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[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

#Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Tommy Shelby/Reader #Tommy Shelby/You #Tommy Shelby fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Making Arrangements

[qdbs-writes]

Hi can u please write headcanons for the cullen clan with a witch fem reader likw their reaction to them finding out that u have powers like wanda maximoff from the marvel

Can this be longer then usual please i love ur sm its unbelievable❤❤❤❤

aw thank you nonny, i can't do individual character gifs or else my elderly macbook will combust

Cullens Reacting to Fem!Scarlet-Witch!Reader

Carlisle Cullen

He had his suspicions that you weren't a standard human, but he could never quite put his finger on why he got that vibe from you.

You were admitted to the tiny Forks hospital emergency room after you'd fainted in the street. And for what should've been a very regular medical check, strange things seemed to be happening.

The lights and electronic heart monitor flicked on and off without warning, pens and papers on his desk seemed to move when he turned his back. Waves of red light danced just beyond his sight.

For what his centuries of medical practice told him, you'd be fine, only suffering a slight headache. But the moment you left the room everything appeared to function perfectly again.

Carlisle grew up in a society that endlessly feared the power of witches casting curses and plagues on the people, and he found himself unable to forget what he was taught after he met you.

Carlisle was a man of science, but after living for so long, nothing could explain what had happened with you that day without magic.

Esme Cullen

Esme first meets you at a charity event to raise funds to support overseas humanitarian crises, one of the many charities Esme heads in her free time.

She's busy organising baked goods at a long central table when you walk in, shuffling your feet and glancing around nervously. Seeing your discomfort, Esme goes up to you immediately, asking if you're alright and if she can get you anything.

You insist that you're fine but want to dedicate some time to help support the charity. Esme is delighted to have some more help and asks why this particular charity's cause spoke to you.

You mention that you came from a now collapsed Eastern European state and that you'd come to America to seek safety and justice for everything that happened to you and your people under that corrupt government. That you want to support groups that seek to protect people who are at the mercy of callous and greedy leaders.

Esme is incredibly moved by your story and your values and goes to fetch the paperwork for you to become a volunteer. But then she remembers something that came through the Vampire intelligence network a while ago. The country you came from had been experimenting on its people, giving them abilities that would make them more powerful than vampires.

She stops to consider that maybe you were one of the people they experimented on and that you might have powers that could surpass all vampires. She chases that thought from her mind, for now, reminding herself that she's in no position to be interrogating you if that was the case.

Edward Cullen

At first, Edward was none the wiser of you or your abilities. You were just another girl at Forks High. But slowly, as the days went by, he didn't so much as notice you but instead noticed your influence.

On your first day of school, he stood behind you at the lunch line. The two guys in front of you kept thinking about how excited they were to be getting the last slices of pizza. Suddenly their minds abandon pizza so when they go to order they get the salad option instead.

You drop your hand to your side and get the second-to-last slice, turning to Edward and giving him a knowing wink. Despite the panic gripping his dead heart, Edward shuffles up the counter after you and orders the last pizza slice to keep up appearances.

For the next period, Edward is consumed with thoughts of 'Can she read minds?'. If you could read his mind, you hid it well by ignoring all the panicked thinking he was directing at you. 'Perhaps she's tormenting you on purpose. Can YOU read my mind?', he asks again.

Again you give no indication that you can hear his thoughts. Suddenly, the teacher calls his name, expecting an answer to a question Edward did not hear. Then a soft, ghostly voice reverbs in his head 'The answer is 42'. It was a voice that sounded exactly like you.

Edward awkwardly mutters the answer before the teacher rewards him for being correct. He turns to look at you on the opposite side of the class. So you couldn't read minds then, but could still project your thoughts onto others? Very interesting, very interesting indeed.

Alice Cullen

She recognised you immediately the moment she saw you arrive at Forks High. You had been the one she'd had visions of for months on end.

But you looked different from her visions. Your face was not strained as you contorted a swirling red mist in your hands. Your eyes did not glow red as the tips of your fingers turned black as if dipped in ink.

No instead you seemed almost painfully ordinary as you scrawled long division calculations into your notebook during class.

Alice wondered how to discuss you with her family, from what she saw, you had the power to bend Forks, if not the wider Washington area to your will alone.

Maybe it was best to leave you alone, keep you away from the hidden madness of vampire clans and werewolf treaties. The Volturi would certainly not rest until you were a vampire under their thumb.

Alice decides that if you're as smart as you are powerful, then you'll quickly work everything out for yourself and whether or not you really want to be involved will be up to you.

Emmett Cullen

He genuinely had no idea you existed, you kind of merged into the background with all the other kids at Forks High. That was until the egg incident.

To this day, neither you nor Emmett has spoken about what happened, and he firmly believes that was for the best. But now there is a permanent tension between the two of you, you both know about the other, but you're both unwilling to admit any of it.

It happened on a late October evening, and Emmett was launching eggs into the side of the school building with all his vampiric strength. After all, no one was around to see it, so why would it matter?

Another egg practically evaporated as it hit the brick, splattering into thousands of tiny yoke fragments flying in every direction. It so happened that you had just stepped out of the gymnasium, with egg bits flying toward you at supersonic speeds.

But before the shattered egg could coat your hair, a red barrier of mist emerged from your outstretched hand, deflecting the remnants of egg to land either side of you.

That's when you notice Emmett and Emmett notices you. You both stare at each other, frozen in time. At some point in your impromptu staring contest, you and Emmett silently agree that neither of you would ever talk about what happened and what you were, Emmett certainly wasn't in a position to be throwing eggs in a glass house.

Jasper Hale

When Jasper was mortal, his mother always used to tell him and his sisters scary stories of evil witches who would snatch them in the night if they ever went out wandering.

Jasper never really paid those stories any mind, until he met Maria, and suddenly he began to understand why powerful women should be feared.

You didn't strike him as the 'witchy' kind, no black cats, no large pointy hat, no flying broomsticks, no bubbling cauldron. But just like Maria, you had this aura of some kind, and you certainly weren't no vampire.

He'll admit that he never saw you do anything particularly magical either. But he did notice that people can get scared out of their wits when you're about.

At the same time, there seemed to be this sadness in your eyes, and an exhaustion that didn't truly belong on anybody as young as you.

Jasper goes against all his instincts and begins to investigate you. Over time, he makes you feel more and more relaxed in his presence, maybe you'll let something slip.

Rosalie Hale

Rosalie was used to having people look at her, even in her mortal life, very few could tear their gaze away from her. But today was the day she made eye contact with you as you looked at her.

There was this indescribable energy in your gaze, almost a power. For the first time in her immortal life, Rosalie felt nervous by looking at a human.

As you retreat your eyes and continue onto class, Rosalie realises that she'd stopped pretending to breathe, artificially filling her cold lungs with air once more.

Despite her best interest, Rosalie couldn't get you out of her mind, She found herself following you, watching you in class, seeing where you sat during lunch. And the longer she looked, the more tangible this aura of raw power you had seemed to be.

It was like this shift in the air, the room, the people around you. Apart from this, there was nothing about you that wasn't completely ordinary.

She'll admit you were pretty, not as pretty as her, but then no one really was. For now, she'll keep on watching you, perhaps you'll slip up and reveal what you really are.

#twilight saga imagine #twilight saga x reader #twilight saga headcanons #twilight imagine #twilight headcanons #twilight x reader #twilight reader insert #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #alice cullen #emmett cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #qdbs writing #twilight renessaince

[meganrosesimblr]

Family Dinner

Esme has a new exciting photo shoot in London, so she had a dinner with her family before she leaves. Her mum got a little emotional as usual, her dad gave her some advice as he likes to, and her twin brothers took turns telling her jokes and stories to take with her overseas.

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #the sims community #sims #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 maxis match #ts4 simblr #thesims4 #sims4 #the sims4 #sims 4 simblr #simblr #showusyoursims #meganrosesimblr #bradshaw*

[dhr-ao3]

A Gentle Dawn of Hearts

A Gentle Dawn of Hearts https://ift.tt/MmAG863 by smallandquiet Hermione felt a sense of resignation wash over her as they sat her down and delivered the news of her imminent departure overseas. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; she had contemplated it herself, along with other scenarios. However, none of those scenarios had Draco Malfoy in them. Words: 706, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight Series - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Bella Swan, Edward Cullen, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Alice Cullen, Jasper Hale, Rosalie Hale, Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, Esme Cullen, Jacob Black Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Partners to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Developing Relationship, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Forks High School (Twilight), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Protective Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Hermione Granger is Bad at Feelings via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/FnAK9yr May 17, 2024 at 07:13AM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

[chickensarentcheap]

Sending hugs always!

🌙: Who has to force the other into having healthy sleeping habits? How well does that go for em?

And one I don’t think I’ve seen but still curious about.

First have you read or watched his dark materials?

And if you have

What do you see Tyler, Esme’s and the kids deamon’s as?

Please and thank you!

Sending hugs back!

Esme definitely has to force Tyler into better sleeping habits. Due to his time in the military and serving overseas and the years a mercenary involved in some pretty heavy shit, he can actually go days without sleep. And with his mental health issues that he battles, that can only lead to disaster. So she's on top of him when it comes to getting him to take better care of himself. He does have to take meds to calm both his mind and body at night but still finds himself with insomnia from time to time.

I have never read or seen it. I should look into it, though!

[readingoals]

Like I said in an earlier post, I’ve decided to try and get into Romance this year. The Bride Test was an early foray into the genre. I listened to an audio version of it and...it was alright. I’m gonna put my thoughts under a cut for spoilers but yeah not my favourite book ever. I gave it 3 stars on goodreads but in reality it was maybe a 2.5? I did however like some of the side characters more so I’d be willing to try the next book in the series.

So I didn’t love the initial setup with his mum flying overseas to try and find him a bride, it felt very manipulative and icky. And in fact I think a lot of how people behaved towards Khai came off as manipulative, right down to the fake wedding at the end. I’m sure it wasn’t intended that way but it definitely didn’t sit right with me.

Then there were the main characters. Neither of them really did anything for me. Khai was alright but I found Esme particularly annoying and half of what she did came off as less quirky cute and more just like....stupid? The tree thing and the wedding dress thing are the two big ones that come to mind and neither of them hit right for me. I understand romances books (much like romcom movies of which im generally a fan) require some level of suspension of disbelief but the wedding dress thing was too ridiculous. It ended up feeling like a very contrived way to have her topless around Khai which was unnecessary since he’d obviously already noticed she had tits while she was chopping down the tree. 

And don’t get me started about the kid! This book did the equivalent of every sitcom that made the main couple have a kid, in that she was mentioned once or twice but never was really part of the show. She was a plot device to explain why her mum dropped out of school. 

I think this one was probably not a great choice for me. It hit a couple of squicks of mine - virgin characters (i can’t do it in fanfic and apparently I can’t do it in actual books either) and...idk would you call it arranged marriage? whatever it is I am not a fan - and just generally felt a bit disappointing. 

Hopefully my next romance read is a little more successful but too many like this and I will be giving up on the genre.

#booklr #the bride test #helen hoang #read in 2023 #book update #brigid speaks #(by audio version i mean lauren read it to me over zoom lmao)

[northernxstories]

The Ward | Sullivan x Esme

The carriage was well made, which did make the journey more comfortable. It swayed as it rumbled from side to side. Most of their luggage had gone ahead, although he had sniffed derisively when he saw what the girl was wearing. He was overseas when he got word that his rather distant cousin had passed away due to some influenza that had swept their their region of the country. He had initially instructed his man of business to set up a small allowance for the widow so that she wouldn’t be left destitute. However, it was quickly revealed that the widow had passed shortly thereafter, leaving one single daughter. 

A child that was now his responsibility. He had no idea how old she might be and while he was reluctant to return from the colonies so soon, it simply could not be helped. He loathed his wastrel cousin but family was still family. Besides, how old could the girl be. Surely she was but a small child. He’d hired a governess, convert one side of his house and make an effort at some weekly meal to know the thing.

Except he had misread the letter. Esme was not 9 or 10 years old or so. Oh no, she was around 20 and despite the severity of the ugly dress she was wearing, she was a beauty. A trifle thin to be a diamond but with some exercise and colour in those cheeks, why she could be something quite lovely indeed. 

“I’m afraid you’ll find me rather strict, Esme. I can imagine it will be an adjustment for you.” he explained quietly. 

@deliirious​

#sullivan x esme #closed starter

[jamesshawgames]

Relics 3:  A Changed World.

The outbreak of WW2 had a huge impact on many people’s lives, including the main Relics gang! I’ve been spending a lot of time lately working out and plotting what they’ve all been doing since the start of the war, and where they’ll all be when Relics 3 starts.

Under the jump, for anyone curious, is a quick summary of what all of the main Relics gang will be doing when Relics 3 opens.

Sam Hopkins is still in the US, which, at the start of the game, has not yet entered WW2. After their contract ran out at Tulane, they relocated to California, where they are currently a tenure-track archaeology lecturer at UCLA.

Jian Zhu is also still in the US, continuing to work security for his reclusive billionaire employer in New York. He’s eyeing up the war in Europe, and part of him wants to quit his job and use his extensive espionage experience to help in the fight against Nazism - but part of him doesn’t, because he’s worried that he’s still not ready to get back to morally dubious “government work”, even if he knows it’s for a good cause.

