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cursestothemoon · 3 years

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I Won’t Say I’m In Love

Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Read the summary here

Warnings: Language, suggestive themes

Word Count: 2569

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

(i found the picture on google, there is a name on it but other than that i am not sure who owns it. I do not.)

The leaves, newly fallen from the on coming of Autumn, crunched under the feet of hurrying students. Hogwarts had begun it’s new school year, witches and wizards were hurrying from boats and carts to get into the castle and catch up with friends. Just outside of the dining Hall was a sea of students, chattering with friends, everyone staying in clumps of like colors.

Gryffindors stayed with their own, as did Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs were the ones to intermingle the most, having friends in almost every house. Then there was the house of Salazar Slytherin, a proud bunch, robes of green tightly knit together leaving no room for outsiders or stragglers, not that the other houses (excluding Hufflepuff) thought highly enough of the green and silver house to make friends.

Y/n L/n, a proud member of Slytherin stood proud with her friends and housemates. Her chin was held high, a playful smirk painted delicately on her features as she listened to Blaise Zabini give a recount of his summer holiday. Blaise had always been a nice boy, his mother was a beautiful woman who was familiar with the front page of many high end wizarding fashion magazines. Then there was Lily Webberforth, another pureblood from a family of wealth, she was in Y/n’s year and a cherished friend.

“Father said he’d be purchasing a new peacock for the manor, though he couldn’t decide between albino or not.” Draco informed.

Draco Malfoy had wormed his way into the group during second year, a good kid...when he wanted to be, but absolutely snotty otherwise.

“Y/n, how about you wear my jersey for the first game of the season?” Adrian Pucey asked, arm slinging around Y/n’s shoulders making her internally cringe.

She was never a fan of being touched and Adrian seemed to be all for it when it came to her. They were in the same year and he’d been trying to convince Y/n to make it official since third year. She preferred to play with him rather than commit to him. It was easier that way, being able to differentiate her feelings from an early age, she knew she didn't particularly like him, but they had a few good nights and now she can’t shake him. He had become rougher over the years, harsh and controlling with an affinity for blackmail.

“No my clothes are just fine, Pucey, thanks.” She shrugged off his arm as Lily snickered at the exchange, finding joy in giving Adrian a look that told him ‘better luck next time’.

Adrian, not the biggest fan of rejection then turned to Lily in hopes of getting a jealous rise out of Y/n.

“What about you, Lils? You’ll wear my jersey won’t you?”

Lily shook her head, “I’m on the team with you, clear why you're not in Ravenclaw isn't it?”

Y/n laughed at the comment and moved to stand next to Lily, away from Adrian. Luckily, he got the message, for now, and left to find Marcus Flint.

“Have you seen the twins yet?” Lily asked, leaning closer to Y/n to make sure she wasn't overheard.

The girl gave her a questioning look before asking, “Why would I go looking for them?”

“Their hair’s come in nice, looking a bit shabby last year, remember?”

“Yeah, they’ve finally cut it?”

Lily shook her head, her eyes glowing with excitement, “Even better, it’s grown out a bit longer. Real nice looking, George looks rather well I’d say.”

“I always figured you had a thing for him.” Y/n laughed.

“Oh please, you and I both know that you love how much attention Fred gives you.”

Y/n tried to respond, really she did, but she was both out of words and interrupted by Lily again.

“Look, here they come.” Her voice was quite as she nudged her head in the direction behind Y/n.

Y/n turned slowly, in no rush to give Fred Weasley the satisfaction of having him know they were talking about him. When she did finally meet his eyes she couldn’t help but agree with Lily, his hair had grown out quite handsomely and he seemed to have reached an impossible height, well over the six feet he towered at in the previous year.

“Ladies.” They greeted simultaneously, Fred eyeing Y/n as they neared.

She gave a silent nod to them as Lily vocally greeted them with a reserved, “Hey.”

“News is that the first match of the season has our houses against each other. Shame isn’t it, Poppet? You can’t cheer for me.” Fred asked, arms crossing in front of his chest and lips stretching to a smirk.

Anyone could tell Fred was proud of his large frame, as a beater he worked hard for his toned arms, and thick biceps but his height was a complete natural gift bestowed upon him by the gods and he wouldn’t waste their generosity.

Y/n snorted, “Oh yeah, makes me feel empty inside when I can’t cheer for you, Weasley.”

“I know, no need to tell me. I fill you right up don’t I?”

The comment made her sneer at him, but she was unable to say anything back as her house was called into the Great Hall for the beginning of the year feast. Fred watched her leave as George poked fun at his inability to charm his way into her heart with innuendos and sarcasm.

It annoyed Fred, it was common knowledge that you had been with a few guys, some people even going as far as giving Y/n an undeserved title for it. Unfortunately, common knowledge happened to be a common rumor made by people who disliked her. Fred didn’t know this however and her constant rejection made him wonder, what did all those other guys have that he didn't?

Y/n and Fred had a back and forth relationship, neither being afraid to throw jabs at the other with the underlying tone of flirtiness yet both of them knowing the line not to cross. Fred thought she was ethereal, the way she seemed to glow as she walked through the halls had him weak in the knees. Her voice was buttery and soft, a velvety quality that seemed to grasp onto each of his heartstrings. Fred was head over heels for her and he hated it so he used sarcasm and a condescending tone to combat his feelings. Over time this developed into a false belief that he really didn’t like her, she was cunning, sly, and so easy to hate when he couldn’t love her.

Lily and Y/n sat in potions class, potion already brewed and completed as they gossiped in hushed tones and watchful eyes.

“So, anything new with Weasley?”

Y/n didn’t need a first name to know who her friend was referring to and she groaned.

“No, and there never will be.”

A loud groan emitted from Lily’s lips, “When are you gonna stop lying to yourself? I can see right through you.”

“There is no chance, no way that I’d ever fall for him.”

“You’d never fall for him or you’d never let yourself?”

The following silence was just as good of an answer as any, and Lily gave her a smug looking knowing she had won the argument.

Class ended shortly after that exchange, Y/n and Lily now having a free period chose to hang out in the room with the goblet of fire, watching as people put their names in. It was only last night that Fred and George had voiced their complaints quite loudly at the age restriction and Y/n was excited to rub it in Fred’s face that she was of age. Of course she wasn’t going to put her name in the goblet, she had better things to worry about than some tournament.

Lily and Y/n entered the hall at seemingly the wrong time, seeing as Fred and George had run through the doors leaving the girls in their dust. The whoops and hollers from bystanders made Y/n roll her eyes much to Lily’s amusement.

“How can you not be annoyed by their arrogance?” Y/n asked incredulously.

Her friend shrugged, “They are amusing.”

Y/n ignored the comment as they neared the twins.

“It’s not going to work.” She sing-songed loud enough for them to hear as she walked by.

Fred and George heard the comment and made a b-line for her and Lily. Fred plopped down behind Y/n, his face turning to meet her eyes, George doing the same to Lily.

“You don’t think that, do you Lily?” George asked Lily with a feigned look of childlike innocence.

“Come on, Poppet, have a little faith in me.” Fred said, a sarcastic look of pleading falling over his features.

For extra effect Fred jutted out his bottom lip making Y/n laugh at his ridiculousness, and oh how he loved to have her attention to himself.

“It’s incredibly dimwitted.” Y/n answered.

Lily nodded, “See that there?” She pointed to a white line around the goblet as she continued, “it’s an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself -”

“Meaning something as pathetically dimwitted as an aging potion isn’t going to get past it.” Y/n finished.

Fred tsked as he shook his head, “That’s why it’s so brilliant.”

“Because it’s so pathetically dimwitted.”

The twins stood up abruptly and Y/n’s eyes followed Fred’s figure. The way his jaw flexed as he drank the potion and his hair flopped when he jumped down from the bench with George made Y/n lose grasp on her emotions for just a moment.

He was good looking, she couldn’t deny it. Fred Weasley seemed to be built by the gods, his hair burned as that of Ares’, and his face chiseled to the likeness of Apollo. But Y/n had been there and done that with pretty boys, all of them were the same and wouldn’t give in to another one. She refused to let herself fall for him, afraid of the repercussions of really loving him.

The fire let out an angry growl that brought Y/n’s mind back to that room and what was happening, with good timing too as she then watched George and Fred get thrown a few feet in the air and land away from the age line. They sprouted long grey beards and got into a tussle on the floor.

The sight made Y/n giggle before she quickly regained her composure and acted as unbothered as possible making Lily roll her eyes. It would’ve been a fairly enjoyable time, regardless of what Y/n would’ve told Fred, but Adrian Pucey walking into the hall made her shrink in her chair as she grimaced.

“Go, don’t think he’s seen you yet.” Lily whispered, eyes trained on the other Slytherin.

Y/n nodded and hugged the walls as she made her way to the door, hopefully, unseen. She celebrated too early, and her face fell as she heard the unmistakable tone just as she made it through the doors.

“Running away from me?” Adrian called, his smirk evident in his words.

She stopped, turning to look at him as she spoke, “Don’t be so surprised. You ought to have realized by now your company isn’t wanted.”

“Come on Y/n, give us a chance. You know you want to.” He said coming closer to her.

“Really, Adrian, I don’t.”

Adrian reached out to pull her under his arm and forced her to walk with him, the act making her tense up but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned closer to her ear, his breath hitting her skin making her incredibly uncomfortable.

“You’re mine, you know that don’t you? And no fucking ginger is going to get in my way.” He growled.

“You’re disgusting.” She spat, eyes burning with the anger of Hephaestus’ greatest fire.

Adrian laughed as he leaned closer to Y/n’s ear making her give an uncomfortable shiver, “Careful, darling, your feelings are showing.”

“Miss me, poppet?”

Fred Weasley’s voice was chipper and cheery as he greeted Y/n in their first class of the day. He had just woken up and it showed, his red hair looked as though it was hastily brushed through with his own fingers and his eyes still a bit puffy. He looked positively endearing as he took a seat at his table with George, just behind Lily and Y/n.

“Ridiculously.” Y/n mumbled, not looking up from her Herbology book.

“We’re only a few weeks in, what could you possibly be studying for?” Fred asked as he leaned over his desk to catch a glimpse at what you were looking at.

You glanced at him momentarily before looking back at your book, “Just giving myself an idea of what to expect.”

“Not a bad idea.” George said, considering doing it himself.

Fred gave him a funny look before turning his attention back to the girl in front of him, chin resting on his hand propped up by his elbow on the desk. She wasn’t paying attention to him, instead focusing on the book in front of her. She was slightly to the side allowing Fred the perfect view of her face without giving her the satisfaction of knowing he was staring at her.

Y/n’s hair fell in gentle waves down to kiss the top of her hips, she had fring that framed the length of her face and parted in the middle that was incredibly voluminous. Her eyes were focused with intense determination as she read, face relaxed as she was completely absorbed in what she was doing. Fred noticed early on that she rarely laughed, a genuine, eye crinkling, giggle but instead always had a look of unbothered casualness. He couldn’t understand this, not in the slightest, seeing as he was sure he had smile lines forming already.

He wanted to know more about the ethereal Slytherin, he craved it with everything in his being. Something about her drew him in, held him in place and refused to let him go.

Deep in thought, Fred failed to notice her eyes now looking at him with a curious glint and her hand coming out to poke him with her index finger.

“Alright, Weasley?” Her eyebrows were furrowed and Fred shrugged off the bubbly feeling he got in his gut.

He smirked, “Aw, do you care about my well being? Georgie hold me I may swoon.”

George laughed and shook his head at his brother, Lily joining in on the laughs as she watched Y/n’s face contort to one of distaste.

“Oi, Freddie’s got himself a girlfriend.” Lee Jordan, a close friend of Fred and George’s called from his table on the other side of the greenhouse.

Fred gave a short chuckle, his defenses coming up instantaneously as he tried to ignore the burning of his cheeks. And maybe if he hadn’t been so keen on putting down any and all rumors of him having feelings for Y/n he would’ve noticed the shy smile that graced Y/n’s lips as she turned her face away from the boys.

But alas, he didn't, and instead opened his mouth to shout over to Lee.

“My standards aren't that low, mate. I’d just as soon shag a goblin, Godric knows they’d be less bothersome.”

Taglist

@freddieweasleyswife @anywherebuthere

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #Harry Potter imagines

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halcyonstorm · 3 years

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my contest submission for LH drabble week! @levihan-drabbles

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë Characters: Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoë, Kuchel Ackerman Additional Tags: Sick Levi Ackerman, Leukemia, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Accidents, Doctor Hange Zoë, Angst, Slight OOC, sorry Series: Part 9 of Short Fics Summary:

Hange and Levi were separated for several years for reason they couldn't help. They finally found each other.

At just 18 years old, Levi received the worst news of his life. He was sick. Extremely sick. If someone even coughed or breathed on him, he could die. He had leukemia, a disease which attacks the body’s white blood cells. Our white blood cells are our guardians, protecting us from any infection that dares to enter. He had one friend he wanted to tell the most: his best friend Hange. She had been his friend since the beginning of high school. He didn’t like her at first, but she kept showing up, eager to be his friend. He eventually warmed up to her, allowing her to sit with him at lunch, hang out after class; soon, they were inseparable.

Levi’s heart was in his throat as he mentally prepared to present the life-changing news to his best friend. “Hange, I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice trembling. Hange looked at him funny. He never spoke in such a strange manner before. Hange hesitantly sat in front of him at the empty desk, turning around in the chair to face him.

“What is it?” She asked, concerned. She was starting to get nervous.

“I’m sick,” he began, almost inaudibly. “I have leukemia… I am gonna have to leave school to be in the hospital. I get so weak, and my immune system is absolute shit… I can’t even risk getting a cold, otherwise I can die.”

Hange’s heart sunk into her stomach. She took a deep breath and looked into her lap. She had to be strong for Levi, and she knew that.

“I’ll be here with you. We can text, call, facetime…”

“Yeah, we can,” he replied.

“We will! I’m your friend,” Hange said, grabbing his hand. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you behind.”

At first, Levi thought he’d be strong enough to withstand the chemotherapy. That he’d be the rare case to have no side effects. Boy, was Levi wrong. After his first two weeks, his health was tanking. It tanked so bad, in fact, that no one was allowed in the room except the doctors and nurses. Hange was one of the only people to call him daily besides his mom. Hange would Facetime him after class, telling him all about her day. Levi never had much to share from his monotonous days of drug infusions and immobilizing fatigue, but he enjoyed listening to Hange’s voice. Over time, Hange began to notice her friend change: His skin became ghostly pale and his words were mumbled. She would show him the blooming flowers in the spring, the fallen leaves in the autumn, the snow in the winter. She would show him anything to distract him from the excruciating pain he suffered each day.

After a year of chemotherapy treatments, the toxins started to take a toll on his body. He’d find clumps of black hair on his pillow every morning, until one night he insisted his mother shave it all off. Each clump of hair reminded him of the life he should’ve had. Going to class in-person instead of online for the rest of the semester, graduating through a computer screen. He fucking hated it. His physical and mental state began to worsen each week. He was like a walking corpse, sleeping about 16 hours each day. When he was awake, he was wishing he was asleep. Each day he withered away in the hospital bed. He would miss Hange’s calls frequently due to his concerningly deep slumbers. If he managed to pick up, he would fall asleep on the phone with her. Despite her busy school schedule, she found time to text him every day. That is what kept him going.

Every day turned into once a week, which turned into once a month, and soon not at all. He had officially lost touch with the only friend in his life. He felt it was his fault: he had no energy to ever respond to her texts. He couldn’t blame her. She did try. Alone in his hospital room staring at his old texts from her, his heart ached and tears spilled down his face.

Another year had passed when his doctor came into his shabby hospital room with a look of hope. Levi felt his heart begin to race.

“Levi, we have some good news and some bad news,” He began, shutting the door behind him. He wore a bright yellow gown with a blue face mask and latex gloves. “The good news is, your white blood cell levels are elevated. This is an improvement compared to last month’s tests. Since they’re higher, you’re well enough to receive a bone marrow transfusion from your mother, who’s a perfect match. The bad news is, there are many risks to having this transfusion. Your body can reject the bone marrow, which may cause massive complications. However, I think it is best for you to get the transplant. It is your best hope for overcoming this disease.”

With no hesitation, Levi agreed. Let’s do this thing.

He tried to reach out to Hange to tell her the news, but after a week with no response, he was disheartened. A part of him hoped she would respond. He had his family, and for that he was forever grateful, but who would he have once he left the hospital? Who would he talk to? Who would he be? He completely lost the miniscule amount of social skills he had. He did make friends with some of the patients on his floor. Unfortunately, he outlived most of them.

Fortunately for Levi, the transplant was a success. Within the next few months, he began to regain the color in his face, and hair started to sprout on his head again. He was sleeping less frequently, he was finally able to do a lap around the hospital floor without getting too tired. He was still on chemotherapy, but he was regaining his strength, and more importantly, he was getting his life back.

Levi was in (and rarely out of) the hospital almost four years. The day he was discharged for good was a beautiful spring day. The stale air became fresh as he exited the hospital in a wheelchair. He heard the bright green trees rustling and saw some beautiful pink flowers that reminded him of Hange. He took everything for granted until he was cooped up in a hospital room for years. He was grateful to Hange for being his eyes to the outside world. He felt a breeze run through his buzz cut. He took a deep breath, tears helplessly streaming down his face. He was finally free.

It wasn’t long before Levi started searching for his long lost friend. He hated himself for forgetting how to spell her name. Was it Hanje, Hangi, or Hange? He couldn’t quite remember. He searched her name and was shocked to find out Hange was a medical student practicing at Shinganshina General Hospital. Shinganshina General wasn’t far, so she must still live in the area. He couldn’t, however, find any of her social media accounts. She was off-the-grid. Great… he thought. She was always difficult. He was one to talk, though. He hasn't used social media in years.

Throughout the summer, Levi was able to land a job as a mechanic and he worked endlessly. He had to repay the debt he placed his parents in. His mother especially hated the idea of him working just as he finished his treatments, but Levi was persistent. Eventually, he saved enough money to send monthly deposits to his mom and move out. He couldn’t have his mom taking care of him anymore after all she sacrificed for him. He had made enough money on his own to afford a cheap apartment two blocks away from her house.

After getting settled, Levi told himself he couldn’t begin college without knowing about Hange’s whereabouts. He decided maybe if he drove to Shinganshina city, he would be able to find her somehow. Someone ought to know her… He got in his car one evening, punched in a diner’s address in Shinganshina, and started to drive. As he drove, he started to realize his plan was stupid. What, am I gonna stalk her at the hospital?

After finishing a 10-hour shift at the shop, he impulsively drove past his block and hit the highway. The highways were ruthless that Friday night. He had never been to Shinganshina before on his own. He drove, hovering his head over the steering wheel with his elbows tightly tucked to his sides. The speed limit signs read “65 MPH''; however, everyone was quickly steering around him, going way over 75. He was very tempted to turn around in spite of his impetuous road trip; but he couldn’t find an opportunity to do so.

On the other side of the road, the two lines merged into one. One of the drivers did not recognize this, and suddenly swerved onto the other side of the road where Levi was driving. Perhaps if Levi didn’t work so hard that day, there was a slight chance it could’ve been avoidable. The last thing he saw were bright fluorescent headlights before he was knocked unconscious.

“We checked his driver’s license. His name is Levi Ackerman, age 22, victim of a head-on vehicle collision. He was wearing his seatbelt and had an airbag. He may have suffered a SCI and concussion. His heart and lung sounds are normal although his sternum and ribs may be broken,” A paramedic announced as they wheeled the unconscious man through the glass doors of the emergency room.

“Get him up to imaging. We need to do a MRI, CAT scan, and x-ray STAT!” the doctor replied, taking her stethoscope to listen to his chest. She recognized the man right away but allowed her feelings to be suppressed for that crucial moment. Of course she recognized this man. He was her long lost friend, after all.

After finishing the tests, Levi was brought to a hospital room where he was changed into a hospital gown. Dr. Hange Zoe and Dr. Erwin Smith discussed the results: MRI showed signs of a concussion; CAT scan showed no signs of hemorrhaging; x-ray showed a cracked sternum and ribs 4 and 5 were broken. No signs of broken extremities, however he presented with ecchymosis on the bony prominences, such as his hips, knees, and collarbones.

As Levi awoke about two hours later, groaning loudly.

“My chest!” he complained, finding it hard to move. The two doctors turned around to find the patient had regained consciousness.

“Hello, Levi,” Dr. Smith began. “You were in a car accident. You’re at Shinganshina General Hospital. I am Dr. Erwin Smith, and this is my intern, Dr. Hange Zoe.” Levi’s eyes widened when he announced her name.

“H-Hange…” he whispered, attempting to sit up but failing. Dr. Smith placed his hand gingerly on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to sit up. Just relax. How is your pain? We can give you some medication.”

“It’s fucking horrible. Please,” He whimpered, grimacing. Dr. Smith nodded, leaving the room. Hange immediately grabbed a chair, sitting next to her patient, but more importantly her friend.

“Levi, dammit what happened?” She said softly, looking at him. His face was not scratched, it was just the rest of his body that was injured.

“What happened to you?!” He retorted, looking her in the eyes. She could tell he was hurt, not just physically. “So much for not losing you...”

“I was texting you as much as I could, Levi,” she explained, feeling guilty. “I had lost my phone and got a new one, but I couldn’t remember your number. I tried to find you online but I couldn’t… I am so sorry.” She hesitantly grabbed his hand. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he squeezed her hand.

“I was too sick to reply,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not-” A knock rang on the door and Hange stood up almost on cue.

“On a scale of 0-10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, how would you rate your pain?” She asked, switching the topic.

“A big fat 10,” he groaned. Dr. Smith wheeled in an electronic machine with a wire and handle attached.

“This is a patient-controlled analgesia pump. You can push it as many times as you’d like to help alleviate your pain. You will not overdose since it has a set amount of medication you can receive per hour. Also, we have some acetaminophen for you.” Levi downed the pills as soon as it was handed to him. Dr. Smith hooked the tubing up to his IV and handed him the button.

