#whats true. but last night i was trying to think of a metaphor for her and i and i did and i felt so genuinely inspired

[proofread]

she makes me want to write poetry wtfff

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Minor character deaths. Major character injuries. Canon typical violence/graphic descriptions. Whoopdeedoo 9.2k words for you!

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

The lake lay flat and motionless as a mirror, like a pool of paint someone had spilled over grey stone. It extended past its dark borders, seeping into the ground beneath your feet and drenching the soil until it was thick as winter slush. You shivered just to stand in it. 

Ione stumbled on the soft, marshy ground of the southeast blindspot. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to winnowing. 

“Gods have mercy,” she swore beneath her breath, tugging at her cane from where it sank inches deep into the earth. There was a sucking sound as Ione gave another irritated pull.

Techaria allowed the woman to lean against her side, butterfly wings fluttering before turning invisible with a shiver of light. They attracted too much attention. 

You blinked up at her in surprise, forgetting the dread that had your stomach churning. Magic like that usually hailed from the Day Court, which meant your father had chosen her to accompany you. 

She shrugged noncommittally. “Helion had some say in deciding who would accompany you and Ione to the Continent. Everyone agreed I would be the best fit as someone familiar with both the Day and the Night Courts.”

You had dozens of questions you wanted to ask — how had she come to the Night Court? When did she join the ranks of the Valkyries, small in number as they were? What had possessed her to do such a thing? 

But those were questions for another day when you weren’t trying to keep your stomach contents from revolting and your racing heart in check. 

“Yes, that makes sense,” you agreed.

You gripped onto the straps of your pack, feeling the weight of two dozen siphons sitting within them. The plan was simple in nature, but would be difficult to execute — use Nesta as a distraction to lead Koschei away from the lake and give Ione enough time to unlock the power for herself. If your theory held true, the siphons would allow Ione to concentrate that power and destroy Koschei once and for all… at least that was the hope. 

Bone-pale trees stood in loose clusters all around and up to the water’s true edge, bracing themselves against one another like wounded soldiers trudging through mud. You tried to imagine they were protecting you as they’d protected Andrian. A fragile barrier against Koschei’s influence both physically and metaphorically. Thin as they were, they did what they could to cover your movements and you saw no evidence of the activities you knew were taking place across these lands. 

Some of the trees leaned out over the water with their pale, thin faces. Desperate to catch their own reflection in the inky stillness. Gray stones, round and smooth, filled the bottom of the lake, staring up like polished skulls through the brackish water. Or were they skulls after all? You couldn’t tell, although shadows appeared to look out through hollows that may have once been eyes. 

The ground rose on your left, curling out towards you like a brown wave. The trees that grew over the wave’s crest looked healthier, their skeletal branches managing to hold onto the last of their frost-bitten leaves on sturdier ground unspoiled by the water.

You breathed through your nose and gagged. The heady scent of rot and death choked the air, the stench inescapable no matter how you breathed. 

There was another sick smell creeping into the air. Something acrid, like chemicals set to flame in a flask. You tilted your head to the sky and gave a tentative sniff before frowning immediately. Whatever was causing the smell was close by. 

Techaria looked down first and swallowed a scream. Her boots, which had sunk into the soil up to her calves, were sizzling. 

Ione lifted her cane with a shaking hand and found the silver cap at its end similarly melting away. The metal smarted and popped off the wooden end, sinking into the ground and catching flame. 

The lake was alive and it was hungry. 

Techaria lunged forward, snatching the old woman around the waist and throwing her over her shoulder with a grunt. She took off towards higher ground, trusting that you would follow close behind. Not that you had much of a choice. You could either run or stand still and let your pearly white bones succumb to the lake’s magic. You rejected the latter option immediately.

You scrambled after them and with every step you felt the power of the lake seep closer and closer to your skin, begging to feast on the flesh of your bones. 

The harder you pushed, the deeper your feet sank into the ground until every step felt like a battle with the gaping maw of a fish.

All at once you understood what Bethsevah had meant when she had locked the power beneath the lake. There was something in those waters not altogether evil, but hateful nevertheless — some essence of Bethsevah’s magic that would destroy whatever it identified as its enemy. 

You were vaguely prideful and equally frustrated that your theories on magic as a biological system were proving true at every turn. You didn’t even know how you could quantify this for inclusion in your manuscript. 

Good thoughts, wrong time. You thought as you kept running. 

Techaria ran up the slope of the hill, digging her toes in before launching her body up by the strength of her back and catching onto a snarled claw of roots. For a split second, the roots threatened to snap and send both Techaria and Ione tumbling back down to the acidic mud. But Techaria made the final ascent, dropping Ione to the ground with little fanfare before she reached down for your hand. 

“Come on!” She hissed, too terrified to make more sound. 

There were ears and eyes in these woods. She could feel them blowing their foul breath against her neck. 

Something whistled in the sky as you clawed your way up the sloped ground. An unearthly glow shot across Techaria’s terrified features as she latched onto your arm and yanked you up to safety. You cried out in pain, your ankles nearly popping out of their joints as your feet came free of your shoes. 

Techaria rolled on top of you and slapped her hand over your lips hard enough to make your teeth rattle. 

“Be quiet and stay still.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Techaria wove her magic around the three of you like a blanket, hiding you in plain sight just like she’d done with her wings.

Your breath caught in your chest when the source of the whistling came into view.  

It was Vassa.

She seemed to have doubled in size and strength — no more dreary feathers or patches of picked skin. She sailed close to the treetops, brushing her wings against the sparse foliage and setting them aflame with what could have been a screech or a laugh. 

Snapped branches, charred and crackling, rained over your head. 

“Is she gone?” Techaria asked moments later, her face still locked on your eyes as you took shuddering breaths.

You nodded stiffly and the female finally released her hold on you.

“Your shoes—”

You shook your head. You still had one sock on your left foot, but your right settled into the dirt and you felt every poke of detritus against the sensitive skin. Down below you caught glimpses of your leather boots bubbling in the soil. There was no salvaging them. 

“You can take mine.” Techaria offered, already bending down to undo the laces. 

“Don’t. They won’t fit me anyway.” They were burnt beyond recognition and hanging on by weak threads. “And from the looks of them they won’t stay intact for much longer no matter who’s wearing them.” 

But Ione was suspiciously unharmed. Her shoes were intact, as was the hemline of her cloak. The only item that seemed to have earned the lake’s ire was her cane. She waved it in the air, dispelling the smoke from its fuming end as if she were warding away evil.  

Curious. You thought. 

When you’d all caught your breath, you set out in search of safe ground closer to the water’s edge. You’d need easy access to its powers when the time came. Eventually you found your safe haven in the form of a willow hovering by a pool that bubbled out from the main lake. Its silvery sprays hung low, sparse and thin and sickly. But its roots held onto the soil well, keeping the ground firm and dry.

You pressed the palms of your hands into the ground, focusing on the subtle hum of magic that seemed to emanate from it. You dug through layers of topsoil, unspun the threads of magic like a ream of paper until you could read its contents. Every stroke of magic, its very signature, felt familiar.

It felt like Bethsevah. 

“I want to test something,” you said, gesturing to Techaria’s long, coiled hair. Without hesitation, she let you cut off a golden lock. You lowered it towards the lake’s mirrored surface and quickly snatched your hand away when the strands disintegrated with a spark. All it had taken was a touch and poof. Gone.

You repeated your test with Ione’s and… nothing. Nothing but a knotted length of gray, damp hair. Ione stared at the lake’s frozen surface, feeling something pull her closer and closer. 

She plunged her hands into the darkness.

You bit down a shout. Techaria leapt forward, grabbing a fistful of Ione’s cloak and pulling her back. You expected to see pure, white bone sticking out from the nubs of the wrist. At the very least, you expected some cracking of the universe as the ripples fluttered out and died. But once again… there was nothing.

Ione shrugged Techaria off her back before drying her hands on her cloak. “Well I think that settles any concern we had about my blood relationship to Bethsevah.” 

Techaria couldn’t believe that such boldness could come from a woman so frail and aged. 

You nodded. “Magic recognizes magic the same way blood does. It must be why you’re unaffected by the lake’s powers. It knows who you are.” 

You quickly took off your satchel, ripping off the buckles and upending its contents. Two dozen siphons spilled out, blinking like sapphires. You tried to tamp down on the wave of longing that rolled over you as you saw their familiar color but not the familiar body that came with them. 

Azriel.

Your mind whispered his name into the void as you clutched one of the blue stones. 

I’ll find you again when this is all over. I promise.

The elaborate leatherwork Ione had strapped on her hands, elbows, chest, and knees were familiar to you. Illyrian-made and designed to hold siphons capable of collecting and focusing power. 

You locked two of them into place on the backs of Ione’s hands, one at the center of her back, one at her chest, two at her elbows, and two at her knees. It was more than Azriel and Cassian wore, but Ione carried them with cold grace, as if she’d been born to carry out this task. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, girl,” Ione said as you finished tightening the straps. 

“If you mean the armor, then yes, I do know what I’m doing.” It wasn’t the first time you’d handled Illyrian leather. You helped Azriel strip them off at the end of every day. It had become a ritual of sorts. You would unlace the armor at his elbows and knees and undo the buckles that kept his back brace secured beneath his wings. In return, Azriel would ghost his hands over your shoulders as you shrugged off your robes and undo whatever pins and knots had found their way into your hair that day. 

You shivered at the thought of him and his careful touch. At all the things you hadn’t told him. All the things you’d never gotten to do with him. You’d both been so cautious and determined to take your time as if you’d had an endless abundance of it, but you were beginning to regret it now. 

You swallowed those emotions. 

You couldn’t let them distract you. Not now. 

“If you mean everything else… I don’t.” You replied honestly. All of this was a gamble. You didn’t know if Ione would be able to handle the magic she was about to take on. And if she did survive, you didn’t know if the siphons you’d prepared would do anything to focus that power into something that could be used to kill a death god.

You slid a knife out from your thigh and Ione’s eyes flashed like two marbles caught in the sun. She too was thinking of all the ways the day could go wrong. But it was too late. She’d already committed to this next turn in her life and would see where the path took her. 

But for now… they could only wait. 

Azriel.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

Every so often, when your guard was down or your emotions were heightened, thoughts and feelings would trickle across the connection that bound you too together and knock at the doors of Azriel’s soul. As if the bond knew your thoughts lay with him and wanted to give him a taste of all that could be his one day. 

Azriel. Focus. His brother’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Shadows swarmed around him in a cloud so thick, he couldn’t see his brothers standing right next to him. They were all hidden in the same dark.

Is she safe, Rhys?

As safe as she can be with Ione and Techaria. They found the blindspot in Koschei’s magic. Y/n says some of the power in the lake belongs to Bethsevah, or at least used to, and will seek to destroy anything it doesn’t recognize. Take one step into those waters and it will burn you to a crisp.

So don’t touch the lake. Got it. I never was a fan of swimming. Cassian interjected. And I don’t believe my opinion will change after this day.

Azriel could feel the tension in his brother’s muscles the longer they were forced to stay hidden. Every twitch of his fingers as he drummed the hilt of his sword. Every rapid blink as he switched between conversations with Rhys, Nesta, and Feyre. 

Will Koschei burn too then? Azriel thought aloud. If he touches the lake before unlocking his power?

That would make our lives infinitely easier, wouldn’t it? I would bet good coin I could wrestle him into the lake. 

Something tells me Koschei isn’t the kind of man you can throw around, Cassian.

He’s not— 

The words died in Cassian’s mind, shriveling up and wasting away like flowers at the end of their season. 

He meant to tell Rhys, “He’s not a man at all.” But when Koschei emerged from the woods, languidly striding towards the lake, Cassian felt foolish for thinking anyone would need the reminder. 

Koschei was not dressed for war. 

Not a stitch of metal armor graced his skin. He wore only the unblemished flesh he’d been born in — grey as a stillborn child — and a length of pitch black fabric draped around his waist. Trails of white cord criss-crossed over his chest and wrapped around his throat like a necklace before looping down his arms.

Azriel narrowed his eyes, looking past his shadows, and shivered. It wasn’t white cord at all, but an endless chain of teeth strung together like stained pearls.

Koschei fingered them thoughtfully, counting each tooth and twisting the necklace around his neck so he could feel them drag across his skin. Molars, canines, and incisors alike were worn as decoration, testifying to the millions that had met their end beneath his feet. 

Death followed at his heels, sucking the air dry until it felt hard to breathe. Where he walked through the grass, the ground turned black. Plants lost their color and collapsed in pathetic heaps. Worms sprung from the ground, wriggling and writhing like the unfurling of a carpet in search of new rot to consume.

He carried a scythe in his hands, rust streaming down the black metal like it was weeping tears of blood. 

A scythe. How poetic,  Feyre thought with a shiver. Where farmers used the humble tool to cut down their fields, Koschei used his to cut down men. 

She gritted her teeth at the sight of something else in his hands. A metal chain tied around his wrist. One sharp tug and Ione — or rather, Nesta — stumbled out from the treeline by her neck. 

Nesta! 

I’m fine. She soothed her mate’s mind even as she followed Koschei’s beck and call, wrapping tendrils of cold flame around his boiling fury until it was at a simmer. The glare she shot into the death god’s back would have sent lesser men to their graves, but whenever he looked back at her with his alarmingly sympathetic smile, she masked that disdain, replacing it with a familiar mix of contempt and fear disguised as anger. He hasn’t hurt me.

She knew it was killing Cassian to watch as she was led to the lake like a lamb to slaughter. Every instinct of his screamed out to crush Koschei’s smooth skull beneath the heel of his boot for laying a hand on his mate. But whatever your magic had done was working. Vassa had dropped her at Koschei’s feet like a cat delivering a corpse and he had smiled so brightly, skin stretched to breaking over wide cheeks, that Nesta knew he’d been fooled. 

He’d locked that chain around her neck, caressed her cheek with care, and walked with her all the way from his cabin in the woods to this thin stretch of beach. He hadn’t spoken a single word, but he’d sung. 

Funeral songs.

Each and every one of them.  

Some she recognized, others she didn’t. Sometimes he sang in languages that had been buried in graves a long, long time ago, their tombstones scattered as dust in the wind. 

Pitch black eyes raked over the empty shores. His nostrils flared as he drank in the stench of decay and petrichor. Rain clouds huddled overhead, trembling in his presence as he smiled with a joy that didn’t reach his eyes. 

He couldn’t remember the last time his hands had been drenched with fresh blood, but he was looking forward to it. When he was finally free of this place, he would go to Prythian and revel in the violence he’d been deprived of for so long. 

He licked his lips and sighed. He could almost taste the iron on the tip of his tongue, brackish and pure. He began coiling the chain in his hands until Nesta was forced to kneel in front of him, not even a foot away from the still water. She could smell sickness on his skin, like that horrid summer in the human lands when plague bodies were left to bloat and spoil in the streets.

He gripped her face in one hand, pressing her cheeks until her lips parted. She fought the urge to bite off his fingers. 

“I know you’re disgusted by me.” He spoke in a deep, grating voice. “But you must understand, I was not meant to be like this. When I was worshiped, when I had full grasp of my being, I was a more handsome sight to look upon.” He grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her face over the lake until she could see Ione’s face staring back at her. 

“Thank you for giving that back to me, child.” 

Later on, when Nesta reflected on yet another brush with death, she would marvel at how sincere she found his words. 

He moved faster than light, a knife appearing in his hands that he aimed at Nesta’s throat.

But Cassian was faster. 

He hurled himself out of the shadows, slamming into Koschei’s side in an explosion of red light that left a crater in the earth. The death god looked almost elegant as he was thrown onto his back, drapery smooth over his chest and legs as he regarded Cassian with a frigid frown, like he was an ant who had dared to splatter and mark the bottom of his shoe. 

Cassian threw Nesta over his shoulder, sprinting off into the cover of the woods with his wings tucked tight between his shoulder blades. 

Remember, You’d told him, We need to keep Koschei away from the lake for as long as possible. The moment Ione breaks the spell, he’ll know and he’ll come racing back to destroy us all. 

He could hear Vassa screeching in the distance, the noise growing as the beat of her wings carried her back to the heart of the lake. Back to her master. 

He also heard the rustling of the leaves as the wind picked up. The steady footsteps of warriors getting ready to make their assault.

Koschei did not run after them. It was beneath him to run. He may have lost his prize, but such things were temporary. He’d waited this long. He could afford to wait a little longer. 

He took his scythe, raised the blade to his lips, and cut a vertical line down the center. Dark red blood, thick and clotted, spilled out from the wound and painted the blade. With an artful swing, he carved a circle into the sand and those things that were dead in the woods began to walk once more. 

Ione clawed at her chest the moment Koschei drew blood, some wild feeling in her spirit begging her to turn and sprint into the deep woods or to hide in the tall grasses like a bunny escaping a hound. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” 

You remembered she wasn’t blessed with the sight and sound of the fae. She couldn’t see what was happening on the other edges of the lake as Koschei finally began to walk after Cassian and Nesta. But she could feel it as keenly as you and Techaria that something was amiss. A malicious power was bleeding into the world and ripping souls from their rest.

It’s finally begun. 

The ground shook with silent thunder.

Techaria’s amber skin turned white, wings flickering back into the seeing world before disappearing again as she regained her focus. 

