#wip: sky of shards

[freakyfrye]

ᝰ. perfect stranger

requested: stolas x gn! swan reader, what if stolas never met blitzø at the ‘not divorce’ party

type: oneshot

content: no mention of pronouns (just “you”), slow burn, wholesome & vulnerable fluff, love at first sight (for Stolas maybe, up to interpretation), flustered & subtlety turned on stolas (not too much tho stolas), down to earth reader

note: for the record, I don’t hate stella (i actually like her character, villains have a soft place in my heart always), y’all idk about this—this is trash 🚮 I hate how I wrote it, imposter syndrome is heavy with this one but I don’t want to rewrite it and make you wait longer! I know I said I’ll wait until I wrote all my wips but I need this out my drafts neow!

Anyone who could be considered important, on some level but no more than she, knew that Stella Goetia just adored throwing parties once in a blood moon. In her fancy mansion, she’s the face, the main character, and she plays her role as host so well that people tend to overlook every other bad quality she has among the very few pros. Or perhaps, they would rather not have bad blood with someone of her caliber.

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less—about the parties, the fancy mansion, or Stella herself, frankly. Parties were never your first choice for outings; they were the most energy-draining events, with all the overcrowding and having to pretend to enjoy the company of ill-minded individuals.

But alas, you begrudgingly attend this one, and many others, as a representative of your family name. You're not silent in your disagreement, always voicing how they couldn't have picked a worse member for the job—if your frown, ever present since entering the oh-so-lovely and homey residency of the royal family, was anything to go by.

Doing your due diligence, you converse with a few guests as you make your way through the herd of people, keeping it curt and unseasoned. Finally, you reach the woman of the hour. Locating her wasn’t difficult; her boisterous, obnoxious laughter, reminiscent of a terribly played violin, rang through the room.

Exactly what you’d expect from her. Respectfully but quickly, you greet her, say a few false words of endearment about living a long life, and then scurry off back into the sea of snobby kiss asses. To her and anyone around her, it might look like you were scared, tucking your tail between your legs. In truth, you were trying to keep your big mouth shut in case she couldn’t keep her nasty comments to herself.

The party continues uneventfully. The music, more like a lullaby, would have lured you to sleep if you hadn’t downed a few cocktails to prevent it. The partygoers, annoying as they are, fail to read the room and approach you regardless of your many excuses to avoid meaningless conversation. They just want insight on why a (surname) is at a party alone, much less why you of all people are here.

By evening, you were running out of excuses until you grow hungry—using the lack of vegetarian options as a way to escape their gossip. Now standing beside a gigantic window, you contentedly munch on some leafy greens, finding interest in staring outside. The view is much more impressive than the building itself—isolated enough from Imp City yet overlooking it enough to make a grand statement. It is truly beautiful at night, the lights like little twinkling stars rivaling the sky.

Your head snaps in the direction of a crash, eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight of wine dribbling down the glass of the window beside the one you stand near, shards scattered on the ground. To your surprise, or perhaps not, the vandal is Stella, who now leaves the scene in a fit of laughter, two idiots in tow beside her.

Why in hell would she do that to her own home? The thought Interest you some. She should know the potential damage that could have caused, let alone to one of her guests who could have been injured. Stella looked back, a sinister grin spreading across her face as she shot a rude remark past you towards someone. It made you realize she didn’t really care—neither about the mansion nor how it made her look.

Your lips form a tight line when you realize her comment was directed at her husband, who retorts with a low, irritated chirp. It seems this wasn’t much of a homey residence after all. Sighing, you place your drink onto the tray of a passing imp, heading over to the stained glass, each step revealing more of the prince hiding behind a column.

There wasn’t a memory with him that you could recall as you took out a handkerchief, wiping the window clean. You knew he attended all parties, cursed with the duty of family, but you never interacted with him. As you bent down, picking up the shards piece by piece, you considered whether you should approach him.

There were plenty of reasons why you didn’t want to or shouldn’t, like the vibe he was giving off as he shamelessly gulping down a bottle of absinthe. But it was your duty to greet all hosts, and even though he wasn’t mingling like his wife, he still counted. It was better to get it over with.

Hurriedly, you call over a wait staff, dropping the shards on their tray with a fleeting explanation, “Have that area swept thoroughly,” while gesturing towards it before brushing past them towards the prince. Stolas grew in size as the distance closed, standing a few feet taller than you. It would be only slightly intimidating if not for him choking on his drink after you suddenly appeared before him.

Sending him an apologetic smile, you bow, “Evening, Your Highness. Hope I didn’t frighten you.”

He managed to squeeze out, “I’m fine,” in the middle of coughing before fixing his posture and smoothing down his vest, handing the bottle to a imp beside him. “It’s quite alright. I just wasn’t expecting company…” he trails off, eyes flickering up and down, clearly confused as to who you are or why you were talking to him of all people in the room.

“I’m glad. I would hate to be the reason the prince falls ill. That would not bode well for my family,” you admit, half-jokingly, before addressing the second half of his statement. “You’re in a room full of like-minded people; surely someone besides me has come to talk with you.”

Right? Because that makes sense. He is the prince.

He blinks owlishly at you before stuttering, “Well—” He clears his throat, placing a hand on his abdomen before continuing, feigning nonchalance, “Why, of course. It’s only appropriate in this setting. I presume that’s your current agenda?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully, finally glancing up and pausing. A giant banner hangs loosely above his head that reads “NOT DIVORCED!” in bold lettering. Usually the observant type, how in the world did you miss this? “However, if I’m honest, that’s part of the reason,” you add, curiously. You didn't realize it was that kind of party. Maybe you should start paying more attention to the invitations.

“Oh?” Stolas tilts his head slightly, eyes widening. He leans in closer, his voice a mix of confusion and genuine interest, “And what, pray tell, is the other half of the reason?”

You open your mouth, ready to speak what’s on your mind. You've never been one to hide how you feel—superior or not—otherwise, it would consume you. But then you close it, pursing your lips in thought. Perhaps that would be too rude, too personal off the jump, too far outside your jurisdiction to ask him about his marriage at his “not divorced” party, which his wicked wife obviously threw just to spite him.

Damn, you wish more than anything that you could have continued the party without ever seeing that sign or witnessing Stella’s public display. You didn’t care for gossip, but you were a curious individual by nature. He’s standing there, waiting on you to say something—anything, or you’ll risk looking like a fool.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you blurt out after a pregnant pause, cursing yourself inwardly for what you were getting yourself into. Anything would be better than what had came out of your lips.

His body recoils in apparent disgust at what you dare ask him, a prince. You can’t say you blame him; you’d be creeped out if a random nobody asked that too. “Wait, what?” he replies, dumbfounded at your boldness. Was this a joke? He scans around the room, as if searching for something but finds nothing before returning his gaze to you, a faint blush dusting his face. “Could you repeat that?”

You've made your bed, might as well lie in it. Besides, you never wanted to be at this party in the first place, and it's becoming painfully dull. Ideally, you'd slip away alone after greeting him—but this could work out—satisfying your curiosity before the night is over, it could potentially end badly but who knows when you'll cross paths again. Probably at another miserable gathering, actually.

"Ditch the party with me?" You casually rephrase, keeping your head high, silently hoping you don't come off as too much of an idiot. “Or not. Either way, I’m bored stiff here, and it doesn’t look like you’re having a blast either.”

Stolas blinks a few times, processing your proposition. “You’re suggesting leaving the party together?” he repeats, confirming what you’ve just asked, though you’d already clarified it. His lips curl into a hesitant smile, betraying a hint of nervousness at the unexpected proposal.

“And where would we go?” There’s a playful gleam in his eyes, signaling his curiosity and a willingness to entertain the idea of breaking away from the formalities of the event.

You hum in thought, not having planned that far ahead, before shrugging and tilting your head with a genuine smile. "What about the garden? There seem to be a lot of plants around the palace. Someone must really care for them. I bet it’s beautiful," you suggest, recalling the impressive variety of plants, including the carnivorous ones, on the way to the ballroom.

His feathers ruffle as he lets out a low, excited squeal, his smile growing more confident as he leans down to your height. "You have an interest in plants?" he asks, almost unable to believe it, his hands clasped together. Everyone he's ever come across has called his interests boring. He never had a friend who was.

You nod, your posture relaxing after seeing his genuine reaction. "It's a bonding activity between my mother and me that started in childhood. I take it by your reaction that you handle their care?" Perhaps he could be good company after all.

His comical blush returns when he remembers that your suggestion came with a compliment. “Yes, I do. I’m surprised you noticed. Not everyone cares for botany…” He gestures toward the exit, silently saying ‘after you’ before adding, “I would be delighted to accompany you to the garden. I can show you the new species of carnivorous plant I acquired...if you’d like?”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, you nod and reply, “I’d love that.” You head toward the door, with Stolas quickly falling into step beside you, his hands interlocking behind his back. There’s a respectable distance between you both, ensuring you don’t draw unnecessary attention as you discreetly leave together.

Stolas takes the lead after exiting the ballroom, and a comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of your footsteps. You notice how he occasionally glances at you, curiosity and excitement in his eyes, as the distance between you subtly closes. You don't voice your observation, letting him assume he's being sneaky when he's not.

"You know," he begins softly, eyes now trained forward, "I never caught your name." A stifled snicker escapes you, causing him to snap his eyes towards you, filled with confusion and a tad bit of worry. "Did I say something amusing?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Shaking your head, you respond, "No, it's just... It's a silly thought to think that you might know who I am." you tease.

A flustered noise escapes him, his shoulders stiffening as his mouth drops open and then snaps shut. He stops abruptly, turning his whole body toward you as he stutters, “That’s not... well, the reason...” He struggles to find his words before speaking honestly, “I don’t have a real reason, but if I had met you before, I wouldn’t forget you.” As if he could, you were the first creature in a long while to spark his interest so effortlessly.

Sighing softly, you gesture for him to continue walking. "Actually, it's refreshing not to be noticed immediately upon entering a room," you admit with a slight smile.

Finally reaching the garden, he opens the door and holds it for you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I understand how you might feel,” he sympathizes softly, closing the door behind him as he follows you inside. He watches with pride as your eyes widen in awe at the lush, vibrant space filled with an array of plants.

Taking your hand lightly, he guides you to a particular section of the garden where an unusual, striking plant catches your eye. “This is it,” he says, reluctantly letting go of your hand. “My newest addition. Isn’t it fascinating?”

You glance between him and the plant, chuckling in disbelief. "You’re kidding, right?" Your eyebrows shoot up at his confused expression. "Satan, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this—this wasn’t it. How in hell did you get an earth plant to thrive?"

He hums, glancing at the plant lovingly. "A bit of nurturing, a touch of magic, and voilà—a thriving earth plant."

"That simple, huh?" you ask, stepping up to touch the plant. It's soft under your touch and bends with ease—it's real. He wasn’t joking, but then again, why would he with all these other live plants around? It’s just a little hard to believe, is all. “Simple but significant.” you add, remember an affirmation your mother used to say.

Smiling, you let go of the leaf, your eyes following a path that leads deeper into the garden. You start walking, momentarily forgetting your original agenda: why throw a 'not divorce party'? Why not a normal party like normal couples do? But then again, was anything ever normal when you’re raised in the royal family?

Chances are they were arranged before they could even walk. Everyone who grew up in the scene knew that love wasn’t always part of those kinds of marriages. But you thought that wasn’t the case with those two. They hid it so well.

You become so engrossed in the scenery that you jump slightly when Stolas starts to speak, forgetting that you are in his home and not a museum. “Earlier… you said greeting me was only part of your agenda.” He raises his arms in a gesture of harmlessness noticing your jitteriness before continuing, “I’m purely curious… inviting me to escape with you wasn’t the other half, was it?”

"You’re more observant than I gave you credit for," you tease lightly. "You’re right. I still think it’s a touchy subject for you, but I can’t help myself. It’s like an itch in my brain that needs to be satisfied."

“There’s a lot you’d come to find out about me. I’m quite attentive toward things or people who interest me. Plants, my darling Octavia…” Stolas trails off, leaving his lost words hanging tensely in the air, but his gentle eyes on you have you forcing your brain to stop misinterpreting him. He shakes his head, as if to dismiss his own thoughts, "You can ask, as long as I get to ask you one in return. A fair exchange, yes?"

“Fair enough,” you agree, still hesitant and unsure of how he would take it but blurting out your question anyway. “It’s not hard to see that there’s some tension between you and your wife… almost painfully obvious.” You sigh, recalling the earlier events. “So my question is, why are you together, throwing a ‘not divorce’ party when it so clearly should be the opposite?”

