#cascade red fox

[mountrainiernps]

Perhaps one way to describe Cascade red foxes is sensitive.

Vulpes vulpes cascadensis, as our Cascade red foxes are known scientifically, are a native species found only in the higher elevations of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. They are small, topping out about 15 pounds. They are colorful with fur ranging from red to tan to silver to black.

While being fluffy and furry does help with staying warm during the wintery seasons on the mountain, the Cascade fox isn’t sleeping through winter. They are out and about looking for food. Ok, looking is not always the right verb. Listening for food. Smelling for prey. There are some animals awake through the winter living under the snow. Animals like voles that make tunnels under the snow. By listening, as well as smelling and using all their sense, foxes can locate prey animals under the snow. Snowshoe hares and pocket gophers are also common prey so Cascade red foxes are willing to use all their senses to bring down any small animal for a winter-time snack.

These little carnivores are wonderfully matched to the snowy environments they inhabit. They do not need any food from humans. Feeding wildlife is dangerous to humans, who might be harmed by food-conditioned animals. Feeding wildlife is also dangerous to animals. They are not adapted to eating human food and get too close to humans. Some of these precious animals have even been run over by cars while begging for food. Learn more about helping wildlife at Keeping Wildlife Wild.

More information on Cascade red foxes in the national park can be found here  https://www.nps.gov/mora/learn/nature/carnivores.htm

These photographs are from years past and do not reflect current conditions. NPS/S. Redman Photo. Tan and black Cascade red fox in the Paradise area. July, 2010. NPS Photo. Two Cascade red foxes in tac and black walking on snow in the Stevens Canyon area. NPS Photo. Black and silver Cascade red fox walking on brown grass past rock and trees in area south of Paradise. April, 2005.

#keep wildlife wild #encuentra tu parque #find your park #national parks #winter #cascade red fox #wildlife

[plethoraworldatlas]

The Center for Biological Diversity today petitioned for federal protection of Sierra Nevada red foxes in the Oregon and California Cascades, from Lassen Peak to Mt. Hood. The petition asks that the fox be listed as a threatened or endangered species under the Endangered Species Act.

“These precious mountain foxes need our help if they’re going to have any chance at survival in our rapidly warming world,” said Noah Greenwald, endangered species director at the Center. “The problems facing the Sierra Nevada red fox are complex and mounting, as they are for so many species in the mountains of western North America.”

In response to a previous Center petition, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service protected a fox population near Sonora Pass in the Sierra Nevada as endangered. But in 2015 the Service denied the fox protection in the Cascades, citing lack of information.Since then, considerable research has shown that fox populations in Lassen, Crater Lake National Park, the Central Cascades and Mt. Hood are isolated, exceedingly small and facing multiple threats.

The fox once ranged throughout high-elevation areas of the Cascades in forests and alpine meadows. But the species has been lost from large portions of its range, including Mt. Shasta. Poisoning as part of historic predator eradication efforts and trapping were primary drivers of the fox’s historic decline.

Today the fox is threatened by habitat loss caused by fires, logging, livestock grazing and development, increased recreation and climate change, which is pushing the fox’s habitat off the top of mountains.

An additional threat is competition and predation from coyotes, which have proliferated in the Cascades in the absence of wolves. Coyotes are likely to move uphill as snowpacks recede with warming.

“The harms we’re doing to the natural world are accumulating and interacting in complex ways to the detriment of animals like the Sierra Nevada red fox,” said Greenwald. “Historic killing of predators, including wolves and the fox, have left the fox vulnerable to coyotes and risks inherent to small populations. And now, increased interest in outdoor recreation and global warming represent new and growing threats to the fox.”

The fox’s surviving populations are critically small. The population found in the Lassen area, for example, was recently estimated to contain fewer than 10 breeding adults. The other populations are not much bigger.

#ecology #enviromentalism #foxes #sierra nevada #red fox #oregon #california #cascade #endangered species act #endangered species #mt hood #lassen volcanic national park #let wolves live

[crazywolf828]

Update! We just caught this cute guy! Either he wasn't a fan of apples or that bird scared him away... You can see him circle back before running off in the left corner

#birds are scary man #also #this is a perfectly healthy fox #i know it looks skinny but foxes are skinny especially when they dont have that typical puffy winter coat #so no he isnt starving hes a perfectly healthy cute boi #scrawny boi #foxes #fox #red fox #perhaps a cascade red fox? #i doubt it though #probably just a normal on with its summer coat #don't mind me #trail cam #my pets

[enigmatist17]

When the general public and enemies aside learned that clones had wings, a lot of them were confused. Why give an army such a vulnerability? Was it just to show that the investment (which had been a secret from everyone apparently) was worth the money?

No matter, most detested them on the grounds they were clones from the start, so most either didn't pay attention to the wings, or would try and get a feather (unwanted or otherwise). Over time however, those who were more of a cruel nature began to realize that certain colors meant certain things, and the color red scared them far above the others.

Red was the color of protectors, of those who were far more willing to act outside the GAR purview if you invoked their wrath.

Some had red peppered among their base color, bright streaks of red found highlighted in Cody's golden feathers alongside the ombre of grey that colored Wolffe. They were the ones to speak loudly and use their words to send someone running or spilling apologies like a broken dam, and were of the few that held more restraint than others.

It was the darker shades of red you really had to look out for.

Neyo was one to make citizens who hurt his brothers just vanish, and while he could never be connected, no one dared go against the clone with the stark white wings shadowed with an almost blood red. Rex hadn't had the dark red clashing for a while, but after Umbara, the red had cascaded over the lower parts of his wings nigh overnight as he kept a close eye on his men, wishing deep down inside he'd killed Krell himself for all the pain left behind.

No one however, matched Fox and his feathers all the same shade of ruby.

The sight of them in the halls of the Senate building incited a feeling of dread of those who took pleasure heckling and treating the clones like they were the scum found in an alley. While Fox rarely did more than speak in a monotone voice after corning a particular person in offices or back hallways, there were a few times he had done much much more.

An attaché from a Separatist-aligned senator that had attempted to kidnap a shiny, claiming they had been promised one after a game of sabacc, vanished shortly before he was to return home. After several hours of intense search, they were found in the morgue of a lower levels precinct, witnesses saying he had fallen to his demise. The shiny was relieved to hear the news, and only some of the senior officers noticed the dangerous smile Fox had, only coming off as a kind one to the shiny who didn't understand.

Well, understand yet

News broke one morning of a gang that had been wiped out, the only thing that was any clue was half of a red feather. Countless clones were hounded but none were ever confirmed to have been anywhere near the former gang hideout, but in the underworld it was known these particular people had found sadistic glee in trying to de-wing the patrolling Corrie Guard. They had been successful only a few days before, leaving a clone without either wings after wrestling him out of sight, so for them to wind up dead so quickly made the Corrie Guard shifts turn into just endless walks around, those who even look at them wrong fleeing before the men could do more than shrug. The wingless clone knew who had done it when Fox remained by his side day and night, letting out a Force be damned laugh when the wounded man was informed of their demise.

Red was a color civilians and their enemies feared, and for the men it appeared for, it meant safety.

Funny how that works out.

#personal #star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #winged!clones au #commander fox #commander wolffe #commander cody #captain rex #commander neyo #I am feral for feral clones #even more so for the protective ones #and Fox is the most protective of all #we stan commander fox here

[idyllcy]

the devil's tango

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: smut, breeding, eating out

Summary: Kitsune Komaeda fucks you on the temple floor.

They tell you, don't visit the forest while it's dark out.

You? You don't care.

Or... you don't care enough to listen.

It's the quickest way home, and the moon is completely out. It won't be that dangerous. 

The shrine looks heavenly at night, the moon cascading a halo of white on the torii, causing it to look lighter than normal. The wind tickles your skin, causing you to pause and look up. It's a full moon.

Ghosts come out on full moons or something.

A black cat rubs itself on your calf, and you stare down at it.

You pick up your pace and tread through the temple quicker.

The leaves snap under your shoes, and the wind blows a little harder. Arms of green, brown, and red seem to loom over you, grasping you, reaching for you, trying to pry you to them and never see the morning again. The leaves under your feet turn black with the mud leftover from rain, staining the path dark with muck. As if you weren't borderline running already, you run faster.

The temperature was dropping rapidly.

You can't risk it tonight. Not when tomorrow there's another day; Not when your family's at home waiting for you to bring them something. Not when there's some creepy connotation about muddy stones and windy weather. Lost in your own thoughts, you fail to hear the second pair of footsteps behind you. By the time you do, it's a little late.

"Ah, a human? At the shrine? On a day like this?" The voice is breathy; scratchy, almost.

You whip your head around, horrified at a voice.

It's a fox... wait, no, that's not a fox. That's a Kitsune. A human... kitsune? Wait, this could be a furry. Is he a furry? You don't care actually. He's hot.

The male is pale, and he stares at you, curious as to why you were still out at this hour.

"Do you not know that the full moon brings out demons?"

Upon first notice, his hair is white, the tips blushed red. His ears are the same, white fading into red, and you take note of the seven tails coming out of him. He's in a white kimono, and he almost looks like a female had it not been for his voice. He's pretty. Like really pretty. In fact, he's so pretty that the only thing you can think about is how pretty he is. How is this random fox-looking guy in a shrine so gorgeous? What the hell? How dare he? Ah, was he a Kitsune?

"I haven't gone weary from exhaustion, have I?" You squint at the male.

"No," He smiles. "You haven't."

"Right," you smile. "I'm trying to get home through the temple. There's a shortcut here."

"I see," The male's ears perk at the information. "Shall I walk you home? It's dangerous for someone as pretty as you to be alone."

"How do I know you're not the same as them?" You raise a brow and keep walking.

"Well," He follows you. "If you didn't let trash like me help, you'd end up devoured."

"By the demons?"

"By the demons," He walks next to you, and you take a look at him again. He's fucking gorgeous.

He stares back at you, unsure about what to feel. "I'm so sorry... having to have someone as awful as me lead you to the exit... how horrible that must be..."

"Huh? Trash?" You raise a brow at the male. "You?"

"Yes... there are so many better kitsunes to help..."

It's strange. You had thought Kitsunes were confident people. Well, it's not like it matters. You glance at him, blinking in curiosity. You wonder why he lacks so much confidence in himself. He's among the prettier Kitsunes met by people, yet at some point, you wonder why he's like this. You think he's cute.

"Um... if it helps, I'm glad you're the one helping me," You smile at him shyly.

He stares at you, eyes wide in fascination. "Ah... wow... thank you! You know, it's incredible that someone as plain as you could even thank me, but thank you! You seem like a nice darling. What are you doing out here again? What if someone jumps you?"

You scratch your cheek. "That won't happen."

"And you're so sure because?" Komaeda glances at the forest.

"The village is kind," you smile. "Thank you for escorting me, kitsune."

Komaeda smiles at you. "I do hope I get to see you again some day."

"We'll see," you rush back into your estate, calling for your family. You brought them dinner.

The village snakes catch wind of you out with a man at night. How scandalous! How vile. Whoring around before you even got married or engaged? Who did you think you were? How disgusting. A demon especially? You weren't walking around with any other man; you were walking around with the devil! The village spreads the news quickly, and even your parents start to shun you. Ah. How cruel.

You stay home, shunned by everyone alike. You wonder what you did. Maybe you shouldn't have asked for the fox's help. Was it your fault for that? You wonder yourself. Well, it's not like you'd ever have the chance to find out. Your parents would probably wed you off to a nearby village since you were caught escorted by a demon.

The news trickles in slowly at first.

There's been a murder in the village.

You aren't part of it, so you sit back in your room and have dinner alone.