Esme Fairfield, still devastated by the death of Abdul, is currently in Alexandria, Egypt, working alongside the British army stationed there in an unofficial capacity as a liaison with the local Bedouin groups and an expert in desert survival, helping the war effort against Italy in the North African theater.

Abdul al-Maliki, still devastated by the death of Esme, is currently in Alexandria, Egypt, working alongside the British army stationed there in an unofficial capacity as a liaison with the local Bedouin groups and an expert in desert survival, helping in the war effort against Italy in the North African theater.

Concerned about the dominance of Nazism in Europe, Cleo Stone has put her life and career on hold to go to London and assist in the British war effort as a US volunteer. The Brits are employing her as a mechanic working on military vehicles.

Rémy Fournier managed to flee France as the German army rolled through the suburbs of Paris. He’s not a fighter but, in exile, he’s doing what he can, working as an intelligence analyst at the London offices of General Charles de Gaulle, leader of the Free French forces opposing the Nazi occupation.

Dominique seems to have stopped robbing museums. But nobody knows what they’re up to exactly.

When war broke out, María surprised everybody by, it seems, doing the right thing. Almost as if she’s atoning for something… She turned up in London, and is currently working for Britain’s top-secret Special Operations Executive, a newly-formed agency specializing in espionage, sabotage and assisting anti-Nazi resistance movements. She is often sent overseas to undertake dangerous missions.

Stevo also fled continental Europe for London. As soon as he landed, the Brits confiscated his plane for use in the war. Now he’s grounded, and working as a firefighter, a profession which is much in demand in a city that gets bombed every night.

#relics 3 #relics of the lost age #relics series #dev update #sneak peek

[esm-overseas]

esm-overseas

ESM Overseas is your reliable guide for USA immigration and higher education dreams. We provide end-to-end services, from consultation to settling down, with thousands choosing us for seamless immigration to the USA, Canada, Australia, NZ, and Singapore. Let ESM be your partner in turning dreams into reality.

#ESM Overseas #Global Education #Immigration Services #Higher Education #Study Abroad #USA Immigration #Canada #Australia #New Zealand #Singapore #Student Support #Seamless Process #Consultation Services #Settling Down Assistance

[leahclearwaterdefensesquad]

Okay so I was cleaning out the drafts from my main blog and I found this old post about Leah that I made way back in fall 2018 and thought I would share. I’ll admit I edited added to it with more ideas that I’ve come up with over the past couple of years so. Enjoy, ig.

_________________________

Things I want for Leah Clearwater post-Breaking Dawn

For her to bow out of being in Sam and Emily's wedding. She's done with pretending to be happy and others ignoring her pain for the sake of their own happiness.

She's over Sam. Like ya know what? Greater things are ahead for her. That's her mindset. In fact, this is her new chapter of her life. She’s gonna do what she wanted from the start even if it’s without the person she thought was gonna be by her side for it. 

She goes to college. She makes more friends, gets a job. She does a bunch of extracurriculars, like maybe martial arts classes or clubs? Anyways, everyone starts to think of her as this utter badass?? She gets to have the College Experience that all the bullshit in Eclipse and BD wouldn’t have let her have. This is A New Chapter of Leah’s life, and she’s determined that she’s gonna make the most of what she wanted to do. 

Between her course load, martial arts classes, and work, Leah’s been so busy that time seems to pass like a blur... but she knows what she needs in order to truly heal, and that’s to take the time to work on herself. She tries calming activities not yoga that shit is a fucking workout and even considers therapy... if she can figure out a good cover story, that is.

She grows out her hair. For so long she kept it short for practical purposes, and though there may come a time where she may need to protect her tribe from supernatural entities again, she wants to grow it long again. She missed that. 

She’s been taking classes in a bunch of different subjects - environmental science and conservation because she’s furious at the harm being done to nature and wants to do something about it; law because she wants to help people and bring justice where normally the system wouldn’t do a damn thing; linguistics because she is interested in preserving languages on the verge of extinction; Native American studies to learn about more cultures and traditions. There are sm avenues she could take, she almost can’t decide what she wants to singularly focus on.

She goes home for the holidays, and it’s one of the first times in a while that she’s actually elated to be back. She can’t believe how much she missed her mom and Seth. It becomes one of the highlights of her year.

She’s no fan of the Cullens, but sometimes she stops by to check up on Jake. She’s sad for him, because she knows that the true him wouldn’t want this, but she also just doesn’t want to cut off all communication. They’ll usually go on a forest run to get some privacy(ish) to catch up on things and maybe twist her arm to take home some cooking from Esme. Leah relents, but really, she knows she’s just gonna eat her mom’s amazing food and just give it to Seth. Jake doesn’t comment.

Jake's pack treats her with some goddamn respect. The misogyny that was so rampant in Sam's pack is not so commonplace here. She's not treated as an outsider, and she's deferred to as a valuable member. She comes to realize that now that the pack isn’t as toxic to her anymore, she actually likes these guys. Even though she still thinks of them as immature boys, they’re actually not the worst when they’re not being dicks.

She travels. Like, *a lot*. Road trips, maybe even applying for scholarships for overseas. She has a whole list of places she wants to visit. South Africa, Brazil, Greece, Paris France, Japan, New Zealand... the list seems to keep growing by the day. 

She meets more supernatural creatures, including the *actual* werewolves. She starts to be well known to many of them around the globe. Turns out that there really isn’t just shapeshifters and vampires.Though she’s tried to distance herself from the supernatural world during college, she’s also aware that it’s affecting the mundane world just as much. Though she doesn’t actively seek them out stick her nose in their business, she meets them upon her travels. She doesn’t want to get involved in their shit - she’s had enough of that as it is - but she finds it exciting to actually have these encounters and see just how magical the world is. 

Feel free to add on, if y’all have the urge.

#leah clearwater #lmao i'm supposed to be writing an essay about european colonialism in africa #anyways #twilight saga #twilight #new moon #breaking dawn #billy black #sue clearwater #seth clearwater #rachel black #paul lahote #embry call #quil ateara #jacob black #sam uley #emily young #esme cullen #leah clearwater headcanons #leah headcanons #personal post

[little-diable]

Rivalry -  Jasper x Reader x Paul (fluff)

Hi! I love your fics! Could I request an odd pairing? I really love both Paul Lahote and Jasper Hale, and if you would be interested, could you write something where reader is Jasper’s mate and Paul’s imprint? And if it isn’t too much detail, could she be a powerful witch who came into town to help with the army of newborns and they meet her then? Aaaa, even if you don’t end up writing this, I’m super happy to be able to read your writing!! Love you!! 🥰

Hello lovely, thank you! I hope you like it, enjoy. xxx

“We are waiting for one more, then we can begin.”, Carlisle checked his watch, impatiently tapping his fingers against Esmes hip, they were waiting for (y/n) to arrive, an old friend of Carlisles. They met decades ago, she was a very powerful witch from Europe, grew up in the late 1600s in northern England and  met Carlisle overseas. She was supposed to help the Clan with the newborn army, (y/n) liked to fight sight by sight with the old vampire, he was one of her closest friends, would always have her back, just like she’d have his. 

All eyes snapped towards the (y/h/c) haired girl, a smile on her lips as her (y/e/c) eyes found Carlisles golden ones, “I’m sorry for being late.”, she whispered against his neck, his arms were slung around her middle as he hugged her closer. (Y/n) shook hands with the rest of his family, the moment her skin met Jaspers pale one, she felt shivers run up her spine, she was feeling dizzy, her surroundings were beginning to spin, her palms were getting sweaty, she had found her match. 

Being the gentleman he was, Jasper kissed the back of her hand, “hello darlin’, I’m Jasper.”, Jasper couldn’t describe the feeling that was flooding through him,  it felt as if he was on fire, his gut was clenched, a high pressure began to build in his head, he had finally found his mate. 

(Y/n) couldn’t let go of his touch, the need to be closer to him, overcame her. “Seems like Jasper has finally found his mate.”, Carlisle whispered as he watched the both of them, (y/n) couldn’t stop the smile from spreading as Jasper pulled her closer. 

The wolves watched the interaction with uncertainty in their eyes, a witch being mated with a vampire was a new constellation to them. Suddenly a yelp could be heard, everybody turned towards Paul Lahote who was cowering away, his eyes were focused on (y/n), the need to pull her away from Jasper, to smell her, feel her, was getting too much for the wolf. Carlisles eyebrows were furrowed together, not once had he ever seen something like this, “(Y/n) is apparently Pauls imprint.”, Edward voiced out Pauls thoughts as he watched the wolf. 

Silence engulfed the crowd, a witch being mated to a vampire and being an wolfs imprint at the same time? A perfect opportunity for a bloodbath, a growl hallowed through the forrest, Paul began to trod towards the pair, his paws were softly patting against the cold forest floor, Jaspers jaw was clenched, eyes turning darker as his grip on (y/n) got tighter. He wouldn’t let her go, there was absolutely no way that he’d give his mate to a wolf, at least not without a fight. 

A feeling (y/n) couldn’t quite put into words was flooding through her veins, she didn’t want to let go of the vampires hand but her body was pulling her towards the wolf. She knew that she couldn’t be the reason for a war between the Clan and the tribe. (Y/n) closed her eyes, she took a deep breath, suddenly all the noise was faded out, it was silent around her, nobody was moving an inch, it felt as if everybody was frozen to the spot. Her eyes were glistering in the sunlight, she stepped away from her mate and walked towards Paul, she ran a hand through his fur, her fingers were tingling.

As (y/n) took another deep breath all hell broke loose, Jasper and Paul were running towards each other, wrestling around, the vampires were ready to fight off the other shapeshifters, growls hallowed though the forest. “Stop it.”, her voice was deep, powerful, the body let go of each other, heads snapping towards the witch, she was fuming, desperate to find a solution to this confusing incident. 

It took the three some weeks to adapt to the new situation, she’d spent one week with Jasper and the other with Paul, Jasper wouldn’t stop complaining about his smell on her, while Paul would check for any bite marks. As surreal as the whole situation seemed like, (y/n) slowly grown to accept it, it was obvious to her, that the boys bickering would probably never stop. 

#Jasper Hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #Jasper Hale fluff #jasper whitlock imagine #Jasper whitlock #Carlisle Cullen #paul lahote #Paul lahote imagine #twilight #the Cullens #twilight imagine #shapeshifter #witch #jackson rahtbone

[bonjour-rainycity]

Heyyy, so for the vampire origin story, based on my blog? I’ll also add a couple of details. I really love history, specifically us ww1 and 2 history, I really like marvel movies, not the comics as much, I’m not good at cooking. I know this is so random, but I don’t know what else to put. Ummm, I’d say I’m caring but I can be a bit selfish. OK ALSO HAVE YOU WATCHED LOKI YET IT IS SUCH A GOOD SHOW. ok yeah, let me know if you need anymore 💜

Hii!!! YES thanks for requesting! AND NO I HAVEN'T WATCHED LOKI YET *SOBS* I NEED TO MAKE TIME TO DO THAT!

I honestly think you had a pretty similar human life to Esme's (not her tragic ending, thank goodness). What I mean is -- you grew up in the late 1890s in a small town in the US Midwest. Your town was sleepy, and small, and you really just wanted a life of adventure. You were always trying to swim in the creek and climb trees and sneak into places you weren't allowed to be.

By the time you learned how to read, you read every book you could get your hands on. The owner of the small local library knew you well and would always send word to your house if he got a new book in. This led you to become a teacher and, though you still found your life quiet and sleepy and a little boring, you were content to spend the rest of your life in your small town, teaching others your love of history and knowledge.

Then the War hit.

Your life was turned upside down as all the able-bodied men from your town were shipped overseas to fight in the Great War. Life still went on, but it was different from before. You felt your heart tugging you somewhere, longing for a place, a feeling, something you never had.

It clicked one day when you visited the nearby town. A worn, sun-damaged flyer hammered to the wooden door of a hardware shop long ago abandoned:

HOLD UP YOUR END! NURSES NEEDED, TRAINING PROVIDED. JOIN YOUR FELLAS AT THE FRONT AND SAVE AMERICAN LIVES!

Though you hadn't an ounce of experience, you trusted in your ability to pick up skills and knowledge quickly, and despite your friends and students begging you not to, you signed up immediately. Your training took you to the East Coast, somewhere you've never been before, and you were delighted! Finally, a bit of adventure!

The dangers increased though, when your cohort was called to France to aid those injured or sick while fighting in the trenches. Still, you stuck to your grounds, helping heal soldiers and civilians impacted by the horrific war. You couldn’t not care for them -- they were in need. 

You were alone one night, cleaning up your nurse's tent. You'd just had to amputate a leg, and, though the soldier survived, the blood was everywhere.

A passing nomadic vampire, a woman who had been changed a handful of years ago in Portugal, had been making her way up North when the War started. Like the other vampires in the area, she decided to stick around, knowing that death was rampant and no one would notice the bodies of countless drained soldiers.

The woman crossed by your tent -- the overwhelming scent of the blood led her to believe someone was dying there. Much to her disappointment, she did not find a bleeding soldier, but a healthy nurse covered in someone else's blood.

'No matter,' she thought. 'No one would miss just one nurse. They'll think she ran off.'