There’s a long, pregnant pause between you two. Stolas stares at you, blinking as he processes your question, truly not expecting that to be what was on your mind. You were right—it was a rather personal question, one that really wasn’t any of your business. The nerve of you to be so crass as to ask him that of all questions, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to dismiss you.

Instead, he thought of all the reasons why he should answer—someone cares, someone’s listening… the list goes on and he checks them all off. The results are in and it’s still unclear if he should, even though his heart wants him to. Eventually, he expresses himself candidly, laying himself bare for a stranger who unexpectedly stepped inside his world.

Stolas sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at the ground. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, grappling with the complexity of his situation.

"It's... complicated. Stella and I, we've grown apart, to say the least. Our marriage was never really based on love or mutual respect, but more on the idea of strengthening our family's influence and securing alliances."

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes haunted by a deep sadness.

"But to leave her... it's not that simple. Divorce is rare and scandalous in Goetia. It would be a massive blow to my reputation, and I'm not sure I'm ready to face that kind of backlash just yet."

He shrugs, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as exhaustion settles on his face. The facade he’s been building crumbles in the wake of vulnerability. Now you feel slightly guilty for asking, but you know you had to—not because you were nosy anymore, but partly because he needs to know that there is an alternate ending, one where he could be happy. That it was possible, you were proof.

“I understand the expectations of royals as much as you do. However, I refused to give up that part of my life to my duties. I saw how taxing it could be from the outside looking in. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn’t. I couldn’t leave that up to chance, and I believe you shouldn’t have to either. So what if the royal family judges you? They’re going to do that regardless. If they are, why not live for yourself? You don’t have much to gain from the marriage anymore. Your daughter’s nearing adulthood, right?”

Stolas numbly nods, hanging onto every word. “Then set yourself free before you drive yourself mad trying to keep up with appearances.”

Stolas is at a loss for words. No one has ever cared enough about him to offer such kind words of support. Not his father, not his wife, not even those with whom he sought intimacy. Yet here you are, a stranger, offering him hope. He feels himself choking up with emotion, but he expertly covers it with a cough and a polite smile behind his hand.

However, you can see just how much your words have affected him when you look into his glossed-over eyes. It's like looking at freshly polished rubies. You fear if you confess that the tears he hasn’t shed will flow. Heavens when did you become so soft…

His hand moves from his lips to rest over his heart, which beats so aggressively against his ribcage that he might be concerned if he weren't immortal. You are dangerous for his health, he thinks, when you tilt your head cutely, causing his heart to flutter momentarily before finding its appropriate rhythm again. His throat tightens as he tries to swallow with a dry mouth.

“That might be the kindest and most genuine advice anyone has given me… thank you,” he mutters, afraid to speak louder than a whisper for this conversation. Stolas's face grows hot as he confesses his next words, a hint of longing in his voice, “I wish I had stood up for myself then. Maybe things would have been different…”

“It’s never too late to do what’s right by you.” you reply without a beat, nodding in all seriousness.

“You’re right!” Stolas steps closer to you, moving his hand closer to yours. “It’s time to live for myself. I think I deserve that much. You’ve given me much to think about.” His hand hesitantly brushes against yours. “But I do believe it’s my turn for a question.”

You perk a brow at his change in tone, noticing it drop an octave but it doesn’t match the coy smile he sends you. “I said it before: it’s only fair after the little discomfort I caused you,” you remind him, side-eyeing him, standing rigid and unsure of the sudden change in atmosphere.

He chuckles softly, finally taking your hand in his, “The only discomfort I felt was at that stuffy party, which was soothed by your presence,” he replies, before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “Can we do this again? Going out, I mean.” Rising back up but not letting go of your hand, he continues, “I enjoy your company, and your honesty is a breath of fresh air compared to everyone sugar-coating. You’re the first person I’ve met who shares my interests too. It would be a shame, on my part, to leave it at this.”

Your purse your lips, brows furrowed. Since attending this party, nothing has gone right. Instead of leaving alone, you ended up escaping with the prince, and now he wants to see you again. It wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the subtle hints he been giving since you’ve met. Let’s not forget that he is still married.

Despite how shitty a marriage it may be, he was taken. Not that it was your intention to steal him away in the first place. This could only end badly if people were to take your sudden friendship the wrong way. Now getting out of an arranged marriage with someone else was one thing, but having a situationship with the prince of Hell was another.

How were you going to spin this? You avert your eyes from his, filled with anticipation and hope, ignoring the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, your highness.”

Stolas coaxingly coos gently, drawing your attention to your hands, which he interlocks. "Oh, please? We could have it at your place this time if it'll make you more comfortable."

"Oh fuck me," you groan, closing your eyes and rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand, missing the way Stolas bites his lip as a shiver slithers through his body. You reluctantly agree, opening your eyes, "Alright... You have to give me time to get everything up to par for a prince."

"Not need! For company like yours, I’m fine anywhere."

rules, masterlist

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 6

It's Wednesday! (I'm ignoring the clock that says it's 2 AM. It's totally still Wednesday. I haven't gone to bed yet which means it can't be Thursday.)

So, since it's obviously still Wednesday, it's time for another WIP Wednesday. We're getting into the real meat of the plot of this arc with this update! And now you'll maybe start to see where I'm gonna take this.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

-----

And that was when a large, swirling-green gash opened up in the night sky and dozens of ghosts started pouring through.

“Oh man!” exclaimed Sam as they watched the ghosts wreak havoc on the street. “I’ve never seen this many ghosts attack at once!”

Danny held out his thermos as he stared. “I’m gonna need a bigger thermos.”

The ghosts all appeared to be wearing uniforms and held batons as they attacked civilians and police indiscriminately.

“Uh, Danny?” asked Tim. “Should we call in back up?”

“No!” One of the ghosts got close to their group and Danny quickly sucked it into the thermos, dropping Jazz’s milkshake in the process. “Dammit. Absolutely not. It’s bad enough with three metas here. No more.”

Across the street, they saw a couple running from three of the invaders. One of the ghosts turned invisible and entered the body of the man who went stiff before sprinting to catch up to his partner and grabbing her to hold her still.

Then one of the other ghosts turned a garbage can over the both of them. The one overshadowing the man left his body, leaving the humans crying and covered in garbage as the ghosts laughed.

“I see,” said Tim. “How do we protect Bart, Cassie, and Conner?”

“You’re metas?” asked Sam.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah, nothing special, but… I don’t want to see what a ghost could do with my powers.”

“Let’s get back to my place. My parents might be crazy, but the ghost shield works. And then we can make a plan.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll lead. Kon, Bart, Cassie, you three need to stay in the middle. Sam, Tucker, you watch our sides and Danny, take up the rear. Capture any ghosts that try to approach us.”

Amity, even during a ghost invasion, was much easier to navigate than Gotham and Tim was able to lead them back to Danny’s house without getting lost. Every scream made him want to stop and help, though. He hated being useless.

Behind him, he could hear muttered curses from his teammates and knew they felt the same. But they needed weapons. Ones that could actually hit a ghost. And they needed to make sure they could fight off any overshadowing.

A TV was thrown out of a house through a window next to them sending shards of glass raining on the ground. Sam let out a string of curses.

“Sam!” called Danny. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Just a slice to my arm.”

“We’re almost there,” said Tim. “We’ll check it out.”

He was flat out running now, could hear the others just behind them. They turned a corner and he could see the glowing FentonWorks sign. He grit his teeth and continued to run away from the mayhem, fighting every instinct he had. He wouldn’t be able to help if he stayed. He repeated it as a mantra with every step.

And finally they were there, he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, ushering his friends in first.

Once inside, Danny flipped a few switches and metal slammed down over the windows, though no guns or lasers came out of the walls.

“Okay. No ghosts can get in now.”

“Danny!” Jazz came running down the stairs. “You’re all okay! Mom and Dad rushed out as soon as the attack started. What’s going on?”

“Jazz! Sorry, I dropped your milkshake on the way here. And not much, just, you know, a ghost invasion.” Danny’s laugh was bordering on hysterical.

“But you’re all safe?”

“Sam?” asked Danny. “How’s your arm?”

“I think it’s all right.” Sam grimaced as she held some tissues to the injury.

Jazz joined and led her to the kitchen. “Come on, let me clean that up for you. What happened?”

“A ghost threw a TV through a window. A piece of glass got me as we ran by.”

Tucker turned on the Fenton’s TV and switched to the news channel.

“I’m Shelly Makamoto and this is Ghost Watch,” an Asian woman said in a cheerful voice. “Ghosts, can you believe it, real ghosts are invading Amity Park right now. Emergency vehicles are struggling to get through the invasion, so if you are injured and in an area of high ghost concentration, help may be delayed. It is recommended you remain put and wait until first responders are able to get to your area. Currently, the ghosts are most focused on the downtown area, so the hospital is spared at this time. We can only hope this doesn’t change. Now, our weatherman Lance Thunder is out right now, so lets switch to him to get an on-the-scene report.”

They all watched in silence as a male reporter cowered behind an overturned car as he gave his report.

Sam and Jazz returned just a moment later. Sam had a large bandaid over her arm but shook her head when Danny shot her a questioning look.

“It’s fine. Clean cut.”

Tim relaxed as well. “Glad to hear it,” he said.

Jazz nodded. “Nothing to be concerned about at all. Thanks for getting the ghost shield up, Danny. I always forget which switch is the weapons and which is the shield.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. She was lying. Why was she lying?

“Yeah, no problem. We’re gonna go to the lab. Tim and his friends have self defense training, Gotham, you know? So I want to see if we have any weapons in the vault that they’d be comfortable with.”

“Great. I’m gonna be in my room. As class president, I want to try and make sure everyone is safe so I’ll be on the phone with my door shut. Knock before you enter!” Then she was running back up the stairs and slamming the door to her room.

Tim exchanged a glance with Cassie. That was weird.

But next to him, Danny let out a breath. “Okay, so she’s out of the way. Sam, you sure you’re okay?

Sam grimaced. “It stings a bit, but it’s fine. Jazz put disinfectant and antibiotic cream on it.”

“Great. Well, not great.” Danny grimaced and Sam punched him on the arm.

Tim cleared his throat. “You said something about weapons?”

Conner nodded. “Yeah, did you say you have a weapons vault?”

Danny laughed. “You saw the home defense system. Are you really surprised?”

Cassie shook her head. “Your parents are evil scientists, aren’t they?”

Danny led them down a set of stairs. “I wouldn’t call them evil. They’re just… a bit single minded.”

And then Tim was standing in their lab for the first time. It was all silver chrome and neon green accents. But worse, it was messy. Half assembled inventions were scattered haphazardly over every surface. And was that a half eaten sandwich on the bench? Ectoplasm dripped off one of the counters onto a puddle on the floor.

Sam, Tucker, and Danny walked in without concern, but Tim and his team held back.

Danny realized they weren’t following and looked back in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“No offense,” said Bart as his eyes darted around, “But, uh, is it safe?”

“What do you mean?” asked Danny, but then he looked around and noticed the mess. “Ah. Hang on a sec. I’ll get you rubber gloves and boots you can slide on over your shoes. That’ll keep you safe enough.”

Sam helped and soon enough they were passing the protective gear over. Meanwhile, Tucker sat down at a computer and pulled up the news report so they could keep tabs on what was going on.

“Can we get eye protection as well?” asked Tim once he had everything on.

“Sure. Mom and Dad have plenty of goggles.” Danny grabbed a few of those as well.

Still not entirely comfortable, Tim finally stepped into the lab. On the far wall, behind yellow and black doors was the portal he’d heard so much about.

Danny followed his gaze and put a hand on his arm. “Come on, Tim. The weapons vault is over here.”

-----

Next

This should be enough to figure out which episode I'm using as the base for this arc! It's not quite the Ghost Fight people were hoping for in the comments of the last update, but I think this is gonna be better.

Tag List Part 1

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @automaticsoulharmony, @d4ydr34min9, @revnantdpxdclover, @midigeria, @raginblastocyst, @feral-bunny31, @lunaria618, @ghostreblogging, @ace-aro-as-shit

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Yes, I forgot, AGAIN.

Today's wip isn't necessarily a wip as in I'm actively working on it now, but something I wrote a while back that I'll likely never finish. It was my first time playing with Scarlett and Dread and I hadn't ironed out all the details on them yet. (Scarlett's species in this one is left to the reader's imagination, as I'd not quite hammered it down yet, and they'd shared a *ahem* romantic relationship. Referenced but not shown.)

Mostly I wanted to make Dread a jerk.

