#all the pelts were wild morphs

[itsskoll]

Very pretty fox pelt I got for myself as a gift! Very expensive (compared to my budget), but he is very big and beautiful. Thinking about reshaping the face, but worried about trying it. Pelt was bought from a local store as part of an invasive cull

#vulture culture #fox pelt #skin #pelt #fox skin #doesnt have feet or an underside sadly #all the pelts were wild morphs #picked him for his ring tail

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

Chords and Courtship ch 10

The Lady in Blue

Chords and Courtship (AO3)

I hope you enjoy!!

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The rain pelted down hard on them, freezing against his flushed skin. The wind was blowing the rain almost sideways now, and he had to keep a tight grip on the reins in his hand as the lightning and thunder were relentless. 

But despite all of that, all he could think about, all he could focus on, was the feeling of her hand on his arm. Small. And warm, despite the cold. Even through his sleeve, which was soaked through and plastered to his arm, the soft weight of her hand on his arm was enough to make lightning dance on his skin. And how beautiful she was. Even waterlogged. How the blue of his coat bought out her eyes and how the brilliant white light of the lightning made them shine bright in the darkness of the storm. And the way the raindrops clung to her long, dark lashes like tiny crystals. And the way her cheeks were flushed like a thousand roses in full bloom. 

And the sound of his name in her voice. 

Luka. 

Hearing his name in her voice had been like hearing his name for the first time. Even more than that, it had been like hearing music for the first time. The way she had said his name… it had made his heart quiver. It had been like reliving the moment he first remembered hearing a bow glide across the strings of a fiddle, back when he was nothing more than a wild bairn clutching at his ma’s skirts. 

He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye; her eyes were glued to the ground as she carefully picked her way through the sodden meadow. But he could still see the rosiness in her cheeks and the curve of her smile. 

A smile of his own tugged at his lips, even as yet another new song tugged on his heartstrings. One of crashing thunder and blinding lightning and racing hearts and softly spoken names in the middle a tempest. 

Polaris suddenly tugged at the reins. 

“Shhh, easy, boy.” They had just crested the hill of the meadow, and his home was in sight. And Polaris seemed eager to get back to the nice, warm, dry stable. “We’re almost there.”

“Thank heavens,” she said quietly, shivering a little as she pulled his coat tighter around her. 

They hurried that last few meters across the grounds and ducked into the sanctuary of the stables. The soft, sweet and comforting scent of hay washed over him. Nyx, Juleka’s horse, poked her head out over the stall door and nickered in greeting. A second later, Trixx popped out from around the corner, the lamp light reflecting off his shock of red hair. 

“I was beginning to worry about you, Luka! I’m glad to see you and the poor beastie made it back- oh.” Trixx paused. But he was only phased for a second. And then his face morphed into feigned innocence. “I see we have a guest.” 

A far less pleasant heat flooded his cheeks. “Er… yes. This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

But Trixx already knew that. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.” 

He glanced down at Marinette. She was gazing at Trixx thoughtfully, but then she shook her head and smiled. “The pleasure is mine.” 

 Trixx turned his attention back to him. “You two should go in. I’ll take care of him,” he said, nodding to Polaris, “You’d best get out of your wet things before you catch cold. Kaalki would have a fit if you were to fall ill on her watch, mademoiselle.” 

He nodded in agreement. Gathering the reins in his hand, he patted Polaris’s neck and gave the whispered promise of a good meal and a nice warm stall. But before he could pass the reins to Trixx, Marinette let go of his arm. 

“Wait!” 

He froze. She was staring resolutely at Polaris. The entire way to the stables, he had been careful to keep himself between her and Polaris. Polaris was a gentle horse, but given she was afraid of them, it had seemed best. 

But now… he watched as she stepped up beside Polaris’s head so that she was in his sight. She cast an unsure glance back at him. He nodded to her, giving her a reassuring smile, which she returned unsteadily before turning her attention back to Polaris. 

Tentatively she reached out until her fingertips were just grazing Polaris’s neck. Hesitantly, she stroked Polaris, despite her obvious nerves. And he found himself falling even more in love with her for it. 

She jolted back with a yelp when Polaris turned and blew his breath into her face. He reached out to steady her but retracted his hand the moment she was steady, not wanting to overstep, despite how badly he wanted to keep his hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s just his way of saying hello.” 

“Oh,” she said quietly before turning back to look at Polaris with furrowed brows. Over her head, Trixx shot him a teasing smirk that he did his best to ignore. But it was impossible to ignore the feigned love-sick face he saw Trixx shoot him. “How do I say hello back?” she asked, ignorant to the teasing looks of the stablehand. 

“Well, if you were a horse, you would return the gesture but-“ he stopped short when she leaned forward to gently blow her breath into Polaris’s face. 

“Hello, Polaris,” she said softly, with a tremor in her voice. It took all his willpower to keep his knees from wobbling. She turned to look back up at him, her cheeks flushing. “Like that? Or… oh! You were going to say something else, and that was so silly of me and-“

“No!” he cringed at the way his voice came out a little too strangled. “No, no,” he added more steadily, “that was perfect.” 

Her cheeks were still flushed with a rosy glow, but there was an utterly charming, shy smile curling across her face. Her eyes shimmered in the dim light of the stables. 

“Shouldn't you two be heading into the house to dry off?” He jolted back at the sound of Trixx’s voice. Fresh heat flared through his face at the look Trixx was giving him. 

“Y-yes. We should. Thank you, Trixx.” 

“Of course, sir. Happy to help,” Trixx said in a voice that promised he should be wary of any help Trixx might offer. And the wink he shot him over Marinette’s head as he ushered her towards the stable entrance was anything but reassuring. 

Together, they dashed out into the rain and towards the back door of the estate. A moment later, they were ducking under the shelter of the overhang of the door. 

She cast a worried glance back at the stables. “Won’t your staff… what if they tell someone?” 

He smiled gently at her and squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Your reputation will be safe, I promise.” 

“Luka! What a relief, we were beginning to worry-” They both jumped at the sound of Longg’s voice. His valet was standing in the now open doorway with towels strewn over his arm. As he glanced between him and Marinette, his worry morphed into dignified amusement. “Oh… I see we have a guest.”

“Is that him?” Kaalki’s voice echoed from within, and a second later, she appeared in the doorway, peering around Longg. “Oh, thank the heavens you are alright, Luka!” The moment Kaalki's eyes landed on Marinette, standing beside him, her worry-wrought face shifted into surprise. She shot him the briefest of pleased smiles, her eyes flashing in approval before turning her full attention to Marinette. " You poor thing, you’re soaked to the bone!" Kaalki ushered them in, and then took one of the towels from Longg, and began fretting over Marinette, trying to sop up the water from her hair. "Whatever happened to you, you poor thing.”

“It was raining.” He said rather stupidly as he took a towel from Longg. 

“Is it?” his valet asked with a raised eyebrow and bemused smile as thunder rumbled. “We had not noticed.” 

His cheeks grew warm. “Juleka and I stumbled upon her when we were returning home.” Understanding flashed in Kaalki and Longg’s eyes. Juleka had been curled up in their library when he had left for his ride, and he doubted she had moved from her chair since he had been gone. “Unfortunately, we were not able to beat the rain.” 

Longg scoffed, glancing down at the growing puddles of water on the floor. “So I see. I suppose someone should inform Sass that you are home, Luka. And that we have a guest. I am assuming you are staying the night, mademoiselle?”

“She certainly is,” Kaalki said before Marinette could so much as utter a word. “We are not sending her back out into that storm, and the hill road will be too slick for the carriage in this weather. I will have a guest room prepared. But first,” Kaalki said, holding out a coaxing hand to Marinette, “we need to get you out of these wet things.” 

 Marinette cast him one last look, and when he nodded, she smiled gratefully at him before moving towards Kaalki. “Thank you.” Kaalki’s face melted into an indulgent smile, and as she led Marinette away, she cast an approving smile back over her shoulder at him. 

He watched as the two women disappeared around a corner, heading in the direction of Juleka’s room. Beside him, Longg coughed quietly. And when he turned to look at his valet, he found himself on the receiving end of a wicked grin. 

“Right. Well. I should… I’m going to change into something dry,” he said hurriedly before fleeing as quickly as he could. The echoes of Longg's laughter followed him as he fled. 

He ducked past the members of his staff as he made his way to his room, trying to stay out of their way as he went. They were all in a flurry of busyness trying to arrange the final preparations for their ball as it was in two days’ time. 

But their haste and work did not stop a single one of them from giving him a knowing look or sly comment or, in Xuppu’s case, an ear-splitting whistle. 

Either his staff was all-knowing and all-seeing, or someone—likely Trixx or Longg, but possibly Juleka as she seemed to be aware of everything, even the things that seemed impossible for her to know about—had spread the word that Marinette would be staying the night. 

His face was still burning by the time he had made it to his bed chamber and changed into the dry clothes Longg had left out for him. No doubt by now, the entire household would know that Marinette was here. 

He just hoped no one would do anything to embarrass him. But knowing them… he was not optimistic. 

But even that was not enough to sink his spirits or the song that was vying to spring from his fingers. He tugged on his shoes and made his way to the music room.  

                                                        ***

His hand flew across the page as he tried to capture the melody enrapturing his mind. Hastily scribbled notes sprawled across the page like stars, organized into the story of blue eyes and white light and crashing heartbeats in a storm. 

He sat back with a sigh, his eyes following the notes he had penned until they reached their crescendo. Sudden and abrupt. Unexpected like a clap of thunder. 

And then the magic of a name.

Followed by another. 

And then walk in the rain, in the direction of home. 

The song was complete. But his hands were still itching. Which meant the only thing left to do was to play. 

He reached for his violin. The polished wood reflected the candlelight with warmth and familiarity as he rested it on his shoulder. And with an eye still on the sheet music—though the song was so fresh in his heart he didn’t need it—he put his bow to the strings. 

The music carried him away—as it always did—into another world that lived just at the edges of reality. It washed over him like the tide, carrying him out into the expanses of the seas, and it curled around him like a blanket. A perfect contradiction of the wild storm and the quiet stillness of a heart beating too fast. 

It was all too easy to get lost in the music. But at the same time, the music room was his domain. He was so finely attuned to it now, he could feel the changes in the energy of the room. Like when something akin to an invisible light filled the room. 

And even if he could not sense such changes, his hearing was good. 

Good enough to hear the sound of the door opening through his music. 

He turned to glance at the door, never once breaking from his playing. 

Until he saw her, and his bow stilled on the strings mid-note.  

Marinette. 

She was standing in the doorway, her hand still on the knob of the door and the other clutching her heart. Her eyes were wide as if she was seeing the stars in the night sky for the first time. And they were bluer than he had ever seen them. Brought out by he cornflower gown, far too long for her in the sleeves and skirts and yet still somehow looking like it had been made to make her eyes shine.

How was one supposed to breathe? He couldn’t quite remember. 

He could feel his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words that had simply ceased to exist in his mind. Tingling warmth ticked at his face, crawling its way down the collar of his shirt and up to the tips of his ears. 

“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I- I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” her cheeks were turning the most beautiful shade of pink. “Juleka said you would not mind…” 

“I don’t!” His words were more of a yelp that he would have preferred, but the smile it brought to her face made any embarrassment of little consequence to him. “Please,” he said, lowering his bow to wave her in, “come in.” 

“Thank you,” she said, casting him an enchanting smile before stepping into the room. 

Only to reveal his sister standing just outside the doorway in the shadows of the hallway. With the most pleased and self-congratulatory grin he had ever seen on her face. And he knew, he knew in that moment, that it had been no accident that she had lent Marinette that gown. 

She had done it on purpose.

                                                        ***

They dined in the music room. The rest of the house—including the dining room—was being prepared for the ball, and the music room was one of the few places where they would not be in the way.  

But even the preparations for the ball were not enough to spare him from Sass and Kaalki. Despite the fact that there were preparations they both had insisted they needed to oversee, they had still somehow managed to find the time to serve dinner themselves. 

Of course, they acted the perfect butler and housekeeper as they served dinner, following all the stuffy class etiquette that society demanded. The etiquette none of them ever followed save when in the presence of company or when Kaalki deemed them becoming too rambunctious or out of practice. It had been almost a shock to him; he was now so used to the casual way they all interacted, especially since moving to the country. 

It had almost been a shock. 

Their knowing looks and glances and their hidden smirks were nothing out of the recent-ordinary.  

And they were impossible to ignore, as usual. 

It was a small mercy that they did not stay for the meal. Usually, the entire household ate meals together despite it not being protocol—they were essentially family, after all— and it was something he greatly enjoyed. But with Marinette here… 

Was it selfish that he wanted as much of her time to himself as possible? Of course, Juleka was with them, and it would be improper for him to be alone with Marinette… but it felt more intimate just the three of them. 

And Marinette seemed unbothered by the fact that Sass and Kaalki had left, despite one of Sass's duties—technically speaking—being to serve dinner. In fact, she had seemed, not surprised... but unaccustomed to being served her dinner. Sass and Kaalki had already taken a liking to her. Apparently, she had endeared herself to them when she had had tea with Juleka. But when she had thanked them when they brought in her food… Sass had positive beamed. And he was fairly certain Kaalki had started planning his wedding. 

If she had not already started doing so already… 

Dinner passed with easy conversation. And, despite her habit of leaving him utterly breathless, she was the easiest person to talk to. Even with Juleka’s watchful eyes gleaming, the conversation was easy. There were no pretences. No worries of what games might be played with words and niceties. Talking to her was as effortless as listening to a song. 

He had never met anyone so kind and sincere. He had never met anyone who put his heart at ease the way she did, even when it was skipping beats. 

She was extraordinary. 

Once they had finished eating and the dishes were cleared, Juleka announced that she was going to read and then promptly settled herself on the chaise that was pushed into one of the corners of the room. It was her way of saying she would act as their chaperone.

But he could not sink the suspicion that her intentions were not entirely pure. 

Especially as he had caught a glimpse of her black pocketbook. The one he suspected contained all the betting records… 

“I was thinking I might like to draw,” Marinette said, and his gaze immediately snapped back to her. She was smiling shyly at him, her eyes sparkling from under her dark lashes. “Would you… would you play something? Only if you wish to,” she added hastily, “I thought it might be nice to listen to you play, but if you are not in the mood-“ 

“I would be delighted to play for you.” 

She beamed at him, her hand already reaching for the stack of parchment Kaalki had brought in for her before dinner, when she froze. “And may I… May I look at your instruments?” Her gaze was lingering on his lyre, where it sat on an end table beside him. “I won’t touch them!“

“Please, by all means, and,” he reached out and plucked the lyre from where it sat. “I do not mind,” he assured her when she hesitated to take it. “You will be able to see the details of it better.” With a smile, she accepted the lyre almost reverently. Like it was something sacred. 

She studied the lyre as he reached for his guitar, which stood in its stand by the settee, waiting at the ready. He made quick work of tuning it, and as he plucked the first notes of an idle song, she placed the lyre on the sofa table and rose from her seat. 

She began to wander the room, pausing in front of each instrument to inspect them. He watched her with rapt attention as the song began to take shape in his hands; the steady, trickling notes of rain blended with the flickering warmth of candlelight and soft smiles. And when she rejoined him on the settee, the scratching of her pencil against parchment joined the song. 

 As he played, he stole glances at her. She was bent down over her parchment, her pencil flying across the page. But then he lost himself to the music and the image that was blossoming in his head of what future evenings could look like. Her with her sketches, or perhaps her sewing, and him with his music… 

He didn’t know how much time passed as he played, but when the last notes faded, he snuck another glance at Marinette. Her eyes were closed, and there was a smile on her face. She was still holding her pencil, but it was still. It wasn't even touching the page. Her parchment sat in a stack on her lap.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the beating of his heart wavered as she turned to smile serenely at him. 

“You’re not drawing,” he said rather stupidly. 

“Oh, I-“ her eyes dropped to the stack of parchment in her lap, her smile becoming shy as her cheeks flushed. “I find your instruments very inspiring. And your music… it is very easy to get lost in it,” she added softly. 

Heat bloomed in his face. “I.. Thank you.” He paused. “May I?’ he asked, gesturing to the stack of parchment.

She nodded. And once he had set his guitar down, she passed the entire stack to him. 

The first drawing was of a gown, with embroidery around the hem and neckline that reminded him of treble clefts. 

He paused with his hand hovering over the corner of the page and silently looked at her for permission. She nodded softly with a pleased, quiet little smile on her flushed face. 

He flipped through the pages in awe. In another gown, he recognized the scrollwork on his lyre. In another, the curve of the harp that stood in the corner. The embroidery on a pelisse was reminiscent of the silhouette of his violin. In a waistcoat, he saw curves of his sister’s cello. And in another, the delicate lines of the strings of his guitar. 

He flipped the page. There was an incredible likeness of Juleka; the bold and delicate strokes of the pencil had captured her quietness. But the glint in her eye was unmistakable and impossible to miss. It was his sister as she was. 

He flipped to the next page and froze. 

The nose was right, as was the jaw. The entire face was, in fact. And yet… 

Beside him, Marinette squeaked; as if she had only just realized what he was looking at. But he could not tear his gaze away from the page. “Oh! You weren’t supposed to see that!” Marinette gasped, mortification creeping into her voice. 

He tore his gaze away from the page to look at her. But she was no longer watching him. Her eyes were glued to her lap.

As if they had a mind of their own, his eyes flitted back to the page in front of him. He was both entranced and bewildered by the drawing. 

It was him. Every detail was as accurate as a a perfectly tuned instrument. And yet… there was something in it. Something he couldn’t name… Something he was not fit to have bestowed upon him…

 It was far too generous a likeness. 

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly. Hesitantly. Mindful of the way her cheeks were blazing and the way she was adamantly staring at her lap, he touched the page with his fingertips as if it were glass. “Is this-” 

“That is how you are.” 

“I-“ the words died in his throat. He hadn’t even noticed her drawing him. 

She glanced up at him from under her lashes. Her head was still ducked shyly, but she was smiling. “That is how you always are. At least,” she hurried to add, “how you are when I have seen you. But when you play…” she trailed off as she gazed at the instruments littering the room. “You are more.”

Warmth trickled across his face. 