The wind whistled past you, skeletal branches beginning to rise and fall as they bowed over and over and over again in frantic prayer. The trees by the water leaned further down, kissing the lake with their lips and watching as they were burned away, leaving black craters on their faces. 

The earth trembled and bones rose from their graves, creeping up inch by inch like shiny, white pustules. Some still clung to their rotted flesh, stringy and dark and rank. Others were as smooth as pearls, picked clean by the scavengers of the earth. But all of them began clustering together, held up by magic as new tendons sprang into existence and knit the bones close.

You couldn’t believe how quickly those crooked creatures ran. Their movements were erratic yet purposeful as they weaved in between the gaps in the trees and through the rustling tall grasses, followed by distant screams and shouts and the ringing of steel and—

“Do it,” Ione commanded, holding out her wrists with a grimace. 

You clutched the knife tighter, but didn’t move. “Ione, I—”

The woman’s eyes hardened. She had not traveled all this way for fear to take over. She had not lived to this age or survived a fucking war to be afraid of death now. 

“I’m an old woman, Y/n. It’s a miracle I’ve kept my sanity this long. I can afford to lose it today. Now, if you don’t use that knife for its intended purpose, hand it over and I’ll do it myself!” She growled.

You sucked in a deep breath and without further hesitation, cut a line across the woman’s wrists. She hissed in pain before she turned and held out her hands so her blood could drip, drip, drip down, and disturb the smooth mirrored surface of the lake. 

He’s not following us, Cassian. Cassian! 

Nesta held onto him for dear life, burying her face in the folds of his wings as he sprinted through the woods like a wild horse. 

Koschei was meant to be following them. 

It wouldn’t matter that Ione could break the magic of the lake if Koschei was there to snatch it up instead.

Nesta felt a wave of power roll over the woods. Cassian held his breath, his stomach dropping towards the cradle of his hip bones.

I think you’ve spoken too soon, Nes.

Twisted creatures dropped down from the trees, pale with pitch black eyes and gaping mouths. Nesta gave a shout as one grabbed hold of her shoulder and threw her off Cassian’s back.

Two more leapt atop of Cassian, narrowly missing the curve of his throat with their teeth as he jerked back and then shot out bursts of power. 

NESTA!

She screamed, beating at the creature with her fists. Long, black strands of flesh fell from its skull, drooping over Nesta’s cheeks with a slimy touch. Just when she thought she’d need to pull from her own power, Cassian’s hands burst through its chest, tearing apart its chest in a shower of red light and bone fragments.

“Come on!”

The wind stopped howling so loudly. The temperature of the air dropped. And suddenly there was Koschei, looming just above Cassian’s shoulder with his stretched-skin smile and empty eyes.

Cassian caught sight of the death god in Nesta’s eyes, rolling out of the way of his scythe before it could take off his head. 

Nesta played the role of the old woman, scrambling away on all fours as bone-beasts gathered around like crows to a corpse. They clicked their teeth together, heads popping in and out of sockets as they closed off all avenues of escape. 

But Nesta’s attention was squarely on Cassian as he and Koschei danced through the trees. Her mate had never looked more alive than while fighting a god of death, with his sweat-slicked hair and cheeks painted red from exertion. There was a light in his eyes as he dove and twisted away from the swinging scythe and Nesta swore she could hear his wildly beating heart over the chaos.

Are you glad he followed us now, Nesta? He could still find it within himself to tease her.

Oh for fuck’s sake! 

She gritted her teeth, picking up a rotten log and beating away a creature that dared to cock its head in her direction with hunger. 

Despite the rush of blood in Cassian’s ears and the growing ache in his body, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Nesta’s curses in his mind. He stamped down on the scythe with his left foot and kicked it away with his right. It flew through the air, embedding itself in the trunk of a dead elm at the same time that Cassian sank his sword into Koschei’s ribs.

Koschei looked down at the blade in his side, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes. 

His shoulders twitched… then began to shake. 

Koschei was laughing.

Cords of unnaturally defined muscle pulsed around Cassian’s sword, sucking and swallowing like a starving dog. Cassian’s stomach turned. His brain muddled and grew hot, for there was no blood to be found when he finished twisting the blade and wrenched it loose. 

Worms, wriggling, pink-grey worms, poked their heads out from the wound, writhing and coagulating before becoming flesh once more.

Koschei stopped laughing, but the smile never left him as he locked eyes with the Lord of Bloodshed.

“It’s been a long while since anyone laid a hand on me, let alone twice.” His words were heavy with condescension. “Well done.” 

Cassian reeled back, dropping his weapon as the muscles of his right arm seized with a vengeance. He ripped off his gauntlet, watching as the veins of his hand turned purple… then black. The skin followed suit, decaying before his very eyes.

He dropped to his knees, cradling the ruined limb against his chest and howling in pain.

Nesta saw red and lost her mind as Cassian’s pain erupted down the bond. 

She shrieked so loud and so powerfully that the bone-beasts vibrated before shattering into dust.

She tore away the magic you’d spent days weaving over her skin and through her blood like they were cobwebs until it wasn’t Ione standing in front of Koschei, but a Lady of Death in her own right.

Recognition flickered through Koschei as the scythe flew back into his hands. 

“Sister?” 

Then.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

And a piece of Koschei’s soul cracked open. His eyes flew open in surprise. His mouth dropped and a dozen flies swarmed out, buzzing with anticipation and hunger. 

Someone had unlocked the power in the lake. His power. 

Nesta lunged at him and landed in the dirt, damp leaves slipping and sliding beneath her hands and knees. Koschei was already gone.

Cassian moaned. His skinned burned from the inside out. Is this what his death would be? He felt like a pig slowly roasting on a split.

“Cassian, Cassian, my love.” Nesta crawled over to him, tearing buckles and leather armor off his chest and arms. “Cassian. Look at me.”

His eyes opened, bleary and unfocused.

“Nes,” he whispered, feeling cool kisses of wind pepper his burning flesh. “How bad is it?” 

Nesta went quiet. His right arm was black up to the elbow and the infection of Koschei’s touch was only spreading. Darkening veins bloomed towards his shoulder, like ink running down coarse paper. Soon it would spread to his chest and kill him. 

“Nes?” He felt her caress his mind. Felt her soothing his soul before quietly shutting him out. 

She eyed the sword abandoned on the ground, walked over, and picked it up. Cassian didn’t need to ask her what she meant to do as she stood above him and raised the blade above her head. His wife, his mate, had never been one to shy away from hard decisions.

“Damn, Nes,” he said through gritted teeth and adjusted his position so she had a clear path to his arm. “Just do it.”

“I love you, Cassian,” she said through tears.

“I know.” 

Then she brought down the sword, and severed Cassian’s arm from his shoulder.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The water turned red, swirls of color spreading out through the dark until every inch of the lake had turned as crimson as a rose.

Azriel slipped in and out of shadows, cutting down Koschei’s creatures just as quickly as they reformed. Beads of sweat gathered at his brow, painting his cheeks and neck with salty strokes. 

EVERYONE TO THE WATER! NOW! 

Feyre’s command rang in his mind and in a flash of shadow, he materialized on the beach. 

The High Lady’s silver armor shone like starlight — a beacon for warriors to flock to as they came staggering out of the trees and grasses covered in the blood of their friends.

Behind me! Rhys shouted from Feyre’s side. 

He crouched low as the bone beast sailed over his head, its crooked jaw open wide. Feyre plunged her fingers into its eye sockets, curling them around the nose bridge and holding tight as Rhys drove his sword up and into the dark flesh of its underside. His sword channeled his power, exploding the creature from the inside as it thrashed. Its jaws still snapped and twisted, screeching at a high-pitch until Feyre crushed it to dust.

Light, wind, fire, and ice exploded on the beach as High Lords and High Ladies poured out their power. Viviane threw her hands up, sending hundreds of shards of clear-cut ice towards Vassa as the firebird swooped down and bit off the head of an Autumn Court soldier. There came a scream as fire met ice and steam blanketed the ground, thick as early morning mist. 

Koschei’s creatures never stopped spilling out of the woods, piecing themselves back together in increasingly bulky, horrid formations. Even the fragments on the ground were restless, crawling over bodies like maggots, filling the eyes, and ears, and mouths of corpses until they were compelled to stand and fight with twitching limbs.

To Azriel’s right, Helion fought a wolf-man hybrid, shoving light down the creature’s throat until it lay convulsing on the ground. Somewhere to his left, the High Lord of Autumn was kneeling in the wet sand, shaking the bloodless body of one of his brothers and screaming at him to wake up. Azriel tried blinking the grit out of his eyes, shadows streaming over his arms and around his body like a shield. 

One blink and there was nothing but the misty haze before him.

Another blink and there was Koschei with his scythe in hand and a line of blood from his lips all the way down to his sternum.

Eris stopped cradling his brother’s body. The tears evaporated from his cheeks as he stood on shaking legs and pulled out his knife. He wanted to be close when he made the kill. This was personal.

Koschei tipped his head to the side as he regarded the High Lord. Then he smiled. He enjoyed it immensely when they fought back. 

The passion and hope and rage was just so delicious, like salt sprinkled over a fine meal. 

So when Eris roared, his metal armor turning pure white as he burst into flame, what else could Koschei do but slide his tongue over his lips and taste death? 

Eris clapped his hands together above his head, bringing them down in a stroke of white flame that Azriel felt blaze past his shoulder. Koschei swung his scythe and severed the flames in two, cutting a neat circle in the sand. Then he swung again and in an arc of light, the power of a High Lord of Prythian met the power of a death god. 

Lighting cracked through the air, structures of sand erupting and trapping the arc of the bolt like a snake’s tongue.

The scythe won.

Blood splatter decorated the ground as Eris’s armor was torn off him. His helm of oak branches and gold cracked in two, clattering to the ground before his body followed suit. Lucien ran forward, dragging Eris away as he gurgled and gasped for breath. 

Koschei sighed, dragging a finger down the handle of his scythe. “Oh how I’ve missed this.”

Ione felt the power call out the moment her blood hit the water. It was a thousand symphonies playing at the same time, calls from a hundred desperate lovers asking for her hand as she stared at her reflection and felt the world around her drown itself to music.

Drip… drip… drip.

“Ione… Ione… IONE!” 

Her eyes went dark and hungry, her hands curling into claws that wanted to reach out and take, and take, and take.

She shrugged off the hand you laid on her back, plunged her head into the iron-laced water, and began to drink. 

Every gulp was a breath of fresh air. An electric zing through her blood she hadn’t felt in decades as the pain of time-worn bones melted away. 

She felt untouchable. 

She felt alive. 

Like the first time she’d taken a man to her bed, his dramatic gasps rolling out from beneath her as she dug her nails into the headboard and drove her hips down. Like the day she’d run away from home with nothing but a bag of copper, the clothes on her back, and bruises blossoming on her knuckles. Like the morning she’d awoken in a strange town miles away from home and seen her endless future unfurling before her.

Yes. That’s what she was. Endless.

“IONE!” You screamed through water-logged ears. 

Ione’s skin, wrinkled and dusted with sunspots, began to clear. Light, hot and saturated as a sunset, pressed against her skin from the inside. Like a parasite ready to burst, it roiled and bubbled within her, consuming her every thought except that she needed to keep drinking until the lake was completely empty and she’d reached the depths of Koschei’s magic. 

“You need to stop! You’re taking too much! IONE!” The siphons she wore were bright as stars, cracks appearing in their surface as they tried to contain the power coursing through her system and failed. You kept replacing the ones you could reach, throwing the overcharged stones to Techaria until you ran out. 

You grabbed the leather straps criss-crossing over Ione’s back and yanked. Hard. 

Ione threw out her hand and the siphons on her body exploded. Your head burst with pain as you were thrown back with enough force to snap the trunk of a chestnut tree. The world swam before you. Colors melted like the paint water Feyre cleaned her brushes in. 

Ione drank and drank and drank, craning her neck ever forward as the water level dropped at an alarming rate. 

Techaria looped her arms around the old woman’s chest, digging her heels into the ground and heaving with all her might. But the woman didn’t budge, too drunk off power and possibility to let anyone stand in her way. Ione used her newly acquired strength to grab Techaria’s wrists and together they dove into the water and disappeared. 

Blood dripped down your temples, dampening your hair as you crawled your way to the lake’s edge. 

Techaria’s wings floated to the surface, orange crystalline membrane sizzling like steel wool.

The water dropped another three feet before Ione reemerged. If you hadn’t seen her go in, you wouldn’t have recognized her when she came out. Her grey hair was now so blonde it may as well have been moonbeam cascading down her back and over her breasts. Her skin shone, pale and perfect. Her pupils were but pinpricks in the fabric of her steel grey eyes. 

You whimpered when she looked at you, her stare flat and empty as the air around her rippled and turned white. 

For a moment she looked like she might smile. 

But then she took in a shuddering breath, lower lip trembling as her mouth filled with blood. She dragged her hands down her face, peeling away the skin as fissures broke out full of light and crackling with electricity.

“Get it out. Get it out! GET IT OUT! NOOOOOOOOO!”

Ione blew apart. 

Her blood rained over your head, drenching you so thoroughly you may as well have gotten caught in a thunderstorm.

Bethsevah hadn’t been able to control the power nestled within the lake. To possess it for even a short period of time had nearly driven her mad. You should have known Ione never stood a chance. 

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

“I promise, Azriel. I promise.” 

You walked in a daze, muttering those words to yourself over and over again. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t even register the change in the air as you stepped out of the blindspot’s safety and began walking. 

And walking. 

And walking. 

Towards where you could only hope Azriel was still fighting. 

You tripped over a body, salt-crusted braids peeking out from beneath a helm of coral and seashell. Paisley blue eyes, deep and dark and bloodshot, stared lifelessly at the sky. You staggered back to your feet, picking up the pace as you stumbled through a maze of corpses. 

You slipped when the ground turned to pure ice. It splintered outwards from two bodies like a starburst.

Viviane, armed to the teeth in blue steel and a crown of ice protruding from her white curls, rocked back and forth on her heels while cradling Kallias’s head in her hands. 

She wailed as his body turned cold. Frost clung to his long, pale lashes and where his blood pooled around his pale blue robes the ice melted and cotton grass grew in quiet, white tufts. 

Onwards you walked, until you felt a familiar tap at the edges of your mind. 

Y/n! What’s going on? Where are you? Your High Lady’s voice rang loud and clear. 

It’s over, Feyre. Ione’s dead. Techaria’s dead. 

What do you mean? What happened? TELL ME!

Ione wasn’t strong enough to hold Koschei’s power. She… she killed Techaria. She blew apart into a million pieces. I’m covered in her. 

You spit on the ground, wiping away the taste of blood on your lips. It clung to you like a second skin, seeping into your pores and burying itself there. 

Y/N!

It was a different voice calling out to you this time. You heard it on the wind, soft and faint as an echo. Or maybe you were finally losing your mind. But it didn’t matter. You would have followed Azriel’s voice anywhere. 

You started to run, or rather stumble forward, hearing the clanging of steel and shattering of bones grow louder and louder. Through the gaps in the trees you saw Koschei standing as immovable as a mountain. He had one hand splayed out — silver lines splintering out in the air like and holding back the assault of Rhysand and Helion’s power. With the other he swung outward with his scythe, the rusted blade sprayed with fresh blood. 

The High Lord of Summer beat aside the weapon, the moisture he’d plucked from the air fluctuating around him like a brilliant, blue sea creature. Feyre trapped the scythe in the sand, crossing her twin swords in an X and giving Tarquin the chance he needed to bring down his spear and shatter the weapon with a boom that exploded through the woods and sent you sprawling back on hands and knees. 

Koschei hissed and he lurched back with what remained of his weapon — a metal rod tapering to a jagged, thin end. That fleeting moment of triumph on Tarquin’s face fell away when Koschei stepped close and drove that jagged end through Tarquin’s stomach. His iridescent, pearl-encrusted armor may as well have been crafted from paper the way it crumbled and tore. 

Rhysand roared, finally breaking through Koschei’s shield as Feyre threw herself over Tarquin and raised a barrier to protect them both. He snapped his wings out to the side, leaping through the air in an arc that had you holding your breath. 

Black feathers exploded from his skin. His hands elongated, curling into claws capable of shredding through steel and iron. 

This was the High Lord of the Night Court. 

Rhysand was darkness given monstrous form.

Night triumphant.

The strongest elements of his Illyrian and high fae heritage combined.

Koschei plucked Rhysand out of the air like he was a fly. 

Grabbed hold of his wings.

And tore them off his back. 

“RHYS!” Feyre’s shriek tore through the air, forcing everyone to turn their heads and watch as the High Lord of the Night Court’s wings drifted to the ground like silk.

Rhysand didn’t cry out, too in shock at the loss of such a familiar weight from his shoulder blades. He felt Feyre’s horror and pain where he couldn’t feel anything. His body all but shut down. He landed in the dirt, sand rolling around his tongue and stealing the moisture from his mouth. Then Feyre was there, smoothing back his hair and telling him not to move. He fumbled around for her hand, feeling it clamp down and never let go. 

Koschei loomed over the High Lord and High Lady, looking down at the fire in Feyre’s grey-blue eyes with a sneer. It was a sight he was too familiar with — a foolish girl making foolish decisions in the name of love. It filled him with an indescribable hatred. 

His wall of magic built itself up again and would not bend or break, no matter how Helion threw his blows down in cascades of golden light to help his friends. 