Rated T, I guess? I dunno.

~~~~~

Dread smiled at her, but the smile was sharp and mean, like the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look she was used to seeing directed at her.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown bored with you, Scarlett,” he said with a shrug, turning away to stand with his arms crossed. “It was fun, but it’s over.”

Scarlett stood, her brows furrowed. “Bored with me? What are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “I just can’t keep up with the charade any longer.” He turned back, that insufferable smirk on his lips. “Pretending to care about you is so exhausting. It no longer interests me to keep it up.”

Icy shards stabbed into her heart, and Scarlett worked very, very hard to keep the tears that threatened from appearing. Dread loved seeing weakness in others, and she did not want to give him that satisfaction. “Pretending to care.”

“Oh, you were a good lay, one of the better whores I’ve had, but the upkeep is so tedious.”

That word was like a knife to her heart. Scarlett had never laid with a man for money, and she prided herself on being better than that. Dread knew that, which was probably why he used that word to begin with. “I am NO whore.”

He laughed a little harder, shaking his head. “Of course you are. Only instead of coin, your pay is pretty little words whispered in your ear.” Dread stepped closer, a look of pure malevolence on his face. “You’re beautiful, Scarlett. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Scarlett. I would be nothing without you, Scarlett.” He stopped close to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Scarlett.” He pulled back and laughed again. “Had I known how easy it was to bed you I would have done it a long time ago!”

Hurt and anger were sparring it out within Scarlett, and she let anger win. A deep, fiery rage built within her. How dare he. How dare this echidna stand here and laugh at her, betray her trust, and call her a whore. She wanted to scream at him, attack him, hurt him like he had hurt her.

But she stayed calm. Her face stayed stony neutral, betraying none of these feelings. She stared at him, her ocean blue eyes boring into his violet. The ones she used to love so much, but now wanted to gouge out of his sockets with her own hands.

She and Dread had been lovers for the better part of a year. It had taken time to build to that, as she had trouble trusting and lowering the defensive walls around her heart. But he had been persistent, and finally won her over.

And now it would seem it had all been a game to him.

The walls went back up. And Scarlett shut down.

“It’s a pity, really,” Dread said as he reached forward and caressed her head. “I always loved running my fingers through your hair.”

Without thinking, Scarlett pulled her little dagger from her belt. Dread drew back, his hand going for his cutlass, but before he could draw it, she grabbed her long braid and sliced off the last four inches. Her eyes never left his.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, her voice flat as she slapped the cut braid into Dread’s palm. “I have duties to attend to.”

And with that, Scarlett turned on her heel and stalked out of the captain’s study, back straight and head held high.

Dread watched her go, an honest look of pure shock on his face.

~X~X~X~

A week later, and Dread sat at the helm of the Angel’s Voyage, looking out over the sea. A soft breeze blew over the water, and the sun touched the horizon, turning the sky and ocean lovely shades of pinks and oranges and purples.

The crew lounged on the main deck below him, a rare night when all chores were done, and there were no pressing matters to attend to. The lot sat near the bow, chatting and sharing a bottle of rum between them.

His eyes kept wandering back to Scarlett. His first mate.

And the ache that had appeared in his chest a week ago gave a squeeze.

He was the great, legendary Captain Dread. Most feared pirate on the seven seas. Ruthless and cutthroat. He would kill without a second thought.

But the idea of being in love scared the piss out of him.

Which is why he had said those things to Scarlett. Those awful, terrible things. Things he knew had to have hurt her. She may not have shown it, but he knew. Every word was calculated, chosen to deliver the maximum amount of pain.

Because he was afraid of his feelings for her. Afraid they made him weak.

So he had to cut them out. Cut her out.

He thought it would be easy. Push her away from him and these weak feelings would go away. He’d feel like himself again. Be the fierce captain everyone feared and respected again.

But that’s not the way it worked.

When she’d walked out of his study that night, a pit had appeared in his chest. It was hollow, and empty, and felt like a wound that refused to heal.

And every time he looked at her, it got worse.

He contemplated kicking her off the ship entirely. Letting her go the next time they made port somewhere. But the thought, the mere idea that she would be completely out of his life made that pit in his chest feel like a gaping hole. His heart had hammered like a war drum, his chest tightening, and he felt for all the world as though he were dying.

Just at the thought of Scarlett leaving.

He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling like this. He had ended things with her to keep himself from feeling like this. But everything had gone wrong and now he felt as though part of him were missing.

Dread watched from his vantage point as the crew chatted. As they laughed. As she laughed. Her shorter hair barely brushed her shoulders now, and she pulled it back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her way as she worked. It bobbed and swung with every movement of her head, and that ache in his chest flared.

He missed the long braid. It had hung down to the middle of her back, and she would sometimes pull it over her shoulder to squeeze if she was feeling particularly stressed. But it was gone, sliced off that night a week ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Just chopped it without a second thought, and slapped it into his hand. A parting gift, he supposed. A physical representation of how she cut him out of her life.

He’d kept it. After the shock wore off, he’d sat and stared at that length of hair for a long time. Then he carefully brushed and re-braided it, tying the loose end with a little strip of leather from his own quills. It now sat in the drawer of his night stand, carefully wrapped in a silk scarf.

Truth be told, it was soothing. The soft texture, the lingering scent of her skin and soap. He sometimes found himself just sitting and holding it, stroking it with a thumb. Thinking of her.

She was beautiful. She was fierce. She was stubborn and kind and infuriating and smart and insecure and clever and funny and brave and . . .

And now, she sat on the deck, patches of color burning high on her cheeks as she drank and laughed, and a soft smile spread on Dread’s lips as he watched her.

Memories surfaced. The two of them sitting on the deck, late at night, talking about nothing in particular and watching the stars move overhead. The look in her eyes as she gave him all of her attention and made him feel like the center of her world. The sound of her laugh as she let loose one that was loud and free and completely unhindered by any feelings of self-consciousness.

The feel of her hands on his muzzle, caressing him as she spoke softly into his ear. Her softness when she hugged him, her scent filling his nostrils. And when they made love, and the rest of the world melted away the moment he was in her arms.

He loved her.

He shouldn’t.

But he did.

And it scared him.

Her laugh broke him from his thoughts, and he flicked his eyes down to her. She leaned against their navigator, Liam Parker, as her laughter filled the air. Her eyes were closed tightly, and the patches of color on her cheeks turned darker as she blushed.

A flash of jealousy flared through Dread, and he swallowed. She used to laugh like that with him. Used to lean on him like that.

Now she shook her head, pointing at Batten Rouge. The bat snickered and waved a hand toward Scarlett, and Dread listened hard to pick out their conversation.

“. . . not how that happened, and you know it, Batten!” Scarlett said, her voice like the sweetest bell in Dread’s ear. “I did not start a war between ships!”

“I said ALMOST, sweetie!” Batten responded, a little laugh in her voice. “That was before Sails joined the crew, and I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”

Sails was the little two-tailed fox who’d come aboard a few months ago. Ironically, that was Scarlett’s doing. She had a ‘good feeling’ about the boy, even though he couldn’t have been more than 12 years old.

Now the fox turned with a smile to Scarlett, seemingly interested in the tale.

“Ugh, fine!” Scarlett groaned, before turning to the boy. “This was about four or five years ago, when we were at the port at West Island. Some big guy offered me a drink and, you know, free booze, so I accepted. We chatted a bit, before he started to get, shall we say, handsy, and I, being the polite lady I am, asked him to remove said hand from my leg. He refused, so I decked him.”

Laughter erupted at this revelation, and Dread smiled. He remembered that. Scarlett was usually good with people—she could read them like no other he’s ever known—and her wit usually kept her out of trouble. But when her ire was up, when she let her temper out, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Batten leaned forward. “Only it turns out Mr. Handsy was the first mate of the Black Pearl! Their whole crew surrounded us and wanted Scar’s head on a pike for ‘disrespecting’ him. Cap’n Dread had to get involved to keep them from tying her to their anchor and dragging her along the bottom!”

He remembered that, too. It wasn’t unusual for crews of rival ships to get into skirmishes, and in most cases he liked to let them handle it amongst themselves. But that night, he’d raced down to the pub and positioned himself between the rival crew and Scarlett. That was before they entered a romantic relationship, but even then, he felt unusually protective of her.

Dread watched as Scarlett’s laugh died at Batten’s retelling. The color was still high on her cheeks, and she flicked her eyes up toward him. His heart nearly stopped as their gaze locked.

The smile dropped from his lips, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Scarlett blinked first, tearing her eyes away as she turned her head. She said something he couldn’t quite catch to the rest of them, and pushed herself up to hurry down to the crew cabins.

Dread’s heart clenched.

He turned to look out over the water again.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett stood in the captain’s study, her hands clasped behind her back. She was struck with a feeling of deja vu of that night a month ago, when he had ended their relationship.

Shattered her heart.

She’d done a good job of keeping herself under control while on the job. Staying professional when she had to deal with him, and never allowing her personal feelings to interfere. It was as if nothing had changed, as far as the crew knew.

But at night, it was a different story.

She cried herself to sleep most nights. His words—those hurtful, painful words—echoed in her head in the dark, and they still stung. They still cut through her and tore at her heart, ripping it to shreds as she lay there. And then she would fall asleep to carry through the next day, pretending she was okay.

The walls were back up now, and she regarded him as her captain. Nothing more.

“The crew would like to know when we plan to make port next,” she said, her voice even and polite. “Supplies are running low.”

Dread stood in a similar pose, his hands clasped behind him with his back to her, looking out the large window that faced out the back of the ship. He didn’t respond for a long moment, and Scarlett was going to repeat her question when he finally spoke.

“I hear you’re thinking of leaving.”

She wasn’t expecting the sudden lurch her heart gave.

“I have been considering it, yes.”

Another moment of silence.

“You’d abandon your ship? Your crew?”

“Neither are mine, Captain,” she said, and she almost slipped and let some snark into her voice. She pulled it back, and returned to the neutral tone. “I’m just the first mate. A ship can function without one.”

The echidna nodded, his back still to her. “That’s true, I suppose.”

Silence feel upon them again, and Scarlett’s heart began to race. She wasn’t sure what she felt so anxious about. They were done. He’d made that very clear. The things he’d said had very effectively killed any feelings she had for him.

But every time she looked at him, her heart twisted. She couldn’t stop thinking of the times they’d shared together. The long talks at night. The laughs. The love. He had made her feel like there was nothing else in this world he wanted but her.

And then he had crushed her heart beneath his boot.

She couldn’t stay here.

“Captain?” she called. “The supplies?”

Dread lowered his head, as if thinking. He still would not turn to her.

“I will take that under consideration.”

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. What was there to consider? Their supplies were running low. They needed to restock so they wouldn’t starve. He would have immediately charted the closest port at this news in the past.

There was only one reason he was stalling now.

“You’re not going to let me go.”

It wasn’t a question. Captain Dread was a man who kept what he wanted close. Almost obsessively so. And now, he still seemed to be possessive of her. Even though he didn’t want her anymore.

“Dismissed.”

For some reason, that single word answer squeezed her heart even tighter.

“Understood.”

Scarlett turned and walked out the door.

~X~X~X~

A month later.

Dread eventually did make port, but refused to allow Scarlett off the ship. He made up ‘important matters’ to discuss with her, and keep her occupied while the rest of the crew went to restock their supplies.

He was terrified if she left while in port, she’d never come back.

Their working relationship had devolved into nothing more than flat, toneless discussions, with none of the fire and energy they’d had before. There was no banter, no snarky back-and-forths. No joking. No life.

He was miserable. And despite her attempts to hide the fact, Scarlett was miserable, too.

Dread was barely sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Heard her. Felt her. His dreams were filled with her. In some they were still together, and the warmth of her against him made him cry in his sleep. In other dreams they were like now, strangers, avoiding each other and hurting all the while.

He often sat in his quarters, holding her cut braid for hours. Her scent was fading from it, and it hurt his heart to know that soon he would forget what she smelled like.

Agony. He was in agony.

But he couldn’t do anything to fix it. He’d hurt her too badly, too effectively. She hated him now, he could read her well enough to know that. And even if he decided that loving her was worth the risk, worth the pain and fear, there was no way she would agree to take him back. Not after what he had said. She wouldn’t trust him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her.

So Dread moved through life, feeling like a hollow shell. His heart was broken, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Now the echidna stood at the helm, watching as a storm rolled toward them. Thunder echoed over the increasingly rougher water, and lightning flashed in the distance. He could alter course, but it was a big storm, dominating the entire sky, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid it. They’d just have to weather what they could.

Scarlett was on deck, readying the ship for the oncoming storm. Securing barrels and other supplies, checking the anchor, and keeping an eye on the dark clouds before them. But there was something about the look on her face Dread didn’t like.

She had an intuition about her, sometimes getting a bad feeling before trouble started. She had that look now.

“What do you feel, Scarlett?”

It was the first time he’d used her name since that night. It felt both foreign and like home on his tongue. She moved to the bow of the ship, looking out over the water, toward the storm. She shook her head, looking back at him.

“Something’s coming,” she said, her brow furrowed. “And it’s not the storm.”

Dread’s brow furrowed in response, and he stood taller, his senses on high alert. If Scarlett said something was coming, then they’d be ready.

“All hands on deck! Stay alert, crew. We won’t be surprised.”

Another five minutes passed, and nothing happened. Scarlett paced the deck like a caged lion, clenching and unclenching her hands in her agitation. Whatever was setting off her intuition, it must have been bad.

Dread wanted to go to her, to take her hands into his and calm her. But he resisted. She would not accept his comfort now.

Suddenly, she stopped in mid-pace, and hurried to the bow once again. She leaned over the rail, and for a split second Dread thought she was going to go tumbling over. Then she pulled herself back and turned to yell,

“KRAKEN!”

~X~X~X~

The ship rocked under the weight of the kraken’s tentacles. It reached from below, curling its long appendages over the railing of the Angel’s Voyage, searching for anything to drag down to its snapping beak.

The crew fought tirelessly. Krakens were unpredictable, but could sometimes be scared off if they received too much injury to their tentacles. So every available crew member hacked and slashed and bludgeoned the leathery hide of any they could get close to.

The storm hit as they continued to attack the monster currently trying to drag their ship to the bottom of the ocean. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning flickered almost constantly. The Angel’s Voyage was under attack from both sky and sea.

Dread swung his cutlass in wide arcs, slicing at the closest tentacle of the undersea foe. A loud, low rumble of a growl reverberated all around the ship as the kraken gave voice to its displeasure at this reception. The massive tentacles smashed and splintered wood as they fell upon the ship.

Scarlett moved like a whirlwind, fighting the monster that threatened her ship, and working hard to keep the rest of the crew out of danger, especially Sails. She’d taken the boy under her care, watching over him as she taught him life on the open sea.

The beast thrashed, the crew fought, and the storm raged.

Finally, after an eternity of fifteen minutes, the kraken began to withdraw. One by one its giant tentacles slipped back over the side, into the churning water below. Only two remained on the deck, and the crew stood back to watch them vanish over the side.

That’s when a bolt of lightning struck the water nearby, and the kraken panicked.

One tentacle jerked at the sudden jolt, slamming across the deck and catching Scarlett in its path. It smashed her against the wall of the wheelhouse, knocking the air from her lungs and bringing stars to her vision as her head smacked against the wood.

“Scarlett!” Dread cried, and started working his way toward her when the tentacle curled around her legs, dragging her toward the rail as the beast descended into the ocean depths. “NO!”

She was hauled over the rail in a heartbeat.

Dread tossed his hat aside, clamped his cutlass between his teeth, and dove into the water a split second later.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett tried hard not to panic.

She hadn’t had a chance to get a good lungful of air before being hauled underwater. The kraken retreated deeper, away from the storm and pain it suffered on the water’s surface.

The light quickly faded the further down it dragged her, and she was soon plunged into complete darkness.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, fast and terrified. Her lungs burned. The cold water was making her numb. The tentacle wrapped around her legs squeezed tight.

She was going to die. Soon. There was no way she could get herself out of this. She had no weapon on her, and her muscles were not listening to her commands.

With one last prayer for her soul, sent up to whatever deity was listening, Scarlett closed her eyes, and exhaled what little air was left within her. Seawater rushed in to replace it.

Her body protested. It jerked and convulsed. And then was still.

~X~X~X~

Dread swam like a man possessed. His eyes reflected what low light there was underwater, and he watched as the kraken continued to dive deeper. Scarlett hung from its tentacle, her arms raised above her head as she trailed the beast.

Closer. He had to get closer. He swam faster.

He was going to save her. He had to. Had to. He would snatch her from this beast’s clutches and haul her back to the ship. She’ll be okay, and he’ll apologize, he’ll get down on his goddamn knees if he had to and beg her forgiveness. He can’t lose her, he just can’t, he couldn’t survive without her.

As he watched, Scarlett’s body jerked and convulsed.

No.

She went still. Limp.

NO.

With a burst of strength, Dread closed the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed onto the tentacle holding the redhead, and pulled his cutlass from his teeth. With one mighty swing, he sliced the tip of the tentacle clean through, releasing black ichor into the water around them. The severed tentacle clenched for a brief second, before relaxing completely.

Dread yanked her free from the dead flesh, and turned to swim for the surface. She hung in his arms like dead weight, and he fought back the panic that threatened to overtake him.

It was too late. He was too late. She was gone, he’d failed her, he’d lost her, she was dea—

The echidna pushed those thoughts away. He refused to believe it. He just needed to get her to the ship. That was what he focused on.

Dread pushed himself harder than he’d ever done before, and after a few more agonizing seconds, he breached the surface and gasped in a breath.

“She’s not breathing!” he called up to the rest of the crew. “Pull us up, NOW!”

Sails and Batten flew down immediately to haul their captain and first mate back on board. Dread tossed his sword to the side as he gently lay Scarlett flat on the deck. He leaned in to listen to her chest, and his brow furrowed when he didn’t hear anything.

“Catfish,” he called as he rolled her over and grabbed her from behind. “Bring blankets. Lots of them. Move!”

The large cat hurried off, as Dread clasped his hands together beneath her ribs. He gave a few sharp squeezes, in a desperate attempt to bring up the water she’d inhaled.

He fought his panic back. If he wasn’t focused, if he wasn’t careful, he could snap her ribs like toothpicks with his strength as he tried to save her.

The rest of the crew stood back, watching with wide, fearful eyes as Dread tried to revive Scarlett.

Precious seconds ticked by. Dread kept his jerky, sharp movements. Scarlett didn’t respond.

“C’mon, luv,” he hissed, and the icy tendrils of panic began to wrap their way into his mind. The longer this went on, the less likely she was to come back. His squeezes became more hurried. “C’mon. Bring it up. C’mon, luv. Please. Scar, please.”

Still nothing. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, her hair plastered to her face, her skin cold.

Dread’s lip pulled up in a pained grimace. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not like—

Her body jerked suddenly, a gurgling sound coming from her throat. She opened her mouth and vomited seawater out, splashing the deck with a horrible retching sound. Dread lowered her to her hands and knees, resting a hand on her back as she continued to hack and cough and spit out the water from her lungs and stomach.

“There ya go,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Get it all up. C’mon, luv. Breathe.”

She did. She pushed herself up, sitting back on her ankles and drew in a long, gasping breath as she opened her eyes. Another few coughs and she pulled in another breath, her chest heaving hard as her body shivered from the cold and shock.

Catfish had returned, his arms full of warm, wool blankets. Batten grabbed the first and draped it around Scarlett in a hurry.

“Let’s get you warmed up, sweetie,” she said, and grabbed another blanket to wrap around the shivering redhead. “We need to get her out of this storm.”

Dread moved in before anyone could say a word. “I’ll take her.” He scooped Scarlett into his arms in a bridal carry, looking over at Catfish. “Bring those to my cabin. The rest of you start getting the ship secured so we can weather the storm. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

The echidna carried the woman into his cabin, quickly laying her on his bed. Catfish dropped the pile of blankets on the edge of the bed before hurrying back to the deck to help the others. Dread pulled every blanket up and covered Scarlett with each one.

“Just rest, luv,” he said, his voice soft. He gently brushed her wet hair off her face, and resisted kissing her by sheer willpower. “You’re safe now.”

He didn’t want to leave her. He had barely avoided losing her just a few moments ago, and the thought of leaving her alone now made his heart clench.

But he was the captain, and he still needed to make sure the ship made it through this storm.

Without another word, Dread rushed back out to the deck.