Her eyes widened as they snapped back to look at him, and the flush in her face deepened. “I- I … I was hoping perhaps you could explain that bit of sheet music to me!” she stammered as she descended into embarrassed titters. She hastily stood and strode over to one of the numerous music stands strewn about the room and returned clutching a sheet of music. He stared down at the page in her hand. The notes had been messily scrawled across the page in his haste to write it all down. But the song of the storm was as clear on the page as it had been in his heart when he had penned and played it only a few hours earlier. 

Heat flooded his face. 

“I- yes. Yes, of course. I would be happy to explain…” he stammered. He swallowed thickly, willing the heat in his cheeks to cool. But the warmth did not subside. If anything, it grew warmer as she sat back down beside him, closer than before. “How much do you know of music?” he asked as he watched her place her sketches on the sofa table. 

“Very little, I’m afraid,” she murmured. “I don’t have any musical training. A- someone taught me to play a short jig on the pianoforte. But I can’t read music. What does mean?” she asked, pointing to the page.  

His heart fluttered when her eyes met his again. “That’s a chord.”  

“And a chord is?” Her eyes shimmered as she blinked up at him. She was sitting so close, he could count the freckles scattered across her face.

His breath caught in his throat. “A chord is three or more notes that are heard at once,” he murmured breathlessly.  

“And,” she bit her lip as she looked up at him, “what about when it is two notes?”

“That’s…” what was that called again? He had never forgotten a musical term since he was old enough to learn them. His ma often joked that his first word had been ‘clarsach.’ But with her sitting so close beside him, staring up at him with those blue eyes—made even bluer by her borrowed dress—and those rosebud lips and… and the way she was looking at his music with such reverence… He swallowed. “It’s called a- a…” did she realize how beguiling her smile was? Was his heart still beating? He couldn’t say if he was alive or- “It’s called a dyad.” His voice was nothing more than a croak. 

She ducked her head to look down at the sheet music. But he could still see the way her cheeks were flushing a rosy hue. And it was impossible to miss her quietly radiant smile. He watched as she delicately ran a finger across the page, tracing the notes of the song. “Would you…” she glanced back up at him, and he was fairly certain his heart did stop, “would you teach me to play? Just a note! Or maybe a chord. Or a… or a dyad….” 

He was already reaching for his guitar again. 

As he passed her the instrument, his hand brushed against hers. 

Her skin was soft and warm. The feeling of her hand brushing against his sent his stilled-heart spiralling into the stars.

Time slipped away. Or perhaps stopped, or maybe ceased to exist entirely. It was impossible to say. 

All there was—all he knew—was the guitar half in his hands. Her hands brushing against his as he showed her how to place her hands and hold the strings. And the way her eyes shimmered as he guided her through the notes.  

And between the notes, she shared bits and pieces of herself. 

She loved to sew and design and draw. To create. She had loved it ever since she first held a needle in her hand. She loved the soft mornings she spent helping her parents in the bakery—despite her dislike for waking early—because her parents were so dear to her, and she loved spending her time with them. She kept a diary of all her ramblings and wonderings of the world and dreams for the future. She was forever losing herself in the world of colour and textiles and what things could be.

She loved animals and wanted a cat. Or perhaps a dog. 

She dreamed of travelling and seeing the world, but she also loved her home. 

Her favourite flowers were lilacs. 

She shared the stories of her life in the village and glimpses into the world of beauty that existed in her mind. 

And for all she shared, he was only too happy to return in kind. 

She listened with rapt attention as he recounted stories from his travels. And when he spoke of his first time playing, truly playing an instrument, she listened with a level of understanding so sincere he knew she understood the feeling he spoke of. 

They traded stories, hopes, and dreams. And when her fingers grew sore and weary, she asked him to play for her again. 

She never had to ask. 

He played her songs in colours he had never known existed, watching with fascination as her pencil—once more in her hand—gave shape and form to the music in a way he had never envisioned, but could now see with perfect clarity. 

A perfect dyad slipped its way into the song. 

Sometimes their conversation carried along to the melody, and sometimes it faded to let the music speak for itself, ebbing and flowing as naturally as the tides.

Until the door flew open. 

“My goodness!” He jumped at the sound of Kaalki’s voice, his note cutting off sharp in a twang. Marinette jumped as well, almost dropping her pencil. “Have you not seen the time? It is late, and our guest-“ 

Marinette started to protest, saying something that sounded like ‘I am fine,’ but her words were lost in a yawn. 

“Our guest must be exhausted,” Kaalki finished firmly.  

Marinette shot him a sheepish smile. “I must admit, I am rather tired. I had an early morning helping my parents…” 

“I’ll show you to your room, mademoiselle.” 

He and Marinette both rose. “I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.” 

“Please, don’t apologize. I- I had a wonderful evening,” she said softly. “Goodnight, L…” she trailed off as her gaze flickered over to Kaalki, who was waiting in the doorway. But then her eyes met his again, glimmering with assuredness. “Goodnight, Luka.” 

His heart swelled. “Goodnight, Marinette.” 

Her cheeks went rosy again, but she smiled before turning to make her way to the door. 

“Good night, Marinette.” Marinette jumped at the sound of Juleka’s voice. He did as well. He had completely forgotten she had been there the entire evening… Guiltily, he glanced at Juleka, but she was just smiling sweetly—too sweetly— at Marinette. 

Who was suddenly flustered all over again. “Goodnight! Juleka!” she cried, with a guilt-wracked look. “I- I hope you sleep well.” 

 Kaalki coughed quietly, but there was an indulgent smile on her face. “Let us get you to bed, mademoiselle. These two are used to staying up at all hours, but you must be exhausted, especially after being out in that storm, you poor thing.” 

Marinette nodded. As she followed Kaalki toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder to give him one last, sweet smile.  He watched as she slipped through the door to the music room, covering a yawn with her hand as she disappeared into the hallway after Kaalki. 

“Hear my soul speak,” Juleka hummed in an entirely too smug a tone. He whirled around, only to find her draped across the chaise in the corner. The one he often fell asleep on if he found the trek to his room too far at the end of the day. Or the middle of the night. There was a wickedly smug smirk on her face that he did not like. “Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service…” she stood as she let her words trail off. 

Heat crawled across his face and up his ears. He turned his attention back to his guitar and made a show of tuning the already perfectly tuned instrument. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” 

“I believe the bard was quite clear in his meaning, but I suppose you are still trying to put the pieces of your mind back together after all of that. To be honest, I am amazed you are not still trying to put your mind back together after seeing her in that-“

Despite his better judgment, he whirled back to face her. “I know that was on purpose!” he cried indignantly. 

And that was a mistake. 

Juleka’s smirk morphed into a grin that could only be described as wicked. 

“She needed something dry to wear. What was I to do? Let her sit around in her wet things and catch her death?” she asked innocently. “Besides, I thought she looked rather lovely in blue. Did you not?” 

He wished he had some clever retort. Or a witty remark so that he could exchange verbal blows and parries with her. But as it was, all he managed was a strangled groan. 

“Jules…” he pleaded. 

“What? I cannot help it if you are a hopeless fool for her.” She yawned, rose, made a show of stretching, and then sauntered towards the door. She stopped and turned when she was in the doorway. “That is what he meant, Shakespeare, that is.” 

“Are those the bard’s words or your own?.” 

“You should read it; I think you would rather like it…” she ignored his question in favour of shooting him another sly, knowing smirk. “It’s from The Tempest…” 

                                                       ***

“I couldn’t possibly! It is too generous of you-“

“Please, keep it. I never wear it. I only have it because we had to wear blue to a party we had to attend while we were in England. Besides,” Juleka cast a quick, knowing glance in his direction that flooded his face with heat, “I am sure you will have more use for it than I ever could.” 

Marinette looked like she wanted to protest even as she glanced longingly at the paper-wrapped package in her hands. 

“Keep it, I insist,” Juleka added in a tone that was soft but left no room for argument. 

“Thank you for your generosity, Juleka.” The appreciative smile Marinette gave Juleka was enough to take his breath away. 

Of course, she had been leaving him rather breathless all morning. Ever since she had entered the dining room like the morning sun. The way she had smiled at him so brightly and softly as she bid him good morning… the way she had continued to smile at him as they broke their fast… it had been like feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time all over again.

And the conversation had been as effortless as it had been the night before. The meal had been filled with her brightly animated and cheerful conversation and warm smiles. She had even drawn Juleka out of her shell, and his sister had been rather talkative during the meal. Or at least what could be considered talkative for Juleka. 

If only all mornings could be such as this one had been. 

He started at Juleka’s cough. She and Marinette—along with Kaalki and Sass, who were standing a little off to the side—were all staring at him. The heat in his cheeks deepened. He had been entirely lost in reliving the glorious morning that had had to come to an end. 

He didn’t want to say goodbye. 

He didn’t want her to go. 

Even though she would be returning soon enough for the ball... He did not want her to leave. 

But she had to. 

She was smiling at him. That radiantly sweet smile that made thoughts difficult. “Thank you for…” she dropped her gaze as colour flooded her cheeks before peeking up at him through her lashes. “for everything you have done for me, Luka.”  

He couldn’t keep the giddy, fools’ grin from his face at the sound of her saying his name. “There is no need to thank me, Marinette.” He meant those words as much as he had when he had said them in the middle of the storm. Perhaps, he meant them even more now. 

Her smile melted into something even more beautiful when he said her name, and his heart tripped over itself. 

She bobbed small curtsies to him, Juleka, Kaalki, and Sass. And then she turned to the door. Halfway out the door, she cast a glance back at him as she clutched her package closer to her chest. When their eyes met, she smiled. And he knew her smile had been just for him. 

And then she was gone, and Sass was closing the door. 

“I believe that means I won.”

“What? Won?” He turned in time to see Juleka nod as she looked down at her pocketbook. Beside her, Kaalki was smiling smugly as Sass peered over Juleka’s shoulder. “You- you… isn’t betting unladylike?” he asked incredulously. 

Kaalki raised a brow. “Oh, Luka, you know very well that as long as it is not done too often, it is perfectly acceptable for a lady to take part in a friendly wager.” She strode past him, pausing long enough to give his cheek an affectionate little pat as she smirked. “Especially when a win is all but guaranteed.” 

“What?” he spluttered after her. But she just laughed airily as she turned the corner, calling out for Sass to follow her.  

Juleka snapped her pocketbook shut loud enough to make him jump. When he turned back to her, she was grinning like the cat that had caught the canary.  

___________________________________________________________

The Clarsach is one of Scotland's oldest instruments https://hellomusictheory.com/learn/scottish-instruments/

Horses and what it means when they breath into your face http://www.dba-oracle.com/horse_manners.htm https://horseyhooves.com/signs-a-horse-likes-you/

The Shakespeare quote: ‘Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service’ (The Tempest – Act 3, Scene 1)

Fun fact! Guitars are actually historically accurate to this time period!

It wasn't the housekeeper's job to serve dinner (it was the responsibility of the butler) but Kaalki wasn't about to miss out!

#regency au #endgame lukanete #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #polaris the horse #trixx #longg #kaalki #sass #juleka couffaine #idiots in love #regency idiots in love #fluff

[prometheusinitiative]

Emmeline || MM || Floating

Emmeline never liked the water.

It was too much of a silent, cold, unknowing killer. Water didn’t care if it filled you up and writhed into lungs it should never know. 

The void is the same in a way, and so Emmeline decides she doesn’t like it either.

It fills everything with such dread and hopelessness. How do you stop a fall? The only way leads to broken bones and shattered organs.

Unless.

Someone catches you.

Are you there Zib?

She remembers the screen flickering on and off, Ithika concerned at it and Kezia holding her hand. A flash. An image, like a camera filming them from behind. Ithika’s words: Zibelline is in the tower.

Were you always there Zib?

The nights she shed more tears that could possibly be contained into her body before finally drifting off to sleep, the hours she locked herself in the laboratory just so her hands could stop shaking from fear, so that they could hold a vial instead. A little death just for her. She could decide it was over anytime.

I’m sorry…

Only now, after drowning and falling and crying and dying, she sees everyone deciding to keep living.

And she wants that too. Despite all the horrible things that could happen. Flashes of colours surround her, of people who keep living. Hinrik’s glimmering pelt and a sweeping motion of Tracy’s mighty wings dying down. Shimmering leylines enveloping Kezia’s rising shape, the sparks from Michiya. Phosphorescent eyes, opening more and more, Jules infinite gaze and Ridley’s gleaming fangs bared. Translucent blue hands, climbing and grabbing, 16 never giving up. Morph becoming nerve and flesh and bone and sinew and life. And Ozséb, Oz and the beautiful fire he housed in his chest, that could never be doused completely.

Fear fills her like water. But so does hope.

A waterfall rushes up, catching her feet and propelling her. Rushing water like thousands of wild horses.

She holds her axe high, prepares for the impact, and prepares to second Morph in attacking the ribs.

Water fills everything. Even a void.

#submission #mm #emmeline

[e350tb]

The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter One)

One

An uninvited guest arrives at the Noceda residence.

Right, settle down everyone, time for a history lesson.

No, no, please save the questions for the end of the class.

At the beginning of the seventeenth century, English settlers - note the terminology there, English, not British, the Act of Union doesn’t happen for another hundred years. Anyway, English settlers started to cross the Atlantic in earnest to colonise what we now call the eastern seaboard of the United States. While Englishmen liked to claim they weren’t motivated by the same ‘base’ desires as the Spaniards in Central and South America, generally speaking, colonists were motivated by the same three things as the conquistadors.

There’s our key words - glory, God and gold.

Not literally gold - the hopes of gold nuggets on shores of Virginia didn’t bear fruit - but commodities. Beaver pelts and tobacco, things you couldn’t get in Europe at the time. The trade in rare goods and eventually humanity would enrich both colonists and their backers for the next two hundred years. They also served as breeding grounds for religious dissent.

Ah, dissenters. We’ll come back to them, because they’re much more interesting than they sound. 

By the 1630s, the colonies in Virginia and Massachusetts are fairly well established, and people are spreading out in search of more land. If you’re a settler in Massachusetts and you want to find a new patch of land away from everyone else, well, Connecticut’s right there.

There’s a lot of debate over which town is the oldest in Connecticut - traditionally, it’s Wethersfield. But a few academics have argued that that laurel belongs to a different township - the one in which we are gathered today.

Which brings us to 1635, and the establishment of Gravesfield by ten men who had wandered over from the Colony of Massachusetts Bay. Perhaps no town in the state has as much weird colonial lore as us.

And how much of it is true?

Well, that’s for historians to work out…

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It all began on a dark and grey autumn day.

When something happens in a small town like Gravesfield, it gets everyone’s attention. About two weeks ago, for example, the curator of the local historical society had been arrested, fined and fired for trespassing, and it was still the talk of the town. They whispered about it in the cafes, shared articles in the offices, and presented wild, unsubstantiated theories about it on local talk radio.

“So you’re saying that we can’t trust historians?”

A few drops of rain rapped against the window - it was one of those days where it doesn’t rain, but it gusts heavily, and droplets are caught in the wind. The kitchen was dark; light shadows danced on the wall, and the illuminated numbers on the microwave seemed almost brilliant in the gloom. It very much matched the mood.

“Look, Kerry, I’m not sayin’ all historians are bad, but you gotta listen to some o’ these people; the things they say about Jefferson n’ Washington n’ all them folks. They get their kicks on bein’ right and tearin’ people down, this Hopkins fella probably wanted to prove something, and…”

Over the dim sound of the radio, one could hear the clock; tick, tick, tick, tick. Occasionally it was drowned out as a gust rattled the windows and doors, but the sound always returned, constant and ever present - tick, tick, tick, tick.

Time. Ever ticking, ever moment. Every moment, a moment stolen.

“And that was Marvin from Bridge Street. We’ll come back to that, but first the news on the hour. Brad?”

On the bench, next to the phone, stood a small picture frame, the glass slightly illuminated in the stormy afternoon light. To all the world, it showed a typical family - a man, a woman and a little girl. The man’s face was obscured by the light, but one could see the clear similarities in the faces of the mother and daughter.

Those that were here. Those that were now gone.

“The Los Angeles Police Department has announced an amber alert that was put into place several months ago has been withdrawn. In defiance of all expectations, a teenager, whose family has asked for anonymity, returned home over the weekend; two other missing girls, whose cases were connected to the teenager, remain missing at this-”

Camila Noceda turned off the radio.

She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock. It had been a long day. It had been a long few weeks.

Unlike those engaging in baseless speculation about the case of Jacob Hopkins, Camila knew exactly what had happened to the previously respected amateur historian. She could even tell you who the mysterious assailant who had beaten him up and left him for the police was; it was her.

She was quite happy to remain anonymous, too. She didn’t want any laurels, any radio interviews, anything like that. She didn’t want to be reminded of that day.

Not while Luz remained separated from her.

Everything about the situation boggled her mind. The Boiling Isles, the Owl House, Emperor Belos - they sounded like fantasy; even she’d thought they were fantasy to begin with. But the idea that they were real, and that her daughter was in such a dangerous world - willingly, no less - was absolutely terrifying.

The same words ran through her head, day in and day out.

“Staying here was the best decision I ever made…”

Had she really been that bad of a mother?

There was a strange thumping noise outside. For a moment, Camila ignored it, but then it came again, louder this time. 

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

It was like something was trying to break through a door.

Camila shot up - was it Vee? No, she was at school (where everyone still believed she was Luz - Camila swallowed the thought.) Was an animal trapped under the house - or had Hopkins started trapping them again? If he was, she was going to make their last encounter feel positively…

BANG!

Camila jumped. It was definitely coming from the front yard - this time it sounded a bit like a car backfiring, but much louder and much closer. The thumps were getting more frequent too, almost like a heartbeat - thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump!

She looked out the window.

There was… something swirling and morphing on the front lawn, trying and failing to manifest into a single unified shape. She could just about see the frame of a door, and a swirling landscape of… nothing behind. It almost hurt her eyes to look at. Yet she could just about swear she could see a silhouette through the shifting, swirling frame.

Luz!

She raced to the front door and threw it open, just in time for the door frame to settle - only a little, as the edges still twirled and twitched like a heart in cardiac arrest. The figure stepped forward, and Camila realised there was another held in her arms.

She stepped into the light, and Camila’s heart skipped a beat.

The figure was about Luz’ age, she reckoned - her hair was a bright purple, with edges of brown, and she wore what looked almost like a robe with purple sleeves and pants. Her eyes were a hazel brown, and her skin was pale - but more remarkable were her pointed ears.