Then, a second.

A third.

A fourth.

It's a serial murder case.

The village curses and yells at each other, screaming about how someone of their own blood could betray them. The hostility that swirls around each villager's family at the sight of another is enough to make your stomach lurch with disgust. You suppose it was sooner or later that the village would create its downfall. You just hope you don't end up in the house if anyone tries to burn you alive.

You wonder what's going on when the entire village goes silent after a meeting.

"They're telling us to quarantine," Your older sister tells you, sliding you your lunch. "So that the murderer can't get to us."

"Mm," You mumble weakly. "Will I be let out in our yard?"

"Kaa-san and tou-san said no," She sighs. "Eat well."

"Thank you."

The murderer can enter houses apparently. First, the local farmer's house dies in a massacre. The village screams and cries when the food supply is cut off. Then, the local woodsman dies. You stopped caring after the sixth family died. The village is terrified for their life. There's something about how they're convinced it's your fault or something. You've been locked in your room, but the spirits are looking to devour you or such. You think it's hysterical, but to the paranoid villagers, it isn't so much so.

Then, the local priest receives an oracle from the heavens... or something like that. You're not sure. You're being dragged and pulled around to bathe and get ready for something. No one's telling you anything. You sit there in silence as they dress you, the clothes feeling heavy after months of wearing rags.

"Am I being sacrificed?" You stare at your mother, and she turns to the side. "I'll take that as a yes."

Your sister places her necklace on you, and you stare at yourself in the mirror. You're not sure how to feel anymore. You suppose that the detachment of living alone and having meals sent to you has detached you from your family. Would you be saved? You wonder how that spirit was doing. Perhaps you'd get saved. What pointless thoughts.

The villagers parade you down the road in your wedding kimono. You don't look at anyone, but stare at the woods instead. You wonder if you could make a run for it. Probably not. You haven't left your room in months. It'd be impossible to outrun people who were working in the fields every day.

The stop is the same temple you passed that night.

You stare at the red of the torii, and you stand in the center of the temple. The village throws flowers around the space, and you sit down on the floor. 

Day turns to night, and the sun sets to rest. The village leaves at sunset.

The moon rises to start its night.

It's cold in the temple. 

It's another full moon again.

You wonder if the demons will really eat you this time.

You hear leaves rustle behind you, and you stare at the animal. It's a fox.

"Hey," You susurrate at the fox. The animal steps over and rubs against you. You hum gently, petting it.

"It's just the two of us, huh?" You rub its fur, the fox chirping happily. "I wonder what I did wrong."

"Nothing, really," The fox on your lap glows, and the weight changes. You lean back, shielding your eyes, and you stare at the male leaning forward. "Humans are selfish creatures just as we are vengeful ones."

You blink at the male. "You're... the kitsune I met that day."

"Yep," He grins. "Oh, for your information, the oracle wasn't wrong. I just need... some way to remove the curse from you and then you'll be fine. Really only spirits and demons can do that."

You blink at him. "I'm cursed?"

"You know the black cat on the first day?" Komaeda's tail tickles your wrist.

"Mm?"

"Demon," He rubs himself against you. "I really only wanted to escort you back but... you're really pretty."

Komaeda rests his ear on your chest, and he purrs. You lift a hand to pet his hair, and he hums happily.

"And how do I get rid of the curse?"

"Ah..." Komaeda's cheeks burn red. "Um... blessings."

"Huh?"

Komaeda blinks innocently at you, hand trailing up your thigh. His fingers dance up to your stomach, and he presses gently. You blink at him curiously, and he lowers his mouth to your shoulder. Sliding the fabric off gently, he whispers again. "Blessings." And he bites on your shoulder.

You yelp, squirming from the way his canines dug into your skin.

"I'm sorry," He mumbles against your skin. "You have to have a spirit as awful as me break your curse but... I just can't help but..."

"H-huh?" You feel your back pressed to the temple floor. And Komaeda cages you in with his arms.

"F-forgive me for... violating you like this," Komaeda whimpers, sliding his hand up your chest. Pulling at the fabric roughly, the wedding kimono is ripped, not without a weak apology from the kitsune. You're not even sure what his name is, but as he presses his lips to yours, your mind spaces out. Your lips part for his tongue almost naturally, and he kisses you feverishly. He grips your shoulders, licking at you.

Your eyes glaze over, and Komaeda's lips trickle down your face to your chest. 

"N-name," You gasp as he pinches your nipple. 

"Hm?" He peeks at you, eyes wide with interest.

"Y-your name," You whimper as a tail tickles you.

"Nagito," He blows on your ear. "Hm? Darling?"

Your lips part as he moves back to your chest, twisting and sucking at your nipples. The skin turns red from his pinching, and he bites curiously at the nubs. You make such pretty noises when he does. He peeks down at you curiously, taking in the sounds that slip past your lips. He's lost count of how many sacrifices he's taken and killed on the spot, yet you make him want to keep you alive. Maybe he'd actually take a sacrifice back home for once. It wouldn't hurt.

He presses a hand to your stomach, and the other pries your legs open. 

"To think they went so far this time..." He mumbles, sliding a finger into you. He stares at the liquid that trickles out, and he smiles cheekily. They seem to get better every time.

You shift from the new feeling, and Komaeda blinks as he moves his finger. Wow. You're really wet.

He slides a second finger in and hums in amusement as you try to move your legs. There's a thin sheen of sweat on your body, and Komaeda lowers his mouth to his fingers, curious about how you'll taste. 

"N-NO!" You yelp, trying to push his head away. "Th-that's dirty!"

Komaeda ignores you taking out his finger to hold your wrists to your stomach. He lowers his mouth and licks. You squeak and try to kick him away, but he just presses his tongue into you instead. Your thighs tighten around his head, and he looks up at you, half curious to see what you looked like.

You look heavenly. 

Komaeda stares at your lips parted and head thrown back. His ears flutter amusedly, and he starts sucking. He uses his free hand to keep your legs apart, and he hums. The vibrations shoot up your core, and you gasp. You struggle against his hold, and Komaeda continues eating you out. Ah, you taste so much better than the previous sacrifices. He's almost glad he got you caught on purpose. Well, not that he would tell you.

You struggle against his grip even harder, and he feels you tighten around his tongue. He moves his hand from your thigh to help his tongue, and you strain against him, whimpering and crying. It feels weird. You feel weird. Komaeda ignores your whines, and he speeds up instead. Your kicking eventually turns to thrashing, and with a final thrust of his fingers, you come undone on his face. 

Your cum soaks him, and his ears flick to get the fluid off while he licks to clean you up a little. He tests you out with his fingers, and he grimaces. You're not stretched well enough. Before you can register what's going on, Komaeda's eating you out again. This time, he cares not for your comfort, but he's trying to get you as wet as possible. You cry and shake, pawing at his head to try and get him off of you because you're sensitive from the last orgasm, but he pays your ministrations no mind. 

Your second orgasm hits harder than the first. Your legs tighten around his head, and you cry from how hard it hits you. Your cum squirts all over his face. The bottom of his ears are drenched, and he gets back to licking you clean. He's a little gentler this time, making sure you're somewhat clean.

He finally detaches himself from you, and he stares at the strand of fluid that connects his lips to you.

"Ready for the actual curse-breaking now?" He smiles cheekily, almost mockingly.

"H-huh?"

"That was to make sure," Komaeda licks his lips, pulling you to his chest, finally letting you sit up. "That you'd be able to fit..." He tugs the bottom of his kimono apart. "This." Your eyes widen at his cock.

"That won't fit," You whine as he lifts you gently and hushes you.

"It will if you stop squirming," He bites on your shoulder and spreads your hole, slamming you down. You choke on a broken moan, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Komaeda licks the wound on your shoulder. "See?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and Komaeda purrs in your ear. Your mind is somewhere else as you sit in his lap. Komaeda laps at your neck while he waits for you to adjust. You hear him ramble about how pretty you are between the licks, and you sigh in exhaustion. The tears on your cheeks are dry at this point. Komaeda's ears twitch at the sigh, and he presses a kiss under your eyes.

"Can I move?"

"Is this really going to break the curse?" You exhale sharply as he thrusts into you. You yelp.

"It's never not worked," He hums. "Humans are cruel, you know?"

You whimper as he bounces you on his lap.

"When I heard the priest," He presses a kiss to your lips. He tastes like you. "I thought your family would surely resist. They didn't, and they sent you here instead. Now you're my bride."

Your grip on his shoulders loosens a little, and Komaeda hums gently, pressing a hand to your stomach.

"See? I can feel myself thrusting into you," He hums. "I'm so glad trash like me received someone as angelic as you for my bride. You're going to look lovely living with me." He babbles, and you pant as he continues bouncing you. You can feel another orgasm coming. Clawing at his chest gently, Komaeda presses a kiss to your neck. 

"Cum for me, angel," He slams you down harshly, and you arch. Your lips part, and Komaeda stares at you come undone on him. His pupils dilate, and he stares at the cum seep out of you. Ah. He had cum as well. A ring of white forms at the base of his cock, and he glances at your tired form. He wants more.

Without warning, Komaeda pushes you back onto the ground. Your eyes widen, and you yelp, but Komaeda makes no motion to stop. You feel him grow hard in you again, and he thrusts back into you. The tile scratches against your back, creating marks over you, and you cry as Komaeda bites down on the nape of your neck. You hear something briefly about how that way the others would know you're his, but you're too fucked out to pay attention.

Komaeda breeds you like he has no tomorrow. His thrusts are sharp, bumping your cervix, desperate to make sure that you're full, filled, guaranteed to have his pretty little pups. The idea of you all pretty and round with his kits, his kits. Komaeda hikes your leg further up his shoulder, pressing your knees to your chest to make sure his cum stays. He's never been one to hope for good luck but fuck; the things he would do to see you running around with you two's kits had him weak.

"N-Nagi," You gasp, whimpering at how rough he was. "'s too much."

"You can take it." He hisses, nestling his cock deeper into you. "You've lasted until now; you can take another one."

You sob as Komaeda peppers kisses over your face and chest. His claws dig into your waist, forcing you impossibly closer to him. The tears streaming down your face are replaced with a set of new ones, and Komaeda whispers sweet nothings into your ear. You got this. You're his good girl, aren't you? His sweet little angel? His pretty little thing.

His tail fans around you, and all you can see is the white of his tail and the pink at the tips. He's really pretty. His tails are really pretty. You brush your finger against it gently, and Komaeda moans. Ah. He sounds really pretty. You whimper as he thrusts into you particularly sharply. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten, and you cum again. His kimono is wet beyond repair by now.

He hisses as he fills you up again. The white fills you up, painting your walls and forming a new ring at the base of his cock. Komaeda licks his lips at the white and nibbles on your earlobe. You heave, breathing heavily, and he licks up your cheek to taste your tears.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders with what little strength you have, and he lets your leg down from his shoulder. For a moment, you think he's going to let you breathe. He doesn't. Instead, he sits up, forcing you up with him, keeping you plugged. "Last one, I promise."

You don't even have the strength to argue against him now.

His thrusts start slow, his cum trickling out of you, making a mess of the temple floor. You let out a broken moan, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

"I'll fill you up again, I promise," Komaeda pants. "I'll make sure that you're bred and full by the end of tonight. Ah, I can't wait to see what kind of hope the two of us create. I'd be thrilled if they took after you. They'd look so pretty if they looked like you."

You tighten your arms around his neck, and he wraps his arms around your back instinctively. He lifts you from the ground as he continues thrusting. The fur on his tail wraps you protectively, and it's soft. "hah..., I love you so much, angel. You were so kind to me when I helped you out. You didn't complain when the village threw you out to me... You deserve the world... I'll give it to you if you ask. I'll even turn you into a spirit if you want. Anything for you... you're so... dazzling... darling... angel... hah..."