“Hange, gather your information on your patient and then meet with me in the conference room.” Dr. Smith left the room, Hange hesitantly looking at her friend again.

“Let me just do a quick physical assessment,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her pen light. As she did her assessment, he admired her. Being a doctor really did suit her. She was wearing a white lab coat with her name embroidered into it. As she would move his gown around to assess his heart and lung sounds, his breath hitched when he felt the tips of her fingers touch his bruised chest. He looked at her face as she worked. She simultaneously looked the same and different. Different in how she wore her hair, in the shape of her glasses, and she stood taller, more confidently. Same in her eyes never losing their sparkle, her focused pouty face, as well as her smile. That breathtaking smile never changed.

Once she finished, she cleaned off her materials and tucked them away.

“Levi, you’ll be kept at the hospital overnight to monitor your heart on the EKG. If you are able to walk in the morning, you will be discharged. Do you have anyone you can call?”

He thought of his mother. He thought of the burden he crushed her with. He decided to deal with this on his own.

“I live alone,” he replied, looking towards the foot of the bed.

“I can stay with you,” She offered instantly. Levi’s face flushed as he met her eyes. “I-I mean… if you want! You have a concussion. You can’t drive yourself or be left alone.”

“Isn’t that like… against the rules?”

“...I am not working tomorrow. I can pick you up and we’ll go from there. Since you won’t be in the hospital for long, I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” The corners of Levi’s mouth curled upwards.

“That is fine with me. Let’s do it.”

The next day, Levi was able to do a lap around the hospital floor. He walked around with one of the nurses to make sure he didn’t collapse. He was ready to go home. Correction: He was ready to go home with Hange.

Hange went to his hospital room in her normal clothes. Her style changed. She used to wear baggy t-shirts and jeans. She looked more mature in her white button-up top and black slacks. He had to prevent his mouth from opening when he saw her. She was beautiful, but of course he would never mention it. Hange walked down to the entrance of the hospital with the nurse and Levi. She went to get her car. A few minutes later, she arrived in her dark red Honda.

“Levi, you just have to direct me to your house…” She began, tapping at the car’s GPS. He gave the address and she punched it in.

“Hange? Why are you doing this for me?” He asked, almost by accident. She shifted the car into Drive.

“I… never stopped thinking about you, you know,” She began, driving away from the hospital. “Even though we lost touch, I still hoped to meet you again someday. You are the reason I wanted to be a doctor… and whenever I lost hope, I thought of you. Whether you know it or not, you pushed me to keep going.” He looked at her blushing face.

He was shocked by what she said. He felt the same. “Me too,” he confessed, looking in his lap. “Your calls saved my life. You were the only one who stuck around. I will never forget that.”

He was never one to say what he meant, but knowing he had the courage to speak those words to her, Hange felt a strong urge to kiss his lips. She always had feelings for him. Her feelings never changed, despite their time apart. In fact, it only confirmed her feelings for him even more.

“Even before I was hospitalized, I took everything for granted…” Levi said. “I have been wanting to tell you something ever since my diagnosis…” Hange felt her heart skip a beat as he spoke.

“Thank you for being there for me.”

At the red light, Hange looked at him and squeezed his hand firmly. She noticed his cheeks were dusted with a red blush.

“I’ll always be here for you.”

He met her eyes, those radiant hazel eyes. He took advantage of the long stoplight to kiss the woman’s lips. He couldn’t contain his feelings anymore. He swore he’d tell her how much he meant to him one of these days. And God, her lips were soft and velvety and everything he’d imagined they’d be, but ten times better. She was shocked at first, but kissed him back. His lips were a little chapped from his rough night, but they were warm. She dreamt of this moment for years (as did he). It was better than how she thought it’d be too. She was intrigued by the quiet boy in school ever since she met him. Maybe she thought he’d lack passion, but it was the opposite. The kiss was full of passion and relief; after years of being in love with each other from a distance, they melted into each other. Suddenly, there was a beep behind her; the light had turned green. Hange chuckled, starting to drive again.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

#i hope this is not confusing...#also its slightly ooc #sorry #levihan #levihan fic #levihan angst #levi x hange #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hanji #aot #snk #aot fic #snk fic

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adamsbackpack · 3 years

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Something that makes sense in dream logic...

But a continuation of this, maybe like somehow Bryde somehow finds Declan’s apartment where Jordan is as well and Declan finds a slightly unhinged Bryde carrying in an unconscious sickly looking Ronan and he’s slowly starting to turn into a tree, like the one he was trapped in during the dream? So he’s growing leaves and vines from his fingers, his skin is turning to wood

Idk the dream ley energy from the forests that Ronan dreamt are decaying and slowly releasing the ‘ dream energy’ back into him idk and slowly Ronan wakes up in Declan’s bed half conscious and out of it and slurring works and Ronan rasps that he’s sorry he was such a bad brother and made Declan hate him and obv Declan said he never hated him and Declan’s just a big mess of asshole Declan emotions cuz for all he knows his younger brother is dying in front of him and just a lot of Declan worrying about Ronan and yelling at bryde for what he’s done

And maybe they try the sweetmetal and when they put it next to Ronan he gains some color back slightly and Declan (and jordan) and watching over him In worry wondering what to do

So just can you make it longer if you can, than the last one? Mostly Declan’s POV with a little bit of Ronan’s, even though he’s unconscious/ dying/ turning into a magical dying tree?

Had it not been for the jarring silence in the room, Declan wouldn’t have heard the lumbering steps coming from the stairwell outside his door. Had it not been for the silence, he wouldn’t have had that sinking feeling he gets when he just knows that one of his brothers is fucked. He wouldn’t have cleared the mugs of coffee off of the marble counter of the island in his cramped kitchen. He wouldn’t have sent Jordan to the door to look through the peep hole, making sure there were no straggling moderators coming to slit their throats.

Thankfully, a heavy blanket of quiet had settled itself over the apartment, which allowed enough time for Declan to manage all of these things before Jordan opened the door to reveal his dying brother.

“Help me,” growled the tall, bird like man that had Ronan cradled in his arms. Ah, thought Declan. So this must be the infamous Bryde.

Jordan gripped Ronan’s ankles while Bryde struggled to haul the rest of him by his underarms. Had the situation not been so gruesome, Declan might have been laughing. Well, maybe he would have smirked (Declan really didn’t laugh all that often). But to watch his foolish little brother being dragged through his apartment door seemed like the perfect moment for those four glorious words that Ronan hated so much: I told you so.

But Declan wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smirking. Because the situation was gruesome.

Nightwash spilled from between his brother’s cracked lips, leaking from his nose and ear canals and soaking the living room carpet as Jordan and Bryde carried him into the kitchen, where they draped his body across the cleared marble countertop. Dark shadows clung to his eyes, looking more and more like bruises the longer Declan looked at them until he wasn’t even sure that they weren’t. His hair, which was normally buzzed to the scalp, had begun to grow out softly from Ronan’s days spent on the road, hopping from city to city with Hennessy and Bryde. Stubble grazed his jaw, and Declan was struck in that moment by just how much Ronan looked like Niall.

But Nightwash and exhaustion were the least of his worries.

From Ronan’s fingertips, branches were stretching out towards the kitchen windows. Thick leaves sprouted on stems that shot out from the startlingly green veins in his wrists, covering the smattering of scars from nightmares of the past. Tree bark crept up his throat, leaving Ronan’s neck stiff and confined. When he started choking, Jordan tugged on his bottom lip to find a soggy bunch of wildflowers crawling out from his windpipe.

“What the hell is going on here,” Declan demanded, gripping Bryde by the collar as Jordan helped Ronan to sit up as he vomited oily black clumps of moss. Bryde, looking a little worse for wear with black liquid strewn across the front of his shirt, snarled at Declan as he tore himself away from his grip.

“You think I would have come here if I knew?” The way in which the question was spat assured Declan that he knew the answer. “I think… I think it’s Lindenmere.”

“Okay,” Declan said dangerously, “then why don’t you tell me why the fuck Lindenmere is growing inside my brother?”

Bryde’s eyes glowed. “I’m sorry, did you miss the Ley Lines going down? Thanks to your girl-“ Bryde threw an accusatory finger at Jordan, who gave him her angriest finger in return, “-Lindenmere can’t exist. It’s returning to its dreamer because it has nowhere else to go. This is its way of falling asleep, just like the rest of his dreams.”

Declan swiped his hand over his face, silently praying that when he opened his eyes, all of this will have just been a stress-induced hallucination. No such luck.

“Declan,” Jordan said, “I don’t- what do we do?”

Declan contemplated this. They couldn’t exactly go to the hospital - what were regular doctors and nurses supposed to do against an illness such as this. Where would they even begin? And it’s not like Bryde could dream up a remedy with the Ley Lines down.

A sharp groan coming from the countertop brought Declan back to himself. Ronan’s body was convulsing with every movement of the branches engulfing his flesh. He tried to speak around the garden that had inhabited his mouth but to no avail. Declan placed his hand on Ronan’s forehead and rubbed his thumb softly against his temple the way Aurora used to do when they were sick. “Hey, Ronan,” Declan said softly, and was struck by the tightness in his throat and the stinging in his eyes. “You’ve really gotten yourself fucked this time, haven’t you?” Though his body still shook violently and the wildflowers muffled his voice, Declan swore he heard his brother attempt a laugh. Ronan’s hand shot up and squeezed Declan’s tightly, a pulsing grip in time with his body tremors. “It’s okay, Ronan. It’ll be okay, just try and breathe.” Declan watched as his brother’s chest shook with the effort to take in a measured breath.

Ronan let go of Declan’s hand, only to tap at his palm until it lay flat. He traced the letter ‘M’ on his skin. Matthew.

Was it better to tell Ronan he was fine, just to alleviate some of his stress? Should he tell him the truth of the matter, which was that the youngest Lynch brother was currently unconscious in his bedroom, as he had been for the past several days?

Declan settled on a half-truth.

“He went to sign himself up for high school in DC the other day. Isn’t that great? He had a meeting with the guidance councillor to register and select his courses. He was really excited about auto class, so he can help you fix the car with Adam the next time you crash it.” Declan rambled on, side-stepping the truth and instead offering the pleasantness of Matthew being happy. Ronan was too exhausted to demand a real answer, so he drank in his brother’s distractions eagerly. At the mention of Adam, though, Ronan tensed and glanced up at Jordan, who nodded in understanding and left to call him from Declan’s landline.

“He’s not getting better,” Bryde said impatiently. The young man had been so quiet up until that point that Declan almost forgot he was there. Almost. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to try.” Well, that wasn’t good. Bryde apologizing was decidedly not good.

A blood-curdling scream erupted from Ronan so suddenly that Declan had to take a moment for his heart to start beating at a normal pace again. Through Ronan’s t-shirt - which was now soaked with a mixture of blood and nightwash - burst forth five branches, flaking with rough bark and moss. Jordan rushed in from the living room, hand held over the speaker of the phone in a futile attempt to block Ronan’s cries from Adam’s ear. “Shit,” she breathed. “Adam, hun, let me call you back.” She silenced Adam’s muffled protests with one tap to the phone.

Declan gave a shake of his head before pointing to the cupboard beside the sink. “Get me towels, as many towels as you can,” he said sharply. Bryde and Jordan came back seconds later with armfuls of soft cotton dishtowels. Snatching them from their grasps, Declan began wrapping the towels around the base of the branches until most of the blood was sopped up. Just as he stepped back to observe his work, his cell phone began to tremble in his pocket. “Son of a bitch.” Unknown number. Maybe it’s Hennessy.

He answered it.

“What.” It came out more as a demand than a question.

“Listen to me carefully, Declan. I can help you,” said Niall Lynch.

***TBC***

#ronan lynch #declan lynch #bryde #jordan hennessy #jordan cdth #cdth #call down the hawk #mister impossible #mister impossible spoilers #post mister impossible #adam parrish #asks #ask me #drabble #drabble requests