Feyre spit on the ground as tendrils of decay scattered out from Koschei’s feet, dampening her magic until she could only drag Rhysand over her lap and press her lips to the top of his head. 

Helion gritted his teeth. His magic was fading fast, even as he kept finding new places within himself to pull strength from. Koschei’s shield was weakening, he could feel it stretching thin as he began to divide his attention towards the High Lady and High Lord of Night stretched out before him. 

Just… a little… longer. He promised himself, even as his legs shook and buckled until he was down on his knees. 

There was a flash of red at his side and Helion’s brows shot into his hairline when Lucien Vanserra slipped into his peripheral vision, palms out and pouring every ounce of energy in his body towards the weakening hole in Koschei’s shield. There was something about him that Helion recognized. Some close connection that revealed itself as the golden flame of Lucien’s power joined his own. 

Helion’s stomach bottomed out. He was in freefall. “Lucien?” He asked breathlessly.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lucien replied through gritted teeth.

Koschei snapped out his wrist and an obsidian blade, thin as a needle, appeared in his palm. It seemed to shriek as he swung it down, screaming with a thousand voices like a choir from hell. 

Azriel slipped out from the darkness, shadows pouring out to block the attack. 

No. You breathed. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—

Azriel was cunning. You’d seen him in action and knew he was talented beyond measure and armed with a skillset that could rival the High Lords of Prythian. But even he was no match for Koschei. 

The death god stuck his hand through the assault of shadows and lifted Azriel into the air with a mere flick of his palm. 

He tore Azriel’s shadows away from him, peeling them back like a second skin until they fell limp to the ground. Had he killed them? You’d never stopped to think that such a thing was possible.

Azriel stifled the screams that rose in his throat. He had promised himself he would never cry out in pain — never beg for anything — since the day his brothers had ruined his hands. 

But then he locked eyes with you and heard you scream his name as you ran towards him barefoot and bleeding over the battlefield. And he found reason to beg. 

“NO!” He roared over the shrieking of shadows in his ears. “GET OUT OF HERE, Y/N!” 

There was only one way he’d die a good male and that was if you managed to escape. That was the only hope on his mind. The only prayer on his lips as he begged you to leave him. To leave them all. 

“Y/N! PLEASE!” He cried out in pain, thrashing in the air. 

Promise aside, you couldn’t leave him. You’d never stopped to entertain the thought that Azriel might be the one to die today. He was too good. Too strong. But if this was the end of his road, you would follow close behind. That was a promise no magic or death god would ever get in the way of.

You gasped, feeling something beneath your ribs tighten and lock. 

The bond snapped into place so powerfully you almost fell apart in the sand. 

It was a sliver of moonbeam laced with shadow that tied you to the one person in the entire world you’d felt safe with. The first person you could ever truly call home. 

Azriel’s face crumbled, tears streaming down his cheeks as the world fell away from him until you were the only bright and shining thing. A single star dropped onto a black sky. 

And Azriel… Azriel was everything to you. 

I’m only a Librarian. You thought even as you ran forward, eyes locked on your mate. You weren’t meant for war or strategy or cunning. You belonged in the stacks, huddled over ancient pages. Not on blood-soaked grounds hundreds of miles from home. 

But more than that, you belonged with Azriel. You were meant for each other. As intrinsically as gravity bound the seas to the earth, Azriel grounded you and you centered him. To lose him now would mean being untethered from the world. To float away into a nothingness that wasn’t serene or patient, but dark and lonely. 

You wouldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. 

You had done what no one else had been capable of doing. You’d read through Bethsevah’s history. For a moment, when you’d been close to death on the cobblestone streets of Velaris, you had felt her power fill you like a cup of wine, her memories overflowing from the pages of her book until you had become her.

If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

You’d had a taste of that power. You knew the shapes it took beneath your hands. You knew how it felt when it was running through your veins like blood. And it was this knowledge that you clung to with reckless abandonment as you began to pull Bethsevah’s memories from the reaches of your mind, donning them like a costume.

Without thinking twice, you switched courses, desperation fuelling your legs as you sprinted towards the glossy, blood-red lake before you. Azriel was still screaming your name, begging you to stop, and you heard your father and brother’s voices join in his pleading. The bond, still so fresh and vulnerable, echoed his horror as you ran right up to the lake’s edge and leapt into the waters. 

I don’t know how to swim. You remembered as the darkness enveloped you. Lucien never taught me and I don’t know if he’ll ever get a chance to. 

You thought that by looking up you’d see a warped image of the sky, bordered by murky outlines of the trees as they swayed and bowed. Instead, you saw a reflection of yourself. You floated inches above yourself, lips closed tight as you felt the growing need for oxygen begin to bloom in your lungs. 

It was warm here, but it did not burn like it did before. You held onto the knowledge of Bethsevah’s power, feeling the texture of it beneath your fingertips and carefully undoing the threads of your own magical signature before remaking it to match. Months ago, you had shared a theory with Azriel that Clairvoyants possessed a particular ability to alter their magical signatures to match others. A form of magical mimicry and another example of your studies bleeding into the real world and shaping the fabric of the universe. 

You’d tested that theory with Nesta when you’d hid her from Koschei, but now it was time for a second experiment. 

You did not burn. Not even when you opened your lips and let the water pour in. 

It slipped down your throat like whiskey, setting your blood ablaze and sending shivers across your skin. With each gulp you felt stronger. The wounds on your body sealed shut. The bruises beneath your eyes faded. 

You reached deep into that wealth of power to find what belonged to Koschei, Thanatos, Stryga, and Bethsevah. You absorbed the knowledge embedded in their magic, and time crumbled beneath your touch as you began undoing and reweaving their magical signatures into something utterly changed. 

It was careful, pensive work. The kind of work that could only belong to a Librarian and a Clairvoyant. 

With the power of three death gods and a warrior flooding through your veins, you pulled yourself to the edge of that mirror and stared at your own reflection. Your clothes were gone and your body healed. Once, you would have cringed at the sight of your own skin. But no more.

You drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Until the lake was only an empty pit in the ground. 

All creatures, dead and alive and in-between, felt it when the powers within the lake broke a second time. 

Koschei dropped Azriel and he fell flat onto his back, raw and broken. His shadows were gone, and now matter how he called out for them, they did not return.

He grasped on to the bond, desperately tugging on it to make sure you were still breathing on the other side. 

“Y/n,” he whispered. His voice was stripped back to nothing. 

You were still there, but you felt faint, as if more distance stretched between you than a hundred meters. 

He rolled onto his stomach, digging his fingernails into the sand and dragging himself forward inch by bloody inch. But the lake drew away from him, water levels plummeting like someone had reached down and pulled the stopper from a bathtub. 

The bond roared, heat blooming in his chest with new power as you revealed yourself. First it was the smooth expanse of your back, then your head as it dipped further and further down to drink what remained of the lake’s magic until there wasn’t a single drop left. 

Koschei stood in shock, his bloodless skin growing even paler as you stood up and pinned him to the ground with your stare. You shone brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars in the universe combined and Azriel couldn’t pull his gaze away. 

You had never looked more otherworldly — more ethereal — than in that very moment. 

You moved forward so quickly, Azriel didn’t register it until you were standing in front of Koschei, naked and perfect. 

You grabbed Koschei’s face in your hands, his jaw slack and open. He tried to move but found that his feet had been driven into the ground like tent poles. For the first time in his immortal life, Koschei felt fear. 

You shoved power into his body — down his throat, his eyes, his ears — until he was vibrating with untempered energy. His skin started to split apart, light spilling out from the fissures like lava rock and dripping down his body like blood. He felt his own power attack him, killing him from the inside out as you kept pouring more and more magic into Koschei before it could destroy you as well. He was being unwritten from this world. Every muscle fiber snapped in two. Every cell in his body swelled and burst like a grape. 

You held onto the bond, letting it act as an anchor for your sanity so you wouldn’t die like Ione did, and Azriel held on too. Gods did he hold on. He held on so tight you could feel the pressure in your ribs like he was holding your body together and not just your soul. 

You leaned close, allowing your breath to fan over Koschei’s rotten face. “No one touches my mate,” you seethed.

And Koschei blew apart into a trillion microscopic pieces.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Thank you for your patience as I worked to get this chapter out! And um.... sorry if it wasn't what you were hoping for.

Now let me just—

[wrongbodies]

Aftermath

"So, this kinda fucking sucks." Ralphie said. At first sight you might think he was a beautiful Adonis of an athlete in his prime, a Junior in college. Tall, with golden-brown hued skin from countless days spent under the sun in practices and games. Hair like gold silk that falls into a perfect middle part and draws out the blue in the perfect eyes.

But, the forlorn looking college boy with the beautiful features was experiencing a distinct out-of-body situation. Not even metaphorically, because the other lad in the room just happened to possess his true body.

"I couldn't agree more." The nasally voice of a much different looking boy said. This college Sophomore was short, with pale skin mottled with acne and freckles. His hair, oily, was brown and raked into a neat side part. Brown, muddy colored irises peered out from behind smudged, round glasses. His lips were chapped and chewed, and the mouth curled into a grimace. This was Trevor, and he was also looking at the body he should rightfully occupy, across the room from him.

"Do we have any idea when she'll wake up?" Ralphie asked, slumping and looking pathetic, which was quite a feat in such an impressive body.

"Last I heard it could be two weeks... if she ever wakes at all." Trevor said, darkly.

The two were conversing about the source of their current predicament. Both could hardly stop the memory of the previous days events from replaying over and over in the back of their minds.

After waking from a strangely deep slumber, both young men had come to realize their worst nightmare - they had swapped bodies! After spending some time freaking out, as one might after waking in another person's body, they rushed to meet up and look for the one who had placed them in this bizarre, magical, and cliched situation.

Belinda, a strange girl on campus that often moved about as if gliding, but her body was always clad in dresses and skirts and shawls that hid her form from proper view. She was known to be eccentric and potentially a wiccan. But Ralphie and Trevor learned just how eccentric she could be when after a shouting match erupted between them. Ralphie was trying to tutor Trevor, but Trevor was distracted and wanted to keep swiping on hot chicks in his dating apps. Frustrated, they began yelling and attracted the attention of many library visitors, and before the hawkish librarian could shush them, Belinda had appeared looking mirthful and conniving.

What the two boys had not expected was the babbling she had spewed actually was a curse. A spell that over the night had swapped their bodies. It didn't take too long for the two to figure it out, and together had sought to chase her down.

And that's when the nightmare darkened ever more so. They spotted Belinda crossing a street, and yelled at her as they rushed to speak. Despite her strange powers, she was not prescient enough to see the speeding car take the corner hard and ram her. She was flipped up, rolled over the windshield and roof of the car, and deposited roughly on the asphalt. The car drove off even faster now, having potentially killed a student. The boys approached in terror, and saw blood oozing from her forehead.

Belinda now lies in a coma in the local hospital, where the doctors are desperately trying to stabilize and eventually revive her. This leads us back to our troubled protagonists.

"If she isn't able to undo this, I don't think I can do this..." Ralphie said, solemnly.

"What choice do we have?" Trevor said, briskly. "You can't just fall apart. Not even just because that's my life you'd be giving up on. But because we need to stay positive. Even if she takes a week or two to awaken, we might find some other way to reverse this."

"I appreciate the optimism, Trevor. However, I feel like our lives are so different that assimilating is going to be nigh on impossible." Ralphie said. Trevor had to admit it was a little humorous to see his body talking like that.

"So we help each other. We don't have to face this alone." Trevor said, bravery emerging from the clouding fear.

"Really?" Ralphie asked. He was still so distrusting. Years of resentment and ostracism made him wary of promises from a jock.

"Absolutely. Look, I have as much of a stake in this as you do. I'm not an ass, I know you have things you want to do and be. We have to work together, so that when we get swapped back we have lives worth returning to." Trevor said, confidently.

Ralphie started to smile. His new broad shoulders no longer slumped, and he sat up straight. "Ok then. So, tell me how to be a jock."

"Well, it's a lot more than just a pep-talk." Trevor snorted.

"How so? This can't be too hard, can it?" Ralphie asked, serious.

"Tell me, do you know the rules of football? Do you know the maneuvers I've practiced for years with the team here?" Trevor asked in turn.

"Ohhh..." Ralphie understood. "Ok, so you'll teach me to be a football player. I can manage the academic stuff. You'll probably get really good grades for a while, at the least."

"But there's more." Trevor said, a slightly grim tone coming through.

"What?" Ralphie looked uncomfortable again.

"Our families. Our friends. Our personal lives." Trevor stated. Each point jolting Ralphie a little bit.

"Fuuuuuck. I didn't even think about that." Ralphie admitted. He hung his head, eyes staring straight down at the messy floor of Trevors dorm room.

"We know it's going to be hard. But I still think we can do this. I didn't ask to be you, and you didn't ask to be me. But together we might just make this work." Trevor assured.

"You know, I have to say you actually aren't anything like I thought." Ralphie admitted.

"What do you mean?" Trevor asked.

"Well, it's kinda rude but I always thought you were a typical fuckboy jock guy." Ralphie said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Well... partially true." Trevor grinned. He was pretty horny all the time.

"But you are taking this all in stride. I never knew someone could be so confident and optimistic." Ralphie explained.

"Don't count yourself out until it's over." Trevor said. "That's what my Dad always said before he passed."

Ralphie felt the blood drain from his face. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's all good, man. We have a lot to learn about each other. But we'll sort it out, get to know each other well, and maybe we can look at this all with a laugh when we switch back." Trevor smiled.

"Well, I should probably tell you something about myself first." Ralphie said, ominously.

"Oh, ok. What is it?" Trevor asked.

"I'm gay. I've hooked up with a few guys on campus already. Usually on the hush because they are DL or closeted." Ralphie admitted.

Trevor finally looked a bit shocked. "Uhh... so how do we navigate that?"

"I don't know. I think I'm still gay in this body, though." Ralphie said.

"Ummm... I was wondering something though." Trevor said, standing up from the bed. Unfortunately, he still wasn't used to his height difference, and tripped. He fell forward into Ralphie -his- strong arms, which stabilized him. Ralphie didn't release him, though.

"What were you wondering?" Ralphie asked, looking down into the face that he used to see in a mirror, but the mind of the jock was now peering out from.

"Err..." Trevor balked. He couldn't help himself. He leaned his face upward, and with eyes closed pressed his new chapped lips against his former bodies lips.

Ralphie's eyes widened in shock. But he didn't stop. Something strange was happening, like his body was racked with a glow that made him want to stay like this, lips locked with Trevor, forever. Finally, Trevor pulled back, looking up into Ralphie's eyes, looking like a puppy.

"I didn't know how to say it. But the entire time I was sitting there, I just wanted to feel your - my - lips." Trevor said, cheeks warming as they flushed.

"I never would have guessed, honestly. But somehow I find you irresistible like that, too." Ralphie replied. "Is this a side-effect of the spell?"

"I think so. But I don't really mind. I just want to feel you." Trevor admitted. Ralphie pulled his smaller, original body close. The two embraced.

"Do you think we'll still feel like this when we swap back?" Ralphie asked, as he held on to Trevor.

"I don't know. But I kinda hope so." Trevor said, softly.

They would have no inkling of the message the students would receive later that evening. An email from the school announcing that Belinda had passed away in the hospital. While many students would mourn the girls sudden passing, the two boys would find a strange comfort in that knowledge. Maybe the swap had upended their lives and presented many new challenges... but it also gave them a love that was undeniable. If it was born from magic, or real, wouldn't matter. They just enjoyed being together.

[writeforfandoms]

Take A Chance On Me

I had the itch to write post-canon Ezra. And I'd been thinking about dragons. Because we always need more dragons.

Warnings: Swearing, mystery, dragon hatching, metaphorical leap of faith, time skip.

Word count: 5.3k

You'd owned your bakery for a long time. Long enough that you knew all your regulars, knew the businesses around you. Knew who to talk to when someone came around trying to make trouble. Knew where to get the best ingredients to make soup when someone was feeling poorly. 

So of course you noticed when the bookshop opened. 

The new place opened on the corner - a good spot, lots of foot traffic, lots of opportunity. While hardly the center of the universe, this planet boasted plenty of tourism, with long golden days and easy nights. 

You'd be surprised nobody had opened a bookstore earlier, except for the fact that books came and went in popularity. 

You'd have to keep an eye on this place. See if it lasted. 

The nice thing about owning your own bakery was the stability. Your life never varied much. You got to the shop early every day, had the first pastries ready for the early crews. Kept putting out new items through the day, to keep the workers and tourists alike happy. You closed when things got quiet, or read at the counter for a couple hours, whatever felt better that day. 

But it did make for a rather lonely life. 

You didn't think much of it the first time a blonde teen came in and bought a few things. She didn't smile, but she did thank you. 

Life kept on, as it had for a long time, as it would for longer. 

At least, you assumed it would keep on the same way it had been. 

Except that two things happened. 

The first was a gift, from a long time regular. Stryker had been one of your first true regulars, always spared some time to chat with you, had taste tested every new item on your menu. 

His smile as he handed over the box to you was sad, bittersweet. Wrinkled hands captured yours once you had the box securely in your grip. 

“You take care of that, now,” he said, eyes as bright as the noon sky holding yours. “Promise me.”

“I'll take care of it,” you agreed, confused but willing to agree. “I promise.”