Weakly, you cum on Komaeda again, and you feel his cum fill you up again. You blink tiredly as he licks at you, and your eyes close. Softly, you hear Komaeda tell you to rest.

The morning sun kisses you awake gently, and you wake up to the soft fur of the kitsune wrapped around you. You blink awake slowly, and Komaeda grins down at you.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Where... am I?"

"My residence," Komaeda presses a kiss to your forehead before pushing back. "Ah, I'm sorry. I should've asked for permission. Trash like me really doesn't deserve to be touching someone like you so lightly-"

"No," You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. "Good morning, Nagito."

His eyes widen, and a dazzling smile makes it onto his face. Komaeda wraps his arms around your waist and presses a hand to your stomach. He looks fondly at you, and you sigh.

"I love you a lot," Komaeda hums. "Angel."

"I know," You hum back. "Thank you for saving me."

"Anything for you."

#komaeda x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #sdra2 x reader #komaeda #☾.nsfw #this was originally scheduled for 3/27 bc Hinata's birthday is 1/1 but idrc on this acc oopsies #☾.fics

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise

#elucien #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #acotar #my fic

[blackbackedjackal]

Wanted to do something a little different for my birthday this year. Found the gray Cascade wolf browsing at plush for the first time in a while (the only color varient I was missing and had only seen in other's collections), so I decided to get her and a couple of other critters! The red fox is by Hansa and the African Wild Dog by Rincon.

#plush #stuffed animals #I'm super picky about plushies when it comes to like #actually buying them #I like a lot of vintage wildlife #which is very hit or miss on pricing #the Hansa one was like $15 or $20 which was crazy to me #jackal's hoard

[and-stir-the-stars]

Ephe's 15 minute scribbles (in which i set a 15 minute timer and write as much as I can, the quality of which be damned.)

It didn’t matter that it had been almost two months since Evan came home from the hospital. 

When Michael ducked into his room, Evan put his head down. 

When Michael inched closer to his bed, Evan leaned away.

When Michael’s shadow cast over him, blocking all the light as Mike finally came to stop, Evan flinched. 

He didn’t meet his big brother’s eye. His fingers just clenched desperately in his triangle-covered white bedsheets, pretending the cloth was a comforting hand to squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered. 

Evan had heard those two words so many times in the last two months that he didn’t quite know what they meant anymore. 

Ev rocked back and forth– slightly, ever so slightly, the movements so small that he hoped Mikey wouldn’t notice– but said nothing. 

“I see you sometimes. Looking in the mirror.” 

Mike’s voice continued on. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I know you hate it, what you look like. What I did to you.” 

Evan’s trembling fingers tightened even more on his blankets. 

“I don’t know how many more times you need me to say it. I’ll say it forever and ever, okay?” 

There was a Fazbear song that went something like that, a dim, distant voice in Evan’s head whispered. Not the sorry bit. The forever bit.

Hey everybody, put the radio on; time to throw our troubles away, hey-hey! Forever and ever and ever; forever and ever and ever…

Michael could say sorry forever and ever and ever if he wanted. It wouldn’t do any good. Evan would never be able to know if he really meant it, no matter how many times he said it.

It would never undo what had happened. 

“I know you think you look ugly…” 

~

Evan’s bleary eyes blinked into the distance as his hands floated up to his too-light head. His fingers went to run through his curls, to twirl the lock of hair that was forever plastered onto his forehead, but his hair was gone. Only small little bits of stubble pricked his fingertips between jagged lines of flesh criss-crossing his scalp. 

“Where’s my hair?” The kid slurred, and his mumbled words quickly drowned in tears. “I’ll look ugly without my hair!”

Tears cascaded down Evan’s face. 

He didn’t yet know about the scars all over his head. 

After that, no one wanted to tell him.

In the end, a doctor had to do it.

~

“I-I can make it better, Ev, I swear.” 

Evan’s heart stopped beating. It went still in his chest as a blast of ice water shot through his veins and chilled his heart into a frozen lump. 

Make it better? How? How could Mikey possibly do that? 

Out of the corner of Evan’s eye, the dark outline that was his big brother moved. 

Evan flinched again, waiting for a sharp spike of pain as his brother pinched him. Waiting for Mikey to tug on his hair– what hair? You lost it!. Waiting for Mike to hit and punch and scratch. Waiting for the explosion of pain in his head as Fredbear’s teeth chomped down…

Mikey didn’t do any of that. 

When Evan dared to look up, he saw Mike’s hand extended out toward him in offering, a mask clenched tightly between his fingers. 

Evan’s mouth went dry, but he quickly realized it wasn’t Mike’s usual mask. 

There was no red in sight. 

The mask was pure white, like snow, like hospital bedsheets, except for the eyeholes and the great big smile across its muzzle. 

It wasn’t a fox, either. 

It was a bear. 

A white bear. 

“It’s dumb, I-I know.” Michael choked on each word, so bad that Evan could barely make out what he was saying. “But my m-mask– it– it h-helped me, okay? It helped, looking in the mirror and being able to– to see Foxy instead of me. And, w-with this– you d-don’t have to look in the mirror like that ever again.” 

#evan afton #michael afton #fnaf #ephe's 15 minute scribbles

[chiropteracupola]

it's the time of year again for another original spooky story... and thus we present to you:

"THE RAT PIPER"

“…..Now, all you who’re here, what story would you hear? Shall I tell you the tale of the boy who taught himself to speak to bees? The story of the sailor who won a mermaid’s heart? The story of the old inn and the ghostly hand?” The storyteller looked down at the children surrounding them and watched as they clamored, each cheering for a different old favorite out of all her tales. She smiled, teeth still bright in a worn, warm, age-freckled face.

“Oh, but those are far too often told, I think. I’ve another story, just right for a winter night like this one…”

“A new story?” asked one of the children, his eyes wide with hope.

“In that you have not yet heard it told, it’s new. But I shall begin first off by telling you just how old this story is.” The storyteller nodded to the boy, and began her tale….

——

Listen. There was, and there wasn’t, and there was a girl called Tamsen, and she was a child of only a few more years than you back when your grandfathers were young. She was a piper’s daughter, and went with him when he traveled to play the flute and the fife at betrothals and weddings and dances and sometimes funerals, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge. When her father was not piping away at music that would make trees shake their leaves just as you nod your head and clap your hands, Tamsen played the flutes as well, and even what she piped on an old tin whistle felt like a song that might make a forest lift up its roots and dance.

But Tamsen was a hungry-hearted girl, as many children are, and the space between her father’s notes never seemed enough to please her. So off into the woods she went, when the work of the day was done, and on the battered whistle her father had used as a boy, she played his songs and her own for no one but the forest. Or, so she thought.

The woods have a way of knowing when someone is wanting, and cascading through the branches above and the roots below and in every network of the forest, the song of such a hungry heart traveled far and wide. And something that had been waiting a terribly long time for such a tune to be played heard, and oh, how quickly he came skittering.

In that clearing in the forest where Tamsen went to whistle, a stump of an ancient tree served well enough to stand on. It was cracked across in places, all hollow beneath where its roots once had fed deeply from the earth of those woods. And up from one of the cracks came clambering a man barely the height of Tamsen’s two hands put together. He scrambled to stand a little in front of her on the stump, expression sour as he dusted splinters of wood from his fox-red hair and long blue coat.

Tamsen looked down at him with more curiosity than apprehension at first, cataloguing him as if she could manage to fit him into any notions she’d had before of the sort of creatures that might dwell someplace underneath a tree stump. The little man had a sharp face like a weasel’s and a pointed beard, and bright, clever eyes like a pair of polished silver buttons, which looked back at Tamsen with just as little worry as she’d felt. Tamsen, being a rather over-bold girl at the best of times, reached out and grabbed at the back of his coat, hoisting him up to her eye level.

“What the hell are you?” said Tamsen, holding out the little man in front of her at arms’ length.

“Do you kiss your grandmother with that mouth, tall girl?” said he, smiling like a knife blade.

“My grandmother lives two villages past the edge of the forest, and I only see her when my father is there to pipe at a betrothal or a wedding or a dance or a funeral, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge, and even then, I don’t kiss her at all, with this mouth or any other. What’s more, I don’t see what you mean, talking of grandmothers when I asked a question of you.”

The little man crossed his arms and pouted, kicking his feet in the air as if to emphasize his point.

“If we’re aiming for politeness now, one ought not to shake their acquaintances about like sacks of potatoes!”

“Oh. My name is Tamsen. How do you do?” she asked, and as she made her clumsy, father-taught bow, she made the mistake you must never make if you happen to be a character in a story. She gave her name to a creature of a sort she did not know, and so swung open a door to a place she had never intended to visit.

“Gannet will do for now, if you must call me something,” said the little man. That was not his name, of course — the sort of thing that he was did not have names as we know them to be, but we shall call him that as we tell the story. We are not that sort of thing, and we are fond of names. Now, we shall go on with exactly what he was doing, and the sort of power he liked to offer.

Gannet held up an ivory whistle, as long as he was tall, and Tamsen took it. It was carved all over with animals, long and twisting and tangling tails and legs together in a marvelous woven pattern.

“Now, tall girl, that’s no flute for betrothals and weddings and dances and funerals, even though it can play the right sort of music for a dirge. Play it just right, and you can pipe down a thunderstorm that will rain so long and hard that the mountains themselves will be washed away.”

Tamsen raised the whistle to her lips and blew, a note as sweet as coming inside from the cold, as sharp as an autumn wind all braided with dry leaves.

“Why did you give this to me, just like that? I haven’t got any money, I can’t give you anything in trade for it.”

“The whistle must be played, tall girl! And I cannot do it myself,” said the little man, pointing out his height with a sweeping gesture of one hand. “You’ve got the music to play it properly, so play it you must! Now, a tune, if you would, and we shall see who comes to dance.”

She played again, a song quick and merry as any young person running to visit their lover, and the wind came up and sang along with a voice all its own. The little man shivered within his coat, for the day was cold, and with a rush of wings, a thousand birds slalomed through the trees and spiraled around them. Tamsen gasped, nearly dropping the whistle, and the whirlwind of wings slowed.

“Tall girl, it’s you who’s called them up! Play on, they want their dance!”

Tamsen, you know, had a piper’s soul, and all the cleverness in her little finger that most have in all their body. So up she stepped, and making the same bow and scrape that her father made before he played, whistled up a song for the birds to dance to.

Scarlet and ash, black and white, a swirl of feathers patterned out a dance Tamsen knew. This song was a courting song, the sort played when the young folk just grown-up enough to be thinking of sweethearts would be dancing the night away. Tamsen had often stayed up to see them, and now, found the beating of wings and the fluff of feathers just as marvelous as the tapping of boots and the swish of skirts as the couples joined and turned and parted. For as long as she played, the birds danced for the two watchers in the clearing, and just as the song ended and Tamsen lowered the whistle from her lips, they were gone again in a flurry of color. She stared after them, breathless with awe, the surging pride at what she’d wrought filling her from the soles of her boots to the tip of her nose.

“With a talent like yours, no doubt you’ll find fortune in no time!” said the little man, bright and self-assured. Tamsen considered for a moment. She was the sort to like being petted and praised a good deal, and she got little enough of that as it was.

“How exactly might one go about doing that?”