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everdreamart · 3 years

Text

How I Gravitate Towards You

Rating: Teen and up

Relationship: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widowgast

The Mighty Nein return The Blooming Grove. Essek takes time to think about the events that happened and has a talk with Caleb. Things slowly escalate from there ;)

~~~~~~~~~~

The grove was beautiful. Vines intertwined and tangled with the colorful blooms dotting the landscape. You would almost forget that this was, infact, a graveyard with the amount of life around it. Essek took a second to breathe in the nature around him. A very welcome change of environment compared to Cognoza.

Sighs and cheers of relief and triumph echoed around him as the Mighty Nein bathed in their newfound victory. The sight warmed his chest. His friends. Now there were actually nine of them.

How ironic. Essek thought to himself with a smile.

The Clays burst out of the moss covered temple and started to bombard the group with hugs. Caduceus was practically beaming with joy to see his family again. Jester rambled on about their adventure as the Clays eagerly rushed them inside. They gave curious glances to the two new members, but decided not to say anything about it at the moment.

Within moments food and tea were being prepared. Fjord asked to help with the cooking but was promptly shut down by Cornelius.

"Look at you all! It looks as if you have been through hell and back! Rest. We will take care of it," he said.

The food was delicious. Reminiscent of Caduceus' cooking from that one night in the Xhorhous. He smiled fondly at the memory. Essek's eyes drifted to each member of the Mighty Nein. How did this even happen?

His thoughts spiraled into an assortment of memories. Cold and alone in his study. Ambition gnawing at him as he struggles to progress in his research. Greed and selfish desire as he traded away his country's livelihood for knowledge. Fear as a bloodied human holds up one of the beacons he stole. Rage at the thought that his so very carefully planned espionage would be ruined by a bunch of sell-swords.

When had this ragtag group worn down his walls? Was it Jester's hugs? Or her consistently chaotic messages? Was it Yasha in her soft silence, or was it Beau in her harsh way of loving? Maybe Caduceus, with his gentle reassuring gestures. Or Veth, with her tough but kind way of showing care. Maybe it was Caleb. A mind that matches so perfectly to his own it was almost unsettling. Intellect sharp and piercing, with a gaze so intense he could melt under its warmth.

Essek found his eyes laid on Caleb. The strands of copper red hair falling partially over his eyes. A small part of him resists the urge to reach across the table and push the strands away. He studied his features, as if he hadn't already memorized them. The sharp curve of his jawline, his slightly tussled beard. Eyes so blue it almost felt like looking into the daytime sky. His mouth curved into a soft smile as he talked to Beauregard next to him. Essek lingered on that sight. The stress of these past weeks washed away as he focused on Caleb's smile. Then Caleb's eyes met his. Electricity jolted through him as the spark of whatever it was between them burned. Essek quickly looked away, a slight warmth building in his cheeks. He thanked the Luxon for drow skin coloration.

After food was had, the group gushed over their old (new..?) Friend. Poor man was probably so overwhelmed by the attention. Mollymauk - as Jester had told him - didn't say much at all in response to the Mighty Nein's questions.

"Empty… empty…" he trailed off.

As happy as they all were, exhaustion took over their senses. They were due for a much needed rest. Caleb did not have enough energy left to create the tower (Essek had quite a bit of thoughts he still needed to unpack about that place), so the group decided to sleep in the grove. Yasha lay with Beau snuggled up against her. They hugged and muttered sweet nothings to each other in low whispers. Molly was not too far from Yasha, and was quickly taken by peaceful sleep. Jester lay partially on Fjord's chest, talking about some new prank she wanted to try on her newly reunited parents. Caduceus lay back against the wall and was already passed out - his snore a rather loud one. Caleb lay next to veth, who was already out cold.

There wasn't really a need to be so close - they weren't in the confinements of the dome. And yet, they choose to drift near each other. Comfortable in the proximity. Essek felt very out of place. In the nights prior he could always stay a fair distance away from the cuddle pile, for the sake of keeping watch. But now, with the group all clumped together in the mass of life that was the blooming grove, Essek didn't know quite where to go. He fidgeted in his space as he debated where to trance. He can't go too far, but he definitely can't intrude on this intimate bond they all share. Eventually, Essek sits down a few feet from Caleb. He always seemed to gravitate towards him. Perhaps it was the similarities between them that made Essek feel safer in his presence.

Essek starts to begin his trance, and it is only then that the weight of the day's events crash onto him. The horrors of Cognoza will never truly leave his mind, but it is nothing compared to the absolute terror he felt when they were in that final fight.

The watch of one of the Somnovem caught him early on. The guilt of his actions surged into him tenfold. The lives he took, the families he'd broken, all for the sake of his selfish thirst for knowledge. It was all his fault.

He didn't catch sight of the tower hurled at him until it was too late. Caleb grunted as the weight of the rock (..flesh? It was very confusing) trapped him beneath it. Essek felt a surge of fear as he pictured the worst. He quickly scrambled over to where Caleb laid and desperately tried to pull him out. To no avail, it would seem. Those of his craft were not quite suited for these feats. Essek summoned the bead of possibility he had placed in himself beforehand. With a surprising surge of strength, he got Caleb to his feet.

In a rush of adrenalin,Caleb pulled him close and touched their foreheads together. If this was a different circumstance, Essek would be soaring. A small part of him completely forgot about the raging battle around them. That part focused on the presence of the man next to him. The wood burning autumn scent now mixed with the iron-y tinge of blood. That part of him noticed how close they were. Faces mere inches apart. Essek felt his heart jump into his throat. Then Caleb pulls back, the moment ending as quick as it began.

The ferver gained from this interaction was short-lived as Jester fell. Her bloody and broken corse strewn to the side carelessly. It was then that things started to go so very wrong. Jester was back thanks to Caduceus, mere seconds after she fell, but Esseks attention immediately went elsewhere. Caleb clutched at his torso with a grunt of pain as he fell, unconsciousness taking his form. Essek didn't even know he was capable of the rage that followed. He screamed and tore the very fabric of gravity itself around Lucien.

Then the battle field changed. It was no longer the fleshy horror of a city, but now a calming forest surrounding him. He looked forward to see the Mighty Nein - happy and smiling - with a hand outstretched towards him. It was Caleb. Caleb was calling him over to join them. Excitement burbled into him as he rushed towards the sight. It was only when he reached his destination he realized he had made a grave mistake.

The image of Caleb's torn and sundered body is one that will never leave Essek's mind. The sound it made as his lifeless corpse fell to the ground. The look he gave as the light left his eyes. It haunts him. The amount of terror, rage, pain and guilt he felt in that moment was immesruable. The world faded around him. Only being able to see the bloody shell of what once burned so bright. He fell to his knees, not hearing the final cries of battle around him. Essek's hands shook with emotion as he reached out to grab one of Caleb's. Those bright blue eyes he once knew were replaced by the vacuous expanse of emptiness and cold. He didnt hear the clerics rushing over and saying their prayers. He didn't hear the rest of the group trying to stifle their tears. He only stared into those eyes. Essek didn't breathe until Caleb inhaled once more.

Thoughts swirled around his head like an ocean of violent emotion. He can't trance like this. Essek stood up - trying his best to not wake his sleeping friends - and walked outside.

The calming reverie of the grove helped clear his mind a bit from these nightmares. He wandered around the exapanse, his hand tracing the occasional gravestone as he went. Eventually he came to the edge of the perimeter. Tall crystalline tree-like growths sprouted forth infront of him. Glowing ever so faintly. It was beautiful, the garden around him. So Essek sat and let himself soak up the tranquility of the nature around him.

It wasn't until he heard the rustle of footsteps that he opened his eyes.

"Its a bit late to be wandering the grove by yourself," Caleb noted, taking a seat next to Essek.

"Just… needed to clear my mind a bit." He replied.

"Ja, I get it. That was… a lot." Caleb laughed softly, a small smile playing on his lips. Essek found himself enraptured in the sound.

Caleb looked down, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as if deep in thought. He turned to look at Essek with a burning intensity. "Thank you, Essek."

Essek was taken aback by this. "For what?"

"You didn't have to come with us. You didn't have to risk your life just because I asked. And yet, you came anyway. Thank you." Caleb spoke softly. Appreciative.

Essek's mind whirred with thoughts. He didn't know how to respond. "I…" he trailed off. "Of course I.." Of course I had to come. You asked me to. I would do anything you asked. He didn't say. Instead, settling upon, "Of course I came. I care for you all more than any Dynasty or Empire. And I owe you this much."

Caleb shifted a bit at that. His hands fidgeted for a moment as he looked away. He moved his hand to touch Essek's. The touch was minimal. Almost unoticable to anyone but himself. Essek nearly jumped at the contact. A familiar tingling setting into his stomach.

Caleb's hand slowly grabbed Essek's, calloused fingers meeting smooth ones. Essek tried to map every detail. Every little feeling of the other man's hand in his. Entirely focused on the heat covering his skin.

"What do you plan to do after this?" Caleb inquired.

That startled Essek out of his reverie. "I.. I honestly do not know." He mumbled out. He couldn't go back to the dynasty, not with his situation like this. Could he go back to the outpost? Would that be safer? He was still responsible for people up there. He hadn't noticed himself squeezing Caleb's hand. At least, until Caleb squeezed back.

"What about you?" Essek asked, trying to shift the focus. "What do you plan on doing now?"

Caleb pondered for a moment, before responding with "There is still a few issues I need to take care of. I still have to help fix my home. Remove a cancer before it can spread."

Then, silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, per say, but something hung in the air. After a few moment in this quiet, Caleb turned and placed Essek under the intensity of his gaze. Those blue eyes bore into him with such a warmth. And Essek craved it. He craved to feel those eyes wash over him. He needed to see those eyes, alive and burning with a fiery passion.

The immense gravity of what he almost lost crushes him. The man sitting next to him, tenitivly holding his hand, died. If things hadn't worked out so well, if something different happened, he wouldnt have Caleb here next to him. That thought broke him. His eyes dropped down to look at the ground. Apperently he wasnt doing a very good job at hiding his emotions at the moment, because Caleb's face fell. He frowned and scooted closer to cup Essek's cheek.

"What's wrong, Shaltz?" Caleb asks tenderly. His thumb rubbing Essek's Cheekbone.

Essek looked up at him, and put his other hand on Caleb's as if to confirm that he was really here. "You… died Caleb… you died and I couldn't do anything. What if Caduceus and Jester didn't get there so quickly? What if something went wrong? What if-"

"I'm here. I'm ok. Everything is ok." Caleb cut him off. His voice gentle and soothing.

It was only then that Essek met his gaze. Caleb smiled softly, and Essek realized how close they were. Caleb's breath ghosting over Essek's lips. Essek forgot how to breathe. He could only focus on the feeling of Caleb so close to him. So close and yet not close enough. If he could just close the few inches… It took every ounce of self control that Essek had to steady himself. His pounding heart, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He knew he was staring. How could he not? Small freckles speckled across Caleb's face, framed by vibrant red hair.

The hand placed on Essek's cheek moved to the back of his neck, and Essek froze. Caleb painstakingly leaned in. So slow, so excruciatingly slow. As if to give Essek time to back away. To leave. But he didn't. And their lips met. The kiss was so soft, almost featherlight, and Essek's mind went blank. He could only focus on the sensation of Caleb's lips on his, how they were chapped and warm and perfect.

Caleb pulled back, a breaths distance between them. In all of his study of time, all Essek wanted to do now was stop it on that moment. It was over far too soon. Just the smallest brush of lips. He wanted it to last longer. He wanted more.

Essek leaned back in, crashing their lips together. This time the kiss was more desperate. As if scared that the other would pull away. Essek relished in the feeling. The heat of the man so close to him spreading to every inch of his body. Their lips fit together perfectly. Moving together and pressing into eachother. Essek moved his hand to Caleb's head. His fingers combing through the strands of coppery red. It was perfect. He wanted to remember every little sensation. He wanted to chart every little movement. His heart was beating so hard in his chest. He wants this to last forever.

They separate after what feels like a lifetime to catch their breath. Caleb's mouth is still parted as he gasps for breath. Essek savors the taste of Caleb on his lips as his breathing begins to steady. Part of him wants to reach out. To take Caleb's mouth once more. But Caleb speaks before this is possible.

"That was…."

He doesn't need to complete the sentence. Essek already knew.

And they gravitated towards each-other once more.

#critical role #cr essek #caleb widogast #shadowgast #essek theyless #caleb x essek #This is my first CR fic pls don't judge #I just wanted the wizards to kiss #Almost canon compliant #don't forget to love each other

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years

Text

Already Gone (SOA x Mayans Crossover)

A/N: Deep diving back into my roots. SOA will forever be near and dear to my angsty heart! This chapter primarily focuses on Y/N and Jax but following parts will include my Mayans. As always, feedback is GOLD!

SIDE NOTE: Huge shout out to @creativepromptsforwriting for motivating this story into fruition. Your blog is beyond inspirational!

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or you’d like to be tagged; please let me know!

MASTERLIST

Jax Teller x Reader (then we’re in Mayans territory :D )

Word Count: 2375k

Warnings: language, mention of biker gangs, slight female degradation, angst, sprinkles of heartbreak.

*********************************

Daylight vanished drifting into another starless evening. Nightfall succumbed to a starless evening. Y/N wished to be anywhere else in the universe than where she currently found herself; the Sons clubhouse. In childish hopes, she stilled all movement adjusting her jacket nervously fidgeting with the hem. The door swung back under her touch; light reflected back harshly in the demurely lit bar. Smoke descended throughout the congested area; clouds of hazy fog engulfed her lungs. Here goes nothin.

The air wreaked of putrid obscenity and cheap tequila. First and foremost, Y/N met Chucky’s charismatic stare. She sent him an anxious grin impulsively pleading for uneasiness in her stomach to subdue. The one-handed man remained surrounded by countless liquor bottles engrossed in order after order shifting gears from her.

Every man and member leeched on to the closest thing in a short skirt, tits overflowing from too small blouses, and topped off in four-inch platforms. Any girl within proximity of the Sons all had a similar motto; barely-there skirts and perky tits. There was no doubt sex was the main attraction tonight.

And to this very day, she played nice with them so long as they abided by one rule in particular; Jax was untouchable. She was their queen bee. Glancing down at her outfit; she preferred a more comfortable approach. She paired tonight’s look with her favorite pair of worn out high-waisted jeans styled with a Ramones crop top finalized with suede black booties. Her body was a sacred temple and only those granted permission were able to worship her. She made sure of that. Loud conversations vibrated from table to table, voices lost in the chaos increasing with every passing decibel.

Y/n scanned the room peering for one particular member; Jax fucking Teller. In childhood, Mr. President and Y/N friendship blossomed as close friends before ultimately admitting their feelings five years ago. The wildest five years of her entire life. Her thoughts quickly darkened, if only someone would’ve warned her those three years ago. If only Y/N hadn’t welcomed him with welcoming, open arms. But sometimes life’s a bitch, and the hardest way is merely the only route.

Her clandestine orbs voraciously whipped back and forth jumping from person to person. In her search, Opie sat alone at a corner table secluding himself willing her his direction. The pitiful look in his eyes was enough to make her stomach flip. Long ago, she grew weary with the amount of messes that befell on Opie. Their relationship bordered along best friend status, always seeking the other out. Ranging from moments of clarity to cruelty, Opie Winston never once betrayed the trust instilled upon him.

She already knew what bullshit lay ahead; it was his shitty way of apologizing for Jax’s past, present, and future fuck-ups. In the back of her mind, Y/N convinced herself she was different to him, that she was his one. But nowadays, doubt replaced confidence as Y/N drifted farther out of reach/touch. Her feet clumped heavy against the wood suddenly weighing her down. Making her way through the crowd, Y/N plopped herself closest to Op.

Her palms dampened in sweat wishing the fall beneath her to open up swallowing her whole. “So, this was the big meeting Jax was in a rush to get to?”

His eyes bounced from side to side searching for any way out of the conversation; “Shit Y/N...”

Y/N collapsed next to the burly man nuzzling deeper into the warmth of his neck, quietly leaning in closer so he could hear her clearly; “I know it’s not your fault, Op. I just wish he respected me enough to be honest with me. I can’t keep living like this anymore, he’s breaking me… I’m sure going to miss you, big bear.”

Y/N waited patiently for the wheels to turn in his brain. “You’re a smart man. Connect the clues, buddy.”

“You—You’re leaving?”

Her heart plummeted into uncharted territory; her head bobbled too quickly, too excitedly almost as if she’d been rifling for a way out of this life, out of their lives. She glanced sadly at him, really appreciating his handsome appearance while trying to memorize the man who’d kept her insanely calm since middle school. There was no hiding the bemudding frown etching her lips. His lengthy, luscious hair and accompanying brawny beard was enough to make any woman swoon.

If only she’d chosen him to protect her heart but what ifs were a dangerous path to question. Add in his admirable qualities and he was the gleaming winner. The man Y/N should’ve pursued but she was a fool and fell for the Teller trick over and over again. Long ago, Opie came to the conclusion that Y/N would never leave his side, not even if the devil bribed her himself. Her departure was agitating, possibly selfish, but absolutely necessary. Jax breaks everything he touches…eventually.

“Some bitch is grinding against his junk and you expect me to be alright with it? Boy’s got another thing comin if he thinks I’ll always be waitin to greet him at the front door.”

Words jumbled on the tip of her palate; ‘I just wanted to talk to you first before shit goes down. I’m so thankful for you, always know that.”

Op stared down at his dirty boots unable to meet her dejected orbs.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You deserve more than his half ass shit. Ya know, I was afraid Jax had sucked out all that rad awesomeness you possessed before you decided to get together. He’s my brother, don’t get me wrong. But, he’s kinda the biggest dick on the planet and not the good kind. I’m proud you found your backbone. Here I thought you’d softened up…”

“Haha, glad to see you think so highly of me still! Please take care of yourself.”

“I’m a phone call away if you need me. Any time, any day, I’ll be there.”

His arms draped around her exposed waist rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. Her chin rested atop of broad shoulder before she reluctantly pulled away from his embrace.

A few tables over Jax’s arms seductively draped his arm around the croweater’s exposed waist. Every few minutes the chick gyrated submissively against him cock arousal his member. Jax closed his eyes inhaling a puff of his cigarette thinking of the girl waiting at home for him. All he had to do was find the courage to get up and leave. But this was the life, his life and Y/N understood him better than anyone else. So, he accepted the Yaeger bomb from girl with the rose tattoo and smiled widely. Fuck ‘em. He leaned incredibly closer connecting his lips to her plump ones.

Her sultry tone echoed into his ear; “Mmm, you taste like sin…”

Jax chuckled in retort; Darling, you ain’t even taste the best part yet…”

Disgust and fury ran uncontrollable through her body radiating to an explosively dangerous level. She quietly whispered; “This fucking asshole…” as she compelled herself to clear the lump in her throat noisily.

Her annoyance was beginning to peak into seething eruption; “You’ve got some damn nerve, Jax. That I can give ya. Such a lady’s man.”

A shudder ran through his vertebrates forcing the hairs along his neck to stand painfully on the edge. Her words were impudently brash bouncing off her rosy plump lips.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, doll.” His arched brow sprouted newfound madness as Y/N daydreamed of punching that shit grin off his idiotic face. But his eyes told another tale, his sapphire irises brimmed with tacit concern and uncertainty.

Her life with Jax was a never-ending roller coaster. Exhilaration awaited them at every corner until it didn’t. No matter how many wrongdoings Jax committed, Y/N dutifully stayed by his side never daring to question his authority. Gemma taught her of loyalty, of the importance of family eternally sticking together, and to never turn her back when the going gets rough because it was bound to cross a line if you survived long enough. The Sons checked their moral ambiguities when they patched in, sacrificing their soul for the benefit of the club.

So, Y/N’s skin thickened as time meandered on, and as Jax shacked up with Wendy, and again every time she watched some slut leave his dorm every night. Honestly, she should thank Jax for her turned her into the dominantly powerful woman she became that awakened Jax’s feelings. But now, now he was the reason her heart was breaking.

She cleared her throat attempting to draw his attention; “Wow, seems like you’ve got your hands full tonight. Didn’t realize I needed to make a reservation.” Her eyes penetrated his, he looked like a deer in blinding headlights at the recognizable voice in front of him.

The girl seating in Jax’s lap had the audacity to open her bright fuchsia painted lips; “He’s busy tonight. Shoo, buh-bye.” Motioning her hand in Y/N’s direction.

Y/N eyed the broad up judging her every spectacle of the way. She bit the corner of her lips in attempt to register what her mind couldn’t.

She clicked on tongue in vast disapproval at the idiot before her; “Listen here, bitch. I’m Y/N, his old lady and you’re going to get the fuck up and listen to the words leaving my mouth and find another lap to occupy, NOW.” She put on her fakest high pitched voice just to prove a point; “Got it? Good, now if you make me repeat myself, I’d love the opportunity to fuck up that plastic face of yours. Now, Shoo.”

The random girl gulped unwillingly to challenge the alpha female and meekly wagged her head in agreeance. Jax noticed the slight tremor as she removed herself from his grasp trudging in defeat. He sighed in extreme exasperation; “Congratulations, you’ve got my attention…now talk.”

“Ugh, I’m seriously starting to question what the hell I’ve been doing with an asshat like you for so long? Seriously Jax, what the shit?”

He remained irrationally irritated Y/N had chosen a party to air out their dirty laundry. She was undermining him in front of his brothers, nobody challenged him. This was yet another lesson he’d teach Y/N the difficult way.

“You’re makin a scene! Let’s talk this outside?” He seized her arm dragging Y/N behind him. Her heels dug into the surface fighting his weight with her own. Jax glanced back at her stubbornness on display and/snickered sinfully.

“No, I’m fine where I am.”

Jax invaded her space, his breath jostled against her peach fuzz. He hovered dangerously close to her, fury seeping from his freckled skin.

“Ah, the mighty heroine here to save herself. Classic, real good Y/N.”

Y/N huffed venting her building frustrations; “I can’t do this anymore, Jax.” Her voice wavered in confidence before erupted in sadness; I fucking won’t do this anymore.”

Jax Teller rolled his eyes before sighing annoyingly loud; “You always say this shit, Y/N. And you always keep comin back for more. This is a dance we memorized baby girl, our dance.”

Her fists ignited into internal rage; her breathing skyrocketed to unbridled anger. Typical biker to neglect the actual words leaving a woman’s mouth in this hell hole.

“So, I guess that makes me the fool and you the asshole, hmm? Yes, I might be a fucking glutton for punishment but at least I have a heart, some decency of a moral compass to abide by. But you, Jax? You would burn the world simply because you were bored. And right now, this is me telling you I quit. Go fuck one of your many other mindless wannabes. I bet they’re beggin for Jax Teller’s cock as we speak.”

His cockiness was beginning to push her past the point of no return as he growled his words from his venomous mouth; “I don’t doubt that darling. The question of the hour is if you’re really sure you wanna throw in the towel?”

Y/N’s head whipped around fast; her eyes blazed in pure hatred; “The biggest mistake you ever made was letting love come into your life. You fuck up everything you touch. Have a nice life, Teller.”

Heavy footsteps clonked against the wooden slats swiftly rushing towards the front doors of the clubhouse. She approached the entrance grazing her knuckles along the worn material. In the upper right-hand corner, the smallest of carvings adorned the walk away years later; their initials carved for the world to bear witness. Digging through her purse, Y/N located her car keys and stood on her tiptoes scratching at the etchings now nothing but mere wood indentions. Fuck happy endings. No wait, fuck this ending.

Finally, anger breached its imminent tipping point as his temper imploded. His arms gripped hers excruciatingly firm slamming her against the wall aligned of mugshots. A frame or two randomly dropped closer by. Jax was the Kurt Cobain to her Courtney Love; both destined and simultaneously cursed. Glass pierced the ground piece by piece. Her eyes fully dilated as fear crept into her smug demeanor. Her breath came out in short, timid, huffs as quaked in anxiousness.