His grip relaxed and he nodded. “Good. Good. Always been a good one, you have.” He smiled again, swallowing once. “Take care of yourself, too, y'hear?”

“I will.” The sudden foreboding tightened your throat, and your hands gripped the box even tighter. “You too, okay?”

He just nodded at you, slow and solemn, and took a step back. He turned and walked away, hesitating for a moment on the threshold. You thought you saw his shoulders hitch. 

You never saw him again. 

The box contained a weird egg-shaped thing. The surface of it was rough under your fingers, not unlike exposed rock, and ranged from sandy to dirty. It was, however, clean, leaving no traces in the box or on your fingers. 

Honestly, you had no idea what to do with it. So you left it in the box in your bedroom. 

The second thing was another newcomer. He wouldn't have been all that interesting on his own, although he was quite good-looking. The little blonde streak in his hair especially caught your eye as it shone in the light coming in the window. 

“Cee told me she got pastries here the other day,” he started, gaze flicking greedily around the case. “I tried one, haven't tasted anything so good in years. As soon as I wrested the location from her, I knew I simply had to come for myself.” 

“Cee?” You couldn't help but smile at the sheer flow of words, a little charmed. 

“My ward. Blonde girl, too serious for her own good, quiet until you get to know her.” He darted a smile at you, looked back to the case, and then looked back to you. 

“Ah, I remember her. She shared with you?” You resisted the urge to grab a box, although he looked like a man who would get more than one pastry. 

“She did, with much persuading and wheedling.” He didn't look back at the pastries this time. 

“Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to come in.” You smiled pleasantly, though you also didn't look back at the cases. There was something about his gaze, something magnetic. 

“Oh, if the rest of these are as good as the first I had, I suspect I shall be back as often as I can manage.” His smile kicked up a notch, from friendly to flirty, even as his gaze warmed. 

You warmed too, undeniably flattered but unwilling to make it so easy for him. “Well, then, what do you want to try today?”

He finally looked away from you, fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh as he debated. You finally noticed the pinned back sleeve on his other arm, and decided not to comment.

Plenty of jobs in the galaxy ended up being dangerous. 

“I fear you have too tempting a selection,” he said, looking back to you. “Perhaps you could choose for me? Four of your most popular.” 

You considered him for a moment, head tipping a little to one side. Then you nodded and unfolded a box. 

He wanted a surprise, huh? Half and half it would be.

You grabbed two sweet pastries and two savory for him. It was perhaps a gamble - most people were surprised by the savories the first time, but they were extremely popular around lunch time. 

“See how you like these.” You put the box on top of the case between you two, a little startled to find he was watching you, brown eyes assessing. 

“I'm sure I will enjoy every one of these.” He winked at you. “Now, how much do I owe you?” 

You told him, knocking off a couple credits just because you liked him. 

He paid and took his box, holding it carefully to avoid crushing any pastries inside. 

“Just in case chatter hasn't yet gotten here,” he started, pausing by the door to look back at you, “I own the bookshop down on the corner. Come by any time, don't be a stranger.” He tipped the box to you in salute before he left. 

You hummed softly, leaning one hip against the case. So. He was the owner of the bookshop. 

Intriguing. Perhaps you would have to go pay that place a visit. 

You turned off the lights for the night, locking up the shop. Even with the ovens off for the night, the shop kept warm. When the weather warmed again, you'd need to keep the door open so your customers wouldn't complain of the heat. 

You patted the strange egg thing on your way to bed. The bumps and scratches against your skin felt the same as always, and you thought nothing more of it. 

You didn't think anything more of it for days, really. You had other things on your mind. 

Like the bookshop, and the handsome man who owned it. 

You'd met many people in your time here. None of them quite as intriguing as Ezra. 

There was just something about him. Something almost magnetic. More than just the intrigue of a new face, and new shop owner. 

Maybe you'd close up early one day and go investigate. One day soon. 

It had been a while since you'd had new reading material just for fun. 

Any thoughts of pleasure reading vanished when you went up to bed that night. 

The egg shook under your hand. Just a little. Not enough that hatching seemed imminent, but you still paused. 

That… was unexpected. 

It trembled again, less energetically this time. Hopefully that didn't mean anything bad. 

Just in case, you brought the egg next to your bed, hoping you'd wake if anything happened. 

It took a long time to get to sleep, and staying asleep proved impossible. 

But the egg didn't crack open overnight. Neither did it seem to die, still warm when you touched it that morning. 

Just in case, you carried it with you to the shop. 

But it didn't move all day. Didn't stir. It didn't fade, either, still warm and rough under your fingers when you checked. 

You had absolutely no idea what to do. 

“You are a mystery,” you muttered to the egg, unsure what else to do. “I don't know what to do with you. Why did Stryker give you to me?” 

The egg didn't respond, which was good, because a response would have been much worse. 

You did finally think about where you could find out more about eggs. 

Books. Of course. 

Sometimes you were a fucking idiot.

Still paranoid that something would happen to the egg while you weren't watching, you found an old pack to carry with you, stuffing the egg inside with a sweater for some padding. 

And then you locked up and headed for the bookstore, still cursing yourself for an idiot. 

A bell over the door jingled softly as you let yourself in, and you paused for a moment to take in the space. The smell of books, paper and ink and age, filled the space, different from your own shop but still nice. Shelves filled the walls and took up a fair bit of the open space throughout the shop, creating little nooks and cubbies hidden away from the world.

Which you discovered a half dozen steps into the shop. Cee sat on a cozy recliner, afternoon sunlight streaming in the windows next to her, turning the entire space orange-gold. Her hair fell around her face, one knee up to help brace the spine of the book in her hands. You vaguely recognized the cover - some story popular with the younger crowd, part of a series, if you recalled correctly. You'd heard customers talking about the books before. 

You didn't disturb her, leaving her to her reading as you ventured further into the shop. The egg rustling against your back reminded you of your purpose, giving you a much-needed kick in the rear. 

No more distractions. You needed to find any books on husbandry and creatures you could. 

Naturally, you ran straight into Ezra, almost literally. 

He blinked, startled, and then smiled. “Well, I must admit I hadn't expected to see you so soon! What brings you in today? Anything I can help you find?” 

You smiled, a little nervous, a little awkward. “I'm just kinda looking,” you hedged, shifting your weight. For all that you liked Ezra, you didn't know if you trusted him yet. 

“For fun or for a purpose?” He didn't press any closer, simply waiting for you with a small smile on his lips, and curious eyes. 

“Trying to look up some stuff about animals.” There, that was safe enough. 

His eyebrows raised but he half turned, motioning you to follow. “Thinking of keeping a pet? I'll admit Cee has been asking after one for the shop, though I am not convinced.”

Your smile felt very awkward, especially when the egg wiggled against your back. “Yeah, the thought has crossed my mind,” you lied. “Figured I'd do some research.”

“A very sensible approach,” he agreed, turning down an aisle, bookcases obscuring your view of the rest of the shop. You couldn't even hear the outside now, the world muffled and far away in the confines of the shop. “Here we are. I admit it is not the biggest section, but there's not been much call for it as of yet.” 

“I'm sure it will be a good starting point,” you said, stepping closer to the shelves to start looking at the titles. “Thanks.” 

Ezra nodded, though he lingered for a few moments. Then he smiled. “Holler if you need anything,” he said, stepping back away from you. 

You nodded, watching him go until he turned a corner and vanished into the depths of the store. You turned back to the books, taking a deep breath to brace yourself. 

You ended up sitting on the floor, a small stack of books next to you, flipping through pages trying to find anything that matched the description of your egg. 

So far, nothing matched. Nothing even came close, between the size and the texture. 

You dropped your head with a soft groan, pushing back to your feet to put books back away. Nothing had helped you, and the egg still shook in your backpack, more vigorous now. 

That made you nervous. You did not want it to hatch. You really were not prepared. At all. 

“Are you finding anything useful?” 

You jumped, nearly dropping the couple books still in your hands. It took a few moments of fumbling to right everything, yourself included. 

“I apologize,” Ezra said, hand extended and hovering near your elbow in case you needed help. “I didn't realize you were so deep in your research.”

“It's fine,” you said, heart still hammering away in your chest. “I just didn't hear you coming.”

“Happens often here,” he said with a rather wry smile. “The number of times Cee has snuck up on me is, frankly, appalling.” 

You managed a little laugh, putting the last couple books away before anything else could happen to them. “I'm not surprised. Easy to get distracted in here.” 

“It is indeed.” He eyed your empty hands, his own falling back to his side. “Haven't found what you need yet?” 

“No.” You sighed. “Not yet.” 

“I could help you search?” He watched you as he offered, curious and hopeful.

You paused, uncertain if you should take him up on his offer, not sure if you could trust him. 

The egg made the decision for you. It rocked violently, the crack audible even through the sweater packed around it. 

You both paused, and you swallowed. 

“Are you sure I cannot help you with something?” He shifted closer, watching you carefully now. 

“I suppose that depends.” You carefully removed your backpack, shifting it around to your front. 

“On?” 

“If I can trust you to keep a secret.” 

He considered you for a moment, apparently thinking through something. Then he nodded. “I find myself enjoying life here, and unwilling to risk it. I will keep your secrets.” 

You opened your backpack, the egg inside cracked straight down the middle, both sides moving as the thing inside tried to break free. The constrained space inside the backpack made it harder, the cracks slowly spreading.

Ezra hissed out a breath, chancing a quick glance around. “Close that,” he said, quiet but urgent. “We need to go somewhere more private for this.”

“Do you know what it is?” You closed the backpack again, following Ezra as he wound through the stacks and to the back. He held open the door for you, ushering you further into the room, cramped with stacks of extra books and a small table. 

“I have a suspicion,” Ezra admitted, clearing a few papers off the table with quick motions. “But I cannot say for certain until we've seen what exactly emerges from this shell.” 

You set your backpack on the table and carefully pulled the egg out, still packaged snugly in your sweater. No sooner had you put the whole little nest down on the table than the egg split, half of it falling away. 

Big garnet-red eyes blinked up at you, the skin colored the same as the egg. It uncurled slowly, stretching out stubby legs. It chirruped at you, soft and cute even though it was still damp from hatching. 

And you had no idea what it was. 

“Kevva,” Ezra muttered next to you, awed and cursing both. 

“You know what this is?” You half-turned to look at him. 

“I've never seen one,” he said, gaze still fixed on the thing. “Heard stories though, from other prospectors, other travelers.”

“And?” You frowned at him. You wouldn't have guessed he was a prospector, but it did make sense. That could be a very dangerous job, from what you understood. 

“It’s a dragon.”

“What?” This time, the word was breathed, soft and disbelieving. 

“It must be,” he continued, his hand slowly moving towards the hatchling, though he paused when it made a less than happy sound. “I've heard tell that people can hatch ‘em, if you're lucky. Where did you get the egg?” He shot you a look, half curious, half assessing. 

“It was a gift.” You spoke through numb lips, cold with shock, even as the dragon wobbled closer to you. Clearly, coordination was not a skill baby dragons had just yet. 

“A very generous gift,” he observed, still watching you. “Not the kind of gift I'd expect of just a friend.”

You shook your head slowly. “He was a regular,” you said slowly, lifting one hand. Unlike when Ezra tried, the hatchling trilled at you and nosed into your palm. “I haven't seen him since.” 

Ezra hummed soft acknowledgement of that, watching you and the hatchling. “It’ll need food,” he said, changing the subject. “I do believe I have some suitable fare in my kitchen, if you can wait.” 

You blinked, thrown by the change in subject, but nodded. He slipped out quietly, the door clicking shut after him. 

“Where did you even come from?” You asked the hatchling, not expecting an answer. 

The hatchling chirruped and cuddled closer to you. You wrapped your now-ruined sweater around it, trying to keep it warm. 

Ezra reappeared with a bowl of sliced meat, setting it down next to you and the hatchling. “Watch your fingers,” he advised. “Most things have sharp teeth. Even babies.” 

You nodded your thanks to him, feeding bits carefully to the baby, who ate ravenously. 

“Thank you for all your help,” you told him in between feeding the hatchling. “I don't know what I would have done on my own.” 

He shot you a quick smile. “I am happy to help, although I do wonder at your willingness to trust someone you hardly know.��� 

You snorted softly. “Well, for one, the timing was awful. Didn't leave me a lot of choice,” you grumbled, albeit half-heartedly. This went deeper than just the timing, and you had a feeling he knew it too. Especially since he stayed quiet, waiting you out. “I just… had a feeling. About you.” Your cautious glance at him revealed only that he was still watching you. 

He let the silence linger another beat, two. Then he spoke softly. “I would say that trusting your gut, while often a good start, is not the only course of action you should take. However, in this particular case, it has not led you astray. I told you earlier that I enjoy this life, and I didn't lie. I've no wish to ruin things for myself, or for Cee. Your secrets are safe with me.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, warmed by his honesty. You did startle a little when the hatchling pushed into your midsection, apparently not content with the nest. It didn't stop nudging you until you picked it up and held it close, and then it finally relaxed with a happy little meep. 

The two of you stood quietly for a few moments, both looking at the dragon. You had no idea what to do next, too overwhelmed to think properly. Ezra… you couldn't guess at what he thought. 

“I need to close up the shop,” he said finally, shifting his weight. “Give me a few minutes, if you will, and I'll happily escort both you and your little companion home.” 

“You don't have to,” you demurred, though the offer pleased you. 

“Always happy to help a friend.” He winked at you and slipped out of the room again. 

Friend. You liked the sound of that. 

It took a bit of doing to get the dragon back in your backpack, carefully hidden away. She chirruped but settled down again, hopefully to take a nap. You hoped she would at least stay quiet. 

“Cee is upstairs for the moment,” Ezra told you as he opened the door for you. “The route is clear for us to avoid any pesky questions.” 

“Are you calling Cee pesky?” You smiled though to reassure him you were only teasing. 

“Oh she is much more than pesky,” he replied cheerfully, expertly herding you out the front door. “She is smart, perceptive. Good memory. Not much for talking, though, unless you happen to engage her about one of her stories. She is absolutely a menace.” 

You laughed at not only the joy but pride in his voice. “You care for her a great deal.” 

“We have been through a lot together, her and I. That is the kind of bond that does not easily dissipate.” He shrugged with one shoulder, half-smiling. “Never would have thought of myself as the settling type, yet here I am.”

“Life has a way of changing things,” you agreed. “Hopefully for the better, overall.” 

Ezra nodded his agreement. “You sound as if you speak from experience.” 

Your smile turned wry, a little sad. “I didn't always run the bakery on my own. It's better this way.”

Ezra didn't press, simply nodded. Clearly he understood enough. 

You unlocked the door behind the bakery, which led up to your apartment. You paused for a moment, considering, before focusing on him. “Want to come up? I could use the help getting this one settled and figuring out… everything.” 

He huffed a soft laugh. “I'm glad to help,” he agreed, stepping in behind you. 

The climb up the stairs was silent save for your footsteps, and you unlocked the door to your apartment. 

You hadn't been expecting a guest, but you weren't bothered. You usually kept things fairly clear. Fortunately for you. 

“So, what do you think I'll need?” You carefully took the backpack off again, opening it to check on the hatchling. Fast asleep, body lax in sleep. 

“Someplace for it to sleep,” Ezra suggested. “It won't take long to outgrow that backpack. At least, I assume so. I'm uncertain how big exactly that little one will get.” 

“Lovely.” You sighed and set the backpack down in a chair for the moment, already thinking of what you could do. “It liked the meat, so I guess I'll need that on hand all the time.”

“Only if you don't want it finding ways to feed itself,” he said, only half-joking. 

“What else?” You planted your hands on your hips, masking how worried you were. 

“Well.” Ezra looked around your apartment, doing a slow circle to take it in. “You'll learn as it grows, I'm sure. I've heard that dragons enjoy keeping hoards, although I am uncertain what it will hoard. It may not. Haven't heard of anyone keeping a dragon in a long time. You may well be the first in this system.”

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, less than thrilled with the prospect. You didn't want exceptional. You liked your boring life. 

Although a sneaky part of you still whispered that someone to share your boring life with would be welcome. 

“Well, thanks. I suppose we'll see how this goes.” 

Ezra nodded, clearly taking those words as dismissal and turning for the door. 

“If you're not busy, you could stay for dinner?” You surprised yourself with the offer, but you didn't rescind it. So far, he had proven to be good company. And he had called you a friend. Even if there was nothing else there between the two of you, even if your low-simmering attraction to him amounted to nothing more, it would still be nice to have company sometimes. 

His smile warmed you through, nervous flutters taking up residence in your stomach. “That is a very fine offer,” he started, and your stomach sank. He held out his hand though, wordlessly asking you to wait. “But if I may make a counteroffer. Allow me to take you out to dinner.” 

You blinked. That. That was a step up. And it could still be a friendly overture, but maybe… “I'd like that,” you agreed. “I'd really like that.” 

He smiled, stepping closer to you. “Good, because I find I would very much like to treat you. As often as you'd let me.” 

“Let's see how this one goes first,” you said with a smile, taking a chance and holding out one hand to him. 

He took your hand, using it to tug you closer. “I have a vested interest in making sure it goes well, and I can be quite persuasive when I have a mind to.” 

You smiled. “Well, then. Sounds promising. For both of us.” 

“For both of us, huh? I like that.” He grinned. “How about we figure it out more over dinner? You can show me your favorite place.” 