~~~

And that's where I petered out. Mostly I just had these few scenes in my head and didn't know where to take it after that.

[cilil]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

Thanks for the ask! Was late on this one so I waited for it to be Thursday again ;)

So I typically scrap very little that I write which is why most snippets you'll see here are from upcoming works. Enjoy!

"My hröa does not have the means." "I gave you what this form of mine can provide." Fëanáro hadn't thought that Ulmo's blessing would indeed take hold. He had assumed that, perhaps, the Lord of Waters was mistaken in his assumptions about the inner workings of the Elven body, being a mysterious and rather strange creature, but he had been wrong.

~ From: "The Making of Makalaurë", written for a dear reader on AO3, in which the sons of Fëanor are the result of Fëanor receiving blessings from various Valar

"I trust you can take it from here." Any listeners might have found his words condescending, but Amras took no offense. The look on his brother's face spoke volumes of his uncertainty, not knowing how to act. "You can." He kept facing the river, not turning even a little. It would be a useless diversion; his path lay ahead, not next to or behind him. "Alright." Caranthir blinked a few times. "And, Amras... I just..." He swallowed. "Stay safe and take care, will you?" After centuries of keeping up a facade of indifference, the vulnerability in his dark eyes was almost jarring. Amras reached out with his right hand, and Caranthir responded in kind. They held onto each other for a few seconds, squeezing, exchanging glances. "I promise I will," Amras said finally.

~ From: Chapter 2 of "Dead Heart, Still Beating", in which Amras embarks on his journey to infiltrate Doriath and steal the Silmaril from Dior

Tirion training grounds at sunset. Come alone and wear this.

~ From: "Netya Nurëa!", written for @curufiin, in which Curufin receives a strange message from Celegorm and wonders what his brother's latest brilliant idea is

At night, great tidal wave swept over the town, so sudden that nobody had seen it coming. A great number of houses were torn to shreds by the ferocious waters, yet miraculously those who were dragged into the sea within the wreckage washed up on the shore, alive and relatively unharmed. Only two men remained missing, a pleasure slave from the local brothel and a foreign merchant, but even as their absence was noticed and their deaths seemed certain, the townsfolk hardly had a tear to spare; after all they had been strangers, and the ships, wares, buildings and homes that now needed to be rebuilt seemed like the greater loss. Nobody paid heed to the Star Queen's frantic search in the sky, nor the soundless cries of the King of Arda being dragged into the depths of the sea.

~ From: "Shards of Divinity", written for @featheredmoonwings, in which Manwë's ëala was shattered after the Fall of Númenor and Ulmo finds a piece of him that he wishes to keep for himself

Every day, every night he prayed. Yet each time his faithless heart returned to that book and the demon he had summoned, and his mind was flooded with filthy fantasies that drowned his resolve until he gave in again. "Sancta Virgo, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus... nunc... et in hora... mortis nostrae." Eönwë faltered upon uttering the final words of the prayer. Time and time again a foolish part of him hoped to be released from his desires, yet purity and enlightenment not only eluded him, but slipped further and further from his grasp.

~ From: "Ora pro nobis peccatoribus", written for @i-did-not-mean-to, a cloister AU in which faithful novice Eönwë keeps accidentally (more or less) summoning the demon Gothmog to spice up his dull every day life

Now for the (no pressure as always) tags: @sauron-kraut @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @crackinthecup @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @fishing4stars as well as everyone else who would like to join! Show me what you've been up to, fellow authors🖤

[forest-falcon]

Whumpy/Angsty WIP

Trigger warning for blood, angst, shock, whump.

OCs: Tamara Fielding, Jonesy and Mac who work with Captain Cass McCready as firefighters.

💚♥️🚒👨‍🚒👩‍🚒🧑‍🚒

As far as Virgil could tell, only two figures had stood in the direct path of the falling glass; Alan, and the firefighter who had pushed him to safety.

Alan was clearly unharmed; already scrambling to his feet, ready to assess the situation. He may be the youngest Tracy, but he was International Rescue material through-and-through.

The firefighter who had dived to save Alan, however, was still curled in the same position on the floor. Her fire jacket, and the settling dust, making it nearly-impossible to tell whether Alan's Good Samaritan was even breathing.

Please be alive, please be alive…

Maybe, by some sheer miracle, she had dodged the shards unscathed?

Maybe, she was simply lying and waiting for the immediate danger to pass?

Another second, and her ragged breathing became apparent.

Shit.

At least she was alive. He could work with alive.

"TAM!" Jonesy dashed towards his prone friend.

"Wait!" Virgil made a quick scan of his immediate surroundings.

Of course, the fire helmets were properly stored, and not immediately reachable in the decimated foyer. He'd have to improvise.

There was an upturned coffee table. That could work.

"Okay, with me" he gestured, using the table for cover from further debris.

Alan had followed suit, sheltering under the canopy of a firefighter's jacket.