And yet Camilia’s eyes focused on the limp form in her arms, her brown hair messy, her tan skin covered in cuts and bruises, and her breathing heavy and laboured.

The other girl spoke, her voice shaking.

“Are you Luz’s mom?”

Camila’s hands covered her mouth.

“Luz,” she whispered.

She was running before she knew it, sprinting over to the limp form of her daughter. She barely heard the other girl; she seemed to be babbling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Emperor Belos, the golden guard, they-they came without warning a-a-and this was the only thing I could think of! Sh-she needs help but I don’t know…”

Camila took her from the girl’s arms, swiftly placing a finger on Luz’s wrist - a pulse, even and regular, if a bit shallow. Good sign, but she needed to get inside. She could go to pieces later; right now Luz needed her.

“It’s okay, mija, mami’s here,” she whispered. “We need to get you inside, come on…”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know how to…”

Camila looked back at the girl as she turned to run inside.

“You can tell me about it later,” she said. “We need to lie her down.”

She raced inside - she thought she heard the girl sprinting after her - and ran into the living room, laying Luz down on the couch. Quickly she checked her temperature - seemed okay, but her skin was a little clammy. More important were the cuts and bruises. She needed bandages, and probably a hospital. She needed to call an ambulance, now, and…

“M-Ms. Noceda?”

The girl had arrived behind her - she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

“Can… can I try something?”

Camila opened her mouth to reply - what could she do? Luz needed a doctor! She needed a hospital, she needed…

Slowly, the girl stepped forward, standing over Luz’s unconscious form.

“Lilith said I wasn’t supposed to use this unless it was an emergency,” she said, “but I think this is an emergency, so…”

She touched her forehead to Luz’.

“With this spell declared… let the pain be shared.”

Camila stepped back, eyes wide, as both Luz and the girl glowed blue. The light intensified, and for a moment, she had to shield her eyes.

When she regained her vision, the girl was slumped next to the couch, sweating and breathing a little heavily; but Luz looked noticeably healthier, and many of the worst cuts and bruises were gone.

“What…”

“I shared the pain,” the girl said woosily.

“I… you could’ve hurt yourself!” exclaimed Camila. “Y-you have hurt yourself! I…”

“Yeah?” The girl chuckled humourlessly. “It’s worth it… as long as Luz is okay.”

CRASH! BANG! THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!

Camila jumped and turned around. Outside the door, she could just about see the magical doorway violently twitch and swirl, thrashing like a trapped, wounded animal. For a moment, it seemed almost to be in a state of rage, as if it would lunge at Camila in a last, desperate effort; for help or to main, she could not say.

Then there was a loud pop, and it was gone. It was as if it had never been there.

“Your… portal?” Camila said, her throat dry. “It’s gone.”

“I…” The girl had hobbled to her feet and was gazing outside to where the door had been. She swayed on her feet.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, Titan.”

Like a puppet with its strings cut, she swayed and dropped to the floor.

Camila looked down at the two unconscious girls; she mopped her brow, forcing herself not to panic or cry. She needed to keep herself together, to make sure Luz and her - friend, maybe? - were okay. Then she could cry all she liked.

There was a knock, and Camila turned back to the door. There was another girl, one eerily similar to Luz, standing there - she looked deeply confused.

“Camila?” she asked. “I-is everything okay?”

Camila swallowed, wondering how she was going to explain any of this.

#the owl house #luz noceda #amity blight #camila noceda #vee #fanfiction #writing #a blight on gravesfield

[jjpogue]

❝I have a Voice — jb.r

Prompt: “We had a terrible breakup and now we’re locked in together during a storm and can sit here or finally talk AU” — @dailyau​

Summary: In which you and John B are stuck on a boat together and finally talk after your messy breakup.  

Pairing: John B Routledge x Reader 

Length: 965 words

Warnings: swearing, virginity mentioned, John B is not the hero!

Your hair was soaked, sticking to your skin. In fact, you were wet all over. Your clothes were feeling heavy on your person and your shorts chaffed every step you took. All in all: highly uncomfortable. But that, unfortunately, wasn’t the worst of it. 

You were stuck on the little HMS Pogue with none other than your bitter ex, one John B Routledge. It had been a whirlwind summer romance to rival Shakespeare. But sweet kisses and whispers of growing old together were turned sour, morphed into venom-laced curses and guttural screams. Declarations of true love made way for declarations of hatred and despoilment. 

Despite the messy way it ended you were still loyal, still good. And when John B needed someone to accompany him on his routine fishing trip you raised your hand when others couldn’t. You knew it would be tense and awkward but a small part of you hoped you could make repairs to your relationship.

But it didn’t take long for the universe to interject- a storm had come down on the pair of you before you knew it. It couldn’t be any less than divine disaster. You were far enough out from shore you were rocked by rising waves and pelted by rain in bullet form. John B had done his best to return to land but his impaired senses had ended up hitting the boat on a sandbar and getting you stuck until the storm subsided. 

You had kicked and screamed, feeling that familiar rage for the boy as that fateful night. But you were soon exhausted emotionally, as well as physically, curling up on the end of the boat in a pool of rain water and tears. You didn't care how pruned you would become, how you risked a cold. None of that crossed your mind in your state of hopelessness and fatigue. You had to laugh in spite at how shitty your situation had become so quickly.

John B had thankfully remained quiet post outburst. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and take your words in, regret showing in his eyes. 

For the longest time he didn’t admit he had found eyes for another. You gave him your everything only to have it taken for granted. And it wasn’t the fact that he had fallen out of love with you that hurt the most. It was the fact he couldn’t be honest with you. Couldn’t own up to his cowardice and tell it to your face until it got messy and hurtful and angry. 

You had regressed to sniffles and a bit of a runny nose at this point, curling further in on yourself, shivering and wet as the rain continued. You felt a warmth at your back, a solid form press into you. Your skin pricked at the sensation of a hand, the roughness feeling all too familiar. Once he held you so delicately, gave  you pleasure you hadn’t felt before and you blossomed under his touch. But now it made you feel dirty and used, and you wretched, pulling away from his touch. 

He brought his hand back to his lap, looking down, his face shadowed in dark blues and grays like the clouds above. His hair, usually so fluffy and round was flattened to the curves of his skull. “I’m sorry.” Was all he said. And that made you angry.

“I don’t want your apology. I want to be home and fucking dry.” You snipped back at him.

John B’s brow scrunched up and his expression looked pained. His eyes were squinted and he had to raise his voice over the rain. “Look, (y/n), I know you hate my guts but I want to fix this. I fucked up and I regret it so bad and I want to be back together with you. I thought one thing, but it was wrong and I miss you. I miss us.” 

You brought yourself up on your hands, turning your head to face John B, who even while sitting was still much taller than you. You scowled at him, feeling the bile rise in your throat and your stomach churned. “You think I want to be with you? After what you pulled?” You scoffed, “You told me you loved me and I believed you, I truly believed you and I gave you my heart on a silver platter! I thought those days would be the happiest of my life,”

“And I do love you-”

“No!” You cried out, “Let me finish.” You felt desperate, like a wild animal clawing at its cage. You felt such pressure under John B’s gaze and his distorted messed up feelings. His inability to realize his faults and his obsession with this false idea that love was meant to last. 

“I gave you something I can never have back, you took my virginity and you can’t seem to understand the gravity of that! How, for the rest of my life I will regret the fact I wasted it on you!

“But I bet that didn’t even cross your mind, huh? You’re so fucking obsessed with this idea of me you have in your head. Like I’m some doll you can play with- a doll you can toss in the trash and take back out at will because that doll can’t say anything. But guess what, John B? I have a voice and you can’t take that away from me!”

You stood triumphantly and turned your back on John B. You jumped off the side of the boat, diving into the dark water. No matter how far you had to swim you would swim it. You didn’t want to spend another moment when John B when you were ready to move on. Life doesn’t wait on lost love.

MASTERLIST

If you want more content like this my ask box is always open!

I love getting comments and feedback so please consider it ^^

#obx #outer banks #john b x reader #obx x reader #john b imagine #obx john b #obx fanfiction #chase stokes #chase stokes x reader

[thesolitarystripe]

Tindyl’s Origin

How I’ve not posted this is beyond me..

It was an especially bright night, the evening that Tindyl was born. The moon was high in the sky. Its shimmering image was crisp and untouched by clouds. It was taken as a good omen as the young night elf was birthed beneath the giant limbs of Teldrassil. She was born of parents; Bai’len Moonwillow and Laurêl Sagebloom.

Bai’len, a Druid of the Claw, came from a long line of druids that also followed the path of Urso and Ursol. When his daughter was born, he dreamed of a life for her where she might follow in her ancestor’s footsteps.  As the world turned and decades passed, it became an apparent reality that times were changing. Female Kaldorei were becoming druids and males taking up Priesthood. Though he was conservative in his beliefs, a faint flicker of hope welled within him—perhaps Tindyl Willowmoon could become a druid.

It was a silent wish he kept to himself for many years.

Much of Tindyl’s childhood passed as it did for all Kaldorei children. She ran through the forests, danced with the whispering wind, and lost herself amongst the fields of flowers. Bai’len saw her connection with nature at an early age; though all night elves bore the same deep love for the perseverance of nature and swore their lives to protect it, he was sure that when Tindyl spoke to the trees, they spoke back.

When the young night elf reached the age of 100, she had a general grasp of all the duties available to her within their society. Bai’len taught her without sway. Though the druid tried to remain unbiased in his teachings, he couldn’t help but spend a little extra time showing her how to sharpen her claws or learn how to knit her pelt so tightly together that it felt like iron.

On days when the sun was high and the forest lost some of its naturally dim hues, Bai’len would take Tindyl to the main continent of Kalimdor, into the trees of Darkshore, and spar with her. The little she-elf practiced shifting in and out of different forms and did so adeptly. Bai’len knew fully that not every elf born had the knack for nature magic and the fact that his daughter caught on at such a young age, surprised even him.

He chose to practice away from their home for fear that others might think ill of him. While it had become more commonplace for females to practice druidism, his old bones felt the uneasiness of thousands of years of tradition. Some still did not approve of the societal changes and Bai’len feared that Tindyl might be treated harshly for her interests.

So, they spent their mornings nestled in the cool forest of Darkshore. Tindyl would practice shifting until Bai’len saw no hesitation in the way her body morphed. This simple teaching left her too fatigued to carry out any other lessons but; as she grew, her body became resilient and she took on the form of a cat, doe, bear, and dolphin with relative ease.

When she had the energy, Bai’len challenged his daughter to a sparring match. At first the young one was shy and meek to fight her father. When she stood beside her father in his guardian form, her eyes would fall to the massive prints left in the damp dirt as he walked from her and she worried that her own paws might never grow to even half the size.

Despite the hesitant approach Tindyl took to swatting at her father with a thick paw, the elder did not relent. With the same ferocity he would take to battle, he dove at Tindyl; teeth bared, claws protruding, and a mighty roar shaking the trees around them. Day by day, she cowered less and fought back more.

There were not many matches that she won but every so often, her teeth would nip the right spot behind her father’s neck and the druid would howl. One paw might swipe above his massive head, but she was small and quick. With the distraction, Tindyl would seize her opportunity as Bai’len stood with only three feet upon the earth. Their bodies crashed together as she lunged fearlessly, and they toppled into the grass in a pile of silver fur.

Bai’len’s laugh was as loud and rumbling as his roar. In an unusual display of public affection; he’d scoop up Tindyl and press his forehead against hers and scold her playfully for picking on her old father. Tindyl would laugh, roll her glowing silver eyes, and push herself out of his grasp.

It wasn’t long into her adulthood that he watched Tindyl’s demeanor change. While she obeyed and trained in the shade of Darkshore, there was a heaviness upon her heart. Her laughter did not echo between trees like part of nature’s symphony. Bai’len found her one evening sitting in a large meadow, head back as she stared up at the moon.

“What troubles you?” He asked in his deep baritone.

Tindyl’s eyes shut and a long breath slipped through her lips slowly.

“You’ve always told me of my ancestors, of your father and mother, and of theirs, Druids of the Claw. Druids of the Talon.”

Bai’len stood with bated breath. This was the moment his heart had held onto from the moment Tindyl’s first cries were lifted upon the wind and into the branches of their home. Yet, he felt as if he hadn’t enough time to prepare over these last 105 years. The druid stood beside her now, eyes fixed upon her face as his daughter’s brow knit together.

“I do not think I was meant to follow in their stead,” her voice was almost fearful as she said it. Those bright eyes opened and watched for her father’s reaction.

Inwardly, Bai’len felt a piece of him shatter but his face remained smooth.

“You have always had a choice, daughter. It would be an honor to serve with The Sentinels or even one day, The Wardens.”

“An’da,” her hand waved in the air dismissively.

Thinking that his daughter meant to shy away from his suggestion of becoming a Warden, Bai’len continued. “It is a high honor Tindyl, you’ve trained extensively in many areas I do not doubt—” Bai’len was interrupted.

“I do not want to be a Sentinel or a Warden.” As if preparing for battle, Tindyl got to her feet noiselessly.

“Then, what is it you want?”

Their shadows were cast long against the lush green grass as the moon shined down upon them. A desperate prayer was lifted to Elune as Tindyl took another deep breath and clenched her fists.

“I want to be a Druid of the Wild, I want to learn more of what you’ve taught me all these years. You said when I was young that it was uncommon that someone should be able to shapeshift into more than one form. I think..I must have been born with this gift, given to me by Elune herself!”

It amused Bai’len slightly to see his daughter’s purple skin flush with a red undertone as she passionately delivered her reasoning.

“While I love spending time with you in the forest, I do not think that I was meant to follow the path of Urso and Ursol. Nor am I meant to follow Avianna.”

“What do you intend then?” Bai’len’s arms were crossed lightly over his wide chest.

“I’m going to use magic…nature magic…to…heal.”

A single thick, silver brow raised high as Tindyl delivered her intentions in full. Bai’len’s composure broke mildly as his lips parted and he gazed down at his child in bewilderment.

“I’ve not taught you anything of restoration, who has put this thought into your head?”

“I did.” Tindyl stared up at her An’da, voice firm and calm for the first time during their meeting beneath the moon. “I would gladly spill blood to protect our home, our kin, our ways but it does not feel right. I am a warrior only because you’ve taught me how to be one, but it is not who I am within my heart.”

Tindyl waited in agony as silence fell between them. It was not within her nature to fidget or show any signs of her true emotions, but her eyes did hold the vision of Bai’len’s face tensely. The elder rubbed his forefinger over his bearded chin. The white hair bristled beneath his fingers as he scraped at the dark purple skin below it.

“I will not allow this, Tindyl.”

“But you would allow me to strap a bow to my back and ride a nightsaber alongside my sisters who die in battle against those that encroach on our home?”

“Do not raise your voice to me,” Bai’len threatened, voice like the snarl of a bear.

“Traditions are important, father.” Tindyl composed herself in an effort at another attempt to persuade him. “I believe that fully. Our ways should be preserved, our beliefs upheld, but I ask if you would allow me to practice druidism—something once unheard of for a female not many moons ago, why do you baulk at the idea of my healing? I only want to serve our people, to heal the wounds that would not otherwise mend. I’ve seen the soft green glow of that magic flow through my veins in dreams sent to me by the moon goddess. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers when they graze the petals of flowers and trunks of our trees. I will not allow it to consume me, not like it did to mother.”

Bai’len’s head snapped upward from where his eyes had drifted to a single flower swaying in the breeze.

“You will release this foolish dream from your head.”

That was the last word. Bai’len left Tindyl standing under the comforting rays of the moon. Tindyl sunk to her knees where she stood. The small stalks of grass were light against her skin, wrapping around her fingers and wrists as if to console her. The earth beneath her fingertips sang to Tindyl in the chirp of insects and call of evening birds. She knew it in her heart that what she said was true.

A single tear dripped down her alabaster skin and fell into the dirt below. In a dizzying instant, a wisp of green light shot upward. It vanished as quickly as it came and, in its place, stood a fresh silver flower. Tindyl’s hands hesitantly cupped its petals. The faintest green hue emanated within her palms and caressed the smooth edges of the plant that had just come into existence. A somber smile graced the night elf’s lips. She kept her hands around the flower as she leaned back and looked up at the moon.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were carried away upon the wind, whisked up and away into the leaves of their mighty Teldrassil. She could only hope Elune heard her and continued to show her the path she was meant to tread.

#World of Warcraft #creative writing #writing #wow oc #OC #Author #writing prompt #creativewriting #my writing #thesolitarystripe

[mistytheguardian]

Free Dupplebie Ref. Sheet + Rules and Regulations.

Dupplebies are an original species by me that are a sort of cross between a deer and a dragon. There are some rules that need to be followed if you want to create one for yourself.

Physical Guidelines

No more than 6 colors for the fur color scheme

No more than 8 spikes on the face (four by each eye)

Must have at least 2 prongs on each antler (even duppie puppies)

No pupils, only irises

The "whites" of the eyes must be black or a dark shade of the iris

All Dupplebies have a themed charm on their tail. It must go with their name, base idea, or color scheme

Tail puff is as big as the head

DM me about stripes

Their upper "canine teeth" are on the outside of their mouth

Species Behavior

They eat birds, berries, and sometimes fish

They love rain and swimming

They tend to live in deep caves or large tree hollows

Dupplebies keep their young in large, house-like nests made of leaves in their den when they must leave to hunt or forage

Dupplebie young are called Duppie Puppies

Since there are so many stories about Dupplebies being monsters that steal children to eat, they are hunted quite often to "prevent anymore death"

Dupplebies mate for life

They usually don't speak at all. Dupplebies let out little yelps and whines. They only growl when they're angry

Most Dupplebies live up in trees to hide from hunters and other predators

Rare Variants

You will have to DM me about these to get permission to have one.

Titans: They always have 8 spikes on their face and at least 9 points on their antlers. Their tail puffs are larger than their heads. They are strictly carnivorous and very aggressive (think of them as an Alpha lion in a pride)

Vaporwaves: Their pelts are made up of bright and unnatural colors (ex. neon or dark but unusually colored, brightly colored facial stripes/spots, brightly colored hooves, antlers, and spikes). Their facial spikes and antlers are oddly shaped and their spikes can produce a gooey slime.

Descendants: They still obtain features from ancestors that lived thousands of years ago. Certain Dupplebies are born with 4 antlers, 4 ears, a split ended tail, double fangs, and even claw-like hooves. Some of these traits are better developed in different sections of the country they live in as habitat adaptations.