“Sounds like a promising start.” You smiled in agreement, turning towards the door. The hatchling would be fine for a little while. 

This was worth taking the time.

–

You sighed, short and sharp, upon seeing the state of the back room, having just closed up the front of the bakery. A damning trail of fruit bits went from their proper storage bag, now chewed through, to Hunter's favored perching spot up atop the big stand mixer. You could even see a couple bits in the bowl of the stand mixer, which you'd have to clear out before making anything in the morning. 

Hunter herself perched on the top, tail whipping back and forth, deep green scales glinting in the light. She'd grown, but not overmuch, still able to perch across your shoulders. But you'd seen for yourself that she was a ruthless hunter, defending her territory from any intruders. 

“Hunter,” you growled, planting your hands on your hips. 

At your tone, Hunter fled, spreading her wings and jumping from the stand mixer to flap across the room to the stores of flour and sugar. She knew that she wasn't supposed to get into the fruit. 

“Don't you fly away from me,” you scolded, stomping across the room after her. She squeaked and flapped away again, this time diving past you towards the front of the shop. “Hunter!” 

She flew through the open doorway, claws clattering against the top of the display cases. You groaned, long and loud, head tipping back to glare at the ceiling. 

“Overgrown lizard,” you swore to yourself. “I could make a fair few credits selling you, you know. Or leave you to Ezra. You wouldn't like that.” 

The yearling hissed, just a little. Despite the year that had passed between her hatching and now, and the fact that she saw Ezra almost every day, she still didn't really like the former prospector. 

Which was a problem, as he had become your lover, too. 

You shook your head, frustrated but unwilling to chase Hunter around. 

“Fine, sulk in there,” you called, turning your back to the shop. “I need to clean up your mess.” 

Sure enough, you'd only been cleaning for a few minutes when Hunter flapped back into the back room, perching on your work table. 

You spared her a glance and reached over, scratching above her eye. She tipped her head into your hand with a purr, eyes sliding closed in clear pleasure. 

“You're lucky you're cute,” you said half-heartedly, ire having cooled. Now, you were simply tired. 

She chirruped and, when you paused petting her, scrambled carefully up your arm to perch on your shoulder. You snorted softly but didn't object. 

“You just get bored, huh?” You reached up one hand to pat her head. “I know. Poor thing. Maybe I'll take you over to play with Cee tonight, hmm?” 

Hunter chirruped in clear approval of that idea, claws flexing against your top. 

As soon as you had finished cleaning, you pulled out the backpack. Not the original one, but a new one you'd purchased some months ago. This one had reinforced bottom and sides to help it keep its shape. 

You'd learned quickly that Hunter didn't like to be in a soft backpack after your first one died a violent death. 

Hunter hopped into the backpack obediently, settling in as you zipped it most of the way closed, leaving only a little open at the top for her to sniff. You shouldered the backpack and locked up behind you, taking a moment to breathe in the cooler evening air. 

There was still time before Ezra would close up shop, so you detoured briefly to pick up dinner for the three of you. Carry out, from a place you'd discovered with Cee. The young woman had ended up more adventurous than you would have guessed, and had no troubles dragging you along to try every new place that opened within walking distance. 

So you knew dinner would be well received when you let yourself into the bookstore. 

Cee, ravenous youngster that she was, appeared from the aisles of books first. She liberated one of the bags of food from you with a swift kiss to your cheek and ran off for the stairs heading up to their apartment. 

Ezra was slower to appear, more leisurely. His kiss as he greeted you was more leisurely, too. 

“Only have one person left,” he murmured, his hand settling at your hip. “I shall give them another five minutes before I close up. Go on upstairs, I'll be along as soon as everything here is sorted for the night.” 

“I'll try to make sure Cee doesn't eat it all,” you agreed, smiling. “Don't be long.” You pressed one more kiss to his lips before you followed Cee.

The upstairs apartment was plenty big for the two of them, comfortable and warm now. It had taken some time for personality to pop up, but now you could see the two of them mingling in the decor. Posters and younger books favored by Cee, vistas of far away places per Ezra. It was an interesting mix, but a cozy one. 

“You're the best,” Cee told you with feeling, having already unpacked the food and hoarded away her favorite dish. “Ezra was going to make us eat the leftovers from three nights ago.”

“How awful,” you drawled, amused despite yourself. “The horrors.” 

“You know he's not the best cook,” Cee complained, sticking her fork in her food. 

“Well, you won't have to worry about it tonight.” You opened the backpack, and Hunter let herself out with a cheep, promptly scampering around the floor before hopping up on the couch, and from there to the windowsill. 

“She still getting into trouble?” Cee asked around a mouthful of food. 

“Often,” you agreed with a sigh. “She got into the dried fruits earlier. I'm hoping this is just a youngster phase, and she'll grow out of it.” 

Cee giggled, trying futilely to smother it. Your lips twitched in response and you looked down at your food. 

Hunter announced Ezra by hissing at him, back arching and wings flaring to make herself look bigger. 

“Lizard,” Ezra drawled, as he always did. 

“You're not earning yourself any points with her that way,” you pointed out, smiling. 

“Perhaps I am less concerned with earning her favor, and more concerned with keeping yours.” Ezra stooped to kiss your forehead, taking his place at your side and balancing his food expertly so he could eat one-handed. 

“Hmm. Can't tell you if that's a good choice.” You winked at him, pressing briefly into his side before you continued eating. 

Cee cleaned up after dinner without prompting, and then promptly vanished into her room. Hunter slithered in after her just before the door shut. 

“Alone at last,” Ezra joked, pulling you closer until the two of you stood pressed together. 

“For the moment,” you agreed, raising your arms to wind around his neck. “We're probably free of the kids for the evening.” 

“Stay the night?” He pressed his hand to your lower back, keeping you right where he wanted you. 

“I'll have to be up to leave early,” you warned him, not a no but just a reminder. “Very early.”

“I can return to sleep after you leave,” he said, unbothered. “I'd much rather have the extra time with you tonight.” 

You smiled at him, curling your fingers through the ends of his hair. “Then I'll stay.” Your lips pressed to his, sealing the promise. 

Just one more night of many. And many to come. 

[onskepa]

Hi! I was wondering if you could make a series with lo'ak and tsireyas realtionship development, how they realise they have feelings for each other, how they are having ackward moments together like falling on top of each other inches away with their faces from each other, how they are having sometimes arguments and especially I want to see how Ronal would chase Lo'ak in the village yelling at him what has he done to her daughter when she saw them in the morning cuddled up together without Ronal remembering seeing Lo'ak in her house last night and what are the sully's reaction when they find out too? I hope I'm not bothering you.

Hellooooooo~!! This request is very cute!! Now while this wont be a series, hopefully a one shot is good enough! Honestly there is such chemistry between the two its too dang adorable! So hopefully you enjoy~!!

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

Sea meets land

Opposites attract. Being literal or metaphorical, the saying stays true. Black and white. Cute and sexy. Dark and light. Silliness and gentleness. Best example is lo’ak the forest na’vi and tsireya the sea na’vi. One is patient, the other is impatient. Gentle and rough. Comparison can go on and on but the idea is already gotten. 

One thing that the two are the same at, is being shy when it comes to their inner feelings. 

Lo’ak would rather do something stupid than express his inner feelings and tsrieya would rather hide her blush and brush it off. Though, as life works, it will find a way to have them confront each other. 

“Baby bro! Mind helping us here?” neteyam calls out to his grump little brother. Lo’ak groans a bit, hating that his little relaxation time was interrupted. He looked over to see what was so important that required his help. 

Fishing nets were tangled. Kiri, neteyam and rotxo were doing their best to untangle it. 

“Do I have to?” he asks a bit lazily. Neteyam and kiri shared a disapproving look. 

“It will be done faster with your help” rotxo says to encourage lo’ak. But that doesnt work. Kiri was about to let her brother go, as he already made up his mind before something was in lo’ak’s eye sight. 

Tsireya was dragging a big basket full of clams that needed to be opened. Clearly it was way to heavy for her. But in a flash, lo’ak was right there beside her. 

“Here let me carry those” he offered as he took the basket from tsireya. She thanked him so grateful and led him to a nice spot to open them. 

Kiri, neteyam and rotxo saw the interaction. 

“Simp” 

It it no surprise to anyone now that lo’ak will do almost anything for tsireya. 

Almost anything. 

“Except this” 

Lo’ak said with panic rising in his chest. This was what Tsireya was asking of him. It may seem harmless to tsireya but this is a death trap for him. 

“Pleaaaaaaase??? She won't notice” tsireya pleads. 

Lo’ak paces back and forth, trying to calm himself down. 

“Tsrieya, I will ride my ikran with you, I will wear matching styles with you. Heck, I will give you all of my food but please! This is where I draw the line. Share a hammock with you? In your family’s marui?! Are you nuts?!” 

Lo’ak did his best to not raise his voice. 

Tsireya nodded oh so innocently, “yes” 

“We take plenty of naps together, and I already slept in your family’s marui. Shouldnt be all that different with mine” tsireya reasons. 

Lo’ak sees the logic behind it. Yes, they shared naps countless times and his family welcomes tsireya like a new family member. There's just one problem. 

“Your family hates me, barely tolerates me” he says. 

The hard stare tonowari and ronal give him can almost rival that of his parents. 

“No they dont, they like you” tsireya counter acts. There really is no way out of it. She is very persistent. So, lo’ak gives in. 

Ronal likes to think that she raised good children. Opposite of each other but she knows her children have wise minds and good hearts. Perhaps with ao’nung he needs more guidance but tsireya can do no harm. She is as peaceful and calm as the sea at sunrise. Her sweet daughter is level headed and very patient. Her choices earn ronal’s approval. Very rarely, very extremely rare would tsireya do anything that is out of line. 

However, it has become more common thanks to that forest boy, lo’ak. Ronal knows his influence is drifting tsireya in the wrong path. Like now. 

She discovered lo’ak sleeping deeply beside tsireya, his arms around her and tsireya’s head on his chest. This rose seeping anger in ronal. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”she screams out. 

This startled the two teens. 

Ronal did not hesitate and swung the hammock around to bring the teens down to the matted floor. 

“M-mother please, let me explain-” tsireya tries to say but ronal interrupted her. 

“You will explain nothing! YOU” she points to lo’ak who was terrified. 

“I better not see you anywhere near my daughter, do you hear me!? Better pray to Eywa that my husband does not skin you alive in front of your parents! You will be doing plenty of duties around the village, from sunrise to sunfall your body will be aching for what I am going to do to you!” 

Before she can continue with her threats, lo’ak ran out of their home super fast, darting straight to his family’s home. Ronal wanted to chase after him, but with her heavy pregnancy, it would drain her energy. 

So instead, she turned to tsireya who laughed a bit nervously. 

“Is your mission to kick us out after months of gaining their trust?” Jake asked bluntly. After hearing what lo’ak did last night, he and neytiri were ready to beat his little blue ass. 

“Of all the things you do, this, THIS is something way out of line. Tell me, are you proud?” jake asks another question. But quickly raised to his hand to silence lo’ak before he can even get a word out. 

“Don't answer that” 

This was going to be very hard for the couple. They knew out of all of them, the olo’eyktan and the tsahik dislike lo’ak the most. 

And they have to clean up their son's mess again. Though it may seem harder now since their daughter is included. 

“We have to prepare something to forgive him, and us by extension” neytiri says, she begins to carefully select items from their previous clan as a peace offering. A few bracelets, necklaces, beads, and fish cooked in the omaticaya way. 

Lo’ak sees this and begins to feel bad. 

“No mom, let me handle this. Tsireya insisted I stay at her place and I gave in. Let me try to fix my own mistake” he says. 

Jake and neytiri held a silent conversation with their eyes and turn back to their son. “We are still coming with you”

In tsireya’s eye, lo’ak was an unpredictable wave that crashes into her shores. Quite literally. He arrived so unexpectedly and was a breath of fresh air into her life. While she was more than willing to teach him the way of the water, unknowingly, he taught her as well. 

How the forest na’vi speak, how they move and what they hunt. His ikran was a beautiful yet terrifying beast. It looked similar to the smaller creatures that roam nearby the rocky shores. Only much bigger. 

His laugh and smile were simply contagious to her. But tsireya also saw how much he struggled. While his siblings adapted rather well to the metkayina life, lo’ak trailed behind. Struggled to breathe, struggled to be patient, struggled with basically everything. 

Yet tsireya was there to help him every step of the way. And he improved, much to her happiness. But as they got closer, tsireya noticed a shift in her perspective of lo’ak. He seemed more good looking, strong, and having a very fun humor. When he is serious, there is a sharp look in his eyes. Something the tsireya’s loves to stare at. 

That is another thing, his eyes. Reflecting that of the sun. A view she can never get tired of. Neither can her heart. Beating louder in her ears whenever the forest boy is near. Could it be that maybe….?

“I insisted. I pushed too far and entered your home where I am not welcomed. I will do anything you ask of me that is fit for my punishment” lo’ak said solemnly. He bowed his head to the clan leaders and remained firm in his words. By also twisting the truth a bit. Taking the blame for what tsireya did. 

Behind him was his parents, surprised by his words and actions. Normally he would fight back or walk away but this is new. He meant it. 

Tonowari and ronal sat in front of lo’ak, their sharp blue eyes narrowing down at him. 

“And you stand by your words?” tonowari asks. The boy nodded. But before any punishment can be placed, tsireya abruptly walked towards them. 

“Mother, father, please dont punish him” she said as she sat beside lo’ak and grabbed his hand in comfort. 

“He is taking my blame. I insisted that he joined me in my hammock. To share a nice night together. He tried to resist but I swayed him. Please don't punish him, if anything, I will take his place and punish me instead” 

Everyone looked at tsireya, astonished at her confession. 

“You brought him into our home? Without telling us?” ronal looked at her daughter, the one who can do no wrong. Did something wrong. 

Tsireya nodded, “yes” 

Tonowari and ronal looked at each other then back at their daughter. 

“Why?” tonowari asks softly. A question everyone secretly asks. 

Tsireya gripped her hand tighter with lo’ak and confessed, “I thought it would be nice. I like being around him….” 

Deep blush creeped on her cheeks. She dug herself too deep to get out now. 

“I like being around you too” lo’ak admits. Showing her a nice small smile. The parents noticed this and all four had a clear understanding. 

“Then it is settled, both of you will share the punishment. Undoing the fishers nets for 20 days. For bringing a guest without telling us and for entering a home you are not yet welcomed in” ronal settles the fitting punishment. 

Didn't seem so bad, they can work together diligently and get it done quickly. 

“Individually,” tonowari added. 

Lo’ak and tsireya hopes the 20 days will go by quickly. 

Sorry if this was short! But I think I did good for this one. I know much will be explored in the next movie so I might come back to edit it. Either way, hope you all enjoyed! Until next time! see ya!

[transmascutena]

while akio’s car is obviously a symbol of sex and sexual violence and the power that he alone wields as the only person who can drive it, i’m not really a fan of the interpretation that “any time someone gets in the car it means they are Literally Actually Having Sex in that moment.” while i do think that it’s probably true some of the time (touga’s first car ride with the “i’m not old enough” line and the car scene with akio and anthy in episode 37 in particular are the ones i read in this way,) i don’t think it’s as straight-forward as that, and generally, trying to decode metaphors to what they Actually Represent in the literal real world is not the most interesting way of approaching analysis to me. i do still think there is significance and meaning to which characters get in the car with who, though, and especially where in the car they sit. specifically i think it says something about the characters’ relationships to one another.

let’s start with the pairs we see sitting in the backseat together. the first are touga and saionji in episode 25, who have a lot outside of their car scene to imply a sexual (or at the very least homoerotic) relationship between them (see the motorcycle scene in episode 36, with similar symbolism to the car.) after that is ruka and shiori in episode 28, who have by far the most overtly sexual car scene, and is probably another one where the sex is literal. last is touga and nanami in episode 32, where touga assaults her (another sexual relationship, although enitrely nonconsensual this time.)

compare that to the characters who sit in the backseat alone: miki and juri. miki is in the car with kozue, but she doesn’t sit next to him, instead she sits in the front seat. this, in my opinion, means that while their relationship does have its weird incestual undertones, it’s never actually been sexual, and it isn’t here either. juri is in the car with ruka, and similarly they do not sit together; their relationship is also not sexual (even though ruka does assault her earlier in the episode, it doesn’t continue in the car.) it’s possible that sitting seperately in the car implies one-sided feelings, but i don’t think that’s likely since there's no implications of that between touga and ruka who do the same thing, and personally i don’t think it’s true for the kaoru’s either. and also, if the positions had anything to do with attraction, touga and nanami would obviously not have been sitting together.

then there’s the front passenger seat, and here the significance is that it’s next to akio. most of the people we see sitting there* (touga, utena, anthy, kozue) are people who are direct victims of akio’s grooming and abuse (the only exception being ruka.) i also think there’s something about how sitting in the front seat feels like it gives you more freedom than the back, even though that’s not true. like you get the special privilege of sitting next to the person driving the car, but you don’t actually get any control yourself.

(*i am deliberately not including wakaba here, because although she does sit in the front seat on her “date” with akio in episode 30, they don’t go to the infinitely looping metaphor-highway at night, and i think that distinction is important. like how utena is in the car several times, but only in that place after akio has turned the relationship explicitly sexual)

[libby-for-life]

I want Lucifer to get humbled🤭 and that angelicradio requested you did open something up, lol. So I was wondering if you could a part two of it of everyone finding out about Alastor and Adam. And Lucifer, I especially need Lucifer reaction!!