Admittedly, the risk of further falling glass was relatively low - a large portion of the roof above them was now sky, but the wind outside had picked up, toppling the odd piece of loose rubble with a flurry of silt.

Virgil knelt whilst simultaneously removing his plaid shirt.

The casualty's fingers were hovering, quivering above a ragged piece of glass protruding from her abdomen.

"Tam, was it?"

"T-Tam-mmm-m," she nodded as she shivered.

"Short for Tamara." Jonesy offered.

"Tam, I'm Virgil. I'm going to need you to lie nice and still for me."

"O-k-kay…”

The firefighter gave a small laugh as a few rogue tears ran from the corners of her eyes.

“I'm o-kay. M'okay. M’kay. This is ..fineee!" Tam grinned against the tears, as though merely rejecting the situation would suffice

Virgil bunched his shirt and gently guided the woman's quivering fingers away from the wound.

What he'd give for his baldric right now.

"Tam, I know it's hard, but I'd like you to focus on your breathing for me...nice n' steady. Try to control the shivering if you can. We want this wound nice n' still."

"D... don't know...w-why... I'm...sh-shivering so m-much. Doesn't hurt that much...if-f-f I s-stay s-still."

Jonesy was staring at him. A silent conversation passing between the first responders.

Confident the risk of further glass falling was negligible; Jonesy set the desk down to shield Tam's eyes from dust. Sliding himself under the table, he reached for his friend.

"Hold my hands."

"M-M'okay" Tam's protest was feeble, and somewhat pointless, given that she conceded with a simple look.

"I'm sorry Tam, but this will likely hurt." Virgil apologised as he covered the wound (barring the glass) with his shirt.

"Alan, I need you to keep the pressure on this for me, while I set up an IV."

Fielding's sharp wail flooded the room, before fading to a choked whimper as the pain swallowed her voice.

"Ambulance should be with us in five." Mac called.

Five minutes? She'd bleed out in that time.

"Great, thanks," he mustered with as much positivity as his voice could muster.

Virgil rummaged through the medical rucksack for supplies. There must be something...anything, that could buy them some time. First thing’s first; IV.

He turned back to Alan, who was staring at the darkening shirt, his arms slack.

"Like this." Virgil manually guided Alan's hands back down to put pressure back on the wound. His brother's hands were surprisingly cold and clammy.

He's going into shock.

Virgil willed the thought away. Alan was a professional, he'd seen numerous rescues - some arguably worse than this. And right now, he could use all the help he could get.

Professionals aren't immune to trauma, though. She saved his life, possibly at the expense of her own. You need to watch him.

As soon as Virgil removed his hands from Alan's, the necessary pressure was gone again. Jonesy was quick to fill in for Alan, though his face wore a similar shade of grey.

Alan slowly stood, staring at the blood still slick on his palms. He continued to stare as he silently stumbled away in no particular direction.

Virgil tapped at his watch and dialed his emergency code.

Within moments, John's voice washed over him like a tonic.

"Virgil, you've activated your emergency beacon."

"Multi-casualty situation. Building’s unstable. Alan's in shock. Require urgent assistance."

"FAB, we're on our way."

"Your status, Thunderbird Two?"

"Uninjured."

"S-s-lot of-blood. M' S-scared." Tam continued to shiver.

"Hey, hey Tam. Look at me. Look at me."

Wide eyes fixed on his.

"Do you trust me?"

Tam gave a hesitant half-nod.

"You just saved my youngest brother. Do you think there's even a chance I'd let anything happen to you?"

The prone firefighter managed a weak smile.

"I mean, a feat like that's gotta be worth...oooh...at least two drinks at a London bar."

"Two whole drinks, huh?" Her voice was breathy.

"Have you seen London prices? Last time Scottie and myself were here, they charged him £35 for a small measure of whisky! £35! Even I needed a drink after that."

Tam's smile grew a fraction before her eyes suddenly rolled back, and her head lolled to the side.

"Tam? Tam?”

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Return to Sender by Thesaurus_with_no_words

💙 Return to Sender

by Thesaurus_with_no_words

M, WIP, 72k, Wangxian

Summary: On yet another gray and eerie morning in the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian wakes up with his golden core back. It turns out he lost something else in the process. (Aka: Wei Wuxian's feelings towards certain people get erased. It changes things. Is it a curse, or a blessing in disguise? And can Wei Wuxian trust himself, his choices and his priorities, after losing a defining part of who he is?) Kay's comments: You know how some people in MDZS are really lucky that Wei Wuxian likes them? Yeah, so this story erases his memories of how he feels about people and gives him back his golden core during the Burial Mounds arc. It's because Jiang Cheng got himself cursed, because he insulted a deity and Wei Wuxian and said that he owed nothing to Wei Wuxian, so the deity decided to take all things that Wei Wuxian gave him: his golden core, his loyalty, his love and even the sword forms he had taught to the disciples. It's really fascinating to see how it all affects things and I love how this story portrays Wei Wuxian's relationship with the Wen remnants and the Wen siblings in particular. Excerpt: When he has finally worked some moisture back into his dry mouth, he asks, voice faint, "Who did I give it to?" The question earns him a long, assessing look. It makes his skin prickle. Finally, Wen Qing sinks down on the stool across from him, shoulders slumping as she drags a hand over her face. She sits quietly for a moment, elbow supported on her knee and forehead resting against her palm. Her expression is further hidden by the shadows of her hair. "You do not remember Jiang Wanyin." It's a statement, not a question. Wei Wuxian can't read what her tone of voice means, so he ignores it, focusing instead on turning the name over in his mind. He tilts his head and mouths it carefully, tasting the syllables. "Jiang Wanyin," He echoes, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, like he’s inspecting a freshly picked river stone for sharp edges. "Jiang… Cheng? Ah, I think I had a shidi by that name?" A thin thread starts unspooling, leading him fumbling towards faded recollections, like an old mirror splintered into shards. Lotus flowers. A bustling market town. The glint of fish scales as they turn in the water surface. Sunburns on his shoulders and nose. Kites hanging high on a summer bright blue sky. Wei Wuxian licks his lips, tasting phantom spice. "Yea, he was my shidi, back when I was still a part of the Yunmeng-Jiang sect." Wen Qing’s head snaps up, dark eyes searching his, "What else?" After pondering for a moment, Wei Wuxian can only say, "He was the sect leader's son. Quite the hothead. Later he became the new, and current, sect leader." "You remember that, but not your relationship?" Wen Qing probes.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, golden core transfer fix-it, kinda, bamf wei wuxian, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, somebody lives/not everybody dies, burial mounds settlement days, not jiang cheng friendly, temporary amnesia, partial memory loss, literal emotional manipulation, unrealiable narrator, slow burn

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[donnetellotheturtle]

Here take a siren WIP

Hugo pulled on the lines, the storm was bad, really bad. Everyone was running and trying to get all the sails pulled up. He groaned, the rope was hurting his hands. As he looked at them, he saw the scales from the rain. He’d deal with that later. Right now was the survival of the crew. His crew.

He hadn’t even noticed they’d swam directly into the Kaldur gangs territory.

Varians eyes were calculated but wild with adrenaline as he tied down ropes, running to the wheel to help Eugene steer. The waves were getting bigger. Hugo looked up to the sky, silently begging the moon to go easy on them.

A gigantic wave crashed into the side of the ship, nearly toppling them in one fell swoop. They were taking damage from them too. One big wave and it would take him out.

Then the singing began. Hugos heart sank into his stomach.

“No.”

“Sirens!” Rapunzel called out.

The waves calmed. Immediately Hugo realized Donella was the one making them with moonstone shards around her finger.

The rest of the ship was already looking half drunk, eyes lidded. But they weren’t moving. Hugo realized with dawning horror that she wasn’t going for the entire ship. Just for one person.

He looked to Varian. Varian was headed towards the edge of the ship.

“Goggles stop.” Hugo called out. He ran and hugged Varian around the waist. The boy didn’t stop though. He just dragged Hugo along. The wet deck made it harder to keep his footing. “Hairstripe!” Varian had to wake up. He had to stop. If he went in there, he was dead. Hugo grabbed onto a post with one hand.

“Varian!” Hugo cried.

Donella’s singing escalated. More hypnotic. It was bad. It was even starting to effect Hugo a bit. He held onto Varian with all his might.

“Donella, please stop!”

Donella didn’t. He didn’t know what he expected but he didn’t know what else to try.

Then to his horror, varian slipped out of his grip, and bolted for the water.

“No!” Hugo ran after him, grabbing at his shirt sleeve.

But he slipped through Hugo’s grip, and fell into the water.

Hugo didn’t hesitate. He jumped in after him, consequences be damned.

The other members were dragging Varian down quickly. Hugo swam after him. He saw Varians eyes gain a bit of consciousness as he descended. He saw Hugo in his true form. His merman form. His eyes widened, then Varian started choking on water.

“Please stop!” Hugo begged. It fell on deaf ears.

Varians eyes rolled back in his head. Hugos fight for flight kicked in and suddenly he was faster than any of the others, swimming like his life depended on it. Which, his new life did.

The two that were dragging Varian down hissed at Hugo. He grabbed onto Varian, trying to force the limp boy from their arms. They scratched at him, he winced as one of their nails drew blood. Then Donella held up a hand. The two let go of Varian. Hugo didn’t question it. There was no time. He grabbed Varian and dragged him up as fast as he could, not stopping until he was on the ship.

Hugo didn’t know much about cpr but he remembered how Eugene had done it some what. He had to encourage the water out of Varians lungs. He pushed on his stomach. Usually he’d hesitate. Not now. He closed Varians nose, and put his lips on Varians and put as much air as he possibly could.then again, and again, and again.

“Come on. Don’t leave me. Don’t. Please. You’re not allowed to goggles.” He said in between pushing and air puffs.

There was a moment when Hugo thought he was too late. That Varians heart had stopped.

Then he hacked out the water. There was a lot of it and it took Varian a moment to recover, but he was breathing.

Hugo sobbed in relief.

Varian looked at him, barely awake but clear eyed. “Hugo…youre a merman?”

Hugo nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“You’re beautiful…” With that, Varian passed back out onto the deck.

[dent-de-leon]

trick or treat!!

hello!! happy belated halloween! I went with a Kingsley wip for this

“Let’s find him the prettiest place in the Blooming Grove.” Kingsley thinks he overheard that once, in another world and another life, in an endless sea of glistening stars and floating lights. Soft glow of souls drifting free all around them. “Every place in the Blooming Grove is the most beautiful,” another voice chimed in, warm and comforting in the darkness. 

Now that Kingsley was standing here at the edge of the wood, he had to concede it was true. 

The grove is a graveyard bursting with life, from the vast biodiversity of sprawling fauna to the ambient chitter of whistling insects and gentle rustling of creatures in the underbrush. Sharp snap of a twig in the distance, the flash of a tail vanishing in the thicket. Glowing eyes and drifting ghost lights. Green oaks branching out to swallow the sky, shards of light filtering in through the canopy of dense emerald foliage.

Pools of crystal clear water glimmer in the moonlight alongside shallow bogs overgrown with tufts of fluffy moss and floating algae. Mushrooms sprout from every patch of wildflowers, dripping inky black ichor into the soil. 

It had been a full moon cycle since he was torn away from the starless void and woke from the long dream, his words returning to him slowly over the past few weeks, distant memories drifting back in a sea of dreams. He found his voice under the gentle guidance of a sweet angel and spark of joy, gradually awakening from some long forgotten spell. 

But even as he regained his sense of self, became more present and grounded in the world—his strange family were always reluctant to see him go. He was getting restless and needed to stretch his legs, explore the winding paths beyond the sunlit garden. 

Joy wrapped him in a vibrant red coat, tucked him in its warmth and delicately lifted the hood over his horns. 

“Be safe,” the Angel whispered, both prayer and promise. 

“Don’t stray from the paths,” he remembers another woman say, spoken in the hushed tone of stalking prey. “Follow this trail here beyond the brambles, you should see the smoke rising from her cottage. It’ll be easy, Lucien. You don’t have to lift a finger, dear. Just lead the way and let them give chase. She will take care of the rest.” 

His father pressing a piece of paper in his palms. A list of names. Evil men, his father would say. Monsters and murderers. Strangers that made his stomach turn; the pungent, acrid scent of blood that lingered on their breath, clinging to their skin. Sharp smiles and hidden blades. A witch that watched him with a hunger in her eyes— 

[jeysbvck]

tell me you love me ('cause that's all that i need to hear)

a/n: thank u to my bestie @vigilvntes for reading and being my hype person and coming up with the perfect title for this little thing i wrote! comabuck has been embedded in my brain since last year thanks to the lovely genius @loveyourownsmiilee first spoke about the theory, and after 6x10 i reworked the wip a little and came up with this! hope you all like it, and please reblog!!

warnings: minor spoilers for 6x10, angst, fluff, coma buck. if im missing any just let me know!

word count: 2.6k

summary: "You're in love with Buck." Maddie said like it was a factual statement. The sky is blue, the grass is green and Eddie is in love with Buck. "You didn't know?" She asked.