“You’re my girl, Y/N. Don’t do this shit. You know I love you.”

Confliction cowered in her bones. His ragged and pathetic tone drew her in wrapping itself snugly around her. She knew that if she would have heard these words any other day, she would have declared it the best day of her life and would have started to call everyone to let them know that he finally said the words! But today was not that day and all she wanted to do right now was putting her hands over her ears and stop listening.

She spewed her virulent words once and for all; “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

Her body went rigid in his arms as sorrow clung to her like forgotten hope. She was losing him, sacrificing a piece of her heart for her own freedom. She loathed the man Jax evolved into but somewhere under his façade lived the gentle poet who stole her soul. Jax snickered obnoxiously before a murderous grin took ahold; “No. I’m just not the person you wanted me to be.”

Tags: @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123 @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf @scorpio4dayzzz @starrynite7114 @penny4yourthot @breanime @whyisgmora @thegirlwhowritesfics @star017 @threeminutesoflife

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mysunfreckle · 4 years

Text

Full of love and pudding fruit

Danbrey, Dani’s POV of the “travelling Sylvain epilogue” in episode 36, 2.6k

Sylvain is healing. In every sense of the word, Dani realises – once again – with a smile. Her heart is almost full enough to burst as she watches Aubrey run, leap, and then stumble down a gently rolling hill. Every single time her feet pound onto the earth a burst of green grass and flowers on the point of blooming shoot up from the ground all around her. The barren field they just passed through is now a lush meadow and Janelle and Alexandra still have clumps of dirt in their hair from the last tree that suddenly hoisted itself into existence.

“Dani!” Aubrey yells, scrambling to her feet at the foot of another slope. “Dani watch this!” She throws her arms back, slightly impeded by her backpack and sprints up the hill, singing at the top of her lungs:

“The hills are alive! With the sound of music!”

In a wave of raw, joyful magic that Dani can feel reverberating in her bones green grass ripples up and down the hill and a host of yellow flowers turn their newly bloomed faces to the sun.

Aubrey lets out a whoop of triumph and lets herself topple over, almost disappearing into a particularly high patch of grass.

Dani climbs the slope towards her, laughing as she goes. They’re putting the planet back together again. They are breathing life back into the ravaged wastelands of her home and Aubrey is…Aubrey is brilliant.

By the time she manages to reach her, herbs have started to sprout in between the grass around Aubrey and the flowers are displaying a variety of colours.

“Hi there,” Dani grins, leaning over her so her shadow falls on Aubrey’s face.

“Did we lose Janelle and Xandra again?” she asks, smiling crookedly.

“No,” Dani smiles back. “I think they just prefer to stay out of the blast radius.”

Aubrey blows out a noisy breath, almost a raspberry, and sits up. “What about Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

There’s a tell-tale sound somewhere off in the wavy grass that to Dani sounds only like a garbled “pfft pfft pftt”, but to Aubrey somehow warrants an indignant huff and a: “Well maybe I’m resting!”

Dr. Harris Bonkers emerges from behind a clump of flowers, getting up on his hind legs and sharing another one of his unintelligible thoughts.

“I did not,” Aubrey protests, scrambling back to her feet and Dani smilingly helps to steady her just because she wants to.

“What did he say?” she asks and Dr. Harris Bonkers smirks at her.

“Nothing,” Aubrey says hastily, with a warning glance downwards. “I’ve just let him watch too much Disney.”

He replies with something that sounds rude even to Dani’s ears.

Aubrey wrinkles her nose. “Or not enough Disney.”

They wander back down the slope again in a little group of three, vaguely in the direction of where Janelle and Alexandra seem to be investigating the ruin of some sort of house.

Aubrey is still waving her hands left and right, flinging flowers everywhere she points and Dani lets her mind wander for a moment. She turns around, walking backwards to be able to meet Aubrey’s gaze as they go. Out here is not the only place that needs healing.

“So, uh, I had a thought today. We’re probably gonna have to name the City of Sylvain something else probably, right?”

The city is bustling again. An astonishing amount of the people who had been overcome by the Quell’s thrall have recovered. But that’s why they’re out here, healing the ravaged countryside. Because right now everyone has to take refuge in the capital. It’s the only place that has survived. The only place they know of anyway.

So the city is not only vibrant and alive again, with the glow of Sylvain once again warming its foundations. It’s alive with people, folks that are glad to be looking up at the sky again and that are ready to take back their home. To start over fresh. But it’s going to be a new Sylvain and it should be a new city.

Aubrey blinks at her. “Uh… why? I mean, I guess?”

Dani shrugs her shoulders. “I mean like, when it was the only habitable place on the planet, it kinda made sense to—”

“Oh, I see.”

“—name it after the planet,” Dani nods as Aubrey catches on. “Now it’s just gonna be confusing.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey frowns. like, we couldn’t— we wouldn’t wanna live in a city that was just called like Earth, on Earth.”

“Yeah.” Dani turns around, looking into the direction where she knows the city must be. She has always had a good sense of direction.

“Yeah, I guess,” Aubrey ponders beside her. “It’s not super creative. I get it.”

Dani looks at her. Sometimes when Aubrey looks out across Sylvain the orange of her eyes seems almost as bright as genuine fire. She tries not to bring it up, because Aubrey can get just a big confused by it herself, but it’s still an odd thing. This Aubrey-Sylvain timeshare. “So I don’t know how to have—” she begins. “Like do we form a committee, or do you get to do it?”

Aubrey looks at her in dismay. “Whew. I don’t know that you should give me that power, Dani.” Her expression turns very serious. “Ohhhh. I probably would just name it something dirty like Butt City or something, cause I thought it was funny.”

Dani laughs, because laughing is easy and Aubrey rubs the back of her neck, grinning crookedly.

“Let’s see. Um, you know. What do you think about the City of Chicane?”

Chicane… She does feel pang at the name, but Dani grins all the same. “Yeah, that’s not bad.

For a moment Aubrey smiles one of her shy, earnest half-smiles. “Feel pretty good about that one.

Dani swallows. Yes. Sylvain made whole and the City of Chicane. That’s a future worth making real.

“Hey,” she says, taking in a steading breath and trying for a smile. “I’m kinda hungry.” She brushes Aubrey’s hand with her own. “Can you do the thing?

Aubrey’s face lights up like the sun itself. “Yep!”

She flicks her hands upwards and Dani knows bow her head and close her eyes because a beat later two trees pop out of the ground, growing fast enough for it to be audible like a rushing creak of wood. Dani can feel some stray dirt and grass sliding off her hair and when she opens her eyes there is a laden apple tree standing to Aubrey’s right and an orange tree to her left. For trees that have just been called into existence they seem fairly unbothered to be standing opposite such an unlikely neighbour.

“Hold on—” Dani looks past the orange tree. There’s a third tree standing there, slightly smaller, its branches heavy with dark brown fruits that Dani is sure she has never seen before.

Aubrey makes a sound of pure delight and Dani picks one of the fruits, making sure not to trip over Dr. Harris Bonkers as he scurries out in front of her feet. The fruits smell delicious and…kind of familiar. She bites into it expectantly and gives a surprised squeak. Pudding.

“Did you just—” She swallows. “Dang, did you just make a new fruit?”

Aubrey’s face is a picture of glee and justified hubris. “It’s called Pudding Fruit!”

Dani can’t laugh and eat at the same time and she chooses eating. They’ve been eating very well while they’ve been on the road, actually. Aubrey has been keeping them all very healthy. But she has missed desserts. She swallows another mouthful of pudding. She has missed desserts and she loves Aubrey.

Dr. Harris Bonkers, after a careful sniff, avoids the pudding tree and jumps a clean six feet up into the air to grab one of the oranges. As he peels it with his little furry claws, he looks up coaxingly at Aubrey. “Pfft pfft pftt pft pft pft?"

Aubrey pulls a face. “No, I can’t make a carrot tree! That’s weird! Carrots grow in the ground—” A spark lights up in her eyes. “I could make a carrot tree. Dani, should I make a carrot tree?”

Dani would answer, but she’s currently struggling to swallow down both the pudding and the love and so she simply can’t right now.

Dr. Harris Bonkers thumps his feet.

“Okay, fine.” Aubrey bends over and touches the ground, retracting her hand just in time for the tiny, three-foot-tall carrot tree that sprouts out of the earth.

Her rabbit makes an eager jump and attacks the new piece of vegetation head on, not bothering to use his still fairly new dextrous paws, but relying on tried and tested rabbit skills.

“Yes,” Aubrey says approvingly. “Go to town, big guy. All yours.”

The affection in her voice as she says it warms Dani up inside. She swallows and slowly takes another bite of her pudding fruit. Fruit that Aubrey made. Aubrey Little. Aubrey Little whom she loves.

Dani stuffs the rest of the fruit into her mouth.

“Aubrey,” Janelle announces her presence, having left Alexandra by the house a little way away. “You know Thacker is going to want to catalogue all this stuff, right? There's- there’s no need to make things harder on him.”

“Well, yes,” Aubrey says and the slight smirk she still has on her lips is doing something to Dani’s stomach she thought she had grown past. “But also… pudding tree! Janelle. Pudding tree.

Janelle looks fond even as she shakes her head. “Okay.”

“Yes, right? I wouldn’t do it like all the time, right? I’m not gonna like make you know like I don’t know… a smartphone tree or something. It’s fine. Listen.” Aubrey waves her hands around. “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to do this kinda thing, right? So let’s have a little fun with it, right? I think eventually Sylvain’s gonna be like, ‘Hey, cool it with the pudding trees.’ And that’s fine. I get it.”

If Janelle wasn’t here… If it was just her and Aubrey and impossible pudding, maybe she would have told her. Maybe, because as badly as she wants to tell her, just the thought of that heart-exploding word leaving her mouth is making Dani a little dizzy. Which is probably stupid. They saved the world. They changed Earth for Sylvain. She kissed a god.

But still.

Janelle seems to be having her own problems right now, because she’s currently spitting out the bite she took from a rather lumpy looking pudding fruit while Aubrey shuffles her feet apologetically. Dani wipes her hand on her jeans, lingering just a little longer before joining them again, just to make sure her heartbeat doesn’t start going crazy again.

“I know there’s no way we’re gonna put this world back together the exact way it was,” she hears Janelle sigh. “And I think that’s something we all have to just accept. But you are figuratively and literally planting a seed that is going to grow for eons in ways that we will never be able to predict and who’s to say that some important event doesn’t start right here with a new pudding fruit?”

“By the way,” Aubrey grins. “I’m calling this Wonka Forest. That’s funny, right? Isn’t that great?”

And there goes her heart again.

“It’s funny. The whimsy is wonderful, I love the whimsy,” Janelle replies, sounding somewhat unbalanced. “You know me, I’m down to clown, Aubrey. I’m just saying… for all of my considerable wisdom, I don’t know how we know when we’re making the right decisions.”

Dani can still taste the pudding and she can still feel her heartbeat, but she can also feel the weight of Janelle’s words. Because she’s right. Everyone has made a lot of mistakes leading up to this moment. And they’ve only just about started getting it right. That’s what it feels like sometimes anyway. Except. Dani doesn’t know exactly what it is, but this, here, now, this feels right. And if she can’t depend on that, then—

Aubrey cuts off her thoughts with the distinctive, nearly babbling sentences of her genuine sincerity.

“I— right now, I have maybe the most burden of choice any person has ever had, right? I have the power of creation. I can make any kind of tree. And if start thinking about what the right one to do is, I’m not gonna do anything. Because I don’t know what the right one is.”

Dani stands and watches her, and listens. Everything stills under Aubrey’s words. Everything except her feelings.

“So I just have to do the next thing,” Aubrey continues. “And the next thing and the next thing. And I think— my hope is, is that I act, if I act from a place of love and a place of fun and a place of, you know, making someone smile, that the next thing I do will be the right thing.”

Her feet have carried her to Aubrey’s side without her fully realising it and Dani, doing her level best to pour every last thing she feels into single movement, presses a kiss to her cheek. Her breath comes out uneven, but her voice doesn’t and she means every word.

“You’re so fucking cool.”

The single light of soft surprise in Aubrey’s eyes immediately flares up to another spark of triumph. “Right? I know, right?”

Aubrey is beaming and Janelle is smiling and Dani is just about ready to start laughing at nothing in particular when Alexandra walks over and raises her hand.

“Uh, hey, everyone? I need some help over here…”

---

One cheese bush and some much needed comforting conversations with mice folk later, all of them are sitting on a newly sprouted patch of moss, near the edge of what must once have been a grand forest.

Alexanda is letting the two mice take turns swinging in her shawl and Janelle is writing something down, probably for Thacker.

Aubrey is looking up at the trees though. They are all dead. Either charred or fossilised where they stood, some of them split or nothing more than stumps. Aubrey’s eyes are large and nearly solemn.

Dani silently scoots forward a bit, nudging against her knee and putting her hand over Aubrey’s.

She squeezes her hand in response, glancing between her and the trees. “Do you think the Amazon has trees that big?” She gets to her feet and Dani follows suit. “They’re probably bigger, right? Yeah, it’s the Amazon.”

She bites her lip and Dani can tell she’s thinking about Duck. They all miss them. But Thacker is working on opening the connection between Earth and Sylvain again. He thinks with Minerva on the other side, he can make it work.

“We’re going to see them again, Aubrey,” she says as they walk up to the first tree. It towers high above them, dark and sombre against the once again blue sky.

Aubrey nods and it’s not doubtful, it’s confident. “We will. And hey, Dani? We’re gonna see Amnesty lodge again, too.”

Dani smiles. “I do miss the old place.”

Aubrey gives her a sideways glance. “I miss the hot springs.”

“Yeah,” Dani laughs. “Me too.” She wraps her arms around Aubrey’s waist, leaning back far enough to be nearly leaning against the ancient tree. “But you know what? I’m no longer homesick.”

She lets Aubrey get a single fire-eyed grin in before kissing her and when she pulls away again Aubrey hands have found the folds of Dani’s knitted sweater and she’s leaning back against the tree with a sunshine look spread all over her face.

Such sunshine.

Dani swallows. “Hey Aubrey, you know something else?”

One corner of Aubrey’s mouth quirks up expectantly. “What?”

Dani tells her. And who knew? You can bring an entire forest back to life with just three little words.

#I'm still really really fond of this one #it's part of my larger fic Is Dani Cute #but this may be my favourite embellishment #danbrey #aubrey/dani #taz aubrey #taz dani #aubrey little #taz amnesty #the adventure zone #taz fanfic #my stuff #sunfreckle's stories #this should have gone on my taz blog voidfishling #but if I copy it I have to format it all over again so nah

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scribblesofanaricat · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope Icarus

(big thank you to Toni for helping me with parts of this)

Alone in bed. Covers twitch. Clock hands rattle around their beaten path and I count it backwards. A meander towards oblivion.

I see my reflection blink. It must like watching me thrash in blue sleep.

Narrow staircase, no socks, tea bag fossils pinned to the wall, I count them up, all six, any colour I like as long as that colour is yellowish grey.

I inhale indifferent coffee broth with a side order of whichever death cult the screen hunched in the corner is serving up today. Bidding its junkies a good afternoon and then meting out a lethal dose of contradictions. It beats down on me as a sun would: simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained.

I’m not Icarus.

Even so, quick fears still tread on my heels after I kill the show and instead pay a call to the frosted-glass moon low in that blank page of a sky. Shoes dangling over a railway bridge, one a lovely Twitter-blue, lemon laces trailing like a severed leash, the other was once violet. Jaundiced glances from pedestrians and passengers cursing the back of my neck.

They plant themselves beside me because where else would they go? We don’t say much, never do, “our glass roots were love when lilac liquids flowed invisible” and “my powdered soul occurs from sun sight with figure flames and smoke” and “if we lose time by staring freely and counting sound, you’re told about it accidentally”, that sort of thing. And we do submerge our long short hours in staring freely and we do count sound since we’re not the type to move mountains, although young by our own reckoning. We know it - or we think we know.

Amongst foggy vows to meet again tomorrow, they clear off and I’m left with the grains of my own soul, the static in my skull, wearing it like a flannel shirt. House prices. Affairs. Break-ins, breakouts. Blares of ‘protect our free speech, protect our children!’ born from whatever illusory agenda they’re being warned against by the king agenda-pushers this time...another monologue from another plastic jack-in-office here to fuck us around...

Sometimes I could carve it all into my skin with a dirty needle and not flinch.

We end up huddled like penguins in the fug heaving around my room. We’d have thought the dawn of the end times would look different, something that’d be splattered over our calendars and marked in history. Instead we’re met with a whitewashed wall from the screens and newshounds even as we watch it happen in 3D. Nothing to do now but wait.

‘I don’t give a damn.’ They’re flung down on their stomach, right arm stowed under an Everest of pillows and left arm glancing off the carpet. ‘I don’t care, I couldn’t...we’re gonna flatline someday soon and we’ll nosedive into Hell and I’d still take that over this shit…I’ve got to see that ocean again, though...just one last time…’

‘Mhm.’ I’m stiff. Stiff yet floaty. The screen crouches there, rattling off a story from America about some toupeed sore loser being forcibly dragged out of the White House with the boot of millions tattooed on his arse. Let them have their pipe dream, let them have their ocean, their fickle friend with its brackish spray, rolling pulse, delusive serenity, useless but to go to your watery grave in… if I scorn it hard enough, I can almost smell it.

I outstretch my rusty arms, gathering the ceiling in a remote embrace, and begin to narrate. ‘After the downfall from the empty pages of a multitude, myths started to creep back through the gaps in the world we saw. They’d been driven feet-first out of society by the threat of extinction long ago and so they’d had to hide themselves away over the rooms of sighs they found.’ The haze seethes and swirls, fashioning hieroglyphs from my breath.

They shift beside me, breathe it in. Counting sound. I survey it all as they draw it down into their lungs and bloodstream - giants and Lilliputians, fae and demons, sister ships sleeping in spoken hiding places, uman babies feeding off a wolf who bares her teeth at us. And Icarus. Taking to the air, lured by the glare that swallowed all else and eagerly drinking it down, until he fell so far and so fast that nobody could save him.

Not like us. We won’t be led astray. We are not the imperfect sight, crimped, bought with ballads.

‘But their memories were long and their bloodlust ran deep as trembling nails. And whatever scraps of human society were left had their turn to hide, or to pose as something different - pretend to be one thing when they were really another, in case they were in line for the wrath of their former fantasies.’

I recline on my mountaintop carpet in the soupy silence after my short tale gives out, waiting. Waiting perhaps for a flashbulb of understanding or for guesses at regions of dry ideas. The clock shudders into its next aspect. Bonded pattern, distorted mosaic.

‘C’n we go to th’ocean?’ is what they exhale at length. I lie there. Head sagging into my chest. Dead rain of a crowd. And then I patter on about spume and pulse and deceit, and about rock shadows standing full at Phoenician attestations, and by God, it’s like reading a bedtime story (or maybe an aloof comedy) to a toddler and almost as easy.

So we sprout in the bleary armchair of the ocean. Coast and universe falling away like a house of cards beneath our shoeless steps. They ask pinch-eyed if I brought a laptop along with me (of course I didn’t; the world watches us out of the corner of its panoramic eye enough as it is) and seem satisfied with my answer. I droop backwards so the rocks can catch me, mendacious as the water - that slumbering giant - but in the opposite direction, downside up. I have to wonder if the sky could be the same way, or if it’s merely everything and nothing. The aridity of all.

A boat worms along the horizon, eats it up inch by inch. That old static begins to pulsate against the core of my head, guessing at who or what could be in there. The newest pet of the media, pockets padded with the benefits from yesterday’s public-spirited stunt, familiarising themself with the bits of fruit floating in the middle of an etched glass and awaiting the casting call for yet another lone hero who’s the only force insulating their precious homeland from the evils of truth and the nefarious threat of equality.

Maybe a consortium of sallow flesh and bloated eyes, red as tongues of flame yet seeing only in black and white, skin honeycombed with pinprick holes. They give and take manufactured fairy tales that accelerate their enslavement, fire their last magic bullet together in a binding act of mercy.

Or a smoke-bearded fisherman and his helpmate with salt water in their veins, in their stirring times; they haul up their meshwork and inspect its captives. Look at these beauties, they marvel every time, a record dashing against its broken needle like a baby bird against a window. Or something - I don’t fucking know what fishermen talk about. Are there fishermen anymore? I guess there must be.

As I study the vessel, purling with the wind, it metamorphoses fitfully into a whale. Its heaving back is encrusted with arthropods. Plunging its way into nowhere. Watch through unchartered eyes as its tail heaves up into the air, blotting out the sun, before it too plunges beneath the depths, beneath the waves, into the dark, dark blue-grey murmurs and untapped power of the abyss. I wonder what sort of watery graves still dwell there, trapped, locked in and locked out. The corpse of a ship. The corpse of a whale.

The sun dissolves into the horizon, spilling its aureate blood over the sea-shaped cemetery. I drink it in; it comes out in puffs of icy white. The smouldering glare lances across my eyes, burning, gnawing. I close them. I breathe cold.

My wax wings splinter. But will not melt.

Their pixelated face reappears above my own, sun’s gore cleaving to their hair with a shimmer, and jab me with a bone. And we trudge back over clumps of sand, the world brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening. The light parts liquefy like butter in a pan, overflowing, flowing, flowing until there’s no more left to flow. Until it evaporates and its burnished blush is briskly replaced by glitter and dazzle and tiny flickers of rainbow bouncing off little jewels.

I breathe warmth. The radio goes on at me, goes on, goes on, a webspinner sniping its threads.

Time hangs suspended for the lion’s share of the night. Screens paralysed in an eternal moment. The masked puppets on one side, me on the other. They dance, bow, spin on wire strings. They get tangled. They do not move any longer. Asides from the occasional twitch and twist, as weak as that of a dying deer caught in the scheming beauty of the headlights. They do not get free. Eventually they too are still.

I move onwards.

We separate then, me and them. Their fingers dance in the air as the light of the sky slips through the cracks of the earth. ‘We’re completely and irreversibly fucked.’ It’s somewhere between question and statement. I watch them droop away, hands tucked in pockets of woven clouds and leather, until the night embraces them and their shadow melts much like the light had. Tipped-over oil, trickling away.

I watch. I wait. I breathe.

I move onwards.

The wet earth slumps when I step upon it, its cold breathing into the soles of my worn shoes. I look towards the sky, up and up and up, so far that I cannot see. The sun has sunk, withered away. Gone. Gone and perhaps never to return. You never know. Never know.

The moon is rising now, the stars winking like oh so much spilled glitter. I see the sun's reflection here, its beaming glow bouncing off the pale white surface of the small planet as though it were an alien mirror. This is how you know it's there, even when it’s faded away. Gone but never quite so.

But its blazing heat is no longer here to thwart me, even if its glimmer is still present. I spread my wax wings. I breathe, I live, I rise, I die. That wet earth hums its lullaby of little critters, chirping crickets and twittering bats and the frozen old breath of ghosts long dead. Disdainful wind freezes my nose and lips and ears. I soar…

I am not Icarus.

The dark sky cradles me like black ocean water. The shimmers of light are fish, sparkling beneath the waves, the moon their only beacon. My only beacon. I breathe warmth in the cold night air. Prickles of goosebumps along the skin of my arms and legs. I am the warmth, but the cold consumes me slowly.

I float lazily, there and not there, alive and dead, warm and cold. An angel on wax wings, a ghost long dead and gone, a corpse at the bottom of the ocean. Fuck. I breathe a disclaimer of disaster, a rage against the remorseless. I breathe warmth, then cold, then nothing. Just to double check.

The golden-white glimmers of school fish trail past, streaks of astigmatic light. The moon smiles down at me, a comforting glow. A lantern hung by gods of old on invisible chains. The mirror of the sun. The dancing partner of the earth. The lighthouse of the sea.

My beacon in the sky.

It does not melt my wings. I am not Icarus.

I soar. On and on, the sparkling sky, the gentle sea. The land leaves me far behind, the twinkle of city lights fading into nothing but open waters, open skies. Nothing but starlights. Nothing but moonlight.

There is nothing waiting for me. Fuck. They have melted into the shadows, slipped like dry sand between fingers, like dry sand in an hourglass, like water in a hole-littered bucket. It is only me and the star speckled sky. Me and the moon.