I got you, Anon. Part 2 of AngelicRadio

Adam was more than satisfied by last night's activities. Who knew that lambs could scream that high? Alastor was satisfied as well. He was going to be spending the rest of Hell's life making sure that his lamb was taken care of.

They were currently in bed together. Adam was lying on Alastor, his face snuggled into his chest. Hid little lamb was so tired and yet, ever the stubborn one, was still awake.

"I think...we should tell the others. They'll figure it out eventually." Adam said, eyes drooping. Alastor hummed as he rubbed soothing fingers over Adam's bruises.

"If that's what you want, lamb." He yawned and he was well aware his partner watched him as his jaw unhinged, Alastor's rows of sharp teeth and long tongue on full display. He let out a soft laugh as Adam mumbled. "Damn. That was hot."

"I'm glad you like me yawning."

They fell asleep in each other's arms until late morning.

"Wait. So you guys...are together?" Vaggie said, her voice shaky due to how surprised she was. Her mouth was opened in shock.

"Yes, do try to keep up," Alastor replied making her glare. Everyone was in different levels of shock. Well, except Angel Dust. He was grinning from one metaphorical ear to the other.

"I knew it!" He screamed getting everyone to look at him. "I fucking knew it! Pay up, Husk! You owe me fifty Souls!" Alastor watched with his head tilted as Husk actually paid the spider.

"This game was rigged," Husk mumbled while Angel snickered at his misfortune.

"I'm so happy for you guys!" Charlie said with a grin. Adam nodded at her with a small smile, but his true smiles were reserved for Alastor alone. Something the deer demon was grateful for.

Nifty hugged Alastor and was talking a mile a minute about her...yaoi? Sometimes, Alastor thought, ignorance was bliss when it came to that one.

The only one who hadn't commented about Alastor and Adam was Lucifer. He was glaring daggers at them, his hate and jealousy seeping through. Adam was too busy trying to keep Angel's questions at bay to notice it.

Alastor smirked and decided to rub salt in the wound. He grabbed Adam and kissed him. It was long and passionate, something that left Adam moaning in front of everyone. Adam's eyes were closed but the deer demon snuck a peak at the devil.

He was pissed, his teeth grinding together in an effort to control himself. Good.

"Well, I believe that's all the questions we have for today," Alastor said cheerfully, holding up a boneless lamb. "Me and Adam have a lunch date. Goodbye for now!"

He walked out of the Hotel with everyone whispering. Those whispers were carried on by the demons they walked passed. Adam soon came up from his little head and he grew embarrassed with all the stares. "Alastor! Everyone is starring!"

Alastor chuckled. "Good. Let them see what they can never have."

[companion-of-the-dragonmark]

Is the Light Fury Based on a Book Character(s)? (HTTYD 3)

Warning: Spoilers for those who either haven't read the books or having read books 10-12.

Greetings and well met, my fellow Dragonmarkers!

Today is the start of ONE of my new article series that I promised to start working on for you guys!

Today's first topic will be diving into the possibility on whether or not the Light Fury is based loosely on a book character as well.

Now, as you guys know, my opinion of the Light Fury is a little on the low side since the trailer. Not only because I've seen Light Furies since the first film came out (thank you, fanfiction and fanart 2010 and up), but also because of the obvious sexual dimorphism that they've created between Toothless and the Light Fury that you never see in other dragon species — which, in my opinion, is a bit of an insult. And her feminine-like physicality and seemingly OP skills.

DreamWorks, be honest, you took this character from the fanbase, didn't you? 😒😑

Would it have killed them to give us another Night Fury? 😭

But, to save time and to prevent you from listening to old rants and explanations from previous articles, I'm moving on.

There's been several theories and headcanons that I've been voicing as to explain her appearance physically and canonly-speaking in the past, but most of them have been shot down by metaphorical bola-launchers manned by Hiccups in the form of Dreamworks. Thank you, Dreamworks! (Notice the sarcasm)

However, recently, I've been re-reading the books and I've noticed something peculiar that never struck me before.

What if the Light Fury isn't as random as I had thought? That she isn't just something that Dreamworks implemented from the fandom in order to please the fans or created for the sole purpose of being Toothless's mate? What if she was inspired — as many HTTYD characters are — from the books?

The reason why I suddenly was struck by this though was by what Dean DeBlois stated: "That we will be basing a lot of the third part of Hiccup's story on the last book of the series: Book 12," to paraphrase heavily here.

He said that they'll be basing the third film to be loyal to the twelfth and final book of the series: How to Fight a Dragon's Fury. (Which, by the way, wasn't really the case.)

So, if this is true, then is the Light Fury a possible nod to the books? That's what we're here to hopefully find out. 

Two Possible Influences:

There are two dragon characters that the Light Fury could possibly be inspired by: 

The Silver Phantom — a powerful dragon species that shows up in books 10-12 (as well as the Complete Book of Dragons)

And Luna, a Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus who's Furious's second-in-command and eventually Ruler of the dragons when a dying Furious names her as his successor and leaves for the Great Ocean (the author left it open-ended for the reader to decide whether he lives or not).

These two are not only female dragons, but dragons that are closest to what could've inspired the Light Fury that I could find.

I'm going to begin by discussing the Silver Phantom and the Light Fury and their similarities and differences. Then I'll do Luna and the Light Fury.

Now, please keep in mind that these upcoming reasons of the possibilities of the Light Fury sharing inspiration from one or both of these dragons are pure speculation, hypotheses, guesswork, and assumptions. So please take these words with a grain of salt.

If you think that I am wrong at any points or to improve any points, please let me know. I don't claim to have or know all the answers or that everything that comes out of my mouth is 110% accurate. I'm just making speculative reasonings and theories to try to better understand certain characters out of my love for this fandom.

So on to the Silver Phantom!

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Similarities Between the Light Fury and the Silver Phantom:

The Silver Phantom is first mentioned in Book 10: "How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel", where it's waiting for Hiccup and his dragons in ambush. We find out later that it's the Riding Dragon of Valhallarama, Hiccup's questing mother. It's nameless and doesn't talk (similar to Humungous Hotshot's dragon in book 5: "How to Twist a Dragon's Tale"), unlike other Riding Dragons. Though, I'm sure that's because of irrelevance to the plot of the story.

The stats on the picture say 7 for Size and 8 for Disobedience, though in the stats in the 10th book for the Silver Phantom, it says that all of its categories are a 10. I'm not sure how to account for this, on whether or not if this is a mistake. Or if it's dependent on gender. However, the 10th book was published in 2012, while The Complete Book of Dragons was published somewhere between 2013-2014, so I'm guessing that Cressida changed the stats a bit?

So here are some possible reasons as to why the Silver Phantom and the Light Fury might be similar and why the latter could be loosely-inspired by the former.

1) Both dragons seem to have similar colored scales.

Both dragons seem to have scales of a silvery-white hue, as both of them are sparkly and glowing. 

In page 23 of Chapter 1 in Book 10, it says: 

"Even though it was in the dead of night, every silver scale was lit up and shone brighter than was strictly possible in real life. The Silver Phantom seemed to give off its own light, like the moon.  "Its scream was so high and so loud that Hiccup felt as if it were setting fire to his ears. And as the dragon screamed, it poured out a jet of bright blue flames that blasted the trees in front of it, burning the leaves as bright as green stars before they dropped to the ground in powdery black smithereens."

The Light Fury seems to glow in a similar way, though her scales seem to be nonexistent and more reflective than the Silver Phantom's. Now, the Light Fury doesn't breathe blue/purple flame (the film seems to show that she breathes a regular plasma blast with the normal color of fire, not a bluish-white color), but Toothless does. So I believe that the Fury family could easily be based on this particular dragon, as they can fly in high altitudes, and (the Night Furies, at least) can breathe blue/purple flame, and are the fastest in the dragon world in the movie franchise.

2) Both dragons seem to be rare.

It's described in page 1 of Chapter 1 as being "an Air Dragon of the purest silver — very, very rare and very, very dangerous."  

In Book 10 and in The Complete Book of Dragons, Hiccup says that the Silver Phantom is a very rare dragon. However, in the latter book, it shows Hiccup the First, the second and third Hiccups' ancestor, riding on the back of a female Silver Phantom—which according to Hiccup the Third is very rare. So I'm not sure if Cressida is saying that the Silver Phantom as a species is very rare, or just the females. Or maybe because there are few females, that the Phantoms as a species can't reproduce as quickly and so their numbers were dwindling.

Or maybe during the previous two Hiccups' times, they weren't so rare, but they're rare now in Hiccup the Third's time?

Regardless of the reason, they're a rare species of dragon, and a Viking who has this dragon as its Riding Dragon would definitely be getting a big rise in social status. Valhallarama is the only known Viking in the series to ride a Silver Phantom as their riding dragon. There's also Hiccup the First, but it's not known whether the female Silver Phantom he's riding was allowing him to ride her for a temporary period, or if she was another riding dragon for him. There's no mention in the series of anyone having more than one Riding Dragon. Many Vikings are known to have more than one Hunting Dragon—or just more than one dragon in general—but there's no evidence of any Vikings having more than one Riding Dragon. Wodensfang said in Book 9 that he was Hiccup the First's blood brother and Riding Dragon. So, because of the lack of evidence of Vikings having more than one Riding Dragon, I'm assuming that's because you can only have one at a time, while you can have multiple Hunting Dragons.

Now, concerning the Light Fury, Dean DeBlois has said that "she is not the last of her kind," when talking about the Light Fury. However, you can take that with a grain of salt. For one thing, he says, "not the last of her kind." It doesn't say that they're not rare or endangered, nor does it say that female Light Furies aren't rare. However, I can't say with 110% certainty because neither the movie nor the behind-the-scenes vids have come out to prove this, nor is there any certainty of there being any concrete information in the film even if it does come out. Informative, and quite possibly visual, evidence on Light Furies and Night Furies will probably be scant if at all existent.  

3) Both dragons seem to be super fast.

In pages 32-33, it speaks of the Silver Phantom's speed: 

"Over the past year they had often eluded dragon pursuers by climbing up into the higher air, too high for the other dragons to follow. Most dragons prefer shallow air, the air nearest the ground. Very few can operate in the higher atmosphere. "Apart from the Silver Phantom. ". . . The Phantom was an Air Dragon. They were among the best flyers in the dragon world, and they flew the fastest and the highest."

In Page 307 of Chapter 27, the Phantom's speed is confirmed and the dragon is said to be "the fastest riding dragon in open skies."  

Now, since she's part of the Fury family of Dragons, I'm assuming that she's really fast—as fast as Toothless if not more so (which might be the latter since he's encumbered with flight equipment, while she doesn't have such encumberments). 

The Fury family of Dragons seem to be the fastest dragons in the dragon world, as Hiccup and Dreamworks have stated several times, and is mentioned in the book of dragons. Which makes me not help but wonder if the Night Furies weren't somewhat inspired by the Silver Phantom species.

Now, again, these are just speculative hypotheses at the moment, and probably won't ever be proven.

Now, on to Luna!

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Similarities Between the Light Fury and Luna the Sea-Dragon:

(Second_Only_To_The_Dragon_Furious_by_Grim1978)

.

Luna, Second-in-Command of Furious, King of the Dragons:

Now, this latter character is who I personally believe that the Light Fury is based on, in my opinion. I'll explain as I go along.

1) Both dragons are of the same species as their respective Toothlesses.

In the 12th Book: "How to Fight a Dragon's Fury", Luna is described in Page 76 of Chapter 4 as "a luminously beautiful Sea-Dragon slightly smaller than himself (Furious), known as Luna." 

In the books, "Sea-Dragon" is a term often used to describe the Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus (due to the first part of their species' scientific name, I think), a massive Sea-Dragon species that are arguably the most dangerous dragons known in the dragon world. That, and they're also quite possibly the largest dragons in the dragon world—hence why Furious is King of the Dragons. Size and ferocity are very important for an Alpha, in a similar aspect to lions and wolves, etc. 

Anyway, it's been revealed in Book 11: "How to Betray a Dragon's Hero", that Toothless is a Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus, and NOT a Common or Garden Dragon, making him akin to other SGMs such as Wodensfang, Furious, Luna, Merciless/Green Death, and Purple Death (Book 1).

Meanwhile, the Light Fury, while not a Night Fury, is of the same family as the latter and are very close cousins. And since both the Light Fury and Toothless are Furies, and Toothless is loosely inspired from the Book!Toothless, who is a Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus (or a Sea-Dragon) like Luna, it makes sense that the Light Fury might be based on Luna, however slightly. 

2) Both dragons have glowing white scales.

In the same page and the same chapter, the narrator (Hiccup) further describes Luna as such: "She was so-called because she glowed with light like the moon. She lit up the dark storm clouds all around, and waves of heat pulsed out of her, so that the rain smoked and hissed when it landed on her shining body."

Now the Light Fury doesn't have glowing scales; her scales are more sparkly or glittery than anything. But in certain environments under certain exposure of light in a particular angle, it does look like that her scales are glowing in a sense. Unlike Luna, the Light Fury seems to copy the Deadly Shadow's and the Changewing's cloaking abilities, though in a smaller and more temporary sense, and having to use her plasma blasts to activate it.

3) Both dragons become rulers.

In Pages 415 and 421 on Chapter 26, Furious gives his Alpha-ship to Luna before he swims away into the Great Ocean, either awaiting death or even surviving the venomous injury he acquired from the Witch. And Luna then becomes the new Alpha of the Dragons and rules the Dragons for the rest of her days (which are very long indeed, even well past the end of the series.)

Now, here's my theory and headcanon for the third film concerning the Light Fury: That the Light Fury either 1) is Alpha of her own thunder (term for flock of dragons) as Toothless is when they find her and somehow got separated, 2) she'll become co-Alpha when she becomes Toothless's mate, or 3) Toothless, like Furious, ends up giving his Alpha-ship to another—namely the Light Fury—so that he can stay with Hiccup.

What do you guys think? Which do you think is plausible?

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Conclusion:

So that's my thoughts about the Light Fury. What do you guys think? Think that any of this is plausible? Do you think that she might be inspired by the Silver Phantom or Luna or a little bit of both? Anything that I got wrong and needs correcting? What are your thoughts on this?

(Personally, I still think that the Light Fury is a fanbase add-on by DreamWorks.)

Again, this is just a theory since I can't prove any of this. So if you have any thoughts you'd like to give me to prove or disprove this or to add to this that I didn't think of, I'd appreciate it.

Thanks again for your time and for reading this, as well as any comments that you might post. I appreciate the feedback and support!

If you guys have anyone specific you'd like me to write an article about in this comparison series, let me know.

Long Live the Wilderwest!

— Companion of the Dragonmark

[cornerinthestone]

Love at First Kiss

Small occasion, big words For the love of Love, Let me lay my eyes upon you again, Let me feel my lips against yours again, and again. Something so electric occurred, less tangible than your hands against my face, but far realer than the metaphorical butterflies bursting in my stomach every hour, when the memory of you resurfaces. I feel insane. One night, a few hours, a timeless encounter. I dare not describe this thing that might be ending before it's even truly begun. What is this feeling? One night, a few hours, an encounter so fleeting I'm starting to question if it was even real. Hooked on the memory, you distract me even from my most-numbing, foolproof distractions. I told you about my greatest passion, one you rekindled. I can't remember the last time my fingers slid so smoothly across the keyboard, trying to catch the thoughts, the ideas, the feelings; Trying to find the right words before they run away. Urgency. The fire in my loins and the rhythm my heart pumps to underwent the same treatment, despite being two things I've been focusing on quieting, out of benevolence, for me. Self-preservation. I would say we're as good as strangers, but that couldn't be less true, and I wouldn't want it to. Is it the booze or my intuition speaking? To me, they are closer in nature than we seem to think. Surrealist. Delusional? Call me names, call me crazy, call me hasty, but please, Just call me. Time hadn't grown wings with someone like it did with you for months, I couldn't believe myself when I was bummed to go home, when I know I love nothing more than my comfy, empty bed. Let's converse. On the phone, via carrier pigeons, with our mouths, Face to face or nose to nose. With our bodies, Silent, or lewdly loud. I would give this poem your name, but I haven't called it enough (yet). Time. I've been tame, I've been guiding my heart, body, and mind at Calm's doorstep, Only to find out I am not welcome in her abode. I thought she'd protect me from a cruel world, full of situations where my self-esteem would plummet and the only thing I would think of myself is "stupid". This time, I blame it all on the Universe. Because I feel stupidly and helplessly and probably very falsely In love. Lana Del Rey once sang: "When you know, you know." I honestly wish I did. Confusion. I feel naïve, maybe like I've bared too much, like, for once, my clairsentience might've let me down. But I felt safe enough to do so. Curious how we can be so sure of feeling things that might not have been there after all. Defeat and Hope can coexist; I am living proof of it. So if you will not find me, I hope Peace will.

k.ehb ♡ (@cornerinthestone)

[holdupjack]

In That Moment, My Heart Died With You

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Angst to Fluff

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Hermione stood in the crowd as they watched the army of death-eaters walk across the bridge. Hagrid stood before them cradling two bodies in his arms, Ginny cried out in horror as she realized who he was holding in his left arm, while Hermione just stared at the body in his right.