So before you could react, she lunged, intending to suck all the blood from your body and bury you nearby. She dragged you deep into the countryside where no one would find you. But another vampire, a newer, less controlled one, happened to be running nearby. He smelled the blood and couldn't resist. He attacked the female vampire, hoping to kill her and take your blood for himself. The two fought over your body, ripping each other to shreds.

While the two vampires painstakingly worked to put themselves back together, three days passed. By the time the vampire who had unwittingly become your creator was able to stand and reattach her head, it was too late -- you were nearly done with the transformation.

Knowing the Volturi would kill her if she didn't take responsibility for her newborn, she reluctantly instructed you in the ways of your kind. After the first few weeks, you realized that you couldn't stay in the war zone -- you couldn't kill those you had, weeks earlier, worked so hard to save. So you and your creator changed plans, intending to run on land to Southern Africa and then swim to Australia. But while in Egypt, you met the Egyptian coven, and became quite fond of their company. You and your creator parted ways, and you stayed with Amun, Kebi, Tia, and Benjamin for a while. They were cold to you at first -- not very trusting of outsiders -- but your caring demeanor soon won them over, Amun's eyes sparkling as he said you reminded him of an old, blond friend of his.

He promised to introduce you one day, and you're very much looking forward to it.

Ask me about your Twilight origin story!

#twilight #twilight renaissance #tell me about yourself and i'll tell you your twilight origin story

[chickensarentcheap]

NSFW snippet

@youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @secretaryunpaid @mrsmungus @themaradaniels @tragiclyhip @asirensrage

“There are other things,” she reminds him, as her fingertips -still under the waist of his jeans- slide around to his stomach. “We just can't have actual sex.”

“I told you. I won't be able to stop at just other things.”

“Get it together, Tyler. You're almost forty one. You're more than capable of stopping at the other stuff. Please?” her mouth is against his ear; breath warm against it. And his entire body shudders when she traces the outer edge with the tip of her tongue. “I just really miss you. And I really...really...really need you to  get me off.”

“You can't do it yourself? I've had to do it myself. For three months.”

“I could. But I want you to do it. Because I miss you and you're so good at. So very, very, very good. Please?” her teeth scrape against his earlobe. “Pretty please?”

“Esme....you know this is a bad idea...”

“How can something that feels this good be a bad idea? We're not having sex. We're just making each other feel good. Wouldn't you rather me do it for a change? Instead of having to do it for yourself?”

“I would actually,” he admits.

“Then...” her lips are on his neck now; kissing, sucking, biting. “...what the hell's your issue?”

“No issue. I just...fuck...” he groans, when her tongue finds that scar on the side of his neck. “...maybe we should go inside.”

“Let's stay here. I can actually make noise out here.”

He grins, then reaches for the ties on the front of her pants. “Very good point.”

Her eyes close and she gives a long, content sigh when his palm comes in contact with her pussy, and he finds her hot and wet; her entire body shuddering when he presses the tip of his index fingers against her clit. She won't last long. He can hear it in her ragged breathing, feel it in the way her entire body tenses, and how her greedy, frantic fingers pop open the button on his jeans. And he groans against her neck at even the simplest of touch; painfully hard and leaking precum, hips jerking against her hand when her thumb brushes over the engorged tip.

It's like being a teenager again; frantically making out, hoping to get off before being caught, lasting just as long. Only a handful of minutes before she's demanding that he kiss her as the orgasm hits, all noise muffled by his mouth against hers. And when her hand tightens around him and picks up pace, he's coming as well, face buried in her neck as he issues a long drawn out “Fuck”.

Neither of them moves of speaks for what feels like hours, and eventually Tyler rolls over onto his back, a forearm over his eyes, his chest heaving. He'd missed it. Missed her. But it wasn't until now that he realized just how much.

She snuggles into him, an arm across his stomach, head on his chest. And he drops a kiss on the top of her head and softly strokes her back.

“Thank you,” she sighs, and then giggles, and he can't help but laugh.

“No. Thank YOU,” he says.

She raises her head long enough to place a kiss to his chin.

Pushing a  hand through her hair,  he lets it fall to the space between her shoulders. “I love you.”

“So that's what it takes to get an 'I love you',” she teases.

The words come easily to him now, but the first eight months of marriage had been a struggle for him when it came to saying them. His first foray into being a husband hadn't ended well; he'd broken her with his decision to leave while their son was dying, but not before she'd broken him by cheating multiple times while he was stationed overseas. It had made falling in love difficult, but had made expressing it even more so. Now he says it all the time. Never missing the opportunity to tell her. And vice versa.

“I do you know,” he says. “Love you.”

“I know you do,” she rubs his stomach softly, smiled up at him. “I love you too.”

He kisses her temple, then tightens his hold on her. Wishing they could stay like that...lying on this beach...forever.

#Tyler and Esme series #Best Part of Me

[spicylief]

Witch

The heat soothed her skin the moment she entered.

The sounds of dancing patrons, bards, and clanking tankards filled the air. She cast her eye across the tavern, and found the young Aeterna woman sitting at a corner table furthest from the noise. The girl was nodding off with her head resting on the wall. She did not even notice Aisa approaching her.

"Here you are, child." 

"Huh? Wha-?" Esme stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Aisa set the book down in front of her.

"The passenger log of the Morning Dew, as you requested," Aisa offered. “I apologize for the delay. There were some… minor issues that needed to be addressed."

"Oh! You actually managed to find it!” Esme’s eyes lit up at the sight of the tome. She sat up straight and hurried to open the cover, flipping through the weather-worn pages. "Thank you so much!" 

"Hmm."

"Here.” Esme reached into her pockets and took out a handful of coins, counting them quickly from her palm. “Take this payment for your troubles!” She passed the pennies to Aisa with a bright smile. “Again, thank you so very much!"

"Mhmm.” Aisa accepted the pay with a nod. “I hope you find the answers you seek." 

Leaving the girl to examine the book, Aisa made her way over to the bar. Behind it the tavernkeep was leisurely wiping down the counter with a tattered cloth. She smiled at Aisa as she approached. "I am relieved you decided to help that poor girl, Aisa,” she remarked with a sigh. “I was afraid she'd venture out on her own and get herself killed."

"It was no trouble, Astrid. I was going to be in the area anyways for other matters. Heading out to the wreckage simply required a small detour." Aisa placed the coins Esme had given her onto the counter, followed by another handful from her own satchel.  "Now...” She slid the pile over to Astrid. “Do you have the supplies I requested?" she queried.

"Right here. Well, most of it, at least." Astrid pocketed a portion of the coins, and handed the remainder back. She reached down behind the counter and straightened back up, walking around the bar. In her wrinkled hand was a large leather sack. She carried it over to where Aisa stood, setting it down at her feet. "While I was able to obtain most of the items on your list, some of the rarer herbs and reagents not so much," she sighed as Aisa knelt down to inspect the contents, “The wars overseas are making imports fewer and farther between. Even our stores are looking rather sparse for some of our key ingredients. But, just in case, I’ll hold onto your list and store those items for you if they do come by."

"I understand,” Aisa nodded back at Astrid. “Thank you.”

"Anytime.”

"Mhm, yes. This will do just fine for now.” Drawing the sack closed by its string, Aisa stood up, readjusted her fur cloak and picked up her staff. She slung the supplies over her shoulder. “Well, I best be off. I'll be sure to do a once over on your wards on my way out. Can never be too careful around here."

"Especially nowadays,” Astrid murmured wearily in agreement. She tapped her hand on Aisa’s shoulders as she turned to leave. “Thank you again, my friend, for your help as always. Walk blessed."

“Hmm,” Aisa replied with a gentle grunt, walking away. “You too.” 

---

'You should've boarded that boat to Kilé.'

Wisps of smoke meandered before him, guided away by a gentle breeze. Jespar took a slow and steady draw from his pipe and cast his sights across the water to her front door. He tried to think of another place to go, but his conscience would not let him.

'I'd just be running away...again.' He told himself.

Crisp morning air chilled his damp hair, sending wakeful shivers down his back to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was a stark contrast from the swaddling warmth and comfort of the baths. For a moment he wanted to go back in, but the lighter weight of his coin purse made him decide against it. He began to make his way around.

'Why did you even stay?’ Jespar huffed, releasing a smoke stream from his lips. The guard he passed while doing so waved it away from his face. ‘Why didn’t you just sail off to Kilé like you planned to?’

“Excuse me, mysir,” the guard grunted in protest. “Watch yourself.”

“Huh?” Jespar paused in his steps to look back. “Oh. Sorry,” he apologized to the guard, flashing an embarrassed smile.

“Hmph,” the guard gave him an annoyed look, before looking away to resume his post. Jespar continued his walk. He took another whiff from his pipe.

‘Idiot. Fucking idiot. Stranding yourself...Just for her? Why her?' 

Crossing the stone bridge, Jespar made his way down the lane towards Maera’s home. He released the smoke through his nostrils. Another part of him that lingered in the back of his mind continued their unwelcome commentary. 'She's different from the others. You felt it when you two first looked at each other. You haven't felt something like that since-'

'That's such a childish-’ Taking another drag, Jespar blinked and glanced down. The peaceweed was spent. He grimaced in annoyance and tucked the pipe away. ‘...such a stupid reason.'

'If you think so it’s so stupid, why are you even standing here?' 

Jespar blinked. He did not even realize he was already at her door.

He gulped. ‘I shouldn’t be.’

'Well, you did break her heart. If I was her I wouldn’t want to see your dumb face either.’

'I…' Jespar raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. He rested his palm against the wood. His fingers traced the cracks and veins.

'You abandoned her, after promising to yourself that you wouldn't.'

'We were getting too close. It would've complicated things.'

'Yet that very night, you thought of her so intimately. For someone who is afraid of getting too close to others…’ His mind flashed the moments he last saw her, mewling with want underneath him. That night he thought of her so vividly and oh-so explicitly. 'You wished you stayed.'

'Okay, I get it. I fucked up, alright?' The palm he rested on the door tightened into a fist. 'It wouldn't be the first time.'

'Still, the thought of not being able to fix things with Maera terrifies you.'

Jespar unclenched his fist.

'You don't want to lose her. You don't want her to be another-'

'Stop.' Jespar rested his forehead against her door. 'Please, just stop.'

His mind persisted. 'You are tired. Your body is beginning to hurt more often than not and you are not getting any younger,' he reminded himself. 'How much longer can you go on like this? All alone? Wandering from place to place by yourself living job to job with no real place to call home?'

'Why would you need a home if inns and taverns serve just as well? Besides, it's easier this way,' another part of him argued.

'Is it really?' 

'Nothing - no one - to weigh me down.'

'Is that how you see Maera? Some inconvenience?'

'No! Of course not! I…'

Jespar closed his eyes. His mind played a memory of Maera when she first looked back at him, her gorgeous green irises glittering in the morning sunrise. Despite the filthy, tattered oversized robes that he found her in, the twigs in her hair or the bumps and scrapes on her skin, Jespar still found her so very beautiful. At first the attraction was merely one from a distance, and that was all he was up for at the start. He was, after all, one to always appreciate seeing a pretty face. But as time went on, he began to see traces of the woman deep down. Maera was someone who was kind, who listened to him and measured her response with care and consideration. She was delightful company, who made him feel both relaxed and welcome to share his thoughts, always willing to listen to what he had to say. She was definitely an experienced flirt - daring yet mindful at the same time. She was always aware of her boundaries, and though she was free and willing to test them, she knew when to step back in respect. She knew when to give and when to take.

Unlike him.

Jespar found himself wanting to see - no, experience - more of her. He opened his eyes and pulled his head back.

He missed her, desperately.

He curled his fingers and rested his knuckles against the wood.

'You feel something for her - something you have not felt since… well…' 

'You barely know her...'

'Yet once again, here you are..'

The heavy ache in his chest pulled at him. Jespar wanted to hear Maera's voice once more - her laughter and sighs - as she spoke with him and called out his name. The tears and the look of heartbreak in her eyes - when he last saw her - was burned in his mind. He wanted that memory to not just fade, but to be replaced. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted her to look at him in adoration. He wanted to see just one more flirtatious lip bite from her petal soft lips...

‘Well, here goes nothing.’ 

Jespar knocked.

He waited.

'Do you even know what you are going to say to her when you see her?'

'No.'

The longer he waited, the more Jespar tensed and willed himself to keep his feet firmly planted to the ground. He was not going to run away this time.

A moment passed.

Then, another.

Jespar swallowed. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knocked again. Perhaps Maera did not hear him the first time?

A couple moments became several.

Nothing.

‘Maybe she’s out today?’ 

‘Or she’s stopped answering you.’

Jespar winced.

‘I wouldn’t blame her.'

"Excuse me, Mysir?"

"Huh?” Jespar turned and blinked at the women standing behind him. “Oh, hey. Calia, is it?" he queried and received a nod in return. Beside her was Firespark’s colleague. What was her name again? "And... Lashiri…?

"Close,” the woman replied with a raised brow. “It's Lishari." 

"Sorry."

"It's fine,” she sighed. 

"So…” Calia spoke up. “What are you doing here, Mysir Dal'Varek?"

"Please, 'Jespar' will do just fine. As for what I'm doing here, well…" Jespar trailed off. He looked at the door, rubbing the back of his neck. Should he tell them? How much do they need to know? He glanced at them. "I was…” he hesitated, not quite sure what to say. “I was just taking a walk." 

"Uh huh,"  Lishari remarked, deadpan.