I'm not sure how long I stay, floating between schools of sparkling starfish. Slowly, the moon rises…falls…and the sun creeps up behind me like a monster in a cave, turning the sky from black to blue…green…then spilling yellow, melted butter, sunstreaked blood across the horizon, its burning light warming my frozen cheeks…soothing my goosebumps…the black sea once more becomes its sparkling blue-ish green. Fuck. The stars fade like fleeing fish and vanishing ghosts. I breathe cold into the warmth.

My wax wings drip in the light. The sunlight burns my eyes, searing my retina, boiling my cornea. I squeeze them shut. I wobble and sway, a dance in the sunrise. I dance, bow, spin on wire strings and liquid wings. I become tangled. I tumble down a narrow staircase, no socks, teabag fossils pinned to the wall.

Wind sighs in my ears. I see my reflection blink in the waves far below. It must like watching me thrash in yellow dreams. The world beats down on me as the sun is now; simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained. The world crumbles around me, earth cracking, water roaring, sky tearing and tearing like shreds of paper in the hands of scissor-happy children. I am a puppet on broken strings and I am falling with nothing but the frigid embrace of the ocean to catch me, where the whale-ship corpse sleeps. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I breathe and it is cold. The sun blazes like a beacon. It is life. It is the death cult and that fear tingles down my spine.

A shoe of lovely Twitter-blue falls free, lemon laces flapping wildly. I outstretch my rusty arms, as though to catch it like a ball during playtime in the schoolyard, swamped in the too-big uniform of bright purple, a blazer that fell well past my knees. But I cannot catch myself.

I’m falling.

Falling, falling, falling like Icarus.

#my scribbles #mine #tw language #tw drug mention #tw self harm mention #tw existential crisis #tw death mention #long scribble #original writing #writeblr #wow that's a lot of tags

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papermajesty · 4 years

Text

redmancy

— the act of loving in return.

“A boy born of myth, against every instinct, travels to the metaphorical ends of the earth, hoping to catch and preserve a love he never thought he could have.”

Verse: Spiritborne

Characters: Seamus Frost, Selina Calabrese

Rating: T

Word count: 4433

Let it be known, there were very few things that Seamus would go to the ends of the world for.

After living for as long as he had, one eventually learnt to keep few things close to the heart. Everything was temporary, after all — words, promises, even his very memories. Try as he might, they all eventually slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. What was the point of devoting his heart and mind to things that were destined to break them?

This was what he told himself, every time he was tempted to break his invisible code. He whispered it to himself in the silence of a golden twilight, looking on as his mother was lowered into the earth, followed far too closely by the first girl he’d ever loved. He gasped it as he gripped a fallen brother in arms’ hand against his chest, blood and grief tasting bitter on his tongue. He bit it out as Manhattan’s Upper East Side’s moon painted whorls of silver on skin barely covered by silk sheets, ripping his suit jacket from the floor and turning his back, eyes flinty in the dark. “Everything was temporary.” He had made an arse of himself in the name of his code, sacrificing kindness and cheer for brusqueness and snark in the face of anything remotely resembling the possibility of comfort. He shrank away from light, from love, from peace, and told himself that at least he was protected, at least he was safe.

And yet.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

If he were typical, a puff of white steam would have billowed from his lips as he sighed, turning his cheek up to the moonless sky that domed this backwater city, sprinkling snowflakes that drifted down and rested on the black wool of his coat. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, one of them gently brushing a slip of paper that detailed exactly how unwanted he was in his current location, complete with a death threat and an announcement that she didn’t need him for anything, thank you very much. His eyes swept past the urban scenery, watching as the wraiths of city nightlife dawdled on street corners and sped down alleyways, leaving him the lone idiot foreigner standing stock still under a lamppost, looking remarkably innocent and very pickpocketable. Of course, to catch the mouse — hah — he wanted, looking that way was probably beneficial, but that was only if she didn’t know his face.

She did know his face. Very well. She’d probably say too well, knowing her.

God, he missed her. He missed her laugh, her smile, her face first thing in the morning, her awful way with jokes and her utter lack of comedic timing. She was cheek and mischief personified into copper corkscrew curls and glinting hazel eyes, and for the longest time she’d seemed like just another blip in the eons long timeline of his life. She was to be another strange character he’d had the pleasure to meet, a random American thief with too much time on her hands and nothing worthwhile to spend it on.

Until he started seeing her everywhere he went. Until she started to inexplicably worm her way into his everyday life. Until he found her only two steps behind him on some London rooftop, gripping onto his coat with a smile like diamonds and lips that whispered like a secret and a declaration all at once: “Gotcha.”

She was nothing. Then, suddenly, she was everything.

And here he was, having crossed to the metaphorical ends of the world for her. His fingers crumpled the paper in his pocket, and he tried valiantly to resist temptation, before succumbing with a sigh and pulling her last note to him out. It was written in an almost unreadable scrawl, with ink that looked suspiciously like it came from his favourite fountain pen. Despite its contents, he huffed a laugh, gazing fondly at the messy writing, bare fingers brushing the angrily written warnings and accusations.

Seamus,

I never wanted this. Don’t come looking for me.

Whatever happened between us, all of it, it doesn’t matter. It never did.

If you find me, you’ll wish you’d have left me alone.

I hate

You’re the worst.

Selina.

Seamus closed his eyes, imagining how she would have looked writing the words in his hand. She would have probably been all scrunched up, expression furious and limbs tensed, ready to fly off into the night. She had probably wanted to write down more, but that would have revealed that she actually did care about him, and heaven forbid she let him know anything like that.

Or... maybe she didn’t. And this was all for nothing.

The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Classic Selina. He would never be able to predict her. Her actions were incomplete and erratic, with no real pattern other than her own whims and fancies. When they’d first met in the back of a London alley, he had originally thought her to be an oversized alley cat. The way she had tried to rob him was remarkably strange. He had not expected a girl instead from the quick slashes and scratches at his coat, but, well, she had never failed to surprise him, even from the get go.

Frost had speckled the leather of her jacket, blindingly white against the black. Her arm had been trapped against the wall by a chunk of ice that flared out unnaturally in jagged strokes, following the strike of his arm. Her eyes had flashed dangerously in the moonless night.

“You should’ve picked on someone your own size,” he had growled, eyes flashing blue in the glow of his ice.

She had bared her teeth. Alley cat. “What are you, some kind of freak?”

He had cocked his head. So recklessly brave. “You could say so.”

He had wanted to leave her there — the sun was beginning to rise, and the ice would have melted eventually. But there was something in the way she glowered at him, the way she beat the heels of her boots against the wall in frustration, the curl of her fists. A certain franticness and fear. Not of him, but of the city around them.

His fingers had curled into his palm. I should leave her. If she had the gall to rob a man blind in an alley, she could handle the London underbelly. He didn’t owe her a thing.

Her gaze had snapped to his. His breath had caught.

… He’d fractured her arm, anyway.

He wanted to believe that he had just felt bad for injuring her, but when she ripped her freshly bandaged arm away from him, eyes trained to the floor with a grumbled out ‘thanks’, he had let his fingers hover over the leather of her jacket sleeve a couple seconds too long before pulling away.

Sighing, Seamus folded the note. So she’d had him since the beginning. What else was new? A wave of frustration crested over him at the thought. If everything was temporary, why had the feelings remained when he’d ripped the note from its innocuous perch on his bedside table? Everything he felt for her: joy, irritation, guilt, affection — they’d stuck to his mind like wads of cotton on Velcro, refusing to fade, as luminescent and bright as the day they had sprouted.

She’d somehow had her claws stuck in him from day one, and now, he’d be damned before he gave up on her.

How could he? She had dragged him back from hell. She’d snapped and snarled and slapped him back to his senses whenever he got caught on the dangerous precipice that led to damnation. He still remembered the smell of her hair when she gripped at his back one chilly night on some obscure rooftop, her face hidden in his chest as she heaved out a breath that sounded too big for her body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He’d asked. His voice had felt dead in his mouth, ashy on his tongue.

“Saving you,” she had bit out from her hiding place. “Because you’re too stupid to save yourself.”

Seamus’ eyes fluttered closed against the scene in his mind’s eye. The paper felt thin in his fingers, scarily thin — like at any moment, the smallest spark might set it aflame and crumble it to ashes. For all of winter’s might he possessed in his veins, he felt powerless to stop it, should it happen. He would have probably deserved it.

Which was stupid, once he considered it. There hadn’t been anything wrong between them. If anything, things had been going great. She’d finally stopped visiting exclusively in the night. She would have breakfast with him and Jamie every once in a while. Sometimes, she’d even use the front door. Her note and departure had felt like a kick to the chest, because he had never seen it coming.

The shock had propelled him here, he guessed. Even if she had abandoned him, even if he’d done something wrong, he couldn’t believe that she would want nothing to do with him ever again. He couldn’t believe that whatever was between them, tenacious and fragile as it was, had broken without him trying to fix it first.

Everything was temporary, but just this once, he didn’t want it to be.

His fingers tightened on the note as he exhaled. He moved to slip it back into his pocket, before abruptly, its presence disappeared. His fingers clutched at empty air as they stuttered halfway to his pocket, and his eyes snapped open, flashing blue in the night as his power pushed beneath his skin, ready to strike. But there was no target to hit.

For a moment, he deliriously applauded himself for jinxing it. The paper must have actually caught aflame and crumbled in his fingers, just as he had predicted. Bloody good job on his part. Likely, too, considering his rotten luck.

But then, clumps of snow pelted his hair, and automatically, he looked up. The light of the streetlamp blinded anything above it, but he didn’t have to see her to know she was there. Silent as she was, he could still recognise the subtle way she shifted on her perch, little clumps of snow dotting the pavement around his feet as they fell from the streetlamp’s arm, disturbed by her weight.

The city seemed to fall silent around them, the distant sounds of car horns and roadside chatter softening to nothing as they appraised each other. He could feel her eyes travelling up and down his body, and felt almost cheated at how he couldn’t make out a single feature on her. But he reckoned that was how she wanted it.

It felt like ages before she broke the silence. “I told you not to come,” she said, her voice rolling effortlessly over his shoulders, unlocking them and miraculously relaxing his entire posture. Mentally, he scoffed. She was probably about to berate him, yet his body still responded to her voice like a balm.

Her statement hung in the air for a couple seconds, before he exhaled. “You did,” he admitted.

Her boot made a squeaky noise against the metal as she shifted. “Then what the hell are you doing here?” She asked, harsher than any ice he could ever conjure. He suppressed a wince.

Seamus cleared his throat, shrugging one shoulder. “This city’s tourist attractions are something else,” he said. “Maybe I’m just sightseeing.”

“Sure,” she said, scoffing. “I’ve heard raving reviews about this particular lamppost from tourists all over.”

Seamus bit down on his lower lip. “I’ve heard it’s a favourite meeting spot for alley cats,” he said, forcing nonchalance into his words. “Miraculously, I’ve become a cat person in recent years.”

Silence stretched between them. For a moment, he wondered if he had overstepped, before realising that he had passed that line a few hours ago when he got on the train from Manhattan to here. Head first, eyes closed, he supposed. There was no going back now.

Selina seemed to have gone stock still above him. “I don’t know where you heard that from,” she said stiffly. “Someone’s lying to you.”

He huffed a disbelieving breath. “Then why are you here?” He asked. He knew the answer he wanted to hear. He wanted her to swing down from her roost and tell him that she was here to see him, that she didn’t really want to go, and that there was a reason behind all of this. Even if she had wanted to go, he thought he’d earned an explanation as to why this had gone wrong: how he’d messed this temporary good thing up and had it ripped away from him before he could truly appreciate it. He felt alone and too young again, vulnerable against the chilly London winds as Alice was lowered into her grave, and he wanted her to block those winds and tell him that things were going to be alright, that she’d protect him, that he’d be okay.

But everything was temporary, wasn’t it?

Selina was silent, and he could almost hear the cogs working in her brain, weighing each option, deciding on what to say to him. Her fingers flashed in the light as she adjusted her grip on the lamppost. His own twitched, anticipating a fall to catch her from, though he knew that she would never fall, and even if she did, she’d always land on her feet.

“... I don’t know,” she said finally. He had to blink a couple times before he fully registered her answer. Her voice was impossibly quiet. “I know what I wrote on this thing, and I know I meant it, but I’m still here.” With a crinkle, the paper fell to his feet, floating to rest on a small mound of fallen snow. “I can’t… deal, with the way you make me feel, but… I can’t seem to cut you off.”

He couldn’t help it. He felt hope prickle at his heart. His heart usually rested at a beat so slow it could barely be detected, but at her words, it jumped to hyperspeed. His fingers almost felt warm. “How do I make you feel?” He tested the waters, balling his fists in his pockets.

She huffed something unsavoury under her breath. “I shouldn’t be saying anything,” she said. “I don’t even want to see you.” But she didn’t move from her perch.

He chanced a ghost of a smile. “Cat,” he said. “How do I make you feel?”

He heard her frustrated grumble all the way to his toes. “Good!” She said, her sudden volume startling him into taking a step back. “Happy! Content! I don’t know!” The lamppost creaked with her weight as she shifted. “I’m not used to it!” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I don’t know what to do with it, with any of it. I just…” Her voice trailed off with a desperate air, like she was dying to finish her train of thought, but couldn’t put it together well enough to say out loud. His heart palpitated in his chest. How could he respond? He longed to push off the ground and come eye-to-eye with her, to see the emotions flickering in her unfathomable eyes and find some way to comfort her, but she stayed blended in the shadows, intangible and untouchable. All he could do was wait.

“I just… I don’t want to feel like this,” she said finally, voice small and unfamiliarly weak in the night air. “I just want my old life back, Seamus. The one where I… I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone, because they’d always hurt me first.”

And suddenly, it clicked. Selina was an alley cat, a pickpocket, an orphan with very few she could truly call friend. She had never had a place to visit during the day, never had anyone to have breakfast with, never had the chance to ring the front door. Her life existed in the shadows, and it was only when he’d brought her home to bandage her arm that she’d stepped out. Maybe he had done something wrong to scare her off, but in the end, she hadn’t run because of him. She’d run because of herself, because she was scared that if she stayed with him and the world he came from, she’d have somewhere or call home, somewhere she could feel happy, somewhere she was…

“Safe,” he murmured. He heard her go still above him.

“What?” She asked.

He blinked, before looking up at the space he assumed was her perch. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He asked. “Why you didn’t want to stay.”

“I don’t—“

“It’s because I— we make you feel safe,” he fumbled, bending down to snatch up the note. “You didn’t have that. But we gave it to you. And now that you could have it, you’re scared. Scared because—“

He could practically feel her hackles rising. “I’m not scared—“

“Scared,” he said, firmly, “because you could lose it.” He barked a short laugh. “Selina, that’s the point! That’s what having a home feels like!”

More snow pelted him from above. “What the hell are you even talking about, Frost?” She asked, tone gruff.

“Maybe I’m completely off base,” he said, feeling a grin stretching his lips as he smoothed out her note. “But I think that you wanted to run away not because you didn’t want this, but because you’re afraid of wanting it. Because if you want it, you’ll have something to call your own. You’ll have people who care about you and who you’ll care about in return. You’ll have a place to stay and come home to after a hard day. You’ll have something that matters.” He scanned the words in his palm. “‘Whatever happened between us, all of it, it doesn’t matter. It never did.’ ”

He heard Selina shift above him. “Stop that,” she muttered. If he didn’t know her so well, he’d have thought she was angry at him. But he knew that tone. She was feeling shocked, maybe even guilty.

“‘If you find me, you’ll wish you’d have left me alone.’,” he continued. “Except it did matter, and I did find you, but you haven’t told me to get lost yet.” He looked up at her again, folding the note neatly in his hands. “You want this, Selina. You want to come home.” His fingers felt so warm. “Don’t you?”

She didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, he thought she’d somehow dematerialised from the spot above him. He felt a foreign kind of anxiousness creep in over the hope, a kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. “... Or, maybe—”

A shadow blocked the streetlamp’s light, making him blink rapidly, before he felt cool fingers brush his hand. His vision refocused on Selina, in the flesh, her hood barely containing the copper corkscrew curls he’d missed so much that barely brushed his chin. Her head was lowered, gaze focused on the space between their feet, but her fingers poked out of her jacket sleeve to grip at the hand still holding the note. Snowflakes continued to dot her hair and jacket, stark white against the black. He felt a surge of nostalgia.

She didn’t speak for a moment, though her jaw worked rapidly. He felt his lungs tighten with a held breath. It seemed unlikely, even now, that she would come home with him. After all, he could never predict her. But he hoped beyond hope that for once in his life, he’d done something right, and that for once he didn’t have to watch as something precious slipped through his fingers.

He hoped that for once, he could have something permanent.

Her throat cleared. “I…” She murmured. “I don’t know... if I could ever… you know.” Hazel eyes glinted at him beneath her hood. “I don’t know if I could call this, whatever this is, mine.” Her fingers tightened their grip. “But I… you’re… you’re right.” She looked up, catching his gaze and his breath. A thousand emotions flashed by in them, too quick for him to catch, but he felt a tremendous pressure press in on him, feeling the weight of each one nonetheless. He knew how hard it was for her to admit what she was saying. “I never had a home. I never had a family. It’s always been me against the world.” She chuckled. “Even when I met Donnie, I couldn’t… fully relax around him, and he was—is—my best friend. I ran away from that too. But you…” she made an incoherent noise. “You tried to kill me, but then you saved me. You took a look at a random street girl and opened your door to her, even though you owed her nothing. You let me meet your sister, your friends, your family… then you gave me a chance to be a part of that family.” She laughed something soft.

“I ran away because when I saw you, I could let myself relax. I didn’t have to fight. You…” Her gaze flickered from their linked hands to his eyes. “You’re right. I felt safe.”

He couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice. “And you were scared of that.”

She snorted. “Can you blame me?” She asked, picking the note from his hands with her free hand. “I'm what you like to say so much: an alley cat. Alley cats don’t have homes.”

“This one does,” he said, and he nearly startled himself with how confidently he said it. There was no hint of doubt in his voice. He couldn’t imagine his London apartment without her window escapades and her lounging on the kitchen counter anymore. Gently, he interlaced their fingers, feeling his own warmth seep into her hand. “That is,” he hedged, “if she wants it.”

A sliver of a smile ghosted her lips as she watched their fingers clasp each other. Something felt right about that image. “She does,” she admitted, running a thumb along the side of his palm. Her free hand crushed the note in its palm. “She… really does.”

A weight lifted off his chest, and he felt his shoulders sag with obvious relief. “Good,” he sighed, tipping his head back, “if not travelling here would have been incredibly painful.”

Selina raised a brow, looking up at him with a small grin. “What, you can’t handle this city?” She asked. He couldn’t even be mad at her insinuation. The grin on her lips was far too blinding to detest.

“The tourism here is decrepit,” he raised a brow of his own, mirroring her expression, “and I would rather die than stay a night at the ‘Rochester Abyss’.”

“What? That doesn’t exist. Someone is seriously lying to you,” she said, then paused. “... Why would you stay? You could have just left if I had told you to scram. You don’t owe me anything.”

He huffed a laugh, bringing his free hand up to smooth a snowflake from her cheek. “I wouldn’t have given up,” he admitted, watching as her cheeks flushed a delightful red. “I’d have stayed a week, or a month, or longer, if I needed to. Even if you didn’t want to come home with me, I’d have wanted to make sure you were okay before heading back, and… if I’d done something wrong, I’d want to know what.”

Her gaze flitted to the side, a grumble escaping her throat. “You’d never,” she said, sounding almost petulant. “You’ve always been good to me, even when you were being stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “I wanted to hate you, you know, but you didn’t give me enough ammo to.”

He grinned then, a real, big one, feeling the last vestiges of anxiety break away from his heart. “I’m glad I didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t want this to be temporary.”

She looked back at him then, a disbelieving laugh on her tongue. “Temporary?” She asked, looking almost amused. “Seamus, you do a lot of things half-assedly, but you’ve never made me feel like my place was temporary.” She pressed his palm to her cheek. “I want to stay with you and everyone else for as long as I can. Does that sound temporary to you?”

He felt like he could fly him and her home in one shot then. He feared his face might get stuck in a ridiculous smile for the rest of his life. “No,” he said softly. “It doesn’t.”

Her grin burned bright into his mind, searing into his eyelids. “Good,” she said, sounding delightfully satisfied. Her feet shuffled a step forward, the hood of her jacket falling back with the movement. He got a face full of grinning, copper and hazel warmth, and his stomach swooped, like he was a kid again and his crush had just smiled at him from across the room. It was giddying. Terrifying in its intensity, but oh so exciting in its reality. This was real, and it was good, and most importantly, it was here. Was it permanent? With his lifespan, hah, but he’d be damned if he let it slip through his fingers now.

Everything was temporary. He was beginning to realise this. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t defy it. But… he could learn from it. Selina was another blip on his eons long timeline, but she was a very real, very loud blip, and she made his heart go insane and his gut drop from beneath him, and even if it would hurt him in the end… he was beginning to think that he didn’t care anymore.

No, not that he didn’t care… he was beginning to accept it.

There were very few reasons he’d go to the ends of the world for. Selina Calabrese, with her unkempt hair and diamond smile and cat like eyes, would always be one of them.

His cheeks flushed red as he realised this. He caught her eyes widening at the sight, but before she could marvel at it, he swept an arm around her waist, pressing her to his chest. “Let’s go home,” he said softly, and the smile that unfurled across her lips proved time to be a bitch who didn’t matter in the slightest, because it’d never steal that image from his mind.

Her fingers tightened in his coat, melting the snowflakes that dotted the material. He had never felt warmer in his life. “Yeah,” she breathed, white steam billowing into the sky. “Bring me home, Seams.”

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blackasteriia · 5 years

Text

The Superior

@potestasaeterna 𝘐

“Poor little Ningyō…” There’s a hint of CRUELTY laced in his words, a rare moment where he doesn’t continue the facade of serenity. Sparks of energy flicker from fingertips, arcing across the black gloved hand. His other hand is bare of being hidden beneath black leather, signs of deep energy burns covering the whole palm. He steps forward, from the sparks sprouts an Ethereal Blade, crackling and buzzing against the cool air colliding with its surface, “You believe that you have a bond forming with those two that you can stray from the purpose of your creation…?” How sad when puppets don’t stay in line. Years of planning, of working around the ignorance and gullibility of little lessers, all can go awry when one steps out of line. This one, he cannot have stray too far from its purpose.

The uncovered hand grabs hold of her wrist, stopping her attempt to escape. The contact causes the material beneath to start heating up, energy burning and melting what it touches–letting it melt and cling to flesh as it too burns from the pooling energy. “You breath, you live because you will serve your purpose…” Xemnas lets go of her wrist long enough to bash the glowing blade against her skull, a force powerful enough to knock her over, “You are MY pawn, Ningyō. If you fathom that those two will SAVE you, will sweep you away and take you somewhere safe… count the score again.” A few steps forward before he grabs hold of her, this time by the neck, kneeling next to her so he’s closer to being eye to eye while lingering a few inches above, “You run, and you’ll be brought right back here… just as before by your precious FRIEND.”