Her Y/n.

She looked as though the was sleeping, only needed her shoulder to be shaken to open her eyes.

Hermione felt as though her knees would buckle, and her heart would crawl out of her chest to Y/n.

The argument from earlier in the day replayed in her mind, causing the blood in her body to boil and scream at her past self for not stopping her.

Y/n and Harry had agreed to meet with Voldemort in the woods, just in the hopes that could save a few of their friends. When they had told Hermione and Ron their plan, almost immediately did Hermione stand up and calmly told the boys to leave the room.

Y/n stared at the ground, afraid to meet her lover's harsh gaze. She knew this would be the end of their relationship, whether she left with a girlfriend or not.

"What the hell are you two thinking?" Hermione asks in disbelief as she towered over her girlfriend's shrinking form.

"Harry thinks that we-"

"Screw what Harry thinks! I know you two are siblings, but that doesn't mean you have to follow him blindly into these things!" She states as the Potter stood up and met her gaze finally.

"It's because of us that our friends are dying out there!" Y/n yells as she gestures in the direction of the castle.

"That's not true! This was going to happen whether you two lived that night or not!" Hermione yells back as her eyes darted around her girlfriend's face.

Y/n sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, she knew Hermione was right, but she wasn't going to let her brother go alone.

"I'm going, Hermione. That's final." Y/n replies as she grabbed her coat from the chair beside her, but Hermione quickly grabbed her wrist.

"Don't. Go." She pleaded through gritted teeth, trying her best to hold back the emotions that wanted to burst out of her.

Y/n stared at her hand around her wrist, trying to think of any words that would ease the pain in her favorite girl's soul.

"When we first met, you told me that you didn't plan on falling in love, since it would deviate you from your studies" Y/n starts as her eyes began to trail up Hermione's arm.

"Then in the fourth year, we found ourselves in a secluded corner of the Gryffindor common room, where I admitted that my mind whispers your name like is desperately asking for air" she continues as they found their sights on one another again, Hermione's lip quivered only for a moment, but Y/n caught it.

"That was the moment I knew you'd be the one to wound me more than any Curse would be able to procure" Hermione replies as she pulled her girlfriend towards her, the coat dropping to their feet.

Their arms wrapped around each other in such desperate and pleading motions, that it almost seemed like they were posing for a renaissance painting.

Hermione felt dread and paranoia flood her body as her mind told her that this was the last time she would see her beautiful Y/n alive.

Little did she know, that she was right.

"THE POTTERS ARE DEAD!"

Voldemort words broke Hermione out of her mind and made her blink back onto her lover's unmoving body.

The Gryffindor's ears began to ring as she never broke her eye contact with Y/n's corpse. She felt Ron next to her, either trying to comfort her or get her attention, she didn't care to know.

Angry wasn't the right word or any different literature form that every language has given this feeling.

Hermione felt as though someone had dug their fingers into her chest and began pulling her rib cage away from her body. She could almost hear the metaphorical cracks of her bones as her fingers twitched around her wand.

Kill him.

Her eyes darted over towards Voldemort as he gave a speech, time seemed to slow as her grip tightened around her weapon.

We haven't gotten all the Horcruxes.

Kill him.

The ringing in her ears was now sirens in comparison to before, as she raised her wand to the wizard.

For Y/n.

Before she could act, Harry darted out of Hagrid's arms, running to cover and back into the castle as the war finally broke out.

Hermione stood still amongst the chaos as she shifted her eyes to Hagrid's retreating form into the castle.

Y/n still wasn't moving.

Life finally resumed at normal speed as she chased after him, the bells in her ears disappearing as she pushed her way back into the school.

Cries of pain and casts of spells filled her ears as she jumped/tripped over corpses on the ground.

She even shoulder-checked one of the Death Eaters, which gave an opening to another student to kill him.

(A/N: *linebacker Hermione*: MOVE! MY WIFE NEEDS ME)

Hermione stumbled into a hallway leading towards the Great Hall, she saw the man quickly walk into it.

The makeshift morgue was in there.

"Y/n" Hermione whispered in fear as she ran towards the entrance, people held each other in horror as the walls shook and screams echoed around the school.

When the Gryffindor broke her way into the Great Hall, Hagrid stood with Madam Promfrey as she covered a boy's body with a white sheet.

"Where is she?" Hermione asks quietly as she got closer to the adults.

The groundskeeper was surprised to see Ms.Granger away from battle already, but at the same time, he wasn't that surprised.

"She ran off towards her brother, I have the slightest idea of where they are headed" Hagrid replies as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ran?" Hermione breathed out in relief as she felt her heart gasp for air and come back to life, pounding steadily in her chest.

"Yes, she seemed to have taken a little longer to come back than her brother," he says as he placed a giant hand on her shoulder.

"Thank Merlin" Hermione cried out as she hunched over and let her emotions run free before she ran back out into battle.

Oh, you're going to get your head chewed off if you both survive this.

——————

War Over

Y/n stood in the library, it was one of the few rooms that were still intact after everything and one of the few that didn't have bodies in it.

Her body ached, and her mind was tired from the anxiety she had been experiencing for the last seven years.

She hadn't seen Hermione at all during Harry's showdown with Voldemort, she was too busy dealing with Bellatrix.

"This is for Hermione"

The door suddenly slammed open, which sparked fear in Y/n as she pointed her wand at the intruder.

Hermione stared at her with a heaving chest as the Potter quickly stood down her weapon. They both had; dirt, cuts, and ash covering their bodies, but they have never looked so beautiful to each other.

"My love-" Y/n starts, but she was quickly cut off by Hermione running towards her and engulfing her body in a bone-crushing hug.

Y/n found her fingers in Hermione's hair, now that it was free from the hairstyle she had in it earlier.

"You're bleeding" Hermione whispers as she felt a sticky wet substance staining her finger as she grasps her shirt.

"It's not mine" Y/n whispered back as she pulled her closer, and kissed her head comfortingly in an attempt to calm them both.

Yet, Hermione pushed herself away and slapped her across the face. Y/n stared at her with wide eyes as she touched her cheek, the Gryffindor started to angrily sob.

"I thought you were dead! Why would you do that to me?!" Hermione yells as she shoved Y/n away, which made her stumble.

"I'm okay now-"

"You weren't breathing! You made my worst fears come true and you think that I'll just forgive you now?!" She continues to rant as she pushed her again, Y/n fell against the table behind her.

"You left me!" Hermione cries out as she hit Y/n's chest with the side of her fists, tears falling down her face as she let out her anger.

"I felt my heart stop beating when I saw you in Hagrid's arms, every logical thought left my mind as I was about to get myself killed to avenge you!" She yells as her hands grasp the front of Y/n's shirt and pushed her onto the table, their eyes finally meeting again.

Hermione loomed over her with such sorrow and anger that it frightened the Potter slightly.

"You hurt me"

Silence floated between them for a while, to which Hermione scoffed, and began to back away.

Y/n quickly wrapped her arms back around Hermione, trapping her hands between them as she struggled.

"Let me go!" She yells in protest but soon went limp as her girlfriend began to whisper apologies and sweet nothings.

Maybe it was the haste that she and her brother shared, but Y/n hadn't realized how much she had hurt Hermione with their quick decisions.

Her wails vibrated Y/n's ears.

She had thought of her friends' lives, but not her girlfriends, and now seeing her falling apart because of it, shattered Y/n in ways she didn't think possible.

"You've broken me, just like I knew you would!" Hermione choked out as Y/n nuzzled her face into the crook of the girl's neck.

"I'll fix you, I promise" Y/n whispers as Hermione broke her hands free and pulled her girlfriend in for a sought-after kiss.

"Never again will you break me Y/n, I mean it" Hermione whispers in between the kiss, to which Y/n hummed in agreement.

"I swear"

...

Thankfully, Y/n kept her promises, giving Hermione the life she wanted and deserved after everything they went through.

They spent life together with smiles and laughs, but some tears when night terrors or sudden flashbacks plagued them.

Hermione was prone to throw herself into her work to distract herself from the memories, which Y/n would always break her away from with a promise of a delicious dinner and the new book she was looking at.

Y/n was more of a daydreamer, where she would stare off into the corner of the room when she had nothing to do. She'd be there for hours, just thinking back on the terrors she saw and done. Hermione would just walk over and begin to pepper her favorite girl in kisses, which easily brought her back into reality.

They had each other's backs, and that's all they needed to the end.

"Thank you for 'fixing' me, my love"

"And thank you for keeping me sane"

[all-pacas]

Longe one because the questions are fun! 14,19,20,22,38 for chase <3

from this meme! listen i love these i'll do this all day

14) Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

as we know he is perfect and beautiful in every way 😌 NO OKAY. Chase is life-threateningly allergic to strawberries, and I hc he's allergic to berries in general; otherwise I don't think he has particular allergies. In terms of injuries and disabilities… oh man, you know I love some his stabbing caused permanent damage headcanons; while I think it would be a bit much to say permanent limp, let's do House 2.0, I imagine he has some lingering issues that he of course completely ignores: paresthesia that comes and goes, some stiffness and mobility issues… I mean, he had a spinal injury, that's no joke.

I like the idea of it not being always visible, not always obvious — it's something he can hide, something he wants to hide, which is both a luxury and, you know. Let's call it a metaphor. If House liked to (felt he needed to) flaunt his disability and pain, Chase tries to hide his damage (needs to hide his damage). But it's still there.

19) What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

There's some hints in canon that he's a restless/light sleeper, so: I think he wakes up at two in the morning and thinks all the usual depressing two am things: he is alone and he hates it, or there's someone in bed with him but he doesn't want them there, or he had a stress dream about his father/mother/Dibala again and all he can do is go back to sleep. Sometimes he thinks about praying, or tries to, or recites old prayers as a sort of mantra to focus on and help him fall back asleep, even if he doesn't believe or think it works. Sometimes, if he's really self loathing, he'll pretend (try to pretend) Cameron is there and everything is fine and the last few years were a bad dream. It sometimes, almost works.

20) Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

I think he was a fairly healthy kid, all things considered, but he definitely had his share of Mishaps. Some were just the normal accidents an energetic outdoorsy kid would have — bee stings! That time he broke his ankle trying to impress a girl! — but there were a few red flags in there that the adults in his life ignored. His mother would throw things at him sometimes, and sometimes her aim was bad and they'd connect. Once he fell out a window trying to escape his father's study and busted himself up pretty badly. After the divorce and his promotion to parent, he'd go to school in a dirty/unwashed uniform and fall asleep in class because he'd been up half the night, and… it wasn't that the adults around him didn't realize these were warning signs, it's just they were Minding Their Business.

22) Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

He'd chew the pencil, doodle all over the paper, practice spinning the pencil around, and then chew it some more.

38) Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

He'd absolutely consider himself to have a Type B personality, and compared to most of the rest of Diagnostics that's true, but don't be fooled! Chase is way, way more Type A than he thinks he is! While he's not and never has been ambitious, he's super focused and driven and thrives under pressure; he is incredibly meticulous and organized — it's not a coincidence his two specialties (critical care and surgery) are both incredibly intense, action/focus oriented jobs, you know? He thinks he's really laid back and relaxed, but he also finds high stress "this person is bleeding to death in front of you while also having a seizure" situations to be an interesting and engaging day at work, lmao

[the-most-humble-blog]

“Have Fun Sleeping Tonight: The Dead Version of You Might Be Watching”

— If the many-worlds theory is even half true, then sleep isn’t peace. It’s surveillance.

I. THE SCIENCE DOESN’T REASSURE YOU. IT MAGNIFIES THE NIGHTMARE.

Let’s begin where your science teacher ended: The Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics (Everett, 1957). It posits this:

Every decision, action, or observation splits reality into parallel timelines.

That means:

There is a universe where you said yes instead of no.

A timeline where you died in your sleep.

A version where you snapped. Killed. Regretted nothing.

You don’t just exist in one place. You’re fractally smeared across infinite permutations.

Now stop.

Do you feel that nausea creeping in? That’s your brain trying to collapse the waveform back into a comforting lie:

“But those other ‘yous’ aren’t real.”

Except they are. According to cosmologist Max Tegmark, the multiverse isn’t fantasy — it’s the logical extension of quantum math. (Tegmark, Our Mathematical Universe, 2014.) He states plainly:

“Parallel worlds are not a theory — they are a prediction.”

Prediction.

That means if you follow any school of modern physics not 100 years out of date, the idea of “other yous” isn’t science fiction. It’s default reality.

And you haven’t asked the worst question yet.

II. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE OF YOU DOESN’T STAY PUT?

Let’s talk spillage.

Physicist Sean Carroll speculates that consciousness might be quantum-based. Roger Penrose, Nobel Prize winner, agrees. They propose that consciousness is not just produced by the brain — it might be entangled across quantum fields. (Penrose & Hameroff, Orch-OR Theory)

So what happens when:

One version of you dies?

Another version becomes violent, unstable, malevolent?

One you commits suicide while another sleeps peacefully?

Answer: If even one fragment of consciousness is entangled across realities… then your peaceful version isn’t alone.

Your dreams may not be dreams. Your shadow may not be your own. You may be watched — by a version of yourself with nothing left to lose.

III. PARANORMAL REPORTS LINE UP DISTURBINGLY WELL.

Let’s shift gears.

Ever heard of The Doppelgänger Effect?

Historical records, folklore, and police reports all document encounters with one’s own double. But not metaphorically — visually, audibly, and viscerally real.

In 1845, Emilie Sagee, a French schoolteacher, was reported by her students to appear in two places at once — teaching in the classroom while standing in the garden. Multiple students saw this. Repeatedly.

In 1983, a woman named Mrs. H called a UK radio show describing waking up to see herself standing at the foot of her bed, grinning. The double vanished when she screamed. That night, her twin sister died — 300 miles away.

You think these are just ghost stories?

Then explain the U.S. military remote viewing project ("Project Stargate") which openly documented experiences of operatives describing altered versions of themselves when viewing alternative locations.

Not other people. Alternate versions of themselves.

This wasn’t a YouTube rabbit hole. This was government-funded parapsychology lasting 20 years.

IV. SPIRITUAL SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN TRYING TO WARN YOU FOR CENTURIES.

Every major religion describes some fragmented self:

In Christianity: “The old self must die for the new to live.”

In Buddhism: “The self is an illusion constructed from fragments.”

In Gnostic texts: “You are a splinter of a fallen Aeon, seeking your original totality.”

In Islamic mysticism: “Your nafs (ego self) will devour you if not purified.”

All agree: There is a You that must be confronted, destroyed, or merged — Or it will consume you from the inside.

You think religion is primitive?

No. It’s just older science, wrapped in parable.

Even Carl Jung said:

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life — and you will call it fate.”

But what if that unconscious isn’t in your mind? What if it’s in another reality? And it’s grown stronger by watching you ignore it?

V. NIGHTMARES MAY BE THE ONLY TIME YOU’RE IN THE SAME ROOM.

Let’s talk sleep.

During REM, your brain emits gamma oscillations at frequencies seen during lucid dreams, psychedelic states, and near-death experiences. Studies suggest the brain enters a hyper-networked state, where it becomes sensitive to… what, exactly?

Answer:

Possibly the other yous.

Ever had a nightmare where you were the villain? Where you watched yourself do something you never would? Or woke up sweating, shaking, but couldn’t explain why?

That wasn’t “just a dream.” That may have been a cross-link.

Neurologist Dr. Patrick McNamara believes that sleep paralysis, nightmare recurrence, and certain terror hallucinations stem not from disorder — but from an encounter with hostile psychological doubles.

He writes:

“The Self is not singular in dream states. It fractures. It negotiates.” And sometimes? It loses.

VI. THE SHADOW THAT MOVES DIFFERENTLY THAN YOU.

Ever catch your reflection moving wrong?

Not metaphorically. Not “I’m tired” wrong.

Wrong.

Faster than you. Smiling when you aren’t. Tilting its head a millisecond off.

Psychologists call this The Capgras Delusion — a syndrome where a person believes their loved one has been replaced by an identical impostor.

But what if some of these “delusions” are true experiences from a consciousness spilling sideways into another dimension?

Because the phenomenon doesn’t just happen with people. It happens with mirrors. With self.

Ever heard the phrase:

“You looked like someone else for a second.”

No one says that about strangers. They say it about you.

VII. SO WHAT HAPPENS IF THE DEAD YOU NEVER LEFT?

Let’s push this horror to its logical conclusion.

What happens when a version of you dies with rage, regret, or obsession?

That echo doesn’t vanish.

If consciousness is quantum-entangled, death doesn’t delete it. It disconnects it. And disconnected things are unpredictable.

That version of you, furious and free from laws of physics, no longer tethered to a body… might cling to the nearest iteration of familiarity.

You.

You — who still breathe. You — who still dream. You — who left them behind.

And every time you wake up in a panic at 3:17 AM, sweating, sure that something was in the room?

Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was you. Just not the version who brushes their teeth and posts online.

The version who lost everything, and now just… watches.

VIII. SO WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?

You want peace?

Too bad.

You are being watched. You are being mirrored. You are being remembered by the parts of yourself you tried to forget.

The religious were right to pray. The scientists were right to worry. The philosophers were right to scream into the void.

Because the void sometimes screams back. And it knows your name. Because it used to wear it.