Calia called him out. "You came to see her, didn't you?" she asked. Jespar fought the urge to cringe. He could hear the pity in her tone.

"I- yeah," Jespar sighed, his eyes downcast. "She's not home though," he added.

For a moment the two women did not respond. Jespar looked up to see them sharing a confused glance before Calia turned her attention back to him. "Are you sure? She should be," she asked.

"I knocked more than once. She hasn't answered." Jespar replied. ‘Not that I blame her…’ he wanted to say, but stopped himself.

Lishari gave him a pat on his shoulder. The display of empathy made him curious. Does she know? Does Calia? "Hmm. Let me try," she offered, before stepping up to the door. She gave it a couple taps with her knuckles. "Maera? It's me,” she called out, “Are you there?"

They waited. Nothing.

"Maybe she's out on an errand or a job,” Jespar suggested. “Did she mention anything to either of you?"

"No, she hasn't," Calia answered.

"She shouldn't be on any job at the moment. At least, not anything that takes her out of Ark,” Lishari added. ”Calia and I are supposed to see her this morning. She’s expecting us." 

"I don't like this," Calia thought out aloud.

"Me neither,” Lishari agreed, before knocking on the door again. “Maera!” she called, her voice raised. 

"Wait, why's that?" Jespar looked on as the two women ignored him, worry starting to surface upon both their faces. He began to sense the fear coming from them - something was wrong. 

"Maera!” Lishari yelled out through the door, banging at it with her fist. “If you can hear me, we're coming in!" She reached into her pocket, pulling out a key. With it she unlocked Maera’s door and opened it. 

"What the- you have a key to her house.” Jespar balked. ”Why do you have a key to her house?" 

"She gave me her spare," Lishari responded, her voice trailing as she called out into the house. “Maera?” 

"What-why?!" Jespar asked, his question unanswered as the mage pushed the door wide open. 

"Lishari,” Calia murmured quietly from behind them. “The chain…" 

"Yeah… I saw,” Lishari answered, before stepping in. “Maera?!”

Following Lishari and Calia into the house, Jespar noticed the chain that hung idly by the door frame. He stroked his finger down along its links, recalling that it was not installed the last time he was there. ‘She must’ve had it set up for extra security, given she’s all alone.’ He turned his attention back to the women as they returned from their cursory search of the ground floor. "Maybe she's out after all?" he queried. 

"She should be home. I told her not to go anywhere for the next little while,” Lishari replied, her eyes cast upon the two storeys above them. 

Calia spoke up, “Let’s check upstairs.” She climbed up with Lishari at her heels. 

For a brief moment, Jespar thought to follow them but hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should leave.’ He rubbed the back of his neck as it started to flare up with anxiety. ’She wouldn’t want me here, would she?’ He looked around the foyer. His chest ached and he could feel it tighten. He recalled that night - the look in her eyes. ‘After hurting her… and more so since...’ The fearful part of him wanted to leave, another part wanted to be up there with the others. 

‘You came to see her. You wanted to make things right. What kind of person are you if you run away?’ another part of him chastised him - the part he knew was right. ‘She could be sick or hurt, and you want to leave now?’

Jespar followed. 

Calia had come down the stairs from the attic when he reached the second floor. “Nothing upstairs,” she reported with a sigh.

“So, she’s not here after all,” Lishari stated, her voice quieted with worry. The two joined her as she stood at the foot of Maera’s bed, her arms crossed in contemplation. 

Jespar noticed the bed had been left unmade. Walking over, he found a book on elementalism had been left open on the sheets, along with a quill and loose pieces of parchment covered in neat, slanted handwriting. He picked up one of the sheets, reading through her notes. ‘She’s still trying to improve her control on elemental magic…’ 

"This is strange. It appears she did not spend the night here,” Lishari noted out loud. “Usually her room is tidied up before we arrive." She gently bit the knuckle of her forefinger and her brow furrowed. “This isn’t good," she sighed, "Maera needs to be here for me to treat her.”

“Treat her?” Jespar blinked and cast a confused stare at Lishari. “For what?” 

Lishari looked up  at him, as though remembering that he was also in the room with them. He watched as her eyes shifted nervously to glance at Calia, who returned her silent question with an uncertain shrug.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Jespar asked, his chest ached even more with dread, but he pushed forward. “What happened to her?”

---

“Wait here, child.”

With the door closed behind her, Maera watched as Laches made her way down the hall, her boots and cloak leaving a trail of water droplets on the wooden floor. Looking down, Maera realized that a puddle had formed underneath her feet as a result of her rain soaked rags. Though she was now indoors and safe from the storm outside, she could not help but shiver. Part of her wanted to venture into the home in search of warmth, but she stayed.

The Matron said to wait, so she waited.

A low rumbling grunt in the distance broke her out of her daze, followed by panting and clacks on the wooden floor.

A boy yelled out.

"Iri! Iri, wait!"

Maera heard a low, grumbling bark.

A creature with thick graying fur pounced on her.

"Eeek!" Maera squealed, landing on her bottom. Something very warm and wet began slobbering all over her face.

A boy with wild reddish-blonde hair came running down the hall.

"Iri! Down! Bad dog!" he cried, grasping onto the large canine.

Behind them, a slender dark-skinned man wearing blue eye-paint, silks and silvers came rushing in. He looked at the two children as one tried to pry the dog off the other.

"By the Sun! Get that mongrel off her, boy!" the man hissed. Maera felt warm slender fingers pry her away as the boy did the same with the dog.

"I'm sorry, Seda!" the boy whined, trying his best to calm and hold the larger animal. "She just ran off when she heard the door open! She's too fast!"

Seda gave the boy a hard stare before looking down at Maera. He quickly checked her for any fresh bumps and scratches. "Oh, you poor thing! I am so sorry!" he cooed worriedly. Maera glanced up at him as he cupped her cheeks. Maera could not help but notice his eyes were a deep blue. "Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

"I…" Maera found herself unable to speak, taken aback. She does not remember the last time a grown up fussed over her when she was hurt.

"Oh! Seda!" Laches returned from down the hall with a towel in her hands. "There you are. I-" She blinked at the four of them. "My...what happened here?" she queried, a brow raised.

"Sirius lost control of that beast again," Seda replied with a huff, gesturing his hand towards the dog. "She came barging in here and knocked over this little one right off her feet!" Maera felt him patting her on the top of her head.

"She didn't mean to!" Sirius cried out. The dog woofed.

"Boy!" Seda wagged a ring-adorned finger at the other child, his voice snapping. "If you don't train that dog proper, I'll have her chained out in the alley!" he warned.

"But, she didn't hurt anyone!" Sirius argued back.

"My friend, please,” Laches sighed and walked over to him and Maera. She handed Seda the towel and upon unravelling it he began to dry Maera's hair. "No need to be so harsh on little Sirius," the older woman continued, "That hound is the only family he has left. Please do try to remember that and treat her like everyone under my roof." 

Seda grunted in annoyance. "Hmph. As you wish, Matron."

Maera watched as Laches gave Sirius an amused look and the boy returned it with a sheepish yet grateful smile.

"Besides," Laches hummed, "the old girl has many more winters on him, and is likely twice as clever. It's no surprise that she slipped out of his sight."

"Hah!" Seda grinned, his painted lips gleamed with silver paint. He gave Sirius a smug look. "You may have a point there."

Sirius' face pinched in embarrassment. "Hey!"

"Hmm…" Laches looked back down at Maera. Her deep rosy eyes beaming. "The girl does not seem hurt. Are you, child?"

"I...um…" Maera stuttered, feeling like an outsider. She rubbed her head and glanced down at her arms and legs. "I don't think so?"

"Then no harm done." Laches peered over at Sirius. "Come over here with Iri, my boy, and get yourselves acquainted."

Hesitant at first, Sirius slowly stepped up to Maera with Iri trailing behind him. He scratched the back of his head and looked at her with a shy smile.

"Um...hi."

"Hello."

"Tell us your name, sweetling," Seda prompted her with a light tap on her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he gave her a comforting and subtle nod towards the others.

"Mae...um.." Maera clutched the towel for comfort.

"Maeum?" Sirius tilted his head and gave her a curious look.

"Maera," she corrected herself. "It's Maera."

"Ah, Maera!" Sirius sighed with a smile. "I'm Sirius, and this is Iri," he added, petting the old dog in the head. Iri whined. "Nice to meet you." 

Maera smiled. "Nice to meet you too." 

Laches rested a palm on Sirius' shoulder. "Sirius, can you please take Maera upstairs?" she instructed with a gentle tone. "She'll have the bunk underneath yours. I have to speak with Seda."

"Yes, Matron." Sirius glanced at her and nodded towards the hall. "Come with me," he beckoned.

Maera pulled the towel tightly around her. She gazed up at Laches who simply waved her hand in the same direction.

"Go on, child," Laches murmured. "Follow him."

"Um...okay."

Maera followed Sirius and Iri as he guided them down the hall. They passed a number of rooms before turning the corner to a narrow flight of stairs

"Up here."

Upon reaching the third floor, Sirius brought them down another hallway. The walk was silent for the most part, save for Iri's audible panting. Eventually he led them to a room furnished with bunk beds, end tables and dressing closets.

"Here's the dorm I stay in with some of the other kids," he explained. He walked her over to the far corner of the room, straight to the bunk by one of the windows. "I sleep up there. This one down here will be yours."

Maera looked at the small bed before her. She gulped and bundled herself in the towel before gingerly laying her hand on the sheet. Upon feeling how soft it was, she suddenly felt the urge to cry. Did this mean she did not have to sleep on the ground outside anymore?

"I'm sorry about Iri." Sirius' nervous voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh." 

"Seda is right," Sirius whined, patting Iri as she nuzzled his hand for attention. "She is my dog. I should be watching her."

"It's okay." Maera smiled and lifted her hand towards Iri. The old dog sniffed her palm curious before inviting Maera to pet her. "She seems nice."

"Yeah. She is." Sirius joined Maera, running his hand gently down Iri's back. The dog whimpered in contentment. "She's always been there for me," he explained.

Maera smiled and giggled.

"Why weren't you?" he asked.

She blinked. 

Around them, the room shifted to a dark void. Iri and Sirius faded away along with the memory. Maera found herself standing on nothing, the floor taken from under her.

"What?"

"Why weren't you there for me, Maera?" Sirius called out to her, his voice still youthful as a child. It had become rife with despair and anguish. "I needed your help, but you did nothing."

"Sirius…" Maera searched futilely in the shadows. Her hands outstretched, reaching for nothing.

"You just laid there," he cried out. His voice aged to what she last remembered but was now laced with anger. "The ship’s captain stabbed me in the heart and all you did was watch as I bled to death on the deck."

"Sirius...I-" Maera felt a stifling knot in her chest. "I was tied up. I couldn't do anything!" she wailed out. "I'm sorry!"

"We always looked out for each other. We took care of one another," he reminded her, his voice shifting back to that of his younger self. Before her, the light of a soul formed from the darkness. "You were my sister, and you just let them cut me down."

"Sirius…" Maera reached out to his spirit but he simply backed away from her. She watched as his soul swirled and formed into him as she last saw him, dressed in rags, blood spilling from the stab wound in his chest. "I never wanted…"

"And now…" His voice shifted back again. "Now, you get to have this brand new life while I get to remain forgotten in the bottom of the sea." Sirius stared at her with disgust and grief. His skin was pale and gray with death. Tears welled in his eyes. "Does that make you happy, Maera? Knowing you don't have me around anymore?!"

His words clawed at her heart.

"Of course not!" Maera cried out in sorrow. She reached for him again, but her hands simply whisked through. "I…" She stared in confusion at her palms before returning her gaze to him. "I never wanted you to get hurt."

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. The tears began to stream down his cheeks. "Then why did you let them kill me, Maera? Why?"

"I…"

"Why, Maera?!" Sirius begged for an answer, "Why?!"

"I don't know!" Maera cried back. "It all happened so fast! There was nothing I could do!" She tried again to reach out for him to no avail. He simply drifted away. "Please, Sirius…" she whimpered as he turned away from her. He began to fade. "I'm sorry." 

Sirius turned to gaze sadly at her. "No, you're not," he uttered, before the darkness embraced him.

"I am... please... believe me."

---

"Please…"

Faint, warm light flickered nearby in the darkness.

Tears welled in Maera’s eyes, trickling down to the pillow beneath her head. Curled on her side, she lifted her hands in an attempt to dry her eyes. The tiny movement stirred a cascading ache throughout her whole body, bringing to attention the stiffness in her neck, shoulders, and limbs. Groaning, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the tears and tension from her uneasy slumber. As her body struggled to return to wakefulness, her mind snapped to.

The voices rushed at her at once.

'She's awake!'

'Do you think she can hear us now?'

'Hey, kid! Snap out of it!'

'Come on, now. You all just saw that dream. Give her a minute.'

'But she’s been out of it for so long…'

'Where are we? Can anyone see?'

'Wake up, girl.'

"All of you, please calm down," Maera winced with a groan, shutting her eyes tight as she rubbed her temples in irritation. "I cannot hear myself think."

As the voices hushed, she remembered.

The rain. The fireflies. The moths.

The sound of shattering glass. Agony as the arrows pierced her flesh. The chilling fear as the bandits hunted her in the night.

The rushing blood. The pounding of her heart in her ears. The otherworldly beast that protected her and savaged her assailants. Her fear and fury fanning its flames.