Species Lore

TO BE ANNOUNCED! (an auditory explanation will be made soon)

Hundreds of years ago, a coven of dark witches gathered a small herd of deer together for a ceremony. They had been ridiculed and banished from their villages and they wanted the people to pay. A curse was cast upon the deer to morph them into large creatures with sharp teeth, black eyes, and claw-like hooves. They were called Dupplebies. The creatures were created for one sole purpose: to terrorize the witches’ former villages.

For nearly a century, these creatures were rumored to steal children in the dead of night to be eaten and sacrificed by the coven. However, the vicious rampages ended after all the coven had passed on. The creatures lost their aggressive nature and wandered with no purpose.

Even though they became quite docile, villagers still feared the creatures. Rumors would be spread of their vicious nature and they would be killed on site. This led to their near extinction over the next few centuries. However, the Dupplebie species has been making a comeback in recent years. Now they live all across the globe and even in different dimensions in some cases. Some of them have adapted to their new environments to live easier. They are still hunted because of their history so instead of living in herds, the Dupplebies became solitary creatures. After a mere six months, most adults will abandon their young to ensure their survival. This is one of the reasons they are seldom seen in the wild. When one is spotted, a large bounty will be announced for the beast. Their antlers and skulls are valuable decorative material and their hydes are coveted by wealthy nobles and fur traders. Their meat is inedible due to their toughened muscles, but some desire the meat just for the rarity.

It's up to you guys to repopulate the Dupplebie species! Make your own Dupplebies and tag me so I can see them!

#furry #furry fandom #furry anthro #original species #dupplebie #dupplebies #official ref sheet #reference sheet #send me your dupplebies!!! #free to use #f2u with credit #f2u base #open species #species lore

[spindlta]

Ginny Weasley and Riddle’s Diary

Harry was dead. That was all Ginny knew. That was the only thought she could form. Harry is dead. Harry is dead. Harry is dead.

At some point it morphed to Harry is gone. Which was different, because dead was just an adjective--it could be anything. Harry is young. Harry is tired. Harry is dead.

But Harry is gone.

Harry is gone.

A hand squeezed hers. She looked up, to Bill, standing on her left. He didn’t say anything, though he opened his mouth as if he wanted to. Arthur stood to Ginny’s left, his arm half up as if to stop Ginny from running towards the body lying on the floor. She had tried to do that, hadn’t she? She had tried to run, when she first saw it, but now she could only stare at the broken figure, limp, with blood soaking the t-shirt. The killing curse doesn’t do that, though, Ginny though. A spark of hope was born and then floundered in her stomach. No, the killing curse didn’t cover the victim in blood. But then, maybe the Dark Lord hadn’t used the killing curse. That didn’t change the fact, Ginny knew, deep down, that Harry was dead.

A scream cut through Ginny’s reverie. Neville. Flames. Flames on Neville’s head. The sorting hat. And then Ginny heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted towards the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Hagrid’s giant brother came lumbering round the side of the castle and yelled, ‘HAGGER!’ His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves, and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

The wave of Death Eaters pushed towards the crowd. Arthur was trying to pull Ginny back, and she felt her wand arm rise at her side. Bill had jumped in front of her, and Ron, Hermione, and George were sending off curses like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. Hagrid’s shout split the air and Ginny came to her senses, stumbling back, but at that same second, Neville moved too.

In one swift, fluid motion he broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming Hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet –

He’s going to die, Ginny thought. And then her wand arm was moving and Protego and a silvered sheet of air shot between the two groups, between Neville and Voldemort, but it wouldn’t last long. Arhur was still pulling her back, the entire Weasley unit simultaneously stumbling backwards, pulling with them anyone they could find, then a single person- first Ron, then Percy, then Hermione- shooting forward to send curses or hexes towards the mass of black and gold, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them. Then, over the screams, and the roars, and the thunderous stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid’s yell came loudest of all.

‘HARRY!’ Hagrid shouted, GET AWAY – DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HARRY!’

Ginny’s heart seized up. Harry. He was still out there. His body-- he was still-- she could see him, half-shielded under Hagrid’s crouching form, still on the ground. Chaos reigned around his corpse. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Ginny saw great winged creatures soaring around the heads of Voldemort’s giants, Thestrals and Buckbeak the Hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummelled them; and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Voldemort’s Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle. His body was near to being trampled by the retreating crowd.

‘NO! GINEVRA, DON’T YOU DARE!’ Molly’s hand gripped Ginny’s and pulled her backwards.

‘Mum, he’s there-- let me-- let me go!’

Their hands were ripped apart by the force of the crowd, but even then Ginny couldn’t break free. She was pushed back, back, back into the Entrance Hall. A fight was already flourishing inside it, this time in closer quarters than ever before in the battle. Slughorn dashed up the steps, still in his emerald pyjamas, dueling Yaxley. Flitwick was locked in combat with Dolohov. Students, too shocked to fight, were stumbling out of the way, crouching in corners, and others were joining the fray with renewed zeal.

Like Ginny should. She pushed herself away from the wall she had come to be leaning against, and stunned a black-cloaked figure backing towards her. Just as she prepared to surge forward and carve a path through the Death Eaters for Harry, for Harry-

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the Entrance Hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: ‘Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!’

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Ginny looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

But it was not over yet: a gleeful laugh arose, high above the shouts and bellows, and Ginny realised she could never stop fighting until the creature that had killed Harry was dead.

She sped between duellers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall.

Voldemort was in the centre of the battle, and he was striking and smiting all within reach. Ginny only stared. He was not how he had been in her second year. He was not charming, and handsome, and kind. But he was the same man. Just as cold, just as sharp.

She could not get a clear shot, but fought her way nearer, and the Great Hall became more and more crowded, as everyone who could walk forced their way inside. Ginny saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and Lee Jordan, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick’s hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Luna’s curse, hit the stone wall opposite and slide unconscious to the ground. He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback, Aberforth Stunning Rookwood, Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.

Voldemort was now duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and there was cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him--

Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she duelled three at once: Hermione, Luna and Katie Bell, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and Ginny rushed forward only as Bellatrix rebounded Hermione’s curse and Katie crumpled. Hermione and Luna froze.

A wild laugh echoed, and Ginny stepped over Katie’s body--she was still breathing, thank Merlin-- and raised her wand. This woman had tortured Neville’s parents. This woman had killed Sirius. ‘It’s not-’ she began, but she never got to finish her sentence.

There was a green flash of light and Ginny blocked only just in time. Hermione and Luna, either side of her, were startled back into awareness, and then curses were flying freely. Bellatrix’s red flash-- Hermione responded with confringo to the wall behind her-- Luna’s protego-- another green flash-- then Ginny’s own reducto--

The battle around them was still going--

Bombarda--

There was still shouting, and crashing, and swearing, though a lot less screaming--

Oppugno--

And Ginny had to wonder, who was winning? But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t take her eyes away from--

Relashio--

Another green flash, this time heading straight for Ginny. She felt her breath catch. At least in death she would join Harry and George and all the others she would be missing in life. But at the last second, as a scream escaped from Hermione’s mouth, a hand yanked Ginny backwards.

Panting hard, Ginny saw her mother, Molly Weasley, with eyes like fire, stepping forward. ‘NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!’

Mum threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ shouted Mrs Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand she began to duel. Ginny watched with terror and elation as her mother’s wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered, and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

A particularly fast curse shot past her mother’s shoulder, and Ginny shook herself, jumping forward to help. She wasn’t losing her mother as well. ‘No!’ her mother cried. ‘Get back! Get back! She is mine!’

Ginny vaguely realised that hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights: Voldemort and his three opponents; Bellatrix and Molly. Ginny stood, invisible, torn between both, wanting to throw herself at Voldemort, who had killed Harry, and yet unable to turn from her mother.

‘What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?’ taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her.  ‘When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?’

Ginny started forward, already forming a curse in her mind. It didn’t matter if her mother wanted the honour of killing Bellatrix. For saying that, Ginny would kill her.

But, ‘You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!’ screamed Mrs Weasley, and then Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backwards through the veil. Somehow, Ginny knew what was going to happen before it did.

Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: for the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed.

Ginny felt as though she turned in slow motion; she saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backwards, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb. Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley, at Ginny’s mother, who was still watching with vindictive pride the still body of Bellatrix Lestrange.

‘PROTEGO,’ roared Ginny, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the hall.

Voldemort’s wrathful features twisted further, and his wand turned from Molly to Ginny herself.

‘GINNY,’ screamed Ron, and she felt her mother’s grip trying to pull her back. Across the hall, behind Voldemort, Ginny even thought she saw Dean Thomas darting forward as if to help her. But she would not turn from Voldemort. She pulled away from her mother, and she whispered, beneath her breath, her daughter’s name.

‘No, Mum,’ Ginny said, not taking her eyes from Voldemort. ‘I’ve got to do this. Let me do this. He won’t kill me.’

The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Ginny looked at each other. A smile spread across his features, cunning and gleeful. ‘Another blood traitor…’ His smile widened. ‘This school does seem rife with them.’

There was silence, and he seemed to realise that there was no one left to laugh for him. His smile turned into a snarl. ‘And tell me, girl, why I will not kill you.’

‘Because you can’t,’ Ginny said simply, not knowing what she was going to say next. ‘I did my research. I might not know everything, but I know enough. Your curses can’t touch us tonight, can they. None of yours can. Oh, we can hit our own--by accident--but you can’t touch us. You can’t touch any of us.’

Ginny felt that, if it had been possible, Voldemort would have paled. Instead, he just gripped his wand tighter in that twisted, pretentious way, and sneered. ‘And I suppose you, too, are going to tell me that love will save you?’

‘Yes.’ Here she had to steel herself. ‘Because Harry didn’t die running away. Harry died for us. He died protecting us. Just as Lily Potter died protecting him. Love kept him safe. And it will keep me safe, too, for however long it takes for me to kill you.’

He laughed, a cold, high sound that bounced back from the heights of the ceiling and died in the silent, breathing air. And in his rasping, lilting voice, he said, ‘You’ll forgive me, I think, if I don’t quake before a seventeen year old girl.’

‘Sixteen, actually. But that’s okay. I didn’t think you’d remember my birthday.’

‘To remember, I would have had to know in the first place. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been keeping up with the birth announcements in the Daily Prophet.’

‘You knew it, once,’ said Ginny, and she took a step. He mirrored her, and they began to circle. ‘But you’ve forgotten me. That’s alright. It’s an easy mistake to make. But I never forgot you. How could I? You were inside my head for a year.’ They had made a half rotation and Ginny saw her mother, frozen and white, holding and held by Bill. ‘But you forgot something else, as well. I was inside your head, too.’

‘What is this you speak of?’ hissed Voldemort.

‘Your diary. From the year 1943. I wrote to you, and you wrote back. I know how it feels, Ginny. I know how it feels to be forgotten. I know how it feels to be lost. I’m sure you only said it to pull me in, but we lost children always see the truth in each other. The difference is that I’m not lost any more. And you, Tom, are.’

‘You dare –’

‘Yes, I dare. And I know. I know the truth.’ Another quarter turn, and there was Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville, bunched together at the front edge of the crowd, Kingsley and Professor Sprout behind them. ‘I saw who you really were back when you were Tom Marvolo Riddle, half-blood boy from a Muggle orphanage. Desperate for friends, desperate for power. You were just a child. You weren’t any different from anyone else. I was scared, my first year here. Blood on the walls and in my clothes, blank spots in my memory. You used that, you said you knew what it felt like. And you were so kind, so patient. I was so glad I had you. A friend I could carry around in my pocket. But I wasn’t stupid. Even as an eleven-year-old, I could see that you were scared. Scared enough to try to run from death. Scared enough to hide behind a false name. Scared enough to try to kill a baby.’

‘Harry Potter is dead!’ Voldemort shrieked. ‘Your last hope has disappeared.’

‘Fine. Harry’s dead. But he’s not gone. He’s still with us. And he hasn’t taken our last hope with him. He has created hope for all of us. You might have killed him, but we live because of him. And if you think we won’t fight til the very end, until you and everyone who supports you is gone, then you’re wrong. Look around yourself, Tom Riddle. See all the people who stood up to you. Think of all the ones that can’t be here today, but will protect their loved ones from you anyway. We will fight, and we will love, and we will kill, and we will die, until you are dead. We will carry on going until you are gone. We do it for the ones we love.’

‘Love again?’ said Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering, ‘Dumbledore’s favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out Potter’s Mudblood mother like a cockroach– love which has never stopped me before. And nobody seems to love you enough to run forwards, and take my curse. So what will stop you or any other dying now when I strike?’

‘You’re wrong,’ Ginny said. ‘They do love me enough. Anyone in this hall would step forward and die right this second. But they’re going to let me kill you, instead. Because I love Harry. And maybe he is dead, but he did what he had to, and you’re a man now, the same as any other.’

‘Not quite, little girl. You speak of what I have forgotten, but it matters not! I am the master of the Elder Wand.’

Ginny stilled, her foot faltering in the half-turned circle. The Elder Wand. That was of bedtime stories, wasn’t it? But-- no-- she remembered rushed words, whispered between Harry and Ron and Hermione. They had spoken of it, somewhere, somewhen. It was real. The most powerful wand in existence. The Deathstick. And perhaps for now, Voldemort couldn’t kill her, for Harry’s love, but that wouldn’t last forever. He would find a way around it. And then they would all be dead.

A footstep behind her. And, as if no time had passed since Pansy Parkinson had screamed ‘Somebody grab him!’ here in the Great Hall, Hermione had closed the gap between them, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ginny, facing the enemy.

‘You’re not,’ she said, voice shaking. Her lip was split, blood and mud covering her face. ‘You’re not the master of the Elder wand.’

He snarled. ‘I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore. His wand is mine.’

‘It didn’t belong to Professor Dumbledore,’ she said. ‘It belonged to someone else by the time Dumbledore died.’

‘What is this?’

Of all the things that Ginny had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like Hermione’s words. Ginny saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten. And everything clicked together in Ginny’s mind. Harry’s wand, broken. The replacement he had found. The one Ginny recognised, from all the times it had been pointed at her, or at Hermione, or at Ron, or at Harry. Draco’s wand. Harry had overpowered Draco. And Draco…

Harry’s nightmares had said enough. Draco had disarmed Dumbledore.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ said Ron, stepping up to Ginny’s other side. ‘It belonged to Draco Malfoy. Draco disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower that night.’

Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.

‘But what does it matter?’ he said softly. ‘Even if you are right, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the Potter boy: we duel on skill alone, and you are children ... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy ...’

‘Don’t listen to him, Ginny,’ said Ron, very quietly. The whole hall must have heard, it was so quiet. ‘Harry loved us. He loved you. He died for you.’

Ginny steeled herself, and she could have sworn in that moment that she heard Harry’s voice in her ear. I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We could’ve had ages . . . months . . . years maybe. . . . Now she would never have any time with him ever again. But she could make sure that no one else died at Hogwarts. Not tonight. Not one. Except for Tom Marvolo Riddle.

‘We’re the ones Harry loved the most,’ she said. ‘The know-it-all Muggleborn, the stupid Weasley boy, and me. The seventh child of a seventh child. The weak one, who was taken in by a mere diary.’

She took a step forward, raising her wand as Harry had taught her in the Room of Requirement over two years before. Tears were burning behind her eyes. ‘But I managed to get rid of you before, Tom Riddle. I can do it again.’

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Ginny heard the high voice shriek as she, too, pointing her yew wand and thinking of the child Harry had been, the man he had become, yelled her best hope to the heavens:

‘Avada kedavra!’

‘Expelliarmus!’

The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Ginny saw Voldemort’s green jet meet her own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the girl who never made the same mistake twice, the one who had never looked for the Elder Wand because after so long she had learned that all she needed was herself. And Ginny, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in her free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Ginny stood with two wands in her hand, with her brother to her right and her best friend to her left, the dead body of the boy she loved behind her, staring down at her enemy’s shell.

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

thanks to @mamodork for this prompt (I saw the prompt on ig so couldn’t put this as a reblog) (I also literally never use tumblr and I think I tagged wrong but idk)

#haven't edited #ginny weasley #harry potter #harry potter and the deathly hallows #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp #ginny potter #hinny #romione #fanfiction #final battle #battle of hogwarts #ginny #tom riddle #voldemort #saw this as a writing prompt and had to do it #harry potter and the philosopher's stone #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter and the chamber of secrets #neville longbottom #george weasley #fred weasley #molly weasley #bellatrix lestrange

[themappedlands-btb]

Clovis’ Children

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Been a while since I participated. Hope this turned out good!

Tw: gore, animal death, body horror, all a little vague tho

     Clovis breathed in the scent of the forest, glee sparking in their chest. Everything smelled so green and crisp this deep in the wood. The soft bubbling of a stream nearby blending pleasantly with the sound of insects and birds. The way it was supposed to be.

     Of course, the edges of the forest were far from as lovely. It reeked of Sola’s treasured ones, of the blood of their children that Arbor’s followers spilled. Such an abhorrent waste of life. Mankind was so wasteful with their kills, and they hardly ever let the scavengers pick at what they left behind.

     At least Clovis’ children were courteous of the lives they took. They didn’t abandon flesh to rot after they had stolen pelts, didn’t bury entrails so the wolves and crows couldn’t have them.

     But if Clovis voiced these complaints to any of the other deities they would be disregarded. Sola was too blind to the folly of her greatest creation, Desprand too wrapped up in his own never ending grief. Arbor favored the humans and their bloodlust. He would find no fault in their sins. Morta would give them sympathy, at least, despite not understanding. Xe mourned gruesome deaths, and wouldn’t understand why man killing one of Clovis’ children was a greater travesty than if a beast did. And all the other gods were too busy worshipping the ground that Sola walked on.

     Clovis stepped closer to the stream, gazing fondly at their own reflection as it rippled and morphed. Their horns, somewhat like a buck’s, grew wider, thickening before curling in on themselves, pressing to the side of the deity’s skull before shrinking down to curled nubs. Their canine snout softened into a deer’s face, flattening into a bear, a cat, a rabbit. Their forelimbs shifted from cloven hooves, to soft paws, to sharp claws. Their physical form changed and grew and shifted to resemble the forms of their children, the beasts they had created to walk these lands. The beings they held so dearly. 