"No, I, um, I knew." Eddie confessed, and a weight fell off his shoulders as he did. "I just…"

"Didn't know anyone else knew." Maddie finished, and Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he nodded. "Yeah, exactly." "Well, I'm pretty sure the only person that doesn't know, is Buck."

The sounds from the television mounted on the pale blue walls and the high-pitched rhythmic beeping from the monitor Buck was hooked up to were no match for how loud Eddie's thoughts were. He couldn't stop playing what happened in his mind, like he was watching a horror movie on a movie screen. He went over every moment, from Buck going up the ladder instead of Chim, of Eddie himself hooking Buck's rope. He'd lost count of how many times he'd done it, it was almost second nature at this point, but had he made a mistake this time?

Eddie knew he'd never forget the sight of Buck's lifeless body hanging from the rope, or the way his stomach dropped, his chest tightened as he realised what had happened. He saw it when he closed his eyes, he could see it now, and each time it made him want to throw up. Sure, Buck had been hurt before, and it scared Eddie, but not like this, and he'd never been out for this long, he'd never been quiet for this long. Eddie longed to hear the sound of Buck's voice; to hear one of the random facts Buck had learned, or for Buck to ask him a question about a receipe. Even if he could just hear his laugh that filled Eddie with warmth and comfort, like it was his favourite song.

The conversation with Chris about Buck was almost as hard as the conversation about Shannon. Eddie didn't know what to tell him, he didn't have the answers to the questions Chris was asking. He couldn't promise that Buck would be okay, he couldn't tell him if or when Buck would wake up. After Eddie and his son cried and hugged, they had a movie night, with ice cream for dinner, but Eddie couldn't focus. All he could think about was when he was shot and was it all as hard for Buck as it was for Eddie now? Did Buck feel like this; did the thought of losing his partner shatter his heart into little shards that were stabbing his chest? Did Buck feel like his world was ending, just as Eddie did?

Eddie knew he had an advantage over Buck in their parallel situations. Eddie knew how much he and Chris needed Buck, it's why Eddie put him in his will. Something they hadn't spoken about, even since the shooting. Buck didn't understand how much they needed him, and Eddie was sure he still didn't truly understand, even after everything. Eddie needed Buck to fight to come home, to come back, and that's why he allowed Chris to visit Buck.

It broke Eddie's heart, seeing Chris' heart break as he stared at Buck. "He looks like he's sleeping." Chris whispered. Eddie choked on his words, but thankfully Hen stepped in, and placed a hand on Chris' shoulder. "He is sleeping," Hen replied gently, the smile on her face not quite reaching her eyes. "He just needs a lot of it to get better, and the machine helps him." Chris just nodded, then slowly made his way to Buck, sliding his small hand into Bucks large, soft ones. He started talking quietly, and Eddie could only make out certain words, but the one phrase he did catch made him leave the room before he could break down. "I know you'll wake up, Buck, because you promised you weren't going anywhere."

Eddie, Maddie, and the rest of the 118 all took shifts in sitting with Buck. When it was Eddie's turn, sometimes he brought Chris, who liked to read to Buck while Eddie spent the whole time choking on the permanent lump in his throat. When Eddie visited alone, he had to fight the urge to hold Buck's hand, he had to fight the wave of emotion that threatened to drown him. Instead, he told himself Buck could hear him, and he spoke about work, passed on Carla's messages, told him when to expect Chris; he talked about everything, except his own feelings.

That was, until, Buck crashed. Eddie and Bobby were watching through the window, while Hen was in the room. Then, the machine started beeping wildly, and Hen jumped off the chair as she screamed for someone to help. Bobby had to hold Eddie back as he tried to burst into the room, and now Eddie was hiding outside, begging himself not to have a panic attack, begging the universe not to take Buck away from him.

Maddie was the one who found him, and they sat silently on the bench. "He's back." Maddie said, after a while. "He's not awake, but they got him back."

Eddie let out a breath of relief, one he didn't realise he was holding onto, and Maddie put her hand on his arm. "You should tell him."

Eddie looked at her, confused. "Tell who what?" He asked, and Maddie chuckled. "Buck. You love him."

"I-uh-I-what?" Eddie stumbled, words failing him. Of all the things he thought Maddie was going to say when she sat down, this was not on the list of possibilities.

"You're in love with Buck." Maddie said, like it was a factual statement. The sky is blue, the grass is green and Eddie is in love with Buck. "You didn't know?" She asked.

"No, I, um, I knew." Eddie confessed, and a weight fell off his shoulders as he did. "I just…"

"Didn't know anyone else knew." Maddie finished, and Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he nodded. "Yeah, exactly."

"Well, I'm pretty sure the only person that doesn't know, is Buck." Maddie replied.

"Yeah, maybe he never will." Eddie whispered. Maddie snatched Eddie's hand and gave it a squeeze, making Eddie look at her.

"Buck is going to be okay. He's going to come back to us, to you." She said, her resolve and confidence in her younger brother was enough to let Eddie hope too. "Tell him, now. It'll make you feel better, and it might be enough."

"Enough to what?"

"Bring him back."

-

So here was Eddie, about to confess to his partner, his best friend, the person he'd put in charge of his life, his world, that he was in love with him, with absolutely no idea if he could hear him. He took Bucks hand, which was surprisingly warm, and sighed. Even here, Buck was stunning, and Maddies words echoed round his brain. It might be enough to bring him back. Eddie was willing to try anything to make Buck open his eyes, and if this worked, if Buck opened his eyes and laughed at Eddie's confession of love, it would be worth it, just to look into Buck's breathtaking blue eyes.  

"Hey Buck, it's me, again." Eddie began, rolling his eyes as the heat of embarrassment crept into his cheeks. "Shit, this is embarrassing. I need to tell you something, and it can't wait anymore." Eddie sighed, his eyes fixed on Bucks face, waiting for any sign that Buck was waking up, or even just that he could hear him, but nothing. "Buck, I need you to wake up. I don't know how to do any of this without you. You just- you're such an important part of my life, of Christopher's life, we need you, more than you know."

"I can't function without you, Buck, nothing feels right. Being at work, without you there, it's wrong. Sure, we've worked without each other before, but this is different, because right now, you're not coming back. And I need to you're coming back. Movie nights without you don't feel the same, I miss you talking over the film, I miss you making us pause it because you have a crazy fact. Christopher won't even look at the zoo when we drive past it. He's been writing everything down in a little notebook, everything that he's been doing, so he can tell you when you're awake."

"Jee misses her uncle Buck too, she keeps asking for you, and Chim doesn't know what to tell her. She knows somethings wrong, kids always do, but she doesn't understand. We all need you, Buck, we love you. I- I love you, Buck."

Eddie wiped the tears streaming down his face, and his eyes darted up to the window, grateful that nobody was watching this unfold. Had Maddie told everyone about the conversation? Were they giving Eddie privacy because they knew he was confessing his feelings? He hated that this is how he had to do this. He hated that the first time he was truly expressing his feelings for Buck, was while Buck was seriously hurt. A part of him hoped it didn't work, that Buck didn't hear him, then Eddie could tell him after his recovery. He had recognised his feelings long ago, and he didn't want Buck to think this was just because he was hurt.

"Buck, I've been in love with you for years. I- I didn't know until therapy, but Frank- well, he made me see. I'm not sure when I fell in love with you, maybe it just happened one day. You just- you make me feel safe, Buck, there's nothing that feels more like home than being with you and Christopher. I handed you most of my heart when I made you Chris' guardian, and now I'm giving you the rest of it."

Eddie's heart slammed loudly against his ribcage, and he was certain that if anyone walked in now -or if Buck woke up- they'd be able to hear it too. He couldn't bear to look at Buck anymore, so he leant forward, dropping his head down as he brought Buck's knuckles to his lips. Then, he lowered Buck's hand back on the bed, but he didn't let go, even when Bobby finally came into the room.

"You alright?" Bobby asked and Eddie nodded. "Athena is on the way, she's bringing coffee, I think everyone's had enough of the stuff they serve in the cafeteria." 

Eddie chuckled, then sighed. "I'll get out of your way in a moment, Cap, I just-" Eddie stopped, his eyes wide as he stared at Buck. Was he imagining things, or did Buck just squeeze his hand?

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, and Eddie shook his head. "Nothing, I just thought I felt-"

He felt it again, this time it was stronger and he looked up at his Captain. "Bobby, I think he's waking up!"

Bobby took two strides towards the bed and took Buck's other hand. "Buck? Can you hear me?"

Eddie's blood turned to ice in his veins as he flashed back to when he asked Buck that same question, before he realised he was unconscious in the air. Everything came rushing back, the tight chest, the guilt and anger that bubbled up when he tried and failed to pull Buck towards him. But when Eddie heard Bobby open the door and shout for help, Eddie was brought back to reality. His eyes found Buck, whose eyes were open slightly, as he adjusted to the light.

Eddie felt relief consume him, and he tried as hard as he could to blink the tears away as the nurses removed the tube from Buck's throat and helped him sit up. He watched silently as Bobby helped Buck take a drink of water.

"How you feeling, kid?" Bobby asked, and Buck's slight chuckle turned into a cough. "Like I've been hit by lightning."

Eddie rolled his eyes but his heart swelled. Buck's voice was gravelly, and he no doubt had a sore throat from the intubation tube, but he still sounded like himself. Eddie didn't even know what to say, he just stared at Buck, like he couldn't believe he was real. Like Eddie was going to wake up any moment, and Buck was going to be lifeless again.

"I guess I won't be working for a while, huh Bobby?" Buck said, and Bobby laughed.

"You've been awake for two minutes and you're already worrying about coming back to work." Bobby sighed, and Buck smiled, bashfully. "Just focus on getting better first, okay?"

"Okay." Buck agreed, then he looked at Eddie for the first time, and his eyes softened, like he was seeing his favourite painting for the first time. "Hey, Eddie."

"Hey, Buck." Eddie breathed. Hearing his name come out of his mouth, for the first time in almost two weeks, was almost enough to make Eddie burst into tears, but luckily he held it together.

"Hey Cap?" Buck said, his eyes fixed on Eddie, a playful smirk on his face, and Eddie knitted his eyebrows together, watching Buck suspiciously. "Did you know Eddie loves me?"

Eddie choked on air as Buck grinned smugly. Eddie was shook, not only by what had just happened, but by the mere fact that Buck had actually heard him.

"I'll go let everyone know you're awake." Bobby said, the chair scraping across the floor as he stood up, and before he left the room, he turned to Buck. "And yes, I did know."

Buck laughed loudly as Eddie groaned. "You're such an ass." Eddie said, and Buck grinned.

"Yeah, but you love me." Buck replied, and Eddie rolled his eyes. "Come 'ere." He said, beckoning Eddie towards him with a curl of his finger.

Eddie got up from the chair and sat next to Buck on the bed, the shitty hospital mattress dipping as he did. Buck too a deep breath, and then smiled. "I love you, Eddie."

"You...you do?"

Buck nodded and held his hand out flat, palm facing up. Eddie took it without hesitation, and Buck wrapped his fingers round Eddie's tight, just as he had done to Buck's earlier. "I'm in love with you."

Eddie's free hand instinctively caressed Buck's cheek, Buck's long eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes at the gentle, intimate touch. Eddie leaned in slowly, stopping just inches away from Buck's full lips. "You know, this isn't because you're-"

Buck closed the small gap between the two men, their lips moulding together as they fell into the kiss. Eddie had never had a kiss like this, it took all the oxygen from his lungs, the volcano inside him erupting as the world around them faded away. This is what a first kiss is supposed to feel like.

"I know it isn't." Buck mumbled against Eddie's lips. "We should've done that a long time ago."

"We're idiots." Eddie said with a laugh, and Buck beamed. "We've got plenty of time to make up for it, though." He replied, pressing his lips to Buck's again, just in time for the rest of the 118 to burst through the door.

Bobby, Athena, Maddie, Chim, Hen and Ravi all stood crowded at the door, staring at the two men on the hospital bed. Then, Hen grinned and shouted, "Time to pay up!" as Chim and Ravi groaned and muttered complaints under their breaths.

"You guys knew?!" Buck asked, and Chimney laughed.

"Neither one of you was very subtle about it, cowboy."

"I'm never going to live that down." Eddie grumbled, and Buck laughed as he kissed his cheek.