The exhilarating rush she felt as she wrenched the life out of the one that wounded her.

A raven crowed at her.

'Look around you, child.' The voice from that night.

Maera opened her eyes once more.

"Where…"

This was not the Heartland.

'Where am I?'

Instead of lush green forests and open sky, Maera found herself indoors in a small cavern room, lit by the subtle warm glow of a couple nearby candlelights. Whether she was above or below ground she could not tell. The curved stone surfaces from floor to ceiling appeared to have been smoothed out by hand or magic, allowing it to be more hospitable. The bed she found herself in was a space carved into the wall of the cavern, with its flattened stone surface softened by layers of hay, furs, and worn bed sheets. The rest of the room held basic wood furnishings. A barrel beside her carried a small lit candle. A tall bookshelf near the foot of the bed held a small variety of old tomes, baubles and trinkets. Across the room was a desk with yet another candle. Beside it, all the clothes she wore that night was seated or hung on the back of a chair along with her gear.

It was then Maera realized that the only thing she was wearing was an old, oversized linen shirt. A pit formed in her stomach as she recognized that she had been stripped and redressed by whoever brought her here.

'Oh no…'

'Come now, it's probably not what you think…'

‘I don’t know…’

‘It’s probably nothing.’

'But what if…'

“All of you, please be quiet!” Maera hissed. She held her breath as she sat up. Panic stirred in her chest as she carefully checked herself for internal injury and other unwanted marks. After a cursory search found nothing, her fears lessened but did not quite fade away. Who had brought her here? What else have they done to her while she was unconscious? How long has she been here?

A raven called her again.

'No need to fear, child,' the voice whispered in her mind once more.

Maera glanced up. 

The raven was perched at the top of the bookshelf. It stared at her, with one of its eyes possessing a subtle yellow glow. It tilted its head at her before turning to point its beak at the wooden door nearby.

'Come on up.'

Pushing down her fears, Maera tossed aside the bundles of large furs that served as her blankets and climbed out of bed. The moment her feet touched the stone floor, it surprised her to find it warm and soothing, rather than chilled and bracing like the air in the room. It made her wonder where she had been taken. Approaching the chair where her clothes waited, she was pleasantly surprised to find them all neatly laundered. She began to lift the shirt to change back into her clothes when the raven squawked impatiently at her.

Maera gave it a withering look before letting out a sigh. “Please, I don't know where I am, I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, and I’m not going to step into the unknown wearing only this shirt.” She turned away from the bird and continued to get dressed. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

It simply trilled at her in response.

Leaving the shirt draped over the back of the chair, Maera made her way to the door. Upon opening it, the raven rushed past her head, flying up the winding set of stairs before her. Maera bit her lips nervously. Her only way out was shrouded in darkness, lit only by the candles from the room she was in. It was also considerably cooler out here, and she could hear the wind whistling in the distance.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing up the spiral steps.

Only the raven responded from above, beckoning her to follow.

Staring up the darkened stairway, Maera lifted her hand with a subtle wave to summon a magelight. 

It did not form.

Maera stared at her hand in confusion and tried again.

Nothing. 

'What in blazes…?'

She tried again and again.

'What is this place? Why can't I-?' 

The raven called out to her again from above.

'Follow him, child. He is there to guide you.'

Maera looked up at the shadows before her. Trepidation fought to hold her in place as more questions rose from her predicament. 

‘This is not sketchy at all,’  one of the voices remarked.

‘Could this be a trap?’ asked another.

‘How could it be a trap? She’s been unconscious all this time.’

‘If anyone wanted to harm her, wouldn’t they have done so by now?’

Forcing herself forward, Maera began to climb. The stairway was much colder than the room below. As the wind hissed and howled through gaps in the walls, she covered her head with her hood, shivering as she felt chilled to the bone. She took each step slowly and carefully, steadying herself against the inner walls of the spiral steps. Even the stone walls felt as cold as ice.

Relief came to her as she saw light at the top and the air became mild once more. Upon entering a large antechamber, Maera found the raven perched on the lip of a brazier carved into the walls. In place of flames, the brazier - and many others like it - were lit by small warm magelights, leaving a comforting ambiance in the room. Walking towards her guide, she took note of the other doors, halls and steps leading this way and that.

‘This place feels like a maze…’

‘I wonder who carved these paths,’ a voice asked.

‘And how…’ pondered another.

The raven greeted Maera with a tilt of his head and a soft chirp. When she approached, he flew up another, smaller set of steps into one of the nearby passages. She trailed after the bird once again and found him just as he landed on the floor by an open door. The raven stared back at her and cawed before flying in. 

As Maera drew closer to where the raven had gone, the alluring scents of warm food stirred an ache in her stomach. It made her realize how famished she was, pressing her feet forward with urgency. Upon entering the room, she found an old woman with her back facing her, sitting by a firepit in the center of the room. She sat cross-legged on a fur rug, focusing on stirring the contents of the cauldron before her. In front of the woman, the raven along with another were resting side-by-side, perched atop the arm of a lounging bench adorned with cushions and a large fur throw. Maera noticed that the right eye of both birds were aglow with the same dim golden light.

"Have a seat, child,” the old woman beckoned gently, waving her hand to the spot adjacent to her. “Supper is almost ready."

Maera hesitated, unsettled by the display of familiarity. As the ravens stared silently at her, the woman turned slightly to her left to glanced over her shoulder at Maera. Her right eye was hidden underneath an eyepatch, and her left was a piercing yellow - similar to that of the two birds. As the crone’s eye peered into her, Maera could not help but feel small.

"Sit,” she added firmly.

‘She’s scary…’

‘She doesn’t look so tough.’

‘All of you, hush.’

Maera made her way over, doing as she was told.

The old woman picked up a ceramic bowl from her side, and ladled out a portion of the stew she prepared. Once Maera settled down beside her, she handed it to her, followed by a wooden spoon. 

”Eat."

"I..." Maera gazed at the bowl in her hands. The stew seemed perfectly safe and smelled deliciously of beef, carrots, mushrooms and potatoes. Despite this and the impatient grumbling of her stomach, she could not help but feel the wariness of the others over this stranger’s courtesy.

‘Could it be poisoned?’ someone asked.

‘Why would it be? It would be such a waste of food.’

‘And poison.’

‘You’d be surprised the lengths people would go to kill you.’

‘Yeah… and if the old gal wanted to, the girl would be dead by now.’

‘Please be quiet, the lot of you. It’s hard to think with all of you talking.’

Noting Maera’s hesitation, the old woman gave her an annoyed look as she served herself a bowl. "You have not eaten for quite some time,” she explained before repeating her command, “Eat."

Maera once again did as she was told. 

While they ate together in silence, Maera tried to think of what to say or ask. She had numerous questions swirling in her mind, but the crone’s mere presence intimidated her from uttering a word. After a time, Maera allowed her vision to wander around the dimly lit room. Her sights landed on one of the windows, partially covered by thick curtains. They wavered from the cold draft whistling in, but beyond them, Maera could see that it was pitch black outside. 

Shifting her gaze away from the window, Maera noted there was a greater variety of furnishings up here compared to the room below. In addition to the cooking area in the center surrounded by pelt rugs and seat cushions, there was a small wooden table set nearby against the wall, accompanied by a couple chairs. Of greater interest to Maera was a pair of bookcases that reached from floor to ceiling, filled with old tomes, scrolls and bundles of loose parchment. Not far from the cases was another table equipped with an extensive setup of alchemical apparatuses, some of which she barely recognized either due to age or rarity. Additional shelves both carved into the stone and made of mounted wooden planks lined the walls, most within a step or arms reach of the workstation. These carried labelled jars, small metal boxes, and ceramic containers. Of the ones she could read, she recognized the names of both common and rare herbs and reagents. 

‘Another alchemist…?’

‘Another arcanist?’

‘Out here? Perhaps a wild mage?’

‘Be careful, girl.’

A voice hissed in the back of her mind.

‘A witch.’ 

"How are you feeling?" the old woman asked softly, breaking her concentration.

"Mm-” Maera swallowed the spoonful she had just taken. “Alright, I think…?" she replied, trailing off. Frankly she was uncertain of the answer herself.

"Hm. That's something, I suppose," the crone muttered. She picked up the ladle resting by the cauldron, and offered her hand. “Would you like some more stew?”

“Oh… I…” Maera glanced down, not realizing until then that she had finished the first one so quickly. Her stomach groaned again in response. Looking back up, she nodded before handing back the bowl. “Yes, please,” she replied meekly. As the woman wordlessly refilled it with another helping, Maera found herself relaxing to the woman’s presence. With another bowl in hand, she finally decided to ask. "I'm sorry but... who are you?"

“Aisa,” the old woman responded with a quick glance, before returning her attention to refilling her own bowl. "I am the one who found you unconscious in the Heartland. You were covered in blood and your own sickness after your little skirmish with the bandits."

“You...you saw that?”

“Yes, thanks to Gin and Nin over there,” Aisa replied, nodding towards the two ravens. “They help me keep an eye on you. They also guided me to you that night."

"Ah... I see," Maera muttered, eyeing the birds before glancing down at her bowl. She took a couple mouthfuls, pondering what else to ask. After several moments of silence, she spoke up. “Um…Aisa, if you don’t mind me asking,” Maera continued, trying to ignore the piercing look from the old woman’s eye. “Where am I exactly?"

"My home."

Maera stopped herself from flinching at her tone. "Which is... how far from Ark?" she asked slowly.

"Far."

"How far?"

"Deep in the northern region of the Frostcliff Mountains."

Maera blinked at her. “How…” she stuttered, her eyes widened in surprise. "How did I end up all the way out here?"

"I ported you here,” Aisa explained with a sigh, as though mildly irritated with having her meal disturbed. "After what happened that night, you fell unconscious, and lying out in the cold rain made you terribly ill. I concluded that since it was far too dangerous for you to be left out there alone, I brought you here to my home to look after you," she added. "I bathed you, healed what I could, and fed you broth and water in the brief moments you were barely conscious." She took in another morsel. "By the way, you owe me fifteen pennies. While I was able to have a tavernkeep down south clean your clothes, I also had to purchase that oversized shirt you woke up in so you had something to wear in the meantime. It's all she had spare to sell, unfortunately, so I just took it."

"Oh. I see." Maera felt another weight lift off her chest, though others still remained. Reaching into her coin pouch, she portioned out the amount owed and handed it to Aisa. "Thank you, by the way" she offered, "I am... grateful."

"Mhm."

As she watched Aisa pocket the pennies, Maera found herself thinking out loud. “So...you’ve been watching me?” she questioned.

“Yes. Since you made landfall here in Enderal,” Aisa replied casually, consuming another spoonful.

“Why?” Maera followed up instantly. The idea that someone has been spying on her disturbed her, and stirred even more questions in her head. 

Maera felt Aisa’s gaze peer into her as the crone contemplated her answer. “Listen,” she began, setting her bowl in her lap, ”when you’re an arcanist who has been around as long as I have, you make a habit of keeping track of others who are coming in and out of your area. More importantly, you do what you can to keep a discreet eye on them to determine whether or not they are friend or foe.” 

Maera stiffened, her nerves burned. “And who am I to you?” she mumbled, indignant.

As though sensing her unease, Aisa sighed. “Don’t worry, child. You have nothing to fear from me,” she added, before returning her attention to her meal. “You may be powerful, but I do not see you as a threat.”

“Oh.” Maera allowed herself to relax a bit at the old woman’s response. She did not trust Aisa yet, but she pushed aside the need to ask further questions. Instead she chose to finish her stew. Upon the last couple bites, Maera set her spoon and bowl down at her lap and waited quietly, opting to look around once again at her surroundings.

The wind outside whistled, occasionally howling against the glass. Maera began to wonder how high up the mountains they were.

"So...” 

Maera looked at Aisa as she spoke. The old woman set her bowl down, leaving the spoon inside before gazing back up at her.

“I assume you have more questions?” the crone offered.

“Oh?” Maera bit her lips. “Hmm.. well…” She thought for a moment on what to ask the older woman. ”Given you’ve been watching me, you do know that I live fairly close to the Heartland, right? In Ark?"

“I do.”

“So… If you knew that, why did you teleport me all the way out here to your home in the mountains?” Maera questioned, “Could you not take me back to Ark?

“I could.” Aisa answered lightly, before adding an abrupt, “But I didn’t.”

Maera tensed, troubled by the crone’s response. "Why not?" she asked.

Aisa gazed at her thoughtfully once again, as though deciding on how to respond. Instead of speaking, however, she simply raised a hand and made a slow swirling gesture with her finger. As she did this, the ground began to gradually rumble beneath them, sending subtle reverberations to everything in the room. Maera watched as threads of her hair began to float and waver around her head, with bright cracks of static sparking between the strands.

Trepidation surged in her mind. The voices began to murmur in confusion.

‘Girl...what is happening?’ one asked.

‘What’s going on?’

‘What are you doing sitting there? Stop her!’

Maera felt her blood run both hot and cold, rushing a bracing sensation through her veins down to her fingertips. Looking down at her hands, her vision began to brighten, the edges shimmering with white light. Frost began to crystalize around the bowl in her hands, even though heat began to form in her palms. Once Aisa’s finger stopped, the bowl in Maera’s hands cracked, snapping into chunks as the pieces became encased in a thick, crude coat of ice. The wooden spoon that she held burst into flames.