     Clovis’ heart ached at the thought of humans domesticating and killing these beautiful creatures. They deserved to be in the wilderness, with their creator. They deserved to live out the rest of their days in the forests and mountains and swamps where they belonged. They deserved to be safe from the needless consumption of humans.

     Clovis’ children deserved to be wild and free.

#writing #original writing #flash fic friday #flash fiction friday #the mapped lands #clovis #the gods #short story #flash fiction #im posting this on this blog since its related to the mapped lands #since the character is one of the gods #i know what im doing #ill be reblogging it to my main tho

[redvoid-40]

In the woods there grew a tree - part 4

We finally have a bit of action to get the juices flowing! Hope you all enjoy it, and if you have the time let me know what you think about this. :) Also, there's a little... "postscript" for this chapter that I should post in a couple of days, so keep your eyes peeled. ;)

Previous chapter / Next chapter

It was during Charo’s fourteenth Winter of age that her life was first, truly at risk.

Snow had been falling for days around the woods, blanketing the ground and leafless trees with a thick layer of white. The weather was unforgiving: the sun hid behind grey clouds, lakes froze, animals died of cold and Charo… Well, Charo ran off to play with Corvell around the forest.

Despite the cold, the wet boots, the frequent sneezes and Angor’s worries, Winter was Charo’s favourite season of all times. Mostly because humans didn’t dare venture into the woods during it, much preferring to stay inside their homes in the village, warm and cosy in front of their hearths. So, at least for this season, Charo had freedom to explore the edges of the woods during daytime, when she could actually see where she was going.

Angor Rot didn’t like it, but he knew better than to forbid her of going out. He could only imagine how hard it was for the girl to live most of her life underground, surrounded by trolls that were decades to centuries older than she was. From observing humans, Angor knew that sunshine, fresh air and playmates were of great importance for a child, and it pained him that his little Charo had to go with very little of each.

So he wrapped the little girl in thick layers of pelt, wool and cotton, put thick water-proof boots on her feet which he knew would get soaked either way, and warned her to run back home at the slightest sign of danger - be it humans, unfamiliar trolls, wild animals or even the weather.

“Remember, if your toes feel numb-”

“It’s time to come back.” Charo finished, big eyes peeking through the small gap between her wool cap and scarf. “I’ll be careful, dad. I promise. Now please let me go, I’m already sweating in here.”

Angor sighed and nodded. Charo ran into him for one last hug before she and Corvell took off from the cavern without a glance back. He watched the little girl disappear in the snowy scenery with anxiety clawing at his chest. Yellow eyes looked up at the sky; covered in grey clouds, no sunlight peeking through.

Maybe I could go with her. If this weather keeps up, the sun won’t be a problem.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, someone in the village called out to Angor Rot and from the high-pitched outrage in the voice the troll leader knew it was some sort of Gnome trouble. Again.

With a sigh, Angor went back to his village, hoping little Charo wouldn’t be long today.

---

On that day, Charo and Corvell picked a single direction and followed it as far as they could, hopeful that they’d find something new and exciting in their forest. As to not lose herself, Charo dropped little pebbles infused with magic that would shine if she ever needed guidance to return home.

As they moved, they played their little games. Charo used magic to mould all sizes of hoops to Corvell to go through, and in turn the familiar dropped tiny sticks and pine cones for the little girl to dodge. Then they changed play, and the golem took to dropping larger things: rocks, branches, and even the icicles that had formed on the tree branches for Charo to hit with magic-infused rocks.

Charo’s magic had grown with her and, under Angor Rot’s tutelage, she had learned how to control it well enough for a child. Her affinity was in controlling minerals, especially rocky formations, and she was becoming proficient in using it to throw stones at targets with ever-increasing accuracy and enough power to pierce through thick layers of stone. She still had a hard time controlling large quantities of rock at once, but she was slowly improving. Angor had also taught her how to cast protective wards, but the little trick with the shining pebbles was of her own making, something that came naturally to her after watching her father glow one too many times when they were together.

So far, Charo and Corvell’s exploration was proving unfruitful. Around them there was nothing but snow and barren trees. She hadn’t as much as seen a single hare bounce by, and her little hands were starting to hurt from the cold.

“Oh no!” Charo looked down at her feet. Her boots were several shades darker from melted snow and when she wiggled her toes inside it, she could barely feel the movement. “Corvell, we need to go back. I can’t feel my toes.”

The stone crow landed on her feet and pecked her right toe. Charo jumped back in fright, falling on her butt in the snow. “Alright, I felt that.” She told her familiar. “But now I’m all wet.”

With a lot of effort, Charo pushed herself back on her feet, the many layers of clothes around her feeling even heavier now that they were partially wet. Charo noticed her body was shivering, and it unnerved her.

“W-We’re too far from home.” She breathed out, rubbing her arms. She recognised nothing around her. “I have no idea what part of the forest it’s this.”

Corvell sensed her distress and flew to her shoulder so he could rub his stone face against hers reassuringly. He chirped once, nodding at the snow-covered ground in front of them, reminding her of her little pebbles. Feeling calmer, Charo smiled shakily and prepared to release her magic and reveal the way home.

“Oh my god, what is a child doing here?”

The little girl jumped in the air, hand flying to her shoulder so she could grab Corvell and hide him under her thick coat. For once, her familiar didn’t protest at the rough handling.

“Little one, are you alright?”

Charo slowly turned around and found a woman staring at her. The stranger was tall and sturdy, with a crooked smile on her round face.

“What are you doing all alone in these woods? In this weather?” The woman asked, advancing towards Charo, who took two steps back for each step of hers.

“P-Playing.” The girl responded, voice shaking from something other than cold.

“Playing?  And where are your friends?”

“Close.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at her and, for some reason, Charo felt threatened by the gesture. “Really? Where? I can take you to them.”

Charo swallowed, her back hitting a tree. “T-There’s no need.”

“You look lost, child. But don’t worry,” The woman said, bending at the waist so her toothy smile was all Charo could see. “I’m here to take you home.”

The woman’s eyes changed colour as a glowing red took over her sclera, morphing her gaze into two balls of fire. Charo opened her mouth to scream, but before any sound could come out, a heavy frame ran into the stranger and sent her flying. Charo shrieked in fright, wide eyes raising to find none other than Grekyl standing in front of her. Grekyl was one of the village’s trolls, tall and wide, living stone the colour of moss and antelope horns sitting atop of his head. He was also the troll who hated Charo the most.

Grekyl’s glaring eyes cut to her and before Charo knew what was happening, he hauled her up in the air, an enormous fist clenched at the front of her coat. Corvell flew under her clothes, cawing loudly as he beaked Grekyl’s head.

“I knew we couldn’t trust you!” The troll snarled, swatting the stone crow away. “You little spy!”

“What? No!” Charo protested, kicking her feet in the air. “I would never!”

A cruel chuckle came from beside them, and both troll and human craned their neck to see what it was. The woman was on her feet, staring at them with glowing red eyes.

Grekyl growled and dropped Charo to the ground. “Impure.” He snarled.

“So it’s true. Angor Rot has been keeping secrets from Gunmar.” The woman said. “Have you become friends with fleshbags now? That’s why you’re turning your back to your kind in this war?”

Charo gasped, eyes widening as the woman shape-shifted in front of her. Her body grew, bones and muscles morphing into orange stone. “What’s happening?” The girl asked, exchanging looks with Corvell. “She’s a troll?”

“Not a troll. An impure. A dirty, two-faced Gumm-Gumm spy.” Grekyl answered with disgust. “She’s a changeling.” Then he glared down at Charo. “Barely a step down from a fleshbag like you.”

The girl ignored his last comment and pushed herself to her feet, letting her scarf drop to the snow in the process as she took a defensive stance. “What now, Grekyl? We can’t let her find the village. Gunmar can’t know where we live.”

The troll’s eyes widened, taken aback by the girl’s words, and the changeling used his momentary distraction to pounce. She rammed into Grekyl, making him fly in the air, and immediately turned to Charo with a clawed hand ready to strike. The little girl froze on the spot, but Corvell grabbed the back of her coat and pulled her back just in time to avoid the blow.

“What’s this now? A golem?” The changeling snarled, glaring at the stone crow who cawed back at her, ready to fight.

“Corvell is my familiar!” Charo protested. Then, remembering her self-defence training with Angor, she shot out her leg and swept the changeling’s feet from under her. Corvell was already high in the sky, ready to take on speed as he flew down in a straight line to slam into the fallen creature’s stomach.

Enemy stunned for the moment, Charo ran towards Grekyl and grabbed his hand to help him to his feet.

“What are you doing, flesh bag?” The troll asked, dark green eyes narrowed. “Why are you not running?”

“I can’t leave you.” The girl gruntled, pulling with all of her might to get the large troll to stand up. Corvell helped too, pulling the troll up with his talons. “Come on.”

Suddenly Grekyl jumped to his feet and next thing Charo knew he had pushed her behind him as he blocked a kick from the changeling. The large troll was pushed back by a series of blows, and Charo had to jump to the side to avoid being trampled on.

With some space for herself, Charo focused on her magic to pull pieces of rock from the ground that were as big as her head. Despite the cold, she found herself sweating as she tried so hard to launch the heavy projectiles towards the changeling. Her efforts paid off as one rock hit the creature’s face full-force, stunning her long enough for Grekyl to get some punches in. One, two, three and once again the creature was flying away from them, this time completely knocked out.

Human and troll breathed hard as they tried to catch their breath as Corvell perched himself atop Charo’s head, chirping in celebration. Grekyl glanced at the girl from the corner of his eye and found her cross-eyed, trying to look at her familiar. Feeling his gaze on her, Charo looked back at him, smiling that silly smile of hers, that always made Grekyl grunt in annoyance. Then her eyes widened as she raised her hand in front of her face, magic overflowing from her fingers with such force it made her glove fly towards the sky. Grekyl startled and followed the glove with his eyes.

The sun was peeking through the clouds in the sky.

Grekyl shut his eyes tightly, waiting for his body to freeze in cold, hard, dead stone, but nothing happened. A moment passed before he reopened his eyes, finding a wide plate of stone casting a shadow over him. When he looked back, the human girl was gritting her teeth, both hands tense in the air as she held the stone plate with her magic. She glanced up at the sky and whimpered.

“The clouds are gone.” She said, examining the barren trees around them. She looked scared. “There're no shadows around.”

Grekyl saw sweat sprout all over the girl’s face as she tried so hard not to let go of her magic. Not to let him die.

“Don’t move, Grekyl.” Charo said, hands trembling. “I’m going… I’m going to try something. Corvell, help me keep the plate steady.”

The familiar chirped and landed on the stone plate, talons digging into it deeply. Corvell was too small to support the plate by himself, but he could help keep it into place as Charo tried to divide her attention for a second spell, chanting words under her breath.

“Kamuk Slusham Moya Obadete Se. Kamuk Slusham Moya Obadete Se. Kamuk Slusham Moya Obadete Se…”

It stunned Grekyl into stillness, watching as rocks rose from the snow all around him, up and inwards, circling his gigantic frame and building a narrow but sturdy shelter to keep him safe from the sun. His shelter had no openings, but from the soft thud that reached his eardrums, Grekyl knew the girl had dropped on the ground in exhaustion. He heard Corvell caw loudly in despair, and then those cries grew in volume and urgency. Grekyl scowled, anxious at not seeing what was causing the familiar such distress, and next thing he knew something heavy slammed against his rocky protection.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the changeling tore a piece from his rocky wall, revealing red eyes and a taunting smirk to him. “I’ll be taking this fleshbag with me.” She said and from the small gap she had made he saw the girl’s limp body under the changeling’s arm. “Sit tight now.”

Grekyl growled, an unspeakable rage burning inside of him and, to his and the changeling’s surprise, he shot his fist through the stony wall, closing strong fingers around her neck and clenching tight, tight, tight. In seconds the sun had turned his hand into dead stone, but it only increased the pressure of his hold around the changeling’s neck. There was a sudden crack, and then the changeling turned to pebbles in front of him, letting the girl fall like a rag doll on the snowy ground.

Grekyl looked down through the hole in the wall, at his unmoving arm and the fallen girl. Corvell appeared from the edges of his vision, limping his way to Charo so he could her head and rouse her. Her nose, Grekyl noticed, was turning blue.

She won’t last much longer.

The thought would have been comforting to Grekyl, if not for how wrong he had been about her. The little human had risked her life to save his, despite all the years he spent tormenting her with words and shoves. She was not like the human lord that drove them from their homes time and time again; she was kind and, most of all, she was loyal. He had to save her; he had to repay his debt.

With that in mind, the large troll bid his time, watching the sunlight shift over the girl’s legs slowly until a new cloud floated in front of the sun, blocking it from view once more.

Without hesitation, Grekyl snapped off his dead arm and broke through the stone wall to grab Charo. He hauled her over his shoulder none too gently and sprinted back to the village with Corvell flying behind them, crying out in distress for his human.

If he didn’t make it by the time the sun was back in the sky, both of them would be dead.

#angor rot #toa #tales of arcadia #wizards #trollhunters #charo #writing #we're on part 4 already #this began as an ONE-SHOT #children take note #that's what we call hyper-fixating

[thatmultifandomhoe]

The Extremely Large Tag Game

ATagged By: @dreamystuffers​ thank you sweet pea and HOLY SHIT THIS REALLY IS THE ULTIMATE TAG GAME BUT I AM READY.

SECTION ONE: First and last tag: post the first line of a wip as well as the last line you’ve written so far!

So I have several Wips at the moment and whelp, I’m gonna do them all lol.

The Size of a Heart: Wonho and Reader (Drabble)

First Line Written: The sky was burning as the sun set for the night, cloaking the city in its familiar darkness.

Last Line Written: “I tell myself that it’s better if it hurts, but I…I can’t anymore…I can’t.”

Tentatively Falling: Vampire Jongdae and Reader (Series)

First Line Written: Strobe lights flashed around the dark bar, drawing your attention every now and then when they went wild as the bass dropped.

Last Line Written: It was more than you ever thought, but it was exactly what you dreamt about hearing him say.

Heavenly Father: Boyfriend Yoongi, Priest Jimin, Alter boy Jungkook, and Reader (Smut Crack Drabble - Title May Change)

First Line Written: The stain glass windows in the Church were a sight to see during the day, the sunlight streaming through and bringing life to the images during the service, and brought a sense of comforting to those during times of trouble.

Last Line Written: Jimin groaned and your eyes watered when your nose was pressed against the base, his dick down your throat.

Knitting You a Home: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Reader (Series)

First Line Written: The wind howled while rain pelted your house as the storm refused to let up.

Last Line Written: For the moment, his thoughts were cleared, allowing him to fall asleep with you safely in his arms.

SECTION TWO. Enter 15 of your biases and put them in this order to discover the story of your life

Parent: Hongjoong

well I mean he is pretty daddy at times

Sibling: Jongdae

Grandparent: Sammy

Haunts you: Vernon

Significant other: Jooheon

HELL YEAH BITCHES

Ex: Yuta

damn that’s...that’s a change

Best friend: Chanyeol

Proposed to you: Yoongi

Was this before Jooheon or after Jooheon? Who’s my ass with?

Your boss: Taeyong

Random person you meet a the bar: Seonghwa

Rival: Bang Chan

BUT HE’S THE SWEETEST HUMAN BEING THO

First kiss: Namjoon

Drunk and singing karaoke with: Wonho

Played seven minutes in heaven with: Felix

Gave you your favorite dessert: Jackson

I...I can see this one. He’s sweet to do that

SECTION THREE. Describe your bias by their vibes as if they were someone in your life. (I’m doing my Ults, 1 from each group.)

Jongdae (EXO): The guy that everyone knows because he’s the one with that distinguishable laugh. The class clown that knows the limits and only crosses them on rare occasions. You think you know him but then he’ll say something that you never knew about him. Craves his independence but is the quiet one when in a large group, smiling as he watches the more energetic ones run about. An old soul trapped in a young body.

Yoongi (BTS): The one who devotes himself to his work and rarely sees the light of day. His room is littered with empty to go cups of coffee mixed with his own assortment of coffee mugs Coffee ring stains on furniture. You think he’s not listening or paying attention but when you least expect it, he’ll quietly do something or hand you a gift that he knows you treasure. He’ll never ask for cuddles, but he’ll always give them to you and refuse to let you go when you try to get up. Wise beyond his years because he’s suffered and doesn’t wish it on anyone else.

Yuta (NCT): The popular guy that at first everyone warns you about, but once you get to know him yourself, you don’t know why they warned you in the first place because he’s a total sweetheart. The guy who flirts with everyone and anyone, but remains loyal to his girl. He’s never without his iced coffee, and he’s dyeing his hair in the bathtub with a friend to help make sure it doesn’t go too wrong. Will entertain your drunk texts. He’s the one to text at 2 am when you’re feeling alone and down and he’ll do what he can to lift you back up with nothing but the truth.

Hongjoong (Ateez): He’s the guy who doesn’t give a shit about trends or styles, he creates his own. The guy who does the piercings at the local tattoo shop knows him by name because he’s gotten so many of his piercings done there. He is the Fashion DIY King. Will roast his friends the hardest  because he loves them the most and takes it when they dish it back. Somehow manages to rock hairstyles - long live the mullet - that no one thought should have ever existed. Don’t let him cook though. If he cooks you’ll end up with food poisoning. He’s the one who will let you try makeup tricks and new products on him. Secretly amazing at painting nails.

Wonho (Monsta X): He’s the guy friend that you never expected to be friends with. Him? You? Total opposites on a physical scale. On completely different levels. Once you get to know him, he’s a total teddy bear. Doesn’t question it when you suddenly appear and hug him without saying a word, he’ll simply hug you back while maintaining the conversation he had going. Or he’ll simply surprise you with a hug because he likes them.

Bang Chan (Stray Kids): He’s the one that always has his earbuds in even during class. Like he’s the guy that has the earbud going through the sleeve of his hoodie and is pressing his palm against his ear to listen to the music. Listens to everyone, even if he doesn’t know them that well and gives really good advice if they ask for it.

Jackson (Got7): The guy that you can hear a mile away. Hyper. Can’t sit still to save his life. He was the guy that you’d see doing laps in the hallway with his friends when he should have been in class, but he was the nice one. Passionate and when you ask him about what he’s working on, he’ll talk about it for hours. Will also apologize multiple times for going on but then continue to go on.

SECTION FOUR. Search your name + “core aesthetic” on Pinterest and make yourself a moodboard

SECTION FIVE. Make a normal and fantasy version of yourself using this !