Something bent in Xion, and it was her spine curled so that her forehead rested against the cold tile floor. Burns striped up her forearm and hand, bruises blackened in the shape of Xemnas’ fingers. The scent of singed leather and smoldering flesh wafted to her nose, she dry heaved. A shiver and a tremble racked through her entire body, exhaustion permeating her form. Xion breathed thin and broken but she did not need to; Dolls do not cry, they feel no pain, they do not have a heart. Dolls do not need sympathy, they have no complaints. Xion was porcelain, ivory, and glass, and science and magic, all shaped like a girl. Do not be convinced by the appearance of a pretty face, blue eyes and silk black hair were but tricks of the light. She was toy and puppet, strangled by her own marionette strings.

Tear her from limb-to-limb, shatter her bones, strike her with lightning, and flay away her skin; No. i was designed to heal and self-repair. It did not have a heart to care what Xemnas did to it because it was born to serve. Xion preferred it when he spat these reminders and insult that left raw and broken, stripped to the essential truth. He knew that she knew and there were no more illusions to maintain, no more lies to tell. She was his weapon resting in his hand and her purpose was war. With nothing but air between them Xion was left exposed. Nowhere left to hide, nowhere left to run.

Xion prostrated, much like a tossed-out toy she lacked the will to stand. No. i obeyed its commands to the letter and spirit, it was loyal and obedient, and well-behaved. One leg hooked beneath her and the other extended. Thin arms kept Xion from collapsing, more propped then held. The echo of heal strike against tile and the soft shift of fabric indicated his movements. How flattering, that he would kneel for her. She had watched black leather gloves slip off the curve of his palm and long fingers but never dared meet his gaze. She saw the gathering room once and all the thrones were beneath his, even back then Xion understand the hierarchy of the Organization. She understood that she belonged on the floor while everyone rose above her.

A massive hand wrapped about the muscle of her neck, bearing her further down and forcing her nose into the tile. Xion gasped, hoarse inhale catching against throat (No. i does not have lungs, it does not breath). His gaze seared her, she could imagine molten gold tearing away her skin, pooling between her shoulder blades. It’d cool and adhere to her skin. She trembled to the marrow, body protesting crushing weight. She could feel the pillars of her bones begin to crumble.

Xion wanted Axel to be here --a selfish desire to be protected-- but Axel will not be coming, his betrayal hurt worse than her punishment. She wished Roxas was here too but she’d only beg Xemnas not to hurt him, his presence would not be a comfort. And Riku wouldn’t make a stand for a fake like her. It’d fix a few of his problems if Xemnas killed her. All that was left was her and Xemnas, and the frozen tundras that were their heartless chests. And Xemnas was nothing, so really it was just Xion and the stolen fragments of a worthier boy. There was nothing to lose; This was her swan song.

Something bent in Xion, it was a foreign material inside her. It did not originate from No. i, Vexen did not include it in Xion’s schematics and plans. Xion shaped it with her own childish hands, rudimentary and primal; Like an ugly little clay lump she scavenged from the silt of a riverbed. Xemnas’ hand and his golden stare bore on it and Xion was the fulcrum. The material strained, stress bending it to inconceivable angles. It contorted to an inhuman shape. Weak and pitiful, everything he declared abomination. Xemnas would crush it beneath his boot and Xion wondered if it would bleed.

She growled. A vibration of vocal cords strummed by hot breath. A tilt of the chin raised her line of sight, past chest, and collarbones. Pin pricks of pain laced like fire up her arms and through mix-and-match pieces that constructed her body. It ricocheted between human flesh, magic, and inorganic. Xion’s lips pulled back from her teeth and revealed canines bared in the most uncanny mimic of a human’s smile. Rage flashed in soft sea blue eyes (or brown, or green, depending on his mood; Maybe gold or red hair?). Her gaze met his and it was refreshing to clearly see the carved-out hallow that was his rib cage.

The solidity in Xion’s arms shocked her. Palm and finger tips dug against the marble, sending hairline fractures through stone, her biceps and forearms ran taut, abdominal muscles tightening through her hips. Xion’s toes curled beneath her and she pushed-up, sinew heaving her skeletal structure forward. The strength to subvert the weight of his hand on her neck was inhuman. One leg raised from beneath her and heel pressed firm to foundation. Xion rose.

The tip of the ephemeral blade ripped through the fabric of her coat and pierced through her shoulder beneath the left collarbone, above the heart she did not have. The faint echo of a drum beat pounded against her skull. Xion surged-up not caring how it pierced her through like needle to clothe. Her nails extended for his throat and a feral snarl ripped through her thin body. The blade perforated out her back but Xion pushed-on, savaging the length. Smoke and burnt leather filled her olfactory sense. She tasted iron and she saw her claws in his throat, tearing out tracheae, and crushing his voice in her fist. Call her Ningyō again, go ahead.

Her momentum tapered and her hand clawed just short of him before falling to his wrist. She gripped the blade edge and seethed, as it ignited the fabric of her gloves. Teeth ground so they might shatter. Xion groaned, head bowing and body hitting its final limit to collapse, hair fell into her eyes in sweat soaked clumps. She was stronger than anticipated but not strong enough yet, it was not in her to fulfill her brutal vision but only his. She could not rise against Xemnas and instead she’d pilfer her seconds with Roxas. In an unfair game, Xion kept her head down.

Something bent in Xion. it flexed beneath impossible pressure, There was one thing between Xemnas and the universe, and it was a bleeding little girl. He ripped the blade from her chest and she crumpled. Xemnas left her there, seemingly satisfied with his work. Xion curled against the floor as the first red drops of blood sunk down the skin of her chest and soaked her coat. In a few minutes she’d pick herself-up, heal the wounds, and put on her best face for Roxas.

“We worked it out,” she’d say.

Something bent in Xion, but it did not yet snap.

#✰*✦ Keep seashells for later!⎧Saved⎫#✰*✦ 358/2 Days⎧VERSE⎫#✰*✦ The face in the mirror⎧IC⎫#potestasaeterna #that's all i needed tbh #thanks for indulging me ra

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solnishkawrites · 6 years

Text

From the Sea

the start of a (hopefully) short fic about a nymph and a mortal becoming friends on an island somewhere in the Mediterranean, set roughly 300 BCE.

As usual, I have done way more research than I actually needed for this. Read it on fictionpress, quotev, or wattpad, if you so desire

“I’ve brought you a gift, little brother,” Klaia said, walking out of the sea. She was as naked as the day she’d been born, with hair black as midnight waters hanging loose down to her knees, her skin tanned deep brown by the sun over the waves, her eyes as gray as stormclouds—a nereid, daughter of the sea-god Nereus and attendant of Amphitrite, wife of Poseidon. By the ankle she was dragging a giant.

“Oh,” said Kallianos.

Klaia advanced up the beach, her bare feet digging into the pebbled shore as she dragged her prize past the waterline. She stopped, huffed in annoyance, then bent and plucked a crab out of its hair and tossed it back into the surf.

“Do you like him?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

“Um,” said Kallianos. He squatted down next to the giant’s head. The giant had the face and complexion of a typical Hellene, dark hair and olive skin, but he was so tall—and mortal. Kallianos could tell that, now that he’d gotten a good look at the gia—at the man. He was alive, too, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily, his eyes closed.

“When will he wake?” Kallianos asked.

“When I want him to. Would you like me to—”

“No.”

The nereid laughed and sat down, not seeming to mind the wavelets rolling up to her hips with each swell. She started combing through her impossibly long hair with her fingers, fishing out strands of kelp as she watched her friend examine the ‘gift’ she had brought him.

“Where did you find him?”

“A shipwreck near Syracuse. All the rest of his fellows drowned, but he was the finest one, so I brought him to you.”

Kallianos took one of the man’s hands and spread his fingers, lightly touching various points on his palm. “These are not a rower’s calluses.”

“No. This one was a soldier.”

Kallianos dropped the man’s hand and stood up, stepping away. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

“Shall I give him back to the sea, then?” Klaia asked, pausing in her combing. She looked at her friend, her face innocently neutral. “Let him sink to the seabed and his lungs fill with water, let the crabs and fishes devour his flesh, piece by piece?”

Kallianos glared back at her. “No,” he spat out. “But my island is a peaceful place. I don’t want some mortal staining it with blood.”

Klaia tossed her head, sending droplets of seawater flying. A few landed on the man’s face, and he stirred a little, turning his head to the side and his mouth forming the beginning of a word. The nereid snorted at Kallianos’ cautious step backwards. “The only blood he could spill here is yours, little brother,” she said. “If he had a weapon, which he does not, and if you choose to show yourself to him, which you will not. As it is, he will most likely die of exposure or starvation here, alone.”

“You know that isn’t what I want.”

Klaia shrugged, pitiless. “Then lift your enchantment from this isle. Let it be found by mortals. Some sailors will eventually set ashore here and whisk him back to one of their stinking, polluted cities.” The nereid sneered out across the sea. Athens and Alexandria were regarded by humankind as pinnacles of civilization, but the waste of their entire populations drained into the harbor—making them extremely unattractive for a nereid to visit.

“And by gods?” Kallianos asked, dragging Klaia’s attention back to the matter at hand. “You know I can’t let the… the patron of Delos know my whereabouts.”

Klaia sighed and tsked in disapproval, but then stood up, moving beyond the sleeping mortal to where the pebbled beach transformed into a thin, rocky soil where occasional clumps of weeds sprouted. “To wake him, say his name. I shall write it here for you.” She did so, carving the characters into the dirt for her friend to read, then returned to the beach. She waded out into the thigh-deep surf.

“Can’t you just take him to a shore where mortals already live?” Kallianos called out.

“I have already carried him far to present him to you, little brother. I won’t carry him any further.” The waves swirled around the nereid’s stomach.

“But—”

“He will survive by his own merits now—or by yours. Or not at all.” Klaia shrugged again, her shoulders disappearing beneath the water.

“Please!” Kallianos called, but it was too late. The crown of Klaia’s head dipped beneath the waves, her hair momentarily spreading just below the surface like a pool of midnight beneath the blazing sun—but then that vanished too as the nereid dived deep. She was gone.

Kallianos huffed and looked out over the water, hoping in vain for his friend to resurface. But she did not, and after a few minutes Kallianos gave up and turned his attention to the mortal sleeping on the beach. In repose he looked peaceful enough, but now that Kallianos was looking with a critical eye rather than just a curious one he could see the pale lines of old scars scattered across the mortal’s body—relics of past violence, and so many of them. His lip curled in distaste.

It would be easiest to return him to the sea, as Klaia said. All mortals died sooner or later, and doing so while wrapped in dreams, feeling nothing as the seawater flowed into his nose and mouth… it would be painless, at least.

But also cruel. Mortal lives already were so short; Kallianos wasn’t the capricious sort to shorten them even further.

He chewed his lip, thinking, then reached out and brushed some dried sand from the man’s cheek. “You aren’t exactly welcome here,” Kallianos murmured, “But I won’t turn you away or cause you any harm so long as you don’t make trouble… Stelios.”

He stood and walked away as the man’s eyelids began to flutter.

#greek mythology

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griffinsanddragons · 7 years

Text

Harrowed

Bethany wanders through the Fade, unsure of what to do there. She’s afraid.

I wrote a thing.

She recognized this quiet: silence only broken by footsteps and the sound of her own heartbeat.

Fear roared and raged inside her, burning like wood in an angry fire.

She was stranded in The Fade.

With memories of her whereabouts still vague within her mind, Bethany tried to stop herself from dreaming.

She knew the dangers of roaming The Fade with a troubled heart as well as any Mage—yet found it was impossible to wake her body.

And she was so hungry.

“Focus,” She thought, knowing it was best to keep quiet in the twisted realm of demons and dreams. “Focus on the road before you. Nothing else.”

And so she did.

At first, the Fade was nothing but barren soil clumped together with rocks and weeds. Her path floated on a vast pool of nothingness and as she walked, slow and steady on her cozy slippered feet, a sickly green fog fell before her, obscuring the scenery.

With a thought, however, in a motion as easy as blinking, Bethany breathed life into a tiny Wisp of Light. It flew around her, warming her skin and skirting through her hair.

“Hello there,” she spoke with caution, her voice just below a whisper, unsure of how she felt about the creature she did not intend to create.

[Keep Reading]

She felt different here—stronger. Bethany could feel the Fade around her, pushing and pulling and begging to be shaped. It was magic in the purest sense—and it was dangerous. She had to keep her thoughts contained.

The Wisp, of course, simple by nature and design, gave little thought to her worries. It flew wide circles around its Maker, piercing the fog like a sun’s ray.

At the end of the path, from what she could see, stood the beginning of a wood, though it trees were nothing but slits of shadow thrusting ominously from the soil.

No good ever came from the woods or the creatures that made their homes there but the wisp whirled around her playfully, unaware of the dangers they probably faced.

“They’re nothing but dreams,” she told herself, gathering her words around her like armored plates.

There was no other path for her to take.

A sweet-smelling scent burned through her senses as she tried to part the branches of the twisting, leafless trees. Her stomach growled quietly, a gentle reminder of the fact she hadn’t the chance to eat breakfast that morning.

She was hungry.

Bethany’s thoughts turned back to Lothering, back to the little yellow cakes her Mother used to bake, all thick and glazed with honey. She could smell them baking.

Suddenly, Bethany took a step back from the wood, her heart beating very quickly.

She didn’t care much for sweets.

Her Sister would sometimes purchase eggs and sugar from the marketplace on certain, special mornings.

“I just felt like having cake,” She’d say. And though her love of sweets was substantial indeed, the mud that caked her sisters boots (despite the absence of rain) spun a wholly different story.

She hadn’t been ‘out early’ for the sake of haggling at the Marketplace.

She was keeping Bethany’s secret safe.

The cake was something of a cover, a charade; it was a secret celebration of a quiet victory, an observance of Bethany’s safety—a safety ensured by the ending of another person's life (and their body’s disposal in a muddy swamp beyond the field of golden wheat.)

“It’s just a dream,” She reminded herself, her heart hard and heavy. “There’s no other way to go.”

Thus, Bethany made a path between the trees.

The branches scratched and scraped against the fabric of her robes, catching her off guard.

But as she ventured deeper and the fog finally cleared, flowers began to sparkle, bursting out in muted color along the rocky pathway.

It could have been lovely, she thought,—had it not been for the evil lurking within.

“Do you think it mattered, Bethany? Your ‘sacrifice?” Spoke a velvet voice that rumbled like a storm off the sea. “You have no future waiting.” It’s words burrowed deep inside her, nesting there like a bird of prey.

“Show yourself!” She demanded, turning with her staff in hand and magic burning. But it laughed at her efforts, it’s voice fading off into the wind, dismissing her bravery.

Nevertheless, she steeled herself. Bethany paused to take a breath—or 10—and continued wading through The Fade, still unsure of what she was meant to do there.

For a long time, there was silence. More flowers bloomed and burst, spreading out into little orbs of light that dotted the branches like stars in the sky. Her wisp flew up and down amongst them, playing in the dimmer lights.

But then she heard it, different from the voice but just as alarming: Whispers.

At first, they were quiet, unable to be understood, but as she moved closer to what she thought was the center of the wood, they whispered louder.

‘No please!’ They begged, their voices echoing through the rustling leaves.

‘Stop!’

‘Don’t kill me!’

‘I’m sorry!’

The voices cried out in painful agony, their breaths rough and strained as though they were already dying. But no matter how far or brisk she walked, Bethany couldn’t save them. She couldn’t do anything.

They surrounded her, shapeless masses of shadow calling out for salvation in the darkness of the wood.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke—there was nothing she could do.

The fragrant cloud of those warm yellow cakes grew stronger, reaching through her stomach to pull her closer and deeper into the trees.

Another wisp joined the first, shedding light unto the road she had to take.

“You poor, foolish girl,” The Voice returned, It’s words piercing through her very soul.

“Your sister isn’t here to protect you, your Father is long dead and your brother died as he always knew he would—defending your life; how long do you think you can endure this? What will you make of yourself without someone to hide behind?”

“Leave me be you beast!”

“You destroyed your last remaining family: Your Mother is hollow and broken with grief. And your sister…you’ve made a monster of her long ago, Bethany—and now it was for nothing. All you’ve done is for nothing.”

Something brushed against her in the dark.

Something tall with a willowy frame that was more bone than skin. Eight tapered limbs like spiders legs sprouted from the mass of flesh that swallowed its eyes and sat in a hump along its back.

Most frightening, however, were the jagged teeth that crowded its jaw.

Bethany’s breath rose and fell in heavy gasps. As her terror grew, as did her hunger; she wished for somewhere safe and warm—the safety of her home and her family in Lothering. The safety of her sister's shield. Guilt and terror overcame her but the scent of cake sat still and heavy in the air and the demon towered over her like a building strained against the wind.

It was a Demon of Fear.

It appeared behind her in a sudden movement; it’s long white fingers snatching at the back of her neck.

All at once the whispers turned to screaming; she could feel their final breaths puff across her cheeks and their blood spray across her skin.

But she couldn’t let this be for nothing.

She couldn’t die in The Fade.

So Bethany turned to meet the demon, her frantic Wisps shining light upon Its hungry gaze. A lesser Mage may have forgotten her skill and her training but Bethany never would—she cast a spell that left the world around her quaking.

Thick sheets of ice covered the trees and froze the ground before her. The demon who once taunted her fell silent, it’s body cold and frozen in time.

And for a moment there was peace; the darkness broke and the trees fell open, falling back into a beautiful clearing.

And so she sighed a ragged breath of relief.

“Ah, you think you’ve bested me?” The Voice spoke again. “Are there no bounds to your foolishness, girl?”

“You know it really isn’t polite to hide while talking.” She spoke in a voice that reminded her of her sister, an odd mix of humor and bravery.

“You believe you’ve won, that you’ve beaten your fear— that you are stronger for it. What do you plan to do when this has ended? Do you not feel the Templar blade upon your neck? They will kill you.” Before her eyes, something flashed—a large and monstrous beast much worse than the demon before. But it vanished in an instant, replaced instead by the image of her sister, it’s voice kind and soothing. “You’ve been so brave, Bethany. But you can’t do it alone. Let me fight for you.”

It took a step forward, placing Its armored hand upon her shoulder with a charming beam. She smelt like cake and honey.

Bethany looked at Its hand, the warm weight of it so familiar—comforting. She was safest in her sister’s company—she had nothing to fear.

But that wasn’t what she wanted.

“You don’t get it,” Bethany spoke after a moment, her shock waning. “This isn’t about me. It was—it was never about me. It was for her.” Her family deserved a life of freedom—unchained from lies and secrecy, unchained from her.

She brushed the demon’s hand away and took a step backward, unafraid.

The wisps twirled and danced around her as though to respond to her feelings.

“Her love for you will be her undoing.” It told her. “How many lives has her love taken? How much has her love destroyed? What else will she sacrifice for you?”

Bethany had no answer. She could feel the demon’s tendrils around her, spinning a web to catch its feast.

“I can lend you my strength. She will then have no reason to lay down her life like your Brother. She will not die like your Father. All that you’ve done will not be for nothing.” Its eyes were wide, gleaming. “You know I speak the truth.” The demon wasn’t lying (demons rarely do.)

But she held strong to her convictions, ignoring the hunger that swelled inside her belly, ignoring her need for that familiar safety.

“I will not give myself over to a demon.” She stepped back, pulling herself away.

“Bethany.” It frowned, (though in that form it seemed more of a pout than anything.) Because for all it’s talk, it had no greater power than any other demon of the Fade; a possession could not be forced upon the unwilling.

“The truth is not the truth forever. Things can change—” She had to believe that, it was the reason she left in the first place.“—I don’t need your power. I don’t need you to fight for me.”

“Then you will return to nothing!” Giving up all pretense, Its voice shifted back ( though it kept her sister’s body.) “Keep your wits about you girl, I can feel your fears growing.” The demon turned it’s back to retreat.

When it disappeared, a warm green light took its place.

Bethany squinted against the brightness and, for a moment, thought she may have made it out to safety.

And while she did wake in a bed with the hot rays of the afternoon sun blazing across her cheeks, Bethany remembered where she was—The Circle—and remembered she was never truly safe.

“First Enchanter Orsino wants to see you, Bethany.” Senior Enchanter Albree smiled at her from beside the bed. “You’ve passed your Harrowing. You’re now a full-fledged Mage!”

#bethany hawke #circle bethany #da2 #bethany art #things i write #its been a while since i posted something

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firefly-knights · 7 years

Text

Fionna’s Adventures in Wonderland

Fionna wrinkled her nose as she peered over Prince Gumball's shoulder. Every time he turned a page, she'd peer over to see its contents. No illustrations. No conversations.

What a stupid book. It's not worth reading if there aren't any pictures or dialogue. At least, that's what Fionna thought. Apparently though, Prince Gumball didn't share her theory. He'd been bent over that old book for near two hours now and dare she say it, but Fionna was beginning to get bored.

She considered making a dandelion chain with the little flowers that sprung up around where she sat. She could even add a few of the fluffy white parts too- whatever those were called.

After a few minutes of braiding the stems together, however, Fionna was abruptly interrupted. A flash of blue and white blurred past, pausing a moment beside the hedge opposite where she and Prince Gumball sat. It was Ice Queen, Fionna realized with a start, dropping her six inch dandelion chain onto the skirt of her pale dress.

The white-haired woman glanced behind her before pulling out a golden pocket watch from the folds of her gown. It clicked open silently and Fionna observed the red crystal on its lid- one that perfectly matched Ice Queen's tiara she currently wore.

Sensing eyes on her, Ice Queen glanced up, catching Fionna's gaze. Swiftly she pocketed the watch again and just nearly dove into the hedge beside her.

Without a second thought, Fionna grabbed her green backpack and leaped after Ice Queen, following her through the brush that seemed to be deeper than Fionna had thought it would be. Once she broke free on the other side, she had no time to pause and be surprised by the grand castle in the distance nor the treetops that created a thick canopy below her before her foot slipped from the edge of the cliff and she began to fall.

Head over heels and heels over head she tumbled down the cliff side, her dress catching on twigs here and there before she finally somersaulted to a stop at the base of a giant mushroom. It loomed twenty feet above her head, the small accordion-like folds on the underside quivering.

Fionna blinked and then blinked once more. That tumble rather hurt, actually. Not to mention she'd landed on top of her backpack and crystal sword- not the softest cushions ever.

She pushed herself up, dusting her skirts to remove some of the dirt when a dusting of silver wafted down around her. The powder itched her nose and caused her to sneeze. Over and over. The mushroom had rained spores down on her, the tiny shiny specks clinging to her dress, hair and rabbit ears.

Fionna coughed, a cloud of silver spores escaping from her lips.

"Oh my glob, that is disgusting," an annoying voice spoke up from somewhere to Fionna's left. She turned and stared for a moment, not trying to be rude but merely surprised. Floating above a much smaller mushroom cap was a purple puff. Almost like a cloud, really, except he had eyes and hands, a mouth and a gold star upon his forehead.

"Excuse me?" Fionna retorted, slightly offended.

"I said that was disgusting. Anyway, who are you?" the sassy purple lump demanded rudely.

"I'm Fionna and you-"

"You may call me Lumpy Space Prince," the frumpy floater interrupted.

Fionna huffed, not much enjoying the supposed Prince's company. "Fine then. Now, where-"

"What are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, my glob! What are you?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand?" Fionna shifted, shrinking the slightest away and leaning lightly against the base of the giant mushroom. What a queer question.

"What is there to not understand? What is a simple enough word, is it not?"

"Well, yes, when you're not using it about me, but-"

"Well then, what are you?"

Fionna had just about enough of this Lumpy Space Prince's nonsense and was ready to end the conversation then and there. "Not saying."

"But, I must know! I can't stand not knowing what you are, even more-so than knowing who!"