"Aiie!!" 

Shuffling back, Maera screamed, dropping the bowl from her lap and tossing the fiery utensil across the room. Before the spoon could hit anything, Aisa flicked her other wrist and caught it with a quick telekinesis spell. As the crone carried it back to them, Maera watched as her finger made yet another swirling motion, but in the opposite direction from the first. The light bordering her vision faded away, returning her sight back to normal. The ground no longer grumbled and the air around her no longer felt electrified. The bowl still remained within the ice.

“That’s why,” Aisa finally answered, staring grimly at the burning piece of wood as it slowly cracked apart before them.

“What…” Maera gasped, breathing rapidly from shock. “What did you just do to me?” she cried, whimpering and clutching her chest as her heart throbbed from panic and confusion.

Aisa simply gave her a sideways glance. "To you? Absolutely nothing.” She tossed the remains of the spoon into the fire pit. “What I did do was simply tone down some of the stronger warding spells I had to put up since I brought you here,” she explained.

"Wards?” As her breathing settled, Maera looked down at her hands. “Is that why I can't-?" Like before, she attempted to conjure another magelight to no avail. "I see."

"Hmm."

"I thought I had... I mean, my friend, she…" Maera blinked. "Wait, how long have I been here?"

"Over a week."

“A week…” Maera gasped softly, as her mind immediately went to her friends. Lishari and Calia must be terribly worried about her, given what they know. And Jespar…

'Would he even care?' 

‘He has been knocking at her door at night, before running off like a coward.’

'You two aren't even talking anymore…'

'He has been avoiding you…'

‘All of you. Please be quiet.”

"Mhm." Aisa's voice cut past the others in her head. "The wards your friend placed on your mind wore out several days ago. I tried to reapply them, but your unstable and peculiarly intense connections to the eventualities - and to the magics therein - more or less shattered them the instant I placed them.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a shame, really. Your friend weaved a beautifully designed spell - she’s a bright one for certain," Aisa added thoughtfully. "However, while it simply blocked your mind from spontaneously manifesting the different eventualities against your will, what really ails you remains to be a problem and - as you can see…" The witch gestured to the frozen bowl. "It is… progressing," Aisa sighed, lifting the bowl curiously to examine it. "So far you've been lucky that only your connections with elemental magic have been adversely affected. If your conditions worsens...well… I do not wish to think on what unpredictable and unstable Entropic energies or Psionics will do to those around you." 

Maera swallowed the dread that bubbled in her throat, grimacing at the old woman’s words. "I see."

"Do you understand now?" Aisa asked, giving Maera a stern and piercing stare. "Do you see why you were brought here?"

Maera felt her body tense and her nerves burn as the gravity of her situation struck her at her core. She cast one look at her hands before glancing back at the old crone.

"What's wrong with me?"

---

“How long has this been happening?” Jespar sat on the bench in Maera’s bedroom, holding his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees.  He rubbed his temples with his thumbs, as the weight of Lishari’s words pressed down upon him and sent a burning pit to his stomach. 

“We’re not sure to be honest,” Calia answered worriedly. “A couple weeks? A month? Even she’s not sure how long her magic has been acting up in her sleep.”

“The signs appear to be worsening gradually,” Lishari added. “She’s been lucky so far, with only weak ice magic frosting her sheets.”

Jespar sat up, as a thought occurred to him. “Perhaps it’s just her struggling with elemental magic?” he reasoned. He realized as he asked the pointlessness of questioning the Nehrimese mage. “She did tell me that she has difficulty with it...” he added, his voice trailing off.

Lishari raised an eyebrow at him. “Um. No,” she responded bluntly. “Usually if an arcanist has a weak Glance into the eventualities, their casts are either barely effective or they struggle to conjure it. Period.” She sighed, resting one hand on her hip while the other rubbed the bridge of her nose. “No… whatever is happening to Maera, it’s very much specific to her. I suspect part of it is largely due to her unique aura or whatever the deal is with her being the Prophetess. The other part of the problem is - from what I can tell - whatever baggage she’s been struggling with this whole time.”

“Baggage...?” Jespar looked up at the two women. He hoped his guilt was not evident on his face.

"Well… aside from you, of course," Lishari remarked lightly, her almond eyes glinting at him. Intentional or not, Jespar could not help but feel like she just backhanded him, but said nothing.

'I deserved that.'

"I do know that she is still quite anxious over being found by the Order again," Lishari added, moving the conversation onwards. "When Calia and I last tried to convince her to come back, we upset her so much that she unintentionally burnt the corpse of a bounty she was collecting to a crisp.”

"Maera is also still upset with Arantheal over her trial," Calia recalled out loud. "She never told me what happened exactly, but I can still remember how violently she woke up from her trial, screaming and crying. I've never heard or witnessed such a drastic awakening in all my years living at the Temple. Well... until hers."

"Hm. Come to think of it, she has mentioned a couple things about that day to me as well..." Jespar sat up and crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling as he attempted to sift through the memories. "Something about,” he paused, trying to recall her words, ”being trapped and tormented by someone who reminded her of her father, who I suspect she is not quite fond of.” Jespar then looked back on the times he spent with her, going through their conversations and interactions with one another. “I have also noticed her reminiscing here and there. Not quite discussing her past, per say - just...hinting at it. Every time she did that, however, she would immediately shy away from it. I cannot help but wonder…” At that instant, the memory of the scars on Maera's back flashed in Jespar's mind. “...why…”

The pit in his stomach suddenly became filled with a sickening dread.

‘Maera…’

At that moment, Jespar felt his heart ache. What was Maera’s life like before he met her? Before he found her lying unconscious in the brush, dressed in rags? Given the few pieces of the puzzle he was able to come across and what he himself has observed so far...

Jespar was afraid he was not going to like the answer.

Yet he still wanted to know. He needed to know.

He had to find her.

‘I need to see her again.'

"Well…” Lishari broke him out of his train of thought. “Whatever she's going through, one thing is certain: Without any formal training, Maera has managed to become an incredibly strong arcanist in an unbelievable short amount of time. The power I've seen her wield would take a normal arcanist decades of practice and study to achieve, and while that sounds amazing at first, I’m worried that if she is unable to keep that power under control, she has the potential to become extremely dangerous to herself and others.”

“So she’s...” Calia trailed off.

“At the moment? She’s a catastrophe waiting to happen,” Lishari stated bluntly.

“I… hmm...” Calia looked as though she wanted to ask something, but hesitated. She crossed her arms and her brow furrowed in thought. “I wonder…” she resumed, “Should we notify the Order about this? About what’s been going on with her?”

“Should we? Absolutely,” Lishari replied with a nervous laugh. “But will we? Hells no,” she added with a vigorous shake of her head. “It’d be a terrible idea.” “Why’s that?” Calia asked, “If Maera is losing control of her magic, shouldn’t we tell Aranthael or at least Firespark?” At her question, Jespar turned his attention back to Lishari, wishing to know the answer as well. 

“If we tell them about her - and that she’s gone missing - they are going to start asking why we did not come to them sooner,” Lishari pointed out. “We’re already facing a lot of trouble if they find out we’ve been keeping her location a secret this whole time. If they also discover what’s happening to her… well…” she grimaced, before continuing, “I don’t want to find out what they’ll do to her if they decide to go after her. I also dread what they’ll do to us if they figure out we were involved in any way.” Lishari closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “I have a feeling Firespark chewing me out for this would be the least of my concerns.”

At her words, Calia gulped anxiously. Jespar watched as she turned her sights away from them, crossing her arms tightly as though to comfort herself. Sadness and fear began to surface upon her face. “Yeah… you’re right,” she murmured quietly, “Things would not end well... for any of us.”

Seeing the two women become distracted with their thoughts, Jespar closed his eyes and leaned over again, resting his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with his palms and exhaled as quietly as he could, trying to relieve himself of the burden on his shoulders and chest. As he shifted his hands to the sides of his face, he gazed blankly at the floor. He began to wonder exactly how much Maera has told the two women about her magic? Do they know precisely how much she is capable of? 

From what Lishari explained to him earlier, Maera was coaxed by them into sharing a fair bit of information about herself, including details regarding him and the past couple weeks. If she trusted them enough to tell them that much, has she divulged the full extent of her abilities? As far as he can guess, the two women only know about her Thaumaturgy and Elemental skills, the latter of which garnered greater concern for them. But did they know that she has been heavily developing her capabilities with Sinistra magic? With Maera struggling to keep her magic under control, there could be far more to worry about than burned bed sheets or the occasional earthquake. At the same time, revealing that she’s capable of using such magic and potentially losing control over it could have Maera hunted down by the Order. 

Jespar was beside himself.

What should he do? Should he tell them? Or should he continue keeping Maera’s secret from them?

‘Tell them.’ Part of him hissed at him. ‘Tell them, and run the first chance you get. Catch the next boat out of this damned rock and never look back.’

‘No, stay. You have to find her. You have to make this right and help her,’ another urged. ‘You’ve been a coward too many times for far too long. Do something right for a change.’

His chest ached and he felt his throat tighten. The idea of being the one to end up depriving Maera of her freedom sickened him. Despite the terrifying power she wielded, he wanted to believe that she is still the kind, curious and thoughtful person that he knew. Maera also worked so hard and risked so much to make a life for herself here in Enderal. She does not deserve to be punished like those who used such nefarious power to harm and exploit the innocent, did she? Would execution even be on the table, given she’s the Prophetess? No, Aranthael still needed her. He would not risk losing her like that, right?

Jespar closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Part of him was still yelling at him to find the first boat out of the country as soon as possible. It screamed at him, insisting that none of this was his problem to solve. The other continued to argue against that, urging him to stay. After all, he could not help but feel at least partially responsible for what has happened to her.

Before that night, Maera was fine.

But after…

Jespar sighed.

He had to find her. 

"So..." Jespar sighed, gazing up at both women. They turned to look back at him, "What now?"

---

“Simply put, child,” Aisa began, eyeing the broken, frozen bowl in her hands. “You’re ill.”

“How so?” Maera murmured softly, puzzled by the old woman’s answer. “I feel fine.” She watched as the ice began to hiss and melt in Aisa’s palms. The bowl came apart, reduced to a pile of ceramic shards in her lap. 

“Are you sure about that?” Aisa responded, staring up at Maera with a curious gaze. “Nothing feels...off here?” She tapped a finger at Maera’s forehead. “Or...here?” she added, pointing the same finger over her heart.

“I…” Maera quieted. She began to see where Aisa was going with this.

“You are unwell, Maera.” Aisa stated once more. “Your mind is unravelling, and it’s adversely affecting your connection to the eventualities.” Her palms began to glow with a pale blue light, and the shards began to shift back to their place. “You need help,” she added.

“What kind of help?” Maera asked. “Do I need to find a healer?” She watched as Aisa’s fingers flexed and spun, weaving strands of lights in between the ceramic pieces. 

“No. The kind of help you need cannot be given by your average healer.” Aisa replied, her eye focused on the bowl in her care. “An apothecari might be able to provide you something to help ease some symptoms, like numb your mind with droga. But what you need to resolve your problems will have to come primarily from yourself.” She glanced at her for a moment. “With guidance, of course,” she added.

“I see…” Maera watched as the cracks in the bowl began to mend, but not seamlessly. The light being woven from Aisa’s fingers appeared to act as an adhesive, filling the gaps between the fragments. Upon becoming whole, the light began to fade from the cracks, leaving behind a pearlescent material. “How long do you think it could take?”

Aisa glanced at her, before looking down at the remnants of their meal. With a wave of her hand, both bowls and Aisa’s spoon were whisked away into a nearby wooden basin filled with soapy water. She snapped her fingers, and the water began to bubble and boil. She covered the cauldron with its lid, and stood up. Nearby, a walking staff lying against the wall shifted for a moment, before flying right into Aisa’s outstretched hand. 

“Come with me,” she responded flatly, before walking towards the door, wooden staff clacking.

Maera heard the ruffling of feathers, and both Gin and Nin flew to Aisa like children tailing their mother, with each one perched on each shoulder. Maera stood up and followed her. 

Aisa guided her back through the hall, passing the antechamber and climbing down an unfamiliar set of stairs. The path they took led them deep into the mountain, passing additional rooms, halls, and passages lined with braziers, lit by either flame or magelights of varying colors. The further down they went, Maera found the air becoming warmer, eventually forcing her to remove her cloak. She was surprised to find that every area they came across was also carved and smoothed out in the same fashion as the rooms above. Some were empty, save for the odd shallow bodies of water, creeping moss and plant life. Others held broken and worn out structures and furnishings, primarily made of stone, crude metal or faded ceramic.

“Aisa...” Maera breathed, curious at the sight. “What is this place?

“What remains of a lost people,” Aisa answered, her staff tapping on the stone beneath her with each step. “Long lost and forgotten,” she added, her voice faint with sadness. She glanced over her shoulder. “Come, down this way.” 

The crone led Maera through what appeared to be a large archway. The entrance was marked by standing braziers on each side, lit with pale blue flames. As they ventured further down the magelit path, she could hear the faint sounds of flowing water and feel the warmth in the air begin to intensify. 

“You may want to remove that outer vest of yours as well, by the way,” Aisa remarked, removing her shawl. “It gets quite warm down here.” Maera did as she was instructed.