SECTION SIX. Writing tag game!

What is your ideal setting for focusing on your writing?

A quiet office where I can play music softly in the background and be at a desk with a comfortable chair.

 What Genre do you prefer to write?

Slice of Life, Young Adult, College Age.

Do you prefer to write on paper or digitally?

Both.

It’s the middle of the night and you suddenly wake up with an idea. What do you do?

Make a note of it in either my notebook or in the notes section on my phone.

Who is your favorite person to write about?

Jimin and Hoseok

Do you like making your own characters, or do you usually write about real people?

I like to do both. Honestly, it’s kinda like a mix of both. With some of my fics, the only thing that makes them fanfics are that I’m using the real person’s name, and I’ll pin point on certain aspects of their physical features. In Brotið Hjarta, the only thing that connects to it being Namjoon is his name, and maybe his hair style/color and ear piercings, everything else was what I imagined it to be.

Have you ever written a book/story with more than 15 chapters (100K words)?

Yes. Strawberry Cream and BBQ

How often do you get ideas?

From everyday life, sometimes I’ll be daydreaming and it kinda morphs into a story or a fanfic and so I’ll make notes so that I don’t forget it.

Do you ever get an idea that you really like, but just can’t seem to finish?

Yessss, all the time.

What is your least favorite plot?

I don’t know about least favorite plots, but I do hate it when fics dive straight into a story without any background or anything. Wait, so maybe that’s pwp fics????? I don’t want to be a hypocrite, but even with my fics that primarily focus on smut, I still add in those background details and give them a teeny tiny plot.

SECTION SEVEN. Put your music on shuffle and reveal the first ten songs that come on.

The Kids Aren’t Alright - Fall out Boy

In the Dark - Bring Me the Horizon

Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer

All In - Monsta X

To the Beat - Ateez

Shot - Lil’ Jon

Daechwita - Agust D

Treasure - Ateez

Adore You - Harry Styles

Guys My Age - Hey Violet

SECTION EIGHT. Questions tag:

Relationships: 2

Break-ups: 2

Kids: Right now? 0

Brothers and Sisters: 1 older brother.

Pets: 0

Surgeries: 0

Tattoos: 0

Countries you’ve been to: 0

Been in an airplane: yes

Been in an ambulance: yes

I sing karaoke: hell no.

Ice skating: I like it but I suck at it and have only been able to go during school events in the past.

Been on a cruise: hell no

Driven a motorcycle: nope

Ridden a horse: yes

Stayed in a hospital: nope

Favorite fruit or berry: Raspberries

Favorite color: Magenta

Last text: “Perfect! I’ll let you know when I am able to send yours out!” - I do pen palling and was letting someone know when I could send them a post card in exchange for the one I’m getting.

Cat or dog: Cat

Favorite pizza: White sauce pizza with chicken and feta cheese

Met a star: nope

Flown a helicopter: nada

Been on TV: nope

Broken my leg: nope

Seen a ghost: don’t believe in them.

Been sick in a taxi: nope

Seen someone die: no

SECTION NINE: Fifteen questions tag:

One ; it’s your birthday! what did you ask for?

Gift cards, um...(this is bad because my birthday is actually coming up) maybe some things from my Amazon list?

Two ; what was the last song / album you listened to?

WAP by Cardi B

Three ; what is your go to snack when you’re hungry?

Chocolate, cookies or cookies dipped in peanut butter

Four ; what is your morning routine?

Wake up, check messages on my phone while still in bed, get up, make coffee, maybe eat breakfast, drink coffee in bed, listen to music/watch videos or read on phone while drinking coffee, get dressed, brush teeth and skincare routine, make bed.

Five ; what mythical creature would you be?

An Elf? Or a Forest Witch. Something that has to do with the Earth and nature.

Six ; how do you interact with someone you don’t like?

I give short and straight to the point answers, if I’m working on something and they come up to me I’ll pointedly focus on that task instead of them.

Seven ; how do you define a toxic person?

Someone who lies, who makes you feel bad about the things that you do, that puts you done while lifting themselves, who is constantly bragging about their own things, who puts down others, who acts like they’re better, who acts like they’re way of life should be the only way of life.

Eight ; have you ever been to a concert or a fan-meet? if not, would you want to?

I have not, but I would like to one day because they seem fun and it would be nice to see a performance in person.

Nine ; do you believe in astrology? why or why not?

I do, mostly because it’s fun and interesting and I tend to find that I do a lot of the things and act like my zodiac sign without realizing it (aka I’m a Virgo).

Ten ; if you could have only one sense (hearing, touch, sight, etc.), which would you keep?

Hearing.

Eleven ; who is your favorite celebrity or idol?

At the moment, BM from Kard.

Twelve ; if you could talk to your favorite celebrity for a limited time, what would you tell them?

How do you keep going when it gets hard?

Thirteen ; I’m taking you out on a date. where are we going?

Maybe an art museum, or somewhere with flowers?

Fourteen ; do you prefer sweet or savory?

Sweet.

Fifteen ; do you have any Merch from any of your favorite artists?

I have several BTS albums and an EXO album.

I AM Tagging: @mygsii @myforeverforlife  @peonybane  @hobicomeholla29  @loser-dot-com @jeonsdear @namsjoon  @kpopcinnamonswirlroll @eashmo201 @1997jk @soulofatiny @cherryeoo​ @minniepetals​ @minniesmarshmallow​ @yoongi-sugaglider​  @crystaljins​ @taestfully​  @hyyunjins​ @i-am-delaney​ @worldwidebt7​ @flurrys-creativity​  @apurpledheart​ @holyfluffly​ @yunception​ @boymeetsweevil​ @chans-chair​ @brokecollegenerd​ @jinyoungsir​ @writersrealmbts​ @kpophoneybunny​ @actuallythatwaspromise​  @ladyartemesia​ @haylo4ever​ @ggukcangetit​ @kpopfanfictrash​ @wwilloww​ @jingabitch​ @kigurumu​ @jamaiskook​ @thatlongspringnight​ @ot7always-main​  @hauntedlilies​ @koophoriia​ @lorealchanelll​ @sweetheart--sannie​  @sweetae-tae​ @iniquitouspoppy​  

#tagged #oh my god this was a big and long one #but i done did it #get to know the blogger

[drabbledragon]

Anon Ideas here! Today you have angst: Every time Wild uses Mipha’s Grace he lose some of his recent memories, but he didn’t noticed until he get to be around the other 8 heroes, sometimes he forgets their names or nicknames or that recipe that they liked

Hey, thanks for the prompt! I thought this was a super neat idea and it was a pleasure to write!

Dwindle

Summary: Wild knew that he lost a large part of his memories after the Shrine of Resurrection but he didn’t know he could lose more.

Warnings: A few mentions of blood and unspecified temporary character deaths.

Wild wasn’t sure when that buzzing feeling first appeared, but he was sure that it always happened after Mipha would bring him back to life. It was a rather odd sensation - like someone was tapping on the back of your head and trying to get your attention - but as soon as it came, it would disappear just as quickly, often leaving the Hero of the Wild in a state of confusion and mild panic. Eventually, he figured out that the feeling wasn’t detrimental to him at all and was probably just a side effect of Mipha’s Grace; besides, it’s not like it was stopping him from pursuing the Calamity or anything. So he usually ended his train of thought with a shake of his head and a halfhearted shrug, choosing to continue his journey instead of letting the feeling bother him; it would always subside within a minute anyways.

His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, looking up just in time to catch Twilight stepping towards him with a guilty expression. He watched as his mentor briefly stared at the cooking pot in front of Wild before making eye contact with his charge.

“How are you feeling?” He asked slowly, eyes anxiously tracing the other’s features in search of something.

Although he wasn’t quite sure why Twilight would ask him such a question, he gave a lopsided smirk regardless. “ Just fine, but I wouldn’t mind taking a little nap after dinner’s done.”

The other’s frown tightened into a thin line and he crouched down to get a better look at Wild. “ If you’re not feeling well, we can always ask Hyrule to take over; he’s not the best cook among us but he can definitely feed us for a night.”

His nose wrinkled in disgust. “ No way. Last time Hyrule tried to cook something, we all ended up with food poisoning for the rest of the night. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t enjoy waking up every half hour just to puke in a different bush.” Twilight rolled his eyes at that, looking off to the side as he vividly relived that night. Wild waved the ladle in his hand as if to banish the memory away. “ Besides, I’m making your favorite for dinner tonight: -.” 

He quieted for a moment, slowly sliding his gaze down to the bubbling soup below him. What was Twilight’s favorite again? He racked his brain for the answer but came up empty - handed, a little alarmed at the fact that he couldn’t remember his mentor’s favorite dish. He looked at each of the ingredients carefully, trying to decipher the recipe in his head: it looks like there was some wheat and milk in there… 

“Pumpkin stew.” He finally answered, his grin returning.

He saw Twilight frown a bit before quickly replacing it with an apologetic smile. His mentor gave a curt nod of thanks before deciding to move over to where Time was, already striking up a conversation. 

He let out a sigh of relief; if Twilight noticed anything, he didn’t say it outright, and Wild was grateful for that. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sky stop whatever he was doing to direct a confused look to the Hero of Twilight.

“I thought Twilight hated pumpkin.”

________________________________________________________________

Another week passed before that buzzing sensation appeared again. It pulsated in the back of his mind - urging him to focus in on it as if there was some hidden meaning to be discovered - but as soon as he would notice it, it would quickly disappear, leaving his head to feel unnervingly empty.

He was suddenly acutely aware that he was on the hard ground, a clear sign that he had died somehow and Mipha had revived him. He made to sit up only to find that his arms seemed to shake with the effort before finally giving in after a few seconds. A low groan escaped him as his head fell back onto a pillow he didn’t even notice and felt something cold slide off his forehead. The sound must have caught someone’s attention because the next thing he heard was a gasp of surprise and the shuffling of steps through grass. 

“Wild, are you awake?” The voice was young and cautious and a small hand grabbed onto the upper part of his arm.

Wind? Wild thought vaguely as he cracked his eyes open; just through the blur of his vision, he could make out Wind’s anxious expression morphing into a relieved smile.

“Wild, you’re okay!”

He winced at the noise, bringing a hand to his head as he felt a pounding headache starting to creep in. He heard the younger hero mutter a messy apology before shifting to stand up.

This time, Wind spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ll go get the Old Man and tell him you’re okay. I’ll be back in two minutes tops.”

His own eyes shot open at that, a mild panic consuming him. “ The King’s here?” He asked in disbelief, his hands already struggling to regain purchase on the grass floor again. Hylia, the King of Hyrule couldn’t see him so weak and frail like this.

Wind stopped and stared at him with a mix of confusion and disturbance, his relieved smile dropping. “ N - no, no … I’m just gonna get Time; he said to get him when you wake up … um, just - just wait here.” With that said, he disappeared behind the flap of the tent, leaving Wild alone in a stunned silence. 

He knitted his brows together. How did Wind know about the Old Man Wild had met on the start of his journey, nevermind seen him? Wild saw the man disappear with his own two eyes after he told him the fate of Hyrule after his death, so how could he suddenly come back? Maybe Wind had just misspoken, that’s all. He knew that the other liked to talk about the King of his Hyrule a lot so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that he just blurted out a random name out of excitement. Plus Wild’s head was still overwhelmed by the intense headache so that was probably adding to his confusion, too. 

He heard the rustling of the tent flap and slid his gaze to the side to see Time ducking under the small opening with Wind in tow. The eldest strode directly to him, kneeling down to get a better look at Wild and grimacing as he spotted a multicolored bruise forming on his forehead. 

“You were killed in battle a few hours ago.” Time began softly, in which Wild was very thankful for. “ It looks like that strange magic was able to heal whatever killed you but left everything else untouched. I assume you have quite the headache.”

Wild gave a mute nod in response. Ah, so he had been killed in battle; that would explain why his muscles ached and refused to listen to him. However, he didn’t remember fighting in any battles today; the most recent memory he had was having breakfast this morning. How long did Time say he was out for? A couple hours? He wanted to ask Time more about what happened but as soon as he opened his mouth, the pounding in his head increased tenfold and he couldn’t bite back the groan of pain. 

“You should get some more rest,” Time sounded from above him, a hand carefully replacing the wet cloth that had initially fallen from his forehead. “ We’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready.”

With an appreciative nod, Wild let his eyelids droop shut, content that he could escape the clutches of pain for at least a few more hours. He let a quiet “ thanks, Time” escape his lips as he settled deeper into the pillow.

Just as he was about to fall back into a blissful sleep, he could hear snippets of a hushed conversation floating somewhere above his head.

“He said something really weird a few minutes ago, y’know? He asked me if the ‘King’ was coming and started freaking out when I went to go get help. I don’t know why he said that, though; I just told him I was gonna go get you.”

A brief silence, and then a deeper voice replied: “ He’s probably not thinking clearly right now; he did take a direct hit to the head. I’m sure all of this will be resolved once he wakes up again.”

The sounds became too muddled to clearly hear after that, and Wild was left with no choice but to fall into a deep sleep, mind plagued by why Wind would tell him about the Old Man in the first place and why he could hear a bit of concern in both of their voices. 

________________________________________________________________

Wild wasn’t aware how long it had been since the buzzing sensation had returned. His head was pulsating as usual, a small reminder that Mipha had healed him again and he had probably died somewhere in the vast lands of Hyrule; but what was odd was that he also felt the sway of his limp body and an arm wrapped carefully around the lower part of his back, holding him steady to a slender figure’s shoulder. He was being carried, he finally registered, but by who?

He cracked his eyes open, catching a glimpse of his long blond hair swinging in time with the stranger’s steps. His gaze slid downwards to get a better look at the person’s clothes, hoping that he would be able to guess which village he was being taken to based on the person’s clothes; however, he was in utter confusion when he spotted a dark green tunic and a fur pelt, both of which he didn’t recognize. He stared more intensely at the attire, willing his mind to come up with an answer but each train of thought always led him to the conclusion that he didn’t recognize these clothes and he didn’t recognize this person. His alarm only spiked when he suddenly noticed deep red splotches littering the fur pelt below him and as he shifted a bit to get a better look, he caught a glimpse of his own hair and parts of his arms coated in blood that clearly wasn’t there before. Was he bleeding? He thought Mipha had healed him so why was there fresh blood dripping from his hair and fingertips? 

Had Mipha’s Grace not worked? Was he dying?

His thoughts were consumed by overwhelming hysteria and he could feel his breath start to pick up. Who is this? Where is he? What’s happening? He needed to get away from this person - he needed to find someone he can trust. 

In a fit of uncontrollable panic, he sharply kneed the person that was carrying him, a grunt of pain sounding soon after and the arm securing him hastily being removed. He slid off the figure’s shoulder and hit the ground with a muted thud and he couldn’t stop the cry of pure horror as he opened his eyes to see eight strangers surrounding him, each one of them covered in an unnerving amount of bright red blood. 

That single sight alone was enough to send Wild scrambling to his feet. With a shaky start, the hero of the Wild pushed past the smallest of the group and broke into an unwavering sprint. His legs protested heavily under the sudden strain but he ignored it, pushing the pain to the back of his mind and forcing himself to move faster - to get as much distance between himself and the eight men trailing him as possible. He heard yells ringing through the air and he could hear the pounding footsteps following him and no matter how much he wanted to stop, the fear and adrenaline coursing through him kept urging him to move forward, reminding him that the strangers behind him were just seconds away from catching up to him. So he kept running, the open field around him blending into a mix of tall trees and overgrown bushes. 

It was only when the calls were barely audible did Wild finally stop. His legs finally gave out from underneath him, allowing him to collapse onto the ground in a heap of shivering overexertion. His breaths came out in short and shallow pants and his heartbeat pulsed as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. He knew he needed to get up again but every attempt to do so resulted in him crumpling back to the ground.

The rustling of bushes caught his attention and he quickly whipped his head up in alarm, eyes wide as he waited in silent terror. He stilled his breath, hoping to whatever good there is in Hyrule that the strangers did not end up finding him - that he had lost them. He couldn’t explain the amount of relief he felt when a wolf emerged instead, its blue eyes gleaming against its dark fur. 

He paused for a second, staring at the black markings on the creature’s face as a sense of familiarity overtook him. As if a light switch had suddenly been flipped, memories of walking around Hyrule with this same exact wolf flooded his mind and he couldn’t help himself from throwing his arms around its neck, his head burying into the soft fur. 

He had finally found someone he recognized, even if it was just his animal companion.

Tears started to leak from the corner of his eyes and he could hear muffled sobs escape uncontrollably from his lips; all the fear and stress he had been feeling finally broke what little composure he had left and reduced him into a whimpering mess. He didn’t miss the way the wolf slowly lowered its head onto his back as if to comfort him - silently telling him that he was finally safe and everything was going to be alright - and that only made him tighten his grip and cry harder.

Wild sat there collapsed on the dirt floor of an unknown forest, silently weeping to the wolf he has known since the start of his adventure, never knowing that whatever memories he had of the other Links had finally vanished.

#linkeduniverse #hero of the wild #fanfic #anon

[jadekitty777]

Love is Bold/Snow Day

Okay, today’s order of business? Posting up all my entries from the Shipwreckedfanzine (Read it here!)

I’m doing two in one for this post - my two Fair Game entries!

First up, the poem I wrote for front matter. I’m only going to enclose a link to Ao3 for this one, because tumblr doesn’t allow me to format it the way I want (and it looks really nice formatted properly).

Ao3 Link: Love Is Bold

Word Count: 156

Summary: A tragic love poem between a Bird and a Clover. [Hint: There's a gimmick to it, can you figure it out?]

~

Second up, is my fanfiction entry! I’m super proud of this one, so I hope you all enjoy it too!

Rating: K

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 2.1k

Ao3 Link: Snow Day

Summary:  Qrow’s having a bad day. Clover and Ruby might just have the solution to cheer him up.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

The vials of dust jingled softly inside the case as it was set down beside the dozens and dozens of others that had made it here on the multitude of trips before it. Clover straightened up, rolling out the ache in his shoulder as he announced, “Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Finally.” Qrow’s response was distant in the hall. While he didn’t have a problem carrying some of the load into Amity Arena, he absolutely refused to go into what he called ‘an explosion waiting to happen’.

Penny clapped her hands together, looking positively thrilled. “Oh, splendid. I cannot wait to tell the general that we were 12.5% more efficient on today’s run.”