What? Fionna's brain could hardly keep up with the Prince's words- words that weren't making much sense and so she marched away into the surrounding woods, her backpack slung over her shoulders once again.

Mushrooms, dandelions, clovers and ferns grew at unnatural heights throughout the woods, Fionna noted. Colors of all hues composed the landscape around her- red and blue mushroom caps, followed by orange and green furls of leaves, a bouquet of yellow blooms next to a cascade of dried purple stems. After being doused in mushroom spores thrice more, she decided that walking beneath the mushroom caps simply wasn't worth it. She would just have to avoid them, or at the very least walk around them.

After a while of simply walking, Fionna began to wonder where she was, and more importantly, where she was headed when she came upon a quaint leaf-covered path. Up the path a way she could just catch a glimpse of sunlight filtering in through the flora. A little clearing. In the middle of said clearing basked a content spotted cat, warm in the shaft of sunlight she'd found. The cat sprung to its feet, startled by Fionna's sudden presence, before she sat back on her hind quarters and gazed evenly at the girl. Then the cat grinned.

"Are you lost, bunny?" she purred softly, almost warmly. It was the kind of purr you'd imagine a cat using to greet a friend.

"Yeah... kind of. Which way should I go?" Fionna wondered.

The cat smiled a little wider, "That would depend."

"Depend? On what?"

"On where you want to be, sweetcheeks."

Fionna considered the cat's words. Where did she want to be? She wasn't sure. She'd followed Ice Queen into this mess of a world- Ice Queen!

"Do you know which way the Ice Queen went?" Fionna turned to face the spotted cat fully, a glimmer in her eye.

"Well, naturally. Girl, I get it, really. I get that you're new and all, but get with the program, hun. I'm Cheshire Cake, Queen of the Crossroads."

"Then why are you sitting in the middle of a clearing?"

Cake rolled her feline eyes and looked from left to right. "This clearing is the cross-road, girly. You and I are stood at the center of it."

For the first time since Fionna had entered the clearing, she actually stopped to look around. The grass clearing stretched about ten yards in any direction, and at the edges, the woods sprung up again. Every so often a pathway cut into the woods. Spinning in a circle, Fionna counted thirteen paths in all. Each looked the same as the next, but each was at the same time unique in their own way. Vines formed a net over the pathway of one, a log nestled across the pathway to opening left of it.

"Well, where did she go, then?"

Cake's Cheshire grin faltered slightly, her green eyes flickering behind her before she sighed. Nodding her head a little, she began to lead Fionna to a pathway lined with singed leaves. "This way," Cake prodded, settling down on a clump of clover. "Follow this path, it'll lead you to where you should go."

Fionna offered Cake a grateful smile before dashing onto the path. Footprints were singed into the fallen leaves and tea light candles left scorch marks upon the looming rocks that blocked the flames from the breeze that would otherwise put them out.

Step by step, the pathway slowly progressed into a set of stairs which started out spread out before quickly reverting into steeper stones that grew narrower and narrower still. Then suddenly the steps stopped. Fionna who had been looking at her feet for the last five minutes to make sure she didn't fall upon her face finally looked up only to lock eyes with a living flame.

He wore a white vest and trousers, his feet bare as were his arms. His skin glowed a brilliant orange and from the top of his head sprouted a flickering fire. Sat at a long table covered in burned baked goods, his eyes shone with annoyance, his fists gripping the armrests to his chair where the once smooth velvet was now charred. Beside him sat a doughnut, crispy around the edges, and next to the doughnut sat a small blue cube. The cube and Fionna's dress were the only cool colors in the room-

When had the path through the woods turned into a dank hallway? Fionna wondered. She hadn't realized until now as she took in her surroundings, but she was definitely no longer in the wilderness, surrounded by thriving plants. Instead, stone floors stretched further into the distance than the light illuminated- light that, she noted, appeared to emanate from the glowing boy sitting on his once lavish chair.

She pulled the bag from her shoulders that had started to get sore and set it next to the door. A cinnamon man materialized out of thin air beside her, surprising her as he slipped a white apron around her waist before blending back into the shadows.

"Are you the baker," the doughnut not so much asked as stated, catching the girl off guard.

"Baker? No, not really."

"What do you mean not really?" the doughnut questioned skeptically. The small blue box next to him beeped curiously, its lips pulling down into a subtle frown.

"I mean I don't really bake much. I'm not that great at it."

"Then why are you here?"

"Excuse me?" Fionna bit out, offended.

"Why are you here?"

"Because Cheshire Cake told me to-"

"Cheshire Cake? Is that what she told you to call her? Crazy cat..."

"Well, what else would I call her?"

"You're a strange girl," the flaming boy spoke up for the first time. He tilted his head to the right, his fiery hair persisting to keep straight to the world as he studied the bunny ears that sat atop Fionna's own head.

Fionna scoffed. "Excuse you! That's mean."

The flame boys eyes widened before narrowing again.

"Excuse yourself!" the doughnut yelled, outraged. "That's no way to talk to the Flame Prince!"

"Flame Prince?" Fionna repeated, looking back now to the orange boy. Sure enough, a red jewel glowed in the center of his forehead, much like the Ice Queen's own crown- Fionna's eyes widened as she remembered the reason why she was there. "Have you seen Ice Queen come this way?"

"Ice Queen?" Flame Prince muttered. "No, there has been no Ice Queen here. Ice is cold, and I am flame."

"Yes, your majesty, you are," the doughnut agreed.

"Then if she was here I would either melt her or she would put me out."

"Yes, sir, of course- what?" the doughnut nearly shrieked it was so startled. Fionna seemed to realize at last that this was not where she needed to be. Ice Queen was obviously not here, and perhaps she never had been here. Had the cat lied to Fionna back at the clearing?

Seeing Fionna glance at the bickering prince and doughnut once more, the little blue box plucked itself out of its chair and zipped over to her discarded backpack. It didn't really know Fionna well, but she seemed saner than the other two. Besides, the box was afraid it would short-circuit if it had to eat one more piece of burnt brownies. If only the duo had allowed it to bake in the first place. It was rather fond of baking.

Turning on her heel, Fionna picked her backpack from the ground and began to ascend the steep stairs. Only instead of the road flattening out like it should have, it began to spiral and grow steeper. Up, up, up she climbed before suddenly she stepped out into the sunlight once more.

It blinded her for a minute, and when she finally regained her sight she almost wished she could turn back around and descend again. She tried to, but she found the way blocked off by a stone wall. Fionna blinked.

Huh. Strange place. Turning back she looked around again only to find herself back in the clearing with the cat called Cheshire Cake.

Fionna looked around for a moment and then the stone wall was no longer there. Just thirteen lonely paths that wandered off into the woods.

"You lied, Cake," Fionna sighed and eyed the creature wearily. "You said that Ice Queen was that way but she wasn't."

Cake shook her head. "I never said you would find her there, girl. I told you it would lead you to where you should go."

"Lot of help that was," Fionna rolled her eyes, annoyed at the spotted feline. Getting an idea, she whirled around, her skirts following her fluidly. "Which way should I not go?"

Cake tilted her head, not quite understanding.

"Where should I not be? Where will you tell me not to go?"

Now a worried look flashed in Cake's eyes. "Don't go that way," she immediately responded, pointing with her front paw to a path that had a black iron gate. Green, black and blue colored the path beyond, the mushrooms pale and many of them white topped.

But Fionna just grinned, her bunny ears flouncing as she nodded her head. "Thank you!" she said and started towards the very gate.

"Hey! Wait! Why are you going that way?" Cake called out, running to catch up with the girl.

"Because," Fionna spared the spotted cat a glance, "you told me to follow the wrong path, therefore this path must be right."

Spinning on her heel, she nearly skipped through the black iron gate, leaving a frantic Cake behind her. The cat worried her lip for a few moments before exhaling slowly and gently stepping toward the path herself. "If she meets him it will be my fault. I'll have sent her straight to him. Catnip, Cake! You should've known she'd do that!"

Like mist, her white fur began to vanish, leaving a few brown spots and her worried face. Then as spot by spot began to disappear, all that remained were her dark cat eyes. They peered untrusting at the path beyond the gate before they closed and were gone.

Fionna didn't see why Cake wouldn't want her to come down this path- it seemed much lovelier than the others, and as the sun set slowly and the stars began to peek forth, everything seemed so much calmer. The breeze danced by, the cool tendrils flushing her cheeks as she inhaled the scent of roses it carried.

Roses...

As the path began to widen, she found the sides were lined with rosebushes. Beautiful, pure white roses. The blooms smiled up at her, displaying their glory in the untainted starlight. Here and there she found a light pink bloom among the rest, but then the hedge of roses appeared to suddenly turn bright, sinful red.

Fionna was so focused on the roses themselves she nearly ran over their caretaker, a peppermint fellow with a smoothed down suit jacket and a bucket of red liquid in one hand. With a start, she realized the reason these roses were red and the others weren't. He was painting them!

"Mr. Peppermint, what are you doing?"

"I'm painting the roses red!" he answered, not even sparing her a glance.

"But why?" she asked. "The white are so pretty-"

"The King wants them red."

"The king?"

"Yes, the King. And if the King wants them red, red they'll be, or else white I'll be," the peppermint paled slightly.

"White? What? I don't understand," Fionna murmured beyond confused.

"The King specifically told me to plant red roses, and these are quite obviously not red. So I'm painting them."

"I still don't get it."

"If they aren't red, I'll be in trouble! He'll have my red, instead!" the peppermint panicked, and began to paint faster, damaging a few of the blooms with his furious strokes.

"Careful!" Fionna warned, kneeling to pick up some of the damaged petals.

A trumpet sounded from a little ways off, catching the peppermint's attention immediately. He all but dropped his paint, scurrying up the path followed by a curious Fionna who was being tailed by a reluctantly curious invisible cat.

They came upon a wide courtyard, also lined with the rose bushes, ten other candy attendants stood about the edges as a tall, grey-skinned boy floated around the center fountain. His tailored suit fit him finely, his black hair and combed and mussed just enough to look collected yet effortless. A bite mark adorned the left side of his neck. He floated toward the rose hedge and leaned over to inspect them.

"Peppermint butler," his voice snapped calmly, turning his attention to the cowering creature nearby. Reaching his hand into the hedge, the vampire king pulled back a single white blossom. The peppermint butler paled slightly as the king stooped forward and looked straight into his eyes. "These roses aren't red, are they?"

"N-n-not that-t on-ne, s-s-sir, b-but most of the o-others ar-re," the peppermint gulped, his thin hands shaking by his sides.

The king narrowed his eyes, "I said red roses, not white! I might as well suck the red right out of you!"

"Please don't! Mercy!" the peppermint trembled, hiding his face with his hands.

With a shink, Fionna drew her crystal sword, standing before the frightened peppermint butler and before the smirking vampire king.

"Ah, Fionna the Human, is it?" he chuckled, his eyes soft at the edges as he beheld her in her slightly light blue dress and baker's apron. His eyes flickered to her bunny ears before gliding along her golden fringe. "I've heard of you."

With the king's attention on the girl, the peppermint butler took this as his chance to escape, skittering into the hedge as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"Y-you have?" Fionna cursed herself for stuttering. She never stuttered! She was a heroine, for glob's sake! Heroines don't stutter. Ever. And yet she did.

"Mm," he hummed, gliding around her in a circle, inching closer by the second before finally hovering just beside her. "But I must say, the stories don't do you justice."

Fionna's head felt rather light and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because he was so close or maybe it was because of all the adrenaline pumping through her veins at that second- yeah, it was definitely the adrenaline.

"You just lost me my dinner," the vampire king continued, now in a normal voice. "Maybe I should suck the red out of you, instead."

"Fionna! Don't let him!" Cheshire Cake materialized on the girl's other side, her paws grabbing Fionna's skirt in an attempt to pull her away.

At the same time, Fionna felt her backpack jostle. Confused, she pulled it off her shoulders to find the little blue box from before poking its head out of the opening.

"Beemo?" Cake asked. "What are you doing here?"

Beemo simply beeped in reply before rummaging around in the bag some more and pulling out a small bag of fruit.

The king raised an eyebrow. "Strawberries? You're going to try buying me off with strawberries?"

Beemo waved the bag slightly and the king's face fell slightly before he snatched the bag. He opened it slowly and pulled a strawberry out, placing it between his fangs. Fionna watched as the strawberry turned snow white, the vampire king licking his lips as he finished sucking its red.

"Hmm," he hummed, looking at the little device that now sat in Cake's hands, "Maybe you win."

Just then Fionna heard a familiar cackle sound from somewhere behind her. Ice Queen stood laughing on a balcony across the courtyard, her eyes gazing coldly down at the scene that played before her.

"Are you following me, Fionna?" she taunted, before giggling once more and disappearing in the blink of an eye into the corridor beyond.

Fionna huffed and ran up the stairs to the french doors that opened up into the courtyard. They swung open as she swept the aside with her left arm, her crystal sword held firmly in her right hand and her backpack shifting against her shoulders as she ran.

But as she stepped into what was supposed to be a foyer, she felt nothing but grass beneath her feet and saw nothing but mushrooms, ferns and options.

She was back at the clearing.

How does this keep happening, she wondered, keeping her sword at the ready as she waited for the Ice Queen to show herself again.

She didn't wait long, however, as suddenly the grassy clearing shimmered and iced over, turning into a frozen disk. Looking down, Fionna could just make out a faint reflection of herself, but as she looked closer she realized it wasn't her at all. The mirror image was the Ice Queen herself, standing foot to foot with Fionna.

And then the world flipped topsy-turvy before going completely black.

#fionna and cake #fionna and marshall lee #ice queen #crossover #this was a challenge to write #as I'm not overly fond of #alice in wonderland #or #adventuretime #but at least i had fun

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overhere-series · 7 years

Text

Over Here: Chapter Three

And there we are! Last of the revisions on these opening chapters are now officially finished, enjoy the book from here with a far better exposition.

Cass’s alarm blares to life. She fumbles her phone off the nightstand like a wet bar of soap, thumbs the alarm off and curls back into the covers again. Images from her dream persist- a brown bird, a black hole, a town so alive with color it belongs in one of her dad’s books. They don’t fade to fuzz as most dreams do, stark and vivid as the bridges tend to be. If anything, it’s all coming into sharper focus as she wakes.

But the pent-up panic it gives her begins to ease as she takes in the whiff of incense wafting up from her dad’s studio. Eyes closed, she listens for the thrum of his music downstairs, be it the beats of radio fodder or high-speed banjo strumming.

None of his familiar genres welcome her, though, just a jazzy number droning soft from a source there in the room with her. The incense swirls more lavender than cinnamon.

“Is everything alright?” a lilting, reedy, painfully familiar voice asks.

Cass sits up with a jolt that sways her bed-no, hammock. She crashed out in a hammock, cushy pillows and blankets lumped beneath and around her. Thin tapestries are draped across the ceiling instead of painted stars like her room back home, too, matching the root-like patterns of the rugs that cover the floorboards.

Unlike the collection house, there’s not a glint of metal or plastic among the wood and cloth besides the radio on a table in the corner. The source of the music then, though how it’s playing she can’t guess. It looks like it’s got flowers growing into the grate of its speakers.

The feather-haired guy preening in the wall mirror thumbs the stringy bass hums and foreign but pleasant voice down.

Cass presses her face into the pillows and groans.

“Cass?”

She glares at him with half her face still pressed to the pillows. So he can get a good look at her unamused eyes without distraction.

Far from being intimidated, Winston just cocks his head. Her dirty looks need to step up their game, apparently. “Are you alright?” he repeats.

“Can’t be,” she hisses. “Still here.” The wavering fear from the dream ebbs back, worse than before as a shred of relief comes arm in arm with it like a new pal it’s picked up. Add in how comforting the tweaks on the sounds and scents of home are in this place and her feelings get too tangled for her to deal with this early in the morning.

The rest of last night bleeds back to her, including how she’s come to find herself crashed out here. Here being another world, but also this sort of hotel the bird got them into after the whole sylphs incident. Cass had passed out within minutes of getting to the room, too tired even to rail Winston for more answers. A full night’s rest later and her energy to handle this place has made a comeback, though.

More of a comeback than she likes. She’s almost eager to get going, more than just to get back home.

Winston still his head tilted at her. He seems to have cleaned up when she was out, suit spotless white and feathers ruffled in a slightly less mad scientist mess than when she saw him last. Almost like the feathers grew with the grain of normal hair, framing his face in a weirdly owlish way.

“That sound, do you know what made it?” he asked.

Cass holds up her phone for him to see, but snatches it back when he reaches to take it. He draws away as she puts her legs over the side of the hammock and stretches. “It’s an alarm, birdbrain,” she says, and tosses the phone in her bag. “You guys have radios, for crying out- forget it, don’t worry about it.” Not the time to be debating tech capabilities of this place, even if she has no idea how they’ve wired electricity into this firetrap of a house or where the stations are coming from.

“It’s an alarm but I’m not to be alarmed?” Winston asks.

She rolls her eyes at the grin on his face and laces up her shoes. “Aren’t you a comedian. Thanks for not waking me up, early-”

She cuts herself off before she can finish the pun tucked in the taunt. The absence of new clothes and a shower makes her itchy and does a lot for her patience to see a joke in any of this disaster.

Winston just folds the blanket she’s dumped to the rugs instead of getting all peeved. Once she has her bag across her back, Cass takes him by the elbow to keep him from tidying the rest of the room.

“Come on, sooner we’re on the road, the better.”

From the hippy hotel they take off over that mossy bridge, careful to skirt the patch of lyreblooms this time around. Silence hangs between the pair as they walk. They may as well be on some scenic nature hike at the pace Winston ambles, Cass’s quick strides overtaking his wider ones with no real effort. He strolls along with his hands in his pockets, taking in the shift of the leaves from those ribbony reds to a purple like plum trees. Like he’s just as amazed with his own world as Cass probably should be.

Of course, he also ends up the one to break their silence. “Making another alarm?”

She’s got her phone in her hands. No service, no wifi, but she dials her house anyway. All she gets is angry beeping in her ear. She growls. “Might as well. Probably the only thing I can do with this thing now.”

“May I?” Winston curls his fingers in an apparently multiversal ‘gimme gimme’ gesture.

Cass hands it over, frustrated but nosy to see what he’ll do. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he explores it.

“Oh!” he says after a moment. “I’ve never seen one of this kind alive before- something about the material keeping magic out.” His fingers blur a bit, something surrounding them that she can’t quite see.

With it the screen flickers, her default background of Painted Hills going pixels until he tosses it back. The phone’s so hot to the touch she almost hot-potatoes it back. “What did you even do?”

“Nothing! Just a small drop of magic but that must be a bit for such a device to cope with,” he notes with a laugh. “I’ll leave the tampering to Marshall. He has a way of making metal and glass do his bidding somehow, though this inbetween material doesn’t respond near as much.”

“What, plastic?”

“Yes, that. Over Here still has yet to crack it, or at least this side of it. Those inorganic creations of yours aren’t bad as iron but still...”

“You can’t actually call it that,” she says. Her lips press tight together. A safe, slightly mocking question, even if she blurted it out. “Over Here. It’s dumb.”

“In relation to your world, we can and do,” he laughs. “The country we’re in at the moment is Ellis. Certainly not the worst of places for an otherlander to fall to.”

Cass bristles at his phrasing, like she’s the alien here next to a barefoot bird in a tux who walks through walls. The fact that this world even made up a word for people like her- or that there’s people like her period- doesn’t make her feel any better about the sound of it. “So if I’m an otherlander, what’s that make you? Doesn’t explain to me why you’re a bird in my world and a person in this one. Like do you change in the gap or-”

She flinches as Winston disappears from her side.

On the ground instead is the bird from the park, still tapping along the path.

“Okay. Werebird.”

She tenses up as the bird pauses, wings spread wide, and sprouts back up to her guide. Another shimmer she can’t quite see encases what probably doesn’t make for a pretty transformation. At least she’s not subjected to some drawn-out Animorphs cover stuff, quick enough that she might have blinked and the bird popped back into Winston.

He fluffs a hand through his newly messy feather hair and walks on. “Magician, actually,” he tells her, voice cracking bad as Stan’s.

She goes stiff, containing a spasm in her chest that’s definitely not a laugh. “Right. Meaning?”

“Meaning I create and perform magic, as do most in this world.”

“You guys are real subtle,” she says, faux impressed. “And do you cut yourselves in half or is it more like card tricks?”

“Perhaps I ought to get to the root of things, yes?” he replies. Cordial as ever, Winston stops and reaches into the branches above them. Clumps of little black berries weigh them down, letting him pick a bunch off. “In this world, where there’s life, there’s magic. Every living thing creates it in one form or another, though humans more than most.”

“Okay.” A rehearsed answer, sincere enough it’s not condescending since it has to be common knowledge here. Cass watches him pull a small bottle from his jacket and take up his stroll again beside her.

Absently he crams the berries inside, dying his long fingers blue in the process. “Because humans produce more, they can control their magic and use it to shape the world around them. It’s why I exchange forms, whisk, or do this.”

“Do what?”

He spits in the bottle, pops the cork on, and shakes it up. After a second he holds it up to his eyes and, satisfied, shows it to Cass. “Making a focal- a magic focus, if you will. Put enough of them together in a particular manner and you have an amalgam of them, like Marshall’s device. Something of a magical machine, I believe? If we’ve time I’ll show you more.”

“I’m cool with not watching you spit magic on things.”

Winston shrugs, not the least bit sheepish. “I’d have used pure magic, but then you wouldn’t have been able to see it.”

Cass squints at the bottle. A tiny shimmer might have glinted on the glass, but nothing too flashy. “Still can’t see it,” she says.

“Don’t worry, you will,” he assures, stowing the bottle in the little leather bag he keeps his coins in. “Either way, the ink will last longer that way and we’ll be able to scribe Marshall and the others.”

She lags behind a second as he picks up the pace. “Wait, what?”

“The scribing ink, it’s for sending messages without-”

“No! The seeing thing. Why can’t I see magic? I saw the gap just fine.” A heat rises in her chest along with her panic. How many things like the sylphs are out here that she can’t see? The less she needs to rely on the bird, the better, but being blind until something triggers her magic vision or whatever bothers her more than she cares to admit.

But Winston just walks on. “Your eyes will adapt,” he says. “Give it time.”

Questions sit in Cass’s mouth, begging to be spat out already, but she grits her teeth against them. Probably just going to open the floodgates on another nonsense non-explanation. She grips the straps of her bag and keeps an eye on their surroundings. Not like she’ll be here long enough for this to matter.

The trees grow tidier than they were in the last town, back to flashy reds and violets without being so tangled and overgrown. The pair continue downhill with the stream and eventually come to the crumbling remains of another bridge. From here the forest gives way to a crop of hills. Vineyards stretch like nets over them, dotted with big houses here and there. No more magical than wine country back in Oregon.

To her dismay, though, the town across the bridge looks about as magical as the last. More of those mossy stones lay together to form the road at their feet, leading past cabins and trees to a tidy square of more brick buildings. Long strands of flowers and green flags stamped with a silver tree hang between the rowhouses. In the right light, it looks a little like the vines grow through the bricks and into the walls.

“Stay close,” Winston says. Cass glances from the buildings to the buzzing street of people. She jogs up behind her guide, shoulders high like a touch from these people can burn her.

Snatches of conversation pass through one ear and out the other. It’s not long before she sees how the clothes on these magicians seem to lack seams, how their faces and complexions can line up with any garden variety Earth human but off slightly. They don’t seem at all concerned with the two travelers, preoccupied with heading to their own individual point A’s and point B’s. Or chatting on porches, or chasing kids around. Cass trains her stare on a select few, like a guy in a sweeping skirt leaning against a house with a moody look on his face. Or a cat, who leaps down a branch of flowers and morphs into a woman to talk to the moody guy.