IX. CONCLUSION: THE EYE IN THE DARK IS YOUR OWN.

This isn’t fiction.

Every citation above comes from peer-reviewed research, Nobel lectures, classified debriefs, or theological traditions predating modern ego.

And every night you go to sleep thinking you’re “just dreaming,” you might be giving a front-row seat to the part of yourself that no longer needs eyes to see.

So tonight?

When the lights go out. And you close your eyes. And feel the breath behind your shoulder — even though no one’s there.

Don’t worry.

It’s probably just you.

One of you.

Reblog if you feel watched. Reblog if you felt something read this over your shoulder. Reblog if you suddenly aren’t tired anymore.

⚖️ Final Reminder: This post was engineered to exploit gaps in quantum theory, mirror neuron mirage, and cross-dimensional memory decay. It may cause insomnia, dissociation, or arousal in certain readers. This is literature. This is a mirror. This is not safe.

[grasslesss]

i guess music and fictional characters is becoming my thing.

one of my strongest opinions is that eddie diaz would be a sza fan, so much so that i have a playlist titled “eddie diaz but it’s just sza.”

of all the songs i strongly associate with him, i think there is one i can confidently crown THE eddie diaz song. and i feel so strongly about this that im going to share a breakdown of why.

that song is

‘no more hiding’ off of LANA (or SOS deluxe, or however you prefer to refer to it. )

this holds especially true when you take s7-8 into account.

[verse one]

no more hiding

i wanna feel sun on my skin

even if it burns or blinds me

i wanna be purified within

analysis: the greatest thing about this song if you read it as relating to eddie diaz is how multifaceted each line is in that context. the opening is already a great example of this. “i wanna feel sun on my skin,” in its original context can be assumed to be a metaphor for stepping into the truth/one’s own truth/one’s true identity, which is already applicable to eddie. BUT, you could also interpret that line to be about the sun as in buck (sunshine princess.) either way, i like that it serves both purposes because one is inward (self acceptance, a huge theme for eddie) and one is outward (receiver of his affection.) also i love the use of the word purified when applied to eddie, almost a reclamation of sorts. purified has a very religious connotation imo, and i like the idea of him creating his own definition of it untied from christianity.

[verse one cont.]

no more hiding

i wanna be in love for real though

don′t care what it costs me

i’ll trade anything to feel now

analysis: this is where we see one of the reasons sza as a narrator doesn’t want to hide anymore. she’s realized hiding from her true self closes her off from meaningful and fulfilling connection (specifically romantic.) this is something i believe we are in the process of watching eddie realize/something we’ve BEEN watching him realize.

[chorus]

searching for real, trying for real

familying for real, lost in the real

hurting for real, chasing a real

anything real

analysis: i don’t even know what to say about this one, it feels so self explanatory. “FAMILYING for real” after he dadded up in last nights episode (8x13 as of 04/04/2025) makes this specifically applicable.

(also personally love the use of the word ‘anything’ here seeing as that’s another sza track i relate to him.)

[hook]

don′t gotta say it 'cause i already know, mm

don't gotta say it ′cause i already know

everything i love, i gotta let go

gotta break it if you want it to grow

had to build everything twice over

don′t tell me 'cause i know

analysis: again, this one feels self explanatory, especially with everything i’ve already written above.

[verse two]

no more hiding

i wanna be real me, ugly

no more fake me fighting

i wanna know what′s underneath, oh

mask off

i get more oversized down talkin' face off

cut myself open to see what i’m made of

i guess i’m guilty of giving out fake love

i’m so fake, fuck

analysis: there’s a lot here. first off, the line ��no more fake me fighting,’ is so interesting when applied to eddie diaz because it can be taken literally. one of the periods of his life that he was hiding from himself the most he was LITERALLY using fighting, physical actual fighting, as a coping mechanism. the thing that really sells this verse as being eddie-coded is its delivery, typed out lyrics aren’t going to do it justice. it’s the frustration that comes with breaking free, you can hear the turmoil in sza’s tone. it’s worth it, but it’s a struggle.

my point being, i highly highly recommend giving this song a listen with eddie diaz in mind.

[professorspork]

⭐️the triple meet cutes pls >:)

well, here is where the downside of the way I outline -- i.e. putting it directly into the document and then just replacing it with the prose itself as I go -- shows its head, because I'm not sure I can stitch the timeline on this together as perfectly as I'd like. luckily I can for some of it because I narrate the vast majority of my life events to @alexkablob thanks for being my searchable diary pal

lol gonna cut this too bc I AM VERBOSE

the true meet cute was always going to happen at a bar. "My friends are being jerks right now, can I sit with you?" is a line that was actually used on me (collectively, addressed to my friend group) at a bar, and it remains one of the BEST lines I've ever heard (love that poor little meow meow rizz), and it was always going to belong to Yang. I knew they'd begin there, and they'd end at "So you don't date. Do you make friends? I've been told I give great friend."

the question then became: how the fuck was I going to get Blake to go to a bar when I knew she's sober and a total hermit?

I considered her going to see a band she likes play, but didn't love that because it would put Yang in the rude position of interrupting something important that she was there to enjoy. I considered it being an open mic night, maybe something where they had an overlapping friend in common and didn't know it, but again-- that directs the scene, and suddenly it's about their mutual buddy rather than them and their chemistry. I considered several different settings (coffee shop? the park?) instead of a bar, to try and make it read smoother, but bar just Felt Right. as someone who's gone to bars to watch baseball when I didn't have access to cable, that cropped up as an idea, and then it was just a question of coming up with a sporting event Blake would possibly have interest in, and ice skating seemed feasible enough. back when I lived in the East Village, I had a corner bar I'd go to down the block from my place that had amazing fried pickles and I'd often do my homework there before it got busy, so that's where that came from.

the "last ferry out to Menagerie" paragraph, in which Blake recontextualizes and basks in her attraction to Yang after learning she's trans, is hands down the single excerpt I worked hardest on. the first step, as I was drafting it early last august, was coming up with the right metaphor in the first place. I wanted something which would help me avoid it reading like a "well you can always tell with those transes" cringefest

me: so now the thing i'm chewing on is-- is what we talked about before, which is figuring out how to write about blake being attracted to the parts of yang's appearance that are sort of self-evidently trans without it accidentally becoming a weird bioessentialist screed me: the best metaphor i've come up with so far is glasses, like-- like putting on your glasses after cleaning them when they've been smudgy for a week, and you suddenly have this wonderful appreciation for crisp little beautiful details me: but blake does not wear glasses and i'm not enough of a hack to give her glasses JUST FOR THIS (i did consider it) so now i'm trying to think of other ways to talk about that, like-- moment of dawning clarity

(sorry I did not give blake glasses. similarly, this past march while writing the big sex scene in chapter 9 I was like "well yes i'm 123k into this but what if I went through and edited everything to give Blake a nose ring wouldn't that be hot" and alexis talked me out of it so blame her.)

once I came up with the "last ferry" concept ("me, rollerblading down Main Street, AO3: HAVE YOU MARVELED AT THE CELESTIAL BEAUTY OF TRANS PEOPLE TODAY") I worked on those two sentences for over an hour. i am particular about my language and cadence always, but even for me this is uh absurdly excessive. WORTH IT THO, because it's the most important passage in the whole fic. i deleted and rephrased it probably a hundred times, trying to get the right flow, the right lyricism, and crucially not say "stars" 8 different times.

Blake's deep dark secret being that she's a country fan has been baked into this fic's essence from the very beginning; the title, "something wild and unruly," is from a Dixie Chicks song for this reason. IT WILL CONTINUE TO BE RELEVANT, and I had to get it in early.

as I've told several people, the "deck building game" joke also comes directly from my life. Helen and I went to New Jersey last June to do wedding errands -- tastings, fittings, engagement photo shoot -- and while we were there we visited a very cute bar in my hometown as a potential night-before-wedding hangout space. she casually mentioned that her sibling was texting her about... oh gosh, I can't remember the name of it, but I went "what's that?" and she said "a deck-building game" and because I was home, and thus around my mother and how she has HGTV on all the time, instead of oh, like Dominion I went "like a porch?" and then she laughed and laughed and I said "well that's definitely going in the fic."

luckily my wife is used to that, because I stole from our lives a great deal. she first started having car battery trouble in January of 2023, and then we opened up the hood and found scary corrosion and my dad talked me through how to clean that out the way Neptune does. from then on it was sort of floating in the back of my mind that this could be something I used in the story-- Blake's car is 100% based on Helen's car, which she bought at a police auction and clearly had a Rough Backstory-- but it was three weeks later that we finally got tired of jumping it all the time and called AAA. the guy really DID come like 2 minutes after I put the request in on the app, so shockingly Yang's fast turnaround time is actually based on life. and about ten minutes after that happened I declared:

me: no real-life anecdote is ever wasted and this is DEFINITELY happening to blake after she and yang have their meet-cute and it's yang who shows up and has to be like WELL HOW ABOUT THAT SERENDIPITY :D

about three months later I then had my OWN battery troubles, and that's when I went out of my way to ask the tech who came about a million questions about what the multimeter read and how cold crank amp tests worked. I pretty much wrote our conversation verbatim into a note on my phone, which became what Yang said. (the fellow who came then also had a very sharp and snazzy work shirt, and that's when I thought about how cute the little Yang on her breast pocket would be)

only it would be--

Yang

:) okay anyway

I don't know what it is about competent service professionals that make me go "you're Yang Xiao Long actually" but I've done it twice now, with my wedding DJ and with the AAA people

I went back and forth on whether the library meet-cute would come before or after the car scene, but in its earliest incarnation the idea was just that Yang would come up to the circ desk to check something out and oops Blake's standing there. at one point I even considered having Yang ask her out to lunch. once I realized it behooved me to have Yang and Pyrrha already be friends, so Pyrrha could vouch for her, I knew it had to come at the end to tie everything in a bow.

[heartlandians]

Dear Santa, part 5/5

Genre: General, Drama, Holidays Characters: Marion, Lou, Georgie, Katie and Lyndy

Synopsis: When your biggest holiday wishes come true. ****

December 25, 2023

Dear Santa...

That's how I remember the letters to Santa starting when I was little. I don't recall the last time I wrote a letter to Santa or when exactly I stopped believing in him, but I do remember how the facade started to fade as I began to put tiny details together and realized maybe everyone had been in on some kind of a conspiracy that was only slowly beginning to reveal itself to me.

It was the three different looking - and sounding - Santas at the mall within 10 minutes from each other, how there was sometimes no correlation between what I told to one of those mall Santas and what I actually got on Christmas, and finally, when I gathered enough courage to look Santa directly into his eyes one Christmas as he handed me one of my presents, I couldn't help but recognize the same loving twinkle GG has in his gaze immediately.

After all of that, I couldn't ignore the suspicion.

It felt like such a betrayal back then, but I quickly got over it - I had to - because Georgie kept teasing me about it and I didn't want to seem like a sore loser. So, I told her that I had known for a long time already, but I had just gone along with it because I thought it made mom happy.

She didn't believe me, of course, but I had to pretend that I had sold her that lie, because anything else would have only annoyed me more than being lied to. I didn't like being in the dark and have others mock me about it.

I didn't like being a gullible child.

I got this new notebook from mom earlier today. It's really nice; she clearly knew what I would like. I guess she wants to encourage me to keep on writing. The thing is, though, I haven't written anything in months, ever since... things happened. I just felt so uninspired and I don't know if I'm any good at it, after all.

To be honest, it's been kind of scary to put a pen on paper and start. What would I even have to say?

As everyone was winding down for the night, I too climbed up to my attic room and nuzzled under my cover. But I couldn't fall asleep. I just kept staring at the ceiling and admiring the glow of the Christmas lights that are lining the shape of the ranch house outside.

It's hard to explain, but that glow is one of those things that makes Christmas still feel so magical to me, despite me seeing the holiday in a different light (no pun intended) these days than I did before.

Christmas is definitely a holiday for children, because they still get to believe in Santa Claus. The look on Lyndy's face was so precious when we found presents under the tree this morning. I can understand why parents want to protect that innocence.

Christmas is also a holiday for parents, because that's when their children (usually) take time from their busy lives and visit their family, just like Georgie did.

But... where does that leave me?

As I thought about it, I realized Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas is kind of a perfect metaphor for the space I'm in right now - or have been this year.

I'm not that gullible child anymore, but I'm also not yet an adult. I think that moment, with Georgie teasing me about Santa Claus, was probably one of the first times I was trying to appear more grown-up than I was.

Earlier this year, it happened again.

I got myself into this situation by accident at first, but the deeper I sunk, the more I wanted it, and I realized that in order to keep the momentum going, I had to lie to appear more grown-up than I was.

I knew what I did was wrong, but I felt like it was still pretty innocent - until I was pointed out that it wasn't.

I thought I had estimated the severity of the situation from a grown-up's perspective, not realizing I had actually been a gullible child all along. That was probably why it hurt so much; wanting to be something doesn't necessarily mean you are it.

I think we learn that lying is bad from a very young age. But we definitely make exceptions to that rule sometimes.

Lying about a fictional character's existence to make Christmas time more magical for a child? Sure, it's pretty harmless.

Lying to your parents about where you've been and who you've been with? That will definitely get you on Santa's naughty list - and grounded by your parents. Speaking from experience...

I may not believe in Santa anymore, but I think he was onto something with that whole nice or naughty thing. I get where he was coming from and the lessons he was trying to teach (or my parents were trying to teach through him).

And while it can be challenging to be nice all year around, I will at least try. I hope this notebook will help remind me of that as I will document my journey throughout this new chapter.

My wish is that I can make that happen.

Not for Santa, but for me. THE END

[frankendykes-monster]

Of course, this is the fundamental issue with Deadpool and Wolverine. It’s not a story, it’s a collection of familiar intellectual property bundled into a two-hour package, and fans would complain if Wolverine either waited to put the costume on or eventually symbolically took it off. So the costume stays on for the movie’s runtime, because that is the priority here. That’s the primary purpose of the movie. Even the most basic storytelling logic is secondary to the desire to pander to empty nostalgia. It’s very interesting what Deadpool and Wolverine can and cannot joke about, what topics are deemed out of bounds for this most irreverent of franchises. There are no references to either T.J. Miller or Jonathan Majors, though that is to be expected. There are no references to Cable, Domino or Julian, despite the fact that they formed the emotional crux of the last film. They’ve seemingly been replaced by Shatterstar, who is alive for some reason. And who Deadpool no longer hates, for some reason. Under the Disney brand, Deadpool and Wolverine is thoroughly domesticated. Any implication that the making of this movie was troubled is sorely out of bounds. There is another small but appreciable shift between Deadpool and Wolverine and the previous two movies in the franchise. The opening credits in Deadpool and Deadpool 2 were irreverent and passive aggressive. Deadpool was directed by “an overpaid tool”, Deadpool 2 was directed by “one of the guys who killed the dog in John Wick.” In contrast, Deadpool and Wolverine is “a Kevin Feige production” and “a Shawn Levy film.” Apparently there are some things that you don’t joke about. That’s Deadpool and Wolverine in a nutshell. Or a fan-service-y yellow costume.

Still, there is something interesting here. Last year’s summer blockbusters were largely about how man had killed god, whether literally or metaphorically. The High Evolutionary stepped into the role of creator in Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 3. The entire journey of The Creator was to turn off the life support keeping “the Creator” alive. Barbie was about the exile from the Garden. Fast X found Dante (yes) trying to blow up the Vatican because he died and discovered there was no afterlife. Oppenheimer finds mankind taking atomic power into their own hands, “a terrible reckoning of divine power.” Loki imagines what it means to kill He Who Remains. As such, it’s interesting that this year’s blockbusters seek to fill that existential void with something: intellectual property. It’s no surprise so many of this year’s blockbusters are about intellectual property surviving the literal or metaphorical death of the author. Deadpool and Wolverine survive the merger and acquisition of Fox. Harold contemplates his creator’s mortality in Harold and the Purple Crayon. IF was about the idea that nobody outgrows their childhood imaginary friend. Argylle is the story of an author who discovers that she is ultimately a character in her own narrative. In these stories, fiction survives the loss of its creator. Intellectual property endures. Indeed, intellectual property moves to fill the gap. So many modern films are “spreadsheet movies”, films about watching companies celebrate how much stuff they own. Space Jam, The Flash, Deadpool and Wolverine. There is no story, no theme, no purpose, no character. There is only intellectual property, imagery and iconography to be memed and reproduced and reimagined and reworked, until any residual meaning is completely erased. But intellectual property doesn’t just survive. It redeems. It will save you. It is your messiah. What is Madame Web but A Very Spider-Man Nativity, the story of the birth of one Peter Benjamin Parker mythologised, with three wise Spider-Women in attendance? The joke in Deadpool and Wolverine is that Deadpool is “Marvel Jesus”, but the film is too smart to play that straight. Instead, it casts Wolverine as the messiah. Wolverine is “the anchor being.” Only through Wolverine’s death and rebirth can the world itself be redeemed, the universe born again, the centre allowed to hold. Hell, he’s even crucified at one point in Deadpool and Wolverine. [...] (It is telling that even the void has no room for anybody but superheroes. Second chances are reserved entirely for pieces of recognisable iconography, not for ordinary people. There is no humanity to be found in Deadpool and Wolverine, the narrative equivalent of watching an executive move items around a spreadsheet for two straight hours.)