The chamber they entered was dark and the air was thick with a soothing heat. Standing next to Aisa at the entrance, Maera could hear the water clearly, rippling and streaming with the chiming sounds of droplets spattering upon stone. The old woman raised her hand and with a snap of her fingers, the room began to light up. 

Amber magelights sparked to life on the braziers lining the walls, cascading inwards from where they stood. Numerous, natural hot springs and fountains were laid out before them, varying in size and depth. Each was divided and bordered by water-worn rock formations, winding and leading to the middle of the chamber. The center platform - raised higher than the other pathways - had its edges lined with natural stone pillars. Its surface was engraved with worn yet oddly familiar markings. 

Removing her shoes by the door, Aisa set her shawl down before making her way towards the platform. As she approached it, she raised a hand and her palm glowed with bright iridescent light. Maera watched as the air began to glimmer in intervals all around the room, with crystalline barriers flickering with each flourish of the old woman’s hand.

More wards.

Gin and Nin flew off from Aisa’s shoulders, perching themselves on whatever ledges they could find overlooking the center platform. Sitting down at the edge of the markings, the old woman glanced at Maera, who remained at the entrance. “Are you coming?”

“Oh. Right.”

Slipping out of her boots, Maera folded her cloak and tunic and placed them on the floor, leaving on her blouse and pants. She slowly retraced the same path Aisa took, taking care to ensure she did not slip into one of the pools. The closer she came to the platform, she could not help but eye the carvings.

“Are those...phasmalism markings?” Maera asked.

“Not quite,” Aisa replied, looking down at the pattern before them. “These are older. Much older.” She gestured to the spot directly opposite of her. “Have a seat, child.” 

As Maera did as she was told, Aisa guided her attention to the circular pattern before them.

“These markings,” the crone began, “are those of old magic, where its practice predates any schools known in this era. Like those who used to wield it, its knowledge has been lost long ago.” She gestured to the room around them. “The people that once dwelled in this city used this chamber as a place of healing and meditation, for both mind, body, and soul.” Aisa then gazed back at her. “They also used this place to commune with the spirits of their ancestors and seek guidance from the gods.”

“The gods?” Maera asked, “You mean the Light-born?”

Aisa scoffed and her lips curled in disgust. “Those were not gods,” she remarked dismissively. “Those your people called the “Light-born” were merely children gifted with strong connections to the eventualities, much like yourself. Only their own arrogance saw themselves fit to play as gods.” Her expression then softened and she cast her eye around the room once more. “No. The gods I am referring to are… well…” Aisa’s voice trailed off into a weary sadness, before she bowed her head to return her focus on Maera. “Hmm.. nevermind that for now,” she murmured. “We have more pressing matters to deal with.”

Maera gave her a subtle nod. “Right. So…” She looked down. “These markings…”

Aisa hands began to glow with a soft white light. “These markings - this whole chamber, rather - will make it easier for me to assist you and the souls trapped within your mind,” she answered plainly. “Well, more specifically, it’ll make it easier on you, since it’s going to be quite difficult for you once I start...hm...” The old woman paused for a moment, before adding, “... releasing them.”

“Wait…” Maera glanced up at Aisa. “Why would you need to do that?” she asked, “I didn’t trap them, I just…”

“Started picking them up like stray puppies and kittens off the street? Without next to no knowledge on how to properly care - no - safely handle them?”

“I- hm…” Maera hushed herself. It did not occur to her until that moment, but Aisa brought up a very important point. “I just… when I found them…”

“You... ‘just couldn’t leave them there’?” Aisa remarked in amusement, raising a curious brow before clasping her palms together. As she pulled them apart, the glow had shifted to threads of light emanating between her fingertips. “You know,” she began ponderously, “most practicing phasmalists choose to bind the soul they capture to an object of sorts, usually a talisman.” She flexed her fingers, and the threads weaved together. “It would grant them the ability to summon the soul as a spectral manifestation of its mortal form, bound to their master’s will.”

“I know that,” Maera replied, indignant. “I just…” she trailed off, contemplating the right words.

‘Come to think of it, I have been wondering what we’re all doing here,’ one pondered in her mind.

‘She found me in a cave,’ another remarked. ‘I’ll be honest. Being here is definitely an improvement from staring at rocks for the last century.‘

‘I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I died. All I remember is being trapped underwater until she picked me up.’

‘Can all of you please be quiet? I’m trying to think.’ 

“What? Don’t understand how to do it properly?” Aisa glanced up at her, before casting the threads down upon the carvings beneath them. They shimmered with a soft, yellow light. “I’m surprised, child, given what you’ve been able to learn so far on your own,” she remarked casually, marking unfamiliar runes between the curves and lines with her glowing fingertips.

“No. I…” Maera gazed down as she felt the light shift from yellow to a cool green, sending a soothing sensation through her skin. “I know how to do it. It’s just…When I was reading more about phasmalism and what it entails…” She glanced back up at Aisa. “Look, I’m not exactly a saint when it comes to my newfound abilities,” she muttered, “I’ve messed with people’s minds, paralyzed them, and outright killed them if it meant I could get a job done.” She sighed before looking down at her palms. “But...something about enslaving someone’s soul, imprisoning them within some inanimate object, forcing them to do your bidding for as long as you lived...”  Maera grimaced, and held herself tightly. The thought stirred a burning ache in her belly.

“Hmm. Well...” Aisa smirked as she continued to write. “I am not one to pass judgement on you. I’ve done my share of…well... I suppose what others would deem terrible things.” 

The last of the threads filled the engravings beneath them. As their light shifted from green back to white, Maera could feel the discomfort in her stomach ease and fade. She also felt the stiffness once present in her limbs dissipate, as though being washed away. “So… these glyphs you’ve written on the floor...” she breathed, curious as she watched 

“Do two things,” Aisa answered. “One, they reconfigure the platform to display the state of the patient - in this case, you. Two, they allow me to preemptively store some of my own magic for later use while I focus my attention elsewhere,” she explained. ”In other words, they enable me to temporarily ease whatever pain you have all over here,” Aisa remarked, gesturing her hands up and down her own body as an example. “So we can focus on the pain here…” she added, taping a finger right in the middle of Maera’s forehead.

“Hey!” Maera cried in protest, rubbing her forehead. “What was that for?”

From her, Aisa had pulled a tiny, jade hued wisp of light.  “Just taking an impression of your soul, my dear. Don’t worry,” the old woman replied nonchalantly. The little wisp hovered above her palm, and she eyed it curiously. Its light pulsed, blinking erratically between shimmering brightness and swirling darkness before dissipating. Aisa closed her palm and looked back at Maera. “Tell me child, how many souls have you taken into your care?”

“I…” Maera thought for a moment. ‘How many of you are there…?’

‘Six?’ one of the souls pondered.

‘No, seven,’ another replied.

‘No, there are six of us,’ argued one more.

‘I could’ve sworn there was one more...’

‘Same. Granted, that fella is not much of a talker.’

“I… I’m not sure,” Maera finally answered, “Six? Seven?” She gave Aisa a sheepish look. 

Aisa stared at her. “Blazing hells, child,” she mumbled, covering her face with her palm.

“Is… that bad?” Maera asked, her voice small.

“Well, my dear, it’s certainly not ideal,” Aisa replied with a sigh. “No wonder your connections are destabilizing so drastically…”

“I don’t understand…” Maera remarked in confusion. “I thought having a poor or weak Glance...er… connections to the Sea of Eventualities would hinder my magic, not have it manifesting out of my control.”

“Your connections are not poor or weak, child. Far from it,” Aisa returned, staring at Maera with her piercing yellow eye, “You in particular have immensely strong connections, and with each day that passes they are becoming stronger.” The old woman looked up, stroking her chin ponderously. “I suspect it has something to do with your aura. It’s quite different compared to most,” she noted.

“That’s what Lishari thought when we first met,” Maera recalled, “She’s the friend who designed the warding spell for my mind.”

“Ah yes. The bright one.” 

“Mhm,” Maera nodded, before adding, “So…what’s wrong with my connections being so strong? Isn’t that a good thing for an arcanist?”

“The problem,” Aisa resumed, “is that in order for one to properly manipulate the eventualities, one needs a strong and healthy mind to focus on both maintaining and controlling those connections. But you, my dear child...” Aisa poked her lightly in the middle of her forehead. “You have quite a lot of untreated turmoil in there. Lots of anguish and frustration built up over your lifetime.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Maera responded instantly, “What arcanist - what human being - doesn’t suffer on a daily basis in some way?” She crossed her arms, and stared skeptically at Aisa. “I know there are plenty of people who struggle in their day-to-day lives. Some are better off. Many others are faring far worse.” She tilted her head to the side. “It’s life. What do my daily struggles have to do with my control over magic?”

“Please let me finish, dear,” Aisa offered gently. Lifting a hand forward. she swirled her forefinger above one of the pivots in the glyphs. 

It began to emanate brightly with wispy, pale blue smoke. 

“Once again, to properly navigate the Sea, one requires a calm and healthy mind,” Aisa explained, guiding the brilliant light along the paths. She opened up her hand and the light split up, travelling smoothly throughout the carvings. She raised her other hand with fingers outstretched, and slowly turned her wrists.  “If one suffers from troubles of the mind…” she added, as the lights weakened, losing their hue and slowing down. “One must be properly trained and focused to offset the effect of those ailments..”  The hand guiding the light closed into a fist. The color was restored and the lights returned to their previous pace.

Maera observed Aisa release her hands from channeling, before returning a hand to one of the pivots. 

“Now, with an untrained mind...” She began her cast once again, and from the node formed a light that fizzled and sparked, rather than simmer steadily with smoke. “An arcanist would normally struggle to focus on their connections…” She guided the light, but as it began to move, it was slow and could only split into parts of a split path. Maera also noticed that in some engravings, the light reversed, or simply faltered before fading away. “Ultimately, in most cases, they would fail to reach the eventuality they require to conjure a spell.” 

Maera looked up as Aisa once again stopped her hands. As the engravings became clear, the old woman took one glance at her, and in a swift motion, tapped her gently on her forehead. From it, Aisa once again pulled out a verdant, iridescent wisp.

“With you, on the other hand, the situation is different.” Aisa took the little green light and clasped her hand around it, weaving it into strands before laying them out over the markings. 

The light within carvings changed to the jade hue, before emanating with a brilliance far greater than anything Maera had seen so far. 

“Due to the nature of what you are, you are capable of reaching an immense range of eventualities, and thus, a greater well of magical capabilities.” Without any of Aisa’s prompting, the center pivot flashed, before splitting up wildly throughout the carvings. “However, at the same time, compared to someone with your level of power, you have relatively next to no formal training, and thus have no proper tools developed to cope with whatever stress or challenges you face,” As multiple wisps travelled through, the lines and curves began to crackle and hiss, as though filled with fire. “This…suffice to say… is not ideal.”

Maera glanced up at Aisa. The old woman was not casting or channeling as she did before, insteading her eye was simply observing the display before them. Maera looked back down as her lights continued to behave erratically, bouncing between and shooting past the pivots. Their movements grew faster and faster, and after a time the lights began to warp into darkness, losing all its hue but somehow none of its brilliance. The friction their movements formed in some areas began to spark violently, bursting and crackling like tiny blackened wildfires.

“As you can see,” Aisa concluded, “With a deeply anguished and ill mind, your connections are exceptionally volatile and unpredictable.”

“I think I understand,” Maera offered, “But what does that have to do with the souls I’ve gathered?”

“It’s simple, really. They’re a distraction. Additional noise that your mind has to work through that much harder in order to maintain normal functions.”

‘Did she just call us noisy?’ one asked curiously.

‘Hush. Let the old woman speak,' replied another.

Aisa’s piercing yellow eye stared right into her, as though searching for something. “Listen, I understand why you did it. But despite your intentions in saving those lost souls, you’ve done more harm than good, especially to yourself.” She leaned over and gently tapped her fingers once again on Maera’s forehead. This time, she withdrew a number of wisps - seven, to be precise. With a flick of her wrists, the wisps overlaid themselves upon the shadowlit carvings. “By collecting so many souls without knowing how to properly handle them - by allowing them to take up residence in your mind rather than finding a way to send them off from the mortal coil to the next - you have crippled your mind's ability to maintain stable connections to the eventualities.”

The lights immediately began to travel alongside the same pathways as hers, disrupting their movements and even colliding into them, triggering greater bursts of energy. Maera shifted back, as one of the paths sparked and sizzled a little too close to her legs. She glanced up at Aisa. “I…” she stammered, “I had no idea.”

“Mhm. In short...” Aisa tapped her own head. “The more voices you have running around in here, the more stress your mind endures, the more it struggles to process your pain and trauma in a healthy way, and the more you struggle to maintain control on your connections to the Sea."

“I…” Maera bit her lips. “I still cannot see how they’re-”

“You’ve been hearing them, have you not?” Aisa asked, gently, “Their voices?”

Maera gave her a silent, uneasy nod.

“Those voices you are hearing are hindering your ability to reflect and examine the state of your mind,” Aisa explained, “This unfortunately leads to whatever illnesses or pain you incur becoming neglected and accumulating over time. The longer you keep those souls within you, the more difficult it will be for your mind to process and recover from any trauma you endure. And you, my dear, have quite a lot of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Maera did not like where the crone was going.