She catches Winston’s arm to keep from stopping to study them all. Her hands itch for the sketchbook in her bag, but she gets sucked out of it when Winston looks down at her.

She lets go. “What? I’m trying not to lose you out here,” she mutters, then forges on when he just tilts his head again. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Somewhere for decent directions,” he says. He cranes around, eying the signs above each building before settling on one. Whatever it is, he drifts toward it and beckons her with a quick ‘come along’.

Cass doesn’t even have time to grab him before he darts inside, leaving her to pause under a wooden sign that reads Fausts’ in loopy painted print.

Minutes later she sits staring at the spread on the table with her arms crossed. The warm, yeasty scent of fresh bread curls around her, fruit glistening in its bowl just like the beads of condensation on the glass of amber juice placed beside them. More jazz swoons from a radio, pluckier than the stuff she knows with more piano and guitar than horn. Cass’s dark brows narrow in concentration, her jaw tight.

“You’re not going to eat anything?” Winston prompts.

Her stomach rumbles almost on cue, silent but no less insistent for it. When did she eat last? Pizza back him, an eternity enough ago that she can’t argue with a free meal.

But her old knowledge of magic makes her hesitant to touch a thing. Reminds her of how fae trapped people with banquets they couldn’t resist, or how Persephone got roped into the underworld from just a couple of seeds.

Still, she’s not exactly at a banquet in the woods or the Greek realm of death. Despite the waitress levitating dishes in a cloud around her and the wood-paneled style of a vineyard inn, the restaurant they sit in now manages to have a small-town diner vibe. Everyone chatters around them like they know each other, though she and Winston receive some raised brows and pitying smiles dressed as they are.

Not exactly a swords and sorcery tavern or anything, but it springs to mind all the rules she’s been ignoring since she got here. Shit, has she given anyone her full name? Cassandra Ryan Douglas isn’t usually her opener but does it have to be first, middle, and last or just what she calls herself?

Winston staying polite and patient as ever only feeds her suspicions, but she reaches for the juices after a few seconds of his staring. Putting off sipping it and his pestering in one fell swoop.

His eyes shift soon to the contents of his jacket on the table, anyway. As soon as the waitress led them to a table, he dumped out his ink bottle, coins, and a strip of cloth that could be a bowtie out in front of him. Wherever they go when he goes bird, Cass doesn’t want to know.

She slouches in her seat. “How’s that plan coming, featherhead?”

“Along. I’m stitching one,” he says. He nibbles some bread in thought, oblivious to the looks they’re getting.

The waitress, probably a Faust since it looks like everyone running the place shares the same thick black hair and stocky build, wanders back to top off their drinks. Well, Winston’s. “Anything else you two need?” she asks.

“You wouldn’t know how to go about getting to Haven by week’s end, would you?”

Faust flourishes a hand for her cloud of empty glasses and tops off one for the table beside them. There’s a flicker of surprise on her at the question, but it passes quick. “You sure you want to try the week before the festival?” she says, dubious. “All we have here are those two-seater fliers on the hill. I don’t want to tell you your luck for getting tickets this time of year, either.”

“Don’t remind me,” Winston says, still tracing the grain of the table like he can read an answer from it. “Where would the nearest land port be?”

“Malone,” Faust says. Her eyes lingering on Cass’s flannel and the bag on the back of her chair. When Faust’s stare goes to the copper hair gnarled to the side of Cass’s head her face burns.

Winston plays with the bottle from his jacket. “From Pendle Creek? Two days just to go around the marsh, not to mention the full trip to the edge of it. I don’t know if we’ve that sort of time.”

“Well, you can’t slip through those marshes,” Faust warns. “Even the wardens won’t stir up the nameless out there.”

“Not if we can’t help it, no. What about the nearest train station?”

“There’s one in Clemence if you’re willing to walk. And if you’re not afraid of heights. Not sure what your luck is during festival week but it’ll be cheaper. Anything else I can do for you two?” Her flock of empty dishes accumulates as she speaks with them.

“A map, please, if you have it.” Winston beams at her, though the moment Faust spins around he rubs his fingers beneath his eyes. Under his breath he mumbles something along the lines of ‘coffee’.

Cass snorts and downs the last of her juice. Nice to know the bird’s even a little miserable under all his cheer, and that the juice isn’t perfect enough to be dangerously irresistible. As she wolfs down the rest of the food, she manages to get a question out. “What’s this festival about?”

Winston blinks. He has this lost, backlit stare like he’d forgotten her. “It’s the solstice festival,” he explains. “The longest day of our year.”

“I know what a solstice is.” The first week of June over, they’ll be having the first day of summer in about a week back home, though Earth doesn’t put a lot of song and dance on it.

Winston notes her crossed arms and goes for reassurance again. “It’s an old holiday here, nothing to be nettled about. It just addles any plans we make if everyone’s traveling at once.”

So the Christmas airport rush, just magic. “So you’re saying you have a plan, though.”

He rolls the ink bottle in his hands. “I’ll get a few messages home and then it’s a train to Malone, I suppose,” he says. “We’ll just have to hope we can get passage all the way to Haven, but just getting that far without those marshes would be gift enough. Fragments are the last thing we need.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes closed and hands folded on the table. Had he actually slept at all last night? Doesn’t matter to Cass if he hadn’t, but since he’d been up before her she has to wonder. So long as his at least early bird if not insomniac tendencies don’t keep him from guiding her, she’ll take it.

Slumped in her seat, she rolls a coin across her knuckles, tries to keep from fumbling it when she fudges the trick. “Uh huh. How long should that take?”

“Only a few days, at best.”

“What’s at worst?”

“It depends. If my work comes up, we might be just a little delayed.”

“What work?” The fleeting image of the bird at a desk plinking at a keyboard makes her mouth twist. Like this guy seriously has a job- but fancy suits and coins have to come from somewhere, she reasons.

“Here’s the map you asked for,” says Faust as she swings by again. She slips Winston a scrap of paper, which he pockets the same moment the doors fling open.

The vast majority of the customers turn their heads, the murmurs between them already striking up. The girl in the doorway has the same coarse dark hair, pale skin, and stocky frame as the other Fausts in here, panting as she looks the room over. Her eyes light on every face in the restaurant, even Cass’s for a second, but eventually she collects herself and heads for the kitchen with a stiff jaw.

The rest of the room lulls back to its previous thrum of voices and clatters, but the waitress and the girl add their arguing to the mix. The waitress puts hand to her mouth, eyes wide at the girl’s grim expression.

Cass snaps her fingers in front of Winston’s beak of a nose. The bird’s been watching the scene unfold with keen interest, stowing his stuff back in his pockets. He still doesn’t meet her eyes until she snaps again.

“What?” he says.

“It’s not our business,” she tells him. “C’mon, we paid up and we’ve been in this town too long as it is. Let’s go. We’re going to Clemence now, right?”

Winston’s eyes are already back to the scene at the kitchen doorway, but he pushes out of his chair and snatches up the last of his bread without arguing. They’re almost to the door before Faust grabs Winston’s arm and yanks.

“You,” she says in a low tone. “You’re a longcoat, aren’t you? A warden?”

“Do you have need of one?” Winston doesn’t pull away from Faust, or from Cass who’s taken his other arm and prepared to tug-of-war for him. This is my bird, don’t make me fight for him.

But Faust inclines her head, like she doesn’t want to be caught nodding but would definitely take up a brawl to get Cass’s guide from her. There’s a look on her face more fierce than any glare Cass can drudge up to match it, a menace in her stare that can melt glass. It softens when she gives a nod to the girl at her side.

“There’s this voice…” she begins.

“A voice with direction or all around you, up here?” Winston taps a finger to his temple with his newly freed hand.

“Up there. There’s a wall of thickets and they followed this- this… there’s something in there with them,” she murmurs, barely holding composure. She can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, maybe Cass’s brother’s age. “My brother and sister.”

“And my niece and nephew,” Faust tags on. “It’s a nameless, isn’t it?”

“Likely so. How long ago?”

“Half hour.”

Winston rakes a hand through his feathers, appearing to actually be mulling this over. Cass gets a grip on his jacket. Is he even serious? They’re going after some missing kids just because- what, is this his job? How often does this even happen?

Considering the sylphs and his finesse handling those, probably more than rarely. Still, he’s not dragging her out on a rescue mission without so much as an explanation.

“Wait, what the hell’s a nameless?” she rasps, trying to stay sotto voce as the rest of them.

“Are you otherlander?” the girl asks, scanning Cass over. Seeing more of these magicians with their seamless clothes and bare feet makes her flannel and battered track shoes stick out, but her lack of know-how alone doesn’t help either. Cass flushes red.

“It’s a bit of cover,” Winston confides, all but stage-whispering behind his hand. “We’re both wardens, though we are in a bit of a rush hence the…” He waves to their attire and, though Faust raises a brow, her niece seems to buy it. “We’ll see what we can do, yes? We may need help finding this barrier.”

The girl takes a deep breath and nods. Her eyes are red at the bottoms, tears pressing but her mouth a white line of resolve. At the sight of it, Cass’s anger with the bird wilts. Not this kid’s fault something happened to her siblings, and even so she’s holding it together to help them even if she’s probably scared out of her mind to go back to where she lost them.

“Definitely,” Cass says. “That’d be really brave of you. To show us. What’s your name?”

“Hazel Faust,” the girl says. Her eyes still look full to spilling tears all down her cheeks, but she wipes it on her sleeve and braces herself to show them out. Her aunt takes moment to hug her, tell her everything will be okay, the whole bit.

Winston offers Cass a grateful grin. Her face just burns even more.

#chapter update #over here series #writing #ya fantasy #fantasy #and now we're good to go! see you all in future updates!

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professionalhorror · 7 years

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How to Make a Monster

Day One: 06:38 am. One hour after injection.

Subject seems unnerved. Eyes darting around the room. She hasn't found the cameras at all but it appears she knows she is being watched.

Subject seems to be afraid to touch anything around her and even afraid to touch her own body. She keeps her hands and feet above ground, hovering above the floor and the arms of the chair she hasn't left since the injection. Her right hand appears to have grown in size while her left remains unchanged. I may be seeing things.

I left the cameras on her and left the room. The way her eyes darted around the room was unsettling. She was looking for something. And I shuddered to think what she would do when she found it.

Prior to the injection subject was in an agitated state and saying many things I dare not repeat in a professional context. I told her the injection would be painless but that just evoked more swearing. She still appears agitated but she stopped speaking soon after the injection. Not sure if that is due to a change in her vocal cords, damage to her throat, or just by choice. I’ve known the subject from before the experiment. It's not like her to be this silent for so long.

In the morning I will start to email these notes and footage to the university. I know they'll get back to be shortly.

It hurts a bit to see her like this. But this will work for both of us. I know it.

Day Two: 06:50 am

I haven't had the chance to review the footage from last night yet but there has been some physiological changes to the subject. Her skin has lost all glow and may have started scaling over. Either that or some kind of severe rash is breaking out all across her body.

Her hair has lost its shine. It has dried out and is falling out in clumps. Her teeth have blackened and her eyes look sunken on her face.

Subject has settled down in regards to touching surfaces. She no longer keeps her feet above the ground and is starting to become more comfortable with her surroundings. I noticed her try to scratch her skin using her now elongated fingernails on her right hand and she was unable to break the top layer of scaled skin. It looks like the serum can be deemed a success. The university will be back here in no time.

Subject has stopped looking around the room. She just stares directly ahead now. I'm not certain what she is looking at, I haven't placed any camera or equipment where she is staring.

Huh. That's odd. Subject is holding her left hand behind her back. It doesn't appear to have the same effects as the rest of her body. Her left hand looks like nothing ha happened to her.

I quickly left my observation room to review the footage. It shows a slow transformation overnight into what she's become. She didn't sleep or move from the chair. Perhaps it was painful. I can't tell just by the footage. I send the footage to the university laboratory right away. It should be too long before I hear from them again.

Day Three: 7:07 am

The effects of the serum appear more potent on this day. Her snout is elongated, her hair is totally gone, the scales on her skin have turned a deep forest green, her right hand and her feet have become more claw-like and I think I spotted a small tail sprouting.

Her eyes are still sunken but they also still appear human looking. I have no idea why her left hand hasn't changed.

She isn't sitting in the chair anymore. I checked the footage. She stood up at 03:17 am and she hasn't sat back down since. Perhaps the tail makes sitting uncomfortable now. Perhaps she wants to explore her space. She still hasn't spoken so I can't be certain of much in regards to her thoughts and intentions.

Right as I went to leave and make some calls to the university, I knocked my pencil to the floor. She heard me through the observation glass. That shouldn't be possible. She turned her head to the glass I was sitting behind. I left before I saw her next move. When I checked the footage later in the day, I saw that she just stared at the glass motionless for some time. What did she think was behind that glass?

I think tomorrow the next phase can begin. It's time to run some personal experiments. I need to see how much of her brain is still there.

Day Four: 7:18 am

Subject is...uh, standing right in front of my observation window when I came down to observe her today. Her eyes follow me as I move around my desk. I don’t know how. She shouldn’t be able to see me through the glass. That room is supposed to be sound proof as well.

Her appearance hasn’t changed much since the day before. With her...standing so close to me I can really take in the scope of the changes. Her eyes have still barely changed while her left hand hasn’t changed at all. Everything else though, is exactly as it should be.

As I take notes I see the subject open her mouth several times. She appears to be mouthing words or trying to speak in some way, shape, or form.

I must be frank: I think I will take some time off from observing her. At least until I’ve heard back from the university. I don’t feel comfortable being in the observation room with her watching. She shouldn’t be able to see me and yet she can. What else is she capable of? I was going to begin conversing with her today to see what she retained but I don’t think I’m up for it. I’d rather not be in the same room is her for a while.

Day Five: 02:29 pm

I received a call from the university. They want to see her. They’re sending someone over tomorrow. I don’t want to see her. I occasionally look at the surveillance cameras and she is staring at whatever one I’m watching. Every time my gaze moves to another camera so does hers.

The look in her eyes is unbearable. Why couldn’t her eyes change with the rest of her body? I can’t stand the sight of them. The pain they hold. The judgment within them.

I’ve thought about going in there when she is asleep and giving her another dose. Maybe that will change her eyes and left hand but according to the footage I’ve taken, she doesn’t sleep anymore. Hasn’t for days. It’s been harder for me as well. I toss and turn all night and can barely stay asleep for more than a few hours. I hear her voice. I see her eyes. I feel her touch. Why? How is she doing this to me?

The last thing I see before turning away from the cameras is her fogging up the observation window with her breath and drawing a heart on it with her left hand before scratching down the center with her right.

I’ve made a mistake.

Day Six: 12:39 pm

Dr. Fowler from the university is here. He knocked on my door about a half hour ago. We exchanged pleasantries for a while. He said they miss him at the university and hope that this will get him back there. He said he’s sad he couldn’t see my wife. I chuckled.

I took him down to the observation room and that’s when my heart dropped in my chest. She’s not there. The observation window has been smashed. She’s is nowhere to be found.

I run into the room and check for any signs of her. To see if this is a trick or to see if she had done or left something that could give us a clue on where she would go. I looked through everything I had in the room and saw no traces of her being there at all. Even the heart that she drew the previous day was on the part of the glass that she shattered.

As I looked around the room I heard a muffled sound that was soon cut off into silence. I turn back to the observation window and see that the glass has been fixed. How is that possible? I run up and place my hands up to. There is some kind of adhesive keeping the broken window piece in place. I touch it and it scalds my hand.

The door flies open and Dr. Fowler’s limp body falls through the frame. She is standing above him. She walks into the room toward me. The ground shakes slightly with every step. I back away from her slowly. I don’t know how many memories she has retained. I don’t know if her violent actions are driven by a primal mentality or by revenge to what has happened to her, either didn’t look too good for me.

She grabs my shoulder and tosses me back into the chair that she had spent her first two days in. A glob of green spit flies out of her mouth right onto my right hand. It burns just like the adhesive in the mirror. I can’t move my hand from the armrest. More globs of spit hi both of my feet, I can’t pull myself off of the chair.

She goes to the observation room and comes back in a moment with a syringe. It contains the same substance I injected her with.

“Please don’t do this, Samantha. I’m sorry.” I said.

She hold me down with her left hand. I look down and see the ring that I gave her. It still fits perfectly around her petite finger.

“Don’t worry, love.” She said in a raspy voice. “It will be painless.”

Day One: 01:52 pm. One hour after injection.

Subject seems unnerved. Eyes darting around the room. He hasn't found the cameras at all but it appears he knows he is being watched.

It hurts a bit to see my husband like this. But this will work for both of us. I know it.

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ynyssatruegrove-blog · 7 years

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Assassination in the woods (prompt response)

((Valid IC Content) Somewhere at some given time you are attacked! Either a gunshot from afar, a knife in the shadows, or just taking a wrong turn in the city. Your attacker is -extremely- skilled with disheartening endurance to damage; often shrugging off blows that would kill an Orc. Your attacker, whoever it is, would be coated in the least with chainmail, with various sheets of plate to cover their vitals. Their armor is black and gold... Good luck! )) Sunlight streamed through the thick branches of the old growth forest, seeming to almost highlight the druidess sitting cross legged amongst the foliage. Ynyssa let her senses go, trusting the forest to guide and defend her. After all, was she not it's disciple? The fight the night prior combined with her training efforts had sapped her strength and she teetered on the edge of consciousness. Resting, trancelike, she did not hear the assassin approach carefully through the woods. The sunlight seemed to fade, the warmth of the rays vanishing from her skin. The sudden change in sensations awakened Ynyssa and she rocked onto her feet in a low crouch, slipping backwards into the darker shadows beneath the forest canopy. While such instinctive actions had helped her to avoid trouble in times past, her exhaustion had rendered her oblivious for far too long. She heard the dry snap of a branch underfoot and spun sideways just in time to avoid what would have been a fatal attack. The hot sting of a blade cutting into her left cheek during the evasion caught her unawares and Ynyssa's silver eyes widened in panic. She danced backwards, fleet footed as all of her race, and reached into one of the multitude of canvas pouches that hung at her belt. With a quick, breathless request she dropped a handful of seedling to the forest floor before her. Instantly a vicious looking thicket of large thorny vines began to grow before her. Her attack was too clever for such tricks, however, and had circled with her in anticipation of her movements. Ynyssa's vision flashed white and she felt her cheekbone explode into pain as an armored fist seemed to come from nowhere and crash into her right eye. The druidess swung a quick hand with the talon like nails preferred by the Kaldorei females, and took a powerful grip on the attacker's forearm. Finally, getting a clumps of a massive figure in dark brown armor, she narrowed her eyes and bared her fanglike teeth at him. She rummaged with her free hand in another pouch and began to growl a prayer to the spirits of the forest, but her assailant was already prepared to counter. An armored knee smashed into her stomach, driving the air from her lungs in a loud "Wuff" and interrupting the spell casting. She did not know if the man, if man he was, knew how to fight druids or if he'd seen her fight; panic began to rise and take hold of her heart as her every move was countered. Ynyssa swung one long leg up and aimed a swift kick at the assassin's ground, knowing most armor to leave such areas vulnerable. A satisfying impact and a sharp grunt told her that the impact had been good. With a vicious snarl, Ynyssa released her grip on the armored forearm and kept backwards nimbly. She wheezed a request to the sun, though her relationship with it was tenuous at best as she strove towards balance with Elune's former patronage, and a bright beam of sunlight focused on her attacker. At first the light was simply blinding, but in a moment it had narrowed and focused until it looked like a beam of fire pouring forth from the sun itself. Ynyssa raised a hand before her to shield her eyes and smelled metal overheating in the firey blast. As it faded, she thanked the sun for it's aid and squinted through the dying light at where the figure had stood. Now there was only a charred circle of grass. Suspicious, the young druidess stepped forward, ears lying back nervously. As she looked around, resembling a deer sniffing out a hunter, she felt a powerful grip on her shoulder and her breath was driven from her once more by a tremendous impact in her lower back just beneath her ribs. She tried to turn, but found that she could not. For some reason, she felt cold, weak. She looked down to see a blade point protruding from her stomach and confusion clouded her features. The point disappeared and screaming pain filled her body. Ynyssa turned toward her attacker, swinging her staff one handed like a war club and caught the assasin in the temple. The impact against his helmet seemed to stun him momentarily and Ynyssa took the chance to press her attack. Her attacker's armor was charred, showing signs of massive damage and even some melting. Most beings should have been unconscious at least from such an assault but she had no time to contemplate this. Ynyssa asked the land to supplement her power and she felt strength flow through her. A ball of pure natural fury began to crackle and grow in her free hand and she smiled a wicked smile tinted dark purple with her blood. "Your... your presence here profanes this place. Be gone. " the druidess spoke for the land, feeling the forests outrage that powered her attack. With a defiant roar, she unleashed the glowing green sphere of power and it blasted into the assasin's chest. He staggered back, his armor splintering, and sank to one knee. Ynyssa fell to her knees, barely keeping herself from falling flat on her face, and reached into another pouch. She gripped a healing root such as she had used before to stop the bleeding and facilitate healing of open wounds before. Before she could place it to the stab wound that impaled her lithe frame, the assasin stepped forward once mor, blade ready. "N... no." Ynyssa's voice whispered, dismay making the proclamation breathy. In silence, the assassin closed the distance to her and drew his knife back. Ynyssa aimed a weak left hook at his gut, throwing herself forward with the effort. The man's free hand lashed out and she felt her scalp scream into pain as he caught her by her hair. Pulling sharply, he yanked her up until she dangled face to face with him. She struggled vainly and pulled at his helm. Her vision was growing dark, and she could not make out the face that was revealed as she managed to remove his helm. That he would consider her so little a threat as to not even attempt to stop her insulted her somewhat. However, she felt his blade hook into her stomach just be above her left hip and begin slowest to rip upwards through her flesh towards her ribcage and this drove any such thoughts from her mind. Stop him. She had to stop him. It was all that she could think of and she shoved the root she had been preparing into his mouth. On the verge of unconsciousness, she completed her request that it grow and make whole what it could. The plant sprouted quickly, spreading across his face and she heard his panicked grunting as he struggled with the healing herb growing down his airway now. Ynyssa fell to the forest floor hard, a wan smile on her lax and paling features. She managed to scoot backwards until she was propped against a tree trunk and she looked down at the large dagger still protruding from her stomach. Her dark purple blood seemed to be everywhere, drawing her into it with deep undulating patterns across the green of the forest floor. Ynyssa apologized to the forest, and the forest seemed to respond with a silent vigil. She vaguely heard the assassin struggling still. Soon he would be free, soon... but then she was moving. She was being lifted through the air by unseen limbs and as the darkness enveloped her vision, she felt soft fur against her neck and heard the soft pad of sure feet making their way swiftly through the forest. Then the world passed without her as Ynyssa slipped into the warmth of unconsciousness.

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