“Well, say you were to set out on your own, see a little of the world, have a try at finding out just what that whistle there can do. And I’d come along of you, of course, for on one hand I should very much like to see you try your paces and on the other I have rather an interest in finding out some fortune for myself as well.” Now, to Tamsen’s mind, that sounded just the sort of thing she should like to do, and her hungry heart, which had begun rather to gnaw at the inside of her ribcage, bit a little harder in her chest as if to say “yes, yes!” But a bit of her father’s instruction beyond the methods of the music had worn on her, though not enough to keep her home.

“I’ll get my coat, then, for I’m not supposed to go far off without it. And then we shall go a-fortune-seeking!” And off she ran back to the little house where her father the piper dwelt, slamming into the front-room as brisk as the autumn wind. Tamsen took her coat from the hook by the door, put a loaf of bread in its pocket, and laced her boots up tight once more, for one bootlace had come a little loose in running.

“Pa, I’m leaving to seek my fortune!” she called, for her father was beside the hearth in his usual chair, not quite expecting her to be home or to be away.

“You’re doing what now, Tam?”

“Leaving to seek my fortune! Tell Grandma I love her! Bye!” And with that, she stepped out the door and back into the wind.

“What took you so long?” said the little man, who had been waiting at the hollow tree until she returned.

“I was hardly five minutes.”

“Well, everything’s slower when you’re small. Slower to get from place to place, slower to get attention…”

“What if I carried you, then? If we’re traveling together, it would be better if you could keep up.”

The little man paced back and forth, considering.

“Fine, then, but carry me careful. I am more fragile than you think.” Tamsen snatched him up by the collar and set him on her shoulder. “Not so rough, tall girl!” He wavered, wobbling, for a moment, then got a hand around the shoulder seam of her coat and held on tight.

“Onward!” said Tamsen, and off she went, running along the path with the wind at her back and the little man clinging to her shoulder like a rat to a railing. After a few minutes, she paused and turned to him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Over the edge of the world and back again, even to the deep waters below where Chance and Luck swim like fish in a fishbowl. But you know the stories well, tall girl! Bold knights and brave ladies must quest first before they find where Fortune dwells.”

“That’s all?” said Tamsen, and gave a little hop and skip that made the man squeak with surprise.

“Of course not! We shall meet with adventure and you shall play the whistle for a betrothal and a wedding and a dance and a funeral, and you shall play the whistle for Fortune itself and see what comes of it!” And so they went, and the sun turned about the sky as it spun hand in hand with the moon, and the road passed beneath Tamsen’s feet as easily as the notes of the tune she played as she walked.

But before too long had passed, she came to a fork of the path, and what had been the road that led from the wood now was two, one that led down to the water and the other to the town. Down the road that led to the town, the miller’s daughter and the smith’s daughter were walking arm in arm, the smith’s daughter smart in her blue Sunday coat and fine silk cravat, and the miller’s daughter with her white petticoat all showing where the hems of her faded skirts came short. They saw Tamsen as soon as Tamsen saw them, though Gannet had seen them earlier and yet said nothing.

“Where are you going, little girl?” said the miller’s daughter, looking down the length of her nose at Tamsen.

“I’m not a little girl, I’m a piper!” said Tamsen in return, with a sharpness she regretted.

“She’s the piper’s daughter, that she is,” said the smith��s daughter, “and I’m sure she is as good a piper as ever her father has been. He played at my father’s marriage, you know."

“I’m a better piper than ever my father will be,” said Tamsen, sour and eager to defend herself, and behind her braid, Gannet laughed a little laugh to himself. “I can whistle down the birds from the trees and the rain from the mountains, so I can!” And she spun the ivory whistle between her fingers as her father had taught her, and made it shine so that every carved creature all down the length of it seemed to twist and dance in the last of the sunset’s light.

“Sing me a dress, then, Tamsen?” asked the miller’s daughter, then, with a little hope behind her haughtiness, and smoothed down the faded front of her skirts where water and wear had half washed the print from the calico.

“Well, it may not keep you warm, but I shall see what I can whistle up for you.” Tamsen blew the whistle, and remembered a song that her father had played at a dance, years and years before. It was a rollicking, rambling song, and her fingers flickered up and down the flute and made the tune ring out, just as bright as ever it had been. The wind came up, and whirled a gown of fallen red maple leaves, weaving stems and vines into a trim bodice and a wide skirt.

“Tall girl, don’t dawdle! Fortune’s waiting, come along!” Gannet tugged on one of her braids, and Tamsen turned and put away the whistle.

“Won’t you come with us instead and go dancing?” asked the miller’s daughter, plucking at her crackling-bright hems, her smile shy but just as bright.

“Let her go her own way, my apple,” said the smith’s daughter, and took her by the hand.

“I’m going to find my Fortune,” said Tamsen, “and perhaps I’ll come back some other day when I’ve got it in my hand.”

“You can’t just go around saying such things out loud!” said Gannet, half-offended, into her ear. His breath was very cold, and Tamsen shivered as though the wind had crept in and laid its cold fingers all along the edge of her cap. But she ignored him, and, standing up on her tiptoes, tucked a last bright leaf into the smith’s daughter’s buttonhole.

“There. Now you match, and may be on your way, and we will be on ours.” The smith’s daughter grinned and bowed, and the miller’s daughter curtsied, and Tamsen made her bow in return before they parted ways. Down the road to the river they went, Tamsen with her heart light and Gannet’s fingers clutching at her collar, and the whistle at her mouth all the way. As it had not been a long way from home to the turning of the road, it was not far to go to reach the water, and Tamsen was glad of it, for she had begun to tire of running, for all that the road to the place where Fortune dwelt seemed to be a smooth one indeed.

“This way, tall girl!” said Gannet, all sprightly and sharp, and pointed down the hill and out toward the broad horizon. The water lay out before them both, wide and dark and as smooth as the road had been, but Tamsen could not run down the current of it as she had run down the road, and beneath her coat, a shiver stroked her spine at the sight of it.

“I haven’t money for the ferry,” said Tamsen, in an attempt at practicality, and Gannet scoffed.

“Show them what you can do, and there’ll be reward in it for the both of us!” So down to the docks Tamsen skipped, and halted just before the ferry.

“I can play for my passage,” said Tamsen, drawing herself up as tall as she could. Gannet made a fierce face. The boatman smiled slow, and the boy perched near the prow put out a tar-smudged hand and hauled the two of them over the side.

“Would you whistle us a wind, lass?” asked the boatman, pointing to the whistle in her hand. Tamsen nodded, and played a shanty that spun up the waves to whiteness and sounded like a seagull’s call.

“I know this one!” said the boy, grabbing at Tamsen’s sleeve. “Do you know the words to it, miss?”

“No,” said Tamsen, setting down the whistle as the wind went on. “My father taught me the tune of it, but I’ve never heard it sung. Has it got a story to it?”

“It ends unhappy,” said the boy.

“Lots of songs do,” said Gannet, smiling sharp as ferrets’ teeth.

“Aye, but some don’t. Why don’t you play a happy song, the kind where everyone ends up all right at the end and they have a feast?”

“Feasts are a tricky thing too, lad. Oh, when you’re serving up and it comes time to carve in, you never do know just what’s on your plate. Meat’s messy, and it goes rotten quick as false-told tales. Better dry bones for me, strong and simple just as songs are.” Gannet snapped his teeth and smirked, and the boy shivered away and didn’t speak to them again, although Tamsen could always see him just at the edge of her vision, keeping a fixed look on Gannet out of the corner of his eye.

The boy did not speak to Tamsen or Gannet again, and his father did no more than smile softly as Tamsen played the last sweet chorus of the song, but sang the verse that told of sorrowful shipwreck, and the king’s fair bride dead before she ever was married, and all the captain’s bravery come to nothing. But though the shanty that Tamsen had chosen was no story of a smooth sail, they came to the other side of the water in good time, and the boatman wished them well as they went on their way, but the boy said nothing, and Tamsen clambered down alone.

And now that the further shore of the water lay before them, there was nothing else for Tamsen to do but to walk, and to play the whistle, and to walk again. To another town they came, larger than any one that Tamsen had ever seen, and so it was nervously that she passed the slow-swinging gates and into the empty avenues within.

“Where is everyone?” she wondered, but there seemed to be no one else but Gannet to hear her, and no sound but the padding of her own footsteps. That, and something more. A rustling, a skittering, a scratch-of-nails-on-slate sound, coming from everywhere at once. Tamsen spun, and saw a crooked shutter swing out on its half-rusted hinge, the wind picking at paint gone cracked and peeling with heat and sun and the fingernails of time. Her feet felt unsteady on the cobblestones, and scraps of paper and sackcloth blew about before her.

Tamsen knelt, plucking a bit of paper from the ground, the back of it dark and yellowed where glue had gone long dry. It was a label, but the writing of it was a mystery to her, for the paper seemed to have been chewed half out of existence by a myriad of tiny pointed teeth.

“Gannet, do you—“ she asked, the wind clawing at her coat and rolling dust over the toes of her boots, but before she could finish, Gannet shrieked “Tall girl, here!” and she snapped upright as if tugged by a marionette-string. Now the cobbles were all too solid, though Tamsen wished that they were not, for down through the windows and out through holes in the plasterwork and from every crevice of those long-left houses came a flood of rats, skittering and scuttling so that the streets rang with the sound of their claws all a-scrape against stone. Rustle and scratch and down came rats from roofs of moldering thatch, creak and squeak and clatter and out came rats from the cracks between boarded-over doors. Tails twined together in a wriggling mass of scaled skin, mangy fur showing through the spaces in between.

Tamsen put the whistle to her mouth, the instinct to do so as quick as a lightning-bolt and just as snapping-bright, but her fingers were frozen, and everywhere around them the rats were running. Gannet got a foothold in her braid, and climbed atop her cap, his sharp little fingers digging into her scalp, and Tamsen nearly shouted with the start of it, for his hands were clay-cold in the sun of that town that had been left to the rats.

“I don’t know what song to play!”

“Whistle, tall girl! You’ll know!” And so Tamsen placed her fingers on the whistle and played, and the rats rose like a river. They flowed up out of gutters and drains, poured out of windows and doors, scampered in a tidal wave of skittering feet and piebald fur. Gannet slipped down, but clung to Tamsen’s coat collar, pressing himself up against her neck with all his strength. All around Tamsen’s feet, the rats swirled and spiraled, dancing to her tune. She breathed in, and played faster and louder than before, and stepped up, up onto the backs of the rats, dancing with them light as leaves.

“Tall girl, have you lost your mind?” Gannet grabbed hold of her hair with sharp little fingers, but Tamsen only laughed into the whistle and played on.

“They’ll take us to find Fortune!” And the rats did, cascading along under Tamsen’s feet as she strolled along their backs. Rats can run a long time, if they’re caught up in such a thing as music. And human children can run a good long while, just the same. They’re not so fragile as one might think, both children and rats, though their bones are more brittle and their bodies smaller.

And so the day turned to night, and to day again, and the rats ran on, and Tamsen played the ivory whistle far past the point where she’d have gasped for breath before. But something new and wild had come up like the wind now, in her lungs and in her mouth, and over and over she played that song that told of lost loves and the fading ends of summertimes and bright beauties faded.

At last the rats slowed, for the town was long gone by, and the forest had faded first into chaparral, and then to plain, and then to nothing but sheer white stone, marked with deep and gaping cracks. Just as quick as they had come up from the houses and the holes, the rats scuttled down between the stones, and hardly before she knew it, Tamsen was all but alone again. The last notes of the song rang hollow on the empty air, and she looked to Gannet, questioning.

“What am I to do now?”

“Why, play on, tall girl! What else?”

“And Fortune?”

“The whistle must be played, the year must spin! With summer’s end, the piper calls the harvest in! There are to be dances, and betrothals, and weddings, but in the autumn must the funerals be held.”