"Just be glad those weren't your last words to me." Buck teased and Eddie groaned again. "Is it too late to retract my declaration of love?" He asked.

"Yes it is." Buck giggled, then his voice dropped so only Eddie could hear him. "Maybe I still have my cowboy hat somewhere, from when I worked on the ranch. Would that make up for my mocking?"

Eddie raised his eyebrow at Buck, who was smirking shyly at his adorable attempt to flirt. "Hmm, It's a start." Eddie replied, before kissing Buck again, forgetting -or not caring- that everyone else was still in the room. "I'm gonna hold you to that, Buckley."

"Oh I'm counting on it, Diaz."

[aggravateddurian]

WIP Whenever

Good evening,

I was tagged by @ouroboros-hideout to provide a report on recent occurrences.

Over the past week, I have been extremely focused on two things. I regret to inform you that they were not related to Cyberpunk 2077.

What I've Done

Firstly, I've been playing a lot of a game called 'Boat Crew', which is a game where you are the captain of a US Navy PT Boat during WW2. It's cartoony, but I am now absolutely horrified of Fubuki-class destroyers. I see them in my sleep.

Secondly, I've been writing a lot of original stuff, including an outline for a story called 'After Rockfall' about the state of the world after an asteroid fragments as it passes our Earth's Roche Limit and over the next three years, showers Earth with asteroid fragments.

I am continuing to chip away at finishing my story bible for 'Queen of the Sky' and I've been in communication with two artists, who are drawing the main characters, starting with the Chancellor.

Blorbos

For my Val x Trey AU, I've created an appearance and primary outfit for 2074 Val. You may recognise her hairdo from the old Brother's Shadow continuity, where she wore the same hairdo while working for the Mox in that story. It's one of Songbird's hairdos, converted for player use by eagull.

(DO NOT QUESTION THE BIOCHIP, there are no shard props available in AMM except for the Relic chip).

From Here

This week, starting Wednesday, I will be returning to regular posting.

I have been enduring some stuff and dealing with some health issues. I'm hoping to hear some answers soon.

Thanks everyone.

I'd like to nominate @byberbunk2069 @streetkid-named-desire @theviridianbunny and @disastroussketchbook

[faeriecinna]

Manuscript Search Tag

I got a couple of these from the lovely @annakayy and @ulysses-blues ! My words are : Cold, Night, Colour, Question and Soar

I'm editing atm so a lot of these extracts are probably going to be from the earlier chapters of my WIPs :)

Cold:

Project.Seraph The lies rolled off his tongue smoothly while he pleaded. His words hung in the air, a delicate fable of veiled desperation. Each syllable carried the weight of a decision, pregnant with possibility. He held a hand out to Nevaeh, a sense of satisfaction settling over him when he realised she was no longer backing away. “My friends are waiting just a little further into the trees. I can call them out now to help us, but you must make your decision quickly, angel, it is only a matter of time before The Hunt returns for you.” Tense silence hung in the air as Teo and the other travellers waited with bated breath for Nevaeh to respond. She gave an almost imperceptible nod that rippled through the quiet - a seismic shift in the forest's placidity. The choice echoed like a distant thunderclap. A cold breeze fluttered through the trees, as if the forest itself had breathed a sigh of relief.

Night:

Project.Ink Fionn offered a nod, though doubt remained in his expression. With a lingering gaze at Rowan, he retreated into the crowd. The elven nobility continued to observe, casting furtive glances at the mysterious human. As the night progressed, the dance floor beckoned, and Killeen found herself standing before Rowan. "Dance with me," She demanded, her voice holding a mix of authority and an emotion that struggled to surface. Rowan, caught off guard, nodded hesitantly. The surrounding Fae observed the unlikely pair, murmurs rising like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Colour:

Project.Ink Although in the back of her mind Rowan knew exactly what she was approaching, she refused to let herself believe what she was seeing until the glow of the early dawn sun began to cast shards of colour onto the rotting pine needles underfoot. Stained glass windows – or remnants of them – still clung to the fragmented wood window frames and crumbling stone archways. Her heart stopped and her head span. In her dreams, the church had been resplendent and ornamented, gilded and imposing in its looming grandeur.  It wasn’t hard to imagine the pews filled with worshippers, caught in the throes of fervent exaltation. In person, it was a deteriorating memory of the hallowed halls that had commanded devotion long before Rowan even came to be. The carcass had been picked clean and only the bare bones were left, jutting at sharp, splintered angles and still bathed in the sanguineous glow from above.

Question became Inquired:

Project.Ink The air felt heavy with an unspoken tension, and the flickering candlelight cast unsettling shadows that swayed with an unnatural rhythm. Her parents, a middle-aged couple with eyes that held an baleful gleam, sat at a weathered wooden table. "Rowan, dear, how was your day?" her mother inquired, her voice too melodic, the cadence too perfect. There was an eerie precision to her words, carefully crafted. Rowan offered a hesitant smile, the subtle disquiet settling in the corners of her mind. "It was... usual, I suppose." Her father, a man with an unchanging smile that he wore like a mask, chimed in. "Good, good. Routine is essential, especially in these times." The words hung in the air, their weight pressing on Rowan's shoulders. It was a phrase she'd heard often, a mantra that echoed throughout the village whenever discussions veered too close to scrutiny.

Soar became Flight:

Project.Seraph A snort jolted her from her respite with a sharp gasp and she whirled, coming face to face with a solo soldier and his accompanying horse. A desperate whine left her and she willed her aching legs into motion once again, covering just enough land so that she could spread her wings and take off into the sky. Flight was much slower, but with her body weakening with exhaustion, she couldn’t risk her mortal legs giving out on her while being chased by the one man who wasn’t entirely convinced by her watery charade. Before she could even make it a fair distance, the air close to her ear was displaced with a hiss and the angel’s eyes widened as arrows began to fly. She bobbed and weaved, her flight path erratic in an attempt to become less of an attainable target.

And with that, I'm gonna NO PRESSURE tag @spideronthesun @indecentpause @savvyminnow @frostedlemonwriter and @melpomene-grey

Your words are going to be :: sick, small, remember and cloud

[ghostinthegallery]

WIP Wednesday (one day late) (necron edition)

Just a bit of idiot gay space robot arguing from my ongoing necron fic (story is available here) that amused me and I hope will amuse other people. Spoilers for The Infinite and the Divine.

“Trazyn?”

“Yes, Orikan?”

“Several questions are rushing through my engrams at the moment, but chief among them is why did you make this?”

Trazyn turned to him. “Because I needed a place to put the statue. Obviously.”

Orikan wasn’t sure what answer he had expected. He repressed a shudder as he stood on horribly familiar cobblestones in the shadow of familiar buildings. Humans sat unmoving at tables drinking foul brown liquid. A small group of musicians stood—thankfully silent—with their instruments, one with his chest puffed out as if his fleshy lungs were filled with air. The uncanny sense he was actually back in the city square made him want to board his ship and try his luck with his ambushers once again. 

Though he supposed he had to give Trazyn some credit for the accuracy with which he had recreated the central square on Serenade. And above it all was Trazyn’s damn statue, fashioned by idiot humans like a skeletally thin space marine librarian. The ego was frankly astounding.

Orikan shook his head. “Of all the places we could have spoken.” 

“I thought you might enjoy some reminiscing,” Trazyn replied.

“There is not a single memory of this place that I enjoy.”

Trazyn wandered over to an empty table and sat down as if he was one of the patrons. “Nothing after all we accomplished together here? Discovering the secret of a lost tomb, defeating the shard of a C’tan!”

“Infecting the planet with genestealers and burying me under millions of tons of rock?”

“You always find a way to see the negative side of things, don’t you?”

Orikan did not humor that with a response. His ocular scanned the gallery, which despite the walls and ceilings bearing illusory projection of sky and further city, were solid and closer than they appeared. Scarabs skittered between buildings, each one seemingly watching him. Something shimmered next to a false cloud.

“Is that one of your deathmarks?” Orikan demanded.

Trazyn glanced up as if Orikan had just observed an interesting weather phenomenon. “Why yes. Forgive me if I seem inhospitable, but considering the fact that I have not completely repaired the damage left by your last several visits, I thought some precautions might be in order. Not to mention my concerns for my own safety.”

"Why would I try to kill you when my phaeron has sent me to seek your aid?"

"I don't know, Orikan. Perhaps because a passing gas giant told you to. Who knows how your astromancer's mind functions?"

It was not worth getting into an argument. The sooner Orikan went about his business the sooner he could leave. Preferably without getting shot.

“The Stormlord  has requested access to your archives on the Great Devourer,” Orikan said. “Allow our crypteks access, and you and I need suffer each other no further.”

“Oh diviner, don’t be in such a hurry.” Trazyn leaned back with infuriating smugness. Orikan would have enjoyed nothing more than shooting his phase shifter at his host. Or at least the statue. 

“Funnily enough, you are not the first to come researching the tyranid recently,” Trazyn continued. “I suppose Szarekh’s display caused quite the stir. That even his rival for kingship is taking it seriously—“

“Don’t presume to know Imotekh’s will,” Orikan snapped. “Although this makes things simpler. If your galleries are indeed open to all, there should be no trouble allowing the Sautekh dynasty to observe your samples.”

“Now hold on,” Trazyn said. “You are putting me in a delicate position. My dynasty has declared its support for Szarekh, so opening my doors to Phaeron Imotekh could be seen as downright treasonous.”

Orikan narrowed his ocular in a glare. “Trying to kill me did not get you back in their good graces?”

“You are fortunate that I am meeting with you when I could have vaporized your ship instead,” Trazyn said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t push your luck?”

Orikan’s tail flicked with annoyance. Mostly because Trazyn was right. Orikan wasn’t sure why Trazyn had helped him. Not that that was unusual, as Orikan could barely figure out why the archaeovist did half the things he did. The only thing Orikan could guess was that Trazyn wanted something, and the sooner he figured out what that was, the sooner this farce would end.

“I suppose I could arrange something.” Trazyn rubbed his chin, the spot that was always faintly smoother than the rest thanks to the habitual friction. “If you were to make it worth my while.”

Ah, there it was. “Name your price, archaeovist.”

"I…" Trazyn leaned across the table. "Would like an apology."

Orikan paused. “What?”

“I would like an apology from you.” Trazyn’s death mask took on that terrible grinning quality that Orikan so despised. “For your vandalism of my War in Heaven gallery.”

“You can’t be serious,” Orikan replied. “That was over ten thousand years ago!”

“And the artifacts broken are still irreplaceable and my restorations are still incomplete.” The grin vanished. That was even more disconcerting. “You went back on your word to save what had been lost. I think an apology is the least I could ask for.”

It was not and they both knew it. Orikan would rather throw himself into Solemnace’s sun than utter any kind of apology. Breaking those trinkets was a service to the galaxy. Not to mention it had been his only method of escape. He may well have been trapped as one of Trazyn’s exhibits had he not used what was at hand to escape. If given the chance he’d do it all again, maybe crushing even more of that useless refuse.

“What good is it to remember what we lost and cannot get back? What we cannot even learn from?” Orikan said. “We could be finding a future, so why drag us backwards to some mythical past?”

Trazyn sighed. “I do not have time to debate philosophy with you, Orikan. Believe it or not, I am busy. Will you give me what I ask for or no?”

Silence dragged on between them. Imotekh would strike him down in an instant for his stubbornness, but it was difficult to care. Orikan had not gotten where he was by submitting to lords that used their power to twist the truth. Trazyn was no different from the rest. If anything he was worse. If he would devote a fraction of the energy he used recreating primitive street architecture towards the future of their race, think how much closer they’d be to overcoming their cursed metal forms! He wasted so much, and Orikan hated him for it.

Trazyn’s laugh started low and deep. Necron laughter was not a pleasant sound, but the Overlord of Solemnace had a laugh that lacked the staticky roughness most of their people’s possessed. It sounded far too close to something organic and it sent a shiver up Orikan’s spine.

“So stubborn,” Trazyn said. “But if you were willing to yield that easily you would not be who you are, and I would not despise you so.”

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon@violenceandviolets, and @artemis-crimson

As usual, post if you got 'em, enjoy if you don't!

from *stars through my fingers like grains of sand*

"Holy shit," whispered Sam. "Now that is… something. What is it? Why? I'm—I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around—that." He breathed in sharply. "But actually seeing it…"

She raised up the scanner, showing him the scrambled display, the pops and distortions. "Yeah," she breathed, awestruck by the sight laid out before them. A structure rose into the sky, its white exterior faded and aged. Around it, long shards of stone and metallic half-circles floated as if gravity had no meaning. It was clearly artificial, and equally clear that no society she knew of had built it. It had the wrong sort of grandeur to be a 'castle', too fragile for 'fortress', and 'structure' was too plebian. The sheen on several of the floating accoutrements reminded her of the caelumite deposits around the Artifacts; she wondered if it was the same, but the scanner distortions prevented her from getting a good read.