“I’m pretty sure all he needs to know is we succeeded.” Ruby offered as they all headed out of the room.

Qrow glanced at them from where he was leaning against the wall. “Nah, add it to the report. Bet Jimmy loves hearing about how his tin soldiers are becoming more efficient.”

A retort was on Clover’s tongue, but Penny beat him to it. “But I’m not made of tin. I’m made of 100% carbonite steel. See?” She hit her head, the hollow ring echoing almost eerily down Amity’s empty halls.

Clover almost couldn’t contain a laugh over the flabbergasted look on the other man’s face or the way he mumbled, “Not what I meant kid.”

He turned back to the door to set the security locks, before ushering his team on down the hall. As they stepped outside, he could see Penny’s calculations appeared correct. Usually, between the round trip, off-loading, and handling any Grimm encounters along the way, they didn’t get back until well past sunset. However, from the position of the sun, they were definitely going to be returning with some light still in the sky.

“Alright,” He turned to the team, “We’ll do a quick perimeter check before heading back. Penny, Qrow, go ahead and do an aerial sweep. Ruby and I will handle the ground.”

“Affirmative, sir!” Penny saluted before taking off, all smiles.

In contrast, Qrow just waved him off with a flippant, “Yeah, Yeah.” Before he burst into feathers and a bird took flight.

He watched him go, pursing his lips some before glancing at the smaller girl beside him. “He’s in quite a mood today, isn’t he?”

Ruby just seemed sympathetic. “Yeah, he gets like that. Dad used to call them ‘Uncle Qrow’s Grumpy Days’.”

He snorted softly. Yeah, that about covered it alright. “What do you say we do something about it?”

Mischievousness glinted in her silver eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

It was a fortunate thing that Ruby’s semblance was speed – as it was the only reason they were able to clear the perimeter in record time while also setting up for their ambush.

Clover had not made a snow fort since he was eight and it looked about as well-crafted as it had been back then, with uneven walls and a section on the verge of complete collapse. Meanwhile, Ruby was getting their snowball supply ready, stacking them up like firewood piles in every corner of their little fortress. Busy as they were, he almost missed the report of Penny’s rocket boots blasting through the air.

“They’re coming back!” Clover warned.

In a flurry of petals, Ruby was gone, already standing at attention in front of the truck. Clover hopped over a wall, jogging over to join her, both of them trying to take a casual stance by leaning back against the front bumper and taking on the air that they’d been waiting an excruciating amount of time. Ruby hammed it up even more when they landed, bemoaning loudly, “What took you guys so long? We finished forever ago.”

“I apologize, I will work on my speed!” Penny said with a nod.

“Don’t bother tin-can, you’ll never be up to this pipsqueak’s standards.” Qrow rolled his eyes, but it was hard to deny the absolute fondness of his tone.

“I am still not made of tin.”

“I- uh, nevermind.”

Clover pushed off the truck, cutting in, “Anything unusual to report?”

“Nothing to the east and northern sides for at least three miles.” The living android detailed.

Qrow’s was even more succinct: “Nah. We can move out.” before he slunk on by, heading for the back of the truck.

Clover shared a knowing look with Ruby. She nodded, speeding after her uncle and slowing his gait by getting in front of him. He took up the rear of their group, fingers twitching with anticipation as he waited for the moment.

“So, Uncle Qrow!” The huntress chirped, walking backwards as she spoke with him, all open smiles as if she wasn’t planning to utterly deceive him. “Yang was telling me this really good joke the other day, wanna hear it?”

“Sure kiddo, lay it on me.”

“Knock, knock!”

“Oh gods.” He groaned.

“Uncle!”

“Okay, fine. Who’s there?”

“Snowball.”

“Snowball, who?”

Hearing his cue, Clover had Kingfisher out and extended in one swift movement, throwing its line towards their fort and, with just a little bit of luck, snagged one of the snowballs on its hook. With a hard yank, the ball went up and flying through the air – and perfectly nailed Qrow right in the side of his face.

Ruby burst into laughter as she pointed at him. “Snowball you!!”

Slowly, Qrow rose a hand to his face, wiping off the flakes of ice stuck to his cheekbone and hair. Then, with a predatory deliberateness, he turned on his heels, catching each of their eyes, and declared war: “You both are going down.”

Still guffawing up a riot, Ruby sped away for their fort while Clover hooked another snowball on his weapon.

“Wait, what’s going on? Are we fighting?” Penny asked in confusion.

“I’ll explain in a second kid, we got to find cover!” Qrow grabbed her wrist, ducking under his and Ruby’s combined fire as they ran around the truck.

He took the opportunity to join Ruby in the fort, the girl already hard at work at making more ammo. He took one from the pile, placing it on the end of Kingfisher. “Watch this.” With a flick to his pendant and a swing of his arm, he lobbed the snowball up and over the truck.

A second later they heard Qrow’s angry squawk. “HEY!!”

Ruby’s eyes lit up like stars. “We’re going to destroy them.”

He just laughed, readying for the retaliation.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

The terrain had become a battlefield.

Ruby was a whirlwind of terror, zipping around Penny at high speeds, throwing volleys of snowballs in rapid succession before hurrying away for cover.

The android didn’t take the abuse lying down though, circling her swords in a windmill pattern to collect snow piles on their ends, before shooting missiles of snow in their direction.

Clover covered his head under the icy shower, racing across the field for his own target who was loaded up on snowball ammo. With a war cry on his lips and his fishing rod swinging low, he struck, but his attack missed completely as Qrow disappeared into feathers. He squinted against the sun as the other flew up high only to nosedive down, transforming again halfway down and pelting him from above.

“Ah, what?! You keep them between transformations? That’s unfair!” He cried, protecting his face as the other landed right in the path of his escape route.

“Better luck next time!” Qrow gloated in triumph as he continued his merciless assault.

Over his makeshift shield of arms, Clover could see the bright grin on his face and fell in love with the way it made his eyes light up like gemstones. He could have stared forever – but he had a game to win.

As Qrow’s ammunition ran low, he made his move, skirting to the left and plucking one of the flying snowballs on his hook. He spun around with all the grace of an ice skater and at the end of his full rotation, struck the other huntsman in the face with it. Another swing and this time, he had his ankle caught.

With a yank, Qrow went tumbling into the snowbanks, a breathless laugh leaving him.

The noise was so unexpectedly nice, Clover forgot himself as he allowed himself a moment to just listen – and quickly became the victim of one of Penny’s snowy waterfalls.

“Penny, you’re supposed to make them into a ball!” Ruby called from the only remaining wall of their fortress that had survived thus far.

“Oh, got it! Be right back!” She said before taking off towards the tundra.

“Uhhh, okay!?” Confused but knowing an opportunity when it presented itself, Ruby’s gaze slid to the only combatant left.

So did Clover’s, smirk growing.

Qrow blinked as the gravity of the situation fell on him. “Uh oh.”

They all scrambled for the snow, but the little huntress was the fastest, pelting her uncle with a fast ball to the gut and a curveball to the leg. He tried his best to retaliate, only to wind up tangled in Kingfisher’s line as Clover dragged him forward and cruelly shoved a handful of ice down the back of his shirt, drinking in his angry screeches. Then Ruby was there again, piling even more snow on his tattered cape and throwing it up over his head like a reverse poncho.

“Okay, that’s it!” The fishing line was suddenly empty as Qrow morphed out of it, somersaulting through the air only to land as a human several feet away, Harbinger in hand. He twisted it back, changing its form mid-spin, and burying the curving blade of the scythe into the snow. He swung it towards them and a wave of ice followed.

Clover ducked and rolled under the torrent, leaping forward to try and entangle the wild fighter while Ruby zipped around to get him from behind, her own weapon out now. He had just managed to hook Kingfisher into the hole near the base of Harbinger’s blade when a shadow darkened the area around them.

They all looked up, wary.

And then blanched.

“Snowball acquired! Targets locked!” Penny declared proudly as she effortlessly held the jet plane-sized ball above her head. “Probability of winning: 100%.”

“Uhhh-! Penny!” Ruby shouted futilely.

“Goodbye.” She smiled cheerily as she threw the weapon of mass destruction their way.

Clover saw Ruby dash one way.

Qrow the other.

He shut his eyes and accepted his fate.

☘~☘~☘~☘~☘~☘

Even with the heater going full blast, there was a lingering chill in the truck as they headed back home. Clover rummaged through the crate where they kept the supplies, pulling out the first blanket he could find and heading to the front so he could drape it over Ruby’s shivering shoulders.

“T-T-Thanks.” She said around chattering teeth.

As he walked away, he heard Penny ask, “So, was I a good combatant in the snowball fight?”

“Y-You were the b-b-b-best!”

Their words faded into background noise as Clover continued his search, shoving aside water bottles, unperishable food rations, clothes, flares and other items. “Oh.” He said once he’d hit the bottom of the box.

“Problem?” Qrow asked from where he was sitting back against one of the walls, rubbing his arms for warmth.

“Well.” Clover rose out the only blanket left as way of explanation.

One fine eyebrow rose. “You gotta be kidding me.” For a second, he thought he was bemoaning their circumstances – until he added, “You’re pulling that trick on me?”

He coughed down a laugh. “You’re giving me more credit than I deserve. Though,” He didn’t hold back a flirtatious smile, “Won’t complain about fortunate circumstances.”

The other huntsman rolled his eyes, fighting down his own smile. “Just get over here.”

And really, there just was no denying that command, was there? Clover settled down beside him, spreading the blanket between them. They had to press in close, everything from their shoulders to their hips touching with an undeniably tender warmth.

Qrow tugged his end a little tighter, lent a little more weight onto him. “You know what? I reject what you said.”

He looked down towards the head of black hair rested comfortably against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“About this being fortunate circumstances. You give your semblance credit for everything. But this one?” He pointed a thumb at himself, smug. “This one’s all mine.”

Clover’s mind tripped over itself to process what he’d just heard. In the rare instances Qrow would talk about his semblance, it was always with dejected contempt. But today, there was a hint of pride there. A sign that things were changing for the better.

“Yeah.” He agreed, taking a gamble and resting his own cheek against Qrow’s hair. “This one’s yours.”

When no protest came, Clover shut his eyes and smiled.

In more ways than one, things were changing.

#clover ebi #qrow branwen #fair game #ruby rose #penny polendina #rwby #fanfiction #poetry #Chase Firekitten's Tale

[missysmadhouse]

Full Moon Rising: Beware of the Big Bad Werewolf

Source: BBC News

Alongside vampires and zombies, werewolves have long been a part of everyone's favorite "things that go bump in the night." Werewolves have been stalking us in our nightmares (or dreams - however you like it) from the 1941 film "The Wolf Man" to 80's classics "The Howling" and "American Werewolf in London" to the Underworld series of the 2000's and beyond. Werewolf stories have evolved over the years from 1941's tortured Lawrence Talbot to rebellious, proud lycan Lucien in the Underworld series. Werewolves have carved their own niche in fiction, film and TV. What inspired tales of humans who morph into animals by the light of the full moon?

The first image of a human becoming a wolf is in the oldest known work of literature, The Epic of Gilgamesh, which dates back to 1800 B.C.E. in ancient Mesopotamia. Gilgamesh rejects a woman after finding out that she turned her former lover into a wolf. An ancient Greek myth, The Legend of Lycaon, tells the story of how Zeus turns Lycaon into a wolf after Lycaon serves him a meal made from the remains of a sacrificed boy. The Saga of Volsungs is a Nordic folktale about magical wolf pelts that can turn anyone wearing them into a wolf for 10 days. In the story, a father and son find the pelts and go on a woodland killing spree, which ends with a brutal fight between the two. The father dies and leaves behind a leaf with healing properties which the son uses to recover from his injuries.

Traditional folklore dictates that a human becomes a werewolf by being bitten by a werewolf, can only change during the full moon and can only be killed by a silver bullet. Over the centuries, folklore has provided many other ways a person could become a werewolf: sleeping outside during a full moon on a Friday, eating a combination of wolf and human meat, a witch's curse, being conceived during a new moon, drinking water touched by a wolf and eating certain herbs.

Many people associate the moon with werewolves. The origin of the belief that the full moon can cause all sorts of chaos is unknown. After being reinforced over the years, this belief has created an expectation of nothing but trouble during a full moon.

Source: Wikipedia; Illustration by J.W. Smith

There were, however, several cures for werewolves to rid themselves of their affliction. Some cures recommended by medieval medical practitioners included surgery, vomiting, drinking vinegar and bloodletting. Sometimes, these cures were the exact opposite, leading to the death of a patient. The alternatives to medicinal cures were an exorcism or a silver bullet.

Any being that's part of folklore has had gained fame or notoriety with a real person or event. Sightings and encounters with all sorts of beings have been reported throughout the ages such as vampires, sasquatch, fairies and lake monsters. The history of werewolves includes many cases of people who claimed to be werewolves.

In 14th century Germany, Peter Stubbe, a wealthy farmer, claimed that he owned a magical belt that turned him into a wolf and that, in wolf form, he had killed several people. There was a group of hunters who claimed that they saw him change from wolf to human. Stubbe confessed to 12 murders that were allegedly committed over a period of 25 years. Stubbe made his confession after being subjected to brutal torture. There was no evidence of any murders having committed by Stubbe.

In an odd little twist, Stubbe was executed on Halloween in 1589. He was beheaded, then burned at the stake. Belief in werewolves was common during the middle ages. The consensus was that werewolves were created by a witch's curse.

Three other confessed werewolves would meet the same fate. During the same time period in France, Giles Garnier, Michel Verdun and Pierre Burgot, in three separate cases, all claimed that they had an ointment that turned them into wolves, causing them to kill and devour children. They were all burned at the stake.

Let's return to Germany, home of the infamous Peter Stubbe. During the 18th century, a young boy was found in the woods exhibiting animalistic behavior. Dubbed "Peter the Wild Boy," he was unable to speak, walked on all fours and ate with his hands. The general consensus was that he was either a werewolf or raised by wolves.

"Peter" was eventually adopted as a "pet" by the courts of King George I and King George II. Current medical knowledge has been applied to Peter's case. Most likely, he suffered from Pitt-Hopkins syndrome, which was discovered in 1978. Pitt-Hopkins syndrome impairs speech, intellect, the respiratory system and can cause seizures and also affect facial features.

Two people who were born with hypertrichosis. Top photo: Barbara Vanbeck; Source: Medical News Today (Image Credit: Wellcome Images, 2014); Portrait by R. Gaywood, 1656. Bottom: Petrus Gonzales, the Wolf Boy of the Canary Islands; Source: Ashland Science

Many other conditions both physiological and psychological have contributed to the werewolf myth. Hypertrichosis is a rare genetic disorder that causes hair growth to the extent of giving a human being a wolf-like appearance. Lycanthropy is a rare psychological disorder which causes a person to have delusions of changing into an animal. Rabies has also been mentioned as a possible culprit contributing to werewolf folklore as well as food poisoning and hallucinogenic herbs (perhaps ingredients in a "werewolf" ointment).

The mention of food poisoning and hallucinogens makes me think of the theory that ergot poisoning led to the infamous 18th century witch hysteria in Salem, Massachusetts, which led to the execution of several alleged "witches." Ergot poisoning is caused by fungus that grows on rye as well as other types of cereals. In 1976, Linnda Caporael presented the argument that many of the characteristics exhibited by those who were described as "bewitched" in records of the trials, matched the symptoms of ergot poisoning (hallucinations, muscle contractions, psychosis, etc.). Besides an abundance of rye in the area, the climate would've caused conditions that could've produced the fungus.

Eating bread produced by tainted wheat may have caused mass witch hysteria in Salem. Food poisoning could have also created werewolves.

From the myths of ancient civilizations to contemporary pop culture, werewolves have captured our imaginations in many ways. Whether we love to hate them, hate to love them or long to embrace them, werewolves and other shape-shifters will continue to fascinate the dark side of the human imagination for many years to come.

- Missy Dawn

Sources:

"Werewolf Legends," August 21, 2018, History.com, by History.com editors

"Werewolves: Lore, Legend & Lycanthropy," by Benjamin Radford, LiveScience

#werewolves #horror films #classic horror #paranormal #mythology #folklore #history

[kin-kendry]

Solace

CW: Violence/Murder

AO3

----------

“He’s safe now,” Aneela spoke as they took off through the woods again, leaving the cube behind them.

“Are you sure?” While Kendry trusted the other woman with her life, she didn’t want to underestimate the Lady.

“Well, the cube kept me safe when the Green was destroyed. There are only three people in the entire universe who can access them.”

“And what makes you think that Khlyen wouldn’t find out and lead her directly to him?”

“Papa wouldn’t do that… Not after everything. He kept Yala safe, after all,” Aneela didn’t sound so convinced herself, but she had to hold out hope.

They walked side by side through the trees in silence for hours. The crunch of fallen leaves and twigs, and the gentle breeze rustling the trees became white noise.

Delle Seyah felt like she could finally breathe again. Jaq was safe, and Aneela was back with her. She wasn't dead. While she didn't show it in front of Jaq, Kendry had been heartbroken when she found out that the Killjoys returned without Aneela.

Queens don't cry, remember? Jaq had parroted her words.

This one does, now. She’s a teeny bit broken.

She had cried, several times in fact, while Jaq had slept. Seyah Kendry crying after losing the one woman she loved, the only one she trusted in the universe? Illenore would be laughing in her grave… 

"Kendry?" Aneela's gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Delle Seyah had stopped walking without realising, and a lone tear track marked her left cheek. She swallowed the lump in her throat and her eyes focused on the woman in front of her.

"I'm sorry, I… I just thought… Gods, I thought I lost you for good," Delle Seyah sighed, suddenly feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.

"I'm here, Kendry. You don't have to worry anymore. I won't ever leave you again, and I will protect you," Aneela said, holding her partner's hands in her own. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Kendry collapsed into Aneela's arms. There was an intense need to be held by her, to be as close as possible. It wasn't something she would have ever thought herself capable of feeling or craving. But here she was, eyes glassy and slumped in her beloved's arms. 

"Oh, Kendry. Let's set up camp. You need to rest."

Aneela sat Delle Seyah down on a fallen tree while she began clearing leaves and other forest debris. Not long after, a camp fire was crackling as the sun set and a bedroll was laid out.

"I missed you so much, you know?" Aneela finally spoke once she set herself down next to Kendry, sitting so that they were pressed against each other. 