With a wave of her hand, the circle reset, returning to its soft, pale glow. Aisa reached over, resting a hand on Maera’s shoulder. She stared into the younger woman’s eyes. “I’ve seen into your mind, child,” she murmured quietly. “Since you’ve arrived in Enderal, I’ve caught glimpses of your memories, your dreams and your nightmares, both from the present and the past.” Her face softened with pity. “You have… quite a significant amount...”

Maera’s eyes widened as she felt a mortified chill rush up her spine. She pushed Aisa’s hand away and shoved her back. “You…I thought,” she shuddered, staring at the old woman in disbelief. “I mean… know you could see the wards Lishari placed on my mind but… to dive deep into my head like that.” Maera held herself once again. “I was already uncomfortable with the idea of you using your birds to spy me. But going through my thoughts and memories like some open book...” She glared at Aisa, hissing angrily, “You had no right.”

“My dear, I am trying to help you,” Aisa argued, straightening her clothes as she sat back. “Whether you want to believe it or not. You are unravelling, and it shows quite literally with your involuntary outbursts of magic.”

“That still does not justify you invading my mind like that...” Maera grumbled, her teeth still clenched.

“What would you have me do? Ask nicely?” Aisa asked sarcastically. “You are a horrifying accident waiting to happen. Had I not dragged you out here into the mountains and put the wards in place...” The old woman stopped herself. She closed her eyes and sighed, “Look… we can argue this another time. Do you want me to help you or not?”

Maera clenched her jaw anxiously and continued to hug herself for comfort. Knowing Aisa could see into her mind like that - delving into her most intimate thoughts and memories - without her knowledge absolutely terrified her. Sure, the old witch was offering her help now, but what would stop her from turning Maera’s mind against her or those she cared about?

Then again, if what Aisa explained to her is true, Maera was becoming - has become - a danger to herself and everyone around her.

What other choice did she have?

“Fine.” Maera spat resentfully. “What do you plan to do to me?” 

Aisa's lips curled and thinned in annoyance. She evidently did not like the change in tone coming from the younger woman, but Maera could not care less.

"Well, for starters,” Aisa began, her voice calm, ”I have to extract those souls from you." She lifted her arms in front of her, with palms facing down and fingers stretched out. Wavering her torso slowly from side to side, Aisa began to shift her arms in a stirring lyrical motion. "Releasing them would clear your mind, allowing you the means to once again process any untreated turmoil that is destabilizing your connections to the Sea."  The engravings began to emit fine, pale wisps of smoke, guided by the dance of the old woman’s hands to trail along the edges of the circle. "However, doing so will take quite some time and it will not be easy, especially given the number of souls you have."

"How so?"

"The ritual I have to perform is an old yet intricate spell. It was designed as a burial rite for the dead whose souls struggled to leave their bodies, hindering them from passing on,” Aisa explained, resting her hands on her lap. The smoke around them continued to trail and meander around them, drifting in wait. "In your case, while the ritual only needs some minor modification, it requires a significantly greater amount of care. I can only take out one soul at a time and I must be careful not to remove yours by accident."

Maera felt a nervous lump form in her throat, but swallowed it down. “Yes… please don’t.”

"Hmph. Don’t worry, child. This spell is meant to target the souls of the dead specifically. It is very unlikely your soul will be separated from your body. That said…'' Aisa glanced around them, guiding Maera’s attention to their surroundings. “While I have taken extra precautions to protect you and your soul with the aid of this chamber, its runes, and the wards I have put in place, I must warn you that the whole process will nonetheless be immensely taxing on you... physically, mentally, and spiritually." Her lips thinned. "There may also be a number of... side effects."

"What kind of side effects?"

Aisa glanced down at the glyphs before them, before tilting her head to the side, looking back up at her. "To be honest, my dear,” she sighed, “I do not know. This ritual was designed for the dead, not the living."

Maera did not like what she was hearing.

"I don't think I have to inform you that due to the unpredictable nature of this... operation, you must stay up here in the mountains with me so I can oversee your recovery."

Most definitely not.

"For how long…?" Maera asked, fearful she already knows the answer.

"I do not know. That depends on you, frankly."

Maera grimaced. She was beginning to have second thoughts. She wanted to go home - back to her soft warm bed, back to her alchemy table, back to the life she had just started for herself. She wanted to see her friends again. She wanted to be there just in case…

‘No. Forget him,’ one of the souls uttered. ‘Remember how he hurt you.’

‘You have a kind heart, mydame,’ another spoke, ‘You deserve someone better.’

The others murmured in agreement.

Nonetheless, Maera’s heart ached, longing for home.

For him.

“Well?” Aisa gazed at her, a brow raised.

‘What do I do?’ Maera asked herself, before her directing her to those within her mind. ‘How do you all feel about this?’

‘Well… if we technically don’t belong here,’ one offered.

‘And we either continue to make you sick, or end up bound within some flimsy piece of jewelry,’ another added.

‘I would like to move on from this world. It’s too depressing.’

‘But what does lie on the other side?’

‘Maybe I’ll get to see my wife again.’

‘My son...’

‘...’

Maera looked up at Aisa. "Fine," she answered firmly.

Aisa nodded. "Mhm. Very well then." She raised her arms again, and resumed their channeling dance. “Do any of them wish to volunteer first?”

‘Anyone?’ Maera’s called out to them within her mind. All of them remained silent. She could sense their uncertainty.

“No?” Aisa asked, which Maera responded with a shake of her head. “Okay. I’ll pick then.”

“What?” Before Maera could react, Aisa’s eyes - including the one under the eyepatch - began to glow, their brilliant golden light directly shining into hers. Maera could feel the old woman staring right into her mind, weaving around and reaching towards the others within.

It felt like she was in there for years.

‘You.’ Aisa’s voice finally emerged, echoing softly in Maera’s head. ‘Come.’ 

‘Oh… me?’ one of the souls gasped. ‘Why me?’

‘Fate does not need to give a reason. It simply chooses.’

‘But I…’ the soul began to falter. ‘I don’t know…’

‘Go on,’ spoke another. ‘Maybe you’ll get to see you son after all.’

‘Will I, mydame?’ the soul asked Aisa, pleading. ‘Will I get to see my baby boy again?’

‘That I cannot promise you, my child,’ Aisa answered truthfully, ‘Wherever your soul may travel is not for me to decide. I can only offer the possibility.’

‘I… alright then.’ 

In her mind, Maera felt the soul reach out to her. A hand that was not there gently touched her shoulder. 

‘Thanks, mydame... for saving me from that crypt.’

Aisa’s voice echoed again in her mind. 

‘It is time.’  

The crone began to chant in the physical world. Her voice reverberating and humming a lyrical hymn in a  language Maera could not begin to recognize. Around them, the once meandering pearlescent smoke began to shimmer, its luminescence intensifying with each chorus.

Just as Maera was about to respond to the departing soul...

Something flashed before her eyes. A loud, buzzing surged through her mind, followed by a deafening thunderous crack.

Her vision went white.

It all came at once.

Maera screamed.

---

Pain surged through her body. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. Blood poured from where the arrows struck, gushing at the same rate as her terrified pulse. Around her, horrified screaming and yelling. The beast snarling and howling. The sickening sounds of breaking bones and ripping flesh filled her ears in the heavy rain.

Another snap.

Her head pulsated in agony. Her vision blurring as they were surrounded by the undead. Her arms ached terribly, her muscles straining from the effort of keeping the creatures at bay. Him lying there, bleeding out from his neck.

She began to fall.

They surrounded her - their faces familiar but their voices monstrous. They mocked her. Toyed with her. Burned her soul alive.

She felt herself drowning.

He stared back at her in the depths. His blood still flowed from the gaping wound in his chest. In his eyes, she could see his despair, his terror, but they held no life.

She sank deeper.

All she could see was darkness. Her body ached and burned. Someone pulled at her hair. Others pulled at her elsewhere. One particularly cruel held her down by her neck.

The flames surrounded her.

She watched it all burn. She watched them all burn. Tears poured from her eyes. She looked at their mangled, charred corpses, before resting her sights upon his. 

The iron in her hand burned. 

She held it in her mouth, and began to climb.

His remains were still warm. His bones burned her terribly.

Maera did not care. 

She pulled herself up by his bones and cooked flesh, ignoring the pain as the broken pieces scraped at her skin. Steadying her feet on his hip bones, she grabbed him by his collar, still moist with blood. With one hand, she took the iron out of her mouth.

‘Father...’

With a scream, Maera drove the iron into his skull.

Right through the eye socket.

Again and again.

His bones snapped and cracked from the iron and her fury.

Stab. Stab. Stab.

Maera continued to scream and cry. 

Her throat stung.

Something ripped.

She began to fall.

---

‘Do something!’ From her palm, the soul trembled, as though crying out to her.

Aisa simply watched, overseeing the sight before her.

‘Please, can’t you see she’s in pain?!’ the soul begged, their voice pleading in her mind.

Before them, Maera writhed and whimpered, lying on her side with tears falling and eyes white with a brilliant golden glow. She reminded Aisa of a sleeping dog having a nightmare.

‘You wanted to help her! So help her!’

“Silence.” Aisa muttered with a hiss, quieting the soul.

She had to see this through. 

They both had to.

It was part of the process.

Once Aisa had finished the incantation, Maera’s eyes had begun to glow and she released a blood-curdling scream. She then collapsed on the ground before them, seizing and succumbing to whatever assaulted her mind. The aura of the glyphs and engravings beneath her continued to dance wildly, flashing with colors and lights. 

Orange. Purple. Red. Blue. Black. Orange. Red.

Indicators of the trappings of her mind.

So much anguish.

So much rage.

So much pain.

‘Please….’ the soul cried again. ‘She doesn’t deserve this...’

Aisa ignored them. She did not have to explain herself.

The child needed this.

Maera’s breathing began to quicken.

She let out a desperate gasp. She choked.

She vomited out water.

“Interesting…” Aisa murmured.

‘Is… that supposed to happen?’

Both Gin and Nin began to caw anxiously.

‘My lady…’ Nin began.

‘Do you hear that?’ Gin added.

Nearby, something shattered, then another.

Aisa swiftly turned her eye to look at the wards she had placed in the chamber. A couple had been completely destroyed. Others were trembling, shuddering from the unseen force that was assaulting it.

“She’s breaking them…” Aisa observed. Around them, the ground began to shake. The simmering pools around them began to bubble and boil. The moisture in the air stung and burned. Aisa returned her attention back to Maera. She was now convulsing.

She choked again, sputtering droplets onto the stone.

Blood.

“Huh.”

‘Help her!’ the soul cried out.

Before they could repeat themselves, Aisa encased the soul in a shimmering bubble, and thrusted it across the pools to the entrance of the chamber.

“Gin. Nin. Go,” she commanded. The twins followed the bubbled soul to safety without protest.

Aisa moved forwards and pulled Maera into her arms, cradling the young woman as gently as she could in her lap. As her free hand began to fill with a white, pearlescent glow, she formed a thick, crystalline dome around them, covering the top of the platform.

Outside, the chaos in the chamber calmed. But within, sparks of electricity and hot air swirled violently around them. She flinched; her skin stung from the spikes and elemental fluctuations of the reality around them. 

Aisa held Maera against her, rocking back and forth. She began another chant.

A lullaby in her native tongue.

A song of night.

In her arms, Maera continued to writhe in agony, eyes shimmering with both tears and light. The air around them began to lose its charge, and the glow underneath them began to fade. Aisa held onto her. Her free hand now rested upon the young woman’s head, emitting a cooling spell to ease her feverish mind.

“Dear child…” Aisa murmured softly. “Can you hear me?”

The glow began to fade from her eyes, revealing deep, emerald green irises once again. Maera began to come to. Her pupils readjusted to the light in the room.

“Maera?”

The young woman swiftly responded with a fist to the old woman’s face.

#enderal #fanfiction #oc #prophetess #aisa #jespar #jespar dal'varek #calia #calia sakaresh #lishari #lishari peghast #esme #esme yaleal #enderal forgotten stories #enderafluff #myfics #maera #maera vervain

[harleyquinnzelz]

‘Swan Song’ Cover Reveal

‘But perhaps it is the greater grief, after all’

The year is 1942. World War II is in full effect.

In the German occupied town of Tønsberg, Norway, a scientist named Johann Schmidt and his men uncover a relic known as the Tesseract which possesses untold power. 

One year later, in New York City, Steve Rogers struggles to find his place. He wants to join to ranks of the United States Army, wants to serve his country overseas in this time of crisis, but find himself unable to join due to a myriad of health issues. 

A chance encounter with a young woman named Esme Flamel changes everything. She and her research partner Abraham Erksine offer Steve a potential solution, a chance to do what he desires most, an opportunity to serve his country. 

What follows is a story for the history books, the birth and death of the man named Captain America, but one thing those same history books never get right is the love shared between the man behind the shield, Steve Rogers, and the brilliant scientist, Esme Flamel.

‘to be left on Earth when another is gone.’

#allaboutocs #ocappreciation #marvel ocs #muses #oc: esme #swan song #cover reveal #finally decided to make a cover for my girl #and i've been in a mcu mood #and haven't made anything in 20 years #so here's a cover for swan song #i love it a lot okay #i was going for like an old-timey photo vibe #so i wanted the colors to be like muted #anyway i like it a lot #sooooo #please validate me