“What—“

“You’ve had your betrothal and your wedding and your dance and your funeral, and now it’s time to play your dirge. Party’s over, tall girl.” The man crossed his arms, his face skeletal, his teeth sharp. There was an odd light to his eyes, once which Tamsen had rarely seen before. He clawed his way back to her shoulder, and though she tried to shake him free, he only dug his sharp fingers the more fiercely into her coat-sleeve. As he spoke again, he was right against her ear, shrill and demanding.

“Now, play the whistle, play it well! Pipe me one last tune!”

And Tamsen put the whistle to her lips and played a song her father had played after nearly every funeral. Not mournful, and something you danced to, to be certain, but slower, softer, the song the coffin-bearers might walk in step with as to the grave they went. The last song of all.

The wind came up, and the ground shook beneath her feet. Tamsen nearly lost her balance, and felt Gannet’s sharp hands grab at the back of her neck as he slipped off her shoulder.

The stones cracked and split, heaving up to reveal deep chasms beneath. Tamsen clambered to perch atop a spar of rock, missing a few notes as she played one-handed. And up out of the earth came the dead, dressed in bones clean and clattering, and danced. First a cascade of birds, somehow still flying despite their wing feathers having long rotted away, then people, of all ages, bones rattling as they stepped from foot to skeletal foot. Tamsen noticed one skeleton missing a leg, others with cracked-in skulls or fractured rib-cages, though it seemed not to impair them as they dipped and turned. Watching the dead in their dance from her place atop the jutting stone, she began to recognize familiar movements, familiar steps, though all danced to the same tune. Some made the box-step of a hornpipe, while others twirled their partners back and forth, skeleton after skeleton rising up to join the swirling rings of dancers.

Then, last of all, a new tide of bones, smaller than the rest, shook from the earth and solidified, scampering underfoot. A hundred million skeletons of rats, their bones bleached and shined, their tiny toe-bones skittering and clicking on the stone.

“You made this place.” The certainty settled on Tamsen’s shoulders like a pall, heavier yet than Gannet’s weight on her shoulder. “You’re not Fortune, are you.”

“Oh, but I am, tall girl! Fortune’s as much me as it is anything else, you see. There’s a fortune that’s your luck, and a fortune that’s your fate, and a fortune last of all, that is your death. The world turns, tall girl, and Fortune turns it, but my hands are small, small! I cannot gnaw through the threads of life all on my lane!”

“And exactly what is it you do, then?” Tamsen’s sharpness served her well, even as Gannet preened and smirked so near to her ear.

“Every year I take one, a clever tall girl or a bright tall laddie, no matter who so long as they can play. And every year they play the flute, and down at Fortune’s hands they go to clay.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Tamsen asked, but the certainty of the truth was already on her lips. Gannet only smiled, and she played on. The music came harder and faster and sputtered and crackled in her lungs, and her fingers moved so that she feared they might slip from their sockets entirely. If she did as Gannet asked of her, she’d die here too, and the next year, her skeleton would be among the dancers. But the music had her in its grip, Fortune had its hand wrapped tight around her shoulders and— and she was the piper. She called the dance with her tune, left right left right, hop and step and cross and back with every note. And just as she had begun it, Tamsen could end it.

She took a deep breath. Then Tamsen dropped the whistle from her mouth. The dance went on without her playing, the rattle and clatter of the skeletons keeping time in perfect morbid percussion. Tamsen watched for a moment, ignoring Gannet as he tugged at her hair and shouted at her to keep playing. She got a hold on either end of the whistle, then, and brought it down on her knee. It snapped in two with a crack, and every empty-eyed skull out of all the dancing dead turned to look at her.

The house of Fortune went silent. Not a clatter or a creak of bones, just a thousand empty sockets pointed like eyes, and Tamsen, her face set, staring back. Gannet, still clinging to her coat, shrieked, more shrill and piercing than the whistle had ever been. The world seemed to shiver under the weight of such a sound as that.

Tamsen reached up and caught him by the coat collar, and ripped him from her shoulder. He dangled from her hand, limp, eyes shut tight. Then he opened his eyes, steely-silver, and then, as if he had opened another set of eyes, somewhere else, he was gone, and Tamsen’s hands were empty. She let out a long breath that she hardly realized that she had been holding, and the silence broke, too, as she dropped the shards of the whistle to the ground. A clatter and a crack, and all the twisting and twining of the carved ivory creatures was no more movement than the wind blowing low over the drought-cracked ground.

The wind came up, catching at her coat-sleeves and her braids, and the skeletons turned to one another, looking lost. Tamsen watched them stumble about, then put her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“Go home!” The skeletons turned to face her again. “You found your fortune, all of you, didn’t you? Your families are waiting for you back in the world — go there! I think…” and at that, her confidence slipped a little, her voice half a whisper. “I think they miss you.”

Then, gaining confidence again— “What are you waiting for! Go!” Tamsen stared, standing, panting, and a hundred pairs of empty eye sockets stared back. The foremost of the skeletons cocked its head to one side, as if in confusion, and turned to its fellows, gesturing wordlessly. There were a few sharper cracks amid the general clatter, as of bones being hastily snapped, and when the spokesman turned back to Tamsen, it had in its hand a long leg-bone, all drilled with holes to make a flute.

“Oh,” said Tamsen, all the air knocked from her lungs. “Oh.” She took the flute carefully from the bony hand that held it — bowed over that hand as best she could as she did so. The skeleton, though it always had shown its teeth, seemed to grin at the prospect.

“…I’ll give you a dance for the way home, if you’ll have me.” Tamsen said the words very quietly, but the skeleton appeared to hear her, and curtsied, knee-bones clattering. And so she placed the flute of bone to her lips and blew, and the wind stayed where it was, but Tamsen was a piper down to the hungry heart of her, and all the wind she needed to dance the rest of the way was the breath curling in her lungs.

——

“And what happened to Tamsen afterwards?”

“Well, friends, this story is over, you see. The tale is done, the mouse has run, and whoever catches it shall make themself a fur hat out of it. That is the way of the world. But perhaps, if you are good and quiet, I’ll spin another story and show you the weaving of it.”

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #the rat piper #HAPPY HALLOWEEN LADS I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE FOR TWO YEARS #and the cover art? well it is from two years ago when I started writing it. but What of It. go! read!

[bubbl3gumbittch]

Taylor Swift songs x Smosh Ships/Duos (pt2)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ Courtney&Shayne *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Mastermind

Once upon a time

The planets and the fates and all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room at the same time

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

Checkmate, I couldn't lose

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

And the first night that you saw me

Nothing was gonna stop me

I laid the groundwork, and then just like clockwork

The dominoes cascaded in a line

I know places (Taylor’s Version)

Somethin' happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Baby, I know places we won't be found, and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

Style (Taylor’s Version)

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt

And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

Lover

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'II save you a seat, lover

Paper rings

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

Uh-huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this

Uh-huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams

Oh, you're the one I want In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool

When you jumped in first, I went in too

(pt1/ianthony)

#smosh #shourtney #courtney miller #shayne topp #shartney #Spotify #💚💙

[mountrainiernps]

World Animal Day

What is your favorite memory of an animal interaction in the park? Seeing a Cascade fox or mountain goat for the first time? Laughing at the antics of a marmot? Listening to bird song in the early morning, or watching bats swoop silently in the calm of an evening? Mount Rainier National Park is charged with protecting the wildlife of the park, just like the park protects the meadows, forests, glaciers, and the mountain itself. These treasures are preserved for their own sake but also so that you and future generations can experience them. However, these animals can only be protected with your help. Please stay on trails to protect habitat, drive carefully on park roads, dispose of trash responsibly, and do not feed any animals to help Keep Wildlife Wild. Thank you!

NPS Photo of a sooty grouse, hoary marmot, Cascade frog, and Cascade red fox. ~kl

#World Animal Day #mount rainier national park #wildlife #keep wildlife wild #sooty grouse #hoary marmot #Cascade frog #Cascade red fox

[eliecasa]

warnings: kinda slow moving , 2 part story , fem terms

summary: callsign Bambi (reader) was sent on a mission to gain intel on a very bad man and after three years, they’re finally able to kiss their husband, John Price.

wrdcnt: 3.2K

It took a while to perfect but surely, after an hour of fussing and whining over the hard-to-clean eyeshadow, your look was just right for the night ahead of you. Being so glammed up for such an exciting reason–it was all so fun. Adrenaline fights to turn your blank expression into a smile but you fight against it and collect your masquerade mask, 

Sinaia, Romania. 

‎‏‏‎

Three exact years ago on this day, you pretended to be a new waitress at a celebrity event for a mission that you and Price knew would keep the two of you apart for a long time.Alin Cojocaru, better known as Cojo, had built himself a fairly vile record against the FBI for two long years that were full of trafficking and an unruly amount of assassinations. The idea of faking your way into his business was ruled out of question by the majority of the task force but no matter what, Shepherd said that it was the best way to undergo it to keep tensions low. 

‎‏‏‎

Cojo had an empire of crooked organizations and the last thing Special forces needed was another war on their roster.

‎‏‏‎

To cut a long, torturous story short, you, a married person, is now dating the same man that your husband would probaby be taking out in the next thirty minutes–tops. You could almost feel a little bad for Alin with the way he beams at the sight of you gingerly stepping your way down the stairs. The smile that you shine back to him is genuine yet deceptive. 

‎‏‏‎

“You are magnificent dear” his dark eyes are ravenous, hard to get lost in. He was nothing like John and it never got easier to pretend to adore such a man that wasn’t your lover.

‎‏‏‎

Despite your pride, you smoothly intertwine your fingers together and your stomach bunches at the feeling of his lips pressing against your temple. Those bad type of butterflies, the ones that made you feel as if you were going to spew the wings off of a monarch. 

‎‏‏‎

“As you are, Alin” 

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

And he takes you to the ballroom of this castle-like house. You’d been living there for two years. Cojo moved fairly quickly when it came to you. Yes, for one good year, you were able to keep contact with your team but when Alin decided to move you into his mansion, there was no way you could talk to them anymore. He had over 40 different cameras that were hidden fairly well, and not to mention he was used to leaching over you.

‎‏‏‎

The red satin material of your dress slid against the spotless floor as you subtly scouted the large room. Gaz was apparently supposed to be disguised as one of the hundreds of party goers but for some reason, you couldn’t see him. You suppress the small worry and take a glass of red wine from a server, making sure to thank them as you take a small sip of it. “Not the best playlist” you jest. Alin deeply chuckles and beams down at the fox wrapped in his grasp. “Classical fits the theme best”

‎‏‏‎

You shrug as the two of you enter the kitchen. 

“Touche”

‎‏‏‎

And when you look up, the first thing you notice is the man talking to a blond vixen near the balcony. Your heart speeds in joy but you fight the impulse to call his name. It was Gaz. The moment of joy is quickly cascaded by your sudden interest with the pastries displayed across the long white marbled counter. “Best keep me from these or everyone will starve” 

‎‏‏‎

“Do save one for me” Alin watches you bite into a grape pastry. You feign delight and groan awfully loud to catch your teammates attention. After finding Gaz, you were supposed to go upstairs and let Price in by the window. Just as you find yourself pretty much shoving the rest of the desert into Alin’s jaws, Gaz politely excuses himself and curiously game to the counter, pretending to look over the cake pops, donuts, and pastries made for the guests. 

‎‏‏‎

Though you shouldn’t, you find yourself smiling softly at the sight of your old friend welcoming himself next to you.

“Good to see I’m not the only fan.” 

‎‏‏‎

Good to see you too Gaz.

