here she was the one who was sick. The medicine woman treated Granny Squannit for nearly a moon before she got better. In return for restoring Granny Squannit’s health, the Makiawisug gave the medicine woman a basket of gifts and told her to remember them. She was blindfolded and taken back home.

Only when she returned did she open the basket. Inside were quartz crystals, painted skins and bunches of herbs.

People in the USA have natives who are very spiritual living maybe next door.  Embrace your neighbor - let’s get back to our community roots.

Community involvement is the solution to mass murder/shootings

Close your eyes, lean head back on pillow or head-rest, take deep breaths and listen to the story unfold         Special Cherokee Nation Song video

nice fire & listen to music flute music vid   Do you want to learn the Mohawklanguage?      the sacred horse song    See  My fav horse

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