Delle Seyah was feeling uncharacteristically clingy, so she rested her head against Aneela's shoulder. It made her feel a little better knowing that Aneela was thinking of her even during such a stressful, life threatening time. 

"All I could think about once the Green started crumbling was you and Jaq. For a while I didn't think I'd make it. But you both found me. Jaq, he… He looks so much like me when I was younger. I see Yala in him too. But his personality… He has the same conviction. The same hunger for answers, and a brilliant mind just like his mother."

"Unfortunately he's picked up a lot of the Jaqobis traits," Kendry let out a derisive laugh. 

"I'm sure we can fix that when all of this is over," Aneela smirked.

"When all of this is over I'd like to take you to my home on Qresh. Show you where I grew up. We could rule together, if you're okay with settling with control over the Quad rather than the entire universe."

"Hmm, that sounds like a very tempting offer. I'm not really interested in dominating the universe anymore. I've got more important things in my life now," Aneela tilted Kendry's chin up before pressing their lips together in a tender kiss. “It’ll be good to see my old home planet.”

The two women relaxed against each other, the tension and exhaustion of the past few days melting away. Aneela could help but laugh as she pulled away.

"I still find it so odd that you're human again."

"I can tell you now that it is the worst," Delle Seyah grumbled.

"I'll have to do some tests first, but if you like I could try to convert you again."

"Oh, please. Feeling things, being so vulnerable… It's humiliating."

"And yet, you've proven to be strong and capable even without Hullen blood."

"Yes, well, I suppose survival is what humans are best at, despite everything," Kendry sighed.

Their conversation came to a natural end, and they just sat in silence, watching the sun set until the only sources of light were the moon and their camp fire. They settled down on their bedroll, wrapped in each others arms. Delle Seyah felt safe for the first time since Aneela freed her from that contraption Gander kept her in. Their faces were only centimetres apart. Kendry smiled and cupped Aneela's jaw.

"I love you, Aneela."

"And I love you, Kendry. Now sleep. I know you're tired."

Delle Seyah couldn't have protested if she tried. Her eyes wouldn't stay open and her body was already preparing for sleep. She felt fingers card through her hair, and Aneela's nails massaging her scalp. It was so soothing.

"Good night, little bird," Aneela's voice sounded far away as sleep enveloped Kendry in darkness.

----------

Aneela couldn’t sleep. They were exposed where they set up camp, and she already had time to rest while in hiding. Feeling Kendry’s body rise and fall with her even breaths brought comfort to her. It was a cool, cloudy night and the wind had picked up a little. Their campfire was reduced to a low smolder, so the only source of light was the moonbeams peeking through the clouds. It was calm, and calm didn’t settle well with Aneela.

Had she been less vigilant, Aneela would have missed the almost imperceptible rustle of leaves on the forest floor. The footsteps came closer until they were looming over the two prone bodies. A hand reached out slowly, ready to peel the blanket off the two women. Aneela opened her eyes and gripped the outstretched wrist, snapping it back until she heard bones crack. The potential assailant howled in pain and stumbled back, cradling their hand. Aneela jumped up, jostling Kendry as she did so. Delle Seyah gasped as she sat up, her eyes trying to track whatever was going on. But it was so dark and she could barely make out the five silhouettes. 

Aneela heard the sound of a bullet flitting past her and whirled around to face the next threat. She charged towards assailant, taking one shot to her side before gripping the handgun and crumpling it in her hand. The clouds above shifted and moonlight shone down in streaks upon the camp. Aneela could see that the bandits were covered in pelts and bones, with human skulls worn as helmets. She grinned as the current woman she was focused on cowered at the display of inhuman power. One of the others took a shot at Aneela, blasting clean through her shoulder. The wound healed instantly.

Aneela grabbed the woman by the throat and whipped her around to use as a meat shield. Another shot was fired, piercing through the bandit’s stomach. She shoved the limp body towards the third bandit before turning on the first one she injured.

“Wh-What are you?” The man asked, backing himself up against a tree.

“I’m your worst nightmare. You and your friends thought you found an easy target. Well, you’ve made a very big mistake,” Aneela hissed, her eyes wide and wild.

Aneela ripped one of the pointed bones from the man’s clothing and stabbed him several times in the neck, relishing in the gurgling as he choked on his own blood. The two remaining bandits were already on the run. Aneela grabbed Kendry’s bow and two arrows. She fired both off quickly, each hitting their targets and incapacitating them. The bandits cowered as Aneela approached, their arms and legs too weak to carry them very far. She stomped on their calves and drew a knife from her belt, the polished metal glinting in the moonlight.

“P-Please… We won’t cause anymore trouble. Let us go,” One of them begged.

“I can’t let you do that,” Aneela’s voice was quiet. “I’ve had a trying few days, and I need to let off some steam.”

“Oh god, no! Please no!” The other bandit attempted to escape again, but Aneela was quick.

She kicked the bandit in the face and crushed his neck with her boot, watching as he struggled. The hands clawing at the leather of her boot grew weaker and weaker as the human suffocated, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The other bandit had curled up on the forest floor, weeping and clutching his calf.

“Only one left. Whatever shall I do with you?” Aneela mused aloud as she played with the knife in her hands. “I could spare you, but then you’d run off and tell the rest of your group what happened. I already killed your friends, so I may as well just finish off the job.”

“Aneela, enough,” Delle Seyah’s voice echoed out through the trees as she approached her love.

“Kendry! Have you finally come to join me?” Aneela’s face lit up as she turned to the other woman.

“No, you need to stop this right now,” Delle Seyah wasn’t playing around.

She stopped directly in front of Aneela, looking her up and down. Her pristine white clothes were splattered with blood, and there were a few drops across her face from when she stabbed one of the bandits. Kendry sighed and shook her head, taking the knife from her beloved’s hands.

“I don’t understand,” Aneela frowned. “They tried to attack us. I was protecting you.”

“I know, but being cooped up in a cube for days doesn’t mean you get to massacre everyone in sight,” Kendry said before walking over to the remaining bandit and offering her hand to the poor soul. “Get up. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

The bandit was beyond terrified but took the kind offer, letting Delle Seyah haul him up on to his good leg. As he opened his mouth to express his gratitude, Kendry gripped his head and bared his throat. She made quick work of the man, slitting his neck and dumping him back on the ground. Aneela’s expression morphed from annoyed to confused, and finally settled on a mix of delight and lust.

“But- Why?”

“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun now, was I?” Kendry smirked as she leaned down to wipe the blood off the knife on the bandit’s pelt. “You didn’t seriously think I’d changed, did you?”

“Oh, Kendry…” Aneela laughed in relief while Kendry tucked the knife back into her belt.

“I enjoyed watching you take down those pathetic ants. You know I love it when you get mad,” Kendry’s voice lowered into a sultry whisper, closing the gap between them.

“I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been itching to hurt something,” Aneela’s hands clenched and unclenched as she took a couple of slow, calming breaths.

“I think I know of a better way to release some of that pent up energy, Aneela.”

Kendry lips grazed Aneela’s and her hands moved to her hips. The kiss was passionate and demanding, both women running on adrenaline from their recent activities. A heady concoction of murder and lust was something Aneela and Delle Seyah found themselves experiencing every now and again, and it made for fucking phenomenal sex. They drew back from the kiss, both breathing heavily and gazing into each others darkened eyes. Aneela caressed Delle Seyah’s jaw, her touch soft and light.

“Gods, I’ve missed you, Kendry.”

#killjoys #killjoys syfy #green queens #aneela kin rit #delle seyah kendry #aneela x kendry #aneela x delle seyah #fanfic #killjoys fanfic

[artistrashofmine]

Carn

BNHA fic inspired by Jeff Le Bars Carn

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782935

The red scarf, and heavy jacket did nothing to deter the harsh wind that blew fresh snow off the hills, blending with the flakes that rained down on the child, like pins and needles. His boots sinking violently into the layers with a crack as the hardened sheets split under the leather. It took all his might to keep on balance, to keep his nose tucked towards his chest, to keep the involuntary tears out of his eyes in fear of them freezing on his pale cheeks. 

Why’d he have to come out here? Each step drained a year’s worth of his energy. He had to decide now was the best time to leave? He could barely make out the shadows of his surroundings. He ran away, and now he’s lost, was the child good for nothing after all? The rigid trees, the mountains, they were nothing but shadows peeking out through the shower of snow. 

“No,” the meek complaint was lost in the wind, so was the scarf, the only thing keeping his face from frostbite, even the elements were against him.

He wanted to sob, he wanted to go home, to his mom’s arms and cry. He didn’t even know the way back, where did he come from? There was holes from where he sank down to his ankles, but he couldn’t see.

And his gloves did nothing to break his fall, sinking into the snow just as his feet had done, just as his knees did. The icy substance finding its way up his sleeve, dancing along his wrist. He found his head to follow, resting against his fate, his doom. He was going to die here, die like this. Shivering in the freezing blanket winter had wrapped around him.

What would his parents think? Did they know he was gone by now? Were they looking for him? His mother would, wouldn’t she? His father… he was another story. What about his siblings? He barely spoken to them, he was never allowed around them. Would they even know of his escape? 

Would his family find him? His body frozen to the ground, or would he already be six-feet under, in a fresh ground of white, made from the blizzard he tried so hard to fight? On one side, he didn’t want them to find him dead like that, on the other, he didn’t want to be forgotten, left alone to rot, or worse, wolf food. 

Another shiver wracked his spin, for a whole new reason, because there were wolves out here. They lived by the mountains, in a land of thick forests, his dad was a hunter, of course there were wolves out here. 

The whole reason he decided now was better than ever, because they, and by they he means his father, decided to take him to look for game, supper. They were running low on dry and canned goods, wild game was scarce at this time during the season, but far from impossible to find. Then the storm hit, quick and unexpected. He was given his chance, he took it. He took it, and now he was going to pay for it, with his life.

“Are you lost?”    

His head pounded in protest at his feeble attempt of lifting, but the second he laid his heterochromatic eyes on the owner of said question, the child jolted back, gasping in the frigid air, flinching as it pierced his lungs, before glaring wide-eyed at the predator. Right in front of him, bright red eyes, like flames, like daggers coated in blood, staring into in soul. Fur, a pale blond, blown by the wind, a thick winter coat. Snout, sniffling at the child.

“You are going to die.” Large, pointed teeth, as he sneered out the sentence, the conclusion that Shouto didn’t need to be told.

Speak of the devil and then he comes in the form of the child’s end, a wolf, double the size- no triple the size of himself. Aggressive, breathing heavy.

And he flinched, quickly returning his gaze to the other “follow me...”

And then he was leaving, shifting through the snow, the storm. Shouto found himself on his knees, gaping at the animal who let him live.

“Follow me if you want to stay alive!” The growling voice carried through the wind, strangely hypnotizing.

And what did Shouto have to lose? Maybe he was hearing things, maybe he was seeing things, but the wolf was talking to him, urging him on. Maybe he was already dead, or maybe this would be his saving hope. So he dragged himself up on shaky legs, or, well, his whole body was shaking, but it wouldn’t stop him, he could do this. Wherever it lead, it was better than laying down and dying. Even if he took five steps, only to collapse in the snow, even if he was being led to his death, the heterochromatic followed the distant shadow, the echo of the animals voice. 

It wasn’t until he placed himself onto a rock, right foot slipping, that he noticed the dark crimson colour he was slipping on. He’s seen it before, his family were hunters, of course he’s seen blood, it wasn’t the first time he stepped in it too. 

Bloody smears, in the patted down snow, mapping his way to where the wolf sat, and the child felt bile rising to the back of his throat. He averted his eyes from the silhouette. 

The wolf was hurt, he was losing a lot of blood, the stains got larger as he staggered forward, up the hill. Then he raised his eyes, only there wasn’t a wolf sitting there anymore. There was a blond, a human, with those red eyes, deep red eyes. The same ones he’s been following. 

“As you can see, I am dying.” The same voice, same growl, but the words were said mournfully, by the human.

He sat in the snow, on knee bent, the other… the leg, no, his whole thigh, a bloody mess. His hand could only cover a part of the messy scene. Was that how it’d look if all the animals they brought in were humans? It was sad, pitiful and painful at the same time. Was this- who did this to him? 

“W-what-” Shouto’s voice cracked, he could barely hear the word himself, and he doubted he could finish the question, he doubted he wanted to know the answer.  

Instead of trying the child pushed forward, towards the body. The blond watched carefully as Shouto sat himself down beside the older one.

“Without me, my-” He started, considered the implications of his next words, “my family, they’ll die too.”

His eyes were so serious, the child wondered what they looked like as a kid. As a puppy? Was he a human or a wolf? The man in question turned, those eyes glancing down the other side of the hill where a dark borrow lay, he was mournful. That’s what those eyes held. It was daunting, unfitting for what Shouto pictured the other to appear as. Would he really die? Couldn’t the heterochromatic see him on a day where both their health were strong, where the snow didn’t burn his cheeks, blind their vision.

Though it had calmed down.

Did that mean they’d be fine? Was this their beacon of hope? Could they help each other to get better? The man claimed he’d die, they’d die, but Shouto thought he was wrong. They could make it. Shouto knew some first aid, he had to, with the rough terrain they’d trek every other day, the dangers that lurked around every corner. He might not know enough first aid for all of that though.

Once again, the bile rose, and that hopeless feeling returned, hopeless and frustrated. The child wanted to cry, he wanted his mom to make everything better, she always knew what to say, what to do. He wanted to yell at his dad, for making them come out here. He wanted to yell at himself for getting lost. 

Then again, if he didn’t run off, he wouldn’t have met the other.

“I brought you here, so that you could protect them for me.” The heterochromatic eyes snapped up to meet determined red ones, and once again, he turned those eyes down the hill behind them. 

It must of been where his family lays, burrowed in the ground, sheltered from the harsh winter snowfall. So they were wolves? Then how’d he become human? And why was he giving up on himself? Surely they could find help, the storm already began dying down. The man was able to speak, walk, it couldn’t be that bad. 

 His eyes were widened, and were those the wolf ears? Blond wolf ears were now a top his head. Shouto was witnessing him slowly returning to the wolf state. He didn’t think it possible for a human to become animal, just like that. It was illogical, but what did the child know of logic anyways?

“You must kill me,” The gasp those words earned was as sharp as an icicle, piercing his lungs, piercing the blond’s ears, “I’ll give my life to save yours.”

And Shouto hoped the wolf felt guilty, a sick sort of selfish. He didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to kill the wolf. Not when that’s what he tried so hard to escape from. His father's constant nagging, always speaking of the next hunt, explaining concepts of mammals bodies that the child never cared to know, nor ever would. How to kill them, in the most profitable ways. How to cut them up, clean them.

And maybe he felt guilty for knowing those things, because, at the moment, he didn’t want to know how to kill something. It meant he had no excuse to do so. That he’d lose the being who saved him, gave him hope, the potential for a new friendship, maybe even a fresh start. They could exist together, maybe Shouto could have been a part of his family, not protecting them. Well, he’d do that too, if it meant he could become friends with the wolf.

“You can keep warm with my pelt,” His jaw tensed, “keep full with my flesh.”

This time the heterochromatic was sure he would puke. Eat another human? He couldn’t, that was wrong… but they ate animals everyday, him, his parents, his siblings. Served at the diner table with no issue. So were humans any different? Or wolf-humans? Where they even the same species? 

“But you must protect them, got it?” His teeth were as sharp as his eyes, the canines morphing into place, “feed them, keep them safe… god knows he needs it. Promise me that!”

The child jolted, the words as sharp as his teeth.

“If you don’t. Get away from here.” The fur was growing back into place, and Shouto couldn’t help but feel like prey, circled by the creatures, as if his eyes were the barrel of a gun, shoot to kill, “go die.”

More shivers wracked up his spine, teeth clattering together. The other falling back into the snow, but his eyes never left. 

“Now you must decide” The transformation had finished, those same red eyes staring at him from the golden fur. 

He shivered, his teeth clattered. He longed for the red scarf, lost to the storm. Somewhere in the vast frozen fields and forest. Caught on a tree? Buried? He wondered if someone would find it, would they know it was his? The hetrochromatic’s family were most often the only ones out here, they’d know if they’d see it, wouldn’t they? Were they looking for him as they spoke? Shouto shuffled over to those eyes, to the sun that lay half-dead in the snow. Just as he had felt not even an hour ago. Maybe it was, it felt like days. He fell to his knees, gloved hands grabbing at the fur. Wolve’s fur was soft, he knew from experience. Was this creature’s fur soft as well? His hands were too frozen to feel, even if they were no fabric between them.

And he looked into those hardened, fiery eyes, “I accept.” 

Maybe the scarf was lost to the wind.

Cra-

Never to be found.

-ack.

That was fine, the wolf’s eyes were a prettier red anyways.

Auah.

He inhaled the icy air. His hands were shaking. The wolf had closed his eyes. His head lulled into the snow. He wanted to see them one last time, but that was fine. 

It would be fine.

Shuick.

The branch didn’t go in as easy as he would have liked, making a mess of the snow around them, of his own clothing. But it was fine. 

Shouto got to glance at those red eyes one more time as they opened in a painful end. But it was quick, he’d make quick work of the wolf.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It reminded him of the sunrise that came with the morning, the wolf’s eyes. It reminded him of the bloody mess left on the ground the disfigured body, the mess of his hands. 

Though the blond was right. He’d keep warm with this pelt, and his stomach was full. Then there was the den down the hill, he’d cover himself, lugging the fur down. Because he had a promise, a promise to his new friend. Only friend he’s ever made. 

A promise he couldn’t keep, not when he paused meters from the burrow. When a pair of bright green eyes glanced on curiously from the dark. Not when the brave soul of dark green fur crept out, hunched towards the ground, those eyes flickering between the two. 

When his ears folded back, “Kacchan…?”

His friend had a name. He killed his friend, he killed this kid’s caretaker. He couldn’t stay, he wanted to go home, this wasn’t home. And the green-eyed wolf let out a yelp as the heterochromatic turned his back on him.

He ran up the hill, fur on his back, through the forest. To the top. He wanted to go home, back to his mom’s arms. His mom… she was down the other side of the hill, with his dad, his brother and sister. They had come looking for him.

The red sunrise shined upon them. 

He reached out to them, and they backed up. So he ran down the hill. 

And his mother took the shotgun from his father's hands. 

Bam.

#bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #katsuki bakugou #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #carn #todobaku