‎‏‏‎

“Reels you in like a bloody rope doesn’t it?” you tease, hinting at an old inside joke that was more so trauma on gaz’s side. For a moment he grimaced but made sure to fix it with an easy going smile. Alin watches the interaction like a hawk whilst he cleans his face with the handkerchief he had. To keep low profile, Gaz turns his attention to the foods, seemingly glancing at you for a granted recommendation. But as soon as you open your mouth to humor him, Cojo cuts your voice out with a slightly angered tone. “I’m sure you’ll find one of your own” 

‎‏‏‎

He must’ve thought that Gaz was making the moves….

‎‏‏‎

In what universe would he ever overstep a boundary like that between you and price

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

“... I’ll help myself then, sir.” And like that, he takes a raspberry pastry and waltzes back to the blonde lady from before. You don’t miss the teasing smile that he threw over his shoulder and the way Alin’s hand slid onto your waist told you that he didn’t miss it either. The golden rings on his fingers began to press into your skin the angrier he got.

‎‏‏‎

“Don’t worry, you’re all and everything he isn’t… I was just being nice to the guest” you sip from your wine and leant back against the marble counter to subtly free yourself of his nauseating grasp. His silver eyes close in on you, not in malice but in a way to show his sickening passion for you. What you said was not a complement but rather a subtle shot at the fact that he would never be the man that was waiting for you. But he didn’t know that and for that reason, everything was a bit funner.

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

“He should die, don’t you think?” he takes your chin in between his fingers. “Make sure you make it swift then” you give him a venomous smirk which coaxes him into letting you go. He could definitely try to take Gaz out if he wanted to but… surely it wouldn’t end well. For the first time today, Alin leaves you without as much as a single invitation to follow him. That could only mean that he was gone to fetch a guard, probably setting up some way to finish off your teammate. You cut the faux smile off of your face once he’s out of view.

‎‏‏‎

With a glance around the kitchen, you notice that nobody was looking in your direction any longer now that the host was out of sight. Finally, you can unclench your fist to see the tiny earpiece that Gaz gave you when Alin was too busy cleaning his face free of the pastry you shoved in it a minute ago. 

‎‏‏‎

“Just too easy” you chuckle and pretend to fix your hair to insert the earpiece. 

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

It whirs and whines for a couple of moments until you can hear the silence of subtle white noise. Too excited to wait another second, you speak into the piece without the need of pressing a button. 

‎‏‏‎

“Bambi peeking in the woods, how copy?” 

‎‏‏‎

The line overflows with familiar voices but the one that you wanted to hear the most was the last to come. It comes like a ruffle of a leaf or a bristle of the woods, his voice. “How’ve you been, Mrs.Price?” you can hear the smile in his voice as everyone else could hear the dumb smile in yours. “Dire without you.”

‎‏‏‎

“How romantic” Grave’s teasing made you roll your eyes but it isn’t enough to kill the euphoric joy that overcame your body. John had barely said anything to you yet he managed to bring you on cloud nine. The emotion is overwhelming and something in the back of your mind even called it dangerous. You felt like you could take every guard down without a single problem just so you can run into his arms and feel him again. Not being able to touch and hear him for years felt as if you were living without water. But now that you have your source of everything good, you felt invincible.

‎‏‏‎

“Yea yea missed you too Phill” you gave Gaz a peace sign before leaving the kitchen but took the side exit rather than passing through the entire ballroom. The small hallway had nothing but a small table with dead roses in a vase. The plan tattooed on your brain has you in autopilot mode, taking you to rip open the curtains of the lonely window at the end of the hall. Just as expected, Ghost's voice sounds through your ear peace.

‎‏‏‎

 “Got eyes on ya’ y/n, move up” 

‎‏‏‎

“Copy. Where’s your eyes Gaz?” you find the nearest staircase, making sure to look as if you were not rushing your way up the stairs. A guard watching one of the many entrances of the ballroom gave you a quizzical look which you disregarded with a faux-bimbo grin. “West ballroom, Cojo going up the left side of the red staircase. He’s armed.”

‎‏‏‎

“Shit.” you swear. Though you’re on the eastern side of the mansion, it wasn’t too hard to get to the other side. You really didn’t want to start taking 200 LBS guards out in stiletto heels but for John, you’ll push through with it. 

‎‏‏‎

“Keep route” Ghost said, most likely watching the halls through the exposed curtains you made sure to open earlier today. A small sigh escapes your lips as you reach the top of the staircase. Being in here so long had its perks. Every room, corner, and bend was like the back of your hand. 

‎‏‏‎

 “John?”

‎‏‏‎

“At the window, waiting for you y/n.”

‎‏‏‎

A delighted hum escapes your lip as you make your way down the hall. “I’ve missed your voice endlessly”

‎‏‏‎

You can hear Soap chuckle before John was able to reply but that was the last thing you were paying attention to. Mentally, you curse Ghost for not warning you about the man that just came from a room right in the middle of the hallway you were walking down. 

‎‏‏‎

“What the hell… never saw ‘em go in there” Ghost seemed just as surprised as you but you did nothing to display it as Alin turned and beamed at the sight of you staring at him with a gentle smile on your face. “I was only in the restroom, have you missed me too much?”

‎‏‏‎

He finds himself scooping you back into his arm and directing you exactly where you came from. Your eyes widen in alarm as Ghost swears through your earpiece that he must’ve had some other way to come from the bathroom. The plan was to take a 180 but you’ve waited too long to let it happen. 3 long years of preparation to avoid war wasn’t going to go to waste for any reason whatsoever.With a swallow of your pride, you stopped Alin in the middle of the halfway and shoved him against the wall. Your smooth leg rises from the slit in the expensive dress he bought you. Only if John was the one pressed against the wall, only if he was the one that was taking his hand up your leg would this be romantic. But here and now, it’s as sweet as a rotten apple.

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

 “How about I show you how much I missed you?” 

‎‏‏‎

Alin is winded at your caprice but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

‎‏‏‎

“Bambi, what's your status?” Gaz said, sounding as if he were walking upstairs. He couldn’t come up here, and you won't let him. “Stay there… I’ll be ready soon” you spoke in a slow, sultry tone. Your quick thinking proves efficient as Alin nodded and Gaz affirmed your statement. His eyes watched the way you rock your hips all the way until you got into the restroom. The first person to say anything was Graves but his mere statement was a whistle. 

‎‏‏‎

You smile, conceited with your work as you lock the door behind you. “Either you got it or you don’t”

‎‏‏‎

Price comes through on the radio, speaking slowly now that he was having to switch his location. “Good girl. See you at the window” 

‎‏‏‎

You stand waiting for his arrival like a dog waiting to jump at the mailman. If Alin wasn’t outside the door, surely you’d be doing something like that but now that things are different, you’d have to wait. “Soap, where are you?” Ghost asked. Soap is quick to reply as quickly as a question crosses your mind. What the hell was Soap coming in for? “Found a safe in his bedroom, there’s a code to be needed, Bambi?”

‎‏‏‎

“It’s my name, Bambi” 

‎‏‏‎

“Damn girl. You really do know something, don’t you?” Graves’ voice hints at an innuendo and Price hears it just as anyone else does. Maybe it’s the little possessive part of him that says it but either way, his next words came more as a threat than a reassurance. 

‎‏‏‎

“Focus on watch, Graves”

‎‏‏‎

 He chuckles “Got it, Cap’”

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

Just as you thought he would never come, there goes your husband. He’s almost unnoticeable due to the full black attire he wore. The black beanie, the tactical gear, it all looked too good. You nearly move fast enough for those red bottom heels to fly off your feet as you got to the window to undo the latches. John stands on the roof with a genuine smile granting his usually stonish features just from watching you struggle. He’s never seen you move so fast. And when the window does open, he doesn’t even get the opportunity to crawl inside of the bathroom because of the way your hands are quick to latch and pull.

‎‏‏‎

The two of you are breathless as your gaze tethered and your limbs intertwined, his hands find your face as yours find his. His warmth is dramatic, you feel as if you were in an igloo for years and years, waiting for him to show up with the same warmth he held before you separated. You shiver, running your hand over his shaggy beard. Like a breath of fresh air, he still feels the same. The desire that overcomes you is overwhelming. The smell of citrus, sandalwood, and cedar made you dizzy. He made your head spin like a ferris wheel.

‎‏‏‎

“John”

“Y/N” 

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

It brings tears to your eyes, his voice does. Hearing it through a radio had nothing on the real deal. Memory, love, infatuation, and everything easy is laced within it. Your husband was the epiphany people had to be searching for, there was no way it could’ve been anything else. If not the man that made you feel love the moment you first met him, what else could it be? But nobody else mattered right now, not when he slots his lips against yours in a passionate lip lock. The breath between you two is heavy and rushed, heated and disrupted as he broke contact just to back you to the bathroom door, not caring what Alin could hear.

‎‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎

The fingers on your right hand find the softness of the hair on his neck as your other hand turns off the earpiece. You forgot that the little gadget was listening the whole time. Poor them…

‎‏‏‎

You fail to care any further as you bring John in for another kiss. His calloused hands follow your fantasy from earlier. They’re first to cross and grasp at the squishy skin at your thighs but then they’re grabbing at the tender skin of your bum. His tenderness takes you, causing you to gasp into his mouth. “John”

‎‏‏‎

But he knows you don’t want to say anything and kisses you again. His touch feels like an electric sear of fire that spreads across your skin, leaving you in the delight of pleasure. It’s love, you can feel it.

‎‏‏‎

“Y/N, are you okay in there?” Alin knocked on the door and even wiggled the knob a little bit. John found it hard to stop kissing you. He knew you needed to answer but the taste of you was something different. It was sweet and saturated, different from before time was lost. It’s pleasant but he finds himself pushing your waist against the door. Your yearning leaves you to whine and he takes his lips from yours. “Love” Alin calls, wiggling the knob once again.

‎‏‏‎

Anger takes over your flustered features as you slowly took your hands away from his neck. John's hands slowly slip away from your body, feeling as if he ever wanted to leave your figure. “All is well, I just have a hard time with doing lipstick” Your eyes never leave his as he presses the talkie on his chest. “In contact, taking him down now, copy” It’s not hard for his voice to go unheard due to its heavy tone. “Well hurry up, I’ve waited so long for this!”

‎‏‏‎

John rolls his eyes and you smirk at him, motioning him to stand by the wall so that he’d be hidden once you opened the door. “Pistol on the left of his hip, disarm and lay ‘em out” Ghost instructs. 

‎‏‏‎

You discard your heels next to the toilet, not wanting to have to carefully tread across the rooftops. Price puts a silenced pistol in your hands. “Just in case. Conceal for now” you find it much easier to follow orders now that he’s around. It’s quick to slide into your leather leg garter before you swung the door open. “Hi hun, you been to sleep yet?” you step out next to him, leaving the door open.

‎‏‏‎

He tilts his head in confusion before locking eyes with you. “What do you mean sleep?”

‎‏‏‎

The two of you dumbly stare at each other until a moment passes. He watches you tilt your head towards the bathroom door that was left ajar. Alin is easy to fool because he walks in just to get a fist to the jaw. Even Ghost makes an ‘ouch’ sound as he tumbled to the ground. Aliin seemed to fight consciousness for a second but his body fell limp soon after, thanks to the dramatic strength John put in that single punch.

‎‏‏‎

You snap out of your daze to step over and into your husband. He looks dramatically possessive when he directs you to the window, his warm hand on your lower back to assist. “Good shot Captain, show ‘em how it’s done!” Grave cheers. Nothing stops the laugh that breaks your lips apart.

‎‏‏‎

Curious of the situation, Gaz’s voice comes through. “What did the Captain do?”