"I can't—what do we even call it?" Sam turned in slow circles, making sure nothing got the drop on them, but he kept looking back at the—

"Tower?" Cait suggested. "It isn't great, but—" She trailed off.

"Yeah," he agreed, and the awe in his voice echoed hers. "You getting anything from it?"

"No," she said. She'd half-expected to start hearing its song much earlier, given the size of the anomalies it was throwing off, but only silence registered on her inner ear. Even her empathic abilities seemed unusually muffled. Of course, part of that could be the ever-present cold; she tried to turn her suit heaters up but they were already at max. "Not a thing." She turned her helmet toward him. "Keep going?"

"Hell, yeah!" He looked back at her, and his entire face was alight with excitement. "This is what we're out here for."

She felt her heart lift a little—it was a nice reminder that she didn't need empathy to connect with someone; she'd done just fine without it for years, after all. She gave him a companionable shoulder-bump and started to make her careful way down the hill; Sam followed. They wound through broken walls into what looked like a courtyard of sorts. Cait put her hand to one of the floating boulders and pushed—it turned on an invisible axis, but didn't shift position.

"Damn," Sam breathed. "I'm seeing this, but I'm not sure I'm believing it." He prodded at another one, with the same result. "How about you, anything?"

"No," Cait replied. "Not a thing." She shook her head. "I could sense the Artifacts from, what, thirty meters away, I think?"

"Closer to fifty," he said judiciously. "And with a lot of solid rock between us and it." His helmet tilted back as he looked up and around. "So either this place is a whole lot of nothing—"

"Somehow," Cait said, following his glance at the metric tons of floating rock and metal around them, "I don't think that's the case…"

"—or whatever that tower's made of is one hell of an insulator," he finished.

"Or it's waiting for someone." Cait started to follow the outer wall around, hoping it would lead to a way in.

"Like you?" Sam did a little boost-hop to catch up with her.

"Yeah," she said reluctantly, her steps slowing to a halt. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms—the chill she felt wasn't just the cold. "Sam—is it too late to say I'm scared?"

He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Only if it's too late to say I am, too," he said sympathetically. "I think we'd be fools not to be. We just can't let that scare us into doing something stupid."

"Right." She nodded. "Note to self: come up with a better reason for doing something stupid."

"Ah, just blame it on me," he said lightly. "I'm good for that." Cait remembered the look on his face when Sarah had given him an exquisitely-polite tongue-lashing over a survey mission; her heart spasmed painfully in its chest.

"Hardly," Cait said, trying for a similar tone. She reached up to pat his hand. "You're worth far more than that." Her lips quirked in a smile; even if he couldn't see it, he'd hear it in her voice. "Best partner I've ever had."

Sam chuckled. "Faint praise, darlin'. I'm the only partner you've ever had."

"Nope," she declared as she got moving again. "Third." She thought a moment. "Well, maybe technically second. I think Vasco counted more as my keeper." She skirted around another floating stone to see a pair of long walls, parallel to each other, that sloped outward from the tower. A few more steps and they reached the opening.

"My god," Sam murmured, amazement and amusement mingled in his voice, "It's full of stars."

[ravenmold]

your gentle winding mind for the wip ask game

Hi Mia 🦋

Thank you for your ask! I'll split my answer into three parts to ramble a bit, since I'm afforded the opportunity. ☺️

Part 1: Background info

your gentle winding mind is a lil idea that takes inspiration from and is named for the Purity Ring song Begin Again. To me their album Another Eternity is kinda.....dreamlike fantasy sci fi, and I tried to use the imagery that the song evokes to guide me with this idea. This song's lyrics just dance so nicely around themes of codependency, destiny, inevitability, repetition......and space. It's in the pairing Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski and it was last edited in Feb of 2020. So it's basically from a previous world 😂 it only has 543 words and is just one scene. But reading it now, I definitely can see that I was being experimental with my writing here and having fun letting go of ... Trying to tell a clearly structured story. How? Well, let me introduce you to the idea.

Part 2: So, what's the idea?

So my idea with this fic was that there's a powerful oracle who resides on a very small planet and who is visited by thousands upon thousands to foresee their future. Basically the whole planet is a grassy field and has two suns. It's all transcendental in a way because does this oracle need food? Shelter? Unclear. It just sits in this field all day. I was thinking of The Little Prince a bit, and imagining it as kinda having Studio Ghibli vibes 😂 if that helps at all.

Our protagonist Derek, a werewolf, visits this oracle in the hopes of having light shed on his uncertain future and the disastrous prophetic dream he has about it. But he's very surprised to find out that the oracle is a human named Stiles. Who's been cursed to live this life. Unbeknownst to Derek and Stiles, their lives are intermingled and he's the one Stiles has been waiting for in a sort of life-stasis. The moment Derek turns to leave, Stiles' stomach growls and he feels like his curse is broken, that he's free to leave this tiny planet. He asks to go with Derek. And thus these two idiots fall right into my plan: they are destined for each other, very powerful and will impact the universe etc etc and the prophetic dream has something to do with it. The details are fuzzy here because that's as far as I ever got in imagining it 😂

Part 3: Judge my writing on it

So I honestly like a few of these lines. I'll share the majority of the fic and you can judge for yourself:

Derek did not expect the renowned oracle that effortlessly foresees the wax and wane of empires and planets to be a simple human.

He says as much upon reaching the human – the boy – on the grassy hill where he abides, legs crossed and face open. The sky is shattered into cerulean shards above him.

The boy simply laughs at this. “Yes, I’m human. The only one for a million miles, for a thousand light years. And you’re not.”

“I … no.” Derek chances a seat in the soft grass in front of the oracle. “I just, didn’t know humans could be oracles.”

The boy’s amber eyes shift fluid as liquid over the landscape that surrounds them. There is nothing but green hills for miles, a veritable maze all on its own for a lonely oracle to hide in. “I was gifted precognition as a child. Or rather, it was meant as a curse, but I figured it could be used for good, in the meantime. A little word of advice, don’t go looking for the bodies of witches in their woods.”

The twin suns beat down on his shoulders, and yet Derek shivers. “Noted,” he answers. “You said, in the meantime?”

“I’m simply passing the time, waiting for someone. I try to be patient.” The oracle’s eyes draw to his, and Derek shifts his pose. He feels uneasy, but does not sense danger. He supposes it must be the immeasurable power that surrounds the boy in a haze; that radiates off him like surface heat.

Derek wonders who he could possibly be waiting for. He hopes it’s family, at least.

“You have a misgiving.”

Straight to business it is, then. He did travel all this way.

“I’m to join the Fleet in a month’s time. This was decided for me long before I had the presence of mind to worry about futures, and I’ve had time to make peace with it, but …”

A small smile tucks at the corners of the boy’s mouth. “A life among the stars. How apt.”

“Technically we are all living among the stars,” Derek quips, not able to help himself. The reaction is unexpected: the boy leans forward, eyes focused so intensely on his.

“Like planets. We are floating in the great unknown,” he whispers.

Derek doesn’t immediately know how to react to this. He’s frozen, permitted to move again only when the boy’s eyes leave his. Derek feels like he’s stepped into a dream, and has a moment of panic as he realises there’s no way to test it. How do you know a dream is a dream?

Lmao raven tryna be whimsical and ethereal, that's the name of the game. Another fun fact: it was written in Comic Sans. Heh.

[monsoon-of-art]

wip wednesday, just a little one for now. Hopefully it'll be done soon...depending on how big this part gets I might split it in half

---

It was a blue stone, roughly larger than his palm. It glittered, even in the low light. No matter how Barry turned it in his hands, he could see a star-shaped pattern inside.

“It’s…” he hesitated with the name for reasons unbeknownst to him, “It’s a Dawn Stone.”

It was an evolutionary stone, but a very rare one. He took a moment to try and remember what pokemon evolved from it. All around him, more objects fell from the sky - nuggets of gold and pearls, more stones, a pokedoll, a magmarizer, and a lot of shards.

Barry was lost in his thoughts to notice. Behind him, his pokemon scrambled to dodge the falling objects.

Finally, something pinged in his mind.

Spinning around, he slapped the dawn stone into Fern’s paws. “Alright! Evolve into a Gallade please!”

Fern squeaked in surprise, looking at the blue stone in its paws. Baffled, it looked back up at him with wide eyes - wanting to make the boy happy but not knowing how.

Barry frowned, scratching at his head. “...maybe I’m doing something wrong here.”

[secretly-a-catamount]

Opps, I accidentally on purpose wrote body horror | Malcabel WIP

   Wearing laughter, complacency, and lies, drawn tight around her like a cloak or a shield: Annabel Blackthorn was dead.

  White hair and purple eyes and a whisper of her name as the last words on his lips, she had died months ago when they had looped a noose around Malcolm’s neck.

  She had died, but her body still wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She had died, but her body did not rot in the grave, did not decompose under the crust of the earth. She had died, but she had not swung — they would not let her. Her family had been ruined from when she had tried to flee with her beloved, a suicide would be inconsolable to their reputation.

  So they had arranged for her to be married to her cousin and shut away in one of their houses far away from Cornwall, far away from even Idris, as if she were mad, as if she was dangerous, as if she was deadly.

  They were right, of course, one of the few things they were ever right about. And they didn’t even know that they were right, they underestimated her, they always had, that would get them all killed.

  She was the mad girl — and she was a girl, barely past eighteen — who shattered a looking glass with her coiled fists and used the jagged-edged shards to cut lines and whorls into her skin. They took away everything sharp after that — at least away from her, a Shadowhunter family never being able to not have weapons on hand.

  She was the dangerous girl who mixed rat poison in her sister’s wine. This sister, youthful and kind as she was, had been the one to sell out Malcolm and Annabel to their parents, had been the one to release the wolves who tracked them down, had been the one to physically restrain her when they executed Malcolm. They fired the rat catcher after that — wrongly thinking he had committed the killing as a product of jealousy from being born a Mundane.

  She was the deadly girl who, when the party was over, when the sky was as black-and-blue as the the bruises her cousin left on her thighs and hips and arms, straddled her husband, fitted her hands to the curve of his throat, his pulse beating beneath her fingertips, and squeezed, a Strength Rune etched on the deceptively delicate-looking wrist hidden underneath one of her billowing sleeves. She did not know what they would do when they found out — she did not intend to live that long.

  Thrashing like a netted fish, he clawed at her fingers and her hands and her arms. His cries for help were silenced into choking wheezing gasps as he blindly drowned in her blood.

  He fought. Annabel fought harder.

  She lingered for a moment, a ghost tiring of the weight of its own flesh, before slipping to the floor. Billows of dust rose from where her bare feet had struck the floorboards.

  Caught in the flat pane of glass that shone silver in the moonlight, her reflection belonged to something that was certainly not human, but was certainly her.

  Accentuated by the nearly translucent quality of her skin, greenish-blue eyes perched on jutting cheekbones and peered out of an almost mask-like face sitting atop a sylphlike body with starkly cut hollows and lines. Her black hair clung to her form like a funeral shroud, twisting around her in the same way that the roots of a tree would twine around a skeleton buried at its feet, the slender tracery of veins was visible at her wrists, neck, and the corner of her lips like blue cobwebs, and the angelic brands of the people she was born into and never choose seemed to float above the surface of her skin — Marks that were deeper than black on something that wasn’t quite white.

  Lowering her hand, she slowly brushed her bloodied fingers with their torn quicks against the gaudy fabric painstakingly embroidered with Runes and wolves and wheels of flaming eye — the dress was ruined, tattered, torn, a skin that she had never been able to make fit quite right any more than the supposed superiority over Mundanes and Downworlders she had been born with — and crossed soundlessly over to the window, her bones aching with the familiar desire to split through her skin and clatter to the ground like dice in a fortuneteller’s cup.

  Her uneven breath fogging the already cold surface, she pressed her forehead and scarred palms against the glass, and closed her eyes.

  Something more akin to the snarl of a wolf than the smile of a young girl on her wedding day, she pulled her colorless lips back from each other, revealing far too many teeth and too-long a tongue that got cut on sharpened points and jagged edges whenever she spoke.

  Blood blossomed in her mouth as she asked a question.

Once it was answered, it was easy enough to leave her room and stalk down the hallway, with a Night Vision Rune carved onto the side of her neck and a Stealth Rune carved onto her shoulder, two more shades of red staining her body and dripping to the marble floor.