‎‏‏‎

“Put Alin to fuckin’ sleep, that’s what he did.” Ghost chuckles.

‎‏‏‎

“Alright cap” Soap claps into his microphone. You’re the only one that can see the guilty smirk on his face as you helped him out of the window. He was grateful that you’d granted him the opportunity to take him out as if that wasn’t already so obvious. Even the subtle rosiness on his cheeks was telling on him a little bit.Once the two of you stood tall on the rooftop, you finally wrapped him in a warm hug.

 “I’m all yours” 

‎‏‏‎

He kisses the top of our head, wrapping his arms around you.

“And I’m yours”

dun dun dunnn

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #modern warfare ii x reader #cod price x reader #reader insert

[enigmatist17]

He's not sure when it had started following him, but he notices the first time after he's arrested someone. A curious little thing with cascading golden feathers, it's perched on a street lamp, watching as Commander Fox manhandled the perp into the back of his cruiser, and flies off when the clone glances over.

It's back a few weeks later, silently flying alongside the clone as he takes a rarely afforded flight over Coruscant, drifting over just enough for the tips of their wings to touch before eventually the bird fades in the colored haze that plagues the planets surface. Fox enjoyed the company, however short it had been, and is able to see a single star before he heads back to the barracks.

A good sign maybe?

The bird is just outside the Senate building a few days later, uttering a single cry that causes Fox to whirl around, ruby wings narrowing avoiding the slice of a vibroblade of an assassin rushing towards the senators he'd been escorting. They're taken down within a single breath, and Fox shares a gaze with the bird for a moment, a silent thanks that's accepted with a single chirp.

He draws the bird later that night, and pins it in his locker. After that he goes to the library for books dealing with how to identify various birds, and learns it's in fact an owl.

They're not native to Coruscant.

The bird, no, owl is there during one of his rare night shifts, and perches on his shoulder as he quietly makes his rounds. The Senate building is at its most beautiful when all the natborns are asleep and away, so he takes his time more than he'd like to admit.

The subtle glow the owl have dims to nothing when they pass near the Chancellor's office.

The owl is there when Sheev Palpatine, hidden Sith Lord, plummets to his death one early morning. It shining golden feathers could be mistaken for the real thing at a first glance, perching on Fox's shoulder once more as the man flies down to investigate the "mysterious death" among the panic of many civilians. The owl had seen Fox stun the man before throwing him through his office window down to his demise, and flies away when Fox crouches down to inspect. A lightsaber with a blade red as blood is discovered on Palpatine's desk, and an awkwardly dropped data disk reveals the information that begins a cascade of information to the eventual truth.

He was the Sith, and the owl rests beside Fox when he sits on a rooftop to watch the proceeding chaos. Several of the Jedi Masters bow to his owl after Fox's moment of peace, and he shrugs before delving into the role of Commander to calm the panic throughout the Senate and populous. The owl stays this time, sometimes coming and sometimes going, but always a golden beacon beside the fiercest protector within the GAR.

The Daughter smiles.

#personal #star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #commander fox #winged!clones au #order 66 fix it au #the daughter

[vulpes-fennec]

A Return to Autumn's Roots (1/3)

Summary: Eris Vanserra, the new High Lord of Autumn, has extended a Solstice ball invitation to Elain Archeron and Gwyn Berdara. Will a Court frozen in perpetual change break the stagnant mating bond between Elain and Lucien?

A lil @acotargiftexchange present for @sunbrightheart! I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing this for you! 🎄

Read on AO3

***Winter Solstice | Location: Velaris***

Elain managed to time Feyre’s cake perfectly, leaving at least an hour to get ready before the Solstice party started. It was chilling in the icebox as she took a hot bath in her suite. The warm water soothed her tired hands, hands that had been busy putting up finishing decorations and baking the last 24 hours. 

She washed her hair carefully with sweet-smelling soaps, and climbed out of the tub wrapped in a soft pink robe. As she waited for her curls to dry, Elain placed her presents in the basket for Rhys to hold onto. A sleek onyx fountain pen for Rhys, three pots of shimmering paint “dust” for Feyre, and a knitted cap with bear-shaped ears for Nyx’s first Solstice. An embroidered ribbon bookmark for Nesta, wool scarf for Cassian, a gold-embossed mystery classic for Emerie. Gold hooped earrings for Mor, perfume for Amren, special treats for Varian’s pet fish. Azriel would be receiving an exfoliating scrub for calluses, Gwyn a seasonal assorted chocolate basket. Elain hadn’t felt like giving Azriel a gift, and felt even more ill at ease when it came to choosing Gwyn’s.  

Elain had never given everybody presents before. Something curdled inside her when she looked at the final present. Buying everybody a present was the excuse for this particular gift. It was a fox plushie for Lucien, awkwardly wrapped because of its shape.

She picked it up and placed it into the basket. It was such a stupid present. Grown males had no need for stuffed animals. She barely knew Lucien, so it was difficult to think of something for him. 

Elain had mainly gotten the stuffed animal because it was something that could keep him company. Her note had said, “So you’re never truly alone.” She’d loved playing with dolls when she was young, would bring her stuffed bear into the garden and imbue it with its own personality to feel less lonely. 

Maybe she was making a mistake…Lucien was closely associated with foxes, but he’d been stuck with a fox mask for 49 years…perhaps he didn’t like foxes so much anymore. Drat. She couldn’t not give him anything now. Maybe she could replace the fox stuffed animal with something else in her room. Elain scanned the shelves, which were filled with small plants and trinkets. 

But the basket was gone. Rhys must have thought she was done and whisked it away. Elain sat down on her bed, fighting the urge to cry. Did Lucien feel this stressed when he was deciding which present to give her last year? And the year before that? If he didn’t like the fox, or worse, if he laughed at her, she’d truly cry. 

Glancing at the amount of time on the clock had her wiping the tears away. There were only thirty more minutes until the party, and crying would only make her eyes red and puffy. Elain sat at her vanity and carefully applied some color to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. She enjoyed using orange and reddish colors to bring out the different hues in her brown eyes, eyes that were more warmly colored compared to her sisters’ blue-gray. Though, looking at orange and red makeup only seemed to remind her of her mate’s home court. She sighed. 

After twenty minutes had passed, Elain was satisfied with how she looked. Her lilac-purple dress had flowers embroidered with silver threads, staying in-theme with the winter color palette. It hugged her bodice well, but flared out gracefully with long sleeves and a floor length. She’d purchased it two weeks ago specifically for Solstice. Her soft curls lightly cascaded down her back. Elain was always a little vain when it came to her hair; she liked it long and loose, and felt it looked best that way. Again, so different from Feyre and Nesta, who preferred to have their more golden locks up in braids or buns. 

Elain padded downstairs in her silver heels. Mor, Amren, and Varian were already in the large sitting room, drinking wine. “You look so pretty!” Mor exclaimed. Elain blushed. A compliment from the glamorous Morrigan always made her feel special. “Care to have some wine?” 

“No thank you, maybe later,” Elain declined. She sat down next to Mor, facing the doorway. The door opened, revealing Rhys with Nyx in his arms. 

“Feyre is still getting ready,” Rhys explained. There was a knock on the front door down the hall. Elain sat up a little straighter. If it was Lucien…

Her hopes were dashed when Cassian and Azriel bustled into the room, both Illyrian warriors wearing black. “Nyxie!” crowed Cassian as he ran towards Rhys, his arms outstretched. “Your favorite uncle is here!” 

Azriel only rolled his eyes as Nyx let out a burst of bubbling laughter at Cassian’s goofy expressions. Elain noted that the shadowsinger’s black shirt was cleanly pressed, his shoes polished clean. Interesting. And Azriel’s shadows, always wreathed around the top of his wings, were on full display tonight. They always unnerved Elain a bit, even as he offered the group on the couch a small smile. 

It was five minutes until 7 in the evening when the door knocked again. Elain snapped her head to the hall, holding her breath. But her Fae ears picked up three sets of feet walking towards the living room, and she tried not to appear too disappointed. 

The Valkyries. Nesta was wearing a holly red dress that matched Cassian’s red Siphons. She had her arm hooked around Gwyn and Emerie’s arms, as if to provide assurance, for it was Gwyneth’s first time meeting the Inner Circle.

Gwyneth’s coppery red hair shimmered in the warm faelight. It was long and straight, almost like Lucien’s…except Lucien’s hair was a more vibrant, ruby red. Two small braids framed her face, which was freckled and pale. The teal dress she wore almost matched the shade of her round, saucer-like eyes. Elain glanced at Azriel. He was standing across the room, holding Nyx, but looking at Gwyneth with admiration and a hint of pride. 

“Everybody, this is Gwyn,” Nesta announced. 

Varian politely shook Gwyn’s hand, and Amren gave the priestess a rare smile. Mor beamed, “Hello Gwyn, please call me Mor. I’ve heard so much about you!” 

Gwyn’s smile was charming. “I’ve heard so much about you as well, it’s nice to meet you.” Her slightly nervous gaze turned towards Elain. 

Elain struggled to find her words. “Hi,” she began lamely. “I’m Elain…Nesta’s younger sister.” She felt self-conscious. Did she have a judgemental look on her face? 

“Hello Elain. It’s good to meet you at last,” Gwyn replied with a shy smile. Elain returned the smile nervously, wondering how much Gwyn knew about last year’s tension between her and Azriel. 

Gwyn and Nesta moved on to talk to the Illyrian warriors. For once, Elain paid them no mind. Her stomach was making somersaults as she glanced at the clock. It was time for the party to start, and Lucien wasn’t one to be late. She tried to engage in the small talk with Amren, Varian, and Mor, but found it hard to concentrate on the topics at hand.

It was usually this way whenever she anticipated Lucien’s arrival. Elain would pretend not to know when he was coming, but would always closely track the time. The fated mates would glance at each other quickly, then avert their gazes. Thus began the dance of avoidance, where Elain and Lucien, acutely aware of each others’ positions in the room, would navigate to be furthest away from each other. The heavy awkwardness would drag on and on, until Elain or Lucien decided to take their leave. 

Tonight, however, she felt strangely giddy with anticipation.  

At ten past 7, Feyre breezed in, looking magnificent in a rich navy gown and tiara. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” she said, pressing a kiss to Rhys’s lips. 

“Happy birthday!” everybody exclaimed. Feyre’s eyes grew bright with emotion. 

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, clapping her hands. “I love each and every one of you all. Let us have some cake before dinner, shall we?” 

“Oh!” Elain blurted suddenly. Everybody in the room swiveled their heads to look at her. “I-I think we’re missing someone? Lucien?” 

“Elain, I’m so sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you this earlier. Lucien sent a message saying he wasn’t coming,” Feyre looked at her apologetically. 

Elain was stunned. “Oh…Did he say why?” Feyre shook her head. “That’s alright. I just…I just wanted to make sure before we cut the cake. In case he didn’t want to miss out…” she felt herself rambling so she quickly closed her mouth. 

As everybody bustled into the dining room, Elain couldn’t help but feel hollow inside. And worried. Lucien wasn’t coming. Surely he was not in any grave danger if he could send Feyre a message…which meant he probably didn’t come because of…her. And Azriel. Though, judging by how closely Azriel drifted to the young priestess, there was nothing for Lucien to worry about. Nearly everybody in the room had found the people and place they’d belonged with…except for her. 

***One year later | Location: Forest House, Autumn Court***

“Oh!” Elain let out a small gasp as the door swung open to reveal a shirtless Lucien lounging on a bed. For a split second, he was a creature of myth: eyes half-closed with rest, molten-red hair, his angular face soft with the kind of rest that only privacy could bring. Lucien sat up immediately, his eyes wide. Elain quickly averted her eyes from the broad, dusty brown expanse of his bare chest, her heart galloping fast as a horse. 

“I-I’m sorry!” she stammered. “I forgot which room was mine and I was testing the spelled locks and I—” She stole a look at Lucien’s tight-lipped expression. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” she finished.

“No need to be sorry, my lady,” he said quietly, his voice low and stiff. Lucien quickly pulled a shirt over his head, and the sudden urge to pout at the loss of his sculpted body left Elain reeling. But how could she think such scandalous thoughts in the midst of this social blunder? 

She stepped back into the long hallway, unsure of how to extricate herself from the situation. It was her first time in the Forest House, first time in the Autumn Court, really. It was the Autumn Court’s first Winter Solstice under its new High Lord, and Eris Vanserra had invited both her and Gwyn Berdara for the Winter Solstice. Gwyn, because her grandfather hailed from Autumn. Elain, because she was Eris’s supposed sister-in-law. 

Eris had also invited Helion Spellcleaver. The revelation that he and the former Lady of Autumn were mates, and the fact that he was Lucien’s true father, sent shockwaves throughout all of Prythian. The gossip was still going strong after all these months—every time Elain went to the market, there was always someone chattering about it. Lucien Spellcleaver, Elain had whispered to herself whenever she was alone. Lucien Spellcleaver. Her mate’s true name. 

Lucien had arrived with Jurian and Queen Vassa in tow last night. Aside from a swift look and cordial “my lady” that sent Elain into a flushed mess, Lucien had not interacted with her since. And now, she had stumbled into his room. 

Lucien eyed Elain’s flushed cheeks warily. She was in a simple cotton dress of plain yellow, her brown curls pulled back with a sage green scarf, and yet she was still the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. 

Lucien had scoffed when Eris informed that he’d invited Elain Archeron to the Autumn Court’s Solstice Ball—his brother was being his usual meddling self. What shocked him more was that Elain had accepted the invitation. 

Now that he thought about it, she was much more present during his short visits to Velaris this past year, even going so far as to initiate small talk. And the way she’d openly stared at him last night seemed promising…but Lucien didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

He decided not to mention that this was not just some random room he’d been assigned; this was his old room in the Forest House. A room that he’d carefully spelled to allow only him through the threshold. It was likely that the wards recognized Elain as his mate, recognized the imprint of his soul on hers, and let her in unexpectedly. She’d likely have an aneurysm after hearing that, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Would you like me to accompany you to your room, my lady?” he offered.

“It’s alright, I don’t want to impose…” she trailed off, biting her bottom lip subconsciously. Lucien glanced away quickly, fighting the urge to kiss her on the mouth and take that plush bottom lip between his teeth. Touch her, smell her, taste her, his instincts urged. 

“It’s not an imposition. I’m taking Helion on a short tour of the forest in ten minutes anyways.” Lucien hoped it didn’t sound like he was pressuring her into spending time with him. 

“Actually, I am supposed to meet your mother for tea in the Maple Room and I’m not too sure where it’s located,” Elain said softly. After a moment of hesitation, she added, “you may call me Elain.” 

“Do you dislike it when I say ‘my lady’?” Lucien asked. 

“No, no, I do!” She blinked rapidly, flustered at her admission. The tips of Elain’s pointed ears turned pink. Oh, she definitely likes it, Lucien thought to himself with a satisfied smirk. “I just feel it’s too formal.” 

“As you wish. I can take you to the Maple Room, it’s on the way to Helion’s guest quarters.” It was still hard to refer to Helion as “his father”, Lucien thought. Over the last few months, he’d become more familiar with Helion’s boisterous, joking side. And Helion’s affectionate side that came out with him and his mother, as if to make up for 400 years of lost time. But…father? No, that was a term more closely associated with Beron. 

Elain kept a measured distance from her mate as they walked down the Forest House’s corridor. Acorn-shaped glass sconces filled with faelight cast a golden light, the hall was padded with soft burgundy carpet, and the walls were tastefully decorated with wood carvings and oil-painted art. 

“How’s it going with your father?” she ventured after a few moments of silent walking. 

“What do you think of the Autumn Court?” Lucien asked at the same time. 

“No, you go first,” they both said in unison. Elain and Lucien glanced at each other, doe brown eyes meeting mismatched amber and gold, before chuckling softly. It eased some of the tension between them, softening the tightness in Elain’s chest and making the corners of Lucien’s eyes crinkle. 

“Ladies first.”

“So I get my question answered first,” Elain prompted with a small smile. 

Lucien sighed, with somewhat of a dramatic effect. “It’s going well,” he said. “Helion is…he makes my mother happy. And he’s been good to me, but of course the bar was always low with Beron in the first place.” 

“You just call him Helion? When you’re with him?” Elain was taken aback by how directly she was speaking to Lucien, given how short and tidy their previous exchanges were.

“No…I call him ‘Dad’ but it feels strange in my mouth.” Lucien shook his head. “I don’t know what a normal relationship between sons and fathers should be. To be honest, I don’t think any of us do.” Elain’s fists clenched, as if readying to fight a long-dead and buried High Lord for the pain he inflicted upon her mate. She trembled slightly, reminding herself to calm down and take some deep breaths. 

“It’s only been a few months,” Elain said softly. “Relationships take time.” Our relationship has been in a gray area for almost three years, she realized. Lucien must think I’m wretched for saying that to him.

If he thought there was an underlying meaning to her words, he did not show. “Well, what do you think of the Autumn Court?” he asked again, switching the subject. 

“It’s beautiful, I wish I had more time to explore the woods,” Elain replied. As much as she’d tried, she couldn’t keep Lucien out of her mind when taking in everything. She walked the halls imagining how his younger self would have roamed, touched the trees so similar to the ones he saw every day, savoring the constant chill he would have felt on his skin day in and day out. Did he jump into piles of leaves? Play hide and seek behind statues? “Everybody has been very kind. I was expecting…something worse. More stiff and traditional.” 

Lucien shrugged. “Eris has done a decent job of changing the atmosphere of the court with his leadership. How is Gwyn? She came here with you, right?” 

“Gwyn is off visiting her cousins…she’s very excited to meet them. She misses Azriel, but they talk every night through the scrying mirror.” Truth be told, Elain was a bit stressed that Gwyn had a full itinerary of plans during their visit. She’d grown close with the priestess, and was feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of interacting with Lucien’s family on her own.

“We’re here,” Lucien announced as they rounded the corner. A light brown door with a simple placard that said “Maple Room”. He knocked, and proceeded to open the door for Elain when Daphne Spellcleaver’s lilting voice beckoned them in. 

***

“Elain Archeron,” Daphne Spellcleaver greeted her warmly. The Maple Room, like all other rooms in the Forest House, was excessively grand. It was meant to be a sitting room, but the massive rugs, the vaulted glass ceiling, the literal maple trees growing in the corners of the room, and the plush furniture elevated it beyond just a sitting room. Unlike some of the other rooms, however, the Maple Room was filled with plenty of natural light. Two massive windows opened out onto one of the Forest House’s many gardens, filling the air with the smell of roses and dahlias.

“Lady Spellcleaver,” Elain murmured, dipping into a curtsy. It was her first time interacting with Lucien’s mother, the former Lady of Autumn. She had met Graysen’s parents before, but this felt different. 

“Oh Elain, no need for formalities. Please, call me Daphne.” Elain rose to see that Lucien had gone straight towards his mother for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “My sweet boy,” Daphne murmured, ruffling Lucien’s hair as if he were a youngling. “Shouldn’t you be meeting with your father at this time?” 

Lucien grinned wryly, making Elain’s heart flutter just slightly. His demeanor had switched instantly, becoming more easy-going around his mother, all loose shoulders and shining eyes. “I was escorting her to you,” he replied. “I’ll be on my way now.” He stepped back, dipping his head towards Elain. “My—I meant—Elain.” Shit. There went another skip of her heart when he said her name. 

That russet and gold gaze met hers briefly, before he turned and left swiftly. 

“Let’s have some tea. Although I am no longer Lady of Autumn, old habits of welcoming dignitaries are still difficult to break. Especially when we are hosting the High Lady of the Night Court’s sister.” 

A female well-versed in court maneuverings, Elain noted. By regarding her as Feyre’s sister, Daphne had indicated she wasn’t here to talk about Elain’s mating bond with Lucien. Despite this formal acknowledgement, the genuine kindness in Daphne’s russet eyes putting Elain immediately at ease. It was easy to pick out what traits Lucien inherited from his mother: her red hair, obviously, her russet eyes, those high cheekbones, and the easy grace. 

The maple-flavored tea and selection of desserts were delicious, and Elain found Daphne exceedingly easy to talk to. They had a shared love for baking and fine clothing, which made for easy conversation. Daphne asked Elain questions about her human life, how she was adjusting to being Fae, what Velaris was like, and if she had anything interesting planned for the upcoming year. 

Elain was dying to ask Daphne about Lucien, but since Daphne did not bring up a single thing about her son, Elain was hesitant. Since Elain and Lucien’s mate status was a fraught relationship, it was possible that Daphne did not want to make her feel uncomfortable. Still…there had to be a way to pivot the subject…

“What was Lucien like as a child?” 

The Lady of Day smiled fondly. “He was a mischievous and observant child,” she replied. “Always running around, playing little tricks. Asking a million questions, chattering with anybody who would give him a minute of their time.” 

Elain found herself smiling as well. Lucien seemed to be that precocious boy who would ruffle her feathers at the formal events her parents used to bring her to. “I’m sure those played a part in how he became a courtier.”

“Oh yes,” Daphne agreed knowingly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about my son so much…”

“Oh no,” Elain reassured her. She smiled conspiratorially at the Lady of Day. “In fact, you should tell me about his most embarrassing incidents…”

Read Ch 2

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar gift exchange #elucien fanfic #acotar

[tavvattales]

And for tighnari maybe he’s looking for plants in the desert at night at meets a dancer??? I’m sorry if I’m typing a lot

GENSHIN IMPACT Character x Fem!Reader Headcanons

AN: Reblogs help more than likes~ Thank you in advance! ☺

Characters: Tighnari

Pairings: Tighnari x FemDancer!Reader

Warnings: None

Taglist: @stygianoir @kurobakachan @hikomisan @silverwritesthings @minty-stays-tired @genshinparty @sange-de-romane (ask to be added~)

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Tighnari

The warmth of the sand between your toes and the gentle rays of the moonlight above you sets the stage for you to begin dancing. The moonlight cascading down accentuates your curves as you start swaying your hips, raising your hands toward the sky. Unbeknownst to you, one curious Fox is watching from afar, collecting red crests from the cacti that decorate the Great Red Sand.

Stopping dead in his tracks Tighnari's ears perk up as they twitch slightly, his soft hazel eyes squinting toward the distance at your dancing figure, seemingly alone out in the desert, "Curious..." he says aloud to himself as he quietly makes is way closer to you, while still out of sight. Tighnari's heightened sense of hearing allows him to hear your gentle humming as he studies your elegant footwork.

As he gets closer, he feels his heart skip a beat as he sees your beauty for what it really is—ethereal. The way you prance around the sand, hips swaying, thinking no one is watching in the dead of night, totally undisturbed by the dangers that lurk around you, "And more curious..." Tighnari says again, in total awe of your execution, his tail swaying behind him.

"Like the beauty of the very sands you dance upon, may you carry it with you, always..."

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[warcrimesimulator]

Cross phase Cascade red fox (Vulpes fulva cascadensis) Hudson Bay Mountain, British Columbia, Canada

Photo © Kate Wills

#fox #cross fox #foxes #north american red fox #red fox #wildlife #animals #op